#the sun will shine on the next day and you just have to try as much as you can to live happily

[tragedy-of-commons]

lay your life down and pretty

various hsr x gn!reader | wc: ~2k

In which you die (or they've already lost you).

tags/warnings: character death (reader), it's implied in dh's part but explicit and semi-graphic in hanya's, descriptions of mara and the insanity that comes with it, hardcore angst, hurt no comfort, there may be Lore Inaccuracies

notes: this was originally supposed to be four parts. i'm sorry it's only two but it's just been uhhh... hope you enjoy & thanks for the incredible support lately <3

Dan Heng makes the best pancakes.

You’ve expressed this undeniable fact to his face multiple times, louder in their progression just to see the tips of his ears burn that endearing red. These declarations are reserved for breakfast. At this time you also chide him for trying to weasel his way out of eating the most important meal of the day!

And he’d sigh, letting you hound him about food options until he’d crack under the weight of your grin and end up mixing batter at 7:30 in the morning.

(“I tried flipping them in the air once and the pancake slapped me in the face,” you’d regaled, head resting idly on your fist.

Dan Heng stared into the black of the skillet. “...Somehow, I don’t doubt it.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” you huffed.

He almost let not-quite laugh slip then, but because of his stuck-uppery, he just managed to look peeved. “I would appreciate it if you passed me the butter.”)

Instead it is around 9:00 in the morning, and Dan Heng is alone. 

He’d stayed up late the night before doing some reading, causing him to oversleep and rush the process today. He’s almost burned his hand on the stove eye twice, nearly dropped an egg on the floor, and has just narrowly avoided burning the batch. Dan Heng is not clumsy (not like you were), and he is painfully aware that he is late.

After he plates the food, the oven clock reads 9:19. He gathers everything, including two sets of utensils and one awkward wad of napkins - before setting the table by heart. Your plate goes in front of the chair closest to the window, and his goes in front of the one adjacent to yours. 

The rhythm of distributing each item eventually leaves him with empty hands. Everything is ready, but there is still something colossal missing from the scene.

Dan Heng stares hard at your empty seat before taking his own. 

The pancakes are blackened around the edges, but it’s nothing a good heaping portion of syrup can’t fix, and the smell that wafts upward is sweet and inviting. The sun’s rays shining in from the outside world paint the kitchen in flecks of light that occasionally catch on his arm when he brings his fork to his mouth.

Resigned, his silverware clatters noisily to the table.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I’m sorry that I was late.”

Predictably, there’s no response. Dan Heng’s throat feels like it’s closing up on him, and the syrup definitely isn’t helping. He dabs his mouth with his napkin for a good long while.

He is sorry. It wasn’t enough that he’d stayed up late the night before, but that he deliberately kept glancing at the clock and counting the hours until daylight arrived - reminding himself that if he drifted off, the next day would come much sooner.

He isn’t the type to procrastinate either. Even when you’re not here anymore, you seem to have a profound effect on his character. Dan Heng pinches the bridge of his nose. The sound of his voice echoing off the walls of the lonely kitchen is unwelcome. “Happy birthday.”

It’s strained, imperfect, and painful; which only serves to remind him of your insistence on celebrating his birthday as well. You had practically prostrated yourself at his feet, begging him to let you fuss over him - even if it made his vision hazy and palms sweaty. He needs to return the favor, even if the mere idea of another important date passing him up without you makes him want to hide.

So here he is. 

Here he is, floundering terribly, missing you terribly, loving you terribly. Dan Heng wrenches his hand from its secure position in his lap to drum on the table.

“I got you something,” he says. “I… I didn’t know which color you’d prefer more, so…”

You’d tease him into an early grave if you were able to see the knitted oven mitt he’d picked out over two months ago. It’s an almost hideous shade of teal that he’s sure you’d love, especially since you forced him to bake with you regularly.

(He was shopping with March 7th when he’d seen it and then reflexively dumped it into his basket. His companion only asked him if he was planning on using it as kindling for the fireplace.)

Dan Heng closes his eyes and slides it over to your placement. For a second, he almost fools himself into thinking you might magically appear to brush fingers when you accept the gift with a bright smile. He has no such luck.

Your breakfast is getting colder, and there’s nothing to be done today; his friends, as much as he can say he appreciates them - also meddle quite a bit. His schedule was mysteriously cleared up and he was gently encouraged to go home and take the day off. The feeling of three pairs of eyes drilling holes into his back as he complied was a bit too potent to be coincidental.

So he sits there and pretends he’s eating with you for as long as he can. The stutters in the familiar rhythm that comes with today are things he can smooth out over time, even if it feels like a betrayal to you. You would never see it like that, which is why he can even live in a home without you in it at all.

(The oven mitt rests beside your full plate until the afternoon, because he cannot bring himself to clean up just yet. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to.)

Dan Heng is not a man who can afford to hope, but he’s already been in debt since the moment of his birth. If just one of his prayers is granted, he hopes it’s the one he runs through his mind every night:

In the next life, please let us cross paths again. And if there’s room for it, please let me love you for as long as I can.

He’s never been one for optimism, but it’s all he looks forward to.

Hanya’s hands cradle the expanse of your face.

Her fingers ghost over any healthy glow remaining in your cheeks. You’re slipping, rightfully so, but does it make her a monster if she wants to claw and rifle through the sands of time to search for any universe where you were spared from this cruel fate?

(She thinks it does.)

You can’t get the words out, but there’s a resigned film that glazes over your eyes - one that tells her that she needn’t lie about where you’ll be going. Your mouth forms silent syllables punctuated by wheezes that will surely send her careening under the depths of the unconscious at record speed.

“Han.. ya,” you croak, “Stay.”

“I will,” she promises, because she needs to - over and over, until you remember it always, even when you’re gone. Even when you’re suffering through the last moments of your fledgling life. “I will remain here.”

Her duty as a Judge of the Ten-Lords Commission is to oversee life and death on the Xianzhou. When Hanya drifts aimlessly like a spectre between inky darkness and blinding daylight, it has occasionally struck her that one day she might have to oversee yours.

Presently, your mind is being swallowed by the maw of mara, a madness that she’s all too familiar with; faced with her dull countenance, she must have witnessed thousands succumb to the fate of infernal life. 

“D-Don’t cry,” you beseech. There isn’t much time until you’re no longer Hanya’s secret reprieve, but instead a writhing abomination - and she only has herself to blame. Had she not embraced you so tightly, would you be free of this curse? Would you still be smiling and dragging her by the hand through Exalting Sanctum?

“I will not send you there,” she breathes, “You are not deserving of—”

The agonizing cry you let out next is still beautiful. Even now you can mitigate the emptiness that’s dug its claws in her heart so deep that it’s become symbiotic with the organ. However, instead of the empty, Hanya feels its distant relative: the pins and needles. The hollow white noise crackles until she’s pierced with an arsenal of skeletal knives.

She could take it, and she would take it, if it meant that you weren’t about to die and then awaken again as a monster that desecrates the very concept of you.

She releases your now matching tear-stricken cheeks before seizing both of your arms. The thrashing has crept in, meaning that there isn’t much time before you start sprouting leaves and weeds like a statue abandoned by its devotees. 

A sharp inhale through clenched teeth. “You have… to. M’gonna hurt—” you convulse in her grasp, “—somebody...”

Of course you’re worrying about others right now. Kindness is a relic of the past that you’ve somehow managed to exhume, restore to its full glory, and gift to Hanya like she deserves to touch others’ lives in the same way you have. 

Every shopkeep knows your name, face, voice, and smile. Your warmth is infectious - even before she knew you in person, she knew of you by word of mouth. Xueyi had told her that the reason Huohuo was so resolute in her duties lately was because of “the person who defeated a bunch of reprobate hooligan bullies tormenting her”. 

If her big sister held you in high regard, she figured you were one she wouldn’t mind exchanging greetings with if you ever crossed paths. However, the thing about you is that you always give more than you take; you too eventually gave her your smile over tea, your opinion on her writing, and a perspective from the light she usually only smothers upon first contact. 

It seems that it was just a matter of time before Hanya extinguished you.

“You are not ready,” she begs pitifully, “You are not!”

She knows it’s never about being ready. Bad things always happen to good people - to sons, daughters, friends, big sisters, and lovers.

Lovers. 

The word is foreign on the tip of her tongue. It’s strange to be actualized and even stranger to ascribe that label to your relationship, but Hanya doesn’t know what else to think when the knives stab her over and over to the elegy of I love you, I love you, I love you.

The trek from Fyxestroll Garden to the Alchemy Commission is sizable. The Dragon Lady could see you and do her best, but she’s seen where that’s led; best efforts gone to waste, inconsolable loved ones given false hope because they were too stubborn to let go.

Is that what she is? Too stubborn to let you go, even when she’s brought this karma upon you?

(Yes, something ugly whispers, this is your penance. Now it’s theirs too.)

“I...” you let out a strangled groan, and when your chest jerks upwards, it barely registers that you brush your lips against hers. There’s tears and snot everywhere, and you’re getting stronger - too strong for her to hold. Hanya’s forearms ache with the strain as gingko leaves begin to ravage your humanity and rip you apart.

The transformation process is cruel, but she promised to remain by your side. Twigs protrude from your neck, nestled between thorny brambles that poke and prod. You are not a Cloud Knight, so your screams aren’t muffled by armor - or muted by the numbness she feels when dealing with other cases. 

It’s too real, it’s too much, and it’s not enough.

Drowned out by the previous mantra of I love you, the background vocals of I’m so sorry peter off into whispers that are soon lost among the sickening squelch of Xueyi’s blade cutting through you in one clean motion. The tip of the sword rests over Hanya’s heart, stained with your blood.

“...That’s not them anymore,” her sister says. It’s off-kilter, the way her brow is furrowed in a silent apology.

One can only hope.

taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @aphrodict, @nomazee

#—stellaronhvnters. #dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #hanya x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr hanya x reader #honkai star rail x reader #star rail x reader #danheng x reader #dan heng hsr x reader #hanya hsr x reader #hsr dan heng #hsr hanya #honkai star rail #✧ my works

[mxtantrights]

Hello ☺️ I really really enjoyed the boxer jason and your over all jason imagines they make me feral. I was wondering if I could request one where the reader is like all about jason and he isn't used to it and she is like a big ball of sunshine always happy to see jason and will like drop a conversation as soon as he walks into the room and go on over to him.

a/n: anon, thank you so much for this sweet message and this really juicy request!! <333 I'll have to do you one better with this request, I hope you enjoy.

Mr.Stratford is talking about something. Something about his second dog and his third wife. Or maybe it's his third do and his second wife? You can't really tell. At this point you know that he's had three wives and five dogs. And he has so many funny stories about them. He thinks it's funny but you think it's a downright snooze fest.

You keep from yawning when you decide to move a bit. That way you'll have sight of the door and see who's coming in and out. You nod on as the man continues speaking, losing a minute of your life with every word he says.

It's not until a white tuft of hair appears in the doorway do the sparkles come back into your eyes. You hand the man your flute of bubbly and starts fast walking over to him.

Jason sees you coming and holds open his arms. You launch yourself at him. He hugs you back.

"Next time we show up together." you say.

"You just walked away from the mayor of Gotham." Jason says.

"He's got three more months left until reelection. So what." you answer and shrug your shoulders.

-

You look at him. Taking him all in. The hook of his nose. His eyelashes, that are truly unfair of him to have, and his eyes. His big brown eyes.

You slide your finger down the side of his face, his cheekbone, and smile.

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

You nod slowly, "yeah just can't believe you're mine. It's kinda crazy."

"You're the one out of my league." he tries.

But you counter when you get up and straddle him. With your thighs on either side of his waist you place your hands on top of his chest. He just looks at you, with that face.

He makes the same face whenever you greet him or talk about him to himself. Like he doesn't believe it. Like he thinks it's an illusion or something.

You remind him every day it's not.

"Jason Todd, you are so far out of my league we're not even playing the same sport. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I promise I'll wake up and earn you. Every day." you say.

Jason's eyes go a bit wide. And he holds onto your hands that are place atop his chest. You lean down and press two kisses to the back of his hands.

-

Jason comes to pick you up at work and it's like the sun is shining again. You fold up your apron and jog around the coffee counter. And when you finally meet him at the door, you stop mere inches from him.

He looks down at you with a smile.

"Hi." he says.

You smile even wider, "Hi Jason."

He shakes his head with a smile and brings you into a hug. You hug him back immediately. He rocks the both of you side to side. He also handles you away from the door to not bump into anyone coming into the coffee shop.

"Ready to go home?" he asks.

You nod as you snuggle further into his chest.

-

You lose him in a crowd once. once. It only happens once because after the two of you create a game plan. Contingencies upon contingencies to make sure it doesn't happen again.

When you and Jason are in a packed dive bar. Something about it being trivia night and also happy hour and also a celebration for surviving the latest scarecrow attack.

You're by the bar and he's trying to secure a table for the two of you. And you get a bit down trodden when you realize you can't see him near you. You start looking past the dozens of heads but you still can't find him.

So you do the one thing that you remember from a tv show once. You bend down and look at the shoes. As you crab walk through the crowd you pass by so many of them.

Until you can see his familiar brown boots. The noticeable scuff on them that you saw when he put them on just an hour ago. You pick yourself up and see his head amongst the others.

When you finally get within three feet of him you reach out and call to him. He turns around and he smiles.

"Thought I lost you." he says.

"Nope. I just looked for your boots." you answer.

"We've gotta come up with something else. What if I throw these boots away? Or if someone has the same kind?" he asks.

You put your hand on his cheek, "I'll always find you. The boots just made it easier."

#dc x reader #dc imagine #dc #Jason todd #Jason todd x reader #Jason todd imagine #dc blurbs

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 2, In Which You Meet A Tall Dark Stranger 

Chapter 1

SUMMARY: Careful which mods you install for BG3. Did you read the terms and conditions carefully?

TAGS: meta romance, psychological horror, smut, the character is the player, Raphael is after you, you wanted him, you invited him to our world, he accepted your invitation

RATING: explicit

AO3

Chapter 2

The next day, during your lunch break, you made another attempt to persuade Raphael to take his clothes off. The clock struck noon; your private laptop was on the right side of your desk, while your work laptop was on the left, Teams open and your mouse ready to show signs of activity from time to time.

The sun was shining through the wide open window, children playing outside. Idyllic. Nothing sinister could be happening in broad daylight with those happy sounds in the background. The horror movies told you so. Except for Midsommar.

Well, screw Midsommar, then. This isn’t Sweden.

"All right, I'm going to set some ground rules here," you said to the loading screen. "I can be as creepy as I want to be to you, because you're just a bunch of pixels, but you can't do anything creepy to me, because I'm a human being. Got that? Good."

The sound of your voice made you feel braver.

As you heard the familiar sinister 'you-let-the-villain-win-bad-player' music in the background, you covered your eyes with your hands and peered through splayed fingers.

Then he appeared. Just as you had wished. Perfectly naked, with a stereotypical video game six-pack and just the right amount of body hair. The orange lighting made his skin glow, and his flaccid penis, like that of the game's generic male model, vanished from sight as he strode closer.

Your ears pricked up to listen to the scripted monologue you knew by heart, watching (waiting?) for any hiccups or new animations, the YouTube app on your phone playing the identical scene for comparison.

Everything happened exactly as it should, word for word, save for the speaker’s nudity.

All good. You breathed a sigh of relief and spread your fingers wider to admire Raphael a little better. 

Same as always. Handsome and charming and completely imaginary, which, now that you thought about it, was the biggest part of his charm. 

"Ta-ta... for now," Raphael's signature line echoed through the room.

"Bravo, Raphael," you praised the screen. "You've done nothing creepy. You have earned your title of Archdevil Supreme."

After waiting for a response that never came, you laughed off your silliness and shook your head. Your laptop was overheating, giving off a slight synthetic smell. Should have upgraded a long time ago. Just need to put enough money aside.

"OK, screenshots," you said. "I wanted to take some screenshots. Do you mind, Raphael? Can I have your consent? They’ll help recruit more followers for you, my liege."

Your phone vibrated. The FaceID gave you a preview of the Discord messages from Queen-of-the-Bored, one of the few Raphaelites you'd actually spoken to directly and felt like you kinda sorta knew.

queen-of-the-bored: ngl that was some really funny joke, we spent the whole night trying to recreate it :-D queen-of-the-bored: you sounded legit worried over that voice message tho haha you: it was legit. check the reddit thread queen-of-the-bored: which thread

Ok, let me google that for you. You typed in the same search words as yesterday, "Raphael naked mod April prank," clicked on the thread from yesterday, and skimmed through the comments.

“nah not joking there is this naked mod for teenage mutant ninja""

“all dongs appeared MASSIVE on April’s first”

Scrolling further, you realized that was not the correct Raphael - it's Raphael the Turtle, not Raphael the Devil. Why was there so much NSFW content about him? What did people see in turtles?

You quickly corrected your search to "Raphael BG3 naked mod April prank," but it didn’t bring back any relevant results. So, you changed it to "last twenty four hours" just to be thorough.

Didn’t help. Nothing. You were the only to be called a naughty little mouse. The special one.

queen-of-the-bored: which thread dude??? you: my bad it was the turtle queen-of-the-bored: ??? queen-of-the-bored: I am slowly getting worried about you haha

Next step? Contact the mod developer directly? What if they have no idea what you're talking about?

Then what? What were the alternative theories? You've been hacked and doxxed to madness for that one Twitter post that got people waving pitchforks at you? 

There you go, you were scared again. Daytime, sun shining and children playing outside, but there you were, alone in your flat, scared again.

You took a deep breath and looked at the screen. "All right, I understand, Mr Archdevil Supreme. No screenshots. I'll uninstall the mod and I apologise for my disrespectful behaviour."

You couldn't bear to see Raphael's face on the screen again so you hit ctrl alt delete instead of Escape and stared blankly at the Task Manager.

Next, you uninstalled the mod that had caused all this trouble. Then you went to Tumblr and removed the reblog of Raphael in a cat playsuit with the tag "my poor miau miau". Then you deleted your bookmarks on AO3. Your Twitter account was beyond repair, so you deleted it altogether.

None of these actions made you feel any better. You grabbed a quick cup of shrimp noodles, but eating it only made you feel worse. As you tasted the sodium on your tongue, you came to a realisation: what you needed was to go the fuck outside.

You had been stuck in your flat and home office since the start of the pandemic, chronically online. Online work, online colleagues, online friends, who was the last real person you saw, talked to and hugged?

Your mum, probably. 

Oh yes, no wonder you were going mad. You need to get out there and meet some real people. You opened Discord, quickly scrolled past the sketch of Tav giving Raphael head, and typed a message: you needed to touch grass.

queen-of-the-bored: well there is Comic-Con this weekend  you: this is NOT touching grass, this is burning it queen-of-the-bored: true you: besides not going alone queen-of-the-bored: maybe Raph will keep you company 😈 

What? Such a strange thing to say. Or was it? Who the hell was that behind the screen anyway? Apparently someone called Sammy from Ohio. Supposedly. Wasn’t she the one who recommended this mod?

She was.

Come on, you're just letting your paranoia get the best of you.

queen-of-the-bored: oh BTW I found THE hottest Raph smut  queen-of-the-bored: mind the tags it's so hot but soooooo fucked up queen-of-the-bored: just read it trust me thank me later

Who the hell were you, Sammy from Ohio, Korilla? You put the phone down and started pacing around your small flat. It was not much to pace around, only forty-two square meters. 

At least you rent a flat in a building with other people and not some house at the edge of the forest. Strangers live below you, above you and on either side of you. They don't know you and you don't know them... but they were there, just in case...

Just in case.

"You know what?" you said to your computer. "I need a break. I need to focus on my mental health. Self-care, Raphael. I'm not playing with you. For now".

The moment you finished speaking, your phone lit up again with another notification. This time it was an email. You made a mental note to start managing your notifications better.

Did you enjoy your Devil Dick © - Natural Red experience? We know you will be back for more 😈 Check out the new...

What the fuck? Oh no, no, click away and make a mental note to never order from Bad Dragon again with customer satisfaction emails like this. It's borderline harassment. You ordered from them ONCE, as a joke, just to see what ridges might feel like.

Not as good as the smut had promised you,

Private. Private stuff. Between you and your bed drawer. Between you and your browser. God, how much stuff you have in your browser history. You should have used incognito mode more often.

Would that have helped? 

"That was low, Raphael," you muttered. "Or is it Haarlep today?"

You glanced around your room before angling your computer screen towards the wall, then retrieved the Devil Dick © from its hideaway in your bedside drawer. Your fingers grazed over the silicon ridges as you swiftly stashed it away in a box beneath the bed.

"If you must know, it was too big for me. Flattered?"

Crawling out from under the dusty bed, you looked up and realized for the first time that anyone in the building could easily peep into the flat if they tried hard enough or cared enough to do so.

Enough is enough.

You need to hydrate, you need to eat some vegetables, you need to start jogging again and you definitely... you definitely need to go out and talk to some real people. Maybe it's time to get back on Bumble and try your luck again. Who knows, it might actually work this time.

He wouldn't like that.

Where did that thought just come from? He wouldn't like it, who the hell cares what some imaginary devil thinks.

Standing up straight, you pointed a finger at the screen in front of you.

"Raphael, just so we are clear, you and I: I really like you. I do PR for you every day for free. You don't have to scare me to get my attention. You should appreciate me and be nice to me. I'm the best agent you'll ever have.”

Having made your point, you put on your running shoes and AirPods. It brought back memories of all the times you had jogged through the nearby park. Afterwards you'd sit on the bench and eat an ice-cream, watching couples, happy and glowing, watching families with children, happy and stressed, watching people living their lives in a reality parallel to yours, and then you'd come home and go into a reality parallel to theirs.

The AirPods picked up right where they left off last time.

I want to hold you close, soft breasts, beating heart, as I whisper in your ear

I wanna fucking tear you apart

You removed the AirPods from your earlobes and exhaled. This wasn’t Raphael's fault. This is She Wants Revenge, you have listened to it a thousand times. You knew the lyrics, they hadn't changed. 

You can't even listen to music anymore. Pull yourself together. 

Get some vitamins from the pharmacy.

Touch some goddamn grass.

***

You stuck to your digital and physical diet until the weekend, and as a reward, nothing happened. No oddly timed emails, no strange messages, no random phone calls. Maybe it was your pitch talk or the vitamins you started taking, but either way, Raphael was on his best behavior, and so were you. 

No Tumblr, no AO3. Didn't even touch Steam. Got into a highbrow podcast about the Roman Empire.

You set a new personal record for days without 'self-indulgence', as Raphael would put it, although that wasn't really the intention. Something always seemed to interrupt - whether it was the loud hum of the fridge (which was always obnoxious) or the flickering light in the hallway (which had been broken for over a week). 

By Friday, you had finally finished the work projects you had been putting off for months. The job wasn't too bad, but it hadn't been any fun for years, if it ever had been. You did the bare minimum to get the paycheck and keep the job, and your employer kept the paycheck at the bare minimum to keep you. If there was anything else you could do, you would do something else.

Still, this was probably the most productive week you had in years. You scrubbed your flat from top to bottom twice and cleared your wardrobe of clothes that no longer fit.

You were proud of yourself.

Gradually your sense of security began to return. You tried not to dwell too much on the incident with the naughty little mouse; if you didn't think about it, it almost felt like it hadn't happened.

On Friday, you plucked up the courage to play BG3 again, wandered through Baldur's Gate, avoiding the House of Hope for the time being, had a few fights, played the graveyard scene with Astarion (daring, but a small part of you hoped it would make Raphael jealous enough to come out again), and shut it down. 

Nothing out of the ordinary.

You hadn't planned to go to Comic-Con. For one thing, it was on the other side of the city, in the business district of the convention centre, so it would take at least an hour to get there. Secondly, going alone just felt... weird.

It was not until Friday night that a little voice in your head started to whisper, "Why not? Maybe you'll meet some like-minded people”. Make some friends you can actually touch (not in a creepy way). 

It's a better chance than endlessly swiping on Bumble.

Maybe you'll meet...

Neil Newbon. If you can get past the hordes of fangirls. Andrew Wincott. No, Andrew Wincott wouldn't be there; you'd checked beforehand. To be honest, hearing his voice might have been too much for your psyche at that moment.

So you decided to go. You went, and it was as fun as you had imagined it would be - that is, hardly any. The convention hall was huge and crowded, rows and rows of stalls, crowds and crowds of people. Live panel discussions, cosplayers, flashing lights, bright colors, chatter, laughter, very loud, very lively.

Raphael wouldn't last a minute in that chaos.

"Hell is other people," you thought to yourself, quoting Sartre. If you ever met Raphael, you'd quote Sartre to him too. He must know that you read intelligent books and not just fanfiction. 

Some people might be comfortable going to events and eating alone in restaurants, but not you. It's even worse being the odd one out in a group of odd ones. How come all the others had someone to take along? Where did they find all those people in this godforsaken city?

You talked to a few people and a few people talked to you. Nothing really took off. Your mind was elsewhere, to be fair. You were looking for something in the crowd. 

Someone.

It was absurd, yes, but so was what happened this week with the mod. You had met a few Raphael cosplayers, three at least, but they were...

Well, of course they weren't him. But they did a great job with the clothes and the hair and the make-up, and one had really great prosthetic horns, and you touched them and admired them and praised that particular Raphael for all his hard work in creating them.

They were real people, not video game characters that had come to life, and neither were you. You looked down at your jeans, at your thighs, and thought you should start jogging again, and felt even less comfortable in your own skin. 

Then Neil Newbon came along and things quickly became too chaotic for you.

You decided to take a break and walked down the street until you came across a cosy café - none of that generic chain stuff, but something that tried hard to be authentic with pretty flowers in the windows.

Sitting alone at a table for two, you looked down at your phone and opened the Discord chat because you came here to talk to some real people.

In the main chat, there was a heated debate about whether devils are allowed to torture mortals into signing contracts. Both sides presented arguments based on lore, edition contradictions, past precedents and personal conviction. 

A man's voice interrupted you as you typed your own very elaborated opinion of hellish law. "Excuse me, may I?" he asked, his words slightly muffled by the AirPods.

"Sure," you replied with practiced friendliness, not even looking up. That was always your default answer. It's not like you can say no to this kind of request anyway. 

People ask and do a lot of things out of politeness. That was precisely why you took the AirPods out of your ears.

The moment you lifted your eyes to meet the man's, you learned the true meaning of the word 'jumpscare'. Your body jerked upwards, the table shook and the coffee cup tumbled - narrowly missing Raphael.

Raphael. 

Not a man who looked like Raphael, not a man who was dressed like him - Raphael. 

You weren't sure if you made any sound or uttered any words. You probably yelped.

What you did do for sure was gawk.

His skin tone identical; hair slicked back just right; eyes uncannily accurate in hue and shape - down to every wrinkle. A perfectly realistic rendering. Not the uncanny valley type, no, perfectly believable. This is exactly what he would look like if he were real and swapped his fantasy clothes for a business suit.

So this is what it feels like to go completely insane.

Very banal, actually. You are having a psychotic breakdown and no one is even looking at you, except for an imaginary devil.

"Oh my, my apologies," Raphael said as he quickly grabbed napkins to mop up the spreading lake of coffee on the table. "I did not mean to scare you."

Oh, but he did, very much. You could not breathe, your chest encased in an iron brace of fear. It's you who needs to apologise, and apologise fast, and apologise a lot, and beg for mercy. Especially for liking the Twitter art of him being spit-roasted between Yurgir and Haarlep. 

If you only knew... you would never have clicked on it... absolutely never... all those posts you wrote... 

"Raphael?" you managed to squeak out. “I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

This must be how a deer feels in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

He looked at you, very sincere confusion etched across his handsome face. "Excuse me?"

You drew in a shaky breath, your nostrils flaring as you tried to catch a whiff of cherries under the aroma of fresh coffee, not caring how absurd you appeared. Yes? No? Or was that strawberry jam on his croissant? Have your senses gone haywire? Your mind certainly has.

"You're... you're here to cosplay Raphael?" 

The thought tumbled out of your mouth before it had time to fully form in your head. It was the only explanation that made sense... It didn't, but it made more sense than all the others put together.

Raphael moved closer, pulled up a chair and asked, amused: "I beg your pardon, I'm here to do what to whom?"

The voice. The voice was the same. Andrew Wincott's voice. The man had simply stolen his voice. Or had the man stolen it from him? The movements, the mannerisms, the facial expressions. This man could not be Raphael because...

Well, because this man was real. As real as you were. 

"Raphael," you explained. "From the video game. Are you here to cosplay... to play... Raphael?"

The man gave you a look as if questioning your sanity, and rightfully so. You were also sweating bullets - could he see the damp patches under your hoodie? You pressed your arms against your sides; wouldn't want him noticing.

"I'm hardly an actor," Raphael replied with a polite smile, "although there was a time in my youth when I entertained such ambitions."

He chuckled lightly and took a leisurely sip of his coffee. 

"I'm here to enjoy my espresso, nothing more. I... have never been particularly fond of..." he added with the disdain of a typical middle-aged man, "... video games.”

You had no response for that because Raphael wouldn't be into video games either; that much was believable.

"My office is across the street," he said, pointing towards the office complex opposite you. "Precisely there."

The golden sign on the building across from you, Kirkland & Ellis, told you nothing, except that Raphael had an office job and an office space and a desk and all the things that the devil shouldn’t have because the devil invented them to torture the others.

Raphael was dressed like he had just stepped out of a board meeting. A three-piece slate gray tailored suit, white shirt peeking out from underneath, silk tie and matching pocket square. Of all the modern Raphael AUs, you preferred the Professor one, you voted for it, you had Sucharide’s fic bookmarked. The Professor was more, ugh...

Safe.

As for you, you were wearing a hoodie with your university on it. A clean hoodie, but a hoodie nonetheless. What the hell else would you be wearing to Comic Con? You didn't do your hair. Well, putting it in a ponytail is not doing your hair. Why did you not do your hair? 

"I know, I know, you must be wondering why anyone would toil on a weekend," Raphael continued. That was the last thing you were wondering. "Alas, no rest for the wicked."

"Wicked?" you echoed. You looked at the people in the cafe, sure they were staring at the both of you, but they weren't.

"Oh," he chuckled lightly, "it's just an expression – 'No rest for the wicked.' You've never heard it before?"

"Of course I have," you said, momentarily embarrassed. "Never mind...sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for," Raphael raised his eyebrows. "In fact, I should be the one to apologise for startling you. May I offer you another cup of... ah, what was that... cappuccino? After twelve? Tsk-tsk, young lady".

Not a single modern man could ever manage to say the words "tsk-tsk, young lady" as charmingly. That was Raphael.

"No bother, I can get one myself," you said quickly, about to stand up. 

He raised his hand slightly and put it down to halt your movement, and for a second you thought he was going to touch you, and if he had, if you had felt the skin of his skin, he would have felt more real and you would have died on the spot from a bursting heart.

"I have no doubt about that. But may I treat you? It would be my absolute pleasure”.

Pleasure. The way he said the word was straight obscene. You couldn't handle the word 'pleasure' coming from a man who had been responsible for more than half your orgasms in the last few months.

So in your daze, you mumbled: "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Raphael stood up and walked over to the barista. She acknowledged him, so that's one point for him being real and you not hallucinating. Not only did she acknowledge him but she flashed him a goofy grin - clearly smitten.

Of course she is.

You have to take a picture of him. How do you take a picture of someone without their consent without being a total creep?

You don't. It's in the fucking definition; you can't. But you should. Maybe you'll open your camera roll and see someone completely different, and then you'll know it's time to call for mental health services.

Your phone was buzzing with messages, which you quickly swiped away and went straight to the camera. You took a picture of him from behind while he ordered you a coffee. The barista gave you a “fucking weirdo” look. 

Fuck you, you thought, you have no idea what I am going through right now. Then you switched to the camera roll and checked to see if the photo reflected what you saw.

A broad, fit back of a very attractive middle-aged man with lush brown hair, paying for coffee with cash.

You couldn't decide whether this made you feel better or worse.

When Raphael returned with your cup, you had something for him too. "This is the character I was talking about," you said, a screenshot of virtual Raphael ready on your screen.

Anyone who saw the screenshot would say, "Who motion-captured me?" 

Not Raphael. He barely glanced before shrugging and handing your phone back. "Hmm, I see some resemblance, I guess."

Resemblance? What fucking resemblance? There was no resemblance; he WAS Raphael! You were about to argue but he beat you to it: "Why? Were you hoping to meet this...Raphael?" 

His voice dropped an octave and he looked at you intently. He was flirting - openly, unashamedly.

"I...I was," you stammered out. "He's my favourite character."

Brilliant, brilliant line. Dear diary, today I wanted to meet Raphael, my favourite character from my favourite game. So much for quoting Sartre.

"Well now, I'm flattered," Raphael purred, causing you to wriggle uncomfortably in your seat. "I do bear some physical likeness."

That was a massive understatement. 

The man had a disarmingly charming smile. You tried to remember if Raphael had ever smiled like that in the game. It was mostly scowls and grins and smirks, but this kind of smile? You didn't think so. You caught a glimpse of yourself in his hazel eyes, and that was not Tav; that was you. Just you.

Not that you were unattractive or anything. Average. Maybe even a little pretty on a good day. You didn't like yourself very much. Then again, most people don't. That's how the beauty industry makes its money. 

You got your share of attention, some, nothing to brag about. Had two boyfriends, it didn't work out, you used to care, now you don't. Certainly never got any attention from men who looked like him.

Why should this man be interested in you, why? Ah, yes. Your soul. He probably wants your soul. Is it worth much at all? Is it worth coming all the way to Earth? You wanted to apologize to him for going through all this trouble just for you.

"So this event in the convention hall down the street..." he snapped his fingers as if trying to recall a forgotten name.

"Comic-Con 2024," you supplied. "It's huge in fandom culture. TV shows, video games, that sort of stuff.”

"Ah. Not my kind of entertainment - or my kind of audience, for that matter," Raphael said with a slightly raised eyebrow, eyeing the “Astarion approves” badge on your backpack.  "It does remind me of a deal I signed recently."

"Deal?" you asked in a weak voice. He nodded. "What deal? With who?"

"With who? No, I meant the Microsoft-Blizzard acquisition". 

Ah, that kind of deal. The words felt so reassuring, so real, the acquisition. Raphael would have no idea about these words. Raphael wouldn't say "Microsoft". You mean the real Raphael. What the hell is a 'real' Raphael again?

For the first time, you let go of a little tension. You took a first sip of your coffee and leaned back slightly in your chair. 

"Actually, I think these acquisitions are really harmful for the industry," you said. 

Why did you have to be so confrontational? You didn't have anything clever to say about such things, so you spoke the truth instead. Bad idea.

"How candid of you to say that. Well, I’ll be just as candid with you: I am indeed a villain." Raphael grinned. "I hope you can forgive me." 

There went your short-lived relaxation, which lasted less than a minute.  Raphael had just looked at you and said "I am a villain". Challenge him. Tell him it's him because, well, it's him. It can only be him. Tell him you know it's him, and then...

And then what?

"Everybody's got a job to do, I guess", you managed to utter the most generic phrase in existence.

"Isn't that so..." Raphael replied, pausing for a moment before finishing the sentence with your name.

You did not introduce yourself to him. You were sure of it. Absolutely sure. 

"How do you know my name?" you asked, half rising from your chair, raising your voice and quickly lowering it again. "I didn't tell you my name. How do you know it?"

Raphael gestured to your phone, which lay on the table screen between the two of you. Your work ID card was tucked away in its transparent case - something you hadn't needed for a while.

It had your first and last name on it.

"I saw it right before my eyes," he explained. "I thought it was a hint."

"It wasn't," you said.

"Oh, another faux pas on my part then," he said. "At this rate, I owe you something to make up for all my many transgressions. Perhaps dinner?"

You let out a nervous chuckle. One of your popular Tumblr posts had been an impassioned rant about how Raphael had promised a similar in-game offer but failed to deliver despite the many times you gave him the Crown.

"I seem to have absolutely terrified you, and that was not my intention. I insist on making it up to you. If you allow me, of course. I don't want to impose. Would you allow me to?"

He looked at you with the intensity of a man admiring a beautiful woman, his shoulders back and chin slightly up, trying to present himself from his best angle - something you've seen men do before, but rarely (if ever) to you. It was as if he could hang on every word that came out of your mouth, simply because he enjoyed watching your lips move. Raphael looked like he was in love, for Christ's sake.

Your cheeks grew warm. 

"Yes," you replied.

He kept silent for a bit, savouring your answer. 

"Splendid. Where might I collect you?"

It took you a moment to realise that he was asking for your address. Your personal address. Shouldn't he know it already, if he was Raphael? You replied as nonchalantly as possible:

"Why don't I give you my number and we can arrange to meet at the center?"

His expression darkened slightly; you've seen this look in the game before.

No, you shouldn't have said that. You wanted him to like you. 

Desperately.

"You don't trust me?" Raphael's voice dropped an octave or two, playful and just a little threatening.

You felt his breath on your face (cherries?) and the next second you stopped feeling your legs. The attraction that had been simmering inside you for months started boiling over.

Breathe. Pretend it's not Raphael. A man came up to you in a coffee shop and asked you if you trusted him in that kind of tone, leaning in like that. You know what the sensible thing to do would be - get up and walk away. And if it really was Raphael, get up and run away. 

You remained seated and stayed. 

"Just, ugh..." was all you managed to get out of the jumbled thoughts in your head; two coherent sentences so far into the conversation, and both of them made you sound like an absolute madwoman. 

Raphael laughed.

"Of course you don't trust me, that's only prudent, and you seem to be quite an intelligent young lady. But just so we are clear, you and I: you have nothing to fear from me. What is that number of yours?"

Quite an intelligent young lady, the words echoed in your mind and you remembered your naughty anonymous Tumblr confession: I would suck every last drop of cum out of him as long as he kept praising me.

God, everything you've read with him in the main role. Double penetration, double vaginal penetration, pet play... you weren't even into half of it. You hoped Raphael didn’t think you actually wanted him to do all of the things you read with you.

You just liked clicking on random links.

"Do you need something to write it down or...?" you asked hesitantly.

"I will remember," he said curtly. “I do not forget things easily”.

You realised that there was something far more frightening than anything that had happened before: that he wouldn't remember, that he would never call you, and that this conversation and this meeting would end there. 

So you carefully enunciated each number, then took a pen from your pocket and wrote it down on a napkin: it seemed romantic in the movies, but your handwriting and the coffee stain made it look like a secret message from the madhouse.

He grinned and tucked the napkin into the pocket of his suit.

He took the last sip of coffee and then took your hand in his. He touched you. His skin was warm and real and soft and everything you had ever imagined, his touch surprisingly tender. 

Your whole body responded to that tiny crumb of affection, viscerally. You hadn't realized how famished you were for a touch until that moment.

He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed them against yours. His lips were soft too, slightly damp from the coffee.

"I am looking forward to our rendezvous," Raphael murmured against your palm. "Ver much so."

Rendezvous.

In any other situation, a middle-aged man kissing your hand would be downright creepy. But this... this was a fever dream, an illusion, anything but reality. Because there was no way this madness could actually be happening to you.

Was it a bad thing? Was reality ever... this? So unpredictable? So exciting? 

You only snapped out of it when the door closed behind him, but you snapped out hard. You practically threw yourself at the next table, where a group of guys were sitting, their appearance screaming video games - backpacks and scruffy beards, Warhammer-emblazoned T-shirts. 

You grabbed one by the shoulder and hissed urgently: "Guys-guys-guys-guys." Your words came like rapid fire. "Tell me that guy doesn't look exactly like Raphael from Baldur's Gate? That one? On the street behind the window?" 

Damn, you sounded desperate.

"Ah, sorry, never played it," came the nonchalant reply before he turned back to his friends' conversation.

"Baldur's Gate," chimed in another, his face lighting up. "Amazing game. Looks like who?"

"Raphael," you said. "The devil."

The guy laughed, but didn't even look where you were pointing.

"Ah, the two-pump chump?"

You shot a quick glance at Raphael. His eyes met yours through the glass window, and they were cold now; his smile was gone. 

I didn't say that, you pleaded with him in your thoughts. That guy said that. That guy over there. I would never say that.

Your defence of his bed skills stretched from Reddit to Tumblr threads, you argued that Haarlep was slandering him, that Raphael was the best fuck there ever was and you personally vouched for that because you fucked him a thousand times in your head.

"Don't call him that, please," you whispered to the guy. He gave you a confused look when you pointed at Raphael again: "Look at him. The one staring at us. Does he look like him?

Is he real? Do you see him too?

"Ah yes," he admitted with a grin on his face, raising the cup of coffee to his lips, "he sort of does. Yes, he does! Well, I hope he doesn't...oh shit! FUCK!".

The guy's face contorted in pain as he clutched his mouth, jumping, cursing, tears streaming down his face. You could see the skin on his lips reddening and blistering.

"What the fuck?! It's fucking boiling! FUCK! "

The barista rushed over to him, spewing apologies as she tried to handle the situation. You took a step back and glanced at Raphael whose lips were moving subtly - two syllables that matched rhythmically: 'bye-bye' or maybe 'ciao-ciao'. 

It didn't have to be 'ta-ta'. He waved nonchalantly at you.

You waved back.

NEXT: Chapter 3, In Which Larian Introduces The Raphael Romance

#bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #raphael x player #raphael x tav #raphael x oc #raphael x you #meta fanfic #knock knock

[kittlesandbugs]

FHR: Just a chat (AO3 link here) Pairing: Sidestep/Ricardo Ortega (hints of Chargentstep), Sidestep & Hollow Ground Warnings: None, they're just chatting lol Word Count: 1720 Summary: Ortega takes Sidestep to the park to get some fresh air after being cooped up with broken legs in his apartment for a couple weeks. When he steps away for a few minutes to take care of something, someone else swings by for a talk.

It's a peaceful day at Memorial Park. The sun is shining through the carefully maintained trees, dappling the green grass. The air is cool and calm, balmy even with your multiple layers. The birds are chirping around you and every so often, a squirrel darts by. The air is full of children's laughter as they play on the jungle gym. People are calm and content around you, enjoying the nice weather. 

You haven’t been this tense since the last time you were hauled into a lab and strapped down. 

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," you hiss at Ortega, sitting on the bench next to your wheelchair. 

He's lounging, at ease, though still alert. You see it the way his eyes roam around through the back of his sunglasses, watching everyone and everything around you. "Relax, Riley. Nothing is going to happen here," he chuckles. His hand starts towards your knee to give what you assume is supposed to be a reassuring pat before stopping and redirecting to your arm. You don't like it when anyone touches your casts. "You need some fresh air and sunlight once in a while. You were going crazy in the apartment."

"You could have at least waited for Argent to come over," you growl quietly. "Four eyes are better than two."

"We got four eyes. Hell, four hundred probably, if we count your telepathy." 

"Fine, four working legs." You roll your eyes at the pedantry. 

"We're in broad daylight in the good side of town, no one knows we're here. Relax." 

There's a little note of a plea in there that makes you sigh and nod. He is right, but you aren't going to tell him that. The chances of anyone coming after you in broad daylight on this side of town are almost nonexistent. And if they knew where you were, they would have gone for the significantly easier hit on Ortega's apartment by now. 

So you try. Take in some sun from the sky. Some sun from the carefree kids running past in a game of tag. As good for your brain as dogs, and they're here too. You sink into the padded chair and close your eyes, trying to focus on them rather than the itch of your healing bones that reminds you just how helpless you actually are. 

"Hey, wait here a moment," Ortega says after a few minutes of peace and quiet. You open your eyes to find him perched at the edge of the bench, eyes honed in on something. Your gaze follows but you can't make out who or what he sees at this distance. Are his sunglasses enhancing his vision? Probably, knowing him. You try to follow his line of sight with your telepathy, but what you find that might be getting his attention is strange. Foggy. Nebulous. It's difficult to latch on to any thoughts. Not blocking you like numbers, no, that's closer to the static of Ortega's brain. But someone that is definitely strange. Who is it? 

"Ric, what do you see?" you whisper harshly, the anxiety you felt earlier returning in full force like a hammer strike to your skull as he starts to rise, gesturing with his hand for you to stay put. Like you have a choice

"Just an old friend," he says, the cant of his lips saying the opposite. "I'll be right back. You're safe here."

And then he's off at a swift jog before you can protest, leaving you fumbling for the locked brakes you can't easily reach on the wheelchair handles. 

"Wait! You stupid fucking jackass—" 

"He is, isn't he?" A laugh behind you, and it takes all you have not to scream as a familiar lanky figure folds into Ortega's vacated seat. She's dressed in a finely woven linen jumpsuit, warm sepia with matching leather loafers, her gold piercings sparkling in the dappled sunlight. Her too similar face looks at you with a too similar crooked smile. 

Hollow Ground. 

How the fuck could she sneak up on you like this? You didn't sense her at all. You still can't. Not even so much as a thought void, just nothing. You've never seen anything like it. How is she concealing herself? What the fuck does she want with you? Your chair is still half-locked, trapping you here. Should you scream? Should you—

" Relax," she says, and it's almost a command as she meets your gaze with your own gray eyes. Still, you try to rein in your heart attempting to race its way out of your ribs. "I just want to talk."

"About what?" Your voice betrays the tension tight in your spine, much as you wish otherwise. If one more person tells you to relax, you think you might actually snap. You need to regain control of yourself. You are Reckoning, for fuck's sake. You're not some helpless child. 

"You," she says simply and then pauses. Frowns. Like she's no longer quite sure of what to say. Like she had a plan, but now she doesn't know if it should be executed. 

You try to touch her thoughts again, and again you're met with less than nothing. Are you hallucinating? No. The man walking down the path sees you both. He isn't worried by what he sees, two sisters having a conversation that seems tense. You aren't going to dig into the implications of that one. So she's here. She wants something, wants it enough to approach you about it. You realize the benefit to her closely kept secret identity means she can approach you freely as long as Ortega is not around. The weird presence you felt before, you realize that was Jake, you felt the same nebulousness of his thoughts when you went to meet Hollow Ground at Parkside. Irresistible bait to lure Ortega away. But you have no idea what it is she wants. So you wait. Ortega is right. No one is going to try and do anything in public in broad daylight. She won't, not like this. 

"What about me…?" you prompt when the quiet of her gets to be too much, impatient to find out what this is about with her mind giving you no clues. 

"How… are you?" she asks, surprisingly tentative. 

That reserved inquiry catches you off-guard, but you recover swiftly, her odd nervousness making you feel more confident despite your obvious weakness. "Oh, you know. Peachy. Just out for a stroll," you drawl, gesturing at your propped up casts. 

She snorts and the corner of her lips twitches. Somehow, your snark steadies her. "I should have expected that."

"Why do you care?" you ask sharply. She's being weird, and you don't like it. What is this about? Why would she risk meeting you like this?

"You're a mystery, Riley Owens. I'd hate it if you died before I could solve it." She smirks as you feel your blood run cold. Something about the way she says your name makes you feel jittery. But even more importantly, how could she possibly know who you are? You never gave your name before, to anyone at Parkside, you were there as your villainous alias. Argent scrubbed all records of your surgery at the hospital, though you have no doubt Hollow Ground knew who had been involved in the wreck. How does she know your name? Do the Rangers have a leak? 

As your brain stumbles over what this could mean, she holds out a small white card with something scrawled on it. An address. You recognize the area. Rich and residential. Very rich and residential. Is this… She can't possibly be just handing you this… 

"Got it memorized?" At your nod, she pockets it with a smile that's a little sharp for your liking. 

"What is your g—" 

"Fuck." Her hand shoots up, silencing you as her head tilts slightly like she's listening to something. You can just make out the outline of a small clear low profile receiver in her over-pierced ear. "We lost your pet Ranger, and he's on his way back. I have to go." She rises from the bench with the grace of a crane, giving you a conspiratorial wink.

"Wait, what— Fuck!" You swear, fumbling for the other lock on your chair before she can get away. 

As she strides away, she calls back, "You should stop by sometime, when you're back on your feet. We have a lot to catch up on."  

For someone so tall, she disappears far too easily into crowds. By the time you can roll after her, she's gone, as traceless as she appeared. What the fuck did she mean, catch up on? You're left sitting there, stewing in your own bile, until Ortega finally returns. 

He's sweaty, looking a little tired and roughed up. You think you can see the outline of a bruise blooming under the edge of his bearded cheek. He's definitely been in a fight. You don't know if you should be pleased or pissed that he learned to leave civilians behind for these kinds of escapades after his stunt with Jolene went awry. "Hey," he says with a little wave as he catches his breath. "Everything okay?"

 "Just dandy," you snarl, playing into being pissed that he left you. If he knew who just stopped by to pay you a friendly chat, he'd shit his own generator. "Sitting like a duck while you go haring off to go fight some rando."

Luckily, you think he's getting the right message, because he holds his hands up, placating, as he talks to you in the same tone he uses with his unruly horse at the ranch. "Hey, c'mon. I was just gone a few minutes. Nothing happened, right?" 

"Yeah," you lie with a sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "Nothing happened."

He grabs onto the handlebars of your chair, and if he notices you've unlocked it, he doesn't comment on it as he starts walking you through the park. "Angie texted me about meeting us at the ice cream stand. You want to get some ice cream before we go home?" 

"Yeah." Sugar will help steady your nerves. Get your mind off what just happened. “Let’s get some ice cream and go home.”

You have a lot of thinking to do later.

#kitbug writes things #fhr #ricardo ortega #sidestep #hollow ground #chargestep #riley owens #hints of chargentstep but angie isn't here right now lol #idk i just had a wild hair #thinking about like okay we have the demo for when you don't go to HG in person #but what if you did and you already have the moray #would they be interested in you enough to seek you out again #i think yes #so here we are #call this a book 3 hypothetical lol

[ruershrimo]

like it’s the old love. | part 1 FINALE: section a | "merry christmas"

masterlist | prev | next

features albedo (literally just him this time lol)

warnings: like in every other chapter the reader is fem!reader, there's a little bit of swearing, lots of cringe, perhaps a bit of angst and this chapter is COMPLTELY TEXT (sorry!!), but it's mostly okay in terms of not having anything that bad (please lmk if there's anything that warrants any warnings, though!)

notes: merry (extremely late) christmas, everyone! I meant to finish this before christmas so I could time it all together, but between writing for the event, travelling overseas and my poor planning, I wasn't able to finish it in time. I'm so sorry if it feels rushed! (this was also probably the chapter that I struggled with the most-- you'll understand once you read it, haha.)

summary: you finally want for things so passionately that you'd run for them instead of holding yourself in place again, and he's what you're running for. now you know for sure that you won't let go.

For the next few days everyone eagerly prepares for Christmas. Every few days Alice takes chunks of time out of her schedule to shop for gifts with Klee, while you and Albedo stay in spending time with each other, watching movies, doing housework or adding more decorations around the house, or spend time outside instead, eating at restaurants or cafes. 

“Do you think there’s anything else we should add?” you ask him with your hands in your pockets, the two of you standing before the front gate. Compared to the densely packed apartments or bleak streets back at home, their house is an idyllic thing, like something from a Christmas movie. Like always there’s snow piling up on the sidewalk and the porch— which was an extremely rare occurrence back at home— and all the other houses on the block are caked with snow like frosting on a cake. The sun has begun to set, and the lines of lights on every picket fence and every door brighten up the street like glowing fairies. You anticipate the glow of the stars from behind the chimney overlooking the roof and the porch, clusters of falling snowflakes flanking each side. 

“Not really,” he replies, “This is alright.” 

“I think we did a pretty good job,” you say, hands rested on your waist in a mix of satisfaction and jadedness, “I don’t think we’ve ever really done everything on our own, so I thought it wouldn’t go as well as other Christmases, but I think I’ll just say that this’ll be one of the best Christmases ever. —Okay, I know that sounded over-confident, but— it’s not over-confidence or anything, it’s a fact!” 

He’s staring at you with mirth in his eyes, and there’s nothing you can do but do the same to him, like there’s forces pulling you together and it’s so simple, you wonder why you hadn’t realised you weren’t in love with him before. 

You really want to be selfish— you’d already done it before, roping him into this arrangement. To demand more time from him, more loving gentleness and tender care in each gaze and hand. But how could you? Even if he loves you too, would he ever say it? If he knew would he ever tell you, and if he’d known why hadn’t he? Was he scared like you? Had you made him wait? 

Could you really risk telling him that, aloud, if it could ruin things like it did before? 

—

On Christmas Eve, he takes you out for a walk on the beach. 

It sounds a little silly, really. In the past it would just be a simple hangout, but now that you were together, it was a date he could take you for. 

The change was so simple, and although nothing really changed on a superficial level— not the jokes, or the conversations, or the giggles or the calm unchangingness of his tone— things still felt different, somehow. (Or maybe it was just you.) You were a couple, now. It was silly that you were still trying to wrap your head around it, even if you were the one who suggested it: the two of you went on dates sometimes yet still continued on with rituals like hot chocolate and winter beach walks that you had before, so now everything's at once different and the same. 

It was confusing, to say the least. As if you were crossing a tiny little bridge from Point A to B, but you weren’t quite there yet, and you were still considering if you should go back to Point A or whether Point B truly was supposed to be the destination for the both of you. 

“Merry Christmas,” you cheer as he stops the car, “Woo!” 

He opens the car door for you. What a gentleman, really— so you’d really been this lucky knowing someone like this for so long, and not realising you’d fallen in love with him? 

Or were you just too scared to? If so, what changed?

“Merry Christmas,” he chuckles. 

The two of you walk side by side as the wind blows through our hair again. You can feel the chill of winter again, tickling your ears and every time you try to face the cold again you’re only hit full-force by its numbingness, sliding your face back into the collar of your fully zipped jacket for a sliver of warmth. When you take your hands out of your pockets for a while, you feel like you’re soaking them in iced water. 

Your hands bump against each other apprehensively with touches so faint you can barely feel them on your numbed skin, but you can tell that, though it may just be an illusion due to humans’ innate body heat and how cold everything feels, his hands feel warm, and it’s as if they get warmer with every light graze against your hand that there is. You’re not looking— if you did, your chest would constrict ever so slightly, yet in the most comfortable way possible. If you had a tail like a dog’s, looking at the proximity of both of your hands would cause it to wag uncontrollably. 

It’s not like how it felt before with everyone else, when you’d constantly be red-faced and you could sense your emotions slipping so painfully yet so easily out of your control like sand from the gaps between your fingers. Being with Albedo isn’t masochistically thrilling like that— it’s comfortable, even if a part of you feels as if you could fall from the gap between Point A and Point B at any moment. Because although it seems scary, there’s something like a harness that secures you in the end and tells you that you’ll be fine, even though you know there’s a high chance you won’t be; even though you know that some few eight letters and your own insecurity can be enough to end things and send you plummeting down into an unforgiving torrent of snow as seventeen or so years of friendship and closeness can only crumble. So as scary as it feels, a part of you wants to hold on to that harness— hold on to him— and survive. 

Then like puzzle pieces your right slips into his, and he doesn’t let go. 

His hand is warm, so unbelievably warm. 

This is the happiest you’ve felt in your entire life. The past few days of your life have been the happiest you’ve ever been no matter how bleak you know things will be once you’ll be back at home in Liyue. 

This is the simplest (though maybe the edgiest as well) way you could put it: every year you’d live feeling like you were a shell of a person watching another’s life through the screen, putting on masks and switching them for others with every door you closed and every day that passed, no matter how many people you’d known from school: if you feared being hurt by envy or your own love for them, they would never come close, or at least not close enough. The only end to it was winter and your holidays spent with Albedo, Alice and Klee. Whenever you stepped into their house, despite how cold everything would feel, you’d feel invigorated, like you were living your own life again. 

“So why the sudden date?” you question, your face warm and the sand devoid of anything besides seashells and prints of the two of your shoes’ soles, “This is probably our first official one.” 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

About something good? Or something bad? 

You hope it’s something good. You don’t want this moment to end. 

“...what is it?” 

“I…” he pauses. So he’s nervous, which means it’s either something terribly good or terribly bad. “I wanted to ask if this could be permanent. …or if we could solidify things, I suppose. I mean that we could try to be a couple, an actual couple— like one that isn’t bound by a one-year arrangement. But then again, it’s hard to define this when there was never that much of a difference to how actual couples are like, anyway. 

“I think it’s just that…” he says, voice uncharacteristically abashed, and it takes every bit of strength and control in yourself to dart your eyes to the ground in avoidance, “I think I’ve loved you for quite a while and realised that I should finally say it.” 

At that moment it’s like your heart stops, almost flatlining. And now you’re scared and you don’t know what to do, you want to think but you want to answer, you’re going to regret what you say next but you’ll say it regardless even though you know what you need to say isn’t want you will say, oh god— 

You suppose it’s in your inborn nature to ruin everything, because as he continues to stare intently at you, you open your mouth and say words that were already filled with regret long before they were uttered. 

“… I don’t think I can do that.” 

“…you don’t? I… I understand, I’m sorry. But…—but please just think again, [name], I’ve always wanted to say this. 

“I think I’m going to go back in the car for a while.” 

Damnit. You ruined it. You ruined it all. 

Thank god there wasn’t anyone else there, because you don’t think you’ll be able to handle this without the absolute lack of any other’s presence. 

He heads back to the car on the same path that the two of you came from, and as you watch his quick footsteps and how unrelentingly fast his back— the only thing that’s facing you— fades into a smaller and smaller silhouette, you feel like all you can do is stand there and cry and watch him leave like everyone else. 

Like there’s a phantom force holding you by the legs, never letting you walk, never letting you change this for once. 

In all your years alive, you’d fallen in love with countless people, had your heart broken countless times without them realising, never wanting to take a single step for others because you were scared. Because you didn’t think you could do anything at all. And you hated it. You hated those feelings, hated how you tried all you could only for your efforts to go unnoticed in the faces of people who only truly recognised the best. 

But not now, not again, not when this is the happiest you’ve ever felt; when this makes years of unrequited feelings from others and school years spent with that inexplicable, unmoving loneliness that never left even when you’d befriended those people all worth it. Even if you were blessed with a good background, with a brother who cared despite not understanding you, with parents who were busy but only so that you and your brother could have good futures, this felt like one of the only things that really did make you happy. This felt like a blessing you’d claimed yourself; one that you had to chase after, and maybe that was what made it all worth it. 

So you run after him, leaving sole marks on the sand again, telling your legs to move no matter how much you wanted to fall back, head giddy with all sorts of emotions that screamed for you to just sprint after the one good thing you wanted to keep as the strands of your hair flailed about and you felt the wind howl viciously at you, at your face, everything. 

You know you’re a coward. You know you have a life that sucks. You know you’re too scared of changing it. But you’ll stop; you hope to whatever god who exists that they’ll let you keep this. You hope to yourself that you can have this because now you know even if you’re a coward you’d fight tooth and nail to have it always, to have someone love you the way he does. 

—

When you’re there his tone has changed, slightly less controlled, slightly more helpless and your heart twinges in so much pain when you hear it: 

“I’ve loved you for so long, but you run away from everything you’re scared of,” he says, and the sadness tugging on his tone is almost tangible, but it’s full of conviction and you’re not sure what makes it hurt more: you being forced to hear the truth you denied and refused to believe from the one person you expected not to hear it from, or you being fine with it if he’s the one telling you this? 

“You run away from not being the best, you run away from things that you want because you’re scared of failure and rejection and change. 

“Please, [name]— rejection and failure aren’t as horrible as they sound. You think of the life you have after all of this as death, and you don’t question whether you can have a future you enjoy or not because you’ve hammered into your own head that your only two options are trying things which can only lead to inevitable failure, or sticking to what you think you have to do to survive, no matter how much you hate it you’d rather stick to it out of your own fear.” 

His words hurt and feel comforting at the same time, inundating your senses to no end like sweltering hot chocolate burning your throat and tongue, or like an embrace that chokes you and only makes you want to dissipate into it and cry. You barely even notice your quivering lips and the tears running down your cheeks the same way rain falls when the sky opens up and weeps uninhibitedly. It feels like the pot that’s had water in it for about all of your life has boiled over and overflowed. 

“Please, just say something. I don’t know if I was wrong, but if I were then maybe I never knew you at all, and I’m sorry if that’s the case.” 

You shake your head and scramble for words only to find none for you to say. 

“Please just be selfish. Please, for once, stick to the things you want. Please just hold onto things no matter how scared of them you are.” 

You squint your eyes in pain and even more tears flow down to your chin. 

“...please, do it out of love.” 

Then you snatch your hand away from his and jump to him, your arms wrapped desperately around his head. Even they don’t want him to go while every part of you is pressed flush against him without a second thought and ignoring how there’ll be an ache in your upper arms if you’re ever pulled apart after comes as easy to you as breathing. 

“…no— I’m sorry, Albedo, I’m so so sorry! You’re right, you’re fucking right, I’m just a coward, I—” you ramble, the words pouring out of you like gushing water without a single moment of respite for you to catch your breath— “I wasted all of your time, I played with your feelings even though I knew how you felt but I was selfish all along for that because I never wanted to ask if we could be anything more, I was just— I was too scared of it all so I took advantage of you like that, but—!” 

He holds the back of your head and pulls you nearer to him as if you weren’t ever near enough. 

“Every year, Albedo, every year when I stayed here because I had no one else to spend time with, it was with you! And every year, god, every year, I cried to you and wasted your kindness as I only kept crying about my own problems and never helped take care of yours, I just kept viewing each year as one hell after another, I—” 

In your slight haze you notice how he’s crying, too, ever so quietly, you can barely hear it as his low cries reach your ears. 

“—I love you, Albedo, I love you so much. Sometimes it hurts so much and that makes me scared. And my life sucks so much but even trying to change it makes me scared. So I’m useless, just useless and selfish, I—” you gasp for air. 

“—so be selfish, why don’t you? Don’t worry about me, don’t worry about being a burden,” he almost shouts, then gets softer again, “Because you are, at times. But you’ll never be some stain on my life like the way you view yourself as. I’ll listen to you cry each time— don’t care about me like that, put yourself before me, please,” he pleads, “It’s better for the both of us if you put yourself before me. And try to be “useless” in that sense for once since you never were in the first place, why don’t you—” he says between tears and shaky inhales, “Be selfish and feel what you want to feel, feel what you have to feel. If you need to, use me as what you can lay your back on after everything. It’s horrible but I’ll do it regardless, so just let me help, please, I don’t want to watch you continue to hate yourself and your life like this!” 

And then you cry and cry and cry for what seems like an eternity, as if years and years of feeling like you aren’t living your life, of feeling useless and unnoticed to the people around you, just spill out so simply and turbulently. He just continues crying, crying for you despite how lonely he must feel from his own experiences, from a mother who never cared much for him unless when he was impressive or could keep up with her in all things related to the sciences she loved more than her own son; from the impossibility of him ever being able to be on the same playing field as him in terms of intelligence and curious thinking in the same way the mother who left him did. 

You don’t know how you’d never thought of it before, that small child the same size as you being sent to live with his aunt his whole life when his mother who could have taken care of him merely chose not to due to her work. But then the two of you weren’t so different, no? Yet he was so different, so wonderfully different, an inspiration to you that you envied yet placed on a pedestal more and more through the years. Did it ever make him feel lonely, then? Did he feel as happy as you did for the past few days you were together, partly because both of you rarely mentioned how he was “perfect” and how you weren’t? Did he ever look at you and wonder if he could be like you, the same way you wanted so much to be amazing like he was, did he ever look at you with envy? 

How could he ever envy you, though? He was so good, so blindingly, painfully good. A good son, a good friend, a good person. 

…why are you so good, Albedo? You choke out through tears after a while, “Why do you have to be so good to me? Why, why? Why do you do this to yourself?” 

“I don’t even know,” he replies, softly, his mouth buried into your hair as if he’s using your head to muffle himself, “I’ve been doing it for years and I want to do it forever. I don’t know anyone who can know you like I do and not want to do the same.” 

“I’m so sorry. I love you so much. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll try to be selfish from now on. I’ll try to learn to want to have things for myself again.” Just let me have this. 

You hold him tight and cry into his shoulder. 

Everything’s quiet. The grey exterior of his car seems so serene when illuminated by the stars that twinkle despite the tarry, black colour of the sky, and so is he, his moonlit blonde hair in your peripheral vision, the relaxing slothfulness of his breaths, the droopiness of your eyelids as you rest your chin on his shoulder. Everything’s calm. 

Yeah. You’ll be alright, you think. You’ll be able to have this, to keep this. 

You’ll be just fine if he holds your hand through it. And then maybe you can hold his, too. 

—

“I’m happy,” you whisper on the drive back. It just felt natural to head back home after, anyway. And maybe sleep in the car once it was parked in the driveway instead of coming back inside. Then maybe tomorrow you could go on for real this time, watching movies and making hot chocolate and having conversations at the foot of his bed, and at that moment you think that’ll be all you need to be content for your whole life. 

“Hm?” His head turns to you for a moment before turning back to face the wheel. 

“I’m happy I have this,” you say, “Even if my eyes are going to be swollen on Christmas Day.” 

One of the numbers on his satnav’s digital clock changed. 12:00, it read. 

“At least you’re not alone in that aspect,” he smiles, and you lean your head against his so that it’s touching him ever so slightly. “Merry Christmas, [name].” 

“Merry Christmas,” you say back, “I love you.” You really, really do, and you’ll say it every chance you get to do so now as compensation for all the times you hadn’t said it before. 

“I love you too.” 

You close your eyes and sleep. 

(When he returns to that sleeping neighbourhood, he turns off the engine, but doesn’t leave the car. The next morning, when the sun’s rising and you open your eyes to lines of houses adorned with reds and greens, you hold his hand and snap a picture of his sleeping figure again. You hope he won’t mind when he wakes up.)

end notes: and that's the start of part 1's wrap-up! the next chapter will probably be mostly fluff that'll take place during new years, and that one will probably be really short, too. I hope that that way, we can end this series and this year on a high note! part 2 of litol will be coming out in the first half of next year :).

taglist: @sn1perz , @n3r0-1417, @kika-a, @chalksdreams

(please send in an ask if you’d like to be in the taglist &lt;3!!)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #albedo x reader #albedo smau #genshin smau #genshin impact #albedo #ruer writes #litol 💿. #fem!reader #fem reader #real talk though if you relate to the reader in this fic #if you ever feel like your life sucks. you have to try to change it because there will be people who can help #but sometimes all they can do is make you want to help yourself #so don't lose hope #the sun will shine on the next day and you just have to try as much as you can to live happily #also the confrontation is so dramatic lmao people don't act like that in real life #so cringey... #may rewrite this in a few years' time maybe

[luciddownloading]

The 5th House and Star Power/Quality ✨

The sign on your 5th House cusp and/or planet(s) in your 5th shows how you shine. Bright like a diamond! It's the key to finding not only your talent but your star power, your It Factor. If you were a celebrity, it would be what people praise you the most for. But, everyone gets the most hype for their 5th House energies. So, be your own talent agent and take advantage of them!

Life hack for creatives and performers out there: your 5th House shows you "your lane" as an artist. Not your 10th House. It's the direction you should go in creatively if you feel like you're struggling to successfully carve out your niche or attract recognition. You will gain the biggest following by emphasizing it.

SUN IN THE 5TH and/or LEO ON THE 5TH HOUSE CUSP

Lucky you! You seemingly just have to be you to gain an adoring following. People love how authentic you are, how you're not trying to be anyone other than you. This is "movie star" type energy. The kind of performer who is constantly "playing themselves" but is so charming and magnetic that nobody minds. You have Stage Presence. You could just stand around, doing nothing, and people want to watch. So, remember that you never have to try hard. You're just naturally entertaining and charismatic. Don't be afraid to play the role of the star, either! Admit it. You enjoy the attention. And others enjoy giving it to you! Your confidence plays a big role in this (whether it's natural or you're faking it til you're making it), creating this golden aura of greatness around you. You could turn the grocery store into a Red Carpet event just by walking in.

MOON IN THE 5TH and/or CANCER ON THE 5TH HOUSE CUSP

No matter your age, you remain the girl or boy next door. Your star quality is cute, comforting, safe. Wholesome vibes. This is the actor who does a dozen rom-coms or tearjerkers that are like a fuzzy blanket on a rainy day. You gain the most applause via your vulnerability. In spite of what you may fear, shedding a few tears or having a cathartic meltdown only earns you admiration, not ridicule. Sensitivity allows you to shine! You might have a very charismatic mother figure that you clearly get your greatness from. Or, if/when you have children, they could look up to you as the brightest light in their life. Your whole immediate family may be very talented or entertaining and you're most in your element when around them.

MERCURY IN THE 5TH and/or GEMINI ON THE 5TH HOUSE CUSP

Hello, Jack/Jill of all Trades! People will be enthralled by just how multi-talented you are. Double/triple/quadruple threats! It may even exhaust others a bit and even if you're not exactly mastering all those interests, you still make it fascinating to watch. But, let's be clear: writing is your bread and butter, whether it's screenwriting, prose, poetry, or blogging. You are a top-tier storyteller, even in person, and will probably gain the most attention for your writing. Your star quality stems from that witty, smart, cheeky, clever voice you have. When you have something to say, people listen! And it usually takes them in an unpredictable direction. Your duality is also the key to your charisma, as you are an entertaining bundle of opposites that others can't truly figure out.

VENUS IN THE 5TH and/or TAURUS/LIBRA ON THE 5TH HOUSE CUSP

Okay, let's be honest. Your attractiveness keeps people in the palm of your hand. Most of your audience is so entertained by you because they think you're such a babe. Also, that you're just such a sweetheart! This would be the kind of actor whose characters you always root for because they're so damn likable. But, before you see your star power as superficial (as you may sometimes complain about not being taken seriously enough), you have some serious artistic prowess. It's largely visual. You'd make a fabulous director, painter or photographer because your aesthetic and eye for beauty leaves others wanting more. (You might even just be the best at curating your social media) PS: You are either the ultimate muse, constantly inspiring others' art or other notable efforts, or you tap into your light by making a special someone your muse.

MARS IN THE 5TH and/or ARIES ON THE 5TH HOUSE CUSP

Do you hear that? It's the sound of your fans salivating over you! Your star power makes you hot as a summer day and it's not necessarily about how you look. You just have this sexual charisma to you. It's giving sexy rock star, with all the panties or boxer-briefs thrown on stage to prove it. So, if you were to be a performer, that would be your lane. Or possibly a rapper (depending on your skills/interests, obviously). Anything that lets you be wild, raw, hard-hitting. Regardless of your talents, you shine brightly when being daring and living on the edge. This also makes for extreme-sports enthusiasts and excellent athletes, the latter of which can lead to a killer bod. Which will definitely gain you much attention. Tbh, there are some himbo/bimbo vibes here but in the most empowered way. Like, "yes, I will wear little to no clothes because I know people love it and it's my power move."

JUPITER IN THE 5TH and/or SAGITTARIUS ON THE 5TH HOUSE CUSP

Listen, you're not just talented. You have serious Chosen One energy. Whatever you are good at, it's blatantly obvious that you were put on Earth to do it. You live out your path like a God-given mission and it leaves people kind of in awe. If you're an artist (and there's a good 83.5 percent chance you are, with this placement), you are capable of either becoming a larger-than-life force in your creative field or gain a passionate cult following that is convinced you're terribly underrated (even though you're quite popular) and no one gets your work like they do. In the midst of it all, your sense of fun and humor remain, never taking yourself too seriously. You shine bright by being funny, colorful, a little bit extra and uncensored. Blunt, on-the-edge statements that others would be crucified for are mostly seen as entertaining and refreshing coming from you.

SATURN IN THE 5TH and/or CAPRICORN ON THE 5TH HOUSE CUSP

This is definitely the girlboss position, even for the boys with this placement, lol, because you know how to be in-charge in a way that others find exciting and engaging. Like, "Yes, I want to get that bread, too!" But, few people can actually match your work ethic or authority, which could stem from a father figure who you worship and adore and make you a very commanding figure. It's funny but the more intimidating you are, the more you shine. Or should I say the brighter you shine, the more that light intimidates others? Most of you with this placement embrace it, seeing the perks of being feared. Popular people often are! You might not get the credit for your actual talent that you deserve, especially if you're an artist. People may think your greatness is a matter of image or focus more on how you hustled to the top. It may not be until you're a bit older that people start seeing your actual substance.

URANUS IN THE 5TH and/or AQUARIUS ON THE 5TH HOUSE CUSP

You are most charismatic or entertaining when you're not trying to be. The nerdy, weird, or chaotic parts of yourself that you may cringe at or think nothing of are actually what gain you the most praise. You might be like that celebrity who acts like they're not famous or doesn't understand why they are. But, as time goes on, you learn to just go with it! Similar to Jupiter/Sagittarius in the 5th, your creative talents can be truly iconic. But, there's like an "artistic genius" or "young prodigy" vibe here. You might completely stumble into a skill and shock everyone, especially yourself, with what a natural you are. You also shine by defying certain gender roles, impressing others as a sensitive or beauty-loving guy or a tomboyish or aggressive lady.

NEPTUNE IN THE 5TH and/or PISCES ON THE 5TH HOUSE CUSP

Your star power stems from the entire worlds and dimensions you can create. Obviously, this is a particularly artsy, imaginative placement. But, a role as a fantasy/sci-fi writer, especially, could lead to lots of praise. Few would excel at intricate world-building or provide glorious escapism like you. Whatever you do creatively, your special magic shines through. A chameleon type presence is also evident, like the type of actor who can easily "disappear" into roles. Even in regular life, people are most entertained by your disappearing acts. You might be very quiet and internal, even in a room full of people, intriguingly fading into the background. Or you could just be evasive, like a spirit that quickly vanishes and whose absence haunts you. Regardless, it's your softness, your mystery, your fantasy life that enthralls people. Bonus points if you have a particular alter ego you constantly assume.

PLUTO IN THE 5TH and/or SCORPIO ON THE 5TH HOUSE CUSP

You entertain folks best when your highs and lows are on full display. People want to see the drama with you, the "sturm und drang", the tears and the ecstasy. A creative outlet is actually quite recommended for most of you with this influence. Those emotional extremes you're capable of draw your audience in the most, whether it's through introspective poetry or soul-baring music or the kind of raw character work that is worthy of Best Actor or Actress. The deeper you go, the more you shine. And while that may be scary, you embrace that fear and enjoy conquering it. But, there are limits to this intimacy, as you can be equally guarded in a way that ironically gains you more fans. It's that "leave them wanting more" star quality, a kind of Greta Garbo mystique. Even when you tell people you want to be alone, it doesn't stop them from trying harder to get into your business. The dilemma of such a private star!

CHIRON IN THE 5TH and/or VIRGO ON THE 5TH HOUSE CUSP

Feeling particularly neurotic? Like you're not good enough and like you have no clue how to do what you're supposedly talented at? This is the struggle of many creatives. But, for you, this insecurity is actually the essence of your star quality. You are the underdog that everyone roots for. Your fans might find it especially endearing or rather heartbreaking that you don't see your greatness. But, it creates this narrative around you where others want to invest in your endless journey to prove yourself. One secret you may keep, even from yourself, is that a part of you knows you're good. But, you're afraid to admit it because you think it'll jinx you. Or you think you have to squash any potential ego and remain impeccably humble. Allow yourself the occasional private "I'm feeling myself" moment. No one else will know!

Thank you for attending my Hype Session. Keep shining, babes.

#astrology #astro notes #the 5th house #5th house in astrology #sun in the 5th house #moon in the 5th house #mercury in the 5th house #venus in the 5th house #mars in the 5th house #jupiter in the 5th house #saturn in the 5th house #uranus in the 5th house #neptune in the 5th house #pluto in the 5th house #chiron in the 5th house #star power #star quality

[donatellawritings]

What about instead of rage giving the reader the silent treatment let’s switch the roles and instead the reader gives rage the silent treatmentt plsss

you were being a chatty little princess. you couldn’t help how excited and giddy you were today — the sun was shining bright, the sky a pretty baby blue, the air smelled fresh and sweet, everything just seemed to have been going picture perfect for you. so, when rafe brought you along with him to the country club to catch up with kelce and topper, you were all smiles, to the point where your cherub cheeks and glossy lips ached from being so stretched. you sat prettily on rafe’s lap, even more bubbly than usual thanks to the pomegranate martini you’d been sipping on.

rafe’s hand mindlessly tapped against the side of your thigh as he spoke to topper about this new boat that he’d been eyeing, causing your doe eyes to widen as your lips parted, “oh my god, topper it’s so pretty and i told rafe that he should-” you cut in, oblivious to this being your fourth time interrupting rafe while he spoke to the guys. it wasn’t until rafe had finally corrected you that you realized your silly mistake.

“hey, y’gonna let me finish talkin’ to top, or are y’gonna keep on interrupting me?” rafe scolded, his voice cold and stern as he lightly grabbed your jaw, his bright blue eyes hanging low as he sent you a chilling warning look. a soft exhale left your nose as your eyes glazed over with threatening tears, with an obedient nod. now returning his attention to topper, rafe cleared his throat before continuing, “so, yeah m’probably gonna have it by next week — just waiting on my guy to have it all dolled up for me,” rafe sighed, ignoring the slight pang in his chest as you fiddled with your fingers and kept your gaze trained on your feet.

he could tell that you were trying your very best, not to cry.

you remained silent for the remainder of the day, only allowing yourself to extend a forced courteous smile to topper and kelce, once rafe decided it was time to go home. he didn’t miss the way you simply nodded or shook your head whenever the server asked you a question, or how you quickly wiped your eyes before a stream of tears could flow door your cheeks. could rafe do without your constant interjections? yes, but he had to admit that the conversation just wasn’t as engaging without your light and airy commentary.

so, rafe decided that he’d play all of your favorite songs, once you were comfortably seated in your passenger seat with your seatbelt fastened, his pink lips running dry as you remained blank of any emotion. reaching over the center console, rafe laying his hand right above your knee, squeezing the plush skin of your thigh, to get you to look at him, “hey, mama — y’doing okay?” he questions, quickly glancing over to you as you wordlessly nodded, your dolly eyes fluttering closed as rafe sighed in defeat, before bringing his hand back to the steering wheel. he had to admit that watching you leaning your head against the window to fall asleep, instead of his shoulder, stung him a little.

what gnawed at rafe the most, was that you weren’t being quiet as a punishment, you genuinely believed that rafe wanted you to stop talking, to the point where even he couldn’t get you to say a word to him. it’d been about four hours and he missed hearing you, he missed the way his name fell off of your tongue, the way your accent peaked with certain words, how you’d console him in spanish, but mostly, he missed hearing you call him ‘papi’.

it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, thanks to the two cocktails you’d drank earlier, leaving rafe overtly excited to take the chance to get you in his arms, the moment he parked his car, rushing to the passenger side as he scooped you into his arms, his forearm resting underneath the soft curve of your ass, while his free hand gently slid over your waist. a low whine left your swollen lips as you kept your head leaned against rafe’s shoulder, sighing sleepily as you allowed your boyfriend to carry you inside of tannyhill.

pressing a kiss to your cheek, rafe was quick to take a seat on the couch with you on his lap, he needed this silence to end, before he flipped the fuck out, “i don’t like that y’not talking to me, mama — m’about to lose my mind, not hearing my pretty girl,” rafe coos sweetly into your ear, pressing another kiss to your cheek as you sigh, leaning your head closer into his shoulder. “y’not in trouble, baby, i just wanted to finish talking to topper and i know you’re excited about the boat,” rafe squeezed your waist, beckoning for you to look at him — he needed to make sure that you knew that he still saw you as his sweet girl.

compliantly, you lifted your head, your sleepy doe eyes bright as met rafe’s unwavering gaze, a small huff leaving you as you parted your now barely-glossed lips, “i just didn’t want to annoy you, papi —” you began, rafe’s eyes softening as your sweet voice ran like warm honey in his ears. you innocently shifted yourself on his lap, your swollen lips just aching to be kissed by rafe’s, “i know i was just being too excited,” you sighed, ending your small ramble as rafe simply stared at you blankly, licking over his lips as he shamelessly ogled yours.

the second you cocked your head to the side in confusion, rafe’s mouth was on yours, enveloping you in a disgustingly sloppy, but needy kiss. a throaty moan left rafe’s throat as his hand slid up to the back of your neck, securely holding your face against his as he messily licked into your mouth, spit smearing across your chin as you struggled to catch your breath, “papi, wait — i can’t breathe,” you giggled, your words instantly swallowed by rafe’s mouth as his tongue mushed slush against yours, the two of you whimpering with greed as rafe leaned forward, with you still clinging onto his lap, his shiny, spit-covered lips trailing down to your prettily pushed-up breasts.

“missed hearing y’fuckin’ voice, mama,” rafe mumbled, his voice broken and hoarse as you smiled cheesily, beaming with the fact that rafe missed you.

#anon #asks #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #obx imagine #obx #sweetheart!reader

[undressrehearsal]

dare to fuck this up

summary: ever since your last game of truth or dare ellie's been avoiding you and it's time for an intervention

tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs and alcohol (not used), oral (e receiving), fingering (r receiving), finger riding (r receiving), little bit of angst, afab reader, the knee thing

a/n: this took me 2 months cause i work full time and it's 10k words so. enjoy (thank u for all the love on part 1! <3) also for anyone who doesn't know the tiktok dance i mentioned i linked it. don't look under the sound you'll spend way too long watching hot women dance

part 1

You hadn't talked about it. 

You had woken up the next morning, the sun blinding you from the window that was still left open. A cold autumn breeze ruffled your curtains, pricking at your bare skin. With one foot still in a dream, you'd groaned, turning over and pulling your blanket over your head. You had burrowed your head into your pillow - it still smelled earthy, rich with cologne and the faintest smell of weed. It had made your nose wrinkle only briefly, before you had reached out, searching for the warmth of another body - but your fingers only landed on the sheets, now cool to the touch. 

You sat up with a gasp, the blanket pooling around your lap. But you had fallen asleep on top of your blankets, hadn't you? 

The comforter was laid neatly over you, the pillows on the other side of the bed propped against your headboard, unbothered. The sun was streaming through the window, filtering through your curtains and shining in splatters of light against your own bare skin. Your small room was deafeningly quiet. 

That had been three weeks ago. 

For three weeks, Ellie avoided you. You hadn't seen her when you left to take your exam that morning. By the time you got home - after classes and after your part-time job - it was dark. The door to her bedroom was firmly shut, the muffled sound of music leaking into the living room - you wanted to smile when you realized she was listening to that song you had recommended. You thought about knocking on her door; not even to talk about what happened, really, but just because she was your best friend. Instead, you ate leftover takeout - cold because you were too tired to microwave it - and went to bed. You could hear her quietly singing to the music through your flimsy wall, falling asleep listening to her voice. 

At first, you honestly thought you had dreamed it. You thought maybe you had fallen asleep, sleep deprivation and vodka drawing out this fantasy in your dreams to torment you when you woke. But when you looked in the mirror, the bruises were still there. You ran your fingertips across the one on your collarbone, pressing at the one left behind your ear; you could still feel the warmth of Ellie's mouth against your skin, her teeth grazing across your hips. The phantom feeling still sent a shiver down your spine, heat creeping in your stomach. 

Ellie was trying her best to avoid you, but she still lived with you. After three days of not speaking, you resorted to a different approach. She didn't seem to have any plan to speak with you anytime soon - certainly not about what happened - so you let your body do the talking. You began wearing primarily v-necks and tank tops - ignoring the fact that it was still fall - simply to broadcast the line of lovebites she had left, her signature written all over your skin. They had faded slightly, but the purplish bruises still blossomed along your collar. You began wearing shorts around, short enough to show the bruise on your thigh; you let the fabric sit low enough to show the one at your hip, a pretty blend of colors that made you ache. The few times you did see her - when she was scavenging for food in the kitchen or right when she got home, before she could scurry away back to her room - you could feel her eyes lingering on you, gaze like a brand against your skin, burning all the spots she had marked. 

And she would hurry back to her room, locking the door behind her. 

Fine. 

If she refused to talk about it, you thought, you'd just have to make her. 

Which is why, three weeks after your original game - three weeks after that stupid fucking night - you bought a new bottle of vodka (by the time you had found the old one, it had spilled the last of its contents into your rug. Your room still smelled of it). When you got home, Ellie’s door was shut, just as it had been every day for three weeks. You kicked off your boots, leaving them in a pile in the hall, and knocked on her door.

“Sorry, I’m busy,” she called - just as she had every day for three weeks. 

You pursed your lips and knocked again, harder. 

“I’m busy!” she called again, her voice hard. It might have stung if you didn’t know her so well.

So, you knocked again. And kept knocking, a steady, continuous rhythm that echoed against the walls. You heard Ellie curse under her breath, could hear the scrape of her chair and her footsteps, and you kept knocking. You didn’t stop - didn’t even slow - until she opened the door in a huff, your hand falling against open air. 

“What the hell are you-” 

You shoved the bottle of vodka against her chest, cutting her off. She gripped it hastily before it could shatter against the floor. 

She looked frazzled. You had seen her during several exam seasons, during harrowing projects and infuriating essays. You had seen her in the hospital, two years ago, after breaking her leg skateboarding to work. But there was something in the way her hair was disheveled, sticking up at odd angles as though she had been running her fingers through it over and over and over again. There were bags under her eyes, purplish splotches like watercolor. 

And her eyes…. Her eyes were completely shattered. 

So you hesitated - briefly, just long enough for her to see the stutter on your lips - before you said, “Truth or dare?”

And the game began. 

Ellie looked at you, staring for several moments that stretched into infinity. You wanted to grasp it, to wrap your fingers around that stretched thread of a moment and hold it there where it couldn't hurt either of you. You weren't ready to let it go. But Ellie was looking at you with those broken eyes, and before you could say or do anything - before you caved and took the bottle back, fleeing back to the safety of your own room - the thread snapped. 

Ellie shook her head - and kept shaking it, as if doing so would rid her of this… whatever this was. “No,” she murmured, avoiding your eyes as her grip around the bottle’s neck tightened. “No, I’m not doing this. I’m busy, okay? I have an exam tomorrow-”

She moved to close the door - shutting it right in your face - but you kicked your foot out to stop it. 

“When somebody asks the question,” you said, reciting the stupid little agreement you both had written out two years ago, the night you established this tradition, “you have to play the game to its conclusion; when you run out of questions or pass out from alcohol poisoning. Those are the rules, El. Remember?” 

And still, she just looked at you, her brow furrowed like you were an equation she couldn’t solve - couldn’t even read, really. Her knuckles were white around the bottle’s neck, and when you looked down, her hands were shaking. You wanted more than anything to put your hands over hers, to still them - to bring those hands to your lips and kiss the white knuckles until she released her fists. Instead, you dug your nails into your thighs. 

You watched as Ellie took a deep, steadying breath, clenching her fists tighter before releasing the tension, her fingers relaxing around the bottle; her hands stopped trembling. She smiled at you, but it was tight, her eyes empty of their usual mischief. “Alright,” she said, and her voice was just as tight as her fists had been moments ago - the tension not gone, only transferred. “Okay, I’ll play. But you only get an hour - I really do need to study.” 

Ellie’s bedroom was the same layout as yours, only flipped, the two a mirror of each other. Strings of lights hung crookedly along the walls, the bulbs casting a soft, warm glow amongst the room, the same hazy hue of a dream. An easel leaned in one corner, a canvas propped against it; there were only the barest scribbles of an outline, incomprehensible to you. You thought it may be a profile, the gentle slope of a nose and soft lips sketched in pencil, but you weren’t sure. 

You ran your fingers over her desk as you passed; it was in absolute disarray. Two different astronomy textbooks lay open, covered in highlighter markings and Ellie’s sloping writing in the margins. There were three different cups on the surface in varying levels of full: a mug half full of coffee, still steaming; a glass of water that was completely full, untouched; and a cup filled with murky, grey liquid. A few paintbrushes had been left to sit in that one, and in large writing along the cup was written PAINT DO NOT DRINK. You almost laughed, remembering all the times you had watched your roommate spit water out after she had picked up the wrong cup. 

It felt strange when you sat gingerly on her bed. You had sat in this spot so many times before, more than you could count. You had spent so much time lounging on this bed, your laptop open in front of you while Ellie worked at her desk - on homework or her latest painting or nothing at all. There were days laid out before you where you both at lain in a crumbled heap, eating takeout on top of the covers because Ellie didn't give a shit about crumbs, an open laptop playing whatever horror movie she wanted to show you (she was always more scared than you, hiding her face in your shoulder). God knows how many truth or dare games you had played in this room, a bottle of alcohol passing between shaking fingers. When Ellie bought it, it was cheap whiskey and you hated it; you drank it anyway. 

Now, sitting on her bed - carefully, as though you thought it might break - your skin felt aflame, a fire burning in your muscles. When you ran your fingers over the messy sheets, you could only remember how it had felt to have your fingers clutching the ones on your own bed. 

Ellie sat at her desk across from you, folding herself so that she had one foot propped up on the chair with her, her knee folded to her chest; her other foot tapped anxiously against the floor. She was looking at you, her face strategically neutral, but it was like she was looking through you; her eyes kept shifting away, unable or unwilling to settle on you. Her voice gave nothing away when she said, looking at a spot above your shoulder, “Dare.” 

You sighed, feeling the questions wanting to claw their way from your throat with nowhere to go. You knew what you wanted her to do - what you wanted to dare her to do - but the words would only cause her to withdraw further. You felt like you had to approach Ellie as if she were a scared animal, ready to flee at the first sight of danger. 

Wracking your brain for something mild, you said, “Try to recreate one of those dumb popular TikTok dances.” 

You didn't miss how Ellie's shoulders relaxed, her hands noticeably unclenching. She looked at you and it was almost like nothing had happened; like she hadn’t been avoiding you for three entire weeks, becoming a ghost in your apartment. Like you both hadn’t made what had obviously been a drunken mistake. 

The beginning of a smirk tugged at her lips as she dug in her back pocket for her phone - its case had an astronaut on it, because of course it did. The screen illuminated her face, flashes reflecting minutely in her eyes as she scrolled. She bit her lip absently - she often did when she was thinking. You tried not to stare and failed miserably. 

“This’ll be easy,” she muttered to herself, half laughing. She scrolled through a few videos, and she had the volume down on her phone, but you could still recognize the song that kept playing on repeat; you were going to fucking die. 

There were several minutes of quiet, only the music playing from Ellie’s phone. With nothing to do but wait, you brought your legs up onto the bed, tucking them under you; your eyes wandered around the room, taking in the stack of paintings by her desk, both finished and unfinished. The figurine she had of Kassandra from Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey had toppled on her desk, her spear falling in a glob of paint, the tip smudged bright yellow. You investigated the posters she had hung up of her favorite bands - almost all of them with female singers; she had a very specific taste. On her nightstand, in a frame made of macaroni, there was a picture of her and her dad, taken at the zoo when she was quite a bit younger, the blurry image of a giraffe in the background. She was holding up a peace sign, smiling so wide her eyes were practically shut. 

You turned back when Ellie stood up from her chair, placing her phone on her desk. Shoving her hands in her hair, she said, “Can’t promise this’ll be anything amazing, but you get what you paid for.” Even as she said it, she was smirking, a dangerous twinkle in her eye. 

You watched as she rummaged in her closet, shoving aside probably half a dozen flannels and at least 10 different band t-shirts. She rummaged through a bucket with a few beanies in different colors, and you couldn’t see her face, but you already knew she would be wrinkling her nose like she always did when she was getting frustrated. 

You jumped, startled, when she suddenly exclaimed, pulling her head from her closet and turning to you with a triumphant grin. She held a black belt in her fist, holding it up like a trophy. 

You shook your head at her, even as your throat closed up with anticipation. “If it took you that long to find one, it’s no wonder your pants are always hanging from your fucking ass.” 

“Hey,” she said, picking up her phone again and looking at you with mock offense; she was still smirking. “I don’t exactly hear you complaining when my ass is out.” 

You heard the stutter, heard the way her breath caught after she said the words. It was so stupid - a stupid little remark that she would have made any other day three weeks ago. She wouldn’t have even thought about it, wouldn’t have batted an eye. You would have rolled your eyes and said something mean in response - something like, “I save my complaints for when I see your face instead.” You would have laughed and then watched a fucking movie or something. 

Instead, Ellie only coughed awkwardly, ducking her head to fiddle with her phone. In the dim light, you could see the flush of her cheeks behind her bangs. You looked anywhere but at her, your eyes darting around to find something to focus on that wasn’t how pretty she looked when she was flushed pink - how pretty she looked with her cheeks red from alcohol and exertion, her lips shining wetly - 

Your brain short-circuited when Ellie started the music - only the bite-sized sample that was trending on TikTok. She set her phone on her desk and took a deep breath, waiting for the song to loop again as she positioned the belt by her hips. She didn’t look at you, instead casting her eyes to the ceiling and muttering, “This is gonna be so stupid.” 

When the music looped again, you were forced to watch as Ellie thrust her hips to the beat, pulling the belt slowly away from her hips. When she brought it up to wrap the piece of leather around her neck, pulling it taut, you were surely convinced you must be paying for some sort of crime, that this was your eternal torture. Her movements were janky, stuttering and unsure and off-beat - she had only watched the videos for a few minutes and was relying solely on memory to guide her limbs. When she tried to tie her wrists into the belt, she got stuck, her hands ending up in a knotted mess. Still, her eyes met yours when she raised her bound hands above her head - coincidentally or purposefully - and you couldn’t look away. 

This was definitely Hell. It had to be. 

When the song started to loop again, Ellie hastily tried to pull her hands from the knot. The belt clattered to the floor, abandoned, as she scooped her phone up, fumbling with the buttons to cut off the music. She nearly dropped her phone in her haste. 

When the room was silent again, Ellie sat back down at her desk. Last time you had played, you had asked her to do something ridiculous for her first dare, and she had grinned with pride, practically preening. Now, she wasn't smiling; she hardly even looked at you, fiddling with one of the many paintbrushes on her desk. You compartmentalized the image of her thrusting her hips with her hands bound over her head, saving it for later. You always did torture yourself with these things. 

Ellie was looking at that same spot over your shoulder when she said, “Truth or dare?” She sounded pained, her words strained against some invisible weight. It was like your very presence in her room - on her bed - pained her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave and give her relief. 

“Truth,” you said, hoping against hope that she would ask you fucking anything about that night three weeks ago. 

But she had never been that easy. Ellie had never been one to give you straight answers and she wasn’t about to start now - especially not now. So instead of saying anything - asking anything - about that night that she seemed keen on forgetting, she asked, “What’s the worst first date you’ve been on?” Before you could protest that you always told her about your worst dates, she added, “One I haven’t heard before.” 

So for the span of one question, you let yourself believe that you were still talking to your best friend. That she hadn’t been avoiding you for three fucking weeks and this was only your typical truth or dare game in between studying. You believed that you were simply gossiping with Ellie, who had been your best friend for several years and nothing more. In the space of one question, you let yourself believe that this was still only a game and not an intervention. 

So, in the spirit of pretend, you thought for a moment, rifling through the index of all the shitty dates you’ve been on. Ellie had already heard most of them, had been there whenever you came back home; she was there whether you were heartbroken or relieved that you wouldn’t see the person again. There were a few times where you had come home laughing, and she had passed you a joint as you told her all about the horrible date - you would take twice as long to tell the story because you couldn’t stop laughing. 

Finally, you said, “Okay, this was before we came to college. We weren’t close enough friends in high school for me to tell you, so I don’t think you’ve heard this one before. Stop me if I’m wrong.” She waved her hand for you to continue, twirling a pencil between her fingers. “I had just graduated high school so I was dating around before I left for college - nothing serious, just casually looking around.” 

“Window shopping,” she interrupted you with a grin - that same easy grin she always had with you. Your heart tugged embarrassingly at seeing it again. 

You swallowed the lump and continued, “Yeah. So, I went on a date with this guy - he was some friend of a friend’s, I didn’t know much about him. We went out to dinner at some local dive bar - which was already fucking weird because, like I said, I had just graduated high school.” 

“Was this guy a fucking cradle robber?” Ellie said, wrinkling her nose. 

You shook your head. “He may as well have been. He was either 21 or he was just really good friends with the bartender because as soon as he came in, he got two beers - the cheap shit, too. It tasted like musty ass.” Your stomach twisted when she laughed. “So we sit at a booth and I finally get a second to really look at him.” You leaned forward, bracing your hand on the bed so you wouldn’t fall, and made sure she was looking right at you when you said, “And this motherfucker was wearing a shirt that said Black Rifles Matter.” 

You reveled in the way Ellie’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening. Her lip turned up in disgust, and the only thing she could say was, “No.” 

You grinned, nodding, and you had to focus really hard to not start laughing. “Yes. And I rolled up to this dive bar, fresh out of the womb, with bright pink hair freshly dyed and a crop top that literally said Femme on it in bright pink letters - which, okay, maybe not the choice to wear on a first date with a straight guy, but still. I was in this booth with a baby face looking every bit as queer as I am, and this fucking dude with a patchy mustache and a shirt that has more problems than I care to admit opens up by telling me he doesn’t like when girls dye their hair.” 

Ellie was rolling her eyes, on the edge of her seat. She leaned closer as you continued, “But fine, whatever, everybody has preferences I guess. But this guy gets three beers in, and he’s already been talking about weird shit - conspiracy theories and telling me how kids today are too soft - one of those fucking guys, right? But then he stops,” you hold up your hands for emphasis, leaning even closer, “and he leans into me over the table, and he looks me straight in the eye - you wanna know what he said?” 

Ellie groaned. “Tell me he didn’t ask who you voted for or some shit.” 

You barked out a laugh; it echoed on the walls. “God, I wish. No, this bitch looks me dead in the eyes, his breath reeking of bad beer, and he says, ‘Are you on your period? I have this weird talent for smelling when girls are on their period.’” 

You watched, delighted, as Ellie slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a choked gasp. “No!” 

You couldn’t stop laughing, pressing your hand to your stomach as you fell back against the sheets. Her laugh filled the room like helium, making everything feel lighter - easier. Even now, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was being around Ellie. And for a moment, you did forget what had happened. You forgot about the string pulled taut between you waiting to snap. You forgot that this was anything more than simply another dumb game of truth or dare.

Until you looked up and saw the press of Ellie’s lips again, the way her eyes darted away, and you could feel yourself sinking again. 

And that’s how the hour went. Ellie - infuriating Ellie - did every single dare you asked of her. She did a handstand for a minute straight, her face turning so red you thought she might pass out. She called the local pizza place you often ordered from and asked for one hundred sardine pizzas, laughing when the poor teenage boy on the other line started stuttering. Last time, she didn’t take all the liquid in the fridge and make a nauseating cocktail; but this time, she did go and find four different liquids of her choosing - apple juice, almond milk, an old flat Dr. Pepper, and the remaining vinegar in a Kimchi jar - and downed it in front of you. She tried her hardest to hold a straight face, but only ended up scrunching her eyes closed, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle a gag. She never chose truth. 

For your part, you never chose dare. You answered every pressing, embarrassing question she asked, ignoring the flush to your cheeks. You told her the most absurd dealbreaker for a relationship. (“What do you mean you’ll break up with someone if they don’t like garlic?” Ellie asked, smiling even as she shook her head.”) You went through the original Wiggles band and said which you would fuck, marry, or kill (“There are four of them! Do I choose to have a threesome?”) 

And you waited. Each time you chose truth, you held your breath. You watched Ellie mull it over, her eyes darting around as she thought, and prayed that she would just ask you something. You knew it was an unrealistic wish, but you still watched her lips and hoped against hope that she would give you some kind of acknowledgement that this wasn’t all for nothing. You just wanted her to stop being such a pussy and fucking talk about what happened. 

But the clock kept ticking. 

After about an hour had passed, Ellie looked at her phone and sighed, standing up. “Okay, I really have to get back to studying. I have this dumb astrophysics exam tomorrow and I can’t wrap my fucking head around this shit, so I have to -”

“One more,” you cut her off, standing up from the bed. You followed her as she walked to the door, one step behind her when she put a hand on the doorknob. She paused, her hand frozen there as she looked at you - actually looked at you, not through you. It was only a moment, but it was there; you could feel the way her eyes had branded your skin even after she’d looked away. Your voice was rushed, breathless when you added, “We haven’t even opened the bottle, so what’s one more? Just for fun.” 

Ellie looked behind you, back at the vodka bottle on her desk with the seal still intact. She sighed, but she never could say no to you. 

“Fine,” she said, and her voice was so quiet in the dark room; the word felt like a secret between you, soft against the tension stretched thin. “One more.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. You tried to sound casual - you really did - but when you spoke, you found you couldn’t speak any louder than a whisper, afraid to disturb the air around you. You ducked your head, trying to meet her eyes when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?” 

She looked at you, meeting your eyes, and she seemed to deflate, sighing out a breath that ruffled your hair - you hadn’t realized how close you were. Her breath smelled of canned ravioli and weed; it was almost enough to make you laugh. 

Ellie took a step back, clearing her throat, and answered for one last time, “Dare.” Because she was too afraid of the fucking truth. 

And fuck it if your heart didn’t stutter in your chest. You felt your fingertips buzzing, your stomach twisting nauseatingly. You felt like you were going to be sick, but you forced yourself to look up at her. You squared your shoulders, feeling like you were preparing for fucking battle, and said, the words familiar on your tongue, “Kiss me.” 

A moment of silence passed, the words suspended between you. They were tangible, and part of you still wanted to snatch them back - to swallow them and leave, to pretend this never happened - but you didn’t. You held them out to Ellie - you weren’t sure if they were a threat or an offering. 

Ellie didn’t recoil, and you weren’t sure if that was more insulting. She looked at you for a long moment before turning away, shaking her head and turning the doorknob. “I really need to study, okay? I don’t have time for thi-” 

You put your hand against the door, holding it there so she couldn’t open it. Your stomach was a mess, tying itself into knots that you would never be able to undo. And you knew - you were far too aware - that this could ruin everything. It could drive her further away, pushing her further into this little cocoon she was hiding in. Ellie might hate you for it. 

But this was too important to ignore. 

“Kiss me, Ellie,” you said again, and you could feel the bite of it on your own tongue. When you had said it three weeks ago, you had been so unsure. It had been a rush of words on a breath, tinged with alcohol and desperation. The words had been so careless, a sober idea that had made its way from your drunken mouth. 

Now, Ellie was the one who couldn’t look at you. She stared at the spot where your hand pressed to the door, willing you to let go. Her knuckles were white around the doorknob. Her voice was a rumble that you felt in your chest when she said, “I need you to leave. Please.” That last word - please - made your heart break. 

You swallowed around the lump in your throat and said, “No.” 

Ellie finally turned her whole body towards you, but she was wearing a mask; she had schooled her face into a mockery of nonchalance, her eyebrows raised expectantly as she watched you. She crossed her arms, leaning against her hip, and watched you with measured expectancy, shaking her head. She shrugged and said, “What do you want? I really need to study.” 

And it was the lack of care that broke you. 

You slapped your hand against the door in frustration, feeling the sting in your palm, disappointed when Ellie didn’t so much as jump. You shook your head at her, and you were so fucking angry you could feel tears stinging at your eyes. You blinked them away and snapped, “What’s your fucking problem?” 

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth opening in indignant shock. “What’s my problem?” 

“Yeah,” you cut her off before she could even continue. “What’s your fucking problem? You know what happened - what we did - but ever since that night you have been so determined to act like it never happened. You haven’t even talked to me in three fucking week, Ellie!” She closed her eyes when your voice broke on her name. “You’ve hardly looked at me all night. And look,” you sniffled, feeling some of the fire in you die down, “if you regret it - if you want to act like it never happened and go back to how things were before, I get it, okay? But can you at least have the balls to fucking tell me?” 

Your voice echoed off the silent walls, filling the space between you until you couldn’t breathe. You wiped a hand roughly over your face; your cheeks burned and you hated yourself for it. The room was so quiet you feared Ellie could hear the sound of your racing heart. 

It felt like hours before Ellie spoke; her voice was so heartbreakingly quiet, tip toeing on eggshells that were already broken. “I don’t regret it.” 

You huffed out a breath, shaking your head as she still wouldn’t meet your eyes. She couldn’t even look at you. When you took a step closer, you could feel the heat radiating off of her body, could feel the warmth in your chest. Your voice had lost its fire, your throat cold and raw and broken. You could only murmur, “Then kiss me again, Els. What are you so afraid of?” 

“You,” she snapped. You jumped, taking a step back; your heart lurched when she finally looked at you. Those shattered eyes were watching you, so open and vulnerable you wanted to look away. You forced yourself to watch, to bear witness to it when she shook her head, blinking tears from her eyes. Ellie pressed her lips together, blinking several times before releasing her held breath. She held your gaze like it was a lifeline and said, “I’m scared of you.” 

And just for a moment - so filled with silence it might pop - you saw it. You saw how Ellie had run from you like an injured animal, hiding away. You saw the way her hands shook around her biceps. You saw the way she bit her lip to keep it from quivering. 

You shook your head, feeling so incredibly small underneath those eyes that had avoided you all night; now they were vividly, overwhelmingly focused, broken in the hazy light and so green it was dizzying (and you couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol this time). You didn’t recognize your own voice, so small and vulnerable that the words themselves ached: “How can I fix this, Els? You want me to-” You huffed out a heavy breath, choking on your own voice. “Do you want me to act like it didn’t happen? Do you want me to leave you alone? I’ll do whatever you want, Ellie, I just… fuck. I just want my best friend back. So just… tell me what I did wrong.” 

You jumped when Ellie barked out a laugh, so dry it cracked. It may have been a trick of the light, the soft string lights making everything feel unreal, but when she looked at you again, she went impossibly soft. 

“You,” she said, so softly it ached, “haven't done anything wrong.” She sighed, leaning back against the wall; it was like all the fight suddenly drained from her, her shoulders sagging against the weight of three weeks. She looked away, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks, and said, quiet as a confession, “You were drunk.” 

You furrowed your brow, shaking your head. “What?” 

Ellie ran a hand through her hair, making it even more disheveled. Pathetically, you wanted to fix it; you knew how soft the strands would be under your fingers. 

“You were drunk,” she repeated, as though it pained her; as though it explained everything. Her voice broke, the shattered pieces falling at your feet. “And I…. Fuck, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I shouldn’t have… forced myself on you.” She heaved in a shaky breath, her words tumbling from her, broken glass cutting her throat, leaving it raw. “I couldn’t even… wait for you to wake up after. I just fucking ran - I couldn’t even look at you, and that’s even shittier! And for three weeks, I’ve been trying to figure out how to fucking talk to you when I know that we - that I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Ellie pressed her hand to her mouth, taking in a shaking breath - her entire body was trembling as she fought to hold it all in. She looked ready to burst, struggling to take in a deep breath. You reached out to grab her hand - to hold her together - but she flinched away. 

“I don’t-” you started, unable to find the words. You watched your best friend dissolve, and you couldn’t seem to fit all her pieces back together. “Ellie… Els, are you saying you’re avoiding me because - because you thought you took advantage of me.” The words tasted ridiculous on your tongue, a foreign object.

Ellie was shaking her head wildly, her hands balled into fists. “You were drunk!” she repeated, like a mantra. She pressed a hand to her chest as though to keep everything in. “You were drunk, and you kept telling me no, and I just… pushed. I pushed and I didn’t know when to stop and, fuck, I still can’t believe I did that and I didn’t even have the fucking balls to face you or even tell you I’m sorry, and-” 

“Ellie.” You reached out and grabbed her wrist, cutting off her rambling; she flinched again but didn’t pull away. She looked up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable and so impossibly green. “For one, do I need to remind you we were both drunk. And that I was the one who told you to kiss me?”

She watched you carefully, guarded; her bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss it again more than anything. She took in a deep, shaky breath, ignoring the tears running down her cheeks; they mixed with her freckles like watercolor. “You kept telling me to stop - to leave it alone. And I didn’t listen.” 

“Els, I told you to stop because I was scared,” you admitted in a rush. Before she could respond, you continued, “Not of you. I was scared of how badly I wanted you, okay? And that’s fucking embarrassing to admit, but I’m saying it so you know it wasn’t your fault. I was scared because… fuck.” You scrubbed a hand over your face, feeling tears on your own cheeks. “Because you’re my best friend. And I knew that, as much as I wanted it, it could fuck everything up. But I didn’t want you to stop.” 

She shook her head. Her voice was raw when she said, “You couldn’t fuck anything up. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Neither did you,” you practically shouted. “Ellie, I asked you to kiss me! Yeah, I had a few shots that night, but I knew what I was doing. You asked me how long I’ve wanted it - what did I say, Els? Tell me.” 

Ellie looked up at you, her cheeks splotchy from crying; she let you slip your hand into hers anyway. “A long fucking time.” It was no more than a whisper. 

“Yeah,” you said, gripping her hand to keep her grounded. “Not just when I was drunk. Not just when it was late. And definitely not just when you wanted it too. I’ve wanted you for a long fucking time, Els.” 

Ellie watched you, studying you like you were an equation she couldn’t figure out (she really needed to study for that astrophysics exam). She pursed her lips, nodding slowly, rubbing roughly at her damp cheeks. “Yeah.” Her voice broke again; she cleared her throat. “Yeah. Me too.” 

You took a step towards her; her body was so warm it was dizzying. You could hear her breath catch when you reached up and pressed your palm to her cheek. 

“What do we do now?” 

When she sighed, you could feel it on your lips. You felt the warmth of her hand at your waist, a steady anchor. “Like you said,” she murmured, her gaze soft; she reached up to brush your hair from your face, her fingers grazing the side of your neck. “This could fuck everything up.” 

Your heart lurched; you swallowed it back down so it could throw a fit right next to your twisted stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered, afraid to break the spell that made Ellie’s eyes watch the way your lips moved, captivated. “But….” 

“But,” Ellie repeated, leaning in so her nose brushed against yours; it was cold against your skin. 

You hardly had to move to kiss her, tilting your chin up to finally kiss that pouty bottom lip you had been staring at. You heard her breath catch again, her fingers pressing at your waist, drawing you closer so the warmth of her pressed against you. After three fucking weeks, you hadn’t forgotten how her lips felt against yours. It was just as intoxicating as it had been the first time; you were dizzy with the way she moved her mouth against yours, warmth spreading through your chest. 

Ellie broke away from you, but she didn’t stray far; she pressed her forehead to yours, and you could see that her eyes were still closed, her brow furrowed. She sounded impossibly small when she said, “Are you sure about this? I mean, what-”

“Ellie,” you interrupted; you twisted your fingers into her short hair and tugged lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from her lips. “Just shut up for once, okay?” 

You hardly even heard her replied Okay before her mouth was on yours again. Last time she had kissed you, you had felt lightheaded, floating with the weight of alcohol in your veins. Each press of her hands on you had felt unreal and distant, like she was touching you in a dream. 

Tonight, the vodka bottle sat unopened and forgotten on her desk, and Ellie was pressing against you with a sharp realness that made your breath stutter in your throat. When her fingers ran along your jaw, cupping your face and tugging you closer, they were lightning against your skin. She had the welcoming warmth of a bonfire, and you were like a fucking moth drawn to her. 

Ellie took a hesitant step forward, pressing you back, moving so slowly as though she thought you’d push her away. You let her push you backwards - encouraged her, really, entwining your arms around her neck and tugging her with you. You stumbled on the last few steps, practically falling back against the wall; Ellie braced her hands on either side of you to keep herself up, laughing into your mouth. You wanted to swallow the sound, to take it into your chest where it could curl up right next to your heart. 

The wall was cold against your back, but Ellie was quick to chase it away; her warm hands ran up your back, rucking up your shirt and scratching her nails lightly over your skin until you shivered. She was so gentle with you this time, running her fingers over your skin with such careful deliberation, as though each kiss and each caress was meticulously planned out. 

It was with this painstaking consideration that she lifted your shirt, pooling it around your chest; you raised your arms so she could pull it over your head. 

Ellie snickered, snapping the strap of your bra against your skin. “This is new.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, batting her hand away. It was one of your nicer ones, and you couldn't tell her that, embarrassingly, you had worn it on purpose with the hopeless thought of just in case. “Sorry I’m not in my pajamas. I’ll be sure to fix that next time.” 

She grinned, ducking her head to press a kiss to your jaw. She hummed against your skin, “No, I like it.” 

You didn’t talk about the implication of what you had said - next time. But the way she kissed her way across your jaw, her teeth grazing over your skin and sending a shiver down your spine, promised a next time. As Ellie’s tongue darted out to lick along your pulse, you could feel the words in the breathy sigh that escaped your lips. When she ducked her head to bite at your collar, she branded the words into your skin. 

“You’re such an asshole,” she said, her laughter warm against your skin. She pressed a gentle kiss to your collarbone; the bruise had long faded, but the phantom ache was still there.  You could feel her smile when your breath hitched. “Just had these on full display. Drove me insane.” 

You huffed out a laugh that stuttered when she pressed a kiss at the edge of your bra. “I had to get your attention somehow, didn’t I?” 

Ellie lifted her head to meet your eyes. Her voice was barely above a whisper, her breath brushing your lips when she said, “You’re crazy if you think you’ve ever not had my attention.” 

When she kissed you again, it was with a new fire that burned bright in your chest. Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer so that you could feel her body against every inch of you. Her fingers dipped below the waist of your pants, pressing at the soft skin there. You felt her tongue press against your lips; when she ran it along the room of your mouth, she swallowed your moan. 

Ellie hummed against your lips, pressing you firmly into the wall and shoving a knee between your legs. You gasped at the sudden friction, heat pooling in your stomach when Ellie gripped your hips and pulled you closer, grinding against her sweatpants-covered leg. Her lips brushed against your ear and she murmured, “Tell me to stop and I'll stop.” 

She had said those same words last time, pressed drunkenly into your skin. There was an affirmation hidden somewhere underneath: Do you still want me? Before, they had been slurred, like a sloppy kiss against your lips. Now, her hands steady against your hips, her body warm from something other than vodka, it was whispered like a promise. 

You answered by pressing your hands to her chest; she didn’t fight you as you pushed her away, didn’t hesitate as you walked her backwards until the back of her knees hit her bed. She let herself fall backwards, but she wrapped her arms around your waist as she did so. You fell into a crumpled heap on top of her, knocking the air from both of your lungs, and you could feel her laughter against your neck. 

Lifting yourself up on your elbows, you glared down at her; she only answered it with a grin, lifting herself just enough to kiss you briefly. You couldn’t suppress your own smile when you said, “You’re infuriating.” 

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. She hooked her fingers in your belt loops and gave them a tug as she said, “Yeah, get used to that.” 

You kissed her again to hide your smile. You didn’t talk about the inclination of that either. 

Growing impatient, you swung your legs on either side of her, sitting up and straddling her hips. Ellie’s hands ran up your sides, captivated, as though refusing to keep her hands off you for even a moment. You idly ran your fingers over her stomach where her hoodie had risen up, the warm skin right above her sweatpants; you delighted in the way she shivered at your touch. 

“This doesn’t seem fair,” you hummed, running your hand higher up her abdomen, revealing the expanse of soft skin; if you pressed just a little bit harder, you’d be able to feel the muscles beneath. You smiled when you heard her breath stutter, chest rising just slightly to meet your touch. “You’re wearing way too many clothes.” 

Ellie - ever enthusiastic - wasted no time in sitting up just enough to tug her hoodie over her head, leaving her hair an absolute mess. She tossed it across the room; you thought you heard it knock something over, but you didn’t have a chance to look before Ellie was grabbing your hips, digging her fingers into the soft skin. You gasped when she used the leverage to pull your hips down, grinding against her. 

This time, she was the one not wearing a bra - she had been home studying all day, so you hadn’t expected otherwise - and your eyes raked over miles of fair, warm skin. You wanted to run your fingers over it and watch the shiver your touch pulled from her. You wanted to press your lips to every inch of hot skin and feel the way her body arched into you, chasing your tongue. 

But she was watching you with an intoxicating shade of anticipation in her half-lidded eyes. You realized you had been staring for a few seconds too long because she had that cocky ass grin on her stupid face. 

“Like what you see?” she teased, pulling your hips down again so you had to bite down a moan. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you mumbled. You couldn’t tell her how many times you had imagined what she would look like under your hands or how you had always wondered how far down her freckles went (you couldn’t keep yourself from running your fingers down her chest, tracing them like constellations). You couldn’t tell her how your eyes had tracked her anytime she walked around the apartment in a sports bra or, sometimes, in only a towel, your imagination running away from you. 

If you told her, she’d never let you live it down.

Instead, you let your hands drift across the small swell of her chest, feeling the way her body arched into your fingers. You had to bite back a grin when your thumb brushed over her nipple, feeling her body shudder beneath you. You wanted to record the way her breath caught in her throat to listen to over and over again. Her eyelids fluttered, her lip caught between her teeth; you knelt down to kiss her, hard and deep, smiling into it when you pinched her nipple gently and she moaned against your lips, fingers tightening around your hips. 

You needed to taste her, you realized. Your mouth watered with it. 

You bit her bottom lip between your teeth, grinning when you heard her hiss. You took a moment to kiss your way across her jaw and down her neck, open-mouthed kisses pulling sighs from her lips. You couldn’t resist sucking the skin into your mouth, feeling the way her pulse jumped under your tongue and loving the moan that rumbled in her throat, her fingers gripping your hips so tightly you were sure you'd have bruises - again. But when you pulled away and saw the red beginnings of a bruise on her pale skin, a thrill ran through you. She would have to walk around with a physical reminder of how you had made her feel. 

You loved revenge. 

But you weren’t like Ellie, who had taken her sweet time in unraveling you. You didn’t have that kind of patience - certainly not now, not tonight. You had spent far too long holding yourself back - too long averting your gaze, never letting your touch linger. You had spent so long schooling your own imagination, trying to ignore the way your heart stuttered whenever Ellie wandered too close. You had spent too many nights letting your mind wander, only feeling safe to let your imagination run when you could hide in the dark; you had spent far too many nights with your hand between your legs and the fleeting image of green eyes and that crooked fucking smile. 

So no, you didn’t have any patience left in you.

When you reached between your bodies and pressed your palm to her sweatpants, you swallowed her moan, drinking it in and feeling like you could survive on it alone. Maybe it would finally satiate your fucking thirst. 

Kissing your way down her chest, you pressed the words into her skin - “I can't fucking believe you though I didn’t want this.” - before pressing the flat of your tongue to her nipple. You could get drunk on the breathy moan that dripped from her lips, the way she arched up into you like her body ached to be closer to yours. She pressed her hips into your palm and you could feel the heat through her sweatpants. 

When you pulled back just enough to tug at her sweatpants, Ellie started laughing, breathy and hitched as she said, “Little eager, aren’t you?” Even as she said it, she was lifting her hips, pushing hastily at her pants to get them off faster. 

The fabric was damp when it dropped to the floor, pooling around her ankles. Stepping off the bed, you placed your hands on her knees, pushing them apart. You dropped to your knees and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the skin above her boxers. Her skin was hot under your tongue when you said, “Haven’t I waited long enough, Els?” 

Ellie only responded with a moan as you sunk your teeth into the soft flesh of her thigh and pressed the heel of your palm to her underwear. You grinned against her skin when she cursed, grinding down into you. You soothed the bite with your tongue and backed away to admire the red beginnings of another bruise. 

Ellie groaned, twisting her fingers in the sheets when you ground your palm into her. “Fuck, I’ve waited long enough too, right?” 

You couldn’t hold back your grin, tugging at her boxers so she would lift her hips. With her underwear around her ankles, Ellie lifted herself up on her elbows so she could look down at you. Whatever she saw - you on your knees between her legs, lips parted so your hot breath fanned over her - made her groan, another breathy curse falling from her lips. She reached down and carded her fingers through your hair, fingers soft against your temple. 

You smiled, blinking coyly up at her, and said, “Little eager, aren’t you?” before pressing the flat of your tongue to her clit. 

The moan that wracked through Ellie’s chest sent warmth spreading through your stomach, an ache pooling between your legs. You raised your eyes to watch her as you licked a slow, painstaking stripe over her slit, watching the way her mouth fell open in a choked gasp. The metallic taste of her on your tongue made your head spin; you moaned when she twisted her fingers in your hair, delicious pain stinging your scalp when she tugged. 

Ellie gasped your name like it was a promise. “Fuck - what the fuck -” Nonsensical words dripped from her lips with abandon, sweet as honey to your ears. When you ducked your head down to press your tongue inside her, a brief, hot pressure, her fingers tightened in your hair, her voice hitching when she cursed again, her words slurring together. 

You wrapped one arm around her thigh, feeling the muscle trembling as you pressed your fingers into the soft flesh. You ran your other hand up her stomach, feeling the way her breath quickened in the rise and fall of her chest. Stretching further, you flicked your thumb over her nipple and tightened your arm around her thigh when her hips bucked, holding her in place. 

You wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking it into your mouth and fighting back a smile at the keening whine it pulled from her. Her fist in your hair tugged you closer, guiding you exactly where she wanted you - and how could you resist her when she was chanting your name like a prayer? 

A shudder wracked through Ellie’s body when you flicked your tongue over her clit, lapping at her like you were starving. (After waiting so long to taste her, you might as well have been.) She groaned when you pinched her nipple between your fingers, her thighs clamping around your ears. Her legs shook when she came, your name on her tongue as though it were the only word she knew. You coaxed her through it, the flat of your tongue licking over her clit until she was gasping for breath, her hips slumping back against the bed. 

You peppered kisses over her thighs as she came down, your hand brushing across her stomach in soothing circles. Your knees ached from the cold floor, the carpet burning against your skin, but you couldn’t convince yourself to move just yet. When you glanced up at her, Ellie was looking down at you with glassy eyes; she had slumped back a little against her elbows, her limbs jelly - you tried not to let that go to your head - but she held out a hand to you, grasping for you. “Fuck, come here.” 

You both took the time to finally scoot further up the bed, Ellie's head propped on her pillow, her hair a messy halo around her. She pulled you on top of her, bracing her hands on your hips as you straddled one of her legs. When you leaned down, she tilted her chin up to meet you, kissing you lazily, licking into your mouth like she had all the time in the world - like she could kiss you forever and it still wouldn't be enough. With your elbows braced on either side of her head, it felt like you were both in a small bubble, the world left outside to wait for you. Fuck, maybe you did have all the time in the world. 

You gasped when Ellie raised her leg, pressing it between your thighs with an intoxicating pressure. She used her hands on your hips to push you down, guiding you as you grinded down against her. She broke away from the kiss, taking a moment to just look at you. Her pupils were blown, swallowing the green entirely. 

She grinned, endearingly lopsided, and murmured, “Now you're wearing too many clothes.” You whined a protest when she took her hands off your hips, but she only reached behind you to fumble with the clasp of your bra. It took her a few tries - you bit back a laugh when she cursed in frustration - and she threw it across the room when she finally got off. 

“Who the fuck designed those things?” she grumbled, fingers quick on the button on your jeans. 

You got off of her for only a moment, just long enough to kick your jeans and underwear off, but each second her skin wasn't on yours was agony. Your clothes hadn’t even fallen to the floor before Ellie was pulling you back in by the nape of your neck, her other hand guiding your hips back over her leg as she kissed you with a hunger that may as well have devoured you. You hissed when her teeth sunk into your lip, her tongue soothing over it before licking into your mouth. 

Your breath caught on a broken moan when she pressed her thumb into the dips of your hips, pressing you back to grind against her leg. The feeling of your bare pussy sliding against her thigh made you lightheaded, the dizzying pressure sending sparks through your stomach. Ellie's fingers still on the back of your head twisted in your hair, giving it an experimental tug; you felt her smile against your lips when you whined. You were pliable under her hands, your hips stuttering against her leg. 

Ellie pulled away, pulling you back by your hair just far enough away for her to look at you; her eyes raked over your body with a hunger that set you nerves on fire, looking ready to devour you. 

“God, look at you,” she breathed, raising her leg just slightly, the added pressure making your heart stop. Releasing your hair, her hand ran down your side, sliding across your chest. You moaned when her thumb grazed over your nipple, your hips stuttering; her other hand on your hip tightened, fingers digging into the bone. “So fucking wet for me and I've hardly even touched you.” 

“Shit,” you cursed when Ellie bucked her hips, her thigh grinding into you. You tried to glare down at her even though you knew your own traitorous eyes betrayed your growing desperation. Her cocky smile didn’t quite land, its impact softened by the way she watched your lips in fascination, her pupils blown - you couldn’t see the green anymore. Your voice wasn’t nearly as hard as you wanted it to be, your want softening the words: “Fuck off, Els, don’t be a dick.” 

“Am I being a dick?” she asked in mock offense, pouting up at you. “Good things come and all that shit, right?” Ever as she was teasing you, Ellie’s hand crept down your stomach, fingers warm against your hungry skin. She lowered her leg just enough to slide her hand between your thighs. You gasped, feeling lightning in your veins when those calloused fingers slid over your clit, already wet with want. Her eyes darkened, her lips parting. She slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into her, and said, “Fuck, look at you. God, I finally get to see you like this….” 

You struggled to speak past the breathy moans beginning to drip from your lips: “Finally? How - ah - fuck - how long - how long have you…?” You couldn’t think of a way to finish that sentence, your thoughts clouding over when Ellie dipped just the tips of her fingers briefly inside you, gathering your wetness. 

“Like you said,” she murmured, finally pushing two fingers slowly inside you; even as she kept talking, she watched your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, “a long fucking time.” 

Your jaw went slack when she curled her fingers, gasping when she found that spot that made you see stars. She paused, as though giving you a moment to adjust, unaware of just how many times you had done this with your own fingers. 

“Shit, Ellie,” you moaned, canting your hips down into her hand. She adjusted her arm, positioning herself so that the heel of her hand pressed to your clit, pulling another breathy moan from your lips. Her other hand was still on your hip; she pushed you back, guiding you to grind on her fingers. “Ah - fuck.” 

She watched you carefully, fascinated by the way your eyes rolled back in your head, your brow furrowed; you felt her own wetness on your thigh again. Her voice was so fucking breathy when she said, “How long have you wanted this, baby?” She hummed; releasing your hip, she ran her hand up your side to knead at your tit, her fingers so careful against you. You groaned low in your throat when she flicked her thumb over your nipple. “How many times have you come thinking of me? Did you imagine my fingers inside you, angel? Did you moan my name?” 

You couldn’t even think of a snarky response; you were too distracted by the way her fingers curled inside you as you fucked yourself against her. Her rough palm slid deliciously against your clit, grinding into her with a growing desperation that made your thighs shake. Your shoulders ached from holding yourself over her but it was only an afterthought as you felt a tight warmth building in your stomach. You leaned down just enough to kiss her, moaning into her mouth when words failed you. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Ellie repeated, groaning when your hips stuttered. You were lightheaded, fucking yourself desperately on her fingers, grinding down against her palm and chasing that intoxicating warmth spreading inside. “So fucking pretty for me.” 

She kissed you as you came, licking into your mouth and tasting herself on your tongue. You pressed your clit down into the heel of her hand, riding it out, feeling the way that warmth spread down to your fingers. Ellie broke away from the kiss to trail her lips down your neck, leaving wet kisses along your skin and saving every broken moan that was gasped right into her ear. 

Ellie didn’t move as you came down, letting you ride out your high, tracing gentle circles down your side. You slumped against her, your arms giving out; your weight landing on her forced all the air from her lungs. She only laughed breathlessly. 

It was several long moments before you were able to move again. Ellie ran her fingers through your hair as you gasped into her neck; she hummed absently and you could feel the vibration against your lips. 

When you were able to, you slowly lifted yourself off of her, wincing slightly at the sudden emptiness. With gentle hands, she guided you back down to lay beside her; you curled up against her without waiting for her invitation, resting a hand on her bare chest so you could feel the steady pounding of her heart. 

Ellie didn’t wait for invitation either before she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you closer; she was blissfully warm against the suddenly cold air. Something tugged pleasantly at your chest at the realization that you would no longer have to monitor your own movements so carefully - you could touch her, you realized, any time you wanted now. God, how were you going to ever stop now? 

Without anything else to say, you sighed against her skin: “A long fucking time.” 

Ellie hummed, giggling at your delayed answer. The fairy lights on her walls cast the room in a warm glow; with the hazy lights around you, you would almost believe this was a dream if Ellie wasn’t so solid and warm beneath your fingers. You traced the freckles across her chest, connecting constellations you had seen her chart before. 

Her voice was so quiet in the small room when she asked, “What do we do now?” 

You hummed, feeling sleep winning the war inside you. “We can figure that out tomorrow,” you said, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. Tilting your head, you leaned up just enough to kiss her, warm and deep and breathless, before moving away to meet her eyes. “Just don’t fucking run off again, okay?” 

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #lesbian smut #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams tlou #tlou smut #tlou 2 x reader #sorry for the novel #hope u enjoyed #smash that like button idk

[dotster001]

Waking Him up with a Kiss

Summary: Malleus/Silver/Jamil x Gn!Reader. You wake your lover up with a kiss.

Requested by an anon. Fuck you, Tumblr.

CW: Jamil is kinda sus but I wouldn't be doing him justice if he wasn't.

Also! Always get consent from your partner before kissing them in their sleep! That's a cool kid thing to do!

He'd been hinting at this for a while now. All his life, Lilia had regaled him with fairy tales where the sleeping prince or princess was woken with true love's kiss. Malleus had always been a hopeless romantic, and, damn, did he want that!

He'd left the books out when he slept over. He made sure that if he knew you would come looking for him, he'd nap on his back. He sighs dreamily (and loudly) whenever he rereads those fairytales next to you. He waxes on and on about how romantic being awoken with a kiss is. He knows he's dense. But he thinks you're worse.

Lilia giggles and says to be patient, Silver says to just tell you what he wants, and Sebek says to just banish you for the treason of making him sad. He decides that Lilia has never steered him wrong before, so he decides to be patient.

And one day it happens. He's dreaming of you, walking through a meadow, hand in hand. You turn to him, your radiant smile glowing brighter than the sun of his dreams. You press your lips to his, gentle as a cloud, and it feels so real that he doesn't want to wake up.

But he does, and he moans a little as he regrets losing the dream world. But the feeling of your lips doesn't fade. Light as a cloud, gentle as a dove, a feeling that makes him feel so full inside he thinks he'll burst.

His eyes flutter open, and there you are, on your knees in the grass, smiling softly as you push one of his dark bangs away from his eyes. He smiles sleepily, putting together that his dream came true.

“Now that you've given me a taste, I hope you know that I am insatiable,” he said, his voice still husky with sleep. You giggled, as though you thought he was joking.

Oh, you sweet little human.

He is not joking.

He has told you this on many occasions. If you are hanging out, and he falls asleep, do whatever you need to to wake him up. He originally tried to be chill about it, but eventually he let on just how much it distressed him when he missed time with you. He didn't want to miss out on any time with you. Yes, it was partially for you. But if he was honest, it was mostly for him. It hurt his chest to think about losing time with someone he loved. Being around the fae taught him every moment mattered.

Usually, you try everything. You shake him, you steal his pillow, you bang a pot, you set three alarms to go off at the same time. But today, you tried something different.

Silver blinked his eyes open, only to be met by your uncertain ones staring back at him, your face hovering a few inches above his.

He gently lifted a hand to his lips, the ghost of your kiss lingering. He may not have been fully awake for it, but he knows it happened.

His mind was immediately transported to a moment in his youth. He was sitting by his father, sniffling sadly because he fell asleep during Lilia's birthday party. 

“Ah, my sweet son,” Lilia said with a warm smile, gently nuzzling his cheek against Silver's. “I know it's not your fault. Even doctors have told you you can't help it. I am not upset at all.”

“But it's your birthday,” Silver sniffled. “I feel like I must be cursed.”

Lilia's eyes widened in understanding.

“That must be it!” He said excitedly. He ran to the nearby bookshelf and pulled off a book, before nodding sagely.

“Yes, that must be it, look,” he flipped to a page in the story, pointing to a picture of a sleeping princess being kissed awake by a knight in shining armor. “I know this curse! When you find true love, perhaps their kiss will save you!”

Silver excitedly nodded at the picture, his eyes wide.

Lilia snapped the book shut, authoritatively. “But until then, I don't want you to be sad when you fall asleep. Your hero will save you one day. And they might be sad that they took a long time to save you. So if you are less hard on yourself, it might help them feel better. Promise?”

Silver nodded happily.

Lilia is a menace, filling his son's heads with fairytales. /Affectionate

In the present, Silver smiled softly.

“Did you kiss me awake?”

“Sorry, I know I should have asked, but I figured when you said wake me up however I can-”

“That's correct. I could have said it plainly, but this is definitely what I pictured when I said that. But in case you need me to verbally say it, yes, please continue to wake me up like this. I think I will wake up every single time.”

You smiled at him, still hovering over him, making him long for your kiss again.

“You know, I wasn't awake for the last one. Would you please kiss me again?”

You giggled, then leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

“I feel like I need more ways to show my love for you,” you said thoughtfully. Jamil sat next to you on your bed in Ramshackle, reading over your report, and checking for mistakes.

“And what makes you say that?” He hummed in amusement.

“Seriously? You do everything for me! And I'm just kinda here!”

“I'm perfectly satisfied with that. In fact, I'd rather do all the hard stuff so that you have the energy to shower me in affection when I'm done,” he snickered to himself. If anything, a small selfish part of him liked the idea of you feeling like you had something to prove. It made you a very physically affectionate lover to “make up for it”. And while he was easily flustered, he very much liked the gentle caresses, warm embraces, and hungry kisses you gave him.

“Tell you what,” he hummed, handing you back the marked up report. It would take you hours to make the corrections. He loved you, but you were at a disadvantage when it came to college courses in the laws of magic. “I'm going to take a nap. When you finish, I'd really feel loved if you kissed me awake.”

He laid down, resting an arm over his eyes. 

“You could just stay the night if you're that tired,” you said in that tone of voice that only came when you were pouting.

“Can't. Kalim has a test tomorrow, and I need to make sure he wakes up for it.”

You grumbled something, but he was already out cold.

He felt…warm. He softly sighed, as he felt your kiss deepen. Still not opening his eyes, he wrapped an arm around your neck, and continued sleepily kissing you. Yeah. This is the life he wanted. To be rewarded for his hard work with your affection.

He finally opened his eyes with a scowl when you pulled away.

“I didn't say to stop. This is about expressing your love, right?” He snickered.

You pouted. “I miss when every single thing would fluster you.”

He scowled and stood up, stretching away the sleepiness as he prepared for his trek back to his dorm.

“I don't.”

You smiled sweetly, then reached out for his hair.

“Luckily,  I can still make you all blushy when I play with your hair.”

Tag list- @shytastemakerthing @eccedentesiast-sapphic @leoll @stygianoir @pikeru565

“Good night love,” he scowled as he stormed out of the room.

....

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #silver x reader #silver #twst silver #twst silver x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper

[wintfleur]

Hi can u write prompt 18 and 14 🪷 and [comfort] 🌷 with lando? With lando being the one who comforts?? Thank u sm I love u and ur works 💗💗💗💗

౨ৎ sleep darling

﹕─┈ pairings ( Lando norris x female! reader )

°. — summary ( a morning with lando after a restless night )

°. — details ( g; fluff, a pinch of angst? w; none that I know of. wc; 1.5k )

﹕─┈ prompt ~ hugging them tight without saying any words when they're having a hard time + they roll on top of you, cradling your head between their hands as they kiss your nose + a tender kiss to provide comfort or reassurance

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( Tysm for the request lovely & the kind words ! I love you too !!! I had so much fun writing this, it was an amazing request !!! I hope you like it, I tried fitting in the prompts together the best I could !!! Please don’t be a silent reader lovely’s, your thoughts are what keep me motivated to write !!! )

1k celly masterlist main masterlist F1 masterlist

Restless sighs and tired groans leave your lips as you roll over onto your side, now facing your large window that gives you a perfect view of the sunrise. Your eyes dropped down to the sleepy body next to you, he was laying on his stomach with both of his arms under the soft white pillow, the duvet being pulled up to his shoulders, protecting him from the breeze coming through the cracked open window. He looked so peaceful as he slept, that made you happy. 

You missed him, lately he's been busy with getting ready for the start of the new f1 season and even though some days he came home early, you were too busy studying to really spend any time with him. For the past week, the two of you really only spent time together in bed, and most of the time lando was sleeping while you laid wide awake. You barely slept and when you did you woke up in cold sweats from the nightmares that plagued your mind. 

The lack of sleep and the intense studying didn't help your mood, but your sweet boyfriend didn't let your mood get to him, he understands. You felt guilty, he was the absolute sweetest and so understanding, sending you sweet texts throughout the day, getting you flowers and ordering you your favorite food; knowing that you most likely forgot to eat. And yet you couldn't even spare the time to spend more time with him. 

You watched as he scrunched his nose in annoyance and nuzzled his face deeper into the pillow as the sun shines on his face. You begin to feel restless as you continue to lay down, your mind not shutting off even though you've stayed up for the whole night. By the time you decided to stop studying, it was way past midnight and Lando was already asleep even though he tried to stay up for you. 

You felt that guilt creep up and you let out a heavy sigh, you couldn't lay down anymore wasting time. You quietly sit up and move the blankets off your legs and move to get out of bed, but you pause when you hear a tired groan accompanied by your boyfriend's groggy voice “Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom, I'll be right back, go back to sleep baby” you spoke softly so you wouldn't pull him too much out of his sleep as you looked back at him. One of his hands was out from under the pillow as if he was reaching out from you to stop you from leaving, and that's what he intended to do, he was just far to sleep to open his eyes. Lando hummed sleepily “Mmkay hurry back . . . wanna cuddle.” 

You leaned down and placed a soft but quick kiss on his forehead, a sleepy smile forming on his lips at the touch of your lips. You quickly leave the bed, knowing that if you stared at him any longer you wouldn't want to leave the bed. You quietly close the bathroom door behind you before turning on the light. You take your time brushing and flossing your teeth and brushing your hair out of your face, you try not to look at yourself for too long in the mirror. You could see that you were exhausted, the past week not only taking a toll on your mental state, but also your physical. 

You can imagine Lando becoming impatient with how long you were taking in the bathroom if he hasn't fallen asleep yet, so you quickly finish up in the bathroom and shut off the light as you leave. You looked at your bed and for a second you believed Lando had fallen back asleep from how still he was, but you're proven wrong when he grabs the duvet and pulls it back for you, wanting you to lay next to him. Cute. 

You fight the urge of wanting to escape to the living room to study and climb into bed, sliding under the blanket and right next to your sleepy boyfriend. You lay on your side, your hands under your face as you look at a barely awake lando. Lando pulls the blanket up to your shoulders and blinks the sleep out of his eyes, his eyes taking in every inch of your beauty. He could see your exhaustion in your eyes and face, but he thinks you're the prettiest girl ever. 

Lando frowns and tucked the blanket under your neck, his thumb softly caressing your chin “You haven't slept.” 

You didn't bother trying to lie, one you were too exhausted trying to come up with a good excuse and you also know it was no use too anyway. Lando knew you better than anyone else, sometimes even better than you. You sigh and break your eye contact before whispering “I tried.” 

“You should have woken me up, I don't like that you were up alone” Lando continues to frown as he looks at you, feeling guilty because he wasn't up to help you. The thought of you lying awake all night made his heart hurt, he wished you woke him up and he wished he wasn't so tired last night and stayed up. He didn't care if the two of you laid in silence all night in each other's arms, because you would have done it together. 

“I wasn't alone, i had you right next to me” you whispered sweetly as you pulled your hand out from under your face and pushed back his messy hair out of his eyes. A grin spreads across Lando's face at your romantic words and a cute giggle leaves his lips as he quickly moves forward, your body moving to lay on your back as he rolls on top of you. He settled comfortably between your legs, cradling your head with a gentle touch, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on your nose. 

You giggle at the sudden change of position and scrunch your nose at the feeling of his soft lips on your nose, pecking it several times; he knew it made you ticklish. Your hands move up to hold his wrists as you look up into his beautiful eyes, your legs wrapping around his waist under the blanket. He holds your face softly, making sure you keep your eyes on him as he tries his best to make his voice sound stern “I’ll always be with you angel, but you need to rest. you've barely gotten any sleep all week.” 

“I ⸺ “ 

“I'll help you study later; I promise. Just take a little nap with me . . . please” he quickly cut you off, his tone trailing off to a slight beg. He already knew what you were going to say, telling him how you desperately needed to study and that you couldn't waste any time. But he had full confidence in you, he knew you would do just fine in your exams, you were just psyching yourself out to an extreme. 

Lando didn't break eye contact with you as he pulled out his secret weapon that always works on you, a small pout with his puppy dog eyes. You sigh as you look down at his lips, knowing what he was pulling on you and there was no way you could say no to those eyes, and you knew he wasn't going to stop until you agree “Hmm fine.” 

Lando grins and kisses your nose one more time as he brings one of your hands down to pat your thigh, you unwrap your legs around his waist and sit up on your elbows as lando drops to your side, your body wanting to reach out for his warmth that you were already missing and craving. Lando lays on his back and opens his arms for you. 

You scoot closer to lando and he pulls you into his arms and into a tight but comfortable hug, your head rests in the crook of his neck while you drape your leg over his midsection. Lando slips one of his hands under your shirt and starts rubbing your back, your eyes fluttering close at the soothing and comforting touch. Lando fights back a yawn and places a kiss on the top of your head before whispering, “I’ll be right here the whole time, i got you okay.” 

You know what he meant, he wanted to let you know that you were safe in his arms, that you had nothing to fear, that he would protect you from your nightmares. Tears well in your eyes, because of the exhaustion or from the strong feeling of love you felt for him . . . you had a feeling it was the latter. You lean your head back, the movement catching lando’s attention and the two of you lock eyes as you spoke softly “I love you.” 

Lando used his free hand that wasn't rubbing your back and gently grabbed your chin, tilting your head up more so he could lean down and take your lips into his for a slow but passionate kiss filled with love and reassurance. The kiss didn't last long but it took both of your breaths away. He slowly pulled away from your intoxicating lips and watched as you laid your head back on his chest, your body melting into his with tiredness. The sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. He whispered breathlessly as his hold on you tightens, his own eyes closing. 

“I love you more, now sleep darling.” 

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( GAWD I HAVE SUCH A WEAKNESS FOR SWEET BF LANDO 😭 AND CONGRATS ON P3 LAN !!! )

°. — taglist ( @iloveyou3000morgan @copper-boom @cixrosie @partyinpitlane @ophcelia @toasttt11 )

#﹕─┈ 𝜗 roro's 1k celly 𝜚 #﹕─┈ roro’s works #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris #ln4 #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #formula one fluff #australia gp 2024

[ncttytrack]

perv!bestfriend!jake who ends up fucking you one day after you catch him stealing yout panties😻

This scenario 😵‍💫

Pantie stealer! - s.j

He let out a shaky breath from the smell. You had washed them, it’s a shame they weren't dirty.

Genre: perv!bestfriend!jake x reader

Words: 3,8k+

Warnings: Jake is a massive perv, creampie, shocking, Dom!jake, sub!reader, lowkey size kink

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You and your best friend Jake have always been very close and your friendship started way back when you were eight years old. Your family had just moved in next door and you decided to invite Jake’s family over for dinner to welcome the new neighbors. You and Jake clicked instantly, enjoying the same tv-shows, games, movies, sports - everything, and you have been friends since then. After school you always hung out, ignoring the classmates making fun of you both and calling you a couple, they didn’t know your friendship. Jake was in your eyes only a friend - nothing more, nothing less.

But everything changed when you both hit puberty, the teenage hormones completely taking over your body. Jake clearly remembers the first day he thought you were attractive, and much more than a just friend. Yes, as kids he always thought you were cute, referring you to his other friends as the “cute girl next door”, but now it was different.

He was at the ripe age of sixteen, and just invited you over to chill out by his pool with his other friends. The sun was shining bright, and it was the middle of July, making the weather extra hot - perfect for a cooling pool day. He remembers laying down on a sunbed, watching his friends, Sunghoon and Jay, play in the pool, when you suddenly catch his eye in the corner. He watched as you slowly pulled off your t-shirt and unbuttoned your shorts, showing off a bright blue bikini with spaghetti straps.

The last time he saw your body was the year before, and he could confidently say that a lot had happened since then. His eyes scanned your body, from your much bigger boobs, down to your ass - filling out the bikini bottom you were wearing perfectly. And the straps of the bikini top were tied at the front, and only a weak tugg would let your boobs loose, exposing what he at that moment so desperately wanted to see.

“Damn, seems like your friend have grown up the last time I saw her”, said Heeseung, leaning down on his sunbed beside him - using his elbows to push himself up to get a clear view of your frame. Jake could feel the embarrassment by the warmth of his cheeks, not liking how his friend talked about you, pushing Heeseung away. “Man, shut up”.

But he was right, you had grown up. You had actually grown up a lot, and since then, it has been difficult for Jake to be around you.

As Jake was eye fucking you by the pool, trying not to make it obvious (even though everyone could see the massive bulge forming under his swimshorts), you did the same. It’s not like you were any different, noticing how Jake's soft baby stomach turned to chiseled abs over the years when watching him lay down on his sunbed. When you got eye contact, you looked away, trying to distract yourself by jumping into the pool to play with his friends.

Jake tried not to be a perv, but always failed miserably, until he couldn’t stop himself anymore. Always trying to catch glances through the door crack when you showered at his place, feeling his dick twitch when he saw the way you massaged the soap on your tits - watching the soap glide down your body to your core. Purposely dropping something to the floor, making you bend in front of him to pick it up, making it possible for him to shamelessly look at your ass in those short-shorts you always wore during the summers. Jerking off to you almost every night, trying to imagine you in cute lingerie, black ones, screaming his name for more. “Jake, Jake!”

Now you were both older, in your twenties to be exact, and you didn’t live with your parents anymore. Because you and Jakes are both broke college students, you decided to live in an apartment together, since you had been friends for such a long time and it possibly couldn’t get weird between the two of you. But, this has only been more difficult for Jake, and being around you 24/7 is slowly driving him crazy. You had become very comfortable in your new shared apartment, walking around almost naked, just wearing those cute underwear sets he had imagined all those years ago.

His perverted actions continued because of this, sneakily taking pictures of your almost naked frame to either save for later, or to send to his other friends to brag about his hot roommate walking around in only underwear. “Dude I’m so jealous, if I were you I would have already fucked the shit out of her by now”. He looked at the text Sunghoon sent him. If he could decide, then yes, you would’ve already been leaking with his cum by now. But he can’t, he can’t ruin the friendship you have shared for so long.

But you’ve made it impossible for Jake to not act out his dirty thoughts, and that is the situation Jake happens to be in now.

While laying on his bed palming himself by the thought of you, he figured that jerking off to only the thought of you was simply not enough. He needed something from you, something that could help him get off, something…like your cute panties you always wore. He could describe them to the letter, they were black, which happened to be his favorite color, lace panties with a little bow at the front. The panties hugged your figure perfectly, showing the exact right amount of ass for him to get hard. He knew what he had to do.

It was 2 am, and he quietly sneaked into your bedroom, being extra careful to not wake you up. As he walked to your drawer, he watched your sleeping figure. “Cute” You looked so peaceful, and he almost began to feel guilty for what he was about to do. But he was more horny than guilty, shamelessly opening the first drawer to immediately find your black lace panties. His hand begins to touch the fabric, rubbing it against his long fingers, and immediately his cock hardens at the feeling.

He couldn’t stop himself, hastily bringing up the fabric to his nose, smelling the detergent - letting the smell fill him up. He let out a shaky breath from the smell. You had washed them, it’s a shame they weren't dirty. Without getting caught, he sneaked out of your bedroom and entered his own over the hall.

That night was arguably the best night of his life, using your panties to jerk himself off. First he would lay them on top of his face, closing his eyes imagining you sitting on his face, before grabbing the black laced panties and wrapping it around his cock. “Fuck, y/n” The feeling of the soft lace against his hard, swollen, cock was all it took for him to shoot the fattest load of cum - making the fabric completely soaked. But that wasn’t enough for him to get off, the sight of your drenched panties making his cock hard again, so hard that it almost began to hurt.

His dick was already sore, hurting when just softly touching the tip, making Jake let out a hiss from pain. As he did before, he wrapped your panties and wrapped it around his cock, carefully jerking it up and down. It was so painful, but also felt so good, letting out moans while tears streamed down his face.

He felt so disgusting for this, imagining that it was you he fucked, and not your panties. Imagining that you were on all fours, desperately crying and screaming for him to fuck you harder, deeper, faster, until beeing compleatly filled with his cum - watching it leek out from your used up hole. He could even imagine what you would taste like, bringing up your panties to his mouth and imagine that his cum was yours, sucking and licking the fabric. Just that though, that taste, made him cum again, and once more after that, before being too tired to continue.

It was the next afternoon, around 6pm, and Jake was heading home from campus to his apartment. You didn’t have any lessons that day, and decided to stay home to do some chores before Jake gets back. Jake has been acting weird lately, maybe something was bugging him? To be a nice roommate, you wanted to do something nice for Jake, opening his bedroom door to tidy up his dirty room.

It looked like a mess, dirty clothes everywhere on the floor and his bed was far from tidy. Couldn’t he at least make his bed before he headed to college? Or did he use the argument that he was still going to sleep on it later, so why make the bed anyway?

After throwing his dirty clothes away in the laundry basket in his room, you walked up to his bed to tidy it up. As you lifted one of his pillows you were met with an astounding sight. Under his pillows were your panties, and your favorite pair too, covered in white stains. Omg…did he steal your panties? You picked them up and immediately knew what Jake had done with them.

The white stains were his cum. He had used your panties to get himself off, and probably more than once by the looks of it. The, still wet, panties were way too distracting for you to hear Jake coming home, getting surprised when he suddenly opens the door to his bedroom.

When he saw you, holding the thing he thought he hid good enough for you to not find it, he panicked. “Y/n… what are you doing?” You looked back at Jake, and then at the panties you were holding once more. You let out a chuckle “What am I doing? No, Jake, what are you doing? Are these my panties?” He gulped down the saliva that was forming in his mouth out of nervousness. Fuck, what have I done.

He never answered, just stared at you nervously. “Did you- you- jerk off using my panties”. You couldn’t help but to feel the arousal between your legs by the thought of him wrapping your lace panties around his hard pulsating cock, letting out soft groans - probably thinking about you while doing it. Subconsciously you clench your thighs together at this thought, something that Jake noticed.

The sudden smirk forming on Jake's face by the sight of your clenching thighs didn’t go unrecognized by you, immediately backing away from him when he suddenly walked closer to you. “Maybe I did, do you like that? The thought of me jerking off with your cute little panties, hm?”

You didn’t recognise the Jake you have always known in front of you, but this new, discovered, version of him sure did turn you on. His eyes were dark, hooded, and he licked his lips by the sight of your nervous figure. Still walking away from him, you felt the edge of his bed by your knees, falling down by Jake pushing you to your back. He doesn't waste a single second before towering over you, putting his leg between your knees to tease your core. The feeling sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, letting out a small whine from your mouth - but still loud enough for Jake to hear.

“You don’t know how long I've wanted this y/n, to trap you underneath me”. He leaned down to your hair, smelling it to fill him with the scent of your shampoo. “Mm, you smell sooo good baby” The action sends shivers through your spine, and hearing the pet name makes you wetter than what you even were before. You never knew how much of a pervert your life-time friend was, even getting a boner by the smell of your hair.

“J-jake, what are you doing” you say, trying to make sense of what is happening right now. Your body is already trembling by his words, and his leg is pushing harder and harder against your core. The smirk on his face grows wider when he feels the wet patch on your underwear against his leg. Thank god you were wearing a cute short skirt, without stockings even, making it so easy for him to feel you up. It’s as if you were asking for it.

“Oh, you know what I’m doing y/n, and by the looks of it it seems like you want me to continue”, Jake says while pushing his leg up even further against your pussy. Not thinking rationally anymore, you begin to grind your hips against his jeans, arching your back when the harsh fabric rubs against your clothed clit. He lets out a chuckle at the sight, he had no idea you could be this desperate.

He suddenly grabs your jaw with his hand, forcing you to look at him - still rubbing yourself against his leg. “Look at you, just begging to get fucked”, he says and pouts his lips at you, his other hand sneaking up to your waist, and up your shirt. You feel his cold hand against your warm skin under your shirt, slowly creeping up towards your boobs, only to slide down to your stomach again. He was such a tease, so close to giving you what you want, but not doing anything before you actually give him your word.

“If you want to fuck me that bad then just do it, Jake” you say, trying to sound as demanding as possible, though failing when the feeling of his hand grabbing your boob makes you let out a loud whine. The sound, mixed with the sight, makes Jake so hard it’s almost painful.

"Yeah?, Do you want me to? Want to get stuffed with Jakey's cock?” As he says this, he suddenly lifts your whole body up with his hands, and replaces his leg with the bulge in his pants. It’s then you finally can feel him. Just by the feeling alone, you know it’s big, probably already leaking with preecum ready fuck you dumb.

“You are such a pervert Jake”, you say while Jake lifts up your shirt, taking it off your body to see more of you. He licks his lips, finally seeing your boobs without a bra, and leans down to wrap his head around your nipple. The feeling of his soft tongue licking and sucking your sensitive bud, occasionally using his teeth to make it more painful, makes you let out a cry, automatically grabbing his hair. You can feel the smirk on his lips against your nipple, “Oh, yeah?”

You wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer to you, completely letting this feeling of arousal take over you. “Yeah, you are, sneaking into my room, taking my panties, you are so-” he sneaks his hand under your skirt and presses it against your clit, making you unable to finish your sentence. “sooo dirty, I know, but you love it don’t you?, say the words and I will give it to you.”

You look up at the man in front of you and you can’t believe this is happening right now. This is the same Jake you have known since you were eight, the same Jake you always talked to about other boys, the same Jake you shared everything with. And now he is on top of you, making you beg for his cock. Fuck he is hot right now, looking down at you like you are nothing but his play thing. His sweat makes his hair stick to his forehead, his mouth is agape, letting out heavy breaths from the feeling of his clothes dick against the wet path forming in your underwear.

“Please, Jake”. He looks down at you with a smirk on his face before smashing his lips against yours. The kiss is rough, as if you both have waited for this moment forever, and it doesn't take long before he pushes his tongue into your mouth. You let him take over you completely, letting him be incharge of what he wants to do and therefore when he pushes you tongue so deep inside your mouth you almost choke, you just take it. As he pulls away from you he grabs your neck, squeezing it. “Fuck you look so cute with my hand around your neck, baby”

While his hand is still on your neck, he uses his other to unbutton his pants and pulls them down alongside his boxers. The sight of his massive cock makes your mouth water. It’s not only massive in length but also in girth, and the tip is red and already leaking with preecum. You can’t wait anymore, pulling down your skirt to throw it on floor.

The sight of your soaked underwear is sending Jake over the edge, almost cuming in his pants by the way you are leaking. He brings his hands down to your clothes pussy, before tugging the fabric harshly upwards against your core. You let out a loud whine, desperately grinding yourself against the fabric, hiding your face behind your hands out of embarrassment. Because of this, Jake slaps the side of your thigh, making you scream out of pain. “Don’t cover your face, baby, I want to see you” You follow his demands, lifting your hands up from your face and instead grab his shoulders.

He leans down towards your panties, using his teeth to pull them down. “I’m saving these for later” He says and licks his lips, while bringing the fabric up to his nose to smell your panties in front of you. You let out a gasp “J-Jake!”, trying to grab the panties from him. “Ah-ah” Jake says, before throwing them on his night stand before you could stop him.

Before you could complain any further, he brought his cock down to your entrance, dragging the tip up and down against your pussy. He clenches his jaw trying to not push himself inside of you this instant, wanting to tease you enough first until you finally beg for him to go further.

The feeling of his hard cock grinding against your sore clit, makes your head spin, and you want more, pushing your hips up and down - grinding on his length. Jake looks down at you. You look so cute like this, his hand still around your throat, eyes completely shut from the pleasure, pleasure from the way you grind on his cock.

Tears are starting to form in your eyes when it takes too long for Jake to take it one step further. You are so close, but this is still not getting enough to reach your high. He almost laughs at your face when seeing how close you are, desperately trying to cum, but simply can’t before getting stuffed by his cock.

“J-jake, please just fuck me already!” He bites his lips, finally getting the words he always wanted. He uses his hand to push your body down, forcing you to stop grinding against his cock, before grabbing your hips with both of his hands. “You could’ve just said so, pretty”

The feeling of your warm pussy wrapping around Jake's cock, makes him throw his head back. Fuck. It felt so good, feeling you clench around him. And by the looks of it, you felt good too, letting out small moans from the way his cock stretches you out perfectly. He looks down at your stomach, and almost let out a whine from the sight of the bump. He can see his cock inside of you. One of Jake’s hands leaves your hip to come in contact with your stomach, his palm pushing down against the soft skin to feel his cock inside your stomach.

“Say my name” He says, still not moving, probably until you do as he says. You are shaking underneath him, and the only thing you want him to do is to fill you up completely. “Jake” He lets out a shaky breath from the way you say his name, string to pull out of your pussy - getting ready to fuck into you again. “Yeah, baby, one more. Can you do that for me?” He says, almost begging you at this point.

“Jake-!” you scream out his name as he slams into you, already pulling in and out of you at a fast pace. The hold on his shoulders gets stronger, trying your hardest to not collapse underneath him. The speed Jake fucks you almost rips you apart, and by the sight of your tears streaming down your face makes Jake let out a groan. “Fuck, y/n, you are mine, understand that? My own little cum slut” he says, not slowing down one bit, already starting to get closer to his release.

“Your cum slut, only yours!” the way he fucks you have turned you into a animal, and the thought of this being your best friend is long gone by now. Jake only fucks you harder after hearing your words, bringing his hand down to your clit to rub it - knowing it feels good for you. And oh it does, the feeling of his harsh fingers against your soft bud makes you scream out his name.

"J-Jake! I’m close-” you scream as Jake lifts up your legs on his shoulders, making him fuck into you even deeper. “Yeah? Then cum baby, cum all over my cock”. His words send shivers through your whole body, and you do as he says, cuming all over his cock. Him not being done with you, he still fucks into you, overstimulating you to the max before finally cuming as well.

He looks down at your pussy, and it’s completely drenched, juices still leaking out from your fucked up hole. He has to taste you. Before you could stop him, he leans down to your soaked pussy, tasting your cum mixed with his own on his taste buds. “Mm, you taste so good, baby”. He grabs your thighs, pulling you closer to his warm mouth, not letting you leave, wanting to lick up all your juices before he was done.

Before almost making you cum for the second time by his mouth, he pulls away to look at you. You had never been so beautiful, laying completely ruined on his bed and your body is wet from the sweat and the cum. Your big teary eyes look up at him, “That-that was amazing, Jake” You say, giving him a weak smile, making his dick twitch.

He leans down to kiss your forehead, patting the top of your head. “Good for you that this isn’t the last time we are doing this then.” He says before laying beside you on his bed, pulling your naked body into his.

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen x reader #enhypen hyung line #enhypen imagines #enha smut #enhypen hard thoughts #Jake sim #Jake #enhypen jake #Jake smut #Jake sim smut #jake enhypen

[rowarn]

HYBRID!AU PART 2

part one | part two | part three (coming soon!!!)

(: anyway here's what you've all been begging for. a part 2 but it was getting so long...almost 3k words. and so....there will be a part 3.......but for now i hope this satiates you!!!

cw: hurt/comfort, aftermath of hurt???, self-deprecating thoughts, insecurities, mentions of blood and scratching, mentions of past mistreatment, petnames and headpats tho &lt;3

The next time a human approaches you, you’re unable to stop the growls that escape your throat when you hear the pspsp as he tries to approach you. When you hiss, the man scoffs and stomps away muttering a soft ‘stupid cat’ under his breath. 

No one approached you for a long while after that. The only way you knew how much time had passed was when the restaurants all threw their leftover food from their workdays. Eating out of the trash was always utterly humiliating, especially when you got caught. 

Most people ignored you when they saw you sitting on the sidewalk, getting some sun since it didn’t shine into the little alleyway you hunkered in. Some people would scoff and give you disgusted looks, as if you were a stain on their shoe. 

At this point, you were used to humans acting like you were scum of the Earth. After your experience with Simon, human’s behavior towards you no longer surprises you. Though it hurt, you didn’t understand why you were so unlovable. 

But then one evening, when the sun was just beginning to set and the temperature was steadily dropping, you were huddled up in what little bit of sun-warmth you could get until it became dark. Your arms were wrapped around your body as you shivered, trying to ignore the way your tummy growled from being empty – the store employees had chased you off before you could steal anything from the dumpster. 

A large shadow cast over you and when you looked up, you saw a slender, athletic man. His presence immediately set you on edge and you felt a growl bubbling up in your chest.

“Hey now,” he chided softly, pretty brown eyes crinkled as he squatted in front of you, “None of that, little kitty.”

You scowled up at him. Even crouched down the way he was, he was larger than you.

“Do you have a name?” he asks kindly. 

You pause at that. Soap had given you a name. But did it really count as one if your previous owner hadn’t even agreed to it? Still, it was the only thing you really had left of your former companion. 

You softly mutter the name you’d been given and the man nods before holding out his large hand, “Kyle. Would you like to come home with me?”

That sends off alarm bells in your head and before you know it, your claws are ripping into his hand and you’re scurrying into the alleyway to cower in the corner. 

You hear the man faintly sigh before he stands, knees cracking as he does. You don’t hear anything from him for a few minutes before his heavy boots walk past the alleyway and fade. 

You don’t even understand your own reaction. Of course you wanted a home to call your own. But you don’t think you would be able to handle it if he turned out to be the same as Simon. You wouldn’t be able to get attached to a human only to be abandoned on the streets like you were last night's trash. Perhaps it was just easier to reject all human companionship than risk being heartbroken all over again. You had only recently stopped crying yourself to sleep over the memory of your home. 

You think that will be the last time you see the man, surely he wouldn’t want anything to do with a cat-hybrid who was mean, but just a couple days later, he’s back. He stands beside you, one bandaged hand gripping a shopping bag. You feel a pang of guilt at the sight of his bandaged wound. He slowly places it beside you, staring at you expectantly. 

“This is for you,” he says awkwardly after a second of you staring blankly at him, “It’s some food and water.”

Your stomach growls at the mention of food and as much as you want to peek in the bag, you can’t bring yourself to admit defeat like that. He might think you’re accepting him as your owner if you accept his gift! 

But you’re not! You refuse to end up hurt and sad like you had been with Simon! You would rather just live on the street than go through that hurt all over again. You couldn’t stand to give your trust only to be betrayed and mistreated again.

You only wanted someone to love you but apparently that wasn’t in the deck for you and that was okay, you told yourself. No matter how much it hurts to admit.

The man, Kyle, sighs softly when you simply ignore him, the sound almost melancholy. It makes your heart ache in your chest. He casts you one last glance but you keep your gaze down before he walks away, disappearing out of sight at the end of the street. 

With his piercing gaze off of you, you turn to the bag and begin rooting inside it. 

A couple bottles of water and some hybrid-safe packaged food. Nothing that needed refrigeration but also much better quality and variety than what you had been given by Simon. 

You remember how it felt to watch Soap eat delicious meats and fruits and veggies while you got bland, colorless slop. Sure, it was healthy for hybrids but everyone knew it was disgusting. Clearly Simon didn’t care – he was just feeding you so you didn’t inconvenience him by starving to death in his house. 

And though Soap would sometimes share his food with you, it wasn’t the same.

This food was yours. Kyle had gotten it for you.

You pull out one of the packages, a neatly wrapped sandwich with all the organic ingredients listed in bright colors. It makes your heart ache just a little bit as you take your first bite, all alone on the sidewalk, quietly wishing Soap was there for you to share it with as payment for all the food he had shared with you. 

Kyle makes it a habit to visit you day after day, sometimes bringing food, sometimes just bringing himself. Most of the time, you ignore him but he doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest, only quietly promising to visit you again soon when he bids you goodbye. 

It starts to become lonely when he leaves.

You don’t know when it begins, but you find yourself waiting for him. You sit out in the open, mindlessly combing your tail, where he can see you if he approaches. You find yourself thinking about him and if he’ll bring something for you to snack on – he found these delicious fish flavored chips that you were practically addicted to. Though, you didn’t say anything about your liking of them, he kept bringing them so you think he knows. 

Some days, Kyle’s visits were quick and fleeting and other times he sat there for a while. He had given up trying to talk to you much since you made it a point to ignore him but you were happy that he hadn’t given up yet. 

You know you would have given up by now. But the fact he persists leaves you with a warm, soft feeling in your chest. You’ve never had someone try so hard for you before, Simon certainly never cared to try.

Kyle wasn’t so bad after all, you found yourself deciding. He was quiet but not standoffish. He didn’t try to touch you after you had swiped at him one time when he went to pat your head. He was kind, always complimenting you with ‘pretty kitty’ and ‘sweet kitty’. And best of all, he didn’t ignore your existence like you had grown used to when living with Simon. 

Waiting for Kyle to show up became the most grueling part of your day. Minutes felt like hours and any tall man who passed by had you perking up to see if it was Kyle. The urge to get closer to him grew day by day, you wanted him to pet you, you wanted to talk to him. 

Maybe living with him wouldn’t be so bad after all. Just the thought of a happy life made you purr to yourself. 

You vowed that you would talk to him today, maybe see if you could take him up on that offer he had made that first day you met. 

But he never came. As the sun dips behind the horizon, you find your hopes getting squashed. He always came before dark. 

With a heavy heart, you curled up in the little cardboard box you had been calling your shelter. It was easy to tell yourself that the ache in your heart was because you wanted to see him and not because you were scared he had given up on you.

The next day, the same thing. You waited all day only for him to not show up. Then the next day. And the next. 

A week passed with no sign of him and you tried your best to pretend like it didn’t hurt like hell. 

Maybe he really had gotten sick of waiting for you and decided to find a hybrid who would actually talk to him. You couldn’t blame him, you suppose. But it still made that heavy pain settle in your heart like when you had been thrown out by Simon. 

One morning, you were awoken by a loud voice shouting down the alleyway, “Alright, come on out, cat.”

The sound of the voice had you sitting up, eyes wide as you looked around. At the entrance, a man stood with his hands on his hips, a hefty utility belt around his waist. 

He sighed when he saw you staring blankly at him before he came over, hoisting you up by the arm.

Your growled and hissed, ears pinned back as you fought against his grip. He dragged you out, taking you towards a big black van that had the words ‘hybrid-control’ printed on the side. 

You swiped at the man with your free hand, sharp nails slicing into his skin. He cried out in pain but didn’t relent in his hold.

“Stupid fucking cat,” he snapped, “Fuckin’ hate havin’ to pick shits like you up.”

“Excuse me,” a sudden, frantic voice called out, “What are you doing?”

The man holding you turned to look at Kyle, an annoyed look on his face, “Got a complaint about a stray hybrid livin’ around here. Came to pick it up.”

“Oh that’s not necessary,” Kyle said, reaching out to pull you from the man’s grasp, handling you much softer than the stranger, “This hybrid is mine.”

The man looked like he wanted to argue but glanced down at his bleeding arm and rolled his eyes, “Whatever, man. Your funeral. Just get it off the street.”

When the van drove off, Kyle turned to look at you apologetically, “Sorry, I didn’t want to claim ownership over you like that but–”

“Where were you this week?” you find yourself pouting, crossing your arms over your chest petulantly.

Kyle looks shocked before he smiles kindly, “I was away for work. I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you.”

Your pout only deepens, “It’s not like I missed you or anything…”

“Of course not,” he laughs but you both know he doesn’t believe you, “How about I show you my home, hm? It’s not too far from here.”

You agree without complaint, letting Kyle lead the way down the busy streets until it grows quieter and quieter.

The neighborhood is startlingly familiar as he escorts you to his home. It doesn’t take long for you to realize it’s the same neighborhood Simon and Soap live in. 

You weren’t exactly sure how far their home was but you couldn’t stop yourself from frowning at the memories.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, “Don’t like it? I know it’s a little boring here but it’s near the base so what can you do?”

“It’s not that,” you quickly said, considering telling Kyle what was on your mind but you instead settled for, “I-It’s nothing.”

You were worried if you told him about your previous home, he might think there was something wrong with you. You didn’t want him to think you were undesirable and put you out on the streets all over again. You silently wondered when you became so insecure. 

He hummed and opened the front door for you, “There’s a room at the end of the hall that’s an office right now but it’s all yours once I get it set up with a bed and everything.”

“My own room?” you ask softly, fluffy ears perked up.

“Of course,” he smiles, “This is your home now.”

You feel tears prick your eyes but you quickly look away before Kyle can see them. It felt so nice that he actually considered it your home too and not just his. Simon always made you feel like you were barely welcome and only there because he put up with you until he couldn’t stand you anymore.

“Oh before I forget,” he said, grabbing a box off of the table, “I got you this.”

He showed you the contents, a cute, dainty collar with a metal tag in the shape of a fish with your name engraved on it. 

“Why do you have a collar?” you asked, tilting your chin up so he could fasten it around your neck.

“I had hopes that you would let me take you home one of these days,” he laughed, a boyish, kind sound that made a smile grow on your own face, “I wasn’t going to give up until you were safe and sound with me, love. I knew this was going to be your home one way or another.”

You spend the whole day wandering around the house and exploring, nudging against every surface to spread your scent on it. You hadn’t done that much in Simon’s house, too scared you’d get reprimanded for dirtying up the furniture or something.

But Kyle didn’t care in the slightest. He simply smiled when he saw you nuzzling the pillows. He even trimmed your nails so they weren’t nearly as sharp anymore. 

It was nice living with him.You quickly realized how different your life felt with Kyle than how it felt with Simon.

Kyle was kind and friendly, calling you by your name and petnames and not just ‘hey you’ or ‘cat’. The affection in his tone was palpable and just hearing how sweetly he spoke to you made you purr uncontrollably. 

And he didn’t once raise his voice at you or chase you off the couch when you were napping. He gave you the softest pats on the head and let you snooze on his lap without a single complaint. 

He never forgot to feed you and always gave you the most delicious things he could find. He ate at the table with you and told you all about his day, making an effort to talk to you and learn about the things you liked to do while he was at work. 

You were happy to finally have a home to call your own. But deep down, you missed Soap. You missed his energetic happiness and how affectionate he was with you in a way that only hybrids could be. He was the only true companion you had ever had and he had left his mark on you. You wondered about him every day, especially when you heard the front door open and you half expected him to come running in with a thrilled grin on his face, ready to regale you with tales of outside.

You passed their house one day while on a walk with Kyle, something he took to doing as an activity with you (he didn’t want you to get bored or stagnant just sitting inside all day), trying your best to act like seeing the home you used to call your own didn’t make your heart ache painfully in your chest. 

“There’s a hybrid that lives here, you might like him. His name’s Soap,” Kyle said when he saw you pausing in front of their home, “Owner is Simon Riley. I work with him, kind of a standoffish guy, you should probably steer clear if you run into him. He’s not the most friendly.”

“Yeah…” you found yourself mumbling, barely even registering anything Kyle had said, a frown etched on your lips before you looked at Kyle, “Can we go home?”

“Of course. Let’s get you some food, pretty kitty,” Kyle cooed affectionately, patting your head before leading you back home. 

You casted a glance at the home you used to call your own, you were startled to see Soap standing in the window, eyes wide, brows furrowed, and hurt written all over his face. The sight alone made your own eyes sting. He had never looked at you like that before. He looked so heartbroken.

Kyle cooed softly to get your attention again, leading you down the sidewalk and away from the house. Soap’s figure in the window faded from view and you felt your head spinning.

Soap and Simon’s scent faded the further you got away from it. But once you entered your home with Kyle, your scent and his mixed together in a way that it never did with Simon’s. You couldn’t help but purr, the pain and anxiety in your heart fading.

But still, your mind lingered on the distraught face of the best friend you left behind.

do not modify or repost to third party sites. reblogs appreciated!

#gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz x reader #cod x reader

[scuderiahoney]

In From The Rain

Oscar Piastri x plant nerd!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar’s looking for an easy to care for houseplant. You have just the solution. Check out the moodboard here!

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: none

The greenhouse is quiet in the early morning. It’s one of your favorite things. Before the customers come in, looking for flowers for their porch or vegetable plants for their gardens, it’s just you and the plants and the sun streaming in through the glass. So when somebody interrupts your morning solitude, you’re not exactly happy about it.

Sure, you’re technically open, but nobody ever gets here this early. You’re watering plants in your rain boots, a mug of coffee in your hand, when the front door swings open. You turn to look, the noise startling you.

The man who walks in looks sheepish when his eyes meet yours. He ducks under a hanging basket, nearly trips over your garden hose. His cheeks flush red. You’d be more irritated with his presence if he wasn’t being so cute about it.

“Sorry, the- the sign said open,” he says, backing towards the door.

“You’re fine. We are open,” you affirm, flicking off the sprayer before you drown the petunias in front of you. “I was just surprised to see someone in here so early.”

He laughs. It’s a nice sound. Almost as nice a sound as his voice, with an Australian accent. He stops backing away. You should probably point out that he’s standing in a puddle, but you’re not sure if that’s really your place.

“Can I help you find something?” You ask.

He takes a step forward. A thick band of sunlight shines down on the top of his head, like a halo. He brushes his floppy hair from his face.

“No, that’s okay. You’re busy, I’ll just have a look around,” he says.

You nod. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

You turn back to the flower trays in front of you. They’ll need pruning, soon. And some of the hanging baskets are getting a bit unruly- it’ll likely be time to put them on sale in the next few days, to open up space for new plants. You can hear the man walking around behind you, peering at the plants. His footsteps are hesitant, and when you look, he has his hands held behind his back. He leans close to read the signs, brows tightly wound.

He obviously has no idea what he’s looking for.

You put the hose away and set your nearly empty coffee down at your workstation in the back of the greenhouse. Then you make your way back up to the front, where he’s standing near the succulents.

“Sure you don’t want help?” You ask.

He looks up with a sheepish grin. “Is it that obvious that I’ve got no idea what I’m doing?”

“A bit,” you say, and he laughs again. “That’s okay, though. It’s what I’m here for. What are you looking for?”

He stands up straight, eyes dancing over the greenhouse. “So. I’ve been told my apartment is boring. A friend suggested a plant to liven up the space.”

You nod. A tale as old as time. He’ll either kill the plant within a week or fill his whole place with them.

“But I’m gone a lot for work,” he says. “Like, a lot. So I need something that won’t wilt the second I’m gone, you know?”

You nod. “Does your apartment get good light?”

He laughs. “I don’t know what good light means.”

“Which direction do your windows face?”

“South,” he says, confidently. “Google said that was good. Right?”

You fight a laugh. He’s a bit adorable. Trying very hard to get it right. Like this is a test with right and wrong answers.

“Yeah, south facing is great.” You gesture towards the succulents. “You could get a succulent. They can go weeks without watering, but they need lots of light.”

He nods in understanding and purses his lips. “I thought these were cactuses. Or cacti?”

“Close,” you tell him, and he smiles again. “Cacti are the ones with the spikes.”

He nods in understanding. He crouches down, then, eye levels with the little plants. Your heart is melting. You scuff one of your rain boots against the ground. You could stand here and watch the way his long eyelashes flutter as he blinks all day, but that would be creepy and you have a job you’re supposed to be doing.

“How do I know which one to get?” He says, quietly. “Like… there are so many different kinds.”

Your face breaks out into a huge grin. He’s so endearing. “I think you’ll know when you see it.”

He appears at the front cash register ten minutes later, a succulent in hand. It’s a little one, the perfect starter plant. He’s eyeing the decorative pots next to you, brows furrowed again.

“Those are too big for that plant,” you tell him, and he breathes out a sigh. “There are smaller ones on the other side of the display.”

He moves to look. You hear him shuffling, hear him pick up pots and then set them down. Then he appears again, a little pot with black and white checkerboard print on it in his other hand.

“Perfect,” you say softly. “Have you got potting soil?”

He clears his throat. “Um. No, but I’ve got a courtyard at my apartment with a garden… but I’m sensing from the look on your face that that won’t do.”

You roll your eyes playfully. Then you reach under the counter and grab one of the small sample bags of potting soil you keep on hand.

“Here. On the house.” You say. “So you can put that plant in the pot.”

“Wow. Thanks,” he says. He sets the other items down on the counter. “Thanks for all your help, actually.”

“Just doing my job,” you say with a shrug.

You bag the items carefully, making sure the plant won’t be squished. You put a care instruction sheet in the bag, too. Then you slide it to him with a smile.

“There’s a care sheet in there that should help. Enjoy your new plant,” you say. “I hope it works out.”

“Me too,” he says.

He leaves, then, and you’re left with your quiet greenhouse once again. It’s odd. Usually you breathe a sigh of relief after a customer leaves. But this time, you almost want him to come back.

…..

Two weeks later, you’re back at your workstation re-potting a sad looking philodendron. You look up from it when you hear the bell over the front door ring. The watering is already done, the hose put away, so there’s nothing for the man to trip over this time. But it is the same guy, and he ducks under the hanging basket the same way. You should maybe move it, but he seems to be the only one who’s had an issue with it. You stand up, wiping the dirt from your hands on your apron.

“You didn’t kill that succulent already, did you?” You call out.

His eyes dart to meet yours, and he laughs. “No! Promise.”

“Good. That would be a new record,” you laugh.

You let him wander the store on his own for a few minutes as you get the philodendron correctly in the new pot. Then you give it some water and take it with you to set it back out on the shelf. He’s still the only other person in the store, and he’s currently eyeing the flats of flowering plants.

“It’s actually going really well,” he says as you walk by. “He has a new leaf.”

That’s when you know the guy is hooked. He has a new leaf. The plant is no longer just a plant to him. Absent-mindedly, you wonder if he’s the type to name his plants. You set the one in your hands down on the table in front of you, your back to him so he doesn’t see your wide grin. When you turn around, you tone it down.

“That’s great,” you say encouragingly. “So I’m guessing you want another one?”

He nods, rubbing his finger over the leaf of a fiddle leaf fig. “Yeah, but I’m thinking something different this time. Something bigger.”

“You don’t want that one,” you say, and he backs away from the fig tree slightly. “Fiddle leafs are notoriously dramatic. If you left her for a week she’d drop all her leaves.”

He sighs and stands up. “What would you suggest?”

You wave him over to another area of the store. He follows eagerly, footsteps splashing in the leftover puddles from the morning watering. You lead him to a section of spiky, tall plants.

“Snake plant,” you say, pointing at them.

He’s standing next to you, and your shoulders just barely brush. A shiver runs down your spine. You try to hide it.

“Snake plant,” he repeats. “The name makes sense.”

“People also call them mother in law’s tongue,” you add. You fight the urge to check his ring finger. “But if you’ve got a mother in law I’d suggest avoiding that name.”

He laughs, and his shoulder bumps into your again. “I don’t. But snake plant sounds cooler.”

You nod in agreement. “They do well with very little water. And, they can do okay in pretty low light, too. So if you’ve got a darker area that needs a plant, it would be a good fit.”

He’s up at the register ten minutes later, plant and a pot in hand. This one is plain terracotta. You like that he’s the type of person to buy the pots, too. Some people just leave them in the boring plastic, and it makes you sad to think about. All plants deserve a nice home. You say that to him as you ring him up, and he laughs. He’s also grabbed a small bag of potting soil this time.

Your repeat the process, same as last time, and hand him the bag. He takes it, and then he hesitates.

“Thanks again,” he says, juggling the bag until it’s held in one arm. He sticks his hand out to you. “I’m Oscar, by the way.”

You tell him your name, though you’re sure he could read it off your nametag, too. When you shake his hand, you swear the warmth of it runs all the way up your arm. He thanks you again, and then he disappears out the door once again. That ache is back in your chest. You find yourself hoping he’ll be back soon.

…..

He does come back. Multiple times. He buys more succulents on one trip, asking you to help him choose between them, and then he ends up buying all three instead. Another morning he comes in and you show him a ZZ plant you’ve just gotten in that you think will be perfect for him- you don’t tell him you’ve been saving it for him at your work station. It’s just… you know it’ll look great next to the snake plant he bought.

Each time he comes to the store, he hangs around a little longer. You chat about the weather, about the plants in the store, about his plants at home. You tell him funny stories about other customers and complain to him about the rude ones. In return, he tells you about his coworkers, specifically one named Lando who he seems to get into a lot of mischief with. He hasn’t said what he does for work. You field weird about asking, so you don’t.

The 4th time he stops by, you suggest a pothos. He eyed the leaves and vines skeptically.

“The other ones looked tough, you know? Like they’d survive even if I fucked up.” He tugs at one of the vines. “Are you sure about this one?”

You nod encouragingly. “You can handle it. I promise. Plus, the cool thing about these is you can cut parts of the vines, like this,” you say, holding up one you’d taken from the workstation. “And then you stick it in water for a bit, it grows roots, and you’ve got a whole new plant.”

He raises his eyebrows. “That’s cool.”

“I know,” you laugh.

He joins you up at the front to buy the plant. You go through the same routine. This time, he’s picked out a pretty blue ceramic pot for it. It compliments the leaves well. Then he leans on the counter and the two of you start chatting. You’d had a shipment that came in last week with a bunch of dead plants, so you regale him with the story of trying to deal with the company’s customer service. In turn, he tells you a story about his family back home- one of his sisters had a dance recital, his mother tried to videotape it for him, he received a video of his mother’s face as she watched the recital. You don’t realize how long the two of you have been talking until Jane, the next person on the schedule, walks in.

You stand up straight, face growing hot suddenly. “Hi, Jane!”

“Hi, hun,” she says, walking past the two of you. “Sorry I’m late. Bet you’re dying for your lunch break.”

She’s late? You and Oscar must’ve been talking for… forever. It had felt like only minutes. He smiles sheepishly and pushes away from the counter.

“Well, I should be going,” he says, taking the bag in his arms. “Thanks again!”

You watch him walk out the front door, unsure why it feels like you’ve been caught. It reminds you of the feeling you’d gotten years ago, when your teacher found you and the boy you had a crush on in the hallway alone. You hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but it still makes you feel strange.

“Friend of yours?” Jane asks when you walk past her to take your break.

You blink, shrugging. “I think he might be.”

…..

Oscar always comes in on Tuesdays. You avoid taking Tuesdays off and won’t admit to yourself that he’s the reason why. But when you wake up with a raging fever and a pounding head, you know you have to call in. Jane, always a sweetheart, takes your shift. When you see her two days later, it’s after you’ve already done the opening shift.

“Did you see your plant?” She asks as she breezes through the greenhouse.

You shut off the hose you’d been using to water a particularly thirsty chrysanthemum. “What plant?”

“The one your friend brought,” she says, and you only feel more confused. “He dropped it off Tuesday, said he was looking for you. It’s on the desk.”

You walk over to the workstation. Sure enough, in a tiny plastic pot- likely one from one of the succulents he’d bought-there’s a small pothos vine growing. You pick up the little plant, knocking over the piece of paper propped up on it in the process. You reach for it, finding a note written in rushed, messy scrawl.

I know you’ve probably got tons, but it felt right that you would have my very first propagation. Learned that word from the internet. Feel better soon! -Oscar

You turn to look at Jane. She’s at the register, not paying you any attention. You cradle the tiny plant close to your chest and do the same with the note. Then you tuck the paper away for safekeeping.

The plant, however, you carry with you all day. You place it in a sunbeam at the front register. When it catches your eye every so often, you feel a warmth in your chest.

…..

The next time Oscar comes in, he eyes the little plant at the register. You’ve stuck a little stake in it and tied a bow on top. He smiles softly and turns back to the display of pots. He chooses a tiny one with checkerboard print, the same as his very first purchase. You ring him up for all his items, but when you go to put that one in the bag, he grabs it and shakes his head. He slides it towards your tiny vine.

“For your plant,” he says, smiling softly.

You break into a face splitting grin. “You’re too sweet.”

His fingers brush against yours when you take it from him. You swear you feel sparks. You wonder if the red cheeks he sports as he leaves the store means he felt it, too.

…..

Another man comes into the shop early in the morning. It’s a Wednesday this time. You know it won’t be Oscar because of that, but you still look up eagerly. The guy nods, waving politely. You smile and go back to your watering. He walks the aisles, looking at the plants and never picking them up.

“Excuse me?” He says, after you’ve put the hose away. You turn, trying to hide your surprise at his American accent. “Um. Could you tell me where the succulents are?”

You grin and nod, walking over towards the area. You point them out.

“These right here,” you say. “Anything I can help you with?”

He stares at the tiny plants. “I have no idea what I’m doing. My friend, he’s gotten really into plants, and he talks about this shop all the time. Figured I’d see what the hype was all about.”

You tilt your head. He’s probably not, but it almost sounds like he’s talking about Oscar. You try and shake the idea from your head. Oscar is just a customer, he’s not going around and telling his friends about the greenhouse he goes to. He’s definitely not telling them about you.

“Succulents are a good place to start,” you say.

He sighs. “I don’t have much of a green thumb. I don’t think I’ll be very good at this.”

“Well, it’s worth a try.” You say with a shrug. “You might surprise yourself.”

He ends up picking out a little succulent. He doesn’t go for a decorative pot. He seems wholly unconfident in his ability to keep it alive for more than a few days. Still, he smiles as he’s leaving. He pauses in the doorway.

“You know, I thought Oscar was exaggerating when he told me about you,” he says. “But I get it now.”

He’s out the door before you can even form a syllable, let alone a word or a sentence. You think about chasing after him and asking what the hell that even means, but you stay rooted there. Oscar talks about you. To his friends. You swear your heartbeat doesn’t slow all morning, and the heat in your cheeks stays there all day.

…..

Oscar comes rushing into the shop the next Tuesday. He has a brown paper bag in his arms, and his eyes are wide. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. You stand up, setting the garden hose down. He nearly slips on a puddle as he rushes over to you, and you reach out to steady him.

“I just got home last night,” he rushes, “and something’s wrong with- with Greg.”

“Greg?” You ask, leaning to peer into the bag.

“My succulent,” he says. His cheeks have gone red. “I name my plants. Is that weird?”

You laugh. “No, it’s not.”

You don’t tell him you’ve named your tiny pothos vine after him. You take the bag from his arms and walk to the back of the store, towards the work station. You reach in and pull out the succulent. It’s a little withered, a bit droopy. It’s also doubled in size since he bought it.

“I’ve been watering him when the soil gets dry,” he says, “and he’s still getting sunlight. I’ve tried everything- I left music playing for them when I left, so-“

Your eyes flicker up to him. He plays music for his plants. He’s the cutest man you’ve ever met. You want to take his face in your hands and kiss his forehead. Or his lips. He has these cute little freckles and moles- you’d like to draw constellations between them. Your face feels hot again. You direct your attention back to the plant as he rambles on. You frown, tugging slightly to see the roots.

“Osc, babe,” you interrupt, and he stops and stares at you. “He’s just a little root bound.”

You don’t dwell on the fact that you’ve just called him babe. It’s too late now.

“What’s that mean?” He asks, the panicky tone still in his voice.

“It means,” you start, nudging his side softly with your elbow, “that you’ve taken such good care of him that he’s outgrown this pot. He needs more soil. More room to spread out.”

His shoulders drop. The panic melts off his face. “Oh.”

You laugh. “God, I can’t believe when you came in here the first time you had no idea what a succulent even was. And now here you are, all panicked over a little wilting. You’ve become a true plant nerd, haven’t you?”

He shrugs sheepishly. “Maybe.”

“It’s cute,” you tell him, just to watch the blush creep up on his cheeks again. “Come on, let’s get him a new pot and some fresh soil.”

You lead him up to the front. He starts to pick through the display, holding the succulent up to the different options until he finds the right one. It’s a light orange.

You nod in approval. “Now you’ve got an empty pot,” you say, pointing at the original pot for the succulent. “Which means if you want, you have an excuse to buy another plant.”

“You’re so smart,” he says, eyes wide.

He rushes over to the display of succulents. While he’s picking one out, you carefully re-pot the plant into its new home. He takes his time, like always, indecisive to the very end. When he makes it up to the counter, he grins widely at the sight of the plant in its new pot.

“Thanks,” he says, softly. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

…..

When Oscar comes into the shop on a particularly rainy Tuesday, you’re trying hastily to hide your tears. He doesn’t come in every week, but it’s just your luck that he’s here today of all days. You wave and turn your back to him, sticking to the workstation. You hear the soft fall of his tennis shoes, though, even over the sound of the rain against the greenhouse roof, and you know he’s making his way towards you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, voice low.

You turn and find him with his hands in his jeans pockets. You wipe at your cheeks hastily, hoping he can’t tell how upset you are, but knowing you look a wreck. Your hair is soaked in rainwater, and your eyes likely red rimmed and puffy. It’s confirmed when his soft smile drops into a frown.

“I’ve had a shit morning,” you tell him with a sigh.

He pulls one hand from his pocket. “You, uh. You have dirt on your cheek.”

You groan and try to brush it away. Oscar chews on his lower lip. Then he reaches out, his fingertips sweeping against the skin of your face. His hand is warm, despite the chill in the air. Tiny sparks seem to spread across your skin, following the trail of his touch. Your face grows hot.

“There,” he says.

“Thanks,” you reply.

He nods. “What’s going on? If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to, but…”

You sigh and turn away slightly, back to the plant in the pot in front of you. His gaze is so warm that you can’t stand to look at him, afraid you might start crying all over again.

“Just. Woke up late, so I was in a rush. And then I locked my car key in the car because I forgot something in the flat, and my mum has the spare key and she’s not even awake yet, so I had to walk here in the rain. And I couldn’t find my umbrella.” You brush a wet piece of hair away from your forehead. “And I slept like shit, and haven’t had any caffeine because I was late. So, yeah.”

“Shit morning,” Oscar agrees.

You nod. You finally turn to look at him again. There’s a soft look on his face, one you can’t quite place. He reaches out, places his hand flat on the counter next to yours. If you shifted your thumb just slightly, you could touch his. You want to, but you don’t.

“Sorry, I- Can I help you find anything?” You ask, blinking at him.

“You don’t need to be sorry, I asked,” he says. He rocks back on his heels and pulls his hand back. “I actually just remembered, I’m- I have to- I’ll be right back.”

He turns around and walks quickly to the front of the store. The bell dings as he walks out through the front door. You stare at the spot where his hand had been for just a moment and feel your heart shatter in your chest. You’d gone and over shared with your favorite customer, the one you thought might actually be your friend, and now you’ve scared him off. Yet another tally to add to the shit morning. You collapse into the chair behind the counter and rest your head in your hands, trying to will the tears away.

You’re not sure how long goes by before you hear the bell over the door again. And really, nobody comes in this early, so why are they choosing today of all days? You hastily wipe your face on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and stand up, plastering a smile onto your lips to greet whoever is in the store.

Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s… Oscar. He’s walking towards you, though he’s not looking at you. He has three takeout coffee cups balanced precariously in his hands. His hair matches yours now, soaking wet and hanging over his forehead. You burst into laughter as he sets them down.

“Oh my god, I thought I scared you off,” you say, brushing a stray tear from the corner of your eye.

“No,” he says, eyes wide. “You said you needed caffeine. There’s a coffee shop just down the road.”

You laugh and press your hands to the counter, leaning towards the cups. “Three cups?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I got you coffee, but I didn’t know if you wanted cream or sugar. So,” he points at the smallest of the three cups, “this is cream,” he says while digging in his pockets. Then he places an assortment of sugar packets on the counter. “And here’s sugar. The other cup is mine.”

You grin at him, shaking your head. “I knew you were my favorite customer for a reason.”

The smile he gives you in return is bright enough to make up for the lack of sun, to wash away the rain clouds, to warm your cold hands. You open the lid to the coffee and pour a bit of cream in, and then add two sugars. Oscar watches, nodding.

“I’ll know for next time,” he says.

Your heart flutters in your chest. Next time. You like the sound of that. You wrap your hands around the paper cup and let the warmth seep into your fingers before you take a sip. You sigh happily, meeting his eyes over the lid. The cup in his hand has something written on it in messy pen. You wonder if the barista tried to give him their number, and you fight back the jealous feeling at the thought.

“Thank you,” you say, softly.

“It’s no biggie,” he insists. “I owed you anyway, for saving Greg.”

He hangs out for a while that morning, leaning on your counter and chatting. You re-pot some plants and then bring them out to the displays, and he follows along. There’s something about his presence alone that warms you up from the inside out. By the time he looks at his watch and curses, muttering about having a meeting, you’re feeling much better. His hand brushes your shoulder before he leaves. You call after him to thank him again for the coffee.

He stops in the doorway, rain falling on his arm that’s extended to hold the door open. “I’ll see you soon!”

Then he disappears into the storm.

…..

You don’t see him soon. It’s not abnormal for Oscar to go a couple weeks without stopping in, so at first you don’t think much of it. Each Tuesday, though, you look up eagerly when the bell over the door rings, and your heart sinks when it’s not him. Maybe you really did over share, maybe he did get scared off. You try not to think about it.

It’s just… he was cute, and kind, and fun to talk to. He brought you coffee. You wonder how his plants are doing, if he’s still playing music for them while he’s gone. You have fleeting images in your brain of him watering the plants, taking the time to look for new leaves and check the roots. You almost wish he’d have another plant emergency, just to give him a reason to stop back in.

Eventually, after a month goes by and he hasn’t been back, you give up almost entirely. You’ll move on eventually, find a new favorite customer. You couldn’t have expected him to keep coming around forever, after all. To him, you were just another retail worker.

You do end up seeing his American friend one more time. He comes in on a Wednesday morning, just like before. He doesn’t stop and look at any of the plants, instead beelining for you. You’re working on bagging some potting soil and watch him with wide eyes.

“Hi,” you say. “Can I help you find something?”

“No, I just-“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I super killed that succulent.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re Oscar’s friend, right? He didn’t help you?”

The guy shakes his head. “He made fun of me, though. Said I overwatered it.”

“How is he, anyways?” You ask.

Logan frowns. “He’s good.”

You nod. “Well, d’you want to try again?”

“No, that’s not why I-“ he sighs, rubbing his temples. “He won’t shut up about you, you know.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Find that hard to believe, since he hasn’t been here for almost a month.”

Which is maybe a little mean spirited. And probably not something you should be saying to his friend. You wince.

Now it’s his turn to blink wildly. “So you miss him too?”

You squint at him. “Why are we having this conversation? I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Logan,” he says. “You haven’t like… reached out to him or anything?”

“How would I?” You ask. “I don’t even know his last name, let alone his phone number.”

“His last name’s Piastri.”

“That feels like information you shouldn’t be giving away to strangers.”

He’s not listening, though. Something seems to have clicked in his head. His eyes go wide and he starts to back away.

“I have to go,” he says. “Thanks!”

You’ve had a lot of strange interactions while working retail, but that one comes in pretty high on the list. And it leaves you wondering about Oscar, which is something you’re trying desperately not to do. All in all, not a great day.

…..

Two weeks later, you clock out of your Tuesday shift around lunchtime and head down the street. It’s raining again, but at least this time you’re armed with a raincoat and an umbrella. Your car is parked nearby, but you’re in the mood for coffee and warm food, so you head to the cafe nearby. You try not to think about the time Oscar had brought you coffee from there. You can’t help picturing his soft smile, eyes trained on the cups balanced precariously in his hands.

You make it halfway to the cafe before a gust of wind hits your umbrella at just the right angle and snaps the metal supports. Then, as if the universe is playing a cruel trick on you, a car speeds by on the road next to you, hits a puddle, and sprays you with muddy water. It soaks through your clothes and onto your skin nearly immediately. You fight the urge to ball your hands into fists and yell dramatically at the sky.

“Shit,” someone says, and the sound of his voice makes your breath catch in your chest. Then he says your name.

You turn, coming face to face with Oscar. Well. Okay. He’s studying you with a pained look on his face and standing under an umbrella.

“Yeah, shit,” you mutter, shaking water from your hands. “Oh my God. Hi, by the way. It’s been a bit.”

“It has,” he agrees, shuffling closer to hold the umbrella over you. “Here. Um. You okay?”

You shrug. “S’just water. I won’t melt.”

Oscar laughs- god, you’ve missed that sound- and nudges your shoulder. “You’ve got bad luck with rainstorms, huh?”

You nod. You’re trying not to freak out at the fact that he’s here. Oscar is standing next to you, holding his umbrella over your head. He’s here and he’s talking to you and he’s feeling sympathetic, which maybe means he doesn’t think you’re completely crazy.

“S’what I get for trying to go get coffee,” you say over the sound of raindrops on the umbrella. “And lunch. Now I’ve got to drive home like this.”

Oscar frowns, his whole face crumpling with it. “Hey, you know… I live just a block down. If you want, you could come and change into some dry clothes.”

Your mother would kill you for even considering it. You can practically hear her yelling in your head. But god, it’s Oscar. It’s Oscar and you haven’t seen him in a month and you might never see him again. There’s something about the soft look on his face that makes you trust him.

“Okay,” you say, quietly. “That would be… really nice. But only if you’re sure.”

“Of course,” he says.

Your shoulders brush as you walk, the umbrella over both of your heads. The two of you are nearly silent on the walk there. It’s like neither of you quite know what to say. You know you don’t. You worry he’s regretting inviting you to his place. But he lets you in the front door, leads you to the elevator, and all the way up to flat. When he opens the door, warm air pours over you like a river. You step in and toe off your boots, wincing at the squish of your wet socks.

Oscar winces, too. “Here, the bathroom’s right there,” he says, pointing at a partially open door. “I’ll go grab you some dry clothes. There’s towels in there too.”

You nod and step into the room. So far, the little bit of his apartment that you’ve seen matches up with what he’s told you. There are no shoes sitting out in the entryway. The bathroom is nearly spotless, which makes you feel a bit guilty about the dirty rainwater you’re dripping onto the floor. Oscar’s only gone long enough for you to take off your jacket.

He knocks on the door. “I’ve got clothes for you.”

You open the door, and he’s standing there, eyes squeezed shut. The clothes are held out in midair, like he’s trying to keep his distance. You laugh and take them, murmuring out a thanks. As you go to change, you hear him walk away.

You shuck your wet clothes off and drop them in the tub, shivering when the air hits your bare skin. You wipe the rainwater from your skin. Then you pull on the clothes he gave you- a t-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of sweatpants. Plus a pair of thick, warm looking socks. All of them are baggy on you, but luckily the pants have a drawstring so you can pull them tight around your hips. You wring the water out of your hair with the towel and then wrap it around your shoulders before you step out into the hallway.

You can hear him moving around in the next room, so you head there. He’s standing at the kitchen island, which is open to the living room. He looks up when he hears you walk in, and a soft smile spreads across his face. His living room is neat and tidy, too. His plants are all lined up on the windowsill. You recognize them all from your store, and you smile.

“D’you have a plastic bag I can put my clothes in?” You ask, and he tilts his head at you. “I don’t wanna get more rainwater on your floor. Or in my car, really.”

“I mean, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Or… you could throw them in the washer. Hang out for a bit.”

He’s not looking at you anymore. You’re glad, because you’re sure you have a dumbfounded look on your face. It’s then that you notice the coffee machine running on the counter behind him, and the snacks out on the counter. Your mind is racing. He hasn’t stopped by the shop in nearly a month, but now…

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you say, unsure what else there is to possibly say.

He shakes his head, still not looking up. “You’re not.”

You cast your eyes to the window. It’s raining harder now. And god, you’ve missed him. You didn’t realize just how much until you were standing here.

“It’s been a while,” he says, turning his back to you when the coffee maker beeps. “We have some catching up to do.”

You think about letting it go. Maybe it’s enough to be here. Maybe you just shouldn’t bring it up. But really, you’re confused about the fact that he stopped coming to the store.

You tilt your head at him. “Yeah, you stopped coming in.”

“Well, you never texted me,” he says. “So I figured I’d freaked you out or something. But then Logan said he stopped by and you asked about me-“

You stare at the back of his head, bewildered, and you break in. “Oscar, I don’t have your number.”

He freezes, hand in midair, reaching for a coffee mug. He turns his head over his shoulder, and his eyes meet your again. He looks just as confused as you feel. Suddenly, your heart is racing in your chest.

“I wrote it on the coffee cup,” he says, voice quiet.

You stare at him, wide eyed. “There was nothing on my coffee cup.” He shakes his head, opens his mouth, but you keep talking. “I’m sure of it. But there was writing on yours. I know because I wondered if the barista was trying to give you her number.”

Oscar just stares at you for a moment, his lips barely parted. “Shit. I gave you the wrong cup.”

Shit, you repeat in your head. He tried to give you his number. He thought he gave you his number, and then you never texted him. He thought you rejected him. No wonder he stopped coming in.

“You could’ve just asked me for my number, you know,” you tell him.

“Yeah, but this was cuter,” he says. “It was- it was my number and this cheesy ass pickup line that Logan helped me think of and I- I really thought you just didn’t…”

“Pickup line?”

“Looking back it sounds stupid,” he admits. “But yeah. I was trying to ask you out on a date. And so when you didn’t text me…”

You cross the room, walking right up in front of him. His hands have fallen to his sides. His eyes trace your face as you smile up at him. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, brows slightly furrowed. You can smell the coffee now- it reminds you of when he brought you the coffee weeks ago.

“You should ask me now,” you tell him, smiling brightly.

He nods. “Without the pickup line, though.”

You pout up at him. He grins. One of his hands comes up to the side of your face, fingers cupping your jaw. His thumb prods at your cheek.

“Will you go on a date with me?” He asks, voice low.

You pretend to think about it. Pretend it doesn’t make your heart melt just to hear him say it. “Hm. When?”

He shrugs, looks around. “How about now?”

“It’s raining,” you remind him.

“We can have a stay at home date,” he suggests. “Coffee, lunch, a movie, maybe.”

You tilt your head. “Sounds nice.”

“Yeah?” He says, sounding a bit like he doesn’t quite believe you.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since the day we met.”

Oscar laughs and leans closer. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, then.”

He presses his lips to yours, and your eyes slip closed. You reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him close. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear- it’s still wet from the rain, and both of you giggle into the kiss. His hands drop to your hips, shoving the sweatshirt out of the way to hold onto you. You could kiss him for hours, you think. It’s all you’ve wanted for months now.

The coffee is growing cold on the counter. Suddenly, though, you don’t need caffeine.

He pulls away slightly, looks you up and down. “You look cute in my clothes, you know.”

You giggle and tug on the sweatshirt, pointing at the orange logo on the chest. “Thanks. Big McLaren guy, are you?”

Oscar laughs and brushes his lips against your temple. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Then he goes back to kissing you. You’re not complaining. You’ve got all the time in the world to learn all about him.

…..

Weeks later, you corner Logan at the British Grand Prix. Oscar’s distracted by interviews, but Logan’s not busy.

“What was the pickup line he wrote?” You ask, arms crossed over your chest.

Surprisingly, he needs very little convincing. He just laughs, eyes darting to where Oscar stands behind you in the media pen. His gaze is full of amusement.

“I be-leaf we’re meant to be,” he says in a teasing tone. “He was down bad.”

You laugh and turn over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend. He’s grinning watching the two of you talk. Later, you tease him for the cheesy line, for hiding behind coffee cups and scribbled pen when he could’ve just told you. He teases you for the same, for not telling him how you felt, for not making a move. And then you look at him, knowing your gaze is terribly soft.

“I believe it, too,” you tell him.

When he kisses you, you draw constellations between the freckles on his face with your thumb. Outside, it starts to rain.

a/n: can you tell I am a big plant nerd? anyways live laugh love oscar piastri I want to help him pick out plants :)

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me

#oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #formula one oneshot #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 oneshot #formula 1 x reader #oscar piastri #honeywrites #op81 #if you’ve made it this far in the tags somehow hi

[lady-ashfade]

soulmate au with percy and reader. i was thinking like reader is like a complete nobody at camp and the daughter of some not really known god. percy and reader meet by accident and they figure out they are soulmates. percy at first didn’t want anything to do with it because he had feelings for annabeth but comes around.

Percy Jackson x Fem!reader. (Soulmate au)

-£ Pictured a older version of book Percy, but imagine them staying a camp or coming late.

-£ words: 1.5 words

-£ warnings: Angst, rejection, jealousy, I love annabeth, percy being mean? Idk. Anyway kinda short. What can I say, I love a man with dark hair who has sass?🤷‍♀️

“Do you ever wonder who you’re soulmates is?” percy sat on the log near the cliff looking over the sunset. annabeth keeping her eyes on the forest below, smiling softly as the orange sun hit her skin.

“I’m not worried about it, they will come to me when the time is right.” she replied with a calm voice.

percy could help himself from looking down at her hand and slowly inching his hand near hers. the marking was just late. he knew that she was his soulmate. how could she not be after everything they went through? besides no one knew him like she did.

fate is a funny thing.

because the person who was chosen to be his, and his alone wasn’t the girl he sat next to. it was you. you barely had any contact with percy. never even spiking a word to each other and yet the world still twined you together.

looking back on it he wished he reacted in a nicer way then he did. anything other then what he did, even faint.

he was running a pile of arrows to the archery training ground when he ran into you. as soon as your eyes met the world was slow for just a second and colors shined brighter then they did. in that moment you both felt something that was more then the gods. something even the gods can’t touch.

“woah,” you whisper with your hands still held onto the arrows he was trying to give to you. his hands didn’t stop clinching onto the wood, he couldn’t believe it.

you blink at him for him to do something other then stand there and stare with a open mouth. sure this type of thing wasn’t normal but he didn’t even move a inch.

but you wished he had stayed quiet, “Look, I um..” he let go of the things you two shared and took a step back with hasted.

“I have to run.” you watched him run off like there was nothing important to keep him here.

At first you thought that he was just shy, in shock, and didn’t know what to say. but you soon figured out he wanted nothing to do with you. you followed him around and tried to talk to him at every chance you got but he would always slip from your fingers.

cornering him in the woods at night wasn’t the best idea but you had but there was not other choice. it didn’t feel good to have your soulmate avoid you.

“There is a mistake.” his voice echoed through the woods, “I feel nothing for you. I am sure you are amazing, but you are not my soulmate.”

he watched the tears pool into your eyes like the waves he controlled. taking a step back from the news from his lips that crushed your soul. “I am in love with another.”

Licking your lips you roll your eyes to try and stop the tears forming. “it’s annabeth isn’t it?” he couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to. the silence he gave when he opened his mouth but nothing came out told you everything you needed to know.

“I do hope you live a happy life,” you walked closer to him only inches away, “especially when she finds her soulmate.” you walked past him and down the dirt path back to your cabin where you broke down.

fate was twisted and cruel for giving you him.

day and night you thought about him. and day and night you got worse. everyone could see the toll of being rejected but no one new by who. not a soul knew about you and percy and you honestly liked it that way. no pity glances when they hung out together. 

soulmate depression was a serious thing and could lead one down to a never reversible illness. your eyes lost their light, no one ever saw you smile, looking as dead like as possible. every positive feeling in your body was drained out.

annabeth looked over at you at diner time as you stared at the plate in front of you, sitting at the edge of the bench. “It’s terrible,” she said and picked at her food with a fork. “I hope they come around.”

the trio stared at you in pity, one of them feeling guilt. “It’s a really bad case, I feel so bad.” Grover looked sad as he almost cried himself. love was supposed to be for real, that’s what soulmates were for! If he had one he would never let them get like that.

Percy found himself studying the girl. Her hair messy, her face grime and eyes blank and darker then the last time he looked in them. And Percy was the cause.

“Yeah,” the black hairy boy turned and poked at his food.

It has been week since then and a weight sunk in his stomach when he thought of you, which was almost every moment now. He thought about how you would smile before and how he wanted to see that again. He really thought he liked annabeth but each day that feeling went away.

Maybe he could think things over. But how could he apologize? Would you still want him?

But as Percy thought over the war in his head you moved on. Or as much as you could. there was a sickness in your body but you tried to fight it and spent time with your friends.

one boy took you in quickly. the two of you now glued at the hip and he was the only one who seemed to make you smile now.

“Dude,” Grover knocked his shoulder with his own, “What did he do to you?”

The son of Poseidon darted his eyes lowly at some boy. The way you smiled ever so sweetly like he has been wishing to see for weeks but this- This guy could cause it easily. And those small laughed he could hear so faintly in his ears.

“Nothing.” Percy stated while still glaring at the guy heavily.

the satyr nodded but lingered his eyes on his friend for a few seconds. clearly not believing him one bit.

“I have to tell you something,” he pulled his eyes away from you and to his friend. Guilt covering his face. “You know how y/n got reflected by her soulmate?” his voice shaky.

“Of course, it was hard to watch.” He answered. It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots when Percy lifted his brows as a sign. Grover gasped loudly.

“You did- Oh my god’s. How could you?” His mouth was then covered by Percy as he shh’d him.

Percy took a big breath as he held his hand over his mouth, “I’m not proud of it. It was just, I didn’t feel like we could be. I thought me and annabeth were soulmates until they came along,” he turned his eyes back to your direction to find you laughing slightly with your friends.

“I was terribly wrong.”

As much as Grover was mad at his friend he could see the guilt and regret on his face. He helped him come up with a plan, and gave him a very long lecture about love. Annabeth found out, and cursed him out. Saying that the marks don’t lie and was overly upset he could do that for her.

it took a week of long work for him to build up the courage to finally talk to you.

lucky he knew exactly where you would be. in the same stop he saw you for the first time as his soulmate. In the training grounds. You had been walking back to your cabin looking as beautiful as always even with your gloomy change.

you had a basket in your hand. you hummed quietly and kept your eyes on the dirt path underneath your feet. you were too out of it to hear him walking from behind you. “Y/n.” He called your name.

turning around startled you are met with him smiling at you. the boy who broke your heart standing there with a warm smile on his face as if he didn’t do anything wrong.

“Percy.” You whisper and step back. “I um…Do you need something?” you were shaking almost.

He got closer slowly as he got more awkward by the second, “can we talk?” you were hesitant to expect his offer but you nodded.

“I want to apologize for rejecting you. I felt horrible watching you- Well, get like this.” He kept getting closer and you didn’t know if you should run away or scream at him.

“I was wrong. You are the girl for me.” He saw the tears flood in the corner of your eyes and your lips tremble

“you think that’s enough?” you didn’t yell but he could sense the harsh tone in your voice. And you have that right.

“No, not really.” his frowns. Knowing he needed to do more.

“But I’m willing to work as hard as I need to. If you will have me?”

His green eyes filled with sorrow. the feeling to leave him here, with nothing like he did to you. But you couldn’t. You felt better in his presence as he looked at you.

“I’ll allow it, but we take this slow.” All he could do was smile again and nod his head in understanding.

even if you didn’t trust him. he healed your heart in the matter of seconds.

#percy jackson x you #Percy Jackson x reader #book percy jackson #book Percy #percy jackson imagine #soulmate au #percy jackson x fem!reader

[noceurous]

get you back

summary: You hated that you loved Bucky Barnes, and he loved that you could not hate him.

warnings: mention of alcohol consumption, semi-drunkenness, carsex (18+), fingering, oral, swearing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do it), fuckbuddy!bucky, dbf!bucky, implied age gap, mention of bad boyfriends (not bucky), using nicknames (princess, bunny) , slight degradation - nothing physical, some mention of food

minors dni

a/n: yes I AM BACK. please leave some comments/reblogs. thanks!!

A loud snap of fingers made you turn your head to him. “Are you even listening to me?” You sighed, pressing fingers on your temples to look like you were trying to remember.

No, you weren’t listening. You were thinking how that hot guy was about to give you his number, before James Buchanan Barnes a.k.a the actual devil, snatched you away. Leading you to his car without giving you a chance to say goodbye to the best body you have ever seen.

You. Hated. James. Bucky. Barnes.

“Something about… bunnies?” You shrugged as you turned your head back towards the road. Even though it was almost pitch black, you fought your urge to look at his profile under car’s lights. Even though he was angry and sleepless he looked better than all the guys you’ve ever known.

“Really? You are not even trying kid.” He said as he emphasized on the last word. He knew how much you hated the nickname.

“Stop calling me a kid. I’m not that young.”

“I will stop calling you a kid, when you stop acting like one. What were you thinking? What was the point of all that drinking? Get my attention or liver failure?”

The point was to get over your ex boyfriend finding someone before you did. You didn’t want to be the one who was stuck in an ended relationship.

You weren’t even prepared to the idea that he would start dating in a few months. His post just popped on your phone while you were scrolling through pictures on Instagram. Selfie with her, cheek to cheek and smiling like a true dumbass he is.

Getting ass drunk would be a nice way to forget. But you shouldn’t been too drunk to start texting and calling other people.

Especially calling the guy you hated the most. Because he would show up just in time, and yank you away from the guy you were flirting with.

You really shouldn’t have drunk texted your on-again-off-again hookup. Neighbour of your parents, a close friend of your dad.

It started just a few days after your heartbreak. You weren’t sure of how it started, but you remembered how it ended. In his bed, literally begging him for letting you cum as he pounded into you like an animal.

When you weren’t fucking, all you did was argue. Arguments about when to meet up or where to meet up… You hated meeting up in his place, so close to your parents. And he hated meeting only for an hour max.

You started fighting and decided to not meet up again. Either of you got tired of all the lies and secrets. It was you more than it was him. Bucky was always sure you would come back to him one way or another.

“Remind me not to call you again.” You huffed, resting your head on the window. Sun was about to shine in a few hours and all you wanted was to get into your bed. All you needed was forget the day and move on.

“Sure your parents would be thrilled to know their daughter would end up in jail for DUI.” You turned your neck so fast that it hurt.

“I wasn’t going to drive the car!”

“You getting into car of a drunk idiot is stupid enough too!”

“Stop acting like you are my dad! He was fucking hot, and he told me his place was really close.”

“What made you believe in him? I know what that kind of guy thinks. It is only getting you to the bed. You would be considered lucky if he bothered to call you the next day.”

“So? What made you think I am not okay with it?” You saw all the blood rushing to his cheeks, decorating them with a soft pink hue.

“Okay...” He said trying to not go any further with that discussion.

You dropped your shoulders, when you saw how his grasp on wheel tightened and his jaw clenched. If you didn’t know him that well, you would say he was offended.

Whether it was because of anger towards him or how tired you were. You didn’t say anything back but leant your seat back to at least sleep for the rest of the ride.

“Oh no princess, you are definitely not sleeping.” He said just before he slapped your thigh. Small ‘Hey!’ fell from your lips. It was fair to expect him to snap and say you crossed a line.

You yanked your leg away from his grasp. He shut you up before you could say anything back. “You made me get all this way three in the morning. Ofcourse there would be consequences.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.” You said as you rubbed your thigh.

“You sent me a picture of you lifting your skirt and texted all those things you want to do with me. But when I come to pick you up, I saw you on the lap of some dickhead.”

“I was horny. We’ve decided to stop with fooling around. Life moves on James.” As you finished the sentence, his foot stepped on the pedal so quick that he had to use his arm to stop you from falling forward.

“Get in the back of the car.”

“James, I’m tired.”

“Get in the back, or I will make you bunny.” You didn’t said anything back. Bucky never called you bunny, if he didn’t have something on his mind. You knew better than to take the risk of getting him angrier.

You rolled your eyes before unfastening your seatbelt. He caught the sight of your underwear as you bent over to move through the gap between the seats. Even though Bucky saw your pink thong, you acted like you had the upper hand.

“Take off your skirt.” He said before coming next to you. He almost yanked off the door before squishing you on the backseat.

He pulled you by your legs, making you lie down. The cold leather of the seats caused goosebumps on your skin. That and you knew what he was capable of when he was angry.

And he was pissed.

“Not so tired ha, bunny?” His large hands wandered along your legs, moving slowly towards your hips.

A loud noise of your gulp echoed in your brain. You could get used to that view. You legs hooked to his shoulders. His charming face inches over your lucky thong.

“Tell me again bunny.” He said as his eyes locked on your figure under his, trying not to smirk at the wet patch on your thong.

“Tell you what?” You asked. Blinking at him with nothing else on your mind.

“Tell me again the last thing you told me before breaking up with me. So I would not have my way with you.”

“Uhm...” He started kissing on the top of your thighs. Index finger was tracing your slit over the thong.

“We can’t keep doing this and not expect one of us getting hurt. Ah-“ He bit inside of your thigh, sucking a gentle bruise. “James.”

He didn’t listen to you. If he ever did that was not it definitely.

“I’m listening. Continue.” Kisses, soft bites started decorating your body.

His hands placed next to your waist. His teeth brushed along the band of your thong. You wanted to raise your hips. But the way he looked up at you, the darkness in his eyes, made you stop.

You licked your lips, closing your eyes to concentrate. “We continue lying to our close ones and soon enough the lies would get out of—“ You stopped as he curled his finger like a hook to pull down your thong.

He mumbled something that you were sure was Russian as he got close to your heat. His eyes looked into your eyes. You knew he was daring you to stop.

If you stop I’ll stop too bunny.

He didn’t need to speak for you to understand.

“—hands. Lies get out of our hands. It is too risky and it does not worth it. We both know that this affair does not take LONG!”

He licked a stripe over your slit. As his cold fingers separated your folds. He loved to torture you like this.

“I don’t want any of us to get hurt.” You manage to finish your speech as you felt the familiar tingles build up.

The tip of his tongue flicked your clit and you had to hold on to something, his hair, to stop your thighs to close around his head.

“See this is where you are wrong, bunny. There isn’t any chance where you can hurt me...” He said as his fingers collected some of your juices, raising them to his lips. “Unless you try to neglect me of your sweet nectar.” He sucked his fingers clean, you heard a tiny ‘hmm’ as his fingers touched his tongue.

He raised his head to look at you when he was circling around your weeping hole. “Answer this, do you want to hurt me bunny?” He wanted to make you weep as much as your pussy.

“N-no. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then why you try to break things off?” The tip of his finger slowly pushed into your whole. He pulled it back before you could enjoy this. “Are you going to try and break things off again?” Another question he didn’t need to hear its answer to. He could read it from your tearful eyes and slight pout. “Oh bunny.” He whispered to himself, pride filling his chest.

His finger went back to circling around your hole as he used another one to toy with your clit. You could not stop yourself from curling your toes and try to pull him closer.

That arrogonat smirk on his face made a comeback. “Are you going to flirt with other guys who I’m sure does not even know what a clit is?” You shook head your again and he pressed his thumb.

“Fuck.” You said as you squirmed under his touch.

“Not the answer I am looking for. Do you want to try again bunny?”

“I—I’m not going to flirt with other guy a—and ohgod!” He pushed one inch of his finger inside curling the tip so it would reach your spot. You didn’t stop so he wouldn’t either. “I’m not going break things o—off.”

One more inch and you knew you would start to drip onto seats. Before you knew it, his mouth got back onto your clit. “James!” You said again as you pulled onto his locks.

“Shit! It’s only been a week but your pussy is crying out f’ me.” He said as he stood back up.

Your legs started shaking by the time. You whimpered at the lost contact of his fingers and lips. You also missed seeing him with your thighs wrapped around his head.

You knew if you touched yourself he would bite your fingers and deny you any sort of release. He quickly unfastened his belt and lowered his pants and boxers just low enough to take out his cock.

The tip was swollen red it was starting to leak some precum as he pressed it on your clit. “You are an attention whore bunny. It’s been only a week and I find you cosy with another guy. This deserves punishment don’t you think?”

“Please! I’ve been just trying to get your attention.” He smiled at your confession as he aligned his tip.

“Tell me you are mine and mine only. If you tell me that, I’ll give you what you want.”

“I’m yours James. I’m only yours, I do not belong to anybody else.” He started slowly push into you.

He leaned over you to fix the hair got on your face. His lips brushed along yours when you moaned as he found the spot. Your legs started to got down but he held them back. Pushing your bent knee to your chest as he started moving.

His hips started rutting into you slowly. “So pretty like this bunny. All spread out for me.” His tongue darted out from his lips to giving you a longing kiss. All teeth and tongue, full of lust and desire.

His large hands pulled down your strapless top, letting your tits out. His tongue clicked on top of mouth. “And thinking I would be sharing them with some dickhead.” He pushed into you hardly, making you jump into his arms.

“I don’t share bunny. Never.” You knew he meant more with those words.

Air inside the car was getting thick because of your panting. His fingers started playing with your nipples to get them erect as he held your tits together and started licking and sucking both of them.

“Not the teeth ah!” You tried to protest but he had already sunk his teeth into your extra-sensitive flesh. Sweet melody of your cries caused him to increase speed. He wanted more.

You yelped as you tried to find something to hold onto, best thing you found was the back of his shoulder as you pressed your nails against his skin. Bruises and scratches would be greeting both of you as first thing in the morning but it didn’t bother you as long as it came with pleasure.

“FuckFuckFuck!” Familiar coil started to form under your belly button, and you threw your head back. “James, please please…”

“Wanna cum bunny? Is that it? Mumblin’ because you are too close?” He said after detaching from your nipples with a pop. The little numb was all swollen and covered in saliva.

“Y-yes oh.” He slammed his hips onto yours with more force and stayed pressed into you. “Cum for me bunny. Cream all over my cock, fuck, you filthy girl, so eager for a release.” He said as he stopped your wriggling hips against is. “Humpin’ me like a cute lil’ bunny.”

Your hips started moving involuntarily, chasing after your release. He helped you with continuing the pound into you. You were chanting his name unable to form more coherent words or sentences.

“That’s it bunny. Cum for me come on! I’ve got you.” Just after he was finished your release hit you like a wave, causing you to lose all the control of your mind and body.

But he didn’t stop, he increased his pace. Chasing his own release using your numb body. “‘So pretty like this bunny. Makes me want to keep you all to myself.”

“I’m all yours.” You whispered, truly meant it. As you became used to the swell on your chest each time you look at him.

You were really his.

“Yeah? Are you going to take my cum? Let me breed you? I’m sure you would love that don’t you bunny? All swollen with my cum, looking at me with those pretty eyes. Fuck!”

“Yes, yes yes give it to me please.”

“Fucking take it. You little cumslut.” You felt the wetness and warmth of his release shoot right inside of you.

He stood there with your legs wrapped around his waist. Looking at your tired and ruined figure. Taking the sight in just before he slowly pulled out.

“We—“ You tried to speak up, trying not to show him how much you missed his cock inside you already.

As he was putting his clothes back on you once were aware of this situation.

There was no We, you two were just fucking whenever one of you needed some release. No matter what you do to get his attention, all you would get was his dick pounding into you. It won’t be his heart.

Sound of glove compartment’s being closed made you raise on your elbows to look at him.

You saw him take out some tissues to wipe off his leaking cum. “Are you on the pill?” You shook your head, you knew how those were messing up with you. “I’m not ovulating, it’s fine.” He shook his head, “Still gotta get you some plan B. We shouldn’t be risking it.”

“Sure.” You tried to swallow the ache in your throat, and your pride.

You fixed your top and found your thong on the ground, raising it to put it on. Tension between the two of you was so thick that a saw could not even cut it.

He got back on his seat and started the engine. “The sun is about to rise, I can drive to a diner and got us some breakfast. There is a place I know makes your favourite. They are also good at making it.” He couldn’t hide his smile when he saw your smile at the mention of the food. He loved making you smile like that.

Sleep was the last thing on your mind, since he fucked your brains out. Since it had been more than 10 hours since you last ate something; growling sounds from your stomach was about to come. “Sounds good but I want to wear my skirt first.”

“Sure bunny.” He said as he tossed your skirt back to you.

And it was a second, just a second, that he felt like he could get used to it.

He could get used to having breakfast with you. He could get used to your face being the first thing he saw as he started his day. He could get used to having sex with only one person, someone really means something to him.

But when your phone buzzed, and he saw your dad’s name on the screen he got back into reality.

You sent it to voicemail, and leaned closer to him over the table. He saw the same smile again on your lips and the familiar spark on your eyes.

“So what do you say? Your place or mine?”

He smiled back at you, leaning over you. “Which one do you prefer, bunny?” He knew he could go on as long as you looked at him like that.

As long as you looked at him with love. Even if you were just realizing, he was already an addict for it.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #dbf!bucky #dbf!bucky barnes smut #dbf!bucky barnes x reader #dbf!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes series

[steddieas-shegoes]

wayne's got him

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'wayne adopts steve' rated g wc: 680 cw: migraines tags: hurt/comfort, established relationship, fluff

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

Steve's head was pulsing, a sharp pain shooting from his eyes to his neck, sitting at his jaw for minutes at a time.

He hadn't had a migraine this bad in a while, and definitely not since Eddie had started working. He didn't have anyone here to help, and Robin would be at work until the afternoon.

He slowly rolled over in bed, wincing as the pain got worse from the movement.

He couldn't contain the whimper he let out as he tried to settle again, his head hurting too much in every position to try to get comfortable.

"Steve? Y'alright?" Wayne's voice was probably a normal volume, but it felt like shards of glass in his ears, against his eyes.

Apparently, his responding whimper was enough to have Wayne opening the door and coming into the bedroom.

"You dyin'?" Wayne whispered, seemingly sensing that every noise was too much.

"No," Steve managed to say. "Migraine."

Wayne didn't respond at first and Steve couldn't keep his eyes open. What little light was coming through the window felt like the sun was shining two feet in front of him.

And then the light was gone, the room was nearly pitch black, and Wayne's footsteps were getting closer to the bed.

"Gonna get you some water and meds. Hungry?" He whispered.

Steve shook his head once, barely.

He may have passed out for a minute or two because the next thing he knows, he's being slowly lifted enough to take a sip from the glass that's being held against his lips.

"Just a few small sips, son. The meds are crushed up in it," Wayne whispered.

Steve did his best, dribbling some when he accidentally opened his mouth too far.

Wayne wiped his mouth and chin after with a towel hanging off the chair by the bed.

"Called Eddie to let him know, told him I got ya."

"'S okay."

"I got ya, I said. Lay back, I got the ice pack."

Steve did what he asked, sighing with relief when the ice pack was placed on his forehead.

"That better?" Wayne asked.

"Mhm."

"Leave it for ten minutes and then I'll switch it out with the hot water bottle."

Eddie must've told him that helps.

Their day wore on, Steve sleeping when he could find some relief, letting Wayne nurse him back to health when he couldn't.

By the time Eddie got home, Steve's head was in Wayne's lap while he slowly massaged his temple.

"Any better?" Eddie whispered.

"A bit," Steve replied softly. "He did the ice and heat."

"Of course he did. That's where I learned it from," Eddie smiled softly at him.

"You go get cleaned up and then take over," Wayne said to Eddie. "I got him."

Eddie kissed Steve's forehead before walking to the shower to wash off the day.

Steve closed his eyes again, trying to fend off the nausea of the smell of chemicals from the mechanic shop that always lingered on Eddie after a shift.

"Stinks, don't he?" Wayne asked quietly.

Steve smiled.

"A little. 'S okay."

"Smells hurt worse though, don't they?"

"Yeah."

"He's still got some learnin'. But I got ya both 'til he does."

Steve turned his head to look at Wayne.

"Why are you helping me? Weren't you tired after your shift?" Steve asked, realizing for the first time that Wayne had just gotten home from his night shift when he found Steve miserable that morning.

He'd been awake for more than 24 hours now, and didn't seem even remotely worried about himself.

"Cuz you're my boy. I love ya and if ya need me, I'm gonna be here."

Steve felt his eyes start to burn with incoming tears, his throat closing against a sob.

"But-"

"No buts. You got me same as Ed, and if I could, I'd adopt you too. Okay?"

"Okay."

By the time Eddie made it back into the bedroom, Steve was asleep, and Wayne's eyes were drooping closed.

Eddie didn't have the heart to make Wayne get up.

It'd be okay; He had Steve.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #wayne munson