『 R E Q U E S T S , C L O S E D 』AnimeCharacters x Reader

50. Sting Eucliffe x Yandere! Reader | 3/4 Cup of Sugar

》character: Sting Eucliffe | Fairy Tail

》 requested by: Luna-Skia

》12122017

》 There are things that go bump in the night, and there are things that break and burn and crash. Sting Eucliffe, if not in the epicenter of danger, always lived so close to it; holding her hand, kissing her neck, telling her secrets (she'd never forget.)

[a/n]: do i know how to write yandere characters? absolutely not! does that stop me from trying? nop. is the characterization going to be done poorly? definitely!

since it's almost christmas, i decided to try and give this a christmas-ish vibe to it, and i want to get all these requests done before 2018 ends :>  as usual, enjoy!

xx

The beauty of being exhausted, worked to the bone, a little bit of tomorrow's soreness in each and every muscle, is that anything is comfort. Swan-feather pillows and foam couch pillows felt all the same to the tired legs you threw over the arms of the couch.

It was easy to part with the cold weather at the doorstep, but a little harder to part with the couple thousand jewel at the innkeeper's desk. The homeless, brutal weather experience was not your cup of tea, however neither was the lighter weight of your wallet; but the lesser poison was less likely to kill. Your cup of tea had been cooling down for quite a while on the edge of the table.

"Mind if I join you?" Sting asks, balancing all the while a cup of tea with the scent of cream cutting across the room. He was the image of freshness: shower smell and old clothes, balancing a saucer of cookies over jittery hands.

His shadow dances easily into yours, looking more puffed up and beefy than he really is. He deflates rather anticlimactically, with an 'umph' and a sigh and a scratch of his belly. His shadow resembled a ferocious troll and his trusty iron club; him, the purebred prince rides in with his flying colors and unfathomable richness waving from behind; you, the princess, blissful to tears at being saved from a lifetime of misery, eagerly fitting into the arms of your prince.

"Well I'm damn tired," Sting says. You yourself agree with a laugh.

"But imagine being the one who cleans this entire place," you say, and your feet hurt again at the thought of it. Sting forces a dramatic shiver in a room full of warmth.

And you can't help yourself: "I'd probably go crazy on the first day."

"I'd get up and leave the moment I touch a broom!" Sting says, exaggerating. It's the kind of corny shit that makes you laugh until your stomach hurts.

He moves so much when he's laughing, so much that the back of your head's touched his ribs, his collarbone and his earring. You're laughing too, unabashedly; laughing 'til you knock your heads together and something unexpected happens.

He has his hand on the back of your head, to keep you from falling, and you try to remember whether you plugged out your hair dryer or not. You decide it's not important now, with his hand in your hair and his efforts to keep the joke going. Somewhere behind you, flickering by and by the room, your shadows were one; your souls were, too.

xx

So maybe you and Sting fell asleep after the third kiss, and the tea's gone as cold as the outside world, there are ants lining like hungry students. Sting's hands are so deep in the locks of your hair his hand could be a part of it and when someone taps you, his hand falls away.

It's Rogue, and your first thought is that his eyebrows are so close together you could tie a knot with them.

"And who gave the cookies to the ants?" he says, sounding like a mother (Might as well be, since he cooks for all the times of day between breakfast and dinner.)

"It was only a nap, I didn't expect them to come so quickly."

"They're fucking ants!"

"That's mine, I'll make up for it," Sting quickly finishes, sinking back into the union of the both of you. Rogue stomps away, looking patronizing and foul.

He throws an arm around you, trying to keep his eyes up. "Cookies are mine," he repeats, he grins- dastardly. "You're mine, too," he mumbles, but the words are louder where they repeat in your heart.

You make an ugly noise, the kind of thing vultures make to communicate with each other, and he turns heavenly for a moment. Adore, adore, adore, even when the fire grows warmer and all you'd ever want to hold is him.

"Shh," he says, laughing again, "he might throw me in the fire if we make more trouble."

"I'll throw him in it first," you challenge, "and use the leftovers as fuel for the next one. Never going to let him touch you."

Sting smiles (the tea is going to freeze once all this is over,) and he takes you for a fourth kiss.