#Pull Down Attic Stairs

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! My brother is going to be briefly cat sitting for our mom soon, and I think it would be funny to hide dozens of tiny ducks/turtles/whatever around her house, but I have never lived with a cat and I am kinda concerned about the cat eating them wait to be clear, not real ducks or turtles, I mean like mini rubber duckie type things Anyway, do you have cat advice? Minimum size to prevent cat eating it, what material should they be made of, things like that? A place to buy them? edit: I hadn't been planning on normal size rubber ducks, I'd been planning on the super mini ones that are like half an inch to an inch long, but it sounds like there's a chance the cat could eat those? Like, not likely, but possible. If not rubber duckies, what other small thing could I hide around my mom's house for her to be finding for weeks to come? Plastic coins? Ball pit balls?

[goingthruthedishwasher]

You’re splayed out on the bed- this enormous thing Price organised for the four of you-

It was delivered by two moving guys who already looked overwhelmed at the prospect of getting it out of the truck, let alone carrying it down your garden path & into your attic bedroom. Lucky for them, Soap took it as a personal challenge to organise Simon (mostly), Gaz (somewhat) and Price (not at all) to lift and carry the bed up park, through the French doors and the stairs.

Price pulled you onto his lap, and you both sat on the deck admiring your men (pretend to) struggle under the weight of the mattress. Price lit a cigar and snuck a hand up your shorts-

“Well then missy, I suppose we better find something to put it on.”

“You didn’t think to get a bed frame?” You turn into him, as he takes another drag, “that might be the most guy thing you’ve ever done.”

“Ah don’t worry about it sweetheart,” he huffs, his fore finger skimming the elastic of your underwear, “ ‘m sure me and Simon can knock something together.”

And they did- this minimal but incredibly solid bed frame made of reclaimed oak- one they insisted on “breaking in” more than a few times

[bunny-jpeg]

bunny heat

simon "ghost" riley

tags: smut/pwp, hybrid au, bunny!simon, wolf!reader, size difference/kink, breeding kink, mating press, dirty talk, mentions of pregnancy & babies

a/n: i am rekindling my affection for call of duty fan fiction by making self indulgent nonsense - enjoy

the common assumption was that bunny hybrids were small and fragile. with blunt teeth and long bunny ears. they were meant to be dressed up and adored. they were sweet little things, harmless. prey.

the other assumption was that wolf hybrids were large and imposing. if folklore were correct, they were near feral with large teeth and pointed ears. the possessed great physical power and could overtake anything that got in their way. predator.

your wolf-like ears twitched as you tried to grab the box of cereal off the shelf. you tried to get up on your tippy toes to reach the top shelf. but to no avail you could get it. you huffed with your hands at your hips and turned to your mate, almost a foot taller that you. you said sweetly, "bun-bun, can you get that for me?"

the imposing blond with the rabbit ears and medical mask on, turned away from the other shelf to help you. one large hand on your hip while he easily plucked the box from the shelf and handed it to you, "glad ya didn't scale the shelves like last time." and he reached to you to rub the top of your head lovingly.

common assumption were rarely right.

your eye glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. you finished buttering the toast and then slid the two fried eggs on the plate. already on it was some vegetarian bacon and sausage. with everything on the plate, you headed towards the attic to find simon.

the worst part about spring wasn't snow that melted to slush or the allergies. it was simon's breeding season. poor guy, while he was in the military he was given shots to keep it at bay. but once he retired it felt like it hit two-fold after years of suppression.

"simon." you cooed as you went up the stairs. the smell was overwhelming when you got into the attic. it smelt like heavy bonfire except without all the smoke. regardless you still squinted as if there was smoke in your eyes. you brought the food to him and found him laid out in his nest.

he was in a white tank top and loose boxers. his blond hair a mess and he was sweaty, but at the very least, his breathing was heavy. poor thing had a one track mind right now. to fuck.

and while for more bunny hybrids that meant accepting whatever cock they could get. simon wanted to fill someone up with his hot cum and let his bunnies grow inside another hybrid. you got down to your lover's nest and gave him the plate.

"eat, my love. c'mon, you need the energy." you cooed as you cupped his sweaty face. you watched simon sit up against the pile of pillows. you cooed at him softly as he ate a little bit.

except he used very little of the fork and knife you gave him. using his hands and licking his hands free of butter, grease and egg yolks. you kissed his face softly as your feverish simon ate greedily.

"amazin'." he purred, "taste good. my good made." he loudly ate and leaned in for a messy kiss that got breakfast on your face before he went back to eating. he said, "get your clothes off, need the proper scent in the nest."

you slowly got undressed while he finished eating. he licked his fingers before he got he strong arm around you. his cottontail wiggled as he rubbed himself up against you. he stuck his nose in your hair and heavily exhaled.

"feel good." he said. simon was probably the largest bunny hybrid you've ever seen. man stood close to 6'5, he was a military man covered in scars and tattoos. he was scary even with those perked blond bunny ears and white cottontail. he leaned in and gave you a sloppy kiss.

his tongue was quickly in your mouth and you moaned. you clutched onto him and he groaned as you sharp nails dug into his shoulders. when he pulled away his tongue was out, panting. his cock strained his sweaty boxers and he needed you. he needed that release.

you were naked. known as a predator animal, you were under him without a single stitch on you. all curves for him. he got his hard cock out of his briefs and there was a feral look in his eye. you swallowed and said, "simon."

he gave you a wide grin, "like what ya see, my little wolf? i bet you were thinkin' about while you were cookin' for me." he licked his lips, even bunnies desired flesh, "could smell ya under all that cookin'. kept strokin' myself, knowin' you were playin' wife for me."

you swallowed and shifted a little, "fuck, simon... take me." and your eyes went wide when simon used his strength to hike your knees to your ears and expose your pussy to him. he sank into you quickly and you let out a small gasp as you became accustomed to his length.

he probably had the biggest cock you've ever seen.

he planted his hands on either side of your head and moved against you. his cock nudged against all the right places. it wasn't even like he was going particularly fast. he may be a fast little rabbit, but he wanted to consume you. he wanted to feel all of you, every inch of you.

you were his mate, bonded till the end. your souls were intertwined together if you wanted to understand it in a metaphysical way. the wolf and the bunny, except the bunny was the scary one and the wolf was the more harmless one. you weren't a push over, but you weren't the imposing one in the relationship. not that you minded, you enjoyed how protective simon could be.

he laid wet kisses on you as you laid in his nest. his protected space with all the items a bunny hybrid like him could need. that included his mate. he fucked you into the covers, the soft quilts and even the throw pillows from the couch. it was a safe place for him to have you all to himself. and you happily let have you, all of you.

you wrapped your arms around him and the two of you moved together. there was something so tender between the two of you, even if there was an under current of intense sexual want. a neediness that your simon had for you as he rutted against you. he was only thinking with his cock, but he still had enough restraint to not harm you.

he'd never harm you.

"gonna breed ya. gonna give you some bunnies to take care of." he purred, "ya'd love that, wouldn't ya, love. carryin' my little bunnies around in your perfect womb." he licked his lips. he felt more predator than his animal traits led on. he was hungry the way a wolf was, not a rabbit.

"wanna give me babies?"

"ya, all of 'em. keep ya locked away all of my heat so i can ruin that pussy of yours and give ya a bunch of bunnies to be a good mama too. maybe we'll end up with a few wolf pups, but i wanna see ya haulin' around my babes like a good den mother." his thrusts grew in strength. his words were coated in a heavy lust.

"fuck." you exhaled deeply. his words were erotic.

"you feel amazing, my mate." he purred, "you feel so good around me. this fucking pussy is amazing, only thing i want during this time. how could i not want you? you're my mate, we're bonded and i love you more than words can describe. ya know that, right, my little wolf." he continued to move against you. he could feel the pleasure in his body, he could feel the leap of want in his core.

"please, simon. holy fuck." you shakily exhaled as you held onto his strong shoulders tighter. your loving bunny mate, he looked lovely on top. those dark features that scared most, but lured you in. he was by every definition the worst bunny hybrid, but you loved it. everything from the resting scowl on his face, to the scarring, to those soft bunny ears and how he could easily wrap you up in his arms.

he was the ideal partner for you.

you kissed once more. your knees knocked against your cheeks as he pressed further into you. the kisses were hungry as you knew you both weren't going to last much longer. the pleasure left you out of breath and a slight fuzziness in your head. you held on tightly for support as he worked your body against his. he wanted to make love to you, he yearned for you deeply. there was something so carnal about your love making that it left a flutter of lust in your gut as your mate fucked you.

"all mine." he purred as he held onto the covers a little tightly. he pressed himself as far as he could go, he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of his hefty cock. you whined in response.

you two shared one more heated kiss, you whined your love for him against his lips as he continued to thrust. a few more heavy thrusts and he finished inside of you. he shoved his entire length into you and made sure that his cum hit right against your cervix. it would be the only thing that would sate the sexual desire in his body. to breed his loving mate.

you exhaled shakily as he came inside of you. you panted heavily and felt the euphoria through you as he continued to thrust inside of you. he continued his movements. he wanted to make you feel good to as his still hard cock pushed his cum as deep as it would go. but he couldn't help himself, he came a second time very quickly. only to slip his cum all the way to the back of your pussy.

he felt lucid and now worked solely on hormones. you whined and your eyes fluttered as you felt the wanted in your heated core. you whined as you felt the stimulation in your body from your mate push you over the sexual edge. you let out such a beautiful moan and came around his cock.

"good, good." he mused, "fuck, that's it, my little wolf." he said, the edge had been taken off and he could relax. he pulled out and flopped down next to you on the mattress. you reeked of his aroused scent and before you could drop your legs down to the bed. he had you curled up in his arms.

his lips on your neck as he said sweet nothings to you. promises of pups and bunnies and being forever mates.

-

you didn't have your heat that spring, all it took was a weekend of simon's cycle to impregnate you. now it was summer and you were cuddled up with your much larger mate. his hand on your swollen middle as you got comfortable next to him.

you were carrying two babies; two pups, two bunnies, who knew. wouldn't know until they were born by fall. your swell was impressive and your dear simon loved it.

it wasn't common for a wolf to be impregnated by a bunny, but you had to admit. the pregnancy looked better on you anyway, and simon would agree as he contorted himself to kiss your swollen middle.

[mooooonnnzz]

Platonic ask for gravity falls 🩷

The twins with a mother figure? Those kids are all around saving the world, someone needs to seriously worry about them and make a little fuss lol maybe the mother figure is Stanley or Stanford new wife? I just imagine the twins coming back next summer and boom new mother/aunt

Heartbreak, Heartbreak

Stanford x Reader / Dipper & Mable x Mother!Reader

✦ your stanfords wife whaatt?!

✦ i feel like this is one of my weaker works, i apologize

✦ 2,5k words

✦ fem reader

✦ gulp i hope i did ur request justice 😭

✦ mable goes "stop fighting!!" at some point

✦ requests r still deliciously open

꣑୧ Coming back to Gravity Falls was a dream come true for the twins. What they weren’t expecting was to see their Great Uncle Ford walk in the Mystery Shack hand in hand with you. Mable was the first to bombard you Grunkle with questions; which stemmed from “Oh my god, when did you guys meet?” to “Oh my god, oh my god, am I going to have Great Cousins? That sounds weird, doesn’t it?” Ford had to calm her down before she got too rowdy with their questions and overwhelm you. 

꣑୧ Once Mable was calm enough to sit down in the same room with you, without bursting in her seat with excitement, was when Ford broke the news. “Mable, Dipper. This is my wife,” He said, wrapping his arms around you, his hand moving up and down your arm in a soothing manner. You introduced yourself to the twins who were more than happy to meet you. 

꣑୧ “Did our Grunkle by some chance, manage to hypnotize you into dating him with a book?” Dipper asked with an analyzing stare. His lips were puckered, pointer finger and thumb on his chin, tapping it curiously. Not expecting a question as absurd as that, you let out a laugh. Shaking your head, you smiled at Dipper. “Not at all,” You respond, taking Ford’s hand with yours, intertwining your fingers together. “He just won me over with his nerdy charm.” You say, your eyes locked on Ford. A rush of blood swarmed Ford’s cheeks. A chorus of groans echoed in the shack. Stan appears behind the kids, resting his arms on the top of their chairs. “See, kids,” He motions over to you and Ford with a swipe of his hand. “This is what I had to deal with while you guys were gone.” With a sympathetic look, Mable rested her hand on his arm, shaking her head sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry, Grunkle Stan.” 

꣑୧ After the initial shock wore off, Dipper and Mable began to grew skeptical of you. What if you were one of Bill’s goons disguising yourself as a human? And your goal was to take down their Grunkles and start Weirdmageddon 2?! Rushing up to their room in the attic, they pulled out their trusty 8-ball, the one they used the first day they arrived at Gravity Falls and when they were unsure if they were safe to stay with Grunkle Stan. They both sat down on the floor, 8-ball in Dipper’s hand. “Okay, magic 8-ball!” Mable boomed loudly with a weird amalgamation of a British and French accent. “Mable, keep it down.” Dipper shushed. “Oops,” Mable giggled. “Okay, magic 8-ball,” She whispered, her head uncomfortably close to the 8-ball. “Is Grunkle Ford’s wife evil?” With a rapid shake, Dipper and Mable peered into the ball. A pyramid accompanied with words appeared. “Don’t count on it.” The twins read out loud. “Huh…” Mable slowly nodded her head, eyes squinted in thought. “Well,” Dipper tossed the 8-ball behind him. “The magic 8-ball never lies.” 

꣑୧  Getting along with the twins wasn’t hard. All you had to do was grab your car keys from your purse, jingle them as if they were a bell and wait. Few minutes later, you’d hear their feet stomping down the stairs and a flash of colors swarming the living room. “I heard keys jingle, I heard keys jingle!!” Mable’s eyes darted around the room in search of the keys and when her eyes landed on you, her eyes sparkled with joy and anticipation. “Are you taking us somewhere, Great Aunt [Name]?” You smiled, spinning the keys around your finger. “Depends,” You pretended to think for a moment, just to keep them on their toes. “Where would you guys like to go?” A laugh escapes you as Dipper and Mable attack you with where they want to go. “Alright, let me tell your Grunkle that I’m taking you guys out.” Digging through your purse, you fish out your phone. You turned it on and went to your contacts. With a tap, you dialed his number. He picked up almost immediately. “Yes, dear?” You could hear his pencil scribbling on a piece of paper. “I’m taking Dipper and Mable out for the day.” You tell him, mouthing to the kids to get in the car. They scampered out of the living room and to the hallway. You could hear the door open and their hushed voices as they made a beeline to your car. “Okay, be safe when you’re driving and call me whenever you can, okay?” You hummed in response. “Of course, I’ll keep you updated on the kids.” You say, walking out of the shack and to your car. “I want updates on how you feel too,” You could feel the love dripping from his tone. “I will, my love.” You blow a kiss into the phone, wishing Ford goodbye. He blows one back and the call ends. Entering the car, you look behind you to see the twins all buckled up and ready for their adventure. “You guys ready?” “Yeah!” 

꣑୧ “So, Dipper, what’s with those dots on your arm?” You point at the four dots on his arm with a fry. Dipper looked down to his arm. His eyebrows rise in shock. “I-I completely forgot I had these,” Dipper’s thumbs the scars, an uneasy look on his face. Your heart stops in your chest. “I’m so sorry, Dipper. I didn’t mean to make–’ Dipper’s hands raise up to his chest, waving them side to side, dismissing your concerns. He assured you that your question didn’t make him uncomfortable. “No, no! It’s just…” He rubs the back of his neck anxiously. “He got possessed by a demon!” Mable blurts out, stuffing her face with a greasy burger. “Mable!” Dipper whines. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t handle you beating around the bush any longer.” She says with a mouthful of chewed up food. You leaned yourself back in the booth, trying to assess what Mable just said. “Dipper got possessed?” You repeated in a question. “Yeah, I kinda did.” Dipper said with a slight voice crack. “Can I know how?” Disbelief was thick in your tone. You didn’t know whether to laugh or walk away in shock. They don’t look like they’re telling a joke? The way Dipper has his head slightly hung low and a tiny frown on his face proved that. But Mable seems as jolly as ever. You fight with yourself, trying to make sense of what happened when Dipper spoke up. “Have you heard of the name Bill Cipher?” Shaking your head no, the twins dove straight into a very long story pertaining to Bill Cipher and how he tormented them throughout summer last year and ultimately led to the world almost ending. “Wow,” Was all that you could mutter. You never got your question about Dipper’s scar answered that day. 

꣑୧ Laying in bed, you eyes drifted over to Ford who was brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “You wanna know something crazy the twins told me earlier today?” Ford spat out the toothpaste into the sink. “What did those knuckleheads tell you?” He said, cupping his hand under the running faucet and filling his hand up with water. “It was this really crazy story,” You started. Ford nodded, dunking the water in his mouth and sloshing it around. “They told me about this interdimensional demon named Bill Cipher?--” Ford spit out the water in shock, spraying it everywhere on the mirror. You sat up in surprise. “Ford?” You pushed the blankets off of you and walked over to Ford, your hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” With a forced, “mhm,” he wiped the dripping water from his lips with his forearm. “Y-yeah, no. I’m fine.” He waved you off, nodding his head vigorously, almost as if he was convincing himself that everything was fine. “Are you sure?” Concern laced your voice. Someone who’s fine wouldn’t spit out their water like that at the mention of…Bill Cipher? That’s when it clicked for you. “You have history with this demon as well, don’t you?” Ford groaned, running his hands down his face. “Those kids can’t keep their mouths shut, can they?” He mumbled to himself, his head turning to face you. “What else did they tell you?” That night, you spent it horrified with the tales he told you regarding the past summer and his time with Bill. “And you never told me this, why?” Ford nervously pushed his glasses up, his eyes looking everywhere but you. “Because I…” He trailed off. “I don’t know,” He stops for a moment, inhaling deeply before continuing. “I didn’t want to scare you off. My past...isn’t something I could easily tell you without having a second thought.” A frown pulls to your lips. “Were you ever going to tell me?” You ask, your voice frail and quiet. “Yes?” His tone was full of uncertainty. You didn’t know what to think. One side of you wanted to be mad at him for keeping all of this from you, but on the other hand you felt sympathetic. You knew this wasn’t an easy topic to discuss normally. And you could tell it took him a lot of courage to admit a side of him that he wasn’t fully ready to reveal. But you were deeply hurt that he kept such secrets from you for a long time. And considering how he responded to your question, you weren’t even sure he was going to tell you any time soon. “What are you thinking about?” Ford’s voice ripped you out from your thoughts, grounding you back to reality. “I’m thinking about how crazy all of this is. I didn’t know. The kids went through so much at a young age. A-and you act like it was nothing, they could’ve died Ford.” Your hand rested on the side of your forehead. “You also made a deal with a demon? I…” You let out a sigh. “I don’t know, Stanford.” Ford cringed at the use of his full name. “I can go, if you’d like me to.” You raised your hand up to stop him. “No, I don’t want you to go. I just need time to process this,” You offer him a weak smile. “That’s all I need right now my love, just time.” 

꣑୧ “You what?!” Mable and Dipper both screech at the same time. “Yeesh, Ford. And I thought I was a screw-up.” Stan chuckled, elbowing Mable to see if that got a rise from her. It did not. “I thought I was protecting her from all of this madness!” Ford’s elbow rested on the dining room table, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Grunkle Stan tried doing the same thing, did you see how that almost ended for us?” Dipper said. “I know, I know.” Ford weakly muttered out. “Then, why did you keep such important details away from her?” Stan argued. “Because I was trying to protect her!” Ford yelled, slamming his hands on the table. That seemed to get a rise from Stan. “Well, maybe you weren’t trying hard enough! Now, look at what you did. You fucked everything up.” He shouted. “Oh!” Ford stood up from his chair. “That’s hilarious coming from you!” Scrambling up the table, Mable slammed her foot down, gaining the attention from Ford and Stan. “Fighting isn’t going to fix things, guys.” She said, “Ford had his reasons, like how you had your reasons for hiding Grunkle Ford from us, Grunkle Stan.” Ford adjusted his sweater, sitting back down on his chair. “Now, Grunkle Ford. What did she tell you?” She asked, turning over to Ford. “She told me that she needed time.” Sitting crossed-crossed, she nodded her head intently. “That’s good, right?” In return was silence. “Right, guys?” Both Dipper and Stan agreed. “Great! Now while we wait, can we apologize to each other for acting so mean and for swearing.” She directed a look to Stan who scoffed. 

꣑୧  And wait they did. After a couple of days, Ford’s phone randomly started ringing. Rushing to pick it up, he lifted his phone to see you calling him. He gulped nervously, suddenly second guessing himself. Should he pick up the phone? If he does, what if it’s you telling him that you want a divorce? Or that you need a break, or that– “Grunkle Ford!” Dipper snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Answer!” He pointed to the phone. “I got it!” Mable sang out, swiping her finger to the right. There was a beat of silence. Mable and Dipper anxiously waited for at least you or him to speak. One of them was about to intrude, no longer able to withstand such silence when you spoke up. “My love?” Your voice was timid. Ford’s heart lunged to his throat. How he missed your voice. “Y-Yes?” He mentally punched himself for stuttering like a complete fool in front of you. “Can you open the door for me? It’s locked.” Without a second thought, Ford practically ran over to the door and whipped it open for you. The twins watched you and him silently talk to each other from a distance. After a few tearful words and hugs, they recoil in disgust when they see Ford swoop you in for a kiss. “Oh my eyes!” Mable dramatically exclaimed. “Gross.” Dipper made a face in disgust. 

꣑୧ “I’m still mad at Ford for roping you kids into all that madness.” You tell the kids, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. “Dawww, don’t you worry about us.” Mable put a hand to her cheek bashfully. “We can handle it.” You found that hard to believe. “Is Gravity Falls still…crazy?” You whisper the last part, in case Bill Cipher is listening. You’ve only heard stories of him, but hearing what he has done rooted a new fear in you. “Kind of? There’s still weird things that happen here, but not as bad as last summer.” Dipper said, jotting down a few notes in his journal. “How come I’ve never seen anything weird?” You wondered. “Because you’re too busy making out with Grunkle Ford to notice anything!” Mable chirped, kicking her feet as she drew on colored piece of paper. That elicited a laugh from Dipper and a “What!” Ford walked in with an eyebrow raised and breakfast in hand. ”I heard I was mentioned in a conversation. Are you guys talking crap about me?” Ford places his food on the table and pulls back a chair. He sits right next to you and before he dives in on his breakfast, he gives you a quick kiss on the lips. “You wish!” Mable says, flipping her paper on its backside. “I do not.” Ford said quietly. “So, kids saving the world, huh? That has to count as some kind of child abuse.” You half said seriously, half said jokingly. Ford rolled his eyes. “What? Are you gonna arrest me?” You glared at him. “I might…” 

[brotherblaze]

doloroso —robert "bob" reynolds

—summary: Against his better judgement, Bucky calls you in to help Bob balance control while he adjusts to his mood stabilizers.

—word count: 2,1k

—warnings: mild gore

—also on AO3

Bucky’s grip around your bicep is firm.

You stand a few feet from the gaping void swallowing up the entire floor of the Watchtower. It hasn’t moved forward since you arrived. According to the docket Bucky sent over when he called, this is unusual. If this Void is truly as sentient as his information claimed, it (he?) should be advancing. You stare at the edges of the shadow, the way it laps at the glossy floor like the sea at sand and yet it doesn’t advance past a certain point.

“Look,” Bucky starts, his grip on your arm loosening, “I know… I know she had the whole ‘incapable of feeling fear’ thing going on but inside that is a maze of your worst memories. Just…” he pauses, presses his lips together, “keep moving. He’ll be in an attic-like room. Shaggy hair, baggy clothes. He’ll be the only one who interacts with you.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

In the corner of your eye, Bucky nods and releases your arm. His footsteps retreat.

You stand at the edge of the darkness. It rushes forward, just barely missing the tips of your boots and then retreats, surges forward and retreats again. You can almost imagine the sound of the ocean and the wind and the birds. Or is that a memory — someone else’s memory?

The wave of soot rushes towards you and you take a step forward to meet it.

For the longest fraction of a second in your life, there is nothing.

Then, it’s hot. The sun is sweltering down at you. There are stairs and columns and trees —

People push past you, stampede up the stairs towards — that’s the Acropolis of Athens. Tall and mighty, foundation and pillars and roof uncracked, uneroded by the passage of time. Someone trips, falls and someone else grabs them by the arm, drags their companion along up the stone steps. Someone shouts, points upwards.

You see a man standing by the pillars.

In another life he could’ve been you and you could’ve been him.

In another life, you were him.

He looks at you and he smiles.

An arrow pierces the side of his jaw and tears through the bone. He crumples like tissue paper and people are on him in a moment. A hand grabs the bloodied arrow and yanks, pulls the whole jawbone off with it. It skitters across the stone ground until it hits the nose of your shoe.

A crowd surrounds him, hands tearing and punching and feet kicking and crushing. You look away.

There’s a doorway to a balcony-like structure. Beyond it, a room of gray and metal and ice. You don’t look at the carnage, at people clawing him to pieces and turn to step onto the balcony.

It is cold. Cold and metal and frost on the steel bars separating the small room from the larger one. The floor is concrete, cracked and crumbling, a hole the size of someone’s fist lodged into it. Your breath fogs when you exhale. The crisp winter air makes your lungs sting when you inhale.

The Winter Soldier is standing in front of the bars, its back to you. A man stands on the other side, dressed in a green military uniform. His chest is adorned with medals. He speaks in a low tone, tells the Winter Soldier something. You can’t quite make out his speech, the intonation of his words.

There’s a woman standing next to the Winter Soldier. Her hair is neatly braided to the side and her outfit is crisp, clean; a white shirt tucked into a pair of black pants, a coat hanging on her shoulders. Her face is impassive but her body is turned towards the Winter Soldier, arms lax at her sides. Is she compensating for its blind spots?

Your eyes meet hers from across the room.

The Winter Soldier strikes. Its movements are quick and fluid and its human hand wraps around her throat. Her hands shoot to claw at its exposed hand and her mouth opens, face contorting in pain and — fear? Is that fear you recognize on her face? It feels wrong. It shouldn’t be there. It wouldn’t be the Winter Soldier — you’ve read her docket again and again and again to the point where you see the blocky letters on that paper even when you close your eyes — ‘claims to be incapable of feeling fear’. With how long she was appointed (self-appointed?) as its handler, The Asset should not — The Winter Soldier shoves its metal fingers into her mouth and grabs her jaw. Then, its flesh arm leaves her throat, fingers slotting into her mouth, too, and it pulls.

Her skull snaps loose from her jaw and flies across the room, hits the wall with a dull thunk and drops. It rolls towards you. Her eyes stare at you, unmoving, dull. They are your own eyes. You look away.

There’s a gap between the bars. The room on the other side has flowery wallpaper and a plush couch.

You edge past the Winter Soldier and slot your body into the gap.

It smells like smoke. The wallpaper is yellowing from the tobacco, peeling at where the wall meets the ceiling. The couch is ugly, a faded maroon with stains and cigarette burns underneath the plastic cover. The you that’s sitting on it, baby-cheeked and dull-eyed, is hunched over, feet not even meeting the floor.

The woman standing in front of you, a burning cigarette between her lips — her face is a blur. You cannot decipher any characteristics about it. The cigarette glows red hot when she inhales.

“That mouth will get you killed.”

You step past her, step over the ashtray on the floor. There’s a mirror on the wall that doesn’t reflect. In it, a man sitting cross-legged in an attic-like room. This must be Bob. You dive through the mirror.

This room is pleasant. Quiet. The air is clean, or cleaner than the cigarette smoke and smoke-stained walls, if maybe a little stuffy. Specks of dust dance around you as you approach the man.

“Hello, Bob.”

His head snaps up. “Who’re you?”

“If I said I’m a friend of The As — James, I’d be lying. But we do have history.”

“Why…?” he trails off, brows scrunching. He turns his head slowly, as if realizing where he is for the first time. “What happened?”

“You threw two supersoldiers through seven walls and then melted into the floor. I think that’s how he phrased it.”

Bob buries his face into his hands with a low groan.

“Well, anyway, that’s why I’m here.” Bob pulls back slightly, hands dropping to his lap, and tilts his head up to look at you. “I can help you keep control while you get accustomed to your new medication. ‘S why he called me.”

He nods slowly, his grin lopsided and stiff, a notch between his brows. “Yeah?” His voice wavers. He blinks rapidly and wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. “How are you going to do that?” The lilt in his voice bothers you but you can’t place why. It gnaws at you, at the very center of your being, of your very existence.

“I’m more of a concept than I am human,” you say. “Listen: I will help you take control back from the Void and the Sentry. The road ahead is arduous, but so is the road behind you.” You close the already small space between yourself and Bob, and hold a hand out towards him. He drags his glassy eyes from the floor to look at your hand. “Now, could you please show me the way out of here, Bob?”

“It’s not pretty.”

“I just watched two of my past incarnations get their head and/or jaw ripped off. I doubt what’s in your past can scare me.” You nod. “We can hold hands if you think that’ll make it easier.”

Bob stares at your outstretched hand for a long moment. Finally, he accepts it and you haul him up from the floor with ease. His hand is warm around yours. You tug on it to grab his attention. “Listen: close your eyes and I’ll handle all the ugly stuff. The first time is free.”

Bone-deep relaxation washes over him as his eyes flutter shut. He hears the thud of your boots against the wooden floor and follows the pull on his hand. He feels light.

When Bob feels like he’s back in his body again, he finds himself sitting on his bed. You’re sitting right there with him, right next to him, thigh pressed against his, your hand still clasped in his. He drops it like it burns and scoots away from you. He stutters a half-baked sorry when his brain catches up to the faux-pas he’s committed. You don’t seem to be bothered by the sudden rejection.

“May I have my tie back?”

He blinks once, twice, turns his head to look at you because you’re wearing it, you were just wearing it when you held your hand out for him to take — it’s not there. Your eyes drop to his chest for a brief moment before they meet his again. Something in his hindbrain pings as wrong and there’s this… oppressive fear constricting around his throat. His windpipe is being crushed.

“You’re wearing it.”

His hand shoots to his chest and he feels smooth fabric underneath his fingertips. He nearly tears it over his head and forces it back into your open palm.

“Thank you.” Then, you stand and step over the things strewn on his floor to make it to the mirror hanging on the wall. He watches you undo the knot on your tie and loop it around your neck, tie it and smooth it against your torso. “So, a chicken?”

“I was—” he swallows around the lump in his throat, a hand on his chest rubbing circles over his shirt to ease the rapid stutter in his ribs, “Meth. I was on meth.”

“Self-medicating isn’t uncommon,” you note. You don’t even flinch when there’s a knock at the door, metal against metal but Bob nearly jumps out of his skin. His heart is beating against his ribcage like a wild horse trying to make its getaway. It might just burst from his chest at this rate. “Come in,” you say before Bob has even had the chance to consider inviting whoever it is in.

The door slides open and Bucky steps in, Ava hot on his heels. She makes a beeline for the bathroom while Bucky stops a step or two away from Bob. His posture is stiff and wrong and the feeling of unease in Bob’s chest grows, wraps around his heart and dives between his ribs — “You okay?”

“I’m not lifting him alone,” Ava announces, halfway out of the bathroom again.

“It’s not that difficult.”

“He’s 200lbs of douchebag.”

“Just… give me a sec.” Bucky looks at Bob again, brow scrunched and does a quick once-over of him. As if he’s checking for injuries. “Bob? You okay?” He repeats, tone even, still stiff.

Bob’s mouth opens and closes, opens again, a million and one thoughts racing in his mind, avoiding each other in near-misses and colliding together like a 17-car pileup on the interstate. “I… Yeah.” He nods his head. “Yeah. Is John…?”

“He’s alive. Out cold but alive.” Ava places her hands onto her hips and looks at Bucky. “I’m not lifting him alone.”

“For the love of —” Bucky stomps across the room and pushes past Ava into the bathroom. They exchange a few not-so-heated words, more mocking and bickering than anything angry. Something thunks dully against the ceramic tub and they both hiss through their teeth, followed by a stretch of silence.

“Great, now he’s bleeding, too.”

“Eh,” Ava says after a moment, tone flippant, “he’ll be fine.”

“You have good taste,” you say. Bob nearly jumps out of his skin again. He forgot you were here in the room with them. How did he forget? You’re holding his copy of Frankenstein in your hand, finger tracing the lettering of the summary on the back. “You’d be surprised how many modern movies are so obviously inspired by Frankenstein.” You slot the book back into its place on Bob’s meager bookshelf, which is just the singular shelf with six books and a fake succulent. “If you need me, or if you have any questions, I’m just down the hall.”

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, his body fatigued. So, he just nods and tries to manage a smile. If it looks more like a grimace, you don’t mention it.

part 2

banners by @/cafekitsune

[comatosebunny09]

and they were roommates | sylus

sum: sylus responds to an online ad for a roommate. you suddenly have this tall, well-spoken, handsome man living in the attic, playing classical music, tinkering with things he built, and humming off-key while he makes you pancakes in the morning before disappearing for weeks at a time. cw: modern au, roommate au, slice of life, mild language, mutual pining, romantic tension, innuendoes, smidge of angst, 1.3k of self-indulgence tracklist: honey - raveena fig. 1 | fig. 2 | fig. 4 | fig. 5 | fig. 6

The weather app forecasted rain all week.

You never truly relied on the damn thing, seeing as how there was always a high chance its predictions wouldn’t come to fruition. It’d been hot as Hell’s gates the past few days, pasting your clothes to you like snakeskin.

Well, now, as the evening sky pelts down in grey torrents beyond the awning of your porch, you feel silly for doubting it this time around. 

You love the rain—the scent of wet earth it ushers in with it, the ambient sound it carries. How, as cliché as it might sound, it washes away everything, starting the world anew. A second chance. A cover.  

What's most ironic is the rain didn’t start until your roomie disappeared once more, swept away for a “business trip,” leaving you to fend for yourself where you’d grown accustomed to having him around again. 

A quiet little tick to your lips, you gaze skyward, beholding the darkened clouds from your seat. A crisp breeze kisses your cheeks, water drip-dropping down the gutter, the symphony of the rainfall chasing away the sounds typical of your neighborhood.

Clad in your work attire, you rise from your chair and push into your home. You opt for a warm shower to chase away the cold. Ease into something comfortable, lounging on the sofa with a drama you’ve practically memorized queued up on the TV screen. 

It isn’t long before the stress of your day trickles in, and your vision fades, scorched around the edges like a vignette. You settle onto your side, feet kicked up on the couch’s armrest, drawing your blanket further up your body. 

Guided by the rain, the muted dance of light from the screen, and the exhaustion of socializing, you lapse into a heavy spell of sleep. 

—

You’re lucid. Carefully treading the line of consciousness and dreams, when the jiggling of the front door’s locks pulls you to the surface. 

You sit up with a yawn, joints crackling as you stretch, muscles stiff from your nap. The door creaks open, and warmth leaks through you at the familiar mop of white in the threshold.

He’s massive in the open door, stepping inside, quiet, careful, as if he’s up to no good. As if the darkness carried him in, snowy strands beaded with rain and a thin film of it lining the neck of his coat. You watch him slip off his boots and sling his jacket on the rack before you make your presence known with another yawn.

Brilliant, red eyes snap to you. Their intensity tempers, as does the rest of his face, and the pressure in your living room shifts when he steps towards the couch.

“Still awake?” he prompts, the low roll of his voice contending with that of the thunder brushing the horizon. 

You nod, trying to appear unfazed by his presence. Like you aren’t secretly vibrating, grateful to have him back.

He tugs off his gloves with practiced ease, dropping them onto the table behind the sofa. His eyes crease with a quiet mirth behind the backrest, and he studies you as he drops a hand to your shoulder. Squeezes, sending pins and needles through your chest.

Crossing the living room to the hallway, he disappears up the stretch of stairs leading to the upper floor. You’re straining your ears for every lick of sound, every creak in the floorboards, the slamming of a drawer, before it falls quiet. 

You take up the remote from the coffee table, scrolling through things to occupy the time. Your roommate reemerges after a minute or two, clad in a loose-fitting tee with a towel slung over his shoulders. 

He falls onto the cushion beside you, exhaling, towelling off his hair. He’s closer than what’s typical, thigh brushing yours, and your throat thickens. 

An amalgamation of scents coils around you like a breath out—petrichor, the faint trails of his cologne, undernotes of iron and smoke. You’ve stopped breathing as the cords in his bicep flex in the outskirts of your vision when he ruffles his hair, gaze trained on the television screen, unfocused,

Wanting to dispel the weighted atmosphere, you clear the phlegm from your throat. Sit up a little rigid, toying with the drawstrings of your hoodie.

“So…rough day?”

His jaw tenses in your periphery. He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lets the weight bear down. And for a moment, you think you’ve nicked skin. Agitated a nerve—he’s always hush-hush about what he does. The life of a real estate agent must be top secret. 

“It was…tedious,” he finally answers after murdering you with the suspense. 

The set of your shoulders uncoils. You exhale, feeling a little less like you pissed him off.

“That bad, huh?”

Fuck him for shifting like that. For getting a little more comfortable, draping an arm across the backrest, legs splaying open. The hairs littering the surface of your skin stand rigid, and again, you’ve forgotten what it means to breathe when he turns towards you, ingesting you with those cruelly beautiful eyes.

“I’ll spare you the details. I don’t lead an exciting life. Not like you do.”

You glower when he pokes your forehead. 

After chewing on your lip, you ask, “Well, you want me to distract you?”

A brow lifts with intrigue. Lips cant in one corner to match it. You roll your eyes, scoffing. You’d think by now you’d be better at catching your words before they leave your mouth.

“Is that an offer, sweetie?” 

“That’s not what I meant, you perv.”

The fight dies down inside you, and it’s like being struck by lightning when his gaze drops to your mouth. It lingers, scrutinizes, his pupils dilating before he takes you in once more. 

You’re mindlessly leaning closer as if gravity’s drawing you to him. Don’t realize you’re watching his lips, taking in their suppleness, wondering if they’re as soft as the flower petals they resemble, until his knuckle slips beneath your chin, tilting your head back.

His voice is scratchy, tempered low, and you feel it pulling in your stomach when he rasps, “You’re becoming more difficult to resist. Do you know that?”

You both stiffen as the air sparkles with something electric. 

He sifts through the drunken, confused haze of your stare, chewing on his lip as if he let something slip that he shouldn’t have. 

You work your mouth around a shaky, “What?” 

And there’s war in his eyes. A battle of self-control when his fingertips trace the slope of your jaw, drag along the swell of your cheek, brushing some hair from your face. He’s gentle as if he isn’t meant to touch. Careful like you’re glass and he’s a brute that could easily crush you in his fist.

With a resigned sigh, he draws back, lifting himself from the couch and from the dreamy film that had covered you, leaving you to blink at the space where he once resided, as your pulse thrums a battle cadence in your throat.

“Tea?” your roommate calls from the kitchen, the sound of cupboards shutting and porcelain dragging accompanying him.

You try not to let your disappointment show as you sit back. Try not to let your voice flicker, your hands fisted in your blanket, mouth open, mind utterly confused.

“Sure.”

You wonder what you might’ve done this time to scare him off. If it isn’t his phone ringing or another obligation keeping you apart, surely, it must be you. 

tags: @eialovescats, @animecrazy76, @souppooppie, @stxrrielle, @pemhpredo, @bluesidez, @thirstblogforaparchedgirl, @freeprincesslove, @raginginferno267, @dyeinsomniadontwake

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[sstan-hoe]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — demon!bucky barnes × fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — your boyfriend bought the perfect house, he said. The house in question beeing a ruin. You hated it but loved him. However, finding an old book and a cocky demon was not what you expected. He proposes a deal, will you accept? What if you don't keep your end of the bargain?

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — SMUT, light degration and dumbification, oral (both f/m receiving), p in v without protection, reader has short sex with bf and then later with bucky, filthy sex, a little rough and dirty talk — I'm a little rusty so please don't hate it too much lol

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — do you remember me? I sure hope so! I'm not saying I'm back, but I'm slowly coming back...for how long? idk. Anyway, I adore demon!bucky, and I love beetlejuice, so I kinda mixed it up. Please don't forget to give feedback!! Yeah also this has 7.8k words.

With a sigh you heaved a box out of the car, not believing you actually trusted your boyfriend when he said, he found the ‘perfect house’. Aside from the fact that he made questionable choices in the past, you should have checked it beforehand.

Now here you were, in front of a ruin almost and nothing about this house made you feel at ease. It looked like it would fall into itself at any moment, shabby windows and a broken roof.

Shaking your head, you walked inside with a spark of hope that inside looked better than outside. Spoiler, it did not.

“How could he buy something like this?” you whispered to yourself while putting the box down. He probably bought because it was cheap, and it was cheap because no one wanted it…wonder why?

Furthermore, there were two of you and this house was big enough for a family of four with a dog. Meaning it was too big and hadn’t even talked about children – not that you were ready anyway.

You decided to walk up the stairs, look a bit around as a sign of good will. Maybe it looked better in the higher parts.

Everything looked as if it would collapse every second, the wood crunching beneath your feet. The awful smell of moulding floor and plaster falling off the walls, made you roll your eyes. How could anyone want to live here?

At last, you found the stairs leading up to the attic, perhaps anything, really anything interesting was up there. You tried opening the door, but it seemed locked, again you forced your whole body against it and with a cracking sound it opened. You tried opening the door, but it seemed locked, again you forced your whole body against it and with a cracking sound it opened.

You stepped inside, looking around you saw furniture and a long table covered with white sheets. Curiosity got the best of you, taking the edges of the sheet and ripping it off.

Beneath it was a model of this town, the town you were in right now. It made you wonder how old this house was – or wait no, it was decades old, you didn’t need to wonder.

“Awesome, good job Andy,” you muttered to yourself as you let yourself fall onto a covered armchair. Your eyes wandered around the room, fixing on a box filled with paper. Pulling it closer, you lifted it on your lap.

Whoever lived here before forgot it apparently, inside were just pictures, some letters, and a book. “God, how old is this thing?” you asked yourself looking at the book.

It was covered in dust, wiping it away you noticed a different kind of writing, it almost seemed like runes. It probably was not the right decision to open the book, but there was nothing more interesting in this house.

 To your surprise, inside the book were letters you could actually ready, and you could pinpoint what Kind of language it was; Latin.

“Could not have become any weirder, found a real gem there Andy,” you muttered to yourself. No wonder the house was this cheap, crazy people lived here. “Honestly, as if they called upon some demons every Sunday, and probably truly believed some creature with four legs and horns would appear.” Shaking your head, you stood up and threw the book aside.

“Now you wounded me honey,” a voice behind you said, and it did not belong to Andy. With a scream you jumped up, turning around to face a man...,“Who are you?” you stuttered, not believing this was really happening.

He was tall, had broad shoulders, his brown hair was long but still a short, framing his face well. Then there were his dark eyes and his arrogant smirk...was he wearing a suit?

“Oh, do you not recognize me because I only have two legs and no horns?” he chuckled, taking a step closer to you. His whole being seemed dark, like only bad things followed him.

Something inside your brain snapped, as if it was overstimulated with the situation, “funny, this is so fucking funny, Andy!” you shouted through the attic. The man in front of you only chuckled, “listen I’m all for hearing a woman scream, but do you mind keeping it down?” His voice slightly hardening at the end.

You wanted to roll your eyes, now you we’re convinced he was a man – at least. “I’m leaving now, and once I’m gone you won’t exist anymore because you’re just part of my imagination,” you told him, hoping that you we’re right and you would wake up any minute.

He walked around you, coming to stand in front of the entrance. His frame almost as broad as the door, it made him even more intimidating. Face dark and calm, with no sign of humanity.

“You would like that would you not? But you can’t, can’t leave this house behind because of sweet Andy...,” he taunted you, and he was right, you couldn’t get out of this house...but you didn’t tell him that.

“Wondering how I know that? You should be a lot more careful with the books you’re Reading,” his grin spread across his face, taking a step closer to you.

“How bad do you want to leave this house?” he whispered, not stopping until he was right in front of you. His warm breath against your lips. You didn’t know what to say, if you should answer honestly...after all you we’re standing in the attic with a strange man.

“Fuck you,” was what you decided on and shoved him to the side. Bucky laughed, but as soon as he saw you glaring at him stopped although he couldn’t stop smirking,  “we’ll see about that.” You ignored his words and opened the door to leave this bloody attic.

Downstairs you found Andy who looked like a little kid on Christmas morning, he loved this house and you. Most of all he loved the future you two would be able to start here.

It broke your heart, not knowing if you would ever love this house like he did, if you could see the future, he did…for now you shook that thought away, thinking you would just work through all the weird occurrences. Maybe you’re just catching a cold, and there is no man upstairs. – And you would definitely send Andy up there to check if he could see that man too.

“And what do you think?” he stood in front of you, a wide grin stretched across his lips, “I know we have a lot to do, but it’s ours,” he wrapped his arm around your waist. A lot might be an understatement, and where would all the money come from?

“Yeah…ours,” you muttered, looking into his bright eyes. “We can grow old hear together,” he added, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. You tried your best to smile at him.

---

Two weeks went by, construction workers came in and out of the house, working on the roof and façade. Shortly after your conversation with Andy, you showed him the attic, the book and nothing happen. Nothing happened in the last two weeks, so it had to be imagination.

Right at this moment, you stood in the kitchen – well it wasn’t much of a kitchen yet. You were crouched on the floor, trying to get those tiles clean and see if anything was still usable of that wood.

You opened a cardboard door and were met with something big and hairy, you tilted your head to get a better look when it suddenly moved, looking straight at you.

A loud scream came from your mouth, making the animal start running out of the kitchen. You wanted to cry.

Andy quickly came into the kitchen, “sweetheart what happened?” coming to a stop next to you. “There was a rat, a fucking rat Andy. There are animals everywhere,” you complained.

“It’s not that bad, we’ll have them out in no time,” he promised you, just as a loud crash came from the roof. Just then a constructer came in, “sorry guys, but there is mold on your roof, think it might get a little more expensive.”

You looked at Andy, watching his reaction intensely but he didn’t seem fazed at all. “Seriously? This is money we don’t have, you’re a lawyer not a trust fund baby! This house is a ruin, everyday there is a new problem, how can you not care?”

Andys eyes widened in shock, he didn’t expect you to have such an outburst. But it was understandable, after all everything was a little stressing at the moment. Gently he touched your shoulder, a soft smile on his lips, “don’t worry sweetheart, we will find a solution, I already thought of this.”

Quickly you stood up, “you already thought there was fucking mold on that roof? Then why buy this house, why spend this much money?” he could not be serious, this money could be used for so much more.

“No, not really, but I knew it wouldn’t be easy, that’s why I put some extra money aside,” he told you, coming to stand up next to you. You didn’t understand how he could be so calm, like everything was alright.

“Just ask, leave this house behind, live a nice life,” a voice whispered into your hear, dark and rough. A faint wave of warm breath flowed around your ear, “what?” you asked out loud, this wasn’t real?

“What?” your boyfriend repeated, looking a little confused, taking a quick look around. “Did you say something?” you asked him, it had to be Andy talking.

“I have everything under control, don’t worry,” he caressed your cheek and kissed your lips, you didn’t immediately react. Andy tilted his head a little, searching for something in your eyes, “hey, anyone there?” he questioned.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here,” you lifted your head to meet his gaze, “just need a breather,” you said, trying your best to smile at him. The man next to you nodded, just wanting you to be happy, he didn’t see how unhappy you actually were, how close you were to breaking.

As soon as you stepped out of that house, it felt like a weight being lifted of your shoulders. How could Andy stay this positive? There were rats, racoons and mold inside, doors that broke with a light touch and it was probably haunted. There was nothing in this house that would lift your mood.

“Still don’t wanna make a deal?” the same voice as before said, you swiftly turned around, now face to face with a familiar man. Every word on the tip of your tongue was gone, you were speechless.

“Oh, come on…you really thought I wasn’t real?” he grinned, face so close his nose was almost touching yours. You took a step back, glaring at him and hoping he would vanish into fin air.

“Fine, you’re real. What do you want? My soul?” you asked, you’ve heard stories about demons before and all of them included people losing their souls. However, none of them had the demon persistently asking for a deal, almost as if he was desperate.

“Normally, yes. But you my darling are too pretty for that…I want you, just for one night,” he didn’t move closer to you, still it felt like something was pulling you in.

“You want to sleep with me?” you asked astounded, this sounded like some the beginning of a bad porn video. What could he possibly have of this? You would never cheat on Andy, but could that be all? “Yes, I do and trust me once you had a taste, you will never get enough,” he grinned, showing his perfect teeth with slight fangs.

“I would never do that to Andy, and you can’t force besides I can’t even trust you to that there is nothing else,” you stated, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Darling, it is not all and I can’t force you, goes against my rules…and the rules in general,” the demon revealed, slightly shrugging his shoulders as he began circling you. “You just said that’s all, you’re already lying!”

Your words caused him to chuckle, “no, I said I want to fuck you. For the deal to seal you have to say my name three times, three times in a row it must be spoken unbroken.” He held his chin eye, closely watching your every move.

You scoffed, this was fucking stupid. “Who are you Beetlejuice? I don’t know your name, want me to guess it?” you spat at him, why were you even talking to him still?

“Who do think inspired them to make that character?” he promptly asked, voice laced with smugness, “but no, you don’t need to guess, it’s written in the book, or I can tell you and once you know it, you can scream it.”

“This is stupid and let me guess when I say your name you will be free?” you shook your head, not believing yourself. Maybe the mold in the house caused you to be high?

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can do whatever I want. You will say my name and sign a contract, saying my name will make you mine,” he rolled his eyes, you were going to be a hard one, but he already enjoyed it. Yes, maybe the name thing was a little stupid, but it was too funny seeing people do it.

“Whatever, I won’t make a deal with you. I’m not a cheater and I lived through worse, I will survive this bloody house, I love Andy,” you snapped at him before stomping away, back towards the house.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night darlin’, the name is James, for future references!” the demon called after you, he wouldn’t pass on a chance to make you his and if he had to worsen the state of the house, then so be it. There was no chance he would let you go.

---

The following few weeks went by without any sight of the demon and thankfully no part of the house collapsing. Still to many animals lived there, and the roof wasn’t completely finished and the rooms needed renovations.

And today no good news awaited you, you were tired and just wanted to lay on the couch. But as you stepped through the apartment door there stood Andy with a frown, making your stomach churn.

“Sweetheart, the house is going to take a little longer than expected but our lease is ending…meaning we will have to move into-,” “we have to move into that fucking construction site, are you kidding me?” to Andy your outburst was unexpected.

“I know it’s unfortunate but remember it’s our new home,” he took your hands in his, eyes full of hope. Completely oblivious to the fact how much you hated the idea.

“No, no it is a ruin, nothing is going according to plan and everything is horrible, I will not move into that wreck. I gave you a chance, and everything is going wrong!” you scoffed at him, shaking your head before leaving right out of the door again. This could not be happening, you were holding it together, trying to stay on the right path – then it did.

You took a deep breath and headed towards the park near your apartment. In order to clear your mind, you sat down on a bench near a lake.

Suddenly you felt a dark presence next to you, already knowing who it was. “You’ve been absent the past few weeks, were you waiting for everything to go to shit?” you asked in exhaustion.

“No, that would be very mean,” James chuckled, letting his arm rest behind you on the bench, fingers dangerously close to your shoulder. You dared to take a look at him, it knocked almost your breath out of your chest.

There is sat, thighs wide apart in a black tailored suit with a matching tie. His long hair combed back, matching his beard perfectly – wait since when did he have a beard? And why did it look so devilishly handsome?

“Liar, you’re waiting for me to agree,” you sighed, not being able to keep your eyes of him. “You’re sitting here talking to me…I know you want to,” he moved closer to you, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder which made you shiver. You closed your eyes, reminding yourself that this was a bad idea.

“I said no, I’m not cheating on him,” you told him confidently, crossing your arms over your chest. The bad thing however was, that you couldn’t move into any direction, on one side was his warm, beautiful body and on the other his hand waiting for you to move. He was ready to draw you into his aura.

“But would it be really cheating? He doesn’t even know I exist, little Andy would forget about the house, you would get the best sex of your life and live happily in that cute apartment,” the demon shrugged, foot nudging yours and slightly moving your leg to the side.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to resist every fibre in your body that wanted to give into him. “Just say yes,” he whispered inching closer to your face, lips almost grazing yours.

His words caused an idea to pop into your head, maybe you could use that to your advantage…, “fine, let’s make a deal. You get me out of that freaky house and then we will…,” your voice becoming a whisper at the end, lips close to his ear.

A smirk stretched across his lips, finally he got what he wanted. His hand came up to cup your cheek, “then say my name, say it,” James whispered. “It’s humiliating,” you argued, whining a little to which he only kept smirking – his face had to stay frozen at some point.

“No, it’s funny and we have to practise, don’t we?” the demon tilted his head to the side, eyes roaming over your lips with a hint of hunger.

James had lived for centuries, no millennia and had at least millions of souls in his possession, yet he had never crossed path with someone as beautiful as you. Never did he have the intention on sleeping with them – okay, he did sleep with some of them, but after taking their soul.

You, however? All he wanted was one night, one night to show you everything he had to offer and convince you to never leave his side again.

“Fine, James…,” you started, having to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “…James,” you continued. Meanwhile the demons eyes glinted with pure excitement, “just one more time darlin’,” he whispered. “James,” you finished, making him laugh in a manner that perfectly fitted who he was.

“Good girl,” he said and snapped his fingers. You expected something to happen, like a change of scenery or a flash of light, “that’s it?” you questioned him, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry darling, am I to boring for you? Should I put on fireworks?” James scoffed, this also never happened to him before. Everyone else shuddered, scrabbled to get away but there you sat, with a bored expression.

“Call Andy, ask how the renovations at the house are going,” he told you, lightly rolling his eyes at your suspicious glance. But you did what he said, Andy picking up after the third ring, “hey honey, how is it going with the house?” you lowly asked, expecting to be disappointed.

“What house? You mean the apartment? I guess everything is fine, nothing’s changed…are you coming home soon?” he questioned you thoroughly, confusion evident in his voice.

A huge smile crawled onto your lips, finally the nightmare was over. “Yeah, yeah, I will be home in no time!” you said with happiness before hanging up. “Now where is my thank you?” James pulled you from your thoughts, licking his lips.

“Oh, yeah we will think of a date later,” you answered standing up, pushing his leg aside. The demons face fell, he wanted you now. “You have to keep your end of the bargain,” he reminded you, standing up too with a glare.

He towered over you, flexing his broad shoulders while the air around you all of a sudden became thick. “I know but you never said when and you told me that you won’t do anything without my consent, so…,” for the first time you could grin at him in triumph. Patting his shoulder, you left him there at the park, letting him brood to himself.

James had never regretted not making a contract, he always made a contract to ensure he would not get screwed over and the one time he didn’t do one? He gets screwed over. Not to mention everyone was scared of him, begging him to let them live and they were desperate enough to do anything.

As he growled dark clouds began roaming the sky, his eyes took on their usual blood red colour and black horns emerged from his forehead. He was boiling with anger, no he would not touch you or hurt you, but he would also not leave you alone.

Coming home felt like a relieve for the first time in months, no house to worry about, no finances and just you with Andy. For the past few weeks your sex life had been awful, but today you felt like jumping his bones – Andy surely wouldn’t mind.

You opened the door, instantly seeing Andy on the couch. While walking towards him you started taking of your clothes, only keeping your lingerie on as you sat down in his lap.

“Oh, welcome home sweetheart,” he mused, wrapping his hands around your waist, “look at you pretty girl,” his eyes staring right at your tits. God, he loved the sight of them, how cruel of you to leave them in your bra.

“My eyes are up here cowboy,” you smirked, tilting his chin up with your index finger before capturing his lips in a heated kiss. Andy groaned in satisfaction, devouring you with hunger, tongue slipping into your mouth.

Meanwhile, you started grinding you clothed core onto his hardened erection. Moaned into his mouth as he gripped your waist tight, “mhm, let me taste your cock daddy please,” you whined as you pulled on his belt and who was Andy to decline your wish?

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, breathing heavily as he unbuckled his belt. Without hesitation you kneeled down, grasping his hard length.

Andy’s hand fisted your hair, holding you steady while you wrapped your lips around his cock. “Don’t you wish it was my cock you were tasting?” the voice didn’t belong to Andy, no it was James.

Your eyes widened, squeezing Andy’s dick harder unintentionally and choking on him. “yes sweetheart, choke on it,” he moaned, pushing your head deeper down. Thank god did he not notice. You continued your work, trying to ignore the weird feeling spreading in your stomache.

“I need to be inside you,” Andy gasped, hosting you up on his lap and pushing your panties aside. You held onto his shoulders for support, needing to concentrate on him for now. He helped you ease down on his cock, “Andy, please,” you whined, wanting him to just stretch you open.

“Can he even fully satisfy you darling? I doubt he can make you come as hard as I would,” his voice sounded taunting, he was probably having the time of his life and a cheshire grin across his lips.

“Shut up,” you whispered out loud without even realising it. Andy opened his eyes, looking at you with a hint of confusion, “what?” he asked.

“Nothing, just fuck me,” you begged and hoped he would listen before James ruined the mood for you completely. Your boyfriend didn’t need to be told twice, sitting you down on his member. The sound of your wet cunt motivating him to grip your hips and move you like he wanted.

“Really? That’s what turns you on, not what I expected,” it was as if he was lounging right next to you, but his voice sounded so distant at the same time. Fucking demon.

You started moving at a quicker pace in order to reach your high, gripping him like a vice. “Sweetheart just like that, I love you,” Andy breathed out, letting his head rest on your shoulder and biting gently into your skin.

“Aw, he loves you! How sweet of him, isn’t he just the best?” okay, yeah, now your mood and a chance of an orgasm were ruined. At least you could make Andy come.

You sped up, whispering how good he makes you feel, how bad you needed him and his big, strong cock. It didn’t take long for him to fill you up with his load and with that he groaned loudly inside your neck.

“Feel good honey?” you asked him sweetly, stroking his hair. “With you always,” he countered kissing you softly and full of love. Gently he lifted you of himself, telling you he will come back with a wet towel after wrapping you inside a blanket.

“Wow darling, couldn’t even make you come? Quite a show you put on,” now James was there, sitting next to you in all his might.

“Go away,” you snapped at him, hating how he could just show up at any point, anywhere and take up your mind just like that. “Yeah, I’m pretty down at the moment you know? Made this deal and the woman is not keeping her end,” he shrugged.

“Maybe you need to be clearer on your terms,” you simply told him, not giving him any glance, “you should go before Andy comes back,” you added with light annoyence.

“Don’t worry, he won’t see me unless I allow him to,” he shrugged, turning his head towards you. His hand came up to edge of the blanket, slightly moving it to the side to get a glimpse of your underwear but you slapped his hand away with a death glare, “don’t you dare.”

“I don’t take it kindly someone screwing me over, normally I would kill you…slice your throat open or make you suffer through endless days of torture…,” he whispered in your ear making you close your eyes as his finger trailed down the side of your cheek. James grinned, showing his sharpened teeth.

For the first time in a while you actually felt fear, you feared what he would do to you. Goosebumps erupted on your skin, couldn’t Andy hurry up?

“I won’t do that to you, no need to be so scared darling…however I will make sure you will never forget our deal until you do what you promised,” gently he kissed your cheek, it would be sweet and nice, if there wasn’t a threatening meaning behind his words.

Just then you felt a cold wind of air around you, and when you opened your eyes, he was gone. Andy came back, smiling happily at you while handing a towel over to you. He opened his mouth saying something you didn’t hear, your mind was couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

What would Bucky do? Would he hurt Andy instead? Would he harass you into sleeping with him? No, that couldn’t be, he told you, you had to say yes…right?

“Hey, hey? Anyone home?” he waved his hand infront of your face, a hand on your shoulder. You shook your head, mumbling a yes as you took the towel from him to clean yourself up, “I’m going to bed,” you said, standing up to leave your boyfriend in the living room.

Andy watched you leave, confusion written over his features, did he do something wrong? “Of course you did, you didn’t satisfy her enough,” a voice whispered in his mind. It sounded like his own, yet it had a dark touch to it.

He let his head fall down, sighing to himself before following you to the bedroom. Meanwhile, you took of all of your clothes off and put one of Andys shirts on, then curling under the covers. You weren’t sure how to handle the situation, but you knew it would cost you a lot of sleep.

The next day rolled around, Andy was gone before sunrise to work. You stayed in bed, called in sick for the day and researched if anything could help you right now.

You didn’t dare to leave the bedroom, not if it wasn’t completely necessary. Of course, if James wanted to, he could just appear here too, however you told yourself this was a safe space.

At one point you had to leave the room, carefully walking to the kitchen to find something to eat. In the end it became a sandwich, as you turned around with the plate in hand it almost fell right out of it again.

The kitchen gave a perfect view into the living room and therefore right on the couch. There he was, James, who you had been dreading to see, hoping for one day you would have peace. But no, instead he sat right in front of you and worse of all with no fucking shirt.

“Why are you half naked?” you pressed through gritted teeth, setting the plate down. James only shrugged, standing up to walk towards you, “does it bother you?” he knew it did, and he knew how handsome he looked.

“Yes, now go,” rolling your eyes, hoping it would actually work – probably not but it was worth a try. “You don’t mean that darling,” he whispered, walking closer to you with an intense expression until he stood right in front of you.

You took a deep breath before looking up at him, why did he have to be so tall? Most likely even taller than Andy…, “be careful, don’t want you hurting your neck,” James chuckled, hand coming up to cares your cheek. The act was so gentle you almost forgot who you were talking to.

“Reading minds now, huh?” you asked, trying your best to keep the glare on your face. “I could, but I just know how short your little boyfriend is,” he countered, oh how he enjoyed talking Andy down.

“What do you want demon? You threatened me and now make me look around every corner,” you said honestly. You hated how vulnerable you were right now.

“I wouldn’t have to if you had kept your end of the bargain…,” James tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch felt good, and you hated it because it meant whatever he was trying to do was working.

“I couldn’t, I love him so much…I couldn’t do that to him,” even the thought of doing something like that, hurt you and most importantly made you angry about yourself, because why couldn’t you love Andy enough to accept the house?

“Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you see yourself spending forever with him?” James knew the question would hit a sensitive spot, it was part of his plan after all.

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, there was no way you would crumble under him. “Is it not? You wanted to make the deal, you wanted out of that house,” for once he tried not to smirk, knowing he was right.

“The house was a ruin!” you raised your voice, stepping away in order to leave the situation.

“Sweetheart? Who are you talking to?” What? Why was Andy home this early? One look from the door back to James made you realise he was already gone. Andy stepped inside the kitchen, again a little confused.

“No one, sorry, what are you doing home?” you asked instead, coming around the isle to kiss his cheek. “Have you looked at the clock? It’s five pm,” he chuckled, wrapping his arm around his waist.

“Oh, yeah right, I’m just a little tired,” you tried smiling it off, but Andy didn’t seem to buy your words entirely. Before he was able to ask questions you left for the bedroom again.

“See that? She is not happy with you anymore. She looks sad just being here with you,” that voice sounded in his mind again. For the whole day these thoughts had been haunting him, now he had enough.

With quick steps he followed you, “are you happy?” he called after you, making you still in your movements. “What?” “Are you happy? Do you still love me?” he questioned further.

“Why would you even ask me that?” you were utterly confused by his actions, by his words. “You’ve been acting weird, always closed up and when we have sex-“ “seriously? I sucked your dick off only days ago and let you fuck me like you wanted, I would hardly call that being weird.”

Andy looked at you with an unreadable expression, “wow, now that you say it! I just have to be wrong then,” he scoffed. Shaking his head, putting one hand on his hip.

“Andrew stop whining, I’m fine and you have no idea how much I love you,” you bit back, rolling your eyes at his stupid thoughts. Where does all of this come from? Of course, you had fights with Andy, but they all ended as soon as they started. Add to that, why was he so insecure?

You have known him for five years by now and he had always been confident in his being as well as your relationship.

“If you love me so much, why won’t you show me? I’m tired of this shit,” with that he turned around and headed towards the front door, “you’re acting like a child!” you shouted after him.

You took a deep breath, did this really just happen? “Wow, how sad, poor Andy,” great, James was just what you needed right now. “Told you it won’t last,” he leaned against the wall oppisite of you. “Did you plant these ideas in his head?” you questioned him, fury present in your tone.

“What if I did?” pushing himself off the wall, “it’s the truth, he doesn’t deserve you darling,” again his found their way to your cheeks. Why did he always have to be so close? Oh, right, because he knew it made you weak.

“You just want to sleep with me, you don’t like that I screwed you over and now you’re destroying my life!” you were close to tears, you thought after getting rid of the house everything would be better.

“No, no, I’m not but you could have such a better life with me, I knew it from the moment I first saw you,” James looked like he really meant it, as if you could just believe him.

“So, what, it was all a trap?” you asked, slowly beginning to get more angry than sad. “Well, I didn’t expect you to lie to me,” he admitted. A part of him, however, was proud of you, not everyone had the guts to lie to a demon.

Honestly you were fed up with him, with the whole situation. He destroyed your relationship with Andy and made you rethink your whole life. Then again, he was a demon, a creature you never thought would exist and yet here you were talking to him.

“You said you wouldn’t force me, but here you are,” you argued, wanting to break free of his hold. “Then step away, I’m not holding you. I know you’re fighting with yourself, take a step back if you really think you don’t want this.”

You did not step back, you didn’t move an inch. Biting the inside of your cheek, you didn’t dare to meet his gaze.

He moved his hand under your chin, lifting your head up, “it is time you keep your end of the deal,” with that he placed his lips on yours. At first, he didn’t move, waiting for you to change your mind.

Then you slightly opened your mouth, inviting him in – an invitation he gladly took. His tongue explored your mouth, consuming you with pure hunger. You tasted just like he imagined, like sweet honey and he doubted he would ever want to stop tasting you.

You snaked your arms around his neck, pulling him closer while he moved to tightly grip your waist. Suddenly he began pushing you towards the bedroom, without breaking the kiss.

Once you were through the door, you turned to push him away in order to breath, “you forget I’m human,” you said breathlessly.

Suddenly you were thrown on the bed, “James,” you shrieked, caught off guard. “Bucky, call me Bucky,” he said, undressing you with his eyes. You didn’t have time to question the change of name as he ripped Andys shirt of your body, “you can give him the shreds back.”

Bucky licked his lips, slowly kneeling down on the bed, his fingers skimmed along your naked skin causing you to lightly twitch. Hooking his fingers under your thong, slipping it down your legs.

Your breath hitched, everything about him screamed dominance but between your legs it was an unexplainable aura. Not even Andy was able to make you feel this way.

Throwing your underwear on the floor he wrapped your legs around his neck, “has he ever tasted you? Really, tasted you?” You just shook your head, flabbergasted with wide eyes, “no, he…just used his fingers,” you confessed, blood pressure rising.

Bucky only gave you one of his signiture smirks before lowering his head to your dripping cunt. He let his tongue glide through, before closing his mouth around your clit and harshly sucking on it. His hands kept your hips in place, he knew this was something you’ve never felt before.

A loud moan left your lips at this new sensation, hand coming down to tightly grip his hair. “Fuck,” you breathed, other hand holding onto the sheets.

Bucky lapped at your cunt like a starved man, “fucking delicious darling,” he groaned against you. Rocking your hips up against his mouth, you whined as it didn’t feel like enough, “more, please.” It made him chuckle, “I didn’t know you had manners, want my fingers so bad?”

You nodded franticly, bucking your hips up again as an invitation. He coated his two digits with your slick, then pushing them inside you. He already felt so much better than anyone else before.

“Gripping me like a vice, I can already imagine how tight you will feel around my cock,” he gloated, curling his fingers against your velvet walls. You just agreed with everything he was saying, enjoying the way he ate you up.

“Oh, shit,” you moaned as you felt a knot tighten in your stomach, the feeling of pleasure consuming your body and Bucky’s sinful words filling your thoughts. Bucky saw you crunching your eyes together and slightly lifting your hips. It was all it took for him to realise how close you were to coming.

The demon curled his finger against your g-spot, tongue circling your clit, “come for me darling,” his beard was scratching against your sensitive skin. A pornographic moan slipped from your lips as a rush of ecstasy crashed into you, it was all it took for you to have one of the best orgasms you ever had.

“Beautiful, my good girl,” Bucky kissed along your stomache, still keeping his fingers inside you to slowly work your through your orgasm. “Don’t lie to me, did little Andy satisfy you like you needed?” he hovered above you, letting his forehead rest on yours.

“No, no, he was always gentle and-,” “you want it rough huh?” he cut you off with a wicked glint in his eyes. You wouldn’t say it like that, but it never mattered what you did, Andy was always nice and took great care of you. Which of course is good to a certain point, however sometimes when you tried to initiate a rougher approach, it didn’t work. At all.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve never…,” you mumbled, not knowing what to say to him. Without knowing him for long, you could’ve already guessed Bucky was gentle but had no fears of being rough and pushing you as far as he could.

A slap on your drenched cunt had you gasping, head falling back. “Are you already too fucked out to form logical sentences? One orgasm and you’re gone, what will my thick cock do to your little brain?” he cooed.

Yeah, you could die right on the spot. “Now, say it again,” he whispered, continuing to rub your clit in slow circles. Your brain began working overtime, trying to form a complete sentence to please him, “Yes, I want it-,” you had to take a deep breath as he pressed onto nub as he watched you with anticipation, “rough,” you finished.

It was as if something snapped in Bucky, like a coin dropping. Bucky ripped your bra in two before undressing himself. The sight of him made your mouth water, he may be a demon, but he looked divine.

Your eyes trailed down to his large member, standing proud and the tip hitting his lower stomache. Once he was completely naked, he came back to you, gently taking your ankles.

Thinking he would draw you closer to him, you lifted your hips but instead he roughly flipped you on your stomache. Then let his hands glide to your waist, pulling you against his chest. His body radiated with warmth and his hard cock pressing against your lower back.

“I’ll fill you up so good darling, you will feel me for days,” he promised, fingers pushing in your glistening pussy. “You’re so wet for me,” he pulled his fingers from, holding them up to your mouth, “open,” he commanded, instantly, without thinking you listened.

“Suck, darling,” he added, you followed his order and sucked his fingers clean of your slick. “Tastes good, doesn’t it?” a moan slipped from your lips at his words, you would’ve never thought something like that would turn you on this much.

“Now imagine how good we would taste together,” those were the last words you were able to comprehend before his pushed his leaking tip into your cunt.

A loud gasp sounded through the room, being slightly muffled by Bucky’s fingers. He continued to push further inside you, splitting you open. “Bucky,” you whimpered, holding tightly onto his arm.

“Mhm, I was right, you’re so fucking tight. Feel my thick cock splitting you open?” he growled against the shell of your ear. He continued pushing in, the way he stretched you made you feel a kind of pain you welcomed. Bucky began moving his hips at a slow pace.

You tried focusing on forming words, but your head felt empty, he filled you up too good. A deep chuckle sounded through the room, “can’t believe I already fucked you dumb,” he could believe it. “Fuck, see? This is what happens when you finally get properly fucked.”

“Please, faster,” finally you managed to say something, and it didn’t surprise Bucky, but who was he to deny your wish? His pace became rougher. You never thought a cock was able to make you feel this good, you never came from Andy’s before.

With every thrust he hit your spot, god how much he loved the feeling of you clenching your walls together. When he added his thumb into the play you moaned louder. He loved the sounds he could drive from you.

“Such a dumb little slut, this what you were made for,” lacing his hand around your throat and squeezing it made your walls clench resulting in Bucky groaning deeply.

You felt the need to have Bucky closer, his body flush against your, cock stretching you in ways you never dreamed of and yet he was still so far away. You took his free hand to wrap around your waist, a silent order to press you closer to himself.

“Darling am I not close enough for you?” in a teasing tone, he began pressing small kisses to your neck. His cock hitting deep inside you, watching a belly bulge becoming visible. Why did you try to prevent this moment from happening?

“Fuck best cunt I’ve ever had, I’m gonna come and let you milk my cock till the last drop,” Bucky was close to the edge, it had been too long since last had his cock buried inside anyone. He had masturbated to this thought countless times, but it was better than he could ever imagine.

“Come for me, come for the demon you deem he destroyed your life,” you tightened around him, head falling on his shoulder, “I need more,” you begged, you enjoyed his skilled hands.

The demon smirked, letting go of your neck to rub your clit, then shoved his pointer finger in beside his throbbing cock. In response you moaned loudly, a fully new sensation. “That way we can make sure I won’t slip out,” he chuckled, he wouldn’t have slipped out either way, but he enjoyed seeing your reaction.

“Fucking come for me, I said,” his tone became harsher, more controlling. Bucky curled his finger in rhythm with his hard thrusts. That was it the curling finger, the thumb circling your clit, the way he split you open with his cock.

A pathetic whine left you as you came all over Bucky’s cock, bliss shooting through your veins. “Bucky,” you sighed over and over again, the name music in his ears.

“Good girl, told you, you’d be chanting my name” he praised, his pace becoming uneven as his high neared, “milk every last drop of me or I will paint your pretty face with it and let you walk in front of Andy like that.”

He reached his high head falling in the nape of your neck. You accepted every drop of him like you were told, your hand snaking into his hair to ensure he stayed like this.

As the last drop came from him, he stilled in your cunt. Endorphins jumping through the air, you’ve never been happier and this because of a demon who had threatened to ruin your life, who stole millions of souls.

You didn’t know how to act, all your feeling were over the place. Everything felt right, for just a moment you were able to forget everything that happened.

Softly Bucky moved out of you, drawing a whimper from you, “I know you’re missing me already, but we gotta be careful,” why did we need to be careful? You wanted to questioned him, but then he was gone while you laid on the fluffy covers. It only took a second, then he was back with a wet towel to clean you up. You silently observed him, maybe he was right, maybe you couldn’t see a future with Andy and maybe this was more what you wanted.

yall know I love my andy, but he's just perfect for this role, and so there he went.... If you liked it, give a reblog and/or feedback!

[woollypoison]

Spiral

male reader x Giselle a/n: spoilers, but this story contains topics such as death and grief. Word count: 19k

You owe your life to Giselle. This is not an exaggeration. This is also not a metaphor. This is not even some poetic way she saved you—though it will end up that way too. No, this is fact.

-

There’s a loud, wet plop that reverberates from your attic bedroom, to the stairs below it, into the kitchen and finally stops near the front door as Giselle releases the head of your cock from her plump and peach colored lips, her cheeks hollowed out to make the noise reach every corner of the house it previously was never allowed to.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,“ Giselle giggles, her bright pink hair falling over one eye as she tilts and looks up at you with a gaze that claims this was somehow the most important task at hand and she just had an obligation to find out. It wasn't and she didn't.

If the promise you made was anything to go by, that honor would be bestowed upon studying for your midterms. And if it makes any difference, you did study at first, you really did. It started with you on your bed, reviewing your notes in between peeks at your girlfriend. Giselle at her desk—your desk, actually, but when she was here, it was hers, like everything you owned—lazily swiping a highlighter across her paper, making it very clear she had no interest at all in the economy of post-war Europe.

In your defense, you were still just on your bed. It was Giselle who was now lying between your legs, her hand softly clamping the base of your cock, resting her cheek against the inside of your thigh, looking up at you like you are the most interesting thing in the world.

You’re not.

You’re just some guy who told his parents he couldn’t come along on the Disneyland trip because he had to study. “You’re staring.” She interrupts your self-indulgent train of thought.

“I was just thinking about how I gave up Disneyland for this.”

She raises her eyebrows, feigned shock playing at her face before she stifles a grin you can’t help but catch. “Wow,” she lilts through a chuckle. Giselle has this way of making her eyes bigger than what you could possibly take in, and her mouth small and pouty which conjured a magnetic attraction that kept pulling you towards her in a way none of your physics books could explain whenever she was acting mock-offended. Mock-wounded, even.

A small gap between her lips allows hot breath to escape and hit you where it burns, and she has the audacity to let the grip she’s maintained on you soften, those eyes professing innocence and claiming she’s not currently casting a spell on you from which there is no escape.

“You gave up Disneyland for this?” she repeats, and her voice is all incredulous scandal and disbelief, making her out to be some second-rate plastic junk prize at a carnival and not the single greatest thing to ever happen to you.

You sigh, succumbing to her spell with an arm over your eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly why I stayed. It was your idea in the first place.”

“Oh, I know why you stayed,” she purrs, the weight of her chin pressing into your thigh as she makes herself comfortable, her soft hand squeezing a little tighter and then not anymore, “but I still want to hear you say it.”

“Do you?”

Her grip tightens, your life in her hands.

Your breath catches.

She smiles.

“Please?”

Fucking hell.

Your head drops back against the aptly named headboard, your eyes open peering at the love of your life from a tiny gap beneath your arm. “Because you’re here, and we can be as loud as we want.”

She hums, pleased, pressing a kiss against the very tip of your dick. “Good answer.”

She’s keeping you upright, slow kisses trailing their way down your shaft before you break the spell and foolishly interrupt her. “I still don’t get why you’d even pretend to be shocked.”

“Because it’s Disneyland.” she says in between kisses, like that explains anything. It only raises more questions she’s already giving an answer too, slowing the pace of your pleasure, which you now realise was a stupid mistake. “It’s Mickey Mouse, overpriced churros, dry turkey legs, pirates and ghosts and superheroes and some dumb mountain that everyone pretends is a real landmark.”

With a raised brow, “Space Mountain?”

“Splash Mountain.”

You snort. Admittedly, you wanted to be moaning (as loud as you want, mind you) right now, but this was your own doing and you might as well make the most out of it. “They closed it.”

Giselle gasps, not a shred of feign in her shock, genuinely scandalized, and for a moment, you forget she still has a hand wrapped tightly around your cock.

…Almost.

Because now she’s sitting up, straddling your thighs, planting her hands on your chest like she’s rock climbing and you’re her anchor, staring down at you with nothing short of betrayal in her eyes.

“They fucking what?”

“Yeah, they closed it,” you repeat, trying very, very hard to not be distracted by the fact that she’s fully naked, fully on top of you, and somehow infinitely more interested in Disneyland’s performative politics than your dick.

“For what?” she demands out of you, her nails digging into your flesh as if you made the call.

You laugh, partly because you can’t believe that it was Splash Mountain that cockblocked you, and partly because you’re helpless to do anything else in front of her. “I’m not sure, I think it was something about racism—”

“Oh, so now they care—”

See, when she’s getting all huffy and puffy, there is something about her waist that suddenly becomes irresistibly grabbable. So you do, and you flip her back onto the bed, changing places and slotting your head between her thighs, effectively shutting her up.

Or at least, for a second.

But Giselle is nothing if not a menace, and she immediately recovers, her hands finding their rightful place in your hair, her thighs pressing into your shoulders as she whispers “Does this mean we’re making our own splash mountain?”

This deserves a groan. “That is literally the worst thing you’ve ever fucking said.”

But you’re still beneath her, staring at her face—a little upset you’re not fucking it but more than happy to let her fuck yours—and when her tongue slightly protrudes between her lips, licking the top first and then the bottom with her eyes fluttering as if they’re spelling the Morse code for “Fuck me,” you can’t help but indulge.

You plant exactly one soft kiss on the inside of her thigh, no more and no less. Her whole body twitches under the contact.

Giselle is beaming.

It’s not the previously worn grin, not the giggly, mischievous, I-just-did-something-chaotic smile. No, this one is worse. This one is far, far worse for you. It’s all teeth, all dimples, all radiant, glowing, pure lovesick joy. It's hard to find a word other than the given, irresistible.

You’ve barely done anything yet, but her eyes are already glassy, her breaths loud and rhythmic, and she’s looking at you with so much goddamn love that it feels like standing too close to the fucking sun. And you give her the same look back, because how could you not?

“I can’t believe you,” she sighs, dreamy, high off of nothing but you.

She’s all yours, bucking her hips into you, surrendering to your touch. You just tighten your grip on her waist, locking her down. “I haven’t even done anything yet?”

“Oh, you know what you’re doing,” she accuses, and she meant to sound annoyed, but her breath halts and hitches halfway through her emphasis on the ‘know’, betraying her, because the truth is that she doesn’t mind at all. The beautiful truth is that she’s hopeless about you, and she knows you know it.

You can’t help it— her grin is infectious, and suddenly you’re beaming too. It’s true what they say about becoming more like each other once you love someone. With that pure lovesick joy, you lean down, letting your tongue barely graze her slit as it finds its mark. You place it right under her clit, and give one brazen swipe upwards before you pull back, making her whine—actually, physically whine—and the sound goes straight to your head like the cheap liquor you are bound to steal from your parents cabinet.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” you speak softly, throwing her own words back at her, hot breath crashing into Giselle’s sensitivity causing her thighs to tense up against you.

She groans, she tugs on your hair—a punishment you know you deserve—and this time around, succeeds in addressing you as the most annoying person on planet Earth. “Oh my god, I hate you,” she grunts, pushing her hips up against your mouth like punctuation. 

“No, you don’t,” you say, without a shred of doubt, tightening your grip on her hips, keeping her exactly where you want her.

Before giving her another chance at a comeback, you dive back in, a lot less reserved this time, planting a slow kiss against her folds.

“No,” she agrees, her nails scraping against your scalp as they curl in your hair, tugging your closer. “I really, really don’t.”

Your tongue responded instinctively to her admission, flattening against her slick folds, slow strokes highlighting every sensitive treasure spot like it's your first time discovering her.

Giselle is intoxicating. A drug that dissolves on your tongue, a spell too sweet to break, a firework that you can’t tear your eyes away from. Her sweaty scent fogs up your head, her taste coating your tongue and lingering there, her hands clutching at you tighter in response to every filthy thing you do to her. Every sound, every twitch, every one of your senses—overwhelmed. She’s got you, and fuck, you’re letting her have you too.

You should be used to her by now. Built up some kind of immunity. But when you sink two fingers inside her dripping cunt, feel her slick against your knuckles, curling up against that perfect spot, and she moans your name—loud, like never before, unmuffled and unrestrained—it's the only sound that makes sense to you anymore.

You freeze.

It’s not hesitation—it’s pure awe.

Her voice is still dancing in your ears, unfiltered and full of affection, louder than either of you had ever allowed before. So used to stifling it with your hands or less savory appendages, but now basking in its unadulterated echoes. And fuck, it’s beautiful.

“Why’d you stop?” Giselle demands, as though you just committed a cardinal sin. You might as well have. Her fingers tangling into your hair, unrelenting, not yanking or guiding—staking her claim on you.

You blink, and you take it all in. Her cheeks, rosy from the blush. Her lips, peach colored and smeared from kissing your cock. Her pupils, wide and hungry, reflect the only thing she wants—you. Everything about her is so fucking beautiful it makes you sick.

“I just wanted to take a moment and appreciate the sounds you’re making.” You murmur, and smirk at the edge of your lips, much to her annoyance.

Her breath halts. Her gaze drops, and then— a scoff. That signature scoff of hers, the one she throws out so nonchalantly when she’s trying to pretend she’s not affected. She clearly is.

“Then you better start working that tongue again before I go mute,” she quips, but the rolling of her hips betrays her. It’s rhythmic, it’s needy, and it’s honest.

With a raised, cocky eyebrow. “Right, that’s why you’re still moving your hips like you’re begging for me to fuck my fingers deeper into you.”

Giselle doesn’t hesitate. She barely ever does. “I don’t beg.”

She’s a wonderful girlfriend, but a terrible liar.

“You do when I make you.”

And right when she’s about to throw something back—something sharp, something clever, something quintessentially Giselle—

Your tongue is on her again. Slow, hooking under her swollen clit, flicking up, before your lips seal around her.

It was that easy. The oncoming verbal onslaught? Gone. The battle of wits? Over.

She gasps—the sound ripping out of her like she wasn’t prepared for it. Her back arches off of the bed, forming a bridge to some goddamn nirvana.

She always has something to say. Something that dares you to keep up. But throughout it all, you love her voice the most when she has nothing at all—when the only thing she can say is your fucking name.

And so you drag it out of her, because fuck, you need to hear that again.

Your fingers fuck into her harder, curling just right, twisting, spreading, relentless. But your tongue? Slow. Cruel. Featherlight flicks. Teasing. Deliberate. The contradiction drives her insane. She chokes on a sound—somewhere between a moan and what she’d never admit is begging—and the way it breaks halfway through makes your cock ache.

“Don’t—” she heaves, pitch rising as she confuses how to beg with how to demand.

She swallows. Tries again.

“Don’t you fucking stop.”

There’s no way you could. Not even when she starts babbling—half words, half nonsense, another half your name, and all desperate for release. Not even when her thighs are quaking, trembling into the side of your head. Not even when her hands have abandoned your hair in favor of gripping the bed sheets, pulling like she means to tear, when her whole body arches off the bed as if trying to ascend towards the pleasure as she chases it.

You feel it.

She’s so fucking close.

It’s in the way she trembles like her legs will give out and the way her thighs clamp tight around your head. Her whole body claiming you in a desperate display of want.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—” Her voice is all throaty, breathless desperation. "Don't stop. Don’t fucking stop—”

Your fingers drive into her harder, curling inside before pulling back out—”come on, baby, fall for me”—while your tongue twists around her clit, making her spiral out of control.

And she can’t help jerking her hips in response, riding against your face, mindless. She needs it, and she’ll have you give it to her.

“God, you—fuck, you love this, don’t you?” she gasps, desperate laughs, almost delirious, rolling her hips down faster and harder, grinding into your tongue. “Love me—love making me lose my fucking mind on your mouth—”

Yeah. Yeah, you fucking do.

“Look at you.” She’s throbbing at this point, panting rapidly, helpless, but somehow mustering a sharp-edged bite through her heavy-lidded stare. “So fucking desperate to make me cum. You like when I scream for you, huh?”

You groan into her flesh, your response vibrating against her clit, and her volume increases, if that was even possible.

“you—oh fuck—you’re so good—so fucking good— fuck, please—please—”

She’s begging now. Even she couldn’t deny it anymore.

“Say it,” you taunt, breaking away just long enough to look up at her and make her desperate, lips drenched in her. “Tell me how bad you need it, baby.”

“I—I can’t—”

You deliver a sharp, fast stroke with your tongue, lethal precision, just to make her sob.

“Say it.”

“Fuck, I need it—need you, need your tongue, your fucking fingers…I need to cum on your fucking face—”

You bring her over the edge. A heartbeat passes. And then she shatters.

A moan? No, a cry, pours out from deep inside her, high and sharp, louder than anyone has ever screamed on actual Splash Mountain. The walls shake with it. Her hands, aimless, uncontrollable, claw at anything they’re given. Your hair, her own skin, her bedsheets—your bedsheets actually, but we’ve been over this—while her body locks up tight, shakes, then crashes down in wave after wave after fucking wave of pleasure.

And through all of the filthy fucking obscenities she’s belting out—your name.

Fucking screamed.

It travels through you like new life, straight to your cock, straight to the part of your brain that wants to fuck it out of her again.

You don’t stop. You should, but you can’t. Keep attacking her, keep pushing her through it, keep drinking her in like she’s your life support.

She twitches, tries to close her legs—too sensitive, too overwhelmed—but you grip her thighs, keep them spread, keep going, keep her yours. Keep her here.

Until she lifts your head with trembling hands.

“Too much,” she exhales, exhausted, wrecked.

You look up at her, her face half hidden under the mounds of her tits, but clear as day. She’s ruined.

Flushed from chest to cheeks, skin sparkling with sweat against the sun dripping in from the window, lips parted, swollen from biting down. Panting. Her hair’s a beautiful mess, fanned on your pillow and tangled across it, pupils blown up with pleasure.

She looks like an angel.

Like she should have a halo, but you’re just too much of a sinner to see it.

But then—she opens her eyes, lazy, dark, and dangerous, and—

Yeah. No. No halo. She’s just as much a sinner as you.

She commands you with such a soft, saccharine sound, you’ve already agreed before hearing the demands. “You’re not allowed to ever do that to anyone else.”

“As long as I have you, that can be arranged,” you smile back.

She collapses. 

The bed creaks beneath her weight, and you can feel the way her whole body unwinds in your hands, still rooted firmly just above her hips. For a moment, it’s quiet. Just the sound of her breathing, getting slower and deeper, full of delicious content.

Giselle pushes her elbows underneath her, pushing her upwards. She hums a slow, peachy sound, as she works through her failing legs. And then, just as lazily, just as hungry—

She pushes you onto your back.

It’s not forceful. It doesn’t have to be.

You let her.

You go willingly.

And the second you hit the bed, she’s hanging over you.

She tilts her head, watching you like she’s debating her next step. Her face inches closer to your cock, her lips purse and then—

She kisses your hip bone instead.

Your breath catches. Another kiss, this time lower, but not yet where you’d die for it.

You resist the urge to buck your hips into her face. Barely, but you manage.

“You know,” she muses so sultry, tracing circles against your thighs with her thumbs. “I think I love you the most when you let me take what I want.”

Crawling over you, straddling your hips, pressing her nude, still-trembling body flush against your own. And fuck, you feel it—your heat against her heat, wetness dripping against your stomach, every inch of her soaked and sensitive and ready to devour.

But she doesn’t sink down onto you. Not yet.

Because she’s got plans for you. You made her beg, and she always returns the favor.

She whispers in your ear. “You’re shaking baby,” and you were so confident you had it under control. “You want it that bad?”

Her lips collide against yours, tongue invading your mouth, like she was hungry for a taste. Hers is like peach, and yours is like her.

When she pulls back, her smirk is heavy-lidded, predatory, wicked. A mixture of spit and her cum connects you two, growing heavy, splitting and falling on your bodies.

“My turn.”

Her hand wraps around the base of your cock. Her grip is firm, teasing, all smug satisfaction.

“You can hold out until I get to taste you, right?” She purrs, her voice dripping with playfulness.

You exhale, your eyes meeting her in a determined gaze, dragging your fingers slowly over the curvature of her hips. “You tell me.”

She hums a questioning tune, unimpressed. She takes her time to get her hand moving, stroking deliberate, unbearably slow, luring you out.

Your breath catches for a frame, and—fuck—you know she caught it.

Her lips curl. Smugness oozing off of her. “Right, I thought so.”

She leans in closer, nibbling softly on your ear, moving down, pressing a slow kiss to your throat that lingers. Then another. Working her way down, her free hand following suit over your stomach, fingers splayed and nails grazing your skin like she’s got all the time in the world to make you squirm.

You know exactly where this is going.

And so does she.

“Giselle.” Your voice is low, buckling.

She smiles against your skin, her teeth grazing your flesh, contemplating a bite. “Yes?”

You narrow your eyes, but she just blinks up at you, a quick flutter of those enchanting eyes, all innocence, like she isn’t also stroking you with a lazy, practiced, perfectly tuned in to you rhythm. Like she isn’t sinking lower and lower into depravity—right where you want her—with every passing second.

She has this glint in her eye. You know it all too well by now, she wants to be teased back, to have you push her buttons. Wants you to get impatient enough to forget how much you love her just enough to handle her a little rougher.

And you do. You let your fingers slip into her vibrantly colored hair, slow, dragging through the strands before coming together with just the slightest bit of force at the roots.

She exhales. Or rather, she pretends it’s just her exhaling.

With a soft, tiny little shudder that you most definitely felt, coupled with a moan she couldn’t help but keep in, your lips curl. “Oh?”

Giselle stops. Her fingers, mind you, still against and around your cock, her face perfectly blank, like you didn’t just catch her falling for you.

“Don’t.”

Your grin widens. “I think you just—”

She glares, her grip tightening in retaliation.

And just to shut you up, she ducks her head, dragging her tongue slow and warm from base to shaft to head of your cock, marking her territory with a line from base to tip.

All of your breath and sound tumbles out of you.

Giselle hums, smugness regained, lips glazing against the tip of your cock as she murmurs, “That’s cute.”

She wanted a little rougher out of you anyways, and you’d indulge, fingers flexing in her hair. Then—slowly, deliberately—you strengthen your grip, not enough to really hurt, but enough to tilt her head back, forcing her to meet your hungry gaze.

She gasps, and then her breath catches. Big eyes, asking you what you’ll do next.

You lean in, voice dripping low and quiet. “You love being my good girl, don’t you?”

And the way she shivers? Fuck.

Her lips part, her thighs squeezing together tight, but she’s too stubborn to say it outright. She won’t let up yet. Instead, she presses closer, hanging her tongue out of her mouth as she presses it against the back of your cock, breath warm and teasing, spit drops dripping down to your balls, one by one.

Your jaw clenches, as does your fist, keeping her in place.

She’s dragging this out on purpose.

You give her a quick yank back, and then push her back against your cock, and you mutter, “You know what I want, baby. Give it to me.”

Her eyes flicker. Sparkle, even.

She swallows, licks her lips, wetting them, and finally speaks softly. Her tone insinuates she already knows what your answer will be.

“Make me.”

And fuck—who could resist pushing her forward? Her mouth enveloping the head of your cock, her tongue swirling around and lapping against you. Her hand pressing down firmly against the base of your cock, and vibrations of her soft moans jolting through your dick.

She seems extra hungry today, leaning into her gagging and groaning, reveling in your fierceness, and right as you were about to test her limits even further—

The sound of metal rapidly vibrating against wood. Your phone on your nightstand. You roll your eyes, but Giselle gives you this look that you’d learned to intuit meant “It could be important?” You don’t let up on Giselle’s throat breaking previously set records, but you take a peek anyways.

It’s your aunt. She’s probably just checking up on you, something not important—not as important as fucking Giselle’s face— so you resolve you’ll call her back.

You put your phone back on your nightstand, and you heard it ring, again. 

Weird.

-

You haven’t cried yet since the news.

Giselle has barely stopped.

It’s morning—you think, it might also be noon, it’s all a blur—but the light creeping into your room unwanted through the window feels wrong. It’s too bright. Too harsh. Like it should’ve dimmed out of respect.

Your phone still lies on your nightstand where you put it yesterday, face down. Turning it over would mean seeing the missed calls, seeing the texts piling up. You can’t touch it. Just keep staring at it like that might change what’s already happened. Like that might stop the jumbled mess of words your brain can still remember, in your aunt’s voice looping over and over in your head, buried in sorrow, barely making sense through the sobs. “A drunk driver—”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t—”

“All—All passed away.”

And a thought you know you shouldn’t have creeps its way in with the others.

“Stay home from the trip, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You resent her for it, if only for a split second. You can’t think like that. But if she didn’t say that, you might have prevented this somehow. Or not have to feel this pain, being with them. Another split second. 

No. 

Stop.

Where is Giselle anyways? You turn around, and her warmth is missing. She’s not lying next to you. You close your eyes. Try to suppress the thoughts. It doesn’t help.

There’s footsteps outside your door. Slow, hesitant. Followed by a knock, barely more than a tap.

“Are you awake?”

Giselle. Thank God.

You want to answer, but the lump in your throat stops you. She pushes the door open anyway. She’s a fucking mess. Bloodshot eyes with bags to accompany them, and her hair done in a messy bun, loosely pulled together. She’s wearing one of your hoodies—too big for her, sleeves dark from moisture. She looks over at you, your eyes meet, they linger for a moment, and then drop solemnly.

“I made you something to eat,” she says. It sounds hoarse and strained.

You don’t respond. You wish you could.

She’s hesitating before stepping in. Like it would mean stepping into your grief too, and she isn’t sure if you’ll let her.

But she wants to.

She approaches and sits on the edge of the bed, turning towards you and shuffling the plate your direction. Toast and eggs. It smells like food. The smell of food doesn’t smell like something you can shove down your throat right now.

“You should eat,” she tries.

You bit down on the inside of your cheeks. Stare at the plate like it’s an endless tunnel.

Her eyes can’t seem to find yours, seeking the solace of the window instead. She sniffs once, catches herself, and rubs the tip of her nose with the sleeve of your hoodie before exhaling and speaking. “Just a little, okay? Just—just a bite.”

You take the plate, not out of hunger. It’s just the least you owed her after resenting her for a split second. You break off a piece of the toast and chew. It doesn’t even taste like food, and it’s not her fault. You force yourself to swallow anyways.

She’s trying. For you.

And you hate it.

The plate in your hands is too heavy. You put it away on the nightstand, pulling your knees up to your chest and locking them in place with crossed arms. Your lips tremble against your arm, speaking into your skin. The sound is wrecked and exhausted. Fragile, like—fuck, like what? Like life? “You don’t have to be here.”

Her eyes snap to yours, wide and wet.

“Don’t,” she ekes out, her voice breaking on the first vowel. Her lips press together tightly, trembling as they seal away her words. They part slightly as she shakes her head.“Please don’t do that to me.” She sounds raw. Small. Scared of whatever you might reply with it, if you even say anything. Like she thinks she might not survive this conversation.

Maybe you won’t either.

You drag in a breath, but it’s hard. Like the air itself can feel that you don’t really want it there. Like two metal plates pushing together inside your throat, forcing everything out when it needs to go in. Your body fighting against what you’re trying to make it do, like you suddenly got rewired and need to relearn how to breathe, and it’s so fucking frustrating how even breathing requires thinking right now.

Your arms uncross, elbows against knees and hands rubbing into your face. Press the heel of your palm against your eyes until all you see is static, bursts of color mixed with black, a flickering distraction behind your lids. But it doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t shake it loose, doesn’t take away the building pressure you can feel behind your eyes.

Your family is dead.

And you’re still here.

You should say something

That you didn’t mean it. That you’re just—tired, or lost, or whatever the fuck this feeling is that’s twisting your stomach, making everything taste like nothing and the air feel impossible to muscle down. But the words don’t come, and Giselle is still looking at you like you just asked her to push a knife you held to your chest deeper to finish the job.

Her fingers tighten in the fabric of her hoodie—your hoodie, but who fucking cares at this point? You remember her saying she loved it, months ago, attributing it to how it smelled like you.

Now it probably just smells like salt.

“I wasn’t with them.”

Giselle stiffens.

The weight of what you just let out settles between you both. It’s thick, suffocating, harsh and pressing down on your ribs.

It’s impossible to look at her now.

There’s a breath. Not yours. It’s shaky, coming in three tiny bursts of being pulled into her lungs.

A small pause. Then: “No,” she whispers. “You weren’t.”

And it’s not comforting. You both know that. It's not meant to be.

Your family is dead.

You are alive.

Nothing can change that. Nothing can fix it. And maybe worst of all—you need someone to blame. Anybody to take it out on. It can’t even be that piece of shit drunk driver, he had the sense to take himself out with everyone else.

And you realise you owe your life to Giselle.

“If only you didn’t ask me to stay,” the words tumble out of your mouth before you figure out how to stop yourself, “I could have been with them.”

You’re not accusing her.

Not really.

But it still lands like one.

You don’t know how to take the words back, how to unmake the weight they carry, how to make it so you didn’t open your fucking mouth and let them spill out like venom.

But the feeling doesn’t fade. You should have been with them. If you’d just gone on the trip like you were supposed to, you wouldn’t have to feel this. You wouldn’t have to be here.

You wouldn’t have to be.

And once more, for a split second, for a horrible, fleeting split second, you resent her for it.

Because she asked you to stay.

Because she made you stay.

Because if it weren’t for Giselle, you wouldn’t be in this fucking bed, in this fucking house full of memories, swallowing down a piece of fucking toast that tastes like nothing, thinking about how to fucking breathe, while your whole fucking family—

You found someone to blame. And you hate yourself for it.

The thought is barely even there before you shove it down, bury it so deep inside yourself it might as well have never existed, as though if you push hard enough, you can convince yourself you never thought it at all.

But it’s too late.

Giselle sees it. And she’s looking at you like you just drove a jagged knife into her ribs. And maybe you fucking did. And she’d even let you.

She’s having trouble swallowing it all down, her lips parting, and for a second, you think she’s going to say something—but she doesn’t.

Because she doesn’t see you as wrong. She sees you as right. If only she didn’t ask you.

“It’s my fault.”

You can’t help but physically, viscerally recoil from the words.

No.

That’s not true. That’s not what you think, this isn’t that. That’s not what you meant. That’s not—

“If I just hadn’t—” But it’s interrupted by a sharp inhale, like there’s not enough air in the room to speak the words. Her eyes squeeze shut, maybe so she can’t cry, or so she doesn’t need to look at you, knuckles turning white from how hard she’s squeezing down. “If I just didn’t say anything, maybe they wouldn’t have left when they did. Maybe they wouldn’t have been on that road, at that time, in that moment—”

Her breath hitches again. Her hands unclench briefly, only to grasp at her face, fingers pressing down into her skin around her eyes, shaking.

You feel like throwing up. 

Because you’re not the only one with a brain that won’t shut up. With thoughts that won’t stop forming, poisoning, curling inside your skull like parasites burrowing into every action you take, every thought you think.

And for the first time since waking up, you turn to look at her.

Really look at her.

She’s a wreck.

Her face is swollen, but her eyes have it worse. They’re puffy, red-rimmed and drained. Her nose is pink, not from the way she likes to do her makeup, but from rubbing it too much with her sleeves, turning it raw, and her lips have bite marks from where she’s been biting down when she wants to say something, but doesn’t know what.

Giselle never looks like this.

She always carries herself with this effortless sort of self-possession, even when she’s being an absolute menace. But right now?

Right now, she looks like she’s barely staying afloat herself.

“Giselle—”

“I took you away from them.”

Her voice cracks.

You whip your head up so fast your vision starts to swim, like gravity itself is pulling you to the same place you’re trying to hide that wretched thought of yours, and fuck, she’s crying again. And she can’t look at you. Won’t meet your eyes. “You resent me.”

You knew she saw it. You knew she fucking felt it, even in that fucking split second before you buried it, before you even had the time to feel ashamed of yourself, that hate yourself, not her.

But hearing her say it out loud is worse.

“You should hate me,” you mutter.

Her eyes open slightly, and her gaze lands somewhere near you. Not ready yet for landing on you. “What?”

You inhale, sharp and shaky, then exhale just as fast, voice low and wrecked.

“You saved my life.”

You think you meant them, but they feel so, so wrong, because nothing about this feels like being saved. Nothing about this feels like anything but a burning car wreckage and shattered glass from every window it broke and the goddamn sound of your aunt’s voice on repeat, over and over, like a twisted song stuck in your head, one which your brain is desperately trying to make you forget the lyrics to.

And Giselle, she just—

She breaks.

Not like the way she’s been breaking since yesterday, tiny fractures, cracks forming, desperate moments but still holding on.

This time, it’s worse.

She makes this sound—this horrible sound—choked, gasping, sobbing like she wasn’t expecting her body to give in, like she’s hurting worse than what she’d thought was possible, like there was still more grief to pull from her that she was sure she locked away, and collapsing into herself, fingernails digging into her skin and you’re not sure if it’s to hurt herself or hold herself close, like she just needs to hold or be held right now before she breaks.

“I wanted you to stay.”

The admission rips out her, raw and violent and sobbing and so full of guilt it makes your heart feel like it turned to ash.

“I wanted you to stay and I’m sorry and you—” Another sob cuts through it all, her sleeve wiping across her face like she could take the feelings with it as well, the noise of her tears and shattering voice being muffled. But you still hear it, still feel it, and hate it, the way it destroys her.

And then, softer.

“I don’t know how I’d survive if you were in that car as well.”

The confession is small. It’s shaky. It’s honest.

“I think about it every second,” she rambles on, there’s no stopping the confession. “If I just had shut my fucking mouth, you could’ve done something, or been there, or at least not have felt like this.”

Her knuckles whiten from straining them too hard, disgust seeping in her voice as she speaks next. “But I’m glad I didn’t. Do you understand what that says about me? It means I can’t even tell if I’m allowed to be grateful that you’re here, because if I am, does that mean I’m glad your family is dead?”

She’s furious with herself, nails tearing at her own skin as if she wants to rid herself of it all, head shaking furiously. “That just makes me a fucking monster.”

And fuck, it’s suddenly so much worse than the weight of her earlier words, worse than it’s my fault, worse than you resent me, worse than the feeling of your own guilt pressing down on your ribs, because Giselle is—

She’s glad you’re here.

She’s glad you lived.

And she hates herself for it.

And you want to tell her—you really fucking do, if only the words would come out—you want to tell her it’s okay.

Or, that it’s not okay, but that she is. That she shouldn’t have to feel like that, that she doesn’t deserve it, that she has no reason or need to carry, she doesn’t have to bear this kind of weight, she didn’t do anything wrong, that she couldn’t have done anything, it’s not her fault, that she’s allowed to be relieved that she still has you because fuck, you’re relieved you still have her too, and it’s fucking selfish and ugly and it makes your stomach churn but you just can’t afford to lose her too, you can’t, you can’t, you fucking can’t—

But you don’t have the energy.

You wish you did. You don’t.

And it just adds another layer of self-loathing.

Because Giselle is falling apart, and you can’t do anything about it.

So you just sit there, motionless, watching her break, breaking with her.

Her sobs keep coming, louder and wrecked by the minute in this quiet room, and they won’t stop, like she can’t stop imagining what it would have been like if you did leave, like she’s trying to fill the space around you with something less suffocating, but it’s still there, under everything, pressing it’s full weight on you.

It makes your whole body feel heavy.

Like it would take too much effort to move. So you don’t.

You just let her cry.

And eventually, eventually, her breath evens out—just slightly, still ragged, still trembling, still fucking unbearable to listen to, but at least she’s not gasping for it anymore.

She sniffles, rubs the sleeve of your hoodie over her face again, sniffs again.

“I’m sorry.”

Like something just punched your heart.

“No,” you rasp, air you didn’t have being forced out. “Don’t be.”

Her hands disappear into her sleeves, clutching the fabric around her hands, her shoulders curl inward like she wants to sink as deep as possible as she can into your hoodie. Her hoodie? She considers it your hoodie. Makes it more special.

She moves. It’s sudden, but careful.

It’s slow and it’s hesitant. Shifting closer over the bed, closing the distance between you two. It’s careful, like she’s testing if it’s okay with you with every inch. As if she’s half-convinced you’ll push her away. It’s silly. You don’t.

It’s all filled with uncertainty. As if the routines and rituals you’ve built up have all vanished. Hesitating before making her way under the covers. Her arms making first contact and her whole body curling up behind them, trying to make herself small enough to fit against you without you noticing, like she’s trying to just be with you even if you can’t take it right now. Because she needs it, and she hopes you do too. Like she’s still afraid she’s not allowed to belong here.

And her face presses against your chest, somewhere you think your heart should be, her arms wrapping around your body, her breath hot and finally some capacity of steady brushing against your skin.

She doesn’t speak.

She doesn’t have to.

She just holds on.

And you let her. Your arms wrap around her.

Your eyes slip shut, and for a second, you just breathe her in.

But then you hear it.

A voice.

Not Giselle’s.

Not yours either.

His.

“You sure you won’t get too distracted if she stays over?”

Your whole body tenses.

Giselle stiffens slightly against you, feeling it.

Dad.

It’s a fucking disaster, and if you weren’t so desperate to hear his voice, you’d force this memory away in a heartbeat.

You were standing in the driveway as your parents were already packing everything for their trip. Your brother was already burning through his Switch battery on the backseat, letting the world move around him, and your mom was inside packing everything she was sure your dad was forgetting.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, champ,” he’d said, clapping his giant hand on your shoulder with that booming voice of his barely avoiding leaving a ringing sound in your ears. ”Just make sure to actually get some studying done. If you fail your tests, you’re not even getting an invitation for the next family trip.”

You’d rolled your eyes. Smirked at him, full of confidence. “When have you ever known me to fail?”

His laugh had been loud, warm.

“Don’t act all too confident, we all know Giselle takes care of you.”

And then he’d grinned.

“But for what it’s worth?”

A pause.

A squeeze of your shoulder.

“I feel better knowing you’ll have her.”

You inhale, but it’s the kind that preludes tears.

Giselle presses closer.

And for the first time in twenty-four hours—

Your eyes burn.

-

You can’t tell how long it’s been since Giselle crawled into your arms.

If you were asked, you might even say it’s been forever.

There’s only her, warm and small, slotted in your arms, curled up against you and unrelenting in her grip, like she’s afraid you might cease to be if she lets go. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you would. Maybe she’s the only thing keeping you here, really here, and not slipping into some void you fear you might never escape from.

So your arms tighten around her. It’s instinct more than anything. It’s just, her body is so familiar, should be so comfortably familiar—but this time is different.

You’ve pulled her close a thousand times before. Grabbed her by her waist when she got all huffy and puffy, pinned her against a well or closed door or anything she’d let you, tugged her onto your lap, mouth on her neck, her laugh energizing you and spurring you on. It’s always been a pull with her, a want, a need.

This time, it’s a quiet, desperate hold.

And just like her, you grip tighter, arms holding her as close as space allows, so that you can’t loosen your grip even a little, lest she slip through your arms just like everything else.

She begins to inhale, preparing for something, breaking the quiet trance you’ve been slumbering in. Her warm breath burns against your collarbone.

“I was scared,” she whispers.

Your eyes close. “I’m sorry.”

Her body twists, nudging into you, softer, her grip loosening but not letting any space form through it. “Don’t be. I thought—” The words start spilling out, her eyes pointed upwards searching solace in your face before she regathers herself and tries again. “I really thought you were going to push me away.”

Hearing her voice those concerns makes the pit of your stomach turn upside down. “I need you. I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t,” she exhales, hesitation making the air come out in stutters. There’s not a lot of her signature confidence present, as if she’s scared that saying it out loud would jinx it. “But you—you barely even looked at me. And I—I Didn’t know. I didn’t know if you wanted me—wanted me here or if you just—” she shakes her against you feverishly. “I didn’t know.”

You can’t blame her. You haven’t been sure what you want yourself.

You did pull away. Told her she shouldn’t be here. What the fuck was that even about?

It wasn’t because you didn’t want her here. Not because you don’t need her.

It’s the fucking weight of all of this—the sheer, unbearable fucking weight of existing in a world without them—felt like it would be easier to carry alone. Or easier to escape if you were alone.

Deep breaths. Slow breaths. You press your lips to the top of her head.

“I love you,” you murmur.

She doesn’t respond, pausing. She probably doesn’t know what you want from her, again.

“I know you know that. But I need you to hear it. So you know.” Your hand presses onto the small of her back, and she gives in. It’s not rough, not hard, not tight, but just enough that she knows you mean it. “I love you. You’re the only one I have left that I can say that too.I can’t bear the fucking thought of losing you too.”

Her shoulders tremble and she pushes her away from your chest, just enough to be able to look in your eyes. “You won’t.”

You want to believe her. God, you want to believe her.

But you thought your parents were permanent, too. Or at least more permanent than this? Thought your little brother would be stealing your shit until you left the house, and then some. Thought there would always be another Christmas, another birthday, another vacation, another tomorrow.

Your fingers rest on the back of her head, pulling her closer back against her chest, against your heartbeat.

“I didn’t tell them I loved them.”

She stills, like a toy that ran out of batteries.

“My dad said it before they left. I didn’t say it back. Felt too embarrassed or something. I just shrugged it off and said I’ll see them later.”

Giselle doesn’t just move—she reaches for you.

Her hands don’t hesitate anymore. One finds your wrist, fingers curling around it gently, as if chaining the two of you together. The other wraps around you, presses against your back, firm, solid, unrelenting.

Her words are hoarse, muffled, being spoken directly into your chest. “They knew.”

You fall back into not responding. You want to believe they knew.

But it doesn’t fucking matter.

Because later didn’t happen, and later was taking for granted, but it was a fucking lie.

Because some drunk asshole that couldn’t even have the decency to just hit a tree and only punish himself for what he did stole ‘later’ from you.

And now? Your last words to your family weren’t love, weren’t warmth, weren’t anything that mattered.

Just a brush-off. Just something to replace the words you felt too cool to say.

Giselle shudders against, feels the twitch in your muscles as your thoughts go dark and darker. The warmth of her breath is arrhythmic, and you realize she’s crying for you.

Like she’s crawling underneath your shoulders, cracking, holding the weight with you, carrying it when you can’t. And it’s too much, even for her.

Her hands clutch desperately at you, twisting your shirt. “You have to know they knew,” she says, voice cracking every few words. “You have to know that.”

It’s still hard to respond, but she squeezes you tighter anyway. Like she’s forcing it into you.

For a moment, the room is nothing but shallow breaths and the same hum you hear every day of the world moving on outside these walls. It’s sickening.

Then, her voice, breaking the sounds:

“Do you want to talk about it?”

It takes a second to process the question.

Absolutely not. Your arms flex just at the thought of it.

“Like—” She wipes her nose after another sniff, sucks in a trembling breath. “Right now. When you think of them. What’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

Your mind stutters. Because how the fuck are you even supposed to pick one thing when a thousand are racing through the tunnels of your brain? How are you supposed to take an entire lifetime of support, annoyance, respect, frustration, love and compress it into a single moment?

Can you even answer that question?

“He laughed,” you mumble, voice rough like new tires.

Giselle listens. It’s all she does.

“When I asked if you could stay over while they were gone,” you continue, the words seemingly coming out on their own, eyes pointed upwards, the ceiling being the only thing you can stand to look at. “Said he knew I wasn’t actually gonna study. But he’d still feel better knowing you were taking care of me.”

The next sound Giselle let out surely was something new to her—soft, wet. It starts as a laugh from something unexpected, but not because something was funny, because it quickly gets overtaken by a sob.

It’s comforting. It might begin to feel like she really is taking on some of that weight. “He always did that—acted like he was onto me, like he had me all figured out. Said he was much the same when he was my age. Used to say he could read me like a book, cus he wrote the damn thing.” You swallow, not sure if it was even okay to say the next part out loud. “I used to think it was fucking annoying.”

She chuckles this time, and it’s not interrupted with a sob. That sound is a lot more comforting. It’s quiet, it’s breathy, and it’s pulling you back.

You’re shaking, but you wouldn’t have caught it if it wasn’t for Giselle holding onto you as though to hold you in place.

“I think you’re right,” you blow out the air through your nose. “They knew.”

Her fingers run over your back. “Yeah,” she whispers. “They did.”

This wasn’t enough to hold back the pain—not yet. But maybe someday it might become enough.

Giselle fits so perfectly into you, and you shift to allow her more room, for your faces to lay closer. She melts into it.

For the first time since waking up, the air doesn’t struggle to leave or enter your body. Your limbs don’t feel heavy with sorrow. Your brain doesn’t feel like drowning.

Floating.

Stagnant, but being held, and holding on.

Giselle’s body shifts, or twitches? You’re not sure. It feels like she’s about to move, is all. You don’t let her. Not yet.

“Just a little longer,” you murmur.

She shakes her head, forehead rubbing against your chest.

It’s absurd, makes you pull back, struggling to process. 

“No,” she says, firmer now. “Not just a little longer.”

She nudges her forehead into your chest, the way she’s done a thousand times before when you’ve said something that got on her nerves. “I’m not leaving. You don’t get to lose me. Ever.”

She snuggles into you, and she stays.

-

You’ve been drifting in and out of sleep long enough for the sun to hide, Giselle still close. Like she promised.

“Are you up?”

Your eyes peel open slowly. “Mhm.”

“We should go eat.” She says sleepily as her muscles push awake.

You don’t answer this one.

Giselle exhales through her nose, and it’s not the first time she’s said it today. Knowing her, it won’t be the last if you don’t agree. She shifts her weight onto her elbow, tilts her head up at you with pleading brows, and looks at you properly. like she’s measuring whether or not you can handle whatever she’s about to say.

She doesn’t waver though.  “We should go downstairs.”

Downstairs. You haven’t left your room yet, since. It’s fucking terrifying, as if stepping outside would only solidify what you already know. Like if stepping outside will make everything collapse. Like you’ll have to face the fact that nothing is waiting for you outside of it except a house full of ghosts.

Giselle must see the way your expression changes. She always has this sharp read on you. Her voice softens. “I know.” She exhales a heavy breath. “But we still have to go.”

We.

Not you.

We.

She stands before you can think of a way to ask her not to. Walks to the door before you can tell her no. Turns the knob and pulls it open, just enough for the familiar orange light to creep its unwelcome way inside. She pauses, waiting.

You really don’t want to go.

But she’s waiting.

And this—this is Giselle. She doesn’t ask for much. It’s for you.

So you move.

The door groans on it hinges like it’s screaming at you that you’re making a mistake. Stupid fucking door.

The hallways are colder than you remember. Colder than it has any right to be. Or maybe you’ve just gotten used to the heat of Giselle pressed against you. Or maybe it’s both.

She’s right behind you. Of course she is. Close enough that you feel her presence like a torch protecting you from the biting winds of winter. You take a step forward, then another, down the stairs that feel too long, too steeped in memory.

The house doesn’t smell like home.

Your feet hit the ground floor, and for a second, you hesitate.

Giselle doesn’t.

She’s right behind you, her fingertips ghosting your back, barely touching, barely there, letting you know she’s there. She’s here, and she’s not trying to push. And that’s enough. So you can keep moving.

The kitchen is dark.

You hesitate before flicking the switch. If you just keep the lights off, you might evade some of the memories. You flick it nonetheless, and the light is too sharp. Too bright. You glance at the fridge, at the magnets holding up old notes and things you can’t bear to take a second look at.

So you don’t.

Giselle steps around you, reaching for a glass. The sound of the cabinet opening, the slight clink of the glass on the counter, the rapid rush of water from the tap—It’s too loud.

“You should drink something,” she says, gentle, full of care, but firm, like she won’t take no for an answer.

You nod once, just to show you’re listening. She watches as you take the glass, lift it to your lips and drink. She nods back, approving, a soft curl in her lips for making progress.

She searches the fridge, the light beaming from inside, before her voice rebounds out from it. “Is there anything you want to eat?”

The answer is nothing, so you tell her exactly that.

She obviously doesn’t accept that. “Come on, just—something easy.”

Your shoulders slump before you answer. “I’m sorry, but I don’t care.”

“I know.” She continues rummaging. “But we have to eat something, right? We can’t just…not.”

So do you, you want to say. Giselle wouldn’t let you turn this around on her though. She never does.

She pulls out something. A leftover container of soup from the fridge—something your mom must have made. Something that feels too good to eat right now. But it won’t stay fresh forever. So might as well still enjoy it while you can. Giselle throws you a half smile upon seeing your reaction to the soup, dumps it into a pot, turning on the stove and heating it up for the both of you.

The smell of it is more than food. It smells like home. Or it used to? It’s all too confusing.

Giselle turns around and leans against the counter, her arms supporting her against it. Waiting for the soup to be ready, before snapping you both back to reality. “The wake is in three days.”

You give her a puzzled look, like you can’t understand how she knows that. You knew it had to happen at some point, but—

“Your aunt came by earlier this morning, when you were still sleeping. She told me to tell you. It’ll take place here.” she explains further, not letting you stew in it.

You haven’t thought about it yet. Not about the wake itself, Not about what it implies. How you’re supposed to stand there all day while people pile on, saying things that won’t matter and offer condolences you don’t want, and then—what?

Bury them?

That’s too much.

Giselle is quiet. She lets the silence go unpunished, the only sound present being the faint bubbling of the soup. And then she moves, grabbing two bowls from the cabinet, keeping her hands busy, keeping herself busy.

And you eat. And you swallow. And you try not to think about how this is the last time you’ll ever taste this soup again.

-

The house is full.

Not full of ghosts, or stale air or a silence you just can’t seem to break through no matter how hard you try. No. 

This is different.

It’s wrong, worse.

There’s too many people, all clad in black, superseding silence with their low murmurs and occasional pitiful glances at you when they think you’re not looking. There’s too many of them. Faces you recognize, but can’t quite place, it’s all too hazy. People that knew your family, come to console themselves by letting you know they feel bad for you. None of them can imagine what you’re feeling anyways. If it were up to you, you wouldn’t be here.

But you are.

And thank fuck, so is Giselle.

She’s hovering around you. Always close. Not yet touching, not yet saying anything. Just—watching. Monitoring. Worried.

You can’t blame her, she should be.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Fuck. If the first time already makes you feel like you want to run, you might as well give up now.

It’s your father’s coworker. You recognize him now. You met him at a barbecue your dad hosted last year, the one where he burned some burgers but kept insisting they were fine, eating them himself. Your mom called him an overgrown child, and your brother almost vomited when he tried eating on himself.

That was only a year ago.

And now—

Now a remnant of that time is standing in front of you, alive and breathing and saying the same meaningless sentence you’re bound to hear a hundred times today.

His hand lands on your shoulder. Grasps it. Too firm. Too much.

He keeps talking, something about ever needing something, but you wouldn’t rely on your dad’s coworker for anything anyway.

And Giselle?

She moves.

Not a lot, mind you. Just a little. Shifting her weight towards you, the slightest brush of her sleeve against your arm, like she’s testing something. 

You nod at him. That’s all you can do.

You take a breather. Regain your composure.

Another.

“They were such wonderful people.”

One of your mom’s friends this time. She looks different. Maybe she just looks older. Maybe she’s been crying. Maybe you should care.

Her hands reach for yours, and you almost—almost—pull away.

You really don’t want them touching you like you’re some beacon of grief.

None of them should be touching you.

But you let her fingers wrap around yours, let her squeeze, let her eyes soften like she can even come close to understanding.

She doesn’t.

She can’t.

Your jaw locks. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, feel the skin break, the sharp sting of it preventing the cracks showing on the outside.

And Giselle moves again.

Another shift, another breath that sounds like it might be the start of a sentence, but—nothing. Just some warmth.

She’s hesitating.

She must be doubting if she should step in or not.

You haven’t been exactly clear on whether or not you want her to.

Because you don’t know.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

How fucked up is that? Way to rub it in.

You don’t even look up for this one.

Just nod. Another nod. That same fucking nod. Like you’re a puppet on string, but broken and only capable of doing one thing.

You don’t even know who just spoke to you and shook your hand. Some neighbor, maybe. Someone who used to wave at your mom in passing. Who smiled at you and your little brother at the grocery store. Someone who only knew your family in the way people know nice things in passing.

Not like you.

Giselle shifts again.

This time, you feel it more than you hear it, grazing the back of her hand against you, momentarily letting her index finger rub against the back of your hand. Like she just wants you to know that she’s there.

Another voice. Another fucking voice.

“They’re in a better place now.”

You exhale so hard it shakes.

You want to ask them where.

Where, exactly, is this better place you keep hearing about? Because they were supposed to be in Disneyland, and now they’re in a fucking coffin.

Your nails dig into your palms, but you just fucking nod again.

And Giselle notices.

You know she does.

Her head tilts slightly, like she’s asking what she needs to do, reading you like she always does, like she’s looking for something she can fix.

She won’t find it.

Another one.

“If you need anything, we’re here for you.”

You hesitate to answer.

Because what you want to say—what you wish you could say—is give them back.

But instead, you say what you don’t mean:

“Thank you.”

It tastes like poison in your mouth.

You wonder if you’d be able to choke and get away from this shit if you said it again.

Giselle’s finger’s twitch, but you pull away instinctively.

“Time heals all wounds.”

Does it? You can’t help but wonder.

Does it really?

Your mother is dead. Your father is dead. Your little brother is dead.

What part of that is supposed to heal? 

What part of that is supposed to be supplanted by scar tissue, become something these people don’t pry open? How long do you need to wait before this doesn’t feel like some twisted prank you keep hoping someone is going to reveal the joke to? You want to scream at them how you don’t even want it to heal. How it’ll feel like forgetting them.

“Stay strong.”

Oh, fuck off.

What the hell does that even mean? Stay strong? For what? So they don’t have to see what this is really doing to you? So you can keep nodding, keep shaking hands, keep standing in a room that is shrinking every second?

What if you don’t want to be strong?

What if—

Your breath comes in too fast.

Too shallow.

Like your lungs have forfeited the whole inhale-exhale thing and decided to just go, like a car with no brakes.

“They wouldn’t want you to be sad.”

Oh.

Oh, really?

You bite down so hard on the inside of your cheek you taste copper.

This one almost gets you.

Almost.

Because there’s nothing more insulting than some asshole trying to dictate how you’re supposed to grieve.

Your hands are shaking.

And Giselle moves.

She doesn’t wait for another nail to hit your coffin.

She just—

Her fingers curl tight around your wrist.

And she pulls.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not a question.

It’s not Can we go?

It’s We’re going.

You barely register the floor beneath your feet, barely register the voices still talking, still offering words you want them to keep for themselves, barely register the nod your aunt gives you as if to say “go, I got this,” and who has been running this farce as Giselle drags you through the hall and up the stairs like she’s rescuing you from a burning building.

And maybe she is. It feels like you were burning already, anyways.

She flies up the stairs, you in tow, frantic steps barely avoiding tumbling down, like she’s racing against the clock and when the countdown hits zero, you’ll explode. Her hand is solid around you, gripping your wrist, offering no escape.

You don’t even bother fighting it, how could you? You can barely control the airflow from and to your lungs, it’s much easier to just go along, much easier than listening to yet another person you haven’t seen since who knows when hammering in the reality of it all.

You can still hear them though.

You can still fucking hear them.

Claw at your ears, but you can still hear them, even as Giselle throws open your bedroom door and pulls you inside, you can still feel their words pressing down on you and—she slams the door shut behind you. The sound explodes, it breaks all thought, it locks you up in the four walls of your room, it shuts everything up.

But it’s only for a second. Because there is now a silence that is threatening to become the norm looming over you.

She locks the door. No more intruders allowed. Nobody gets to invade your head anymore.

Your muscles aren’t responding anymore. Locked in place, cut off from your brain by some invisible scissor.

Held hostage inside your own crumbling body. Standing there, on the precipice of destruction, something brewing in the core of your body that you can’t even begin to know how to stop.

And Giselle—Giselle is watching you, looking for the same answer you’re searching for. Her own chest struggling to keep up with everything. With herself, with you, how to prevent what’s happening to you.

And she moves.

You can’t stop it. Her hands find you, clutching at your chest, palms connecting with your shoulders, pushing, struggling, forcing you back, down onto the bed, second guessing herself every inch but still going forward like she’s being driven by nothing but instinct.

She’s still struggling to breathe. Your muscles are barely listening to you again. You’re both unsure of what’s happening. You’ve been pushed down onto the bed, just barely supporting your upper body on your elbows to meet Giselle.

She straddles your lap like she used to do all the time. Hands no longer pushing but bundling up the fabric of your dress shirt at the shoulders, the fabric of her own black dress hitching up around her thighs.

And you peek at what’s underneath.

It’s reflexive. And you can’t believe yourself.

In this situation?

“Giselle—”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

It’s in the process of breaking. It’s desperate. It’s a plea to forgive her that she doesn’t have the perfect answer. It’s fucking honest, accentuated by the swelling of her tears in the corners of her eyes, but held back enough to refuse falling.

It feels like it took away a small part of the blockade in your throat preventing you from breathing. 

Carved a little tunnel in there that allowed you to do what you know your body should be able to, even at diminished efficiency.

She crashes into you.

Her full body leaning against you, being supported by you, your lips attaching to each other for the first time in what feels like years. There’s nothing soft about it, nothing careful. It’s desperate, she’s desperate, messy. It’s fucking shattering. Teeth clumsily tapping, your breath mixing, her hands nearly tearing the fabric near your shoulders, yours clutching at your bedsheets—or were they hers now? Doesn’t matter, clutching as though bracing for impact.

Your mouths disconnect, and Giselle drops her head, hiding. Her whole body shifts in your lap, hips pressing closer with each desperate roll—and fuck, it’s like you’re being resuscitated, air forcefully fed into your lungs you didn’t know you desperately needed.

Your hands leave the bed as you straighten your back, grounding yourself in the skin of her hips, tightening, letting her know you’re there.

And her head shoots up, your eyes interlocking as she gasps when you realize—

She’s shaking.

Not much. Just a little. So small, you’re surprised you picked it up. Just barely enough to feel it. But you felt it. Only you know her well enough to pick up on it.

And that’s the final breath of air you needed pushed into your lungs.

Because she’s not just doing this for you.

She needs this, too.

Giselle needs you.

This is the same Giselle who owns everything you own, who teases you, taunts you, makes you flip the script on her because she’s just so desperate for your attention.

This is the same Giselle who you’ve touched before, held hands with before, kissed before, fell asleep with while watching a movie before, fucked before.

Her heat is undeniable, burning against you and you can feel it—fucking flooding your mind with thoughts of every time you plunged your cock deep inside her. She’s grinding against you, her eyes searching for clues on your face to tell her if it feels good. But she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t restrain herself, she wants you, doesn’t ask if this is okay. She has no choice. Because it has to be.

Because if she can’t even do this, if her putting her whole body on the line doesn’t let her reach you—then what?

You wince, your body reacting to her. “Giselle, I—”

“This is all I could think to do.” It cuts you off. She responds too fast, like she’s afraid to hear what you would say, too fast, just to keep some kind of control over the situation. “You looked so in pain, like you were about to do something you’d regret, I just—” The words tumbled out, even faster, stumbling over themselves, her eyes darting from left to right, searching for something, anything. And then she looks at you. 

Right at you. 

Deep inhale. Shaky exhale. Her forehead pressing against yours as her eyes close. “I need you to be here.”

“I am—” You begin to claim, but before you even have the chance to convince yourself, let alone her, she interjects again.

“I love you.” Her hands loosen their grip on your shirt, only to grip even tighter onto the flesh of your shoulders. “I know you think you know. But I need you to hear it. Really hear it. I need to know that you know. That I love you.”

And you’re at the precipice. All you need to do to just feel a bit of comfort is respond to her. Just tell her that you know, or that you love her too, and maybe cry in her arms, and you’ll feel just a little bit better, it should be that easy. 

But you’re silent. Just, rotting.

As if taking this final step is too much. It’s easier to just rot. If you let her in any more, it will just hurt even more when she’s taken away from you.

Her grip falters. The strength in her fingers fades, barely lingering on your shoulders before her hands slip down entirely. She exhales sharply, her face dropping for a second, and you hear it—fabric shifting, the quiet rustle of her sleeve dragging against her cheek. Wiping away tears? You don’t look. You don’t want to know.

Her head snaps back up.

She’s glowering.

Not the desperate, pleading look you were expecting. Not soft, not sad. Her whole body is trembling.

“You fucking suck right now.”

Right, you suck right now. Wait. What?

It makes you blink. Your head jolts back, and two more blinks follow it.

Your eyebrows pull together, and she sees it—the first real fucking sign of life from you since this whole thing began.

“You know,” You begin, a scoff interrupting you. “Pointing out that I suck doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“It’s not supposed to.”

Her response is quick, instinctive, decisive as to not let you cypher these emotions away again.

She leans in, foreheads mere atoms apart.

“It’s supposed to make you mad.”

Her head pulls back again, but in the blink of an eye smashes it back against your forehead, a clumsy headbutt, the surprise more shocking than the pain but it—

“I fucking love you!”

And you finally got mad. Like the pain had pierced through any fog your head had built up inside, and you could finally see color again. As if your brain was set to the wrong TV settings, showing every channel in monochrome, but a good smack to the side fixed it and you could finally drink in the vibrancy on display. So you could look at Giselle. Really, look at her. Her bright pink hair, the color slightly faded from washing it with her shitty shampoo—your shampoo actually, hers was specifically made to not let the color of her hair dye fade. Her kiss-swollen lips, peach-colored with little dents in them from where she bit down too hard. Her eyes colored like afternoon sunlight shining through a glass of whiskey you were sure to have stolen from your parents cabinet, looking at you with such frustration that you almost expected her to headbutt you again.

And how fucking dare she.

“That fucking hurt.”

Giselle’s palm presses against her forehead, rotating and rubbing against it with her eyes squeezed tight, a grunt escaping her as she replies. “Yeah? Well, it hurt me too, you idiot.” 

She removes her hand and checks for blood, staring you down and tilting her head, assessing you. “Should’ve hit you harder.”

“Excuse me?”

She leans in, her hot breath pushing into you. “If that’s what it took to get you out of your own fucking head, I should’ve put my whole back into it.”

Your hands fly up, grabbing onto her hips, holding her down against you, body reacting before your mind can catch up, as if she has to pay for what she did. As if she owes you some kind of apology for not letting you sit under your own self-imposed ceiling of sorrow. As if you just fucking need her.

And Giselle pushes back. 

Teeth catching your lower lip, stinging, sharp and sweet, filled with promise. She pulls as far as you’re willing to give, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel it, enough to make you want her lips, enough to make your pulse beat in your neck when she finally lets go—

She doesn’t even give you a chance to recover.

Because the second she releases you, her lips claim yours.

Messy, hot, urgent, familiar, undoubtedly Giselle.

“There you are,” she breathes into your mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” is all the verbal response you give her, your hands grasping at the fabric of her dress with an intense fervor you were sure to have lost, pushing, pulling, twisting, anything to make it be less on her. 

“Jesus,” she recoils, but she takes no steps to stop you. Instead, she pushes back, her own hands having a similar battle with the front of your shirt, desperately fumbling with the buttons.

And you don’t even realize the force you're putting out until you hear the sharp sound of fabric tearing.

Her dress.

You fucking ripped it.

Her eyes go wide, her hands stop fumbling with your buttons, and she sucks in a sharp breath.

“Oh,” she breathes out.

Your grip tightens. You feel bad about it, or at least you know you should, but right now, you’re barely holding back from ripping the full fucking thing off her.

“You will be buying me a new one.” She glares at you, hands curled into the torn fabric at her side. She watches you wince, but there’s no sympathy in her face. It’s more like she’s processing—realizing at the exact same time you are just how much this is turning her on. “So don’t stop now,” she tells you, “tear me apart.”

The sound it makes is thrilling. The fabric gives, but not without putting up a fight, resisting enough that when it finally gives way, it’s a violent thing. The rip reverberates in the room, splitting apart from her side. The dress ceases to be a dress—just a mess of torn fabric clinging uselessly to her skin before sliding down, slipping away.

And Giselle fucking melts into you, reduced to nothing but matching black underwear, forearms pressing up into your chest, her hips sliding, rolling down, coating your bulge with her wet through her panties like she’s desperate to let you ruin her. She is as much a mess as you are, failing at letting you control the pace, just as desperate to feel all of you. 

It’s exhilarating. You might have to start investing in cheap, flimsy dresses for Giselle, just so you have an excuse to rip them off of her again. Because the effect it’s having on you, let alone her, is something you’d let ruin you financially.

“All that whining about your dress,” you taunt, that hint of bite returning to your voice, “but you’re dripping onto my pants like you want me to rip those off too.”

“I can’t help it’s fucking hot,” she mumbles.

Her head tilts, looking up at you, fast and desperate, like she needs to get her mouth on you before you even know what she’s doing. Her hands, still shaking with adrenaline, grip onto your shirt and keep you close, using it as leverage as she pulls herself up and crashes her lips against the curve of your neck.

You flinch, your muscles tensing up against her assault, and she feels it, her arms refusing to give even an inch, doubling down. Lips parting, tongue taking first contact just to tease before retreating, sucking hard on your skin, like she’s educating you on what the punishment is and will be for torn dresses. The pressure is immediate, bruising, and you lean into it, her breath hot against your skin as she works at you. 

Pain melts into pleasure, sharp stings of heat spurring you, your hands finding refuge on her supple ass, kneading and grasping, in turn spurring her on even more.

She moans against you—soft, drawn out, almost involuntary, like she wasn’t expecting this to turn her on so much. It’s impossible to ignore, vibrating into your skin, traveling directly up your spinal cord and sucker punching all of your neurons simultaneously with the sheer fucking audacity of her.

She pulls back slightly, just to admire her work, panting breaths exhaling against the wet, oversensitive mark of her territory left behind. Her tongue grazes the spot again, teasing, curving upwards against the fresh bruise she just made, before a single hum delivers the haymaker—smug, pleased and starving for more.

“You are so fucking impatient,” you stammer out pushing her away from your neck, hands firmly on her shoulders to keep her where she’s forced to look at you.

And she looks like she’s going to break any minute, her eyes big and pleading, already a prelude to her next attack. “What, you’re not going to make me say please, are you?”

Fucking hell.

You allow yourself one incredulous chuckle before advancing, one hand curving around her back, pinching the hook and eye clasp of her bra together before releasing it, causing it to drop into her lap still tangled around her arms, where your other hand already reached cupping her where she’s wet, palm pressing against the skin above her cunt, fingers hovering over her sensitives.

She gasps, submitting to your touch, putting up no fight at all. And she stops. And so do you. Her pupils, wide and hungry, reflecting the only thing she needs—you, again. Her heat begging you to envelop your cock. And her fucking tits—bare, soft, perfect. Her nipples are stiff, whether from cool air or sheer anticipation—you’d bet on the latter— begging to be touched, sucked, bitten, made yours. She arches her back ever so slightly, like she’s offering them to you without the indignity of pleading. Because she knows she would if you asked. It’s better to just give in already. 

She is a fucking vision, the kind you could only experience at moments that blur the line between reality and fiction. The kind that demands you act before it vanishes. 

So fucking beautiful it still makes you sick.

“You’re looking at me like you just realized you’re about to fuck me,” she says, her voice shaking but a smirk letting her keep some semblance of control.

“Only if you say please.”

 She doesn’t hesitate. She pouts. Her eyes pull you in.

“Please fuck me?” she pleads, incriminating herself in your little trap willingly.

She’s brazen, enthusiastic and about to be rewarded for it. Breaking eye-contact from this point onwards would be considered taboo, as your fingers slide the last barrier between you and her velvety heat to the side for access, letting the rest of her panties unmoved, hugging and squeezing her hips. 

At the same time, she tugs the remaining straps of her bra down her arms, letting the fabric fall away entirely, leaving her completely exposed above you. Giselle was never embarrassed, never even a little bit shy. No, even now, even like this, she keeps that fucking fire burning on alcohol in her eyes, daring you to take what’s yours.

You slip into her soaked heat, and—fuck—she’s already so wet. So fucking ready for you. No teasing, no hesitation, just yours for the taking.

Giselle gasps, her whole body stretching and flexing as two fingers push inside her, stretching her open for you, pressing into the cunt she’s been grinding against you with no shame. Fuck giving her time to adjust. You curl your fingers, rolling them into her, against the spot that makes her shake, makes her lose her fucking mind.

“Oh—”

It’s the oboe playing the A note before the symphony she’s about to perform. But you don’t give her time for the tuning of all the other instruments.

She sways forward, her body being pulled into yours without her permission, a slave to her instincts. Her hands fly to the buttons of your shirt, but the poor girl is shaking too much to do anything useful. “Fucking—” She struggles, losing coordination, head swaying and eyes squinting to focus to no avail. “Get this—fucking thing—off—”

There’s a pop and a dink. A button flies off, bouncing against the floor. She doesn’t flinch, neither do you. Another one soon follows.

“Jesus, you’re ruining my shirt,” you taunt, but you don’t stop her. If anything, this color of desperation looks nice on her.

“You ruined my—fuck—my dress first,” she protests. “If you’ve got—”

She’s not wrong, but you’re not about to let her be right. You flick your thumb over her clit, slow and precise, just the way she loves it, just to feel her pulse against you.

She opens her mouth to retry what she was snapping back despite your little trick, but—

You had another up your sleeve.

Your other hand asserts itself on her tits, fingers spreading their domain over the soft flesh of her breast before closing in, pinching at her nipple, tugging just enough to get her to forget. Just enough to see her reaction.

Her back arches into your touch, lips parting wider with disbelief, breath coming in bursts that sting. Her face is a masterpiece of desperation, eyebrows pooling at the center, eyes wide and pleading, her whole body craving what you’re giving.

And still, she continues fighting it.

“Just you—oh my god—” she manages, but you’re sure it would have been more coherent if she wasn’t  bucking her hips into you trying to fuck herself faster on your fingers.

“You can either finish that sentence,” you interject, thumb circling her clit slowly, “or you can come. But you’ve gotta pick one.”

She’s gasping, faltering, having vocabulary erased from her lexicon with each thrust and curl, head falling back but she’s still got this defiant look in her eyes. Like she’s about to hit you with a comeback so good you’ll only find an appropriate response three days later when stepping out of the shower.

But you don’t let her.

“Come on,” you whisper, tone softer now, coaxing her, a stark contrast to the ruthless way your fingers are working her. “Be a good girl for me.”

It’s her favorite thing, and the ace up your sleeve. She snaps without resistance.

Her body locks up, a sharp rendition of your name sings from her lips to your ears, her walls pulsing around your two digits as her orgasm ramps up. She clings to you like someone cast out at sea clings to a lifebuoy, nails ripping what remains of your shirt, mouth open, gasping, unwilling to do anything but surrender, take everything you’re pushing into her.

You don’t stop until she’s a trembling mess, until you’re sure you’ve felt every little muscle spasm, until the aftershocks are making her twitch against you, until she’s nothing but a gasping, pink chaos in your arms.

It’s only then you slow your movements, retreating to her hips, letting her breathe, letting her catch herself where your hands failed.

But she’d be a fool if she thought this was anything but the warm-up.

“Think you’re ready to get your insides stirred now?”

She barely lifts her head, eyes heavy-and-half-lidded, still dazed. Giselle always needs recovery time, and you’ve usually been graceful enough to grant it, but she has that smirk, that little bit of fight, that spark in her eyes left in her.

“I couldn’t possibly say no to you.”

Your grip tightens on her hips. “That’s my good girl,” you hiss.

Her hands fumble at your belt, too clumsy and too shaky to get proper progress like she usually would. Her fingers aren’t the focused and precise instruments they usually are, but that doesn’t stop her from trying. She yanks at the buckle again, flexing her fingers as though that might help.

And you’re just watching. Leaning back. Enjoying the fucking spectacle of her trying and failing to get your cock out. Your fingers tangle into her messy hair, pulling just enough to make her tilt her face up.

Low. Taunting. “Do you need some help?”

Her eyebrows twitch in annoyance, her glare hazy but defiant. “Shut up. I know how to get my boyfriend’s dick out.”

You can’t help but grin. “Yeah? Cause you kind of suck right now.”

Her nostrils flare, and she rips the zipper down with enough force to nearly break the damn thing as well. Your slacks and boxers are shoved down, disposed of in one rough motion.

And then she freezes. Her hands glued to your thighs for support. Her breath hitches. Her eyes widen.

“...Okay, what the fuck.”

You blink. “What?”

She tilts her head, fingers wrapping around your cock, testing the weight, the firth, her thumb dragging over the tip before her grip tightens.

“No, like. Actually. Is it bigger than usual?”

A scoff, she can’t be fucking real. “Are you serious?”

“I’m dead fucking serious.” She strokes down your shaft, slow, like she’s gathering data, measuring it to what she remembers.

“Maybe it’s the angle.”

She clicks her tongue like that’s not quite it, tilting her head, still studying you like you’re some kind of science experiment. “Or maybe it’s a rage-induced growth spurt.”

“That is not a thing.”

“Seems like a thing,” she muses.

“It’s not a thing,” you keep asserting.

She circles the head of your dick with her thumb, wiping precum all over it, watching you twitch under her hand. “You seem pretty sure.” “Because I—Jesus, Giselle,” she interrupts you, a quick slide down your shaft sending a jolt up your spine, “because I am sure.”

“Well, I’m gonna pretend it is possible,” she hums, shifting her hips forwards, bucking against you, preparing the base of your cock against her soaking wet cunt, drowning it in her slick with every slow, deliberate and precise roll of her hips.

You feel every bit of it. How ready she is. How warm, how soft, how desperate, how shaky.

You can’t help but tighten your grip on her hips, fingers digging in hard, no intent of ever letting go.

And she’s such a slut for it, the feeling of riding against your dick while your digits dig into her makes her moan, high and breathy, but still contained only to this room.

You can’t let that go unpunished. “You’re still shaking.”

She huffs, daring you to shift your hands to her waist, but she’s gripping your shoulders. “And you’re still talking.”

Her nails make their way down, scratching your chest as she rolls her hips again, slow but insistent, pressing herself against your every inch, teasing, tormenting you both—

“So I guess I need to do a better job,” she puffs, face tilting downwards a little so she can look up at you with a pout. “Let’s see if you can still do the same when these tits you love so much are bouncing in your face.”

She smirks, satisfied, shifting forward, lining herself up above you, her cunt dripping against the tip of your cock, ready—

And then she pushes down.

She sinks on to you, rough and deep, deeper, deeper, until she’s seated in your lap, flush up against you, stuffed fucking full with rage-induced growth.

For a second, neither of you move.

You pulse inside her, feel the way her walls tighten, adjusting, flexing, gripping you like she never wants to let go. The sensation mixes with the way her eyes flutter, unfocused, her hands scratching and digging into your chest, harder and harder like she’s overwhelmed, like she’s processing every inch of you.

She swallows. Tenses her thighs. And she starts moving.

First, it's slow. Rolling. Experimenting what she can handle. She lifts herself up, just a little, and you feel her tremble before she sinks back down. Her and your moans weave into each other.

She does it again. A slow, shaky rhythm, taking you as deep as she fucking can.

And you resist the urge to grip her hips and hold her up, pounding into her until she cries your name to the heavens. For now. Because she’s trembling. Still weak.

She knows it too, but as long as you don’t intervene, she won’t be stopped. She leans in, a soft half-moan half-breath escapes her, her eyes obsessed with you.

“You love this, don’t you? Watching me put on a show for you.”

“Mhm,” you respond, low, throaty, just the way it gets her going.

She smirks, her hands flying into her hair as she lets it cascade over her back, giving you a perfect view of her neckline. “You always get like this when I’m on top. Can’t even pretend to play it cool when my tits are bouncing, can you?”

She’s not wrong. Her tits have a hypnotic quality to them.

Her body moves, slow and deliberate, dragging you back and forth inside her like she’s trying to make clear what you’ve got to lose if you try to play it nonchalantly.

“Just admit it, you’re weak—fuck—weak for my pu—”

She chokes on the last word, her confidence faltering mid sentence as she tries to lift herself, her legs twitching, shaking, muscles threatening to give out. She barely gets halfway up before her thighs tremble violently, still wrecked from her previous orgasm, forcing her to slam back down onto you, her whole body tensing up. It’s quick, and high-pitched. A surprised whimper escapes her throat involuntarily.

You pull back, a face that could only mean to ask her if she wants to find an excuse for that.

She glares up at you, face flushed red instead of its usual shades of pink, panting. “I—” she starts, but her voice shakes.

You help her along, like the loving boyfriend you are. “Having some trouble?” You’re clearly enjoying this, watching her fight against her own body.

And that only pisses her off. Her glare sharpens. “Shut up—” But her legs twitch again, this time not even managing halfway, forcing another stuttered moan out of her.

She’s struggling with the limitations of her own body, huffing in frustration, but not giving up. Her hands grasp your shoulders, and she tries to lift herself up again. In vain. She barely makes it off of you, more of a grinding act, before collapsing onto you with a sharp gasp, staying impaled on your thick cock.

She whimpers another fuck, as her walls clench and flex, forcing her body to do what she wants.

It’s adorable, a sight to revel in. Struggling, mustering all the power she still has left after having most of it fingered out of her. Your hands reaching for her thighs, sweat-slicked, feeling the little movements of muscle on your palm as she forces herself to rise. They tremble violently under her weight before giving out entirely, making her sink back down with a mewl.

Giselle’s cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, equal parts arousal and humiliation. She bites her lip, warring with herself, considering her possible actions, before finally breaking.

“Fine! Will you please fucking help me already?” she yelps, neediness exemplified.

“There we go,” you crow, immensely satisfied. “Was that so hard?”

Your grip tightens around her hips, your whole body surging forward as you take control, flipping her in one swift, fluid motion, her breath leaving her in a sharp gasp as her back hits the mattress and you cage her beneath you.

Her legs are still wrapped around your waist, but you push them up, folding them into her, making sure she feels everything, making sure she knows exactly what she just asked for.

“This is what you wanted?” you challenge, hovering over her quivering body. “Needed me to manhandle you? To hold you down and use you?”

Giselle squirms in your grip, her pupils blow wide with lust and anticipation. “Fuck yes, I need your cock to stretch me open,” she whines, straining to grind her hips against yours.

She’s being so fucking messy right, and if she gets any louder, you are both running the risk of turning this catharsis into the most humiliating moment of your life. In a desperate attempt to shut her up, you lean down, capturing her lips in a needy kiss, tongue twisting into hers, swallowing all her moans directly into your throat. When you finally pull back, you hold still for a moment, giving her an intense stare matched by her expectant gaze.

“I love you,” you tell her, raw honesty shattering the moment. Her eyes blink in shock, clearly expecting something a lot more depraved to have come out of your mouth. “I fucking love you so much, Giselle. But if you don’t control your volume, you’re going to ruin this.”

Her eyes go wide, her eyebrows shoot up, the kind of look that says “excuse me?” but her body betrays her, leaning in instead of pulling back. “Fine,” she whispers fiercely, “I love you too.”

“Now stop being a sap and fuck me like you want to break me,” she purrs, swirling and bucking her hips into your throbbing girth invitingly. “I want you to have to carry me tomorrow. I want to be limping when you’re done.”

Lust overtakes your brain, painting your vision in the color pink that you can’t help but indulge in. You line yourself up anything but carefully, slamming in, hard, brutal, like you want to break her, burying your entire length in her tight and sloppy heat. Giselle throws her head back with force, walls clamping down on you, and you can see your name spelled on her lips, ready to be cried out. She somehow bites it back, only letting a strained moan escape her.

“Yes” and “fuck” and “oh my god” are chanted deliriously at a volume you’ve both painstakingly mastered to never get caught in the past as you set a punishing pace, pumping in and out of her cunt.

You pound and pound, grunting with exertion, eyes transfixed by the irresistible sight of her voluptuous tits bouncing wildly just past her thighs with each thrust. And she notices, because Giselle knows you. And knows you love watching her tits bounce. So she does the only reasonable thing, which is to arch her back and offer herself to you as much as her strength still allows.

“I know you like watching my tits while you rail me,” she taunts, kneading them together for your viewing pleasure. Giselle loves putting on a show. “Love seeing them shake from how hard you’re pounding me? Hmm, I bet you wanna cover them in cum already, mark them as yours.”

“Fuck, keep talking,” you strain out, angling your hips to hit that perfect spot inside her that makes her see stars. 

Giselle’s eyes roll back in bliss as you pound into her g-spot, absolutely no mercy, no remorse, just brutal fucking with relentless precision. Filthy praise spills from her lips between muted cries of ecstasy. 

She looks at you for a second, hazy eyes starting to roll back as she obediently continues. “Next time, I want you to bend me over that desk and take me from behind while I struggle to stand. Spank my ass until it’s raw and pull my hair while you fuck me stupid. Leave me shaking so bad I forget my own.”

Your rhythm stutters, a guttural groan and risk of drool tearing from you at the deliciously dirty image she construed. Giselle, consistent as she is, notices immediately and grins impishly, emboldened.

“Or maybe you’d rather I ride you in front of the mirror, let you watch my ass bounce on your dick? Let you play with my tits and see how perfect we look together?”

She finds some strength again, meeting your rhythm on a one fourth beat, rolling her hips in sync with your thrusts. “I love how sexy you make me feel. Love when you look at me like you want to devour me, love being your perfect little fucktoy.”

“Keep going,” you growl through your teeth like a desperate animal, picking up the pace, getting lost in her fervor, fucking into her harder, deeper. “Tell me everything.”

“I didn’t forget that I owe you a blowjob, but how about you fuck my face and we call it even?” Giselle continues, shameless and needy not strong enough words to describe her. “Want to choke on your big cock, let you use my throat and paint my face with runny mascara and cum.”

You’re pounding into her with wild abandon, the obscene slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the room, thank fuck for your thick door. Her words inflame your lust to never before seen heights, dipping your head to latch onto one rosy nipple, sucking the sensitive bud atop her heights into your mouth.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” she drools out, punctuation getting forgotten as she grows incoherent with pleasure. “That feels so fucking good. They’re so fucking sensitive for you, please bite them, leave your marks all over me. Shit, I could cum just from you playing with my tits…”

And what are you, if not a loving boyfriend, obliging her filthy request, nipping and suckling at her flesh, determined to cover her mounds in hickeys and teeth marks. Cover her in you.  Never relenting your pace, drilling into her squelching pussy like a man possessed by a pink haired goddess. Some kind of Aphrodite.

Her cunt is practically gushing everytime you move your cock, soaking your thighs with her arousal.

“Close, I’m so fucking close,” she slurs, but not in the way that would get a themepark to close a faux landmark. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop—please, I fucking need it—cum for me too, paint my fucking cervix white, breed me, fuck, knock me up, shit shit shit, I’m gonna—”

Her filthy pleas are your undoing, destructive, a siren’s call drowning you from head to hilt. The sound that escapes from you is feral as you slam into her one last time, burying yourself as deep as is physically possible and then some. Your core tightens, your hands push her thighs flat against her body in way that will leave her sore in more ways than one, as the worst idea you’ve had yet doesn’t take time to consider itself, just throbbing straight through your cock, pulsing and erupting inside her, thick spurts of cum painting her insides filling her up.

Something about being too caught up in the moment.

Giselle is soon to follow, orgasm crashing over her, this one harder than before, triggered by the new sensation of your scalding seed flooding her clenching cunt. Her eyes roll back once more, the start of your name up to the first vowel breaking through her throat, shockwaves of pleasure tearing through her quivering body.

You recognize the danger, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth, half falling into her before catching you back up with your other hand, muffling her debauched cries, Giselle being too far gone to stay quiet on her own. Her lips are wet against your palm, breath heating you up as she bucks and writhes beneath you, impaled on you making her overflow, being equally guilty with how she milks for you every last drop you have.

The world shrinks and vision narrows to just you and Giselle, overcome and lost to feeling. Feeling her, feeling yourself, feeling… alive. Your hips piston in short, sharp thrusts on instinct, working your release as deep into her trembling body as possible, driven by some naturalistic part of yourself you’ve newly reacquired, a need to claim her and fill her to the brim with your essence.

And she takes it all with desperate enthusiasm, greedily and eagerly accepting everything you give her like you’ve done this a hundred times before. You haven’t, not even once.

Her life-giving eyes are squeezed shut, cheeks flushed the same pink as her favorite brand of peach colored lipstick, features slack with untainted pleasure. She looks utterly defiled, fucked silly, like the very picture of a perfect girlfriend and her wanton debauchery.

Your cum is leaking out around your shaft, dripping down between you, staining her bedsheets—still yours, but if she’s dripping on them, it’s her problem. Knowing her, she will make an argument it’s your fault because it’s your cum. 

She’s never looked more beautiful, like an angel meant to absorb all your sins.

The aftershocks of her second crash ebb away, leaving you both panting, your hand sliding off of her mouth. Exhaustion hits all at once, causing a collapse on top of her and only bracing for a fraction of the impact on your forearms so as not to crush her. Pillowy tits caught most of the impact anyways, welcoming you gladly, trembling limbs following up and clinging to your sweat-slicked back.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, her voice hoarse but soothingly contented. “You’re carrying me tomorrow. No fucking choice. I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

You chuckle, actually chuckle, or maybe it’s better described as a snicker turning into a chuckle, reintroducing Giselle to a sound she thought she lost. She immediately surges up to capture your lips, tasting the sweetness of the laughter on your mouth with sloppy abandon, all tongue and spit and residual passion. She’s grinning dopily up at you as you break apart, and it does something to you. 

She sighs, twitching beneath you. “Tch. After everything I let you do to me, all the places I said you could have made a mess of…” Her smug smirk makes an entrance as she tilts her chin down. “You just had to fill me up instead. Nice and dangerous.” Your pulse is still hammering, the implications of what you just did barely catching up to you before she derails it completely. She tilts her head, mock contemplation, but her smile is pure smug, a deadly taunt, hammering away at you. “And here I thought you wanted to see how pretty I’d look, tits covered in cum, dripping down my stomach.” Your jaw clenches, but she’s not done yet. “Or maybe,” she continues, “you wanted me on my knees, tongue out, looking up at you while I begged for it. Feel how messy I’d get swallowing everything that drips out.” She exhales, all faux-disappointment, licking her lips like she’s tasting the mere thought of you. “I get it though.” She grins, utterly fucking depraved. “It felt fucking amazing. I would have picked this too.”

“You’re insane.”

And so are you. For her. Staying like that for a moment, longer than a mere moment, just existing in the intimacy. Eventually, you pull out of her, a wet squelch announcing your physical separation.

The mixture of your combined fluids immediately starts to drip out of Giselle’s thoroughly fucked pussy as you pull out, a lewd concoction of her arousal and your thick cum. She whimpers, one eye closed, at the loss of your cock stretching her open, the sensation of your release seeping from her folds making her shiver.

There’s a sparkle of mischief in your eye, the glint indicative of the kind of challenges you and Giselle always throw at each other, and she characteristically notices, but just observes. You swipe two fingers through the mess between her thighs, coating them liberally in a layer of your shared passion.

She follows your digits through hooded lids, chest still heaving, a smirk turning into a surprised moan as you raise your slick fingers to her lips, painting them with you and her before pushing inside. Her eyes flutter shut in bliss as she eagerly accepts the offering, tongue swirling around the digits, lapping up every drop of your combined taste.

“Mmm, we taste so good together, you know?” she purrs sultrily once you withdraw your fingers with a signature Giselle pop. She opens her mouth, presenting the elixir on her tongue. “Want a taste?” You hadn’t considered it before, but half of what was in there was hers, and with a shrug of your shoulders, you dive in, kissing her haphazardly, tongue pressing against hers and swirling into a helix, tasting how good you two really come together. You pull back, and she swallows your cocktail down, proudly presenting an empty mouth.

“You do know a quick swipe isn’t enough to keep me from getting knocked up though, right stud?” She punctuates her words by clenching her walls, more of your release dripping out to pool on the sheets. “I can still feel so much of your cum inside me. We’re definitely getting plan B tomorrow, and you’re paying.”

Your cock twitches between your legs, as though being called to action. “If you keep spewing filth, I’m going to get hard again.”

“Promises, promises,” Giselle singsongs, grinning at you. She looks thoroughly well-fucked, hair a wild and pink tangle, skin covered in sweat you wouldn’t mind getting a taste of, your marks littering her breasts, throat and rearranged insides.

This is satisfaction. 

You collapse next to her on the bed, one arm slipping under her and the other over her, gathering her up into you. She comes willingly, a little joyous squeal escaping, tangling your legs together, uncaring of the sticky mess. Exertion turns into exhaustion as you listen to your racing heartbeats gradually slow and even out.

This was exactly what you needed to take your mind off of things for once, but as the high fades, reality sets back in. It feels different, something unspoken that settles over the both of you, settling into the spaces in the room where grief and love have spent the last few days battling for dominance.

Your forehead rests against hers at its most comfortable, close enough you can hear every breath as it keeps her here. Her fingers brush over your back softly, fingertips gliding idly, starkly in contrast with the frantic clawings she left earlier.

Silence falls between you, but it isn’t the kind you want to chase away. It’s the one that says it all. Not oppressive or suffocating anymore. Just… full.

You shift slightly, not because you want to leave her, something simple, the feeling of your arm starting to fall asleep, and Giselle groans. “You are not allowed to move yet.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” she mutters. “Stay.”

It’s a simple request you never had any intention to ignore. But it’s the way she says it—soft, drowsy, fragile—that turns it into an impossible request to ignore.

Your face buries into the crook of her neck, planting soft kisses against her flesh, the scent of sex and sweat wrapping around you.

“I love you,” she whispers, and it's so damn near silent that you’re not sure if she said it for you to hear or for herself.

You close your eyes, settle into her and answer back anyways. “I know.”

She exhales, a snicker preluding her. “You’re supposed to say it back, asshole.”

Your lips curl into a smirk, tugging at your lips, but there’s not a trace of teasing in your voice when you respond to her a little too quickly. “I love you too.”

Her body relaxes, and yours follows suit. More silence follows, More warmth. More of just simply being.

Then, Giselle huffs and puffs, your hands automatically on her waist. “You know we’re stuck here until everybody has left, right?”

You grunt, but you don’t even bother to lift your head. “What?”

“My dress is currently in several pieces on the floor,” she remarks, no question about who the accusatory tone was meant for. “And while I am thrilled by the feral caveman display of strength, it does leave me exactly with zero options for leaving this room.”

You snort, shifting just enough to glance at the shredded fabric scattered across the floor like some ruined jigsaw puzzle. “That sounds like a you problem.”

Her gasp is clearly exaggerated, and the weak shove she gives your shoulder is a dead giveaway. “Excuse me? You did this!”

“Mm,” you hum, unconcerned with her accusation. Truth be told, you’d take any excuse to be stuck here with her forever. Still, a comeback felt deserved. “I clearly remember you telling me to ‘tear you apart’”

“That’s unfair, that was in the heat of the moment!”

“Almost everything we just did was in the heat of the moment.”

She opens her mouth faster than she can think of a clever comeback, and you can see the gears spinning in her head but not coming up with anything useful. Her mouth snaps shut, her eyes glare at you in betrayal. “I hate you.”

A familiar song and dance. “No, you don’t.”

“No,” she agrees, her shoulders dropping and releasing tension, as she nudges closer to you. “I really, really don’t.”

And you don’t feel like you’re spiraling anymore. Like the world is collapsing around you and you’d just let it. Like a husk of a man, just keeping the body alive while the mind is drifting further and further away into oblivion.

You feel… at home with her.

Her hand lifts, fingers brushing against the side of your face, undoubtedly noticing the weirdly optimistic crestfallen expression you carried. “What?” she murmurs.

Your throat tightens in its familiar constriction, but you manage to speak anyway. “My dad said something before they left.”

Giselle’s fingers still against your skin, as if bracing for impact. “Yeah?”

You swallow, inhaling like it might make this easier, but nothing can. “He said he felt better knowing I’ll have you.”

The words hang between you. Giselle stares, blinks once, and lips part slightly at their center, but nothing comes out. Not even air. Clueless on what to say to something like that, something that raw.

You sigh, resigned, but with a tinge of optimism that some might confuse for naivety in your tone. “Guess he knew what he was talking about.”

The muscles in her face loosen, and she responds with her body first. Not hesitant, not afraid, a sense of certainty and clarity guiding her.

Her fingers find familiar footing in your hair, another hand palming your jaw, warming it up and comforting you. She’s taking you in—and yesterday it would have been because she’s worried, but today it’s because she isn’t. Like she knows you, down to your very bones, exactly who you are and she’s waiting for you to realize it too.

“Right,” she breathes with ease. “You still have me.”

The words are like a magic spell, settling somewhere into the ache in your ribs, into the spaces grief left raw and you tried to dispose of, a stitch pulling on the raw flesh of an open wound, preparing it to heal.

You don’t know what to say to that. You don’t think there’s anything you can say to that.

You hang loose in her touch. She lets you. Lets you take your time. Because she knows.

You’re not okay.

Not yet.

But Giselle makes it feel like maybe that’s okay too.

That maybe it’s enough for now to know that you’re still here with her, that she’s saved your life twice now. And tomorrow you can take her up on all the filthy promises she’s made, but if you need to just be in her arms today, that’s fine too.

Because you still have her.

[demonic0angel]

(Danny got a little trouble with the Box Ghost)

"Hey Master Danny, today looks like the perfect time for a little house cleaning," Alfred smiled while handing the boy a feather duster. "And since the attic is getting a little musky, you will be doing that first."

"Why not you?" Danny questioned.

"Because I have some errands to do in town." Alfred said.

He sighed as Alfred turned and headed out.

"Looks like I've to take care the manor, then..." Danny sighed.

(Later)

Danny coughed while walking up the stairs to the attic, finding LOTS of dust and spider webs including some boxes in the pitch black area.

He was trying his hardest not to cough up a lung and keep his eyes from watering constantly as he opened the window to try and air it out. "Disgusting."

As he coughed, he pulled out a flashlight and turned it on.

Click.

The Box Ghost was here too.

Danny stared at him. He stared back.

They both stared at each other.

Without warning, Danny immediately threw himself at the Box Ghost in order to contain him. He tried to close the flaps of a cardboard box with the Box Ghost inside as he shrieked and cried, "I am the Box Ghost! How dare you try to contain me in boxes!"

"Shut up! My grandpa is in the house!" Danny hissed. "How did you even get here?! I'm not in Amity Park anymore!"

The Box Ghost moved away from his grip, darting out of reach as he then said guiltily, "We got lonely, so we're taking turns to see you."

"Are you kidding me?!"

The door to the attic opened and Alfred popped his head in. The Box Ghost disappeared in a puff.

"Is something the matter, young master Danny?"

"No, nothing! I'm okay! Just attacked by..." he looked down at his dusty, messy self, "Uh, dust bunnies."

Alfred seemed deadpan and exasperated but he wasn't going to push. He just nodded slowly. "Well, thank you for cleaning the attic for this poor old man. It's been causing me much difficulty."

Danny could only nod in guilt.

Alfred was unfortunately only going to have even more difficulties if Danny's rogues were going to come to Gotham to see him.

[ckret2]

Chapter 75 of human Bill Cipher gradually becoming less and less the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers!

They definitely won't get their lives endangered during the sleepover at all!! And if you believe that's not a lie, I've got a skyscraper in the second dimension to sell you.

####

A camera set up beneath the attic bedroom window recorded the dark room. In her pajamas, Mabel stood in the middle of the attic, boogying nervously to silent music.

A light shining from beneath the bedroom door turned off. Mabel stopped boogying, crept to the door, and leaned her ear against the crack.

She ran back to the camera and picked it up. "Okay," she whispered, "Dipper and Grunkle Ford are out on their mission, Stan and Abuelita are asleep, Soos finally knocked off building for the night, and Bill's in his new room. Welcome to... Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers!"

She held up a flattened cereal box she'd written the title on. The title was almost invisible in the dark, but it was framed by stars painted on with glow-in-the-dark nail polish.

"Step one: getting your friends in the house." She turned the camera around. She swerved over to Waddles's bed as she crossed the room, whispering, "Hey, wanna come to the sleepover?"

Waddles snorted gently in his sleep.

"Aww, that's okay. Next time." She rubbed his belly, then crept toward the attic door.

She tiptoed in her socks down the newly-built hallway and past the curtain hiding Bill's new room, padded down the stairs, opened the back door, and hissed, "Pssst! Coast is clear!"

Out from the tree line ran Candy, wearing a camo-print blanket like a cloak, and Grenda, dressed in black and with her arms and face painted in brown and green. Grenda waved ecstatically at the camera as she passed.

With Mabel in the back, they quietly crept upstairs, quietly snuck past Bill's room, quietly closed the bedroom door, and quietly squealed with excitement. "First summer sleepover at the shack," Candy said, flopping on her back on Mabel's bed and spreading out her blanket cloak. She sat up, noticed a cardboard cradle next to Mabel's bed, and picked up the porcelain doll inside. "Oooh! Who's this handsome gentleman?"

"That's Bartholomew! I told you about him. Barty, these are my friends Candy and Grenda."

The doll did nothing.

"You can say hi, Barty! I trust them!"

The doll continued to do nothing.

"He's shy," Mabel said. "He's totally haunted by a little Victorian boy, though, really."

Candy nodded. "I believe you."

"This is cool!" Grenda said. She was trying to scrub the camo paint off her arms and face with her hands. "I've never gone to a secret sleepover before. Next time we should sneak into my place!"

"Okay, so," Mabel said. "I promised you I'd introduce you to the secret guy that's been staying here as soon as it was okay to. And it's okay to! As long as nobody else finds out I introduced you."

Grenda nodded. Candy said, "This sounds reasonable."

"Anyway his name's Goldie, he's been staying at the shack this summer, he's really fun, he's kiiind of a bad guy but in a cool way"—(Candy appreciatively said, "Oooh.")—"aaand he's asleep right now." A dramatic pause. "But not for long."

Candy and Grenda grinned evilly.

####

"Secret sleepover step two," Mabel whispered. "Introducing your friends to your other friend!" The camera's dark screen was illuminated by a slit of light as Grenda pulled open the curtain to Bill's room. The dim starlight pouring into the room was barely enough to illuminate the white lightning and yellow circle of symbols on the hanging zodiac blanket as the girls pushed past it to creep into the room.

Bill lay sleeping on the chaise extension of the orange sofa, catty-corner to the doorway, curled up on his side with his back to the door. Beneath his curls, the eye stitched on the back of his hood peered out at the room, shifting up and down with his steady sleeping breaths. The girls crept up behind him, biting their lips to keep from giggling. Candy and Grenda flanked Mabel, arms raised in preparation to attack, as Mabel held up her fingers... 3... 2... 1...

Bill rolled over with a devilish grin and lunged at them. "HEY, KIDS!"

The girls screamed. They bolted for the hall with Bill's laughter following them.

####

"You should've seen the looks on your faces," Bill gloated. He was sitting on the floor, legs crossed lotus style, in a semicircle with the three girls around the camera Mabel had set on the sofa. They'd set one flashlight next to the camera pointing out and another on the floor pointing at the ceiling.

"You got us good," Candy admitted.

Grenda leaned across the semicircle. "Hi! I'm Grenda. This is Candy."

"I've heard a lot about you two." Bill sat back, giving Grenda a somewhat less than warm smile. "Call me Goldie."

Grenda gasped. "Hey! Candy, look at his eyes!"

"What?" Bill's gaze darted between the girls' faces. His eyes caught the faint light and flashed like a cat's.

"They did it again!"

"Whoa!" Candy got up on her knees and leaned toward Bill. He leaned away.

Panic crossed Mabel's face. "Uhh, I can explain—"

"We knew it," Candy said. "We were sure you couldn't let us meet Goldie because he was a werewolf catboy!"

"I dunno," Grenda said. "They look more like frog eyes. They're kinda bulgy, too."

Bill stared at Grenda. A broad smile broke out across his face. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about them!"

Grenda asked, "Do your eyes suck into your face when you swallow like a frog's do?"

"I dunno, swallowing makes me blink. You tell me." Bill deliberately swallowed.

"Ugh, they do! Gross," Grenda said approvingly.

"Why do you have frog eyes? Are you a werefrog?" Candy asked. "Or did a mad scientist mutate you?"

Bill said, "You know the story about the frog prince? My great-grandfather."

"He is not."

"He could be!"

"Anyway," Mabel said, "Goldie's not any kind of not-human person or anything, that'd be crazy. He's just a big secret because he's committed war crimes, that's all!"

Grenda and Candy considered that.

"That's cool." Candy slowly pulled out a makeup bag. "Do you like makeovers?"

Bill eyed her appraisingly. "How good are you?"

####

The camera sat tilted off to the side, catching Grenda, Bill, and a bit of Mabel's hair. Bill and Grenda sat just out of the flashlights' range while Mabel and Candy off-screen debated how best to shape Mabel's lips. Grenda held a purple tube of foundation in one of the flashlights' beams; the tube had a logo that looked like a lilac triangle with a single eye and thick purple lips. She uncapped a black eyeliner pen, drew a big X over the triangle's eye and gave it a curly mustache, and added a cramped word bubble over it that said "UGLY LOSR." Grenda chuckled.

Past her, Bill's eyes flashed in the dark as they narrowed.

"Finished!" Mabel announced. She turned the camera to face the whole quartet again. "Secret sleepover step three: normal sleepover activities! Starting with... makeovers! Remember, you're beautiful just the way you are; but a real artist can look at a human body and see a canvas. And canvases are for paint!"

She pointed the flashlight at her own face. "I call this look... the Showstopper." She had eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick—in three different shades of pink—liberally caked on with a crunchy layer of multicolored glitter and with plastic gems bedazzling her brow and temples. It looked bad.

Mabel pointed the flashlight at Grenda. "This one's... Beach Babe."

Grenda said, "Like a mermaid!" She had blush painted to look like scales, clumpy blue mascara and blue eyeshadow shaped like waves, and lipstick that looked like a fish. It looked bad.

Mabel pointed at Candy. "And this is the Glam Rock Revival!" Candy had a shimmery blue star painted over one eye and half her face, and a smaller matching star on her opposite cheek. It looked unexpectedly good.

"And Goldie..." Mabel pointed the flashlight at his face. "He kinda just... let us experiment with some designs Candy found in a makeup book."

One of his eyes had a neon rainbow eyebrow and eyelashes and tiny glittery butterfly stickers. The other eye had golden eyelashes and bright blue and black flames that would look at home spray painted on an old school hot rod. It looked bad.

"I look awesome," Bill said.

"And check out our mani-pedis!" Grenda grabbed the camera and pointed it down at their hands and feet. Mabel had messy watermelon nails, Grenda had decent French tips, Candy's actually matched her makeup, and Bill—who, unlike the girls, wasn't so much showing off his nails as he was just sitting there while Grenda waved the camera around—had a different set on each hand and foot.

Mabel said, "Goldie let us each experiment on one set of nails."

Grenda pointed at Bill's right hand, "I did that one!" He had five extremely long glue-on nails, which in turn each had two more glue-on nails on top, each trimmed to a sharp point. All fifteen nails had garish pre-printed designs—stripes, polka dots, and three types of animal print. None matched.

Bill cheerily said, "I could stab clean through a grown man's throat with these."

Mabel leaned closer. "Goldie, why's your other hand so boring!" His left hand had all black nails.

Bill said, "Turn off the flashlights."

Mabel turned them off. Five glow-in-the-dark eyes peered up from Bill's nails. The girls ooohed appreciatively.

"Now what?" Candy asked. "We can't do our other usual sleepover activities. Rom-coms, karaoke, and saucy book readings are too loud for a secret sleepover."

"Aww," Bill groaned, "I was looking forward to karaoke."

"Candy's right." Mabel turned a flashlight back on. "We'll have to get creative. What's a good traditional sleepover activity that isn't too loud?"

They sat around for a moment in silent thought.

Bill turned the other flashlight on under his grinning face. "You girls ever summon a demon before?"

The girls smiled excitedly.

####

The camera trained on Grenda and Candy as they leaned over the lizard tank in the Mystery Shack's museum, staring at the "baby dragon" display. "Awww," Grenda cooed. "Look at them! They're so cute." She stood on her toes and crossed her arms on the edge of the tank. "How do their fake wings stay on?"

"Alien superglue. It'll last until their next shed," Bill said from behind the camera.

"They're very brown," Candy said, disappointed. "I guess it's good camouflage." She held up part of her camo blanket cloak to compare.

Grenda said, "I think they're either western fence lizards or sagebrush lizards. Do you know where Mr. Ramirez caught them?"

"In the forests around town," Bill said.

"Western fence lizards," Grenda said. "If they're boys, they'll have blue bellies!"

"Oooh." Candy crouched down eye-level with the lizards trying to see their bellies.

Grenda tentatively reached a hand into the tank to pick up one of the baby dragons; it skittered under a rock for safety.

Bill said, "You know your lizards, Grendo."

"Heh. Grend-O."

Candy said, "Grenda is the reptile and amphibian expert."

"I have a book on them! And a pet iguana!" Grenda announced. "Hey, Gold-O! What's your favorite lizard?"

Bill was silent a few seconds. "Leeet's go with chameleons. They've got cute eyes."

"Chameleons are my favorite too," Candy said. "I like how they change color. Their eyes are freaky, though."

Grenda said, "I like chameleon eyes! They're crazy! I think it'd be cool to look two different directions at the same time."

Bill lowered the camera slightly. "What, you mean like this?"

Grenda and Candy gaped at him in shock. Candy squealed in discomfort and shielded her eyes. "That looks painful."

Grenda laughed. "Cool," she said. "Hey, you like frogs too, right? What's your favorite frog!"

"Golden poison dart frogs." Bill answered without hesitation. "The brighter, the better."

"I love poison dart frogs," Grenda said. "On my death bed, I wanna lick one to find out what it tastes like!"

"Bitter sushi, until your mouth goes numb," Bill said. "But if you're gonna get drugged by a frog, make it a psychedelic toad. They're more fun."

"Ohhh. Thanks. Now I wanna taste sushi!" One of the baby dragons crept up a rock; Grenda tried, unsuccessfully, to catch it again.

Bill walked closer to the tank to film the lizards. After a moment, he asked, "What're your favorite frogs?"

"Oooh, that's hard." Grenda put her hand to her chin, thinking.

Candy said, "I think... the little green ones with the guts you can see through."

"Glass frogs," Bill provided.

"Either red-eyed tree frogs or strawberry poison dart frogs," Grenda said. "Maybe the tree frogs. Dart frogs have boring eyes."

"One of their only flaws." Bill paused. "What do you think about axolotls?"

"Mr. Pines lets me feed his sometimes," Grenda said. "They're kind of overrated, though. Frogs are better!"

"Hm." The hm sounded approving. Bill reached into the tank, effortlessly scooped his fingers beneath the wings and around the belly of a lizard, and lifted him up. Candy and Grenda gasped. "One male in the tank." He turned the lizard's blue belly toward the camera too. It wiggled in distress.

"Got it!"

Bill swung the camera around to look at Mabel, who'd just triumphantly come through the curtain from the gift shop. She was holding a box of rainbow chalk over her head. "The chalk Soos uses for sales and stuff!"

"Perfect," Bill said. "Manage to find a religious text?"

"No, buuut I found a copy of a DMV manual at the cash register." Mabel held up her find. "Will that work?"

"Hm." Bill considered it. "I've never seen someone try it before, but traffic law is just as imaginary as any other divine commands! Just try really hard to have faith in the rules of road safety and maybe it'll work. Never know unless we try it out!"

"Good enough for me!" Mabel said. "What did we need a religious text for, again?"

"Oh, once the demon's here, it's the only thing that'll be capable of banishing it, that's all," Bill said. "So! Where are we drawing this summoning circle?"

They found a clear space in the museum on the floor near the treasure chest display. Bill handed the camera momentarily to Mabel while he drew a four-inch version of the summoning circle for the girls to copy. "It needs to be white and blood red. Do we have any blood red chalk?" He rummaged through the box of chalk. "Hmm. Okay, either one of us can let a lot of blood, or we can try it out with pink chalk. What'll it be?"

Grenda and Candy looked to Mabel, considering the question seriously. Finally, Mabel said, "Pink chalk sounds like it'll be faster."

"I guess," Bill said, disappointed. He finished his example circle and stood. "Okay, there you go! Usually you're not even supposed to draw the circle unless you've fasted for twelve hours, but there's three of you and you haven't eaten in at least four hours, sooo it's probably fine."

Grenda raised a hand. "I had a soda. Is that bad?"

"Naaah, a soda's more bubbles than liquid, I bet it barely even counts."

Bill took over camera duties again as Mabel and Candy each took a stick of white chalk to draw half the circle. They started at different sizes. They had to do a weird wiggly slope in order to make the two halves meet. Candy asked, "Is that good?"

"Hmmm..." Bill considered the lopsided blob. "It's good enough!"

While Mabel and Candy puzzled over Bill's tiny pink protective sigils and tried to figure out how to draw them bigger, Grenda leaned over to Bill and whispered, "Hey! Are you really related to the frog prince?"

"No," Bill said. (Grenda's face fell.) "I was cursed by a witch. I can see through walls and in the dark, but in exchange I have frog eyes."

Grenda's face lit up again. "Stupid! Frog eyes just make you look even cooler!"

"That dumb witch had no idea what a real curse is. I got nothing but benefits," Bill said. "All right, you asked me one, let me ask you one."

Grenda looked at Bill with trepidation. "O-okay?"

"What's with the face you were drawing on that triangle?"

Grenda seemed relieved by the question. "Oh! We're not really supposed to talk about it much? But there was this triangle jerk that tried to take over the world last year. So we're supposed to cover up pictures that look like him. I dunno, it's a whole thing."

"Okay," Bill said irritably, "fine. How come you make him look stupid, though?"

"Because he was a big monster that hurt my friends and wrecked the town," Grenda said hotly. "He almost killed Mabel!"

Bill was silent a moment. "Sure," he said tersely. "If that's what it looked like, I can see how that would leave a bad impression."

"Hey, Goldie," Mabel said loudly. "I think we're done! Does this look right?"

"Let's see..." Bill inspected the circle, circling the perimeter with the camera. It looked bad. "Looks good enough," Bill said.  "All right! Everyone in position around the circle—Grenda, you're on the circle."

"Oops." She slid her foot back, smearing the chalk line and one of the protective sigils. "Uhh... I think I broke the ring?"

"It's fine, it's small! And you can still tell what the symbol is. Mostly," Bill said. "Okay, everyone remember the chant I taught you? Three, two..."

The camera's audio only recorded a long squeal of distortion instead of words as the girls started chanting. Bill backed up to get a better shot of the whole circle. The girls' eyes began glowing white; the flashlights flickered; and a fiery cloud of smoke filled the ring, billowing from floor to ceiling. The girls stumbled back, shielding their faces from the smoke.

"Hey, hey," Bill said. "Get back in there! If you stop the chant before it's complete, you'll—!"

With a boom, the smoke exploded outward, filling the room and completely obscuring the camera's view.

When it cleared up, the ring appeared to be empty.

Bill aimed the camera down and zoomed in. In the center of the ring was a tiny imp. It looked like a skinny coral-red hairless mouse with a spade-tipped tail and little bat wings.

"—you'll only get a small one," Bill finished.

They crouched down and stared at it. "It's cute," Candy said. Mabel said, "I'm naming her Cinnamon."

It blinked big wet black eyes at them. And then it scampered out of the gap in the chalk line.

The girls shrieked. The imp chased Candy around the treasure chest. Grenda tried to climb onto a display pedestal with a taxidermy jackalope, screaming, "Get it! Get it!"

"Candy! Run this way!" Mabel got on her knees, Oregon state driving manual held high over her head. As Candy ran past, Mabel shouted, "I do believe in the speed limit!" and swung the manual down like she was swatting a bug.

The manual smacked the imp. With a puff of smoke, it poofed out of the mortal plane and back to where it came from.

"Nice banishment, star girl," Bill said. "Hey, not bad for your first summoning, kids. You'll be bargaining with demon royalty in no time."

The girls heaved a sigh of relief. "That went pretty smoothly, I think," Candy said.

"Yeah!" Grenda climbed down from the pedestal. "There weren't any weird life-threatening twists or anything!"

"That doesn't happen a lot," Mabel said.

The camera suddenly lowered, pointing at the floor at an angle. "Hey, Mabel. Where'd you get this camera, anyway?" The camera's view turned back and forth. "It doesn't look like the one you usually record your guides with."

"Oh, yeah," Mabel said. "Dipper's using our normal camera, so I'm borrowing one I found in a box in the attic loft."

Bill said, "The cardboard box covered in fifteen strips of duct tape?"

"Uh-huh."

"So, the cursed camera?"

A pause. "The what?"

The camera's view became a blur as it whizzed across the room, only focusing again when the camera was ten feet in the air and staring down at the group of four. The camera's neck strap had wrapped tight around one of Bill's wrists, wrenching his arm into the air. Candy and Grenda automatically clung to his sides, the one adult in the room; he had his free arm raised up to avoid touching Candy.

"Well! This isn't ideal." The camera had a clipped, artificial-sounding voice—but a familiar one. "I'd been hoping you'd split up so I could steal your souls one by one!"

Mabel said, "Why do you sound like Grunkle Ford! Did you steal his soul?!"

"Stanford's voice is just the only one it's ever recorded before tonight," Bill said. "If it had stolen his soul, you'd know."

"How?"

"Because he'd be dead."

"Oh."

"So much for the element of surprise." The camera's sigh was laced with the crackle of VHS static. "But as long as my secret is out... time to hunt!"

"Huh! How about that," Bill said. "Kids? Run."

Grenda and Candy turned and bolted deeper into the museum.

Bill turned to stare at them in bewilderment. "Not that way—!"

Mabel threw herself on Bill's arm, trying to jerk down the camera and pull off the strap. "Let go of my friend, you—!"

The screen blurred as the camera butted the side of Mabel's head, knocking her to the ground. Panic flashed across Bill's face. "Mabel!"

The camera took advantage of his distraction to snap its strap around both his wrists, bind them together, and yank Bill closer. "At least I get to take out the biggest threat first," the camera hissed. "Smile for the camera, sweetheart."

Bill shot the camera a glare—and then seemingly got caught there, unable to tear his eyes away from the lens, as the camera slowly zoomed in...

And nothing happened.

"It's not working," the camera said. "Your soul should be sucked out by now. Why isn't it working?"

Bill shook himself out of the trance and laughed darkly. "Because a force too powerful for your little electronic mind to comprehend glued my soul in this body so tightly, even I can't pull it out!" He leaned closer until one wide bloodshot eye filled the screen. "Go ahead, give it your best shot! Maybe you'll help tug it loose!"

The camera paused. "Are... are you alright?"

Bill jerked back, scowling. "Oh, just shut— Mabel! Flashlight!"

"Flashlight!"

Bill tilted his head aside just in time for a flashlight to sail over his shoulder and crash into the camera. It shrieked inhumanly. It crash-landed at a tilt, a crack in its lens, the shot unfocused. Bill's blurry form looked down at the camera, holding the flashlight—and then he turned and ran for the curtain into the gift shop. The camera slowly rose back up.

Mabel shouted, "Bi—Goldie! Come back!"

"Keep it distracted!"

"You don't even need a flashlight, you coward!"

The camera's blurry view focused. The crack in its lens repaired itself. It stared at the curtain where Bill had disappeared, snarled, "Not worth it," and rounded on the museum.

And then it began stalking its prey.

The camera followed heavy thudding to find Grenda trying to knock down the main entrance's locked door. "Come on!" Grenda grunted. "This! Doesn't! Meet! Fire codes!" As she glimpsed the camera's approach, she gasped, flipped a rug over it, and bolted. 

It zoomed past Sascrotch, peered behind it, and caught Mabel and Candy clinging onto its back fur. They screamed, dropped down, and ran two different directions. The camera glanced between them indecisively and snarled in frustration when they both turned corners before it could choose a target.

It passed a six pack-o'-lope, a mummy, and a triclops skull; heard a papery rustle; and did a double-take at the displays. Grenda, wrapped in a bunch of receipt paper from the gift shop, ran away from the former "mummy" display.

It swooped under a taxidermy turtle with wings to find Candy hiding beneath the turtle's shell; Candy flipped the shell over the camera before she ran the other way.

It chased Mabel around a barrel of monkey heads, ending in a stalemate on opposite sides of the barrel with each of them twitching left and right trying to figure out which way to run; until it remembered it could just float over the top of the barrel. Mabel backed up and blew a handful of chalk dust in the camera's lens. By the time it wiped its lens clean on a dried monkey pelt, Mabel was gone.

It circled around the invisible man to see whether its cloak hid any children behind its back, made a noise of disgust when it didn't find any, and turned to leave. "Wait a minute. That man isn't invisible!"

Candy—her face beneath the "invisible man's" suspended glasses and bowler hat—sighed harshly and threw down her camo blanket, revealing she was sitting on Grenda's shoulders. "This camouflage doesn't do anything!" They tumbled to the ground and ran different directions.

This time, the camera didn't make the mistake of hesitating before choosing a target. It flew after Grenda.

Grenda stopped in a dead end with a gasp. "Uh-oh." She turned to see how close the camera was behind her, flinched, and tried to dodge around it. It jerked to the side, backing Grenda into a corner.

"Back off, you big, ugly—!" She punched the camera square in the lens, her fist filling the shot. The crunched lens had repaired itself before Grenda stopped shaking her smarting hand. She gasped and covered her eyes. "Please don't take my soul! I'm using it!"

"Not for long!" The camera's strap whipped around Grenda's wrists, yanking her hands down. "It's time for your close up!"

Grenda tried to turn her face away—but the camera caught her gaze, and she turned toward it, eyes wide, hypnotized. The shot zoomed in. A swirling green mist began spiraling out of Grenda's eyes.

Until another set of eyes cut in between, yellow and slitted and furious and framed by mismatched eyeshadow. "Miss me?"

"You," the camera snarled.

Grenda cheered, "Gold-O! You came back!"

"Hey, Grend-O." Bill glanced back over his shoulder. "Sorry for the wait—takes a while for glow-in-the-dark nail polish to charge and dry."

"Get out of my way!" The camera tried to butt the side of Bill's head.

He caught it in his left hand without looking, his arm extending off the edge of the screen like he was taking a selfie. "I don't think so." He raised his right hand—several of the ludicrous nail extensions had already broken off—with palm facing out. There was a symbol painted on his palm, glowing whitish green; but whatever symbol he'd painted on his palm couldn't be fully seen because the moment it was in full view of the camera's lens, it became so bright it almost completely washed out the rest of the frame.

The image skipped and the audio recorded a shriek of static before the camera managed to wrench itself free of Bill's grip and rush back.

Bill caught it by its strap, twisting it about his left wrist to keep it secure. "Now let's get this straight," he snarled, teeth bared at the camera. "Everything beneath this shack's roof is my domain and under my protection! If you want to hurt anyone here—" his voice dropped demonically low, "—you'll have to get through me." He dragged the camera closer. 

He clamped his right hand over the camera's lens, trapping it with the glowing symbol on his palm; the static screamed, stuttered; and then the film overheated and melted.

####

The camera switched back on. "Welcome back to Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers!" Mabel's left eyeshadow and blush was smeared across her face. "Weee're back! Goldie taped a symbol to the camera that keeps it stunned, so we're safe! Woo-woo! Now, back to sleepover step, uh... seven or something: greeting the sunrise with your friends who didn't get any sleep!"

She turned the camera toward Candy and Grenda, who were sitting with her on the saggy sofa on the back porch. They were blinking dazedly toward the glowing horizon.

"And now you've completed a successful sleepover! Great job, everybody!"

"You kids can stay up if you want," Bill said. (Mabel aimed the camera down; Bill was lying on his stomach on the porch, cheek resting on his crossed arms, eyes shut.) "I'm already asleep."

"Boo," Candy said. "Sleepover quitters are lame."

"Yeah," Mabel agreed. "But he saved our lives, I think he earned it if he wants."

"Do you wanna sleep on the couch?" Grenda asked. "There's still some room! We could squish together!"

"Nah, s'more comfortable down here," Bill mumbled. "My back's killing me."

Grenda laughed. "Old."

"I got assaulted by a camera!"

"Hold on, I have an idea!" She got off the couch and knelt next to Bill. "I saw this at the mall once." She dug an elbow into his back. "Is this helping?"

Bill grunted. "More to the left," he said. "It might be helping a little bit..."

Grenda pressed her other elbow into his back, putting her upper body weight on it. "How 'bout now?"

"Not quite..."

Candy climbed on the arm of the sofa and crouched there. "Let me try!" Grenda leaned back. Like a wrestler, Candy jumped in the air and dropped, sharp elbow first, onto Bill's back.

Bill's eyes flew open and he let out a strangled shriek of pain. It petered out. "Oh, hey—that actually got it. Thanks, kids." He sighed in relief and immediately fell back asleep.

Grenda pumped a fist. "Yes!"

"He really was tired," Candy said.

"So, what'd I say, girls?" Mabel asked. "I told you Goldie was cool, right?"

"Okay, you were right," Candy said. "He is a very patient makeup mannequin."

"And he taught us how to summon demons and saved our lives," Grenda said. "And the first thing didn't even cause the second thing! Which is weird!"

Eyes still shut, Bill mumbled, "You flatter me."

"Hey!" Grenda picked up a sofa cushion. "You're supposed to be a-SLEEP!" She swung it down on his head. He only laughed.

"Yes!" Mabel cheered. "And the moral of the story is the friend of my friend is my friend's friend! Or—wait—no. The friend of my friend is my friend too?"

From under the cushion, Bill said, "The friend of my friend is my rival for her attention."

"No!" Mabel turned the camera to herself. "Anyway, that's Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers! Tune in next time for... I dunno, maybe alpacas or something. We'll see!"

She set the camera in her lap, episode completed.

####

(Would you look at that, positive character growth. Hope you enjoyed, and looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts!)

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Ruin The Friendship

Han x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: You and Han have been dancing around your feelings for a while, but what happens when things come to jealous head at a party the night before he leaves for tour? Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v, oral (both rec), fingering, masturbation, (f. only), pet names (Sweet girl, my girl, etc,) praise, overstim, i think thats it. A/N: My brand is mostly sappy romance at this point and I refuse to run from it anymore. Comment to be added to the taglist! I hope you all enjoy!💜

You and Han had been friends since you were kids, you grew up together, studied together, and when the day came that he told you he was going to debut, you couldn’t have been happier for him. But you were also sad for yourself. He’d be leaving you and you knew with his talent and ambition he’d be a star. He’d grow bigger, possibly forget where he came from, though he was a humble man, and that broke your heart; still you plastered a smile on your face and supported him the whole time.

They’d been working super hard and tomorrow starts their traveling for tour. Tonight, you surprised them with a house party, complete with good food, games and alcohol; and a little bit of drunken karaoke.

The night goes well, everyone’s having fun, and while you know Han likes to talk to people he knows, you had hoped you’d spend his last night home for a while together, and yet he’s on the other side of the room with some blonde girl who you invited because it was a mutual friend of the boys.

“Is the alcohol that bad?” Chan asks as he pours himself another drink in front of you, catching your staring.

“Huh,”

“That sour look on your face.” He quirks a brow before following your gaze and he can’t keep the smirk off his lips. Chan nods his head understandably.

“He’s just talking to her.” he says casually before taping a sip and staring at you over the rim.

“I know,” you shrug as you turn your gaze away.

“Then why do you look upset?”

“I just thought we’d spend a little more time together tonight, I mean I know it’s a party but he said hi and bye basically.” You look into your now empty cup; a pout fixed onto your face.

Chan puts his arm around you brotherly and kisses the top of your head.

“If it bothers you talk to him about it.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug him off and leave the room, frustrated with Han. You weave through the crowd of people bumping into Han’s back on the way catching his attention. He see’s you run off to the opposite end of the house.

He bids a polite goodbye to his friend and follows you. When he comes to the secluded part of the house, he see’s the stairs to the attic have been taken down and drawn back up, noting the soft lighting he sees in the crack between the stairs and ceiling. He sighs and jumps catching the little string, pulling the stairs down. He walks up them, drawing them up when he gets up there, turning the lock so no one can disturb you. He turns on his heel noticing you staring out the window.

You hear him, but you don’t acknowledge him.

“Hey,” he says in your ear, arms going around your waist.

“Get off me,” you pout and wiggle out of his grip.

“Woah, what did I do?” his face is scrunched up.

“Go back to Vanessa or Clarissa or whatever her name is.” You say as you sit down on the bed, not looking at him.

“Y/n/n, what are you talking about?” you hear the slight amusement in his voice and it causes your blood to boil.

“You’d rather spend your last night home with her, so go. Get out!” You push him lightly once and you go to do it again but he catches your hands.

“Is this really about Claire? Or is this about the fact that I’m leaving tomorrow?” he asks; a knowing in his voice. You pull out his hands and turn away from him, eyes brimming with tears.

“I just figured since you are leaving tomorrow, we’d spend more time together, but all night you’ve been stuck up her ass.” You say, voice quivering a bit.

“Because I knew I’d have all night with you.” He says, arms once again coming around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“I stay the night every time,” he whispers in your ear. You turn around in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck, biting back tears.

“I just hate when you leave, I miss you so much and I,” you sigh and he holds you.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. Just go back down to the party, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Nah, I wanna stay here,” he says as he tucks his face into your shoulder. You smile as you hold each other for a minute.

You let him go, signaling the same to him and he releases you.

“Do you remember when we were kids,” he snickers and walks past you, “we took a bunch of water balloons and rained them down on your dad and brother from up here!”

“Ah, you did that and got me in trouble for a month!”

“Worth it,” he smirks with a cocky grin.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Only thing that sucked was I couldn’t see you.” He says.

“Or the time when we hid up here from my brother when he thought you stole his skin mags?” you giggle remembering the memory.

“We almost didn’t make it!”

“I swear I didn’t take them!” he defends.

“Yeah, mom felt so bad. She finally admitted she found them and threw them out!” you both fall into fits of laughter.

“You tripped getting up the stairs and he almost got your collar before I hit him with a freaking nerf gun bullet straight to the eye,” you cackle out and the two of you fall onto the bed laughing. Staring at the ceiling as the two of you catch your breath, you two share a look and the laughter starts all over again.

After another moment the laughter comes to halt. Han blindly reaches for your hand, interlocking your fingers. Your heart races a little faster at the contact. You turn your head and Han’s eyes are already on you. You smile, an easy silence falling over you.

Suddenly, Han sits up on his side, his hand that was interlocked with yours now supports his head and his hair flops as he gets himself situated. He looks down at you and you look back at him, the moment feeling slightly charged.

“I hate leaving you,” he admits quietly.

“Yeah, but you love it too,” you try to joke, trying to lighten the palpable tension.

“I hate being away from you for so long,” his eyes quickly flit to your lips before they go back up to your eyes.

“I hate it when you leave to, but it’s your job. The job you love and I knew you’d be successful at.” You remind him and he smiles. He leans down, placing his lips on your forehead, letting them linger for a moment longer than necessary. Both of you freeze, unsure of the next move. He pulls his lips from your flesh, looking down at you, hesitantly resting his forehead on yours.

Your breath catches as you look between his brown eyes, noses daring to touch each other.

You open your mouth to say something, but the words are caught in your throat. Han dips his lips down to meet yours, the kiss stunning the both of you for a brief moment before you melt into it, wrapping your arms around his neck as your eyes flutter closed. The kiss is cautious, easy, unhurried.

 Han’s hand goes to your cheek, resting there as he turns his head, risking your entire friendship and runs his tongue over you bottom lip. You whimper against him before opening your mouth, tongues now gently exploring each other’s mouths. Your breaths mix as your fingers tangle into the ends of his soft hair.

“Han,” you breathe in between a kiss.

“We shouldn’t,” you breathe again but don’t stop.

“Why?” he asks against your lips as he strokes your cheek with the pad of his thumb; not stopping or even slowing down.

“It’ll change things, we can’t come back from this,” you say against his lips.

“Thank God,” he sighs as his lips move against yours harder, still slow, and romantic, but also a little more desperate. Han rolls over, supporting himself with one arm.

His lips move to your neck, allowing your lips to feel the kiss swollen effect.

“Hannie,” you whimper as he sinks his teeth into the skin of your neck, hand gently tugging at the roots of his hair. He whimpers against your neck, licking over the spot and sucking on it, leaving a purple mark.

He moans at sight of the bruise appearing.

“So pretty,” he rambles before kissing down to your neckline on your top. He picks his head up, looking at you, silently asking permission. He sits up, allowing you to sit up and he helps you pull the shirt over your head, revealing your bra.

He lets out a guttural moan at the sight. And attaches his lips down to your collar bone. He plants kisses atop your chest, reaching his hands behind you and unclasping your bra. You slowly let it fall down, Han discarding it to the side and his brows go up when he looks at you. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, quickly holding your hands up to cover yourself.

“No, no, no, baby. Don’t hide from me,” he whispers just before kissing you again.

“You’re beautiful,” he says against your lips before he pulls back and removes his shirt. Your hands reach up and feel his stomach and he flexes under your touch. Your fingers shake slightly, the adrenaline taking over. Han notices and guides you back against the mattress.

“If you want me to stop, tell me,” he says searching your eyes. You shake your head no, giving him clearance to flick his tongue over you hardened nub. You gasp, his tongue warm against the cooled flesh of your breast. Han watches you through his lashes, studying your face to see what feels good. He sucks it into his mouth, teeth gently nipping at the sensitive nerves, sending waves of pleasure to your core, soft moans and whimpers falling from your lips as your back arches into him.

He turns his attention to the other one, giving it the same treatment, tongue moving against the middle of it, putting slight pressure against it and you gasp, eyes closing tightly as he works his tongue with a satisfied grin on his face, loving the way your noises sound.

“Han,” you moan as your nails dig into his forearms.

“Fuck,” he breathes as he kisses your lips once more.

“Say it again,” he begs, “Say my name again.” You moan his name one more time and he smiles like an idiot.

“My girl,” he murmurs gazing into your eyes before kissing down your sternum. He gets down to the hem of your pants, kissing at your waist line, nipping at the skin across your tummy playfully.

“Stop teasing,” you whine as your hips shift beneath him. He smirks and places a kiss below your navel before your hips are lifting for him to pull off your pants and panties. He groans at the sight of you and an idea strikes him. He climbs back up to you, lips brushing your ear.

“Touch yourself for me,” he whispers and heat floods your cheeks.

“Wh-what?”

“Take your hand, and show me what you like, I wanna see if it’s better than I’ve imagined,” he smirks. You look at him. Slowly your fingers go to your mouth, tongue visible as you coat your fingers and they travel down to your damp cunt, eye contact never breaking with him, and you start to rub slow circles on your clit. Han’s eyes drift over your body, making there way to your hand, watching it like he’s in a trance. He hears your gasps, and watches as your eyes flutter closed, body arching slightly as a small moan escapes you.

“Insert a finger for me, baby.” He whispers as his eyes never leave you. You moan as you shift, trying to angle your body to get deeper into your hole, slowly curling up and making the come hither motion.

“Ah,” you gasp as you hit your sweet spot, more noises trailing out of you as you repeat the motion, slowly increasing the pace.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he encourages.

“Mmngh, not enough,” you whimper with pleading eyes as he watching your hips shift and chase your hand.

Han doesn’t respond, only moves his body between your legs, spreading them wide and watching as your finger exists your tight cunt, and before you can move it away Han licks your finger clean, groaning at the taste, eyes closing as his tongue twirls around your finger. He lets it go with a ‘pop’ and shoves his face into your core.

“Fuck you smell divine,” he moans. His tongue automatically attaches to your clit, licking and watching you, seeing your face twist in pleasure as your legs bend up and thighs squeeze his head. His hands go around your thighs holding you in place as he works, drunk on the way you taste already.

“Han,” you whimper as you gasp when his tongue swipes from side to side, pressing into the most sensitive part of your clit.

“Oh, wow, keep going, please, don’t stop.” You beg, breathless, heart rate erratic as you feel the tightening in your stomach.

“Ah-ha,” you cry out back arching off the mattress as he adds a finger, pumping it in and out of you, tongue still circling your clit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you say and Han works faster.

“That’s it, that’s my girl, come on, cum on my tongue,” he encourages as your body goes rigid, head digging into the mattress. You gasp once your muscles relax, the white-hot feeling of your orgasm ripping through you. Hans fingers replace his tongue, causing you to squirm under him.

“You can take it, baby,” he says as he quickly works his fingers, and your hips violently jerk, sharp painful pleasure mixing as you cry, tears in your eyes from the feeling. One falls and Han kisses it away, licking the salty liquid from his lips.

“You’re taking it so well, I’m so proud of you,” he says in your ear and your hands grasp onto his biceps, your next orgasm quickly approaching.

“Please don’t stop,” you whisper as your legs start to lock. He moves even faster, if that’s possible, applying more pressure, watching as your body shakes beneath him, legs trapping his hand, mesmerized by the way you look falling apart because of him.

“Fuck!” you cry out as you gasp. For a moment, breathing doesn’t exist, only the intense feeling of your body letting go.

Han places his forehead on yours, your breath fanning his face.

“God that was amazing,” he whispers.

He lets you take a moment to come back, kissing your lips gently to help ground you from the intense feeling.

You push him down onto his back, climbing onto his waist as you stare down at him. His face is surprised but he welcomes your actions no less. You lean down, fervently connecting your lips and he moans against you.

You kiss down his body, teeth grazing his skin the way his did yours, leaving a purple mark on his hip bone. You slide his pants off, his cock springing free, larger than you had expected, the tip angry and wet from the precum. You lick you lips subconsciously, finally realizing you’re about to know how he tastes. You look to him for any signs of hesitancy and find none, he only sits up as to get a better angle to watch you.

You move your hair to the side before licking a stripe up the underneath side of his cock, and he watches as it disappears into your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat as your nose touches his pelvis. He whimpers pathetically as he gathers your hair into a make shift pony tails for you.

“Fuck, baby,” he whines as he feels your tongue swirl around the head. He gasps as he feels you tease his slit, looking up at him through your lashes before you sink back down.

“God you’re so good at that,” he groans as he tries to keep himself from pushing you down on his own, letting you control the pace.

You can sense that he’s holding back and pick up the pace a little, a little bit of drool, spilling from your mouth as suck on his cock.

“Such a messy girl,” he chuckles and you work faster, feeling your walls clench, desperate to be filled.

“Oh fuck, keep going,” he says as his eyes flutter closed. You hollow your cheeks, working quickly, the soft sounds filling the room.

“Aish, I’m gonna cum,” he whimpers face scrunched as you play with his balls, tipping him over the edge and his cum shoots down your throat; thick white ropes of saltiness coat your tongue. You swallow it, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you look at him.

Han pulls you over to him, forcing you back onto your back.

“I love you,” he whispers. You smile at him, cupping his face with your hand.

“I love you more, Hanji,” you share a sweet kiss before he lines himself up and inches himself forward, both of you groaning at the feeling. You can feel everything, every little piece of him as he pushes in until he bottoms out.

“Fuck you’re so warm, so tight,” he groans. He laces your hands together, foreheads resting against each other, and his hips begin to rock slowly, letting you feel every little drag of his cock against your walls, the feeling surreal.

He thrusts inside again, hitting your sweet spot and he watches the way your body reacts to him, already fluttering around him.

“Keep that up and I won’t last,” he warns with a breathy laugh. He looks down noting the way you fit together.

Body to body.

Soul to soul.

He rocks himself into you a little harder now, hitting that same spongey spot repeatedly, causing you to grasp onto him, desperate to ground yourself.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathe out as he picks up the pace. Not too slow, but not too fast; not too hard but not too soft, just the right way you like it.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, “My beautiful girl, so good, so sweet, so perfect,” he groans, forehead falling to your shoulder.

“Han,” you whimper, walls squeezing him harder and he feel that your close.

“Cum for me,” he says and that’s all it takes, your nails scratch down his bare back and he groans at the sweet sting, as your walls suck him in, desperate to milk him. Your body trembles as the aftershocks hit and it’s not long into those that Han is whimpering in your ear, hips faltering before he stills and spills his load into you.

You both catch your breath, looking into each other’s eyes, realizing everything is different now.

“Was that ok?” you ask, insecurity daring to creep in.

“It was everything I ever dreamed of and more,” he smiles as he leans down to kiss your lips sweetly. You smile against his lips and can’t help the small giggle that leaves you.

“What’s funny?” he asks, genuine concern.

“We just had sex, Han.” You can’t help the nervous laughter.

“Why’s that funny?” he asks cautiously.

“Because, it’s us.” You cup his face, “I mean, it’s not funny, I’m just, I’m just happy? Besides what does it mean for us?”

“It means I come home to you now and get to kiss you, and love you and shower you with all my love, attention and affection. It means I’m yours and you’re mine. It means I’m your safe space.” He says seriously and your heart swells.

“You already were,” you admit sheepishly. Han can only smile in response before he kisses your nose, slowly pulling out of you. You both groan at the sensitivity. He gets up and you hear the shower running.

“Can you walk?” he asks from the door way and you get up, only to feel him drip down your leg. You shiver for a moment, the feeling not something you’re totally used to, but you walk into the bathroom and join him for a shower.

Han washes you off, cleaning you up from head to toe, rubbing the loofa across your body caressing you with soft, careful hands.

“Are you ok?” you he asks as you rinse off.

“Yeah, are you?”

“Never better,” he grins as the two of you trade places and you reciprocate his actions. You wash over his chest and stomach, down his legs and his back, cleaning him intentionally and carefully. The moment is soft between you, real care and intimacy.

“I’m going to find a way to bring you out to some shows, ok? There’s no way we’re staying apart for two whole months,” he says he washes off. A slight churn in your stomach happens when he talks about leaving, so much had happened tonight you almost forgot about it.

He notices you go quiet and cups your face, turning it to look at him.

“But let’s not focus on that right now, let’s just focus on us right here, right now. Ok?” he asks and you nod throwing your arms around his broad shoulders.

After you shower you get dressed in comfy pjs and lay down in bed together. It all hits you at once.

Han is no longer just a friend.

Your relationship is no longer casual.

Your time together could now be spent holding one another and kissing and touching.

It’s all overwhelming, exciting and scary at once.

And yet tonight, the only thing that matters is that you’re his and he’s yours.

Tags:@breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005 @velvetmoonlght

Do not repost my work

Love notes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

[zevrra]

caught in the rain—

synopsis: you and sebastian seek shelter inside an abandoned home where every feeling is laid to bare.

tags: sfw, pure fluff, fem!reader, hogwarts legacy, sebastian sallow(18+), about 3k words

“As if this day couldn’t get any worse,” You mutter. Mostly to yourself but you wouldn’t at all be surprised if Sebastian had heard too. You both had been sent out together to gather some information about some dark magic being practiced on the Poidsear Coast.

Everything had been going smoothly, from taking witness statements to tracking down the dark wizard’s hideout to the coast, even the two of you getting along.

That is until an unexpected heavy downpour comes. Cold rain falls heavy like a thick blanket on the two of you, forcing you to take shelter. Every piece of clothing you wore was soaked—down to your very bones. Thankfully, Sebastian and yourself had managed to find an abandoned home. Boarded up with a more than obvious appearance of not having been taken care of in a very long time.

While you say things could not be worse you really didn’t mean it. Being rained on and forced to wear your freezing clothes wasn’t truly the worst thing in the world. Neither was being stuck in that house with your academic rival. And crush.

“Well. Try not to make it sound so horrible now,” Sebastian sarcastically says. Teasing you as he shrugs off his heavy coat in some hope to warm himself. Rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt as he does anything but look at you. “We could be in some troll’s den. That would be worse.” He chuckles as he checks out the house, hoping to find anything to maybe start a fire with. Swatting away at cobwebs with an annoyed look.

You sigh. Too cold to even defend yourself at the moment. Moving to stand next to a window. Watching as lightning flashes across the sky and the harsh sound of thunder that follows.

“We’ll be here all night if this storm doesn’t stop soon.” You say, irritated. Not that sleeping in some random home, far from the safety of Hogwarts, with no other change of clothes, no warmth, and no bed, didn’t sound fantastic and all but it would also reset all of your progress from today. Tracking down the dark wizard hiding out on this coast had been an assignment given to the two of you and not completing it would leave you both looking rather poorly in your professor's eyes.

“You worry too much,” Sebastian says, cutting into your thoughts, making you look away from the window and towards where his voice had carried from.

You watch as he moves towards the other end of the dark home, Lumos, lighting the tip of his wand as he examines the place. Stairs lead to a second story or perhaps an attic in the farthest corner from the door. Off next to the stairs is a large stone fireplace just waiting to be lit.

“See, always so dramatic.”

You roll your eyes at Sebastian as you follow him into the home. Shoulders tense as you wait for anything to jump out at you. No damn spider was sneaking up on you, not today. In a smaller room straight across from the stairs sits untouched furniture from who knows how long ago. With chairs perfect for disassembling and using as firewood.

Well, at least you’d be semi-warm and somewhat dry for the rest of the time being.

After some rearranging and the use of Incendio, the two of you make quick work of starting a fire and laying out your cloaks before the hearth to dry. Now you are left in just your blouse and skirt, shoes and socks forgotten until they also get the chance to dry as the storm continues to rage outside.

Sebastian stood beside the fireplace, hands held out to try and warm his fingers up. The dull sound of the rain is really the only noise the two of you make. You were friends, classmates, but above all rivals. You could have a civil conversation but seeing as the two of you were there on an assignment, things were tense as both of you wanted to outdo the other.

You shiver, curling up on yourself by pulling your knees to your chest. The fire was working well but the wet clothes still sticking to your body kept you from truly getting to warm up.

“I’m going to go look for a blanket.” Sebastian says, suddenly breaking the silence between the two of you.

You nod in response as he leaves to rummage around the forgotten home. His search for a blanket takes him up the stairs and you watch him go. An eerie feeling creeps up your spine as soon as you‘re left alone. The strange feeling of being watched itches just behind your senses of being cold. It makes you look over your shoulder a few times. That is until Sebastian finally returns.

A thick quilt is draped across your shoulders that startles you ever so slightly. In all honesty, you had thought Sebastian went to retrieve the blanket for himself. Now with the heavy cloth wrapping around your own body you realize that he had been watching you beforehand. He had retrieved the blanket solely for you. The thought makes you flush.

He moves to sit beside you now. Hands returning to hover out in front of the flickering flames. “There’s also a bed upstairs. If you’re tired.” Sebastian once again cuts through the silence to speak.

You laugh at his words. Shaking your head as you tighten the blanket around you. “Tempting but no thank you.” You reply, turning your gaze to the fireplace.

“Why not?” Sebastian asks. From his tone he seems genuinely confused.

His confusion makes you chuckle again. As if he really didn’t know. “Oh alright, Sebastian. Let me just go take a small nap while you run off, find and finish our assignment, and then take all of the credit.” You tease. A smile stretches across your lips as if you’ve caught him in the act.

You imagine he’ll make some funny quip about how you were right and that he was just thinking of a way to get ahead in your studies but instead he says nothing.

The silence has you lifting your head to glance over at the other. His brow is furrowed and there’s a deep frown on his face. Clearly you’ve said something wrong.

“Do you truly think I’m so shallow?” Seb whispers. His voice drips with displeasure.

The disdain in his tone was not something you were used to. Sure, Sebastian had had his moments for being a little irritated with you. From cave crawling and accidentally setting off a trap to the two of you butting-heads for top grades but never had he sounded so…upset and hurt before.

Now it was your turn to truly be confused. You did not think of him as shallow or selfish but you also wouldn’t put it past your rival to take the upper hand on you.

“I don’t find you shallow.” You awkwardly reply. Suddenly you’re thankful for the sound of rain and thunder. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” You add quickly afterwards.

“We may be rivals academically but I’m not your enemy. I’m not evil. I still care for you.” Sebastian says with a sigh. You can feel his eyes on the side of your face. Searching for something you’re not sure of at the moment.

“I apologize,” You mutter. Now would be the perfect time to suddenly disappear. “I simply just thought because of school you would take the opportunity…” You ramble. Wondering why you were even telling Sebastian any of this.

This time, it’s his turn to laugh. It’s a very dry and curt laugh. No humor lingers behind it like it normally would. “I would never sabotage you.”

“No?” You reply short and simple. Wondering why now he would have a soft spot for you. Seeing as he had never before when it involved your academic standpoint.

“What do I have to gain besides you hating me?” Sebastian asks, again genuinely curious. His now warmed hands rub against his cold shoulders and biceps. Hoping to chase away the chill. “I would never want you to hate me.” He adds in a hushed voice.

Listening to Sebastian be so open was definitely something entirely new to you. He was the type to be open about pretty much everything except his feelings. His true, genuine, feelings. And now that he was wearing his heart on his sleeve, you couldn’t help but want him to keep talking. “Not that I would ever hate you but would that really be the end of the world?”

Sebastian turns to look at you then. His brown eyes meet your own as the light from the fireplace softly caresses his features. Turns his freckled face into something far more gentle than you’re used to. Yet you weren’t entirely sure if that was because of the dim lighting or the fact that he was looking upon you with such tenderness that it made him look more attractive suddenly.

“To me, yes, it would be.” He admits openly. As if this is something Sebastian said on a daily basis. As if he constantly told you how important you truly were to him.

Upon realizing his confession, Sebastian’s eyes widened. He coughs in an attempt to move the conversation along, or even just to simply cover up the fact that he just told you how horrible the world would be without you. His face flushes a dark red that even in the dim light you can see.

“Only because, well, you know! I wouldn’t have anyone else to compete with!” He stammers, trying to save face.

It’s a little too late for that now though. You knew he meant something a little more meaningful.

You smile as he avoids your line of sight. “Sebastian…” You whisper. His name rolling off your tongue has him freezing in place. Unsure if he should flee and never speak about this ever again or just stay still long enough he can pretend he’s dead. “Be honest.”

Sebastian continues to ignore your gaze for the most part. Fiddling with some interesting looking piece of dust on the rundown wooden floor.

“I don’t know what you mean. I am honest! All the time!” Embarrassingly he answers. “You’re just too dense to see it!” The insult is a hollow insult at best. Just another tactic to avoid the situation he’s started.

You hum in response. Scooting closer to the other to try and get a good look at his blushing face. “How so?”

“N-nothing! No, I don’t know!” Sebastian deflects. Attempting to turn and hide his face from your gaze.

You had never seen him so defensive before. Wanting to close off from you entirely but that was something you would not allow. He started this and he needed to finish it or else you might go mad.

“What do you mean?” You ask. Not that you couldn’t read his body language at the moment but you still wanted him to tell you. To be loud and clear with his feelings so that you too could be honest about your own.

“Ugh!“ He groans in frustration. His hands come up to hide his face from your gaze. Covering over mainly his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at you looking at him. “I’ve been in love with you since the first day we met! You’ve never noticed it before so why are you suddenly so keen!?”

The inside of your stomach does a flip. The first day you two met was almost three years ago. Had you really never noticed any of his advances? You think back on all the times when he’d let you copy his notes when you were busy with Mr. Fig for the day. Of all the times he called you annoying but would do anything you asked of him. The countless hours you two would spend in the undercroft, practicing your spells and studying together.

All this time…and he only ever stayed by your side.

You reach to grab gently ahold of his wrists. Somewhat prying his hands away from his face so you could get another good look at him. He’s a mess. Red as a tomato. Blushing like he had been sick with a fever. Hair tousled and curled far more than usual from previously having been rained on.

Sebastian Sallow, your friend and rival, sat before you entirely and wholeheartedly shy. Something you would never have imagined to happen before this day.

He’s still under your touch. Still attempts at avoiding your eyes even now. Doesn’t stop you from reading over his features. From every freckle highlighted by his blush to the pretty length of his eyelashes. He was so handsome. Far more than you had ever realized before.

“Sebastian,” You whisper in a soft tone. As his name is called, his head shifts ever so slightly as he finally meets your gaze once more. A rush of emotion swirls up inside of you. Your chest tightens with sudden adoration for the man sitting before you.

He doesn’t say anything in response though. Just slowly takes control over his own hands, placing one against your cheek. His fingers run gently across your skin. Pushing back damp hair as he finally wants to look at your face.

“You’re an idiot. A fool,” Sebastian mumbles after a few painstakingly long heartbeats. “How did you not know?” He asks as his thumb caresses the high of your cheekbone. A lighthearted tone to his voice. As if it were obvious.

His words make you laugh ever so slightly. Of course you hadn’t realized it. Too blinded by your competitive drive to know that all along he was only competing in hopes to make you like him. Which was silly in itself. Seeing as you had always liked him too.

“Forgive me for not seeing it before,” You reply with a smile. Reaching to touch the back of his hand lovingly. “I would like to know everything now.” You add as you turn your head to kiss the inside of his palm.

His breath hitches as he watches you kiss his hand. A slight tremble in his shoulders tells you he’s holding back on moving things further. Even as his thumb brushes against your lips, while his brown eyes stare at every curve his thumb traces. Wanting to commit all of you to every bit of his memory.

“You…you’re over dramatic, always worrying about me. Sometimes you’re too loud. You manage to best me at everything.” Sebastian rambles on with a soft laugh. “And I love every bit of it. Your drive, your excitement, the way you laugh. Everything about you…”

Sebastian softens as he continues to stare at you. His eyes flick up from your lips to your eyes before glancing back down at the lips he tenderly touches. “And I’ve wanted to kiss you for far too long…”

The words he speaks makes your heart beat far too fast. With how hard your heart beats and how tight your chest is, you could almost swear your heart might have burst out from beneath your ribcage right then and there.

Your own face softens. Pressing your lips gently into the pad of his thumb. “What are you waiting for?” You ask with a smile. And immediately Sebastian mirrors your smile. Now, nothing was going to hold him back.

For a moment, as he leans forward to capture your lips, you thank the sudden rainstorm. For without it, you would never have ended up here, held so lovingly in Sebastian’s arms.

[lilliezzzzz-fics]

Honeypie!

pairing: isack hadjar x male!reader author's note: thank you 2 @milessunflowers for helping out a little with the planning of this fic!!! isack brainrot has hit me like a truck lol,,, either way, this fic is just trying to encompass summer and sweetness all in one and i hope you can feel that while reading!!! as always, no use of y/n! hope u enjoy!! tags: childhood friends-to-lovers, two idiots in love, summertime romance warnings: small bits of french word count: 3.0k songs: honeypie by jawny. fine kind of day by max mittelman. best friend by rex orange county. the spins by mac miller, empire of the sun.

The summer breeze is a feeling you’ve missed throughout the entirety of winter and spring. The humid warmth and the gentle, chilling gusts of wind that brush past your cheek—barely grazing it.

Summertime is finally here. The air smells like pastries, strawberries, and cigarette smoke. The screeching of tyres and chatter outside your window is louder than you imagined—and despite it recurring every year—the streets of Paris have never felt busier.

Your room already smells like croissants and baked goods; the rustling in the bakery beneath you has been ongoing for hours already, baking in full. Your steps are slow, careful—yet they still manage to creak the old attic floorboards beneath the soles of your feet. You slip into your clothes, folding your pajamas into a careful pile in your drawer, letting your bed remain unmade for the morning. You tell yourself that you’ll fix it later, but really, you’re just fooling yourself.

The stairs twirl down into the side of the kitchen as you walk down them, and as the air-conditioned chill of the kitchen hits you, you catch the whiff of half-made dough.

“Mm, you’re baking already maman?” You hum, stepping into the kitchen. Eyes darting around the chaos ensuing, your father piping meringues onto parchment, while workers fished trays of pastries and breads from the oven.

“Bah ouais—we open in just a few minutes, amour,” her voice echoes out from behind the baking trays, her French accent laying thick in her words, hand gesturing for you to come closer, “vas-y. Help me put out these macarons in the display window.”

It’s still warm when she hands it to you, but cool enough to hold—barely. You hiss as the tray scorches your palm. Their scent is nutty and sweet, and this batch is mixed with strawberry and vanilla. As you feel no one is looking, you pop one into your mouth, the almond taste immediately exploding on your tongue, letting out a delighted sigh. As good as it always is, as it always has been.

The bell to your bakery chimes, too early—not quite yet open, you speak without glancing up, “desolé, we’re closed. We open in just a few minutes.”

“Not even open for me?” His voice is familiar. Too familiar, the same sweet accent and slight twinge of nasal in his tone as he had when you were kids.

“Isack?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, his smile so wide and warm—like he is the summer sun himself, “Mon dieu! It’s you!”

Your heart swells with comfort, familiarity, and something you cannot quite name, almost dropping the tray of macarons as you throw them to the side, rushing to hug him, your cheek brushing his before your arms catch up. His hug is strong, stronger than you remember it being—arms stiffer, tenser with muscle—but still just as gentle.

“Calm down, mignon,” his laugh bounces through the bakery, patting your lower back with more force than he probably intended, “I’m back for the entire summer, or most of it at least. I’m not disappearing, not for a while.”

His hands fall to rest at the bone of your hips, and you pull back to get a good look at him. You knew what he looked like—you kept yourself aware enough with all the Instagram fan pages and update accounts, but it felt so weird seeing him in real life. Taller, more muscular, his black tousled hair just a little bit longer, but he’s still the boy from Paris with a mole on his face and a grin that made your heart flutter. Just a little.

“I know, I know,” you step back beaming, “but I’m just so happy to see you! It’s been ages!"

“It’s been like, five months.”

“Like I said, ages.”

Isack tuts, but smiles nonetheless. Glancing at you for merely a second, he shakes his head. His eyes drift across the bakery, almost lost in the warm locale. “You’ve renovated.”

“Barely. Moved the shelves and switched the places of some pastries.” Your eyes scan the shop for something to comment on, “nothing much. Only the regulars would probably notice.”

And as you’re busied looking elsewhere, Isack moves past you, sniffing the air and reaching out past the display, onto the tray of macarons you were supposed to put out. He grabbed one of them with slow and careful movements, quickly popping it into his mouth—like a master thief doing his grand heist.

“Ah- hey!” You exclaim, wafting your hand at him, “Don’t eat those! At least pay!”

“Come on! It’s just one!” He laughs, blocking your feeble attempts at smacks, “Besides, you took one too! I saw it on the tray. One was missing! Spare me, mignon! S’il te plaît!”

“That’s different!” You protest, “I work here!”

“Please, it was just one!”

You concede, pouting, letting your arms fall back to your sides, “fine. Just this once. As a welcome back gift.”

He takes just one step back, still staggering from your hits, “Since when did you become so aggressive?”

“Since people started to steal,” you retort, eyes narrowing at him without any heat behind them.

A beat passes, and he merely huffs and crosses his arms in response.

“Anyway, I came here to say that—well, I’m back, and if you want to hang out, just message me.” He says, arms still crossed. You can feel his eyes trailing down the back of your neck. One of your free hands flees to rest there.

You turn around to face him, “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

“Then I’ll see you around, mignon.”

You’d been staring at the blindingly white screen of your messenger app ever since your shift ended, writing, deleting, and re-writing messages like it was some sacred ritual. Hell, you weren’t even sure what you’d invite him to do. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure.

you 4:02 pm

hey! thought i’d take u up on the offer to hang out, what do you think about going around the city and the beach later? i’ll drive us

isack ★ 4:02 pm

since when did u have a real car??

isack ★ 4:03 pm

don’t tell me ur gonna be driving me around in ur old punch buggy…

you 4:04 pm

i’ll have you know that she’s my pride and joy. don’t u dare insult her, hadjar

isack ★ 4:04 pm

she’s small and odd that’s what she is

isack ★ 4:05 pm

i thought u had better tastes than that honestly

you 4:05 pm

WHAT DID I JUST SAY ISACK

you 4:05 pm

now are we hanging out or NOT

you 4:06 pm

ur honestly gonna make me retract my offer atp

isack ★ 4:07 pm

wait no i’m sorry she’s just... unique 💔

isack ★ 4:07 pm

i’m up to just hang though even if it’s in ur unique car…

you 4:08 pm

i’m not getting any better than that i guess

you 4:09 pm

meet me outside in like 10?

isack ★ 4:10 pm

u got it 👍

Music blasts through the walls of the kitchen, blaringly loud—some cheesy French love song your mother always turned on when she knew Isack was around. You step down into the heat of motion, brushing by someone hastily getting their dough out of the fridge, deliberately passing by your mother, and lowering the volume of the speaker. She turns to you with a smile.

“Mon beau,” she says. Too gleefully, mischief lacing her words, “Aren’t you gonna take something with you for Isack? I’m sure he’d like some snacks.”

Her hand trails down the trays in the back, the ones with pastries that are for the workers or close friends. Batches that went just slightly wrong, or aren’t good enough for the customers.

“Maman, he’s a Formula 1 driver now, une pilote de Formula Une—I don’t know if he can eat pastries anymore.” You reply, but walk towards her nonetheless, eyes gleaming over the goods.

“Mon fils, come on! I’m sure there’s something he could eat here.” She pulls out trays filled with desserts, some healthier than others, but you still have your doubts.

“Isack said he’s gonna be here for the entire summer, if I want to treat him, I’ll be sure to make something.” Your knuckles brush past hers, quickly pushing the trays back into place, purposefully disregarding the pointed look she shoots you.

She turns around with a huff, a quick Il arrive bientôt, vas-y, thrown over her shoulder as she heads into the kitchen once again. You’d retort something back, but the chime of your entry bell throws you off.

Isack steps into the bakery like he owns it. For a second, you think he almost does—with how he used to visit every day, or every day he could with karting championships and whatnot—his confident stride a little charming. There are two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Salut, mignon,” he smiles, reaching over the cup to you, “got it on my way here.”

You blink, but grab it either way. It’s lukewarm at best, which is surprising considering it’s not even raining out. “Thanks. It’s a little cold, though.”

There’s a beat of silence, and when you meet his eyes, there’s a hint of awkwardness behind them, “ah. Is it?”

“It’s— it’s fine, don’t worry,” you hold it in your hands, “well, let’s head out?”

Music whirs to life as your engine turns over. That old CD you burned years ago stutters, then bursts into sound—one of those scratchy French pop songs you’d probably be embarrassed to admit you still listen to.

You hear how Isack snorts in the seat beside you, and he blinks, caught somewhere between recognition and disbelief.

“No way,” he says.

You try not to grin. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“I think this CD was burned into my memory the second you played it the fourth time,” he laughs. “Honestly, I thought I’d escaped it at this point.”

You nudge the gear stick into reverse, pretending not to look as he settles deeper into the passenger seat like he belongs there. “Tough luck. You’re trapped now.”

Another song starts—an English song flaring up in the speakers. It’s one of those that had lyrics that didn’t make any sense, but still feel like they say everything that you can’t.

The drive is easy. The streets blur by, the city melting into open air and stretches of trees. Occasionally you take a stop to point out places that’ve changed over the years, or to point out the places you used to visit as kids, but there’s a comfort in the silence between songs, in the way Isack drums his fingers against his knee in time with the beat, in how he glances at you during red lights, always with that same half-smile.

Every time, it makes your heart flutter. Every time you pretend that it doesn’t. You pretend not to realize how his hand hovers over yours, resting on the gear, how his fingertips brush against your knuckles as they retract back to his lap.

You don’t speak much. You don’t have to.

Until Isack pipes up—quiet, casual—the kind of comment that was soft, but still kept your mind sharp:

“Ever think about the roadtrips we’d do? Just the two of us?”

There’s a short silence before you respond, contemplative, “kind of. Mostly when this CD plays.”

He hums, “You were always the one driving.”

“Because you drive like it’s a competition, even when you’re off-track.”

At that, he laughs again. Loud, boisterous, yet you still feel it in your chest. A warmth creeping up through your body and gathering at your cheeks.

You pull up to the beach, your lukewarm coffee long forgotten in the cup holder in your car. The air’s a gentle breeze of sand and sunscreen hidden behind the sweltering sun. You slip out of your clothes and into the bathing shorts hidden underneath, glancing over to Isack, who’s done the same.

The car doors slam shut behind you. Sand clings to your ankles as you make your way across the shore, towels slung over shoulders and old song lyrics still dancing in your heads.

He throws you a sideways smile, stepping towards you with a towel wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak. His hand grabs your shoulder, “Come on. Let’s go sunbathe, yeah?”

The beach was far from empty. Kids' shrill yells and the crashing of waves fade into background noise as you lie down, basking in the sun.

Isack's soft breathing steadies you, the rise and fall of his chest slowly mimicking yours in deep rhythmic breaths. His bathing shorts hiking just a little further down his hips than usual, resting far down enough that his tan lines are visible in the bright shine of the sun. Your hand reaches out, fingertips grazing his skin. Hot. Silky. Just calloused enough that it's different from yours.

His skin is barely beading with sweat, glimmering like prisms along his toned stomach.

"Mon dieu," he sighs, voice barely audible amongst all other noise, "I'm so happy to be home for the summer."

Your hand lingers a second too long, resting just beneath the curve of his rib. He doesn't move.

You don’t say anything. Not right away. But when the moment feels like it might slip away with the tide, you murmur, “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s always true,” he replies. Then he turns his head, just slightly, just enough to catch your expression in the corner of his eye. “You don’t believe me?”

You smile, dry, barely there. “I do. I just think maybe you’re happy for other reasons, too.”

He shifts onto his elbow, weight pressing the towel down beneath him. His eyes find yours—not intense, but careful. Like he’s examining you, searching for something behind your gaze.

“And what reasons would those be?” he asks.

You almost laugh. Almost say ‘me’. Instead, you offer: “The beach. The macarons. The CD.”

He huffs. “You.”

And then he goes quiet, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

You blink. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because of him or the heat. “What?”

He doesn’t repeat his words, just lies back down with his head tilted up to the sun. His eyes are narrowed, eyebrows furrowed—moving past it like it was nothing.

“Wait, Isack—” you stammer, “what do you mean me?”

A beat. Then, he turns to you. There's a slight pout grazing his face, like he's not quite sure what you mean.

“I meant you, as in you are one of the reasons I look forward to the summer,” he states, as if that's the clearest thing in the world.

The sun has dipped just past the horizon, streaking orange and rose across the sea. Isack lies beside you, arm curled behind his head, gaze tilted skyward. Towel half-draped across his chest like he’d forgotten it was even there.

Your knees are drawn up to your chest. You’re still damp from the warmth, salt clinging to your skin, the feeling of him brushing against you earlier carved deep into your memory. Neither of you have said anything in minutes now. The beach is quieter—most people have packed up. The cries of children are distant. All that’s left is the hush of water and the occasional distant bark of a dog.

“I missed this,” he says, voice low. Thoughtful. His eyes are still on the horizon. “Not just the sweets and sand. I mean everything. All of it.”

Your fingers curl into the towel on your lap. You glance sideways. “So, you're saying you missed me?”

He blinks, like he didn’t expect you to speak. “Say what?”

“That you missed me.”

He exhales a short, half-laugh. Almost incredulous.

“I did. I missed you like hell.”

His admission slips out so quickly you almost don’t catch it.

Your heart skips. Then stumbles, like you didn't expect him to say it despite you telling him to. The sea creeps closer, waves brushing higher and higher onto the shore.

You swallow, “Then say it again.” A plea suffocating in your throat.

He shifts to face you, propping himself up on one elbow. The sun glows behind him, catching in the strands of his hair, softening the lines of his face. His smile was more blinding than the light behind him.

“I missed you,” he says. “I thought about you when I landed in new cities. In hotel rooms. On race days. When I had a second to breathe—it was always you. Always.”

You stare at him, lips parting just slightly, heart stammering beneath your ribs.

“I—” you start. But then you stop. Because you don’t know what to say. Because you’ve imagined this moment so many times and none of them prepared you for this.

“I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want to fuck it up,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But the thing is… it’s already ruined, isn’t it? Not saying anything didn’t make it better. It just made the silence louder.”

Your hand reaches toward him before you can stop it. Just a fraction. A small gesture.

He meets you halfway.

His fingers brush yours, slow. Ridden with emotions that have been kept under breach. Almost afraid to break the moment.

“I think,” he says, treading his words carefully as if he's unsure of them “I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen. Since you made me that stupid CD.”

You laugh—wet, barely held back. “You’re such a sap.”

He smiles. “Only for you.”

A beat passes. Then another. And in the hush between them, you whisper:

“I love you, too.”

He doesn’t do anything right away. Just lets the words sit there between you, letting the warmth of them simmer in his chest.

Then he leans in. Slowly. Softly.

And when he kisses you, it’s not rushed, or frantic. It’s familiar. Like you’ve done it a thousand times in another life. Like you were always supposed to. His hand finds its way to your cheek, thumb brushing against the flesh of it. Not forceful, not harsh, just a gentle caress akin to the morning breeze.

“So,” you mumble after a moment, “does this mean I’m your boyfriend?”

When you part, your jaw slackens. Your eyes are wide, your chest full of that quiet, giddy rush. His hand is still resting on your cheek, yours finding the meat of his thigh.

“Only if it means I’m yours.”

©lilliezzzzz-fics: please don't copy or distribute my work on any platform

credits: @/cafekitsune for the dividers <3

author's note: i don't have a laptop atm so for a while (p much the entire summer) my writing's gonna slow down!!! sorry!!!

taglist: @toodeepintofandoms @milessunflowers

[secretl1fe0fm3]

have you underneath all of my beliefs ~ eva x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself on a wellness retreat, where you meet eva, the presumed leader of the female empowerment group. as the days pass, her interest in you grows, and she’s determined to uncover every secret you keep, no matter what it takes.

warnings: smut (with plot), soft dom!eva, sub!reader, dirty talk, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise kink, aftercare if you squint

an: the long awaited eva fic is finally here!!!! i had so much fun writing this one, and i hope yall enjoy :,) she could manipulate me ANY DAY. (lmk if anyone is interested in a part 2, i have some ideas hehe)

18+ minors dni!!!

2k+ words

You hadn’t expected to stay this long.

The first day was filled with polite smiles, herbal teas, and long moments of uncomfortable silence as women from all walks of life tried to untangle themselves from the grasp of their inner demons. You kept your distance while still participating, not wanting to share much about your haunted past.

But Eva noticed you.

At first, it was subtle. A glance from across the communal fire. A brush of her hand against yours when she passed you a blanket or a cup of tea. But each day, her presence grew stronger. She didn’t speak often in group sessions, only doing so to lead them, but when she did, the others listened. Everything seemed to revolve around her, everyone looking up to her for guidance.

You’d catch her watching you during morning breathwork. Her eyes followed the way your chest rose and fell, studying every twitch in your expression. During meals, she always found a way to sit near you, never directly across, never too obvious, but always near. When you shared, which was a rarity, she listened with an intensity that felt almost invasive. Like she could see every unspoken truth inside you, waiting for you to bare more of yourself to her.

———

You returned to your room after the evening group fire, still feeling the weight of Eva’s gaze on you. She hadn’t said a word to you tonight, but she didn’t need to, she got her message across.

Your room was quiet when you stepped inside, the soft sounds of the woods humming outside your window. You moved to pull back your blanket, and that’s when you saw a folded piece of thick paper sat right in the middle of your pillow.

Your name was written on the front in soft, cursive handwriting. You picked it up and unfolded it with shaky fingers, reading the words over and over.

Come to the attic after dark. I want to talk. You’ve been holding something in. I want to help you let it out. -Eva

Your fingers stayed curled around the paper, gripping it tight, absentmindedly crinkling it a little.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, staring at the note, but you already knew it wasn’t up for debate, you had to face your fears this time.

———

The house was dark, hushed in the way it only got after everyone had gone to bed. You moved carefully, bare feet brushing over the wood floors, trying not to make a sound.

The note was still tucked in your hand.

Upstairs, a light flickered from the attic doorway. You hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, then slowly made your way up. The steps creaked softly under your weight. When you reached the top, the door was already open.

Eva sat in a chair, legs crossed, one hand resting against her cheek, her other holding a mug that steamed gently. Her robe was loose, the floral pattern falling off one of her shoulders. She looked up at you as you stood in the doorway, uncertainty etched all over your face.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said softly, voice low. “But I hoped you would.”

You stepped inside, unsure whether or not to speak. The door shut behind you with a gentle click, and Eva set her mug down.

“You can sit,” she said, nodding toward the cushion across from her. “Or stand. Whichever feels more honest.”

You hesitated, then lowered yourself onto a cushion, heart beating a little too fast. The stained-glass window emanated colored light across the room, casting strange shapes on the wooden floor.

Eva smiled, watching you.

“I like when people come in nervous,” she said, her voice almost teasing. “It means there’s something worth digging into.”

You swallowed, fiddling with your fingers. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“I did,” she nodded. “But only if you’re ready.”

Her tone was warm, inviting you to slowly open up, but you remained silent as your eyes studied her.

“I’ve been watching you,” Eva continued, leaning forward just a little. “You keep your distance during the group sessions. You give just enough to look open, but you’re not. Not really.”

You shifted slightly under her gaze. “That’s not true.”

“No?” Her eyes lit up, like you’d said exactly what she wanted. “Then tell me something real.”

You hesitated, lips parting, but nothing came out.

Eva’s smile deepened at your silence this time. She uncrossed her legs and stood, walking toward you with slow, measured steps. She knelt in front of you, not quite touching yet, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her body.

“I can feel it on you,” she whispered. “Whatever it is you’re hiding. It weighs heavy.”

You looked away, and her fingers brushed under your chin, coaxing your gaze back to her.

“I want it,” Eva murmured. “All of it. I want you to give it to me. And I want you to want to give it to me.”

There was something in the way she said it, perfectly persuasive. Her thumb stroked along your jaw, like she was trying to coax a confession out of you.

“I know how to hold secrets,” she said. “I know how to take pain and turn it into something beautiful. But I need you to trust me.”

You blinked, your voice coming out quieter than you meant. “Why me?”

Her eyes didn’t leave yours, flicking down to your lips before quickly returning to your stare.

“Because you haven’t let yourself open up yet,” she said simply. “And I want to be the one who does that for you.”

Her hand slipped lower, resting over your chest, pressing gently over your heart, feeling the steady beats under her palm.

“Can I?” she asked, voice a whisper now. “Will you let me?”

The room had gone still at her question, the only sounds were your breathing, and hers. A slow, steady rhythm, like she knew how this night would end long before you stepped through the door.

Eva’s hand still rested over your chest, her palm rising and falling with every breath you tried to keep steady. You were trembling slightly, her presence leaving a heavy weight in the air.

“I can feel how much you want to let go,” she said, voice soft but sure. “You’ve been holding it in for so long, haven’t you?”

Your eyes burned and you didn’t know why, but you nodded.

“Good girl,” Eva whispered. “That’s the first truth. Now let me take care of you.”

You didn’t answer as your body leaned into hers instinctively, and that was all the permission she needed.

Eva kissed you deep, one hand cradling the back of your neck, the other sliding down your side, tracing your curves. Her lips were warm and soft against yours as she kissed you like she was memorizing the way you taste, and the sounds you made.

Her hand slipped under your shirt, her fingers felt hot against your bare skin. She traced along your ribs, your stomach, until her touch reached the waistband of your pants. She paused there, pulling away momentarily, her eyes locked on yours

“I want you to let me in,” she whispered. “Don’t hold back with me.”

You gave her a small, shaky but eager nod. She smiled as her lips met yours again, the kiss deeper than the previous one. She eased her hand beneath the fabric, her touch featherlight, but deliberate. Eva pushed your panties aside before she stroked slowly along your wet folds, her fingers sliding through your slit with ease.

“You’re already trembling,” she murmured, her voice low and soft. “You’ve been needing this, haven’t you?”

You whimpered, biting your lip.

Eva moved her fingers in slow, careful circles against your clit. Her lips stayed close to yours, placing soft kisses over your mouth, your cheek, and your jaw as you spread your legs a bit wider, wordlessly inviting her to go further.

She pushed two fingers inside you, deep and slow. The stretch made you gasp, and she held still for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling.

“Just like that,” she whispered. “You’re doing so well.”

She began to move her fingers, thrusting in and out of your heat, her thumb gliding against your clit in a steady rhythm. Your hips bucked up towards the touch, chasing the pressure as desperate moans fell from your lips.

“Stay with me,” Eva murmured, pushing your hip down with her free hand. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

Your muscles tightened, heat coiling deep inside you. Her thrusts sped up, but she didn’t rush you. She watched you slowly unravel, her voice anchoring you in quiet affirmations between kisses.

You’re safe. I’ve got you. Let it happen.

Your orgasm crashed over you without much warning, clenching down around her fingers as you threw your head back, a low but loud moan filling the quiet room. Eva held you through it, her fingers still moving just enough to help draw your climax out of you. You clung to her floral robe, your cheek against her shoulder, your body trembling in her lap.

But she didn’t stop.

Eva shifted you, gently laying you back against the cushions on the floor. She pressed soft kisses along your thighs, over your stomach, then met your gaze again as her fingers found your wet core once more.

“I know you can give me more,” she whispered. “But only if it feels good. Only if you want to.”

You were already nodding before you even realized, before your brain caught up to your body.

You didn’t have words anymore, just ache and need swirling low in your belly as she leaned over you. She gave you a quiet nod in return and leaned in, kissing your shoulder as her fingers pressed against your soaked cunt.

She easily slipped her two fingers inside of you again with a practiced curl that made your hips jerk. Your mouth opened in a sharp gasp.

“You can take it,” Eva whispered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “You need this. Don’t fight it.”

Eva stroked your clit in a lazy, circular rhythm, never faltering. Your body tensed immediately, already so close it hurt. You grabbed at her wrist to ground yourself.

The pressure built fast, almost too fast. Your body was still overstimulated from the first orgasm, and every stroke of her fingers now felt overwhelming. Your thighs tried to close around her hand, and she used her free arm to gently pin one down.

“Shh,” Eva cooed, breath warm against your cheek. “It’s okay. Let it happen. I’ve got you.”

Her fingers curled inside you, pressing against your sensitive sweet spot with every thrust. Your muscles tensed as your breath started turning shallow and quick, tears welling up in your eyes from the pleasurable overstimulation.

Your body stiffened, back arching painfully as your mouth opened in a silent cry as your second orgasm tore through you. It was white hot and too much, crashing over you in thick waves, dragging every sound out of your throat.

Eva held you steady as you came undone again. Her fingers didn’t stop moving, not until your body started to twitch, thighs jerking from the intensity, breath coming in soft sobs.

“There you are,” she whispered. “That’s it. Give it to me. Just like that.”

Your legs trembled uncontrollably, your hands gripping her arms as the aftershocks hit you hard. Your body was soaked and shivering as she slowly pulled her fingers out of your spent heat.

Eva gathered you into her arms, pulling you into her lap. Her touch gentle and soothing. She pulled a soft blanket over your body and held you close, rocking you slightly.

You felt weightless and empty in the best way, like something you didn’t know you were carrying had finally slipped free.

Eva brushed your hair back from your damp forehead and kissed you softly.

“You did so well,” she whispered. “You let go. I’m so proud of you.”

A small content smile formed on your lips as you tucked your face into her neck. You weren’t sure where to go from here, but you knew you didn’t want to leave.

my masterlist

[swift-works]

Enchanted

masterlist | part two

pairing: portgas d. ace x isekai!reader

word count: 1.7k

summary:  After inheriting your grandmother's house, you find a seemingly normal mirror in the attic. When night falls however, the mirror becomes a portal into your favorite fictional world and who better to greet you than your favorite character. Can you change his fate or see him to his doom?  

tags: isekai!reader, SFW, trying to keep this as gender neutral as possible, mentions of grief and minor character death?

a/n: this is very loosely based on the movie "love across time" i had the idea through a scene on TikTok and watched the movie for a better idea of what i was going to do and this was the result! I wrote over 1k words and them completely rewrote this 🫠

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It all started when your grandmother died. Bless her soul, she was one of the few people you had left in this world. Your parents were out of the picture and you had no siblings. Granny was the one who raised you and you were there to keep her company during her last years. You had known it was only a matter of time when she took a turn for the worse a few months ago. In a blink of an eye, your little family of two turned into just you.

The funeral had already been planned. That woman had to have things go exactly as she wanted even from beyond the grave. All of the funeral proceedings had passed in a blur. One moment you were saying your final goodbyes and the next her casket was being lowered into the ground. You felt numb, even if you knew this had to happen eventually. Even though you had other friends, your grandma was your best friend. You didn’t have a clue what you were going to do without her.

You were the sole inheritor of her will. All of her assets, including the house, were now in your name. You didn’t really care for anything except the house. It was home. It still carried her scent and everything reminded you of her. You spent the next few days going through boxes of memories that she had under her bed. A teary smile painting your face the entire time. The pictures proved how much she loved you. You’d miss her for the rest of your life.

There must have been more boxes somewhere. Memory lane had you in its nostalgia inducing grip. The only other place you could think of was the attic. It wasn’t your favorite place. Dust, cobwebs and an interesting smell awaited you.  As soon as you made your way into the attic, you let out a sneeze. You don’t think anyones cleaned up here in years. There were many boxes, mostly filled with old toys, baby blankets and holiday decorations. Old sheet covered furniture was tucked in the corner. 

A glint of light caught your eye. Your eyes followed the path to find a half covered mirror. It was practically calling your attention. You pulled the rest of the sheet off, coughing when a wave of dust flew off. The mirror frame was beautiful. Covered in elegant golden carvings, it was full length and in perfect condition. Why was this collecting dust up here? You wondered if you could bring it downstairs by yourself. Luckily, when you tried moving it, it wasn’t difficult to move. You were able to wrangle it down the attic stairs with ease. The question now was where to place it.

It was too big for the hallway and you didn’t want to move anything from the living room. No other room was a good fit so it looked like you’d be rearranging your room. Weeks of clothes build up had been cleared away and you made space next to your window. The mirror fit snugly against the wall and brought a certain pop to your room. You adjusted the mirror so that the lighting would complement your figure. Once you were satisfied, you decided you needed a quick snack break.

It's safe to say you got side tracked and completely forgot what you originally went to the attic for. You guess that’d have to wait another day because you did not feel like doing anything else for the day. Maybe it was time to pick up where you left off on One Piece. You had left off right before the time skip, having needed a nice break after Marineford. Then your grandma's health had worsened and you just hadn’t gotten around to continuing. A couple of episodes went by before you grew drowsy and started to nod off. 

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You woke up a few hours later to a dark room. The tv had turned off sometime when you fell asleep. You got up and stretched. It probably wasn’t a good idea to take a nap so late. Might as well go to your room and hopefully get a few more hours of sleep. As you made your way into your room to get ready for bed, you didn’t notice a golden shimmer materialize across the mirror. So it came as a shock when you passed in front of the mirror and your reflection was not looking back at you. In fact, it wasn't even your room that appeared. There wasn’t anything appearing. It looked like a giant white canvas, as if a sheet was covering it but there was no sheet.

Odd. You chalked it up to being groggy from your nap. It was better than thinking that you were starting to hallucinate. The mirror was tomorrow's problem. Right now, you just wanted to go back to sleep. You only had a few more days before you were supposed to go back to work so you needed to get a bunch of stuff done this weekend. As you were drifting back to sleep, you swore you could hear faint chatter and the sound of the ocean. ‘I thought the tv was off?’ was your last thought before you fell back to sleep.

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The Moby Dick was a large ship. Too big to be sent on a scavenger hunt. Having to search all of the storage rooms to find a few measly things was like some sort of punishment. Oh wait, it was.

Ace had ‘forgotten’ to do a report on one of the 2nd divisions' latest missions. So here he was after a stern lecture from Marco, given a list of things to check off for inventory. He was told that he had to complete the list before dinner or Thatch wouldn’t save him any. That jerk. Ace thought it was a waste of time for him but had quickly silenced himself with a look from Marco. ‘Well you should have used your time to write up a mission report but here we are.’ he had remarked while handing Ace the list and walking off.

Well, hours had passed and so had dinner. Ace could hear his stomach growling. There was only one thing left on the list. All he had to do was find some bed sheets for the infirmary. The light in the room was dim so Ace used his devil fruit to navigate the darker spots. Aha! There were some sheets draped over some old boxes. He had taken the sheet from the largest box only to find it wasn’t a box, it was a mirror. How odd for such an elegant looking thing to be stuffed in the back of a storage room. Must have been Izo’s. He shrugged and checked another box that was full of sheets. Nodding to himself, Ace checked off the final box on the list. Hopefully Thatch wouldn’t mind him getting a midnight meal.

Before he left though, the mirror caught his eye again. There was a faint golden shimmer before his reflection shifted. Instead of his surroundings, a bedroom appeared on the other side. Ace tilted his head. “Huh, who knew we had a magic mirror.” He lifted his hand to the mirror but it was stopped by the glass. He was so absorbed in the idea of a mysterious mirror that he didn’t notice the figure on the other side. A shriek rang out and he snapped back to attention and held out his hands.

“Woah woah woah! No need for screaming. I can’t hurt you or anything. Not that I would want to hurt you.” Ace rambled on. He took in the figure who had appeared and his cheeks flushed. You were cute. The last thing he wanted to do was scare someone who was cute. It was totally not cool of him. He noticed that you made no movements and your face was frozen in shock.

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Oh god, there was someone in your mirror. It had been days since you saw something odd in the mirror but when you woke up the next morning, it was totally normal. This was not a totally normal mirror. You had come into your room after a long day from work and suddenly a man was in your mirror. The room behind him was dim so you could barely make out his figure even as he tried to calm you down.

You could barely focus on what he was saying but, you could've sworn you've heard that voice before. That voice. It was on the tip of your tongue. You realized he wasn’t speaking anymore and snapped back to attention. “Okay, I’m gonna hope that you’re not real and I’m actually talking to myself or this is a weird dream. Who are you and why are you in my mirror?” 

“Your mirror? I’m pretty sure that you’re in my mirror, not that I mind.” He shrugged and sent you a wink. Unfortunately for him, you didn’t catch it.

“I’m gonna ignore that last part, mirror man. And you didn’t answer my question.” You crossed your arms.

“Mirror man? That's the best you could come up with? You’re telling me that you don’t recognize me? I’m a very wanted man. I’ll tell you who I am when you tell me who you are, shrieker.”

Oh so you had a wanted criminal in your mirror. This was just what you needed. Well, it appeared that he wasn’t hostile. So you told him your name. “Okay you have my name, can I finally know yours and also maybe see who I’m talking to. You have really bad lighting.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.” He lit his hand on fire. You gasped in shock. He continued on as if it was perfectly normal for him. As the flaming hand drew near to his face, you could begin to make out his features. He was tall, lean and shirtless. It also looked like he had a tattoo. Wait. Wait. Suddenly it clicked why that voice was so familiar. You knew who it was before you could see his face. This was impossible. The figure was-

“Since you wanna know my name so badly, it’s Ace. Portgas D Ace.”

You could barely make out warm brown eyes and a sea of freckles before everything went black. The last thing you heard was a panicked voice calling out.

end of part one | next part

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a/n: i have not liked anything i've written this week but that's life as a writer. this is probably going to be like 3 or 4 parts? maybe more who knows. not me. i hope everyone enjoyed :) i'm gonna try and finish up my other two fics i'm working on. i've been trying to keep these gender neutral so let me know if i slip up please! or if y'all want fem!reader ~ anna

[bradleysass]

sunrise - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 1k

“Hey, Weggie, wake up!”

A small hand shook his shoulder insistently. Regulus groaned softly, curling deeper into the warmth of his blankets. But Sirius was nothing if not persistent, and the shaking grew stronger.

“Reg… come on.”

Regulus blinked his sleepy grey eyes open. The dim pre-dawn light filtered weakly through the curtains. He rubbed his face, frowning a little. “Siri…?”

But Sirius wasn’t waiting. At the crisp age of five, Sirius Black was already a force of nature. He was tugging insistently at Regulus’s arm, practically hauling him out of bed.

“Gotta show you somethin’.”

Regulus stumbled forward, the soft weight of his favorite blanket still clinging around his shoulders like a cape. He didn’t protest; he was too tired, his body too pliant in his brother’s grip.

They made their way up the creaky stairs, the old house groaning around them as if warning them to get back in bed. But Sirius was undeterred. He stopped at the attic door, looked over his shoulder with a conspiratorial glance, then pushed it open.

“Kreacher didn’t see,” he whispered triumphantly. “Mum and Dad are still asleep.”

Regulus nodded sleepily, trusting his brother implicitly as Sirius opened the trapdoor leading up to the roof. The ladder extended with a faint metallic groan. Sirius scrambled up first, peeking around as if expecting the night itself to catch them.

“C’mon, Weggie,” he whispered again, reaching down.

Regulus hesitated, but Sirius’s hand was waiting, warm and certain. He let himself be pulled up onto the cold shingles. His small feet padded after Sirius as they settled near the ridge.

The world felt… enormous up here. Above the dark tangle of trees in the garden, above the wrought iron fences, above even the grim weight of Grimmauld Place.

“Siri…” Regulus started, still drowsy, still unsure why they were here.

“Look.”

And Sirius pointed.

Regulus followed his gaze—and froze.

The sky was bleeding into color. Gold spilled like melted treasure across the horizon, streaking into pinks and purples, burning away the heavy blue of night. Wisps of clouds shimmered like brushed cotton, their edges glowing. The sun hadn’t quite crested the rooftops yet, but its arrival was undeniable, bold and beautiful.

Regulus’s mouth parted softly. “Oh…”

Sirius grinned beside him, proud. “Told you. Magic, huh?”

Regulus nodded wordlessly, leaning his head against Sirius’s shoulder, blanket still wrapped tight around him.

For a moment, neither spoke. Just two small boys on a rooftop, watching the world wake up before anyone else could claim it.

“Promise me somethin’,” Sirius said suddenly, voice low.

Regulus blinked up at him. “What?”

“When we’re big,” Sirius said, “we’ll go find better places to watch the sun come up. Far away from here.”

Regulus was quiet for a beat, considering it. Then he smiled softly, sleepily.

“Okay.”

-

The sky was still dark when Regulus stirred awake, the faint rustling of sheets beside him pulling him from sleep.

“James?” he murmured, voice hoarse from the night.

James turned, silhouetted in the faint glow of the streetlamp outside their window. His hair was a wild mess, sticking up in every direction. “Didn’t mean to wake you, love.” He smiled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to Regulus’s temple. “C’mon. I wanna show you something.”

Regulus groaned, dragging the covers tighter around himself. “It’s so early…”

“I know.” James’s grin widened, coaxing now. “But trust me. You’ll like this.”

Regulus sighed—he always sighed when James got that particular glint in his eye—and, grumbling under his breath, allowed himself to be tugged out of bed.

James handed him a hoodie and socks, already pulling on his own jumper over a faded Gryffindor tee. Together, they climbed the narrow staircase of their little flat, up to the rooftop.

The air was chilly up here, brisk with early spring’s bite, but James slung an arm around Regulus’s shoulders, warm and solid.

“Look.”

And Regulus did.

The city stretched beneath them, quiet and still in the pre-dawn hush. Lights flickered in distant windows. A cat darted across a rooftop. And above it all—the sky began to bloom.

First a shy pink, then a cascade of soft gold, bleeding into lavender and deep coral. The clouds caught the colors like watercolor paper, diffusing and stretching them wide across the horizon.

James watched it unfold, awed every time, as if he hadn’t dragged Regulus up here for the same sight a dozen times before. “Beautiful, right?” he whispered.

Regulus didn’t answer at first. Something had lodged in his throat—a memory rising, unbidden, from the depths of him.

“Look!” Sirius’s voice, gleeful and proud, a lifetime ago. A small hand pointing at the sunrise over Grimmauld Place. The cold shingles beneath him. The warmth of a brother’s shoulder.

He swallowed thickly.

“Yeah,” he murmured at last, leaning into James’s side. “Beautiful.”

James pressed a kiss to his hair, squeezing him closer. “Glad you woke up for it.”

Regulus smiled faintly, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of James’s arm, the solidity of it.

He wasn’t on a grim old rooftop anymore. He wasn’t wrapped in a fraying blanket, staring at the sky beside a boy who would one day leave and never come back.

He was here. With James. Safe. Warm. Loved.

And maybe—maybe in some small way—this was keeping the promise Sirius had once asked of him.

Better places. Better sunrises. Far away from there.

And this time, Regulus whispered it aloud, so softly James almost missed it.

“Thank you for showing me.”

James turned to him, puzzled. “Every time, love.” He paused. “But… what for?”

Regulus only smiled, eyes still fixed on the sky.

“For everything.”

And as the sun crowned the horizon, flooding the world with light, Regulus let the memory settle gently inside him—part of him, always—but no longer heavy.

Because here, in this moment, watching the sunrise beside the man he loved, Regulus Black finally understood what it meant to see the dawn.

And what it meant to keep a promise.