#and I watched all of the last of us 1 and 2

[exocaliii]

❦︎ And You Look Half Dead Half The Time

(pt. 1) (pt. 2)

| Kang No-eul / Guard 011 x fem!reader |

side! | Se-mi / Played 380 x fem!reader |

Summary: For six years, you've watched your best friend and only companion mourn a child she barely got to know. Now, you're given a chance that might finally rid her of this lifelong guilt.

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: death, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, making-out, fingering + cunnilingus (r! receiving), bathroom sex, one use of Y/N even though I tried my best to avoid it lol, extreme jealousy/possessiveness, no-eul is not playing about her girl in this one LOL

A/N: finally reached the romance stuff in this one but there's still some build-up of course, hope you all enjoy and as always, i appreciate any type of feedback or comments, they make the writing worth it!! :D this is so self indulgent omg

—

When the platform begins to spin, you feel a firm grip on your hand, looking up to find Se-mi already staring at you with a calm expression on her face.

“Stick with me.” 

You nod, and before you’re able to check on Min-su, you’re nearly thrown off your feet by the sudden stop of the surface you’re on. 

“10 players.” 

The boom of the announcer clears your senses, and as Thanos and Nam-gyu laugh and spin, you see another group of five waving their hands for more people. You shout at the loudest volume you’ve used since arriving here for them to come over, and with a tight grip on Se-mi’s hand, you drag her to the open room right across the arena. Thanos, Nam-gyu, and Min-su (who you can now see was hiding behind Se-mi) follow right along, and, thank goodness, the other team of 5 do the same. 

“Are you okay?” You don’t respond to Se-mi's question because the answer should be obvious with the way you’re trembling, but she only nods in understanding. “Just stay calm, it’ll be fine.” You want to believe her, you truly do, but you see Min-su’s fear, and in that moment, you accept that this may be the game that kills you. 

The lock clicks open.

Your group of ten steps out, stepping over the blood of those who lost the last round.

You want to retch, but you stay focused and get back on the platform. 

With your hand in Se-mi’s, you block out the happy singing of Thanos and Nam-gyu, opting instead to pat Min-su’s back when you see him basically shaking like a leaf. He jumps, but turns to you with a grateful look in his eye. You pray that he lives, because someone like him should not die in a cold place like this.

“4 players.”

Your heart drops. Thanos glances back and forth between the three of you as Nam-gyu stands at his side. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, and your legs are stiff, ready to run. His eyes stop on Min-su, and you know what’s about to happen.

“You-”

“I’ll go.” 

Se-mi barely has a chance to react before you rip your hand from hers and run to find another group. Somewhere in the bustle of the crowd, you swear you hear her call your name, but you’re too locked onto three men in the distance. They’re already in the room, but they’re calling for a fourth person. Fear threatens to strangle you as you run over, the countdown playing loud in the overhead speaker. Their eyes are desperate, arms open to beckon you over to save both your life and theirs.

 

At the last second, you basically ram into one of the men as you barrel into the room, one of them slamming it shut behind you not even a second before the lock clicks. No one speaks as shots ring out from outside the room, and you begin to come to terms with your act of sacrifice for someone you had just met yesterday. 

Fuck, what were you thinking? Are you in this to win or not?

The lock clicks open, and you all step outside. There’s even more fresh blood on the ground, blood that you ignore as your eyes search the arena for your old group. 

“Y/N!”

You spin fast enough to snap your neck at the sound of her voice, and Se-mi runs over to you followed by the rest of the group. You think she’s about to hug you but she stops just short of it, arms lowering back to her side awkwardly before she resigns to grabbing you by the shoulders instead. For a second, you stare at each other in silence, neither knowing what to say.

“Oh shit, that was too cool girl.” Thano’s voice ruins the moment, but before you all begin heading back to the platform, you hear a soft voice from behind Se-mi.

“Thank you.” 

Min-su meekly looks at you with obvious guilt, and Se-mi drops her hands from your shoulders to take your hand as you all walk back towards the center. It’s comforting to have her hand in yours again (especially after you almost died letting go of it).

“It’s fine, I already saw the other group before leaving.” Obvious lie, but he didn’t need to know that. 

As you all begin to spin again, Se-mi gives your hand a short squeeze before looking down at you with a gentle smile that, as always, almost looks like a smirk.

“I was right about you.” You chuckle at this and turn away to hide your reddened face, but of course, the moment doesn’t last very long. 

“3 players.”

The three of you barely spare a glance at Thanos and Nam-gyu before you grab each other’s hands and run off, hearing the rapper scream a curse at your betrayal. You almost want to laugh, but you’re too focused on holding onto Se-mi and Min-su’s hands for dear life as you run towards one of the few open rooms still available. 

They’re filling up too quickly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see two other groups scrambling towards the one room you have your sights set on. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you come to the horrifying realization that groups of three might be too small to fit everyone that was still alive, even if they were all paired up. The thought makes your legs move that much faster, but just as you’re about to reach your safe haven, a body collides with yours and sends you flying towards the floor. 

10 seconds left.

“Min-su?!” He was on your left, but where is he?

7 seconds left.

“Get up, get inside the room!” Se-mi. You’re pretty sure it’s her rough hands that grab your sweater and pull you up.

5 seconds left.

“Where is he?! Min-su!” You stumble over your feet, your mind reeling as you’re bouncing back and forth between trying to find him and trying to follow Se-mi into the room.

3 seconds left.

“Wait! Wait, please help me!” He’s half on the ground, half fighting against a man trying to get up in front of him to enter a room to your right. You’re already in yours, and an arm wrapped tight around your waist prevents you from running out to save his life once again. 

1 second left.

“Let go! Min-su!” 

The buzzer sounds right as the door slams shut in your face.

The lock clicks shut.

Somewhere outside, you hear gunfire and the desperate cries of men and women who failed. 

For a second, you think you can hear him begging for his life, but then a single shot rings out and his fate is sealed.

—

Somewhere in the haze of emotions, you continue to grasp onto her arm like a lifeline. Your head rings, and you don’t even hear the announcer’s call for each of the next two rounds. It’s Se-mi who makes sure you’re right next to her the entire time, no matter which group you join or which room you scramble into. She doesn’t bother to ask if you’re okay (because it is extremely obvious this time, with tear tracks on your cheeks and shallow eyes staring into the distance), but her firm hold on you still shows her underlying care. That, and the slight shake of her body reminds you that despite her previous bravado and confidence, she’s still human just like you. 

When the game ends, you step over the blood of the losers to make it back to the main room (you wonder if you had stepped on Min-su’s as well - the thought of it makes you sick to your stomach). 

Thanos greets the two of you with excitement even after you left him and Nam-gyu in the dust, but you don’t even have it in you to entertain his antics now. Your head was pounding, and the only thing keeping you from curling up into a ball on the spot was Se-mi’s arm around your shoulders; she was holding onto you like you would curl up and die if she let go, which you might. 

When you both settle into her bed, you really begin to feel the weight of his absence. 

“I’m sorry for grabbing you like that,” she says, her voice quiet as if you were a deer about to sprint away. “...You wouldn’t have made it in time-”

“I know.” You’re curt, almost rude, and you feel bad immediately for your outburst. It wasn’t her fault, you reminded yourself. It wasn’t her fault that your first selfless moment in this hellhole means nothing now. “I… I’m sorry. You saved my life. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” Her hand caresses yours, soothing you into finally allowing your tense body to relax.

Something about her gentle demeanor coaxes out a more peaceful side in you, and you lean your head on her shoulder. You’re pleasantly surprised at her lack of resistance, and something in your gut burns when she leans her head right back on yours. 

For a second, you think about No-eul and feel a strange amount of guilt creeping up on you, but Se-mi changes her grip on your hand slightly to interlace your fingers and it all goes away. You owe nothing to her. Companionship isn’t something she should bar you from looking for when you face death at her hands everyday now. 

What’s so wrong with finding your own comfort in the beautiful, kind, and unexpectedly soft woman sitting next to you? 

—

350 million won. 

It’s enough for those smugglers, enough for her, and so, it’s enough for you to change your vote. 

When red LEDs light up your face and you begin exchanging your blue patch for a red one, you feel the weight of the entire situation crashing down on you. 

You chose life this time. From now on, if you die, it won’t be of your own volition anymore. This fact disturbs you greatly, so you’re quick in pushing through the crowd to get right back to Se-mi’s side. You’re glad she chose to live too. If you made it out of here, you wouldn’t want to lose contact with her. Trauma bonds are pretty strong apparently. 

—

When two groups of men start walking out of the bathrooms covered in blood and money begins to fill the pig again, you shuffle a bit closer to Se-mi, and her grip on your hand tightens. 

Supposedly it was a brawl, and from the frantic head counts of both sides, the O’s had lost one extra man. The sight of a bloody Nam-gyu shuffling onto Thano’s bed, shaking from the drugs with a frantic, bloodthirsty look in his eyes made your stomach drop. Now, there was no idiotic rapper to take hold of his leash, and you were sure he would want to kill you two after you turned your backs on him twice. 

The cold steel of the fork you took from dinner provided a comforting weight inside your pocket. 

“Se-mi.” She turns towards you.

“Yeah?”

“Sleep on this side tonight, okay?” Your grip on her arm is tight and you know you must look completely shaken by now, but she still gives her signature confident smirk.

“Sure, but you better make it worth my while.”

Your face goes red and you scoff, making her chuckle. God, you’re glad you have someone like this by your side.

—

When the screams begin, you immediately dig into your pocket and pull out your makeshift weapon. You want to call out for her, but you’re terrified that if you make a single noise, you and her will be swarmed by the wolves tearing apart the people all around you. 

Where the fuck are the guards?! No, who are you kidding, of course they would sit by and let you kill each other. Probably the highlight of their night. Under the fear, you feel so much anger and pain at the situation that you can barely focus.  

No-eul’s face flashes in your mind once again but now, you’re beginning to struggle to differentiate her from the other murderers all around you. 

No, no, no. You can’t think that way. She’s not like any of them.

“You traitor bitch!” You turn your head down to look for the familiar voice, and to your utter horror, Nam-gyu is standing right below you. Across from him (and cornered against the wall) is Se-mi. Even with the strobing lights, you can see the intense fear under her angry expression. “I’m gonna fucking gut you!”

When he charges at her, you make one of the easiest choices of your entire life and roll off the side of the bunk. 

You nearly miss your landing, but your fork doesn’t and his scream of pain reveals that instantly. You take both him and yourself to the ground, but your heart is racing and you can still feel him bucking from beneath you, so you don’t get a chance to breathe before yanking the fork out of his shoulder and slamming it back down into the side of his neck. The feeling of it sinking it and spraying your hand with hot blood is sickening beyond belief, but you block out everything except the feeling of his squirming beneath you and raise the metal above your head again. 

You aren’t sure how many times you bring it down on him, but a body colliding into yours knocks you out of your spiral.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Se-mi’s voice barely comprehends in your ears, but you can feel her arms around you clearly. “He’s dead, it’s okay, we’re okay.” Her hand rubs your back soothingly, and only then do you realize there are tears pouring down your cheeks.

Your chest heaves as you openly sob, clinging to her like a lifeline and unintentionally smearing the back of her sweater with Nam-gyu’s blood. You shut out everything but her voice, and even when the guards enter and fire into the air, you don’t find yourself flinching once, simply dropping to the floor still in her arms.

—

When some of the players gun down all the guards in the room, you hide in the corner with Se-mi (who was still whispering comforting words into your ears). You watch as players 120 and 456 take center stage in the room, shutting down the last bits of the riot and forcing the one square-mask guard onto his knees. They call for others to join them, others with military experience or even those with the faintest idea of how to use a gun. 

Of course, you had military experience right alongside No-eul, but the ache in your body and the tight grip Se-mi has on you keeps you from getting up. Your head pounds and spins as your eyes begin trailing around the slaughterhouse of a room. 

Dead people in green, dead people in pink. Your eyes linger on the guards and their triangle-masks, immediately recalling the shape No-eul had on hers. 

What if…

No.

The moment the team of rebels leaves, you go to get up but a tight grip on your forearm drags you right back down. 

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” Her eyes are confused but her voice is just as gentle as it’s been the entire time she sat there combing her fingers through your hair and whispering about how brave you were and how thankful she was. “Talk to me please, what’s wrong?”

“I just need to check something, that’s all.” She doesn’t look satisfied, but Se-mi lets you get up after you give her a brisk hug and a strained smile. 

With a shaky breath, you begin to make your rounds. You can feel the eyes on you as you walk up the first guard and pull off their mask, letting out a quiet sigh of relief at the lack of familiarity in their dead eyes. 

With each one, you grow more and more tense, steeling yourself for the possibility of seeing No-eul’s empty, dead eyes staring back at you. 

It would be the thing that kills you. The loss of your reason to fight in the first place. 

Kneeling down next to the final guard, you can barely breathe as your fingers brush against the edge of their mask. Your hands are shaking so bad and you curse yourself for your sudden lack of strength. You would die if it was her. You would pull that fork out of Nam-gyu’s neck and jam it in your own if it was her. 

Shutting your eyes tightly, you tug it off and let it clatter to the side. Your breathing slows when you peek and immediately recognize the face as belonging to a younger man’s, not your No-eul. 

Please God, give me this one thing and let her live. Let us leave with my blood money and never come back.

—

You can’t even feel joy or disappointment when the rebellion inevitably ends in a whimper. 

456 is dragged in and from a quick glance around the room, you see that 001 and 390 are missing as well. 120 and 388 sit dejectedly not too far away from you, and you can’t help but feel for them; they were people, far stronger than you, that failed to be the heroes. You can’t judge them, you never even considered fighting alongside these brave people in the first place. 

Now that everything has calmed down again and lights-out happens like every other night and not the bloodbath that ensued earlier, you’re far more aware of the sticky feeling of blood on your skin. Your sweater even feels slightly heavier, the entire front of it stained with deep red fluid.

“I-I need to wash this off.” Se-mi, who was almost drifting off next to you, shoots awake and gets up right behind you.

“I’ll come with you.” It’s an unspoken fact that she definitely would, but you’re still happy at the confirmation. 

In the haze of everything that’s occurred, you completely forget that No-eul has been the only reason you’ve been able to get into the bathroom these days, and the only reason she lets you in is because you’re you. So, when you call out and the door opens as usual, you’re confused at her stiff posture. However, after a weird awkward silence, she steps aside to let both you and Se-mi in, almost slamming the door behind you two. 

—

No-eul’s eyes trail you two as you enter the bathroom together, and she can barely control herself from charging in there and kicking 380 out altogether; she had warned you about people like her, so what were you still doing clinging to her side like that? Moreover, seeing the blood practically covering your entire front was like a gut punch. 

She should’ve been there. She should’ve blown the heads off of whoever did that to you. She’s been careless, and she understands that now.

The worst she felt was during the Mingle game. Each time she had been sent in, her breath would hitch and she would hesitate for a few seconds at the entrance, eyes scanning the wide open area for any signs of you. Every single time she failed to spot the number 037 on the clothes of those she shot, a weight would be lifted off of her shoulders. 

After the final round, the room doors had opened just before she was able to leave through the soldier’s door. She takes the chance to search for your kind face, and instead is faced with the sight of you practically hanging off of 380, a lost, soulless look in your eyes. Pain for your sadness mixes with some other ugly emotion, and for a second, she lets herself imagine how your expression would change if she sent a bullet through 380’s heart. 

Would you cry out for that woman, or would you call No-eul’s name out of instinct, like a lost animal begging for comfort?

In the end, she simply leaves with her fellow soldiers, silently cursing herself for such a violent thought. 

—

As you scrub the blood off your face, neck, and hands, you do your best to not let your gaze drift back over to Se-mi. She finishes cleaning up long before you, and you can feel her eyes on you as you scrub away. But no matter how hard you seem to scratch at your hands, the faint red tint just won’t come out. Your breathing grows heavy, and you begin to rub at it harder with the soap. 

Your hands are still red.

The blood from his neck covers your hands, the sounds, the sounds-

“That’s good enough,” a soft voice sounds from beside you, gently taking your hands in hers as you shake.

“No, no, there’s still blood, I-, there’s still…” You turn your hands this way and that, examining them and the red tint you can’t seem to get rid of.

“It’s not blood, you’ve just been rubbing too hard…” She shushes you gently and her thumbs begin tracing circles on your raw palms. “I’m sorry you had to do that, I really am.”

You can only shake your head and press your face in the crook of her neck. It’s a familiar position, one you were in only last night but with a completely different woman. She’s just as soft as No-eul, but she doesn’t wrap her arms around your body and pull you close. Instead, her fingers find the zipper of your bloodied sweater and gently begin to pull it down. The motion makes you back away a little, and she lets your sweater fall to the ground after tugging it off you. 

It’s freeing without the weight of all that blood on you, and your heart swells when she takes off her own jacket to put it on you. This is the kind of care you rarely find yourself receiving, and whenever you did, it was usually by the hand of only one other person. You would have never expected the cocky, confident girl you met two days ago would become this important to you. 

You were right about her. Se-mi was the ever genuine, ever caring woman you hoped she was after your first real conversation together, and you wonder if the world finally decided to go easy on you for once by sending you a beacon of strength in the middle of this hellhole. 

“Thank you, Se-mi,” you breathe out, the feeling of her fingertips grazing the skin of your arms still present long after her hands have dropped back to her side.

She doesn’t respond. Her gaze is still heavy on you, but this time, you hold eye contact and let yourself drown in her eyes. For a split second, you’re sure you see them dart down to your lips, and you think she might just eat you alive with the way she’s examining you.

In an act that surprises even yourself, it’s you who leans forward and presses your lips against hers. Cliche fireworks don’t go off, but the second she reciprocates by grabbing the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, you feel the tension between you two finally reach a high point, and it’s euphoric.

You hold each other with pure, unadulterated desire as one of her hands travel down to your waist, pulling you in. The kiss deepens and somewhere in the back of your mind, you think of No-eul. She was right outside that door, what if you were caught?

What the hell are you thinking about right now?

“You’re beautiful, so perfect,” she whispers, and her words make your heart beat that much faster. “My brave girl.” Se-mi breaks the kiss to press her lips against your neck now instead, drawing a moan from deep in your throat. She’s still holding onto you like her life depends on it. 

Unfortunately, your mind is still whirling and you have to remind yourself once again that you owe No-eul absolutely nothing. She shouldn’t and wouldn’t be angry over you finding someone to love, who loved you in a place like this. Is it wrong to search for comfort when you’re so sure you might die tomorrow? Especially from someone like Se-mi, who has done nothing but protect you and care for you.

Your hands tangle in her hair as she slides a hand beneath your shirt-

“Player 380.”

You spin around as the door slams open, a gruff voice making you jump apart from Se-mi. You shouldn’t feel ashamed, but you do, especially when you can feel No-eul’s eyes trailing up and down your disheveled form, and you know she knows exactly what happened here.

“Get back to the room.” You look down to see her revolver gripped tightly in her hand, as if she’s fighting the urge to lift it.

“Just give us a couple more-”

“Now.” She practically growls out that last word, and you can hear a click in the silent bathroom as she loads her revolver at her side. 

Se-mi is brave, but she’s still smart enough to realize that she’s being threatened and would not win a fight against the taller woman with a loaded gun. WIth her head held high, she takes your hand and begins walking around the guard, but No-eul steps in her way and shakes her head.

“037 stays.” You all pause, and Se-mi grips your hand tighter.

“What? What the fuck are you on about? Just let us go back to the room-”

“She stays. Now get out before I make you.” No-eul takes a step forward, hand raising to point the barrel of the gun in Se-mi’s face. 

It’s difficult to hold herself back when she’s this close to doing what she wants with this random woman who’s begun impeaching on her world. The barrier holding you and No-eul together, apart from everyone else, has been disrupted, and she begins to wonder if you’ll actually hate her if she pulls the trigger now. She wants to, especially hearing you fucking moan for this woman.

Where else has she touched you? 

Her trigger finger twitches. 

“It’s okay, Se-mi,” you whisper, breaking your gaze from No-eul to look over at her. 

First name basis? You really want her to kill this woman.

“Just go, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Se-mi looks at you, confusion apparent in her features, but your face is perfectly calm and even though that disturbs her a little, she accepts it. She’ll trust you to stay alive with this psycho.

“Okay, just call out for me if you need anything.” No-eul scoffs at this, earning a glare from Se-mi before she walks out the bathroom. She spares you one final glance over her shoulder, and with a nod from you, she exits.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?!” You’re practically burning with anger at her behavior, but No-eul ignores your outburst and walks over to the door, turning the latch to lock it before turning back around to look at you. “You think ‘cause you have that mask on you can just go around pointing your gun at everyone?!”

“And what the hell were you doing?” She pulls her mask off, throwing it to the floor before pulling down her face covering. Now, you can actually see the anger simmering beneath her eyes, an accusatory look on her face as she steps closer. “Were you planning on having sex with her or something? This stranger you just met?”

Your face begins to burn for a different reason now.

“That’s… that’s none of your business. I’m a grown woman, I can decide what I want to do or not do.” Your voice is far too unsure and she laughs sarcastically. Running a hand through her sweaty hair, she approaches to stand right in front of you. Your breathing slows as her eyes trail down your face, locking onto the number 380 right above your heart. Her lips curl into a frown and she grabs Se-mi’s sweater, looking like she wanted to burn a hole through the number on your chest. 

To her, it’s a reminder of her failure to protect you as she swore she always would, and now, in the wake of this failure, another person has come along and threatened to take her place - a place in your life she would kill anyone to keep. 

“Take this off,” she breathes out. The air is tense, and you almost want to deny her just to see what she would do, but fuck, she almost looks genuinely hurt and you can’t say no now. 

With your eyes still locked onto hers, you slowly pull the sweater off and let it drop to the ground at your feet. Her eyes are still pinned to your chest, but now you’re so close that you can feel her soft breathing on your face. You swallow harshly and press your face against her shoulder, bunching up her pink tracksuit in your hands as you pull her closer. The feeling of her so close again kills all the tension in your shoulders. This is the safest you’ve felt in 24 hours, and it’s in the arms of a woman who’s been killing people like you the entire time. 

You’re almost a bit ashamed, but what’s wrong with being a bit selfish for once?

You’re shaking in her arms when she pulls back slightly to cup your wet cheeks in her hands. You hadn’t even realized you had started crying again, but now, she’s looking down at your glassy eyes and swollen lips with so much intensity that you forget why you were crying in the first place. Her thumb swipes a tear off your cheek before she leans down, lips brushing against yours. 

“My beautiful girl.”

Finally, nine years after the day you met, she presses her lips against yours and claims you as hers. Faintly, you feel your back collide with the wall behind you as her tongue slips in your mouth. You’re holding onto her suit for dear life as she practically devours you, and you wonder how you were ever angry at this woman. It’s far more intense than the softness you experienced earlier with Se-mi, and you’re beginning to feel the effects of being pent up for so long. 

It’s not like you’ve never had sex with her before (to be fair, it’s only happened once), but this was far too emotional to be compared to the drunken haze you were both in when she fucked you over the seat of her van. There were no kisses shared then, no gentle caress of your face before she took you for herself. 

You’re dragged from your own thoughts when you feel a hand slide under your shirt and bra, gasping into her mouth as a cold hand cups your breast, roughly pinching your nipple between two fingers. You whimper right into her ear as her lips move down to your neck, sucking and biting as you openly pant. She’s practically surrounded you by now, but it’s not enough. 

With trembling hands, you grab the zipper of her pink suit and yank it down to reveal her slender body underneath. She practically tears the black turtleneck underneath the suit off as you stare. Your fingers scratch down her toned torso and you drink in the wonderful groan that leaves her mouth. As you’re preoccupied, she tugs on the hem of your sweatpants, pulling them down right along with your panties in one pull. 

Faintly, as her hands grip the plush of your thighs, you try to determine if you’ve ever felt such strong feelings of desire, of love, of anything with anybody. 

No, you’re sure you’ve felt this before. 

Your eyes shoot open as she calls your name. Somewhere in the haze, No-eul has dropped to her knees in front of you, and now, she’s looking at you like you hold the world in your hands.

“Do you still love me?” A pause, and her fingers press harder into your thigh, cold leather gloves long forgotten on the floor. “Can you still accept me?”

Every moment that you remember being so close to that overwhelming emotion, No-eul is right there next to you. 

“I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

A tear falls from her pained eyes, but you aren’t given the opportunity to wipe it away before she leans forward and presses her open mouth against your core. A gasp leaves your mouth and you immediately tangle your fingers in her short hair. It’s a bit too much to take in all at once - the woman you’ve loved for years is fucking you, and this time, you think she might actually love you back.

No, who are you kidding, you know she loves you. Maybe not as much as you love her, but she has to love you if she’s on her knees like this for you.

With the comfort of this knowledge, you lean your head back and lose yourself in the feeling of her tongue deep inside you, strong hands holding you still against the wall even if your legs feel like giving out. As your moans and pants fill the room, you beg internally that Se-mi isn’t waiting right outside the door to walk you back (or at least let the sound-proofing be decent). 

Unsurprisingly, after a couple years without any genuine intimacy with anyone (you couldn’t bear to let anyone fuck you after No-eul did), you reach your peak quickly. It doesn’t feel like some triumphant moment; your legs shake as the tight coil in your stomach unwinds and it’s satisfying to some extent, but you can’t stop the sudden rush of tears that follow. 

Why did your acceptance of your feelings for her have to come in a place like this - covered in the blood of someone you killed with your own two hands? 

Your legs finally give out in your grief, but she’s quick to catch you, leaning back to properly sit down on the floor as she carefully guides you onto her lap. For a moment, you just tuck your head in her neck and cry as a hand gently rubs your back. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” No-eul whispers, caught up in her own guilt for leading you down the same hateful path she accepted long ago. Why did you have to love her? Why did you have to follow her road towards self-destruction, the one she vowed to shield you from?

You want to tell her that she has nothing to be sorry about because you chose all of this on your own, but you can’t bring yourself to speak. You’re worried that if you open your mouth now, all you’ll do is start spouting nonsense about how much you love her and how much of your humanity you would forsake to protect her dream. 

Instead of further exposing yourself, you gently take the hand she’s kept on your waist and guide it down lower once again. To her credit, she understands right away and you’re given no time to prepare for the two long, slender fingers she pushes inside you. The sound of your sharp inhale right next to her ear must’ve been enough confirmation that you were okay, because she immediately starts moving them up and down inside you, rubbing gently against your still sensitive walls. 

Your hands wrap around her back and grip her shoulders as your hips begin to move in tandem with her hands, your heavy breathing a stark contrast against her soft one. The hand she had on your back is still there, soothing you until your tears turn from ones of sadness to ones of pleasure. 

As the high you’re chasing starts to get closer, you tear your nails down her back. Even though she’s still the same person as she was minutes ago, something feels different this time.

“Please don’t stop, please-”

“I won’t, I swear.” The hand on your back flies down to grip your hips to hold you steady as your movements grow more frantic. “I’ll never let you go, not for anything.”

You almost fall forward when she suddenly leans back, but you catch yourself on her shoulders once again. This time, she looks you square in the eyes as she pushes you over the edge, her gaze filled with an emotion you know too well.

“I love you,” she breathes out, and this is all you need to fall apart in her hands. “I’m in love with you, I can’t let you go, I won’t.”

In the afterglow of the moment, she wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you right up against her body.

“Even if you can’t love me anymore, I’ll continue holding onto you for the rest of my life.”

You smile at her words. You feel more content than you ever have before.

It wouldn’t be so bad to die in this place now.

—

A/N: my bad min-su fans and nam-guy fans, its for the plot y'all😭😭also if im being completely honest, I started writing writing this longass story just for smut with no-eul but it got so unexpectedly deep cuz I couldn't handle writing it with no build-up or emotional tension or ANYTHING

hope y'all enjoyed and LOL to the fellow FREAKS out there I hope the smut was alright cuz that was the most difficult part for me... LMK WHAT U THINK!! pt. 3 is coming in SEVEN MONTHS LMFAO😭😭😭SEASON 3 SAVE ME... SAVE ME SEASON 3

also if u request feel free to add details and stuff I might be able to build it into a longass story like this (but WOW this took too long) also I LOVE TO WRITE SAD SHT!!! SEND ME SAD SHT ILL LOVE IT!!

Taglist: @asvterias

[ribbonskiss]

THE LEANOVER → OP81

Part 2 of 2. Read Part 1 here.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: You come home on uni break to find your brother’s best friend, Oscar, is visiting. You both fall back into old habits, but some things are not the same.

Tags: brother’s best friend, friends to lovers, slow burn, SMUT (18+), masturbation, Jack Doohan is from Melbourne in this one for logistical reasons, not proofread at all hah

A/N: finally!!! The end of The Leanover!!!! Sorry for the extended deadline, this one turned out chunkier than I expected and honestly I don’t know if I’m quite satisfied with it but it is what it is. Anyway, enjoy!

Oscar is a handsome boy. This is a fact you find to be so uncontroversial it may as well be accepted as a universal truth. There has never been a time where girls did not whisper amongst themselves when he would enter a room, where the mothers of his friends would not rave with great emphasis to his about how strong and handsome he’d become, where his presence at a function did not brighten up the place, because not only is he handsome, he is beautiful. Beautiful people are magnetic, you think; their beauty lies in their nature, their fundamental quality of supernatural grace, a gift bestowed by the forces that be towards the lucky few.

You recall his last year of high school. You were sixteen, still growing into your body and learning how to use a felt-tip eyeliner pen. Teenagers are fascistic about social hierarchy; they are greatly cognisant of their standings in the high school pecking order, intensely anal about preserving the rigidity of the structure, and thus you had long accepted your status as the forgotten sibling. Oscar and your brother were athletes, students with clout attached to their names; you were awkward, unaware of your own intensity, intimidating to a fault, but more than happy to lay low. Two individuals of such different standings in the social order should never interact—but for the first (and only) time you were now going to the same house parties and birthday bashes, and here was the greatest display of Oscar’s beauty. You can never forget that image: the figure of him standing on the other side of the room, so broad-shouldered and trim, freckles of sun damage littered over his skin all the way down his neck like constellations, his head turned away from you to reveal his chiselled jaw as he speaks to someone while holding a can of Reschs. And suddenly his eyes would meet yours, catching you in the act, and he’d give you a gentle smile.

You were always so grateful for this. So grateful he would look your way and beam so brightly, a glimpse of his inner calmness, his quiet gentle bliss. You were never under the impression you were the only one to be so blessed by his grace; you were just happy to be around him. Sometimes when he would come over, sprawl himself over your couch or lay on the floor, pissing himself laughing at your brother’s antics into the late hours of the night, you’d ask yourself whether you should feel guilty for being the only witness to this part of his life. This secret of his: that Oscar is so much more beautiful than most people will ever know. Not his fans, not his colleagues, not the majority of the world. This is between you and him.

And now you have him all to yourself. A bit greedy, isn’t it? The past week you’ve spent together has been nothing short of lovely. You find out that he’s strangely disciplined. Oscar’s a dutiful housemate, doing the chores you even forget about without the need to be prompted, unlike most guys his age. He likes to hum to himself when he’s got the vacuum going and he thinks you can’t hear him butcher the tune of “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel. He’s a good cook who prefers careful measurement over eyeballing. He doesn’t read books like you do, but he’s happy to lie on the couch all day and watch a show with you on the telly. And he’s surprisingly touchy—he seems most pleased when you’re both on the couch, your legs crossed and stretched out, resting on top of his, his hand on your foot, thumb rubbing circles into your skin. You don’t speak during these moments. Nothing needs to be said; things just sort themselves out.

At some point in the afternoon you get tired, yawning to yourself, and without even needing to look at you Oscar reaches over, tugs at your arm to tell you wordlessly to turn around. You oblige; your head against his chest, his fingers trail up your forearm to your shoulders and, eventually, the back of your neck, smoothing over the soft, fine hairs that reside there. You’re too tired to mind the goosebumps the feeling of his fingertips on your skin gives you, or the increasing thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat underneath you. You shift in his arms, folding your legs up in a way that makes the hem of your shorts ride up, exposing the curve of your thighs all the way up towards the swell of your—well… It would be so uncouth for him to look there.

It never occurs to either of you that the hardest part of the process is done. The feeling returns: the feeling that arises in you when he looked at you from across the room at those parties all those years ago. The feeling of knowing that person so incredibly well. Of sharing a secret together, and letting that secret grow bigger and bigger until it takes on a life of its own. Of sharing that life together. These things do just sort themselves out, but you would never know until you speak of it.

You are growing increasingly needy. There’s no other way to put it. You’re fucking dying. The heat of the dry, punishing Australian summer is starting to get to you, even with how skimpy your attire has gotten, and having him around twenty-four seven is starting to feel more like divine punishment than intervention. You were wrong all along: Oscar is not an angel, but a demon sent to terrorise you all your life until you give in and the Devil can steal your soul for all of eternity.

He works out every other day. That’s at least three days where he’ll disappear into another room in the afternoon for hours, slips right out just to slip into the bathroom, and then waltz back into the living room as if nothing has happened. But something has happened.

Oscar has a very basic wardrobe at home. He likes his soft, mild colours—dark greys and soft whites, beige tones, navy and olives… It’s very on brand for him, yes. And here he is again, today, emerging from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following him out the door as he runs a hand through his slightly damp hair. He’s wearing a crisp heather grey t-shirt, fresh from the pile of laundry you’d folded yesterday. The sleeves can barely withstand the size of his biceps; he’s just gotten new dumbbells in. And god, the smell of his skin, the musk of him mixed with the soft clean scent of soap still radiating off of him. It’s like crisp hot white bedsheets, fresh out the dryer, already crumpling under the weight of two lovers, bodies sticky from tangling into each other; like soft detergent left out in the garden, where the grass is freshly cut, and the warm sun hits your skin.

This is as close to a primal urge as it will ever get for you. The first few times you could just tell yourself to look away, but now the smell of him is unavoidable, overwhelms your senses, and lights your entire body on fire. You stick your nose into your book the entire time and pray he goes away. Oscar retreats into the kitchen and wonders if your book is really so good that you’d be that engrossed by it. He’ll have to start reading again soon.

“The worst thing a woman can do,” you say, hand in the air with great feeling, “is be cut down in her prime by a man.”

Three beers in and you’re starting up your great tirade already. Oscar watches with an amused smile as he sits on the grass, green Peroni bottle in hand. “I know it sounds so pathetic and untrue, but it is true,” you continue, pacing back and forth with a giggle. “It’s true! I’m so much better off now. No offence, Osc, you’re one of the good ones.”

“I’m very flattered.”

“You should be,” you nod.

He reaches over and grabs a fresh beer from the esky, flicks the cap off with the belt he’s taken off, and hands it to you. You thank him; “just trying to stay in your good graces, missy,” he chuckles.

You sigh, taking a swig of it as you look up to the sky. “Frankly, I’m glad that part of my life is over already,” you say. “I’m not happy to admit it, but for a long time, I had just thought of myself as undesirable. Invisible.”

Oscar furrows his eyebrows with great concern, an ocean tide of emotion threatening to wash over him. “Impossible.”

“Possible,” you nod, with a bitter smile that’s less regretful than accepting of your past. “You know. Surely you remember.”

Of course he does. He remembers every little thing, because they’re not little to him. He remembers it all, how he’d scare off sleazy, drunken boys from approaching you at parties. Even after he graduated, the threat remained: you mess with her, you mess with Oscar Piastri, the F1 big shot. Boys never looked your way because of that; he used to hold you by the end of the party, sitting on the porch of whatever house you’re at, you latching onto him in your drunken half-slumber, both of you silently wallowing in your desires. Drowning, suffocating in each other’s warmth. Then he’d stay over at your house and wait until your brother fell asleep to press his ear against the wall, listening to your muffled sobbing. You were always too eager to suffer alone, to make a martyr of yourself and accept the cards you had been dealt.

But you stand tall now, a soft smile on your face suggesting a great deal of growth. It’s what he’s always found so beautiful in you. Beauty, he thinks, lies in the spirit, an ability to have infinite love and bliss in the face of the frustrations of one’s life. You are a complete soul, whole in ways he may never be, capable of learning to love over and over again and of light-heartedness in the face of turmoil. He knows he cannot truly achieve this because you are his Achilles’ heal. He cannot bear to think of you off on your own without him, doing things with other slimy ratty boys, going places he may never know of. Having a life without him in it. Oscar frowns; had he been too selfish in denying you all your opportunities? You had graduated high school without losing your virginity, without ever being in a relationship, and he wasn’t sure your first kiss would even count as a kiss. He can’t imagine how much that must’ve crushed you—and he was away, far away on his stupid little racing circuits instead of being at home, comforting you, as he should’ve been.

You wave it all off, as if you could hear his thoughts. “Well, I’ve done all of it now anyway, and I’m happy to report that it’s not for me.”

He cocks up an eyebrow. “And what exactly is ‘it,’ Tiny?”

“The hookup thing,” you shrug.

Oscar’s chest feels like it could explode; cold flashes wash all over him. “Oh?”

You playfully shush him. “Don’t tell my family, okay?” you chuckle. “But, yes. I tried it. It was good, until it wasn’t. Very quickly I realised I’m kinda, like, spiritually forty. I need to stretch in the mornings and tuck in by eleven.”

“And kick-ons aren’t until at least one,” he tuts. “You’re always been a sleepy girl.”

“That is true,” you nod, taking another sip of your Peroni. “Anyway, it was worth it, at the very least just to get it all out of my system. I’m very comfortably single now.”

The sky is darker than it should be. The sun has already tucked itself away, and it’s not even evening time yet. “You know, it’s so cliché,” you continue. “That Sally Rooney quote, it’s just like that. I went to uni and got pretty. And all of a sudden men saw me—I mean, I was pretty much invisible before. Before in school, when you and my brother were still around, guys used to do this stupid, horrible thing where they wouldn’t speak to me, they’d just speak to you instead. Even when the topic was about me. Well, no one knows I grew up with Oscar Piastri when I’m at ANU. I’m just me, and I’ve got a nice haircut and a decent rack of tits. And they see me, they see me now and I realise now that they’re all just sort of stupid. I’m very sorry, Oscar, but boys are stupid.”

“No need to apologise,” he snickers softly. It makes you smile a little wider. “But surely they were not all so bad?”

“No, I really don’t know how to pick ‘em. They really were all that bad,” you chuckle, eyes creasing as your cheeks push up in laughter. “Think the best one might’ve been the guy I lost my virginity to.”

Oscar’s eyes widen. He hums, pretends to be normal about it. “Tell me more,” he says.

You nod and oblige. “It was early in the school year. I went on four dates with him,” you start. “He seemed right on paper. Double major, worked for a diplomat, spoke two languages and was well-travelled. Maybe a bit pedestrian in his taste in music and films, but it didn’t bother me so much. We talked okay. He knew what to do, how to be courteous, held doors open and shit—I didn’t know what the whole dating thing was meant to be like, and I was easily impressed. He took me back to his after the fourth date and we listened to his vinyls: corny 70s Greatest Hit compilations and his favourite Kanye albums.”

You take a break, pulling out a thing of lip balm and unscrewing the cap before squeezing it out. “He told me he used to take ballroom lessons for some weird high school thing he did, and he twirled me in his arms, and it made me feel so light and small and girlish that I felt like I was floating.” Your finger spreads the balm over your lips, the feeling cool and tingly on your skin. “He told me I was funny. He kissed me, and his stubble was so sharp and gritty against my skin that it gave me traction acne the day after. He held my hand the whole time. He was an awful kisser. Just kept jamming his tongue in. But it was sweet enough. No one’s first time is good, anyway.”

Oscar tries to swallows down the lump stuck in his throat. His fingers and toes are tingling, chest tight and contracting still. You take another swig. “I’ve had too many of these,” you say.

“You’ve had three, Tiny.”

“That’s more than enough for me,” you shrug, yawning as you set the bottle down on the wooden table outside in your garden. “I think I’d better fuck off to bed now. Sleep tight, Osc.”

He doesn’t sleep in your brother’s bed that night. No, he takes out the spare mattress again and drapes the spare velvet blanket over himself, because he could never forgive himself if he jerked off in his best friend’s bed to the thought of his best friend’s sister. No, there would be no good excuse for that, but tonight is one of those nights where a man simply cannot hold himself back anymore. The alcohol is still burning in his stomach; when Oscar shuts his eyes, all he can see is these elaborate images crafted by his mind’s eye of you, placed in all the scenarios you’d described to him, only replacing that dirty fucker was him, being so gentle and delicate and loving, just how you deserve it. It should have been him there instead to do it all right; it is true that losing one’s virginity is often an awkward affair, his own experience was no less lousy, but if anyone were to have a perfect instance of it it should be you. Oscar can see it all now, how he’d go about it. Holding onto your soft curves as he pushes himself in slowly, the little gasps that would escape your honey-sweet mouth, so warm and wet on his lips. He would die happy, he thinks to himself, as his hand roughly palms his length, hair dampening from sweat in the blistering summer night heat. Cicadas sing outside his window; he heaves wildly, chest rising and falling dramatically as his hand gets slicker with each stroke. He had no idea he could even leak that much.

Thank god you’re sound asleep. He grips tightly onto the soft blanket, balling it in his fist as his eyes shut again tightly, the guttural noise he lets out much louder than he intended. Then Oscar collapses; his limbs go slack, heart beating out of his chest still as he lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, hand now sticky with his spent. The mattress is damp with his sweat. If he wasn’t before, he’s royally fucked now.

Your parents called; they’ll be home on Christmas Eve, but only in the afternoon, and they’re picking your brother up as well. Which means the two of you have some shopping to do; the house should be looking festive in time for their arrival. Oscar pushes the shopping cart, following you deep into the maze that is Kmart. He helps you haul the Christmas tree box in and out of his car. And he watches as you pull its branches down, giving it shape before littering it with baubles and tinsel. And when it comes time to finish the tree, you look him with bright eyes. He smiled at you, takes the Angel Gabriel out of your hands and places it on top of the tree carefully. You put on your silly little Santa hats and poorly bake gingerbread men.

You never end up throwing the rager Oscar jokingly suggested, but you do hold a small get-together after running into some old schoolmates at the shops. So it turns out that a few girls you used to do drama class with are in town, and of course anyone Oscar invites is going to show up—he’s Oscar fucking Piastri—so here you are, with a decent turnout of people currently congregated in the back garden and the living room. You’re thankful enough of them showed up on such short notice, with Christmas Eve only a few days away, and you’re thankful everyone seems to have gotten more civil and mature since you’ve left school.

The doorbell rings more than once, and you peel yourself off of the couch to go answer it, Balter tinnie in hand now that you’re all out of Peronis. Your eyes widen once you fling the door open, revealing a familiar face, standing with a smile on his face and a couple guys behind him.

“Surprise,” Jack chuckles.

“Doohan in the flesh,” you quip with a smile. “You cheeky boy. Since when were you in town?”

“Since yesterday,” he shrugs, and the guys behind him file past you into the house at the sight of some of their mates. “Heard you were throwing a thing with Big Shot Oscar. Hope you don’t mind that I’m crashing—I come bearing gifts.”

You shake your head. “Of course not, no, I’m glad to see you,” you say, though you sigh at the sight of the twelve-pack he’s got in his hands. “Mate, Strong Zero? It’s not that kind of party.”

“Some of us can handle our liquor,” Jack laughs, putting the pack in your arms before smoothing his hair back. “Don’t spoil the fun for the rest of us.”

You roll your eyes, turning your back to him as you walk down the hallway back to the kitchen. “Congratulations, by the way,” I say. “I’m glad to see two of our finest graduates succeeding.”

“I can tell. You’re beaming, clearly,” he jokes, following you in. “It was never in doubt for Oscar, anyway, so I think I deserve a bigger congratulations for making it, no?”

You peel apart the drink packaging, the tins of drink coming loose on the kitchen counter. “Let me get this straight: you want me to be more proud of you for being a worse driver than Oscar?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I’m just repeating your words, Jack-Jack.”

“Never said I was a worse driver,” he snickers, shaking his head as he folds his arms over his chest. “You snuck that in yourself. But I always knew you were biased, so I won’t take offence to that, Tiny.”

You turn over your shoulder, glaring at him. Dramatically, he throws his hands up in a display of surrender, but your conversation is cut short.

“Well, well, well,” Oscar grins, strolling into the kitchen and approaching Jack with wide arms. “Fancy seeing you here, F1 driver.”

“Fancy seeing you here, F1 driver,” Doohan beams, dapping Oscar up before pulling him into a hug. “How you been, mate, good?”

“Nah, yeah,” Oscar chuckles, glancing back to you with a smile. “It’s been a splendid break for me. You been good? Didn’t realise you were back.”

“Yeah, just landed yesterday,” Jack nods, a hand on the back of his neck. “Heard you two were doing a thing, thought I’d be jet lagged out of my mind but nah. Wouldn’t miss this.”

You notice Jack’s a little taller than Oscar, who’s having to tilt his head up a little. “Appreciate you showing up, mate,” the older one says. “I’m gonna go catch up with some of your mates, but stick around, yeah?”

“Absolutely, man,” the younger one says with a smile. “Good seeing you again.”

Then Oscar leaves, fingers gliding over the skin of your cheek in passing, a gentle action of tenderness, as if to say goodbye wordlessly. Doohan wiggles his eyebrows. “What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” you exclaim, eyes avoiding his gaze as you snatch a Strong Zero for yourself.

“That,” he presses on, finger extended now to point to where Oscar had put his hand on your cheek. “The little hand-cheek-look thing. The fuck? Do you have something to tell me, pal?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Please mate, just be normal—”

“Don’t gaslight me,” Jack says, as stern as he can be.

“He’s been living in my home!” you gasp. “Of course we’re a little close!”

“Living in your home—”

“Not by choice,” you roll your eyes. “Just—my family’s all out of town right now. He’s kind of all I have at the moment.”

“Agh!” Jack groans, smacking himself on the forehead. “Genius move. Fuck, I should’ve locked you two in a room myself years ago—”

You put the tin back onto the counter and slowly turn to face him. “Excuse me?”

He frowns. “Oh, man,” he pouts. “You don’t mean to tell me you two are still doing the thing?”

“What thing?” you furrow your eyebrows.

“You know, the thing,” he says, eyes innocent and wide as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “The weird game you two play. I thought you guys would have gotten over it already.”

Your breath hitches in your chest, making you stammer and go red in the face as your confusion worsens. Jack notices this. “What, you really don’t know?”

“No, Jack, I do not,” you manage to breathe out. “Please, enlighten me.”

He shakes his head, lets out a strange chuckle as he leans back against the wall, having taken a tinnie off the counter. “This would be funny if it weren’t so tragic,” he starts, grimacing. “Oscar used to push guys on the soccer team around for talking about you. He’d go silent whenever you were around and get clammy in the hands. He got weird whenever he’d even hear your name. And I’m sure I don’t have to list out your incriminating actions.”

Needless to say you’re taken aback by this. Eyes wide and blank, you look at him with shock as your mind oscillates between delight and horror, hand resting on your chest as if your heart needs the help. Jack sighs, and after a moment of tense silence he speaks again. “I take it that’s enough proof for you.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“We thought you knew,” he shrugs. “And it wouldn’t have been my place to meddle, and also, it was kind of amusing to watch.”

You scoff bitterly. “Amusing.”

“Well, not so much now,” Doohan nods.

Silence fills the kitchen again, the chatter outside quiet against the deafening quietness inside. “You do like him, don’t you?” he asks earnestly.

You don’t answer, but all he has to do is look at your solemn face and see the emotions threatening to spill out of you. He comes closer, puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey. Just take your time, mate.”

You nod, but you hear Oscar’s distinct timbre in the distance, speaking rapidly to someone. You turn your head and see him standing in the living room near the couch, and then—like magnets—he seems to feel your eyes raking over his figure, and meets your gaze as his head turns a little. Suddenly you’re sixteen again. He’s smiling at you like he used to, so fondly and sweetly, all the way from another room. Everything has changed but this feeling is the same. Oscar nods his head gently, as if to tell you ‘I’m doing okay over here, and I hope you are too,’ and you realise he’s dropped out of his conversation now just to look at you. He has always done this.

The hard part is over, but you didn’t know until it was spoken of.

You sweep the crushed cans off the table and into the garbage bag, back starting to hurt from all the cleanup you’ve had to do. Thank the lord they all left early; you haven’t been able to enjoy yourself fully since that talk with Doohan. Since then his words have just been eating away at you the whole night, but you can speak to Oscar just fine, you think. You’re trying your best, at least.

“Jesus, have the lights always been this bright?” he says, and by the way he’s stumbling onto the couch and slurring his words a little, he’s probably more tipsy than he’d like to admit.

You shake your head, turning around to face him. The cans inside the bag you’re holding clank against one another. “Fun night?”

“Not particularly,” he says, eyes shutting as he throws an arm over his face, lying down flat on the couch. “Just, those fucking Strong Zeroes, man.”

“I told Doohan he shouldn’t have!”

“He really shouldn’t have.” Oscar groans, eyes shutting tighter as he tries to push his face into the couch, and you chuckle before going back to cleaning up, moving towards the pile of cans on the kitchen island.

“Don’t leave,” you hear him say behind you.

You turn around, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What?” you say. “I’m not. I’m just going into the kitch—”

“No,” he whines quietly, muffled by the fabric of the couch. “That’s too far. Stay.”

You stand still, still holding the bag in your hand, visibly confused.

“We should always be in the same room,” he continues. “I don’t want to be away from you.”

You flush at his words. You’re not sure if he quite grasps the implications of what he’s saying, but you chalk it all up to his current state—surely he’s just a clingy drunk. You put the garbage bag down against the wall, approaching the couch as he pulls his legs back to make room for you.

You sit down. “Are you feeling alright, Osc?”

“No,” he replies, too quickly for your liking. Oscar shuffles back onto his back, eyes still shut as his tone is reduced to grumbling. “I had this really awful thought the other day that we’re so far apart. I’m off doing my races and now you’re off at uni doing whatever.”

You cock your head to the side, clearly about to protest, but he starts up again. “I just want to know what you’re doing all the time,” he admits. “And how you’re feeling. I miss you all the time, and I wanna know you’re okay.”

“Oscar,” you frown, putting a hand on his arm tenderly. “If you want to stay in touch more, of course we can—”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t want to stay in touch. I wanna be with you.”

You pull your arm back. He winces, missing your touch. “Tiny, this must sound so crazy.”

“No,” you assure him, though you’re struggling to comprehend his words. “I just don’t know what you me—”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your blood runs cold even as your stomach shatters and explodes into a million butterflies that feel hot like lava inside of your body. “I know it must sound so crazy,” Oscar chuckles bitterly. “I know it must be so crazy…”

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think it’s crazy. I just, I wonder how you’ll feel in the morning.”

“It’s not the alcohol.”

He opens his eyes only to look at you, pupils darting around slowly to find you, the only soothing sight when the lights are still killing him. Oscar smiles a little at your familiar face. “I spoke to Doohan,” he explains.

“Ah,” you mumble, flushing. Of course he did.

He pauses a bit, tries to find the courage to speak again. He finds it in how your eyes seem to shine a little brighter where you’re sitting, mesmerised by how beautiful you are tonight. “He’s right, you know. I feel a bit silly, or stupid rather, like I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“Well,” you chuckle timidly, looking down at your hands. “I would have some explaining to do myself, too.”

Oscar smiles to himself. He takes a moment to catch his breath; he didn’t even realise he’d been holding it in this whole time. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that.”

At his words, you look up to meet his eyes again, to see how he’s smiling now, and it makes your chest expand with warmth, heart pumping fast. “I’ll feel the same in the morning,” he says, sitting up clumsily now just to look at your face better. He doesn’t want to look away ever again. “I promise you that. I’ve felt this way since forever—I just didn’t know the word for it yet.”

Your eyes widen just a little more at his words; you don’t recognise the inexplicable feeling that’s captured your body, but you think this is what he means. The thing he didn’t know the word for. But you know the word for it now.

“I think I love you too,” you say.

Oscar lets out a quiet noise of relief. He finds your hand in your lap, takes it in his, and just holds it. You look at each other for a long while, taking in the details of one another’s faces. “You don’t look a day over seven,” you chuckle, and it makes him grin softly.

“That’s alright. Did you feel then how you feel about me now?” he asks.

“I think you sealed the deal when you helped me get up on my feet after falling off the slide,” you quip with a smile, and he squeezes your hand a little approvingly.

“You remember that.”

“The little things aren’t little to me, either,” you say, and his heart soars at your words. Oscar can’t resist it anymore; he tugs on your hand a little and pulls you into his arms, hands latching onto your waist as he holds you tightly. You fall into each other like magnets. It just feels right, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but nothing in this world is truly given this way. You had been working for it your entire life, but you’re only knowing this now.

His lips hover over your cheek, and it makes you shiver, but it shouldn’t be like this. “I don’t want our first kiss to be when you’re drunk,” you tell him, pulling away from his flushed face. “It’s… You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. It just has to be right.”

Oscar swallows dryly, but he nods. “You’re right,” he says, with a gentle smile that tells you he’s being sincere. “You’re right. Not like this.”

He pulls you in again, holding you even tighter this time. You feel his heart beating out of his chest against yours, his warm breath against your skin, the warm his arms keep contracting as if he’s afraid to let you go. A warm waft of air filters through the window, left ajar, and swirls around the two of you, bodies now entangled. Neither of you can find a reason to leave, so you don’t. You never end up cleaning the kitchen that night.

The sun’s starting to filter through your blinds now, and you know you have no excuse to stay in bed anymore, but you don’t have the heart to wake him up. Your brother’s bedroom is probably collecting dust already; ever since that night, Oscar’s been sleeping in your bed now, and you both sleep so much better with a cuddle buddy by your side. He likes to be big spoon, but he’s happy to hold you face to face as well, duh! Why would he upset with getting to see your face, eyes shut so peacefully in slumber? He likes to wake up before you because of this, just so he can catch a glimpse of you so soft and pliable in his arms, comfortably happily asleep, but today you’re the one who wakes up first, stirred awake by the birds chirping outside your window.

You try to slip out of his grasp, but he just tightens his arms around you, furrowing his eyebrows in his sleep. You try again and he does it again, this time with a grumbling noise that makes you chuckle.

“Oscar,” you smile, press a gentle kiss onto his forehead. “They come home today.”

“So?” he grumbles back, eyes still shut as he pulls you in, tucking your head under his chin. “What’s it got to do with us?”

“We’ve got to make them brekky, babe,” you chuckle. You press a kiss to his neck now, before deciding you can’t really resist littering them all over his skin. “They’ll be starving by the time they get here.”

Oscar makes a strange, hushed noise. “Well, doing that certainly won’t get me out of bed.”

You’re confused, but then you realise something’s been pressing up against your thigh, worsened by how he keeps pulling you back into his arms. “Oh my god, Osc,” you yelp. “Just from a few kisses?”

“And maybe a very good dream,” he mumbles back. If he were awake, he’d surely be laughing, pleased with himself.

“You dirty, dirty pervert,” you snicker, but you’re tutting at him in a way that sends a tingle down his spine, and your fingers inching down the trail on his stomach is making him shiver. “You’re shameless.”

“Yeah, but something tells me you like it,” he says, but he can barely finish the sentence before you tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, shimmying them down. His length springs free; your eyes beam a little too brightly at the sight of it, making him laugh.

“Someone’s eager.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been dreaming about riding you into the bed for actual years,” you chuckle, long fingers wrapping around him. “You look delicious in the morning, you know that? All sleepy and dishevelled. It’s very sexy, Osc.”

“Ah?” he says, a moan disguised as a word. Your hand starts to move and he can barely hold himself back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your mouth is hovering over his cock now, warm breath making him shiver before your tongue makes contact with his tip, swirling all around the head in a way that makes his eyes roll back. “Holy shit,” you hear him mutter to himself, and you smile as you drag your tongue all over the length of him.

“Babe, I love the teasing,” he breathes out. “But I don’t think I can quite take it this morning.”

You hum to yourself, biting back a cheeky smile as a thought pops up in your head. “You know, you’re right,” you say. “We’re running on a tight schedule. And we could use something that saves time, so… if you’re getting head, you could give it too, no?”

Oscar’s face lights up at your words. “You wanna sit on my face? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.”

“Fuckin’ hell, any day of the week, missy.”

With that, he puts his hands on your head and pulls you up for a kiss that deepens into a little more. His lips are soft, mouth hot and wet; you feel yourself dampen a little against the cotton of your panties, something he feels too as his hands travel all the way down to your ass, fingers reaching past the fabric of your shorts inside to find the wet patch growing at your cunt. Your fingers hook into the waistband of both layers, tugging them off eagerly as he steadies his hands on your hips again. You turn around, and now Oscar’s got your pussy hovering right over his face. He think he’s salivating at the sight of it. Is that too crude? Jesus christ, it’s just so much fucking better than he could have ever imagined, waking up with you by his side, having the girl of all of his dreams with him now, eating your pussy first thing in the morning.

“You’re not so tiny anymore, hey? You’re a big girl now.”

You flush at his words. “Just get to it, Piastri.”

He needs no further encouragement, hands on your hips pulling you down to his face, tongue flicking a long stripe all the way down your cunt. You cry out at the sudden contact, and you realise very soon that he is very good at what he is doing, soft wet tongue sliding between your folds carefully, lips wrapping gently around your sensitive clit, hands gripping onto the meat of your ass, an action that signifies a clinginess you’d never know from how soft-spoken he is. He eats you out like a hungry man, lapping up the wetness that soaked your panties before eagerly. When you wrap your lips around his cock, taking all of him in until he hits the back of your throat, it makes him groan against your pussy, and it feels so strangely good that you keep throating him just like that every once in a while, just to feel him shift underneath you and thrust into your mouth a little. He wants to be gentle with you so badly, and he is, but he just can’t resist it when you’re doing that.

“Fuck, babe,” Oscar gasps out, pulling away as his fingers continue to rub at your clit. “If you keep doing that thing, I won’t last very long.”

You can tell by his tone he’s slightly embarrassed about taking such little time to get there. “We’ll get there together, I promise,” you say. “Just—ah!—keep using your fingers.”

He smiles, happy to oblige. This time he dips a finger inside you, tongue now swirling around your clit as his finger curls, finding that cushiony spot inside you that makes your back arch a little. There it is. He slips another finger in, tongue flicking fast against you, fingers pumping at a steady pace as you suck his cock sloppily, drool pooling at the base, fingers still wrapped around his length, lazily moving up and down. It’s all too much for the both of you, both moaning and whimpering against one another as your bodies start to get more and more sensitive, responding to each motion with a little more volume. Your back arches, his hips thrust; you know you’re both getting to that climax.

“Babe, fuck—”

“I know,” you gasp, a long mewl drawing out of you as his fingers, soaked in your slick now, keep thrusting in and out of you. “I’m—hah—almost there, too.”

He nods his head eagerly and latches his wet mouth back onto you, eating you out desperately as his hips start to move on their own, filling your mouth and muffling your increasing cries of pleasure as your eyes shut and roll back.

“I can’t take it,” he moans loudly. “Babe, I—oh my god!”

Just as Oscar starts to flood your mouth, you collapse onto him as your orgasm washes over you, leaving you breathless, body slack and limp. “Jesus,” you heave out, flipping onto your back off of him, swallowing all of his load down your throat. The sight of it makes him whimper. You take a good look at him; he’s got your slick all over his face, glistening from his lips down to his chin.

“Christ, I made a mess of you,” you chuckle, embarrassed, but he seems proud of himself.

“A souvenir, yeah?” He jokes, and you push his chest, rolling your eyes, but he pulls you into his arms. “God, that was fuckin’ amazing. You’re fuckin’ amazing.”

You pull the duvet back up over the both of you as you lie down once again, resting your head on his chest now as you look up at him with a smile. You wipe at his mouth with your hand. “There.”

“Aw,” he frowns playfully. “I quite liked it.”

“You fuckin’ pervert,” you say, going to push his chest again but he catches your arm with his hand.

“Don’t get feisty,” Oscar chuckles, shaking his head before pecking you on the forehead. “Let’s just lay here for a bit. And you know, I’ve been thinking.”

Your finger traces shapes on the freckled skin of his bare chest. “About what?”

“About you, coming to see me,” he says. “You know… I was thinking, maybe you could schedule your classes with me in my mind? You know, money’s not an issue. Transport, accommodation, passes, I can take care of all of that. I just need to know you can see me. Not for every race, obviously. But some of them. It’d mean so much to me, Tiny.”

You look up at him now, smiling. “Of course I can,” you nod gently. “It’d mean everything to me too, Osc.”

His face blooms into a smile, eyes raking over the details of your face, savouring it as if he hasn’t a million times before. “Then it’s done,” he says, bringing your hand up to kiss it. “You can’t escape me now.”

“Like I’d ever want to,” you roll your eyes.

Before Oscar can counter with a snarky remark, the door flies open.

“Piastri—seriously? My fucking sister?”

That’s the end! Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Leave em all in my askbox, and again, thank you so much for reading!

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Damian’s fiancée receives a head injury during a match resulting in amnesia. (Part 5/5) 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 🛑 Warnings: Oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v, dirty talk, cum 18+ 🖤 Notes: Spanish translations at the end of the story. 🖤 Taglist: In the comments. If you’d like to be added, please click here!  🖤 MASTERLIST

DAY FIVE — CHRISTMAS DAY

You stretched—the kind of stretch one takes after a satisfying evening followed by much needed restful sleep—smile slowly creeping across your lips. Still half-asleep, you rolled over, attracted to warmth and comfort, and you felt a rather large hand slide from where it had been resting on your belly to your side as you moved into the new position. Your head rested on a firm bicep, and you smelled deodorant and the aroma of Damian, and you remembered what he’d done for you the night before, triggering your need to again be as close as possible to him.

“You gonna sleep all day, sweetheart?” Damian softly asked. You nodded, eyes closed, and Damian’s smile widened. His thumb caressed near the bottom of your ribs. “But it’s Christmas.”

He meant well, you knew that, but as you’d fallen asleep on Christmas Eve, after Damian had made you cum with his fingers, you’d considered the holiday. It didn’t mean much to you, if anything. You weren’t looking forward to spending time with family and friends because you couldn’t remember any of them, you felt no excitement to open presents or watch Damian open his because you didn’t know if any of them would bear any meaning for you. 

“Bah-humbug,” you rasped, pressing your face into Damian’s warm chest. His chuckle rumbled against you as his hand slowly slid from your side to your back. Now you most certainly did not want to get out of bed. Maybe you could convince him to use his fingers ag—

“Grumble, grumble, complain,” he growled, teasing you, and you smiled, nuzzling your forehead into a faded tattoo. “Come on.” He tenderly patted your back. “I think Santa came last night.”

“That makes two of us,” you mumbled.

One of your eyes popped open as Damian guffawed, untangling himself from you, rolling over, and he sat up, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. He’d donned a pair of red boxer briefs sprinkled with tiny Christmas trees on them before he’d fallen asleep last night, and you snickered as you watched him stand. The giggle died on your lips, though, when he stretched, every toned muscle rippling throughout his perfect body, tattoos dancing, and you thought again about asking, or at least implying, that the two of you stay in bed and make out, and oh, by the way, would you wanna—

“You were a very good girl this year, mi vida,” Damian said, pulling on a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts he’d hung over the back of a decorative chair the night before. He turned back to you and placed his fists on the bed beside you, the mattress sinking as he leaned closer to you. “I think you really wanna see what Santa brought you.”

Sighing, you tossed the covers aside and sat up yourself, realizing Damian wasn’t going to let you stay in bed any longer. Standing, you waited—watching closely—as Damian pulled his unruly hair into a high bun before he turned to you and extended his hand. You looked at his hand, imagining that middle finger pumping inside you and the thumb on your clit, and you had an inclination to just jump on his hand and see if his fingers landed inside you, but reason prevailed, and you were able to stop yourself just short of liftoff. Instead, you placed your tiny hand within his, his fingers wrapping around yours, and his smile was so sweet and happy and utterly contagious.

Damian led you downstairs to the living room, kissing the back of your hand before instructing you to take a seat on the plush couch. So many colorful and glittering gifts were under the tree, and you were relieved when Damian only grabbed a few—the rest of the gifts were for various family and friends. As nervous as you were to open the presents from Damian—what if the old you would have liked what he got you, but the new you didn’t?—you were even more nervous you might have to be present to distribute those gifts to people you didn’t know. Setting three boxes at your feet, he set the same amount at his, and you assumed the number had been agreed upon by the both of you before you’d gone shopping. Maybe you’d done it every year. 

“Is there a certain order …?” you asked. He handed you the biggest box first, and instructed you to open yours, then he would open one of his.

Taking a deep breath, you gently ripped at the impressively wrapped gift, glancing anxiously at Damian, and he tilted his head, smiling. He laid a long arm across the back of the couch, his hand heavy, yet gentle, on your shoulder, and his touch was both comforting and … knowing? You suddenly felt confused, but alert, like you were so close to remembering something important, but you couldn’t find it in your scattered brain. Choosing to ignore it, you removed the paper, and opened the box to find a Louis Vuitton tote. Eyes widening, you pulled the bag from the box, inspected it a moment front and back, and then looked back at Damian. 

“I love it,” you whispered, incredulous. 

Damian exhaled, eyes closing for the briefest moment, but he quickly recovered, shining that winning smile. “Good,” he replied, squeezing your shoulder. “You told me which one you wanted, but not which color …” 

“It’s perfect.”

Holding the bag to your chest like someone might steal it from you, you watched as Damian picked up one of his boxes, thankfully not asking you which one he should open first. He tore into the snowman wrapping paper like an ape, tossed the trash behind him, and the Nike logo on the box pretty much gave away what was inside. He pulled one shoe out, marveling at it, and gushed about how much he loved them and couldn’t believe you’d been able to locate them. You shrugged, having no answer, but his excitement was just as contagious as his smile, and you giggled as he fist pumped while putting the shoe back in the box.

Damian handed you the next gift—a pair of black heels from Jimmy Choo—which you also loved. Damian opened a rather fancy watch that he seemed overly excited about—like Randy from A Christmas Story when he got a Zeppelin—but you giggled at his childlike wonder. The last present he gave to you was much smaller than the rest, so you treated it more delicately than you had the others. This time, Damian opened his final gift as you opened yours, but he was paying far more attention to you and your reaction to what he’d gotten for you. The removal of the wrapping paper revealed a deep blue velvet box, and you suspected jewelry would be hidden within, and that gave you pause. You’d loved the other gifts, so you weren’t worried about loving this one just as much, but would you react the way Damian was hoping for? You lifted the lid, gasping at the gorgeous bracelet nestled amongst satin the same color as the box. You touched the single, tiny charm, smiling, and you weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but you brought the golden bow and arrow—the tip of the arrow a sparkling diamond—to your lips. 

“Can I put it on you?” Damian asked, disrupting your love affair with your new piece of jewelry. You sniffed, eyes becoming misty as you nodded and handed the box to him. He set aside some sort of combat weapon you’d gotten for him and clasped the beautiful bracelet around your wrist before kissing your pulse point. 

“It’s … it’s really beautiful,” you stammered. You fingered the charm, watching the diamond sparkle.

You turned your hand this way and that, grinning as the light caught the bracelet at different angles. Your brows came together, wrist rotation slowing as you stared at the back of your left hand. Something was missing. Something important. “Aren’t we engaged?” you asked, looking at Damian.

His eyes lifted, wide with sudden worry. “Of course,” he said. Why would she suddenly be doubting they were engaged, he wondered, heart pounding. “You’ve got your dress, we have a venue and about three hundred people coming …” 

“Where’s my engagement ring?” you interrupted. Damian’s mouth clamped shut, pillowy lips rubbing together. “I can’t remember you or our relationship, but I’ve learned enough to know you’d never propose without a ring, and even if you did, I’d have one by now … right?” 

Damian smiled, nodding. “You’re right,” he said. “You have a ring. I’ll be right back.” He hopped over the back of the couch, and you giggled. You turned the bracelet over again to watch the little bow and arrow dangle and the tiny diamond catch the sun as it peeked through the curtains. When Damian returned, he was carrying a small, teal box, and anyone who had ever shopped for engagement rings knew the Tiffany’s teal. You gulped. “I didn’t want to bring it up so you wouldn’t feel obligated to wear it if you weren’t comfortable with it.”

He looked at you a moment, approaching you still seated on the couch, and your breath hitched as he descended to one knee. He opened the box, having never guessed in a million years he would get to present you with the engagement ring you’d adored so much a second time, and your eyes rounded at, not only the size of the diamond, but it was your favorite cut, your favorite metal, and your favorite person was offering it to you. Favorite person? Suddenly you couldn’t catch your breath. Something was there, right there in your fucking brain, and you almost had it. 

“Put it on me,” you whispered, words laced with desperation.

Damian’s brows furrowed, but he did as he was told—removing the ring from its velvety home, taking your hand in his, and he slid the diamond effortlessly into place where it hugged your finger, almost as if it had missed you. You smiled, touching it, remembering Damian stuttering through a proposal on the beach in Puerto Rico.

Wait.

The fight you’d had on the way back to the hotel about how fast he’d been driving.

Your eyes closed.

The fight only led to him pulling over and fucking the complaining out of you on the side of the road.

You sucked in a breath.

“Your tattoo is stupid.” 

“Your tattoo is stupider.” 

“Mine’s actually the best.” 

“Yeah, well, mine’s the prettiest.”

The wedding dress you’d chosen clung to your curves perfectly, the train sparkled, the veil tucked into your hair. Damian’s gonna love this … especially when he finds out I’m not wearing any panties.

Damian.

Damian.

Your eyes shot open, and Damian was there, watching you curiously. Your fiancé. Damian Priest. You remembered when and where you met, you remembered your first date and your first fuck and your first fight and your first Christmas, and fuck, you remembered everything! All of it! 

“Damian,” you whispered, grabbing at his hands, his arms, shoulders, until you came to the floor on your knees. Damian tried catching you, unsure of what was happening or how to react. You cupped his face. “Papi.”

Damian’s body twitched as he eyed you closely. His hands came up to your face next, your noses grazing. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, every bit on the verge of tears as you were. “Querida.” You nodded, because you knew what it meant, and you knew what it meant when he said it. His arms suddenly came tightly around your waist, nearly squeezing the life out of you, and you did the same to his neck. “Fuck, you know I can’t ever let you go now, right?” he asked, only half teasing. 

You sniffed, a single tear streaking down your cheek, nodding. Memories were still playing one after another, your brain taking each one and filing it in its appropriate cabinet, which were mostly labeled never fucking forgot any of this ever again. “Sounds good to me,” you said, and then you felt him tuck his face into your neck, his hot breath ghosting along your skin, and your nipples were suddenly small pebbles, and your heart skipped a beat or two and— 

Damian pushed you away with both hands on your face so his lips could claim yours. The kissing from the night before had been hot, but this kiss was a goddamn atomic bomb, because you remembered the love you had for this man, felt it to your core, and you were suddenly dizzy and just a little lightheaded. It was like falling in love with Damian Priest all over again, like being on a rollercoaster that was only corkscrews, like debuting to a thunderous pop on the main roster of the WWE.

Damian whispered your name, pausing the kiss only to declare, “I need you.” His hands slid teasingly from your cheeks to your neck, shoulders, arms, landing heavily on your hips. “If it’s not the right time—” 

“It is,” you interrupted, lifting your shirt over your head, dropping it dramatically beside the two of you—Damian’s eyes followed the garment with an arched eyebrow before he slid his gaze to your bare breasts, tilting his head, inhaling deeply. He removed his own shirt, your eyes examining him much the same way he’d done you, and you gasped when he suddenly stood, towering over you a hell of a lot more than he normally did. You grinned, reaching for the waistband of his shorts, but he had other plans. 

He grabbed one of your arms, hooking it around his neck, and he hoisted you gracefully off the floor and over his shoulder. He smacked your ass, the bottoms of your cheeks hanging out of the shorts you’d slept in, and you squealed, kicking your legs. “We are not having reunion sex on the floor in the living room,” he said, carrying you effortlessly up the stairs, even taking two at a time, as he made his way to the bedroom you shared. You hadn’t actually planned on fucking him on the floor—there was a comfortable couch nearby with cushions the width of a twin bed—but you let him manhandle you because it had been, what, five days since you’d been manhandled? The manual stimulation the night before hadn’t counted, not with how caring and slow and intentional Damian had been.

You were tossed on the bed, bouncing, snickering, and Damian stole several moments to watch you smile, to watch your tits jiggle, massaging a growing lump in his shorts. Your eyes became slits, focused on Damian’s big hand passing over his even bigger cock, witnessing it grow and strain, almost able to feel it stretching you and filling you and satisfying you like no man had ever done before. Dying to join in, you removed your shorts and panties, though you kept your legs mostly together even as you slipped a few fingers within your dampening folds, Damian only able to get a peek of the action. The fingers of Damian’s free hand grazed your knee, his thumb on the inside applying gentle pressure, and you spread your legs for him, biting your lip, cheeks heating up as he watched you touch yourself—one of his very favorite pastimes. 

“Can I taste you?” he rumbled, thumb caressing your skin, hand slipping within his shorts and briefs, eyes briefly closing when he wrapped his fingers around his cock, giving it a few satisfying strokes. He wasn’t sure why he asked, especially since you’d always told him it didn’t matter what you were doing—if he wanted a snack, you would always be more than happy to oblige. But what if now wasn’t the time for the … normal sex? What if you weren’t ready, and the awkwardness from the night prior happened again? He didn’t want you to think he’d simply been waiting for you to remember who you were and who he was simply so he could fuck you stupid. Would you ever think that? And why the hell was he overthinking so much? 

Your brows furrowed. “Of course,” you softly replied, sliding back on the mattress as Damian crawled forward. “And if I ever say no, take me back to the hospital because my brain is broken again.”

Damian chuckled, continuing to crawl up your body, pressing his full, perfect lips to yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, but something felt different, off. Any other time, not only would he not have asked permission, his face would have been buried in your pussy before you even knew what was happening, not making a beeline for a makeout session.

Disconnecting your lips, you placed a hand on his cheek, and your eyes met. “Are you okay?” you whispered.

“Yeah, I just …” he trailed off, positive that any explanation he gave about his sudden apprehension would make no sense at all, or worse … give you the impression that he didn’t want to have sex at all.

You tilted his chin up, an action he’d done to you many times, and when his eyes met yours, you were punched in the gut by the turmoil—he was confused, hesitant, turned on, and utterly at the mercy of his own negative thoughts. Placing a hand on his warm, bare chest, over his heart, you found the organ beating so fast it was vibrating. Smiling softly, you pressed a tender kiss to Damian’s lips, but it did nothing to slow his heart rate, though you weren’t sure it would have under any other circumstances—you made his heart pound on the regular, he’d told you, and you remembered him telling you. Like you suddenly remembered everything your fiancé had done for you (and because of you—he still had a meeting with WWE about pushing the guy at the airport) up until this point. He’d cared for you, he’d been so patient and understanding, all the while no doubt worrying about whether or not you’d ever remember him. You couldn’t imagine the stress he must have been under. How much had he actually slept in the past five days?

Your smile grew as you kissed his cheeks, his eyes, forehead, nose, and you felt him relax. “I know what you need,” you whispered. You pressed on his chest, and after a moment, he understood and rolled onto his back. “You can taste me this way,” you said, hushed, sliding along the sheets and blankets until your head was facing his feet. “Because I think it’s only fair I get a taste of my own.” He wouldn’t have allowed you to do what you really wanted to do, which was to have him lay back and enjoy a long, slow, wet blowjob, and then you would swallow what would have to be a huge load—unless he’d found the time and desire to jerk off in the last five days. Maybe he did last night, after he made me cum and after I fell asleep?—which would be followed by a Christmas morning nap. Well, you supposed he might have agreed to you swallowing, as well as the nap, but certainly not the part where he was the only one receiving pleasure. Jesus, why were you overthinking this?

“You gonna sit on my face or not?” Damian wanted to know, instantly snapping you from your reverie. Giggling and blushing—blushing because, even though you’d been in this position hundreds of times, you still felt just a twinge of embarrassment, of insecurity, every time—you straddled your fiancé’s face, eyes fluttering as he kissed your thighs, the stubble from his beard causing your entire body to quake. And then his tongue was exactly where it belonged: licking along your bare folds before slipping between them, flattening, and you threw your head back as he did things to your pussy no one else had ever been able to do. He smacked your ass, not nearly as hard as he was known to, but you smirked and squeaked just the same, using one hand to untie his shorts, tug them loose and down, and you pulled his thick cock free from the Christmas tree briefs. You spit on the head, and Damian grunted, sucking and nibbling on your clit like it was his final meal as you spread your saliva along his shaft with a few quick strokes before engulfing the head in your hot mouth.

Damian kept one hand on the back of your head, merely encouraging, until you intentionally gagged yourself, forcing his dick as far down your throat as you could, coughing, spluttering, barely able to come up for air before he pushed your face back down again. As you fought for sweet oxygen, Damian’s other hand squeezed your ass, shoving his tongue into your gushing, pulsing hole. Your face hot, tears streaking your cheeks, your fiancé’s cock lodged in your neck, your hips still rolled, pressing down, riding Damian’s face much the same way he was doing yours. 

Suddenly he lifted your hips with one hand, the other grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking you off his dick. Strings of spit and precum and drool bridged your lips to Damian’s rigid cock, and you worked on disconnecting the mess and wiping at your face as he maneuvered you off him. “Ain’t no way I’m not cummin’ in that pussy,” he growled.

Before he could manhandle you once again into whatever position he desired, you spun around and straddled his hips, flattening your palms on his chest. He was a bit shocked, and rightly so, as up until this point, he’d been the dominant one in the relationship. And this wasn’t you being necessarily dominant—you were simply being proactive in making sure Damian did as little work as possible. He held onto your wrists as you raised your hips, rocking your clit along his head before slowly descending, allowing yourself only seconds to adjust to his size. Maybe a perk from all this would be your pussy having had an opportunity to tighten up without its daily pounding from a very proportionate six foot five Puerto Rican man. 

“Fuck,” Damian shouted, and you grinned, though you’d never know if your hypothesis had been correct or if he’d just really missed being inside you.

”Little gatita missed her Papi,” you purred, enunciating the Spanish words, biting your lip, eyes fluttering as you swiveled your hips to get every last bit of him inside you.

Damian pressed his head into the pillow, hips thrusting, lifting you as if you weighed nothing, somehow going deeper, kissing your cervix, and your nails dug into his pecs. “Come on, querida,” he said, and you knew he would never agree or admit to it, but it sure sounded a hell of a lot like begging. “Ride Papi.”

Transferring most of your weight to your hands on his chest, your hips bounced, jaw dropped, and you did exactly as you’d been instructed. Sweat was beading around your hairline at the back of your neck, your lungs were tight from your labored breathing, but you could feel that familiar, delicious ache deep in your cunt. You watched Damian with a small grin, biting your lip, as his blown pupils were laser focused on your pussy and the glistening trail it left behind every time you lifted your hips. His brows were knitted together, lips pursed, and you actually had to fight the laughter bubbling in your throat at how utterly determined he was not to cum. He wanted to impress you with his stamina and willpower, you knew that much, and you suspected he was probably savoring the moment, making it last as long as possible. Maybe next time, you thought. You’ve waited long enough. 

“You gonna gimme me that nut, Papi?” you panted.

His eyes rose to yours, and you were no longer in control of the fucking, your entire body jolting with each pump of Damian’s cock. “That what you want?” he grunted. 

“Fuck yeah,” you breathed, eyes closing, that ache getting stronger, spreading further. “It’s been too long. I need your cum inside me.” 

“Been too long,” he mocked breathlessly. “You’re gonna be so fuckin’ full …” 

“Give it to me, Papi,” you begged, cunt squeezing Damian’s pulsing cock as you gushed all over it. “I want all of it.”

Your fiancé made good on his promise—unloading so much inside your pussy that it started leaking out before he’d even pulled out. Hand on the back of your head, he pulled you down for a kiss, massaging his lips along yours in that delightful Damian way. “I love you so much,” he mumbled against your mouth. 

“I love you more,” you grinned, pulling away enough so you could look at each other comfortably. “It should take, what, five minutes for you to be ready for round two?” 

“Five minutes,” Damian chuckled, shaking his head, rolling his eyes. 

“Well, if it helps at all, I’m gonna go try on my heels.” You carefully raised yourself off Damian, his half-hard cock smacking his abdomen lewdly once your pussy released it, and you crawled out of bed. 

“Just naked? You’re just gonna try the heels on naked?” Damian asked after you. 

“Kind of,” you replied, glancing at him over your bare shoulder. “I’ll be wearing your cum.”

Damian’s eyes darkened. “It’s like that?”

You winked, continuing out of the bedroom, a millisecond passing before you heard Damian’s heavy footsteps following quickly behind.

** mi vida - my life ** Papi - daddy ** querida - beloved/term of endearment ** gatita - kitten

[nostalgebraist]

Thanks for this thoughtful review!

(BTW, for others – this is probably obvious but there are spoilers below the readmore, don't click unless you've read the book)

I'm going to use this as an opportunity to talk about one specific thing that bugs me about some reader reactions to my stuff. Therefore, most of what I say below will be negative (about your review), but I want to emphasize first that that's not a reflection of what I thought of it overall.

----

What I'm here now to talk about is this kind of thing:

There are parts of all his books, where I really think that the explanation for why they are the way they are is that they are "bad on purpose", and all the bullshit [note: in context "bullshit" seems to be meant as a neutral term for non-realist elements -nost] is a way of turning these shortcomings into strengths. The self-effacing voice which whispers that the characters aren't sufficiently well-drawn, are too cartoonish—well, what if that was the point? What if there was a reason for that, in the story?

And like... okay, there is sort of a sense in which this is true, sometimes, kinda. There is a grain of truth to this; it is getting at something real.

But it pains me to say that, because I don't want to encourage this kind of reading. Interpretations like this are occasionally correct but IMO they're much more common than they should be. IMO the right intuition is that this is a galaxy-brained, contrarian sort of take, a last resort you land on when you've ruled out everything else.

And not just with my work, with everything – I'm simply more aware of the problem when it comes to my work, because I wrote it and I'm aware of why I actually did things the way I did.

I've said this before, but watching the way that people react to my own fiction has been an eye-opening experience, one that has taught me things about reader (and viewer, etc.) reactions in general. Specifically, what I've learned was:

People's tastes are way more diverse than I had realized (before I started writing and sharing fiction). And they are diverse in a very fine-grained way; even if two readers have the same preferences about 90% of stuff, or 95%, they'll still diverge on some things. While it's not literally true that "every reader is a unique snowflake with a preference set that no one else shares," that is a very good first approximation of how things are.

Readers (including me!) have been trained by a lifetime of reading book/movie/etc. reviews to frame their preferences/reactions in a pseudo-objective "this is just how it is" way, like their own tastes have some special viewpoint-independent priority, a quality of "reality" or "accuracy" lacking in everyone else's tastes (which are all different, cf. 1). And this is not just a stylistic quirk of the way people write about fiction, it actually (IMO) feeds back into the underlying opinions behind the written commentary. It degrades people's ability to understand what it is they're looking at and their ability to make accurate inferences about the process of its creation.

----

Here's a sort of cartoonish schematic of the type of experience that led me to draw these conclusions. (And I suspect this is not just a thing that happens to me, I imagine it happens with any sort of work that "contains a lot of different types of stuff" the way mine does.)

Writer makes something that has X and Y and Z in it. Writer thinks X/Y/Z are "great tastes that taste great together." Writer is very pleased with the result.

Reader 1 has similar tastes to writer, says something brief about how they loved the book and it's a new favorite for them.

Reader 2 loves X, is OK with Y, hates Z. They write a lengthy review saying that the book was a mixed bag and could have been great if the writer had stuck to X and not messed things up by doing so much Z.

Reader 3 is the reverse of their predecessor: they hate X, are OK with Y, love Z. They write a lengthy review saying that the book was a mixed bag and could have been great if the writer had stuck to Z and not messed things up by doing so much X.

Reader 4 loves X and Z – but they hate Y. They write a lengthy… you can fill in the rest. Imagine a whole bunch of these guys (readers 5, 6, etc).

Reader 17 has the same tastes as Reader 2: loves X, is OK with Y, hates Z. But their lengthy review takes a different, in some sense "more charitable" angle, speculating that the inclusion of Z was a load-bearing pillar in the overall structure, a thing that unfortunately had to be included to "unlock" all that sweet sweet X.

Reader 18 has the same tastes as Reader 3: hates X, is OK with Y, loves Z. But, they explain, X was a load-bearing pillar in the overall structure, a thing that unfortunately had to be included to "unlock" all that sweet sweet Z.

Writer reads all these reviews and feels strange, dizzy. The "nicer" reviews like 17 and 18 are actually more uncomfortable to read than the "meaner" ones like 2 and 3.

"I don't know how to convince you guys," Writer thinks, "but I... I just liked all of it? I thought it was good? That was why I wrote it? (Why else would I have written it?)"

----

Or, as I wrote in that previously linked post from 2021, w/r/t TNC specifically (and making a slightly different but closely related point):

Some people say X was the worst part of TNC, some people say X was the best part. The story was a celebration of Y; the story was about how Y is laughably futile. It’s a letdown that we were never told more about Z; the reason TNC is good is that it leaves stuff like Z to the imagination. It was obvious we were meant to believe P; it is obvious we were meant to believe not-P; the ambiguity about whether P is tiresome literary masturbation; at least the story didn’t jump the shark by spelling out whether P! The reason people like TNC is, of course, that it has A, although nostalgebraist insisted on putting B in there too because he hasn’t fully perfected his formula yet / he somehow thinks B is good even though it isn’t / he thinks it’s funny how bad B is (but the joke tires). …and then someone else has same take, but with A and B flipped.

This exact sort of thing is of course happening again before our eyes with reactions to TAoHS.

I've encountered multiple readers who disliked most of the story but felt the ending (sort of) "redeemed it," and I've also encountered multiple readers who liked the story up until the ending but disliked the ending (or at least thought it was worse than the rest) – to say nothing of the many readers who liked (or disliked) the whole thing all the way through.

And this ending-related stuff is just one particularly obvious facet of a broader diversity in the overall reader response.

By now I know not to be surprised by this stuff, and even to find it kind of fun to watch... but I have to admit, it is still a dizzying and uncomfortable experience.

----

Now, as I said, it is sometimes true that things really are "bad on purpose."

But I think the interpreter's default hypothesis – which should be maintained by default unless convincing evidence against it can be brought forth – should be:

The writer thinks that the thing they wrote is good. They think the ideas are good and they think they executed them well. And they think this more-or-less homogeneously for everything in the work – there are no "bad but unfortunately necessary" parts from the writer's POV.

(At least, this should be the default with works that aren't making the writer much/any money. Obviously things are different with lucrative commercial fiction; there are plenty of well-paid hacks who know they're hacks and do it for the money, etc.)

Why should this be the default? Multiple reasons.

First: it takes a lot of effort to produce any sort of creative work. The writer thought that effort was worthwhile, for some reason – why?

The most straightforward explanation (and a very common one IMO) is that the writer simply believed in the thing that they were making. They believed the effort was worthwhile because it would yield a good product.

Second: as a writer you have an immense amount of freedom. It's difficult to overstate the extent of it. You are playing God, you decide the way that literally everything will be.

Obviously there are some constraints, cases where one part of a story will imply the existence of another or whatever.

But it's very rare that you actually get forced into "doing a thing you know you are bad at, badly." After all: why do that? No one's forcing you! Just do something else! You're God, you control everything!

(Note that this applies also to the very act of writing anything. No one is forcing you to write at all. If you can't come up with good ideas, nothing prevents you from just not writing your bad ones.)

Third: at least in my experience, "playing God" in this way requires a certain state of mind, a certain boldness and self-assurance, which is incompatible with thinking "yeah this is gonna suck but I have to do it" – but is very compatible with thinking "I am making something excellent and every part of it is excellent, hell yes."

Fourth: because of the previously noted diversity of reader preferences, it should not be surprising to any given reader that they find some parts of the work much better than others, even if the writer thought it was all excellent.

This outcome is predictable from the X/Y/Z stuff I talked about above. No clever interpretive work is required to explain it; it arrives pre-explained; it's simply what happens by default.

And finally: because, as I noted above, I think all of us are infected with "reviewer brainworms" and we need to be mindful of this fact.

(Just to be clear, I am not accusing OP of being more infected with said brainworms than anyone else; I'm still on my soapbox, giving a generic rant about a general issue, with OP as merely a jumping-off point.)

We've grown accustomed to the casual conflation between our own tastes and some (usually hazily imagined and under-theorized) sort of "objective, ideal artistic standards."

Outside of a few edge-case eccentrics who can be ignored for my present purposes, we do not do this because we've become intellectually convinced that

(a) such objective standards make sense and really "exist" or at least really matter and

(b) they just so happen to match our own preferences.

Rather, we've fallen into this habit because it's what the pros do: there's a standard style that professional critics and reviewers write in these days, and that style implies these stances. And if one writes (and thinks, in one's inner monologue) in this style, one can easily fall over backwards into uncritically believing (a) and (b) for no better reason than "I seem to already be talking as though I believe these things, hence it would be simple and convenient if I really did believe them."

But – even if we bracket the philosophical questions of whether (a) is in fact true, and (if it is) whose tastes in particular ought to be elevated in the way (b) presumes – even if we table all that for another day, still we ought to keep in mind how weird and audacious a move this is, this simultaneous assertion-without-explanation of the (a)+(b) pair.

We've gotten used to it by exposure, because "the pros" have normalized it. But in actual fact it is a pretty wild thing to just go and assume, given the X/Y/Z/etc. diversity of actual opinion!

If (b) is true for you (general "you" not OP), then it can't be true for me, because we're both unique snowflakes to a first approximation; indeed if (b) is true for you then (to a first approx.) it is only true for you. No one else's tastes have this magical relation to reality, just yours.

Holding the belief (b) about a given reviewer is conceivable-but-wild if we're only considering them in isolation. But once we bring a 2nd reviewer (with non-identical tastes) into the picture, who also believes (b), it's literally impossible to maintain that both of these people are fully right.

And then of course in real life there are not 2 but many, many readers out there, all of them unique snowflakes. And, while it is socially normal in our social context for each one of them to write like they're the chosen one blessed with that special (b)-magic, if you read enough such writing and actually think about what you're reading, it can't help but feel like a sort of game, like playing make-believe. As with most games, it can be very entertaining (for all parties involved), but we shouldn't confuse its amusing conceits for properties of the real world.

In the real world, the writer has their tastes, and you have yours. These tastes are probably not identical. The writer may be aware of the diversity of readerly tastes, and may thus be aware that tastes like yours are out there, but they have no special reason to consider you in particular, elevating you above all the other readers who are non-identical with them (and with you). The writer is dimly and abstractly aware of you, at best, as just another one of the people who will come along later, dislike some of their choices, assume that these choices were wrong in some "objective" way the writer knew about at the time, and then speculate as to why the writer would do something they know is wrong. For every choice, and every way of making every choice, one can imagine a reviewer who responds to it in this way, and quite often these reviewers actually materialize once the work is available for consumption. If you try to reason about these guys in advance, as a writer, it'll stop you in your tracks (if nothing else because there are 2+ of them whose takes are mutually incompatible). You've gotta have some other standard of value to rely on.

So, as a reviewer, if you ask "why would someone ever make a choice I don't like?" and try to pick at this question, you are quite likely heading toward a dead end. The writer wasn't thinking about you (or people like you). They were applying their own, distinct standard of value.

Better to ask: "suppose there was a person who actually liked all of this. What would they be like? How would they be similar to me / different from me? And what, if anything, can I conclude from that?"

The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen

My fourth novel, The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen, is now available in full.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter thirteen: Behind Closed Doors

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13

The air in your quarters felt heavy, like it was thick with all the things left unsaid between you and In-ho. You had made it back, both of you, after the third game—Hide and Seek—which had shaken you to your core. It wasn’t just the brutality of the dogs, or the way the VIPs had reacted, that was eating away at you. It was the way In-ho had stood next to you, so calm and yet so distant, as if he was carrying all of it on his own.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, the weight of everything that had happened in the VIP room seemed to settle in. You could still hear the echoes of the last screams from the arena, muffled now, but it didn’t make it any easier. You swallowed hard, trying to shake off the feeling of dread that had lodged itself in your chest.

In-ho stood just inside the doorway, his figure outlined by the dim light. Even though he had his mask on, you could feel the tension radiating off him. The usual wall of indifference was still there, but it wasn’t as strong tonight. You saw cracks. Tiny cracks, but enough to make you wonder what he was really feeling under that controlled surface.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The silence between you was suffocating, thick with the unspoken words you both avoided.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“You okay?” His voice was steady, like he was trying to keep his composure. But there was an edge to it, a hint of something deeper.

You turned to face him, your gaze lingering on the mask, the one thing that still stood between you and him. You wanted to tell him how you felt—the anxiety, the fear, the frustration—but you didn’t know how to put it into words. The weight of the situation, the fear of what was coming next—it was too much.

“No,” you answered quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not okay.”

In-ho didn’t move. He just stood there, watching you. His body was stiff, his arms crossed over his chest as if he were trying to protect something—something you weren’t sure he was ready to show. You could feel the tension in him, like he was holding back, like he didn’t want to let you in too far.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know,” you said, taking a step closer. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

He flinched, just slightly, but you saw it. His gaze flickered away, like he was fighting with himself.

“I don’t have a choice, Y/N,” he said, his voice low, controlled. “If I show weakness, if I let them see it… they’ll use it. You’ll be at risk. And I won’t let that happen.”

You wanted to argue with him, to tell him that you weren’t some fragile thing that needed protecting. But you knew he wouldn’t hear you. The way he saw it, his responsibility was to keep you safe, no matter what it cost him. And it hurt you more than you wanted to admit.

“You’re at risk too, In-ho,” you said softly. “This isn’t just about me. It’s about you, too. And I can see how hard this is for you. I see the weight you’re carrying. I’m not blind to it.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved toward the window, his back to you, his posture tense. You knew he wasn’t trying to push you away—at least, not completely. But his walls were up. High. Impossibly high. And he wasn’t ready to let you in.

“I’m doing this for you,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the distance. “I can’t afford to show them that I’m… struggling. That I can’t handle this. I can’t afford to lose you, Y/N.”

You watched him, your heart aching at the weight of his words. He was trying so hard to keep it together, but you could see how much it was costing him. The stress. The pressure. And the part that was tearing you apart—the way he kept trying to carry it all on his own.

“You don’t have to protect me from this, In-ho,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “I know what we’re in. I see it. But you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

There was a long silence, and you could feel the walls he had built around himself pushing you away. He was still standing with his back to you, and the mask was on, keeping everything hidden.

“I’m not the one who needs protecting,” he said quietly, almost as if to himself. “You don’t understand. If I show them any weakness, it’ll end everything. This game. This place. You. I won’t let that happen.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. He wasn’t ready to let you in. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But you didn’t know how to walk away from him now.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you said, your voice low, but full of conviction. “I just need you to be here. With me. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re okay when you’re not. It’s okay not to have it all figured out.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, In-ho turned around. But his eyes were still hidden behind the mask. His gaze was steady, but there was something in his posture that told you he was exhausted. Not physically—he was always in control, always sharp. But emotionally? He was barely holding it together. You could feel it, like a pressure in the air.

“I’m not going to let them hurt you,” he said, his voice raw, but still controlled. He stepped closer to you, his hand reaching up to rest lightly on your shoulder. “I can’t promise everything will be okay, but I’ll keep you safe. Always.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the words settle inside you. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to trust that everything would be okay. But the truth was, you didn’t know. No one did.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you whispered, taking his hand in yours. “We’ll get through this together. Whatever happens with the next game… we’ll face it. Together.”

In-ho didn’t say anything. But the way his hand tightened around yours, even just a little, told you more than words ever could.

He wasn’t ready to let his walls fall. Not completely.

The fourth game was coming. But maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t face it alone. Not anymore.

———————

Chapter thirteen!! Yay! Sorry about the late post, I got swamped with EMT work lol

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[blushsturns]

perv! matt x innocent! reader ♡

part 4 ❤︎ wet dreams

hcs - 1 - 2 - 3

❤︎ description: matt wakes up from a wet dream and starts to text you about it, but you invite him over instead. (in matt’s pov)

❤︎ warnings: pure smut, explicit content, f! receiving oral

❤︎ w/c: 4834

❤︎ matt’s texts are in blue!

matt woke up in agonizing pain. it hurt, badly. if he didn’t get some kind of release sometime soon, he would probably lose it. he was going insane.

his first ever wet dream about you. in between your thighs; kissing you, licking you, tasting you. in his dreams, you tasted fucking phenomenal. you gripped on his hair tightly and fucked his face as he devoured your sweet cunt.

in his dream, he was in absolute heaven, but it was just a dream.

so, when matt woke up with the biggest hard on he’s had in his entire life and a huge wet patch against the front of his boxers, he wasn’t sure what to do. he groaned in pain, throwing his head back against the pillow as he moved his hand to push his hardened bulge down repeatedly to try and stop the intense sensation.

thank god he slept alone because this was truly embarrassing. he thought he was done with this shit. he’s had wet dreams before when he was younger, but that was self explanatory. he had no excuse for this one.

well, maybe he does. you were on his mind every second of every day. ever since the moment you two shared in the closet at nick’s party, it was all he could think about. your lips against his neck, sucking on his skin and leaving behind the most beautiful bruise he wished would’ve stayed longer. he had that reminder left on his skin of you making him feel fucking amazing and when it faded, he kept it imprinted in his brain.

he let out a soft groan out of frustration. it was no use. nothing was helping. he thought to himself maybe now that they’ve had some interactions, he would actually have the courage to be vocal about what he wanted and needed.

matt moved his hand over to grab his phone off the nightstand. maybe he should just stop being so scared and actually say what he wanted for once.

truth is, he’s wanted you for so long. ever since he laid his eyes on you, he’s been hooked. infatuated. obsessed. the obsession with you happened very quickly and has only progressed rapidly over the years. he was one of your best friends, but he always knew it was more than that. at least for him, anyway. he looked out for you, was there for you if you needed him. it was like he wanted you to come to him for comfort and support so he can show you how a man should treat you. he hated seeing you hurt and just wanted to protect you from it all.

he was so obsessed with you to the point that you were all he could think about. it was driving him fucking insane. he wanted you and every part of you.

it became so unbearably hard because he knew he couldn’t have you. you never seemed to feel the same way because you were always so independent and carefree and even when you had dates with other boys, he still wanted you. it devastated him to see you get your heart broken, wishing he could pick up the pieces and put your mended heart back together.

he always assumed you’d never feel the same way , not until recently. ever since you noticed your panties in his back pocket the night you all watched a movie together, he felt as if maybe you were finally noticing him and who he truly was, rather than just the awkwardness in his personality. maybe you were starting to actually notice him. he did tell you how much he’s always wanted you. he was vocal about that for once.

matt let out a groan, the uncomfortable hardness not going away any time soon as he opened up his phone and immediately tapped on your name.

i had a dream about you last night and i can’t stop thinking about it.

matt’s heart quickened as he sent the message. within seconds, bubbles started to appear on the screen.

oh you did? what was it about?

it’s kind of embarassing..

come over and tell me about it. i’m making breakfast, you can have some while you rant.

give me 10.

matt immediately got out of bed and threw on a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, trying to push his hard on away so it wasn’t completely evident when he went over to your house. he knew just telling you about it and standing right in front of you would only make his cock even more excited, so he decided to just say fuck it and try to hurry as fast as he can. he needed to see you.

after brushing his teeth and trying his best to look decent, he scurried his way out of his house. thank god you only lived next door and not across town. nick and chris were still asleep so at least he didn’t have to explain to his brothers where he was going so early in the morning with a fucking hard on in his pants.

he knocked only twice before coming face to face with you. he couldn’t help but scan you up and down, taking in your beautiful appearance. your hair was up in a messy bun with strands of hair falling onto the sides of your face, your oversized t-shirt covered your entire upper body but showed off your amazing toned legs. all you had on was a pair of lacy panties underneath. usually you didn’t want anyone seeing you like this, but it was matt. he’d stare at you like this no matter what you looked like.

“um, hey.” he said kind of awkwardly, his hand immediately falling into his tousled brown locks. “thanks for letting me stop by.” he could still feel the lingering hard on that was throbbing in his pants and it wasn’t helping that he was now face to face with the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.

he tried desperately not to stare at your body as you stood there, a smile widening on your face. the wafting aroma of pancakes lingered in the air and filled his nostrils. he knew you loved to cook, no matter what kind of food it was. you always liked to try different recipes and have your loved ones try them. it was like one of your many love languages. “hi matt! of course! as soon as i knew you were stopping by, i put more on the pan.”

you bounced on your heels, your smile only widening as you shut the door behind him once he steps inside. fuck, were you so fucking addictive. your personality in itself is so damn contagious and he wanted to be around you all the damn time.

“oh, thank you. aren’t you a sweetheart?” hell yeah you were.

his eyes scan over the room before averting his eyes to your ass as you turn around and motion for him to follow you into the kitchen. you looked fucking amazing even in just a big t-shirt. he ended up envisioning you wearing only his shirt and lounging around the house and that thought was not helping his still evident hard on that you obviously noticed the second you opened the door for him. he got lost in his thoughts and snapping out of them immediately once he heard your voice.

“come on! they’re almost done.” you called out to him as you stood at the stove, your hips swaying as you flip the pancake in the pan.

matt gulped slowly, suddenly feeling nervous as he walks into the kitchen to join you and leans against the kitchen island as he watches you intently. even when you’re in your element, you looked effortlessly beautiful. how come everything you did made him fall for you ten times harder?

“they smell amazing. you didn’t have to make me any.”

you turned around to raise your eyebrow at him with a stern look on your face. “nope. you’re having as many as you want. i wanted to.” you finished off the rest of the pancake mix, letting it sit in the pan to form before turning to look back over at him. he looked nervous and on edge standing there; like he so badly wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how to.

your eyes glared down to the hardened bulge that outlined the center of his sweatpants. how was he hard already? you fought the urge to bite down on your bottom lip, your cheeks already growing warm as you immediately averted your eyes back to his.

he caught on to your subtle staring, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as well. “thanks. i’ll have some, then.”

you came back to your senses, flashing him a wide grin before turning your attention back to the pancakes that were now done and cooling off. as you waited for them to cool off, you moved over next to him and hopped up onto the chair at the kitchen island. “so, tell me about this dream you had of me.” you wiggled your eyebrows up at him playfully, a light giggle emitting from your lips.

his cheeks turned a darker shade of pink as he immediately averted his eyes down at the marbled surface before back up at you. “well, it wasn’t just an ordinary dream. the dream had me waking up like, really fucking hard actually.” his cheeks flushed even more, his eyes moving back down and not being able to hold eye contact with you as he says this. “in the dream, it felt so real though. like fuck, i wanted it to be real.” he let out a nervous laugh, his knee beginning to bounce which was one of his nervous habits.

it’s not that he was nervous of you or being around you. he fucking loved being around you and tried to find any excuse to do so. it’s the idea of you knowing he’s capable of having these thoughts about you even if he’s already voiced it before. having dreams about you though? he’s never had one like it before.

this piqued your interest as you kept your eyes focused on him. “what happened in it, matt? you can tell me.” your voice was soft and reassuring. you wanted to make sure he knew that you weren’t judging him. you were also intrigued since the moment he texted you. you just had to know what the dream was about, especially since it involved you.

“well, it’s kind of something i’ve been wantin’ to do for awhile and maybe that’s why i dreamt of it but it got me really goin’-“ he stopped his words, feeling absolutely flustered, his cheeks reddening by the second. his eyes moved over to yours once again, your eyes now locked together in an intense gaze. you weren’t able to read him. all you could tell was that he was completely flustered and when you looked down at the center of his sweatpants, you could visibly see he was harder than he was before he stepped foot into your house.

“matt..” you spoke immediately, moving off your chair to move over next to him, your hand now resting against his shoulder, your eyes still locked together. the poor thing was a nervous wreck. you thought it was fucking adorable. he was so flustered, unable to speak. “it’s okay. instead of explaining to me what happened, why don’t you show me? actions speak louder than words don’t they?” you flashed him a sly smirk, your fingertips running down his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt before slowly moving your hand up to his hair and running your fingers through his tousled locks and gave his hair a slight tug. “it’s okay, sweetheart. show me.”

something switched in matt after you spoke. his eyes began to darken with lust and desire as he stared up at you from the chair he was sitting on. you could swear you heard matt whine from you tugging on his hair. you stood there next to him, your fingers wrapped up in his locks as you kept your gaze focused on him.

without any hesitation, matt immediately moved his hands over to the back of thighs and down to your ass to lift you up against him with your legs immediately wrapping around his waist as he walks you over to the counter and sets you down onto it. a soft, surprised gasp emits from your lips at his sudden movements. you loved seeing matt like this. he was usually so cautious and embarrassed easily, but when he lost control which wasn’t often, it was incredibly hot and so attractive.

fuck. the boy really does want you, doesn’t he? you spent countless hours throughout the last couple weeks wondering his true feelings and if you reciprocated those feelings for him. when matt does things to surprise you like this, it turns you on and leaves you wanting more. you didn’t realize matt was capable of being this way and you were slowly becoming obsessed with seeing him lose control.

your eyes lock together in an intense gaze, your hands resting onto his shoulders now. “show me, matt. please.” you pleaded, your own eyes filling with desire. your legs wrapped around his waist tighter to pull him closer to you, your hand moving up to run through his brunette locks. you were becoming addicted to the feeling of his hair between your fingers. adrenaline ran throughout your body from your head to your toes. “you don’t have to hold back.” you whispered out, giving his hair another slight tug which drawled out a soft whine from matt’s lips. okay yeah, you fucking loved this.

the words that fell from your lips were all it took for matt to finally break away any shyness and flustered feelings he had before. seeing you like this; pleading him not to hold back, to have him show you what his dream was and giving him the permission to make that dream a reality. he needed this. he needed you. he immediately placed his hands onto your bare thighs, your oversized shirt already rising up from where you sat on the counter. he moved one hand up your bare thigh underneath your shirt against your side, your fingertips drumming against the hem of your lacy panties “oh fuck.” he breathed out, already seeming breathless just by the touch of the lace covering the most intimate part of you. the part he needed to touch, kiss, taste in this very moment.

your body immediately jolted forward at his touch against your skin and teasingly pulling on your panties. his other hand moved up to place his index and middle finger underneath your chin to allow your eyes to lock together in an intense gaze. his blue eyes turned darker than usual. you could tell how much he needed you in this moment. as if he was an animal that was malnourished and needed to be fed. he needed to taste you. now.

you lifted your hips up slightly to allow him to remove your panties down your legs. you watched his every move as his fingers tugged your panties down, his eyes not being able to take his eyes off your pretty lace panties that were once covered by your pretty pussy that he needed so much. you were already soaking wet and it was evident with a small amount of your arousal coating them before allowing them to fall down onto the kitchen floor. this very moment felt so intimate, so fucking right and your cheeks were fucking burning from how much you were blushing.

you never thought this would ever happen, but you weren’t complaining. he spread both of your legs immediately with both of his palms, the pad of his thumbs caressing the inside of your thighs in smooth, slow circles. your breath hitched as you stared down at him, watching his every move. his hardened cock was pressing against his tightened sweatpants, begging to be free, but he didn’t seem phased by it one bit. all he could focus on was that he finally had you in the palm of his hand and he was savoring every fucking second of it.

“god, your skin is so smooth. feeling s’good against my fingertips.” he whispered this in a sultry tone, so unlike his usual voice. it was so fucking hot you felt like you might combust right then and there. you knew he could feel the heat radiating from your core as his hand inched up higher, closer to your sweet cunt.

he moved his hand to your bare hip, your shirt riding up everytime his hand moved. you melted against his touch. your breathing getting hitched in your throat. you didn’t know what to say, if you even could speak. all you could do was watch him lose and take control and have you at his mercy. his fingers caressed your inner thighs underneath your shirt in a teasing manner and it made you want to scream, needing him to touch you where you wanted it the most.

you had to be patient though. he’s wanted you for so long, you knew he wouldn’t just walk out without showing you exactly what he dreamt about.

“spread your legs f’me. need you. now.” he spoke this is a dominant, rough tone through gritted teeth. it was almost as if he was about to combust from how much he’s needed you for so damn long and he was finally getting to have a taste of you.

you did as you were told, spreading your legs wider against the countertop. fuck, this was so dirty and so hot and your head was spinning, your mind clouded with dirty thoughts and consumed of nothing but matt and how he’s wanted this for so long. maybe you have, too.

your shirt rose up completely now and you took the initiative to place your shirt directly at your hips and hoped it would stay there and not get in the way. your breath felt like it was caught in your throat at this point as you stared at him. his eyes were hungry, needy, and full built up lust and want. “been wantin’ this for so long. so fuckin’ long, sweet girl.” he used his fingers to cup underneath your chin in a rough manner , your eyes staying locked together firmly.

“a little taste won’t hurt.” you breathed out, already shaking with anticipation and adrenaline that rushed through you. your spread legs and bent your knees as you sat on the edge of the counter as he bent down onto his knees and suddenly he was face to face with your sweet, pretty pussy.

“holy shit.” he breathed out, a soft groan already emitting from his lips at the sight of your glistening arousal. your core was throbbing already, desperate and needing matt any way he was willing to give you. “fuck. you truly are beautiful, every single fuckin’ inch of you.” he caressed your inner thighs with his hands, your skin feeling like butter against his fingertips.

your cheeks were bright red at this point as he continued to stare at your sweet pussy, practically drooling at the sight. he had wanted this for so long and so many times he had imagined what you looked like when he’d take your underwear just to put them around his cock as he pumped it in his hand, cumming all over the lacy fabric with your name falling from his lips. now he gets to have you, inches close to tasting you.

his finger ran across your glistening folds, admiring your pretty pussy and how wet you were for him. your cheeks were bright red as he continued to stare longingly at you, not being able to quite take his eyes off you as his finger slowly rubbed your swollen nub.

his hot and hot heavy breath lingered against your center, feeling yourself growing more soaked by the second. he looked up at you from the position he was in on his knees in front of you, his eyes full of lust and need. “such a beautiful fuckin’ pussy, sweetheart. god, look at you.”

before you could even reply to his words, he immediately leaned forward and dove his head in between your thighs, his tongue running up and down against your glistening folds causing your body to jolt forward against the feeling of his tongue finally against you. your hand insrantly found his hair again and ran your fingers throughout his hair, a soft moan leaving your lips. fuck, his tongue felt so good against you.

he dreamt of this for so long. the taste of your arousal coated his tongue as he began to lap his tongue against your glistening folds, swirling his tongue around in several directions as he hummed against you to send vibrations down your core. you were throbbing immensely and the feeling of his tongue finally against you was so damn rewarding. you couldn’t believe this was happening and you didn’t want it to stop.

his tongue plunges into your core repeatedly, lapping up your sweet juices as they coat his tongue. your fingers wrap around his hair tighter and pull onto his head to dive his head more into your center. you wrap your legs around his face which causes a groan to erupt from his throat and send vibrations down to your core. you throw your head back against the kitchen cabinet. you refuse to close your eyes, wanting to savor this moment as long as possible.

watching him eat you out was the hottest fucking thing. you didn’t want it to end. fire coursed throughout your veins, sending shockwaves down to your body at the feeling his tongue rolling along your glistening folds before he began to suck onto your swollen clit and taking it between his lips. he sucked onto it hungrily, lapping his tongue against it each and every time he’d let it go. he devoured your pussy hungrily, not being able to stop. “o-oh fuck. matt. that’s feels.. so nice.” you moan out your words, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging hard.

he looked up at you as he continued to devour you, running his tongue up and down your glistening wet folds, moaning against your center as he opens up his eyes to look up at you. he’s mesmerized by how your face looks when you throw your head back in absolute ecstasy. fuck, he’s been dreaming about this for so long and now he’s finally getting a taste of you.

he pulled away just for a second to breathe, licking over his lips hungrily like he was already having withdrawals. you pulled one hand away from his hair to place against your own chest, massaging your breast through the fabric of your shirt. you looked down at him, your arousal glistening against his lips. the loss of his tongue made you whine, but you locked your eyes with him, already looking fucked out. “fuck, sweet girl. you taste so divine. got me addicted to this pussy.” he spoke in a sultry tone, licking over his own lips once more.

“can’t stop.” was all he said breathlessly, flashing you a sly smirk before diving back in between your thighs. his hands moved to your inner thighs to hold you still as he ran his tongue up and down your glistening cunt. he waited for so long to be able to taste you and he couldn’t believe this was actually fucking happening.

he sucked onto your swollen clit, lapping his tongue against it repeatedly as your legs begin to shake from the pleasure filling inside of you. “f-fuck!” you shouted out, gripping onto his hair to keep his head in place so he wouldn’t move away from your center, not that he’d want to. he could tell you were getting closer to your orgasm. he didn’t stop, continuing to roll his tongue along your glistening pussy, moaning against you with the taste of you driving him absolutely fucking insane.

you were so close to your orgasm. your body began to shake and tremble with fire coursing throughout your veins. you didn’t want this to end, but you didn’t know how much longer you could hold on. you continued to grip onto his hair to hold his face in place as you watched him devour your pussy like a starved man, addicted to your taste. addicted to you. “oh, fuck matt! i’m s-s-so close!” you stuttered your words as you moaned loudly, profanities falling from your lips as your heart raced rapidly in your chest.

god, he looked so fucking good between your legs. you wished you had your phone to take a picture for later, you’d already keep it engraved in your brain anyway. he gripped harder on your thighs to hold you still as you tried to rock your hips up into him, in an attempt to fuck his face as he sucked onto your clit feverishly. he pulled away just for a moment to look back up at you, his lips curving into a devious smirk as he licked over his lips hungrily. “cum for me, sweet girl. been needin’ to taste you for so long. cum on my tongue and let me taste you. wanna see you when you cum f’me. keep your eyes open, alright ma? don’t be shy now.”

he immediately went back to licking your swollen bud repeatedly, sucking onto it and moaning against you, your eyes locked together. you made sure to keep your eyes opened the entire time just like he demanded. hearing his dirty words and watching him fucking devour you is what caused you to get sent over the edge. you didn’t realize how badly you needed this until you saw him between your thighs, eating you out like his life depended on it.

suddenly, your body began to shake as your orgasm rushed through you, your fingers tugging onto his head harshly as you pushed your hips into his face, your orgasm sending shockwaves throughout your entire body as you cum on his tongue, moaning out in ecstasy, his name falling from your lips. he watched you the entire time, your eyes locking together in an intense gaze, moans falling from your lips. he couldn’t take his eyes off you. he couldn’t fucking believe this was happening after all this time.

he lapped up your juices as you allowed your orgasm to rush through you, your arousal coating his tongue as he moaned against your pussy. your heart beat rapidly in your chest, sweat glistening against your forehead. you look incredibly fucked out and hazed, your fingers lazily running through his messy locks. even in your post orgasm haze, he believed you were the most beautiful girl in the world. fucking magnificent. he used a tongue to lick your now overly sensitive clit to get one more taste before pulling away from your thighs. he used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth that was covered in your juices, a now shy smile appearing onto his lips as he stared up at you.

he got back onto his feet to stand before you, your legs now closed and you pull your shirt back down as you try to find the strength in them to jump off the counter, but your legs felt like jello. your eyes moved from his lips and back up into his eyes. you didn’t know what this meant moving forward, but you couldn’t fucking believe this happened.

“a fuckin dream come true. literally. thank you, sweet girl.” his own breathing was labored as he licked over his lips and stared at you with his cheeks reddened tremendously. he’s back to his usual shy self. “been wantin’ that for awhile.”

your chest heaved up and down, your head resting against the kitchen cabinet. your eyes move down to the evident hardened bulge in his pants, a wet spot forming against the fabric. he was incredibly turned on just from tasting you. you didn’t know if he wanted you to return the favor or not, but the sight of him completely hard for you was such a turn on.

he caught your eyes, moving his eyes down to his own hardened cock before back up into your eyes. he had come here because of this same problem, but this time he wouldn’t be leaving in complete agony. at least he finally got to taste you. he bent down to grab your damp lacy panties that were still on the ground and immediately places them in his pocket, flashing you a small smirk.

“enjoy your breakfast, sweetheart. i sure as hell enjoyed mine.”

taglist-

@sturnshood @strangelife122 @jessie-essie @giveheavensomehell @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturnslutz @forgottxen @matthewsturnsgf @christmastreecake @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @oopsiedaisydeer @sophand4n4 @sturniololuv08 @xclusivedesires

a/n- thank you to @sturnshood for helping me with the idea! i wouldn’t of been able to write this without you. thank you thank you, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me i love you!

thank you to everyone who’s read this au and has supported me! i want to continue it for as long as i can, so if you have any ideas, questions for me or just wanna talk in general please don’t hesitate to send a message in my inbox!

i love you guys! :)

-nessa ღ

[irrealisms]

Hey so I want to get into lifesteal. I don’t exactly feel like watching hundreds of hours of vods. I did also watch one of the three hour long summaries by one of the members but most of it went right over my head. At this point I’m mainly interested in watching pangi’s and clown’s pov. Could you catch me up with the lore and maybe recommend a few vods?

absolutely!!! the first thing i'll say is that lifesteal is sort of like hermitcraft or the life series (if you're familiar with those), in that it has multiple seasons, each of which is on a different server and comes with new teams/plotlines/builds/etc., although they do sometimes reference past seasons. so if you want to only watch some seasons and not others, that's an option! both pangi and clown joined in s2 and are still members today in s6; clown is imo most famous for his s3, which is where clownzy comes from.

(if you don't want to watch hundreds of hours of vods but don't mind watching like a hundred hours of edited videos i also have playlists of all the edited videos buuuuuut i assume that you do not want to do that either lol. i'll link the playlists of Just clown and Just pangi povs though bc those should b shorter!)

the good news is that clown doesn't really stream and does make edited videos, and pangi is also pretty good at making edited videos. the bad news is that pangi streams a lot. the other good news is that i love Talking About Lifesteal.

uhhhh first off. some edited-video playlists:

clownpierce s2 (11 videos, 2.5 hours)

pangi s2 (2 videos, 15 minutes)

clownpierce s3 (9 videos, 3.5 hours)

pangi s3 (5 videos, 45 minutes)

clownpierce s4 (3 videos, 1 hour)

pangi s4 (10 videos, 2 hours; has some videos not by pangi if they are relevant to pangi's story)

clownpierce s5 (7 videos, 3 hours)

pangi s5 (2 videos, 30 minutes)

[there are no clownpierce videos for s6]

pangi s6 (16 videos, 2.5 hours)

general overviews of the seasons and whether/how much i recommend them:

i quite like clownpierce's s2; it's kinda old and a bit messy, it's from when he and lifesteal really blew up as youtubers, and also from when he was cracked at crystal pvp. he's very involved in the ~main plot, between the M.O.B. (clown's team) and the Poggies (parrot's team). he gets some delightful monologues and fun moments. if you have derangements about Content and Narrative within mcyt the way i do i definitely recommend his s2. pangi ... only joins halfway through s2 and doesn't really do much lol

clownpierce's s3 is REALLY good. there is a reason that clownzy is the #1 lifesteal ship on ao3, and it's because of clown and branzy's s3. i personally prefer branzy pov of s3 tbh but clown pov is also quite good! evil clown runs casino, falls in love, does a lot of scamming and murder. very good imo. pangi's s3 is good but kind of forgettable imo, although it (especially the last video) is good as leadup for...

pangi's s4! once again i REALLY like pangi's s4. (not to brag but you can spot me in the twitch chat of one of his videos.) he gets very involved in the plot this season; he starts shit with the NPPP, clownpierce, and team awesome, in that order, and has a deeply messy relationship with princezam, including "princezam literally flying to the netherlands and using pangi's minecraft account to give pangi's hearts to his enemies", "princezam pretending to be on pangi's side when pangi declares himself king only to actually be double-agenting", and "pangi traps a suicidal princezam in bedrock". love those guys. and pangi's s2-3 (but ESPECIALLY the princezam empire) sets up their friendship a bit more if you end up interested in them! you can skip the valentines date & escape room if you are primarily watching for major plot events, they're very filler-y, but they're a fun time and they were pangi videos from s4 so

clown's s4 is. fine? it's got one video of "this event is also covered in the pangi playlist" (shades vs clown duel) and two videos that are fun for clown but pretty disconnected from The Rest Of The Server. that said if s3 got you invested in clownzy you should check out I Trapped Him In Minecraft's Safest Base. clown basically did not log on for most of s4 and it shows ToT

pangi's s5 is another. it's fine? it's really really short. it is literally two videos. one of my favorite s5 streams that never went anywhere or got made into a video is related to pangi but it, uh, never went anywhere or got made into a video lol. tl;dr: he and zam are teammates this season! for real this time and they aren't going to have a big dramatic breakup!!! this lasts...about half the season until they have a big dramatic breakup (not shown in the youtube videos, which are all set before that). he also got involved in some Dragon Egg Shenanigans and started some shit with subz early-season but nothing huge.

clown gets more involved again in s5! he's not quite as involved as he was in s2-3 but he is There for a lot of stuff: he makes the PMC with Minutetech, Leowook, and Sort Of Branzy, doesn't log on for a while, logs back on to help with the scavenger hunt during void arc (aka "do our scavenger hunt or else we turn all of spawn into void"), and then betrays the PMC for end-of-server. there's some good stuff in there imo.

pangi's s6 is ... mostly just Silly Bits rather than Getting Involved, both in videos and vods. that said it might be worth watching some of it as a realm viewer bc it's the origin of his current bits--eg the therapy thing is a lifesteal s6 original!

in terms of character stuff about the two of them:

with clown there are a couple things i want to talk about. the main thing everyone talks about is clownzy, and i'd also like to talk about the broader phenomenon that creates clownzy, which is that clown really loves having a Little Guy: someone who's kind of pathetic and bad at pvp, so that clown can Protect Them and be a little threatening to them and even more threatening to their enemies. the other thing i want to talk about is actually not clownzy-related? clown likes (and is quite good at!) playing evil menacing villains, but he's in many ways a believer in politeness and fair play; he's a very gracious loser, to the point where lifestealers have said before that they feel kinda bad when they win against him, and he tends to strongly favor fair fights over traps or exploits. which is interesting to me! uhhhh another thing that's interesting is that (as is the case with many/most lifestealers) his videos tend to editorialize; his s3 especially stands out to me for this, for a few moments but one that stands out to me is that when mr. cube successfully rigs the casino against him he just cuts this out of his video even though he's got the moments right before and right after it in his video.

with pangi something that sticks out to me is .... well first of all i could talk about his relationship with zam for aaaaaaages. there's a thing there of. he and zam are quite close ooc, and so zam tends to take him for granted as an ally, even when zam treats him quite poorly and doesn't prioritize him? this was most obvious in s4 but i would say even in s5 when they teamed up again uhhhhhh zam does very much (a) find another team that zam ends up much closer with (b) plan to spawnkill pangi. but pangi's still very much in a position where his strongest/closest relationship is usually zam. there's also a thing where he's currently known as a Silly Lighthearted Bits guy and not someone who gets seriously involved in the LoreTM and i think sometimes people forget that this wasn't always true? but even in s4 when he was much more involved in things there's some level of disconnect; in late s4 there was a lot of "major developments happen while pangi's asleep, the next day zam catches pangi up on everything that happened". and i would also argue that all of this is v related to pangi being european time zone and lifesteal being overwhelmingly american. it's harder for pangi to form strong bonds or get super involved in things when people are just... not online at the same time as him.

uhhhh also if u just want to jump in w s6 u can do that. pangi hasn't had any Big Lore this season you can just start watching him. go for it. clown doesn't really stream it bc he hates us but he hasn't done much in s6 so far so if he starts doing stuff, again, you won't be missing things, u can just jump in

i was going to talk more about the lore for each season beyond whether i recommend it, since you mostly wanted me to give summaries that catch you up, buuuuuut this post is already absurdly long. most of my favorite pangi vods either got made into videos or i mostly enjoy them for other characters (e.g. there are at least three pangi s4 vods i really like because zam is being incredibly suicidal in them lol) BUT. have the princezam-pangi divorce vod from s5 in which zam tries to spawnkill pangi bc zam needs hearts and pangi gets away and then they argue for like an hour. this is the aforementioned stream that never got made into a video. i know it is a zam pov stream but i really like it for pangi as well :3

if you prefer vods to edited videos and want me to recommend a few others that did make it to videos, or if you want a more in-depth summary of any of the seasons: just send another ask and i will happily yap more!!! this is kinda all over the place bc i'm sick rn but i will do my best. i am torn between "i hope this wasn't too long" and "i am worried it should have been significantly longer in order to actually answer your questions abt lore instead of just linking videos" lol but ! as i said feel free to just, send another ask, u have no idea how excited i was to get this ask, i love talking about lifesteal ^w^

[cravinganotherworld]

Amorous - Chapter 2, Part 2. Frontman/ Fem! reader

Chapter 2, Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/cravinganotherworld/772200596177666048/amorous-chapter-2-part-1-frontman-x-fem?source=share

As you return from the second game you can't help but let guilt overtake you, your heart breaking the more you think of how you failed until Young il convinces you otherwise.

WARNINGS: Mention of cancer and illness, Y/N blaming herself, soft frontman.

NOTES - Chapter 3 may or may not be out later tonight, if not tonight 100% tomorrow.

Wordcount - 1k

Walking into the dormitory felt like a death march, no one spoke except the few murmurs of players amongst themselves as they watched your team walk through the doors. You felt a sense of guilt in your mind, why couldn’t you hit the stone, why weren’t you good enough? You could’ve killed your team…they could’ve been dead because of you. You wrap your arms around yourself and silently part from your team, walking across to your bed. You sit down and bring your knees to your chest, resting your cheek on them as you look to the side. Player 007 and player 149 sit together whispering under their breaths, you overhear player 149.

“If you leave here without me, I know you’ll be fine, but if I left without you….” Your heart strings tear as you hear her confession. They are clearly mother and son, you couldn’t imagine the pain if one of them had to leave without the other. Your mind wanders to your grandfather, it hurts that you can’t see him until you leave this dreaded place, IF you leave this place. You just hope he can hold on that long, you know he is strong, you wished you were as strong as him but alas your emotions and your heart get the better of you. After the last games you fight your heart with your head, you knew it to be logical to leave and find the money some other way but something was keeping you here…or someone. You mind began to wander, images of Young Il tying the rope on the spinning top infiltrate your mind, His veins so prominent, his grip so gentle yet tight at the same time, you wander what they’d feel like around you. As the thought enters your mind your face flushed a deep shade of red, yet a smile made its way onto your face.

Your mind continues to wander, so far that you almost don’t feel the tap on your shoulder. You shake your head and look up meeting the very eyes you had pictured not a minute before. Your cheek flush a deep Scarlett as your eyes connect.

“Are you okay? You’ve been by yourself for a while” your heartbeat quickens.

“I…I am sorry” you speak quietly tilting your head down to face your lap. Concerned, Young Il sits in front of you and takes your hands in his.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, hey look at me” you ignore his request letting your tears fall freely. You feel him shift slightly as he brings his hand to wipe your tears away, letting his hand rest on your cheek. “Look at me” he whispers, his thumb stroking your cheek as more tears fall. Using all of your courage you tilt your head to look up at him, seeing nothing but sadness in his eyes. “you have nothing to be sorry for, we survived, we made –“

“but what If we didn’t…?” you speak so quietly he almost doesn’t hear. “we’d all be dead and it’d be my fault” you whisper, sniffling as you bring your arm up to wipe away a few tears.

“No, no one is blaming you” you scoff and shake your head at him, your gaze moves to the group of players you had played the games with, all of them shooting glances in your direction. Suddenly you feel both of Young ils hands on your face, pulling your attention back to him.

“Hey” he speaks now with a firm but caring tone “nobody is blaming you, if you don’t believe me come and sit with us, they will happily welcome you in” his hands leave your cheeks as his arms return to his side, aiding in him rising off of your bed. He reaches out his hand to you waiting for you to take it. Gently you placed your hand in his wiping your cheek dry as you get up, yet young Il doesn’t move. He stands looking at you, your hand in his as you look back up at him taking in his every feature, from his dimples to the way his eyebrows furrow when a thought comes into his mind. You watch as he reaches up with his other hand and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, smiling in satisfaction when you lean slightly into his touch. “You’re too beautiful to let sadness ruin you” he whispers running his hand across your cheek and turning away from you to walk back towards the group still grasping your hand. As you reach, the group they all look up at you.

“You all remember y/n right?” Young Il asked. The group nodded and happily motioned for you to join them. You feel Young Ils grip on your hand loosen as he lets go, pushing you gently towards an empty space at the top of the stairs. You take your seat with him following suit, your thighs brushing together but neither of you making the effort to separate them.

“So, y/n, why are you here?” Dae-Ho asks. You smile at him and reply

“My grandfather, he is all I have left in this world. My parents abandoned me when I was a child so my grandfather is all I’ve known, last year he was diagnosed with cancer…” you stop as your stomach drops the more you explain. “I will do anything I can to pay for his treatment and save him” you finish with a shaky breath. Dae-Ho looks at you with sympathy in his eyes.

“A noble reason indeed, I am sure he’d be proud of you” Gi-Hun speaks You smile at him, the thought of making your grandfather proud is one that sticks in your mind every day. Suddenly a loud buzz echoes through the dormitory and pink guards begin to flood in, wheeling through the voting podium. Whilst the rest of your team stand and make their way to the centre of the room you sat still raking through your mind about what to do. Your head is telling you to leave, to be with your grandfather but your heart…your heart yearns to stay.

[rcmclachlan]

2024 Tumblr Top 10

Tagged by the wonderful @liminalmemories21

How it works: Share your top 10 tumblr posts from last year! Visit this site, scroll down to "Find your Tumblr Top 10," type in your username, and select 2024. When you get the results, simply click "Share to Tumblr" and you'll get an auto-generated draft for a post with links and previews. Make any adjustments you see fit.

Surprising no one, all my top posts in 2024 were about BuckTommy. Here’s the breakdown:

1. Tommy’s just as insane as Buck (1,184 notes - Aug 15 2024)

This is probably my favorite post of the year, so I’m glad it’s sitting pretty at number one. Even after what we’ve learned about Tommy since I posted it, I still stand by it. There is no way Mr. Sure I’ll Fly Into A Hurricane On A Hunch is normal about anything.

2. Amnion (mpreg, 8x06 fix-it) (777 notes - Nov 9 2024)

This predated the mpreg tsunami that hit the fandom by about a week, but if you’ve been following me since April, you’ll know that dadvans and I had been surfing that wave all along. 

3. Season 4 alternate meeting (726 notes - Aug 10 2024)

I’ve got a list as long as my arm of ways Buck and Tommy could’ve met earlier, but the idea of “what if their paths crossed the day Buck learns about Daniel” grabbed onto my ankle like a mutant west highland white terrier and wouldn’t let go. 

It eventually became the fic Histocompatibility on AO3.

4. 8x05 spec fic ("Kiss me, Thomas!”) (704 notes - Oct 23 2024)

I wrote this after the first pictures of Buck’s face dropped a couple of days before the episode aired. At the time, we could only see one boil (I think the most popular theory was that a spider had laid eggs in his face, a la Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark), so I decided to have a little fun. 

Apologies to the people who were scarred for life after learning what a giant weta is. 

5. The 118-217 Shadow Summit headcanon (665 notes - Dec 29 2024)

A very late addition to the list! There I was with all these headcanons, still mourning the breakup and wishing the show had given us some cross-station shenanigans, when I realized I could solve all my problems with fic. Why would I try to get Buck and Tommy back together when the yahoos at the 118 and 217 could do it for me?

Then I took it a step further with this missing scene, which I had an absolute blast writing. These people are bonkers (to me).

6. “So? Tell me about the hot pilot.” (652 notes - Sep 13 2024)

I can never get enough of the Buckley siblings, and since the show finally gave us something substantial with 7x05, I decided to delve a little deeper into Buck and Maddie’s conversation about Buck’s bisexuality and the man responsible for opening his eyes to it. 

It eventually became the fic Table of Contents on AO3.

7. New Year’s Eve fix-it ficlet (651 notes - Jan 1 2025)

Okay, technically it shouldn’t be on the list because I posted it in the new year, but I wrote it a couple of hours before midnight while watching Wicked with friends, so I’m including it. It was a half-baked idea that became a half-baked fic, but it seemed like people enjoyed it, so I’m taking that energy into the new year!

8. More 8x05 spec fic (missing scene) (589 notes - Oct 24 2024)

Another fic that was born out of the episode previews, which allowed me to bring my 217 OCs out to play. All I kept thinking was, ‘What was going through these people’s heads when they heard dispatch say a body had been found at the 118? Probably something along the lines of: must be Tuesday.’ 

9. Pregnancy kink ficlet/headcanon (526 notes - Aug 29 2024)

No explanation necessary. 

10. Relative Value (499 notes - Jun 26 2024)

“Give me Uncle Tommy or give me death” has been my mantra since Tommy and Buck made out in front of God, country, and the entire First Presbyterian ER lobby. Also, it’s a headcanon of mine that all the 118 kids are obsessed with him, much to Tommy’s confusion and amusement. 

It eventually became Relative Value on AO3.

Well, this was a fun little retrospective! I can’t believe this dumb show pushed me out of writer’s block limbo as hard as it did, but I’m very grateful. 

Tagging: @dadvans, @screamlet, @epiphainie, @leashybebes, and @beanarie​​

[toasttt11]

bronze and gold

January 2, 2023

Hayden yawned as she leaned against the wall of the airplane. She was flying to Nova Scotia for the WJC. She has just been in Anaheim yesterday morning after playing the Ducks and spending New Year’s Eve out celebrating with Trevor which was not a good idea with how she woke up and now she is taking a really early flight out of Edmonton to make sure she will see Luke and hopefully Connor’s game today.

Hayden only told Ellen and Jim she was coming so she was surprising Luke.

Hayden luckily had a few days after the New years with no games so she will able to see Luke play the rest of his games in the tournament.

Hayden got off the plane and grabbed her duffle bag and tossed her USA beanie back on and zipped up her puffer jacket as she walked through the airport and looked around outside to see where Jim was.

Hayden saw Jim in the rental car and quickly rushed over and hopped into the car. Hayden and Jim shared a fist bump before she tossed her bag in the backseat.

Jim had dropped Ellen and Luke off at the rink and said he he would be right back and went to pick up Hayden.

Jim drove them to the arena and they quickly walked into the arena right as the US team was getting off the ice after warm ups and they quickly walked to Ellen.

Ellen immediately smiled and pulled her goddaughter into a tight hug before the three sat with Hayden sat in between Ellen and Jim.

Hayden watched as Luke skated onto the ice for the national anthem and she smiled so proud seeing the C on his chest. She remembered how proud of him she was when he told her.

Hayden watched as Luke looked over to Ellen and Jim and froze noticing her sitting in between them. She laughed and waved softly as Luke beamed brightly waving back.

Hayden could never not be proud when she watches any of her brothers play but especially Luke. Luke’s her baby brother and seeing how much he has grown and how he continues to develop makes her feel so lucky to be able to watch. She knew sooner than later she will be watching him playing in the NHL.

Hayden cheered for team USA as they continued to just keep scoring and at the end of the third period they had won 11-1 and on the way to the Semi Finals.

Hayden waited in the family room that this arena had with Ellen and Jim for Luke to come out after the game and there was a lot of other family and friends waiting too.

Hayden smiled slightly amused from all the looks she got when some of the boys from the team came in.

Luke was of the last to come in and he immediately walked right to his sister and pulling her into the tightest hug and burying his head on her shoulder. Hayden quickly hugged him back and her hand gently brushed against his wet curls.

Luke had seen Hayden only recently for Christmas but he still missed her.

“What are you doing here?” Luke immediately asked when he pulled away from the hug, he had no idea Hayden was coming but Hayden is always good at surprising him.

“I managed to get a few days to get out here.” Hayden explained.

“Come on i want to introduce you to everyone.” Luke told her as Hayden has only met a few of his teammates on this team.

Hayden let Luke drag her around the room and introduce her as his sister.

After Luke introduced her Ellen and Jim said they should head back to the hotel and Hayden told them she was gonna stay to watch Connor play and Luke quickly said he was gonna stay with Hayden. Luckily for Hayden and Luke the hotel was a short distance so they could walk after the game.

Luke was a bit hesitant at first when he found out about Hayden becoming friends with Will and Connor because he can tell she is already acting like a mentor to them and an older sister and he was a little jealous but he realized anyone is lucky to Hayden and she is his sister and he can share.

Luke really liked Will when he met him and he likes Connor so far from facetime.

Luke stayed close to Hayden as they walked through the arena by all the people, “Con!” Hayden called out noticing Connor walking alone with warm up clothes on.

Connor furrowed his brows hearing a familiar voice and looked up seeing Hayden there and grinning, “Hayden?” Connor looked puzzled but he started smiling as Hayden walked over and opened her arms up letting him decide if he wants a hug and he quickly hugged her.

“Hi.” Hayden spoke quietly and hugged him gently back.

“What are you doing here?” Connor asked with a grin.

“Thought i could come see Luke and you play.” Hayden explained simply making Connor’s eyes soften realizing she said him too and she made it sound so simple.

“Your watching the game?” Connor asked shocked.

Hayden hummed smiling at his shock, “Mhm Luke is watching with me.”

Connor noticed Luke standing to Hayden, “Hey!” Connor held out his hand to officially meet one of Hayden’s brothers.

“Hi.” Luke smiled slightly and shook Connor’s hand back.

“We will let you go.” Hayden knew how much Connor liked his routine, Hayden squeezed Connor’s shoulder, “You’ll do great.” She gave him a reassuring smile making Connor let out a breath and nod having her a smile back.

“Oh my mom should be sitting over there if you want to find her.” Connor pointed to one of the bleacher sections and knew his mom really wanted to meet Hayden officially in person.

“We’ll find her.” Hayden nodded and gave Connor one more gently smile before looking her and with Luke and they walked away.

Hayden walked over to where she saw Mеlaniе sitting, Hayden has spoke to her a few times on facetime but she hasn’t officially met her yet.

Mеlaniе looked up hearing someone in front of her and smiled seeing Hayden, she got up and pulled Hayden into a hug, “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“You too.” Hayden kindly smiled as she pulled back, “This is my brother Luke.” Luke waved softly.

Hayden and Luke sat next to Mеlaniе as they waited for the game to start.

“Thank you.” Mеlaniе gave Hayden a serious look knowing how much Hayden has been a help for Connor since he met her with everything, especially emotionally. Mеlaniе was glad her son had someone looking out for him.

“Of course.” Hayden easily smiled back.

Hayden for once was actually rooting for Canada to win but only for Connor.

Hayden cheered as Connor got to goals in his game and he ended up winning in OT.

January 4, 2023

Hayden didn’t get to see much for Luke or Connor the day before as they both were preparing for the game with their teams but she managed to catch a lunch with Connor and dinner with Luke with Ellen and Jim.

Hayden unfortunately was not surprised it ended up with Luke and Connor playing each other to go to the gold medal game. Luke will always be who she roots for most because he’s her brother but she’s rooting for Connor too.

Hayden sat with Ellen, Jim and Mеlaniе for the game wearing a USA hoodie with Luke’s name and number on it.

Hayden fiddled with her bracelet as the game started and Canada was immediately scoring and being very dominant. Hayden knew if US didn’t turn this around soon it wasn’t going to be good.

US got a goal but Canada got another goal.

The game ended 6-2 with Canada winning and they were heading to the gold medal game with USA heading to the bronze medal game.

Hayden frowned seeing Luke’s devastated face and the way his shoulders sunk down, she knew he was blaming this on himself. She understood the feeling of losing in these type of tournaments it was brutal.

Hayden did managed to smile slightly seeing the joy on Connor’s face.

Hayden knew Luke would want to leave immediately and she managed to find Connor before he got changed.

“Congrats!” Hayden grinned laughing slightly as Connor hugged her immediately.

“Thank you.” Connor pulled back just smiling, “It’s okay.” Connor nodded in understanding knowing Hayden needed to be with Luke and he understood that she would be leaving.

“I’ll be at your game tomorrow.” Hayden promised him ruffling his hair.

“I know.” Connor smiled fondly and watched as she turned around walking away.

Hayden met back up with Ellen and Jim just as a sad Luke came out of the locker room.

Luke immediately walked right to Hayden and leaned onto her hiding his face. Hayden softly rubbed his back, “I’m so proud of you.” Hayden softly cooed feeling Luke softly nod.

“Come on let’s get you back to the hotel.” Hayden gently pulled back but kept an arm around Luke’s shoulders as they walked through the arena out to the car.

Luke leaned into Hayden completely and sat in the middle seat of the car to stay close.

Luke just wanted to get back to the hotel get changed out of his suit and cuddle with his big sister.

Hayden pressed a kiss to the top of his wet curls.

January 5, 2023

Hayden walked with Luke to the locker room seeing his nerves, “Hey look at me Luke.” Hayden stopped and gently tugged on her brother’s face and she gave him an encouraging smile.

“No matter what happens i’m proud of you. Aunt Ellen and Uncle J are proud of you. Jack and Quinn are proud of you.” Hayden seriously told Luke and took a deep breath, “Mom and Dad are proud of you.” Hayden’s voice broke slightly saying her parents.

Luke’s eyes filled with tears at her words and he hugged her, “Thank you.” Luke mumbled sniffling.

“Now go and play hockey because it’s what you love.” Hayden gave his a reassuring smile and kissed his forehead gently.

Hayden let Luke head into the locker room and she went and sat with Ellen and Jim and waited for the game to start.

The game started and it was just goals back and forth the entire time. Luke got one of the goals. The third period ended with a tie 7-7.

They headed into OT and USA got the goal making them win the game and get the bronze medal.

Hayden proudly smiled watching Luke celebrate, Luke was devastated with not making it to the gold medal game but he made the best of what he got and still got a medal.

Hayden headed to the family room waiting for Luke to come out.

Luke came in with a bright smile and was coming right over hugging Hayden tightly and shaking her back and forth making her laugh.

“See i told you.” Hayden smiled as she squeezed him tightly.

Luke nodded, Hayden is always right.

Hayden stayed with Luke, Ellen and Jim in the family room celebrating with Luke’s team until the start of the Canada game.

Hayden sat down with Mеlaniе as the game was just about to start.

Hayden noticed Connor looking over and at her and she saw the nerves on his face and gave him a reassuring nod and took a deep breath and Connor took a deep breath in and nodded slowly back.

Hayden shook her head as the game also ended up going into OT.

Hayden smiled watching Connor cheer as Canada won the gold medal.

Connor waved at her from the ice after the game with a wide beaming smile making her laugh fondly and wave back.

Hayden was glad she could come out and see Luke and Connor play.

[concretejunglefm]

Poltergeists: Bonus Chapter.

Just little bonus chapter inspired by the new ethel cain album and @blade-dressed-in-red. I hope you feel as helpless and confused as bubs.

Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 6, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 9, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 14

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader, Nicholas Ruffilo x Reader, possibly more BO members.

CW: Missing person, elements of supernatural horror, mentions of blood and possibly violence, unreliable narrator, implied smut. will update as it goes on. Heavy trigger warning for mentions of alcohol use, ptsd and panic attacks.

AN: This series will be told throughout a variety of flashbacks and present day, all which will be marked.

Divider: Silent-stories.

Tagged: @enemiestolovershoe, @fadingangelwisp, @littlepeachwhispers, @concreteangel92, @deathblacksmoke, @1toreyouapart, @lacy1986, @chaoticwineaunt, @ichoosetenderomens, @baddestomens, @blade-dressed-in-red, @halfalgorithmhafdeity, @geminigirlfromfinland, @fuck1ng-queen, @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard (if anyone else wishes to be tagged lmk)

I love you.

Noah told you that he loves you and you almost wish he hadn't now. You haven't heard the voice stop since.

I love you.

It’s not a taunt, but a mimic. It's his voice yet distorted enough for you to recognize it's not him.

I love you.

It comes in the late hours when sleep fails to come as you're laying beside him. It echoes throughout the house in a soft whisper, as if coaxing you.

I love you.

It wants you to find it. To follow its subtle siren call through the darkness to an end which you have no certainty of.

I love you.

You do your best to block it out, to ignore the hot tickle of breath against the side of your face every time you close your eyes as a means to protect yourself.

I love you.

Nights like these you're a child, hiding beneath the covers with the belief that the monster hiding in your closet won't find you and come drag you away.

I love you.

When he asks, you don't tell him that things have gotten worse. That the nights aren't the only time the creature comes out from its hiding place.

I love you.

You don't tell him that there's no safety for you from your own inability to distinguish between what's real and not anymore, that it's somehow extended beyond the hours of the night into the daytime, further stretching time.

I love you.

You don't tell him that the creature comes out to comfort you when he's not home. That you feel its too smooth body against your own, cold skin pulled over bones which don't fit and protrude against you.

I love you.

You don't tell him that you know why this is happening. Why it’s happening to you.

I love you.

There are days you watch the black stain on the kitchen ceiling grow, almost certain that you can hear a heartbeat coming from it.

I love you.

There's a heartbeat inside the house which fills your ears, joining the low humming and buzzing you've been tormented with for the last several months.

I love you.

There's a rot inside this house, one which tethers to the one inside you. It's an infestation spreading out to him and now you know what you must do.

I love you.

You need to cut it out. 

[warpaway]

linhardt keeps phasing in and out of consciousness. the roughness with which griss treated them failed to have any lasting effect, even once the party sets out again, linhardt dozes off on his feet. he's only conscious enough to know when maria gets hurt, and following the pattern of the night, he raises his hand to heal her.

[1 AP] Linhardt 12/12HP uses Physic on Maria 6/10HP [Roll: 2, +1HP; (Crest of Cethleann roll: 2, fail), Maria 7/10HP] Physic durability 4/15

then, they allow themself a nap. they deserve it, at this point, they feel. after all the horrors and the friendly fire and the confusion and blood and... well, they put it out of their mind. it's just so easy to...

[2 AP] Linhardt 12/12HP forfeits the rest of their AP.

that is, until there's a flash of light. it's familiar to him - there's a sound associated with it, and a flash of the most ancient, interesting magicks that linhardt is aware of.

they are not the only one with a crest in this party.

he cracks an eye open and sees it happen again - what luck!

at first, the crest of blaiddyd doesn't catch his attention. after all, it's not one of the special crests; that of a lost saint, that of the beast, or otherwise. the only thing notable about the crest of blaiddyd is that it's completely unique to the bloodline of faerghus' royal family, which has taken great lengths to prevent it from spilling out into other noble houses or elsewhere.

then, linhardt perks up. this man is not dimitri, and dimitri is supposed to be the only living member of the royal family. well, well. how did lambert come upon that?

enervated by his interest, linhardt takes a few quickened steps forward to keep pace with lambert as they make their way to class.

"i thought i was the only one in this little ragtag party with a crest," they begin. it's always best to lead with small talk, they know, from all the interviews they've conducted. "and yours is rather interesting. i have to ask you about it - oh, i don't mind waiting. i'm sure you'd rather not talk about such things in front of too many strangers."

all of their focus is now on lambert, and they are wide awake. they watch as he produces some tonic to help with griss' wounds. or ailment. or whatever.

"oh, allow me -" linhardt offers to take care of it instead. they don't like griss, certainly, but they agree that they shouldn't let him die from inaction.

he continues chatting as the group sets out again. it isn't that he's getting used to the routine of it, it's that he is simply focused on something else. he wants to ask so badly - how did you get a crest that only the faerghan royal family has? - but he knows that doing so in front of just anyone could result with him never seeing an answer.

when the creatures ambush them this time, linhardt is more annoyed than scared. these are distractions! these are getting in the way of valuable research! these are...

a perfect opportunity to see that crest again.

"not this again," they mutter, stepping back to allow their new fixation to handle it instead.

"why don't you take the vanguard?" he suggests, helpfully, "you certainly have an advantage with that crest."

up next: @twistedisciple

let's gather round the campfire and || COMBAT Week 1 Team 1

[beneaththeplanetofthebatmans]

Thank god for the chill FF youtuber who has been playing all of the FF games for over a decade, he can play 16 for me because I absolutely cannot play it myself, for multiple reasons.

[icewindandboringhorror]

More misc. daily life pictures and such

[rewrite-canon]

me when sad media piece about romantic relationship: light work no reaction

me when sad media piece about sibling dynamic: oh. okay. its got a little kick.

me when sad media piece about child-parental figure dynamic: LET ME GET UP LET ME GET UP LET ME GET UP ELT MEGET UP ELT ME GET UP ELTMR FJETY UP LEGBR LE FEOT UP

[mistninja]

Almost done watching alabasta. It's even better than I remember