#and so i kinda scrubbed through it . sorry

[butchsophiewalten]

Twitter Space Recap July 28th 2024

Last Sunday Martin, Eva, Kyle did a Twitter Space, with intermittent appearances from Coral! Here are some of the Q&A answers and other interesting things they talked about:

-Someone asks if TWF5 is going to be longer or shorter than TWF4, and Martin says that he currently predicts it to be "a bit longer".

-Somebody asks how Laura Peony (Rosemary's sister) looks. He says that she looks similar to Rose, probably, but that he honestly doesn't have much of a design in mind for her. Something fun to me is that he calls her "Sophie's aunt", rather than calling her Rosemary's sister, which is interesting when remembering one of Martin's previous statements that Rosemary doesn't have a very good relationship with her family.

-Someone asks about something Martin said in a Q&A a while ago, about Jenny going through many redesigns before her current and final design, and if we could see any of them. Eva ends up sharing one of Martin's old drawings of one of these designs, even though Martin says that he really hates it.

He mentions that she looks "too normal" and that she "looks like she's straight."

-Someone asks, "Who or what was the thing behind Bon and Sha in the TV in TWF2?" and Martin answers that it's Susan. (slowed gif relevant)

-Someone asks about how the Relocate Project trio all met each other, and Martin explains how in his original vision for the characters, they were this really close and inseparable group of long-time friends, but that he's recently kinda revised that idea, thinking it'd be more realistic if they were just work friends, who met each other through their jobs and all had full, separate lives and maybe weren't so inseparably close.

-Someone asks how old Kevin is in TWF2, and Martin explains that the relocate trio's ages are something that he's kinda retconned. He brings up an old image of Ashley that gets passed around by the fanbase sometimes which says she'd be 19 years old in 1978, saying that in his mind now, she'd be 22 at the time. He says "-and there's a reason for this, there's a reason for this. There are things about, uh, Ashley, and some things about the rest of the episode 2 crew that we haven't seen yet."

-Martin and Eva joke back and forth about an idea they both like, which is that Bon can create or mimic noises with his animatronic voice box, and that he likes to do stuff like bark and people in K-9, just to freak them out. Martin says, "Wait, did you know that this actually happens, in one of the episodes? In episode 2, Bon fucking plays rabbit noises, to mess with Ashley. When the lights go out, Bon-- he's imitating a rabbit."

-Martin says, "Somebody asked if the baby doll we see in Souvenir and TWF4 will have meaning in the future. Ah, yes it will."

-Someone asks, "Are we gonna get wholesome Rosemary content in the upcoming episodes?" and Martin and the rest of the crew shoot the shit for awhile, alluding ironically to the torment (emotional and otherwise) she will almost certainly be met with in the upcoming episode.

-Martin mentions that he's working on something related to TWF7, and says, "I genuinely think that episode 7 is going to be the most hated episode of The Walten Files ever. I've talked about this with Eva before." Martin and Eva refer to it sneakily as the "yuri" episode, and we know from previous Q&As and spaces that TWF7 is most likely going to be about Sophie and Jenny's relationship, possibly detailing how they met. Martin says, "I think- it's not because of what is in it [that it will be hated], it's more like, it's the least 'Walten Files' episode of The Walten Files."

Kyle says, "To be fair, I feel like season 2 is going to be such a tone shift and it's gonna do so much, that it's gonna be like, "Woah!" You're gonna send people back, like, 20 feet in surprise."

-Somebody asks if Jack is addicted to smoking, and if Felix gets on his ass about it. Martin says "I don't think Jack is addicted, I think Jack just smokes because he thinks smoking is cool. I wouldn't say addicted, but I'd say Rosemary smokes out of like, a place of, like, stress and anxiety. Instead of just as a hobby, in a way."

-Someone asks if Susan is skinny. Martin says, "I don't think Susan is very skinny, I would say Susan is more--" and Eva fills in with "Muscular..?" to which Martin replies, "Yeah, I was gonna say that, I couldn't find the right word. Yeah, considering she usually helps build the stuff, and shit like that, while Charles sits on his ass and stays on his computer all day, like a fucking lazy bitch. Just programming shit."

-Martin openly laments that Charles doesn't have more of a fanbase for him as in individual character. He goes, "Do I have to wait for the next two episodes to drop, so I can fucking have a Charles fandom? That's so sad."

-According to Kyle, Charles' favorite Sonic the Hedgehog character would be Knuckles. Martin says he doesn't know a lot about Sonic, but that Jack's favorite character would be Doctor Eggman, because he's the only human character.

-Martin and Eva talk for a bit about who would win in a fight between Bon and a bunch of different animatronic characters from Five Nights at Freddy's, with him losing terribly to most or all of them. Eva determines that he could definitely win against normal human William Afton, and Martin says he could, at least, probably win against The Puppet. Martin says, "Y'know how dogs grab, like, a toy? And shake it around? Bon just fucking bites-- and starts fucking shaking the animatronics around."

-Somebody asks, "Do Brian and Kevin know each other?" and Martin says, "No, they don't. I don't think Brian knows anybody from the rest of the series. Why would he?"

-Martin says, "I like to think- in the apartment [Jenny and Sophie] live in- It's really funny to me, the idea that Jenny knows everybody in the building and is friends with everybody, and Sophie isn't. Like, it's like, imagine in everyone else's perspective, its like 'Ohh, there's Jenny!', and she's like this really sweet person, and then there's just Sophie, this fucking-- this silent, weird girl that's always seen next to Jenny."

-Martin asks Eva, "What to you think of episode 7?" to which she replies, "It's very yuriful." He responds saying, "That's true." Eva later appends saying, "It's also a very good episode."

-Someone asks, "Will there be a Walten Files 5 & 6 trailer soon?" and Martin replies, "I have an idea for a trailer, but I know know if it's necessary, considering I don't want to show what happens in the episodes. I want people to go in completely blind."

-Eva reads a question that she likes, but is worried is too spoilery. "What's Sophie's relationship with her medication? Does she resent having to take it? Does Jenny know that she's on it?" Martin responds, "We cannot answer that. Because the medication Sophie's on will be expanded on." appends later going "I love how my original idea for Sophie's pills was like, it was never addressed it any way. It was just like, 'oh, she's just taking pills.'"

-Somebody asks about Hidie the Raccoon from the Showstoppers Cartoon, and Martin says that he's a burglar who pretends to be a collector for charity, but just steals the money.

-Someone asks about Madness Meridian. Martin says, "It was a book that was like, a more realistic version of The Walten Files. And it was like, 'what if The Walten Files was, like, completely made up by Sophie?', and it was like, it was really bad. And I remember I worked a lot in the book, but I lost it on an old computer, so."

-Someone asks if we're ever going to see the Showstoppers singing for real, instead of just performing over a preexisting song, and Martin says yes!

-Someone asks about the Findjackwalten page that was recently discovered, /jennyslair-dot-com-worldwideweb, which is currently password protected. Martin says that it will be a page soon, so the page's content is probably not currently meant to be accessed.

[nozomijoestar]

The entire T8 story is on YT and I hyperventilated so hard you'd think it's not 30 something F right now but 55

[prettyboykatsuki]

objects in the mirror | j. togame

✮ tags ; afab!reader + fem!reader, reader is so painfully dense / naive, ambiguous relationships, friends to ???, somewhat unrelieved sexual tension, sex toys, guided masturbation kinda, kissing, groping, nipples play, squirting, dialogue heavy, vaguely post canon, petnames (kame-chan and jo-chan for togame, baby for reader) 18+

✮ wc ; 6.4k (you have got to be fucking with me)

✮ a/n ; the one fic i wont be mad if you ask for part two on lolol. title from a mac miller song (my favorite mac miller song) that reminds me of a lot of characters but i felt really fit this fic.

go listen to it. his best track. also this like... mega got away from me. togame sorry for blueballing you.

✮ synopsis ; your only goal is to have a half-way decent orgasm. togame, as your best friend, is determined to help you reach it.

"So," Togame leans back into your bed. "You bought a vibrator and... can't use it? Because you keep psyching yourself out?"

"Yeah," You sigh with your head hung low. "Paid good money for it and it's collecting dust in my drawer. I'm miserable."

Togame smiles a little from where he's laid across the width of your bed, back propped up against the wall slightly with his legs hanging off one edge. You kick his side lightly as he fails to contain his amusement.

"Do you enjoy seeing me suffer, huh? You take amusement in my pain, you bastard?"

"Pfft," He snickers, turning a little to face you better. "It's kinda hard not too. Just seems..."

"You think it's stupid," You frown. He scratches his jaw.

"I wouldn't say that. A little silly but—"

"Which is another word for stupid," You point out. He shakes his head.

"The connotations different. Stupid would mean I'm insulting you. I don't think it's stupid. Ridiculous, maybe." And then he laughs to himself like a jackass. "No... I take it back. It's definitely ridiculous."

"You asshole. I should kick you out of my house."

He smiles knowingly, lazy and bemused. "You're not gonna,"

Smug bastard. You groan in defeat. "But I should."

He doesn't reply, brushing you off as easy as ever. "Sorry. Just not sure what exactly you want me to do with that information."

You throw your hands up in the air. "I dunno? Fucking help me. Offer solutions. Use whats left of your brain after getting the shit beat out of you as a teenager. Something."

"Now who's being an asshole." He quips. You frown.

"I'm sorry," You say easily. Togame smiles softly though you miss it while you're looking away. "But...ugh."

"Got such a way with words." He hums sarcastically before sobering a touch. He's scrolling through his phone not entirely paying attenion. "I don't really get why you're askin' me. Don't you have better candidates for this conversation?"

You give him a long-suffering look. "No. Unfortunately I live here, so the answer is not really. I can't talk to Kotoha or Tsubaki about this. We talk about guys and stuff but it's usually pretty PG."

"So I'm your stand in for a girl best friend?"

You tilt your head. "Huh? No. You're just my best friend. I would bitch to you about this either way."

He stares at you for a long while before scrubbing a hand down his face. You can't understand his sudden reaction, watching in confusion as he takes a deep breath.

"Right. Right, I'm your best friend." Togame mutters mostly to himself, sighing before going back to his usual demeanor. He rubs his under his eye. "Really dunno what you're asking for. You can whine however much you want, though."

"I'm not whining," You pause before sighing again. "Okay. Maybe I am whining, like, a little. But you would too if you were me, okay? I want to..." You make a face, the words suddenly feeling clumsy on your lips. You're not even doing anything and you're getting all weird about it. "I just wanna...cum."

Togame pauses. He sits up, sort of suddenly after that and finally has the decency to take off his boots. He scoots to the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor to do it, and you can't see his face when he speaks again. You don't think twice about it.

"Have you not? Like... ever?"

"Huh? No, I have but it's not really satisfying. It doesn't scratch the itch for me, you know? That's what the toy was for."

Togame takes another minute or two of silence as he takes off his boots. You wonder if it always takes him so long to take them off. Seems inconvenient.

He goes back to laying down, leaning on the wall with his legs spread out. "What kinda toy is it anyway?

"Oh, it's—" You stop in the middle of your sentence, brow furrowing. "Wait. Should I be telling you this?"

"Are you suddenly gaining self-awareness? Little late for that." He smiles.

"That's true," You reply, relaxing again with your arms crossed. "Nothing complicated. A rabbit vibrator, but the kinda expensive ones."

"How much?"

"Twelve-thousand yen. I got it on sale too,"

"No wonder you're so peeved you can't use it," Togame comments evenly. "A lot of money to be collecting dust. You even take it out the box?"

You deflate all over again. "Yeah. Charged it. Cleaned it too. But I put it back."

"Lemme see,"

"Huh? Oh, okay. Sure."

You don't bother asking why Togame wants to see your sex toy. It doesn't occur to you that there'd be any reasons outside of plain curiosity which you can understand. Togame dated a girl long-term so he knows some things, but you figure any girl with a decent boyfriend wouldn't need to make the same use of toys as you do. It'd make sense he's never seen one up close and personal.

You scoot to the edge of the bed and lean slightly as you open the side drawer and pull the toy out where it sits in nice, cardboard package. You pass it off to Togame before sitting back comfortably against your headboard.

He sits the box in his lap and stares at it for a long while.

You wonder if this is weird.

It doesn't bother you much either way, but it it is...

Odd, just how long Togame stares at it. He undoes the top of the folded box, pulling it back to reveal the soft, baby blue vibrator. It's six inches long and curved, with a soft rubber attachment to stimulate your clit and angle for your g-spot at the same time. Made with a high quality velveteen silicone. It has a lot of settings, and does the sort of rumbly vibrations you know feel good as opposed to the mechanical buzz of cheaper kinds.

Completely unused, Togame holds in his hands for a while, grabbing it by the ends. He doesn't touch it in a way that's weird. More like he assesses it. Measures it. You don't know for what though.

"It's cute."

"Huh?"

"The vibrator, I mean." Togame comments, putting it back in the box. His expression is unreadable. Something simmers under the surface of his neutral face but you can't place what exactly. "It's a cute color and the little pointed part here is cute."

You place a hand on your chest and close your eyes in sincerity. "Thank you. I also think I have excellent aesthetic taste."

Another pause. Brief but not.

"Do you want help using it?"

"Wha—"

"The vibrator," Togame clarifies before you get through the rest of your sentence. "Do you want me to help you use it?"

Your mind blanks. Your mouth moves faster than you can.

"...In what way?"

Togame remains steady. "Getting you comfortable and putting in you. As far as solutions go, it's the best I've got."

...Huh?

"Wouldn't that be awkward for you?"

"Is it awkward for you?" Togame replies back.

You stop to consider the question then shake your head.

"I mean...It's you. I trust you and I'm grateful but this..." You furrow your brow and look towards him. "Can you really do something like that with me? Just to help me?"

"Yeah." He replies. The words come so easily to him you're startled. Was he always this casual? You guess in a way but still. It's surprising. "It's the most direct route to solve your problem, I think. Once you've done it once with someone else, you'll definitely be able to do it alone right?"

You reason about this and find it's a somewhat optimal solution. You can't figure out the exact source of your unease about all of it, though it's there. You can't figure out Togame either. You appreciate how much he seems to want to help you but it doesn't make your worries go away.

You frown a little deeper.

"You're thinking about it too hard." Togame interjects. His tone is warm and easy.

"You're not thinking about it hard enough," You respond back. "What are you trying to do anyway? To help."

"Scratch the itch for you. Just think of it like that."

"Does that do anything for you?"

He dodges the question. "Don't worry about me. I'm offering. Promise it's fine."

You frown with your legs crossed, staring at the empty space of the bed. "...I g-guess it's fine? I can't think of a reason to say no."

"You don't mind doing this with me? Or is it because you're okay with anyone?"

You shake your head.

"What are you saying? Of course it's because you're the one asking. I trust you."

He smiles genuinely at that, eyes closed in what seems like relief. "I just wanted to make sure."

Togame opens his eyes again and casts them your way. Your breathing feels shallow under the weighted glance. He sits up a little more and shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, placing it on the pillow next to you. He feels broader without the layer of fabric over his torso, white shirt stretching over his frame as he sits on the bed on his knees.

"Lay down. Get comfortable."

You nod, adjusting the pillows and things and trying not to feel self-conscious or get cold feet. It speaks to your desperation that you're taking this help so willingly and from your long time best friend no less. In the back of your head, you do feel a little strange.

Togame is just being a good friend, that's what you tell yourself. You believe it too.

He hovers above you first. You tilt your head to look at him, the short gap of space between you feeling particularly small while also being miles wide. Your stomach flutters as Togame's eyes fix on your lips.

He leans forward and presses his mouth to yours. It's chaste. You wonder if you look even half as surprised as you feel.

"What was that for?"

"Breaking the ice."

You mumble. "Oh..."

Togame kisses you again that time, and then one more time before speaking up. "You're so naive."

"Huh? No I'm not,"

He brushes you off again that time before sitting up again. He sits between your legs where you have them spread. You have no idea what he's thinking or why he's doing this.

Unlike most people, you usually do have a good read on what Togame is feeling. He's upfront most of the time, despite his posturing seeming wishy-washy. It's a little weird to feel so out of bounds around him, like he purposely has his guard up. You wonder if that guard is for you, or for him. Is he uncomfortable somehow? Is he trying not to hurt your feelings by not being interested? You're not really expecting that.

But if that were the case, there's no reason he would help you this way.

Before you get too entranced in your thoughts, Togame snaps you out of them.

"How do you normally do this?"

You blink and look up.

"Do what?"

"Get off," Togame answers. Your eyes meet and you find yourself wanting to look away. "You said it was unsatisfying so I thought it'd be better if we started there,"

"Uhm," You feel embarrassed trying to talk about this. You're not sure why. It's not something you'd feel self-conscious outside this specific context but Togame just seems more... intense then usual. Like he's being serious about your silly problem. "D-depends? Sometimes I watch porn or listen to audios or read. Not always."

"Got it. How do you touch yourself then?"

He looks expectant. You turn your head to look away from him. The minutes tick by.

"Uhm... just rubbing my c-clit usually. I have uhm, other toys I'll use sometimes too but I need to touch my clit to get off." You wonder if these are too many details. Togame is listening to it so carefully. "Uhm. If i-its too sensitive I'll touch over my clothes too. Sometimes I cum like that."

His face shifts. It lingers long enough for you to notice but not enough for you to process what it was. He's back to his usual self so quickly you wonder if you've made the entire thing up.

"Right. I think I know what your problem is,"

You feel a little relieved at that. "Really?"

He pauses before smiling a little with a friendly nod that reminds you of how you were when you were kids, a face that's unexpectedly kind. "Really."

You look at him expectantly.

"I think you're not building up to it enough." Togame comments, smoothly. You blink at him. "You're a girl, you know? Can't jump straight into it, you need to stimulate yourself more first and relax. You're so focused on cumming it backfires. I'll help you."

"How...?"

"I'll help you relax and help you figure out what you like. Don't think about it too hard and focus on feeling good."

"You really don't have to do this for me," You mumble. He smiles at you.

"C'mon. You just said I was your best friend right? I don't mind, so chill out and let me help."

"Okay," You nod, bright eyed. "Okay....thank you."

He makes a face at you before nodding. "Uh-huh. Of course."

Togame hovers above you with lazy smile. You close your eyes on instinct as you feel your lips press together. His lips are softer than you thought they'd be. A hand cups the back of your neck and brings you closer to him. The weight of his body makes you self-conscious about his proximity. You can smell the scent of his skin, feel his presence surround you as he kisses you soft to start.

The shift in the air surrounding you is gradual in a way that reminds you so much of Togame. He's not intense at the beginning, never is really is - but then his hand goes to hold your knees and pull your legs up. His tongue slips against the closed seam of your lips until they part, until he touches yours and you have to reconfigure how you breathe. He's so good at kissing you it makes you wonder if he's kissed you before and you can't remember. But then it feels good and you're reminded—

If it felt this good there's no way you would've forgotten it.

When you pull away for air to breathe, or start to stumble through a question on how this is helping - Togame shuts you up. It takes it happening twice for you realize it's deliberate. Every time he kisses you a little deeper, and the last time he slips his tongue in so far you'd think he's trying to eat you whole.

You're wet. You're unsure if you're allowed to feel guilty about it, or if you're even meant too. Anyone would be turned on getting kissed like this. You're really unsure about all of this but you're fine because it's Togame. There's no way he'd do anything bad to you or for you.

He's over protective in general, though he's rarely frank about it.

(If you were any less clueless, you'd would know that most times Togame is doing his best to protect from himself. Most times, he feels like the biggest danger to you)

Togame pulls away from your lips when you moan a little. You feel embarrassed at the state your left in and how he looks at you. Picking you apart in his mind but not with ill intent. Like he wants to know every thread of your want.

Again, you think he's going to tease you. Light but still teasing.

"Does that feel good?"

It's a serious question. It stuns you. Just a little. His hand on the back of neck feels hot. You notice the way his thumb caresses your nape and try not to stutter.

"Uh..y-yeah." You reply, trying not to look stupid. "I like kissing. Uhm. In general."

He doesn't react to that, nods in a way you find curt in comparison to how passionately he was kissing you just moments ago. "It'll help you relax." And then, a little softly. "If you want to kiss again and we're not already, ask."

An odd request but you acquiesce with another soft noise.

"Do you feel a little warmed up?"

His eyes are so strangely shaded in this light. You open your mouth to the awkward confession. "Oh... nn. I'm... y-yeah. I'm wet already."

"From kissing?"

You give him a sheepish look. Togame responds with another kiss that makes you feel like you're being driven into a corner. This one is hot and heavy, doesn't build up but starts with an almost oppressive air. He nips at you, teeth tugging at your lips and licking in earnest to your mouth. Long and deep until your brain feels melty, your thoughts swimming and clouded. Longing for touch and release. Arousal threads through the fibers of your muscles, makes you feel wound up tight - a serpents coil. You clench your thighs on instinct at the worsening wetness.

Your mouth feels swollen and bitten when you pull away again and Togame looks a little more like you're used to him looking. An underlying sense of smug self-satisfactions on his face as he looks down at you, not outweighed by his genuine ease.

A look on his face like he likes your company. You find him comforting in how easy it is to see.

"Is it okay to touch you in other places?"

"Uhm. Anywhere above the belt is fine, I think."

"Makes sense,"

He leans up and slides both hands underneath your hoodie. You're not really prepared for... this. You don't know if you can call it sex or not but whatever it is, you weren't intending for it to happening.

"You're not wearing a shirt," His hands feel so big on your waist. Big and calloused, split skin scarred over from fighting. "A bra?"

"A sports bra."

"Right."

He slides your hoodie up over your torso until it's bare and takes your sports bra along with it in one go. Your tits fall from them with a soft swish with how quick he does it, the light bounce making your skin grown hot. Togame hovers above you as he eyes them, palms just underneath but not touching.

"Stop looking so hard."

He brushes past that. "They're nice."

"Shut up," You say for the first time. Togame smiles slightly.

"Not a nice way to talk to someone who's helping you," He says sarcastically. You pout but refuse to apologize. He remains unbothered then goes back to being alarmingly serious. "Do you play with them?"

"H-huh? When I masturbate? Not really. I've never thought too."

"Why's that?"

You shrug. "The guys I dated used to touch them but it mostly felt weird, not good. Never thought of trying on my own."

He gives you a looking asking for permission. You nod. This really does not feel normal but the arousal clouding your brain is a lot louder than your sense of shame.

Togame's hands slide up your sides until he's cupping the roundness of your chest. His thumbs hover against hardened nipples, constrained in the touch. It's different than how other guys have done it for you. He's paying attention to that bit most, and he's going about it softly. Pushing the hardened bud with a light flick that sends a jolt of shock through your body.

He's quick to notice your reaction, green eyes flickering up before doing it again. You squirm, stretching your legs and shifting as another tick of arousal goes through your whole body. Your clit is starting to throb so much it hurts. If it were you, you would've started touching yourself a long while ago. As soon as you felt yourself get wet.

Togame is taking his time, though. And you're feeling it so much it's a little shameful for you. He does it again, touching your nipples - both side at the same time. Your body is pushing for more.

You've managed to keep the noise down but you're pushed over your usual limits. A moan spills from your lips as you push up into his touch. "That's good, huh? Just needed it a little softer and more focused."

You try not to be any more embarrassing. Wouldn't anyone feel weird over this?

He's the most important person in your entire life, and he's seeing you like this. Not judging you, just remaining even and consistent. Teasing you but not enough to make you upset. He's being so careful. Is this the kind of boyfriend he is? You think that must make him popular, so then... why does it never work out? He's never dated anyone longer than a year.

But he's being so sweet to you despite not dating. He's always kind but this is different. You can't imagine who would see this part of him and break up.

You try not to think about any of this but the only other thing you can focus on is him rubbing your nipples and how nice it feels. The moan of his name is pitchy, sounds foreign to your own ears with how high and broken it is.

"Kame-chan," Your voice is warbly when you ask. You just want to stop thinking. "Kiss?"

He pauses. You think he's going to deny you at first.

"Fuck. That ain't fair, you know?"

You don't know what he means, but he complies and kisses you open mouthed as he plays with your tits. Rubs and flicks them just the way you like. It feels so good. You've never felt anything like it before. Your tummy flutters, honeyed lust dripping down your inner thighs.

Your body moves on it's own, your hands carding through his hair as arousal starts to pool. Your panties feels soaked and sticky, through the fabric. You shift again trying to relieve the feeling, brain scrambled by Togame's touch.

You're so horny you can't make sense of anything. Your body is a relentless echo of your wants and needs - demanding attention. His attention, specifically. Need curls up in your chest.

Between kisses you confess this to Togame, who you trust now more than ever despite feeling so incredibly vulnerable. How could you not go with it when he's taking such good care of you?

"Wanna cum so bad," You mutter, sloppy between kisses. Togame takes in a deep breath as he pulls away.

"You think you're worked up enough for it?"

You see through him instantly even in your haze. "Don't be mean to me, you jerk."

"Caught me, huh? Okay, okay. How do you normally do this?"

"Do what?"

"Fuck yourself with something,."

The words send heat sparking against your spine. You tuck your face against his jacket where it's laying besides you and huff. It smells like him. "Ngh. Usually finger myself a little first."

"Got a good idea then." He hums. The sound of his voice, low and smooth, makes you feel comforted. "I'll lay next to you and help keep you distracted while you open yourself up, yeah? Nothing below the belt 'n all. And when you're already I'll put in for you and turn it on."

You sniff. "Okay."

He smiles at you, pulling his hands and body away from you before laying besides you instead. He lets you rest your head against his arm and shoulders - sneaking the rest of his arm around and underneath you, squeezing one of your tits. He presses your body into him and gropes around the bed for the box with your toy, grabbing it from inside before shoving it away.

Up close, you can feel his muscles even better than you could. You wonder how someone so relaxed could be this built but try not to let it burden your brain. He smells so nice. Did he always? You feel too horny to remember, but you like it.

You can feel him glancing down at you, amused.

"Comfy?" Togame's voice vibrates through your whole body.

"Uh-huh."

"If you turn your head towards me I can kiss you and touch you. Keep your mind occupied a bit."

"Oh. That makes sense."

"It does right? Go ahead and start."

You think you should tell him not to watch. Keeps his eyes for himself. But the focus of his gaze makes you burn so much hotter you don't bother. He's already seen so much, anyway.

You shimmy out of your sweat pants until they're down at your ankles revealing your panties. Baby blue printed boyshorts, fabric soaked until they look a nearly new navy shade. You feel his laughter less than you hear it, turning your head to glare at him. He smiles a little at you.

"Those are cute too," Togame comments. You can hear his voice so clearly like this you think you'll collapse if you pay too much attention to it. "Too bad you made 'em all messy."

You swallow a sound, too horny to protest. He stops you before you can take your panties off.

"Didn't you say you normally touch over the fabric when you're sensitive? Do that."

"But—"

"Just trust me," He promises. He kisses your hair. Your heart thuds when he does it. It's an innocent gesture. "It'll make it more satisfying, okay?"

Your shaky as you spread yourself a little wider and slip your hand down between your legs. All the desire you're holding starts to unwind as your middle finger slides over the soaked seam of your cotton panties. They're cuter than normal, printed with florals and lace trimmed. Absolutely drenched in your arousal. You rub a small circle into your clit and your whole body breaks out into shivers, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

You could cum like this. Just from this. But you want something more, something better so you force yourself to go slow.

"It's messy," Togame hums, nonchalant. "You get easier than I thought you would. Are you going slow so you don't cum right away?"

"Don't point it out, aah,"

"You should cum if you want too," Togame suggests.

"No," You whine. "Wanna cum with the toy."

"Wanna cum with a cock inside you, ya mean? A silicone one but still. Not enough to just touch yourself, you need something more, is that it?"

He says the words so casually, so lightly. Almost friedly despite how filthy they are. There's no malice in them.

Spoken like high praise or affection. The kind you'd show a kitten,.

"Kame—"

"Didn't know your had such a need pussy. No wonder it's hard to cum all by yourself, huh?"

"Stop being mean," You gasp. "I'll cum,"

He laughs at that. It's genuine and bright.

"Too much for ya, huh? S'okay. Take these off now. Finger yourself. Make sure you get all that mess you made so we can use on your toy. It'll hurt if it's dry going in."

You feel blindsided by just how much Togame is talking. He's been so quiet, so brief and unreadable. He feels like his usual self too much, to your complete detriment. His voice is teasing, yet warm and sweet. He smells good and he's pressing you all against his chest. Your fingers tremble as you slide your panties down to your ankles same as before. You end up shimmying the rest of your clothes off.

You're so aroused it's easy to get the first finger in. Your hole twitches, the entrance pleasurable as slowly ease your middle finger down to knuckle. You til your head towards Togame as you get adjusted to the intrusion easily from how wet you are, pouting your lips. He gives into the kiss right away, warm tongue and soft lips familiar to you now. You ease yourself into the pace of his kiss, whimpering into his mouth as you slowly open yourself on second finger.

"I want it so bad," You mumble. He laughs against your mouth.

"I can tell. Can barely string a sentence together. You want to cum huh?"

"Uh-huh."

"What a naughty pussy. You're trembling from just fingering yourself. Won't you cum right away if I put in you at once? I'll have to go slowly," Togame explains. He speaks the filth so naturally. "Take my time so you're stretched nicely and not scared anymore. I'll turn the vibrator on after it's already inside so you can't run away from it. You can cum to your hearts content, then."

"I'm still scared," You admit. You're just so horny you're unsure of what else to do. He leans down to kiss you again, nose brushing against yours intimately.

"Don't be scared. Just focus on stretching so you're not so tight. I'll praise you if you take it in easily."

Your voice gives once you manage to get a third in. Togame doesn't stop kissing you, barely giving you enough air to breathe. He plays with your chest with his free hand, and holds the toy with the other.

A string of spit connects you. Your thighs are aching, body burning hot as you look at him directly.

"Wanna cum," You slur your words, speaking in short sentences. Togame grins a little.

"Take your fingers out and show them to me."

Your stomach flips but you comply with the request. Your face burns from how soaked they are.

"Good. Rub them on the toy now. Get it as sticky as you can."

Your heart is pounding is loud in your ears as you clumsily coat your new toy with your own mess. You watch it gain a fresh shine, baby blue turning reflective as you push it against and between your fingers until all of it's coated as best you can.

"That's it, good. Spread your legs now. Gonna put it in. Want me to kiss you?"

You nod sheepishly and close your eyes. Togame laughs warmly before kissing you again.

Your whole body throbs in anticipation for it. A muscular forearm and hand slip between your legs as you spread yourself open, your feet flat on the bed for easier access. Togame forces his tongue into your open mouth, kissing you wet and hard as he tweaks your nipples. You feel pleasantly suffocated from the pressure before gasping into his mouth.

The swollen silicone head of your toy stretches your pussy more than you thought it would. You've never had a toy with angles so the sensations are all new. You can feel it so well inside of you, you can barely keep your composure long enough to stop moaning as just the tip slides in. Togame swallows each noise from your mouth. His kisses feel almost ferocious now when they were so composed before, free hand cupping your jaw from one side.

He fucks it in slowly, rocking the toy by its handle slowly until you get used to it - giving you moments between to adjust. You can feel it bottom out inside of you, the head pressing so precise on your swollen gspot you could cum from bucking your hips. Your sensitivity is over the top. Every touch and and tease and bump makes your cunt clench and throb.

The blunt end of the rubber attachment presses against your needy little clit. Togame moves the toy a little, fucking you with it slightly again. Barely. It still nearly makes you cum.

You feel like he's edging you. Anymore than this, you think you'll go crazy.

"Kame-chan." Your voice is beyond wrecked, throat as one of your hands reaches to cling desperately to his short sleeves. You fist it, teary. "Jo, turn it on please. Make me cum. Wanna cum so bad, 'm so close, please, please. C'mon."

"Turning it on, baby. Easy."

The word baby makes your body melt.

A slight click sounds as Togame turns on the vibrator.

Your whole body lurches at the sudden change. Togame pins you with his own, keeps his hands steady and the toy inside of you without skipping a beat. The soft whirr of the first setting completely unravels you. It feels like every nerve in your body is being pulled apart, electricity through a frayed copper wire. The muscles in your body aching with anticipation after so many dissatisfying orgasms clench tight as your body prepares itself for something so vast your mind can't process it at all. Your hands fist at your sides, clutching the sheets as you get close to cumming.

You're thrashing from the sensation. It's so much, too much - you've never felt anything like it before. You feel full and euphoric and your head is spinning. It feels so good it terrifies you, makes you clench up hard in how unbearably unrelenting it is. There's no pace, no where to escape from. The vibrations are strong but not overwhelming to the point you can't feel them.

You're so senstive all over your body and it's touching you in two places.

Your spine starts to curl into an arch, hips stuttering and twisting as you feel it rushing over your consciousness. Fuck, you've wanted this for so long. It's exactly the high you've been chasing after on your own for so many months it's making your brain feel like like mush. Animal instinct forces your hips up, bucking against Togame's hand where he holds the toy. You're fucking yourself on it. You can hear him laugh as he moves to meet you ruts.

You feel like you're losing your fucking mind.

"G-gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I can't, I can't, I can't. Feels so good, Ican't."

He leans in and gets close to your ear, tongue caressing the lobe before biting it soft.

"Yes you can. You want it so bad don't you? Wanna cum all over this cock so bad you've been aching for it. I know you want it, I can see it. Look how much your moving your hips." His voice is shaking, hands flicking your nipples messy and harsh as he speaks. "Look what a mess you're making. You're leaking everywhere. You want it badly right? Don't think about it and cum. Cum as much as you want. Cum for me,"

The last words are the ones to snap the thread inside of you.

Your brain bluescreens as your body seizes before finally, finally giving you the orgasm you've been chasing. You smash your lips against Togame's as your spine arches off the bed, thrashing in place. Something in you undoes - and you feel a wet rush spray from between your legs at the same time your orgasm hits. Your mind feels completely and utterly blanked. Your body is in total rapture, uncontrollable pleasure fucking your brain until you're stupid and slack jawed. It feels so good, so so good. You didn't know anything could ever feel that good in your life. It's scary.

You feel like you could get addicted. Your high rides out for much longer than ever before. In between sloppy kisses, you say the same words over and over and over. Togame grips you close to him as you do.

"Jo," You mutter. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—feels so fffucking good, fuck. I can't, I can't. Off, off. 's too much, I'll pee."

Instead of turning it off, he turns the vibration up by one. Your eyes fly open as you gasp, words rushed. Panicked.

"I can't," You swear, looking at him for mercy. His face is flushed. "I can't, Jo-chan, I'll cum again, I'll—"

"Cum." He says, demands - voice rougher than you've heard it all night. "I know you can. Cum,"

On demand practically, your legs seize up and you cum again a second time in near succession. You feel so fucking incredible you think you're going to die.

"Fuck!"

You squirt again, body nearly giving out as more short spurts soak your sheets and mattress. Your pussy is pulsing in the after math, trembling and clenching so violently. You whine loudly as Togame stops the vibration and pulls the toy out, shivering as it catches on your tight hole before coming out of it with a soft pop.

Your legs are twitching.

Even though Togame has no more reason to kiss you he does. And even though you're well past the point of needing to kiss him back, you do more affectionately than any time prior.

"You made me feel so good it's freaking me out." You admit, shaking uncontrollably.

Togame pauses before breaking out into genuine laughter. He kisses your head, arm wrapping around your shoulders until you're hugged against him.

"You were so sexy like that."

You blink at him, face flushed.

"Sexy?"

"I was really hard seeing you cum," He says, casually looking down. "I didn't know you could be cute and ask for kisses. You're usually more—"

You put a hand over his mouth.

"Whatever you're gonna say shut up,"

He just smiles, cheek against your hair. "I'm glad you got to feel good."

"What about you?" You mumble, feeling your heart pick up just asking. "Are you still hard? I feel like I should pay you back somehow,"

He looks at you seriously. "Do you know what you're implying?"

You fold a little but nod anyway. "Yeah."

"Do you really? The monk thing is a joke, you know. If you offer something like that, I won't be able to stop."

"It's fine," You say confidently before adding, much quieter. "I r-really want to do... it with you."

Togame pauses before kissing you deeply. Your whole body feels molded to him now.

"Damn it." He looks down at you, black hair sticking to his skin. You wanna feel his undercut with your hands in his hair. "You know this ain't normal between friends, right?"

"Uhm, yeah? I figured."

"Don't go around getting help from anyone."

You shake your head. "It's only 'cause it's you."

He scrubs a hand over his face and laughs. "You don't need to stir me up anymore. I'm already hard enough. Can't keep my composure at all."

You tilt your head in confusion. Togame just sighs.

"Don't worry about it." He says, shaking his head. "How soon can I get my thanks?"

Your eyes widen as you clench again. "Uhm. Now, if you want it."

He grins a little lazy, eyes swimming with adoration.

"I do," He hums, laying back as you get up from where you've been laying. "Come over here and let me touch you properly then."

"Is that what you really want?"

You climb ontop of him, bare naked almost as your hoodie falls back down over your torse. Togame slides the fabric up and gives you a meaningful look.

"More than anything,"

[thinkinonsense]

old!logan and his obsession with the cute diner girl *mdni

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something smutty so if it sucks im sorry lmao also if any writers have any tips please share! :)

logan has been around for long enough to know when a woman is attracted to him. there was a certain essence given off that was always a dead giveaway. usually it came from women close to the age he looked like and it tended to be brief moments of lust before all hope was lost. this was until he met you.

the pretty young girl working at the diner during her time off from college. everyday, he came in and ordered a black coffee. the coffee wasn't even that good but logan would spend two dollars every single day of his life if it came with the view of you bending over in that tiny uniform skirt.

logan would watch you for hours while he drank and skimmed the news paper alone in a booth. your hair was always up in either a ponytail or held together with a hair clip. he loved seeing your pretty handwriting as you scribbled on your notepad, taking orders. it was part of your job to be nice to everyone but you were especially nice to him. even your friends began to notice how you would linger by his table, constantly topping off his coffee mug and making small talk; sometimes giving him a slice of cherry pie on the house.

"don't you think he's kinda old for you?" one of your friends whispers to you behind the counter.

it's stung but you suppose she had a point. what would a man old enough to be your father want with a young wild girl like yourself?

"i-i guess so?" you stuttered, embarrassed at your previous attempt at flirting with him.

the rest of the night, you hoped he would leave before close so you could have some time alone with your feelings. summer was almost over and you would go back to the city soon. it was time to forget these silly fantasizes.

by ten, all the other waitresses went home except you, the older woman in the back who counted the drawer every night, and a few of the cooks. the only customer still there was logan. he flipped through one of the books he brought with him; still sipping away at that damn coffee.

"isn't it getting a little late for you, sweetheart?" he asked nonchalantly, not even looking up at you as you bent over to scrub the table next to his. the fifth table you've cleaned in the last hour and the second time you've cleaned that specific table. logan noticed but you didn't.

"need the hours." you mumble, frustrated by a stubborn stain. all logan could focus on was your scrunched nose and how your tight top pushed your boobs together just right for his viewing. "college is fucking expensive plus grants and scholarships only cover so much."

"hmm.." logan grunts. grants? scholarship? what a goody fucking two shoes, logan thought to himself. "if you bring me piece of pie, i think i can help you out."

you lean off the table and go get what's left in the glass container. it's probably a little hard so you definitely didn't plan on charging him for it. you sit the plate down in front of him and before you could turn around to walk away, logan reaches for your wrist softly.

"join me." he offers.

you knew you shouldn't but what was really the harm? at least your friends weren't here to make fun of you. the radio played quietly on an older station while you watched logan take a bite of the pie.

"why did your friends leave you here alone?" he asked, watching your face turn sour at the memory of them.

"don't wanna talk about it." your voice was small in the empty diner.

"why? think an old man like me can't relate to it?" logan chuckles. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. so much for not embarrassing yourself.

"no, no, not that." you shake your head and a strand of hair falls from your bun. "just sort of juvenile, you know?"

logan could tell that you were trying to come off more mature around him. you didn't want him to see you as some college kid.

"juvenile, how?" he eggs on, pushing down his glasses a bit.

god, those glasses got to you; and logan knew it.

"they don't understand how i feel about someone." you sigh.

"how do you feel about this person?" logan noticed you now avoiding his gaze, not liking it one bit. "eyes on me, princess."

the nickname caught you off guard like a dear in headlight; blinking and trembling up at logan. something logan enjoyed very much and could get used to.

"it's not important, just some stupid crush." you lie through your teeth. "they will forget about me in a month."

"why don't you think it'll work?" he cocks his head to the side a bit. "you're a pretty young thing, dollface. anyone of those college boys would be lucky to be wrapped around your little finger."

"i don't want college boys." you mumble, slightly annoyed by the memory of your friends.

logan felt himself getting hard at you admitting you had a taste for someone older. his eyes grew dark as he leaned in a little over the table.

"then what do you want?"

your moment to answer was interrupted by the older woman from the back, releasing you to go home for the evening. this was your chance to get up and leave before you admitted anything else that you would regret.

both of you stood up. logan threw down some cash while you went to collect your stuff behind the counter.

"i'll see you tomorrow, lo-"

"you didn't answer the question."

"i must go now if i want to catch the last train."

logan worried about you taking the train back to your apartment alone this late at night. usually you drive back but your car has been in the shop for almost three days now. he would watch you get to your car every night to make sure you were safe.

"i can drive you home." logan offers.

you shouldn't be this excited to be sitting in a strangers truck alone at night but here you were. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before logan brought up the conversation from the diner again. what did you even want?

"i want someone who understands me..." you begin rattling off the first things that come to mind when you notice logan's hand on your knee. you don't dare move.

"someone who is responsible..." with every word, his hand creeps higher and higher up your skirt. logan is more than pleased when he notices your legs spread on their own.

"someone who is m-mature..." logan's fingers inch towards the delicate skin of your inner thigh. there's no way this was happening, you thought as his index finger plays with the lace on the center of your pink underwear. he smirked at the wet spot front and center, waiting for him.

"treats me r-r-right." every word was a struggle to form as he stroked you softly. back and forth. back and forth.

logan nods along, not letting up down below. his index finger hooks onto your underwear, pulling it aside. you weren't even sure if you were breathing at this point; all this teasing was torture.

"p-p-please, logan..." you whine. "touch me."

his thumb rubs tiny circles on your button, adoring the way his name pours from your glossy lips. your hands fly to his wrists, needing more; nails digging into his skin in the most delicious way.

"where did this greediness come from?" logan groans, dipping his index finger inside of you. "what happened to that good girl from the diner?"

logan's finger barely fit in the tight space. your head fell back and a loud moan escaped you.

"oh, you weren't letting those college boys touch you at all, huh?" logan mocks, adding another finger and creating a steady pace.

"n-no!" you whine, lifting your hips a little.

"you were waiting for a real man to have his way with you, isn't that right, pretty girl?" he growls, pushing your hips back down.

you completely missed logan pulling off to the side of the road until now. his pace increases becoming rather rough now that he isn't driving. logan leaves deep purple bruises down your neck and across your chest, praising you to no end until you gush around his fingers, completely soaking his palm.

your heart pounded like you had just finished a marathon. logan allowed you to catch your breath as he carefully removed his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. he can feel your dazy eyes staring at him as he does so, making a real show of it.

"i've been wanting to do that for months now." he admits with a smirk.

"me too." you said, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss; tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. logan wraps his hands around your hair, pulling you back a little when another moan falls from your lips.

"and we aren't even close to being done."

[n0vazsq]

Tired of being alone | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x nurse!gf!reader

summary . . . Watching your boyfriend reveal your relationship on international TV, you realise that you missed him more than you realised

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 712

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . i have a free lesson rn so why not be productive and write? it's a bit shitty and kinda rushed but my next lesson is eng and i can NOT be late for it </3 saur sorry pookie!!

taglist . . . @barcapix (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . You slumped into the couch, limbs heavy from another exhausting shift. The hum of the TV filled the room, flickering softly in the dim light.

Your scrubs were still on, your shoes kicked off by the door. The thought of getting up to change or even eat felt too overwhelming after all those back to back shifts at the hospital. All you wanted was to melt into the couch and let the familiar background noise wash over you.

Oscar’s voice drifted into the room, steady and comforting. His interviews were always a joy to watch, making you smile and laugh, just like a kid watching their favourite cartoon. You hadn’t even registered what the interview was about; something about the upcoming Las Vegas GP, until the interviewer leaned in with a knowing grin.

"So, Oscar, we heard you stayed busy during the break between Brazil and Vegas. Anything special?"

You perked up, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Oscar’s laugh came through the speakers, soft and a little awkward. It was a laugh you knew well, the one he gave when he wasn’t sure how much to share. Your heart started beating a little faster.

"Well," he began, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit that always made you melt. "I spent most of it taking care of someone close to me. She works really long shifts and don’t always get enough rest, so I made sure she was… comfortable."

You blinked, sitting up straighter. Did he just-? Your heart skipped a beat, eyes widening.

The interviewer’s eyes widened at his sentence, just like how you did, as if he was mimicking your actions. "Interesting," he teased, leaning in slightly. "Care to share more details? Who’s this mysterious lady?"

Oscar’s smile was small, but it reached his eyes, soft and sincere. "Let’s just say she's in healthcare. A nurse, actually. She's been pretty amazing, and I wanted to make sure she had a break too."

Your breath caught in your throat. There it was. A soft launch, wrapped in his quiet, subtle way. Oscar wasn’t the type of person who did grand gestures or flashy declarations, but this? This felt perfect. It was a little secret, meant just for you, even with the world watching.

The interviewer pressed on, curiosity piqued. "A nurse, huh? Sounds like you’ve got someone special in your world."

Oscar’s eyes flickered with that shy warmth you adored. "Yeah," he admitted, voice softer. "I do."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, pressing a hand to your mouth. The exhaustion of the day melted away, replaced by a warm, fluttering feeling in your chest. He always had a way of making you feel seen, even when you were miles apart.

Your phone buzzed beside you. Picking it up, you saw that it was a text from Oscar.

Hope you’re watching. Rest up, yeah? ❤

You bit your lip, a grin spreading across your face. He always knew exactly what you needed.

Busted, Mr. Soft Launch. I owe you a dinner.

Your phone buzzed again almost immediately.

Only if you let me cook.

You leaned back into the couch, the smile refusing to leave your face. The weight of the day didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Knowing that he’d spent his break looking after you, making sure you were okay, it made all the long shifts and sleepless nights worth it.

On the screen, the interview moved on to other questions, but you weren’t really listening anymore. You were too lost in the quiet joy of knowing you were loved; subtly, quietly, and now, a little bit known by the world too.

You texted back, fingers hovering over the keys for a moment.

I’m tired of being alone all day. Come home faster.

His reply came quickly, almost as if he’d been waiting for it.

See you soon. It’s worth it for you. Every time.

Your heart swelled, and you sank deeper into the couch's soft cushions, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a blanket. Even with the miles between you, he had a way of making you feel like you were home.

In that adorable way that made you feel loved and cherished, just like when you were a kid.

God, you loved him more than anything.

[space-cowgirllll]

Tolerate It

pls enjoy this kinda angsty little thing I wrote a couple of months ago when I was really going through it in a relationship and have been too shy to post anywhere until today. I miiiiight have the second part to this halfway done. If this sucks I'm so sorry lmao it’s very lightly proofread and I have not written anything that hasn't had to be turned in for a grade in years.

Part Two

You sit alone at the table wondering how you ended up here. The dinner you'd spent the better part of the evening preparing grows cold as you sip on what has to be your third glass of wine. From your spot you can see Abby standing at the counter, speaking softly into the phone while she reads through the mail that had piled up over the last week. You pick at your food, hoping she'll join you eventually, but when fifteen minutes turns into twenty and then thirty five, you realize you're wasting your time. The laughter from the other room tells you the work part of the call ended long ago. Pushing your chair back, not caring when the loud noise earns you a glare from Abby, you gather your plate and blow out the candles at the center of the table.

Abby moves to sit on the loveseat in the living room after her call. It doesn't take long for her to get lost in the new book she had just brought home. Your eyes shift to the untouched plate of food still waiting for her in the dining room and then to the apple in her hand. The sound of  your throat clearing catches her attention.

"Your plate is still at the table if you want it, babe." You gesture to the lone plate at her usual spot.

There's a pang in your chest at the sight of the floral arrangement you'd chosen for the week. Behind that, strong wind pelts rain at the window. The gloomy weather a perfect representation of the storm brewing inside you.

"I thought I told you I had an early dinner with a couple of colleagues."

"Oh."

It comes out as a whisper. Not bothering to tell her she hadn't called you back after her lunch break. Again. You make a mental note to put the plate away before bed, knowing she'll pack it for tomorrow.

Your arms are elbow deep in soapy water, trying to rush through the last couple of dishes before she retreats to her study. The clanking of pots and pans fills the quiet space. You scrub at a particularly stubborn spot, trying to think of a way to bring it up without sounding too obvious.

"How was work today?"

"Fine." Your wife replies, not elaborating further.

"It's the twenty first, right?" There's some hesitation in the question.

"Yup."

Okay.

She doesn't look up from her book when you shuffle past her a little while later, placing a steaming mug on the coffee table. Her hand caresses the soft skin of your thigh and you perk up when she mumbles a soft thanks, placing a quick kiss on her temple. The sleeping cat on her lap stirs when you give him a gentle scratch behind the ear.

You settle into the sofa across from her and watch her read. She's in the cotton pajamas and fuzzy socks you'd laid out in the closet for her. It makes you feel ridiculously overdressed. Your hands fist the skirt of your dress, feeling foolish. There's a dark spot on the satin material from leaning over the wet counter.

The record player in the far corner of the room catches your attention. You miss the nights where she'd play you one of her favorites and dance with you around the living room before letting you sit on her lap as she read out loud to you. You never thought you would miss those boring medical journals. These days you're lucky if you get more than an hour with her before she locks herself in her study.

It hadn't always been like this. The two of you have been together longer than you've been apart. Visions of eleven year old Abby teaching you how to braid her hair for soccer practice flash in your head. Crawling into her bed in the middle of the night after another nasty fight between your parents. Summer vacations to her family's lake house. Her and her parents at every dance recital and play you'd ever been part of in high school. Realizing at sixteen that your feelings for the girl weren't so platonic. Then moving into the spare bedroom down the hall from her a year later after coming out to your family. Prom dress shopping with her and her mother, sneaking kisses in the tiny fitting rooms. The Anderson's were the family you never had.

Navigating young adulthood with Abby had been fun. You'd rented a tiny apartment in Seattle and paid way too much for it while attending university. It wasn't much, but it was home. You remember the dance parties in the tiny living room. The time the blonde begged you to let her keep the tiny cat she'd found in an alley on the way home one random afternoon. Going on dates and exploring the city. Staying up late and fantasizing about what life would look like in ten years. The look on her face as her thumb rubbed small circles on the exposed skin of your belly after you'd shown her your list of baby names. Getting married just after graduation.

Abby had never been too busy to show you how much she loved you, no matter how busy she got with school. Packing your meals for work, making sure your car had enough gas in it, organizing stay at home date nights whenever your schedules aligned. And you doing the same for her when she was up to her eyebrows in work for school.

The notes were your favorite. They had started appearing randomly after you'd been unexpectedly laid off. You'd been moping around the house for weeks, losing hope after not hearing back from any of the companies you'd applied to. Always in your favorite color, the purple post it notes could be found stuck to the wherever you'd see them first thing in the morning. The silly declarations of love and the affirmations always made you smile.

Those days were long gone. You were slowly going from high school sweethearts to two people who simply co-existed. No matter what you did or how hard you tried, it was getting harder to deny the lack of warmth in her eyes when she looked at you sometimes. Today proved what you had been too afraid to admit to yourself. The only person who had ever felt like home has slowly started becoming a stranger that slipped into your bed later and later each night.

Your eyes start stinging and you bite down on your lower lip. There's no way you're breaking down in front of her, not tonight. The warmth radiating from the fireplace does little to keep away the chill running through your body. Shaky hands bring the mug to your lips, hoping some tea would calm the nausea swirling in your stomach. You're not surprised to find yourself unable to keep drinking after a few tiny sips. Abby's favorite mug grows cold on the coffee table and you're positive she doesn't even remember it's there.

The sound of her phone ringing startles you both. Abby snatches the phone off the counter, a tired sigh leaves her parted lips when she sees who's calling. She jogs up the steps, intently listening to whoever is on the other end of the phone. You pick at the chipping nail polish on your left hand, watching the way your engagement ring glints in the dim light of the fire. Your stomach dips as you slip the stack off your finger, placing them in the small bowl on the coffee table.

"Are you going somewhere?" Your head shoots up to where she's standing in the threshold. The sight of her in a fresh pair of navy blue scrubs doesn't surprise you. Her loose bun traded for a tight braid that hangs over her shoulder.

"No. Why would I be?"

She gestures at your dress. Eyes roaming over your face, finally noticing the makeup you'd carefully applied hours before. You see her lock in on your empty hand, her sculpted brows furrow in confusion. Please say something. You beg, just wanting to understand why this is happening. Was she so busy she couldn't even bother to ask what's wrong? Did she even care anymore?

The constant buzzing of the phone in her tote bag answers your question for you. She shakes her head and turns to the door, stopping to slip her feet into her sneakers. You follow silently behind her, wondering if you should say something.

"Abigail?"

She hums in acknowledgment, not bothering to look up from her phone. Her fingers move at lightning speed across the touchscreen. Your nails dig into the palm of your hand, fighting the urge to snatch her phone and chuck it against the wall.

"What?" She asks again when you don't speak up. The look of annoyance on her face has you taking a step back.

"Nevermind," you turn towards the coat closet, pulling out her winter jacket. "It doesn't matter." You don't have to look back to know she's rolling her eyes.

"I should be back before you leave for work." You busy yourself with the already organized closet, pretending to move things around while she gathers the rest of her things.

"Be careful." You mumble, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from flowing. Not trusting yourself to say much more without your throat closing.

"Always am." She plants a kiss on the back of your head and heads out the door. It's only when you hear the sound of her car pulling away that you let yourself cry. No longer caring about the mascara that is certainly smearing.

Unsteady legs carry to the foot of the stairs where you collapse into a pathetic heap. Tears freely flowing down your cheeks, further staining the material of your dress. Your hands harshly pull at the fabric, wanting nothing more than to rip it off. The pins in your hair clatter loudly on the floor as you harshly pull them out.

Your sobs echo throughout the empty house. Pain radiates through your body, from somewhere in your chest to the tips of your fingers. The nausea has increased tenfold. You inhale sharply, resting your head on your knees. Watery eyes fixed on the front door your wife had just walked out of, this gut wrenching feeling of loneliness overwhelms you.

"Happy anniversary Abby."

[strangerstilinski]

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1.7k

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: older!mechanic!eddie, fem!reader, use of 'girl' in reference to reader, oral (m receiving), semi-public sex, bumbling/awkward/lovestruck eddie (as is typical for my writing lol), i think that's it but lmk if i missed anything

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

“-and anyway, all I’m saying is, you’re gonna get a lot more years outta your car if you bring it in to get an oil change every six months or so-”

It’s really not that you don’t care about what he has to say. Your lack of focus on his advice has entirely more to do with the way his thick fingers are curled around the pint of beer in front of him. The metal wrapped around the base several of his fingers clink softly every time the older man nervously drums them against the glass. All you can think about is those fingers in your hair, gripping the fat of your ass or your hips, stretching out your cunt in preparation for his cock.

Your stomach flips a little at the sight of his fingernails. Scrubbed clean of any of the oil or grime that had been wedged into his nail-beds when you’d first met a week ago at the auto body shop, the little patch sewn into his coveralls had blessed you with the name that you finally utter now.

“Eddie?” You interrupt sweetly, glossed lips pursing when his eyes snap to yours.

“Shit. Am I talking too much? I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” He rambles in distress, bringing ringed fingers up to scratch at the coarse stubble lining his jaw. “It’s just- When you asked me to get a drink, at first I kinda thought you were just angling for a discount on repairs, y’know? I mean, pretty thing like you? Actually wanting go out with this old mess? It seemed ridiculous, but- Well, now we’re here and you’ve already paid off the invoice for your car and I’m a little-”

“Eddie.”

His words cut off with a quiet clack as his teeth snap together, eyes searching your own in the dimly lit bar.

“I want you,” Your hand meets where his is wrapped around the sweaty pint glass, fingers hooking underneath his own as you guide your laced hands to rest on the sticky tabletop, “I.. really want you.” You repeat with a bit more emphasis, the words a little softer with vulnerability this time, a little more desperate.

“What, like-? Like right now?” Eddie is already looking around the bar with wide eyes before his gaze flicks back to you, question swimming in their brown depths, “Here?” He murmurs in quiet disbelief.

You give him a coy smile, long lashes blinking at him longingly, “Here.”

Eddie rises to his feet a bit clumsily, like perhaps his body was trying to respond to your words before his brain, “Shit. Fuck. Okay, sweetheart. If you’re sure, I mean. Uh, we.. We could.. Um-”

You're far too worked up to find his racing thoughts as endearing as you think that you normally would, “Eddie-”

He’s dragging you up from the other side of the booth in a flash, large hands falling to your waist as he begins to guide you through the desolate Tuesday night bar crowd with his chest pressed warmly to your spine.

“Just come with me, baby,” Eddie trips over a his own feet in his heavy boots and nearly takes you down with him, narrowly managing to keep his feet underneath himself as he tries to keep you from stumbling, “Shit, sorry-” He grumbles into your ear from behind, the huskiness of his voice and the warmth of his breath prompting a pleasant shiver up your spine.

Once the two of you have stumbled your way down the dark hallway at the back, you spin around to let your arms snake around his waist from behind. Eddie is fumbling with the sticky knob of the bathroom door, the hairs at the base of his tummy soft under your fingers and you can't help but dip your hand beneath his waistband where the hair spreads further.

“Sshit-” Eddie fumbles with the door when your fingertips just graze the base of his cock, the skin silky smooth under your palm as you push a little further so you can wrap your small hand around him, “Oh, you're a f-fucking.. menace, aren’t you? N-not so sweet after all.” He tells you, not an ounce of bite to his words, more of a groan of approval than anything.

Your only response is to press your lips to the side of his throat beneath his wild mane of curls, snapping a small nip of your teeth against the curve of his shoulder as you work your hand torturously slow on his cock.

Distracted by your touch, Eddie swings the door open with with a bit too much enthusiasm. He dives forward to catch it before it can collide with the dirty porcelain sink on the inside wall and only narrowly gets a hold of it in time.

As soon as the door is secured behind you again, you're dropping to your knees in front of him. Your mouth finds the soft pudge of his tummy, and metal and leather clink and slap beneath your quick hands as you work his belt and get his jeans open enough to tug out his cock. It springs up as it's released, half hard already and bobbing in front of you like it's taunting you for just how badly you want him. His cock is gorgeous — average length but thick and beautifully curved just a bit to the right.

You hungrily eye the tip where he's flushed dark pink, shiny and dribbling just the tiniest bit already, shining in the hazy light coming from the exposed lightbulb in the ceiling.

Eddie lets out a groan as you take him in your hand again and lick at his tip, savoring the small beads of precome that meet your tongue. You hum at the salty tang of them, dragging your mouth down the length of him, tracing the soft vein along the underside of his cock with your lips and tongue.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie moans, his hand finding it's way into your loose hair nearly immediately. He doesn’t pull, he doesn’t push, his hands are entirely too gentle. His fingertips pet soft at your head like he’s praising you already and you’ve hardly even started, “You.. Baby girl, you don't have to-”

You lean back from where you'd been swirling your tongue around the head, giving his length a couple of short tugs as you look up at him through your lashes with a huff, “Mm, and maybe I want to. You ever think of that?”

He balks, hips jerking minutely and incidentally thrusting his cock toward your pouting lips, “I.. Um-”

“Maybe I’m a young, confident woman who knows what she wants. And maybe I want to suck you off. Did that not cross your mind? Hm? That maybe I might like having your dick in my mouth?” You continue, voice dropping a few octaves.

A soft gasp turned groan falls from the older man’s lips when you lean back in to suck lightly at the tip and the sound has your thighs clenching together against the wave of arousal that curls in your tummy.

“Do you?” Eddie can’t help but ask, the question coming out a quiet groan, “Like it?”

“Mhm,” You hum around him, pushing further down his length to take in more of him, letting him feel the way your throat constricts around the head of his cock when you gag before pulling all the way off again, “Love it.”

“I just thought- Pretty thing like you shouldn’t have t- God. I, uh. You.. Shit. You’re certainly ohmygod- g-good at it.” He struggles to get his words out when you take him back between your lips, but then he’s huffing a quiet sigh of distress when you remove the warm heat of your mouth from his length once again.

“Good..?” You repeat in question.

“Wh- Huh?”

Eddie is blinking down at you dumbly, his hand flexing in your hair as he tries to clear his head. It's infuriatingly sexy.

“I’m on my knees for you in a dirty bar restroom and I’m ‘good’ at sucking your dick? It's.. ‘Good?’” You say the word with distaste, one eyebrow ticking up on your forehead in challenge as you place his tip back against your lower lip teasingly. You let it rest there, one hand coming up to his waist to keep his hips from jutting forward as you part your lips and let a warm breath wash over the wet head of this cock.

“Shit, sweetheart. Did I say good? I meant great! I, uh, phenomenal! M-mindblowing fuck-” He moans loud around the word when you reward him by taking him into your mouth again.

You let him rest heavy on your tongue, sucking and bobbing your head in slow drags while he sighs out a desperate little sound at the feeling.

“Fuck. You- You’re perfect, baby girl. You have to know that. An angel. Gotta know how much you’re- Ohh-”

The surprised groan that cuts him off has you soaked beneath your panties, moaning around his length in response.

“-How much you’re rockin’ my world right now.” He finishes weakly.

You pull off to give him an amused smile, jerking him in earnest with one hand and wiping spit from your lips with the other, “Oh, I rock your world, huh, old man?” You tease.

“God damn it,” Eddie breathes the words, dragging you up by your shoulders until you’re standing in front of him again, “You really are a little brat, aren’t you?”

But his mouth is on yours before you can respond, beer coated tongue breaking through the seam of your lips, a wide palm and fingers covered in cool rings encasing the back of your neck as he leads you just a few steps backward, until your spine is hitting the door.

Your keening moan is lost in the kiss, and as life-changing as his cock and fingers and mouth prove to be that evening, it’s his whispered words of praise and the sweet kisses he presses to your hair as he catches his breath at the end of it all that truly ruin you for anyone else.

As it turns out, the older mechanic who fixed up your car? Eddie? He’s kinda it for you.

[writersdrug]

Ok and this is my last one sorry for spam

I’m a sucker for jealousy, but like not wanting to admit it, so for alpha omega thing he could notice that someone else smells like her (clothes got mixed together in laundry/she bumped into him on accident) and he goes on overdriv trying to a) show off b) harass other dude c) make her smell like him so much that’s all she smells like

No please come back I love you these-

Kinda nsfw

It's happened before; König's fallen victim to the occasional sergeant, too impatient to wait for an empty washer, taking the Colonel's laundry out while it's still sopping wet and tossing it into the dryer on someone else's cycle. It pisses him off to no end (again, he despises it when people touch his things). But he never manages to catch the cluprit; there are no cameras by the laundry room, and the scent of the aggressor is long gone by the time König pulls his load out of the dryer - now he smells like someone else (which is also an inconvenience, since his pretty little omega will throw a fit).

Not much he can do about it.

One particular day, he's rifling through the dresser you share with him, looking to see what you have so he can buy you what you don't (and maybe looking for a pair of panties to stuff in his pockets). He opens the drawer that holds your shirts - as soon as he starts rummaging through them, he smells something... not you, not him. Someone else.

He huffs, picking up one shirt after the other and sniffing them, aggravatedly tossing them behind him when he doesn't find the scent. It's not until he finally pulls out a shirt - no, not just any shirt. His favorite one, his shirt that you wear to bed with nothing else but your panties - that's the shirt that smells like someone else. Not you, not him.

He knows it's not your fault - you practically spend every second of the day with him. It only makes sense, that you'd fallen victim to the laundry aggressor.

He hears the shower turn off in your shared bathroom. He stands up slowly as you hum, putting on your sweatpants and one of König's shirts (it was an unspoken thing between the two of you, where he'd wear a shirt for a bit, then you'd steal it from the top of his laundry basket and wear it for the night - but that didn't mean anything, you swear you're still not happy with the arrangement).

You open the bathroom door and gasp, steam billowing out as you see all of your clothes on the floor. "König - what the hell are you doing?!"

He looks at you - the scent of your sweet shampoo and vanilla body scrub only adds fuel to the fire, complimenting your natural, caramel scent. His pupils dilate, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides. He doesn't just see you - he sees his omega, his partner - the thought that you could have smelled like another Alpha had him reeling.

You can smell the heightening of his scent - he's angry, you can tell by the bitter edge to it - but it's missing the typical stench of iron. Instead, it's musky, smokey, and strong. It makes your omega purr, and you're digging your nails into your own palm to keep from baring your neck for him.

"König?" You ask, your voice meek and soft.

He's in front of you in two strides, grabbing you by your waist and shoving you back into the bathroom. You shriek when he hoists you onto the counter, cupping the back of your head before it can hit the mirror. Your mind is getting foggier by the second; your body is buzzing and weightless as he presses your face into his neck.

Spicy, warm cinnamon and oak fall upon you like a weighted blanket. You whine into his neck, overwhelmed yet needing more. Your hands grip his shirt tightly as you try to pull his broad chest closer to you - you want to feel his heart beating against your skin, warm muscles pressing against your palms.

He pulls back to kiss your cheek - it's the first time he's kissed you at all. He continues to lay them across your skin; your forehead, your other cheek, your temples... his hands grip your hips as he moves down to the thin skin of your neck. He lays a kiss against your throat, lips chapped and scalding, then dips his nose to your scent gland and inhales deeply. He groans, cock throbbing in his pants as you wash over his senses. He fights the urge to lick, to bite, to sink his teeth into the junction of your neck until you cry out-

He wants you more than anything - but not now, not like this. Not as a display of his claim, not to show you off as you wear his scent and his mark. He wants it when you want it, when you come to him, as both you and your omega.

He squeezes your hips, thick fingers tense in your soft flesh as you slide a hand up his clothed chest. With a sigh, he pulls away - you let out the most needy whine that he's ever heard, and his Alpha is rearing its head back and beating against the walls of his brain to take over. But he resists, standing up to his full height and looking down at you.

You're frazzled. Your pupils are blown wide open, body slouched against the mirror and legs dangling from the counter. You're panting, the rise and fall of your chest showing just how much your nipples perked to attention over the past minute. You're looking back at him with flushed skin and a confused, yet aroused expression.

"Wh... what was that?" You say breathlessly.

"Tut mir leid, mein liebe..." he mutters, bowing down to kiss the crown of your head, gently this time. "I don't know what came over me." He does, but he'd rather not have to explain it to you. Instead, he scoops up the puddle that is you, carefully carrying you from the bathroom and into the dorm.

"May I?" He asks, nudging his head to the bed. It's technically his, but you've nested in there as of recent, and he doesn't want to overstep any boundaries, especially with you so blissed out at the moment. But you nod, and he climbs into the nest, keeping you snug against him.

When he finally settles, and you feel the heavy exhale of his breath on your scalp, you speak. "Did something happen?"

He thinks for a moment. "No - but I'll be doing your laundry from now on, schatz."

He squishes you into his chest, signaling that the conversation is over - he won't say anything else about what happened. You're not complaining; you're a pile of happy omega, packed into your nest with your Alpha, and he just absolve you of a chore?

Hell yeah.

[codtrashsammy]

Cute Meet?

Started as a kinda character study and idk what happened, i'ma be honest. I haven't written anything with length in awhile, so feel free to leave cc and let me know what you think <3 Just a cute meet kinda scenario, reader is an anxious lil thing and Simon 'Ghost' Riley is obsessed upon first glance. Love? No, not yet.. but obsessed, yes. Word Count: 1.3K Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader/You Warnings: No warnings, no use of y/n tho Enjoy :))

Ghost is the keeper. Ghost is stoic, cold, even apathetic. Ghost can kill a whole platoon without batting an eye, can be covered in the blood of his enemies and be entirely uncaring to watch it flow down the drain once he has enough time to scrub the caked blood from where it seeped through his clothes. He is in charge, able to control his emotions effortlessly, able to lead. He is everything he needs to be. And then there’s Simon. Ghost is the keeper. Simon is the man beneath the mask who needs one. Simon is more akin to a stray dog than a human at times. Face hidden from the world, yet teeth always barred and ready to bite. Hidden behind a mask, a carefully crafted mask that is Ghost. A man with more scars than flesh, a man with more trauma than peace, a man who simply longs for the normalcy of life without a way to reach it. And then came you.

Ghost couldn’t care less for you. The mask is on as he’s on leave, shopping in a grocery store to get something to eat on while he stays in that damned motel for the next couple of weeks before flying out once more. The mask stays in place, a protection, a show the keeper is in charge. You don’t mean to run into him, you’re definitely not the type to go looking for trouble- you’ve had enough of that in your life, and you’re just starting to get your shit together for the nth time. But as you’re both leaving, you stumble, bumping right into him and leaving a couple of his poor bags strewn about on the sidewalk rather than carefully held within each hand. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Ghost grumbles with a sigh, clearly not pleased by the circumstances while watching a can of beans he had bought simply roll off of the sidewalk area and into the road- promptly ran over by a vehicle looking to park. No beans and toast now, british man. “I am so sorry-” You immediately apologize, the sheepish and embarrassed look on your face obvious as you dust yourself off and try to begin gathering the mess that you had caused. Ghost is annoyed at you. Just one look and he’s annoyed. But Simon? Simon is enchanted. The sweet, sheepish smile on your face, the way you scramble to help, the heat to your cheeks in your embarrassment as you scatter around trying to fix the situation. The way your hair falls and how you’re clearly nervous, but you still act anyway. You don’t care of how he looks- all brooding and intimidating with his hoodie over his head and the black medical mask over the lower half of his face. You couldn’t care less of that- you simply want to make things better. Simon notices that though. Simon remains frozen for a few moments, hidden interest in his eyes as he watches you scramble about, resorting your things just to have an extra couple of bags for his things. And you just hand things back over to him, the sheepish smile still on your face, the embarrassment clear- but gods, you look like such a sweet lil thing, lookin’ at him like he’s a human, a person. “‘S fine,” Simon eventually spits out, taking the bags from your hands and glancing once more at the beans staining the roadway now, before turning to focus his attention back on you. He could let you leave now. He could, it’d be so easy. He could leave it at that and walk away, probably never hear or see from you again. I mean, hell, he’s only known you for all of 5 minutes, and it’s because you’re a clumsy little shit who fucked up his shopping. It’d be so easy so why does it feel so hard. “D’ya always ‘ave to make such an impression?” Simon quips out, readjusting the bags comfortably in his grip. You can’t even pretend not to notice his accent- it’s unusual for where you live, you don’t think you’ve ever heard anything like it outside of the media you’ve consumed. It’s pleasant, rings around in the ears for a bit. You finally meet his eyes, and gods, they are gorgeous. Deep, rich, brown- like chocolate with golden flecks scattered. Especially in the sunlight- like they are now- pools of liquid gold swimming about a chocolate river. “Ah- No- Um-” You struggle to find the right words, now your cheeks are warmer, and it’s less from embarrassment and more from the pretty eyed stranger you just fucking throttled on accident. But at least he doesn’t seem angry, so there’s always that. “I’m so sorry,” You settle on apologizing again, one of your hands moving to nervously run through your hair, pushing some strands out of your face. “‘S fine. Really.” Simon says with a slight nod, and you can feel the burn of his eyes as they trail over you. You can’t decide if he means it or not, though, he sounds oddly monotone for such simple words. “Still, I feel bad, I uh- I’m kinda clumsy at best,” You blurt out, sheepish smile on your face despite its softness as you glance away from him before looking back once more, “I uh- just wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going- a real bad habit of mine, honestly- which is surprising cause you’re kinda huge and hard to miss-” 

What the fuck did you just say?!Your cheeks heat up further, hands moving to gesture with your words now. You’re rambling, you know you are, but god did not give you the ability to shut the fuck up. “N-Not that that’s a bad thing! You’re uh- very well-built!” what the fuck you’re making it worse- “I-I mean- You uh- You have lots of muscle a-and that’s a good thing! And you have pretty eyes- always a bonus!” Simon’s eyebrow slowly lifts, his eyes crinkling at the sides. Simon’s been called a lot of things in his life- but he’s realizing at this moment that no one has ever called his eyes pretty. They’re brown. He can recall Johnny referring to them as ‘shit brown’ more often than not.  And you just look so fucking adorable- continuing to ramble, but he’s hardly paying attention to the words now, watching your cheeks get darker, your hands gesturing with your words, nervously shifting on your feet as you try to ‘save’ the situation. Such a precious lil thing, too pure for this world.

Simon was enchanted at first glance.

Ghost decides he could be, too.

A pretty thing like you? In this world? Oh, love, that’s just not safe. You’re a lil bundle of nervous, clearly. How’d ya make it this far? Who made ya like this? Unsure, rambling, nervous? Ghost wants to learn you. Wants to figure out what events molded you into this cute lil thing. You clearly need someone- he won’t judge, Simon needs him, too.

Ghost decides he wants to know you. Simon has made that thought known.

“You know what? I’m gonna shut up!” You finally say, voice a higher pitch and the heat being felt in the tips of your ears at this point as you take a step away from the masked man, who you know you’ve done ruined the chance to know with your inability to shut the fuck up.

“Tell me yer name before ya do,” Simon says, voice smooth like it’s the easiest and most casual thing in the world.

He’s so… quiet. He let you ramble and make an absolute fool of yourself- but now he’s actually wanting to know your name?

After you manage to knock yourself out of your stupor, you finally offer your name to him, cheeks finally cooling down a bit. Only to heat back up once he repeats your name in that voice of his, all low and gruff- says it differently than anything you’ve ever heard before- like it’s something important, something that matters.

“Simon,” He supplies, adjusting his bags in one grip as he offers a hand to you.

Simon and Ghost are two very different people who share this skin suit.

But they both decide you’re theirs.

[puppeat123]

Homicipher

GN! MC x Mr Crawling

QUICK! ONESHOT

Clean up 🧼 Mr.crawling Fluff☁️

Alright it’s been a while since I have written any type of story or anything so have mercy it might be really bad! Anyways I appreciate yall and I hope yall enjoy!

The bold and crossed out words are the other language 🌀

Slight mention of nudity, SOAP JUMP SCARE,(Jkjk)

Quick note: I have not edited not proof read this so we ball sorry for the grammar errors in advance!

Since being in the this under world kinda place had been a lot it gotten easier tho. Over time you made friends with the residents. Although some of them you still haven’t quite gotten along with due to their odd or erratic behavior.

Mr crawling has been making it easier to survive through this places. He has been your best friend and companion through it all. Helping your survive encounters with Mr stitch, dodging Mr Scarletta who is still trying to find you.

However it’s been a while since you’ve done any kinda of self care and a good shower . (cute girl/guy)

Your hair felt oily and grimy, your skin looked like your rolled in the dirt, and your skin looked dry and ashy. You can’t remember when you let yourself get that bad,covered in blood and dirt.

Mr Silvair had a bathroom right? He has a whole living room type thing.

You felt a small tug on your rain coat. Mr crawling stared up at you looking a bit confused.

“Look?”

You’ve been staring at yourself so long in the mirror you completely forgot about him!

“Me look me!”

Mr crawling nodded in agreement.

“Pretty pretty!”

He can be so sweet but who knows maybe his saying that as a friend? The relationship between the bother of you wasn’t ever clear. He was ghost not human so a lot of things are bound to be different when to comes to romance.

“Together find Mr Silvair”

And off both of you went. On a small but important journey trying to find the doctor.

After a while you found his home. Knocking and pecking in hoping he was home.

“Hello!” You waved at the doctor before coming in.

“Hello”

The resident was always so kind when he wasn’t trying to use you as a lab rat.

“Big container water have?” You asked the ghost doctor. He had like a whole mini house in here.

“Yes. Water container there” He pointed to the room next to his lab.

“Thank you!”

You stepped into the room Mr crawling followed you in.

You hesitated for a second. Should I let him in? I mean he is literally just like a puppy he won’t be anything weird right? Now thinking about it has he ever taken a shower??Then again his a ghost who knows.

You sigh letting him in the room. Closing the door behind him. You look at the container it was almost the same size and a tube or maybe even bigger! The water was a nice temperature too not to warm nor cold.

“Body get out clothes”

You motioned to the ghost while taking your coat off. Mr crawling kinda looked confused after the request, seeing you take your clothes off he seemed a bit nervous but did so anyways. You try and not look out of respect. Since it was a huge tub of water a bath wasn’t enough you needed a shower. You found small chairs and placed it down in front of the tall man.

“Chair sit”

You instructed him.Now thinking about it taking your coat off was a bad ideas cause your clothes are going to get wet. Well you can always call in the bride lady. She was always so nice!

You found a bar of soap still in its box a while back while searching through ruins looking for something to remind you of home.

You started scrubbing at his back, Mr crawling first seemed tense but then started to enjoy it just happy to be there with you. He loved you washing his hair tho.

Once he was done it was your turn your told him to face the other way while you undressed cause it was a little awkward he was staring at you while you where undressing. He doesn’t have eyes but his stare was to much.

“Me want help! Cute cute me help!”

You sigh sitting down on your chair best to him and hand him the bar of soap and your rag in order to clean you up. He started scrubbing away the same way you did to him. It was really relaxing until he started to get to your front area in which you tried to do yourself without much luck.

Mr crawling was going to make sure to leave you squeaky clean like you left him! Plus you did him the favor of making him clean he will make sure to return of course!

He didn’t notice how your face was on fire, and you were thankful cause he was just trying to be helpful!

After washing off the soap and feeling nice and clean. You pulled out the lotion you found in the rubble. It was unscented so it worked perfect for the face.

You started rubbing the lotion down on Mr crawling. Starting from his hands to his whole arms and the up his neck and face.

His face trying to bury him self in your palms with the a big smile laughing to himself.

“Me like pet more”

You laughed he was truly enjoying him self. You made sure to careful rub in the lotion in his face taking in all the lines and was his face makes.

“Me like you”

His so silly he likes a lot of people you doubt he truly knows what romance is right?

He placed his hand on top of yours once the landed back on his cheeks.

“Me like you many”

You paused making sure your ear have not deceived you. Dose he understand the implications??

Mr crawling shyly gets closer to you holding you palm against his face.

“You want my [][][]?”

This a new word for sure, you haven’t heard it but non the less you wanna make sure you understand.

“[][][]?”

You repeated after him, he nodded a dusty pink shade spreading across his face.

What was he saying was he implying what you think he was?? But why now out of all places, literally sitting butt booty naked in a room after a shower is crazy work.

“Together? [][][]!”

He seemed a bit nervous trying to explain.

“Yes. Want you partner”

Mr crawling tackled you into a hug landing on top of you causing you to fall back and slide a bit further away cause of the lotion and water mix.

So there you lied naked being hugged by the huge man who can’t stop laughing and holding you tighter while rubbing his face against your neck. You laughed along with him happy knowing your feelings were reciprocated. You couldn’t help but kiss his cheek. In which he copied peppering your face all over with small kisses. This nice but it was getting cold with a slight warmth that the ghost could hold.

After a bit, both of you being nice and clean with new clothes given by Mr.bride.

“Cute cute!”

Mr crawling exclames seeing the new outfit given to you no noticing his own outfit matching your own.

“Thank you”

You did Mr.crawlings hair putting it into a ponytail at first ten braiding into to long braids and wrapping them in like pig tails so they won’t get in his way while crawling.

It took a while but once you were done he seemed to fall asleep on your lap. Mr.Crawling started speaking in almost whispered tone. Which you got closer to hear him.

“Me like you lots. You partner me. Together.”

You smiled softly.

“Yes together me you. Partner”

[darkdemeter]

・issue #1・ KNOW YOUR RHYTHM

⚤ Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Dance choreo! Female Reader Mafia related topics — some profanity — mention of blood and violence and stuff — mob boss Bucky who just thirsts for reader HARD — bit a spice and flirting — I think that's it? ✎ 5.6k He is the king of crime, the one mob boss nobody wants to mess with. Funny how you end up here, hired as a dance choreographer for his new club. It was meant to be a simple paycheck, nothing more. But Bucky Barnes, the big bad mafia boss, wants you.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

 You’re too stubborn to retire the rhythm and hang up those dancing shoes. No, you fight for what’s yours, that’s how you were brought up, and you committed so much to lead this life to escape another that loomed over with a darkened destiny. 

  Even then you had your limits. Though it seems those limits would be tested as of today. A promise that undoubtedly falls in the blurring of lines. 

  “The Crimson Star Nightclub,” you say with a click of your tongue that audibly pops on the other end of the call. “In… that territory of New York.” 

  You swear you can feel her grimace of regret through the phone.

  “I know, I know! I’m sorry, I just— I told him that you’d just be perfect for the job.” Your friend and student wasn’t pleading herself a forgivable case here, you scowl outwardly as you toss your bag atop the nearby railing, sifting through its contents for a moment.

  “I taught you everything I know, babes, why’re you struggling?”

  She’s silent for a minute before she groans, “I just don’t have what it takes to teach, like you do. You’ve got the drive for it! C’mon, he’s willing to pay triple your usual rates. Besides… I’m kinda scared he’ll kill, gut and dump my body over a bridge if you don’t come.”

  That last point shakes you more than you’d like but you quickly dismiss the arrival of dread that falls on your shoulders. You grapple your wallet from your bag and begin to hail a taxi, a gloved hand raised high, the familiar fluorescent yellow swerving to a stop at the curb with a screeching frictional drag of its tires. “What’s the address?”

  She’s smiling, you just know it as she rains down a thousand thank you’s, her heels clapping loudly in the background. 

  Pulling up to the joint made your stomach turn over a hundred times. Exiting the cab, your heeled boot scrubs against the pavement with a leathery rumble as you take in the building. A big establishment from its outward appearance. Peeling off the cover of your sunglasses, you study the freshly reinstated brickwork absolved of any form of gang graffiti. A havenous roofing overheads the entrance where guests would line up in wait with complimenting stanchions. 

  Atop the two – or maybe three story – building is the unlit title, Crimson Star Lounge and Nightclub, and the most flattering of all: a giant red star with a blackened silhouette of what you believe to be either a nude or lingerie clad woman sat within on an invisible seat of some kind. 

  With a hum, you bet a personal wager against yourself that the neon sign’s simple display would articulate the upper leg that hangs over her other to kick up as she arches herself back, accentuating her body more.

  You cannot help but chuckle to yourself. Oh, you’re definitely in for a treat you shouldn’t have let yourself be lured in by. 

  You walk up to the entrance where a large hulk of a man stands idle, his long, blonde hair tied back and out of his face, his browline shifts awkwardly to frown at you behind a thick layer of facial hair. Gruffly, with a low baritone, he speaks. “Club’s not open yet, sweetheart, and we’re full on resumes. Come back in a few months.”

  With a fashionable tilt of your head, a smirk presses into the corner of your lips as you grin.   “Oh, I know you’re not. The star girl doesn’t have her legs spread open for business.”

  From the ease that follows his features with a bashful grin to boot, you continue, “A girl named Tam is inside? She called me, asked me to come and meet the big boss man for a potential dance choreographer job.”

  He grins a pearly smile at you. “A woman with your attitude, he’s gonna have no choice but to give you the job. Right this way, Miss.”

  He steps aside and gestures with a muscular arm for you to continue in and with a curt nod of your head, you stalk down the dimly lit hall until you reach the wide expanse of the club.   An elevated platform is guarded by a railing of dark steel to oversee the ground level, the second floor is cut off some feet away from the T shaped stage. Along the back wall that’s closer to your right shelters a pristine, obsidian marble counter with a set of modernised saloon doors behind, leading off into what you assume to be a backbar. 

  It appears that the second floor acts as some sort of VIP section with the barely visible wall of booths pinning into the wall in an orderly fashion, a few booths decorating the first floor and located closer to the bar, the remaining space reserved for the dance floor and tables. 

  Already you begin to piece together the potential air and radiance the club is looking to create, but it helps your workload when asking whoever is in charge what it is they’re trying to achieve. 

  The brighter, overhead lights blare down to make life and work in the dark a tad more tolerable, so employees shuffling around, going about their duties, many don’t spare so much as a third glance your way much to your relief. The last thing you need is anyone recognising you from your prior glory days. 

  Falling into a slow crawl of a stride as you explore your new surroundings, your potential new work space, a voice is sudden to drawl over the glassy rim of an auburn-hued shiver on the tongue, ice swaying with a chorus of clinks. “Club’s closed, sweet—”

  “Alright, I can’t make the same comment twice. I’ve got a thing about repeating myself.”

  That comeback rings as a shocker through the atmosphere. Turning himself to press his side into the counter, glass in hand, you take in the numerous glimmers of gold adorning his fingers, one of which tells of who exactly this man was. What he was.

His chin dips down to peer over the tint of his glasses. “Sharp. I like it. What’d you want?”

  You take a step forward, head craning to look around you before you turn back to the man, plucking your gloves off your hands to discard them into your bag. “Sightseeing clubs that aren’t open,” you scoff, “I’m looking for the boss of the joint. Tam’s voucher.”

  His shoulders rise and roll back, most likely sensing the cutting way you get right to it through your charade of jest. He flashes you a grin. “You’re funny. Tony Stark, pleasure to meet you.”

  He extends his hand forward and you reach to shake it, your throat scratchy and dry from even looking at the ring on his pinky and its embossed insignia. Tucking his hand away into the pocket of his dress pants, he cocks his head awry. “The boss is kinda in a meeting right now.”

  Your lashes flutter in a flurry, eyes rolling skyward into your skull with an exasperated sigh. 

“Do you guys get off to wasting a girl’s time? Honestly, that’s what makes it harder to please us in this day and age.” 

  “I have my ways.” 

  His voice is a fine contour, rich and smooth, you cannot help the chill from running up your spine. Your heel pivots and your body follows, hands situated on your hips as your chin tilts up and up to meet the fiercest pair of winter blue eyes you’ve ever seen. A layer of dark stubble hides little of the smirk plastered on his pink, soft lips as he leans, arms straight and pressed to the railing until his muscles beneath his flex and the veins in his rough hands budge. 

  “Are you the big boss I’ve heard so much about?”

  His cheeks flex under the weight of his thinned smile and nods. “The one and only, dollface.”

  Shaking yourself from momentary stun, you face to realise that the club’s owner was the top mob boss of New York himself. Of course Tam had to bury you six feet in this mess. It had been bad enough that the establishment itself resided in mob territory. Now, as it turns out, the mob king himself owns the place. And your possible contract and paycheck. 

  How fucking fitting. 

  “Right so… what’s the big idea? Tam said something about you needing a choreo instructor.”

  You almost find the way his lips pull to reveal a row of pearly teeth endearing. Almost. You dare not forget who you’re talking with. 

  “Yes, she said you’d be coming.” You don’t miss the way his words care to articulate the words, their enunciation versed with a seductive purr. You scoff at the comment that fails to filter his lewd mind. Still, he has one hell of a smile that can surely make any woman swoon.

Though you don't very much care to be one of those women. You much prefer to stay very much away from that. From him.

  “She told me you were her dance teacher and that you’re the best of the best. Showed me a few demo tapes of your work.”

  You give a simple shrug of your shoulders to ease the flush that rises in your blood. “And?”

  He moves like a wolf on the prowl and maybe because he very much is. Your eyes watch him with careful calculation, the way the bulk of his body swaggers down from his throne on high to meet you on the bottom level. 

  “I’d like to take her word for it and take you on,” he rumbles lowly. 

  His eyes rake up and down your body slowly, undoubtedly sizing you up like a meal. The waft of his cologne is powerful, a stern odour of expensive luxuries only affordable by his wallet. It overpowers your sense of smell like some love spell that you find half a mind to tilt your axis away from his reach; now beginning to worry that those illustrious women draped on his arm in printed magazines and articles may have been victims to a fling they were entrapped by. 

  You have to keep your posture strong and sure to recover from that relapse, however, given that your action may be interpreted as weakness. These men thrive and feed off weakness. He extends a hand forward. “Bucky Barnes. But I get the feeling you already knew that.”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  Nevertheless, you take his hand and shake it, reluctantly giving him yours in return. He tastes it for the first time and, by the way his tongue runs below the risen quirk of his lip, revealing his incisor, enjoys the way it rolls off. 

  You walk with him as he shows you around the club and accommodates you with the knowledge of how he wants this little business joint to succeed in its intended market. You meet the girls who would be under your charge, your attitude taking a noticeable shift from its standoffish tone to one much lighter, friendlier in terms of interacting with the dancers. 

  Returning back to the main stage and dismissing the girls off, Bucky turns to you, broadly puffed out from chest to shoulders that the suit strains slightly against the expanse of muscle. 

  “Right, I’ll need to browse around for a hirable studio and give you the info to give the dancers,” you note first and foremost, running your hand over your mouth, your demeanour now lessened and eased into one more befitting of contemplation. Bucky can see and even admire the spark of dedication to the job in your eyes.

  “Can you pull it off?” 

  You gasp, a tad and touch higher in your defence than you should have let on. But ultimately, you meet the dark, playful challenge in his raised brow and wicked smirk. 

  “Outstandingly so for the interesting logo for the club.”

  “Ooh,” he winces behind pursed lips, “tell me what you really think.”

  Tongue unsheathing from your cheek, you turn to face him, stepping forward one step and then another, standing barely chest to chest with him. The fog of his cologne is a whirlwind intending to knock you loose of your inhibitions. You thinly smile through it. “Well, it certainly follows the saying.”

  His brows move higher to his forehead, almost cocky that you don’t fall into betraying yourself and believing he means anything sincere as he asks coolly, “what saying would that be?”

  And quickly you answer, “sex — or the appeal of it — sells.”

  His face leans in closer until his lips hover over yours some inches away, invading the presence of personal space, uncaring to the way your body goes rigid; caught in fight or flight mode, knowing damn well between the two of you that you’re stuck and fucked by either response. “And just how much do you sell for, I wonder.”

  His words are soft, low and oh-so laced to be seductive. The striking allure of those blues moving to take in every aspect of your features as if to engrain them into his memory. 

 Just before he can ever dream of letting his lips close in any more, you take initiative and move back, flaunting a huff that eases his ego down, his features faltering visibly right before your eyes. 

  “I’ll send you an invoice tonight, Mr Barnes…” Your words inspire hope within him as he slowly grins, only to fall. “But don’t excite yourself. I don’t mix business with pleasure.” 

 You send yourself off in the direction of the exit with a measured wave, but his words leave with you and have your stomach in a strange flutter. 

 “You sure? Because I see potentially a lot of pleasure in this contract.”

THREE MONTHS LATER

  It’s cruel to watch you, knowing that this is your last rehearsal with the girls. After this, the doors will promise an opening night to remember. But if you’ve given any hints, you don’t exactly intend on seeing it. 

  And for Bucky, that is just plain torture for him. Over the past three months, you have been working your pretty arse off creating a whole show routine, expertly weaving the backbone of the club’s entertainment and allocating the playlist to fit the atmosphere Bucky and his club managers wanted. 

  Lounging in the VIP section, the raised loft that oversaw the club’s dance floor, stage and regulars bar, Bucky still cannot take his eyes off of you. Why of all nights did you have to go racing off to another job so soon? He had paid you generously, far more than any hired choreographer could ever dream of, and yet that still didn’t seem enough to convince you. He hovers like a shadow, leaning to the dark steel railing, his ring-lined fingers drum against the dark steel as he contemplates his next move. 

  He barely pays any mind to his captains who take their place in the sleek, refined office that are the booths, sipping at their drinks and chatting about the club’s interests and rates. Shit that he tunes out. He can’t focus on anything when you move like that, your body arching this way and that; sinful and cause for impossible. But you prove him wrong. There are many positions he’s fantasised taking you in mid rehearsal. And once, when it was just the two of you in the club during a routine practice, he almost had the chance. But it – you – slipped right through his fingers.

  Your body is pulled into the music itself. A process many seem to struggle with, but for you, it’s as easy as breathing. At first, it’d been a gamble of who to hire for the job, now Bucky cannot dream of regretting choosing you. Renowned as a star dancer, you’re credited with awards from around the globe, in solos, duos and exceeding the numbers. Competition after competition, your name became well known. Your prodigy, dear little Tammy, had been a resourceful source that he later forwarded onto his boys, ordering them to dig up more information about you. 

  A nasty red line was found in your record, as Bucky had his men find, and though the exact details are still unknown to him, it’s given him an indicator that something hit rock bottom. Some time afterwards, however, you resurfaced as a dance choreographer. 

  And if you were still the best of the best, then he’d take you for the job. But now, he wants you for good. Dressed to the nines in outfits he’s spent on all his cards, riding to events together and having the envy of every man and woman’s eyes upon you. Hell, he’s already contemplated the venue and diamond ring. All he needs now is that chance you refute at every turn.

  “Chins forward, eyes open,” you call in correction, gaze set straight ahead of you in the midst of a spinning twirl before planting your heeled stiletto hard into the stage floor with a resounding boom. 

  Bucky’s eyes trail then upwards, the dark colour of your pantyhose hiding your skin that he’s desperate to bruise and leave his fingerprints on. His fingers curl harshly into the railing while his eyes continue to admire while simultaneously undress you, your body hugged in a very form-admiring bodysuit. 

  Dropping down low with the girls following suit, your hips move on beat with the music, grinding into the floor. That, of all moves, is when you make the grave mistake in glancing up at a striking pair of blue eyes, dark in their passionate longing and so bright you’re quick to force your eyes away. 

  But not before you flashed him a toothy smile. A smile that kills him every time. Heat rushes through your veins and rises higher into the surface of your skin, in your core it feels electric with pulsating need, but you carry on with the routine, to save face from what Bucky Barnes did to you. Unbeknownst to you at this moment of what you did to the mob boss, he groans at the tightness surrounding his clothed cock as you rock your hips back and forth, suggestive in your choreographed manner. But so dismissive in how it affects him greatly and his ability to conduct business. 

  No. You can’t let yourself fall into that sort of mess again. Focus. Rolling onto your back, your back arches so beautifully off the floor, it almost has Bucky gasping. The pointed pink of his tongue’s tip darts out to wet his lips. 

  Completely and utterly mesmerised by your rhythm, he growls like a feral animal when Steve’s voice interjects his still continuing list of how he plans to ruin you and save you.

  Now at the end of your routine, you wave for Torres to cut the music and your shoulders fall heavily with an exerted sigh.

  “Good work, girls,” you applaud with your friendly smile, clapping for their efforts. The girls in turn repay your praise with bashful smiles and compliments of your mentorship. 

  You had this way with people, and especially those under your study, you were kind and playful but remained an air of professionalism to ensure your students or your time wasn’t wasted. 

  Bucky feels his skin crawl and his heart drop a thousand yards into his stomach. From the lavish watch strapped to his wrist, he inspects the time. End of rehearsal. End of your contract with him. 

  “Well, they learnt from the best.” Your head turns fast, vision momentarily blurred, there again is that feeling - that spell - he has you under as he saunters down the stairs and towards the stage where you stood, hands pressed idly into your hips. 

  His tongue runs over his teeth, groaning inwardly as his eyes sink and rise in study of your entire form. He could see you being his queen. You’ve a powerful stance, that much he can see, and you possess a quality that has the attention of anyone and everyone on you. A commanding presence. 

  “You’re too kind, Mr. Barnes.” Your cheeks redden more. Praise from your clients always makes your heart flutter with adoration and joy. For them to express their gratitude in the ways they do, it’s good to know you have succeeded in your job. 

  But when Bucky praises you, you become a giddy girl that gushes and yearns to hear more. He sees the way your face shifts to reflect that professionalism, all to hide the reality of what he does to you; what he could do to you if you just gave him the chance. 

  “I could be much kinder, doll.” His voice has lowered into a velvety purr, the callous massage of his fingers shoot a blaze of electricity through the thin fabric of your pantyhose and into your skin like ice, a simple touch over your calf, teasing you further as his palm encloses around you as well, sliding up and down gently. Despite your position above him, a sight he’ll never grow tired off, his up-tilted chin reaches level just below your stomach. Right at the apex of something dangerous. He sees the inner turmoil of conflict flash in your eyes, a battle he’s sure he can win if he plays his cards just right. 

  “VIP access tonight to start?”

  You scoff, shaking your head. But the furrow in your brows betrays your true, raw disappointment. You can’t hide it. Not from him. “I can’t. I have an early flight tomorrow.”

  And just like that, you refuse him yet again. His bottom lip rolls in and over his teeth, tongue pushing hard against the thickened fold of intruding skin in his internal flare of anger, eyes darkening with a single promise he cannot keep; because he can’t have you to make it. You attempt to step back only for his hand to curl tighter around your ankle, keeping you in place.

  “Make an exception this one time for me.”

  Your eyebrows crease between the middle, a frown tugging your lips into an unamused sneer as you tug at your leg that Bucky refuses to let go. 

  “Mr. Barnes, this is extremely unprofessional—”

  “Your contract has expired. We can be as unprofessional as we want. No consequences. No regrets.” He coats his words heavily with a honey of seduction. One that is awfully tempting… one you must deny. 

  You swear this man would kiss the ground you walk upon if you asked him to. Would paint and drown the streets red with blood if you wished it. And that’s what frightens you. Beneath those adoring pools of blue hide a darkness to a world you seek escape from, therein his eyes hides the nature of a killer who’s not only dangerous to those who cross him because of who he is as a man; but also dangerous because of you. 

  You know that love — and lust — are a powerful motivator to a man. It can and will make him do anything. The impossible, the reckless and the most horrid of things. 

  No matter how softly he pleads, you must not say yes…

  His head tilts ever so slightly to the side, streaking locks of dark brown fall loosely to frame over his brow, highlighting an innocence that isn’t there. You pull your leg away again and he allows you to leave him though with the exception of those eyes faltering from yours. Like a kicked puppy.

  “I’ll come tonight. We’ll need to talk about my payment before I leave.”

  There it is, that bright spark in his ocean hues again, a grin pulls his lips wide that battling a smile of your own causing your lips to quiver is half won. Hopping down from the stage his eyes follow after you, watching you gather your belongings, your sights meet one another and he nods to you.

  “See you tonight, beautiful.”

  Scoffing with a shake of your head, this time that smile graces your lips wholly and Bucky feels the air in his lungs flatline. What he would give, who he would kill to see that smile forever on your face. 

  “Right. Tonight. See you then, Mr. Barnes.”

  How you say his name in a manner of such proprietary has him a certain way, but what often has him throbbing and hard is the thought of you moaning his name, skin hot in a sweaty flush pressed to his as he has you on the verge of climactic euphoria and promising that you will be his, that you will never leave his side. He’s left only to his imagination of how you would sound, how you would feel around his hard and thick cock, in his strong and passionate grip that would never let you go — let you falter. 

  He wants you so badly it’s driving him insane. 

  Bucky takes the time to admire your form that currently flees for now, but soon enough he guarantees otherwise, paying particular attention to the wondrous body of your arse right before you pull your coat over your shoulders. 

  He pulls out his phone from his suit pocket and with a few minor taps of his thumb, he holds it to his ear, the receiver on high alert to his order.

  “Get her ticket reimbursed and have the jet on standby, just in case.”

  If you had known he’d send a car to pick you up, you’d have thought twice on a decision you should have said no to at the very beginning. From your seat, you eye the neon title and star, indeed the female figure doing just as you thought. A provocative display to allure its target audience. Right on command, Sam arrives, strutting out from the main doors to your door and pulls it open for your exit. The once dark tinted window shielding you from the envious stares of those stuck to line up on the velvety carpet. 

  “Looking good, princess. C’mon in, Bucky’s waiting for ya.”

  “Thanks, Sam.” 

Sam’s allegiances may have set prejudice to keep you from trusting him or any of the other boys under Bucky’s command, but he was kind and attentive to you the more he saw you around his boss and the club premises. 

  You do well to keep your eyes forward and your focus straight, ignoring the few whispers of a gaggle of women clad in colourful, sparkling cocktail dresses, dolled up faces contorted into spiteful sneers as Thor granted you unrestrained access much to the shagrin of the female pack whining and complaining. 

  You weren’t here for the explicit pleasures that they were after on the inside. You’re strictly here to see what it was you accomplished, hoping that these business partners of Bucky will be entertained by the routine and show you poured hours of soul and heart into, then collect your paycheck and leave. That’s it. 

  Sam commands to part the crowd ahead of you, allowing you a clear path and direction up the stairs to the upper floor, smirking and ushering you off when you press him with a sceptical raise of your brow. But at his insistence that you don’t fall into the same category as the guests, you head on up, climbing each milestone with a heeled step that draws you possibly closer to the very man who you cannot seem to get away from. 

  Atop the stairs and rounding along the railside, you press your stomach to, overseeing the crowd below, streaks of red lights beaming from the rafters above to illuminate the dark, sensual aura of the club, the music a thriving beat as the dancers on stage perform their routine. 

  Life on the stage… there are days where you miss it. With a drag of a sigh parting your lips, you straighten a little from having leant on the railing a little during the show. Your body bristles instantly as something large and warm presses into your back, almost nuzzling the diamond cut out of skin, his long arms coming into view to cage you between him and the cold steel, his hands rest over your own. 

  “Glad to see you made it,” he hums deeply against the curve of your ear, nose gentle to nuzzle against your neck. “My business partners love the show, they’ve been asking for you.”

 “Trying to drum up business for me, Mr Barnes?” you muse with a pout, voice offering a sickly sweet mockery of appreciation only for him to snort and direct you towards the booths where several men sat within a cloud of cigar smoke and breath of pure alcohol.

  “Gentlemen, this is the woman I was telling you about.” He introduces you and your hand traverses into numerous exchanges of hand shakes as you greet each of them.

  “Have to say, little lady, your vision for performance is immaculate,” a man of rounder physique appraises with a grin, half burnt cigar jammed between two fat digits and his dark brown eyes sparkling with hopeful aspiration for your future. 

  “Pray tell that Bucky will allow us to perhaps offer you a longer term contract?” His question ends with the butt of his cigar popped into the o of his mouth and huffing.

  It hits you like a freight train going a hundred miles an hour, your jaw unhinges only to clamp shut, bouncing between the motion as you tend to this new revelation. “I–I uh…” Eyes glancing to Bucky who stands at your side, chest puffed out with a smirk twisted into his lips, he cocks his brows at you. 

   “A kind offer but I have another job already lined up in Chicago. It’ll conflict too much, I’m afraid.”

  The men hum and sigh in their disappointment but offer you wishes, the man then plucks a card from a silver plate box and slides it towards you. “Of course. I admire your commitment to prior contracts. But don’t hesitate to call us if you change your mind. Mr. Barnes here has put in a good word for you.”

  “Oh, has he?” You draw the words slowly with care, but the hint of suspicion has Bucky’s eyes pinned to yours for a moment until he looks to the men, bidding them to excuse him a moment as he takes to lead you away from their table. 

  Once in the private hallway that leads to Bucky’s office, your words choke behind a scoff, “What the hell was that all about? I– I told you, I have a flight to catch tomorrow and– Bucky this is too much, even for someone like you, to give to someone like me.”

  He leads you to the door and opens it, beckoning you to enter before shutting the door promptly behind you both. All you can do is watch the broad span of his back as he struts over to his desk, merely gesturing a hand for you to sit. 

  “Doll, check your bank account.” 

  The way his voice maintains a firm timbre almost spawns concern to spur you to run out that office and never look back, but you do as he says, checking your bank account. Your eyes blink widely. 

  “My ticket! Bucky you—”

  “You deserve better than living in some slum studio apartment, living to survive on paycheck to paycheck,” he rasps hoarsely as if the words and very idea of your situation leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, he continues, “A forty-five grand monthly salary to start, upgraded living in a penthouse and a licensed studio all of your own and signed to your name.”

  A poisonous drought covers your tongue and coats your throat, your eyes peer down at the white card, font pristinely spaced and organised, minimally professional. Bucky faces you now after having realise that you didn’t sit down upon his request – or what you assume order. Your eyes then raise to glower at him, narrowing sharply. 

  “And your agenda behind this?”

  Can you trust the way his brows relax, bending to curve in a manner of sympathy as he reaches you, chest to chest and his calloused palms come to hold your jaw between them, nursing in his hand the one thing he desires above all else. 

  His head bows lower until his lips graze over yours, causing your breath to hold and you feel the form of his lips curl into a small grin and with a hum he connects the kiss. At first he is gentle to test the waters until he is consumed by that fire, heat ensuing to take hold of the kiss, he groans lowly like a ravenous animal. 

  Your stomach turns into knots and your thighs push together when the threat of arousal pools between them, a gasp teetering on your voice, your own lips meeting his as your hands manoeuvre over the curvature of his muscles that tense beneath you. The kiss grows hotter, heat forces its way to burn in your lungs like embers and ash searing the fabric of your soul that when you pull apart, your chest expands to brush against his as you breathe deeply. 

  “Be my girl, doll. Be m—”

  You cut him off with the delicate pillar of your index finger as he intends to sweep in for another kiss. You know for sure that if you allowed him, you would agree to his terms. 

  That cannot happen. 

  You pull yourself away from him until your distance pits your back against the office door, hands lingering on the knob and twist. His  hands that once held the apex of your hips flush to his body fall to clench at his sides. You still choose to refuse him yet again.  “Sorry, Barnes… but mama always told me, papa always warned me, don’t hang around with boys like you.”

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Seeing the responses on the original post was really cool and I’m glad to finally put this simple brain concoction of mine into a fully written fic.

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @mostlymarvelgirl @hollyseb @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @identity2212 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @boobsbeesbongos @blackhawkfanatic

[httpiastri]

more than enough – jmm21

you hate your birthday, but pepe is determined to change your mind.

genre: fluff/a little angsty/comfort

pairing: reader x college!pepe marti, ft christian mansell and sebastian montoya

warnings: uhhh anxiety and such ?? idk

word count: 2.6k

author's note: just like last year, this is merely a very self-indulgent birthday gift to myself (and a bit of a late birthday gift for a friend on here who confided in me about not liking their birthday either), so sorry if you don't relate but i needed to write this for myself despite how painful it was. not happy with how it turned out but, i had to get it out of my system. <3 (also not proofread because i will freak out likely aaaaa)

this is mostly a standalone fic but ig it kinda works as college!pepe so i put that there. i got this idea at my mom's birthday back in march but never actually wrote it until this last week... also loosely based on a tiktok that really spoke to me.

also! this doesn't really work with the headcanon of pepe, seb and chris all sharing an apartment, but i wanted it this way. i also wasn't comfortable including gaby or hermes, so i used the names nora and emma for seb's and chris's respective gfs. :)

"why didn't you tell me your birthday is next week?"

the question is innocent enough, only borderline accusing, but something tightens in your stomach nonetheless. you don't look up from the pot in your hand, however, instead continuing to scrub it with your dishbrush like it's no big deal. "who told you that?"

pepe chuckles as he makes his way over to your side, leaning against the counter as he looks at you. "emma," he tells you, crossing his arms over his chest. "going to answer my question now?"

"i must've forgotten to tell you."

"oh, come on..." your boyfriend shakes his head. "is there a reason i wasn't allowed to know? did i do something? do you not trust me? am i-"

"pepe," you say, his name followed by a sigh as you look over to him in hopes of stopping his rambling. "it's nothing personal."

"what is it, then?" he presses, eyes following your hands as they begin to rinse the pot he'd cooked your pasta in just a couple hours ago. "why don't you want to tell me?"

you take a deep breath, shrugging your shoulders before turning off the tap. "i just... i'm not a big fan of my birthday."

the biggest understatement of the year.

you hate your birthday.

for a number of reasons, really. some to do with your family and childhood; many to do with your own inner thoughts and feelings.

you hate how it reminds you of every bad birthday you had as a kid. you hate how it makes you hopeful that people will remember and congratulate you, because you hate how painful it is when they don't. you hate how you always get reminded of how little people seem to care, and how they always prioritize themselves even on what's supposed to be your day.

it's too much of a mess to explain to him right now – maybe, hopefully, one day you'll have the energy and courage to go through it all.

you hadn't forgotten to tell pepe; you had just been silently hoping he wouldn't address it, and that everyone else would forget, too. but apparently, you have a snitch in your friend group. "what do you mean?" pepe asks.

"i'd much rather not celebrate it." you place the pot on the drying rack, wiping your hands on your towel hanging by the stove before turning to him. "a lot of stuff regarding my birthday just makes me really upset. if i could, i'd just... make it disappear, honestly."

your eyes flicker to the floor, fingers nervously fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. he can tell you don't want to get into it, and he won't push you. instead, he opens his arms wide, taking a step forward. you accept the offer instantly, arms wrapping around his waist as he pulls you close.

the air in your little dorm room isn't as thick as you had expected it to be when telling him all of this – but at the same time, you aren't surprised. pepe has always had a way of grounding you, making everything seem a bit easier. "i can't make it completely disappear, i think," he says, placing his chin on top of your head. "but i can pretend for you."

you hum contently, letting your eyes close for a few moments. "that would be great."

he remains quiet for a couple of seconds, but then he can't stop himself from talking again. "do you really not want anything? no party? you threw me that party for my birthday, i'd feel guilty not doing anything back."

"i did it because you had a fun time and you like those things, and because i enjoyed planning it. but i was really hoping i could skip all that," you answer, pulling away ever so slightly to look up at him with a sheepish expression. "i would honestly rather have dinner with you, emma, nora, sebas, chris... maybe get some takeout from that new indian place down the road?"

to pepe's ears, you sound more than just a tiny bit crazy – but your being so different from him is one of the things that attracted him in the first place. he nods, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "whatever you say, love."

"where did your girl go?" emma asks the second pepe slumps into a free seat by the cafeteria table.

your boyfriend shoots a glance over his shoulder back to the serving line before setting his plate down. "they were out of rice so she's just waiting for a new batch," he says with a shrug.

"okay then, let's be quick before she gets here," emma speaks up again. "what are we doing for her birthday? it's just a few days away, but i think we can pull something off."

"me and seb were talking about throwing her a surprise party," nora says, looking over at sebastian who's nodding excitedly.

pepe, however, lets out a dismissive sound and swats the air with his hand. "no, forget about that," he says, stuffing a spoonful of pasta into his mouth. "she doesn't want any of that."

nora snorts. "what? of course she does."

"you know, pepe," emma counters, eyebrows raised at the spaniard. "every girl will tell you that she doesn't want a surprise party. don't bother, i don't care, you don't have to do all that for me! but in reality, we're all secretly craving it."

pepe considers her words for a few moments; maybe there is some truth in them after all. maybe all you did was try to act modest, to put the idea in his head so he would make the right choice.

but you weren't the one to bring up the subject – he was. he remembers clearly how you were doing your very best to avoid talking about your birthday at all, and the memory of how tough of a subject it seemed like to you is still etched into his mind. he thinks you were so brave to confide in him like that, and so he needs to stand up for you. he can't dishonor your trust.

"trust me, guys. she really doesn't want it." he ignores the groans of the people around him, taking a few sips of his water before continuing. "can't we all just grab some dinner on saturday instead? maybe that new indian place?"

"works for me," christian joins in. "how about presents, then?"

"right, are we all buying something together, or separate gifts?" emma fills in.

pepe shakes his head yet again. "i don't think she wants that, either." his words are followed by a long silence, which makes him unable to hold back a chuckle. "just paying for the food should be enough."

nora sighs dramatically, the palms of her hands pressing into the sides of her face. "and i'm supposed to just trust you, huh?" she asks and pepe merely shrugs, focusing back on his food. "hope you're not messing with us here, marti."

"i have no idea what he said, but he usually is," your voice spreads through the group as you finally take a seat at the table. "fill me in and i'll help you decide if he's just being annoying."

"i was just telling them about what mr. peterson said yesterday," pepe says quickly. "about what he'll do to everyone who fails the exam."

you throw your head back laughing, nodding instantly. "oh my god, that was hilarious. so, it started with someone on the front row asking about..."

pepe loves birthdays. his own, too, but mostly he finds himself looking forward to his friends' birthdays and longing to celebrate the important people in his life. he loves picking out gifts, planning celebrations, and making sure everything is perfect. it just comes naturally for him to be caring and detailed in that way.

but while pepe eagerly awaits your birthday, you couldn't even come close to feeling the same way.

most years, you spend the weeks leading up to your birthday dreading it, and the day of your birthday crying, because your birthday reminds you of everything you try to forget year-round.

pepe wants to make the day perfect for you, but he also obviously doesn't want to do too much. it's a hard task, but he's set on making it work – and the first step is getting a cake.

his first thought was to get you something huge, something to properly convey what he thinks you deserve and how much he loves you. though, it didn't take long for him to realize that something like that would be way too much for you. instead, he settled on a more basic yellow cake with some kind of white coating that the lady in the bakery recommended to him, and dropped by the grocery store near campus to buy sprinkles and a bunch of candles.

the end product is a little messy, but created with so much love, and pepe knows you're going to adore it. what he doesn't know is how he managed to keep you away from his refrigerator and the surprise hiding in it all night yesterday, but it doesn't matter – all that matters is that you're currently still sleeping soundlessly in his bed, with no clue of what's going on over in the kitchen.

pepe's hands are trembling slightly as he lights up the candles; he is a little nervous, he will admit, but he's also excited at the same time. he can't wait to see the look of surprise on your face, so he hurries up and places the cake on a tray along with two cups of coffee.

he silently curses at the way his bedroom door creaks when he pushes it open with his foot, but thankfully you don't move a single muscle. he carefully scoots over to the side of the bed, sitting down next to you and balancing the tray in his lap. he reaches over with one hand to your cheek, thumb tracing along your skin, fingers settling under your jaw. "mi amor," he whispers, a soft hum leaving his lips as he watches your eyelids slowly flutter open. "happy birthday."

it takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the sunshine lighting up the room, but when they do, they can't help but focus on him. the goofy grin on his lips, the messy hair, the-

the cake on his lap.

you push yourself up to sit in bed, rubbing some sleep out of your eyes. you're mistaken, surely? you're still half-asleep, you must've imagined it...

but no amount of blinking makes the cake disappear. the little flames of the candles swaying in the air, the single drop of stearic rolling down the side of a candle, the rainbow sprinkles sticking to the top and sides of the cake – it's all very real.

pepe was so sure this was the right way to go. but seeing the tears begin to seep out of the corners of his eyes makes him horrified. he messed up.

he knew the sprinkles would be too much. and that amount of candles, what was he thinking? he definitely went overboard.

"oh my god," he says, instantly placing the tray on the bedside table before scooting closer to you. "i'm so so so sorry, i thought you would like it... i don't know what i was thinking. here, let me-"

you shake your head as he begins brushing away your tears with his thumbs, and to his big surprise, you chuckle. "don't be sorry," you say, letting out another laugh when you see the confused expression on his face. "i do like it. a lot." you reach up to take his hands in yours, bringing them down to the bed and intertwining your fingers. "it's just... very emotional, for me. as you can see."

he also chuckles now, and he thinks he understands – even though seeing your happy tears is more painful than he'd expected. "okay," he says with a nod. "so..." his eyes flicker back to the cake.

"yes, please. i mean, what could be better than a sugar rush first thing in the morning?"

pepe would've been so happy to shower you with presents to express how much he loves you; it would've made him so proud to invite all your friends to a big celebration, to show you how much you mean to all of them, to change your idea of a birthday. but this – sitting together in bed, eating straight from the cake (no plates needed), pressing sugary kisses to each other's cheeks – is another form of perfect.

he just hopes you think it's perfect, too.

hearing you tell the stories of how you needed to bake the cake for yourself if you wanted one as a child, how you always made sure to buy yourself a gift because the risk that no one else would get you one was too high, and how you always needed to plan out your own parties breaks his heart – but hearing you open up like that also means the world to him. he understands that it's all buried so deep inside of you, but there's nothing he wants more than to help you heal and to prove that you can have much better and bigger birthdays than that.

but for now, a little cake in bed and a ton of kisses will have to do.

baby steps.

"chris, will you pass me the chicken korma?"

he leans over the crowded couch table and holds out the takeaway box to nora, who takes it into her hands and thanks him. "that one is really good," you tell her through your mouthful of bread, nodding to your friend.

"what's the verdict, then?" sebastian asks from his seat over on the couch. "i need a rating from the birthday girl, one to ten."

"food? ten," you say, taking a sip of your soda. "company? ten."

birthday? eleven.

the whole day has been much better than you'd expected; from your wake-up this morning, to the lunch date you shared with pepe over in town after a cute walk along the river, to having your closest friends all gathered in your living room for you. you don't even mind the way your buttcheeks are already starting to hurt after sitting on the floor for too long – you knew you should've invested in more seating for moments like these – because all of this is worth it.

"agreed," pepe chimes in from next to you. "especially about the food."

"speaking of which," says emma. "was there any bread left?"

you're quick to jump to your feet, already turning towards the kitchen. "garlic or plain?"

"ooh, garlic! thank you!"

pepe hurries off the floor right after you, making up some excuse about getting a new spoon for one of the sauces, but no one even bats an eye. you hear him enter through the door, and you smile instinctively. "how are you feeling?" he asks when he reaches your side, hand finding the small of your back as you rummage through the takeaway bag. "is this all enough?"

"it's more than enough. so much more." after pulling out the garlic naan from the bag, you reach up to the side of his face with your free hand, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. "best birthday ever."

you seal your words with a feather-light kiss to his lips, and he's still smiling when you pull away. "you promise?" he asks, eyes searching through yours for any slightest hint of insincerity or uncertainty.

"i promise." another kiss, followed by a gentle hum, and he visibly relaxes. "thank you."

"no, thank you." for opening up, for letting him do all this for you. for existing. "only happy birthdays from now on, okay? i will make sure of it."

"it could never be anything other than a happy birthday with you around."

[solitary-traveler]

Hi hiii! I'm actually new here, and gosh i love your writing like since day 1 🛐🛐🛐

Would it be alright to request something like angst! Scaramouche where he's in an established relationship with y/n who decides to become immortal/ doll like so they can live for liek, an eternity with Scara? They could seek out Dottore. Their constitution would be more doll-like compared to Scara, with the visible ball joints and the creaking?? sounds when moving.

The thing would be, the reason Scaramouche fell inlove with them is because of their 'humanity'. You may end it however you wish to! ^^

The Price of Eternity

Loving Scaramouche was never easy He was immortal an you were not

Scaramouche x gn!reader

Notes: Hiiii thank you so much @whitesheeponthestreet, both for this and the compliment!! This was actually kinda fun to write! I like this prompt. In any case, here you go. Sorry it took so long 🙏 I kinda feel like my writing downgraded—

Art: shihatsu_0 on X

Warning: Just angst :) with a slight tinge of comfort?

Loving Scaramouche was never easy.

He was immortal, and you were not.

You sway with the grim reaper, and spin with the deities. Favored by the gods, you were gifted a heart that sang the most wonderful melodies—a song Scara cherished, worshipped, and loved.

Your entirety was a manifestation of those identified as "humans". Yet, it disgusts you.

Mortality means a limited lifespan. All beings die eventually, but human life is transient—a fleeting moment, a passing memory.

That frightens you.

You don't want to betray him.

Aware of the past tribulations carved into his being, you wanted to spare him more torment. He acts tough, but he's as fragile as glass—a precious, porcelain doll. He's barely holding on, and you don't want to shatter that.

You don't want to leave him alone.

Vanishing from his side—in any shape, way, or form—would be a betrayal. It's a pit you refuse to fall into.

That's what brought you here, to the presence of the Doctor.

"Are you sure about this decision? You know it would be irreversible," Dottore hums, hovering over you as you're strapped to a stained mattress. He feigns concern, his lips stretched into a wide smile.

"You can still say no if you'd like."

Despite his warning, he's already rummaging through the scattered tools on a nearby desk. His hands shake as he grabs a clipboard, reading a few lines before moving on to the next page. You simply shake your head in response.

"I know. But I want to do this. I have to."

The sinister smile never leaves Dottore's face. He taps the checklist and promptly snatches a syringe. He shakes the blue fluid inside before his gaze returns to you. Even with the mask, you know his eyes are sparkling with sadistic pleasure.

"Buckle up then, sweetheart. I'm not going to go easy on you."

You nod.

Not like it bothers you.

You love him too much to care about your humanity.

Loving you was never easy.

You were mortal, and he was not.

He wasn't indulged by any god, nor pampered by fate. He was merely created, tossed aside, and left to rot.

If only puppets could rot.

But none of that mattered anymore. His decisions and choices were his alone. No deity or destiny could interfere with the world he forged. The path he walked was stained with blood and lies, a passage he sculpted to scrub away every last trace of human emotion.

He wasn't born with a heart, so why bother with feelings?

Unfortunately, you—with your foolish and ardent self—managed to trespass the safe haven he struggled to create.

But that didn't stop him from loving you.

He was fascinated by your humanity.

How could something so delicate and insubstantial coexist with those that have higher utility?

It was all too intriguing. Compelling. Oh, how he loved it.

How he loved the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, your shifting temperatures that somehow warmed and cooled him down. But your heart... Oh, how he loved your heart.

The beating, the rhythm, everything. It was a constant reminder that you were alive. He liked that. He used to believe he solely existed for the sake of being. Yet your heart, the ever-present voice of reason, screamed, "You're alive too!"

After all these years, he finally felt like living.

Love was never easy.

You were now immortal, and so was he.

Yet, he doesn't feel as happy as he should. His chest feels empty. Hollow. As if something is missing—something more than a heart.

He holds you in his arms as you sleep peacefully. He raises his hand, slowly running his fingers over the ball sockets where your joints now connect. He recalls watching you stumble inside your shared apartment, your movements stiff as you clumsily made your way to him. He recalls your overjoyed smile as you hugged him, going on and on about how you now shared the same lifespan as him. Yet all he could think of was how smooth your skin was. Too smooth for his liking.

He thinks back to the sound of your joints creaking and grating with every move you make. It was horrible, the detestable screech irritating his ears. He looks back to that day, where he held your hand and pressed his lips against your forever cold skin. He remembers whispering, "I'd love you, no matter what you are."

But could he truly do so?

Scaramouche's thoughts spiral as he watches you, immobile and serene in his arms. He tries to convince himself that this new you, this immortal you, is what he always wanted. But the reality gnaws at him. Your once warm skin, a constant source of comfort, is now a cold, smooth surface that feels foreign against his touch. The rhythmic beating of your heart, which had been a soothing lullaby to his otherwise restless existence, is now a deafening silence that haunts him.

Every time he sees your stiff movements, hears the grating sounds of your joints, a pang of regret pierces through him. He had agreed to this transformation, thinking it was the solution to keep you by his side forever. But now, he questions whether it was the right choice. Was his love so fragile that it needed this drastic measure to endure?

He wrestles with his emotions, the conflict raging within him. He had always believed that love transcends physical form, that it is an unwavering force. But now, faced with this new reality, he feels the weight of his own hypocrisy. The physical changes have altered the very essence of what made you, you. The warmth, the breath, the heartbeat—gone.

As he looks at you, he feels a deep sense of loss. The vibrant, living being he fell in love with has been replaced by a lifeless replica. He wonders if he has been selfish, if his fear of losing you has led to this hollow existence. The guilt gnaws at him, amplifying his internal turmoil.

He was still going to love you forever.

But it will never be the same.

Loving you before had been like black coffee, strong and invigorating. This was like decaf—lacking the essence that made it real. He mourns the loss of the person you were, even as he clings to the shell that remains.

[idontknowanyonesblog]

Mirage rise of the beasts x gn reader

Mirage is kinda obsessed with reader and a bit of a perv. Slightly nsfw (mirage watched reader get undressed and watches them shower through their window and jerks off) BYE THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING LMAO

This was like my second fanfic I’ve ever written and I was to shy to post it but because I don’t have much experience writing this might not be very good and I didn’t feel like reading this over

Ever since your friend Noah had introduced you to his friend Mirage (who happened to be a 15 foot tall alien robot from space) he developed quite a liking to you. Anytime you went to the shop Mirage was always trying to talk and flirt with you. But if you were being honest, you didn’t mind it. Little did you know, Mirage had a special little “talent” which included being able to clone himself and turning invisible. One day he heard you huffing and cursing as you made your way to the door to enter the shop and Mirage wanted to test something out. He turned invisible and sat in the corner, waiting for you to enter and when you did you were absolutely soaked due to the heavy rain outside. You noticed nobody was in the shop which was a bit strange but you were too uncomfortable in your soaking wet clothes to care so you began to take your clothes off before grabbing some fresh clothes from your bag. For the few moments you were bare and stripped of your clothes, Mirage was secretly watching you with wide eyes clearly enjoying every second of it. You huffed as you put your wet clothes in your bag and went off somewhere else in the shop to get some work done and wait for the rain to pass by. After around a hour later the rain was only a small drizzle so you decided to pack up and go to back home. You walked around 10 minutes until you made it to the parking garage where you had parked before the rain came in. If you had known before hand about the rain you would’ve parked a bit closer to the shop but it didn’t matter now. It was late so Mirage knew you were heading home but he needed to see more of you. He had to or else he thought he might go feral. You’d asked him for a ride home a few times when your car was getting serviced so he knew where you lived thankfully for him.

He knew it was wrong to follow you home but he just had to. He followed you home, poor you, not knowing Mirage could become invisible and had used that to watch you undress and now he’s using it again to follow you home. Mirage felt bad about it, it was wrong but he couldn’t help himself. You were just too perfect for him to keep his sanity. Once you got to your house you went upstairs to take a nice hot shower, after such a long tiring day you deserved it. And Mirage deserved the view you gave him from the bathroom window. Your soft beautiful skin under the hot water mixed with the steam in the bathroom was such a mesmerizing site for the mech. And you wouldn’t expect a thing. Mirage was a nice mech, so funny and caring. He would never do something bad like this right? As you scrubbed your body and washed yourself, Mirage watched the whole thing happen. His spike beginning to throb with need. The panel slid and his spike was freed. His servo tightly wrapping around it and moving rapidly as he watched you. Small groans and whimpers left his mouth the closer he got to overloading. You turned towards the window for a moment and that’s when he overloaded transfluid all over his servo. The site of your body on full display from the angle you stood at. You were like a God/Goddess to him. Breathy whines left his mouth as he watched you step out of the shower and cover yourself with a towel. He wished he could’ve seen more but he had to go back to the shop before Noah got suspicious. He transformed back into his alt mode and drove away, hoping you’d come by the shop again tomorrow and hopefully give him another show.

THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING IM SO SORRY😭

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

I Love when You Do that Hocus Pocus to Me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

Setting: Commonwealth (post series, no France)

Warnings: Suggestive themes

Summary: Daryl gets pampered. He just thought he didn’t want it. Until he did.

A/N: Thank you for the idea, dearest @lazyneonrabbitt ! I’m so happy to have written something, even if it is a tiny drabble. 🩵 (The newest photoshoot may have had a hand in this as well)

*gif is not mine

Daryl curled his lip, the soft fabric of the hotel robe feeling odd against his clean skin. He’d never understood pampering oneself in such a manner but would take any and all of your attention even if it meant letting you brush his steadily growing hair. Apparently that’s exactly what it meant that day; a shower, hair brushing, goatee trimming, the works. 

Apparently, it’s just the kinda thing that happened when he let Princess accompany you as a last minute replacement for a run when he needed to oversee a patch up of a potential wall breach. 

“Never again.” He grumbled. The robe was irritating and the silk boxers even more so, but he’d walk on a bed of hot coals for you. If this was what you wanted to do on his day off while Jude and RJ stayed at Carol’s, then he’d entertain it. 

It sucked that you were all business in the shower though. Your naked body had been pressed against him as you scrubbed his scalp and thoroughly washed him, only chuckling when he had instantly grown hard in anticipation of what he thought he was about to get. 

“Down, boy.” You had said, spinning him away from you by his shoulders in order to wash his back. 

“Tease.” He muttered. Daryl glanced up toward the stairs, hearing your muted footsteps, the padding of bare feet on what was likely cold flooring that winter afternoon. What were you doing up there? 

With a mumbled utterance of colorful words, he crossed his ankles on the coffee table and focused on the scents coming from the kitchen; the venison stew you knew he loved so much. The one recipe you had created without Carol’s assistance and subsequently his favorite meal. 

“Okay, time for lunch.” He heard you say just after the top stair creaked. 

“Y/N, why I gotta wear this—” If it were possible for his eyes to leave his skull, they would have been on the floor. Your own robe was left untied, open just enough to sway backward as you moved to reveal your nudity. Your towel dried hair had been combed, your skin shining with what was undoubtedly the lotion you had found on the same outing. He inhaled the scent of strawberries even with the distance between you. Before he could utter another word, you had disappeared into the kitchen. 

Daryl was quick to spring into action, feet on the floor with hands pressed into the cushions to push himself to his feet. The kitchen table would be as good a place as any to take advantage of what you were so openly offering. He froze when your voice rang out. 

“Don’t you move, Daryl Dixon!”

“How did—” 

“Sit.” You ordered, sauntering into the room with a bowl of stew in your hand. Reluctantly obeying, he groaned, the sway of your hips and bounce of your breasts absolutely torturing him. “I said lunchtime.” You grinned. Before he could form a coherent thought, you were straddling his thighs, cooling the soup with long exhales through perfectly puckered lips. 

“You’re tryin’ to kill me, ain’tcha?” He growled, large hands resting on your hips. “Sorry, doll, but ain’t no such thing as life insurance anymore.” You laughed, all teeth and crinkled corners of your eyes; god, you were beautiful. 

“Be quiet.” You snorted, raising the spoon toward his mouth. 

The archer balked. “The hell?” 

Clicking your tongue in admonishment, you shook your head. “It’s all about you today.” 

“Could’a fooled me.” He muttered, eyes squinting. Lil’ she-devil.

“Oh, hush, grumpy gills, and let me spoil you.” Pressing the utensil against his lips, you pouted. “Come on, baby. I went through a lot of trouble planning all this.” When he didn’t relent, you rolled your hips over his quickly hardening length. “Sooner you finish this, the sooner you get dessert.” Your mouth morphed into a sultry grin that elicited a groan from somewhere deep within his chest. “Aren’t you hungry?” 

Clearing his throat, he swallowed hard. “I could eat.”

Daryl had his fill of dessert that day—and night—and even got some apple pie too. 

[xoxo-sarah]

Okay here is another idea because I love spamming you with them! It’s for our Stevie boy! Okay so basically neither Steve or the reader have had good role models for relationships. So because of this they kinda have a bad relationship, but know this so they sit down and talk and make a promise not to yell or storm out. So they fight and the reader is like whatever and leaves but Steve yells. It’s just their way of showing they care(the reader doesn’t like to fight so they leave to cool off and Steve needs to talk it out). Again this one is really just for me because I’ve never had a good relationship and my one relationship I had I dipped when things got semi hard 🤦🏼‍♀️ but like she tries that after they had their talk and Stevie won’t let her blah blah happy ending please because I need happy endings

Promises Between Us

(The headers have nothing to do with the fic but I didn't know what else to put)

↝a/n: quick fic. thank you for requesting! Enjoy 🩷 ily 💋

↝pairing:Steve Harrington x fem!reader

↝warning: relationship problems, bad family issues, parent issues/ arguing, Steve's parents mentioned, crying, not proofread & rushed

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Steve Harrington, or any character from Stranger Things. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 12.23.24

Steve was terrible at relationships.

He had never been good at them and would let you know if you were to ask him.

Growing up, he didn't have the best examples to follow. His parents were always away, and when they were home, they barely spoke to each other. Out in public, they had the "white picket fence and happy couple" fecade perfected. Honestly, it irritated how fake his parents were. They were the perfect couple to anyone who looked their way.

You, on the other hand, had your own set of issues. Your parents fought constantly, and you learned early on that sometimes it was better to just walk away. All the grief you felt as a child, stuck with you through your children, teenage years, and the start of your adulthood. It probably always will.

When Steve and the you started dating, you both knew it wouldn't be easy. You both cared deeply for each other, and tried to make it work with everything in your being.

But the past made it hard to navigate the complexities of a relationship, some days. You had your fair share of arguments, and more often than not, they ended with you storming out and Steve yelling after you. You always came back, and Steve always apologized. He made sure to make it up to you. You spent more time together, talking, asking each other about the other's day. Anything to erase what was said in the heat of the moment.

Today was one of those days where it was all too much. Steve came home from work, pissed. You simply woke up in a mood. Those two didn't mix well together. After one small comment, it all unravelled.

"You're not listening!" The words echoed through the house, yet seemingly not making their way to Steve, who stood heaving in fury.

"I don't want to deal with this right now- i shouldn't have to!" Steve scrubbed his jaw, feeling it clench.

You two stood across from each other, tired, yet too stubborn to see it from the other perspective.

Closing your eyes, you sighed, "Whatever, Steve." And walked to the bedroom, already getting ready for bed at 5 P.M. Steve stayed in the living room, grabbing something to drink. You both needed to cool off, and that's exactly what you were going to do.

Steve tiptoed his way to the bedroom, with night having already fallen. He stood in the door way, watching as you read a book while leaning against the bedframe. His chest fell.

"I'm sorry."

When you looked up, Steve immediately wanted to kick himself. Around your eyes was red, along with under your nose. The tissue box on the bedside table didn't help extinguish his assumption. You had been crying.

"I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have brought it home and taken it out on you." He moved forward, toward you. Putting the book down, you sniffled, before nodding.

"Yeah, and I should've been more understanding." You watched as he sat beside you on the bed, before he grabbed your hand.

" I don't like arguing."

So, you both made the promise: no more yelling, no more storming out. You would talk things through, no matter how hard it got.

But promises are easier made than kept.

A few weeks later, you found themselves in the middle of another argument. This time, it was about something trivial, but it quickly escalated. You felt the familiar urge to leave, to cool off before things got worse. The living door invited you more and more as the argument escalated. Air, and quiet. That's all you wanted in the moment.

"Whatever, Steve," you said, turning towards the door.

"Wait," Steve's voice broke, desperate. His dark eyes were pleading, any hint of anger long gone. "We promised, remember?"

You stopped, hand on the doorknob. "I just need some space."

"No," he said, stepping closer. "We need to talk this out. I can't lose you."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "I don't want to fight." The air that had become thick from the tension, released. Vulnerability aired out the living room, nipping at your fingertips like the cold weather in December.

"Neither do I," he said softly, taking your hand. "But leaving won't solve anything. Please, stay."

Looking into his eyes, you saw the sincerity there. Slowly, you nodded. "Okay."

You sat back down, and for the first time, you both really talked. You shared your fears, your insecurities, and your hopes for the future. It wasn't easy, but it was a start.

By the end of the night, you were both exhausted, but there was a new understanding between you two. You knew it wouldn't be perfect, but you were willing to try.

Steve pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered.

"Me neither," you replied, resting your head against his chest.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]