#i think that's the first time i get to use that tag for him... might need to go back and edit previous posts

[kikidoul]

── BEACH WEATHER.

ヾ(´︶`♡)ﾉ 박종성 x fem! reader content strangers to lust trope ᥫ᭡ warning explicit sexual content usage of petnames open ending used jay being a green flag protected sex fingering pussy eating aftercare both reader and jay have experience lmk if i didn't tagged anything else. . .!? 2420— mlist. req

note. second time writing jay and i think i did a decent job writing for him! also would like to share that i kinda cringed when i was writing him and reader's interaction. i hope this meets your expectations hehe. can i count this as a happy belated birthday to jay though... taglist. @tfwbluu @hoonstqr @riqomi

This is a horrible idea. 

You sighed for the unknown time after rejecting a stranger’s offer of him buying you a drink. You knew the implication behind his seemingly innocent, friendly offer and you didn’t want to take the chance. You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms with a scowl on your face as you scanned the sea of people before you. But it was futile. You couldn’t find your friends, the very same group of friends who promised they will stick with you and won’t leave you alone. 

You were at a beach party, having decided to go on a much-needed vacation to the beach with your friends to celebrate the start of your holidays. When you were told there will be a party happening at night, your friends begged for you to join them. At first, you declined because you weren’t a party person and you wanted to spend your night under the sheets to read your favorite book. But your friends were persistent, which brings you to your current dilemma.

Unlike a regular nightclub, the beach party is open-air with loud, edm music playing in the background. Thankfully, there was a bar that allows you to sit back, have a drink while you enjoy the fresh air. Well, that was the plan until three guys approached you, back to back with the intention of doing something more than just having a drink. 

“Hello, you look annoyed.” 

Ugh great. 

Rolling your eyes, you prepared yourself as you looked to your side, only to pause when a handsome man appeared before you. He has honey-toned skin, messy pitch-black hair from the wind blowing past and a sharp jawline that you might cut your finger with a simple graze and his features were something crafted from the hands of Gods and Goddesses. To put it simply; he was really attractive, enough to make you feel flustered when you realised you had piqued his interest. 

“Was that a question or an observation?” You asked, maintaining your politeness while keeping your guard up. 

The stranger chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he stood beside you while keeping some distance. The small, kind and thoughtful act made your heart skip a beat. “That was an observation. I’ve been looking at you for a while now and I have to say, you’re really beautiful. I don’t think words are enough to do you justice.”

You could only pray that he won’t notice your reddened ears and cheeks at his honesty and sincerity. “Why thank you. You sure have a way with words, don’t you? Do you talk like this to other women too? Or is it just me?” 

You weren’t sure where you got the confidence, but you were pleased with his reaction: eyes widening slightly at your response before he composed himself, eyes gleaming in mischief and amusement. 

He leaned in slightly, a movement so small but you caught it anyways, a sly and suggestive grin stretching across his face. “What if I were to say it’s just you? Would you accept my offer?”

You decide to play along and copy his expression. “And what would your offer be?” 

“How about you and I get a drink later? My treat.” 

You arched an eyebrow, impressed with his bold move. Both of you knew there won’t be any drinking done, considering how he was undressing you with his lust-filled eyes. 

“Sure, that sounds lovely.”

~

As expected, you found yourself in his room. Clothes were hurriedly removed and tossed to the carpeted floor without a care in the world. Unlike the previous hook-ups you have done, he was gentle. The way he treated you was as if you were a fragile piece of glass that could shatter at any moment, if he wasn’t careful enough. You could tell he has plenty of experience with how he ate you out. 

“F-Fuck, don’t stop, please,” you whined, eyelids fluttering shut as he plunged his tongue deeper and at the same time, pushing two fingers in until he was knuckles-deep. 

He groaned at how tight you felt, your velvety, gummy walls clinging onto his fingers without any intention of letting him go. He crooked his fingers, grinning at how you physically flinched and he knew he had hit bullseye. He audibly moaned against your pussy when you grabbed a fistful of his hair, your thighs locking him in place. He didn’t care if you were choking him to death. If this was how he goes out, he wouldn’t mind it at all. 

He alternated between giving sweet, quick kitten licks and harsh, long swipes of his tongue, giving you whiplash. To Jay, your sounds are the sweetest sounds he has heard, like music to his ears and he wants to hear more. He wants to see you falling apart under him. He wants you to remember him when you do this with someone else, someone else that isn’t him. 

He lets you grind yourself on his nose, causing you to gasp when you find the perfect angle. Your back arched off the bed when you felt your orgasm coming. You tried to say something, anything but your mind turned to mush when he gave a harsh suck to the sensitive bud peeking out. And that was enough to tip you over the edge. You tried to pull him away but it was futile. His strength easily overwhelmed yours and it’s like he wants to be buried deep in your pussy.

You let out a high-pitched cry as he greedily slurps away, like he was a famished kitten drinking from a plate of warm milk. Your limbs felt boneless the moment it was over, your thighs slumping on his shoulders and your grip loosened on his hair. Jay finally moved away and seeing how his face was drenched in your slick, his lips glistening under the lights and some had even landed on his forehead made your cheeks flushed red. 

Jay wiped them away with the back of his hand, tongue darting out—the very same tongue that made you feel like you were floating, to clean his damp lips. Your throat felt dry, nervously swallowing as your hands laid by your sides. He shifted backwards so he could get off the bed but you stopped by, grabbing his wrist and he gave you a questioning look.

“Wait, what about you?” You asked, eyes glancing down to the bulge in his pants.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry about me. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

You light-heartedly rolled your eyes. “I’m fine with you fucking me, but with a condom of course.” 

“Oh.” 

You laughed at how he stared at you, taken aback with your consent and words. You motioned for him to come over with two fingers, a coy grin on your face as you spread your legs, snickering at how his eyes trailed down, lingering in the spot between your legs. “What’re you waiting for, pretty boy? Get to it or I’ll leave.” 

He didn’t need to think twice, fumbling through the bedside drawer and pulling out a small box of condoms. The sight made you raise an eyebrow. 

“Do you always bring that with you?” You questioned, pushing yourself further up on the bed and repositioned the pillow as you laid your head on it, along with sliding another pillow underneath your hips for support. 

“Uh, my friends bought it as a birthday gift to me. It’s stupid—I mean, they’re stupid,” he stuttered, hands managing to tear the transparent packaging. He got to his knees and that was when you saw it. 

Your mouth moved before your mind could process the words. “I don’t think that’s going to fit.” 

He paused in the midst of sliding the condom over his hardened, standing upright cock that stood proudly as it rested against his stomach. “I’ll make sure it fits, princess. Just lay back and look pretty, can you do that for me?” 

You nodded, feeling shy at the sudden usage of the pet name. You watched as he moved with confidence, like he knows what he’s doing. He positioned himself in between your legs, gently gripping onto your upper left thigh and aligned himself with your entrance. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his tip gliding against your still puffy folds, gathering the remaining slick. His eyes softened at the sight of your hesitation, rubbing circles on your skin. 

“Hey, it’s fine. Just calm down and relax for me,” he assures you. “I won’t put it in until you allow me to. I’ll wait for you, princess.” 

Biting down onto your lip, you nodded, nails digging into the soft sheets beneath you. “...Go ahead.” 

Instead of slamming in in one go, he slowly pushes in inch by inch. It felt like decades when he finally bottomed out, eliciting pleased sounds from both of you. Your head spins at how full you feel just from his cock alone. He didn’t move, eyes focused on your face while searching for any signs of discomfort. He was patient and that was something rare in the hook-ups you have done. 

“You can move,” you gave him the greenlight and he hummed, adjusting himself. 

The slight movement caused his cock to rub against your walls, drawing a blissed-out sigh from you. He pulled out until his tip was still inside before pushing back in and repeated the movement, keeping a steady pace but it was enough to draw soft “ah-ah-ah” from you. You tilted your head back, raising your left leg and he got the hint—slinging it over his left shoulder. The small change of angle allows him to slide and hit deeper. He was practically kissing your cervix, with how deep he could go. 

Lewd sounds of skin against skin combined with your moans and his groans echoed amongst the four walls of the hotel room. You were sure whoever walked past would know what you’re doing. The thought of the chances of people hearing you made you clenched down on his cock, drawing a hiss from him. 

“Fuck, you sure you’ve done this before? You’re so tight like a virgin,” he gasped, voice hoarse. He already sounds ragged, his previous calm and collected composure slowly fading away. 

“Ngh, m-more,” you whined, eyes rolling to the back of your head when his cock hit the spot that made your legs spasm. 

“Yeah? You want more? Your greedy pussy is not satisfied with what I’m giving?” He sneers, the sudden change of his personality leaves you speechless. 

But you were too far gone to think straight, getting drunk on the intoxicating, addictive and heavenly feeling of him thrusting into you. You could only let out a whimper, the sound making him smirked. He readjusted his hands, moving from your thighs to your hips and with new found strength, he increased his pace, fucking into you without mercy. 

“Oh god, s-so good, hah,” you cried out, words borderline slurring as you succumbed to it. 

You knew you were reaching your climax when your muscles tightened, like a rubber band stretched to its limit and how your legs were already shaking. All it took was one final sharp thrust and you came with a cry. He, on the other hand, showed no signs of slowing down and continued snapping his hips against yours as he fucks you through your orgasm. All you could do was to lay there, allowing him to use you to reach his climax. 

You shuddered when he spilled into the condom, able to feel the warmth of his cum through the thin fabric of the condom. He slowly pulled out, making you wince at the sudden uncomfortable feeling of emptiness, quickly tying the condom and tossed it into the bin with terrifying accuracy. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling back some of the strands that were stuck onto his forehead. 

“Wait here, I’ll be back,” he said, not waiting for your response before going to the bathroom. His words made you snort, as you couldn’t move an inch, not after what he did. 

He returned a few seconds later, holding a damp towel and took his care in wiping you clean. When he was done, he passed you a plastic bottle of water, even going the extra mile by helping you in drinking it by supporting the back of your neck, like how a mother would do to her newborn baby. He then removed the stained sheets, tossing them to the floor, which will be a problem for the housekeeper tomorrow. Once you were properly hydrated, he moved to where his luggage was, dug through his clothes and handed you a set of his own. 

“Uh, I’m not sure if you’d prefer wearing your own clothes or if you don’t mind, you could wear mine for the night. No pressure or anything,” he said, looking everywhere else but you. 

“Sure, I don’t mind,” you shrugged your shoulders, accepting the clothes and putting them on after slipping back into your underwear, looking down to see his shirt reaching your thighs. Still, you wore the shorts, which acted more like pants for you. 

“You can stay here for the night if you want,” he said, eyes searching your face, afraid he might be taking it too far. 

Your eyes softened as you nodded in silence and his shoulders sagged with relief. He quickly wore his clothes and the two of you made yourselves comfortable on the bed, pulling the covers up until it reached your chins. It didn’t took you long to fall asleep, sharing the bed with someone who you had just fucked. 

The very next morning, you woke up to an empty room. His luggage was gone too. You looked to your side, surprised to see that your clothes were neatly folded and placed on the bed. But what caught your attention was a note placed on the bedside drawer. Reaching over, you opened it and read the handwritten message. 

Hey, 

I realised that I didn’t get your name and that’s very rude of me. Sorry that I didn’t wake you up as I had to leave for the airport. But if you’d like, perhaps we can get to know one another more? You can text me if you want. I’ve left my number below. Oh and, you can keep my clothes. They look better on you ;)

Regards,  Park Jongseong (Jay) xx-xxxx-xxxx

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝐖𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

Pairing: Viltrumite!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Discussion of the Invincible Wars, so series-typical violent topics. I don’t get detailed about it tho

Tags: Fluff, kinda slow burn tbh for being so short, went a bit of a different route with my interpretation of this variant – figured our boy could use a break from all that heavy stuff ❤️‍🩹

Word Count: 1,060

Synopsis: The world is ending, but for Mark, his life was only just beginning the moment he saw you.

Inspiration: ‘Thinkin Bout You’ by Frank Ocean

a/n: for my beautiful, perfect lovie @itsbuddhasbelly!! thank you for encouraging me with my dumb little works – it makes my very happy. :’)

One year ago

The world ended.

Or—something like it. Cities crumbled. Heroes fell. The sky turned black with smoke and fire. It was the Invincible Wars, they called it later. Like it was history. Like it could be measured and filed away and understood.

But when it happened, there wasn’t anything so clean about it.

You remembered standing on your front lawn, barefoot, clutching your phone with trembling fingers as the sky split open.

People ran. Screamed. Begged.

You just… stared.

And then he appeared.

Hovering in the air like something divine. Blood on his uniform, glowing eyes, an aura like gravity itself bent around him.

And then—he saw you.

It was like something paused inside him. The rage, the war, the mission—it all halted the second his eyes locked onto yours.

He didn’t kill you. He didn’t even threaten you.

He walked toward you without a word, as if drawn by a force he didn’t understand. You didn’t flinch. Couldn’t. Your body had forgotten how.

When he reached you, he took your hand, careful like you might shatter, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

"You’re the most beautiful woman in the universe,” he said, voice quiet and reverent. “I’d know. I’ve seen it all.”

Your mouth parted, heart in your throat. But before you could speak, he released your hand and stepped back.

“I’ll come back,” he promised, simple but unquestioning. “I want to know you.”

Then he vanished.

And somehow, your town—unlike every other—was left untouched.

Present Day

He kept his promise.

You didn’t think he would, honestly. You thought it was some twisted fluke—some battle-weary god getting sentimental in the middle of a war.

But he came back.

Weeks later. Then months. Then more.

Sometimes he brought gifts. Rare things. Impossible things.

A blue flower that glowed softly in the dark and sang lullabies in a language you didn’t know.

A ring made of a mineral that couldn’t exist on Earth—it shifted colors based on your mood, and Mark refused to tell you how it worked.

A stone orb that projected constellations from planets light-years away—“This one’s my favorite,” he said. “I used to go there to think.”

Sometimes he just sat. Both of you on the porch, your legs swinging off the steps. He'd look at you like he was memorizing your profile. You’d pretend not to notice.

He always gave you space. Always let you speak first. And when you didn’t, he never pushed.

This particular night was quiet.

The stars hang heavy overhead, bright and unknowable.

He lands soundlessly beside you, a familiar presence now. You’ve long since stopped jumping when he arrives. He doesn't make grand entrances anymore—just shows up like he’s always belonged there.

He holds something in his hand. Another gift, probably. But he doesn’t offer it yet.

Instead, he speaks.

“Do you not think so far ahead?”

You blink. “What?” He’s quiet for a second. Then—

“I’ve been thinking about forever.”

The words hit you like gravity.

You should be afraid. Should remind yourself of what he’s done. Of the war. Of the blood.

But then you look at him—this godlike being sitting on your porch like it’s holy ground because you stood on it once. And all you can do is whisper, “Forever’s a long time.”

He smiles. Not a smirk. Not smug. Just… hopeful.

“I have it to give,” he says.

You watch him, heart thudding like it’s caught between stars and soil.

He holds something out. A small, smooth crystal, glowing faintly. When you take it, it's warm—alive, almost. Inside, a swirl of constellations shifts and dances.

He watches you with that same intensity he always has—like you’re something sacred. Like this moment matters more than anything else in the galaxy.

“It’s a Viltrumite bonding token,” he says. “We don’t really do ceremonies. But this… it means something.”

You look up at him, and your heart squeezes.

He’s so sure. So ready. So Viltrumite.

But you’re not. Not because you don’t care—but because you’re you. Human. Flesh and fear and caution wrapped in something just as fierce.

Your gaze softens, and you give him the faintest, sweetest smile. “This isn’t Viltrum, Mark.”

His brows draw together, ever so slightly. Confused. Almost… angry? Hurt?

“Here on Earth,” you continue gently, stepping closer, “we take things a little slower.”

For a second, his face falters. Just a flicker. Barely there—but you see it. That moment where centuries of instinct and expectation collide with something fragile. Something new.

You reach out, closing the distance between you—not just physically, but emotionally. You step into his space like you’ve always belonged there, like gravity’s been leading you both to this point all along.

Your hand brushes his chest, over his heart.

And then—gently, deliberately—you rise onto your toes.

The kiss isn’t rushed. It’s not some desperate, fiery collision.

It’s slow.

Intentional.

A quiet promise wrapped in warmth and breath and closeness. His lips part slightly against yours, like he’s surprised—like he’s never been kissed before.

He doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t push. Just sinks into it.

One of his hands lifts—hesitant at first—then cups your jaw with reverent care, like you’re made of stardust and the whole universe is watching.

You pull back, only just, your forehead resting against his. Your hand still anchored over the steady beat in his chest.

“How about we start with this?” you whisper.

He exhales, the sound shaky—almost stunned. Like he’s still reeling, like you tilted his axis and he’s trying to find true north again.

His eyes meet yours. There's no smugness there. No grand speeches. Just awe.

“Then we’ll start here. But just so you know… I’ve seen the future. It always leads back to you.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in. You blink, stunned, as if you’re not quite sure whether to laugh, cry, or kiss him again.

Instead, you just shake your head, a breath of a smile curling at your lips.

“You really are something, Markus.”

He leans in again, his hand still cradling your jaw like he’s afraid to let go.

And somewhere above you, the stars keep burning. Quiet. Eternal.

But down here—on this porch, in this moment—forever has already begun.

[shadows-shells]

prev reblogger's tags too good to leave in the tags:

"#I had never thought about ti that way before but I think you're absolutely right#I love this take/theory#Raph helping leo re-forge his swords is one of my favorite moments from the show honestly#So like. THOSE swords beign his 'spiritual weapon' is very nice#(Although I must admit I had honestly more assumed/headcanoned tha maybe the weapon leo was supposed to get from the forge#Was the Sword of Tengu. Ya know. The one from the first season that shredder tried to get his hands on#But that the turtles got instead and leo used it a couple times. But then it got destroyed so shredder couldnt use it#And it looked an awful lot like Gunshin.#And that gunshin was consider 'the fang of the dragon' . But most creatures have at least TWO fangs....#but yet it was a sword shredder made (?) So it might not fall in the same kind of categoryas the rest of the weapons )#Anyway . Sorry not the point of the post#I do really like this thought that his regular katanas are his spiritual weapons.#Especially since he goes into the final battle against demon shredder with them and not gunshin"

Not to mention that when Leo first borrowed a spiritual weapon, it DRAINED him to near-unconsciousness. i agree w the idea that Gunshin isn't actually Leo's.

i personally enjoyed and really liked the Lost Season - but this whole thread is why i argue that the series as a story *NEEDS* S5. It ties in important series-wide themes, AND holds essential pieces of Leo's character arc, growing as both a person and a ninja. S4-Leo *just* only learned to stop rejecting himself as an imperfect mortal who can't hate himself into never losing, as someone who still might need to issue suicidal orders to his family someday. Leo earlier rejected everything about himself that wasn't of utility to the family (not the ice-cream and scooter lover, not the one casually pondering if they've teased Casey for long enough, not the playful nosey one diving in to snoop into Mikey's notebook).

remember: Leo did nothing wrong. There was literally nothing more he COULD've done ('should' doesn't even enter into the picture anymore). That dutiful, caring, loving boy hated and punished himself and spiralled for almost a year anyway (past Xmas fighting on the spaceship, past Halloween when he leaves for Japan)...because Leo loves by providing. and to him, he failed his most important purpose, the most important thing he loves most.

and THEN S5 dares to ask - what happens, for this dutiful Leo who pours ALL of himself into *being enough*, to now be publicly humiliated and denounced at his life's calling and his family craft by an authority even his great-grandmaster reveres? To be told, as objectively as it could have been possible to judge anyone at an art, that he (still, despite it all) isn't worth anyone's time? That, essentially, he is still Not Enough and incapable of addressing this new biggest-ever threat to his family and the entire planet?

In those dark months after Exodus, hearing this, Leo might just have shattered. early-S1 Leo, who'd never really LOST and hadn't yet had to learn how to pick himself up? Yikes. my heart breaks just thinking about it.

but nope. S5 shows you - yes Leo still feels sad and disappointed, he didn't seal his heart away like he tried in earlyS4 - but he STILL tries his best anyway, because it is about the greater good and showing up for the people he loves...and not about anyone/anything's opinion of him. He still gives his best because he might be unworthy NOW but he won't always be. S4 Leo saw his own limitations and discarded himself as unworthy. Unworthy of leadership, unworthy of forgiveness and gentleness and kindness and happiness, unworthy of asking for help or accepting help.

S5 Leo knows that to be unworthy is part of living, and that trusting ourselves and trying again anyway when we are most unworthy is the only way to live.

whether or not the Tribunal's Forge had a weapon for him didn't matter to the final fight in the end. Because Leo has had a dragon inside him all along - and his heart let him bring it out decades earlier than anyone expected...and his example helps his brothers achieve their best, too. if S4 Leo remade broken wings, S5 Leo shows that these reborn, *unadorned* wings carry and withstand twice of what broke them in the first place - and if you now press Leo further into cracking, nothing will show but pure light.

many fans seem to take S4 as the true ending of 2k3. But imo that is such a huge, huge terrible waste, and not even half the sincere, heartfelt coming-of-age story 2k3 is telling. S4 Leo was absolutely magnificent, a true phoenix risen from the ashes. But he has *nothing* on S5 Leo.

I've been rewatching the 2003 TMNT series for the first time in almost 20 years and it kills me to see people complaining about Leo not getting a cool weapon from the spirit forge like his brothers did. Personally I would have cried if he had gotten a new weapon because guys.

GUYS.

This was his spirit forge.

For those who don't remember, the Foot ninjas not only ambushed poor Leo in The Shredder Strikes Back episodes, but they took his katanas. Leo's injuries were severe enough to send him into a coma and although he woke up from it in Tales of Leo, his recovery was not complete until the episode Monster Hunter. This episode mostly focused on Donnie and Mikey getting into trouble at the Jones' farm, but the subplot is centered around Leo's continued recovery.

And guess who was there to help him through it all?

Raph, who is considered to have a very combative relationship with Leo, was the one to stick by his side and help him forge his katanas. Those swords are not only symbols of Leo's resilience, but of the bonds of brotherhood. The scene where they forge the katanas together in silence is truly one of the most tender moments in the entire series.

And sure, Leo eventually used Gunshin after Karanji gave it to him and said that it truly belonged to him, but you know what? I think he was lying. I think that he trusted Leo enough to let him wield his weapon from the spirit forge and knew that Leo wouldn't take Gunshin from him otherwise. And maybe there was some pity there too, since Karanji was the last person to draw a weapon from the spirit forge before Leo's failed attempt. And sure, Leo wasn't gonna get a weapon from the spirit forge because how else were the writers going to continue the themes of Leo overcoming adversity and rejection?

But I personally like to believe that the spirit forge went out on its own because it couldn't offer any weapon more precious than the one he made with his brother.

[mothmandalorian]

It's Just Dinner

Hello and welcome to my very first fic! This was inspired by a “Joel Miller x doesn’t know you’re dating” writing prompt. I’d hit the writer’s block wall pretty hard on another project but was encouraged to get some practice in by doing this. I’m so glad I did. This was really fun for me to write and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. And let’s face it, now that season 2 is out I think we all need to see this man happy. 

Huge HUGE thank you to the incomparable @djarins-cyare for lovingly forcing me to write this, being my beta reader, AND making the gorgeous header!

A quick note: This is mostly canon-compliant with TLOU with one very glaring exception: Joel doesn’t go golfing. This takes place after Joel’s talk with Ellie on the porch. My man can be traumatized but he will be breathing. 

No use of Y/N. Reader is female but there are no physical descriptions other than words like “pretty” (and yes, that does describe you if you’re reading this, I don’t make the rules). 

Tags: The Last of Us, Joel Miller, Joel Miller x f!reader, fluff, angst, fluff and angst, my precious traumatized Joel is just kind of an idiot sometimes, give the old man time he’’l figure it out, gratuitous mention of flannel shirts Word count: 2148

- - - - - - - - -

It’s not that you aren’t grateful to have a house in Jackson. 

When you’d first arrived here—after a horde of infected had attacked your group and you’d become its only survivor—you’d been under the impression it wasn’t even possible to have a house anymore. Maria handing you those keys had felt like a fever dream. 

You’re insanely grateful to have a house in Jackson.

But after the third consecutive leak in your bathroom sink, you’ve just about had it with houses.

“My brother Joel and his kiddo will be livin’ right across the street from ya. If ya need anything fixed, go bug him. He needs the socialization,” Tommy had said when he and Maria had helped you move in. You think they knew you’d be needing the socialization, too. A week of wandering the forest and convincing yourself that starving to death might actually be the least awful way to die out of all of your options will do that to you. 

You’ve seen Joel coming in and out of his house, taking note that he doesn’t do it nearly as often as your other neighbors do. He largely keeps to himself, aside from the young woman who appears to live in a makeshift apartment behind the property, who you assume is the kid Tommy had referred to. You’ve been too intimidated to walk over there yet. He isn’t nearly as approachable as the other people here, but then again, neither are you. You’re still a bit jumpy after a few too many dreams about gnawing teeth and endless forest. But when your bathroom floods for the third time, you get over it.

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

To say that Joel isn’t used to visitors is an understatement.

He’d had another night of fitful sleep. Even though they’ve slightly improved since moving to Jackson, he’s convinced he’ll never be rid of the nightmares. He has even more reasons for them now, after all.

His relationship with Ellie is barely getting off the ground again, but he’ll take what he can get. After their talk on the porch, at least she isn’t completely ignoring him anymore.

He still dreams of sheep being stolen in the night, hearing their cries from afar as he tries and fails to find them. The endless pit of regret grows and grows in his stomach until his eyes open and his heart is racing. Usually, he has to look around the room, count the number of panes in the windows, squeeze and release his fingers and toes–anything to help him remember where he is. 

Today, the knock at his door serves as a much quicker method. Grumbling but unable to not check it, he rolls out of bed and tosses the nearest shirt on. Eyes still bleary, he opens his front door. He blinks a few times, making sure he’s seeing it right. There you are, the pretty new neighbor, standing on his porch first thing on a Thursday.

“Can I help ya?” 

It comes out almost mumbled, his Texas drawl heavier in the morning. 

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

Oh, shit. 

You must have woken him up.

“I’m uh–god, I’m so sorry. Hi. I live, uh, over there…”

“Across the street, yeah?” Joel saves you, seemingly choosing to have mercy on you while your mouth stutters open and closed like a fish. 

“Yeah! That gray one. I’m um, I’m new here.”

“Only a couple’a weeks, right?” Joel asks, eyebrow quirking. He leans against the doorway with his arm above his head, and for a split second, you completely forget why you came over here. 

“Yup. Fresh off the…forest.” Oh, god. Really?

Joel chuckles, and you nearly want to thank him for it.

“I take it my brother told you to come bug me if somethin’ was off in your house, yeah?” 

You nod, trying not to make it any worse.

“I’ll come by later this afternoon.”

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

He keeps his word, and you make him dinner as payment.

He tries to refuse, but you insist, handing him a plate of the best-smelling food he’s had in years. 

“You can’t refuse. My house, my rules. Eat.”

He nods and obliges. It’s clear he isn’t used to this. What you’d originally thought was a coldness in his eyes looks a lot more like sadness this close, and you wonder if that’s why he doesn’t let people get close often. You don’t bring it up.

“I haven’t had someone else to cook for in years. And I’ve never had a proper kitchen to do it in. This is very exciting for me.”

Joel chuckles, a little bit of life briefly lighting up his face. 

“Don’t mind bein’ your test subject,” he says. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh god, ew. Please do not call me that, it makes me feel eighty years old.” Joel breaks into a full-body laugh. You catch a hint of surprise in his eyes before he settles into it, and you wonder how long it’s been since he’s gotten to laugh like that.

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

He keeps coming back for dinner long after the sink is repaired. He always finds something in your house to fix, but you still always end the evening eating dinner together. Joel is surprisingly funny, his laugh lines well-earned. You learn that he worked as a contractor with his brother for over a decade before the outbreak, and he tells you stories about some of the strangest things he found in people’s drains. He tells you a lot of stories. None of them go beyond a certain depth. You don’t push it.

Because you want him to keep coming back. Because you desperately like him.

You frequently get distracted by the way his shoulders shake when he laughs, how he rubs his chin when he’s thinking, the gray hair growing in at his temples. 

They’re so distracting that you start to tell him things about you. He catches you off guard, and suddenly, you’re being vulnerable. 

He listens. He doesn’t share a whole lot about himself, but boy, does he listen. He doesn’t try to placate you with the same sappy bullshit everyone else tries to give you. He doesn’t do a lot of comforting at all. It’s downright refreshing.

You think that, at some level, he knows how it feels to be pitied, and it probably makes his skin crawl, too. 

You think that’s why your relationship works so well.

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

This time, you’ve come over to his house bearing a pot full of something that smells heavenly. 

Joel watches closely as you take the cover off of it. 

“Chili,” you say proudly. “You said you grew up in Texas and ate stuff like this, right?”

His crooked, boyish smile makes all that effort crushing tomatoes and chopping onions worth it.

Ellie, who up until this point has simply been a person you know exists because you see her going in and out of her little apartment in the backyard, walks down the stairs, her hair wet from an apparent shower.

“I knew someone else made that. Nothing he’s ever cooked has smelled that good,” she says as she walks into the kitchen. 

“You wanna have some?” you ask. “I made plenty.”

Ellie looks at Joel.

“You haven’t even introduced us, and she’s offering me homemade food. This is finally the treatment I deserve,” she declares.

You chuckle.

“I like her, Joel,” Ellie’s sing-songy voice echoes as she walks out the door. 

Joel runs his hand through his hair.

“Your kid is funny,” you comment casually. “She must get that from you.”

He doesn’t correct you.

- - - - - - - - - - -

He knows he’s fucked up by the look in your eyes.

He doesn’t mean to hurt your feelings, he just wasn’t expecting…this. 

After dinner, as he stands up to start doing the dishes, you walk over to him and put your hands on each of his cheeks before tilting up your head and trying to bring your mouth to his. 

When he physically recoils, it really has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that no one has tried to kiss him in years.

But you don’t know that. 

You curl in on yourself as you walk–more like scurry–out of his house. He hates every second of it, most of that hate directed at himself.

- - - - - - - - - - -

When Tommy opens his front door, seeing a shell-shocked Joel on his doorstep, he assumes the worst. 

“That’s it?” Tommy asks Joel when he explains the situation, trying to hold back a chuckle. 

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?” Joel snaps his eyes back up from the floor. 

“Your girlfriend tried to kiss you. It ain’t exactly news,” Tommy shrugs.

Joel feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut.

“My–my what?”

“Your girlfriend, Joel.”

There it is again, that feeling in his chest. The rising panic. The bile coming up from his stomach and scratching the back of his throat. The sweat in his palms. He stops talking for a solid minute.

“Please tell me you’re kidding.” Tommy chuckles incredulously.

If Joel thinks about it hard enough, maybe the floor will open up and swallow him whole.

“What happened?” Maria’s voice floats in from the hallway before she walks into the kitchen.

“Joel’s lil girlfriend tried to kiss him, and he freaked out and scared the poor thing off.”

Maria laughs. “No kidding? I told you she’d be the one to try first,” she says unceremoniously, giving Tommy a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah, I owe you two loads’a laundry.” 

Joel wonders if he can vanish into thin air if he just concentrates on it really hard.

“But it’s just…dinner.” 

Tommy groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do not say that to the poor girl.”

Maria pretends to look at a nonexistent watch on her wrist. “By my math, you’ve got about twenty minutes to apologize before she rightfully never talks to you again,” she advises. 

Joel thinks back to all the times you’ve spent together. The way you pay attention to which foods he likes. Your insistence on standing closer and closer to him. The way you light up when you look at him. How has he been this stupid? 

Even the way Ellie had talked about you earlier should’ve clued him in: I like her, Joel. 

“Did everyone know but me?” Joel asks, sounding pained. 

Maria and Tommy nod, a slight cringe on each of their faces.

“Shit, I gotta go.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” Tommy yells out the door behind him. Joel rolls his eyes and wonders if they’re already placing bets on how it will go.

- - - - - - - - - - -

It’s your turn to be surprised by a knock at the door.

You desperately try to wipe the tears from your face, but it’s no use. Joel gets to see you in your full, heartbroken glory. 

He’s fidgeting as he follows you into the living room, his hands clenching and unclenching. He takes a deep breath. “You may have picked up that I’m a little stupid when it comes to…this kinda thing.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. What kinda ‘thing’? 

“I ain’t had anyone…interested in a long time. I think I forgot it was possible.”

He looks down at his hands, then back up at you. Wait, is he serious? There’s no way he’s just now realizing that you’re interested.

“I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Joel approaches you slowly, his hands out as if in surrender, until he’s just a foot away. You can tell that his mouth is moving and that he’s probably saying words, but hell if you know what they are. What is he talking about? Why is he acting like this? You’ve been dating for weeks. Right?

“Honey, you hearin’ me?” You snap back when his thumb brushes your chin. His hand is gently resting on the back of your head, the other around at the small of your back. 

“Y-yeah–sorry–what?”

“I asked ya if we can try that again.”

You’ve barely finished nodding when his lips touch yours. His flannel shirt smells like the laundry you imagine hanging from a line across the backyard of your shared home. You picture coffee in the mornings on the porch, getting a dog together, what kind of wedding dress you can find in an apocalypse, how it feels when he wraps his arm around you in bed on cold mornings…

You don’t even realize you’ve moved your hands to grab at the front of his shirt until he pulls away, an infuriatingly smug chuckle coming out of him.

“I ain’t gonna float away, sweetheart.” 

You relax your grip a little but don’t move your hands entirely. 

“So…does this mean we can keep havin’ dinner?” He asks, the usual sadness in his eyes replaced by something softer. 

“Yeah, Joel. We can keep having dinner.”

You tug him in by his shirt to kiss him again. He’s not about to complain.

[dessarchive]

i’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on new year’s day

stolen glances, talks into the night, looking for each other in crowded rooms, hugs that last longer than they should, all the words unspoken, but not so unknown, tucked away love confessions, falling asleep in each others embrace, shared headphones, first kisses, baking and giggling at 3am, late night swimming, love songs, our parents betting on us dating, watching hotel transylvania 100+ times, dreaming of him, memorizing each others smile, being the first person to tell news to each other, good or bad, counting the stars in his eyes, and the creases in his hands.

you and me, forevermore.

jake and i have been inseparable since 2012. we met when he and his family moved next door and my family and i greeted them into the neighborhood. we became friends the next day at school during recess when i asked him to be my friend.

throughout our friendship if anyone wanted to know where we were, we were with each other. it wasn’t out of the ordinary because our parents and siblings were best friends as well. our childhood was filled with tag, playing in the sprinkles, running around the front yard, jumping on the trampoline, blanket forts, hide and seek, campfires, cruises, and sharing snacks…well if we don’t mention the gummy worm incident. our teen years were filled with working at my family’s restaurant on the beach, surfing, family game night, baking and cooking, shopping, sleepovers, cheering each other on during our sport events, forcing him to do face masks and letting me do his makeup, getting ice cream after dinner, and blasting music in my jeep after school.

as months passed after passing our auditions for republic records and moving to los angeles, things changed. not in a duh you’re in a new country and finally on your own, but in a i noticed how jake’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight while we were talking on the beach at 3am and oh shit i might be in love with him way.

all i could think of was him and how i’d memorized the sound of his laugh and how he’d always talk with his hands when explaining something or how he’d get scared at little things and cover his face when he got shy. i kept my feelings to myself because i still needed to process what was happening, but during a sleepover with my friends, reverie and vera, i finally came clean. obviously they wanted me to tell him, but i wasn’t sure, i mean jake and i had been friends for nine years at this point and ruining our friendship by telling him how i felt wasn’t really on my to do list.

on new year’s day, after all of the members and i paraded around in our silly hats and glasses, taking lots of pictures and videos as we yelled happy new year and fireworks lit up the sky, most of the members, besides jake and i, went to bed. we stayed outside watching the fireworks as we talked about our resolutions for the new year, but why not start the new year off with a good prank? i pretended i was getting up to go inside so i reached my hand out to jake making him think i was going to help him up, but when he got up from his chair, i pretended i was going to push him in the freezing cold pool.

the pretending part was thrown out like how i accidentally threw him in the pool and he pulled me in. i thought he’d try to get me back as we stood in the freezing cold water, but after we finished laughing, he kissed me. shocked is an understatement, but after we got out of the pool he asked two questions, both of which i said yes to. the first obviously being if he could be my boyfriend and jumping for joy was hard to resist as i said yes and two was if i wanted a towel…yes boy i’m freezing 🙁!!! when i asked how long he’d felt the same way he told me since 2017…WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME JAKE SIM??????

anyways…we didn’t hide our relationship but we weren’t very private either. fans started speculating things in february of 2022, after i wore a hoodie of his to dance practice. they became more suspicious in march when a paparazzi claimed we were kissing after a date, but didn’t have proof because we ran before they could take a picture. in may, we decided to mess with the fans and wear couples shirts for a week. on the last day, we posted each other on instagram and let everyone know reiyun is for real!!!!!!! was this just a chance for us to show each other off and be down bad publicly? maybe, was it jake’s idea? yes, is it also my apology post to anyone jake and i ever told that we were only friends? yeah 😕

[deer1nheadlight]

j a i l b r e a k

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big brother!Shimura Tenko x little sister!Reader

Rejecting Tenko is never a good idea. Running from him is even further down the good ideas list. Your brother loves you so very much, and nothing may stands in the way of his mission, not even your mom nor yourself. It's high time he stopped stealing your panties.

WARNING: rape, non-con to dub-con, incest, somnophilia, panty kink, breeding kink, manipulation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, almost caught sex, squirting. MDNI. Please block me and block the tags, as I would block you for your benefit if you do not like the content.

A/n: This is set in a quirkless alternate universe and we're fixing that one abominable character in my baby boy's life iykyk. I'm using his real name, and Tenko is 100% a pro gamer in our era change my mind (you can't). If he got to grow up normally, would his personality be different? Yep, absolutely. Am I gonna consider that fact here? Absolutely not <3

Word count: 7460.

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Your washed panties have been smelling a bit strange recently. Not just one or two, but the whole drawer of them. It's not a bad smell exactly, but it's this sort of musty musk that you'd expect more from a guy. You've never had such a problem before, and you're unconvinced that it's your poor pussy’s fault. You take care of yourself well, after all.

Another, probably bigger, problem is that they've also been disappearing gradually. You can't wrap your head around it at all, especially when a pair that you thought you'd lost forever suddenly reappears one day at the back of the drawer, even though you could have sworn you had emptied the whole thing to look for them before.

They're a pair of bunny-patterned underwear that's both cute and comfortable, perfect for any sports day. You'd always reach for them first after doing laundry until they suddenly went missing, after which you realized a few pairs were gone as well. But now they're here again, and you're crouching on the floor inspecting them as if they've committed first-degree murder. They… look exactly as you remember. Well-worn, with their tag cut off because it kept digging into your skin and several bunnies running around innocently.

But, they smell surprisingly normal. Like freshly washed laundry, what all your panties used to smell like — which ruins your last theory as to why your whole drawer has been taking on that musk. You were thinking that the wood itself might be emitting the scent, which then got on them. Theoretically, if that was the case, then the pair that have been lost inside there the longest should have the strongest smell as well. Yet, it's the opposite.

You're at your wit's end. You've tried washing them in hot water, washing them by hand, drying them in the direct sun, soaking them in detergent, just about every method the internet told you to try and at first, it would work, getting rid of the musk, but after a few days, that scent would return again. Maybe there really is something wrong with your lady part itself?

As you begin to pull down your skirt, intending to try and diagnose yourself, the door to your room swings open with no warning. Your startled screech does nothing to deter your intruder, who doesn't seem the slightest bit fazed to see you on the floor, hunching over a small pile of your own panties.

“Dinner's ready, be down quick or I'm eating all the karaage.” He grumbles, and as quickly as he came, he left, shutting the door on your floundering form. You curse him extra loud for good measure, but if he heard, he didn't bother to snark back. Damn Tenko and his inability to knock. You've told him a million times to stop barging in like that, but despite his ability to memorize every little fucking ability and stat of the characters in his game, he can't seem to remember your request.

Scooping up your clothes and shoving them haphazardly back in the drawer, you decide to continue the investigation another day. Maybe you'll just have to accept the strange scent, as embarrassing as it is to admit that you might smell like a man. You rush downstairs to have dinner, hopping into the seat next to your brother as usual. Tenko threatened to eat all the food, but like usual, he gives you anything in his bowl that you want and picks off the things you don't like.

“If you keep letting her get away with not eating carrots, she's not gonna be able to run fast like a hare!” Hana, your eldest sister, chides him and tries to knock away his chopsticks reaching into your bowl. She's often had to bear witness to Tenko’s excessive babying of you ever since you were born. Not that she babies you two much less, but her little brother is probably bordering on sheltering you now, and sometimes she worries it's terrible for the both of you.

“That makes no sense, and you know it. Plus, didn't the turtle win the race?” He rebuts, taking your carrot pieces anyway, and is rewarded with your happy grin.

“Speaking of, when is your next race, hun?” Across from you, your mom asks. You stop stuffing your face with food to think and suddenly remember what caused you to dig through your panties drawer earlier: your missing elastic underwear, specifically designed for long races. You know for a fact that the washing machines can't have swallowed them all, because you haven't even washed them in the first place. And your last practice was just three days ago, so you can't have forgotten to use them for that long either.

Strangely, all three pairs aren't in your hamper nor in your drawer. And they're terribly expensive; you don't know how you can explain this to your parents. “Kid?” Your dad asks, pulling you back from your spacing out. “Isn't it pretty soon? This Saturday, if I recall,” Tenko helps out. He always remembers your schedule, even when you forget it yourself, and you nod appreciatively. But your earlier scrunched-up expression causes Mom to worry. Maybe a lie won't hurt anyone.

“I… I think I may have outgrown some of my clothes. Or maybe I've gained some weight, or muscle?” Your dad raises an eyebrow when you don't seem sure of it yourself but luckily doesn't question you. Mom claps her hand, “Oh? Why don't you bring her shopping tomorrow, Tenko? You're dying to treat her with your big boy money, aren't you?” Beside you, your brother blushes slightly as he turns away huffing but doesn't deny the accusation.

Tenko is apparently some big shot in his industry or something. Ever since he started making money, he's been treating the family quite often and also saving up. However, he refuses to move out and favors splurging on you so obviously that everyone would make fun of him. Every weekend, he forces you to eat out with him for no reason in particular, and your closet is full of outfits you've only been able to wear once.

You don't quite understand the games he's lauded for being good at either, you only know that he's popular enough that the boys in your class were astonished to learn you're the sister of “Shigaraki Tomura.” Nevertheless, just like how he comes to every single one of your races, you also come to all of his tournaments. You tried to learn how to play his games once but gave up after you cramped your hand trying to reach the keys. You're much more dexterous with your legs anyway.

Usually, you don't mind going out with him for clothes shopping, but on this occasion, you're planning on getting both everyday panties and sporty underwear. You’ll probably have to visit a lingerie shop, and dragging a guy, especially your brother, along would just be awkward. So before Tenko could even pretend to be bothered about taking you out, you interjected, “Can you take me instead, Mom? Or maybe Hana-nee, if you're busy tomorrow.”

His chopsticks stop moving, and if you aren't so in tune with his body language, you probably wouldn't have noticed either. But you do, because Tenko and you share a deeper bond with each other than anyone in your lives.

“Why?” He already beats Mom to it before she can begin to ask. You want to answer, but in your struggle to find the words to dance around mentioning underwear in the middle of a family meal, he's already jumped to a conclusion. “I guess you're too good to hang around me anymore, huh?” He bitterly grits, a piece of carrot falls out from his bowl.

“No! That's not it, why would you say that?” You frown harshly. Tenko has this terrible habit of expecting you to randomly abandon him the moment you don't openly receive all of his affection. As a child, you learn quickly to never push him away. Why he latches onto you instead of literally anyone else, you don't know, but you love him enough to welcome it all willingly. Which is why you're offended to know he has so little faith in you. He can be so stupid sometimes.

Your brother doesn't respond and chooses to finish the rest of his food in silence, promptly cleaning up and then leaving the moment he's done, even when Grandpa tempts him with ohagi for dessert. Your mood stays low for the rest of the evening, and it doesn't help when you later on find two of your missing sporty underwear at the very bottom of your hamper, hidden inside your running shorts as if you've forgotten to separate them. The whole argument could have been avoided.

The next day, after Hana took you shopping, you knocked on Tenko’s door trying to make amends. Aside from underwear, you even bought a new skirt, which you hope if you pretend to try on for the first time for him like how you would if he'd taken you out, he would stop sulking.

“And, look, I even brought you my portion of ohagi I saved from yesterday!” You yell into the door, and finally it swings open. But before you could get a word in, the plate of mochi disappears from your hand, and he shuts you out again. You jiggle the door handle and rap on it insistently.

“Nii-san! Quit being childish! It's not a big deal, what the hell!” You slump against the wooden barrier. It's not a big deal, you said, blissfully unaware of how further and further away you keep running from Tenko. Your legs are really too quick, sometimes he wonders if he should cut their tendons off once you finish up your last year and move out with him. You used to rely on him for everything, from walking your first steps, to bathing yourself, to doing one plus one, he would teach you all he knew. Now that you've grown so big, you demand more and more independence from him every day. If only he'd been born a lot earlier, he would have stolen you away as soon as he could and not taught you anything so that you would always stay with him.

Your begging is cute; Tenko wants to listen to it forever. That is, until you become impatient and yell out something not cute. Something that maybe Hana has always wanted to say but doesn't have the guts to.

“Stop being so controlling of me!”

You regret it the moment it comes out of your mouth. By instinct, you know it's wrong, whether or not it's true. Your big brother has devoted his entire self to you since the moment you opened your little eyes. Despite being only 3 years older, he takes care of you just as much as your parents did. Hana can't even hold a candle to how carefully he watches over you. Even now, when you're technically an adult, you're still choosing those animal print panties when your friends are shopping for pearl thongs. But still, calling him controlling is violating an unspoken rule, because he's never actually forced you to do anything. You yourself enable his behaviors by always being such a good baby sister.

The door slowly cracks open to reveal your brother. He's glaring at you so meanly you feel tears welling up in your eyes. In the dim hallway light, his eyes almost look red, and coupled with his recently dyed pale blue hair, he almost seems like a different person entirely. His dry lips tell you he's forgotten to drink enough water again, but it's hardly the time to remind him when he's towering over you so suffocatingly.

“I-I’m sorr—”

“Go away then.”

That's two firsts today. You've never even insinuated that you want your brother to stop being involved in your life, and Tenko has never told you to go anywhere without him, least of all away from him. You feel as if a bucket of ice got dumped over your head, and at the same time hellfire licks your heels. Your words hurt him, and his words hurt you, so you do what you do best: run back to your room and stew in your own guilt-colored anger.

By Saturday, when you're having your next relay race, you siblings still haven't reconciled. Tenko has been shut in his room the whole week and only comes out for food and to go to the gym. You torture yourself with math homework even when you desperately need help and can't even ask Hana since she's gone on a camping trip until Monday. Your parents and grandparents tried their best to ease the tension but couldn't get you to make up. When things are awkward for the youngest and the middle child, everyone is affected. Even worse when the only other child is gone. No one laughs at the adults’ jokes, and even your normally stoic dad feels awkward as well.

In the girls locker room, you take your time getting ready. You're afraid of stepping out of the doors and facing what your gut is already telling you. Irrationally, you hope that if you try to delay the inevitable, maybe it won't come after all. But by the time the announcer starts his second round introduction, you know you're out of time.

Tenko isn't in his usual seat on the bleachers. In fact, he isn't here at all. You tell yourself that it doesn't bother you and take your frustration out on the tracks. When your teammates cheer and congratulate you for securing the team's place in the finals, you only feel more lonely because he still hasn't rushed up to sweep you away from the commotion.

Dad often has to come home late, Mom needs to take care of the house, Grandma and Grandad can't always make it to your games because of the heat, and Hana can be busy with university work. Only Tenko, who has never missed a single one of your races, nor a milestone, nor a life event, was always there to hug you despite your sweat and tell you how proud of you he is. For the first time, you experience what you think your beloved older brother feels each time you grow up a little.

No one can tell that you're crying a little in the shower. Your friend gets off a few stops before yours, and the rest of the bus ride home is silent as your sadness turns to anger. You've never had to go home by bus after an event before. Tenko would always drive you to get ice cream afterwards. He's horrible, absolutely evil to abandon you like this, all over not getting to take you out one time.

When the front door slams open without a greeting, your mom peeks around the corner just in time to see you stomping upstairs to your room. She knew something was up when Tenko came home without you. When he left earlier, she thought he'd finally stopped being stubborn and went to make peace, but apparently that was not the case. Being the good mother that she is, she decides to make sure your favorite dish comes out perfect today to celebrate your win.

Passing Tenko’s room, you stomp extra hard to make a point. If he's got any remorse, now would be the best time to show his ugly face and apologize. But he doesn't, even when you wait for another moment at the foot of the stairs to your room. Your anger boiling over, you walk back to confront him yourself and barge inside without knocking, like how he loves to do to you so much, only to find… the room empty. Which is strange, because you clearly saw his shoes at the entrance, and his bathroom’s light is not on.

The confusion quickly deflates you, and you walk back to your room without bothering to stomp around. That would be your mistake, although there is no conceivable universe where you would be able to avoid this event anyway. Tenko probably wouldn't have stopped even if he could hear you thundering back to your room, only that he might have been able to prepare better. Because as of right now, sitting half-naked at the edge of your bed is your older brother with one of his hands wrapped around his—his thing.

Your panties drawer is open, and the neatly folded rows of garments are messily strewn about the floor. In the palm he's fucking into are your panties; the stripes tell you that it's the newly bought pair you were wearing only yesterday. In his other hand, the one currently right up against his mouth, is the pair of elastic underwear that went missing a little over a week ago. It's turned a dark blue from the usual cyan, soaked through with what you can only infer is his spit.

“Ten…ko… nii-san?” Your brain hasn't caught up, but you manage to croak. And like the cruelest joke, spurts of semen spill out of his closed fist not a second later. As if—as if he's enjoying your reaction too. There's the most depraved grin stuck on his face that makes you the most frightened you have been in your life. He leans forward a little and spreads open his palm as if to show his cum off to you.

“Look what you do to me, brat.” Without warning, he flicks his wrist and the fluids fly across the room, landing on your exposed legs and thighs. You think some drops got on your face too, but you don't want to process that right now. His sudden movement causes you to flinch backwards and like a spindly-legged fawn, you trip over air to fall on your own butt. It's hard to make out what emotion you're feeling right now because fear, shock, and confusion are screaming for first place, creating a cacophony of noise so loud you start to actually hear a ringing in your ear. You're petrified, the realization of what happened strangles you like a snake. You could hardly breathe, but you know this familiar scent that is permeating the room.

“You're why—why my underwear has been—”

“Been missing and smelling like my cock, yeah. Honestly, why were you even embarrassed to ask me to go panty shopping?” He stands. “Coulda saved me the huge headache had you just been honest,” a step, “I would have driven you to that mall in the next prefecture,” another step, “be your damn pack mule like usual,” he's in front of you now. Your room has never felt smaller; there's too little air and you're suffocating. You're trembling, shaking, and scrambling away, about to either run or roll down the flights of stairs but two hands wrap around your ankles and yank, pulling you back inside. The door slams closed without locking.

Five fingers lock your jaw shut before you can let out a single yelp. The wooden flooring is too cold to be pinned down on in just your shorts and T-shirt. A choked sob wracks your body, which can't even writhe around because the weight of a grown man is on top of you. Where did he learn to apprehend people like a cop? You can't even kick up at his exposed crotch, you have no grip and no oxygen.

“Scream, and you'll never see me again.” His voice is the only clear thing in this situation, because your eyes are useless from the tears and your mind is shutting down. Never see him again? As in, he will run away and abandon you forever like today? After all of this, isn't that a good thing? It should be, but instead of yelling at the top of your lungs for Mom the moment he releases the hand muffling your mouth, you bite down on your own lips to stay silent instead. You can excuse this, you can keep quiet. Maybe he was too pent-up from never having a girlfriend, even at 21. Maybe he watched too much porn and was possessed by lust. Maybe he is just pranking you, a sick prank that was the idea of his friends.

Unfortunately, this makes you keep not breathing. You're turning pale and you don't even know it. Not until Tenko has to lean down to pry your lips apart with his teeth and force air down your windpipe do you remember the one basic bodily function you need to keep doing. Little by little, he feeds you the oxygen your dumb brain needs to work. After which it becomes a slow, sloppy kiss that mellows you out like a pacifier. You forget to struggle against his grip and your eyes become half-lidded on their own.

When he pulls away, a string of saliva still connects your mouths. He's smiling like he's genuinely happy, and his pupils look red like the other day. “See? Why can't you always be honest like this?” He cups your face, all five fingers caress your cheek and the thumb wipes away your tears. You give up wrangling with him because you know you can't overpower him, no matter how fast you can run. Since you can't fly, fight, or freeze, the only other option is to speak.

“I h-hate, hate—hic—you, nii-san! That w-was my firsh—first kiss,” you sound pathetic. It pains him to see you so boldly lie to his face. It seems that you still don't understand that he knows you and your body better than you know it yourself.

“Don't worry, it wasn't.” Even though you know that's not true, you can't confidently deny his statement when he's smiling so lovesickly like that. It scares you, and his next question scares you even more. “Do you never notice how you're so damp when you wake up in the morning?”

Your brother presses a kiss against your forehead. The act is anything but pure when his other hand is sliding your shirt up to your neck. It's more like a reminder to use your itty bitty brain.

“Remember your last birthday? When you had your first cocktail and beer?” He peppers kisses down your nose. “I strained my throat warning you not to pass out around men; you didn't fucking listen.” The kisses trail downward, deliberately missing your lips. “Any innocence you had was lost on that day, brat.”

No. No, no, no. No, that's not true. That day, he brought you to the bar after the family celebration. He was there, you were in good hands.

Ah.

You were in his hands. The same hands that are taking off your shirt, shorts, and bras right now, and are tying your wrists with the underwear strewn on the floor. Same hands that are picking your near-naked body up and laying you on the bed. You wished you had bought the cheap pairs that tear with a touch. The ones you have can hold up a suspension bridge.

“After every win, I'd reward you too. You're still too damn dumb to act so independent. Why do you think just a bottle of cider can knock anyone out cold, to this day? And that your pussy gets sore from running?”

It's so scary to be able to understand what he's insinuating. If only you were stupid enough to just take everything literally, maybe you wouldn't be crying again. He pushes your hands above your head, exposing you like a fish on the cutting board.

It's also scary when he doesn't act like how you imagine a rapist might act. You can't say it's molesting when his hands are petting you so tenderly. They're cold, and they soothe your burning skin, from your ribs to your waist, to down in between your thighs, then pressing against your still-clothed pussy. Instantly, you know something is wrong when Tenko pulls the gusset back and releases, it slaps against you with a splat instead of a noiseless pap. He grins because he knows that you know. You know that you're drenched.

“Hear that? I trained you well, didn't I?” You can only shake your head no, pressing your leg shut to prevent him from humiliating you further. It must be sweat, or maybe pee. You are really scared, after all. “Why are you, doing—hic—this? You're my br-brother, it's wrong!” You whisper between sobs. Why are you not screaming?

“Ah? Wrong? What's so wrong about being in love?” Large hands try to force your thighs apart. When your legs prove to be the harder limbs to manhandle, unlike your twig arms, he folds them upwards instead, bending you into the letter L. Your entire pussy is still accessible this way, but Tenko doesn't get to see your face. He has a love-hate relationship with this part of your body. On one hand, he would be happy to die between them. On the other, he wants to take them away so you can't run from him ever again. It's a blessing that his sanity is intact. Who knows what other versions of himself would do in another universe.

“What's so wrong with treating my girlfriend well?” Instead of taking off your panties, he did the opposite. Your brother pulls on the fabric so it would hug tighter against your pussy, the wet gusset outlines every one of your folds. Not that it even needed to, he's got his face pressed up all over your cunt and filmed it from so many angles, he could make a 3D model of it from memory. But touching your pussy and creaming it is arguably the best part, right up there with watching your knocked-out face make the lewdest expressions when you cum.

“And if you yell at me for being a little sister-fucking monster,” he pulls the fabric to the side, “then you're a fucking hypocrite, brat.” Three fingers plunge in at once without any warning, as if to prove a point. There is no resistance; your pussy accepts them greedily. You strain against the knots around your wrists and can no longer keep your legs in the air, they fall apart just like that. His meal looks a lot more appetizing now that he can always glance up to see your face.

“Why are you so wet knowing you've been raped in your sleep by your nii-san, huh?” Three fingers keep pumping in and out of you roughly, every jerk makes sure to abuse your sweet spot inside and your clit outside. “You're still gushing when you know that your big brother is rubbing his cock on all your clean panties. That he likes putting the dirty ones in his mouth and on his dick.” His tongue replaces his thumb on your clit, swirling it around to make obscene noises, which still doesn't shut him up. “I would have marked them with my cum if dried semen wasn't visible. I bet your cunt remembers my cock. It must leak all the time when you wear them.”

It's hard to focus on crying when you're being eaten out for the first time—that you're lucid for, anyway. His rambling doesn't make sense, his scent can't be the cause of why your pussy gets wet at random times. It should have been the opposite, that your pussy discharges more and is causing the smell. But at this point, you can't tell. Things you thought weren't possible are happening in front of your eyes; or, well, your pussy.

It's getting harder to think too, something is welling up as his hand increases its speed. He's sucking your clit lightly, lapping up your juice as it spills out and the other hand reaches up to pinch your nipple. You can't stop it, your hands are bound, but the sensation feels oddly familiar, as if you've experienced it many times before in your dream.

“Hey, have I told you before? You can squirt sometimes. It's why I have so many towels. But wet your bedsheet today, slutty sister.” So you did, at his command. However, Tenko is cruel. Instead of letting the stream run its natural course, he pulls the gusset of your panties back in place, interrupting the spurts, which forces you to feel everything run down your butt. You do it involuntarily, and you almost scream because you thought you'd peed yourself. Though when you peek at yourself, it's a clear liquid; the kind you can only make when you overhydrate yourself, which you didn't do. You've only heard hushed whispers about the ‘squirting’ phenomenon from your friends, that only some women might do it. You didn't think you'd find out that you're one of them today.

Up was down and down was up for a moment in time. After your first orgasm, you finally understand what all the fuss around it is about and why your girlfriends coveted it so. The experienced ones bemoan their boyfriends’ inadequacy, complaining about how they have to fake it all the time. Isn't it nice that your very own sibling, the one who loves you so very much, can give you one as easily as drinking water? Or, in this case, sucking the water out of your panties.

Then a bite on your neck grounds you back to Earth. It hurts a bit, but you don't think your skin broke since it doesn't sting. Tenko lazily crawls up to plant a proper kiss on you after that, making you taste the remnants of yourself. It's not as good as he makes it look, but the strangest, stupidest thought crosses your mind about what his cock might taste like instead. You immediately write it off as an intrusive thought born from your high. For some reason, your bound wrists that were above your head slowly draw down to wrap your arms around his neck. You feel his lips smile against yours. And he doesn't say anything, doesn't taunt you, or humiliate you. Tenko knows you really haven't broken just yet, but for this moment, he likes to pretend it's a year from now and you're pulling him in with love.

After a few minutes and you're aware again, you push him away. Then you're back putting on your indignant act, all high and mighty as if you hadn't just squirted from a bit of cunnilingus. You cum so quickly when you're awake, he'd have to eat you out for at least two orgasms before you'd start squirting in your sleep. Sometimes, he wishes he could jailbreak you as easily as he can with your phone and laptop. If only there was a manual on how to turn you into his good incest doll quickly, he'd read every page and learn every technique. But it's alright, he'll figure it out himself. For now, it's time to remind you who owns you.

“Flip over, ass in the air, baby.” Of course you don't obey immediately, only with a few slaps to your pussy and a pinch to your nipple do you squirm onto your stomach to hide away. He makes you present your butt to him in the most embarrassing way possible, with your panties clinging onto your crevices like a second skin from the mess earlier. Finally, finally your brother takes them off. In a normal situation, that would be a major cause of concern, but for you it's a relief to stop feeling like you've just wet yourself. He folds them neatly on your bedside table, away from the rest on the floor.

“This is my memento for today, you know? I'm gonna dry it and sniff it whenever I miss you.” The imagery is enough to make you cry, from your eyes to your pussy. You can't understand it, you feel gross but it is so happy, it betrays you for the nth time. “Cause you're awake today. And I'm finally fucking you from the back, baby sis…” A suspiciously delayed spurt of liquid escapes you, interrupting him. “Ah? Hah, so you get off on me reminding you that you're my littlest sister, huh?”

“No!” You deny too quickly and he chuckles. It's a terrible habit of yours, can't lie to your brother to save your life.

“Really? Don't want a reminder of who this cunny belongs to?” He taps on it gently, as if questioning it and not you. “Remember, it's big brother's property. Ten - ko - nii’s. Now let me fuck it properly so it can't forget.” At his words, you see the black hoodie he's had on tossed to the side and feel a hot rod shoved between your butt cheeks. It rubs up and down, threatening to slip further south and press inside of you. Terror rises again, this would be your first time, no matter what he told you before. It feels way bigger than three fingers, and everyone told you the first time would hurt like being ripped apart.

But when he sinks his cock in with one fluid stroke, you feel no pain, just unimaginably full and out of breath. It feels like he's inside your stomach, or your womb, and his veins keep rubbing against your pleasure spot inside, making your vision swim. The new position must be doing things to Tenko as well if his staggered inhales are any indicator. He's glad you can't see his face, it may make you piss yourself if you catch the feral way he's snarling to not moan out loud. Globs of drool drip down his chin to land on your anus, sliding down more to help lubricate your entrance, if it even needed help in the first place. He has to leave that other hole alone today, it needs to be worshipped properly on its own another time.

Being a good big brother, he allows you to catch your breath. But then, you both hear thuddings that aren't the ones from your hearts. They're from the floor, from outside. Someone is coming up to your room. Either that, or they're going to go do laundry. Tenko bites his lips to stop a groan because your cunt is clamping down harder. The thudding is right outside now, and it soon slows to a halt.

The door isn't locked. Out of everyone in the house, only Tenko would barge in with no warning. But sometimes, Hana does too, especially if she's excited. He leans down, presses his defined abs onto your back so you can feel every ridge and whispers in your ear, “Why don't you scream for help, huh?”

“Hun, are you alright?” Your mom knocks lightly. Thank gods, it's Mom. But oh gods, it's Mom. Her middle child is diddling her youngest on her own bed inside the room right now, she might get a heart attack if she opens the door. She's checking up on you after your little attitude show earlier. If you yell, she'd come in straight away and stop this madness.

“Why aren't you yelling for Mom? Don't you hate this?” You do, you don't. You don't know, he's being so mean. Why is he goading you into getting him caught? And oh god, why is he starting to move? It's a terrible, slow rhythm that's more appropriate for lovemaking than fucking you from behind. You apologize to your mother in your head profusely. The two abominations that came out of her are copulating just on the other side of the door, or more accurately, one is raping the other. If she turns the handle, your once normal family might just disintegrate to dust.

“Hun? Are you there?” She knocks again, and you have to answer soon, or she'll come in and check on you herself. In your ear, Tenko breathes, “Hey, just scream, and you'll never see me again.”

It's the same line that he used earlier, but it's taken on a different meaning now. If you scream, he will most likely get thrown in jail, get disowned, and get ostracized. You'd be saved, never have to see your rapist big brother again. But then, in a moment of extreme wisdom, you realize you'd be the one abandoning him. You don't want that. You'd hate that.

“Y-yeah, Mom! I'm here. I'm o-o-okay,” you swallow your spit and try to focus in spite of your melting mind.

“Dear? Are you crying? I know you've been upset with your brother. Speaking of, do you know where he is?” She asks, and you suck in a moan that's threatening to come out as Tenko reaches down to touch your clit. He's still pumping into you, not even letting up as you try to speak. In fact, when you have to answer, he seems to thrust in even deeper and harder. It's unfair, especially when he gets to bite down on your shoulder to stifle his noises. It makes you want to make him anxious as well.

“Yeah, he—he's in my room, actually. We're making ou- up, making up!” A hand grabs your hair and pulls back, forcing you to get on your elbows instead of pressing your cheek to the pillow.

“Oh! Good, you're in there, Tenko?” Her voice is a lot more chipper now. Your poor mother, clearly she's thinking her sweet children are reconciling and peace will once again be attained in the household, clueless to the fact that they're actually trying to fuck up the family tree. Without missing a single beat, he answers her, “Yep, I'm apologizing to her. We're having a chat. Can we have dinner later?”

“Alright, hun. I'm sure everyone will understand. Make sure to talk, okay?” She happily reiterates and leaves. The moment her footsteps start to fade, a sharp smack reverberates off the walls. Your butt immediately turns a cute pink, and your pussy clenches sinfully.

“What'd ya want to happen, hah? Wanna get back at me? When I'm being such a good big brother. Say it.” He yanks your hair lightly and slaps your ass again when you don't respond, a handprint forming.

“You're a, you're a good b-big brudder!” You blabber through squeals and breathy moans. It feels too good. Your brother shouldn't be making you feel this way, but somewhere inside your brain, you understand that only your brother can make you feel this way. “Yeah? Now the place I'm knocking on is your cervix. Past that is your womb, where my cum belongs. I'm gonna—fuck, gonna breed my baby sister. What do you think?”

“Noo! P-Pull ouuut! I, I, I don't wannaa—wanna get p-pwegnant!” Mewling it out like that sounds more like an invitation than anything. “W-well, too fucking bad. I'm creaming my lil sis' tight cunny a-and, sh-shit—and seeding it today.” He releases your hair all of a sudden, making you hang your head limply, too fucked out to use more muscles. Then you feel a pressure on your lower stomach, and you open your eyes to see that a hand is pressing down on it. You can now feel every drag of his cock in and out of you even more vividly, stirring up your insides and you can't do anything but leak more slick at the disturbing sight.

“Feel that? I'm in y-your stomach—my little wife’s stomach. If you get your period in a few days, I'm spanking this stomach until it gives me a baby. S-so make sure it takes today,” he moves his other hand to toy with your button again, tapping it even more roughly than how he'd treat his keyboard. The squelching noises from his brutal fucking fill the entire room and your head, you're afraid everyone downstairs may just hear it. This is the first time being on the third floor has done you any good. You know your bedsheet is drenched, just like Tenko wants it to be, because your knees are slipping and sliding against the copious fluids from your baby-making.

It's genuinely scary, the threat of impregnation. You're much too young, you only just got your university acceptance letter last week. But the more he says it, the more appealing it sounds somehow, being a stay-at-home mom and his trophy wife, married to the only guy you care for. No other boy your age could do what he does, they don't take care of your every want and need, don't treat you like a princess, don't understand your feelings at all. He's the only one who could, and in every classmate who confesses, you always try to find his look-alike. Your pleas become so weak and fake, they make him laugh aloud. “Tenko-niii, p-pleash don't d-do it…” So you say, but your hips are canting back and chasing his cock with every thrust.

A mean chuckle tickles your eardrum. “You suck at reverse psychology. Lucky for you, I love you so fucking much. Don't you love me too?” What can you say? You know the love he feels for you is different from yours for him, at least you think so. That's what you're trying to tell yourself. But it doesn't matter, because there's really only one answer to that question regardless of context. “I…I love y-you as well.”

Tenko kisses your cheek. How perverted, to do such a normal and sweet thing like he's still just your old Tenko and not the monster whose balls are slapping on your pubic bone. He pets your head, brushing away the hair strands sticking to your face. “C’mon, cum on my cock and I'll give you your treat…” Gentle, disgustingly tender voice coaxes you. You're ashamed of yourself for getting off on the dichotomy between his soft actions and the revolting things he says. It seems that he's also at his limit, his pumps become more erratic but much harder, trying to push himself as deep as he could.

“I wish—I wish I could get past your cervix, but I can’t, so just make sure not to spill anything, okay?” He warns, and not a second later, he thrusts forward so forcefully you topple over from your elbow to land on your face, ass still up in the air. Immediately, burning hot ropes of thick semen fill your insides, pushing straight into your womb. The virile seeds stick to your walls, and he only thrusts shallowly to fuck them in further. Your pussy, finally getting its long-awaited creampie, convulses and pitifully sprays your orgasm all over Tenko’s lap.

Little rivers run down his thighs, painting him in your essence. When he leans back to peek at the mess, whatever cum he had left in his balls all spurts out at the sight of a creamy white ring around his cock every time he pulls away. You really are fast, to have managed to put a ring on him before he can even nail down a design, and it's the most gorgeous thing ever.

Spread apart on his dick, his little sister came and squirted for him. It's so much better to hear you helplessly beg him to pull out while your cunt is milking him for all he's worth than to fuck you when you're drugged and barely conscious. He doesn't know if he can go back to forcing himself on you that exact way anymore when he can now fuck your fully awake brain out of your skull whenever he wants. Though, that wouldn't be rape, now would it? Especially when you're already so addicted to his cock just from one round.

He hesitates to pull out, but a lightbulb goes off above his head when he's searching for something to plug you up with. He unties the panties on your wrist, now red and chafed, then slides one of them on you. You blearily blink your eyes open when he manhandles you on your side and pulls you into a cuddle, which shouldn't feel as comforting as it does with his cum trying not to escape your pussy. This soreness in your body, your legs, and your crotch is far too familiar, something you've always written off as muscle fatigue after an intense race. He so very lovingly soothes over your injuries with his hands, which always feel like they can destroy anything, and coos praises in your ears that you can only half-heartedly deny.

Tenko is happy. After midnight, he'll take you out for ice cream. He'll properly apologize then, for pretending not to come see you perform today. It's an arduous journey to jailbreak one's sister, but he is nothing if not dedicated. Plus, you're the best little sister in the world, he has every faith that you'll excel at anything you put your mind to. The pecks to your forehead and affirmations of brotherly love lull you to sleep.

━━━━━━━━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━━━━━━━

Copyright © 2025 deer1nheadlight. All rights reserved.

[bukashki]

thinking about the letter again...

@little-mari-on-a-roof 's tags on this post:

#his sacrifice in front of Marinette was already so fucked up #but knowing he had a backup plan is somehow even worse #and he definitely thought Nathalie had more time left than him (at least according to Intuition) #even in his letter he doesn't admit to all the wrong he did. he only says HE sacrified everything and that he was Monarque #he never talks about the pain he inflicted upon others #so even with his last words asking Marinette to not let him know about the villain he was #he doesn't actually write off Adrien finding and following the letter

This made me want to go check out Intuition again and... all this might be a stretch, but could this be the moment he decides to write this letter? Find a solution? And then he asks Adrien and he confirms that no, he doesn't have any adults that could replace his parents (a stupid thing to ask unless of course you don't know anything about your son)

I also added that dialogue from Recreation and I'm now convinced that it's only then that he remembers about the letter. The moment when Ladybug mentions "solution" for the second time and his face changes. And all the remorse about wasting his and Nathalie's life and fear of leaving Adrien alone, that I do believe was sincere at first (but like little-mari-on-a-roof said, no regrets about the villainy) is gone from his face. Ta-da!

Here is his solution. He promised Adrien that Nathalie would help him with his new task. So he heals her instead, since Gabriel himself keeps failing anyway. Nathalie was right and his use of Miraculous is condemning them. Fine! Perhaps Adrien will do a better job!

Also, well... Intuition is an episode that revolves around the power of Second Chance. Sooo.... makes sense if he found a backup plan right there. Adrien as his second chance...

Bonus points: in Recreation he knows Adrien would have to betray none other than Marinette to do that. Couldn't get rid of adrinette yourself? Lol just convince her to lie to him and him to betray her and let them do the rest! Another problem solved?

[burekforsatoru]

divenire

sebastian (stardew valley)/ghost f reader | read it on ao3 you're sick of being summoned and of your ghostly figure being expelled back into nothingness as soon as you're perceived. it's exhausting, draining you for decades. that is until you come across a person that doesn't seem to give a fuck that you're dead. wc: 9.7k tags: past murder, past mr qi/reader, referencing suicidal thoughts, eventual smut, drowning (who's surprised) 𓇼 ⋆.˚ masterlist

there it is again.

that tugging sensation behind your navel. like a fishing hook or a threaded needle is stuck in your body, like an excited child pulled at a rope to open a bag filled with toys, you have no choice but to float after it. it’s become normal by now, being summoned. never lasting long, the summoner sends you back as soon as they realize their mistake, throwing the amulet into the wall as they scream and run away. you sigh, accepting your fate and once more relax as the thread carries you forward.

your destination is close, you can feel the presence of the amulet, that dark crystal made into a pendant that used to hang around your neck, the pendant that dragged you down under the lake as you fought for your last breaths while they laughed above the surface. right before you closed your eyes one final time and felt your lungs collapse. now it’s almost like you feel the absence of the crystal against your skin, being dragged towards it by a string of… fate? curse? who’s to say, whatever it is, it’s getting old now.

twenty years of hearing people scream when your ghostly form appeared, twenty years of seeing them run, seeing the panic in their eyes as you only appeared… after years of crying silvery tears into the material of your white, grass-stained dress, wiping your pale white cheeks into it as you dissipate into the air once more, into nothing, like nothing happened, you’re almost completely over it. 

the thread is taking you to pelican town again. you grit your teeth, of course, the moment you resign yourself to fate, it comes to smack you on the ass and send you to the place where it all started in the first place. steeling yourself for what may happen, for how much emotion this place might awaken, you glide towards a nice looking house, down into the ground through the walls of the basement. 

it’s there. in the hands of a dark-haired man who flipped the crystal along his knuckles as if it’s a simple toy, a fidgeting instrument instead of a cursed item tied to the essence of your soul. you pass through his wall silently, already counting down the seconds until he looks up, sees you, and runs away, throwing the amulet onto the ground as he goes. but his head only lifts to see you floating a few inches from the ground. he doesn’t move, only tilts his head to the side slightly. you’re not used to being observed this way, haven’t been for twenty years. he squints a little, focusing on your faint form, blurry around the edges. but he doesn’t scream. he doesn’t open his mouth as you slowly glide towards him, your white dress floating behind you even with no wind. this is new, this is… unprecedented. you almost feel the need to fix your hair or pull the hem of your dress down. being perceived so calmly, being looked at… it would be enough to make you blush.

“who are you?” the feeling of your voice scraping the inside of your throat makes you wince a little.

“who am i? you showed up in my room. i should be the one asking you.” his voice is pleasant, not at all what you’ve got used to when the first shriek would start, sending a chill down your form as you would start dissolving.

“i think i have the right to know who’s summoning me, don’t you think?” you cross your arms at his cheeky tone, like a ghost appearing in his bedroom is a slight inconvenience at most. 

“summoning you? i don’t even know your name.”

but once he says it, you realize you don’t know it either. it’s like your own name is just out of grasp and no matter how much you may flail your barely visible hands, you can never reach it. 

“i… don’t know either.” if you could feel physical pain, if there was anything to feel it on, you’re certain it would hurt like a bitch. but emotional distress? it’s your breakfast, lunch, and dinner. “i can’t remember.” your brows furrow and he sighs, disappointed.

“yeah,” he scoffs, “okay. i’m sebastian.” he flips the crystal in his hands again, playing with it right in front of your eyes. he must catch your gaze following its every move, because he pauses and lifts it up. “it’s pretty, right?” 

with a slow nod, you agree. of course it’s pretty. a dark purple crystal that turns transparent in sunlight. it’s got some sort of symbol engraved in gold and a leather strap pulled through a loop making it into a necklace. it looks almost brand-new, just like on the day when it was so lovingly placed around your neck by those nimble blue fingers, promising eternal love and happiness as he twirled you in the grass. your dress was all white then, perfectly bright for your own version of the flower dance, the one under the bright moon looking down at you, reaching through his dark blue hair as you danced. a mere year before you repeated the dance. before he twirled you again, only this time when he was supposed to dip you and kiss your rosy face, he pushed you into the lake. he let you struggle as others came closer, but no one reached out to help. they just watched as the crystal pulled you down, down, to the bottom while the air bubbles grew smaller and further between. until they stopped. until you stopped.

“yeah. pretty, where did you get it?” your feet still don’t touch the ground, but you try to feel the smooth wood of his desk under your fingertips, cursing yourself for believing it would work.

“the fair.” he flips the pendant again, catches it, and carefully places it on the desk. “some guy sold a bunch of crystals and cool occult stuff, this one was fairly cheap.”

fairly cheap. you grit your teeth, but it doesn’t make a sound. it used to be your prized possession, a token of love, a curse, a death sentence. now it’s just a cheap, pretty trinket bound to your soul, useful only to keep summoning you until you either fully disappear or lose your mind, whichever comes first. 

“just…” you inhale deeply, about to make a request that you never had the chance to ask for, “... don’t drop it.” he lifts his eyes off the purple pendant on the desk before him, as if seeing you for the first time since you appeared in his bedroom. he looks down at the space between your dangling feet and the firm surface of his floor. 

“you always float like that?” it’s almost offensive how he’s seeing your ghostly presence as more of an interesting occurrence than a freak incident. 

“yeah.” you answer after a moment, still trying to will your immaterial fingers to at least tap the wood. what you wouldn’t give for even a splinter in your skin. “though i haven’t been in one place for this long before.”

“right.” sebastian is staring like he’s reading you, like your white dress is made out of the most interesting pages of a book. 

his bedroom is… interesting, you think. there are posters stuck to walls, a few framed photos of a group that seems to be his friends. the shelves are full of books, comics, trinkets that look like figurines from some fantasy world. it’s loud, his personality shouts from every corner through music instruments, a pile of stacked vinyl records, the moody wallpaper, seeing him sit in his chair so casually while a literal ghost hovers over his rug… it makes sense. it may have been a while since you talked to anyone, but the way he looks at you with those droopy eyes, all moody with his eyebrows set into a permanent frown, his attitude matches the aesthetic of the bedroom.

“why aren’t you scared?” you prompt him, tilting your head to the side like a curious puppy.

“of what, of you?” he all but scoffs at the idea. you frown, but being so pale, still so see-through, it barely registers. “why?” his question almost seems normal. why would he be afraid of a ghost? well, maybe because he’s human? maybe because ghosts are an unknown being, an apparition not everyone even believes in, something eerie, magical and ominous at the same time. just like all the others before him thought. right before their shrill shrieks ripped through your being, sending you away, back from whence you came. you’ve got used to the fear and the banishing, but sebastian here is taking this maybe a little too well.

“because i’m a ghost? because i literally showed up walking through your wall? why are you acting like i’m– like this is normal?” there is exasperation in your voice you don’t mean to reveal. it shouldn’t be getting to you so much, shouldn’t be bothering you that there’s someone out there who might not run away at the briefest trace of goosebumps crawling up their arms. it shouldn’t give you hope. hope and anticipation, because what will be the line he won’t be able to cross? how comfortable will you get before he realizes it’s unnatural, it’s abnormal for you to be there, and he throws the pendant into the floor. maybe even smashing it, taking away any chance of you coming back. because no matter how much it hurts coming back only to disappear within seconds, thinking about an eternity without it hurts more. 

“and? are you here to hurt me?” he raises a brow, picking up that damn pendant once more to fidget with it while he twists a black ring on his thumb.

“well… no, but i might be lying.” you swipe your hand over his desk again, as if trying to feel something, anything, trying to see if anything is real. 

“well then, i’m pretty sure i could defend myself against a being that can’t even touch wood.” he sees you wince at his words, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face drops. “shit… sorry.”

you shake your head, pulling hands from the flat surface and forcing them to stay against your lap. sebastian stretches to scratch the back of his head awkwardly, groaning a little once he realizes his mistake. “sorry… that was a shit thing to say,” he starts, but you’re already turning away, floating to his bookshelf to try and swipe a finger through a thin layer of dust, almost instinctively, “what i meant was… i think you would’ve hurt me already. if you wanted to, that is.” he turns in his chair and gets up. the few steps he takes to reach you echo against the wooden floor where it’s not covered by a rug. it almost mocks you. must be nice, being able to walk, to touch a surface, to sit, get up, stand, reach out, and grab one of the books from the shelf. 

“you don’t have to try and get on my good side.” you murmur, pushing your finger through the full wood of the shelving unit, almost as if trying to see how far into it you can get before the universe admits it’s just pranking you, apologizes, and gives you your body back. “it’s like you said. i can’t do anything to you.” at least you assume so. you can’t stand or touch, but you haven’t tried it all. you haven’t had the time to test out the limitations of your state, and now that you can, you chicken out of even attempting to take the book from his hand. 

“okay. well i’m going to do it just because it’s a decent thing to do then.” sebastian looks right at you then, not through you. the lamp on his bedside table illuminates you in gold, making you look a little more vibrant as you stand closer to it. and it looks like he can see it, like he can tell the shape of your mouth under this light. there’s no color yet, but he could imagine it. he can see the outline of your eyes, the length of your lashes framing them. and he is looking. taking a moment to remember the shape of your ghostly nose before looking down at the book he picked up. 

the beginner’s guide for the recently deceased.

he quickly puts it away. 

“why weren’t you in one place for long then?” he leans against the shelf, narrowing his eyes in curiosity.

“because they get scared,” you sigh, it’s still painful, no matter how many times it’s happened, no matter how many places you’ve glimpsed, “and then maybe that pendant is dropped, i don’t know.” there’s a habit you’re now realizing has stayed with you from your life. you try to touch your own fingertips with your thumb, as if anxiously playing an invisible piano on your fingers.

“does it bother you?” he softens his voice. “that you just get… pulled out like that?”

“more than i care to admit.” breathing is just a reflex, taking deep breaths hasn't served you a purpose in just over twenty years, but somehow your brain feels it might be necessary. so you puff up your chest and release the air through your parted lips. “it's weird. it's… like there are only a few seconds of this cursed existence that i can remember, but at the same time i feel every year that's passed.” once again, you turn your back on him, floating to the desk again. there's a comfortable looking couch there, a kind you'd probably be tempted to lie down on if you could. it's inviting, like changing the perspective of your vision might help you put the pieces of this grand, complicated puzzle together. “i wish i could understand it better, i wish i could–” you bump into the arm of his couch, making you nearly curse as you float slightly away, “wish i could just be visible for once. perceived, noticed… as myself, not as a fucking ghost.”

and you've grown sick of the word. it has been screamed at you too many times to count. it's been thrown in your face, almost spat out with panic and with something close to disgust. you hate it, but it's true. you have no choice but to accept it, even if it hurts. even if your face will never stay remembered, even if you won't turn heads anymore. even if your hand won't be held or your hair played with or your waist gripped so tightly that you feel the indents of their fingertips in your flesh. with another pretend deep breath, you start the motion of touching your fingertips again, playing the keys of your own hand. 

“i know what you mean.” his voice breaks through the screams you let out in your own head, poking a hole through them as it demands to be heard.

“you do?” with a dose of incredulity, you pick up your gaze and look at him, still somewhat casually leaning on that shelf even though with every second you realize that it's all a practiced front. that he's so far from relaxed, so on edge that it's easier talking to someone dead than anyone else.

“i don't… oh fuck this is embarrassing.” sebastian pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a few moments, looking like he's about to rip his skin off and not just share something personal. “i don't usually get along with people. yeah, don't look too shocked at that.” he exhales a laugh, turning to face you. “and even though i'm here in the flesh, i don't depend on something to keep me visible, i’m still nothing. i'm sick of it, but i can't move past the fact that it's so easy pretending i don't exist. my stepdad does it, most people in this fucking town do it, sometimes i think my own mother forgets she has an entire son down here.”

you blink a few times, slowly coming to understand his attitude, noticing the connecting thread between him and you. a desire to be seen for who you are. a want for closeness, for understanding. a loneliness embedded in your bones that calls to him and the cracks in his cockiness that pull you in. 

“i’m–” you pause, stopping yourself before you can say you’re sorry. it’s clear he doesn’t want sympathy, pity or empty words that anyone could say. “they sound like they suck.” you hope that people still say suck.

“yeah… it’s a little sad that this is the most meaningful conversation i’ve had in months.” he looks up from the edge of the rug, flashing that self-satisfied smirk tugging the corner of his lips once more. “no offence.”

it catches you off-guard, how easy the smirk is back on his face, how the front is almost pulled all the way over him so quickly. but it also makes you crack a laugh, the light jab in his words just the perfect amount of humor for you. hearing you laugh seems to make him relax a little, though. and this time for real. his shoulders aren’t as tense, he even stops turning the black ring on his thumb. 

“none taken. i think.” sebastian steps a little closer, narrowing his eyes for a moment as if noticing something interesting on you, but soon he lowers his gaze. 

“can i ask you something?” he starts, sitting on the couch once he reaches it, looking up at you with curious eyes.

“can i stop you?” you smile, floating to the side, making it easier to face him.

“guess not. where do you go when you… you know,” he makes a vague movement with his hand, “leave?”

you let out a groan. it’s such a normal question, one that seems only logical to be interested in, but another one you don’t know the answer to.

“fuck… you really know how to ask the most annoying things, huh?” you chuckle and shake your head, reaching over to the desk and tracing a few scratches on its surface, keeping your finger an inch above it as if to pretend you could touch it if you wanted to. “i don’t know. seriously, i have no clue. it just feels… empty. like i’m there and not at the same time, it’s not even dark, it’s nothing, no time passes, and yet i can feel it go by as it taunts and tortures me.”

a sigh you let out is the accumulation of sadness and hopelessness you’ve felt ever since that day at the lake. ever since the moment when you realized that your love was a farce, that his words had meant nothing, that you had meant nothing to him, despite the flowery words and the gifts and the whispers deep into the nights that you spent with him. ever since he let you die. sebastian looks away for a moment, as if the sound that came from you is something too private for him to witness, but when his gaze returns, those dark eyes sparkle. 

they look like deep, dark water that’s inviting you to dive in, like the answers to everything are in the centers of his pupils so far down that it might be worth the fall. he looks a little different, wears a different defiance on his face. where once was almost resignation at being tossed aside and forgotten, now he looks at you with a desire to be seen.

“must be rough,” his voice is lower than before, he's so close, so close he doesn't have to speak louder than a whisper, “tasting the air only to be pushed back into that box of nothingness again.”

“honestly? sort of used to that by now…” you shrug. it still hurts, still makes you want to grip the hem of white, grass-stained dress and run away from the thread that pulls you back, into the nothingness where all you have are your own thoughts echoing in the void, echoing and beating you into submission, trying to break you. but you can’t outrun it, it’s tied to your very essence, and the only thing that saves you from it sits on sebastian’s desk. cold and unmoving, as physical as you’ll never be again, reflecting the light from his desk lamp.

“liar.” he calls you out, so sure of his words that even your scoff doesn’t sway him.

“how would you know? you got any experience being dead?” you wish so hard, wish you could just stomp your foot and throw a tantrum. you wish you could knock that stupid lamp off the desk, make it smash into a hundred pieces. you wish you could slam the door shut and crawl under a blanket, feel the comfort of something you’d taken for granted before you died, something you wished you could feel one more time.

“no but i wished it more times than i could remember.” his fists close tightly, making you look down and lower your guard slightly. a wish for death, yeah, you could imagine it. you felt it in that moment as the pressure of the lake squeezed your lungs, you wished you could just end it all already, wished you could erase the sneering faces gathered at the edge watching you struggle to keep the thread of life around you, but ultimately lose the fight. you wished it was over sooner, but he wouldn’t let you get off easy, the sadistic bastard.

“why?” you shake your head, moving to the edge of the couch where he’s sitting when you feel the overwhelming need to reach out and touch him. you want to put your hand on his shoulder, to make him feel that someone might be out here that sees him. someone that sees through his stupid front, sees the soft heart inside. his body heat radiates so much you can feel it. it’s like a magnet for your hand, and it shoots out before you can stop it. there’s a faint humming in between you, a field of power that you can’t touch, and so with great disappointment and embarrassment at thinking you could finally achieve something, you lower your hand, closing it into a fist.

“to escape. i know it sounds ungrateful. i’m alive and you’re not. i can choose what to do and you can’t. but i feel like my life isn’t mine. i feel like someone else was supposed to get it, but i got lucky instead.” he curses, gripping the edge of the couch so hard that his knuckles turn white and you swear you see a small tear drop down onto his knee. “i’m so sorry, in the bigger picture it’s such a stupid complaint, but i feel like nobody would even care if i died.” he looks up, those dark eyes glossy, so shiny you can see your white reflection in them clear as day.

“oh…” you softly whisper, lowering your voice as you see the pain in his eyes. “i’m…” you’re not saying sorry, he doesn’t need that, he needs to be seen, needs to be accepted. “i know it won’t mean much, coming from me, but there’s more to enjoy in life than you think.” you glide away, reaching his wall and looking at the band posters taped to the surface. “something simple like this, don’t you think it would be nice seeing them in person, hearing their music go through your entire body?” you smile a little, remembering what it felt like, standing in the field with people singing all around you, music vibrating from your head to your toes.

“they’re all dead.” he responds coldly, but there’s a tiny shade of smile on his lips.

“fuck, seriously?” you groan, feeling what would be anger or even disappointment when you hear him chuckle.

“yeah, seriously. but honestly,” he stands up, making the distance between you smaller as he walks over to stand next to you, “it is nice feeling the music in your body. feels… alive i guess, however corny that sounds.” his head lowers slightly, and you can tell he’s looking at the curve of your lips. you feel the weight of his eyes, the intensity of his thoughts, the warmth of his body. “do you feel… different?” he whispers, and his voice vibrates through your form.

looking up at him, you feel the light buzzing in the air, and the floor under your feet. floor. you gasp, looking down immediately.

“what the–” your feet are still somewhat transparent, but not floating anymore. there’s a slight blue hue on the surface of your toes, the nail polish you always wore contrasting with the pale white of your form. pale white that is slightly less so. stunned, you feel at a loss for words. your toes wiggle on the sturdy hardwood floor to make sure it’s real. you exhale an attempt at a laugh, too shocked to care if you sound like a wheezing corpse or not. there’s just too much going through your head to care. tentatively, you reach out and brush your finger over the surface of that beautiful desk. not much happens, to your disappointment, but there’s a tiny bit of resistance you feel as your ghostly finger glides over the wood. not much, but something. you dare keep a sliver of hope in your eyes, a crumb of something you’d call yourself a fool for cradling in your soul. a fool. a chump that is risking the biggest heartbreak since her death. but despite the part of you sneering at any sort of wish for a better eternity, you don’t let go of it. looking up at sebastian’s face, at his eyes wide and lips parted in surprise mirroring yours, you manage a smile. a genuine one this time, so when you brave a step to the side to finally face him, he can’t help but do the same.

“holy shit…” he laughs incredulously, taking the words right out of your mouth, “you’re… you’re standing!”

“my thoughts precisely,” you look down at your feet again, amazed at something as simple as standing firm on the floor. testing yourself, you lift one foot up and bring it back down, stomping to hear a faint thud that is like music to your ears. lifting yourself up on your toes and standing on your full feet, once more, again, swinging your body back and forth, hands following the movements almost whimsically. sebastian chuckles quietly at the sight, a dead girl smiling her dead ghostly smile, looking so endearing while swaying on her feet and giggling to herself, jumping to see if she can still float, but each time her feet leave the floor, they come back down with a soft thud.

thud.

his hand closes into a fist before reaching up to scratch the back of his head, thinking you haven’t noticed, but you have. stopping your motions, now looking down at your hands to see if anything is different, you sigh with relief. things are happening, things are changing, maybe you’ll be able to avoid going back into nothing now that you can touch–

“that’s never happened before?” he can’t stop smiling, and you can tell he tries, but those stubborn corners of his lips stay up, the traitors.

you shake your head, rolling your eyes. so bold now, like you own the ground you walk on, you click your tongue at him like he should know better than to ask this.

“never had the chance, did i, smarty-pants?” you laugh, still a little out of breath as you flip your hands to examine them, like seeing them for the first time in your afterlife.

“okay yeah, sorry.” he steps back, giving you space to do your acrobatics if you so desire. “sorry… i’m just… wow,” his hand brushes the strands of his fringe aside, letting you catch a glimpse of the side of his face it usually hides, “first time meeting a ghost and all, cut a guy some slack.” crossing his arms, he pinches his bottom lip with his thumb and index finger, as if deep in thought as he observes you twirl in the corner of his bedroom. “so are you, like, a poltergeist now?”

“wha– i don’t know…” you frown, but it doesn’t stick, as soon as your hand touches the wall beside you, well, hovers over it while sensing resistance from the surface, your smile widens. “i don’t know and… right now i don’t care. i didn’t think i’d–”

you’re cut off as sebastian steps forward again, standing so close to you. if you had lungs, your breath would hitch, but you stop nonetheless, a creature of habit even after your life fizzled out.

“incredible…” he speaks so low you think you might have imagined it, “how does it feel?”

“i–” you turn to face him, looking up at him, now tilting your head a little higher since your feet are flat on the floor, “i don’t know, weird?” the hem of your dress tickles your knees now, you’re aware of the slightly torn up and grass stained fabric as it hangs from your body. you feel the cold in the air around you, the slight tickle it leaves on your form, almost goosebumps on your arms.

“weird?” he echoes, lowering his voice like he’s pondering your words. “how is this happening…” sebastian trails off, not lifting his eyes off you.

“no idea,” you feel it more and more, the longer you talk, the longer his gaze weighs on you, the heat inside your being grows, “but i feel like i–” you turn your head to the side and stand in the ray of golden sun that spills through the tiny window high up on the wall of his bedroom. instead of passing through you completely, it only slightly pierces the top of your head. you nearly choke on your laughter when you see a shadow in the shape of you.

a shadow, tracing the sides of your head, the curve of your shoulders projected on the solid desk. you wonder if this is what you could’ve had all those times that you appeared for all of two seconds before being thrown back and rejected, before the shrieks rang through your soul and sent you into the void to hang in between the worlds. it’s back… the hope that clung to your smile when you were alive, the joy that used to make your heart jump, the laughter that echoed in the forest whenever you'd venture in there with your friends. it returns more powerful than before, fueled by spite and the pain of knowing what it was that you lost. so young, so damn young and dreaming of a world bigger than yourself. your thumb starts touching over each of your fingertips again, almost creating a melody of this moment to follow along your exhilaration.

“music,” sebastian whispers, looking down at where you play the gentle melody that only exists in your soul. you nod, lifting your hand, laying it palm down and going through the motions again. it feels like childhood, like the glittering dust in the sun that rose above the piano in your living room, like the stern teacher’s voice that you heard every time you messed up the tempo, all the way until you did it perfectly. until you got it perfect every time and he patted you on the back instead of clicking his tongue. until you grinned like a damn fool, just like now.

“you play?” lifting your gaze up to him, you see his hand mimicking your movements, a few times over until he turns around and walks over to the synthesizer in the corner of his room. hunched over, he doesn't sit, just caresses the keys with his long fingers a few times, settling on a place and presses down. he repeats the movements you did, making the air feel alive with the tune. you walk over, giddy at the feeling of the wooden floor under your feet, until you stand next to him, taking in the scent of his skin in your nose. there are so many sensations you can feel now, you feel the tickle of the slight breeze coming through the window, the light on your face, making you slightly squint your eyes. your hand finds his, and he stills.

warmth.

warmth of his skin against your palm. warmth of his breath as he turns his head to the side. warmth of your own existence under the sun.

his pale face betrays a slight hint of pink, spreading up to the tips of his ears as he looks into your rapidly clearing eyes. he can see the shape of them now, and himself reflected in the darkness of your pupil. you're so close he can count your eyelashes, he can finally trace the shape of your lips with his gaze. you feel the weight of it, the intensity of his attention, burning into your cheeks, seeing the essence of your being.

you press down onto the keyboard, leading his fingers where they need to go. the tempo is perfect, you smile a little wider just knowing that it's the one thing your old teacher wouldn't be able to disapprove of you for. you add the other hand, the richness of your melody almost making your right hand tingle with the increased warmth you feel from him. closing your eyes, you imagine dancing again. you imagine the grass under your feet, your dress once again white and bright, the flowers above your brow a pale purple, carrying the scent of spring, filling your lungs with life after a long winter. it’s so vivid you can almost feel the soft ground as you dance. but the only thing dancing are your fingers, gliding across the keys with sebastian’s until he stops and you take over, feeling the smoothness under your fingertips.

it’s solid.

solid like the door of your house that greeted you every evening after a sweet rendezvous, the seat you’d take at the table, the sturdy walls that protected you from harm. it’s comforting, but absolutely wild to feel something solid at this point. you could cry, you could choke on the salt of your tears in this moment as you continue playing, pressing the keys passionately, loving them with your entire heart as you sob, feeling the first tear roll down your warming cheek and fall onto the white key.

the music stops.

you lift your head and brush a few more tears from the corner of your eye, looking at them in the sun for a moment before popping the thumb into your mouth. your tongue darts over the pad of your finger, collecting the saltiness of the drops and craving more. they’re yours. nobody else’s. emboldened by your gaze that searches for sebastian’s eyes again, he holds your arm and gently turns you to face him. the perfect angle, he can see the shine in your hair. his fingers almost reverently touch your cheek, and as the soft skin warms under his touch, he smiles.

another gentle caress on your face, another soft breath from his lips, and he cups your cheek to tilt your head up. he looks at you like he’s known you his entire life. like he recognizes the shape of your soul and it speaks to him. like you’re what he’s been searching for while not knowing, like he’s been incomplete until you floated into his life, translucent and unassuming. losing the floor under your heels, you lift yourself up to your tip-toes, closing your eyes and taking the leap.

his lips are soft.

they taste like new beginnings. they part and take your bottom lip in between them like it’s what they’ve been hungry for all his life. his other hand quickly finds its place on your other cheek, savoring the feeling of them solid in his hands. he touches you so gently, but holds you close as if he’s scared of losing himself without you. his breath is stuck in between your throat and his, unsure if he should even attempt to breathe while he has you kissing him. sebastian’s body presses against yours, closing the distance rapidly before he pulls away from your lips. he watches as your eyelashes flutter open, so slowly as if worried that you’ll end the moment too soon. and everything is too soon, because it feels too good to be true. you don’t want to trust the feeling of his hands on your cheeks, the warmth of his breath on your lips, the closeness of his torso against your chest, because if you trust them and they fool you then you may as well just die all over again, newfound hope and all, disappearing into the wind.

“beautiful…” sebastian whispers, and you feel the words on the bridge of your nose. you lift your hands, finding a good place to rest on his sides, and relish the texture of his soft hoodie under your fingers. you grip it tightly, bunching up the fabric until you feel him gasp and your eyes fly open, looking up to see him watch you so carefully.

he leans in again, so quickly as his hands abandon the gentle hold on your face, sliding down your body like he’s making sure you’re really there, in the flesh, in this moment, fully you, tangible under his nimble digits. you’re practically vibrating, the scent of desire between you is raising the thrum of electricity in the air. you can still feel the music as his lips connect with yours, feel it in every inch of your body that finds the strength to move, to step forward in between his feet and mold yourself into him. tilting your head up, gliding your hands up into his hair, tugging on it gently, you’re testing out the limitations of reality. if you can do this, then what else is within your grasp?

a gentle hum from your lips passes into his, vibrating his bottom lip. it reverberates through his entire body, it moves him with so much need and rush that his hands drop lower, picking you up by the undersides of your thighs, and hold you up against him. after all this time, it’s so comforting to be held. to feel someone’s desire for you burn as they touch you. to feel them never get enough as their fingers try to leave marks in your skin. sebastian’s hands grip you so tightly, pressing into your thighs as your dress is lifted, bunched up around your hips. you’re giggling into the kiss, taken by surprise as he takes you to that dark couch and sits down, letting you settle on his lap.

with so many sensations, old and familiar, but completely new, you take a moment to hold his face in between your palms, pulling away from the kiss to just– look. there’s a soft pink tint flowing over his pale skin, the bridge of his nose bearing a few light freckles you can see now that you’re so damn close. it’s almost funny how he’s trying to keep his eyes closed, trying not to break the moment, trying to keep the image of your face so full of color in front of his eyes, fearing that he’ll open them again and you’ll be barely there, a shadow of your beauty, a memory, a ghost.

you use one finger to brush hair out of his face, tickling his nose with the end of it in the process. he scrunches it for a moment, making little creases appear on the bridge, looking too cute for their own good. you feel yourself drawn to them, your lips simply gravitate to his face, pressing a little kiss to those creases, making him sigh so sweetly.

pulling away again, you reluctantly leave the softness of his skin to once more take in his features. there’s blood rushing into your cheeks so loudly you can hear it pumping inside your head. how long has it been since you’ve kissed? do your lips still feel the same as they did back then? do they taste the same, like coffee and fruit you used to get from the store every morning? or do they taste like nothing now, poisoned by death and the lake that took you away…

sebastian inhales deeply and brings a hand to the back of your head, pulling you closer again, drowning in your lips, planting kiss after wet kiss onto them, gliding his tongue along the seam of your lips and taking every inch he can as you part them to let him in. you taste him, the familiar flavor of coffee fresh on his tongue, life bursting from his every pore as he needs you. to prove to him that life is worth living, to tell him that there is hope in the darker moments. and you give in, letting go of the shore to float in the wave that’s threatening to take you under, into his scent that fills your nostrils, that shows you there’s another side to death, to make you believe you can still feel like before. you don’t see blue anymore, when your lashes flutter open for a few brief moments, as if to make sure it’s not a trick. you don’t see the magical suit that shimmers in the dark, but pale skin and a comfortable hoodie that bears tiny holes where ash burned through the soft fabric. it’s dark, but the light in your heart is so bright. you squeeze your thighs together, getting used to feeling them again, getting used to the texture against your skin so rough, the seams of sebastian’s jeans digging into your soft flesh. he groans, sliding the hand from the back of your head down to grab your hips, pulling you against him firmly.

like a rumble of thunder in the distance, pleasure growls in the back of your throat. it shoots up your spine and shakes you to your very core. your cold toes curl against the slippery surface of the couch, but sebastian is quick. he lifts you up and makes quick work of his jeans, desperately trying to unbutton them before you can disappear on him, he lets out frustrated huffs, breathing out against your lips in between the tugs of his teeth on your bottom lip. your cold hands join his, the difference in temperature almost shocking, but he doesn’t let it sidetrack him. he needs you, needs to feel if you’re warm like he feels inside. needs to find the reason to keep going within you even if it’s the last thing he does. even if it ends him, he’s rushing to join you on the other side.

the unceremonious sound of his jeans landing on the floor would make you laugh if it wasn’t for the heat spreading through your entire body, reaching even your fingertips as they carefully tug his boxers off, synchronizing the movements of your hands with the ragged breaths that spill from his lips. you kiss them again, slowly this time to savor the taste of this living boy, giving you his everything for a chance to feel. there’s hardly any point in bunching up your dress again, but you do it just to make this action feel more familiar, to conserve any fragment of normalcy, to forget the fact that this should not even be possible. but you’re here, warm and soft like the day that you left this world. gentle and giving like in the life that you led, so damn pretty as you straddle sebastian’s lap and lean forward, resting your shaky hands on his shoulders for a moment, then sliding them down to grab the hem of that soft material and pull it off.

“so fucking pretty–” his whispered words are muffled by the hoodie, cut off by your heated kiss once you lay your eyes on his pale torso. if he speaks you have to listen, if you listen you start thinking, if you think… there’s no turning back once the memories start flooding, so you lower your hand, taking his hardened cock into it and swiping it along your soft folds until you’re ready to face the possibility that nothing can happen, until you’ve steeled yourself for the ultimate test of what this afterlife can give you… or take away from you.

sinking has never felt this good, the thought flashes through your mind. every vein on his cock makes its way into your warm cunt, sebastian throws his head back and lets out a high pitched groan. you see his adam’s apple bob up and down, so inviting that you have to attach your soft lips to it and kiss. a wet, sloppy kiss against his neck while you lower your hips down, until the plump flesh of your ass meets his thighs again, until he’s buried inside you so deeply that there’s no questioning if this is meant to be or not. if it wasn’t meant to be, would it feel so warm in your chest? if it wasn’t meant to be, would you feel the texture of his stomach under your fingertips? if it wasn’t meant to be, would his sweet moans be like honey in your ear?

you lean in, sitting on him like you’ve done this countless times before, tilting his head to look at you as his dark lashes slowly flutter open, revealing his glassy eyes, those slightly pink parted lips leaking your new favorite sounds, the gentle sighs he cannot hold inside. the sugary moans that you pick up with your lips and press against his again, like a royal stamp on hot wax, like a key to a lock.

his hands are shaking too, so overcome with sensations, itching to grab more of you, to toe the line with how far fate will let you go, playing chicken with the universe which can decide to take it all away from him. now, settled on your waist, gripping the tattered fabric of your once-white dress, he curses under his breath and lifts his hips up, pushing the tip of his cock against your soft, pliant walls as his eyes roll back.

“fuck…” sebastian groans, interrupting the pretty melody of your hips meeting in a gentle tap of skin against skin. your knees dig into the couch cushion, and you can still hardly believe this is happening, your knee isn’t simply passing through the soft, full material, but offering resistance. you can touch, press, push, feel the smooth surface under your palm while his body heat warms you and makes you lift your hips up only to bring them down again. his moan is like the most beautiful chord your fingers could ever produce against the smooth keys of the piano. it spurs you on, you need it repeated in your head over and over again until the end of time, until whatever is left in your soul is crumbling into dust and scattering with the winds across the endless world, across the waves of the universe where you could hear them again, at the center of a new world you’d create. the slow pace your hips move in is torturous, but you can’t speed up if you tried, landing on his lap is where you’re supposed to be, enveloping his cock with your cunt is what you didn’t even realize you were craving until he sank into your heat, until he became the only thing on your mind.

balancing yourself on his lean body, you keep the movements of your hips, the ones that have him rolling his eyes back and resting his head against the back of the couch. he’s melting into the cushion, completely under your spell, under your command as your wrists threaten to give out under you. kissing his jaw is the only thing your lips can do, hungrily possessing his skin trying not to let out so many desperate whimpers as you ride him slowly. you drag out the pace, savoring the feeling of his cock dragging in and out of your weeping pussy, gliding along your velvety warm walls as your mind spins. 

has it always felt this good? you don’t remember ever feeling the sheer ecstasy that sebastian is bringing you. maybe it’s the fact that you’re overjoyed since you can finally feel again, since you’re touching him when it shouldn’t be possible. maybe it’s the fact that he’s draped so prettily over the couch and how he lets you bounce yourself on his cock just how you want to. maybe it’s the fact that he’s not the one that killed you, but in a way resurrected you, gave you a chance, gave you time. maybe it really was meant to be, maybe the fates were pushing you two together until something snapped and you could finally give in to each other. 

whatever it is, you welcome it with open arms and head thrown back, moaning in pleasure into the air as sebastian’s hands desperately search for more of you, grip your waist tightly so his fingertips nearly poke holes in your tattered dress to reach your skin, and start moving you faster. like he’s awoken from a deep slumber, desperate and hungry, he pants as your thighs repeatedly meet his lap, your tight cunt swallowing everything he has to give you. your toes curl again, no longer cold but feeling the static travel through your body as he squeezes your waist tightly and dips his head down to plant messy, wet kisses along your exposed collar bones. so attentive, speeding up as soon as you start breathing quicker, as soon as you whimper out a syllable of his name, as soon as you start looking for a place for your hands. you need to grab more, you need to feel stability, so it’s only natural to lock them into his dark hair, tugging gently if only to hear the slight groan that slips from his mouth and vibrates against your throat.

oh how you want to bottle up that sound and keep it in a vial against your heart for eternity. he’s holding onto you like you’re the one who’s alive and keeping him tethered to you. he’s holding you like if he ever let go he’d be lost in the darkness like you have been. like if he lost contact with your skin he’d turn into a non corporeal apparition cursed to hang in between this world and the next. so he holds on, fingers almost cramping with the intensity of his grip on your waist as he pulls you against him, bounces your soft body on his aching, leaking cock that begs to be buried inside you if only for today, if only while you’ll have him. 

he looks up at you from the drooling mess he’s made of your collar bones, the skin so glossy with his saliva and reddened from his teeth that marked you desperately. his eyes… his glassy, pleading eyes that almost have you lean down to kiss his pretty face, press little pecks of gratitude to his eyelids so gently, but he’s looking up at you and it’s clear from the gasp that dies in your throat that you’ve never seen something so beautiful in your existence. his devotion is painted so clearly in the dark pupils swallowing the irises of his widened eyes.

reverence so profound, now that he’s holding his own personal deity in his lap, fucking into you desperately, lifting his hips to meet you closer, to sink into you deeper, to make you do that thing you did when he first pushed his tip inside you and clenched around his worshiping cock. he needs it again, needs to feel the extent of pleasure he can bring you while trying to hold on. he needs to know he’s useful, wanted, that he matters, even if it’s just to make you roll your eyes back into your skull just like you’re doing just now. tugging on the dark strands of his hair, whimpering out syllables of his name, throwing your head back so he can see your throat bob as you swallow hard, groaning out while his cramping hands bring you down against him harder, stuffing you so full of his cock that he may as well be fusing with your body. the body that’s so warm to his touch now that he can finally feel you, the body that fits so perfectly against him that it has to be a joke played on him, to make him see someone so right for him and kill them before he had the chance to experience this utter bliss. 

so now you two trick the fates, indulging in each other so sweetly as his hips lift from the couch, cock diving deep into you to hear you whine out for him again, the noise seducing him to fall harder for you than he could have ever imagined himself doing. pressing against that sweet spot that is like a button making you slip those honeyed sounds from your parted lips, the sounds that make him lower his head in a bow, breathing heavily against the swell of your breasts, moaning and struggling as he feels the tight coil of tension about to break on him. 

you feel it, too, that tightness inside your abdomen threatening to make you spasm and shake. like a long build-up for the earthquake of the century, the magnitude of which would shake the ground under your bare feet, the ground that sebastian’s clothes lie on thrown away carelessly just to let you feel him. he must see it in your face, in the string of saliva that connects your lips, that he leans in to kiss as you moan into his mouth. he must see it in your eyelids that refuse to stay open, the lashes that flutter desperately like the wings of a dragonfly caught in a web, sweeping the tops of your flushed cheeks as you try to hold on to the sanity you still have left. he must see it in the squeeze of your soft thighs against him because he groans at the sensation, his panting becomes quicker, higher in pitch, the tempo uneven as he struggles.

“you’re…” he swallows, pulling his lips from yours albeit reluctantly, “so good i–”

you tug on his hair a little harder, dipping your head down to bite the pale skin of his neck just under his ear, dying to leave a mark behind, needing to see the definitive proof that you’re real and that he’s got you.

“please…” you whine, “please, please i need it…”

he can’t know what you mean, surely he can’t. but his hands leave your waist to hug around you, gliding against the small of your back before settling on the sides of your hips and gripping you more desperately, holding you closer than you’ve been held in your life. safe and secured against his relentless hips, now lifting to slot against you faster than ever, so resolute to have you until the very end, until the sun that’s on the horizon explodes inside both of you, he groans again, a frantic little noise that makes you go to the very source of it, sloppily kissing his bitten lips, already feeling the swell of that warmth about to consume you.

“i can’t–” you whine against his lips, murmuring in between the messy, wet kisses, “i’m so–”

it’s a supernova.

a blinding flash so bright that if your eyes weren’t closed already, you would’ve ended up blind. sebastian’s skin is hot to touch, and as your saccharine moans disappear and melt on his tongue, so his eager groans stick to your mouth. in an instant, in a moment so fragile, you feel your entire body shudder and your warm cunt contracts around him. he stutters, his hips so unyielding until then falter and it takes unprecedented strength to keep him going, but he doesn’t quit. he resumes the tempo, so perfect, so fitting as you suck him into your warmth, letting him spill his release into you. it unravels you, undoes your stitching, and reforms the atoms that make you. you cling to him like he’s the only constant in this world, and he clings to you because you just might be his salvation.

seconds, minutes, maybe even lifetimes pass while you sit on his bare lap like this, unwilling to move a single muscle for fear you’ll lose yourself, but he lifts his head up to look at you again. the sun is setting, there’s an orange ray that still goes through his window and lands on your cheek. sebastian smiles, letting go of your hips to lift a hand up and gently brush his finger over the patch of light that shines on you, barely holding a candle to the intensity of light that glows within you. you lean into the touch, seeking more as his palm turns to cup your cheek, soft gesture melting him as he looks into your slowly opening eyes. the other hand reaches to the side, to the soft blanket folded on the edge of the dark couch which he pulls over both of you, cocooning you into a safe little bubble.

“you’re still here.” he murmurs, smiling as you move your hands down to touch his body again, leaving the mess of his hair behind with little memories of your fingers interlocked in the dark strands.

“i’m still here.” you echo, voice sounding broken, but your heart finally feeling whole again.

“now what?” he asks, gently coaxing you to dip your head lower and place those gentle lips so needy for attention to his hungry ones.

you sigh, melting into him as you, for the first time in a long while, truly ask yourself… now what? now that you’re not floating back into the void, that you’re not screaming in silence to be let out, now that you’re… whatever you are in this moment. now that you can wonder what you could become…

“we’ll figure it out,” you speak softly, whispering against his lips with eyes blissfully closed, “one step at a time.”

[sleep-potentiated]

YOUR NEEDS, MY NEEDS [1]

MICHAEL ‘ROBBY’ ROBINAVITCH x F!READER

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Chapter Tags: explicit sexual content, swearing, propositions, robby being generally exasperated, first time, p in v, light praise, resident!reader, age gap, it’s just stress relief, right? (wrong)

wc: 4k

“That is a terrible idea.”

Not an untrue statement. It is a very, very bad idea. You know this. And yet…

You swivel on your bar stool, twisting your torso so that it moves back and forth, back and forth—sort of like the festering thought that’s been ping-ponging in your head for the last few days.

“I mean, yeah. It’d probably be absolutely disastrous,” you agree, “but I figure it’s worth a try.”

That pulls an incredulous laugh from Robby’s throat, scrubbing a hand down his face before holding it out to convey his confusion.

“Then why—”

“Because I’m lonely and horny, and I’m pretty sure you are too,” you cut him off before you can think better of it.

That disbelieving smile fades from his face, replaced by something… not so great. Irritation, maybe? You can never truly tell with him.

“And just what the fuck gave you that idea?” he asks.

There’s no use in lying. You’ve already dug your grave. What’s another few shovels of dirt?

“You watch Heather the same way I watch Frank.” A bitter taste is left on the back of your tongue just from saying his name.

Robby stares at you for a moment, shakes his head for the hundredth time tonight. “As long as I don’t get that look on my face when I see her,” he motions toward you with a finger, adds, “I think I’ll be just fine.”

It takes you by surprise—the bite in his voice—but now that it’s been pointed out you can feel the downward pull of your mouth, eyes wide, hollow, puffy from fatigue. You probably look like a dog that’s just been kicked.

Pitiful as you may be, it doesn’t mean Robby can just—

“Ya’ know what? You’re right.” You slide off the stool in a quick motion, muttering to yourself, “fucking stupid of me to think you’d want…”

You closed your tab about ten minutes ago, so once your backpack is safely over your shoulder, there’s nothing stopping you from leaving the bar.

Aside from the strong hand that suddenly wraps around your forearm.

“Wait, stop, just fucking…” You pause, but you don’t turn to look at him, not when his ridicule sits so heavily in your stomach. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I know I need to get over Heather, and I’m sure I look pretty fuckin’ pathetic staring at her all shift.”

You glance over your shoulder to glare at him. “Pathetic. Nice,” because you know he’s not just talking about himself.

“Didn’t say you were,” Robby insists, and you’re surprised to feel a slight tug on your wrist, like he’s pulling you closer. “Most days you just look tired. And really fucking sad sometimes.”

“I am tired and sad!” You pivot to face him again, stare him dead in the eye as the control you had over yourself just moments ago slips away, replaced by something a little more desperate. “You think I’d be asking about this if I wasn’t? I am at my wit’s end here. I just need something—”

To your absolute horror, your voice breaks, eyes burning.

“God dammit.” This is so not how you wanted this to go.

But it had been a shit shift (as always) and you are so incredibly exhausted, have been for too long.

You yank your arm from Robby’s grip, hissing his usual mantra of, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” while turning to get away from him (again).

He stops you (again), only this time he’s standing, somehow having managed to take a few steps toward you, and his hand is on you, big and warm where it molds around the curve of your hipbone.

“Look at me.” A command, but it comes out softer than when he tells you to do something in the ER.

“Absolutely not,” you answer quickly, and it might be the first time you’ve disobeyed him.

Robby chuckles, and it almost makes you twist around just so that you can yell at him again.

“You can proposition me for sex, but you can’t look at me?”

Humiliation washes over you, made worse by the way your cheeks flare with heat.

“Just… forget it ever happened, okay?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that any time soon.”

Robby’s pulling you again, backwards so that you have to fight not to stumble. He only stops when he’s leaning against his stool and you’re standing between his legs. Back to his chest, you’re not exactly snug against him, but you can still feel his body heat, and your face is scorching for an entirely different reason.

This is… Huh.

It’s possible you didn’t really think this through, finding yourself unprepared for what it might be like to be close to him in a non-trauma setting.

“I’m sorry for being a dick. Just caught me off guard, I guess.”

You nod, trying not to react to the feeling of his breath on the back of your neck. “Can’t really blame you. I caught myself off guard when I first thought about it.”

Except not really. It didn’t come as a surprise when your mind had wandered to Robby while considering possible options. You used to think about him fairly often. Before Frank.

Robby doesn’t need to know that, though. It’s not even relevant; that ship had sailed a long time ago.

“There are other guys,” he reminds you like you don’t already know.

“I am not fucking Mateo or Donahue. Whitaker would probably run for the hills if he knew some of the shit I’m—anyway, I don’t have time to go out and meet someone, and even if I did, most dudes are fucking creeps.”

He’s silent for a few beats, like he’s working it over in his brain. Then, the more obvious issue: “I’m your boss.”

Now you do turn to face him, shuffling awkwardly so that his hand falls away from your waist.

“Oh my god, I didn’t even think of that!” All sarcasm.

It’s a miracle that you don’t spout off more, somehow stopping yourself before arguing that his position didn’t seem to matter when he and Heather were together.

“I’ve been going over the pros and cons for a while now, alright? This wasn’t just a spur of the moment idea,” you assure him. “But, if you really don’t want to or don’t think you could with me, just say so, and I’ll never bring it up again.”

“Oh, I definitely could with you,” he clarifies, gaze dropping to his lap as he releases another quiet laugh, “believe me, I could.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, pretty sure that Robby is telling you that he finds you attractive on some level but upset with yourself at how fucking gratifying that is.

“I used to—” he starts only to cut himself off, opting to just run a hand through his hair.

Unfortunately for him, your curiosity has been piqued.

“You’ve thought what?”

Robby lets his head loll backward. For the first time in a long time, you fall into an old habit and let yourself admire him. The column of his throat. The bob of his Adam’s apple. The gray in his beard.

There’s a reason you came to him, and it’s because he’s hot.

Also, you trust him to not murder you.

He looks forward again, wearing a familiar expression of annoyance, but you think it’s directed at himself this time.

“I’ve thought about it before.”

You fail to hide your smugness at his admission (not that you’re trying very hard).

“A while ago,” he insists then completely derails his own justification by adding, “and then again more… recently.”

Robby rubs the back of his neck like he does whenever he’s uncomfortable. You’ve always found the act oddly endearing.

“Well, I’m not gonna try to convince you, but you know where I stand now, so…” You flash a smile for the first time in hours, watch as Robby’s resolve cracks just a little. “Ball’s in your court, boss.”

This time when you walk away, he doesn’t stop you, but there’s no mistaking the frustrated, “fuck,” that echoes behind you.

He catches up to you just as you’re stepping out of the bar, his heavy hand landing on the back of your neck as he drops his head to fucking growl in your ear, “You are an HR nightmare,” somehow managing to sound both angry and amused.

“Yeah, well at least I’m good at my job. It’ll make it harder for my boss to fire me.”

•••

It wasn’t like it had been a huge crush. Nothing earth-shattering or world-ending. Just something a little cliché when you had started at PTMC as a first year resident.

Honestly, you could hardly even call it a crush. It was more of a respect thing, which is totally understandable considering how respectable Dr. Robinavitch was and still is.

Maybe you vied for his attention a little more than others. Maybe hearing the words “good job” and “nice work” from him sent a thrill through you that others didn’t seem to get. Maybe you enjoyed the feeling of him brushing up against you in chaotic triage rooms a little too much.

None of it distracted you, though. Mostly. There may have been one instance that had left you fidgety around the older man for a good few days.

A teen shoved out of a van, you straddling him while holding pressure over his chest where he’d been shot.

The EMTs managed to get a body board beneath both you and the kid, hoisting you up and depositing you on a gurney in the nearest open trauma room.

Doctors swarmed around you, Garcia calling out instructions before locking eyes with you, voice even as she explained that she was going to replace your hands with hers.

It was a graceful switch that allowed you to take the deep, shaky breath that you’d been holding, so relieved that you didn’t even notice Robby (still Dr. Robinavitch to you at the time) until his arm was already wrapped around your waist.

“Time to get down, sweetheart.”

The way your stomach had flipped at the sound of his gruff voice, when you realized exactly who was lifting you from your place with ease.

To this day, you remember the embarrassing squeak that forced its way from your throat, the only noise you could make in your flustered state.

“I got ya’, I got ya’,” he promised as you leaned into him, airborne for a split second before he planted you firmly on the ground. Eyes moving back to the scene in front of him, Robby had nodded in something akin to approval, then muttered a distracted, “good girl,” that made you go all wobbly and weak in the knees.

If that hadn’t been bad enough, Santos chose that moment to sprint into the room, would have careened straight into Robby had he not been quick enough. You found yourself pressed into the gurney, caged in by his arms to keep both you and himself out of the way.

And, that was it. A short interaction that wasn’t even a blip on his radar judging by how unfazed he was by all of it.

You, on the other hand… not so much.

It replayed in your mind for weeks, a looped scene that you couldn’t turn off. You went to work feeling light and giddy, always hoping you’d be able to do something that would earn his praise.

Nothing came of it, of course, and eventually you were able to let it go, any blooming feelings snuffed out by his lack of reaction.

The thing with Frank began shortly after that, messy from the very start and getting progressively messier the longer it went on.

But it’s all over, and now you’re here, standing in your apartment, staring at Robby who’s staring at you, and what the fuck—what is actually going on? How did you end up like this? You’ve somehow come full circle in a twisted sort of way.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to start. Robby has his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, rocking on his heels as he surveys your home.

“Well, this is fun,” he says in typical Robby fashion, dry and sarcastic and a little annoying.

“What, you just wanna dive right in?” you shoot back. “I know I could use a rinse, and the dried blood on your neck tells me you could go for one too.”

He can’t argue with that, so you take turns in the shower, quick but effective and alone because bathing together is out of the question.

You know he’s on the couch in your small living room—waiting, probably going over all the reasons he shouldn’t be here.

Meanwhile, you’re staring into your bathroom mirror, wet hair tied up, face bare as usual. You feel rather plain, definitely self-conscious, but you’re wearing cute panties that show off the curve of your ass, and you’ve gotta admit that your tits look good tonight.

You consider grabbing a shirt or a robe, but there’s really no point, and besides, you figure the less clothing you’re wearing, the less likely Robby is to change his mind. There’s probably a direct correlation between the two.

You wonder what it’ll feel like to have him touch you, if his beard against your skin will make you shiver, if his beard between your legs would—

Fuck. Fuck.

This is Robby—your boss who’s twenty years older than you, and that shouldn’t get you as hot as it does, but God, you know he knows what he’s doing.

This is a mistake, you think to yourself. A bad idea, just like he said.

But the more you think about it, the more you want it, and by the time you step out of the bathroom, your whole body is tense with anticipation.

He’s sitting on the couch just as you suspected, slouched over with his head in his hands (typical). Obviously, he’s still debating the morality of the situation.

“You look like you’re about to face a fucking firing squad,” you deadpan as you move toward him.

You hope you sound casual, hope you come off as unaffected. Confident.

Then Robby turns to look at you, and you stop dead in your tracks.

You don’t—you don’t have a shirt on. You barely have anything on, and he’s there, and you can see the freckles on his sunkissed shoulders and some of his chest hair, and those brown eyes are burning into you as he takes in every bit of skin that he can see.

Staring shamelessly until his control snaps all at once.

“Over here. Now.” It’s all gravel, sounds almost threatening, and you don’t think you’ve ever gotten so wet so fast.

Moving without hesitation, you only stop once you’re in front of his spread legs, barely catch a glimpse of his cock, but can’t fully admire it before Robby tugs you into his lap.

Your thighs spread wide over his, jaw dropping when he immediately shoves an arm between your bodies to rub your covered pussy.

“Not… wasting any time,” you breathe while bracing yourself for a thick finger to be shoved inside of you.

He doesn’t go any further, though, focusing on your neck instead, and you shudder at the sensation of his teeth grazing your skin.

“Didn’t think you’d walk out topless,” he gruffs.

You laugh airily, pleased with his reaction—his eager hands.

“Guess I made the right decision, then.”

There’s no more talking after that, only nipping and biting and digging your nails into Robby’s shoulders. The scratch of his beard is just as satisfying as you thought it would be, causes you to crane your neck as if to give him better access.

You buck into the hand between your legs and moan softly when he uses the other to squeeze one of your tits, encouraging you to arch your back and push your chest closer to his mouth.

He seems to like the way you sound, answers with his own groan, and the noise, the rumble, goes straight to your core.

Catching your hardened nipple between his incisors, Robby teases with just enough pressure to make you whine, quickly soothes the sensitive flesh with his tongue, flicking and sucking and driving you insane.

Your hips are still rocking, grinding against his palm, and you can feel the way your panties are plastered to your pussy, already soaked with your arousal.

Releasing your nipple, Robby tilts his head back, and fuck, oh fuck, he’s looking at you. He’s watching you. Spit-slicked lips and dilated pupils, mouth lifting on one side in an uncharacteristic smirk.

“You’re leaking all over my hand,” he says which, on its own, is enough to make you whimper, but then he adds a condescending, “desperate little thing,” and your fucking eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Fuck—please—”

You can feel his cock twitch against your ass, and surely he must be ready to sink into you, yet he still teases, “you really weren’t lying when you said you needed this.”

“For the love of god, Robinavitch, if you don’t fuck me right now…”

He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling like he’s truly happy with this turn of events.

“Patience, sweetheart. Gotta get you ready first.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” you start to babble, “I’m wet enough, I can take it, I wanna feel it, Robby, wanna feel you stretch me out.”

Robby hisses a harsh, “fucking Christ,” while pulling your panties to the side. He easily slides one long finger inside of you, coating it in your juices to spread all over your clit and vulva. You keen, louder and louder as he repeats the action a couple times to make sure you’re slick enough to take him.

“Lift up,” he commands, and you do, reaching for his cock to line it up with your entrance. It’s fat and heavy in your hand. You know you should let him stretch you like he wanted to, but you can’t wait that long. You need to feel him inside of you.

His cockhead alone spreads you thin, your hole fluttering around it as you try to accommodate the size.

“Fuck, oh fuck, you’re…”

“Told you I needed to get you ready,” he drawls, and he sounds smug about it. The hand not holding your panties is curled around your hip, guiding you down on his length just a little more. “Easy does it, take it slow.”

He sounds so collected, so controlled…

Until your feet slip on the couch cushions, and you take the rest of him all at once.

You squeal, Robby shouts, and you can feel both of his hands tremble where they you.

“Holy shit,” he rasps, jaw hanging open.

Your wide eyes meet his, warm brown eclipsed by black blown out pupils. You distantly wonder if he needs a neuro exam, know you definitely need one since it feels like your brain is oozing out of your god damn ears.

He’s so thick, God, he’s so fucking—you always assumed that Robby was hiding something impressive under those cargo pants, but this is… this is kind of ridiculous. Girthier than any of your toys, long enough to press against your cervix.

You’re never gonna recover from this. There will be a fucking imprint of Michael Robinavitch’s dick in your pussy for the rest of your life.

“Here, slide back off for a minute—that must have hurt.”

He’s not wrong. It absolutely did hurt, still hurts.

But it’s the most satisfying stretch you’ve ever felt.

Glassy eyed and tear streaked, you shake your head and croak, “feels too good.”

His face is blurry, a shame given how handsome he is. You don’t even register the hand that he lifts, his thumb brushing over your cheek to wipe away some of your tears.

A tender gesture that juxtaposes the way he thrusts upward to bounce you in his lap. He starts out shallow, almost experimental, but when all you do is beg for more, Robby finally, finally lets go.

Your panties are torn, hanging uselessly around one thigh, and with two free hands Robby moves you up and down on him. Fuck, you forget how strong he is, but the way he’s manhandling you right now is a stark reminder. You may as well be a doll.

Your tits bounce with every thrust, no doubt an enjoyable sight that you let him indulge in until their weight starts to get uncomfortable and you cup them yourself. It’s not like they look any less pretty, especially when Robby dips his head to leave a collage of bites and bruises all over them.

He grunts into your skin then leans back, head following and exposing his throat. You attack, latching onto the side of his neck and sucking, sucking, sucking.

“You feel—so fucking good,” he groans. The rumble of his voice vibrates against your teeth, makes you bite down until he hisses.

Hand fisted in your hair, Robby pulls you away, and the sensation, the burn and harshness and overall idea of him getting a little rough with you…

“I’m gonna fucking cum,” you gasp, the realization hitting you like a freight train. You’ve never been able to get off without playing with your clit, and you are clueless as to why this is any different—maybe it’s the neverending pressure against your g-spot, maybe it’s his size in general, or maybe it’s just because it’s him.

You look at him like you’re scared, heat and pleasure building inside of you. Your toes curl and your back bows and you know you’re absolutely fucked when he wets his thumb and presses it to your poor, swollen clit.

Your orgasm guts you, tears through you with an intensity that has your vision whiting out.

And, it feels like it goes on for so long. Robby keeps fucking into you, keeps his thumb against your clit, praises you as your pussy sucks his cock like a greedy mouth.

“Fuck, you’re pretty when you cum for me like that. Keep taking it, just like that…”

He sounds as ruined as you feel, his cock twitching inside you, the tendons in his neck straining against flushed skin, and somehow, in a display of incredible self-control, Robby lifts you off of him just in time for cum to shoot from his tip. The first warm string lands on your jaw while the rest paints your tits and stomach.

By the time he’s done, Robby looks like he might die.

“I’ve never…” he huffs, grunting when you collapse against his chest, then bringing a hand up to trace down your spine. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum that fucking hard.”

Your responding laugh is breathy and tired. “Ditto.”

Dropping his forehead to your shoulder, the two of you just breathe for a while, slowly regaining a few of your mental faculties.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna look you in the eye next time we work together.”

“Mm, my tits are more fun to look at anyway.”

Robby hums, quiet for too long like he’s debating what to say next.

He gives in, that post-orgasm high loosening his tongue— “always kinda liked your eyes.”

You stiffen, just for a second, unsettled by the sentiment. “Don’t get all gooey on me now,” you warn. Then you think about your current state and smile against Robby’s neck— “I’m already gooey enough as it is.”

He lifts his head, revealing an expression of open displeasure that makes you break into a fit of giggles. You have a feeling he’s gonna get tired of you sooner rather than later.

When it’s over and your breathing has returned to normal, you let yourself relax against Robby’s chest again. Your entire body feels like molasses, syrupy and satiated and just stupid enough to admit, “for the record, I always kinda liked your eyes too.”

[the-bi-space-ace]

Okay I got so distracted and wrote just the tiniest bit of what might go in a larger fic someday but I needed to get the words out and so now you’re getting them because I can’t resist

Tagging @saturn-sends-hugs @phantom-of-the-501st because I think you may enjoy this bit of angst/fluff I’ve come up with.

Is this partially inspired by this post about Rex and Echo laughing themselves silly but also this post about what happened to Echo pre-S7? Yes. I couldn’t help myself.

Warnings: Echo has a bit of a panic attack then some silliness happens and he gets giggly.

Enjoy!

~~

Everything felt like it was on fire. Echo curled in on himself, trying and failing to understand why he couldn’t breathe anymore. All that had happened was a simple briefing, a mention of a prison, of people being held against their will, and now he was a mess.

A crumbled, sobbing mess.

He’d gone the one place he knew he felt safe without even thinking about it. Rex’s quarters were dim, quiet, isolated, and it took everything in him to press the code into the keypad before hitting the floor.

Rex had come looking for him, calling his name and trying to track him down, and like all those times before he’d found him. Curled in such a state it must’ve terrified him. Now embarrassment flared under the panic and he couldn’t dispel it even if he wanted to.

Rex tried to reach for him, hold him like he’d done times before when the world was too heavy and it all came crashing down, but his skin screamed no without his permission.

“Stop!” Echo croaked, feeling his voice give way, flinching before the contact could reach his skin. He didn’t know what he wanted but being touched wasn’t it. His body wouldn’t stop shaking, nothing made sense, and now Rex was sitting there half stunned, half hurt, hands held in the air in limbo. Great. Now he’d done it.

Echo put his hand to his chest, trying to calm his erratic breathing. This wasn’t fair. He was fine. He was so fine that this shouldn’t even be happening. He was stronger than this.

Then Rex stood and Echo’s world collapsed. He was pushing Rex away bit by bit and this was the last straw. This was what would make Rex walk away, leave him, know he was too much work.

Fuck, his chest hurt.

Air wouldn’t get through to his lungs quick enough, nothing worked, and now with the absence of Rex on his left he couldn’t reach out to him either.

Alone. All alone. No one. Nothing. All his fault-

“Here,” Something entered his vision and for a moment he didn’t know what it was, just that Rex was holding it out to him. He didn’t have time to actually reach for it before it was placed in his hand. Cool and smooth and… squishy? “Squeeze it.” Rex prompted. He was on his knees now, down in front of Echo and looking up like the world might implode. Echo squeezed it, feeling it give under his fingers.

Confusion dawned over his face, looking down to study the little squished up bantha in his hand. It had been given to Rex by Fives as a joke. A ‘gift’ from a mission that Rex hadn’t been on with them. Their first one as ARCs, actually. Its eyes bulged under the force of his fist, pink tongue sticking out. He could’ve sworn at one point it squeaked when you squished it so either he was misremembering or Rex used it enough that it had worn out.

It flooded his mind all at once. The toy clutched in his palm, Fives handing it to Rex and saying ‘it looks just like you’ as he squeezed it, Rex promising to make him pay for that comment. Echo thought about it and all at once the sour feeling in his chest mixed with something else entirely. Before he knew it laughter was bubbling up from his gut all the way until it burst out, light, trying to hold it back but failing.

Rex looked like he’d just been slapped, looking at Echo like his head had grown four sizes in a matter of seconds, which only made him laugh harder.

Tears that used to be from his terror were now squeezed out for an entirely different reason.

“I’m sorry, it’s just,” Echo forced out through a fit of giggles, and felt relieved to see Rex’s own mouth start to form a smile, as shocked as he was at the change of tone. Echo held up the bantha, relaxed his hand, then squeezed it again. “It looks just like you.”

Rex’s face fell from cautiously amused to absolutely exasperated in seconds forcing another renewed round of laughter.

“You’re such a bastard.” Rex complained but there was still a glint of mirth behind his eyes. The bantha was taken from him and Rex held it up, studying the little toy with some disdain. He peered at Echo then held it beside his head, squeezing it so it all puffed out again. It wouldn’t have been so funny if Rex didn’t try to mimic the expression, tongue stuck out and eyes wide, but it made another peel of laughter break free.

Funny, his chest felt less tight now.

“The resemblance is uncanny.” Echo mumbled from behind his hand, failing to stifle anymore tittering.

“Shut up.” Rex let his face fall back to normal then tossed the bantha back at Echo so it hit him in the chest, folding his arms for good and grumpy measure.

~~

THAT’S ALL I’VE GOT RIGHT NOW I TYPED THIS IN LIKE TEN MINUTES ON MY PHONE SO IF IT’S GOT TYPOS I AM SORRY I HOPE YOU LIKED IT

[misfithive]

Reality TV x Wilmon AU ideas

so guys before i feel down the wilmon spiral 3 years ago I was obsessed with reality tv. I desperately need a wilmon falling in love on reality tv fic or one shot or anything so im writing out these ideas hoping it sparks something for one of you amazing amazing writers in this fandom :D pls if anyone writes just tag or send it to me so i can read it ty ty!!!!!

Love is blind/ married at first sight/love island/ the ultimatum

1. first and obvious: LOVE IS BLIND

the premise of love is blind is that you talk in these pods and fall in love without ever seeing the person all they can hear is your voice. I think that would be so beautiful for wilmon cuz imagine they have these hear to hearts about their past how isolated they both felt and really bond yk. Wille could still be a prince here or like super wealthy something ?? When they actually meet there would deff be more conclict when they go back to “real life” but yk once they leave the pods they go on a honeymoon i still think they would be obsessed with eachother fall more in love then reality check when they get home conflict blah blah but both ofc agree to stay married at the end.

2. MARRIED AT FIRST SIGHT

Married at first sight is kinda like love is blond of steroids. The experts match you with someone you dont meet until that person walks down the aisle and u get married. It would be perfect if like the royal court is tired of waiting for wilhelm to find someone and settle down so they use this as like an arranged marriage situation. None of the other contestants would know the prince is participating ans the wedding bfs are always very small also secretive due to not wanting to spoil the season so Simon does not think much of the extra protocols etc. maybe its the first queer season and they think putting the prince on will help his image idk. It could be enemies to lovers bc imagine when the prince walks out or Simon walks out and simon is like wtf im not doing this. (there is always one person like that lmfao)

3. Love island

this would probably be more like a crackfic but imagine parts being told from the funny narrator’s pov (if any one is familiar with love island) but if they go on love island and the public thinks it would be funny to match them together. The show is pretty slow tho since it comes on every day but they could have other live interests do challenges casa amor 🤭 maybe one of them gets scared and decides to try it with someone else. Maybe this is the first queer season of the show 😎

4. The Ultimatum

some of u guys like mess and this would be MESSSY (most angst potential) eeeee okay so basically on the show you come in with your current partner one of the partners has given an ultimatum. Imagine simon is with marcus 🤢 and marcus gives him an ultimatum saying simon has to marry him or they are done. Simon is super anxious about it but also feels like he doesnt know if he can find better (he is traumatized and considering settling but goes on the show bc Marcus drags him there). Wilhem maybe gives his partner the ultimatum? Because of the pressure he is facing from his family to have a kid settle down etc. they are not in love really but are like perfect match on paper except maybe shes like doesnt know if she wants to have kids and settle down yet idk??? Basically wilhelm is rushing this whole thing bc of the anxiety and pressure and has resigned himself to not experiencing real love.

The way the show works is that they have time to mix and mingle and talk to other people (highly suggest watching the queer season of this show) and then decide which partners they want to switch with. Wilmon of course choose to match with eachother. They have to give a whole speech marcus might be super jealous would be lots of drama etc. then the new couples live together so wilmon relationship builds from there. I say shy simon of course and soft boys fall in loooooveeeee they learn about themselves etc. they have to keep seeing their “real partner” during this so the “real” partners tend to get jealous and its tons of drama. They have to sleep in the same bed with the new partner so ofc things happen then they may feel guilty bc its sort of a grey area of whether its cheating or “part of the experiment” - some people will be trying not to take it too far with their partner then find out their partner had sexxx then decide they dont care anymore etc.

They have to move back with their old partner for the second half of the show and usually thats when people are like yeah this is what i want or i want to go back to my old partner. At the end you pick if yoh want to stay with the partner you came with, leave with the person you did the experiment with, or leave single. But you dont know what the other person will pick so its a lot of stress and angst and drama.

Okay this is getting long i have more of course but plsssss someone do one 😭😭😭😭😭😭 i qill make u an edit to any song of your choosing oe whatever u want pls 😭🙏🏾 the ultimatum one sounds soooo fun so cool ikr okay byeeee

[absurddino]

Death's kiss

For @thiamficweekly week 17

Wc: 1620 | rating: t | tw/cw: main character death, death | tags: Thiam as ghosts

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Death is kind of like floating. The moment of impact hurts. Like being thrown off the seventh story. But then it becomes blissful, in a really fucked up way. 

Suddenly all problems. All worries, they disappear from your mind. It's like looking up at the starry night sky, thinking: 'I'm nothing compared to the universe.' That's what death is like.

Obviously, Theo hadn't anticipated dying today. 

He'd gotten up and gotten ready, he put on the clothes he wore yesterday (something he will probably regret after learning that, yes, ghosts are real. Spending an eternity with an oil stain on the front of his shirt might get old). He'd brushed his teeth, put on his shoes, neglected eating breakfast because every penny counts and he's already lost too many.

In the end, the way he went... A stray bullet leftover from one of the hunters, ending up in some guys gun only to end up in his shoulder with no one there to help him, because even though him and Scott are on somewhat amicable terms, he's away for college and, let's face it, Theo's too ashamed to ask anyone else for help. 

He goes quickly. He's okay with it. 

The boy standing in front of him, hands on his hips, decidedly is not. 

"What the Hell is wrong with you?" he asks, the moment Theo's eyes blink back open, after he thought he'd closed them forever. "You're a fucking wimp, you know that? Acting all broody and shit, while you could've just asked for help!" 

"Oh, fuck you," Theo mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. It's his luck to get stuck with some annoying loser who thinks he knows everything better the moment he dies, yet he feels lighter than he has in hours as he stands, parting from his deceased body. "For your information, that wasn't a normal bullet. I couldn't just go to the hospital." 

"Yeah. I'm not stupid." The boy crosses his arms. "But you could've gone to Melissa, or Argent. Or, like, anyone else. But, no! Little Theo Raeken needed to go out with one last depressing bang." 

Theo pauses. "Do I know you?" 

The boy sighs. It's the first time Theo has looked at him properly, short hair, the bluest eyes he's ever seen. He looks like he's constantly agitated, or maybe that's only now. Theo's feeling pretty agitated as well, if he's honest. Can't even get a moment of rest after he died, it seems. 

He doesn't recognise him, though. He would have, if he ever met him. His face isn't something you'd forget. Even now, Theo thinks it might be burned into his memory forever. From his sharp eyes to the downturn of his pink lips.

"Of course you don't know me. I doubt Scott would've ever told you about me. Can't ruin his perfect fucking reputation. I gave him a piece of my mind after you killed him. Thanks for that, by the way." He smiles, holding a hand outstretched between them. "I'm Liam." 

Theo takes his hand. It feels as real as a human touch, which makes him halt. He'd thought ghosts would feel different. He hadn't thought ghosts were real at all. "Theo," he says, eventually. 

"Yeah, I knew that." 

"How?" Theo asks. He eyes his dead body and Liam must take notice of how uncomfortable it's making him, because he nudges him towards the street. It's not the fact that he's dead that bothers him, really, he's been dead before and he's honestly grateful he's not back in Hell with Tara. The thought of someone finding his body, though, that's what messes with him. 

Liam hums as he walks straight through the people on the sidewalk. "Well, ever since Scott killed me I've been meaning to get my revenge. So, obviously, I had to stalk you guys. His pack. His family. Whatever helped me get closer to my goal." 

"Scott killed you?" 

The feeling of walking through people is something he might not ever get used to. It's like someone is swirling around his insides with a pair of chopsticks. And so, he tries to dodge most of the people, which makes Liam snort. 

"Yep. Wasn't great, actually. Much less 'I'll just lay here and die' than your death was." Liam shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and ducks into another alley. Theo follows him, because what else is he supposed to do? "I'm his first beta," Liam tells him. "He won't admit it, but I am. He bit me and my body couldn't handle it. Very slow, very painful death. He kept me locked up in a bunker, where no one could hear me scream. Well, until I died. After that he buried me out in the woods. No one has found me yet, my parents still think I'm alive. Somewhere." 

"And now you want to kill Scott?" Theo asks. It makes sense. He would want to kill Scott if he was in the same position. Hell, he wants to kill Scott on a near daily basis just because of his annoying face.

"Well, you already did that." Liam shrugs, leaning against the brick wall. "I thought that was, like, what was holding me back from moving on. Some ghosts say you can only move on from the mortal realm after completing your unfinished business, others say you're stuck as a ghost until everyone forgets about you." 

"There's other ghosts? In Beacon Hills?" 

He hopes there's no one here he killed. That could become awkward. Or lethal, if there's any way for ghosts to die. 

Liam grins. "I'm the cutest one, though." He holds out his hand and it takes a while for Theo to realize he's supposed to put his hand in his. 

"Come on," Liam says, when he finally does, and promptly pulls him through the wall. 

---

Theo leans a handful of things in the span of two hours. 

1. Laura Hale makes the best alcoholic beverages and ghosts (even werewolves and weird science experiments) apparently have no issue getting drunk. 

2. There are a lot of ghosts in Beacon Hills. Different ages and species blending together at the bar, like they've been doing it for centuries. Most of them have. 

3. Liam Dunbar is the most magnificent boy in the entire universe, and he's only admitting that because he's drunk. 

They're sitting at the bar, and it's immediately crystal clear that Liam is a big deal around here. Theo can't place his finger on what it is exactly, but people gravitate towards him like moths to a flame. 

Liam laughs at the appropriate moments, flirts with a girl wearing pigtails and a bubble skirt, fixes an old man's tie and in the same breath compliments another person's eyeshadow. 

He's...fuck, he's like really attractive. 

Theo must be staring. He knows he is, and yet he can't seem to stop. It might be something in the drinks, it might be the shock of dying. All of that's probably just an excuse for Liam. 

Liam who is turning to look at him, mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he softly kicks Theo's shin. 

"Are you jealous or something?" Liam asks, sly grin on his face. It snaps Theo right out of his thoughts. He'd been staring right at him. Good thing he wasn't drooling.  

"Jealous? Of you?" He scoffs. "You wish." 

Liam's grin spreads wider. "I didn't mean of me. I meant of them." He licks his lips. "Do you want me all to yourself, Raeken?" 

"Stop talking to me like we know each other so well." Theo gets off the bar chair he's been sitting on, wobbling on his legs. So what? He's never been drunk before. "Matter of fact, stop talking all together." 

"I can work with that," Liam says. His touch against Theo's arm feels near electric, hand sliding down until it's wrapped around his wrist. "Follow me." 

Theo does. Because he's dead and what else is he supposed to do when a pretty boy tells him to follow? He can have this, for fucks sake, he's allowed. 

Liam is on him the moment they slide back through the wall, pushing him against the opposite side of the alley, hands sliding up over his torso to grasp his jaw and tilt him forward. Their lips connect and it's unlike anything Theo's ever felt before. 

He gasps into it. How could he not? This is the craziest thing he's ever done and he's done a lot of crazy shit. He can feel Liam smiling against his mouth and all his jealousy dissipates. 

It doesn't matter who he complimented, or talked to, or helped. Because it's Theo that gets to have him now. All to himself, hidden between two towering buildings.

Liam hums as their lips move together. Their breaths mingle, the taste of beer and something smokey transferring. 

For someone that died when he was sixteen he sure as Hell can kiss. 

Theo can't help but groan into his mouth, pressing harder against him, until suddenly all the pressure is gone and he's left gulping in breaths with his head tilted back against the brick wall behind him. 

He feels like he's starving. There's a pathetic kind of need coursing through his veins. It's something he's never felt before, something that doesn't have anything to do with how many drinks he had. It settles low in his stomach, keeping him warm while Liam's hands spread out over his chest. 

"That enough of not talking for you?" Liam asks, moving closer until Theo can feel his hot breath against his neck. He presses a single kiss against his pulse. 

Theo swallows. "Think I need some more of that, uh, not talking."

[baker-chan-senpai]

some friends

[vaguely-concerned]

powerful mental image of lucanis expounding passionately about any given one of his limited but extremely deep areas of interest (the wyvern/knives/coffee/cooking/murder continuum of lucanis dellamorte special interests if you will) while rye lounges around and Beholds him with palpable twink boutta pounce energy

[evilmagician430]

mabeline/jonah wolf in my 2020s timeskip au! read my tags for more information about her

[sieglinde-freud]

ok i think im done i think ive finally done it. i have completed the awakening ship chart with the second gen. except for nah sorry nah. yes i do love rarepair hell thanks for asking im never leaving