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ysrjune · 1 day

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sam monroe smut with chubby reader🙏 PLEASE

She hates her weight but sam loves it and one day she’s crying because of a remark smby made and he comforts her :’)

Sam held you in his arms while you cried about something some girl said about your weight at school earlier. “Come on, beautiful, stop crying. You shouldn’t care about what that bitch has to say about you, she’s just mad she’s not as gorgeous as you.” He tried comforting you while rubbing your arm.

“But she’s right!” you continue to sob. “I try so hard to feel good about my body and stuff, but people just keep on commenting on it.” Sam could break into tears hearing his sweet girl talk bad about herself. He hated hearing about how much you hated your body because he loved it. He loved resting his hand on your tummy. He loved to squeeze your rolls.

To him, all that wasn't disgusting at all. He loved his chubby girl. The way your cheeks were so full, too, melted his heart. Especially when you'd smile. “Well, I don't think anything negative about your body. God, your body is literally worth worshipping, baby.” His hand trailed down to your plushy thighs.

You knew that. You knew Sam was obsessed with not just your body, but everything else about you. Even before you two were dating, he never made a negative comment about your weight. That was one of the reasons you started liking him in the first place. Every other guy you were friends with before Sam would say something atleast once about your body.

“That's real sweet of you, Sam, but I don't think so.” You hold his hand, sniffling. Your boyfriend shakes his head and forces you to lay on him. “Nah, I mean it. Just cause you have a tummy and a couple of rolls doesn't make you any less attractive, angel face.” He kissed your forehead and sat up against the headboard so that you were sitting on him properly.

“So cute, could just eat you up.” He quickly states and started sucking on your neck, leaving small kisses as well. “Sam—” You giggled at the sensation of his lips on your neck. “Stop, that tickles,” You try pushing his face awah from you, but he wouldn't budge. He did stop eventually, thank goodness. You look at your phone to open the camera to see how many hickeys he had left.

“4? Really, Sam?” You give him an unamused look even though you thought it was kinda funny. “You don't get it, huh?” His hand went down to your breast, holding onto it gently. “Just cause a couple of people tell you things about your body doesn't mean others don't find you attractive. I've seen a couple dorks check you out. Even when you're with me.” He rolled his eyes at the memory of it.

“Starin’ at your ass and thighs.” He says as both his hands travel to your ass. “‘least they know they can't have what's already mine.” He smirked, giving your ass a squeeze. “Ugh, you're such a pervert.” You reply playfully but also gently, slapping him. “Yeah, you like it, though. First time we fucked was because I was being a pervert and it turned you on.” He reminds you, sliding down your shorts.

“That didn't mean anything..” You blush at a little bit, feeling the way his fingers hooked onto the hem of your shorts to pull them down. “Then what's happening right now? Are you sure you're not already soaked by me doing the bare minimum?” He whispers, looking up to you with those pretty blue eyes that were smudged with eyeliner.

You didn't want to answer that. He already knew it, so why is he asking? How could someone not get so turned on by a hot emo guy. Especially one that knows how to use his dick. He wasn't just good at using that, though. His fingers and his mouth were great, too.

Though, at first, he wasn't exactly as good as he is now. The first time he fingered you, he had no idea what he was doing. The first time he ate you out? He didn't know lots about that either despite all the porn he watched. It took him a couple times to get it all right, and by the 4th time he tried fingering/eating you out, he was real good at it.

The first time he stuck his dick in you, he came almost immediately and was so embarrassed about it, but that didn't stop him from continuing to thrust in and out of you. You wouldn't ever forget that moment cause once he came, he made the cutest little whimper ever. His face was flushed, and his eyebrows were pinched together, moaning and panting.

That was the first time he ever had sex, too. It felt so good, he didn't wanna stop even after cumming 3 more times. He was also just so obsessed with the wet noises your pussy would make with every thrust. Every moan you let out gave him less reason to stop.

“What, cat got your tongue? Can't tell me that your panties and practically stuck to that pretty pussy?” He snaps you out of your trance. “Mm, no.. was just thinking.”, “About what?” By this time, he already had you in only your bra and underwear, taking in the sight before him.

“The first time we fucked..” You admit to him, feeling his boner. “Fuck, you had me feelin’ so good that night, princess.” You help him out of his shorts, revealing his hard cock since he had no boxers on underneath. You rubbed the tip, making his hips jerk up a little bit. “Moaning your name like a little bitch ‘n shit.” He moved his hips against your fingers.

He shifted himself to where his dick met the fabric of your panties. Sam started thrusting against them, letting out small moans. “Please let me feel like that again, babe. please please please let me fuck you. I've been waiting so damn long.” It had been almost a month since you've had sex with him.

You thought of riding him so you could see his pretty face get all scrunched up when hes about to cum, but you remembered how much of a thing he had for you arching your back for him. “Should blow my back out.” You kiss his cheeks while he still thrusted against your clothed clit. “Mm, I'd love that.”

So, here you were. Moaning out his name into a pillow, but also hearing those cute noises of his. “Shit, shit, shit,” He moaned, smacking your ass and watching it jiggle with every thrust he made. “Yeah, mhm, you're so pretty, sweet girl. Mm, could do this forever.” He suddenly flipped you around and placed his hand on your tummy.

“You're so soft, oh my God.” He squeezed it a little, then moved his hand to your puffy cheeks. “So pretty,” He whimpered, letting you know he was close. “Uh—fuck. ‘m so close. Oh, you're so good.”, “So. Fucking. Good.” He thrusted with every word.

“Sam, Im gonna cum!” You hold onto his arm. “Gonna cum? So do it then, baby. Cum all over my cock, beautiful. Can do it, come on.” He led you on until he felt you tighten around him and release yourself onto his dick. It took him a few more thrusts to cum, but once he did, he pulled out and lay on you, hands grabbing onto your titties.

“Fuck, princess.” He panted and slid down to kiss your tummy, thighs, and everywhere that you were insecure. “Don't ever call yourself unattractive. I'd rather have my cuddly, chubby girlfriend than any other girl.”

Your boyfriend was truly the sweetest.

#hayden christensen #sam monroe #life as a house #sam monroe x you #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe drabble #sam monroe fanfiction #sam monroe smut #sam monroe imagine #sam monroe x chubby!girlfriend

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hitlikehammers · 2 days

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recovering!Eddie Needs Help With The Whole Showering Thing💦

Good thing Steve's there to help give Eddie a goddamn stroke at the idea of being naked in front of him? help him, huh?

or: put-up-or-shut-up time, Edward Munson

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< one: drink 🧊

🧼 two: wash 🫧🚿

“You’ve basically got two choices, man.”

Eddie folds his lips over on themselves, mashes them together until it fucking hurts, might put the last of the stitches in the gouge out of the left side out of their misery early and pop them clean out of the skin for the force of his, his…

“Pout all you like, dude, they’re not changing.”

He is not. Fucking. Pouting.

He is a grown goddamn man.

“I reject your binary options, Steven,” Eddie volleys, because he’s not pouting, he is applying logic to an honestly-offensively illogical proposal like a mature adult; he is rightly pushing back against two unacceptable options when another has to exist, obviously, because the ones presented are impossible and so there must be a possible one he hasn’t found yet. One that’s just hiding from him. Sneaky.

“Reject all you want, man,” Steve scoffs, and leans back with arms crossed over his chest, stretching his sweater across the expanse and that right there is why there has to be a secret hidden third option waiting for him somewhere, Jesus H. fucking Christ: “they’re not going to change.”

Eddie blinks probably too long, too many times; is quiet for the whole span of moments before he decides deflection is really his only way forward, here.

“You’re very cruel sometimes,” he laments with the best sigh he can heave with the remaining stitches in him; “leaves me positively despairing, almost.”

And it was a good, solid, drawn-out sigh, that he heaved, just for the record. Because there are fewer stitches holding him together today than there were yesterday, and fewer yesterday than last week, and it’s progress, there is so much progress—

It’s just that progress is a very big reason for why he has this particular goddamn problem right now.

To set the stage: he’s been home for almost a week. The freedom is glorious. The new trailer the Feds set them up with is a little bigger, close enough layout though to still feel like home. His room is almost suspiciously similar given that 98% of his belongings were collateral damage or in government lockup. Certain questions Steve had asked him over the past weeks make a little more sense; the main orchestrator of the set up likewise clear on context. Eddie is warm with it every time he thinks about it. Which is whenever he’s in his room. And whenever he sees Steve.

Which is probably the main thing to add, for context: Eddie had been grateful as fuck for Steve while he was in the hospital, the man rarely leaving his side, usually just to check on Max who, while not yet awake, was making progress in healing and Eleven—who Eddie’s finally met now and kind of fucking adores—thinks she finally understands what’s blocking her ability to reach Red, meaning she can work on obliterating it: all good signs. And if Steve’s abounded presence did absolutely fuck all for Eddie’s old and apparently latent crush on the asshole jock-king from high school, flamed into kind of a fucking inferno over the course of spring break—if Steve’s steadfast presence and tireless attention to Eddie’s needs in the hospital had only managed to tame it into some kind of big and bright and undying eternal fucking flame—and that’d be a good song title, he needs to remember that—but if that was the payoff, as it were?

The burn of it—incredible and unbearable alike—was kind of almost secondary to the mixed emotions Eddie was having over leaving the hospital and losing this; losing Steve.

Except—and here’s the fucking kicker—he doesn’t. He doesn’t…lose Steve. Like, not at all.

Sure, maybe Steve goes home more, like, touches base at his own house, and he pops to the hospital where Eddie currently isn’t anymore to check on Max, but on the flipside Eddie is awake more and so he gets to soak up all the time Steve is here, in the trailer, next to Eddie, breathing air in the same space, breathing the same air as Eddie and, and, and—

“Look,” Steve’s sighing, slapping his thighs—such fucking distracting thighs—and leaning in pointedly on his palms; “Wayne’s pulling the night shift,” he nods at Eddie’s little TV tray with the crust of half a grilled cheese and a little cup of his medications; “you take your pills, you’ll sleep until after he’s turned in,” then Steve leans back, lifts a finger demonstratively: “so there’s another day.”

Eddie pouts, now, sees where this is going.

“Wayne might be pulling night shifts all week, in fact,” Steve adds, another finger pointed upward, counting in the air.

Eddie doesn’t nibble his cold crust petulantly or anything. Like, he does nibble. And it is cold.

But petulant; him?!

Never.

“The nurse isn’t due by until Thursday,”and Steve pauses before arching his brow even higher; “afternoon,” and he raises two fingers for that and Eddie’s got enough presence of mind to shoot back, even if it’s muffled, bread still in his mouth:

“You saying I smell?”

Steve’s eyeroll is such a fucking impressive feat it should be, like, an Olympic sport. But it’s probably too arousing for national television, so. Shit, that wouldn’t work.

“I am saying,” Steve draws out the word obnoxiously and why is that attractive, good fucking god: “you’re itching places you’re not even fucking stitched up,” he pokes at Eddie unapologetically in a safe place on his still-fairly-bandaged body and Eddie jumps harder than he should, but makes sure he grins for it, that he doesn’t play up the annoyance or the shock because one, Steve’s eyes go wide and incredulous and kinda fucking scared, like he knows he didn’t touch anything healing or tender, because Eddie’s thinks Steve knows his wounds mapped out so goddamn well he could draw them out blind and he didn’t touch anything bad actually, and that brings up two, which is: Eddie didn’t even have to exaggerate his reaction; he hasn’t been touched playfully in so long and he didn’t realize how much he missed it, how much his body missed it and he’s also kind of fucking thrilled it’s Steve, who broke the sad little standstill—Eddie makes sure to laugh a little and it’s not fucking hard once he starts because the way the tension melts off Steve in a huff is a shot of adrenaline, a hit of dopamine, a bubble of joy stretched to bursting and then fucking popping to spill warm and gooey in Eddie’s chest and he—

What the fuck is happening to him?

But then Steve’s poking him again and he twitches for it and just laughs more because fuck he missed that but also fuck he wants this to mean something and it’s wild and insane and he kind of doesn’t know what to do with it at all when Steve leans in and whispers slyly:

“So I am guessing you’d feel better with a shower.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not a lie but when he says it, particularly paired up with how he says it?

How the fuck can blood run hot and cold all at once?

Because Eddie does want a fucking shower, so he doesn’t feel fucking gross. And Eddie knows he needs help: moving like that, reaching what needs reached, and fuck all, but avoiding all the bandages, for fuck’s sake—but.

But: there’s this line, newly discovered beyond theory for one Eddie Munson, that divides an idle crush from an active wanting; that separates your fantasy jerk-off material from something that sits and grows branches and roots, heavy and tight and real in your chest.

Basically: there’s a difference between imagining what sucking pretty boy asshole King Steve off in the locker rooms might be like and coming hard in the privacy of your own bed for the gorgeous absurd impossibility of it, and the genuine article, not a king but something worse, something more like, like a benevolent god for how he speaks, how he touches, tends to Eddie so careful but sure, so goddamn competent and beautiful, dear god, he’s so much more breathtaking up close, but it’s not even that, it’s not even that, or well, it’s that, but it’s so much more than high-school-distanced-Eddie could have guessed even in his quickest, most satisfying jack-sessions, because Steve as a human being?

Fucking…captivating.

Funny. Bitchy. Cares so goddamn much it makes his heart crack wide to see it, let alone be the focus of it but then he’s so strung tight, so anxious with frontline reflexes that shatter that cracked heart and let it bleed with the desperate fucking need to care for him in kind but somehow tenfold but then you’ll always fail because this level of compassion and just, just this pure kind of love, how can anyone match it, which is where Steve has to land in benevolent god territory, some ineffable chaotic good, and Eddie—

Well. Yeah.

Of course, Eddie’s quiet for the whole of running this through his head and Steve’s taken the entry to care some more and cross over to Eddie, move his tray and hold out his hands expectantly. Like Eddie’s got a choice in the clear intention Steve has to…haul him to his feet?

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

And oh, wow, good thing Eddie's not actively dying anymore, because his heart goddamn stops for that, no getting around it for the way it bangs upon restarting; and if he'd still been half-dead regarding the rest of his body, that'd probably have done him in because Jesus flying fuck.

So it’s: haul him to his feet and drag him to the shower. Which he does, so careful but so precise, when Eddie’s mind blanks out and loses the window available to protest by way of stunned silence, which continues all the way to the bathroom where Steve lowers him to the closed toilet lid, again so careful, and goes to work.

Readying a shower. Eddie’s shower.

Which he needs help with. Lots of help.

While he’s, as indicated clearly: fucking bare ass naked.

And not even just in front of Steve, no, nope. Not that that wouldn’t be bad enough. But this?

This is him actively needing Steve’s help. Like…hands-on help.

Eddie thinks his heart’s about ready to crash into his chest wall for the reckless speed it’s taken to racing at because, just…

Holy fucking hell.

“Skipping gym class may have done half the work of failing your ass, but it’s not like you never showed,” Steve points out, still unbothered, so, so fucking unbothered when Eddie’s over here with palms sweaty enough to leave wet-marks on his sweats; “you came into the showers,” Steve barrels on as he moves the bottles of shampoo and the bar of soap out of the way for Eddie to maneuver in, with help, with Steve’s help;

“More than once,” Steve tacks on and Eddie has to blink, has to refocus on what they fuck was being said: he came into the showers. More than once.

Right.

“Wow, thanks for noticing,” Eddie quips, or tries to; it falls fucking flat, and for the way Steve stills, and then sighs with, like, the whole of him, it’s obvious he missed his mark.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, and pulls away from where he’d been learning to start the water, to warm it up right.

“Look,” Eddie breathes out shaky, because fucking hell; “it’s not like…that. It’s not the same.”

Steve stills, and doesn’t know what to expect of the way he freezes, back to Eddie but his muscles going tight beneath his shirt, and Eddie’s stomach drops preemptive-like, because, because—

“Oh,” Steve’s voice gets a little sharp around the edges; “so it’s okay when thirty dicks are swinging alongside yours, I get it.”

Except it really doesn’t sound like Steve fucking gets it; not least because Steve wouldn’t be fighting this, wouldn’t be putting up the front of pushing the point if he did get it. It he got it for real.

“It’s different when it’s you,” and honestly the words come out before Eddie can think them through; they’re not inaccurate but when he hears them out loud he winces because it sounds wrong no matter what he means and—

When he sees Steve’s face fall, eyes so wide, that flash of hurt, he, just: fuck.

He hurts too; he might even hurt harder.

“Jesus,” Eddie half-gasps, half-pleads already because no, no, fucking no; “not like that—“

“No,” and oh god, if Eddie ever thought about what real heartbreak felt like, he only has to hear that voice, in that tone, because Jesus fuck, he feels like a hand’s gone into his chest, snapped a couple ribs, and used the sharp bits to twist his heart around like a goddamn knitting needle.

“No, man, I get it,” but Steve’s tone’s too dull, too measured, and his shoulders are too tight, and he’s not looking at Eddie at all and Eddie kinda want to fucking cry, and—

“No need to explain,” and oh, god, did Steve’s voice break a little? Did Eddie cause that, all on his fucking own? What kind of monster is he, and all for his goddamn…what, shame? Pride? Cowardice? God, he can’t, he can’t let this happen, he can’t let this keep going—

“Maybe I can, like, get you some washcloths? And like, a bar of soap, just for now,” and fuck, no, shit, Steve’s rambling in that anxious way that’s also kind of….mindless, robotic and hollow and then he looks up, finally; he hadn’t been looking at all and Eddie thinks he can hear his own heart crack for the way those eyes are too damn bright, and look too fucking dead all the same:

“Is it still, like, a problem if I help? So long as you’re mostly covered,” Steve asks, and god, it’s like…it’s like he’s a stranger. It’s not like he’s mean, or distant really, but it’s like Eddie was welcome inside this door to him, pulled in close from the threshold and welcome and now it’s not the the doors shut in his face, nothing so definitive or rejecting: more like the door was gone and never there.

And that hurts…so much fucking more.

“Or, all the chairs are too big but maybe a stool,” Steve’s saying, moving things around in the bathroom where Eddie’s followed him, that voice still tomblike where it should be filled with sun; “just gotta make sure the bandages stay dry, do you think you can—“

“Steve.”

And the man stills, a bar of Ivory soap denting in the shapes of his nails for the way his hand’s clenched and…Eddie was scared. Of losing. Of being tossed aside, which would hurt with anyone, for anything. But the things he’s started feeling now, for Steve, changing the shape of him as much as his healing scar but for the better, if somehow far more terrifying—losing that, even where it lives alone and unrequited, and Eddie’s suspects also only half-formed yet even for how big it stands?

Losing the source of the star in Eddie’s chest would do him in quicker than the fucking bats ever had a chance to.

And the feeling of seeing Steve think…come to the conclusions he’s coming to now because Eddie’s a coward, like he’s misstepped or not given enough or said the rough thing or been supportive or, or, or—

The look on Steve’s face, and the crack in his voice: they’re causing pain under Eddie’s ribs in a way he hadn’t even considered the torment of.

And Eddie’ll probably crumble if this goes wrong, if Steve flinches away for knowing and if Eddie

loses this thing, this person whose presence he’s already grown to depend on, not for the help Eddie needs but for the >i>person Steve Harrington is: but he’ll fall apart anyway if he lets things stand as they are and he refuses to be the reason Steve’s pulled down in the collapse.

So he reaches, and fights the way his heart drops when Steve tenses as Eddie tries to nudge him into turning around, into facing Eddie. Into looking him in the eyes and seeing, or else, Eddie hopes like hell that he will see—

“It is different, when it’s you,” Eddie makes sure he says it careful, gentle; that he pitches it like a prelude to the way he’s gotta give up the cowardice, gotta face the music and be brave for this beautiful boy in front of him who’s scared for all the wrong reasons, for the lie of him somehow being the fuck up here, like he’s the one who did anything wrong—

Impossible. Impossible, so Eddie’s gotta pull back the curtain and if he holds his breath around it then—doesn’t fucking matter. So long as he says it.

“Because I never had an,” he chokes just a little, coughs around it and clears his throat too much; “umm, well, like,” and he stumbles, he stumbles but he tells himself it’s acceptable, that it’s to be expected, gotta build momentum to get this out:

“Never had an arguably-debilitating crush on those other guys,” Eddie finishes, a little shaky but without a hint of nervous laughter, closer to nausea than anything, and yeah: given that he can’t seem to get fucking words out when he tries to just say it, and shit: words are kinda his thing, y’know?

But the fact that he can barely string any of them together makes it really clear, at the very least inside his own chest: it’s debilitating, alright, and it’s already far more than the high school crush that started years ago. It’s…it’s so much more than that, now which, fuck.

Fuck, can Steve hear the truth of it in the shaking, the stuttering? Does he know?

“Plus y’know, eww,” Eddie covers up nervously, always with the babbling, the lunge for distraction; “I didn’t go perusing the dick selection in the Hawkins locker room on the regular, please give me some credit,” and he tries so fucking hard to end on comic disgust, he tries, he thinks he might be shaking, he’s—

He’s being caught by the wrists. He’s being pulled in chest to chest so his own can heave with the trembling gasps he’s not even trying to fight but that can’t really build to their potential against the wall of Steve’s chest but; he can’t feel his heart racing against that sturdy splay of chest, he’s held so tight. He can’t kinda feel Steve’s heartbeat too, faster but not like Eddie’s. Just…faster than normal. It kinda feels like it should mean something. Eddie doesn’t move of his own choosing, but also can’t manage to stop with the shaking. Which is…not ideal.

“Eddie?” And Steve’s looking up at him, chin tipped down so he can glance through those goddamn lashes, so Eddie can have proof in the wild off-pace thump his heart gives, that rattles his bones just for extra proof that ‘crush’ alone left the building long ago. He mostly just…just tries not to tremble, mostly wills his knees not to give out even if he trust with everything in him that Steve’ll catch him, it’s just—

Steve looks up at him, and says his name like it’s delicate, like it’s worth something, like he is worth something, then he’s gathering Eddie’s hands in his and that’s, that’s not normal, it’s not for balance or to help guide him save where he need to go: no. No, Steve raises their joined grasps and Eddie’s pulse skips twice to think they’re going to Steve’s lips but he just lifts them to his forehead like a touchstone and breathes for a few long moments, the color on his cheeks changing shade before he sighs long and deep and brings Eddie’s hands under his chin before he whispers:

“Let me help you shower,” and maybe it’s not spoke like a question, but Eddie knows it’s a choice and how; how can this man still want to touch him, see him, he can’t, he can’t—

“Steve,” Eddie barely breathes because of all the ways he’d maybe envisioned this going, from worst case scenario to impossible fantasies, the possibility of it all just…kinda being a non-thing, taken wholly in stride?

That wasn’t in the cards he’d prepared for. Eddie…doesn’t know how to handle that.

“Let me help you,” Steve repeats, as soft and like a given as the first time but then he averts his eyes again and sucks in a breath through his teeth:

“Or, I guess,” he huffs, swallows, really is the braver of them for how quick and firm he meets Eddie’s eyes, then: to ask:

“Do you want me to?” and Eddie’s heart clenches like every way it’s ever clenched before was a trial run, because this is a squeeze and a twist for how earnest he not just sounds but looks, how big and bright and honest eyes are and he’s so beautiful, he’s so fucking beautiful—

“If you don’t, that’s,” Eddie must be staring, quiet for too many seconds in a row because Steve sounds just as earnest but…can you be earnest about being hesitant? About giving someone the space and letting them hold the reins entirely? Jesus, it’s, this is…

“Yeah,” Eddie’s a little breathless, probably doesn’t sound as sure as he wants to but maybe sounds as sure as he can because he’s fucking taken aback, okay? Steve…people in general aren’t this good, y’know?

“Yeah, if you,” Eddie gestures between them, between Steve and Eddie’s crotch because, because, then more generally, more vague mostly to buy time, mostly because Eddie doesn’t even know what the fuck to do with this except, except say yes because he’s grateful, because he’s shell-shocked, because…

“If you’re okay with it,” because if Steve’s is, then: yes.

But Eddie’s gotta make sure.

But of course then there’s Steve, who never once let go of his hands, and now he’s squeezing them, and looking Eddie square in the eyes once more until Eddie returns the gesture; not nearly as steady, but fuck does he try.

“I am here,” Steve speaks clear, enunciates every syllables and barely fucking blinks; “so that I can help you,” and it’s the way he exhales while still holding Eddie’s gaze that nearly does Eddie in before Steve kinda just breathes:

“Okay?”

Eddie’s kinda proud he managed to nod because goddamn.

Given permission, he’s quick to work; he helps Eddie to lean against the closed toilet lid and then he’s shimmying Eddie’s sweats down, waiting for Eddie’s to step out once they’re pooled to the floor, meets Eddie’s eyes with hands on the waist of Eddie’s boxers and Eddie flushes so fucking hot he might set flame to something if he’s not careful but he inclined his head and Steve’s quick about it, stretches the elastic out extra wide around his hips and never looks away from Eddie’s face until they fall to the floor.

Then he’s reaching for something Eddie hadn’t noticed—scissors—and he’s going for the hem, of Eddie’s sweatshirt which—

“What—“ Eddie starts, but it hurts too much to flinch away and even if he could manage it: just because he doesn’t understand doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust.

Which should be fucking terrifying, but here they are.

“I can stitch it back together, promise,” Steve’s saying while he uses the blade not to cut but as an ad-hoc seam-ripper, and making a clean job of it from what Eddie can tell, all things considered.

“Steve Harrington, master seamstress?” Eddie chokes out as Steve moves to tear out the stitches nearest the neckline and then peels the top from Eddie’s body, no painful contortion required.

Man’s goddamn full of surprises.

But then Steve leaves Eddie buck naked while he goes into Eddie’s bedroom, comes back in an instant with more towels that Eddie thought they owned, pops two big ones on the sink and hands Eddie a big stack of washcloths while he starts lining the floor with the rest, pooling them carefully around the base of the toilet near Eddie’s feet, his head not dangerously close to Eddie’s not limp dick or anything while he gets to work, Jesus H. fucking Christ.

Then Steve’s grabbing for one of the washcloths and Eddie can safely place the rest of his lap for this goddamn modesty.

Eddie almost topples them to the floor and ends up with negative modesty when a damp cloth brushes his forearm, unannounced and so fucking gentle.

“Too hot?” Steve asks, and Eddie shakes his head. It should be. The water’s been running long enough. But…nothing’s probably hotter than Eddie’s skin right now for how he feels his cheeks burn so.

Relatively speaking it’s fine.

Steve raises a brow, fiddles with the knobs a little and then soaks the cloth, soaps it up and…starts from the top.

And he’s so careful, so gentle, so clinical but soft in the precise way he makes points, little triangles like a puzzle to clean just up to the lines of bandages, never submerging or letting the wet get to the edges, threaten the adhesive, and he’s no one-trick-pony either, because it’s soap then it’s a fresh towel to wipe clean, the whole of him, save for the behind he sits on and the…not attentive dick and its neighboring real estate under the extra cloths.

Steve holds up a finger, asks for a pause while his footsteps rush to the trailer beyond, and come back with a…

Chair from the kitchen.

Then he’s busy covering it with towels before he wordlessly helps Eddie to his feet and leads him to sit, back to the shower.

“Lean back as much as you can,” Steve says, and Eddie has no reason to argue before Steve’s got another towel gathering his greasy-ass hair up and then making a barrier between the limp matted mess and the wooden spindles, and then—

Oh god, oh god, then his hands are in Eddie’s hair, holding it at an angle so the water he’s pouring from somewhere falls into the tub basin until the strands are wet and if Eddie thought that was heavenly, then he’s working the shampoo in and Eddie’s been afraid for a little while that nerve damage would impair…y’know but good goddamn no worries there save for coming all over the fucking towels because Jesus H., the feeling of Steve’s hands in his hair, massaging his scalp, ringing and repeating, combing through the strands with his fingers…

That’s what the word orgasmic means. Every other definition is a lie.

Eddie thinks he’s between floating on the high of the sensation and squeezing his dick to keep from shooting off beneath the washcloths and so he probably misses exactly when the water stops rinsing his hair out, and when Steve’s hands stop touching him save to mop the worst of the soaked ends of his squeaky-clean mop, but when he does blink back to the moment Steve’s frowning, but not, not at Eddie.

More like near Eddie.

“We can’t put it in, but,” and oh, he’s talking about the chair, can’t put a wooden chair into a shower, fair, fair, but then Steve’s eyes are lifting back to Eddie and they look…a little apologetic, but mostly resolute: “if I help, do you think you can,” and he nods at the tub, the mid-height lip of it. Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, for the challenge, but.

But also because there is really just one general area of his body that’s not been…attended to yet for cleaning.

So it’s maybe like a 60-40, 70-30 split on that point. Moment of truth, either way.

“I’ll need a lot of help,” Eddie bites his lip, and he’s not even surprised when Steve meets his trepidation with encouragement.

“I can lift you,” and oh, wow, hey, definitely a safe thing to say to a guy before you’re gonna help him wash his dick. “But do you think you can stand if I help you keep your balance?”

Steve’s obviously got a plan and Eddie obviously just needs to not come on them both on the way to, in, and out of the shower right now so, he figures they should both handle their own separate priorities for the home stretch, here.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, even though he doesn’t believe it.

He believes in Steve, though, so. Probably that’s enough.

And Steve does lift him, and the towels are still covering his front but Steve doesn’t shy from lifting his ass and wow, okay.

Okay.

“You lean on me, like this,” and of course he’s manhandling Eddie as he runs a quick cloth—soap, then water—over Eddie’s back and then across the curve of his ass, holy mother of—; “and then,” Steve holds another soapy cloth to Eddie and gestures, this time hidden from a full frontal view by propping Eddie against his still-clothed chest:

“Then you can finish up,” Steve says like it’s simple. Maybe it is.

Eddie’s soaped up his pubes and barely dropped the cloth before he reaches for the wet one to rinse but—

Nope. Nope, Steve’s got a cup, maybe what he was using for Eddie’s hair, a crackled novelty one from the Pizza Hut in Muncie, Eddie remembers getting the damn thing; but Steve got that cup angled so he pours directly below Eddie’s lowest dressing, letting him use both hands to work the soap all the way out.

“How,” Eddie starts, kinda marveling that his short and curlies are…distinctly not bubbly.

“Got good aim,” Steve’s smirk is audible behind him, and tangible for how it lifts his chest with a little huff; “basketball and shit.”

“Fuckin’ jock,” Eddie lobs back without any heat at all; shit, if anything, it sounds fond on the outside.

Adoring if you go any deeper.

“Dry off,” and it’s then that Steve hands Eddie the last of the bath linens that had been his little loin cloths before being hauled into the tub; he dries his front as best he can and then tosses the cloth before Steve’s reaching around him with a wider towel, drying him hip-to-thigh, and cupping across his ass. again before loosing the towel to the floor and grabbing around Eddie

“Hold onto me here,” and Eddie’s being hoisted ever-so-gently over the side of the tub and deposited back on the toilet which has a…fresh towel on it for him to sit on. When’d that get there, anyway?

“Okay, now,” and oh, wow, okay, Steve’s kneeling between his legs and when’d he get there, anyway?

“Slip these on, for your modesty,” Steve winks as he works a new pair of boxers up Eddie’s legs, quick and efficient like Eddie hasn’t had a fucking stroke here; “and let’s get you toweled off the rest of the way and into some clean fuckin’ clothes.”

He gets the boxers up as far as the line of his pelvis before it’s unavoidable, and Eddie assumes he’ll try to stretch the waist far again, to keep his hands as far from anything too weird no, nope: Steve sticks with quick and efficient and he gets those fucking underwear up and settled in no time at all.

And he brushes his forearm twice against Eddie’s shaft in the process, and does nothing. Has no reaction. Is…fine.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that at all.

Steve does, though, apparently: which is to careful dab the towels where he can’t rub him dry, and do exactly that until Eddie’s got nary a stray droplet left to be soaked up by the unseamripped sweatshirt and clean sweatpants Steve helps him into, before helping him to bed but Eddie shakes his head, nods at the door, toward the living room.

Steve eyes him appraisingly before helping him in that direction and Eddie’s glad he could fake whatever amount of wakefulness was necessary to bypass the bed because the fact of it is he’s bone fucking tired—all the arousal did not help that specific point—but Steve’ll sit next to him on the couch, as a given, where sometimes Steve sits next to his bed instead of next to him in his bed.

And Eddie wants to tip over exhausted against Steve, okay? Because Steve doesn’t seem to fucking mind, so.

They settle, exactly like always, exactly like Eddie expected. And Steve’s arm welcomes his rapid descent along Steve’s ribs, the soft echo of his heartbeat this hallowed, magic thing that just makes Eddie feel warm.

“Thank you,” Eddie says, for this, for the shower, for the way this is the same and also maybe better beyond all probabilities: for everything, really. For Steve, being Steve.

And Eddie’s almost asleep, and it might be the magic warmth of the way he tipped into Steve’s space and the tangle of their bodies for it but the words Eddie hears last before he’s out come from near his scalp, and lips move in his hair and maybe that’s just coincidence, or maybe all probabilities are still being shatters and it’s almost something like a kiss but either way—

Either way, Steve’s voice is so soft and open when he whispers Eddie into sleep with the most perfect word imaginable:

“Always.”

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Dolcezza Extra I

Read Dolcezza here | ~4.7k words

From me: this is something I’ve never done before: an alternate idea to something I've already written. I will be copying and pasting parts to keep the continuity but I hope you like it. It was pretty fun. The first couple paragraphs are from the original part. I’m sure you can all follow without me telling you all this. Have fun!

Warnings: stalking, scary (?) Also, no clue what kinds of protocols are supposed to be in place for this sort of thing. I don't think it makes a lot of sense logistically or law-wise. But that's not what we're here for, right?! I wanted it to kind of go right in the middle of Part 8, like starts in the beginning-ish part of it and end essentially in the same way.

It was one of those nights where everything was going wrong, and everything was too busy. Antonio was caring for Leo, the baby, and the missus—all sick with something Leo brought home from preschool, so Harry and Niall were left in charge. Normally, the sweet girl found her way down and situate herself at a station doing the takeout orders but given the little... spat (what else could he call it?) she seemed to be avoiding him.

His phone began vibrating in his pocket without pause for three full minutes, but he literally hadn’t a second to look at it. All he wanted was for the pretty girl to appear. He wanted to apologize profusely for overstepping. He just cared for her so much. Even if she wasn’t comfortable with how he handled things, he wanted to make it better. He cared so deeply for her it hurt to be apart from her without so much as a text message between them over the last two days. He managed to see her exit a car that wasn’t hers parked in her spot. At least her car was getting fixed. But he imagined she had another busy Friday and Saturday. He wished he could have helped more. Wished he didn’t mess up and revealed that he messed it up in a way he couldn’t fix it.

The moment the orders slowed, Harry was planning to race up her steps and beg for forgiveness.

Harry dropped a knife for the third time on the same onion he had been trying to dice for the last five minutes. He growled to himself, snagged it off the floor (nearly slicing his hand from his anger overtaking rational thought to pick it up by the handle), and all but tossed it in the sink.

“Why not just talk to her?” Niall muttered across the way.

“Shut up,” he snapped, bitterness coating his voice. Niall raised his eyebrows at him and shook his head. He turned the other way, turned his attention to the soup he was pouring into bowls. “M’going to,” he mumbled grabbing a clean knife as he started chopping again. “Sorry.”

He nodded. “It’s alright. Just thinking we could really use her help,” Niall smirked.

Harry snorted. “Y’could probably ask her,” he mumbled. “She’d come running t’help m’sure.”

“Yeah, but it defeats your whole she’s spreading herself too thin. And then I’m no different than rest, huh?”

Harry sighed, grateful for his understanding. “You’re a really good friend, Niall.”

“Don’t I know it,” he laughed. It was infectious. Hard to keep Harry in a bad mood and he prayed to God the orders slowed soon so he could run up and beg her to come help Niall and him because as much as he didn’t want to ask her for another thing, working with her on busy nights were some of his favorite moments.

Harry’s phone was still vibrating. He wondered if he set a timer for something and it was just going off continuously. “M’phone’s been ringing nonstop.”

“Mum?” Niall asked.

“No... she knows m’at work. Plus, she’d call the restaurant if it was an emergency. I gave her the number.”

“S’probably an alarm, yeah?”

“Yeah... probably.”

“Oh, she’s here,” Niall mumbled his gaze narrowing at the slip of paper in his hand. “Eggplant and two times the extra garlic bread…” Niall waved the ticket out like he always did when they realized the arrival of Harry’s Principessa.

Well, at least Harry wouldn’t have to sprint upstairs to apologize. Still, it was odd she didn’t make herself known when she got there even if they weren’t exactly on speaking terms. Harry glanced toward the window for a peek to see if she was there, but he was too far away. “Niall did you see her?” He asked.

“No…” his voice was low, over the bustle of the few staff that were in the kitchen, Harry hardly heard him. Like he was piecing a puzzle together. He was studying the slip. Like it would give him the hint.

“See who?” The hostess asked. She was grabbing a take-out order off the counter that Niall had just finished packaging. Niall slid the ticket into the holder still examining it.

“Principessa,” Niall mumbled. “She always orders extra garlic bread with her eggplant.”

“Oh yeah she’s here with her brother or something,” Antonio’s nephew, Matteo, jumped right into the conversation as he brought back empty plates from the dining room.

Harry’s head snapped up from the veggies he was cutting and tossing into a pot to make a sauce. “Brother...?” Harry didn’t think that made sense at all. He remembered seeing “James groceries” on her calendar while he cleaned earlier in the week. It was always done on a day when James had to work in the evening so there was no way he would have come all the way out here for dinner. Still, he thought Harry would have known if James was here—between his protective brother streak or even just saying hello and thank you for the food. Harry thought she would bring him right back here to the kitchen and make herself at home.

But maybe Harry misread it. Or maybe James finally suspected she was tired and strung out and was taking a step to help with his kind older sister.

“Well, it’s not dinner with you; so, who else would it be?” Matteo reminded them with a shrug.

Niall gasped dropping the plate he was holding, and it shattered to the ground. Everyone stopped to look at him and he grabbed the ticket once more. Like it finally revealed the missing clue. At the same time Harry dropped the fourth knife he was using because if Matteo hadn’t said “who else would it be” they might not have put it together right then.

Harry hurried to the window and searched. “Where’s she sitting?” His voice was hurried. There was a one second pause. “Matteo, now!”

“Corner, near the door. What’s—”

“Niall...” Harry’s body felt weak and shaky. His blood was hot and boiling immediately. His vision was getting blurry at the edges, and he had never felt so close to throwing up in his whole life. Not even when he had the flu in university.

Why was his phone vibrating still?

“Oh no,” he murmured reaching for the phone in his pocket.

“Shit!” Niall hissed looking at the direction of the man sitting across from the pretty girl all the way across the restaurant.

Harry slid his thumb across his phone without taking his eyes off the table across the main room. The weakness he felt ached through every inch in his body. “Eleanor, I—”

He yanked the phone away from his ear as she responded, loudly, shouting. “Harry! For the love of GOD! Do you never look at your phone!? Why do you even have one!?”

Harry felt sicker at the accusation. How could he not look at his phone? “El—”

“Harry it’s bad,” Eleanor sobbed, barely getting the words out. Harry could hear Louis shushing her as best he could. “It’s really bad.”

It was every one of Harry’s worst nightmares.

She was trying to process why the door was open. She quietly stepped back from her own door, but she wasn’t in control of her own body. Her heart was beating a little faster than normal. Her brain tried to reason with her muscles that there had to be a reasonable explanation. Instead, her muscles continued moving; she pressed the volume button on her phone to turn Eleanor’s voice down even though she continued rambling about how Harry adored her, and she was pretty sure he was in love with her too.

Not even the idea of Harry loving her could shake the nerves away.

“El... Eleanor,” she whispered listening intently to Antonio’s office door distinctly closing and three foreboding footsteps reaching her door. The clinking metallic sound of someone fiddling with the lock on her door came next. She had the phone pressed to her lips trying to soundlessly alert Eleanor as best she could as she scurried backwards as if the door was on fire. “El! STOP!” She hissed listening for more sound.

“What?” She could hear the eye roll in her friend’s voice. “You have to confront these emotions Harry is—” There was a low voice cursing outside her door as the lock was fiddled with more and she stepped back as the door opened. Her jaw dropped along with her phone smacking to the ground. She could faintly hear Eleanor calling at the sound of the noise.

The man before her smiled excitedly, relieved. “You’re home. I knew I’d find you,” he sighed with relief reaching for her. Instinctively she took a step back, it took every ounce of her self-control to keep from throwing up all over herself or the not-so-stranger. “I’m so glad I’ve found you; I missed you so much.”

Her heart was pounding erratically. Her only saving grace was knowing Eleanor heard. She reached for her phone. Autopilot. Grab the phone that clattered to the floor.

He kicked it out of the way. “You don’t need that,” he assured her with an easy smile. She straightened; cleared her throat.

“I…don’t?” She whispered. She should have spoken louder so Eleanor could hear. Of course, she loved her apartment, and she loved Antonio and the little family he invited her to be part of that was Dolcezza. Right then, however, she wanted to cry that her apartment was soundproofed beyond auditorial recognition. Her eyes dropped to the fabric in his hand. She swallowed the bile that continued rising in her throat while he looked at her as if he had known her his whole life.

“No,” he shook his head.

Her mind wasn’t working. She was exhausted and terrified and poor Eleanor was screaming from the other end of the line. He grabbed the phone. “Hi Eleanor,” he said simply. “She’s okay. We’re going on a trip, she’ll be safe with me,” he assured her.

Then he left her phone on the side table. Hanging up and leaving it there. It started to vibrate immediately; Eleanor desperate to hear her answer again. Instead, he ignored it, held his hand out for her to take. “I need my stuff—” she stepped toward her bedroom, but he grabbed her arm. She yanked it away, like he burned her. She gasped at the touch, and he frowned.

“Sorry—”

Her fight or flight kicked in and she bolted for the bathroom. It would lock and she would drop from the second story if necessary or scream until Harry heard her.

Oh. Harry.

Right as she tried to slam the door shut behind her his foot got in the way. She yelped as he grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the room. “Honey, stop fighting me,” he grumbled bitterly. She felt so sick. So scared. She wanted to scream and cry but it would be useless. No one would hear her. She needed to make someone hear her.

Slowly, painfully slowly, her brain started to work. It wasn’t much. But she prayed silently to herself that it would be. She took a shaky inhaled breath. “I’m…sorry,” her voice cracked, and tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t look at him. She was too scared. It was a nightmare, but she could feel the way her teeth bit into her cheek. It wasn’t something she would be waking up from. “I’ve had a really long week and a really long day. I haven’t eaten yet,” she whispered. “I was going to go downstairs and eat at the restaurant,” she sniffled. “Can we do that? A date?” It tasted sour in her mouth to say it. Her fingernails dug into her palms reminding her further it was a nightmare. It had to work. Please let it work.

“A date?” He mused. He stuffed the fabric in his hands into the pocket of his pants.

“Please,” she whispered. “I’m starving.”

“And then we can go to my place?”

The idea was so nauseating, so terrifying, she worried that it wouldn’t work. If the food got to her table, she was so incredibly scared she wouldn’t be able to eat it. Her whole body felt shaky and clammy. Like when she had the flu. One bite and she would be puking all over her table.

But hopefully that would get Harry’s attention.

“Okay,” he agreed and held his hand out for her to take. It felt like cheating on Harry to hold someone else’s hand. She forced the tears behind her eyes and willed the nausea to stay in the pit of her stomach.

She placed her hand in his.

Harry was pacing trying to figure out how to tell her he knew. Niall was on the phone with the police begging for no sirens and no lights. Eleanor was, in the smallest of possible ways, relieved to hear she was in the restaurant and not halfway to somewhere they didn’t know.

Harry couldn’t see her face. It killed him. Why didn’t he go up sooner? Why didn’t he beg for her to come down and help so they could make up? Why didn’t he insist and help her stubborn self the way he wanted to?!

“Goddamnit!” He shouted and shoved a bin of clean cutlery on the floor. It was so loud the restaurant ceased to make noise for a prolonged moment.

“Harry,” Niall was off the phone with the police Eleanor sobbing in his other ear no doubt. “You need to be smart. They cannot leave before the police get here or we’re fucked. Eleanor already sent the detective on her case to his old place of residence and there is no sign of him there. So, if they leave…” he trailed off and Harry released a strangled noise from his throat. Not quite a cry, not quite a yell. The pain was so intense from the thought he thought he could feel it in the atoms of his body. “If you cannot have a controlled response...,” Niall warned without finishing the sentence.

Harry swallowed the feeling of being sick down. He knew what Niall meant. “Okay,” he croaked.

Everyone was still trying to work. But the whispers ensued. Within moments, everyone knew. Everyone was trying to piece together a plan and Harry felt so confused, so lost, so scared because the only one he could ever imagine getting out of this situation was his sweet Principessa herself.

“Alright,” he cleared his throat. He needed to be brave. She needed him. She never needed anyone. The weight of that made him terrified. Shaking his head he pressed the heels of his palms in his eyes to stop the stressed tears from escaping. He swallowed and shook his head again. She did the hard part. She got herself in the restaurant and Harry’s attention without even talking to him. “Niall, bring out the garlic bread in three minutes,” he ordered while untying his apron and heading for the door to the alleyway. “Tell Eleanor to tell the detective to hurry.”

The restaurant was easily one of her top five favorite places in the world. But right now, she wanted to scream and run from it. Where was Harry or Niall?! God, she wanted to kill Matteo. How did he not know? Wasn’t everyone under a silent direction to tell Harry when she arrived?

The worry began to take over. Harry wasn’t coming to her rescue because he didn’t want to. She pushed him away and he was going to let—

No.

Harry, despite how mad he might have been, would never let anything happen to her. She was certain.

Wasn’t she?

Perhaps Harry really just didn’t know. It was unfortunate, but there was nothing she could do about it. Especially without any indication that anyone knew she was there. Her back was to the restaurant, and she was still in her gym clothes. With her back turned, hair in a ponytail, she was probably less recognizable than normal. That had to be it. He had no idea she was there.

It was a miracle she could keep her breathing as even as she did. The thoughts started to spiral further. Maybe he wouldn’t know. It was really busy in the restaurant—Matteo might not have noticed she was there with a stranger when he seated them since the hostess wasn’t there. Maybe he didn’t tell Harry yet.

Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears it was hard to hold a conversation with him almost because she couldn’t hear him; more so than the fact that she didn’t want to talk to him. But she didn’t have a choice. He asked her about work, her family, and if she had been reading anything good. She wasn’t into it—it was obvious and she wished she was because the only thing that was going to save her was being able to play it off that she didn’t want to crawl out of her skin at the sight or sound of him. Her stomach was churning, and her voice was so quiet she wished she could do a better job acting but she was terrified. Pain started behind her eyes, and she wanted to scream.

“Good evening.”

Her head snapped up to Harry briefly, who seemingly appeared out of thin air. Her jaw dropped silently. She was really beginning to believe that he wasn’t coming to her rescue. But now he was there. He knew she was there. He was going to help. She was sure of it.

He knew she was there.

Her heart started to pound in a new way, still scared but for the first time in twenty minutes she took a deep cleansing breath; relieved. She looked at her lap afraid to give it away that she knew him. “We are very short staffed this evening. We’re extremely sorry for the delay,” Harry sounded so formal, and she couldn’t look at him. If she did, she would cry. “Your food will be out as soon as we can. Please be patient with us. We’re very sorry.”

If she looked up, she knew his eyes would be looking at her. She knew his apologies weren’t about the food. The gravity in his voice said he was sorry because he didn’t know she was there sooner. He was sorry he didn’t come upstairs or to her rescue faster. A tear slipped across her cheek. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Do you have a bathroom?” She asked.

“I don’t think—”

“Of course,” Harry interrupted hurriedly; she could practically hear the excitement in his voice. Like he was grateful she had a plan because he was a little stuck, a little lost. It made her feel weak immediately. The worry Harry must have felt because of her made her feel guilty and sad. She wanted to fix it and it was hard she felt like she was balancing on a tightrope. She hoped Harry wouldn’t hate her for running the second she had the opportunity. “I’ll lead you,” he offered.

“You just used the bathroom upstairs, honey,” the man reminded her. His voice was tight.

He was going to be mad if she left; that much was evident. “Well, I just—” She started.

“She’s all set, actually. Thank you.”

Harry stared at him. Weighing his options. She could see it. She cleared her throat. “Um...it’s okay,” she whispered quietly. Refusing to look at Harry again. If she did, she was going to blow what little cover she had. Poor Harry. “M’just a little tired,” she assured him, trying to sound braver than she felt.

“S’back and to the left,” Harry murmured and then headed to the next table and explained the short-staffed shift again. She wondered what he was thinking and what he was saying to the table. They looked like regulars, but she wasn’t completely sure because her mind was frazzled. Harry leaving her to fend for herself, even though he was only four feet away at most had her aching for him more than she ever wanted to hold his hand in her whole life.

Harry was losing his mind. He knew she understood his apology for taking so long. He knew that she understood between the lines that he was apologizing for Matteo’s mistake in not telling him sooner. Harry would have been out in the dining room so much faster. As much as it pained him to see her seated across from another man, regardless of the circumstances. It would have been better if she was with another guy in general. At least he wouldn’t be worried sick about her safety.

It took every bit of his strength to keep blowing their cover. To keep from shaking while he told the next table that they were short-staffed. They quietly inquired about the strange man sitting with the sweet girl they all had grown to know as their sometimes-waitress and Harry’s lovely Principessa. He quietly murmured something and then casually bumped into the table dropping the knife near the edge to the floor. As he bent to grab it, he murmured to the guy, pleaded with his eyes as he tried to whisper devoid of emotion. “Do not let her leave with him.”

Harry moved to the next table—strategically he chose the tables that allowed him to keep her in his peripheral. It was killing him. The shaking was becoming uncontrollable, and the whisper beg to the couples, imploring for help from the people he had gotten to know over the years, was getting strangled in his throat as he moved to the third and fourth table.

He was at a loss. The bathroom was a great idea, but he hadn’t a clue as to how to get her from point A to point B. Maybe he could pour hot soup on her, insist she come to the kitchen for help. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to spill their hot soup in her lap either. He supposed he could throw ice cubes in it and make it less horrible on her delicate skin, but he had to do something! His mind was spiraling. He wouldn’t see her in his peripheral in just two more tables and he was already about triple the distance of what he wanted to be from her—granted even an inch of space given the scenario seemed more horrific than he could bear.

He was feeling nauseous. Maybe he should just grab her by the hand and pull her away. But they had a chance to get rid of him. To keep him away from her once and for all. He violated the restraining order. That had to be something. He would have to go away.

Despite the fact she was so close but felt like an entire galaxy away. Harry was crumbling internally. This poor older woman who had been coming in every Saturday for years looked at him with pity in his eyes as he repeated his spiel once more. The agony he felt was in every inch of his bones, every pore of his skin. His eye was twitching.

When he got her safe and out of harm’s way, he planned on never letting go of her. At least not for a few days. He was going to kiss her and hold her. Apologize to her and cook for her. He wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. Harry was going to tell her he loved her and didn’t care if she was stubborn or felt like she was hard to care for because she didn’t like to be needy. He was needy. He needed her. It was killing him to be so close and so far away. So helpless and terrified that he couldn’t help her the way he wanted to right then. Even scared shitless, he thought she was beautiful and brave. So brave. She got here. She got his attention. That had to mean something. She believed in Harry and that he would find her or know she was there despite the frustration and anxiety she felt.

It was hard to believe it was only three minutes since he actually talked to her and apologized for taking so long. Niall came from the back with a plate of garlic bread as promised. Niall was going to come up with the next part of the plan, Harry hoped. Hell, he would go back to the table, feigning exhaustion for apologizing twice. God, he needed to get a bowl of soup, he was going to have to spill it in her lap! It was the only way.

Harry listened intently as Niall arrived at their table. He could almost see the glitter of her tears in her eyes. Nearly crying again at the sight of Niall. He wanted to make a joke more than anything that it had nothing to do with Niall but everything to do with her favorite bread in his hands. But he was mortified. Speechless in front of a table waiting with waited breath as they heard the murmurs and the wisps of what Harry managed to mumble before Niall’s arrival.

“Garlic bread,” he announced, as if she didn’t know. “Buon appetite,” he winked casually. He was far better at lying and acting than Harry or herself combined. She was itching to run. Niall and Harry, both could stop him. Someone would tackle him, right? She was fluttery. Ready to leave as soon as she saw an opening because she didn’t know what else to do. “Can I get you two anything else?” Niall asked kindly.

“I know you,” he said. It lacked suspicion but was no less terrifying.

She could see Harry’s back straightened in her peripheral and his speech silenced. Matteo and the hostess were working from the other end of the room at the same time. Probably explaining the situation to every table as quietly as they could just like Harry was.

Without any tell in sight, Niall merely tilted his head and looked at him. “Hmm...sorry. M’not sure I recognize you,” he shrugged. Niall stepped closer, getting a better look at the man across from her. His acting skills deserved an award.

But in moving closer, Niall also blocked her a good margin from his view. It was her chance. She bolted. Running from the main room and toward the kitchen so fast it took a minute for anyone to realize she was gone. She zipped out the kitchen door, back through the alley, and up to her apartment. She heard a shout coming quickly behind her, so she had to be faster. She hurried back into her apartment unable to do anything but grab her phone off the table and run into the bedroom and hide in the closet, closing the door quietly behind her. She dialed Eleanor. Her heart pounding as she heard the sound of steps. She left the door open to make it look like she ran back out, but it was impossible.

He was already in the apartment. Already tearing through her belongings, shouting, upending her furniture, and rifling through everything.

“Babe?” Eleanor nearly screeched with relief.

“I can’t talk,” she whispered barely an audible octave.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay on the phone,” she promised. “The police are on their way.”

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz

@likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59

@babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06

@canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong

@foreverxholland @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03

@luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr

@crossyourpeter @kissitnhekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @harryscherri

@indierockgirrl @michellekstyles @hermionelove @somethingabout1d19

Dolcezza: @matildasatellite @lovingfurypanda @sideboobrry11 @theresnooneheretosave @12yeahiminluvwu

@cohnfusedarling

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if I put you on the wrong list, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 2 days

Note

Request: Velvet, Eleanor, and Magilou with a shy S/O who is trying to hide the hickeys their girl friend gave them.

(Tales of Berseria) Velvet, Eleanor, and Magilou's S/O trying to hide their hickeys

Gotta say for all three of them, ow.

Velvet's S/O struggles to look at her directly, one hand gently rubbing their neck.

Velvet has a smug grin as she crosses her arms.

(Velvet) "I think that looks good on you, personally."

(S/O) "I-It's really obvious where they are!"

(Velvet) "I'm pretty sure that's the whole point of a hickey. Besides showing you're mine anyway-"

Honestly, she doesn't really care what anyone thought about the marks. And seeing S/O get this flustered over them was pretty amusing.

But there was one problem with her carefree attitude about it.

(Laphicet) "S/O? What happened to your neck?"

(S/O) "O-Oh! Well, t-that's!-"

(Eizen) "Why are you that flustered about-...Oh."

Eizen sighs, making Eleanor walk over to the group and realize what happened.

(Eleanor) "Oh my-VELVET!"

She gives Eleanor a glance, raising an eyebrow.

(Velvet) "What?"

(Eleanor) "It's...just so indecent! Why did you-"

(Laphicet) "Did Velvet do something to S/O?"

(Eizen) "No boy, don't ask questions about it. You'll learn when you're older."

(Laphicet) "...Huh?"

S/O had their face buried in their hands, making Laphicet even more confused.

Eleanor crossed her arms and looked extremely disgusted.

(Eleanor) "I cannot believe you two would-"

(Velvet) "S/O, go wash those marks off your neck. And Laphicet, it was from bug bites."

(Laphicet) "What kind of bug would...?-"

(Eizen) "One you shouldn't ask about. Here, let's ask Rokurou about it, and leave the ladies at...this."

Eizen quickly rushed away Laphicet from S/O, Velvet, and Eleanor.

(S/O) "I want to die..."

(Eleanor) "Well...at least wear a scarf!"

(Velvet) sigh "Pride still intact, S/O?"

(S/O) "No..."

Eleanor may have...gotten carried away in the moment.

Truthfully, if she had hickeys on herself, she would absolutely panic.

So to see that she had caused very noticeable ones on S/O's neck and shoulders.

(Eleanor) "...Oh my-..."

Eleanor and S/O struggle to look each other in the eye, both blushing a scarlet red.

(Eleanor) "I am so sorry...L-Let me find you something to cover it up! Or at least some makeup!"

Despite her best efforts, it is extremely noticeable.

(Rokurou) "Hey, S/O? Think ya got something on your neck."

(S/O) "D-D-Do I?!"

(Rokurou) "Yeah, looks like bite ma-...Oh."

Velvet turns around to both Eleanor and S/O, noticing both their expressions.

(Velvet) "Should've just let that lie, Rokurou."

(Rokurou) "Yeeaaaah, didn't realize till it was too late. But hey, didn't think you had it in ya, Eleanor!"

Eleanor facepalmed and swore under her breath, making S/O stare at the ground even harder.

(Velvet) "It's becoming our business when we can hear you two clear as day."

(S/O & Eleanor) "WHAT?!"

(Rokurou) "They're already dead, Velvet. No need to drive the dagger further."

Magilou did that shit on purpose.

Sure, there were other ways of saying that S/O and Magilou were a couple.

But those ways are a lot less interesting and hot.

And Magilou bit hard.

(S/O) "M-Magilou, I'm covered in bites!"

(Magilou) "That you are. And?"

(S/O) "AND?! I CAN'T GO OUT LIKE THIS!"

(Magilou) "Sure ya can! Here, let's go show the others right now!"

(S/O) "N-NO NO NO! WAIT-"

Magilou does not help with S/O's flustered reactions at all, in fact she made it worse.

The first people to see them was Velvet and Eleanor.

(Eleanor) "Good morn-..."

Eleanor's voice was caught in her throat as her eyes widened, looking at S/O's neck.

(Velvet) "...I'm even more glad I had my room far away from you two."

(Magilou) "Come now, you should be rejoicing at the healthy love blossoming between your two companions!"

Both Eleanor and Velvet's glance turned to S/O, who was on the floor, arms in their knees, and face in hands.

Accompanied by a noise that either sounded like a whine of agony, muffled screaming, or a mixture of both.

Then, the two looked back to Magilou.

(Eleanor) "Ugh, too much information."

(Velvet) "Doubt she really cares about that."

(Magilou) "I don't!~"

#tales of berseria x reader #tales of berseria imagines #tales of berseria headcanons #velvet crowe x reader #eleanor hume x reader #magilou mayvin x reader #velvet crowe #eleanor hume #magilou mayvin

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things-arent-what-they-seem66 · 1 day

Note

Okay I got more angst prompts, not from the list this time. Consider:

After the final battle, after the hotel is rebuilt, when Lucifer finally gets the chance to go home and rest, it all hits him at once. Adam is actually dead. He didn't feel bad about it in the moment at all but now it's hitting him that Adam is dead and gone and oh no I killed one of the first people I ever loved. (Niffty wouldn't have been able to kill him if not for Lucifer, so he would have enough reason to blame himself) He's struck by grief, that love having never truly left. Charlie finds him, and comforts him.

Mayhaps her reaction finding out that her father loved Adam, their enemy? Mayhaps Luci's reaction when Adam respawns as a sinner? Up to you!

Indigo (struck with the desire to hurt my favourite characters emotionally)

*Sips coffee* Ahhh, after battle angst. Thank you for this! Please send more if you'd like :)

Lucifer hadn't had time to really let it sink in now, in his new room alone. He sat down on his bed, his chest weighed like a ton of bricks.

Adam was dead. He was dead dead as in no coming back. He still remembers the angelic blade going through the angels chest. All that blood.....

Lucifer felt his eyes pool with water. His first love was dead and he let him die. His heart clenched in his chest. Fuck. He thought he was over Adam, but guess not.

At the moment he didn't care. He was still angry that Adam would try and hurt Charlie. But he was going to let him live, Adam may have been an asshole but he was HIS asshole.

Then Charlie's little friend killed him.....

"Fucking hell." He swore as he scrubed the tears from his face. Closing his eyes, Lucifer could still see Adams face. Not the one from the battle field. The one in the garden.

Even then his eyes were bright and golden in color like honey. Soft brown hair ruffled and wild on his head, smile wide and breathtaking. Oh, how Lucifer wished he could go back to those days.

'Will we be friends forever, Luci?'

'Every day is amazing when I'm with you.'

'Luci, I think I lov-'

"FUCK!" Lucifer screamed, he gripped his hair painfully. "I'M SORRY! I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE I'M SORRY!!" He sobbed. He was just destined to never save his favorite human was he? Adam was all he ever wanted and now he was gone for good.

"Dad, are you busy there's some- Dad? Are you okay?" Charlie came in and sat down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"No." Was all he said, the guilt was weighing on him.

Charlie frowned. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I loved him so much."

Charlie blinked and looked at her dad. "Who?"

Lucifer sniffed. "Adam." Not the answer Charlie thought she'd hear. "He was my first love Charlie, I was there when he was made from the dust of the earth. I showed him how to do many things. That man on the battlefield, the one filled with hate for demons. That was my fault. When your mother came into the picture I was blinded by her beauty that I didn't see who she really was." This was not a conversation to have right now. "I broke Adams heart when I chose her. I ruined something beautiful for something extra."

"But, he was the enemy. How could you love him?" She just didn't understand.

Lucifer smiled sadly. "You didn't know him like I did. The beautiful soul I knew he always was." And he was, Adam had a soul that shined so bright it was blinding. He just had up so many walls after Eden.

"What if he's not as dead as we thought?"

"Huh?" Lucifer looked at his daughter. "What do you mean?"

Charlie bit her lip. "That's why I came up here. Adam is here. Downstairs. As a sinner."

Lucifer never ran so fast in his life. Faster than Charlie could keep up, her cries in the distance. He flew down the stairs and stopped in his tracks when he got to the lobby.

There he was. In all his glory. Adam stood with his back to Lucifer, he had long black and gold horns that curved around to the back of his head like his exterminator mask horns. He was looking at his newly formed demon hands, black up to his elbow with claws sharp like knives. His robes were now black and red, slightly tattered and still dirty. He had hooves now and likely a mouth full of sharp teeth.

He was beautiful.

He was alive.

"Adam?"

Adam jumped at the sound of his name and turned to face the devil. "Lucifer." His voice sounded rough but the same. His golden eyes were firey with anger, Lucifer could just imagine how he felt about being a sinner.

"You're here?"

"I know, the fucking shocked too."

Even if he hated him, Lucifer could deal with that as long as Adam was alive and well. "Gonna give redemption a shot?"

"Might as well." Adam crossed his arms, an unimpressed look on his face.

"Swell! Let me give you the tour and get you settled into a room." Lucifer took Adam by the hand and led the way, all while the sinner followed him, grumpy and cursing under his breath. "You know, if you ever need protection down here. I'd be willing to provide it."

Adam scoffed. "Yeah, for my soul."

Lucifer looked back at him. "Would that really be so bad? To be completely safe, always?" His voice echoed around them. "I would never let anything happen to you, Adam."

He didn't miss the way Adam's face pinched pink at his words.

Maybe second chances do happen.

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x adam #ask

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ashen-char · 2 days

Text

i say that i hate you with a smile on my face 🔞

ship: amber freeman (scream) x gender neutral reader

warnings: explicit smut so minors get out. hate sex, sex while driving

summary: Amber is furious after seeing you with another girl at a party. The only way to deal with Amber's jealousy is to fuck it out of her.

word count: 2500+

By the time the party ends, it's almost 3am. Early hours have always felt so strange to you, so mysterious that liminal time past midnight and before the sun rises. Everything feels slower. Less alive, almost. There aren't any other cars on the street, aren't any lights on in the houses you pass as you make your way back to Amber's.

The radio is off and the streets are quiet. You almost wish that Amber would go right back to yelling at you because at least it wouldn't be this mind-numbing silence. You're so tense, shoulders stiff and defensive, your grip a vice on the wheel.

You had danced with another girl, sure.

Chad had introduced you to some new girl that Liv had befriended and told to come. You can't even remember what her name was. When Liv got roped into a night shift and couldn't go, she'd told her friend to stick to a familiar face.

Really, you think that Chad just wanted to ditch her on you so that Liv wouldn't tear him a new one for leaving her friend while he got wasted. You owed Chad a solid for helping you score a reservation at some fancy restaurant for you and Amber's anniversary after you forgot it, and you didn't see the harm. That was your first mistake.

Amber's expression is unreadable, her grip white-knuckled on her knee as she stares out the window of your car. Speaking first would feel like you lost - you still don't think you did anything wrong, feels that Amber's reaction was way too far. And you're stubborn. But Amber is even more so. And your relationship is more valuable than winning... whatever this is, so

"I didn't do anything," you say for what feels like the hundredth time that night.

"You hear how you sound right now?" Amber snarls, her own shoulders tensing up. "That's what everyone says when they're caught. I didn't do anything," she imitates your voice in a whine.

Mocking you? How mature.

Letting go of her knee, Amber folds her arms over her chest, looking away from you again. You can see her roll her eyes and scoff a “whatever” under her breath.

You grit your teeth. Possible responses whir through your brain - a joke, an apology, something to diffuse the situation. You know what you should do, know that Amber’s only jealous because she’s desperate for reassurance from you. But God is it exhausting navigating Amber's complex emotions when she doesn't even care if she hurts yours.

Tonight was supposed to be fun for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to go to a party and have a blast, not get into another stupid argument.

Amber hasn't apologised a single time since you two started dating. She hasn't once promised she'd be better like you always do for her. She had yelled at you the second you two left the party, fighting from the porch all the way to the car. She wouldn’t hear you out even once as you were (vehemently) `denying her accusations. You truly believe that you shouldn’t be the one to apologise. Not this time.

So this time, you don't do that. Your hand reaches out, sliding over to the passenger seat until you're grazing Amber's thigh. "What did you think you saw me do, huh?" you say.

“What are you-”

"You think I touched her?" Your fingers trail their way up. The fabric of her leggings is thin, so you can feel the heat of Amber’s skin as you caress her inner thigh. It’s a tease, a war of nerves, wondering when the other will give in. "Like this?"

Amber's still worked up, blood still pumping; the adrenaline from the argument is rushing through her veins. But you know that no matter how pissed off she is at you, there’s no way she’d push you away. You swear she actually moves closer.

“You would,” Amber challenges. “You know, if I knew you were gonna be another unfaithful piece of shit, I wouldn’t have agreed to go out with you.”

You can tell from her tone that she’s trying to rile you up on purpose. Like she’s enjoying getting under your skin. She wants you as heated as she is so it becomes a level playing field. Amber does this whenever you two have a fight, like she's just waiting for you to blow up at her so you feel as insane as she does about you. You know it's all coming from the same place as the jealousy does. She feels so fucking much about you that she's begging for more. Needs retribution so bad. Needs to feel something.

"Sometimes I swear you start fights out of nowhere on purpose," you say. On her upper inner thigh now, your hand squeezes, almost hard enough to bruise. Your thumb runs up down, up down, never quite getting close enough to where she wants it. "Because you like when I touch you while you pretend to hate my guts."

"You're an idiot. Why would I want you to touch me?" Amber clenches her thighs, holding your hand in place, preventing it from slipping back down. You can hear how her breathing gets laboured. She's too stubborn to admit that she wants you to keep going, but you both know it. She can't help the mix of hatred and lust that fuels her veins right now. "I do hate you. I hate you so goddamn much."

A red light. You breathe out in relief.

Finally, your attention doesn't need to be split between the road and this argument. You can see the smile on her face as she swears that she hates you. Good. That wild look in her eyes tells you that you can be more aggressive with her. Amber loves that.

Your hand slips up right where she wants it, until you're cupping at her center. Only a thin scrap of fabric separate your fingers from the cunt you love so much. You could do it. You could tear through her leggings and fuck the shit out of her. Amber's legs part for you and you swear you hear her whimper.

"What would you do if I did flirt with her, huh?" you say. "Would you break up with me?"

"Fuck you," she spits, though with her shortness of breath it sounds more like a plead. "I bet you wanted to get her to some spare room. You're desperate enough. Were you hoping to get your fingers wet with some other bitch even when you went there with your girlfriend?"

Her mouth is so filthy. You should do something about that. Amber shouldn't be allowed to talk right now. "What's your fucking problem? I was with you all night!"

God, this is fun. Amber's grinning and her eyes shine, the golden light coming in from the streetlights and making everything glow. You squeeze. The meat of your palm is grinding up against her clit but it isn't enough. Not with all that clothing between you. She moans, clenching her legs once more, needing more pressure there.

"You're my problem!" Amber shrieks.

Fuck.

The second you're about to leap in and devour Amber in a kiss, the light you're stopped at turns green. The car behind you honks and you're forced to turn your attention back to the road. Amber lets out a frustrated groan at that - that stupid honking throwing the moment entirely.

"You know what, screw this," she says. You hear Amber unclick her seatbelt, and before you can tell her to strap back in she grabs your hand.

"What are you-" You barely get the words out before your hand is shoved down into her leggings.

Amber's soaked. She's as sticky and warm as the last time you touched her, and you know just how good she'd taste right now too. It isn't your dominant hand - that one is busy on the wheel - so you actually haven't touched her with this one before. It's unfamiliar territory and the same all at once. She pushes her panties to the side with her own hand but it'll be yours that she makes do all the work.

"Shut up. I need this." A low guttural sound escapes her lips as she finally, finally feels your hand where she wants it. Her head tilts back and you feel her thighs squeeze at that first sharp sensation of pleasure. "Shut your mouth and drive," she practically hisses.

You have to focus on the road. The guy behind you is already pissed from how slow you were to keep driving after the green light, and how Amber had given him the middle finger. He's driving so close behind you know that a single slip up could mean a crash. You're so fucked. Especially your fingers, which Amber is sliding her slit up and down on, collecting her wetness with a satisfying shlick.

"Amber," you try to warn. As hot as this is, you do not want to get into an accident because your girlfriend was just so horny during a fight.

Her mouth hangs open in pleasure as she rubs her clit against your palm. It's so much better when you can feel her. You wish you could turn to look. But you can feel Amber's eyes on you, probably still glaring at you with the same hateful glare she had earlier.

"She wouldn't be this wet for you," she tells you.

The girl at the party could not be further from your mind right now. "I don't give a shit about her," you admit. "God, you're so wet, baby." You can feel your own excitement between your legs, can see how your windows are starting to fog up as both of your breaths heat the air.

She lets out a moan, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. "That's right. Because you're mine." Her nails dig into the flesh of your forearm, a threat to scratch you up if you so much as attempt to move away.

Your fingers slip inside. Two at once. Amber normally likes to play the long game and build up to more, letting you tease her with one sliding in and out until she screams at you for more. But the thrill of the danger and anger and jealousy is getting to both of you. Her hips grind and wind as she rides your fingers, while your other hand desperately grips onto the wheel as you will yourself to concentrate on the road.

"Say it," Amber breathes out. "You're only mine."

A part of you thinks that'd be no fun. "You should've trusted me," you say instead. It's so much more fun when she's seething. It's like her anger is heating up her insides. She feels different. You curve your fingers inside her and she cries out.

"Fuck!"

"Yeah? You loving my fingers in your pussy?" You wriggle the two until you're pressing at the spot that always drives Amber crazy. But it's clumsy. You never use this hand and eventually it'll cramp up and get tired. You know you're doing your job well when she digs her nails in even harder and her hips thrust. Neither of you give a shit when the car behind you honks and overtakes you.

She's too wound up right now, too far gone. Her mouth twists into a vicious smile that you can't see, but you can hear it in her voice. "Y-you wish," Amber struggles out. "You think you're so good. I'm using you here, not the other way around."

She rides your fingers like that for a few minutes. As you had suspected, the lack of practice means that your forearm is already getting tired. As hot as this is, you can't pump as easily as you could if you were on a bed, not worrying about driving. You can tell that Amber is getting frustrated. Maybe that's making it better.

Everything is a blur of rage and lust until you realise you've driven right past her house. Whatever. You're dying to stop the goddamn car and set Amber right. You slam the brakes now that there's no car behind you to hit, sending the car lurching to a stop. Your fingers slide deeper into her cunt with the movement and it makes her scream.

You pull into a residential side street, one even quieter than the rest. Finding a spot to turn off the engine and throw the car into park is easy enough when your brain is putting I need to fuck her right now over safety.

The second that ignition goes off, Amber is already on you. You slip your tired hand away, the other going to her leggings and slipping them off. Her expression is still twisted in that rage that never quite goes away - she hates you, she hates you, she hates you - but she loves you so much when you shove three fingers into her.

You feel her tongue invading your mouth, probing and searching, while her hands continue to grip and claw at your clothes. It's like she's trying to claim you; she wants to take away all evidence of you being your own person, to take away your control.

"Is this what you wanted?" Amber whispers against your mouth. "Why do you make me feel like? You want to see me like this? Huh?"

It's reckless and out of control and perfect. You don't even care that any second you could get caught. You could lose yourself in this moment, in this golden haze that illuminates your fogged up windshield. The car's starting to sway with your movements.

"How do I make you feel, baby?" Her pussy feels so good as you surge your fingers in deeper. "Tell me."

"Like I'm going crazy," she whispers, her voice breaking a little with emotion. It's too much. It was too much then at the party, when she saw you dancing with some other girl, too much when you started touching her.

Everything about what you're doing to her is bringing Amber closer and closer to that point of no return. "Like you're making me crave you." Her hips rock against you again, her breasts soft as they rub against you too.

This is Amber making you feel the way you make her feel. When you dance with other girls, when you don't text back for hours, when you forget your anniversary. Every time you brushed off an insult and didn't let a fight escalate, this is what she wanted. How pent up she must have been, swallowing down the rage and accepting your apologies.

Amber whines when your thumb grazes against her clit. Every bit of her feels like it's tingling and she's practically soaking your lap at this point. "I hate you but I can't live without you." Amber sounds like she's on the verge of tears. "It scares and excites me at the same time. I- I've never cared this much."

You keep pumping right back into her, never stopping, only growing more and more intense. Her body trembles but you're holding her. Amber's hands grasp at your forearm again, like she can't decide whether to push you away or pull you in. You don't know what to say. She was enjoying the fight earlier, instigated it even, but she's so vulnerable now.

"You're the only one I want," is what you end up settling on. Your thumb stops those teasing grazes now, rubbing against her clit proper. Her wetness makes it so easy. "And I am yours."

This is what makes Amber shudder and dissolve in your arms. The tension finally breaks and she starts squirming against you, fingers lodged so deep into her body it's like you're grazing at something deeper, body shaking violently. She's so close, so impossibly close, a moment of pure ecstasy that lasts seconds before falling apart in a burst of heat and pleasure.

"You're mine!" This she shouts so loud you'd be surprised if the entire neighbourhood didn't wake up.

You two fall silent for a moment, both taking slow, shuddering breaths. Amber can feel her brain is still short circuiting, trying to calm down; it's like her stomach has been replaced with a ball of fire.

"Still hate me?" you whisper, leaning in to kiss Amber.

"Just shut up, okay," she murmurs, kissing back happily now, her voice still raw from the edge of tears and the intense orgasm that had wracked her body. "Don't ever do that again."

#mikey madison #amber freeman #mikey madison x reader #amber freeman x reader #scream 2022 #scream 5 #amber freeman smut #wanted to write something short and got carried away lol

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passionateseadruid · 2 days

Text

Snake King’s Bride

Warning: Profanity (The F bomb), unhealthy relationships, human sacrifice, deals with the devil. (Why tf am I writing this 😭(because I had an idea and it wouldn’t get out of my head that’s why)) Other warnings may be added.

Part one The Exchange

You were so excited to move out and go to college. But in this economy everything is expensive, so you got a roommate and a job at this adorable little thrift store. (Employee discount for the win).

“Bye, Lilian! I’m off to work!”

“Okay! I’ll be home late, so don’t wait up!”

“Alright! If you feel unsafe or if you want to leave the concert early feel free to call me!”

“Okay!”

You made your way to your job and entered the shop.

“Kaitlyn I’m here!”

“Oh hey! Come in come in! I was just reorganizing some stuff.” She stood on a chair as she swapped some things on shelfs, next to her lay a bag of flower petals (fake ones most likely).

“Anything new or interesting get dropped off?”

“My step-sister Regan dropped off a ring earlier today.” She said hopping down.

“Ooh! What does it look like?”

“It’s gold and it’s shaped like a snake coiled around your finger. And it’s eating a little ruby in the shape of an apple.”

“Can I see it?”

“You’re… interested?”

“I guess you could say so.”

She smiled, almost exited and relieved at once. “I’ll go get it.”

She left and after a few minutes you were worried so you went to find her and you heard her talking in the break room.

“…

I promise she’s perfect

…

Trust me! Rea Rea doesn’t have to get hurt

…

See?!

…

Oh thank you!” She walked out of the break room and you hid behind a clothing rack.

You pretended to be coming back from the bathroom. “Hey, I just want to say that I hope you know I’m here for you if you need anything. Like I know this is out of pocket but I thought I’d tell you because we’re getting close.”

“I’m fine. Here’s the ring.”

“This is beautiful!”

“Put it on!”

“What? Why?” You laughed.

“Why not? I won’t tell. Just do it.”

“Okay but only for a minute.” You slipped it on. “Okay that’s enough… why won’t it come off?”

“It’s… not coming off?” Kaitlyn asked nervously.

“I’m going to see if I can loosen it with maybe some soap or something. Where did your sister get this ring by the way?!” You yelled from the bathroom. The shop was usually empty on weekdays so you didn’t really care about how loud you were being.

“Um… my little sister said that it was a family heirloom to be passed down to the first woman born into that family on her 20th birthday.”

“Okaaaay…”

“I’m not finding anything; but while you have that ring on why don’t we have some fun!”

“What do you mean by that?” You asked cautiously.

“Why don’t we just pretend that you’re getting married?”

“What?” You laughed.

“Come on! It’ll be fun!”

"Why not?" You smiled.

You pulled out an old wedding dress and the matching shoes. She arranged the flower petals from before in a circular pattern and placed some candles around. "I think this dress might be a bit big on me."

"I'll grab some safety pins." Kaitlyn smiled.

You changed into the dress and when you went to zip it up it felt like the dress shrunk to fit snuggly on you. It was a white ballgown dress with a sweetheart neckline and long sleeves. She then changed into some white close toed wedges with faux gemstones dangling from the strap. It felt like the shoes were expanding as you slipped into them. "Huh, everything is a perfect fit." You then slipped on a chocker that had two rows of pearls and a big diamond in the center and finally placed the veil that came with the dress on top of your head.

Stepping out Kaitlyn had adjusted the veil to cover your face and lead you over to the ring of flowers. "Okay stand here for a second."

"Kaitlyn, something doesn't feel right about this." You said as you stepped into the circle.

"Shut up."

"Excuse you!"

Kaitlyn starts speaking in Latin as you try to step out of the circle. "Kaitlyn stop! You're scaring me!" A forcefield stopped you from leaving the circle. "What the fuck? What the fuck is this? Let me out!"

A fiery rift slices through the air and a dark demonic voice calls out.

"Please, Dark King of hell take her as your bride in exchange for Regan!"

"Deal now leave me be."

"What NO!" You screamed as the floor erupted from under you.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #vivziepop #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin lucifer #hazbin #hazbin lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer x reader #yandere lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #yandere lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin yandere lucifer #lucifer magne x reader #lucifer hazbin #Hazbin Lucifer Morningstar x reader

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cassiopeia-core · 17 hours

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obsessed

leo valdez x daughter of hecate reader

a/n: calypso is nice in this one, reader is vv insecure (self-projecting lol), also ending was kinda rushed bc i didn't know how to finish it, also not proofread :)

song: obsessed - olivia rodrigo

(calypso is a pisces for the plot)

La-da-da-da, da-da-da, la-da-da-da-da La-da-da-da, da-da-da

when leo and calypso broke up, the entirety of camp half-blood was flabbergasted. why wouldn't they be? leo had literally sworn on the river styx for calypso, dying and resurrecting for her then rescuing from her cursed island. the perfect couple.

however, what camp half-blood didn't know was the reason behind the breakup: you. while leo did truly like calypso, deep down, he always knew that you, his best friend, had a special place in his heart.

after leo and you got together officially, rumours starting spiralling about how you'd used 'black magic' to capture leo's love and the matching sun and moon necklaces that you two always wore was cursed or something??? you'd always thought these rumours were ridiculous; you'd literally gotten him the necklace before he'd even known calypso.

Cause I know her star sign, I know her blood type I've seen every movie she's been in and, oh god, she's beautiful

but naturally, although you'd never admit it, you were insecure. calypso was smart, funny and beautiful. she was a goddess for gods sake. you tried to push those negative thoughts down, the thoughts that fed the growing monster that was jealousy inside of you. you were obsessed with her.

you literally had a star sign chart featuring her and leo's signs and their compatibility rates. they were so compatible, perfect for each other. being a daughter of hecate and all, you took these things very seriously. but you could never let leo know. what would he think of you then? you didn't want to lose him more. so everytime he would hangout with you in your cabin, you made sure to cast the Mist over your charts, disguising them or making them appear as though they were nothing.

She's talented, she's good with kids She even speaks kindly about me, ha-huh

hoping to break the good girl image everyone had of her, you always dreamed of catching her slipping up and badmouthing you.

like right now.

you'd been heading back to your cabin after dinner when you heard the voices of Calypso and her friends. you were ready to stear clear and hopefully go around them without catching attention but as you neared them, you realised they were talking about you???

you quickly shrouded yourself in the Mist and crept closer. eavesdropping probably wasn't the best idea but you were determined to prove that she wasn't the good girl everyone thought she was.

"girl, have you seen leo's new girlfriend?" you heard one of her friends snicker. your heart picked up its pace and your ears strained to hear more.

"there's no way he'd rather be with a witch than you calypso, who in their right mind would do that?"

your heart plummeted when you heard calypso sigh, "guys, i've moved on, leo's moved on so there's really no point in badmouthing y/n. also, she is one of the sweetest people ive met. please don't think so lowly of her."

needless to say, you slunk ashamedly back to your cabin.

But I can't help it, I got issues, I can't help it, baby

you couldn't sleep.

couldn't stop comparing yourself to her, couldn't stop doubting why leo could possibly leave her for u.

they were perfect together, like warm flames embracing the smoldering logs in a fireplace on a cold winter's day. but you? you were nothing. you were like the useless mantelpiece above the fireplace, watching on as the flames danced to their full potential.

so you decided it would be best to break up with him

coming to a cold, hard conclusion, you swung yourself out of bed and out of your cabin, and headed towards bunker 9, where undoubtedly, your hardworking boyfriend would be slaving away at the forges.

upon hearing you arrive, leo dropped his work with a clatter and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "baby!" he sang, making his way towards you. "look what i - "

"leo," you interrupted. he looked so excited, eyes brimming with love and enthusiasm, looking at you like were the most beautiful piece of art in the world. you almost stopped yourself from saying your next words but - "leo, i want to break up"

he came to a halt before you. "w-what? did i do something wrong? i'll fix it please, please, please don't do this. just tell me what's wrong? i love you baby please."

you could feel your heart shatter at the sight before you. eyes wide with uncertainty and face full of confusion, the upset on leo's face made you want to turn back time take back your words.

"leo, im so sorry. i love you so much too but, i'm so obsessed with your ex. i feel like a fucking creep! i can't help but think that we're not meant to be and calypso is perfect for you." you managed, chest aching, desperate for something to hold onto, to cling onto. "you're wasting your time on me. i'm not worth it."

"aww baby," leo pulled his arms around you. you sobbed into his shoulder, not caring about how dirty your pajamas were going to be after this. "baby, please don't think like that. you're my forever girl. my one in a million lifetimes. and i love you for you."

you sobbed harder and leo's grip on you tightened. "mi vida, i swear on the river styx that i will try my hardest for you to never ever feel this way again. just promise me that you'll stay with me. i'll love only you, baby. promise."

and he kept it till his very last breath.

a/n pt2: ummm (idk what this is but i love leo soooo)

divider creds: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#leo valdez x reader #hoo x reader #pjo x reader #calypso #leo valdez #daughter of hecate

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lakesparkles · 2 days

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I finished the first chapter of my Gideon and Ramona fanfiction :D

I'll post it somewhere else someday, but so far I can share it here.

(reminder that this is NOT a ship fic. I just want to explore their relationship and project on Ramona tbh)

Ramona and Gideon - I

She decides to leave one last time

Ramona remembers the seven reasons that made her fall in love with Gideon

—

She had that same fantasy every day. As she walked down the halls, running her fingers along the wall, she imagined herself entering her own room. It was satisfying, somehow. She could perfectly see herself opening her wardrobe, taking out the few things that really interested her, putting everything in her bag and simply walking away.

In that fantasy, of course, she always smiled. She even laughed. That kind of hysterical and cathartic laughter only present in films. She wanted to imagine how Gideon would react: how long would it be before he realized she wasn't there anymore? Two weeks? And when would he realize that this wasn't just another one of her "famous tantrums"? Two months? Two years?

Part of her was almost excited at the prospect of making him furious with such an accomplishment. It would be his turn to take endless turns through the halls, finally using his brain trying to understand what had gone so wrong between them. Maybe he would find out years later. Or perhaps that doubt would eat away at him for decades to come, the bitterness of her image never leaving his mind.

And part of her... thought that wasn't realistic. She knew Gideon well enough to know that he would never even consider any mistake on his part, with a mixture of confusion that never ended well when it came to him.

Or worse.

He wouldn't even care about her lack of presence in that house.

Therefore, Ramona released her fingers from the wall, slowing down her steps until she stopped altogether.

Then the fantasy ended. Every single time.

☆

7 MONTHS BEFORE

"Ramona Flowers," he repeated once again, with his head bowed. At that point, she figured he just wanted to test how the name sounded on his own vocal cords. "Ramona...Flowers."

"Did you like it, huh?" Ramona took a sip of her own drink, even though she already considered herself drunk enough. Maybe he was too, now that she thought about it.

"Sounds a little familiar."

"Strange," she shrugged, not caring. "And you are?"

Now he raised his head once more, looking her in the eyes. Ramona found it strange the way he raised one of his eyebrows, as if he had just heard a terrible insult.

"Did I say something wrong?" Alcohol always made her put all her thoughts out, without thinking much. She slowly realized that it hadn't been a good idea to start talking to that guy in a situation like that.

He laughed, however:

"You are intriguing, Ramona. And my name is Gideon Graves, to answer your question!"

He - Gideon? Weird name - had said such a thing with so much pride that she began to suspect there was something she wasn't understanding. She became even more certain of that once she noticed his gaze still fixed on her face, waiting for a response - perhaps an acknowledgment. Strange, huh.

To escape her own discomfort, she looked ahead, watching as everyone calmly walked around the party room. It was an average place, so there were too many people everywhere: one of the reasons she felt so uncomfortable. Parties stopped interesting her when she left college. Now she had no idea what to do there other than walk around with her glass of wine. And walk more. And pretend to be interested in the topic that another weird guy in a suit, who held her arm, was talking about. And walk.

"What brought a girl like you here?" Gideon cut the awkward silence, catching Ramona's attention again.

What was he implying with that? That she looked poor? Messed up? Or was it her hair?

"I was challenged for 20 dollars that I wouldn't be able to crash this party."

"Seriously," he laughed lightly, now being his turn to sip his glass. "What was the reason?"

"It's a looooong story."

"Don't tell me!"

"You wouldn't have that much time to listen to me."

"It seems that you don't know me very well" he implied, good-naturedly.

Ramona turned her head to the side until realize Gideon kept his eyes fixated on her face. He always had a blank expression, difficult to read. She took the opportunity to analyze him more closely, trying to decide if he was ugly or not. His dark hair was longer on one side, in a kind of fringe that must've been popular about 10 years ago. What caught the most attention, clearly, were his thick glasses that he occasionally used his index finger to place back on the bridge of his nose. However, she also couldn't help but notice his white coat, much more informal than she expected for an occasion like that.

Normally, Ramona was good - great even! - knowing a lot about someone just by her first impression and how the other person acted. But that guy? He was different, he just seemed like a weirdo who apparently was interested in her.

She had watched him for a few minutes before he approached. Gideon was talking calmly to a large group of people, making no effort to become the center of attention. He had something in him, that was for sure. A kind of confidence mixed with how unusual the way he gestured with his hands was.

She was so caught up in her own mental notes that she didn't even notice Gideon's next move until it had already happened. Still with a smile stuck on his face, he held her arm tightly, pulling her away from the wall and making her follow him.

"What the hell, dude!?" Ramona practically screamed, looking around in confusion.

"Let's get out of this stupid party, I can't take it anymore!"

Indifferently, Ramona let herself be guided wherever the other wanted. She didn't care anymore. About that party and about everything else. Not when everything had already gone catastrophically wrong. She was too drunk to think about that anyway.

The two of them sneaked among all those people, occasionally apologizing for stepping on someone's foot. When they paused for Gideon to exchange their glasses for two full ones, Ramona realized that she was having more fun in that moment than in any other second since she entered that tight space.

This time, she didn't even need Gideon's grip to willingly follow in his footsteps, laughing along with him every time they had to take a giant turn just because there were so many people.

"I know a place~" Gideon hummed when they arrived in one of the corners of the room. Without making much effort, he lightly opened one of the large doors, waiting for her to pass before closing it behind them"

They came face to face with a long circular staircase - not the most pleasant sight at the moment. She felt sick just looking up:

"Can we be here?"

"Yeah, Jonah doesn't care! Do you know Jonah? The owner of this buiding."

"Obviously not, man!"

"He's a friend of mine... For a long time. Anyway, keep following me!"

And so Ramona did, having the next minutes extremely complicated. She almost tripped on some steps, needing to lean on the handrail as if her life depended on it. Gideon himself didn't seem so good either, his feet unsteady even as he continued to take large gulps of wine. Anyone who looked at them at that moment would think they were idiots, and that thought amused Ramona.

Fortunately, the stairs ended after some time - how much had they gone up? Four floors? - Gideon opened another door, smiling at her as he waited for a reaction.

"Wow," she murmured, somewhat ironically, looking up. Until that moment, she hadn't even realized that they'd gone to the roof of that building. The sky above them was almost completely dark, the stars being overshadowed by all the other lights coming from the buildings.

"Much better than down there, don't you think?" Gideon boasted of himself, taking slow steps to the edge of the slab, leaning there to better observe the entire view.

"Funny. For the way you got along with everyone, I thought you were enjoying it."

"Not even close to that. The good thing about Jonah's parties is that you soon know everyone there, at least by sight. The bad part is that it gets repetitive after the third party."

"I'm already thinking it the first time. Who is Jonah?"

"Huh, he's..." Then he interrupted himself. "You're really not from here."

"What do you think?" Ramona went to his side, resting her glass on the slab and exhaling through her mouth in a kind of 'pfff'. "Do I happen to look like the type of person who comes to New York with a completely fanciful idea coming from $1,99 novels, only to find out that it's not all that and that she's not even good enough to be a pizza delivery girl?

"From the way you're saying it, I believe so."

"That is not what happened!!" She got angry, being grumpy again.

"Alright."

With a sigh, she leaned her body weight - up to her chin - on the wall:

"I'm not here to stay" finally something sincere came out of her mouth. "I just need some money to get to Vermont."

"It's far away, y'know?" Gideon spoke very quietly, his gaze fixed on the sky. She could've sworn he looked a little disappointed, which interested her. "Is there anything you need to do there?"

'No, I just want to know how it is. Just like here."

"And what are your thoughts about New York so far?"

"Overestimated."

"I knew you'd say that!" He shook his head, pretending to be irritated. "And something also told me that you were exactly the type of person who liked to hang around."

"The thing you said about my eyes, right?"

"They're beautiful."

"Did you know that your flirting gets worse every time you drink more?"

Gideon let out a sudden laugh. If he was offended, he didn't show it. At most, he finished all the remaining liquid in the glass in one gulp, teasing her.

"And why are you right here, in the party?" He continued.

"Is this an interrogation?"

"I'm just curious about someone as fascinating as you!"

"Silly," she rolled her eyes, not falling for that. "It was because of a friend. No, not a friend. A guy I met."

"A boyfriend?"

"What? No! It's the guy from the coffee shop across the street, I think he knows Jonah or something. His name is Jay, we talk when I go there. Do you know? That coffee shop over there, look!" She pointed with her index finger to the dark spot on the street below.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Anyways! Jay ended up becoming my roommate. It's in a tiny studio apartment, but he can pay for it with his cafeteria salary and I can with the money I saved from Pennsylvania."

"Mhmm!"

"Shitty, I know! But I'm getting out of here. Soon."

"Are you sure you don't have any plans?"

This time, Ramona was silent, watching the cars pass by below. That part not even alcohol would let go so soon.

"And you, Gideon? Are you from here?"

"Me? I'm not. I came from North Bay.'

"Serious? You don't look Canadian."

"What does looking Canadian mean to you?"

"Someone who isn't you."

"Did you know that you make less and less sense the more you drink?" He countered, raising both eyebrows.

She ignored him, then he spoke again a few seconds later:

"Do you see that building over there? The one near the red sign."

Ramona followed with her gaze where he was pointing:

"Man Media?" She read with her eyes almost closed, barely seeing.

"G-Man Media! G! The triangle is a G!"

"Ah, now I see it."

"So, I live there!"

"Live?"

"It's my company building, actually. But I arranged one of the floors to be my apartment."

"Company?"

She was still looking closely there, almost getting scared when she felt Gideon's hand on her shoulder.

"Ramona, are you okay? Of course you're not!"

She responded with a nod, cursing herself for making it so apparent that she had drunk more than she was used to. What a great first impression. She tried to stand and turn to him, to prove a point, but she remembered little after that.

It was as if her mind had stopped working from one moment to the next. I mean, she was conscious as best she could. Wasn’t she?

The problem was remembering that the next day.

She lifted her head for the expected pain, her mouth dry as a desert upon waking up. Even though she couldn't see very well, she realized she was in a bed. How? She barely had time to despair before she looked everywhere, analyzing the light coming through the window and realizing she was alone in an unfamiliar place. It wasn't her apartment with Jay, that was for sure. That room alone should've been bigger than the entire place.

The last thing she remembered from the last night was being in a car. Gideon spoke to her, a little impatiently. He asked where she lived, she thinks.

Well, there was no sign of Gideon at that moment, which made her feel a little calmer. She also seemed fine, if she ignored her hangover.

It'd just been... Weird.

It took her about half an hour, rooting and snooping in every corner of the room, until she noticed the most obvious thing of all: the sheet of paper and the envelope on top of the cabinet.

She sat at the foot of the bed, reading what was written there:

"Dear Ramona Flowers,

The room´s already been paid for overnight, don't need to worry! If you want to see me again, you know where to find me. If not, I wish you the best of luck in Vermont!

-GGG"

Half curious, half laughing at the stupid name, she opened the envelope to find enough money for five trips.

☆

She didn't know why her brain reminded her of that specific moment. Ramona raised the corner of her mouth, coming back to reality and running her fingers along the walls of the hallway towards her room.

Now the fantasy was completely over. Instead, she imagined a fictional life in Vermont, accompanied by someone poorer and less complicated. It looked good, if she ignored the lack of detail because she had obviously never set foot there.

God, what an idiot she was!

Even without having a specific direction, she continued walking there. It’s what she does when she is so bored in such a big building. It was even funny. She'd lived there for months, but she was pretty sure she'd never explored all the rooms and floors.

She was near her room when someone suddenly came out of one of the open doors, colliding painfully into her.

"Ow. Sorry" she automatically apologized, expecting to be one of the tower's employees.

"Ramona," the other person's voice said. In that typical and curious way.

"Gideon," she said back, her head down. "I thought you were working all day today?"

"Nope, only in the morning" he finished straightening his suit that had crumpled during the impact. "I was looking for you, actually."

Ramona raised her head, certainly not anticipating this turn of the conversation. So much so that she was speechless for a second, giving Gideon the chance to continue:

"Do you want to go out for lunch? You can choose the place this time."

His tone... It seemed normal. Different from usual, which made her suspicious:

"I prefer to stay at home today, my head hurts. I was going to my room," and then she started to feel guilty. "Do you want to watch a movie?"

"Only if it's Sherlock Holmes!"

"Nothing like that! You said I choose and it will be The Butterfly Effect!"

Gideon smiled as he nodded, putting his arm around her neck - that had to be uncomfortable, considering how many inches taller she was than him -, and walking beside her to her room.

Then they spent the next few minutes together, without anything too special. Besides, of course, being in each other's presence in general. It seemed like the longer their relationship lasted, the less they saw each other. And that only made her feel strange about the current situation. It seemed so normal that something had to be out of place.

The film played in front of the two, who lay on her big bed. Gideon had a straight body, with his legs crossed and his arms the same way. Ramona kind of touched him and kind of didn't. Gideon seemed interested in the film, laughing and making occasional comments. Ramona pretended to pay attention when answering him.

What was so wrong? There had to be something wrong.

Then Gideon stretched a little, changing position to turn around and wrap his arms around her body. His familiar shape made her dizzy for a moment. This hadn't happened for a long time. Without thinking too much to avoid regret, she snuggled into his hold, feeling warm and... Fine. Almost.

The memory was almost automatic. Her brain refocused on that same day, months ago:

What she hadn't told Gideon when they met was how incredibly lost she was feeling because of her own stupidity. After graduating, she decided to leave everything behind, as she realized that she didn't belong there. She might not have any idea where that place would be, but she could certainly look! She took whatever temporary job she could get; she boarded planes and even trusted strangers for rides; she spent months, weeks and days in completely different cities. Searching.

New York before Gideon had been more of the same. Her days were made up of looking at those giant buildings while wondering which point in that immense city was the right one.

Apparently, it was exactly in that room, feeling Gideon's comforting warmth. He looked so relaxed that she couldn't help but laugh at the funny face he made as he tried not to fall asleep. The energy bar above his head said otherwise, being practically zero. Ramona... She was almost fine too. Her eyes took longer to blink each time.

So why did she still feel exactly the same as the time she spent wandering around New York? She was beginning to think that she was incapable of settling down and being content.

An instant before she fell completely asleep, something clicked in her mind. Her eyes suddenly widened.

She finally realized what was so wrong there.

It was about the day she met Gideon. She was absolutely sure that, until now, she remembered perfectly how everything happened when they got down from that slab. Before now, she remembered taking a taxi with him and all the conversations they had inside. And how he took her to a random hotel for the night, saying goodbye briefly by leaving her in the room and writing something while she went, in her drunken state, to bed.

But now... It was as if her mind had gone blank.

#my writing #ramona flowers #gideon graves #scott pilgrim #ramona and gideon au #if you read it i would love to know what you think :D

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lovinglylibelle · 1 day

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

-navigation || masterlist-

pairing: fushiguro megumi x reader

genre: fluff

description: Megumi has always been curious about love, having never experienced it himself. So what happens when he meets someone from his past that might just be the key to changing all that.

requests: open

a/n: this is has been on my mind for a while and i tried sooo many times to write this, but it somehow wasn't giving the vibe i wanted it to give. However, writing it this time was better and i like how it turned out, may have gotten carried away down there but eh (is it obvious that i am absolutely enamored by Megs?) If you like it, please press that cute little heart in the bottom right corner and that reblog button just next to it. If you want more such fics, you can also drop a follow and i promise not to disappoint. Have a happy day ahead, keep yourself hydrated and well fed. Thank you

"Ya Itadori, do you think it will rain?" Kugisaki asked, shielding her eyes as she looked up at the sky. It was the beginning of Japan's rainy season and it seemed like Tokyo was about to welcome it too.

It was getting darker by the second as more and more clouds gathered, blocking out the rays of the sun and from the looks of it, the sky was ready to let down the first rain.

"It's definitely going to rain," Itadori replied. According to the duo, he had some sort of sensor in him that allowed him to predict the weather... keeping aside the fact that it was already visible.

Megumi sighed as he watched the two sorcerers, now trying to climb the lamp post in order to get a clearer view, wondering how he managed to get himself surrounded by them. Not that he minded it. He had gotten used to it.

The three were standing outside a movie theatre, waiting for the movie to screen. Kugisaki and Itadori had insisted upon watching the latest romance movie, the same old story about love.

Fushiguro Megumi didn't know a thing about love and it really wasn't a surprise. To him it was just a myth, a fool's errand that the world seemed to chase for reasons unbeknownst to him.

He didn't get it, truly, the concept of it foreign to him but he wasn't the one to blame for it. He didn't exactly have the chance to experience it: his parents abandoned him, his sister was in a magic coma, and his 'relatives' wanted to exploit him... the only thing close to love, affection, and warmth he had ever known, not that he would ever admit it to him or anyone, was the chaotic white haired man child known as Gojo Satoru, and the two idiots who seemed to have taken it upon themselves to be the bane of his existence. However, that was all platonic anyway.

Romantic love was something he had only read about in the various novels and mangas: that were neatly stacked in his dorm, or watched in movies like these, and yet they weren't enough to make him believe in the notion.

It felt fictional to him, a love that transcends all barriers, a love that makes one do irrational things, a love that is unconditional... the idea was too far fetched. Everybody wanted something in the world, he knew that, he experienced that on an everyday basis. And everybody was selfish when it came down to it, so something as selfless as love was odd for him, odder than the existence of curses and magic.

However, he did wonder what it felt like, to be in love and to feel that feeling that all these things portrayed. Will he ever feel that? it was a question that made him ponder sometimes. He wouldn't mind it if he did and wouldn't mind it if he didn't either.

This reverie of his might have been neverending if it wasn't for the loud shout that Kugisaki had let out. "Fushiguro, it's open!"

He nodded, making his way towards them but stopping short after feeling a strong and familiar cursed energy.

"Huh?" he questioned, his eyes narrowing as he scanned his surroundings. A nostalgic emotion making its way to his heart. What was it-

thud, he felt someone bump into him, making him stumble slightly before he caught himself.

Looking up, he noticed the culprit and was ready to give them a terrible look but as soon as his eyes met yours, his entire world seemed to have slowed down to a halt.

There you were turning around to face him as your hair cascaded around you, framing you delicately like the buds do the petals. Your eyes were wide with evident shock that was etched onto your face oh so sweetly. Your lips parting slightly as it finally began to rain... the first of its season.

The air around you seemed to shimmer and Megumi could have sworn that he had never seen anybody look as beautiful as you did in that moment.

"Oh my god, shit, i am so sorry." you said hurriedly, a shocked expression on your face. You kept a hand above your eyes to be able to see.

Megumi couldn't even breathe much less talk or comprehend whatever you were saying as he noticed the feeling from earlier creeping in again. He squinted at you, running a hand through his hair that was now soaked and sticking to his forehead.

As he took in your features, the feeling started to bloom into something more, recognition.

You had the same aura around you, as you did all those years ago, of comfort and safety that once was Megumi's only solace. Your clumsiness was intact too, barely taking a few steps before crashing into things as he recalled. Your hair was longer though and somehow it looked even more perfect than what he had remembered... And your eyes, oh your eyes, they were the dead give away.

They had that same glint in them, the same warmth and insatiable curiosity that always left him in awe. Even now they seemed to hold the entire universe in them and sparkle like a million stars resided in them.

"Y/n..?" he whispered, loud enough for you to hear over the rain and soft enough to not break the moment.

"What? How do you know my nam-" you replied, confused beyond your belief when a flicker of understanding crossed your mind and you lit up with the same feeling of recognition.

"Meg- Fushiguro? No way..." you chuckled incredelously, disbelief on your face.

"Hello to you too, Y/n" he said, a smile on his face. It was genuine, the smile, just like it used to be all those years ago when you two spent time together.

To Kugisaki and Itadori who were watching it all unfold from afar, it was truly a rare sight; to see the alleged sea urchin, make that face and that too in a serious way.

"It's been so long Fushiguro, you've not changed a bit." you said, tucking your hair behind your ear as you smiled back at him. The more Megumi observed you, the more aware he became of his surroundings. He felt his cheeks growing warm despite the cold rain that was falling relentlessly around him.

"well my teeth grew back," he joked, earning a soft laugh from you and a gasp of disbelief from the other two, who exchanged a look. At the sound of your laugh, Megumi felt his heartbeat pick up, he couldn't comprehend what was happening to him. It was the first time ever that he had felt all those things, was it the weather? was it the rain? was he getting sick? what was happening to him? was he okay?

"that they did... makes you less cute though." you commented, making him nod his head and his friends face-palm themselves.

If they had been standing closer to you, Kugisaki would have smacked the oblivious guy's head right in that instance but due to the distance she couldn't.

"So you are back?" Fushiguro asked as the two of you started walking, the rain almost forgotten now.

"Yeah, Gojo Sensei had insisted on it and well i did miss everything here, especially you." you said, a hopeful look in your eyes as they met his.

I missed you too, he had wanted to say but decided against it.

"So what brings you here?" he said instead, his hands in his pockets.

He was looking down on the street, various puddles forming due to the water. He stepped in one, watching it splash against his feet.

"Believe it or not, it's a mission. There is a cursed spirit right around the corner there, caused a few suicides over the week." you said pointing at the alley behind the theatre.

"Speaking of, i can feel it manifesting again." you added, stopping in your tracks.

"They already got you going huh? You should go and exorcise it, we can talk later." he said, stopping to face you. He didnt want to stop talking just yet but he knew that the exorcism was more important.

"Alright, see you back at the dorms?"

He nodded in reply,

"It really is nice to see you again Fushiguro, i'll see you later." you said, taking off towards the alley with your hands clasped behind your back.

Fushiguro watched you walk away and felt himself coming to his senses again, he could now feel every raindrop on himself that had seemingly disappeared when he was talking to you. He realised that he was soaked, his hair sticking to his face, his hands cold and clammy and yet he didn't mind it at all,

He was so lost in watching you walk away that he didn't realise when Kugisaki and Itadori had joined him.

"So... who was that?" she said, holding the umbrella that somehow magically appeared in her hand. Her eyes narrowing at Megumi.

"A friend,"

"Just, a friend?"

"Yeah, just a friend."

"Sureeee, you made us miss half the movie though."

"But it's just been ten minutes Kugisaki-" Itadori interrupted,

"Yeah yeah i know, i am exaggerating. Come on now and quit staring, you look like a creep for fuck's sake." she called out, making her way towards the entrance of the theatre.

"Shut up." Megumi replied, shaking his head but looking away too.

He was elated to see you again and was even looking forward to meeting you back at the school and introducing you to his new friends.

"For the record, I don't believe that she was just a friend." Kugisaki added as she sat on her seat inside the theatre. Megumi who was now dry, thanks to his shikigami, sat down next to her with a sigh.

He avoided her gaze as he replied, "I don't care."

He was glad that the cinema was dark enough to hide his face when he said that because despite everything, a small smile had found its way on his lips which he really did not want Kugisaki or Itadori to see or they wouldn't let him hear the end of it.

His eyes focused on the movie in front of him, a romance movie, about love and somewhere in his heart and beyond his consciousness, he knew that he had found the answer to most of the questions he had as he thought back to the encounter he just had with you.

He really was looking forward to seeing you again.

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britishassistant · 1 day

Text

An Act Of Infinite Optimism

Trucy notices it first.

Of course she does. Polly, for all he’s quick on the uptake, can still be kinda oblivious at times!

Honestly, she wouldn’t know what he’d do without her help in court, he’d be—! Well, not hopeless, but certainly more sweaty than he already is!

Trucy’s been a magician for years, and helping Daddy win poker games for even longer. She’s had far more time to practice at perceiving than Polly has, so she can’t really fault him, can she?

The point is, Trucy perceives a lot about the world around her. Little things, hidden things, things that other people don’t notice.

She’s like, the best at that. Even better than Polly (though he is catching up.)

But when he’s pulling apart Lamiroir’s testimony on the stand and shocking the singer so much that her veil flies up when she rears back in surprise, Trucy can’t help thinking as she watches, “Huh, doesn’t Lamiroir’s jaw look a lot like Polly’s?”

And of course, once she’s thought that, she kind of can’t stop?

It’s not just the jaw that resembles Polly. They both have the same long-fingered hands, the same pale brown hair, the same slight stature, heck, even the same Chords of Steel when Lamiroir calls out Daryan Crescend!

Sure, Polly has a darker complexion and brown eyes instead of blue, but Trucy’s doing biology in school! Maybe she can’t remember what the square with all the rabbits is called, but she knows brown eyes are more likely to show up even in the kids of blue eyed people.

Still, she tells herself, she can’t just jump to conclusions like this! She learned that lesson at Ashley’s pool party not long after she became a Wright. She doesn’t know Polly’s family situation, doesn’t know if he has relatives in Borginia that Lamiroir might secretly be part of. For all she knows, Lamiroir’s a distant aunt or something! A distant aunt who, for some inexplicable reason, looks scarily a whole lot like Polly.

Yeah.

Which is why, when they get back to the Agency after the trial, Trucy subtly segues from talking about Daddy’s secret mission to, “What about you Polly? Were your parents away on business a lot when you were a kid?”

Polly stops.

Only for a moment, not long enough that anyone who isn’t Trucy would notice. To anyone else, he’s moving stuff into neat piles on the sofa.

But Trucy watches as his hand creeps towards his other wrist between stacking, fidgeting with the gold bangle there.

“Ah, that’s kinda complicated?” He attempts to evade. “And it’s not all that interesting, so.”

“C’mon, Polly!” She presses. “You’re one of the Wrights now, so we gotta know! It’d be super rude if we invited you to Thanksgiving, but there’s a whole family of Pollys we left out on accident! I gotta know how many places we need at the table! We might even need to buy more chairs!”

One of the Wright Anything Agency, she means.

She’s not sure why it came out like it did.

But Polly’s eyes are shining slightly, and he actually stops fidgeting for a moment to swipe a shirt sleeve across them. Maybe he got dust in them?

“No, I, ah.” He lets out a laugh that sounds more sad than anything. “I don’t really have anyone else? I mean, I only came to the States when I was eight, and I was fostered before that, and, and after too, but—! There’s not really any, no bio and my fosters were never really—! It’s just me, I mean. If, if I do have an invite.”

!!!

Uncle Valant then bursts in, so Trucy kinda has to put a pin in this to deal with a blast from her own past, but!!

Polly was fostered. Polly only came to the States when he was eight.

Polly doesn’t know who his bio mom is!!

It’s practically guaranteed, so sure a bet that she’d be willing to go all in on it, but she needs to be certain. 99% isn’t 100, but she can’t provide that last 1% herself.

She needs someone else to see it. A witness.

Her first instinct is Daddy, but Daddy is so busy with his secret mission he barely stops by long enough to press a kiss to Trucy’s forehead before he’s gone again. Also, he’s never seen Lamioir before, so he can’t really speak decisively on the matter.

Uncle Valant is also an option, but. But even if he knows Lamiroir, he doesn’t know Polly. He can’t give unbiased testimony based on one conversation, even if he is a magician.

Someone who’s observed Polly and Lamiroir for long enough apart to make a solid judgement comparing them together…

She could kiss Polly when he takes them to Prosecutor Gavin’s office to eavesdrop.

She lets the boys have their fun as they poke around, but makes an announcement in the hall when Polly decides it’s time to leave.

“I need to use the bathroom! It’s that time of month, you know!” Is enough to leave Polly red-faced and spluttering as she flounces around the corner, then takes two lefts and a right that lead her right back to Prosecutor Gavin’s office.

Thank heavens for Uncle Miles and field trips to visit him with Daddy before he left again for Europe.

“Fraulein Magician?” Prosecutor Gavin looks amused as she slips inside the door. “I believe the ladies’ room is back—“

“Shh!” She whisper-scolds. “I need to talk to you about something important! And secret!”

“An important secret?” To his credit, the prosecutor does grow a bit more serious at that. “Well, danke for your trust, Fraulein. Consider me all ears.”

Trucy takes a deep breath.

“I think Lamiroir might secretly be Polly’s bio mom.”

Prosecutor Gavin stares at her for a few moments. The corners of his eyes twitch, and his lips press together.

The amusement is back in full force, barely held back by Prosecutor Gavin’s wavering self-control.

“Before you laugh or say it’s impossible or whatever!” Trucy draws herself up, does her best imitation of Uncle Miles’ scary stare. “Think about Polly and Lamiroir, for a second. Everything you know about them. Isn’t it weird how similar they are, especially if they aren’t related somehow?”

The amusement is fading slightly from Prosecutor Gavin’s face as he considers it. “Yes, but Fraulein, Herr Forehead is American. How exactly could Lamiroir, a native of Borginia, have a son in this country when it’s her first time here? One she has completely failed to acknowledge every time they’ve spoken, no less.”

Trucy smirks.

“Polly wasn’t born in America. He told me he came to the states when he was little, that he’s been fostered ever since. Plus, hasn’t Lamiroir said over and over she can’t remember any of her past beyond performing with Matchi? Well, what if part of that not remembering is not remembering that she’s not Borginian? Or that she already had a son and had to give him up?”

Prosecutor Gavin doesn’t do what she’d like him to do, which is collapse into his plush desk chair crying, “Mein Gott, you’re right! How could you be so intelligent and beautiful, Fraulein Trucy Wright?!”

But she sees her words hit the mark. The indulgent amusement is all gone, a deep and pensive frown on his face as he messes with his bangs.

“It is an astute observation, Fraulein Magician.” He finally says. “But, as I’ve told Herr Forehead countless times, theories do not a case make. Nein, what we need is evidence.”

Trucy can hear Polly calling for her, voice leaning into concerned, but one word makes her pause as she goes to slip out of Prosecutor Gavin’s office.

“We?”

“Ja, Fraulein Magician.” Klavier Gavin’s eyes glitter with a mischievous determination reflected on Trucy’s own face. “We.”

#ace attorney #ajaa #ajaa spoilers #apollo justice #apollo justice spoilers #trucy wright #aa trucy #lamiroir #klavier gavin #ace attorney klavier #guess what game I just finished watching

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kaylinalexanderbooks · 2 days

Text

Character voice

Thanks @elsie-writes here, @willtheweaver here, @mk-writes-stuff here and here, and @illarian-rambling here!

Rules: rewrite the given line in your characters' voices

Got long, under the cut

“Are you okay?”

Lexi: "Omigosh are you okay? What happened???" [Probably panicking herself]

Maddie: *squints, tilts head* "What's wrong with you?" (Genuine worry)

Ash: *tries to read them telepathically* "You're upset. Why?"

Gwen: "Hey, are you feeling alright?"

Robbie: *clears throat* "You good dude? Been worried about you."

Akash: "Are you okay? Been worried, man."

Jedi: "Are you feeling alright?"

Carmen: *pretends she doesn't care, even when she does* "What happened?!"

“I overslept!”

Lexi: "WHAT?! What time is it?? Oh no oh no oh no I overslept my alarm! How is that possible?! Now I'm gonna be late oh no --"

Maddie: "Hm? It's [time]? Hm. Overslept I guess."

Ash: "Wow. I was more tired than I thought."

Gwen: "Oh, no, I overslept!! Guess I have to go to bed earlier or set more alarms next time."

Robbie: "What time is it?! Huh. Guess I needed the rest."

Akash: "There's no way I overslept--guess I didn't set my alarm. *Checks* I did?! Oh no, what are they going to think?!"

Jedi: "I overslept? Oh, dear, this never happens... I rarely sleep as is."

Carmen: "Did someone turn off my alarm? Change it?? There's no way I forgot to set it or slept through it. I don't do that. I don't need the sleep. I made sure I got my schedule working to get the maximum amount of work done. And now, I won't be able to do everything today." (This may continue)

“No, I don't want to eat that [insert food]!”

Lexi: "No, thank you. I'd rather not eat that. I ate too much already, and am full. Also not the hugest fan of it--it isn't your cooking."

Maddie: "I don't like that food. The texture is all wrong."

Ash: "I don't want to eat this--I don't care for it."

Gwen: "Sorry, not that hungry for it. Thank you for offering, though."

Robbie: "Nah. Not in the mood. Thanks, though."

Akash: "I, uh, hate to disappoint you, but I don't like this food. Nothing to do with you or your cooking abilities, it's all me."

Jedi: "Thank you for considering me when offering this, but I am afraid I am not fond of this particular dish."

Carmen: "Ugh, it's disgusting, I'm not eating it."

"That is the ugliest thing I have ever seen someone wear."

Lexi: "Oh... Um, here's the thing: I think we can do better. With the outfit. It's, like, cute and all in a... Unique way. Grotesque maybe. It's the color, I think. We can fix it though! I'll help."

Maddie: "What are you wearing? Are you going to the town in that old Dr. Seuss movie? Or like a Star Trek vacation spot?" *Grins at joke*

Ash: "Why would you wear that? It doesn't really look good."

Gwen: "Oh wow. Um. Sorry, I--your outfit. It's... Interesting. Haven't really seen anything like it."

Robbie: "Oh my GOD! Sorry. Your outfit just took me by surprise. It's...dude, I can't -- it's awful. For your sake, please go change?"

Akash: "Um..." *runs hand through hair* "Look, buddy, I love you, but *grimaces* I think you can do better. Frankly, it's not good. It's...bad? For you. How about I help you pick out something that's more...you?"

Jedi: (silent for several moments) "That is certainly a very interesting choice of fashion. I have certainly not seen anything quite like it, that's for certain."

Carmen: "What in the world made you get into that - it's hideous. Never seen anything worse in fact."

Bonus for this one, because I have a couple specific fashion oriented characters I wanted to react to this--

Rose: *several seconds of panicked crisis* "Okay, we can make this work. Let's spruce up this outfit."

Alex: "Oh honey...darling. Babe. Sweetie. Treasure. Sweetheart. Sunshine. Baby. I'm running out of synonyms. We need to help your look. It's not that good."

Sam: "...this is weird for me, I usually have something to say here. Well, uh, that outfit isn't working for you. Sorry. Don't want to hurt your feelings. But I think your feelings might be more hurt by others. You're glad you're with me. I'll help you."

Niri: *several seconds of contemplating what to say, if anything, he can't talk, he has an excuse, but oh no they're expecting a response, any longer and he will be rude!!!* (hesitant signing): "I don't want to be rude, but I...don't like it. Sorry. Do you want me to help you? I'm good with fashion."

"I hope you stub your toe."

Lexi: "Y'know what? I wouldn't care if you stubbed your toe." (She thinks this is an insult)

Maddie: "I really hope you stub your toe. Cause that hurts. A lot. You've done it before, right? It's bad."

Ash: "Leave me alone and go stub your toe."

Gwen: "You're such a rude person - I hope you run into something and stub your pinky toe. Maybe that will teach you." (Akash: Gwen, babe, how would that teach them? Gwen: I don't know, it sounded better in my head.)

Robbie: "You wanna know what I think about you, Jason? You're a pompous prick bus stop. And the next time you turn a corner, I hope you slam your tiny toe right out of the joint. God, that's painful. And maybe you can get the nail caught on something too. And I hope someone wearing shoes steps on your bare toes as well. And I also hope--" *Akash probably pulls him away*

Akash: *gets as close as possible* "Why don't you go stub your toe or something. I hear that it hurts."

Jedi: "If you were to stub your toe, I will not make a promise to not enjoy it."

Carmen: "I cannot describe how much I want you to STUB YOUR TOE RIGHT NOW!"

Woo, that was a lot!

Tagging @foyle-writes-things @drchenquill @monstrouswrites @mysticstarlightduck @talesofsorrowandofruin @sleepyowlwrites @sleepywriter00 @sarandipitywrites @theeccentricraven @leahnardo-da-veggie + anyone else!

Y'all's sentence is, "Is anyone going to drink this?"

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

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boysbellyrubs · 18 hours

Text

Detectives

hello. so i’ve gotten into crime novels and detective stuff lately, and so i made these characters :)). i tried to give some little details and clues to their personalities and friendship, but i’m not the best with that lmao.

—-

Detective Inspector Jack Woods was not a stranger to gruesome and disgusting crime scenes, taking pride in never getting queasy over it. It was something he often boasted about it, foregoing his nonchalant attitude to actually brag about not getting sick over a few mangled bodies. This time, he wasn’t bragging. Staring at the body of a young man that had been shot and ran over in a hit and run was enough to get his stomach churning. It was dark and cold, but Jack was sweating.

The other officers were milling about, talking amongst themselves before one came right up to Woods’ face, expecting conversation. He tore his eyes away from the body, “Yes?”

She stiffened at his tone, “Body was found around half an hour ago, with no signs of any other persons on the premises. Do you want a closer look at the crime scene?”

Jack looked past her shoulder to the body again and shook his head quickly. He wasn’t about to go and puke in front of everyone. She gave him another strange look but left, going back to her partner. The police lights were disorienting so he turned away, breathing sharply through his nose. He could still feel his stomach twisting, his brain holding onto the picture of the boy's disfigured body. Jack stared at the ground. What was up with him tonight?

All day he had felt like he wasn’t really all there. With a tickle of a headache blooming behind his eyes and the smell of any and all food making his belly churn, he was worried he might be coming down with something. He couldn’t afford a week off work, with cases piling up left and right, and an upcoming court case, there was no way the Chief would be pleased with it. He tried to calm his thoughts when a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

“Rough night, huh? Kid looks like he got shredded.”

Jack closed his eyes, “Shut up, Harry. That’s insensitive.” The hand left his shoulder and Harry skirted round to his front.

“Alright, sorry. What’s up with you today?” Normally Jack would join in on Harry’s banter. Something to take the pressure off the situation. He was in no right mind to do so tonight.

“It’s nothing. I’m just-” He didn’t know he was going to say. He didn’t know if he was sick, but he couldn’t just admit he was getting queasy from a body. What kind of detective would he be? He settled on, “Long day.”

Harry seemed to agree, moving to stand beside him now but looking towards the crime scene. “Have you got any idea though? No leads or anything.” Jack heard him shuffle his feet, a nervous tick the other did whenever he complained. He faced him,

“I know. I think I’m gonna head back to the station, Harry. Clear my head.”

“Sure. You don’t mind if I tag along?” Harry was a little younger than Jack, and he seemed to like following him around. Jack didn’t mind much, he liked feeling useful. He often got paired with the younger detectives, although he was only 28 himself. Sometimes he wondered if the Chief thought he was older than he looked.

To answer Harry he shrugged and nodded, walking towards his car. Jack got in the drivers side although he was in no mood to drive with the way his head spun. He nearly pulled over and asked Harry to drive for him but they made it to the police station without any issues. Harry chatted his ear off the entire time, talking of his weekend and the possible suspects for the current murder. He was a good detective and Jack actually liked him. His past partners have been more often than not useless or assholes.

“What do you think Jack?”

Oh, he had been speaking? Jack was too focused on putting one foot in front of the other to even listen. He turned his head, “What?”

Harry’s face fell, “Have you not been listening? Something is up with you tonight. What is it?” He grabbed Jack’s arm, forcing him to stop. Before Jack even got a chance, a voice down the hall turned both of their heads.

“Woods, Lawrence! I hear you’ve got a pretty gnarly case on your hands.” Detective Parsons strode down the hall towards them. He was one of the older detectives and never really left the building. He was always trying to get involved, especially with them. Parsons happened to be Jack’s least favourite person in the entire bureau. He held down his groan.

“Yeah, it was bad.” Harry had still not learnt the art of short answers so Parsons was always given a reason to continue talking.

Parsons came right up to them, “Heard his head was pretty much destroyed. Got any leads?” Jack nearly puked at the reminder of the scene. Before Harry could answer, Jack quickly replied,

“No. But we’re busy so we’ll be seeing you Parsons.” He grabbed Harry’s shoulder and turned him around. Jack heard Parsons stupid mouth open again and stutter out a few words before giving up. He smiled a little to himself.

Harry chuckled a little, “You really don’t like him, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

They made it to their desks and dropped their notes (Harry’s notes) into a fresh manila folder, and decided that the night was over and that the case could wait until tomorrow. Jack sighed with relief, feeling his knees wobble a little as he picked up his coat draped over his chair. His eyes unfocused for a moment, and his ears filled with blood. He really needed to go home and lie down. Jack clocked out with Harry and they quickly left, not wanting anyone else to come up and talk to them.

Even though he was so close to being free, Jack felt his body degrading. Every step he took felt like it was plunged into glue, and pulling his leg up was impossible. He felt his shoulders slouching and his head felt like it was attached to a pogo stick. His stomach whined at him. Jack had been ignoring it all night, and now it seemed ready to give him payback. Harry had stopped talking beside him, finally recognising that his partner was not going to give him a response. As they entered the car park, Jack felt his stomach kick up a notch. He immediately stopped walking, placing a hand on his belly.

Harry turned, “Jack? You good?” His eyes flickered to the hand on his stomach and his eyebrows scrunched up. The air was suffocating him in the dingy underground car park, and Jack desperately needed a wall to lean against. He took a couple steps backwards and then spun around bent over, puke spilling through his mouth and onto the floor. He felt his body stagger and he finally hit a wall with his shoulder, stabilising him enough to continue vomiting. Jack’s mind produced HD quality images of the boy's body and he violently coughed up another round. He could barely hear Harry’s worried words next to him and the shy hand resting on his back as he heaved.

His stomach growled at him, pulling a groan from his lips. Jack bent forward more, spitting up rancid saliva and squeezing his middle. It was nearly impossible to open his eyes, knowing that when he did the concrete would be spinning. He coughed again and his stomach seemed to calm down, enough for him to twist himself around so his back was pressed against the wall. Jack let his head fall backwards.

Harry stood right in front of him, hands on his upper arms, “Hey, Jack? Jack, you with me?”

Jack groaned but gave a slight nod, one of his hands covering his aching eyes. His head felt like it was about to split open. Harry was muttering to himself about how ‘he knew something was wrong’ and ‘why didn’t he say anything?’. Jack smiled a little to himself,

“Didn’t realise you cared so much, rookie.” He mumbled. Slowly, he lowered his head and took his hand away from his eyes. Harry’s face swam into view,

“Of course. And I’m not a rookie anymore.” Harry grumbled. The other smiled a little more. God, he needed to get home. His eyes flickered to the pool of vomit beside him and he moaned at the sight, feeling like just a glance was going to send him puking all over again. He pushed off the wall, shrugging off Harry's arms lightly and took a step towards his car. Harry quickly caught up to him,

“Uh, do you need a hand or anything? Like getting home?”

Jack tried his best to unlock his vehicle, fiddling around with his keys. His hands were shaking violently and his bag weighed ten tons on his shoulder. He blew out a breath, handing the keys over to Harry as he leaned his hand on the roof of the car. The ground felt uneven and his mouth was filling with saliva again. Jack spat,

“Ugh, Jesus. Give me a sec, Ha-urp-rry.” Jack leant back, putting a few metres between himself and the car. He burped again. Just what he needed. Jack felt his belly curdle and suddenly he pitched forward and vomited up thin, yellow bile onto the concrete. It burned his throat immensely. He burped again, the rancid smell wafting into his face caused him to gag again and a little amount of foamy spit dribbled out of his mouth. He hoped Lawrence wasn’t watching this.

Jack straightened up, still clutching his abused stomach and tried his best to stabilise himself. It took staring at a random car’s license plate and a few short breathing exercises before he felt stable enough to turn around. Harry was sitting in the car, god bless, and was scrolling through his phone. Jack got into the other side, collapsing into the seat and (gingerly) threw his head back.

“Sounds like gastroenteritis. Stomach flu, duh. But uh, do you need anything before we start driving, I can probably find a bag or something just in case.” Harry rambled on. He looked over at Jack.

Jack gave him no response except for a snort. The kid meant well but if he didn’t start driving right now, Jack was going to throttle him and then probably puke on him. He mustered up some energy, “Just drive.”

—-

not much sick in this fic but just cause it’s the introduction. let me know if y’all wanna see them some more 😊😊

#i already love them lowkey #pls pls like them #emeto #stomach ache #sickfic #vomiting #emetophilia #oc's #Jack #Harry #belly kink #stomach flu

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