#going to cross post on ao3!

[thaddeusthawne]

Snowells Week 2022: Day 6 (Free Theme or the one where Caitlin and Harry celebrate Pi Day while Nash and Frost have their own shenanigans)

With the arrival of Pi Day, Frost encourages Harry to get involved as it is Caitlin’s favorite holiday. The two do have a great time and Frost and Nash can’t help but get involved in their own shenanigans for the day.

#snowellsweek2023 #day 6 #snowharry #frostnash #snowells #my works #the long awaited mystery fic I made last year 😅 #going to cross post on ao3!

[sprout-fics]

Adjustment

(Price x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 4k Tags: Dom/Sub, Dom Price, Sub Reader, BDSM, Non-sexual dominance, Impact play, Spanking, Masochism, Pain kink, Safe Sane Consensual, Crying during play, Aftercare, Cuddling, Soft Price Warnings: Please mind the tags A/N: The Price Spanking Fic nobody asked for

When Price calls you to his office this evening, you know exactly why.

It’s been a week since your last mission, the one you were in charge of, the one that went wrong. Faulty intel, no one’s fault except your informant, one who’s reward for his neglect had been a bullet to his face. It was nothing less than a bloody fucking miracle you and your team had gotten out alive, though not unscathed. Two of your squad were still in medical a week later, in good spirits but still injured. On your watch. 

The mission rattled you more than you expected it to. It’s not your first time leading a team into less than perfect circumstances, but it is the first time it went this rotten. Your nerves are frayed, pent up, unable to uncoil from the stress of the whole situation. Thankfully you’d not been raked over the coals by your CO, but you almost wish you had been, as if the reprimands and stern lashing would provide some sort of needed outlet to your strained, taut emotions.

As it stands, you hadn’t gotten that much, had instead been trying to find ways to deal despite that. The result had you chewing the heads off recruits, snapping at your teammates, tackling the obstacles course, pacing the perimeter of base in a desperate attempt to cool off. Even so, it wasn’t working, and you know that, know you need to find a better method of taming the roiling sensation of uneasiness inside you. Yet your chosen method, the thing that helped, felt simultaneously desperately needed and horrifically indulgent, a guilty pleasure that was more guilt than anything else. 

So you buckled down, brushed people off when they checked on you, gritted your teeth with murmurs of “I’m fine.” and didn’t stay around to listen to them object. 

It had only been when Soap had gently approached you in the mess hall, in that soft but stubborn way of his when he knew something was wrong that you snapped. The hurt that had flashed across the sergeant’s face when you practically snarled at him was evident, angered and pained. Yet Soap limped away with his tail between his legs, likely knowing there wasn’t much he could help with, and very likely went straight to Price’s office to report on your viperous demeanor. 

It had taken less than an hour for you to get the message from Price.

My office. 9pm.

Which is where you stood now, at 8:59, looking at the seconds on your watch tick down until your fated arrival, just to be spiteful. 

You knock less than sixty seconds later, and the voice on the other side almost immediately beckons you inside. 

He’s sitting at his desk, idly glancing over paperwork, a glass of whiskey half drained on his desk. Condensation collects on it, drips down onto the coaster he’s meticulously placed so it doesn’t stain the wood. Your eyes fall on it, standing at a lazy parade rest, avoiding the stare he levels at you from under the brim of his hat.

“Lock the door.”

The tenor of his voice is less gruff and more commanding, demanding deference, offering a vague warning should you not obey.

Ah. So it’s going to be one of those evenings. You think to yourself, reaching behind you and clicking the lock shut with a noise that speaks of imminent consequences. There’s a low, apprehensive murmur of excitement tracing under your skin, one that trails up your spine in a shiver you swallow down, don’t allow him to see. 

It’s infrequent, this thing you have with the captain. A relationship, a still blossoming one, yes- but also something darker, a little more depraved, something to indulge in your mutual urges with each other. It’s always a little present, some days more than others. Around the rest of your comrades he’s no different to you, but when their backs are turned it’s his hand on your nape, giving the smallest amount of delicious pressure that speaks of dominance, possession.

“Come here.”

You pad over, feeling a familiar, low stirring sensation in your gut at the tone of your captain. Firm, unquestionable, a touch severe but only in a way that was meant to be listened.

You come to rest just short of his knees, as he shifts in his chair to face you. Your hands still rest behind you, held in a taut grip he can’t see. When he speaks, you struggle to meet his eyes, struggle to keep your face placid, unreadable. 

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“No.” You respond almost instantly, a rapid response that you internally wince at because you know he can see straight through it.

“Hm.” He offers in return, and you only grimace harder.

“Have I done anything to deserve that?” Price asks, temperate, even, and the utter control in it sometimes scares you only because you know exactly what lies beneath. 

“No, Sir.”

That, at least, is the truth. You have been avoiding him, and Price can see that plain as day. Yet the reason lies not with him but with yourself, your stubbornness to soldier on, to refuse help, to buckle down in the worst of ways until the issue naturally works its way out of your system. Unfortunately for you, Price’s keen eyes pick upon even the smallest subtleties in you. It’s an insight he’s developed from years of service, one you haven’t yet found yourself, often leaving the man before you a series of mysteries. You’ll unravel them with time, you think, trust him to deliver the unknowns piece by piece until there’s either nothing left.

“Care to explain what happened with Soap earlier?” He goes on, and you stiffen noticeably, shoulders rising and back straightening, a little ashamed but also guilty at what transpired earlier. The words of it clog your throat, try and force their way upwards. 

You could tell him, confess to him why you’re acting the way you are, ask him for what you need. Yet there’s a little poisonous spite bubbling inside you, one that wants him to force it out of you, wants to push against him rebelliously if only to reap the consequences.

You look him in the eyes, stubbornly refusing to break your gaze. 

“No Sir.” 

It’s more than a little perfunctory, a little biting, but it feels good to see the way Price’s eyes narrow at your tone. There’s a hunger behind them, pupils dark and focused, like he’s staring at something he wants to take apart.

“I think someone needs an adjustment.” Price declares, voice a low growl that’s still within the realm of warning, not yet dipping to the point of no return. It’s just enough, scratches something in your hindbrain that asks for more. More.

You watch as the captain scoots his chair back from where he sits, legs spread wide. For a moment you think he wants you between them, until one large, calloused palm pats against his thigh. 

“Over my knee, darling.”

This is familiar to you, and you’ve spent more than one evening, more than one afternoon in the same place that he instructs you. Now, however, you hesitate, stubbornness crossing your expression, biting down on an objection that you’re fine. You don’t need this. Yet you know Price would see right through that too, and you’re not about to safeword out of a release if you can get one. Not if it’s him. 

“Don’t make me ask twice.” He warns, eyes unblinking, and even though you still want to object you at last gingerly drape yourself across his knees, ass upwards.

Price is quick to scoot down your pants, revealing the tender skin of your bottom to his gaze. You jolt at his hand that smoothes across the flesh appreciatively.

“You’re not going to count.” He tells you softly, firmly. “You can use your colors if you need them, but otherwise we’ll be done when I say we’re done. Understood?”

You don’t answer, biting your lip, still fighting it. Price’s hand stills, and then grips against your ass, voice now a clear warning, frustration growing at your clear lack of communication.

“Understood, Sergeant?” He prompts again, and this time you nod, focus down on the floor with a small and breathy “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.”

With that, Price’s hand comes down. Hard.

Pain blooms against your skin and you yelp, quick to cover your mouth lest the surrounding offices hear you. It’s late, most of the base is in bed, and the chances of someone finding you are slim. Even so, you know better than to risk it. 

Price soothes a hand against the skin, offering no murmurs or hums to ease the pain. Instead, you feel his hand pull away, and you suck in a breath, ready for the next slap.

It’s only once you’ve released, dared to glance at him that Price’s hand comes down on the opposite cheek. You jolt forward, a little cry of surprise escaping you once more. 

Price is slow, methodical. There’s a precision to him that’s fine tuned with experience, an unrelenting focus to his task at hand that has your gut clenching with a distant flicker of need. Each impact of his hand leaves a stinging, needed deliverance that gives a more than welcome distraction to the festering frustration inside of you.

Price gives you a few breaths between each slap, just enough to collect yourself before his palm comes down in a devastating collision. It doesn’t take long for your ass to warm under his touch, a little raw, making you bite back a hiss as he takes moments to idly stroke it with a tender touch that’s an unnerving contrast to the impacts he offers. 

You lay rigid, balancing tightly, muscles coiled and resistant. You’re still fighting it, can’t let go just yet, doggedly refusing to allow yourself to release the tension in your form. It presses down on the small of your back with the bracing touch of Price’s arm, lays thick in your shoulders as you teeth your lip bloody and try not to make any noise. 

It’s not enough. You’re still wound far too tight, shoulders scrunched, body rigid, and as Price’s hand comes down once more in a smack that feels thunderous, you can’t help but flinch. 

“Mm. That’s not good enough, love.” He rumbles after the next few impacts, with you stubbornly biting your lip to prevent any sounds from escaping. A hand kneads the stinging flesh of your ass and you groan a little at the pain, but don’t raise your voice, don’t move from your position over his lap. 

You feel Price pause, adjust, and soon one of your wrists is hauled behind your back, then the other, as you’re forced to sag your entire weight against him. It releases some of the tension in your form, but it only manifests itself in a squirming resistance that has Price huff a little displeased sound down at you.

Price’s hand settles on your nape as you squirm, and the simple act of scruffing you has goosebumps rising across your flesh, body seizing with a sharp intake of air. You tremble, skin electrifying under his touch. Every synapse feels too bright, too hot, and when his thumb presses against the underside of your jaw you give him a full body shudder that vibrates into his hand. Yet all Price offers you in return is a single, growling demand that pulls at something deep, primal inside your ribcage.

“Settle.”

Just like that, you feel yourself loosen abruptly, going completely still, muscles sagging as if Price just snapped the strings holding you aloft. Your body goes lax, limp, head dropping forward in surrender, and Price hums a rumbling, approving noise that makes you keen.

“Very good.”

With that, he resumes.

The spanks come quicker now, with devastating accuracy, rapid fire and heavy. It takes a few impacts for you to stop holding your breath, let your eyes open and unfocus on the floor in front of you. There’s a warm, velvety haze beginning to fog over your senses now. It cottons your thoughts, muffles the world around you, allows that previous resistance inside you to slowly begin to ease. 

The pain feels good.

Little moans start spilling past your lips, and you slowly stop trying to silence them. The sting of Price’s hand settles low in your belly, licks a tender flame into your core. A murmur of arousal resides there, fueled by the profound act of surrender. The utter, encompassing trust that resides between you and him in this regard is a tonic unlike any other. It lets you fall completely into yourself, submitting to where he wants to lead you, knowing he’ll ground you, keep you safe, give you not exactly what you want, but what you need.

Price can sense the way you’re unwinding, can feel the noises from you now, a little louder, more breathless, lips parting with shuddering gasps. He pauses after a particularly harsh smack, allowing the knuckles of his hand to rest against the top of your ass. Not moving, just resting. Not finished yet. 

“You wanted this but didn’t know how to ask, isn’t that right, love?” He asks, and it takes you a moment, but you nod. Hell, you’re not sure why you didn’t ask for this sooner. You know he’d give it if you asked while you’re wound up like this, would find a way to unravel you at the seams and let the cotton, soft, sinking feeling envelop you and offer you a much needed respite. 

“Color?” He prods gently, and you’re already so warmly out of it for a moment that you have to remember how to answer him. 

“Green.”

Price grunts, satisfied, and his knuckles trace over the raw, swollen skin of your flesh before his hand turns over again. 

He doesn’t ask if you’re ready, and this time you don’t bother to tense before his hand comes down. It’s less this time, the impacts not enough to shatter you the way they did before, but the pain is still enough to make you droop forward, release an exhale that loosens your shoulders all the way down. You’re already feeling it, can already feel the stress being sapped away along with your resistance, but you know Price won’t be satisfied until the thing that was holding it in the first place snaps inside you, makes you surrender completely. 

“Doing well. Just a little more.” He urges, and you whimper.

You don’t know if you can take more. You’re already kind of floaty, it already scratches that needed itch under your skin, but you know there’s so much more you can offer him.

At last it comes loose, a sob startles from your throat at it being so much, and it seems to open the floodgates. You inhale a long, shuddering breath as Price pauses, and when it releases it’s as an unsteady, whimpering sigh that dissolves into another sob. Price kneads your ass and the pain forces another cry from your throat until you shudder with it, and begin to cry in earnest. 

“That’s it. Very good. Let it go.” He urges, voice soothing, tender, firm in the way you need him to be so he can hold up the sagging, collapsed form of you. 

The crying is cathartic, a week of pent up emotion and stress at last simmering to the surface and leaking down your face in hot, wet tears. It’s not at the sting of pain, not at any type of unwillingness or shame. Instead it’s like unplugging a drain, allowing the tepid surface of stress inside you to circle downwards, allowing the utter vulnerability of being like this to sink away the thing that had been holding you back from your own emancipation. Every single remaining ounce of tension in your body sags away, and you droop over Price’s lap with your head tucked forward, chest rattling with thick, sobbing cries. 

Fuck, it feels good.

The complete and utter release of the tension in your form has your breath collapse from your lungs, sends hot, fat tears rolling down your face in an all too needed exoneration of the troubled tightness that was held in your form. Even as your chest shutters there’s a strange, serene calm that washes over you at the act of finally, finally letting go.

It isn’t over, because Price delivers several more harsh, stinging slaps, as if to shake the rest of it loose from you, until he at last relents. He braces an arm over the small of your back, murmuring a small “Steady.” as you shudder. Face tipped forward, the trails of tears on your face drip down from your chin onto the floor. A hand gently strokes the stinging, swollen flesh of your ass, and despite the smarting it’s grounding, keeping you leveled from the tempting descent of rumination that lies in the back of your mind. 

“You did well.” Price tells you at last, when your cries have begun to ease, and it stutters a little whine from you, the praise a balm to your slightly overwhelmed senses. He waits until you settle a bit more before shifting, and soon you find yourself tucked in his lap, head braced against his chest. You stay there, sniffling, moving to rub at your face, but Price keeps your hand on your lap where it is, a thumb grazing over your knuckles. His voice is low as he offers soft little hushes and murmurs into you, words of praise and reassurance that allow the tears to ebb and make your eyes flutter shut. 

You sink, allow yourself to go limp in his arms, with him balancing you and supporting your weight so you can stay in the moment of letting go. One arm braces you, the other holding you fast against his chest where you drink in his musky, heavy scent. Tobacco, gun powder, just a hint of cologne he tries to use to cover the scent of his cigars. It clouds over your senses, sends you down into that blissful state of fuzzy, ambiguous relaxation you’ve craved so desperately since the mission. It’s complete bliss, being able to just be here, in his arms, fresh off a much needed bout of crying and feeling the world fade away so it’s just you, him, and the offerings of smoky praise he breathes into your ear. You float, entirely and blessedly unaware, trusting him to keep you in his arms, to keep you safe, to allow you space for this much needed reprieve.

You don’t know how long you stay down like that. Eventually your hiccups fade into stuttering little breaths, and soon you synchronize your inhales and exhales with the long, steady rise and fall of the captain’s chest. Fatigue wears down on your form, and soon your cottoned, muffled senses give way to a sleepy, comfy kind of softness that has you exhale a long, final sigh against him. 

“Back with me?” He asks at last, and you aren’t sure if it’s been mere minutes or hours, too droopy and exhausted to tell. You nod, still a little too hazy to find words, giving him a non-committal, lethargic grumble that has a huff of laughter blowing against your skin. 

“Take your time, darling.” He tells you, and you nod once more, let your eyes flutter shut and head loll against his chest just a little longer. 

Eventually you feel the world begin to seep back into your senses, and you shift on his lap, hissing at the scrape of your bare ass against his cargo pants.

“Easy.” He tells you, voice dipping with a hint of that sternness again, and you force yourself to still from your wriggling. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Price’s voice finally inquires, and you hesitate, afraid it will all come rushing back the moment you say it all aloud. Yet you remind yourself that you’re safe here, in his arms, that even if you did feel tension and panic rise up again in your chest that Price will ease you back down again.

So it comes spilling loose with an unsteady sigh. The frantic realizations of the mission when it turned sour, the terror as you watched your team members come under fire, hauling them to safety and narrowly avoiding injury yourself. Needing to be strong for them, keeping your mounting horror clamped down as you frantically radioed for ex-fil. Waiting for the chopper as you felt warm blood gush over your palms, rasped reassurances to them, held their hands with red-stained gloves as they were hauled out of the battlefield. Getting back to base and asking yourself what you did, what happened, how you didn’t anticipate this, trying desperately to tell yourself that at least you made it all back alive. 

The tears don’t come back. You’re far too spent for that, instead imbuing yourself in the sensation of Price stroking your arm steadily as you ramble, emptying your chest of worries. You don’t know how long it takes, but Price remains silent, steady, a lighthouse in the fog as you surrender to him. Eventually the heavy pauses between your words grow longer, until there’s only silence that remains between you both. 

“None of that was your fault, love.” He reminds you at last. 

“I know.” You provide after a moment. “I just…” A clinging thickness lingers in your throat, and you swallow it, unfocused eyes lazily resting on the broad planes on his chest. 

“I was scared.”

Price sighs, and it isn’t unkind or pitying. It feels more like a release of himself too, allowing you to nuzzle into the emptiness the air leaves behind in his chest. “I know love. But you did well, got your team out, got those lads home alive.”

You nod, and if he had said that an hour earlier you think you would have fought him on it. Now, the words feel like pure, cathartic relief that soothes cooly through your veins. 

Silence once again falls over you both as Price allows you to come back to yourself. It’s only once you shift, look up at him that his face turns down towards you, eyebrows raised. 

“Solid?”

You nod, a little firmer now, but relaxed, open. “Solid.” You confirm, and oh. You missed that too, the rare, tender smile he gives you. It’s different than the usual wry, amused nature of him, reserved only for moments like this, where the world of gunshots and explosions, of broken bones and helicopters fades into the quiet solitude of just you both. 

You relish it as long as you can before it fades, and Price tilts his head down at you to stare under his brows with a stern, admonishing, unblinking stare. 

“You’ll come to me before you decide to start biting other people’s heads off. Understood?” He professes rather than inquires, and you wither a little, remorseful, knowing better than to break eye contact with him as you nod, adding an obligatory “Yes, Sir.” for good measure.

“Good girl.” He rumbles, and it has you shiver a little, never immune to the way those words send your blood coursing a little higher in your veins. “Took it well. Always do.”

“Thank you Sir.” You breathe, happy and content, pleased at the act of pleasing him.

“Do you need to…?” You turn to ask, shifting a little on his lap to feel the half-hard bulge in his trousers. Price only chuckles, shakes his head. 

“We can worry about that later, love.” He promises, and that makes your eyes widen, sit a little straighter where you sit on him, eager and interested in the offer. Price notices instantly, levels you with a knowing amusement that has his lips curl. “That is, if you want to.” and you duck your head a little, a little abashed at being so very easy to read, but nod. 

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” You ask quietly.

“Manners.” Price reprimands fondly

“Please?”

He grumbles, feigning begrudging exasperation at the request, and it only has you grin at him, the first smile in what feels like a very, very long time.

“Of course darling.”

#Price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x you #reader insert #x reader #oneshot #cod mw2 #cod mw2022 #mw2 #mwii #call of duty #my writing #my fic #Tossing this out onto tumblr before I regret it #two fics in one day way to go sproutie #jk they were on ao3 first I'm just now cross posting them here

[thebubblesareevil]

Family grows, it evolves…

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

There was a new exhibit on Ancient Greece at the museum, and as the resident expert Diana was given free range of the exhibit. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, normally the League doesn’t find a clone of one of its founding members and spend a, frankly, ridiculous amount of time deciding how to proceed.

Diana sighed as she looked at the large room filled with artifacts needing to be catalogued before display. She lamented not having the same speed as the flash for but a moment before getting to work. It was 5:00, if she wanted to get any sleep tonight, she needed to get to work.

She steadily made her way through stacks of paperwork, working with the efficiency that was drilled into her since birth. It had been hours since she began her work, and though she tired, she resolved to head home to get changed for the next day. It wasn’t until she made her way from the basement that she realized something was off. Doris was sitting at reception, though she should have left at 8:00, the sun was still high in the sky, not yet ready to make its decent.

“Calling it an early night, Diana?” Doris asked “Big day tomorrow! Finally setting up the new exhibit. I can’t wait to take the kids, they’re so excited to see it.” She said with a wide smile. Diana surveyed the desk, catching a glance the clock. There in bold numbers and as 7:00pm, she smiled as she replied.

“I finished things up sooner than planned, so I thought I’d head out for the night. I need to get dinner started before my guest arrives.” Doris’ face nearly split in two.

“A guest, is he handsome, oh how could you hold out on me Diana!?” She said excitedly “I need all the details!” Diana laughed.

“Nothing like that, my Grandfather decided to pop in for a surprise visit. I haven’t seen him in quite some time, so it’s a lovely surprise.” Doris nodded along.

“You’re a good grandkid. I miss my grandparents everyday, you never know how much time you’ve got.” She said with a sigh. “Have a good night!”

“All the time in the world.” She said to herself, checking her watch and grinning. It read 4:30 am, she yawned as she left, making her way back to her apartment.

Everything thing was silent when she arrived, though that was to be expected at this point. She wade her way to the kitchen passing by the figure on the couch.

“Would you like some tea? Do you drink at all?” She inquired.

“I am perfectly capable, though I rarely indulge.” He replied in a monotone voice, if she had been anyone else she like would not have caught the edge of sadness clinging to his voice. Diana set the kettle on the stove and made her way over to the couch.

“Something troubles you, something big enough to approach me after all these years.” Clockwork smiled “You’re much sharper than your father ever was” the smile dropped.

“You are aware of the multiverse.” He said, Diana nodded. “As the Master of time, I bear witness to each world, each time line. There exists a world where humans built a bridge to the Infinite Realms, creating a being both born and killed by the infinite.” Diana gave him her upmost attention. “Sometime ago I was tasked with the elimination of this creature, this child, to prevent the tragedy he would bring upon that world.” He smiled “I was never one to listen to orders though, and instead I set the boy on a path that would bring about great change… it had unexpected side effects.”

“What kind of side effects?” Diana asked, worried.

“He began to cling to me, seeking me out for advice. I even found him asleep in my clock tower more than once. I have admittedly come to see him as my grandson.” Clockwork have a soft smile “He reminded me so much of you when we first met.” He sighed “I am here to ask a favor, young Danny is approaching a crossroads. There are two possible paths his timeline might take, one where he lives of the rest of his years moving between living in dead, his truth hidden from those who wish him harm. However there is another path, one I fear is becoming more and more likely than the last.” Diana had never seen her grandfather look so old, his entire form shifting to match his tone.

“What is it? What is going to happen?” Clockwork looked at her with sad, tired eyes.

“He will be betrayed, from this betrayal he will suffer such agony that the Realms themselves will retaliate. Then he will sleep eternal, bound to the infinite. His world destroyed.” Diana gasped. She placed a hand over his,

“What do you need me to do?” She asked firmly.

“Should the worst come about, I intend to steal him away from that world. Cutting off its connection to the realms permanently. However he is a being of both life and death, he cannot neglect his human half. What I ask of you is this, that you allow this boy to stay here, with you. There is no one else I would trust with such a task.” Diana hesitated.

She was a warrior, trained for battle from birth. She knew nothing of caring for a child. She thought her grandfather intended for her assist him in battle but this…. She looked at her grandfather, his sad eyes resigned, as though he expected her to refuse.

“Very well, on one condition.”

“Anything my dear.” She smiled.

“You must visit more, when last we met I told you I needed time. You gave me that, now I ask once more for time, time spent together.” She nearly jumped as his form shifted to that of a child.

“Nothing would please me more.”

“And grandfather? Should the worst not pass, I would still like to meet tho cousin of mine.” Clockwork froze, before he practically melted.

“Of course.” His form shifted once more to that of a young adult. Diana smiled pulling her grandfather into a hug.

“Thank you.” He whispered and he was gone. The kettle screamed. Diana got ready for a long nights rest.

—————————

A week passed before she heard anything from her grandfather. It was to the night before the opening of her new exhibit and she expected everything to go as planned. Just as she was picking out what she was going to wear to the gala, the sound of cars outside her window stopped.

“What do you think? Red or black?” She asked as she turned around holding the two dresses. Her grandfather stood tall, a stern look on his face. Diana set down the dresses. “It happened, didn’t it?” Clockwork nodded. Making his way towards the living room he stopped by the couch. There, asleep on her couch was a young teen, not much older than some of her teammates protégés. He had pitch black hair and pale skin, with lightning scars crawling up his neck. He chest did not move.

“He’s not breathing!” She turned to her grandfather, but he appeared unbothered. He smiled, watching the boy sleep.

“As I said before, he is a being of both life and death, sometime pieces of one form bleed into the other.” He turned to Diana, “He needs his rest, as for your first question, the blue dress will suit you much better on this occasion.” Diana gave him a soft smile.

“Come, I shall make us some tea while you tell me more about my cousin.” Clockwork nodded, taking a moment to readjust the blanket around the teen, before heading to the kitchen.

——————-

When Danny woke, to the sound of people talking he had a horrid migraine. He did his best to ignore the pain as he tried to remember where he was. The last thing he remembered was a dream of his parents yelling and the GIW knocking down their door. He slowly sat up, looking around the room, every wall was covered in pictures. Danny slowly stood and made his way over to the pictures. They all took place over varied times, ranging from, at the earliest, the 1920s all the way to the 2000s. All of the featured the same woman, she remained unchanged even as those around her grew old.

He listen to the voices, one familiar, one not, as he made his way towards the source of the noise. When he opened the door he was greeted by the familiar face of Clockwork. Next to him was the woman from the photos just as unchanged.

“Good afternoon Danny, did you rest well?” Danny did his best to disguise his flinch at the sound, grinning at the old ghost.

“Just fine thanks, what….what exactly happened? Where are we?” Confusion dripping from his voice.

Clockwork looked Danny in the eye, what he said next nearly broke him.

“I’m so sorry, Danny.”

Danny’s legs almost gave out under him. “It happened didn’t it? They tried to turn me in, to the GIW. That wasn’t a dream.” The ancient stayed silent, Danny's eyes went wide. "Is Jazz okay!? She... she was upstairs... if they hurt her!" Clockwork stopped him.

"Your sister is fine, they were only there for you." Danny took a deep breath, trying to process everything.

"So what comes next? Where are we?" Clockwork looked at him with a deep sadness.

"We are in a world separate from your own, connected by the Infinite Realms. I saw the possibility of what was to come and made arrangements. Due to the crimes of your world against you, the Observants and myself decided the best course of action would be to remove you from your world, and cut the living off from the Infinite Realms entirely." Danny looked down, resigned to knowledge of what they planned to do to him. "As you know, as a half-ghost you must tend to both sides of your being." Clockwork turned to the woman, "Danny, this is my granddaughter, Princess Diana of Themascyra. She has agreed to have you stay here, with her." Danny frowned.

"Your granddaughter? But she's...uhh" he paused, not sure how to continue. Diana laughed.

"Alive? Yes, I do believe I am. I'm assuming my grandfather has neglected to explain his past life" Danny nodded "How much do you know of the stories Ancient Greece?"

"More than most I think, there are a lot of constellations named after the myths. That and it's hard to visit Pandora and NOT get an hour lecture on Greece" Diana's eyes went wide.

"You know Lady Pandora? How wonderful, I grew up hearing stories of her bravery!” She smiled “That being said, that will make things a bit easier. My mother is Hippolyta, her desire to have a daughter was so great that she molded me from sand, Zeus, king of the gods, used his power to give me life.” Danny blinked once, then twice.

“So…you’re a Demi-god? I don’t understand how that makes you Clockworks granddaughter.” Diana smiled. “I mean, I know Clockwork probably used to be Chronos, Jazz and I had a whole debate about that, but what does that have to do with Zeus?” Diana smiled patiently.

“Danny, Chronos is the primordial god of time, yes?” Danny nodded “Okay, well he is also the primordial form of Kronos, the father of Zeus, my father.” Danny froze, looking over to Clockwork who merely nodded, as though Danny’s brain was currently trying to shut down. After a moment the dots finally seemed to click.

“YOU ATE YOUR KIDS?!?!”

Clockwork sighed, Diana laughed, Danny had a mental breakdown.

It took close to five minutes for Clockwork to fully explain as Diana grinned in the background drinking her tea. Once he calmed down, Clockwork finished continued expaining.

"As for your ghostly half, I will be providing plenty of ectoplasm for you to eat as well as bringing you to the Infinite realms each week until you learn to create portals of your own." Danny nodded.

"What about school? Or hell, anything really. I don't exist in this world, how exactly do I go about doing anything?" Clockwork smiled.

"I called on the power of the ghost writer for any legal documents and I personally filed them in the proper time period to ensure you have what you need. I have given those to Diana" she nodded "as well as giving her legal custody of you. As far as the law is concerned you are her recently orphaned cousin. Son of her estranged Uncle Haiden and Aunt Penelope, who tragically died a few days ago." Clockwork smiled, rising from his seat.

"I'm afraid I have over stayed my welcome, I think it's best I take my leave and allow the two of you time to acquaint yourselves better." Danny stopped Clockwork, giving him a hug he whispered.

"Thank you." Clockwork gently carded his fingers through his hair before stepping back.

"If either of you need anything, just ask." and he was gone. Suddenly there was an influx of noise coming from outside, just enough to tell them that the world outside was moving once more.

Danny stood awkwardly by the chair their grandfather was occupying.

"You know, I don't bite." Diana said, trying to break the ice.

"I do." Danny replied on reflex, before covering his mouth. He looked at Diana, she looked back before they both burst out in peals of laughter.

"This is so weird, what even is my life?" Diana wiped a tear from her eye.

"Well, considering one of my teammates dresses up as a bat and beats up criminals, while another talks to fish, I think it's safe to say neither of our lives can be considered normal." Danny broke out in another fit of laughter.

"No shit?" he asked. Diana lifted a single brow at the term.

"No shit."

"What kind of team are you on exactly? Extreme cosplaying? Underwater battle royale?" Diana smirked.

"How about we get you some food and I tell you all about it?"

Danny smiled "Sounds like a plan."

@a-salty-sal@impulsiveasshole@meira-3919@alcorbearson@cute6troll@samgirl98@skulld3mort-1fan@addie-lover-of-stories@amercurio@chronicallyonline-fandomwh0r3 @heirxofxtime @gin2212 @thegatorsgoose@wanderer-of-worlds@terzatheunderscorerima@bright-shade@satanicrutialspecialist@mur-ururu@birdie-24-05@ascetic-orange@cyber-geist@thatrandomsarahchick

#ho boy definitely cross posting #diana of themiscyra #diana prince #danny phantom #dc x dp #clockwork #its going on ao3 #no ships right now #maybe later maybe not #is there an easier way to make a tag list?! #dp demi-god au

[blindmagdalena]

The Fall

2.8k mostly sfw homelander x reader. christmas adjacent. depowered homelander.

Summary: After being struck by an unidentified projectile that renders him powerless, Homelander crash lands in your backyard, wholly at your mercy.

this is a rework of this original prompt. inspired by the fable of the mouse that aids the lion whose paw has been stuck by a thorn.  ♡

Homelander is over a hundred feet in the air when he hears something whistling through the sky behind him. Some kind of projectile. A small missile, maybe. It's nothing he hasn't handled before: It could blow up in his face and he would be fine. He’s more curious about what exactly it is, who’s stupid enough to fire it at him, and where it’s coming from. 

With that in mind–in that split second he has to react–he decides to forgo dodging it and instead attempt to catch it.  However, as the mystery projectile gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. 

What the fuck? 

His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him hard in his left side rib, exploding in fumes that fill his lungs and coat his skin. In an instant, he feels pain like he's been turned inside out, a sensation worse than anything he’s felt since childhood. Instantly he's plummeting towards the ground, crashing directly into your backyard in an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

With his vision going black, the last thing he hears is the sound of the world turning deafeningly quiet.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No–compressed, hands over his chest, pushing again and again in a steady rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he drives his fist into your unfamiliar form, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a hit like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass, coughing. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body heavy. He's having trouble breathing, every ragged inhale a struggle, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in. His own brain is hammering against the confines of his skull, beating at the backs of his eyes.

He’s certain that he’s halfway to cardiac arrest, but no matter how he tries to focus, he can’t calm himself. His strength is gone. It’s gone. He looks at you, you, who should have a hole punched through your chest. Instead, you’re staggering to your feet, totally unharmed. 

"Homelander!" You address sharply, audibly trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. He can see his own fear reflected in your eyes. You’re just as confused as he is. Just a stupid little mouse that crawled out of your hole and found him like this. "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

There’s something about the sharp authority in your voice mixed with an undeniable quiver of compassion that catches his attention. It could be the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It must be pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. You don’t look like you should be able to carry him. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag, a bottle of water, pills, and a first aid kit. He watches you fumble with it, hands shaking. He assumes it’s adrenaline, though you lack the acidic stench of it. No, you probably don’t. He just can’t smell it anymore. He can’t smell anything except the faint tinge of blood, and whatever nauseating scented candle you use to stink up your home. Though, even that’s distant compared to what he’s used to. However, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to panic. Is this what shock feels like?

He takes the water you offer him, but denies the pills. “No, no. I have no idea what that shit will do to me right now.” You nod, setting the bottle aside. You then lean over him, inspecting the level of damage. His ears are ringing, and his whole body is throbbing with sharp, painful aches. Maybe the pills would help, but he’s never had to take painkillers before. He’d rather swallow tacks than lean on something so pedestrian.

As you work, he notices a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his fist. Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it, remembering the blow he’d dealt you.

You startle, looking down where he touches with a wince. The skin looks as tender as he feels. It must sting. Is he bruised like this beneath his suit? The thought of these same ugly dark marks mirrored on his own body brings him visceral disgust. 

"Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as your voice can muster. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks derisively. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another.

If not for how clumsy your movements feel, he’d think you’ve done this before. There is care and determination in the way you tend to him, but no obvious medical expertise. Even the kit you pull from looks out of date and sparse. You probably picked it up from a gas station on a whim because you needed safety pins. "I think these need stitches," you say as you carefully apply bandages, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak. What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, blowing a crater in their yard in the process, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. That breaks him out of his stupor. He catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, despite how pitifully weak his own grasp feels. "No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the bizarre sensation is gradually beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent. 

He hopes to fuck that it isn’t. "Okay," you say tentatively. Instead of leaving, however, you reposition to continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing from his temples down his jaw. He watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, that for a moment he almost forgets you're strangers to each other.

"What're you doing?" He asks eventually, voice low. You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight, leaving him uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for it. "I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?" Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on bated breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, he schools his expression into calm focus. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. 

"I need to lay low awhile." He can feel his powers steadily returning. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," he says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

He watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

Even a curtain is better than no door at all.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first. It has him rubbing at his ears, screwing his eyes shut. It rolls in and out of focus, making it difficult to adjust to. “Are you okay?” You ask from the other end of the couch, where you’ve been sitting with remarkable patience. Maybe you’re afraid of him. He hates not being able to tell by the rate of your heart.

“Peachy keen,” he replies flatly. “Hearing’s coming back.”

“That’s good,” you say, though the inflection you end with makes it sound more like a question.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, it’s just… Loud,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm into his temple. His skull is still pounding. “Everything’s all… Coming back in a jumble. Giving me a fucking headache,” he says, though as he speaks, he realizes he’s able to focus fairly well on the conversation, drowning out the more intrusive ambient sounds. “Keep talking.”

You look surprised by his demand, but after a beat, you oblige. After maybe an hour of idle conversation, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

That’s just what you’ve told him.

From his personal observations, he's learned that you’re a perpetual fidgeter, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's lucky for you that I’m so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so inexplicably charming–nose wrinkled like you’ve somehow pulled a fast one on him–that Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady! Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does, hands out as if to catch him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

His lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. Not quite new. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it. "Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms loosely to survey the damage with him. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hanging in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, he puts his hands on your waist and spins you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you.

Your heart quickens to a race in his ears, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his head with both hands, deepening the kiss of your own volition.

Not one to be out done, he adjusts his hold on you, one arm wrapping properly around your waist while the other slides up to cup the back of your neck, gloved fingers gently squeezing your bare skin.

To his delight, you retaliate with your tongue, slipping it between his lips and coaxing his forth.

Just full of surprises, little mouse.

Maybe you aren't so boring after all.

He meets you eagerly, exhaling a rough, excited little huff through his nose, dropping the hand at your waist to grab a cheeky squeeze full of your ass, wringing a soft moan from you that sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed warmly all over. You smell of antiseptic wipes and peppermint, like Christmas in a hospital. It’s bizarrely appealing.

"What was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs, tipping his head back without taking his eyes off you, settling his hands back on your waist.

You look up slowly–taking a solid few seconds to process–and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you. 

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You manage to ask after swallowing back the lump in your throat, your shoulders relaxing, though your heart continues to gallop in your chest. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to laugh. "Oh, no. I haven't even begun to say thank you yet," he assures you, hands lingering on your hips. 

The kiss had been pure unrestricted impulse, nothing he intended to follow through on. However, now that you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, your skin warm against his, your eyes half lidded, he’s not sure that he wants to let you go. Your lips shine where you’ve licked the taste of his from them. 

“I think for your good deeds, you’re owed a very merry Christmas,” he says, waggling his brows. 

You give a flustered, incredulous bark of laughter, covering your mouth as you look away from him, that flush of yours intensifying, making your whole body thrum warmly. You wouldn’t need to worry about keeping warm on these cold winter nights if he had his way with you.

“Okay, well, uhm, thank you for… for that thought,” you say, tripping over your words in a way you haven’t this entire encounter. “You hit your head pretty hard, though so maybe before you make any promises, we make sure you get checked out by an actual doctor,” you say, pushing lightly against his chest.

He maintains his hold for just a second longer, utterly immovable. It feels good to be himself again. He runs his tongue along his teeth, downright predatory in the way he stares down at you, but he does relinquish his hold.

“You should come with me to the tower. You know, now that you’re… Compromised,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone might come looking for me here. Interrogate you on my condition.”

Real fear flashes in your eyes at that. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he gives back gravely.

“Uh… Okay. Uhm, let me… I’ll pack a bag,” you say nervously, stepping away from him to do just that.

“Okie-dokie,” he gives back simply, glancing around your home while he waits. He picks up an odd little gnome with a big red hat that covers everything but a little button nose, and a long white beard. Maybe he’ll convince you to bring along some of your festive decorations.

Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, already daydreaming about twisting the head off of whoever hit him with some kind of neutralizing agent.

He might thank them for the impromptu date while he’s at it.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #depowered homelander #i was originally just going to edit the original post but #i couldn't add a title to it that way #so have a brand new post lol #i never posted this one to ao3 because i always meant to do this #so i'll cross-post this later #also i think i want this to serve as the foundation for my depowered HL verse #especially that one where he's seemingly lost his powers for good #my writing #ho ho homelander #enjoy some wildly out of season christmas btw lol

[sha-nwa]

call it even ch 3

“I hate him,” Marinette said, throwing her backpack down. “He’s awful. He’s cruel, manipulative, controlling—”

“I thought you had decided to give him a chance.” Alya climbed up through Marinette’s trap door and shut it behind her.

“That was last week. I’ve been right to despise him all along, actually.” Marinette plopped down in her computer chair, spinning until her dragging feet stopped her. “He sucks. He’s ruining my life.”

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml fics #ladynoir #adrinette #adrienette #marichat #ladrien #this chapter has soooo much going on lol #a little treat for the girlies. the girlies who get it #also idk why this post looks so ugly. anna was having the same issue. sorry everyone #also fingers crossed ao3 continues to work !!!! we love u ao3 #call it even

[automaticllamacycle]

the taste of your lips (is my idea of luxury)

Summary: You had never smoked weed before. A few puffs with your friend Matty couldn’t hurt, right?

Content: 18+, smoking, shotgunning, face sitting, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, spitting, slight dom/sub undertones if you squint, friends to lover but make it super speed

Word count: 5,451

You sit in his room watching one of his favorite documentaries, a typical Friday night for the two of you. Matty’s at his desk, leaning over it while he starts to roll a joint. He insists the weed helps him think more deeply about the documentary, no matter how many times you tell him that’s bullshit. You can’t help but linger on his fingers as he packs the joint, carefully working with the paper.

You and Matty have been friends for a few years now. Nothing had ever gone further than that, even though you’d like for it to. Painfully, in the friend-zone. So, you sit on his bed and watch his hands, wondering what they would feel like on you. On your body, squeezing your hips just right…

His curly brown locks are a mess, hanging in his face. You hope he can’t feel your eyes barring into him. Part of you wonders if he does know, by the way he grazes his tongue along the edge of the paper, slow and calculated in his movements. He lingers his tongue longer than usual. As soon as he finishes the task, your eyes jump back to the television, acting like you weren’t just staring at him.

“Matty, can I change this to something else? What even is this?”

“What? Don’t like my taste in documentaries?” he jokes with the joint hanging loosely from his lips. He stands up in the middle of his sentence, looking for a lighter in his bedside drawer.

“You know I don’t. This isn’t even true crime. Can I put it on Friends or something? Please?” The remote is already in your hand, ready to go. A wide grin spreads across your face as you try to convince him to comply with your request.

“Anything for you. I’ll be high anyway. Don’t really care what we watch.” He replies, now clutching the lighter in his hand. The words anything for you repeat in your head as he sits down next to you, making himself comfortable against the headboard. His shoulders press against you, not a space between the side of his body and yours.

“You know it’s a great show. A true classic.” you say as you put the show on. You turn your head to him and watch as he strikes the lighter and holds the flame to the joint. When he finally lights it, he responds.

“It’s a funny show, I’ll give you that much sweetheart.”

You turn your head back to the TV screen, attempting to ignore how close his body is to you. His every movement distracts you from the TV. Only a couple minutes into the episode, you look to him again, watching as he takes a drag. More specifically, watching as his lips wrap around the joint.

You haven’t smoked before. Not like you’re against it or anything, just never found a reason to, yet. Still though, you’re curious about it. “So…” you begin, “What does being high actually feel like?”

“Why, you finally interested after all these years?” he replies with his eyebrows raised. A small smirk lights up his face.

“Maybe.”

“Well, it feels… nice. You feel happy and relaxed, not a care in the world.”

“That does sound appealing.” Your eyes flicker between the joint in his hand and his eyes, trying to steer clear from staring at his lips. Maybe the high will distract you from your feelings. Distract you from how much you want him, right now.

“Why don’t you give it a try?” He straightens up from his position against the headboard and extends the joint out to your hand. You hesitantly take it from his fingers, before looking back at his face. Unsure of even how to hold the joint properly, you decide to hold it like a cigarette as you’ve seen him do so many times, between your pointer finger and middle finger. Your eyes meet his again, looking for some kind of guidance. His eyes are a bit red from the weed. It doesn’t look like there are too many thoughts going on in his head.

“Matty, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette.”

“I can tell,” he chuckles. “You just breathe it in I don’t know how else to instruct you. You’ve seen me do it enough times by now.” Before continuing his sentence, he plucks the joint from your fingers and places it between your thumb and index finger, signaling for you to pinch your fingers around it. “It’s between these fingers. Easier to pass back and forth this way. Go ahead and take a hit.”

“Alright, fine.” You feel your confidence leave your body as you bring the joint up to your lips. You attempt to properly inhale, but you fall into a raging coughing fit when the smoke hits your lungs.

“Well shit, you weren’t joking,” he said, laughing as his hand goes to rub your back gently while you cough.

“Yeah, I don’t think smoking weed like this is going to work out for me.”

There’s a slight pause. A lull in conversation before he talks again.

“Wait. I think I have an idea.” His eyes light up alongside his smile. You could tell by the look on his face this isn’t going to be a regular, normal idea.

“I feel like I should be worried.”

“Come here and sit on my lap.” He holds his arms out, waiting. You stare at him for a moment, confusion on your face.

“I think you’re a little too high right now, Matty.” He’s not serious, right?

“I’ve only smoked like half of this, now come here. Don’t you trust me?”

Begrudgingly, you straddle his hips, and his hands steady you at your waist. You have never been this close to him. The look in his eye is one you haven’t seen before, and you aren’t sure you can blame the weed for it. His breath starts getting heavier with you on his lap. You’re just glad he has a shirt on. You find a voice to speak.

“Okay, what is your bright idea before I chicken out?”

“It’s called shot gunning. Basically, I’m going to take a big hit, then breathe it into your mouth while you breathe in. Simple as that.” His voice is confident as he explains his bright idea.

“That seems sexually charged,” you say. You feel the blush flaming on your cheeks, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Oh, shut up, our mouths don’t actually touch.” Bummer, you wish they would. Matty doesn’t need to know that, though. He continues, trying to defend his idea. “I just think it’ll be easier for you to get a full hit this way, since I don’t have a bong with me. Those are less harsh on the lungs.”

“Matty, you seem more nervous than I am.” That is a lie, straight through your teeth. The nervous energy is practically surging through your bones at the idea of his mouth almost touching your lips.

“I just haven’t done this with a girl I wasn’t currently dating at the time,” he says, biting his tongue afterwards. That is a bit of information he should have left out. Matty’s hands move up and down on your waist as he waits for your response. The heat of his hands burns through your shorts.

“Okay, it’s time for you to be quiet and get on with it. So, what exactly do I need to do?”

“You need to lean in a bit and get closer. I’ll handle the rest, just remember to breathe in when I breathe out, okay?”

“Alright.”

The hand that rests on your waist makes its way slowly up your back, cupping the back of your head and your neck. Out of reflex, you grip his arm, steadying yourself. His eye contact is magnetic as he lifts the joint up to his lips. Your breath isn’t coming as easy to you now, the air becoming thick around the both of you while you watch his lips wrap around the paper.

He breathes in deep, filling his mouth and lungs with smoke, but not blowing it out. He lowers your face down to meet his. Lips a fraction away from touching. Your lips part, waiting for him. Matty opens his mouth, nearly grazing your lips and blows the smoke out while you inhale. His actions are slow, like he’s savoring the moment. Like he won’t get the chance to be this close to you again. You take in the smoke without coughing up a lung this time, feeling the high start to hit, just a little bit.

You turn your head away from him to blow out the smoke, so it isn’t directly in his face. When you face back towards him, the intensity of his eyes almost melt you into a puddle. His eyes stare straight through you, like he can read your every thought.

“How was that?” he asks, breathless. He can’t stop looking at your mouth.

“It was better that time. Easier on the lungs, like you said.” Yeah sure, easier on the lungs, but not easier on your nerves.

“Do you want to try again?” He tries to maintain eye contact, but his gaze falls right back down to your lips. You impulsively lick them.

“Yeah, sure.” You maintain your composure, but as the minutes go on it becomes harder. The way you sit in his lap makes you nervous about moving your hips at all. Every inch of your body pressed into him.

He repeats the same actions, this time however, more intense. His hand on the back of your neck holds you close, keeping you millimeters away from his mouth. Your grip on his arm tightens in response. Oh, how badly you want to lean in. To taste his lips and feel his mouth on you. His eyes never leave your face as he takes another hit. This time, his hand at the back of your head moves to grasp your jaw instead. The hold spans to your neck. Surely, he can feel the rapid pace of your pulse underneath your skin, but you push that thought away.

He pulls your face to his and breathes the smoke into your mouth. Once he was finished, you blow it back out. However, this time, you brought your face back to the same closeness. Maybe the high is giving you a newfound confidence.

“That was nice,” you breathe.

“Yeah?” he questions with his hand still on your face. “Think you want to try to smoke it on your own again?” His facial expression disagrees with the words he says. He doesn’t want you to move at all.

You nod your head at his question, but you also have a different idea in mind. “Can I shot gun you instead?” you asked, timidly. You want to stay on his lap for as long as possible, savoring the impression of his hips against yours. His eyebrows raise, surprised at your question.

“Sure, love. If you think you’re that advanced.” He teases. He hands you back the joint while you attempt to conceal your shaky hands. He notices, though, despite your best efforts. “Start whenever you’re ready, or you can stop if you want. No pressure.” His hands return to your hips as his thumbs begin to rub in a circular motion on the bone, reassuring you.

You are in too deep, there’s no stopping now. You take a hit of the joint, and this time, you managed to fight off the cough. With a shaky hand, you cup his jaw as you lean in. His lips part, ready for you.

Your lips, ever so slightly, graze his before you blow the smoke into his mouth. Electricity runs through you at the brief contact. He exhales away from your face before turning back to you. One of his hands holds your cheek while the other remains on your waist.

“How was that?” you ask, hesitantly. For once, you found yourself not able to read the expression on his face.

“That was perfect. You did a good job.” His brown eyes are blown wide. They flicker to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your mouth.

“Oh, fuck it,” he exclaims.

In a split second, his lips meet yours, drawing a gasp from your throat. There is desperation in his actions, in the way his hands grip your face and waist like he never wants to let go. He moves against your mouth with fervor, slipping his tongue past your lips. Your free hand combs through his curls, pulling tight as you roll your hips against his lap. Fire runs across your skin as he kisses you deeper before breaking the kiss. He’s quick to say the first word.

“Shit. I’ve complicated things haven’t I? We can act like that never happened if you want to stay just friends.” He talks as though he is not already hard against you, aching for more contact.

“I don’t think I can just forget about this, Matty,” you reply, grinding against him. A groan leaves his lips as his fingers dig into your hips in a bruising grip. “Besides…” You lean down to his ear, breath hot as you speak. “I want you. I want you as more than a friend. Have for a while now.” He reacts to your word fast, grabbing the joint from your hand and putting it out on the ashtray laying on his nightstand. Before he continues, his eyes meet yours, still hesitant to continue.

“You sure?” He needs to make sure this is okay one last time before there is no going back to just friends.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” His lips are on you again as soon as the words leave your mouth. The kiss is hot, passionate, needy. Both of your hands tangle through his brown curls, tugging to hear another groan leave his throat. Your tongue licks into his open mouth, wanting more from him.

Matty’s hands are ambitious, traveling under your shirt he grabs the shirt hem. Goosebumps erupted across your skin as he lifts the shirt off of you. For a moment, he stops to take in your body. The heat in your cheeks tints your face pink as he stares, completely awestruck. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

His lips attach to the newly exposed skin of your chest, nipping and sucking at the skin not covered by your bra. You draw in a sharp breath at the sensation of his teeth and tongue on your skin. Red marks are left behind by his mouth. You feel one of his hands drift up your spine to undo your bra clasp, leaving your chest bare to him.

Matty’s mouth moves onto your exposed breasts, tongue flicking over your nipples before his teeth barely graze them. You can’t keep the moans back from your lips. “Shit, Matty—”

Before he can leave even more marks on your skin, you push him back against the headboard. A dazed look is in his eyes as your hands find their way under his shirt, fingernails delicately grazing his lower stomach. “It’s not fair for only my shirt to be off,” you say as you lift the fabric over his head. You look over him, eyes trailing over his muscles and tattoos. He has more muscle than you remember, firmer underneath your touch, like he could break you if he wanted to.

You move before he does, beginning to mouth at his neck. Groans leave his lips when you suck on his pulse point, sure to leave a bruise. His hands at your waist frantically press your hips into his erection. Your mouth travels down his neck to his chest, and you about to get off of his lap and on your knees before he stops you.

“Can I taste you?” He licks his lips as he watches your face, gauging your reaction. It wasn’t typical for a guy to want to go down on you first. It was the other way around, usually.

“If you want to…” you trail off, feeling flustered at the idea of him knowing you so intimately so quickly.

“I want to make you feel good,” he insists, fingers finding their way under your waist band to remove your underwear and shorts in one go. You start to get up, to move to the place beside him for better access before he stops you. “No. I want you to sit on my face.”

Your eyes go wide. Unsure of what even say. “You want me to… what?”

“Sit on my face.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. Besides, it would be a good way to go out.”

“Matty!” you exclaim, lightly hitting his shoulder.

“I’m just being honest,” he pauses in between sentences to lay down flat on the bed. You now found yourself sitting on his lower stomach with no separation. The arousal between your thighs was obvious to him now, hands digging into your hips. “Now, C’mere.”

He drags you by your hips to hover over his face before he pulls you down roughly. Waves of pleasure flow through your body as his mouth makes contact. “Shit— Matty,” you choke out, darting one hand to the headboard to hold yourself up, knees buckling from the sensation. The other hand drops down to his hair, trying to keep yourself grounded. He licks at your cunt like a starved man. He takes his time to run his tongue along you in a broad stroke before he narrows in on your clit, wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking. Hard. You jolt in his grip as a whine leaves your throat.

Feeling overwhelmed at the sensation, you nearly lift yourself off his face, but his grip is unyielding. Fingers hold onto your thighs tight. Your hand tugs at his hair in response, and his eyes look up at you as a deep groan leaves his throat. His pupils are wide as he watches you on his tongue. Instead of sucking, he begins to lap at your folds, indulging at the taste of you. A mix of saliva and your arousal begin to run down his chin as he works his mouth against you.

“Fuck, if I’d known you tasted this sweet, I would have done this years ago,” he says after lifting your body off of his face for a moment before bringing you back down.

“Make up for lost time then. Show me what you can do with that mouth,” you challenge. Oh, he delivers. At your words, the speed of his tongue increases, switching between sucking and circling at your clit. One of his hands leaves your thighs, lining up to your center to collect your wetness before pushing two fingers in. Your hips roll against his face. For a moment, you worry you could hurt his neck, but that thought leaves when his strong arms firmly pull you to his mouth. Matty moans against you, the vibrations increasing your ecstasy. His name leaves your lips over and over, not knowing what else to say. All you can think is Matty. All you can feel is Matty. His fingers curl just so, hitting that spot inside you. Hips rut against his face haphazardly now, chasing your orgasm. The heat is growing in your stomach. You’re on fire and his tongue is fanning the flame. “Matty— Matty, fuck, I’m close. Please, I’m close.” You sound unlike yourself, desperate and needy. He obliges at your request, his fingers rubbing over that spot inside of you at a rapid pace while his tongue attaches to your clit. With the harsh suck of his lips on your clit, you come undone.

You feel like you’re floating, and the only thing keeping you grounded is your hand in his hair. The world is hazy around you as you become enveloped in the pleasure his mouth brings you. He doesn’t stop, either. His tongue works you through your high, and his hand encourages your hips to move against his face. Matty loves having you like this. He loves making you lose your senses on his tongue. He loves to watch your face fall apart in pleasure all because of him. He knows his only job right now is to make you feel good, to make you feel better than anyone ever has.

When you finally come down from the high, Matty is still going at it. His tongue is overwhelming, like jolts of electricity through your body. With both hands at his hair you start to push off of him. “Too sensitive,” you reason with him, before moving down to straddle his hips again.

His looks at you with a hunger on his face. Eyes dilated as stare back into yours. A sheen covers his chin and swollen lips. He takes one of his fingers to gather the wetness on his chin before sticking the finger in his mouth, licking it clean. Matty’s lips curl into a smirk when he speaks again.

“Well, did I make up for lost time? Seemed like you liked it from the way you were pulling my hair, darling.”

Pink flushes across your cheeks. “I don’t know that once is going to be enough to make up for it.” You lean in, connecting your lips briefly. The taste of you is prominent on his lips and tongue. “I want more than that right now though,” you add, grinding your hips down on him during your sentence.

“Fucking hell,” he groans. ‘You’re going to be the death of me if you keep doing that.”

“Get on with it then.” He quickly flips you over on the bed so you’re pinned beneath his body. His lips attach to your neck, teeth biting at the skin. He sucks hard, leaving red marks in the wake of his mouth. Every nip of his teeth sends shocks to your stomach. “Shit, Matty, stop teasing me.”

“Just wanted to mark you up a little bit. You’d look good with some purple on your neck.” He stands up to go through his bedside drawer again, grabbing a condom.

You interrupt his actions before he opens it. “You don’t have to use one if don’t want to. I have an IUD.” You try not to sound desperate, but you want to feel him. All of him.

“It seems like you’re the one who doesn’t want me to use it. I didn’t peg you as the type to be that dirty. But if you wanna feel me that much, don’t expect me to argue.” he chuckles, before taking off his boxers. His cock is hard and leaking as he pumps himself a few times. Bigger than you expected. He gets back on the bed, kneeling over you. He kisses you quickly. “You ready?” His hand teases the tip of his cock between your folds, intentionally bumping into your clit.

You nod eagerly. “Please.” He enters you slowly, stretching and filling you as a gasp leaves your throat. “Fuck,” you cry out. Your hands grip his back, nails digging into his skin as he continues to fill you up. Your entire body is in bliss as he bottoms out, adjusting to his size. His mouth falls open as small groans escape his throat. His eyes close shut as he feels you surround him.

He stills, deep inside of you as he kisses you deeply, tongue licking into your mouth. His hands are on your hips, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. “Shit, you feel so good. So good for me.” You clench around him at the praise, feeling flush spread all over you. He notices the affect his words have on your body. “You like that too, huh? Want me to call you a good girl next?” he taunts. You draw in a shaky breath at his words, but you bounce back fast.

“Just start moving.” The words leave your mouth more as a whine than a demand. Your hips arch against him, seeking friction.

“A bit demanding. I’ll give you what you want for now.”

He draws almost completely out of you, before thrusting back in. You shudder at the quick pace he sets. “Matty— shit,” you whine. He straightens his body back up to admire you underneath him, still snapping his hips at a rhythmic pace. His eyes examine every part of you. He watches the way your face falls open in pleasure as you moan. How your hips follow the movement of his thrusts, and how your muscles tense underneath him.

With his new position, you take your time to admire his body as well. Your hands move to trace the tattoo on his lower stomach, feeling the strength of the muscles there as he rolls his hips into you. His arms grab your attention, too. As his hands grip your waist, his biceps flex. His arms are huge, like he could hold you down and keep you there for hours, using you however he wants.

“Hey.” He interrupts your staring. One of his hands slides up your body to grip your jaw, making your eyes meet his. “Keep looking at me, yeah? Want to see your eyes. Want to see how good I’m making you feel. Got it?” You nod at his request without a second though, wanting to please him.

“Atta girl,” he responds. He takes one of your legs and places it over his shoulder, letting him hit deeper inside you.

“God,” you cry out at the new depth of his cock, pleasure tingling through your skin every time he bottoms out. The feeling is overwhelming, melting you down into a puddle. You can’t stop your eyes from shutting closed at the sensation, slipping into euphoria. Instantly, he stops moving. Your eyes fly open, not sure what’s wrong, why he stopped.

“What did I just tell you?” he asks, voice firm. His hand is back on your jaw again, holding on tight. Your mind was hazy, both from the weed and the pleasure. You pulse around him, unsure what he wants you to say. There’s a short pause before he speaks again. “I told you to keep looking at me. I want to see the look in your eyes when I make you come.” His eyes are dark and lustful while he talks. “You understand?” You nod your head frantically, desperate for him to start moving again.

“I want words this time,” he adds, your head nodding not enough.

“Yes, Matty.” Your voice barely sounds like you. Broken and whiney.

“There we go, that’s what I wanted,” he murmurs. His thumb goes to brush over your lips. “Now, open your mouth.” You listen to his instructions, opening your mouth wide while he holds your chin. Without warning, he leans over you and spits in your mouth. Your eyes widen at his actions, shocked at the way it makes you feel inside. Butterflies forming in your stomach at his next words. “Swallow it.”

Gulping it down quickly, you open back up your mouth, showing him you obeyed. “That’s a good girl, listening to me so well,” he praises. “I think you deserve a reward; would you like that?”

“Please,” you beg, nails raking down his lower stomach lightly. He obliges, placing one hand beside your head to hover over you as he sets a relentless pace again. His hips rock into you roughly, hitting every spot inside of you to fill you with pleasure. You refuse to close your eyes, staring back deep into his own. His other hand urges you to wrap your legs around his hips, grasping tight around your hipbone. This time, he gasps at the feeling of being so deep inside of you. Your cunt squeezes around his cock, making him curse. “Fuck, love. God, you’re so good for me. So fucking good for me, shit.” He was losing himself fast, getting lost in you.

“Matty, please—” you cry out, not quite sure what you’re asking for. The heat was growing inside your stomach rapidly. Every thrust inside of you bringing you closer and closer to release. Only holding on by a thread as he speeds up his hips, hitting you deep and hard. His thumb moves from where it holds into your hip, circling your clit. “Oh, God,” you sob. It was all too much. His cock ruthlessly fucks into you. The feeling of his rough, calloused thumb rubbing your clit without ceasing. His eyes staring into you, overtaken with pleasure as groan after groan leaves his throat. The world blurs around you, and only the feeling of Matty remains. Your orgasm sneaks up on you fast.

“Matty, shit. I- I’m right there.” You hold on just a little bit longer, wanting his permission before you let go. No, needing his permission before you let go.

His thumb speeds up, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Go on, love. Come around my cock for me,” he encourages. That’s all it takes for the tension building inside your stomach to snap. You come apart for him, waves of euphoria washing over your skin. Heats spreads through your veins as your back arches against the bed. Matty is the only word leaving your lips as he continues his thrusts through your high. His hands hold you together, keeping you from falling apart at the seams. You listen to his instructions, keeping your eyes locked with his throughout your climax, watching his face fall in awe of you. The look in his eyes is the only thing keeping you from drifting off completely.

Matty groans at the sight of you falling apart underneath him. The way you fluttered and pulsed around him only brings him closer to his high. His hips become sloppy against you, losing precision as he starts to reach his own climax. With a series of deep, hard thrusts, he moans out your name as he spills inside of you, hips stuttering. His breathe is labored as he rests his forehead against yours, collapsing on top of you. You stay there in his embrace while you catch your breath, holding him close before he opens his eyes to look at you.

“Shit,” he chuckles. “That was better than I could have ever imagined.” He has a genuine smile on his face, but you take the opportunity to tease him.

“Oh, so you’ve thought about me like this before?”

“Only about a million times,” he replies. Matty slowly pulls out of you, wincing at the sensitivity. As he gets up and walks to the bathroom, dread fills you, thinking that was it. That he was done and expecting you to leave. You sit up on the bed, feeling his cum drip down your thighs as you try find the nerve to stand up and collect your clothes. He comes back in the middle of your attempt to stand with a rag in his hand, wearing a new pair of boxers.

“Hey, hey. Where do you think you’re going?” he stops you. Voice soft.

“Oh. I was just going to get my clothes…” you trail off, not wanting to make things more awkward than they already are. A look of hurt marks his face at your words.

“You know me well enough to know I’m not a complete dickhead,” he sighs. “Now, lean back, let me clean you up.” His hand is gentle as it goes to your knee, signaling you to part your thighs for him. The warm rag in his hands wipes off your thighs before trailing up to your center, taking extra care around the sensitive skin. “I’ll be right back,” he says this time, reassuring you before taking the rag to the bathroom. When he returns, he walks over to his dresser, grabbing a t-shirt and another pair of boxers before returning to the side of the bed. “Arms up.”

“Matty, I can get dressed myself.”

“Sweetheart, let me take care of you. Please?” You lift your arms, complying with his request as he puts the shirt on you. The smell of him immediately engulfs you. He also insists to help you put the boxers on. Finally, he crawls up in the bed next to you, pulling you to rest your head on his chest. You’re safe in his arms. It’s warm and comfortable. The previous feeling of anxiety leaving you.

“I really like you. You know that, right?” he speaks, sounding unsure of himself.

“I really like you, too.”

“Then, let’s just leave it at that for now, yeah? Figure out the rest later.” He briefly kisses your forehead. All that mattered right now is that you’re here in his grasp.

#matty healy #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #my writing #smut #writing #shotgunning one shot finished who cheered #cross posted to ao3 go give it a kudos ily

[politemagic]

The Haunting of Sleep Manor (Sleep Token Haunted House AU)

very very excited to start sharing this series!! the first chapter will be posted by the end of this week (hopefully tomorrow). i've been having a lot of fun writing it, so here's a little teaser 👻🖤

edit: Chapter I can be found over here or on ao3 if you prefer!

They didn’t have much in the way of worldly possessions, so all of their belongings packed neatly into one moving truck. The four vessels of Sleep squished together in the cab as they barreled down the quiet country road. Vessel was humming along to the radio, II lightly drumming along with his fingers against his thigh. IV’s mind had wandered off, his eyes slightly glazed over as he took in the passing scenery, III snoring against his shoulder. At last, they could see the wrought iron gates of Langley Manor, their new home looming at the end of the drive beyond. Vessel veered off the road, pulling up to the gates and shifting the truck into park, causing III to stir from his slumber.

Vessel hopped out of the driver’s door, unlocking the padlock with one of the many keys from the keyring he’d received from the realtor’s office the day before. The old house came with a ridiculous number of keys, he couldn’t even begin to imagine the various secrets it had locked away. Sleep wouldn’t have selected just any home, he was sure there was something more to this place than meets the eye. He pushed the gates open at last, quickly making his way back to the truck. The gravel driveway crunched beneath the tires as they neared Langley Manor, the vast expanse of land that came with the home sprawling out in luscious greens behind it. Vessel could hardly believe that he was finally here, that any of this was real. But the excited chatter from the others indicated to him that not only was it very real, it was just as amazing as he’d imagined it to be.

(original headcanons can be found here ☺️)

#i really just wanted an excuse to share the moodboard i made for this because i love a haunted aesthetic #i'm mostly just proofreading rn and making sure she's good to go but i'm honestly pretty happy with how it's turning out🥺 #it's been a minute since i liked my own writing this much i just hope others enjoy it as well😌 i think it's going to be a fun series #it's not going to be quite as silly as my hcs were because i do have a Plot in mind but it will still be a good time!!!! (i hope) #sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #em's stcu #the haunting of sleep manor #<- i will be cross posting between ao3 and tumblr so that tag will be home to all my haunted house au thingymabobs🥰

[anto-pops]

I'm not gonna lie, Ao3 being down all day feels a lot like the burning of the Library of Alexandria

#fuck you Caesar I never knew you Like That but I feel like I do now and I would have made the 23 stab wounds 24 with Brutus #my nightly routine of reading until my eyes close like a 56 year old woman has been soiled #PHAT kudos to the Ao3 volunteers for working through this shit for like. 14 straight hours though #I'm gonna go full Liam Neeson Taken (2008) on these hackers and beat them with a sock full of rocks #figures the one day I claw myself out of my depression hole to post is the day they choose to shit on my pocket of peace #guess I'll reread my own work to fall asleep to *kicks wall* #a.txt #fingers crossed its up and running by tomorrow cause I wanna post my filth but I refuse to publish it here first

[riahlynn101]

Whumptober: "It Should Have Been Me."

Set in the FNAF movie (2023) universe.

Trigger warnings: implied/referenced kidnapping and murder, children in distress, and grief.

Extra -

((Line I discarded, because it didn’t fit the vibe: It towers over Mike, but that's not a surprise, given that everyone tends to tower over him (except Abby, but she’ll get there eventually). ))

(Word count: 1,126)

((Day 6, only 25 more to go!))

--

Mike remembers the day his little brother disappeared.

He remembers riding in their mom’s car, side-by-side. Garrett still had to use a booster seat, which meant his range of motion was limited. This upset him greatly, as he always wanted to be as close as humanly possible to his big brother. 

It was as endearing, as it was annoying to Mike’s twelve-year-old self. 

He remembers arriving at the park. 

It had been a nice day. Sunny with a little bit of wind. 

He remembers racing Garrett to the playground. Mike chased him in circles around the large structure, the smell of mulch in the air. They played until their mom called them over for lunch. 

He remembers not feeling very well after lunch. The wind had died down and the heat was slowly getting to him, so he decided to lay down on one of the benches. 

He remembers telling his little brother to go play, and perhaps Mike’s tone hadn’t been the most kind, as his head had been killing him. Their mother backed him up, reassuring Garrett that everything was fine. 

She fussed over him, asking Mike if he remembered to take his allergy medicine, and if he brought his inhaler. 

The answers to both being: yes, his mom never let him leave the house without taking it, and yes, though at that point in his life, Mike hadn’t had an asthma attack since he was ten. 

He remembers….being woken suddenly by the sound of screeching tires and his mom’s screams of panic. 

The car ride home that night was silent. Blurry in his memory, besides his mom’s caustic side glances towards him. He’s sure no one can read minds, but if he was granted the power to read her’s, Mike would have never left his room again. 

He remembers very little else. 

The guilt slowly ate away at him. It was almost maddening. His parent’s sorrow made it worse. If he had a time machine. A single wish. A shooting star. Anything. 

A chance. 

Mike would use it to bring his brother home. 

If he had been watching Garrett none of this would have happened. Headache or not, Mike had one job. And the years that followed weren’t kind to him. His mom and dad moved on (as much as they could, given the circumstances), and even had another child, Abby. 

And, as much as he adored and loved Abby (and Mike loved her with all his heart, mind, and soul), the feeling of being a complete and utter failure never left. Mixed with the gnawing worry that his little brother suffered terribly following that day, made Mike barely functional. 

But eventually, he too, moved on. 

His parents died, and Abby needed someone to step-up. 

But the guilt never left. It was a constant companion, right by his side, day and night. 

He had been doing better. He was getting better. 

“It should have been me,” Mike says. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there.”

The animatronic bear in front of him continues to stare impassively. The only sign that it’s listening at all is it’s one working ear twitching ever so slightly. 

“I’m sorry I failed you, Garrett. I should have been watching you.”

“Not your fault,” a garbled, almost staticy voice rang out. “Tried your best.” A large paw pats him on the head. 

Mike tenses up. After the week he’s had, with all the other animatronics trying to kill him, it would be fair of him to assume this one (possessed by his brother or not) also wants him dead. 

“Good big brother. No sorry….forgive you.” 

Its words are just barely coherent. He can make out his brother’s voice through the mess of static and the broken module, the thing once called a ‘voice box.’ 

Mike hasn’t cried in a long time. Not while being chased through the pizzeria. Not in Vanessa’s hospital room. And not even at his parents’ funeral. 

The last time he had cried, truly, actually cried was….

He swallows, nodding. No words can express the weight that had just been lifted from his shoulders. 

“Never blamed you.”

Unable to stop the tears from flowing, Mike breaks down. It would take years for him to truly process his emotions regarding Garrett’s disappearance, but the fact his little brother never blamed him, soothes Mike’s soul in a way no counseling or therapy session ever could. 

“I…miss you. Everyday,” Mike says, stinging, watery eyes staring firmly at the ground. His voice breaks, wavering. “I never stopped looking for you. I wanted you to come home. I…I’m so, so sorry. You deserved better.” He fumbles to find the right words, mind racing. 

A paw finds its way to Mike’s head again, giving it a short but firm pat. It rests there. He looks up slowly at the animatronic Fredbear. It tilts its head to the side. 

“I…love you.”

Mike gives a wobbly smile. “I love you too. You….you can rest now. The bad man is gone. Abby is safe.”

“Good job?”

“Yes, you did an excellent job. Rest. Mom and dad are waiting for you.” 

The suit seems to sputter, powering down. Its one glowing blue eye goes black. 

“Goodbye, little brother. I hope to see you again, some day.”

He stumbles outside. It’s lighter now, almost daytime. His mind is a blur, and he wants so badly to sleep. 

“Mike!” Abby yells, running over and hugging him tightly. “I was so worried.”

“Everything’s okay, Abbs,” he reassures her, placing a gentle hand on her head. 

“Where’s Fredbear?”

Mike sighs, sadly. “Gone.”

Abby sobs, clinging to him harder. “It’s not fair! He was my friend!” She hits his chest and stomach in frustration (which hurts, but he fights down the urge to wince). 

“I know,” he murmurs, because he does. Better than anyone else in the world (besides, maybe, Vanessa). “Let it out.”

She screams, pulling away from him. “It hurts, Mike. Why does it hurt so much?”

He bends down to her level. “Because he was your friend. It hurts when someone you love leaves you.”

“But it didn’t hurt this much when mom and dad left.” Tears drip from her eyes, and her bottom lip quivers. 

“I wish I had the answer for that. If I could take it all away, I would.” He pauses for a moment, opening his arms. In an instant Abby is once again clinging to him. “I don’t have the answers, but I can assure you I felt the same way about Garret.”

“I wish I could have met him,” she whispers, head resting on his shoulder. “I bet he would have been a great big brother, just like you.”

Mike swallows down his tears. “...yeah, he would’ve been the best.”

#whumptober2023 #No.6 #“It Should Have Been Me.” #mike schmidt #Garrett Schmidt #abby schmidt #golden freddy #cross posted on ao3 #fnaf movie #fnaf #Mike and Garrett #Mike Garrett and Abby are the best siblings!! #i won't take criticism on that #Stuff in this fic is probably going to be proven wrong once the movie comes out #Garrett and Mike are the best big brothers #queue

[teleport-warning]

MDZS Secret Santa Exchange piece for @trifoliumac

https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/109192351

#mdzs #fox wei wuxian #mdzs juniors #mdzs secret santa exchange #forgot to cross-post here #the whole exchange collection is over on ao3 please go look at all the things #ao3 is not the best place to share art but these are the sacrifices we make #see also “what is the art equivalent of 2k minimum wordcount” #shaded sketch #greyscale #teleport warning draws #unmixable

[kalpasio]

Two Times You Abused Kalpas' Bodyheat

An actual Kalpas x Reader one shot I think

Working as a comms officer in Fire Moth was hardly your dream job. It was originally temp work. Your previous office had been blown up during a Fire Moth mission, so as compensation (and to keep your boss from blabbing) they had offered you all positions. When you took the job, it had only been because you needed a job for money, and this was all you could get. Now, it was one of the only jobs anyone could get, and it paid nicer than anything else on the market, so you put up with the weirdos you had to deal with on the daily in exchange for a nice paycheck.

One of these weirdos was your boyfriend, Kalpas. How you started dating was a mystery to nearly everyone, yourself included. You had been assigned as his comms for a mission, and from the safety of your desk, you had maybe gotten a little heated in telling him off. Other agents had stared at you in fear, but you were convinced it was fine. There was no way some random MANTIS would know who you were, or even care by the time he came back to base; and the fact that your yelling had saved the mission only made your more confident.

Oh you were so very mistaken.

Not only did Kalpas find out who you were, he marched straight into the comms office and right to your desk. The normally very loud room fell silent as everyone watched with morbid curiosity. You were dragged from the room, still shouting—you refused to go peacefully—much to the horror of all your new coworkers. None of them expected you to return, but the next day, there you were, sitting in your chair like nothing had happened with an especially warm cup of coffee. It became standard for the fiery MANTIS to visit you when he was bored, and everyone quickly learned not to stare to hard, lest they be on the receiving end of his glare.

All in all, working at Fire Moth wasn't that bad. Except for when the base was attacked and something broke. Which happened...once a week?

“You've been in the shower for an hour,” Kalpas called from your room. He had invited himself into your room—something that happened quite frequently—a while ago, and you had told him you'd be out in a minute.

“Hour and a half!” you called back.

“Get the fuck out!” was the response you chose to ignore. Or at least, you tried to ignore. After a minute, Kalpas grew impatient and walked into the bathroom to yell at you better. Unfortunately, telling you to “stop yelling and get out,” only made you throw water in his face and yell louder while holding the shower curtain closed.

“This is the most heat I've had all day!” you complained. The latest attack had knocked out heat to the base, and the backup generators couldn't produce enough energy to keep everyone warm. “Those stupid space heaters don't do any more than blow cold air on my feet.” Suddenly you froze and popped your head back around the curtain. “You're warm.”

“What?” Kalpas stood leaning against the wall beside your shower with his arms crossed so he could brood more efficiently. Without answering his question, you turned off the water and grabbed your towel from the hook nearby. As soon as you were dried off and the towel was secured around you, you stepped out of the shower and grabbed on to your boyfriend.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

Refusing to look up, you said, “It's cold and you're warm.” You said this like it was a fact—and it was—but Kalpas wasn't outwardly pleased by your words. Inwardly, however, he was undeniably happy to have you clinging to him. Of course, you couldn't tell with him growling at you, but you also didn't seem to care, because you didn't let go. In fact, you stepped onto his feet to keep your toes warm. It seemed as though you had no plans of moving any time soon, which was fine by Kalpas.

One of his arms wrapped around your back to hold you closer to him, but before you could appreciate the warmth, he was stepping forward. Then he was stepping out of the warm steam in your bathroom, and bringing you into the chilly air of your room What had once been your personal heater was now a train leading you to a very cold death, and it seemed as though he had no intentions of letting you off. As much as you struggled, Kalpas held on, carrying you all the way to your bed.

For a second, you thought your attempts to get out of his hold had paid off; you were released, only to be pushed backwards onto the bed, and immediately followed by a very heavy blanket. After a lot of grumbling and shifting from both parties, you eventually found a comfortable position laying down half on top of Kalpas, with several blankets—that you made him go get—covering you. For about five hours, you were the happiest person on the base.

Then the heat came back on. And Kalpas refused to budge. And you were boiling for the rest of the night.

One of the biggest issues with having one coffee machine for about thirty people was that said coffee machine was almost always broken. Sometimes you could convince Emile to buy you a drink when he grabbed his own and Kalpas would be kind enough to deliver it with minimal complaining. Sometimes you would actually go to your desk at the time your meant to instead of being called in for an emergency, and you could make the coffee in your little apartment.

Today, however, you were called in early and since Kalpas had just come back from a mission and it was the middle of the night, you couldn't ask him to bring you anything. The poor agent you were working with got some very nasty comments thrown his way, and you were sure his report on your work would be less than kind, but you got the job done. Once he was on his way back to base, you took your headset off, and looked around the office.

It seemed like you were one of the only agents called in, which wasn't very surprising given the early hour. Only a handful of desks were occupied, and half the screens were turned off. The place looked a little eerie when it was so empty, but it was nice to have a little quiet for a minute. Like most of the comms officers, you were scheduled to come in to work in another hour, so you figured you may was well stay up and get some paperwork squared away before your normal duties started. In the meantime, there was no harm in trying the old coffee pot, right?

Everything seemed to go smoothly; you put in the grounds and the water, and the sweet sweet caffeine came out. The smile on your face was evident as you poured yourself a cup, and fixed it to your tastes. The scowl that immediately followed your first sip was evident as well. The coffee was cold. Not cold like iced coffee, but that horrible not-quite-iced, not-quite-hot temperature that made you gag. Before you could fix the issue by going to the microwave down the hall, the screen on your desk flashed, and you were called back over to lead another job. Whoever got assigned to you was about to have a very successful, very miserable mission.

Luckily, Elysia seemed to think your irritation was amusing and let it slide, but that still didn't fix your lack of coffee. Having another call come in right after only made you more frustrated, and poor Su didn't deserve to have you snapping at him. You finally got a break long after everyone else had come into work, and word had spread to leave you alone for the day. Word spread so far as to reach outside the office, and find your boyfriend.

Reaching for a data pad only to find someone sitting on it had you fuming, and looking up to find Kalpas glaring down at you didn't help your anger. Just as you opened your mouth to start shouting, your horrible, terrible, cruel, infuriating boyfriend reached over and grabbed the mug of extremely cold coffee you brewed this morning. Then, your wonderful, perfect, amazing, brilliant boyfriend placed the mug in your hand with the coffee now steaming and ready to be enjoyed.

Instantly, your scowl became a beaming smile sent his way, and Kalpas was chuckling as he stood from your desk. All he said was a gruff 'you're welcome,' and he was on his way. For about two hours, you thought you had the best partner in the world. Then you opened a mission briefing, only to find that it was his mission you were going to be working on, and really he just hadn't wanted to deal with you screaming at him because you were tired.

Oh well. At least you got your coffee.

Uhhhh here. Have something I wrote because I have my first quiz today and am stressed ahahahah throws glitter and runs away These are both scenarios I kinda mentioned in other stories, so it's nothing new, but it's here.

Also as someone who drinks a lot of coffee and tea, let me tell you, lukewarm coffee/tea is the worst possible thing ever. I would rather step on legos than drink a cup of tea that has gone cold. Also have I ever told you how much I love Su? Um. A lot. I should write a story for him (no i should not i need to finish these requests)

#kid that just sat behind me is so loud rn ooof #kalpas x reader #azaryawrites #honkai x reader #tamalethebear #cross posted on ao3 #hi3 x reader #I gotta go fail a quiz now if you'll excuse me

[hexiquin]

Hyakki Daycare

rated: teen and up

word count: 3,222

warnings: outside of maybe 2 adult jokes (nothing graphic) sano have a little kid crush and 1 mild gross moment its pretty tame

(also not beta read)

~~~~~~~~

Summary:a couple of drabbles I did that are based my daycare au (in the order of a schedule)

*also they are human in this

Author's Note: I said I was writing yohaji fanfics and so I'll post my tamest one~☆

6:45 am

Abe Haruaki woke up with a jolt. He swung his head over to look up at his side table clock and quickly rushed out of bed. 

He was late for work.

He was lucky that his brother insisted that he took a shower the previous night. He quickly brushed his teeth and combed his hair, clumsy pulling on his clothes.

As he rushed out the front gate to his family home his mother ran up to him with a piece of toast. She practically shoved it into his mouth. He gave her a muffled ‘thank you’ as he ran down the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

7:18 am

“You’re late.”

Haru looked up to his fellow daycare worker, Miki Rintarou. The silver haired man gave him a fake smile as Haru untied his shoes.

“S-sorry-”

“You own me one, I made up an excuse for you.” The older man turned away from the dark haired man.

Haru finished untying his shoes and putting on the daycare issued slippers. They were plain white, and only allowed to be worn inside the building. Haru signed as he felt his feet sink into the soft plush pad.

“Abe, Help me wrangle the little monsters!” 

Haru’s other co-worker, Hatanaka Izuna, held up a clipboard with a sign in sheet on it. Many of their parents were usually in a rush themselves, so the owner, Ashiya Douman, thought it might take less time if the sign in sheet was more mobile.

For the most part it worked out fine, though sometimes they needed an extra clipboard, which meant they needed another daycare worker to make sure it was signed in correctly.

Haru walked over to his co-worker, clipboard in hand. As he helped parents sign in, he greeted the children for the day.

“Hello Yuri-chan! How are you today?”

The proper young girl stared up at him with big dark eyes. 

“Is Kuniko here?” Her blank stare bored into the young man.

Haru started to laugh nervously. “I think she’s with Miki-sensei right now.”

Yuri nodded her head before dashing off to reunite with the other girl.

Haru let out a sign before going back to help parents sign in. The sound of two excited girls' squeals ran out through the building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8:00 am

Miki clapped hands, getting the attention of all the children.

“Ok, kiddies! Time for breakfast.”

The three men helped the children to the dining table and placed the food out in front of them. The children flopped into the colorful chairs, quickly digging in.

“Tamao-kun! It's time for breakfast!”

“Coming!” 

Tamao walked away from the window he had been at ever since he walked in the door. Miki watched as the child covered his mouth with his hands. His cheeks puffed out, some skin striking out at random intervals. Miki grabbed the young boy’s wrist.

“Tamao-kun… What do you have in your mouth?” 

The young boy’s face filled with fear as he peered up at his teacher with wide pleading eyes. He shook his head out of the taller male’s grasp. He twisted and turned as Miki pried his mouth open.

The room filled with screams as a grasshopper leaped out of the boy’s mouth. Miki ran to stand on top of a children’s chair. His eyes were closed and he was yelling at the top of his lungs. The other children started to join in, though most didn’t see the reason behind their teacher’s screeching.

Hatanaka quickly leapt up, his teeth bared. He clapped his hands around the insect, trapping it in a cage of fingers. He rushed out the front door, knowing that Miki wouldn’t stop yelling until the creature was outside.

Haru ran towards the boy, taking him by the shoulders.

“Tamao! What have we told you about bugs?”

Tamao looked over the tall man’s shoulder, watching as Miki carefully got off the chair. He snapped his gaze back to Haru after he was sure Miki was safe back on the ground. 

“Don’t bring any inside.”

“And?”

The boy looked away, curling in on himself. “And make sure that Miki-sensei doesn’t see..”

Haru let out a sigh.

“...Come on…Let’s wash out your mouth.”

“Do you get the strawberry flavored toothpaste?”

“Just restocked it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9:42 am

Haru walked Tamao back to the other children after he had made sure that Tamao had washed his mouth out thoroughly. He let go of his hand as the boy rushed off to join the others in a circle on the large rug.

“What took you so long.” Miki whispered over to the other as the children finished up their morning stretches to get their ‘wiggles’ out. The two grown men joined in as Hatanaka led the exercises.

“Dirt in the back of his teeth...again.” Haru moved his arms like a jellyfish.

“Seriously, why does that kid keep doing these things?” He started to goofily shake out his legs.

“I think he just wanted to show off his catches?” The two twisted their bodies left and right. “I guess when you came over he was scared of getting in trouble and panicked?”

Miki let out a huff. “Maybe he shouldn’t have done something that would get him in trouble! And who even thinks to shove a live bug inside their mouth as a first resort?”

The two men laughed behind the children's heads.

“Miki-Sensei! Haru-Sensei! Are you paying attention?”

The two immediately stopped as they snapped their heads towards the ex-delinquent.

“Yes!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:15 am

The children’s independent indoor free time was usually used as an extra break for the three men. They hung around the walls as the kids played with various toys. The trio quietly talked with each other only to be interrupted by a tugging on their legs. 

“I need to use the bathroom.”

Then men looked down to see the face of Sasuki Hime. She swayed back and forth.

The men quickly turned to each other.

“Jan-ken-pon!”

Miki grimaced as he lost the game of rock paper scissors.

“I wish Ibara-nee was here.” He glared over at the glasses wearing man. “But someone just had to get married and have kids with her.”

Hatanaka held back the urge to flip off his brother in law. “Well, she’s my wife, so I think I’m justified in my actions.”

Haru hung his head as Miki left to take the girl to the restroom. “Do you know when Ibara will be back?”

Hatanaka avoided the other’s gaze.

“Hatanaka?”

Silence.

“Hatanaka?”

The glasses wearing man gave him an hesitant smile. “A-actually, we just found out she was pregnant again..”

“Oh cracker jacks from heaven on high!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:30 am

Several kids were playing in the swings as Beniko came over.

“Get off the swings, Ryouta.” The black haired girl folded her arms over her chest.

The young boy glared at her, his face slightly red. “Make me, Zashiki!”

She cracked her knuckles. “Just get off and let everyone else have their turns, and I’ll show you mercy.”

The boy clung to the chains connecting the seat to the pole structure.

“I said make me.”

“You asked for it.”

Suddenly the girl started to yank at the boy’s hair. The boy let go of one of the chains to pull her hand down. As he opened his mouth to bite her, Haru worriedly rushed over.

“H-hey, kids! Maybe this time we can calmly talk-”

The two children punched him in the face, knocking him flat on his back into the dirt. At the commotion, the two other men ran over to help him. They each took a child, as the rest of the unfazed children surrounded the dazed Haru. At this point they were used to it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11:53 am

Most of the kids were finishing up eating when Hijita rushed up to them.

“I don’t like this!” 

The boy showed them his plate of veggies.

“Koutarou-kun, you know the rules.” Miki shook his head at the boy.

Haru crouched down next to the boy. “How about you eat two small carrots and then you can be done eating your veggies. You like carrots right?”  Haru tilted his head with his eyes closed, hands on his knees.

“Don’t patronize me, wimpy-aki.”

Haru gasped, leaning away from the boy. His hands covered his mouth in shock.

“Koutarou-kun! That was very rude! You need to apologize!”

He turned to the silver haired teacher, squinting his eyes. “Why? I’m only speaking the truth. He is a wimp!”

Hatanaka pointed at a corner in the room with several chairs. The backs of them facing each other. “Hijita! Go to the naughty corner, now!”

A chorus of ‘oohs’ followed him as he joined Beniko and Ryouta.

“What ya in for?” The other boy asked.

“Called Haru-sensei a bad word.”

Beniko smacked the back of his head, not looking at him the whole time. “You know that Haruaki-sensei is sensitive!”

“Hey! I’m already doing time! Did you have to hit me?”

“You deserve it.” She pointed over towards their caretaker with tears in his eyes.

“But enough about your sins against humanity, what is the latest gossip? Hatanaka-sensei was staring us down the whole time we were eating, and I didn’t get the chance to hear any.”

Hijita smirked mischievously. “Get this! Ibara-sensei is pregnant again!”

Beniko shook her head. “Seems like this place is gonna be a sausage fest for another 9 months.”

“Hey! No talking while in the naughty corner!”

The trio quickly shut up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

12:28 pm

The children gathered around the children sized tables. They were all working on making hanging jellyfish. The kids were taping ribbons, strings, and home brought lace trimmings to the insides of the cheap cut in half paper lanterns.

The children made colorful jellyfish, which meant they also made colorful trash. Miki walked around the talkative kids picking up their trash. 

“I like your jellyfish!” Koizumi cheerfully said.

Miki looked up to see who she was talking to. He turned to look at the two jellyfish in the hands of the Ogata twins. One was pale pink and the other was pitch black. The young girl was probably talking about the brighter colored jellyfish.

As he looked closer at the two’s craft he started to feel like something was off. He stalked over to the boys slowly realizing that they look strangely similar to…

“Rin! Kou! Naughty corner now!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1:09 pm

“Seimei, can you help me read this?” A small child asked in his tanuki themed hoodie. Sano blushed and looked at the ground, his hands holding a book behind his back.

Haru looked up from his squatting spot next to the children’s bookcase. Most of the children already knew how to read age appropriate books, so the caretakers usually just had to help them pick out books. Sure some of them needed a bit more help, but Sano Mikoto was not one of those kids.

The boy was remarkably smart for his age. He usually would be reading by himself around this time, getting calmed down for their nap time like the rest of the kids.

Haru gave the young boy a bright smile. “Of course!”

After getting an ok from the man, Sano tried to hop into Haru’s lap, surprising him. Haru picked up the boy and sat him down next to him. Haru knew from the other kids’ comments that his lap was more boney than comfy. Plus Sano always seemed awkward when around him, Haru didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

Sano looked a bit disappointed.

“Ok, let’s start-”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1:34 pm

The kids started to pick their spots to nap in. Many had already chosen a place to lay down. Haru handed out blankets, making sure they each had one. Miki walked over to the light switch to turn it off. Putting the ac at an appropriate temp, Hatanaka fiddled with the old remote.

Ogoso worriedly jerks his head left and right. He trembled as he looked out at the empty spots.

“Saguru? What are you waiting for?” A soft voice spoke to him. “If you don’t go now there won’t be any good spots left.”

Ogoso turned to look at the boy to his right. They had short pigtails and a metric ton of overly cutesy hair clips, creating a rainbow on his head. 

“T-touya!” The boy shied away from his friend. “I, um, wanted to nap in a bigger space…”

Fuji looked behind him on the now full sleeping mat. 

“Seems like all the roomy spots are filled.” The young boy sighed. “Why did you even want to hog a big spot?” 

Ogoso’s face flushed. He turned his gaze away from the other. Swaying side by side, he took a moment before speaking.

“I-i wanted to sleep next to you…”

Fuji's eyes widened at his confession. The cutesy boy grabbed his hand and walked him over to the only spots left, the ones closest to the ac. Fuji manhandled Ogoso so that his back was towards the warm mass of other children. Placing himself as the last barrier between the shy boy and the cold air, Fuji scooted closer to Ogoso so they could be face to face.

“T-touya! Aren’t you cold?” Ogoso whispered.

Fuji chuckled at his question. 

“It’s ok. I like the cold anyway.” He snuggled closer to him and wrapped the blanket he had grabbed from Haru around them both. “Plus, my mom says that cuddles are the best way to warm up.”

Giggling to themselves, the two kids started to fall asleep, cuddling close together.

“Aw~ They’re so adorable.” Haru giggled as he put the extra blankets away.

“Yeah, they look pretty cute like that.” Hatanka noted as he walked back into the building's small kitchen, deciding to get the dishes done early.

“Kind of makes you forget their little terrors.” Miki walked over to take a seat in a kid sized chair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2:45 pm

“Natsumi-chan, try this!” A boy practically floated over to the girl, his offered spoon seemed to melt.

“No! All the snacks you share taste bad, Yanagida!” The pink haired girl rapidly shook her head to avoid whatever he was trying to offer.

“They’re not snacks, they’re experiments!” He spoke with a big smile on his face.

“And what am I? A lab rat!” She cried out in horror.

Miki sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The two kids always had something going on during their post nap snack. The silver haired man knew full well how this situation would end.

“I’ll get the mop and bucket…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3:07 pm

When Ibara was still working, she had turned their ‘sing a long’ time into ‘karaoke’ time. The kids really loved it. Though that didn’t mean it was perfect.

“Tenmaru-kun…what song is that from?”

“Naughty Mistic Space Princess, why?”

“Ah, um, don’t you think you want to sing a more age appropriate song for karaoke time?”

“My older brother is dating your boss. I think the better question is if you want to keep your job.”

“Listen here you little mistake, your brother is more like a boy toy than a boyfriend.”

“Hatanaka-sensei, do you mind explaining what a boy toy is?” The boy smirked at him.

“Hatanaka! Naughty corner now!”

“Haha!”

“You too, Tenmaru-kun!”

“Eat my shorts, punk!”

Some may say, it was even more chaotic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3:32 pm

Haruaki took all the children out to the daycare garden while the two other adults cleaned up inside before the parents came to pick up their kids. He led a line of children out to the little flower garden. 

Most of the kids used this time to play around the flower beds, but that didn’t mean Haru wouldn’t make them help out. 

As Haru helped Mujina water some of the sunflowers, the other kids running around his legs, Haru felt a tugging on his pant leg. Haru turned and looked down, getting a face full of plants.

“These are you!”

Haru looked over his gift at Mamekichi. His face was covered in dirt and his pants had grass stains. He smiled up at him. 

Haru took the greenery into one of his hands, using the other to pat the small boy.

“Thank you so much, Mame-kun! I’m gonna take this home and put it in a vase on my desk.” He gave the boy a quick hug.

Mujina looked over at the two, over watering the flowers slightly.

“Those are weeds.”

“I said what I said, Yakumo-kun.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4:43 pm

As the kids ran around inside the building, Hatanaka and Miki smoked outside. With how short staffed they were since Ibara was still on maternity leave, the pair rarely got to smoke together. During the kids free break though, the pair left the Haru to watch the kids while they cleaned up. 

“I swear, you better not get her pregnant a fourth time.” Miki took a drag of his cigarettes.

“Technically, I got her knocked up twice, the first two are twins.” Hatanaka let out a puff. 

“Well, either way, don’t do it! We’re short staffed already!” Miki cried.

Hatanaka lightly hit him on the head. “Oh please, you just miss your onee-chan.” He let out some smoke through his nose. “You could just visit her, you know?”

Before Miki could say anything back to him, the door swung open.

“Seimei is crying on the floor again!” Sano yelled.

Hatanaka let out a sigh as he stomped out his cig. “Who did it this time?”

“Yanagida gave him a flower after he saw a bunch of the other kids give him some.”  Mujina rolled his eyes.

Miki sighed his eyes. “I’ll get the mop and bucket...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5:58 pm

The daycare was empty. The whole place was already fully cleaned up. Sitting in the waiting room in the front were the trio of teachers and a small polite boy. 

“Dad said he would be the one picking me up today…he promised me.” Nyuudou looked dejected.

Haru kept braiding his hair. “I’m sure he’s just running a little late.”

Hatanaka walked over to the door, now in his casual clothes. “Well, I have to go home, see you guys tomorrow.” He opened the door. “Bye Rensuke-kun!”

The little boy waved at him as he left. 

Miki sighed as he braided Haru’s hair. “How about we wait until 6:15, and if he doesn’t come by then we can take you to your house.”

“Can we get some ice cream on the way this time?” Rensuke looked back at the men.

“Of course!” Haru beamed at him.

Suddenly the door swung open.

“Rensuke!” Mr. Nyuudou got on one knee, arms open to receive his son.

“Dad!” The small boy ran over to his father and hugged him.

“Sorry, his meeting went a bit later than what we thought.” One of his many servants told them.

“Oh that's ok~ Nothing to worry about.” Miki smiled cheerfully at the rich and important people in front of him.

As the large group left, the two men waved at the boy. The young child waved back at them, a sleepy smile on his face, hugging his father’s neck the whole time. Both let out a pleasant sign as they walked out of view.

“Want to get black out drunk~?”

“Only if you pay for the drinks, I used up all my pocket money last time.”

#cross posted on ao3 #hexi posting #yohaji #a terrified teacher at ghoul school #youkai gakkou no sensei hajimemashita #I'm not gonna link cause I dont need that kind of anxiety #Just don't want people to think that I plagiarized myself #fanfiction #might delete later #The more people see this the more I kinda want to go full 'going out of business sale' on this post

[just-jessiejames]

oh yeah i'm fine im writing a fanfic about two boys falling in love instead of, idk seeing a doctor for a mysterious medical problem, but yeah. no im okie dokie! definitely nothing wrong going on here

#listen tylorpe is the only thing i got going for me rn okay #im having weird things going on rn and all i wanna do is write #crossing my fingers im not about to keel over and die or something #that would be a shame cause my story would be unfinished (oh yeah and ig i'd also be dead thats a bummer too-) #ive been uhm ““not okay”” for a week. im really hoping i will return to being okay naturally w/o a doctor #cause it is the HOLIDAYS and who tf wants to go to the doctor during fucking christmas #but yeah idk i have something wrong going on and its almost christmas ill probably (probably) be okay idk ig we'll see #never understood those unhinged authors until rn #ofc i'd be one of those people casually maybe dying or smthin and still posting fic chapters good god im #tylorpe #tavier #tyler x xavier #xavier x tyler #tyler galpin #xavier thorpe #jessiejames writes #my fanfic #my writing #writing #ao3

[queenlucythevaliant]

Professor Kirke remained at the small dining table after the last of the dishes had been cleared away, puffing clouds on his pipe. It was strange, thought Lucy: he had a faraway look in his eyes, as though some tiny aspect of his reality had shifted over dinner and he was struggling to accommodate it.

“I wonder what he’s thinking about,” murmured Lucy to the others. Edmund shrugged and Eustace (who had only met the professor that night) said nothing, but Peter chuckled merrily and patted Lucy on the arm.  

“You’ll find out soon enough, that’s certain. He got that look in his eye when you were talking about the Island of Dreams, Lu. No doubt he’ll call you into his study for a lesson later on.”

It was a little more than a week later that Peter’s prediction came true. Professor Kirke seated himself across his desk from Lucy with an enormous tome of poetry spread out before him. “Have you heard The Rime of the Ancient Mariner?” he inquired.

Lucy shook her head. Yet rather than muttering about the state of the schools as she had expected, Professor Kirke simply smiled beneath his whiskers and began to declaim:

“It is an ancient Mariner /And he stoppeth one of three —"

Lucy leaned back in her seat and fixed her attention on the words as best she could. Once, she’d spoken in such a register as queen of Narnia, but now she was only a girl of ten and unaccustomed to the flowery language of Romantic poetry.

“At length did cross an Albatross,

Thorough the fog it came—”

“Oh!” cried Lucy. “Is that why you wanted me to hear this poem?”

“Just so,” the professor replied. “Your account of the Island where Dreams Come True bears a marked resemblance to The Rime, beginning with the presence of the albatross. In this poem, the albatross bears a symbolic connection to Jesus Christ himself.”

“How peculiar!”

“I thought so too. Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote this poem in 1797, in a time when sea voyages to the polar regions were very much like your own voyage to the end of the world. The albatross had only lately been described in writing, but he wrote it coming out of the desolate fog to guide sailors to safety. And Coleridge was a neo-Platonist! Fog and ice are very much like darkness, the way he uses them here.”

“A neo-Platonist?” Lucy asked, wrinkling her nose.

And now came the Professor’s customary muttering. “Yes. What do they teach in these schools? You may read darkness and fog both in Coleridge as something between ignorance and innocence, with the Sun as a symbol of Reason. Does that make sense?”

“A little,” said Lucy, who privately didn’t think it made much sense at all but was eager for the professor to continue the poem.

“It ate the food it ne'er had eat,

And round and round it flew.

The ice did split with a thunder-fit;

The helmsman steered us through!”

Lucy hadn’t meant to interrupt again so soon, but the words were out of her mouth before she was really aware that she’d spoken them. “So it really is just like in Narnia! It guides the ship out of the ice like my Albatross guided us out of the darkness.”

“Yes.” Professor Kirke was entirely unperturbed by the interruption. “Precisely.”

“How lovely. Isn’t it interesting how you just know when birds are trustworthy?”

The professor chuckled. “You may change your mind in a few stanzas. Shall I go on?”

“Please.”

Lucy returned to her concentration as the mariner recounted how a good wind had sprung up after the Albatross and how it had stayed with the ship and perched on the mast sometimes for evening prayers. Yet the mariner must have looked unhappy, for the groom interrupted to ask him why.

“With my cross-bow/ I shot the albatross.” Professor Kirke paused here in his telling and looked very hard at Lucy.

It took her a long moment to understand. “The albatross isn’t dead, is he?”

“He is.”

“I thought you said he was like Aslan.”

“And didn’t you see Aslan die?”

Lucy opened her mouth, but closed it a moment later. Open again, “But why did the mariner kill him? Doesn’t he give any reason? The witch killed Aslan because she was evil and trying to conquer Narnia. Why would the mariner kill the albatross when it’s done nothing but help him?”

“Perhaps,” the professor replied, “the Gospels are a simpler comparison here. ‘I shot the albatross’ has the same kind of blunt irrefutability as ‘And they crucified him.’ There isn’t any excuse, which I think makes the confession all the more powerful.”

Lucy sighed. It was exhausting trying to keep this all straight. “I suppose that makes a kind of sense. But then we’re trying to think on three different levels of parallel—the poem, the Bible and Narnia—which isn’t very pleasant.”

“And yet, it’s necessary if one wishes to understand deeper meanings. We can pause for tea, if you’d like?”

“No, that’s alright. I think I’m keeping track well enough for now. I say though, is this what you do with Peter all day?”

The question seemed to catch Professor Kirke off guard, for he let out a sudden, loud burst of laughter as soon as Lucy asked it. “Yes, after a manner of speaking. Shall we go on?”

“Ah! well a-day! what evil looks

Had I from old and young!

Instead of the cross, the Albatross

About my neck was hung.”

It was a difficult thing to imagine and Lucy wondered if Aslan’s albatross was unusually large. Aslan was always bigger than she expected him to be, so it would not be strange if he took the form of an unusually large albatross. Yet the more Lucy considered, the more sense the image made.

“It must have been at least three meters,” said Lucy. “The albatross, I mean. Mine was more like four, from wingtip to wingtip. It would be a dreadful weight, but I suppose that’s the point. The mariner can’t carry it, can he?”

“I think you’re right,” said Professor Kirke.

A smile tugged at Lucy’s cheeks. It was lovely to hear the professor give such an unequivocal endorsement of her analysis. Galvanized by the success, she continued, “I thought of a cross when my albatross appeared out of the darkness. There’s something in the proportion of the body to the wings, and in its stillness of it as it glides through the air. My albatross tore away the darkness. But here—it’s like the mariner carries his albatross like he thinks that act can save him from what he’s done.”

There was a glittering in the old professor’s eyes then, and suddenly Lucy realized that she wasn’t struggling with the poem’s language anymore. Maybe it was because she’d been listening to it for the better part of ten minutes, but privately she wondered if Narnia’s magic might be working on her somehow. Perhaps this poem contained some quality of the rich Narnian air.

“I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;

But or ever a prayer had gusht,

A wicked whisper came, and made

My heart as dry as dust.”

Lucy shut her eyes and remembered the fighting-top of the Dawn Treader. The night-mare life-in-death was a black abyss, and all her own nightmares had been there in it. There had been monsters, of course, and the idea that even if she ran down to stand beside Edmund he might become a monster himself. But somewhere in all that dark, there was a Lucy who never spoke to Aslan again. She’d imagined herself in Lord Rhoop’s place, trapped forever in a state of endless fear-without-courage, because she could not call him.

“That was my night-mare too,” she whispered. “Not being able to pray.”

She saw the professor’s lips thin beneath his whiskers and wondered at it. “You’re wiser than you have any right to be,” he murmured. “Ten years old and your greatest nightmare is alienation from God. What a marvel you’ll be when you’re grown.”

Well then. Lucy didn’t have any notion what to say to that. She half expected that if she tried to reply, she might start crying.

“Might I ask—what did you do then? Until the albatross arrived, once you realized that you couldn’t pray. How did you react?”

And that was a question she could answer.

“But I could pray! I did. I whispered, ‘Aslan, if you ever loved us at all, send us help now.’ And that was when the albatross came. I didn’t talk about it after—it was too much my own for me to share it, really—Edmund knows—but well…”

The professor made a sort of choked noise in his throat. “Perhaps it was the only nightmare that the island couldn’t bring true.”

“But there have been times,” continued Lucy, “when my heart was too dry to speak with Aslan. There were whole years when I was queen that he didn’t come at all.”

It was with a much softer voice that Professor Kirke resumed his reading.

“A spring of love gushed from my heart,

And I blessed them unaware:

Sure my kind saint took pity on me,

And I blessed them unaware.

 The self-same moment I could pray;

And from my neck so free

The Albatross fell off, and sank

Like lead into the sea.”

Here, the professor lapsed into silence. Lucy thought that the poem might be over, but when she peered across the desk at the page there were columns of stanzas still left.

“Even after all these years,” he whispered, “some things still remind me of my own days in Narnia.”

He’d told the children his story before, of course: beginning with how he met Aunt Polly and concluding with the origins of the wardrobe. Aslan had not condemned him for bringing the White Witch to Narnia. Instead, he’d had loved Digory enough to shed tears and sent him home with an apple so beautiful that it healed his dying mother.

“Grace,” Lucy whispered into the hush. “Of course. Maybe this is the moment where Aslan leads the mariner out of the darkness.”

Professor Kirke exhaled heavily. The faraway look in his eye lessened a little bit, and at length he read on.

“The spirit slid: and it was he

That made the ship to go.”

Never had Lucy felt Aslan’s presence more keenly in his absence than during those last days as the Dawn Treader had sailed over the still, clear waters at world’s end; like Aslan himself had been drawing them towards himself by some great, invisible rope.

The closer they’d come to his country, the more tangible his spirit had been. When at last she glimpsed those green mountains beyond the waves, Lucy’s very bones understood that Aslan had made the still seas bring them there.

A voice spoke out of the air concerning the mariner, and Lucy remembered the piercing silence of the Last Sea. Of the voice, the mariner said, “He loved the bird that loved the man/ Who shot him with his bow.”

Not for the first time, Lucy wondered about Aslan’s father, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. What did he say to Aslan when he left that land of high mountains to return to Narnia and die at the Witch’s hand? What did he think when Aslan went flying across the lily-covered seas on feathered wings to rescue their little ship? If Lucy had crossed that final threshold with Reepicheep, would she have met the Emperor there?

“The voice is his father,” Lucy said, voice brimming with certainty. “The albatross’s father, I mean. The Emperor-beyond-the-Sea.”

“I know,” the professor replied. “And beyond the sea is just where our mariner meets him.”

“Do you think the mariner knew that the albatross loved him?”

The professor stroked his chin again, and a ghost of a smile played across his features. “If the mariner didn’t know it when he shot him, he certainly knows now. But come, we’re nearly at the end of the poem.

“Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,

Yet she sailed softly too:

Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—

On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed

The light-house top I see?”

“There’s one more thing I haven’t told you,” Lucy said. “Something so bright and mysterious that I’ve not even told Edmund. When the albatross came, it—it spoke to me. And I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

Professor Kirke leaned forward, but his words were, “You needn’t tell me what he said if you’d prefer not to.”

Lucy nodded slowly. Somehow, she knew that if she tried to describe “Courage, dear heart,” she would fail. There was nothing, no word or image or music or poetry in this world or any other that could convey what that moment had been. To speak of it at all would be like dancing about architecture.

“I was the only one who heard him,” Lucy whispered. “It was my prayer, and he spoke to me. I wonder how this poet knows what it was like?”

“I think he knows the same way I do, in my own way. Coleridge lived a difficult life. He was a laudanum addict when he wrote this, for one thing. When the Divine voice speaks into our darkness and we feel his breath on our faces, it binds us together with every other person who has ever been rescued by an albatross that loved us. We don’t know what he says to other people, but we know how the breeze feels.”

The professor returned to his reading and concluded the poem while Lucy sat in astonishment and let the strangeness of the last hour wash over her.

“…A sadder and a wiser man/ He rose the morrow morn,” and with those words Professor Kirke shut the book. The heavy pages fell with a thud, and with bright eyes he looked at Lucy. “What do you think of it?”

“I think,” said Lucy slowly, “that it was a beautiful story. The very best kind.”

What she did not say, but what she was thinking, was that it reminded her of the story she’d read in the Magician’s book: the one about the cup, the sword, the tree, and the green hill. The two tales had no common points of reference, but they left her with much the same feeling.

“But why do you think Aslan came to me as an albatross?”

Professor Kirke harrumphed. “I have been asking myself that same question ever since you spoke of it. Why indeed? I wonder whether perhaps in part he appeared that way so that you would come back here and read ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ and come to know him better by it. If nothing else, I do not think it was a coincidence.”

Yes, perhaps, but the answer still felt incomplete. “Maybe it’s a stone in the bridge he talked about,” Lucy said. “Maybe he only wanted to show me—to show us—that he’s here too. In this world, in this time, and in all others. Maybe it’s like you said, and there’s an albatross for every person who’s ever been rescued from the darkness.”

#i have wanted to write something like this for a loooooong time #but kinda felt like i wasn't up for the challenge #i'm off for a few days so i finally got it in 'good enough' shape though i'm far from being totally happy with it #hopefully it will make sense to people who haven't read The Rime #though it was written with an assumption that at least some cultural osmosis will have gotten to folks #i go absolutely crazy for the way that Jack incorporated the albatross from Rime into VDT #it is so darn elegant #he both upholds and subverts the symbolism of the original #i love love love love it #and i wish someone would assign me like an actual academic essay on the topic #in the meantime we'll have to get by with literary analysis just barely couched in narrative #dear darling heart-daughter of aslan #the magician's nephew no longer #into light #(courage dear heart) #narnia #leah stories #pontifications and creations #also! i just cross-posted to ao3 if you'd rather read this there #i know it got pretty long #(and i skimmed over a LOT) #intertextuality #characters within a work notice the intertextuality #if this makes your brain hurt a little bit i think i did my job right

[empoleon]

stranger things have happened

• rated m, one shot, 3088 words

• also available to read here

Wolfwood is humming something against the fabric of Vash’s shirt—his shirt, because Vash has taken to wearing his articles of clothing as of late—when Vash speaks up.

“They like that,” he says softly, tilting his head back with a smile.

Wolfwood pauses, lips ghosting a kiss near the spot where he was singing. “’S just something I heard a long time ago.”

From the orphanage, but it goes unspoken. Vash is fairly certain it’s in Wolfwood’s mother tongue as well, but he doesn’t comment on it—bringing that up now would probably embarrass him enough to stop and Vash certainly doesn’t want that.

They're in bed together at some rundown inn—traveling too much with Vash in his current state puts a bit of a strain on both of them, so it’s easier if they make frequent stops. They just need to be careful. They have to be careful.

Wolfwood would never forgive himself if something happened to—

It’s almost unnerving to feel the faintest movement touch the skin of his cheek, stopping his train of thought immediately. It’s such a brief feeling and he almost questions if it actually happened, but Vash beats him to it.

“Nick, did you—?”

“Yeah,” Wolfwood glances up at him, unable to hide the awe in his voice. “He moved.”

 .

 150 years. A century and a half, and Vash did not know about this. 

To be fair, there is a lot about himself that he isn’t aware of, either purposely brushing it off as a one-off occurrence or simply refusing to acknowledge it. 

Plant anatomy wasn’t something he was keen to learn about. He understood his basic, primal needs and that was that. 

Humans, on the other hand…

Cross-species breeding simply never came to mind. And even if it did, Vash was far too busy enjoying the feeling of Wolfwood on top of him, holding him close, whispering things he longed to hear—knowing that each spoken word was true—he loves you, all of you, every single piece of your being, every scar and blemish branded from God himself.

(He loves you.)

 .

 “Oi, blondie—you want to tell me why you dragged me out here again?”

The dim lighting in the old saloon feels suitable at this moment, one of the lights flickering idly. It’s noisy, overcrowded and Vash almost reconsiders his priorities. 

“How ’bout a drink first?”

It’s not something Wolfwood refuses, but he eyes the glass of water that is placed on their shared table. It’s murky in color, with a few specks of dirt swirling around, but it’s better than what they have seen in the previous towns. 

Wolfwood grabs his own glass, filled with a smooth amber tinge. “So,” he takes a swig and licks his lips. “What’s wrong?”

Vash wants to laugh. Leave it to Wolfwood to get straight to the point. 

“Nothing! Well, mostly nothing,“ Vash gives him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know how it is.”

Except Wolfwood doesn’t know, with the way Vash keeps skirting around the topic at hand. 

The alcohol in his system is beginning to warm him up, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Vash is about to say something unimaginable. It worries him.

There’s a ruckus outside the saloon that quickly enters through the double swing doors, men shouting unintelligible things—words like ‘bounty’ and ‘where is he?’ are all that Wolfwood needs to hear before he downs the rest of his drink and roughly grabs Vash by the arm. 

“Hey, wait—I didn’t get to finish my drink!” Vash whines dramatically as he stumbles to his feet. One of the men arguing with another patron glances over towards them and Wolfwood curses.

“Damn it! Will you shut it?” He swivels around and pulls Vash into a corner of the saloon, trying to obscure the view of the humanoid typhoon from any onlookers. Miraculously, it works.

The commotion dies down after the barkeep threatens to drain the tap and close up for the evening. Those who initially caused the uproar either slip back out into the night or decide it’s time for a drink.

Vash really wishes he could have one right now, too. The water on the table may not taste great, but his throat has never felt so dry.

His arms find their way around Wolfwood’s waist, and he holds him there for a moment, in the corner of that saloon. The lights flicker again.

“I need to talk to you.”

 .

 “Guess he likes my voice,” Wolfwood smooths a hand against the swell of Vash’s belly. 

“He?” Vash can’t hide the curiosity in his voice at the word, raising an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure?” 

“Spikey, there is absolutely no way in hell you’re giving me a daughter,” Wolfwood states it so seriously that Vash starts to laugh. “I mean it. My heart won’t be able to take it.” 

 .

 When he finally manages to tell Wolfwood what has been ailing him, he isn’t entirely sure what to expect, reaction wise.

Yelling or swearing? An average response, perhaps the best possible outcome, especially when it comes to the man Vash has known for so many years now. Calling him names falls under this category as well.

What he didn’t expect was the silence, or Wolfwood’s cigarette falling out of his mouth a second later. 

“You’re—”

Vash nods, unable to say anything else. It’s hard to meet those dark eyes that are glued to his body.

“And it’s…” Wolfwood trails off, motioning to himself.

Another nod. 

There’s a long pause before everything goes back to normal—whatever that actually is, Vash isn’t certain, but it feels like he can breathe again once Wolfwood regains his senses and finally says more than a few words.

“I thought you said we didn’t need to use condoms!” Wolfwood exclaims. “I asked you three times!”

Three separate times, in fact. Vash groans and runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, we don’t need to—we’ve never had—I didn’t think this was possible,” he settles on saying, because it’s true. 

This was purely impossible, and yet somehow, after 150 years, his body finally decided it was time. 

“With how often we fuck, I’m surprised this didn’t happen sooner,” Wolfwood mutters. 

He’s not wrong, as embarrassing as it is to think about it.

“So…” Vash wrings his hands together, eyes flickering between Wolfwood and the cigarette that has long since been forgotten on the ground. He moves his boot to step on it, putting it out. 

“So,” Wolfwood parrots, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Are you okay? With all of this, I mean.”

“Me?” Vash blinks, confused. “I guess so, I was mostly worried about—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Wolfwood reaches over and pulls Vash into an embrace.

“Save it, blondie,” he says quietly. “You and I both know I’m fine with kids.” Wolfwood is also not wrong about that. 

“That’s not what I asked you.”

Are you okay with this? Is this what you want?

“I—yeah,” Vash lets out a shaky breath. “I really am.” He wraps his arms around Wolfwood’s neck and buries his face into his shoulder. “Thank you, Nick.”

For everything.

 .

 A daughter… she would look just like you, Nick, Vash thinks to himself while Wolfwood continues to argue with him—with their child. And she would act like you, too.

“I don’t need two needle-noggins in my life,” he says sternly, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “So please inherit some damn common sense—”

“I have plenty of common sense,” Vash interrupts him. “For example—”

Wolfwood scoots his hand up underneath Vash’s t-shirt and squeezes the warm skin of Vash’s hip with a rough hand, eliciting a yelp out of him.

“Don’t say another word,” he grumbles, “unless you want me to knock more of that so-called sense into you.”

Vash’s smile is everything devious in nature. “I would love to see you try.”

 .

 The first time Wolfwood sees just how different Vash is as far as humans go, he’s equal parts aroused and surprised.

“You really weren’t kidding,” he says while trailing a finger across the inner part of Vash’s upper thigh, tracing a scar that mars the skin there. It stops just short of what he could only describe as thin, petal-like folds, tightly wound and—quivering? “This is pretty freaky, spikey.”

“Don’t tease me,” Vash all but huffs as his body is out on display for him. One too many drinks later and they find themselves in yet another unfamiliar, yet all too recognizable inn bedroom. 

It was easy for both of them to make it to this point—they always, always do, but this time it is different. It’s edging closer to something that neither one of them can turn away from.

Wolfwood grins at him. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

 “Can you—y-yes, right there,” Vash’s calves tighten around Wolfwood’s shoulders instinctively, hands gripping the bed sheets beneath him. 

“Easy, Vash,” Wolfwood is a little breathless when he pulls back, a hand trailing along the metal of his prosthetic. “Digging into my neck a bit there.”

Vash almost immediately tries to sit up, looking extremely concerned. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

Wolfwood carefully presses a hand to Vash’s lower abdomen, stopping him. “It’s fine, sweetheart,” he licks his lips. “Lie back down.”

His legs loosen a bit, this time more mindful of Wolfwood’s fleshy shoulders. Vash had insisted on leaving his prosthetics on, enjoying being able to anchor himself against his lover. 

Wolfwood continues where he left off, nose brushing the inner, wetter petals that are waiting for him, taking in Vash’s scent with a soft inhale. 

He flicks his tongue across them, watching as they unfurl and invite him into something far greater. 

“Nick—” Vash arches his back with a groan. “More, I—”

“More what?” Wolfwood murmurs it against the opening of his slit, lips finding their way around the swell of a small bud that is nestled between it. “Full sentences.”

“More, please,” Vash’s voice trembles, “Don’t fucking stop.”

“Language, sweetheart,” Wolfwood presses a kiss to the bud, nips at it gently with his teeth and proceeds to curl his tongue around it. 

He sucks long and slow, far too slow for Vash’s liking, evident in the way he hears another groan come from him. 

Vash’s hand reaches for Wolfwood’s hair, tugging as he rocks his hips closer.

“Oh, Nick,” he gasps this time and Wolfwood is certain that he’s close, noticing how the room begins to glow a touch brighter. 

Seeing those intricate patterns spark to life across various parts of Vash’s body ignites something truly deep within Wolfwood, far deeper than any spoken word of some higher being he could imagine.

They dance across scarred legs, skipping over pieces of well worn beryl-infused metal, trailing up Vash’s torso, his neck—

Vash shudders when he comes, fingers flexing into Wolfwood’s hair, purposefully forcing the man to stay put between his legs.

Not that Wolfwood would have ever minded.

He laps up everything that Vash gives to him and tries to coax out even more with his mouth, relishing the sweet taste that hits his tongue. 

“Still with me, darlin’?” Wolfwood breaks away from him with a quiet gasp. He brings a hand up to his lips and wipes at it, grinning. 

“Uh-huh,” is the only coherent response he gets, Vash’s body going limp with bliss. “’S good, Nick, you’re so good.”

“Preaching to the choir, I see,” Wolfwood runs a hand up Vash’s thigh, tracing along the intricate plant markings and noting how they shimmer brighter with each touch. “Let’s see what else that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

 .

 “How did the appointment go?” Wolfwood eventually asks, moving up to settle beside Vash. “Did Brad ask about—”

“The feathers,” Vash nods and sighs quite dramatically. “It was going so well, too, but then I sneezed and everything just,” he lifted up both his hands and spread his fingers, metal and flesh flexing wide, “Exploded?”

“Exploded?” Wolfwood can’t help but laugh. “Our child is already a menace, I can't believe it.”

One morning Vash had awoken to small, downy feathers attempting to sprout from his shoulders and forearm—the last time that happened, any time that happened, actually, was when they—

Well. Vash definitely didn’t relay that information to Brad, but he didn’t try to hide any of his bodily changes when he went for his most recent checkup. 

Luida suspected it had something to do with the pregnancy—that energy, a life, now being constantly generated from within him. He was bound to have some… interesting side effects.

“I couldn’t believe it,” Vash says after a moment. “You should’ve seen the look on Brad's face when it happened though, or the room,” he pauses and glances at Wolfwood with a smile. “Completely covered in feathers.”

Wolfwood snakes an arm across Vash’s chest, moving to rest his head on his shoulder. “Bet he loved that,” he closes his eyes. “Glad everything went smoothly, blondie. I should be able to come next time.”

Vash turns his head and presses a kiss to Wolfwood’s hair. “Luida would like that. She’s been dying to see you again, you know.”

“More like dying to have someone help out around the ship,” Wolfwood sighs, but there’s no malice in his tone. “Say, next time we visit…” he lowers his hand down Vash’s chest, stopping pointedly at his stomach. “They’ll be able to tell us what the little sprout is, yeah?”

Vash’s small intake of breath doesn’t go by unnoticed and it causes Wolfwood to sit up, getting a better look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Well—” Vash starts to say, but closes his mouth promptly. 

“Wait,” Wolfwood reaches over to the side of the bed and suddenly the room is illuminated by the warm glow from the lamp. “Vash, don’t tell me you—” he glances back over at him and studies his face for a moment in silence. Vash desperately wishes Wolfwood wasn’t so damn good at reading him for once. 

“You already know, don’t you?” 

Vash groans and brings a hand up to his face. “It was an accident, Luida brought it up before I could stop her. I’m so sorry, Nick.” 

Wolfwood exhales and slumps back against the pillows. “Unbelievable.”

Vash attempts to roll over to face him, being on his back for so long starting to become a bit uncomfortable. “Nick?”

Silence. 

“Nicholas,” Vash pouts—he definitely has no right to do so, but he can’t help it. “I can just tell you, would that make it better?”

“No,” Wolfwood sighs. “I still want it to be a surprise.”

“I can act surprised when she tells us!” Vash says with enthusiasm. Wolfwood gives him a withering look. “No? Okay, okay,” he frowns, “it was worth a shot, though.”

“You are a complete needle-noggin idiot, you know that?” Wolfwood reaches over to flick Vash’s head. “And… it’s all right, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Wolfwood stresses the fact with a poke to Vash’s cheek. “I can wait a few more weeks. You better not bring it up on accident, though, or else—”

“I won’t! I promise, scout’s honor!”

 .

 Wolfwood is a lazy kisser—Vash used to tease him for it, but it wasn’t as though he was much better—or had any practice.

And they really did have the time now for these sorts of things.

He sighs as Wolfwood peppers a trail of kisses up his chest, taking his time with each scar and meld of flesh and metal his lips come past. 

“Nicholas,” Vash’s voice is light, full of warmth. “I thought you said— oh!”

Wolfwood captured his mouth with ease, stopping whatever teasing comment that was about to be said. 

His lips are chapped, but still somehow soft, warm—Vash has half a mind to point that out, but Wolfwood won’t allow it with the way his mouth is working. 

Vash gives in and sighs into the kiss, tugs him closer, prosthetic fingers raking through Wolfwood’s hair. It’s enough of an incentive to keep going, by any means. 

Even if there is shouting outside the inn bedroom’s window, or the ringing of a few gunshots sounding off in the lingering desert air. 

Vash breaks the kiss to turn his head, ignoring how Wolfwood sets his aim for his throat.

“Should we go—mmh,” Vash tries to suppress a moan, unsuccessfully, “check that out?” 

Wolfwood pauses, lips lingering near Vash’s collarbone. “During the middle of this?” 

He has a point. 

And to further express said point, Wolfwood slowly rocks his hips along Vash’s thighs.

“You’re right,” and Vash can’t believe he’s saying it with a smile on his face, one that Wolfwood can’t see from this angle, but knows that the man can feel. 

The whole room is lighting up, after all.

“It can wait,” Vash decides, and Wolfwood takes him.

 .

 One minute of silence passes between them, and then two. 

“Okay, I can’t do this,” Wolfwood rolls over to face Vash. “’M not going to be able to sleep unless I know.”

Vash is unable to restrain himself from laughing. “Really? Surely there’s something in your good book about rewarding patience.”

“Always be humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love,” Wolfwood recalls the passage in a low voice. “I think I’ve been pretty gentle lately, all things considered.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Vash agrees, amused. “Not so humble, though. Might need some brushing up on that.”

Wolfwood slides a bit closer to Vash. “Good thing we’ll have some down time for the next couple of months then—I could use some practice.”

“I happen to know an excellent teacher,” Vash says. He feels Wolfwood snake an arm across underneath the blankets, reaching for his shoulder to pull Vash in an embrace. 

“If you say Brad, I swear to fucking God—”

Vash’s huff of laughter is the only response Wolfwood gets before a pale hand beckons him closer. 

Even in the now-quiet of the room, Vash’s whisper to his ear is perhaps the softest thing Wolfwood has heard in a very long time. 

He can’t help his too sudden reply, his own voice on the verge of cracking. “Really?”

Vash nods. “Yes, really.”

And if Wolfwood hid his face in the crook of Vash’s neck, eyes filled with a dampness that threatened to spill over and unable to say anything else except a murmured ‘thank you’—

It was enough. 

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #vashwood #fanfic #fic #texte #my writing #hewwo friends long time no motherfuckin see am i right LOL #man. wow. it has really been a hot minute since i've last wrote something #trigun kinda took over my brain (not complaining tho) #i don't really have many pals who are into the series atm so i'm just yodeling into a void by myself tbh #anyway i posted this to ao3 the other day and figured i should cross post it here too #title is unabashedly from the foo fighters and yes it's in my wv playlist #nobody asked but i'm saying that much #these 2 guys r so fucking!!!!!!! TRAGIC #i just want them to have a family. god bless the plantussy #ok i am going now perhaps i will return? with more fics? we shall see #love & peace 2 u all <3

[automaticllamacycle]

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

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

Part one of two

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

Word count: 11,059

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

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

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

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

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

"Matty." He responded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

You responded once more.

See you then :))

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, I think that could be arranged."

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

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

"Can I walk you home?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It was very kind, thank you."

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

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

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

"Good."

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your usual, I assume?"

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

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

"Do you have any plans tomorrow night?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where did you spawn from?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Penny. Absolutely not!"

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Want to meet my band mates?"

"Yeah, of course!"

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

"Think I could walk you home again?"

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

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

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

"Sorry darling, but no."

"Let's start walking then."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

"YOU WHAT?"

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

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

"PENNY."

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

"I didn't say it like that."

"That's what I heard."

"It seems like you have selective hearing."

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

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

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

"SHUT UP!"

—

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

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

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

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

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

"That's going to stay a surprise."

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

"I'm not going to answer that."

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

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

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

"I'll try my best."

—

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

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

"Matty, I'm five minutes late."

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

"What are you even trying to make?"

"Uh... spaghetti?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, yes, you could have."

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

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

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

"Choose wisely."

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

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

"What? It's a classic."

"It's cheesy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did I do something wrong?" you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Matty, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll have to find out, won’t you?”

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