#welcome to my stinking house. my home.

[skeletalheartattack]

Stumbles down your chimney

ahhhhhh hello, you must be that Santa Claus i hear so much about. welcome to my home. here we have my two christmas trees so i can max out on presents. you understand. i'm on the good list, don't even double check. if you know what's good for you Santa.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Part One

Eddie walked through the door of Robin's bedroom cautiously.

"I don't know why I assumed that you'd be taking me to your house when you said that you're taking me home," Eddie said. "Silly me."

"I did tell you that house was my parents' house," Steve said, following him in.

"So, why aren't we there?" He asked.

"Because the bios are in town," Robin said.

"Bios?" Eddie asked.

"My biological parents," Steve replied.

"Yeah, I was wondering about them. I was starting to think they don't exist," Eddie said.

"They basically don't," Robin said and pointed to a pile of pillows by the window. "Especially in Steve's life."

"That sucks," Eddie said as he plopped onto the pillows with Robin and Steve.

"Their loss. Our gain," Robin grinned.

Melissa Buckley popped her head through the door. Eddie had met her at the door. She was very mellow and sweet. She didn't even give him the stink eye when he walked in. Instead, she hugged him and welcomed him right into her home.

"Oh, does anyone need any snacks?" Melissa asked.

"Oh, no, we're good, Mombie, thank you," Robin said.

"Oh, Steve, your room is still all set up, but I'm afraid Snuffles has been occupying it lately," she replied.

"Thanks, Mombie," Steve said.

"Are you alright with us being in here?" Eddie asked.

"Of course, I am," she laughed.

"Oh, she now knows all about me being a lesbian," Robin said.

"You're -"

"I don't know why she was so worried. She knows we're all about the love," Melissa said. "And the fact that in the early days of our marriages, we branched out with other people."

"You never said it was men and women, mother!" Robin exclaimed, rolling her eyes and smiling.

"Oh, your uncle should know, Eddie," Melissa said. "He was one of my lovers."

"What?!" Eddie shrieked.

"Oh, and he was excellent, too," Melisss sighed. "Really good with his hands - "

"Gah!" Eddie yelped and plugged his ears with his fingers. "Lalalalalala! I'm not listening!"

"You're scarring, Eddie, mombie," Robin said.

"Oh, I'll let you three to it, then," Melissa said and closed the door behind her.

"Okay, what the hell?" Eddie asked. "You know, I was okay with assuming that my uncle was basically a monk."

"How prude of you, Eddie," Robin cooed.

"You're a lesbian?" Eddie asked.

"Hm, I thought you knew," Robin said.

"Nope!" Eddie exclaimed.

"So, you don't know about either one of us?" Steve asked.

"You're a lesbian, too?" Eddie grinned.

"No, bisexual," Steve scoffed.

"Pardon?" He asked.

"I like men and women," Steve said, and then he turned to Robin. "I was pretty sure that he knew."

"Maybe the woman at the bar was wrong about flagging," Robin replied.

"I don't know. She seemed to know what she was talking about," Steve replied. "And I thought for sure that Eddie was flirting with me."

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Eddie asked. "By the way, I'm cool with it all. . ."

"There's no way. . .no one calls someone "big boy" like that, and they're not flirting," Robin said.

"Maybe it's one of those situations," Steve whispered. "We should probably stop talking about it."

"Oh, hey, since it's your first time here, you get to pick the music," Robin said, pointing to her cassettes.

"Ooh, don't mind if I do," Eddie said and pulled the box closer to him. "Ooh. You got Bob Dylan. My mom was a fan."

"She had great tastes," Robin said and smiled when Eddie popped it in.

"Okay, what next?" Eddie asked.

Steve grinned and moved to his feet. He slowly began to untie Eddie's shoes before moving just as slowly to take them off. He kept the same pace when he took his socks off, keeping eye contact with Eddie.

"Seriously?" Robin sighed.

"What are you guys going to do to me?" Eddie asked, swallowing.

Robin rolled her eyes and pulled out a box.

"Pick a color, dingus," Robin said.

"Oh! You're painting my toenails," Eddie said.

"Well, you said that you wanted to know what we did when it's just the two of us," Robin said.

"Okay, can I do red and black?" Eddie asked.

"Of course," Steve said and began work on Eddie's feet.

"So, you two consider yourself like brother and sister?" Eddie asked as he took a magazine from Robin.

"Oh, no, that would ruin the plan," Robin said.

"We're basically platonic fiancées," Steve said.

"Well, almost fiancées," Robin said. "We're going to slowly manipulate Steve’s dad into giving us money for a wedding. We're going to take the money and give it to a worthy cause. We might just end up getting married for the hell of it, platonically, of course, but it's going to be the cheapest wedding ever. His dad would hate it."

"Mombie was against the plan at first," Steve said.

"And then she met his parents," Robin said. "Both of my parents are on board."

"As well as Claudia and Sue," Steve said.

"They meet up to discuss it, but they mostly just drink sangrias," Robin said. "And talk about. . .well, I don't know what they talk about."

"Jesus, are your parents really that bad?" Eddie asked as he flipped through the magazine.

"Yes," Steve and Robin said.

"Well, if you need any help, I'm your man," Eddie said, flashing his dimples.

"You know what would make your doe eyes pop?" Robin asked. "Eyeliner."

Eddie looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before shrugging.

"Alright."

"Yes!" Robin exclaimed and began to apply it.

"This magazine is really informative. Hey, Steve, do you mind me asking how you knew you were bisexual?" Eddie asked.

Robin had to stop applying the eyeliner because she suddenly started shaking with giggles.

"I don't mind it all - Robin, stop laughing!" Steve yelled and then sighed. "Well, apparently, it's just not very straight to practice kissing and practice having sex with a guy friend."

"Okay, well, I get the sex thing, but practice kissing with friends. . .doesn't everyone do that?" Eddie asked.

"No, and also like it? Also, no," Steve said.

"Oh, well. . ." Eddie said and looked away, thoughtfully, blushing, then he grinned. "Hell, I think I might be like you after all, big boy."

"One of us, one of us, one of us!" Robin and Steve chanted.

"You guys are freaks, I love it," Eddie laughed.

"Oh, Edward, you have no idea," Robin said.

"Should we?" Steve asked.

"Oh, I think we should," Robin said. "Eddie, do you want to be initiated into our coven?"

"Coven?" Eddie asked.

"We're wiccans," Steve grinned.

"Yeah, sure, why the fuck not?" Eddie laughed.

"Ooh! I get to try out my spell!" Robin exclaimed, clapping her hands. "And your potions and runes, Steven!"

The next thing, Eddie knew he was kneeling in the middle of Robin's room, surrounded by candles and very shirtless. Robin and Steve were both wearing black robes. Steve was kneeling in front of Eddie, painting runes on Eddie's chest and arms.

"We're kind of just making this shit up as we go along," Steve told Eddie.

"Obviously, that's clearly a dick you just painted," Eddie said, and Steve giggled.

The door opened, and Robert Buckley entered the room. Robin, Steve, and Eddie stared at him. He stared back. He set a fire extinguisher on Robin's desk.

"I thought I smelled smoke," Robert said. "Have fun."

"Thanks, Daddy," Robin and Steve said.

Just before he closed the door, Snuffles the orange tabby slipped onto the room.

"What's a Wiccan initiation without a cat?" Eddie asked with a grin.

Steve pulled out his potion. He pulled Eddie's hair back into a bun and started dabbing the potion behind his ears and on his throat. It smelled like heaven. He paused and glanced at Eddie's lips. Steve grinned before putting the potion on his own lips. Eddie stared at him in confusion. Steve cupped his face and kissed him, spreading the potion onto Eddie's lips. It also tasted like heaven. Steve tasted like heaven. Eddie let out a noise of disappointment as Steve pulled back.

"Woah! Head rush. Was that you or the potion?" Eddie asked. "What is that stuff?"

"You have to be a higher level to unlock that information," Steve said.

"Damn."

"That was completely unnecessary," Robin said and then grinned. "I can't wait until we're platonically married so I can call Eddie a whore for sleeping with my husband. It's going to be so dramatic."

Steve stood next to Robin as she opened her notebook, and they took each other's hands. Together, they started chanting in Latin. And when it was done, Steve happily wiped off the runes off Eddie's chest before presenting him with a temporary robe with promises of taking him out to pick out his own. In the meantime, Eddie was wearing Steve’s pink bathrobe. The three of them sat on Robin's window sill, hanging their feet outside. Robin and Steve sat on either side of Eddie.

"Do you think there are a lot more people like us out there in Hawkins?" Eddie asked.

"Definitely," Steve and Robin said, looking at him.

Eddie laid his head on Steve’s shoulder and intertwined their fingers. There came a sudden breeze, whipping through their hair. They smiled. They definitely felt magic in the air.

Part Three

[eternal-love]

MY DAAAAARLING! I know we have talked about this so let’s think about it - Austin comes home after long day and all he wants is to relax, so reader decides to help him shower and eventually showers with him and the rest is on you 😏🤭

SOAKED

Pairing: Austin Butler x Housewife!reader

Summary: Austin comes back tired from a day filled with meetings, you decide to help him blow some steam.

Warning: smut (blowjob), gender roles?????

Note: This one is for my baby. Like last week we were fantasizing about taking a shower with Austin and this came out. @butlervibesonly @annesart

You had recently married Austin, you were the happiest ever. You remembered the wedding as if it had been yesterday. It was a private affair, on a small courthouse with his closest friends and family.

The house you lived in was a bit far from the actual city, Austin was a very private person so he liked having his own space that the paparazzi didn’t know about. You didn’t have to drive anywhere either, you were a housewife.

You baked a cranberry pie, the kitchen smelled delicious, everything was coming together to perfection. As soon as it was done, you plated it down to let it cool down, when you heard the door open, the sound of his boots and him dropping the keys on the coffee table.

Austin groaned as he sat on the couch and threw his head back. “C’mere, babe.” He called you over. Wearing his usual black sweatshirt, black pants and brown boots.

Obediently you listened, you sat by his side and cuddled with him, what a great welcome.

“I missed you.” You said, hugging him tightly. He chuckled lowly, his hand drawing circles on your back. “I made you a pie. I know it’s your favorite.”

“A pie? My, how am I all lucky? Huh?” He purred, his voice deep as it had always been. You chuckled as he grabbed your face with his hand.

“Just for you. You know it.” You smiled as you looked up at him.

“But first, I have to shower. I stink.” Austin chuckled, he pecked your lips. To which you groaned, you didn’t want him away for not even a second.

You reluctantly let him go upstairs to shower, after a few minutes, you slowly crept upstairs and walked towards the bathroom. He never shut the door, Austin always said that he didn’t like the bathroom feeling like a sauna.

So you watched him undress, the way he took off his tshirt, his whole torso out for exposure. His hardened abs, his happy trail, all the miles he had around his stomach. It made you bite your lip, it made you feel dirty for all the thoughts that started running your mind. As a housewife, a part of you believed that a housewife shouldn’t be the one starting all of this, the intimacy, you were used to him initiating everything.

But you were caught, he turned his face around and let out a chuckle as you let out a gasp.

“You can come in. Come on.” He said, a bit embarrassed you came into the bathroom. “Anna shower with me? I know you do, doll.”

Your face heats up, but a smile crept into your face. “If you don’t mind it.” You said as you started unbuttoning your dress.

The shower was warm, perfect for you both. As you stepped in, you both got wet, you grabbed the soap and loofah, you knew he was tense, you could just feel it. But as soon as you scrubbed him, he let out some groans.

“Feels good?” It was more of a rhetorical question, a small smile on your face.

“What d’ya think?” He opened his eye, smiling at you.

You kept scrubbing him, but he didn’t really get that relaxed, at least not how you expected it. You knew he was in a lot of stress lately, with all the meetings with his agent and PR team. A part of you knew that he needed more intimacy to relax, and you were more than willing to do it.

You turned off the shower, he was immediately confused. He had only just washed his body.

“What are you doing?” He asked, raising his eyebrow. Your face was what gave away your intentions.

“Helping you relax.” You stood in front of him, slowly kissing his neck, wet kisses, sucking on his skin, he threw his head back, he started whimpering.

“I see what you mean…” Austin said, his voice low and seductive, his hand going to your hair as you slowly went down, kissing his chest tight to below his belly button.

It tingled him immediately, the desire taking over his body, your hands on both sides of his hips. You gave small pecks on his pelvis, before you pecked the base of his cock, he bit his lower lip, you hadn’t even started yet but he was already gripping your hair.

“Eager, are we?” You whispered, he shivered, humming in response.

You weren’t that much into giving blowjobs, it wasn’t your thing. But you tried to do it to him, he deserved it every once in a while.

“Don’t tease me, just do it.” Austin yanked your head back, a bit hard that it made you squirm. “Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You nodded as he stopped gripping so hard. You mentally thanked god, you didn’t want him pulling hair out your scalp.

You got back to work, your hand grabbed his hardened cock, held it close to your face, he was always very well-endowed.

You licked your lips, and then gave a long lick across his length. Austin let out a loud moan, the warmth of your mouth making him feel like he’s ready to cum. You took a deep breath before taking his cock all inside your mouth, of course it was big and you gagged, but the sound of his moans made it worth it.

He grabbed a handful of your hair, “Fuck, doll. You’re…” he moaned, his hand just guiding you, he was quite gentle actually. “Amazing.”

You gripped his hips, your nails digging in his flesh.

“C’mon, baby. Take it all… you can.” He whimpered, throwing his head back.

Tears filled your eyes, his cock hitting the back of your throat. Your jaw ached but you were willing to push through it.

“So needy, hmm?” Austin muttered, trying to regain his composure.

You bobbed your head, trying your best not to puke, but the sound of saliva and spit filled the silent bathroom. Sounds so nasty it would send anyone into a coma. Your knees started to ache, you couldn’t wait til it was over, but again, you knew he wouldn’t rest afterwards.

He was reaching his climax, his moans more ragged than before, and louder. Thank God you didn’t have neighbors close enough.

“God! Fuck— doll… I’m gonna…” Austin moaned loudly, he started thrusting his hips, tears ran down your cheeks. “Doll…!” And you felt the hot seed filling the back of your throat. Not the tastiest flavor, but you pulled your head away, his cock leaving your mouth, he whined, he cock was hit with the cold atmosphere of the shower.

You swallowed, fought with yourself to not spit it out, you showed him your tongue after swallowing. He smiled.

“Good job.” Austin chuckled.

The shower was silent afterwards, you both finished cleaning off. And then you got out the shower. You put on the shirt he was supposed to wear, and the towel wrapped around your hair. Austin placed a towel around his waist. And you two did your usual routine. He started shaving his stubble, you sat down in the toilet seat, staring at him.

“You liking what you see?” Austin asked as he finished wiping his face.

“I like this view, it’s gorgeous.” You spoke, your jaw still a bit sore. But you were happy, he looked the times more relaxed.

“I think I should reward you. You deserve it…” Austin purred, his smirk growing.

“Really?” You chuckled as you stood up. His hands were on your waist.

“Hmm, lemme show you what I’m all about.” He leaned down to kiss you, chuckling in between kisses. He guided you towards the bedroom and laid you down in the bed.

He continued kissing you until he slowly got rid of his old tshirt you had on. Your body shivered thanks to the atmosphere of the bedroom. His kissing went down, your neck, your chest, your lower stomach.

If you pleased him, he’d please you back.

“Fuck, baby. You’re soaked…”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Where can a man get a beer around here?” Bucky’s voice distracts you from watching the starchy boil of potatoes.  

You step back look at him as he fills the doorway. The house was built in another time. People were smaller. Or maybe he’s just big. 

“Oh, the beer stores about fifteen minutes away.” 

“Great,” he says. “Phone can’t find it. Map’s blank.” 

“Ah, yeah, up here, that happens,” you say. “Fifteen minutes driving. It’ll be at least an hour on foot.” 

“Right,” the disappointment is crisp in his voice. 

“I got a case of Molson in the fridge. Neighbour’s wife was sick and I helped out. Gesture of kindness... for anyone that drinks. You’re welcome to it.” You take a fork and poke at the potatoes. “It’ll end up in the sink anyway.” 

He inhales audibly, “you don’t mind?” 

“As long as you don’t. I don’t know if it’s any good. I’m not a beer person. Unfortunately, everyone else around here is,” you turn off the burner and lift the large pot. 

You carry it to the sink and dump the potatoes into the strainer. A cloud of steam puffs up and sets a sheen over your face. You grunt and put the hot pot aside. You lift the colander and shake out the excess water. 

You look over your shoulder and set it back down. He’s still in the doorway, watching. It must be strange. To be fair, you feel the same. You’re not used to company and he’s a far way from home. 

You go to the fridge and break off a tall can from the six-pack. You bring it to him and his lips clamp sheepishly, “thanks. Coulda waited til dinner... you need help?” 

“I got it,” you assure as you hold out the can.  

He takes it an examines the label. “More of a Heineken man.” 

“Like I said, I wouldn’t know the difference,” you shrug. 

You return to the sink and dump the potatoes back into the pot. He lingers at the door as he cracks the can. You cross to the fridge again as tension pinches the nape of your neck. You take out the butter and milk. The door sucks shut and you sniff as you back up. 

“I... never been to New York,” you say to fill the void. “I hear it smells.” 

“Stinks,” he agrees. “Born in Indiana but I ended up in New York. Home to me. Or... was.” 

“Right,” you nod as you add some milk and butter to the potatoes and grab the masher. “I grew up south of here. Small town but closer to the city. Compared to this it was a metropolis.” 

“It’s quiet up here.” 

“Sure it,” you agree. “It’s nice. Most of the time.” 

You put a lid on the pot to keep it warm and go to the stove. You turn off the steamer as the lid begins to tremble. The timer on the stove counts down. 

“I can take you to the beer store tomorrow. Sorry but I hate driving after dark. The moose don’t exactly abide by the rules of the road.” You explain. 

“It’s fine,” he takes a loud slurp. “It’s beer. It’s not...” he sucks his teeth loudly. “You know, I can’t even get drunk. The taste is just familiar.” 

“Fair enough,” you hit the cancel button before the time can yell at you. “Dinner’s ready.” 

You open the cupboard and take down two plates. You lay them out side by side and work at doling out the portions. His shadow hovers on the other side of the stove. 

“Thanks, you know,” he dares to inch closer. “You already put a roof over me, now you’re feeding me.” 

“No biggie. Just the way up here.” 

He sniffs and gets closer, peeking at the pan as you carve out a hunk of meatloaf, “hadn’t had good home cooking since... well, I been living off the microwave crap or take out.” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you warn him. “It’s nothing special, I manage. As long as the meat’s cooked, I’m not complaining.” 

“Me either,” he agrees. You lift the plates but before you can bring them to the table, he stops you. He puts the beer on the counter and brings his hands to the edges of the plates. “I got it.” 

You let him take the food and he brings it to the table. You watch him then scoop up the can and follow him. It’s going to be an adjustment. For both of you. 

You put the Molson next to his plate as he’s reluctant to claim his seat, “dig in. It’ll get cold.” 

You go back to grab cutlery and come back. You sit and hand him a knife and fork. He reaches with his left hand and hesitates as you look at his metal digits.  

He clutches the cutlery and quickly retracts. You don’t mention it though you do wonder if he’s embarrassed. Why? Isn’t that what makes him special? A hero? Or whatever he is. 

“This place is old. My ma had the same lintels on her doors in 1934.” He points with his fork to the door frame. 

“Old on top of old. Those are actually from the twenties. No one was doing renos in the thirties, I’m sure you know that. Somewhere back there, one of my great great whatever’s put in a stove and fridge and wired the place up. Kept the fire stove though. Antique now.” 

“Antique, like me,” he scoffs. 

You nod, unsure how to respond. You hope you don’t think you were implying anything. You get a bit carried away. Your mother and grandmother were always into genealogy and you caught a bit of the bug. 

Or maybe he thinks you’re over explaining. He was alive. He would know all these things and could guess the rest. You bite into the meatloaf and stare at the painted trim on the plate. 

“Ma’s place was taken down. Lived near the base since dad was there and they flattened it for a firing range. Now the place in New York... drug den now. New York, glamourous, really. You’re missing out,” he tuts dryly. 

You look up at him and give a tight-lipped expression, “sorry to hear that.” 

“It is what it is. The world changes. With or without you,” he reaches for the beer and swigs. His blue eyes dart to the wall and sharpen. He put the can down with a bit of force and pats his chest. He feels around and grimaces. “I’m gonna have a--” there’s a crinkle and he slides out another sucker. “Well...” 

He waves the candy at you and stands. You watch him silently and scrape your fork through the mashed potato. He twirls the stick between his fingers. 

“It’s good,” he points to his plate, “really.” He clears his throat and shifts on his feet, “back soon.” 

He turns and marches out. You look down at your food and slice into the loaf. The grainy scent of the beer wafts over. You take another bite as your forehead creases in thought. Sam’s a funny guy and this feels a bit like a joke. 

[fishfooddude]

No Phone Policy 4.0

Originally, this was going to be the final part, but my word count got up to about 3k, and it was a lot to process. I also like odd prime numbers, so maybe one more part after this or two... maybe three, but that feels ambitious.

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Part 3

“Should we try to get him out of the house?” Syd whispered to Richie. He shook his head, “I don’t know what to do.” He felt defeated. Richie watched Mikey’s downward spiral. He tried to help him, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t watch the same thing happen to Carmy; he couldn’t lose Carmy, too.

“What the fuck should we do? I don’t know how he’s gonna react when she comes home with the baby.” Syd sighed as she anxiously chewed her lip. She’d seen how Carmy reacted to stress in the past, but she’d never seen him like this.

Carmy hadn’t slept since you’d kicked him out of the hospital room. He couldn’t remember what day of the week it was. He’d been meal-prepping all of your favorite dishes. He cleaned and sanitized every bottle, pacifier, and every part of your breast pump. He cleaned the entire house with a toothbrush and ensured the nursery was ready to go, and there was no dirty laundry. The house had never been this clean. He wasn’t eating and stunk of a cocktail of cooking oil, body odor, and bleach. Syd and Richie had been in your home for hours, but Carmy hadn’t acknowledged their existence. 

“Yo, Cousin.” Richie’s voice boomed through the empty kitchen. Carmy looked up at im from the floor; he’d been on his knees scrubbing the kitchen floor, muttering incoherent nonsense. “Take a fuckin’ shower, Carmen. You fuckin’ stink.” Richie leaned against the counter and watched Carmy throw his scrub pad on the floor by his feet before he stood up and stormed out of the kitchen. He shoved past Sydney before trudging upstairs.

“What the fuck was that?” Syd’s eyebrows knit together as she confronted Richie in the kitchen. He shrugged, “I told him the truth.” 

 ~

“Thanks for the ride, Natalie.” you grinned as she parked in the driveway. She nodded, “Come on, let’s get Wolf inside.” 

Natalie helped you out of the car and grabbed your bag while you unclipped Wolf’s car seat from its base. “Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N? You’re more than welcome to stay—” You cut Natalie off with a passive affirmation about you being fine. Something in you told you going home with Wolf was a mistake, but you couldn’t avoid Carmy forever, no matter how much you wanted to…

Syd’s eyes lit up when she saw a sleeping Wolf in her car seat. “Oh my god—she’s so beautiful!” she attempted to hush her excited squealing. You grinned, “Thanks, Syd. Listen, I want you guys to swoon over my baby all day, but ya know… the elephant in the room and all…” you half-heartedly joked, trying not to cry when the thought of Carmy was brought to the forefront of your mind. 

Reluctantly, Syd and Natalie left after a lot of convincing. Richie stood his ground as the women reluctantly left. “Richie, I’ll be okay.” you sighed as you unbuckled Wolf to pull her out of her car seat. He shook his head, “Look, Carmys scarin’ me. I just want to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” you nodded and held Wolf close to your chest as you slowly climbed the stairs, Richie hot on your trail.

~

Carmy was lying on the floor of the nursery. He closed his eyes and pushed a hand through his damp, messy curls. As footsteps approached the nursery, he perked up, turning his head to face the pale yellow door. “She’s eatin’ and shit, right?” he heard Richie’s voice echo through the hall. When Carmy heard your snicker, he rose to a sitting position. You came home. 

“I’ll ask Tiff if she has any of Eva’s baby stuff- that shits fuckin’ expensive.” Richie offered as the two of you found your way to the master bedroom so you could set Wolf down in her bassinet. “Thank you, Richie. Any idea where Carmen went?” you anxiously asked as you carefully laid Wolf down. “He fuckin’ stunk, so hopefully, the lizard showered.” Richie laughed before turning his attention from you down to Wolf. Even sleeping, he could tell she would be a carbon copy of you, “She has Carmy’s eyes.” you said when you noticed how Richie was staring at Wolf. He grinned, “You did it, kid… by yourself.” 

Before you could say anything else, you saw Carmy standing in the doorframe. You swallowed hard, suddenly nervous over the thought of actually talking to Carmy. The two of you looked at each other, and as much as you wanted to skin him for missing Wolf’s birth, he looked ill. As a tense silence fell over the room, Richie cleared his throat, catching both your and Carmy’s attention. “You know, I should probably head over to the restaurant. Let me know if you need anything, kid.” Richie said in your direction before turning his attention back to Wolf, “Bye, sweetie.” 

Carmy moved to allow Richie out of the room, “Don’t be stupid.” he whispered as he exited. Carmy rolled his eyes and stared at you, taking in your appearance. You looked tired, your hair was in a bun, and you wore an oversized t-shirt with a pair of equally oversized sweatpants and sandals. He immediately noticed your engagement ring and wedding band were missing from your finger. “Are we okay?” he asked immediately, feeling stupid as the words left his mouth. You scoffed, “We’re absolutely not okay, Carmen. Bond with your daughter. I’m gonna take a shower.”

You pushed past Carmy and headed to the impeccably organized linen closet. Carmy watched as you plucked one of the larger black towels from the bottom shelf and one of your special hair towels before stomping to the guest bathroom.

Carmy stepped into the master bedroom and heard Wolf’s soft half-awake gurgles coming from the bassinet. He looked over it and saw her wrapped up in a tie-dye swaddle- most likely a gift from your Dad. “Hi baby, I’m your Daddy.” he carefully reached down and picked Wolf up. She squirmed as he cradled the baby in his arms before settling a chubby cheek against his chest. “I’m never going to be able to forgive myself for missin’ your birth, princess. I’m always gonna be there now. I promise.” 

~

“Don’t touch me.” you snapped as you felt Carmy shift closer to you in bed that evening. “Y/N, it’s been a month-”

“Yeah, and I’m still pissed.” you cut him off with a huff making Wolf stir in her bassinet. “Go to sleep. It took forever to get Wolf down, and I don’t want to fight in front of her.” you pulled your blanket up to your chin as you scooted closer to the edge of the bed to get away from Carmy. 

“Why the fuck did you name our daughter Wolf?” Carmy scoffed as he sat up in bed, frustrated. You ignored his criticism, which just made him more frustrated, “Will you fuckin’ talk to me?!”

You sighed and sat up in bed. You glared in Carmy’s direction, “Carmen. We’re not fighting in front of the baby.”

“Then fuckin’ talk to me!” Carmy got out of bed. He began pacing around the bed, anxious energy radiating from him like a nuclear explosion. You huffed as you scooped Wolf up. You’d known Carmy long enough to know he was about to explode. You got out of bed and pushed past Carmy to exit the bedroom, “Where the fuck are you goin’?” he yelled after you.

You ignored his yells as you entered the nursery to set Wolf down in her crib. After turning on the white noise machine on her bookcase, you exited the nursery to find Carmy standing in the doorway of the master bedroom. “If we’re going to talk, you need to talk. You yell at me; I’m ending the conversation,” you said matter-of-factly as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

Carmy scoffed and brought his hand to scratch his nose, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I missed the birth, okay? I can’t go back and change it, and I’m fuckin’ pissed off that you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ bitch about it. Okay! Accept my fuckin’ apology so we can go back to fuckin’ normal.”

You stared at him and took in his words, “You know what, Carm. I absolutely will NEVER accept your fuckin’ apology. You’ll never understand how scary it was to give birth alone. You’re a fucking failure as a father and husband. If I had the means, I woulda left your ass.” you spat at him. 

Carmy’s face contorted in anger, “That’s the meanest shit you’ve ever fuckin’ said to me. What the fuck is wrong with you?” he watched as you crossed the hallway to go back into the bedroom. You pushed past him, making him turn on his heel. He grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward him, making you gasp, “Don’t fuckin’ ignore me. I’m fuckin’ sick of this shit.” 

You tried to pull your wrist out of his grip, only for him to tighten his grip. “Carmen. You’re hurting me.” you winced as you brought your other hand up to push against his chest. He grabbed your other wrist and pulled you closer to him. “You’re not fuckin’ leavin’ me, okay?” Carmy hissed as he stared down at you. “Carmen, you’re scaring me…” your voice cracked slightly. Carmy huffed and dropped your wrists, “Let’s go back to bed.” 

You watched Carmy walk to his side of the bed and slip under the covers. Cautiously, you went to your side and stiffly laid down. You flinched when you felt Carmy’s arms wrap around your waist. You swallowed softly and allowed him to pull you against his chest, “I love you. I’m not gonna miss anythin’ else, okay?” Carmy mumbled against your shoulder before softly kissing your exposed skin.

Part 5

[ms0milk]

pitch in a teapot

sanemi x inn keeper

reader has a business to run and sanemi can't help but watch you do it well, barking orders, teaching firmly, smiling and scurrying around like a fancy little bell. There's something he's been trying to get out of you all afternoon but chores keep stealing you away. cw MDNI, frustrated thunderstorm quickie, reader w vagina + penetration, slight manhandling, desperation and a little bit of sass. 4.1k

thank you so much my darling @neiptune for requesting a little sanemi this @ficsforgaza season! you were so generous and patient waiting for this to come out, I hope you enjoy angel

Six bowls of soup upstairs and an old man somewhere in the bowels of the inn with a limp and half a shoe. Right, okay, send two girls to the garden– no. One to the garden and one to the kitchen. That’s dinner taken care of as long as the scholar with the fat pony– donkey, maybe– doesn’t regurgitate an encore of the rakugo performance that couldn’t have been funny in the first place.

You roll the sleeves of your apron slightly tighter in their tasuki. The cyprus walls of your inn bleed fragrance before summer thunderstorms so you make a mental note too, to order storm doors for the second floor before the clouds go black and blue. Incensed breeze, juniper, wisteria, paper windows, one foot, the next, again, each step down the wooden hallway is a quiet knock. Each summer at home is heavier, heavier, and this year is the flood.

“Oi.”

“Not my name,” you blow from the corner of your mouth without changing pace. That breath was ready to jump off your lip before the demon slayer even called out to you; he hates doing nothing and hates even more what great pains your staff take to avoid his room.

“It reeks.”

“Excuse me?” You huff and this time do turn enough to interrogate him via glare. Sanemi, ridiculous, folds his arms in the doorway of a very nice room, a too nice room, without any of the appropriate embarrassment of someone who has been lying in wait. The stippled blue pattern of his robes doesn’t suit him. They clash with his ugly scars and uglier attitude but don't keep him from wearing the chest wide open like a well paid rent boy.

“Stinks.”

“Whatever of, princess?”

He growls and drops his arms as you brace for the lecture, “Demons.”

His heart is incapable of peace and yours with it, and every summer he’s assigned a post in your mountains by a master you’ve never met and who couldn’t possibly be sane themself. Four years of this. Four years of twelve weeks of sixteen-hour-days of the world’s most neurotic demon slayer.

“The whole property is wide open for any fuck to attack.”

You adjust your grip on a slender bucket handle and the cloth in your other arm and continue back downhall, “You always say that.”

“I’m always right,” he nags and pushes free of his bedroom.

You met Sanemi when you were sixteen and still working under your parents. He was a brand new hashira then and prone to fist fights, spitfire, bloodshed. Nothing special. Nothing new. Hashira come and die and new hashira come again. They arrive in flashbangs and ego and leave like everyone else, in pieces.

Your parents were calm, they had peace and practice, they ran this inn, they welcomed Sanemi with his summer floods. They loved him, took his counsel and died by it, and they probably wouldn’t have lost an old man inside the house. But this is your inn now. They aren’t here anymore and at your inn sometimes old men get misplaced.

“And what would you like me to do about all that, sir?”

The hashira keeps an easy military pace behind you, “The gardens need to be reinforced and–”

“Nine acres of wisteria arbor need reinforcement? Yeah I’ll get right on that.”

“The storm will take out ha–!”

“And the other half will hold until autumn. Go berate the kitchen staff for their unpreparedness– they’re all unarmed you know? Totally unprofessional.”

“Y/n–”

“Shinazugawa,” you spin and it all comes out as a threat, a hiss, instead of just a whisper so much so that the water in your bucket nips up your sleeve. “I am the lady of this establishment and you will not address me so familiarly.”

Dark cyprus, cool hallways, the undeniable scent of thunder. Sanemi rests his hand on his sword to glare like he does when his hands don’t quite know what to do with themselves. His eyes roam, quiet under long lilly lashes until they have traced the shapes your tasuki makes with your waist and rise again to your gaze. “We’re not fucking finished.”

“Go eat,” you snap and turn back down the hallway, red at the ears. Lady of the establishment, great job.

Feet aren’t complicated, bone to tendon, tendon to muscle, muscle to skin, one step and another. You tilt your head back and an eager girl rises to wipe sweat from your temple.

“Like this,” you hum and tilt the old man’s heel in your palm. He winces but lets you continue while the girl stares on. “When the skin is split like this it can’t receive moisture– sorry sir, better?” You set his foot on the hammock of cloth between your thighs, “So you need to soak it first before applying salve. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the girl parrots, still unable to look away.

“Yes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile through an eye roll but gesture for her to come sit beside you. You’ve been like this since he’s met you, too old for your body.

You’ll train anyone who asks, hire any runaway girl, absorb the cost of thieves when runaways are exactly that, and you will wash old men’s feet before eating dinner with the self preservation of a samurai. Famously long-lived, those. Sanemi has to look away when you take scissors to the gnarled yellow nails and almost covers his ears when your pupil starts asking you questions about it.

“Feels good right?” You chuckle at the man’s response to your ministrations, and then a little louder, when you realize just how seriously the girl beside you is trying to focus. Birdsong. “Do you have companions on your pilgrimage, sir?” He shakes his head.

You lean away again so the girl can dab your brow and push back stray hairs and turn back to explain overdetailed care instructions to this man who is obviously so embarrassed he can’t hear a word you’re saying. Something about tallow and socks, Sanemi tries to read the syllables off your lips and loses focus the second time your teeth catch damp and pillowed pink.

The man seated in front of you grumbles some and flexes a few fingers around his cane like old men do, but doesn’t protest your instructions. He nods instead of thanking you like a real tough guy.

“Fetch a new pair of sandals from the garden shed,” you instruct your girl who bolts up and out the door past Sanemi without so much as a breath. “And you,” you turn back to your patient, “keep the nails short, you hear?”

He nods again, increasingly avoidant of eye contact. Sanemi tenses in the dark outside the guest’s complimentary room and hates ungrateful fucks enough for both of you.

“And don’t skip any more meals.” 

The man’s wrinkled skin unfolds at his eyes and he pulls his legs back underneath him. You dry your hands after scrubbing clean in a soapy pot and stand to collect your tools. “I couldn’t find you this evening and I hate to lose track of my guests at mealtime.”

You are going to feed every stray you find until the economy collapses. Peasant monks, pickpockets– you’d put up a demon if its stomach growled. After too many unnoticed minutes watching you, following the white x between your patterned shoulders, eating your voice, warming the hallway, you finally pick out Sanemi’s eyes in the dark behind the sliding door. He’s waiting for you. You clear your throat for the broke old pilgrim one last time, “You don’t owe any money. Do not skip meals.” And bid him a wordless good night. The door cracks shut behind you. It isn’t late enough for sunset. Thunderstorms make it so dark so quickly and they mask the scent of blood with all their rain and iron. “What is it?” You deadpan and shuffle towards the stairs with all the confidence in the world a tenured hashira will work to keep up with you.

“Not fucking finishied with you,” Sanemi grunts, working to keep up with you. The apron over your service kimono forces your hips to sway in tight little circles and Sanemi sucks his teeth. He doesn’t look away.

Through the hallway and down the servant stairs, socks on polished wood, you tap, tap, tap nimbly to your next assignment. The room below radiates heat and life. “What do you want?” you whisper.

“I–” he slips barefoot on the slick last step into the kitchen and you stumble in your newly damp right sock. “Euh, I–”

“Mimiko!”

“Lady?”

“Wet.” You point behind you, palming Sanemi out of the way, and a free washerwoman dives for the spot with the rag tucked into her belt. The kitchen rages silently in the easternmost corner of the mansion; men and women sweat over donabe, rinse their body weights in rice, and beat little fires with littler fans. Two women and a boy linger just outside the paper door in clothes that match yours for formality and Sanemi assumes as he weaves through the bustle, that they are responsible for bringing food to customers and for doing everything they can not to sweat through their pretty borrowed uniforms. Your own kimono is purple tonight, a cool little shape bobbing nimbly between flames.

Sanemi opens his mouth to shout after you and shuts it again just as quickly to grind his teeth instead as you lift your apron over your head. You let a girl feed you a spoonful of something on your way out of the room and she wiggles when you nod several times before ducking through the door.

Laundry next, then a double check of the firewood cache and the whole while Sanemi occupies your shadow. A few times you hiss over your shoulder at him for looking so gruff, for looking like a bodyguard, for making your customers imagine your distrust of them, always you bite back before he can get more than a few words out but mostly you just scurry in preparation for the storm picking up warm wind outside.

You avoid the entrance with him so close in tow, armed and obstinate, but make a show of circling both tatami halls where guests come after dinner on rainy nights to stretch and smoke by the brazier with strangers. A female musician trills her koto. The sky hasn’t let loose a single drop of rain yet but wet hangs like a fog and thunder scents the air ahead of its arrival. As Sanemi trails the outer walkway of the mansion behind you, the sky bleeds with the last of day’s light in the cracks between bruised and racing storm clouds.

“Second floor secure?” You confirm with the men slotting thick panels into grooves where paper doors usually go. They nod in their white uniforms. Beyond the porches, beyond the east garden and its fat green vegetables, beyond dogwood trees and sarusuberi and maples that have begun to tremble violently in winds buffeted by humidity and nightfall, the wisteria arbor glows. You radiate a cool purple pull beside him just like your flowers.

The arbor surrounds the property on all sides for half a mile and all three paths away from the house are barred by gates of twisting wisteria vine. The inn belongs to your family, but does not serve Ubuyashiki. Theirs is not the only house that discovered a use for these flowers. Yours is not the only wisteria business in the country. 

“Do you see that?” You murmur at so much the same tone as the wind that Sanemi almost cannot hear you.

Three years ago he left before the end of summer, called away to investigate a massacre nearby. A tree fell that season. It crushed a straight path through the edge of the mountain forest and onto your property where, lured by so much blood and wine, a pair of sister demons descended through the broken orchard and devoured everyone who wasn’t fast enough to hide in the flowers like the slayer suggested they should in an emergency. Your parents evacuated the house and died in it with the guests who couldn’t walk on their own. Nestled under three braided vines at the far edge of the property, you listened to them die.

The winds kick up sand from your vegetable garden and you step off the porch into the start of the storm. Tiny and purple. “Y/n!” Sanemi lunges for you. His sword whips the meat of his thigh and you step out of his way before he can grab any part he intended to. The men on the porch watch you both scramble through the backyard. You snap at the strange guest and duck when he swings a hand towards you, hop in your sandals when he tries to trip you into his arms and dart away like a dragonfly.

“Get back here!”

“Go inside!”

“Y/n!”

“How dare you!”

“Motherfucking, Y/n!” 

“That’s enough!” You bark and twist back towards the garden shed. Your pupil left the door wide open and all its shining tools caught your eye across the yard. Sanemi was staring when you stepped outside. His eyes feel like beads of sweat on the few bare parts of you. His gaze is all teeth on the back of your neck.

With all but one storm door up, not a single guest can hear the ruckus you two kick up outside in the prologue of the storm. “It’s about to pour!”

“Then go join the other guests!” You shout through a particularly violent breeze and you have to grip to the break in your kimono closed. He does not. By the time you lay a winded hand on the wall of the shed, it has started to rain.

A silencing wall of water falls from the back of the property straight towards you. It kills dust clouds in its path and paints every surface soaked in a perfectly straight line. Sanemi rushes from behind and nearly lifts you off your feet to get inside the shed as you watch the supernatural army advance on your home.

“Shit,” he grumbles and winces when the rain overcomes the little shed and splashes off the pavement into his face. He pulls you deeper inside and you jolt. The first crack of thunder is a scream that shakes the ground, “Scared of thunder now?”

“Scared of my profit margins, you oaf.”

Under his shoulder you are glaring at the storm between this shitty stuffy shed and your business. You are so small and wrapped so tightly in layer after layer of fabric. It must be hot. The damp drips down his open chest and thighs, it frizzes his hair at his ears. You must be sweating somewhere in that formal getup. Wet glistens at the curled little hairs on the back of your neck where the skin is just barely visible and it sparkles under your high collar.

“I can’t walk back inside soaked,” you groan, “there’s not enough time to change before final rounds.”

Sanemi takes his hand off his sword. There must be damp parts of you hiding from him. He brushes his knuckle up the bare skin of your neck, across your throat, and you falter slightly.

“Sanemi–”

“Nuh uh, don’t address me so familiarly,” he smirks and cups your cheek in his big hand when you jerk around.

“That’s not–!”

“Not what?” He smiles now, and drops his hand back to his sword so that you might find your own weapon and finish the fight. Four years of this.

You shove a finger into his chest, “You’re such a clingy fuck Shinazugawa,” and shout a little because you know the thunder will hide it. A sudden gust blows the sheet of rain sideways and straight inside the open door of the garden shed, up your dress and down his robes and through your prettily pinned hair. “Y/n this, y/n that, I’m busy Sanemi, I’m stuck in a shed! You’re the only one who calls me and people think we’re fucking! You want my attention you have it so please tell me all about the demons that’re gonna slurp up my customers and fuck my taxes to shit and–”

The door creaks in Sanemi’s hands even through the oceanic sounds of storm when he begins to close it. He nods as you get louder, nods as he slides the door closed and flicks the latch.

“Do not,” you growl, “there’s five thousand–”

“Five thousand little bitches in there lost without direction? They’re fine, Y/n.”

“Don’t call me that here.”

“They’ll survive, little lady.”

You spit, “not better.” And the new humidity of the closed shed begins to swallow you whole. It fills your throat. “What about all the demons you’ve been crying about?”

“You’re such a cocky cuss.”

“And you’re needy,” you taunt. It’s Sanemi’s turn to wince and his frustration starts to drip from all those places he shoves it away from you. He's been gentle with you since that summer. He lets you interrupt him, he follows where you go. “I watched you check perimeters this morning, you don’t need to talk to me about demons.”

“Eyes everywhere huh?” His throat is pink, “Lady of the house.”

You grin and pull him by the loops of his robe into your tiny purple kiss, “Shut up.”

“M’lady,” he growls against your lips and succumbs.

Four years of stolen touches, lips on damp summer skin, coming out of empty rooms too ruffled and pulling the hashira between your legs without disturbing the folds of your work kimono. “Don’t call me that either,” your breath hisses against his throat like an iron and he drops his sword quickly to gather you in his arms.

Too much fabric. Shovels and shears clatter against the floor and one another when the thunder shakes their little house again, and they tremble at every thump and roll of your body against Sanemi’s. He pulls your hips against his and guides your legs around his waist so he can sink into those soft parts of you. So he can tilt his head back to look up at you, so you can pour your kisses down his throat like wine.

You drag your nails up the back of his head when he offers his tongue to your lips, biting, suckling, drawing out gentle sounds and eating them before they compete with the rain outside. Where his hips dig into your own the folds of your skirt fall apart. Legs that glisten with sweat and rain part nicely for him and his own robes grow clingy with exertion where he grinds hard against you. Every subtle roll breaks your concentration in kisses, in lips sliding, begging with salvia and rainwater. His hands cup your cheeks, thighs, the collar of your kimono shudders open for him when he dips to suck bruises under your jaw and the swordsman’s hand loses control as he grips your belt to free you from all this formality. He’ll press crescents into your breasts, he’ll lower his tongue through your peach sweet folds and drink until you cry– but you pull his head back with a sharp yank of your wrist.

Your breath comes in clouds. The inn glows with candlelight across the yard but the light through the shed’s window is too weak. Welts of lighting illuminate the flush of your chest and cheeks. Two seconds of bright and twelve of dark warmth, shaking swirling thunder and then only rain. Sweat rolls from your temples and into the depths of your kimono. It’s been days since he’s had you like this and longer since you’ve had true privacy, others a whole yard away.

You can’t be gone long, he knows. Staff watched you race in here together, watched him shut the door, he knows he knows, he just can’t put you down yet. He leans in for another kiss and you let him fall close enough for his chest to crush yours before pulling back on his hair again.

“Y/n,” he’s suddenly not above begging but you hold his gaze tight. You watch him as your hand slips between the place your bodies meet. Pretty fingers reach for the heat between his legs. Pretty knuckles ghost over the swell of his robes and draw the fabric aside instead of ordering he bring you back inside. Sanemi’s cock perks up in free air as high as this position will let it and rests heavy under the swell of your ass.

He kisses you again, toothy and smiling and when you kiss him back your sharpest teeth clink together. He ruts into your desperation against the wall, harder than the rain, harder than the wind that threatens to blow your shed away and you with it. Obviously he wouldn’t let it but the thought that nature might be jealous of the rumple you made of each other drives him harder against you. Slipping, cock hard and suddenly shifted up against the hair under your belly. Peach fuzz yields to warm slick and Sanemi drops his head to your chest when he shudders to avoid whimpering into your mouth. He slips through your folds with a tight hold still under your thighs and drags himself up, down, up, hypnotized always by the faces you make when you’re trying to keep quiet.

The scars across his body are forever numb, but when your clammy hands paw is his chest he swears he can smell color. He can touch light when you pull his face back to yours frantically, when your hips with all their fabric flowing off of them buck sloppily against his, when he thrusts once deeply inside of you and forces a broken gasp from the back of your throat.

Before you can catch your breath your lips have crashed against his and his hips against yours. Sanemi keeps the relentless, restless, starving pace you like and knows he’ll last only the next few minutes before the worst of the storm blows over. Again and again he carves a palace for himself inside of you. You guide him with the falter of your kisses when he finds that perfect spot and with the slick that coats both of your thighs. Your voice escapes you in choked whimpers, his name comes out in hiccups. You’re a little bell in his arms folded in half and singing for him.

Again and again, out and so deep back inside, Sanemi’s feet grip the floor as he plunges his hips into yours and both of your bodies into the swelling wood walls. His rhythm staggers as you flutter around him and with his head against your shoulder he watches the circles you draw on your clit with the tips of four clumsy fingers as your other hand muffles your voice. He grabs that quieting wrist without thinking and without taking his eyes off the place your bodies connect with lewd squelches and sticky white threads. His threatening grip, his thick cock and your fingers push you right over the lip of your pleasure and fluttering becomes milking spasms quicker than Sanemi can think to treat you gently. That half-sobbing voice he loves so much cheers him towards his own climax and the more sensitive you grow the easier it is to coax those sounds out of you that you try to keep hidden, “Don’t– don’t be so quiet.”

“Inside,” you whisper in reply and draw his face into your hands as his pounding stutters in pace and loses all flow completely under your dreamy gazes. Sanemi can’t keep his eyes open when he cums. His pretty lilly lashes flutter with lost concentration. He shudders, ruts you deeper into the wall and groans with release as he fills those swollen wet parts of you. Warmth pools in your belly and trickles off his cock still buried. Sweat falls like the rain outside.

“Wanna taste,” Sanemi rumbles without setting you down or stilling his thrusts fully. He nuzzles somehow farther into the dip of your collarbones. Soft snow white hair, a heartbeat in the fingers that grip you. Every twitch of his hips is a starving ache.

“C'mon,” you grin, “dinner’ll get cold.”

“Let me taste you.”

“Sanemi, what will I eat if you eat me?”

“Have a few ideas,” he smiles back through the trembling of the shed in encores of thunder and gale. A leak tip tap tip taps nearby. Four years of this, maybe more.

[blouisparadise]

There are so many amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of December. We’re entering a new year feeling incredibly grateful for the amazing fics we got in 2024, and excited for the many we’ll get in 2025! Happy reading!

1) Whispers Of Warm Love | Mature | 3,075 words

Where Harry is an intelligent student and a little bit shy and doesn't like to party much. One day, pushed by his friends, he decides to go to a party and there he meets the perfect omega for him.

2) Show and Tell | Explicit | 3,104 words

A hot pink butt plug sticks out of his boyfriend's bum. The sight knocks the wind out of Harry. His jaw hangs open. He can hear a pathetic whine coming from his own throat. Why is Louis so fucking cruel? And thank god Harry turned his microphone off. Although he suspects his colleagues know by now what his boyfriend's up to, especially judging by Harry's inability to keep a straight face.

3) Show Your Love For It | Mature | 3,331 words

Louis and Harry fuck desperately and Louis shows him how much he loves it after spending hours holding back their desire.

4) Honk | Mature | 3,721 words

Louis was not a romantic. He never really dreamed of finding his soulmate. Definitely not like this. Never like this. Harry was a romantic. He’d always dreamed of finding his soulmate. Just like this. Exactly like this.

5) Welcome To The Madhouse | Explicit | 3,961 words

“Where have you been?” Louis snaps as Harry walks back into the house well after midnight. “I was with Liam. I told you that when I left, Lou” he says and Louis walks into his space “Was Zayn there?” He asks as he pushes Harry back against the wall and runs his face over the boys hair and smells over his neck. “Sure he was, you stink of weed and cheap cologne” he snaps and pulls his face back. “No Lou, he wasn’t there. It was just me and Liam” he says. “Then why the fuck do you smell like a man’s cheap ass cologne?” He snaps and leans back into Harry’s neck and sniffs his skin.

6) I'm All Yours, I've Got No Control | Explicit | 4,391 words

Filled with adrenaline; Harry and Louis get a little desperate after a show. Unable to wait until they're in their hotel room.

7) To Keep My Stocking Filled | Explicit | 4,810 words

A very exhausting day playing Santa at work left Harry to want nothing more than to return home to his girlfriend. His girlfriend, Louis, had her own reason as to why she was excited for him to return back to her.

8) Just Go With It At Christmas | Explicit | 5,152 words

Inspired by the movie "Just Go With It" but this one happens at Christmas and it's omegaverse. Louis pretends to be Harry's ex-wife and they end up admitting their feelings for each other.

9) The Cobbled Streets of You and Me | Mature | 5,256 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 308- Based on a reel where a girl got her stiletto stuck on the drainage rail and a man came to the rescue. Featuring Louis as the cute, carefree omega and Harry as the hot, grumpy alpha who helped.

10) Don't You Wanna Wrap Me Up (And Mistle Touch Under The Tree) | General Audiences | 7,020 words

“Hi! Do you want to join the exchange?” Louis hopes the desperation on his face isn’t as obvious as it feels. “Sorry, uhm, me?” The alpha points a finger at himself while blinking rapidly. “Yeah, you! You look like you would have lots of fun with a Secret Santa exchange,” Louis replies, “Please?” he adds for good measure.

11) You're My Very Own Christmas Love | Explicit | 7,569 words

Harry has to work late at the office on  Christmas Eve. Louis surprises him by dressing as an elf. Gifting him a santa hat to wear while he relieves his stress.

12) Restlessness, Snowman Cookies, And A Realisation | Not Rated | 8,090 words

While Louis, Liam, Niall, and Zayn take the kids out for a few hours to some Christmas fair, allowing Harry to have the house to himself for a bit, Harry decides to make some snowman themed Christmas cookies and some chocolate fudge for Louis in an attempt to ward off this odd restless and off feeling he’s been having lately. And he realises a very possible reason as to why he’s been feeling off lately. That has something to do with Louis….

13) Dreamy White Christmas | Mature | 9,099 words

Just Louis having a nice birthday, a lovely Christmas night and all the attention his loved ones could give him. Especially his alpha's.

14) Just Go With It | Mature | 11,216 words

A plastic surgeon convinces his assistant to join him along with his young boyfriend on a trip to Hawaii and pose as his ex-husband to cover up a lie, but he ends up complicating the situation further.

15) Nonsense Christmas | Mature | 13,291 words

A toast to red lipstick, Christmas songs, misunderstandings, casual sex, front seats, and snow.

16) The Purge: A Military Force | Mature | 13,480 words

Louis hates the purge and everything that it represents, he hates the way the government made a carnage using them as simple pieces of a shit game, he hates the way they feel on their games and are killing each other for them to have a show, but he hates, even more, the way his alpha accept it like a follower sheep, he is a Captain on the military and just closed his eyes, that’s way Louis left him, he couldn't be with someone like that. It’s unfortonately that when he’s out on the purge to safe his friend that alpha became his anchor, the only reason he stayed alive.

17) You're My Christmas Wish ᡣ𐭩 | Not Rated | 13,724 words

“Why is it Merry Christmas and not Happy Christmas?” She tilts her hip in confusion. “Oh. That must be my fault.” Harry says immediately, drawing everyone's attention back to him. Louis raises an eyebrow as he sees the man licking his lips, apparently already very satisfied with what he's about to come up with. “For me, my Merry is happiness.” Louis tenses when the alpha takes his gloved hand, the boy in his lap rubs his cheek at the feeling and Louis relaxes then, caressing his cheek. Harry smiles looking down at the children. “Christmas and her are what I love most in the world. So I decided to replace Happy with Merry, the others must have liked it because they started saying it that way too.” Louis blushes the same color as their costumes. When he turns to look at all the children, they are just as delighted as his heart.

18) You'll Never Feel Like You're Alone | Explicit | 15,714 words

Louis is sick, and Harry takes care of him.

19) More At Stake | Mature | 16,987 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

“Prince Styles of Darthend,” King Andres bowed respectfully, Queen Jo doing the same. Her ruby ring glowing brightly on her finger, back in its rightful place. “I am in your debt. Whatever it is you desire.” For the first time, the cruel prince smirked. Louis let Zayn move him further back in hopes of shielding him. However, his eyes remained fixated on the curly-haired prince. His breath hitched when dark green eyes met his blue ones from across the room. The grip on his shoulder got tighter. “In due time, your majesty.” Prince Styles bowed at the king and queen before he left.

20) Wrapped in Red & White | No Rated | 21,429 words

“It’s very rude not to say hello back,” she scolded, hands planted firmly on her hips like she was running the place. “My mommy taught me that.” Harry stared at the little pup, mouth agape, his grip on the stapler slackening. Was this real? It couldn’t be real. Maybe Jacob had drugged his sandwich earlier because there was no logical reason for a random child to be standing in his office, alone, at 5 PM. “Are… are you real?” he finally managed to ask, brow furrowed in disbelief.

21) Falling In Love | Explicit | 23,984 words

After falling into a spiral of loneliness in Los Angeles, Louis realises he can’t ignore how much he misses Harry. Determined to fight for their love, he heads back to London, hoping it’s not too late to make things right. All he wants is another chance to show Harry how much he truly means to him. After falling hard, it’s time to fall in love.

22) The Thrill of the Chase (Are You Mine?) | Explicit | 29,920 words

Harry leads a search and rescue team who specialise in capturing feral alphas and omegas and returning them to the Feral Recovery Centre so they can be rehabilitated back to their normal lives. The case of feral omega Louis Tomlinson sparks a fight for dominance between Harry's instinctual inner wolf and his rational human mind, the outcome of which flips his life upside down forever.

23) Once Upon A Time | Explicit | 37,079 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Since Louis' mother's death, her book of fairy tales has offered Louis an escape from the tower that he is locked inside for much of the day. However, when his father announces that Louis has been betrothed to the cruel king of a neighboring kingdom, Louis quickly realizes that even the comfort of his fairy tales will not be enough to shield him from the harsh reality of his life. Embarking on a long journey to his new home, Louis is accompanied by his maid and a small group of soldiers, led by Captain Harry Styles. As Louis begins to experience the world beyond his prison and learns more about the people escorting him, he finds himself drawn to the mysterious Captain. But with every step closer to his impending marriage, Louis is forced to confront the life he's being thrust into—and the painful truth that he may never have his happy ending.

24) Show Me Your Soul | Explicit | 53,045 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Louis is an escort trying to survive, never expecting to step into the world of the rich and powerful. When Harry Styles hires him for a week, Louis thinks it’s just a paycheck. But what was supposed to be a simple arrangement turns into something way more complicated than he ever signed up for.

25) This Type Of Love (Give It To Someone Special) | Not Rated | 61,352 words

When Franco Styles recommends him to take a trip to get his head out of his business, Harry decides to listen and spend the end of the year where none of his enemies can find him. He doesn't expect for that decision to have big consequences for his life, but when a blue-eyed man rings the bell of his door, a very talkative florist, he goes down an unexpected path in which love and fear intertwine. How much is he willing to risk for this new connection?

26) The Crow Flies Straight | Explicit | 80,378 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest. Check out the full collection here.

Harry Styles is the prince of notorious Biker gang Sons of Anarchy in picturesque Charming, California. He's done his best to live a life free of the law and free from attachment. Until a chain of events cause the one person he thought he'd never see again to be dragged back into his life of crime and debauchery. Louis Tomlinson ran away to medical school years ago, because he liked Harry and his danger a little too much.

27) Twinkling Lights, Fated Nights | Explicit | 87,330 words

Louis is an Omega who doesn't like being told what to do and is happy with his single life in the snowy town of Frostbrook after a terrible previous relationship. But then Harry turns up - an Alpha who is anything but the typical macho. Instead of giving commands, he makes an effort to understand Louis, which annoys him more than anything. But Harry doesn't give up. And maybe that's exactly why they fit together so well: Two people who don't fit the cliché at all, but who suddenly feel more for each other than they would have expected. In the midst of lights, snow and mulled wine, something begins to grow that neither of them had planned - even if Louis would rather not admit it. A story about healing, love and finding home in each other.

28) The Boy Saw A Comet | Mature | 98,324 words

Harry and Louis once dated in high school, but their intense breakup left Harry heartbroken. Now, two years into college, Harry notices the new teaching assistant in his class, who resembles the boy he loved four years ago. Will they reignite their relationship or avoid each other completely? Harry's love for Louis remains unchanged, but he is unsure of Louis's feelings.

29) Fuck Destiny and Fuck You | Teen & Up | 106,550 words

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson were born into two of the wealthiest families in London. Despite their privileged upbringing, they couldn't be more different. Louis was a hopeless romantic who believed in soulmates and destiny. Harry, on the other hand, was a realist who rejected the idea of fate and preferred to forge his own path in life. Their families had been feuding for generations, so it was no surprise that Harry detested Louis. But fate had other plans. Louis discovered that Harry was his soulmate when they both turned 18 and had Harry's name etched on his skin as proof of their destined connection. Harry, however, could care less about Louis allegedly being his soulmate and left the country at 18. Now, three years later, Harry has returned to London. Does Harry still despise Louis? Or will he finally give in to the undeniable pull between them?

30) Nowhere To Hide But Home | Mature | 118,091 words

Harry lunged and tackled the omega to the ground, sending dirt, roots, and shrubs up around them. Buried deep into the soft soil of the woods lining the valley, Harry hovered above the omega with his head as far away from Harry’s gaze as possible. “Louis.” His head snapped around, but that furious expression didn’t waiver. “What do you want? Get off me, you twat!” “Will you run?” “Take a guess.” Louis squirmed anyways, but Harry’s fluttering heart refused to move. He refused to give him a chance of escape, not until Harry got answers, and certainly not until he ate something. He owed Harry answered.“Get off me, Harry!” “Tell me why I should, and I will.” Louis opened his mouth, two thin lips widening like he had something witty to say, but nothing came out. Instead, his cheeks reddened, and he blinked back emotion. Exactly as Harry thought: no answer.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[joi-me-hoi-me-noi]

Hi it’s me again (sorry if you’re getting annoyed by me)

I’m here to request bakugo x reader fluff maybe bakugo had a rough day and he gets home to see the reader and the reader cheers him up by play fighting

Or

Maybe just a wedding where bakugo is way too excited to see the reader (reader is excited to) and class 1-A is trying there best to keep them separated (because of bad luck)

If not please feel free to ignore this you don’t have to do it but anyways stay healthy 😌

A/n: Hello pookie, you're not annoying me at all, you're my first request after all. And I'm always healthy 🤭🤭🤭

BAKUGO x READER - YOU ALWAYS CHEER ME UP

His muscles were aching so badly when he finally finished his shift. As he approached the front door of your shared house, he runs a hand through his hair and lets out a hefty sigh to release the stress that his day brought to him. He opens to the door to reveal you cooking in the kitchen with that cute apron he bought you on. You were dancing and humming along to a song that you knew too well.

He quietly drops his stuff by the door and takes off his shoes to tip-toe behind you and hug you from behind. Katsuki feels your body jump in shock from his touch.

"Katsuki, you scared me. Welcome back." Your other hand reaches up to his blonde locks and massages his hair.

"I'm almost done with the food, I made your favorite." He lifts his head up slightly to peer into the pot you were stirring.

"Kimchi Nabe?" He hums tiredly.

"That's right, Kimchi Nabe."

He stands straight, still keeping a hand on your waist and watches as you work. You pour two bowls of the spicy food and cover the pot with the lid nearby. You turn to face him and you see his face which makes your smile fade.

"Rough day?" He simply nods and doesn't face you.

"How about this? We eat and watch a movie and then find something fun to do afterward." His lip upturns slightly to show his delight as you grab both of the bowls and head into the living room.

During the movie, you could tell his mood was increasingly better. After the movie was over, you started trying to play-fight him, throwing punches that didn't even touch him.

"You would've been knocked out if that landed."

"I'm sure it would've Y/n."

He starts to do the same thing that you were doing, and then it turned to y'all wrestling on the floor. You straddled him, laughing and giggling with him.

"You want to go cuddle now, stink?"

"Yes please."

He picks you up and plants a kiss on your lips then your hair. Lots of cuddles and kisses happened in your shared room, he loves you too much lol.

———

Check out the master list here —> link

[two-white-butterflies]

THE ALCOTT - a. targaryen

You tell me your problems (Have I become one of your problems?)

Description: As Rhaenyra's oldest daughter — you were expected to marry for the gain of your mother's fraction. Aemond Targaryen sees you in Winterfell, your heart feels like jumping out of your chest.

When the snow falls and the white wind blows. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives. Winterfell was colder than you expected, as a lady far used to the warmth of a dragon — it blew your mind how northerners lived in never-ending snow. The guards were cautious of your dragon. He was known as the Cannibal, who preyed on every animal — even those of its own kin. At the same time, you couldn't help but notice their lack of fear, like they were used to seeing dragons this big. "My princess!" Cregan came quick to your side.

The sides of your lips turned upwards, heart heaving with joy at the sight of the man you trusted like a brother. The sight of him made you less worried about war. "My lord," you smiled while wrapping your arms around him, aware of the fact that you stink of dragon and ash. "My mother, the Queen Rhaenyra, extends her gratitude for offering Winterfell as a safe haven." you breathed a sigh of relief, as the dragonkeepers began to usher your dragon away to safety.

Losing the war was your biggest fear. There was no doubt in your mind that your uncle, Aegon the Usurper, will execute you if you ever decide to surrender. He takes a deep breath, carrying a heavy burden on his back. "It is not much of a safe haven as you believe." he stares at you from the side, his hand was placed upon the small of your back — leading you inside of his warm castle.

"What do you mean?" you asked, eyebrows bumping into each other. Winterfell and Kingslanding were your second home, the thought of either betraying you was stupid, yet the latter managed to do so. "Fellow northerns lords have spoken about your house falling from grace. The house of the dragon does not know who rules it —" he explains but you interrupt him in annoyance.

"My mother is the Queen, my uncles are mere usurpers who stand against the throne." you correct, nose scrunching in disbelief. Shame flooded your features. The house of the dragon does now know who rules it, but you do it was fire and blood — the same two that will consume the Hightowers with avarice. "Not everyone believes that." he retorts, you take your gloves off — freezing at the sight of ... Aemond Targaryen. Your uncle, whose aided your sorrows for seventeen years in Kingslanding. Has he come to murder you now?

"My lord, if you wish to offer your loyalties to the Usurper. You are free to do so — but attempting to ambush me?" you accuse, he places a hand on your shoulder, Cregan's eyes staring deep into your own. Your mother called him 'sweet-summer boy' for he was born in the longest summer. He was sweet and kind, but also cold and dangerous. There was no doubt in your mind that he would execute you in the name of the greater good.

"I am not here to hurt you, sister. He arrived here a fortnight ago, offering his hand for one of my cousins to marry but I declined him, because I know that his brother is an usurper who does not deserve the throne. Gods be good, if I allowed a drunken charlatan to ever become king." Cregan's eyes pierced into Aemond's soft skull. He takes a deep breath, eyes trailing away from the Prince he welcomed into his home. "But my council does not offer the same sentiments." he scratches his nose, eyes pulsing with rage. Cregan Stark was loyal to your mother.

"And you thought that it was appropriate to welcome him here? When I am set for a visit?" you questioned, playing with the dagger inside your pocket. You couldn't trust anyone, not the lord beside you nor the uncle who has been with you for seventeen years.

"I am not here for him, my niece. I am here for you?" he admits, breaking the thick wall of ice. His good eye stared at you, lips puckered and pink from the cold. The man that you loved was gone, there were only mere traces of him left. "Are you still mad because of your eye?" you question, taking on a stance for fight. You were well trained in warfare, equipped enough to take his only eye.

"I've long forgiven you, but my sister?" he chuckles for a few seconds, lips smirking at the thought of Rhaenyra. "But still, we are merciful — return home. We'll imprison your mother in Dragonstone, your brothers will be cupbearers and squires for the King. And you, my lovely niece, we'll find a match worthy." he offers, laying out the terms in a way that seemed appetizing.

You stared at him. Blinking, but not thinking.

"Which side are you on?" he finishes, taking a step forward. He was a few feet away, but you could see him perfectly. He had a neat stubble, his left-eyebrow had a thin horizontal line on the center. He has aged more in three-months than he has ever had in his entire life. "The last thing I want is to be on your side." you insult through gritted teeth, Cregan stares at the both of you back and forth.

"No harm will come to the both of you under my roof. My princess, I'm sure that you are tired of all the traveling, it is best to retire. And my prince, the finest wines need your tasting down the Great Hall." Cregan tilts his head to the other door, pulling you away before you could ever start a fight.

----

The owls were chirping outside of your window, nocturnal animals prowling at night for their next prey. He knocks on your door, body standing rigid in front of your window. "My princess," he whispers, trying his best not to awake Cregan whose room was parallel yours.

Your hands reach the door, hands twisting to open the door-knob. You trusted Cregan's promise of no harm coming to you. It was favorable, for you wouldn't be hurt but the same thing couldn't be promised to your uncle.You meet his eye.

A Lavender Lazuli eye that showed you spectrums of different colors. "Aemond," you answered with no respect. No respect is given to rebels. "Go home with me." he offered and you leaned on the door-frame. His voice was low, breath stinking of ale — his eye was downcast and filled with melancholia. He missed you, but you weren't sure of feeling the same with him.

"My home is in Dragonstone. It is where I was born." you replied curtly, lips pressing into a thin line. He placed a hand on the doorframe, stopping you from shutting the door on his face. "Your mother is not the rightful heir. A woman can't hold into power, not in our times." he rasped, earning an eye-roll from you.

You are Rhaenyra's heir. The Queen after her.

"Not in this world yes, but we have always been queer with our customs. In Valyria, women can rule without fight — are you not Valryian, dear uncle?" you taunt, playing at the thought of his Hightower blood. You were not the daughter of Harwin Strong. You were either of Laenor or Daemon's. But one thing was certain, Valyria flooded your veins more than it did to him.

"That is not what I mean." he breaths.

"We waste too much time in fighting this damn war! I'm losing you, qogralbar ziry" he cursed, fist bumping into the wall beside him. Fuck it. He thought about taking you, and marrying you. "You are losing me because of your pride. Your belief of women being incapable of ruling." you rolled your eyes, walking away from him — but he takes ahold of your forearm, pulling you back in front of him.

"I do not think that you are incapable of ruling, I merely believe that your mother should lay down her arms and accept my brother as king." he asserted, keeping his hands on you. "The first thing you desire, is the last thing I could ever dream of." you scoff, pushing him away from you.

By this point, you were both outside of your room — feet barely stepping over the line that divided your room and the hallway. "That is our problem!" he raised his voice slowly. You bite the inner corner of your lips, imagining his murder. "I am one of your problems, uncle." you reply taking a step backward, returning inside your room.

You were just about to close the door, but he collapses unto you — knocked out by the strong northern ale. "I want to forget you." he mumbles before closing his eyes.

taglist: @scarwicht@nyctophilic0vitnir@witch-of-letters

[trashmouth-milkshake]

Can I pls have Rhea Ripley x Fem reader x Dominik Mysterio where they are hanging out at dom's house and the power goes out (for the whole night) and it leads to them confessing their feelings for each other and some fluffy smut? Also glad you enjoyed your request from me! 🥺

Confession In The Dark - Rhea Ripley x Fem! Reader x Dominik Mysterio

Summary: The power goes out for a long time during your hanging at Dominik's house and this whole situation leads you guys to confess your feelings for each other.

Warnings: fluff, mention of smut and burping.

A/N: Hi, dear! Of course! I don't have much knowledge about fluffy smut, but I tried to include only the mention and no kinks because I read in your guidelines you don't write any kink and I though you would be uncomfortable. Hope this is fine, if not, do not hesitate to let me know. Also, sorry I'm late, but I had a writer block.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Rey, Angie and Aalyah were out for a family dinner without that 'pain in the ass' of Dominik.

"That's so rude of them!" You thought once he told you on the phone as he called you and Rhea over to have some beer and watch a movie together.

You and Rhea have lived in the same apartment for three years now and you both agreed to enjoy Dom as you though he could be hurt from being called a pain in the ass by his parents and sister earlier.

Rhea drove at Dom's place. He welcomed you inside before to welcome you in his blanket and pillows fort. "Isn't that a little... childish?" Rhea raised an eyebrow at the amount of blankets and pillows held up by the chairs of the dining table.

You punched her arm with your elbow. "Be nice!" Rhea let out an ouch, rubbing the spot you punched. "Okay, okay."

Dominik pulled out three beers from the fridge and the pizza he ordered earlier and that was delivered before you and Rhea arrived.

You spent the first hour chilling in the fort, eating pizza and drink iced beer. Suddenly Rhea burped so loud like her soul left her body or the devil coming out of her.

"Rhea, wtf?!" You said as you covered your nose as it stinked. It smelled like the salami on the pizza she ate before chugging her beer. Dominik laughed, slapping his hand on his knee, almost dying due his own laughing.

"Oh my God, she had fucking demons inside!" He was losing his breathe until a thunder could be heard from outside and the three of you guys were wrapped in darkness. For your luck, Dominik had a wireless light in the fort.

"Fuck- That was a loud one." Rhea cursed. "Just know I'm too afraid to go and fix it." Dominik shaked his head.

"Fuck you, Dom." Rhea crossed her arms to her chest. "Well, I feel like this is kinda... Romantic, don't you think?" You tried to make it sound less worst than it was before Rhea and Dominik could get into a fight.

"Speaking of fuck-" Rhea shutted his mouth, covering it with her palm before he could finish his inappropriate sentence and ruin the surprise, making you uncomfortable. "We both actually have something to confess to you, Y/n."

You gasped. "What a coincidence. I have a confession as well." You admited.

Their eyes widened. "You do?" You nodded to confirm, before starting with your confession first.

"These days we spent together, I figured out I developed some kinda of feelings for you guys." You face heated up after you spoke.

"Y/n..." Rhea started, uncovering Dom's mouth. "We hope we don't ruin this moment, but..." He continued. "We figured out we have feelings for you, too."

Once you guys were all done with your confession, your eyes locked, an awkward exchange of romantic look made your faces heat up even more.

"This is kinda awkward..." Dom broke that little silence. "But do you think we could already take our relationship to the next level?"

You smiled, giving them a nod to consent.

You won't easily forget the face of the other members of the Mysterio family when they came back home earlier than you guys though and the fort was already filled with your guys' moans and whimpering.

[eggcompany]

Julian, On My Knees Part1

Young, broke, omega Julian Pankratz, Jaskier, finds a place to live. Sharing a nice little flat in the good part of town with a fit older alpha who's daughter just moved out. The room is perfect, his own bathroom, and his flatmate is probably the most gentle yet stern, buff and beautiful, and sweetest smelling alpha he's ever encountered. It's just perfect

At least he thought so. Stupid thin walls, stupid heat brain.

“Hi! You must be Mister Rivia! I’m Julian Alfred but everyone calls me Jaskier. It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance.” The young man said quickly, in a chirpy way as his hand stuck out as soon as the front door swung open. His eyes squinted with how widely he smiled, the picture of happiness and joy. 

Geralt shook his hand, taking in the chipper man. 

He was nearly as tall as the older alpha, which was surprising but welcomed. He’d be able to reach all the shelves, Geralt thought as he took stock. The boy had messy brown hair and a round baby face. Soft pink cheeks, sparkling blue eyes, smooth summer sun tinted skin, clean and nice. So much more beautiful than his profile picture. 

Geralt nodded, turning to let the omega into the apartment, waving him in with a hand. 

“Hmm, this is the flat. Bathroom’s over there. I have my own so that’s yours. That’s my room, you can knock if you need anything, I work from home mostly. There’s a mini fridge in your room, it’s older but if you want it out, I can remove it. The living room, the kitchen, I prep my food so please don’t mess with my containers. I split it down the middle with electric tape to make it easier but it’s not a strict line.” Geralt explained as he walked the other man around the house, pointing at doors. He couldn’t help but glance at the wide smile on the omega’s face. 

He’d explained the apartment over text when the boy said he was interested. It didn’t take Geralt long to take the ad down and decide Julian Pankratz was the only applicant. He was young, only 22 years old, worked part time at a coffee shop and part time riding his bike around delivering food. He was an aspiring musician, liked staying in and watching movies, didn’t have many friends in the city, and most importantly, he was an unwed, unmated Omega. Someone who wouldn’t be bringing another alpha into the house at all hours of the night stinking up Geralt’s space. 

Geralt knew another alpha in the house would only cause trouble. Betas didn’t like all the rules about scenting in Geralt’s building, and most of the Omegas interested so far were 18 year olds who wanted someone to look after them once they left their parents house. 

Julian, Jaskier, was different. He’d said he wanted some freedom and space, just wanting one person to live with so he didn’t get lonely but would let him be his own person. Someone to have his back and talk to but wouldn’t smother him or try to parent him. Seemed like a good fit. 

Geralt smiled a bit, amused, when Jaskier’s eyes widened and explored the kitchen, opening the fridge and cabinets. He almost forgot what it was like to be around someone with enthusiasm about everyday things, a youthful bounce in their step. 

Jaskier couldn’t hold in his excitement. The space was big and open, cool grey flooring with a big rug in the living room and well loved black leather couch and matching recliner, the tv was huge, the kitchen was huge, the cabinets were spacious, the fridge was big and had a nice freezer, and it smelled amazing, like warmth and clean laundry and a little like leather shoes. It was so much bigger than what Jaskier was hoping for, and so much bigger than what it should be for the price they had agreed to. 

“Wow this is nice! I’m so excited! The last flat I was in had two bedrooms and I lived with seven people. I’ll make sure to pay rent on time and keep my space clean, sir. But um… can I ask you something about the room?” Jaskier asked as they made their way to the slightly ajar door. He stopped short of it, not reaching for the doorknob but standing patiently. 

Geralt waited a minute for the boy to continue but Jaskier was waiting for the Alpha’s permission. Geralt liked that, it was respectful and pet something ingrained in his mind. 

“Yes?” Geralt asked as he stood beside the door he’d freshly painted, a nice light nearly white. He watched the omega look down at the floor, cheeks turning a cherry color. They had discussed house rules, rules for the complex, rent payments, but not quite the details of the actual. Apart from the contents and size. 

“I'm an omega. I… have quite um veracious heats. Are the walls…?” Jaskier said in a timid way, embarrassment burning inside of him. He’d only told Mister Rivia that he was an omega, he’d felt it was inappropriate to talk about his heats and such over text. He wanted to make a good impression on the alpha, didn’t want him to think he was some floozy puppy looking for a mate and a free bed. He was a grown man, he wanted the alpha to see that. Even if he still had to ask about the ventilation and soundproofing. 

Geralt understood immediately though, having had the room remodeled after Cirilla had presented. He wasn’t shy about omegan issues, he had an omegan daughter, and had dealt with her issues. Not much scared him anymore. Nothing is more exhausting than a thirteen year old omega who wasn’t scared to leave the house in her pajamas, barefoot, to walk two miles to McDonalds if you didn’t wake up fast enough. 

Geralt wasn’t a blushing twenty year old alpha anymore, after all. He could handle having a screaming banshee in the house for a few days a month. 

“Yes, soundproof and insulated. You have your own thermostat, the door has a seal around it, and there are extra ventilation vents that lead out and not to the rest of the apartment or building. I had it specially remodeled to be… as comfortable as possible for an omega.” Geralt explained and pushed the door open, welcoming Jaskier inside. He stood by the door, wanting to keep the separation of Omegan Space and General Space very stark. 

Jaskier walked in, eyes looking at the ten foot ceiling, the calm blue walls, the plush grey carpet, and the still plastic wrapped mattress Mister Rivia said would be provided sitting on a black metal bed frame that had a spiral patterned head and footboard. It was bare but somehow he could already picture where he’d put his things, hang his posters and pictures. 

He looked at the closet with its louvered doors and the big window overlooking the park that was spread out next to the building. He could open it and get good fresh air or the warm sun, and hear the rain at night. 

“Wow… This is amazing, really. So much space and such soft carpeting… so plush. I'm really really happy. Thank you Mr. Rivia! I’ll go get the rest of my stuff, just a couple bags and my instruments and my ikea shelves.” Jaskier thanked graciously, and happily, nearly skipped, to the front door. The alpha was right behind him, grabbing some keys from the rings by the door. 

“I’ll help you. I have your copy of the key in my truck anyway.” Geralt said and couldn’t help the small smile that smirked on his lips at the omega’s genuine response. 

“Oh, thank you, dear.” Jaskier said as he slipped his shoes back on and opened the front door. He couldn’t help but feel giddy. He’d always dreamed of a place like this. So what if he had a smoking hot roommate who smelled so nice, it was only a bonus. He couldn’t wait to get the plastic off that bed and sleep alone for the first time in… since he moved out of his parent’s house. 

It was like heaven already. 

~~~~~

Geralt was surprised about how much he enjoyed another man’s presence in his home. He liked the sound of Jaskier cooking in the kitchen, he liked that the omega would leave his bathroom door open after he got a shower and his scented steam would waft out, all honey sweet and warm, he liked that Jaskier would come quietly sit down and watch TV with him if he heard a show come on. 

He liked when Jaskier sat on the kitchen counters under the bright white lights to tweak and fix his old second hand instruments. He liked that Jaskier would talk and talk, about his job, customers, his music, anything in the world and not get offended when Geralt didn’t answer. The alpha found it soothing to have the chatter while eating dinner or breakfast. He liked that Jaskier hummed as he did laundry or washed dishes or swept, tunes that he’d hear on a guitar or keyboard after a few weeks. Geralt felt less lonely, like the hollow feeling he felt after Cirilla moved out was being filled, not in the same way his daughter’s presence did, no not at all, it was an all new feeling. It was nice.

Jaskier loved living in the apartment. He could open up his window and smoke when he got itchy for a cigarette, he could work late into the night and not worry about making too much noise, he could masturbate and not worry about the smell or his sounds, and Mister Rivia let him watch TV with him. 

He loved that. He loved sitting by the older alpha, eating dinner with him, greeting him in the morning. He loved that Mister Rivia would ask him if he had a good day at work or if he was cold or if he got wet by the rain and then tell him to get a warm shower and put on some dry clothes before dinner. He liked that when he forgot his work apron and his name tag and his jacket, Mister Rivia caught him in the lobby of the building, all three in his hand and a gentle finger wag. 

He loved being looked after. It wasn’t overbearing, it was sweet. 

They were happy together, Geralt made sure Jaskier knew when to be out of the apartment when his daughter or ex-wife was visiting, sending Jaskier off with a few dollars to get coffee or a snack. Jaskier gave Geralt ample warning when he was going into heat, making sure the alpha was okay with him to heat in the apartment before locking himself away in his room for a few days. 

There were a few hiccups. Geralt had a yelling match in his office which made Jaskier cry and hide away at his friend’s house till Geralt called him, and swore it wouldn’t happen again. Jaskier came home drunk, very drunk, and fell asleep half hung over his toilet, naked from the waist up, shoes left in the middle of the floor, front door left unlocked. Geralt had given him a strong talking to. 

‘That is not safe Julian. If you ever get that drunk, where you can’t keep yourself on your own feet, you call me. At least then I can lock our front door.’ Jaskier had sniffled and nodded, making sure he had Geralt on speed dial. 

And the one time they actually argued. Four months in and they had a fight. Jaskier wanted to hang up a new poster, a big framed thing. But he didn’t ask where the step ladder was and thought it was too rude to stand on a dining room chair. So he stood on his computer chair. And left his bedroom door open. 

Geralt had come home from a meeting at the office, tired and uncomfortable in his tailored suit. He’d barely broken the entryway when he heard Jaskier scream out in fear. He found Jaskier crying, hand over his bloody knee. He was first concerned and scared but once he saw it was just carpet burn, and noticed the computer chair was tipped and the half hung poster, he was angry. He barely kept his voice from rising as Jaskier cried, yelling back.

 ‘I’m a grown man, I can do it by myself!’ Jaskier had shouted, shoving away Geralt's concerned hands. 

‘Obviously, if you used the right things. You should never stand on a swivel chair, Julian, You can be as grown as you want as long as you use your head! Don’t be stupid Julian. Think.’ Geralt had reprimanded, leaving a hand to help Jaskier to his feet. Jaskier had pouted and stomped to the bathroom, slamming the door. Geralt had huffed and slammed his own door. 

Jaskier apologized and looked like a dog, tail tucked between his legs. 

‘I’m sorry. Just got scared.’ 

‘I forgive you. You know where the step ladder is, next time, use it. Please’ 

And all was set back to normal. 

Month after month, five had passed, their few disagreements passed easily, and soon Jaskier had been there for Christmas. 

They had exchanged small gifts. Jaskier got Geralt a pair of new blue slippers because ‘Geralt yours are ugly and old, look these have really good insoles!’, and Geralt got Jaskier a nesting bundle of music print blankets and pillows.

 Jaskier had cried and told Geralt that it wasn’t fair and that he shouldn’t have spent so much money, ‘Jaskier would it make you feel better if I said it was on sale?’ 

‘Yeah, it would.’ 

‘It was clearance, cost me barely anything.’ 

‘Okay good, lie to me if it makes me feel better.’ 

‘I will’, Geralt had rubbed the omega’s back until he stopped crying. He’d made a note to himself to always tell Jaskier his gifts were cheap, even if they were $100 nesting bundles. In Geralt’s mind it was worth it, to see Jaskier tie the bundle to feel each piece, cotton, flannel, fuzzy material that Jaskier rubbed against his lips repeatedly until he hauled it all to his room with a big smile. 

And then New Years and Jaskier sent Geralt a selfie, covered in glitter and glow sticks under a blanket of confetti and fireworks, right at 12:01. Geralt had saved the photo, he didn’t know why, but the big smile on the omega’s face and the way his cheeks were crimson red and eyes drunk dilated, it made Geralt’s heart jump. He didn’t mention it to Eskel or Lambert when they asked why he was smiling at his phone during their poker game.  

Then Valentine’s Day which was the worst because Jaskier was supposed to be in heat but he’d just started new hormonal heat aids, which supposedly were supposed to keep his cramps at bay, and they were making him crazy. He sobbed into a gallon of ice cream on the couch, covered in piles of blankets, watching some disgustingly cheesy romance movie with Brad Pitt.

Geralt was trying to finish a spreadsheet but each time he heard the omega sob, it felt like his heart was being ripped out, making him hurt. So he was out on the couch soon enough, rubbing the omega’s back as he cried and babbled about how the medicine wasn’t working and his stomach hurt and his head hurt and he felt starving and he was getting fat and a million other things. Geralt just shushed him and didn’t say anything. Eventually Jaskier calmed down and fell asleep there on the sofa, leaving his empty tub of ice cream and spoon on the side table. Geralt put pillows behind his head, wiped his sticky face and hands with a damp paper towel, and turned the tv and lights off. It made Geralt feel better, even though he kept his door open, headphones half off. Just until Jaskier dragged himself to bed. 

They liked living together, they liked having each other around. Just as roommates, as friends, as… whatever they were. They respected each other, never going into each other's bedrooms, Geralt never going into the omega’s nest and Jaskier never stepping foot in the alpha’s den. They didn’t talk about Yennefer or Jaskier’s heats. 

They pretended to not hear each other’s personal dramatics. Jaskier pretending to never hear Geralt’s phone calls with Yennefer or the late night binges on the candy he had stashed above the fridge. And Geralt never hearing the noises that came from Jaskier’s bathroom at 3am.  

It was easy, it was a silent arrangement that worked. 

Until it changed.

[katelynnwrites]

If You Ever Wanna Fall In Love, If You Ever Wanna Bet On Us, If You Ever Wanna Be My One (I’ll Be Waiting) | Ona Batlle

warnings: so much fluff

word count: 2068

summary: the story of how you fell in love with ona and how ona fell in love with you

chosen song: i’ll be waiting by cian ducrot

a/n: bonus chapter 5 of you were bigger than the whole sky (you were more than just a short time)

Ona seems nervous as she leads the way to her house, which is a short walk from the bus stop.

You had never been there before but when Ona invited you over for lunch, there was no way you were going to say no.

You had only known the brunette for two weeks but you had quickly learnt that it was almost impossible for you to say no to her. Plus you would never miss an opportunity to spend more time with her.

The twelve year old defender’s very good at making you laugh and you feel entirely comfortable with her. You like her.

‘We’re here.’ Ona softly says.

Ona’s house is a nice one and as she opens the door, you realise that it’s homey and obviously well lived in.

It makes sense that Ona would live here because her house feels warm and welcoming, exactly like how Ona feels to you.

‘It’s lovely Oni.’ You genuinely tell her.

Ona practically beams, ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you to my mother.’

Ona takes your hand in hers and guides you to her kitchen, where her mother is making tapas.

She greets you with a warm smile and immediately says, ‘Hi. You must be the friend my daughter is always talking about.’

‘Mama.’ Ona protests, her cheeks flushing.

Even the tips of her ears are red and you laugh.

‘Hola Mrs Batlle.’

‘Hola. And none of that Mrs Batlle nonsense please, it makes me feel old. You can call me Mama or Mami, whichever you prefer because I have a feeling that Ona here, will be bringing you around a lot.’

By then, Ona’s as red as a tomato and she disappears from the kitchen, mumbling something about setting the table.

Ona’s mother laughs, before looking you up and down.

‘You need some feeding. Look how skinny you are, don’t your parents feed you? Come on, sit down and eat this.’

She hands you a plate of food, practically shooing you out into the dining room.

******

You don’t say anything, simply sitting down next to your fourteen year old girlfriend and taking her hand in yours. (even at fourteen, she has a tendency of getting too far into her own head).

You squeeze it tightly and Ona inhales sharply.

Leaning closer to her, you murmur, ‘Onita I know you’re blaming yourself for that own goal. I’m not going to tell you to stop because I know you better than that. But I just want you to remind you that you are an amazingly talented defender and that no one else is blaming you. It’s only halftime and we still have another forty five minutes to make a difference.’

It’s a small stolen moment in the crowded locker room where your coach is giving a loud halftime speech. The air stinks of sweat and it couldn’t be a less romantic moment but it’s the one where Ona realises she’s in love with you.

******

‘Hola Mami. Is Ona home?’ You say as you walk into the kitchen of Ona’s home.

Ona’s mother greets you with a tight hug.

‘Sí. I think she’s having a nap.’

You laugh. Fifteen year old Ona had recently discovered that naps after training sessions are a good idea.

‘She’ll probably be asleep for a few more hours so sit down and I’ll fix you a plate.’

You begin to protest her generosity but she gives you a knowing look.

‘You only went home to shower after practice didn’t you? You haven’t eaten yet.’

Ona’s mother takes your silence as an answer and she starts taking out leftovers from the fridge so that she can warm them up for you.

‘Thanks Mami.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She hums and kisses your forehead maternally.

******

When you’re done eating, you wash your plate despite Ona’s mom telling you that you didn’t have to.

Then you head up to your girlfriend’s room.

The brunette is all wrapped up in her comforter, clutching her stuffed cheetah close.

You giggle softly, walking over and pressing a kiss onto her cheek.

Ona doesn’t even stir so you pull the comforter back slightly and slip in behind her.

Her twin bed is cramped with the both of you in it but it lets you be closer to her so you have no complaints.

Gently, you drape an arm around her waist and settle yourself down for a nap.

******

Ona wakes to find you curled into her and she smiles.

‘I don’t know when you got here but I love that you’re here.’

She happily runs her fingers through your hair, adjusting herself so that she’s able to tuck your head under her chin. The defender easily puts her stuffed cheetah aside in favour of holding you.

Ona is looking at you with complete adoration when her mother quietly knocks on her door before opening it.

‘Oh you two are so cute.’

Ona grins, ‘I don’t know about me but mi novia is plenty cute.’

Ona’s mother laughs.

‘Well do you know if she’s staying for dinner?’

The brunette thinks for a moment and then nods, ‘Probably. She said her parents won’t be home until late and I’ll feel better if she ate with us instead of alone at her house.’

‘Okay.’

The older Spaniard makes to leave but pauses.

‘Ona?’

‘Yes Mama?’

‘You look at her like she’s your whole world. When are you going to tell her you’re in love with her?’

‘Mama!’ Ona starts but as her mother raises an eyebrow, she sighs.

She looks at you for a moment before looking back up at her mother.

The fullback keeps her voice soft, not wanting to wake you, ‘Not yet. I can’t tell her yet. We’ve only been dating less than a year and I don’t want to scare her off.’

Ona’s mother chuckles, ‘Have you seen the way she looks at you? Ona, she’s completely in love with you too.’

The brunette blushes and whispers, ‘I hope so. I really do.’

******

After you and Ona exchange your first I love yous, it’s like Ona can’t stop (and you hope she never does).

You may have admitted your love for her first but she is just (if not more) eager to make sure that you know she loves you too.

She tells you she loves you every chance she gets and your heart never fails to skip a beat whenever she does so.

‘I love you.’ She says now, pressing a little kiss to the skin just below your ear.

You shiver and she repeats the action, whispering another soft, tender, ‘I love you.’

Aitana gags, ‘You guys, not here!’

******

‘You came!’

Ona leans up on her tiptoes so that she can kiss you. She had sprinted right over to the stands as soon as the whistle had blown, not bothering to celebrate the important win with the rest of the Barcelona B team. (she celebrates with you before she turns to her family, much later but her parents aren’t mad, knowing how much you mean to her. her mother is in fact too busy taking photos of the both of you to even think about it).

‘Of course I did.’ You whisper, smiling at the sight of your sweaty sixteen year old girlfriend who had just played a brilliant ninety minutes.

Ona gently pushes you back to make some space so that she can climb over the barrier.

She does and she’s extra cautious not to accidentally bump into you, not wanting to hurt you any further.

Your persistent foot injury had been keeping you from playing and that had been getting you down recently.

Ona had been trying her best to comfort you but she felt like the fact that she had been playing regularly while you weren’t was making you upset.

The brunette carefully kisses you again and you frown.

‘Oni why are you holding me like I’m going to disappear?’

Ona’s hands squeeze your waist and she hugs you, being mindful of the walking boot you had on again.

‘I-I didn’t think you were going to come.’ She admits.

She hadn’t dared to text you prior to the game, not wanting to rub salt into your obviously painful wound.

Her words leave you confused but you answer her anyway, ‘Why wouldn’t I come Ona? This is a big game for you and if I can’t be on the field with you, I want to be your WAG. I’m here to support you and our teammates. Mostly you though.’

You lower your voice to a whisper for the last sentence, a teasing smile tugging on your lips.

‘I didn’t think I could love you more. But I do. I love you so much.’ Ona earnestly says.

‘Well I love you so much too.’ You promise, hugging your girlfriend tightly.

‘Never doubt that you are important to me mi amor. I’m always going to support you.’

The brunette sniffles, pushing her face into your neck and placing a short kiss there.

That is the first moment Ona realises she’s going to love you for the rest of her life.

******

Sitting up, you happen to glance at the clock on your bedroom wall.

‘Ona? It’s six already!’

Ona looks up from her textbooks, her eyes wide as she realises you’re right.

‘Joder.’

Hurriedly, she starts putting her school work back into her bag and you help her collect all her things to make sure she hasn’t forgotten anything.

‘Gracias mi amor.’ Ona pecks your cheek quickly, rushing out of your room.

She was supposed to have left your house at five forty five because her grandparents were coming over for a family dinner but obviously she had not been keeping track of time.

You laugh, just thinking about the flustered expression on your seventeen year old girlfriend’s face as you straighten the covers on your bed.

Making your way to your front door, you lock it. Through the little window, you can see that it’s started raining.

You’ve just taken out your phone to text Ona, to wish her a safe trip home when there’s a series of loud knocks on your door.

You check the peephole and are startled to see your completely drenched girlfriend on the other side.

Opening the door, you begin, ‘Ona hey-’

She presses her lips to yours before you finish your sentence.

When she pulls away, she tenderly tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

‘Bye.’ She breathes.

Ona takes a step back into the rain, her nearly waist length hair plastered to the sides of her face.

‘Onita what?’ You shake your head in confusion, a little smile gracing your face as you look at the soaked brunette.

Ona shrugs lightly, ‘I forgot to give you your goodbye kiss. I love you mi amor but I’ve really got to go. I am so late. Bye!’

Your girlfriend blows you a kiss before running back up the street to the bus stop.

Giggling, you watch her till she’s out of sight.

It occurs to you as you go back inside, that for the rest of your life, she’s the one you’re going to be in love with.

******

The rest of the world finds out that the two of you are in love with each other when Manchester United uploads their newest The Tour View vlog.

Both of your social medias frequently feature each other and neither of you are afraid to let the fans know how much you love each other. If a curious fan were to scroll down, they would see that from the very beginning of the two of you’s Instagram presence, there were posts about each other.

During the three, almost four year break, Ona had not taken down any of your posts together. You had but right after you and Ona got back together, you’d unarchived all of them.

But it’s that one YouTube video that blows up.

In the short clip filmed by Millie during the flight, you’ve got your head resting on Ona’s shoulder as you sleep.

Millie zooms in on the both of you with the camera and Ona can be seen gently pressing a kiss onto the side of your head.

When Ona mouths an ‘I love you’ to further convey her affection, the English woman can be heard saying, ‘And over there we have United’s one and only couple. Look how disgustingly in love they are.’

Spanish Translations:

hola - hello

sí - yes

mi novia - my girlfriend

joder - fuck

gracias mi amor - thanks my love

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as abuse, gore, blood, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your marriage is marred in misery with no escape in sight... until he shows up at your door. (Part of the Illuminate AU)

Characters: Adam Warlock

Note: I hope ya'll like this one. I know it's a new and not so popular character.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The bin crashes down into the shrapnel of plastic and trash littered across the kitchen tile. Shane kicks an empty yogurt cup as you stare down in futility as the mess. If he didn't insist on the cheap bags, they would tear so easily but you're not stupid enough to say so.

"I work all fucking day and come home and you want me to take out the goddamn trash! Now look!" 

You gulp, batting your eyes at him, paralysed in fear. You can't make your body move. You should grab a new bag and clean it all up, insist that he go sit down and you'll do the work. He doesn't give you a chance for all that as he lunges at you.

You step back on your heel with a squeak, caught around your neck as he spins and swings you around with him. He hooks a foot around yours, bringing you easily to your feet, bending you over the stinking potato skins as your arms shake. You fight to keep him from mashing your face into the garbage.

"And where's dinner? What am I supposed to eat? Maybe you should swallow this all up and you'll realise the sort of bullshit I gotta come home to," he snarls, "stupid fucking bitch."

“I’m s-sorry,” you croak, throat scraping as you try to swallow a sob, “I’ll… I’ll clean this up–”

“Damn right you will,” he barks and jerks you as he rips his grip from your neck, “useless…”

He kicks a plastic tray at you before he stomps off, leaving you to stare at the mess. You sit back on your heels, quivering, and exhale slowly. You shift and reach behind you, opening the cupboard under the sink to retrieve a new bag.

You peel it open and gather up the garbage, piece by piece, focusing on the task as you ignore the odor and the occasional moisture that smears on your hand. As you get it tied up, you stand, choking on your tears as they spill out unstemmed. 

You sneak out the back door and carry the bag around the side of the house. You keep your chin down, hoping your neighbours don’t witness your despair. You come up to the gray bin and lift the lid, shoving the bag inside and letting it close with a thunk.

You grab the handles and wheel it away from the siding, the large container rattling as you force it along the uneven grass and onto the walkway. The wheels bounce on the cracks in the pavement and you stop to pull open the white picket fence, paint flaking away beneath your touch.

You continue on and guide the bin to the curb, letting it rest there as you sniffle and try to shake away the last of your weeping. You can’t go back inside like this. If he sees you crying, it will only make him angrier. 

You look across the street at the other houses; they’re all nicer than the rundown rental you share with Shane. Where the leaves are strewn in a layered carpet across the mulch of your lawn, the others have the autumnal canopy neatly raked into piles. When you asked for him to grab the rake, his answer was especially bruising. So you’ll see if you can’t get to it tomorrow.

You sigh and turn on your heel, squeaking as you nearly collide with another. You didn’t hear or see the man approach. There was no shadow in his approach, no footsteps scuffing to warn you. You press yourself to the bin as you look up at him. Your chest compresses under some unseen force as the air is forced from your lungs.

You try to apologise for your carelessness but your lips can only form the singular stutter, ‘s-sorry’ as your voice is trapped in your breathless throat. You stare at the man. It’s almost as if he had been waiting for you to turn around.

The leather jacket, the patch sewn on the left-side of his chest, the cool confidence of his posture, they all assure you of who he is. Of the danger he carries with him. You blink up dumb, waving in front of your chest as you try to eke out a single noise, pleading with him not to be angry.

His pale blue eyes twinkle as his smiles, a soft crinkle beside his eyes as the dimming night limns his long face. If Shane saw you standing here with this man, of any, he would lose his mind. You have to get back inside. You have to get away from this stranger.

“No sorry,” he says, his voice rocky but not unkind, “I am in your way.”

He slowly steps aside, retreating as he goes to rest his hand on the post of the white picket gate. He waits expectantly, waving you within as his smooth, deliberate movements fill you with dread. There is a carelessness in him which betrays fearlessness. You will never know what it’s like to not be hounded by inexorable dread. It both irks you and scares you.

You make yourself move. You cross the sidewalk and enter through the open gate, as he looms over you. His gaze is hot on you, clinging and suffocating. Your heart hammers with adrenaline. If there is anyone you fear more than Shane, it is these men and their black leather shadows.

“Have a good night,” he says as he pulls the gate shut between you, “I hope whatever makes you sad does not keep you awake…”

You can breathe again. You gulp in air and fold your hands in front of you. You turn to the man and nearly gasp. There’s something eerie in how he lurks, in how he is both draped in shadow but shines among it.

“Good night,” is all you can get out.

“No moon,” he says as he draws his hand away from the wooden post, “it will be a good night for rest.”

He puts his hands in the deep pockets of his leather jacket. His breath fogs around him, billowing over his shoulders as he strides through it. You watch his silhouette as he departs, his footsteps make no noise and the night seems to close in around him until you can see him no longer.

You shudder and hug yourself as you back up. You turn, fighting a tugging that tries to keep you outside. You head back between the house and the fence as a chill creeps up your spine. 

Your stomach pits as a sudden desolation overwhelms you. You feel hollow and heavy, as if you could collapse right there. You can’t, you have to make dinner. You won’t get much sleep if Shane goes hungry.

🌑

Shane leaves at the usual time. His shifts at the factory are your only escape. They don’t always feel like that as you spend the hours worrying about his return. About what mistake he’ll find when he gets home. So your time is spent still keeping him happy, though you’ve never managed that.

Along with the endless list of chores come those thoughts. Those regrets and questions of how it ended up like this. On when he started to hate you. On when you decided to accept that.

You pull on one of his flannel shirts and a pair of jeans. You dig out some gardening gloves from the shed and take the rake with you as you put your mind to clearing the lawn. The autumnal air is crisp but fresh. It’s almost refreshing.

You come out to the front of the house, starting at the walkway, clearing it of the leaves, brushing them onto the grass. From there, you drag the teeth of the rake away, pushing the growing pile towards the corner of the fence. 

Sweat beads on your forehead and dampens beneath the layers of clothing. You huff out a thick hot breath into the cold air. The briskness sneaks down the back of your collar and chills you.

“The winter is close,” the statement startles you from your work.

You plant the rake and grip the handle, facing the figure outside the fence. It’s the same man. Your lips part but you can’t say a word.

“Can you feel it?” He asks.

Your jaw chatters. His eyes fall to your lips as you try to hide it. He steps forward and sets his hands on the points of the fence, leaning in.

“It’s colder when you are alone…” he says.

You furrow your brows and shake your head, “I am not…”

You look back at the house and he chuckles. You turn back to him and bring your other hand to the wooden rake handle. He considers the leaves on the ground with interest. He pushes himself straight. He seems taller than before.

“Are you not?” He asks cryptically. “This is a lot of work for only one.”

You shrug, unsure how to answer.

“I can help.”

Your mouth is dry and your tongue is sticky. You make yourself talk.

“I don’t know you…”

“Adam,” he says pointedly, “my name is Adam. Tell me your name, then we will know each other.”

You speak before you think. As if you didn’t have a choice. Even if reluctance needles at the back of your mind, knowing that Shane would not want you to speak to this man, your name tumbles out as if you owe it to the stranger. Adam.

“Beautiful,” he remarks as he nears the fence, reaching over to the clasp, “let me help.”

“N-no,” you drag the rake with you and catch the gate as he lifts the latch, “please–”

“You must rest,” he shows his palm in a strange gesture, sweeping it in front of you, “you are dizzy and feel unwell. You need to sit down.”

Silver stars speckle in your vision and you feel the world shift under your feet. You look down and clutch the rake tight, feeling as if you might fall over. You let go of the fence and take a step back as you touch your forehead.

“I am… lightheaded,” you admit, confused at how suddenly it come upon you.

He pushes the gate inward and enters. He shuts it with a gentle metal clink and grips the rake above your hand. You recoil, letting him have it as your limbs grow heavy. He leans the tool against the fence and turns to you again.

“Please,” he puts a hand on your arm, the contact filling your head with smoke, “sit down, bunny.” He ushers you to the front steps and helps you sit there. He braces your shoulders and bends over you, “you will not move until I bid.”

You look at him, confused but comforted by his touch. You nod. He pulls his hands away, caressing your cheek before he stands straight. You shiver and hug yourself.

He lingers as his zipper cuts in the air. He shrugs the jacket off his shoulders and swings it around you, the smell of leather surrounding you. He tugs it snug around you and retreats. You can’t help put pull it tighter as another scent tickles your nose; him.

His boots mulch across the leaves and grass and he grabs the rake. He resumes your work, easily heaping up the clutter, the steady scrape of the tines easing you. You look up and watch him. He is unbothered by the cold despite the thin cotton of his black tee shirt. His muscles tauten beneath the fabric as he works.

You feel sleepy as the pale sky blurs around his stark figure. You’re hypnotised by his steady motions, his easy strength. A strand of his golden hair falls forward as he focuses on the ground, gathering up the leaves with diligent care. Your lashes cling to each other and your eyelids itch. 

You hug the jacket closer and dip your nose behind the collar. The weight of fatigue settles over you and coaxes your eyes shut. The rake continues to scrape in your ears even as you sink down into oblivion.

🌒

You wake to blackness. Dark lines trim the corners of the room as slowly your vision lifts to a dull gray. The night stares in through the windows, frosted with the slow creep of winter. The wind howls and rattles the pane in the frame. The cold looms outside like a spectre but does not enter.

You are warmer. Too warm. Your body heat enshrines you beneath the quilt pulled to your chin. Despite your want to escape from the stolid cocoon, you do not move. A languid weight keeps you at peace despite your discomfort.

You’ve never felt like this, so calm. There’s a dull tapping at your skull that tells you to worry, to be afraid, but it’s quickly smothered and forgotten. Why should you be? You are home and safe in bed.

You let your eyes close and hum. You just want to sleep, to slip away and never wake up. You drift, mind skewing as if you’re floating on a tide. Then it swells and crashes over you with the dark growl that seeps in through the wall.

Your breath hitches and your lashes snap open. Your ears itch as you listen, trying to hear through the plaster. There are soft, muted murmurs but nothing discernible. You quiver as you hang in the limbo; do you stay or get up?

Slowly, you bring your hands up and pull the quilt away from your face, peeling it with effort past your chest. Cool air sweeps over you, urging you to nestle back beneath the patchwork. You hear it again, like a beast it grits deep through the air, gravelly and harsh.

Sitting up is difficult. That same dizziness blurs your mind. You squeeze your eyelids shut and bid away the echoing auras. When you look again, the world is steady. You stand without reaching for the lamp. You wade through the darkness like quicksand, each step impeded by unseen bounds.

At the door, you wait, hand on the knob, brass cold to the touch. You inhale and taste the air wafting in around the frame. It’s sharp and frigid. 

You turn the knob and lift the door on its hinges. You peek down the hall, it’s dark but for the orange flicker glowing from down the hall. That house, the place you call home, the walls you could etch from memory, is suddenly strange and sinister.

You let go of the door and tiptoe out, the voices drawing you in. The conversation garbled in your fuzzy ears. It isn’t until you get closer that you can make out the words. That you recognise the familiar tones.

“What.. are you… waiting for?” Shane’s words are interspersed with moist gulps and groans.

A snicker, short and stony. There’s little humour in the laughter. Adam replies, “justice.”

“You…criminals are all the same,” Shane utters through laborious breaths, “bunch… freaks… like you… should leave… this town.”

“We own this town,” Adam says, “there would be nothing but dirt if it wasn’t for us freaks.”

A hork and the wet splat of spit on the floor jolts you. You stop just before the doorway, shuddering as you hesitate and look back down the hall. You can go back to bed and hide. If you do, you might wake up and realise it’s all just a rotten nightmare.

“Come on, bunny,” Adam calls to you.

You spin back, finding yourself still alone with only the lip of the wall between you and the flickering amber light. You put your hand on the plaster and your other on your chest. He cannot mean you.

“I hear you,” he says evenly, “we’ve been waiting for you.”

You put your foot out and slowly reveal yourself. You turn and face the room from the doorway. You see the single taper burning on the mantel and the tall shadow beside it. Adam lurks with his straight-shoulder but slack posture. 

There is another, in one of the wooden chairs from the dining set, slumped and held up by knotted leather belts. You can see only the back of Shane’s oily black hair. You come forward, eager but terrified to see more of him. 

His right eye is swollen shut, a cut weeping beneath, and his lips dribble blood down his chin. He leans forward, kept upright only by his bounds. His breathing is rickety and shallow. He looks at you with his left eye and grunts.

“...bitch…” he mutters under his breath, “slut…I always… knew…”

“Ah ah ah,” Adam tuts and makes himself taller. Shane flinches and swallows loudly, choking on his split and blood, “you mustn’t value your tongue very much.”

Adam reveals a long dagger, the orange glint of the candle reflecting off of it. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen before. The metal is both dark and gleaming, a perfectly forged fuller down the middle of the blade.

You turn as you stand transfixed by the sight of your husband. Only then do you notice the scarlet leaking down the front of the wooden armrest, staining deep the veins of the wood. There are three fingers remaining on his right, and one less on his left hand. You cup your mouth behind your hand, catching a scream before it can erupt.

“Shhhhhh,” Adam hushes as he presses himself to your back, “I only had a sampling…”

“What have you done?” You whisper as you gape at the ruin of the man before you. His clothing is shredded so that it reveals the long gashes on his chest and the slices down his thighs. “Why…”

“The strong should protect the weak, not harm them,” he bends and nuzzles your hair, “but more, the weak are not helpless.”

“I don’t understand…” your eyes sting as Shane clenches his jaw and glares at you. How often you saw that same glimmer in him. That sheer hatred that made you wonder if he ever loved you.

“You understand,” Adam’s hand trails down your arm and he pulls you around. He presses the handle of the dagger against your palm and closes your fingers around it, “you know exactly what must be done.”

“Please, I can’t…” you whimper, “you… you hurt him. You’ve…” you look at Shane again, “how could you?”

“I could have cut his heart out by now,” Adam sneers, “but I do not own that.” He squeezes your hand, “it is not mine to take.”

“What…”

“I know what he does. He will not stop. Not until you are dead,” Adam insists as he raises the dagger, his hand still around yours, “or he is.”

He drags you towards Shane and aims the tip of the blade at the slouched man’s chest. He holds it there as you shake, whining as you try to free yourself. His strength is unbending and unbroken. He puts a hand on your back, gripping you tight as he keeps the dagger steady.

“I cannot free you, you must do it yourself…”

You close your eyes. This must be why the townsfolk whisper of the men in leather. Why they scatter at the sight of them. Murderers! Monsters!

“Please–”

“He has made you weak,” Adam purrs into your hair, “I have come to make you strong.”

“No–”

“Yes, you must,” he growls along the rim of your ear, “remember all he has inflicted on you. The names he’s put upon you; bitch, slut, useless, nothing…” he hisses as his hand crawls up to your neck, “how he broke your nose on your wedding night.” 

Your heart races, pounding in your ribs. How could he know that?

“How he put your hand on the lit burner when you forgot to buy milk,” he continues, your shaky grasp tightening as your tears crest and fall free. 

“Or how just the other day, he would have rubbed your nose in garbage like an incontinent mutt–”

“Stop!” You cry out, “stop! How do you know–”

“I know a beast when I see one,” Adam turns his head, his cheek against your temple, “I know a rabid one should be put down before it can maul again.”

“But… but… I love him,” you sniffle.

“Do you?” He lets his hand fall away from yours but you don’t rescind your reach, you don’t move the dagger away from Shane, “does he love you?”

You know he does not. He never did. You were only ever the stupid girl who fell for him. You realised too late what he really was and now you were trapped for life. 

You would be miserable with him until the day you died. Not because he loves you, but because he loves to hurt you.

The tip sinks through the flesh without resistance. You're stunned as you do not stop yourself from letting it further, from pushing it through the layers of fat and muscles, leaning into it until you can’t force it any deeper. You watch the steel bury into him as blood spurts out around your hand and sprays up your sleeve. 

Shane does not scream. He cannot as you pierce his heart. His head falls forward and his body goes limp. You keep a hold of the hilt and jerk it as try to wrench it even deeper.

Your hand is slick with his blood and slips off. You raise a fist instead and hit his lifeless shoulder. You hit him again on the head, another strike to his stomach, and a kick for good measure.

You bring your hands up and look at your blood stained hand, your other palm streaked with flecks of his death. You heave and try to scream but you cannot. You collapse to your knees and keel over onto your elbows. 

You should cry but you cannot. Your tears evaporate as grief eludes you. It should hurt. Why doesn’t it hurt? You’re not sad, but you’re not happy. No, you are free.

The floorboards creak and you raise your head as Adam kneels beside you. He touches your chin as his other arm slings around you. He pulls you to him and presses his lips to your temple.

“They will find him,” he caresses your cheek as he speaks, “but they cannot take you if you are with me.”

“Take me?” You ask dumbly.

“They will call you murderer, they will lock you up,” he coos, “I will keep you safe, bunny.” He dips his hand back down and nudges your chin up. He looks down at you, eyes shining silver in the candlelight, “I will keep you happy.”

[fun-sized-owl]

The Devil and the Servant

Part XXXIV – Stay With Me

Warning: adult themes, sexual themes, sex scene, slight mention of urine during sex.

My wound, your flame Come, let us bleed together I'm broken, you're sane But we are joined forever— Stay With Me by Crematory

    It was a pleasant surprise, to see the vampire. Maybe not clutched in Haarlep's talons, but nonetheless. When they'd gotten closer to the city, did Astarion sniff them out? This was his hunting ground since they'd parted ways, and he had a lot of young vampire spawn to try and wrangle in since they'd stopped Cazador's ritual.

    "Who else would I be?" snapped Astarion, wriggling in the grip of... What in the Hells (or outside of) was the incubus doing with them!? He knew he'd smelled something familiar as he'd approached the campsite. Raphael had been killed within his home, so it couldn't be that, but be damned he'd almost forgotten about the pet that the devil kept locked inside his bedroom.     "Now, if you'd kindly tell this creature to put me down, that would be ever so kind of you."

    Halsin stood. "There is no need to be on guard, Haarlep. This is a familiar face, and a friend." Sornin pushed himself up as well.

    Haarlep rumbled a little purr against Astarion's back. "Oh yes, I do recall the scent of this one. In fact, if I recall correctly, he was rather upset when you decided to give yourself to me."

    Astarion's expression turned sour. He was not usually caught when he was sneaking around. He'd had hundreds of years to perfect it, as a predator on the streets, as a new vampire spawn that would lure prey in for Cazador. An incubus was a different sort of creature, though, and even when they'd dared to break into the House of Hope, Haarlep had caught onto their lies.     Well, that just wasn't fair, was it? He was supposed to be the lurker in this little group of adventurers and weirdos. He'd used the dark as his cover, and he'd picked many locks. So what in the Hells were they doing with a hellspawn incubus!?     He wriggled a little bit more before he stopped, knowing very well that it was only exciting the creature by the fells of his warm body behind him. Oh, Gods... His nose scrunched. "Are you seriously getting turned on by this!? Put me down this instant!"

    Haarlep's claws hung on just a little longer, just to tease the vampire. "Afraid you like what you feel, my pet?"

    The look on Astarion's face said anything but. "Haarlep, please," Halsin spoke, taking a step forward. "Astarion may be able to aid in finding the relic you are after. His hands are better used for locks and daggers."

    With eyes bright, Haarlep's lips were still a dark smile. Nonetheless, a fun little addition to their party would make things even more entertaining. His claws released their grip, and Astarion moved forward, quickly putting some distance between them.     The incubus' tail swayed and his shoulders hunched just a little, like he was getting ready to pounce. "They certainly are nimble. Perhaps even as nimble as my own."

    Astarion scoffed as he brushed himself down, shrugging off the stink of incubus. The others wouldn't be able to smell it as strongly as he could. His vampire nose meant things were much stronger, as a predator himself. Those pheromones that Haarlep oozed were damn near intoxicating, and he didn't want them anywhere near him.     "Well that's not quite the welcome I was expecting," he tutted. "No 'hello Astarion, you're finally back, it's great to see you.' Instead, I get kidnapped by an incubus that looks like a dead devil."

    Haarlep raised a brow, the corner of his lips turned into a small lopsided smirk. He shifted, circling Astarion and spreading his wings a little, just so the vampire had only him to look at as he circled him.     "If the elves are not pleased to see you, little bat, then I could give you my warmest welcome."

    Astarion stuck his nose up, though he couldn't help but feel his ski crawl, a shiver rushing down his pale spine.     "Does that actually work?" he asked, a snort in his tone. "It didn't work the first time you were lazing about Raphael's bed, and it won't work now."

    Haarlep shifted his wing, exposing Sornin. "No, that particular encounter was savoured for someone else ." He gestured an arm to the drow. "Why don't you tell them, dear, how it made you feel as you laid beneath me. Skin on skin, wet lips against you, and my throbbing cock inside you."

    Sornin scowled, and Astarion waved his hand to try and get the image from his head.

    "Enough, Haarlep," Halsin spoke, putting his hand up. "You have had your fun for this evening. We are still in the open and at risk of potential dangers. Your devilvision would be helpful in the night to guard us."

(KEEP READING ON AO3)

[victorluvsalice]

Merry Christmas Marie!

@regicidalheart Your request was for your OC Madeline in the Valicer In The Dark verse, as a young teen out with her dog that the trio had to save from a mugging or the like -- and I was only too happy to comply! XD Here's my favorite crime trio learning all about the local version of Maddie and her doggo Scout -- hope you enjoy!

--

“...thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Alice replied simply, wiping the blood off her blade with a well-stained cloth. “Not like we could just pass by when we saw that wretch attempting to separate you from your purse.”

“Especially after he kicked your dog,” Victor added, scowling. “I hate people who do that.”

The girl – who looked creepily like a younger version of herself, Alice noted – smiled faintly at that, said abused pooch – a solid-looking brown dog with a pointy black snoot – sitting by her side and regarding them cautiously. “I, um, I got that impression after you blasted him into a nearby wall. I’m surprised he got back up after that. I thought for sure the Bell was going to ring.”

“Some people are just blessed with good healing and solid constitutions,” Alice said, examining her own miraculously-unscarred hand and recalling a fire that should have taken it from her. “Not always the ones you want to be, of course, but...”

“That’s up to nature and the gods,” Smiler picked up, favoring their rescuee with a grin. “But enough about that – I’m Smiler, and this is Alice and Victor! We’re the Three Pillars!” They offered their hand. “Who are you, and how are you doing? I hope that arse didn’t hurt you.”

“I’m Madeline – and no, he didn’t have the chance,” the girl said, taking their hand with a touch of trepidation. “Poor Scout’s the only one who got a boot to the side.”

The dog whined, almost on cue. “I see – poor Scout indeed,” Smiler agreed, keeling down and holding out their hand for Scout to sniff. “I’m not an animal doctor, but I do know a few things about bruises – and being kicked,” they added with a faint chuckle. “I could take a look at it for you.”

“Or, if you prefer, we could just walk you back home, then leave you in peace,” Victor added, with a small smile of his own.

Madeline winced, and Scout whined, rubbing his – Alice was pretty sure it was a “him,” anyway – head against her leg. “Uh – that – that would be kind of hard,” she muttered into her collar. “I don’t really have a home anymore.”

“What?” Alice tucked away both cleaning cloth and knife, folding her arms in concern. “Why not?”

“What happened?” Smiler asked, instantly on the alert for unhappiness to squash.

“My father...he...” Madeline sniffled, suddenly looking rather younger than the fifteen years Alice guessed her to be. “I’m – I’m devil-cursed, according to him. I keep hearing things nobody else does, or seeing things that aren’t there...it’s not like I want to, but I can’t make it stop, either! I’ve tried, but it never works! Every time, I slip up and answer a question nobody asked, or – or end up screaming over some Horror that doesn’t actually exist!” Scout licked her hand, and she rubbed the dog’s head. “Father paid all sorts of people to come look at me, but none of them could make it stop either. So he finally said that he wasn’t going to have a child that had a – a demon’s stink all over her and threw me and Scout out.” She let out a watery, humorless laugh. “If that mugger had gotten my purse, he would have been very disappointed. I don’t even have a Coin to my name.”

“Curiouser and curiouser – it seems that your good deed may have netted you a kindred spirit,” Cheshire commented, winding his way around Alice’s ankles.

I think it’s netted all of us one, Alice responded, glancing first at Victor and seeing the memories of a giant house that was never a home written all over his face, then at Smiler and the memories of their wretched bastard of a birth father all over theirs. Which means it’s a very good thing we came down this way. “Well then – I think it’s safe to say your father is a total arse,” she said aloud.

“Oh, definitely,” Smiler nodded, standing up. “You need a friend – and fortunately, I think we’re just the people for the job,” they added, trademark grin turning back on. “Why don’t you stick with us for a bit? We’d be happy to look after you and Scout.”

“We’d feel awful just letting you go off on your own,” Victor agreed. “Not if there was something we could do.”

“I...” Madeline made some faces. “I don’t know...I’m grateful for you getting rid of that mugger, but...”

“But you barely know us,” Alice filled in. “We’re not going to force you to do anything – we’d just like to see you somewhere safe if we can.”

“At least let us get you a proper hot meal,” Smiler wheedled. “We can take you over to the Golden Plum!”

Madeline’s eyes went wide. “The Golden Plum? Isn’t that place expensive?”

“Not when you’ve helped the head chef create one of the dishes of her dreams!” Smiler offered their arm. “Come on – just one meal, and we can work from there.”

“Please?” Victor said, clasping his hands before him.

Madeline squinted at them, then looked at her dog. “Scout?”

Scout circled around them and gave them all a thorough sniff – then barked once, tail wagging. Madeline smiled and took Smiler’s arm. “Okay then – but you have to tell me how you know the chef at the Golden Plum.”

“Sure – it’s a favorite story of mine,” Smiler beamed as the group moved off. “Okay, first off – have you heard of Dragon’s Bane fruit?”

[airbendertendou]

kill my time ♡ murayama yoshiki

soulmate au : a number you get on your wrist when you turn twenty tells you when you’ll meet the one

reader has a brother who remains unnamed ; reader has difficulties sleeping

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

——♡——

It wouldn’t show up until you turned twenty — your soulmark. You wouldn’t know what it was until your birthday, mind exploring the different fonts and colors and shapes it could be. It could be a time, a date, a name, a sentence ; but you wouldn’t know until you turned twenty. 

And you were already impatient for it to happen. 

You were eleven when your brother brought home a new friend. Murayama Yoshiki was two years older than you, already had a band-aid on the left side of his cheek, and was hunched over when you met. His right hand was bruised and he had a permanent scowl on his face. The toys you were playing with disappeared as the two older boys stood above you. 

“[Name],” your brother spoke. He pointed at the bruised boy with his thumb, puffing out his chest proudly as he continued. “This is ‘Yama. My new friend. Be a nice sibling and get us a snack, hm?”

You only blinked, “get it yourselves.”

Attention occupied by the toys in front of you once more, you missed how your brother deflated. Murayama let out a snort before it grew into loud, obnoxious giggles. He patted your brother on the back, “didn’t teach you to fight so you could be mean to a kid!” Murayama then crouched down in front of you, “whatcha playin’? Can we join?”

And so life went on with one more included in your dinner nights and play times.

Growing up with Murayama, there was never a dull moment. The boy was always cracking jokes, getting into fights, standing up for you when your brother bullied you. It was fun ; he was fun.

You stayed up all night to see what your soulmark would be. A matching tattoo would be pretty ; a timer counting down more convenient than anything. To your luck, a small 11 was printed on the inside of your left wrist. That meant you’d meet your soulmate in eleven years — easy enough. All you had to do was wait.

——♡——

There’s a knock on the front door that startles you awake. Pausing, you wait to see if it was real or something you’d misheard — and then a solid bang! jolts it again. You groan, shuffling from your warm, comfy bed to swing the front door open.

Murayama stands there, sheepish and alert as he peers in behind you. Sighing, you grumble, “he’s not here. Spent the night at his ass of the week’s house.”

The curly haired boy deflates but inches by you anyways as you open the door wider and let him in. You yawn, eyes catching sight of the clock and blanch at the time. “Why’re you here anyways?”

“Fishing.” He holds two fists up, one circling around as if he’s reigning in a reel. Murayama stuffs his hands into his pockets after, rocking on his heels briefly. “He’s really not home?”

“No,” you sigh out. “The sun’s not even up yet, ‘yama. The hell’re you fishing for?”

He doesn’t answer, looking over your disheveled attire and puffy eyes. “Don’t act like you were sleeping.”

“Jus’ drifted off, actually!” You give him the stink eye before turning on your heel and heading back towards your bedroom. Murayama follows behind you slowly, as if he’s testing his limits ; as if he’d never been alone with you before. You glare again as you plop back into your blankets, “no thanks to you.”

There’s a small light that’s shining in the center of your room, illuminating the area softly. It smells like lavender — your pillows, your sheets, the laundry detergent you use. All in vain ; Murayama knows it never helped you fall asleep.

“Gonna wait for him here?” Your voice is quieter ; it matches the atmosphere you’d created. He can barely see you in the dim lights, but Murayama knows you’ve cozied back up. “You’re welcome to. I’m going back to sleep. Goodnight!”

He rocks on his feet again as you turn over harshly, your back facing him. The room settles before you huff and glare at him over your shoulder. “What do you want, delinquent?”

Scrunching his nose at the old nickname, he shrugs. “You look comfy, s’all…” Murayama tilts his head side to side — your eyes narrow even more. You know where this is going. “And it is pretty early…. ‘M a little tired still…”

You groan and turn over, burying your face into your well-worn pillow. He thinks you didn’t take the bait ; thinks you won’t give in the way you typically do. But, Murayama wins most games he plays and you’re not exempt from that. “Jus’ get in already.”

Giddily, he’s jumping in beside you before he can think. You squeal when his leg rubs yours — “no sleepin’ in my bed with your jeans on!”

He’s tossing and turning endlessly, bare legs slipping against your own as he turns to the left. With a huff, Murayama lays on his back, slamming his hands onto the blanket below him. You sigh, raising up and crossing your arms in annoyance. “Are you done now, delinquent?”

“Can’t get comfy,” he says through a pout. You roll your eyes, relaxing your arms and posture as you think about just settling down and sleeping whether he was or not. Wide, brown eyes look your way, “help me, [name].”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” You clench your teeth as he shrugs, wiggling once more. 

Suddenly, your right wrist is gathered in Murayama’s grip as he slings you forward. You gulp, looking down at him now as he grins. “This could help…”

“How would me hovering over you help you sleep?” Your voice has softened ; quieted at the lack of space between you. Your fingers clench in a fist as he slightly scoots down so that your noses brush now. “Do you want me to just sleep in the air?”

You’re on your back before you can think. Murayama is caging you against your bed now, the cutely shaped light in your room illuminating from behind him like a halo. You gulp, eyes widening as he lowers his face even further, the hand that was gripping your wrist letting go. 

Slowly, Murayama’s hand meets the center of your chest, palm open as he tilts his head. “Heart’s beatin’ so fast, [name],” he’s quiet as he speaks. “Am I makin’ you nervous?”

How could he not be? He’s hovering over you, wavy strands tickling your forehead as he shifts his weight ever so slightly. Your breath catches in your throat as Murayama’s eyes meet yours — he just stares. 

“A little,” you squeak out. He grins at the noise ; only the right side of his lips lifting into a crooked, uneven smile. “Are you going to sleep in the air?”

Murayama lets out a loud sigh as he tilts his head, his hand creeping up to rest on your left cheek now. “I’m tryin’ to flirt with you, ya know? Why won’t you let me?”

“We—” your eyes drop to his grin before snapping them back up once more. His smile seems to widen at this, going to both sides of his mouth now. “Soulmates, delinquent. We both have someone out there, waiting for us.”

He frowns, curly hair falling into his eyes ; you resist the urge to brush it away for him. “Don’t think it could be me?”

“I’ve already met you.” Your voice is quiet again as you speak, defeated and accepting of the truth. Murayama wasn’t your soulmate, and he never would be — no matter how much both of you wanted it. “I still have a few more years to meet mine.”

As if to mock you — as if to make the truth burn more — the mark on Murayama’s wrist rubs against the one on yours. It’s warm, comforting as they touch. He sighs, leaning in to rest his forehead on yours, “wish it was different.”

“Me too,” you admit. Murayama pulls away to look at you, eyes widening at your confession. You shrug half-heartedly, as best as you could when he was still holding you down. “For a while, I guess. High school was hell for me — thought about you a lot.”

Letting out a groan, the delinquent lets his head fall to your collarbone as he huffs against it. His breath is warm and tickles where it touches — you try not to think about it. “Wish I knew. Had the biggest crush on you.”

Tugging your bottom lip beneath your teeth, you tentatively rake a hand through his hair. Murayama sags against you even more, almost falling on you. “Had?”

“Still do, I think.” Letting out another sigh, the man leaves a barely-there kiss against your neck before lifting himself above you once more. His smile is shaky ; untruthful as he looks down at you. “Let’s get some rest now, hm?”

——♡——

You’re groggy as you wake up a few hours later. The blankets are still warm and slept-in ; Murayama must’ve just left. You let out a yawn, heading to the bathroom before following your growling stomach into the kitchen. Your brother is there now, deep in a conversation with his delinquent friend as you trudge your way to the refrigerator.

“Did either of you dunces make food?” Silence is the only thing that greets you. Raising your eyebrows in confusion, you turn to look at the men. Murayama’s mouth is wide open, gaping as he looks from you to your brother. The other questions his friend’s reaction, shrugging at you before leaving to shower. “Is that a no, then?”

Murayama is suddenly stomping your way, determination hitting every inch of him. Carelessly — but still gently enough to not hurt you — he pulls your left wrist to sit parallel with his own. “When we met…” he says through gritted teeth, “this could be the age we met.”

Your little 11 is side-by-side with his 13. You did meet then ; springly children who were already worrying about soulmates and new coloring books simultaneously. You gulp, your hands turning into fists as you think it over.

And, really, it’s so embarrassing how quickly you jump on him. Your clothes are still a disheveled, slept in mess ; face still puffy and voice still groggy. You know it’s not perfect — not the right, ideal time — but you leap forward and kiss Murayama anyways.

A gasp leaves his mouth as you settle against him, your tattooed wrists brushing and burning once more. You pull away briefly — only to grin at the way he chases after you — and give in immediately to kiss him again. Lightly tugging him away by his hair this time, you eye him for a minute. “This is real — we could be real?”

Murayama grins roguishly, pressing his lips to yours. He doesn’t pull away much, only enough to whisper, “think we've been real for a while.” Your grin meets his as you kiss him again.

——♡—— ofc this is for all my h&l loves @straysugzhpe @star2fishmeg @rouzuchan @yuken-gf @high-lowincorrect muah muah muah!! hopefully ill get done with this series soon bc i didnt expect to take this long <;/3 airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.