#everyone else is just mentioned offhandedly

[goldfades]

TROUBLE ─── RAFE CAMERON

request for blurb night! : "ev, hear me out—reader is sarah’s best friend who used to babysit wheezie. she's always thought rafe was just some spoiled rich kid until one night he helps her out of a dangerous situation, and she see a different side of him"

The sound of cicadas swells in the sticky summer air as you maneuver your car into the Camerons’ circular driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The house stands before you, grand and overbearing, like something pulled straight from a Southern Gothic novel. Even after all these years, it still has a way of making you feel out of place, like you’re trespassing on a life far removed from your own.

You killed the engine and take a deep breath, your hands lingering on the steering wheel. Coming here used to feel second nature—a daily part of your routine back when you were just Sarah’s friend who needed extra cash and Wheezie was a chatty eight-year-old who never seemed to run out of energy.

Now, it feels complicated. It’s not like you’re unwelcome here��Rose is always polite in her distant, Stepford kind of way, and Wheezie practically lights up whenever she sees you. Sarah treats you like family, but there’s always been one Cameron who makes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

Rafe.

Spoiled, sharp-tongued, entitled Rafe, whose condescending smirk had been a permanent fixture of your teenage years. The golden boy with a black hole of a temper, a trust fund, and an ego that stretched for miles. You’d never understood him, and frankly, you’d never wanted to. He was a hurricane you learned to avoid at all costs, never lingering too long in his orbit.

But life has a funny way of pulling you into places you swore you’d never go.

You grab your bag from the passenger seat and step out into the muggy heat, your sandals crunching against the gravel. Somewhere inside the house, you hear the faint echo of laughter—Wheezie, probably, shouting at Sarah over a card game or some other nonsense. The sound makes you smile despite yourself.

You weren’t always someone the Camerons—or anyone from Figure Eight, for that matter—gave the time of day. Growing up, you were just another Pogue, another kid from the Cut with hand-me-down clothes and a chip on your shoulder. The people from Sarah’s world weren’t interested in you back then. Why would they be? You had nothing they wanted—no yacht, no country club membership, no sprawling waterfront property. You didn’t mind much. You had your own circle, your own rhythm, and you learned to brush off the condescending stares whenever you ventured into their territory.

But everything changed when your dad’s business took off. What started as a small, bare-bones construction company turned into one of the most in-demand firms in the Outer Banks almost overnight. Suddenly, the same people who used to look through you like you were invisible started remembering your name. Invitations to parties you’d never have been considered for started showing up in your mailbox. They weren’t just tolerating you—they wanted you there.

Sarah was one of the first to genuinely befriend you during that whirlwind of change. She wasn’t like the others, who only smiled at you because their parents said it was polite or because they wanted a favor from your dad. She liked you for you—your sarcasm, your groundedness, your tendency to keep it real in a place where everyone else seemed to be faking something. And through Sarah, you met Wheezie.

Wheezie was eight at the time, still caught between childhood and whatever it is that happens when you grow up as a Cameron. She adored you from the start, trailing behind you whenever you came over like a little shadow. You didn’t mind. She was funny, curious, and refreshingly unfiltered—a lot more like the kids from the Cut than anyone wanted to admit.

When Rose offhandedly mentioned they needed someone to look after Wheezie while she was busy managing the house (or hosting one of her endless charity luncheons), Sarah volunteered you without hesitation. “She’s perfect,” Sarah had said with that trademark confidence of hers, as though your schedule had already been cleared.

To your surprise, it worked out. Wheezie loved you, probably because you didn’t treat her like a chore or talk down to her like so many others did. You indulged her weird little interests, let her ramble on about books and whatever new drama she overheard in the house. You made her laugh.

And if the Camerons noticed you weren’t exactly one of their own, they didn’t seem to mind much anymore. After all, in their world, proximity to success was enough to erase just about anything.

Even after a couple years had passed, it’s a little funny how much has stayed the same. Every time you pull into the Camerons’ driveway, you still get the same sinking feeling, like you’re stepping onto foreign soil without a passport. Except now, it’s become a routine. Cameron game nights.

It started as an extension of the babysitting gig—a casual invite from Sarah, insisting you stay for dinner one night after watching Wheezie. Dinner turned into a board game that Sarah claimed was “super quick,” which turned into three hours of family chaos. It was ridiculous, overly competitive, and a little awkward with Rose monitoring everything like a referee, but Wheezie loved having you there, and Sarah was relentless in making sure you felt included.

At some point, it just became normal. Even after Wheezie grew out of needing a babysitter, the tradition stuck. Every week or two, Sarah would text you about game night, and somehow, you always said yes.

“You’re like an honorary Cameron,” Sarah had joked once, and you’d laughed because the idea of that felt ridiculous. But there were moments, like now, when you almost believed her.

Wheezie’s voice echoes from the living room the second you step through the door. “You’re late!”

“I’m literally on time,” you call back, closing the door behind you. The smell of freshly baked something wafts through the air, probably cookies Wheezie convinced Rose to make under the guise of a family bonding activity.

“Technically, Rafe’s late,” Sarah says, popping her head around the corner, already grinning. “You’re just cutting it close. Come on, Wheezie’s already plotting your downfall.”

You laugh and follow her into the living room, where the familiar chaos is already brewing. Wheezie’s sprawled across the couch, a pile of board game pieces spread out in front of her, while Ward sits in his chair, sipping a scotch like it’s all beneath him but still keeping a hawk’s eye on the rules. Rose flits between the kitchen and the table, not-so-casually reminding everyone to keep the snacks on coasters.

And then there’s Rafe.

He’s leaning back in one of the armchairs, his legs stretched out like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. A half-smirk tugs at his lips as he spins a stray game token between his fingers. He barely glances at you when you walk in, but you catch the faintest flicker of recognition.

It’s been years, but Rafe is still Rafe: cocky, restless, and way too pretty for his own good. He’s toned down some of the more obvious brattiness since the early days, but the edge is still there, sharp enough to cut if you’re not careful.

And, as always, you do your best to steer clear.

The quiet hum of the boutique fades behind you as you pull the glass door shut, twisting the key to lock it. The click echoes in the empty street, a sharp sound against the stillness of downtown this late at night. The once-bustling sidewalks are deserted now, the streetlights casting uneven pools of orange on the pavement. Most of the shops had closed hours ago, their dark windows reflecting the faint shimmer of the moon.

You adjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder and glance at your phone. 11:43 p.m. Later than you’d intended. It wasn’t your shift to close, but your coworker had begged you to cover for her last minute, and you couldn’t say no. It’s fine, you tell yourself. You’ve done this before. Downtown isn’t that bad, and your car is parked just a block away. Still, there’s something unnerving about the silence, the way the shadows stretch a little too far when you’re alone.

Reaching your car—a trusty but aging sedan that you inherited from your dad—you fumble with the keys before sliding into the driver’s seat. The interior smells faintly of the vanilla air freshener you keep on the rearview mirror, a comforting contrast to the chilly night air outside. You toss your bag onto the passenger seat, then grip the steering wheel as you turn the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

You pause, frowning. That’s… odd. Your car’s old, sure, but it’s never been completely unresponsive. You twist the key again, harder this time, willing it to come to life.

Still nothing.

A low groan escapes your throat as you lean back against the seat. This can’t be happening. Not tonight. Not here.

You pull out your phone, half-tempted to call Sarah or even your dad, but you hesitate. Sarah’s probably asleep by now, and your dad’s a good thirty minutes away—not to mention, he’d definitely give you a lecture about not keeping up with the car’s maintenance. Sighing, you pop the hood and step out into the cool night air, shivering slightly as a gust of wind cuts through your jacket.

The street around you is unnervingly quiet. A stray cat darts across the road, its shadow flickering under the streetlights. You glance around, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. It’s just your imagination, you tell yourself. No one’s here.

With a deep breath, you lift the hood and stare down at the engine like it might magically fix itself. You know a grand total of nothing about cars, but you wiggle a few cables anyway, hoping for a miracle. When you try the ignition again, the result is the same—silence, save for the faint hum of a streetlamp overhead.

Panic starts to creep in now, slow and steady. Your phone’s battery is hovering at 10%, and downtown—normally picturesque and charming by day—feels like a completely different place at night. The empty windows of the closed shops look less quaint and more sinister, their dark interiors like gaping mouths.

You lean back against the car, tapping your fingers against the metal as you weigh your options. Call someone? Walk to the gas station a few blocks down? Stay here and wait it out? None of them sound appealing, especially with the growing sensation that you’re being watched. You tell yourself it’s just nerves, but your skin prickles anyway, and you can’t help but glance over your shoulder every few seconds.

“Great,” you mutter under your breath. “This is how horror movies start.”

You huff out a shaky breath and decide to at least look under the hood. Not that you know what you’re doing, but it’s better than standing here like a sitting duck. Popping the latch, you step out into the cool night air again, every sound amplified in the unsettling quiet. Your shoes scrape against the pavement as you walk to the front of the car, lifting the hood and leaning over the engine.

The faint metallic scent of oil hits your nose as you peer into the mess of cables and parts. It all looks like a foreign language to you, but you fiddle with a few wires anyway, hoping for some kind of miracle.

That’s when you hear it—footsteps.

At first, you think maybe it’s nothing, just your imagination running wild, but then you hear them again, deliberate and getting closer. Your stomach clenches, and you straighten up, instinctively glancing over your shoulder.

Two figures are walking toward you from the opposite side of the street, their strides slow and unhurried. The dim streetlights reveal faces you vaguely recognize—Kooks, no doubt, probably from the same parties Sarah used to drag you to back in high school. Their names escape you, but the looks on their faces don’t—grins too wide, eyes too sharp, the kind of predatory energy that sets every nerve in your body on edge.

“Car trouble?” the taller one calls out, his voice carrying an edge of amusement as they stop a few feet away.

You force a tight smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, I’ve got it handled. Thanks.”

The shorter one, stockier and wearing a backward baseball cap, steps closer, tilting his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Doesn’t look like it,” he says. His tone is casual, but the way his eyes flick over you makes your skin crawl.

“I’m fine,” you insist, taking a small step back toward the car. Your heart is pounding now, a sick thrum in your chest, but you keep your expression as neutral as possible.

“Hey, we’re just trying to help,” the taller one says, holding up his hands like he’s harmless, but there’s something almost mocking in his tone. “No need to be rude.”

The stocky one smirks, moving to your other side, effectively boxing you in against the car. “Yeah, we’re just being friendly.”

The air feels heavy, oppressive, and the space between you and them feels like it’s shrinking by the second. You can feel the tension in their postures, the way they’re both leaning in slightly, testing how far they can push.

Your throat tightens as you glance around, desperate for someone, anyone to come walking down the street. But there’s no one—just you and these two strangers who clearly don’t care that you’re uncomfortable.

“Look,” you say, trying to sound firm but calm, “I appreciate it, but I’m good. You don’t need to stick around.”

The taller one laughs, a low, unpleasant sound that makes your stomach churn. “Aw, come on. You’re out here all alone. What kind of gentlemen would we be if we just left you like this?”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the hood, your mind racing for a way out. You consider making a run for it, but they’re too close now, their presence suffocating.

Just as the stockier one steps even closer, his grin widening, a voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding.

“What’s going on here?”

The relief is instant and overwhelming, like a lifeline being thrown to you in a raging sea. You turn toward the sound, and there he is—Rafe Cameron, standing just a few feet away, his hands shoved casually into his pockets but his posture rigid, his eyes hard as they lock onto the two guys.

The taller one straightens up immediately, his smirk faltering. “Rafe,” he says, a weak attempt at sounding friendly.

Rafe doesn’t respond, his gaze shifting to you for the briefest moment before snapping back to them. “Didn’t realize we were having a party,” he says, his voice calm but laced with something dangerous. “You two invited?”

The stockier guy takes a step back, muttering something under his breath. “We were just leaving,” he says quickly, his bravado crumbling under Rafe’s glare.

“Yeah, you are,” Rafe says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The two exchange uneasy glances before slinking away, their footsteps echoing down the street until they disappear around the corner.

For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your heartbeat and the faint hum of Rafe’s truck idling in the distance.

“You good?” Rafe asks, his voice softer now but still steady, grounding.

You nod, your throat dry as you manage to croak out, “Yeah… I am now.”

Rafe watches the shadows where the two guys disappeared, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight. You half expect him to say something cutting, maybe some sarcastic remark about how you can’t take care of yourself, but when he finally looks at you, there’s no smugness. Only something... softer, almost hesitant.

“You’re lucky I saw you,” he says, his voice low. “That could’ve gone bad. Fast.”

You nod, your throat still tight from the tension of the moment. He’s right. You don’t even want to think about how that could’ve ended if he hadn’t shown up. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe’s brow furrows like he’s surprised you said it. He leans back slightly, glancing at the car hood still propped open. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

“Won’t start,” you reply, gesturing vaguely at the engine. “Not that I’d know what to look for.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up just slightly. “Yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to.” His tone lacks the usual edge, though—it’s not a dig, just a statement.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet. The night air feels less suffocating now, the earlier tension replaced by a strange calm. Despite everything you know—or think you know—about Rafe Cameron, there’s something about his presence right now that makes you feel… safe. It’s unsettling, in its own way.

“You should be more careful,” Rafe says, breaking the silence. His gaze is steady, not mocking or judgmental, just serious. “Downtown this late? Alone? That’s asking for trouble.”

You bristle slightly, your instinct to defend yourself flaring up. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down.”

He raises an eyebrow, but instead of snapping back, he just nods. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. Rafe steps closer, peering under the hood with a practiced air, and you’re struck by how uncharacteristically gentle he seems. No biting remarks, no smug superiority—just calm focus.

He taps a cable lightly, muttering something under his breath, then steps back, closing the hood with a decisive thud. “Battery’s probably dead,” he says, glancing at you. “You need a jump.”

You nod, your nerves finally starting to settle. “I guess I’ll call someone.”

“Don’t bother,” he says, already walking toward his truck. “I’ve got cables.”

You blink, caught off guard by his matter-of-fact tone. He’s not offering—he’s telling you he’s going to help. And for some reason, you don’t argue.

A few minutes later, Rafe has his truck pulled up nose-to-nose with your car, the cables stretched taut between them. He works in silence, his movements efficient, and you watch from the sidelines, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“You should get in,” he says, nodding toward the driver’s seat.

You do as he says, sliding back into the familiar confines of your car. The moment feels oddly intimate—just the two of you on this empty street, the hum of his truck filling the air.

“Try it now,” he calls out, stepping back.

You turn the key, but instead of the engine sputtering to life, it lets out a defeated whine and falls silent again. You try one more time, your chest tightening with frustration and dread, but it’s no use. The car isn’t going anywhere tonight.

You let your forehead drop against the steering wheel with a groan. Of course. Just your luck.

Rafe’s voice cuts through the night air, low and steady. “It’s not gonna work. Battery’s dead for real.”

You sit up, pressing your lips together as he leans against the open driver’s side door, his arms crossed. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between amusement and mild concern.

“Great,” you mutter. “So, what now? I call a tow truck and wait here till dawn?”

Rafe tilts his head, his gaze flicking over you briefly before landing on your car again. “Or,” he says, “I could just drive you home.”

The offer catches you off guard, and you hesitate, your immediate instinct to say no. Riding home with Rafe Cameron? That’s about as far outside your comfort zone as you can imagine.

But then you glance down at your nearly dead phone, the empty street around you, and the sheer impossibility of getting a tow out here tonight. What other choice do you have?

“Seriously?” you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Rafe shrugs, the motion easy, like it’s no big deal. “You got a better plan?”

You don’t.

“Fine,” you say finally, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat and climbing out of the car. The night air feels colder now, pressing against your skin as you walk toward his truck.

Rafe opens the passenger door for you without a word, and you slide in, the faint scent of leather and cologne filling the cab. It’s clean but lived-in—practical, not flashy, which surprises you.

He climbs in on the driver’s side, pulling the door shut and starting the engine with a smooth turn of the key. The sound is steady, reliable, and for a moment, you envy how effortlessly everything in his life seems to work.

The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, the only sound the low hum of the truck and the occasional creak of the suspension as it rolls over uneven pavement. You glance out the window, watching the darkened storefronts blur past, trying to ignore the strange tension sitting between you.

“You gonna sit there and sulk the whole way?” Rafe asks, his voice breaking the silence.

“I’m not sulking,” you shoot back, turning to glare at him.

He smirks, his eyes still on the road. “Sure you’re not.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just… processing the fact that my car officially hates me. And that I had to be rescued by you of all people.”

His smirk softens into something closer to a smile, and for once, it doesn’t look mocking. “Yeah, well, it’s your lucky night, I guess.”

You roll your eyes but don’t respond, and the quiet settles over the truck again. It’s not entirely uncomfortable this time—just strange, like you’re both trying to figure out how to navigate this unexpected moment.

After a while, Rafe glances over at you, his expression more serious now. “You really shouldn’t be out here alone like that,” he says quietly.

You shift in your seat, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down,” you mumble.

“Still,” he says, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “Things could’ve gone bad. You know that, right?”

You do. The memory of those guys, their leering smiles and the way they cornered you, is still fresh in your mind. A shiver runs through you, and you glance at Rafe, his profile sharp in the dim light from the dashboard.

“Thanks,” you say, softer this time. “For stepping in.”

His jaw tenses for a moment before he nods. “Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

The rest of the drive passes in a blur of streetlights and quiet conversation. When he finally pulls up outside your house, you feel an odd sense of disappointment, like the night is ending too soon.

Rafe cuts the engine and looks over at you, his expression unreadable again. “You good?”

You nod, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag. “Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

He hesitates, his eyes searching yours for a moment, and you swear you see something uncharacteristically soft in his gaze. “Anytime,” he says, his voice low.

You climb out of the truck, turning back as you reach your front door. Rafe is still there, leaning slightly out of the window, watching you with an intensity that sends a strange flutter through your chest.

“Night, Rafe,” you call out, your voice steadier than you feel.

He nods once, his smirk returning, but there’s a warmth to it now that wasn’t there before. “Night.”

You watch as he drives off, the tail lights disappearing down the street, and you can’t shake the feeling that tonight, something shifted. Something you didn’t see coming.

The living room is alive with laughter and the sugary smell of freshly microwaved popcorn. Wheezie is sprawled across the couch, her legs tangled in a blanket as she debates the finer points of the movie you’ve just paused, while Sarah snorts beside her, throwing a handful of popcorn in her sister’s direction.

You sit cross-legged on the floor, sipping from your drink and soaking in the warmth of the moment. It feels good to let your guard down like this—to laugh and tease and forget for a little while.

“Okay, but how does she not realize he’s the bad guy?” Wheezie demands, gesturing dramatically at the screen.

“Because she’s blinded by love,” Sarah says, grinning. “Or maybe she’s just as dumb as you are.”

“Excuse me?” Wheezie gasps, clutching her chest in mock offense.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I feel like if someone was being that obvious about being evil, I’d notice.”

“Would you, though?” Sarah teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey!” you protest, chucking a stray pillow at her.

The playful banter continues, the night stretching on in a haze of easy conversation and snack-fueled chaos. You’re halfway through arguing over which movie to watch next when the sound of the front door opening pulls your attention.

You glance toward the entryway just as Rafe steps inside, his hair slightly mussed, his keys jingling in his hand. He pauses when he sees you all, his expression flickering from mild surprise to something unreadable.

“What’s this?” he asks, his voice carrying that familiar mix of curiosity and amusement. “A girls’ night?”

“Yeah,” Sarah says, throwing a popcorn kernel at him. “And you’re not invited.”

“Tragic,” Rafe deadpans, stepping fully into the room. His eyes flick to you for a split second, and your stomach does an unexpected flip.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just residual nerves from the other night. Nothing to do with the way his presence seems to fill the space or the way his gaze lingers just long enough to make your cheeks heat.

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, I’m not staying.”

“Good,” Sarah says. “Bye.”

He ignores her, pushing off the frame and heading toward the kitchen instead.

“I’m getting more popcorn,” you announce quickly, needing a reason to escape the sudden heat prickling at your skin. You grab the empty bowl and dart toward the kitchen before anyone can respond.

The kitchen is cooler, quieter, and you exhale a sigh of relief as you cross to the counter. You’re halfway through scooping kernels into a bowl when you hear the low hum of Rafe’s voice behind you.

“Didn’t know you were here tonight.”

You jump slightly, glancing over your shoulder to find him leaning casually against the counter, his arms crossed and that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah, well,” you say, turning back to the task at hand, “I’m kind of a regular around here.”

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his tone light but edged with something that makes your stomach flutter.

You keep your focus on the popcorn, refusing to let him get to you. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

“Only when they’re interesting,” he shoots back smoothly.

You roll your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “Interesting? That’s a stretch.”

Rafe chuckles, the sound low and warm. “I don’t think so.”

His voice is closer now, and you glance up to find him standing beside you, his gaze fixed on your face. You freeze, your fingers tightening slightly around the bowl as you try to think of something—anything—to say.

“Relax,” he says, his lips quirking up into a grin. “You look like you’re about to run out of here.”

“I’m not,” you insist, though your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

He leans in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I was starting to think I might scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” you say quickly, your voice a touch too defensive.

“Hmm.” His smirk deepens, and he leans back, giving you just enough space to breathe again. “If you say so.”

With that, he grabs a water bottle from the fridge and steps away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder as he heads toward the stairs.

“Goodnight, trouble,” he calls out, his tone teasing but soft enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You stand there for a moment, staring after him, your heart racing and your face burning.

By the time you return to the living room with the popcorn, Wheezie and Sarah are too busy laughing at some inside joke to notice how flustered you are. You settle back into your spot on the floor, your mind still replaying the way Rafe’s voice sounded when he called you trouble.

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[orfisheus]

Forgot to reblog this with my thoughts. Sigh.

Anyway. This has been around for a bit. What bothers me more, and likely everyone else, is their adamant demands that this be respected. Even if it's not cracked down on, the attitude towards fanworks is NOT helping their case that they don't like them. Oftentimes the people making these fan merch or fan art are simply artists looking to make something they love to help them survive. Most fans I've talked to cannot consistently afford every merch drop, and I don't think they should. While I understand the worries of a saturation of markets, most of the things fans sell aren't really what Eddsworld sells?

I went earlier this year to Anime NYC with a good friend of mine who actually sent me this screenshot before I saw it on tumblr. We had a conversation about how odd the culture was around the show, and I offhandedly mentioned how cool it would be to see it regain its reputation and have fan creators sell prints of it at big cons, or really at any. But, it seems the crew wants to discourage this kind of creation.

It's just. Sad to me. I really wish they would improve the show and the culture and fandom around it instead of attacking the fans that they still have.

Bended my ass backwards to defend Matt and the team then they pull this bullshit.

Really can't have shit in fandoms these days smh.

[liesmultixxx]

work is wild

guys are being so weird towards me and apparently my friend who’s only a couple years older has a whole ass kid😭😭 no judgement of course, I was just surprised because she mentioned it for the first time lol

what’s going on

oh and you know other girls get asked out and stuff but me?

I get asked if I’ve got money 😀

JUST STOP

[helluvapoison]

Could I get Adam, Lute and Lucifer and how they 'court' the reader? Like how birds with court each other, little gifts, wing 'dances', nesting, etc...

Also, could I be your 🐌 anon? <3<3<3

Birds of a Feather

Adam, Lute and Lucifer courting you

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Adam ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Peacocking has nothing on The First Man

• His personality is amped up to the highest level when he sees you walk in a room

• (Overcompensation for how fucking nervous you make him)

• Adam gets cocky when he knows he has your attention

• Tossing grapes high in the air and catching them in his mouth, bragging louder than usual about something or the other

• Heaven forbid you laugh at any of his antics, (His smirk is dangerous, “Oh you like that?”) he’ll start singling you out in front of everyone, calling your name before he acts up

• Performances include inviting you to watch his band play and miraculously getting more energy

• Casually tosses guitar picks in your direction— and when he finds out you kept one!? He’s over the moon

• He won’t go out of his way to get you food but he’ll order you something if he goes somewhere

• Adam hates nesting. He doesn’t like being stressed in general and nesting is really fucking stressful!

• The very fact seeing you pricks the urge in him to nest drives him insane

• (AKA, he likes you a lot more than he thought he did!)

• Seeing you in his space does something he doesn’t particularly hate though

• “It’s whatever if you don’t like it.” Adam shrugs

• “No, I think it looks nice! Very you. Tell me about these pictures?”

• He’s fucking done for

˚✧₊⁎ Lute ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Like they have a mind of their own, her wings stretch out and audibly fluff up when she makes eye contact with you

• Mortifying is an understatement

• She picks out trinkets to give to you at first, something small that could be waved off as insignificant

• Later, when Lute realizes her affections are returned, she brings useful offerings or something you offhandedly mentioned needing

• She wishes she could tell you about the exterminations solely to brag

• See how fierce she is, how skilled she is, how good of a protector she could be for you

• Lute will ask you to arm wrestle as a compromise. She gets to hold you hand and show off her strength!

• Nesting was fine, it was the judgment part that drove her up a wall

• Watching your eyes roam over her apartment, deciding whether or not it was good enough for you? Gah!

• “What, uh—“ Lute clears her throat, she’ll hate herself for even asking later, “What do you think?”

• You smile knowingly, something else that makes her absolutely mad, “It’s perfect.”

• Lute beams with pride like she’s won a great victory

˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Never before has he felt the need to actually flaunt.. anything?

• With you it hits him like a fucking train and it’s even harder to supress it

• He’s Lucifer! That’s supposed to be self explanatory, that’s supposed to be enough

• Suddenly he’s checking every mirror on his way to you, making sure he looks better than he feels

• He tries to find other ways to steal your attention or show that he would be a worthy partner

• …But showing off his wings couldn’t hurt, right? He has six after all. If you needed to get to the other side of town he’d be more than happy to fly you over!

• Nothings too good for you! If Lucifer thinks you’ll want or like something, he’s buying it!

• Did you notice he can make things too? He’ll make you something— or fix something for you!

• Quick, break that so he can show you he can fix it!

• Lucifer pulls all the stops trying to prove himself, nesting is no exception… he’s just not great at it

• He starts! However a little after beginning he realizes just how big his mansion is and gets overwhelmed so he closes all the doors and focuses his energy on the only room that matters; his

• “I mainly stay in here,” Lucifer explains while squishing a duck in his fist, watching you explore his room, “I cleaned it up for you! N-Not for you, not for that— I mean not that I’m opposed! I just meant so that you could, uh, see?”

• “I see why you like it, I’d never wanna leave.”

• You’re gonna kill him saying shit like that

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ 🐌 CAN I GIVE YOU A KITH BECAUSE THIS WAS SO FUN!!!!!

[theotherbuckley]

“I need a hair cut,” Evan says offhandedly one morning, his fingers running through his apparently too long strands.

Tommy’s gaze snaps away from the paper held in his hands to Evan. He’s shakes his head, opens his mouth before shutting it again, thinking through his words.

“If you— if you want to,” Tommy says, trying to be supportive of his boyfriend’s decisions whilst already mourning the loss of his Evan’s perfect hair.

“Do you— do you not think I should?” Evan asks, looking over to Tommy. He’s still got his fingers in his hair, brushing the loose curls away from his eyes.

“I— I think it’s cute,” Tommy admits, dropping his gaze and blushing slightly.

“You do?” Evan says, almost in awe. Tommy’s always found it ridiculously adorable how receptive his boyfriend is to praise.

“Yeah, baby. It’s my favourite thing to play with,” he replies.

Evan’s eyes light up, a cheeky glint forming in them, and he smiles. “Your favourite thing to play with?” He says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Absolute dork.

Tommy rolls his eyes fondly. “Second favourite,” he mutters, shaking his head.

Evan smirks. “Okay, well, I still need to cut my hair because it’s getting in my eyes at work. And ever since Eddie grew his moustache, Gerrard has been extra vigilant about everyone’s appearance.”

Tommy winces slightly at the mention of the fire captain, memories of the years of emotional repression and his own wrongdoings rising to the forefront of his mind every time the man was talked about. Tommy tries to shake out the thoughts of the man, focusing instead of the gorgeous man in front of him.

“That’s fair,” Tommy agrees. “But uh— well, if you wanted to keep the curls a bit, I wouldn’t be opposed.” That’s an understatement, he loves Evan’s curls, loves how soft they make him look, how they feel under his hands when he runs his fingers through them, loves how he can tug on them and how loudly Evan responds when he does.

Evan smiles at him, his grin almost blinding like the sun — warm and bright, giving Tommy no other option but to smile back.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Evan says, nodding to himself like it’s the most important thing in the world.

Tommy doesn’t get to see the look until two days later. He’s just come off of a gruelling 24-hour shift, with plans to spend the night at Evan’s house. They’ve been together long enough now that he doesn’t feel he has to dress up for the occasion, not that he doesn’t like to put a little effort in for his man, but he can come home after a long shift and cuddle up with his boyfriend like there’s no where else he’s meant to be.

Tommy unlocks the door of Evan’s apartment, smiling softly as he uses the key Evan had recently given him, still unable to contain his joy at the fact that he gets to have this. He wanders over to the lounge, hearing the sound of the TV playing.

Tommy freezes when he spots his boyfriend. He’s laying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket because that man was always cold. He looks ridiculously cute snuggled up on the couch, but that isn’t what stops Tommy in his tracks.

Nope.

Peaking out of the blankets is Evan’s gorgeous face with his pretty pink lips matching the shade of his birthmark. His hair has been cut, sideburns faded away at the sides, the sides and back of his hair having lost some of their weight, and on top lay light brown curls perfectly fluffy, looking so soft. Tommy needed to run his fingers through.

“Hey,” Evan says, shuffling slightly where he sits so that he can look over at Tommy. Tommy who’s currently staring slack jawed at his head, practically drooling over the sight of him.

“Oh yeah,” Evan says, pointing up to his head. “Do you like it?”

Tommy blinks. “Do I— Do I like it?” Tommy lets out a small laugh. “Jesus fucking Christ, Evan,” he says, finally regaining control of his body as he stalks towards his boyfriend.

Evan tilts his head, confused, but it doesn’t last long because Tommy’s on him in an instant, pressing his lips firmly against Evan’s, swallowing any question that he was going to ask. “Do you. Have any idea. How fucking hot. You look right now?” Tommy says, kissing Evan’s irresistible lips between words.

The corner of Evan’s lips tilt upwards against Tommy’s lips as he smiles. “So you like it?” Evan whispers into Tommy’s mouth, seeking confirmation which Tommy is very happy to provide.

Tommy moves back slightly to slide his fingers through his hair. It’s just as soft as they look. Tommy grins at Evan, “I fucking love it,” he says, closing his fingers around some strands and tugging, pulling Evan until their mouths join once more. Tommy swallows the moans that Evan lets out at the action, gripping him close.

Fuck, he is the luckiest man alive.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | your first time together is…your first time (part 2)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Black Christmas, Scream, Dead by Daylight, Hannibal (TV) /Silence of the Lambs, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (og), slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Billy Lenz, Hannibal Lecter, Bubba Sawyer

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; graphic sexually content!!, mentions of vouyerism, documentation kink (yay Danny), manipulation, breeding kinkish content, lots of cumming inside, light pet play elements

♡ notes; seven babes in one post wowowowow! i’m just trying to get caught up with everyone else before i start doing new prompts. but! i have a big list of new ones do not fear

these weren’t written in one sitting like some of my other fics so i’m sorry if the quality wildly varies

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> It’s been gentle coaxing towards each step of the relationship with Jason

> And while you have the patience of a saint when it comes to that man, you’re also incredibly pent up. You’re just as much of a virgin as him and starting to wish he’d fix that.

> But you keep it to yourself, not wanting the pressure him into anything and getting yourself off when he’s not there. It worked well enough before after all.

> One day he comes home when you’re in the middle of mastrubating and you quickly scramble to hide the fact

> He knows somethings up right away, you’re covering yourself with a blanket and red faced…He’s repressed, not stupid.

> You apologize meekly and expect him to walk away - instead he grabs the blanket and pulls you forward by your thighs

> “J-Jason- baby? Are you going to-?”

> He pushes his mask up and goes down on you like a man starved… he may or may not have been home earlier than you realized, listening to you whimpering and moaning his name

> And getting you off ends up getting him very excited- excited enough that he doesn’t care about anything but doing it again

> And if you want him inside you, he’s more than happy to oblige.

> You shyly straddle him and sink onto his cock, holding onto him tightly

> He hides his face in your neck as you slowly move, murmuring sweet words of encouragement to him

> “Jason, it’s so good- you feel so good-“

> After a bit he holds your hips, fingers digging in as you get him closer and closer

> You gasp as he comes inside by accident, too shy to admit you liked the feeling

> He doesn’t even pull out as he holds you, knowing that as soon as he can, he’ll be helping you ride him again

Bo Sinclair

> It slips out when you’re cuddling and watching but not watching some silly movie with copious sex scenes

> “What’s your favorite position, darlin’?”

> “Hm? Oh, I dunno?”

> “Top three then-“

> “Bo I haven’t even-“. You blush bright red as he slowly grins

> He doesn’t leave it along the rest of the day- he has cute little innocent virgin partner

> He likes it way too much- and you like his fixation on it too much

> When you get him alone again you huff and straddle him “Stop teasin. Show me your favorite position, then.”

> You don’t have to tell him twice- and he’s a gentleman, letting you ride his face before he finally fucks you

> He’s got chest against your back and hand between your legs as he slowly uses you

> “Fuck- you’re squeezing my cock so tight- pretty little fucking virgin-“

> His dirty talk gets you both off…again, and again, and again…

> He doesn’t stop until you start whining and pushing his hand away, overstimulated and sore

> “Fine, fine…we’ll try the other top two tomorrow,”

Vincent Sinclair

> Honestly, Vince isn’t huge on sex

> When you offhandedly mention you haven’t done anything before he doesn’t mind and he doesn’t get overly excited like some people.

> He let’s you make the first move

> …or at least he’s going to, but you don’t say anything about it for a long while

> He finally asks softly if you want him to touch you.. and meekly you say yes

> You’re not sure who’s happier- you as he makes you come with just his hand, or him getting to watch you

> After a few days of this you finally get the nerve to ask to do more- his good side goes bright red at the idea of you touching him and you giggle and praise him the entire time.

> But about halfway through he makes you stop and pins you- still gentle but very daring for him

> You giggle again “…wanna go all the way?”

>He nods eagerly and he positions you- very gentle missionary with his forehead against yours

> Even inside you he stops so he doesn’t cum, coaxing you over the edge twice before he gets too close

> The third time you cum you wrap your legs around him and make sure he can’t pull out

> He’s so apologetic after he cums inside- but quite pleased in the same breath

Danny Johnson

> The conversation comes up when he asks you to model for him- a boudoir shoot, naturally

> You’re his muse already- but he wants to shoot more than just your pretty face and the hickies he leaves

> He’s surprised when you’re shy and look away, mumbling that you aren’t pretty enough for that

> “Course you are babydoll- no way no one’s ever told you that. Unless you were screwing them with the lights off-“

> “Danny I haven’t screwed anyone.” You pout

> He tries his best to hide his perverse excitement and looks determined- he’s got an idea…Those usually don’t end well

> Next thing you know he’s pulled a mirror to face the bed and has you on his lap, kissing at your neck and feeling you up.

> He spreads your legs and makes you look as he starts to touch you- you’re not sure if it’s the lewd situation or just him that makes you cum faster than you have ever before

> He makes just as much of a show of cleaning up the mess you’ve made on his hand, and you can feel how hard he is against your ass

> You pull yourself together enough to pout and grind down on him- that’ll show him

> Your revenge quickly backfires as he manhandles you to your hands and knees, grinding against you in a much more expert manner

> It doesn’t take long before you’re babbling beneath him, begging to take him

> He takes his sweet time teasing you- once he’s finally inside you’re pushing yourself back against him, fucking yourself with him

> He lets you do the work- it makes it easier for him to enjoy the show

> At least until he’s about to cum

> Then he pulls you up, making you watch in the mirror with one hand and holding you against him with the other

> “Fuck- look at you- that’s my good fucking baby (/girl/boy)!”

> When he pulls out it splatters across the mirror and he grins and gets a picture- just your bodies in the reflection

> If you thought you’re getting away to rest though…you were mistaken- he had a lot more pictures to take, and a lot more methods to get you to make pretty faces for them

Billy Lenz

> Billy takes things fast. He’s depraved an eager man.

> You aren’t very far into the relationship when he lets his hands wander while you’re cuddling

> He frowns when you push his hands away insistently- you’d talked so confidently about this on the phone…

> “I wanna touch my pretty toy-“

> You mumble something he can’t hear- making you pout as he tilts his head and leans in closer curiously

> “You’ve never- oh.” His grin is huge and excited

> After some convincing you make it a game- how long can you two go without going too far?

> While you want to have sex with him, you’re nervous, so you figure that’ll buy you time to muster up enough courage

> But Billy being Billy, it isn’t long until he finds a shortcut- he bites and kisses and laps your neck and grinds up on you every single time he gets the chance

> If it was PG-13 before, you were heading fast to an R rating

> Finally you can’t stand it any more as he’s got you on his knee, pushing it up as he oh so innocently rubs your hips and kisses you

> “Billyyyy- please — I need it-“

> “Need what?” For once he’s acting coy- so you quickly show him as you undo his pants

> He’s all giggles and moans when you blow him- cumming down your throat quickly

> And before you can move he flips you, going down on you and to your chagrin already hard before you cum once

> But he’s not a monster- or maybe he is, because before he’s even got it in you you’re whining that it’s all too much

> He licks away your overwhelmed tears as he slowly pushes in, cooing softly for once

> Though as soon as your comfortable he’s saying the filthiest things in order to coax louder and louder moans out of you

> Without warning or real permission he cums inside, grinning at the mess and finger fucking whatever leaks out back inside as he coaxes you to another orgasm

> Once he’s finally done late into the night, he holds you tight and continues to coo praises - Billy’s baby was so good! -and he knew they’d be just as good for him in the morning

Hannibal Lecter

> Hannibal knows almost everything about you, especially if you ever began as his patient

> Even if you don’t tell him expressly, he has his theories- but he’s not trying to be too forward

> It’s going to be your idea when he shamelessly uses you :)

> He has it planned to the T as well- you’re having a sweet little date night in and he’s admiring you on the couch

> Perched on his lap you giggle and shiver as he gently brushes your neck, and your thigh, and your stomach- each a little “accident”

> Not that you’re complaining or he’s apologizing for the increasingly lingering touches

> “…darling? Ah- we’ve never done anything before but…”

> “But what my love?”

> “Can you pretty please touch me?”

> He’s so proud of his little pet and tells you as much as he lays you down right there, going a step forward and using his mouth

> Of course he wants, needs to taste you

> But he doesn’t let you come- not yet

> No, he makes sure you’re already riding him slow and deep by the time he makes you come for the first time

> He stops and showers you in praise before helping you move again

> He wants you to crave him inside- and by the way you’re already whimpering with every little move he thinks it’s working

> He’s territorial- coming inside isn’t even a question, even if he pretends it it

> “Good puppy…Very good. Master’s going to cum- are you going to let me cum in that pretty little hole?”

> As you manage a blissed out sound, you’re sent over the edge and he takes the moment to cum inside

> You only hum an acknowledgment as he pulls out and lays you down, practically tucking you in with him

> What a good pet you made…

Bubba Sawyer

> Bubba is so scared of sex at first…Well, small correction- he’s scared of having sex with you.

> I mean Drayton’s idea of sex ed was simply not telling him about it because he didn’t ask “Sex is- well nobody knows!”

> And from what he’s read in books and heard on the radio, it’s sinful and dirty and ruins you

> And he’d never want to dirty you. You were the nicest, cleanest thing in his life.

> So when you ask him if he’s had sex he vehemently shakes his head and you tell him you haven’t either. Good!

> “Well- ah- would you want to? With me, I mean?”

> He’s absolutely shocked- didn’t you know it was dirty?

> “We don’t have to- I just- I really like you. I wanna make you feel good.”

> Maybe he had some details wrong. That’s what he tries to reason as he lets you take his mask off and undo his pants. He’d try it, but if he felt wrong, he’d stop so you both stayed clean…

> It takes all his will not to immediately buck up into your throat when you put him in your mouth.

> You’re sloppy and clumsy and he’s just the same, groaning and whining and gripping the sheets. Before he can finish you pull off and he pouts.

> “C-can we- I mean- can I-“ You huff and get frustrated at your own embarrassment, starting to slip your shirt off and hoping he gets the message.

> He goes red and nods quickly, practically tackling you and kissing you sweetly before he moves into position

> You help him ease himself into you , whimpering and making sure he’s comfortable too

> “Oh my god- that’s it baby- just like that,”

> The praise makes him move harder than he means to but god you’re grateful

> When he does come he pulls out and paints your stomach- and as soon as he realizes you haven’t done the same he uses his hand to correct that.

> He holds you tight and doesn’t let go the rest of the night, keen on trying more in the morning

[ravens-two]

Mini-PAC: Your Person's Love Language

This one is a smaller reading, and it has no extended version. It includes your person's love language and how they express their love/feelings/emotions.

Disclaimer: this is just for entertainment purposes, and as a pick-a-card reading it may not resonate for everyone.

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Five of Pentacles, Two of Wands, Gratitude

"All that I am and all that I'll be, forever in gratitude I'll eternally be."

Words of Affirmation/Acts of Service

Hi, pile 1, this person has been through a lot and knows that life can be incredibly hard. That's why they do their best to make it easier for you. That's their love language, making life easier for you. They are quick to show their support and to offer help whenever you need it. They don't have any problems with saying thank you or apologizing when they're wrong. They might have in the past or they might still struggle in other relationships (with people they aren't as close with), not with you though.

They know what it's like to not have anything, including support from others, and they never want to see you there. They could have become the type of person that tells you to get it together and pull yourself by your bootstraps, but they're not. Again, this comes from a deep sense of empathy. (It actually reminds me of that Doctor Who quote "All that pain and misery, and loneliness, and it just made him kind".)

They're the type of person to do the whole "I love you, no I love you more" game. I also see them telling you that they love you as soon as they wake up or before falling asleep. They just really like to say it. They have no problems with expressing their feelings, although I'm getting that they're also private people (this side of them is just for you). I also see them being like "do you need me to listen or do you need advice?" whenever you have problem. They are quite selfless when it comes to you.

Pile 2

Seven of Cups, Judgment, Bear Medicine

"There is no tomorrow without the healing of the past for in stillness you shall find yourself right where you are."

Acts of Service/Quality Time

Understanding is the word I keep getting for your person, pile 2. I get the feeling that your person is quite silent. They remind me of a cat actually, they love spending time in the same room as you while each one does their own thing. They enjoy just reaching out a hand to you and hold hands while doing something else. In general though, I see a lot of silence. This is a comfortable silence, though, there's no awkwardness here. I also think that they're deep thinkers, so when they share their thoughts with you you'll know that it's something important for them. I don't think that saying "I love you" comes easy for them, but you'll know that they really mean it when it comes out.

A bit similar to pile 1, is that when you have a problem your person is ready to step in and help however they can. They're the type to silently act, instead of talking about what they would do. Where I really see the Acts of Service thing though, is them just doing things for you without you having to ask. Like offhandedly mentioning that you need to change your tires, they'll just do it without even saying anything (always respecting your boundaries of course). Or you might mention that you really like a certain brand of chocolate so they always keep that brand at their house so that you can have some. Your person is really thoughtful and they pay a lot of attention to what you say - and what you don't say too.

I get the feeling that they like to be left alone whenever something's wrong, so I feel like they'll do the same for you. Instead of asking what's wrong or try to cheer you up, they'll just sit beside you and keep you company.

Pile 3

Tower, Ace of Pentacles, Cardinal Medicine

"Thy self bleeds of sacredness, an honor fit for the Gods. You are worth all the seas and all the skies and all the desires you hold inside."

Gift-giving/Quality Time

Your person wants to give you the world, pile 3. Their love language is definitively gift-giving, but it's not just about big gifts or luxury (although it could be the case for some of you). For most of you I just see your person being like "look at this cool rock I found today" or "I saw these flowers and they reminded me of you". They just love giving you little trinkets. Especially things that they find unique or special in some way. They think that you deserve something that no one else can possibly have. This can even include commissioning art work or jewelry just for you.

On a more day to day level I also see them just buying your favorite treats. They just want to get home with something special for you, be it your favorite meal or candy. They are very giving in general, and if you say you want something they won't hesitate to buy it for you. Also, I get the vibe that they're incredible gift-givers. Your birthday presents are always incredibly thoughtful.

They might also enjoy creating things for you or singing/playing music for you. They like to have a good time, so having enjoyable experiences is also a love language for them. This could be a dedicated date night where you try new stuff (food, places, activities), going on vacation to new places (just the two of you), or even going to the cinema to watch a new movie. They want to spend time with you while you both do something that you enjoy.

Pile 4

Three of Wands, Emperor, Ringing the Bells

"Ring thy bell to cast them out, ring thy bell and dance about. Swirl the sounds amidst the winds, nowhere to hide, for all will ring."

Physical Touch/Words of Affirmation

Right away I can tell that this is a physical touch kind of person, pile 4. They are very fiery and might get too handsy at times, but it's not just about that for them. They just love to feel your body against theirs. They love to hold hands, wrap their arms around you, and for some of you they love biting (gentle and playful bites on your hands, arms or shoulders). They're not embarrassed by other people and just really love PDA. They like to be touching any part of you all of the time, I feel like it gives them a feeling of safety and comfort. For some of them, they were a bit touch starved for a long time, and now they're making up for it.

I also get the feeling that this person gives the best hugs! It's probably their go-to to comfort you. They'll have no problems telling you that they love and how much you mean to them (although I feel that they crave more to hear you say it, rather than saying it themselves), but their way of showing you how they feel is through touch. They might kiss you to show you that they love you or to communicate their anger or frustration with a problem. This also means that for them sex is also a way of showing you how they feel. They expect you to pay attention to the way they behave during sex to know how they're truly feeling.

When it comes to Words of Affirmation, again I don't think that they struggle to tell you that they love you - in fact I think that they say it rather often - it's more that they struggle with expressing their emotions. Again, they also prefer to receive love this way. They want to hear you say that you want/love them.

[barbiewritesstuff]

Filthy COD squad fucktoy thoughts

@ravensmadreads / @feedthemadness-sweetie

This was written in 10 min. I've never played or seen much COD before but she's dragged me into this and then told me to post this here.

SMUT. MDNI.

----

Imagine being the squad's little fucktoy.

It starts with Ghost. Just a quick fuck when you need to but Gaz walks in and instead of stopping like you expected, Ghost tells him that either he joins or he fucks off and closes the door.

He joins.

After that Gaz takes you whenever sometimes with Ghost, sometimes by himself. Soap's next. Gaz mentions him and Ghost are using you for stress relief and one day he has a real bad day and bends you over the nearest surface and fucks you til you can't talk.

Except you can scream. And Price hears it. He thinks you're hurt, that something bad's happening but then he hears the moans, and the way you chant Soap's name and he gets jealous. He offhandedly mentions something about what he heard to the other guys, trying to fish for information, and they all look at each other weirdly, like they're hiding something. And you do the same when he asks you. Price feels kind of offended, he knows he's being kept out of something but he doesn't know what

Price opens the door with more force than he needs to. He's pissed. He's fuming. He's been pushed to the side on this for much too long.

He's hurt. Actually.

Gaz, Soap, Ghost and you are his squad. His family. And there's something going on that you're not letting him be a part of.

He sees the glances the boys throw at each other when he asks about you and Soap. And then, a week later, when you're holed up somewhere south of Porter Canal in a place where shit absolutely should not have gone south, he catches a glimpse of Gaz fucking you raw, fingers rubbing frantic circles on your clit.

He figures it out then, and it's somehow worse now he knows you're letting everyone have a go but him. It feels more personal. What about him doesn't do it for you?

He knows he's a good looking man. He's older, yes, but it doesn't bother him, and it's never bothered anyone else before. He's a high ranking officer, which proves he's trustworthy, responsible and a born leader, all things he's always been led to believe makes him a good choice for a mate.

And he always thought you liked him. You squirm when he flirts, you blush when he touches you... you masturbate in the shower when you think he can't hear, softly moaning his name. His first name.

It's not fair.

It's so unfair that when you land back at base, he calls you to his office, determined that if you won't give him what he wants, he'll just have to fucking take it.

---

He bottoms out into you, filling you to the brim. It's almost painful, the way he stretches you out and fucks you without letting you adjust.

"Letting everyone else have a go at you?" He grunts, "Singling me out?"

"Why's that?" He asks, pulling your hair back by the pigtail, "C'mon, love."

"I didn't --" you start, sentence cut in half by a loud, pornographic moan.

"Tell me."

"Rank," you spit out between screams. He's too deep and not enough. It hurts but not enough. He's everything and you want more, "Captain," you add, trying to make a coherent sentence with whatever words thoughts bump into your brain like a dvd pause screen.

Price scoffs, "Thought your captain wouldn't want you, pet?"

"Couldn't."

"Let me make something clear," he growls, "I decide what I can and can't do. I can, and I will, fuck you."

He slams into you.

"I will fuck you until I damn well decide I've caught up with the boys," he says, "And then I will keep going."

You don't respond, you're too far gone. There's only Price in the world now, jjst the feel of his cock hitting your g-spot over and over again. You've lost count of how many time you've soaked his cock with your come but you're sure it must be in the double digits now. And there's another one building up, slowly and differently, it feels stronger and there's a brand new pressure that travels down from your pussy until eventually, Price pulls out and you squirt, soaking his trousers in the process.

He chuckles, half in disbelief and half in mockery, "Any of the boys make you do this?"

"Never," you manage to say, "Only you."

"Make sure they know," he groans, turning you around on the desk by your hair so he can look you in the eyes, "Next time they fuck you. You tell them Price made you squirt."

"Yessir," you slur.

"Good girl," he says.

Price slinks down on his office chair, still holding your ponytail with a firm hand, and guides you down to kneel in front of him. You obey, eyes glued to his cock, slick with your juices.

"Clean me up, pet."

You don't react, his voice taking a second to reach whatever's left of your brain.

"I said clean me up," he orders, "You made the mess. You lick it clean."

He pulls your hair, practically forcing your mouth on his dick and finally you kick into gear, sucking, licking and nibling on and around his cock. He turns more vocal, allowing himself to moan every now and then when the back of your throat hits his tip.

There's a knock on the door and you still, Price's hand pushing you up and down his member at the same speed.

"Come in," he orders, making no attempt at hiding you, or disguising what's happening. Like he knows who's behind the door.

Ghost walks in, soft footed as always.

"You wanted to see me Captain?"

"No," Price says, "Wanted you to see her. My pet now. But I'll be nice... I'll let you share her still."

Ghost stays silent for a beat, the sound of you slobbering on Price's cock filling the silence in the room.

And then, quietly and filled with jealousy, Ghost replies, "Thank you, Captain."

"Make sure my property returns to me," Price says

[girlgenius1111]

it was war it wasn't fair

the great war chapter 2 :)

R's teammates debate the potential causes of her breakup. Ona comes to her defense. R realizes her feelings might not be as easy to avoid as she hoped.

ps. not one bed trope, but... teammates-sharing-a-hotel-room-at-an-away-game-and-one-has-a-nightmare-kind-of trope.

brief descriptions of a panic attack.

-----

You were sure that if you could just sleep you'd be fine. You'd never really had problems sleeping before, but in the days since your breakup with Alessia, you'd been struggling. Your brain wouldn't turn off; you went back over every little moment in your relationship, over analyzing, trying to figure out where it went wrong. Where you went wrong.

You honestly wished that was the only thing keeping you up. It wasn't. You couldn't get Ona out of your head. The kindness she'd been showing you, how perceptive she was of your feelings. It was overwhelmingly confusing, to be heartbroken by someone, and completely fixated on someone else at the same time.

Most of the time, you were glad to have such a close team. Everyone looked out for each other, and you knew they'd always have your back. Unfortunately, they seemed to think that having your back in this situation meant hovering over you every second of the day. It didn't help that you wouldn't tell them why you and Alessia had ended things.

Although you knew your teammates were keeping an extra close eye on you, you hadn't realized that some of them had begun to have suspicions about what had gone down. You'd come to a halt outside the locker room, after hearing your name. You'd forgotten your keys, and were heading back inside when you heard Keira's voice floating through the doorway.

"Leah said Alessia's really torn up about it, but she won't tell anyone what happened either."

"I knew they weren't doing well, but both of them seem too upset for it to be a mutual thing," Lucy responded.

"Y/n doesn't look like she's slept in a week," Alexia chimed in. Perfect. This was a group conversation, apparently.

"Maybe one of them cheated. I don't remember seeing y/n leave by herself when we went out last week," Keira mentioned offhandedly.

You knew Keira didn't mean anything by it; anyone looking at your relationship from the outside would guess that between the 2 of you, you'd surely be more likely to cheat than Less. You'd been significantly more of a playgirl before Alessia, and your friends had always joked they'd missed the version of you that went home with a different girl every weekend.

Still, the implication that you'd done what had, in fact, been done to you, really fucking hurt. You were more than prepared to go in there and start yelling, god knows you've been needing someone to shout at, but someone beat you to it.

"If she wanted you guys to know what happened she would have said," Ona's voice rang out through the locker room, unmistakably filled with anger. "You're supposed to be her friends, she's clearly having a tough time, and now you're accusing her of cheating? Behind her back? "

"Ona, I didn't mean anything by it," Keira began, clearly startled by the angry tone with which the brunette spoke.

"Y/n didn't cheat, she'd never do that," Ona replied fiercely. "You're lucky she didn't hear you suggest that, because I'm not sure any of you would have been able to put her back together."

With that, Ona stormed out of the room, turning the corner and coming to a sudden stop at the sight of you. You'd been too baffled by her words to move, and now it was too late.

"Y/n,"

"Thank you, Ona. Really," you said, blinking back tears. Behind Ona, Lucy, Keira, and Alexia walked out of the room, clearly on their way to go after the defender and calm her down. They all looked comically shocked at the sight of you, but you had no interest in talking to them. You spun on your heel, walking briskly out of the building and to your car, ignoring the calls of your name behind you. Ignoring, too, the tears that began to cloud your vision.

-----

Despite arriving home several hours ago, you lay in the same spot on the couch that you'd occupied since walking through the door. Your brain was working a mile a minute, going back and forth between fixating on Ona's passionate defense of you, and being angry at your teammates for speaking about you behind your back. You'd gotten texts from them, you knew, a particularly long apology from Keira, but you'd yet to open them. Ona had texted you too, and you hadn't read that either, for a very different reason.

You weren't mad at Keira for thinking you'd cheated, not really. You just hated that they were trying to figure out what happened; you'd made it clear you didn't want to talk about it, and here they were, dragging it back up over and over again. Logically, you knew it was because you weren't handling it well, and they could tell. Maybe you didn't like them worrying about you, either.

You were about to grab your phone and absolve your teammates of guilt, when there was a knock on your door. You walked to the door, looking through the peephole, and sighing. Of course.

"Hola, Alexia," you said, swinging the door open. Captain Alexia wasn't one to take team conflict lightly.

"Can I come in?" she asked, after returning your greeting. In response, you stepped to the side, allowing her into your apartment. She followed you in, sitting next to you on the couch. She had a familiar glint in her eyes, one that you knew meant she was determined to do something. What, you weren't exactly sure.

"Y/n, I'm really sorry we were talking about you when you weren't there. We're really worried about you, but there's no excuse. We should have brought our concerns to you," Alexia tells you sincerely.

"I know you're worried," you sigh. "And I probably wouldn't have been very receptive to you asking me about how I was doing."

"And what Keira said-"

"I get it. Of the two of us, I seem like the one who would sleep with someone else. I would have thought the same thing too."

"Does that mean Alessia cheated?" Alexia inquired, after a moment of silence. You looked at her, stunned, not quite sure how she came to that conclusion. In response to your expression, she explained.

"You're both apparently really upset, so it's clearly not mutual like you said. I know you didn't cheat. Sleeping around might have been your thing before Alessia, but it's not now, and it would be unfair to assume you hadn't changed. And, the way you phrased that last part. You "would have" thought the same thing too. That makes it sound like you no longer think that way."

You processed this for a minute, reminded of how smart Alexia was. You wanted to be annoyed, because if Alexia knew, it wouldn't be long before the whole team knew. Alexia had a strict policy of sharing everything with her co captains, who, famously, could not keep their mouths shut. You were really just relieved, though, like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, now that you didn't have to try so hard to pretend to be okay.

"Yeah. She slept with some girl in a bar."

"I'm sorry, y/n."

"It's fine. We were probably going to break up anyway, and she's having a hard time. I don't even know why I'm upset."

Alexia's face changed at that, looking somewhat stern.

"It's not fine. She still betrayed your trust, even if you were going to break up. Even if she is struggling. That's not an excuse, y/n, and you're allowed to be upset that a relationship you spent a lot of time in ended so horrifically."

You shrugged in response and avoided her eyes, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Her hand came to rest on your shoulder before she spoke again.

"It's okay to be upset, y/n, you don't need to pretend you're not having a hard time with this. None of us will think any less of you." Alexia's tone was gentle, and at her reassurance, you turned to look at her, eyes big and wet with tears.

"Oh, nena," she said, pulling you in for a hug. You went willingly, allowing yourself to be comforted for the first time since the breakup. You cried softly into Alexia's shoulder, your captain's arms wrapped tightly around you. You felt safe here, in this little bubble with the older woman, safe enough to allow yourself to feel the hurt that you'd been pushing down for days.

-----

You'd assumed that after speaking with Alexia, you would feel better, and start sleeping better. You did feel better; it seemed that leaning on your friends during a tough time did, in fact, make getting through it easier. But you weren't sleeping better. If anything, it was getting worse. You'd wake up on the verge of having a panic attack, so filled with anxiety you could barely breathe. You didn't recall any nightmares that prompted this, and it didn't take long for you to calm down, but it made sleeping an ordeal.

The team's next game was an away game in Tenerife. You all had flown out the afternoon before the game, and tried to distract yourself from your exhaustion by goofing around with your teammates. Keira and Lucy had been relieved when you easily accepted their apologies.

Things with Ona were... more complicated. She'd seemed almost embarrassed after her outburst in the locker room, and had taken to avoiding you. Not completely, because you still caught her staring at you during practice, but enough that you found yourself inexplicably missing her presence. Those that had been on the receiving end of the defender's scolding were evidently intrigued by her behavior.

So, when you got your room assignments for the trip and saw Ona's name next to yours on the list, you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the clear attempt from Alexia to get you back on non-awkward terms.

You all headed to dinner first, and you couldn't help but watch as Ona barely touched her food, seemingly caught up in her own thoughts. You weren't quite sure if she was preoccupied with you, or something else, but you were determined to find out. She was your friend, after all, and despite your increasingly confusing feelings for her, you wanted to be there for her.

Ona beat you to your room after dinner, and you walked in to find her sitting nervously on the bed nearest to the door, fingers picking at her nails. She began speaking almost the minute the door had shut behind you.

"I just wanted to apologize, y/n, if I overstepped. It wasn't my place to say anything, and-" you cut her off.

"Oni, it's really okay. You don't need to apologize for sticking up for me. What you said was... it was really nice." You were blushing. Why were you blushing?

"Okay, good," Ona replied, smiling in relief. She turned, presumably to finish getting ready for bed.

"Are you doing okay? You've seemed stressed recently, not like yourself," you mention, heading to your luggage to act like your question was more casual than it really was. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ona freeze.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just been a long week." she said. For some reason, you didn't believe her. Something in her voice told you that she was lying, but you didn't want to push.

"Well, if you want to talk," you say, smiling at her reflexively. It was almost unconscious, the way your lips lifted into a grin when you saw her face, freckles scrunching adorably as she returned your smile.

You turned back to your bag, internally shaking your head at yourself. You needed to get it together. You weren't so naive to not understand what was going on, but getting into a relationship with a teammate, so soon after the disastrous end to your previous one, seemed like the world's biggest mistake.

-----

Even though you'd done everything you could think to relax yourself before falling asleep, you still startled slightly only a few hours later, stuck in the land between wakefulness and slumber, your body thrumming with anxiety. It was a bad one, that was really your first conscious thought. You were already short of breathe, but still somehow drowsy, and you fought to drag your eyes open, and go through the familiar routine of grounding yourself.

You didn't realize you were breathing loudly, nor did you hear Ona the first time she said your name. It was only after the first time, when she spoke louder, that you turned your head to look at her in the other bed.

"Y/n? What's wrong?" She asked. You simply shook your head in response, not quite sure you could explain it. You wanted her to go back to sleep, let you pull yourself together on your own like you always did, but you should have known Ona wouldn't do that.

Ona rose from her own bed, approaching the side of yours. You'd sat up, resting your head in your hands as your chest rose and fell erratically.

"Y/n," Ona called softly, hovering nervously next to the bed, like she didn't know what to do.

"I'm ok-okay," you gasped out, admittedly not very convincingly.

"You don't seem okay," she said, doubt clear in her tone. "Do you want me to get someone? Lucy? Ale?" She turned as if to leave.

Suddenly, you were struck with fear at the idea of her leaving. You hadn't realized how much you'd been relying on her presence to calm yourself down until she mentioned leaving. You breathing sped up again, and you reached out frantically, grabbing a fist full of her shirt. She turned back to you, seemingly surprised at your movements. her face was filled with a kindness that was so distinctly Ona, you felt yourself calming down again at the mere sight of it.

"Hey, I won't go, it's okay," she reassured you, taking a careful seat on the edge of your bed. She gripped your hand in hers, tugging it off of her shirt, and you squeezed it gratefully. She sat next to you, allowing you to regulate your breathing, not saying anything, but apparently realizing you just needed to feel her next to you. When you were calm, a few minutes later, you turned to her, prepared both to thank her, and apologize profusely, but she asked a question before you could open your mouth.

"Is this why you haven't been sleeping?" she questioned. Her eyes were peering into yours, and you wished the lights were on, so you could see the warm honey brown staring back at you.

"Yeah. I don't really know what's going on, I just wake up really anxious," you admit, again reminded of Ona's miraculous power to get you to tell her the truth. Ona contemplated for a minute, before she motioned for you to scoot over. You did, although confused, and watched as she slid into the bed next to you. Ona's had her poker face as she laid down, resting her head on your pillow, and motioning you to nestle in next to her.

You were planning to object, really. Instead of opening your mouth, though, your body moved almost without your permission, and you were soon laying next to Ona, head tucked comfortably into her chest. It was such a natural thing, laying against her, like something you'd done a thousand times. You weren't tense, or uncomfortable. You just felt sleepy, suddenly, and enjoyed the feel of the spaniard's soft t-shirt on your cheek, not even questioning it when her arms wrapped around you, holding you securely against her.

Ona didn't say anything, and she didn't need to. You were already drifting off, remarkably calm for someone snuggling one of their friends, who they maybe, possibly, were developing a crush on. You didn't feel butterfly's like you would have expected. Ona never made you feel nervous. Flustered, sure. But as you drifted off into the best sleep you'd had in weeks, you were truly struck with how she comforted you easily, and how she got you to accept that comfort with no argument.

When you woke the next morning, still cuddled close to Ona, you marveled at the fact that you'd slept through the rest of the night. You watched her face as she slept next to you, the morning sunlight hitting her freckles perfectly. You wondered if you could count them all.

You also wondered how much longer you could pretend you weren't falling for the girl next to you.

-----

[idyllic-affections]

to be quietly loved.

summary. what would dan heng be like as an older brother?

trigger & content warnings. mentions of injury and nightmares.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff, found family, very slight angst if you squint. dan heng (including il, towards the end) & younger sibling figure!reader. 1.1k words. they/them pronouns used for reader.

author's thoughts. i just remembered i have free will and can write fics about who i want to whenever i want to (/lh) so i wrote platonic dan heng content!

dan heng would be very quiet and subtle in his care. he is undoubtedly a fantastic brother! but his love language is very quiet, only noticable to those who pay close attention.

his gestures of care are quiet, and his words even moreso, but... well. it's fitting for someone like him.

he pays attention—very close attention, actually.

if his sibling seemed interested in something (perhaps their gaze lingered somewhere too long), or if they offhandedly mentioned a potential new interest to him, he would make a mental note of it.

his sibling might find the book they've been wanting to read or the cool ring they saw in a shop's window sitting in front of their door on the express a day later. <3

he's not the kind of brother to bully his younger sibling LMAO

he would rather do things for them—little acts of service to show his love in a wordless way—rather than bully them into doing things for him.

another way dan heng subtly expresses his care is in battle. he always has their blind spots covered. it's... a bit more obvious than his other displays, but really, it doesn't matter. what matters most is his sibling's safety.

and if they haven't left their room in a while? whatever the reason may be, mental health or physical health or any other reason, he's leaving meals by their door. he sends them little texts throughout the day, giving them the opportunity to seek support if that is something they need while also not forcing himself into their safe space if they just want to be alone for some time.

of course, his quiet nature does not mean he doesn't verbally express his affection. he does, but only in the soft moments in which he is alone with them.

(march would relentlessly tease him otherwise.)

late nights spent reading together in the archives, observing the stars together when everyone else is asleep or otherwise occupied... moments like that.

additionally, moments of hurt.

especially moments of hurt.

if his sibling happens to have nightmares about their own past, much like he does, he will offer them the security of his comfort and support. he'll always be there; that is one thing he can safely assure them of.

(maybe he'll live longer than they will. maybe he won't. either way, he will be there for as long as he is able.)

he offers to reassure them over text if they aren't really comfortable or ready for physical contact, but he will also offer to let them spend the night in the archives with him. whatever puts their mind at ease.

dan heng is always willing to hearing their story if they are willing to share. maybe he isn't quite ready to reciprocate that same vulnerability yet... but he does reassure them that his lack of openness is not because of them or something they did. it has nothing to do with them. they'll be the first to know when he is ready, he swears it.

or if they get physically hurt... he's there in an instant, finishing off whatever monsters dared to harm them and then rushing them back to the express to get their wounds treated, even if it really isn't that serious of a wound. he sees blood and goes into worried mode immediately.

he spends a lot of time with them while they're recovering, to the point where welt and himeko will teach him how to clean and rewrap their injury.

if it was preventable, something they could have avoided with just a little more patience and awareness, he will absolutely scold them for their lack of care, but...

he thinks they've already suffered the natural consequences of their actions, so his lecture on safety is very short.

"...Sorry, Dan Heng. I know I should have been more careful."

"You should have," he agreed, gingerly rewrapping the gauze on their arm. The gash, as a consequence of taking a rather brutal hit from a member of the Antimatter Legion, was healing well. "...I forgive you, though."

They smiled, leaning their head on his shoulder. He adjusted his position slightly for the sake of their comfort. Their weight provided a soothing reassurance that they were alive and well. He still recalled the sheer terror that had struck his chest when they cried out for him in the midst of battle.

"I mean it, [Name]. Be more careful next time. What would have happened to you if I wasn't there?"

"Probably something bad," they admitted, reaching over to his freehand and mindlessly toying with his fingers. "Thank you for being there."

Dan Heng sighed, freehand tenderly raking through their messy hair. "I will always be."

'It is the least I could do for you.'

he's very protective in that way. he genuinely doesn't know what he'd do with himself if something happened to them when he could have done something to keep them safe. he would never forgive himself, really.

he'll also teach them to fight for their own safety, if they don't already know how. if they do? he'll spar with them and help sharpen their skills.

dan heng does his best to not leave his sibling unprepared. he knows deep down inside that he cannot always be there. he wants them to be prepared to defend themselves, to be able to survive without his presence and support.

and when he does finally ackowledge and accept his past...

man.

he's even more protective, if that is even possible. it's some kind of instinct within him, like the way a mother feels inclined to protect her child, or how a lion does to its young. he feels an inexplicable pull, a need to keep them away from harm.

dragon instincts, basically.

he would literally obliterate anything that posed a threat to them fr. he also hates seeing them wounded in that form. he hates it normally, but in his vidyadhara form? it ignites some kind of deep-set anger and worry in him.

aeons forbid they were ever seriously injured.

the things dan heng would do in their defense would... not be very pretty.

on a fluffier note, i just know he gives really secure, safe hugs, especially in his vidyadhara form. if something happens to frighten them? well. his arms are always open. he's always there to comfort and reassure them, even if it happens to be something silly that scared them.

he'll also let them braid his hair in his nonhuman form if they ask nicely enough! he doesn't even try to hide the style when its done. he just walks around the express with it, even if march and stelle and himeko all giggle a little about how cute it is or how well it suits him. welt just smiles knowingly.

overall 10/10 he is a wonderful older brother <3

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[sirenmoth]

Love Bug

Kyle Garrick x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Gaz fell for you, and fell hard

CW: none, fluff and gaz being adorble

When you first joined the Task Force, it was rough, everyone expect The Captain, was a little standoffish and cautious but they never said anything out loud, never in front of Price. Over some time and gruelling missons, they opened up to you in their own ways; Ghost and you practised shooting, hand to hand combat as well as other needed skills; you and Soap would talk about god knows what while aiding him in testing explosives and bombs; Price popped in when he was less busy, sometimes letting you sit in his office while you both filed paperwork. And Gaz, sweet Gaz, the first person to fully accept and welcome you, he would stop by with small gifts and trinkets, most often found out in the field or a cheap buy, claiming 'thought you'd like it' and 'it suits you'

You offhandedly mentioned once you like playing video games, that it helped you relax. That was when it started, on less busy days or after everyone has fallen asleep, you'd both play for hours, exchanging jokes and quips, lighthearted gags as you shared a blanket and snacks, cuddled up until one of you fell asleep. When separated you two would send letters to keep in touch and update the other on what's been going on, it was in one of these letters Gaz let slip that the moments you share, cuddled up in the late hours of the night, helped him relax and find peace out amongst the chaos and bloodshed. It was during these moments that Gaz realised,

He loves you

He craves to be around you

You made him feel like this, like a school boy with his first crush.

That was when the gifts became something else entirely, small romantic gestures, just to see you smile that smile he loves oh so much, to hear that angelic laugh and to watch your eyes light up in adoration at the small things he presents. His heart swam in his chest, beating erractically like it is singing its love and affection for you, but one thing was wrong, outside of work and the Task Force, he had no way of contacting you, months without the moments he cherishes with you, months without seeing you and knowing you're blissfully unaware of what you're doing to him.

The butterflies in his stomach Gaz has grown used to feel like hornets, his heart sounds like a rapid-fire machine gun as it pounds in his ears, he's practised over and over and over what he was going to say in his head, not wanting to make a fool of himself. The last night before leave and Gaz had a misson to complete, he wasn't going to let you slip away, not this time, not again. He stumbles over his words, studying your face for a reaction, a response. Standing as still as a deer in headlight, Gaz watched you write something down on some scrap paper and hand it to him, telling him you'll see him around before leaving with a smile and a wave.

Once he's alone Gaz looks down at what you've written, it's your number, your personal phone number with a small heart next to it. Gaz doesn't think he's moved so fast, whiping out his own phone to add you to his contacts list, quickly sending you a text. A bright, wide smile is plastered on his face, reading you response. You had bewitched him; mind, body and soul.

And he could live with that.

[screamforyani]

still into you

pairing ↠ ethan landry x (f) reader x jj maybank

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, angst, friends to lovers, childhood best friend!ethan, unprotected sex, mentions of a ghostface attack, violence, mentions of alcohol consumption

summary ↠ when ethan visits the outerbanks with his friends, he doesn’t expect to find you there. you don’t expect to see him there, either, but trying to reconcile during a series of ghostface attacks is harder than it seems.

wc ↠ 6.3k

author’s note ↠ pt. 1/4 of the still friends, not lovers series. feedback is appreciated!

Summer break was en route. 

Everyday was summer break with the pogues. Impromptu escapades around the island and treasure hunts that took you across the ocean, to your parents’ chagrin. 

Anything to spite them. Six years later and you still didn’t appreciate being bulldozed eight hours away from home. Alas, your ailing grandmother was dying, and you were an optionless fourteen-year-old. Not that you didn’t care about your grandmother. Matter of fact, it wasn’t until she passed and all the grief wore you thin that you fell out with your parents. 

They just didn’t understand that you were an adult. You were more than capable of making your own decisions. Sure, plenty of them were careless, but half of it was their fault. 

That said, you fell in love with your life in the Outer Banks. The reckless exploits and dangerous feats. Your toes in the sand and the sun in your eyes. The splashing and surfing. 

You fell in love with something else, too. 

An engine resounded down the street and you turned, catching an eye full of dirty blonde while the ground reverberated beneath your feet as JJ parked in your driveway. 

“Dude,” you started, jogging over to your best friend. “Didn’t I tell you that you can’t just speed through here?”

“Damn, y’all strict on Figure Eight,” JJ retorted, a toothpick hanging out of his mouth. “Hop on, everyone’s waiting for us and I told ‘em we’d be there in an hour.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Fuck, did I forget to mark another scavenger hunt in my calender?”

JJ’s sunglasses fell onto the bridge of his nose and he made no move to fix them, chirping, “You know, I was actually thinking more of a beach day. Surfing and sunburn. That kind of thing.”

You huffed, “Because you always forget to wear sunscreen. Why do I have to be the one to remind you?”

“Uh, because we’re best friends and you love me,” JJ said, flashing a full set of teeth. 

You rolled your eyes, backing away from his bike (and ignoring the warmth spreading through your chest). “Don’t move. I’m going to throw on my bikini.”

JJ shouted behind you, watching you run up your front steps, “Yo, could you bring some sunscreen?”

You shook your head in disbelief, vying against a beaming smile for control and losing miserably. When you were safely in your room, you rummaged your drawer and exited in your favorite, racy orange bikini with a beach bag slung loosely over your shoulder. 

Your father was currently occupying the living room and you parted your lips to tell him bye, opting to get out of there as quickly as possible after you spotted the scowl on his face, but he stood squarely in front of you.

Oh, brother, you thought to yourself. This guy gave other overprotective fathers a run for their money. 

“That boy is on my lawn again,” he hissed indignantly. 

“Yes, I know,” you chirped offhandedly. “And the longer you stand in front of me, the longer he’ll be waiting out there.”

Your father wasn’t pleased, if the disdainful glance he cocked you was any indication. “Your mother and I don’t like you going out with those kids. You know this.”

“Yes, I know, you hate pogues. We’ve been over this,” you droned, fighting a roll of your eyes. “Sorry to break it to you, Dad, but I’m a pogue!”

“It’s not about kooks or pogues - it’s about keeping you safe! This family has been troubled with enough grief,” your father shouted. 

You bristled, raising your voice even louder, “For fuck’s sake, Dad. We’re just going to the beach! Don’t you see the bikini? The worst case scenario is I drown.”

Your father opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. 

“I’m not a kid anymore, Dad. If I want to hang out with people from The Cut I will and there’s nothing you or Mom can do to stop me,” you seethed, stepping around him and slamming the door on the way out. 

Fortunately JJ was right where you’d left him and his eyes flitted over to you when he heard the loud, forceful slam of your front door. Your obvious shift in body language coupled with the less than faint shouting he heard told him everything he needed to know. 

“Get me far, far away from this place,” you grumbled, mounting his bike and wrapping your arms around his waist snugly. 

JJ revved the engine for effect, like he was trying to make a statement. “Let me guess - your old man old-manning again?”

“Yeah,” you huffed. “No worries. My mom will probably be home soon and they’ll talk about how much of a thorn in their side I am together.”

Pulling out of the driveway, JJ quipped, “They’ve got the house all to themselves. Maybe they’ll make another baby so they can finally stop treating you like one.”

You grimaced at the idea. “And risk having it turn out just like me? I’m sure they’d rather chew bricks.”

Your best friend clenched his jaw. He couldn’t even count on both hands anymore the amount of times he’d thought of pummeling your father to the ground. Something about the guy and how he treated you just triggered a different dimension of rage. 

The beach was all the fun you could ask for. Sarah and John B decided it would be a great idea to bring water guns without telling anyone and ambush the other five of you. You slipped off your flip flops to travel faster, hot sand scalding your bare feet. 

Had JJ not shoved you out of the way, you would’ve been blindsided by the volleyball hurling your direction. 

“Sorry!” came a distant voice, jogging over to check up on you. 

When their face came into your vision, you saw their eyes widen and their lips split, but you spoke before he got the chance, “Ethan?”

JJ whispered in your ear, “You know this uncoordinated klutz?”

Ethan whispered your name. 

Longing possessed you and you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. Tears threatened. The sun was your best friend, his warmth spreading through you. Feelings hit you like a freight train. “I thought I’d never see you again,” you whimpered. 

Ethan gently placed his arms around you, unsure of where to put his hands. You were very exposed and he didn’t want to touch you in any of the wrong places. But Jesus Christ you were working the hell out of that bikini. 

Something switched in Ethan when he saw you. You didn’t at all look the same as when he’d last saw you six years ago. For one, you were taller and your hips were a little fuller now. You were a grown ass woman. 

Ethan’s eyes flickered. It’s been that long?

Holding you in his arms, sensing his heart race, he wondered why all those feelings he had for you never changed. 

JJ cleared his throat and you shuffled back a couple of feet. You awkwardly introduced, “Oh, um, JJ this is Ethan. We were best friends when I lived in Manhattan. Ethan, this is JJ - my new best friend.”

Ethan smiled sheepishly, stretching out his hand. “Nice to, uh, meet you.”

“Yeah, man. Something like that,” JJ replied, forcing a grin while shaking Ethan’s hand for the most fleeting of seconds. 

Feeling the tension, you glimpsed back at the pogues and said, “Jay, Kie looks like she’s struggling with something and Pope and John B are fussing, and I don’t see Sarah or Cleo, so...”

JJ glanced towards the ground, chuckling. “Yeah, I should probably go help her with that. I’ll get outta y’alls way.”

You called behind him, “No, wait, it’s not like that!”

“I’m going,” JJ replied without looking back, taking off his cap and tousling a hand through his blond hair.

You blew out a breath, turned to face Ethan, and froze. For a second, you were borderline catatonic. You couldn’t even breathe. Like the fish were sucking up all the air. You gathered the strength to ask, “What are you doing in the Outer Banks?”

“Oh, for summer break my friends and I wanted to go on vacation together. I didn’t think I’d see you here since, you know, you never told me where you were heading. Or said goodbye.”

His obvious disdain weighed on his tone and you understood every bit of his feelings, but the gleam of yearning in his pretty brown eyes betrayed the hurt. 

“You know I wanted to,” you replied, taking a step closer. You were panicking, worried your best friend hated you like you thought he would have. If you could even call him that anymore. “I desperately wanted to stop the car then and there and run the whole way to your house, but I couldn’t do that and I’m sorry.”

“Yo, who’s this?” came a masculine voice. You immediately noticed the dude throwing an arm over Ethan’s shoulder, about his height, give or take. 

Five more people followed. You assumed correctly that they were the friends he spoke of. Good to know someone’s been keeping you company, you thought to yourself. 

Ethan made a face and hurriedly gave them your name before introducing, “This is Chad, my roommate. Mindy, his sister. Sam, Tara, Anika, and Quinn.”

Your eyes widened when you laid eyes on Quinn.

You almost spoke, but Ethan beat you to a word. “Hey, can I talk to you alone for a second?”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, furrowing your brows, but following him nonetheless. 

Once his friends were out of earshot, Ethan asked, “Could you please not say anything about Quinn being my sister?”

You made a face. “What - why?”

Ethan searched his brain for a convincing lie and came up with, “Nobody knows and we made a bet about who would slip up first.”

You didn’t question the authenticity of his words. Why would Ethan lie? “Good luck with that. You were never the lucky sibling when it came to bets.”

Ethan chuckled. “I’ve changed. And I can sell a good lie. For example, my name’s Ethan Landry and I have no siblings.”

“Okay, Ethan Landry, no siblings,” you quipped. “Your friends are waiting for you and mine are waiting for me. I’ll catch you later?”

Ethan bobbed his head. “Yeah. Sure. That’s cool.”

“It was nice seeing you.”

“Nice seeing you, too,” Ethan replied. 

You watched him walk away, getting a view of his sexy back and broad shoulders. He sure did change, that was for sure. Holy fucking shit. 

You walked back over to the pogues, oblivious to the huge grin you were sporting. Maybe you would notice it once your cheeks started to hurt. 

Cleo had returned with Sarah and was sitting on the cooler. “Who’s that?”

“Some asshole with really bad aim,” JJ replied with a straight face.

You cocked him a glance, hissing, “JJ!”

JJ threw up his hands, but didn’t back down. “You didn’t see the way he threw that ball. Even my nephew has better eye-hand coordination.”

Pope nodded his head in agreement. “I mean, it was a bad throw.”

John B winced, adding, “Yeah, you’ve got to admit it was kind of off.”

You rolled your eyes.

Nightfall came down. You’d been tipsy by dusk, thanks to your best friend’s idea of a good time. Everyone was officially spent, ready to sleep in till noon. Your legs ached from running all day like the police were hot on your trail.

Approaching you while you were helping your friends pack was one of Ethan’s friends, specifically his roommate. Chad, if memory served. He spoke your name and said, “Special delivery for a special lady.”

Your eyes flickered in surprise.

Chad handed you a card as if he was doing business with you, shot you an inviting smile, and leaned into your ear to whisper, “Just in case you need help finding your way.”

Then, he was gone. 

Sarah was amused. “What was that all about?”

“Yeah, what’s on the card?” asked Kiara, draping a duffle bag over her shoulders. 

You stood there, eyes flitting down to the card in your hands. There was an address scribbled in black ink, with a little note at the bottom and a smiley face. Whenever you’re ready, you can knock. 

You vaguely recognized the address as one of the houses along the shoreline. That must have been where they were staying. And Ethan was indirectly inviting you to come see him?

“Nothing important,” you lied, swiftly shoving the card into your bag. If you noticed the way JJ’s eyes lingered over you, you didn’t say anything. 

That night, you hardly slept. Your mind was roaring and your thoughts were restless. For a second, you thought Ethan hated you, just like fourteen-year-old you dreaded. But he invited you over. That was definitely his doodle and handwriting. There was no way it was a prank. 

When you did finally sleep, you dreamt of him. Bonding with your childhood best friend and making up for lost time. You dreamt of professing your love to him like you never got the chance to and kissing him like you’d always wanted. 

All you could see was the stars in his eyes for a minute. It made no sense for you to still be head over heels for Ethan after all these years. But all that history was conflicting with your current feelings and it was like a head-on collision. 

Crash and burn. 

After a sleepless night, you were at the chateau bright and early. Apparently John B had a lead and another day spent looking for treasure didn’t sound like the worst thing ever. 

Especially considering you were trying to take your mind off of recent events. 

Sirens blared down the street, making each of you turn your heads. One by one, you saw police cars zipping down the roads. You shuddered. You were getting deja vu. 

Confusion tensed Pope’s features and he squinted at the sight. Only the seven of you typically merited that level of attention, though as it turned out, they had a new target. “Is that a parade?” he asked. 

John B gave him a look. “Really? You think parades go that fast?”

“Nope. That’s a full-blown cop inroad,” JJ replied, watching the column of cars disappear.

You furrowed your brows, wondering what had them up so early. 

Perfectly on cue, Kie, who had been noticeably late, hopped out of her car and sped up the porch like lightning. “You guys aren’t going to believe what I just heard,” she panted, dropping in a chair.

“What happened?” you asked. 

Kie caught her breath before replying, “Before I snuck out, I overheard my parents talking about how a friend got attacked last night by someone in a Ghostface costume, but survived.”

“Ghostface?” JJ repeated, throwing you a glance. “Ain’t that like that Stab shit you watch?”

You bobbed your head, keeping quiet. You watched way too many scary movies for this kind of bullshit. You’d heard of the original attacks in Woodsboro, but you never expected them to come to you. A different kind of fear choked your lungs. 

Kie continued, “I drove by the scene on the way here, and you know what I hear Shoupe saying? It’s probably one of us damn pogues.”

“Well, his opinion of us is in the dirt,” Pope muttered under his breath. 

You pulled out your phone, pretending to get a notification. All you cared about right now was making sure all of your friends were safe. The old and new ones. You grabbed your keys and blurted, “Gotta go. My dad wants me back home. See you guys later!”

Before anybody could protest or remind you of today’s plans, you were already halfway to your car. 

Sarah glanced between her friends, confused, and asked the question everyone was thinking to themselves, “Since when does she listen to her dad?”

Speeding back to the beach, your thoughts were with Ethan. Obviously some random kook had been attacked, but you wanted to make sure the news reached him - and his friends - in time. You’d just gotten your friend back. You couldn’t have him added to the list of casualties. 

You double, quadruple checked the address when you parked in the driveway before you ran to the front door. Your heart was racing. Every second spent waiting made you nauseous. 

When the door opened, you saw Ethan. You didn’t even give him a chance to speak, pulling him in for a hug as you heaved a breath of relief. “Thank goodness, you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Ethan said, hugging you a little more comfortably this time. “I’m guessing you heard the news too, huh?”

You bobbed your head, pulling back. “Yeah. I came as soon as I heard. I wanted to make sure you weren’t left in the dark.”

“That’s, uh, thoughtful of you.”

You grinned sheepishly. 

Ethan mirrored your smile. To say things were awkward would be the understatement of the year. He added, “I think we should talk.”

You chuckled nervously, looking down at your toes. “Kinda overdue, huh?”

Ethan pointed backwards with his thumb, replying, “I’ve got a beach for a backyard and nobody’s back there.”

Glancing down, you gulped. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. When did Ethan Bailey get hot? You banished the thoughts immediately. Priorities, girl. Priorities, you chided to yourself. Hoping he hadn’t noticed your distracted gaze, you chirped, “Sounds good.”

Ethan beckoned you inside, shutting the door behind you, and brought you towards the back. You briefly greeted his friends when you passed them on your way out, the distressed looks on their faces not being lost on you. 

You breathed in the fresh beach air when you stepped outside, opting to abandon your sandals on the patio so that you could bury your toes in the hot sand again. 

Minutes of just wallowing in the silence together passed. Maybe it wasn’t exactly silent, but peaceful. You could hear seagulls cooing and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore before drawing back into the ocean. 

“I’m not mad,” Ethan said after a prolonged pause. 

Your eyes darted to his face. “Why?”

Ethan was looking at you with unfathomable tenderness, like you created the very sea rushing before your bodies. There was something reminiscent in his stare. “Because you were fourteen. Your hands were tied.”

That was true. You couldn’t get that day out of your head. Driving past his house with your fingers flat to the window like you were trapped in the backseat of your parents’ car, watching him obliviously help his dad out in the yard for all of two seconds before the sight was gone. 

And you never saw him again. Until yesterday, of course. 

“I heard from your neighbor that your grandma was sick,” Ethan whispered. 

Your heart was taut with emotion, a weight sitting squarely on your chest. “Yeah. We left as soon as we got the news. She, uh… she passed away four years ago.”

Ethan’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry.”

“We were expecting it,” you said, not that it made it any better. Tears burned your eyes, but you fought them with all your strength. You remembered spending every waking hour in that goddamn hospital. “She wasn’t getting any better. She was dying and she knew. After she passed, I had a falling out with my parents. All things considered.”

Spotting the petulant look on your face, Ethan was quick to slip his fingers through yours in consolation. You fought a smile. That always did make you feel a bit better. “If it helps, I lost someone too.”

“Who?”

Ethan heaved a breath. His face was dark for a fraction of a second before he confessed, “Richie.”

Your heart dropped. “No way. Are you serious? What happened?”

“He was murdered. Last year,” Ethan whispered, wistful. “Stabbed.”

That made you even more sad. You’d always liked Richie. He was like the older brother you never had and the sole reason you loved horror movies. 

You squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry,” you crooned. “Did they catch who stabbed him?”

“My dad says they’re working on it,” Ethan said quietly. 

“They better catch them.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, mood shifting. “Would’ve made a difference if I had you to lean on.”

There was a sinking feeling in your chest, but Ethan didn’t give you the chance to speak.

Ethan gave you a knowing look, pulling you flush to him, and said tenderly, “You have nothing to feel guilty about. If you’re guilty, then I’m guilty. I wasn’t there for you either. But we have each other right now.”

You locked eyes with him, wanting to be everything he needed. You would hurt twice as much if it meant you could take away all of his pain. “That’s all that matters.”

One second, you were staring at each other, sporting beaming smiles. And the very next? Your lips were locking. 

Kissing him was even better than you used to (and admittedly still did every now and again) dream of. It was slow and sweet, like you were taking your time with each other. Your heart thudded. 

Pulling back, the two of you giggled. Ethan confessed, “I’ve always wanted to kiss you like that.”

That made your heart do somersaults. Like twenty. “Me, too.”

You were giddy with excitement. Ethan took your hand in his again and walked with you along the shore, chatting with you about everything under the sun. Like old times.  

There was no doubt that you missed Ethan. He was your person and you were his. It felt euphoric to be in his arms where you’d longed to be for six whole years. And it felt… right. Almost as if you’d left your heart with him. 

Maybe you did. A piece of it, at least. 

When you returned, he brought you to a hammock. All he could think about was you. How you laughed at all his stupid jokes. She still has a mesmerizing smile. He was squinting at you, deep in thought. 

You sat on the hammock, peering up at your best friend. “Why are you squinting at me?”

Ethan was smiling like an idiot. “The sun’s in my eyes.”

You gave him a look, baffled. Both of you were in the shade. The tree that the hammock was hanging from served as a great shelter. Then, you realized he was talking about you. 

Heat filled your cheeks. You wrapped your legs around his waist and steered his head towards your face, kissing him again. You just couldn’t get enough. 

First, it was steady and gentle. You were kissing each other with all the affections you had to give, feeling every inch of your bodies burn with want and passion. Ethan’s hand slipped down to your hips, holding you still. He sucked on your tongue and you moaned, tightening your legs. 

In a matter of seconds, the mood shifted. 

A gasp of surprise escaped you when Ethan pushed your back to the hammock and trapped you under his weight, only slightly rougher than before. His lips bruised your neck, marking you for all the island to know who you belonged to. 

Your dad was going to go ballistic when he saw those, but ironically, he wasn’t who you were worried about. 

Ethan caught your worries in his palm and crushed them. All you could think about when he kissed you was how badly you needed him to mend the ache between your thighs. Your skin was on fire, your heart skipping a beat the closer he got to your waist. 

Anticipation was killing you softly. Ethan glanced up at you and asked, “Can I take off your shirt?”

You nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. 

Ethan grabbed your shirt and you briefly sat up while he pulled it over your head, revealing your lacy black bra. His mouth was watering. 

His stare combined with his lack of speech or action made you slightly self-conscious. “Are you just going to look at me?” you prodded. 

“Sorry. It’s just… you’re beautiful,” Ethan whispered, breathless. “I have to stop and marvel for a second.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t battle the smile on your lips. 

Bringing a hand behind your back, you unclipped your bra and let it drop, throwing it somewhere on the hammock. You desperately pulled Ethan into you, sucking a bruise onto your neck while he made a noise and kneaded your breasts. 

Nobody could see you. You were in a little nook by the shore, cloaked by trees. As far as you were concerned, it was just you and your best friend. And the sea. 

His body was so warm in your hands, so sensitive. You saw him shudder and suck in a breath every time you marked him, sinking your teeth into his skin. Your lips felt like silk and the sensations were colliding. 

Ethan tapped your bare back, making you grind to a screeching halt. You immediately pulled back, wanting to be sure you hadn’t hurt him, but he was quicker. “Are we really doing this?”

“If you want to, yeah,” you told him, brows furrowed. Then, you asked, “Do you not want to?”

Ethan hurriedly explained, “No, I want to. But I’ve never done this before.”

“Really?” That surprised you. He kissed like a pro. And with how confident he was, you would have never guessed. Plus he was fine as hell. Girls must have been throwing themselves at him. 

Ethan sat to your right, more than a little flushed. “Yeah. Never gone past third base. I mean, I had all the chances in the world, but I didn’t want to.” Because I was waiting for you. 

“That’s okay. Everybody moves at their own pace,” you reassured him, smoothing a hand down his thigh. 

His eyes darted to your hand. “What about you?”

You laughed, though it was nervous. The body count conversation. Your favorite. “Well, I’m not exactly pure anymore. I lost my virginity to Topper Thornton. Not my favorite guy in the world. Then, I fucked some dude whose name I don’t remember. And finally, I fucked my best friend.”

Ethan reeled his head. “The one that hates me?”

You blew out a breath. “Yeah. The one that hates you.”

“Well,” Ethan started, sporting a wry grin. “Fourth time’s the charm?”

You giggled, grabbing the back of his head and kissing him again and again. Until your lips were swollen and Ethan decided he wanted to kiss something else. 

Sucking in a breath, you parted your legs for him, your panties now tossed into oblivion. Ethan, knees buried in the sand, met your eyes and said sternly, “If you want me to stop, don’t be afraid to tell me.”

You bobbed your head. “Okay.”

Then, he was eating you out. 

You made a noise at the sensation of his hot mouth against your warm cunt. He was licking and sucking, his tongue out to devour you whole. Your chest heaved when he rounded your clit, making your pussy tighten. 

Ethan’s big hands were holding your thighs on either side of his head, his firm grip keeping them locked in place. You couldn’t move them if you tried. His strength was a little more arousing than you cared to admit. 

If you were counting, you’d only been eaten out once before now. Both times by your best friends. Jesus fucking Christ, they didn’t miss with the foreplay. 

Muscles tensed in your thighs. Your whole body was awake, far from numb to the sensation. You were so sensitive that even his brushing lips made you tremble and try to squirm, but Ethan had power over your entire body. Including its movements. 

“Shit. You’re really good at this. Like,” you stammered, your words canceled by a moan. God fucking dammit. You couldn’t even speak. 

That was the kind of control he had over you. 

Ethan was getting hard watching you break at his mercy, his half-hard cock aggressively twitching in his pants. He didn’t want to bust a nut in his pants, but he neared dangerously close every time you called out his name. 

Your anchor was his hair, fingers tangled through his fluffy head. You needed to feel like there was something to ground you. Every time you closed your eyes, you were convinced you were levitating. And every time his thumb circled your clit, you winced your eyes shut. 

She tastes like heaven, was all Ethan could think. He didn’t want to stop. Not until you’d come undone in his arms, crying out his name. If nothing else, he wanted to make you scream. 

You were already halfway there. For fuck’s sake, it made no sense how quick he was to finish you. You were so aroused, so full of wanting. Your body was calling out to him. 

So was your heart, but you tried to ignore her. She didn’t know what the hell she wanted. Or what the hell was good for you. Nor did she care. 

Fuck, you were so restless. It was too much, but not enough all at once. You didn’t understand. How could your body be so conflicted? Your heart was already warring with itself. No man should have had this kind of power over you. 

But Ethan did. The ecstasy he made you feel was otherworldly, like the gods had sent him to you and it was no coincidence that you’d met again. Like we were meant to be. 

“Baby, I’m so close,” you rasped, losing your grip. Your vision was blurring and everything was hazy. 

Ethan perked up at the little name, but something about it - combined with the announcement of your impending orgasm - made him pull out all the stops. His hand abandoned its clutch on your thigh, fingers slipping into your cunt. 

You cried out when his thumb brushed your clit again, but nothing could prepare you for the pair of fingers between your walls, coating themselves in your slick. Throwing your head back, you balled your hands into fists. You were broken. So fucking broken. 

“Eth,” you whispered, because it was all that you could manage. You desperately endeavored to meet his movements, grinding your hips into his mouth. Your body was begging for release. 

Ethan was more than happy to give it to you. His tongue lingered at your clit, applying way too much pressure to be safe, and it was enough to finish you then and there. You shook with climax, trying to fight him away, because you couldn’t handle the overstimulation. 

Slumping on the hammock, your whole body went limp. Your lips parted in a loud, euphoric cry of his name, weakness gathering in your eyes as you tried to get over the high of your orgasm. It hit you like a damn freight train.

For a second, you couldn’t speak. You could hardly breathe. Ethan pulled back, admiring his handiwork. He all but came in his pants. 

You blinked a couple of times, sensitive tears in your eyes. “Jesus.”

Ethan perked up. “How did I do?”

All you could do was give him a thumbs up. Your throat was hoarse from screeching his name and you more than likely needed a glass or two of water. 

“Can I fuck you now?”

“You can do whatever you want with me,” you replied without a second of hesitation.

There was a smile on Ethan’s face before he pushed your back to the hammock for a third time (not that he was counting) and kissed your neck. You gulped, aroused. Not only at the feeling of his teeth in your neck, but his hard cock. 

He couldn’t believe how naked you were in front of him, only for him. Taking you on a hammock on the beach was something he would have never imagined. Not even in his wildest dreams. 

Ethan stripped out of his clothes, leaving you to watch with bated breath. Your heart stopped when you caught sight of his dick, curling tall against his stomach. He had no business being this size. 

“That is going to take me out,” you said, almost a little worried. 

“I was hoping that I could take you out,” Ethan quipped, always having time to make silly jokes no matter the occasion. Only he was half serious. 

“You are,” you exhaled. “And you can.”

Ethan smirked. Everything was falling into place. 

You gasped when he finally penetrated you after what felt like ages. Ethan whimpered, slowly sinking into you in fear of hurting you, but he couldn’t wait to move. Your pussy gripped him immediately, throttling his cock. 

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pulled him into you, deepening his position. When he was finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the two of you let out a noise of perfect sync. 

“Holy shit,” he hissed, grabbing at your thighs and finding purchase in them. 

You were extremely sensitive from climax and felt so overcome, but a little bit of your fight returned when you remembered you were his first. “How does it feel?”

“Tight,” Ethan staggered, breathless. “Really tight.”

You hummed. “What else?”

The only way Ethan could see this was as you trying to break him back. “Warm. And wet. Holy fucking shit.”

You smiled contentedly. That was what you liked to hear. 

Ethan found a rhythm, particularly one that made your eyes roll. For a virgin, he wasn’t as bad as some of the other people you’d slept with. For one, he wasn’t jack-hammering you. 

It felt so good for him, but he wanted to make sure that the feeling was mutual. Ethan locked eyes with you, asking, “Is this okay?”

“Baby, this couldn’t be better,” you panted, grabbing onto his forearm. 

That was a great answer. Ethan leaned into you, resting some of his weight on you, and kissed you with desperation. Like he would never get the chance again. You moaned into his mouth, fisting your fingers through his hair while your other hand raked down his back. 

His eyes winced shut at the feeling of your nails in his back, but there was something about the pain that was also pleasure. Plus as long as you were enjoying yourself, he couldn’t give less of a damn. 

If you wanted to use him for your own pleasure, he was more than content with that. He wanted to serve you. He wanted to be everything - and the only thing - you needed. Your friend and your lover. 

But you were also so snug around his cock that he was going to bust. Luckily for him, you were close. The previous orgasm helped him make short work of you. 

Ethan grunted, all the heat going straight to his dick. “Where do you want me to cum?”

“Flip me over,” you said through ragged breaths. 

Ethan’s eyes widened, but he followed your commands. You cried out when he flipped you over, spread your legs apart again, and stuffed you full of his cock again. You were floating on a cloud. There was no way this was really happening. 

A couple more thrusts was as long as you could hold out and you came again, your orgasm ripping through you. Your hands bundled into fists, gripping nothing in particular. 

That was all it took to finish Ethan. He wallowed in the godly sight of your ass and your pussy squeezing him for dear life, and he pulled out at the very last second, releasing with a deep sound rising from the very back of his throat. You could feel his cum on your ass. 

Ethan collapsed over you, his weight on your chest. Both of you spent a moment catching your breath, completely and thoroughly spent. You smirked at the blank look on his face and panted, “Home run.”

The joke took Ethan a second, but once he understood, he burst into a fit of giggles with you. 

Both of you got cleaned up and removed all evidence of sexual intercourse. Then, you decided to walk the shore again, arm in arm. You leaned against his chest, smiling. 

Ethan couldn’t get enough of you. Just the sight of you made his chest warm. He whispered softly, “You have a really pretty smile, you know.”

You parted your lips to reply, but before you got the chance, you felt something scrape at your shoulder and cried out in a mixture of pain and shock.

Turning, you saw a masked figure holding a knife. You gulped. 

Ethan exclaimed, “Run!”

You grabbed his hand, pulling him with you. Like hell you were leaving him alone with a psychopathic killer. Unfortunately, Ghostface gave chase. 

“Baby,” he started. “Run back to the house.”

You gave him a look, shouting, “And abandon you to get murdered? New plan.”

“Listen to me,” Ethan said sternly. “Go back to the house. Tell everyone to lock the doors. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

You shook your head. Tears threatened. 

Ethan grabbed your hand, kissing the back. “I love you. Do this for me. Please.”

You heaved a breath, finally nodding. “Okay. I love you, too.”

Then, you split up, darting back to the house. You didn’t look back. You were too scared of seeing something worthy of haunting you in your nightmares. 

Ethan hid behind a cart, obscured from your view. Ghostface came up to him, lowered their knife, and Ethan hissed, “What the hell, Quinn? This wasn’t a part of the plan.”

Quinn snatched off her mask, seething, “That bitch almost exposed us yesterday. She could have ruined our plans.”

“But she didn’t,” Ethan spat back, full of vitriol. “I’ve got it under control. I told her we’re in a bet. Don’t fucking hurt her. She’s off-limits.”

Quinn obviously wasn’t pleased, throwing back on her mask and walking away without another word. 

Ethan ran a hand through his hair. Finding you here was both a blessing and a curse. He didn’t need you to be collateral damage. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled under his breath. 

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[theamberfist]

Stinkin' Doctors | Grandma Susan + Reader

Familial! Grandma Susan + Grandchild Reader

Description: Rosie has implemented a new rule in Cannibal Town where everyone must attend yearly checkups at the doctors' to stay healthy. And lucky you: as Susan's grandchild, you get to be the one to drag her to hers.

(Notes: CW cannibalism, death, bad parents, creepy doctors) (gender neutral reader) (Reader is Susan's grandchild from when she was alive)

Words: 3,721

"You're kidding." You breathed as you leaned over the desk of the beautiful cannibal overlord, who also happened to be one of your dearest friends. "Every year?" Rosie simply nodded as she signed off on a few of the papers in front of her. The emporium hadn't even opened yet, but after receiving her call that morning, you'd rushed over in what was definitely not a panic to speak with her. 

"I need everyone in Cannibal Town to stay healthy, darling," she explained for the second time, "These appointments are just extra precaution; everyone will have them." You swallowed. That may have been true, but everyone wasn't your grandmother. 

"I get that," you sighed, running a hand through your hair, "But how am I supposed to get Grams to agree to that? We couldn't even convince her to see a doctor when she was on her death bed in life!" Rosie knew better than anyone just how stubborn your grandma could be, but she also knew that if there was one person who could get past her prickly nature to convince her, it was you.

"I know you can do it." She said with a reassuring smile now, "Even the meanest old lady's gotta listen to her grandchild sometimes; especially if they're as darling as you!" She reached up to pinch your cheek, which promptly grew slightly red from embarrassment. Your parents hadn't ended up in hell, which you had thought made your grandmother the only family you really had down here, but it was at times like this when you  realized that might not be so true. 

"Fine." You sighed, pushing away from the desk, "But don't have too much faith in me! Grams hates doctors." Rosie giggled as you headed for the door, already trying to come up with a way to break the news to your grandma. 

"Thank you!" She called genuinely as you left the emporium. She'd make it up to you later; maybe with a nicely cooked meal for your troubles. After all, if worst came to worst, Susan would listen to her if no one else, but she had confidence that as Cannibal Town's designated Susan-Wrangler, you could get her to her appointment on your own- and that it would be quite an entertaining process. 

..........

"Where are we goin'?" Susan asked for what was probably the seventh time in the last ten minutes as you lead her by the arm down the street. "First ya show up to my place uninvited, and then ya drag me out before the sun's even up without telling me why!" You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. 

"It's afternoon, Grandma," You calmly told her. Rosie had carefully made her appointment time a later one since she knew the old woman would pitch a fit at having been woken up early. "And we don't exactly have a proper sun here, anyway." 

"There ya go now, back talkin' me!" Susan spat, though she didn't let go of your arm, "Kids these days with their poor attitudes!" 

You sighed, putting on a bright smile as the two of you passed some familiar faces on the street. They waved and you returned the gesture in an attempt to keep some sort of positive relationship with the other cannibals; despite the old woman on your arm. 

"Sorry, Grandma." You replied finally, "But to answer your question; we're going to see the doctor, like I told you earlier." Of course, Susan hadn't exactly been listening when you'd mentioned that; picking the opportune moment of her meticulously choosing her parasol for the day to offhandedly explain it. 

She stopped in her tracks now; a flicker of fear hitting her eyes before she let go of you and crossed her arms over her chest with a defiant expression. 

"Like hell we are!" She snarled, "I don't needa see no filthy doctor!" You sighed; this had been the difficult part you'd anticipated. Well, one of them, anyway. 

"Grandma, it's okay," You tried to assure her, reaching for her elbow even as she began to shuffle away, "It's just a checkup; Rosie scheduled it for us." 

"I don't need anyone checking up anything of mine!" Susan shouted and you winced at how bad that sentence sounded, "Especially no stinkin' doctor!" Ignoring the fact that she'd literally been married to a 'stinkin' doctor' once while alive, you tried to remain patient. 

"It's just to make sure you're healthy and that nothing's wrong that we don't know about," you explained carefully, "Rosie's having everyone do it once a year now to keep us safer." Seeing that she still wouldn't budge, you took a step forward before adding, "And I'll be there the whole time, okay?"

Susan neither agreed nor disagreed but allowed you to gently take her arm once again and continue leading her down the street. Of course, that didn't come without its share of complaints either. 

"A checkup," she repeated more to herself than anything, "A damn checkup! What a stupid idea; everyone knows ya only go to the doctor if you're fucking sick!" You weren't sure whether she meant 'sick' as in a physical or mental illness, but when it came to your grandmother, it was best not to guess. She turned her gaze to you now as the two of you kept walking. "And I ain't sick!" 

"I know, Grandma," You replied, "That'll make the appointment even shorter, then!" Your words seemed to do little to comfort her though, because she continued muttering about how stupid this all was and how 'that filthy doctor would be lucky if she didn't bite his arm off when he got close' all the way to the clinic. 

Finally, you arrived and managed to drag Susan through the door despite her shouts of protest. You knew her anger wasn't directed towards you, though, but rather the situation itself. 

It was hard to tell, and if you weren't paying close attention you really could miss it, but she was nicer to you than anybody else in hell. Sure, she still made demeaning remarks and yelled at you often, but when it came down to it, you were her grandchild; the only thing her own kid had ever given her besides a headache, she'd once said. 

Now inside, you brought your grandma up to the counter even as she resisted your gentle pull of her arm. 

"Hi," you smiled brightly at the receptionist, whose eyes widened at the sight of the old woman beside you. Susan was extremely well-known throughout Cannibal Town, and sometime before you'd ended up in hell, had managed to gain the respect of nearly all its residents. You couldn't exactly blame them, though; underneath it all, you greatly respected her too.

It was her who'd stepped up to raise you in life when your parents had turned out to be bums, after all; taking responsibility for what her own child wouldn't. 

"Hello," the receptionist, whose black eyes matched everyone else in the cannibal colony, managed to regain her composure now, "Do you have an appointment?" 

"No, we came here to snack on some organ donations." Susan said sarcastically; a joke that would have landed better, if not for the surgical center being located in the same building. 

"Yes." You replied quickly, trying to sidestep your grandmother's rudeness. You'd long since given up on trying to get her to be any more polite than that; especially in a situation like this where she already didn't want to be here. 

The receptionist nodded before grabbing a clipboard with a small packet of paper attached. "Please fill this out and have a seat." You took the clipboard form her with a nod and then dragged Susan over to a set of chairs as far from the rest of the waiting room as you could possibly get. 

Once you were seated, you held the clipboard out to the old woman. "Now they're givin' homework; just great." She grumbled but took it anyway. 

"They just want to know your health history so they can properly treat you." You explained.

"And how is that any of their business?" Susan replied as she looked down at the paper. She squinted as you waited patiently for her fill it out. A second later, she dropped the clipboard on her lap with an irritated grumble. "They made the damn words too small!" She exclaimed as she crossed her arms, "I can't even see 'em." 

You sighed, taking the clipboard from her and looking it over. "They want you to sign your name here," you pointed to an empty line as you handed the pen back to her expectantly. She grumbled some more but did as you said, nonetheless. "And then here's a list of ailments. They want you to check the ones that affect you." 

"None; I ain't sick!" Susan exclaimed. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes once again and left the boxes blank. "The next questions are about your after-lifestyle," you explained, "They want to know how often you smoke, whether or not you drink; stuff like that." 

"Never." Your grandma said with a huff but you narrowed your eyes at her. Having seen both her smoking and drinking habits since ending up in hell, you knew that was a blatant lie. "Fine." She practically spat, "Twice a week." You nodded but checked the box labeled 'most days' instead. It was a more accurate representation of how she lived, anyway. 

You struggled through the health history questions next. Since your grandmother had rarely ever been to the doctors' even in life, she'd never exactly been diagnosed with anything, and claimed that therefore meant she'd been perfectly healthy, despite having died to one of her unknown ailments because she refused to get it checked in the first place. 

Finally, the paperwork was finished and you brought it over to the receptionist, who told you they'd call you back when they were ready. As you made your way back to the waiting area, you could hear Susan still grumbling rather loudly. 

"We better not be payin' for this shit." She threatened as you shook your head.

"We aren't, Grandma. It's part of Rosie's new program." You were well aware of the fact that the old woman didn't exactly stay up to date on current events but she nodded as if she knew what that meant anyway.

After a few minutes, you managed to tune out her muttering as you brought out a book to read while you waited. You knew better than to use a phone within the sight of your grandma, and this way, she wouldn't be able to complain about 'youth's these days' and how things had been better back when she was young. 

You were met with a few, brief moments of peace before she suddenly nudged you in the shoulder, causing you to look up from your book. "What is it?" You asked, noticing her expression was even more venomous than usual. She pointed at the receptionist's desk.

"Look at them," she said under her breath, "the nerve of some people." You held back a comment about her own nerve as you looked to the direction in which she was pointing, where a man sinner you assumed to be the doctor based on his white coat was chatting with the receptionist. He was leaning over her desk, both elbows resting on the wood as he propped his face up with his hands. 

"What?" You asked, turning back to your grandmother, "They're just talking." Though, the scene progressed a moment later as the doctor leaned in and planted a kiss on the receptionist's lips; gazing at her with lovesickness in his black eyes. 

Susan practically growled beside you and it was only then that you remembered the story of what had happened between her and your grandpa; the doctor. You'd never met the man in life but it seemed that past betrayal was setting her off now. 

"Stinkin' doctors..." She mumbled, grabbing a magazine from the table nearby in order to seem less interested in the situation than she was.

"Maybe they're a couple." You suggested, noticing the doctor wore a wedding ring on his left hand, "It's normal for them to kiss." Susan's eyes were practically shot daggers as she looked towards the name tag on the woman's desk, which had a different last name than the one on the doctor's name tag. 

"Maybe they kept their separate last names." You said with a shrug before going back to your book, "Either way, it's really none of our business." Your grandmother just glared down at her magazine.

"The nerve of some people..."

It wasn't until ten minutes later that Susan's name was finally called by the receptionist now that they were ready for her. The doctor was still waiting by the desk but gave you a warm smile as you stood from your chair and took your grandmother's arm once again. She seemed even less enthusiastic about this appointment than before, if that was even possible, but only presented minimal struggling as you dragged her to the hallway door. 

Behind you, someone else entered the clinic but you couldn't be bothered to care who it was; your first priority being to get your grandma to her checkup. You glanced back at the doctor, who waved you off.

"Room 3," he said, "I'll be with you in just a moment." And with that, he turned back to the desk, where another woman sinner was now standing with what looked like a cutely decorated lunchbox in hand. 

Finally, you dragged Susan through the doors, ignoring her keen interest in the group as you made your way to the room. It took nearly all your strength to get her inside, but eventually, the two of you sat on the patient's bed together with the examination room's door closed as you awaited the doctor. 

"If that fuckin' prick comes at me with a needle I'm biting his ear off." Your Grandma spat beside you.

"You're not supposed to get a shot today, so it should be fine, Grams." You told her with a sigh. You were beginning to run low on patience for the old woman by now, so it was a good thing the appointment would start soon. 

"You know the asshole's cheating on his wife?" Susan said suddenly, a scary glow in her eyes that made you shiver. 

"How do you know that?" You asked, knowing she was referring to the doctor. 

"You saw him getting hot and heavy with that receptionist!" Susan replied as if it were obvious, "But his actual wife just came in and brought him lunch. She had a ring and everything." She shook her head, "The nerve..." 

You weren't sure what to say about that, knowing your grandmother's personal stake in the matter. You supposed that was why the following words left your mouth.

"What was in the lunch?" 

Susan gave you a luck that warned against testing her like this but she answered your question anyway. "Skewered eyeballs." She replied, "And freshly baked fingers. She musta worked on those all mornin' just for that fucker to turn around and get with someone else." You sighed.

"That's too bad." What else were you supposed to say? You had enough on your plate already just from trying not to let your grandma run right out of the clinic. 

The rest of your time waiting for the doctor was spent in silence until he finally knocked on the door and both you and Susan stiffened as he entered. 

"Sorry about the wait!" The cannibal doctor exclaimed as he pulled up a rolling stool, "Now, Susan, I understand this is your first checkup with us?" 

"That's Miss Susan to you." The old woman replied and the doctor's smile faltered just a bit.

"Right..." he replied, glancing at you. You offered nothing more than a shrug so he turned back to his clipboard, "It looks like for your medical history you just wrote 'fuck you, you filthy doctor.' Can you tell me more about that?" Susan opened her mouth to speak, glad to have the chance to rip into the other sinner, but you quickly interjected.

"She didn't really go to the doctor much when we were alive," You explained, "So we weren't sure of any formal diagnoses." 

"Okay." The man replied as he noted that down, "And may I ask who you are?" There was a gleam of amusement in his eyes as he did so but you ignored it.

"Her grandkid," you told him simply. Although you'd opted to ignore the man's clear interest in you, it seemed Susan had chosen a different route. 

"So stop eyein' em up, buster!" She exclaimed. The doctor ignored her though; not focused on you. 

"It was very kind of you to take her to her appointment like this," he commented, making you feel slightly less comfortable in the room. 

"It's not a big deal..." You replied awkwardly before clearing your throat, "Now could we maybe hurry this along? Grams isn't fond of appointments like this." 

"Of course," The doctor replied, flashing his sharp white teeth at you, "I promise your grandmother will receive the best care we can give her." That seemed to finally be enough for Susan because she suddenly shouted.

"Oh yeah? How do we know you aren't gonna break that promise like ya did to your wife!" 

Silence filled the room then as the man's gaze turned to her; his eyes wide at having been caught in the act. "Now quit chatting up my grandkid and get on with it!" Susan continued, gesturing for him to hurry up, "Or am I gonna have to rip off one of your arms too?" 

The doctors swallowed harshly before nodding and getting on with his duties. The rest of the appointment was filled with awkward silence, aside from Susan's occasional rude comments. Once everything was done, the doctor informed you that your grandmother was completely healthy and then handed you a note to give Rosie as confirmation that the appointment had been successful. 

With that, he saw you into the waiting room where the receptionist scheduled the next year's appointment and you were finally done. Susan had become significantly less frustrated with being in a doctor's office after dropping that bombshell earlier but at this point you were too tired and hungry to care.  

You lead her by the arm back to the street now, only to nearly bump into a sinner you hadn't seen before the second you reached the sidewalk. Slightly disoriented, you were already bracing yourself for the string of curses that would inevitably leave your Grandmother's lips from the nerve of whoever it was that hadn't been watching where they were going.

However, to your surprise, she didn't say anything at all. Instead, she looked up at the sinner, whom you just now realized happened to be the woman you'd seen in the clinic earlier. 

A satisfied expression made its way onto Susan's face and you knew what she was going to say before she even spoke. 

"Your husband's cheating on you." The old woman said matter-of-factly, "A filthy doctor and an ugly receptionist; what a pair!" The woman's eyes widened but Susan just pulled you along before she could reply and soon enough you were far enough away that you could no longer hear her screams of anger and confusion. 

It was at this point that you gave up trying to control your grandmother. The cat was already out of the bag, and if you were being honest, the woman being cheated on had had a right to know the truth. Susan seemed very pleased with herself now; maybe because she gained some sense of fulfillment from her actions that she hadn't received in life when she found herself in a similar position. 

"Grandma," you finally said once the two of you were only a few blocks from her home, "I'm...Sorry about what Grandpa did to you." 

She froze. It was a topic the two of you had never discussed before; you'd always been too afraid of her anger to bring it up, but after being confronted with a similar situation today, it felt like the right time. 

Finally, the old woman seemed to regain her composure because she kept walking. "Don't call him that," she said, though there was no anger in her tone, only...sadness? "Ya never even met the asshole." You shrugged.

"But he still hurt you." You said, "That's what-"

"-Your parents told you, yeah yeah." Susan replied, waving your concern off, "Sure he did, but he was a hell of a lot smarter than that doctor." She pointed in the direction of the clinic, "That's why when I caught him cheating on me I ate them both."

...And the touching moment had been destroyed. You chuckled, though, knowing the only reason your grandmother had been so opposed to visiting the doctor was because it reminded her of her ex-husband. Though, it seemed she'd been able to work through some of those feelings today by ensuring another couple discovered the ruins of their own marriage. 

"Does this mean next year you'll be okay going to your appointment again?" You asked hopefully now that the two of you had reached the gates outside of your grandmother's house.

"Don't push it." She replied, letting go of your arm and heading for the house without so much as a goodbye. You shook your head, knowing she still cared for you regardless of how often she showed it. That much had been clear when she went off on the doctor for your sake but also refrained from murdering him for your sake. 

You were about to turn and head to your own home for the night when a familiar voice called out to you. You looked back to see Susan standing on her porch holding the her front door open. 

"Ya look like ya haven't eaten in a month!" She said with a scowl, "How's about you come inside for a proper meal?" A smile made its way onto your lips at that and you nodded, turning around to head for the house. Susan kept the door open, allowing you to enter as she hid her delight behind her usual resting-bitch-face. 

Though, as you spoke again, her lips couldn't help but curve upwards just slightly. 

"Thanks, Grandma."

[theshinazugawaslut]

Just saw your post, and I just gotta say

✨Sanemi flaunting and bragging his wedding ring to WHOEVER he comes across ✨

the cashier, the valet parking, his coworkers, the old lady he helped cross the street (he's a gentleman)

even worse if they ask about his wife because then he's taking out his wallet and taking picture after picture from it

he's just looking for an excuse to show off his wife and the fact that he's married and happy, and if he doesn't get that excuse, he'll do that either way-

I had to share 😔👍

Sanemi always shows off his wedding ring, and most of the time, it's not even intentional. Just casually flaunts his ring and it's so blatantly obvious to everyone that he's proud of it.

Most (all) his sentences start off with, "Well, me and my wife-" or "Oh, yeah, my wife told me-" or "Huh, I swear me and my wife have done something similar-"

And if the person goes, "I didn't know you were married!" He's whipping out at least fifteen photos from his wallet and showing off every image he has in his phone of you because it's honestly a sin that this idiot doesn't know about his precious.

Anybody who even knows Sanemi, automatically knows about you — he's either attached to your hip or he's always talking about you or dragging you into every single conversation.

Heaven forbid they actually meet you, he's affectionately kissing your shoulder, your neck, your jaw softly, as he introduces you to them, arm around your stomach, thumb circling your hipbone.

He's paying the cashier who is looking at his collection of items as they scan it for Sanemi, and when they're scanning some chocolate, he offhandedly mentions as he runs a hand through his hair, ring glinting under the white lights, "Those are my wife's favourites."

By god, you're his favourite, is what he wants to say, his favourite in the whole wide world.

And he'll make it his mission to make sure everyone else knows.

[radiance1]

So here I am, woke up far earlier than I thought I WOUDL Have and deided to make that everyone else's problem.

Pardon my bad spelling.

This is a part two to uh this because my brain decided whyNot.

So Danny get taken into the Watchtower, still amazed and in wonder that the earth is actually alive in this... whatever situation this is.

To be honest, he thinks he may or may not have time traveled.

Only to then find out he got summoned to an entirely different dimension, to which he's like cool and oh no.

So the JL ask him what he's oh noing about, and Danny offhandedly mentions how the other Ghost King is probably going to be on a warpath trying to find him.

JL:....Other Ghost King?

Danny: Technically only Half-King since I make up the other half, but yea.

Danny doesn't notice the amount of worry that fell over the JL, the words Ghost King and Warpath being in the same sentence doesn't paint a pretty picture. Danny is too busy poking around the room for that.

Artemis suddenly looking up when Danny was summoned to the DC universe:....Something just happened.

Meanwhile, over in the DP universe:

Vlad, due to not having Danny's aura around is far quicker to anger and irritation than before. He's good at controlling the once overwhelming rage though, but he is getting annoyed as fuck that NO ONE not even the literal MASTER OF TIME, knows where his counter-part is.

He's lucky the earth no longer exists, or that any other deities are around because his absence would be noted by more than just him.

So, to hopefully find the wayward deity, he sends multiple ghosts out into different portals to Danny, and if irritated as fuck when they come back with nothing.

Vlad: I have sent thousands of ghosts, and you mean to tell me that not a single one of you has found him yet!?

The ghosts he sent: Shrugs.

Vlad: Screams in pure rage.

Anywho, the ghosts are actually pretty fine with Danny getting summoned, they have another king here so it shouldn't be too much concern if the Moon King was summoned to a different dimension.

...What is a cause of concern however, was when the Sun King was summoned away too.

The ghosts, when their last remaining king was summoned to another dimension they can't find:

Apollo, minding his own business drinking some wine. Suddenly looking up:....Something just happened.

So now Vlad is summoned to the DC Universe and is not at all pleased by this.

Cultists? Man fuck em cultists he ain't got time for this.

Also Vlad when he realizes he could use them to hopefully find his counterpart in this dimension if he's here: I would like to apologize for my attempts at killing you-

Also, also Vlad when he calms down enough to see that the cultists are actual living people: Well damn.

Meanwhile in the Watchtower:

Danny, poking around the Watchtower while the JL is in the same room as him, suddenly looking up towards Earth and stopping what he's doing: Oh, he's here.

Also Danny: Goes back to doing what he was doing as if he didn't just say some ominous shit.

The JL tries and utterly fails to get him to elaborate on who he's talking about, who's here and if its the other Ghost King.

Danny: Refuses to elaborate.

Also Danny: Purposely hides his aura from Vlad.

Vlad, when the moon's aura suddenly disappeared from his radar before he could even pinpoint his location properly: Breathes in and out calmy.

Also Vlad: I am going to kill someone.

[chosclub]

After Last Night, 𝟏

PAIRING — choso ° f!reader GENRE — one night stand au!smut WORD COUNT — 6.1k (side eye) WARNINGS — cunnilingus (f!reader receiving) º penetration º 18+ smut! CONSPECTUS — After spending too long mulling over a breakup, you decide to join your friends to the bar they frequent, hoping for a new beginning and the guitar-playing, angel-voiced singer looks like a good contender. PARTS º 𝟷 º 𝟸 (coming soon)

A/N: If you were thinking to yourself:

"Damn, I wish I had a soundtrack-like playlist to listen to as I read",

We might intergalactically connected

It’s right here

Listen in order (obviously)

☆

According to the multiverse theory, there are infinite amounts of you, they all diverge upon different branches made up of decisions and indecisions. But out of infinity, there exist two current versions of you that are living simultaneously at almost midnight. One is curled up in bed, luminated only by your lamp, blurry light like a warm blanket as you scroll on your phone, eyes brimming with exhaustion. The other is squished between dancing, drunk bodies, in a dress slowly riding up your thighs, sticky, sweaty and exhausted. If your fate lay in your hands like a magic orb, every decision only decided by you, the beholder, you’d pick the first reality; To be half-asleep, in bed, alone but in good company. However, it’s been months since you got dumped and–

“I just thought to myself, fuck it yanno? Life’s too short to care about some man!” You shout over the blaring music to Maki, who seems to be completely in her own world, eyes shut, face jungled by her hair as her head sways side to side.

“Yeah! Fuck men!” To your surprise she shouts back, reaching out her drink to clash against yours and chug in solidarity. A cacophony of voices from your friends join in, shouting the same. Can’t count how many of these moments have happened up to this point, some with complete strangers, most with the girls who dragged you out in the first place. The burning that initially rested in the back of your throat is no longer there, replaced by the insatiable desire for more – more drinks, more dancing, louder music, more excitement – fast forwarding through a movie and trying to fit in as much as possible. 

This rush of adrenaline has taken over you like a quenched beast, thirsty for more energy in any form it can latch on to, you decide to take a lesson from Maki’s book, closing your eyes, trying to absorb the music into your fingertips and arteries. Granted it’s been…a while since you’ve gotten to have a night like this, relationships sneakily take it out of you, it’s apparent your tolerance has depleted and the expectations for a Friday-night-out for everyone is your wannabe-alcohol-blackout-bender. 

The bar your friends frequent is a small one but always lively, the building feels like it’s going to spill over with the amount of people that fill up the dance floor, the bar, the patio. Moreover, Nobara offhandedly mentioned a hottie (her words) that plays with his band every weekend. 

There’s a newfound feeling, a thought that screams within you to disregard the fear of what could happen next — you have no one to answer to, no man in the corner telling you your dress is too short, no policing on what fun you could have. It’s an epiphany, only amplified by the alcohol that takes over your whole body, swaying your hips more deliberately, leaning comfortably into the air, lifting you and everyone else up until the entire dance floor floats. 

In an instant, the bubble is poked, atoms popped and disintegrated into the air; you have the ball and a football player just hungrily tackled you for it. Except you’re at a bar and a tall shadow of a being just bumped into your shoulder with a rushed force like you were the gate blocking his way through.

His hands hover over your shoulders as he floats through behind your back. “Shit! I'm so sorry!” He’s stopped to, presumably, only check if your brain is still intact inside your skull before he sets to rush through the rest of the crowd. The linger feels like an eternity to you, two paradoxes standing still among the dancing crowd that elevates around them. He’s almost made it to the stage when you come back down to Earth, leaving you standing still, without words. Another you would’ve cussed him out, grabbed him by the collar of his white shirt and brought him close to your nose to spill threats straight into his nostrils, this you only stares as he maneuvers from behind everyone, spilling an occasional excuse me you can only decipher from the movement of his lips.  

You watch as he props his foot onto the edge of the stage, a leap he climbs over with ease. He props his guitar over his shoulder, resting his hand on the strings. He stands over the crowd like a giant, the murky clouds drifting at his shoulders, he stares intently down at the people that seldom notice his band’s presence, sans one. The lights are dancing along his frame, pink purple blues illuminating his visage. His hair is split in two spiky buns, only a few strands that frame his face, his eyes dark with seriousness, a stripe the color of his eyes tattooed across his nose. 

The music drifts, dragging a series of groans, cheers, boos with it as he enters the indigo lights. 

He stands alone, adjusting his guitar and stepping closer to the mic. The lights dim a cool blue, leaving him as the center of attention, the focus. 

He steps on one of the pedals by his feet and begins to play a riff on his guitar. It’s a slow intro, already having captivated the audience, who have begun swaying to the entrancing melody.

He’s closed his eyes at this point, dipping his head down causing the loose strands to stand still on the tip of his nose and cheeks. His chest rises slowly in preparation, he leans closer to the mic, lips just grazing the metal grid of the mic head. He joins the melody and God, his voice is fucking angelic. He’s entered his own world now, paying no mind to the captivated crowd at his feet. His voice is raspy but strong, he’s singing as if the next verse is his last, the grate of his throat transforming the cringy 90s song he covers into an emotional ballad. You remember the melody, blasting from your older brother’s CD player, chorus bleeding from his room into yours until you banged a fist against the shared wall, signal for him to turn the volume down.

Your friends emerge from the rest of the crowd behind you to join the statue they left behind, watching, gazing at the dark-haired, angel-voiced performer. 

“No fucking way, is this Boyz II Men?” Nobara calls, propping her elbow on your shoulder like a pigeon landing on a limestone sculpture. 

“Yeah,” is the only word you can muster. 

She nods, “I’m into it.” The rest of you nod in unison like ogling robots, all at the command of the singer. Everything else sounded blurry, except for his voice. He’s reached the chorus, belting the notes, occasionally letting the audience peak at his irises, flooded in the iridescent indigo light. 

“I used to hate this song but–” A sentence left unfinished, floating with the air particles because whatever you say is no match for his melody and the way it has enchanted the crowd. 

The song concludes, the crowd enveloping him in cheers as his other band mates emerge from the crowd, picking up their respective instruments and talking amongst one another. Maybe it is the wow-factor of the band or maybe they are from outer space but you notice their uniquely styled hair; The bassist looks like a sea urchin, hairspray-locked spikes peeking out from his head of hair, the one with a mint-green detailed guitar next to him, pastel pink hair washed out by the dazzling white spotlight. The main act, the lead, listening to the two conclude a quick soundcheck, two buns lazily hanging on his head, the strands of hair slowly being picked up by the soft breeze of the ceiling fans and being dropped back on his forehead. 

The bassist begins striking a weighty, groovy riff and like a stack of dominoes, the background track and the guitarist follow lead. The pink haired boy inches his foot to his pedal board, tapping one slightly and his guitar begins to sound gritty; It’s a beat you can’t help but bop your head to. The lead singer’s voice has also taken a new approach from the ballad-singing, emotional sound before. This time, he’s closer to the mic, head dipping down so his irises glare forward and his voice swings in a way you’ve never heard before, left fingers carefully changing chords. His confidence and slight smirk drive a stake through your chest, heart pumping blood to get any other body part other than your head to move. His ability to soften his voice in falsetto for the pre-chorus leaves you captivated because holy shit he’s good. And holy shit are the three of them coordinated. 

The pink haired guitarist quickly taps a different pedal on his board, the bassist immediately playing a different riff, one heavier, more viscous. The slow riffs from the mint-green guitar send the crowd slowly swinging, bopping their heads. The singer adapts as well, grabbing the mic stand with one hand; You can’t tell if the wavelengths traveling from the bass guitar to you are affecting gravity itself, if the three of them smoothly transitioning to the slower part of the song, or if standing for so long has made you light-headed, but you’d bet the triple digits in your savings account that the raven haired, two spike buns singer glanced into your eyes. 

You exhale at the slight exchange, two stars orbiting a galaxy and only for a nanosecond meeting at a conjunction; When you blink, his eyes are closed as the other two band members begin singing the background vocals, leaving the lead to show off more of his falsetto.

—☆

The alcohol that was streaming through your veins has died down, only leaving behind heavy eyelids and a fuzzy view of everyone dancing. You and your friends linger around the bar, your elbow propped up on the wood, your only crutch to stay awake. The people have begun to fizzle out, the band playing earlier taking a break, the speakers booming with 2010s R&B. 

You wish you would’ve seen him approaching, like an entity identifiable by their silhouette, the shadow growing bigger and bigger behind you. 

“Hi,” he begins and before you can turn around to acknowledge the greeting, he continues, “I’m really sorry about bumping into you earlier.” 

It is then you turn your head from the rest of the conversation, catching a glimpse of the girls as they stare as if they’ve seen a being and are too scared to tell you that it’s about to devour you first. 

Now that he’s closer, he’s taller. 

“It’s fine,” you shrug, smiling, “I mean surely you could’ve navigated a crowded venue better but who’s to say?”

He has the same gaze from earlier, iridescent eyes unafraid to maintain eye-contact. He smiles and purses his lips to the side as a terrible cover up for his smirk. 

“Settle it with me and let me buy you a drink then.” 

You try to play it cool, but you’ve already used up all the shrugs and he’s already leaned his elbow against the bar, cocking his head to the side; He’s made himself comfortable because he already knows the answer. The other girls have already left, you see Nobara’s amber hair from your peripheral standing outside with Maki and Mai. 

All the confidence and allure you can convey to him, trying your hardest to mirror him – “Sure.” 

He turns to face the drinks, the only time you can look at him meticulously without him noticing. You stare at the tendons on his neck, his white shirt that hangs loosely on his form as he leans closer to the bar to get a bartender’s attention. Your gaze makes its way down, defined muscles outlining the shape of his arm, he rests his left on the bar and his right he holds by his face, a soft wave to catch the eye of the bartender who has his back turned to the both of you. You don’t dare look down further. He turns his head to you just in time before your eyes can make it past his waistline.

You blink at the bartender who stares expectantly back at you – An unsuspecting passer-by that watched you gawk at the spiked-bun singer. 

“A vodka cranberry, please,” 80% cranberry, you wish to add because you want to spare tomorrow-you the turmoil, she’s dealing with enough from the sleep-deprivation as it is. The bartender glances back at him, asking if he’s starting a tab or closing it off. He drives the inside of his cheek between his teeth before requesting to close it. 

Once the bartender has turned, tending to more drinks and drunken orders, the raven haired boy turns to you, leaning temple against his palm.

“I love your drink of choice –” He tips his head forward slightly, pausing for you to fill in the blank.

“____” 

“I love your drink of choice, ____”

“What did you get?” You pause as well, waiting for him to give a part of himself, an equal trade so that even if every memory from tonight diminishes tomorrow, each other’s names will remain. 

“Choso,” He reaches the arm he was balancing his temple on to shake your hand, you giggle at the sudden formality and he smiles expectantly, like he knew that’s the reaction the gesture would ensue, “A whiskey neat.” 

“Oh, simple, I like it.” 

The bartender comes back with the two drinks,  one a radiant rouge, the other a brooding umber. He leaves the checkbook for Choso to fill out and departs once again.

You take a sip of your drink, the bitter taste of vodka hitting your bottom lip; As if by telekinesis, the bartender had taken the ratio you thought of and flipped completely.

You exhale a biting breath. “Damn, that’s so strong.” 

“You don’t like it?” Choso looks at you as he takes a sip of his drink, lips tipping the edge of the glass back. You can’t help but stare, wishing you were the drink. He swallows a sip back without even wincing. 

“Not how I’d make it, I guess.”

He raises his brows, “You bartend?”

“Yeah, a few blocks down.” You nod, “I guess on my days off, I come to spend money here instead of getting the drinks for free at my own workplace.” 

He smiles, “Makes me feel fateful you chose tonight to blow your money on a 200% markup.”

You shrug, “of course, anytime.” 

— ☆

The cold fall air is nipping so late at night, you try your best not to stumble over the cobble, shamelessly hanging on to Choso’s arm as he tries not to stumble over you dragging his body down. It’s nearing 1 a.m. and the music booming from the bar suddenly turns off, drunken bodies shuffling out and trying to figure out where to venture to next.

“Who lives closer?” You suggest. You glance up, expectant, and although you reach his shoulder, it still feels like Choso towers over you. He turns his head slightly towards you, but the eyes are what lock in with yours, waterlines lifting as he smirks. 

“What’re you trying to whore me out? We just met!” He exclaims. Panic almost rushes to your chest before he quickly chuckles, “Fuck dude, I’m totally kidding, I’m sorry. My apartment’s nearby if you’re willing to walk a bit.” 

You exhale, nodding because he seized all your words from you. 

The night envelops you both in her dark embrace, mid-October wind pulling your coat back as you use your hand to cover any part of your face you can keep warm. You and Choso try not to stumble and you try not to turn and look at him as he walks, his eyes focused straight ahead, jaw lightly clenched trying to bear against the wind. His hair flowing behind him exposes part of his face you hadn’t seen yet, soft pale skin, he looks different, his tattoo more in view despite the color of it partly blending with the night sky. 

His apartment is a few blocks away from the bar, a duplex he says he shares with his bandmates, Yuji and Megumi. The road is quiet, streets lined with cars and the glowing of streetlights is the only warmth you two can seek out in the cold. From the outside, the duplex is brick-lined, bay-windows on the first floor that overlook the street; You can see a warm light radiating from a lamp left on inside. 

You reach the top of the steps, Choso unhooking his arm from your hold and fishing through his jacket. The keys jingle as he inserts one and opens the door, allowing you to enter first into the warmth. The living room is eccentric, a long lamp reaching over the couch, orbs that illuminate the room hanging from the metal. The couch is caramel colored leather, lined with pillows on each side, matching the side chair and the walnut wood of the table. A fireplace faces the couch and everywhere, everywhere, on the floor, on the bookshelves, propped against the coffee table, are vinyl records, they line the player, they cover the table.

“Wow,” You exhale a breath, face vibrating with warmth, “this is an insanely nice place.”

“I know, right? We’ve been renting it for a while, got extremely lucky.” Choso floats in behind, hanging his jacket on the coat hanger and heads for the kitchen. “You want anything?”

You turn to face him and the kitchen, a large bar counter lined with stools and next to it, a dining table. These guys really like lamps, you think to yourself, eyes glancing at a small lamp on the corner of the counter. “Water, please.”

Choso nods and you both turn in sync, him towards the cabinets and you to your left to look at the bar cart that’s placed in between the living room and the walkway to the kitchen. You gander at the alcohol, accessories, and the fancy, when-the-guests-are-here glasses. When Choso approaches from around the counter, he asks, “just water?” 

“My liver’s going to give out by tomorrow,” you cringe at the thought, tomorrow-you hungover, tired, and miserable. “But you do have all the ingredients for a mojito, and it is one of my favorite drinks.”

“Can I watch you make it?” You look at him and there it is again; his intense gaze, looking straight at you as if there was nothing else in the world that could keep you out of his sight. All you can do is nod. 

You grab the muddler, container of mint leaves, and rum; Choso reaches from behind you to grab the syrup and you both set the ingredients on the counter. He opens the fridge, grabbing ice and a container of cut strawberries. 

“Could these work?” He holds the container up.

You shrug, “haven’t tried that before.” 

You add the leaves to a tall glass as he grabs a cutting board and begins to cube the strawberries. You’re side by side working in sync but you can’t help but glance at the way his veins protrude from his forearm even when he’s relaxed, how muscular his arms look, the overhead lighting shading in the valleys of his forearm, making the muscle bulge in the light. Your chest tightens watching him glide the knife across the stem of a strawberry, angling the knife to cut the fruit into smaller pieces. Unlike him, you’ve been enjoying the secret glances you get at him rather than the blazing eye-contact. It’s a game you’re unsure he would participate in, an act you don’t want him to catch you in, a secret between you and yourself; In this moment the only person that gets to secretly admire the valleys of his muscles is you. 

Frankly, staring at Choso had already built up a demand of sexual frustration that you are taking out on the mint, extracting every last drop that you don’t notice when he slides the cutting board full of glistening, cubed strawberries towards you. You hope he doesn’t notice how much you’re torturing the mint, the creased leaves sticking to the glass. But you also hope he does.

He announces he’ll be back, departing from the counter and disappearing to the living room. You don’t want to turn back to follow him with your eyes, the desire bubbling inside you like a geyser. Instead, you can hear him shuffling, stop, then hear a record crackle as he lowers the needle. 

He’s back at your side, watching you intently split the batch of strawberries in two, adding them to their respective glasses, and smashing them as well. You can feel his quiet stare on your shoulder as the record begins to play. You almost laugh when the music floods the room; He’s queued slow songs, full of bass that have your body vibrating trying not to bop your head or move your body. The room is filled with honey, it radiates from the soft yellow lighting, it flows from the record player and sticks to every corner and has begun flooding to the ceiling until everything is tinted yellow. 

After adding ice, you reach for the double-sided jigger he pulled from one of the drawers, measuring the simple syrup on one side, pouring into the glass, and rum on the other side. 

“Oh, fuck, almost forgot,” he states, startling you in your state of thought about his body. He opens the fridge again, grabbing a lime and a half-consumed bottle of club soda. He slices the lime between his hands, handing one half to you to squeeze the juice out of. Your knuckles turn white at the intensity of the squeeze, all the frustration from his gaze, his confidence, his voice, traveling to your forearm. He hands you the other half for the second glass and then the chilled soda. After pouring, you give both the glasses a stir, sliding one towards him. 

He doesn’t waste time tipping the glass back and taking a sip. You have to divert your eyes to the dishwasher to not stare at the way his collar bones come into view and the way the tendons on his neck project. 

He exhales a quiet breath. “____, this is so fucking good,” he says, making your eyes switch back to him as the edge of your glass is steady on your lip, not quite ready to tip over. “I saw you pour in the rum but I can barely taste it.” Dangerous, he adds, grinning. God he’s almost making your eyelid twitch. 

You finally swallow back a sip. 

“I’m glad you like it.” You smile, amidst the warmth, the music, the soft lightening, his compliment striked out, making your cheeks warm; You have to look down out of even more embarrassment that he noticed a compliment so simple made you blush. 

Maybe the pent up nervousness has affected your depth perception because when you look back up, you swear he’s hovered closer. He holds the glass to his lips again, slowly indulging another gulp and staring directly into your retinas. His gaze is so fierce you can’t help but stare right back; His tattoo is in full view when he sets the glass back down, empty, the well of it rouge with strawberry nectar. The music that’s continued to play isn’t helping either, the way he has his arm extended on the counter, biceps stretched, isn’t helping at all. The record spins. The song that plays intros with a guitar solo which leads you back to him, thinking of his fingers strumming each individual string under the iridescent lights.

There’s a soft crackle as the record halts. It catches you off guard, eyes deflecting as you watch the needle automatically lift and levitate back to its place. 

From your peripheral, Choso hangs his head down before sliding his hand off the counter and turning to flip the record over. You chug back the rest of your drink quickly, head dipping forward again to admire his back and the way his white shirt hangs from his shoulders to his waist. You watch him take each side of the record in his palms and give it a flip. Then pick the needle between his fingers and hover it over the record. Then pause. Then turn. Then all of the sudden, he’s walking at a quicker pace, wider strides, back to you. You catch a last glimpse of his dark irises before he’s grabbed the side of your face and enveloped your lips in his. His lips are soft, cold from the ice, bitter from the alcohol, but tender nonetheless. His right hand travels underneath your coat to your hip, pulling your body forward by the flesh. He lightly sucks on your bottom lip before pulling away. Eyes blown out like supernovas, breathless, he says, 

“I had to kiss you,” the words spill from his lips in a rush like he was going to die if he didn’t get to taste your lips. 

You’re still both attached at the hip, a branch splitting in two, his breath reaching the tip of your nose, his eyes gazing into yours in expectancy. You lean forward once more and take his lips in yours again – If the universe were to collapse in on itself, what a way to go making out with Choso. This time, he kisses with fervor. His hand leaves your cheek to slide to the back of your neck and gently tangle his fingers in a handful of your hair. His tongue prods at your lips, pushing against the flesh to meet yours. The sensation of his tongue simultaneous with the way he drives your lip between his teeth has you letting out a whine into his mouth. At this, Choso’s nails dig into the flesh of your hip. 

Fuck, he softly groans, beginning to walk backwards and dragging you with him – you willingly follow like he’s holding you by the leash. You can’t let go of his lips the same way he can’t let go of his hands from your body; The feeling of him so close has sparked the fuse that’s slowly begun to inch closer and closer to the dynamite. The way he holds you steadily as you almost trip over his feet fills your chest with warmth, filling every crevice with color and making you lightheaded. You’ve wandered into a bedroom, his, unable to let go of each other and almost tumble in front of the bed. You slip your shoes off using your opposite ankle, detaching your lips from Choso’s to take a breath. He’s breathing loudly, his chest rising with every inhale, the hair on top of his head inflating and deflating when he exhales. 

“Kiss me again,” he breathes, waiting. And you do. He’s kissing you passionately, jaw wider, unafraid. His tongue slides on yours in passing as he slips his on the soft and slick side of your bottom lip. Your hands begin to stray over each other’s bodies and he pulls you close again. The tip of his hardening cock prods your groin shamelessly. He spins you both, your back now facing the bed; He lets his hands wander down from your neck to the zipper of your dress, dragging the fastener down the metal teeth agonizingly slow. Your dress loosens when the zipper reaches the end and he slides the fabric from your shoulders. You’re standing before him, almost naked, vulnerable. He’s staring and you have to look away, knowing the heat that flows through your temples isn’t because of the mojito. He backs you slowly onto the mattress, the lamp on the bedside table is a low light, the equivalent of a candle or the shade of moonlight when it’s a full moon, enough to keep the shadows of your bodies hidden but enough to appreciate what you can see and feel of Choso. With your distraction of the amount of lighting in the room, Choso has already lifted his shirt from his shoulders and hovers over you. His pale torso is wide, you can see the scales of his side abs, the shadows of his abdomen contrasted by the light. His right bicep is by your ear now and he leans down to meet your lips again. 

Your hands reach the stretch of his sweatpants, sliding your thumbs underneath the band and the rest of your fingers slide the pants down his thighs, he has to wiggle his leg to toss the fabric on the floor, making you laugh. He smiles. 

Choso brings his chest close to yours, reaching his hands underneath your back to unclasp your bra. It feels freeing when he takes the garment and tosses it to the side of you and begins to pepper kisses onto your neck. You’ve both fully committed now, there was no room for pointless mind reading; When he reaches your collarbone and sucks on the skin, you think you’d be stupid not to understand his feelings. He’s wandering down further, confident as he delves deeper into the anatomy of your body. He kisses the valley between your breasts, settling on a particular spot to leave a deep purple mark. He takes one of your tits in his mouth, licking the soft and sensitive skin around the nipple and suckling on the bud. The feeling leaves you whimpering, taking a handful of his hair and pushing him closer to your skin, trying to burrow him inside you forever. 

He doesn’t succumb to your pressure, traveling down the valley of your stomach to your underwear, he slides his palms up your thighs and slides the panties off. Without wasting any time, his mouth is on your core, licking whatever nectar has begun to seep out. A hot summer’s day and he divulges on an overripe apricot, sinking his tongue against the slit, sucking every drop of the juice out. You moan, the wonderful feeling is heat to your core, you can feel his cock harden against the flesh of your thigh. Yet, he keeps going, grabbing your leg to make sure it stays open for him. A part of you wonders if he’s even breathing, his mouth busy on the flesh of your cunt and his nose reaching your clit, you wonder if he’s too focused on your pleasure to breathe. His tongue peeks inside your walls, then retrieving to lick up your slit and repeating. You’re on the cusp of an orgasm, muscles clenching, when he takes his middle finger, sliding it in the soft flesh. His hands are cold, they cool you down like melting ice cubes when he touches you. The feeling of his tongue and finger is overwhelming but you don’t want it to cease. You feel an orgasm coming on, afraid if he adds another digit, you’ll combust like the death of a thousand stars. He looks up the hill of your body, watching the tendons on your neck stretch as you lean your head back against the covers, your stomach heaving up and down. Without a sense of control, he moans into you watching you relish every moment. He slips a second finger, a silence in the room between your soft whimpers all you can hear is a gush. He picks up his pace slightly, leaving you melting into the bed. Breathless and whimpering, your orgasm flows through you like thrashing waves kissing the shore. 

Every muscle in your body contracts and relaxes, you feel Choso plant soft kisses on your inner thighs. His lips are soft, relaxing you and bringing you back down to Earth. He floats back up to you, looking into your eyes, you can barely open them to look at him properly. He hovers over your lips, kissing them, softly sliding his tongue to yours, you can feel the moisture on his chin and practically taste yourself on his lips. 

You’re eager to continue, relish in his pleasure like he relished in yours. You don’t want the night to end, to conjunct at one point and diverge from each other forever. You’re trying to signal to Choso that you can continue, trying to kiss him harder, tougher. You reach your hand down to his briefs, the soft fabric slightly wet with pre-cum. He smiles into your teeth in response,

“You want to keep going?” He asks. You nod, licking his bottom lip. He begins to lift himself off of you, leaning over to his bedside to try and scavenge a box of condoms. 

You reach for his shoulder, “I got an implant,” smiling almost encouragingly. He laughs, it’s short but it sounds heavenly, a complete contrast from the brazen persona you’ve gotten to know tonight. He slides his briefs down his legs. He leans closer to the side of your head, driving your earlobe between his teeth. You take his divergence from your face to grab a hold of his cock and guide it to your entrance. 

The feeling of your orgasm is still remnant, overwhelming as Choso’s dick fills your walls but your desire to continue overrides any discomfort you have. He groans softly against the nape of your neck, dragging his hand to your hair and gently grasping a handful. You feel so good, he whines, his whimper a low and deep moan, sexy, leading you to close your eyes and drive your hips further against his. 

With each thrust, the movement between his push and yours makes a slush sound, sap spilling against him, it’s almost embarrassing, almost, because you swear it makes Choso’s cock even harder in you. 

Choso fucks you slow but hard. Venus observa. He feels so captured by your cunt, that he’s lost all other motor functions, his lips lazily and sloppily kiss and lick your neck, your face, your ear, he’s lost complete control, shamelessly groaning against your cheek. The sounds that come out of his throat only drive you closer and closer to your release. You whine and moan against his ear, his cock burrowed in you in perfect fit, your hands stray to his shoulders, then back, digging your nails in as he drives into you deeper. He reaches one of his hands down your stomach, pressing a finger against your clit and stimulating the area in rhythm with his thrusts. You clench your muscles against him in preparation for your orgasm, Fuck, he draws out the word, groaning at the feeling of your folds tightening against his dick. You orgasm almost simultaneously, you first, arching against him and yelping an ah! at the intensity. The air is popping like bright stars, you salivate at the feeling of spilling on his cock. Choso follows you, coming in you, adding to the complete mess he’s made. 

He stays on top of you, his skin warm against yours, until you feel him inhale and slide off your stomach. You open your eyes, retinas embracing the warm light; when you turn to face Choso, his eyes are closed, the light pours on him like golden nectar. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not asleep,” he smiles, breathing slowly and softly. You think for a moment, eyes drifting to his torso, tattoos etched at his ribcage and abs. 

“When’s the last time you had sex before this?”

He scrunches his nose, trying hard not to laugh. “Actually, I am asleep.” 

You chuckle breathlessly, “I’m only wondering, I promise. It’s been six months for me.”

“Ooh, close enough. Almost a year.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, trying to remain inconspicuous to the surprise. No offense to Choso, on the contrary, you think someone so attractive would have a line out the door. 

He opens his eyes, indigo retinas flooding with light and you can tell by the slow blinks, the way his eyes are almost squinting that he’s tired. “Have you ever been to the small restaurant on Second street, a couple blocks down? They have a great breakfast.” 

“I don’t think so, no.”

“We should go.” He pauses, awaiting a reaction, “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” you smile, Choso’s fatigue drifting to you. 

He leans and hovers over you, clicking the lamp switch off and dragging his blankets over the two of you. Even with the light turned off, you can see the silhouette of his body, covered by the blankets, scooting closer to your warmth. You’re staring at the moon reflecting out the window, hearing Choso’s breathing slow, too tired to think a single thought.