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lacollectionneuse1967 · 7 months

Text

slip of the tongue

Theseus Scamander x Reader

The word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.” He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face.

summary: you're a personal assistant at the british aurors office. you accidentally call your boss, theseus scamander, "daddy."

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: smut with plot

warnings: 18+ smut, ddlg themes, (light) mdom/femsub dynamics, (light) size difference kink, unprotected penetration

It was mid-November. London was dark by four in the afternoon and you were out of the Ministry by five, pulling your trench coat around you and shouldering your way out into the stone streets and coal black skies. It wasn’t bitingly cold yet, but you kept your arms tucked close to your body regardless. Dipping in and out of the indistinct crowds, moving with purpose.

You had about fifteen stacks of classified documents on you, but they were safely magicked away into the lining of your coat, and they weighed nothing. Magic almost always weighed nothing, cost nothing.

For you, at least.

“A natural.” “The brightest witch of her year!”

That’s what they’d called you at Hogwarts. Even your closest friends in [your House] eventually grew bitter and irritable, so you had to feign stress before exams and pretend to practice your spells alongside them in the common room, in a display of camaraderie.

The truth was you didn’t need to practice, or study. Ever.

You were muggle-born, everything in your life before Hogwarts had been so difficult to bear, your parents’ death, the streets of East London, the orphanage. Even talking to other people, simple conversation, bore some inexplicable strain for you.

But magic had come as easy as breathing. Your wand was like a limb, an extension of your body, you didn’t even have to reach for magic, it just sprung forth, dancing into the world.

You wanted to be an Auror since you were fifteen. You were good at magic, and little else, and you were curious, had a talent for dueling and abhorred those who took advantage of the weak. It seemed a natural path.

You were hired straight out of graduation. You were only meant to work as an Administrative Assistant at the Ministry of Magic for a few months. But that was nearly a year ago…

In truth, you’d already been offered a position as an Auror. You turned it down discreetly. Theseus Scamander, Head of the British Auror Office, was the man you’d been assigned to as an assistant. He was the figure you answered to, and you’d been his sole, personal secretary.

Before you loved him, you liked him, but even then you could recognize that you liked him too much for what was appropriate to feel for your boss. He was nothing like you in that he was maddeningly easy to become fond of. He was funny and charming, kind and handsome. Sarcastic and a bit of a straight edge. You glowed in his praise.

Every “Excellent work, Y/N” or “Y/N, you’re a lifesaver,” or casual introduction beginning with “This is my genius assistant-” swelled inside of you with happiness. Once he’d even, absent-mindedly and only half-looking up from his copy of The Daily Prophet, said “Good girl,” and you’d nearly fainted.

The first time he hugged you, after some successful project of yours, he’d braced his arms around you and spun you around, and you’d gone wide-eyed and stiff. He set you down in a flourish.

You were terrified your reaction would put him off touching you forever, but he only laughed aloud, the sound like bells in the wind.

“Not scared of the death threats we receive from dark wizards but you’re scared of a little hug from your boss?”

Your heart seized, though you returned his laugh in relief. If he only knew what you were really scared of.

“Try it again,” you smiled and met his gaze defiantly. “I’ll do better this time, I promise.”

It always seemed to shock and delight him in equal parts, the way you responded to him. You liked to challenge him, and to make him smile just to see it spread across his face.

When Theseus hugged you the second time it was him who hesitated at the feel of your warm body pressing into his, his large hands hovered in mid-air before resting delicately on your upper back.

When you were hired he was still engaged to Leta Lestrange, as he was when you turned down the promotion you were offered. Pathetically, being his assistant was the closest you could get to him. You weren’t about to walk away from that, walk away from him. Between late-night talks at the office and laughter-filled afternoon teatimes at his house, he’d become something like a friend. You couldn’t have him, but this was enough to sustain you. You weren’t her, but you knew you meant something to him…

When you entered his dark apartment, slipping the key out from under the welcome mat, it was no warmer than the outside world. Barren and cold as death, no signs of life. You whisked your wand out and spelled on the lights, spelled the documents free and they fell heavily from your coat, thunking unceremoniously on the hardwood floor.

Since he broke up with Leta, Theseus hadn’t been home, that was clear from the state of his place. He had hardly been at the office. You covered for him without even having to think about it, without even blinking you spewed out excuses and deftly dismissed the Aurors who came to call on him.

You didn’t think about what that meant about your loyalty, to the Ministry and to him.

"Y/N," he’d prefaced in a letter, an owl sent to your house. "I trust you with my life. Not in theory, but in practice: with this letter you hold my life in your hands. You’re my assistant, but you’ve also become my closest and most cherished friend."

He’d mentioned Grindelwald, going behind the Ministry's back, “choosing sides,” and that he was with his younger brother, Newt. He told you to tell the Ministry he was on business if they asked, to make up something about a dark wizard lead in Romania. And he mentioned that he would need you to make copies of some confidential documents from the archives for him. He asked you to set them aside "but not in my office. Not safe. Bring them to my apartment. Key under the mat. I’ll be in touch soon. I owe you."

And so here you were. Still in your work clothes, a navy blue pencil skirt and chiffon blouse, black tights and your [hair color] hair pressed into loose finger waves, your heels scattered somewhere across his floor. You were organizing the documents into piles.

He’d requested the strangest things, all top secret, in the most restricted section of the Ministry Archives. Old maps and travelogs pertaining to sightings of some ancient creature with certain prophetic or spiritual abilities. Topographical maps of Bhutan and Austria. Classified research on dark magical objects that bound promises in blood.

It made you feel like you were in school again, made your head spin.

Wishing always hurt for you, coming from your background, you hardly let yourself indulge in it. But right now you wished he would’ve told you more. You wished, more sharply and painfully, that he was here.

In the middle of organizing the endless piles of parchment you began to drift off. The words on paper began to cross and blur in your vision. You didn’t want to disturb his apartment or his things, so you hadn’t put on the fireplace. Cold and tired you padded to his empty room.

Just a little rest before I finish up here. You thought to yourself. Just going to rest my eyes.

You crawled under his crisp bed sheets and your eyes pricked at the overwhelming smell of him. If you didn’t allow yourself to miss him before this, you couldn’t help it now. You’d never been in his room before, you thought distantly, fatigue already claiming you, dragging you down into a black sleep.

-------

You weren’t cold anymore. Someone had put the fireplace on. You became aware of this before you heard him.

“Y/N,” Theseus’s voice was rough and low and sweet. It must've been past midnight. He was dressed in a suit still, bending over the bed, his eyes tender and tired. “Did you fall asleep, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. You stirred. That word undid something in you. Unfettered any tension or stress you’d been holding in your body since he’d been gone.

“Theseus,” you muttered, still half-sleep. Your eyes were swollen, you would’ve been mortified, but he was here, at last, and he was looking at you with a gentle smile, so affectionate.

“M’sorry, the documents—I fell asleep-"

“It’s okay,” he chuckled. He dragged a hand over his face and stood. You felt guilty for stealing his bed, you didn't know where he'd been, but he looked positively wrecked. “Rest. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

He turned to leave, presumably for the couch. You reached out for him, any part of him, and your hand caught the waistline of his pants, a finger hooked there.

He looked down at the offending hand and raised a brow.

You were half dreaming, his arrival was so unexpected, so surreal. Your face felt hot, something like fever.

"Mm, don't go," you mumbled. And then, the word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.”

He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You were suddenly terrifyingly awake.

You clapped a hand over your face, mortified, and rolled over in his bed so that the pillow concealed your face. Consciousness seeped in gradually and with every sober second you were swallowed by dread.

“Oh,” you said stupidly. “Oh god, I have to leave. I'm sorry, I was sleeping, I don't know why I said that."

You stood as clumsily as a drunkard, taking half his sheets to the floor with you. Your hair was a mess and your skirt had hiked up nearly around your waist, revealing your black panties through your sheer tights.

“Oh god,” you said again. You couldn’t look at him. You began to fix your skirt and pat down your hair when he stepped forward, eyes dark, hand gripped around your wrist.

You startled, confused. But he looked the opposite, an absolute calm washed over his face.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Coming home to you in my bed,” he let out a sharp breath, something like a stifled groan. “You have no idea what I wanted to do to you.”

Your stomach fluttered. You searched his face for any signs of confusion. He looked tired, a little undone, but more himself than ever.

“I don’t understand,” you didn't know why you felt on the brink of tears, when this is all you’d wanted all along. “You… you want me? But you were engaged, you…”

The look in his eyes was blazing and still, fire in water. It was enough to silence you.

“I want you. I ended things with her because I couldn’t live with it, wanting you. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, not at your job, and I’m sorry to bother you with it now, but it can’t be helped. You can leave if you want, things can go back to normal. Me, wanting you, and you knowing nothing about it.”

He seemed to return to himself now, he sounded like the Theseus you knew. Poised, sure of himself. Mercifully kind. But his chest was heaving and the desire, plain on his face, was enough to make your knees buckle.

He wants me. He wants me. With each beat of your heart you felt the truth of it swell inside you. You could see it, unmistakable, the look of want that mirrored your own. Ready to worship and renounce and claim.

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted, weakly. When he spoke again his words were terse, strained.

“Get back in bed,” is all he could manage, and then, “And call me that again.”

And for the first time since you’d known him, you defied him.

Like the possessed, you fell into him, kissing him. He stumbled back in surprise, catching you with his hands crowded around your face. And you were both kissing and grabbing at each other, you fell to your knees and he followed you down.

You couldn't stop kissing him, not even to regain your balance, to catch your breath. He tasted so good, and his mouth on yours would've been enough to sustain you forever. The two of you were so desperate with need, you were half-kneeling on the floor.

You began to whine in protest when he pulled away at last, but he stood and pulled you up from under your arms. When he threw you back onto his bed, your stomach flipped. He was looking down at you, pulling off his shoes and jacket, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. With him looking at you like that, you would've let him do anything to you, anything at all.

“Sweetheart, I said,” he pulled off his dress shirt and your head went dizzy at the sight of his bare chest, his shoulders and arms. “Get back in bed.”

His voice was stern, but fond. You knew what he wanted immediately, and it thrilled you to give it to him.

“Yes, daddy.”

You could see him struggling to control his expression, he just bowed his head back and pinched his eyes shut. The corner of his mouth twitched.

The knowledge that it was you doing this to him, driving him crazy, turning him on, heightened your arousal. Submitting to him strangely felt like power in your hands.

“Good girl,” he said at last.

He was in his boxers now. The shape of his dick through the thin cloth made your mouth water. You wanted to press your open mouth against it there, wanted to pull it out and kiss it. You don’t know what had come over you. You couldn't think straight.

He got into bed beside you.

“Come and sit in my lap.”

Your body purred and thrummed in delight. This is all you’d ever wanted at the office, to drape yourself over and onto him like this.

You crawled over him and sat firmly in his lap, legs splayed around his thick thighs. His hands came up around your waist, sliding further up to your chest. He looked up at you unblinkingly, eyes hooded and reverent, but his fingers moved of their own accord, unbuttoning your shirt.

You reddened, suddenly self-conscious. “Wait, don’t-“

“Don't?” he raised an eyebrow. “What, you want me to stop?”

He made a tutting noise and continued to remove your shirt, you had to look away when he flung it across the room, you were so embarrassed. He had your bra off in seconds.

“So cute. So shy.” he said dotingly, but his actions were anything but cute, massaging and running the rough pads of his thumbs over your nipples over and over again in circles.

You moaned without meaning to, and the sound embarrassed you further. You felt him grow even bigger beneath you, between your legs.

“No, you don’t want me to stop.” He sounded so cocky you wanted to tell him off, but you couldn't, not with him playing with you like this. You could only moan weakly beneath his hands.

Your hips began grinding against the outline of his cock. It was so big your entire body thrilled at the feel of him, at the ludicrous idea of fitting it inside of you.

He seemed determined to humiliate you, he kept talking you through it.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Can you feel how hard I am?”

“Yes,” you answered, breathless.

“Tell me what you want. How you want me.”

“Inside me, please.”

“Please, who?”

You were so frustrated you could've cried. You wanted to come so bad, your legs were trembling. Up and down grinding and rubbing wasn't enough when you knew he wanted to be inside of you, that you could've had him inside of you.

“Please, daddy," You cried, feeling broken.

Theseus pushed you back onto the bed roughly and crawled over you, reaching down to hike your skirt even further up your midsection. You were already topless, but he gripped into your tights with both arms flexing and ripped them apart at the seam.

You gasped and instinctually tried to cover up, bringing your legs together, but he was already pushing your panties down past your ankles, and then his broad hands were covering your kneecaps, pushing them apart.

“No, no, don’t do that. You’re mine," He reprimanded.

It felt so vulgar, him seeing this part of you. But you were only half a person now. You needed Theseus inside of you to be complete, you were dumb with want. A whining, needy mess and he couldn't get enough of you.

Tears stained your cheeks.

“Please, pleaseplease-" You started to beg, but he silenced you with his mouth on yours, wet and warm and perfect. When he shushed you this time it was surprisingly caring, he caressed your face reassuringly.

“Okay, baby. It’s okay, I’m not trying to tease you, hold on.”

When he pulled out his length, your mouth went dry. You instinctually spread your legs wider. It was big, bigger than you thought. Both thick and long.

He reached a hand down between your legs to find wetness. Your back arched, your whole body curled and keened in pleasure against his hand, his touch.

But when he pushed a single finger at your entrance it met resistance. You moaned in pain and contentment when it finally slid in fully, past the knuckle.

“Ah,” he said with a grunt. “You can barely fit my finger, baby. You’re so tight.” He said this in equal parts admiration and lament.

“No!” you whined. “Please, please, I can take it-“

Theseus shushed you and kissed your forehead.

“I know you can, pretty girl. I don’t wanna hurt you, though.”

“I want you to. Please, please.”

He hissed something like fuck under his breath and began to add more fingers, a second and, then, absurdly, a third. You already felt like you were being split in half. He could barely move them, but soon enough he was pumping them deep and slow, in and out, and the act was so lewd you wanted to cry again.

“Fuck, that’s tight," he said to himself again. “Christ, Y/N, you’re gonna kill me.”

When he removed his hand you wanted to cry out at the loss, but then he was moving his body up, his hands clasped around the inside of your knees and he spread your legs up and open and wide, just for him.

When he sank down into you, his dick was so big and hard that your eyes bulged and your mouth opened pathetically.

“Oh,” you said, stupefied.

Then he pushed in and in, endlessly, until he bottomed out. You were already throbbing around him, so overstimulated from before, coming and fluttering around his cock before he’d even fucked you properly.

“Oh!” you exclaimed again, throwing your head back against the pillow and bringing the back of your hand to your mouth to bite, hoping to stifle the moan as your orgasm washed over you hard. Waves of pleasure ran from the crown of your head all the way down your legs, you could see it coming from a mile away but were nonetheless overcome, completely.

He made a small noise at the sensation of you tightening and pulsing around him and ripped your hand away from your mouth.

“I wanna hear you,” he ordered, and so you let him. It was almost an out-of-body experience, the way he materialized in front of you, inside of you, when you finally came back down to earth, blood roaring in your ears.

“I just stuck it in, and you already came?” His tone was dark and teasing. “That’s all it takes, darling?”

He leaned over and kissed you deeply, passionately, and then straightened your legs and threw them over one of his shoulders, bending you in half. He began to fuck you in earnest, fucked you limp. You really felt like a rag doll now, helplessly pinned beneath his weight, his hips pounding into your backside. He drilled into you, growing impossibly harder by the second, it was almost like being filled for the first time all over again.

You couldn't stop moaning, he kept telling you how good you were doing, how you were almost there. Kept asking you questions that made you blush, making you answer them.

Every thrust of his hips was pure ecstasy, vibrating shocks of pleasure were sent straight to your core, your whole pussy throbbing with it. He was fucking you and it was the best thing you’d ever felt, you never imagined sex could be this good.

You felt his dick stretching you wider and wider when he said, “Where do you want me to come?”

You didn't even think. The word preceded any thought.

“Inside. Please, please-"

“Fuck.”

The feel of him shooting into you, hot and warm and pulsing, sent you tumbling into another orgasm, it hit you so hard your vision went white and spotty. You had the impression your whole body was vibrating with the force of it.

He rolled your sweat-slick bodies over so that he was cradling you, holding you. You could feel his heartbeat, feel the air rushing in and out of his ribcage. He held you for a few minutes before finally relenting and pulling out with a hiss.

“You’re so perfect,” he panted, pressing a kiss to your temple, your chin, your neck.

You felt overwhelmed with emotion. Overstimulated. Completely at his mercy.

“I love you,” you said. Powerless. All your life you had clung to power, whatever power you could cling to and not be kicked off like a dog. But for him alone you allowed yourself to be weak.

Utterly and devastatingly weak.

You always imagined him saying it to you, first, but the thought barely had the chance to dampen your soaring heart because then he said, “I love you more. I promise you, whatever love you have for me, Y/N, I'll always have more for you.”

-----

He cleaned you up and gave you some of his clothes to change into. Soft and oversized, you were almost drowning in them. He changed into his own pajamas, changed the bedsheets and threw the old ones on the floor. Gave you a toothbrush to use and soon you were both cozy and tucked back in his bed.

“I wanted to do that from the first time I saw you," He admitted. “Even though I was your boss, and your friend, and I was a taken man at the time. It made me feel ashamed, sick with myself. How badly I desired you.”

Hearing Theseus say these words was like a dream, or something you wouldn’t even dare to dream.

“Are you staying here for good now? Or are you leaving me again?” You asked.

“You’re coming with me. With us.” He said in a way that was so sure and simple, it made you feel safe. Made you forget about the Ministry, and the world falling apart. “We need your help. And besides, I've missed you.”

-----

part two here

A/N: woohoo first fic ever! let me know if you have any requests or if you'd like a part two. right now i am only writing for theseus and no one else.

#theseus scamander #theseus x reader #theseus scamander x reader #theseus smut #theseus scamander fic #theseus scamander smut #fantastic beasts #callum turner #hp fanfic

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oneforthemunny · 3 months

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I heard something about angsty fics around here? Am I right? I'm not sure about the plot, but it has to be cowboy eddie!

Pretty please. Something about sweet girl keeping a secret, but a totally innocent one, just to not concern him. But he found out accidentally, and all was a misunderstanding. He talked to her really harshly, accusing her of cheating and not being trustworthy. Something like that plz plz plz

"Thanks, Gare. I think he's gonna love it." You whispered, cradling the landline to your ear. You could hear the creak of the screen door followed by Eddie's heavy boots on the wood floor, heart skipping.

"I gotta go. Thank you. Talk to you soon." You slid around the kitchen wall's corner, slipping the phone back on the hook as silently as you could, wincing at the small click of the phone settling.

"Hey, honey." You greeted, slinking towards Eddie sweetly. "You done already?"

Eddie grunted in response, stripping his socks, tossing them in the laundry room.

Irritation consumed you, though you tried to mask it. Eddie had been so moody lately. You assumed it was because of his birthday. He always got weird around his birthday, which is exactly why you were determined this year to make it a good one.

"Are you hungry? I kept your sandwich in the fridge, since you didn't come in at lunc-"

"-Who were you on the phone with?" A piercing, furrowed brow gaze met yours suddenly. Canopied by matted curls from a day's work, you could still see the deep lines on his forehead, furrowed.

"What?" You chirped, eyes wide, round in caught surprise. Shit, he'd heard you. How the hell had he heard you? You'd been so quiet, so careful, wanting to surprise him. The look of pure shock, it would be priceless.

You expected to see his lips curl in a smirk, shake his head at you, tell you something along the lines of, "c'mon, baby, can't get anything past me, y'know that".

It never came.

Instead, Eddie's eyes flashed in fury- hurt. Nostrils flaring in a deep breath he tried to swallow down, tried to keep his anger from flaring.

"Who were you on the phone with?" Eddie gritted, an eerie steadiness to his tone that had you shuddering, stomach twisting in fear.

"I-I was- I was just calling to check on my prescription." A stuttering of a lie fell from your lips, nails digging into the palms of your hands. "Just calling to see when I needed to go into town to pick it up-"

"-Y'know," Eddie huffed, standing to his full height, looming over you. "If you're gonna fuck around on me, you could have the decency not to do it in my home."

My home. The words, the tone of his voice, it sent icy waves of fear down your spine. The last time Eddie had called the home "his place" was before you moved in, since then it had been shared with the two of you. Our home, our place, ours.

"What?" Your own brows furrowed this time. "I'm not fucking with you-"

"-No, no, no." Eddie shook his head, taking a striding step towards you. "That's not what I said. I said fucking around on me." There was a beat, your face falling in hurt, his steeling in fury. "Because that's what you're doin'? Aren't you? Fucking around on me?"

"Are you out of your goddam mind?" It was your turn to scoff, angry and insulted. "Did Medusa kick you in your fucking head or something?"

"Don't!" Eddie's voice boomed, hand smacking against the doorframe, a loud echoing of a hit. You stilled, eyes wide, he'd never been this angry- not with you at least. Not at you.

"Don't you come in my fucking house, fucking around on me when I've done nothing-nothing but love you!"

"I'm not fucking around on you, Eddie! Christ, have you lost your mind?" You shouted back, taking a furious step towards him, the two of you in a stand off. "I mean, what is the matter with you? You think I-I'm cheating on you?"

"You think I'm stupid?" Eddie sneered, jaw tight. "You sneakin' around, makin' phone calls all day? Runnin' off into town? I might be a lot of things, honey, but dumb ain't one of 'em."

"You are dumb." You snapped bitterly. "Stupid, even. If you think I'm cheating on you. What the fuck is the matter with you?"

"Who is he?" Eddie's hands gripped the door frame. "Huh? I deserve to know. Who is he?"

You gawked, baffled, furious, embarrassed. Eddie thought you were cheating? Cheating? How did something so kind, so thoughtful that you were trying to do for him, backfire to this? It made you feel hurt, insulted.

"Who is he?" You scoffed. Eddie's face didn't move, expression not softening, not falling. You could feel the burn filling your chest, your nose, suffocating you.

Stomping over to your purse, you flipped it upside down, dumping the contents of it out. There, amongst the change and hair ties, you snatched the receipts you'd shoved to the bottom of your purse. Business cards, a small neon invitation, and wadded receipts from the party stores, balling them in your hand, flinging them at Eddie's face furiously.

"You want to know who I've been talking to?" You sneered, watching Eddie scan the receipts, face slowly falling as he read the item- a birthday cake written confirmation note order with the small note added, "Happy Birthday, Eddie!" in red piping. The date for next Saturday, his birthday.

"I've been on the phone with Gareth." You spat, trying to swallow the tears already brimming your waterline. "I've been sneaking around and trying to plan you a surprise party, because I wanted you to have a good birthday for once."

Eddie felt sick, a wave of nausea crashing over him, head spinning in a dizzying ache. A small invitation, "Shh! It's a secret!" in bold, funky lettering on the invitation, Gareth's address written below.

"Oh." Eddie croaked. His eyes met yours again, though this time, he wore the rounded look of shame. "I, um, I-I didn't me-"

"-You're a fucking asshole." You spat, blinking through tear stained vision, stomping up the stairs in a hurt fury, ignoring his cries and pleas that you cut off with the slamming of the bedroom door.

#oneforthemunny #munnytalks #oneforthemunny blurbs #cowboy!eddie munson #cowboy!eddie munson angst #cowboy!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader angst #eddie munson x reader angst #eddie munson angst #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson au #eddie stranger things #eddie my love <3 #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader

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bogleech · 5 months

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Hey Bogleech! Got a question for you; when you are creating creatures - particularly those that are "useless" like the Garbage class in Mortasheen (who I hope are around in the game because I love them btw!), what's your design philosophy for such creatures?

Are they designed to be able to 'function' and propagate or are many of them meant as one-offs

If I like a design at all I basically can't bear to leave it "limited" in any way, so everything is either a whole species or biologically immortal or otherwise has the potential to last forever in some way! The original idea of the "defect monsters" in Mortasheen was random accidental creations that spin off from creating other monsters, but that didn't explain how they could have "species" that kept reappearing, and back then it was kind of just left unexplained the way a lot of things in Pokemon are. I've actually drawn all-new art for a bunch of them that's debuting in the book, and they're also being renamed to "Biogarbage" for it, one of which is a remake of one of the very oldest designs I had at one point retired and forgotten about:

Its original concept was just something incapable of eating or moving or doing anything at all. Now I have it that the Bleurtch still can't really move or do much, but it can survive if it has bacteria-rich water to soak up, and ends up clogging sewer lines as it multiplies. And if it's irritated enough, it can defend itself by spewing all its rancid sticky body fluids everywhere, but then it just dies. As to how these and other Biogarbage can keep arising brand new from monster creation and still repeat their species, bringing monsters to life in Mortasheen official involves a living sludge with a collective genetic memory. When you feed enough biomass into it with a lot of data and an energy supply it can build the exact monster you wanted, but it will do whatever it feels like with leftover scraps. Some monsters might think of these as kind of their "siblings" and care about them, but it depends on the monster! The design philosophy is just to make them come across as miserable just to exist, but in a kind of "funny" way? Not necessarily just suffering but fairly wretched and unpleasant.

#mortasheen

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stupidfuckingwindow · 7 months

Text

Three's company // Holland March, Jackson Healy.

Word count: 1.5k

Content/Warnings: NSFW, Holland cums a lot. Gets romantic real fast. Takes place after an upcoming fic. Slight crack in the beginning, emotional at the end.

Big thanks to @hoppingonjim for writing Jackson Healy fics. He just does something to my mind and I need him, I fear. I love their fics, go check them out. I reread their stuff to help me with writing my own version of Healy.

It's barely been thirty minutes and Holland's already cum twice, flecks of white splattered onto his chest. (And, by God, listen when I fucking tell you that it's an absurd amount of cum, Jesus CHRIST.) His suit- the blue and orange one you like so much- is nothing short of a disheveled mess, and his hair is in a similar state of disarray. At this point, it seems like Holland is having the most fun between you and his partner, despite the fact he's barely even been touched. Despite that fact, he's literally panting.

Going back to his made mess of cumming, he'd actually managed to get both you and Healy, who's a good enough distance away that you could almost consider Holland's unorthodox ability impressive. No matter how surprising that little idea seems to be, Jackson sure isn't impressed.

"We've barely even taken off your damn clothes," he tells Holland. He isn't given a response that's coherent, just a loud 'Fuck!' from March when his hips jolt upwards at the feeling of your hand wrapped around his cock. And, even with that, your grip is relatively light and Holland is doing all the work, fucking into your hand again like countless nights before this. The cigarette hanging from his mouth is on the verge of leaving him, just barely managing to stay between his lips.

Jackson mutters something under his breath along the lines of "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," before he's tugging off Holland's suit jacket for him and starting to peel clothes off the older man. Even though he seems annoyed at best and irritated at worst, the erection straining against his jeans tells you that he's anything but.

..Maybe a little annoyed, definitely frustrated- You know that for sure.

You're in a similar state of arousal, heat having simmered in your lower half. But you and Healy had simultaneously and wordlessly agreed that it'd be best if you dealt with Holland before helping one another out. The only problem now is that Holland is still hard, still going, and is making such a racket that you're sure someone'll be at your door to complain in the early hours.

In an attempt to start pulling off the rest of Holland's clothes, the P.I. starts to grind his cock against your still clothed hips, letting out a low moan. His head falls back, eyes squeezing shut and making the skin around his nose scrunch up when he accidentally hits the back of his head too hard.

It takes you a minute, but you finally slide his boxers and dress pants off of him, haphazardly tossing the articles of clothing to the floor. His hips shift a little, legs moving to trap you between his thighs and keep you there. You squeeze the base of his cock in a positive response, and another curse leaves Holland. His whole body jumps in its attempt to seek more pleasure out of your grasp.

There's already pre-cum starting to collect on the head of his dick, pooling down your knuckles and onto your thighs that rest beneath him. More leaks out and spreads over your fingers, and your thumb brushes over the sensitive tip.

But you've already paid enough attention to Holland, you think. Your grip loosens around him, but you keep it there. Still, your attention switches to Healy (who's much more patient than you'd given him credit for, in all honesty). His focus is on you, too. Interest in those blues of his that you find to be lighter than Holland's. It's a subtle detail, but one to still be noticed and kept in mind for whatever reason. It's not important, it shouldn't be, but it is, to you, and you don't know why.

With your free hand, you wipe away a little of Holland's ejaculate from his face and bring your lips to his. Something new pokes through his usual exterior, surprise at your movements. He doesn't make any move to pull away or resist or even hesitate, his tongue against yours. You doubt he's been touched in a while. You think he'd admitted it himself to you, once, but you can't exactly recall.

Not like this, with Holland fucking your hand and his enforcer of a partner kissing you. In your home, because Holland didn't have the patience to drive to his place. Because Holland had wanted this now, with you and Jackson and no one else.

And, now that you think about it, Holland hasn't been touched in a while either. He's pent up, has been for a while, ever since his wife passed.

But, even knowing that he could have picked someone else, he didn't. He knows you, he chose you. And, even if he's not yet ready to say 'I love you', yet, you know he does. Some part of him cares, bothers enough to still talk to you. And it makes you feel wanted, even if this is a somewhat unconventional pairing, you and Holland and Jackson.

Even Jackson seems to care, as you two finally part for air. He's paid to protect, but that's not what this is anymore. It's unconditional at this point.

There's a faint string of saliva still connecting you and him when your attention turns back to Holland. And you were so lost in thought and the feeling, that he'd cum again unnoticed, large cock finally going soft in your hand while he gasps for air. "Jesus," You hear him mutter, to himself, see his eyes flutter shut. You let him go, leave him to curl on his side and sleepily mumble to himself about indecipherable nonsense.

You and Jackson are on one another pretty quickly, still a little slower and shy with one another as you get a feel for what the two of you even want to do. The two of you are still covered in Holland's release, but it's not a problem. The most it gets in the way is in the form of a taste between the two of your tongues, adding a tang of salt.

Your clothes are off before his, warm hands embracing your hips to pull you further against him while you work on undressing him. Your hand slips into the front of his jeans, pumping slow strokes up the length of his cock. He groans into your lips, hands squeezing your hips a little at the feeling.

And, just as the attention had just been stuck on Holland, now it's on you.

Another set of hands join your hips from behind; Holland is up again, already. Jesus Christ. And he's already hard, grinding his erection against your ass while he whispers praise into your bare shoulder. Kisses trail the back of your neck, and you feel his hair tickle the side of your face. His breath is hot on your shoulder, naked body flush against yours. His scent is cigarettes and peppery cologne that he can't even smell.

"You're so good for us," He quietly tells you, nose buried in your shoulder while he rocks his hips against yours. The movement pushes you slightly against Healy, as well, pleasure shared between everyone involved. Thick fingers stroke at your hips soothingly, passion exchanged for a quiet, calm moment. It's less like the heavy, heated tension of arousal and more similar to the sweet focus of romance, only heightened by Holland's sweet kisses that are peppered across your skin.

Healy takes a second to remove the rest of his clothes, leaving you in his partner's embrace and care. But his presence is drawn close again, bringing back warmth to your front.

Holland shifts you and himself so that your legs will wrap around Jackson's waist, and his head moves to your other shoulder, chin resting in the crook of your neck. He kneads loving circles into your right thigh, keeping your legs open for his partner. Two of Healy's fingers slide into your cunt, thumb pressing against your clit. His eyes switch between your face to his fingers, watching how they move in and out of your wet centre.

As Healy fucks you on his fingers, Holland's free hand traces little shapes and patterns into your skin, his eyes fluttering shut. He's still tired, no doubt, but it doesn't matter more to him than this does.

Every side of you is warm, seen and touched and handled with care.

And when the tip of Healy's cock finally pushes past your folds, Holland's praise is just as unwavering. His kisses are slow and deliberate, matching in perfect timing with each drag of Jackson's hips against yours. Holland's arms wrap around your torso, practically radiating warmth into your skin that settles along your body.

"I love you," Holland finally admits, long after you and Healy have cummed together. Once the three of you had finally curled into bed together and Holland and Jackson held you. Long after the lights had turned off. And it's a confession that matters, to you. One telling the truth. He's fully sober as he says it. And even if Healy is asleep and no one but you can hear it, it's a step in the right direction.

#ryan gosling #n.sfw.#ryan gosling x reader #holland march #the nice guys 2016 #the nice guys #holland march smut #holland march x reader #russell crowe x reader #russell crowe #jackson healy smut #jackson healy #jackson healy x reader

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oreosmama · 2 years

Note

Hi! Already told ya but I really liked you ST headcanon❤️ could you make one with Billy (+ any other stranger things boys you want to add) about them accidentally hearing that y/n has feelings for them? It’s too cliched but such fluffy fluff is my air:>

He Accidentally Overhears You Have Feelings for Him (Stranger Things Headcanons)

*GIF not mine*

A/N: yeah so this took me like a month but also guess what i had to bullet point every single goddamned mfing line in this post by hand bc of tumblr's new formatting or whatever, and then i posted it on the wrong goddamn request so i had to do it twice so ig we all got probs kill me. Anyways, i kinda went overboard on this prompt bc i love billy so naturally no one else made it into the hc🤷‍♀️ what a shame👀 Enjoy!

Word count: 4856

Billy Hargrove:

“I don’t like him.”

Billy’s eyes fluttered open, and they glided lazily onto your form in the desk in front of him. With his hands folded behind his head and his legs crossed, feet perched on his own desktop, Billy knew the teacher had long ago given up on scolding him for his lackadaisical behavior in class, and even longer ago had he realized Billy would never put much effort in anyway.

One such happenstance that seemed to disturb the entire class, though, was how Billy had wound up there in the first place. Honors English didn’t exactly seem tailored to his, er, capabilities, to put it lightly.

However, before Billy and his family had moved to Hawkins, Indiana, he’d been quite the student (according to the principal…after you’d complained), and lost in translation was some other lame excuse that English classes in California were inherently more advanced than those of Indiana anyway.

You called bullshit. You had sworn Billy had bribed the teacher to let him remain in the class just to disrupt your existence.

It wasn’t exactly his crowd, so to speak, judging by the glasses, focused faces, and pencils scribbling around the room. Nobody in the room looked like they’d even smelled a cigarette before—well, not until Billy arrived.

But you? God, you fit in like a glove. Here was where you divided yourself from the rest of the school, from its bullies and booze and tobacco—from its corruption. You were innocent when it came to such “paraphernalia,” as you called it. You were untouched, and more importantly, you were unclaimed.

Billy was enthralled with this virtuous disposition of yours. In the beginning, his feelings for you,“little Miss Priss” as he’d grown to calling you, appalled him. Of all the girls in the school he could choose from, all the hot blondes that fawned over him in the halls and the enticing brunettes that asked him out after catching his eye for a moment, never did he think for a fucking second that it would be you.

The prude.

“Don’t like who?” Billy interjected harshly, dismissing how you and your friend flinched at his sudden interest.

“No one!” you both mumbled, avoiding his gaze and spinning around in your seats.

Billy’s brow rose at that, and the instant the bell rang, he kicked his feet off his desk and reached a hand toward you. You scooted forward in your seat the second his fingers brushed you, and Billy paused, a small ache in his chest disguising itself as irritation.

Clenching his jaw, Billy curled his fingers around the back of your desk chair and dragged you back to him, the rubber stoppers on the ends of your chair legs squealing in protest against the polished floors. The teacher glanced up from his podium at the front of the class at the sound, an unimpressed look on his face, but was otherwise unconcerned about the situation unfolding. After all, it happened almost every morning.

The teacher sighed and resumed calling roll. Billy kept one fist clasped around the back of your chair and one long leg outstretched beneath your seat, his boot situated around the nearest footing to stop you from scooting away. He leaned forward, hot breath rustling your hair as you sat stock-still, hands folded in your lap.

“YN-”

You flinched.

“-who were you talking about?” Though it was a question, he more demanded the answer than asked for it, because Billy would be damned if he had to listen to you and your friend giggle and jabber about your feelings for any guy that wasn’t him.

Just the thought of another boy in the class catching your eye in general made him feel angry.

No, maybe not angry. Sick was more like it. You weren’t his, and he knew that—fuck, he knew that all too well. He wouldn’t let it be that way for long, though.

For months he’d tried to take his mind off you and place it, force it, on someone else. But when girls at parties and in his car, in hotel rooms or in their own goddamn bedrooms couldn’t eliminate the picture of you hot-glued to the forefront of his mind—couldn’t erase your secret smile when Billy had Sharpied a dick on Mr. Morrison’s board, or your glare when he’d tugged your seat over to his for the first time, or that feeling of your hand overtop his when he’d tugged on your hair to distract you, to bring your attention back onto him—Billy knew he had to give up on getting over you.

He’d finally accepted that his only course of action was to keep your eyes on him just as his were locked on you. It was only fair.

“Nobody,” you huffed under your breath. “Why do you even care?”

The tension on Billy’s face softened, relaxed as he looked over your form appreciatively, licking his lower lip. ‘Heres’ and ‘Presents’ resounded about the pair of you as Billy released his grip on your seat’s backing, settling the same arm on his desk and reaching up a hand to twirl a strand of your hair around his finger. “Oh, no reason, babe, just making sure I’m still in your good graces is all.”

You scoffed and twisted in your seat, yanking his hand from your hair with a grip on his wrist. “Were you ever?”

Billy held your gaze while simultaneously imploring to whatever asshole wandered around in the sky that you would never release your hold on him, and he allowed his lips to curl up into a real smile. So long he went without ever letting that happen, and then you showed up and now he never wanted to stop.

Just as Billy reached up to brush a strand of hair from your forehead, the teacher reared his ugly, bald, fucking bastard head.

“YN, Billy,” Mr. Morrison called aloud, his tone on the latter’s name far more irritated, and, of course, you sat at attention, turning away from Billy and tearing your hand away from his wrist. “Pay attention, please.”

“Sorry, sir.”

And just like that, you slipped from his grasp. You ignored Billy’s every poking and prodding of his pencil in your back for the rest of class and focused rather on whatever the hell Morrison was on about, curled over your notebook with your head ducked low.

It was only when Billy sighed and sat back in his seat with crossed arms, chest tight, that he realized your friend was watching from the corner of her eye with a small grin.

Until Billy flipped her the bird, then she scoffed and looked away too.

By the end of class, Billy’s head was dropped back, mouth open and releasing soft snores. The bell ringing didn’t wake him; what did was your courteous kick to his foot in order for him to release your chair, which he did, so you could push your seat in. Then you smacked his forehead with your notebook for good measure. “Wake up, asshole, class is over.”

He grunted, swatting away the offender. “You’re so kind to me, babe,” he grumbled bitterly. “What would I do without you?”

“Considering you spend every waking minute in this class annoying me, I truly, honestly don’t know.”

Billy smirked at that, gaze latched onto your form as you walked away side-by-side with your friend, whom you seemed to be shaking your head at. Sluggishly and with a yawn, he rose to his feet, lugging his bag over his shoulder and following your path out of the classroom.

He lingered behind a few steps, stopping only to lean against a water fountain and pull a pack of Marlboros from his back jean pocket. He swiped the cigarette across his bottom lip before slotting it in the corner of his mouth and reaching for his lighter.

“That’s not what this is,” you groaned, fiddling with the combination of your locker.

Your friend hummed sarcastically, a mocking “Totally” on her lips from Billy’s distance away. He could barely hear the two of you, especially through the thick crowd of students flooding the halls, rushing to their cars and buses to get the hell out of school.

Of course, you were lagging behind to study in the library, and, of course, Billy would be there to bother you for the next half hour before “suddenly remembering” he had a date.

Fuck, he hated it. He hated himself, and how easily you wound him around your little finger. He used to wish you were cruel; some cold-blooded bitch to him so it would be so much easier to dismiss his feelings and walk away. Instead, you were kind. The only fucking person who could battle back against his attitude and yet still care about his wellbeing. How many times had you tugged a cigarette from his mouth with a small, disapproving grumble, or silently placed a water bottle on his desk when he’d enter the classroom reeling from the effects of the night before?

He'd never met anyone that was too good for him. Not since…

Fuck. He hated this.

How? How did you have that power over him? When did you ever have time to wrench your hand into his chest, break past his ribcage and grab a fistfull of his heart just to steal it out and shake it in front of him like some cruel game of fetch?

“Goddamnit,” he huffed, eyes narrowed at his lighter that sparked fruitlessly. One last click, though, and a flame bloomed in his hand.

“I swear it’s not! The guy’s an asshole. You know my grade is actually dropping in that class?” You slammed your locker closed, armfuls of textbooks hugged to your chest. “It’s because of him. Pretty soon, I’ll have an A-minus. Do you know how long it’s been since I've had an A-minus in a class?”

“Not as long as you haven’t had a D.”

You blanched, whole body flinching like you took a punch to the gut. “I-... you-... that was totally uncalled for.” Your friend snickered.

Billy, meanwhile, had grown infinitely more interested in the conversation, so much so that he had almost coughed out the smoke in his lungs. His eyebrows raised as he watched a flush rise to your cheeks.

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” You pointed at her disapprovingly, but she only laughed more boisterously.

“Oh, come on! Am I wrong?”

“Who cares about my…” you gestured at yourself wordlessly, floundering, “e-experience level? You really think that asshole is gonna solve that?”

“Easily.”

You threw your arms in the air hopelessly at your friend’s deadpan, rolling your eyes. “No! Not happening! The only possible outcome is a newfound exposure to STDs.”

“Worth it.” Her hands snapped up in surrender at your glare. “Kidding. Just kidding.”

Slowly but steadily, the halls were clearing. Billy didn’t bother trying to disguise his watchful gaze as he inhaled another cloud of smoke, pulling the cigarette from his lips to tap the ashes out in the water fountain behind him. He let out the fumes in one long stream as he leaned a hip against the metal edge of the fountain, settling his other hand into a front pocket on his blue jeans.

Billy waited, as he always did, like a predator ready to swoop in on his prey the second it was alone. Two blue eyes stay cemented on your form like a promise, a pledge of devotion. It was the yearning from afar that pained him the most, certainly because what excuse could he ever fabricate to explain himself? You hadn’t called his name—-your gaze hadn’t even accidently washed over him. You’d done nothing to gain his attention. You had done nothing but be, and for that, Billy was undeniably, absolutely addicted.

He needed you.

Billy massaged two fingers at his temple, taking another drag with half-lidded eyes.

“You better be.” You sighed, slamming your locker closed and clenching the straps of your backpack in your hands. “The day I actually throw myself into the arms of that aggravating jerk is the day I toss all of my self-respect in the trash.”

It’s me. It has to be.

She’s talking about-

“He’s not that bad if you think about it. Even you yourself said-”

“I know what I said,” you floundered, shoving a finger against her lips. “But—you know what—if we both ignore that I ever said it, then maybe, just maybe, my feelings will fade away, and we can both look back at my confession one day and laugh.” You pull your hand away from her, posing your hands on your hips righteously. “Laugh while knowing that my feelings for him were ridiculous and dumb and stupid and childish, and that I was just acting like a regular teenager with a little, stupid crush on some dumb boy-”

“You’re in love with Billy, aren’t you?” your friend deadpanned.

Your face fell, and you pouted. “Yeah, fine, you’re right, I’ve got it bad.”

-Me.

The cigarette fell from his lips, landing on the floor soundlessly. Billy stood at attention, his hand falling out of his pocket as the other dropped from his head. Love. YN is-

She’s in love with me.

All color in his cheeks disappeared, just as all the air in his chest. He couldn’t breathe, but in a good way, like the burn of surfacing from underwater for too long—like he was seconds away from the first gasp of fresh, sweet oxygen, after suffocating for so long.

He wanted this—fuck, he needed this. Who gave a damn if he deserved it or not, he was going to have you. You and the warmth of your hands; your smile and your laugh, all of your blushes and your tears.

All of it. Every single last ounce, he wanted it all.

He could fucking have it, too.

She’s in love with me.

Your friend grinned all too smugly. “You’re finally admitting it out loud, huh? Look at you, growing up right before my eyes. How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?” you grumbled, still curled in on yourself, cheeks dusted pink.

“Your first real love confession to a boy.” She dropped both of her hands on your shoulders as your brows furrowed.

“Does it really count if he’s not even here?”

“Nope,” she beamed, spinning you around in her grip. “Good thing he is!”

For a moment longer, you were still visibly confused at her words. The halls had long cleared, and the only sights and noises that now filled them were your wide eyes and quick gasp.

“Billy.” His name slipped from your lips like an accident, tumbling out without a second thought and landing in the allconsuming silence of the hallway with a dull thud.

He couldn't help it. God, he couldn’t fucking help it.

The trembling that took hold of him, the shiver that began in the tips of his fingers and transferred up the length of his spine—he hated it because he had to hate it, but deep down he loved it more than anything else.

Because you were just so fucking perfect.

Your eyes were glassy, like any second you were going to burst into tears. There was a small quiver of your lower lip, and, like a tidal wave, the overwhelming urge to feel that same quiver against his own lips, his skin, crashed into him.

He really, really couldn’t help it. It was second nature.

A corner of his mouth lifted, and his eyes glinted with condescension. “Is that right?” he hummed, amused. “Are you in love with me, YN?”

The pounding in his chest, the pregnant pause as he waited, the subtle, dizzying fog that began to flood his mind, all of it he ignored. He had to hear it. Say it again.

But he couldn’t help it, and the more your glistening eyes studied his face, tears threatening to overflow at the waterline, the more he could feel that sweet burn in his lungs turn painful once more.

And it hurt so much worse when you twisted out of your friend’s hold and bolted.

Your tennis shoes squeaked in protest against the vinyl composition tile, down the hallway and clear through the glass doors of Hawkins High, never turning back no matter how many times your friend called your name.

When the doors slammed shut, a gust of wind followed and ruffled the stray curl against Billy’s forehead. The smirk had long fallen from his face.

Your friend bit the inside of her cheek beside him, obviously searching for words of any kind to explain your reaction. “She’s just-… well, you kind of…” She huffed, adjusting her backpack straps against her shoulders. “Look, she’ll be back on Monday. She wouldn’t skip school, even out of embarrassment like that.” She threw him a sidelong glance. “Though, maybe next time you don’t respond like that, right?”

Billy’s face hardened, and he pulled the pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He slotted a smoke in the corner of his lips. “Who gives a shit?”

Your friend pursed her lips, observing as he struggled once more with his lighter. He gripped it with white knuckles, and the butt of his cigarette was crushed between his teeth. “Right,” she nodded with a sigh. “See you Monday.” Her footsteps trailed down the hall and away.

When the doors shut after her too, Billy spat out the smoke, hurling his lighter down the hallway with bared teeth. “FUCK!”

Monday. Fucking Monday?

Billy wrenched two hands in his hair, his nostrils flaring as he gnawed on his lips. It hurt, it all fucking hurt. Everything.

She left, she fucking left. She ran away from you, and you know why too—it’s because you’re so weak. Why the hell would she ever want to be with someone like you? How could she ever be in love with-

Billy paused, his hands falling from his scalp, his shoulders rolling back. His head raised, slowly.

Fine, you could have until Monday. But on that day, he was getting some fucking answers.

The weekend didn’t pass by quick enough, despite Billy not remembering most of it. He recalled the party he attended that Friday night, the keg and the shots and what must have been some girl trying her best to come onto him. He remembered shoving her off one minute with a snarl and thundering towards his car, and then the next he was waking up in his own bed. He remembered working out and drinking Saturday and Sunday away, and he remembered waking up Monday with a healing bruise on his cheek, his father none too impressed that he’d drunk all the beer in the house in the span of two days.

But who fucking cared, right?

Who gave a shit when his Camaro came squealing into the school parking lot, stopped parallel between three spots? Who gave a shit when he ambled Hawkins High halfway through the school day, his shirt unbuttoned down his chest, his cologne wafting after him everywhere he went?

And who gave a shit when he arrived in Mr. Morrison’s class, early for the first time in the six months he’d been in it, and planted himself in his seat, his legs kicked up on his desk, his arms folded up behind his head, blue eyes carefully watching the doorway.

Because, yeah, you’d ran away from him. But you’ve been doing that for so long now, dancing out of his reach each time he wanted you, twisting out of his grip each time he almost had you. This was the first time you’d ever escaped him knowingly.

Finally, he knew you loved him, and once more you got away.

Of course, your little game of cat and mouse had to end like this—it had to end with him catching you.

And catch you he did.

God, you were so fucking beautiful, it actually made him ache. Your friend was shoving you in through the classroom door, two hands braced against your back despite you trying to wriggle away like a loose fish.

Your face was red, completely, utterly red, like you’d just come back from running a marathon. Your eyes were darting around frantically, from the desks to the ceiling, and he knew you were actually considering your chances of escaping through an air vent.

She’s in love with me.

He didn’t care. Suddenly, at the sight of you, he just didn’t fucking care anymore. He didn’t care that you ran, about the turmoil you’d caused him, about the misery that had been his weekend away from you.

He couldn’t care for anything less because the second your eyes landed on him in that classroom and you let out the softest little squeal, all he knew was you, you, you.

So fucking cute.

Billy kicked his feet off his desk, reaching forward and pulling out your chair before patting the seat backing suggestively. Like clockwork, his smirk reformed on his face, a small glimmer of patronizing amusement in his eyes.

“Come on, babe,” he simpered at you. “Don’t be shy. Take a seat.”

Come back to me. I need you.

Your eyes widened, and you squirmed in her grip once more. “Nope, I can’t do this.”

“Hush up and go.” One big shove from your friend and you were stumbling forward, scrambling to regain your balance.

Billy silently urged you closer, gesturing down at your seat with his hands the closer you shuffled toward him. As he did, he drank in the sight of you, flushed and skittish, stumbling toward him like a baby deer on new, unsteady legs. He noticed the darkened skin under your eyes, most likely matching his own, though he doubted you and him were sleepless for the same reasons.

When you ground to a halt in front of him, you gulped, your attention everywhere but on his face.

“Hey, YN,” he practically purred, hands itching to reach out to you.

“Hello, Billy,” you squeaked, dropping into your seat and gripping the bottom in an effort to slide the chair forward. Very quickly, though, you discovered Billy’s boot was already perched around the chair’s footing, and one hand had an iron grip on its back.

“Going somewhere?”

“I guess not.”

Billy hummed. “I think you have something to say to me.”

“Umm nope, don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on, no need to be shy. I just wanna hear you say it,” he prompted, as his other hand glided up, curling a strand of your hair around his finger. “Tell me how you feel about me, YN.”

“I think you’re a jerk,” you whispered, turning back slightly to fix him with a flimsy glare.

“Besides that. Tell me what you told me Friday, before you ran.” He tugged at the strand of hair, his brows raised expectantly.

“I didn’t mean it-”

“Don’t-” Billy gritted his teeth, his hand leaving your hair to grip your chin, turning you to face him. “Don’t say that.” He watched as your eyes grew damp again, all soft and delicate and one small admonition away from bursting into tears.

You were so fragile, so small in his eyes. It often made him wonder why he ever thought he should be the one you should be with. How could he ever hold you in his arms without tarnishing you?

So badly, he thought he wanted to have you just to dirty you, take away that purity that seemed to hover over your head, but there were some days where he knew that all he wanted from you was to make him believe he could hold on to something so clean.

He wanted it. So, so bad, he wanted whatever you would offer him. He wanted to hear those words straight from your lips.

Your cheeks were so hot, he itched to cradle them in his palms and absorb some of that warmth. He wanted to wipe away all of the tentativeness with the pads of his fingers and leave behind the breathlessness, the pure affection that was its source.

“You just want to laugh at me,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking. “You’re just going to tease me about it like you do with everything else.” You swept a hand underneath your eyes. “You’re so cruel, Billy.”

“Stop-” he hissed and shook his head, gritting his teeth. “You don’t get to say that. Not after all I’ve ever wanted is for you to love me back, you don’t get to fucking say that.” Billy seized your wrist, tugging you closer. “I know what I am. I know what I do.”

His pride was wilting away the more he spoke to you, the longer you didn’t pull away from him, and his mind pounded in indignation. At what point did you turn him into a complete lovesick fool, and was it before or after you first smiled at him?

If your wide-eyed look was any indication of your shock at his feelings, he wondered just how baffled you would be once you discovered his willingness to bend over backwards at your every plea. You would never take advantage of him, and he knew that, but the tendrils of doubt still crawled up his spine at the thought of leaving himself so vulnerable for you.

“But you, YN?” He traced his eyes over your face, huffing softly. “In all my life, I’ve never wanted something more.”

You stared at him, open mouthed. Your gaze was so surprised, so innocent that it actually frustrated him. How could you have not seen? How could you be so blind?

“So don’t you fucking say that it’s cruel of me, or selfish, or some other bullshit.”

You gasped when he tugged you closer by the wrist, his other hand encompassing your cheek.

“Just say it again.”

His eyes darted over your face, desperate.

“Please.”

Your eyebrows twitched up at that, and your gaze grew tender, raking over his face slowly as if committing to memory. You paused at his lips, watching as they parted and pursed against one another.

You’d worn him down. You’d exhausted him, mentally and physically. Of all the months he’d waited for your confession like this, he never thought the last few moments would be the most excruciating of them all. What more did you want from him? Already, he could feel the swell of anger at his throat ready to be unleashed, to lash out at you until you were in steady tears again just so he knew exactly what you were feeling once more. Billy wanted—no, needed—some part of you to be under his thumb, just so he could pretend, if even for a second, that your emotions for him were still in his range of sway.

Instead, his heart stuttered when the hand in his grip wormed away and pulled off the other that was at your cheek. You splayed his hand out on the surface of his desk, then you intertwined your fingers with his and squeezed. Your teeth worried at your bottom lip as you ducked your head.

“I’m in love with you, Billy.”

His eyelids fluttered shut, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Finally. Fucking Finally.

You were his, completely.

He couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t.

His hand found your chin, and he tipped your head up, gaining your attention.

“I fucking knew it,” he simpered, entirely too smug. And when you tried to scramble away, panicked and scared, his hand found the back of your neck and tugged you close, his lips landing on yours.

In his hold, you grew lax, only your hand tensing around his. Your lips didn’t move against his, seemingly too tentative and inexperienced to truly indulge yourself.

Billy grinned into the kiss, far more pleased than anyone should be at the knowledge that he could leave marks on you in so many more ways than one. When he pulled away, he quickly cupped your face with a hand, thumbing at your lips in search of the remainder of his own warmth.

“Library, after school?” he muttered, his mouth still curved.

“Only if you don’t have a date afterwards,” you grumbled. You could sass him all you wanted, and Billy couldn’t care less. He could hear your breathlessness and feel the heat in your cheeks, and pride flared in him knowingly.

“Well, I might-”

“Are you guys done yet? ’Cause that was kinda gross.” Your friend dropped into the seat beside you, her nose wrinkled. You straightened up, unraveling yourself from Billy’s hold and nodding your head.

“Yep, yeah, definitely all done. Totally.”

And just like that, you were gone. Billy bristled at your instantaneous lack of touch and threw a snarl at your friend, who only shrugged.

Then she held out a hand, brows raised expectantly.

“You owe me.”

Billy rolled his eyes, fishing his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans and rifling through it, passing her a ten dollar bill.

“Keep the change.”

“With pleasure.”

#stranger things x reader #st x reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove headcanons #stranger things headcanons #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove angst #stranger things fluff #stranger things #billy hargrove

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wasabidottie · 10 months

Text

Grocery Store (Jschlatt)

A/n : AHH ive had no inspiration. I thought maybe I should practice writting less angsty stories. Soooo here one is :)

The grocery store bustled with its usual activity, shoppers moving hurriedly down the aisles, each with their own list of items to check off. Schlatt, not in the best of moods that day, navigated the crowded store with an impatient sigh. His grip on the shopping cart was firm, his brow furrowed, and he had just about reached his limit.

As he rounded a corner, lost in his thoughts of frustration, he collided with someone with a force that nearly sent his cart rolling away. Cans of soup teetered on the edge of a shelf, and Schlatt muttered a stream of expletives under his breath as he tried to steady them.

"I am so sorry!" you exclaimed, a genuine look of concern on your face as you reached out to help stabilize the cans.

Schlatt was ready to unleash his irritation on the poor unsuspecting soul who had dared to cross his path, but as he looked up into your eyes, his anger faltered. You were looking at him with a mixture of sincerity and apology, your presence momentarily erasing his annoyance.

"It's alright," he managed to mutter, his tone softer than he had anticipated.

You both worked together to ensure the cans were back in their proper place, and the tension in the air seemed to dissipate as you exchanged smiles.

"Sorry about that, really," you repeated, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Schlatt waved a dismissive hand. "No harm done. Honestly, it's probably my own fault for storming around like a bull."

The two of you shared a chuckle, the shared moment lightening the atmosphere. Schlatt's irritation had been replaced with an unexpected warmth, and he found himself inexplicably drawn to your presence.

As you both went your separate ways to continue your shopping, Schlatt's gaze kept returning to you. He couldn't shake off the curiosity and connection he had felt in those few fleeting moments.

Finally, as he stood in the checkout line, he spotted you again, browsing the magazines nearby. Summoning a burst of courage, he walked over to you.

"Hey," he said, his tone a touch more nervous than he intended.

You looked up, a surprised smile forming on your lips. "Oh, hey!"

Schlatt scratched the back of his neck, his usual confidence wavered slightly. "Look, I know this is a bit random, but would you mind if I got your number? Maybe we could grab coffee or something?"

Your surprise gave way to a genuine smile, your own confidence shining through. "I'd love to."

As you exchanged contact information, Schlatt felt a sense of excitement and possibility that he hadn't experienced in a while. The grocery store, once a scene of frustration, had transformed into a place where chance encounters could lead to unexpected connections. And as you continued with your day, the memory of that accidental encounter remained, a tale you would someday recount with fondness

#jschlatt x you #jschlatt x reader #schlatt #schlatt x reader #chuckle sandwich x reader #chuckle sammy #mcyt #mcyt x reader #I was about to make them meet in the cereal aisle #Had to include the Debbie Ryan hair tuck

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 9 months

Note

Am I the Asshole for telling on my sister for not logging her full hours at work?

For a bit of context I, 17, and my sister, 14, have a bit of a rocky relationship. Our childhood was a bit rough and we coped with it in different but equally bad ways. One thing that we both used to be really bad about was yelling and saying not so nice things to each other, though I can't remember the full extent of this on my end because I was really heavily dissociated at that time, but I know hers a bit more, because unlike me, she has never stopped. Its gotten better, but not much. It is still bad enough that I will walk out of rooms of she is in them and I am irritated at something else because it will end badly. I am a lot better about it, though I still get passive aggressive at times, and am still working on the finer aspects of not accidentally saying mean/dismissive things.

One thing we have been clashing with recently is her job at a local farm. Its under the table even though she is of working age where we live, and she gets paid 8$ which is below minimum wage where we are. She has also been expected to work a couple of times past 10pm alone and in general, her jobs just has a lot of red flags which I have pointed out. It is a frequent topic when I pick her up and she always without fail, gets pissed at me. Like yelling at me in my car that she knows what she's doing and that I shouldn't care. I still do as her older sibling but shes 14, what do you expect.

Tonight it all kinda came to a head when she asked me how many hours she should report thst she worked for the month, 58 or 64. I asked her how many she worked and to just put that, to which she told me she worked around 80. Her days and hours do line up with that from what I know do I told her to put that. She started going on about how the owner of the farm needs that money to pay the other people who work there and how there have been some days where shes only worked 3 or 4 hours. I gave her the benefit of the doubt on that even though I rarely pick her up earlier than 8:30-9pm, much less 7, but my dad also drives her so I didn't fight on it and said in that case she should log 70 and make sure she starts marking in her phone when she starts and stops for the day. She yells at me a bit that its none of my business and eventually tells me that its too late since she already told her boss it was 60. Now, this is where she really got angry, I told her that I was telling our dad then because he would never let her make a decision like that. She is now even more mad and when we pull up to my house she says I don't have to worry about it and that she will just tell him, still yelling at me mind you), and stomps up to our house. So I pull what was most likely a petty move and text my dad right then. I would havelet her tell him but she has lied in the past before about that in similar situations and every time I've gotten in trouble for knowing and not telling him. He is currently on nightshift so I couldn't tell him in person, which is why I texter.

After this my sister went to my stepmom, and went off about what happened, how I was in the wrong, how it isn't any of my business, and how I should have kept my nose out of it. My stepmom does say she is right in that it isn't my place to say something, but that she shouldn't be lying and underreporting her hours. My dad called about it about an hour after I sent the text and after getting a quick rundown from me, called her. I don't know what is happening from there, but I am now really doubting if I should have said anything. She needs to learn the value of her work and refuses to listen to me about it, but I also want to have a better relationship with her and think this may have fucked it up.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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philtstone · 4 months

Note

if you’re still taking prompts from that list, I’d love to see your take on the nemesis one for any of your modern AUs!

sorry it's not an EXISTING modern au but it is. a modern au. partially inspired by many many many things most significantly a post i literally cannot find again no matter how hard i look... also by anne from anne of green gables. anyway, this is mostly just vibes. and my own salad shirazi opinions. in that order.

In Arwen's house growing up family dinner was always a shared time of day, so it makes her glad that the small apartment her father moved into last year honours the same principle.

“It’s not that he irritates me,” eighteen year old Eowyn, fresh out of her first term of university and with her long gold hair in a tangled braid down her back, is explaining from the dinner table. “I hardly get irritated easily — it’s just that he’s so sweet and friendly all the time, I am sure he’s up to something.”

“Eowyn dear,” says her uncle. His attention is mostly absorbed by the newspaper in front of him. “If you might repeat that first part aloud, and reflect on it a bit.”

Eomer snorts from the sink. Gandalf had tasked him with washing the dishes — he had more or less nothing to contribute to meal making. Eowyn makes a face at him.

“I am good tempered. It’s just no one who’s normal is that nice. Certainly not a man.”

Gandalf, who’s in the midst of a very complex chess game with Arwen’s father, chuckles a bit.

“Indeed?” Ada asks, with a wry smile. Eowyn blushes.

“Do not tease her, you men,” Arwen says, sweeping in to add hot water to the tea cups. The pale green flats of the fragrant tea leaves sent in express overseas mail by her maternal grandparents swirl in the kettle’s pour. Authentic green tea has a potency Arwen has not found in anything purchased around here. “You know she isn’t talking about you, and anyway, she’s right.”

While Gandalf says, ��Do tell us more, then,” charitably, Arwen returns to the small kitchen island. The rice is coming into its own in the cooker. Rice is always a comfort; it unites across cultures and races. Admittedly to this day Ada will prefer jasmine to basmati, no matter Arwen's own fascination with the latter. She sets about peeling two thick skinned cucumbers and dicing them, along with tomatoes from Mr Bilbo's garden, into a bowl. Then comes the shallot, and its lilac purple skin. Arwen has always loved the colour lilac. She has a nightgown a shade lighter than this onion, which her fiance sighs over dreamily every time it’s taken out.

Behind her Aragorn chops tarragon for the lentils, which are bubbling. He has embraced jasmine rice since childhood. His hair is tied out of his face and just barely escaping the doom of a man bun (Aragorn is too sincere about everything to accidentally look like the smarmiest versions of his countrymen) and he smells of fried onion and rose oil, like he often does when in this place. In matter of fact he smells like this kitchen is decorated: the multiple little knick knacks lining the sil, the old silver, the warm reds of the woven rug in the floor (one of an innumerable number kept in Iverworn’s house), and the cracked old laminate tiling – brown. There is some comfort in the idea that Gilraen's old apartment is still in the family. Only now, Ada has his little shrine in the den which doubles as his study, and a few more photographs have been added to the baby pictures lining the front hallway.

On the other end of the table Gimli and Legolas sort through Bilbo's rock collection while the old man gives running commentary on where he found each one. Arwen’s cousin is being educated on geology in the process. Frodo and Sam and the rest are still at school; Aragorn has volunteered to go pick them up in a half hour.

“This ought to go in the sedimentaries pile, Legolas. You see the distinctive layering – to really know we’d check for carbonate, but I’d say this is a solid limestone.”

“I don’t understand. Many of them have layers. That one with the crystal –”

“Running in parallel. Look, they’ve sedimented. It’s in the name, for Mahal’s sake. The geode, a sedimentary rock? Preposterous.”

“I found that one in Dale you know. It was, oh, twenty years ago or so now — I’d just had a pint with your dad, Gimli – you remember what he was like twenty years ago, wearing those garish red turbans (though they suited him well) – and when we came out on the street there it was by the lamp post, a little lump of a thing. I thought to myself, why, that looks just like Lobelia’s terrible laddoo – you haven’t tried them, but they’re glorified pebbles, with how dry and small she makes them – and then I turned it over and thought, where might a pretty piece of rock like this come from in the middle of such a town? But then, Dale is very metropolitan …“

Absently, Arwen begins humming to herself.

“Won’t someone put on some decent music?”

“Don’t look at us old men, Eomer. Haven’t the youth got a stereo system?”

“Oh, it's all Bluetooth now. Ah — I have your rook there, Elrond.”

“No he hasn’t; that’ll put his queen in jeopardy.”

“Keep your eyes on your lentils, Estel, my own function perfectly well. He’s been doing this since he was a boy.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” says Gandalf, with the wise knowing of someone who was there to witness such behaviour in person.

Between it all, everyone is somehow still managing to listen attentively to Eowyn as she expounds her theories and suspicions.

“He’s asked four times if we could study together after class. Four times. The next major exam we have is worth sixty perfect of the grade and I’m sure he saw me speaking with the professor last week because I was so determined to pass it. No one passes that exam, according to the third years –”

Arwen stirs the lentils and wonders if they ought to take a little bowl to the shrine.

“Perhaps he’s looking for a friend,” says Gandalf philosophically.

“Maybe he’s a creep, like Wormtongue was,” suggests Eomer darkly.

“He’s only starstruck by a girl in the engineering course,” says Bilbo, with a bit of (not unkind) humour in his voice. Then he reaches into his large duffel, which he lugged indoors with Aragorn and Eomer’s help, and extracts a box of fresh sweets for the table. These, Arwen hopes, are better than Lobelia’s – though she is sure they will be much too sweet for her own taste.

“There are girls in engineering these days, old friend,” Gandalf interjects with a raised eyebrow, but Eowyn is not really paying attention to either of them.

“Last week at lab he gave me a book about zoological diseases I mentioned off hand almost a month ago,” she says with that earnest way she has. “That doesn’t have anything to do with engineering. Do you think he was trying to throw me off my game before our lab quiz?”

It is very hard to keep a straight face at this inquiry, but Arwen – and many others present – manage it. “Have you considered that he might have just thought you’d like it?” asks Arwen.

“But that’s none of his business,” Eowyn says, as though this was obvious.

“How did he know you liked it then?” asks her brother, baffled.

“We’ll — I told him,” says Eowyn. She flushes a bit. “But he initiated the conversation. We should have been talking about closed circuits.”

“Or nothing at all, apparently,” says Ada gravely.

“You don’t know him. He’s got a look in his eye. I can just tell.”

“Oh look, I’ve found him on Facebook.”

And so Legolas has, and they all converge around his smartphone while Eowyn glares defiantly.

“Faramir, is it? You know, he kind of looks like you, Estel.”

“Yeah – if you were much scrawnier and looked like a dweeby engineering student.”

“They look nothing alike,” says Eowyn hotly, crossing her arms – Arwen cannot help but catch Aragorn’s eye (he looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh, not helped at all by Gandalf, who is looking right at him, and skillfully masking his own merriment besides) “and Aragorn would never be such a — a — a snake, anyway.”

Arwen agrees with this hypothetical assessment, at least. She rummages through the fridge and retrieves the fresh clutch of herbs she needs for her salad.

“But what has he done, Eowyn. The poor boy. There is a bit of dweebishness there, isn’t there … indeed …”

“Look at the last name; isn’t that Denethor’s boy?”

“Oh yes, that would explain it. Engineering? Of all things? I always thought he had a poet's soul when he was a kid.”

“I wonder how they’re doing – haven’t spoken to the man in an age, you know.”

“Denethor you mean?”

“Well, not since the incident with that poor tree in the synagogue’s front yard,” says Gandalf sadly. “You were there Aragorn, you remember –”

“Hmmm,” says Aragorn grimly.

“Well I told you,” interrupts Eowyn. “I haven’t got proof, just suspicions! He’s trying to psych me out of this program. But I tell you – I won’t let him!”

Arwen wonders if perhaps Eowyn had grown up around sisters, she wouldn’t insist so very hard on sticking it out through a degree she is not really interested in. These ruminations are interrupted by a soft touch at Arwen's waist. “Hm?” she says.

“I’m off to pick up the kids,” Aragorn begins in a low voice (the assembly continues to chatter behind them). She smiles at him, then stops: for reasons unexplained he is suddenly offering her a horrified expression he usually only reserves for conservative Tik Tok mommy vloggers and occasions where Pippin is about to grievously injure himself on the park playset. “... What are you doing?” he asks.

“Adding the mint,” she says serenely.

“Fresh?” Like she must be mad.

“Doesn’t it have mint?”

It is his grandmother's recipe, after all; silly man.

“Dried.”

“Your mother always said it had to be fresh.”

“Fresh dried mint,” he clarifies, gravely.

“Really Estel.”

“Take over the lentils.”

“That was your job — and you’ve got to pick up Frodo and his friends.”

“In ten minutes.”

“You’re going to ruin it. Mr I Can Subsist On A Can Of Beans.”

“I can subsist. That doesn't mean you can add fresh spearmint to a perfectly good salad. It tastes completely wrong.”

“Estel …” But Aragorn has already ducked beneath the counter to reach deep into the recesses of their spice cabinet and retrieve an extremely dusty repurposed jar of dried mint, now cradled in his brown hands. The half-peeled label is for sour cherry preserves, which Arwen is sure no one in this family has bought from a store since they discovered the tree in Ada’s backyard.

“This is hardly fresh,” Arwen says archly.

“I dried it last week,” he says, all innocence. His t-shirt is worn and ratty enough that its low collar shows off her old necklace. She can see the jade flower and her own name etched in the characters of her mothers language at the center.

She sighs. Kisses his cheek; takes the mint. “Go fetch Mr. Bilbo’s wards.”

“They’re going to make a mess of my car,” he says, as if he did not happily volunteer for this task.

“Your car is already a mess, my love.”

So he goes, grinning. Arwen adds the mint to the salad and renters the fray.

“Eowyn,” she says. “Perhaps the next time he asks to study, you might take him up on it. That way you can get close enough to catch him at his awful scheme.”

Eowyn's mouth widens in a ponderous oh, as if she had never thought of this. Arwen pats her shoulder comfortingly.

“Food will be ready in ten minutes,” she says. Ada is smiling at her — a true smile, not without its own edges of memory, but no longer the bittersweet thing of three years ago. Arwen smiles back.

#i would post this on ao3 but its so niche and im not sure if i want my 200th post to be this plotless #we'll see #my writing #thank u emma you always got me #lord of the rings #arwen undomiel #aragorn #bilbo baggins #gandalf #eowyn #elrond #gimli #legolas #theoden #eomer #aragorn x arwen #eowyn x faramir #gimli x legolas #is this something

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kevjrr · 1 year

Text

Title: Bad Day

Summary: Neymar is having a bad day and he does not want company. He had made that clear but someone knocks on his door anyway. Spoiler alert: it’s Leo who just wants to help and Ney doesn’t mind one bit.

Pairing: Neymessi [Neymar and Messi]

Tags: Tooth rotting fluff, mutual pinning, very, very low key hurt/comfort

Third person’s POV

Neymar is having a bad day. Why? Firstly, Davi was supposed to come tomorrow but his flight got delayed because of bad weather. He understands, really he does, but he had so much planned as it was his day off and he could have spent the whole day with him. No interruptions.

Secondly, he woke up with the worst migraine known to men, causing him to mess up countless times in practice. To the point that even Masche had asked him if he was alright. His coach has never sent him this many dirty looks in a single day before.

And thirdly, there is a new rumor about him floating around. He has seen articles saying that he is apparently dating a Spanish model named Camila. He has only met her ONCE, at a party. He had merely shook her hand too, it was not as if he kissed her cheek or something. He has only recently broken up with Bruna. What are his friends thinking of him now?

So yes, he is having a bad day and for once, he does not want company. He is pretty sure his moody aura at training had made that abundantly clear, so why is someone knocking on his door? At - he turns to look at his clock - 9 pm?

Sighing, he chugs his glass of water in one go and goes to open the door, gasping when he sees who is behind it. It’s Leo, looking soft and cuddly in his oversized hoodie and sweatpants. His irritation flies out of the window. He can never stay angry at Leo.

On the contrary, Neymar wants to hug him and never let go. He swears that one whole night of cuddles with the man will be enough to solve half of his problems. Sadly, he does not think that Leo will be down for that.

"Ney? Can I come in?" The man in question asks.

"Yes. Yes, sorry." The Brazilian moves to the side, allowing him to slip inside.

"Did you tidy up? Your house looks neater than last time." Leo comments, looking around.

Neymar clears his throat, slightly embarrassed, "Uh yeah. It wasn't looking very...nice."

The Argentine does not reply to that, he only hums. Whether in agreement or just to show that he is paying attention, Ney has no idea.

He raises a brow in confusion when Leo does not walk towards the living room, he makes a bee-line for the kitchen instead.

"Where are you going?"

"You haven't eaten yet, have you? I'll cook something or do you want takeout?"

Neymar almost bumps into a wall in surprise. "How did you know that?!"

Leo opens a cabinet and takes a bag of spaghetti out before turning towards the younger man, "I just do. Takeout or should I cook this?" He asks again, waving the bag around.

Ney shakes his head to try to break out of his stupor. What does he mean by he just knows? There were even dishes in the sink from the day before.

He decides that it might be better not to question him.

"Take out. You don't have to cook-"

"Cooking, it is then."

"I just said-"

"Take out isn't good for you. And I asked what you wanted to eat not what I have or do not have to do. If you don't want me to cook solely because you think it'll bother me then I'm cooking because it does not. Not if it's for you."

Ney's jaw drops and his cheeks turn red. He is still not used to Leo's blatant favouritism towards him. Yes, 'favoritism'. There is no other way to put it.

For the past few months, he kept offering Neymar rides to their training centre and to his house. He would also offer to take him out for dinner or lunch or even ask him to come to his apartment to hang out. Alone. The older man would set up the Brazilian's favorite game and cook for him if he stays long enough. He has also been more affectionate, that is, hug him more often or simply linger a little more than strictly necessary whenever they accidentally touch each other.

The younger man does not know how to handle his idol, his crush -yes, he has a crush on him- sudden increase in interest and attention, so he usually just shyly goes with it. Ignoring the guys' curious looks ever time. Thankfully, none of them ever comment on it. Be it out of the goodness of their heart because they can sense that Neymar is as clueless as them or because meddling in Leo's business never ends well.

Don't get him wrong while the attention - dare he say, affection-definitely confuses him, he loves it. And he hopes it never stops. Sue him, he's getting used to it.

"Sit."

Neymar jumps in surprise.

"What?"

The Argentine chuckles and gestures towards the counter. "You should sit, instead of just standing there staring off into space."

“Do you want some help?"

"Ney, you can't cook." Leo deadpans, looking slightly amused.

"I can still help!" The taller retorts indignantly however he does not try to defend his -rather, lack of- cooking skills. He knows he cannot cook and he still has that annoying headache but this does not mean he is entirely useless. He can still cut up veggies or stir the dish.

"Just sit and relax, Ney. I got this." He replies, gently opening and closing drawers and cabinets in search of whatever he needs next.

Seeing him trying so hard to not make a lot of noise makes Neymar wonder if he knows about his headache too. No, that will be absurd.

Ney moves a can of tomatoes away before hopping on the counter. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out as he stares at Leo walking around his kitchen as if he owns it. He likes the idea of that. Of them sharing a kitchen. A house. Just the two of them owning an apartment together, waking up and going to sleep next to each other.

Ney winces lowly, thinking so hard is making his migraine worse.

Just on cue, Leo stops stirring and sets the spoon down. He then moves towards Neymar and places his hands on the counter, on either sides of the younger man's hips.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." He replies automatically. Trying his best not to squirm under the other man's intense gaze.

"You sure? Because you seemed to have a headache earlier. At practice."

"Wha-what? How-"

"You wanted to do indoor drills."

"So...?"

"You hate indoor drills."

Neymar shuts his mouth with a clack. He does hate them. And he has definitely made it very obvious with his constant complaints in the past, whenever they were forced to do them.

The sunlight was making his head hurt even more and he kept losing focus, so he decided that it was finally time to stop running away from those drills but connecting his insistence on doing them to a headache sounded like a stretch.

"Why did you think of a headache though?"

"You looked like you were in pain and you kept clutching your head. It looks like it's still bugging you, I'm sorry I didn't notice immediately. Do you wanr me to-"

"Don't apologize." The Brazilian pauses and hesitates for a total of one second before taking Leo's hand in his, squeezing it.

The Argentine gives him a relieved smile before breaking eye contact to look at their intertwined fingers. "I wanted to ask you about it earlier but you left so quickly."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I was just..." He trails off, not sure in how much details he was willing to go just yet.

Leo studies him for a moment. After seemingly finding what he was searching for, he lets go of his hand and pats his hips. Then, he backs away, going back to stirring. Neymar tries not to feel disappointed, he loved having him so close.

"Tell me if the pain increases, yeah?" He asks - demands - still looking at the dish.

Neymar breathes a sigh of relief. Not sure why he was even worried to begin with. This is Leo. Leo who will never force him to do anything.

"Yes. I'll tell you if it does."

"Good."

He smiles at the older man's approving tone.

"Are you sure you don't want help?" He asks when Leo starts to cut an onion.

"No, don't worry."

"Are you sure sure?"

"Yes, Ney. I'm sure sure." He replies indulgently, trying to hide his smile.

"Why don't you wash your hands? I'm almost done."

"Okay." He jumps off the counter and goes to wash them in the bathroom, not wanting to disturb the other man who's now filling a jug with water.

When Neymar returns, Leo was already sitting at the table with two plates of food in front of him.

He looks up when he hears footsteps

“Wait. Come sit beside me." He says when Ney starts to pull the chair across of him.

The younger man's eyebrows lift up in surprise but he obeys immediately. Happy to be able to sit closer to Leo."Thank you for the food!" He exclaims as he inhales the delicious aroma of the dish. Its making his mouth water.

"No need to thank me."

Ney smiles in response, his cheeks tinting red and takes a bite.

"It's so good." He borderline moans. The taste is divine, as always. Everything the elder man makes tastes absolutely delicious.

Leo ducks his head, suddenly feeling shy. "I'm glad you think so."

"Of course I do!" The Brazilian replies absentmindedly as he scarfs down the food.

"Slow down before you choke, Ney." The elder scolds, his ears red. Compliments from the other man always makes him blush. He was working on this problem but he hasn't been very successful.

"Yes. Yes." Neymar responds, smiling sheepishly, embarrassed.

They eat in silence, enjoying each other's company, before the youngest breaks it.

Ney can tell that Leo wants to ask him about why he was in such a bad mood in training, from his constant fidgeting and sneaky glances. He only fidgets when he's surrounded by too many people and is uncomfortable or because something is eating at him.

He is sure that despite wanting to know, the Argentine will not ask him about it. Simply because Ney had backed out of telling him earlier. After thinking about it, he wants to tell him. He wants to let it out. Plus, again, this is Leo and Neymar usually has no qualms on sharing everything with him.

The said man listens quietly, he does not interrupt once. Not even when Ney works himself up, the stress catching up to him. He just maintains eye contact with him, trying to provide him with silent encouragement and comfort. He wanted Ney to look let all of his frustrations out.

It's only when he's done that Leo moves. He takes the taller man into his arms and rubs his back soothingly.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Ney. Davi will come very soon and we’ll see if you can have another day off before he leaves, okay? I’ll help you ask. And none of us believed that rumor. No one that matters believe it, Ney. Promise.” He whispers into his ear, trying to get his point across. Leo hates seeing the usually cheerful Brazilian so down. It doesn’t suit him.

Ney sniffles, burrowing his head in the older man’s chest. “You’ll help?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“No, Ney. Why else do you think that nobody asked you about it? We know it’s bullshit.”

Neymar giggles at his words, “You cursed.”

The older man smiles fondly. “Yes, I did.” He replied, kissing his temple gently. “And we are all allowed to have bad days, so forget about your mistakes in training. It’s normal to make them, I made some too and I didn’t even have a headache.”

Neymar lets his words sink in. “Okay.” He murmurs against Leo’s chest.

“You worried us today. Next time, don’t run away from us. Talk to us, to me. We don’t mind you being in a bad mood. At all, we just want to help.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you guys…you really don’t mind?” He hates how vulnerable he sounds with all of his questions and insecure tone. His need to confirm. But he needs to know, to make sure.

“Don’t apologize, just try not to do it again. And yes, Neymar. We, I, don’t.” Leo uses his full name, emphasizing how serious he is.

“I’ll try. Definitely.” Neymar promises, beaming up at the other man.

“Good. Now, finish your food before it gets cold.” He orders, pressing one last kiss on the younger man’s forehead. He cannot help but squeeze him tightly for a few seconds before letting go.

Ney does just that. Cheeks red and marveling at how easy it is for the older man to make him feel better. Even his headache is almost gone.

_________

And maybe, just maybe, Neymar gets his wish of cuddling Leo all night long fulfilled. No one can resist his puppy eyes after all, let alone Leo - who has no reason to even try to resist them.

#neymar #neymar jr #leo messi #lionel messi #neymessi fic #football fic #neymessi #fic

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yesimwriting · 2 years

Note

i loved the newest chapter of final girl!! saw that you updated and began foaming at the mouth lmfao

anyway, just wanted to say i thought it was so cute how stu and billy were talking about yn when they weren’t around (i know it was like, a scheming type scene but shh) and was wondering if they’ve done it multiple times? do they see yn wearing a new outfit or doing something they’d find attractive and talk about it with each other?

omg excited to talk about this, i was literally looking at how to insert this topic into Final Girl,

yes they talk about y/n OFTEN!! absolutely obsessed in a way that toes the line between having an intense crush and straight up stalker-y, sometimes it’s a little bit like foreplay for them LMAO

anyways had to write a scene about this :)) (i had more ideas for mini scenes like this, but i wanted this up, so i might make a part 2 ish to this blurb??)

----

Billy keeps one hand on the throw blanket he stole from the living room, fingers curled into the soft fabric like he can feel you in it.

His mind feels muddled, twisted. Your existence makes Billy feel an intensity that is reserved for one of two broad categories: want and get rid of. You’ve just recently crossed over to the less openly violent of the two, but it’s an uneasy transition. The line blurs from time to time when you look at him with those soft eyes that make need flare up in his chest.

Stu lets out a sigh, low and almost lethargic. “Last night took forever.” Tatum kept asking Stu to have the whole friend group over for a movie night meant to end in a sort of sleepover. A chance to binge watch movies and talk late into the night thanks to Stu’s perpetually empty house. “Our girl looked cute, though. Fell asleep on top of me.”

It’s a bit of an exaggeration. Stu pulled on your arm while you were half asleep so that your head would rest against his shoulder. You were too tired to protest, but did eventually move to share a web of blankets and pillows with Tatum.

Billy lets out a slightly irritated noise at the back of his throat.

“What?” Stu lifts his head slightly from the pillow he’s resting again. “She’s cute, you never shut up about it.”

That’s why Billy’s annoyed. You did look cute. Your pajamas--a matching short and tank top set was distracting enough on its own. But then Stu knocked over a coke can while reaching over for the last slice of pizza in the box. It seemed accidental enough that no one in the group thought twice about it. Tatum scolded him and you complained, but no one but Billy noticed that pinch of smugness behind Stu’s eyes. No one picked up on the look Billy and Stu exchanged as Stu apologized with a sloppy kiss to your forehead and the promise of getting you a new shirt.

The two of you disappeared into Stu’s room for a few minutes too long. Billy kept glancing in that direction that the two of you walked off in, planning to ‘walk to the kitchen to get some water’ if Stu took any longer. But right before Billy started worrying, you came back, wearing one of Stu’s go to sleep shirts.

“Cute enough without your shirt.” Billy’s not mad, just a tiny bit annoyed and its being amplified by irritation.

Stu knows that Billy’s attitude is more about frustration than anything else. An empty stomach, too much time apart, and lack of release mixing together. He lets his arm relax, partially curled fingers brushing against Billy’s side.

“She was all wet and sticky.” Billy turns his head, eyes narrowing slightly at Stu’s suggestive wording. Stu’s lips fall open in a mock gasp, he moves his hand pinching at the tiny stretch of exposed skin where Billy’s shirt had ridden up. “Dirty mind,” Stu grins, “I was talking about the soda.”

Billy rolls his eyes, trying to control the way the corner of his mouth instinctually turns towards an amused smile. “And whose fault was that?”

For a brief second, Stu thinks about playing it off. He could joke about being clumsy and Billy would let it go. “Fucking Randy’s,” Stu mumbles, a tiny bit of real annoyance bubbling in his chest, “He kept looking at her in that tight tank top and no bra and she’s too oblivious to notice.”

Sometimes your niceness is more of a nuisance than it should be. It’s not your fault you think everyone’s as good of a person as you are. It’s what Billy tells him to keep him calm. It’s a mantra Stu repeats in his head when that flutter of something uncontrollable rises up his throat when he sees you smile politely at guys that look at you a little too long. Like there’s no such thing as an ulterior motive.

“C’mon,” Stu breathes, hand relaxing in order to press against Billy’s side, “We can’t touch her, I had to do something.”

Already relenting, Billy lets out a breath. He had been watching Randy too. With the way you and Randy bicker like siblings, little kids fighting for the right to the VCR, Billy really doubts that you see anything else there. That doesn’t mean that Randy doesn’t have a crush on you, though.

Though Stu’s excuse is likely an attempt to make a bit of foreplay seem innocent enough, he does bring up a good point. Still, though, Billy spent the entire night hyper concentrated on his thoughts to make sure he didn’t ask you to go anywhere with him.

It was hard enough to not think about how easy it’d be to get you alone before hand. Your hair was loosely pulled up and you were sitting right next to him and Billy’s mind kept wandering back to your exposed neck. What it’d feel like to run his fingers down to your pulse. The way your breath would catch on itself with just a little bit of pressure. What it’d feel like to graze his teeth along the skin.

Even though the collar of Stu’s shirt covered more skin, it added fuel to a precarious fire. “I hate being so careful around her.”

“I get it,” Stu mumbles, comfortable understanding softening his voice, “She just looked so pretty I couldn’t help it.” Stu runs his hand up Billy’s side, reveling in the way goosebumps just barely begin to break out against his skin. He wonders how Billy manages. At least Tay puts out. “We don’t have to go that slow with her. She’d--”

“No.” The single word is just as much for him as it is for Stu. Equal parts reminder and warning. “We stick to the plan.”

There’s a stubbornness there that Stu recognizes. He lets his nails dig into Billy’s skin a little rougher than he needs to. “Always with the plan.” It’s a teasing comment. “Fine, we’ll wait.” Stu sits up a little more, “As long as I get to rough you up in the mean time.”

Billy rolls his eyes, a partial scoff escaping him. “Fuck you.”

Stu props his head up on his freehand, raising his eyebrows up and down dramatically until Billy finally cracks a smile.

#final girl fic #scream #Scream 1996 #scream imagine #Poly! Ghostface x Reader #poly!ghostface #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis #stu macher #stu macher x reader #ghostface x reader

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animemangasoul · 1 year

Text

Boots

Summery: Damian could read people so why could he not read Timothy?

Or, Tim is showing visable concern for him and Damian doesn't understand why or what to do about it.

Damian Wayne sat down wearily on the bench, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle upon his shoulders. The mission had been grueling, pushing his physical and mental limits to the edge. It hadn't helped that it had rained like the heavens themselves were weeping at his efforts. He could feel every muscle in his body ache as he leaned back, propping his boots against the edge of the bench across, trying to pull it off with all the strength of a mouse.

Beside him, Timothy Drake sat, phone pressed against his ear as he reported back to Richard; the older man taking every opportunity to call them whenever he had access to the Watchtowers connection line. It was honestly obnoxious and drove Damian's irritation through the roof half the time, but he also could quietly admit to himself it was good to hear from him every once in a while. He'd been gone for nearly a week after all.

Damian's usually rigid posture had slackened by now. He'd been the only one of the pair to be unfortunately caught in the downpour currently slapping against the filthy Gotham streets and it made his already weary frame feel even heavier. Eyes blinking slowly and muscles aching under his cold skin, he tried to keep himself awake.

Maybe that is why, what happened, happened. Maybe he should have been more careful, more composed, more awake. For as he pulled off his boots, he found himself tipping over. Tipping over sideways and accidentally leaning against one Timothy Drake. Fatigue blurred his senses for a moment, and he didn't immediately realize his mistake. Didn't realize what he'd done.

The moment it dawned on him however, his eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. He couldn't believe he'd done what he'd done. He couldn't…… but…

In the brief moment of quiet weakness, before he'd realized, Damian had felt a strange comfort. It had been nice. It was nice, to be able to lean against the other. To be able to sag against someone else and just feel something other than wariness. Their relationship had improved over time. It was no longer as hostile as it used to be. Damian having realized in the past three years that he did not need to replace Timothy in order to carve out a space of his own had slowly let his hostilities die and in turn Timothy had acknowledged his efforts by coming to the manor more. Yet, their relationship; or lack there off was fraught with tension, frost and unspoken agreement to avoid one another lest one of them say something regrettable. They'd kept it that way for nearly a year now.

And now hesitation coursed through Damian's veins. He did not move. His exhausted body somehow stubbornly savoring the brief respite that leaning on Timothy provided.

But as his tired mind began to clear, he grew conscious of what exactly he was doing. Timothy, thankfully engrossed in a conversation with Richard; still hadn't noticed him doing something this embarrassing. The man just kept humming in agreement to whatever Richard was insisting on. "I understand," he kept saying. "Of course I'll look after him. It's fine Dick, just focus on yourself."

Damian took the opportunity the distraction provided him to slowly push away but just as he'd lifted his head, an arm was thrown around him. A casual gesture done without missing a beat as Timothy laughed in response to something Richard said. Damian's eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat.

What the…. What the---- Did Timothy just…..

It was a gesture he had witnessed countless time Timothy extend to Allen and the younger members of the Titans. A sign of affection and support. A casual way to let them know he was there for them, for Timothy was not very good with words. He was not good with gestures either Damian's inner thoughts mused. It was why little actions like this meant so much to the idiots at the Tower. It meant that Drake cared. It meant he was looking out for them.

Damian's thoughts raced. Why would his not brother do this, to him? It did not make any sense. Wait, did Timothy even know it was him leaning against his shoulder? Was this gesture meant for him or was he simply caught in the web of Tim's habitual comfort? Maybe he'd forgotten Damian was the only one present and then Damian had done something as pathetic as lean on him and the man's instinct for his friends had taken over and he'd done this…this thing.

The uncertainty gnawed at him.

And then a sudden feeling of self-consciousness surged through him, and Damian instinctively pulled away, his body tensing as if burned. He shot a glance at Timothy, hoping for some sign or acknowledgment, but the older remained engrossed in his conversation.

Damian frowned. Perhaps Timothy hadn't even noticed the brief interlude. Perhaps Damian's presence had been a mere backdrop, a coincidence.

What he refused to call disappointment surged through him nearly choking him. Damian rose from the bench, feeling angry with himself for showing momentary weakness and seeking solace in something that had not been intended for him as he walked away, the weight of his weariness heavy once more.

Damian's footsteps echoed in the distance as he retreated into the shadows, his mind spinning, spinning, spinning.

It should not have bothered him as much as it did. But it did bother him, very much so. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Perhaps his exhaustion was finally getting to him. Throwing his boots in disgust in the changing room; for how dare they trick him into something so pathetic, he promised himself he would feel better in the morning.

In the morning, he would not even remember this humiliating moment.

------------------------------------------------------

Morning came with exhaustion and dreadful fever that wrecked his body until his mind no longer belonged to him but to the bed. The rain-soaked night had taken its toll it seemed, for today he found him stumbling wearily into the kitchen. Body feeling heavy and his movements sluggish from the remnants of a high-degree fever, every step was a struggle, as if the weight of the world pressed down on him.

Damian's bleary eyes briefly scanned his surroundings before landing on Timothy. Drake stood near the counter, engrossed in some task. Automatically, as if sensing his presence, the other man's gaze flickered up to meet Damian's, and a flicker of something unreadable crossed his features.

The youngest Wayne frowned deeply at him. His mood souring immediately at the sight of the other. But any intimidating air he was trying to put on quickly faded as he crossed the threshold, for Timothy's sharp eyes caught sight of his unsteady form.

"What are you doing here?" Damian demanded, his voice strained. He tried to regain control, to assert his usual air of authority. His attempt to deflect attention away from his vulnerability only fueling his frustration.

"I'm just cleaning up," Timothy replied calmly, his voice steady despite the lingering uncertainty. He took a small step back, allowing Damian his space, though his gaze remained fixed on him.

"Whatever," Damian scoffed, pushing past him. "I only wish to have a glass of water-" the words suddenly felt too thick in his mouth, his body too heavy and he tilted, down down down---

'Oh,' he thought. 'I am was falling. How embarrassing.' His eyes closed shut for the inevitable impact with the cold floor, but for some reason, it never came.

Without hesitation, Timothy had reached out, arms wrapping around his smaller frame and pulling him up. Then a hand came to gently brush against his forehead, gauging the heat of his fever.

"Careful," Timothy said softly, his touch featherlight as he held Damian close. But before the warmth of Timothy's hand could register, Damian flinched away, his instinctive reaction nearly unbalancing him.

"I'm fine," he snapped, his voice laced with both irritation and a hint of embarrassment. He pulled back, creating a physical distance between them. Confusion clouded his tired mind, the exhaustion adding a raw edge to his emotions. He did not understand what was going on. He didn't get it. What was Timothy doing. What was happening. Damn it all, he did not understand.

His not older brother's expression faltered, a flicker of something crossing his eyes, but he quickly masked it behind a calm facade. "Are you sure?" It came out questioning, little haltingly too as if Drake too did not quite know what to do in this very situation. It almost made him feel slightly better, almost.

Damian's thoughts churned, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He hated how the simple act of 'casual' concern from Timothy seemed to challenge their established dynamic. It was as if the lines between them had suddenly blurred, and he here he was, left struggling to make sense of it all.

Did Timothy no longer see him as a formidable rival, an adversary to be constantly on guard against? Had Richard influenced his behavior, prompting him to keep a closer watch over Damian in his absence? The questions plagued him, their answers elusive. He hated it. He hated it so much.

The room grew silent, tension hanging in the air like a heavy storm cloud. Damian's gaze flickered from Timothy's face to the surroundings, searching for a clue, for something familiar to anchor himself to. But everything seemed different, and he couldn't quite grasp the changes or understand their significance.

Something was different. Ever since Timothy had come back from that mission three month ago. Ever since he'd returned home he seemed more mature, seemed calmer, wouldn't let anything get under his skin. Damian had been severely injured during it so he'd been in a coma for five days. He hadn't been a witness to the change. He'd missed it. Missed whatever had transformed Timothy into the person he was now.

To him, Timothy felt too far away and too close at the same time. Something was different about him and Damian hated, hated how that something seemed to be a growth he hadn't been able to keep up with.

"You seem to be running a fever."

Damian's eyes narrowed, momentarily broken out of his thoughts. "I said I was fine," he hissed.

Raising both hands in the air, Timothy shrugged. "Okay," he said. "Whatever." He sounded so casual, so sure of himself. As if, as if----

Damian's blood boiled. "Well, get out of my way then," he snapped, his voice sharp and tinged with a touch of fury. He pushed past Timothy, his movements more forceful than necessary. His irritation only skyrocketing as the other did not even put up a fight. He filled his glass; hands shaking so badly he had to use them both to not spill it. His cheeks were tinted red and his eyes burned.

Then he stormed out of the kitchen, his thoughts churning like a whirlpool in his mind, anger and confusion colliding. He hated how Timothy's actions seemed to disrupt their existing dynamic. It was as if Timothy was rewriting the script without giving Damian a chance to catch up.

What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to react when the man who did not even acknowledge him half the time was suddenly being caring. Twice in two days. What was he supposed to do with that.

'Richard,' he thought, feeling angry, feeling scared. 'You did this. Make it stop.' For there was no doubt Richard's overwhelming worry for him had forced Timothy's hand to act as his substitute while he was away and when he came back----

Walking through the hallways, Damian's frustration continued to simmer; directed as much at himself as at the circumstances that had brought them to this point. The sense of isolation and alienation weighed heavily on him. He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was missing some crucial piece of the puzzle.

Perching on the edge of his bed, Damian ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He had always prided himself on his ability to adapt quickly, but this time, the changes eluded him, slipping through his fingers like water.

Resting his head in his hands, Damian couldn't help the sudden helplessness that overwhelmed him. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with all of this. What was he supposed to do?

The storm outside rumbled on.

---------------------------------------------------

Damian Wayne's body burned with fever as he sat uncomfortably on the narrow bed in the school's dimly lit nurse's office. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, suffocating him further. He shifted restlessly, trying to distance himself from the nurse's well-meaning but intrusive presence. Each attempt to feel his forehead or check his vital signs only heightened Damian's discomfort.

Minutes turned into an eternity, and Damian's skepticism grew. Would Timothy even bother to come? He couldn't fathom why Timothy would abandon his responsibilities at Wayne Enterprises just to pick him up from school.

"I will be fine on my own," he'd said when the nurse had hummed low in disapproval and began to dial his not brother. "He is far too busy to pick me up. I shall make my way home on my own."

She had not believed him. And now here he was, likely to suffer the humiliation of having Timothy Drake not show up. It was not as if he believed Timothy was not a good enough person to show up if required but Damian wasn't dying. He was fine. It was only a fever and Timothy had far too much important work to do at Wayne Enterprise. In fact there was an annual board meeting today which his not brother had been stressing about all evening yesterday. Surely that took precedence over his wellbeing.

He would not come and Damian would not blame him for it. Timothy was no Richard. He owed him nothing.

Suddenly, the door flung open, and Timothy burst into the room, his breath labored and his hair in disarray. The sight of him, ruffled and unkempt, startled Damian. He hadn't expected him to arrive in record time, as if propelled by some unseen force. He hadn't expected him to arrive at all.

Damian's eyes widened, momentarily captivated by the urgency etched across the other's face.

But then, without a word, he hopped off the bed, his feet landing on the cold linoleum floor. No matter. Maybe the board meeting had concluded early. Maybe Timothy had been in the vicinity grabbing lunch when the nurse had called. Either way and opportunity was an opportunity and Damian would be damned if he did not take it. But before he could open his mouth and say something to Timothy, what he would say, he was unsure off, the nurse made another attempt to feel his forehead.

Her lips were pursed, her bright eyes as condescending as ever and her overbearing worry painted across the furrow of her brows. Damian growled, wanting to pull away but stopping himself because father had told him upsetting the staff here once more would disappoint him. Resigning himself to this unknown woman touching him again, his eyes widened in surprise when a hand grabbed the back of his uniform and pulled him subtly enough so his not brother could put his arm around his shoulders and drag him away from the nurse.

"Let's get you out of here," Timothy said, his voice a soothing balm amidst the chaos of Damian's thoughts.

It was a gesture done with ease, he noted as his not brother spoke to the baffled nurse as if he hadn't done anything unusual. His presence was…..comforting. Damian did not wish to admit it but having someone else there. Having Timothy there as a buffer, having his arm supporting him, it felt….

He flinched away, surprised and discomforted by his own thoughts. He looked up to gauge Timothy's reaction to his behaviour. To search for an explanation for the other's actions in his eyes at well.

But Timothy's gaze remained fixed on the nurse, a calm facade masking the underlying tension he clearly felt by how he'd held him close; fingers digging into his shoulder. Now his arm lay limp by his side even though his fingers still gently gripped the sleeve of Damian's uniform. Something almost resembling guilt churned through Damian's gut and he glared at the white floor in retaliation For why should he feel something like this at all? He did not owe Drake anything. He owed him nothing.

But…….It seemed….it looked like Timothy… maybe he had reacted instinctively to protect him. To protect him from the nurse's well-meaning but intrusive actions? Damian was not stupid. He'd been trained by assassins. His father was the greatest detective in the world and he'd been raised by Nightwing himself. He knew he could read people. Read actions and Timothy's actions could not speak off anything other than concern.

As his thoughts ran wild, the nurse's presence became a mere backdrop. His attention now solely centered on Timothy, trying and failing to make sense of the situation. Was it concern for his well-being alone that drove Timothy's actions, or was there something more? Had he rushed over for his sake or was this unexpected display of care Richard's influence, a silent agreement between the brothers to watch over him in Richard's absence?

Damn it, damn it all. He just didn't get it. He didn't freaking get it.

Tsking, he squared his shoulders. Then mustered up the strength; which surprisingly required more effort than he could imagine to fully pull away from Timothy's hold. He couldn't afford to rely on others, especially when they might not reciprocate the sentiment like Richard and Jon.

With that resolution in mind and without a word, Damian turned away, his steps purposeful as he walked towards the door. The conflicting emotions burning him to his very core. Fists clenched at his side, head aching with fever that nearly blinded him, he silently chastised himself for seeking solace in a gesture that likely held no significance to Timothy what so ever.

'Do not forget,' he told himself, closing his eyes briefly. 'He does not care for you and your fever is making you assume you care for what he thinks of you. Do not forget.'

But as Damian reached the threshold, he couldn't help but steal a final glance back at Timothy, whose attention was still fixated on the nurse. A flicker of vulnerability passed across his not brother's face, almost imperceptible and yeah, Damian truly was too far gone with this insufferable sickness if he was now seeing such nonexistent nonsense.

Still, for a brief laughable moment, he wondered if there was more to their evolving dynamic than he had initially perceived. But the thought was fleeting, as he reminded himself of the walls Drake had rightfully built around himself when it came to Damian. 'He is doing it for Richard,' he told himself. 'It is for Richard and father. He is good like that.'

'Unlike me' remained loud yet unsaid.

With that thought etched into his features, Damian turned away and exited the nurse's office. He did not look back a second time.

-------------------------------------------------

Damian's eyes flickered open, the hazy remnants of sleep clinging to his senses. The muted glow of the television bathed the living room in a soft, comforting light. His head throbbed, his body heavy with fatigue. He had fallen asleep in front of the TV, succumbing to the clutches of his fever and exhaustion.

As Damian tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness washed over him, causing him to wince. The room spun, disorienting him for a moment. Blinking away vague memories of a dream fading, he scanned his surroundings, his gaze landing on the clock on the wall. Time had slipped away unnoticed, hours blending into each other in the depths of his fever-induced slumber.

Pennyworth was away handling family matters so the care of Damian had unfortunately falling once again on Timothy's shoulders after they'd returned to the manor. The older had silently gone to their medicine cabinet, made him some soup, brought him a glass of water and an accompanying jug just in case and had then left him to his own devices. He hadn't fussed like Richard or scolded him like Pennyworth. He hadn't looked at him in disappointment like father. He had just been. Taking the step by step process in how to care for someone without any of the emotions attached. Damian did not know whether he should feel relieved or hate him for it. And then he'd almost snorted at the thought for that had been his consistent feeling towards Drake these past two days.

After tending to him, Timothy had went back to work. He had not stayed. Damian had not wished for him to do so. He had not. In fact, he'd snapped at the other for even hesitating to go and had ordered him away.

He had not needed him. He did not need anyone. He could very well take care of himself. So, standing up he wobbled his way to the kitchen, heated up the rest of the soup and found his way back to his seat. He could barely force himself to eat three mouthfuls before he had to give it up.

Sighing warily, he curled back under the heavy blanket Timothy had draped over him; he'd only noticed after the other had left that it belonged to Timothy. His not brother having gone through several bouts off fever addled sicknesses due to his lack of spleen. It was a good blanket he thought absentmindedly. It was warm but not too warm and it almost felt like a hug from Richard.

Fatigue slowly began weighed him down, and Damian succumbed to sleep once more, his eyelids fluttering shut as his body sought solace in slumber. Time slipped away, the world a distant blur, until a gentle touch roused him from his fevered dreams.

The scent of Timothy's cologne wafted through the air, heavy and familiar. Timothy did not like to wear cologne he vaguely recalled. Only doing it for business meetings. "To be taken seriously," Richard had once said to him, smiling fondly at Timothy who'd been busy fixing his tie and running his fingers through his bangs, stress-lines easing into something soft when his eyes met Richard's and the older sent him a teasing kiss through the air. "He thinks wearing that cologne makes him look more grown up." Richard had sounded sad then. Damian remembered scoffing and turning back to his dinner suddenly not feeling hungry.

Timothy had only been eighteen back then. Now he was twenty-one. He likely did not need it anymore having proven himself ten times over but now it seemed to be a habit. A habit that was strangely comforting to Damian's sleep addled mind.

He stirred, his bleary eyes opening ever so, as he attempted to focus on the figure standing beside him. He couldn't quite keep up with what was going on, but eventually he found himself being lifted into strong arms. Timothy let out a soft grunt, but he remained steady, stable. An unwavering presence. "There," his not brother muttered to himself too soft yet reassuring. "Let's get you to bed you little gremlin."

Damian would have snapped back in offense if his body had been willing to cooperate with him. Instead his eyes fell fully shut and he let the movement of Timothy lull him into comfort.

His not brother carried him through the dimly lit hallways, his rhythmic footsteps echoing through his mind and making him breathe easier. His head nestled against Timothy's shoulder, finding comfort in the coldness of his body.

The journey was swift and eventually Damian was deposited gently onto his bed, the covers drawn up to his chin. A soft sigh escaped him as his body sank into the familiar mattress.

A sudden muffled meow sounded, and Damian's mind briefly registered where his feline companion had been placed on his bed, as the cat curled up with a satisfied little noise. Timothy had picked up Alfred and put him there, as if knowing that even in his sleep, Damian found comfort in Alfred's presence.

The weight of the action, of the entire thing settled upon Damian's chest when Timothy exited his room; footsteps quiet, a soft goodnight his parting words.

A frustrated tear escaped his eye, tracing a path down his cheek and dampening his pillow. He couldn't quite understand why this simple act of care made him so so sad. It hurt. It hurt so much and he didn't know why it made him….. why it made him wish for something he couldn't fully grasp.

But as Damian's heavy eyelids drooped shut once more, sleep's embrace pulling him into its depths, a sliver of hope flickered within him. Maybe it was okay for them to change. Maybe if Timothy was capable of moving forward, of gentle kindness, maybe he could try his hand at it too.

Yeah, maybe.

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The sun began its descent, casting long shadows that stretched across the meticulously manicured lawn of Wayne Manor. Timothy and Damian found themselves sitting side by side on the porch steps, their silhouettes melding into the fading light.

It had been four days since Damian had gotten sick and now he had finally recovered. Cleared for duty, he meticulously cleaned his boots, his fingers tracing the familiar grooves, each swipe of the cloth against the leather seeming to magnify the weight of his thoughts. Now that he was finally cleared for missions again, his body mending from the fever that had held him captive, his thoughts refused to set him free.

They were sitting out here weighting for Richard to land back on earth. He'd be here in the next three hours and while that held its own sense of excitement, try as he might, Damian could not let go of his thought on Timothy.

He glanced at his not brother, the other engrossed in a book he had chosen on a whim not paying attention to anything other than the words on the page. Damian's fears grew stronger.

He couldn't help but think and think and think. What if Timothy's caring nature had only been a temporary respite, a byproduct of his obligation to Richard? Would their newfound connection dissolve like a wisp of smoke, leaving Damian to navigate their old dynamic of avoiding one another once more? Should he talk to him about it? Timothy had done so much for him these past couple of days. He hadn't complained, hadn't snapped at him. He'd only worried. For yes, it was worry even if that worry might not have been for his sake alone.

Damian hated this so much. The uncertainty gnawed at his core, the need to know threatening to resurface.

A surge of urgency suddenly propelled him to do something drastic. He had to know. He couldn't not know if Timothy's actions were merely a facade or a bridge meant for him to cross. It was a daring move, a test of the delicate balance they had found. Slowly, almost painfully so, he allowed his body to lean against Timothy's shoulder, his breath catching in his throat. Waiting, heart pounding in his chest, for Timothy's response.

The weight of Damian against him did not seem to go unnoticed by Timothy this time. A subtle shift in his posture betraying his surprise. It made Damian almost want to fling himself away and pretend as if he hadn't done it, almost. Instead he screwed his eyes shut and remained. 'Be stubborn,' he commended himself. 'Do not waver from your goal for it is the cowards way out.'

He wanted to be a coward so bad.

But he needn't have been for instead of pulling away or questioning the gesture, Timothy responded casually once more. Without looking away from his book, with a fluid motion, he wrapped his arm around his shoulders and drew him closer.

Damian's eyes flew open, widening to sizes he didn't know was humanly possible as sudden warmth flooded his senses. He clutched his dirty boot tightly between his shaking fingers and let himself fall even further against Timothy. He couldn't quite believe what he'd accomplished.

He wasn't sick anymore. Timothy was aware of this. He did not need to care for him anymore. After all, Damian had been cleared for missions. Not only that, he'd been cleared for solo missions so this, this gesture it couldn't possibly be for Richard, could it?

He blinked furiously against the sudden wetness in his eyes. The doubts and insecurities that had consumed him momentarily fading away. Timothy's careless embrace offered hope, solace for years of fraught relationship between them. And Damian, Damian couldn't quite believe it. He exhaled softly, a fragile little smile curving his lips.

"Do you mind reading aloud?" he asked, his voice quivering slightly, but not cracking, not breaking. For he could ask for this, he could.

Timothy squeezed his shoulder, placing the book on his lap so he could turn the page. "Sure," he said, his tone even. "Want me to start from the beginning?"

Damian shook his head the best he could. "Sometimes stories are interesting when you start from the middle," he said.

His brother huffed a little laughter and Damian allowed himself to bask in it. For it was meant for him, and this time he was sure of it.

As Timothy's voice reverberated through the air, Damian let his boot drop next to the other, he'll clean them tomorrow.

#damian wayne #tim drake #batfamily fanfic #batfamily #fanfic #damian wayne fanfic #tim drake fanfic #batfamily one shot

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bichettes · 8 months

Text

dreaming big (league) || chapter ten

word count: 2625 summary: a bittersweet summer turns into fall and a baby is born. warnings: post-birth/postpartum complications, medical inaccuracies, mentions of bleeding and blood loss author’s note: you've been warned. enjoy! i've never said it before but feel free to give this work some love with likes/reblogs! it can also be found over on my ao3 here 🪴 prev | next

Summer moved at a molasses pace; slow, sticky (thanks to the humidity), and seemingly never ending. Carrie normally loved summer in the city but being in the middle of her pregnancy during the season brought on an irritation for it that she normally wouldn’t have had. She was hot all the time now which made her sweat more and nothing bothered her more than being hot and sweaty. The short walks she took from the subway to the restaurant were somewhat of a challenge, leaving the young mom to be out of breath with sweat on her crown by the time she reached the front door. She had to start bringing an extra shirt to change into for work.

Carrie split her summertime between the restaurant, baseball (her team and the Rockets), and friends and family. It was a busy time and she was determined to make the most of her last summer before she became a mom. And she did.

When she wasn’t working, she was helping her team with practice as best she could; going over strategies and different plays or even just helping set up and clean before and after practice. Her coaches were grateful for the extra hand they had in her, they needed it. The team wasn’t doing so bad but they weren’t where they wanted to be at that point in the season. But once they had Carrie in her more advisory role, things seemed to look up for them. If baseball or work weren’t on her schedule for the day, she’d hang out with her friends or family. They’d go shopping for themselves or the baby, go to the beach if it wasn’t too humid out, or watch Rockets games at RBC Park or at a restaurant. Her summer was booked and busy. It kept her mind from wandering to the what-ifs and what-could-bes.

There were also a bunch of summer birthdays that needed celebrating, including Carrie’s 19th. As happy as she was, it was also a bittersweet feeling for her. It brought on an old conversation she had with Beck the previous year about getting wasted together with their friends on her 19th birthday to celebrate her and the end of summer. As she sat in her backyard with all her friends and family around her and a can of Nestea in her hand, she couldn’t help but think of him at that moment.

Carrie gathered the dirty dishes from the table set up on the deck and carried them into the house. When she walked into the house, she found Beck waving around a serving spoon in the air as he told her papa a story as he washed up. Beck was given the role of putting away the dishes that were sitting in the drying rack for some time. Carrie laid what she was holding down onto the counter next to the sink.

“There’s the birthday girl!” Beckett said loudly, pulling her in by her tank.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her in close so that she was lined up with his side. She could smell the drinks on him he had been downing all afternoon. But that could also just be the one can of Somersby he had accidentally spilled onto himself when her little cousin, PJ, ran into him. He looked down at her with half lidded eyes.

“You are so gone, Beck.” She commented. He squeezed her shoulders and pressed a kiss into her loosely curled hair. Andrew and Catherine shared a smile as more wine was poured into the adults’ glasses.

“For your information, I am not ‘gone.’ You are just sober.”

“That makes no sense.”

“You don’t make any sense.” He parroted back.

“Beckett, can you please drink some water?” Michael asked his son. Before he could open his mouth, Andrew was pushing a glass of ice water towards him. He downed it in a few gulps.

“We’re getting drunk for your birthday next year.”

“All I ask is that you guys are drunk here so we know you’re safe.” Severino commented. Beckett nodded.

“Yes, we are going to drink and get your dads wasted.”

Her papa shook his head. “You are too much, Beckett.”

Her 19th came and went, with her friends and family drinking on her behalf because she couldn’t. She didn’t really mind that she would have to wait until baby girl popped out of her. It was quite amusing watching them getting drunker as day turned into night. Her uncles drunkenly sang her a few power ballads and her parents gave her a slightly slurred but heartfelt speech. Carrie split her time with her cousins and her friends watching them play basketball in the driveway or card games in the living room. It was a nice time overall.

And with that, summer 2017 ended, and in came the fall with its early sunsets and slight bite to the air. Baseball season was also at its end. The optimism that had emerged in early June was long gone as the Thunderbirds were going to miss the provincial playoffs for the first time in four years. It upset Carrie seeing her teammates一 her friends一 cut up about their season coming to an end so soon. They weren’t used to being on the losing side. And the Toronto Rockets? They dragged themselves to the end of the season. It was their fifth losing season in a row, going 63-99, making them dead last in the American League East. It was something Carrie had unfortunately gotten used to. She still loved the team with all her heart but they needed a big clean out from the front office, to the coaching staff, to the players. They weren’t the same winning team anymore from when she was in elementary school and it seemed like they were still holding onto their glory days. Nothing wrong with that but it won’t get you a World Series.

September went by uneventfully. Carrie’s third trimester began and her prenatal appointments were more often. Each one brought no concerns to Dr. Miller who was pleased with Carrie’s efforts and the growth of her baby girl. She was still able to work at the restaurant as she was nearing the end but both her dad and her papa had strictly only let her do tasks that she could do while sitting down. That had been the only kind of “special treatment” Carrie had gotten for as long as she had worked.

Thanksgiving celebrations were had. Their household was in charge of the festivities this time around, her papa and dad’s families all coming to the house late in the afternoon of October 9 to celebrate the day of thanks. Carrie would’ve liked to help but the moment her dad saw her pick up a knife to help cut the vegetables for the pancit, she was banished to her room until family started arriving. They had a feast made of both Filipino and Scottish dishes for both sides that everyone enjoyed. Halloween came and Carrie spent that night with her feet kicked up onto the coffee table, watching old episodes of Scooby-Doo while wearing a skeleton printed onesie that had a skeleton baby on it. Her dad had to be in charge of giving out candy this year (not that he minded).

By the time All Souls’ Day came around, Carrie was two weeks out from her due date, belly round and looking like it was ready to pop at any second. Her parents had suggested skipping out on visiting her mom at the cemetery this one time but the look she’d given them could have sent them six feet under as well. To make her comfortable during the visit they brought a folding lawn chair instead of having her sit on the blanket like normal. Her parents walked ahead of her and set up as she waddled over to her mom’s grave. She had to stop a few times whenever she felt baby girl kicking around in her. Carrie laid a flat hand on the top of her tummy.

“Peanut, I know you’re excited to see lola but I have to get to her first and I can’t do that if you keep kicking.” After one or two prods, she stopped. “Thank you.”

Her dads were looking at her warily by the time she reached the grave.

“I’m okay, peanut just got a little excited about coming.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, papa.”

Carrie walked to the front of the head stone and laid her palm flat against it, index finger tracing the inscription. She said a little prayer and kissed the stone. Although she had no memory of her mother, Carrie had felt more connected to her than she had ever did before. Her parents shared more stories of Lena, especially ones from when she was pregnant with Carrie herself. They even showed her old photos and home videos and it amazed Carrie just how similar they looked with their round bellies and glowing faces. Her dads have commented on it a few times. After they spent their day with Lena, it was pretty much a waiting game.

She never gave much thought on what would happen when she went into labour until she got closer to her due date. Since she was home 24/7 now, Carrie imagined walking through the house or getting off the couch and her water breaking then. But no, that’s not how it happened. It happened early in the morning of November 15. Carrie had turned over in bed and felt a pop followed by a trickle in between her legs.

“Oh fuck.” She sat herself up slowly and turned on her lamp. Rolo’s head popped up from her bed. “Rolo, can you get papa?”

The German shepherd looked at her before jumping off the bed towards her parents’ room. She could hear him barking down the hall. Both her dads came into her room moments later.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Her dad asked.

Before she could answer, her papa turned on her bedroom light and they both saw the mess on the bed. Her papa rushed over to her.

“Your water break?” he asked. She nodded. “Okay, okay. Alright.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Severino had the responsibility of bringing Carrie to the car and staying with her in the backseat while Andrew’s was to grab her go bag and driving to the hospital. Considering it wasn’t even 3 AM on a Wednesday, they made it to Mount Sinai in record time. She was lucky that she was somehow able to get a private room. Her dad made friends with the nurses while her papa set up shop.

This was going to take some time.

14 hours and however many cups of ice chips later, Carrie was pushing. Her feet were propped up in the stirrups, parents on either side of her giving her words of encouragement while her nurse and Dr. Miller coached her through it.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” Andrew wiped the sweat off Carrie’s brow. Severino brushed her hair back.

“Okay, Carrie, just a couple more. We’re gonna need a big one here.” Dr. Miller instructed. She shook her head.

“I can’t do this一 it hurts.” Carrie sobbed.

Severino brought his head down to hers. “Yes you can.” He felt her squeeze her hands. “You got this, anak. Me and daddy are right here to help you.”

Carrie let out a cry and bore down as hard as she could.

“Good! Good job. I just need one more, baby girl is almost out.”

And she pushed.

“Here she is, mama.”

Her nurse, Jenna, came over with her baby all wrapped up in a white blanket and a pink hat on her head. But Carrie couldn’t focus. She felt dizzy and like she was going to pass out at any second. Her head was swimming. She tried her best to look at her baby but it was like her eyes couldn’t focus properly. Her dad took one look at her and knew something was wrong.

“Carrie?”

The tone of Andrew’s voice alerted Dr. Miller. She immediately walked over to Carrie and lifted up her blanket. That’s when she saw the blood saturating the pads underneath her. The doctor alerted the team around her and they kicked it into high gear. Her dads asked what was happening and it was explained to them simply that their daughter was losing too much blood fast and they needed to figure out the source of the bleeding. They were ushered out of the room to give the nurses and doctors space to work on Carrie. Severino held Andrew’s hand tightly.

“This can’t be happening again.” Severino cried.

Andrew held onto his husband. “Shh, it’s not, Sev. It isn’t.”

He couldn’t even begin to think about losing Carrie. Losing her would be the end of him and it would be the end of Severino. Andrew comforted his husband while they tried to drown out the commotion in the room.

Thankfully, Dr. Miller and the nurses were able to find the source of the bleeding and stabilize it. Severino was barely paying any attention to the explanation her doctor was giving them. He only caught the words ‘tear’ and ‘tissues’ but that was about it. All he could focus on was Carrie who was sleeping peacefully while she was being transfused with blood. Jenna wheeled back in the baby as their conversation with Dr. Miller was winding down. They thanked her for all that she did for them and Carrie and she left.

Andrew and Severino walked over to the plastic crib where their granddaughter was also sleeping. She had the longest eyelashes and cutest little nose they had ever seen. They both felt like they were going to cry again, this time for a better reason. Severino picked her up first. He cooed at her when she began fussing.

“Hi, baby, hi. I’m your lolo.” He kissed the top of her head. She had that newborn smell to her. Severino rocked her for a few moments before passing her off to Andrew. He was speechless.

Severino watched his husband shed a few tears as he held their granddaughter. A memory of Andrew holding Carrie for the very first time made its way to the surface of his mind.

“She’s beautiful,” Andrew commented through a watery smile. He said the same thing about Carrie.

When Carrie finally woke up, her parents very gently told her what happened to her after the baby came out. She remembered the pushing and them announcing her baby was out. She even remembered Jenna bringing her over so she could hold her.

“I- I wanted to hold her but- but I felt so dizzy and weak. My eyes were blurry too.” Carrie wiped away the tears from her cheeks, careful not to bother the IV line giving her fluids.

“Yeah, those symptoms were caused by the blood loss.” Andrew explained. “Dr. Miller and your nurses did a good job.”

Carrie nodded but didn’t say anything further.

“What’s wrong, anak?” Severino asked. Carrie let out a shaky breath.

“I couldn’t even hold her as soon as she came out.” She cried

“Oh, honey.” Andrew stroked her hair. “I know you’re still coming to terms with what happened.” Carrie nodded. “But you’re awake now and you could hold her. Do you want to hold peanut?”

“Yeah.” She wiped her face again.

Severino picked her up from the crib and placed her into Carrie’s waiting arms. He gave her a few pointers on how to improve her hold.

“The most important thing is you protect her head.”

Severino and Andrew watched on as their daughter held her daughter for the very first time. A fresh set of tears worked its way through Carrie. She used a finger to stroke her chubby cheek.

“Hi, peanut. I’m your mama. Sorry it took me some time to get here.” The baby continued to sleep. She looked up at her dads, who were trying to stop themselves from crying some more. “She’s perfect.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

Carrie nodded. “Penelope. Penelope Rose.”

#tricia writes #writing #dbl

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kikixreverie · 3 years

Note

Hi- may I ask for an angst-mix with Bucky x reader: she had her share of abusive/toxic relationships in her past, but it was nothing she spoke of, and not now when she had James. It wasnt like she thought she was gonna be triggered again, not by him, any other guy- buy not her Bucky! Some tiny bickering evolved to a large dispute, and before she knew what was happening, she shied away from him, making herself small, awaiting the blow - that never came... And instead she was overcome by shame...

Pasts and Apologies

Bucky x Fem!reader

Word count - 3k

Warnings - Mentions of domestic abuse from ex, some descriptions of abuse, angst, trauma

A/n - Okay I definitely went hard on the angst for this one. I kinda just went off on one so not so much bickering and more just a full blown argument but I've been feeling kinda angsty lately so I kinda accidentally made this darker than I expected. Please read the warnings and do not read if you think this could trigger you.

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Love had not been kind to you before Bucky. Every decent memory of your ex was clouded with uncertainty, you would walk on eggshells around him, terrified that saying the wrong thing would set him off and you'd be calling Sam again, sobbing down the phone, cradling another bruise at the hands of your 'partner'.

You were together for years, devoted to and unconditionally in love with the man that you had met in high school. Childhood sweethearts.

He always was quick to anger and he wasn't shy about that. He never had any issues with shouting at you when you pissed him off, just as he never had issues with shouting at his mother or younger brother, but at the time, you had always stood up for yourself and defended the poor woman, making him apologise, and he let you, he always let you clean up his messes.

The first few years were spent in ignorant bliss, you constantly ignored the fear that would creep up your spine when he got angry, but you could manage a screaming match or two, you could manage it all because you loved him, you depended on him despite that he wasn't at all dependable.

The arguments were tough, but you never expected it to go further than that, but eventually, it did.

The first time he was physically aggressive was on his 22nd birthday. He had insisted that he spend his birthday with his friends, calling it a guys night, and you were fine with that, you knew how handsy he got when he was with his friends anyway, so you spent the day with him instead, making sure to keep him happy and spoilt rotten.

As the night crept on, you had tried to wait up for him to return, just as he had asked, but as it passed 3am you decided that he wouldn't mind you going to bed since you had work the next day, so you crawled into bed and fell asleep, a mistake, at the time, you didn't know you had made.

When he returned half an hour later to see you unconscious, he woke you up with his shouting, angry that you hadn't stayed up for him, convinced that you were ruining his night on purpose. The loud awakening was enough alone to trigger your fight or flight but when he threw the duvet off you and grabbed your ankle so tightly you knew a bruise would form, you were terrified. He dragged you off the bed and pushed you towards the door, telling you to fuck off, and you did, tears streaming down your face as you laid awake on the couch till morning.

It only got worse from there, when he realised that he could hurt you and get away with it, it became his favourite past time, he'd look for reasons to shout at you, make you do things that would piss him off just so he'd have a reason to be cruel.

When Sam started noticing dark bruises on your skin, he was livid, and despite how often you'd try to convince him that it's just clumsiness, Sam knew better.

There were rare days that you would have long conversations with Sam, you'd talk about how you'd lost all your friends and distanced yourself from your family but you didn't blame your abuser, you blamed only yourself, and Sam would beg you to leave him but you'd be sobbing in his arms, telling him that you still loved the man who hurt you, that he didn't really mean to hurt you and you'd feel even more guilt if you ever got him in trouble for it.

It was a long and hard journey, but the moment you told Sam that you wanted out, he was there for you, offering you to stay at his place and helping you call the cops. He gave you all the resources he could possibly find through the VA and set you up with an amazing therapist and eventually you were living in your own place, talking to old friends again, and filing a restraining order against your ex.

It was nearly two years later when you met him. Introduced through Sam, you met the love of your life on a Sunday. He was quiet and focused, with hard eyes scanning the room, looking for escape routes, analysing people's faces.

You smiled gently at him when you met, opting for a small nod in greeting instead of a handshake. You stayed near him for the remainder of the gathering, not pressuring him to speak to you, just sitting in silence. You were drawn to him, his behaviour was so similar to yours.

You knew what it felt like to want to just blend into the corner, to stay unnoticed, you understood the need to know how to escape a room, and you saw the way he hesitantly returned your smile and then struggled to chase his smile away once you had sat down beside him.

You and Bucky soon became each other's rocks, always there for the other on the hard days, days that you would spend just walking or reading together in calm silence. There was no doubt that the two of you loved each other, and after months and months of trying to hide longing glances and blushing cheeks, you finally confessed to each other, and the rest was history. You trusted him like you had never trusted anyone before.

As your relationship progressed, Bucky started to notice some strange things in your behaviour, how you'd always ask his permission for you to go out with friends, how you were always quick to apologise in any situation and distanced yourself from him when he was the slightest bit irritated.

He had tried to ask you about it, but you always changed the subject as soon as it was mentioned, ensuring him that it was nothing to worry about.

To tell the truth, you were embarrassed, you were ashamed that your ex still had this effect on you, and no matter how many times you told yourself that he would never, that your Bucky would never, your brain refused to allow you to believe it and you continued with the odd behaviour that you used as a defence mechanism when in the abusive relationship.

You never spoke out of line, you never asked him where or who he was going out with, and you never let small bickering escalate.

It was only after you had overheard Sam and Bucky in a heated conversation, Sam scolding Buck for being reckless and stupid during a mission, that you had your first argument with him.

You had called Sam while Bucky was at the store, convincing him to tell you what had happened and after a few minutes of guilt-tripping, Sam finally confessed that Bucky had practically ran into open fire, endangering himself in an attempt to shut down a Hydra base, it could've very easily been fatal, and it wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

You knew it was wrong, you knew you should've just asked Bucky about it, but you couldn't help yourself, and you knew that Bucky would've downplayed the whole situation.

When he returned home you were pacing up and down in the living room, chewing the inside of your cheeks and your nails to pieces because you could've lost him, Bucky could've died and he was acting as if it were nothing.

"Doll?" You could hear the worry in his voice as he placed the shopping bags on the kitchen counter and walked over to you, standing in front of you to stop your movement, pulling your hand from your mouth and kissing your knuckles.

It was supposed to calm you, and it almost did, but as his soft lips grazed your hand, and his eyes met yours, your mind kept wandering to the fact that he could've died.

This moment could've never happened, instead, you'd have Sam or Steve at your door, trying to deliver the news of their best friend's death, your lover.

"Honey speak to me" He looked utterly confused, but the look only made you feel angry.

How could he be so reckless?

"I just got off the phone with Sam."

He froze, eyebrows furrowing and taking a step away from you, waiting for you to explain.

Your gaze didn't move from the floor, trying to even out the anger and worry rushing through you, settling like a heavy rock in your stomach.

"He told me about the missions, about how you've been acting."

"What do you mean, how I've been acting?" He scoffed, sounding offended, and you sighed.

"How reckless you've been acting. Sam said that Tony's considering pulling you out of missions! How many times have you endangered yourself like this? How many times is it gonna take for you to realise that you could fucking die out there, James."

Your voice was stern, and the tone felt foreign against your tongue. Bucky's kept his face hard, refusing to show any emotion, but you could see the way his jaw clenched harshly, eyes glued to the corner of the room, ignoring your fiery glare.

"Were you ever going to tell me? I thought that all the injuries you got were fairly normal for the jobs you do, but when I hear that you run into open fire, that you make decisions on your own before talking to your team, that you've gotten fucking stabbed in the past, and you never told me, how do you expect me to react?"

He sighed heavily through his nose, jaw ticking in annoyance towards his friend, angry that he had told you even though it wasn't his place.

"I told him not to tell you." His voice was gruff, the words spoken harshly under his breath and you felt your anger flair again.

"What and you think that's okay?!"

His gaze shot to yours, looking at you incredulously.

"Bucky we're partners! You're supposed to tell me this shit, you're supposed to tell me when you've nearly died on a mission, you're supposed to trust me."

"You think I don't trust you?!" His voice was slightly raised and you felt your annoyance spike, "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry."

"Of course I'm gonna worry, James. This is a big deal, I can't believe you've been getting seriously injured and not telling me."

"Well, I don't think it's that big of a deal, Sam shouldn't have fucking told you. This wouldn't be happening if he had just kept his mouth shut, but no! Of course not!" Bucky's eyebrows were drawn in tight with annoyance, wishing you'd just drop the subject, "I'm not stupid, I know what I'm doing."

"What the hell do you mean 'You know what you're doing?' You know that you're not supposed to endanger yourself to complete a mission, yet you do it anyway. I'm glad Sam told me because otherwise, I doubt I'd ever find out!."

"I don't see how what I do on missions is anything to do with you. Sam is exaggerating. I'm fine!"

As Bucky's voice raised, you started to lose focus, flashbacks of your past echoing in your mind and in his annoyance, Bucky didn't notice the way your eyes had gone distant, losing sight of the man in front of you, the man you loved, and forming the image of the man you still see in nightmares, the man you're so terrified of seeing in the street that you haven't stepped foot in Queens since leaving him.

You could almost feel the sting of his palm against your cheek, the burn of his hand, tight around your wrist, and you tried to remind yourself that it wasn't real. It had been months since you'd had an episode, and your steps to control them were hard to find with the false image of your abuser so clear in front of you.

"Are you even listening to me?" The statement dragged you back to reality and you felt yourself calm when your eyes focused in on Bucky, reminding yourself that your ex wasn't here, that Bucky wasn't like that, he would never, but as he raised his arm to push his hair out of his face, everything flew out the window and in the moment, you were 21 again and you were sure he was going to hit you, your exes face flashing behind your eyes again.

You flinched, a gasp falling from your lips as your eyes squeezed shut and your head ducked down, breathing heavily through your nose as you awaited the hit.

Time slowed.

Bucky froze completely, his eyes wide and frantic as he quickly stumbled away from you, shaking his head as self-hatred ran through his veins, disgusted at himself for making you think even in the slightest, that he would ever hurt you.

"Doll?" He sounded absolutely broken.

Your head shot up, panic flooding through you when you realised what you had done and pain replacing the feeling when you saw the agony on Bucky's face.

"Y/n, I- I would never-" He kept his voice at a pained whisper, not wanting to scare you further as he stayed at a distance.

You collapsed to the floor, sitting on your knees as the weight of the situation pulled you down. Your hands raised to cover your mouth as a sob threatened to tear through you, so fucking ashamed of what had just happened, so fucking ashamed that your ex had done this to you, and you had let him for so long, ashamed that he still haunted you.

"Babydoll I-" He struggled to find the words, terrified that he had just lost you, wanting to reach out and hold you but scared shitless of hurting you more than he already had, "I don't know what- I'm so fucking sorry y/n, I can't- I can't even fathom the thought of-"

His voice trailed off, unable to even say the words and you felt your guilt tenfold.

"N-No Bucky, I'm sorry I thought-" You struggled to speak through your crying, hot tears flowing down your cheeks as you rocked yourself gently in an attempt to self-soothe.

"Why are you apologising honey? This is on me, this is-"

"No, it isn't, I promise Buck this isn't you, it's.." You couldn't get the words out, you couldn't tell him, "Just come here, please."

You wanted him to wrap his arms around you, you needed him to know that it wasn't him, you know the way his mind works and you knew that by now he would already be drowning in guilt and self-hatred.

"I don't think that I should. I don't want to hurt you, I can't- I can't hurt you" You smiled at him gently through your tears and your chin wobbled as you saw the tears running down his cheeks too.

"It's okay. I'm okay Bucky, I just- I-I need you over here, I need you - I need you to touch me. I need you."

He was over in an instant, falling to the floor beside you and letting out a huge sigh of relief when you instantly wrapped yourself around him, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and crawling into his lap, needing to be as close to him as possible, to rid the memories of the pain, to remind yourself that his touch is good, his touch is safe.

Arms enveloped you and he held you as tight as possible, the both of you crying.

After the two of you had calmed down and a comfortable silence enveloped you, Bucky knew he would have to break it.

"Why did you think that I would hit you?" He asked, his voice tentative and gentle and you sighed, knowing that it was time for you to tell him.

"I didn't, I don't, I promise."

You lifted your head from his shoulder but still stayed on his lap, instead, resting your forehead against his.

"Then why-?"

"I thought I was better, I-I thought it was all over but I just- I lost myself again. Everything got all foggy and I lost where I was and I just, I thought I was there but-" The floodgates opened again and you knew that Bucky had no clue what you were talking about but the words just kept coming.

Bucky's eyebrows were furrowed tightly and when your vague, confusing explanation only made his worry grow, he felt himself pulling you even tighter against him.

"Doll, Did someone hurt you? Is that why you're always walking on eggshells around me? Is that what the nightmares are about?" He struggled against the words, not wanting to say them because he didn't want to believe them and he watched in agony as you swallowed hard and nodded slowly, your hands coming to rest on the back of his neck as you continued to hold your forehead against his.

He refused to let his anger show, he wouldn't do that to you, especially with you so fragile, but he couldn't hide the pained shaky breath he let out at your confession, "Fuck, I'm so sorry. God, I'm so sorry that that happened to you. Was it your ex? Did he hurt you?"

You nodded again, doing your breathing exercises, and calming yourself so that you could explain your situation fully to your partner.

"I should've told you, I know, I just, I'm so angry that I'm still like this, I just wish it would all go away and I could forget about what he did. I thought I was better. I can't stand that I'm still so haunted by that asshole" Bucky nodded along as you spoke, brushing his fingers up and down your back to help calm you.

"It's okay, Doll. Things like that don't just go away. Believe me, I wish they did too, but things will get better, I promise you that. Thank you for telling me."

You scoffed in self-deprecation, "I should've told you ages ago."

"That doesn't matter, you've told me now, and I'm sure it wasn't easy, so thank you for sharing" His voice was so gentle, his hands caressing your back almost making you feel sleepy.

"And Buck?" He hummed in response, letting you know that he was listening, "About the mission thing, I'm just worried about you. I can't lose you, I need you, and I need you alive."

A gentle smile lifted his frown and he nodded in understanding, feeling bad for getting mad in the first place, and you leaned back, looking down at him, your hands playing with his hair.

"I know. I'm sorry for being an idiot, It's just so hard to look at them and remember what they did to me and know what they've done to so many innocent people and I just lose it, all rationality out the window" You nodded at him, understanding how painful some of the missions must be.

"I'm sorry I got so upset with you, and I'm sorry I went to Sam instead of talking to you. Don't be mad at him, I kinda forced him to tell me" You gave him a sheepish look and he breathed out a small laugh, his nose crinkling like you always loved.

"It's okay doll, I'm sorry for being so careless and hiding the stuff about the missions, I promise I'll be more careful, I gotta make sure I always come home to my sweet girl. And don't worry about Sam, you deserved to know and I know what you're like."

You tutted at him and he smiled in response, the adorable, loving look on his face making you pull him into the sweetest, softest kiss which he instantly returned.

After sitting together in each others embrace for a while, the yawns eventually started. You were both positively exhausted from all the emotions you had both just experienced so Bucky wrapped your legs around his waist and lifted you both from the floor, discarding the groceries still left in bags in the kitchen and carrying you to bed, holding you as close as physically possible as you both drifted off to sleep.

#bucky oneshot #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #bucky requests

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aetheternity · 3 years

Text

Answer your damn phone. (NSFW)

Synopsis: Hange keeps calling while Levi's fucking his S/O so his S/O picks up and tells Hange to call back later cause Levi is, "Currently getting his cock drained." Levi responds by fucking his S/O into the mattress. "You know how much Hange's gonna annoy me later?" He grunts completely sheathing his cock. "Scream my name louder." He huffs "I don't think the neighbors can hear." He leans in closer to her ear. "You better make them think I'm killing you after the shit you just pulled."

Levi's teeth were gritted as he leaned his head forward, eyes shut tight. The prettiest tinge of pink bloomed against his cheeks. His fingers creating a permanent mark in your skin.

"Levi, Levi.." You shuddered over his cock.

His knees were bent against your sides as you roughly slammed yourself down on his cock. His hips coming up to greet you. The heat in your stomach heavy as Levi continued to hit your sweet spot on every thrust.

His hair bounced against his forehead, face covered in sweat. Beautiful grey eyes fluttering open a little when you let out a breathless gasp fingers digging into his chest as you leaned close. Your thighs squeezing together as you called out your impending orgasm.

You pleaded his name like a chorus off your lips. Fingers kneeding at your clit begging to push you over the edge. You grunted out some curse words and just as you were getting ready to burst Levi's phone illuminating the darkened room pausing your movements.

You both groaned out in unison. The rough press against your waist moving up to grip at your back. You weren't exactly counting the amount of times Levi's phone had gone off but it was definitely more than two and beyond annoying.

"Why don't you just turn it off!" You grumbled

"She'll come here if it just goes straight to voicemail. The stupid thing's on mute and she'll eventually tap herself out and stop calling." Levi replied, already moving his hips again.

"G-god.. j-just tell her to stop c-calling.." You tried over the heat reclaiming its place in your core.

"She'll come here. It'll b-eee a whole long c-onversation.."

Levi's eyes fell shut again and his lips parted over the word "shit". Breathing labored as you squeezed his thick cock inside your walls. And it was almost like nothing had stopped. Your fingers pushed their way over his forehead, brushing aside the strands of hair covering his temple.

"Almost there.." He gasped, his hands ran up your back to pull you close by your shoulders.

His hips were unrelenting and the bed creaked as your moans grew louder once again. He breathed every noise in his mouth onto your lips. Biting and sucking the already swollen flesh.

"Finish.. c-come on."

This time when Levi's phone went off he didn't even bother to pause. Still ramming his dick into your tight hole. But at this point you'd pretty much had enough. You wrenched the phone off the nightstand and only then did Levi pause in his movements.

"Yeah, Hange?" Levi stared up at you. Eyes wide, still darkened with lust. Hange's voice was elated though confused as she quickly came to the consensus that Levi wasn't the one who picked up.

"Where's Levi?" She questioned

You looked down at Levi with mild irritation. "Well, he can't come to the phone right now because he's busy getting his cock drained." Before Hange could even begin to reply you quickly hung up, turning Levi's phone off, placing it face down on the nightstand.

"Problem solved." You huffed

Levi didn't move, surprisingly enough Levi didn't say anything either. His lips slightly parted and his eyes narrowed. You felt yourself gulp as you let out a little confused murmur of his name.

He didn't say a word, quickly yanking you off his cock. A gasp falling off your lips as he slipped out. He placed your feet on the floor and at this point your actions slightly dawned on you.

"Levi.." You tried again an apologetic glint in your eyes.

He repositioned himself grabbing your hips from behind. In seconds a harsh hand was glued to your nape forcing you down onto the mattress. And in the same amount of time his dick was pressing all the way back into your taut pussy.

You let out a loud moan that honestly would've been embarrassingly loud if not for the accidentally edging over the course of about an hour.

When Levi's hips snapped into yours it made your knees buckle. Fingernails practically tearing the cotton sheets below you. It wasn't like Levi was never rough but it felt so different this time.

"You know how much Hange's gonna annoy me later?" He grunted as he spread your thighs further so he could be right in between them.

"I-I.." You let out a choked moan, head swimming with drunken pleasure.

His fingers so tight around the back of your neck probably drawing blood but you couldn't even begin to care. His dick so deep you felt like it was actually in your stomach. With his free hand he pressed down on your stomach making everything feel so much more compressed.

"Scream my name louder Y/N." He said "I don't think anyone can hear just how good you're getting it."

A tremble rode down your spine as you cried out his name over the heavily shaking furniture beneath you. That all too familiar heat pooled in your stomach and you felt your eyes shutting. You pleaded and begged, pussy tightening like a vise dangerously tight around his cock.

He was keeping it in pretty well until that point. Every noise on his lips beginning to fall like a crashing crescendo. Your toes curled against the floor and your heart was practically beating out of your chest.

"L-Levi! Levi!" You cried out

His growl so close to your ear drum it had you practically weeping. "Come on babe, make the neighbors think I'm murdering you."

It hit you in more than one way and when you came it hit hard. Your back arching up into him, legs shaking but he was still holding your neck in place. You sobbed his name out, immediately feeling sensitive after your orgasm but he kept his pace up.

The combined noises of your skin slapping together and the gasps Levi couldn't keep hidden echoed over the smooth paint of your bedroom. His cock twitched inside of you, whimpers falling off your lips as you knew what was coming.

"Fff-uck I'm cumming." The hand that had been wrapped around your nape fell next to your face and now the sheets actually did rip.

You glanced back as his hard grey eyes rolled upwards. Face awestruck at just how white his lip was between his teeth. Hair shiny where it molded to his face thanks to the sweat. Levi groaned, huffing out breaths against your head.

His hips stuttering forward as he came, abs contracting and expanding on your back. The ache in both of you finally filled.

"Fuck." You moaned as the last of his cum fed your clenching hole.

You were almost glad when he pulled out. Your body flush with so much heat you could barely breathe. His hands came up to your waist flipping you around and at first it seemed innocent until he was pulling you to the foot of the bed. Legs forcibly opened as he unabashedly slid back inside.

"L-levi?" You couldn't help how greedy your moan was.

The way he was shoving his cock into your pussy coupled with his rough fingers massaging your clit. He pulled himself up closer to your face, hips so merciless and swift you could already feel yourself cumming again.

Your head fell back and you screamed in time with the bed angrily banging against the wall.

"Pl-please Leeevvvii." Tears streamed down your face but he ignored you.

His free hand ran over your face to press a sweet kiss onto your lips as he pressed impossibly deeper. Incoherent noises wrenching from your throat. His fingertips burned and you craved something anything to cool your skin.

Your fingernails dug long grooves into his back and he hissed in delight. With one swift motion he quickly had both of your knees bent into the bed sheets.

When he leaned in again your heart practically froze. "Don't. Ever. Touch. My. Phone. Again." He grunted between every thrust.

"N-never."

"Hange'll be blowing up my phone for different reasons now." Levi groaned "It's your f-ucking fault."

You screamed an apology when his teeth sunk into your sweat soaked skin. Toes clenching as Levi's name left your lips for probably the millionth time tonight.

"Mm soooooo sorry.." You moaned breathlessly

"Not yet you aren't." He muffled his own moan by kissing your ear and it went straight to your already sopping wet pussy.

You threw your head back as he surprisingly sped up, head completely empty as you clenched and came around his cock. Quickly coupled with his own loud orgasm his thighs shaking uncontrollably.

You let out what had to be all the oxygen currently in your lungs with a loud exhale. Both of you practically jumping out of your skin as the headboard clattered to the ground behind you. Though Levi's shaky form stayed pressed tight against your body.

"Levi.. I'm sorry." You quickly apologized again.

His eyes stayed dark and his lips were tugging into a thin line. "I'm not done yet."

A couple hard knocks coming from downstairs made you both turn your head. "Please don't let it be the cops again.." You sighed your head flopping back on the mattress.

#aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan levi #levi ackerman scenario #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi smut #levi aot #shingeki no kyoujin levi #levi ackerman #snk x reader

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honeyabyss · 3 years

Text

Mc falling asleep next to them

Lucifer:

he had been working nonstop for hours now and the pile of yet to be read and signed documents wasn't getting any smaller

you had been sitting in his study silently working on your own assignments, that was until you've finished them about an hour ago

pacing his room in boredom and looking at the stuff he keeps in his closets (mostly books, records and demonus)

"Could you stop wandering around, you're irritating me!" Lucifer is stressed, annoyed, etc and your sighs, constant footsteps and opening and closing of closet doors, didn't help him to concentrate

you could have left the room and found something else to do, but you were determined to spend some time with him, as the evening work hours are quite literally the only hours where you can be alone with him

so instead you seeked permission for putting on a record to have at least some entertainment, which was both a good and a bad choice at the same time

yes you had something to enjoy and relax to, but the relaxing part worked a little bit too well

after a good ten minutes you were sleeping peacefully, stretched out all over his sofa with no care in the world

"I'm going to take a small break and get some coffee. Do you want something as well?" Lucifer asked only to be met with silence, which he didn't appreciate

he was about scold you for being rude, when his gaze fell on your sleeping form and the words seemed stuck in his throat

how could you sleep so peacefully right next to one of the strongest demons of hell, he honestly didn't know if he was pleased you found comfort in his presence or if he should be annoyed that you don't take him serious enough

nonetheless you seemed to have a good sleep and as this is often near impossible in the House of Lamentation, he decided to let you sleep

he got himself his coffee and once back in his study he moved his workplace to the small coffee table and took a seat next to you on the sofa

he adjusted your form so you weren't hanging half of the edge and put his coat over your sleeping form for some warmth

"Foolish little lamb, letting your guard down in a house of wolves, good thing I'm here to protect you..."

Mammon:

"And then I, the Great Mammon, made an action movie worthy escape and totally didn't run away in a panic, because Lucifer was chasing me..."

he had been telling you how exactly he got into the situation of hanging from the ceiling once again, as you've tried as careful as possible to cut him free, which was harder then expected with the way he kept moving around

once finally free, he dropped onto the ground, whining about the rope burns he got basically all over his body, though demons heal quicker, it still wasn't a nice feeling

with a sigh you offered him your hand and pulled him up and away to your room to give him some of the salve Satan had made you the last time you had accidentally cut yourself while cooking

you sat a flustered Mammon onto your bed while you went ahead and searched through your bathroom cabinets that were filled with products Asmo had gifted you, when you finally found it you asked Mammon to hold still while you put some salve onto his burned skin

"W-what?! N-no way! I don't need your help, I can do that on my own!" and with that Mammon stormed away with your salve and locked himself into your bathroom

you knew better then to argue at this point, Mammon would do what Mammon wants to do...until he fails and seeks protection behind your back...

be it because he is embarrassed, doesn't know how to open the salve tube, or because there were so many rope burns...but Mammon took quite long to apply the crème, leaving you to wait for him for at least half an hour now

helping out Mammon can become quite tiring, not that you mind helping him or don't like being around him, but a nap sounds nice right now

and so you lay down in your bed, it is after all your room, and just because Mammon is currently camping out in your bathroom, doesn't mean that you can't take a nap

Mammon comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he probably needed a few more minutes to build up courage to face and thank you, but he is met with the sight of you sleeping on your bed

Mammons brain is working overdrive, trying to figure out if he should leave the room quietly, wake you up or stay and watch over you...then again he doesn't want to be seen as a creep by you, but he can't deny that he would like to stay with you

he carefully climbs into bed and pushes you a bit further in so you sleep on the wall side and don't fall off in case you move, it takes five more minutes until Mammon risks putting his arm around you all while holding his breath in anticipation of your rejection, when none comes he settles a little closer to you and falls asleep as well

"Don't worry my human, the Great Mammon is gonna keep you warm and protected in your sleep!"

Bonus: even though you two fall asleep next to each other with only Mammons arm wrapped around you, expect him to wake up on top of you holding you like your his pillow

Leviathan:

it was 5am and Levi and you were currently waiting in line in front of a shop to get your hands on a new limited edition Ruri-Chan figurine

surprisingly enough even though you turned up quite early, there were a good amount of people in front of you

the shop would only open a 9am so you still had a long time to queue in the coldness of the devildom morning

"Ah that is not fair! We planned everything so carefully, it was the perfect timing, why aren't we first in line?" Levi complained while standing on his tiptoes to be able to see and count the demons in front of him, coming to the conclusion that if everyone were to buy one figurine he'd still be able to buy one for himself...and whatever you might want

you weren't the happiest when he told you about his plan a few weeks prior and getting woken up this early you might have been a little slower than usual in getting yourself ready, now that you were here you couldn't help but feel a little guilty

you tried to cheer Levi up with the argument that if you were longer in line that also meant you could spend more time together, which resulted in Levi turning into a blushing but happy mess

you put down the blanket you've brought and made yourself comfortable on it, Levi joining you but looking a bit stiff from the closeness

you ate a breakfast consisting out of sandwiches made with whatever was left after Beels midnight snack, which wasn't much but better than nothing

afterwards as there was still a lot of time to pass you started to play some games on his Switch, trying to stay awake

the emphasis lies on 'trying', because after 2 hours or so you start to fall asleep, eyelids and limbs heavy, you don't have the energy left in you to fight the sleep and so you nod off, your head falling onto Levis shoulder who had been inching closer over the period of time...to be able to better see the Switch display not to be closer to you...

Levi.exe has stopped working

there he sits red as a tomato with Mc sleeping on his shoulder, the queue in front of him starts to pack up and move as the shop gets ready to open up, his Switch display is showing the game over screen, his mind feels fogged over and he has no idea how to react now

Mc just fell asleep and Levi feels guilty to wake them...but they have to move...

"H-hey Mc? T-the line i-is moving? Wake up....please..." his attempts are way to quiet for you to hear and even as he gently shakes your shoulder you do not wake, leaving Levi quiet in a dilemma

"N-no other choice..." he says as he packs up the stuff alone, leaving only you sitting on the cold floor...he can't just leave you here..

Levi turns into his demon form, his hands shaking and eyes flitting across your from and over the crowd of other demons, before he carefully lifts you into his arm, his tail wrapping around you as well for more stabilization, so he has one hand free to carry his shopping bag later

he never bought something faster than that day, he got his figurine and even bought you some anime merch he knew you had stated to like, all while feeling like he was running the worst fever of his life and receiving stares, giggles and smug smiles from way too may people, that was enough attention for at least a century for Levi...but he did like holding you in his arms

"This is not fair! I have to deal with all the embarrassment while you sleep...but I guess it's okay if it's for you..."

Satan:

Satans last anger fit had caused way more damage than usually, it had taken place in the library when Mammon had tried to steal a very rare book about spells, to sell it after he found out how rare it actually is...now that lead to Satan throwing down and emptying almost all bookshelves and kicking Mammon through the room

While Mammon was strung upside down from the ceiling, Satan was forced to clean up the library alone, but you had pity on him as there were quite a lot to clean up, if Lucifer doesn't find out you helped there will be no consequences

Satans opinion about you helping was split, first of all he was really thankful for the help even though he was at fault for the chaos, having to clean up all alone was a bit much, but on second thought Satan was worried that you tried to go against Lucifers orders, he's proud of you for defying his eldest brother but also feels like it's a stupid idea

but you have made your mind up and so while Satan repairs and stands up the shelves, you begin to put the books in, you might not know the exact way they stood like Satan, but for now getting them off the floor is the priority

there aren't many words spoken as you silently work away, only once in a while you point out a book which got a bit more damage, the cover hanging off loosely or a few pages ripped out, you two decide depending on the damage if it can be fixed or not

every now and then Satan asks you to hold a piece of a shelf together while he fixes it, he is surprisingly fast and knows exactly how to repair it...just as if he had to do it more than once in a while...

"Oh Mc? Can you give me the screwdriver? No no that one, the one with the cross head is what I need..." you had no idea there were so many different tools, and wouldn't be the slotted one sufficient if you just angled it right? Satan just laughs and let's you try it for yourself, only for you to fail, he then shows you how to do it correctly guiding you through fixing your first shelf

"The last shelf is standing again, I'll help you with the book now." Satan pointed out, a small ray of hope now that only the books were left, you didn't reply, which honestly wasn't really necessary, but a small affirming noise would have been nice, so Satan tries to keep the 'conversation' going, while he works on the books with his back turned to you

"...you're still ignoring me? Are you angry at me for making such a mess? You know you didn't have to help...you can go, no need to act like all high and mighty!" he was getting angry again, yes he did make a mess, but he didn't do anything to you! Had he? He couldn't remember, but humans might interpret actions and words differently…he didn't want you to be mad at him, and neither did he want to get angry at you, but with you ignoring him it became quite difficult to keep his voice low

having enough and wanting to make up before it gets worse, he makes his way over to you, who was leaning against a shelf with a book in your hand

as he sits down next to you and turns your body to him through a guiding hand on your shoulder, he startles, you fell asleep in a sitting position? That sounds more like something Belphie would do...Isn't that uncomfortable?

You must have been exhausted after filling up three shelves of books and fell asleep midway on your fourth shelf, Satan chuckles amused and relieved you aren't mad at him but simply sleeping

He picks you up and brings you to your room where he lies you down in your bed, covering you with the blanket and hesitantly stroking your hair before going back to cleaning up the library

"Thank you for being so patient with me and helping me! You can rest now and I'll make it up to you later!"

Bonus: he will most definitely take you out on a date of your choice, even if he doesn't enjoy the idea as much as you

Asmodeus:

Asmo had taken you out shopping, as he claimed his wardrobe was not having the right clothes anymore so he had to get new ones fast

he had dragged you through town for the whole day and you two only returned home late in the afternoon, you completely exhausted and ready to drop in your bed, while Asmo while being slightly tired, still insisted on putting on all the clothes and showing them off to you and his followers on Devilgram

he entrusted you with his D.D.D to take some nice amazing shots of him to gain even more followers, though that seemed impossible as it already felt as if the whole population of hell was already subscribed to his account

but as long as all you had to do was hold the D.D.D up and click the screen for a picture, you were fine, you sat down on Asmos bed trying not to disturb the bags of clothes that lay there as well

Asmos screen lit up nearly every few seconds with a new message, how did this man not get crazy with all the message?! And he must check them all, because whenever you write him, he is on and writing back instantly...maybe you should steal his D.D.D from time to time to get him away from it...

While Asmo was changing into new clothes in the bathroom, you could hear him humming a happy tune, clearly in his element and enjoying his time, which made you happy as well, but the exhaustion was still plaguing you and the bed felt unbelievably comfy and on top of that the humming of Asmo was slowly lulling you into sleep

"Oooh Mc~ I especially like this top! Just look how nicely it fits, it shows of my best parts, which are all of me haha...hey Mc?~ Look at me!" Asmo pouted as you stayed put on his bed, and climbed over your form, already expecting you to start pushing him off, only to get concerned when you don't

then he sees your eyes are closed and you seem to be peacefully asleep, he instantly coos at your sweet sleeping expression, the back of his hand caresses you cheeks softly, but you don't react much besides moving a bit into am ore comfy position

Asmo backs off and begins to put down his bags, then he tucks you under his covers and climbs right in with you, pulling you close so that you lie on his chest, his arms encircling you to keep you put

the pictures for Devilgram are forgotten for now, they're not running away anyway, you two can continue another time, but for a beauty nap sounds good

"Oh Mc! You look so cute when you're sleeping...next time tell me you need a break, I'm happy to cuddle you while you're recovering!"

Beelzebub:

you had decided to stay a bit longer at RAD today, because you still had something to discuss with one of the teacher, as well as doing some research for an essay that was due next week

most of the brothers had already left for home or different work related activities, except Beel who had Fangol practice today after school, and as you were not allowed to walk around the Devildom without someone accompanying you for protection, all that was left for you was to wait for Beel to finish his practice, which usually took place for about two hours

you sat down on one of the benches at the side of the field, waving to Beel so he knew you where you were and could keep an eye on you

you worked away on your homework and checked you D.D.D from time to time replying to all the messages you got

the practice seemed to be still not finished even after two hours had passed and you were getting a bit tired from sitting around, but you also couldn't just wander off, Beel might start worry...plus the risk of running into a less friendly demon was still a thing

so you shifted from one position into another not really being able to get comfortable on the hard wooden bench

the ground seemed to be comfier with every minute passing, and so you lay down ignoring the weird looks of the team and trainers, you're body simply wasn't made to sit on this bench longer than necessary

"Here you can wrap yourself in this...it's getting cold. Training is almost over, just hold out a few more minutes!" Beel came over and gave you his jacket and you quickly put it on revelling in his warmth

but here is the problem the jacket made you feel so comfortable that you fell asleep, right on the floor next to a few dozen demons

"We're finished! I'm hungry, let's go get something to eat, any wishes what you want?" Beel was packing his stuff and rambling on about how he could eat at least one year worth of food, training having starved him quite a lot

but when you didn't respond he grew worried and kneeled down next to you, gently resting his hand on your side, he simply laughed when he saw you fell asleep, he is used to it due to Belphie, so he carefully picks you up and carries you home, deciding to order food once there

just Beel giving you a piggy back home, softly smiling to himself and being happy you've come to be so at ease around demons..still at bit worried, but he'll protect you, no worries

"I'll stay by your side until you wake up...and then we can eat lots of good food...please just don't sleep too long or I might have to eat before you wake up."

Belphegor:

so there he was, sleeping, on your bed, in your room, without an invitation...and honestly it wasn't even a surprise anymore, coming home after a work shift at Hell's Kitchen and just wanting to sleep, but no there was no space for you on the bed

I have no idea how, but he manages to occupy the whole bed, and hog blanket and pillows to himself as well

if only he was easy to wake, just to tell him to move over, but no he wouldn't wake up unless you pulled the big guns and nobody wants to face the consequences after one dumped water bottle on his head, it would be a hundred times easier and less dangerous to wake Satan

but you were really tired and just wanted to cuddle into your bed, maybe you could maneuver him with a bit strength..actually forget that...you could always call Beel for help to carry him to his own bed, but by the way he was clinging to your blanket and pillows, that would only end in a empty mattress to sleep on and then you would get cold...

honestly it was his own fault at this point you had threatened him to do it, but he had just laughed it off...

and so you climbed into bed and lay down on top of him, wrapping your arms around him so that you would get at least his body warmth if not the blanket

to your surprise he didn't wake up and he was really comfy, his rhythmic breathing was really relaxing and it didn't take you long to fall asleep

after some time Belphie wakes up with you wrapped around him, he quickly realises that you're asleep, but is stunned nonetheless that you would actually have the guts to sleep on top of him with the risk of waking him up in a bad mood

"That's quite bold of you! You didn't think I will let that slip though, right?" he chuckles amused but shifts nonetheless to make room for you, his embrace is tight, and he hopes just a little bit that you wake up, so he can tease you, but you stay asleep looking content with your new position

"I suppose I could go for another nap...now that I have my favourite pillow with me, sleeping will be even better!" he cuddles you, just like the blanket and pillows...which you don't get any of by the way, but you get Belphie so that's even better, he's gonna keep you warm, don't worry

"You're such a odd human...no idea why I like you...anyway just stay here in my arms and sleep!"

Diavolo:

yesterday was amazing, Dia had taken you to a trip in the human world and you had showed him around, visiting as many places as you two could

what you didn't know was that he had actually sneaked out of the castle to spend time with you

well you didn't know until a very angry Barbatos opened a portal right in front of you two and started lecturing Dia for at least one hour

you felt a bit guilty that you were the indirect cause of this and quickly apologised to him promising to make it up

so here you were in Dias office, overseeing him to do his work so he couldn't sneak out again and Barb didn't have to find him

after all if the reason for sneaking out was right in his room then he had no reason to go, besides the intimidating amount of work left on his desk after yesterdays excurse

Dia worked concentrated for most of the time, only now and then staring out of the window or talking to you

"Isn't it boring to watch me work? I can work alone, I promise to run away...or else Barbatos might get a heart attack from shock of seeing me gone again" he chuckled while signing another document

you reassured you didn't mind sitting next to him in silence, you had a good book borrowed from Satan, tea and cookies from Barbatos and you could stare at Diavolo all day long

your last statement made Dia flush red quite quickly and he tried to distract himself with his work, he slouched over in his chair trying to escape your gaze, but you were having none of it

your arms snaked around his waist and your head came to lean on his shoulder, Dia stiffened not sure how to react he liked the feeling of you hugging him, but now he was scared to move too much as not to disturb you or accidentally hit you with his elbow while trying to write

after a few more documents his eyes flit over to your face, cheek squished against his shoulder, eyes closed and breathing calmly

"Mc? Are.. are you sleeping?" he is whispering trying not to be too loud in case you are truly sleeping, and that you are! A soft smile graces his lips, nobody was ever this relaxed around him, he is proud and wants you to stay asleep as long as possible

he keeps working until Barbatos knocks on the door, coming in and announcing to have brought more tea, only to stop when he sees the sight in front him, Mc holding onto Dia, head resting on his shoulder and sleeping, while Dia put his finger to his lips to tell him not to be too loud

you sleep for an hour or so until Dia really has to move, apologising multiple times for having to wake you

"I'm glad you're able to relax around me, please continue to be yourself! My shoulder is always there for you to nap!"

Barbatos:

"You liked the cake that much? I'm flattered! I could teach you how to make it if you'd like?"

you had been over for tea at the castle and the chocolate cake with black-as-hell cherries was the best cake you've ever ate, it was bittersweet in taste not too much sweetness and not too much bitterness, paired with the melting chocolate, you could have eaten the whole cake on your own

you doubt you'd be able to get the same ingredients in the human realm but maybe you could find similar ones, so you were more than willing to learn with Barbatos

and so you arranged to meet the next Sunday afternoon for a baking session

Barb let you into the castle already awaiting you at the door even though you were early

you two worked on the cake, Barb explaining each step carefully, even for the easiest steps he takes his time to explain and help you, being very patient with you no matter how much you screw up

"Next we have to melt the chocolate in a pot. Wait a minute I turn on the stove for you" while you put the chocolate pieces into a pot, Barb moves behind you and turns on the stove, his arms brushing your sides, yet he stays fully focused, what can't be said for you

the cake is put together quickly with you two working together and while it bakes in the oven and the chocolate is meting, you two go ahead and start cutting and coring the rest of the cherries to decorate the cake later

"Here have a taste, they're bitter at first but the aftertaste is nicely sweet!" He holds out a cored cherry for you to taste and eats one himself, smiling gently at you while you sniff at the fruit first, which smells exactly like a normal human world cherry

the only thing left to do is wait for the cake so you two sit down for some tea at a small table in the kitchen, talking about the week, when Diavolo calls for Barb and he quickly excuses himself to help the prince out

the sweet aroma of the baking cake, the warmth of the tea and the very comfy chair you're sitting in, are a dangerous combination making you fall asleep

as Barb returns he sees you with your head lying on your folded arms on the table, clearly asleep, Barb decides to eave you there while cleans the kitchen and checks on the cake half an hour later

"Mc? The cake is ready to be decorated do you want sleep or do you want to help me?" somewhat embarrassed you stand up and help him with the decorations , Barb acts if nothing happened but he can't help but think about your gentle expression while you slept

"Next time I'll let you sleep longer... I wouldn't mind if you visited me for your naps if that meant I could see you more often."

Solomon:

learning magic was many things: exciting, frustrating, dangerous, fun...but sometimes it also was unbelievable boring

like when you think about magic, you think about casting charms, curses, making potions and all that stuff, but nobody told you that beforehand you have to learn everything about the new spell or etc in theory!

so here you were sitting with Solomon as he rambled on about how while the shrinking charm could have really bad side effects if casted wrong, sure it was important to know how to cast it correctly but did you really have to listen on to everything that might go wrong?

listening to all this just make you feel less confident, I mean technically you were practicing with a tea cup to shrink, so shrinking only a part of it wouldn't be too bad of a side effect, but what if you used too much pressure and made the cup explode and you'd hurt Solomon in the process?!

You took a deep breath, which made Solomon stop talking as he looked at you questioningly

"Anything wrong? Already giving up? Is it toom much?" his light teasing was meant to make you relax, but all you could do was give a small, stiff smile, signalling for him to continue and he did, after messing up your hair with his hand giving you a huge grin, but he talked slower now giving you more glances to make sure you were still alright

"How about a small break? I'll make us some tea..." he stood up and made some tea...in a beaker over a Bunsen burner..this weirdo..

the tea didn't taste weird though, it was just normal tea, even though the preparation would have made Barbatos get a stroke

after the break he was back to full tutor mode and your concentration slipped with each new word, until your head falls down, your chin resting on your chest comfortably, you had fallen asleep right before him

Solomon notices instantly that you're asleep and starts laughing so loud that you wake up again, he is crying and gasping for breath at your flustered state and you hit for good measurement on the arm

"Am I that boring? Fine if you're tired you can rest on my bed. I'll read you a bedtime spell book..." he doesn't stop laughing and teases you endlessly, you better be on your toes around him, you won't be hearing the end of this

"Hey sleepyhead? Do you want me to read you into boredom? I won't take pictures of your sleeping and drooling self...No promises made though..."

Simeon:

He was staring blankly at his manuscript, writers block had been plaguing him for quite some while now, but the new chapter had to be sent to the company until next week

you had offered to help him out maybe you could give him some ideas, so he invited you over and let you read the latest chapter so you'd know what had happened

you sat in his room brainstorming ideas on a small extra sheet trying your best to help Simeon out who looked quite lost

"Do you think that would work? Doesn't if feel a bit too rushed? But maybe if we combined these two ideas together..." he seemed to had found something and began to roughly write up a plan for his further writings

he continuously asked you questions about the smallest details, it was kind of cute that he relied so much on you, he probably could have done the rest himself as well, yet he kept involving you into the whole process

while his one hand scribbled like a madman, his other rested on your arm occasionally lightly squeezing it, reminding you that he didn't forget about you

you slowly fell asleep, the sounds of each others breathing, the pen scratching over paper and the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall, the inly sounds to be heard

"What about this part? How do you think it could go from here?...Mc?" he wasted no time in making sure you were lying comfortably, putting his cloak over your form and still squeezing your arm from time to time while he continued to write late into the night

only then did he notice, the brothers might worry about your absence, should he wake and bring you home? or should he let you sleep here and inform Lucifer about your safety? but the sofa you were currently sitting on, would make your back hurt if you continued to sleep here

it took him some time debating with himself, but came to the conclusion to carry you to his bed and tuck you in, giving you a forehead kiss like he was used to with Luke, only to realise what he'd done and quickly scrambling away in embarrassment to give Lucifer a quick call about the situation

"Have sweet dreams my lamb! I'll be guarding you in any realm, even the dream realm!"

Luke:

Luke, Simeon and you were having a small movie evening, watching some old Disney movies

Simeon didn't allow you to watch something else to protect Luke, but you didn't mind too much

you were having some freshly made desserts by Luke who had worked on them the whole day, as he was very excited for your meetup

you watched a few movies, talking, laughing and joking together, just having fun

"Huh? They called the mean cat Lucifer? Hahah how fitting, he kind of even looks like the real Lucifer! Ah, don't tell him that though!" Luke really liked to compare the different characters to the people he knows, but when there actually were a cat called Lucifer he was quite surprised...who would want their cute pet to be called like a demon? Why not call them angel names? Michael is a pretty cool name...

over the time you became more and more tired and Simeon seemed to notice, suggesting on stopping for today and continuing another time, but Luke convinced you two of one more movie

unfortunately you didn't last the final movie and fell asleep cuddled underneath the blanket between Simeon and Luke

Luke took some time to notice, only seeing it when he turned to you wanting to tell you his opinion about the last scene

"Oh! Simeon... Mc fell asleep..." Simeon already knew, as you had fallen onto his shoulder, not that he minded, he just told Luke to stay quiet and watch the rest of the movie

Luke cuddled up to you to keep you warm and occasionally glanced at you to make sure you were okay, and there cuddled next to you he as well fell asleep...trapping Simeon underneath your combined weight, making it impossible for Simeon to get out of the bed, so you three just slept together that night

"Don't worry Mc! I'll keep all demons away from you while you sleep!"

#obey me headcanons #obey me #swd obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me shall we date #headcanon

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