#i had to look up who that is but apparently he was a main character so | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keferon · 4 days ago

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Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

#maccadam #tf mecha universe #blurr #Swerve #mecha writing #mecha kef writing #mecha bs writing #if you saw any mistakes - no you didn’t #it’s six am I need to go to bed but I wanted to post it before my brain shuts down completely #mecha pilot jazz au #jazzprowl #jazzprowl happens on the background lol #Swindle #two nano seconds of Vortex #Shockwave #Pharma

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socialkid · 5 months ago

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Imagine…

You’re a well known actress, and your name is pretty big. Like Zendaya big. And your fiancé Katsuki Bakugou is your pro hero boyfriend. Perfect couple right? No literally you are. He goes with you to all your interviews, tapes all of your auditions, and manages to get on your set AT LEAST one time.

Well recently you got casted in a show about an zombie outbreak. You play a main yet supporting character named Halle, a 19 year old girl who is apparently the only survivor left of her family.

Lucky for you the producer highly respects your boyfriend, and he’s allowed to watch you on set whenever. He sits in a chair the directors provide for him every time you film.

He usually supports you and he’ll peak at you from his phone a couple times, but it’s nothing he’s never not seen before.

Now when Bakugou’s passing by his staff’s cubicles and work area in his angency, and he keeps hearing them discuss about ‘Dead of Night’ (your new show) he’s genuinely intrigued.

Apparently the show’s gon viral. And everyone is talking about it. “Yeah, you haven’t seen it yet? I swear you live under a rock.” pro hero Charge Bolt told him. I mean technically he has watched it, he watched you film it! But now that he realizes, he can’t even spell out the plot.

So one day when Bakugou finds the time, he plops down on your sofa and clicks on your series.

Safe to say he might be intrigued…

Now when he watches he’s locked in. Snacks and all, and if he blinks he’s rewinding. It’s all he watches, he’s so interested in the show and can be considered a piece of the show’s fandom.

Now when you’re filming the show, Katsuki shows up a whole lot less. When the directors yell cut and your eyes pan to his empty chair. Katsuki gives you every excuse under the sun as to why he didn’t show up a certain day. You figured maybe he just got bored watching you film and didn’t know how to tell you, so you shrugged it off. You had no clue he was heavily avoiding spoilers. You didn’t even know he watched your show.

So a couple years pass and your show gets renewed for it’s third season. Unfortunately this season, Halle meets her fate. You recorded your last scene for the show, episode 10. Not a dry eye from the media.

The day your character’s death airs is a tragic day for your fans. Especially Bakugou. Mid way through the show as he slurps his spicy ramen his jaw is floored when your character passes. Noodles immediately discarded back into the cup.

So when you get back home and your boyfriend is quietly laying down on the sofa, watching a corny kids cartoon, you’re lost. “Hey Kats.” You say hanging your coat on the rack as you entered. He only replied with a mumble, something along the lines of “hey how was filmineejdirk”. The room was dim, the shades were drawn, and your boyfriend showed no signs of getting up. Was he depressed or something?

You quietly sat down next to him, glancing at the colorful show in front of him. “Katssss…what’s wrong?” You finally asked. No response. Then he slowly shifted upwards, now sitting up to face you. “Halle died.” He responded. He actually looked fustrated.

You were actually shook, you weren’t even aware that your boyfriend was one of the shows viewers. It sort of made up for him not being at your interviews and filming days.

“I’m sorry baby, but I mean I’m still here.” You said, now opening your arms out to embrace him. He took the opportunity, and pulled you into his arms, leaning back onto the sofa once again.

“I know,” he muttered into your neck, tickling your skin, “Yer not Halle though.”

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x yn #bakugou imagine #katsuki x reader #bakugou oneshot #bnha #katsuki #katsuki bakugou #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki x reader #x reader #boku no hero academia

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delta-lethonomia · 8 months ago

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There's a reddit thread on the BG3 sub where the user u/InklingRain posted a spreadsheet they made with all the companion approvals. Super useful in general both for playing the game and for fic, so I thought I'd post it on tumblr and play around a little!

There's a top row with the average approval by companion, but I didn't find that very useful, so I changed it to the count of approvals (i.e. count of approvals & disapproval total, how often a companion had a reaction to something). We all know Astarion gives a lot of disapprovals here and there, but they're only -1 at a time, so no big deal, right?

No. Minsc has the least at only 45 reactions, Halsin at 95, Minthara at 145, and of the main companions, Gale is pretty average at 198, Lae'zel at 224, and Shadowheart, rather opinionated at 258...

but that's nothing compared to Astarion's 406. That's almost 150 more than the next person!!! That's more than Minthara and Shadowheart combined! Babygirl really woke up one day and decided to get in a snit over everything that happens 😂

(Longer post about count of positive and negative opinions, sum of approvals and disapprovals, and some major outliers below. Picture with values at the very end.)

But that's a bit disingenuous. If we look at the ratio of positive to negative opinions (not taking value into account), Astarion's pretty average at 30% (negative count over sum count, so let's call that negativity). This is similar to Gale (31%), Karlach (30%), and Lae'zel (32%). In theory, getting Astarion's approval or disapproval is just as easy as any of theirs, with a 20% bias towards positive approvals. Later companions are weighted heavily towards the lower end of the spectrum, with Jaheira at 13% negativity and Minsc at 9%. As you only get them very late, it's pretty clear that the game gives you a lot of opportunities to get their approvals and thus open up more of their quests and dialogue.

However. We have an outlier. Wyll Ravenguard, clocking in at an indecent 38% negativity! Which really just goes to show, while Astarion is the most opinionated, Wyll has the most disapprovals, making him the judgiest companion of all 🤣

However, this really wouldn't be a good post if we didn't look at the value of approvals. Karlach, for instance, has the strongest disapproval value of -100 (given if you sleep with her and then call it a mistake). Ouch. This is clearly at outlier and doesn't say much about Karlach's changeability of opinion in general. If we look at the sum of positive and negative opinions, this is a very heavy swing, making up 100 points of her total 191 disapproval points possible to her 281 approvals total. Another outlier is Minsc, who currently possesses a 43% disapproval percentage (a heavy -50 disapproval given if you sacrifice him to Sarevok. Jaheira, by contrast, apparently doesn't give a damn, or her value might simply not be included in the dateset.)

Removing outliers is really a matter of opinion here, so I'll only remove the most extreme swings, such as the above mentioned disapprovals.

The otherwise strongest swings are Astarion (-15 for telling him it was a mistake preventing him from drinking Araj's blood, or saying you only wanted to sleep with him, not deal with his trauma) and Wyll (+20 for siding with Karlach during his confrontation with her, which really shows he didn't really want to kill her and is very grateful you stopped him). Halsin gives +40 for reuniting Oliver with Thaniel, which...lifting the shadow curse is sort of his life's mission, and a bit of a unique case, so while it makes sense, I think it's such a unique event that can't be topped by anything else and will remove it. Jaheira give +20 for extending the Emperor's protection to Minsc, and, for funsies, Minthara's heaviest disapproval is -5 for donating to Lolth at the Stormshore Tabernacle. (lol)

I only chose to remove the aforementioned Karlach, Minsc, and Halsin values, as they're all very large swings and rather character-defining or personal to the individuals mentioned, so I don't think it says much about them in a more general day-to-day sense.

Now, using the sums of our negative and positive values, Gale is our most Negative Nancy, clocking in at 37%, which goes to show that while he's pretty average for the amount of things he cares about, when he disapproves, it's a strong one. Next up is Astarion at 35%, and Wyll at 34%. Lowest are Jaheira and Minsc at 7% and 4% respectively, which makes an intuitive sort of sense: Jaheira is old and just over being upset by the players poor choices, and Minsc is an insanely positive person overall. The next most positive companion is Halsin at 13%, which also matches with his vibe pretty well, followed by Minthara at 17%, Karlach at 24%, Lae'zel at 26%, and Shadowheart at 28%.

Tl;dr: Astarion has many, many opinions, but Wyll is the most judgemental (most disapprovals compared to approvals possible). However, when it comes to the strength of those disapprovals, Gale reigns supreme, followed by Astarion.

If don't break Karlach's heart, help Halsin achieve his life's ambition, or sacrifice Minsc, then they're pretty positive overall. Later companions are heavily weighted to approve of your actions, and Minthara is comparatively judgemental, but overall far more easy to gain approval than disapproval from.

If you take the average of all these values and include the later companions to look at as a personality "baseline" of how judgy and how strong those disapprovals may be, then...the Act 1 companions are all dramatic af, which really should come to no ones' surprise, while Karlach is the most willing to give the benefit of the doubt imo.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #the best time to mess around with a spreadsheet is 2am of course #I hate google sheets but don't care enough to do fancier things in excel #could I do actual math here? yes. am I going to? no

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hoodie-prince-kid-archived · 2 years ago

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i think this is the first personified objects/concepts/whathaveyou anime ive watched that isnt problematic and is also super exciting and engaging and has l o r e and isnt flat-out parody

#and OF COURSE it's by the sk8 people #LIKE I ALREADY HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT THE CHARACTERS HELLO #so basically the characters are personified weapons that were given human forms so they can protect history from being changed #by the time retrograde army which basically wants to change history to fuck things up #apparently it's based on a video game that sadly i know i'll never play but i do not care #because they are very generous about giving the lore #the art/animation style reminds me a million times of sk8 but it's also its own unique thing and i love the characters so much already #one of the characters is a sword but he uses a gun because he loves modern invention and gets excited about steamships and is also loud #another is a spear who's a gentle giant and has kind of a tough guy exterior at first glance but he's softer than he looks #two of the protags are swords from the same wielder which explains why they look like brothers #and there's a quiet one who i suspect we'll get more lore on later #one of the brother swords (older) was assigned leader of the squadron by the head of the league they work for #but he butts heads with the gun guy because of gun guy's attitude and they remind me of cherry and joe if they were less mad at each other #and moreso very competitive and quite clearly a rivals thing #ok im gonna get back to watching i just had to get this out BYE #...wow it has been a very long time since i rambled on main without being prompted #IM FUCKIN HEALING BITCH >:D #ok peace i gotta watch the time travelling weapon guys anime

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clockwayswrites · 1 month ago

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The Birdritch's Nest part 25

masterpost

“That is a lot of plants,” Jason said. He swept his eyes over the space as he slipped his lock picks back into their little pouch.

“He has a botanist friend, apparently, and she keeps giving him plants,” Dick explained as he squeezed past Jason and into the apartment.

“Why are you here again?”

“Because I have a car which is better to carry all of Danny’s stuff in than your bike,” Dick explained. He went over to the wall of plants in front of the windowed corner and squinted down at something on his phone.

Jason pulled out his own phone to glance at what Tim had sent. “You say ‘all Danny’s stuff’ like the list was long. The guy hasn’t exactly been demanding.”

“The ‘guy’ expects to actually go home in a few days,” Dick pointed out.

“And is an adult and so can, you know, actually go home,” Jason retorted.

“Damian’s attached.”

“…I concede to your point,” Jason said once that thought sunk in. “Double the clothing asked for?”

“Basically. Make sure that he has a weeks worth, Alfred can always do laundry,” Dick said before letting out a little noise of triumph and doing something over by the plants. “There, watering system turned on.”

“Congratulations, you’re a genius,” Jason drawled. “Now go get his medication gathered up and snoop a little while you’re at it.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be snooping,” Dick, words a teasing sing-song as he passed by.

Jason flicked him off. “Like you wouldn’t anyways. I just want to know what you find.”

“Only if you tell me what you find in the bedroom.”

“Deal.”

The bedroom was almost startlingly normal after the plant filled living main room. It didn’t look like Danny really spent much time in it beyond sleeping. The bed was absentmindedly fixed, a black down comforter over pale blue sheets. There was a paperback on the nightstand next to a lamp and a pocket sized notebook with a pen clipped onto the bent and battered cover.

It was the first thing that Jason picked up.

The notebook was obviously where Danny made notes when he was already settled in bed. As Jason flipped through the pages there was everything from to-do lists to invention ideas to… a lot of thought about wings. Jason turned the notebook in his hands. That page wasn’t in English. The language felt like it was on the tip of Jason’s tongue but he just couldn’t get it out.

Maybe some sort of dialect?

Jason couldn’t actually read it, but there was enough to piece together from similarities that tugged on his memory. Enough to understand it was about the wings. Something about the process of change? Aging?

“Hey Jay?” Dick interrupted, scattering Jason’s thoughts. “Can you read the label on these bottles? There’s some serious printing issues happening, I can’t even tell what language it’s in.”

The pill bottle felt oddly cold in Jason’s hand when he took it from Dick, but maybe the bathroom just had shit heating in this place. It would be just like Gotham builders to mess that up.

“Oh, that’s the same thing Danny is writing in here,” Jason said passing the notebook to Dick. “It’s something about wings and getting old, I think, but I can’t really read it.”

“Read it? I don’t even know what it is. Gives me a headache just to look at it,” Dick grumbled as he flipped through the notebook. “The whole bird thing has really been on his mind, hasn’t it?”

Jason gave a little huff. “Do you blame him? The guy has wings now. It would be on my mind too.”

“Yeah… guess I really can’t,” Dick said and snapped a picture of the page with the unknown writing to send to the group chat. “Any idea what it is?”

“Nope. It’s like it’s a distant dialect or that it uses some of the same alphabet of something I learned some of once. Like how Chinese and Japanese use some of the same characters, you know?” Jason explained as he opened the side table drawer and then quickly closed it again. That was more than he needed to know about Danny. “Maybe something from when I was catatonic in the league, who knows. There were a lot of languages in that place.”

“Cass or Damian might now it then,” Dick said as he eyed the drawer Jason had now moved away from.

“Don’t, trust me,” Jason said. “Did you get the medications you needed to grab?”

“Yeah, they’re in the bag. Just a standard bathroom, really. Though he keeps his toothbrush in this old mug with a hero I don’t recognize on it, someone called Phantom.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell, but it sure sounds like a hero name. Add it to the list,” Jason said as he started on gathering up the requested clothing and extra enough to last a week. “Check the closet to see if there are any shits in there that work around wings.”

Jason rolled his eyes as Dick threw the closet doors open dramatically and focused on his task. Jeans, sweatpants, underwear, what he guessed was pajamas were all added to the bag.

“So, nothing that looks like it was made for wings,” Dick said and tossed some normal shirts and a few sweaters into the bag. Jason sighed and folded them neatly. “Maybe he hasn’t had time to find any yet? It hasn’t been that long since the bird thing and seems it all started there. Or maybe he’s just always home when he’s had then?”

“Better let Alfred know then. He’ll want to get something as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, good point,” Dick agreed.

While Dick stepped out of the bedroom to call Alfred, Jason took the time to double check the list. It really was pretty basic. Jason didn’t know if Danny was just trying to not be demanding or if the guy didn’t need much, but Jason went ahead and put the bedside paperback and notebook in the bad too. Jason slung the duffel bag Dick had brought over his shoulder (he totally could have ridden his bike like this) and took a little bit of time to snoop through Danny’s bookcase while Dick finished the call. Sci-fi, horror, old text books, and a ton of notebooks filled the shelf with knickknacks and a few figures. Jason at least had to give Danny points for having some of the sci-fi classics, even if the range of works was pretty limited.

“Okay, Alfred is on it,” Dick said. “Anything else we need to do?”

“Nah, I think we’re good,” Jason said. Something made him not want to look through the notebooks, like they had already done enough snooping. It was an odd feeling. “Let’s get going, I’m hungry for whatever dinner is.”

“You’re always hungry,” Dick said.

Jason shrugged rather than dealing with how true that statement was. “I’m a growing boy.”

“You’re a trash pit.”

“Yeah, you want to go there, cereal boy?”

“Leave my cereal out of it!”

---

AN: I do love writing Dick & Jason so much. Can you tell I have an older brother? Also sorry for the mistakes I'm sure are abounding. Guess who turns out to be anemic? This critter! Maybe getting that fixed will help...

#dp x dc #birdritch #danny/bruce

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solxamber · 2 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles Masterlist

1. Please Let Me Live || Vil Schoenheit

You get isekai'd into the worst novel you've had the misfortune of reading because apparently your life is a cosmic joke. Now all you have to do is not act like the character you've possessed and it'll be fine, you think?

Your fiancé being Vil Schoenheit makes it a little harder to behave like a human being with functional braincells, but hey, atleast he likes you, you think?

2. Villain System vs World || Riddle Rosehearts

You have a guilty pleasure: trashy villainess stories. So when you die a frankly, humiliating death, and end up in one of the worst ones you've had the pleasure of reading as the villainess, you're in denial. Then the villain system shows up. Well, there goes your second chance at life So what do you do now? Do villainous things and cause as much chaos as you can, of course. And maybe, just maybe, bag the male lead, Riddle Rosehearts while you're at it.

3. I'd Rather Date the Male Lead's Dad || Lilia Vanrouge

When you end up in your best friend's favourite but absurd novel about breaking a fae prince's curse as the heroine, you didn't expect to get attached to his little family too. Even more unexpected? You fell for the male lead's dad, but hey it looks like he likes you too.

4. Accidentally Falling for a Fae Prince || Malleus Draconia

When you get dragged into a novel which ends with the heroine in a polycule with the most annoying men in literature, as the heroine herself, you decide that you're gonna skip town. ...Only to trip over the fae prince, Malleus Draconia.

5. Not Another Royal Mess || Azul Ashengrotto

As a proofreader who gets isekai’d into a cringeworthy novel as the villainess, you decide to take revenge on the heroine and male lead for their awful story. With Azul—who just wanted to sell you a magic rock—pulled into your chaos.

6. Love Triangles and Royal Rumbles || Leona Kingscholar

When you get isekai'd as the male lead in the novel where your favorite character, Leona Kingscholar is the second male lead, all that's left to do is rewrite the romance!

7. I Want To Retire! || Idia Shroud

You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it.

Now, as the villainess, you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.

8. Stealing the Plot for Drama || Jamil Viper

The book you've been looking forward to turns out to be a piece of crap, and you have the bad luck of getting pulled into it as the villainess.

So you decide to steal the main character's show, just for sport with the help of your fiancé, Jamil Viper.

9. Falling for the Sun in a Cold Empire || Kalim Al-Asim

You lose everything you've worked for after a freak accident and end up getting transported to the novel that you read when you were a teenager.

As the villainess. It's time to rebuild yourself, one step at a time with a little help from Kalim Al-Asim, your betrothed.

10. My Consort Calls Me Shrimpy || Floyd Leech

You get isekai'd into a novel where the perfect Empress got absolutely wrecked by the plot, and now you have to juggle a bland heroine, 15 weird consorts, a traitor and a delightfully unhinged eel who’s oddly good at solving your problems.

11. Get Me Out of Here || Rook Hunt

You’re isekai’d into a trashy novel and stuck as a tragic side knight character. All you want is survival, but your boss is Rook Hunt—a poetic, eccentric duke.

Now you’re caught in his chaos and, worse, you kinda don’t mind.

12. How to Ruin a Plot || Jade Leech

When you end up as the villainess in a story that's hellbent on making her suffer for no reason, you decide to make the main characters suffer just for catharsis. Good thing that your fiancé, Jade Leech seems to like chaos as much as you.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #trash novel chronicles

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del-thetiredwriter · 2 months ago

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Twisted Wonderland / Otome Au

Warning: Yandere , gn reader, English is not my first language.

Notes: Okay I know I have many other au in waiting but I just liked the idea and write this instead. I hope you like it . Please share your thoughts with me.

Summary: One day, you opened your eyes and found yourself in Twisted Wonderland. And the task the System gave you is to get one of the lead characters love meter to 100% by the end of the main story and reach their happy ending.

You slowly opened your eyes to the sounds of the voices. It was dark… and it sounded like someone was punching to something ? You opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t. As you tried to understand what was happening, a screen and two options appeared in front of you:

> What’s that noise?

> Is it morning already?

You clicked on one of the random options.

“I better hurry up and find that uniform before someone spots me… Urgggh… this lid weighs a ton!”

Who was talking like that?

“Try this on for size! Mya-ha!”

Suddenly, blue flames spread everywhere. You wanted to scream but you couldn’t even move, let alone talk. Two options appeared in front of you again.

> BWAAAH?!

> F- fire?!

What were these options? You clicked on a random option.

“Now to grab the goods… What?! You ain’t supposed to be awake!”

When you opened your eyes, a talking cat? And a strange room? But for a second, something seemed familiar…

Two options appeared in front of you again:

> A talking… weasel?!

> F-floating coffins?!

You clicked the first option. With your click, words without consent came out of your mouth again.

“How… How DARE YOU! I am no WEASEL! I’m Grim , sorcerer extraordinaire!”

The cat shouted? But wait a minute Grim? Now when you look carefully, this room, these scenes were just like the game you played, Twisted Wonderland.

“Tch. Whatever. You…human! Just gimme your uniform, and be quick about it! Cause if you don’t…you’re gonna regret it!”

Two options appeared in front of you again:

> S-somebody help!

> Getting roasted alive by a weasel!? What will I dream next ?

You clicked on one of the options on the screen and your legs started running on their own… when you finally stopped, two options appeared again on the screen that you thought was invisible to everyone except you (Grim never talked about the screen, that's why you came to this conclusion).

> Where am I?

> If this is a dream, I'm ready to wake up now.

When you clicked on one of the options, Grim's voice came from behind you.

"Foolish human! Did you really think you could slip away from ME? Now unless you wanna get burned to a crisp,take off that- Me-YEOW! That hurt!what gives?"

Just like in the prologue of the game, the man you thought was Crowley came. You weren't listening to Crowley while he was saying something. You were trying to understand the strangeness of the events. Everything seemed real, as if it couldn't be a dream, but you weren't in control of your body… Two options appeared on the screen that you thought was invisible again:

> Student…?

> Gate…?

You clicked on one of the options. Then Crowley gave you the explanations you know. And two options appeared on the screen again:

> So those coffins are like…gateways?

> I think something blew the lid of mine.

You quickly clicked an option. Apparently this screen was only visible to you. The man you thought was Crowley had never talked about this screen… Two options appeared on the screen again and you clicked the option you chose… Crowley’s answer confirmed your guess. You were in Twisted Wonderland?..

The screen appeared in front of you again.

….

The movement restrictions have been lifted. You have regained your ability to speak and move. Now you can talk and move as you wish.

….

Y/N L/N Welcome to Twisted Wonderland.

Main quest: Reach your happy ending with your true love before the main story ends.

Track the love meters of the protagonists to find out their love for you, and increase their love meters to 100%. Reach your happy ending before the main story ends.

Time limit: End of the main story

Punishment: Death

Reward: ???

….

You opened your mouth, you could move! But wait a minute, is everything real then? As you recall, Twisted Wonderland wasn't an Otome game. But if everything was real... what would you do?

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts

Red-haired, tough and disciplined Heartslabyul dorm leader. If you follow his route, you will start at zero, but with the end of the prologue and the start of Book 1, his interest in you will drop to minus due to your friends Ace, Deuce and Grimm. Especially if you argue with him one-on-one, his love percentage, which is already at minus, will drop even more.

But don't worry, Riddle, who feels ashamed and regretful for what he made you go through after the overblot he experienced at the end of the first book, can increase his love percentage from minus to zero or even plus.

It will be easier to approach Riddle after the overblot incident. Especially after the overblot he experienced, while people stay away from him, your being by his side will fuel his love for you. So you can expect sudden increases in his love meter.

He likes to have tea with you, attend unbirthday parties and have study dates. Especially when you ask him to explain a question you are stuck on, he literally melts when you approach him while he is explaining the question to you. He will have difficulty of maintaining his facial expressions and tone of his voice.

However, there is one thing you should pay attention to. That is Riddle's controlling personality. Although he is fine in normal mode, the same cannot be said for dark mode. For this reason, you should be careful in your choices. Although some choices increase Riddle's love level, they can put him in dark mode.

In dark mode, Riddle initially isolates you from your friends under the excuse of studying without you noticing, then this progresses and before you know it, he even chooses the tea you drink. He controls your entire life. In dark mode, Riddle does not want you to be interested in anyone other than himself or be friends. Everyone is a potential threat to him. If you do not stop him in time, he can go as far as imprisoning you in his own room.

Trey Clover

Tall, kind and helpful, the vice dorm leader of heartslabyul. If you are following the Trey route, I recommend that you do not expect a sudden increase in Trey's love meter, unlike Riddle. Although Trey is affectionate and gentle, you can raise the love meter very slowly, and after a while, you may not be able to raise it at all.

Trey usually likes to help you with your studies and bake with you. However, he swears that your baking dates will be the end of him. When you giggle and wipe his face when he get flour on his face, when you lick your finger to taste the cream, or when you feed him something with your own hands, his heart beats so fast that he swears he will have a heart attack.

But he always reminds himself to control himself. He is your reliable, gentle, and loving senpai. He scolds himself for thinking such things about you. Because of this, your relationship progresses a little slowly.

Although Trey is a sweet, affectionate, and calm person, some of your choices and words can put him in dark mode.

It is very difficult to distinguish the difference between Trey in dark mode and Trey in normal mode. He never shows anything, he is always smiling, calm, and affectionate... This is what makes him dangerous. He manipulates you without you even realizing it. Going out with friends? Oh, Trey bought you tickets to the movies you wanted to go to, but if you don't want to go, you can go out with your friends. Did you make a new friend and are you spending "too much" time with them? Trey heard some nasty gossip about them... It was all your choice. Trey didn't force you to do anything.

Cater Diamond

Bright, social butterfly, 3rd year heartslabyul student Cater Diamond. If you follow Cater's route, it won't be hard to meet him, but it won't be easy to get close to him. Although Cater seems like a cheerful, relaxed, fun and friendly person, it won't be easy to pass through his walls. If you remember the fine details about his from the scenes you played in the game before and use this information to get close to him, it can be easier to get close to him.

You usually go on Cafe dates with Cater. And whenever you go out, Cater doesn't forget to take dozens of photos. Every time he takes a photo of you, he tells you how sweet and cute you look. He also doesn't forget to upload the photos he takes to magicam, after all, everyone should know how compatible a couple you are, right? Additional information: Cater loves to wear matching couple clothes with you. You can see that Cater's love meter increases especially when you wear matching clothes on dates.

Appearing closer to others or not revealing your relationship, hiding it or making small mistakes will cause Cater to have doubts and once the seeds of doubt are planted, it is hard to turn back. In dark mode, Cater does not show anything, just like Trey. He just smiles… With his social skills, it will not be difficult for Cater to isolate you. You see, rumors about you are everywhere and you have nothing to do but cry on Cater's shoulder. Because of the rumors, no one talks to you anymore and you are becoming more and more lonely. But don't worry, your prince charming Cater believes in you and is by your side.

Ace Trapolla

Ace Trappola, a mischievous first-year student of Heartslabyul. The first person you meet, although your first meeting was not that good, you quickly became close friends, just like in the game. Since you are close friends and in the same class, it is not very difficult to get close to Ace and increase his love meter since you spend most of your time together. The only problem is that he and Grimm are always causing you trouble and Ace is annoying.

You usually go out with Ace to cafes or on study dates. Even though Ace doesn't like studying, he likes it when you get close to him while explaining topics or explaining solutions to problems or when he watches you study. Why else would he go on a study date with you? Another activity Ace likes is when you watch him practice basketball, after all he wants you to see how cool he is. Ace also likes movie night and playing cards at the Ramshackle dorm and he visits the Ramshackle dorm often. He loves the way you get angry when you lose in every game, especially when you catch him cheating.

Now let's talk about Ace's jealousy problem. If you are not careful and neglect him, it can put Ace in dark mode. In dark mode, Ace reveals himself a little. His jokes and words are especially focused on breaking your self-confidence. However, he tries not to show it. He doesn't give you a chance to spend time with others and starts to show possessive behavior. He doesn't let you question him. He manipulates you into thinking you are inadequate and that he should be your only concern.

Your only concern should be Ace, after all, you should be thankful to him for being with a weak, magicless person like you.

Deuce Spade

Deuce Spade, a first-year student of Heartslabyul who helps you in every way, and who gets into more trouble as he tries to stay out of trouble. If you are following the Deuce Route, it won't be very difficult for you to get close to him. As in the story line, you meet in the prologue section. Since you are in the same class, you have the opportunity to get very close to him.

You usually make him study in your free time. You try to help him with the subjects he has difficulty with. Honestly , Deuce is as grateful as he is embarrassed about this. Spending your valuable time with him makes him feel special.

When you find out about his not-so-pleasant past that he hides, comforting him and encouraging him on his path to becoming an honor student increases his love meter a lot.

It's not easy to get into the dark mode Deuce route so don't worry. However, if you do get into dark mode Deuce will become more Clingy than usual. He's always afraid that you might leave him. If he sees you close to someone else he might get into a fist fight with that person when you're not around. But please don't leave him, you're his everything!

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aurorawritestoescape · 5 months ago

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BAD BLOOD part 6

Pairing: step uncle Joel Miller x f!reader x stepdad Tommy Miller

Summary: a month after Joel exposed your relationship with Tommy, the Miller brothers pay you a visit and your feelings come to the surface.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, angst, step-cest, big age gap (reader is 22, Joel and Tommy are in their late and mid-40s), dark!Joel, soft!Tommy with darkish vibes, edging, mfm, unprotected DVP, f!oral, ass slapping(2), handjob, multiple orgasms, creampies, cum eating, degradation, praise kink, daddy kink, fingering, swearing. Joel can pick up reader. The pics are for the mood only. Reader has no specific physical descriptions.

Word count: 8,2k

A/n: this is the final part of the main story so I’m very emotional about it. I love these menaces. There’s going to be an epilogue and I’ll probably do some extra stories for them bc I can’t see myself letting them go🥹 dedicating this part to my everything @milla-frenchy ❤️ Thank you for being with me every step of the way! Your support, your help, your love for the characters (mainly Joel *coughs*slut) mean the world to me. Love you sm, baby!!💖🫂😘 big hug to @romanarose for answering my dorm-related questions!🫂 I’m grateful to everyone who’s read the series, liked, commented, rb-ed, sent asks about it. I’ve been overwhelmed with your love and I’m sending you some back💕Love you all!!❤️ Hope you’ll like this part! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Part 5 || SERIES MASTERLIST II Tommy’s Visit MASTERLIST

“I’m off, babe!” your roommate Mel says when you meet her at the dorm on the way to your room. She’s carrying a big sports bag, ready to drive to her parents’ house for the weekend.

“Oh! Your dad’s here. He’s in our room,” she nods in the direction of your suit and adds with a playful smile, “he’s hot!”

You furrow your brows, blinking at her with confusion.

“Dad? But.. He lives in Europe.”

“Ehm…Maybe it’s your stepdad then? He said he was your daddy.”

‘Daddy’. Your jaw drops and your heart plummets into your stomach.

“You ok?” Mel places her hand on your shoulder, with a worried expression. “You look… shook.”

“No, I’m fine… just surprised.”

You wave her goodbye with a strained smile and your weak legs carry you to your dorm room.

Your mind is racing and every step seems to last an eternity. You can’t believe he’s here. A mixture of guilt, fear and excitement fills your chest. What are you going to tell him?

You haven’t talked to Tommy in more than a month, scared to face him, to admit that you had ruined his life because of your desire. You hoped that he realized that Joel was the real villain of the story but you couldn’t deny that all that mess had started with you. After that horrible day, your mom flooded your phone with hateful messages, calling you a slut, a whore and a homewrecker. You didn’t pick up her calls which were rare. Apparently she didn’t want to hear your voice, just like you didn’t want to hear hers. Indifference filled your heart. You had already hated her for years, your relationship ruined long before you slept with her husband.

And Tommy…You couldn’t bear to hear him breaking up whatever thing you two had so you just blocked him. His hate would be too much for you. You had never felt anything like that before and you wanted to save those moments together untainted by his resentment.

You did the same with Joel’s number. But you pressed ‘block caller’ only after you phoned him and cursed the fucker out. How did he dare to drop a nuclear bomb on your life like that? Deep in your heart you knew that he had overplayed you in your own game and your pride was hurt. What made matters worse was your sickening yet undeniable desire for the bastard.

When you come up to your room, you see that the door is slightly ajar. He really is here. After taking a deep breath, you step into the room and find Tommy, sitting on your bed, elbows planted on his knees, your exercise book in his hands. He’s wearing a black shirt with a white tank top underneath and a pair of dark jeans. Your pussy tingles just from a sight of him, his big body, soft curls, but you drive away these thoughts, trying to concentrate on the goal that you set on the way here - to get him back.

Your stepdad raises his eyes to you. Is it a trace of smile on his lips? What if he doesn’t hate you after all? A slither of hope gives you much needed courage and you take a few steps towards him.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

Your voice is small and shaky and you hate it but it’s stupid to deny your overwhelming feelings for him.

Tommy gives you a little smile and throws your book back on your desk, next to your bed.

“I wanted to see you. We need to talk.”

“Yes, daddy,” you agree, biting your lip and batting your eyelashes at your stepdad.

“I didn’t think you’d call me that after blocking me.”

“I’m sorry, but… I was scared. I thought you hated me. But it’s not my fault. I had feelings for you and Joel used it. He ruined your life. I’d never do it.”

Tommy drops his head, rubbing his hands, and hums. You start seeing red as soon as your step uncle's name leaves your lips and your anger spills out.

“That fucker secretly took the photo and sent it to our fucking family chat?! Who the fuck does that? Is he insane?”

Tommy looks up at you and then his gaze slides to the side, somewhere behind you, before he says,

“You can ask him yourself, sweetheart.”

For a second time your heart jumps in your chest, when a pair of strong arms grabs you from behind and you sense a broad chest pressed tightly to your back. Startled, you are about to scream, but a huge hand claps over your mouth.

“Surprise, angel,” Joel gruffs in your ear while his arm squeezes your waist. You thrust and shake but all your attempts to break free are fruitless against his strength.

“Keep wriggling, baby, I love feeling your ass, grinding against my dick.”

He hums and pushes his hips into you. You sense his huge bulge and your pussy tingles when you remember what he can do with this cock. Joel’s scent envelops you just like his body and you gush. Yet your hatred for the man overpowers your desire and you keep thrashing in his steel embrace. Your nostrils flare, and searching for help, your pleading eyes dart to Tommy.

To your surprise your stepdad doesn’t rush to help you— he sits up straighter and spreads his thighs wider, while his darkening eyes are sliding up and down your bound body, powerless in Joel’s arms.

You whine, realizing that he’s enjoying it, the view is turning him on. You’re getting worked up as well, feeling yourself small and helpless, fully at the mercy of the two men.

Joel’s arm, wrapped over your arms and under your chest, pushes your breasts up and they almost spill out of your neckline. You can feel your step uncle’s breath on your cleavage, and he’s groaning, probably enjoying the view of your tits. A new surge of arousal makes you press your thighs together. Are they gonna fuck you in your dorm room like it’s some raunchy porn? You really hope so.

Not being able to hide your desire any longer, you make a loud moan, muffled by the hand covering your mouth, but it still electrifies the air in the room, and both men grunt.

As much as you love Joel’s strong back and huge bulge pressed against you, scorching anger rises from the pits of your stomach again, and you try to push him off yourself. Tommy’s watching your weak attempts for a few seconds before taking pity on you.

“Let her talk, Joel.”

The older brother puts his hand away and you exclaim, wriggling in Joel’s arms, trying to break free.

“Let go of me, perv!”

"You had this perv's cock in your mouth and your ass not so long ago," he reminds you, not easing his grip.

"I'm not fucking proud!"

"You should be, angel. You took it like a champ both times."

He emphasizes his words with a thrust of his hips and you growl, trying to hide your arousal.

“Daddy, what the fuck? Why’s he here? Why didn’t you tell him to fuck off?”

Joel tightens his python-like embrace and gruffs in your ear,

“Blood is thicker than water, angel. But you and your “mummy didn’t let me host a party and now Ima fuck her husband” will never understand that.”

“It’s not…you know nothing about me, you asshole.” Your voice strains as the rage suddenly mixes with deep sadness. Trying not to burst into tears you grit your teeth as you explain,

“She ruined my whole life, drove my dad away. She cheated on him and now he’s not even talking to me, just sends money for college. It’s all because of that slut.”

Tommy drops his head and you know that he's feeling sorry for you right now. Your pride pangs but a ray of hope dries your upcoming tears - he cares, he still cares about you.

Joel on the other hand is not sympathetic in the slightest, commenting with a chuckle, "Damn, angel, you're a textbook example of daddy issues.

Not saying we ain't happy, right, brother?" He looks at Tommy and adds, "it got our dicks wet."

You begin thrashing harder and exclaim, “Fuck you!”

“Yeah, you will.”

“Let go of her, Joel,” Tommy commands, steel in his voice, and to your surprise, Joel follows his brother's order immediately.

You hurry away from your step uncle and stand closer to Tommy.

Your eyes dart between the men, as you’re fixing your bunched up clothes, panting heavily after trying to get free.

Joel grabs your chair, plops down and places his booted foot on the edge of your desk with a thud.

You’re glaring at him, trying to convey all disgust and hatred for the man with your expression, but Tommy sighs and your gaze darts to him.

“Daddy,” you whisper, taking a shy step in his direction.

His eyes freeze your heart. He looks serious, too serious for your liking.

Tommy leans on his knees again and starts talking, eyes moving between you and Joel.

“Joel is an asshole, sweetheart, you’re right. But what’s new? I’ve known him all my life and I understand what he’s capable of. Yes, he ruined my marriage but to be honest…I’m glad.”

Your jaw drops as you’re staring at your stepdad, and he continues,

“Life with Jess was suffocating me. I thought I needed to settle down, to start a family but I was wrong. I was happy in Austin. And she…fuck,” he shakes his head with a sigh, “She’s a lot. You’re the best person to know it.”

His eyes set on you and you see a genuine regret and sadness in them. You want to reach for him, hug him, kiss him but he needs you to listen. So you listen.

“In an absolutely horrible way, yes, but Joel helped me to get out of it. I’m gonna lose a lot of money in the settlement but it’s just money.”

“Shoulda got a prenup like I told you,” Joel mumbles.

The longer Tommy speaks, the more you can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“Wait! So now he’s your savior, huh? He manipulates you, Tommy! He says what you want to hear and then stabs you in the back!”

“Baby, the only thing I did behind your back is come in your ass,” Joel smirks and then points his thick finger at you, “And not you talking about fuckin’ loyalty! We had a deal but you weren’t gonna do shit with that recording! I saw your fuckin’ heart eyes. You’d never do it to your precious daddy so I had to do it my way. And it needed to be done!”

You narrow your eyes and clench your fists, barely holding yourself from hitting the man, as you exclaim,

“You sent the pic of me fucking my stepdad to my family group chat, you fucker! My nana’s there! She almost died after seeing that photo!

All you get from your step uncle is another bark of a laugh.

“Who gives a shit? She’s ancient.”

“You motherfuckin’…” you’re about to launch at the men but Tommy rushes up and steps between you and his older brother.

“Stop!” His hands are on your shoulders, his eyes kind and warm. “Calm down, sweetheart. Please.”

You take a deep breath and inch closer to him and Tommy doesn't push you away. He hugs you, pulling you closer to him, and rubs your back with his big hands. You immediately melt in his warm embrace with your cheek pressed to his chest, your arms wrapped around his waist. You bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut, fighting back tears as a mix of strong emotions- hate, love, desire, rage, fills your heart and you take a deep breath, wishing to find comfort and peace in your stepdad's arms.

You open your eyes and see Joel watching you two, his gaze piercing, expression pensive. You’d give a lot to know what he’s thinking about at the moment. Probably scheming again.

You turn your face away from him and press your cheek to Tommy’s chest.

Suddenly he pulls away and looks down at you, head tilted.

“You hurt me, baby. I needed you, and you left. Even blocked my number.”

You swallow loudly, shifting on your feet, as fear is rising in your chest again. With your eyes downcast, you mumble, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Are you willing to show us how sorry you are?” He sits back on the bed, manspreading, his gaze dark, intense.

“To you? Yes. But not to him!”

“Sweetheart.” His warning tone binds your pride and you stop fighting what you really want. What your pussy wants.

“Ok, daddy.”

A corner of Tommy’s mouth curves up a little and he says,

“Good girl. Take your clothes off.”

Joel groans and slightly shifts in his chair, making it squeak. You glance at him but your eyes return to Tommy.

You start discarding your clothes piece by piece, gaze locked with your stepdad and he drinks in every exposed part of your body. Your panties fall on the floor last and you step out of them.

Now you’re standing in your dorm room completely naked in a company of the two fully clothed older men. You’re already dripping, the wetness between your thighs is evident just to you for now but you desperately wish for them to discover it.

“We’ve talked enough about Joel. Let’s talk about you, babygirl.”

You feel your stomach twist, nervous about what he might say.

"Have you fucked anyone since you left?" Tommy asks, his expression serious.

"No."

Your stepdad's eyes are darting between yours, searching for any sign of you lying.

"Has anyone fucked you?"

You hate that he doesn't trust you but it's hard to blame him —he knows better than anyone how thirsty you're.

"No, daddy. I promise. I've... only been making myself come, thinking of you. All this time.”

You bite your lower lip and purr, "been imagining you fucking me. Your kisses. Your hands on me. Your cock in my mouth."

Tommy's chest expands and he squirms on the bed. You clasp your hands in front yourself and drop your head down, telling him the truth,

"I've missed you. Still miss you."

"Aww, how sweet," Joel mocks you with a laugh.

Tommy frowns at him and you shoot a fiery glance at the older brother for ruining the moment.

“What about your favourite uncle, angel? Have you fantasized about me?”

"No," you reply without hesitation through the gritted teeth.

"Don't lie," Tommy commands, his tone cold and demanding.

You avert your gaze from them both and look in front of yourself.

"Yes," you admit as your voice is barely audible,

"yes, I did."

Joel's smug grin is noticeable even from your peripheral vision.

"What was it about? Your fantasies?” Tommy asks.

"You both fucking my pussy."

"Damn, angel," Joel groans, palming himself.

“I know my pussy is off limits to Joel. I’m sorry for thinking about it, daddy.”

“It’s ok, sweetheart. You’re allowed to imagine whatever you want.”

You inch closer to Tommy and his eyes slide down from your face to your breasts and then to your wet pussy.

Your stepdad licks his lower lip and a memory of him making you come on his tongue in the darkness of your bedroom overflows the glass of your desire and you kneel slowly between his legs.

“Sweetheart,” Tommy breathes out in surprise but spreads his legs wider for you.

“She remembers well where she belongs,” Joel comments as you feel his hungry gaze on your naked back and ass.

You place your palms on Tommy’s jean-clad thighs and sit on your heels, batting your lashes, before you lower your head to his crotch. You press your cheek to his huge warm bulge and whisper, “let me suck your cock, daddy. I want to apologize.”

Tommy takes a sharp breath and Joel whistles. You feel cold air on your naked pussy and squeeze your thighs together to relieve the ache in your needy center.

Then you nuzzle the stiff lump under his jeans and rub your nose and cheek over it. It twitches against you and a moan escapes your lips. Tommy bucks his hips against your head but then his hand on your cheek stops you.

“We have something else in mind for you, babygirl. You can’t deny that you deserve a punishment, right?”

You drop your eyes in agreement and Tommy continues.

“Your step uncle promised you something that morning when we ehm… had breakfast together.”

You hear the squeak of your chair and then Joel’s heavy steps. The older brother stands next to you two and you lift your head to look at him.

He’s looming over your body, tall and broad and your pussy throbs harder as your eyes involuntarily slide down from his handsome smug face to his broad chest and then huge bulge.

“Get your ass on the bed so I could eat your slutty pussy.”

You scream internally, keeping a straight face, and ask,

“Are you that bad that it’s considered a punishment?”

Joel shifts his jaw and gruffs,

“Let’s hope I won’t bite your clit off, brat.”

You wince and Tommy curses under his breath. Then he pulls you up from your knees and gets up too. You’re standing between the two men, burning up with desire to be used and Tommy doesn’t help you to calm down, when he starts taking off his shirt, leaving only his white tank top on and exposing his thick muscular arms. When you glance back you notice Joel is doing the same, and you softly moan at the sight of his broad torso in a mesh top.

“Moaning like a whore already,” Joel mocks you, stepping up to you and pressing his body to your back and ass.

You gasp but don’t pull away. His hands on your hips slide up and down, until he brings one palm to your pussy and gives your mound a light slap.

“Joel,” you whimper as it sends a wave of arousal through your body.

“You’ve been a bad girl, sweetheart,” Tommy chides you, stepping in front of you.

“Worse than usual?” You purr, biting your lip.

With Joel’s at your back, Tommy presses his hips to yours, sandwiching you between the two brothers and your pussy cries for them so much that you feel your slick run down your inner thigh.

With Joel’s arms wrapped around your torso, Tommy locks eyes with you and you reach for his lips but he immediately pulls away, takes your hand and leads you to the bed.

He sits down, leaning his back on the headboard and pats the place between his legs.

“Get in here, babygirl.”

You want to sit on your knees but suddenly Joel roughly turns you around and pushes you to plop between Tommys legs.

Your stepdad pulls you to lean against his warm chest before Joel kneels on the floor.

“Oh wow, big bad Joel Miller on his knees for me? Not the first time though,” you gloat and Joel grinds his teeth and roughly pulls your hips to the edge of the bed. You gasp as your head slides down Tommy’s chest and your naked breasts jiggle. Joel’s thick fingers dig into your skin as he throws your legs over his shoulders, and your pussy blooms for him. His dark eyes get obsidian with lust, as he glides his palms up and down your thighs.

“Fuck, ya seeing it, Tommy? She wasn’t lying about not fucking. This pussy is desperate for cock. ‘m afraid I’m gonna choke on all this slick,” he comments, not tearing his eyes from your needy cunt.

“I’ll be ok with this outcome,” you grunt as your clit twitches with anticipation.

Joel looks up at you with a sneer and then leans down to your mound. You hold your breath, expecting him to finally start eating you out but his lips land on your inner thigh instead of your waiting cunt. He kisses your skin there and you squirm in Tommy’s arms as Joel’s facial hair tickles you. He gets lower, peppering kisses along your inner thigh, moving closer to your center and you buck your hips to meet him halfway and to finally shove your pussy in his face, but Joel places his big palm on your lower belly and pushes your back on the bed. You hear Tommy’s voice over your head,

“Don’t move, honey. Promise to be a good girl for us, ok?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out and tilt your head up and to the side to look up at him. He’s giving you a warm smile, its effect spreads warmth deep in your belly, but soon it turns into a scorching fire, when Joel’s lips finally latch onto your aching pussy. You gasp and turn to him and the sight almost makes you come. Joel fucking Miller, your asshole step uncle, a mean, selfish, arrogant prick, is on his knees for you, feasting on your wet cunt, lips smacking, tongue gathering all the wetness between your folds.

Already feeling like you’re in heaven, you moan loudly, not caring who might hear and catch you getting a head from your step uncle, while your stepdad’s hands are kneading your breasts and twitching your hard nipples.

“You love it, sweetheart?” Tommy whispers in your ear, as you’re fluttering your eyes shut with pleasure, when Joel’s skillful tongue flicks your throbbing clit and then he sucks it into his mouth.

“Yes—yes—yes,” you chant, almost tasting the climax on your tongue. But a second away from the explosion, Joel parts from your puffy cunt and presses his wet lips to your inner thigh again, kissing and nibbling on it lightly.

“No, Joel, my pussy,” you desperately whine.

“What is it, angel?”

“Make me come, please.”

“Good start but you can do better,” he mumbles while he’s watching his fingers trace your sopping hole. It’s hot but not enough to push you over the precipice.

You grit your teeth but your pride is quickly drowning in the sticky pit of desire.

“Joel, please, please make me come on your tongue. Please, I need it,” you beg and his smile is triumphant and content.

“I’ll do anything for my little niece.”

His mouth returns to your pussy and he grabs your thighs tighter as his tongue swirls your clit around and then slides down to your leaking hole.

“Fuck,” you hear Tommy curse and you feel his stiff cock under your back, he must be so turned on by this.

The older brother starts fucking you with his hot muscle and your hand slithers down to rub your puffy clit but Tommy grabs your wrists and pulls your hands up to your chest, crosses them and keeps them there with his one strong hand.

“Daddy, I wanna come,” you beg the moment Joel’s mouth leaves your pussy again and again whenever you feel so close to ecstasy.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but bad girls don’t get to come so fast,” Tommy smirks and his fingers tighten around your wrists.

You feel tears well up in your eyes, your breaths heavy, belly and chest heaving and your whole body is vibrating in frustration.

“Joel,” you sob and your step uncle lifts his head, his lips, mustache and beard glistening with your juices.

“I’ll give the candy to you, slut. But only if you tell me why you love your uncle Joel so much.”

“What?”

“You heard me, baby.” Joel’s lips are so close but, at the same time so far from where you need him. You curse and whine, grinding your teeth while anger is taking over you again.

Joel hurries you by planting a feather light kiss on your clit and your whole body jerks from a bolt of pleasure but it quickly dissipates, leaving you desperately needing more.

So you cave in.

"You're hot, Joel."

"Yeah, I know. What else?" your step uncle mumbles, drawing a path from your pussy to your knee with his lips.

Tommy chuckles and you squirm in his embrace, annoyed and frustrated.

"You... you're a good fuck."

"Mmm... don't ya think 'great'?"

"Yes. You're a great fuck, Joel."

"You sound like a horny slut, angel," he grumbles, "Hot and a great fuck. Way to objectify your poor uncle. I need more."

His lips travel back down to your cunt and you raise your hips in search of his caress, but Joel pushes you down and Tommy's free arm wraps around your waist tightly.

“Keep still, sweetheart,” he orders and emotions take over your mind and burst out of your mouth.

“Wanna know what I feel? I fucking hate you, Joel. I see myself in you and I fucking hate that. Because it’s like I’m staring at my own future. Just like you I want someone so much that I grab onto them until I realize that they don’t need me. Not as much as I need them. So I lie and manipulate and make them love me. But sooner or later they will see the real me. See my tiny black heart and they will get disappointed and dump me. And I’ll lie and manipulate more to get them back. And it’s a fucking cycle. I’ll never be loved for who I am. Because who I am doesn’t deserve any love.”

Joel freezes with his face between your legs, his expression pensive and serious. If you didn’t know him you’d say you see a trace of sympathy and sadness in his eyes.

“That’s why I hate you, Joel. And you know what’s funny? It’s that I can’t get you out of my fucking mind.”

You want to puke at how vulnerable you’re feeling, baring your soul and body to him. You turn your pained face to your stepdad and say,

“I can’t stop thinking about both of you. Is it love? It’s hard to understand. I’ve never experienced anything like this. Tommy, you’re fucking perfect and I made you suffer and I hate what I did to your life.”

You burst into sobs and your stepdad grabs you by the arms and manhandles you to get on his lap. Joel gets up and sits on the bed.

Tommy’s holding you close, your cheek pressed to his naked chest, peeking out the tank top, that you’re soaking with your tears.

He’s rubbing your shoulder with his hand and softly says,

“I'm not perfect. I’m a piece of shit. I should’ve never done what I did to you. We shouldn’t have. And it’s my fault for getting you into this mess.”

You throw your hands around his neck and start crying harder, mumbling through sobs and whimpers,

“No, please— don’t say that you regret it— regret us—don’t leave me like everyone else, please, daddy.”

“I won’t, babygirl. I’m sorry for… for everything. I love you. I’ll be there for you. Always.”

His arms tighten around you and he kisses everywhere he can reach — your forehead,

your temple, your nose until you tilt your face up and he finds your lips. He’s gentle with you, and you kiss him back, smearing your tears over his face but none of you cares. You’re caressing each other, drowning in the comfort of the embrace and the kiss.

When you part from him you press your nose into the crease of his neck and breathe in his scent, nestling into his big body. While sobs still crawl up your throat from time to time, Tommy wipes the wetness off your face and covers your naked body with a bedspread.

For a few minutes it’s quiet in the room, and when you calm down, you turn your red eyes to Joel, surprised that he hadn’t said anything assholish yet.

You find him watching you with curiosity and now you’re sure. He’s upset too.

A strange feeling envelops you. You want to hug him, feel the warmth of his body and share yours with him. But it’s not your relationship, not the way you connect. So you narrow your eyes and croak,

“Do you know how creepy you look when you’re staring like this, perv?”

You give him a little smile and notice a corner of his mouth slightly rising too.

“You surprised me, angel. Jus’ one month without a cock and you go completely nuts. Crying and shit. Throwing ‘L-words’ around.”

Now you’re both smiling at each other.

“Fuck off.”

“Ok, she’s back,” he says and slaps your ass over the fabric. “Ya know, your tears are golden, angel. Any man will do whatever you want if you cry like that.”

“It was genuine, asshole,” you snap back but there’s no bite to it. You feel lighter, all the pent up frustration and pain left your body and were wiped away by your stepdad’s warm embrace and Joel’s quiet support.

The only emotion that’s still tormenting you is desire. You squirm in Tommy’s lap and the bedspread falls off your shoulder revealing your naked breasts.

“Do you want us to leave, sweetheart?” Tommy asks and his breath caresses your tits.

“No, no, please, I want— .”

“What do you want?”

“I want you. I want you both.”

You look at your stepdad and notice him and Joel exchange glances.

“I think I owe you something, baby,” Joel gruffs and you turn to him and the shine in his beard reminds you of his lips on your pussy. The thought sets your core ablaze and you turn back to Tommy.

“Daddy?” you purr and the man nods.

“But no playing around this time, Joel,” Tommy warns his brother with a serious tone.

‘Course. Hop on my face, cry baby, I ain’t kneeling again.”

He lies down next to Tommy, shoulder to shoulder, and you almost squeal with excitement, throwing the cover off. Tommy leans back on the bed and you tell Joel to scoot lower.

“Wanna play with daddy’s cock.”

“Jesus, angel, is there anything you can do without daddy’s cock?”

You don’t reply and plant your knees on either side of Joel’s head.

A rush of dominance goes through your body when you see your step uncle in this position.

“Finally I’m gonna shut you up,” you smirk and lower your hips slowly, eager for your pussy to meet his smug grin.

Yet Joel is not the one to give up control easily and his hands grab your thighs and he pulls you onto his face. Having teased you before, now he doesn’t play at all and starts passionately making out with your sopping cunt, drawing gasps and moans out of your mouth. With his mouth open wide he stimulates you with a perfect suction while his tongue swirls your throbbing clit around.

You are reduced to a whimpering mess in a matter of seconds and you go so high and so fast that you need to ground yourself.

“Daddy,” you call.

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

Tommy unzips his jeans, trying not to fall off the bed, and takes out his cock.

It’s throbbing, the head glistening with smeared pre cum, and you spit on your hand and wrap your fingers around it. You give his manhood a few pumps, and Tommy moans, but Joel gets your full attention, when his tongue prods your clenching hole and then pushes inside you as deep as it’ll go. He starts fucking you with it and you ride his face, rhythmically bumping your clit against his prominent nose.

“Daddy, I can’t,” you whine, failing to concentrate on two acts at once.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Tommy mumbles and his hand wraps around yours and he starts moving them together up and down his stiff shaft. His head is resting against the headboard but his half-lidded eyes are sliding between your pussy, crying into Joel’s mouth, and the unity of your hands, pleasuring his cock.

Your other hand is clenching your step uncle’s hair and your tits bounce as you increase the pace of riding his face.

You almost there when Tommy pulls your hand off his cock, sits up and mumbles, kissing your palm and panting,

“Oughta stop— too good— wanna come in your pussy.”

“Delicious little cunt,” Joel growls and starts rubbing your clit with the flat of his tongue, up and down, up and down, and you cry out his name, as euphoria bursts in your core and spreads like wildfire all over your body. You’re sobbing with pleasure, trembling over your step uncle's face, dripping juices onto his lips and he drinks them, slurping and groaning.

When the climax subsides you move off Joel’s face and Tommy takes you in his arms. The men are still fully clothed, except for their exposed cocks. You look down Joel's body and realize that he has been stroking his huge hard manhood while eating you out and your core reignites.

Tommy searches for your eyes.

“Do you feel better, sweetie?”

You nod with a tired smile and in a moment your lips crash against his and you kiss while his hands are hungrily roaming your sweat-covered body, your fingers running through his curls.

Not parting from your lips, Tommy brings his hand to your pussy and your legs fly apart. You shift in his embrace, now your back flush against his chest, lips still glued to his, and you moan when he slowly inserts two fingers into your hole, avoiding your oversensitive clit.

You sense a movement and open your eyes to see your step uncle get up.

“Mmm, Joel stretched you well with his tongue,” Tommy murmurs against your mouth. “Your pussy probably can take two cocks now.”

You pull away and stare at him.

“Two cocks, daddy? Do you mean..?”

“Two fat dicks, angel.”

Your head darts to Joel while Tommy’s fingers are still massaging you from the inside and the older brother laughs, lighting a cigarette, standing next to the bed,

“We gonna stuff your needy cunt so full, your belly’ll look like ya 4 months pregnant.”

He takes a drag while his free hand is wrapped around his huge hard cock.

Their words are ringing in your ears- ‘two cocks, your pussy.”

Your head snaps back to Tommy as you plead, “Please-please-daddy-yes-I want it. My pussy can take it, please, please.”

Your brows are pulled together and big needy eyes are glossy with desire. Tommy smiles at you with adoration in his warm dark gaze.

“We can try, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, angel. Your cock hunger sometimes surprises even me. And I know what a giant slut you’re.”

You don’t tear your eyes off Tommy as he coos at you while his fingers are playing with your soaked cunt,

“We still should prepare you. You know we are big. Especially now.”

“Now?”

“Look at you, my beautiful girl. Our cocks are throbbing hard just because of you.”

He leans lower and his lips brush your ear.

“I barely hold myself from taking you right now.” His fingers are moving inside you, slowly at first but gradually increasing the speed.

“My cock demands your little pussy. I’m so close to just sticking it deep in your sweet cunt and using you, taking what I need from you.”

“Fuck, daddy,” you whisper, closing your eyes and spreading your thighs wider, offering yourself to his hand.

You feel him add two more fingers, four inside you now, and the stretch makes you whine but the dull pain adds to the pleasure.

“Yeah, good girl,” Tommy praises you and kisses your cheek, his hand still working tirelessly, preparing your hole for them and bringing you closer to another climax.

You turn your head and see Joel smoking and watching you getting fingered.

His obsidian eyes lock with yours and he winks at you.

“Lemme help you, brother. ‘m afraid to split her poor pussy in half with my dick.”

He bends down and you gasp when you see his meaty hand move to the place where Tommy’s fingers are already stretching you to the limit.

“Joel,” your scared mewl mixes with the squelching noises of your sopping cunt.

“He’s gonna be gentle,” Tommy commands his older brother, and Joel humms absentmindedly as his thick middle finger prods your entrance over Tommy’s digits.

“C’mon, angel, breathe for me. Yeah, good slut, relax your hungry cunt.”

You do as he says and soon you watch his finger disappear inside you, joining Tommy’s digits. With an open mouth you watch two brothers fuck your stretched hole. You grip their wrists, not to stop but to encourage them to keep going.

Tommy's voice is strained with lust when he groans,

“Shit, honey. Listen to her. She’s crying for more. My fingers are drenched.”

His words send you spiraling into the depth of arousal and when the heel of Joel’s hand hits your clit, you cry out. Your body is shaking, your nails scratching their wrists, your face twisting with euphoria.

“Yeah, jus’ like that, little slut. Happy pussy, happy dicks, yeah?”

You barely hear Joel, after two orgasms your brain is mush. Through the fog in your head you hear Tommy’s voice,

“You sure you still want it? Honey, yes or no?”

You nod because of course you do. The way they make you feel when you fuck is the best thing you’ve experienced in your life, the brightest, the richest pleasure. You feel needed, desired, like they will never leave you. Never will be able to exist without you.

“You need to say it, baby, c’mon,” Tommy coos, “Need to hear it.”

“Yes. Please, fuck me both. Fuck my tight pussy.”

“Ain’t so tight anymore, angel,” Joel laughs, “but it’ll snap back after we done with her.”

He gives you a reassuring slap on the thigh and you smile, too spent to talk.

The men get undressed and then manhandle you into straddling Tommy. You kiss him as soon as you’re close, moaning into his mouth as if tasting him is your basic need, one thing you can’t live without. You both seem to get lost in it until you hear Joel’s grumble.

“Quit it, lovebirds. Let’s get to fuckin’.” He’s next to the bed and you turn your head, ogling his gorgeous cock.

“Soon my dick and your sweet cunt will meet, angel. Let’s make their first time special, yeah?”

He tilts your head up with his fingers, bends down and kisses you passionately. You missed his taste, mixed with yours now, missed his lips, his scent, enveloping you. Your pussy aches for him as much as for Tommy and you might hate to admit it but your heart craves him too. His fire is as scolding as it is addictive and you want him to destroy you, in whatever way he wishes.

You wrap your arms around his thick neck and kiss him, really kiss him, like you’re surrendering yourself to him.

Suddenly he lifts you with his strong arms, throws your legs around his waist and starts devouring your mouth like an offering.

You feel his hot cock pulsating between your bodies and you mumble against his lips,

“Fuck me, Joel. Ruin me.”

With a growl he helps you to sit back on Tommy’s thighs.

Your stepdad’s eyes dart between yours as he cups your cheek, “ya making me jealous, sweetheart,” with a smirk he adds, “I love it.”

He’s not lying, judging by the way his hard cock is smearing precum over your belly, and you smile, taking it in your hand and lifting your hips.

Joel encourages you, his heavy hand on your shoulder,

“Yeah, like that, baby.”

Eyes locked with Tommy’s you sink on his shaft in one go and you both moan, joined at last, relishing this sensation.

“Fuck, you’re wet, babygirl. So warm.” You press your tits to his chest, nuzzling his neck and start moving on his length, up and down, slowly and steadily. His hands grab your ass and he kneads and spreads your asscheeks while his low moaning in your ear makes your head spin.

“Ahhh—That’s my good girl—sweet pussy—riding me so well—missed it—hnggg.”

Then he looks up at his brother and grunts,

“Fuck, let’s do it, Joel, gonna come soon.”

“Daddy was celibate just like you, angel. Savin’ his dick for his dear stepdaughter,” Joel chuckles, stepping on the bed and getting on his knees behind you with a grunt. “Miracle that he didn’t bust a nut yet.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy groans and adds, “hope we won’t break the bed,” he smiles at you but you couldn’t care less about it.

“Daddy, what should I do now?”

Instead of Tommy, Joel replies, “Lie forward and enjoy, baby. Your daddies gonna do all the work.”

Tommy nods with a reassuring smile and you lean on his chest, your eyes locked.

Tommy’s cock twitches inside you when you feel Joel’s hands grip your hips and his fat tip prod your already full pussy.

“Be careful, Joel,” Tommy says as his hand rubs your cheek and he stares into your widened eyes.

He moves his thumb to your lips and says, “Suck, my love.”

You feel butterflies in your belly, hearing the pet name, and take his thick finger between your lips and start sucking. It instantly calms you down.

At this moment Joel pushes his tip fully in and you whine around your stepdad's thumb.

“Shhh, the head’s the meatiest part, angel. Now it’ll slide in like a knife through butter.”

Surprisingly enough he’s not lying. The burning you felt before subsides and with his fingers digging into your hips, Joel parts your walls, inserting his whole cock into your slicked up pussy and bottoms out with a roar.

“Fuck me,” he growls and laughs, “My little niece has a perfect hole.”

He slaps your ass lightly and your pussy clamps around their fat cocks, making both of them groan.

“Oh my god, I’m so full,” your voice is shaky, endorphins already coursing through your body.

“Yes, sweetheart, you did it. Shit, it’s so tight inside you now. It feels amazing.” Tommy’s head falls back against the headboard as his eyes flutter shut.

You almost giggle at how great it feels, then take a deep breath and whine,

“Fuck me, please.”

“Damn, you don’t have to ask twice, baby,” Joel gruffs and pulls his cock out almost to the tip before rolling his hips back into you.

The sensation almost sends you over the precipice. You squeeze your eyes shut, your nails scratching Tommy’s chest, and he hisses and thrusts his hips up into you. You gasp when they both start moving and in a few moments the brothers find a perfect rhythm of fucking your stretched hole, their stiff cocks, sliding in and out of your channel, are drawing moans and whimpers out of your open lips.

While Joel is concentrating on balancing his weight on his knees and stuffing your hole, Tommy makes sure to kiss and lick every spot he can reach. His tongue swirls around your nipples, hands grab your flesh, teeth nip your skin. He paints your neck with hickeys, gently kissing the pain away, until his lips reach yours and he kisses you, while the two cocks are fucking you.

Joel interrupts your kiss when his hand wraps around your throat and he pulls you closer to him. Your back arches and you look up at his face, hovering over yours, as he growls,

“Here’s my sweet niece— our pretty fuck doll.”

He begins snapping his hips into you harder, faster sending his cock deeper and Tommy follows his suit, thrusting his member up into your pussy with the same rhythm.

“I told him ya a slut—ahhh, fuck— and look at ya,” he smirks, ruining your pussy, holding your neck tightly, “his good girl’s bouncing on two big dicks, pleading to be fucked like a whore she is.”

“Dreams do come true,” you mumble back with a hazy smile.

Suddenly Tommy’s fingers swirl around your clit and the sensation together with the filthy words, spilling out of Joel’s mouth, pushes you over the edge and you come, harder than ever, trembling between the men, squeezing their cocks with your pulsating pussy while tears of bliss stream down your cheeks.

With a groan Joel licks a tear off your face and pushes you on Tommy’s chest before immediately exploding into your core, spurting warm cum deep inside you.

While you’re still shaking with your orgasm, Tommy embraces your body tightly and begins coming too, pumping you full of his load. Both men are thrusting, the rhythm uneven and hectic, and you’re milking their cocks until their balls are empty. You feel bloated with the amount of cum they squirted into you and soon it starts leaking out around their cocks and sliding down your thighs.

Gradually your climax dissipates while the men are still inside you. The room gets filled with heavy breathing of the three of you. Joel’s manhood slides out of your pussy first and he tilts your head to him and plants a quick kiss on your lips.

“Keep ‘er plugged, brother,” Joel gruffs, getting up, plops in your chair and lights another cigarette. “Happily,” Tommy murmurs into your ear, before he starts peppering soft kisses along your neck. You giggle when his mustache is tickling you, and to make him stop, you press your lips to his and you make out while his softening manhood is still buried deep inside you, in the pool of their cum.

Joel doesn’t ruin this post-orgasmic moment between his younger brother and you, the room is quiet except for the sounds of lip smacking and him smoking. And you’re grateful to him.

When you finally part from each other, Tommy helps you to lie down next to him. The mess between your legs makes you whine and Tommy gets you some tissues and helps you to clean yourself.

Then you settle down next to him on the bed, your cheek on his shoulder and your leg thrown over his thigh.

Meanwhile Joel puts his jeans back on without zipping them up and rests in the chair.

Tommy and you don’t care about the clothes, both reveling in the afterglow. Your eyes are closing when suddenly Tommy asks,

“Do you have any plans for thanksgiving holidays?”

You blink a few times trying to understand the question and gather your thoughts.

“I…Mel invited me to spend them with her family… but I don’t know. Why?” You tilt your head up to look at him.

“I’m moving back to Austin. Gonna live with Joel for now until I find my own place. Maybe you can visit me there. Us.”

Your heart sings and stomach flutters with excitement when you hear his invitation.

“Sounds nice,” you murmur, barely keeping yourself from squealing. Then you look at Joel.

“Would you mind?”

His piercing eyes slide along your naked body, linger on your lips and then lock with yours.

“I wouldn’t. Always nice to have a good pussy in the house.”

You roll your eyes and Tommy shoots Joel a glare before talking to you again,

“What about Christmas?”

You try to hide a wide grin, biting your lower lip.

“You might meet someone by then, daddy. Get yourself a girlfriend,” you murmur, drawing hearts on his chest with your index finger.

“I won’t. I don’t need anyone else.”

He places his hand under your jaw and tilts your head up.

“You’re the only one I need, sweetheart.”

You’re searching for lies in his eyes or his words but don’t find any. Your throat tightens and tears sting your eyes but you blink them away and reach up to give him a kiss. You pour all your love into it, need and desire in every stroke of your lips and tongue.

A few minutes in heaven are interrupted by Joel’s gruff voice,

“Before you swallow each other whole, let’s go find a bar and get me a drink.”

You giggle against Tommy’s lips and turn to your step uncle.

“I know a good place.”

You try to get up but your legs are still weak from all the orgasms, your pussy sore from the double-cock-pounding, so you almost fall, but Tommy’s strong arms help you up.

The brothers smirk and exchange glances, visibly proud of what they’ve done to you, when you stagger to the wardrobe. You’re still leaking and the thought that their cum is going to seep out of your pussy for days, makes you smile.

“Wear something slutty for us, angel,” Joel orders, putting on his mesh top. Then you feel his bulge press to your naked ass as he whispers against your cheek, “And no panties. Wanna play with your messy cunt under the table.”

The vision painted by your mind sends a shiver through your body and your clit twitches.

“Ok, uncle,” you agree and he lightly slaps your ass.

“Good little slut.”

Already dressed, Tommy comes up to your two and you turn around to the men. Joel’s bulge pokes your hip and his sticky gaze slides up and down your body. Tommy places his hand on your asscheek and gives it a gentle squeeze, cooing at you with a warm smile,

“Our good girl.”

You bite your lip, batting your lashes at the men, and purr with a mischievous smile,

“We’re gonna have so much fun together.”

Thank you for reading!❤️ Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! l'd love to hear your thoughts🌺💕

Part 5 || SERIES MASTERLIST |I Tommy’s Visit MASTERLIST

Tag list for the series:@milla-frenchy @iamasaddie @koshkaj-blog @survivingandenduring @nana90azevedo @mermaidgirl30 @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @obscurexsorrows @tammythr @ratoonstown @anama-cara @pedge-page @huskyfox5 @ashleyfilm @neverwheremoonchild @stevie75 @untamedheart81 @puduvallee @theoraekenslover @eloquentdreamer @ashhlsstuff @evolnoomym @pinkiec6-rubi @guelyury

Tommy tag @huskyfox5

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk

If you'd like to be tagged in the series or in anything else let me know!

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #tommy miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #tommy miller x reader #Joel miller x reader x tommy miller #pedro pascal characters #tommy miller x you #joel miller x you #the last of us #bad blood series

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ozzgin · 11 months ago

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A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)

Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?

[Part 2] | [More original works]

Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere imagines #yandere imagine #yandere scenarios #yandere male #yandere killer #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere serial killer #yandere original character #horror #split personality #tw yandere

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bitter-me · 3 months ago

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Hello, if requests are open, can I ask [any twst characters you want] with a Bill or Dipper!Male!Reader ?

Have a great day ! And a good night !

The All Seeing Eye

Malleus Draconia | M. Reader as Bill Cipher

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"Remember! Reality's an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold! Byeeee!"

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Malleus Draconia..

Quite the infamous name.

At this point, who doesn't know about the crown prince? He's one of the most powerful mages in the world! Despite that...

...just who in Twisted Wonderland hasn't heard of [Name] Cipher? The dream demon? Well apparently both Yuu and Grim doesn't... "Oh! Oh! Twisted Wonderland! it is good to be back! Name's [Name] Cipher and I take it two are some kind of living ventriloquist dummy?" He ask with a mix of sarcasm and amusement in his voice. Wait--no! He has to show some kindness to them. They're the ones who freed him after all. So maybe he should be kinder. Maybe.. "How about this you magicless thing, I will help you.. in exchange.. I only want a puppet! Yes! A puppet! You have one of those right?" This kid is magicless! He's completely defenseless against this world's wildness and chaos! But don't worry! He's here to help! Isn't he so kind~?

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Some students began to notice how Yuu seem to act differently sometimes.. it's odd.. suddenly he's capable of magic..? And these.. creepy knowledge?? What? When some ask about it, Yuu merely shrugged, dodging the question or straight up ignored them and Grim? That cat is as clueless as ever! For someone that's suppose to be close with the prefect, he's completely useless with this predicament.

Of course, Yuu's strange demeanor ended up catching the attention of none other than Diasomnia's Housewarden.

"Child of Man, it has come to my attention that you've been acting.. strange.. lately.. may I know the reason for such actions?"

"Oh! It's nothing really! I'm completely fine, there's nothing to be worry about!" Huh.. the prefect's reassurance sounded a bit cheery.. maybe too cheery... is he always like this? And this.. energy.. it's strong.. incredibly so..

Not at all convinced, Malleus spoke up with caution, preparing himself for what's to come. "Is that so? Then may I know why you're acting strangely?"

"I said I'm fine--" Yuu stopped himself once he saw who it was that decided to confront him this time. Oh.. oh! He had thought it was just some no name snotnosed kid! But no, oh no.. this is the main course! Finally he had finished the appetizers! A wide grin made its way onto his face as he spoke up in a cheery manner. "Well well well! Finally! The main course has arrive! How's living, my dear dragon?"

Malleus' calm demeanor change in an instant the moment those words came out of Yuu's mouth. This.. thing.. how dare he.. how dare it decided to lay a hand on the prefect!? And now it has the audacity to use his body like a puppet!? Unforgivable...

"You..."

"Aw, I thought you would be more happy to see me!"

Malleus scoffs at the dream demon's words, crossing his arms over his chest as he sent a glare towards him. Happy? What's there to be happy about?

"Admit it~ You missed me~"

[Name] knew full well that Malleus won't lift a finger at him, not when he's possessing his precious Child of Man.. of course he won't.. the very thought of injuring this fragile body must scare him to the bone! Poor baby...

The dream demon can't help but chuckle at the very thought of it. The other's glare mean nothing to him. What matters most is...

"What's with that look for? Come on now.. I still remember how happy you look back then~"

The look of wonder that the crown prince showed.. it was such magnificent a sight.. but not enough to coax [Name] to rethink his decision in deceiving him. This world will be his.

"Come on, my dear.. let me out.. out of this dimension of mine and into yours.."

"Allow me to show you just what true power actually is."

"Let me in."

"And welcome Weirdmageddon with open arms."

#twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus #seme male reader #top male reader #x male reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #twst x reader #twst x male reader #malleus x reader #gravity falls #gravity falls bill cipher #bill gravity falls #bill cipher

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buckets-and-trees · 4 months ago

Text

Pull the String

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark and rough Nomad!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader Word Count: 3.7k Summary: Friday, September 28, 2017. You have to live a normal life after meeting a larger than life figure. It's doable, and you're not stuck in summer dreams, but you do think of him from time to time. Another encounter in the Exiled Nomad Series.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, kissing, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, overstimulation, hint of praise kink, internal ejaculation, overstimulation, emotional unavailability, a broken Nomad who thinks he's fine but definitely is not

Author Notes: I wanted to finish this for your birthday proper, @stargazingfangirl18, but alas, only managed for birthday week. It's not a standalone, so it technically won't fit into your Birthday Bonenanza, but I did use a prompt from your list (bolded dialogue). Credit to @biteofcherry for helping me flesh out Mark from accounting a little bit.

You blinked and then read the text message again.

Something’s come up, sorry, have to cancel tonight.

It was only twenty minutes before Mark was supposed to pick you up for dinner.

A third date dinner.

YOU: Are you okay?

You typed and sent the quick text back.

You saw the three dots that indicated his typing, then they disappeared. You frowned. This was really unlike him. Mark had been nothing but reliable and a gentleman since you’d met him. He worked in the accounting firm on one of the other floors of your office building, and you had seen each other a few times at the coffee shop on the main floor in the morning. He was smart, funny without being a goof. You felt wholly normal around him.

And after having your world rocked on earthquake levels by Captain America over the 4th of July holiday, normal was what you wanted.

MARK: Everything’s fine, but we should probably call this off.

“What?” you couldn’t help actually exclaiming out loud.

You scanned up and down over your texts.

YOU: Did I do something wrong or misread the situation?

You really didn’t think that you had. In fact, you were sure of it, but you’d let him explain just in case.

It had been a few weeks, and the texts had ebbed and flowed naturally. After your second date last Sunday, you’d exchanged a kiss that had been modest but had enough heat to it that it left you starting to think about more. And last night the texts between the two of you had gotten a little spicier than any previous exchanges. Nothing vulgar, but flirty enough that you had shaved your legs and had been debating all day over what to wear.

In your silk robe, makeup finished, and hair nearly done, apparently you didn’t need to make any wardrobe decisions other than slipping into a comfy t-shirt and leggings now.

MARK: No, it’s nothing you did, and I hope we can just be friends.

Your jaw dropped and you threw your phone across the room.

Friends?

You abandoned your mirror, no need to finish getting ready at this point, and went to pick up your phone.

Fuck Mark.

But you opened your text thread with him one final time.

YOU: No hard feelings, if it’s over it’s over, and we can be cordial if we run into each other, but honestly I’m not looking for more platonic friends.

Run-on sentence aside, you felt good about the text after you hit send, and you promptly blocked Mark’s number and deleted all the texts.

And what you said was mostly true.

You actually could use some more platonic friends in this town you’d lived in for less than a year, but you weren’t looking to be friends with guys who did but then didn’t want to date you.

But well into your thirties, you were so used to and exhausted by the runaround of talking, of the dating apps, of the first dates that fizzled into nothings – first dates that you rarely even agreed to go on anymore because it usually turned out to be a waste of time with men who were too boring or too horny. For a moment Mark had been a breath of fresh air, normal and nice and endearing.

And apparently not worth the time and effort you had sunk into the beginning of the blossoming relationship either.

Even at that thought, you were glad you had already followed your self-imposed rule of deleting messages, because you already had the itch to go back and re-read, and so it was good you had removed that temptation. No need to torture yourself.

You turned on your favorite album, cranked up the music, and ordered delivery from your favorite Italian restaurant with tiramisu and extra garlic bread.

You would watch your favorite movie, indulge in your favorite food, and later put yourself to bed with another chapter of the spicy romance novel you were reading and a nice session with your favorite vibrator.

Fuck Mark.

The app said your dinner would arrive in thirty-five minutes, so you slipped into leggings and one of your old comfy t-shirts, and flopped onto the couch to wait, the song from the opening credits of the movie making you feel just a little bit better.

At this stage of life, it was just annoying that Mark had called it off. Make it through dates three and four and people your age were reasonably sure they were headed down the relationship road together. At least that’s how you operated. You knew yourself enough that you weren’t dating someone to try and figure out who you were like you maybe had at times when you were younger, trying to live up to some expectation of society. You were busy enough that your free time was precious, and so you didn’t go on frivolous dates. Most important, as seemingly everyone around you had peeled off and gotten married while you remained perpetually single, you had to figure out if you could be happy alone, and you’d spent time to figure that out and truly find happiness. It was lonely sometimes, but overall you had built a good life, put your time into things that really satisfied you.

When you realized you were more annoyed at having to start over again than over losing Mark, you sighed and realized that was both a good and a bad sign. Good because you clearly weren’t going to be hung up on Mark, but bad because he really hadn’t meant much – you’d just wanted him to.

A small ache in your chest resurfaced.

The person you did miss was Steve Rogers.

And you held no bitterness there – it had been so clear for both of you that it was a summer holiday fling – but you did have some leftover longing.

Who could blame you?

When The Avengers had come together in New York in 2012, you had swooned over Thor, but there was something so steady, charming, and trustworthy about Captain America down to the bone that your admiration had developed into quite the crush. You knew the parasocial relationship that you and the rest of the world developed with him over the years was synthetic. It was fun and harmless.

But then you had met the real Steve Rogers in the flesh – and spent time flesh to flesh with him over the Fourth of July weekend.

The days you spent with him had been both intense and surreal. You had context to who he was from history books and the public persona, but the man behind the shield was naturally and infinitely more than what screens, books, and social media could ever portray. It was clear that being in exile from his country and on the run from most of the world due to their signing of the Sokovia Accords had changed him. But as you talked and spent time together, you suspected that losing his freedom had also freed him in some ways from the burdens of expectation and the colossal mantle and responsibilities of being Captain America.

He hadn’t given up his sense of duty to still help when and where he could, but he could simply be Steve.

In the nearly two days and two nights you’d spent together almost constantly in each other’s company, you’d shared so much, talking over things that were both trivial and meaningful as the conversations evolved. You’d spent time in serene silence together as well.

All of that felt stolen out of the pages of a book on its own.

But then there had also been the sex.

So much super soldier sex.

Rough, intense, sensual, exquisite, and all-consuming.

All of it – the physical and emotional – had been more intimate than anything else you had ever experienced.

Logically you had also come to realize that the pure fact that you both knew the time was so limited and fleeting undoubtedly allowed both of you to suspend boundaries and open up in ways you wouldn’t have if it had been a more conventional coupling up situation.

Yet it didn’t take anything away from the memory of those days together.

Logically you also knew no one would ever compare to him, and you had been realistic about that.

But tonight you wouldn’t worry about letting your thoughts drift to Steve.

It was more difficult to think of the emotional, and so your mind diverted quickly to the physical.

The way he had looked at you, touched you, kissed you, pleasured you. The feel of his cock inside of you. His fingers and his mouth ripping more orgasms from you than…

“No,” you scolded yourself out loud and groaned. “It’s too early on a Friday night to be thinking about sex with Steve.”

Not that it did any good to say so.

You pressed your thighs together, feeling the ache the worst at your core.

No longer paying any attention whatsoever to the movie you had going on the tv, it was the doorbell ringing with your food delivery that saved you from the spiral of desperately horny thoughts you were caught in.

There were two bags deposited on your doorstep, and you snatched them both up eagerly. The larger brown paper bag was emanating some heat, so you opened the smaller one first, assuming correctly that it held your tiramisu. You snatched a spoon from your silverware drawer and went for a sweet, indulgent bite. A little spoiling before you turned to the savory feast.

That bite made you moan in satisfaction. You savored the way the cream was perfectly smooth and balanced with the coffee and liqueur-soaked ladyfingers.

Your doorbell rang again, and you rushed over to open the door, assuming the delivery person probably realized they had forgotten a precious part of your meal – likely the garlic bread, and that would have been a sin!

Spoon still in your mouth, you opened the door and then froze.

Wearing the same aviators and non-descript baseball cap, Steve Rogers stood before you, as if it hadn’t been nearly three months since your once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

This couldn’t be real.

And yet his aggressive grip on your hip as he backed you into your place and kicked the door closed behind him was irrefutable.

Your heart raced as Steve pressed you against the wall, his body flush against yours. Your spoon clattered to the floor. He discarded his sunglasses on the table by the door and then captured your lips in a searing kiss. His beard scratched your skin, a delicious friction that sent shivers down your spine. Your lips parted for the demands of his hungry kiss, and when he licked into your mouth, his tongue slid against yours slowly for a moment, and you knew he was tasting the sugary sweetness of the bite you’d just savored, savoring it himself.

When he finally broke away, you gasped for air. "Steve? What are you doing here?"

"I shouldn't be here," he murmured against your neck, his breath hot on your skin. "But I couldn't stay away."

Your mind reeled. This couldn't be happening. "Isn’t it risky for you to come back?"

Steve's thumb traced your lower lip. "Some risks are worth taking."

You melted into his touch, your body quickly abandoning reason. You yanked him closer by his shirt collar, kissing him fiercely. You removed the hat that was already askew on his head and tangled your fingers in his hair. It was longer now than when you'd last seen him. He groaned, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the couch.

Steve laid you down on the cushions, his body covering yours as he kissed a trail down your neck. His beard scratched deliciously against your sensitive skin, making you shiver. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the tight muscles beneath his shirt.

"I've thought about this so much since I left," Steve murmured against your collarbone. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your stomach.

You arched into his touch, desperate for more. "Me too," you breathed, that confession opening a dangerous door you had tried to keep closed inside of you.

Steve's hands pushed your shirt up, exposing your breasts. His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you. Slowly, reverently, he lowered his head to take a nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue made you gasp and clutch at his neck. He gave it a hard, long suck before letting his tongue swirl around your nipple again, laving at it as his hand kneaded the other. It was all you could do to moan, arch into him more, and hold onto him like a lifeline.

Steve kissed his way down your body, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your leggings, looking up at you with a nearly feral hunger in his eye, something dark that sent a thrill of both adrenaline and desire through you, and you lifted your hips because no one had ever looked at you with so much need.

Steve slowly peeled your leggings down, his eyes never leaving yours as he revealed more of your bare skin. You shivered as the cool air hit your exposed flesh, goosebumps rising on your thighs. Steve's large hands caressed up your legs, leaving trails of heat in their wake. He settled his broad shoulders between your legs, spreading you wide beneath him. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then nipped at your tender flesh, making you yelp, before he soothed it with his tongue and then another kiss, even softer than the first. Then he shifted, and you could feel his hot breath against your most intimate parts, already slick for him. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he placed an open-mouthed kiss to you there, and you sucked in a breath.

"God, I've missed your taste," he growled.

Without warning, he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, making you gasp and arch off the couch. His strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for him as he explored you with his tongue. He circled your clit teasingly before sucking it into his mouth, the pressure making you cry out in pleasure.

Steve's tongue was relentless, alternating between broad, flat strokes and precise flicks that had you writhing beneath him. He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them to stroke your inner walls as he continued his assault on your clit. The dual sensations quickly had you climbing towards your peak.

"Steve," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your thighs began to tremble as you teetered on the edge of orgasm. Steve redoubled his efforts, his fingers pumping faster as his tongue flicked rapidly over your sensitive bud.

With a cry, you came undone, your body shuddering as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Steve worked you through your climax, lapping up your release until you gently pushed his head away, oversensitive.

But he growled and bit at the inside of your other thigh. “I’m not done eating my fill of this pretty cunt yet.”

You gasped at Steve's words, a fresh wave of arousal pulsing through you despite your recent orgasm. His blue eyes were dark with desire as he looked up at you from between your thighs.

"Steve," you breathed, torn between wanting more and feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation.

He seemed to sense your hesitation. "Color?" he asked, his voice husky but almost gentle.

"Green," you replied. How could you deny him? This? When you assumed you would never see him again.

Steve's lips curled into a wicked smile. "Good girl," he purred, before diving back in.

This time, his tongue explored you even more thoroughly, dipping inside you to taste your essence before returning to your clit. He alternated between broad strokes and precise flicks, keeping you on edge. When he slipped two fingers back inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot, tears were creeping up on you for the mingled overstimulation and ecstasy.

Your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against Steve's face as he worked you towards another climax. The coarse hair of his beard rubbed deliciously against your inner thighs, adding to the overwhelming sensations.

"That's it," Steve murmured against your flesh. "Let go for me, sweet girl."

His words, combined with a particularly well-timed curl of his fingers and another hard suck on your clit, sent you careening over the edge once more. You cried out, your back arching off the couch as your second orgasm ripped through you, even more intense than the first.

Steve didn't let up, his tongue and fingers working you through the aftershocks until you were a trembling, oversensitive mess. Only then did he pull away, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before sitting back on his heels.

You lay helpless, trying to catch your breath. He leaned forward and caught the tears on your cheeks with strong swipes of his thumbs. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”

Your breath caught in your throat at Steve's bold declaration. The intensity in his eyes made you shiver with anticipation.

"I already am," you confessed softly.

Something flashed in Steve's eyes - possessiveness, pride, and a hint of vulnerability. He surged forward to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he devoured your mouth.

Steve's hands roamed your body, relearning every curve and plane. When he cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples, you arched into his touch with a gasp.

"Please" you mumbled against his lips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours.

You surged forward for another kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. "I need you inside me."

Steve groaned, his hips grinding against yours. You could feel the hard length of him through his jeans, and you ached to have him fill you completely. He sat back, quickly stripping off his shirt to reveal his chiseled torso. Your hands roamed over his muscled chest and abs, marveling at the perfection of his body.

As Steve unbuckled his belt and shoved his jeans down, you took the opportunity to remove your shirt fully, leaving you both gloriously naked. He paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of you laid out before him, flushed and wanting. His eyes raked over your body with such intensity that you felt more exposed than you ever had before, curves and scars and imperfections on full display. You felt yourself flush under his gaze.

You reached for him, pulling him down on top of you. The feeling of his bare skin against yours was electrifying. Steve captured your lips in another passionate kiss as he settled between your thighs. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your entrance, and you rolled your hips, silently begging him to take you.

Steve broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as he slowly pushed inside. You both groaned at the exquisite feeling of him stretching and filling you. When he was fully seated, he paused, but not long enough for you to adjust to his size. But the painful pleasure of it only fueled your hunger for more of him.

"You feel so good," he breathed, his voice strained, words hot against the crook of your neck. "So tight and perfect for me."

You whimpered in response, overwhelmed by the fullness and the intensity of having Steve inside you again after so long. Your fingers dug into his broad shoulders as he began to move, starting with slow, deep thrusts that had you gasping with each roll of his hips.

"Steve," you moaned, arching into him. "More, faster."

He growled low in his throat, picking up the pace. The couch creaked beneath you as Steve's powerful thrusts drove you into the cushions. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, changing the angle so he hit that perfect spot inside you with each stroke.

"That's it," Steve panted, his voice rough with desire. "Take all of me."

Your world narrowed to the feeling of Steve moving inside you, the sound of skin on skin, and the increasingly desperate noises falling from both your lips.

Steve's rhythm became more frantic, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force. The intensity of his thrusts had you clinging to him, nails digging into his back as pleasure built within you. Each powerful stroke sent shockwaves through your body, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Look at me," Steve commanded, his voice husky and strained.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The raw emotion you saw there – desire, possessiveness, and something deeper you couldn't quite name – took your breath away.

"I want to see you fall apart," he growled, never breaking eye contact as he continued to drive into you relentlessly. “I want to watch what only I can do to you.”

One of his hands snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with the precision he perfected in the heat of July.

"Come for me," Steve commanded, his voice strained. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

His words and the relentless pressure on your clit sent you spiraling into ecstasy. You cried out Steve's name as your orgasm crashed over you, your inner walls clenching tightly around him. The intensity of your climax triggered Steve's own release. He groaned, burying himself deep inside you as he came.

For a moment, you both lay there, panting and trembling in the aftermath. Steve's weight pressed you into the couch, but you relished the feeling of being surrounded by him.

When both of you settled back into even breathing, he planted slow kisses along your jaw and blazed a trail back to your mouth. Cock still inside you, he kissed you slowly. Slow and unrepentant, in no hurry now, only drinking you in, and you let your hands stroke up and down his back, relishing in the impossible and stolen closeness.

You could survive a second encounter with this super soldier.

READ their next part/later that night: Put Me Back on My Shelf read more of the: Exiled Nomad Series

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sailorrhansol · 6 months ago

Text

Blood & Popcorn | l.c (m)

❀ Pairing: Lee Chan x f. Reader

❀ Summary: Fridays are reserved for watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and stuffing your face with popcorn and pizza. It’s been like that for you and Chan since your freshman year of college. But when he skips your Blood and Popcorn night for a date, things take an unexpected turn.

❀ Word Count: 11,315

❀ Genre: Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff

❀ Type: Smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Literally so much misunderstanding and repressed feelings, pining, light themes of jealousy, recreational drinking, recreational weed use, bad communication skills, some mild insecurities, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (do not do this lmaooo), nipple stim, light teasing, oral (f. receiving), clumsy/playful sex, jokes/banter while fucking. They’re both down horrendous. Joshua as an almost love interest. Jeonghan is both terrible and great at advice. Alternating POVs and some time skips.

❀ A/N: This is another work coming from a conversation with @daechwitatamic who at this point, I think had been the driving force behind all three random one shots I’ve written. I apparently can’t say no when she asks for something :) so anyway, here is simp Lee Chan and simp reader because ???? And yes I'm posting this at 11:30 pm at night who cares there are no rules!!!!!!!!

❀ A/N 2: Also thank you to Jo for reading this before hand because it would be otherwise largely illegible. King Julian is on the way, bestie.

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Read Next: Still Watching?

“So why not Blood and Pizza if pizza is always involved but popcorn isn’t?” Mingyu eyes the french fries on your plate. You give him a warning glance, pointing the sharp tines of your fork at him. He retreats, leaning against the cracked vinyl of the booth, pouting. “Also, the title sounds gross.”

“Good thing it has nothing to do with you then.”

“Wow, you’re not even going to invite me?”

“No,” you chirp, popping a shoestring fry into your mouth. You savor the saltiness, humming delightedly. “It’s for me and Chan. Not me, Chan and you. Plus, you know nothing about Buffy.”

“Isn’t that a magic dragon? And are you sure you two aren’t dating?”

The look you send Mingyu makes him hold up his hands in surrender. It isn’t the first time someone has asked if you and Chan are dating, and you know it won’t be the last. You don’t want to start down that avenue tonight, trying to navigate the questions of why and well you seem to be a good match.

If romantic relationships were started over simply having things in common and matching a vibe, you and Chan would have started dating a long time ago. But you’re not, and you’ve already gotten over the fact that you’re not dating and that you will not start dating.

Mostly.

The bell rings above the diner door, drawing your attention. Like he’s been manifested by Mingyu’s dangerous question, Chan spots you and lifts a hand, a smile splitting his face as he heads over. You scoot over in the booth, dragging your plate along with you to make room for him.

Chan is dressed in jeans and a green sweater, your favorite color on him. He sits down next to you, cushioned seat dipping a little as he leans over to kiss the top of your head and steal fries off of your plate. You let him, feeling heat flush up the side of your neck as you look anywhere but Mingyu’s accusatory stare.

“These are so good,” Chan says around a mouthful of fries. “Thanks, Bambi.”

You grin at the nickname, trying not to flush too hard.

“I wouldn’t know,” Mingyu says pointedly. You ignore him, shoving your burger in your mouth. “Apparently I’m not allowed fries or to attend your movie night.”

“Order your own fries,” Chan says.

“Ugh. I already ate mine.”

“So order more, idiot. And of course you’re not invited to Blood and Popcorn. That’s our thing.”

Our thing.

The corner of your mouth twitches as you glance at Chan. He doesn’t notice, catching the eyes of the server and waving happily, giving her a broad smile. She gives him a thumbs up in return, confirming she’ll put in his usual now that he’s there.

There are a lot of things that belong to you and Chan. Studying at the very diner you were sitting in during freshman year had been one of them, though now in your final year there’s not as much of a need to study and you’ve incorporated other friends in your late night trips for grease and calories.

You also shared trivia nights on Tuesdays with Vernon and Seungkwan, football Sundays with Seungcheol, Mingyu and Jeonghan, once a month family dinners with everyone, and most importantly, Blood and Popcorn.

Chan steals another fry off of your plate and you let him, leaning back in the booth. Mingyu glares daggers at you, dark eyes flicking from your plate, to you, to Chan. You grin around a mouthful of cheeseburger and he scoffs before looking away.

Behind you, Chan’s arm stretches across the back of the booth, just barely brushing against the top of your shoulders. Your stomach flips a little, momentarily elated at the contact before you swallow it down with Sprite, pretending it wasn’t there in the first place.

The two boys immediately fall into a conversation about their shared engineering class. You tune it out easily, a learned habit over the last four years of having to listen to Chan tell you the functions of a bridge and the best way to design one. Instead, you focus on the rise and fall of Chan’s soft voice and the way it lulls you into a state of calm.

When the server brings over his order, he pulls his arm from over the back of the seat. Immediately you snatch one of the onion rings from his basket, popping one into your mouth and hissing as the crispy snack burns you. He shakes his head, laughing as he gives you a napkin while you sputter.

“Careful, Bambi,” he murmurs. “They’re literally steaming.”

Mingyu reaches for an onion ring, only to be threatened with the blunt end of Chan’s steak knife. “Don’t even think about it.”

“But she-”

“Bambi has special privileges,” Chan quips. “Order yourself some more fries for the love of God. I’ll pay for them.”

Mingyu immediately stops whining, mood improving markedly as he orders fries, wiggling in his seat happily. Chan cuts his burger in half, asking, “Why were you talking about Blood and Popcorn anyway?”

“Shua asked Bambi out on a date,” Mingyu answers around a mouthful of fries. “She told him she couldn’t go because of Blood and Popcorn.”

Chan stops eating and looks at you, brows creasing. You feel your heart rate speed up as you kick Mingyu under the table. He yelps, knee jerking upward to slam against the underside of the table. The salt and pepper shakers rattle in place as Mingyu bends over to rub his shin.

“He didn’t ask me out on a date.”

“He asked you to dinner!”

“As friends!”

“Oh yeah,” Mingyu snorts, rolling his eyes. “Friends take friends to fucking prime steakhouses. He asked you out on a date.”

For a moment, silence envelops the table. You stare at your fries, watching Chan out of your periphery. He looks away from you, wiping the grease from his fingers onto the napkin. The air feels pregnant with tension suddenly, your anxiety bubbling as you open your mouth to assert once more it wasn’t a date.

Chan beats you to breaking the silence, “We can skip this Friday so you can go!”

You open and close your mouth a few times, heart dropping to your ass. “What?”

“It’s totally fine if we have to skip. I don’t mind.”

Chan picks his burger back up, not looking at you. Heart pounding in your chest, you can’t help but watch him in total silence, trying to string together a response. Sure, maybe Chan doesn’t mind if you miss your weekly solo hangout. But you care.

The ache of the implication cuts you suddenly, a delayed reaction. You feel your throat tighten painfully, reaching for your Sprite to try and swallow past the sudden tension. It does nothing to quell the way the casual dismissal of your tradition keeps cutting you long after he’s said the words, sawing down to the bone.

“I wasn’t aware that we could just skip Blood and Popcorn, I guess.”

“I mean if you’ve got a date.”

That’s not the point, you want to scream at him.

Chan is a lot of things. Perceptive isn’t one of them. If he had been, you know he would have sniffed out your feelings for him a long time ago. Luckily for you, he’s remained completely oblivious over the last four years of your friendship, and you like to keep it that way. Keep it safe.

Nothing ruins a friendship more than unrequited romance. You know that from more than just the media you consume - you’ve seen more than once first hand when one friend catches feelings for the others but the desire isn’t mutual.

It isn’t mutual here. It’s always been very clear where Chan’s interests lie, and you’re totally fine with that. You accept the relationship that you have happily and quietly, and thought moments like are a brutal reminder of where you stand, it’s alright because you also love your friendship. More than you love him - at least, you think so.

So when Chan so easily suggests to go on a date, to cancel your thing with him to accommodate, you know it isn’t because he doesn’t care. He just thinks that you should go on a date because it doesn’t occur to him that the real reason you don’t want to is because your interests are somewhere else. That you don’t want to cancel Blood and Popcorn because it’s for the two of you and no one else.

“Yeah,” you rasp, unsure what else to say. “Um, maybe.”

“Shua is a good guy.”

“Yeah. Yeah he is.”

Mingyu and Chan go back to their conversation about class. You finish your meal in silence, leaning back against the seat as your thoughts wander listlessly. You gaze around the diner, drinking in detail as their conversation becomes background noise and you can no longer understand what they’re saying.

Rounders Diner had been a staple in the college community long before you were born, and continues to be the center for academic life. Students fill the booths sipping on milkshakes as they cram for exams or homework, night shift workers sit at the countertop and order coffee before heading to work, and the jukebox in the corner glows neon, only offering a selection of music from the 50s.

Behind the countertop is an open scratch kitchen, the sound of sizzling grease and yelled orders bracketing an Elvis song you know the words to but don’t know the name of. Black and white tile flooring with years worth of scuffs reflect the canned lighting in the ceiling. Over near the entrance is a wall covered in pictures of students of note throughout the years.

You remember the first time Chan had hauled you to Rounders. It was the first day you’d met, two freshmen absolutely terrified of the world after experiencing two back to back intro courses together. The dining hall was on the opposite side of campus from your classes, but Chan had insisted there was a diner just off the corner that everyone said was a necessary experience.

He was the first real friend you made. Your roommates had become your best friends too, Lorna and Mai splashed across almost every memory you have of college. But that first day is only colored with Chan, who had slid into the seat across from you and looked around the diner with a bright grin like he was suddenly at home.

Wanna start coming here after class?

You did. And you had.

A hand waves in front of your face, making you blink several times before Chan’s face swims into focus. Your thoughts are a little delayed as you drink him in: dark hair framing dark, angular eyes that turn molten brown when the sun hits them just right, a jawline that has turned sharper as he’s aged, though his cheeks still have a youthful softness that you adore, and a grin that makes the world dim.

“What?” you ask him, totally at a loss for words.

He laughs and you feel the corners of your lips turn upward, an automatic response to his mirth. “I asked if you were ready to go.”

You look up to see Mingyu at the register, passing over the bill and a card. “I think I spaced out. I thought you were buying him fries?”

He snorts. “Never fear, it’s my card. Everything okay?”

You hesitate. Not for the first time, the urge to spill your guts to him grips you so forcefully that you almost do right in the middle of Rounders. Almost tell him everything from start to finish, the feelings, the reason you don’t want to date Joshua, how beautiful you think Chan is-

Mingyu starts heading back and you force a grin on your face, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Of course. A little tired, though. Thanks for dinner.”

“You know I’ve got you.” He gets up from the booth and holds his hand out to you. “Always.”

Chan is the stupidest fucking person he knows. He lets out a loud scream into the warmth of his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as he lays face down in his bed. His arms are shoved under the pillow, fisting in his sheets as the long-winded scream finally begins to die out.

“Yes, that is healthy,” Seungkwan calls from Chan’s desk against the window. “Let the pillow know everything that you’re feeling.”

Scowling, Chan lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder at where Seungkwan is sitting. His roommate is hunched over Chan’s laptop, a document open on the screen as he clicks around rapidly, cursing under his breath.

“Why are you in here again?”

“My literature professor is a dinosaur,” Seungkwan answers. “And only accepts printed essay submissions.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean you don’t have your own printer?”

“No, and I will not be paying thirty cents a paper for an essay that is almost thirty pages long.”

“That’s like, nine dollars dude. Also, why is your essay thirty pages long?”

“Ask the dude who wrote Beowulf.”

“Isn’t that like… a movie?”

Seungkwan mutters something under his breath. The printer chimes, followed by a mechanic whirring as the paper feeds into the machine and starts printing. Spinning in the chair, Seungkwan looks at where Chan is still laying stomach down, face squished against his pillow as he cradles it.

“Speaking of movies - are you having Blood and Popcorn here or at Bambi’s?”

Chan can’t help but smirk at the nickname. It had stuck ever since your freshman year when you’d called Rin Hartford a bambi-eyed bitch for saying nasty things to Mingyu. He thinks that night might be the night he realized he was absolutely head over heels for you, even if he had only known you for two weeks then.

Despite your quiet disposition, you’ve always been the epitome of bravery. He can’t recall a time that you haven’t said what you meant or meant what you said, and defending your friends and speaking up has always been paramount to you.

For someone like Chan who was often the youngest and the softest spoken in any group he was in, you were a breath of fresh air. And you’ve taught him to speak up for himself, letting him grow comfortable pushing back with people - especially his friends - and how to give back what he gets.

Corrupted, Seungcheol joked once. She corrupted him and taught him how to bully us back.

“I’m not really sure,” Chan says slowly, thinking about your conversation at the diner, the exact source of his pillow-scream. “We might not be doing it.”

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise. We’re just friends.”

“That’s the trouble I’m talking about, brother.” Seungkwan turns around to start collecting the pages out of the printer. “Is the Blood and Popcorn cancellation the reason for your pillow screaming?”

“I don’t know that it’s canceled.”

“That really clarifies the issue.”

Chan scowls. “Did you know Shua was into her?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“He asked her on a date.”

“Joshua must have got tired of waiting for you to make a move on Bambi. I guess he decided you weren’t going to.”

Chan frowns and sits up. He didn’t realize Joshua remotely had a thing for you, and while Chan adores the older member of their larger friend group, the thought of him taking you to dinner - a date - makes his stomach tighten.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Seungkwan clarifies. “That you have had the last four years to nut up or shut up. Everyone has waited for you to make your move on Bambi and you haven’t. If you’re not going to do it, someone else might as well.”

“I mean, anyone could ask her out. It’s not like I have-”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t have dibs. Dibs can be unspoken, Chan. You’ve been in love with that girl since freshman year, if you think people - especially our friends - cannot tell and don’t respect you enough to give you time to ask her out, you need to wake up.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“Not to her, clearly.” Seungkwan stands and grins at Chan placidly, his essay collected in his hands. “Fortunately for you, the only person who is as dumb as you are is Bambi. Match made in heaven, really.”

Chan chews his bottom lip. That offers a little bit of relief. He doesn’t like knowing that his feelings are so obvious to everyone else, but at least you don’t know. He cannot imagine how uncomfortable it would make your friendship dynamic knowing he was mooning over you while you just saw him as a friend.

“Well, she doesn’t feel that way about me. I’m not going to confess my unrequited feelings and put her in that position to deal with them. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Seungkwan gives Chan a slow blink, smile turning plastic. “Like I said. Match made in heaven.”

Heaving a sigh, Chan throws himself on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Chan was certainly an idiot for a lot of reasons, but the biggest reason has to be the way he has let his feelings for you fester since freshman year. Instead of implementing preventative maintenance, he’s let the problem grow to the point that his friends are no longer waiting for him to do something about it.

The window of opportunity is gone.

Not that there was a window of opportunity to begin with. Chan has seen what it looks like when you’re interested in guys - dazed eyes, a little flustered, a tiny grin on your face. You’ve never looked at him that way. At least, not really like that. You smile at him all the time, but it’s different.

If he had the slightest indication you looked at him like you were interested, he’d have spilled his feelings a long time ago. Hiding this from you feels almost like a violation of friendship, but in order to preserve the friendship and keep you comfortable, he does what he must.

The memory of him telling you to go on a date with Joshua makes him groan in embarrassment. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, seeing stars explode behind his lids. It had been a knee jerk response, something to distract you from the immediate jealousy and panic he’d felt that moment that Mingyu had dropped that bit of information at the table.

Mingyu. That motherfucker did it on purpose - not to rile Chan, but to try and give him a kick in the ass toward the right direction. But like everyone else, Mingyu doesn’t get it. If Chan told you how he felt just to get it off of his chest, it would be putting his burden on you. You’d be the one who had to feel guilty for it being unrequited, you’d be the one who would inevitably feel uncomfortable or out of place.

No. It would be the highest form of selfishness he can think of, offloading the heavy weight of his feelings just to give them to you as a reprieve from carrying them around so long.

Chan blinks away the swimming colors, staring up at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom again. He can hear Seungkwan singing somewhere in the apartment, liquid voice calming even in Chan’s mild state of distress.

Joshua is a good guy. Honestly, there are only a few guys that Chan knows who would make a suitable partner for you, and he begrudgingly acknowledges that Joshua is at the top of that list. And yet he still feels a twist of self-loathing that he had pushed you so quickly towards it, the regret like bile in his stomach.

The last thing Chan wants to do is skip Blood and Popcorn this week. It is the one guaranteed day of uninterrupted time with you, and he waved it away like it meant nothing to him, which could not be farther from the truth. The nights of watching Buffy and eating pizza and sometimes popcorn mean everything to him.

He just wishes he had been brave enough to stand his ground.

Maybe Joshua Hong is the worst person ever. Chan dismisses the irrational thought as soon as he has it. Joshua isn’t awful at all. It’s just that he’s leaning in toward you and saying something into your ear over the loud din of the party, and Chan watches the way you nod.

Crack. The plastic cup in his hand splits and immediately spills rum and coke all over the kitchen floor. Jeonghan starts yelling at him, ripping paper towels off of the roll and throwing them in Chan’s direction. He mutters an apology, gaze drifting over the kitchen counter to the living room where you’re laughing, head tilted back, warm light splaying across your throat-

“Ya! Don’t just let it pool at your feet!”

Jeonghan’s screech brings Chan back to life. He snatches the copious amounts of paper towels Jeonghan has thrown at him and starts to soak up the drink. The tile floor is already sticky and Chan cringes. No way have either Jeonghang or Seungcheol cleaned this floor any time recently. If anything, Chan has done it a favor.

The party is in full swing around him. He stands up with the soaked paper in his hand, tossing it into the trash and grabbing more while Jeonghan digs underneath the counter. Chan finishes soaking up the spilled drink and comes eye to eye with a new set of paper towels and spray cleaner.

Chan gives Jeonghan the soaked papers. “Jeonghan, your floor is already disgusting.”

“Then you should have no problem cleaning it!”

“Sure, Mom.”

“Don’t call me that!”

He rolls his eyes but does what Jeonghan says, spraying the area quickly and pressing down the paper towels. They come away sticky and black, making him cringe in disgust before tossing them out and washing his hands. As he turns off the faucet, Jeonghan has the decency to hand him a new drink.

Chan takes it without comment, the image of Joshua leaning into you a little too much for him to deal with right now. He drains the cup, sputtering a little. Jeonghan is a heavy pour and the spiced rum goes down rough, his eyes tearing just a little as he finishes the drink.

“Well, that’s one way to stop from spilling.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a look before reaching for the mixer and handle of rum again. “You do normally drink like a fish, but anything in particular driving tonight’s thirst?”

“Nope.”

“Right, so it’s not tall, dark and handsome hanging out with Bambi?”

Chan feels his eye twitch as he heavily pours the liquor into his cup. “Nope. And Joshua isn’t even that tall.”

“Taller than you.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a venomous look. His face is beatific, grin a little bit dangerous as he holds his hands up in a white flag. “You look pretty bothered. If only there were a way to fix that.” Chan looks at Jeonghan with wide eyes, hope surging for a moment. “Just tell her you like her.”

“Why is that the only advice any of you have?”

“Because it’s the only advice I have. Either tell her or get over your feelings. Those are your options.”

“And I’ve already told you, it would just make her uncomfortable. It’s not her burden to bear.”

Jeongan taps his fingers on the countertop, studying Chan. Chan pouts into his cup, taking long draughts, trying not to cringe at the strong taste. He can already sense the oncoming buzz and he welcomes it, needing a little something to distract him from the obvious elephant in the living room.

“Alright,” Jeognhan relents. “Then deal with the consequences and get over your feelings.”

And he will. Chan has always been good at dealing with the repercussions of hiding his feelings, and he does them well. So he tips back the cup and rejoins the party, nerves steeled and ready to deal with the consequences like his friends keep telling him to.

“What?” you asked, lifting your voice to be heard over the rowdy game of cards at the coffee table. Joshua had asked you something but the words had been lost on you as your gaze drifted to Chan where he was leaning against the wall, talking to a girl you didn’t know. He was leaning awfully close. “I didn’t catch that.”

Joshua smiles. He really is handsome, and everything someone could want in a partner. He’s kind and gentle, has a little bit of an insane streak, and he is incredibly intelligent and loyal. So why do you feel nothing when he grins at you or laughs?

Your eyes drift over to Chan again and you feel your stomach flip. The alcohol turns to lead. The girl Chan is speaking to is so close to him, both of them turned toward one another as he ducks his head down to say something to her. She laughs and he smiles, looking her up and down.

Jealousy swallows you whole. It roars so loudly in your ears that you almost miss Joshua’s question again. “Did you give any thoughts about dinner on Friday?”

Dinner? Friday? Oh right. He had asked you to dinner on Friday, but you’d declined due to your planned Blood and Popcorn night. With Chan. Who is flirting with the girl next to him, who is flirting back.

The jealousy feels like a raw, rotten thing. It turns the alcohol in your stomach sour, makes the sweat on the back of your neck feel too much, like the room is too loud and too full. Even as the envy rears its head, an ugly beast ready to unleash, you turn to Joshua and say, “I really can’t. Friday nights are really important to me.”

Joshua looks disappointed, but he’s polite enough to nod and smile. “I understand. Maybe a different night?”

“Um, maybe. Would you excuse me? I really need some air.”

You stand abruptly, starling the people next to you. The cup in your hand shakes a little and your throat constricts and oh god. You cannot cry in the middle of a party just because you’re a little buzzed and the boy you like is across the room with another girl.

“Do you want me to-”

“No!” You quip, shaking your head. “Totally fine, I’m so fine, I just need some air. Please! Sit! Stay!”

Joshua raises his eyebrows at your frantic commands and you give a laugh that is a little on the hysterical side as you step over the legs of people sitting on the floor and on the couch. Joshua calls after you as you make the escape but you don’t turn around, eager to get out of the room.

You trip over someone’s foot and nearly launch into a passerby as you go. Strong hands steady you before you totally topple over, though your drink sloshes over the edge of your cup, spilling it on the carpet.

“What is it with you and your other half?” You look up to realize that it’s Jeonghan who stabilized you. “Spilling drinks all over my damn floor!”

“It probably helps. Your floors are disgusting.”

“Ya! That’s beside the point - why do you look like you’re about to die?”

“I feel like I might. I need fresh air.” For a moment, Jeonghan looks confused. You watch his dark brows pull together and he looks over your head, dark gaze scanning for something. For Chan, you realize. It’s usually Chan who leaves with you if you need air or need to stick your head in a bucket to vomit. The realization hits you like a brick. “Not him,” you whisper. “I’m fine.”

Your words land at the same time Jeonghan focuses in the direction you’d last seen Chan. He holds you there, suspended in time for a moment as his eyes dart between you and back to where you know Chan is still leaning against the wall.

There is a flicker of something that you cannot place in Jeonghan’s gaze before it softens and he nods. He pulls you toward him and helps guide you around the groups of people. “Fresh air it is.”

“You don’t have to come.”

“I don’t know, crying alone is kind of lame, Bambi.”

Cool air hits you the second you step onto the porch. Soonyoung is sitting on the railing with Jihoon and Vernon leaning next to him. He waves enthusiastically when he sees you, breaking out into a grin and lifting the joint between his fingers, an offer. You shake your head and he shrugs, passing it to Vernon who lifts a hand in salute.

The smell of weed chases you down the grass slope of Jeonghan’s backyard. It’s not so much a backyard as it is open to the apartment community’s lake. The spray of the fountain grows louder as the sounds of the party fade.

Jeonghan sits down in the grass, leaning back on his hands. You join him, cringing at the dampness from the dewey grass. Taking in a deep breath you close your eyes and lean your head back, letting the wind cool the sweat on your overheated skin. The breeze mists the fountain, tiny specks of water tingling on your face as you sit in silence.

Behind your lids, you can see the image of Chan leaning in toward that girl. The intimacy of the space. You hate how you can recall it in such detail - you’d always been able to remember details where Chan was involved. Like the way he was wearing a black, long-sleeved tee that pulled against his chest and arms perfectly, or the way the necklace you bought him two years ago glinted in the light of the living room, or the way-

“I did it to myself, huh?” you ask, feeling the first tear collect on your lash line. You tilt your head upward, trying to blink it rapidly away. “I could have just told him a while ago.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re entirely responsible,” Jeonghan mutters. “Look, putting your heart on your sleeve is really scary, especially when it’s to someone you really value. But you have to decide what to do. You can either tell Chan you love him or you can decide to get over it. You can’t cling to unspoken feelings, though.”

“I just… I don't feel like he returns the feelings and I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Then get over him.” You snap your gaze at Jeonghan, who is looking at you with the cool and calm you wish you felt. “If you’re unwilling to be honest with him, then your option is to get over it.”

“Do you think he would… react poorly?”

“Of course not, but I will not speak to all of Chan’s feelings. Those are his to share, not mine, and I believe in the sanctity of acting on one’s own.”

“You sound so… saintly.”

“Dealing with all your problems has turned me into a saint. Do you know what it’s like being therapy to all of these damn people? You all take ‘door open’ a little too seriously.”

You laugh, feeling a little lighter. Pulling at the grass, you sigh. “You’re right, though. I either need to just tell him or let it go. I can’t just… suffer.”

“If only you’d come to that conclusion a while ago.”

“Bleh.”

Fresh air and the weight of Jeonghan’s words weigh down on you. You know that he’s right. Though you’re confident that Chan doesn’t return your feelings, you don’t explicitly know because you’ve never asked. And if you never ask, you’ll never know.

Calm settles over you as you decide your course of action. Blood and Popcorn is in two days - you can bring it up then.

Nodding to yourself, you pluck more grass out of the ground. “Alright,” you tell Jeonghan, heaving a sigh. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Ugh, you two! Don’t call me that!”

Hands shaking, you stare at your phone. You’ve had two days to mentally prepare for this evening and yet when you look at your phone, you think two days was not remotely enough to prepare for this evening. You haven’t spoken to Chan at all about what time you want to have your weekly hangout, but that’s not unusual.

The only thing unusual is your hesitation to hit the call button and ask what time he wants to come over. It’s such a simple thing - you don’t need to confess your feelings to him right now. But the anticipation of what inviting him over means and the possible disaster it can bring makes your fingers shaky.

Instead of hitting dial, you take one deep breath and let it out slowly. In slowly again, and-

Your phone starts ringing before you can finish the exhale. Your heart pounds in your throat when you see Chan’s name flash across your screen. For a few seconds there is pure panic, but you manage to collect yourself and slide your thumb across the screen. It takes a few tries, your hands clammy with anxiety as you answer.

“Hi!”

“Don’t kill me,” Chan immediately says on the other side of the line. You pause, cocking your head.

“Why would I do that?”

“I have to raincheck on Blood and Popcorn tonight.”

“Oh no, are you sick? Do you need me to bring anything over? Is Seungkwan-”

Chan laughs on the other side of the phone and your stomach flutters helplessly. You hear the creak of bed springs and you know he’s sitting on his bed. He has the world’s creakiest bed. “I’m not sick.”

“Oh.”

You frown, sitting down on your couch and folding your legs. There’s nothing else you can think of that Chan would cancel Blood and Popcorn for, so illness had seemed like the first rational thing. You feel a little embarrassed at immediately trying to take care of him, but push it away to ask, “What’s up?”

“I have a date. Tonight is the only night she was available for like two weeks. She’s in her first year of law school so her availability sucks.”

It feels like the air vanishes from the room. You lean back against the backrest on the couch, deflated. You hold the phone to your ear, but don’t feel the weight of it in your hand. The TV across the living room becomes a blur, the muted program in the background unrecognizable.

A date. Chan has a date. That he’s willing to cancel your night for.

You think back to that night at the diner when he told you to just go out with Joshua instead of doing Blood and Popcorn. How easily he pushed it aside. Like it was unimportant. Easily missed.

“Bambi?” Chan’s voice sounds distant through the roar of your emotions. “You there? The cell service in your apartment is so shitty.”

“I’m here.”

“Oh good. Sorry to miss, please don’t kill me. We can add two days of Blood and Popcorn next week to make up for it?”

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah.”

There’s a pause. “Are you okay?”

“Definitely.” Lie. “Sorry, I just woke up from a nap and I’m a little spacy.” Lie. “No problems here. I’m not mad. Enjoy your date.” Lie.

“Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes after!”

“For sure.”

When Chan hangs up the phone, you think that Jeonghan was right. Crying alone is lame.

Chan can’t do this.

Sol isn’t the problem - at least not directly. She is beautiful and funny, sharp as a whip and has an edge to her that he loves in women. She is successful, has goals, and she’s sensible. And she’s into him, which is perhaps the biggest plus of all.

But she isn’t you. Sol’s biggest problem is that she’s not you, and it’s not really her problem at all. It is Chan’s and Chan’s alone, and he cannot sit through this date anymore. He’s tried for the last hour already, asking all of the right questions and laughing at all the right places, but he cannot stop the way he wonders if you’re watching buffy. He cannot help but wonder if you’re in those expensive pajamas you like, drinking inexpensive wine from the corner story, his favorite contrast.

Chan cannot stop thinking that his button up is a little too tight on his chest and the uncomfortable way his new shoes rub his ankle. He’d rather be in a tee and shorts, freshly showered and stretched out. He cannot stop blinking his eyes, hating the way one of his contacts is irritating him, wishing instead to be in glasses and the lowlight of your apartment.

From the moment he ended that call with you to cancel Blood and Popcorn, all he’s felt is dread. Dread for the upcoming date with someone he should be excited about, dread for telling you how it goes, dread for having to be in public with people and to get to know someone, dread at what happens at the end of the date, does he have to kiss her? Does he have to go get ice cream? What does he do-

“Are you okay?” Sol’s raspy voice draws him from his thoughts - not for the first time that night. She’s leaning back in her seat, dark eyes pinning him to the spot. She is as sharp as she is beautiful, and normally someone like Sol would make him trip over his feet. “You zoned out.”

“I apologize, that was rude of me.”

“It was,” she agrees. She swirls the wine in her glass, looking him up and down before giving him a sympathetic smile. “I won’t be offended if you want to call this off early.”

“What?”

“You’re not interested,” she asserts. Confident. Self-assured. “It’s totally okay if it’s not working for you.”

Heat crawls up the side of Chan’s neck. He runs his sweaty palms over his slacks. “I am so sorry,” he says earnestly. “This sounds so stupid to say, but it is me, it isn’t you.”

“No offense, but I know. You’ve been distracted since we got here. You obviously have something or someone else on your mind.”

“That easy to read, huh?”

“Open book. I have some pride, though. Let’s pay the bill?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her grin is polite. Understanding. “Don’t be. You’re cute and nice, but I cannot suffer knowing your mind isn’t on me.”

“Understandable.”

Chan knows he’s lucky. Anyone else a little less level-headed or less confident might have made him suffer. As it is, Sol does let him suffer a little, sliding the bill over to him with a knowing grin. He likes Sol - not like he likes you, but she’s good people.

“Promise me one thing?” Sol asks before ducking into her Uber. “It’ll help my pride.”

“Sure.”

“Go spend the rest of the evening with whoever it is and make sure you tell them how you feel. It’ll be worth it, that way.”

Chan grins. “Alright. I promise.”

And he does intend to hold to that promise. Something about tonight is different. He can feel it as he walks quickly to his car, undoing the top button of his shirt as he goes. The air is crisp and there are still a few streaks of orange in the night sky, the sun long gone.

Chan calls you as he turns his car onto the road, heading toward your apartment on the northside of down. He drums his fingers along the steering wheel, buzzing with nervous and excited energy as the line rings. When you don’t pick up, he ends the call.

Jeonghan was right - he usually is. Chan could either tell you how he feels or live with the consequences, and he’s decided he cannot live with the consequences. He cannot sit across the table from someone who isn’t you and pretend that he isn’t wondering what you’re doing. He cannot look at the curve of someone else’s mouth and wonder what it would be like if it were yours.

The date had been spurred by the intense wave of jealousy and inadequacy he felt at Jeonghan’s party when he saw you sitting on the couch with Joshua. He has no idea how else he would have had the confidence to start chatting up someone as commanding as Sol, but he was powered by rum and a wounded heart.

Stupid. It was stupid, he realizes now. He has been stupid so many times regarding you and for long enough that even Joshua, the most polite of his friends, felt like they could respectfully intercept you, now.

Well, perhaps you will choose Joshua instead. Chan is fine with that. What you want has always been paramount to him. But if you choose Joshua, it will be with the knowledge that Chan loves you and he always has.

Steeling himself, he gets out of the car at your apartment complex and looks up at the building. He can see the lights on in your living room, confirming you��re still home and probably watching Buffy. The thought sends a thrill through him and he smiles, shaking his head and taking a deep breath.

“You’ve got this, Lee Chan,” he tells himself. “You’ve got this.”

A loud knock on your door startles you. You finish blowing your nose in the issue, trying to suck up the rest of your tears. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater - Chan’s sweater - over your hands, you wipe your face with sweater paws, trying to erase some evidence of your tears before having to face the delivery person.

Grabbing the bills on the counter, you wonder how many people delivering food have seen people answer the door while crying or immediately after crying. Honestly, they’ve probably seen all types of strange situations, which makes you feel a little bit about answering the door after very clearly sobbing.

Unlatching the top and flipping the deadbolt, you yank the door open, prepared to not make eye contact to make it a little less awkward for you and the person just trying to hand you pizza and soda, except-

“Chan?”

It is Chan standing outside of your door. You blink in surprise, giving him a quick once over. He looks really nice, dressed in slacks and a black button up shirt that is a little too tight across the chest - not that you’re complaining - and the top of the buttons undone to reveal the necklace you gifted him. His dark hair has styling product in it, pushing it out of his face, save for a small rebel strand that hangs over his eyebrow.

Chan looks… beautiful. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, face swollen from crying, nose a little snotty and looking worse for wear.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why are you crying?”

Chan pushes his way into your apartment and you let him, dropping your arm as he passes by. He shuts the door for you, flipping the latch and lock out of habit as he turns to you. He reaches out to grab you by the shoulders but you back up a little, suddenly terrified of his touch.

He notices. “Why are you crying?” he asks again, dark brows knitted and mouth twisted in a frown. “Talk to me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

“Left early, wasn’t working. What’s going on?”

You swallow thickly, realizing you’re at a crossroads. Silence stretches between you as he waits for your answer, looking at you with so much concern that you begin to crack. The tension in your throat returns, the telltale sign of tears and you ball your fists, nails digging into your palms.

A torrent of feelings bombard you. Anger. Hurt. Desire. Relief. Hurt again.

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn.”

Chan opens and closes his mouth, head cocking to the side a little bit. He looks mystified, trying to put together the pieces to the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn for something else. For someone else.”

“I-”

A series of emotions flit over his face. You feel your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you watch each one, trying to catch them as they go. Confusion. Thoughtfulness. Confusion. Realization. You watch as he drinks you in, the tears, the wet stains from crying on the shirt, your words. Slowly, Chan puts the pieces together for the entire picture, and his face becomes so soft that you nearly cringe.

“Oh, Bambi.”

“You can date whoever you want, you’re not mine,” you punch out, wiping a tear as it escapes your eye. Feeling small, you back away from him a little, breaking eye contact. “But it hurts when you shove me aside like that. Look, I know we’re friends, but-”

“Bambi,” he says gently. You’re not looking at him, but you know that tone. The pleading. He’s begging you to stop, you think, but if you don’t get this out now you never will.

“Blood and Popcorn is important to me. You’re important to me. I know you’ve never seen me as more than a friend, but Chan-”

Chan interrupts you again. This time though, it’s by crashing against you. You nearly topple over onto the coffee table with the force of it, but you cling to him, digging your hands into the meat of his biceps to hold yourself to him. His hands press into the small of your back, sending a bolt of electricity to you that you can’t pay any attention to, because Chan presses his mouth against yours softly, stealing all of your thoughts.

For a second, your brain goes static. You’re so stunned you don’t do anything but cling to him, vacantly aware that the softness of his lips are on yours. Tentative. Questioning.

Chan pulls away and your eyes flutter open. He is only an inch away from your face, his minty breath fanning your lips as he begins to apologize, panic on his face. You interrupt him this time, surging forward to crash your lips to his, far less gentle than he had been the first time.

The box you’ve shoved every feeling for Chan cracks open. You feel everything pour out of it, a steady stream of want as you press into him. He smells like teakwood and mint, hypnotizing you. His mouth is soft and eager, sucking gently against your bottom lip.

Everything feels lighter, like gravity has lost all meaning. Chan pulls away from your mouth a little, close enough to brush your lips against his in a feather-light kiss, but enough to gaze down at you through half lidded eyes.

“The date didn’t work out because I kept thinking of you,” he whispers, voice shaking. You feel your breath stop as he speaks, each word sinking in. “It was stupid to ask her out. I was feeling insecure about Joshua asking you out, and it was stupid and petty-”

You kiss him again. He smiles into the kiss, letting you lead him, slow and lazy. You feel his tongue brush against the seam of your lips and you eagerly let him in, toes curling as he licks into your mouth.

“I just want you,” Chan admits, breaking away for a quick breath of air. He presses his lips against the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your cheek. He peppers your face in them as his hands skate up your back, hot even through the material of his sweatshirt. “I have for so long and I’ve been so afraid to tell you.”

“I was afraid too.”

“I have wasted so much time.” His hands cradle your face, turning you to look at him.

Chan is so earnest. Raw honestly glitters in his eyes. Deeper, hiding beneath the surface is something a little darker and more intense. Want. Desire. Something that lingers, waiting for you to call it forward. You love him so much that in that moment you almost cry more, feeling overwhelmed with everything you’ve buried down for years.

“I want to make up for it,” you whisper, stealing a kiss that is more teeth than anything. He makes a noise in the back of his throat. Your hands sink to his waist, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. “I was actually going to tell you tonight, before you canceled.”

“What a stupid man I am.”

You smirk a little. “Yes.”

“Let me apologize,” he murmurs, voice low. You feel yourself shiver as he pushes you toward your room, connecting your mouths again. The kiss is messy and needy, so different than the one moments before. You tangle together, stumbling toward your room. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh?”

The crash landing onto your mattress is not graceful. Chan’s full weight falls on top of you and your foreheads smack a little. You yelp in paint and Chan groans, burying his face in your neck. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles to the surface, exploding out of you as your hands press flat on his back, soothing as you hold him to you.

“First step of apologizing,” you wheeze under him. “Give her a concussion.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, burying his face further in embarrassment. “I’m a little eager.”

His breath tickles your neck, making you squirm under him. He seems to notice, opting to press open-mouthed kisses against your throat. You hum, eyelids fluttering at the stimulation. “It’s okay,” you breathe, fingers turning to claws against his back. “It’s cute.”

Chan leans off of you, properly supporting himself with arms on either side of your head, caging you in. His knee slots between your legs, making your stomach leap in excitement as he scoots it up a little, almost pressing against you.

“You’re cute,” he notes, kisses getting messy as they go up your neck toward your ear. He nips your ear and you let out a sound. His laughter is warm against you and you shiver. “You’re in my clothes.”

“I wear them all the time.”

He groans. “I know. Fuck I know.”

“Is that what does it for you?” You move your hands from his back to his waist, pulling the tucked shirt from the waistband of his slacks. His hips twitch forward, excited. He busies his mouth with pressing wet kisses to your jaw. “Me in your clothes?”

“Everything does it for me. I am down horrendous for you.”

“I really didn’t know.”

He moves a hand to pull at the collar of his sweatshirt, exposing more of your collarbones to him as he kisses. “Everyone else did,” he assures you. You hiss when he bites down and licks over the sting, looking up through dark lashes to gauge your reaction. You nod a little and he grins, doing it again. “Biting. Got it.”

With trembling fingers, you work the buttons on his shirt. You steal touches as you go, greedy for him. Too long have you hidden what you want in the shadows, too long have you resisted this. Now, you take.

You brush your fingers against the flexing muscle of his stomach as you pull at the shirt, making him moan deep in his throat. His skin is like fire as you brush your fingers across its warmth, shoving his shirt off. He leans up, letting it fall from his shoulders, rippling to the ground.

The light from your hall glows behind Chan, haloing him in golden light. Your breath catches in your chest as your fingers press to his skin, brush over his shoulders and chest, down his stomach. You feel him twitch beneath your hands but he lets you explore, breathing hard under your reverence.

Golden boy, so full of fire. It’s all you can think of as you stare up at him, equal parts light and dark in your bedroom. Your hands drop to his belt and you tug him to you, desperate for him.

“Kiss me,” you beg.

He does. His mouth is greedy, stealing your breath. A thrill shoots through you when he slides his knee up higher, pressing it between your legs. You breath the kiss to gasp at the barest amount of pressure and Chan grins, watching your reaction through a heavy gaze.

“Take this off for me,” he asks, voice raspy. He pulls at the hem of his sweatshirt on your frame. “Please.”

You lean up, pressing your mouth to his collarbone in a sweet kiss as you pull the shirt over your head. He helps you, tossing it somewhere else. His hands go to your sides, fingers tracing up your curves as he pushes you back down, claiming your mouth again.

It feels like you might go crazy. Your bare chest presses against his, the friction turning your blood to liquid fire. His knee is firm between your legs, and when his hand slips to your waist, squeezing you and urging you to roll your hips you can’t help but let out a moan in the shape of his name, helpless.

“Fuck,” he swears, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he helps you move against his thigh. “If you say my name like that again I might bust in my fucking pants.”

“Chan.”

“Don’t,” he laughs, biting your shoulder. “I want this so bad.”

“I want you.”

“I might pass out due to sheer joy.”

“I have some ideas on how to revive you.”

He lets out a swear and you laugh. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Maybe.”

Truth is, you think he might be the death of you. You’d die happily in his arms, completely swept up in the feeling of Chan’s tongue as it skates across your skin and up the swell of your breast. When he pauses, you look down at him. He smirks, happy to have your attention before he flicks his tongue lightly over the peak of your nipple.

You squeeze your legs around his thigh, back bowing off the bed. He lets out a chuckle, repeating the flicking motion as he watches you with dark, satisfied eyes. It drives you insane, the way he watches you with equal parts reverence and determination to find out what makes you squirm.

Chan is a fast learner. His teeth scrape against your nipple and you whine, thrashing under him as he teases you, pulling gently. The sting feels so good, making you melt into the mattress underneath him. He makes a sound of appreciation, sucking gently and sending you to the moon before trailing his mouth toward your other breast.

The hand on your hip squeezes you, reminding you why it had been there in the first place. “Keep going.” His breath fans against your skin and you tremble. “I like seeing you worked up.”

“God,” you whisper, trying to roll your hips against his leg again. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and as he sucks greedily at your chest you feel like you might rip at the seams. “Who knew you were so… this.”

You feel his wet grin against you, tongue flicking against your pert nipple. Your head falls to the side as you pant, trying to catch your fucking breath.

Of course he can reduce you to nothing so easily. No one knows you better than Chan, the two of you like twin flames. Every touch of his tongue, every press of his fingers into your skin, every breath of your name on his lips were made to unravel you because it’s Chan. Your Chan.

Your Chan who gently pulls the sweatpants from your hips, groaning low and slow when he sees the way your panties stick to your folds. Your Chan who kisses and bites the softness of your thighs, breath ghosting across sensitive flesh, fingers prying your legs apart when they start to twitch shut.

You’d always been made for him. To think otherwise was folly. You know that now, hand gripping his bones tight as he pulls your hands to the side, the cold air hitting your aching cunt. He lets you squeeze his hand, not caring that your gripping is bone-breaking.

“Hmm.” He looks up at you and you look down at him. His eyes are blown and he grins, shaking his head a little. “This for me?” You nod, your thoughts banging around the near empty space in your head as you do. “Fuck.”

And then his tongue presses against you, flat and warm and fuck fuck fuck. You can barely function as Chan drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, avoiding your clit entirely before dragging it back down. He makes a sound in his throat that sounds like a whine and you nearly lose it there, driven insane by him.

Chan takes the hand he has linked with yours and rests it on your hip, pressing into you to keep you still. You buck under his mouth and he laughs, unbothered as he looks up at you. The vision of him between your legs makes you dizzy, his hair mused, tongue pressed between your folds, eyes starving.

Your other hand grips his wrist where his opposite hand holds you open. You cling to him, thighs twitching as he licks you at his leisure. His mouth is a weapon, bringing you to the edge of insane easily. When he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, you fear you might break.

He can sense it too, setting himself to the task of pushing you over the edge. Chan learns you so quickly - maybe just knows you intuitively - alternating between circling his tongue around your throbbing bundle of nerves and sucking on it gently.

“I am going to die,” you gasp between ragged breaths. “Your fucking mouth.”

“Yeah? Feels good?” The buzz of his words drive right into your lower stomach where your orgasmed has so much compacted pressure you know you’re going to snap any moment. “Taste so good. I could eat this pussy all fucking night.”

“Fuck, Chan. I’m gonna come.”

He gives a harsh suck to your cunt, the wet sound obscene. “Good.”

“Like that.”

“Yeah?” he asks, panting. He does it again, following your instruction. Your mouth falls open as you nod, unable to string together more than. “Mmm.”

Chan doubles his effort, the wet sounds of his mouth making it all the harder to keep it together. He keeps you in place as best as he can, but his little hums of pleasure and the combination of his mouth and tongue send your orgasm slamming into you.

You think you say his name. You have no idea if anything comes out at all. You come hard, thrashing against the bed as he licks you through it, uncaring. Every nerve in your body is on fire, limbs tingling as you float in the momentary high of your peak before you start to come back down, breathing raggedly.

A cramp throbs in your fingers that are still twisted in Chan’s grip. You loosen your grip a little bit, feeling a little bad about almost snapping his fingers. He doesn’t seem to mind, head still between your legs, tongue gentle and pressed against your twitching entrance. He avoids your clit, letting you catch your breath.

“Chan,” you mumble. He lifts his head, your arousal spread across his mouth. He is a mess, spiking your need for him. You pull at him, wild. “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles up to you, letting go of your hand in favor of cradling your face. The kiss is hungry and wet, your heady taste on his mouth as you drink him in. You don’t care, desperate to have him close, pulling him into you.

One of your hands snakes between your bodies, pressing against the firm outline of his cock through his pants. He lets out a whine, shaking his head as he breaks the kiss, breathing heavy.

“Don’t,” he begs. “I will cum right now.”

“Oh?”

“I’m so serious, I almost came untouched.”

“Wow, I really do it for you, huh?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His sincerity makes you flush and you peck him on the lips. “I cannot promise I will not come apart after a single stroke.”

“Don’t care.” You undo his belt, pulling. “Want it. Want you. Please don’t make me wait.”

He curses. “I can deny you nothing.” He sees your wicked grin and shakes his head, laughing as he pulls away to kick out of his pants. “You like having me wrapped around your finger, huh?”

“You’re not the only one whipped.” He looks at you, doubtful. “You think I share my fries with anyone? Be so real, Chan. That’s something only you can do.”

“Got it. French fry privileges, what else can I weaponize?”

You don’t answer his question, distracted by him as he peels his briefs off and fists his heavy cock. You lick your lips, drinking in the length and thickness of him, the sticky, swollen tip, the way he pumps himself when he kneels on the bed again.

“Hmm?” he asks, noticing you're distracted. “Everything okay?”

“You have a nice dick,” you blurt. He pauses, raising his brows, thighs pressed to the back of yours. You fold your lips flat, a little embarrassed by your outburst. “Thank you is the proper response to a compliment.”

He bursts into laughter and you can’t help but join him, covering your face as it heats up. “Don’t hide from me, wanna see you,” he teases, grabbing your hands and pulling them from your face. He pins them above your head. “And thank you.”

Chan runs the head of his cock along your sticky folds, both of you moaning in unison. His hand still pins yours above your head, making you feel open and vulnerable. Your knees squeeze his hips as he ruts against you a little, eyes focused while he uses his other end to guide himself to your entrance.

“Mmm,” the sound escapes you as he presses in, the ache in your core doubling for a second as he sinks further. “Fuuuck.”

“Okay?”

“Very. Just- slow.”

“You got it, baby.”

The term of endearment hits you low in the stomach. Between him whispering baby and sinking into the hilt, you don’t know what drives you crazier. The easy answer is just Chan. It’s simply Chan who does this to you, who turns you inside out, who reduces you to a whimpering mess.

Chan lets go of your hands and brings it to your face. He leans down, supported by the other hand as he kisses you gently, letting you adjust to his girth, pussy spasming around him as you try to keep it together. The kiss is slow and sweet, in contrast to the feral kiss you shared earlier.

“Fuck,” he breaths against you mouth, laughing. He presses his forehead against yours. “You’re fucking squeezing me. I might die.”

You do it on purpose this time and he hisses, all of his muscles clenching. “Like that?”

“Doonnn’t. If I come right now I’ll be so embarrassed.”

“Why? It’s just me.”

“I don’t want to one-stroke my dream girl, are you serious?”

“Dream girl, huh?” He pulls out a little before shallow thrusting back in. “Mmm yeah. That feels good.”

Instead of answering your jest, he kisses you slowly. His strokes are slow but deep, making you sigh. He feels so good, having him like this. Chan presses his body against you, melding the two of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, squeezing to keep him as close as possible.

Your name falls from his lips as you move in sync. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, feel him shake in your hands. He buries his face in your neck, mouth pressed against your skin as he breathes heavily. You cling to him, as though you could press your love into him, as though you can transfer it through touch.

Chan slides a hand between the two of you, reaching down to circle your clit gently. You whimper in surprise, squeezing around him and drawing out a low sound. “I’m gonna come soon,” he murmurs. “Do you have another one, baby? Can you try for me?”

You nod. He presses his lips to your temple, driving his hips faster, fingers firm. You feel yourself wind up again, desperate to catch up to Chan, to give him what he wants, to come undone together. You’d do anything for him - anything he asked. You always have.

A glint of metal catches your eye. You see the necklace you gifted him hanging around his neck, tapping his collarbone in time with his movements. The sight of it makes you possessive, your desire for him surging. Gripping the back of his neck, you bring his mouth to yours. You don’t kiss him, but your mouths are pressed together as you mutter, “I love you, you know?”

He groans, hips stuttering, fingers firm. You’re so close, you feel yourself right on that edge again. “I do know,” he admits, his cock pressing that perfect spot inside of you that has the room spinning. “I love you too, you know?”

You feel him smile against you. The kiss he gives you is so gentle that it sends you over the edge. You hold him tight, coming undone around him as he groans into your mouth, unraveling with you. When he stills, you keep holding him to you, his embrace warm.

Chan nudges your nose with his. You open your eyes to find his dark ones peering at you. You smile, lifting a hand to trace your fingers along his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, the roundness of his cheeks. You note the faint freckles under his eyes, his long lashes, the way one side of his lips lifts before the other when he smiles.

“Hmm?” he asks.

“You’re so pretty.” You trace your finger to his nose and then flick it. He frowns and pulls away, making you laugh. “There is cum leaking down my leg to my ass.” He thrusts once sharply and you whine. “Chaaaan.”

“Hmmm?”

“Can we shower?”

“We?”

You grin. “You speak French?”

“I speak pussy.”

“Ew, get off of me!” you laugh, hitting him in the shoulder. He laughs too, rolling off and pulling out. “Take me to the shower, you loser.”

“Oui.”

“Then I want to watch Buffy - oh no.”

“What?” He stands and reaches a hand out to you, helping you up. “Are you alright?”

“I ordered pizza and they probably tried to deliver.”

“That’s okay.” He pulls you toward the shower and smacks your ass lightly, making you yelp. “Start the shower, I’ll call and get it re-delivered.”

You pause, looking at him, unable to bite back the smile. “I love you.”

“Mhmm. Love you too, Bambi.”

“I know I’m good looking,” Chan murmurs, eyes on the screen. “But you’re staring very hard at me.”

You’re laying against his chest, head tilted up to look at him. You can’t help it, watching the blue light from the TV dance across his face, reflected in the glasses he put on after the shower. His hair is still damp and fluffy, skin glistening from the skincare post-shower.

“You are good looking.”

“Damn. Only like me for the looks?”

“Well your jokes aren’t very good.”

He levels you with a glare and you laugh, kissing him quickly before settling down in his arms again. His embrace is warm and he smells like your shampoo. You press yourself into him further and he grunts, letting you.

“Can we do Blood and Popcorn forever?” you ask, watching him fondly. He smiles and kisses your forehead, flooding you with warmth. “Please?”

“Anything you ask, baby. Blood and Popcorn forever.”

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