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automaticllamacycle · 1 year ago

Text

I’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands)

Summary: You don't have much experience. Matty, however, does. A coffee shop AU.

Part one of two

Content: 18+, fingering, praise kink, hand jobs, first time, smut with plot

Word count: 11,059

It's not like you wanted to be a virgin in your mid-twenties. That was definitely not the goal. However, years went by, and no boyfriend was in sight. That is, until Matty entered the picture.

You met him at a coffee shop, the one you worked at. He caught your eye the moment he walked in during one of your shifts. It was cold and dreary, a typical December day in London, but you could still spot chocolate curls sticking out of a worn beanie. Wrapped in a thick knit sweater layered under a jacket, he placed his order.

"Hello, can I get a medium dark roast with a splash of soy milk?"

His thick Manchester accent piqued your curiosity, and so did his warm brown eyes. You tried not to stumble over your next words, sticking to your usual script.

"You got it. Can I get a name for the order?"

"Matty." He responded.

From then on, you saw him often. There wasn't a week that went by that you didn't see Matty at least once. Every time was the same. He would walk in with his gorgeous curls and pretty face and order the exact same thing, a medium dark roast with a splash of soy milk. His order became like second nature to you. When he walked in, almost a month after the first encounter, you were quick to speak.

"Still a medium dark roast with a splash of soy milk?" you asked, probably a little more nervous than you should have been. He had that effect on you every time he stepped through the doors. One glance with those brown eyes was all it took to make you shy.

"Oh, yeah that's it, thank you," he responded, with a quick smile. A smile you hadn't seen yet. A very cute smile.

Once you finished making the coffee, you called out the order, and he walked to the counter.

"Here's that coffee for you, Matty."

You'd thought that would be the end of the conversation, and he would walk right back out with a "thanks" like he always did. However, this time, he had something else to say.

"Thanks. You know, you already know my name, but I still don't know yours. That's bad manners on my part," he added with a chuckle.

A little caught off guard, you breathed out your name, sounding less than confident. It had been so long since someone took away your breath like that, and he seemed to be doing it every time he spoke.

"That's a lovely name. I'll see you around." he said with that same grin, and then strolled off with his coffee before you had the chance to say anything else.

—

It's fair enough to say after the most recent exchange, he took up way too many of your thoughts. You tried to convince yourself it was just a work crush, a normal work crush. He was a super cute so that's only a normal response, right? It's not like you would try to get anywhere else with him, anyway. Probably wouldn't work out even if you did try.

Well, the crush became ten times worse on open mic night at the coffee shop. Your coworker, Penny, begged you to switch shifts with her, some kind of emergency, so there you were. Typically, open mic nights were filled with out of tune guitars, pitchy voices, and slam poetry. Everyone at the shop avoided working on open mic nights.

Now, what you didn't expect was for Matty to walk in the doors with a guitar case in hand. His hair was more styled than usual. His normal curls were a bit frizzy and all over the place, but tonight his curls were well defined. He had on a knit patterned sweater, which was typical for him, and a black pair of trousers accompanied by black combat boots.

Oh God, this is about to be either really good or really bad for the state of my crush on this man, you thought to yourself. Nothing better than a man with curly brown hair that could sing and play the guitar.

He didn't approach the counter this time. Instead, deciding to sit at one of the tables and listen to the other acts. You watched him for a moment, but then went back to work. Before you could hear what Matty prepared for open mic night, you had to endure the other performers.

You weren't one to judge others for their creative expression, but they were so horrid. There were some decent ones in the bunch, thankfully. One guy played a cover song on piano, and it wasn't half bad. Most of the night was filled with a cappella covers and shallow slam poetry, though.

The moment you were eagerly waiting for finally arrived, and Matty grabbed his guitar case and took the stage. Waiting for it to be his turn was the longest hour of your life. He sat the case down on the small stage set up and opened it up. He fumbled with the guitar a bit while he sat down on the stool in front of the microphone. Nerves flashed through his eyes. They were evident by his hands slightly shaking as he adjusted the microphone closer to his lips. You were the only one watching his hands close enough to notice, anyway.

"Hello, I'm Matty," he spoke into the microphone, voice confident and smooth despite the nerves. "I'm a part of a band called The 1975, and I will be singing one of our songs called ‘Chocolate’.”

When he started to sing, what struck you first was the heaviness of his accent on the words he spoke. Even for a Manchester accent, it was thick on every syllable he sang, close to unintelligible at times. What struck you next was the fact that he was genuinely a great singer. His vocals and guitar skills were far too good for him to be playing in a random coffee shop among the mediocre slam poets and cover artists. Yep, this was only going to make your work crush worse.

Your eyes locked with his brown ones multiple times while he sang. With his eyes shining in the lights, a smile stretched across his face, and you returned it. He completely captured your attention for the entire duration of the song without trying. It was like you couldn't look away, even if you wanted to. When he finished singing, his performance elicited far more applause than open mic acts usually do. It wasn't typical for someone with serious talent to play at open mic, and the coffee shop patrons could spot the talent, too. Tearing your eyes from him, you went back to work. You didn't expect him to approach you at the counter after putting his guitar back into its case and leaving the stage, but Matty seemed to be surprising you a lot these days.

"Hey there," you said, beating him to the conversation, just as he reached the counter. "Your song was great. It's not every day that someone actually good plays here. I had no idea you were in a band."

"You can say it was shit, I won't be offended. I'm terrible at guitar," he states, rather bluntly. "But yeah, I've been in a band with a few of my mates for quite a few years now."

"Oh, if it was shit I would be sure to let you know," you added with a laugh. "Seriously, it was good. Now, can I get your usual started for you?"

"Actually no, not this time. I think it's a bit too late for me to be drinking coffee or I'll be too wired to sleep."

He had a point; it was around nine at this point. The shop would be closing within the hour. You continued, even though talking is not a strong suit of yours.

"So then, what can I do for you, Matty?"

"Since you asked, I do have a question for you," he responded promptly like he had been waiting for the moment to ask.

You quipped back, "And what might that be?" He seemed jittery, almost like how he was on the stage.

"I was wondering if I could get your number and take you out sometime. Maybe meet for coffee right here if you'd like?" His hands fidgeted on the counter as he asked.

Oh, he's asking you out, act natural, you thought to yourself. While it was common for customers to try and get your number, the interest was never reciprocated on your end. This time, the interest was definitely mutual.

"Yeah sure, that sounds like a lovely idea," you responded with a grin, reading off your number to him while he put it in his phone.

"I'll be texting you," he says while putting his phone back into the pocket of his pants. "See you soon."

Once again, he walked away, guitar case in hand. However, this time, the smile on his face was a little bigger than before, and so was the smile on yours.

—

After cleaning all the equipment and making sure everything was in order for the morning shift, you closed up the shop for the night. You resisted the urge to check your phone every single moment on the walk back to your apartment. The walk was already a short one, but the pep in your step made it even faster. When you walked through the door of your apartment, your dog Socks ran up to greet you. After you got her food bowl and fed her, it wasn't long before a text from an unmarked number buzzed on your phone.

Hey, it's Matty. You free anytime this week to meet for coffee?

You weighed the options of waiting a few minutes to not seem too eager or responding immediately, and the latter option won by a long shot.

Yeah I'm free Wednesday around 11:00 if that works for you?

He responded pretty quickly, too. Good to know it wasn't just you being eager.

That works well for me! I'll see you then :)

You responded once more.

See you then :))

You put down your phone on the coffee table with a huge grin across your face. You went ahead and finished your nighttime routine, washing your face and brushing your teeth. When you laid your head down on the pillow you couldn't get your mind off of Matty. The thought of his voice, his face, his mouth, and his hands slowly drifted you off to sleep.

—

The days went by entirely too fast and entirely too slow all at the same time. Before you knew it, it was Tuesday night. By 10:00pm, you had already ransacked your closet for something to wear, pulling out every article of clothing you owned. The pre-date anxiety wasn't helping you make up your mind. When 1:00am rolled around, you finally settled on an outfit, your favorite pair of jeans and a turtleneck sweater. Way too simple of an outfit for how long it took to pick out, but oh well. Finally, you crawled into bed, glaring at the clock on your nightstand. The numbers mocked your decision of staying up so late. You had an early shift tomorrow that would end a few minutes before the time you were meeting Matty. You had rationalized this choice in the moment before texting him. It would be better for you to already be there, and would probably lessen your anxiety, if only a little bit.

The alarm clock rang, and you hated everything. Still, you got up, put on your outfit, and finished getting ready. You kept the makeup light and styled your hair to the best of your ability. There was only so much that could be done at five in the morning. You fed Socks and gave her a pet before heading out. Once you walked out the door, the nerves weighed heavy on your chest, but you couldn't back out now.

Reaching the coffee shop, you put on a sarcastic cheery voice and greeted your two coworkers, Penny and Grady.

"Good morning, guys! Isn't it just beautiful to be up before the sun?" They groaned in unison. Tough crowd. "Well, I have something very important to tell you two. I have a date today."

"Oh my God, I never thought this day would come," Penny gasped, only half joking.

"Hey! Don't be rude! It's not like you've had much luck in the boy department either."

"Okay, stop bickering. Now, who's the man in question?" asked Grady.

"So, you know that guy with the curly hair that comes in at least twice a week?"

"Yes, we know, it's not like you've gawked at him for the past two months or anything," said Penny.

"He asked for my number at open mic night. Thanks for asking to switch shifts with me by the way, Penny. Can't thank you enough," you teased.

"Glad my car wreck could be of some assistance?"

You went through the motions of opening up the shop with Penny and Grady, and the place filled with customers all too soon. The hour was ticking closer and closer to when Matty would walk through the doors. You tried to calm your nerves, but the attempts were no good. When the clock read 10:50, you decided to go ahead and start his usual, ringing it up under your discount. You started on your coffee as well. Caffeine was a necessity.

The door to the shop opened, just a minute before 11:00, and you looked up to meet Matty's eyes. It had been two months since you first saw him, but his gorgeous eyes still left you dazed. Putting on a brave face, you decided to speak first.

"Hey," you began with smile on your face. "I went ahead and made your coffee," you said while handing him the cup.

"Don't I need to pay for this?" A confused look marked his face.

"Nah, I went ahead and put my discount on it." You walked out from behind the counter with your own coffee in hand towards him.

"Well, there goes my plan to pay for your coffee like a true gentleman." He said, heading towards an open table. He chose a booth beside the shop window. You sat opposite from him.

"I couldn't possibly let my discount go to waste," you insisted. "I get one coffee free per shift and everything else has a big discount. Truly, it's no trouble."

You looked at him while waiting for whatever he had to say next. He looked good, smelled good too. Has he always smelled this good? Since you were always separated by a counter from him, you hadn't been properly close enough to tell until just now. You quickly told your brain to shut up before you say something stupid. He spoke first.

"Okay, I'm going to start this off with my favorite ice breaker question. What's your favorite song?"

"That is a horrible ice breaker question. You couldn't come up with anything better? Something deeper, perhaps?"

"I'm a musician, of course I would ask a question like that. I think a person's favorite song can reveal a lot about oneself."

"I don't think I can choose just one," you continued by listing a few of your favorites. Definitely not a solid list. "So, what's yours, then?"

"Probably one I've written," he replies with a smirk.

"I feel like that's cheating, but I'll allow it. How did you get into music anyway? From what I heard before at the open mic, you're pretty good."

"My band mates are really good, I'm just average. Trust me, when I play with them it's obvious how shitty I am, especially next to my mate, Adam. He's legendary at guitar. To answer your question though, when I was younger, I always wanted to be a pop star. I was a huge fan of Michael Jackson. I started to learn a few instruments and then by the time I was in secondary school, my friends and I decided to form a band. I ended up as the singer somehow along the way."

"I should go see a gig soon, got any coming up?"

"Yeah, I think that could be arranged."

The small talk between you two continued and wasn’t painful like most small talk. You found yourself more enchanted by Matty the more he spoke. Everything he said, while usually laced with humor, was well thought out. It was clear he was a deep thinker, but any songwriter typically has to be one. You've realized in the time sitting across from him in the booth that you could sit and listen to him talk all day long. When you got around to looking at the watch on your wrist, you realized it had been over an hour and half since you two had sat down in the booth. As much as you hate it, you really need to get home and be productive with your day.

"I've had a great time talking with you Matty, but I think it's time for me to head out. I have a huge pile of laundry and a chore list that unfortunately will not do itself."

"Can I walk you home?"

"Isn't that a line you're supposed to pull out when it's dark to make sure I get home safe or something like that?"

"Oh, come on, you already bought my coffee. Let me be a gentleman for just a moment here."

"Okay fine, if you insist." The both of you stood up from the booth and he held the door for you on the way out of the shop. Penny threw you a wink while Grady gave a not-so-subtle thumbs up. You hoped he somehow didn't see them, but there was no way he couldn't have.

Matty kept you entertained on the short walk back to your apartment, telling you a funny story about his friend George. You found yourself laughing right along with him while he retold the story. You were thankful he did the heavy lifting during the conversation. It made it much easier on your part.

"Alright, this one's mine," you said, pointing to your building. "I do appreciate you walking me back, by the way, jokes aside."

"I was enjoying your company and wanted to make it last longer, what can I say?"

"It was very kind, thank you."

He kept looking at you, like he was deep in thought again. His gaze made you feel exposed. Originally, his eyes peered directly into yours, but they slowly shifted down to your mouth. As he stepped towards you, the air instantly grew thick. The tension could have been cut with a knife.

"You're not one of those girls that gets offended by getting kissed on the first date, right?" he spoke, almost in a whisper. Eyes still locked in on your lips, not looking up from them for one second. His face got closer and closer to yours.

"No, I'm not." His lips nearly brushed against your lips. The gravity becoming too much. Your eyes flickered between his eyes and his mouth.

"Good."

With that his lips met yours. Soft. Gentle. One of his hands carefully pressed into your lower back, bringing you deeper into the kiss. The other hand rested on the side of your face. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you placed them at his shoulders. He pulled away for a brief second, before leaning down once more to leave another quick kiss.

When he finally pulled away, for good this time, he had one last thing to say.

"I'll be seeing you," he said, giving you a wave and that same smile you had grown to adore before walking away.

You sat on the steps outside of your apartment for at least five minutes after the kiss. When you found it in you, you finally walked in the door and ran up the stairs to your apartment.

It's safe to say this was more than a work crush.

—

You walked in to work the next day with a beaming look on your face. Penny noticed immediately.

"Okay tell me everything from start to finish. Don't you dare leave anything out."

She didn't have to force it out of you. You were dying to tell anyone about your date at this point, so you went through every detail, including the kiss.

"Girl, he is so into you," Penny replied.

"Well, I would hope a kiss would mean he's into me. I personally don't kiss people I hate."

Work was slow that day. Not too many customers. Matty didn't walk in that day, which was probably a good thing for your sanity. He did however make his appearance once again, two days later. He walked through the doors in his usual attire, a sweater and a pair of jeans. His eyes lit up, just a little bit, when he saw you.

"Your usual, I assume?"

"Yeah, of course." A soft smile lighting up his face.

Instead of walking away from the counter like he usually did, this time he stayed right by it as you started making his coffee.

"Do you have any plans tomorrow night?"

"I think my schedule is open. You have a suggestion for me to fill it?" you said, a smirk on your face.

"My band has a gig tomorrow night; thought you'd might like to come and see it."

"Oh yeah absolutely! Give me the time and place and I'll be there." He pulled out his phone and texted you the details. It was at a small venue in downtown London.

"I won't be able to see you before the show starts but go up to security after it's over and tell them your name. They'll let you backstage."

You finished up his drink just as he finished his sentence. "Here's your coffee, Matty." You handed him the coffee. His hand brushed with yours, lingering longer than normal. Definitely on purpose. He was looking at your lips again. "I'm looking forward to seeing the show."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing you after the show." He winked and walked out the doors.

As soon as he was out of sight, Penny appeared right behind your shoulder.

"You have got to look hot for that tomorrow. I'm coming over after work to help you with your outfit."

"Where did you spawn from?"

"Oh, I was just in the back listening like any good friend would, of course!"

"I don't know if you listening is a comforting thought or a concerning one." A laugh making its way through your voice.

"Well, be thankful, because I am going to ensure you look hot."

Penny stuck to her word and walked home with you once both of your shifts ended. Right when she walked through the door of your apartment she went to the closet, completely ignoring Socks’ cries for attention.

"I think we have some things to work with here." Her hands full of clothes. She had you try on her first idea, a mini skirt with a button up blouse. Her reaction was immediate. "I mean you always look hot, but this outfit just isn't doing it for me." This went on for quite a bit.

"Penny, can you make up your damn mind before I lose my own?"

"Okay, okay, last thing. Try on this." She hands you a dress that had been laying in the back of your closet for who knows how long. It was black and had a collar alongside a V-neckline. The skirt of the dress landed at mid-thigh. Once you stepped out to show her, she nearly yelled. "Yes! That's perfect! Now time to put the other pieces together." From the large selection of shoes in your arsenal, she landed on a black pair of chunky Mary Jane style shoes.

"Is it to your liking now?" you asked.

"How about you wear these?" She held out a pair of fishnet tights.

"Penny. Absolutely not!"

"You'll look so good though, but fine, I'll accept defeat," she frowned. "Wear these instead." She handed you a pair of sheer black tights. Those you could manage with. She finished the look by gathering a few accessories. Picking out a couple of necklaces and rings. "The look is complete," she said, giving a quick bow.

"I actually really like it. You have good taste." You gave her a hug and thanked her. The two of you walked towards the door. She began to walk out before she stopped to say something.

"By the way, wear some cute underwear underneath that dress, you never know what could happen."

"PENNY! Go. Out the door, now. Bye!" You refused to let your mind go there, yet.

—

You woke up the next morning already antsy about the show that night. You tried to not think about it, but you couldn't get your mind off of it. When it was acceptable to start getting ready, you began with your makeup. Normally you went light with it, but today you decided to focus on your eyes. With a light hand you went in with a dark purple eye shadow, and then blended it out with medium tones. Next came the eyeliner, the scariest part. Keeping your hand steady as possible you drew a small wing onto both eyes. After more attempts than you care to admit, they were even. You finished the rest of the make up and went to put on the outfit.

You walked out the door and headed to the nearest train station. The venue wasn't too far, but it was far enough that you did not want to walk it, especially not in those shoes. When you made it to the venue, there was decent line to get into the place. You wouldn't have guessed the band was this popular from the way Matty talked about it. It seemed like it was nearly going to be a full house. Since Matty put your name on the guest list, you didn't have to have a ticket, very convenient.

After you were in the building, it wasn't very long before the show started. However, there was enough time for you to make it to the bar and get a drink. You'd hoped the liquid courage would come in handy later. The place was indeed packed. Since it was standing room only, you decided to stand more towards the back.

The set was fantastic. You could tell Matty was much more comfortable preforming with the band than he was by himself. Totally different stage presence compared to when he sang at the coffee shop, particularly when they played the same song "Chocolate". If there were nerves in Matty this time around, you couldn't tell. The bottle of wine in his hand while he sang likely played a role in that, though.

Once the show was over, people slowly filed out of the room, and you waited until you could make your way up to the security guard at the front. The security guard walked you backstage when you told him your name. Matty was right there when you made it backstage, engulfing you in a hug. He was sweaty and shirtless at this point, but you didn't mind. Not one bit. This was the first time you were able to see all his tattoos. He didn't seem like the type of guy to have a chest piece, but you stood corrected.

"I didn't see you out there, thought you bailed on me for a second." He joked, breaking the hug. "I'm so glad you were able to make it."

"I would have at least texted you if I wasn't able to make it. I was just in the back because I didn't feel like fighting the crowd to get closer. Speaking of which, when were you going to tell me your band was so popular?"

"I don’t think we’re that popular. People just show up when we have a gig. I don't get recognized in public that often."

"I think that's called being popular, Matty. Next time, I'll show up earlier so I can get a closer view. The set was great by the way. I'm going to have to look up the band when I get home."

"Want to meet my band mates?"

"Yeah, of course!"

His hand met your lower back as he walked you to the green room. He introduced you to his friends, Ross, George, and Adam. They teased Matty just a bit for bringing a girl to a concert. You felt your cheeks flush, and not from the alcohol from earlier. You didn't stay and talk for a long time since it was getting so late, so you said bye before following Matty out of the green room. He decided to put on a shirt by now, much to your disappointment. Once you exited the venue, Matty spoke.

"Think I could walk you home again?"

"Well, I took the train this time, I don't want you to have to go in an opposite direction just to walk me home. I'll be fine."

"I don't live too far from you, actually. About a ten-minute walk. We would probably end up taking the same train anyway."

"I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"

"Sorry darling, but no."

"Let's start walking then."

The walk to the train station and the train ride to your apartment was filled with laughter. You were both slightly tipsy. You from the drinks at the bar, and him from the bottle of wine he kept on stage.

"So, now that you've seen the amazing Adam Hann at guitar, I think it's safe to say I am shit at guitar." Matty said, stepping off the train. You both made your way up the stairs of the station and walked towards your apartment.

"I mean he's better than you, yeah, but that doesn't mean you're shit at it. You should see me try to play sometime. It's fucking hilarious."

"I could teach you some chords. How to play ‘Wonderwall’ or something like that."

"Oh God, not ‘Wonderwall’. Anything other than that, please." He lets out a strong laugh at your comment, but you weren't wrong. ‘Wonderwall’ was so overdone.

"Alright, I'll teach you something else then. Anything you want."

You two approached the steps of your apartment, but you didn't want the night to end just yet. So, you had to think fast. "Want to come inside and meet my dog?"

"You have a dog? I love dogs. You should have told me sooner." He followed you through the doorway of the complex and up the stairs to your apartment. As soon as you opened the door, Socks ran to see you. When she saw Matty though, she was a bit confused.

"Her name is Socks by the way," you told him.

"Oh my God, what a cute name." Matty got down on his knees, held his hand out to the dog, and soon enough she warmed right up to him. You left the pair where they were and walked past them, going for Socks’ food bowl.

"Sorry to interrupt, Matty, but I have to feed her. It was too early for her to eat when I left for the concert."

"That's alright," he said, making his way over to sit on the couch. You were thankful you cleaned the place up before you left. You wanted to join him on the couch, but you had to change clothes first. Your feet were killing you and you hated the tights.

"Here's the remote for the television. Put it on whatever you want. I desperately need to change clothes. I'll be right back."

You went into your bedroom and shut the door, not noticing his eyes following you the entire way there. You changed fast, not wanting to be rude. From your dresser, you grabbed a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. Next you stepped into the bathroom adjoined to your room and washed off your makeup. When you walked back in the living room, you saw that Matty put New Girl on the television. Good choice. You took the seat next to him, leaving a bit of room in between.

You sat there and he sat there. Both absorbed by the awkward silence while the TV show played. Socks ate her food in the corner, the only sound other than the show. Matty quietly cleared his throat. Seemed like you were going to have to do the heavy lifting here.

"So..." You began, breaking the silence. "What kind of ideas do you have planned for our next date? Unless you want me to come up with something." His eyes left the television and turned to you. God, you wished his eyes didn't have such an effect on you, and the alcohol from earlier wasn't helping.

"I have plenty of ideas, just going to depend on if you want to do them," he said, a questionable look on his face. It was obvious he still had some alcohol in his system, too.

"Oh? Like what? That sounds a bit mysterious by itself."

"Well, I thought I could invite you over to my place next Saturday and cook something for you. Be all romantic and shit." The look on his face was kind and sincere. Either the alcohol made him have his guard down, or he was just comfortable with you. You couldn't tell which one for sure.

"That sounds like a good idea. I will judge your cooking skills harshly, though."

"I would have expected no less from you," he said with a small laugh. His cheeks were turning pink.

You felt the conversation begin to lull again, so you spoke. A cheeky idea in mind. "Any other plans besides cooking for me?"

"To be honest, I did not think that far ahead."

"I have an idea," you said without hesitation.

"What might that be?" His eyebrows raised and his body turned to you, awaiting your answer.

"Maybe we could do something like we're doing now?"

"Sitting on the couch while watching New Girl, struggling to make conversation?"

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of this." By the end of your sentence, you leaned in and connected your lips to his. Matty was caught off guard. You hadn't been so forward with him yet, but he was quick to kiss back. You broke away first. The both of you breathing heavy. "Sorry, probably should have asked you before I did that."

"No need to say sorry. I don't give a fuck," he replied, placing his hand on the back of your neck to pull you back in. The kiss was heated this time. His hand that was at the back of your neck went up into your hair. His other hand made its way to cup the side of your face, bringing you in closer. Both of your hands threaded through his hair. You've wanted to run your fingers through his curls since the moment you saw him.

His lips were warm and soft as they moved against yours. In an instant, his tongue brushed against your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth in response. His movements were slow as his tongue explored your mouth. As smooth as you tried to be, you trembled with nerves. You felt like you were going to explode. Matty broke away for a moment. His eyes bore into yours. Pupils wide and dilated.

"Are you alright, love? You're shaking like a leaf," he breathed. His thumb rubbing gently on your cheek.

You looked into his eyes for a moment before the eye contact became too much to bear, eyes shifting back to his wet lips. "Yeah, I'm fine." The warble in your voice didn't agree with the words you said, but you pulled him right back into the kiss. Without missing a beat, Matty continued to kiss you, becoming more eager. He moved his hands from your hair and face and relocated them to your waist. In one swift movement, he dragged you from the place next to him until you were sitting on his lap. Your knees were on either side of his hips. His hands, still on your waist, pulled you flush to his body. You tried to keep up with the movements of his lips and tongue, but your inexperience was showing. The movements of his mouth were skillful against yours. It was like he already knew all the places that would make you melt.

You were falling for him. Fast. His hands slipped under your shirt, grasping onto the skin of your hips and waist. He began to push your hips down into his, ever so slightly. You reciprocated the movement on your own, grinding your hips into his. He let out a small groan into your lips at the feeling of your movements. Part of you wanted to hear that sound again, but part of you knew this was about to go too far really quick without telling him what you knew you needed to. Somehow, the voice of reason in your head won, and you pressed lightly on his chest to break the kiss. His eyes stared into yours again, pupils wider than before. His lips red and swollen from the pressure of the kisses, chest rising underneath your hands like he couldn't catch his breath. Beneath the look of arousal on his face, he seemed worried.

"Did I do something wrong?" he breathed out, shifting his hips slightly. You could feel him under you. You were out of breath too. You really had no idea how to put it lightly, so you just said it.

"I'm a virgin." You didn't know how he was going to take that message. Men typically either didn't react well, or they thought you were something to corrupt.

"Oh." There wasn't any judgement in his voice, just a hint of surprise. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, that wasn't my intention." He gently went to move you off him, back to where you were sitting at first. He tried to subtly adjust his pants, but it wasn't all that subtle.

"No, no, you didn't make me uncomfortable at all. I promise," you assured him, hands cupping his cheeks. The worry on his face eased a bit. "I just thought I should tell you before anything went further."

"Thank you for telling me." The smile on his face returned. Thank God you, thought to yourself.

"We can keep going, if you want to?" The anxiety was right back in your voice, your moment of confidence gone.

"As much as I truly would like to..." His eyes lingered on your lips before looking you up and down. "I can't keep going knowing that you’re even a little bit tipsy. I want to make the moment special for you, really." You were more relieved than disappointed. You didn't put on cute underwear out of spite to Penny's comment yesterday, and that decision came back to bite you in the ass.

Socks had perfect timing, saving you from another moment of awkwardness by jumping onto the couch. You and Matty finished that episode of New Girl while Socks sat between you, enjoying the pets from Matty. When the episode ended, Matty had to go. It was one in the morning at this point. You got up and walked him to the door. Before he left, he grabbed your waist gently, and pulled you in for a soft goodbye kiss.

"Next Saturday at 6:00pm we are having that date at my place. I'll text you the address." With one last kiss and a smile, he walked out the door.

—

"YOU WHAT?"

"Penny, oh my God, shut up. We are at work."

"How did you expect me to react to you coming in here and telling me you and Matty dry humped on your couch last night?"

"PENNY."

"Am I wrong? Is that not exactly what you said?"

"I didn't say it like that."

"That's what I heard."

"It seems like you have selective hearing."

"I swear to God, if you don't wear cute underwear this time."

"I am not talking to you about my underwear at work, Penny."

"I'm just saying. Oh! Don't forget condoms!"

"SHUT UP!"

—

The week leading up to the next date was uneventful. Matty came in mid-week like normal. You didn't even ask if he wanted his usual and started his coffee right when he walked in the door.

"Not going to make sure my order hasn't changed? What if I've become an oat milk guy since I came in last?" He walked up to the counter with a grin on his face.

"You can't go changing up on me now, Matty."

"I would never," he laughed. "So, are we still on for Saturday?"

"Yeah, of course. What are you planning on cooking, by the way?"

"That's going to stay a surprise."

"Is that another way of saying you have no clue?" You handed him the coffee cup. His hand grazed yours.

"I'm not going to answer that."

"You still haven't given me your address."

"Oh shit, sorry," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "There. Now you’ve got it," he said with a smile on his face.

"I'm looking forward to it. Just don't give me food poisoning."

"I'll try my best."

—

Saturday rolled around fast. After rummaging through your closet yet again, you chose a simple outfit, a hoodie and a pair of jeans. Once you fed Socks, you went out the door, trying not to be overcome with nerves. The walk to his apartment was just about ten minutes, like Matty had said before, so you didn't have too much time to dwell on those nerves. Reaching his door, you gave it a quick knock, and it swung open after a moment.

"I wasn't expecting you to be early."

"Matty, I'm five minutes late."

"Fuck, you're right," he said, looking at the time on his phone. "I must have lost track of time. Come on in. I'm still cooking." You stepped through the door into Matty's apartment, and you were met with chaos in the kitchen. Seemed like he hadn't even started yet. Two big pots sat on the stove top, and multiple cans of tomato were stacked onto the counter. He stood next to the counter, wearing an apron. Very cute.

"What are you even trying to make?"

"Uh... spaghetti?"

"Do you want some help?" You didn't want to be rude, but you wanted to eat something edible tonight.

"I want to say no, but I know if I do it will be a disaster." You walked into the kitchen and stood next to him, looking at the recipe he had printed out. The kitchen wasn't big. You were practically standing hip to hip. He was staring at the recipe printed out on the counter like he had no idea where to even begin. To be fair, the recipe he picked out wasn't an easy one.

"Matty, I think you managed to pick the most complicated spaghetti recipe I have ever seen. Go ahead and start the pot of water while I work on the sauce." Matty filled the pot with water, placed it on the stove, and then turned to you, watching you start the sauce.

"Sorry. I was supposed to be the one cooking for you."

"I love to cook. It's no trouble. Next time though, go for the pre-made sauce. Making it yourself is a pain in the ass."

"I'll redeem myself next time, promise."

The rest of the cooking went smoothly, for the most part. Matty almost burned the bread, but it was salvaged before the damage could be done. The both of you filled up your bowls with the spaghetti and went to sit on the couch.

"This is really fucking good," Matty said, after eating some of the spaghetti. It was true, you outdid yourself.

"I couldn't have done it without you."

"Oh, yes, you could have."

"Boiling the pasta is a very important job, Matty." He let out a strong laugh at your reply. He then reached over to grab the remote to the television off of the coffee table and hand it to you.

"Here. As a repayment for basically cooking all of dinner, you can put on whatever you would like."

"You're giving me a lot of power here."

"Choose wisely."

You racked your brain for a moment for a good movie to put on, and then it hit you. "Oh! I have the best movie in mind." A devilish smile spread across your face.

Matty watched as you searched for the movie, until you finally landed on it. "10 Things I Hate About You? Really?"

"What? It's a classic."

"It's cheesy."

"All classics are cheesy. You're the one that gave me remote control power here."

"If it's what you want to watch, then I guess it’s alright." Matty got up for a moment as you pressed play and took the empty bowls into the kitchen to put them in the sink. When he returned, he sat right next to you on the couch. You were already nervous, and he hadn't even done anything. As the movie played, you both made small talk about certain parts of the movie.

"It may be cheesy, but Patrick serenading Kat with the school band is a cinematic masterpiece."

"Okay, maybe the movie isn't as bad as I remembered." Matty took the opportunity to stretch out his arm around your shoulder and pull you into his side. With that simple movement, the movie was the last thought on your mind. All you could think about was the weight of Matty's arm wrapped around your shoulder, holding you close. Matty turned his face towards you. His eyes locked onto yours, and his lips were mere inches apart from you. "Are you paying attention to the movie?" He shifted, eyes staring at your lips before you spoke.

"Not really." Your voice held up under the nerves.

"Me neither," he paused. His brown eyes jumping back to meet yours. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes."

His lips met yours. At first, they moved soft and slow against your lips. Both of his hands cupped your face, and your hands made their way around the back of his neck. You were more confident with your movements against his lips than the last time, but he still left you dazed. Your breathing picked up, desperate for more of his mouth.

When his tongue flicked against your bottom lip, the kiss intensified. He moved one of his hands from your face and threaded it through your hair, firmly holding onto the back of your head. His other hand held your hip, and you made your way onto his lap, just as you were a week ago. Matty pulled away from you, but before you had time to react his lips connected to your neck. His lips and tongue worked in tandem, pulling small gasps out of your throat. Your heart was pounding onto your rib cage. Hands trembling behind his neck.

Matty could feel the tremors in your hands. Lifting up from your neck, his eyes met yours in sincerity. "Relax, sweetheart. I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to. You're safe with me." His words calmed you, as he continued to suck on your neck. Suddenly, his lips were replaced with the graze of his teeth, making you jolt. "Is that okay?" His voice was muffled against your neck before he relocated to another spot near your collar bone.

"Mhm," you hummed in response. You didn't want to know how needy your voice would sound if you tried to speak out your answer. His lips were hot and unrelenting against your neck, leaving marks behind. His tongue ran along all the places he bit and sucked at, soothing them.

Both of his hands moved to hold your thighs that straddled his hips. Fingertips digging into them. His grip tightened as you carefully began to move against his hips. Matty broke off from your neck, looking you deep in the eyes. His hands slipped underneath your hoodie, tracing the skin underneath it. His touch on your bare skin drew a small sound from your mouth. Your skin was fiery from the contact of his fingertips. The touch was careful and hesitant, but it was clear what he wanted.

"Can I take this off?" His voice was timid and out of breath. He didn't want to go too fast.

"Yeah," you whispered. Your voice was in the same shape as his. Apprehension was laced in your words. As soon as you gave your answer, his hands slipped your hoodie right off. His eyes bore into you as he looked down at your body, panting through parted lips.

"Fucking hell. Did you wear this for me?" The gaze of his eyes was so intense you had to break the stare. You rested your face in the crook his neck at his comment, losing courage fast. You did indeed listen to Penny this time, and bought a lacy black bra and underwear set earlier this week.

"I was worried it was going to be a little bit much." Face still hidden away from him.

"No, no, it's not. Don't hide your face," he said, fingers clutching your chin and guiding your face, so it was inches away from his, forcing you to be eye to eye once again. Matty removed his own shirt before connecting your lips back together, giving you the chance to run your hands down his bare chest. Your fingertips traced over the tattoo in the middle of his chest, and his reaction was immediate. His tongue worked its way into your mouth, pulling all the air out of your lungs as you continued to grind your hips onto him.

Without warning, Matty pulled you up from the couch by your hips and led you back towards his bedroom. His lips locked against yours until you made it into the room. The back of your legs hit the bed behind you, and then he broke away. Matty held eye contact as he sunk down to his knees in front of you, holding onto the back of your thighs. His eyes passionately looked up into yours, alternating between your wide eyes and your lips, completely enamored by you. He couldn't look away. Your lips were puffy from the previous kisses. You stared right back as his hands traced along the top of your jeans.

"Can I take these off?" he asked. He meant it when he said he wouldn't do anything you didn't want to do. He was going to make sure everything he did was okay. You hastily nodded in response to his question, but that wasn't enough. He needed more than that. "I need to hear you say it, love." He gave the skin above the waistline a small, open-mouthed kiss before looking back at you.

"Yes, you can do whatever you want." he chuckled slightly at your eagerness, but he was just as desperate for you. His hands slowly undid the button of your jeans before he pulled them down over your hips and thighs, keeping his eyes connected with yours as his hands removed your jeans. By the look of desire on his face, and the budge in his pants, you could tell he enjoyed your choice of underwear. The black lace against your skin was a sight he would have to commit to memory.

He stood back up and sat you down on his bed. He stayed right in front of you as he took off his own jeans with haste; pupils wide and blown. His lips were swollen and red, a sheen of saliva on them. You reached out for him, anxious for his touch. Hands running up into his brown curls pulling him down to kiss you, tugging the brown locks.

At the feeling of you pulling his hair, he groaned into your mouth. Unsure of what to do next, you let one of your hands glide down his chest, towards the growing bulge in his boxers. Before you made it, though, he intercepted your hand with his own. His hand completely covered yours as he pulled back to look at you.

"Did I do something wrong?" you asked.

"No, darling, you didn't do anything wrong," he reassured you quickly. His other hand came up to hold the side of your face, brushing your lower lip lightly with his thumb. "I just want to take care of you tonight. Is that alright?"

"If that's what you want to do."

"It most certainly is." Matty moved to sit up on the bed, but he didn't sit next to you. Instead, he sat towards the top of the bed, sitting against the plush headboard. He leaned back against it with his legs spread. "Come here. Lay back against my chest." Your confusion must have shown on your face as you stayed where you were sitting for a moment. "Stop thinking about it so hard, babe." His voice was teasing, but his face was genuine as he motioned you over to him. You listened, and crawled towards him on the bed, turning around so your back laid against his bare chest. The contact with his skin made you shiver. His thighs were on either side of your hips. You could feel yourself pressed into every part of him.

The nerves you thought had calmed down flared back up as you waited for Matty to make his next move. He began by taking his hands and placing them on your thighs. Matty rubbed up and down the lengths of your thighs before he pulled them away from each other to spread your legs apart, mirroring his own. His lips found your neck again, leaving kisses and small bites from the back of your ear all the way down to the crook of your neck. His hands moved from your thighs, dragging them along your hip bone until they spanned across your stomach. He decided to speak again. His breath hot in your ear.

"God, you look so good in lace. Going to be a shame to take it off." Your breath hitched as one of his fingers dipped under the waist band, but he made no effort to remove the undergarment. His hands moved again, this time towards your chest. "I think this can stay on as a compromise," he said with his hands over your breasts. He was teasing you. One of his hands glided down your stomach back to the waistband of your underwear. The other hand gripped you around the waist, pulling you in so you were against his groin. "Feel how hard you're making me?" You pushed your ass back against him, forcing a groan leaving his lips from the pressure.

"Is this okay?" he asked, fingers toying with the waist band. All you could manage was a gasp. "Use your words sweetheart." His voice was firm, but still gentle as he ran his fingertips tentatively underneath the waistband.

"Yes, please," you replied in a whimper. He trailed his middle and ring finger down to tease at your inner thighs before he finally placed them over your clothed clit. Matty planned to drag this out as long as possible. He pressed down in small, very slow circles, causing you to jerk back against him. A moan slipped from your throat.

"That feel good?" He left another hot, open-mouthed kiss on your neck before he trailed his fingers down lower, feeling your arousal through the underwear. "Already this wet for me? You must want it bad, huh?" His fingers continued to move against your clit over your underwear. You were growing restless, practically whining as your hips moved against his fingers, craving his touch on your skin, but he was unyielding. He wanted you to ask for it. "What? You need something else?" he asked, voice thick and sultry.

"Matty, please."

"Please what? If you want me to touch you, you're going to have to tell me with your words."

"Touch me. Please touch me. Please, please, please." You were gasping for air. Your chest moving up and down at a fast pace. You wanted him. No, you needed him.

"Such a good girl. That wasn't so hard, was it?" His comment made the blood rise to your cheeks. "I'm going to take these off now, alright?" He grabbed the waistband of the underwear and pulled them down your thighs. You stifled a gasp when his fingers pressed against you. One of your hands reached behind you to thread through his hair, while the other went to cover your mouth as he began to circle you in a fast motion. Matty wasn't going to allow that. His free hand coming up to pull your hand from over your mouth. "I want to hear how good I'm making you feel.”

You don't think you could have held back your moans even if you tried, whining at the movement of his hand. Your hips moved aimlessly against his. The constant movement against his erection was becoming too much. His groans were hot against your ear. His arm wrapped around your waist and pinned it to him, ceasing your movements. "This is about you sweetheart, remember?" he added, voice strained. He trailed a finger downwards, gently circling your entrance. "Can I?"

"Please," you begged. You wanted as much of him as he would give you.

He slowly worked a finger into you, waiting until you were comfortable before thrusting deep in and out of you at a careful pace. "Fuck, you're so wet," he breathed into your ear. By this point, his other hand moved its way past your breasts and rested around your neck, giving your neck a gentle, but constant squeeze. You choked out a moan at the pressure on your neck, writhing against his groin once again. Heat spread across your skin. You knew he wanted to be careful with you, but you couldn't take the slow pace of his movements. You needed more.

"Matty, please put another one in and go faster. I'm not going to break, please." you begged. You were desperate, you didn't care if you sounded that way.

"Eager?" he replied. You didn't have to beg again, though. He wanted to please you. Matty pushed another finger into you and increased his pace, curling his fingers up so they brushed against a spot that made you jerk against him.

"Oh, fuck," you cried out, tightening your grasp in his hair. Your head fell back against his shoulder as his fingers thrusted in and out of you, going deeper and deeper with every stroke. The heat began to build in your lower stomach, wounding tighter with each of his movements. His hand left your neck and rested below your navel. He pushed down onto your lower stomach with his hand while his fingers continued to move. A choked sob left your lips. The tension within you was growing tighter.

"You like that?" he asked as if he didn't already know the answer, picking up the pace of his hand. You pulsed around his fingers with every stroke inside of you.

"Matty—" you rasped. His name was the only thing you were sure of right now. His fingers hitting every spot you needed them to. The heat in your stomach was reaching a breaking point.

"Something you're trying to tell me, love?"

"Please. I'm so close, please."

Immediately, he drew his hand from your stomach and began to circle your clit. The sensation from both hands was too much. Your hips stuttering against him. Electricity began to run through your skin as your hands went down to grasp at his thighs for support. Nails digging into the skin.

"Go on, sweetheart. Don't hold back," he murmured. His lips reattached to your neck, sucking hard on your pulse point.

His words, the feeling of his tongue, and the prodding of his hands sent you over the edge. You cried out his name at your release. Your muscles tensed around his fingers as the pleasure enveloped you, trembling in his hold.

"That's it. That's a good girl," he whispered into your ear, continuing to rub your clit to help you come down.

You stayed against him, trying to catch your breath as he removed his fingers from inside of you. Your skin still buzzing with pleasure as his other hand held your chin to pull you in for a kiss. Wanting to deepen the kiss, you turned around to sit in his lap, but he held back your face before your lips could meet his. His fingers that were inside you came up to prod against your lower lip.

"Clean them off for me, yeah?" he asked. His pupils were so wide you could barely make out the brown ring around them.

You did what he asked, opening your mouth to take his fingers in as far as they would go. Your lips closed around his fingers while your tongue pressed against them; you could taste yourself on his fingers. He slowly dragged them out of your mouth, never breaking eye contact with you. You craved more of him.

"Please fuck me," you begged, voice shaky.

Matty sucked in a sharp breath. He wanted all of you, but he was determined to wait. His hands held both sides of your face before he spoke. "Next time, but not tonight, okay? I just wanted to take care of you tonight, to take things slow."

"I want to make you feel good, too. Please, Matty." Your hands were on his chest, raking your fingernails down him softly. The only thing separating your bodies was the thin fabric of his boxers. He was still hard against you, straining against the fabric.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he insisted. Although, he was losing composure fast at the feeling of you against him with nearly no separation.

"If you won't fuck me..." you breathed out, moving your hips. He winced as you ground down against him. "Is there something else you'll let me do to get you off? You can use my mouth if you want." He groaned at the thought of your lips wrapped around him but pushed the image aside. That would happen later, not tonight.

"Fucking hell, I'll compromise. You can jerk me off. That alright?"

"Yes," you replied with a quick nod. "I'll do anything you'll let me."

"Go ahead," he prompted, voice thin. You went to move off of his lap, kneeling beside him. You gradually ran your hand down from his chest tattoo until you reached the bulge in his underwear. You splayed your hand over his clothed erection and pressed down carefully, looking him in the eye. His hips jerked against your hand as you continued to apply pressure. "Fuck," he groaned. You moved your hands upward to hook around his waist band, pulling the garment down.

He was big. A bead of precum formed at his tip. Your hand trembled as you grasped around his cock. Your fingers barely made their way all around him. His chest moved up and down as he breathed deeply, watching as you held him in your hand. Unsure of exactly how to do this well, you looked up at him.

"Do you want some guidance?" he asked without you having to say anything. His eyes were glazed over as they looked back down on you. You nodded hesitantly in response, and this time he didn't pry at your lack of words. "Alright." His hand moved down until it was wrapped around yours over his cock. His hand completely encapsulated yours, making you feel small next to him. He began to guide your hand to move up and down his shaft at a careful pace. His breath picked up at the feeling of your hand around him, struggling to speak out his next set of instructions.

"Just start out slow, don't press too hard at the tip." You continued to follow the movements of his hand, occasionally glancing up to see the look on his face. His lips were parted, still puffy. Pieces of hair hanged down over his forehead. He removed his hand from yours to let you touch him on your own. You were still careful with your movements, but held him firmly in your grasp, using his precum to glide your hand at a faster pace.

You were still unsure of yourself. "Is that good?" you asked, meeting his dark eyes.

"Fuck. Yeah, that's good keep going just like that." His words only egged you on. You increased your pace, giving the head of his cock a gentle squeeze. His head fell back against the headboard as a choked sound left his lips. You took his exposed neck as an opportunity to attach your lips to his neck, sucking right above his collarbone while continuously moving your hand. His hips jerked when your lips met his neck. "Shit, love. You're so good. Fuck."

He was getting close. His lower stomach was tensing, and his cock pulsated in your hand. Strained sounds were coming out of his mouth. You removed your lips from his neck and moved your freehand to the back of his head, forcing him to look you in the eyes. The eye contact was all it took. He spilled over your hand while you continued to stroke him through his orgasm. His first instinct was to pull you in by the back of your head for a quick, but heated kiss.

"Here, let me get you some tissues," he said, reaching for the box of tissues on his nightstand to clean up the mess on your hand. You stopped him with your clean hand.

"No, I got it," you replied, eyes dark. You took each of your fingers into your mouth, licking them clean while he watched with his mouth wide open.

"Shit. How about we do this again, same time next week?"

“Is that gonna be the ‘next time’ you mentioned earlier?”

“You’ll have to find out, won’t you?”

#matty healy #the 1975 #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy fanfic #the 1975 fanfic #smut #writing #this is cross posted to ao3 so go give it a kudos pls #hopefully this isn’t bad #reposted this on here to make it aesthetic

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kokirane · 5 months ago

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crossposted from ao3 and twitter.

Nagi stirs at the sound of the door opening and closing. He must’ve fallen asleep again — that’s fine, it’s not like there’s a lot to do over the break — but he thinks he must still be dreaming, because Reo is coming over to his bed, soft footsteps nearly silent.

If he could, Nagi would sit up in surprise, but he doesn’t want to move, and he doesn’t have to. Reo slips underneath the blanket that Nagi’s tangled up in, tucking it around the two of them properly. There’s sunlight coming through the window — eh, when had he opened it? — and it makes Reo even brighter, like how refracted light bursts into rainbow hues. It’s almost a little blinding; if the sun grows any stronger, it might blot Reo out completely.

Even through the haze of sleep, through his half-lidded eyes, Nagi wants to see him properly. Even if they were at Shibuya with everyone else a few days ago, it wasn’t the same as it used to be. Reo stayed just out of reach, but it didn’t feel like whenever he would tease Nagi. It felt worse.

But Reo read his mind, somehow, and he came, right back into Nagi’s arms.

“Reo,” Nagi starts, but Reo interrupts him. There’s a flush to his skin, and he leans, just a little, into the crook of Nagi’s neck, like he wants to hide.

“Nagi,” Reo says. “You really should clean up around here, you know.” Ah, finally another order from his boss. Well — one that he doesn’t mind as much as leave me alone or don’t touch me.

“Later,” Nagi says. He’s not sure why Reo’s here all of a sudden, but he wants to make the best of it. With how things have been lately, he doesn’t know when Reo will turn cold again. He shouldn’t waste time asking about necessary things. “Let’s sleep, Reo.”

“Ha, weren’t you just sleeping?”

“I sleep better with Reo,” Nagi says, slipping his hands around Reo’s waist, fingers ghosting underneath his patterned sweater. Reo’s all soft skin and lean muscle, like a perfect pillow. Maybe he should ask if this is okay. He’s never had to ask before, but — ah, Reo’s entwining their fingers. His palms are callused, and Nagi wonders if Reo’s been working out over their break — probably, yeah. Nagi hasn’t lifted a single weight since.

“Stupid boy,” Reo says affectionately. He’s warm, smiling. The tips of their noses brush; he isn’t hiding anymore. Nagi can smell lavender soap and iced coffee, can see how Reo’s eyes darken as they gaze into his.

It’s embarrassing, but — Nagi’s dreamt about kissing Reo. He wonders if Reo’s thought about it too — when he looked it up online, he saw that sometimes, weird dreams like that can happen, and it doesn’t have to mean anything.

The way Reo’s looking at him now feels like it means something.

“Reo,” Nagi tries again, but Reo interrupts once more: with a soft brush of his lips against Nagi’s. Nagi’s lips are chapped, and his throat is dry, but he doesn’t care, because Reo’s here, Reo’s kissing him, Reo wants wants wants him —

“Reo, Nagi bursts out breathlessly, “why are you here?”

There’s a bit of a pause, and then Reo admits, “I don’t know.”

“That doesn't sound like Reo,” Nagi protests. “Reo always knows.”

Or, well, he’s supposed to, but they’ve both changed, haven't they? They had finally lost, and Reo had looked so helpless back then.

“Go to sleep,” Reo says quietly, and it’s like a magic spell, because what happens next is this: Nagi wakes up to the faint glow of the sunset peeking through the curtains, and he’s tangled up in the blanket again. Choki’s silhouette casts a small shadow over the edge of the bed; there’s nothing — no one — else.

Nagi turns from side to side, says, “Reo?”

He touches his lips, wonders — hopes — if he can taste iced coffee, but his mouth is too dry, the thrall of sleep too thick, and so he curls into himself, back into nothingness, and hopes that dreams have save points.

#nagireo #reonagi #snippets #drabble

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chronicowboy · 2 years ago

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one Buck richer | 3.8k

Eddie doesn't remember how they ended up here.

He's not a dramatic person, but he's sure that he must have done something truly horrific in a past life to deserve this.

All he remembers of this life, is the overwhelming, all-consuming terror that had curled like a vice around his heart when Buck had offhandedly mentioned going to Italy for a week or two.

Now, they're... Here, and Eddie cannot work out why, for the life of him, he ever thought this would be a good idea because it is quite possibly the worst, most terrible, poorly-informed, life-changingly destructive idea he's ever had.

Who knows? Maybe he'd never even fooled himself into thinking it was anything approaching a good idea.

Maybe this was just another knee-jerk reaction in the face of his own fear.

It wouldn't exactly be out of character for him, as much as he'd like to think that he's grown out of those bad habits completely.

So, there might be a pattern emerging.

Eddie gets shot, doubles down with the woman he was just going through the motions with to ignore everything that came with a bullet to the shoulder, crashes and burns a couple of months later.

Buck dies, comes back to life, talks about Abby-ing his way to Italy, Eddie suggests going to a fancy casino with the man he's pretty sure he's head over heels in love with, crashes and burns the moment he sees him in a deep red suit.

He really, really didn't think this one through.

And he's seriously considering locking himself in Buck's bathroom to call Frank. In fact the only thing stopping him is the knowledge that its after business hours which means Frank can be unprofessional and laugh at Eddie's sad little life—he'd discovered that the hard way.

Fuck it, might as well call 911 because there's no way he's surviving tonight if Buck is just going to walk around a casino with a level of confidence that decidedly does not match up to his skill level which will undoubtedly lead to pouting and the deep red of his blazer really brings out the blue of his eyes and makes his soft pink birthmark stand out against his pale skin and—

Oh, yeah. This is definitely the worst idea he's ever had in his whole, fucked up life.

Maybe he needs to revisit the whole self-preservation—or lack of—conversation with Frank because, right now, Eddie feels like he's staring down at his hand on a big red button labelled 'SELF-DESTRUCT' with horrified eyes.

"Eddie?" Buck waves a big, gentle hand in his face, and Eddie uses every ounce of carefully practiced self-control to pull himself out of his head before he starts thinking about Buck's hands—but seriously, how can hands be attractive?

"Yeah, yep, yes. Hi, hello." Eddie cringes at himself, hopes the heat crawling from his cheeks all the way up to the tips of his ears is just a phantom sensation.

"Okay, weirdo," Buck chuckles. Fuck, even his fucking laugh is attractive. Its times like these when Eddie's certain God is real and he truly does hate gay people because this cannot just be Eddie's lot in life. Maybe he just personally offended the big man upstairs at some point and his punishment is being deeply, irrevocably in love with his best friend.

"Says you," Eddie retorts weakly. "Who says yes to a night of poker when he can't even beat his sister playing with M&Ms for currency?"

"Somebody who performs better under pressure," Buck chides, collecting his wallet and keys from the side table. "There are no stakes to M&M poker, that's why I lose."

"Sure, that's why." Eddie nods, silently congratulating himself for falling back into their easy banter instead of focusing on the fact that Buck's shirt is so tight that, if it weren't for his sinful blazer, his nipples would probably be visible through the fabric. And back to square one. "Hey, remind me, which would win: a full house or four of a kind?"

Buck blinks, his face scrunching up into an expression Eddie recognises from Christopher doing math homework at the kitchen table. Oh, dear God. He's definitely not making it out of the casino alive.

(continue reading on ao3)

#sami rambles #okay so the jimpam casino night but its buddie basically #thats all you need to know #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buck x eddie #911 spec #911 spec fic #911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie fic #buck x eddie fanfic

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kassandras-one-braincell · 1 year ago

Note

i have so many more thoughts about eivor help me

- i saw your post and you’re so right. she literally gives off warm vibes. even her smell just makes you want to curl up in her arms and never move

- trinkets. she loves trinkets. any time she’s working on a project outside or out and about, she has to pick something up. every time you come home, there’s a new rock or small object on a bookshelf that you specifically dedicated to eivor’s trinket collecting.

- okay i… do not know anything about building. or dirty work. i hate getting my hands dirty (this is a complete self-serve please bear with me here). eivor would LOVE to do all of the handy work for you. especially if she comes home after a long day and sees you (cue gasp) trying to fix a drawer or a shelf on your own with her tools. she would rush over to you and tbh (me) you’ve probably been crying because why is building stuff so hard??? and you chipped a nail which made you even more upset. eivor just.. gently easing the tools out of your hands and telling you to go take a nice shower and relax while she takes care of it.

- on that note, eivor would be great at taking care of your anxiety. especially if you’re more on the shy/quiet/introverted side.

- in public, it’s a protective arm around you, and mean glares to anyone who might make you anxious. sweet forehead kisses and reassuring words whispered into your ear after you have to order at a restaurant. ushering you into a quiet space when you get overwhelmed and hugging you close, providing warmth and comfort <3

- in private, she amps it up a lot more. i have anxiety, so i get anxious at random times over random things. if you’re cooking or working on some homework or paperwork and get overwhelmed, she’s there in an instant with a big bear hug and all the kisses you could ever want. maybe it’s just one of those days where you wake up and feel like crap. eivor takes the day off and stays in with you, encouraging you to eat and at least read a little bit of a book or take a shower. if you can’t? she’s more than happy to stay in bed, snuggled up with you.

- speaking of which.. eivor’s bed is probably the comfiest thing in the world. minimal but extremely fluffy and comfy pillows, a big comforter with some extra throw blankets. expensive ass sheets. probably silk or something. she wants you to be as comfy as possible. also she has one of those attached lights on her headboard for when she reads late at night and doesn’t want to wake you. i don’t make the rules

okay i’ll probably be back with more but um. here’s this

Eivor absolutely gives the impression that she's patient and sympathetic around people of a more anxious disposition, yeah. I see her as encouraging without being demanding during those bad days. She would contentedly spend a day with you doing nothing but relying on comforts, but she'd move you and your blankets to the sofa, so your sleep pattern wouldn't suffer, and you'd get some more natural light come through.

By nature, she's very rational and wouldn't let you neglect yourself, but she understands how ordinary tasks can be daunting when you're in a shit state of mind. If you can't bring yourself to eat a meal, she'll offer you lighter, snackier foods intermittently. If brushing your teeth is too overwhelming, she'll bring you some mouthwash and a cup to spit it into (no word of a lie, this is how I avoided serious dental damage when I was at my lowest - a little goes a long way). She'll take care of your hair for you, and encourage you to walk with her into the kitchen for the sake of your joints. She is your rock, but a soft rock. Like soapstone.

Eivor loving building and tinkering is canon, that's the law, give her a toolbox and some flat pack furniture and she'll be busy for hours. While I'm a bit of a high femme handyman who can vividly imagine having hers-and-hers toolboxes, you're on the mark, she wouldn't mind one bit if all the diy is left to her, especially if you hate it! Why would she want you distressing yourself when she has powertools?Speaking of, don't let her loose in a diy store. You won't see her until it closes. Love her for that even more.

#eivor #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor x reader #lovely anons

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thelampisaflashlight · 1 year ago

Text

The Hotel Saturn Pt 1: Welcome

[Welcome to The Hotel Saturn, make yourself comfortable, you might just want to stay forever. Selen just wanted a break from the road.] Below the cut.

Taking in the sights and sounds, and, indeed, smells, of The Hotel Saturn, Selen cannot help but think coming here was a mistake.

The place looks like it hasn't been updated since the 1960's, vintage stains included, and reeks of old, wet tobacco and some kind of generic Lysol-like cleaner.

"Not too late to say fuck it and sleep in the van..." she mumbles under her breath, cringing slightly as the aggressively turquoise -Maybe teal? Cheryl is the one who can tell the difference, it's all just green or blue to her.- crunches under her boots.

Disgusted, Selen glances around the room, looking for her bandmates, but, much to her disappointment, all of them have abandoned waiting in line to be seen at the front desk -and her- in favor of milling about the lobby.

Cheryl, carrying around her fluffy, pink half jacket in her arms, heart-shaped sunglasses perched on the top of her head, is admiring some of the art hanging on the walls, which Selen has to admit is rather lovely... if not a bit macabre.

Aaron, holding half the band's bags and looking quite calm about it, is stood near the front door, looking outside at the virtually empty parking lot, eyes fixed on... something. It's hard to tell from a distance what he's looking, if he's looking at anything at all.

Clair, sat on a strangely patterned couch -Selen thinks it's called... paisley?- is scrolling through his phone, looking tense, and beside him, no doubt the reason for his unease, is Lukas.

Lukas...

Yeah, Selen would rather not look at him right now, or ever quite frankly, so whatever he's doing, she doesn't give a damn, but given Clair's expression, he's probably talking his ear off about something.

Honestly, she isn't even sure why Lukas is here.

This trip was just supposed to be the four of them, and then...

"He's my sister's fiancé's younger brother, they pretty much bullied me into letting him come." Clair had explained, annoyed, but giving a shrug, "He's studying audio engineering or something, I dunno."

"Do we really want some rando with us in the van for the next, like, month?" Cheryl had questioned, "I dunno about you boys, but I'm not exactly comfortable with that. Like, what's he even going to do?"

"He's not a complete stranger, Cherie, he's my future brother-in-law's brother, and, besides, he already knows Selen." Clair pointed out, gesturing towards her, "They went to the same college, they even had classes together, isn't that right?"

"I-"

Selen shakes her head, bringing herself back to the present, curling her hands into tiny fists in her pockets, the bite of her nails into her palm keeping her grounded.

It's no use in reflecting on that conversation or dwelling on the past in general, but...

She looks over at Lukas again.

His attention is still directed towards Clair, who just seems to be nodding along to whatever Lukas is saying, his gaze remaining glued to his phone.

Returning to watching the line, Selen can now see a man in a burgundy track suit with prominent dark circles under his eyes discussing something rather quickly with the person working the front desk, gesturing back and forth between himself and the group of people clustered around him.

Beside the man stands another, much taller, beefier looking man who seems to be explaining things as the shorter gesticulates wildly.

Before too long, the front desk worker grabs a series of keys off of a rack hanging behind them and drops them onto the counter, turning away from both of them to type something into their computer, ignoring the boisterous man and his... bodyguard?

Selen gives the crowd time to disperse slightly before approaching the desk, finding that the counter itself comes up to her chest.

It had seemed so much shorter with the two men standing in front of it...

Her head barely pokes over the back of the computer monitor, and Selen finds she has to stand on her toes to be seen, almost startling the front desk worker out of their seat.

"Sorry." she apologizes quickly, a bit red in the face from embarrassment, "Um..."

The worker sighs and places a hand on their chest.

"It's fine." they say, sounding tired.

Selen tries not to take it personally, especially seeing what they've just had to deal with.

"Welcome to the Hotel Saturn, how may I be of service this afternoon?" they ask, rolling back slightly in their chair to get a better angle on Selen.

"Ah, yes, um... My friends and I would like to..." she briefly struggles to find the word she wants to use, "...rent a couple rooms if at all possible?"

"How many rooms will be needed?" the worker asks.

"There's five of us so... three would be ideal."

"And how long will you be staying with us?"

Selen thinks for a moment.

They have to head to their next show the day after tomorrow, but she's not quite sure how... how this is supposed to work in all honesty.

Do you rent the room for the morning and evening separately?

Would it count as two days and two nights?

"Um..." Selen counts on her fingers, "Well... we, we would like to stay tonight, tomorrow, and the morning of the day after so... um..."

The worker smiles, trying to appear reassuring, but in the back of Selen's mind it only shows her that she's royally flubbing this interaction.

"We can arrange that, yes." they say, checking their computer again, frowning, "Ah... Unfortunately it seems we only have one room currently available, but it does have two double beds and a sofa, would that work?"

"Well..." Selen considers the sleeping arrangements for a moment, so long as Aaron and Clair share one bed, and her and Cheryl get the other, Lukas can sleep on the couch so... "That sounds fine."

"Alright then, I just need you to fill out some paperwork-"

"I am NOT sleeping on the couch." Lukas whines almost immediately upon hearing Selen's proposed set-up, "I already had to sleep sitting up in the passenger seat of the van, I deserve to sleep in a real bed!"

"We've all been sleeping in the van." Cheryl points out, rolling her eyes.

"Guys, I'll sleep on the couch, Lukas can share with Aaron." Clair says, taking the room key from Selen.

"I don't want to share a bed with a guy either." Lukas huffs, then smirks, looking at Selen and Cheryl, "Maybe one of you lovely la-"

"Clair, tell your stupid ass soon to be bitch-in-law that if he even thinks about crawling into my bed at night, I'm going to neuter him on the spot." Cheryl threatens.

"Can we not fight about this in the middle of a hallwa-" Clair starts, but gets cut off by Aaron slipping the key out of his hand and handing it back to Selen, who stares up at him in confusion.

"Cheryl and Selen should get their own bed, Clair and Lukas, you two can either man up and share the other one or one of you can sleep on the couch." he says, sounding rather bored by their antics, "I'm going to sleep outside in the van, keep an eye on our equipment. I know we're out in the middle of nowhere, but that's even more reason to be cautious."

"Aaron, you really don't have to sleep in the van, man, I could..." Clair trails off, then smiles suddenly, "Thanks, man."

"No problem." Aaron waves him off dismissively, then crouches down slightly to whisper in Selen's ear, "...There's enough room in the back if you decide to say fuck it and sleep in the van, too."

Selen shivers.

"D-Don't stay up too late." she stammers.

"No worries, girlie, I won't." he hums, standing back up straight, rolling his shoulders, "Right, you guys get settled, I'm gonna see what this place has to offer in terms of recreation, seeing as we're going to be here for a little while, might as well make use of that time wisely..."

"This room smells funky." Aeon hums nervously, looking down at the tacky yellow carpeting, "Like the cigarettes Swiss smokes..."

"So weed?" Dew snorts, going through his duffle bag, "Yeah, yeah, that and, mn..."

Dew sniffs.

"Dryer lint."

"That has a smell??" Aeon chirps, going over to the window to look outside, "They have a tennis court and... oh, a pool house! We could go swimming!"

"It's probably not super well maintained, and I don't think we'll have much time to play around..." Dew points out, "This is work, even if it feels like a vacation."

"Oh..." Aeon frowns, "R-Remind me what we're supposed to... supposed to do again?"

Dew takes a pouch out of his bag and tosses it to Aeon, who scrambles to catch it.

"You, my young friend, are going to go take pictures of the hotel, and be casual about it so staff doesn't get suspicious and think we're casing the joint...." the older ghoul pulls out a notebook, a roll of tape, and a pen from his bag and throws them onto Aeon's bed, "Take notes, write down anything suspicious you see, tape the pictures into the notebook-"

"Couldn't we just use a digital camera or, like, our phones for this...?" Aeon questions, examining the polaroid camera in his hands, "Why are we going... retro?"

"Physical evidence is more reliable than digital when it comes to capturing these fuckers." Dew says, "Besides, fits the aesthetic."

Aeon fiddles with the camera, holding it up facing Dew, "Cheese?"

Dew smirks, wincing slightly as the flash goes off.

Zzzt...

Fwip.

Aeon waits for the photo to develop, eyes going wide when he looks at it, "Dew, there's-!"

"A weird aura around me, right?" He says, motioning outward, "The camera has a mild enchantment on it, so the lens can 'see' what we can't see with the naked eye... only flaw is that it still needs regular film, so don't just point and shoot at anything."

"What should I take photos of?" Aeon asks, flipping the camera around to take a picture of himself, curious about what his aura looks like.

Zzzt...

Fwip.

"Try to get wide shots of the rooms you pass through, hallways, both ends, and any mirrors that are facing each other, or a doorway."

"Why?"

"Mirrors can act as portals for spirits and other entities to pass through." Dew explains, "Even you could probably do it with some practice, but you'd have to ask Aether about how to do it since it's a quintessence thing."

"Oh." Aeon looks at his photo, "...Is this normal?"

"Show me."

Aeon hands the picture over to Dew, who purses his lips.

"I'm afraid there's something awful in this photo."

"Oh no!" Aeon squirms, "What is it??"

"A dorky little kit."

"Hey!"

After receiving further instructions from Dew, Aeon sets off to explore the hotel. Despite his teasing, the older fire ghoul really is a good teacher and a surprisingly caring mentor in general, even if he could come off a bit snarky at times.

"You have big shoes to fill." He'd told him backstage before his first show, hands firmly on Aeon's shoulders, "Aeth is a fan favorite and you're coming out in the wake of his retirement, so the crowd is going to be rough. It's always hard, but when you're the new guy... it's worse. Don't let the crowd win, give it your all and make the stage your bitch!"

It was Dew's confidence in him early on that let him feel a little less awkward in general.

He's kind of like an older brother in a way, which is why it doesn't feel like too much of a stretch to pretend like he is for the sake of their mission.

"As far as the staff is concerned, we're having a family reunion." Papa had explained as they arrived at the hotel, having all arrived in groups of two to four, spaced out over the course of several hours to make it seem more legitimate that they were all coming from different places instead of coming directly from the abbey together.

"Our goal is to document any and all supernatural happenings at the hotel and, with any luck, find and eliminate the cause should anything... demonic... be lurking within these walls."

"Aren't we demonic things lurking within these walls then?" Aurora had asked, sparing Aeon the embarrassment of asking himself, "Like... aren't we for demons?"

"This is different." Aether chimed in, standing beside Papa, "The entities we are hunting were summoned through unsanctioned rituals and blood pacts, and mean to do harm to the living, ourselves included, as well as bring harm to whatever spirits might be trapped here on the surface."

"More often than not, these creatures seek to create disorder and chaos, but they do not do it to further the dark lord's ideals or to bring forth Hell on Earth, they do so for selfish means and to grow in power in hopes of overtaking the throne."

"...And we have to do this... why?" Aeon had finally asked, looking at the gathered ghouls nervously, "Like, why us specifically?"

"Ghouls are more durable than humans." Aether answered plainly, "If we sent the siblings to deal with possible infestations, the mortality rate would skyrocket, and, crucially, most humans cannot see the things we can. The only exception being psychics or seers, or those granted 'sight' by incantations or prayer."

"I don't know if I'm qualified for this..." Aeon mumbles, back in the present, the camera hanging around his neck bouncing slightly against his chest as he makes his way downstairs and into the lobby again.

He'd taken a picture of the space from above, but something in the corner caught his eye even before the photo fully developed.

Two women, one very tall and dressed in an outfit that Aeon can only describe as "Barbie-esque" -very pink would be another way to put it, but the first thought he had upon seeing it was "Ah, like Barbie."- with a short, brown buzzcut, and another, far shorter one, dressed almost entirely in black, save for the purple sunglasses she's wearing and the bright white boots on her feet, stand admiring a series of framed pictures on the wall.

At first, he hadn't noticed anything off about the pair, but something about the shorter of the two, the thin bubble around her in the polaroid...

Aeon finds himself heading down the staircase before his mind can really process if it's a good idea to approach the two or not.

"This one, the smaller piece here, is a replica of Femmes au jardin, Women in the garden, by Claude Monet, with some creative liberties taken..." the taller says, "And- Oh, hello."

Aeon stumbles over his feet, catching himself on the back of the ornate chair in front of him, "H-Hello, um, I couldn't help but overhear... uh... I..."

"Are you interested in the paintings here, too?" she asks, saving him from his own tongue, "They're impressive, no?"

Aeon nods.

"I... I wasn't sure, or rather, how... how can you tell they're not original works?" he asks, trying to make conversation.

"For some of them it's obvious, you wouldn't find, say this one here." She extends a finger towards a framed painting beside the one they're currently viewing, "This is a carefully painted copy of the Spanish painter Francisco Goya's painting known as, El Perro, The Dog. It's one of fourteen paintings known as The Black Paintings that Goya painted directly onto the walls of his home., hence why this is obviously a replica."

Aeon takes in the image, it seems rather simple, and yet...

"The dog seems so sad..."

"People have debated over the meaning, it really depends on how you view the dog's role in the piece, though none of them are particularly happy... I was just saying it seemed an odd choice for the lobby of a hotel, but I guess it's a matter of taste." she shrugs, then turns to him with a smile, "Almost forgot to introduce myself, Cheryl."

She offers him her hand.

"A-Aeon." he says, shaking her hand, "And your friend?"

The smaller woman hasn't said a thing or acknowledged him since he approached them initially, seemingly lost in the artwork before her.

"Ah, this is Selen, she's acting like she's interested, but she actually finds this sort of talk very boring, don't you?" Cheryl teases, pinching the other's cheek.

"I-I don't... I just don't understand all of the fancy words you wind up using!" Selen pouts, her speech a bit slurred by Cheryl's grip on her face, "...But I do know what I like, and I can't say I enjoy these... hoity-toity pieces, they're too fancy or have weirdly grim meanings..."

Cheryl sighs, letting go of her friend's face, then glances down at the camera around Aeon's neck.

"A bit of a shutterbug?" she asks, and Aeon startles a bit.

"Oh, um, not really, my... my brother handed me this and told me to take pictures of the hotel." he says, holding up the camera, then whispers, "...I think that may have just been an excuse to get me to leave him alone now that I think about it."

Cheryl laughs.

"So, family trip?"

He nods.

"I saw him come in with that big group earlier." Selen says, side-eyeing him.

"A-Ah, yeah, that's my family haha... The Saturn was where my grandparents met, so it's, I guess our Pa-" Aeon coughs, "Our dad wanted to come here since Gramps passed recently."

"Aw..." Cheryl pats his shoulder.

"And you? What brought you here?"

Selen turns and points at a lanky man in a polo shirt with the collar flipped up.

"That douchey looking guy over there."

"Selen, be nice..."

Aeon bites his tongue.

He... the guy does look kind of... kind of...

"A-Ah."

"Ignore Selen." Cheryl says, giving Selen a look before the shorter shrugs and walks off to look at a different painting over on the opposite wall, "We're on a road trip, kind of. We're checking out hotels in on the way to some venues, see which ones are the best bang for our buck, ya know? But so far we've just wound up sleeping in the car."

"Venues... Oh, um, are you seeing a band perform?" he asks, tilting his head curiously.

Cheryl shrugs, "Mn, kind of."

Kind of.

Huh.

"T-That's neat, um, so I..." Aeon taps his fingers on the camera anxiously, "Uhh..."

"Aeon!"

Oh thank fuck.

Swiss bounces over to his side and swings an arm around his shoulders.

"Pops wants us to meet up at the tennis court in an hour, get a photo for Grandma." he says, giving him a squeeze before letting him go, "So get a move on, yeah, kid?"

Aeon flushes.

"Y-Yeah, sure."

Swiss ruffles his hair and heads off, saying something about going to find Rain.

"Is that the brother you mentioned?" Cheryl asks, lowering her sunglasses to peek over at Swiss' retreating figure.

"H-He's one of my brothers, but not the one who gave me the camera." Aeon says, "I... I should get a move on, haha..."

"You do that. It was nice meeting you, Aeon, hopefully we get a chance to talk again before the end of our stays here, and if we do..." Cheryl says, then, eyeing Swiss once more before he full disappears around the corner, "Bring your brother."

Aeon can't leave quick enough.

"That guy was weird." Selen whispers, hanging off of Cheryl's arm nervously, "Did you see his camera? What if he was taking pictures of us before he came down the stairs?"

"I mean it's possible, but he seems like he's on the level. Some people are just awkward like that..." Cheryl says, "Even you have trouble striking up conversations with strangers unless the other person initiates it first."

"Mn, but..."

Cheryl pokes Selen in the forehead with one of her long, pink acrylic fingernails.

"Ow! Cheryl..."

"You have to admit he was kind of cute though." Cheryl hums, "And his brother-"

Selen furrows her brow and frowns.

"He was not..."

"Not your type?"

"It's..." she shakes her head, "He's not cute at all."

"What?? He's adorable."

"Nope."

"Not even a little?"

Selen pouts.

"Haahh... I still have no idea what your type is, your bestie should know these things, you know! I mean, you know MY type!" Cheryl cries.

"Because your 'type' changes depending on who's ass you saw most recently-"

Cheryl gasps in mock surprise.

"That's so-" she pauses to watch a passing staff member walk by, "-true, but don't read me like that in public, Muffins, or everyone will know. Still... if you told me what you like, I could set you up with someone~?"

"I'm not interested in dating." Selen adjusts her sleeves.

"Doesn't have to be anything long term, if you're just looking to get laid-"

"Cheryl!" Selen flusters, "You can't just say that so casually!"

"What? People hook up all the time and it doesn't have to mean anything." Cheryl says, reaching into her pocket for her phone, "I bet if I checked one of the dating apps I have on here right now, this place would be absolutely full of people looking to bang-"

"Don't..." Selen groans, burying her face in her hands.

"Oh, wow, even the tips of your ears are red." Cheryl coos, "You're so shy about this stuff, but didn't Aaron invite you back to the van later tonight?"

"Cheryl..."

"Oh don't be so coy, I saw what you put in your bag before we left the apartment, and I'm fine with whatever you two have going on so long as it doesn't impact the band or our friendship, yeah?"

Cheryl holds out her pinkie, "Promise me it won't?"

Selen blows a stray hair out of her face and links her finger with Cheryl's.

"So is he going to carry you back to the room after he blows your back out or should I not expect to see you until breakfast-"

"Ch-...I wonder if they have pancakes..."

"Noted."

#lamp writes #nameless ghouls #aeon ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #swiss ghoul #copia #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #ghost band oc #the hotel saturn #This is the tame 'calm before the storm' part

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running2reanimation · 1 year ago

Text

Dark Lord: I’m going to hell.

Purple: Probably.

Dark Lord: I'll pick you up?

Purple: *nodding* Carpool.

—

Dark Lord, holding a toy lightsaber: I’m Darth Vader!

Chosen One: I’m done with everyone’s bullshit.

—

Chosen One: How did you break your leg?

King: Do you see those porch stairs?

Chosen One: Yes.

King: I didn't.

—

Dark Lord: And then they ran into my knife. They ran into my knife ten times.

King: You mean you stabbed them?

Dark Lord: They ran into my knife.

—

Purple: ARE YOU-

Dark Lord: Fucking.

Purple: KIDDING ME?! YOU-

Dark Lord: Fucking.

Purple: IDIOT!

Chosen One: …What was that?

Dark Lord: King banned Purple from swearing, so I’m helping them out.

—

Dark Lord: If you get in trouble, I'm gonna be like... a lawyer to you. Ok?

Purple: Okay.

*later*

Chosen One: Purple! Sit down on the chair, you're in trouble.

Dark Lord, whispering: Deny everything.

Purple, loudly: That isn't a chair.

—

Dark Lord: God has let me live another day and I'm going to make it everyone's problem

—

Chosen One: *eyes glowing* Go to Bed. This is no longer a request, This is now a Threat.

—

*Dark Lord drunkenly wanders around the house and Purple is drunkenly giggling*

King, completely sober: *sighs* Well, looks like it's just me and you against the world, Chosen One.

Chosen One, going to their room: Nope, just you. *shuts door*

—

Purple: Don't joke about murder. I was murdered once and it offends me.

—

Purple: Dinosaurs aren't extinct. I mean, King is walking in this room.

Dark Lord: *wheeze*

—

Purple: No problemo!

Purple, internally: But it was all problemo.

—

Dark Lord: I could kill you if I wanted.

Purple: Yeah? So could any other human being. So could a dog. So could a dedicated duck. You aren't special.

—

Dark Lord: Look, I know you think my judgement's clouded because I like King a little bit.

Chosen One, holding Dark Lord's notepad: You doodled your wedding invitation.

Dark Lord: No, that's our joint tombstone.

Chosen One: My mistake.

—

Dark Lord: Y’know, maybe things aren’t so bad. I’m here. I got the nice ocean breeze. Just alone with my thoughts.

Purple: Hey, Dark Lord.

Dark Lord: GODDAMNIT

—

Purple, Entering King's room: Chosen One did it again.

King: Peace disturbance?

Purple: What no-

King: Arson..?

Purple: NO, JESUS CHRIST, HOW MANY-

King: uh....Attempted murder?

Purple: NO, THEY ATE ALL THE FOOD IN THE FRIDGE, BUT WHAT THE FU-

—

Chosen One: If I see a bug, I simply leave the room elegantly and require someone else do something about it.

Chosen One: If no one fulfills my wish, I simply never go back in there

—

King: What's gone wrong, Dark Lord?

Dark Lord: Hey! That’s one hell of a thing to say to a person. Just because I’m calling doesn’t mean there’s a crisis.

King: That’s technically true, I suppose. Why are you calling?

Dark Lord: Well... There’s a crisis

—

King: I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired, I'll be fine.

Chosen One: But, darling, I'll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in my arms so I can feel whole again.

King: O-oh. Well. Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns??

Chosen One: Is it working?

—

Dark Lord: Hey, King. These candies you gave me? They sucked.

King: But you ate them all.

Dark Lord: I had to make sure they all sucked.

—

King: *about Dark Lord and Chosen One* They make a cute couple, huh?

Purple: They certainly are standing next to each other.

—

Dark Lord: That shirt looks great, Chosen One.

Chosen One: Thanks.

Dark Lord: But I bet it would look even better on King's floor.

King: Are you hitting on Chosen One... for me?

—

*At the police station*

King: Hi, I’m here for Dark Lord.

Police officer: Who’s Dark Lord?

King: Ah, you must be new.

—

Dark Lord: When I see initials carved into a tree with a heart I think it’s so romantic. Two lovers on a date... one of them carrying a knife for some reason.

#incorrect quotes #domesticity au edition #domesticity #king #purple #dark lord #chosen one

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denndrawings · 2 years ago

Text

1. Used to be big on Paint Tool SAI but since I got Procreate I stopped drawing on my computer so I don’t use it anymore. Also Photoshop. I hate the way it works tbh.

2. Facing left! Absolutely love drawing profiles because they allow me to draw cool noses and that’s one of my favorite things to draw.

3. I used to do a lot of covers for imaginary books at the time. Maybe because I wanted to be a writer, and so the first thing I did even before starting to write the actual story was drawing the cover.

4. Armors! I love love love armors (both old and futuristic!) but god they are painful to draw.

5. 60/40 maybe?? I usually keep to myself and my friends most of my oc drawings and stuff I draw for the strahd campaign I DM. I would love to be one of those artists who is known for their ocs but I’m also kinda shy when it comes to talking about them so

6. I don’t know if this is what the question was meaning to ask but. I draw a lot of NSFW when I’m stressed. Like. Drawing anatomy is hARD specially if you can’t cover your mistakes with clothes so when I need to take my mind away from something that has me worried I do that because I need to be so focused on it I cannot think about the stress.

7. Watercolor. I suck at brushes and water but really appreciate those who are good at it. It requires patience and discipline and is one of my favorite mediums.

9. I don’t use them much anymore because Procreate let’s you see the drawings instead of having to look for them by name??? But I used to not be very descriptive, really. A lot of times it was just the name of the song I was listening to on repeat while drawing, or the names of the characters and an adjective, or just my opinion of the characters (for example idk, “Kane you are a little shit”).

10. Every one I can put excessive detail in. Love drawing little stitches here and there, embroidery, belt buckles, etc.

11. Music, all the time! If I’m drawing my characters or a friends’ I listen to their playlists, if not just whatever I am fixated at that specific time.

12. Hair. Love drawing hair and maybe sneaking little hearts on curls or in general helping the silhouette of the character with it. This also applies to body hair because I love drawing the hair patterns on the skin!

14. Weapons! Dramatic lighting! People loving eachother!

15. Either desk or bed. I’ve managed the perfect pillow position to support my back and lift my knees up to use them as a table and it is 13/10

16. Lighting. Listen, I love light but when I start a piece I rarely know what I’m gonna do with it and so I always end up finding myself searching for lighting inspiration on,y when I have finished the flat colors

17. Nah, I don’t.

18. I am pretty careful in general so I don’t think I have broken anything (yet).

19. swORDS >:)

20. Hands, maybe. They are fun they are so expressive!

21. My friend @ bro.tticelli (on IG) ‘s! She is a beast on stylization and her style is super cartoon but So Beautiful. Go check her out go go.

22. I should definitely do some but 💀

23. Yeah! A lot, actually.

24. Fuck yeah, and they are fun to search so.

25. Anime! I may be the only artist on my generation that didn’t have an anime phase and doesn’t really watch much of it??? Like, I’ve watched a couple of shows and some films and my girlfriend is slowly putting it into my head but I definitely haven’t watched enough for it to be a direct inspiration.

27. I should probably warm up but I usually forget (oops)

28. Lots of zines, yeah! And a couple big bangs and art secret Santa’s!

29. Music,weirdly. I don’t usually use it for inspiration but more as a way of staying focused?? Maybe it is my musician brain that analyzes stuff instead of just enjoying it, idk.

30. Deus apate with Augustine kneeling on the floor? I think it’s pretty hot and I really enjoyed doing it. Also maybe my nsfw side, but that’s probably because I don’t post it often. Or ever lately tbh

Weirdly Specific Artist Ask Game

Didn't see a lot of artist ask games, wanted to make a silly one.

(I wrote this while sick out of my mind last year and it's been collecting dust in my drafts, I might as well let it run free) 1. Art programs you have but don't use

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left or right (or forward even)

3. What ideas come from when you were little

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn't supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it)

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

9. What are your file name conventions

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what

12. Easiest part of body to draw

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn't your thing

14. Any favorite motifs

15. *Where* do you draw (don't drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth)

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing

17. Do you eat/drink when drawing? if so, what

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you've broken

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.)

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

23. Do you use different layer modes

24. Do your references include stock images

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were NOT inspired by

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

28. Any art events you have participated in the past (like zines)

29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

#art ask game #ask game #sorry for being annoying at 8 am

34K notes · View notes

unknownjpegs · 10 months ago

Text

unexpected

There’s a pattern forming with this house, this door. Visitors. Except this time —

“Amma?” Benji asks, his face slack with shock at this latest guest. He’d heard a card coming down the drive, and he’d opened the door and — and it’s her.

She’s walking up the gravel path, their path, one hand lifting her the hem of her skirt and the other elbow weighted by that giant tote bag she’s had since the can remember — since he left at seventeen, actually. He’s got no idea how she overloads it well past full like that and still keeps it looking brand new.

“Saha gave me your address.” Prick. Traitor. Benji scowls. “How come you didn’t invitee me yet, Benji?”

He closes his eyes and pinches his forehead. She is, unfortunately, a human lie detector. And even if she wasn’t, Benji has always found it nearly impossible to be dishonest.

“Did you drive?”

He holds a hand out to help her up the steps, but she

“I’ve had company, amma. A’right? Sorry.” He says, taking her hands and leading her further in. “I’ve just…I’ve been trying to find the right time to…to ask you ‘round.”

Shrewd as ever, she narrows her eyes. “Right time, ah? Company?” She stands on her tiptoes, swatting at his shoulder knowingly.

Fuck’s sake. Benji’s face heats up. She always knows.

“Ah-haha,” she wags a finger at him, one eye narrowed victoriously, her mouth quirked.. “Was taking a guess. Knew it — you’ve always got that tell.”

It hasn’t been long since he visited her, back before Xavier — well. Moved in, he supposes. She’s never been here. And, partially by choice, he has never spoken about Xavier.

Where would I fucking start? Is the first question always pinging around his skull if he tries to think about the possibility. Can’t just tell her I’m seeing a wanted mercenary, now can I? Not even that — defected one. Probably got warrants, hasn’t he? Can’t tell her I’ve let him move in, either. That I — that he’s here to stay.

The absurdity of it hits him square in the chest. As things have gone, it’s a strangely normal thing to wonder, to worry after: how am I meant to introduce this person to my parents? So the laugh starts within him but sticks against his diaphragm with a putty, thick swell of relief.

It’s absurd because it’s funny, and it’s funny because it’s absurd. This is all they’ve got to worry after now, for the most part. Little things. Mundane, normal, little things. He taps into the well of worry that had, on more than one occasion, nearly upended him into its depths. A gunshot, a looming lieutenant, something to chase after in the scant moments, in the dark. Wariness for their lives, for each other, in case they couldn’t manage to keep the secret. In case they weren’t careful — weren’t sneaky — enough.

Fuck’s sake. Benji does not ever want to have to think of Xavier in terms of a secret to keep or hide away with or squeeze precious, tiny moments together. They’ve got time now, so it feels like a disservice to muddy that with anything other than transparency.

Benji stares down at his mum and smiles. He’s also missed sharing things with her. Can’t think of a better place to start up again, than with Xavier.

“Fuckin’ hell. You’re gonna press it ’til I drag him out, huh? He’s asleep.”

She points at him with that scowl again, prodding him in the chest. “Swearing.” She warns. “Pfft. Sleeping. It’s nearly noon, isn’t it. What do I care, ok? Sleep. Go wake him up.”

He missed her so much that he’s gotta scoop her up right there, squish her in a hug until she splutters and laughs and swats at him. So her, making demands. He missed the melodic, endearing swing between languages much more than he realized. Feels like home, listening to that sweetly clipped standard accent next to the curled lilt of vowels.

He thinks of that — feels like home, thinks of the other body in his bed, of putting such a surprise on him, and balks a bit.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He cringes at the lie. “Just. I think he’d like to prepare for these sorts of things, yeah? Maybe you can —”

“That was a forty minute drive, Benji. Nearly an hour!” She swings her bag from her shoulder, knocking him with it and then meandering into the kitchen. Starts rifling through his fridge as if she owns it. “Do you have fruit?”

“No, amma, but —”

“None, eh?”

“Listen, I —“

She looks over at him, eyebrow raised warningly. “Do y’know how much I spent on petrol to get up here?”

He snaps his mouth shut around another but that threatens to burst out, feels the concerned pout twist amusedly. She flaps her hand in the air, go on, Benji, and begins pulling glassware and plates from the cupboard (first try, like she knows already where they are). Fresh fruit and other ingredients from the seemingly endless confines of her bag.

“I’ve got stuff here.”

She stares at him. “All right, want an award then? G’on. I’m cooking.” And waves him off again.

He’s grinning stupidly, a cheeks-hurt sort of smile, when he slips a knee onto the mattress next to Xavier’s hip. He’s facedown, half under the blanket with his jumper rucked over his ribs. Got too hot, but not too hot to kick it off.

“Xavier,” he whispers, heart clenching affectionately, a well and proper squeeze, when he gets a soft and content sigh of his name back in return. “Awh, sorry. Shit. I am so sorry for this.”

One green eye cracks open, fuzzy and heavy-lidded. That pressure returns to his chest. It’s ever present, these days. Because Xavier is ever present. “Mm?”

“Amma…my mum’s —” Xavier turns, slips a hand up his arm and pinches his elbow. Makes him interrupt himself with a huffing laugh. “Fuckin’ hell…Xavier. My mum’s here.”

“Where else would she be,” Xavier mumbles, rubbing his cheek into the pillow and then stretching as he finds Benji with slightly more present eyes. He feels, as he always does, a bit stunned by their hazy, content sleepiness he sees there. The love. “The fucking moon?”

Benji snickers and runs a hand down his back, smiling at the arch Xavier bends to chase the touch. “Xavier, not in the fuckin’ country. I mean she’s here here, yeah? She is here in the house. She stopped over.”

Xavier sits up, making his hands slide off his body. “She huh?”

Benji holds them palm-out instead, waving assuredly. “In the kitchen, at least.”

Fuck, does he look spooked.

“Here?” It’s nearly a squeak.

“Relax,” he chuckles. “I know this is — this is a lot, right? But she’s not about to leave.” He twines their fingers together, one handed. “And m’sorry, but…I’m not gonna try and get her out. Or act like you don’t fuckin’ exist, or ask you to hide, or any of that.”

Benji’s unspooling a bit as the seconds tick by, the more thought he puts towards this entire situation. His heart’s kicking up, hands going rather clammy, so he wipes one anxiously on his thigh and then tucks it up under Xavier’s jumper.

His face is a mask of…not dread, really, but the expression is fit into a strange, unrecognizable thing on his face. A careful behind a mask of genuine concern; eyebrows pulled so tight that the little furrow appears between.

“I could try and tell her you’re sick, but she’d come up here with food.” He grins. “Or she’d us liars.”

Xavier takes a long breath, shuts his eyes for the duration of it and even the next inhale. Then, blind, he slaps his hands to Benji’s cheeks and kisses him quick and firm on the mouth.

“Nah. We’re good.” He swings himself up, nearly rounding Benji in the face with a knee. Unaware of himself in a way that probably attributes to the nerves. He’s got his hands in front of him, wringing a bit and his shoulders drawn.

So Benji follows him as he disappears into the closet. He’s genuinely looking so frazzled that he’s looking at the wrong side, at Benji’s hung clothes, and the hangers scrape back and forth — flicking through them without any choice being made. Probably too in his head to even perceive them.

“She doesn’t care, Xavier.” Benji says softly. It’s meant to be reassurance: earns a slight head tilt, I hear you but I’m over here right now, in response. He sighs again and touches a square of skin where it peaks from Xavier’s bunched up pullover. He jolts as if it’s a shock, which it’s not, or Benji’s hands are cold, which they aren’t.

“You could wear that.” They both look down at Xavier’s cartoon-print sweats and the dark jumper. When their eyes meet again, Xavier is looking at him as if he’s grown a second head.

Benji chuckles. “Mate, you’ve literally gone and defected a fucking — ” he lowers his voice, glancing at the door. “Whatever. She’s barely up to here, okay? You’ve got it.” The side of his hand knocks against his shoulder.

“She is your mom, dude,” Xavier hisses. He laughs anxiously, turning back to the rack of clothes. “I…I’m losing my shit right now.”

In the end, he gives in to Benji’s coaxing and settles on the same sweater with a regular pair of jeans. He debates on rolling his sleeves, on fixing his hair, on wearing socks, on finding a pair of good shoes, fixes his hair again, stares at himself in the mirror.

And they finally they head back down. Benji leads the way, his hand behind his back as they descend the stairs. Offering, fingers up. Xavier takes it and squeezes.

She’s over the stove when they meander into the kitchen. Benji goes over to peer into the pot, and Xaviier stands — well, he’s standing awkward as fucking anything in the center of the room.

“Ma’am,” Xavier says all proper.

It makes his mum laugh. That big, loud cackle that seems as if it’s too wild and filling of space to come from such a tiny woman. Xavier jerks his head to stare at him, blinking rapidly. Eyes wide, kicked-dog sad: did I already do something wrong?

No way to formulate a response quick enough, because his mother darts forward and claps her hands together before grabbing for Xavier’s, holding them in front of her face and gesturing up the length of him. “Like a tree, Benji, goodness. Oh, look. What’s this about, this sad posture? Sit up.”

He startles a bit when she moves in quick tiny steps around his side, slips behind him to smack a hand to the center of his back. As high up as she can reach, anyway. The top of her head barely reaches his bicep.

“You’ll be a hunched old man if you keep that up,” she chides.

“Mum.” Benji sighs, exasperated and amused. He’s grinning, eyes finding Xavier’s and offering him a couldn’t stop her if I tried sort of shrug. “Leave him be.”

Except Xavier squares up right away, the straight line of him more about authority and respect — military, the look about him that he gets sometimes, rigid in a way that makes Benji hide a laugh behind his hand. Hard to imagine his mum in any sort of place like that, so he doesn’t.

“Kayalvizhi,” she says, retracting a tiny hand to put it to her chest. “Kayal is fine, or Kay. Whichever’s easier.” She shoots a wink at Benji. “Mum if you want, lots of kids still call me that.”

“Okay,” Xavier says shyly, offering her a smile as she slips back around to stand in front of him.

“You were just a right chore for clothes, weren’t you?” She snickers, hands on her hips. “Right to the sewing machine with everything, I’d bet on it. What’s your name?”

“What’s your name,” Benji translates with a slight grin. It’s automatic, habitual; necessary, because she often forgets that she’s switched. Or, sometimes, she slips into it because somebody’s annoyed her — stranger, so they don’t deserve the focus of English, or her children, and they’ll be forced to put the effort in to translate for her.

Evil, he thinks fondly, shaking his head at Xavier. Apologetic.

“Uh,” he says, hands coming up and holding his fingers. “Xavier James Wolffe.”

His mum glances over her shoulder at him, thumb pointed at Xavier and her mouth pursed down in an amused pout near her chin: get a load of this guy.

“Well, Xavier, I won’t be using the whole bit.” She teases, patting the nervous mess of his hands. Benji watches as they unfurl a bit, let her tuck her tiny ones around his fingers. “Hope that’s okay. Now we’re all proper introduced…you’ll give me a tour, hey?”

“I—” Xavier pauses, nervous eyes flicking up from her face to Benji, stood behind her. Sheepishly, he grins. Shrugs. “Sure. I didn’t get a chance to make our bed, though.”

Benji’s face heats at her head-tossed laugh. “Oh it’s yours then too, is it?” She tosses an impish waggle of her eyebrows back at Benji. “How long?”

Fuck, if that isn’t a loaded question. One that Benji struggles to pin down, too. When had it started full-force? When was…that point?

“Um. Few months.”

“Months! Bastard.”

Xavier snickers.

They get on immediately, but Benji had a feeling they would. His mum was the favorite out of his friends’ parents growing up, because she just…radiates it. Warmth. Like a tiny, beacon coalesced of understanding and peacefulness. He knows it’s not something everybody had growing up, and she’d known that too. So people like her, especially if they’ve had a rough go. She lets them in.

Benji watches the pair from inside. The tour had gone well, noisy chatter and laughs and hushed, secretive voices as Xavier showed her the rooms.

Here’s the bedroom: oh, must be you in charge of cleaning, then, his room has never looked like this. The dining room, the living room, the empty upstairs rooms where Benji’d like to fill the space, eventually. He hears Xavier chatter and talk about their days, ask after hers, brag about the places that Benji has fixed or improved.

And now— now he watches from inside. Because the last place he had wanted to show her was the pond, their ducks, and Benji…Benji needed a moment to process.

She’s crouched next to Xavier along the shore, her posture perfect but making her look no more tall next to him. He’s since stopped pointing out specific birds, probably sharing all their silly names. Now their heads are close together, nearly touching — intimate in a way it would be if they’d known each other for much longer.

He can tell even from the distance that they’re speaking. His mum’s head bobs in that animated way when she’s particularly engaged. Xavier’s is tilted to the side, listening.

And then as he’s watching this silence, private conversation unfold, Xavier suddenly loses his balance. He lurches forward and then back to avoid face-planting into the water, legs kicked out. Clearly laughing — a bit hysterical if the pink on his face is an indication — and splayed out in the grass.

He gets fussed over, because it’s just rained that morning; she pats at him, prods at his shoulders. Benji can almost hear her telling Xavier to get up, he’ll get his clothes wet, he’ll catch a cold, make sure to eat the soup she leaves, to stay warm, and —

That’s my mum, Benji’s brain stutters into a churn of short, deliberate thoughts. That’s my mum with Xavier. Out in the back. By the pond. They’re sitting there together. That’s my mum. A couple months ago, I thought I’d never go see her again. And that’s Xavier. Couple months ago, I thought he was dead. And before that, I thought I would be.

Benji sways a bit and leans his shoulder against the doorframe, fingers tight around his mug. What a normal fucking thing that is. Just a daily occurrence. Parent meeting a boyfriend. Something that normal people do in an average, peaceful life.

He’s got no ringing in his ears, no gun in his hands. Nobody’s blood sticking his fingers together, making the gloves uncomfortable. The television’s got a Tetris menu idly chirping a song Benji would now know in his sleep, and his boots are lined up neatly at the door where Xavier had put them when they’d gotten home that morning. Next to his mum’s.

Because his mum had shown up. She’d invited herself in, told him to get Xavier awake, and they two of them had met. Feels like two parts of him slipping together in a way he’d never dreamt they might.

Benji blinks, vision suddenly fuzzy, and wipes off the fat few tears that roll down his cheeks. The vision of the two of them at the pond blurs.

Later, she asks the question Benji’s been dreading. How did you meet?

It’s directed at Xavier, who spares a shifty, unsure look towards him. Just as incapable, if not more so, of lying to her at this point. Maybe before they’d had a chance to talk. But now: I can’t, that look says. I can’t. I’ll spill it all.

So Benji offers parts of the truth, and leaves the bits she doesn’t need to know. Not just because she’d be horrified, but because she likes Xavier. He can tell. And Xavier likes her. Any other details, any full truths that he could offer, would make her shy away. Would devastate her. Maybe make her scared of him permanently. Can’t have that. Especially…especially because it…

Might also scare her, discovering some of the things she doesn’t know about Benji.

But those are things she, if he’s got a say, won’t ever know.

That’s sad in a way; most of what he’s been through is something he’d cradled in his hands and then offered to her. Bits of him, things that happened because he was there, because she’d raised him and gave him everything he needed to get that way.

But she’d had no hand in…that. So she didn’t need to know everything.

Benji shares some of it to answer her question. What she needs to know to understand, because he desperately wants her to: our units worked together. I didn’t like him at first. And then I did. A lot. And then he helped me a few times, and I got…got hurt. And he helped me then too.

She knows about the discharge and about the injury. He’d waited specifically until it was fully healed to tell her — bits she didn’t need to know. She’s smart, his mum. She’d put it all together, his absence and the period of silence where he couldn’t return texts or calls or letters. The awfulness of that tearing, rending injury was obvious.

She had made him show her.

And she had done what she does now, when Benji tells her he helped me. She reaches across the table, where they’re eating the meal she cooked, and puts her hand over his side on that injury. Stares up at him with her big eyes, his eyes, and then with her free hand, pats Xavier’s arm where it rests.

“That’s sweet,” she says, voice shaky. “That’s very sweet. A very good story, okay? Thank you.”

For coming home. For helping. For sharing.

They turn to each other once the door’s closed, and stare for so long that the sputter of her shit car startles them both.

“She’s so great, I —”

“I am so fuckin’ in love with you.”

They say it at the same time. The soft, gentled look Xavier’s been wearing for the duration of her visit slackens a bit and then rekindles in a bright, beaming smile. He reaches for Benji’s face, cradles his cheeks: we are going to kiss right now.

“She’s cool.” Xavier says, dropping their foreheads together. “The fuck happened to you?”

“Oh! Dickhead.” Benji hisses, and throws an arm around his shoulders. Tugs hard, swings him to the side. Expecting to launch him into the couch, but Xavier’s cackling — manages to lock his arms around Benji’s middle, hands fisted in the back of his shirt. They bounce off the edge in a heap, shoving and laughing and, eventually once the giggles have ceased enough, kissing. Kissing.

Quite a bit softer than usual.

#writing #ua #bp #xw #bp x xw #core au

0 notes

seadeepywrites · 2 years ago

Text

shine a light into the wreckage

Character: Whist Duskhunter (NPC) Words: 3557 tw: a lot of spiders, fantasy violence, death

Whist is beginning to recognize what it feels like to wake up in somebody else's dream. If it can even be called waking up, really — it's just that moment after oblivion when their consciousness collects again and they are surprised to find themself aware of anything at all.

Twice now, death has come to claim them, and some other force has gotten there first.

The last dream was prettier, though, and Whist had been reassured to encounter Reed in that endless field of whispering grass. There is no breeze here, or sourceless sunlight. Only the slick stone walls of a cave, and the echo of water dripping somewhere, and approximately one thousand spiders.

"Ew," Whist says, looking around. They've seen a lot of gross stuff out in the Duskwood — dung heaps as tall as they are, decomposing corpses, horrific abominations of nature, things like that — but they are developing a particular distaste for spiders after their recent experiences in Dawsbury.

In fact, to their immediate dismay, they recognize the spiders as the same species that has infested the town. The spiders scuttle over the walls in shifting near-hypnotic patterns, glinting in plum purple and waving their thick, chitinous legs. They leave behind snatches of silvery webbing in the cracks on the walls, ephemeral and glistening.

Whist watches them for a moment or two, and wonders whose nightmare this is. Geordie doesn't dream, if they understand correctly, but everyone else has reason enough to fear these spiders by now.

A slender figure steps around the corner with eerie, lethal grace, and Whist has their question answered for them in the most unpleasant way possible.

"You!" they exclaim, reaching for their longbow, but it is not in its place at their shoulder.

Rhelata's eyes widen, their scarlet irises drained to ash-gray by the monochrome hue of Whist's low-light vision. She seems just as surprised as Whist to encounter someone, actually. One of her long-fingered hands comes up, curling into a spellcasting gesture, but she pauses with the words of the spell poised on her tongue.

"You are dead," Rhelata says, all derision and confidence. "I saw you with your lifeblood spilled out across the floorboards."

Whist's hand goes to their neck, remembering the tearing pain that had accompanied their final moments. They expect a wound, but their fingers find only unblemished skin and intact muscle.

"Maybe," they say, even though they're pretty sure Rhelata is right.

Rhelata cocks her head. The spiders covering the walls swirl clockwise in response. "And what power is it that has brought you here, then?"

"Uh," Whist says, "I dunno."

Smirking, Rhelata lowers her hand. Whist should probably be insulted by that, because it's clear she's decided Whist doesn't pose any threat to her.

"I am not accustomed to dreaming like this," Rhelata muses. She examines the walls, brushing a hand across them and coming away with a vambrace of spiders swarming up her forearm. "My trances tend to be considerably less... vivid."

Whist shrugs. "Yeah, but if I'm dead, then it's probably not my dream. Plus I don't spend a lot of time in caves."

"Mm." Rhelata folds her arms. The spiders climb to her shoulders and settle there like the folds of a cloak. "You are claiming that you did not create this location?"

"Not on purpose, that's for sure." Whist looks at her. "I didn't even want to talk to you when I was alive."

"Less interested than your friends are to invite me into your little save-the-world club?"

"I know evil when I see it," Whist says flatly. "And I know that what you did to that town was evil."

Rhelata flutters her fingers, dismissive. "My beloved and I are still discovering what is possible this close to the forest. The town is only the beginning."

"They'll stop you." Whist's eyes narrow and their tail lashes behind them. "My friends. They don't even need me to do it."

"That's fortunate," Rhelata says, amusement laced like venom through her voice, "since you are certainly not able to help them anymore. Neither is your wizard, for that matter."

Staring at Rhelata, Whist tenses with a pinch of panic. "But you didn't kill Gerald," they say, hoping it's true. "Because you want to use her as your servant or something."

"She's not dead yet," Rhelata agrees. "She's most useful that way, for now."

"I wish I was there to watch my friends kick your ass," Whist says with a huff.

Rhelata pauses, considering this. Her silver-white hair moves gently, as if stirred by wind, but the air here is absolutely still — stifling, even. Whist decides that maybe it's a warlock thing, to keep your hair perfect like that, since Gunther seems to possess the same skill. Harder to tell if Geordie's got it too, especially after he hacked off his braid at Gravel's funeral.

"What is the purpose, do you think, of the two of us meeting here?" Rhelata asks after a moment. She sounds genuinely curious. "You don't seem very interested in an intellectual conversation."

"I'm not," Whist says. "My job is protecting people from bad things, and you're one of those."

For the first time in this conversation, something cracks in Rhelata's perfect composure, though Whist could not begin to guess the reason.

"My beloved and I," Rhelata says slowly, "have come a long way and worked very hard for what we have. And you and your dreamwalking are hardly the worst we've faced."

Whist shrugs. "Okay."

Silence between them for a moment, as the spiders continue to skitter and web-weave across the uneven walls. Rhelata inspects her nails, which are painted some dark color, long and artfully shaped.

"This happened before," Whist says abruptly.

One pale eyebrow arches. "Oh?"

"The last time I died. But I was talking to someone I knew, and she said..." Whist hesitates, not sure why they're telling her this. "She said it was the work of her goddess."

Rhelata's eyes snap to Whist. This has apparently merited her attention. "Her goddess?"

"Melora," Whist says. "But you're not a priest. I'm pretty sure." They look at the spiders. "And Melora's the goddess of nature, but this doesn't really seem like her."

"No." Rhelata makes an elegant gesture, rotating her wrist, and in her upturned palm there materializes a single spider, much larger than all the others. It waves its forelegs at her, and the trace of a smile curls her painted lips.

"The gods abandoned the drow centuries ago," she says. "All but one."

"One god? Or one drow?"

Chin tilting up, Rhelata says, "One goddess," but she does not elaborate.

More silence.

"I don't know why I'm here," Whist says truthfully. "And I don't know why I was there last time."

"You don't seem to be very good at staying alive, do you?" Rhelata asks.

It might be a rhetorical question — a concept Whist often struggles to identify. Whist shakes their head anyway. "I guess not."

"I'm only sorry that Errol got to you before my beloved could. She could have given you so much more life after your death... a life lived for us."

"That doesn't sound like something I'd want."

Rhelata smirks. "Perhaps not. You wouldn't have had much say in the matter."

Whist reaches for their bow again, hoping it will materialize in their hand the way it did in Reed's dream. They focus all their will on it: the desire to hold a weapon, the desire to wipe the smug condescension off of Rhelata's perfectly symmetrical face. The sense of danger in this dream isn't an unknown force coalescing in the oncoming darkness — the darkness is already here, trembling like dew along the threads of spider-silk and writhing in the shifting shadows.

But instead of the smooth weight of their mother's longbow — or even the cruder bow they've been using as a replacement while they scheme to retrieve their weapon from Lanville's unscrupulous undertaker — the sensation that builds in the cradle of Whist's fingers is more energy than substance. White light flares up, bright enough to blind both Rhelata and Whist, and when it dwindles back to a soft glow its source is immediately apparent.

Whist lifts their hand, a parallel to Rhelata's earlier gesture that summoned the spider, and examines the tiny star that floats a few inches above their palm.

"Huh," they say softly.

It's not their nature magic, with its purple-satin sheen and its primitive thrum through their bones. The star emits the remarkable new radiance that has blazed from them at unexpected moments since their resurrection a few days ago, the radiance that has repelled undead creatures and their jagged fangs even as it sank beneath Geordie's skin to protect him in mysterious ways.

"Either you have been lying to me," Rhelata says, matching Whist's low volume, "or you possess a power that you yourself do not fully understand."

"Definitely that second one," Whist says, and snaps their wrist out.

The star streaks towards Rhelata, scoring a dark line across Whist's vision with its afterimage, and explodes against Rhelata in silver-white light. She cries out and stumbles backward. When she straightens up again, there are shards of moonlight glittering in her clothes, pale and luminescent.

Rhelata doesn't hesitate. She snarls an arcane word and raises a gnarled black staff that Whist does not remember seeing before now — apparently Whist isn't the only one who can summon weapons into this dream. There is an unpleasant squelching sound, and sticky ropes of spider silk spring outward from the walls, criss-crossing around Whist. Whist drops to the ground on instinct, wriggling forward on their stomach, and leaps to their feet outside the thick web that is forming where they stood a few seconds ago. They claw at their leather armor, tearing the spiderwebs away in cloudy gray strips, and shake out their fingers with a few quick motions.

Rhelata huffs in frustration. "You're quick even in death, dreamwalker."

This time, Whist doesn't even think about it. Their right arm comes up, their left hand reaches for their hip quiver, and they don't realize what they're doing until there's an arrow nocked to their bowstring. They draw, exhale, release.

The moonlight guides their arrow as surely as their Hunter's Mark ever has. The arrowhead sinks deep into Rhelata's abdomen, piercing past her leather armor, and Whist gives a small nod of satisfaction. Another arrow joins the first a few seconds later.

Rhelata staggers. As she braces herself against the cave wall, the spiders swarm her, crawling across her body and mantling her shoulders in a thick layer of hairy legs and glossy eyes. Her eyes burn out from among them, irises as red and raw as flayed muscle. She flicks one gaunt hand, and hisses another arcane word.

Whist tries to dodge, but the three beams of crackling silver that shoot toward them arc unnaturally to find points of impact — ribs, shoulder, and the last one clipping their arm on its way by. The streaking magic carries a deep, bruising force, and Whist spares a second to wonder if Geordie's and Gunther's Eldritch Blasts hurt quite this much.

But now Whist has their mother's bow in their grip. It sings with familial, familiar magic, and the routine to adjust their stance, nock and fire is so well-practiced that Whist can forget all about the odd celestial power that stirred inside them earlier. All that matters is moving. Keeping Rhelata in sight.

The hiss of another arrow, and the scrape-clatter as it misses, hitting the cave wall.

Rhelata advances. The strange, scuttling sidestep of her gait is peculiar, but less awkward than Whist might expect. And it's threatening, too, though Whist doesn't quite know what Rhelata can do. They retreat at the same speed, only knowing enough to be wary, because Rhelata is most certainly a warlock. A dark elf, probably. A... spider enthusiast?

As Whist backs up, they collide with unyielding stone, and they recall their surroundings. Another thing they know for sure — this is Rhelata's dream, not theirs. Spiders drop onto them like the ponderous beginnings of a rainstorm, heavy and without rhythm. A few at first, and then more, faster and faster.

Whist grimaces. They take another shot at Rhelata, who is closing the distance fast. Their arrow tears a bloody gash along her forearm, but she doesn't even hesitate, spreading out her fingers in a many-pincered maw and reaching out for Whist's shoulder.

Pain. Intense and overwhelming. It is only after Whist has collapsed, struggling to draw air into lungs that stutter and spasm, that they can feel the poison sizzling outward from Rhelata's touch. They curl up and cough and cough and cough. Fumble for their bow and can't find it through vision that swims with reflexive tears.

"Pathetic," Rhelata sneers from somewhere above them.

Amid the churning darkness of Whist's desperation, a light gleams. It's somewhere inexpressible in the depths of their soul, dim and distant, and Whist channels energy into it without understanding what they are truly doing. They only know it is here with them in the ravenous nighttime, glowing brightly enough to light their way.

White light swells up again, chasing away Rhelata's menacing presence. She skitters backwards with a hiss, recoiling like the light burns her — but how could something so pale and soft-edged cause harm?

It resolves into sense for Whist as they gather their feet under them again. Moonlight is only a threat to creatures of shadow. The only ones who fear its illumination are the monsters that prefer to cloak their misdeeds in the black-velvet cloak of true darkness.

"Back," Whist says sharply, in the same tone they'd use on a wild animal. A warning, but more in the sound of it than the speech.

And Rhelata retreats before them, whatever that might mean.

Whist raises their bow and trades volleys with Rhelata. In the dream-world, the two of them seem evenly matched — for every dark smear of blood Rhelata leaves along the cave wall, Whist earns another bruise from the sucker-punch force of Rhelata's magic. Each clattering hail of arrows is answered by a barrage of fizzing silver energy.

The webs are a nuisance, congealing in sticky masses around Whist's boots, but Whist treats them like they would any other hazard of the forest floor — stepping carefully and quickly, trusting their balance — and the webs do not seem to have the effect that Rhelata intended. The spiders, too, are creepy-crawly menaces. They leave their sharp bite wounds across Whist's neck and face, the only exposed skin that Whist has, and attempt to burrow industriously into the joints of Whist's armor.

Yet Whist's aim is steady and true with their mother's bow in their hands. Every so often, the mysterious moonlit radiance bursts from them again and haloes Rhelata, and whenever it does, she seems even easier to target with the next arrow. Evenly matched they might be, and on Rhelata's home turf too, but Whist is winning this fight. Slowly, and gradually, in a war of attrition that is leaving both of them drained and depleted, but Whist is winning.

Rhelata pulls herself up to her full height, one spindly arm wrapped tight around her abdomen, where several of Whist's arrows have punched through her armor. Her scarlet eyes are fever-bright as she faces Whist, raising her staff. Whist braces themself, but instead of an attack, an ink-black cloud of magical Darkness billows out, quickly swallowing Rhelata inside its bulk.

Whist circles the Darkness, cautious, with an arrow nocked on their bow. They strain to hear a footstep inside the void, a muttered arcane word, any sign of what is to come. But the only sound that meets their ears is the hiss and skitter of spiders, faint enough to be nearly inaudible.

And then the Darkness disappears. It dwindles into nothing as fast as it arrived — and spreading outward from the point where Rhelata was standing, a low tide of spiders ripples along the cave floor. Dozens of them, crawling over and under each other, moving with alacrity and an eerie cohesion. Whist doesn't know which swarm to target, or if Rhelata is even among them.

So instead, they stand perfectly motionless, as taught with tension as their bowstring, waiting for the next attack — but it never comes. The spiders retreat into corners and crevices and lurk there. Nearly invisible, a hairy leg or a multi-faceted eye peeking out occasionally from the shadows.

Frowning, Whist looks around again, like they'll see something different. If Rhelata has fled, will her dream release them now? Or are they trapped here, at the whim of whatever power sent them in the first place? The last dream they walked through in death was Reed's, and it was a conversation more than a battle. The dream had dissolved before the danger gathering at the edge of the twilight ever arrived.

Whist doesn't get it. They don't know why they're here, or how much of this they'll remember. They don't understand where the moonlight inside them is coming from, or how to control its wax and wane. That power could be immensely valuable to Whist and their friends, if only they could summon it more reliably.

And still Rhelata's dream continues without her presence. Time itself moves strangely — skipping here and stretching there — but Whist is frustrated, and weary of these mysteries.

"Let me go," they say out loud, voice quickly swallowed down into the silence of the cave.

The cave gives no reply.

Whist sighs. They pass among the spiders, stepping carefully, heading for the bend around which Rhelata first appeared. There is nothing but rock at their back, so they might as well see if that passage leads anywhere. Such logic might not truly apply in dreams, but it's all they have at the moment.

Turning the corner, Whist's boots scuff against the stone as they come to an abrupt halt. The walls here have changed from irregular rock formations to glittering crystal — dark geometric shapes that scintillate in a way that should be impossible in the low light. The overall effect is dizzying, and gives the illusion that the passageway shifts and breathes like a living thing.

Whist blinks several times, hard, against the sudden vertigo. But their disorientation only worsens as the crystals give off a pulse of sound, a low-pitched hum that reverberates in their bones and rattles their teeth in their skull. Whist staggers, or thinks they do. They walk forward, or try to. Intent and action are twin creatures, identical but separated by miles. Whist might be walking forward into the crystal-covered tunnel, or they might be lingering still at the mouth, staring down its jagged, toothy throat.

Either way, Whist reaches a warm red darkness that clings to them with fetid breath. Their footsteps sink into the floor, which is spongy as moss but wafts up a foul stench to clog their nostrils. They snort, shaking their head like a dog. They cannot clear the disgusting taste off of their tongue, and their darkvision has failed them. Forget three hundred feet — Whist cannot see their hand in front of their face.

"Ew," they say, but half-heartedly, because they know it won't make much difference.

The battle with Rhelata made some kind of physical sense, at least. The natural laws that Darcy has tried to explain to them before seemed to apply. Wherever Whist is now, they float free of gravity, and all their senses swirl together in one sticky whirlpool of sensation. They close their eyes — why not? — and try to focus, bringing their thoughts to coalesce in slow, meditative pulses. Whist puts themself back together, there in the darkness, and thinks about how much they really don't want to die this time around either. Not when there's so much left they could still do, so many people they still want to help.

Time is passing, though, and there's nothing Whist can do to prevent it. Outside the dream-world, on the Material Plane, life is continuing, and life is ending. One warlock dies, and then another. Whist can sense their deaths, like stars blinking out. Neither of them are the warlock whom Whist would have liked to put an arrow through, and neither of them deserved to die.

Time keeps passing, and Whist keeps waiting. Concentrating. Holding on. Breathing.

And then. Here, over the surface of the deep, there is light.

The light that pierces through into this place is not pure white and silver-sheened — it is not whatever power Whist was channeling against Rhelata. It is separate from Whist, ignited by somebody else, and it scintillates in exquisite silver and gold.

Whist frowns. There is something very familiar about that color, and not in a good way, but they cannot remember why they should not trust it. All they can muster is the world-weary, persistent will to live. All they can comprehend is that any light must be better than the ravenous, whispering dark.

Whist swims upwards towards consciousness, towards the silver-gold light. They kick furiously against the leaden drag of the current, which is not water as much as it is weariness, and is not weariness as much as the dearth of hope.

When Whist opens their eyes again on the Material Plane, they are looking upward into the face of an enemy.

#good god this has been in my editing queue for a while #the rhythm of dialogue and the fight sequence was so hard to get down #does the ending feel rushed?#I can't even tell anymore #anyway... title from Still Breathing by Green Day #Whist #dusk campaign

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pinkpruneclodwolf · 2 years ago

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Guardian Wolf

Summary: Jack is bedridden so Grim and Yuu visit him with a present.

Notes: Reader reffered to as Yuu and Yuu uses they/them pronouns in this.

Happy Belated Birthday Jack!!

Jack, Yuu thinks, is an awkward kid. Like a baby bull trying to walk on hooves meant for the great pastures and hills beyond but finding itself in a China shop, where every mistaken move could end with porcelain scattering across the floor and an uproar that leads to more shards scattering.

Gentle like an elephant yet still fearsome in his own right. He walks with an assuredness that strikes envy into Yuu's heart, the type of envy born out of wanting to improve themselves, wanting to be better than the mopey mess they've been reduced to.

And yet, when Yuu squints all the more closer, they see someone who is awkward. Not in the sense that he fumbles over his words or his stride suddenly breaks in the face of those he deems better than him but rather... in the sense that Jack guards himself more than Yuu ever realized.

That Jack, despite being one of the tallest teenagers they've seen, at the end of the day he's still a teenager—susceptible to the highs and lows of a transitional period that feels like a nightmare to some and a paradise to others. Where people flourish or remain stunted.

Yuu guessed it was no wonder why Jack liked raising cacti so much—for they weathered and conquered in one the toughest biomes, for they remained steadfast even when the sweltering heat seemed nigh impossible to survive through.

For they displayed tenacity that Savanaclaw valued as a trait amongst all members.

But, you can't be tenacious all the time.

"It's just the common cold," Jack grumbles from under the covers as Yuu steps into his Dorm room, noting the various get well cards and flowers and presents. A smile curls onto Yuu's lips as they ease over, Grim prancing towards a particularly nice bouquet.

"See, Henchman, worried for nothing!" The cat monster then procures a can of tuna, making room on the already overcrowded desk that makes Yuu cringe and reach over. Fortunately for the two of them, the tuna fits snug against the gifts.

Though Yuu still waits at attention. They squint at Grim, unamused. "Weren't you the one begging for me to hurry up?"

"Of course, I don't want anyone showing me up."

"You... two were worried about me?" It's quiet, a question meant only for Jack's ears and Jack's ears alone but Yuu picks up on the contemplative look on his face, the frown of confusion and furrowed brow.

"Duh," Yuu settles at the foot of Jack's bed, fiddling with the handmade gift. It was a simple—doubly so compared to all the gifts that lined the side of his room— it'd been a wolf teddy, small and beady eyed, clearly handmade judging by the unsteady patterns of different fabrics being Frankensteined together and stuffing procured from old pillows.

It was rushed. Embarrassing in the grand scheme of things and Yuu wondered if they could sneak away before Grim said a word about it.

"All these gifts and well wishes are because everyone's worried about you." Then comes the lump in Yuu's throat. They'd never considered that if they fell sick who would care and who wouldn't, hadn't thought about how much they'd yearn for their family in the delirium of a fever.

They wondered, in that moment, they wondered if... Anyone would ever care if they got sick—for all they do for others, in a school like this where only extraordinary thrive would they slip through the cracks?

"Yuu," Jack leans up. "Are... Thank you."

Yuu smiles despite themself, despite the mounting fears that seem to tip the scales of rational and irrational. They know that it's probably not as serious as they're making it out to be but... Yuu can't help but wonder.

"You're welcome."

"Funaa!" Grim hops onto the bed, batting at Jack. "What about me! I came here to!"

Jack tenses before chuckling. "Thank you, Grim."

"Yeah, yeah." The cat monster moves on to his lap. "Yuu made you a gift and I helped, so be grateful!"

"You did?" Something akin to fear, ice cold and electrifying, spears through Yuu's heart as nervous hands fiddle with the gift. They hadn't expected Grim to mention it so soon, but knowing him and his tendency for praise—especially if he contributed the bare minimum—they shouldn't have been so surprised.

"I... um—yeah." It's an awkward bend, clammy—near shaky hands removing the gift from their lap and offering it to Jack who is practically glowing, the tell tale thump of his tail a dead give away.

They just hope he likes it.

The wrapping crinkled under the weight of Jack's hands, claws already bursting through. He peels it slowly and Yuu looks away. Near ashamed at the idea of a present.

They'd wanted to recreate the feeling of home. How, whenever they were sick their mother would slip through with soup and their favorite wolf teddy before ushering off to bed with a kiss on the forehead and a promise that they'd get better soon.

They wanted to recreate all the things they knew they wouldn't have now that they were stuck in Twisted Wonderland with effectively no way to return home.

Yuu wanted to give the same comfort they ached for on cold nights, where their bones felt hollow but their chest was full of something that felt so close watching their memories die.

"I love it."

"Huh?" Yuu perks, widened eyes flitting to Jack's mesmerized face—as if they'd dropped a star into his hands.

"Of course you do, we made it!" Grim exclaims, though one look at his wagging tail tells them all they need to know. Eager for praise even at the smallest expense.

"Thank you."

"I..." Yuu struggles to make sense of it, how Jack could find such a juvenile teddy nice enough that his whole face is glowing. "No problem."

Settling the teddy near his pillow, Jack falls back under the covers. And they take it as a sign to leave, Grim hopping from the bed and Yuu peeling themselves from their spot on the bed.

"Yuu," Jack calls from.the bed just as they flick off the lights. The undertone of pleading not lost on them, they peer back into the darkness of the room, the light of Savanaclaws hallway pouring in.

"Yeah?"

"C...could you stay with me?"

"Really?" Grim cheers, hopping from his perch on their shoulder. "It'll be like a sleep over we have! Yuu come 'ere!"

"Yea—yeah, of course. Yuu snickers as they settle on Jack's right. They'd remembered doing the same, calling out for their mother to watch them while they slept, remembered getting forehead kisses and an extra tucking into the bed.

"You..."

"Hm?"

"...You can lay down."

Jolting at the invitation, they squint into the dark before a smile curls onto their face. Because for all the times Jack is designated the role of protector, he's just as awkward as the rest of them.

Bending down, Yuu presses a kiss to Jack's forehead—hot from the fever. They can feel the boy tense under them before relaxing, the furrow of his brow melting away.

The kiss lingers on their lips as Yuu curls into Jack's side, a strange wash of contentment settling under their skin as the watch him settle into bed.

Because, for all Jack's bluster, Yuu's sure he misses home just as they do, even under the pile of gifts.

"Goodnight, Yuu."

"Goodnight, Jack."

Taglist: @noir-drabbles @edgymoonstone @hiraya-manwari @twst-drabbles

#twst #twisted wonderland #jack howl #jack howl x reader #jack howl x yuu #male yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x yuu

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harringtontmaa · 2 years ago

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HE DOES’T MISS the way eddie pulls away from the touch near his collar, & the last thing steve wants to do is freak him out while he’s in the throes of a bad trip. so he drops his hand, guiding him up the stairs with only their interlaced grip ( & an occasional steadying arm hovering at his back so he doesn’t lose his balance & go toppling backwards down the stairs ). the hallway feels longer than usual somehow, eddie’s fingers occasionally squeezing his with enough force to hurt. but even so, he doesn't drop his hand, making sure to offer some reassuring pressure each time eddie curls in closer. steve doesn’t know what he sees; he’s not even sure what eddie took. but it has to be giving some pretty unpleasant visuals judging by the way he clings to steve all the way down the hall.

but steve doesn’t blame him. his house can be creepy — especially when it’s quiet & shadowy, with too many doors & too few photographs to feel like anyone actually lives here. & when eddie peers up at him & asks if he can control the walls, his pupils are so dilated that steve can barely see any of the rich brown that rings them. but he's smiling a little, too, & steve barely suppresses a laugh as he leads him to the right door. ❝ yup, i control the walls, ❞ he responds softly, teasingly. ❝ & that’s how i know that you're safe here. they'll protect you, ok ? ❞ this seems to work, eddie immediately pivoting to debating with himself whether steve was a wizard, or more of a warrior. & when he mentions steve’s guns, this time he can't stop a chuckle from escaping.

once inside his room, steve guides eddie to sit on the bed. he’s actually got a little experience with being a trip-sitter — back when he’d been king steve, tommy had taken a few too many pills at a party more than once — & he knows that total silence can sometimes lead to freak-outs. he probably doesn't have anything in his music collection up to eddie's diehard-metal standards, but he kinda felt like the situation required something a little more neutral anyway. he settles on queen after flipping through the first few albums ( he would never be so cruel as to choose prince when eddie was in such a sensitive state ), & carefully puts the record on the turntable. ❝ hey man, don't hate on the corvette, ❞ steve says with a smile when eddie speaks again, glancing over his shoulder at the way the other is looking around wide-eyed, taking everything in.

❝ but yeah, you're probably right. the decorator said that the dumb grid-pattern was modern. but if i could do it myself, it definitely wouldn't look like this. ❞ as he speaks, the first notes of the album fill the room. it's a little loud at first, & steve quickly adjusts until it's a comfortable level, just enough melody to fill the space between their words & keep the room from falling quiet as it is prone to doing when steve is alone. ❝ how's that, is this okay ? ❞ he asks, conscious of how eddie might react to the unexpected sound.

it’s just then that there is a soft knock at the door, & robin comes in looking almost like a saint as she sets some crackers & a jar of peanut butter & a big glass of water on steve’s desk. she pauses to tell eddie that she’ll be just downstairs getting some sleep, before turning to bid steve goodnight. he thanks her softly & promises to repay her with breakfast in the morning, & then she’s gone. & steve returns to eddie’s side, perching on the opposite side of the bed as he observes him curiously. ❝ how’re you feeling now ? you need anything ? robin brought some snacks up, if you're hungry. ❞

Stupid Steve. Stupid King Jock seeing and hearing with his stupid jock eyes and ears. He didn’t see the evil afoot before them like Eddie, and neither did Robin. He expected better from her. But she retreated quickly, leaving him in the hellscape of Castle Harrington with its current king. Steve kept promising that he was safe, that they were just in a house. So why didn’t it feel like that? It’s the drugs, moron. You’re higher than the fucking moon. He blinked, eyes darting about to put a body to the voice, only to realise the voice had come from his head. Great, more of those. They were rarely anything good, especially when paired with narcotics. But it was better than his visions of Chrissy, not much better, but at least tolerable.

His eyes shifted back to look at Steve, wide and uneasy, like he didn’t entirely trust him or his words. There had been no reason to doubt him in the past and no reason for it now, but his nerd instinct had reemerged for one final showdown with its natural enemy. And yet, the so-called former king of Hawkins was doing something to his hand that calmed the beast enough when it demanded to jump out and snap its jaws at Steve’s throat. Not literally, of course. The touch near his collarbone was unwelcome, and Eddie shrugged it off with ease while a quiet irritated noise slid from his lips which married to the pout that formed soon after. It felt too close, too intimate and overwhelming for a boy that only called him his friend. What he did like were Steve’s hands. There was something very comforting about them, and they didn’t feel like too much. They weren’t crossing over some invisible barrier between friends and something. This was safe.

Eddie stayed quiet when Steve guided him towards the bedroom one step at a time, focusing on the sensation of their entwined hands as an anchor. Every so often, he swore that the walls began closing in on them, only to back away when he leaned in on Steve, who gently reminded him that everything was fine. “Can you control the walls?” He whispered, suddenly looking at Steve, eyes still wide, though containing a very different look. If someone were to look close enough, they might see an almost sparkle in the nearly black depths of Eddie Munson’s eyes. “I never had you pegged as a wizard, dude. Definitely a warrior with those guns—and, you know, how you take a beating pretty good.” Musing on the thought of Steve as a wizard, he failed to notice that the walls had stopped closing in on them. And while the house itself generally made him feel uneasy. The combination of Steve’s closeness and his brain forcing D&D ideas into his mind created a good, albeit temporary, distraction. He felt more at ease.

Being in Steve’s bedroom quickly brought the more unsettling emotions back. People like him didn’t just get into Steve Harrington’s personal space, yet that’s precisely where he was, perched on the end of the bed like a distrusting cat in a new home. He missed Steve’s hand. A barely audible sigh escaped him from its loss, and he looked about curiously, pops of colour appearing before his eyes that covered up the hideous brown wallpaper. For some reason, he had expected the room to be a lot cooler, at least cool in terms of what the owner deemed cool. But it was plain, unloved, and he couldn’t see much of Steve in the decor. Filled with further curiosity, he spoke up, pushing the bad feelings down. “You need to redecorate, Steve.” The thought tumbled out without much consideration, but drugs tended to do that to him, they completely destroyed his filter. “This is soo not how a wizard’s den should look. There are titty and car pics, man. Get it together.” You should probably shut up now, Munson. Why? God, you’re a moron. Huh? Should he not ask questions about the Wizard Steve? That sounded stupid in his head, not asking questions. He wanted to know more about his awesome powers—and maybe about him too. The voice would just have to deal with it.

#drug use /#munsontm #⚡ — INTERACTIONS.#⚡ — v / arc v.#you know i love this thread so much.#steve is mother hen-ing him so hard right now lmao.#gotta make sure eddie is okay !!!

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messrmoonyy · 2 years ago

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Can I ask for Moonboys and Layla comforting plus size reader when she’s insecure? Like a Drabble or hcs or something? Thank you 🥺

Sweet anon I felt this one fr. As a chunky gal myself I felt this a million times. I got you. And just remember you are perfect how you are and all the boys and Layla would adore you. So here’s some drabbles that can’t really be classed as drabbles really cause I got carried away. Enjoy my sweet

Moonboys and Layla comforting you when you feel insecure:

Warnings: afab reader but I do try to keep mostly neutral. mentions of insecurity over weight, mentions of eating/food , implied/ alluding to smut if you squint real hard

Masterlist - open for any and all requests! Also reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

Steven:

Steven came home bounding with energy as he always was when he knew you were home. He had a gift bag from the shop in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, balancing them carefully as he unlocked the door. The gift shop had gotten a new shipment of plushies in, all patterned with various Van Gogh paintings. There was a travelling exhibit at work, which meant a whole new range of merchandise. And as soon as he’d seen the sunflower bear he knew he had to get it for you. Even if your collection was beginning to get ever so slightly out of hand. He just couldn’t help himself but treat you.

“ Hiyya love I’m home! “ he called, dumping the groceries on the kitchen counter. When you didn’t respond immediately like normal, he panicked. A million thoughts of any possibly bad thing that could’ve happened to you. He didn’t know why he always expected the worst. Maybe something niggling in the back of his head about how many enemies Marc had made over the years…. He was over reacting. His flat was open plan, there wasn’t exactly many places he could lose you. So he headed straight for the bathroom, the only real place you could be hiding away.

You were probably just taking a bath or something.

You startled when he poked his head into the bathroom, stood in front of the mirror in your underwear. He knew what you were doing immediately and he placed the bear down on the sink, hurrying over to you.

“ heyyy love “ he said softly, and jumped in between you and the mirror with his hands softly on your arms “ now what are you doing in here? “ you refused to look at him, curling your arms around your waist to hide from him. Which was silly. He’d seen you in your underwear- and far less- before a hundred times.

You were usually confident, happy knowing that you were just fine the way you were. That Steven loved you just the way you were. But every now and again it blipped. Your confidence plummeting to the ground at a million miles an hour. It wasn’t that he didn’t reassure you enough, hell the man complimented you every minute of the damn day. But sometimes you had those days where you felt the need to analyse every fault you thought you had.

You didn’t know what to say to him and he nudged your chin up to look at him.

“ what’s got you feeling like this love? Has someone said something? I can… tell me who and I’ll… I’ll. I’ll do. Something “ that made you smile a little.

“ what defend my honour? “ you teased softly, losing the grip on yourself slightly.

“ absolutely “ he cupped your face in his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead “ now stop hiding in here yeah? You’re perfect y/n. And I adore you. Just how you are. Like the gods made you themselves. Bloody incredible you are. Wouldn’t want you any other way “ his hands then moved down to your arms and gently pulled them away from your body “ now stop hiding from me, yeah? Beautiful wanna see all of you “ your cheeks flushed as his hands fell to your waist and squeezed softly “ I know what’ll cheer you up. I got you a present“

He let you go and hurried back over to the discarded bear before returning, thrusting it towards you “ ta da! “ a smile blossomed across your face as you took the gift, examining the detailed artwork printed in its fur.

“ oh it’s beautiful Steven. Thank you “

“ like you “ it was cheesy. It was goofy. But that was him. And it made you smile again which was quite possibly his favourite thing in existence.

“ I don’t think I can quite be compared to a priceless art piece by Van Gogh “ he shrugged and gently pulled you close to him again, arms around your waist.

“ I dunno. Priceless to me “

Marc:

Marc watched you intently from his spot on the sofa, watching you at the other end as you picked at the food in your bowl. It was your favourite, he’d made it special seeing as you’d been in an odd mood the last few days. But you weren’t eating. Hadn’t all day from what he’d seen. He knew that sometimes on your period you didn’t want to eat. But that wasn’t due any day soon he was sure.

So it was odd. His brow furrowed as you pushed the food around with your fork, looking at the tv but your face showing you clearly weren’t paying it any attention. He picked up the tv remote and flicked it off.

“ y/n. What’s wrong “ you looked over at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“ what? “ he sighed and shuffled closer to you on the sofa.

“ baby don’t play with me. I know you. What’s wrong? “ he nodded down at the bowl in your hands that had barely been touched “ it’s your favourite and you’ve hardly touched it “

“ I’m just not hungry babe I’m sorry “

“ and this morning? And yesterday? Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Did you actually eat anything today y/n? “ tears started to pool in your eyes and he took the bowl from you, placing it onto the coffee table and pulling you into his arms “ tell me what’s wrong “ you sniffled into his shirt and shrugged “ y/n “ his tone was slightly warning. But because he was mad. Because he was worried. He loved you more than anything or anyone in the world. He don’t want you to treat yourself so poorly.

You sat back and he brushed the tears gently away from your cheeks with the back of his fingers. You were the only person ever allowed such tenderness.

“ at work “ you started softly and he stayed quiet to let you speak “ one of the guys they just… just made a comment that upset me. It’s stupid I’m stupid. I’m fine “ he held your face in his hands and tried to remain calm. He always got angry too fast, especially concerning you.

“ what did they say? “

“ don’t make a big deal about it Marc.. “

“ I just want to know. Please “ your eyes met his and his heart ached seeing them glassy with tears, hurt swimming in your gaze.

“ it was Jessica’s birthday. She brought in donuts for everyone to share. Dave just made a stupid comment that I should only have one because I didn’t need the calories. They laughed. It was a joke I guess “ he let out a steady sigh already plotting a completely accidental run in with fucking Dave. No one was allowed to talk to you like that. No one “ don’t do anything stupid okay? You can’t just go around fighting anyone that says something bad to me “

He almost laughed at how well you could read him.

“ I never said I was going too “ you raised an eyebrow in question and gave a small laugh, shaking your head.

“ sure “ he tucked some of your hair behind your ear, eyes drifting over your face. It was quite scary how protective he felt of you, how much he wanted to protect and keep you safe.

“ I love you. And I don’t want you to think that people talking to you like that is okay “

“ I know… I love you too “ he pressed a kiss to your lips before reaching over for your bowl. It was still warm enough to eat and he handed over to you

“ good. Now eat “ you snuggled into his side and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head when you finally took a bite.

“ promise you won’t do anything to Dave? You’ll let it go? “ the way Jake was already nattering away about what he wanted to do to the bastard that had bad talked you, he didn’t quite feel he could promise that. So he settled with humming an answer and began making preparations with Jake.

Jake:

If there was one singular thing Jake loved most in the world. It was you. Every single inch of you. Everything. Your eyes. Your smile. The perfume you wore. Every word you spoke. Every laugh you gave him the pleasure of listening to. Every bump and line and curve that your body had to offer to him.

And he greatly enjoyed making sure you knew it too. He was quite confident in the fact that there wasn’t a single inch of you that he hadn’t smothered in kisses, shown his upmost care and attention to. And majority of the time you were more than happy to let him.

He hadn’t seen you for days. And he’d missed you. He’d practically jumped you the second you’d come home from work, but had kissed him back with as much eagerness as he had. But in the last minute or so you’d shifted. He could read you like a book and he knew when something wasn’t right with you. He’d felt the tiny way you’d stiffened as his fingers had tried to find their way under your shirt, your breath catching in your throat in a different way to usual.

“ all good mi amor? “ he asked, detaching his lips from your neck.

“ I- yeah. I’m fine. I’m good…. Tense. Stressful day at work that’s all “ he didn’t quite believe you, but you tugged him back down to kiss you so he didn’t question it further. Maybe it was just because you had a busy day and he was over thinking.

“ ah well I have a solution to help you relax “ he said lowly against your lips, kissing you once more before sitting up. His hands ran over your thighs and up to the waistband of your skirt, pulling it carefully down your legs. He dropped it to the floor and his hands went back up to what their previous mission had been. Getting you out of your shirt.

But the second he grabbed the hem of the material your hands flew down to stop him. He let go immediately, never doing anything unless you wanted it “ y/n? “

“ can I just… can I keep the shirt on? Please? “ it was an odd request. You’d never asked it before. His brain immediately went to the bad end of things, wondering what you could possibly be hiding.

“ are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? Who? Y/n? Puta madré “ he went to get up and find whichever bastard had dare lay his fingers on you, without any real understanding or vague idea of who. But you grabbed his hands.

“ Jake. Jake! “ he looked at you with a frown and you closed your eyes for a moment and sighed “ I’m fine. Look if you don’t believe me. I am “ you hesitated a moment and pulled off your shirt “ see. I’m fine “ he rotated his finger, signalling for you to show him your back too. Which you did with another sigh before laying back down and covering your face in embarrassment.

“ then what? Why are you hiding from me? “ he reached gently for your hands, pulling them away from your face “ princessa “ you refused to look him in the eye and sighed again.

“ I just… didn’t want you to see. Me. My body it’s embarrassing look at- “ he shut you up with a hard kiss, making you gasp into his mouth.

“ none of that. No no “ he kissed you again, a little more gentle the second time “ you are perfect. Don’t I show you that? “ he thought he did. He didn’t quite know how else to “ and I have seen you before. Many times “

Your cheeks flushed with heat and your lip quivered. For a moment he was worried you were going to cry on him.

“ I’m sorry… just one of those days you know “ you pushed yourself up onto your elbows and he brushed your hair away from your face “ I look at you and you’re just… well. You. And then I look at me and…. You could do so much better “ he raised an eyebrow simply out of amusement. The idea that there was anyone out there better suited to him than you? It was a laughable idea. He was almost tempted to check if it was April fools.

“ there is no one better “ he confessed “ no one. I love you, princessa. Every part of you. Look at you “ he started kissing at your neck and felt you relax underneath him “Eres perfecto, tan perfecto” he said lowly against your skin, hands roaming wherever they could reach. Now practically desperate to prove his point. That he adored you. Every part of you. And he wouldn’t change a single hair on your head “ let me show you how much I mean it? “ he asked, his kissing going further south. Between your still covered breasts and down your stomach “Estás hermosa “

He looked up at you for some final consent, happy with the nod of your head, and pressed his face between your legs.

Layla:

Layla woke up unsure of the time. Her sleepy eyes refusing to fully open as they squinted at the alarm clock. 3am. Still plenty of time to be sleeping and definitely not time to be awake. She wondered what had woken her up and rolled over to pull you back into her arms and drift off again. But she turned and hit cold bed sheets.

You had shuffled away from her, right to the edge of the bed. One turn and you’d be on the floor. She immediately started thinking what she could have possibly done to make you mad. You had been fine when you went to bed, in fact more than fine. She’d absolutely ravished you until your legs were jelly and her jaw ached. She’d fallen asleep with you tightly snuggled in her arms.

Maybe you had just rolled away in your sleep. Or maybe she’d taken up too much space or accidentally wacked you. She was an active sleeper and often wiggled around. Either way she wanted you back in her arms again.

She scooched up behind you, draping an arm around you gently in an attempt not to wake you. But it seemed you were already awake. The second her hand came to rest on your stomach, your hand was on hers and pulling it off and onto your waist instead. Layla frowned. What In gods name had she done to upset you?

“ habibti? “ she questioned softly “ what did I do? “ you said nothing at first so she squeezed your waist softly to get your attention.

“ Layla don’t “ now she was really confused. She sat up and flicked on the lamp beside the bed, a frown etched on her face.

“ y/n what’s wrong? What did I do? Honestly I’m wracking my brains here and I cannot think of a single thing “ you rolled onto your back and avoided her gaze.

“ your hand… I don’t like you holding me there. My tummy. I’m gross it’s so gross “ she frowned and looked at you like you were insane.

“ when have I ever said that? “ she’d never even dream of it. She was obsessed with you. She told you all the time.

“ never. It’s just. It’s a fact “ Layla tugged gently on your hand to make you sit up, pulling you into her arms when you did. She held your head to her chest, pressing kisses to your head.

“ don’t talk like that. Ever “ she rubbed soft circles into your back as you started to cry softly, soaking her T-shirt with your tears “ I love you right? Everything about you. You really think what weight you are or where you have fat, bothers me? Really? “ you shook your head slightly “ you think there’s anyone else I’d want to be here with right now? What you think just because someone is slimmer than you I would love them more? I’d find them more attractive or something? “ she was a little hurt you’d even think that. But she understood. She knew you had your insecurities and she always tried her best to be gentle with them. With you.

“ I’m sorry “ you whispered, lifting your head and looking up at her

“ don’t say sorry to me. Apologise to yourself. I love your body. You need to take care of it. It carries you around, it protects you, it heals you. It makes you… you. Yeah? I love you. I want to be here with you. Just as you are. Okay? “ you were crying again but she assumed it was from her words this time. You leaned up and kissed her, savouring how sweet she was. Inside and out.

Translations: - correct me if any are wrong I’m trusting Google

Estás hermosa- you are beautiful

Mi amor- my love

Princessa- princess

Puta madré- motherfucker

Eres perfecto- you are perfect

Habibti- my love

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