#(so naturally it makes drawer go fucking insane. At times.)

[galaxiasgreen]

🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut, minor Garrinis [E-Rated, 4.7k words]

He pulls you so close there's a mere thread of air between the tips of your noses. You look up and see a man lost in the midst of his demons, drowning under a pain so core-deep there's no hope of excavation – and in the reflection of those coffee eyes, you see yourself, the angel, the life ring, the last hope that keeps him tethered to the world. "No." The word punctuates with unyielding command. "No. I would never, ever let them hurt you. I swear it to god." "I don't care about God," you whisper. "Swear it to me."

The truth comes out as you sew Sebastian's wounds.

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: alcoholism, coarse language, blood/ injury, surgical stitching, explicit smut MDNI (dirty talk, table sex, porn with feelings, semi-public sex, very slight breeding kink).

5. living and surviving

Sebastian comes to when you hold smelling salts under his nose.

Between last breath and now, you were a mile out in the centre of town, a minute's walk from the pub, maybe more, depending on how far astray you were led by Harlow's men. You have no idea how you ended up in some cramped one-bed flat overlooking a dim, dingy street near the docks – and until you noticed the empty bottles strewn on a damp, sticky floor and smelt a musk of sweat and leather infused with the bedsheets, you didn't know where you were either. The garret converted from a servant's quarters feels like its own world, not quite tangled with reality.

But Sebastian's bloodied body is no dream. Everything that's happened – waking up in the middle of the night, Harlow attacking, Sebastian interfering, then transporting to his lodging in the blink of an eye... you can barely process it.

His eyes flutter open at the smell, and you place the salts aside to wipe the sweat from his brow. Now is not the time to panic; Sebastian needs you. You can't let it get to you while he's on the brink of seeing his parents again.

"Easy. You blacked out."

"Fuck." He winces. "I..."

He tries to reach for his pocket – you stop him. "I told you to take it easy."

"Need... drink..."

"No you don't. I got some bandage from your bathroom and cleaned and wrapped the wounds, but the one on your chest is too deep. It needs sewing. Have you got a needle?"

His gaze drifts to the empty whisky bottle on his bedside drawer.

"Don't tell me you used the good stuff?"

"You won't get to appreciate the good stuff if you die." You sink down onto the chair, staring at the dried blood on your hands. "My parents, Sebastian. What if Harlow—"

"He won't," he says gently, making you look at him. "He'll want to go lick his wounds and whinge about losing to a child." Fresh blood blooms into the bandage when he sits up. "There's an emergency kit in my bathroom, under the sink. Can you grab it?"

The kit turns out to be a canvas basket of unmarked phials of an oozing grass-green liquid.

"What the hell is this?" you ask, when you hand one to him.

Instead of applying it to cloth, like you expect, he places the phial to his lips. Half of it bobs down his throat before you slap it away, smashing it against the wall.

"What the—!"

"For God's sake, are you insane? Taking some potion like that? No herbal nonsense is going to clear a wound. That's not a natural colour!"

His head cocks, like he's thinking of some joke.

"Potion, you say?"

"It's not funny." You snatch an old shirt and press it to the wound – he lets out a yelp. "I told you, it needs sewing. You must have a needle somewhere."

"I don't." Already he sounds better, and colour returns to his cheeks. "You've got one at the pub?"

"Obviously."

"Then we'll go back."

"You're in no state—"

"We can check on your parents."

The retort vanishes. Realistically you can't say no. You had every intention of making sure he was okay before going yourself, but Sebastian's method of transport, whatever that entails, is a lot faster. You take his outstretched hand and shut your eyes, and as quick as it takes to adjust to the pleasant fizzing his grip brings do you return to the pub's main hall like you never left.

Sebastian barely teeters. For someone badly injured not ten minutes ago, his recovery is remarkable, and he prowls along the surroundings with molten grace. Every shadow seems sentient and beastly, every corner a secret, and when the darkness is both the cloak and the dagger, turning from friend to foe at whatever whim it designs, the potential for danger flares panic in your belly. You were a fool to follow the noises. A fool to fall for the trap. Harlow plucked you up like you were nothing. If not for Sebastian, you'd be dead. Or wishing you were.

Sebastian's presence is the only thing keeping those thoughts at bay, and when you check your parents upstairs – fast asleep and undisturbed – relief douses some of those flames.

After a cursory perimeter patrol, Sebastian lumbers back into the hall and sits on the edge of a table. You fetch an emergency kit from under the bar and light a candle, exposing how much worse the wound has become. Some sort of gungy discharge weeps through the bandage, a worrying shade of yellow.

"I can clean the infection." You scooch closer, ignoring the way the smell of his sweat makes your mouth dry. "It— it should be okay."

"Hope so. Can't imagine dying in your pub would be convenient."

"Don't you realise that could have happened?" you snap, letting out the tiniest vent of emotion. "Fuck, you got off light, Sebastian! You could've been left with a hundred stab wounds or beaten so hard you were unrecognisable or killed in a bloody alleyway—"

He intertwines his fingers with yours suddenly, curbing the tremors.

"I'm all right, bar girl. I will live."

It's an invitation of calm in calamity. He's okay. He'll live. You repeat it over and over again, trying to absorb the words and focus on his grip. It anchors you, devours you, makes your heart soar into the vast endlessness of the night sky. Is it the anxiety of Harlow's attack that makes your knees weak, or is it him, an embodiment of light on the wings of darkness?

You pull away, flustered. For fuck's sake. He's covered in blood, bruises, sweat and dried alcohol. He's confusing and contradictory and crass. He's an illusion of perfection, an enigma no close to being solved. He should not be an option – ever. But your body tingles with desire as you singe a needle beneath the kettle's boil.

What would it be like to taste him? What would it be like for him to taste me?

"You know," he says, "I could've just drank the potion and saved you the hassle."

You sit opposite him to thread it, aware of his penetrating gaze. "Yeah, and then I'd be reviving your arse from bloody cardiac arrest."

"Might be worth it for a kiss."

You look up at him, stunned.

"The kiss of life, bar girl." That insufferable smirk. "Keep up."

You finally stick the thread through the eye, and when he removes the bandage, sodden with blood, you get a proper look at the damage. It's a clean slice down his chest, not long but deep. Strangely, it seems smaller than it was before.

"Shirt off, I need full access to sew it shut."

His mouth crooks upwards – handsome and charming and utterly vexing.

"First a kiss, now my shirt? There are easier ways to get me in bed, bar girl."

But he obeys, peeling off the soiled linen.

And by God do you stare.

It's hard not to. Sebastian Sallow is built like fucking Adonis. Chiselled, hard abs, perfectly moulded shoulders, tufts of hair that run a course down his chest, hinting at the V-shape below the trouser line, and freckles – so many freckles it could fill a night sky.

And tattoos.

There's more than the runes and the 706 – his body is a monument to ink. Black and gold snakes coil around his arms. Lilies bloom across the waist. There are bones, cracked and whole, compasses that point north, faux claw marks and barren oaks struck by lightning. When you inspect his back, the eyes of a white fox peer at you, the pillar of a dark building bisects crashing waves, a strange clock chimes with six differently-sized faces and a silver globe glows, suspended in air and intricately filigreed. Other symbols decorate him too, most you don't recognise, and there are dates on his wrist, XXVIII-III-MCMI, and another, III-II-MCMI.

He is terrifying – and beautiful. He's not the canvas, but the piece in itself, an accumulated expression of ideas, love, joy, sorrow and pain, engraved on his surface like the epitaph on a tomb.

ᚺᚲ706

"This one," you mumble, reaching out, hesitating before your fingers graze the fine bristles of hair. "The runes, and the number 706... what does it mean?"

"This," he says, "is my identification number."

"For what?"

"Sew me up and I'll tell you."

Maybe you won't need to. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why someone might be branded this way.

After a brief swish of acid-dipped cloth, the needle goes through his skin. His jaw sets and he lets out a low rumble of a groan, a noise that sets your blood pumping. You close the suture as fast as you can, hoping not to extend the moment of pain, but it seems to go on forever, his ember gaze burning firelight into your soul.

"I went to prison," he says quietly, when you're almost done. "Ten years."

You go rigid. "For?"

Petty theft, fraud, anything but the worst ones.

But he looks away.

"Murder."

Fuck. It hits you like a punch – his hands around some faceless victim's neck, or a knife in hand, glistening red. He ended another life. The air parches, hot and heady.

"I swear I would never do anything to hurt you," he says, reading your horror. "I didn't—" His face contorts, like he knows better than to finish that sentence. "I learnt my lesson."

"What, that killing is bad?" You give him a sad smile. "I learnt that when I was five."

He lets out a derisive snort. "I was... a difficult child." For the first time ever, Sebastian seems sheepish, bashful. "Our parents died when I was young and the only relative who could take us in was our uncle. He didn't give a shit about us. Anne was dying and he hated that I was trying to help her, and I... I just snapped.

"Kath was there. It's why she resents me. We were close, me and her, but then she was implicated – and she never forgave the choice I made."

The last thread knots evenly. You cut it clean. With one final wipe of carbolic acid, all that's left is a long, wicked seam, slashing diagonally through his final tattoo, a skull.

Some wounds, it seems, can never be mended.

"Your sister... she had cancer?" you ask hoarsely.

Sebastian inhales deeply. "Something like that."

"I'm sorry."

"No. Fuck." He laughs and rakes a hand through his hair – the movement tugs you along like a helpless skein of thread. "She didn't die from it. She lived with it. Then everything happened with my uncle and every day in that shithole prison I thought of her and hoped she was all right. She forgave me, you know, for it all. Took her eight years, but she did. Finally wrote me a letter on our birthday. I was so happy I'd get to see her again. But prison – the prison I went to... it changes you, makes you lash out and do things to protect yourself. I made enemies there."

"Like Harlow," you whisper.

"During school he made Kath's life hell, so in prison I made hell for him. He took that personally. When I got out, I finally reunited with Anne... and when he got out, he thought he'd get me back after all those years."

It hits you again, a soundless but fatal strike. What he means, what he's suggesting, is so awful it leaves you breathless.

"Sebastian, you... you can't let him get away with it."

"What else can I do? Anne is dead. She was the light of my life and he just winked her out like she was nothing."

The almighty fist, and the weak little grape.

"If you do nothing," you say firmly, "he wins."

"He's already won. He took my twin sister."

"And who's to say he won't take a shot at Ominis? Or Garreth? Or... or me? He already has and I was a fool to fall for it—"

He pulls you so close there's a mere thread of air between the tips of your noses. You look up and see a man lost in the midst of his demons, drowning under a pain so core-deep there's no hope of excavation – and in the reflection of those coffee eyes, you see yourself, the angel, the life ring, the last hope that keeps him tethered to the world.

"No." The word punctuates with unyielding command. "No. I would never, ever let them hurt you. I swear it to god."

"I don't care about God," you whisper. "Swear it to me."

These coffee eyes grind you up and spit you out anew. His lids lower, his attentions wandering down your face, down the slope of your nose to the peak of your lips. They fixate there, lit with a whetted appetite.

"I swear it to you," he breathes.

Your gaze goes to his lips too, and his tongue moistens the curve.

"Prove it."

Sebastian hesitates.

It's the last time he does.

His thumb finds the column of your throat and wanders upwards until the pad grazes your lips, starving for a morsel of a taste. His mouth parts again, and you breath his air, every atom like divine nectar. You would beg for a taste. Sensing the hunger, his lips tug into an insufferable, delicious, affectionate smirk, and his other hand brings your chin closer to finally seal the gap.

Sebastian kisses like you're the last breath he'll take before falling to the ocean deep, never again to resurface. It isn't tender but consuming, taking, greedy. He wants. For the longest time he forgot what that meant to a body broken by grief and seduced by dependency. Now he takes it back. This is the rawest form of seizing control.

You dig your nails into his scalp, and his curls coil around your fingers like snakes on a vine. You want too. To give, to take, to stake your claim in a way no one else can. Sebastian is spontaneity and release and desire and imperfection. The storm and the eye, at once unpredictable and comforting. Your days are mapped, aligned and ordered for years to come, as a corpse that breathes and moves and survives, but he guides you to that last missing piece – the spirit of the human soul.

He grips your hips, swapping you around so you're pressed to the table, and kisses again fiercely, taking ownership of your mouth like no one has before. Pressed down, your back hits the table in an arc, and Sebastian sucks on your lips greedily, he the alcoholic, you his last pint of beer.

"I want you," he breathes into your ear. "Fuck, I've wanted you for so long."

You gasp when his teeth bite down on your throat, marking you for himself. The pain is welcome and ingratiating and your sex throbs, begging for attention. His hands greedily unbutton the top of your ruined nightdress, yanking the panels apart to give him access to your breasts.

"Sebastian," you cry, as his tongue licks the sore spot on your neck, and his hand finds the nipple, erect and waiting. He thumbs it in taunting swirls. "W-We can't."

"Why not?"

"My pub... people use these tables..."

He winks. "'Bout time we broke it in, don't you think?"

Somehow it heightens every sensation. The hardness of the table, the wrongness of the act. Tomorrow people will drink and dine here and you do not care. Sebastian knows it. He grasps your face, slipping his hot tongue into your mouth and claiming it for his own, and you whimper, drawn so entirely into him that all you can think, taste, feel, is him.

Your lips smack when he breaks off. His hands run through your hair until the strands spill over the edge, and his lips find other pursuits – your jaw, your throat, the other side of your neck.

"I'm not a good person," he whispers as his hands rip the top of the dress clean off, exposing your breasts again. "I've lied, I've hurt, I've killed.... and I've paid the price. I gave up pretending to be someone I'm not. But you make me want to try."

His tongue slithers over the arc of your breast.

"You are good, Sebastian," you stammer out. "You are—"

His teeth clamp on the nipple – pleasure bursts up your chest. He sucks, pulling upwards as he does, and your sex pulses so badly you close your legs and hope the friction will suffice.

"Sebastian— fuck—"

He lets go, panting, kissing the sore nipple before moving onto the other, and you cry out again. Bite, suck, pull. The cycle tortures you. When he bastes the nipple with his tongue, a soothing gesture, you try to catch your breath before his kisses trail to the junction below your navel.

"You make me want to fight. You make me want to be better. You make me want to start again. Before you I was surviving... you've taught me how to live."

You're delirious with emotions, pleasure yes, but joy too, threatening to make you burst. How can he say that when he's the one giving you this celestial high? Sebastian litters kisses all over your skin, some gentle, some with teeth, uncaring of how ungroomed you deem yourself when he parts your legs. The first stroke on your clit is fire, his fingers a firmness in the wet slickness of your folds.

"Sebastian—"

"I make you this solemn vow." He probes more firmly over the nub, sending wave after wave of pleasure. "I would hunt everyone down if it meant I could keep you safe."

He rubs until you're swollen and desperate and rabid for more than his touch. You want him inside you. Now. Yet some part of you not mad with pleasure manages to raise your head to look him in the eye.

"You... you'd create hell for me?"

Those coffee eyes flicker to meet yours – and they glimmer in a kaleidoscope of lust.

"I wouldn't create hell for you, bar girl." He grins. "I'd raze it."

The finger slips in so easily, like you were made to fit him. Your head hits the table and a cry rips almost involuntarily from your throat. Sebastian gives you little time to adjust before he pulls out and thrusts back in, the intrusion a mercy of pleasure. You clench around him, desperate to be stretched more.

"How badly do you want this?" he finally asks, bringing attention to the dirtiness of his act. "You feel like you like it."

You bite your lip as he rolls in and out. "God..."

"Do you like it?" he demands. "Say it for me."

"Yes," you say – whine. "Yes, I like it."

"You like what?"

"W-When you fuck me with your fingers."

He scoffs, propelling so fast you feel pleasure quickly coalescing. "So impatient, love. I'm only using one."

Love. The term of endearment sends a shudder up your spine. A second finger slides into your warmth, turning that shudder into a quiver, and a third turns it into a quake. Then he curls upwards, searching for that sweet spot that makes your vision dizzy. It doesn't take him long to find it, when your breath catches and your eyes shut, and he thrusts in and out with breathless pace, determined to undo you. You give in to the pressure like ice to fire. You're so close. Fuck, it's frustrating and powerful and pure ecstasy. You rock your hips in time to him, chasing your orgasm.

"Not yet."

"W-What?"

He slows suddenly, maddeningly, and then slips out, leaving you cold and empty. "Not yet."

"Sebastian," you bark, "you better finish me off or I swear—"

His low chuckle cuts you off. He goes back to gently thumbing the pearl, ebbing your pleasure back to an insufferable ache. You hiss when he stands upright – his own pleasure evident by the bulge in his breeches.

"You're going to cum," he murmurs, "when I let you."

His hand comes away, and you let out a needy, pathetic wail that ignites the fervour in his eyes. He stares at you unflinching as he discards his bottom half and allows full view of his cock. It's big, far bigger than any you've ever taken before, proudly erect and forked with a prominent vein. The tip is already beading, and he gives it a few pumps with the hand wet with your juices before running his fingers up and down your thighs.

"You gave me a head start," you say, ravenous to try him.

"Oh, don't worry about that, bar girl," he says, leaning closer, grazing the tip against you. His face betrays a flicker of pleasure. "I'll make sure we're even."

Sliding along your entrance makes a sinfully loud, wet schlick, but he rubs at a leisurely pace, building you back up again until you're clawing the table's edge.

"If you keep doing that—"

But he continues to grind himself lazily through the slick folds, getting slicker by the moment. You open and close in time with each thrust, stimulating yourself, hips rocking, rhythm quickening until you're on the verge of letting go again.

He grips your hips with one hand, and the other finds your clit – the perfect time. "Cum for me, love."

It's too much. The orgasm implodes – the pleasure pulses through every fibre of your body as you dig your nails into the table's edge so hard you graze the polish. That dam of frustration crumbles to relief, to reaching the second celestial high of the night. Sebastian rides along with the aftershocks, each thrust slow but demanding, coating the base of his cock with the sticky release until his skin shines with it.

"Not bad," he murmurs, as he runs his tongue over his thumb, eyes glimmering with satisfaction. "But I think we can do better, bar girl. How badly do you want me inside you?"

You pant, barely conscious. "Sebastian—"

"Say it," he trills. "Or..." He pulls back, leaving you cold and aching for his touch.

You grunt loudly. "Just fuck me already!"

With that shit-eating grin you adore, he takes his cock and lines it up. The tip kisses your entrance; you can feel him, hot and sticky and wide, encouraging you to open for him, each sensation honed tenfold with anticipation. The push inwards stretches you gaping, and you widen yourself as far as you'll go to pull him inside, accommodating each inch until his hip is flush with your thighs. God, it feels amazing. He was always meant to fit, always meant to fill you completely.

"Fuck," he mutters, "you are tight."

You clench down, and his eyes flicker to yours, wild with lust.

"Minx."

He lets out a strained breath, that smirk finally giving way to a pleasure that knits his brow together. He's so warm, and... safe. As he repositions, curling his arms around your legs, you suddenly, dizzily, experience a completely new sensation – you want to take all of him, to let him use you for his own pleasure. To be pumped full of his seed, every drop until it fills the cracks and drips down your thighs, and even more after that. You want him to claim you, to fuck you so hard the rest of the shitty day fades into oblivion. Nothing else matters, only him and this perfect moment.

Being with him is truly freeing. It is truly living.

He flicks curls out of his eyes. "I have no intention of going slow."

You match his smirk.

"Good."

He withdraws – then slams back inside. The friction makes you cry out. Sweat beads his brow, but he does it again, and again, not once taking his eyes off you, coffee as dark and deeply seducing as hell itself. He keeps your thighs in a vice grip as he thrusts into you with a ruthless pace. His, the motions say. You are his. His rhythm starts to speed up, his balls slap noisily against your arse.

"You have— no idea— how long I've wanted this," he growls, each thrust punctuating his words. "No idea— how much— I've wanted to fuck you."

He releases your legs and braces his hands at your sides, finding a new angle to pound.

"You're taking me so well," he groans. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you."

"Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours." It comes out ragged and emotional.

His pace quickens. You drink in the scent of his sweat, his love-making. Fire gathers in your core. It's painful to hold it off until he's closer. It kills.

His breath shudders.

"I'm yours too."

It's too much. Tipped over the edge, the second orgasm sends pulses a pleasure so cosmic you black out for a moment. Each thrust is a mark of possession – your possession. He belongs to me. Only me. You clench around him as he plunges frantically into you in the chase for his own pleasure. With one final groan, he pulls out, thrusting madly into his hand until he doubles over, bleating a beautiful sound, brows knitted together and head craned as the thick ribbons of cum spill over your belly. His mark, left on you. I belong to him. Only him. He pumps until he's spent, leaving the residue hanging off his fingers like spun sugar.

"Sebastian..." you mumble.

He finds his way to your lips in a daze. This kiss is tender, full of love and appreciation, wanting, but in the small ways, too. Too exhausted to return the affections for long, you part from him and marvel at the way he smiles – like a sunrise on the highest mountain peak, so hopeful and full of life.

"I could get used to that," he pants out, tracing the cum on your stomach. "Vigorous shagging."

"Jesus Christ." He laughs and you eye his wound; red and sore but miraculously intact, despite his best efforts. "You shouldn't have exerted yourself so much."

"Oh, you care now that you've used me?" he teases, sitting you up to place kisses on your bare shoulder. "I never thought you'd look twice at me, you know."

It's an endearingly sad thought. Your head lolls to allow him better access. "Definitely not when you first walked in here."

"That Sebastian couldn't get his dick up."

"That Sebastian couldn't get himself up."

A finger sweeps across your forehead, tucking back a stray hair – the tenderness makes your bones melt. "You didn't have to help me, but I'm glad you did. I'm glad you're in my life. It's better with you in it."

"I wouldn't be here if you weren't a good person at heart, Sebastian Sallow."

A bashful sweep of crimson makes every freckle glow. His eyes lower to half-lids.

"I know addiction is a curse," he whispers, "but if there's one thing I'm willing to crave, it's the way your smile takes my breath away."

You seize him for another kiss, this time with all the fumbling, giggling and yearning of a first. His broad hands, branched with a river network of veins, cups the back of your neck as he kisses with as much ferocity as he does tenderness. He wants, you want. Separate you survive, but together, with your bodies intertwined and your souls connected, you live.

In a perfect world, this is all there is. You, your life and the man who loves you. But though you wish you could snuggle closer and shut your eyes to what lays beyond the walls, the high must wane eventually. It's a satisfying, but unnerving feeling to have when you pull away.

"What do we do now?"

"Already keen, bar girl?" Sebastian smirks, thumbing your waist. "Didn't think you had anything left."

"I meant," you say gently, "about Harlow."

"Please can we not talk about him when my cock's poking your thigh?" At your deadpan stare, he scrubs a hand down his face. "Look, I don't know right now, but I'll think of something." He draws you close, kisses your forehead. "That's a promise. Don't worry."

"You know I'll worry anyway." You go to stand. "Now I need to clean up. You've made a terrible mess."

But Sebastian scoops you into his arms, and in the darkness, his grin is sinful and wicked.

"Your mistake, bar girl," he growls, heading towards the stairs, "was thinking we were done."

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[Gorgeous art by FlamboyantJelly] [Divider credit]

[kamil-a]

Hey if you ever felt like talking about Drawer I would love to hear more. I see you tag things sometimes but as with all friend's ocs my knowledge is fragmentary and based on what i could glean from recent posts in your tag (I am unsure of Drawer's pronouns)

AAWWW THANK YOU! Im glad you want to hear more about it!!!

drawer uses it/its and you can find posts about it in #aisona <3

[latenightdaydreams]

Can König and Stalker!Reader have a good ending? 🥹🥹🥹

Yes! It's not over yet, but it will end happy I promise. No angst 🥰

König x Stalker!Reader Part 2 (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 1, Part 3, Part 3.2

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, stalking, masturbation, invasion of privacy

1.0k word count

📸

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Early on a random Tuesday morning, König went to the local pet store and purchased a small aquarium and a few fish. Over the next few days, he set up the fish in their new home in his living room. König doesn’t want pet fish, doesn’t really even like them, but he wanted to throw you a bone.

A loud knock on your front door draws your attention away from the photo album of König’s photos that you’re looking at. You pull your hand out of your pants and walk to the front door to see König standing there. Before you answer the door, you take a deep breath to control your excitement so you don’t appear obsessed as you truly are.

“Hello, König.”

Your voice sends a shiver down his spine. The way your lips pull back into a small, sweet smile makes him feel like grabbing you and claiming your mouth with his. He can’t believe the way you look so naturally beautiful in lounge wear. His eyes travel down your form before meeting your eyes again.

“Hallo, Fräulein. I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you.”

“Of course.”

“I’m getting deployed for a few days and I wanted to know if you could feed my fish for me?”

“Absolutely!”

You respond quickly, almost too quickly. He could see something in your eyes click, an idea forming; it excites him. The corner of your lips turning upwards as you nod your head. He’s excited to see what you have planned for him. Before he leaves, he gives you the feeding schedule, ‘deployment’ schedule, and a spare key to his home.

The day he leaves, you wait a few hours to make sure he’s truly gone before excitedly making your way over to his front door. It’s as if you’re in a dream as the key slips into the lock and turns, unlocking heaven. You step in, closing the door behind you quickly. The first thing you notice is how amazing his home smells and how bare it seems; almost like he never fully moved in.

Slowly, you make your way through the home, taking your time to inspect every drawer and cabinet. When you cannot find anything of interest, you turn your attention to his bedroom. You open the door and look around; his bed is neatly made and everything is perfectly organized.

The hamper in the corner grabs your attention; going over and grabbing a shirt that is laying on top. As you lift it to your nose, the smell of his sweat filling your nostrils as you take a deep breath in. Bringing the shirt with you, you turn your attention to his bed. Piece by piece, you strip off your clothing as you walk to his bed. You pull the comforter back and lay on his bed; picking the side that is clearly used more.

Laying in his bed like this feels like being embraced in a tight hug from him. The idea of how many times he’s masturbated here crosses your mind, driving you absolutely insane. You drape his shirt over your face as you spread your legs open, moving slow circles around your clit before letting your hand drift downwards. Two fingers slip into your tight pussy, wishing it was König’s cock this whole time.

You run your other hand along the shape of your body, imagining those large rough hands caressing you. A whimper leaving you as you pinch your nipple, moaning out for König. If only you could feel the sensation of his heavy body pinning you to the mattress so that you can’t move, completely at his mercy as he shoves his cock deep inside of you.

In his hotel room, König sits on the bed stroking his cock feverishly as he watches you from the security cameras on his bed, pleasing yourself. It’s taking all the restraint he has to not just ruin his plan, return home, and fuck you where you lay now. Such a good eager girl for König, so desperate to get ruined by his cock.

“Das ist meine kleine Hure…” His voice weak with pleasure as he watches you leave a wet patch on his bed.

Over the next few days, the routine is the same, almost moving yourself into his home while he’s gone. König loves to see you in his home, he wishes he could lock you in and keep you forever; you probably wouldn’t even mind. Since there is only one more day before he returns, you leave to a local locksmith to get a copy of his key made followed by a trip to an electronics store.

Early the next morning there was a knock at the door. Knowing it was König, you rushed to answer it. He stands with his hands in his pockets and his blonde hair neatly combed back. You can’t stop yourself from looking at the way his muscles bulge from underneath his tight fitted shirt.

“Hallo, Fräulein. Thank you so much for your help.”

“It was no problem.” You smile as you hand him back his keys.

Once he leaves you rush to your bedroom, opening up your laptop. You log on to the live feed of the camera you hid in König’s bedroom, waiting for his appearance. König, aware of the one camera, walks into his bedroom and begins to undress.

König takes his time taking off each layer of clothing, giving you a little strip tease. He leaves his boxers on for a while as he walks around, teasing you a little bit. His muscles flex as he turns, slowly dropping his boxers. You see his muscular ass as he turns slowly, his hard cock in his hand as he strokes it slowly. He tugs at his heavy balls with his other hand.

Your face is almost pressed against your screen as you’re seeing how fucking big he actually is. He sits on the edge of the bed giving you a perfect view, you don’t even question it because of the show you’re getting. König moans loudly for you, imagining you in his mind shoving your little fingers in your cunt pathetically attempting to get close to the feeling he’s going to give you tomorrow.

Part 3, Part 3.2

[yxtubers]

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

chris sturniolo x reader (fluff)

summary: chris loves seeing you in his clothes. he grows flustered upon seeing you wear his sweater - the problem? you’re just friends

warnings/notes: none! lmk if i missed anything

requested?: yes!! tysm for all these requests :)

> > >

You were over at Chris’ apartment for what felt like the hundredth time this week. The weather had been less than ideal in LA lately, so he suggested that you two do something fun with Nick and Matt at their house.

You would never turn down such an offer so, of course, you agreed to come over.

Which led you to where you were now.

Chris had his arm draped across the couch behind you. At the beginning you had tried to not pay too much attention to it, but as time went on you began to find it harder to breathe.

It felt like his body heat was transferring onto you, each breath of air he took was louder than it should’ve been. Your senses were extremely hyper-aware at this point.

“I’m gonna go get some water, does anyone want anything?” you asked.

In truth you knew you needed to be away from him before you spontaneously combusted. You liked being near him - but the fact that his arm was so close to you, but not quite touching you, was driving you insane.

“No, I’m okay,” said Matt. Nick and Chris agreed.

Sitting up, you made your way to the kitchen. You hadn’t actually realized how thirsty you were, but now that you were drinking water, you finally noticed. Taking big gulps, you accidentally tilted the cup too hard and spilt it all over yourself.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mumbled, huffing in annoyance.

Chris turned his head towards the kitchen. He stood up almost immediately and walked towards you.

“Are you okay?” he said as he saw you. Once he realized he let out a silent ‘oh’. You knew he was trying to stifle a laugh, but upon seeing your death glare, a serious look took over his face.

He knew better than to laugh when you were annoyed.

“Come on. I’ll get you one of my shirts,” Chris suggested.

He motioned for you to follow him as you walked after him, hot on his heels. You hated the feeling of being wet, especially when your clothes stuck to you.

Chris rummaged through his drawer as he pulled out a sweatshirt of his. It was one of his oversized ones, which was good for you. You loved being cozy on the couch, so this was perfect.

You thanked him as you watched him leave the room to let you get changed.

Pulling the cotton over your head, you breathed in it’s scent. Something about Chris’ natural smell always comforted you.

“I’m done!” you said as you balled your wet shirt up into a ball. “Where should I put my shirt?”

Chris gently opened the door, fully not expecting his breath to be taken away at the sight of you in his clothes. The words seemed to catch in his throat as he stared at you. His eyes trailed down from your neck to your waist, eyes twinkling in delight.

He couldn’t help but think that he should give you his sweaters more often.

“Oh wow,” he breathed out.

Your face grew hot under his stare. He began to make his way towards you, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. His hands found yours, interlocking your fingers. The look he had on his face almost made your knees weak.

The blue in his eyes met your own colored irises. You locked pupils, barely breaking the contact. Chris noticed the flustered state you were in, and he moved towards you a bit more.

His fingers tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What? You nervous?” he said, his lips quirking upwards. What a cocky bastard.

You rolled your eyes, shoving him backwards.

“You wish.”

His eyes trailed down your face. The movement was so quick that you almost didn’t notice it, but his gaze landed on your lips. Just for a split moment.

You leaned forwards, ghosting your lips over his. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, lightly pushing him against the door.

His breath hitched. And you knew you got him.

“Well, look who’s nervous now,” you said.

Pushing off of him, you pulled the handle on his bedroom door, forcing Chris away from the exit.

You could feel his eyes on you as you walked back into the living room. It’s safe to say that he practically sprinted back in there, before finally wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

- - -

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@lollibumblebee

@dwntwn-strnlo

@gracietaylorsversions

@20nugs

@thetriplets3

@sunshinewwx

@gwenlore

@gabbylovesreading

@ssturniolo

@opheliaofficial07

@stargirlv0id

[et-cant-phone-home-no-signal]

The Last of Us HBO - Episode 1 thoughts

Warning: Pure yapping ahead, just my thoughts and things I've noticed whilst watching, it's not serious and I don't invite arguments (fellow yappers however are more than welcome)

(these make sense in the way that i wrote this as i watched so it's all chronological, this is my bday gift to all of you lol. spoilers under the cut)

Love the opening, gives a lot of the context you'd get from the opening credits of the game in a way that's easy to follow and understand for a new audience (using my mum as an example, she knows nothing about this show other than me telling her it's a zombie show - her only experience with that is the walking dead vaguely so her expectations were mid, but even she told me it's easy to understand and actually makes more sense irl compared to TWD)

The whole pandemic stuff really just hits different after COVID doesn't it

The whole climate change thing mentioned is so real, and I know this is written for modern times by modern writers, but for them to set that idea up in a 60s show is very eye-opening

The silence + stillness of the host and audience, the camera angles chosen, it's so good and unsettling in a very inconspicuous way, bravo

I wonder why they chose to change it from 2013 to 2003. Don't get me wrong I'm okay with it, and it's fun to relate to seeing a bunch of familiar things from my own childhood (lack of smartphones, older decor, easy clothing style etc), but it's a decade difference and I wonder why? Is it to make it more relatable for us that the majority of the show is set in 2023? Are we meant to connect to that more, as we've just had our own pandemic and this is a more intense fallout that we could have had if the nature of COVID had been slightly different? Maybe I'm overthinking it

The details in Sarah's room 👌 the posters, the box TV (such nostalgia), the pictures of her and friends, of her and Joel, ribbons and trophies from winning soccer tournaments, the hung up doodle paper, fairy lights, soft pink walls, it's so comfy and lived in, girly but completely her own space :') reminds me a bit of my childhood bedroom tbh, messy but comfortably so

I love that she knows her dad won't wake up so she knocks and calls because yeah, that's what you do when your dad is a deep sleeper

The contrast with Joel's room immediately after, the details there too - the old boombox cd player, fan up and running, messy dresser with slightly open drawers, the most Texas art on the walls (come on, music, deer and a tacos and beer poster?), blue walls, a hamper filled to the brim, a fucking treadmill?? Joel, your plant on the bedside table is long deceased I'm begging you to chuck it and release it from its misery 💀

(Something my mum noted, was that Sarah is wearing her natural curly hair, which mum said "it's rare to see that, in 2003 at least", to which I replied "maybe not in America?" because fr we are European and there's many cultural differences between the USA and other countries. Mum noticed it and she grew up in the Netherlands as a 60s kid. Me personally, I didn't think too much on it because it didn't click that might be odd to see someone wear natural hair, but I also admit I grew up in small villages and towns in more rural areas of Scotland and the Netherlands, so I didn't see much diversity in people growing up until like high school, but I consumed an insane amount of media such as Doctor Who and that's always been a very diverse show. Anyway, just a little thing that was noticed, I love Sarah's hair)

The domesticity :') Joel forgetting the pancake mix (good thing too), going straight for coffee, Sarah insisting on orange juice, his utter disgust at drinking it

"Gonna have to wear diapers soon." "Who says I don't already?" 💀

IS THAT DIDO PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND??? ULTIMATE WIN (I fucking love Dido, the song playing is White Flag)

"Shell." "Calcium." *pushes egg through teeth* "Lovely." stop it oh my god

Family banter, I'm eating this shit up so bad y'all, uncle Tommy <3

The Jakarta detail 👌👌

Pedro with a Texan accent is mwah

I like the detail of Sarah's name being on her bag, I had the same as a kid but my mum would sew it into the top of my bag instead, sometimes on the outside sometimes on the inside. I feel like that's not a safe thing to do anymore but it was so normal when I was a kid

Wish I could write an essay on Joel's drawer but instead I'll just say I love that Sarah is comfortable enough at home to just, go into her dad's room and grab stuff from his dresser, and know Joel won't be mad about it :) healthy home relationship

I wonder if the knife has any crazy significance? I don't remember seeing that knife ever again, unless it's just foreshadowing to Ellie's knife

I swear, them constantly avoiding baked goods is so genius (no pancakes, no cake, no biscuits, they don't eat the cookies later, it's small and clever)

Joel throwing Sarah under the bus like that to the neighbours had both me and mum cackling

Joel "no smoking in the truck" Miller

The desert storm detail is an interesting addition to Tommy's character, and at this stage, it's open whether this is about Joel or Tommy since we don't know who's truck it is (just because Tommy is driving doesn't mean it's his, after all, Joel has a garage)

The details in the school are fun, but idk if that's a normal American school thing to have pictures of the presidents and founding father up or not, I honestly will assume it is since there's also a big ass USA flag in the corner

THE PAPERMATE INKJOY PEN!!! I USED TO HAVE THOSE!!! Damn the small details are so fucking popping

This part is wonderful - where the fuck did they source that many different and fun clocks from and where can I get them?

"20." "That's it?" "Okay, 30." "20's good."

The build up is fantastic, it works for fans and for newcomers alike - all these things like the police all day and other things previously mentioned, the lady ushering her out as quickly as possible, all the people that were outside eating and enjoying the food stands are suddenly gone and the street is silent

The whole Jesus spiel, good lord, feels very Texas in the 2000s (and still tbh, let's be real)

Sarah's face when Mrs Adler says "raisin" is SUCH a fat mood my god this kid is funny

Nanna no 💀 (that fucking grandma is FREAKY as FUCK, outstanding detail)

Mercy knows. Animals always know.

Thank god Joel forgot the cake

Pedros funny little facial expression absolutely kill me, adds such dimension to Joel as a father

Super satisfying to hear the game dialogue ngl, especially that funny little bit with the watch

It's so interesting to see Joel has always struggled with his emotions and verbalising them - the small "thank you", not looking at her, rather looking down at the watch itself, fiddling with it - he's trying but he's never been good with feelings

Joel SNATCHING that dvd like, damn son, it's not going anywhere 😭😂 it's cute to see him so excited about it though, Sarah knows what he likes, even if she's not interested in it at all

The instant sofa snuggle :')

"Don't fall asleep." "Of course I won't, it's too riveting." *Cuts to Sarah fast asleep*

The phone 💀 I remember us having a phone like that, whole ass protection sleeve and all

This extra detail of Joel having to bail Tommy out just adds so much more depth to the dynamic and I'm here for it, also explains why the fuck Joel wasn't in the house at 2am (that always bothered me a bit about the game)

Joel loves his daughter so much,,,, the gentle way he puts her in bed, shoes and all, covering her up with her blanket, little kiss on the head,,,,, I'm already in pain for what's to come

Mercy my sweet baby <3 what a good dog, so scared :(

The show really captured that out of sync feeling when something like this happens - nothing crazy yet, just utter confusion and mild panic creeping in because this isn't normal but nothing seems to be happening yet

Mercy said "peace ✌️ I'm out"

This girl is braver than me, I wouldn't have walked through the door - but that being said I haven't had close neighbours like this in years so maybe it's just that they're very close and she feels comfortable doing so

Oh that's fucked UP dude, Sarah downright walking into cannibal town that's so disturbing (fantastic acting and special effects all around)

The cordyceps special effects are so fucking visceral and disgusting, that out of the mouth?? Grim!! Love how they did this

Love the amount of game dialogue and referencing we get in this particular part - "You take 71-" "71, I know.", the whole car conversation, "That's Jimmy's place" (I know in the game Jimmy is the neighbour and it's Louis'farm that's on fire but the reference stands), most of the camera work being fixed on Sarah or from Sarah's perspective in the back, "They got a kid Joel." "So do we, keep driving. Somebody else'll come along.", just a fucking well done scene tbh

This whole part in the car from Sarah's POV absolutely invokes the same anxiety I felt when playing this bit of the game, totally made me feel like I'm in the truck with them and it's scary (scary good)

I was so thrown off by the fact that they avoided the car crash that I wasn't expecting the alternative that they chose instead 💀 like shit??? A whole ass plane??? Love that they did the eerie music to black thing though that was great

Nico honestly just stole my whole heart as Sarah she got all the fucking expressions down, the panic, the way she talks, the pained sounds, love it 10/10 casting imo

The instant reaction time on Joel and getting Sarah out of the way of that car was NUTS like, I rewatched that part multiple times just to see how quickly he switched them around goddamn

Pedro and Nico are a fantastic father daughter duo 👌

Joel pushing Sarah's head under his chin more so she doesn't look 🥺

The infected actors are fucking amazing, terrifying dedication to the role

Oh no I'm about to cry so hard guys

Sarah 😭😭😭 her whimpers make me so fucking upset this scene is so fucking sad

On a genuine note, Nico did an outstanding job of channeling the desperation from the game, and so did Pedro and Gabriel - Tommy's choked up "Joel" and look of utter defeat and grief is absolutely heartbreaking

Joel holding his dead daughter in his arms, rocking her like a baby, crying out for her to please please be okay...... Yeah

The set for the front of the Boston QZ 🙌

It's so telling that the first thing we see FEDRA do is lie to a child and kill her when they promised she was gonna be okay. They promised they were gonna feed her and get her toys, and that the medicine would help her. They told her that she was safe. And they killed her.

Having Joel be the one to throw her into the fire, holding her the same way he held Sarah, was such poignant choice - how a man can change over 20 years

The Boston details - the set itself, the extras, the shoelaces for ration cards, the covering up of the firefly logo, the sheer amount of FEDRA guards everywhere

Ah yes, the return of public hangings, my favourite 🫠

Interesting to see Joel "smuggler and dealer" Miller, something we didn't get much of in the game tbh

Tess <3

Robert is so slimy eugh

I love that we get to see more of Tess outside of her and Joel, it builds more of a picture of who she is besides just Joel's smuggle partner - also love the amazing bruise makeup they did for her, looks super real and painful

The fireflies actively causing mayhem in the QZ is also a great added detail! We see it a bit in game but I enjoy the constant references to it as well

Bella as Ellie is god tier damn they're so good - snarky as FUCK

Joel just, skipping the fucking line without giving a shit, no one stopping him

"When I'm sleeping, Gabriela listens, or my son. The smart one, not the other one, god bless him." 💀😂😭

I love that Joel has a secret stash in his apartment

Ah yes, drugs and alcohol, the remedy to all

The watch 😭

Liking the music and camera usage in this scene, makes me feel like I'm high myself

Tess just coming in, scooting Joel over in bed and being the big spoon 🙌 the tender way in which she slides her arm over his waist and he grabs her hand in his 😭

The jarring cut to it being day and him lying down alone, pheww

The way Joel is instantly awake and ready to fucking go when he sees Tess' face 🫠

Enjoy how we get Tess saying how absolutely terrified Robert is of Joel, that he needs to take a breath and go slow, but reassures him she still wants to fuck him up - Tess is handling Joel like an spooked animal, gently and with care

Marlene's casting is fantastic 👌 - JUST CLOCKED THAT THE REASON WHY I FELT THAT IMMEDIATELY IS BECAUSE MERLE VOICED MARLENE IN GAME, NO WONDER I INSTANTLY FELT SHE WAS RIGHT!! I recognised her voice without clocking it

I enjoy the changes made to Marlene from the game, she feels more real here, more brutal, this is a rebellion leader who is aware shit isn't going well, it's refreshing - we're seeing more of the inner workings of the firefly situation in Boston

I think it's cute that they still have shitty bars and stuff, humans desire connection and community so much they'll make the best out of whatever they got

"You tell me to 'look for the light' and I'll break your jaw." SLAY LOL

This insight into Ellie's treatment and her relationship with Marlene is really interesting - it's more context which I always enjoy

"You my fucking mom or something?" "Do I look like your mom?" "Nooo, you do not." 😂

First Riley mention, time to feel sad!

With more thought, the "he's here" is probably about Robert! Didn't think much on that before

Detail notice - love how hair and makeup department did Tess and Joel's graying hairs, it looks really good and natural. I read some comments ages ago that Joel's hair is too silver in some spots, but I raise to you my mum in defence, who went grey quite early (she started in her late 30s) and has beautiful silver highlights naturally between the darker hairs. If my mum ever finds out I've posted that online, she'll probably kill me, but then she shouldn't have genetically given me her terrible eyesight 😌 consider it retaliation

The wall body is so grotesque and beautiful, it reminds me a bit of Annihilation (if you haven't seen that movie, I recommend! Fantastic music and visual effects)

*Joel rambles about the building structure* "This has been 'Construction Corner' with Joel Miller." got me creasing lmao they're so snarky and funny

Man I wonder wtf happened, like, did Robert try to scam them so bad they had a shootout?? Crazy

"So this is who Robert screwed us over with? The Che Guevara of Boston?" tells me everything I need to know about Marlene

The shootout stance oooooohhsggsg

Kim and her missing ear 💀

I like the way they get the Ellie job in the show, it works really well

"Really? That fast?" crying lmao

There's clearly more history between Tommy, Marlene and Joel and I know it's because Tommy was a firefly but man what I wouldn't give for a series on the 20 years between this and 2003!!! I'd play a whole game of that!!! I wanna know what happened, in detail!!

Something that bothers me: they're soaked, their shoes are squelching, yet the floor is bone dry after they walk in 😭

I love how smart and inquisitive Ellie is, all the small things she notices and picks up on

Love the same dialogue but different way of delivering it from the game, refreshing as fuck

Ellie's a sassy little shit ain't she (I love her)

I find it constantly funny that cars and shit are still used after 20 years because y'all, gasoline has a shelf life of like 3-6 months and diesel about a year if they're stored correctly with stabilisers, so, why are vehicles used so much?? Where are they getting their gasoline from?? Yes I am aware you can make bio-gas out of plants but it's a complicated process and do you really think FEDRA is out here with greenhouses for gasoline? No me neither

Tess is actually so fucking lovely in regards to Ellie, like, mom mode detected - also love how it's Tess that takes the lead

I can feel my own back protesting at seeing them squat walk, yikes

Ellie gripping Tess' hand for support 😭💕

Joel's flashback due to the light - him beating that guy to fucking death because he's already lost one daughter to a soldier before, and he may not even like Ellie yet but he'll be damned if he lets another little girl die at the barrel of a gun like that

Ellie's face, like she wants to be scared of Joel but shit, that guy just killed a FEDRA soldier to protect her and you can see the admiration in her eyes, but the fear is there too

The radio at the end - we know Bill and Frank aren't alright but at this stage we don't know what exactly that means

The final shot of the iconic towers at the end, an infected screaming on the roof - fucking poetry

If you made it to the end, thanks for reading!! It's literally just my running thought process whilst watching!! Do you agree with some of my notes, was there anything you noticed that i didn't? Comments and reblogs welcome <3

Episode 2 thoughts:

Episode 3 thoughts:

[aajjks]

BC!JK

you roll your eyes “that’s your problem” you say as you place his plate down on your kitchen table. “you’re always spoiling me but what about you? allow me to spoil you for once, honey” you go back to grab silverware from your drawer and place is next to his plate. when you go back to make a plate for yourself, jungkook just wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles his nose in the crease of your neck.

you think it’s cute that jungkook always has to get a whiff of you or hold you like he’s a baby and it only makes you want to spoil him even more.

“Yn please please I love you so much I don’t know what I would do if I ever-,” if he ever what? you don’t get a chance to ask because jungkook’s finishes his sentence by saying “lost you” but the thing is, he’ll never have to lose you. he’s got you now and you’re sure he has no plans on ever letting go of you and neither do you.

you kissed your boyfriend, if that isn’t a huge milestone then what else will show that you’ve completely moved on and have accepted jungkook as yours and only yours?

“I love you so much… please can I have a kiss?”

“you know you don’t have to ask, right?” you reply before turning around, wrapping your arms around jungkook’s neck, and leaning up to kiss him. you don’t hesitate to kiss him either, you just go for it and it feels natural.

you don’t feel like you’re cheating on eunwoo neither do you feel anything pertaining to eunwoo, you just feel jungkook. you feel his love for you and the more you continue to kiss, the more you want to let him in.

you can feel your love for him growing more and more.

“c’mon and eat before your food gets cold” you whisper between each kiss “unless…unless you want to eat something else? maybe you want bagels or just fruit?”

or me

Your tone. There is something different about it.

You sound a little dazed, Whenever he gets to kiss you, he feels like he’s in another world, because, you are such a good kisser, and he is a very experienced kisser, or maybe he just enjoys kissing you in general.

Your lips are the most softest, so pretty and all perfect, your lips fit perfectly with each others. You are his soulmate he is sure. You drive him completely insane. He never felt strongly towards anyone.

This is so unhealthy, but.. he doesn’t care. “Yn… drive me fuckin insane..” jungkook groans, taking you in for another kiss, but this time he’s rough, he’s sloppy with the way he’s kissing you, taking your breath away.

he doesn’t care if the food is cold and is getting colder. Of course he’s going to eat it because you made it but right now… he’s too focused on you. Thank God there is a counter behind you because you almost lost your balance but before you could fall, he caught you without breaking the kiss.

He sometimes gets carried away, but you’ll get used to him, won’t you? You’re definitely smaller compared to him and that is the most adorable thing.

What is amazing it’s driving him to the edge of desire is the fact that you’re eagerly kissing him back, almost at his own pace, oh.

You’re gonna be the death of him.

“Y-Yn… oh my God- we should stop.. before I fuck you right against this counter.”he whispers against your lips after finally breaking the kiss, you’re both panting hard,

And fuck, you look even prettier with swollen lips.

[queenofgraveyards]

omg can i get some flower lore like how did poppy start working at the bakery(maybe her mom somehow ties into it like she would take her there after something happened with her dad or it was just her mom’s favorite)? what are h everyday shoes? did they have pets growing up(i feel like poppy wouldn’t bc of her dad obvs)? are they allergic to anything? is h into like survival and stuff(i feel like he would so be into camping and all of that and he would force poppy to go with him bc he’s codependent and bc he would LOVE to fuck poppy like on a tree or something like that lol)? what’s h fav veggie? does poppy do arts and crafts(i like to believe she crochets mainly bc i crochet but i can totally see her making cute little hats for the little girl i forgot her name lol but like imagine pregnant flower making clothes for the baby😭😭 i KNOW h would be feral)?

i'm so sorry it's taken me so long to answer this i just really wanted to make sure i knew what i was talking abt for i said anything 😭

k so, the bakery was literally just her mum's favourite!! and i believe poppy mentioned that they did classes there too and bc her mum loooved their stuff and she also loved baking (n cooking she was literal like the perfect home maker anyway) she took poppy along when she was old enough and it kind of became their thing!! and then poppy got a weekend job there too, even tho she didn't really need one mainly after her mum died bc she hated being at home and hated being around her brother and dad plus it was a way to help her feel closer to her mum!! oh h's everyday shoes 🤔 that is such a GOOD question its literal a rat but for some reason i imagine he would be a boot guy, but they'd probably be that nasty ass pair of dark brown suede boots that rl h used to wear a lot, and they'd be so beat up and yuck bc flower h does know not or care or realise that you have to look after suede and not get it wet lmaooo omg could you IMAGINE flower h as a prepper bc honestly? i can and like he would be soooo funny bc he hasn't had a logical thought in his entire life and yet he's worrying abt the end of the world and has all these plans in case him n poppy aren't together and how to get across london to each other and where to meet etc, also i think he unironically LOVES bear grylls and all of his stupid survivor shows and yes he loves camping which blows poppy's mind bc she's like...this man loves camping? THIS man who can't be without his xbox longer than a day loves the outdoors? lol ok and yes ofc you're right bestie flower h would be FERAL for fucking poppy outdoors, in a tent, against a tree, just on the ground, you name it he's into it and he'd be so yuck going on about it being natural and he'd have to fuck her on her knees bc that's how it happens in nature and poppy would literally be like..........ok!

flower h has never eaten a vegetable in life next question (he doesn't like asparagus)

poppy paints! it doesn't really get mentioned in bloom but she does it a couple of times in flower and she's a very good drawer/painter!! but you're also right i could see her doing some kind of needle work crafts too, i feel like she'd TRY to crochet and immediately suck at it and we all know poppy is a if im not good at it immediately then im not interested kind of gal so she'd give up, i could see maybe her being into embroidery and she'd make everyone a little round hanging embroidery hoop for christmas or something, i could also see her getting into diy candles for a hot min like where you heat and melt n shape tapered candles into fun shapes, i feel like that would be her thing too until she inevitably gets bored haha

and yes of course bestie, you are SOOOOO right flower h would go feral for a pregnant poppy, like not even in the same way bambi h is insane about that kind stuff but his is in a more disgusting feral way and ofc he would be OBSESSED with a little baby poppy like imagine him being a girl dad too and he would be SO in love with this tiny little creature that looks exactly like his wife and he just vows to be the best dad ever and be the dad to their baby that poppy unfortunately never got

[daaydreamy]

flora

chapter two - waiting for you like i did all this time

summary - he was slowly wilting away, his cheeks no longer sore because he was frowning instead of smiling.

warnings - none.

word count - 1.4k+

“hey, you’re home!” niall turned his head to watch y/n come in through the front door. “ordered some takeout for you, it’s in the kitchen.” he said and looked back at the tv where he was watching a show, sinking into the couch a little further as he let himself indulge for a little while. 

“jesus, i don’t wanna watch that shit while eating.” she furrowed her brows and grabbed the remote from where it was on niall’s lap, making his brows furrow as he tried to protest, but his mouth was filled with food so he couldn’t. all he did was watch her exit out of black mirror, switching over to her account and continuing julie & julia (she had been trying to finish it but, god, work was exhausting most of the time so she never had time). 

“that episode was interesting!”

“and i bet it was weird too.” she said and took a bite from her food, ignoring the way niall’s eyes were now slits as he looked at her. 

so they ate in silence for a little while on the couch, watching julia child explore france and julie powell try to attempt all of the recipes in julia’s cookbook. 

“i need to talk to you about something.” she said after deciding to tell niall about what happened in the forest. she paused the movie and moved to face niall a little, crossing her legs. 

“okay, what is it?”

“don’t laugh, alright?”

he gave her a weird look, but nodded anyway. 

“okay, so i went to this forest. i was just walking around, you know, relaxing. everything was fine until i saw this… guy. he was just there, which was kinda weird. he told me that, uh, he wasn’t human? and that he lived off of nature… whatever the hell that means. he was- he was really weird, ni, he told me to stay and he asked me tons of questions about what it’s like to live here, i guess, because he had never left the forest. i’m being serious, i swear.”

niall was holding back laughter, covering his mouth as an attempt to hide his smile. 

“i said don’t laugh!”

“you’re joking, right?”

“i told you that i was being serious! dead fucking serious, niall.”

“okay, so let me get this straight. you met a random guy—or alien in the forest? just like that?”

“yes!”

“i don’t believe you.” he chuckled, shaking his head as he finished up the last of his food. 

“i swear i saw him! look, i’ll even bring you there as proof.”

“what makes you think i’d believe you?! you just told me you met some weird forest creature, y/n, i’m pretty sure those things aren’t even real.”

“well, apparently this one is.”

“no way.” he was still laughing and y/n groaned softly. 

“i-i should’ve taken a picture of him so i could show you. i’ll go back and i’ll show you proof.”

“what- you’re going back?”

“i,” she sighed, “i don’t know.”

𓂃 𓈒𓏸 

y/n woke up with a gasp.

she was panting softly, looking at the wall that was straight ahead of her. a soft sigh then left her lips and she rubbed her face with her hands, moving to lie down again. she just… dreamed about the guy she met in the forest. in her dream, she was back in the forest and he was trying to show her something, and as he was starting to pull her along with him, she woke up. she didn’t know why she dreamed about him–surely he was doing all of it on purpose.

she turned to lie on her side, sticking her hand under her pillow, and seeing yet another dead flower on her pillow.

was she going insane, or was he some serial killer? it honestly felt like both. every morning, she had woken up to a dead flower on her pillow. every single morning ever since. not one of them were alive, they had all wilted and dried up. she had no idea where they came from and she was starting to worry about what she had accidentally gotten herself into. she had kept all of the dead flowers, keeping them in the drawer of her nightstand because she didn’t exactly want to throw them away, she could show them to niall as proof (he still didn’t believe a single ounce of what she had told him and, well… she didn’t really blame him, what she said did sound absolutely ludicrous). 

she wondered whether she should confront the weird forest man, unable to stop thinking about him as she went on about her day. he was definitely doing all of this on purpose, there was no way he wasn’t. at least, that’s what y/n was thinking. it could have just been niall pulling an annoying prank on her, she wouldn’t even be surprised if he was. 

“niall.”

“yes?” niall took a bite out of his bagel, looking at her confusedly because she looked quite annoyed. 

“did you put these on my pillow?” she asked, holding up the dead flowers. 

“no…? why would i do that?”

“i don’t know with you! did you put them on my pillow? be honest.”

“god, you’re so awfully pissy in the mornings.” he mumbled to himself, “no, i did not. why would i just randomly get dead flowers? don’t you think i’d be a little nicer and get fresh ones?”

she narrowed her eyes at him and he raised his hands up in surrender. 

she was going to confront him. 

𓂃 𓈒𓏸 

y/n was practically stomping on the ground with every step she took, walking closer and closer to that stupid guy and his stupid little bed, clutching the dead flowers she had recieved in her hand. from the distance, she could see that he was just relaxing on his bed, looking up at the sky through the space the trees that surrounded him left. 

she eventually reached him, standing right in front of him. he had sat up as soon as he heard leaves crunching, oh so happy to see that she had come back to see him. he had been feeling quite down since she left, and it was probably the saddest he had ever felt. it was disappointing to watch the flowers that once surrounded his bed wilt and to hold the small dead flowers that had fallen out of his hair. but despite how sad he was, he still had hope that she would come back.

“i know what you’re doing.”

harry’s eyes widened and he parted his lips, unsure of what to say.

“uh, what am i doing exactly?” he asked her confusedly and she let out an annoyed sigh, bringing up a hand and pointing a finger at his nose, making his eyes widen even more, moving his head back a little in case she poked him or something.

“stop pretending! i know you’ve been putting these flowers on my pillow. i bet you even made me dream about you last night, huh? stop doing all of this shit, it’s weird, alright? leave me alone.”

“wh- what?” he asked in disbelief, looking at the dead flowers she was holding up. he then shook his head furiously, “i-i never put those on your pillow, i’m not quite sure what you’re talking about. i told you that i’ve never left the forest, why would i do so now? i never made you dream about me either since i am connected to nature after all, not minds.”

“liar.”

“what? i would never lie to you, that is preposterous.”

“that is preposterous.” she mocked before taking her hand away from his face to rub her cheek softly, looking down at the flowers in her hand.

“i never put those on your pillow, i swear.” he said softly.

“well, where else could they have come from?! look around you, what do you see?” she gestured with her hands, bringing attention to all the dead flowers on harry’s bed.

“i’ve just been feeling a little down.” he murmured, pinching his thigh softly.

“what?”

“e-ever since you left, i’ve been a bit down, hence why everything’s so… lifeless.”

what?

author’s note - hello! i hope chapter two of flora was somehow pleasing for the eyes, tell me what you thought!

[terrence-silver]

I recently discovered your page and my first reaction was: OH MY GOD, this woman is an amazing writer!! No seriously, your Yandere one shots / scenarios are amazing, I would like to read more! Since I first saw Karate Kid Part III I have this very dark but fascinating scenario in mind: The reader (friend of Daniel Larusso and Mr. Miyagi) is kidnapped by Terry as he is madly obsessed with her (but she does not return his love). When he forcibly takes her to the majestic Ennis House, he wants to get her pregnant to prevent her from escaping. Can you make the scene please? (with nsfw if you want) Maybe it's a bit too extreme scenario, but Yandere Terry Silver in the 80's is something amazing.

---

His revenge in Johnny's name never involved this.

But, much like a greedy child in a candy store on a sugar-high, Terry wanted it all.

John, lounging on some wicker sunbed in Tahiti, soaking up the seaside heat, bronze like a god and oiled up and admiring all the grass hula skirts that were attending to him had never called him up to say Fuck your children into somebody, Terry and make that part of your revenge. Go all the way, Terry. For me. --- no. In fact, trusty Johnny was very old-fashioned and deeply conventional with his vendettas. Blood to blood. Fists to fists. A healthy addition of dirty moves and strategizing when required, but never to this extent. Of course, Terry admired the rawness of such sentiments, the type John had and lived by, but sometimes a delicate touch was required to make pain truly stick and that pain was laying on his King Size bed, in his bedroom, in his mansion, on Glendower, overlooking all of LA. Was it insanely petty and morally questionable. To kidnap someone that little pipsqueak and that old coot held dear? A treasured, kind neighbour? A friend, he even dared say? To be the cad and the seducer, whisking them away whether they liked to or not and simply have them --- ravaging them --- tying them inadvertently to himself so he can later pull them out of the drawer, flaunt them like his own special prize and say Look what I did? I did that to them. They're mine forever, Danny-boy and everything you ever felt close to is to be taken from you for crossing John Kreese and Cobra Kai. Nothing and nobody in this world is safe from me. Not from the closest contact to the most distantly familiar acquaintance.

Then there was the fact that he very much liked them.

Not a feeling yet returned as much as he wanted, but it would be.

Naturally, everyone always fell to his charms, sooner or later, sometimes against all better judgement and it would be no different now. He had a scheduled timetable on when he was taking them raw, holding them hostage on estate grounds, surrounded by walls and cameras and security. Early morning seven o'clock sharp. One time before noon. One time afternoon. In the evening. And going free reign at night. Terry trained and Terry fucked. When he called up John to tell him all about it he was met with an expected: -"You did what, Terry!?"- His voice was laced with disbelief and amusement on an international overseas call and Terry throws his head back in his tub filled with foam in unadulterated joy at the sound of it once all the details and his war plan were mutually laid out bare before his Captain. He was on the verge of stroking himself beneath the bubbles in excitement. Yes, he was going to knock the fuck up one Larusso boy's neighbour living in the same apartment block. Much older than the punk, but upon closer inspection, someone the little Italian twerp admired like an eager kid admires a big sibling or an aspirational adult. -"You're crazy."- John adds. -"And you love it!"- Terry practically cackles, the phone at his cheek, his little project safely locked upstairs, exhausted for last night's trysts. He'd go one step further, he decided. He'll wine, dine and romance them until it is abundantly clear they're with him of their own accord. I'm sorry, Daniel. Terry imagines them saying, apologetically. Pitifully. It just happened. You don't choose who you love.

Ah, it was like something straight out of The Dynasty and he loved it.

-"And what happens after?"- John inquires lazily, with a trace of strictness.

-"Huh? After what?"-

-"After we're done playing? C'mon, not gonna toss your own kid and the woman out in the streets once you've proved a point, Terry? Not how I taught you to do things."- Oddly honorable John. He loved the man to bits and pieces.

When their revenge is concluded and the old man and the kid are cut down to size? The streets? Tossing someone out? Someone his? No, no. Terry remembers how his little beloved mewled under him last night, fearful yet wanton, guilt and desire intermingling, they wanted it even though their head pleaded them not to, so beautiful, vulnerable and sweet, frightened and needy in a great castle on a hill, just like in the fairytales. Why should a dragon relinquish his treasure? John had nothing to fear. Terry was self-aware about being a great many things, but someone who forsakes something belonging to him he most certainly wasn't. He laughs in response, jubilantly. -"Well, I suppose I'll be a father, Johnny! What belongs to me, belongs to me."- The cackle echoes from his jacuzzi out into the steam filled hallway. -"You'll have your dojo locations, your rightful trophy, your champion, your victory at the All Valley, your name cleared and I'll have, well ---"- In listing off all their goals one by one, Terry feels the blood rush into his cheeks, his chest and lower still, into his cock. He couldn't even say it. I'll have a spouse and I'll have a kid and It'll be oh so sweet and I would've usurped and conquered them in the name of retaliation, so instead, he just trails off cheekily with a giggle.-"You know!"- Terry snorts suggestively, finding he was hit with an uncharacteristic amount of excitement at the idea of procuring himself someone who was his and who in turn would birth someone even more his outside of avenging his Captain. Enterprise, it was called. Enterprise and expansion. -"I know, I know. You're a real piece of work, I swear."- John shoots back, knowingly. They laugh together in mirth, over the phone.

-"Betcha!"-

Terry pounces on the statement with an interjection of his own.

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results). 

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be. 

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children. 

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy 

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim. 

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do. 

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point! 

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus. 

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping. 

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex. 

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him. 

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red. 

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!! 

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling. 

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!” 

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out. 

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you. 

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage. 

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her. 

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement. 

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.” 

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos​ - @fairywriter-oracle​ - @tsukishimawh0re​ - @ofstarsanddreams​ - @bbecc-a​ - @annshit​ - @leahh19​ - @letsloveimagines​ - @bellomi-clarke​ - @wineandionysus​ - @guiltydols​ - @onephootinfrontoftheother​ - @liamakorn​ - @thirstyfangirl​ - @lilysdaydreams​ - @pan-ini​ - @mxqicshxp​ - @tanchosanke​ - @yoshinorecommends​ - @flightsandfantasy​ - @liljennyx3​ - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible​ - @sinister-sleep​ - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​ - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit​ - @unstableye​ - @simonsbluee​ - @shinyshimaagain​ - @ppopty​ - @siriuslystupid​ - @crapimahuman​ - @ofthedewthesunlight​ - @mythicalamphitrite​ - @artsyally​ - @corpsesimpp​ - @corpsewhitetee​ - @corpse-husbandsimp​ - @hyp-oh-critical​ - @roses-and-grasses​ - @rhyrhy462​ - @sparklylandflaplawyer​ - @charbkgo​ - @airwaveee​ - @creativedogs​ - @kaitlyn2907​ - @loxbbg​ - @afuckingunicornn​ - @fleurmoon​ - @yeolliedokai​

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Lesson Learned | Five Hargreeves

✦ pairing — Five Hargreeves x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 5.1k

✦ college AU-ish

✦ request — Could you write a story in which Five asks reader to teach him to kiss because he has a date (they’re in high school or college if you prefer) but gets carried on and they have sex so it becomes the norm and she thinks they’re fwb but he thinks they’re dating so they get into a fight when she tells him she can do it anymore because she fell for him and has turned other people down?

✦ warnings — nsfw, Five and reader are in college, language, Five is a virgin, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, angst, jealousy, misunderstandings, awkwardness, fluff.

✦ author's note — I changed the ending, but for the most part, this is loyal to the request.

════════════════════════

He had to be joking. Sure, Five wasn’t one to joke around too much, but he wasn’t one to talk about his love life with you either.

You glanced at him. With his back flush against the backrest of your desk chair and hands on his lap, he stared back.

“I can explain it to you...”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not the same! Many things could go wrong. Dad always said to start small and practice.”

You rubbed your forehead, exasperated. “But I’m not an expert on kissing.”

“I’ve seen you make out with people at parties.”

Parties he always complained about. You understood where Five was coming from, he had been strictly homeschooled his entire life. It was a miracle that Reginald accepted to let him enroll in college.

Resigned, you left your seat on the bed, motioning for him to stand up too. Five complied, eyes on your face as he waited for you to say something else.

Swallowing your spit, praying you would stop hyper-salivating soon, you rested your right hand on his left cheek.

Five looked down at your hand, frowning.

“They’ll probably touch your face if they kiss you.”

Forcing him to slant his head, you explained, “Tilting your head makes it more comfortable. That way, when you move your lips against theirs, your noses don’t get in the way.”

Gently, he placed his hand on your cheek. Five pushed your head to the side so you’d tilt it too.

You could feel your heartbeat quicken which prompted you to take a deep breath. “You should be gentle at first, don’t stick your tongue into their throat or something like that.”

“I know the theory,” he snapped. “Can you just teach me the practice already?”

“Right.” You brought him to your height, unconsciously wetting your lips.

His breath fanned on your face, warm and rigged. You closed the gap between your mouths, fluttering your eyes close when he started moving his lips on yours.

It felt good, natural. You doubted it was his first kiss until his teeth grazed your bottom lip as he got too into the kiss too soon.

Swiping your thumb over his cheek, you pulled away to explain some more. “Easy. You’re just learning.”

Feeling him nod against your hand as he puckered his lips up to kiss you again, you added, “There’s nothing wrong with going at your own pace. If the other person really wants to kiss you, they’ll understand. You should do the same with them.”

Five pulled you closer to him, dropping his mouth onto yours. His kiss was intense, and you couldn’t help but match the passion he was pouring into it.

Your fingers slid into his hair which made him shudder. He added his teeth purposefully this time, bitting down your bottom lip.

“Well,” you breathed out, “I think you’ll do fine.”

“Oh, shut up.” He kissed you again, dropping his hand to your shoulder and letting it travel down your arm.

His fingers brushed yours yet he didn’t stop there. He planted his hand on your hip, groaning when you tugged on his hair.

Your tongue slid across his bottom lip, catching him off guard for a millisecond. Five opened his mouth, granting you access more than happily.

Gripping your hip with no inhibitions now, he walked you backward. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, confused as to what he was doing.

It clicked when your calves hit the base of the bed. You searched for his eyes, wanting to make sure he knew what he was doing. Finding dilated pupils, you gulped.

“You’ll have to teach me,” he panted on your mouth, voice deeper than earlier.

You nodded, lightly pushing him off. You had never been anyone’s first before, much less taught someone how to have sex. Nervous, you slowly dragged your hands down his chest and torso.

Pulling at the hem of his t-shirt, you waited for him to lift his arms to discard it. You looked at him appreciatively, already having expected a fit body due to his training.

Grabbing his arms, you leaned over to leave a tentative kiss on his neck. Five hummed, bringing his hands back to your body, skimming your back.

The reaction encouraged you to be more firm with your ministrations, adamant to find his sensitive spot.

Fisting your blouse, he rasped, “Let me take this off.”

Standing straight, you lifted your arms like he had done. Five slid the item off quickly, throwing the blouse to the chair.

He traced your breasts, looking at you to see if you were okay with it. Placing your hands on top of his, you encouraged him to touch you firmly.

As he kneaded your breasts from on top of your bra, you resumed the attention you were giving to his neck. You seemed to find the spot you had been looking for under his ear.

He held you flush against him as you kept kissing his skin, breathing unsteadily. Five groaned, attempting to undo your bra with shaky fingers.

“Fuck,” he blurted a curse as you harshly sucked on his neck, “you’re driving me insane.”

“That’s the idea,” you chuckled, hands moving to the front of his jeans. Brushing his bulge with your knuckles, you felt his breath hitch.

He dropped his head forward, lips caressing your shoulder as he hid his face in your neck. You cupped his bulge, and his hips thrust forward in reaction.

Five kissed your neck like you had been kissing his earlier, yet he got messy quicker. You moaned softly, feeling him suck on your skin like his life depended on it.

Unfastening his jeans, you pulled them down. He kicked his shoes off immediately, pushing the denim down his legs and kicking the jeans to the side too.

You palmed his cock, only for him to remove your hand. Before you could assume he didn’t want this anymore, he pulled your leggings down.

Abashed by the fact that you were wearing mismatched underwear, you got rid of the leggings. Turning around, giving him your back, you instructed, “Watch my hands.”

Five tried really hard to pay attention as your fingers unclasped your bra, but the only thing he could do was picture your fingers around his cock.

You grabbed his hand as you faced him, guiding it back to your breast to teach him how to pinch your nipples.

He rolled your nipple between his thumb and index fingers, making you let a whine out. Getting confident, wanting to hear more of those sounds that went straight to the tip of his cock, he started using both hands.

This time he didn’t stop you from touching his cock. You didn’t touch him much, he was almost completely hard already and both of you knew he wouldn’t last long.

His cock sprung free when you took his underwear off, beautifully hard. He hissed at the change of temperature — the hiss quickly turned into a low groan as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

Huffing a sigh out, he clumsily got rid of your panties.

Reaching for the drawer of your bedside table, you pulled a box of condoms out. He frowned upon seeing it, but made no comment.

You handed him one and let him take his time to put it on. Rearranging your pillows to be more comfortable, you laid on your back.

Five kneeled on the bed, dragging his eyes down your body. You opened your legs for him.

Crawling closer to you, he looked down to see what he was doing and hesitated.

“It’s okay if you want to stop,” you reminded him.

“It’s not that. I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted.

“Oh.” You cradled his cock, gently guiding his tip in. He shut his eyes as you did so, swallowing rather harshly. Craning your neck upward, you kissed his throat, letting go of his cock as he slowly continued to push in.

Five cursed. The strained tone made you clench around him, prompting him to let out a growl.

Ready, adjusted to his size after a tense moment, you told him, “You can move whenever you want. Slow at first.”

Opening his eyes, he placed his hands on your thick thighs. The movement of his hips, slow and hesitant, showcased how nervous he was.

You smiled at him in assurance, hoping he already knew you wouldn’t judge him if things didn’t go as he expected.

It worked to some extent, his clammy hands slid to the sides of your thighs once he felt comfortable with going a little faster.

Lewd sounds filled the room, making Five wonder how could you be that wet. You winced, afraid of embarrassing yourself.

Hovering over you, he kissed you. Forcefully gripping your thighs, rocking his hips at a desperate pace.

He couldn’t believe how good it felt. Five hadn’t given sex much thought before, he didn’t have time for most things — now everything he could process was how warm you were around him, wet and tight.

His stomach contracted as the coil inside him wound tighter. Taking deep breaths, he tried every trick he had read in order to not cum yet.

“It’s okay,” you panted, caressing his hair tenderly as you felt him twitch inside you, “let go.”

Relieved, he spilled into the condom, whining. His hands trembled, eyes wide open. Five never imagined it would be different from coming after jerking off. Oh, how wrong he had been.

“Hold the base when you pull out, that way you don’t make a mess.”

He did as you instructed him, tying the condom once he had taken it off. Five threw the discarded condom into the trash can, chest heaving up and down.

He laid beside you, catching his breath as he looked up at the ceiling.

“You didn’t come, did you?”

“That usually happens the first time you have sex with someone.”

“Don’t make excuses for me.”

You rolled to lay on your side. Five had his jaw clenched, the muscles in his abdomen were contracted, and he was frowning.

“Hey.” You reached for his face, making him look at you. “There are many ways to please someone. Everyone is different. That’s not your fault.”

He scoffed. Five didn’t like being like other people, making other people’s mistakes was stupid, unoriginal.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.”

“I clearly didn’t do something right!”

“Women tend to have a hard time coming the first time they’re with a new partner. It’s just... normal.”

“What makes you come?”

“It depends from person to—“

He interrupted you, “I asked you specifically.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can get myself off.”

He rolled on his side, resting his hand on your waist as he breathed on your face. “Tell me,” he insisted.

“Fingers should be enough,” you mumbled, eyes on his mouth.

Five dragged his hand down, following your curves. He stopped at your inner thigh for a moment, watching you, mapping your face.

Your eyes were hooded, wanton and pretty; mouth slightly open as you waited for him to please you. Him.

He parted your labia, assuming that was what he had to do to enter you, and gasped upon feeling just how wet you were. It was better than hearing it; it felt real now. He had made you wet. He.

“How many?” The question was low and firm, husky tone going directly to your clit.

“Two.”

Dipping his index and middle fingers into your pussy, Five licked his lips. He was torn between asking more questions and finding out what you liked by himself.

It couldn’t be that hard. He caressed your walls, exploring one side with his index. His knuckle brushed your other side, applying pressure. You whimpered, lulling your head to the side opposed to where he was.

Five shifted his fingers inside you, making you drop your hand to his shoulder as you tried your hardest not to move against his digits.

Intrigued by the spongy mound he had grazed, he touched it again. Your walls squeezed his fingers, hips lifting as your body jolted up.

His name escaped you through a sob. It was too much, you needed him to take you there already. Just a little push and you would explode.

Remembering how good it felt when you kissed his throat, he dropped his head into your neck to do the same, curling his fingers inside you when he realized it was easier to touch the soft sponge that way.

Your moans, mixed with the wet sounds of his fingers deep inside you, got him feeling hotter. He needed you to say his name again, even if it was just once — the sound had been so sweet, so sensual, he was sure he wouldn’t need porn to jerk off ever again.

Hand planted on his neck as you looked for something to hold onto, feeling as though your soul would leave your body if you didn’t find something to ground you, and only half-aware of what you were saying, you clamped your legs closed.

You were finally there, squealing his name so he wouldn’t stop. And he didn’t, not until your whimpers and cries subsided. Even then, Five found the pressure and fluid wetness on his fingers pleasant — so pleasant he unconsciously continued fingering you.

Your legs trembled and a loud sob broke through you. “Too much,” you choked out.

Five stopped moving his fingers, lifting his head to look at you. “Did I hurt you?”

Not able to form a coherent sentence, you pulled him into a kiss. He kissed you slowly, using his position to his advantage to lay you on your back so he could caress your cheek with his free hand.

The kiss had to be cut short when you grew breathless. Fluttering your eyes open, you found his own focused on your face. Your thumb traced his jaw as your hand stayed firm on his neck.

Five pulled his fingers out of you. Hissing, you shifted your hips. He played with the slick coating his fingers, admiring its glisten.

Before processing what he was doing, he licked his fingers.

Both of you moaned at the same time.

════════════════════════

That saying of never meeting your idols had always sounded a little too pessimistic for your liking.

Now you were sure you had a better one. Never start fucking your crush who happens to be your childhood friend.

You should have known you wouldn’t be able to stop. Teaching him became an excuse, until the excuse didn’t hold up because there was nothing else to teach him. At least not on your behalf.

He never told you how the date went. You preferred it that way, pretending you were the only person he was seeing was better.

Extremely easy, too. You spent a lot of time together — hanging out, doing homework, having sex...

You caught him staring from across classrooms or hallways sometimes, and others he caught you. He always smiled, never showing his teeth but always acknowledging you warmly.

Not seeing him on Friday night and Saturday was fucking with your head. He had things to do, at least that was what he said — probably someone else to see.

Every time he kissed you or touched you made you fear it would be the last. He would eventually settle for someone, you knew how much he needed some sense of normalcy in his life.

And you knew it wouldn’t be you.

Your roommate threw herself onto the couch, lifting her eyebrows as she stared at you. “Soooooo,” she sang, “what’s going on between you and Five?”

You closed your laptop, tired of staring at the blank screen with no idea how to start your essay. “Nothing.”

“Then who gave him that giant hickey he’s been trying to hide with a turtleneck?”

You shrugged. “Ask him.”

“(Name),” she said, trying to sound serious. She failed, too amused by your attempt at being nonchalant. “You’re the only person he hangs out with.”

That wasn’t technically true. He had some acquaintances here and there, and he spent a lot of time with his siblings.

Either way, one doesn’t have to hang out with someone to be involved with them in other ways. For instance, the last time you had seen someone casually, none of your friends got to meet them.

Someone knocked on the door. Assuming it was her partner, you let her open herself, resting your belly on the arm of the couch as you stretched to place the laptop on the table beside it.

You would probably prepare something to snack on and watch a movie unless she needed the apartment for herself.

You heard a familiar “hello” and froze. The couch dipped, prompting you to kneel in order to acknowledge Five.

He leaned on his back to stare at you. Following his tongue with your eyes as it came out to wet his bottom lip, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“I brought your favorite cookies,” he announced softly, nodding upward.

A paper bag laid on the wooden table at the center of the living room, next to your roommate’s tablet. As you deviated your eyes, she gave you a cocky smile, lifting her eyebrows again.

She made an excuse to leave you alone, reminding you that she would be back in the morning. Finding the comment pointless, you rolled your eyes playfully at her and told her to be safe.

Five sat properly, cradling your face to kiss you. The kiss was short, a mere greeting gesture. You observed the bags under his eyes which were bloodshot yet made no comment.

Leaving the couch with the excuse of refilling your water bottle, you offered him something to drink but he declined.

“I’ll be in your room,” he stated as he walked past the kitchen.

He didn’t give you time to answer. You sighed loudly once you heard the door creak open and went back to the living room.

Grabbing the cookies and your laptop, you turned the lights off.

He was discarding the tied-up hoodie he had been wearing to hide the marks on his neck when you entered the bedroom.

You left the laptop on your desk. As for the cookies and the water bottle, you placed them on your bedside table before sitting down on the bed from where you could reach them whenever you wanted.

Five rested his head on your lap, kicking his shoes off to get more comfortable. He grabbed your hand, guiding it to his hair.

Burying your fingers in his dark locks, you started massaging his scalp. He sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You asked, “Are you okay?”

It took him a while to answer. Humming, clearly tired, he said, “It’s been a long weekend.”

“Wanna watch a movie?” you offered. You needed the distraction urgently. Thinking about what could’ve been bothering him wasn’t good for your health.

If it was someone he was seeing, it would break your heart. If it was something that had to do with his family... well, that would also break your heart.

Five fit himself between your legs, using your belly as a pillow. One of his arms was around you while his other hand fiddled with the elastic of your sweatpants.

You continued playing with his hair mindlessly, resigned to the fact that you wouldn’t focus on the film.

“You smell good,” he purred, rubbing his face on the ends of your t-shirt as he shifted to bury his nose in the material and sniff it.

He fell asleep on your lap before the third act of the movie started.

════════════════════════

He hadn’t wanted to attend the stupid party. Five was tired, sleep-deprived, and quite worried. Klaus wanted him there, and he couldn’t say no to his brother when he had his own reasons to attend.

Regardless, he should’ve imagined Klaus had dragged him there with other intentions.

“Pleaaaaaase?” Klaus whined.

Five gritted, “I said no. I am busy later.”

Five adored his brother, he often gave into Klaus’ whims, but covering for him wasn’t that easy, and he had plans already.

Things weren’t going as smoothly as he wanted them to, and the logical solution was taking time to do them right before it was too late. It was his primary focus.

He had spent days asking around, doing research, planning things. Letting Klaus ruin everything because he wanted to get laid couldn’t be allowed.

Klaus pouted, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the room. “I’ll ask (Name) then.” He then giggled, “But not now. Or later. She might get some tonight.”

Five opened his mouth, “How did—“ he stopped himself, Klaus wasn’t looking at him anymore but at something behind him.

Turning around, Five found your frame a few meters away from him. You were chatting with a guy he had seen in passing, hand on his bicep — he believed the blond idiot to share a class with you.

What was his name? Something dumb, clearly. Fuck, why couldn’t he remember names now? Luke... or Lucas? It started with an L. It suited him.

Not thinking much of it, aware of how friendly you were, he took a sip of his drink. Five almost choked when he saw you throw your head back in a fit of laughter.

Everyone knew your companion wasn’t funny or smart. Why were you laughing with him? And why hadn’t you approached Five to say hello?

Leaving Klaus without a word, he walked toward you. He recognized your laugh as a painfully fake one, too giggly to be of your own or natural. It was vomit-inducing.

Five stood at your side. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he lied.

You shifted to acknowledge him, speaking through your teeth. “I’m a little busy right now.”

Thrusting his drink into your hand, he ignored your companion. “It’s your favorite,” he smiled at you sweetly.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, prompting you to take a sip to keep yourself from giggling. For real this time. A smile had never made you so nervous.

Then again, Five rarely smiled genuinely.

Your companion cleared his throat, trying to get your attention again.

Turning to look at the other man, Five nodded upward. “Oh, hey Luke.”

“It’s Lance.”

“Right.” Five nodded dismissively. Sliding his arm around your shoulders, draping his hand as his knuckles brushed your jaw, he told you, “Can you talk to Liam later? I need your help.”

“My name is—“

Five gave Lance a tight sarcastic smile. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

You passed the cup to your other hand, wrapping your arm around Five’s waist. Choosing him, always him for some stupid reason.

Lance scoffed. “I’ll see you around, (Name).”

He glared at Five as he made his way toward his friends. Uncomfortable, you looked down. This was the third time you turned someone down for Five, and you were growing tired of it but couldn’t stop doing it.

“You didn’t answer my texts earlier.”

“You know I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, like you were busy with your new bestie now.”

His harsh tone made you face him. He was glaring at the empty space in front of you, where Lance had been standing.

“You said you needed my help...” you trailed off, desperate to get past the uncomfortable silence.

He nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

Giving you a look that told you not to ask more questions, he pulled you closer, dragging you with him.

Leaving out of nowhere, without warnings or apologies to your friends, wasn’t wise. They could worry, or get mad at you when it had taken them so long to convince you to stop brooding and attend the party.

They surely would understand if you explained that Five had needed your help. Or tease you for dropping everything to be with him.

The weather outside of the venue was nice, nicer than the previous days when the heat had been so intense you had been tempted to sleep naked.

“Are you at least telling me what’s wrong?”

He looked up at the sky, humming in thought. This wasn’t the way he had intended to apologize, or to say anything. “I was hoping you would tell me.”

“You’re the one who needs help.”

“I clearly lied.”

You rolled your eyes to yourself. He was acting as though you were always willing to put everything aside for him. And you were. Fuck.

“Can I go back to the party?”

“Back to that idiot?” he mocked you. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to tell you all about the underage girls he has been grooming.”

Jesus fucking Christ. You just wanted to have fun for a night. Just one night of not going to bed wondering if he was in someone else’s room. Lance had seemed willing to make you forget — it would’ve been a transactional night, nothing more and nothing less.

Your silence only made matters worse. Bitterly, Five gritted, “One would think that after a week of being so busy you couldn’t hang out with your boyfriend you would be happy to have some time alone with him, but for some fucking reason I’m not enough tonight.”

“With my what?” You asked, baffled.

He shifted, twisting his body to gaze at you. “I know you’ve been busy, okay? And I have also been focused on other things, extremely stressed too.” Five leaned his head on the concrete wall. “It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You nodded. “But what did you say earlier? Like... seconds earlier.”

Struggling to repeat it, worried you would agree, he stammered, “That I’m not good enough tonight?”

“You used the word boyfriend.”

Five looked at you like he didn’t understand what you were talking about. “That’s what I am,” he said, obfuscated by the fact that he had to state the obvious.

“You are?”

“Am I not?”

“Well... no, but a little bit but not really? I mean—“ interrupting yourself, you shook your head. Acting like a babbling schoolgirl would get you nowhere.

Sure, you wanted to throw up; and yeah, you were probably getting what you wanted — but things weren’t supposed to go that way.

“You never asked,” you reminded him. How could you have known he was taking things so seriously? “I assumed we were friends with benefits.”

“We spend our free time together, making out and whatnot.”

“Yeah! Friends with benefits do that. Those are the benefits.”

“We go on dates,” he challenged you to find an explanation that would follow your warped logic. Friends with benefits! What a dumb thing to assume when he was giving you every drop of his love and attention.

Dates? What the fuck was he talking about? Hanging out at cafés and going to the movies?

“Those aren’t dates.”

“That’s stupid. Why would there be so many fucking rules to be in a relationship?”

You blew air out through your mouth, willing to explain it to him. “It’s not about rules. If you don’t clarify your intentions, people can only assume. The only qualifier for something to be a date is calling it that. It’s not that hard.”

“Fuck.” He rubbed his palms against his face, gripping his hair as his hands traveled up his head. “I feel like an idiot.”

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have assumed anything either.”

He shook his head. “It’s something much more embarrassing.”

“Should I even ask?”

“Don’t laugh.” He lifted a finger, pointing at you in a threatening stance.

“I won’t,” you promised. How bad could it be?

Oh, it was bad. Okay, not bad, just... over the top. You wanted to laugh really badly — not at him, but out of nervousness. And maybe a little bit at him.

He had managed to scatter flower petals all over a hotel room floor while candles formed a trail toward the bed.

Light from more candles emanated from the bathroom where you could see even more flowers, beautifully arranged around the bathtub.

You opened and closed your mouth, trying to find something worth saying, a reaction that wouldn’t offend him.

“It’s romantic.” He made a pause, twisting his clasped hands. “Right?”

“Y—yeah.”

Five tsked. “It’s too fucking much, I know. I wanted to be romantic because my girlfriend has been stressed out and turns out I look like a fucking lunatic by doing this!” Lifting his hands in a frustrated gesture, he clenched his jaw.

You placed your hands on his shoulders. “It’s sweet.” He was pouting now, prompting you to be more firm, “I mean it.”

“You don’t seem to like it.”

“Of course I do! It’s just news to me that we’re dating.”

“Have you...” he made a meaningless movement with his hand, wetting his lips. “You know... seen other people?”

“No.” You decided to tell him the whole truth, “I tried a few times, but it didn’t feel right. It’s kind of embarrassing, I’ve turned people down because of you while thinking you didn’t care about me.”

“And I thought I was the delusional one.”

“You would’ve saved me from a lot of stress if you had stated your intentions clear,” you defended yourself. “Put yourself in my shoes, we had sex the first time because you wanted me to teach you.”

“We had sex the first time because you turned me on,” he corrected you, gripping your hips, making your dress inch up. “Why are you wearing a dress?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Five brought you closer to him, face red and eyes sharp. “You are right, I don’t.” He leaned over, trying not to focus on anything else but your lips.

You met him in the middle, kissing him first as you captured his bottom lip between yours. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled on his mouth, only to kiss him again.

Five slowed the kiss down for once, giving you short kisses instead. He rested his forehead on yours, arms around you as he swayed you to a rhythm you didn’t really know.

“Is it a bad moment to tell you I’m in love with you?”

With your hands on his shoulders, you shook your head. “It would only be bad if you didn’t mean it.”

“I never meant anything more in my life.”

“I’m in love with you too.”

He smiled, angling his face to give you another kiss. Sweet and long, as if he had all the time in the world. Five peppered kisses all over your face, huffing more smiles as he gazed at your reaction.

“Do you want to take a bubble bath?” he asked, mouthing your jaw. “I brought your favorite scent.”

“Are you joining me?”

“That was implicit, honey.”

You grabbed his hand then, bringing him into the bathroom with you.

[miekasa]

any spare levi headcanons tonight????? 😁😁😁😁

Sure, why not, he is the love of my life after all. These are pretty random, and fit in some sort of generalized modern boyfriend au. Hopelessly domestic, as that is the nature of nearly everything I write for Levi, anyway. Also still terribly obsessed with the idea of him with a motorcycle, so there’s that.

He owns at least six black blazers. They’re nearly identical; slight differences in texture and cut, one with lapels, one that’s boldly all leather that you swear you’ve never seen him wear. They’re kind of his go-to staple, other than a sweater.

That being said, he doesn’t exclusively wear all black. His closet leans towards more neutrals, sure, but he’s not allergic to color. You might not catch him wearing neon orange on the average day, but he’s not averse to a nice shade of green, any shade of purple that suits his mood, even a softer pink.

He has towels and rags he sets aside especially for you when he comes over. He always washes them and put them back in place when you leave so that they’re ready to go for next time.

Claims to not have any attachment to the shows/dramas you watch, but he’s totally backseat watching. Halfway into every single series, he starts sitting down when you turn it on, and scoffs at dumb decisions the characters make.

He splurged on one of those frame TVs that look like a painting when they’re idle. It was a good investment in his opinion.

He doesn’t hate Starbucks drinks—there’s worse things out there in terms of quality of tea. What he despises about the establishment is the way they call out names for you to pick up your order. He’s learned that mobile order ahead is the way to go.

Has slippers for around the house, so consequently, you have slippers for walking around his house. He keeps both pairs (and a few extra for friends and guests) tucked neatly beside the door for easy access; yours always go next to his.

Does not understand the purpose of a robe. Buy him one tho and he will suddenly find an excuse to wear it: making breakfast, lounging around watching TV, doing some light cleaning and dusting. It’s comfy, alright, he can admit that much.

The little puppy you got him that he swore he was not going to warm up to now gets the royal treatment. The best doggie goods and treats, top rated shampoos, cutest drying towels, even a miniature couch he constructed just for the pup. They’re best friends, there’s no breaking that bond now.

Speaking of the puppy, affectionately named Captain, Levi can be found walking him every day shortly after work. They have a few different routes, but they always pass by the local vendors/market, who enthusiastically anticipate their appearance every day. Some of the older ladies running stands have even taken to bringing a few treats with them for Captain—after bundling up some goods for Levi, too, of course.

Captain also has a special doggy backpack Levi uses for when he’s on his motorcycle. If you follow anybody on TikTok in his area, you’re bound to see at least one video of the pup while Levi’s out riding. He’s become viral on social media without even knowing it.

(When you show him a video someone posted of him and Captain with well over 100k likes, and a million views, he only rolled his eyes. But remembers that particularly day; remembers the folks had a kid who politely asked to pet the dog, so he let him. He also maybe asks you to send the link to him).

On the subject of the motorcycle, there was a good few weeks he wouldn’t let you on it. Always found an excuse, a smart reply that was punctuated with gentle push on your forehead and calling you too clumsy for it. Later, you found out it’s because he’d ordered you a helmet; didn’t want to risk you riding without one.

He always keeps it in the storage compartment should he make a stop to pick you up while he’s riding; and he usually wears at least two layers to have a spare to wrap you in before you get on.

When he cooks, he always makes sure there’s enough for leftovers and/or to give you some later. He also bakes frequently, and at least once a week, he stops by with some kind of treat for you—“Trying out a new recipe, let me know if you think it’s missing anything.”

On the subject of food, he won’t police what you eat to annoying extent; he knows that not everybody has the time or will to make pasta from scratch like he does. But, he will smack your wrist if you consider ordering fast food when you’re over at this place. Give him 30 minutes and a single pan, he’ll make something much better than whatever you can find on Uber Eats.

Really, though, he doesn’t mean to obnoxious about the homemade food thing, it’s more habit for him. Growing up, he had to learn to be resourceful, so buying fast-food isn’t ever at the forefront of his mind. Cooking for you also turns out to be something somewhat intimate that he enjoys, so just let him.

Once bought an Apple Watch because he liked the look of them, it wasn’t insanely expensive like other high end watches, and it could connect to his other devices, so why not? A week later he returned it, the ping of his notifications were in one too many places for his liking.

You tried to convince him to keep it—“At least for when you’re jogging! It can track your activity and calories!”—but he clicks his teeth. He’ll survive without keeping track of them.

He learned the hard way that jogging with Captain is no good. His legs are too tiny and Levi ended up carrying the puppy the entire time. Captain is more of a walk dog… or ride on the back of his bike dog.

If you changed anything in his phone settings—like the ringtone for you contact, or the sound his keyboard makes—he wouldn’t go back in and try to figure out how to reset it. Unless it was something obnoxious, like adding an autocorrect shortcut to say something lewd.

He doesn’t really listen to music when he’s just walking. When he’s on a run, that’s fine, but he somewhat prefers to just… hear the environment around him when he’s on a stroll or a break from work. The only reason he’d have headphones on in public is to take a phone call, but even then, he’d prefer to wait until he’s somewhere more private.

He likes having you over at his apartment and has contemplated asking you to move in. He doesn’t want to rush anything, though, so he’s content with your sleepovers for now. (Though he really cannot fathom that you call them “sleepovers” like you’re 14. Please).

He speaks to his mother at least once a week, and she always asks about you. Levi tells her that you’re fine, gives her small updates about you, but Kuchel really just wants to know when the wedding is. He pretends to be busy whenever she starts asking and conveniently ends the call.

Occasionally, he’ll stop by and take you out for lunch. Depends on how much time he has during the day for himself, but he always enjoys sharing a meal with you.

Whenever you’re out with your friends drinking, Levi will pick you up. Even if you already told him that you’d Uber home; as soon as you text him that you’re going to leave soon, he’s already on his way.

He makes pretty good cocktails himself. Teases you for running his alcohol supply dry when the truth is he has more of your favorites in his cabinet than his own. He secretly likes the way you flirt with him when you’re tipsy.

You don’t always cuddle on top of each other when you sleep together. You can just lay by each other and that’s enough; but sometimes, you catch Levi turning towards you in his sleep, reaching for your hand. His body seems to search for yours subconsciously, and you swear there’s a hint of a smile on his sleeping face when you put your hand within reach.

Do not try to pay for dinner when you’re out with him. He’ll pull the “I’m going to use the restroom” move and pay the bill behind your back if he needs to. Open your own doors, maybe; pull out your own chairs, sure if you want; but not this.

He flosses very diligently every night. Mostly because he fucking hates the dentist, so if he takes the extra steps and is extra careful with his teeth, he doesn’t have to go as often, right?—Wrong, it’s the one time the roles are reversed, and you and Hange have to wrestle him into the doctor’s office.

On the flip side, if there are any doctors you routinely avoid and/or forget to schedule check ups for, fear not, because Levi will do it for you. He’ll drive you there, too—the only caveat being, that he usually doesn’t tell you where you’re going until you’re almost there. You think he’s doing the mysterious man surprise date thing and then boom, he’s pulling up to the ophthalmologist. Good luck.

He’s purchased a physical, paper copy of the news on every one of your anniversaries, birthdays, and other special occasions. He keeps them all neatly tucked away in a drawer. Sometimes, he looks back on them—sees what was happening in the world around you on that day. Maybe someday he’ll cut them up and bind them together in a book for you.

He doesn’t like having headphones in when you’re home with him, and preferred if you didn’t either—unless it was for work or school. He welcomes you to use his speakers and play your music aloud; he likes listening to what you listen to. If you look closely, you can catch him humming along or tapping his foot when he really likes a song.

Saves pictures you send him in an album in his camera roll. Occasionally can be found scrolling through them—particularly if you’ve been away on a trip, or he hasn’t gotten the chance to see you because of conflicting schedules.

He takes relatively short showers and doesn’t have a strong preference for the water temperature, so he lets you shower first. Unless you want him to join you, of course.

It’s not hard to tell when Levi wants you. He becomes noticeably more touchy, even if that margin isn’t too wide by anyone else’s standards; and he rarely tries to hide it. It only happens in the privacy of your apartments; but he’ll come on to you—leaning a bit further into conversations, a hand on your knee, a kind of cloudy look in his eyes.

Sometimes he forgoes the attempts at being subtle, just kisses you out the blue, carefully backs you up against the wall, puts his hands on your hips. He can be awfully direct when given the opportunity.

[wkemeup]

Crawl Home to Her

summary: Stranded without coms, alone, and bleeding out in the middle of a Russian snow storm, Bucky is content to let nature take its course. Only you won’t seem to let him go.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8k warnings: passive suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, ghosts???, its all very confusing but humor me ok,  a/n: based on Work Song by Hozier ✨

No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

Laid amongst old wooden floors rotted in decades of weathering and the whistling brush of wind sweeping in steady drift of snow from the open doorway, Bucky wondered whether he might have preferred the coffin of ice Hydra once shoved him in for storage.  

The chill nestled deep into his bones and he tried not to focus on the small puff of breath as it touched over chapped, cracked lips. It was the only warmth he had left and that, too, was leaving him.  

It was getting hard to breath under the sting of freezing temperatures barreling into the cabin; sharp, like crystals had formed in his lungs and punctured into his chest from the inside. The fireplace long extinguished, his rifle laid in a heap amongst his tactical vest and gear too far out of reach. He was unprepared when the mercenaries barreled in through the windows, leaving shattered glass along the floor, safe house exposed to the elements of a Russian winter.

He’d stopped shaking an hour ago, which he knew was a bad sign. His body had given up on fabricating false heat through the tremors in his arm and legs, the twitches of his breaths, the chattering of his teeth. The serum only did so much before he was left with the frayed remnants of his humanity to cover the slack.  

Bucky’s fingers dipped down and glazed over a thick, warm pool at his stomach. He pulled his hand back to find an unsettling, deep red coating his skin. It was warm to the touch and it dripped down along his fingertips into his palms, soaking into the dried patches.  

A violent cough suddenly broke through his chest and Bucky’s head fell back to the floorboards, a dull ache in his stomach from the effort. He could taste copper on his tongue as a fuzziness began to take over, like he was floating on the edge of a cloud, somewhere high up in the sky. It was a pleasant feeling, he decided, a break from the world that had not shown him kindness in nearly a century.  

He stared up at the ceiling, at the blades of a fan lined in decades of dust, as it spun around and around and around and around and —

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bucky jolted awake, a sharp flinch through this nervous system like the current of electricity. Eyes wide open, he turned to find a figure sitting on the loveseat to his left. The fabric was torn in the trajectory of dozens of bullets, cotton lining oozing out the cushions and littered amongst the snow. It was too dark to see but the dim flicker of the swaying light in the kitchen illuminated the corner for only a second. It was enough to still his heart.  

“Y/n?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a scowl on your face as lips pursed together.  

“Hey Buck.”

No.

No. That—that can’t be right...

You were wearing a SHEILD crewneck with a rip on the hem of the sleeve, faded in color from the wash, and a pair of sleep shorts he’d seen you in dozens of times. The slight imprint of a pillow case fold on your cheek, your hair a little out of place in sleep, and cast in the glow of sunshine through his bedroom window despite the stars littering the night sky outside the cabin’s door.  

It was what you were wearing when he left on assignment two weeks prior. He knew because he memorized every moment he left you behind.  

There was always that uncertainty, that knowledge that every mission could be his last, so he took the time to bring you with him; a memory, an image, of you laying under rustled sheets, curled up against his pillow with that pout on your lips as you told him ‘five more minutes, baby’ when he was already ten late.

He held that memory close because he could feel himself slipping. The blood pooling at his stomach was seeping into the floor beneath him and he felt dizzy, the spin of the fan above him throwing him off balance even as he laid completely still. It was the last good thing he had left -- this image of you -- because he knew it was time to let go, time to let the universe make things right again, to take him from the time he never belonged in.  

There was a relief in that... almost.  

"You’re not giving up, are you?”

Bucky gritted his teeth as your voice pulled him back sharply from the edge of dreamless sleep. He glanced over to you and found there wasn’t a trace of goosebumps on your skin amongst the snow sliding along the floorboards by your feet. You were unbothered by the rush of wind barreling in through the open door though it picked up in the small wisps of your hair, carrying them away from your face before it settled again.

“This isn’t happening. You’re not real,” Bucky chanted under his breath, but the way you were looking at him—Jesus—he'd seen that look too many times before. The pinch of your brows, the slight tug of your cheek between your teeth, your eyes narrowing down on him from a distance, never in anger, but determination.  

Bucky closed his eyes, clenched his jaw real tight, but he could still hear as you push yourself up off the couch, the slight squeak of floorboards under your feet as you paced. Bucky dared to steal a glimpse and you were kneeling down over one of the mercenaries he was able to get a shot in before hell broke loose. You pursed your lips, tilted your head just so, and pulled off his helmet to get a better look. It rolled a good few feet before it hit a sudden stop against the edge of the couch.  

It was the wind, he told himself. His mind was playing tricks on him again.  

“Jesus, they make ‘em big around here,” you murmured to yourself before you pressed two fingers to the side of the man's neck. You started ruffling through his pockets for weapons and Bucky could hear the jingle of coins in his pockets, the swish of the fabric. He was certain he’d gone mad.  

“You need to get warm, Buck,” you told him and a coat dropped down on his left. “You’ll die if you don’t.”

“You’re not real,” he argued, keeping his eyes closed, hoping that you’d just disappear and let him die in peace. “You’re... you’re in my head.”

It was hard enough knowing he was going to die in Russia of all places before you ever knew he was in trouble, hard enough to imagine you crying over his body as his skin paled to blue and grey, hard enough that he’d already said his last goodbye, already had the last kiss from your lips…  

“It doesn’t matter if I’m in your head or not, Bucky,” you warned, though he was almost certain he could feel the warmth of your breath touch his skin as you leaned down next to him. “You’ll die if you stay here. Do you understand? You’ll die."

Your hand slid into his hair and he could feel the trace of your fingertips, your nails, on his scalp; combing through locks matted in blood and dirt and drawing shivers in his spine untouched by the cold.  

He whimpered, tears burning at the corner of his eyes, because you were right there and somehow not at all. He didn’t want to say goodbye but his energy was draining. It slipped from him in every breath, the pain becoming a tired memory and he knew his body was giving in.  

He’d spent so much time fighting in his life. He just wanted to rest. That’s all. Just some time to rest...

“Bucky!”

He snapped awake, heart beating frantically for a few minutes before it lulled again; his breaths too short, too far apart.  

You were hovering over him, hair falling down into your face and there was real fear in your eyes. Your hands settled on his chest, trying to draw his attention back to you and he was certain he could feel the pressure of it, the grip of your fingers to the fabric of his shirt. The touch of a ghost.  

“You need to get up. We’ve got to get you out of here,” you ordered, hands fumbling for the coat you dropped by his side and trying to drape it over him, but he pushed your hands away. You sat back on your heels, wide eyed, desperate.

“I’m already dying, sweetheart,” Bucky choked out, voice raspy and raw. “There's nothing left to do. Coms are out... nearest town is a dozen miles away... I’m-- fuck—I've got at least four bullets in me. This is it, honey. I’m-- I’m sorry...”

It hurt as he said it and he dared himself to meet your eye. Draped in sunlight and all that was ever good in his life, you were an ethereal wonder; a stunning image of the women he left behind, even if his mind was fading on the edge of insanity. It was nice, he thought, to see this memory of you one last time, to hold onto it tighter as the darkness gently carried him away from this world.  

His hand lifted slowly, wanting to touch you one last time, and he was surprised when it didn’t slip straight through you like a ghost, but instead, landed tenderly against your cheek. So tangible, warm to icy chill of his hand, he could feel the clench in your jaw, the strain of the muscle, the divot of a scar by your ear.  

A final blessing he didn’t deserve.  

“Bullshit.”  

He winced as you grabbed a firm hold of his wrist and pulled it from your face. Everything started to hurt again, in his chest, his stomach. He was falling apart.  

“I’m so sorry, honey, I’m—I’m not making it out of—”

“Bull. Shit.”  

You slammed your hands to the floor beside him and suddenly, you were up and rummaging through the kitchen, tossing old utensils around and making a mess of the withering cabinets. You tore them to shreds, emptied the drawers onto the floor, the shattering of glass and the crash of metal to tile in an unsettling scream.  

“You don’t get to do this. Do you hear me? Not after all you went through! Just to die in fucking Russia!”

Bucky swallowed though it tasted like bile. You tossed out the mugs from a cabinet with the swipe of your hand and the sound they made as they crashed to the floor skipped several beats in Bucky’s dimly beating heart.  

“Sweetheart,” Bucky tried again, voice falling on empty, a whisper, “no one’s comin’...”

“Then you fucking get up and get to a goddamn phone!”

You froze then, your hand curling around whatever you were looking for with a sigh of relief. As you stomped back over to him, Bucky looked down at your grasp to find two sets of hand towels and an ace bandage clutched in your grip.  

You were grumbling under your breath as you sank down to your knees. Hands shaking, you pushed up at the thin fabric of Bucky’s shirt. He didn’t even hiss as the cold air touched his skin. That wasn’t good.  

You pressed a towel to his open wounds, hard enough for Bucky to groan at the impact and he bit down hard on his tongue. There was no apology as you wiped away the pools of blood, tossing aside the soaked towel to the corner and pressing down a new one in its place. You were angry, furious even, and Bucky had only seen you like this once before.  

The Hydra base in Siberia. He was surrounded, ordering you to get back to the jet without him though he had no clear path to an exit. It was a diversion, one you saw through instantly, because he had no intention of leaving that warehouse, not as long as you made it out alive. You almost killed him yourself by the time the last Hydra agent fell to the floor. Panting, covered in blood, you had slapped him hard across the face before you gripped at his shoulders and kissed him.

The first kiss between you.  

The beginning of it all.  

Fitting it should end like this, too.  

“Sit up,” you demanded, pulling Bucky back from his memories.  

He sighed as he stared up at you, your teeth gritted as you pressed down harder to his wounds. Everything hurt. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe.  

“Sit. Up.”

“I can’t,” he whimpered, voice breaking in the effort. “I-- I can't, honey. I’m sorry. Just—Just let me go. It’s time, Y/n. It’s okay…”

There was a silence, one that carried over the scream of the wind outside and the scratch of tree branches against the shattered windowpanes. Bucky’s own breaths were shallow, raw and wheezing through his lungs, and they sat in pained contrast to your silent, elongated inhales, the seconds you held them before you released it. He could have heard a pin drop even over the whistling wind and the mess in his chest.  

“No.”

Bucky swallowed back the dryness in his throat. “No?”

“No,” you gritted out, sinking back onto your heels. “No! You don’t get to just give up, Bucky. You don’t get to leave me behind!”

“You’re not even here...”

You clenched your teeth, biting on the inside of your cheek. “Maybe not. But you know exactly where I am back home, don’t you?”

Bucky’s jaw wired shut in an instant. It was what he’d been avoiding, why he clung so hard to the image of you as he left, the glow of the sunlight on your skin and the sleepy mess in your hair. The perfect memory to take when him as he died, but it was being ripped from him, torn away in an instant because as you knelt beside him, your ghost began to change.  

Dark circles colored under your eyes, a sunken look hollowing in at your cheeks and temples. Your hair fell down from the bun at your crown and braided down the side, a nervous habit you’d taken up to keep your hands busy when you were anxious. Lines formed on your lips, cracking along the center; broken skin now exposed on your knuckles from a restless night in the gym.  

Tear tracks burned down your cheeks; some old, some fresh, and your eyes were bloodshot red.  

“Please, stop,” he begged, trying to will his mind to give him the memory he had before.

“You know what this is doing to me,” you told him. “You missed your checkpoint eight hours ago, Bucky. We both know what that means. We both know I’m scared out of my mind for you. I’m panicking. I’m desperate to find you and you’re going to give up before I can.”

Bucky closed his eyes, choking back tears as he pictured you frantically pacing back and forth in the intel room next to Steve, waiting by the satellite phone, waiting on a call that would never come. His coms had been destroyed in the shootout, torn and shattered under the boot of a Russian enforcer. There was no way to get word to you, no way for you to track his location. He was entirely on his own.  

You would have figured that out by now, too.  

He could practically hear your voice as you shouted for an update every few minutes, biting the head off of an Agent who dared to give you any answer outside of Bucky being found safe and on his way home to you. He could see you clenching at your fists, digging your nails into flesh, and shrugging off Steve as he tried to ease your distress. You’d be terrified, with a deep kind of unsettling dread burning like a hole in your stomach. He knew, because it was how he felt when you were on assignment. It was agonizing.  

“Don’t do this, Bucky,” you said quietly, softer now, begging. “Don’t give up. Don’t—Don’t leave me.”

He could hardly keep his eyes open, every breath drawing him further away.  

“You’ll be okay,” he said slowly, achingly, though a flash of shock widened your eyes. “You’ll be okay without me.”

Bucky’s fingers crawled along the floor to you, nails digging through a mess of blood and splinters before the curled sweetly around the palm of your hand. He squeezed it gently, the most he could manage, and he watched with a fading smile as you stared down to where he held you.  

“How could you say that?” you whispered, gaze glued to blood stained hands. You swallowed, a tear slipping past your eye as you turned to find ocean blue. “How could you possibly think that would be true? You’re my life, Bucky. I need you. You can’t—Please, baby. You have to come home to me. You have to.”

“You’ll move on,” he exhaled, closing his eyes as the exhaustion started to pull him under. “It might take some time, but you’ll be fine, honey. You don’t need me. You never did.”

“That’s not true—”

“You were always too good for me,” he chuckled sadly to himself. “At least now you can find someone who really deserves you…”

“Dammit, Bucky!” you cried, hands gripping into the fabric of his shirt and shaking him until he opened his eyes again. “You don’t get to just throw your life away because you have some backwards, fucked up notion that you’re not good enough to love me because newsflash, you idiot, I don’t care! I love you! I love every goddamn part of you and there is not a person on this planet, or any other, that I want to love me the way that you do!”

There was a silence that followed. The whistling wind and the scratch of branches on exposed windows the only solace between you. Your features softened, your hands releasing from his shirt and you gently patted his shoulder, running your fingers along his neck to touch the side of his face. He leaned into the palm of your head, jaw quivering as he bit back tears.  

“Why are you here?” he whimpered, voice cracking as a sob crawled its way through his spine. “Why-- Why won’t you just let me go?”

Tears spilled out the corners of Bucky’s sides, sliding down along his temples and soaking into his hair. He was exhausted and aching and – god—he just wanted to sleep.

You smiled sweetly at him, brushed the hair from his eyes. “It’s you, Bucky, don’t you get that? I’m in your head, remember? I’m apart of you. Stop fighting yourself and come with me. Let me help you survive this. It’s why you brought me here in the first place.”

“No... that’s…” Bucky shook his head, heart racing a little faster, “that’s crazy.”

“Crazier than talking to yourself?” you chuckled light-heartedly. “It’s been you this whole time, Buck. Look.”

You gestured to the floor leading into the kitchen, and sure enough, there was a trail of bloody footprints in the size of his combat boots leading into the mess of shattered mugs and scattered utensils. His palms had tiny pieces of broken glass in them, colored in the paint of the kitchenware on the floor.  

Then, you showed him the wrapped bandage at his stomach, the one with his own bloody fingerprints at the clasp. He’d done it all himself.  

“Your imagination can’t do all that for you, baby,” you said, a soft smile on your face, though it faded to something solemn as he stared at you in shock. “You’re dying, Buck, really dying and I know you’re scared. I know you want to come home. Stop fighting me. Stop fighting yourself.”

“I don’t--” he swallowed, though his throat was dry and it burned amongst the cold air, “I don’t understand…”

“The mind is a funny thing,” you shrugged. “It does what it has to, to keep you alive. This is what you needed, to be reminded of the love you have waiting for you back home when you survive this.”

You nodded to the edge of the cabin, and sure enough, there was Steve standing at the door. Hands tucked into his pockets, wearing the thin white shirt and suspenders from their youth, though it looked a little funny now on the man he was today. He was smiling, that hopeful kind of look in his eye that Bucky never quite learned how to replicate.  

Sam stood next to him, hand on Steve’s shoulder, smirk plastered across his face as he nodded at Bucky; the strange and varying brotherhood between the two of them full of bickering fights and unbridled loyalty.  

Natasha was on Sam’s left, arms folded, scowl present as her eyes flickered down to the mess of bodies littering the floor. She raised an eyebrow at the burly looking soldier you’d rummaged through the pocket of— or, or maybe it was Bucky, he was still trying to wrap his head around it – and nodded as if she were impressed.  

Then, there was Shuri and T’Challa. Lang and Barton. Wanda and Vision. Peter Parker sneaking his way in behind Steve, looking just damn excited to be standing in the presence of Captain America. Even Tony Stark stood in the corner of the cabin; arms crossed, sunglasses on, observing from a careful distance, but still present.  

“You’re not alone, Bucky,” you said quietly, drawing his attention back to you. “Not here. Not at home. Please don’t give up on your family. Don’t give up on all you’ve built. We’re waiting for you, honey. Come home.”

A blur in his vision, Bucky couldn’t quite focus on your silhouette, not until you tenderly brushed the tears from his eyes, droplets on the edges of long lashes. He clenched his jaw, searching for a stronger breath as you held his face. Your lips pressed down to his forehead and he found his strength again.  

“Okay.”

Bucky grabbed onto the edge of the couch and pulled until his muscles were at their limit. A scream tore threw him, his body raw and broken and falling apart at the seams. It burned in his throat, in his chest, and it echoed deep into the empty cabin. It was no louder than the wind outside.  

“Okay,” he repeated as he sat up with his back pressed against the couch. He clutched at his stomach, heavy breaths in his lungs. The bandages were holding up, with little leakage onto his palm in all the effort.  

When he looked back over to you, he found you smiling, proud, though your appearance had changed again.  

Your hair was pulled down to a bun at the nape of your neck, a few strands falling out the sides. Dressed in a large winter coat with a thick fur around the hood and mittens on your hands; the navy-blue jacket you’d worn in your mission in the Swiss Alps last year where you’d convinced Bucky to stick around a few extra days in the blizzarding cold. You’d told him then how much you loved the snow, the mountains, but mostly the hot chocolate, the fireplaces, the snuggling in close to him at night. It was a pleasant memory.  

Bucky smiled back at you, though it took most of his strength. He turned to look at Steve and the rest of his family, but they were gone, disappeared to thin air and his stomach lurched as he quickly shot his eyes back to you.  

“You ready, baby?” you asked him sweetly, nodding towards the door.  

“Stay with me. Please.” He felt childish as the words left him, talking to what amounted to nothing more than particles of snowfall and thin air, but it carried his whole world.  

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, as if it was never a choice at all, and you offered your hand.  

Bucky nodded, stringing together all the strength he had left in his body and slipped his hand into yours. He tried not to think of the logistics of it all, how he was really getting up on his own because you weren’t here to tug him to his feet. It created a dull ache in the back of his head and he figured he better not mess with the remaining functioning pieces of himself. Let his mind get him through this, even if he felt absolutely insane.  

“Put the jacket on, honey,” you told him, bending down to grab the coat of the mercenary you’d swiped earlier. “It’ll be a long walk in the cold.”

“Y-yeah, okay.”  

The wind barreled in from the open door and it pushed at the little balance Bucky had left, leaving him to sway unsteadily, grunting at the pain that resulted in his stomach. He clutched at the wrapped bandages, relieved when fresh blood did not add to the stains on his fingers and palm.  

“Time to go,” you urged him, nodding to the door. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Bucky stared out into the blanket of darkness beyond the door, the snow falling and dancing amongst the violent sweeps of wind, illuminated by starlight untouched by the pollution of a city. He didn’t know where to go, but you promised you’d guide him; a piece of his subconscious that must have picked up on a sign along the road at some point, he figured.  

As he made his way to the brutal cold, shivers tremoring in his spine and his feet limping dragging along the floor, facing a journey across miles of exposed land, he was thankful he wasn’t alone.  

***

Bucky had never been so cold in his goddamn life; not even when Hydra would put him on ice.  

It had been a relief then, a dreamless sleep and safety away from his captures, but this – this was torture in itself. His boots dragged through two feet of snow, the winds picking up the further he trudged out into the darkness. He wrapped the scarf tighter around his face, trying to shield himself from the cold, though ice crystals had formed on his lashes.  

Everything hurt and each step was more painful than the last, but he kept moving.  

“You’re almost there!” you shouted over the scream of the wind in his ears. You were smiling, jogging out a few paces ahead. It was easier for his feet to carry him when it was you he was walking towards. “Come on, sweetheart. One more mile. That’s it.”

Bucky panted, his breaths far too labored, his head feeling quite fuzzy, but as he looked over your shoulder, he spotted a light in the distance. Blurred by the snowfall, but still clear as day. A gas station with half the letters missing in its name. His saving grace.

“I’m coming, baby,” he whispered and for the first time, he wasn’t talking to the mirage beside him, but the woman waiting thousands of miles away.  

Picking up in pace, Bucky pushed himself harder than he’d ever tested the limits of his body before. He knew that without the serum, he would have been dead before he even left the cabin. There were few moments Bucky was ever thankful for the hell he’d been through. This – giving him a second chance to get home to the love of his life – was one of them.  

“Careful,” you warned him, gesturing to the trail of red droplets in his wake; blood that had seeped out from the soaked bandages at his stomach and trailed down under his coat to the snow below, marking his path.  

Bucky nodded, determined as he finally broke through to solid ground, to dirt roads plowed just enough from the snow, and sprinted the rest of the way. You were on his heels, cheering him on like you did when he first got back on a treadmill after he broke his leg in New Mexico last year. He was smiling so wide it hurt his cheeks, laughing as artificial light illuminated his path.  

He shoved his shoulder to the door, winced at the sound of the bell above, and charged straight up to the counter.  

A man in a thick overcoat and a fur hat stood behind the counter, reading a newspaper quietly to himself, and paid no mind to the man frantically rushing up to him. He glanced up in Bucky’s direction, eyes flickering to the blood trailing in his wake, before turning back to his paper.  

“Phone,” Bucky panted. “I need a phone.”

The man didn’t respond.  

“Russian, Buck,” you reminded him quietly to his right.  

“фона,” Bucky tried again, slamming his hand down on the table.  

The man rolled his eyes and set the paper down. Stone cold expression, he took his time as he muddled around behind the counter, leaving Bucky on edge. You nodded at him, running a hand along his arm to keep him calm.  

Then, the man set a flip phone down on the counter. He didn’t say another word as he sat back onto his stool and picked up the paper again.  

Bucky grabbed the phone and quickly stumbled his way back to the far end of the convenience stores. Brushing up against rows of chips and shouldered a few to the ground, he was starting to lose his balance again. The dizziness was kicking in and it became evident as he tried to dial the SHEILD emergency call number and kept hitting the wrong numbers.  

“Breathe,” you said softly as Bucky started to panic. “Try again.”

Deep inhale in, Bucky typed the ten digits and held the phone to his ear. It rang three times.  

“Good morning,” a voice replied, deep and clinical, “this is Sandbox Bakery. What can I get for you?”

Bucky leaned his forehead to the glass of the freezers, cold compress on his skin touching a blaze of heat.  

When did he start sweating? When did it start to soak through his clothes?

There was a stickiness under his feet and Bucky glanced down to find blood dripping down from the edge of his coat and staining the dull-white of the plaster floors. Dark red seeping into the cracks between tiles, filtering through years of dirt and dust and muddied tracks. The outline of his boots in perfect pattern.  

“Good morning,” the voice said again, “this is Sandbox Bakery. What can I get for you?”

Bucky swallowed, trying to find his voice, but he was sure he’d left it behind in the cabin. He could hardly hold himself up, his hand slipping on the handle of the freezer doors, nearly taking him down to the ground amongst the blood and dirt.  

Under hooded, heavy eyes, Bucky glanced over at you as you nodded encouragingly at him, but there was two of you; swaying over one another, blurred, out of focus.

“Good morning, this is—”

“Baklava,” Bucky muttered the code word between labored breaths, the meaning of it sitting somewhere along the line of I shouldn’t be alive but I am – Fucking come get me. The dizziness was starting to take hold on his body and he leaned his shoulder against the freezer doors in search of the cold glass to offset the burning heat on his skin.  

A darkness started to tunnel at his vision, thick black rings closing in around him and he tried to grip at the handles on the doors, but he missed each time; his fingers too weak to grip onto the edge, his vision swaying and doubling over.

The agent on the other end of the phone was asking him questions, but they barely registered, like white noise no louder than the burrowing winds past the door. Bucky clutched at the handle, phone slipping from his grasp as it fell to the ground. He stumbled backwards, hitting a tower of plastic cups as they collapsed around him.  

“Bucky, lie down,” you warned gently as he struggled to hold himself up.  

“I’m—I’m okay,” he gasped, voice barely a whisper, unintelligible, before the darkness caved in completely and he met the floor.  

***

When Bucky came to again, it was to hands gripping harshly at his arms, at his legs, dragging his body onto a rock-hard surface that smelled of plastic and the sting of sterilizing alcohol. Pain ripped through his stomach at the sudden movement and he whimpered quietly, painful breaths in, lips quivering as he tried to bite down hard on the dried, cracked surface; the movement jarring enough to make him wish he was back in the cabin amongst the snow and broken glass.

But there was a hand encasing his. One that was soft, impossibly gentle, a slight squeeze, and Bucky realized there were voices around him. Muffled, barking orders, but they were distant, like an echo at the edge of a ravine. They were too far away for him to hear.  

All except one.  

“Stop it! Jesus, you’re hurting him,” one of the voices warned; soft and melodic, even within the tension, within the slight tremor of panic. It was a voice that called to him, as the grip on his forearm tightened, and Bucky forced his eyes open.  

He was seeing double, couldn’t quite focus on what was right in front of him, but he could see the three agents dressed in black combat vests huddled over him, strapping him on the stretcher while a petite Englishwoman with mousey brown hair and slender fingers worked to stabilize the mess at his stomach.  

Then, he focused on the voice to his left, the kind voice, the familiar voice – yours.  

“We’ve got to get him out of here, Simmons,” you urged, glancing back at the doors to the shop and the chaos of broken aisles in between. “God knows how long he’s been here like this...”

“I just need to stabilize him before we make a break for the jet,” the woman with the quiet English accent replied. She pressed down hard on Bucky’s stomach and he was surprised to find he didn’t feel a thing.  

Bucky swallowed back the dryness in his throat, trying to find his own voice, catch your attention in some way, but you didn’t seem to notice him watching you.

“It’s been ten hours since he missed the checkpoint. Ten hours,” you stressed, your free hand reaching up to brush back hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear. It was then Bucky noticed the braid sitting over your shoulder, the dark tactical suit, and the discoloration under your eyes. There were marks in the shape of crescent moons on your hand from where you’d dug your nails to your skin. You looked tired, scared; it was different than how you appeared when Bucky collapsed.  

You gritted your teeth, brushing away tears Bucky so desperately wanted to reach to wipe away if he could only move.  

“We don’t know how much blood he’s lost or— or if he has internal bleeding or--”

You froze suddenly, words pulled right out of your mouth as Bucky’s hand twitched under your grip. Slowly, you turned to meet his eye with a kind of panicked shock and relief and an array of complex emotion.  

“Bucky?”

He nodded, a weak smile on his face.  

You nearly cried. “Oh, thank God you’re--”

“You stayed,” Bucky muttered, voice groggy and slurred. A tired smile etching up against broken lips.  

You blinked, biting back your tongue as your eyes shot over at Simmons. She shrugged, working quietly to reseal the bandages at Bucky’s stomach. There was a smile on Bucky’s lips, broken and cracked in dried blood, almost hazy, like he was floating high above in the clouds.  

“Honey, I’m here now,” you told him, voice a little cautious, but Bucky shook his head, though his vision was starting to leave him again, the comforting pull of darkness wrapping its arm around him.  

“You... you really stayed with me...” His voice was barley a whisper.  

Your eyes widened, a fear taking over and your quickly snapped your attention back to the agents surrounding him.  

"We need to get him out of here, now,” you ordered as Bucky’s eyes started to flutter closed again and he did not return the grip to your hand when you squeezed. Sudden movements and he was lifted into the air, though your grip on his hand did not leave him.

He fell back to the darkness before the cold air of Russian winter could touch his skin.  

***

The first thought Bucky registered was that he was warm. Not warm enough for sweat to form on his brow, but enough so that a chill didn’t press its way into his bones, enough that the thin layer of a freshly washed blanket draped over his legs chased away the goosebumps on his arms.  

He blinked his eyes open gently to take in the stream of light from the window to his left and the reflection held against bare, white walls. The room was not one he knew and quiet murmuring of strangers passing by outside in a language he couldn’t place didn’t help the rush of panic etching up through his veins.

Bucky turned to his left to see a monitor carrying his heartrate and the increasingly frantic rhythm of his pulse. There was a bruised mark on his right forearm around an IV that stemmed to a bag hanging over his head.  

Could be filled with anything, he reminded himself. Always on the defense. It was how he stayed alive.  

A hand settled against his stomach to find it wrapped in bandages, no longer searing in pain, but still sore; a dull ache left behind to remind him it was real, that he’d been shot and left for dead in the frozen wastelands of Russia, that he’d walked miles alone in a blizzard and found comfort in the ghost of –  

Bucky jolted upright, a hiss pulling swiftly from clenched teeth as a sharp pain reemerged at his stomach. He groaned, breaths coming in a little heavier now as he glanced around the empty room. Up at the open door ahead of him, he watched as stray physicians and nurses passed by in white lab coats talking quietly amongst themselves in... German, maybe? His brain was too foggy to register much of anything.  

“Y/n?” he called in search of your ghost, but his voice was too weak, he could barely hear it himself.  

Kicking the blankets away from his legs, Bucky felt a chill sweep up his spine. The pain was excruciating, but he’d been through worse. He ripped the IV from his arm. He kept his hands gripped tight to the mattress, setting his bare feet to the cold floor and wincing as the pain in his stomach worsened with every movement.  

But he needed to get out of here. He needed to get home to you. He’d promised.  

He set his stance to the ground, careful to hold himself up on the edge of the bedframe, but his legs were shaky under him, muscles unused and tired and so incredibly useless, his left hand started to warp the plastic of the railing in his frustration.  

“Bucky?”  

Wide eyes shot to the door to find you standing in its frame, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in your hand, lips parted in shock. Your hair was swept to the side in a long braid, dark circles hanging under your eyes, your clothes wrinkled with days of use.  

He tried to speak, but suddenly, his hold on the bed frame gave out. The smell of dark roasted coffee beans filled the air before he even met the ground and his skin touched the ice of tile flooring. Sharp pain in his hip and a heat of embarrassment in his cheeks, Bucky tried to find an ounce of his dignity on the ground.

You slid up on your knees beside him; coffee cup noticeably missing from your hands as it laid in a puddle by the door to his room.  

“Jesus, Buck, what were you thinking?” you gasped, hands roaming down over his arms, fingers warm to the touch from the coffee you’d held between your palms. A worry line creased in your forehead, lip tugged between your teeth as you grazed your touch over his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and jawline in concentration as you inspected for damage.  

Bucky closed his eyes, a little lost in the feeling of it as he leaned into your touch, missing you and wondering how he could possibly feel that heat from your skin.  

“You’re lucky you didn’t reopen your stitches,” you murmured, hands touching gently at his wrapped bandaged around his waist. It was still white, at least, so that was something. The scowl on your face was a comfort, something familiar, and he was thankful to have it.  

But there were small differences he noticed as you tried to help him back up into the bed. Like how when the light from the window touched your skin, it reflected a little differently, got caught in your eyes and you’d have to squint away from it. Or how there was a new scratch on your jawline he hadn’t seen before. You huffed a hair away from your face as you struggled to life him back to his feet and it fell back into your line of sight almost instantly.  

“Give me a sec, I’ll be right back,” you told him before you pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, hands sinking into his hair. It felt so real, he almost convinced himself you were really there.  

When you came back into the room, a nurse was at your side, hands planted firmly on her lips.  

“I thought you were joking,” the nurse huffed in a thick German accent, exchanging a glance with you. You shrugged, scowl present but lips curved up in a smirk. The nurse groaned, sinking down to the floor to grab Bucky’s arm. “Why would I expect a man who’s been under for nearly a week to just up and walk out the room? Huh? I wouldn’t! No one is that foolish, Sergeant Barnes.”

You were laughing quietly beside her as you helped to guide Bucky back up into the bed. As he settled back into place, he found himself watching you intently as you conversed with the nurse. She told you keep your eyes on him, that he was a flight risk, and that she’d be back to check on him again soon. You nodded, thanking her for her time and quickly pulled up a chair beside his bed.  

“You've got terrible timing. You know that, right?” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I haven’t left this room for days, Buck, and the second I go to get coffee, you decide to wake up.”

“How long?” he asked quietly and the smile faded from your cheeks.

“Five days,” you told him. “Almost six.”

“Longer since I missed the checkpoint, then,” he reasoned, pinching at his brows. “We should get moving again. I’ve got to get home.”

“What? No,” you said quickly, leaning forward in your chair in an attempt to set your hand on him, but he pushed it away. It seemed to surprise you because you paused for a moment before you said, “Bucky, you’re still healing. You need time before we can—”

“I didn’t almost bleed out in a goddamn cabin in middle of Russia just to end up trapped in some hospital in Germany and still not make it home!”

Bucky threw the blanket off of him again, pushing himself to the edge.

You rushed forward, grabbed a hold of his shins before he could swing his legs off the side of the bed. Your grip was forceful, but not enough to hurt. You planted your hip down on the bed to block his path.  

“We’re staying here, Buck,” you pressed, a slight tremor in your voice. “You almost died.”

“Why are you arguing with me about this now?” Bucky groaned and the flash of confusion on your face went unnoticed. “You’re the one that convinced me I had get home, aren’t you? You’re the one who wouldn’t just let me die and made me walk into a fuckin’ blizzard while I was bleeding out! I have to get home to you, right? That’s what you said! I’m not giving up on her – or, or us – or... fuck it— on myself, ok? Whether you’re with me or not. I have to get home to her. Even if I have to fucking crawl.”

Through the frantic swelling in his chest, the heavy pants of his breath, and the dizziness forming back in his head, Bucky didn’t register how quiet you’d become until his eyes flickered over to you. Your body was rigid, lips parted just slightly, a semblance of shock in your eyes and Bucky’s stomach sank.  

“Is that... Is that what you meant when you said ‘I stayed with you’? Back in the gas station in Russia? Do you... Do you think you’re just imagining me here?” you asked slowly and a burning heat ached into his cheeks. Something like shame or embarrassment or guilt, but none of it stronger than the relief that coursed through his veins as your hand reached out for him, fingers encasing his. Smaller than his own, warmer, and so real he could feel the divots of your lifeline and old scars and the soothing trace of your nails. Tangible. Real.  

“I...” Bucky started, stealing a glance up at your eyes before they darted back down to your hands wrapped so tenderly around him. He exhaled a heavy breath. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, honey,” you sighed, bringing his hands up to your lips and kissing sweetly at his knuckles. You pressed the chill of his fist to your cheek and he could feel the warmth burning there. The way you watched him, with eyes so filled with the kind of love and adoration he’d longed for his entire life, it was enough to mend his heart whole.  

“I’m here, Bucky,” you whispered, another kiss to the tips of his fingers and it took the breath straight from his lungs. “I’m really here, honey. Your mind isn’t playing tricks on you anymore. You’re not alone.”

Bucky nodded, watching as you peppered kissed along his hands, over flesh and metal like they were one in the same.  

“It felt so real...” he murmured, sinking into the way your hand stretched up along his arm, rising over his neck like the crest of ocean waves, and rested to his cheek. He leaned further into the touch.  

“I know,” you soothed, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. “But I’m here now, love. You found your way home.”

Bucky nodded, shifting in the bed just enough for you to crawl in beside him. The dull ache in his stomach lingered, but he didn’t mind, not when you curled up into the crook of his neck, your hand gliding down over the marred scarring on his shoulder, your breath warm against his collar.  

“Home,” he echoed, the word slipping from behind broken lips, a curve of a smile etching into his cheeks. He leaned his cheek to the crown of your head, eyes closing in a relief that spread through his chest and through the very ends of his body in a gentle kind of warmth he could only ever hope to find with you resting in his arms.  

He found his way home.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[bruhstories]

Flowers and Vinyls

Summary: You and Porco are neighbours. You also despise each other. Pairing: Porco Galliard x Fem!Reader (modern AU) Warnings & Content: language, softdom!Porco, softsub!Reader, thigh riding, unprotected sex, spanking, oral sex (male receiving), alcohol abuse, enemies to lovers Word Count: 2.2 k

A/N: Porco deserves some love, too! I also really wanna give Connie some love, too.

You hated him, you loathed him.

To you, Porco was the most insufferable person to ever walk on this earth, strutting his pushed back hair, with his stupid undercut and his silly little upturned nose. You wanted to gouge his eyes out, but that would only land you some time in jail. He was your next-door neighbour both in terms of accommodation, and in terms of work. You owned a small flower shop at the ground floor of your townhouse, he owned a record store placed strategically wall-to-wall with yours — naturally he lived above it. Marcel, Porco's brother, was seemingly a nicer person, but he wasn't always there when you needed him to shut his little brother's mouth — or music. Not only were you two bickering like petty children, you were also complete opposites — he was edgy and brash, you were dainty and solemn. He always wore dark colours, you were dressed in pastels. And to make matters worse, he was best friends with your best friend!

Pieck was completely oblivious to the fact that you two hated each other, both bitching to her, unaware of the other's complaints. She always told you, separately, that perhaps you just need to get laid with one another and get over it. Impossible, for you despised each other. And when Pieck invited you to a small party at her place, you were not expecting to see Porco there. At first, you wanted to turn around and leave, but your friend talked you into staying, promising that Porco was actually a good guy, and that you didn't know him well enough. Oh, how wrong she was. He was evil incarnate, he vandalised your shop after you called the cops on him. Nonetheless, you stayed at her party, opting to spend some time with Reiner and Colt, avoiding Porco at all costs, because if looks could kill, his would smite you.

What you didn't know was that a conflict was taking place inside his tipsy brain — should he kill you or fuck you? Despite your differences, Porco couldn't deny that you were a very alluring woman, hips swaying every time you walked and an ass that could raise the dead. And he saw Colt glancing at that ass, prompting him to drink some more. On the other side of the room, you told Pieck all about how your date stood you up and you were quite sad, opting to drown the empty feeling in your chest with cheap vodka and tequila, and that combination did a number on you. You weren't shitfaced by any means, just drunk enough to feel the music better, taste the liquor better, smell Porco's perfume better whenever he walked past you. God, he intoxicated you more than the alcohol could, and you were beginning to wonder if Pieck was right — maybe you didn't hate him, maybe you needed to fuck him, relieve the sexual tension. But how? What if he did hate you and you'd only make a fool of yourself? The questions were grinding your gears and no amount of tequila could help you get them out of your system. You settled on ignoring them.

"We're gonna split a cab." Porco explained, a bored, inexpensive look on his face.

"Hey, 'm not poor, aight? I can afford a f-fuckin' taxi." You poked his chest with your index finger while losing your balance and falling into his arms. He quickly released you once you regained control of your legs, his eyes drifting elsewhere, crimson creeping to his cheeks.

"We literally live next to each other, but if you wanna go all by yourself, fine!"

"I haaaaate you, Pokko, d'you know? I especially hate that cute nose! Boop!"

He was so done with your attitude, your gestures, your voice, his brows furrowed and lips pursed. But Pieck really wanted to make sure you got home safe, and Porco didn't want to disappoint his friend by letting you loose in a stranger's car, especially since you were drunk and vulnerable. He was an asshole, but he wasn't that bad. Not that you could realise that, anyway.

"Just get in the car, Y/N." He rolled his eyes and opened the door once the yellow taxi pulled over. You stopped between him and the car, nose and cheeks pink from the alcohol, and leaned closer to his face.

"D'you also know I really, really wanna ride you?" You whispered in his ear before stumbling inside the cab, giggling like a schoolgirl. "Ah! Evening, mister!"

"Jesus Christ..."

The entire way home you drove Porco insane with little touches, whispers, obscene proposals. He could feel his cock twitching in his pants but he didn't want to take advantage of you. Yet the more you looked at him with hunger in your eyes, the more he couldn't think rationally — he, too, was drunk, after all. When you got out of the car you almost fell face first, but luckily, he caught you, your hand accidentally brushing his thigh in the process. God, he hated you.

"Come inside!" You looped an arm around his neck for better balance. "I gotta give you your money b-back."

"It's fine."

"No, no, I insist."

"You're so annoying, you know that?" Porco walked with you, perfectly aware of how much he'd regret this night.

"Close the door behind youuuu!" You kicked your shoes off and grabbed the collar of his leather jacket, practically dragging him through the hallway, into the living room. "Sit!"

He could say no. He could just walk out. But he didn't want to. Not anymore.

You rummaged through a drawer looking for some cash, taking your sweet time to do it. The way you were bent over, the tight skirt revealing just an inch of your red panties, sent Porco down a rabbit hole of dirty thoughts. Every gesture, every word uttered so nonchalantly by you made you both forget the turf war you both started, the atmosphere slowly becoming more intimate and sensual. You swayed your hips from side to side, opening another drawer and digging through the clutter.

"Hey, Pokko? Do you think 'm pretty?"

The question caught him off guard as you turned around, no money in your hands. He raised his gaze from your skirt to your eyes, frantically nodding his head.

"Yeah."

"Then why did I get stood up?" You pouted, walking to the couch. Porco swallowed hard when you took a seat on his thigh, his fingers digging into the sofa. "If 'm pretty, why don't men want me?" Your hands rested on his shoulders as your hips slowly rocked back and forth.

"I- I don't know." He pursed his lips, unaware of what to do. Usually, he wouldn't have any issues with situations like this. But it was different this time because he really wanted to shut your srupid mouth up — or maybe Pieck was right and all he needed to do was fuck you.

"Do you want me?" You asked, head tilted, movement stopping.

"God, yes." Porco grabbed your nape and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, his other hand desperately tugging at your tank top strap. You could feel your panties dampening under his rough touch and hot kiss, your hands removing his jacket as quickly as possible. "I'm gonna fuck you on that table first." He picked you up and slammed your ass on the dining table, earning a moan out of you. "Then we'll take it to the bedroom." Porco removed his shirt while you pulled your underwear down.

"Fuck me wherever you want, just fuck me!" You begged, legs spread and lust in your eyes.

"Shit, I knew you were a little slut under all that soft girl crap." He unzipped his jeans, letting them fall to the ground while he pulled his cock out. You took a good look at it, teeth digging into your lower lip.

"Aren't you gonna finger me first?"

"You didn't do anything to deserve it. But I'm in a good mood." Porco sneered before he spat on your wet cunt. The disgusting gesture made you purr like a kitten, proving him more that you were indeed a filthy whore. He dragged the tip of his cock up and down your slit, slowly pushing it between your folds as you threw your head back in pleasure. "Fuuuck, you're so tight, so wet."

"Oh my God, go deeper! Please!" You pleaded, voice low and seductive.

"Look how good you're taking it." Porco praised you, fingers digging into your skin before he started rocking his hips. It truly felt that your pussy was made just for him, the silken walls clenching around his hard cock making him grunt with every thrust. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you both realised just how much you needed this, the hate you had for each other melting away, replaced by lust and desire.

"So b-big 'nd hard-" You mumbled incoherent words while one hand found your neck, calloused fingertips squeezing the skin.

"You've no idea how much I wanted these hands around your neck." Porco groaned, his thrusts faster and harder. "Who knew I wanted to fuck you, not kill you?" His thumb parted your lips and you hollowed your cheeks around it, sucking on it like a lollipop. "Good girl. Bedroom, now." He pulled out and you almost cried at the empty feeling between your thighs. You took his hand in yours and guided him to the room — just as pastel and cute as your personality. Porco spun you around, giving your ass a firm slap before bending you down. He pressed hot kisses on your hip and lower back and you threw your head back to look at him.

"Stop t-teasing me!"

"Jeez, aren't you greedy? I thought you hated me." He laughed into your skin, the vibrations tickling your flesh. Porco couldn't abstain any longer, one hand grasping your hip, the other pushing his cock back into you. Inch by inch, it disappeared and he let out a satisfied groan.

"I still h-hate you!" Teeth sunk into your lip to stifle a moan.

"Oh, really?" He thrusted so deep that you lost control over your arms, head falling onto the mattress. Another deep thrust and you shot back up with a growl. "Talk shit and I might not let you finish." His threat alerted you and you bucked your hips, walls clenching around his cock.

"It would be a shame if you f-finished first." Your voice was cocky, targeting that huge ego of his. It was effective — Porco's hand travelled between your legs, fingers rubbing your swollen clit and you moaned in extasy, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

"N-not fair!" You squirmed and whimpered, tears of pleasure pooling at your eyes.

"We're not playing fair." He wrapped his other hand around your neck to pull you closer, back hitting his chest. The room smelled of sex and jasmine incense and it drove you mad with lust. "Oh, what's the matter? Are you coming already?" He mocked while fucking your desperate cunt.

"Yes! God, yes!" You cried out, the climax blurring your vision.

Despite your pleas that you couldn't take it anymore, Porco kept thrusting deeper into your numbing pussy, his fingers bruising your skin, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. He was an animal, everything about him was instinctual and filthy and you hatedloved it. Your silken walls clenched around his cock again, and he was impressed that you still had some fight left in you.

"That's right, milk me dry, you dirty whore." His disgusting words reignited the dying fire inside your core and you bucked your hips against his, the friction and pressure making you come undone a second time.

"Fuck!" Was all you could say before collapsing onto the mattress, body limp and exhausted.

"Damn it, Y/N. I said milk me dry." Porco grabbed a fistful of hair and turned you over, yanking your head back to shove his cock down your throat. How on earth did he have so much stamina? You hollowed your cheeks and triedto suck, but it was him actually fucking your pretty mouth. "Are you gonna keep being a little bitch?"

"Nu-uh!" You shook your head, the word muffled by his girth. Your cheeks were burning from the lack of air, your eyes watery and red.

"Good." He groaned, thick, hot strings of his seed shooting down your throat. "Swallow." Porco held your head back as he slowly pulled out, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue.

You laid on the bed and pulled him next to you, unaware of what to do or say. Your body relaxed when he looped an arm around your shoulders, your head resting on his chest.

"Do you still hate me?" He asked.

"It depends. Are you gonna blast music at three in the morning?"

"Yep."

"Well, there's your answer." You laughed and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Listen, I'm not sorry you got stood up tonight. I mean, I am, but I'm not-"

"Porco, stop talking. It was never going to work out with him, anyway."

"Fair enough." He shrugged, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. "What if I take you out?"

"Like a date, or a murder?"

"It depends. Are you gonna call the cops on me again?"

"I'll try not to?"

"A date, then."

[fatui-gf]

*grabby hands* subby kaeya,, (would prefer if it was gender neutral with female anatomy)

sub!Kaeya x dom!gn!Reader (afab anatomy)

word count: 1670

this work includes: fingering (m receiving), oral (m giving), overstimulation, praise and kinda Kaeya confessing his feeling but that doesn't really need a warning, I'm just a sucker for romantic stuff, nsfw is under the cut as usual

Hi, thank you so much for your request! I’ve been wanting to write something for Kaeya because he’s one of my favourite characters and I’ve never even stopped using him. I hope you like this scenario, feel free to share your thoughts with me!! :D

Kaeya held the title of the most romantic and charming person in Mondstadt for quite a while now. His flirtatious nature obviously got a lot of people to dream of him at night, hoping to get him all for themselves.

You could consider yourself lucky as you were the one Kaeya had an eye on ever since you’ve stepped your feet in the city. From this way forward he has made it his goal to steal your heart. You’ve seen so much already, all the way from flirty lines to getting handed red roses.

It was definitely hard not to fall for him, especially when he was doing so much to get your attention, however it often got passed as his usual behaviour. That’s just how he was, right? It’s just in his blood, isn’t it? Who would have predicted that you’d get the cavalry captain all on his knees just for you?

“What?” you blurted out as the tension finally got unbearable.

Kaeya kept staring at you this whole day, his lilac hues following your every move, as if he was analyzing them. It was flattering, sure, but it got a little too flustering after a while.

“Huh? Am I not allowed to admire your beauty? It’s not everyday that I come across someone this cute” he winked at you, giving you his signature smile.

“You’re cheesy” you replied looking back to what you were previously doing, cleaning your weapon after today’s commission work that Kaeya of course helped you with.

The man was very clingy today, almost like he had done something and wanted to sway you so you wouldn’t get mad. He couldn’t help but just chuckle at your comment.

“Hey, I can help you with that-” his words got cut off as you faced him

“What’s with you today? Did something happen? You haven’t left my side since morning, are you that in love with me or what?” you asked with a smirk and was met with a silence

“Um… y/n, what if I told you that I am?” you stopped in your tracks. Was he serious?

“I don’t know, you seem to be flirty with everyone” you shrugged it off, not really hoping for him to reciprocate the feelings.

Then you felt a strong grip on your shoulders, Kaeya’s eyes staring deep inside yours. He was frustrated, he wanted you to believe him but he knew what his reputation was like, he knew everything. He breathed out and let his grip soften, there was no point in getting too much into it. Instead, he just leaned in leaving a small, surprisingly shy peck on lips. The man who never got embarrassed to flirt, so confident was now standing there, playing with his finger to ease his nervousness.

“Well, do you believe me now?” he asked, his cheeks showing a red tint

You felt a little guilty for not believing him right away but at the same time you didn’t mind that he proved his affection for you with a kiss. It was quite cute actually, what was cuter though was his troubled expression.

Face flushed, his lips slightly trembling, awaiting an answer from you. God, was he precious. You leaned in and got him into a deeper kiss, your hands tracing his back, wandering aimlessly caressing his body. It felt good to have something this genuine, this alluring. The captain's eyes gleamed with need as you pulled away, he had longed for this for such a long time, of course you can’t leave him hanging like this, right?

“I will never forget this feeling” Kaeya commented with a smile, he was so happy and it felt so good to know that you were the reason behind his joy.

You took his hand, squeezing it and giving him the little thumb rub that just made his heart go insane. It was beating so loudly, you could clearly hear it. You slowly led him to the bedroom, his nervousness growing more and more. He suddenly didn’t really know what to do, what to say, it overcame him, scared of screwing up, he looked up at you.

You brushed through his long blue hair with your hand and patted him on the head to reassure him that everything was going to be alright.

“I’ll make sure that all of the neighbours know my name” you teased Kaeya, something so rewarding in the way he covered the half of face to hide the blush.

“Hey, am I not allowed to admire your beauty?” you used his own line on him managing to get out a heartwarming chuckle from him.

You moved away his hand from his face, letting yourself see him more fully. Oh how much did you want to see waves of pleasure affect his expression, the thought of it alone was too much to handle. You quickly came to one of the drawers and pulled out a red, silky ribbon. Kaeya could feel his heart in his throat.

“First be a good boy and undress for me,” you said, sitting back to get a good view of your flustered boyfriend as he slowly got up from the bed.

He started to take off his clothes, trying to make himself look as good as possible, sticking out his butt and tracing his bare chest with his fingers.

As he stood there in his underwear, you couldn’t take it anymore and gently pushed him onto the bed, grabbing his wrists and wrapping them with the red ribbon, tying it into a cute bow. You used the other one to cover up his eyes, forcing him for his other senses to strengthen now that he had to let go of his sight.

You sat on top of him, showering his body in kisses and love bites, clearly marking your territory and listening to the little whimpers the captain would let out. His neck was the way to go, not only was it a visible place but it was also very sensitive for him. A mere breath near his neck made him squirm, having your lips all over it just made him produce louder sounds, more erotic sounds.

“I can tell my prince enjoys himself” you said, him blushing harder at the nickname you gave him. He wanted you to say it again and again and again. This man really has a praise kink.

“Y-yes, y/n…” he managed to say between his breaths.

He then inhaled even more sharply as he felt your wet tongue make your way with his nipples. His body started shaking a little, pulling on the ribbon tied to the bed frame, sweat already dripping down his forehead.

“You’re so good for me, I love hearing you squirm all for me”

He kept moaning, his hips rising, trying to rub himself on you, so desperate for your touch, so needy.

“What are you doing? Is my prince that desperate? Use your words, puppy” Kaeya could feel his need growing even more.

“Please fuck me, y/n, p-please, I need your touch…” he mumbled

“What was that? i didn’t hear it”

“I-I said, please fuck me, please, I want to feel you”

His words drove you off the edge, you removed his underwear completely, along with you garments. His dick was throbbing, you could easily tell how needy he was just from that. It rested against his stomach, he looked adorable.

To see the whole picture, you took off his blindfold. The light suddenly hit Kaeya’s eyes as he blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust to the brighter lighting in the room. You placed a few fingers inside of him, thrusting them, the tips of your fingers hitting his prostate. He wanted to cover his mouth to hide that he was practically drooling all over the place at this point, his eyes barely open, just slightly watching you rearrange his guts with a few fingers. It felt way better than when he would do it alone. You kept thrusting as he got closer and closer.

“Y-y/n, I think I’m going to cum, I-I think I might be close” he breathed heavily with you suddenly pulling out all of the fingers.

“H-hey, you’re cruel” he protested, trying to convince you with his puppy dog eyes.

“You have to earn it, sweetheart”

He knew exactly what to do when you found yourself quite literally above his face, his nose right at your entrance, it was hard to do it without being able to use his hands to hold you in place but he still did his best. It felt so loving and intimate as his tongue explored your insides, causing you to let out sounds of pleasure.

He was a very attentive lover, taking into account every sound you made, this way analyzing where it felt the best and how to do it. He wanted to please you as much as he could, finally driving you to an orgasm. He licked his lips and sent you a gentle wink.

“You’re definitely a really good boy, I’m so glad to have you. You did really well, I think you deserve a reward” Kaeya’s eyes gleamed as he heard the word “reward” just like a dog when you tell it that you’ll go for a walk.

You lifted his ass up a little bit, putting your fingers back inside it and using your other hand to stimulate his penis. He felt so much pleasure at once, he could swear he was going insane. You could hear the loudest moans escape his mouth as he came, his eyes half lidded, tears forming in the corners from the stimulation. You didn’t stop though.

“H-hey, I’m so sensitive righ-... F-fuck” he swore under his breath as you overstimulated him.

He bit his lips with his eyes closing completely, his moans sounded kind of like screams until he came again, breathing even harder. You leaned closer to him, placing a small kiss on his nose.

“You really are my good boy”

[cateyemoons]

play nice. (a little blurb)

pairing: nate jacobs x oc

warnings: a little smutty

note: first time publishing anything that i’ve written so i’m nervous af. this little blurb came from a little fic that i’ve been fiddling with. hope you enjoy.

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

They say that Chris McKay’s parties were always the biggest and baddest parties, especially the one signalling the end of summer. 

They also say that it was tradition for everyone to attend.

Well, she didn’t want to start off her first year at the new school by breaking tradition.

She had her reservations about having to start over in senior year but what could she do? She was still under her parents’s control but she swore to herself that once she was finished with school, she’d pack up her things and head back to the city, back to everything that she knew and loved. 

For now, she decided to have some fun and this party seemed to be the first step.

The rumors were true-- this party was massive and wild, just as wild as the parties she attended in her old hometown. As soon as she entered the place, she was ushered into the kitchen by a bunch of strangers-- just kids who wanted everyone to have a good time. She downed the shots that were handed to her. Some of the guys tried to coax her into hanging out with them but she brushed them off with a laugh. One in particular, named Daniel would not stop. His hands were all over her. 

“C’mon, don’t leave me hanging with blue balls.”

She smirked at him, grabbing the bottle from the table. She was ready to move on from him-- what a drip. 

“At least you got your right hand to keep you company.”

She slipped away from him, taking a swig of vodka. She observed her new surroundings, the new people that she would soon attend classes with. No one noticed her. They were too involved in their own little world of drugs, alcohol and sex. Already she could see a number of hands down pants, tongues in each other’s mouths only to take a break to consume some more alcohol. She saw a number of people hand in hand and going upstairs, downstairs, outside and into other rooms. 

It was like she never left home.

She turned a corner, bumping into people as she tried to squeeze through. Going down this route led her to another guy practically devouring another girl’s face. He was a massively tall guy-- was he part tree or something? Chiseled jawline, muscles in all the right places. His hands were all over the girl, sliding down to her ass as she finally pried her lips off his and started to kiss his neck. 

She caught his eyes on her, a smirk on his face. He winked.

She felt a little bit of heat forming in the pit of her stomach. He was definitely attractive and she could tell with the look on his face that he knew that about himself. She liked confidence in a guy. She wouldn’t mind having him in her bed for a night. 

She winked back with a smirk of her own. But she went outside, not really wanting to have a reputation of a pervert that likes watching other people get down and dirty.

Another swig of her bottle and her vision was starting to blur. But she managed to make out the big swimming pool, the pool lights lighting up the water and in the pool were a blonde guy and a girl that they were calling Maddy. And by the looks and sounds of it, they were having the greatest time in the pool.

“Ohhhh man, Nate’s not going to be happy about this.”

“Didn’t they JUST break up?”

“It’s like the millionth time.”

Smells toxic to me, she thought to herself.

“Jesus, she’s so fucking hot, Tyler is so fucking lucky to be fucking her like this.”

“Lucky?? Nate’s gonna murder him.”

“At least he’d die a happy man.”

She snorted, watching Maddy fuck the guy in the pool before averting her eyes. She didn’t know Maddy, this Nate guy and their relationship but it was clear that they were not good for each other. It was also clear that they broke up and made up quite often. But she had to hand it to Maddy- she knew exactly how to mess with a guy and fuck with his head. 

Fucking another guy in the pool at the same party that her ex-boyfriend was attending would do exactly that.

There was a low rumble from the crowd and she looked towards the direction with a bit of an amused grin on her face. The guy that she had thought to have some tree DNA had come outside to bear witness to his ex-girlfriend’s antics. She could see the rage slowly building up from within, his brows furrowed deeply and the jealousy in his eyes. His hand held his cup tight while the other turned into a fist.

She guessed that this was Nate Jacobs. 

“Yeah, that’s real classy, you fucking whore,” he spat out maliciously.

Maddy and the guy stopped their pool sex session and Maddy had a shitfaced grin on her face. Her eyes cried out, “WINNER!” as she looked up at her angry ex-boyfriend. 

“Suck my DICK.”

With a snarl, Nate threw down his cup and turned back around. She tried to get out of his way but he ended up shoulder-checking her as he made his way back inside. He didn’t even bother to look at who he had knocked into. He kept walking, his temper rising with every step he took.

Any sort of attraction she had towards him disappeared. “Prick,” she muttered.

Her stomach decided to grumble. She knew the alcohol was doing its work when she had the munchies. She decided to head back inside and maybe find something to snack on. The kitchen wasn’t too crowded this time and that guy Daniel was nowhere to be seen. She poked and peeked into each cabinet and drawer, in hopes to find something to eat, even something small. What kind of party didn’t have anything to munch on?

There was a loud crash and the sounds of glass shattering right behind her and she almost shit herself. Turning around, she found Nate in a fit of fury, slamming down the bottle and pushing off all the shot glasses and beer cans from the kitchen counter. He turned around to punch the cabinet door, screaming at everyone to get out.

“Get out! GET THE FUCK OUT!” he snarled.

She remained where she was. He hadn’t seen her and maybe she would go unnoticed. In the bright light of the kitchen, she realized exactly how tall he was and how red his face had gotten due to his fit of rage. His chest was heaving hard. She could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. He leaned back against the counter, closing his eyes to get himself back under control.

She turned back around, quietly rummaging through the cabinet. She spotted a bag of chips in the far back and grabbed it. She opened it up and started munching. God, the potato chips tasted so good in her mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She nearly jumped at the low growl in her ear and she turned around to find herself face to face with Nate Jacobs.

So much for going unnoticed.

“I’m eating,” she answered nonchalantly. She held the bag up to him. “Want some?”

She knew she shouldn’t poke at the bear like this but she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t afraid of confrontation. Even if it was against someone as tall and muscular as Nate Jacobs.

She watched his eyes darken. She knew what was going on in his head. Even without knowing him, she knew who he was. Judging by the whispers and comments that the others had made about him, Nate Jacobs was The Guy of this town. He was the popular, big time, and she assumed by his build, jock king of East Highland. Therefore, everyone else were his peasants. He was used to this social hierarchy. Everyone should be bowing down to him, including her.

But she wasn’t going to do that for him, even if she found him to be insanely attractive.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said get the fuck out,” he repeated.

“Yeah well, I’m hungry and it’s pretty loud out there. So I think I’ll hang out in the kitchen for a little bit longer, thanks.”

Nate’s face contorted just a little, in a bit of surprise. “You’re not scared of me?”

She laughed in his face. “Why should I be? I’ve seen and met a lot worse.”

She took a step back, her lower back hitting the counter top edge when Nate stepped forward, closing the space between them. He bent over just a little, his eyes roaming over her body and then her face. They seemed to be searching for something, probably searching for the reason why she was not scared of him, like the rest of them.

“You’re the new girl that people have been talking about at this party,” he simply stated, with no anger or annoyance in his voice this time.

“That’d be me,” She said, continuing to munch on chips.

She watched his tongue slip out from his mouth, licking his bottom lip. “How about you and I get to know each other? It’s tough starting over in a new place. You’re going to need a new friend. I can be that for you, you know,” he murmured, his face inching closer to hers.

“Is that right?” she asked, amused by his sudden change in mood.

The way guys changed tactics and moods when their dicks were hard. Amazing, really.

She tossed the bag of chips aside, making a big show of licking her fingers clean in front of him. She licked her fingers slowly, never breaking eye contact with him. His face was so close to hers that she could see his eyes grow wide with pleasure. She couldn’t help but smirk when she slid her finger in deeper, when she could hear him panting at the sight of it. She knew he was just picturing her pretty red lips wrapped around his cock.

She loved fucking with men like this. It was their one true weakness.

She was going to take full advantage of that.

“Yeah.. yeah, that’s right, baby,” he said softly, his lips curling upwards.

“Oh… I don’t know, Nate,” she said with a loud sigh. “All boys say that, you know? But they’re all bark and no bite.”

“You just haven’t met me yet, I’m not just any guy.” He dipped his face into the crook of her neck and she let him. She tilted her head back just a little bit, why not have a little pleasure for herself? Besides, he was very good at this. Her body was naturally heating up at his touch, especially right between her legs. His lips trailed up to her earlobe, nibbling her earlobe before speaking again. “Oh I’ll bite.”

“I bite too,” she said, pushing his face away with a laugh. “I don’t think you’d be able to handle it.”

“I think it might be the other way around,” he fired back, taking her hand and placing it right at his crotch. 

If this was the reason why Maddy kept going back to him, well she wasn’t going to judge her too quick. He was a big boy in more ways than one.

She hadn’t expected that. Nor did she expect her underwear to become soaked.

When she looked back up at Nate, she saw the triumphant smile on his face. He knew the effect that he had on him. 

Well, two can play that game.

“I think it’s you that won’t be able to handle me, baby,” he whispered, bringing his face close to hers once more, trying to kiss her but she pulled her head back.

She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him with very round and innocent eyes. “Oh, is that right?” Her lips turned into a sexy smirk when his eyelids fluttered and his jaw dropped open as she cupped him tight through his jeans.

“Oh fuck-,” he gasped.

She watched his eyes close tight, enjoying the feel of her warm hand rubbing and squeezing him. He had both hands on either side of her, gripping the counter top. She knew every drop of blood was flooding to his dick right now. His cock was rock hard for her. He wasn’t going to be able to form a complete sentence.

“You still sure I won’t be able to handle you? Or are you gonna change your mind?” she asked as she moved her hand faster.

Nate groaned louder at the sudden change in speed. He leaned forward and she pressed her forehead against his, watching all the pleasure wash over his face. “Fuck, I-I… I change my mind, fuck baby…” He managed to open his eyes, panting hard. “There’s a room upstairs, come with me.”

“Come with you? Upstairs? So I can get down on my knees and suck your fat cock?” she teased, squeezing him a little harder. His big body shuddered and she decided to keep putting these images into his mind. “Bet you’d like that, hm? You’d like watching your cock disappear in my mouth, hm?” A chill went down her spine at the thought of looking up at this guy while she was on her knees. It probably wouldn’t be a bad sight to see.

“FUCK YES, oh baby, please,” he begged with a growl, his entire body trembling. His hands gripped her hips tight, pulling her closer but she wouldn’t let him kiss her. Not yet. “God, I need to fuck you so bad.”

She had him by the balls now. Literally.

“Let’s go then,” she whispered into his ear, letting out a breathy moan to tantalize him even more, giving him a preview of what was to come.

In an instant, he took her by the hand and all but dragged her out of the kitchen. The sea of people parted for him and everyone whispered and pointed their fingers. She smiled at everyone and when they made it to the stairs, she pulled her hand away and headed towards the front door.

“HEY!” Nate grabbed her hand again. “Where are you going?”

“Home. Where are you going?” she feigned confusion.

“But you said-,”

She laughed, pulling her hand out of his grip once more. “Did you really think I’d fuck you?”

“Y-you-,”

“Enjoy the rest of the party, baby!”

Slamming the door on his shocked face, she laughed and started running. The adrenaline from teasing the shit out of Nate had her sprinting down the street. She could probably do a full marathon tonight if she wanted to.

She loved teasing guys like him. Teasing and riling them, playing around with them. Getting their hopes and dicks up, making them think that they were going to get it in with her. Acting like she wanted them to pound her straight into the bed, only to pull back and deny them. Leaving them with only their right hand to keep them company. Making them realize that they weren’t shit, that they were losers, that they were nothing. Doing this got her more horny than an actual guy ever could.

It’s a shame that he was such a prick. She wouldn’t have mind having him pound the shit out of her with that big dick of his. She bet that he was all kinds of fun in the bedroom. But now he was going to be left alone with blue balls and his right hand, just like that other kid Daniel.

And that’s what you get for being an asshole, she thought with a proud grin.