#Is he serious? Is he fucking with them? Both

[formulafanfics13]

Don't Laugh While I'm Inside You - KA12 🔥

masterlist

They were already naked when it happened. Well, almost. Her hoodie was still on. His boxers were still somewhere around his thighs. They'd been making out on the sofa for twenty minutes straight, getting hotter, dumber, slower, her giggling every time he whispered something filthy in her ear in Italian, because he knew exactly what it did to her.

And now? Now she was on her back. Sweaty. Flushed. Panting. And Kimi was balls-deep inside her, forehead pressed to hers, hand cradling her jaw, eyes locked with hers like he was trying to memorise every single reaction.

It should've been serious. It was serious. But then he groaned too loud, and she bit back a laugh, a real one, honest and sharp, cracking through the tension like glass.

Kimi paused. She snorted. And that was it. His head dropped into her shoulder. "You're such an asshole."

She was giggling now, completely helpless. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just-your face-"

"My face?!"

She was laughing so hard she hiccuped.

"I can't do this," he muttered into her neck. "I can't keep a stroke going if you're laughing like I just read you bedtime stories with my dick out."

She choked. "Stop-"

"I'm serious," he huffed, finally pulling back to look at her. "You're gonna make me start laughing and then I'm gonna lose the rhythm and then neither of us comes and that's on you, not me-"

She kissed him. Hard. "Then stop talking," she whispered. "And fuck me."

He blinked. Then grinned. "Say please."

She narrowed her eyes. "Kimi."

"Say it."

She rolled her hips under him. "Please."

And he groaned like it hurt, rolled his hips, and fucked into her so slow and deep she gasped mid-laugh.

"Oh."

"Yeah," he muttered. "Now you remember."

He set a rhythm, deep, slow, exact, one hand on her thigh, the other pressed between them, two fingers circling her clit as she tried so hard not to giggle again.

"Tesoro," he whispered, "you gonna be good now?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

"You gonna come for me?"

"Yes-Kimi-yes-"

And then? His stomach growled. So loud. So stupid. She blinked. Then broke again, laughing hysterically. "NO-"

"I'm hungry!" he shouted, collapsing on top of her. "I told you not to suck my soul out before dinner!"

"YOU said we didn't need dinner!"

"I lied!"

They were both laughing so hard now they couldn't breathe, limbs tangled, sweat sticking skin to skin, and Kimi still inside her, hard, throbbing, laughing into her shoulder like he'd never stop.

And then she whispered, breathless,  "Still hard for me though."

He froze. She smirked. He growled. And then? He flipped her. Bent her over the back of the couch. And said, so low, so filthy, "Laugh now, baby. Let's see if you're still laughing when I don't let you come for the next hour."

She moaned. "Yes please."

[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ blue . . . m.s

in which . . . you can’t get over how much you still love your ex boyfriend matt, you’re both trying to hold it together for the sake of your daughter

warnings . . . unresolved angst, babydaddy!matt, toxic relationship between matt and reader, arguing.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #10

the door creaks open and there he is, matt. messy hair under a gray hoodie, tattoos peeking out of his sleeves, shadows under his eyes from nights you don’t ask about anymore. “she’s already had her bath,” you mumble, not looking at him. “just needs her book and bed.”

“got it,” he mutters back, brushing past you like it doesn’t still feel like a punch to the chest every time he’s this close. you watch him go down the hall to her room. you shouldn’t. but you do. you hear her laugh. you hear his voice soften in that way it only does for her. it twists something deep in you. they’re your world, both of them. but god, you hate him. you hate how much you still love him.

ten minutes later he walks back into the living room, rubbing the back of his neck. “she’s asleep,” he says. “cool.” silence. not the quiet kind. the thick kind. heavy. waiting to explode. he stands awkwardly for a second, then drops down onto the couch like it’s still his.

“don’t get too comfortable,” you snap, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. “you’re not staying.” his jaw tenses. “i didn’t ask to.” you roll your eyes. “but you’re acting like you live here.” he scoffs. “i used to live here.”

“yeah, well, you threw that away.” and that’s it. he sits up, eyes locked on yours, voice already sharp. “don’t act like you were some perfect angel, like i just walked away for no reason.”

“you did walk away,” you spit. “you left me to raise her while you went out and played house with every other girl that gave you attention.”

“are you serious right now?” he’s already getting loud. “you pushed me away every damn day. made me feel like shit for breathing wrong.”

“because you never tried, matt! you never grew up. you were still trying to live like you were nineteen when we had a whole ass daughter depending on us.” he stands now too, both of you facing each other like you’re about to break something. maybe you already have. “and you never gave me credit for anything,” he growls. “i was working, providing—”

“you were barely around! and when you were, you were either starting fights or sulking around like fatherhood was some punishment.”

“don’t you fucking say that,” he snaps, voice cracking. “don’t act like i don’t love her.” your throat tightens. because you know he does. you know he does. but that’s what makes all of this worse. “then why couldn’t you love her enough to stay?” you whisper. “why couldn’t you love me enough to fix things?”

his eyes flicker. he looks away for a second like he can’t face what’s behind your words. “i did love you,” he says, quiet now. “i still—i don’t know. we’re just… toxic.” you let out a bitter laugh. “wow. that’s easy for you to say when you’re not the one here every day trying to clean up the mess.”

“you think i don’t feel that? you think it doesn’t kill me every time i leave without her?” his voice is raw now, stripped down. “you think i sleep at night knowing she’s growing up thinking her parents hate each other?”

“then do something, matt!” you shout. “stop coming here like this is just some visit. stop acting like we didn’t build a life together before you fucked it all up!” his eyes flash. “you think i don’t regret it every fucking day?” your breathing is shallow. chest rising and falling too fast. his fists are clenched. yours too. the room feels like it’s going to implode.

you both stand there, staring, all the rage and sadness and history between you like smoke you can’t breathe through. and then…quiet. just the hum of the fridge. the ticking clock. the ghost of everything you used to be. “i don’t want her to grow up thinking this is love,” you say, quieter now. “us screaming like this… hurting each other.”

he nods, slowly. his eyes are glassy. “me neither.”you look away. wipe your face before a tear can fall. “just… go,” you whisper. he hesitates, like he wants to say something else. but he doesn’t. he just walks out the door, soft and slow, like he knows he doesn’t belong here anymore.

and when it shuts behind him, it’s quiet again. but not peaceful. you slide down to the floor, bury your face in your hands, and wonder how something that started with so much love could end up like this. and somewhere in the other room, your daughter sleeps, safe. thank god for that. you’ll keep her safe even if it means breaking your own heart over and over again. because that’s what love looks like now. blue. and bleeding, but still showing up.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: BOW BOWWWW 3RD WRITING MARATHON FINISHEDDDD WOOOOHHOOOOOOO!!!!!! loved this one but nothing will ever beat my so close to what marathon in my eyes :3 anyway thank u to everyone who supported me and my writing during thissss i love you all so so much!! now, it’s time for my one year special! :)

[arabellasfvv]

MDNI 18+ switch!Kyle also kinda angst, friends to lovers a little, but they dont actually say it? Im on the verge of losing it, so you will have to take this mess and focus on the good in it, thank you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"You ever sub?" The questions is followed by you clearing your throat immediately, realising how raspy your voice had gotten over the past hours. Kyle hands you a cool water bottle, condensation running down the plastic that slicks your palm a little, before anything else.

He's as curious about the question as he is confused. He'd never shown signs of submissions with you... had he? "No," he hums confidently, "Don't think I could." His eyes stay on you. Watching the way your throat bobbed when you swallowedm the way your lips wrapped around the bottles opening— bringing back just the right memories.

A sound of protest leaves you once you pull away from the bottle and place it aside. "Everyone could," you argue. Eyes now flicking from the playing cartoon to your best friend. "Might not be your thing, sure. But don't knock it 'till you try it, right?"

He shakes his head. "Love, I'm a lot. But I'm not submissive."

"You're a soldier." Both his eyebrows shoot up at that. His expression twisting as he tried to understand your point. You shrug once you caught the hint to elaborate. "You listen to orders all day, no? Getting told what to do and when, 'n stuff."

"First off," his voice holds way too much sass for a man his size, "I'm a sergeant—"

"There are ranks above you, still." "Sure, yeah. But I ain't some grunt who just gets told what to do the all the time," he ignores the skeptical expression on your face. "Even if, there's a difference between submitting to hierarchy on a job that, y'know, pays me, and submitting in a sexual setting."

You stare at him in that way he despises. The way that makes him feel all exposed, like you're sitting right on his brain and digging around, as if his sould is bared to you. He knows you can't actually read people that well, unfortunately that doesnt make your stare any less unsettling.

Kyle tries to change the subject, starting to blabber about God and the world. But you're not listening. Too focused on your imagination, how he'd look splayed out, panting and dripping with sweat, brain melting out of his ears.

There was nothing that could convince you he wouldn't look absolutely beautiful out off control for once. Just a desperate mess under your command.

You understood his hesitance. You rarely fully submitted to anyone either, not unless they had fucked you absolutely dumb. And his past girlfriends... well, what to say about them? It may have been personal bias, some underlying feeling that gnawed at you, but you never felt they were right for Kyle. He never seemed truly lovestruck with any of them. So of course, the kind of trusted needed for him to submit was never built.

But you weren't them. You were his best friend. His best friend he fucked, too often almost. You two had seen eachother in all kinds of vulnerable in the many years you'd been friends. Submission wasn't outlandish that to think about, was it?

"Why not try?" You interrupted, head tilting to empathise the question. "Scared you'll like it too much?" Your lips tugged up into a little smile, knowing that if you'd get too serious with your questions, force him to be vulnerable, he'd just shut down.

He huffs, deflecting. As if he could ever like submitting. But before he can protest you speak again.

"You just wanna be good, no? Keep your hands clean while fighting to keep the world clean, too?" Nevermind sparing his feelings. You knew you hit, hell dropkicked onto, a button when his face pinches together. His tongue wetting his lips, dragging along his lips that, he's contemplating, you know.

"This would be so much easier. You'd just have to let me make you feel good to be a good boy. No responsibility."

You adore how you can get to him, how his Adams apple bobs when your words echo in his mind. No responsibility. He hates to admit it, but its what he needed. Some deep, neglected part of him just needed to give himself away. He wasnt sure if he could allow himself that though. With everything he'd done, did he really deserve to relax?

Did he deserve to lie atop soft sheets bed while bodies lay in the cold earth because of him?

Did he deserve to let go of the guilt while leaving rotting corpes wherever he went?

Did he deserve peace when his actions buried families beneath rubble, when he was at fault for turning loving homes into places of mourning?

Did he deserve to feel the security of knowing while children sat on their front steps staring into the distance with wide and eager eyes hoping to see their daddy again?

Did he deserve someone loving him after hearing the screams of lovers as he ripped their partners away from them, after he'd walked away from their mourning with no apologies?

He was snapped out of his train of thought by a familiar weight settling on his lap. A soft palm resting against his stubbly jaw, turning his head upwards to meet eyes that held no pain. That held no anger against the things he'd done.

And by that voice that haunted his gentler dreams. "You're doing it again, Kyle. Getting lost up in that pretty head of yours."

"That's my line," he whispered, trying to pull away from the guilt that was trying to pull him into a dark abyss.

He melts a little, the smile you give being a reassurance of its own. You were a good person, you had morals. Fuck, you were like an angel walking on earth, born to look past the evil and make the best of things. The fact you weren't disgusted by him was like forgiveness.

Not enough to truly be at ease— that was a dream he'd given up on long ago, true peace would never wander into his life— but enough to make him feel something other than pure disgust at himself. This shell of the boy he once was.

"Let me make you feel good. You can say no, I'll stop whenever you need me to. But give me a chance?" You weren't sure where this enegry came from. You'd finished round six, maybe seven, with him barely half an hour ago. But seeing him withdraw into his mind, into those thoughts that only got spoken out loud when he was intoxicated, those thoughts that left his body tight and tense, his eyes casted anywhere but your own, made you want to pull him out so desperately.

He nods, and in that same breath your lips press against his own. Your free hand comes down to rest against his chest, feeling how his heart was drumming against his ribcage like a little humming bird. His own hands don't find their place.

He's usually so confident, every touch almost methodical, planned to guarantee to make you fall apart beneath him. Now that you weren't the focus he was confused, a fish out of water. His lips just reciprocating, not taking.

You allow him to breathe once you realise how choked up his breaths were coming out. Though, you barely pull away, lingering with your nose bumping against his own. Your lips parted just a hair away from his own, neither of you is really getting oxygen with close you are, just panting into eachothers mouth without actually touching.

"You're okay," you promise, you swear.

"I'm okay," he repeats, not entirely convinced. But he wants to be, needs to believe.

"You're in control." He's not, not really. He has to power to shut it all down, to escape. But nothing more.

"I'm in control." He knows he's not. Especially not with how he shudders when your lips start to place kisses against his jaw line. It feels silly when his finger hooks into the waistband of your panties, like he's trying to keep you from escaping. But you don't comment on it, just smile against his skin in silent amusement.

"I'm not going anywhere." Your promises are overwhelming. No, you won't go anywhere, that has always been a silent acknowledgement between the two of you. But hearing it out loud was different. It was so simple, and somehow it made his mind go hazy. Your lips wander against his neck, and he doesn't take more than a second to tilt his neck to give you more access.

But he isnt satisfied by that for long. Your lips on him are heavenly, making his body twitch and grow impossibly hotter. The little nips and licks you add in between make him dizzy, and kyle prays to whatever God is out there that you're biting hard enough to leave marks on his skin. But needs your taste again, needs his lips to have purpose. So he's tugging at your neck, not wanting to say the words, but still needing you to understand.

And you do, somehow. Coming back up to connect your lips. You swallow down your own desperation, that need to just do anything. This was about being in control, to allow Kyle to come undone. So when your hand palmed his growing bulge, giving it a squeeze and his lips part in a suprised groan your tongue pushed past them and into his mouth.

So this is how it feels for you, huh? Normally he's the one with his tongue in your mouth, and he tries to turn it around for a moment. To get that usual feeling of your tongue pushing against his. But you dont let him.

You taste both yourself and him on his tongue. Hints of your slick and his spunk from when when he'd eaten you out with fervour earlier making you moan into his mouth. The familiarity of it the most delicious thing you've had in a while.

His hips are bucking up, trying to find you, grind the growing ache inside his boxers away.

You've never seen him so sloppy and uncoordinated, drool slipping past the corners of his mouth, hands just fumbling and tugging around your body. "Please," he needs more, so clearly, and the fact you still seem composed is infuriating.

You pull away far enough to see him, breaking the string of spit connecting the both of you. It's just like you imagined, needy as usual. Pupils blown and unfocused, lips reddened and inviting. But he's looking up at you now. Waiting for direction.

He grips your body tighlty the moment you try to get off his lap. You can't leave. Where do you wanna go anyway? He's right here and he needs you, "Stay."

"I told you I'm not going anywhere," you assure again, gently prying his fingers off you until they were loose enough for you to slip out of his grasp. Kneeling down infront of the couch, waiting for him to shift so you could sit between his legs.

The impulse to tease him was there, to just lap at his cock until he couldn't take it anymore. Watch the exact moment he'd lose it. But that impulse was overridden by the desire to make him feel good. You'd make him fall apart, and while your first plan was doing it through far too much teasing, now you just wanted him to feel good. Tugging down his boxers, humming a "Good boy," when he automatically lifted his hips to help you out, you threw them somewhere to his side.

He was already rock hard (again), light drips of pre-cum gathering at his flushed tip. Your tongue extended to lick them up, inching closer until your pretty lips could wrap around the head.

Taking the rest of his aching cock into your hand, not really stroking it. Just letting your fingers trace along the bulging veins. When his hand comes to rest on the back of your head and he tries to thrust into your mouth, you pull off. Leaving him whining and pouting. "None o' that, sweetheart. I'll give ya what you need. You don't take it, yeah?" He has to take a few deep breaths to process your words. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

You nod, happy he's listening. You take him back into your mouth, this time taking every inch you can. You gag when your nose hits his pubes, but the sound he lets out is worth it. You let your tongue follow the veins around the length when you pull back. But when he tries to push your head back, you hold back against the touch. And all you have to do is look up, let your eyes meet his, and the pressure on your head is released. "I'm sorry, fuck— I'm sorry, love. You just... please. Please, your mouth is so good."

Good enough. You let him rest in your mouth for a moment, tongue doing its best to swirl around the girth and lap up whatever his dripping tip had to give. Slowly you start to push your head back onto him, moving it back and forth while hollowing out your cheeks.

And Kyle could come just from that sight, the goddamn vision you were. Swollen lips stretching around his cock, the way your hand rests on his thigh, thumb stroking calming circles around the muscles, your throat bulging to accommodate him. He tenses when your other hand sneaks up his thigh, nail polish contrasting against his skin, because he knows what youre about to do.

It's not fair, he's still sensitive, and the way you're forcing his mind to be a mess is torture. And now your hand was fondling his balls, lightly tugging at them every now and then. His head falls back against the couch, eyes screwing shut. He can't look at you without coming too quick.

Unfortunately for him, with his vision gone everything else gets worse.

Suddenly he can smell your perfume lingering in the air of his apartment, the fading smell of sex that the open window can't fully get rid off. The wet sounds of your mouth slobbering up his cock, the little sounds you let when he gets too deep and you gag, he swears he can hear every tiny shift of your body. And all he can taste is you, that goddamn kiss.

His thighs start trembling underneath your palm, his dick starts to twitch in your mouth, and when you look up you see how tense he is, how hard he is trying to hold back. You pull off, wrapping your hand around him and stroke— you didn't want to take him away from the edge after all. "Let go, darling. This is for you." You encourage before taking him back into your mouth.

It was embarrassing, what your voice did to him. It always sounded right, settling over him like a cozy blanket. And underneath the comfort of it, the echo drilled into the deepest corners of his mind, scratching itches he didn’t even know were there.

It was familiar. It was safe. The voice he wished for every time he was with someone else. Because no one had ever made him feel quite like you did. No one ever would.

Once his whimpers turned into choked up moans, and his balls started to tighten and twitch underneath your palm you took him deeper. Sliding the length across your tongue until it hit the back of your throat, cheeks hallowed again, tongue lapping as best as it could in the confines of your own mouth.

The moan came from the both of you when his warm, salty spunk started spurting down your throat. It was over quick, since most his spunk had ended up in your cunt a earlier, but it was just as good.

You pull off with a pop once his dick stops throbbing. Smirking at the way he squirm away when you clean him up with your tongue.

You want more, so much more. Want him sinking deeper into the couch, his voice raspy and barely comprehensible. Needed to see him go dumb, and pliable under your control.

Once he managed to lift his head again, eyes blinking open, you stand up. And you're so fucking ready for round two nine, that ache between your legs stronger than ever.

But he's not ready. You can the sense of post nut clarity that hit him. The way he sits up wasn't fatigue from his orgasm, it was something that sat deeper within him. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling your standing form closer so he could rest his head against your chest.

This went far from what you had in mind, the opposite of how you wanted him. But hell, he was your best friend, and you'd rather die than not comfort him. There was always time to try again.

One hand went to rest against his shoulder, a firm touch keeping him, or attempting to keep him in this reality, in the current here and now. The other cradling his head, holding him close to you, letting him hear your rapid heartbeat.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't start that. You ain't done nothing wrong, pretty boy." Pretty boy, he hated that name. It made him feel like some soft thing instead of the trained killer he was.

You stay like this for a while, letting him try and come down from whatever feeling had gripped him so fiercely. Your fingers massage along his scalp, a habit at this point. And he wishes this could go on forever. That he could just carry your touch with him, carry it in a case like he does his cigarettes. Something gentle to soothe his sould. Instead of the poison that takes over his body, and makes your nose crinkle in disapproval when he mentions it.

But alas, your body was worn from the night. Standing too long was starting to have effect on your legs, so you grip his head a little firmer to pull him away. Making him look up at you like a kitten scruffed against its will. "How 'bout we take a shower? God knows we both need one." Kyle's lips already parted to protest, to argue about staying this way just a little longer.

Until the words hit. We take a shower. WE.

That's not something you'd done before. You two had fucked, cuddled, went out together, and gotten into all kinds of trouble. But showering and bathing together always seemed a step too far, a step too intimate.

Which is exactly why he wasn't gonna turn it down, jumping up hitting his head right against your chin. Making you wince. "Shite, fuck, im sorry, love." His calloused palm quickly cradled your face, looking you over. Fuck, your chin was already growing red, and you'd probably bitten your tongue too. He's such an idiot! And he feels so so so bad. "Didn't mean to do that."

You just laugh him off. Yes, that hurt like shit cause that man has a head that is definitely harder than normal. But you'd been through much worse. Placing a quick peck against the corner of his mouth you start to tug him along into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower starting fills the small bathroom, you're tripping your clothes, well, your panties and socks off. And Kyle is just staring. He'd seen you naked so often, could tell his mates about the exact placement of every mole and scar on your body just from memory. But this wasn't nudity out of lust... it was out of intimacy?

Thats what he was convincing himself off. Maybe you just saw this casual, maybe you'd done this with plenty of men and just stopped caring. But he didn't want this to be the case,he wanted to be one you could be that vulnerable with him. Gulping down his own saliva was like choking down a rock once he saw you step under the steaming water—

Bloody steaming? There's no way you actually showered that hot. Fuckin' hell. He's careful when he steps in after you, his hand dipping beneath the hot stream and he immediately pulls away with a hiss. "No, way. No ma'am. Nuh uh."

Your eyes crack open at his protests, "Can't handle a bit of heat, sergeant?" You tease, your voice so light it floats right to his head. "I can handle bloody heat. I can't handle water that's trying to boil me alive!"

You chuckle at the dramatics, but turn down the heat nonetheless.

And that fills him with guilt all over again.

You’re so perfect. So pretty. So nice. You move around his needs without complaint, without hesitation, like it’s easy. And he knows he’s done nothing to deserve it.

He’s gruff. Scars littering his body and sould. Blood on his hands. He felt like a walking bad omen. He had no right to pull you into this life, no right to keep anyone close, not when everything he touches either breaks or leaves. There’s a reason he's alone more these days. A reason he’s single, a reason every woman before you eventually walked away. His only friends are his teammates. And you. Fucking you.

You’ve been there so long, it almost terrifies him. Sometimes he really wonders if God sent you down just for him. Why else would you stay? If you had a choice, you should’ve left a long time ago. So maybe you didn’t. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe you were tied to him, sent onto this earth for him, by some kind of divine being that knew he'd need saving before he ever did.

He's once again snapped out off his thoughts by you. By who else? Being tugged under the, now tolerable, water. Brown eyes landing on your wet body, it had to be divine intervention. Theres no way a human could look this... lovely under shitty bathroom lightning with the steam curling around them, skin glowing.

He suddenly grabbed you. The fear of you being unreal taking over, he just had to feel for himself.

He wanted to cry. He wouldn't, no he'd choke that down until it was physically impossible. Your skin was so supple, so soft underneath him. It was so right. So— "Too tight, kyle." His eyes snapped to yours, and everything crashes down again. He's on a wild rollercoaster of emotions right now, its enough to make nauseous. The way he keep snapping from one to another.

You don't allow him to apologise, or pull his hand away like you knew he wanted to. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, making sure it stayed on your body. His touch didn't automatically meant harm, he'd gripped a bit too tight, not ripped your damn bones straight out, it was okay. And he needed to know that.

And maybe he doesnt know, he probably can't actually believe it. But he accepts it, because you make the laws. If you allow him to feel, he will feel, and if you stay his touch is allowed, ten he can touch. But he remains careful when he pulls you close, cradling the back of your head to let it rest against his shoulder while his other arm firmly rests around your waist.

You took a second to adjust your head so you wouldn't feel like drowning under the water stream with him, before hugging him back. Arms wrapped around his torso, letting one hand rub up and down the length of his wet back.

"Your water bill is gonna be high if we stay like this yanno.." "Shut up, love." You smile against his skin but does as he says.

"Let me make you feel good?"

The words come so out of the blue it throws you off. The man was on the verge of crying a minute go and now he wants sex again? Man, oh man. "Kyle," you sigh, ready to protest. You'd rather have him open up about his emotions than deflect his way.

To him it wasnt a way of deflection. It wasn't to distract him, but to deal with the inadequacy he felt torward you. Higher beings had the right to be to worshipped, to feel good at all times. Instead of dealing with big ol' messes like himself. "Please."

Goddamn those big, brown eyes. You could say no if you really wanted to. But you'd be lying if there wasn't still a small ache between your legs, and if he was just short of begging.. why deny yourself? "One round."

"Thank you." And God knows he's truly grateful when the hand on your head let's go and slips between your bodies. "You're so beautiful, love..."

He relishes the way your body arches against him when a calloused palm cups your breast, squeezing the malleable tissue to watch it spill out between his fingers. His firm grip switched from the left to the right, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

Until youre squirming under his appreciation. The arm holding you close won't let you pull doesn't allow you a moment of respite. Forcing you to just feel as he forces your nipples to grow hard and sensitive. He's pressing a kiss against your head when you start to whine, his silent way of praising you for enduring it. As if you had any choice.

Kyle's hand doesn't once leave your body as it starts to wander down, knowing the moment he wasnt holding on his hand would start to tremble and itch to have you back, to have your skin be a grounding presence again.

"You're so good fo' me, baby. You're so damn good." He whispers against your hair. The fact his fingers had slipped between your slicked up folds, gathering your dripping arousal so he can coat your clit in it, doesnt match the tone of his voice. It's broken, like he's on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

"Kyle..." you know he won't pull away, he can't. Your hips jerk when his fingers apply just the right pressure, find the perfect rhythm against your clit, and the rest of your sentence falls flat. You shift as much as possible so you could press your lips against his shoulders and neck, blanketing the bare area in your unspoken love. Love you'd never come to terms with and yet expressed so freely.

His fingers curl tighter around your waist once you do. Part of him wanting to beg for more, beg for your lips all over his skin, cover every inch in your adoration. And the other wants to plea for you to stop, wants to tell you how much he doesn't deserve it. How you don't deserve to be ruined by his rotten self.

He did neither, opting to bite his lips and shut his eyes instead. Ignore the thoughts and focus on the feeling. Especially the feeling when his fingers slipped lower again, searching for your sticky entrance that was as eager as ever to take his fingers. Two of them slipping right in without issue, causing you to pause for just a second. Automatically you try to grind down on them, make them hit the spot.

Suddenly you're pressed against the still cold tiles of the shower, making you let out an undignified squeak in suprise. And Kyle's body is no easier to get past than a wall, so youre left with no choice but to rest against the tile whilst his fingers start intently curling inside of you.

"What's this earth done to deserve you? What have I done to deserve you? Huh?"

"God, wh— a-ahhh fuck.. what's up with.. nghh— with you tonight, man?"

It's starting to be confusing, but you're not looking for an answer. Not really. Not when you think about whatever heavy thing is running through his mind. He's seen things. Done things. The kind you could barely process when they were brought up, and then would go on to haunt your dreams. You're not sure you're ready to hear what it is about.

You’re not sure you could handle it if it were you.

If he had fallen for you. If he did think about you when he was with other women. If you really did haunt his dreams, the way he’s been haunting yours for far too long. But that… that just couldn't happen. So you stay quiet, only letting the moans slip past your lips while digging your fingers into his broad shoulders, and hope. Hope he won't give you an answer.

He wants to tell you. Needs to tell you its you. Its always been you.

Always will be.

But you were right, it just wasn't something that could happen. So he only responded with a, totally unrelated, kiss. Forcing his lips onto yours with pure desperation, swallowing up every moan you let out when his fingertips brushed against that gummy spot inside of you again and again. Pushing his tongue into the heat of your mouth as his other hand came down to play with your clit.

This was better, familiar. That sense of control was back, and he realised once again how good it felt to take care of you. How much better he felt when you were receiving the pleasure instead of him.

Spit was starting to pool in both your mouths, so he took that opportunity to pull back, just for him to shower you with praise. "Good girl. You're so bloody perfect, love. Shit, loot at that... so gorgeous." But the breathy whispers only sate him for so long before he has to claim your lips again. Going on until you're breathless again.

"Too good for this world, I swear," he mutters as he watches the string of saliva break when your head falls back against the wall. You're glad the words don't fully register in your mind, too focused on all the different touches he's laying on you.

You still grab his neck to pull his lips back to yours when he stays away for too long. And he's eager to comply, closing his eyes so your taste and sounds could take over his mind.

There was no reward quite like when your lips would fall open, not even trying to kiss back anymore too focused on his fingers findind the perfect rhythm together, but youre not pulling away.

Your brain stops for a moment when your orgasm crawls up on you, unable to do anything but pant against him needy whines slipping past, while your hips grind down, trying to get there faster. Chasing the inevitable.

Your hand slams against the fogged up shower door, fingers curling, dragging down letting your trembly hand leave an imprint. The shower's steam clings to your skin, mixing with the heat already flooding your body. You're burning from the inside out, sweat and condensation sliding down your neck, dripping down between yoir breast, and it only makes everything worse. Maybe better. You're not sure anymore.

You're close, right where you need to be.

The heat low in your belly coils tighter pulsing with need. The pressure builds but you stay right there, on that damn edge. You're trying to push yourself over it, try to make that knot rip that's sending goosebumps all over your body. But you can't.

Cause you're thinking about it. Kyle knows. Of course he does. He starts to pull away to focus his lip on your jawline instead, kissing and nibbling on the skin, listening as your whines grow more desperate. You just needed to come so bad, huh? Sweet thing, he'll make sure you will.

He licks into your ear in a way you can't tell if its supposed to be teasing or intimate, either way it makes your hips jerk. "Kyle— Kyle— ah aah.. please. C'mon, please."

"I know, I know, love. Stop thinking, dont focus on that pretty head while you're feeling this good." Damn his voice— because it works.

Your mind stops thinking about wanting that orgasm, instead focusing on the heat of his breath against your ear. The way it shifts to the crook of your neck when he nuzzles his face against it. You focus on how full his fingers alone have you, how his thumb is so perfectly applying pressure where you need it the most.

And how nice his presence is. Despite everything he's always been a safe place. A quiet place. Where no judgment, and no expectations loomed. Just you two being you. Yes, the darkness clings to him, lingers in the air. But he never allows it to come close enough to burn. Never strong enough to swallow you both.

And you think that does it, that sense of security. Or maybe not. It didn’t matter. All that matter was that rushing feeling in your body, sending every tingly feeling to your core. Your body is presses tighter against the wall, because Kyle wouldn't want your trembling legs to be the cause of you falling.

He spills out some praise, but it goes in one ear and out the other. Everything is muffled, thank God because the sound of pleasure you let out could not have been dignified. He's groaning at the feeling of your pussy, hot and slick, clenching around his fingers. And he swears he can feel that little pulse your clit gains, and its fucking delicious. Biting into your neck hard enough to leave his teeth imprinted before decorating it with a purple hickey as his hands slow down. Making sure to match your movements and let you down gently from the orgasm.

"Just like tha'... shhh, you did so good, love, so good." You slump against him when he finally pulls his fingers off, face burying itself into his shoulder. You don't see, but you hear his fingers coming up to his mouth, tongue flicking out to lick up the milky substance that was starting to coat your inner thighs as well.

"Thank you..." "Not for that."

He pats your back gently while contemplating. He knows you said one round. But it doesnt feel enough, a woman like you could have enough pleasure in his mind. You deserved so much more. So the moment your legs start to be steady again he's on his knees. Soft brown eyes looking up at you for permission, firm hands already working on spreading your thighs a little wider for him.

"No, please," you whimper, tensing a little because you'd gone at it so often today. There had to be a limit.

But fuck. You know how good he is with his mouth, and really, you never did get enough of him. The way he's looking at you, flicking his eyes torward the wetness between your legs like its life's fucking essence... yeah, you're not sure if you're no really is a no.

This was supposed to be way longer. But I cannot anymore.

[pyraomen]

゛ᢉ𐭩 ⸝⸝⋆ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄 — “you so fuckin greedy for me”

꒰ babydaddy elias “stack” moore x black!fem reader. established relationship. 18+ possessive, breeding kink, filth, stack’s nasty ass mouth. ꒱

yall were supposed to be done.

your legs was shaking, thighs was burning, your voice gone from the way you’d been begging him to slow down — only to cry when he finally pulled out, leaving you empty and aching.

stack would of thought you’d been tap out by now. should’ve let him clean you up, let him roll over and light his joint like he usually did. but no, you wanted more.

you tugged at his wrist, still trembling, still raw, still messy from how he put it down.

“eli put it back in”, you whined. he raised an eyebrow in surprise, chest still rising and falling heavy, his hand still sticky where it cupped your thigh. “what?”

your lip wobbled as you shifted closer, eyes glossy. “please. put it back in.”

stack blinked slowly. his head tilted to the side and he smirked slightly, golds on display. “you so fuckin greedy for me”, he murmured, dragging his fingers down your slightly full belly, tracing lazy circles around your skin.

“didn’t i just tell you that’s how you gon end up pregnant again?” you huffed, hands gripping his biceps, pulling him closer towards you. “i don’t care”

that made him pause. his jaw clenched, that little muscle flexing like he was holding himself back. “you can’t just say stuff like that, mama”. his voice warning, but soft, like he was trying to stay calm but already folding for you.

you felt him twitch against you, “you serious baby?” your lips parted to say something, but your brain was too fuzzy to let out words. you nodded.

his head dropped to your shoulder as he sunk back into you. sharp moans coming from the both of you, since it wasn’t long before the last orgasm.

his breath was hot against your neck as he left sloppy kisses, grinding into you slowly. “you want me to leave you full, huh? walkin round carryin my baby. a reminder to everyone you mine.”

you let out small babbles of agreement, bucking your hips against his, chasing the heat that curled deep in your belly.

“say it”, he demanded, lifting his head, his eyes low and golds flashing. “say you want me to nut all in this pussy and put another baby in you.”

you didn’t hesitate. “i want it, elias. i want you to.”

that broke him.

“fuck mama.” he groaned, his rhythm picking up, harder, deeper, meaner, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. “so fuckin reckless. you love when i do this to you.”

your hands scratched his back, your body arching into his like you couldn’t get close enough.

between his words and the way he was hitting your sweet spot, your body was on fire. “them titties gon be heavy again. fuck you gon look so beautiful.” he was rambling now, the possibility of you pregnant again taking over him.

you sobbed his name, clinging onto him as your orgasm ripped through you. “look at you”, he whispered, fingers rapidly flicking at your clit to make you gush again. “so fuckin messy. this pussy so greedy, wetting my dick all up and still not letting me go.”

you were fucked out of your mind, no words came out. all you could do was let him chase his high and take what he was giving you.

his heavy balls was soaked as they slapped against you with each thrust. “i’m bout to nut mama.” you whimpered at the feeling of him swelling inside you.

he snarled as he buried himself deep inside you one last time, hips pressed tightly against yours. cum spilling inside your womb exactly the way you begged him to.

A/N : i’m not sure if i like this🫩. i’m just practicing my writing of smut yall idk. pt2 of “happy father’s day” coming soon.

[pome-seed]

Injured and Too Late ــﮩ٨ـ Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Yearning Protective!Bucky x Injured!Reader

Summary: Reader- usually a desk agent- is sent on a mission and returns seriously injured. Bucky, painfully in love with you, loses his mind.

Word Count: 1.0k

Warnings: Mention of violence. Serious injury.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Authors Note: I was listening to "White Blank Page" by Mumford & Sons and the rage of it reminded me of a tormented Bucky. If you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Masterlist

Bucky’s body trembles, vibrating like a live wire ready to snap. “I told you. I told you!” He shouts, slamming his fist into the polished wooden desk. “I told you this would fucking happen!”

“Buck-” Steve raises his hands, as if approaching a rabid animal.

“Don't.” He snarls, turning back to his friend, staring him down like a stranger.

“Barnes, you need to calm down. This wasn’t-” Tony’s infuriating voice makes Bucky’s pulse spike. 

“Don’t you dare,” He grits, his nails carving lines into the table. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me to calm down. I told you this would happen, you fucking asshole- I begged you not to do this.” His teeth ache with the force of his clenched jaw. 

“We couldn't have known,” Steve tries, his voice earnest.

“But you did! I knew, and I warned you! You did this to her!” Bucky swipes a fragile vase from the surface in front of him, the glass shattering with a crack against the wall. “This is on you, both of you! If you would have just listened to me- She never should have been out there.”

“She wanted to do it,” Tony huffs, his brows knitting together defensively.

Bucky’s head snaps to the side, his gaze flashing with anger. “She didn’t know any better!” He shouts, stepping into the man's space. “But you did! Look at her! Look at what happened to her-” Bucky slaps his palm against the glass separating them from your room. 

His pained gaze flits to the several wires hooked up to your body. To the tube down your throat. 

To the scans along the wall, showcasing cracked bones and your damaged nervous system.

“We didn’t have any other option, Buck,” Steve's soft voice- usually so familiar and soothing to Bucky- makes his skin ripple with repulsion. 

“You did,” He grits, his chin dipping to his chest. “You could have done anything else- instead you sent her in the field.” He blinks through the tears fogging his vision. “You sent an inexperienced civilian into the fucking field-” He gasps, his fingers curling into fists. 

“She’s not-” Tony starts- Bucky doesn't let him finish. He steps into his space so quickly, Tony has to stagger a step back.

“She is. She is a civilian.” Bucky spits, their chests bumping. “She’s never been trained for this. She’s never been evaluated. She never even signed up for it-” His voice shakes from anger or grief, he doesn’t know. “She is a desk operative, Stark! She’s not a field agent!”

“She’s a grown woman, Barnes, she made the decision to go out there- we had no one else!” Tony shouts back, his expression stained with poorly masked guilt. An expression Tony is far too familiar with. But he can’t back down, he doesn’t know how.

“Then you find someone else! You don’t do this!” Bucky’s lip trembles, his strength wearing with each word. He blinks through the fog, but the sting of tears becomes too strong. “She didn’t know-” He gasps, smacking a calloused hand over his face. 

“She’ll pull through, Bucky-” Steve tries.

“She may never walk again!” Bucky spits, his head snapping to the side to stare at Steve with abject horror. “She may never speak again! She might not-” He stopped himself, his jaw snapping shut.

You might not wake up.

“I came to you- I told you this was a bad idea.” Bucky hiccups, his throat closing in an attempt to stifle his emotion. “She trusted you two to have her back,” he grits.

“That’s not fair-” Tony scoffs, but his hands curl up defensively, guilt seeping into his bones. 

“If she were Pepper, you wouldn’t have thought for a second about letting her go out there- If she-” Bucky’s agonized gaze sticks to your still form. To the stutter of your heart monitor. “If she meant to you what she does to-” his chin dips to his chest, his lip pinched between his teeth.

Scorched tears slip down his cheeks. 

If you meant even a fraction to them what you do to him, they never would have even thought about it. Your name would have never come across their desk. It wouldn’t have mattered that they needed a female operative, or that they had no one else available. It wouldn’t have mattered, because putting you at risk would always be a far greater tragedy than anything else imaginable.

But it doesn’t matter now. It's done. It’s too late. 

It doesn’t matter that he still hasn’t asked you to dinner, or to dance. It doesn’t matter, because now he may never get to.

“She’s not one of us-” Bucky whispers. “She’s not a soldier. She’s not a spy- she’s not enhanced. She’s-” His tearful gaze shifts to your face, slack and still. Lips wrapped around the tube helping you breathe. Cheeks bruised six different shades. Eyes swollen shut. “She’s not an Avenger. She was never supposed to be out there.”

You have no special abilities, no regenerative healing, nothing that could have shielded you from being blown through a solid wall of concrete. Nothing that could have softened the blunt force trauma dealt to your skull and back. 

You are not an Avenger.

You were never supposed to be in the line of fire.

Bucky was never supposed to be afraid of losing you.

Bucky was never supposed to watch you wither away before him. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” Steve whispers, his voice weighted with shame.

Bucky’s stomach twists with acidic rage. “Tell that to her.” He grits. “If you ever get the chance.” The venom in his tone isn’t lost on the pair as he leaves them, his shoulder shoving past Steve's with force. Bucky slams the door to your room shut, the glass trembling with the force. 

Blinds drop down over the window, blocking you from view. 

They don’t deserve to look at you.

They don’t deserve to feel guilty. They knew better. 

Bucky can’t bring himself to step closer to your bed. Can’t bring himself to slip his hand in yours. 

He’s too afraid your warmth will slip away, too afraid the steady beat of your heart will go silent. He’s too afraid to accept the fact that this may be your fate. 

Bucky sinks to the floor, fingers tearing at his hair as he shakes. Ragged sobs tear from his chest as he weeps into his palms, digging his nails into his skin.

His back hits the door.

The room is silent, save for the thrum of your heart monitor, and Bucky’s heartbroken cries.

A/N: Hiiiii, I know it's been a while. I've just been super busy. But I was listening to White Blank Page and the intensity of the song just inspired me.

Taglist:

@a-world-with-pure-imagination @frog-fans-unite @1967barracuda @akkklys @cherryheairt @lonelyghosts-stuff @mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes @devilslittlehelper @miss-chuchu @dollface-xoxo @natalia42069 @thuul-box @local-crazy @justachillgirllui @pleasecallmeunhinged @cookies-and-music @fallen-w1ngs @unicornqueen05 @bloodmocha @sleepysongbirdsings @fadingcollectivenightmare @hosshihusshi @sharkylalala

[ceramini]

ON CALL ROOM ᭢᭡ ksn

𝟏𝟐𝟔𝟓𝒾 ──── dom!sun f!rea ✿ smut ᵕ ᵕ med terms, fingering, voyeurism, reader likes sex A LOT ❞ 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑹𝒀 ｡ ⠀

REBLOG FOR A KISS!? ʕ´   ᩙᩙ `  ʔ

GLOSSARY (med terms + others) — actual fic starts under these!!

attending⠀⦂ a fully trained, senior doctor who supervises residents and runs the show. you and sunoo are both attendings.

resident / intern⠀⦂ doctors in training. interns are first-years. residents are in post-grad programs and answer to attendings. think hierarchy: intern → resident → attending.

on-call room ⠀⦂ private (sort of) rooms where hospital staff nap between shifts or pretend to nap so they can fuck coworkers. (sunoo.)

rounds ⠀⦂ when doctors check on each of their patients, usually with a team of residents/interns. you lead them like a boss.

post-op ⠀⦂ the period or condition after surgery. post-op labs = bloodwork done to monitor recovery.

washout ⠀⦂ a surgical procedure done to clean out an infected wound or internal area. mentioned when you say the patient needs another one.

crp (c-reactive protein ⠀⦂ a blood marker for inflammation/infection. elevated = something’s wrong. you use it to show the intern how serious things are.

You’re three days post-call and still haven’t had a real night’s sleep.

It’s barely 3PM, but you’ve been running trauma rounds since before sunrise, trailing three exhausted residents down the hallway with your handheld open, tapping in discharge notes between bites of protein bar and caffeine hits. The smell of antiseptic and blood has long since faded into the fabric of your scrubs.

You stop outside 6B, eyes flicking to the chart. “What happened to Nguyen’s post-op labs?”

“Oh—uh—CRP still elevated. But trending down.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he might not need another washout?”

“Wrong.” You glance up. “It means we prep him for the OR before he crashes overnight. Call anesthesia.”

One of the interns groans softly behind you.

You ignore it.

Your brain’s already moving three steps ahead—picturing the next patient, the next scan, the way your fingers will wrap around a pair of forceps later tonight when you assist Dr. Yoon in a laparoscopic liver biopsy.

And still, somehow, underneath it all, you’re still thinking about sex.

Because you always are.

You’re not proud of it.

You’ve spent your entire life earning every title behind your name—MD, FACS, all the little letters that line your lab coat and mean nothing to the patients you pull bullets out of every day. You are brilliant. Composed. Unstoppable.

But beneath all that?

Insatiable.

You could be elbow-deep in someone’s thoracic cavity and still want to get railed the second you scrub out.

And for a while, Sunoo gave it to you.

Over the last year, you and Dr. Kim Sunoo. fellow trauma attending, cocky, golden, too-pretty-for-this-job Sunoo, developed an arrangement. A very physical one. Sex in the on-call room after shifts, blowjobs in the supply closet between traumas, fingers under scrub pants in the back of the staff elevator.

But lately?

He’s been pulling away.

Still nice, still cheeky, still smirking when your fingers brush in a consult—but exhausted. “Not tonight,” he’d said last week, brushing your hand off his thigh. “I need sleep.”

You should’ve taken the hint. He was tired. Burnt out. Rational.

You, on the other hand?

You just keep craving more.

The resident team peels off after rounds, leaving you blissfully alone as you enter the quiet haven of the on-call room. You drop your badge on the edge of the mattress, kick off your clogs, and set your laptop on the tiny side table. The screen glows with notes you haven’t finished—Sunoo’s post-ops among them.

You sigh, fingers tapping keys mindlessly, head lolling back. You should leave. You should go get real food. Maybe actually sleep for once.

Instead, you start to undress.

First the scrub top, peeled off with a stretch of your sore shoulders. Then your bra, loosened with one hand, flicked off and left dangling from a wall hook.

You don’t notice the rustle behind you.

Don’t notice the long body curled up on the far bed, facing the wall, one arm draped over his eyes.

Sunoo doesn’t speak.

He’d wandered in five minutes before you did. Pretended to nap. Said nothing when you walked in, too distracted to register another body in the room.

And now?

Now he watches you.

Eyes barely open, lashes fluttering, breath caught as you shimmy your scrub pants down your thighs and step out of them completely.

You mutter to yourself as you dig through your locker for a change of clothes. “Jesus, it’s hot in here.”

Sunoo’s cock twitches in his pants.

You sigh again. “Dr. Park could get away with walking in shirtless and no one would say a word.”

That catches his attention.

Your voice lilts, half-teasing. “Saw the hottest guy today might’ve been the only plus. The new vascular attending? Dr. Park? He could get it any time of the day.”

Sunoo stiffens behind you.

“He’s gorgeous,” you continue, laughing under your breath. “Like model-level hot. Everyone’s already obsessed. Even Chief Han was giggling.”

He swallows.

“I mean, imagine him bending me over the nurse’s station,” you murmur, slipping into a fresh pair of underwear. “I wonder if he’s thick—”

“That’s enough.”

You freeze.

Turn slowly.

Sunoo’s sitting up on the cot now, hair tousled, gaze dark. He looks flushed. Angry. Or something close to it.

“Sunoo?”

His eyes flick down your body, still half-naked in the dim light. “Do you always talk about other men like that when you think no one’s listening?”

You blink. “Were you watching me?”

“Can you blame me?”

You laugh, startled. “You’re the one who’s been ignoring me lately.”

“Because I was tired,” he snaps. “Not dead.”

There’s a pause. You step closer.

He stands.

And you can see it now, the tension in his shoulders, the bulge straining against his scrub pants, the way his jaw twitches when your fingers skim his arm.

You tilt your head. “Jealous?”

“Shut up,” he mutters.

You smirk. “You’re hot when you’re mad.”

He crowds you back until your thighs hit the edge of the bed. His hand snakes around your waist, the other tangling in your hair.

“You don’t get to act like that,” he growls, “when you’ve been throwing yourself at me for months.”

“You liked it.”

“I fucked you. Repeatedly. In every empty room on this floor. Of course I liked it.”

His lips are inches from yours.

“But if you ever, ever, say you want another man to fuck you, while undressing in front of me again?”

Your breath catches.

He smirks.

“You won’t be able to walk out of here.”

He fucks you like a man with something to prove.

You barely get a gasp out before he has you face-down on the on-call mattress, hips pinned, one hand shoved between your thighs. His fingers find your clit fast, rub circles that make your knees shake.

“I’ve barely touched you,” he breathes, “and you’re dripping.”

You whimper. “I’ve been needy.”

He chuckles, pulling your panties aside. “I know. You’ve been begging for this for weeks. Could barely make it through rounds without eye-fucking me.”

You push back against him.

“Desperate little thing,” he murmurs, lining himself up.

And then—he’s in.

Not thick, but long, long enough to knock the breath from your lungs, stretch you open slow and pretty until your mouth falls open in a broken moan.

Sunoo watches you from above, hand gripping your hips, cock pulsing deep inside you.

“You gonna moan for me?” he whispers. “Or are you still thinking about Sunghoon?”

You whimper. “N-no—fuck—Sunoo—”

“Say my name again.”

“Sunoo.”

“Louder.”

“Fuck—you bitch”

He fucks into you hard, sharp thrusts that leave you clawing at the sheets, sobbing into the mattress.

“I’m the one who gets to see you like this,” he growls. “Not him. Not anyone else. Me.”

You cum fast. Loud. Pathetically. He barely gives you time to recover before flipping you over and plunging in again.

You’re babbling now—his name, nonsense, pleas—and he eats it up. One hand pressed to your throat, the other rubbing your clit until your legs tremble violently.

“Can’t get enough, huh?”

“No—no—please—”

“You’re so fucking addicted to this.”

You nod, crying now.

He kisses your cheeks, your mouth, your jaw. He’s sweet when you break. Always. Despite the filth, the cockiness, he softens when you fall apart.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “That’s it. You’re mine.”

He finishes inside you, hips twitching, cum spilling deep. You moan at the warmth, at the way he stays buried for a second longer just to feel you twitch.

You’re both gasping when he finally pulls out.

And five minutes later, you’re half-asleep on the cot, limbs tangled, his hand lazily stroking your back.

“I still think Sunghoon’s hot,” you murmur.

Sunoo narrows his eyes.

You grin. “But he doesn’t have your dick.”

He smirks.

“I know,” he says. “It’s perfect.”

Cocky bastard.

TAGLIST ࿀ ׁ @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto @jinxedly @seokjinthescientist @hoonprksung @eunvyue @kkxheeluv @enhawonnie @ghost-of-minnie @underscorealastor @yazmike @tokkisluv

[puprdou]

ㅤㅤnsfw alphabetㅤㅤ──ㅤㅤmanjiro sano

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ A──K

A = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

sometimes he’ll take care of you, other times he just falls straight asleep cuddling. it really depends on which kind of manjiro were talking about here; manila? he’ll take care of you. bare minimum, but he will. bonten? he won’t. he won’t even fall asleep afterwards. final timeline? he’s dead asleep most of the time cuddling without even pulling out—but there are times where he’ll fight the sleep to start a bath, even bathe with you sometimes, and only get ready for bed once you are.

B = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

i feel like he wouldn’t typically have a favorite body part. he’s not particularly cocky or anything about his body; but if he had to choose, it’d be his cheeks. he likes how squishy they are, he especially finds it fun whenever you sit on his lap and squish his cheeks cause it makes him all giggly. his favorite body part of yours? definitely your tummy.. but also your thighs! their both his own personal little pillows- whenever he’s playing games or just on his phone, he’ll place his head on your lap between your thighs, or when he gets needy he’ll plant kisses all across the chub of your tummy. he loves the chub!

C = cum (anything to do with cum)

he loves creampies. he finds them both intimate but also just pleasurable. he gets all pouty when you don’t let him cum inside, or when he has to use a condom :(( he prefers cumming inside, he especially loves watching whenever your own cum will create rings around his cock- he thinks it’s all so damn pretty ’nd cute, and he will watch mesmerized as the little spurts of cum dripped out from your cunt after he pulled out! so cute. ♡

D = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

not really a secret, which is obvious from the way his pants get so tight against his erection each damn time—but he can get hard so easily. doing certain things like just wearing an apron ’nd baking, or wearing one of his hoodies with nothing else, even mere stuff like sitting on his lap gets him all bricked up. at times it’s embarrassing, especially at events when you wear these pretty outfits, he’ll get hard ’nd poor baby will have the hardest time hiding it so it makes him pout :((

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he was so bad ’nd so awkward his first time with you, he was all flushed ’nd so confused! even though he’s seen all that stuff in porn mags, doing it with you, someone he truly loves is way different! he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you, he doesn’t want to make mistakes, he wants to be with you for the rest of his life. after years passed, though, he got wayyyy better.. he knows everything to do to make you cum in a matter of minutes, and every single place on your body that has you shaking under him, moaning like a goddamn pornstar.

F = favorite position (self explanatory, their favorite sex position)

definitely cowgirl. he loves being able to see your face contort into pleasure as your hips bounce repeatedly against his, your arms wrapped around his neck.. it’s the perfect angle for him to attack your neck, too! or, he could play with your tits like this too, it’s all so accessible and he barely has to do a thing! seeing you so desperately fucking yourself on him, needing more and more of him despite his cock splitting you open is so cute in his eyes.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he can be both serious and silly. it really depends on the mood—if he’s in a bad mood, he’s more serious ’nd more strict. nothing too bad, like, he won’t cross any boundaries he’s aware of, but he’s less playful than just normal nights. and if he’s in a good mood, trust me, you’ll know. he’s more playful, more teasing, and he also talks a lot during sex. whether it’s dirty talk, him just being his regular needy, or just talking about random things.. he’s really just a mix of both.

H = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

flawlessly hairless. it’s magical. whether or not you like it like that, he always says he doesn’t like being too hairy (we need more men like this irl 💔💔🙏🙏). he’s always saying how it makes him uncomfortable or how he simply just doesn’t like it and avoids giving a reason. either way, you’ll get used to it eventually. and you sort of have to, everytime you two get into it he’s never hairy.

I = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he can be both romantic and very.... unappealing. sometimes he’s just a fucking beast who forgets about your own pleasure at times getting lost in the moment for his own, other times he’s slow, romantic, teasing.. it really depends tbh. if you were the one who was teasing to begin with, he’s definitely more teasing ’nd romantic, but when he’s in a bad mood and your teasing.. oh it’s game over. he’s mean, he’ll say it’s a punishment and he’ll be so mean that you almost start crying! he comforts you after though <3

J = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

not often does he masturbate, solely because he likes it better watching your hands wrapping around his cock, the cute sight of you fitting him into your mouth so perfectly ’nd rubbing whatever didn’t fit was too good for him to pass up on.. but whenever he can’t come home ’nd your sending him scandalous pictures or videos, he’ll find somewhere where nobodies looking to jerk himself off to the sound of your voice, cause he always gives you a call whenever he needs to. truth is? he’s not that good at it, and he’s totally awkward about it lmfao, poor boy..

K = kink (one or more of their kinks)

definitely has an exhibitionism ’nd a sensory deprivation kink! he loves putting a blindfold on you, sometimes he’ll even tie something around your mouth, and he’ fuck you and be so mean about it, teasing and going slow when you need him to go faster! god, and whenever somebody looks at you the wrong way or for too long, he’ll tie them up on a chair after beating them up and make them watch. make them watch how good you are for them, make you watch how much of his you are. this especially goes for the bad timelines.

© 2025 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐔, all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, steal or translate my works onto other social media platforms.

[luvlybunnie]

CALEB LADS INCEST IR STEPCEST PLEASE PLEASE BRO

a / n : we are on the same mind wave i think. (THIS IS INCESSTT GUYSS RUN AWAAAYYYY!!!!) up to interpretation if its step or bio ! :3c

he doesn't know why you're like this.

he's at a loss for words really, his fingertips shaking. body aches as he stares at your phone, the screen lighting up over and over again— men, no, boys. multiple boys are texting his sister at once.

'link up???'

his brain is foggy, and his head hurts. when you come back to the couch, he watches as you grab your phone and type like nothing ever happened.

"do you have any plans today?" he asks, he knows what you'll say. every time he asks you say the sams thing.

"nope!"

still the same girl from when gran raised you both.

"good. i was thinking, maybe we could spend time together?"

you peak at him from your phone, and he sees your thumb click on the right of the screen— it alerts him in an awful way. to know that you sent that boy—

something back.

the day starts slow, and you do notice something is off with your older brother. the way his jaw tightens when he thinks you look away, or the way you see his smiles immediately fall into deep frowns.

it's night now. all the food already gone, movies already over, and the messes already cleaned.

"it's your bed time now."

"i'm not a kid, caleb."

"mm, i know. don't remind me."

you huff and cross your arms— it reminds him of when you would throw tantrums, although it's a bit different when he sees your breasts push together.

"what's your deal?"

"my deal?"

you glare daggers at his face, "yes, your deal. you've been acting weird all day. i don't know what your problem is but it's pissing me off."

"don't swear."

"i'm grown, caleb." you hiss, "i have been for a while."

you see your brother sigh heavily, his head leaning back against the couch as his fingertips tap at his thigh.

"i'm just wondering what i'm here for— why are you living with me? i don't get it."

you stare at him as he finally opens up, it's been at least seven hours since you noticed something was off.

"you're a beautiful woman. you don't need to rely on— your brother for a house, or food— or anything like that. so why do you do it? when you have other guys?"

your eyes squint for a second, the gears in your head shifting— "huh?"

he turns his head to look at you, his eyes dead serious.

"caleb, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"you have other guys right? you text them every day. why do you need me?"

"you're not my boyfriend, you're my brother."

he frowns.

"does that make you upset? that you're my brother instead of my boyfriend?"

he sighs loudly, and stands up, attempting to have a smile on his face, "you're being ridiculous. let's get you to bed."

"you wanna do what a boyfriend does for me?"

he grits his jaw, "that's enough."

you grin, leaning toward him, your eyes widening with delight as he stands in front of you— his hand reaching out to help you off the couch.

"you're weird." you begin, "my brother is a big weirdo who wants to be his sister's boyfriend. right?"

he can't find the words to speak.

"oohh, so it's true. what does gege wanna do to me, huuh?" you drag out every syllable, letting it sink into his head. letting the steam build up until the pot starts whistling.

"what if i said..."

"you shouldn't be saying anything." he manages out, he hopes you don't notice the tremble in his voice.

you giggle.

"gege. why don't you... touch me the way a boyfriend would touch me?"

"why— why are you like this?" he hisses out, retracting his hand and running it through his hair.

"gege—" you whine, "c'mere, let your little sister be the best girlfriend ever."

"no." he wants to say yes.

"gege, come onnnn. do you think i'm sleeping around or something?"

he stays silent for too long and you giggle again.

"look," you reach onto the table to grab your phone, opening it and showing him the messages— he warily takes your phone and looks through.

'hangin wit my brother today'

'busy w gege'

'brother needs me bye'

'movie night w brother'

excuses? or maybe truths?

'it's like your fucking your brother lol'

he hands the phone back with a soft, "i see."

you read the last message he was on and grin again, "you're so weird." you hum.

you adjust your position so you're on the edge of the couch on your knees, looking up at caleb through your lashes. he's tense.

you drag your hands up his thighs, ignoring the very obvious bulge in his sweatpants— "sooo, you haven't admitted it yet."

he exhales heavily through his nose, "i already feel like your boyfriend. providing for you and such. i cook your food— i work for you."

you hum, fingertips lingering on the waist of his pants. "you seem like such a good boyfriend— my brother is a good boyfriend."

"stop calling me brother."

you scoff, "that's what you are though!"

he places his hand against your hair, tugging it gently to the side— your body immediately following suite.

"don't. call me that. despite what you believe, i could easily remind you what boyfriends do instead of what brother's do."

you place your fingers against your mouth, mimicking a blowjob motion as your mouth opens— you giggle, "i'd do that whether your my brother or boyfriend."

.

.

he stares.

.

.

for a moment you think you've gone too far.

"are you a virgin?"

you prolong your answer to stress him out more.

"answer me."

"yes." truthful.

"good, i'll make sure it's your brother's dick splitting you open before anyone gets a chance."

a / n : IT GOT SO LONG IM SORRY BYE IM STRESSED. HE TURNS ME ON LIKE CRAZY I NEED TO DIE.

[sillygoofyqueer]

More deity jester Wei Wuxian AU because my birthday's on Wednesday and I want to yap about my most special favourite AU in the run up. Maybe I'll write a mad scientist Wei Wuxian AU on my birthday but who knows? Enjoy!! Wen Qing doesn't know what to expect when her cousin slips away while she's foraging for the best plants in the forest. It's certainly not to find the toddler holding hands with what appears to be some sort of forest creature corpse thing that wears a cracked porcelain smiling mask, moss growing from the cracks and different plants sprouting from tears and dark blood oozing from rips in what appears to be a black and red jester outfit? She's obviously silently freaking out as A-Yuan drags it towards her like a cat proudly displaying a dead rat it caught, but the creature seems rather docile as it tries to keep up with her cousin, free hand pressed against the forest floor and knees holding it up as it follows behind. Upon closer inspection, there does appear to be skin though, which raises the worrying question of is this really a human? Because like...this human is in bad shape if so. Her instincts as a doctor do take over when she comes to this conclusion and she darts over to see what immediate medical attention she can give.

A-Yuan doesn't let go of the...human...'s hand, and she doesn't try and make him because this...human...appears to be content, and she doesn't want to risk their safety if she tries to part them. Surprisingly, the human actually does appear to be a human, and now all Wen Qing can do is wince at the extent of the damage done to his body because holy shit, this is bad. So, she hauls the human up to his feet, scooping A-Yuan up with her spare arm so that she can lug them both home - the dull, quiet jingling of the rusted bells of his outfit echoing with every step. The only reason this is possible with her build is because the...male of sorts is very light against her side. Seriously, how is this guy alive? There are plants growing out of different injuries! The infection must be excruciating. The only way she can rationalise this as she drags him back home is that this human has been taken in by spirits of the forest and that's why he's in this shape and isn't dead. Which raises the question of should she be removing a human chosen by the spirits of the forest from the forest?

Despite how she portrays herself to those within the palace and the village, Baba had raised her and A-Ning with the same tales and warnings that popo had recited to him when he was young, and so she is naturally superstitious and wary of pissing off any spirits or monsters that may roam around in the forest when nobody is looking. However, she keeps looking at this poor boy and seeing A-Ning, who was taken by spirits lingering around a battlefield for a sickeningly long time before he was given back with a haunted look in his eyes and a terrified, nervous disposition that hadn't been there before. So similar to this boy now. She can't abandon him, it goes against everything she stands for, so she eventually takes him out of the forest while A-Yuan babbles to her about how "gege helped my owchie!!" and shows off a greenish-blackish paste slapped liberally onto his knee. She eyes it suspiciously, but it does appear to utilise medicinal plants, so she'll leave it for now.

A-Ning is working in the fields when she finally makes it back to the small farm the family owns, always making use of the...'gifts' that the spirits of the battlefield forced upon gave him to assist the family the best he can. He raises his hand to wave at her happily, before he obviously notices the boy she's carting along with her and quickly buries whatever seed he was planting before running over to help her. His eyes trail over the male's body, and that sort of numb, haunted look appears on his face again, the one that tells her that he's thinking of the time he refuses to talk about, where he was away with the spirits. He reaches out, staring for a moment at the connected hands of the boy and A-Yuan, then makes the executive decision to just take them both from her, hoisting the male over his shoulder while A-Yuan cheers at being carried around so much. He starts recounting his story again, and this time the male seems to react to it, shifting his head slightly where it's resting against A-Ning's back to be able to see A-Yuan better. At least they can be certain that he's not actually dead.

They make it into the house and Popo doesn't even question what she's seeing, murmuring softly about how the spirits can be so unpredictable as she holds out her arms for A-Yuan. Wen Qing finds herself holding her breath as she waits for the male's reaction, but he lets go of the toddler's hand easily, crooked, broken fingers twitching as though trying to wave to him as he's carried into their bedroom and placed down onto A-Ning's bed. She doesn't even know where to start when it comes to treating him, but she lets herself fall into the routine she has always followed when treating patients. "Where does it hurt?" No answer. "Can you understand me?" A slow nod. "But you can't speak." Another slow nod. Sometimes A-Ning goes non-verbal, so she has become adept at picking up subtle reactions. She asks him to point to where it hurts the most, and a vague movement of those fucked hands in the direction of his chest - mangled holes with what looks like wet bark flakes stuck in the meat of his body - sends her cleaning what she can.

A-Ning gets to work on straightening and splinting the male's fingers while she works, and the male is so unreactive. If only if they could see his face, then they could see his reactions and be more gentle; as she thinks it, her hand reaches out to take off the porcelain mask. The hand that A-Ning isn't working on immediately shoots out, the grip on her wrist tight but not painful as those black crescent lines stare back at her, a clear warning. His bones press against the fragile skin of his fingers. A-Ning's own hand is gentle as it comes to rest on the male's forearm, and the male's head flicks over to stare at A-Ning instead, cocking to the side at what he finds there. "It's broken. We can fix it." Another beat with a lack of movement, before the boy's hand lets go of her wrist and she goes back to finishing the cleaning off, watching as it instead travels to trail over the moss-ridden crack that almost it into three uneven pieces. He hesitates for a moment, then reaches out with his now fully-splinted hand to cover A-Ning's eyes. It's clear what he's signifying.

"We can do it after we've done everything else." She promises, and he nods, offering his untreated, now even more injured, hand to A-Ning (his blood is so dark that it's almost black. She's suddenly scrutinising the black parts of his outfit a lot more closely). She herself moves on to beginning to remove the plants that are growing out of his skin. This gets a reaction from the boy. One second he's laying completely still, the next she's pulling out first little clump and he has a full-body jolt of sorts, fingers twitching as though trying not to clench in pain. She winces sympathetically, letting A-Ning assure him that they're sorry it hurts and that it won't take her long to get through it, trying to distract him while she starts picking out the plants as fast and efficiently as she can. She's had so many patients cry and sob at the smallest of pain, but there's something so visceral about seeing a boy who should be dead, who hasn't reacted to anything else they've done, unable to let out any sound of pain as she puts him through agony to help him.

After it's over and the male is now almost limp rather than the stiff but unmoving he had been before, A-Ning tries to cut the jester outfit off so they can see what damage lies beneath and bandage the injuries. This gains a similar sort of reaction to the mask, except it's quickly sated by A-Ning's quiet but sincere "we can make one just like it. This one's ripped and dirty." The boy insists on cutting it off himself though, fumbling with the knife in his unwieldy hands as he very carefully glides it down the very middle of his chest, as though - oh, he's trying to preserve as much of it as possible. Probably so they can accurately replicate it. Oh that's. She should not be getting so emotional over a patient, but he's just like how A-Ning was when he came back from the spirits of the battlefield, clinging desperately to the only things he had been allowed to keep - the clothes on his back. The boy's chest is covered in blood and there are thinner holes, tears in his skin like he had ripped something out.

His hair is shockingly long, falling around him and slipping to the floor as the outfit comes loose. That's going to have to be dealt with, it's a mess. However, it's easy to fall into the motions of cleaning and bandaging, letting A-Ning deal with the boy's legs while she sews up the larger gashes and lathers them with salves before tightly wrapping each bandage around his whole chest because there's just injuries everywhere, back and front. A-Ning gives him some of his clothes, and they're rather baggy but short at the same time but he doesn't seem to care too much, as though he knows they're waiting for him to take off his mask. He finally gestures for them to turn away, and they do so without any complaints. There are no sounds from anyone moving aside the light clunk of what is presumably the porcelain mask being placed upon the table beside them, and then two thumps to signal that he's done. Wen Qing turns around as A-Ning grabs the mask and finds that the boy has hidden his face in his hands, a singular gap between two of his fingers revealing a single (glowing? No, it's likely just the light) silver eye hidden in the shadows of his hair.

[creati-bunny]

WHAT HAPPENS TO INTERNS WHEN THEY SLEEP WITH SOMEONE WHO TURNS OUT TO BE THEIR BOSS? Their focus breaks, their minds will only be filled with the mind-blowing sex they had with that stranger, and thinking about the possibility of them getting kicked out of the medical program. As a surgeon, your priority should be your patients, and should always be. Levi Ackerman finds it the hard way when the attending he is supposed to consult to turns out to be you.

The Head of Neurology Department.

A shocked expression was on your face, seeing his presence in the hospital. He wanted to comment about the dark blue scrubs you’re wearing that look pretty damn good on you—if it weren’t for the fact that you’re his boss.

Levi scowls when he sees you walking towards him. You are wearing the biggest grin on your face like a damn fool, holding a chart of your patient’s. He was about to walk away.

About to.

“Didn’t know I’ll be seeing you soon, handsome,” you say casually with a suave grin, your eyes admiring the sky-blue scrubs on his body. “And here I thought I’d never see you again.”

You lean your elbow against the wall, staring him down with such a pleasant smile and did not waver the slightest when you see him walking away, practically ignoring you—you follow him like a curious puppy. “Hey, why are you ignoring me?”

Levi gives you a dry smile, “Dr. [Last Name], there is a patient who has nails punctured on his skull. And he is still declared alive; should I book an OR?” He gives the charts to you, doubling the weight in your arms.

“Oh? Interesting, ask them to book and prep an OR,” you read off the charts of the patient’s, letting out an interested hum. You give the charts to one of the nurses, commanding them to scrub in for prepping the OR. You look at him, eyes wandering up and down for a moment before chuckling breathily.

“You look hot when you’re being professional.”

“Dr. [Last Name].”

He seethes your name with venom, before roughly grabbing your arm and head over to the stairwell. He locks the door, before facing you with an unhappy look—it amuses you even further.

“Okay, this—we’re not doing this,” Levi clarified with a serious expression on his face, glowering at your bright one. You hummed out of curiosity.

“Why not? We are great for each other.”

“I’m being fucking serious. It was one night, and I was unaware you’re my boss—stop smiling, you piece of shit!”

You dramatically gasped, “You’re aware that I’m your boss, and you’re talking to me like that?” You pouted playfully, leaning in close to him. You fluttered your eyelashes, enough to make him roll his eyes. Yet the smell of your cologne was enough to lose his concentration, and partnered up with the color of your eyes.

This was getting dangerous.

“I don’t even know your name, doctor,” you control your fingers from fondling the fat on his cheeks, wanting to just have him in your arms in the on-call room. “You just left me alone at your house, kicking me out after having the best night with me.”

You are irritating—it does not help that Levi knew what would happen with interns who tend to sleep with their boss. “We need to be professional; you’re banned from ever laying a hand on me,” he gets close to you, wanting to overthrow you with his glare, challenging you. “We will talk because of patients and what’s wrong with them.”

“I still haven’t heard your name, doctor.”

You glow like flowers and the sun. He stares up at you with irritation, probably disgust, not something so mushy and dirty like what he felt with you in your bedroom; the image of your naked body rubbing against his, and how pleasure blooms between you two so much—the orgasm breaks out like a fountain, and your mouth, too skilled for a surgeon who is supposed to be good with their hands, made him reach a high.

“Levi. Levi Ackerman,” he complied at your request quietly, his guarded eyes slowly softening when he saw the happiness in your eyes. Both of you shared silence for a moment before he broke it off and left you alone in the stairway.

Like how he left you alone early morning.

It was hard to avoid you.

Not when you’re one of the most prestigious and excellent neurosurgeons the hospital knows, and every neuro consult will obviously be conducted towards you, the head of Neurology Deparment. Levi watches you with the other interns he is with as you consolidate the diagnosis your patient has.

“What do you suggest we do, doctors?” Your tone is professional, different from how you acted towards him in the stairwell. And of course, Levi knew what procedures should be done—should he raise his hand? Because he knew that it is rare to be in one of your surgeries.

But he cannot be with you, can he? He can, but his morals want to stop him… but you’re staring at him, like you’re expecting him to know the answer, like you’re expecting so much of him—of course he does know the answer. So, why was he not answering?

“Dr. Ackerman?”

Levi does not want to enjoy the proud glint in your eyes, even though you’re not smiling; you wear your heart in your sleeve. He answers smoothly, like he’s not battling with his innermost feelings about you. Yet, he caves in when you tell him to scrub in with you.

And that begins the hardship.

“Scalpel.”

He stares into your focused eyes, watching you take a flap off the skull of the patient’s, dousing water on his brain. The precision of your hands was amazing—like your hands were made for surgery; your hands move smoothly with no hesitation.

“What does this tell us, Dr. Ackerman?” You asked him to test his knowledge, your hands slowly taking out the needles one by one. Levi looks into your eyes, cursing you in his mind.

“Vitals are stable and should be good for the night. Any signs of abnormality will be less frequent if he takes his medications.”

“Very good, Ackerman.” He thinks the coffee is making his heart palpitate, not because of your praise. You were persistent, subtle, and really so sly—it gets under his nerves.

The surgery lasted for a few hours, and it was successful. That’s how good you are. That’s how skilled your hands were. Proven by the staff, by the patient, by the chief, and by him. Medical and non-medical.

You were about to head home; you were not annoying him anymore after the surgery, and he figured it was because you were tired enough.

You take the elevator, the doors about to slide close before a foot shoves in to keep them open.

He walks in without a word, pressing the emergency button to keep the elevator from moving. The tired look on your face became relieved when you saw him, and Levi wonders why that happens; it was only one night, and you make it something like it is something more.

“You did well,” his words break the silence. You turn your head to look at him in surprise at his compliment. “You were amazing back in the OR.”

“Oh?”

Your heart beats a bit fast, not expecting him to compliment you. You let out a hearty chuckle, towering over him. “You as well, doctor,” you gaze at his lips and into his gorgeous eyes. His neck—the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he senses you getting closer.

“Don’t,” he warned you with a sneer, making you back away with an innocent smile. “It was just a compliment, you’re crossing the line.”

“There is a line?”

“A line that I drew between us,” he pushes your whole body weight with one hand, not caring that he was manhandling you, his boss, out in public. “We are not to speak with each other unless it’s about our patients. You fucking get me?”

You become silent at his words; you’re too focused on his hand, blatantly, almost about to fondle your chest. The tension between you two worsens when you feel each other’s heartbeats; his breathing was becoming ragged, his eyes intensely boring into yours.

He remembers the moment you pleasure him, the moment he pleasure you; the moans he elicits out of you, it was music to his ears. Levi bites his lower lip, focusing on your lips, and thinks about how it felt when they were wrapped around his—

“You’re staring. For someone who doesn’t want to cross the line,” you whispered teasingly, your breath fanning over his face. Levi clicked his tongue, backing away and regaining his conciousness.

“Do you get off to this sick power play?” he spits back at you with a bite in his voice, his fists clenching around his sides while he glares at you. “You expect me to stare at you all day, expecting good surgeries in exchange for sleeping with you? Just so you know, I’m not a slut.”

“I’m not saying you are, Levi.”

“Don’t call me by my first name, Dr. [Last Name],”

You grinned with sick amusement, watching him get flustered under your gaze. You bit your lip, getting close to him, “So this line you’re talking about… is it imaginary?” you mumbled with a sultry voice, your fingers ghosting over his waist—already close to breaking the line by touching his skin. “… or should I get a marker to draw it?”

Levi stared into your eyes for a moment, a permanent scowl on his face. The tension snaps; he crashed his warm lips against you, his charts dropping on the floor as he wrapped his arms around your neck. You reciprocated it easily, gripping his waist as roughly as he does—the room was getting hot, he was getting hot and bothered.

“T—That’s..!”

He lets out a breathy whine, feeling your fingers rubbing against his lower back. You knew it was one of his sensitive spots. Your hands wander around his ass, fondling it—you let him dominate the kiss, the lust inside you blurring out your mind to do the right thing. You two pulled away with force; he caught his breath while staring into your eyes as if you defiled him.

You wet your lips with your tongue, dazed from the intense makeout session with him. Levi did not even give you the time to comprehend the situation before he pulled back the emergency button and immediately left you again in the elevator.

One of his habits? Him leaving someone when he feels overstimulated. And he certainly doesn’t want to have sex with his boss in an elevator.

inspired by Grey’s Anatomy || image is by @suzupiyosan on X

[chara-cat5]

lads isekai au ch 8

reader is gender neutral, warning: swearing, mdni

masterlist

first 1

previous 7

next 9 (not out yet)

"hi, sweetie."

your whole form went stiff as you met his red eyes, but that didn't seem to bother him as he tugged you into a dancing position, one hand in your stiff one, his other at your waist. he hummed softly, that all knowing smirk on his lips and eyes sharp and observant.

"you don't mind giving me a dance, do you? i just need to see how my cat is doing."

you narrowed your own eyes at him, following his lead for now.

"why don't you just ask mia yourself?"

"mia? oh, did i mention my cat's name?"

you felt your face go pale as his smirk grew.

"i... we came together, so i assumed you saw..."

he hummed, twirling you before tugging right against his chest, voice lowered dangerously.

"i think you know more them you're letting on, sweetheart."

you swallowed, eyes wide as you tried to lean away. shit shit shit shit- knew too much? what- oh, geez he looks serious-

"i- i'm just observant. i'm not sure what you mean."

"oh, i'm sure you understand. you knew the twins before you met them. you were looking for me as soon as you walked in, which means you not only know my appearance, but also my occupation and habits. you know my relationship with mia, despite only being asked about a 'cat'."

with each accusatory statement he made you step backwards. you let out a soft yelp when your back met the balcony door, stumbling as he released you. he let you put distance between the two of you since you had nowhere to run. he said your name, sending your heart racing all the more faster.

"so, you're gonna start talking, sweetheart, or mia is gonna have to look for a new roommate."

"woah woah woah- l-let's calm down now. i'm not- i'm not here to cause you issues, i just-..."

you took in a breath, gripping the banister of the balcony.

"... you're right. i do know you and the twins and probably more then i'm meant to. but, i'm not here to hurt anyone. not you, and defiantly not mia."

he dropped his smirk at your admission, his expression serious and unreadable.

"... how and why do you know this information then?"

"i..."

'i'm from another world where you're a love interest in an otome game.'

can't really say that, can you? how the hell do you get out of this situation without dying??

before either of you could say another word, screams sounded from the room behind the tall crow. you pushed past him, already unbuttoning the top few buttons to fish your spear out. the room was a mess, purses, furniture and tableware scattered over the carpet. screams of terror were loud, the crowd of panicked people going this way and that to try and escape. in the center of it all, a wanderer floated, it's harsh screeches sounding over the panicking mob.

fuck. it was definitely one of the wanderers with the shield shit. the kind you needed a love interest to beat.

"sylus, come with me!"

you called over your shoulder, yanking your spear off the chain around your neck. scrapping the tip across the ground, making a sweep toward the wanderer, sent vines shooting out, wrapping around it's form. you followed it up with a rotating swing, your spearhead carving through it's form. it snapped the vines around it's arm, raising it to stab toward you, sending a shot of panic through your heart.

"you really don't want to make it easy for me, huh?"

you felt your body get pulled back, a weightless feeling taking over as black and red tendrils wrapped their way around you. the blade barely missed you, and your back met sylus's firm chest, his arm out stretched toward the beast. following his lead, you sent another flurry of vines toward it, both strangling and squeezing till it popped. the thing fell to dust, leaving the two of you in an empty room. you let out a breath, walking to the wanderer remans to check for a protocore.

"you took your time, eh?"

he let out a scoff behind you, his feet scuffing as he shifted his weight.

"took my time? you rushed in- recklessly might i add- without even checking if i was following."

his voice got louder as he walked closer, his shadow casted over you. you only hummed, pocketing the core and standing up. quick steps sounded nearby, mia panting softly next to you.

"i heard screaming, what happened in here?"

"wanderer. we took care of it. did you find anything from where you went?"

she shook her head, eyeing both you and sylus. you retracted your spear, shoving it into your pocket.

"i'm going to go start the report. i don't think we'll find anything out like this."

"wait a minute, sweetheart. you aren't getting off that easily."

sylus grabbed your arm, stopping you from walking off. mia looked between you, a look of confusion and panic rising to her face.

"do you... know each other...?"

"ask them."

you shot him a glare, the idea kicking his shin and running enticing.

"i know of him. i would't say i know him personally..."

"then what would you say, sweetheart because so far you've only proven you know far too much."

before you could argue back, mia stepped between you, facing sylus. you blinked in surprise, her tone more serious then you've ever heard her.

"skye, this is my friend. i'm sure whatever it is, it's a misunderstanding. why don't we talk later."

she glanced over his shoulder, security finally making their move into the room. while he looked like he wanted to argue, he agreed, leaving the two of you to explain what went down as hunters.

"i don't know what's going on, but please tell me later."

.

.

entity [user] encounter entity [sylus]

.

.

a̵f̵f̴i̶n̵i̸t̷y̵ level [3]

.

.

--------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @sleepisfortheweakpooh @plzdonutpercieveme @young-adult-summer @mentaltrouble2201 @noxus123 @asakiyu @leftpoetrymoon @hon3yydew @anemobabygirl @clandestienly @crimsonrubie @beaconsxd @yuurisfavblog

hello loves!!

got a break at work so i could format this (i write in my notes app then copy paste everything into tumblr)

if y'all would like, i can answer any questions you have! buuuuut, no spoilers will given. so i'll pick and choose.

thank you for reading!!

-chara <3

[conclover]

Mr. Tenna x GN! Reader | Static Hearts Part 7

Previous chapter

Summary: It’s official now. You and Tenna are dating!

Warnings: +18, big dick (that’s a warning, yeah), Tenna being Tenna, references to suicide, yandere man.

Notes: Chapter 7 already... This man has got me obsessed.

Word count: 4,7 K

It wasn’t a fucking joke.

Tenna was serious. Terrifyingly, obsessively, let’s-write-our-names-in-blood serious. More serious than he’d ever been about anything in his life.

He said it. Out loud. In public. Loud and clear. Grinning like a madman on live television, arm wrapped tight around you.

“We’re together!” 

But it sounded less like a love confession and more like a declaration of war.

And now?

Everyone in the whole fucking Dark World knows.

…

“WE’RE TOGETHER!”: TENNA’S LIVE MELTDOWN MASKED AS A RELATIONSHIP ANNOUNCEMENT

That’s right. Tenna, who’s graced our screens for decades (yes, that Tenna) is back in headlines but not for a ratings spike. Ha!

The semi-retired star, best known for quiz shows that only your grandma still watches and cooking segments that make even microwave meals look exciting has declared: 

“Single life? Out. Being in love? In.”

We’re still trying to figure out who asked…

Tenna has been locking eyes (though let’s be real, he doesn’t have any!) with a not so known but suddenly everywhere on-air personality who’s managed to steal both the spotlight and Tenna’s robotic heart.

The rumors started during a late night special, where the two couldn’t stop exchanging flirty banter, whispering inside jokes, and building the kind of on-air tension so thick it should’ve come with a PG-18 warning.

Viewers (all 7 of them) couldn’t help but notice. Yes, he’s apparently glowing now, though some say that’s just his TV head overheating.

Tenna’s life hasn’t exactly been a fairytale. Two divorces, the slow fading out of traditional TV, and let’s not forget about the ever expanding list of industry rivals and critics who mysteriously disappear. 

Somehow, this new connection seems to be rebooting him. Crew members say he’s humming in the hallways again. Friends are saying… oh wait he doesn’t have any. And industry insiders? They’re saying they haven’t seen him this emotionally stable since TV guide was still a thing.

The big question is: can this so-called star survive Tenna’s cringeworthy punchlines or will they be the next to get a taste of his explosive temper? Just like his employees!

One thing’s certain… Even if no one’s watching the shows anymore, everyone is dying to see this trainwreck of a love story unfold.

…

So it’s official now.

Hm. Interesting.

You thought you wanted this. You really thought being Tenna’s lover was what you needed. Ugh. Had lust completely taken over your mind?

“Oh, people are just mean sometimes…” Tenna said, trying to sound unaffected by the newest gossip magazine. “Good thing is we’re on the cover.”

If he had been alone, he might have started tearing apart his bedroom in a fit of frustration, hurling things across the room, calling Mike to drown out the gnawing thoughts that urged him to throw himself out of the window.

But not now. Not after the chaotic and desperate way you’d clung to each other. It was surprising how hours blurred together in a collision of moans and skin, until your bodies were slick with sweat and your lungs begged for air. 

That same wild energy that once threatened to unmake him now left you both breathless, tangled in the aftermath. You were curled up in his arms, your naked body pressed against his, the warmth of your touch grounding more than anything ever could. Nothing else mattered, no dark thoughts, no past mistakes, no fear of the future. Just you.

You watched as he rummaged through the nearby drawer, finally pulling out a pair of scissors far too small for hands like his. He stuck his tongue out and began cutting with ridiculous focus, carefully avoiding cutting your head in the photo like it was some delicate operation.

“Look how pretty you look, sweetheart!” he said, holding up the poorly cropped photo from the tasteless tabloid.

“Not my best shot, but hey… it’s a gossip magazine. Can’t expect much,” you muttered, watching as he gently traced a finger across your face in the photo.

Tenna froze once he processed what you said, then turned sharply in his pillow.

“What are you saying?” His voice cracked slightly, trembling under the weight of something deeper than offense.

He gripped your shoulder tightly, like he needed you to feel what he felt. His other hand held the photo so close to your face you could almost smell the paper.

“This!... This photo is everything to me. Look at you.” His breath hitched, as if even speaking the words made his chest tighten. “You look like something I don’t even have words for…”

He slowly moved the photo away from your face and brought it closer to his own, his expression softening. His thumb brushed lightly over the image, eyes fixed on that candid shot of the two of you chatting on a late night show, laughing, leaning close, like no one else in the world existed.

“Hey,” you said gently, nudging his arm and slipping the photo from his hands. “You know you don’t need a photo when you’ve got the real thing right here…”

You moved over him with ease, straddling him as you reached toward the nightstand. Tenna’s hands didn’t waste the opportunity and he gave your ass a slow and appreciative squeeze, fingers pressing hard enough to make you shiver.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about...” he murmured, his voice dropping low in a seductive way, his smile curling into something devilishly confident. “Why settle for a picture when I’ve got the whole damn show right here?”

You shot him a teasing look over your shoulder, your body already warming with the anticipation and his low, knowing laugh confirmed he knew exactly where this was going.

“You sure you can handle another round?” he teased, though his smile twitched with uncertainty as he leaned in, almost as if he was asking himself the same question.

But just as you reached to slide the drawer shut and brace yourself for the warmth of his erection already pressing into your backside, your hand stilled and your eyes fell inside.

A chaos waited there, random at first glance. However, the longer you looked, the clearer it became. This wasn’t just a junk drawer. It was a shrine.

Scraps of paper with your name and his scribbled over and over with hearts all around it, as if the very act of writing it could make you stay. 

A napkin from a fancy café you’d visited weeks ago with him, its corners creased and stained, a forgotten lovely moment now turned strange. 

A crumpled post-it note with your handwriting, one you’d left for him days ago. It said “Back in 5 ;)” but reading it now, it felt wrong.

And tucked in the corner, several VHS tapes, each labeled with stickers though the handwriting was messy, almost impossible to read.

You should have been scared. This man had a really creepy side and he didn’t even care to hide it. But there was a reason as to why you didn’t run for your life. Somehow, you felt a pull toward something in the drawer.

Your eyes were drawn to a strange object nestled among the altar of obsession. It was a capsule toy, half orange, half translucent. It seemed so out of place, absurd even amid the carefully arranged objects of devotion. 

That thing inside seemed to be alive and it was calling to you. You couldn’t quite explain it, but your hand moved as if it belonged to someone else, reaching for the capsule as though something inside it had once been part of you.

“Hey, t-that’s quite private, actually…” Tenna’s voice broke through, suddenly too alert, like he wasn’t expecting you to get that close.

Without waiting for your reaction, he leaned over and slammed the drawer shut, cutting off the pull you felt. There was something almost unnatural about the force he used to shut it, heightening your suspicion about what he was trying to hide.

“I like you. A lot,” he said with a forced nonchalance, his tone light, but his posture was tense, his hand still resting against the nightstand. “Sue me, sweetheart.”

And suddenly, Tenna’s soft laughter wasn’t as harmless as it had seemed before. He was really nervous, as if you had seen something you weren’t ever meant to. 

What is that thing, Tenna?

“It’s fine, I won’t sue you. You’ve already got enough problems,” you said smoothly, letting a little smile curl at the edge of your lips, as if you hadn’t just seen something that should’ve sent you running. “Besides… can’t really blame you for going a little crazy over me.”

Tenna laughed, but the sound didn’t quite match how he was feeling. His posture was still rigid, like he wanted you out of this room before you asked too many questions. But what gave him away wasn’t the laugh or the silence that followed, it was his hand, still resting on the nightstand like a reflex. 

I’m not going to jump, Tenna. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that in front of you.

You tilted your head, eyes drifting over him with curiosity, already mapping out exactly how to melt the tension from his body.

“Actually… I think it’s kind of cute,” you said, your voice dipping into a teasing softness, coaxing him back into ease and into you.

Still straddling him, you shifted your hips forward and back in a slow, almost lazy rhythm, just enough to draw his focus away from whatever shadows were still clinging to his thoughts.

And you smiled, because he didn’t even realize you were already disarming him.

It was almost too easy. So easy in fact, it barely felt satisfying.

The way his breath caught like he was barely holding himself together. The way his fingers finally slid from the nightstand, abandoning the need to guard whatever was hidden inside. Instead, his hands found your hips, gripping with a kind of desperate insistence, as if his body had chosen for him.

You let your hand drift slowly down the center of his chest panels, your touch softening to distract him further. You still needed his mind somewhere else. Even though you had him all hard beneath you, his guard wasn’t fully down. Not yet.

“I mean, I can’t judge you,” you added, smirking now as the perfect lie came to your mind. “I’ve got one of those love shrines too.”

Tenna’s mouth fell open in cartoonish disbelief, like he wasn’t sure if you were serious or worse… if you were actually just like him.

“R-Really?” he asked, his hands tightening around your hips, holding you there like he needed to make sure you weren’t just teasing him.

“Mm-hmm…” You nodded, watching as his wary surprise softened into something more open and trusting. “Remember that coffee we had before our first kiss?”

“Yes, how could I forget?” he said, completely invested.

“Well…” You leaned closer, letting your words fall like a secret between the two of you. “I kept the straw from your cup.”

You really prayed he wouldn’t remember that he’d thrown the cups away himself. But judging by the way Tenna let out a stunned little laugh that quickly dissolved into a shaky breath, he was too far gone to question the details. Too turned on by the idea of you being just as obsessive and unhinged like he was. He exhaled like he couldn’t hold it in anymore, his body shifting against you almost mindlessly. You could feel the change in the air around him, the way something in him unraveled, just a little.

Without another word, he pushed you away, pinning you to the bed with more force than the moment seemed to call for. It wasn’t exactly violent but there was urgency in his touch.

He hovered over you quickly, his screen casting an intense glow as his expression twisted with hunger for you. You looked down, trying not to react to his size, but it was difficult to ignore just how imposing he felt when he was hard, like every inch of him was designed to overwhelm you.

“I didn’t think you had that kind of naughty in you…” he murmured, his voice lowering as he caught the way your eyes lingered on his hard cock. He tilted your chin up gently, guiding your gaze to meet his face, now burning with desire. “But I must admit… I’m entirely captivated, sweetheart.”

“Can’t help the nasty thoughts that run through my head every time I see you,” you said, each word dripping with intent. 

You breathed deeply, already hoping that your plan would go accordingly. And as he looked at you with something between wonder and obsession, you smiled, because you had just turned the game in your favor.

Slowly, you lifted your legs and draped them over his shoulders, making the color bar blush on his screen flicker into a wild pattern. 

“My love,” he said, voice low and aching as he turned his head to press a tender kiss to your ankle, his hand trailing slowly along your leg. “What is it you do to me, that I’m always falling harder than the last time? I mean it. You drive me out of my mind. Every. Damn. Time.”

He leaned in closer, crowding into your space. Your legs stretched a bit awkwardly from his nearness, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and simply didn’t care. He just wanted to be close to you. To keep you there, in his orbit, where you couldn’t slip away.

“I’m going to make love to you so sweet, you’ll be calling my name like it’s the only thing you remember,” he murmured, his voice rich with desire.

His hand moved down instinctively, pulling his cock closer to you. But as he pressed in, your body tensed at the contact, a shiver of discomfort passing through you.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked quickly, panic threading through the words as he fumbled for the right thing to say. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t want to hurt you. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

His hand brushed your cheek with nervous tenderness, but he immediately pulled it back, uncertain where to touch you or if he should touch you at all.

“Maybe… maybe we should just... stop, huh? After all the... well, you know, the whole night of... this,” he laughed nervously, the sound a bit shaky and forced. “I think I’ve done enough damage here, sweetheart.”

The vulnerability in his voice was unmistakable, a soft ache lingering behind the question, as though he couldn’t bear to hurt you, not even by mistake.

“And I’m completely fine with cuddling or, uh… doing other stuff!” he added quickly, his voice turning a little sheepish as his grin faltered, clearly trying to keep things light.

“No,” you said firmly, your body betraying the frustration you were trying to mask. “Just… get the lube.”

“A-Are you sure?” he stammered, completely taken aback by your directness, his brow furrowing in surprise.

You nodded, and as he moved to open the drawer, he turned to you with an eyebrow slightly raised, as if still uncertain you wanted this. When his back was to you, his hands trembled ever so slightly, betraying the tension he was trying to conceal. In that brief moment, you felt the pull again. It was the same sensation from earlier, the same subtle but undeniable call. But before you could act on it, he closed the drawer.

“Tenna, please, hurry. I need you,” you urged, your leg brushing gently against his bare back as if to provoke him, to make him move faster. 

That was really your plan, letting yourself be used by him and playing your part in his game. Moaning, screaming his name, all to push him to the edge. Maybe even touch his antennae to get him off easily. Once he was done, he’d go off to clean himself, giving you just enough time to act and see what the hell was going on in that drawer.

“You do?” he asked, his back still turned to you, his voice dropping lower.

He slowly stood from the bed, avoiding your gaze as he casually pulled on a pair of funky, colorful pajama pants, clearly not in a rush.

Without looking at you, he rummaged through his closet with deliberate movements, pulling out a red dressing gown.

Each action seemed too calm, almost as if he knew something you hadn’t figured out yet. And there you were, still naked and confused by the sudden change in his demeanor. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen, waiting for you for breakfast,” he said, turning towards you with a casual grin, though his lips twitched slightly, as if he was trying to mask the shift in his mood.

He paused at the doorframe before leaving, one hand resting on the door handle and the other clutching his dressing gown closed over his chest plates.

“But if you really want to open that drawer,” he added, his voice dropping lower, the tone now laced with something darker, almost like a dare. “Go ahead. See where that gets you.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, you were left exactly where you wanted to be. Alone with the chance to explore. To finally see what was hidden in that drawer. But as your hand hovered over the handle, doubt crept in. Was it really worth it? Would Tenna hear you rummaging through his forbidden stash?

No. You couldn’t back down now. This was your shot. The closest you’d been to getting real answers, to finally confronting the things that had been weighing on your mind. You weren’t going to let him threaten you again.

As you threw open the drawer, your heart raced, panic flooding your chest. Your hands trembled as you yanked at the scattered items, each one slipping through your fingers. You didn’t care what else was in there, just that stupid capsule toy. Your fingers brushed against VHS tapes, a gross feeling crawling up your spine as you pushed them aside.

Where is it?

The capsule had to be in here, but the longer you searched, the more suffocating the silence became. Each tape you moved only seemed to add to the fear, the unfamiliar weight of them heightening your anxiety.

“You want to see those?” Tenna’s voice cut through your frantic search, his tone laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You froze, turning to him. He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but something about his presence sent a chill down your spine. 

He played with the belt of his dressing gown like nothing had happened, fingers looping it lazily as he started walking toward you. Your heart pounded faster with every inch he closed, his calmness only making your panic worse.

“Ohhh, you weren’t just rummaging for nostalgia… You were treasure hunting!” he said, drawing out the words like a punchline. “Yeah… can’t let you do that, sweetie.”

His words lingered in the air as he settled beside you, his presence crawling under your skin. And when his hand landed on your thigh, you didn’t need him to say another word. You already knew you were completely and undeniably fucked.

“Look,” he said, his voice unnervingly soft as he pulled one of the VHS tapes from the drawer. “This one’s one of my favorites!”

He handed it to you, his smile never wavering as you read the label.

“It’s from our first quiz show…” he began, his tone far too casual, “...you were so confused back then. Didn’t have a clue what was going on. And all your answers? Adorable! Like you had a little crush on me, hmmm?”

You could feel the weight of his words and they didn’t feel innocent. They felt like a subtle reminder of how much he’d been watching, how much he knew about you.

“What I’d give to go back then… to the beginning. Before you wanted to leave me…”

I wanted to leave back then too, Tenna.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice smooth as his hand trailed upward. “What do I have to do to make you feel right at home here, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t want to tell some words that would just fall flat.

“Do I need to turn it up a notch, huh? Get a little rougher? Play the sad, angry guy?” he asked, his voice smooth yet laced with something darker. His grip tightened as his hand moved up your chest, the touch oddly detached from the fact you were still naked. “Is that what you’re looking for, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer. You simply curled in on yourself, knees drawn tight to your chest, your face buried between your legs as if it could shield you from the overwhelming exposure. Not just nakedness, but your true intentions laid bare for him to see.

A sob escaped before you could stop it, the weight of everything choking you. You didn’t know how you were ever going to leave this place. And the thought of being bound to this TV freak for what felt like eternity… 

No…

Tenna froze for a moment, caught between guilt and concern. He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t try to fix it. Instead, he placed a hand gently on your back, his fingers massaging softly, as if trying to soothe the pain he had caused.

The silence between you stretched, until eventually, you lifted your head hesitantly until your eyes met his screen, now filled with genuine worry. But as soon as he saw your face, his face brightened. That spark of hope was visible in the way he smiled, like he thought things might turn out okay after all.

But then, your voice shattered the silence.

“I just want to go back…”

The light in his expression dimmed. And for a moment, neither of you said anything. The truth sat between you, louder than any scream.

Now that you’d been so close to the truth, you couldn’t help but think about going home. About leaving this whole bizarre chapter behind. At least it would give the gossip magazines something to talk about you for once, something besides their usual hobby of dragging Tenna through the mud.

“No.”

The word came out sharp, cutting through the silence like shattered glass.

“What, Te—” You flinched as his hand reached for yours and gripped it tightly.

“No!” he snapped, louder this time, his voice cracking at the edges, already fraying with panic.

You sat up straighter, startled, your heart beginning to pound.

“I want to go, I’m sorry…” you said carefully, trying to ground your voice, to keep the emotion from shaking it apart. “I don’t belong here.”

“I said no!” he shouted, and this time he stood abruptly.

His shadow seemed to stretch with him, filling the room in a way that made the walls feel smaller. His body expanded, towering over you, his form becoming more monstrous with each passing second. His brows burned with fury, and as he opened his mouth, sharp fangs glistened in the dim light of the bedroom. The air crackled with a terrifying static sound, and there was a flash in his face, not anger exactly, but something worse. Desperation. The kind that doesn’t care who it breaks to keep what it wants.

Your breath caught and you swore you could already see yourself dead, but instead of savagely mauling you apart with those pointy fangs, he curled over you, wrapping you in a fierce and trembling embrace, as if terrified you might slip away.

“Don’t say that… You belong here with me,” he whispered, his voice softer now, quivering on the edge of tears. “You always have!”

He cradled your face, desperate to draw a smile from between his hands, but your expression stayed frozen and unreadable. So he pressed his thumb gently against the corner of your lips, trying to force a hint of happiness where there was none.

“Please, my love,” he murmured, pressing his face against yours, blocking out everything else for a moment. “Tell me what you need. Anything, you hear me? Anything to see you smile again,” he said, voice rising sharply into your ear, loud enough to make you flinch.

He was truly desperate, willing to do anything just to keep you by his side. But even through that desperation, he clung to the hope that it wouldn’t have to be forced. Though, by now, you both knew you didn’t really have a choice.

“You know what I want, Tenna…” you said coldly, unmoved by how frantic he was becoming.

“Listen!” He leaned back just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his face again, trying to pull off that charm with exaggerated expressions and theatrical gestures. “I know… I know I’m not the best… But I’m trying here, sweetheart. I’m trying my darnedest to make this right! Just for you! For us!”

His voice cracked. He was crying. You could hear it in every word and in the trembling rasp of his breath, even if there were no tears on his screen.

“You used to see me almost every day. You made me feel so special.” His voice dropped as he finally moved away, sitting beside you. “I remember the first time you laid eyes on me… though maybe you don’t. Because… heh…” he let out a shaky breath, “...you didn’t even know me back then.”

He pressed his hands against his screen, partially hiding his face from view.

“And I loved the way you looked at me. The way I made you laugh. The way you’d almost come running after work, just to watch me…” His voice faltered, a deep sigh dragging his words into unevenness.

“I don’t think I’m getting you…” you said, confusion creeping into your voice. You had no idea why he was speaking as if he’d known you for a lifetime.

“You don’t have to…” he said quietly, looking at you as he gently took your hand, pressing it close to the smooth surface of his screen. “What matters is that you’re here…with me, sweetie. And w-we can be closer than we’ve ever been.”

You blinked, still not understanding. None of it made sense.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice cracking as if each word physically hurt. “You don’t even know how hard it was, love. Watching you lose interest in me... slowly… like I was fading out of your world.”

He turned his head away, as if even facing you made the pain worse.

“I know I’m irrelevant. I’m junk. And maybe you don’t want me… not the way you used to or the way I want you… but…” His voice began to stammer, barely holding itself together. “But I didn’t have another choice. I didn’t know what else to do. I just... couldn’t lose you. And... and... I didn’t want to be thrown away. Not by you… no… If y-you did that, I… I wouldn’t know how to go on…”

“How would I do that?” you asked, partly to reassure him, partly because you genuinely wanted to know how to do it, how to throw him away.

He looked at you, a faint smile curling at the edges of his screen as if your words had sparked something deep inside him.

“You get it, right? As long as we’re here together in this world… we can make it work. I don’t have to be alone!” 

His hands gripped your arms suddenly, much firmer than before, his fingers digging into your skin with a possessiveness that sent a chill down your spine.

“And I can show you why you don’t have to throw me away, sweetheart. I’ll prove it to you. Just you see, I can still be fun!” His smile twitched as he clung to you, his grip tightening with each word, desperate for you to believe him.

He stood up with a dramatic sweep, his sorrow vanishing almost instantly, as if your one small question had been enough to ignite a spark of hope or… delusion.

Yeah. That sounds more like it.

If he hadn’t already made you feel trapped in this suffocating world, he was sure as hell finding new ways to tighten the noose. Now, on top of it all, you felt guilty too. Hurray!

But hey, it’s not like you could leave. Not that he’d ever let you, even if you tried. He didn’t just want you here. He needed you here. All to himself. No one else, just him. 

[mimiyaru]

Unexpected Infatuation

yandere emo x (slight?)Bimbo reader

This is lowkey cringe.. whatever

At first he didn’t even know who you were.

So when he accidentally bumped into you he didn’t expect you to call out to him just as he turned away after apologizing.

Did you need something?

….

Perhaps..

You wanted him?

A bold assumption but he’s had a couple of hookups with people from the school, mostly with popular girls who wanted to try something “different”, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they told all of their friends about their experience with him.

He thought you were just like them, wanting a quick fuck with the emo guy from school.

Though when he saw the way the clothes you were wearing hugged your body nicely and with all the cute accessories you had on, he honestly wouldn’t have minded.

But no you surprised him when you said that you really liked his style and the vibes he gave off saying that they were totes on fleek…. whatever that meant.

He merely stared at you, as if in a trance before grumbling out a ‘thanks’ and walking away from you.

Later that night he sat on his bed while tuning his guitar thinking about that conversation you two had.

Were you being serious? Or was it just a joke?

If it was a joke then it wouldn’t have been a shock to him, he was in a way considered odd from everyone else from school but you did sound sincere so maybe..

Nah, he shouldn’t be thinking so much about the conversation.

It was just a stupid conversation after all.

Though it came to his surprise when a week later he was paired up with you to work on a project for a class you shared with him.

He was aware that he never paid attention to his classes as he always sat in the back doing absolutely nothing but jeez how’d he never notice you?

During that same week he got to know you better and while you were popular and dumb at the same time he didn’t find you annoying unlike the other girls he hooked up with.

Working on the project together showed to be a bit difficult because all you did was ramble about clothes, makeup products, asked him silly questions, and not once did you talk about the project other than saying it should totally look cute aesthetic wise.

All of your rambles would result in him giving you a blank expression wondering how he got stuck working with you.

Safe to say that he questions how you even managed to graduate from high school.

He actually didn’t mind doing most of the work as long as you sat next to him looking all pretty and focused on talking to him.

Despite not intending to, he had grown fond of you and was happy (not that he’ll admit it) when you asked for his phone number to stay in contact even after the project was completed.

He started realizing that the way he acted with you was different when he noticed that he started gifting you small things like keychains, flowers or more accessories for your outfits when the both of you hung out together.

And everytime you would give him a hug and say something along the lines of

“Thank you, you’re like totally the sweetest!”

But he would always be busy noting how soft and warm your body was against his.

One fateful day you hugged him as usual when he brought you a small teddy bear but you also gave him a kiss on his cheek as a different way of showing gratitude for him you said.

He realized two things that day,

He really liked having your body against his

And that he would do anything to make you his.

Just wanted to write something about my oc but this is so…. buns 🥀 don’t come at me if there’s writing mistakes or if it’s overall bad i did not proof read it 💔 also he doesn’t sound emo cuz I can’t describe appearances but trust me he is.

[isles-of-man]

Oscar let out a quiet, amused breath, his lips curving into something between a smirk and a real smile. “No notes in the margins, I’m not that uncivilized,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “But I did leave a few pages folded. Marked some of the parts I’ve found... most useful. The ones that put comfort first, especially for the woman involved.” His voice carried that familiar undercurrent of teasing, a gentle edge to keep the moment light, but his eyes didn’t stray from hers—serious underneath the humor. “I don’t care much for the grand metaphors or dramatics. But I do care that you never feel unsure or scared. I’d rather you laugh at the language or scoff at the diagrams than ever feel alone in any part of this.” There was a steadiness in his tone now, the kind that didn’t demand her trust but quietly invited it.

When he noticed her looking for the book, something about that small, unguarded gesture grounded him. Her curiosity was sincere, and it softened him in a way he wasn’t entirely used to. “You’re allowed to be curious,” he said, his voice gentler now. “It’s natural. You shouldn’t have to pretend otherwise just because we’ve both been told how married people are supposed to behave.” A short pause followed, thoughtful but without weight. “Frankly, most of the men who act like experts couldn’t make it through five pages of that book without either panicking or bragging.” His mouth twitched again. “Usually both. And the advisors know fuck all if you ask me" he grumbled, hating their interference between them so far.

He leaned back a little, adjusting slightly so there was more space between them—not to push her away, but to show her she could take as much or as little of it as she needed. “If you do have questions,” he said, a little more deliberately, “even if they feel strange or too specific or too... blunt, I want you to ask them.” His eyes held hers. “I’ll always answer you honestly, even if the book phrases something like it was written by a bard in the middle of a thunderstorm.” There was a flicker of amusement again, but his sincerity didn’t waver. “And if it helps to read it together sometime, I don’t mind that either.”

He drew in a breath, choosing his words carefully now. “I’ve had experiences, yes—but those weren’t relationships built on trust or balance. Not like this.” His voice lowered slightly. “This is the only time I’ve wanted to be known properly by someone. And for you to feel safe in asking anything—especially about something as intimate as this—is a part of that.”

Then, a quiet breath of levity returned to his tone. “I should warn you, though... chapter three insists on comparing foreplay to preparing a banquet. It’s unbearable.” He gave her a dry look, half-laughing at the absurdity of it all. “If anything, that alone might be reason enough to read it together. Just so we can mock it as we go.”

It was nice to hear him immediately say he understood where she was coming from, that she did not see any hurt come across his face. It also felt deeply assuring to hear that if he were in her shoes he also would not have taken it well. It was difficult to quite understand how he felt in this situation, she could not picture herself like him with all those years and to one day suddenly have a partner. She at least had expected a marriage to happen within these years of her life.

"Oh I most definitely did threaten stowing myself away on some ship." She said with a nod and a small laugh. Eleanor had thrown out all sorts of things at her father to try and get him to change his mind about this arrangement, obviously none of those worked.

"Well let me tell you, I'm probably the most appreciative person in the world when it comes to having a patient partner." She stated the obvious, because if they had rushed or pushed things she definitely could see herself sleeping in the farthest side of the castle from him.

"I do want to try...even I do not really know what I am trying." It was fascinating to hear how frightened he was at some of this. That it gave him more fear and worry than actual battle. It helped her think that he was not too different from her in someways, even though there were still major differences between them. "You've surprised me too, I didn't think you would be such a good listener to all of my talking." She said light heartedly, there were certainly many things that surprised her about him. How good she was being treated was one of the best.

"I intend to read each and every one of them." Eleanor stated confidently before glancing around to look for one book in particular. "Have you left notes in the margins of the sex book?"

[schrijverr]

The Great Non-Proposal Proposal Disaster

A drunk and tired Eddie at a 118 party, who is sprawled over the couch suddenly tells Chimney: “I’m going to ask him to marry me,” while giving Buck the biggest hearteyes.

Importantly, they are not together at this point, but Chimney assumes the secret that he's been let in on is that they secretly have been for a long while now and this is an actual serious plan Eddie has. Eddie forgets ever saying any of this, Chimney does not. This causes many problems, but maybe solves them too.

On ao3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: none

~~~

The barbecue at the Grant-Nash house should be winding down. Most of the kids have passed out around the room and the speech of adults is slurred with alcohol. The only people that are still animated are Bobby and Buck, Bobby because he doesn’t drink and Buck because he’s Buck.

As far as Chimney is aware, Maddie is on the porch with Athena, Karen and Hen. She had Jee-Yun the last time he checked, so he can just sink into the couch and watch Bobby and Buck talk through half lidded eyes.

He is distracted by Eddie falling next to him on the couch. His cheeks are rosy and his eyes glazed with the haze of alcohol. Chimney rarely sees Eddie loose-limbed like this, but it’s nice to see him relaxed for a change.

When he feels Chimney looking, he lolls his head to look back, sliding down the couch a bit more as he does. “Chris is sleeping. Him, Denny and Harry all still have controllers in their hands,” Eddie informs him, clarifying where he’d been off to.

The mental image makes Chimney snort lazily, before turning back to the scene before him. It is miraculous that either of them still feel up to digging through the pantry as they talk about ingredients, he thinks to himself.

Eddie groans and slides down further, shamelessly putting his head in Chimney’s lap as he also watches Buck and Bobby talk about some sort of spicy herb powder Bobby got at the market.

“Comfy?” Chimney asks, amused brow rising.

“Very,” Eddie sticks his tongue out. Then goes back to watching Bobby and Buck, mostly Buck, though, eyes tracking every excited gesture from the other fondly.

There is a moment of silence and Chimney is half falling asleep, since as much as he loves Buck and Bobby, they are also not that interesting and he’s old and tired. However, he gets snapped back to wakefulness by Eddie suddenly sighing: “I’m gonna ask him to marry me.”

Wide eyed and suddenly very much not half-conscious, Chimney stares at a seemingly oblivious Eddie, who has graduated from watching Buck fondly to full on heart eyes. What the fuck?

“Y-Yeah?” he manages to get out, needing to check if he heard what he just heard.

“Yeah,” Eddie says dreamily, not even looking Chimney’s way.

Chimney looks around. He needs someone to share this with, someone to also know this is happening, to help explain what is even happening. But there is no one. Only Chimney has heard and now he has to live with that.

Now that the shock is wearing off, it is starting to make a lot of sense. Since Ana and Taylor neither of them have seemed interested in dating and instead Buck has only gotten more and more involved with Chris and Eddie’s life. They have a plethora of inside jokes and hang out constantly. Honestly, now that he thinks about it, the only surprise is that Buck managed to keep it secret that him and Eddie have been dating for god knows how long.

It must have been a good while already, since Eddie is planning to propose to Buck. Chimney doesn’t know if he should feel hurt that it’s this serious and they didn’t share it with anyone, or that he should just be glad they’re together. I mean, everyone with eyes can see how in love they are, they just all assumed both were too dumb to see it themselves.

However, they did figure it out themselves! Yay. Now Eddie just has to propose and if they want a wedding they have to tell everyone and then they can all be put out of their misery and no longer have to watch the pining, because they’ll instead be sappy… which might not necessarily be better now that he thinks about it.

Fuck. It suddenly hits him that he can’t say anything until Eddie finally pops the question. If he says something before, everyone is going to interrogate them about how and when. And then Buck and Eddie will want to know how they know and Chimney definitely won’t be able to keep it a secret if that happens.

Dammit, Eddie needs to ask Buck soon, because Chimney sucks at this. He is about to inform Eddie of this fact, but when he goes to do that, he sees that Eddie has fallen asleep.

Well, fuck Eddie, he can have his beauty sleep later. Chimney is not making this mistake again. Sadly, before he can prod Eddie, Buck suddenly says: “Chim, don’t move!”

Of course, Chimney freezes, giving Buck startles eyes that quickly turn annoyed when he sees Buck has his phone out. “Really, Buck?”

“Oh shut up, you don’t know the material this asshole has on me. Him and Chris are menaces,” Buck rolls his eyes as he takes the picture.

Chimney has to make an effort to not let his face show anything. Now that he knows that Buck and Eddie are together, he is seeing it everywhere. Like of course Eddie has embarrassing sleep pictures of Buck and of course Chris is in on it. How did they all miss it?

Thankfully, Buck is distracted by taking his picture, which gives Chimney enough time to lean into the annoyance instead of the revelation. “You’re so immature.”

“How is Buck immature now?” They get interrupted by Hen, who is entering along with the others, breaking the moment and further robbing Chimney of any chance to talk to Eddie about what he has just confessed to him.

Eddie blinks awake at the interruption and Buck pouts: “Come on, I almost had a good angle.”

Chimney watches as Eddie blinks into wakefulness as he rubs his eyes, before processing the words and grinning: “You’ll never get me, Buckley,” in the most unsubtle flirting manner known to man.

All Chimney wants to do is groan ‘get a room’ but he has to last longer than that, so instead he wrestles his lips into saying: “Let’s go home,” instead, only belatedly turning to Maddie so he doesn’t look like he’s telling Eddie that.

He’s sure he is weird during the goodbyes, but how can he not be when Buck is driving home with Eddie and comes walking in with Chris asleep in his arms while Eddie does all the doors, a lovesick smile on his face. Fuck, this wedding cannot come soon enough.

Maddie even asks if he’s okay when they’re driving home. Chimney almost breaks then, but he can’t. It isn’t fair to Buck to ruin a proposal he doesn’t even know is coming by sending his sister his way, incensed at not being let in on this life change. So he just grimace-smiles and says he’s fine, before rushing off to put Jee-Yun to bed.

The next day, he gets no panicked texts or calls from Eddie about it, which is weird and when he goes into work the next day and Eddie is normal, a dread pools in his stomach. Eddie doesn’t remember telling Chimney this. The one person he could have talked to about it, doesn’t know. Shit.

It’s fine.

It is fine.

It is totally fine.

Chimney can so totally and completely do this. Now that his eyes have been opened, he can see how intertwined the two are. They’re practically married already when you objectively look at them, so the proposal can happen any minute now. Chimney can last until then.

…He will just be unable to be normal around either on of them until then, but that is just a sacrifice he’ll have to make. It’ll be fine. Eddie will propose, Buck will come in excited, everyone will know and Chimney will be able to breathe again.

Then three days of pass and nothing happens. Granted, three days is not long, but it is if you are Chimney caught in this rough situation. There are only so many times you can walk away and Hen is about to demand to check his dick to see if there is anything wrong with him, since his excuse of the bathroom is wearing thin to the point of being worrying instead.

So, Chimney starts dropping hints. It’s out of the goodness of his own heart really. Eddie should be thanking him for pushing so nothing gets ruined. And he’s subtle about it too! He just pointedly asks Eddie if there are any plans on his days off, nudges him knowingly when he catches him looking at Buck, and wiggles his brows behind Buck’s back when the two of them talk about hanging out together. Like he said, subtle.

Eddie is giving him looks whenever he does it, likely catching on to the fact that Chimney knows, but that’s okay. As long as it gets him to move, then it is worth it. Soon they’ll all know anyway and this problem will be solved.

But now a week has passed and there is still no Buck coming into work with a ring. He is starting to drag his weirdness home to Maddie, which is unacceptable. He does not want to rush Eddie in his proposal, but something has to change. For fucks sake, Buck is making cookies for Chris’s bake sale, how is Eddie not on one knee already?

Meanwhile Eddie does indeed not remember telling Chimney any of that and is only slightly panicking because it seems that Chimney has caught on to his feelings for Buck. This would be less than ideal, since Eddie is planning to take these feelings with him to the grave.

Buck is so important to him, he cannot imagine his life without him. He craves for them to be something other than they are now, but he is scared to change it. Chimney’s nudging has made hin aware of how obvious he’s being, but he can’t seem to change it, looking away from Buck is just impossible.

However, it is not just all bad. Chimney’s nudging is knowing, too knowing. It’s almost as if he truly does know something, something other than Eddie’s crush. They’re all nosy and meddlers, but he feels like Chimney wouldn’t do all this just to fuck with Eddie when he knew how anxious Eddie is about it all. Which means he must know something. Maybe even something about Buck’s feelings.

If there is a person Buck would tell he likes Eddie, it is Maddie. And if there is a person she would tell, it’s Chimney. And if there is a person who can’t keep a secret, then it’s Chimney. Therefore, there is a chance that Buck likes him back, but also isn’t willing to risk it.

Of course, this is not set in stone, but the idea makes him feel better about the whole thing. Which means that Eddie is prepped when Chimney finally cracks.

Chimney cracks exactly eight days after the party where Eddie confessed to his and Buck’s secret relationship and to his proposal plans, a personal record for keeping a secret.

Today’s shift has been terrible. They are not subtle in the slightest and if Chimney has to go another day of watching a blushing Buck as Eddie gets something out of his hair, or them practically on top of each on the couch, or them flirting in the middle of a high stakes rescue, without the ability to say something about it? He is going to scream and tear all his hair out.

They’re off for 48 hours after this, which means that Chimney has decided Eddie has more than enough time to pull together a proper proposal. On top of that, sinceBuck has his stupid sperm donation, they’re not leaving together for a change. So, Chimney can yank Eddie to the side when shift is done.

“You have to ask Buck.”

“What?”

“You have to ask Buck,” Chimney repeats. “I know, okay. I know and I can’t keep my mouth shut, so if you want to do it, before I explode and do it for you, then please, do so. Quickly.”

Eddie blinks for a few seconds, then blushes as he bashfully rubs his neck and asks: “You think he will go for it?”

Oh my god, really? He’s insecure about it? All he needed was a fucking pep talk? Chimney has been suffering for this? He levels a look at Eddie and says: “Eddie, that man is so gone for you, it is almost nauseating with how sweet it is. Please, put all of us out of our misery and ask.”

“It’s a big change. What if it goes wrong? What if he says no?” Eddie says, nervous now. Chimney has never seen Eddie nervous like this.

Instantly, he softens a little, remembering that Eddie is nearly a decade younger and very much burned by a marriage before. “Buck’s not going to say no, I promise. What you two have is solid. It can only get better. You just got to ask.”

“Thank you, Chim,” Eddie smiles, straightening his spine a little and giving him a nod, before marching out of the firehouse with a pep in his step, hopefully to finally put a fucking ring on Buck’s finger.

“Just doing my duty,” Chimney says, mostly to himself now. Just 48 more hours, then he’ll be released of this hell and they can all be happy for the engaged couple. He almost made it. Thank fuck.

To not go insane during those 48 hours, he drops Jee-Yun off at the Lee’s and whisks Maddie away to a no phones spa. He cannot deal with the suspense of waiting for a text that he did it from Eddie. If Buck wanted to immediately tell his sister he got engaged, then he shouldn’t have had a secret relationship behind her back. Chimney is totally writing this up to plausible deniability if confronted.

Still, despite his maybe harsh attitude, he is buzzing with excitement in the kitchen next shift, waiting for Buck and Eddie to come in. After all he has gone through for them, he thinks he is entitled to feeling smug about knowing first and keeping it a secret.

When they come in, he instantly knows it happens, because Buck is practically beaming, looking as if he’s about to burst with happiness, while Eddie’s shoulders are relaxed and he’s staring at Buck with open adoration.

He sees Hen and Bobby exchange looks, them also catching onto the couple. However, Chimney struggled for them, so he gets first dibs on commenting. So he grins and calls out: “Okay, you two, show us the ring.”

Instead of an even bigger grin like Chimney has expected, Buck frowns in confusion at him, while everyone else turns to look at him, a ‘what the fuck’ written all over their faces. Eddie is just staring at him as if he can’t believe this is happening. “Ring?” he finally squeaks.

“Yeah. Ring,” Chimney says slowly, not sure what isn’t clicking. “You were going to ask Buck to marry you. You told me. Since you two have been dating in secret for god knows how long without telling us. Which is rude, by the way.”

Buck now turns to look at Eddie, smile back, though shier as he says: “You said that?”

“I- I don’t remember that,” Eddie stammers now bright red. “And I never said that. I- You told me to ask Buck out, not propose to him!”

“What? No!” Chimney responds. “You’re already together, why would you need to ask him out?”

“Since when have we been together?” Buck says, now registering the rest. “We had one date. Did I miss us dating?”

“No, you didn’t. I only just asked,” Eddie panics.

“Okay, what is happening?” Chimney mutters, unsure how they went from A to B.

Bobby and Hen both watch the chaos unfold for a moment, before Hen steps in: “Okay. Shut it. Eddie, just tell us what happened.”

“Hey, no fair! Why does he get to tell his side?” Chimney protests.

“As one of the people actually involved in the relationship or engagement, or whatever, I feel like he knows better,” Hen says, condescendingly sympathetic.

“Rude,” Chimney mutters, but he shuts up.

“Eddie,” Hen prompts, gesture for Eddie to explain. Next to her, Chimney crosses his arms expectingly, curious how Eddie will get himself out of this one.

Meanwhile Eddie is flustered a bright red and explains: “Chimney started acting weird like a week and a half ago. I thought he caught onto my feelings for Buck or knew something, then he pulls me aside and tells me to just ask Buck. I thought he meant ask him out. And I did. We went on one date, just one. No secret relationship. We were going to tell all of you immediately.”

“Yeah, I can confirm, only one date. I would have not been able to keep that secret,” Buck interjects, holding his hand up like he’s in a classroom wanting to get a turn to speak.

“We know, Buck,” Bobby says gently, which is so rude. Chimney knows what he heard, he can’t believe he’s getting betrayed like this. He knew Eddie kind of forgot, but he remembered when Chimney reminded him. How else would he know what Chimney was talking about?

“Chimney,” Hen asks, which is why she is his favorite, because Chimney deserves to have his story heard.

“Eddie told me he was going to ask Buck to marry him,” Chimney explodes. “He did. I heard it with my own ears. He said it and then he didn’t ask and I have been suffering in silence trying to not ruin his proposal for Buck and now he’s pretending like he doesn’t know anything!”

“When did he say that?” Bobby asks, trying to soothe the situation.

“At the barbecue!” Chimney exclaims. “He was watching you and Buck putter around and straight up said, and I quote, ‘I am gonna ask him to marry me.’ How else am I supposed to interpret that?”

“You said that?” Buck asks Eddie, voice quiet and awed.

“Uhm, I- I don’t remember doing that,” Eddie flushes, not meeting Buck’s eyes.

Cautious and fragile, Buck asks: “Did you- did you mean it?”

Eddie’s eyes snap up and he looks caught for a moment. Impossibly, he becomes more red as he swallows thickly, then softly admits: “Uhm, may- maybe. Would that- would that be… okay?”

A smile blooms on Buck’s face as he nods: “Yeah, that- that would very much be okay.”

“Oh, that’s- that’s good, so uhm-” Eddie searches for his words, clearly wanting to do something, but unsure how or if he should.

Watching them now, it begins to dawn on Chimney that maybe Eddie had not been lying about them not being together and there not being a proposal plan. That these idiots truly had not figured their shit out together before these past two days and Eddie just said that because he is a fucking asshole, who likes to make Chimney suffer with his lovesick foolishness.

“No,” he interrupts them, breaking the moment as they both snap their eyes to him. “After all I have been through, you are not proposing to Buck like this after one date. You are getting a ring and doing it right and keeping me the fuck out of it when you do it.”

“Hey, no fair, he can do whatever he wants. If my boyfriend wants to ask me to marry me, he can,” Buck argues, having Eddie’s back, because of course he does. He always has.

“Boyfriend?” Eddie repeats, bashfully happy.

“I mean, if that’s okay,” Buck offers.

“Oh my god, you can’t jump straight into being fiances,” Hen exclaims, realizing at the same time as Chimney does that they haven’t even had the boyfriend talk yet, but are jumping head first into the fucking marriage talk.

“We can do whatever we want,” Buck sticks out his tongue.

“Yeah, what he said,” Eddie says, because he also will always have Buck’s back.

“You don’t rush these things,” Hen argues.

“Everyone calm down,” Bobby also inserts himself into the explosion of noise as voices overlap while they all argue.

Chimney is pretty sure neither Buck nor Eddie care about what any of them say and are walking out of this shift engaged. He went through all this trouble to not ruin Buck’s proposal and all he did was rob Buck of a proposal.

As he listens to them talk he can only think one thing; Maddie is going to kill me for keeping her out of the loop on this. He should have really learned his lesson about not involving himself in Buckley secrets.

~~

A/N:

A moment of silence for Chimney here lmao. Like he did not deserve any of this and it is not his fault Buck and Eddie are like this xp

I have been writing so many secretly married fics that it was nice to change it up for a fic, even if you got to keep them the idiot4idiot that they are (affectionate)

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

hey I saw that ask about Stan slowly regaining his emotions once the twins come but what if

Stan and the twins have been bonding freestyle half the summer but one day his alarm clock goes off at the same time it has for 30 years to wake him up to go to a dead end 9-5 he’s been going to for 30 years and he just decides

fuck it

he grabs the twins - who obviously their very serious uncle who is boring and logical wakes them up and says they need to go their bags packed?? Gotta go no questions?? They’re hustling their tiny butts

only to watch this guy hop the fence and Hotwire the Gleefuls fancy new RV and drive it straight through their perfectly manicured lawn and doing donuts on main street before speeding off and doing a fun road trip

absolutely just WRECKING every tourist trap not on purpose but just with the sheer unbridled chaos of an old man discovering the joy of life and 2 pines twins.

Stan flirting with the spider lady but because his atrocious pick up lines are making both Dipper and Mabel cringe and groan and trying to leave but he just keeps finding them and unleashing 30 years worth of bad jokes and puns. Oops! The spider lady hates them now, gonna kill them, nope because Stan stole the locking mechanism to Paul Bunion because why not and now they’re free. a repeat of the roadtrip in season 2 but Stan’s giving his own tours and just heckling the crap out of these poor folks until they ban them. affectionate noogie-ing, and 30 years of minimum wage and theft to SPOIL these kids rotten.

but

no one told Ford

he wakes up - house is quiet - he did wake up a little after all, Stan probably left for work and the kids are 12 they probably went to Wendy’s or Soos or Candy, Grenda

it’s a small town, he can figure out where they went

he gets wrapped up in his work and then at like 5 o clock Stan isn’t home. The kids aren’t home. It’s probably fine he probably missed a phone call. And Stan has late nights sometimes

clock keeps ticking

ford can’t focus

like 3 hours later Ford calls Stan’s work cause really he should be more responsible

…..Stan physically can’t be not? Work says Stan never got there and it’s really unprofessional - 30 years of working and he can’t call in sick? ford hangs up

police knock on the door looking for Stan too because really who steals a camper and drives reckless around town racking up thousands in property damage?

but Stan wouldn’t do that

HE CANT DO THAT

So Ford - being paranoid, none of the trackers are working, Stan’s not in danger just being a menace, he’s acting WILDLY out of character, kids are gone too and NO ONE has seen any of them since last night

Down to the bunker because it HAS to be the shapeshifter! WHERE IS MY BROTHER!!

Just Stan going nuts and having the best day of his life in 50 years while Ford is in a horror movie

Oh man this is so funny. Poor Ford, his bro got hit with intense feelings for mischief and ditched him to hang out with the twins on an impromptu road trip. Using his reputation as a serious man to get everyone moving before they can question whats happening.

Stan went to someone who barely talked to anyone to dumping a library of terrible jokes on them while cackling at all the tourist spots they're leaving in ashes.

Meanwhile Fords having a panic attack because his brother and gnibblings are missing. No way to find them. No idea where they could have gone. Stan acting so out of character (too in character) and he's gonna freak out.

Even funnier if the twins are trying to call Ford for help but keep getting distracted by the fun of Pines mayham. They did not agree to be here and were also tricked but man are they enjoying messing with people with the man who's simultaneously torturing them with jokes and teaching them valuable life skills. Like stealing.

They come back and Fords so happy and they are all grounded. Even Stan.