#i was just looking at tips on my phone and the people look so plastic and off in the pictures and im like no way

[killyjae]

I miss the feeling of not worrying if anything corporate looks off because I suspect it's ai generated

[urcoolgf]

TATTOOED HEART

pairing. bf¡rafe && reader

content. fluff. makeout. suggestive content towards the end.

summary. rafe gets a new tattoo, && surprises you (peep the ariana inspired title)

"appointment, or walk-in?," the man behind the counter asked. he had tattoos all over—full sleeves on both arms, ink up to his neck, and a few facial piercings.

"appointment for rafe... rafe cameron," he replied, his nervousness peaking through his 'tough guy' front just a little.

"sure, man. right this way," the worker led rafe back into the room. a few people were currently getting tattooed, a few pierced. there was art all over the dark walls—different tattoo styles, and other artistc pieces. he guided rafe to a black, leather chair before sitting himself in the artist's stool adjacent to it.

"i'm zach, by the way. i'll obviously be your artist today. so, what are we thinkin' of doin' rafe?," his vibe was calm, which put rafe a little more at ease—though he would never admit he was anything but completely chill about this.

"yeah, i got a pic. i want you to put this... right here," rafe replied, pointing from the picture on his phone to the spot just over his heart.

"nice. sounds good, man. let me draw up a sketch, then we'll place it, yeah?," zach replied, immediately reaching for his ipad to begin a sketch.

once he had finished it, he turned his ipad around to face rafe, but leaned over it, so he could look at it while explaining the different aspects of it to rafe—what colors would go where, and how he was going to shadow it.

"that looks perfect, man," the blonde said only semi-excitedly—he was still rafe cameron after all—he had a reputation around here.

"alright! i'm gonna have you take off your shirt. i'll place it, and then you can go look in that mirror right over there," he pointed to the wall diagonal from the chair, "and let me know what you think," he continued, "any changes, and i mean any, you let me know, okay?,"

"got it," rafe said, stripping himself of his t-shirt, and laying back in the chair. zach placed the stencil over rafe's heart, leaving a blue ink on the right side of his chest. he stood up, walking over to the mirror as instructed, analyzing the position and style of the temporary ink on his chest before it was permanent. he walked back over to the chair, and sat himself back in it.

"it's awesome," rafe nodded his head as a smirk spread onto his face.

"cool, man. alright, go ahead and lay back. we're gonna get started," zach said, turning around in his chair to grab some new gloves and other materials that he placed on his tray.

the soft buzz from the tattoo gun rang through rafe's ears as he felt the first few strokes.

not as bad as he thought.

—

"zach, man, you did an awesome job. this looks amazing. thanks a bunch," rafe said, admiring the now permanent ink in the same mirror he looked into a couple hours prior.

"happy to hear it. my buddy ryan's gonna get you checked out up front," zach replied with a smile, beginning to clean his station.

"thanks, man. have a good one," the blonde said before heading to the front counter to pay, and obviously leave a generous tip. rafe would never show it, but he was so excited to go home and show his girlfriend.

—

"baby! i'm home," rafe shouted, loud enough for it to travel throughout tannyhill. he was already excited, but his smile grew when he saw you hurry down the stairs, ready to throw yourself into his arms before he stopped you.

"wait! wait," he laughed, holding you in place by the sides of your arms.

"what?," you had a kind of sad look on your face, thinking you did something since he didn't want you touching him, "something wrong?"

"no, baby. nothin's wrong. wanna show you somethin'," he said, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt. you stood in front of him with absolutely no idea of what was going on. once he pulled the shirt over his head your eyes shot open, and your jaw dropped. it was covered by clear plastic wrap, but it was plain as day what it was…

your eye. tattooed. over his heart.

the artwork was absolutely stunning, it looked so real. you reached out to graze your fingers over the plastic wrap—carefully. as if you could mess it up. as if it wasn't permanent.

"is that… that's my eye, rafe," you said without taking your eyes off the dark ink, shock still evident on your face.

"yeah, that's kinda the point, sweetheart," he laughed, bringing his hand up to cover yours, and press it into his heart.

"i– i don't even know what to say, rafe… you got a tattoo?!," that wasn't the prominent question, but you really didn't know what else to say. this was the sweetest, most unexpected thing he could have done.

"said my heart was yours forever, didn't i?," he asked with a smile, although the question was hypothetical because, of course he had said that, “now everyone knows.”

and he meant it.

“this is so sweet, rafe…,” you began, lowering your hand from his.

“but…?,” his brows furrowed, he felt the follow-up coming from a mile away.

“but… it’s also sexy as hell,” you said, eyes narrowing as you pulled him towards you. he wrapped his arms tightly around the small of your back as your lips collided. you could feel rafe holding back a smile against your lips, and it drove you mad. he moved his hands further down, playing with the plush of your ass a bit, before moving even lower. he bent down slightly to place his hands on the backside of your thighs—which was code for 'jump'.

with no hesitation, you jumped into his arms without breaking away from his lips, running your hands through his buzzed hair. rafe began up the stairs, still kissing you until you pulled away for a moment.

"you have no idea what that tattoo does to me… you're getting it tonight, rafe cameron," you whispered into his ear, your hot breath making his eyes roll back. you pulled back to look at his face.

"oh am i now?, he said quietly, eyebrows raising as if he didn't believe you.

he believed you. and boy was he looking forward to it.

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© URCOOLGF. est. 2025

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or him seeing you with someone else.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ i might be posting another chapter in a few days hehe,,, i've been thinking about making a post about the kind of outfits this reader wears, lmk if you'd be interested!!

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

YOU: you there? sent at 10am YOU: i miss talking to you. sent at 1pm YOU: i'm booooreeeed :( sent at 4pm YOU: sorry if i'm bothering you :) sent at 6pm YOU: sry i'll stop now!!! sent at 8pm YOU: i miss you... sent two minutes ago YOU: sorryyy, im a bit tips. sent now

you frowned as you looked down at your phone. everything felt like shit. emilia was off to talk with rafe, and you could see vivian making out with topper, the boy's back pressed against the tree, everyone else having someone to talk to, or even be in the presence of. everyone except for you, and the pitiful plastic cup that consisted of 75% vodka, 10% of some random punch and 15% of diet coke in your hand.

"am i pathetic?" you asked the fire blazing in front of you, taking a long chug from your mug. you already knew the answer. the guy you possibly liked was ignoring you, meanwhile everyone else was shoving their tongues down each other's throats. it felt like you were the only person in the universe.

"probably." a voice appeared next to you, nearly making you choke on your drink. you looked to your left side as you coughed, trying to get rid of the itch in your throat, seeing that someone had pulled up a chair right next to yours, making your eyes widen.

"who-" you coughed, "are you?" you held your breath, hoping that it'd help, only for the boy to bend you forward slightly, slapping your back a few times, "breathe in." he commanded, and you did so, "breathe out."

after a few more times of doing that, you started to feel slightly better, able to finally speak without having to cough. "thanks..." you said softly, "uh, who are you?"

"i'm dodge." the dark-haired boy flashed you a smile, "can i ask you, what's your name, and why do you think you're pathetic?"

you told him your name, taking a moment to think of an answer to his second question, "well... all of my friends have someone they're with right now. one of my friends is with a guy she swears she hates but ends up getting with all the time, and another is with a guy who i'm pretty sure has a crush on her."

"then just go and mingle." the dark-haired boy shrugged, like talking to people was the easiest thing in the world. for a lot of people, it was. not you. "drunk people love socializing. someone would probably be willing to listen their ear off about… the history of cars, or something."

"i'm terrible at it. i swear, i'd accidentally end up offending them in some way." you shook your head, "i have pretty bad anxiety. i see a large group of people and it's like... i stop functioning." "you're in a large group of people right now. look around." you did as dodge said, chuckling as you looked around the clearing. you were surrounded by people. couples making out, people hanging out in groups, people by the fire... yet you didn't feel as anxious as you always do.

"i take beta blockers, and since alcohol is a depressant, it relieves my anxiety and lowers my inhibitions, meaning-" "-that you'll feel good after a few drinks but if you keep drinking more, you'll start to go down and eventually feel like crap." the boy finishes your sentence for you, and you cock your head to the side with a slight smile, "you're a lot smarter than most frat boys."

"and you're a lot smarter than most pathetic people." "i take it back," you nudge dodge to his side, "you're awful." "i think you like it." he grinned. "only because my inhibitions are lowered by alcohol." you rolled your eyes, "but tomorrow i'm gonna have the worst case of hangxiety and avoid you like the plague." "you're a cruel woman."

you laughed, shaking your head and looking to the fire, taking an absentminded sip of your drink, "y'know, people tell me that i'm smart, but for some reason, i've never really been able to figure out why i feel different than others." "well, how are you different?" "to the people around me… it seems to come so easily to just talk to people. to connect with someone. but i feel like i can't connect to people at all."

"i mean, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses." the boy shrugged, "you're bad at socializing but i bet you're good at other things." "well, there's one thing i can tell you're not good at, dodge." "oh yeah? what's that?" the boy raised his brows in amusement, "pep talks."

MEANWHILE...

emilia sat down onto the chair next to rafe's, handing him a beer while taking a sip of her own. she leaned back on her chair, tsk'ing, "so, uh, why'd you wanna talk to me?" "oh." rafe chuckled under his breath, turning to her, "you just seem like a cool girl. a cool person."

"oh. thanks." emilia said with a tight smile, taking a long swig of her beer, "so, what are you into?" "mostly football and partying." he chuckled, "i do read sometimes, but don't go around telling that to people 'cause i'm probably gonna get shit on."

"i wont." emilia chuckled softly, "but one of my friends recommended this one bookstore to me. i can send you the address if you give me your number or your snapchat or kildareuchats user."

rafe tsked, "i would, but... i pretty much fucked up my phone this morning." "what? how? you drop it into the toilet or something?" emilia chuckled. "no, no." rafe shook his head humorously, "i fell into the water and didn't even realize it was in my pocket... it was a whole thing. now my phone is sitting in a bowl of rice."

"let's hope for the best." emilia chuckled, stretching her arms over her head, and that was when rafe noticed the logo on emilia's shirt, narrowing his eyes as he thought back to the list of music AnnabelLee had recommended.

fleetwood mac - rhiannon

"fleetwood mac." rafe said quietly, "what?" emilia asked, "fleetwood mac. on your shirt." the boy gestured to the cut-up shirt she was wearing, making emilia laugh, "oh, yeah. i borrowed it from my friend who's a big fan of them. i like them too, but she's obsessed with them. especially stevie nicks."

"who's your friend...?"

"oh, she's here with us." emilia says, looking around, until she finally spots you. and then rafe spots you, talking to another guy, a smile on your face and your body practically pressed against his side. you threw your head back in laughter, before focusing back on the boy you were with, leaning close to him. rafe tries to focus on emilia; AnnabelLee, the girl he's somehow fallen for without seeing her face or talking to her in person... but for some reason, he feels his his gut twisting whenever he thinks about the girl he'd talked to twice, a girl who pretty much got him thrown into a lake talking to another guy. flirting with another guy.

"can i... can i ask you a question?" rafe cleared his throat, "it might be a weird." "yeah, go ahead." emilia smiled, "does your friend have a cat?"

rafe's question made emilia chuckle, "that is a weird question." she stated, "but yeah, she does." emilia smiled at rafe, "her name is angel. she's white, but she has heterochromia. one of her eyes is blue and the other is green."

rafe's face went pale. white cat with one blue eye and one green eye... his mind went back to the one night when he'd gotten drunk and he'd asked you what the cat you'd told him lives with you in your dorm looked like.

she's white, fluffy and has one blue eye and one green eye. she's also a pain in the ass, but i still love her. when the puzzle pieces finally fell into position, rafe's head turned to where you'd been in record time.

only to find that you were no longer there.

TAGLIST: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr @kisselxoll - cont. in com

[daddyslittlecrow]

How about period Sex with caleb⁉️⁉️

YES YES I WILL!!

Oh.

You meant…no, no, of course. It's just a prompt! Not a serious possibility 🤧

Anyway….I love these types of prompts. Menstruation happens whether people like it or not and I absolutely love that the game has 5 such gentle, kind period trackers ❤️

And they would all absolutely fuck you during it if you let them

Not proofread, sue me 🤘

Warnings: 18+ MDNI

Painkiller - Caleb

For some reason, the cramps seemed to be much more intense this month. You spent the last few hours curled up around a heating pad, willing the painkillers to keep working. While the pain was still manageable, you peeled yourself from the sheets, hobbling to the bathroom to change your pad.

By the time you were washing your hands, you heard the door to your apartment shut. Caleb. You shamelessly texted him a while ago, begging him to come over after work so he could take care of you.

You collapsed back into your nest of self-pity just as he burst through the door. “I bought 4 different kinds of chocolate to avoid any tears. Learnt my lesson last time.” He said immediately, a plastic grocery bag in one hand and the other hiding behind his back.

He bent down. His kiss told you how much he missed you, caressing your lips with his. The scent of aftershave mingled with steel consumed you. You breathed him in, urging your racing heart to settle. It didn't help that he was still in his sexy uniform.

Caleb straightened up, a boyish grin plastered on his face. “Also got you these for being so brave.”

Red roses. Emotions swelled in your chest as you admired them. His gesture was returned with a weak smile. “They’re beautiful Caleb. Thank you.”

He left the bag of supplies next to you before walking out with roses and the vase that held last week’s bouquet. While you felt somewhat okay now, you knew the cramps were lurking. Patiently waiting until the painkillers left your system so they could seek revenge.

Thank God you asked him for more. The pills you took earlier were the last one in the box. You brought the grocery bag closer to you, sifting through the chocolate and pads. Oh no. Quickly dumping everything onto the bed, pure panic bubbled.

“Where are the painkillers?” Caleb was walking back into your room, eyes growing wide at your words. His cheeks flushed. He had forgot them, distracted by the flower stand.

You tapped your phone screen, checking time. It was too late. By the time Caleb returned to the store it would be closed. You sighed dramatically. “I guess I'll die tonight then.”

Caleb chewed on his bottom lip, feeling terrible that he racked his brain for a solution. He placed the roses on your nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. The warmth of his finger tips felt soothing as he traced patterns along your back. You were wearing the comfiest things you could find. A pair of sweatpants and one his t-shirts.

His amethyst eyes drank you in like you were the most beautiful creature on earth. Even if you thought you looked horrendous with your hair piled on top of your head and a lovely hormonal spot screaming for attention on your chin.

“You know Pips…i think I read somewhere that orgasms can help. Eases the cramps.” You laughed despite feeling your cheeks start to burn. Despite feeling miserable during your period, it also made you extra…sensitive.

“Nice try. Did you suddenly forget there’s literal blood flowing out of me?” You reached for one of the chocolate bars, trying not to focus on the slight tremble of your hands. “Come back when the river’s running clear.”

Caleb shook his head, hand sliding down to the hem of his t-shirt. Last month he had finally realised you got incredibly horny during your period. But you never initiated anything and he gave you space, assuming you weren't into it. But he decided to test the waters today.

He loved taking care of you and if that meant making you cum so you'd be less uncomfortable, well? It was a win-win in his books. “What if I told you I don't care whether you’re on your period or not?”

Avoiding the burning glare of his eyes, you snapped off a piece of chocolate and shoved it in your mouth. Anything to distract you from the pulsing sensation that started between your legs.

It's not that you thought it was gross to have period sex, you just couldn't stop imagining a grimace on your boyfriend’s face if he looked down. You’d rather just avoid the potential for embarrassment.

Caleb leaned over and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. Your breath hitched, a dribble of chocolate at the corner of your mouth. He knew his proposal interested you. Your thighs pressing instinctively together did not go unnoticed.

But he could also see you were too in your head, worrying about the worst case scenario. At war with yourself. He just needed to get you to stop thinking altogether.

The pad of his thumb collected the chocolatey drool before pushing it back into your mouth. Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt his thumb go past your lips.

“Suck.”

The command went right to your pussy, feeling it flutter with anticipation. A small groan slipped out of you. Instantly your lips wrapped around him, swirling your wet tongue around the tip. Just like you did with his cock.

Caleb hissed. Restraining his desires was quite the challenge when you hollowed your cheeks slightly to suction him. Your eyes locked on his - eager, waiting. His jaw clenched, forcing himself to ignore how hard he was already - straining painfully against his work trousers.

This wasn't about him.

A soft pop followed as Caleb removed his thumb from your mouth. Then his lips were on yours, claiming them, swallowing the soft moans the came from your throat. He took those sweet sounds as permission to keep going but he wanted to make sure.

He grabbed the material of the t-shirt, peeling it up over your head. Your back hit the mattress as he gently pushed you down. His eyes trailed down to your bare breasts before lowering himself, his body almost on top of you.

He kissed a scorching path down your neck, stopping when he reached one of your nipples. Your back arched, pushing your breast closer to his mouth. He smirked, flicking out his tongue to tease the sensitive bud. You whined. “Caleb…”

“Good girls use their words, pipsqueak.” His hand slipped under the waistband of your sweatpants, then your panties. A wave of embarrasment hit you and you tried to move his hand away.

Caleb tutted before grabbing your wrist with his free hand, pinning your arm over your head. His fingers pressed against your clit and you moaned loudly as he worked in agonizingly slow circles. Every bit of hesitation melted away as your pussy clenched around nothing. His eyes never left yours.

“Tell me what you want or I’ll stop.” He murmured against your breast before sucking your nipple into his mouth. The tempo of his fingers increased, making your hips buck.

“You - ah - I want…you.” The pleasure started to build, making it difficult to speak. Caleb growled against your breast before removing his hand from your panties.

He practically ripped your bottoms off your legs, leaving you bare before him. His eyes hungrily roamed your body before stopping at your swollen pussy.

He didn't expect how aroused he got seeing your wetness tinged pink with blood. His dick was leaking at the sight. You’d feel so much wetter, hotter, if he sank his length into you right now. And because you were extra sensitive, you'd be able to feel every thick inch as he dragged through your gummy walls.

Before you could start overthinking, he gripped your thighs hard and pushed them apart, opening you wider for him. “Just like back and let me make you feel good, beautiful.”

Your fingers clutched the sheets, trying to anchor yourself as he resumed his touch on your engorged clit. You moaned his name like a prayer. He answered by bringing his middle finger right next to your pulsing hole.

“You want it Pips?” His voice was rough with raw need. He ignored your desperate hips urging him to go further, to fill you with his long finger. “Fucking beg for it.”

You let out a sob as his movements on your clit slowed, refusing to indulge you until you obeyed. “Please let me cum on your…ah…your fingers. I need you.”

The air left your lungs as he slammed his finger into your pussy. He grunted as he fucked it into you hard, making your eyes roll back as your body writhed. In. Out. In. Out.

The sounds of your squelching cunt was sending you close to the edge. He added a second digit, stretching your slick walls. Your hips rocked to match his pace, fucking his fingers as your stomach clenched from the intense pleasure that grew.

“That’s it baby. I know. It feels good doesn't it? So tight. Want you to cum.” Caleb curled his fingers, massaging your g-spot as your moans grew louder. “Good girl. Cum for me. All over my fingers.”

The tension in your body finally snapped. Your jaw went slack as you let out a guttural scream, pussy clenching as you chased each wave of your orgasm. Caleb continued to sciossor his fingers into you, loving how your back arched from what he did to you.

After a few more leisurely pumps, he withdrew his fingers. You melted into the mattress, utterly spent. Your flushed face only burned hotter when Caleb immediately went to the bathroom. He returned with a damp washcloth and gently cleaned you up.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly, afraid he may have been a bit too rough. He just couldn't help it. He stopped cleaning a few times to leave kisses on your stomach.

Despite cringing at the undeniable mess between your legs, he may have been right. Your orgasm seemed to keep your cramps at bay for a while longer. “That was definitely better than swallowing a few pills.”

You broke out into a fit of laughter and he grinned as he leaned over to kiss you. Your eyes bore into his when he pulled away, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You didn’t miss the michevious spark that burned in his gaze.

“I’ll check in with you we get something to eat. I might be able to give you something…stronger if the pain comes back.”

[bucks-babe]

Plastic

Summary: Bucky using a fleshlight for the first time

Warnings: Smut, toys(fleshlight, vibrator), dirty talk, watching porn, overuse of the word fucking, anal?, cum eating, degradation, use of the word bitch, slut and whore, surprise guest at the end

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I wrote this in like an hour so be warned. I’m kind of in the same headspace I was in when I wrote Be Mean to Me so this is quite dirty and a little mean. Anyway, you are responsible for your own media consumption. Any and all mistakes are my own. Huge thanks to the amazing @buckys-wintersoldier for beta reading; however any and all mistakes are again, my own. Bucky’s a loud, horny, little boy but he is so hot. THIS IS SOOOO HOT!🤭🤭

Bucky knows that he looks insane, standing by the door of his apartment with his ear pressed against it, listening for the footsteps of his delivery driver. He knows it’s coming soon, having his phone in his hand, obsessively checking the progress of his order. His cock, already hard and throbbing, twitches when he hears the elevator ding and he knows that it's his package. Bucky knows the sound of everyone’s steps on his floor.

As soon as the coast is clear, Bucky whips his door open and grabs his box, barely remembering to lock the door before sprinting up to his room, tearing the packaging open on the way. Flinging himself down on the bed, he moans at the sight of the fleshlight in his hand. “Oh, sweetheart, pussy’s so fucking pretty. Look at that pretty clit. Want me to rub it, huh? Make you cum around my cock?”

He tosses the toy to the side, quickly getting rid of all his clothes and grabbing the lube from his bedside stand along with the TV remote. Bucky silently thanks Sam for showing him how to use a smart TV. One of his favorite things about the 21st century had to be porn. He never had this type of porn back in his day. It would only be magazines of naked women, not that he was complaining, but watching people having sex was much hotter to him.

With the TV in his room and no one living with him, Bucky was able to watch porn in HD as loud as he wanted to, and fuck if he didn’t have the strongest orgasm of his life the first time. 

“That’s gonna be too bad, baby, because I’m fucking your ass today. Don’t give a shit if it hurts, you’re gonna take what I give you and let me fill that tight little hole up as much as I want.” He grabs the fleshlight again and pulls the silicon out, only to flip it to the other side where the fake asshole was before putting it back in its casing. 

Without thought he sticks his tongue in as far as he could, ignoring the plastic taste, and groaning at the tightness of it. “Fuck, you’re gonna choke my cock aren’t ya? Yeah, you are, bitch.” He grabs the remote and quickly gets to a porn website and logs in. “What should I watch, slut while I ruin your little ass?” He already knows exactly what video he was going to watch, there was no doubt about it. It’s the same video he’s been playing on repeat for weeks, never able to last the whole time.

The sight of the woman’s ass swallowing that huge cock sends him over the edge. Maybe it was because the man’s cock looked just like his, making it that much easier to imagine he was fucking her, making her hole gape. Her ass bouncing has him hypnotized, not able to comprehend how it was so perfect.

“Can’t wait to fuck that little hole. Leave you open and sore. Makes my dick so fucking hard.” Clicking the video and grabbing the lube, Bucky puts the tip of the bottle in the hole, squeezing until the slick was dripping out. He doesn’t wait for the intro to finish, quickly skipping past it and to his favorite part, moaning immediately when he clicks play and they’re fucking full force, both moaning, skin slapping, and ass jiggling. 

Bucky has to rewind the video to just before the man slides his cock in, wanting to imagine that he was the one fucking her. He spreads his legs out, feeling his sack hit the bed and another idea enters his brain. Rolling over he grabs the vibrator from the drawer before settling back into his spot, this time with the wand nestled under his balls. Turning it to high, Bucky grinds his sack down further, staring at the way they vibrate over the toy.

If he didn’t have as much control as he did, Bucky could have came just from that. He wants so bad to have her lay down on his bed while he straddles her face, smothering her with his sack, grinding and sliding his balls around face, listening to her choke on them, all while fucking into his toy, pounding, pouring load after load into it.

With that thought in his mind, Bucky lines the fake hole with his cock, the cold lube leaking onto his dick causes him to jerk, his tip grazing her hole. “Fuck, bitch, can’t even get the tip in. Don’t worry, I won’t stop. Don’t cry, you’ll get used to me fucking you whenever. Your little holes are gonna stretch and swallow my cock without problem eventually.”

He has to press to get his thick tip to pop it, and when it does Bucky loses his mind. “Ohhhh, fuccckkk. So fucking tight, shit, gonna make me nut already. So fucking wet, fucking made for me. Shitshitshit.” He has to use every bit of self control in his body to not shove the rest of his length inside, not wanting to blow just yet, not when he hasn’t even seen his girl swallow his dick in her ass while bouncing on his lap.

For just a moment, Bucky regrets placing the vibrator on his sack, but it feels too good to take off, now adding wiggles to his grind, moving the vibe all over his huge sack. “Ready for the rest of it, whore?  No? Well too fucking bad because I want it and I’ll fucking take it, bitch.” It takes him a minute to find the remote, pressing play and turning the volume up, fuck the neighbors. 

He groans in frustration when the people decide to take their good ol’ time getting to the fucking, but when he sees her squat over his lap Bucky feels his cock pulse in anticipation. Her perfect ass swallows his cock without hesitation, and Bucky follows. As soon as he gets past the tip, he slams the rest of his length in, frantically bucking his hips to meet the toy, head falling back and eyes shut.. The sound of his cries, the lube squelching and leaking down to his balls where they bounce between the base of the toy and the vibrator, all drown out the video playing.

“Ohfuckohfuck, so fucking good. Oh shit, ass so tight, cock fucking choking. Can’t. Shit, I, oh fuck.” Bucky’s mind becomes mush, only the carnal urge to fuck and fuck hard drive him. “Love this, love th, fuck! Bet it fucking hurts. Can’t do anything but get fucked. Does my big fat cock hurt? ‘S it tearing you open? Just meant to take this fat fucking dick. Don’t care, bitch. Don’t give a fuck that it hurts. Better get fucking used to it because I’m gonna keep you on my cock all the time.”

When he opens up his eyes, that’s when he truly starts to fuck. He’s almost positive that the bed is going to break any second, creaking and shaking with every thrust. He puts all of his strength into fucking up into the toy while both of his hands come down to help his brutal pounding. “Look at that fucking ass, oh my fuck. Take it, fucking take it. See, slut, told you. You fucking like that shit, fucking like being my cocksleave.”

His moans get higher in pitch, balls still slapping against the vibe with every thrust, practically being thrown around with the speed of his fucking. “‘M’gonna fucking nut. Gonna pour every fucking drop in you ass. Fuuuccckkk, wanna cum on it, watch it bounce while I keep fucking you. Gonna bust so fucking hard. When I’m fucking done you’re gonna be gaping so fucking much I’ll shove my sack inside. Uh, huh, you’ll fucking like that.”

He takes one hand off, searching for the remote that’s been bouncing all over the bed, and turns the volume up all the way, not able to hear over the cacophony of sound he was making. “Ohhhhh, shit, ready? Ready for this fucking nut? There’s so much fucking cum, oh fuck. So much, gonna blow. C’mon, keep bouncing that big ass on me. Don’t you fucking dare stop when I nut, you fucking hear me, bitch? You’re gonna milk every fucking drop from my sack. Gonna be more than one tonight. Have me so fucking horny.”

His thrusts become sloppy before he decides to just stop bucking and let his sack rest on the vibe and his hands take over the work. “Ohhhhh, fucking gonna blow, gonna nut. Ready, fucking ready? Bouncebouncebounce, just like that, just like that. FUCK, YES. GIVE ME IT. GIVE ME THAT FUCKING HOLE. TAKE THIS FUCKING NUT.”

The string of curses doesn’t slow down for minutes, his orgasm not abiding at all. “Fuck me! Leaking everywhere. All over the fucking bed. Cum’s filling you up so much can’t even handle it.” He keeps going until he’s almost too sensitive, pulling the fleshlight off wasting no time bringing it up to his mouth, swallowing mouthfulls of cum until it’s all gone. “So fucking good, but I’m not fucking done. Get over here, baby.”

Still laying on the bed, Bucky looks over to you, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m surprised you heard me over all that noise you were making.” Bucky just chuckles and lazily reaches an arm out for you, beckoning you over, which you happily do.

You take off all your clothes before joining him in bed, grabbing the fleshlight and licking the drops of cum he missed off, humming at the taste. “You know, you could have just called me over instead of watching our videos? I’m pretty sure we’re gonna get another noise complaint. The whole building probably heard you.”

Bucky rolls to his side. “Can’t help it, baby. You’re so fucking sexy and the way you take my cock. Can’t get off to anyone else, only my favorite pornstar.” He cuts himself off with a groan.

“I don’t know if it counts as being a pornstar if we only have sex with each other, Buck.”

“Of course it counts. Last time I checked, thousands of people come to watch us fuck each other dumb. Speaking of, we haven’t made a video in a while and I bet they would love to see you squirt on my dick, don’t you think?”

At your giggle, Bucky goes and sets the camera up, making sure not to show anything in the room that would give away who you both are, knowing that you would blur your faces when you go to edit. As much as he loved to hear how crazy men and women go over the two of you, Bucky didn’t want them to know your identities. 

“Sweetheart, you are so fucking beautiful, can’t even put it into words.”

“Don’t have to, show me, big guy because I’m dripping and I need a big cock to fill me up and my boyfriend's right here.” And Bucky’s going to do just that.

[nyeddleblog]

SAW THAT YOU CANNOT GET BOB OUT OF YOUR HEAD MAY I REQUEST A MEET CUTE FIC WHERE READER IS A GIRLBOSS CORPORATE GIRLIE AND BOB IS WELL...BOB

Yes, but since I'm at work in a 10 hour shift, we'll forget about the cutesy aesthetic shit I usually do for my fics.

Warnings: Female presenting reader, use of reality warping powers, in a probably inaccurate way, written from my phone and not proof read.

--

You liked your job. Well, kind of. You liked getting paid for something that you actually did pretty well, and you liked that you could live from it. Yeah, it was a annoying having to walk around New York City taking care that your tights weren't ripped or that your high heels wouldn't give out for the next few blocks. Skirt always impecable, just below the knee. Blouse silky and not revealing too much cleavage. But the paycheck... Oh, the paycheck. And your boss was an okay guy!

You've dealt with all kinds of people before; the annoying ones, the narcisistic ones, the perverts... For someone your age, it was difficult to achieve the tranquility you had.

So you entered the coffee shop, mindlessly looking through your phone. It was a bit more expensive than others, usually empty around this hour. The cashier gave you a nod, urging you to just take a seat. You had paid a bit extra last time, since they didn't have any change; that meant, coffee was on the house. It made you smile, making a mental note to tip them well when you left.

Your heels guided you through the usual path, too invested on the screen to look up as you sat down. Your boss wanted something urgently, something you could actually do through your phone. It took you around five minutes to write down the email you needed to send to an investor, and another one to communicate that it was done. Only then, you looked up.

There was a guy sitting there. Considering his half eaten muffin and the stains on his cup, he had been sitting there before you even arrived. And he looked so troubled too, face flushed as he tried his best not to look at you. You blushed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry—"

But you looked around and frowned. This was usually where you sat and it shouldn't have mattered if it weren't for the amount of people around. Why the fuck was it so full? This had never happened before.

Your eyes reached a table were one of your colleagues sat. You wrinkled your nose; he was probably going to talk to you about work, so your eyes went back to the guy in front of you, softening.

"Is it okay if I stay here? If only until they bring me my coffee, then I can just take it to go."

He looked at you then, pink cheeks and a bit unsure if you were talking to him. You maintained eye contact, an easy smile on your lips as you awaited his answer.

"Y-yeah, no... No problem"

Your smile widened then, but you didn't say more. You knew how annoying it was when someone talked to you while you were minding your own business. It was the reason why you stayed there and didn't go to your colleague's table, after all.

Then the usual waitress brought you your coffee, in a mug. You let out an apologetic sigh, knowing that you'd have to ask her if she could change it to a plastic cup, probably ruining all of the barista's work in the process, but right before you spoke, he interrupted you.

"It's... It's okay. You don't need to, uh, leave." It came out awkwardly, almost strangled. The waitress looked at the both of you with a smile as she came back behind the counter, absent-minded of the position she just put the both of you in, "I don't mind the company. I'm about to finish anyways."

"Oh, well thank you" you answered politely. He truly didn't seem like he was about to finish, considering how slowly he was eating his muffin. And he was kind of cute, you realized. Messy brown hair, and adorable blue eyes. But you wouldn't stare.

You let your coffee air for a little bit, not wanting to burn your tongue. He was reading a book, you noticed; he looked invested. It was probably why he didn't mind your presence, despite being an obviously shy person. His fingers picking at the muffin and slowly dragging the bite into his mouth.

You brought the mug to your lips as you stared at the pastry. You should have asked for one of those, really, it looked tasty. Red velvet, your favorite, fuck. You were oggling at the muffin then, drinking your coffee and slowly zoning out. So many things to do, the meeting that afternoon. And tomorrow, too. Oh, how you hated meetings.

Your eyes slowly brought you back to reality as they slowly came up to his face. He was staring at you, probably because you were pondering to the reality where his muffin was yours. Either way, it startled you and a small drop of coffee fell into your impeccably white blouse.

Shit.

You let the mug on the table immediately, assessing the damage. It expanded quickly on the collar, leaving an ugly stain that you wouldn't be able to get rid of before the meeting. You groaned dramatically, covering your face with your hands.

It had to be the meeting with the one investor that always stared at your tits. That one unfiltered asshole that fucking humilliated women when they had chipped nails or a run on their stockings.

He'll say something, and you'll answer, and he'll find you rude, and then you'll show him how rude you can actually be and... You'll lose your job.

"They say putting some sugar on it may help get rid of the stain" he stuttered out, in front of you. You frowned, almost forgetting that he was still there in the first place and barely understanding what he was talking about.

"What?"

"T-The stain..." He pointed at your collar with a packet of sugar in his hand. Your frown losened as he left it on the table, near enough for you to reach, "It may be worth a shot?"

"It may be" you repeated in a murmur, staring down at the packet.

It sounded like bullshit, but you were desperate and the sugar couldn't possibly make it worse than it already was, so you opened the packet and poured it on the stain, looking defeated as it clinged to it. You rubbed it for a few seconds, unable to see how the eyes of the man in front of you briefly lit up bright golden. Then, the sugar turned brown and you wiped it away, amazed by the result.

"Hey, it worked!" you exclaimed in excitement, looking up at him, "I can't believe it!"

Your bright smile made his cheeks heat up, and he avoided your eyes as he gave you a sheepish smile back, shrugging.

"That was ama...! What was your name?" you interrupted yourself to ask. As he replied, you continued "That was amazing, Bob, truly. You saved my job and made my day!"

"I-It's nothing."

You braced yourself, for what you were about to say, unable to hide the smile of awe in your lips, "Well, Bob. It's everything to me," Maybe a bit of an exaggeration, you were dramatic like that, but it was honest nonetheless "So, could I buy you a muffin sometime?"

His pink cheeks turned red as he stuttered over his reply, and by the time you finished your coffee, his number was already saved in your phone.

You stood up, giving him sweet smile and putting the promised tip in the jar before leaving.

He stared at you until you were out of view and you didn't know why, but it made your heart beat a tiny bit faster.

[studioeisa]

the quiet world 🍜 minghao x reader.

minghao saves his words for you.

★ word count: 1.6k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol, romance/fluff, dystopia -ish. mentions of food. established/long-distance relationship, minghao-centric. based off of jeffrey mcdaniel's the quiet world, with some reference to phil kaye's repetition. ★ footnotes: this is my entry for keopihaus' spring event 2025, specifically for the moretta/servetta muta mask :'-) it's been a while since i've written for svt (sorry!), but this idea grabbed hold of me and i couldn't shake it. my favorite poems for my favorite boy. this one has a lot of my heart in it, so... 🫴

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ quiet by jason mraz. bawat daan by ebe dancel. streetcar by daniel caesar. the days ahead by the scene aesthetic. whoever she is by the maine. hold onto me by mayday parade. if i'm lucky by state champs. start a riot by banners.

In an effort to get people to look into each other’s eyes more, and also to appease the mutes, the government has decided to allot each person exactly 167 words per day.

This is why Minghao no longer wants to dream. 

Dreams are a trap, a reason to talk in his sleep. Dreams take his words, unbidden and unwarranted, and he’ll wake up with four or seven less than he might have wanted. It annoys him to no end. 

And so a good sleep is when he doesn’t dream. When he’s just taken from one day to the other in the blink of an eye. A good day is when he wakes up with 167 allowables on the tip of his tongue. 

Minghao’s morning routine is clinical. There is no room for mistakes here. Once or twice, he had accidentally mumbled an ow or an aw, come on, and it had ruined his entire day. 

Not today. Today, he does everything right.

Brushes his teeth, showers, puts on clothes without so much of a whisper. 

He runs into Mingyu in the apartment elevator. The two exchange nods. 

Mingyu tilts his phone screen towards Minghao. The Notes app has been pulled up. Have a good day!, Mingyu had typed out. It’s the same note every morning, the same platitude delivered in this roundabout manner.  

Minghao offers him a smile and another nod. One he hopes will communicate you, too.

The streets aren’t devoid of sound. Dogs still bark; cars still beep in traffic. The world’s natural order of things doesn’t care for the state of affairs. It is a rebellion in its own right, led by the rustle of the leaves and the chirping of the birds. 

As usual, Minghao seeks out the auntie often stationed outside his office building. He finds her resting underneath the shade of a tree, her visor drawn over her eyes. He doesn’t greet her. He doesn’t have to.

She’s used to these transactions. People standing idly by until she notices them. People pointing out their order instead of saying it out loud.

Minghao points at the photo of the chicken noodle soup. She nods and goes through the motions— thermos, styrofoam bowl, plastic bag. He presses his payment into her withered, wrinkled hand, and gives out the first two words he speaks on a good day like this. 

“Thank¹ you²,” Minghao says, because the government can take his voice, but it will not take his manners. 

The auntie smiles up at him, her grin all gums and decaying teeth. She reaches out to gently pat Minghao on the elbow, and he accepts it like the blessing of goodwill that it’s supposed to be.

There’s no way of predicting what kind of day it will be in the office.

Sometimes, Minghao uses up more than half of his words arguing with stubborn clients— often ones who have the status to buy more words, to twist the government’s arm into bending the system a bit. Then there are days where Minghao doesn’t have to speak at all, and he clocks out with 165 still on his plate. 

No one at work particularly misses Minghao’s voice.

Not the same way some of them lament the loss of Seokmin’s singing or Junhui’s stand-up comedy. No, Minghao fell in with the likes of Jihoon and Wonwoo, who all knew how to play this game rather well. 

It’s no surprise that by the time lunch is rolling around, Minghao is still going strong while others are already down for the count. 

“You¹⁵³ know¹⁵⁴ what¹⁵⁵ I¹⁵⁶ miss¹⁵⁷?” Soonyoung announces. 

Half the break room looks up at him, their expressions caught between amusement and exasperation. It was just like Soonyoung to squander his words like this, to command everyone’s attention so he can proclaim, “Karaoke¹⁵⁸! I¹⁵⁹ miss¹⁶⁰ karaoke¹⁶¹, man¹⁶²!”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. Hansol pulls a face. 

“What¹⁶³?!” Soonyoung demands. “I¹⁶⁴ used¹⁶⁵ to¹⁶⁶ slay¹⁶⁷—” 

His tongue clicks. 

The words are stolen right from him; the song Soonyoung once supposedly ‘slayed,’ now a mystery. 

Minghao shakes his head. Soonyoung is red-faced but undeterred, already reaching for his phone so he can pull up Spotify and subject everybody to what was once his go-to karaoke track.

Music nowadays is mostly instrumental. Maybe there’s a phrase or two in the chorus, but artists bear the brunt of this new world’s order. 

Lunch ends. Minghao is still comfortably in the 160’s range. A feat in itself. 

But then the telephone at his desk rings. It’s a sharp, shrill sound. One he’s come to hate. His lips tug into a frown and— for a moment— he considers not answering. 

It rings a second time, and Minghao concedes he would rather not get fired for being stingy. 

He picks up the phone.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t greet the other person with hello or how are you or what do you need. 

The person on the other end pauses for a beat. Then, as if realizing this is Xu Minghao they’re phoning, they break the silence. 

“Update¹⁰³ on¹⁰⁴ the¹⁰⁵ Kim¹⁰⁶ account¹⁰⁷?” Chan asks, his voice crackling over the line. 

One thing Minghao has started to do is to compare and critique. 

To compare— the Chan of a couple of years ago would have definitely not gone straight to the point. Pre-decree, Chan had been the type of person to offer an entire backstory before finally getting at what he needed or wanted from you.

To critique— the question is two words too many. Minghao would have simply said the Kim account, or even just update? if he was feeling particularly spiteful. It’s a twisted, holier-than-thou mindset that has no place in this world that’s already taken so much, but he can’t help it. 

Minghao is not wasteful with his words anymore. Repetition is a felony; all unnecessary conversation, a transgression. 

He grits out the updates, each phrase carefully chosen and weighed as if there’s an invisible scale in his mind. The entire time, he thinks to himself: This could have been an email.

Once again, he ends the conversation with a murmured “thank⁵⁸ you⁵⁹” and that cruel, smug impression he’s somewhat better than his coworkers. 

Work crawls to its eventual conclusion. Minghao practically flies out of the office, communicating with his coworkers through glances and gestures. A wave of his hand. Goodbye. A tilt of his head. Have a good weekend. A hint of a smirk. Thank fucking God it’s Friday.

He gets home and kills time.

A silent film on the television. Microwave pizza and a can of cola. Afterwards, he puts on a playlist of old songs, the ones made when words were still a luxury that could be taken for granted. 

There was a time where Minghao might’ve belted along. Nowadays, he just dances. 

He weaves through the furniture. He taps his foot along to the beat. He is sand in an hourglass, an ellipsis at the end of a sentence…

His phone rings.

This time, it’s a sound he loves. 

He practically stumbles over his couch in his excitement. His screen has lit up with your name, with a photo of you from your first date. You had talked his ear off, then, and he had hung on every word. You’re smiling sweetly up at the camera. It’s a reminder of the things that have changed, and what hasn’t. 

The moment he answers the call, he’s already giggling.

“Hello⁶⁰,” Minghao breathes. “I⁶¹ only⁶² used⁶³ fifty-nine⁶⁴ today⁶⁵; I⁶⁶ saved⁶⁷ the⁶⁸ rest⁶⁹ for⁷⁰ you.⁷¹” 

You don’t respond.

He hears the huff of your laugh.

The click of your tongue. 

Ah.

It can’t be helped. As much as he wants to be selfish, to demand that you save at least three words for him, he knows these things are inevitable. It doesn’t happen often, anyway. You’re usually just as careful and cautious.

He’s sure he’ll get the full story over text. Some complaint about how work had demanded a little too much of you, how you had no choice but to give. 

So, now, it’s Minghao’s turn to give; yours, to take. 

“I⁷² love⁷³ you⁷⁴,” he says. 

Depending on what kind of night it is, he might say the words differently. I love you with an over-the-top British accent that has you chuckling below your breath. I love you in sing-song, reminiscent of the days he could once still afford to hold a tune. I love you sleepily, while lying in bed, like it’s the last words he wants on his lips. 

Tonight, he says it in a slow, reverent whisper. “I⁷⁵ love⁷⁶ you.⁷⁷” 

He enunciates every word, letting them mean something new each time. 

“I⁷⁸ love⁷⁹ you⁸⁰,” he says, because he means to say, It’s me, Minghao, Myungho, whatever you want to call me, and I love you. It’s me. I’m yours. All of it, all of me. 

“I⁸¹ love⁸² you⁸³,” he says, in a way he hopes you understand that the verb is interchangeable. He loves you, yes, but he also adores you. He reveres you. He worships you, and misses you, and wants you. He packs all of it in that single four-lettered word and prays it is enough. 

“I⁸⁴ love⁸⁵ you⁸⁶,” he says. 

You, long-distance lover. You, the only one he would waste his words on. You, you, you.

He says I love you thirty-two and a third times. 

He’s cut off with an unceremonious “I¹⁶⁷—,” his tongue clicking to signal his quota. The day ends, quietly as it began,—

Minghao lies on his couch and stares at the ceiling, his phone pressed in between his cheek and his shoulder.

You stay on the other end of the line. 

The two of you listen to each other breathe. 

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 & 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Dave York x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Dave's one last contract to tie up before the holidays proves to be more difficult than he expected.

author's note | my adventures in trying to write pwp have failed me again. i made this gifset and here we are. so you get whatever this crazy is. thank you to my womb sister @chaotic-mystery for beta'ing.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, divorced!dave, suburban murder daddy but make it festive, is this a holiday fic?, uhh..there's some bodily fluid usage in here for purposes, knife kink if ya squint, choking, restraints, blood tw, rough unprotected piv, fingering, oral (m &f receiving), one (1) pussy slap, pain kink off the charts, manipulation is the best form of flattery, omitting some tags for spoilers.

word count — 5.4k

Coffee and a chocolate croissant was not how he started a contract.

It was a strict five-step order. Observe, plan, attack, dispose, collect.

Never more, never less. He got in and dirtied his hands, washed away the evidence, and sent the proof to his employer, an unsteady but well-paying job. He was killing people after all.

High profile clients, exes, criminals, he stopped separating them after a while.

But goddammit, you’d charmed him. 

Bewitched him. Body and soul.

Well, that and you caught him at a bad time.

The original plan was to grab his morning coffee and follow your path to work, find an opportunity and take care of business, leave. However, he’s thrown off when you’re already in line at the shop he picks, one out of the million lining the city streets.

It was you and him, a silent standoff amongst the low jingle of christmas music.

The cheery chorus of the Jingle Bell Rock drowning out his thoughts as he lines up behind you, hearing your coffee and breakfast order before the following words slip out, his ears perking:

“This is for mine—and his,” You nod blindly over your shoulder, “and pocket the rest as a tip.”

It was a fifty, his brow furrowing at the action as he begins to speak but is quickly interrupted by your name being called as your coffee was slid over the counter and you flee toward the cup, leaving he and the cashier in silence, who seemed more than delighted at the idea of extra money for the holidays.

He orders quietly, his voice subdued as he insists on paying for his own food, ignorant to your side gaze as you roll your eyes in annoyance and wait as he approaches with more silence, slipping his coffee into a cardboard sleeve as you grab for plastic silverware. 

“Well, happy holidays to you,” You remark with a snide tone, laced and tied in a bow of kindness, “you’re a sweets guy?” Dave looks down at his croissant then, realizing they had handed him the wrong pastry, cursing under his breath.

He seemed frazzled, disrupted, but was masking it with annoyance and frustration.

“Fifty is a little generous, don’t you think?”

“It was a kind gesture,” You continue, “—Christmas around the corner and all.”

Dave sips gingerly at the coffee to taste, praying that it was the one thing they did get right, staring down at the chocolate croissant with disdain, but hunger on the rise.

He’s expecting you to leave already, having a rough idea of your schedule as you would normally head to work within the next—Dave glances at his watch casually—half hour, but instead, you sit.

Fuck—he casually busies himself as he pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling mindlessly as the coffee shop fills and empties, eventually admitting something similar to defeat as he heads toward the door.

A man of constant routine and you’ve gone and fucked up his day, sitting casually as you picked at your own pastry, giving him a full once over, head to toe, as he heads toward the door—a suit that told a thousand words, and a man with nowhere to go, watching him carefully in the corner as he flitted through this phone.

Either he was being a creep or he was just shy.

And, for your sake, you hoped it was the latter.

“Sit with me,” You insist, his mouth opening immediately in rejection, but you smile and tilt your head to the side, pushing the opposite seat out with your heeled shoe, “hey—don’t act like you have anywhere to go, I just watched you stare at your phone for fifteen minutes.”

Your eyes land expectantly on the seat as Dave deliberates, eventually relenting as he sits. You were his task for the day, he didn’t have anywhere to go where you weren’t.

He doesn’t like this, he doesn’t like this feeling. 

Things had derailed, but somehow, this seemed like it could help him, in the end.

You start with your name, introducing yourself. He offers the same, just a first name. Not a last. In your mind, you shrug. You could work with a first name.

“Well, Dave—are you going to eat that chocolate croissant?” You ask, watching the untouched pastry sit unwanted on the table, “Because if not, I will gladly—”

He pushes it aside, leaning back in his chair as he looks out the window, watching the troves of people pass on their way to work, kids running alongside their parents as they walk to school—a brief glimpse of what could still be, had Carol not been so greedy in the divorce.

He got the girls on weekends, every other week. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all he had. If he wanted to count, he had five more days until he saw their faces again. Often, it was the only thing holding him together. That, and routine.

Your voice disrupts his thoughts again, his eyes ripping up to your smiling face as you pull at the croissant and take a bite, “Holiday’s are fickle, aren’t they?”

Dave raises his brow in question. The fuck does that mean?

“Fickle—you know—”

“I know what that word means,” Dave interrupts, “What are you trying to say?”

Always on edge, this guy. You laugh softly, rubbing your tongue along your bottom lip.

“Some years it feels festive—like real Christmas, you know?” It was redundant, your finger circling the lid of your cup, “Other times it feels like something most people can’t wait to get it over with—like they’d rather be dead than celebrating.”

“That’s dark,” Dave remarks, “considering you were just attempting to spread some holiday cheer by paying for my breakfast–”

“Which you refused, scrooge,” Your eyebrow cocks in challenge, “Where do you work?”

Invasive? Definitely. But, with the suit—it seemed like a plausible question.

Dave lies through his teeth, despite his freeland work as a contract killer.

His job consisted of a name on a piece of paper and a promised dollar amount in his bank account after—no good or bad, it didn’t matter. 

People were unlucky and unfortunate, he chose not to be.

If he was going to do the killing, he was damn well going to be compensated for it. 

He didn’t know who wanted you dead, or why—but you’re grating, unjarring approachableness was throwing a wrench in his plans. If he wasn’t so careful he’d slide the knife through your throat here at the table, just to end this conversation.

You nod your head at his excuse for work, moving beyond a topic he clearly didn’t want to talk about, “Go on, your turn—or have you already read me like a book?”

Fine, he’ll bite. Though, he already knows what you’re going to say. He returns the question about work, mouthing the response in his head like a speech.

“I’m a librarian, a little further in the city, but I like the coffee here.”

The last part was a lie—you frequented one place nearly every day, why you decided to switch up today was unbeknownst to Dave, hence why he was sitting here engaging in such a grating, unproductive conversation. 

You know you’re keeping him, he does too. 

It slowly turns into a stare down, eating away at the croissant he’d passed over, waiting for him to admit defeat and run off, eventually, he does.

“As riveting as this conversation was,” Dave comments, “I’ve got work—it was nice…talking to you.”

The hesitance makes you smirk, subdued behind another kind smile as he leaves, watching his cautious walk back to his car, only a measured amount of time before he would see you again.

–

It has never taken this long. A week, maybe two. But, even that was pushing it. 

His employer had contacted him twice for updates, more on edge as time passed and he can’t seem to avoid you, even as he tracks you from a distance, unaware of his looming presence, you seem to find him in the unlikeliest of places.

Next, it was a gas station—you don’t approach him there, but you offer that same kind smile.

Then, the grocery store, conversing with him over fruits like he was an old friend and Dave is only unsettled by the conversation after you leave, not realizing how easily you had vexed him until he’s got a handful of fruit in his cart alongside his weekly groceries. 

It happens again. And once more. He liked difficult meals—intricate ingredients that were far beyond your skill level. The conversation was always a careful dance of politeness, but Dave softened with every conversation, as much as he could, at least.

You could spot a jaded man from miles away.

He doesn't understand why he can’t just kill you outright—easily detach from the situation and move on, but there was something to you that he couldn’t put his finger on. It was almost alluring, and it made him wonder. It made him curious.

Dave was never curious—he wasn’t paid to be.

He’s resigned to following through that Friday, though. The weekend before Christmas.

Fortunately, you seem to have the same late night craving for takeout—a quaint Chinese takeout place down the block from your apartment. 

It had to be a coincidence, right? 

“I swear,” You jest through a laugh as you stuff your hands into pockets of your puffer coat, “it feels like you’re stalking me.”

“Could say the same,” Dave retorts, a toothpick tucked between his teeth as he waits for his food.

You both wait quietly, exchanging the occasional glance before the tension snaps, curiosity getting the better of you and your enjoyment of making Dave squirm.

“Do you live far?” A careful, precise question. Dave answers it vaguely.

“A ways,” He says nonchalantly, “why?”

“Are you busy tonight?” Other than his obvious task of ordering dinner that he was undoubtedly going to eat in his car as he staked out your apartment, finding the willpower to finish the job.

“A little,” Always so concise, you roll your eyes lightheartedly.

“Come have dinner at my place,” You tell him, an open-invitation, an opportunity served up perfectly, eyeing the incoming weather outside with a high chance of a white Christmas, “—wait out the storm a bit?”

You weren’t pushing. It only took a little coaxing.

“Come on,” You tease, “are you scared of me?”

It’s a striking dichotomy he thinks, knowing he murders for a living.

There’s a ding at the front register as the owner slides over two bags of food tucked away in plastic and styrofoam, calling out the order numbers simultaneously as you both reach for them.

“I don’t bite,” You shrug, “—not really.” 

You flash a triumphant smile as Dave admits defeat.

–

He said he’d meet you there.

You half-expected him to ditch you, but now he was sitting adjacent to you on the couch, chewing methodically at a piece of broccoli alongside the slow murmur of the television, under your curious gaze.

It’s ridiculous, a job that should have taken him a week—a few days, even—had prolonged itself to a month. The constant and vivid imaginative ways he would kill you plague him even now, wondering if strangling you against the couch would be enough to suffice. 

No, that felt too personal.

He’d come back, he’d wait. He would do it while you were sleeping. Quiet, quick.

You strip off a layer of clothing as the heat from your apartment creeped up your neck, a generous amount of skin on display as you slung your sweater over the back of the couch, breasts pressing together as you place your takeout on the cushion separating you and Dave.

“You don’t do this often, do you?” You ask around a bite, stabbing your fork into your food.

Dave couldn’t make sense of your siren-like qualities, the intensity in your eyes with every glance his way, the ease at which you can seduce him into conversation. You were youthful, full of life, and for once in his career he’s found himself hesitating. Asking questions. 

Why you?

“You ask a lot of questions,” Dave notes, a softer tone to his voice, almost as if he was finally warming up to you. There was a constant air of skepticism around you, rightfully so, but he seems to have let it slip, a misjudgment, “don’t you?”

You giggle softly at your impending question, “Are you a whiskey guy? You seem like a whiskey guy.” You’re off the couch quickly, heading toward your open kitchen to fetch an unopened bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, grabbing two glasses on the way back.

“I’ll be honest,” You start lightly, a melodic tone to your voice as you place the glasses on the table and pour a generous amount into both—normally Dave would excuse the offer, but with the bottle sealed and no reason to think otherwise, he drinks, “you make me nervous.”

Dave offers a quiet chortle of disbelief, your vixen-esque qualities supplying the opposite effect.

“I mean, the coincidence of us meeting at the coffee shop,” You begin, “and, sure, I did think that it was strange how often we’ve run into each other, but it almost feels like—”

“Don’t tell me you believe in fate,” Dave interjects, sipping at the rim of the glass.

“Well, how else do you explain that?” You ask, tucking your feet underneath you as you mirror his actions, food set aside. Dave finds himself watching the way your jeans hug your thighs and sit snug against your curves, following the path up your chest and the low cut top that pressed them together, caught red-handed as his eyes draw to yours.

“Sorry,” He quickly excuses, brow furrowing as he turns away in subtle embarrassment, burying his face into the glass of whiskey, “I’m—fate isn’t real. It’s just a coincidence, probably.”

Probably. Surely.

There’s a soft glint of suspicion in your eye, slowly maneuvering forward as Dave’s fist clenches against his slacks—always in a ridiculous fucking suit that you were now determined to get him out of. You’d kill for it, actually. 

“Are you married?” You ask, resting your hand into your open palm as you prop it against the back of the couch, “That—that seems invasive…you don’t have to answer that. I just, if you are—she won’t be mad that you’re here, will she?”

Dave squints, not realizing he’s down the entire glass of whiskey until his next sip comes up empty. He sets the glass aside and answers truthfully, a breakthrough, you think.

“Divorced.”

“Ah,” You sigh, “such a tragedy.”

He wasn’t willing to dig into the details of his tumultuous relationship, regardless of how long it has been, nor was he oblivious to your actions, the finite movements that have pulled you closer and in turn, has centered his body toward you in a subconscious effort to make room.

He didn't often have female hits, but they weren’t non-existent. Dave was a man of constant self-control and restraint, aware of your growing proximity and the fact that his Smith and Wesson was tucked away carefully in the back of his coat, hidden from plain sight but all it would take is a touch—or the switchblade tucked away in his sock, easily concealable and unsuspecting.

He has two avenues—kill you now, deal with the mess. 

Or, he allows it. 

It—your obvious advancements, the slow but salacious blink of your eyes as his eyes drag toward your lips.

Your fingers wrap around the knot of his tie, pulling it gently, loosening it. His neck stretches to the side as your fingers claw up and around, dipping beyond his shirt collar in silence, despite the intense eye contact you held.

It was almost like you were challenging him. He feels it.

You get bold, rising on your knees as the other hand slips between the fabric of his coat and cream button-up and Dave counteracts the movement with a sudden adjustment, pulling the coat off smoothly and slipping it over the back of the couch as you climb into his lap, an evident smirk on your face as you press your ass against his thighs, your cunt pressed against the seam of his zipper and his cock, feeling the solid press of him there—men were all the same.

Dave’s body betrays him, his head tilting back as your fingers move through his hair and back down his freshly shaven face, pointer finger tracing the curve of his lips, a persistent and hardened expression on his face, void of emotion.

“If I asked you to fuck me, would you?” He feels the tug at his tie, your lips millimeters from his own as you stare down at him, “You like to fuck, don’t you?”

A hard distinction. Screw it, he thinks. Detachment, it was easier that way. 

Dave nods, under your spell and the faint courage of whiskey. 

–

He’s never allowed himself this deep into a job,

Undressing himself over you as you scramble naked onto the bed beneath him, ignoring how this wasn’t just a step, but a leap—a fucking mile over the boundaries he’s set within himself, but then you’re rising to lick up the underside of his cock where it glistened with precum, dripping down the side as it bops against your tongue, his hand wrapping into your hair as a warning. 

Your eyes flutter shot as you nod, under his full control as you allow him to fuck himself into your mouth, his knees buckling as he knelt on the bed. His other hand comes up to curve against your chin, cradling your head as he nudged himself against the back of your throat until you were sputtering, drool leaking from your mouth as he pulled away for a brief moment.

Hesitation, you see it.

“Stay with me,” You plead, the words slurred against the shaft of his cock as you wrap your hand around the rest of him that wouldn’t fit, “don’t—don’t think. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Meaningless, more so than he can even imagine. A means to an end.

You could go about this differently—you didn’t always jump toward sex. 

But, Dave was attractive. Unfairly attractive, strong features that left an impression on you and a flutter between your legs—he was hard to break down, but it wasn’t impossible.

Besides, you were breaking your own rules too. 

And you were sure he'd bruised your throat by now, eyes tearing up as he held you there, nose brushing against his groin as he watched you—a mix of astonishment and resentment, laughing airly as he yanks you away.

“It feels good,” You assure him with a teary-eyed smile, “doesn’t it?”

You kiss along his upper thighs, leaning down to mouth against his balls, rolling the tight skin against your tongue, greedy for more as your fingers claw up his thighs, chest, until they’re wrapping around his broad shoulders and pulling him down and over you, the wide expanse of his palms squeezing at your hips, soft skin melding underneath his fingertips.

He buries his face into your chest, licking at your skin to taste, a mix of salt and sweet and something so intoxicating that he finds himself following through with this.

“Turn around,” He demands, “get on your knees.”

You turn swiftly, his hands following the path of your spine as his hand curls around the back of your skull and presses you firmly into the mattress, twisting his fingers around your bicep and pulling your arms behind your back, crossing, reaching for his discarded tie at his feet.

You panic at the inclination of being immobilized, but his voice is unsettling soothing.

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Dave counters, “practically fucking begged for it.”

He huffs out a noise of displeasement, sliping the fabric around your wrist and tying it in place, hearing you snicker against the fabric as you peer up at him from your side glance.

“You can do better than that–,” You begin, but the tug is rough, gasping as it pulls your arms straight and tight against your back, “that’s—fuck—”

Your panic is quickly soothed by pleasure, his hands gripping your ass as he pushes it up, level with his mouth as he licks between your folds, admiring the slick that drips down the seam of your pussy, rubbing his thumb down to your clit as he circles it teasingly before pressing a finger inside of you, your gasp swallowed up by the sheets. 

“Barely fuckin’ know me and you’re begging for it like that?” Dave teases, “C’mon, sweetheart.”

Pulling his fingers back to admire the creamy white ribbon that connected your body to his, rubbing his slick covered fingers over your pussy once more with a deafening slap.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” Dave informs, “but I’m going to fuck you like you asked, alright?”

He didn’t have to be nice, or considerate, even. 

Besides, that pain swiftly drifted into gratification as he pushes the head of his cock between your folds before he’s pressing inside of you, a growl radiating from his chest as he sets a brutal pace, his thighs slapping against your skin loudly, fingers digging into your ass and destined to leave marks, cries of helpless delectation into your sheets.

And you could feel it, how badly he needed this too.

Eyes drifted close, the rhythmic pump of his hips, despite their intensity, is almost lulling. It never happened this way, a brief moment of disconnection as you allow your body to feel. It was never this good. Half-assed fucks from lackluster men who undoubtedly deserve what was coming for them—and it didn’t always happen like this, often it only took a sip of alcohol or an entrancing look their way, so easily entrapped in your web.

Dave, however, was a different beast entirely. 

His movements stop after a while, face contorted in a mix of staves of desire and curiousness, pinching up at the spot above his nose and between his brows.

“Don’t—don’t stop,” You tell him, subtly adjusting your shoulders against the discomfort, but he doesn’t move, still staring over your shoulder, “Are you fucking d—”

“Beg for it,” He interjects.

You snort out a soft laugh and shake your head, but then he’s swiftly pulling out and wrapping his hand around the knot at your wrist and pulling you upright, leaving you completely in his hold as your back falls against his chest, dangling over the edge of the bed as he stood behind you, his opposite hand wrapping around your throat and pushing up, tilting your head upright to look at him.

You see the brief moment of hesitation in his gaze, thinking he could wrap his hands around your throat and do away with you now, but his lips part and his thumb presses against the side of your jaw, pulling a gasp from your throat, “Beg,” He seethes.

Then the pressure comes, a gentle squeeze that forces air out of your throat, stuttering out a quiet, “P-Pl—please,” His hand shakes against the pressure as your eyes roll back, “fuck—fuck me, please.”

He fists his cock and slides back inside of you with one fluid movement, helpless to his grip as keeps teetering on the edge of consciousness, his breathing increasingly more distressed as his hips begin to stutter in rhythm behind you.

He was getting off on the idea of your life in his hands like this—Dave could do it like this, even you know that. A man who craved power, this was no different.

You moan weakly against the hand on your throat, face contorting in a petulant way that catches his gaze as your eyes peek open, bottom lip quivering as his grip on the tie at your wrist pulls, a spark of pain shooting up your spine.

“H—hurts,” You admit to him, though it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, he seemed to have a soft spot in that deranged brain of his, for you, “s’tight, hurts so bad.”

Dave breathes harshly through his nose, debating, examining the sincerity on your features for a while, eyes fluttering closed as your mouth opens in a faint cry, before he finally relents.

You fall forward at the release, arms stretching over your head as you fall, the ache in your shoulders dissipating at the relief as you roll onto your back, his face slack as he follows your movements, cock sitting proudly against his stomach as you reach for his hand, a delicate pull as he follows your guide, a sated smile on your face.

“Like this,” Your voice is soothing, dragging a hand down his chest until you can wrap your hand around his cock, wordlessly he spreads himself above you as you guide the head of his cock through your arousal before he’s inside of you again, entranced as you examine his features.

He fucks you with the same intensity, but this is more personal. Your hands curl around his where they’re pressed into the mattress, legs interlocked over his hips as you breath into his mouth, exchanging a cacophony of noises and meaningless expletives before he’s pulling out without warning, large palm pressed against your thigh to keep your legs spread as he fists his cock, wrapped tight as he came against you stomach in thick spurts, the warmth pooling against your skin as his lips parted in a newfound relaxation.

You drag your finger through the fluid, swirling it against your fingertip as he watches your movement with careful eyes, pressing your finger against his chest as you dot once, twice, a small arch to create the illusion of a smiling face before you’re crossing through it lazily.

“You forgot about me,” You pout, dragging our finger up to his chin as he tilts it upwards before you’re pinching it between your grip, “what about me?”

He hadn’t, but you weren’t allowing him the leeway to argue.

Dave willingly allows the force of your movements, slowly dragging up his face and into his hair as he buries his mouth against your cunt, his tongue swirling against your clit with a careful precious as he stares you down, countered by your own gaze, propping yourself off the bed on your palm.

He licks into you, tongue dipping inside your stretched hole tasting of something sweet and entirely you, mixed with himself, an intoxicating flavor as his hands wrap around your thighs, nose burying against your sensitive clit as he growls, a reverberation that has you shaking under his grip before he’s tilting his head up to suck at bundle of nerves, nearly arching off the bed at the sensation as your orgasm hits you all at once, rather than a rolling wave.

His gaze doesn’t falter once, even as you fall slack against the bed.

He should do it now—guard down, defenses non-existent, but then you’re pulling him up and against your chest, maneuvering in a delicate dance until he’s cuddling you from behind, without a word of acknowledgment.

Eventually your breathing settles, wordless and calm. And despite the nagging voice in the back of his head, he finds himself succumbing to exhaustion too. 

–

When he wakes, you’re still asleep. 

The sun had set, casting the room in a faded blue, the blanket of snow outside casting a faint glow—he still had time, finish the job while you were sleeping, admit his colossal fuck-up and move on. He moves slowly, careful as he leans off the edge of the bed to grab for his knife buried away in his shoe.

“Where the fuck is it?” He mumbles to himself, nearly scrambling off the bed as he considers going for his gun, but the knife pressed into his throat has him on high alert, turning as the blade slices into his neck—just a knick, but he counters the movement, attempting to pin you underneath him.

“You’re awake,” You announce with a grin, face contorting in frustration until you can fit the knife at his ribs, fighting his grip until he’s settled underneath you, arms pinned under your knees, “so—no contingency plan? That’s a rookie move, even for you.”

“Who gave you my name?” Dave, blunt as always—he cuts right through the bullshit.

You frown slightly, hoping he’d play along for a moment.

“C’mon, Dave,” You jest, his breath catching as you apply pressure to the junction where you held the knife, one sudden movement and it would pierce his lung, “who do you think?”

“Who?” He bites, realizing his helplessness in the situation.

“The same person who gave you mine,” You answer after a long pause, tapping your finger against the center of his chest, “but—listen, I don’t have to kill you. I don’t.”

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart,” Dave informs, not lost on you.

You make a sound of discontent, shrugging your shoulders. 

“I have a proposition for you,” You chirp, “Well—more like an ultimatum. Because, if you don’t agree…I’ll just kill you right now, let you drown in your own blood as your lung collapses.”

Dave scowls, listening to you continue, “Can I trust you if I let you go?”

“No,” Dave answers quickly, whatever spell you’ve cast over him is now broken, the illusion gone, “Just do it, actually.”

It feels like a test—and you would, but you can’t.

He voices the same.

“You need me, don’t you?” He asks, genuinely curious. 

Contingency plans, they were tricky.

“I hoped the sex would be enough to convince you.”

Dave smirks at that, surprisingly. 

“You could have killed me already, but you haven’t,” You remind him, “I gave you plenty of chances and you didn’t—why?”

“The timing wasn’t–”

“You’re lying,” He feels the sting of an open wound as you slice the tip of the knife over his skin like a papercut, “Be honest with me—please?”

There’s an unnatural twitch to your head as it tilts, “Please?”

“I don’t know,” Dave answers with a sigh, “Guess I didn’t see you as much of a threat, that I could take my time.”

You raise your eyebrows as you breathe out a laugh, “I’m going to let you up,” You inform him, but slide the knife to his neck, “—under one condition.”

“I could just—”

“I have your gun,” You admit, “Emptied it—and there’s nothing in this apartment you can harm me with. It’s not even mine. And you can try to take this from me, or even kill me with your bare hands, but I think you’ve gone a little rusty, in my opinion.”

Dave offers a look of confusion.

“I really do admire your work, you know. All of us, in the network. We’ve heard about you—no one..no one knows who you are but, I just…had a feeling. Your work is clean, precise. You’re methodical.”

“And you’re fucking crazy,” He retorts, twisting his wrist in discomfort as you clamber off of him, knife outheld as he rises with you, “this method’ll get you killed, if that’s your style.”

“M’not dead, yet,” You shrug, “Besides, I don’t make a habit of…that.”

The sex, he knows that’s what you mean. He can’t say he does either.

“Somebody wants both of us dead,” You remind him, “doesn’t that concern you?”

You turn the knife in your grip and offer it to him, handle first. 

“You’re a better tracker than me, I need that. And I’m a terrible fucking shot.”

Dave grins slightly at the compliment as he reaches for underwear, feeling unnaturally vulnerable as you stood toe to toe with him, rising up with a newfound curiosity. 

“Open your mouth,” He directs, a glint of intrigue in his eyes, “stick your tongue out.”

Without a thought, you do. He grabs your chin, squeezing your jaw until your lips parted and your tongue slipped out, dragging the blade along the center of your tongue and leaving the thick, crimson liquid to bubble to the surface as he dragged it along the surface. You giggled softly to yourself as you lunge forward, teasing him with a lick that barely graces the surface of his lips.

He grips your neck, squeezing tightly.

“Obedience,” He warns, “If you want me to help you, I need it.”

You relent, swallowing against his grip as you nod.

“Let me hear it,” He grits through his teeth.

“Ye—yes,” You oblige, full-certainty, “Obedience, got it.”

He has a terrible feeling about it, but in an eerily comforting way, he trusted you.

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Through Your Eyes

Pairing: Sky x Reader

Warning(s): General weirdness and smut because LU makes me mentally unstable. This is crack so PLEASE don't flame me in the comments

Notes: This is definitely the weirdest thing I've written to date, other than the cow sans x reader fic from back in the day (should I link that account to here? Because when I tell you I was utterly rabid for that bag of bones), so enjoy my insanity! Inspired by the amazing @h4wari while also being half-dedicated to @sunflowersunnyl for their wonderfully wrinkled brain

Masterlist

You thought nothing of the Skyward Sword figurine on the shelf above your bed.

It was a decent size, situated in a canon-typical fighting pose that had become synonymous with both Link and Nintendo, and had the cutest rendition of the master sword you had seen in one plastic hand. You had bought it shortly after completing the game itself–a little memento to commemorate the blood-shot hours spent hunched over your controller like a madman–and on the shelf it had stayed. Watching. Waiting.

Until one fateful day.

"For the last time," you stressed, phone pressed so tightly to your ear that it nearly flattened it against your head. "I don't want to hear about my car's extended warranty!"

Then, without pausing to listen to whatever bullshit the telemarketer decided to roll with next, you hung up, slamming your phone down on the pillow beside your head and groaning to the sympathetic form of your roommate on the opposite edge of the bed: "Ugh, I think I get more calls about insurance than from my entire family."

Your roommate clicked their tongue sympathetically. The Skyward Sword figurine did not, but you weren't in the correct mental state to drool over a polyvinyl chloride rendition of what had to be the hottest man in modern media. Damn Nintendo for making a video game character so fuckable, because you'd clap those cheeks six ways from Sunday for free. "They're relentless, huh? I got one three days ago about my offshore bank account in Switzerland."

"Do you have an offshore rupee account in Switzerland?"

"Not yet."

"Based," you sighed, flopping down to rest against the headboard. Your roommate did the same, flopping horizontally against the end of your bed. Together, you stared at the ceiling, though your view was a bit obstructed by the pointed tip of the plastic Master Sword and– dear lord, why did it look like the figurine was watching you? "Hey, do you remember when we talked about whether stuffed animals are actually the physical and spiritual embodiments of dead people?"

Your roommate snorted. "I'm not high enough for this right now," then, after realizing just what you were staring at, amended with another, more judgy noise. "Oh no, he's got his bitchbreaker face on."

You barked a laugh. By god, they were right! "I think I'm being watched," you admitted, eyes raking over the molded dark-blonde hair and blue-bell-painted eyes. Fuck, those eyebrows, too. "Why's he angry?"

"Oh. Dude, we're too sober for this," said your roommate, throwing their hands up in mild, un-drugged exasperation. After a moment (and more than a few seconds of your puppy eyes), they huffed. "Probably because of that Ganon dude."

"No no no, it's Demise," you corrected, retrieving your phone to pull up a photo of said villain. You held the screen up.

A low whistle left your roommate. "Can I call him Daddy Demise or am I weird for that?"

"Not at all," you waved a hand in the Link figurine's direction, a sly smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. "What I wouldn't give for a ride on that Master Sword."

"Ew!" your roomate exclaimed despite being just as bad as you. A beat passed. "Dude, why do you have him like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like that," they made a vague gesture to the placement of the figurine. "He's literally just watching you. You don't think that's weird?"

You... you hadn't considered that. Still, you shook your head. "No? All I do is sleep and... oh, god," you slapped a hand over your face and tried not to think of all the times you had masturbated with the figurine in the room. Was that weird? Were you supposed to turn it around like people did with family photos and stuffed animals?? "Why are you like this?"

"Someone's gotta be," your roommate shrugged, nonplussed. "Plus, you've had him for, what, two years? Man's seen some shit."

"Okay, nope, ew," you continued to cover your face and pretend that you weren't into the idea of your Skyward Sword Link figurine being secretly sentient. "We're never bringing this up. Ever."

"But–"

"I swear on that one cat meme we look at when we're drunk, I will pay someone to punch you," you warned jokingly, glancing at them through the cracks in your fingers. "In the face."

"Pussy," was their response.

You promptly threw your pillow at your roommate's face.

Link awoke to the sound of moaning, or, he rather thought he awoke, because there was nothing dreamlike about the eggshell-shadows of his room in the Academy, nor the uncomfortable tightness of his sleep trousers.

With a groan that rattled his chest, he threw an arm over his eyes, willing that, for once, fate would cease it's attempts to make his life as outlandish as possible.

Starting with the dreams. And the voices.

Now, let it never be said that he wasn't accustomed to the strange, but there was a large difference in being instructed by a strict, discombobulated voice on the inner workings of his role as a hero and the far more intimate tone of someone engaging in the pleasures of the flesh. Though, as mercy would have it, both options seemed to be enjoyed solely by him, but he digresses.

Another moan filtered through his consciousness. Link felt himself throb, already embarrassingly half-hard. The thought that he was slowly going mad had crossed his mind many a time since the voices–and, of course, accompanying dreams, though those were a bit of a newer occurrence–began years ago, but this was on a whole other level.

For one, the second voice wasn't new, or, the tone of it. He remembered hearing it many times during his adventure; whispered hints and loud whoops against the pointed shell of his ear were commonplace, and Link would be a liar to say he hadn't grown attached to the person on the other side of... whatever madness his life had descended into. A guide– nay, his guide, he liked to think of them. Of you.

A keening wail, filed with an undercurrent of need that had his abdomen absolutely burning, and he was torn back to the dream that had started it all. Link remembered it vividly: a bedroom, not his–unless Groose had seen fit to spontaneously paint and re-arrange his living quarters for the night in some elaborate bid to test the fraying edges of his mind–and the distinct, urgent feeling of being unable to move. Not restrained, but held in place. Frozen.

Oh, and the dizzying realization that he felt no larger than several inches, judging from the relative size of everything else in the room.

Link swallowed, beginning to pant as he gave in and pressed a palm over the aching bulge of his cock.

The door creaked open, and a strangely-clothed figure stepped into the room. They were calling to someone, laughing, and wasted no time in flopping on the richly-embroidered bedspread. In an instant, they were staring at him, still grinning, and a hand roaming down the curious set of... were those shorts(?) they wore.

"Hi, Link," was the first thing he registered through the haze. Since when had dreams been this vivid? "Miss me?"

"Yes," Link breathed as he recalled the first dream. The one that had started it all. He didn't even know who you were, or where you came from, but you were everything he wanted.

You reached up, the pad of your finger brushing his nose, and the size difference had never felt so profound. "I wish you were real," said the temptress–you–before him. Link didn't know who or where he was, but he would have fought Demise a thousand times over to discover it. Hair spread around your face like a halo, hand slipping into those paltry little underthings in a rhythm that had him hotter than the fires of Death Mountain.

From there, the dreams had only gotten more frequent. Sometimes, it would be you and your 'roommate' talking, and sometimes, it would be only you, doing some mundane task that he watched with attention no less rapt than when you would touch yourself. But oh, when you touched yourself, he knew, be it from the noises lingering in the back of his consciousness or the shockingly vivid dreams playing his mind almost nightly.

Link didn't realize he had taken himself in hand until he was coming, eyes squeezed shut and unoccupied fingers digging into the scratchy fabric of his sheets. Your name panted from his lips, rolling off his tongue like silk while his palm and stomach were splattered with wetness. He threw his head back against the pillow, then twisted it so the flat of his cheek was pressed against the soft item. He lay, writhing lightly, still painfully hard, wondering just what the fuck was wrong with him.

"Fuck," you said, spread out on your bed like an adult film creator, one hand between your bare legs while the other adjusted the thick headphones covering your ears. "I'm so weird for this."

There was no denying it: you were a freak, but a freak unbothered as you tapped your phone screen, waiting patiently for the video to load. Typically, you'd pull up a little something from a few unmentionable sites to help, but this time was different. So very different, you thought as sound began to flood the headphones.

Ha hu hi ha hyah!

There was no going back from this, you knew. No going back from the hidden shame of using a video game character's soundboard to get off while maintaining unbroken eye contact with a figurine of said character. Maybe you were bored, or weird, or perhaps this was who you had been all along? Either way, there was no hiding how good it felt when you moved your fingers downward, dipping into the silky wetness threatening to spill past your folds, thumb finding the soft nub of your clit.

You could see him–Link–in your mind's eye. Above you, pressed in the cradle of your thighs, with the prettiest blue eyes your brain could conjure, shrouded only slightly by shaggy blonde hair. Those lips, full and pouty, pursed, then parted to let panting breaths escape. Hylia, you'd take him in a heartbeat. You'd let him split you in half with that sword of his; no questions, no refunds. You would die like a fanfiction writer, without shame and very slightly mentally unstable.

"Fuck," you hissed, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your noises. Sure, your roommate had just left, but you had already exposed them to enough insanity, so it was only fair to try and hold back the shamefulness that came with jacking off to a video game character.

The video played on, the sounds of clanging swords and orgasmic grunts–because, seriously, who decided that was a good idea?–blaring into your ears through the streamer-grade headset, and you were immensely glad they happened to be noise-cancelling, lest your roommate return early and discover your shame. Your hips rocked against your fingers as the cacophony rose in pitch, pulling a series of hitched, shaky breaths from your moist throat. Would he touch you like this? Or would he shove three fingers in your clenching hole just to hear you wail, uncaring of the noise such an action would create. Maybe he would go straight for the pussy like a wild animal or the equally-sexy Twilight Princess Link, or perhaps he would simply spear you on his holy blade and call it a diddly-darn-good day?

Whatever you thought he would do, it was lost in the frazzled mess of your brain when you came, all but screeching around the tightly-cupped palm of your hand. Your legs shook harshly--even kicking out, which elicited a half-noticed burst of pain--trembling with the onslaught of pleasure rushing through your system like a drug, coursing and pulsing in time to the frantic, staccato beat of your heart.

After a few glorious moments, you lay boneless on the mattress, chest heaving with the aftershocks of what had to be the best solo time you'd had in a while. The soundboard continued to blare, but you didn't dare silence it; you wanted to enjoy this, while the post-nut clarity still felt leagues away.

A sharp creak interrupted your reverie, and you hardly had any time to react before the shelf above you groaned, tipping just enough to send a very familiar figurine plummeting onto your stomach, drawing a startled gasp from your mouth when, instead of a dull ache and a hot flash of embarrassment over dislodging your shelf via very questionable methods, there was a blinding flash of light. You screeched, but it was drowned out by a weight pressing atop your stomach, and the impossible silhouette of a figure above you.

Terror shot through your being. The light cleared. You froze.

"...Link?!"

I have no excuse.

(An impromptu apology for utterly failing at the 2024 Christmas event LMAO)

[clawsdevour]

you still do?

wc: 1.1k content warning: reader x konoha akinori, implied crush, reader is drunk, time-skip, fluff, not proofread

note: written for that one request!!!

ʚ˚𓂃˖

Fuck.. it’s been only two days since I seen him and the team at reunion, but why is Konoha the only one running around my mind?

Pondering to yourself in frustration, your eyebrows are furrowed together trying to clear your mind. You’re laying in your sheets late at night, head filled with thoughts of his new look at the little reunion. He’s so much taller than before, with a more rich and thoughtful personality. Not to mention more attractive now than in highschool.

Back when you managed Fukurodani’s boys volleyball team, it was somewhat obvious that you had a small, or perhaps obvious crush, on their team’s wing spiker. You missed his short dirty blonde hair and narrow eyes whenever they peered back into yours. Something about him drew him to you.

Back at school, you couldn’t tell if you were a bit delusional, or if he genuinely had this liking to you. He’s more sweet and considerate towards you than the other manager, but that could be because he’s known her longer than you. His eyes would often soften when you see him staring at you while your heart flutters from behind the scenes. 

Biting your lip, you know you’re still not over him. Seeing him even for a little bit drove your mind crazy. I need to get out. Making this last minute decision as you fling your shirt off to put on a bra. Sliding down your pj pants as you head over to your closet.

You were gonna go clubbing. It’s one of the greatest places to get your intoxicated thoughts out by just dancing it off to some great music. Especially for meeting new people.

Throwing on a random cute dress you found off of a hanger in your closet, quickly you sat down at your petite vanity to apply some simple makeup to go along with your look. A spritz of perfume wafted through the air as you spun around in a small circle to collect the particles before you snatched your purse and keys to head out.

The lively music’s pulsating the whole building the moment you enter. It’s dark but lit up by colorful lasers, the dj set and people’s phone screens. To your surprise you saw a few familiar faces partying that night. Bokuto, Fukurodani’s captain, on the dance floor.. And Kuroo, his friend that graduated from Nekoma, hyping him up. 

You giggled behind a slight smile from the scene as you headed towards the counter for a few drinks before joining the crowd. Sitting down, the cold plastic seat sends you small tingles of shock as you adjust to the seat’s grooves. Mind still in the gutter, you tell the bartender to make you the strongest drink they have for you to sip on, if you even were in the mood to just sit and sip.

As the bartender’s doing all the cool tips and tricks concocting your drink. Measuring out the contents of alcohol with the silver double sided jigger to pour into the cocktail shaker. Swishing your head back, your eyes linger on the crowd trying to see if you’re able to spot out another familiar face. No one you knew appeared in your field of vision.

Until you saw in the back of the dimly lit corner.

It was that dirty blond with narrow eyes from Fukurodani. Konoha. What is he doing here? I’m at the only place I’m able to shake him out of my mind and he’s here! Cocking your head back towards your masterpiece of a drink, thanking the waiter before snatching it off the counter. 

You chugged it down. Your barely visible adam's apple moving up and down as you threw back all of the liquid that felt as if it was burning your nose. Placing the glass back down after hitting the chilled ice cubes against your front teeth before taking one deep breath in and out to sigh one last time before you hopped off the stool.

Your heels clicked and clacked with every step you took downwards. Your head started to fog up due to the strong liquor. The music starting to turn one with the atmosphere while your footsteps echoed in the back. You didn’t know where your body was taking you to but you had to keep up with the flow, leading you down to the dingy dark corner.

Before you got there, a girl beat you to him. She was conscious and her body language yearned to have him in her grasp. The closer you got, the more furious you grew, the anger fueling up in flames. You could tell that Konoha’s not having a fun time. He’s shaking his head in a timid way trying to brush her hand off of him while taking a few steps back.

“Konoha!!” you aggressively shouted, drawing attention to yourself. Your face is warming up to the liquor, feeling your body get all cozy as you vibed with the air in the atmosphere. The girl’s eyebrows gather in disgust as she looked you up and down. Konoha’s just relieved to see someone he knew, slightly surprised to see that you’d be the one he sees first.

“H-Hey babe!” Konoha’s rushing to your side, distancing himself from the woman. His hand is scratching the back of his neck in disguised fear, the other around on the side of your waist to draw you in closer. 

“Who are you and why are you talking to Konoha?” Konoha’s glancing at your face. He noticed how slurred your speech was while your face flushed a bright red hue under the colored lights. You’re staggering, pointing a finger at her while his big hand kept you stable.

“Don’t, wait… don’t talk to my Konoha!” shouting at her in fury. Konoha’s eyes lit up when he heard you call him yours. Mouth slightly parted to say something when you stumbled down.

Pulling you away from the girl while she stormed off in anger, he’s walking you to the nearest available table. Your head is throbbing and you can’t help but feel unstable and absolutely drunk. Foggy eyes started to focus when you tilted your head in his direction after sitting you down. 

Konoha’s worry beady eyes trace marks into your skin while your half lidded eyes groggily stare back. He’s shifting in worry seeing how drunk you’ve became, cursing under his breath before taking one deep breath to calm himself down.

His lips part once more, you can see him mouthing out words amongst the inaudible noise. You see that he’s saying words you had to squint out.

“I think I still like you.”

masterlist here

[jrob64]

Slipping Into Your Heart

A Captain Swan New Year's Story

Happy New Year, everyone! This one-shot was written as part of the Captain Swan Winter Bingo event and checks off the box 'slipping on the ice' on my card.

@kmomof4 pointed out that my last posted story Drummer Boys, Reindeer and Romance actually checked off TWO boxes - reindeer and cuddling by the fire. I'll take it!

Special thanks to @hookedmom for her beta work all year.

Story Summary: After three terrible New Year's Eve dates in a row, Emma Swan decides to spend this one at home by herself. But when the handsome, blue-eyed Grubhub driver who delivers her dinner slips and falls on her icy sidewalk, she feels compelled to take care of him.

Rating: T

Words (Ch. 1/1): 6065

Can also be found on Ao3 and ffn

*********

“Don’t worry about me, Mary Margaret,” Emma Swan said into the phone, as she entered her bedroom to grab her purse. “I just ordered Grubhub. It should be here any minute.”

“I wish you had come over to eat with us tonight,” her friend responded a bit forlornly.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m looking forward to an evening all to myself,” Emma said. She was a little surprised to realize she was being completely honest. “I’m already in my comfy clothes and I plan on watching the new season of The Great British Baking Show with some hot cocoa and popcorn, later.”

“I hate to think of you being alone on New Year’s Eve.”

“I would rather be alone than with any of the guys I had as dates for the last three New Year’s Eves. Those dates were unmitigated disasters, as you well know.”

“Jefferson wasn’t so bad,” Mary Margaret commented.

“Are you kidding? He was crazy as a loon! He showed up wearing a top hat, for crying out loud.”

Mary Margaret sighed. “Well, don’t give up on dating, Emma. One of these days, the right guy will come along.”

“That’s what you keep saying. At least one of us has hope.” Just then, the doorbell rang. “I have to go; my food is here. I hope you and David have a great time tonight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Enjoy your evening, Emma. Happy New Year!”

After ending the call, Emma hurried out to the living room and opened the front door. Standing on her porch was the Grubhub delivery man.

Emma had food delivered on a semi-regular basis and met many delivery people, but most she didn’t really remember after she closed the door. However, this particular delivery person she had never seen before, because if she had, she was quite certain she would have remembered him.

The man standing in front of her was attractively dressed in dark jeans, a button down shirt and black leather jacket. He was about six feet tall and obviously in very good shape. After taking all of this in, her eyes moved to his face. That’s when her breath caught in her throat, because he was, quite literally, breathtaking.

The bluest eyes she had ever seen sparkled beneath long lashes and expressive brows. Attractive sideburns faded into neatly-trimmed scruff on his strong jawline and chin, and his dark hair curled around his adorable, slightly pointed ears. His other perfectly proportioned facial features completed his handsome face.

Emma realized he was smirking and wondered how long she had been staring at him. Giving herself a mental shake, she cleared her throat. “Uh, hi, I, um…I guess you have some food for me?”

“Aye, lass. I have your order right here,” he said, holding up a large plastic bag.

An accent. He had a fucking British accent.

Once again, she had to remind herself to speak. “Thank you. I, uh…oh, hang on a second. Let me get you a tip.”

She took the bag from him and set it on the floor beside her. Digging inside her purse, she pulled out her wallet. “I should give you extra for coming out on New Year’s Eve.”

“That’s not necessary, madam.”

Riffling through her wallet, she pulled out a five dollar bill and two singles. “Then I’ll pay you extra to never call me that name again.”

He laughed as he took the offered bills. “Thanks very much. I hope you have a lovely evening, E.S.,” he said, referring to her initials from the order information.

“You, too,” she answered, picking up the food.

He gave her a grin, then turned and went down the porch steps. Instead of closing the door right away, she watched him walking down the sidewalk to his car. Just as she began to swing the door shut, she heard him let out a yelp and looked out to see his feet fly out from under him. His arms flailed as he attempted to keep his balance, but it didn’t help. He fell hard on his back, his head thankfully missing the concrete and landing in her snow-covered yard.

“Oh my gosh!” Emma exclaimed, dropping the bag of food, flying out the door, and rushing quickly but carefully to where he lay moaning. “Are you alright?”

He sat up slowly, brushing the snow out of his hair with one hand, while the other rubbed the small of his back. “I think so?” he answered unconvincingly.

“I’m so sorry! I shoveled the snow so the sidewalk would be clear for you, but didn’t notice the ice underneath.”

“It’s okay, lass,” he said, though the grimace on his face told a different story.

“Here, let me help you up.” She offered him her hand and began tugging. He had just gotten his feet under him, when she slipped and fell on top of him.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned.

“I am very, very sorry,” Emma apologized, then dropped her head to his sternum and burst into laughter. She was relieved to hear his answering chuckle.

When she got herself under control, she managed to get to her feet and looked down at him. He lay there smiling up at her. “I better give you a bigger tip to help cover your medical bills,” she quipped.

He rolled over and got to his knees, then cautiously pushed himself to his feet. Standing in the snow beside the slick sidewalk, he tilted his head from side to side, both hands on his back. “That won’t be necessary, Love. I appear to be in one piece.”

“At least let me get you an ice pack to put on your back while you drive to your next delivery.”

“You don’t need to go to that trouble, either. You are my last stop of the night.”

“I hope you’re not too sore for your New Year’s plans tonight .”

He scratched behind his ear. “That’s not a problem. I don’t have any.”

“You’re kidding!” Emma blurted out before thinking.

He gave her a quizzical look. “Why does that surprise you?”

“I just…you…honestly, you don’t look like someone who would have trouble finding a date.”

“Neither do you, lass.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly realizing she wasn’t wearing a coat. “Look, I feel really bad for causing you to fall. Won’t you please come in so I can get you an ice pack and ibuprofen?”

He hesitated, his hands moving to his lower back again. “Perhaps that would be a good idea, if you truly don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t make the offer if I did. Come on in.” She turned and led the way through the snow to her house, picking up the bag of food once she was inside the door.

The delivery man entered behind her, closed the door, stomped his boots off on the mat, and stood there a bit awkwardly.

Emma set the bag on the coffee table and turned to look at him. “I haven’t even told you my name yet. I’m Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand.

“I’ll be right back,” Emma said. She went into the kitchen, took an ice pack out of the freezer, and wrapped it in a tea towel. Then she got a bottle of water out of the fridge and grabbed the ibuprofen off of the counter. That’s when she had second thoughts about her decision to ask him in. Sure, he was incredibly handsome and seemed very nice, but criminals could be handsome and deceptively nice, too.

Peeking around the corner of the door frame, she saw that he was still standing on the small rug in the entryway, shifting from foot to foot. Surely, if he were inclined to commit some sort of crime, he would have taken advantage of her being out of sight.

She walked back into the living room. “You can take off your coat and sit down, if you like.”

“I don’t want to drip water across your floor.”

Emma pointed to the shoes on her feet. “If I didn’t worry about it, you shouldn’t either. But if it makes you feel better, you can take off your boots and leave them on the rug.”

He toed them off, then unzipped his coat and removed it.

She set the water bottle and ibuprofen on the table beside the sack of food and sat down on the couch, gesturing for him to sit on the other end. Once he did, he shook out a couple of pills from the bottle and took a swig of water. Then she handed him the ice, which he placed on his lower back.

After sitting in silence for several moments, she leaned forward and pulled the food towards herself. “I ordered enough food for several people because I was feeling self-indulgent. Are you hungry?”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to…”

“You didn’t ask me, I offered. I’ll go get a couple of plates.”

As they ate, they made small talk about mundane subjects.

“Is the ice helping your back?” she asked.

“Aye, a bit. I think I just twisted it when I fell.”

“I’m very glad you didn’t hit your head on the concrete.”

“Me, too.”

“If the ice pack isn’t cold anymore, I’ll get you another one. I have plenty. I have to keep a lot on hand because of my job.”

“Are you a professional kickboxer or something?”

She laughed. “No, but close. I’m a bail bondsperson who doubles as a bounty hunter, when necessary.”

He whistled lowly. “You must be a tough lass. How did you get into that particular profession?”

“It’s a long story.”

“My schedule is pretty clear, but if you aren’t comfortable talking about it with a total stranger…”

“You stopped being a total stranger when you told me your name,” she pointed out.

He grinned and she felt her insides melting at how it made his already handsome face even more gorgeous.

“I’ll tell you on one condition - that you promise not to pity me.”

“Ah, so it’s a story of tragedy.”

She shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

“In that case, I promise not to pity you. However, if you want, I can reciprocate by sharing my own tragic story.”

“What better way to spend New Year’s Eve than depressing the person we just met?”

“Indeed,” he said, grinning again.

Emma took a deep breath and began telling her story. “I grew up without a family. I don’t know why my parents gave me up at birth, but they did. I was placed in foster care as an infant and stayed with one family for three years. Just as they were initiating adoption proceedings, they found out they were having a baby of ‘their own’.” She framed the last two words with air quotes. “So they decided they didn’t need to adopt me. I was put back into the system and by the time I was seven, I was labeled emotionally troubled.”

“It’s no wonder, after being taken from the only home you ever knew,” Killian commented.

“I know, right? Anyway, I was moved to different foster homes pretty frequently and was never considered for adoption again. I ran away from my last placement when I was sixteen and got caught shoplifting a couple of months later. They sent me to a juvenile detention center that specialized in vocational training. When I took one of those assessments that’s supposed to match your interests to a career, it said I was most suited for a job in law enforcement, which I thought was absolutely ridiculous.”

She paused to take a drink of her soda. “Then this really tough counselor named Cleo took an interest in me and told me I was wasting my potential by being angry at the world. She trained me to be a bail bondsperson and bounty hunter because I flat out refused to go to the police academy.”

“Do you like the job?” he asked.

“It pays the bills. Most of the time, it’s pretty boring, but once in a while I have to do a stakeout or set a honey trap.”

“Honey trap?”

“Set up a fake date with a skip and dress sexy. Once I gain their trust, or their lust, I cuff them and take them in.”

“Ah, I see.”

She dug her fork into the container of pork lo mein and put it in her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she continued. “Sometimes I wish I went to the academy, instead of being so damn stubborn.”

“It’s not too late,” Killian observed. “Perhaps you could look into it.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’ve been thinking about it more often lately.” After taking another swig of pop, she asked, “So what’s your tragic backstory?”

“I moved to America with my mother and brother nine years ago, when I was seventeen. Mum was battling cancer and we found a treatment center that seemed more promising than any place in England.”

“Did the treatment work?”

“In a manner of speaking. It gave us more time with her than we would have had, if we hadn’t moved. Her prognosis was less than two years in England. She outlived that by nearly seven years. We had to be sponsored by her cousin in New Hampshire, since her medical visa expired.”

“Did she pass away recently?”

“Aye. Five months ago.”

Emma reached over to place her hand on top of his. “I’m sorry, Killian.”

He sighed, then tried to force a smile onto his face. “Thank you. My brother, Liam, stayed here for a couple of months after her passing, but then he moved back to England. I remained behind because there are still some things I need to do to settle Mum’s affairs.”

“Will you go back home after you do that?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m not sure I think of England as home anymore. Liam is there, but he has a girlfriend, Elsa, whom he met online three years ago. They’ve visited back and forth with each other several times. They’re very serious and are discussing moving in together, so even if I move back, I’ll have to find a flat and a job. I already have a place to live here. We’ve been renting a house in the suburbs since we came over. The landlord is a very kind man who is like family now.”

“Do you have a job? Besides driving for Grubhub, I mean?”

“I work down at the docks, helping to maintain the piers.”

“Do you like it?”

“Aye. I’ve always loved being around the water.”

They both continued eating, before Emma asked another question. “You, um…you didn’t mention a father.”

“He’s not worth mentioning. I was six when he left, so I don’t remember much about him or what happened. Liam was ten and he is pretty sure Da left Mum for someone else. He never sent us any money or attempted to see us.”

“Oh, wow. So your mom had to raise you by herself?”

“Aye, she did, but she never complained or spoke even one harsh word against our father. She said she couldn’t be angry or bitter toward him because he gave her the two greatest treasures of her life.”

“She sounds like a wonderful person.”

“That she was. She deserved so much better.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, thinking about everything they just shared with each other as they finished eating.

Finally, Killian broke the silence. “So tell me, lass. How does it happen that you are home by yourself on New Year’s Eve?”

“I’ve had horrible dates the last three years and I didn’t want to increase the streak to four.”

“Do you mind me asking what made them so horrible?”

She laughed humorlessly. “Three years ago, I was with a guy I had been dating for several months. I thought things were going well all that time. Just before midnight, he proceeded to break up with me, saying he wasn’t happy and felt trapped in our relationship. So while everyone was kissing once the new year arrived, I was by myself, crying in a corner of the room.”

“What a complete arse,” Killian commented, an angry edge to his voice.

“Yeah, he really was. I didn’t date again for nearly a year, until my friend Mary Margaret set me up with the owner of a furniture store where she bought a bedroom set. New Year’s Eve was our third date. He was polite, easy to talk to, and wasn’t aggressive. He never even tried to hold my hand or give me a kiss on our dates.”

“Sounds like a perfect gentleman who was letting you set the pace.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

“What happened?”

“About halfway through the night, he disappeared. We were all at our friend Regina’s house, and when I started asking people if they had seen him, everyone said they hadn’t. It was a pretty big party with close to forty people, so it took me a while to finally realize he wasn’t anywhere to be found downstairs. That’s when I decided to check the bedrooms upstairs.”

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me you found him with another woman.”

“Well, I did find him…but not with another woman.”

“Who was he…” Killian began, then realization set in. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope, not kidding. That explained why he wasn’t in any hurry to show me any kind of affection.”

“Wow,” he commented simply. “I wonder why he agreed to go out with a woman in the first place, if that was his inclination.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out. I still haven’t let Mary Margaret hear the end of it, and if she even hints that she wants to set me up with someone…”

“I’m sure you shut that down very quickly.”

“Yep. Which brings us to last year.”

“I can’t imagine it being much worse than the previous two.”

“It wasn’t, but it was still bad. This time, my friend Ruby set me up with a guy she knew. I should have known better, because Ruby is a bit off-the-wall. I mean, I love her, but she is very quirky. Anyway, this guy shows up wearing an orange top hat.”

Killian started laughing. “Did he have the matching tuxedo? Perhaps he was a big fan of Dumb and Dumber.”

Emma joined in the laughter. “No orange tux, but he definitely would have fit right into that movie. We were at Regina’s again and he found out she had a sewing machine and a basket full of material. He spent a couple of hours sewing the scraps together to make this sort of shawl thing. Then he brought it out to the party and performed some sort of dance with it, waving it around like he was a bullfighter. It was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“I take it you won’t let Ruby try to set you up, either?”

“You got that right.”

“I can certainly understand your reluctance to have another New Year’s date.”

“Which is why I’m home by myself, indulging in copious amounts of Chinese food and binge watching The Great British Baking Show.”

“Is the new season out?” he asked with a note of excitement.

“Yeah, it’s been out for a couple of months but I don’t like to watch it one episode at a time. I hate having to wait a whole week.”

“I can understand that.”

“You like that show, too, I take it?”

“Aye. It was one of Mum’s favorites and we always watched it together. I won’t get to see it this year, though. I’ve been canceling some subscriptions, and Netflix was one of them.”

Emma opened her mouth to tell him he could stay and watch it with her, but before the words came out, she had second thoughts. She didn’t want to give him the idea that she was coming on to him.

As she watched him putting another spoonful of fried rice on his plate, she began debating with herself. The poor guy hurt his back because of her negligence, but he didn’t have any hard feelings. Having him for company was better than spending the entire evening alone, and she was truly enjoying their conversation. Plus, she told him she would be watching one of his favorite shows, so not inviting him to stay and watch it with her would be rude. Wouldn’t it?

“Swan?” His voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, uh…I was thinking that you could, um…that is, if you want to, you could watch the show with me.”

“I wasn’t fishing for an invitation…”

“I know, and please don’t feel pressured to accept. I just wanted you to know that you’re welcome to stay.”

“That’s very kind of you, Emma, but I don’t want to infringe on your evening.”

“I was looking forward to having a relaxing evening at home instead of dressing up and going out, but I’m okay with you being here. As long as you don’t mind seeing me in my oldest, comfiest sweats.”

“You still look quite fetching,” he grinned. “In all honesty, I was dreading spending the evening by myself, especially since it’s my first New Year’s Eve without Mum. Perhaps slipping on the ice was a fortunate turn of events.”

“Your back may not agree,” she quipped. Plucking the remote from the coffee table, she powered on the television and brought up Netflix. “Make yourself comfortable. My plan was to watch the first three episodes, then make popcorn and hot chocolate. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, following her lead and propping his feet on the coffee table.

“Oh, wait. Before we start, I’ll get you a fresh ice pack,” she said, hopping up and holding out her hand for the melted one.

When she came back, he took the new one from her, commenting, “You’re a very good caregiver, Swan.”

“Thanks, Jones,” she replied with a smirk.

“Apologies. I’m used to referring to my coworkers by their last names.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I have no issue with being called by my last name.”

“It fits you.”

“Thanks. I picked it myself.”

He scrutinized her with a raised brow. “Truly?”

“Yeah. After I ran away, I didn’t want to be tracked down by my last name, so I started calling myself Emma Swan. I had it changed officially once I was older and had enough money to pay for it.”

“How did you come up with Swan?”

“From the Ugly Duckling. I always liked that story and could relate to that poor little duck nobody wanted.”

 “But it transforms into a lovely swan, just like you did.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’m happy I didn’t have to keep the name CPS came up with for me. It never felt right to me.” While she was talking, she was flipping through the options on Netflix to find The Great British Baking Show. Clicking on it, she said, “I haven’t missed a single season of this show. The contestants always astound me with the stuff they bake.”

“Aye, me as well. Are you a baker yourself, Swan?”

“Pfft, far from it. I tried to make a cake once and failed miserably. And it was from a box! Apparently it’s important to read the directions. Who knew?”

Killian laughed. “Perhaps you’ll try again someday.”

“Maybe. In the meantime, I’m going to watch twelve people do amazing things and then get kicked off one by one because what they spent hours baking wasn’t perfect.”

“Do you ever choose a favorite contestant?”

“Every time.”

“Is it ever the eventual champion?”

“Never.”

He laughed again. “Same with me. Mum, on the other hand, had a knack for selecting the person who either won it or at least got into the top three.”

“She must have known a lot about baking.”

“Not really. I think she was just lucky.”

Emma clicked on the episode and they settled in to watch, laughing at the co-hosts and making bets on who would be Star Baker and who would be the first to leave the tent. When Killian was right on both counts, he thrust his arms up in the air, exclaiming, “Yes!”

“You must have inherited your mother’s knack,” Emma observed.

“Perhaps she was whispering in my ear,” he said, a slightly sad smile on his face.

She reached over to pat him on the knee. “She probably was.”

Before they started the next episode, Killian asked, “Would you please direct me to your bathroom?”

“Sure.” She turned in her seat and pointed behind them. “Down the hall, first door on the left.”

“Thank you,” he said, standing and stretching.

As he twisted at the waist, Emma asked, “How does your back feel?”

“Not bad. I think the ice packs and ibuprofen helped.”

“Good.”

She watched him leave the room, then took the ice pack to return it to the freezer. After that, she cleared off the coffee table, putting the leftover food in the refrigerator and the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

When she returned, Killian was once again sitting on the sofa, looking at his phone. He didn’t seem to notice that she re-entered the room, so she took a few moments to study him. Now that she had a chance to get to know him a little, she found him even more attractive, because she now knew there was more to him than just a pretty face.

Finally resuming her seat, she picked up the remote again. “Ready for the next episode?”

“Uh, give me a second. I just got a message from Liam. It’s already past midnight there and he’s wishing me a Happy New Year.”

“You can call him if you like. I don’t mind waiting.”

He turned his startling blue eyes on her. “Thanks, I think I will.”

Standing from the couch, she said, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Oh, there’s no need. I don’t mind if you overhear our conversation. Actually, I think I’ll Facetime him instead. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen his ugly mug.”

She giggled. “Spoken like a true brother.”

Grinning, he put the call through. While he was greeting his brother, Emma busied herself with checking her own phone, responding to messages from Mary Margaret and Ruby, received while she was watching the show.

“Say hi to my brother, Swan.”

Glancing up, she was surprised to see him holding his phone up to her. A man with similar facial features as Killian, but with lighter, curly hair was on the screen, smiling at her. “Hello, lass.”

“Oh, uh…hi. Happy New Year,” she responded.

“The same to you. I’m sorry you have to spend it with my git of a brother.”

“Hey!” Killian protested.

Emma laughed. “Inviting him to watch The Great British Baking Show with me was the least I could do after he fell on the ice on my sidewalk. He was delivering my dinner.”

“He said he fell and you took pity on him. I figured it was because of his own clumsiness.”

A female voice came through the phone. “Liam, stop teasing Killian. He was sweet enough to call and you’re being mean.”

The face of the woman speaking came into view on the screen. Emma saw she was beautiful, with almost white-blonde hair and large, expressive eyes. “Hello. You must be Elsa.”

“Yes, that’s me. Forgive me, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“I’m Emma Swan. It’s very nice meeting you, and you too, Liam.”

“The pleasure is ours, lass,” Liam said. “All kidding aside, we’re very happy Killian isn’t alone this evening. I was afraid he was sitting around the house moping.”

“He’s been very good company,” she assured him.

Killian scooted closer to her so they could both be on the screen. “We should let you get back to your party,” he said.

“Yes, I’m sure Anna will come looking for us soon,” Elsa said.

“Thank you for calling, little brother,” Liam added. “We miss you.”

“I miss you, too, but I do not miss being called little brother. I’m younger.”

“And two inches shorter, so technically you’re little, also.”

Before Killian could reply, Elsa cut in, “That’s enough, boys. Emma will think all the two of you ever do is argue.”

Emma laughed as Killian said, “Happy New Year, you two. I’ll talk to you again soon. Love you.”

“We love you, too. I hope this new year will be a better one for both of us,” Liam responded.

Killian glanced at Emma. “I think it’s getting off to a pretty good start.”

She listened to them finish their goodbyes, a little surprised that his statement didn’t make her uncomfortable. In fact, she felt the exact same way.

*********

They were halfway through the sixth episode when Killian checked the time on his phone. “It’s eleven fifty seven,” he announced.

“Oh!” Emma said, pushing her empty mug and popcorn bowl out of the way to find the remote. “Would you like to watch the ball drop?”

“Sure.”

She quickly exited Netflix and searched for a channel covering the party in Times Square. As they watched the raucous scene, she commented, “I would hate to be in that crowd.”

“Aye, me too. I much prefer being in a quiet place.”

The ball began to drop. When it reached ten seconds to go, the two of them counted along with the mob of people on screen. It hit zero, lighting up the year ‘2024’, then it switched to another camera showing people in the crowd sharing kisses.

Emma glanced at Killian out of the corner of her eye. At the same time, he took his eyes off the television and looked at her. “Happy New Year, Emma,” he said quietly.

“Happy New Year, Killian.” Her eyes flicked down to his lips, lingering for a second before traveling back up again. Then, without conscious thought, she leaned toward him.

The touch of his lips against hers sent a shiver of delight through her. The kiss was brief and left her wanting more, but she pulled back before she could act on that impulse.

Neither of them spoke for several moments. Finally, Killian broke the silence. “Um…perhaps we should finish the episode, then I need to be going.”

“Oh, right,” she said, bringing Netflix back up. They watched the remainder of the show without talking, both preoccupied with thoughts of the kiss they just shared.

As soon as the episode ended, Killian stood up. Emma flicked off the television and stood, too, shifting back and forth on her stockinged feet.

He cleared his throat, scratching behind his ear. “I, um…I thoroughly enjoyed this evening - except for falling on my arse, that is.”

She chuckled. “I apologize again, but I have to say I’m not sorry it led to you keeping me company tonight. It was nice having someone to watch the show with and discuss it.”

“Thank you for inviting me to join you. It brought back good memories of watching it with my mother. I needed that tonight.”

They stood looking at each other for several more moments, then he moved to put on his boots and coat. She walked to the door, ready to open it for him. “Be careful going home. There will probably be some people driving who shouldn’t be on the road.”

He zipped his coat and tugged a blue knit cap out of the pocket, pulling it on over his dark hair. Emma found the addition utterly adorable.

“Well, I guess I’ll be on my way,” he said, stepping toward the door.

“Killian…” she began, then paused. He looked at her expectantly. “I, um, I hate to think that you won’t get to see the rest of the new season. Would you like to come over sometime to watch the rest of the episodes?”

A smile slowly spread across his face. “I would like that very much.”

*********

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out with Mary Margaret and David this evening, Love?” Killian called from the living room.

“I’m sure,” Emma said, coming through the doorway dressed in her oldest sweats, the same ones she wore exactly one year ago. Sitting down beside him on the sofa, she added, “I’m content staying home, doing the same thing I did last year.”

“You mean practically maiming the Grubhub delivery man on your icy sidewalk?”

“Why not? It worked out pretty well for me last year,” she teased, snuggling into his side.

“It’s unfortunate for you I salted the sidewalk, then,” he responded.

“That’s okay. One former delivery driver is more than enough for me.”

“More than enough, huh?” he smirked. “Are you saying I give you more than you can handle, Swan?”

Elbowing him lightly in the side, she said, “Keep it up and when your big brother calls, I’m going to tell him you’re being insufferable.”

“Older brother,” he automatically corrected. “And don’t you dare. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Then behave,” she said, reaching for her phone on the coffee table. “I’m gonna put in our order. Same as last year?

“Works for me, but this time, I call dibs on the pork lo mein.”

She furrowed her brow at him. “Nobody messes with my pork lo mein and lives to tell about it.”

“Have they been teaching you intimidation techniques at the police academy?” he asked, trying to contain his mirth.

She glared at him a few seconds longer, then turned her attention back to her phone, saying, “I’ll put in a double order for it.”

“Grand idea, Love. I’m going to change into my own comfy clothes.”

She watched him leave the room, headed toward their bedroom, then finished placing their food order. While she was waiting for him to come back, she reflected on the past year. It was, by far, the best year of her life. She met Killian, fell in love and eventually asked him to move in with her. For their eight month anniversary, he took her on a trip to England to meet his brother and future sister-in-law. He also encouraged her to pursue her dream of enrolling in the police academy, where she was set to graduate in a little over a month.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Emma blinked and looked up at her love, amazed as always that he was hers.

Grabbing his hand in both of hers, she pulled him down beside her and climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I was just thinking about everything that happened since last New Year’s Eve.”

He tightened his grip on her, running his nose along the slope of her throat. “A lot has happened, all of it good,” he murmured.

“Well, most of it. There was the day I got a flat tire and the time you came down with the flu.”

His low chuckle sounded in her ear, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. “I was able to show you how to change the tire, and you nursed me back to health, so it all turned out good in the end.”

Placing her hands on both sides of his face, she put enough distance between them to be able to look into his brilliant blue eyes. “You made it the best year ever. I love you, Killian.”

“I believe we made it the best year ever, Sweetheart,” he corrected. “I love you, Emma.”

They shared a long, languid kiss that turned into many more, until they were interrupted by the food delivery. As they ate, they began watching the brand new season of The Great British Baking Show, pausing it to call Elsa and Liam at seven o’clock, which was midnight in the UK. Five hours later, they paused it again to ring in the New Year themselves. This time, their kiss wasn’t tentative like the year before, and they continued the celebration in their bedroom.

As they lay together, sated and blissfully happy, Emma whispered, “I wonder what 2025 has in store for us? It surely can’t be better than 2024.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Killian answered, thinking about the contents of a small, black velvet box, hidden in a pair of seldom worn boots, tucked away in the back corner of the closet.

*********

Thank you for reading, leaving comments, liking and reblogging, if you're so inclined. Every one is very much appreciated!

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[radioisntdead]

[my phone isn't letting me make gif headers so this is my stand in.]

Vox has a type and it's red flags.

Song used

Warnings: I can confidently that I do not like how this came out but I don't really have time to rewrite it so uhhh, enjoy, no one is sane, OOC

Vox had a blind date, arranged for him by the one and only Velvette, sick and tired over him yearning over Alastor.

The date started off so well

According to her, you seemed like his type so she set the two of you up.

Begin my night not expecting the fright of my life

He didn't really expect anything from it but he liked you more than he thought he would, you were charming, wearing a silky red outfit, with a voice as sweet as honey.

She was perfect from what I could tell

How could I not see the danger right in front of me?

The conversation flowed nicely, the two of you had so much in common!

"My favourite food is fish"

"Baby, that's my favourite too"

Favorite foods, you both worked in tech, although you worked in a different variant then he did.

"I love cartoon dogs"

"Baby, I love Scooby-Doo!"

He got to show you his phone wallpaper, which was his beloved pet, Vark.

You loved him, and that was great in Vox's book.

Everything started going downhill when he asked a seemingly innocent question

"Hey, girl, what's your favourite film?"

He was expecting something like Sci-fi, or some type of animation, you seem like the type to like studio Ghibli movies so maybe?

She said, "The best movie of all, a masterpiece of art called"

You clasped your hands together and held them close to your face, before destroying any previous impressions he had of you.

"Human Centipede, Human Centipede,"

I think that I'm gonna get murdered tonight

Vox's eyes darted around the restaurant, he could get out of this right? He couldn't do anything to you since you were one of Velvette's friends but he wasn't going to stay and get murdered.

Human Centipede, not ironically.

He watched as you rambled about your favorite parts of the movie, or movies, as you were talking about all of them.

She said, "The costume design was a highlight"

He hadn't watched the entire movie series but he was vaguely aware that it was a gross horror film.

"I like it for the plot," you said twirling your hair between your fingers.

"Tell me what the plot's about."

"German doctor sews three people ass to mouth!" "........cool......"

Human Centipede, please, God, save me

How did Velvette think this was his type??? Did she think he wanted a massive red flag???

I think that's a red flag, I don't want to get stabbed,

Iconically your appetizers were served, overly fancy looking plates with tiny portions that would leave the two of you hungry, with little plastic knifes in them.

Fitting.

She said, "Human Centipede is a tour de force."

You continued rambling about the movie as you twirled your glass of wine in your hand.

I think, "Holy shit, I'm gonna be the main course"

Vox kept a strained smile on his face as he nodded along to what you were saying.

You sure were passionate about.... This.

She said, "I admire the narrative of character growth,''

Vox's digital eyes looked around, trying to figure out a way to finish the date early, blinking aggressively.

I try to get the waiter's attention by blinkin' in Morse code

You tilted your head, "Why are you blinking so much?"

He laughed nervously "I've got something in my eye," yes, he totally got something in his TV eye, that's something that could happen, you wouldn't know if he was telling the truth or not, you didn't have a tv head.

"Here, let me get it out," you reached your hand out just barely brushing your finger tips against his TV head before he moved away, his chair tilting.

"No, thank you, I don't wanna die,"

"Pardon?"

Thankfully you were interrupted before you could ask him to elaborate.

"Bonjour, sir was blinking at me," the fish-like waiter asked blankly before giving you a side eye.

"Is this because your date is a freak?"

Vox looked at the waiter then back at you blinking at him rather innocently.

"No."

"Very good then, bon appétit." The waiter walked away leaving Vox to his fate.

Vox stared at the waiter's disappearing form before he felt you gently grabbing his hand.

"Stop hiding behind your silly made-up red flag," you said staring him down, it wasn't a silly made up red flag.

"To not take a chance on the best relationship you never had."

Vox nodded,

"Maybe you're right, and I'm looking for excuses," he interlaced his hands with yours

"My heart's got bruises, but I'm ready to choose this love."

The two of you had one hand interlinked with the others the entire dinner, the two of you shared a dessert, having lovely non human centipede related conversation.

The moment you stepped out onto the streets, he twirled you around pulling you into his arms.

"You could be my world, the love of my life," he said, to any normal person this would be moving way too fast, but you were no normal person, you matched his delulu.

"One day, we'll get married and be husband and wife!"

Vox could already imagine you in wedding garments, walking down the aisle.

"With a tasteful ceremony and the wedding of our dreams,"

Again this was moving far too fast but you didn't seem to mind.

"Only if the wedding is themed," "Tell me what the theme's gonna be,"

Vox gestured for you to get into the car before him when the chauffeur opened the car's door.

The poor sinner had to overhear you talking about how you wanted a human centipede themed wedding, or at least something related to the franchise.

Human Centipede, Human Centipede

"That way, we could save on the catering bill," Vox agreeing with you was not a good sign for anything working under the Vee's.

Human Centipede, only one mouth to feed

If you are the best man, you know the deal pucker up

The two of you had very different priorities, that had a very, very small section to overlap.

"I can finally open myself up to love,"

"I can finally sew a mouth to a butt!"

This was not going to end well for alot of people, but it might for you two!

Human Centipede, Human Centipede

Good evenin' folks!! I do hope you enjoyed!! I positively HATE THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE.

I haven't seen it but I have seen movie recaps and reviews of it and just, no.

Why.

Just why.

A certain scene involving a car haunts me, screw you 15 year old me why did you have a movie recap channel phase????

I miss being 15, like I was a baby and just having fun drawing :[

Also having red flags on loop DOES NOT VIBE WELLLLLLLLLLLL

Anyways as always thank you for tunin' on in and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your night, and Happy Valentine's Day!!

Psst!! Join our discord where the human centipede is BANNED.

[hannahssimblr]

The marquee holds extraordinary heat. It reminds me of the family holiday I took with Maureen and her kids to Florida, that phenomenal, stupefying heat, and the air like soup. I felt too tired to do anything but swim around in the resort pool for those two weeks, but that was the whole point. We went to laze about. I bobbed on a big yellow pool floater while the others slept on the deck chairs until the sun dipped over Daytona Beach and it was bearable enough to move again. 

Here, light permeates through polyester walls, diffusing a blue hue, and the air is constrictive like a panic attack. It smells too, of hot plastic and grass, and all the people who didn’t queue for the showers this morning. 

“It’s gross in here,” I comment, bellowing already because every voice in the whole marquee bounces off the walls and raises the volume to incomparable levels. 

Joe laughs and makes fun of my accent for Kasper’s benefit. “Gross, man, totally freakin’ gross, my dude.”

“Do you want to stay or go?”

“It’s Crystal Castles!”

“Okay, so, stay?”

“Yeah, duh.” With a hand on my back, Joe propels me into the crowd, where we push through, closer and closer to the front. The atmosphere is so unpleasant, so hot, so stuffy, and even though I’ve been drinking all afternoon, my head still twists with unwanted thoughts. I feel my phone vibrate. 

It’s Jen, as expected. 

Where are you? We’re going to see Slash now. Also, Evie has asked where you are a few times. 

I shove it back into my shorts pocket, and something crinkles against my hand.

Ah. I had forgotten about this.

I subtly pull out the baggie from yesterday, the one from Weed Alison, and turn it over in my hand. I know I shouldn’t, that I tell everyone who asks me that don’t do any of this anymore, but these little pink pills lure me in like a siren. They hold promises of escapism, if only just for an hour.

And then, what didn’t even seem like an option yesterday seems almost sensible today.

“Hey, do you want one?” I ask Joe, “you and Kasper. I’ve three.”

He cranes his neck. “What’s that?” 

“Ket.”

“Oh, I’ve never done that.”

“You want to try it?”

He looks to Kasper for reassurance, and his friend shrugs noncommittally. “Well, what’s it like?”

“Pretty strange.”

“Okay,” he says. I tip two tablets into his palm and one, the last, into my mouth.

He winces as we dry-swallow. “Ugh, it’s disgusting.” 

I suppress a cough. “Did you expect gourmet?”

“I didn’t expect pure shite.”

“Well, it’s probably worth it.”

“Probably?”

As I watch the stage, I eagerly anticipate the moment my soul separates from my body while the roadies prepare. Once the gig starts, the ground begins to sway like a fairground ride. It’s the same thrill too, the same loss of control as when you’re floating through the air, when the floor gives way beneath your feet and you’re weightless, like something caught on the wind. 

“Woah.” Joe cries at one point, and I am viewing both him and Kasper through a fisheye lens. I just laugh, because everything is silly, and nothing matters the way it did this morning. Thoughts derail like train carriages tipped off the line, and my brain emerges from a pool of cool water, washed clean of every thought that has ever held significance in my whole life. 

I was sceptical of Ketamine once, back before I understood it, and clung tightly to the edgy, but familiar high I got from cocaine. It was Alison who gave me some at a house party last summer, my first bump, and with plasticine limbs we danced in the kitchen to someone’s dad’s CD collection, with a sense that we could do whatever we liked, and it wouldn’t be weird. I hadn’t felt that way since I was nine. 

Kaleidoscopic lights mesmerise me in the marquee. The music is strange, but perhaps it is supposed to be. All music is strange, if you think about it. Who decides which beats and melodies sound good, anyway? How do we know that? The singer decides to crowd surf and comes close enough for me to touch her boot. It would be funny if I took it off. This is a fact. I lank at the laces while Kasper laughs, this maniacal, unselfconscious laugh, and I join in. I don’t know what I’ll do with the boot once it’s off, but it’s the funniest possible thing to do. Maybe I’ll display it in my college apartment one day, say it belonged to Alice Glass, and have to argue with everyone that doesn’t believe me. 

“I feel weird.” Joe says. 

“That’s good.” 

“No, I think- I feel wrong.”

“It’s not wrong. Don’t make it wrong.”

“I feel wrong,” and I look at him, with his pitch black eyes panicked, and then he heaves.

And he bolts out of the crowd.

“Oh.” I look at Kasper, and him at me, and realise my teeth are sweating. “Do you think it’s bad ket?”

“I don’t know.” He says, and I'm suddenly aware that if I attempt any more words, I will throw them up. 

Throwing up in a crowd is not the ideal place to do it, I know this, but it is difficult to escape with legs that feel lead-weighted, when the earth is tilted so dramatically that I am scaling it. 

“I’m going to vom.” I announce, and a path clears so quickly that it feels biblical. 

I hit the back of the tent, and it goes everywhere. Everywhere. It splashes on my shoes and up the walls, and Joe is there too, my partner in crime, vomiting just as violently as I am. I wonder if I should pat him on the back, or give him a high five, or something.

By the time Kasper falls in line and completes our trio, security is already on us, and all that seemed so easy and funny before now fills me with unspeakable dread.

“Outside,” one barks, grabbing fistfuls of my t-shirt and hauling me toward the door. “You’re pissed.”

“No,” I protest hoarsely, “We’re fine.”

Kasper retches again, inspiring another wave of nausea within me.

“Fuck sake!” the bouncer cries as I get sick on his trousers. “Youse are a disgrace. Get out.”

And we find ourselves the grass, lying face up as the clouds drift by, and the world is still tilting, like it wants to slide us right off the face of it.

“Should we do something?” Joe manages. 

“Like what?”

“Get a doctor?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” I say, before I roll over to the side and throw up in the soil. 

Neil, the volunteer nurse, is very kind and patient with me for the time I spend in his company. 

“I imagine it’s all out of your system now.” He tells me. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” I sigh, staring up at the ceiling I spent the last hour getting to know. I haven’t been sick since I got here, it seems I yacked it all out on the field, but I have been so thoroughly prodded and poked that I’ve become irritable, bored, even, as time ticks on and the festival rages on outside the flimsy doors of the medical tent. I turn my head to him, in his blue scrubs and the stethoscope he used on me slung around his neck, and the fear of his judgement arrives. It’s how I know the ket is gone. “That’s never happened to me before, by the way. That reaction was a new thing.”

“You said you’ve taken ketamine before?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, at festivals like this, you just don’t know where it’s coming from. It’s everywhere, but it’s so hard to know what exactly you’re getting. Those pills could have been cut with anything.”

I smile weakly. “Are you telling me off?”

“Not really. I’m just letting you know.”

“Cut with what, exactly?”

“Anything.” He reiterates. “I’m talking talcum powder to heroin and everything in between.”

“Ouch.”

He folds his arms and leans against a table. “Do you want to get in touch with a parent or guardian?”

“Is that mandatory?”

“It’s not, but you might find the best thing for you to do now is to get home and rest. You might like to let a parent know what’s happened today.”

I laugh, the kind of hollow, death-rattle of a laugh that could have come from a sick, elderly man. “Tempting, but no thanks. I think I’ll stay.”

Neil’s mouth flattens into a line, and he gives me a nod. “Well, I’ll just advise you to take it easy, right? And if you feel off at any point, please come straight back here. We’re open all night.”

“But in your medical opinion, I’m fine, right?”

“Yes, I think you’re fine.”

“Oh, good.” I sit up in the trolley and plant shaky, stockinged feet on the floor. “Because there are a few more bands I really wanted to see.”

“I understand.” He says, though he looks as though he doesn’t. “But listen.”

I look up. 

“Be wise, Jude.”

I laugh and lace up my vomit-splattered shoes. “Neil, I’m always wise.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[chronicallycouchbound]

do you have any tips for being unhoused like survival tips or even just stuff that makes life easier

Absolutely!

Before I give my advice I want to start with my most important piece of advice first: I have lots of personal experience with a few different aspects of being unhoused, I have been unhoused in frigid climates, in warmer climates, for many years, with some warning and also very suddenly, as a child with parents, as a child without parents, as an adult, couch surfing, sleeping outside, sleeping in cars, sleeping in bandos, living in a homeless shelter, living in transitional living programs, and then all of those things intersect with my various other marginalized experiences. I say all this because I want to also say that while I have extensive experiences, I don't know everything, and might miss things, or give advice that might not work in your case. So take everything with a grain of salt, including from me, for your own safety. You know your situation best, so do whatever you need to in order to survive.

Some general tips:

Aways bring extra clothes wherever you go: especially socks and underwear, they are small and light and life-savers, and homelessness often puts you in situations where you can suddenly lose everything, especially if something is left somewhere

Public libraries, churches, fast food stores and cafes are great to hang out in when it’s cold out. Unitarian Universalist Churches are (almost always) LGBTQ+ safe and affirming as well.

Shower as often as possible, the YMCA usually has cheap day passes and it’s a place to stay all day.

If you can’t shower: find a public restroom and use the sink to do a "bird bath": rinse/wash your hair, grab some paper towels or use the hand dryer to dry your hair, and use toilet paper or paper towels to rinse and dry your underarms and genitalia areas, especially when it’s hot or you’ve been sweating. Make sure you can dry off, wetness in cold is quickly life threatening, and wetness and heat breeds bacteria (which makes you stinky at best, but can also lead to skin issues)

Take extra plastic utensils, get salt/pepper packets, sauce packets, etc. as often as you can, ONLY if you have someplace to keep them (like a tent/car), small things like that can really make a difference when you're eating ramen over a fire every day, and helped keep me slightly closer to sane.

Only carry with you what you absolutely need, and always carry with you what you absolutely need.

Make friends everywhere you go, but be cautious and careful. You want to be amicable, not naive. You don't have to be trusting to be friendly.

Be friendly and overly kind to people working, they could help you later on. I have had my ass saved by so many random employees. Even if you're having a bad day, they're the people you should be kindest to. (Also be kind to service workers when not homeless, ofc)

Collect change on the streets or panhandle if it is safe and legal for you to. You can also collect bottles/cans to return, or recycle aluminum.

Look up free campsites, pantries and shelters for your area. Shelter App - Homeless Resources is a free app and website that is still kind of new, but I've seen more and more resources being added to them. Most states have a generalized hotline that's usually like a "411" or "211" or similar type phone line.

Try to always have an active phone with service, or at least a charged phone you can call emergency services on in case you need to.

Try to avoid getting into crime, drugs, alcohol/cigarettes, etc. It’s all expensive, gets you in trouble and does you no good.

However, if you are an active user: look up local needle exchanges, suboxone clinics, free narcan/naloxone, PREP and PEP (HIV prevention meds), emergency rooms, and practice harm reduction as much as possible. Try to never use alone, if using in a bathroom, keep the door unlocked. In my experience, even if you're sober or in recovery, harm reduction organizations are often amazing resources to connect you to other resources

Items I didn't realize were so life saving for me until later: blanket scarves, wool socks (natural fiber is the only thing that stays warm even when wet), baby wipes (washing body, tp replacement, etc), hand warmers, clothes that look more bougie like wearing a pea coat (stopped less by cops), carbineer clips, earbuds (for sanity), and my most prized possession to this day; my solar powered/hand crank/rechargable combination flash light, usb charger radio. Any item you need that is made for sports/hiking/etc. is often better, and any items that are multipurpose are wonderful.

And since we're headed into the colder months, here’s my advice for if you don’t have adequate heating, homeless or not:

Make soups or even just keep a pot of water boiling, and bake things if you can. I like to make teas in the morning for this purpose. Eating enough food (if you can) helps dramatically increase your core body temp.

Take a shower BEFORE the coldest parts of the day, or skip the shower til it’s warm enough to. If you absolutely need to, use warm wet washcloth and work in sections of your body so you don’t have to be fully naked and wet all at once. If you can’t be in a warm enough location afterwards— avoid getting your hair wet at all costs especially if you have thick hair. If you’re at higher risk of cold related illnesses like hypothermia and frostbite, such as disabled and chronically ill folks, I would highly recommend avoiding anything that causes you to get wet if you can’t get warm afterwards.

Make a blanket fort or use a tent indoors to spend your time in and sleep in

Drink tea/cocoa/hot beverages, avoid ice or cold drinks. Avoid alcohol specifically if you can because it lowers your body temp while making you feel warm, which can be dangerous.

Cuddle with your pets (even pets that don’t normally cuddle often are cuddly during cold spells as a survival response)

Wear thermals and layers if youre up and moving, but make sure to pre-warm any clothes you change into by tucking them into the blankets with you for a while.

If you have someone to cuddle with as close as possible, do it, also wear less clothes, thinner clothes or shorts when under blankets and cuddling, you share way more body heat that way, whereas thermals and layers will only keep your heat to yourself

If you have cold feet: take off your socks under blankets (and keep socks under blankets before putting back on) and keep a hot pad under blankets near your feet. Thick socks are great for insulation— but if your feet are cold, insulation means it’ll keep that cold in and keep the heat out. You have to add your own heat, and once they’re warm, you can put the socks back on.

Tin foil, trash bags, and blankets on windows if you don’t have plastic.

Keep doors closed and use rolled blankets or towels to stop drafts. Try to stay in one room if your whole home is cold, smaller spaces are easier to keep warm. Keep doors closed. Keep window shades closed (if you have south-facing windows, you can open t hem during the day and close them at night)

If you don’t have a mummy sleeping bag, a hoodie with the strings pulled comfortably tight can be a good substitute especially if paired with another sleeping bag.

Layer blankets for insulation. Closest to your body, have hot pads and heated blankets, then a reflective blanket to direct heat back towards you, use fluffy blankets and comforters next for insulation, and on top, have something heavy to help seal the heat in and push that heat towards you.

Blanket layers: first, heated blanket/hot pad/hot water bottle/etc, then reflective blankets/emergency blankets (there are reusable ones!)/sleeping bag, then fluffy blankets, then your heaviest/thickest blanket on top (quilt, weighted blanket, tarp, etc). If you don’t have one/multiple of these, just layer what you have following this guide as much as possible.

I like to have at least one fluffy blanket wrapped near my head/neck to keep as much warm air in the blankets as possible when I move my arms. Snuggies and blanket scarves work great for this.

If you’re on a thin bed, an air mattress, or don’t have a bed, put something below you for insulation from the cold ground. Any high quality sleeping bags temperature recommendation is always based on having good insulation below you. Cardboard, yoga mats, foam, blankets, coats, etc. all work.

Be vigilant for signs of frostbite and hypothermia, especially in children, disabled, elderly and pregnant folks. Remember to follow frostbite and hypothermia guidelines for re-warming and get medical attention for these whenever possible.

Have an emergency go-bag ready with your medications, chargers, clothes and other essentials in case you need to leave your residence.

Be sure to not accidentally give yourself CO2 poisoning or cause fires or explosions with whatever heating method you use. Anything with gasoline, propane or other fuel sources are generally not safe for indoor/closed space usage.

Don’t let yourself get so warm you sweat, you can lose a lot of heat that way and the wetness will make you cold which is hard to recover from.

When you get out of bed or from blankets, fold the blankets back over where you just laid to retain the heat for when you climb back in. Even if you have to be gone an extended period of time, this keeps the cold out. You can also preheat heated blankets for when you get back into bed (like turning on the heated blanket before you go shower)

Lights have a lot of ambient heat, as do appliances, especially larger appliances. Even having your laptop on your lap and using it can help you warm up.

If you’re able to be up and moving or do light exercise while you have to be out of blankets, thats the best time to do it. Again, be mindful of sweating.

If you’re homeless and unsheltered and don’t have a camp, sleep in the daytime in the warmest parts of the day, and walk around at night to avoid freezing to death. Savor a hot tea or hot coffee at fast food places if you can afford it.

Single use hand warmers can be saved if they still have heat by putting them in an airtight ziplock bag. When you want to use them again, you just open the bag to expose them to air. If you can and have a way to use them, invest in reusable ones (there’s electric ones and also ones you can boil to reset). Hot water bottles are another good option but often come with a higher risk of being burned.

Also, if you have any more specific situations you'd like advice for, I'd be happy to make posts for those as well, it's hard to add/think of everything that helps every situation, and a lot of my advice would change if you stay in a shelter, for example. I really hope this helps, and I hope you find safe, stable, and reliable housing soon.

[neon-kazoo]

Spy?

(Inspired by the song “Spy?” by WHOKILLEDXIX)

Hero stood in a rough circle surrounded by the group of villains. Their voices were overlapping, all arguing over the fresh mission failure.

“It was Lookout’s job to make sure we weren’t followed,” one voice—Blueprint—argued.

“We weren’t! I’m positive,” Lookout defended.

“It was probably the panic alert from the front desk,” Hero accused, looking pointedly at Guardsman.

“I got that guard before he even got close to that button, there’s no way that’s how the cops knew we were there.”

Pulling out a phone, one accomplice walked to the edge of the room, pressing the device to his ear.

Hero engaged passionately with the quarreling criminals, trying desperately to salvage their mission and keep their cover intact. Hero was deep undercover as a security expert in a large heist led by Villain, and the takedown they had orchestrated had not quite gone according to plan. The hero did their best to stoke the flames of anger and disappointment between the crew. The more they were at each other’s throats, the less they were thinking rationally about what really went wrong.

“If everyone had just stuck to the plan-“

“It was YOU who-“

“Ok, let’s be logical about this-“

“And then you didn’t-“

“It’s a miracle we all got away-“

The man on the phone returned to the group, face made of stone. He raised a hand, and the bickering quieted.

“My inside guy says they were there within a minute of us going in.”

“So the cops were tipped,” Locksmith concluded.

“Alright, so who knew?” Lookout asked from the left.

“The driver,” Blueprint chimed in on Hero’s right.

“He didn’t know the location, and I only hired him today. We picked up the vehicles 30 minutes before and it never left my sight,” explained Mover, the one who had been delegated to arrange transportation.

“No one else was told, it was all in-house.”

Silence dawned in the room as realization hit the criminals one by one.

“The location was need-to-know. Villain didn’t even tell half of us,” Locksmith pointed out.

“Actually, I only told one of you,” he corrected nonchalantly.

Shit.

“So that means-“

“My, my,” He turned slowly with the words, locking eyes with Hero, “I think we have a spy.”

They were made.

Two seconds and they were out the door, heart and feet pounding as fast as they could. Hero burst into the stairwell and was faced with a split second decision: up? Or down?

The backup spot at which they had met up after the disaster was located in the heart of the city, and Hero hoped the mid-day masses would be enough to help them get away. First though, they had to make it out of this building.

Temporarily closed for some upper level renovations, the office was five stories high and packed closely with the surrounding businesses.

Passing the large painted number three in a flash, Hero headed for the top.

They didn’t risk a glance back, but they heard several people slam open the door behind them. A chorus of footsteps echoed through the stairwell. Hero climbed, breathing heavily and mind racing to trace an escape route. A painted number five marked the top of the stairwell and Hero turned away from the roof access. If they remembered correctly from their recon, the East side of the building should back right up to an apartment complex with an outdoor fire escape.

They threw the door open and were met with a bare-bones floor. The entire level was sectioned by plastic sheeting, making it difficult to locate the windows and any potential dangers. Hero’s feet danced over stray boards and around forgotten construction equipment. Shouts alerted them that their pursuers were not far behind, but their figure was already blurred behind several layers of sheeting.

Most of the yelling was unintelligible, but one voice rose about the rest.

“I hope you’re ready to learn what happens to little rats!”

Hero made the mistake of turning towards the voices, taking their eyes off the floor and the bucket that they were about to crash into. They tumbled to the floor with a yelp, taking a clear sheet of plastic with them. They flailed, scrambling to their feet and shaking their limbs frantically to unravel themselves. They caught a glimpse of a set of boots several feet away before they pushed off the floor and continued heading for the wall.

Pushing past a final divider, they saw unfiltered light spilling in through a missing piece of wall. They threw themselves through the gap, standing on the narrow window frame still intact on the exterior side of the building.

Just as they had remembered, a metal staircase laid just a few feet ahead.

They didn’t mean to hesitate, but stopping their momentum had apparently allowed a singular assailant enough time to catch up. A hand gripped the back of Hero’s shirt, preventing them from making the leap.

Damn they were fast.

Hero threw back an elbow, connecting with a set of ribs. The grip on their shirt loosened and they turned, their fist connecting to a jaw and then a cheekbone.

Speedy’s head snapped to the side and Hero was released. They pushed off the side of the building before they could fall, catching the railing with both hands and hauling themselves up and over it.

They landed on the fire escape with a clang. Hoping to throw off the group closing in, Hero scaled a level before ducking in a conveniently-open window into an apartment. Hero used the time it took them to cross the kitchen area towards the door to make an unwitting accomplice of the person that startled on the couch.

“Do the inside stairs have roof access?” They asked breathlessly.

The stunned resident simply nodded their head.

Hero barely waited for the response, already halfway across the hall by the time the person shouted after them.

They turned a corner and caught the shine of an elevator door sliding closed a few feet away.

“Hold it!” They called, and a man pushing a large trash can put a hand in the doorway, leaving Hero enough time to slip in just before it closed.

“In a hurry, today, aren’t we?”

Hero chuckled breathlessly.

“You have no idea.”

The man gestured towards the buttons on his side of the small elevator.

“Floor?”

“The lobby, please.”

Hero clasped their arms awkwardly in front of them, trying not to breathe too loudly as they watched the numbers tick down slowly on the electronic screen. When they finally reached the bottom, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to a fairly-active lobby. The door to the staircase was still closed, and Hero breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“After you,” the service worker waved, and Hero voiced their thanks before crossing the carpeted floor and passing through the revolving door.

Out of immediate danger, they slowed to an even pace, sliding off their beanie and slipping off their jacket to tie around their waist. They tossed the hat as soon as they could without getting ticketed for littering and entered the second shop they saw after turning down a different road.

They needed to get off the street, and fast. By now, word would be out about their betrayal.

Unfortunately, things had gone so off script that Hero found themselves on the opposite side of the city than their usual safe houses. They couldn’t risk getting near any police stations, and since this wasn’t the typical residential side of town, staying on the street after another hour or so would be incredibly suspicious. Those who worked went home soon, and those who lived here locked their doors.

Weighing those thoughts, Hero’s best option seemed to be to cross the city while they still could.

One change of clothes later, and Hero was back on a crosswalk, moving with a crowd dressed in mostly business-causal attire. Two more rights and they spotted a station, and graciously they had enough cash left to cover the fare for a ride all the way to South side.

The covered bench at which they waited was warm, but they couldn’t get comfortable. Their head was whipping in every direction, trying to identify if they were being followed. Paranoia creeped in and their neck muscles began to protest the strain of repeated movements. By the time they could board the Greyhound, the other citizens were eyeing Hero wearily.

Unconcerned with how erratic they appeared, Hero hopped on the bus, settling into a window seat in the middle. They relaxed as it started to move, shifting their gaze to the window.

Buildings upon buildings passed by, all slowly emptying as the minutes crept closer to the end of the business day. Idle chatter filled the bus.

The more blocks that passed, the more optimistic Hero became.

More commuters entered on the next stop. Exhausted, Hero paid no mind to the blue collar workers filling up the seats around them.

Some people must have pushed past the ones trying to exit the bus, because an older man in front of Hero made a comment about everybody being in a rush nowadays. Several people mumbled their agreement as someone settled into the seat beside Hero, holding a newspaper that crinkled as they sat.

“Trying to outrun the stressors of life, I suppose,” a woman replied from across the aisle.

Something tapped Hero’s shoe, and they leaned down to grab a water bottle that had rolled from the seat in front of them.

“You know what my dad always said about that?” The man beside Hero asked, setting down his newspaper.

Hero raised their arm to tap on the shoulder of the bottle’s probable owner.

Behind them, another person shifted, then answered lightly, “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

If Hero was anyone else, they would not have recognized the danger in Villain’s tone.

Before they could react, cold metal pressed to the side of their neck. In the reflection of the window, Hero could make out a hand holding a knife behind them. They flicked their eyes to the side, finally catching the bruising coming up on their seatmate’s cheekbone and jaw. In front, Blueprint turned and grabbed the bottle from their outstretched hand.

They were surrounded.

Part Two: You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid

[zerobasekazuha]

Pizza delivery person Venture x reader (Amab venture x GN reader)

This is more of a modern AU

For Sloane working at a pizza place was one of the easiest side jobs they’ve had yet. Besides working on archeology whenever they could, during the week they spent a majority of their time working at a pizza place. Granted it got the bills paid but it wasn’t as exciting as digging and finding rocks.

They worked specifically in pizza delivery. It wasn’t what they applied for, but it paid more than the kitchen staff and they received tips on top of the regular pay. One particular Tuesday it the temperature was quite high for this time of year. They sat inside the restaurant fanning themself with one of the plastic menus they kept inside. They hoped to have gotten a chance to deliver an order so they can sit in their car with AC and relax.

Eventually they received their first order on their shift. It was two large pizza’s, two sodas some breadsticks and the stores cookie dough. They waited around communicating with their coworkers as per usual when it came to orders they had to deliver. They didn’t want to receive the heat of the blame if something were to have been messed up. There have been very hard shifts for them. After the staff finished the food, Sloane packed everything up into the bright red pizza bag to keep everything warm and up to temperature. And they were out the door.

It was beautiful outside, the sky was a bright blue and the clouds almost looked dreamlike in the sky. They opened their car door sitting inside and turning on the AC almost immediately. They then began to drive to the address on the GPS. The trip wasn’t far, only around 10 minutes away from the restaurant. They knocked on the door and tried to present themselves as nice as possible.

Sloane had messy brown hair and this bright red cap that sat on top of it. The uniform they wore was a red button up with the logo on the left pocket. They were required to either wear black or khaki pants. They chose the khaki. They also wore a nonbinary pin on the hat just to remind people what they went by without them having to say it.

The order didn’t take long and they received a $20 tip. Making their way back to their car they received a call from the kitchen staff that they have another order. They picked it up and it was pretty simple. A personal pan pizza, a sprite and some breadsticks. They followed the GPS and ended up at an apartment complex.

Once they got there and knocked on the door they looked at the person who came. They were attractive beyond means. They began to blush and stammer over their words. “I uh, I have a pizza for you!” How embarrassing.

“Thank you, how much do I owe?” Y/n asked as they grabbed their wallet. Sloane grabbed their phone to look at the price. It was only $20. “20 dollars.” They said trying to avoid looking at the person inside the home too intently.

“Oh shoot I don’t think I can pay..” Y/n said looking down at the ground before at them. They gave a smirk before an idea formed in their mind. “How else could I pay you pizza delivery person?” Y/n asked coming a little closer to them. Sloane didn’t think this was real. Their mind short circuited and they had the bright idea to use their tips to pay for it.

“Nah don’t worry about it I can use my tips, I mean pause not like that, unless-“ Sloane had to stop themselves. But it seemed to have amused Y/n. Hearing them laugh sparked something within them. They wanted to be the one to make them laugh all the time. “That’s sweet of you.” Y/n would peck their cheek making their cheeks as red as a crayola marker.

On the way back to the pizza place Sloane didn’t care that they had to use their tips to pay for the pizza, they had a newfound obsession in which they hoped they would see Y/n again as a more dominant pizza delivery person.

(Sorry if this isn’t the greatest, I seen a post on Twitter about pizza delivery Venture and had to write something about it. I considered making it smut however I’m not sure if I should. Maybe I could make a part 2 that is.)