#if anything is wrong with this please be nice!

[marvelstoriesepic]

Halfway to Saying It

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You agree to a date with another guy to forget about the boy you’ve loved forever, only to acknowledge that your heart keeps finding its way back to him.

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: pining; emotional hurt/comfort; unresolved feelings; self-worth worries; perceived unrequited love; jealous!Bucky; sad!Bucky; two idiots in love

Author’s Note: This took me a while to write and post, but now it’s here, so please bear with me. It’s part of my little roommate series A Window Open to the Moon, but can be read as a standalone. And y’all, these two are idiots here, I’m not even exaggerating. But they’re idiots in love, and I’ll be honest, this could be me lmao. Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“I’m feedin’ the cat.”

Bucky’s voice sounds like he is announcing something so important it should have come with a press conference.

You’re standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a half-empty iced coffee sweating in your hand, the strap of your bag still hanging off one shoulder. You’re not even sure why you came in here. To tell him, you think. Because you always tell him things. Even the stupid ones. Especially the stupid ones.

And this might be the stupidest thing yet.

“He asked me while I was waiting for my order,” you continue softly. “Said he liked my sweater.”

Bucky still doesn’t look at you. He’s bent over Alpine’s dish as though he is performing surgery, shaking dry kibble into the bowl with intense concentration, as if getting the measurement right might save a life.

The tiny white kitten trots up on quiet feet, tail high, and starts crunching away.

“I’m feedin’ the cat,” he mutters again, scooping out the tiniest bit of pâté as though it is a peace offering.

“You said that already.”

“Still true.”

You chew on your bottom lip, watching his broad back and how his shirt pulls at the shoulders when he moves.

“And, um,” you keep going. “I said yes.”

His hand stills mid-pour.

There is a pause. A second. Maybe two.

Bucky is still crouched there, as though Alpine’s lunch is the most emotionally taxing task of the century. As though he isn’t listening, but you know he is. Bucky always listens, even when he doesn’t want to.

You cross your arms, trying not to feel the cold silence between you. You try to fill it.

“He was nice. Funny. A little awkward, but sweet.”

Nothing.

You blink. A small laugh slips past your lips, a little uncertain. He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t make a joke like he usually would. You watch the way his jaw shifts, that muscle in his cheek ticking just barely, and for some reason it makes your stomach flutter in the wrong kind of way.

“Sounds great, doll.” He sounds distant. Bucky gives Alpine a little scratch behind the ears. She mewls softly, nuzzling his fingers as though she tries to reassure him.

“I’m not gonna marry him or anything,” you add with a nervous chuckle, because now you feel ridiculous. You wish you hadn’t said anything.

With a grunt, he scoops another time.

“Buck, I think she’s had enough.”

“Nah,” he says, but his voice is quieter. “She’s small. She’s still growin’.”

He won’t look at you. That’s the part that starts to hurt. Really hurt. Bucky always meets your eyes, always smirks a little, always throws you some teasing quip that makes your chest ache in the most confusing ways. But he’s not doing any of that.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

His head tilts just slightly. Still facing Alpine. He shrugs one shoulder and it seems the movement costs him something. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” you answer quietly. “You tell me.”

The sound of Alpine’s chewing seems almost exaggerated now, as though she is mocking you with tiny, delicate crunches.

“He really seemed nice,” you offer, unsure who you’re trying to convince.

“Hm.”

“He has a rescue dog named Harold.”

“A real winner.”

You pause.

“Bucky.”

He stands. Slowly. Still doesn’t look at you.

The kitchen is too quiet, too warm. The sunlight is cutting across the counter in slanted golden lines, hitting the edge of the fridge where you stuck a magnet that says Do not eat my leftovers unless you wanna lose a finger. His handwriting. Sharpie. Bold strokes.

He finally turns, arms folded across his chest, his hair a little messy in the front as though he’s been raking a hand through it. His grey shirt fits him too well and he’s wearing those flattering pajama pants and socks with tiny cartoon bananas on them.

The domesticity of him hurts your feelings.

“So,” he acknowledges, voice too level. “You’re going on a date.”

You try to smile, and it feels crooked on your face. “Yeah.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

He nods. One of those tight, one-second-too-long kind of nods.

“That’s great,” he says, and it is, objectively, the worst lie anyone has ever told.

You tilt your head at him.

He looks down at Alpine’s bowl, which now contains enough for a three-course meal and a snack for later.

He leans down to pick up a kibble Alpine flung on the tile and you watch him fuss with the bowl as though it holds the answer to every question he’s too scared to ask.

She has enough food in her dish to survive at least three mild apocalypses. One more scoop and she might unionize.

You lean your hip against the doorframe, iced coffee sloshing in your hand. “You know, I think she’s good, Buck. Pretty sure she’s full.”

Bucky shrugs again. His favorite gesture when he doesn’t want to tell you something. And he doesn’t. Not always. His silences can be long, sleepy rivers you’re always tempted to wade into, just to see if he’ll pull you under or let you drown in the quiet.

“I’m makin’ sure.”

You raise an eyebrow at him.

Bucky sighs. Scratches the back of his neck as though it itches with something.

You look at him for a long moment. Let yourself really look. He won’t really meet your eyes which means you can see everything else. The way his jaw keeps tightening, loosening. The faint pink blooming high on his cheeks like embarrassment is trying to sneak out of him. The way his fingers twitch as though they want to do something - as though he is trying to put the world back in order but keeps dropping all the pieces.

“I didn’t think you’d say yes,” he remarks eventually, and it comes out too fast. Too quiet. As though maybe he didn’t mean to say it at all.

Your heart gives a little jolt. Stupid thing. Useless thing. Always hoping.

“Why not?”

He shrugs, fiddling with a spoon for no reason at all. “I dunno. Just- Never thought you were into that type.”

You raise a brow. “You don’t even know what type he is.”

“I can guess.”

You keep your arms crossed. “And what do you think my type is?”

And Bucky looks at you. Right into you. And there is something like grief in his expression. As though you dropped a stone in his stomach and now it’s sinking, dragging the rest of him down with it. “Not guys who can’t spell their own name without checking their Instagram bio.”

You snort. “You don’t even know if he’s that kind of guy, Buck.”

“Again,” he repeats flatly. “I can guess.”

You bark out a laugh, mostly because it’s that or burst into tears. “Wow. Harsh.”

He grins, just for a second, and you want to wrap it in tissue paper and tuck it in a drawer. Keep it safe. Look at it later.

There is a pause. Long and soft. The kind where breathing feels like breaking the rules.

You pick at your fingers. “He just asked. I thought - maybe I should say yes. Try something new.”

Bucky nods again. Slower this time. “Yeah,” he states, voice low. “Makes sense.”

He then he watches Alpine - sweet, nosy, manipulative Alpine - as she rubs up against his ankle and then immediately loses interest, padding off to lie dramatically in the sunbeam on the floor as though she is done with both of you. Probably is. Probably thinks you’re idiots.

“She’s gonna get fat if you keep feeding her like this,” you state plainly.

“She’s emotionally complex,” he mutters, but his voice sounds far away.

There is something hanging in the air now. Something heavy and slow, like a fog rolling in off the coast of a conversation you weren’t ready to sail into.

You look down at your coffee cup. Consider how this all feels. How he feels.

Standing, but stiff, his back drawn tight. The sleeves of his soft shirt stretch over his shoulders. He is so present. So here. A permanent thing in your life. Familiar. Necessary. You’ve had him next to you for years, the way you have your favorite hoodie, or the chipped mug you refuse to throw out because it feels like home in your hands.

You take a breath.

“Look,” you start sweetly. “I know you worry, Buck.”

He freezes. Lets out a heavy breath. His shoulders shift.

You assume he knows just how worried he gets. He worries when you get home late and forget to text. He gets all twitchy when you wear that one coat that doesn’t zip right. He always makes sure you walk on the inside of the sidewalk. He kept checking your brakes after you mentioned your car made a weird noise, even though you were sure it was harmless. He drove six blocks looking for you in socks that time you said you were going to walk home from the train station.

He has always been like that. Big feelings, quiet hands. Careful with everything but himself.

“And I know that’s why you’re acting all weird about this.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.”

“I was just feedin-”

“Bucky-”

He exhales again, this time longer. As though maybe he is letting something go. Or trying to hold something in.

“I just-” he starts, then stops. Rubs a hand over his face, as though he can smooth out the thing he doesn’t want to admit.

“You don’t know him,” you begin, before he tries to dodge the conversation again. “But I really think he’s nice. Not like, take-home-to-meet-the-cat nice. Well, yet. But… kind. Polite. Smart, I think. He asked me out in a normal way. Respectfully.”

Bucky makes a face as if respectfully is offensive.

“He told me I had a nice laugh,” you add.

Bucky doesn’t even flinch. He just clears his throat and stands a little straighter. His knee cracks and Alpine bolts across the floor as though someone dropped a vacuum.

You take a few steps into the room and set your coffee down, because your hands feel too warm all of a sudden. “You don’t have to like him, Buck. I just thought… I don’t know. You’d maybe ask what I’m gonna wear. Or tell me to send my location in case he turns out to be a serial killer.”

He is stone in sweats and a shirt, and somehow it breaks your heart.

“I was gonna get there,” Bucky mumbles. “Eventually.”

You can feel your heart sink just a little. Just enough to know you shouldn’t have expected anything. Not from him. Not about this.

You didn’t want him to be protective.

You wanted him to care.

Not because he’s your roommate. Not because he’s your best friend. Not because he worries.

But because he likes you.

Because he’s been pining the same way you have.

You glance down at Alpine who is now sitting next to the counter, licking her paw, uninterested. Maybe even she can’t fix this one.

“I just thought you’d be happy for me,” you tell him. Soft. Small. A little hurting. “It took a lot to say yes, you know? I never say yes. But I thought- maybe- I should try.”

Bucky looks as though he’s been punched.

His eyes are wide, unsure, as though he just realized he made you feel like you’re not worth celebrating. That he let his feelings sit too long in silence, and now they’ve curdled into disappointment instead of support.

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, cheeks pink, hair falling into his eyes. “Shit, doll. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrug. Try to smile. “It’s fine. I get it. You don’t have to be excited.”

But that’s not what he wants to hear. You can see it in the way his shoulders sag. In the way his mouth opens like he’s going to say something and then closes again like it hurts.

He looks off balance. As though he is trying to stand on something that’s not quite there.

“I just don’t want you to go out with someone who makes you forget what you deserve.” His voice is soft, too soft, and his eyes are tired and deep in that tender way that makes you want to cup his cheek and ask him what’s really wrong.

You blink. “What?”

Another shrug. But it’s heavier now. “Some guys are good at bein’ nice. For, like, a while. ‘Til they get what they want. And then they change.”

“Bucky-”

“I’m not sayin’ he will,” he adds quickly. “I’m just… I dunno. Maybe I’m just being an ass.”

You frown at him a little. “You’re not-”

“I just-” he interrupts, gesturing haphazardly at Alpine, the bowl, the sunlight on the floor. “I like when you’re happy, y’know? That’s all. Even if it’s not ‘cause of me.”

You stare at him.

He is staring at the wall behind you.

Alpine yawns with a little squeak.

Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your sleeve. You don’t want him to know that your heart’s being weird again. That it did that little skip-jump-stumble thing it always does when Bucky says something just a little too soft, a little too close to the line you swore he wouldn’t cross.

He glances down at the kitten, then back at you. “Look, I’m just- I’m not good at this kinda thing, alright? Feelin’ stuff. Sayin’ stuff. Especially when it’s not what I wanna feel.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice is confused. Your mind and body are confused. Because where is he going with this?

He pauses. Runs a hand through his hair as though he tries to rearrange all the thoughts he doesn’t want to have in the first place.

“I mean-” he begins, then shakes his head, not looking at you. “Nothin’. Forget it. Just- don’t go thinkin’ I don’t care. ‘Cause I do. You know that, right?”

You nod slowly. Still not enough.

Bucky shifts on his feet. Alpine meows as though she’s giving him a nudge. Bucky stops, scoops her up in one arm, and meets your eyes with a drawn out sigh.

“You’re right. He’s probably a good guy. Deserves a shot, yeah?” His voice is low, quiet. A little flatter around the edges. “You should go.”

Something in your chest crumbles. Because he means it. He’s trying. Even if it’s killing him. He is working so hard to sound okay even when he’s clearly not.

You want to wrap your arms around him. You want to say forget the date and stay in and watch a bad movie and eat cereal on the couch with your knees touching and your feelings buried under laughter. But you can’t. Because you said yes. Because you have to try. Because he never did.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “But if Alpine throws up, it’s on you.”

His mouth twitches - almost a smile. “Kid’s got an iron stomach.”

Alpine wiggles in his grip and lets out a soft mrrp. You both laugh.

And then - like he flips a switch - Bucky straightens up. Rolls his shoulders. Clears his throat.

“So,” he says, in a voice two notes too cheerful. “You want me to help you pick an outfit, or you wanna go full surprise?”

“What?” You laugh softly.

“I mean, if this guy’s gonna be all respectful and admirin’ your laugh and whatever, he better lose his mind when he sees you, too. That’s basic manners.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re joking.”

He grins, a little forced. “C’mon. I’ve got taste.”

“Oh yeah? What are your qualifications?”

He leans against the counter next to you, arms still around Alpine, pretending to be cool even though you can see his ears turning red.

“I live with a style icon,” he says, nodding at you. “And a cat with a crown-shaped food bowl. I know fashion.”

You laugh despite yourself. Despite everything.

He smiles too, but quieter now. It is a soft, deflated thing curling up at the edges of his mouth. Something that says he is trying, even though part of him is crumbling like paper in the rain. And the spark in his eyes that always flares when he makes you laugh is gone.

You glance at Alpine. Her tail flicks as though she knows something. She meows as though you’re wasting her time.

Bucky is holding the cat in his arms as though he’s holding onto both of you as best he can.

****

You open the bathroom door with slow fingers, the soft click of the handle echoing into the hallway like the opening chord of a song that might end in heartbreak.

The light spills out behind you, golden and warm, hanging onto your silhouette like some kind of halo.

Your cheeks are warm and flushed from the heat of the curling iron and your heartbeat, and your dress clings just right on the places that matter.

You catch your reflection in the mirror on the wall next to the bathroom door and hope this better be enough to distract a man from looking at his phone every four seconds.

You feel it before you even step out. His eyes.

They’re on you the second you cross the threshold, and you try not to shiver under his attention. Even though you spent the last hour preparing for this - shaving, moisturizing, curling, painting, fluffing, glossing. You did the work. You look good. You know that. You feel the rare glimmer of confidence like a sugar rush in your veins.

But when you look up and meet his eyes it’s like your breath jumped out the window.

Bucky is standing near the living room archway, leaning against the frame as though he didn’t mean to be waiting, as though he just happened to be passing through at the exact moment you emerged, and it’s a poor performance. He is terrible at casual. His arms are crossed, muscles tense, jaw locked up tight, Alpine balanced like a bread loaf on one broad forearm, completely disinterested in the tragedy of the moment.

In his other hand he is holding a glass of water he clearly doesn’t need. Something to do with his hands, maybe.

You fully step into the hallway.

Bucky blinks once.

Twice.

His mouth opens and doesn’t quite recover.

The silence eats a hole right through your stomach.

You stand there for a second, your fingers fiddling with the chain around your neck, your heart in your throat, your entire body one big, glittering question mark.

Bucky is frozen as though someone just hit pause on his thoughts.

“…damn,” he lets out, voice low, hoarse like he forgot how to use it. “You, uh-”

He shifts Alpine as though she’s in the way of his words.

“You look-” He swallows. “You look beautiful, doll.”

Heat curls up your neck so fast you feel dizzy with it.

And then he shakes his head a little, forcing himself to regroup. “But- like, I mean- you don’t even need all that, y’know?” His hand starts gesturing to your entire body and then retreats as though he’s been caught stealing. “You look good, all the time. You didn’t have to do all this. Not for some guy.”

His voice trails off into something smaller, sadder. Something unpolished.

You laugh gently, mostly because you don’t know what else to do with the way your heart is behaving. It’s skipping. Misfiring. Tapping out a beat as though it wants to be caught. And for a second, you wonder what he would have done if you were dressed like this for him.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you say softly. “That’s sweet.”

He doesn’t answer. Just nods. Too fast. As though he’s trying to convince himself it’s fine. Like it’s all good. Nothing tragic happening in his chest at all.

He looks at you as though he wants to say something more and keeps deciding against it.

You are smoothing your dress down, adjusting the hem even though you’ve done it twice already. There is this little flutter of panic in your chest that came out of nowhere, like maybe you went overboard. Like maybe he’s saying it out of politeness.

“Is it too much?” you ask, forcing the question through an anxious breath. You look down at yourself - your hair done, makeup soft and glowing, dress hugging you just right. “I mean- like, the dress, the heels, all of it. I haven’t been on a date in forever, and I don’t know, maybe I should’ve worn jeans and a shirt. He’s just some guy I met at a café and I probably look like I’m trying too hard-”

“Hey, doll. No, no, none of that.” Bucky sets the glass down. He doesn’t even notice it lands crooked on the table, and steps closer, that familiar furrow between his brows. He meets your eyes and something inside of them is splintering. Quietly. Devastatingly.

“Doll, you look stunning, alright? You’re gorgeous.” He shakes his head as if the words won’t land unless he unsticks them from somewhere deep in his chest. His throat bobs. “And not just tonight. Always. You didn’t have to do a damn thing to knock the wind outta me, but here we are anyway.”

His voice breaks a little at the end. Softens. And for a moment there is something in his expression that looks like surrender.

Your heart does complicated things and you look away, biting down on a smile that is equal parts joy and ache. “That’s a bit dramatic, Buck.” But your voice is a little too close to breathless.

He huffs a laugh, but it’s dull. He rubs Alpine behind the ear as a distraction.

“It’s just the truth, doll.” His voice is quieter now. “You could never be too much.”

You smile, but it’s the brittle kind, the one that feels like holding your breath too long.

He is standing close. Close enough to feel him. Inside your body.

“Thanks, Buck,” you say again. And you mean it. But you need to get this conversation out of your head before you start climbing him and forget the other guy.

You walk over to the table to grab your bag, and he follows a few steps behind, like Alpine when she’s pretending not to beg.

You check your earrings in the mirror beside the door, fluffing your hair where it is curled at the ends. You feel his stare like pins on your skin.

“You sure this guy’s okay?” he asks, as if he’s just casually curious. As if he isn’t dying.

You glance at him through the mirror. “I think so. He seemed nice.”

Bucky’s eyes dart away. His fingers are fiddling with the ring on his index finger. “Just sayin’, if he does anything shady, you come home. Immediately. No questions. I’ll make you popcorn. We’ll put on a bad movie. Just us.”

Your chest stings.

“You got pepper spray?”

“Bucky-”

“Does he know you’re allergic to fake cinnamon?”

“I don’t think we’re going to a candle store.”

He breathes out a laugh, but it breaks halfway through.

You hesitate. “Are you going out tonight?”

“Nah.” He waves a hand. “Just hangin' in. With Alp. Probably gonna order takeout. Watch some crime documentaries. Y’know, real cheery stuff.”

You nod slowly. “No Steve? No Sam?”

He shrugs, noncommittal. But it’s like something in his chest caves with the movement. “They got stuff goin’ on. I’m good here,” he declares in a voice too casual. “Gotta be here when you get back, right?” he says, trying to grin. Failing. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t trip over your heels comin’ up the stairs.”

You stare at him, at his subtle sadness and twitchy hands and the way he looks at you as though he is memorizing the moment in case he never gets another. As though he is already grieving something that hasn’t happened yet.

The part of you that wanted this date feels smaller now.

Alpine meows.

You don’t know whether to hug him or stay perfectly still or cancel the date and climb into his lap.

You want to curl up with Bucky and Alpine and forget the whole damn date. But instead, you slip your phone into your clutch with hands that suddenly feel too clumsy to belong to you.

“Text me, alright?”

You glance up at him, confused. “Yeah. Of course.”

“I mean it,” he says, stepping forward, Alpine tucked into his arm like a security blanket. “If this guy makes you uncomfortable, if he talks with his mouth full, if he looks at his phone too much- you call me.”

“Bucky-”

“I’ll come get you,” he insists, eyes fierce now, worried. “I’ll walk there and drag you out myself if I have to. Just promise me. You text me. You don’t sit through some crap date because you’re tryin’ to be polite.”

You smile, helpless under the sheer care in his voice. It tugs at your ribcage.

“I promise.”

His jaw ticks as though it’s not enough. As though even your promises aren’t safe anymore. He is still staring at you.

There is a second when he opens his mouth again. And you swear you see it rush over his expression - that he’s right there, teetering on the edge of saying something different. Something deep. Something important. Something sharp and glittering and buried under years of I shouldn’ts and she wouldn’t want me like that and she deserves better.

And you almost find yourself hoping another aching time.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, he presses his lips together. As though sorrow has already folded itself under his tongue.

His eyes flick toward the door, and it stings.

“I think he’s a good guy,” you reassure quietly, trying to fill the silence with something easier. Safer. “He seemed sweet. You don’t need to worry, Buck.”

He snorts. Humorless. Looks at the kitten in his arms as though she needs all his attention right now. Alpine mewls once as if to agree.

“Yeah. Sweet,” he mumbles, brushing a hand through her fur. “Still- just… be careful, alright?”

You nod. He doesn’t look up.

“If he’s late, or he says anything that makes you feel weird, or you’re not havin’ fun - you let me know. Just give the word, I’ll come swingin’. In sweats and all.”

That earns a small laugh from you. But he still won’t meet your eyes. He scratches Alpine behind the ears while she blinks at you with innocent, unknowing affection.

“I will, okay? Promise. But really, I mean, the date could be great,” you offer, voice a little unsure.

His expression changes so subtly you would miss it if you didn’t know him that well. His shoulders deflate, the corner of his mouth tugs downward as though gravity finally got to him, as though someone popped a balloon in his chest and now he’s trying to remember how to stand.

“Yeah,” he says, too quiet, too distant. “Could be.”

There is a knot forming in your chest. A slow-growing tension that seems half regret and half longing. Bucky is towering over you, but he still seems so small like this. Folded in on himself. As though he is trying not to break in front of you.

You take a step toward him, heart hammering in your throat. You lift up onto your toes, lean in, and press a kiss to his cheek.

Soft. Careful. A brush of lips against faint stubble and skin that smells like cedar soap and him.

He goes still.

You feel his breath hitch. As though you just reset his entire nervous system. You feel the way he sways slightly toward you before catching himself, grounding himself back in the tension he wears.

You pull back and offer him the kind of smile that means everything and nothing at all.

“I’ll text you,” you whisper.

He swallows hard, nods once.

“Have a nice night, Buck,” you add, backing toward the door.

His voice is thick when he finally answers, barely above a rasp. “Yeah. You too, doll. Have fun.” It sounds like he’s underwater.

Alpine yawns as though this is all so exhausting.

You reach the door, one hand on the knob.

“And if he’s a jerk-”

“I call you. And I come home.”

You open the door and as it clicks shut behind you, you swear you can still feel his eyes on your back.

You lean against the door for a beat, heart knocking against your ribs in a pattern you’ve come to recognize.

Bucky doesn’t follow. He doesn’t call after you.

But inside, you know he’s still standing where you left him with Alpine clutched close, staring at the empty space you left behind.

And you want to go back inside. You want to spend your evening with him. You want to cheer him up and ease his mind with staying in.

But he didn’t stop you. So you don’t stop yourself.

****

You don’t remember most of the walk home.

The city buzzes around you in blues and golds, in late-evening puddles and the traffic lights changing colors.

The dark sky is soft and full and sighing, and the moon hangs above, following you home.

You hug your coat tighter around yourself. Your dress itches where it clings to your ribs, and your heels sound like guilt against the sidewalk.

You didn’t text him you were coming back early. You didn’t know how to say it without saying too much. Without exposing yourself for the fraud this entire night has made you feel like.

You tell yourself it’s because it’s not that big of a deal, that the date just ended early, naturally, like the way a song fades out instead of ending with a bang.

You tell yourself a lot of things.

You’re not sure which ones you believe.

Because the truth is - the guy was lovely.

He was kind. He smiled a lot, and asked good questions, and listened when you spoke. He pulled out your chair and paid for dinner and didn’t make weird jokes. He didn’t talk over you. He didn’t get too close too fast. He laughed with you. He was attractive. Safe. Sweet.

He was everything you’re supposed to want.

And still, you spent most of the night nodding at his stories while watching the condensation collect on your glass, wondering if Bucky had remembered to let Alpine sit on the windowsill and watch the city before shutting the blinds. Wondering if he was watching TV with the volume too low again because he gets a headache from the noise. Wondering what he has been eating tonight. Wondering if he was thinking about you the way you were thinking about him - constantly, painfully, like something in your head with no off switch.

Your date had asked you about your weekend plans, and you’d said “Oh, probably just hang out with my roommate.”

And your heart had tripped over the word, knowing it meant so much more than that. As though roommate is short for the boy I’ve loved for years but never touched.

The moment your date leaned across the table to compliment your eyes, you - soft idiot that you are - instantly heard Bucky’s voice instead. The way he always says stuff like that in passing, tossed casually between asking you if you’ve seen the TV remote or if there is leftover pizza in the fridge.

And it sits deeply in your chest. Sinking further with each passing beat - the truth.

You can’t give this guy a chance. Not the way he clearly deserves.

Because your heart is still living in a brownstone apartment with creaky floors and a broken light switch in the kitchen. With soft sweatshirts that aren’t yours but always end up draped over your desk chair. With a man who feeds your kitten as though it might end all the hunger in the world and treats you like you’re his favorite person.

You pull out your phone and reread the messages from Bucky, sent in ten-minute intervals.

“all good? Guy still got both kneecaps?”

“everything okay?”

“he better be treating you right.”

“or I’m showing up in crocs.”

You had smiled. Told him all was well. That the guy was nice. That you weren’t being kidnapped.

He replied with a thumbs-up emoji and then-

“lemme know when that changes.”

“and if he’s a jerk.”

“and if you need me to fake a plumbing emergency or something to get you out of there.”

You didn’t tell him you were already heading home.

Didn’t want to see the dot-dot-dot of typing, and then the silence.

Didn’t want to see hope, or disappointment, or relief.

Didn’t say you were going to try harder. That you’d hit your emotional limit somewhere between dessert and the walk to the subway.

You’re on your street now. The one with the crooked lamp post and the peeling red mailbox and the cat that’s not Alpine but sort of looks like her in bad lighting. You know this street by heart. You could walk it blindfolded, dizzy, drunk of heartache.

And there is your building. Soft lights glowing in the window above.

He’s up. Maybe waiting. Maybe not.

You pause outside the door. Let yourself lean against the brick for a second. Let your breath stay lodged in your throat. Because you’re not ready to walk in. You’re not ready to look at him and feel it again. Having the certainty that you are absolutely screwed, because you’re not able to get over your best friend even when going out with a nearly perfect guy.

But you also can’t stop thinking about the way he acted earlier. The way his voice broke so subtly. The tightness in his jaw, the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes, the tense silence around his body.

And you’re not supposed to hope.

You’ve told yourself that. Too many times to count. But tonight it sits so close to your heart, so deeply embedded, so hushed and burning.

Maybe his reaction wasn’t only about worry. Maybe it wasn’t just protectiveness. Maybe it wasn’t just Bucky being Bucky.

Maybe he was jealous.

You are trying so hard not to let that possibility bloom, trying not to name it or feed it, but it still grows.

Your heels clack against the building’s stairwell as you climb, one by one, pretending you aren’t listening for signs of life. Pretending you aren’t about to see him again after hours of spending your time with another guy but only thinking about him.

You reach the door.

The apartment is quiet on the other side, dim under the light of the single hallway lamp that always flickers twice before it stabilizes.

You slip your key into the lock and step inside on a breath.

You open the door with quiet fingers. The kind of careful that says I’m not sure what I’m walking into even though you know. Even though you always know. Because it’s home. Because it’s him. Because his jacket is still slung over the coat rack the same way it was when you left, and Alpine’s scratching post leans slightly to the left, and the lights in the living room are still on, soft and amber.

And there he is.

Sitting on the couch in sweatpants and a shirt still, one leg pulled up, socked foot balanced on the edge of the cushion. His phone lies screen up and plugged in right in front of him as though he has been waiting for it to light up again. As though he didn’t want to miss anything. As though it has already burned a hole into the cushion with how long he’s been staring at it.

He’s illuminated in the soft light of the TV where a half-hearted commercial flickers across the screen. He’s not really watching. The remote is in one hand, limp.

Alpine is a perfect little loaf on his chest, her head tucked against his sternum. His hand strokes her in slow, nervous passes, more fidget than affection right now.

He looks up the second the door closes behind you.

Not startled, exactly. More like the kind of flinch you feel under your ribs. Eyes sharp. Shoulders tight. As though your return is both a relief and a complication.

Alpine makes a soft, delighted chirp when she sees you, lifting her head and blinking sleepily.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is quieter than usual, as if he has forgotten how to speak at full volume.

You smile timidly. “Hey.”

He shifts his arm as though maybe he’s going to sit up, maybe he’s going to say more, but he just watches you. Not with the smug little smirks or teasing remarks he would usually toss your way. Not even with the tight, overprotective frown he wore earlier.

No, this is worse.

He’s trying so hard not to look like he’s waiting.

The soft clink of your keys in the bowl by the entryway is too loud in your ears.

“You’re back early,” he utters after a pause. His voice is low, rough with something not quite sleep and not quite surprise.

You nod and toe off your shoes slowly. You pretend your heart doesn’t stutter when you see the way his eyes drag over your face as though he’s trying to read your mood.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Guess I was tired.”

He nods. Swallows. Looks as though he wants to ask something and then immediately regrets it. His hand moves to scratch Alpine between the ears but you beat him to it, crossing the room and crouching in front of the couch.

“Hey, sweetie,” you whisper, burying your fingers in her soft fur and scratching the spot beneath her chin that makes her purr like a lawnmower.

Your hand brushes his against the fur.

He doesn’t move. You don’t either.

When you look up, his eyes are on your face, darting around your expression as though he is searching for bruises that aren’t there. Words that haven’t formed yet. Meaning you haven’t chosen to give.

Alpine meows and you start moving your hand again, not having noticed your hand stopped under his gaze. You reach out to scratch the top of her head and your knuckles brush his chest. He twitches. You both pretend not to notice.

“She missed you,” he says softly, swallowing gruffly as though it might steady the wobble in his voice.

You give him a small smile. “Missed her too.”

Alpine leans into your touch and, because she’s draped over him, your fingers trail briefly over his shoulder when you scratch under her chin. He is warm. Stiff, but warm.

You don’t sit. You hover. You don’t know why. Maybe because sitting means staying and you haven’t decided yet if your heart is capable of holding everything tonight.

“You okay?” Bucky asks. It’s gentle. So careful. Too careful. As though if he speaks to you wrong, you’ll pull away from him forever.

You shrug, eyes on Alpine. “Yeah.”

He nods slowly. Waits. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say more, but you don’t know what more would even look like. It’s a shape you can’t hold yet.

“I mean, he was nice,” you add, because you feel like you have to. Like it’s some sort of requirement. Like you need to prove to yourself and him that you tried. That it mattered. That it didn’t.

“Good,” Bucky replies. He clears his throat. “I mean- I’m glad. I figured he’d, y’know… be decent. Or whatever.”

You shift a little closer. Your knees brush the couch.

“Yeah, he was,” you admit quietly.

Bucky nods, but it seems to be a heavy gesture for him. There is something anxious behind his eyes.

“So…” he starts, then stops. Clears his throat roughly, as though it got stuck somewhere behind his teeth. “…You seein’ him again?”

The question is soft. Uneven. Barely anything. As though he’s asking if the sky plans to rain. But it sounds practiced. In front of a mirror, maybe. Or mouthed to the ceiling between glances at his phone.

You pause. Draw in a breath.

You don’t look at him.

Your fingers drag down Alpine’s soft spine, slow, as though it might stop your thoughts from chewing on themselves.

There is something about the way he asks it. Something that pulls at a string inside you that was already frayed and coming undone the whole way home.

You sigh. A long, slow exhale that sounds like defeat.

You feel his eyes on you.

And then you shake your head. “No. I don’t think so.” And it feels like something falling out of you. Soft and resigned and a little afraid.

You see him in the corner of your eye. He doesn’t speak. Just waits. The quiet stretches, elastic, until it almost snaps. His hands have gone still. He has gone still. Completely.

“I mean, he really was a nice guy,” you affirm, as though the explanation might make the no easier to carry. “He was early. He paid. He even pulled my chair out. Held the door. Laughed at the right moments. He talked about his sister. It was- it was good.”

You stop. Swallow hard. Sigh harder.

You say all this as though you’re reading the bullet points off a recipe for happiness. And still, nothing. No spark. No fire.

“But?” Bucky prompts on a breath, so soft.

You lick your lips. Shake your head.

“I don’t know. He did everything right. But the whole time I just…” You trail off. Look down. His gaze dips, searching your face. “I guess, I wasn’t really there, tonight.”

Bucky says nothing.

You don’t tell him that the reason you couldn’t focus, couldn’t stay present, couldn’t even taste the food properly was because you kept hearing his voice in your head. Kept imagining what he’d say about the music in the restaurant, or how he’d roll his eyes at the way your waiter pronounced gnocchi.

Or that you kept thinking about Alpine knocking Bucky’s cereal bowl over yesterday. And the fact that he always hides the yellow skittles because he knows you hate them. And him laughing at those bad commercials, and the weird humming noise he makes when he brushes his teeth.

You don’t say any of that.

But maybe he hears it anyway. Because he’s still watching you with that sweet, unreadable look. As though he’s trying to figure out which part of you he’s allowed to hold.

“Okay,” he murmurs, after a moment. Not smug. Not satisfied. Just warm. Gentle. The way someone sounds when they’ve been holding their breath and they finally get to exhale. And he does seem to breathe easier. Looser.

His eyes drop. Then rise again, fast. “You look beautiful, by the way. Meant to say that earlier. I mean- I did. I said it. But-”

You smile, small. “Thanks, Buck.”

He clears his throat and shifts on the couch as though he suddenly remembers he has a body.

He looks at his lap, then back at you. “I, uh- I got takeout,” he says, as though he’s trying to move the conversation onto safer ground. “Just in case. Thought maybe you’d be hungry after.”

Your chest tightens. “You didn’t have to-”

He shrugs, looks at Alpine. “Didn’t know what mood you’d be in. Figured it wouldn’t hurt either way.”

“Thank you,” you say, voice softer than you meant for it to be.

“Welcome,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “And well, you always say you’re not hungry and then you eat half my spring rolls. So.”

That earns him the tiniest giggle from you.

He lights up a little.

You stand slowly, dropping your purse to the floor with a thud. “I’m not hungry,” you admit, sinking down onto the couch beside him. “Just tired.”

And you are. But not just from the night. You’re tired of pretending. Of swallowing how you feel. How he makes you feel. Of dancing around truths that tremble between you two like overfilled cups.

You reach for the remote, brushing against his thigh as you do. He stills as though your touch is a match to his skin.

The screen flashes something mid-scene - some low-budget crime show with horrible lighting and a suspiciously attractive cast.

You shift deeper into the couch, your knee brushing his. The screen continues flickering. Someone’s shouting about getting the suspect and a car explodes a second later with all the realism of a microwaved burrito.

You squint. “What even is this?”

Bucky briefly glances at you when he answers. His voice is half a mumble, half a smirk. “Special Crimes Unit 9. Or maybe 11. They keep changin’ the number every season.”

You turn your head to him. Utterly unimpressed. “Is this the one where the coroner uses a cookie cutter to get evidence out of a corpse?”

He grins. You see it. You feel it. “You remembered.”

You sigh, overly dramatic, because it’s the only appropriate response. “How could I forget? I think about it at least once a week. You owe me therapy for that.”

Bucky chuckles - low and breathy and genuine. You think maybe it’s your favorite sound in the world. You’ve heard it hundreds of times and it still makes your spine sit up a little straighter. It makes your ribs feel too small for your lungs.

You both watch in silence for a moment. There’s a woman on screen wearing six-inch stilettos to a crime scene. You raise an eyebrow. Bucky hums.

“Very practical,” he states dryly.

“So tactical,” you reply, deadpan.

You glance over and find him already looking at you. His smile is quiet, more of a curve than a grin. It reaches his eyes a little bit, just a little, and softens the space between his brows. He looks more relaxed now, eased further into the cushions. You don’t look away, even though you should. You should.

But he’s so close. And he’s warm. And your body always seems to tilt toward him like a sunflower.

Then Alpine, that little traitor of a feline angel, climbs into your lap with all the elegance of a marshmallow being lobbed onto a plate. She settles in, promptly making biscuits on your thigh. Her paws press in soft little patterns and her tail swishes over Bucky’s leg.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, petting her head. She tips her chin up like a queen receiving tribute. She’s purring loudly.

“She’s so attached to you,” Bucky murmurs, watching as Alpine headbutts your hand almost aggressively while you stroke her fur. “Startin’ to think I’m just the guy who opens her food.”

He’s got that half-smile again. But it’s just a little smaller now. Not the usual smirk. Just soft. Something that doesn’t know it’s been seen.

You smirk, scratching behind her ear. “Well, you do open her food like a pro.”

“That’s my one skill. Impressive, huh?”

You giggle. It tumbles out of your mouth and echoes softly in the living room, bumping into corners and creasing into his smile. “So very impressive, Barnes. I’m proud of you.”

He laughs. And it’s real. And it makes your skin prickle. It makes goosebumps rise.

You glance at him again. He’s still looking at you. Not in the way you sometimes catch people looking at you. Not the idle glance, not the curious sweep. This guy is looking at you as though you’re the whole screen. As though he is memorizing your laugh because he wants to play it back later when it’s quiet and you’re not around and he misses the way your eyes crinkle.

The soft light makes his eyes darker, deeper. His hair is pushed back, messy from fingers you can’t stop imagining in your own hands.

He looks at you as though you already said the thing he’s been waiting to hear.

Your heart trips. But it doesn’t fall. It tries to recover.

He’s closer than before. Not by much, just a few inches maybe. But enough to notice. Enough to make you wonder if it was intentional or if the gravity between you is just inevitable.

There is a beat. A second. A heartbeat in between two breaths.

The TV keeps playing. Sirens and dramatic synth music. But it’s not present in your mind. The real show is here. His eyes snap to your mouth. Just for a second. Just one.

You swallow. Look away.

He blinks. Clears his throat. Shifts again.

“So,” he says, voice a little raspy, nodding at the screen. “You wanna know what happens next or should I save you the trauma and tell you now that the killer’s definitely the janitor?”

You snort. “Always the janitor.”

“Guy’s just tryin’ to mop floors and everyone’s framing him for murder.”

You both laugh, too loud for the scene currently unfolding on TV. Bucky’s hand drapes over the back of the couch and it shifts slightly behind you. Not touching, but there. And you could lean back if you wanted. You could rest against him.

But you don’t.

Because your chest is already too full. Because if you speak, you’re scared you’ll say something you can’t take back.

Instead, you sit with him in the quiet, both of you surrounded by the purring of a small white kitten and the flickering nonsense of a terrible crime show.

And you let the silence say what you’re still too afraid to.

At least for tonight.

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever.”

- Alfred Lord Tennyson

[sourkiki]

dragon! riki x pussy eating

content: explicit mature content, monster-fucking (dragon), dragon! riki x fem! reader, pussy eating+fingering, squirting, face sitting, dragon-like features. wc: 961.

note: i can't be bothered to make this post nice, so yeah... i deleted my asks but to that anon who had requested this, this is for you!

You weren’t sure why you agreed to this but you weren’t complaining. At first, you were reluctant to give it a try. But if anything, Riki was kind and understanding. He didn’t force you to do anything, agreeing to go with your pace, even when it took him a solid five months for you to eventually have sex with him. One thing led to another and soon enough, you’ve graduated at the top of the class of being able to take him in his full size. 

“W-Wait, I don’t think—” You protested, voice borderline trembling as you dug your fingers into the bed frame, thighs shaking with your heart beating in anticipation and nervousness. 

“Don’t think. Just relax and let me do the work,” your boyfriend shushes you, drawing random patterns on your upper thighs. You tried to shift away, having second thoughts but with the way his tail was wrapped around your waist, you have nowhere to escape. 

You shakily exhaled, plucking up the remains of your courage and slowly lowered yourself. Riki purred in approval, eyes slitted as he abruptly tugged you down, catching you off-guard. You gasped when you ended up squarely sitting on his face, able to feel his nose rubbing against your clit. You wanted to lift yourself up—in fear of suffocating him but your mind blanked out the moment he did a long, flat swipe up your dripping pussy. 

“Fuck, missed this,” he groaned, voice muffled as he buried his face deeper into your pussy. Riki had to spread your puffy lips with two fingers, careful to not unsheath his claws so he could slide in deeper. 

“Oh gods,” you moaned, head tilting back at the delirious sensation of his long, slimy tongue tracing your gummy, velvety walls. You spasmed and tightened around his fingers, squirming about on the spot. 

You weren’t aware of the fact that you tried to move away with your back arching. Your action elicited a disapproved growl from Riki, who practically snarled, eyes flickering up to your face—a warning. And a silent warning, at that. Gulping, you readjusted your position, whimpering when he made no move to remove his tongue that was hitting places you thought it was impossible. 

“Stop moving, or you won’t get to cum,” he snarls. 

It was times like these where you get reminded that Riki isn’t human. No, he’s a dragon—a beast that has the ability to kill you with a simple turn of your neck or render you immobile by twisting your limbs. You should be afraid. Afraid of what he can do to you. But yet, a sick, twisted part of you felt aroused. Maybe it was the thought of what he can do, if he wished. You tightened around his fingers that had long stopped moving, making him smirked when he felt it. 

“What’s in your pretty little mind? Want me to break you, hm? Want me to sink my teeth into your neck, mark you as mine?” He coos, redrawing his tongue until only the tip—a two, splitted tip as he traces along your folds, collecting your dripping slick. 

“P-Please,” you whined, rolling your hips, only for him to hold you down with him digging his nails—now claws, into your skin. Hard enough to leave indents behind. 

“Desperate, needy little thing, aren’t you? You’ve been dripping nonstop, it’s like you’ve been wanting this,” he coos, faux sweetness in his voice as he rested his thumb on your clit, making no move to press down on it. 

You wanted to say something, anything to deny him, to tell him he’s wrong. But honestly, who are you kidding? The longer you dragged this out, the higher the advantage Riki has, in this mini tug-of-war game he always likes to play with you. Which was why you looked down at him, through your teary eyes and slightly blurred vision. Your lips curled down to a pout, hands pawing at his chest, like a kitten demanding for attention. 

“Please, make me feel good?” You pleaded, your words sending heat straight down to his cocks. 

Riki muttered an inaudible curse under his breath. In a blink of an eye, he flipped you around so you’re on your back as you laid on the bed. He didn’t give you time to regain your bearings, diving back into your pussy like a man on a mission. 

“Riki!” You cried out his name at a high-pitched tone, the sound echoed amongst the four stone walls of the bedroom. 

Your ears flushed red at the obscene, lewd sounds of him eating you out with his tongue and fingers sliding in and out of you, creating a consistent squelch, squelch sound. It’s like he’s fucking you with his tongue and fingers—a poor replacement of his cocks. 

“Oh fuck, gonna cum, gonna cum—” You whimpered, grabbing onto a fistful of his hair as you tugged him closer to your pussy, grinding into his skillful mouth as you reached your climax.

Hot, transparent liquid gushes from your pussy as you squirt all over your bodies. And yet, Riki didn’t pull away, stubbornly lapping them all up, like a thirsty dog. Your legs collapse to the sheets with a soft thud as you try to calm down from your orgasm. 

But, Riki has other ideas. 

You squeaked when he pulled you towards him by your ankles, his tail wrapping itself around your right thigh, forcing you to spread your legs for him. Riki positioned himself between your legs and he had already removed his boxers, revealing his cocks that stand proudly upright. You gulped at the sight, pussy clenching down on nothing. 

“You want this, right? Then, you better be prepared to scream my name,” he warns, a dangerous glint in his slitted eyes. 

taglist: @byshens , @hoonstqr , @emisluvr , @riqomi , @onlyywwon , @jjung-v , @jun2ki , @rikisoup, @chuhees

[karaeilish]

hi! could u write y/n calling billie another girls name while making out to prank her, but billie gets all possesive and fucks her dumb with the strap telling her to scream her name

⌗ WRONG, SLUT ━━ b. eilish

꩜ pairing & au :: fuckboy!billie x fem!reader

꩜ GENRE :: smut .

꩜ SYNOPSIS :: you need to be careful with pranking your girlfriend. especially when she knows how to tie tight knots. . .

꩜ WARNINGS :: smut . degradation . strap (r receiving) . mean!billie . tying up . rough sex . brat!reader . bil slapping r . red flag (?) billie . ꩜ WORD COUNT :: 1,5k

꩜ A/N — PLEASE . don’t copy & steal my works AND my layouts . m doing everything by myself and m not giving you any rights 🤍

billie was an absolute piece of shit. always. no matter how much you said 'i can fix her', no matter how much you tried to explain to her while she was high or drunk, nothing worked. every attempt was in vain, every time she would hang around other girls, courting them as if she could find someone better, more beautiful or more interesting than you. you both knew the answer to that question, she just couldn't get rid of the desire to own everyone, crawling to you on her knees the next day like a lost puppy. no matter how much she wanted it, you had no choice but to take her back, listening to her promises not to do it again.

and billie got used to your compliance, used to you always playing the 'good girl' and letting her do all the shit she does. she liked to have it all at once, everyone she wanted, while having you by her side, always forgiving. always too lenient with her. but no nerves are made of steel. at some point you got tired of putting up with her shit. you just had to… teach her a lesson. there was no grand plan of revenge from action movies or anything like that in your head, just a harmless prank that you knew would make her flare up.

and despite her behavior, billie took you very seriously, even too seriously. you can't be too nice, too friendly, too talkative with some strangers and not only strangers. she was possessive, she was jealous, she claimed you in front of everyone, although she knew she had no right to it. she acted like a complete idiot and continued to be a fucking child, throwing tantrums every time your hand touched someone’s shoulder.

you argued, quarreled, broke dishes, screamed in an attempt to admit that your opinion was right, but her only fucking argument was always — 'you're fucking mine. no one dares touch you, think about you, desire you, is that clear, darling? i don't care what you want'

your knees just buckled, your tongue went numb, and your body fell back into her arms, onto her cock.

you were her weakness, and she was yours. it was an unbearable tight circle, but that gave you an advantage —you knew her weakest spot, you knew where to hit her hardest to get her mad, so…

"hey, brit, can you—" you don't have time to finish your sentence. billie's eyes are instantly torn from the screen of her phone, her attention completely on you. you can almost feel her heart pounding in her chest.

“what did you just say?” her gaze could almost burn through your skin with its intensity. almost. you look at her so innocently it makes her teeth ache. trying to play the part.

“what? i was gonna ask you to get me some water.” you keep a calm face, raising one eyebrow as if you have no idea what caused her to react so strongly.

“don’t play with me, baby.” billie leans closer to you, squinting, her blue eyes darkening, reminding you of the depths of the pacific ocean. her fingers touch your chin, not squeezing, just letting you feel the pressure of her presence. “y'know that’s not my name.”

you laugh, pulling away from her demonstratively; trying to press even harder.

“since when ‘billie’ isn’t your name? go get your ears cleaned if you can't hear well" the words fall like sticky venom from your lips, accompanied by a caustic wink as you stand up from the couch, throwing your hair back dramatically. as soon as your feet hit the floor, billie is in front of you with inhuman speed, intercepting your hand, thick fingers squeezing your wrist with enough force that you feel her cold rings digging into your skin.

"fine, you want to be a brat? i'll treat you like one" she hisses somewhere against your cheek, her hot breath igniting a raging fire inside you.

"what's wrong with you, brit, i was just—" a lightning-fast slap cuts through the air, landing painfully on your cheek. nothing really cruel, but it quickly made you shut your mouth.

billie doesn't say a word. her nails dug into your wrist as she broke and pulled you towards the bedroom, not particularly gentle as she tossed you onto the large, soft bed. her glance gave you enough reason not to try and question it as she rummaged through the nightstand, and somehow, you knew immediately what she was looking for.

the strap landed on the bed. deep red, huge, thick, veins drawn along its enticing length. it was the largest in your ‘modest’ collection. all the words choked in your throat, remaining buried in your head.

“turn over. on your stomach.” when billie spoke in that tone, the only thing you could understand was that she wasn’t asking. she was commanding. this was not the moment to try to piss her off even more, but she deserved it. deserved to be mad at you, deserved to feel like she wasn’t the only woman in your life. you stay still. silent. sitting and looking at her.

billie meets your gaze. wild. the rope in her hands can tell you so much more than any words. and no matter how much you don’t want it, her strength is several times greater than yours.

she throws heather next to her, her calloused hands wrap around your waist, with a sharp movement turning you over onto your stomach. you resist, trying to turn over, but the force with which she holds you…

"lie still, slut. you wanted this, didn't you? no point in denying it now" her rough voice suddenly touches your ear, teeth grazing over sensitive skin. "say 'no' and i'll stop"

you remain silent.

she acts.

"that's what i thought" billie grins. grins because she knew for a fact that sometimes you wanted nothing more than her cock buried in your greedy cunt until you had her fucking baby.

the thick rope seems like the perfect weapon in her hands as she wraps a section around the headboard, then roughly grabs your hands one by one and ties them so tightly you want to cry.

"you have nowhere to run, princess" her hands are now on your stomach, forcing you to lift your torso off the bed, giving her a perfect view of your ass in those damn short shorts that was in the corner of the room in seconds. along with your soaking wet panties.

"fuck, are you wet already? after i slapped you, mm?" her palm lands on your ass with a loud slap, making you scream loudly, pulling the ropes until it hurts pleasantly. "or after i took you by force, like a cheap whore?"

all the existing billie right now is leaking poison, contempt, anger, which can only be cured in one way. by destroying you and your angelic body.

you whine, pouting, as if that can somehow help in your situation. as if something will save you from her wrath. no. from behind you you hear the sounds of a belt unbuckling, of it coming out of all its loops, falling onto the bed. billie unbuttons her baggy jeans, not even taking them off all the way. just pushes her boxers down, deftly securing the strap to her hips.

"time to learn to spell my name, doll" she spits on her hand, smearing it all over her cock, moaning so sweetly that you can almost believe that she feels it.

a hand on your throat, squeezing, choking, while she pushes into you, almost gently, giving you half a second to get used to her size. your pussy stretches around her thick strap, mouth opening, letting the long-awaited moans fly from your lips.

"so who's this slut whose name are you calling me by?" her hips suddenly start moving, not letting you get used to her pace, which within seconds had the headboard slamming against the wall. her hips slapped against yours, her fingers tightening around your throat.

"answer me, bitch" billie slaps you again, alternating them with cutting off your oxygen.

you struggle, you wanna make her suffer and wonder, like you did, but she's too, too deep in your tummy for you to even try to resist.

"n—nobody! just you!" there was barely a shred of self-respect left in your voice, the tip of her strap hitting your cervix with every damn thrust. billie smirks. of course, you're too loyal to look at anyone but her.

"just me, doll?" pause. long, painful. "then scream my name like an obedient little slut"

you whine. this is too much. she's too big inside you. you can't resist anymore.

"billie…!"

"louder"

"billie!"

♱ tags; @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch @mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises, @too-sapphic-to-function, @thefeverburningalive, @peytonglazesbillieeilish, @1nn3rthOughts, @thebluediner, @xiletay, @eilishsfantasy, @ariieeesworld, @peytonneilish, @clairrehwart, @emi-inspace, @ilomilobabyy, @aka-persephone, @hanoxoxo

[each-uisge-enthusiast]

anytime anyone is even a little mean to duke in the webtoon comments i start vibrating and foaming at the mouth i’m ngl

[littlemisskookie]

Ship: Childhood Frenemy/Roommate!Jungkook x Bitchy!Reader

WARNINGS: Extremely Mean Hard Dom!Jungkook, BDSM, Brat!Reader, Masochist!Reader, Sadist!Jungkook, Dub-Con, Extreme Face-Fucking, Oral (m. & f. receiving), Extreme Degradation, Extreme Humiliation, Facial, Face-Fucking Again (a different sort of way), Rimming (f. receiving), Dirty Talk, Overstimulation!!!!, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Scenes, Like these scenes are actually crazy, Slapping, Spanking, Fingering, Pussy-Slapping, Spit, Orgasm Denial, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Praise, Choking, Manhandling, Restraining, Hate Sex, Angry Sex, Possessiveness, Masturbation, Sex-Toys, Squirting, Dacryphilia, Cum-Play, Creampie, Jungkook has a HUUUUUGE Cawhk, Threesome? Reader is a bitch because I love them

Description: Your entire life, you only saw Jeon Jungkook as a nuisance you couldn’t escape from. But what happens after the two of you move in together, and the dreams that plague you force you to see him in a different light?

Currently at: 25k

Expected to be: 30k+

You kneeled before Jungkook, a whimper on your lips as he cockily smirked down at you, legs spread on the sofa chair to accommodate your space between them. He looked like a king, leaning back and tilting his head with a teasing expression. Like he knew exactly what you wanted, and now he was just dangling the carrot on the stick, tormenting you.

"C'mon, say it again."

You swallowed hard, eyes flying between his tantalizing crotch and his wicked expression. "Can I..." You licked your lips, mouth suddenly feeling dry. "Can I please suck your dick?"

"Oh? You want to blow me?" He laughed cruelly, shaking his head. "Why should I let you? You've been nothing but a bitch to me for years."

"I know, I just," you took in a sharp breath. "Just need it. I can't stop thinking about it. Need to get it out of my system."

“Hm, I’m not sure.” He cocked his head to the side, considering it. His eyes scanned your pathetic state in front of him. “Shouldn’t give brats what they want. Might give them the wrong idea.”

“Please! At least… at least let me see it.” You stared at his crotch ravenously, curiosity eating at you. Maybe even a glimpse would be enough to satiate you and put the issue to bed. Quietly, you said, “Please let me see it?”

“Mmm, you sound so sweet when you beg. You’re so nice when you want something.”

You nodded furiously, desperate for anything he can give you. “I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll do whatever you want.”

"Yeah? I don't feel like being nice to you, though, princess. Think you can handle that?"

Your mouth began to water, watching his legs spread a little wider. "Yes, I want it. Want you to be mean."

"You gonna choke on it?"

Nod.

"You wanna gag and drool all over yourself while you do it?"

You sharply inhaled. "Yes, please."

"I'm real big, princess. You sure you know what you're signing up for?"

"Yes! Please please please just let me suck your dick. I can't take it any more!" You felt like you were going to cry already from his teasing.

He smirked, shaking his head with disbelief at your desperation. You had no idea what you just signed up for. "Hm, if you say so. Go ahead and take it out, then."

[sereia4skz]

hihi! could i please ask for a daddy!innie? with age regressor reader? where, bc he’s always been treated as the youngest and the baby, isn’t quite sure how to help when reader regresses, but it’s super fluffy as she helps him figure it out? and maybe at the end he does something for her on his own and it’s super cute? love your works!!! <3

drabble | little lessons

pairing: caregiver!jeongin x little!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: age regression (non-sexual), use of caregiver/daddy titles, pacifier use, plushies, soft baby talk, insecure!Jeongin

word count:

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

Jeongin’s knee bounces under the table, thumb swiping back and forth across the rim of his mug. He hasn’t taken a sip of his tea in five minutes.

You’re curled up on the couch nearby, wrapped in your favorite blanket, pink pacifier bobbing gently with each breath. You’ve been in headspace since this morning, soft, quiet, and clingy, even more than usual. Your favorite plushie, the one he won for you at that awful street fair claw machine, is tucked under your chin like a shield.

He knows what this is. You’ve explained it before. Age regression. It’s something safe for you, something warm. It helps with the bad days. He wants to be good at this. He wants to be your safe place. But… he’s never been anyone’s caretaker before.

He’s always been the baby, the one who gets cooed at and teased and protected. He’s not used to this.

You peek over at him, big doe eyes blinking slow and sleepy behind your stuffy. You shift under the blanket like you’re unsure. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t quite stretch far enough.

“Daddy?”

It’s barely a whisper, just a puff of air around your paci, but Jeongin hears it like a song. His heart squeezes. He sets down his mug and crosses the room to kneel in front of you.

“Hi, baby,” he says softly. “You okay?”

You nod but wrinkle your nose. “You… far,” you mumble.

“I’m sorry, sweet pea. Wanna cuddle now?”

You nod again, a bit faster. He smiles and lifts you into his arms like you weigh nothing. He sits down on the couch and lets you curl into his lap, your legs over his and your cheek against his chest. His hand rubs slow circles on your back, grounding you. Your plushie ends up squished between you both like a tiny soft barrier.

It’s quiet for a while. Then, your fingers tug gently at his hoodie sleeve.

“Daddy’s... not smilin’,” you mumble. “Did I do s’methin’ wrong?”

His heart drops.

“No, no, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he promises, kissing the top of your head. “I’m just thinkin’. That’s all.”

You frown, pacifier falling from your lips to rest on your chest. “Thinkin’ makes Daddy sad?”

Jeongin chuckles softly. “Sometimes.”

He waits a beat. Then he sighs, finally brave enough to say it.

“I just… I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

You blink up at him. “Huh?”

“I wanna take care of you,” he says gently. “Be a good Daddy. But I’ve never… done this before. I don’t know what you need sometimes, and I get scared I’ll mess it up.”

Your little hands grab his hoodie tighter. “But you’re already a good Daddy…”

Jeongin leans back, touched, but also confused. “Yeah?”

You nod, cheeks puffing up in that little pouty way you do when you’re being very serious. “You hold me lots. You talk nice. You always make me snacks and put my plushie in the dryer when she gets wet. And you tell me you love me all the time.”

A smile finally cracks across his face. “That’s… a lot, huh?”

“S’a lot,” you confirm with a decisive nod.

Jeongin kisses your forehead. “Okay. Thank you, baby. That makes me feel a lot better.”

You beam.

And then you light up with another idea.

“Wanna teach Daddy?”

He blinks. “Teach me… how to help you?”

You nod shyly. “Can show you what I like. So you won’t be scared no more.”

Jeongin lets out a breathless little laugh. “Okay. Deal.”

“Pinkie promise?”

He grins, holds out his pinkie, and lets you wrap your tiny finger around his.

From there, the day turns into a lesson.

You show him your regression box, the one he’s seen you keep tucked in the closet. You pull out your coloring book and favorite markers, soft jammies, the pink sippy cup with the sparkly lid. He takes mental notes the whole time, even going so far as to pull out his phone and write a few things down.

“Does Daddy have a favorite color marker?” you ask as you both settle onto the floor to color.

“Hm… I think I like this blue one,” he says, holding it up. “It reminds me of the sky when you’re having a good day.”

You stare at him with wide eyes. Then you get up and crawl across the floor just to smoosh a kiss to his cheek.

He blushes like a cherry.

After snack time (apple slices and a little chocolate milk), you tug his hand and guide him to the bedroom. You hand him your bunny onesie with the floppy ears and whisper, “This one, please.”

He gets the hint.

“You want Daddy to help dress you?”

You nod, going a little quiet and shy again.

His voice lowers to a soft murmur. “Okay, sweet pea. Arms up.”

He’s gentle, moving slow as he helps you into the onesie, zipping it up and smoothing the fabric over your tummy. You peek up at him, eyes fluttering, clearly content. When he brushes your hair out of your face, you lean into his palm like a kitten.

He carries you back to the couch and lays you in his lap, humming quietly while you suck on your paci and hug your bunny close. You start to drift off, fingers curled around his sleeve.

“Love you, Daddy,” you mumble sleepily.

His heart just about bursts.

“I love you too, baby girl.”

That night, after you’ve gone to bed, small and soft and wrapped in your blankets, Jeongin sits on the couch for a long time, scrolling through parenting blogs and regression-safe caregiver tips. He even messages Chan for advice (though he plays it off like it’s for a “friend”).

He learns the difference between little space and being childish. He finds a list of bedtime routines that could help. He adds a reminder to his calendar: pick up more bubble bath & dino nuggies.

The next morning, you’re still feeling little when you wake up, but something’s different.

You blink sleepily at your bedroom door.

There’s a small pink sticky note taped to it. You crawl out of bed and pad closer to read it.

⋆｡°✩

Welcome to Little Day! Daddy made a plan for you! 💕

Morning Snuggles (with me!) Breakfast: Strawberry pancakes & juice Activity: Coloring time (Daddy found a new book!) Movie: Your pick (I’ll make popcorn!) Bathtime: Bubbles & toys ready Cuddles & bottle Bedtime story (you can pick 2!)

⋆｡°✩

Your eyes go wide.

Downstairs, Jeongin waits in the kitchen, already in an apron, flipping pink-tinged pancakes on the stove.

When you peek in shyly, he turns around and grins, soft and proud.

“Good morning, my baby,” he says. “Did you see the surprise?”

You nod slowly, fox plush in your arms.

He crouches to your height and opens his arms. “Come here.”

You run into his hug like it’s instinct.

“Daddy made your whole day special,” he murmurs into your hair. “All by himself. Just for you.”

“You’re the best,” you whisper, voice high and sleepy and full of wonder.

He squeezes you gently. “Nah. I’ve got the best little girl. I’m just finally catching up.”

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss

taglist pt2: @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere @bangchanspineapple

[n0rmal-cat]

Kpop demon hunters x reader- selling your soul for job experience Part 3

[i love you but...that hair has to go, also it took a little longer because i didn't want people to wait to long for 4]

part 1 part 2 part 4

It took the reader about an hour and a half to gather all the clothes they needed. “I got them!” they exclaimed, throwing the clothes at the boys.

“Ow…” one of them whined, rubbing his shoulder where the clothes made contact.

“Now go change! I need to see my vision realized,” reader insisted, gently ushering the boys toward the bathroom.

“Hold on, we can’t all go in together!” Jinu protested, glancing nervously back at the others.

The reader patiently waited by the door with derpy, who now had a little hat on. The door creaked open, and the boys stepped out one by one. “Yesss!... nooo....”

"I agree, this is stupid," Baby chimed in, crossing his arms and pouting.

"No, not you, you're perfect, you two on the other hand." reader studied romance and mystery. 

"What, me? What's wrong with me?!" Romance asked, offended.

The reader tilted their head, narrowing their eyes in thought. "I didn’t notice it before with your hat, but your bangs are enormous." Romance instinctively placed his hands on his head, shock written all over his face. "But don't worry, I can fix it."

"Fix my hair…" Romance muttered, his expression blank as he processed the idea.

"And you," the reader said, shifting their gaze to Mystery, "we need some hair clips." They reached out to brush the hair away from his face, but received a low growl in response.

"Did you just-"

"Mystery, don't do that. They're not human anymore, remember? Plus, they're our manager," Abby stepped forward, playfully ruffling Mystery's hair.

"It's fine... just please don’t remind me I’m not human," they replied. "Ah, Romance, just come with me and I'll fix it for you." Reluctantly, he followed the reader into the first room they had woken up in.

“Sit down, I’m going to try and find a brush,” the reader said, sifting through drawers filled with things they did not own. “So, do you like your outfit?”

Romance chuckled playfully. "Like it?" He looked down at his yellow shirt. "Darling, I look like a Valentine's Day card made by a toddler with glitter glue. But if you're asking if I 'pull it off," grinned and tilted his chin up, "obviously." 

Finally, the reader unearthed a pink hairbrush. "That’s good," they said, standing in front of him as they began their work. Romance watched them with a look of worry.

Romance winced as the brush tugged at his pink hair. "Are you-" yank "-torturing me on purpose?" His voice was strained. He clutched the bed sheets as if they were going to save him. "You know I could tell Gwi-ma to kill you for this, right? Not that I would! But-Ow! That’s my volume, you little menace!"

"Haha, the volume is your problem, and I'm not trying to hurt you, so sorry I'm just trying to fix it," reader replied with a laugh

The air between them shifted slightly as the reader worked through Romance’s hair, the soft bristles gliding through the strands. A comfortable silence enveloped them.

“Your hair is really nice. What shampoo do you use?” reader asked.

Romance laughed softly. “None. You don’t really take showers where we’re from. Can’t really do much of anything there,” he admitted, his gaze shifted away from them.

"Oh, it sounds... rough.”

Romance flashed a quick smile, though it flickered for a moment as his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. "Yeah, well…" He let out a dramatic sigh, forcing his usual playful tone back in place. "It builds character! And at least I still managed to look this flawless without running water, ok, well, there is water, but it's not the cleanest."

The tension crept in once more.

“You know, your deal was pretty stupid, right? You should have bargained for more,” Romance commented.

“Yeah, well, if I had known I was selling my soul, I probably would have,” the reader chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “What about you?”

Romance seemed to freeze, his playful smirk crumbled. He exhaled sharply, staring at his own hands as if they betrayed him. "...Because I wanted to be loved." His voice cracked just once before he forced another laugh, tossing his head back. 

"Pathetic, right? A person who craves affection? Gwi-ma loves throwing that in my face." He glanced up at the reader with a grin too sharp to be real. "But hey, at least I got the idol gig out of it! Stage lights almost feel like the warmth of a lover" 

"No, no, I don't think it's pathetic, love is a good thing to sell your soul over, in my opinion. I think everyone deserves love." reader looks at him sadly

Romance's breath hitched. "That’s..." he looked into reader's eyes, "That’s the stupidest take I’ve ever heard." His laugh was loud. "And yet... you say it like you mean it." 

"Well...there, you're all done." The reader stepped back, admiring their handiwork with a satisfied smile.

Romance blinked, running a hand through his now neatly tamed bangs. "...Huh." He made his way to the nearby mirror on the wall.

"So?"

He playfully turned his head from side to side, tossing his hair with a flourish like he was in a shampoo commercial. "Well... somehow you didn’t manage to ruin me," he said with a grin as he looked at their reflection in the mirror. Then, with a fun twist, he spun around and gently tapped their forehead with his claws. "Just don’t let it get to your head, okay?~"

"ow, your claws are sharp." Their hands go up to their forehead. "Hey, actually, you know what, we can paint your guys' nails, I think it would make you more approachable," they said, taking his hand. 

"That’s actually a pretty good idea...." he looked at his own hand

"you know I think I'm killing it at this manager job," reader smiled.

Just after their comment, a knock was heard at the door, reader paused their conversation and went to answer it. "Hello"

Baby stood right outside looking as bored as ever. “We’ve got a problem.”

"A problem, what problem?" reader asked, confused, they were only gone for like ten minutes.

“Well, the Hunters just dropped a new song called 'Golden,' and Jinu is freaking out about it” Baby pointed behind him, where Jinu was furiously scribbling notes.

"Yeah sure, why wouldn't they release a new song right after a world tour? Why didn't I plan for that?" 

"Wait, the hunters are also singers? Oh, is that why you're an idol group?" 

Jinu points a finger at reader, "You manager! You're going to help me book a spot to perform"

"Yeah you're definitely killing it, little manager." Romance pats their shoulder.

[non-lo-so0]

Dont make me open your mouth-Yandere Nam-gyu x reader

Warnings:violence of various kinds,reader is forced to ingest blood.

(I'll start by saying that I had another account where I wrote things, but this is the first time i try to write something with such violent themes, so sorry if it's not the best. And btw english isn't even my native language)

___________________

You used to think the games were the worst part...getting shot at for not being able to stand still,getting shot if someone on your team failed to complete their task,risking being killed if you didn't obey the guards...but you were wrong. You hadn't seen the worst part yet, and who would have ever said that it would be offered to you by the ones who like you were risking their lives?

After each round, the survivors got to vote. Stay, or go. A blue circle meant stay. A red X meant leave. You chose the circle,not because you wanted to, but because something about going home felt worse. You didn’t know what waited for you out there anymore. At least here, the rules made sense,and the prize would have practically solved every problem in your life. Or at least,these were the convincing words of Thanos.

In fact,you had also made a sort of group of friends, even though you were well aware that they would probably kill you without hesitationt to survive, but since the situation they were in you didn't really blame them for that.

Still,it was something. Temporary comfort in a place built to tear you apart. There was Se-mi,who kept cracking jokes like humor could hold her together. Minsu,who barely spoke, but always kept an eye on the room. Thanos who was...reckless,practically always high and by extension dangerous to others,but he was always stickily by your side. And then… there was Namgyu,you could see him glare at you every single time Thanos got too close to you.

He wasn’t loud or dramatic like the others. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was quiet and sharp,like he only spoke when he absolutely had to. At first, you thought he was the safest one in the group. The calmest. The most rational.

You were wrong.

In the night after taking part in the Mingle game,the lights went out as always,but you quite couldn't sleep because you were thinking about how apparently Thanos had died in the bathrooms today, in a fight between the two factions.

You knew you weren't the most empathetic person for thinking this,but he was generally nice to you,sure...maybe he flirted a little too much sometimes, but he never tried to hurt you. So you were very sorry about him.

But your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a scream,followed by a general uproar. The two factions were killing each other again,and you absolutely wanted to stay out of the conflict.

You didn’t move at first. You were frozen, crouched behind the corner of a bunk,too afraid to breathe. You later found the courage to get off your bed,knowing that if someone attacked you there it would be certain death.

Until you saw him,Namgyu.

In the general mess he stepped out from the dark like it was nothing. His face calm. His green uniform stained dark;chest,arms,even his jawline streaked with red. In his hand,a bloodied fork.

You felt the panic crawl up your throat instantly. You remembered hearing Minsu’s scream earlier. Se-mi’s name being called and no one answering. Thanos,stabbed in the boys’ bathroom, someone had said. Now there was no one left from your little group.

Just you.

Just Namgyu.

He was looking at you now. Not saying anything. Just watching you,like you were some interesting puzzle piece he hadn’t figured out yet.

You instinctively started to step back,if he had killed Se-mi,he would probably have done the same to you and you knew it. Your body had gone cold all over.

“Namgyu,” you whispered. “Please,i didn’t vote to leave”

He didn’t blink.

“I know" he said quietly.

You wanted to cry. But you didn’t. Not yet.

“I did everything right” you said, voice trembling. “I voted to stay just like you and Thanos asked me to,so...”

He tilted his head slightly,the way someone would when they’re trying to decide whether or not to crush a bug. He steps forward. Slowly. The fork dangled loosely in his fingers.

“There’s no ‘right’ anymore” he says.

The words sink deep. You feel them more than you hear them. He stops just short of you,close, but not touching. You don’t move. You can’t.

He lifts the fork slightly. There’s blood along the edge of the metal.

“I’ve been watching you” he said, almost casually. “From the start. You’re quiet. You think before you act.”

He took a step forward. You flinched.

“You’re scared right now" he added. “But you’re not running. You know better.”

Namgyu raised the fork. His gaze didn’t leave yours.

You shook your head instinctively,you couldn't step back any further, you were practically leaning against the wall. “Please,i'll do whatever you want but…”

“I’m not going to hurt ya” he said.

And somehow,that scared you more. Because it sounded true. Like he meant it. Like he didn’t see this as hurting you at all.

He took another step,until he was close enough that you could see the semi dry blood in the creases of his knuckles.

Then the fork was at your lips.

You turned your face slightly. Reflex.

His other hand reached up and "gently",turned your chin back toward him.

“Don’t do that” he said softly,he was clearly high. “Come on don't make this difficult.”

“I don’t understand what this is,i...” you stammered.

He looked at you for a long moment. The kind of look that makes your stomach twist. He was calm. But behind it,you could feel something waiting. Tight,quiet tension. Coiled like a wire.

“You don’t have to understand” he said. “Just open your mouth.”

You hesitated. Every part of your body screamed no. Your jaw locked shut. But he was patient. Still watching you like he had all the time in the world.

“Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

You knew what he wanted to do. And you were fucking disgusted,so you were shaking your head,with a few tears starting to fall.

"Aww, does this disgust you sweetheart? But i thought you said you would do anything I wanted..."

He teased you as he just kept tracing your bottom lip with the tip of the bloody fork.

"But if you don't want to do it yourself,I always have my ways..."

You were crying now. Silent tears slipping down your cheeks as you opened your mouth. Just barely.

“Wider.”

You did.

The fork entered slowly. You felt it press against your tongue. Cold. Metallic. Tainted.

The taste was sharp,metallic. Sour and wrong. You gagged, eyes squeezing shut.

“Keep it in” he warned,hinting at a quite creepy smile.

You were shaking. Your legs were barely holding you up. The panic in your chest was so loud it drowned out everything else. You were TOTALLY disgusted and scared. You instinctively turned your head to the side,the fork slipped from your mouth. It didn’t fall. He still held it. You gasped, bent forward slightly, hand against the wall to steady yourself.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t strike. He just… looked at you. Like he was disappointed.

“Ugh...you were doing so well” he murmured,with the same tone of a child throwing a tantrum.

“I’m sorry,just don’t make me do it again,it's disgusting...” You say trying to play along: you understood that he had snapped,and you had to act accordingly.

“You said you’d do anything.”

He raised the fork again. This time, he pressed the side of it to your cheek. The blood was sticky now, half-dried.

“You meant that,didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t answer.

He was starting to get irritated,but he was more amused at how scared you looked,at how you were crying so easily.

"Sweetheart..look at you,you're such a mess,are you really crying and getting that upset over a little bloody fork? You have such a weak stomach."

He chuckled softly, and he grabbed your face again,holding it tightly so you didn't move this time,keeping your face still facing him.

You looked into his eyes and saw nothing familiar in them anymore. Not the quiet guy you shared a meal with once. Not the one who helped you by grabbing your arm when you were about to fall at the "red light" pronounced by the doll. Just something cold. Watching. Calculating.

And while you were reflecting,he deliberately shoved the bloody fork back into your mouth,holding your face firmly so you couldn't turn away again.

"There we are. See,wasn't that hard,was it sweetheart? All it took was a little bit of force and you're finally cooperating,maybe I should have just done that from the beginning."

________

Had a dream about this and here we are.

[ven0moir]

hey how do u feel abt noah saying that people should not get their hopes up for season 5 of stranger things? he didn’t specifically say anything abt it being byler related but idk - a lot of fans think of byler when they think of will and so im worried he was trying to like subtlety tell byler shippers to not get their hopes up

hi anon!

IF he was referring to bylers in that sentence, then this is what I'd assume; I think he was speaking generally. the most beloved byler theories ( flickergate, loverslake, wallgate, heroesgate, ud kiss, etc ) do not fit with the tone of the show, so they're very beloved, but noah himself once said that the fans are very creative ... yet wrong about everything.

that's why I do not even attempt to make "theories" about how Byler's kiss will happen or entertain that idea, its just wasted creativity bc they don't WANT you to know. Prediction theories will likely be wrong unless the Duffers WANT you piecing things together ( like how they said that they left enough clues IN VOLUME 2 for someone to piece together why the UD is frozen the day Will went missing. They wouldn't have said that IMO if they didn't want to encourage fans to figure it out. Otherwise it's sort of wasting your fan's time for no good reason ..? )

IF byler's endgame, chances are some of their storyline ( and Will's arc ) won't be satisfying to some of them ( *cough cough* I think you might know exactly what I'm talking about ) bc from everything they've said so far they ARE departing from this 'hopeless, martyr Will who suffers in silence and waits for Mike' vision that the fandom expects for him when it comes to his feelings for Mike. ( I have a friend who believes the 'choice' is mike's and mike's alone and Will is important but in his love life, he gets 0 say like let's be so fr here for a second. One thing I think Milevens are right about, that Bylers refuse to accept is that Will let go of his idea of being with Mike romantically in that van, and any hope he had left after that faded when Mike gave that speech to El and essentially locked them in as endgame in HIS eyes lmao )

and I personally would rather not have byler endgame than them literally removing the power of CHOICE from the character named Will ( power of CHOICE/Free Will/Will power ) in the season that is his coming of age and that has centered his sexuality and feelings for Mike so much.

That sounds like a genuine snooze fest

like GIVE ME THE SUPERNATURAL AS A REFLECTION OF HOW THEY START OFF S5. GIVE ME FULL ON QUEER HORROR

BUT I'LL BE RIDING THAT WAVE BABY I JUST KNOW I WILL PERSONALLY LOVE IT AND BE CHEERING WILL AND THE DUFFERS ON FOR THAT

I'm pretty sure some of this expectation of 'martyr Will' comes from some confusion over S4 El's arc being projected onto him, ( and that's totally fine! honestly I'm still understanding stuff myself but damn some people around here need to rewatch the show and set aside their fanon version of Byler for a second ) but that's why the most common version of Byler endgame that Byler fans are expecting/hoping for ( and the GA doesn't buy, mind you ) is basically a rewritten version of S4 Mileven.

"Leave the station, Nina. Don't keep waiting for a lover that won't return."

She also resisted Henry's influence and tried to reach him despite everything he's done--much like how she reached Billy in S3. She's been coded as an angel, a Jesus figure, El literally means God, etc. SHE'S MY DAUGHTER I LOVE HER SM I'm scared for her ending the most omfg

I have the awful feeling she'll experience a metaphorical death ( like, staying in the UD and transforming it as the gatekeeper I SO HOPE IM WRONG PLEASE I HOPE THIS IS DUE TO MY LACK OF UNDERSTANDING STILL and not bc they will really do that to her hhh )

Will? imo Will's being set up to go batshit unhinged and reckless and careless and fucking up as he figures himself out and tbh so far, everything they've said falls in line nicely with what I was HOPING for.

thank GOODNESS

And whereas I do not believe for ONE second the Duffers are perfect ( thank god, perfection is so boring and artificial ) I AM choosing to trust they're choosing to be brave and genuinely love their show. The fact people on both sides will be pissed/triggered due to some of their writing choices I think will just be an unfortunate consequence. Sometimes we forget these guys are not rocket scientists and at the end of the day, they're DnD nerds who love their play. If you're not having fun analyzing, chances are you're not approaching it the right way since both DnD and the show are about community and connection. It's inherently what makes them both fun.

I already went through my "acceptance arc" where I internalized that I do not write this show and have 0 say in its outcome. I definitely recommend others do the same and be prepared for whatever happens bc we've put a lot of emotional investment into the show, and that's okay, we're in this together, but we gotta make sure we're prioritizing our mental well-being and I do worry about some Bylers in the tag that I do not think ... should be watching this show ... ( especially after the reactions I saw during that Bychance / Byler "Civil War" .... yikes )

but yeah let me know if any of this makes sense / share your thoughts!!! they'd be cool to know <3

[viviansturns]

can I request for cocky!sub!chris? literally love that au with my whole heart omg

was thinking he’s having a bad day or something and the reader is all sweet and gentle with him? he’s whimpering all over the place, and she gives him orgasm after orgasm? lots of praise cause he’s totally a slut for that lmao

thanks!

cw: jerking off, overstimming, humiliation, multiple orgasms, a lil angst, fluff and praiseeee

𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒚𝒔𝒖𝒃!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑨𝑼

You’re kissing Chris slow. Messy. Lazy in that way that happens when neither of you

Chris has been off all day. Not in his usual smug, teasing mood. Just… tight. Clenched. Barely speaking. You noticed him snapping at little things and then immediately withdrawing, eyes dark and brooding as if he hated himself for it.

By the evening, he’s sitting on the couch like a sulky child, hood up, knees bouncing, jaw working. You give him space at first. Let him stew. But you’re watching him the whole time, waiting for that crack.

When it comes, it’s quiet.

He drifts into the bedroom without a word, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He sits at the edge of the bed and stares at the floor like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

You don’t pounce on him. Don’t nag.

Instead you set your book aside and shift closer. Your voice stays soft. “Bad day?”

He doesn’t answer, just gives this jerky nod without looking at you. His breath sounds uneven.

You rest your hand on his back, stroking gently between his shoulder blades. “Talk to me.”

Another shake of his head, more forceful this time.

“Chris.”

He flinches a little. He won’t look at you. But you feel the tremor run through him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice cracking. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Your hand doesn’t stop moving. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Don’t—” His voice breaks again. “Don’t say that. I’m a fucking mess. I—I don’t know how to do this shit. Be all… fuck, I don’t know. Needy.”

You inch closer until you can wrap your arms around his middle. He tenses at first, but you don’t let go.

“Chris,” you murmur, voice low and sure. “You don’t have to know how. That’s my job. You just have to let me.”

He sniffs once, embarrassed, pressing his lips together hard.

“Let you what,” he rasps.

“Take care of you.”

That gets him. His shoulders quake and he lets out a tiny, broken sound. He tries to muffle it with his hand but you hear it anyway.

You don’t say anything. You just tug him back against you, until his weight is pressed into your chest, and you hold him there while he breathes unevenly and shudders.

Eventually you guide him down onto the bed, pulling the blankets around both of you, pressing slow kisses to his temple. You keep your voice steady, reassuring.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just let go.”

It’s like he deflates under your hands. His breathing hitches. He blinks too much.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sounding utterly wrecked. “Please.”

“Please what?” you coax.

He squirms, face red, eyes wet. He can’t say it at first. You wait him out.

Finally he chokes it out in a hoarse whisper. “Please touch me.”

Your fingers trail lower, over his chest, feeling the way his heart hammers.

“Good boy,” you murmur. “Asking so nicely. You want me to make you feel good?”

He whines. Nods.

You slide your hand under the waistband of his boxers, fingers wrapping around him. He’s rock-hard already, leaking at the tip. He shudders violently when you stroke him.

“Been holding this in all day?” you tease gently. “Poor thing.”

He gasps, trying to turn his face into the pillow, but you don’t let him hide.

“Look at me.”

He obeys, reluctantly. His eyes are glassy, lashes damp.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him slow and deep. Your hand keeps moving, slow but firm.

It doesn’t take long. He breaks embarrassingly fast, moaning your name, voice cracking as he spills in hot, messy spurts over your hand. His body jerks and trembles, every muscle pulled tight.

But you don’t stop.

He squirms, breath hitching, trying to twist away. “Wait—fuck—s’too much—”

“Shhh,” you hush, kissing his jaw. “One more for me. You can do it.”

He actually sobs, but he nods, biting down on his lip so hard it goes white.

“Good boy,” you praise, voice like honey. “Such a good boy for me.”

You keep stroking him until he’s gasping for breath. He breaks again, a choked, raw noise punching out of him as he cums a second time. It’s messier than before, his hips jerking wildly even though he’s clearly overstimulated.

You slow it down then, gentler, letting him twitch and whimper in your grip while you press kisses to his forehead, his hair, the curve of his cheek.

He’s so sensitive he’s trembling.

“Stop,” he mumbles weakly, voice cracking with shame.

“Shhh. It’s okay."

You wipe him up carefully, using warm cloths. He whimpers at the contact, but never lets you go.

And you keep whispering praise, over and over, like it’s a promise:

“You did so well for me.”

“Such a perfect boy.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You’re mine. Always.”

He sniffles, blinking away tears, cheeks red as sin—but he doesn’t fight you anymore.

He just clings to you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

And you hold him close for as long as he needs.

go here if you want to be added to my taglist <3

everything taglist - @chrisbratt333 @courta13 @matts-babytomatoes @lilyswirly @chrisspussygang @sorrybirds @mattslilies @emely9274 @everythingaboutbags @httpssturns @raeses @izzylovesmatt @ajskorner @le4hsblog @nessaisabelartemas333 @wesj11 @lino2319 @alwaysiconick @anisturniolox @ilovesamgoldencoch @eeyoresturnz @salaciousxsturniolo @alwaysiconick @mattspillowprincess @mattsturnioloss @sophieredevil @i-said-icecream-cake

[chefs-other-corner]

Whore Means...Not A Good Person

☆Paring: Rumi x MIra x Zoey

 ☆Tags: fluff, yeah just pure fluff really, kids? idk man

 ☆Sum Sum: Rumi has a event with kids, and kids be saying anything

 ☆Word count: 738 ☆Note:  I forgot about this fic in my doc lol ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

It was a sunny afternoon, and Rumi was not fighting demons.

Instead, she was sitting criss-cross applesauce on a brightly-colored carpet surrounded by twelve toddlers, each wobbling in various stages of juice box-fueled chaos. She was here for the preschool’s charity party—smiles, photos, and free cupcakes, all in the name of good PR. She didn’t mind though. The demon-hunting could wait a day.

“Okay, kids,” the teacher said, clapping her hands before ducking out to refill the snack table, “Be nice to Miss Rumi, okay?”

The toddlers immediately swarmed her like the world's cutest horde.

“Hi, Miss Woomy!” one boy chirped, getting her name completely wrong and shoving a glittery dinosaur sticker onto her knee. “This is Clawboy and he eats people, but only bad ones.”

“Cool,” Rumi nodded solemnly. “That’s good. We only eat bad people.”

Another girl flopped down beside her with a juice mustache and said, “I like your hair. It looks like cotton candy but my mom says I can’t eat hair anymore.”

Rumi blinked. “I think that’s a good rule.”

And then came her—a little girl with tangled pigtails and a serious expression that didn’t match the glitter star stuck to her cheek.

“I wanna say…” she began, fidgeting with her sparkly pink skirt, “cause you look like my dog.”

Rumi tilted her head, smiling. “Your dog?”

“Yeah!” The girl nodded so hard her whole body wobbled. “And my dog’s name is Pretty because of the flower, and it was yellow. I like yellow. Do you like yellow? My mom never liked yellow. She also didn’t like Daddy. She said he’s a good-for-nothing whore.”

Rumi froze.

The room fell into slow-motion silence. The other toddlers were too busy trying to turn paper towels into capes, but Rumi was just trying so, so hard not to laugh.

Her lips twitched. Her hand shot to her mouth. She cleared her throat and said, “Um. Whore… means not a good person.”

The little girl gasped. “Like when I bite my cousin?”

“Worse,” Rumi said carefully. “But only if your cousin really deserved it.”

“Oh,” the girl nodded thoughtfully, like she’d just learned something very important. “I’m gonna tell my grandma that.”

“Please don’t,” Rumi said with a soft smile.

Another kid popped up in front of her holding a half-eaten cracker. “Can you kill the vacuum? It lives in my house.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“My tummy hurts,” another one announced, “but I ate a crayon and it was the blue kind, so I think I’m okay.”

“Blue is the safest flavor,” Rumi agreed, without missing a beat.

They crawled into her lap, they tugged at her sleeves, and one of them tried to braid her ponytail using a rubber lizard. It was chaos, but warm and silly, and the kind of mess that felt like a vacation from fighting soul-eating demons.

A chubby toddler leaned his entire weight on her arm and asked, “Miss Woomy, are you a princess?”

Rumi paused.

She looked around at their bright eyes and juice-stained smiles, and nodded.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Today I think I am.”

Just outside the playroom, Mira and Zoey were supposed to be helping refill the water cups and supervise painting, but they’d both stopped in the doorway, watching Rumi with identical wide grins.

“She’s a natural,” Mira whispered, sipping a juice box she definitely stole from the snack table.

Zoey snorted. “She looks like she got tackled by a glitter tornado.”

As if on cue, a toddler near Rumi loudly declared, “I peed but it’s a happy pee! Not the bad kind!”

“I take it back,” Zoey said, blinking. “She’s a brave natural.”

Rumi caught sight of them over the toddler crowd and shot them a helpless look, mouth twitching into a barely-contained laugh.

“Don’t you dare leave me alone in here!” she mouthed.

Mira and Zoey exchanged a glance.

“Rock-paper-scissors to see who goes in?” Mira offered.

Zoey cracked her knuckles. “Loser has to sit through story time and pretend to understand toddler logic.”

They played.

Mira lost.

With a resigned sigh and a fond smile, she stepped into the chaos and knelt beside Rumi, who instantly looked relieved.

One toddler pointed at Mira and asked, “Is that your mom?”

Rumi grinned. “No, that’s Mira. She fights demons.”

The toddler nodded solemnly. “Cool. Can she fight my stepdad?”

Zoey, watching from the door, laughed so hard she almost dropped her juice.

[bitemefightme]

Copia smut plz 😩

I've been hungry for some Cardinal Copia smut recently so thank you for giving me a reason to write it.

There is so much build up to the actual smut I'm so sorry.😅

Warnings: (reader is described as afab) Fingering. P in V sex. A little oversimulation. Copia is a bit of a pervert. Let me know if I miss anything.

Not proof read.

"You there." Sister Imperator's voice rang down the hall, cutting through the conversation you were having with the other siblings of sin in your group.

You all stopped trying to figure out who she was talking to.

"The one with the hideous stain on her dress" Imperator said with growing frustration.

You look down and realize with horror that at some point while cleaning you had gotten bleach on your uniform, causing a bright tan-ish red splotch to bloom in the black fabric.

You hand off the stack of towels you had been carrying and do an awkward half run half walk down the hallway while Sister Imperator disappeared back into the room she had apparently emerged from. As you got closer you could read the plaque on the door.

Cardinal Copia.

You stopped just outside the door as you read the name. You were going to officially meet the man you had been low-key crushing on for the past year... and you looked like this?

Your hair was frizzy from being around cleaning chemicals all afternoon, you had that god awful stain on your skirt, and you smelled like sweat and a mix of different artificial fragrances.

You run your fingers through your hair, hoping to tame it a little, and open the door. You quickly step inside the office and close the door behind you. Looking around you see that it's on the smaller side (typical for a cardinal) and filled with stacks of books and paper work. There are little trinkets here and there and a large cage is set on a table near the cardinals desk, inside are four or five chubby rats. Copia himself is sat behind his desk holding one of said rats, gently petting it as if to keep himself calm in the face of Sister Imperator.

"When I said I might need help with organizing in the library I didn't think-"

"That I would find you someone so quickly?" Imperator cut Copia off. "You've been putting this off for too long, and I'm done with your excuses."

Copia's eyes left Imperator and landed on you. A look flashed through his eyes that you couldn't quite read. Like he knew who you were but was uncertain about your presence.

Sister Imperator followed his gaze and gave you a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Like she was tired.

"Don't be shy. Come here." Imperator waved you over and you shuffled to her. "This is Cardinal Copia. You are going to help him with some organization this evening."

You nod and look over to Copia who's putting the rat back into its cage.

"This better get done." There was an unspoken threat in Imperator's voice. An unsaid 'or else' that made Copia swallow hard.

You both watch Sister Imperator leave the room silently and once there door the closed behind her it's like you both breath a sigh or relief.

"Well... Uh. Like she said I'm Cardinal Copia." Copia held a hand out to you. "But please just call me Copia."

You tell Copia your name as you take his hand, expecting a hand shake but instead he brings your hand to his lip and places a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Heat immediately rises to your cheeks as you withdraw your hand from his.

"L-lets go organize!" You mentally kick yourself for being so awkward as you turn towards the door.

"Yes. Lets." Copia was also mentally kicking himself. Perhaps he was being too forward with you.

The two of you make your way to the library in relative silence aside from the generic small talk of "how are you" "how was your day" "nice weather we're having".

The library wasn't that bad. Most of the organization was moving books from tables back to their shelves and reshelving books that had been putting the wrong place. As you worked with Copia you two continued conversation, becoming more comfortable as the hours stretched on. By the time you started cleaning out the study rooms you were both joking and teasing each other like you'd been friends for years.

"This should be the last one." Copia said as he tried to open the door to the last study room. "It's stuck, hold on let me just..."

Copia braced a foot against the wall next to the door and pulled as hard as he could. The door knob popped off into Copia's hands and sent him stumbling back into you, causing you both to land on the floor with a thud. You watched as the door slowly creaked inwards.

"I... Uh... I think it was a push... Not a pull." Copia bashfully held the door knob up with an embarrassed smile on his face and you couldn't hold your laughter in.

"Sister Imperator isn't going to be happy about that." You giggle as you get up and grab the other knob from the floor inside the room.

"There are a lot of things she's not happy about." Copia shrugged as he took the other knob from you and placed them both on a nearby table. "What one more thing to the list."

As you both walked into the room you cringed at the smell of dust and mildew. It had obviously been a while since this room was used and the stacks of books were almost as tall as you were.

"Well... Let's get started." You sigh and start taking books out by the arm full

It wasn't long until the dust in the room had you both sneezing and coughing.

"Give me a boost and I can open the window." You call Copia over. The window in question was a small rectangle at the top of the wall adjacent to the door.

Copia came over and squatted next to you, lacing his fingers together so you could use them as a step. Once you were up, the tips of your finger just barely reached the window sill.

"Can you get me up any higher?" You ask, straining to try and reach.

"Not really." Copia thought for a minute before suggesting "Try stepping onto my shoulders."

"Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you." You look down at Copia and realize with a blush that his face was smushed into your lower stomach.

"Ah, don't be silly cara mia." Copia lifts his chin to look at you. "I'm strong, there's nothing to worry about."

"Okay." You say with some hesitation and slowly step into his shoulders.

Copia makes the mistake of glancing up when he hears you struggling with opening the window and catches an eye full of the view up your skirt before turning his eyes to the floor and his mind to getting the sudden boner he had to go down before you notice.

Truthfully, he's had his eye on you for months. He had first noticed you at a black mass service and he's ashamed to admit that his first thought of you was how pretty you look on your knees worshiping the dark lord and how much he wished he could have you on your knees for him.

After that you kept catching his eye. In the hall, at prayer meetings, in the lunch room. He always found his eyes landing on you and his lust quickly grew to appreciation. He still of course lusted after you but he also wanted more of a real relationship with you.

Copia was pulled from his thoughts when you triumphantly called out "I got it!" as you finally got the rusted old lock to move and pushed the window open.

Copia was helping you step down from his shoulders when a gust of wind blew through the window and slammed the door closed.

"Oh shit!" You muttered as you tried to get the door open again, but without a knob and with how old and rusted the hinges were it was pointless.

"Should we yell for help?" Copia suggested.

"No, it's the middle of the night and we put a no entry sign on the door to the library so there's no one around to hear us." You groan with your face in your hands. "We're here until someone comes looking for us in the morning."

A quiet 'oh' is all Copia says as he sits in the chair that's tucked into the desk.

After a while Copia takes off his Cardinals robe revealing red slacks and a black button up underneath. He offers the robe to you.

"Why don't you take a nap." He says with that lopsided smile of his. "It'll make the time go faster."

You think about it for a second before ultimately agreeing with him. You thank him as you take his red Cardinals robe from him and wrap it around yourself, letting Copia scent ingulf you as you lay on the carpeted floor. It wasn't long until you fell asleep, the long tiresome day catching up to you as soon as you closed your eyes.

As your breathing evens out Copia picks up a random book and starts reading it to pass the time, his eyes drifting to your figure every now and then. He's not sure how much time has passed when you let out a little whimper in your sleep.

He looks you over quizzically as you squirm and gasp, still unconscious. He's unsure if he should wake up or not until you let out a little moan of his name.

The erection he'd worked so hard to keep down all evening sprung to life once again at the realization that you were dreaming about him. And from the moans and whimpers you were letting out it must have been a wet dream.

Copia groans as he rubs himself through his pants. Fuck what was he supposed to do now? If he jacked off there would be no way of hiding what he had been up to when you wake up but there was no way he would be able to get his erection down with all the little noises you continued to make. After thinking it over carefully Copia eventually comes to the decision that if you're having such naughty dreams about him then there might be a chance that you want him as badly as he wants you.

Copia almost feels bad shaking you awake, you hadn't been sleeping that long but he knew that he couldn't hold out until morning.

"Hmm is it morning?" You ask, sleepily. Your face is red from the dream you didn't know he knew about.

"You were making noises and I could wait any longer." Copia cups your face and gazes into your eyes until you seem like you were fully awake. "Do you want me?"

The question is sudden and full of implications.

Your face is as red as Copia's cardinal robes beneath you. Aside from the fact that you apparently had been moaning in your sleep and Copia had heard you, you could also see the tent that Copia was pitching in his pants.

After thinking for a moment you figured an opportunity like this doesn't happen every day. Even if it ended up being just a one time thing, the chance to be close to the man who had held your thoughts and fantasies for so long may never come again.

"Do you want me to touch you?" Copia asked, worried you hadn't understood his question.

"Yes, please." Breath, letting Copia cage you in atop his robe, his mismatched eyes hazing over with lust as he kisses you with all the passion he was worth.

It didn't take long for Copia's hands to make their way from your face and down your body, pausing momentarily to gope your breasts before moving to slide up your thighs, pushing them apart so he could slot his hips against yours.

You broke his kiss with a gasp as he started grinding against you. You wrap your arms around Copia as he starts licking and nibbing his way down your neck, leaving a constellation of hickies across your collarbone.

Copia's hands leave your thighs as he sits up and starts working on his belt and zipper.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted you amore mio." Copia groans as he finally frees his cock from its fabric prison. "You'll let me make you feel good, yeah?"

You nod your head and whine as Copia pulls you closer by your hips, stopping only to pull your panties down your legs.

A short moan escapes you when his fingers start gently circling your clit and the muscles in your thighs jump at the stimulation.

"Tell me, what was I doing to you in that dream you were having." Copia hums as he slips his middle finger into you.

You turn impossibly redder at the question and the feeling of Copia slowly moving his finger in and out of you.

"Y-you were fucking me." Your voice studders as Copia adds his ring finger.

"Is that all?" Copia bites back a groan when you let out a low moan as he bumps his fingers into that spongy spot that he knows is making you see stars.

You shake your head and in a moment of confidence you pull your uniform over your head leaving you in only your bra which you make quick work of too.

"You were sucking me here too." You cup your breasts and shudder as you feel a hot coil tightening in your core.

Copia moans and leans over you, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth as his fingers inside you worked quicker in tandem with the ones circling your clit.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and throw your head back with a loud moan of his name as you cum, hips jerking as he continues to stimulate you through it.

Copia doesn't give you much time to recover before he starts rubbing his cock against your cunt.

"Tell me you want it." He whispers in your ear, groaning when the head catches against your entrance.

"I want you." You moan as you slip your hands under his shirt and scratch your nails down his back. "I want you to fuck me, please."

Copia lets out a loud moan when he thrusts into you, slowly feeding you every inch until he bottoms out.

You both still for a moment, breaths mingling as you adjust to the feeling and as Copia regains enough composure to not immediately unload into you.

"Ti amo" Copia moans as he starts thrusting into you. "ti amo così tanto, per favore sii mio."

You wished you knew Italian so you could tell what he was saying, but even if you did there was little chance you would be able to answer him as he started rubbing your clit again, quickly tipping you into overstimulation.

"Is too much" you slur out, tears coming to your eyes.

"I'm sorry amore." Copia kisses at your tears before capturing you in a kiss that is mostly tongue. "I'm almost mmm~ there just- ah- hold on for a moment please"

Copia sits back on his heels so he can admire the sight his dark lord has blessed him with.

You had tears streaming down your cheeks and a bit of drool at the corner of your mouth. One of your hands was weakly tugging at his, trying to get his finger to stop stimulating your clit while the other hand was tugging at the collar of his shirt, trying to pull him back in. He let his eyes take in all of you from the way your tits bounced with each of his thrusts to how his cock disappeared inside you. He could feel you tightening around him as your second orgasm was rapidly approaching.

The sight made him want to burst right then but he held back just so he could hear your voice singing his name over and over for a while longer.

The thing that sent him over the edge was when you let out a strangled "cum inside me please" as your orgasm crashed over you. You clamped down on him like a vice and the only thing that could have stopped Copia from painting your insides with his cum was death itself.

Copia came back down to kiss you as you both rode out your highs, sweet and loving.

"Grazie amore mio." He breathed against you. "You did so well for me. So good."

Eventually Copia pulled his now soft cock from you with a whimper and you shivered at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you.

You squinted as sunlight peered through the window.

"It's already morning?" You groan as Copia helps you sit up.

"It appears so." Copia chuckles awkwardly as he starts handing you your clothes. "Listen i-"

"shhh" You cut his off with a harsh shush.

"But I really think we should talk about-"

"No listen." You press your ear to the door and Copia follows suit.

Someone humming. Footsteps.

"Shit someone's coming!" Copia looks down at the two of you. You were still naked and he still had his dick hanging out of his pants and he looked generally disheveled.

After quickly tucking himself away and smoothing out his own clothes Copia started helping you with yours, pulling your uniform over your head and zipping it up while you desperately looked around for your panties.

"I can find them! You finally whisper as the foot steps get closer to the door.

"Here! They're here!" Copia crawls under the table and retrieves the garment but it was too late. The person was outside the door examining the missing handle with a mumbled "what the hell" before pushing the door open.

You and Copia scramble to your feet, you're pressing your thighs together as you feel Copia's cum start dripping down your legs and he is snatching up his robe that has incriminating stains all over it and stuffing your panties into his pocket.

"Oh! Cardinal Copia? What are you and her doing in here this early" It was the librarian

"We were cleaning and the wind from the window blew the door closed and we couldn't get out." You rush out in one breath, trying to appear as casual as you could with the cardinals cum leaking out of you.

Copia quickly ushers you out of the room, making sure he thanks the librarian on your way out.

Once you're out of the library you can help but let out a laugh.

"Do you think he noticed?" You ask.

"What? The fact that we're redder than my robes?" Copia leans down to whisper in your ear. "Or the fact that my cum is leaking down the back of your knees?"

You squeak and pull the hem of your skirt down to wipe at your legs a little.

Copia chuckles and places a hand on your back.

"Go back to your room and clean up, dove." Copia plants a kiss to the top of your head. "And maybe think about stopping by my chabers later. We have some things to discuss and I have some... sensitive property to return to you."

You blush, remembering that Copia had your panties in his pocket as you rush back to your room.

When you stop by his room later you definitely won't find him fisting his cock while smelling your panties. Nope not at all. That would be weird. haha unless🥺😏.

I did my best I hope you like it. I hope it's ok. Have a great day.

[mysteriouslyjovialcolor]

British GP 2025

-So unsure of why Charles took that early pit stop

-Ayyy Liam

-Come on Lewis, come on Lewis, come on

-Franco? Oh he stalled :(

-Hello? They just went back racing, no warning

-Oh no Gabi!

-“Is this the last time we’re going to see Franco in a Formula 1 car?” Alpine needs to be stopped fr

-“Lance is very good in these conditions” Rare Lance compliment

-KMaggggggggggg

-Ugh such good racing there

-Eeeeh Charles almost had it there

-Lance pointsss

-Charles overtake!!

-Oh wow Lance is just moving up the field. Such an Aston Martin W!

-Okay the pit stops are so chaotic

-Me to me: it’s okay, anything can happen, don’t despair

-Woo!! Pit stop overtake!

-Alex p2!!

-LH: “It’s definitely wet tires right now”

-Ohmygod Hulkenburg p5??

-Safety car, thank god

-Wtf Charles???

-Oh this is not good

-Woah Ocon hasn’t stopped at all?

-Is that Tom Felton??

-“8 different constructors in the top 9 places”

-✨Laura Mueller✨

-George Russel! The spray made that look so cool!

-Aaaaah Lewis!! Double overtake!

-How is this normal racing condition? You can’t see anything

-And there’s another safety car

-Oh shit that looks bad

-Ooh that worked out well for Ocon..I think..maybe? Never mind

-Genuinely how was Isack supposed to see him

-Oooh Anya Taylor Joy

-Is it going to rain again?

-OP: “This puddle in turn 2 is a problem. Bernd has his work cut out for him even in the safety car. So it’s not very nice in an F1 car”

-Honestly why not red flag this. George and Lewis have been saying they should

-EO: “That was clever from Mercedes. Hot tire now. To restart”

-I love everything that just happened. Yeah. I am so calm. So calm

-God Oscar I hate everything that you just did

-Lance p3, shall I cry (in joy obviously, I love this for him, but I also really want to scream)

-If Max stays p10, he’s losing that third place in the championship. This is just great

-Ah shit Lewis

-Who cursed my champions?? What the hell man

-10s for Oscar

-Oh shit forget Lance, if Nico gets podium I’m ascending

-Pierreeeee

-Save Lance and Hulk from George hereee

-Hello? What’s Yuki under investigation for?

-Come on Lewis take it back

-Yes!!!!!!

-F me man, 10s for Yuki

-No one commenting on how Charles is out of the points?? How is that normal?

-I’m going to cry

-I hate that Ferrari. I hate that Red Bull. Why must this sport hurt me so?

-Let’s go Lewis

-Does anyone need to stop again?

-Hearing Lance on the radio>>>

-I can’t decide who I want on the podium more. I will cry in both cases. (More for Nico cause that’s my og)

-If this cures my heartbreak from Germany 2019, I’ll forgive the British GP for everything else that has gone wrong

-No Lewis! You have a thousand podiums, stay away

-Pierre Gasly everyone!!

-Ohmygod

Ohmygodd

Ohmygodd

Ohmygodd

-No Lewis please no

-Yess Max!

-Charles too!

-Lewis I love you, and I apologize in advance for how much I’m about to curse you out if you take p3 from Nico

-Whyyy is Alonso pitting?? Wth

-Mercedes to GR: “Brave but not suicidal we’re still looking”👀

-I really don’t understand this Aston Martin/Mercedes gamble

-Eeh that was risky from Charles

-Every single time Max and Charles are close enough to race, they’re racing in positions I wish they weren’t in

-Max doing what George couldn’t>>

-What the f Ferrari?????

-Oh everyone is pitting, nvm

-This worked out great for Charles huh

-Oh god Lewis

-Noooo Nico pit

-Guys I’m so confused

-The timing screens when everyone was pitting was causing me so much confusion

-Haas on Haas violence

-Oh wow they spun in sync

-Nico fast lap>

-LN: “Tell me where don’t just say that”

-Everyone going off now

-Come on Ollie

-Seeing Yuki and Charles in the last positions is killing me

-“Let’s give credit to Lance Stroll” Yesss

-They mentioned Germany 2019 😭

-One more lap

-Oh god I will cry

-Whoo! Max!

-To NH: “Podium! P3 baby!!” I am in tearsss

-He started 19!

-Sauber Sauber Sauber Sauber!!!!!

-Also!!! Kmag being there??!?

-Aww Lando with his mom

-Lol the way Sauber keeps saving me when Red Bull tries to kill me

-Take that Germany 2019

-You can never hurt me again

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Laundry mix up”

Eddie Brock x Neighbor!Reader

Masterlist here

Summary: Due to a laundry mix-up, your neighbor Eddie ends up with one of your thongs—and he has no intention of giving it back.

WC: 6k (This shit is way too long for all smut, Jesus Christ, there must be something wrong with my brain)

Warnings/Tags: smut, minors DNI, dirty talk, masturbation, lingerie kink?, oral (m!receiving), female!reader, venom being venom, set between the first and second movie, awkard eddie.

The first time Eddie saw you, you were wrestling with a box twice your size in the hallway, one bare shoulder pressed to the side of it as you struggled with the lock to your new apartment.

Eddie had been on his way out, hoodie half-zipped, takeout menu folded in one hand, and Venom growling in the back of his mind about how humans eat garbage. But then he saw you, in that tank top, those shorts that clung like sin, messy hair, and he abruptly stopped.

“Uh—hey, need a hand with that?” He heard himself say.

You turned, eyes flicking over him for the briefest second before smiling. A proper, slow, flirtatious smile, the kind that made his heart skip a beat.

“No thanks. I’ve got it,” you replied, voice low and warm, a little teasing. “But good to know someone around here is actually nice.”

Eddie chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Venom whispered inside his brain: “She smells good. Can I eat her?”

You were only his new neighbor, and that quickly became a problem, because Eddie wasn’t exactly a man in control of his own mind. Especially not with Venom in there.

You two started talking in small doses, it was only elevator conversations, jokes in the laundry room, a few lingering glances that made him wonder if you could feel it too—whatever this was.

“You want her,” Venom said one night as Eddie stood by the kitchen window, half a beer in his hand.

“No. No, I don’t,” he mumbled.

“Liar.” he said. “I’m tired of you being a pussy, you should take her. Just pick her up. Tell her she’s yours. She wants you.”

“Whatever, V.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re still mourning over Anne,” Venom roared. “We are so over Anne.”

“It’s not about Anne!” Eddie snapped. “Don’t bring Anne into—”

“Then tell me,” Venom growled inside his skull, “if Anne got Dan then why we can’t mate with the hot neighbor?”

“Because this ain’t the goddamn law of the jungle, pal. And ‘mating’ doesn’t work like that!”

“I don’t know what the hell happened to you, Eddie,” Venom grumbled in his head. “I’ve seen your memories— you used to have some game, pal. Now you’re just… floundering. Pathetic.”

“Yeah, well… life happened,” Eddie muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You seen her? She’s insanely hot. Like, melt-your-brain hot. She’s probably got a whole damn waiting list of guys dying to buy her coffee, and I’m over here forgetting how to talk when I see her.”

“We could eat the others.”

“Still not helping, buddy.”

The dryer buzzed. Eddie was already regretting leaving his laundry till the last minute again, he was down to his last pair of clean boxers.

He opened the dryer door and started pulling the clothes into the basket, not really looking. A hoodie, some socks, a t-shirt, and then… something small, black and lacy caught on the edge of the drum and fell into his hand.

Eddie stared, it was a thong.

Not just a thong. The thong. Tiny, with a little bow, and so delicate it barely weighed anything, the kind of thing he’d imagined you in before. The kind of thing that didn’t seem like it could possibly be functional, the kind of thing someone wore when they wanted to be seen, when they wanted to tease, to ruin someone else.

The fabric dangled from his fingers like it knew what it was doing.

Venom purred. “Ooooooh. That’s hers. I can smell it.”

Eddie’s stomach twisted, his throat went dry and his pants got tighter.

“Oh no.”

“Oh Yes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered, tossing the thong toward the basket like it burned. It landed softly on top of a towel—mocking him still.

Venom huckled darkly. “Definitely hers. And she wore it recently. Mmm, bet I can still taste her.”

“Shut up.” His voice cracked, rough with arousal and shame. “Shut the hell up.”

“Do you think she left it here on purpose?” Venom hissed gleefully. “Marking her territory? Begging you to find it? Wanting you to react to it?”

Eddie let out a strained noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

“Christ, you’re insane.”

“I’m not the one hard over a pair of panties,” Venom sneered, amused.

“I’m not—fuck off.”

Eddie dragged his hand down his face again, his pulse thundering. He couldn’t stop picturing it—you pulling that thong up your thighs, the way it would hug your hips, disappear between your cheeks, the way it would smell after you wore it all day. He leaned against the dryer, eyes shut tight, trying not to let the fantasy spiral.

Venom growled low and hungry. “Take it home.”

“I am not.”

“Sure.”

…

He stood frozen in his apartment, the thong still in his hand.

His brain was doing somersaults, because obviously, this was an accident, a simple mistake, you’d probably tossed in a load late at night, mixed it with his by mistake. It happened, it was a normal honest mistake. But he couldn’t stop looking at it, at how tiny it was, how soft, how impossibly intimate.

“She wore this.” Venom’s voice slid through his chest. “It touched her. We could smell her on it if you let me—”

“NOPE,” Eddie snapped aloud, shoving the thong deep into his hoodie pocket like it might explode if he looked at it one second longer.

He started pacing.

“This is wrong. I’m not that guy. I’m not some creep who—who sniffs his neighbor’s—Jesus, what is wrong with me?”

“You want her,” Venom growled, low and matter-of-fact. “You’ve always wanted her. And now, after a whole year of celibacy, blue balls and sad showers, you’re losing your mind like some horny teenager.”

“No. I’m gonna go over there and return it to her. Tell her it was a mistake.”

“We have a trophy, Eddie! A GIFT! why would you want to throw it away like a coward?”

“Because I’m not a goddamn pervert!”

“No, you’re just a hungry, touch-starved, pathetic little man.”

Eddie dragged a hand through his hair, then sat heavily on the edge of his bed. The thong was burning a hole in his pocket, his mind was spinning in the worst kind of way—fast, filthy, uncontrollable. Images flickering like wildfire, images of you, naked, bent over a counter, hips rocking, that little scrap of fabric on the floor.

“God. I need help.”

“She would help. If you asked nicely. If you growled a little. She’d love it.”

“Christ, man. Stop. I mean it.”

Eddie didn’t move to return the thong to you.

…

It was just after 1 a.m. The city outside Eddie’s window was buzzing with low life and sirens, he was lying in bed, shirtless, the covers pushed down around his hips. His skin was hot. His thoughts, worse.

That damn thong was next to him. He’d tried to forget about it, he really had, tried going for a run, watching old movies, reading the newspaper, even did the dishes, anything to keep his hands busy, anything to distract himself from the way his cock had been aching—throbbing—for over an hour.

But his dick was still hard, he could feel it drooling at the tip. Painful with the kind of need that didn’t just settle in his body, but in his bones.

“Touch it,” Venom whispered, low and guttural inside his head. “You know you want to.”

Eddie groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“This is so wrong.”

“She wants you to. She probably left it for you.” Venom’s voice was dark silk, soaked in hunger. “She wants you to lose it. Wants you to wrap it around your cock while you think about ruining her pretty little throat.”

Eddie didn’t answer, instead, his hand slid beneath the waistband of his boxers. Just to ease the pressure, he told himself. Just to take the edge off, just to stop his cock from leaking precum onto his stomach like some fucking teenager.

The second he wrapped his fingers around his aching cock, a sharp breath escaped him. It was hot, heavy, the head so sensitive that even the glide of his palm made his hips jerk.

His mind began to wonder. You—on your knees in his kitchen. Eyes wide and innocent, but your mouth so filthy, stretched around him, drool running down your chin.

You—straddling him, mouth parted, voice whispering his name like it was yours. Grinding on him slow, panties pulled to the side, slick soaking him as you whimpered into his neck.

You—laughing as you dropped that tiny scrap of black lace in his lap, telling him “you’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

His hand moved faster over his thick length. Fist tight, twisting at the top, every stroke dragging a shiver down his spine, smearing the leaking precum from his tip down to his shaft, letting it get all wet. He reached in the dark for your thong, and wrapped it around his knuckles, dragging it up his cock, imagining it was your tongue instead.

“That’s it,” Venom hissed, delighted. “Think of her. Think of her wet, begging for you—”

“Jesus—shut up, get out of my head,” Eddie gasped, even as his hips rocked into his fist, chasing that release with desperation he hadn’t felt in years. His body was tight, every nerve on fire, all of it focused on you.

“Look at you,” Venom snarled, delighted. “Sweaty, moaning her name, fucking your fist like it’s the only hole we’ll ever get. Tragic.”

“I don’t need a narrator,” Eddie growled through clenched teeth, thrusting frantically into his fist. “Just—just shut up. Let me have this. Just one goddamn minute.”

He ignored Venom and imagined your thighs wrapped around his waist, your fingernails dragging down his back, your voice, high and breathy, “Harder, Eddie—God, don’t stop—”

He came hard, so hard his whole body seized, cum spurted over his hand, hot and thick and endless, leaking between his fingers and onto the sheets. The orgasm was so intense it made his eyes roll back, his back arch off the mattress, his chest rising and falling with ragged, uneven breaths. His stomach was a mess, his thighs shook, his mouth hung open on a silent moan.

His hot, sticky cum coated his fingers as he collapsed against the pillows, shaking with the aftershocks of it, it was slowly dripping down his wrist but he didn’t even have the strength to clean it up.

“You’re an embarrassment,” Venom purred. “You should’ve gone next door. Told her how you feel. Pushed her against the wall and fucked her like you wanted to.”

Eddie groaned.

“Man, we should be fucking her,” Venom barked, “not your hand. You’re a disgrace to horny men everywhere.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate you more. I’m stuck with a pathetic excuse for a man who’d rather jerk off instead of banging his hot neighbor.”

Eddie lay there, heart still pounding, sweat cooling on his chest, hand limp on his stomach. The thong was still wrapped around his fist, soaked, reeking of sex, shame and everything he couldn’t have.

“Please,” Venom groaned, equal parts disgusted and amused. “Go wash your damn hand. I swear, if I wake up glued to the sheets again, I’m eating the mattress.”

Eddie let out a broken laugh, still breathless. “Jesus, you’re so fucking dramatic—”

“No, you’re disgusting.” Venom snapped. “And if she ever finds out what you just did thinking about her—oh, the shame, Eddie. The shame.”

…

Eddie swore he was going to return the panties. The next morning, he almost did, got as far as your door, the thong folded neatly in his hoodie pocket, hand raised to knock, but he turned around, went back inside, and jerked off so hard it made his legs shake.

Now, it was like a routine. Midnight, lights off, apartment quiet, and there he’d be, in bed, fingers curling around your thong like it was sacred, holding it to his face, inhaling the faint, lingering trace of your scent, stroking himself slow, then faster, like it hurted not to.

He wrapped it around his fist and fuck it with the kind of desperate, aching rhythm that left him gasping, grinding his hips up into the fabric, fucking it like he’d fuck you—deep, needy, filthy.

He started talking to you in the dark, whispering into the sheets.

“You’d take it so good, baby. God, I’d split you open on this cock. You’d beg for it. Cry for it.”

Telling you how tight you’d feel, how soft your skin would be, how long he’d make you take it—slow, then rough, then slow again until you were shaking and begging and—

But tonight a different thought crept up behind it. A dirtier one, a ridiculous idea, one that he couldn’t take out of his brain..

“Try it on.”

His face flushed instantly. “No. Fucking no. That’s—no.”

“Just do it.”

“Venom, get out of my thoughts.”

“Just once. I know you want to.”

His hand shook as he brought it to his waist, like his body was already making the decision for him before his rational thoughts had any chance to say otherwise. He stepped out of his boxers and bent slightly, lifting one foot, then the other, sliding that little black thong up. The band stretched tight around his hips, it was way too small for him, he had to pull the fabric carefully to keep it from snapping.

When it was in place it dug tight between his asscheeks, pressing snug to the curve of his aching cock and balls, he let out a strangled sound, something between a whimper and a moan.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

It looked obscene on him, it hugged everything, making his cock look bigger, more sensitive somehow. His balls were spilling out the sides, the tiny scrap of fabric was doing a miserable job at holding anything in, barely stretching over the thick girth of his cock.

“You’re so pathetic,” Venom purred. “But you look surprisingly good in that.”

He palmed himself over the thong, his cock throbbed through the fabric, twitching with every rub, the tip already soaking the black lace with pre-cum. Just the mental image of you wearing that same thing, hugging your ass and cunt the same way it was now hugging his cock, made him throb in anticipation.

The friction felt surprisingly good, the lace rasped over his swollen cockhead, catching against the veins down the shaft. He could feel every seam, every thread. He pulled the fabric aside to free the thick length of his cock, just enough to stroke himself properly, but he kept the rest on, tight around his hips, and in between his cheeks. He could feel it every time he moved, and it made his whole body feel like it belonged to someone else. Like he was yours in some fucked-up way.

The lace rubbed under his balls, ruthless against the sensitive skin, and he rocked into it like he needed it. His orgasm hit him hard and fast. He arched off the bed, cock shooting rope after rope of cum that painted his stomach, the thong, the bedsheets. His hand didn’t stop moving even as his vision blurred and he choked on a moan that turned into a laugh. A fucking laugh.

“Pathetic little human,” Venom crooned, low in Eddie’s skull. “You’re addicted. Obsessed. Do you think she’d be shocked if she knew? Or turned on?”

Eddie’s eyes fluttered closed, cum cooling on his skin, your thong still wrapped around his cock.

He hoped to God the answer was turned on.

One night there was a knock on his door.

Eddie flinched like he’d been caught doing something illegal. Which, in a way… he had. Last night. With your underwear. In his bed.

“Open it,” Venom growled in his chest. “It’s her. She smells…sweet tonight.”

Eddie swallowed hard and cracked the door open. You were standing there in little denim shorts and a tank top that clung to your curves like it had been painted on, hair loose, lips glossed. You leaned on the doorframe like you owned it.

“Hey, neighbor.”

His mouth went dry.

“ACT NORMAL. NO, WAIT, DON’T ACT LIKE YOURSELF. ACT COOL.” Venom yelled inside his mind.

“Uh… hey.”

You smiled, one side of your mouth twitching like you could smell his panic.

“Sorry to bother you. I forgot my phone charger at work today. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare one, would you?”

“Y-yeah,” he managed. “Yeah, I’ve got a spare one.”

“LET HER IN,” Venom practically moaned.

Eddie stepped back, heart thudding like a drum. You walked past him, slow and easy, he couldn’t help but watch the way your hips moved—graceful, lazy, like a cat in the sun.

The same hips he’d imagined bouncing on his lap.

Focus, man.

“Uh… Sorry it’s a little messy,” Eddie muttered, scratching the back of his neck as he glanced around the apartment. Messy was an understatement. There were plates stacked in the sink, half-drunk beer bottles on the table, takeout containers shoved everywhere, and—were those feathers on the floor? Yeah. Definitely feathers. Remnants of whatever Venom had called “dinner” the other night.

You stepped inside carefully, eyeing the organized chaos. “It’s alright,” you said, lips quirking into a grin. “It has personality.”

Eddie blinked. “That’s… a nice way of putting it.”

“Your bed has personality too, Eddie. Show it to her.”

He fumbled through his desk drawers, his fingers trembling slightly as he searched for the charger.

You watched him. “You always this nervous when a girl is in your place?” You teased gently.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, trying to play it cool. “Only when she looks like she belongs on the cover of something I can’t afford.”

You laughed—low, real—and Eddie felt like someone had punched him in the chest.

“Well, well,” Venom purred, amused. “That wasn’t so bad, Casanova. Almost sounded like a functioning adult.”

“Smooth,” you said, taking a step closer. “And are you always this charming?”

“No,” he muttered, too honest, too quick.

“Tell her she smells good,” Venom said. “Just don’t make it weird. Wait, never mind—you will.”

Another step, and now you were just a few feet away, he could smell your perfume—warm, something sweet layered over your skin.

He felt Venom stir, curious and hungry.

“She wants you. Say something. Do something. Pin her against the wall. Fuck her like—”

“Shut up,” Eddie whispered.

You blinked. “Sorry?”

His eyes went wide. “Oh, no—I wasn’t—I wasn’t talking to you. I, uh, I have this... brain injury.”

You laughed again, this time with a raised brow. “Right. That explains a lot.”

You took the charger from his hands, but didn’t head straight toward the door. Instead, you lingered there, just a couple feet away, eyes fixed on his face.

“Why do I feel like I know you from somewhere?” you said, eyes narrowing as you searched his face, trying to place him.

“From your dreams!”

“Yeah… I get that a lot,” Eddie replied, his voice a little stiff.

Then your eyes lit up. “Oh! I know—you’re Brock. Eddie Brock.”

"AND VENOM."

He gave a sheepish shrug, scratching the back of his head. “That’s what it says on my ID.”

You grinned. “I knew you looked familiar. My grandma used to love your show—you know, The Eddie Brock Report?”

“Your grandma…” Eddie grimaced. “That doesn’t make me feel old at all.”

“It was a great show.” You laughed, nudging him. “Anyway, thanks for the loan,” you called over your shoulder. “I’ll return it. Maybe tomorrow.”

The door clicked shut behind you and Eddie stood there, brain fried, heart pounding, hard as a rock under his sweatpants.

“Lame,” Venom purred. “She wants to climb you like a tree. She’s like a cat in heat. And you just stood there. Pathetic.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re soft.”

“Yeah.”

“You are a coward, Eddie.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie sat on the couch, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms while Venom was pacing inside his skull like a caged animal.

“She came in here,” Venom hissed. “She was close. She smelled like want. And you let her walk out.”

“I’m not… I’m not ready for that,” Eddie muttered.

“There we go again.”

He pressed his face into his hands.

“She’s younger. Hotter. She probably thinks I’m a loser. Look at me, man—I look worse than I’ve ever looked, I don't have a steady job, I pay a rent I can barely afford. I’m not some—some smooth guy she’s waiting on. I’m the weird neighbor who talks to himself.”

Venom snarled.

“Yes, you’re insignificant, lame, and puny. But you’re not gonna do anything with all that self pity. You’re the man she wants. You smell what I smell, her body’s on fire when you’re near. She’s thinking about it. Fantasizing. Just like you.”

Eddie swallowed hard. “I’m not the same as I used to be,” he said quietly.

And that was true. Before everything fell apart—his job, Anne, the whole alien symbiote situation—he’d been confident, charming, even. He’d had purpose.

Now?

He jerked off with your underwear clutched in his fist and then pretended not to stare when you stopped to chat in the hallway.

“You are so weak. It’s sad really. She wants to mate with you and you’re here like a virgin.” Venom said, voice curling through Eddie’s skull like smoke. “I can’t believe you used to have sex daily, and honestly? From your memories? You didn’t even suck most of the time. Shocking, really.”

“Okay, first of all, she doesn’t want to ‘mate’ with me,” Eddie hissed under his breath, glancing over his shoulder like you might somehow overhear him from two rooms away. “And secondly, thank you.”

Venom huffed. “We should be out in the world. Eating heads. Getting head.” Venom laughed, low and rumbling. “Giving head too. ‘Cause we’re gentlemen.”

Eddie dragged a hand down his face. “You are not a gentleman.”

“Excuse you—I opened the door for her last week. That counts.”

“That was me, you jackass. You just screamed in my brain the whole time about how her jeans were ‘a work of sinful textile engineering.’”

“They were! You’re the one who got all shy and ruined it. You could’ve devoured her right there in the stairwell.”

“Not everything is about sex and consumption,” Eddie gritted.

“Oh but it is, Eddie. It is. We’re basically a walking wet dream. I’m a lethal, throbbing apex predator with a six-pack… and you… well you have your anxiety. I’m sure some women find that attractive. We should be doing something with that.”

Eddie groaned, rubbing at his temple. “Please shut up. You are so fucked in the head.”

“And horny, Eddie, don’t forget horny. I can fix this,” Venom growled. “Let me take over. We’ll go to her. Push her up against the wall. Make her beg for us.”

Eddie’s gut clenched. “Jesus, no.”

Venom cackled. “Then grow a spine, Eddie. Do something before someone else does.”

That last bit landed hard. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned his head back against the couch, jaw clenched.

“You think she’d really…?”

“Yes,” Venom hissed. “She’d let you fuck her until she can’t stand straight. She’d moan your name until the neighbors know. All you have to do is act.”

Eddie groaned. He was hard already, the ache too familiar, and without even thinking, his hand slipped beneath his waistband—again. And just like that, the routine began, but this time, the shame was louder.

“There we go,” Venom purred, watching through Eddie’s eyes. “Stroke it like a pathetic little pervert. Oh wait—you are one.”

“Tomorrow,” Eddie breathed.

“What?” Venom hissed.

“I’ll talk to her. Tomorrow. I swear.”

“No more jerking off like a teenager.”

“Okay.”

“No more hiding.”

“Okay.”

“You will fuck her or I will do it for you.”

“V, please—”

“Deal?”

Eddie shut his eyes, hand still moving, breath picking up. “Deal.”

“She’d be riding our face by now if you had an ounce of dominance in that soft little meat body,” Venom sneered. “Instead, you’re over here moaning into your hand like a loser.”

Tomorrow, he told himself.

But tonight?

Tonight, he came hard, moaning into the dark, with your name on his lips.

The cookies were still warm when you tucked them into the little tin. You didn’t usually bake, it wasn’t your thing, but you’d been restless all day—thinking about last night, about the way Eddie looked at you like he wanted to devour you but didn’t know how. You liked it, you liked him. The quiet awkwardness, the softness under all that scruff and shyness.

And now you were standing at his door again, bare-faced, hair loose, wearing a big old sweatshirt and tiny shorts underneath—just short enough to show your thighs just right.

You knocked. A pause. Footsteps. The door opened a crack—and then wider.

Eddie blinked at you, staring at the tin like it might explode.

“Hey,” you said, all casual. “Peace offering.”

“I, uh—what?”

You smiled. “Cookies. I made them. To say thanks for the charger last night.”

“You… baked?” He looked skeptical, then immediately apologetic. “You didn’t have to”

“I wanted to,” you held it out, and he reached for it like it might vanish.

“THAT’S WIFE MATERIAL OVER THERE, EDDIE!” Venom bellowed, rattling around in Eddie’s skull like a drunk frat boy on a megaphone. “ASK HER TO COME IN. NOW.”

“Wanna come in?” he asked, stepping back.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Eddie closed the door behind you and stood awkwardly while you made yourself at home—again. You popped open the tin, plucked out a cookie, and held it up to him.

“C’mon. Be honest. If it sucks, I’ll pretend not to cry.”

Eddie took it—your fingers brushing—and took a slow bite.

His eyes closed. You bit your lip.

“…Holy shit,” he mumbled, mouth full. “This is actually—this is really good.”

You grinned. “Told you.”

“EDDIE,” Venom thundered in Eddie’s mind. “KEEP HER. MARRY HER. GIVE HER BABIES. ALSO—GIVE ME ANOTHER COOKIE.”

Eddie coughed and nearly choked.

“Y’okay?” you laughed.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just, uh—brain injury.”

“Right, I remember.”

You took one yourself, leaning back against the counter, licking melted chocolate from your thumb. Eddie looked like he might combust, his sweatpants weren’t hiding a damn thing now, the huge bulge under them was clear as the day.

“SHE IS DOING THAT ON PURPOSE,” Venom growled gleefully. “SHE KNOWS YOU’RE A WEAK MAN.”

You met his eyes and he didn’t look away.

“You can’t even talk to her without getting a boner,” Venom muttered. “Pull yourself together. You’re embarrassing both of us.”

“So,” you said slowly, “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” he said, before he could stop himself. He made his way to the couch, maybe if he sat down, spread out and casually pulled a cushion over his lap, you wouldn’t notice the way his cock was throbbing, straining against the thin fabric of his sweats.

You raised a brow, grinning. “Okay, smartass. I was gonna say… I’ve been thinking about another way of saying thank you.”

Eddie’s throat bobbed. “Yeah?”

You took a step closer, stepping between his knees, where he’d sunk onto the edge of the couch without realizing it.

“DO SOMETHING,” Venom snarled. “NOW. SHE IS IN FRONT OF YOU. GET ON YOUR KNEES, EDDIE—NO, WAIT, GET HER ON HER KNEES—”

And then you were doing it for him. You dropped to your knees slowly, purposefully, hands trailing up his thighs. He sucked in a breath like you’d punched him.

You spread his legs a little wider with your palms, your nails dragging lightly through the soft fabric, your breath ghosted over the bulge in his sweatpants, you felt the tremor roll through him.

“OH MY GOD,” Venom practically moaned. “I AM SEEING THROUGH YOUR EYES. I LOVE THIS. I LOVE HER.”

Eddie’s breath hitched as your fingers grazed the bulge in his sweatpants. It was thick, and it twitched under your touch, hot and heavy and aching for attention. You could feel the shape of him through the cotton, you could already imagine how he’d feel against your tongue.

“Fuck—” Eddie whispered, his pupils were blown wide, his mouth slack. “You’re really… doing this.”

You dragged your fingers along the outline—slowly, deliberately, like you were unwrapping a gift, earning a strangled, wrecked noise from him.

“Is this okay?” you murmured.

He nodded, voice lost.

“I want to make you feel good,” you whispered.

He reached out—like he didn’t know whether to stop you or pull you closer—but he stopped himself when your lips brushed over the thick outline of him, teasing with every slow drag of your mouth. You nuzzled your nose against the heavy bulge, humming softly like you were getting to know it, testing the weight, the girth, the way it twitched for you even without skin-to-skin contact.

Eddie couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. You, on your knees, mouthing at his cock through his sweats like it was the best thing in the world, that was the most glorious sight he’d ever seen.

“I—Y-you…” Eddie stammered, his words breaking apart as his brain tried to keep up.

Your only answer was another slow press of your mouth against his cock, your tongue dragging along the fabric now, a wet spot blooming as you licked him through the cotton.

Before he could say anything else, you were already sliding his waistband down, already pressing a kiss to his thigh. His cock sprang free, flushed and leaking, beautiful and so hard it looked like it hurt, you kissed just beside it, inhaling the scent of him. His tip was already glistening with precum, and you made a soft, appreciative sound in your throat, like you’d just been handed dessert.

“You looked like it,” you said, smirking as you leaned in just a little.

Eddie blinked. “L-Like what?” he asked, voice cracking just enough to betray the panic brewing beneath his skin.

“Like you had a huge cock.”

Eddie’s breath hitched, eyes going wide.

“DO NOT COME LOOKING FOR ME—I’M DEAD,” Venom wailed dramatically inside his head. “I HAVE ASCENDED. I AM GONE. BURY ME WHERE I FELL.”

You licked a slow stripe up the side of his cock and his whole body jolted like he’d been electrocuted, you soothed him with a kiss to the head, one hand stroking his shaft while the other pressed gently on his thigh to hold him still.

“SHE HAS NO BUSINESS LOOKING THAT GOOD WITH YOUR DICK IN HER MOUTH!” Venom snarled, somewhere between horrified and deeply impressed.

Eddie clenched his jaw, trying his hardest to drown out Venom’s relentless voice echoing inside his head, all he wanted was to focus on the wonderful, intoxicating feeling of your mouth on him, so warm, wet, and impossibly good.

You moved your tongue with just the lightest pressure, just the tip of it tracing up and down his swollen head. His cock was so sensitive, leaking more precum every second, and every time your tongue swirled over the slit, his whole body shook

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he mumbled breathlessly.

“I’m just getting started,” you whispered.

“HA. She’s going to kill you. You’re going to die from horny.”

Eddie twitched in the seat, knuckles white as he gripped the edge, eyes barely open and glazed with need.

“You’re so sensitive,” you cooed. “Is this too much?”

He whimpered. “Yes—No—Maybe—don’t stop, please.”

You kissed him again, licked the precum off his slit, and wrapped your hot and wet mouth around him. Eddie’s whole body shuddered, his hand flew to your hair, not to push you down or guide your movements—just to hold on, to anchor himself. His knuckles turned white in your hair, his jaw hung open, he made a sound like he was dying.

“SHE IS GLORIOUS.”

“Ff-fuck—” he whispered.

He was sensitive and desperate, you could tell, every flick of your tongue made his thighs tense, every sound from your mouth made him tremble. You moaned around him like you were the one getting head, and he cursed again, hips jerking like he couldn’t help it.

Venom was purring like a damn engine. “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’VE DEPRIVED ME FROM THIS FEELING FOR SO LONG. THIS IS BETTER THAN BRAINS. WE ARE NEVER LETTING HER GO.”

“Shut up, just—shut—” Eddie started muttering to Venom under his breath, eyes squeezed shut.

You looked up at him, cock still warm and wet in your mouth, brow furrowed in confusion.

“I-I said—I said it feels so good,” he stammered again, trying to recover, but his voice sounded rough and desperate.

You sucked him in inch by inch, tongue working along the underside, feeling every twitch, every pulse of heat. He was thick, stretching your lips, hitting the back of your throat before you pulled back to swirl your tongue around the tip.

You pulled back just far enough to speak, breath hot on his spit-slick cock. “Good?”

He nodded, frantically, not trusting himself to speak. His whole body was a twitching mess, like he couldn’t stop his body from reacting.

“Marry her. Now. While she’s still gagging on your cock. Best time to ask.” Venom demanded, while Eddie was already dying inside.

His grip tightened, his hips bucked the tiniest bit, chasing the heat of your mouth. You let him, you wanted him wild, you wanted him wrecked. Your mouth was taking him with purpose, pulling off just to spit on the head and swirl your tongue around it, looking up with eyes that borderlined on pornographic.

Your mouth slid down over his balls, licking one and then the other, before sucking them into your mouth one at a time. While your mouth showered one with attention, your hand massaged the other one softly.

"Jesus Christ—That's—"

You moved back to his cock, which was in need for attention. You shoved it deep in your throat until your nose was buried in the hairs that decorated his pelvis. You held yourself there, letting him feel the heath of your throat clenching around him as you bobbed your head in long strokes.

“Shit—I’m gonna—”

“NO. DON’T YOU DARE, EDDIE. BE A MAN AND HOLD IT. I WANT TO KEEP FEELING IT.”

You didn’t stop, didn’t want to, you wanted to swallow every last drop, and so you sucked him deeper, letting spit drip down your chin, your eyes locked on his as you kept taking him to the hilt, hands cupping his slick balls. He cursed so loudly it echoed, and you just stared up at him hungry, needy, desperate, like you were begging him without a single word. Begging him to give it to you, to give you that hot, aching load straight down your throat.

“Don’t blow it, Eddie. Just a little more,” Venom pleaded, his voice thick with urgency and hunger.

"Holy shit—I ca’nt—I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t hold it!"

But Eddie was already too far gone, every nerve screaming, every muscle trembling, completely unable to hold back even if he wanted to. And when he came—hard, shaking, gasping your name—you swallowed his cum down like he was the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. Hot and thick on your tongue, your mouth full of him, your hands holding his trembling thighs steady while he came undone for you. You didn’t let a drop escape, you kept sucking until he whimpered.

He collapsed back, dazed and ruined like he’d never been before.

“SHE SWALLOWED IT! DID YOU SEE THAT?” Venom roared triumphantly inside Eddie’s head, practically bouncing with excitement. “THAT WAS SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOUR NASTY HAND, EDDIE.”

You kissed your way up his chest and curled beside him on the couch, lips brushing his ear.

“OH HOLY GOD,” Venom howled in his mind. “SHE’S PERFECT. SHE’S A KEEPER. WE ARE CLAIMING HER. CLAIM HER NOW. MATE FOR LIFE—”

You looked at him—lips swollen, eyes dark, smile lazy and warm. “Was that good?”

Eddie stared at you. Still panting, still stunned.

“Y—yeah. Jesus. Yeah.” He blinked at the ceiling. “What year is it.”

You chuckled softly, “I was thinking,” you whispered, “maybe next time… you could return the favor.”

Eddie made a strangled noise. His cock gave a sudden twitch, still half-hard.

Venom roared. “YES. YES. NEXT TIME IS NOW.”

A/N: Sooo, this was my first Eddie fic, hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please consider showing some support🫶🏻🩷

Eddie Brock girlies, get behind me🤺 this one was made especially for you. I’m planning to write more Eddie x Neighbor!Reader one-shots for that 20% who wanted Eddie fics.

Felt like I needed to give @mani-pedro a shoutout for suggesting the idea of Eddie wearing the thong (genius).

tag: @katssecretdiary

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics‬

[jessesluvr]

OMG DO BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND AU!!!!!

brother's best friend | jesse x reader modern!college!au

author's note : i HATE chemistry omg.. i did so bad on my chem midterm but i know it's only because i struggle with dimensional analysis and converting the measurements :D.. anyways, please enjoy ! i hope you all are eating well and staying hydrated. (not proofread sorry.)

warnings : mndi 18+ ! gets a lil smutty, but nothin toooo extreme.

summary : you quietly love jesse, your brother’s best friend and longtime protector, while they navigate friendship, jealousy, and unspoken feelings. after a tense party incident and emotional confessions, their bond deepens into a tender, passionate romance, with ellie and dina’s playful teasing adding warmth and fun to their journey.

word count : 5.2k

you always felt invisible around jesse. not because he ignored you, exactly. it was more that the way he smiled at your brother, the way his easy laugh filled the room, made you feel like a shadow lingering on the edge of something bright. your brother’s best friend since middle school, golden boy with perfect teeth and a grin that could disarm even the worst day — jesse was everyone’s favorite, except maybe yours. because to you, he was the one person who could see you without looking.

you tried not to think about it. about how your chest tightened every time he glanced your way or how your voice grew smaller when he was around. shy, quiet, unsure — you tucked yourself away, preferring to watch from behind a book or the edge of a crowded room. ellie and dina had already noticed, of course. the way dina would smirk knowingly when jesse walked in, or how ellie would nudge you and whisper, “he’s totally into you.” you’d blush and look down, hoping they were wrong.

it was junior year of college, the one where things felt like they might finally change but also stay the same. jesse was still the golden boy, captain of the soccer team, popular with everyone. your brother still called him every day, invited him over for dinner and movies, and sometimes you tagged along to the hangouts, awkward and wide-eyed, clutching your phone like a lifeline.

the evening jesse offered to drive you to campus was the first time you’d ever been alone with him, really alone. your brother had been sick, so jesse just said, “i’ll take you,” like it was nothing. and in the car, the silence wasn’t heavy. it was soft, filled with the hum of the engine and the distant city lights.

you caught yourself stealing glances — at the way his jaw flexed when he smiled at a text, at the way his hand brushed against the steering wheel, strong and steady. you wanted to say something — anything — but your voice always betrayed you, small and uncertain.

“you okay?” jesse asked once, and you nodded too quickly, cheeks burning.

“yeah. yeah, just tired.”

“i get it. classes are a pain.”

there was a pause, then he cleared his throat. “you’re good at math, right? maybe i could get some help sometime.”

you blinked, surprised. “you want help from me?”

jesse laughed softly, that easy, golden laugh you were sure you’d never hear aimed at you before. “yeah. you’re smart. i’m a little hopeless.”

and suddenly, something shifted. the walls you’d built crumbled just a little.

you didn’t know it then, but that ride was the beginning. the beginning of long nights studying together, of shared headphones and stolen smiles. the beginning of a crush so quiet it felt like a secret song playing just for you.

you sat curled up on the worn-out couch in the living room, a blanket draped over your legs, as ellie and dina exchanged glances across the coffee table. they’d been nudging you all evening with those knowing smirks, their teasing smiles soft but relentless.

“so,” dina began, voice casual but loaded, “how’s it feel having jesse as your brother’s best friend? must be nice, right?”

you swallowed hard, your cheeks heating instantly. “it’s… fine. he’s just a friend.”

ellie rolled her eyes, but her grin was warm. “yeah, sure. totally just friends.”

you avoided their gazes, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “you guys are ridiculous.”

dina leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “okay, real talk — we all see it. you’re into him. like, really into him.”

you bit your lip, heart hammering in your chest. the truth was too big to say out loud. you wanted to tell them, but the words caught in your throat every time.

“why don’t you just say something?” ellie asked softly. “jesse’s nice. he’s not gonna bite your head off.”

you shook your head, voice barely a whisper. “i don’t think he even notices me like that.”

dina gave you a sideways look, one eyebrow raised. “trust me, he notices.”

you weren’t so sure. jesse always seemed so confident around your brother, but when he looked at you, there was something softer, something that made your skin tingle.

a few days later, you found yourself studying at the campus library when your phone buzzed.

jesse

need help with calculus. library, 5?

your heart skipped. you typed back quickly, 

you

yeah, sure.

when you met him, his easy smile was the same as ever, but there was something different in the way he looked at you — like he was trying to memorize every detail.

the afternoon passed with scribbled notes, quiet laughter, and the brush of fingers as you passed the pen. the air between you thickened with unspoken words.

you never thought much about how often your paths crossed with jesse until suddenly it felt like he was everywhere. showing up in your classes, texting you just to check in, and somehow always ending up next to you during group hangouts. it wasn’t like he was making a show of it. it was subtle, almost accidental. but every time he laughed at something you said, or caught your eye just a little longer than necessary, your heart did this ridiculous flutter.

one afternoon, you and jesse found yourselves stuck in the campus coffee shop, both waiting for the last seat by the window. you hesitated, then slid over just enough for him to sit down. his smile was easy and warm. “you coming to the math review later?”

you nodded, cheeks pink. “yeah, i figured i could use the help.”

he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “you’re too modest. you’re the one who should be helping me.”

you wanted to argue, but he was right, he had a way with numbers, sure, but you had the knack for spotting patterns that he missed.

during the review, jesse kept stealing glances your way, and when your hands brushed as you reached for the same calculator, you both froze for a second. his fingers lingered a heartbeat longer, and he gave you that golden grin that made your insides melt.

later that week, dina and ellie dragged you all to a casual movie night. jesse sat close, and when you shivered, he slipped his hoodie over your shoulders without a word. the warmth of his body pressed against yours made your breath catch.

ellie teased, “looks like someone’s got a crush.”

you mumbled a denial, but jesse’s smirk was all the confirmation you needed.

they started texting, messages full of jokes, study tips, and music recommendations. you both hid the growing affection behind sarcasm and light teasing, but every “goodnight” felt like a secret promise.

little moments piled up. jesse picking you up from class, buying you coffee when you forgot yours, pulling you out of awkward conversations, and protecting you in ways that never seemed obvious to anyone else.

and still, you stayed quiet, too shy to speak the feelings aloud.

you always thought of jesse as your brother’s golden boy best friend — the one who smiled too easily, who played soccer like it was second nature, and who everyone seemed to like without effort. you were used to watching from the sidelines, your feelings locked away behind quiet walls. but lately, something was different.

it started on an ordinary tuesday afternoon in the campus library. you’d come early to grab your favorite study spot by the window, a nook where the light softened the edges of everything and made the world feel a little less sharp. jesse appeared a few minutes later, casually tossing his backpack on the floor beside you.

“hey,” he said, voice warm but low, like he was saving energy just for you.

“hey,” you whispered back, heart already beating faster.

he pulled out his notes and sighed. “you’ve been killing it in calculus. i’m seriously impressed.”

you flushed, trying not to smile too big. “thanks. i’m just… trying.”

he glanced up, eyes catching yours, a flicker of something unfamiliar in his gaze. protective? curious? maybe a little tender.

“you always try too hard,” he teased softly. “you should give yourself more credit.”

you looked down, fiddling with the pen in your hand. the quiet between you stretched comfortably, the only sound the scratching of pens and the rustling of pages.

later, you caught him watching you as you explained a tricky problem to ellie and dina. the way his eyebrows lifted in admiration when you spoke, how his jaw tensed slightly when you looked away — it was like he was noticing pieces of you he’d never seen before.

one afternoon after class, you found yourself walking beside him, both of you quiet in the late afternoon sun.

“you okay?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer than usual.

“yeah,” you replied, but your voice wavered just a bit.

he slowed to match your pace, eyes searching yours. “if you ever want to talk, or just hang out, i’m here.”

your chest tightened. “thanks.”

these moments piled up, each one like a secret thread weaving you closer together. jesse started texting you more, not just about homework but about music, about dumb jokes, about random thoughts that made you laugh when you least expected it.

one evening, you found yourself sitting on his couch, surrounded by the hum of the city outside and the soft glow of fairy lights. he handed you a warm cup of tea, the steam curling around your fingers, and his gaze lingered on your face like he was memorizing it.

“you’re different than i thought,” he said quietly.

“how so?”

he shrugged, trying to sound casual. “i don’t know. you’re… real. and you make me want to be better.”

you wanted to say something, but the words tangled in your throat.

then, there were the little touches — accidental or maybe not — the brush of his hand against yours, the way he pulled you close when a cold draft blew through the room, the times he caught you looking at him and held your gaze just a moment too long.

and yet, he never rushed you. never pushed. just stayed there, steady and golden, a safe harbor you weren’t sure you deserved.

but beneath the surface, things were shifting, breaking open. jesse was starting to see you not just as his best friend’s quiet sister but as something much, much more.

the late afternoon light spilled through the blinds of the campus café where you and jesse often found yourselves when you needed a break from studying. he had that easy, golden smile, the one that made people listen without realizing it, but when he looked at you, it softened into something warmer — something almost shy.

you stirred your coffee nervously, cheeks flushed when he caught you glancing his way. “you okay?” he asked, voice low and steady, like he was trying to keep the moment between just the two of you.

you nodded, but the truth was a knot of nerves twisting in your stomach. being around jesse was like walking on the edge of something thrilling and terrifying all at once.

he reached across the table, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering too long to be accidental. “you don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmured.

your breath hitched. “i’m not.”

jesse’s eyes searched yours, unblinking and sincere. “good. because i want to know all of you.”

a silence fell, thick and intimate. the world outside the café seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of warmth.

later, walking side by side across the quad, jesse’s arm brushed against yours. you froze, heart pounding, but he didn’t pull away. instead, he shifted just enough so your shoulders almost touched, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. the air between you thickened, heavy with the things neither of you said.

it wasn’t dramatic or loud. it was simple. it was real.

and it was everything you never knew you needed.

you slouched on your bed, headphones plugged in but barely hearing the music. the idea of another party felt exhausting, especially with finals looming. when your phone buzzed, you glanced at the screen,

dina

“party tonight. you in?”

you hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. before you could respond, ellie popped her head through your open door, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“you can’t bail again,” ellie said, dropping onto your bed like she owned the place.

you sighed, “i’m not really feeling it. parties are… loud.”

“exactly why you need to come,” dina’s voice called from downstairs as she appeared in your doorway, arms crossed but eyes sparkling with excitement.

ellie nodded enthusiastically. “yeah, plus jesse’s gonna be there. and you know he’s been, like, mysteriously texting you more lately.”

you blinked, cheeks heating up. “that’s not—”

“it totally is,” dina interrupted, smirking. “and you don’t get to chicken out.”

“fine,” you grumbled, but the way your heart fluttered at the mention of jesse made you look forward to it just a little.

“yes!” ellie cheered, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. “we’re gonna make sure you have fun, whether you like it or not.”

the house was alive with noise and movement the moment you stepped inside — a crush of bodies packed into every corner, music booming from the speakers, flashing lights turning the living room into a kaleidoscope of color. the scent of spilled beer and sweat mingled with the sharp tang of cologne and perfume. you felt the familiar flutter of nerves rise up your chest, like always when you entered a place so crowded, so loud. but tonight was different. tonight, dina had dragged you out of your comfort zone, dressed you up in a soft, dusty rose dress that hugged your frame just enough to make you feel both exposed and, oddly, a little daring.

you tugged the hem nervously as dina squeezed your arm. “you look amazing,” she said, grinning. “jesse’s gonna flip when he sees you like this.”

you bit your lip, cheeks heating, and looked over toward the kitchen doorway, where jesse stood talking to your brother. the golden boy, tall and effortless, laughter lighting up his face as your brother told a joke you couldn’t quite hear. jesse’s eyes swept the room, then locked on you for a heartbeat longer than usual — that flicker of something that made your breath catch.

“he’s definitely been watching,” ellie said from your side, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “like hawk-eyed, man. it’s kinda cute.”

“yeah, maybe a little too much,” dina agreed, nudging you gently toward the crowd. “go talk to him.”

you shook your head, heart thudding. “i don’t know if i can.”

“please,” ellie pressed, “you owe us one.”

reluctantly, you weaved through the throng of bodies, the music pulsing through your chest with every step. your brother caught your eye and waved, giving you a friendly grin that helped steady your nerves.

jesse was still talking, but his eyes flicked to you again, that same unreadable look, a mixture of surprise and something softer. you looked away quickly, cheeks burning.

just as you were starting to relax, a tall guy appeared at your side, smirking like he owned the place. “hey, you’re new, right? mind if i buy you a drink?”

you shook your head firmly. “no thanks.”

he leaned in closer, too close. “come on, it’s a party. loosen up.”

you started to step back, but his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist hard enough to make you wince.

your breath hitched. panic shot through your veins, freezing you in place.

jesse’s head snapped toward you, eyes blazing with fury you’d never seen before. the easygoing golden boy was gone — replaced by something dangerous and fierce.

he pushed through the crowd in a blur, jaw clenched, muscles tight with anger.

“let go of her,” jesse snapped, voice low and cold.

the guy sneered, pulling harder. jesse’s fist connected with a sharp crack against the side of the guy’s face, sending him stumbling back, clutching his jaw.

“don’t you ever touch her again,” jesse hissed, stepping protectively in front of you, eyes blazing.

you stood trembling, heart pounding in your ears, and jesse’s arm slipped around your shoulders, steadying you.

without a word, he took your hand and led you outside into the cool night air.

the party’s chaos faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the neighborhood and the gentle rustling of leaves.

jesse pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around your shoulders, his fingers lingering as he checked the redness on your wrist.

“you okay?” he asked, voice rough with concern.

you nodded, swallowing hard.

his hand brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, thumb tracing a gentle line down your cheek.

“you shouldn’t have to fight guys off alone,” he whispered.

your breath hitched, eyes locking with his.

for a moment, time slowed — the world shrinking to just the two of you, the space between charged with something electric.

jesse leaned in, lips just inches from yours, breath warm against your skin.

you wanted to close the gap, to finally give in to the crush you’d kept hidden for so long.

but the words caught in your throat.

“not yet,” you breathed.

he smiled softly, fingers still tracing your skin. “whenever you’re ready.”

you stayed wrapped in his jacket, heart pounding, knowing this was just the beginning.

you didn’t want to go on that date. not really. dina and ellie had been relentless, convincing you to get out of your head, but as the evening approached, you found your nerves twisting tighter and tighter. you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, sitting on your bed, heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and dread. you’d been so careful to keep it quiet, not wanting jesse, or anyone, to know.

but somehow, news traveled fast. jesse found out. maybe through your brother, maybe through the tight-knit circle you all belonged to, but when you stepped out the door, you caught the way jesse’s eyes darkened in the living room window, watching you leave with something you couldn’t quite place. jealousy? worry? something deeper, messy and tangled.

hours passed, stretching out like an endless ache. jesse paced, ran his hands through his hair, replaying every laugh, every glance you ever shared. his mind twisted with the fear that maybe this was it—that you were slipping away from him, becoming someone else’s instead of the shy, quiet girl he’d always cherished from a distance.

then the door opened again.

you came in, breathless, tears streaking your face, a defeated weight dragging at your shoulders. the silence in the room wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. before you could even think, jesse was there—his arms a solid wall against the chaos outside, holding you tighter than you thought possible.

“hey,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “you don’t have to say anything.”

you let your sobs shake free, your whole body trembling. the person you thought you could be with someone else faded away, leaving only the truth of how you felt — fragile, overwhelmed, aching.

jesse’s hands trembled slightly as they brushed your hair back from your wet, tear-streaked face. “you’re safe,” he promised. “i’m here.”

you looked up, eyes searching his, so fierce, so full of something you hadn’t dared hope for. anger for the way you’d been treated, yes, but something more. protectiveness. care.

his thumb traced your cheek, slow and gentle. “you matter. you matter to me.”

a silence fell between you, heavy and charged. the space tightened until you could feel his breath mingling with yours, every heartbeat echoing like thunder.

he leaned closer, hesitant, vulnerability raw in his gaze. “can i…?”

your lips parted, the word caught between yes and no, want and fear.

before you could answer, your eyes flicked to the door, where you both knew someone might walk in.

you pulled back, heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

jesse nodded, understanding but disappointed. “whenever you’re ready. i’m not going anywhere.”

the storm outside had begun, rain tapping fiercely against the windows as the night grew darker. later, when the house had quieted, you found yourself curled up on the couch, jesse’s oversized hoodie draped around your shoulders. your wet hair clung to your neck, and his steady warmth pressed against your back.

you leaned into him without thinking, the small contact grounding you amid the whirlwind of feelings.

jesse’s hand found yours, fingers weaving together slowly, cautiously, like a secret promise.

“you don’t have to hide from me,” he whispered, voice thick with feeling.

you turned in his arms, heart thudding. “i’ve wanted to say it for so long,” you admitted, breath shaking. “but i was scared. scared you’d never want me like that.”

jesse smiled softly, brushing your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your skin.

“i’ve loved you longer than you’ll ever know,” he said, voice breaking open the dam between you.

and then, finally, the wait was over. his lips found yours, soft, desperate, tender. a slow dance of everything you’d held back.

time slowed, and the world slipped away until only you and jesse remained, wrapped in the kind of kiss that promised more. more than just words could ever say. finding courage you grabbed his hand leading him to your bedroom.

the room felt electric yet tender, every breath shared between you and jesse a delicate balance of anticipation and vulnerability. his fingers, still warm from tracing your skin, moved with a deliberate patience that made your heart race in a way you’d never known. the way he touched you was like a conversation without words—soft, asking for permission, giving you space to respond with every gasp and shiver.

his thumb circled your clit, slow and steady, each motion building the heat pooling inside you, your body arching toward him like a moth to flame. the subtle slickness of your arousal made his fingers glide effortlessly, exploring deeper, teasing your folds with an intimacy that made your breath hitch and your cheeks flush.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, your lips parting to catch the soft moans escaping him. his eyes locked onto yours—dark, intense, filled with a mix of adoration and raw need that made you feel completely seen.

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, voice thick as he leaned down to kiss the curve of your neck, then your shoulder, trailing kisses that left a burning trail.

the waves of pleasure built slowly, exquisite and consuming, until your body clenched around his fingers and your breath broke into a shuddering gasp. you came with a force that surprised you—soft cries mingling with his name, your body trembling in the afterglow.

jesse didn’t rush, his lips finding yours again, the kiss deep and slow, savoring the moment. he shifted, pressing himself gently against you, and you felt the steady, warm length of him as he positioned himself carefully.

“you ready?” his voice was a husky murmur against your ear.

you nodded, nerves fluttering but trust shining through. he moved inside you with deliberate care, slow and deep, every inch a tender exploration. your fingers curled into his shoulders, the softness of his skin grounding you as he found a rhythm that made your world narrow to the heat and pressure and the way your bodies fit together.

the sensations built, a delicious tension rising with every breath, every whisper, every sigh. jesse’s hands cradled you, his lips brushing your hairline, his voice a constant murmur of encouragement and praise.

“you’re doing so good,” he breathed. “i’m right here.”

you matched his pace, the slow, building pleasure folding over you like waves. every touch was reverent, every movement filled with a desperate sweetness that made your heart ache.

as you neared the edge again, jesse’s fingers tangled in your hair, his voice low and urgent. “come for me.”

and you did, a second wave of heat and release crashing over you as he held you close, his own breath ragged, his lips pressing softly to your temple.

afterwards, you lay tangled together, skin slick with sweat, hearts pounding, the quiet between you filled with a soft, aching love.

“you’re incredible,” jesse whispered, voice thick with emotion as he brushed a stray hair from your face.

“you made me feel safe,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper, feeling every bit as vulnerable and cherished as you’d hoped.

the morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, painting jesse’s room in a warm, golden glow. you stirred slowly, the faint weight of his arm draped protectively over your waist anchoring you in a cocoon of safety and quiet contentment. your fingers traced the soft fabric of his shirt beneath your palm, heart fluttering with a mix of disbelief and a shy, blooming happiness. this was real. this was yours.

jesse’s breath was slow and steady against your skin, a soft hum vibrating in his throat as he nuzzled closer, lips brushing your temple in a gentle, almost reverent way. “morning,” he murmured, voice rough but tender.

you smiled, feeling the warmth spread through you. “morning,” you whispered back, eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. the world outside might still be chaotic, but here, in this moment, everything was perfect.

before you could say more, the unmistakable sound of a door crashing open shattered the calm. ellie and dina burst in, their energy a whirlwind of excitement and mischief. “guys! what the hell—” ellie began, eyes wide as she took in the scene, then smirked, “well, well. didn’t think you two were actually gonna do it.”

dina grinned, elbowing ellie. “finally, huh? about time.”

you flushed crimson, pulling the blanket tighter around you, while jesse groaned softly, rubbing his face with a mix of amusement and mild embarrassment. “hey, can we maybe not make this a thing?” he said, voice dry but smiling.

“too late,” ellie laughed, already pulling out her phone, clearly ready to tease the two of you mercilessly. dina grabbed the blanket from you, waving it like a flag of victory. “you’re officially together now.”

jesse threw a pillow at them, half-laughing, half-exasperated, but the tension between you eased under their lighthearted teasing. the secret was out — at least to your closest friends.

but the mood shifted later that day when your brother came home unexpectedly early. he opened the door with that usual confident swagger — but stopped dead when he saw jesse sitting on the couch, you curled up beside him, a quiet intimacy hanging in the air.

his eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. “what the hell is going on here?” his voice was sharp, edged with something you’d never heard before — betrayal? anger? fear?

the tension in the room hung heavy, thicker than the summer heat pressing against the windows. your brother’s eyes were sharp, the hurt and worry buried deep behind them, but jesse stood his ground, steady and calm like a rock in the storm.

you swallowed hard, suddenly feeling small under his intense gaze. “it’s not what you think,” you started, but he cut you off.

“don’t lie to me. you’re with him. jesse. my best friend. and you didn’t tell me? what the hell, why didn’t you say anything?”

the room felt thick with tension, the air crackling as emotions boiled over. “look,” jesse said, voice steady but warm, “i get it. you care about her. and so do i. but the way you’re acting — it’s like you don’t trust either of us. that’s gotta change. she’s not just your little sister anymore.”

your brother ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenched. “it’s not that easy. you’ve been my best friend forever, and now… this.” he gestured between you and jesse, frustration leaking through. “i’m scared you’ll mess her up.”

you felt a sting in your chest, but jesse reached out, placing a hand gently over yours. “hey,” he said softly, “i’m not gonna hurt her. and you’re part of this too. if you’re willing.”

for a long moment, the three of you just stood there, the silence stretching but not breaking. then your brother sighed, the edge softening in his voice.

“okay,” he said quietly. “but you better mean it.”

jesse smiled, the first genuine one you’d seen all day. “i do. more than you know.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, the knot in your chest loosening a little. for the first time, it felt like maybe this complicated, messy thing could work — all of it, the feelings, the fears, the unspoken promises.

and as jesse squeezed your hand, you knew this was only the beginning. slow burn or not, you were ready to burn for him.

the day of the “first date” was awkward and exciting all at once. jesse had insisted on keeping it low-key, wanting it to feel natural, not pressured — but you knew better. he was nervous, and so were you.

ellie and dina, of course, made sure to remind you both exactly how cute you were being about it. texts and calls flooded in with jokes, emojis, and teasing nicknames. “don’t forget to wear deodorant,” dina had smirked. “you’re about to get seriously swooned.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at your lips. ellie’s voice was a little less subtle. “jesse, man, you better not mess this up. we are rooting for you.”

jesse just shot back a mock glare, but you caught the blush creeping up his neck when he looked at you. that shy, golden-boy smile you’d loved from the start — now softer, with a new kind of warmth.

you met him outside the little cafe he’d picked, a cozy spot with ivy creeping over the brick walls and fairy lights strung up, glowing softly even in the afternoon. the smell of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air, but all you could think about was how close he was standing, how the light caught his eyes.

“hey,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “you look… amazing.”

your heart skipped, cheeks burning. “you too.”

you slipped your hand near his, close but not quite touching, savoring the tension. the world felt smaller — just the two of you, surrounded by soft laughter and the murmur of quiet conversations.

ellie and dina’s teasing echoed in your mind, but now it was real. this was your moment, your slow dance with something new and fragile and so completely thrilling.

every laugh, every glance, every shy brush of fingers was a thread weaving the two of you closer. and you knew, no matter how long the wait, this was just the beginning.

[kaizzz]

Part ll

——

Part l Part ll Part lll

Title: The Bloom Beneath The Silence

—

It starts after a long training run.

You’re helping Tuffnut wrangle Barf and Belch back into their stall. The sun’s setting, your braid’s a mess, and your arms ache in a good way.

You’re laughing — really laughing — as Tuffnut nearly faceplants in a pile of wet straw. Again.

“That’s the third time this week,” you snort, tossing a brush his way.

“Gravity has a crush on me,” he says, puffing out his chest. “Can’t keep her hands off.”

You roll your eyes and keep brushing. Just another moment of chaos, laughter, ease.

You think you’ve hidden it well.

Until he speaks.

Quiet. Calm.

Too calm for Tuffnut.

“Y’know, your laugh sounds different when we’re alone.”

You freeze. Just for a second.

Then smirk over your shoulder. “What, you writing poetry now?”

“Pshh. Please. Poetry’s for people with fewer issues.”

He tosses straw at your face. You dodge it.

But he doesn’t drop it.

“I’m not asking what’s wrong,” he adds after a pause. “But I’ve seen you go quiet when no one’s looking. And you hold your chest when you think no one notices.”

You say nothing.

“And don’t give me that ‘forge dust’ crap again. It’s not forge dust if it happens in the middle of the woods.”

You slowly look up from your brush.

And he’s just standing there — no jokes, no dramatic poses. Just Tuffnut. Tall, crooked, a little too observant for someone who once tried to marry a rock.

“I’m not asking,” he says again, gentler this time.

“But if something is wrong… I got you, okay?”

You stare at him.

You could lie. Laugh. Say something sarcastic.

Instead, you just say:

“…Okay.”

And he nods. Like that’s enough.

For now.

⸻

Later that night, you press a cloth to your nose again.

You don’t cry.

But it’s the first time someone’s seen you in weeks.

Even if they don’t know what they’re seeing.

—-

You’re sitting on the edge of the docks, boots dangling just above the water, sharpening a blade you haven’t had reason to use in days.

It’s peaceful here.

Until Astrid drops down beside you, relaxed in a way few people ever get to see her.

You don’t mind the company. She’s quiet at first, like you are.

The waves lap. The whetstone scrapes.

And then, casually, like it’s nothing, she says:

“So… Snotlout and Minden, huh?”

Your hand stills. Just briefly.

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye. “What about them?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. Just seems like it’s becoming a thing.”

You force your hand to keep moving, the soft scrape of metal against stone covering the silence between her words and your thoughts.

“I mean, he’s different around her,” she adds. “Less performative. It’s kind of… nice.”

You nod. Just once. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

Because it does.

Minden is calm. Kind. She listens. She fits.

Astrid doesn’t see the way your grip tightens. The way your jaw clenches before you breathe out through your nose and keep sharpening.

“You okay?” she asks suddenly, glancing at you.

You smile, easy. Perfect.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She doesn’t push.

No one ever does.

⸻

Later, you pass by the stables.

You don’t mean to stop.

But there they are.

Snotlout and Minden,

She’s laughing. He’s close. Too close. Not quite touching, but it’s the kind of space two people leave when they want to be touching.

She leans in. He doesn’t pull away.

You don’t hear what they’re saying.

You don’t need to.

⸻

You keep walking.

You go straight to the forge. You don’t work. You don’t build. You just sit on the bench in the far corner, back to the wall, arms around your knees.

Your chest feels like something heavy’s sitting on it.

Not enough to break you.

Just enough to keep you from breathing deeply.

—

You’re sitting outside the forge, staring at the ocean.

Not doing anything. Not fixing. Not working. Just… being.

It’s late. Everyone else is either asleep or pretending to be. The night air is cool, salt-wet, and soft against your skin.

You don’t hear Tuffnut approach.

But then he’s there. Dropping down beside you without a word, plopping a small, half-burnt muffin in your lap.

“Peace offering,” he says. “For no reason.”

You raise a brow. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But you look like the kind of person who needs a muffin anyway.”

You don’t argue.

You don’t eat it either.

You just let it sit there between you, warm against your leg.

⸻

He doesn’t speak again for a while. He just hums something tuneless, rocking back and forth with his knees pulled to his chest.

Eventually, he says, quiet:

“Still not asking.”

You nod.

“Still not ready to tell you.”

He shrugs like it doesn’t hurt. “Cool.”

A beat passes.

Then—

“…But I’ve been getting nosebleeds.”

Your voice barely breaks the silence.

It’s so quiet afterward you almost pretend you didn’t say it.

But he turns to you, eyes a little wider, softer than you’ve ever seen them.

“That why you’ve been skipping lunch?”

You shrug.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t tell anyone.

He just… stays.

⸻

You lean your head against the wooden post behind you, eyes closed, voice small:

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then I won’t.”

A pause.

“But if you do?”

You glance sideways.

He’s looking out at the water.

Not at you.

Not making it harder.

Just there.

“I’ll still be here.”

⸻

You don’t say thank you.

You don’t cry.

You just let the silence stretch.

For once, it feels safe.

—

It’s sparring day.

The sun’s out, the sand’s dry, and the Edge is alive with motion — swords clashing, dragons roaring overhead, voices barking orders and laughter from every direction.

You’re paired with Astrid. Fast. Ruthless. She doesn’t hold back.

That’s why you picked her.

You need the distraction.

And you keep up. Mostly.

Until halfway through the match, you misstep. A spin too fast, a parry too high. You recover — barely.

But then it hits you.

A hot pulse in your face.

A familiar sting in your sinuses.

You pause, eyes narrowing, head swimming. You blink, steady yourself—

—and that’s when Astrid knocks your blade from your hands.

“(Y/N), you okay?”

You step back. Nodding quickly. Too quickly.

“Fine. Just—distracted.”

She frowns, studying you. But lets it go.

You bend to pick up your sword.

And a droplet of blood hits the sand.

Bright. Red. Stark against the pale grit.

⸻

You wipe your nose with your sleeve like it’s nothing.

Like you’re fine.

But someone sees.

“Hey—whoa, you’re bleeding.”

Tuffnut. His voice is closer than you expected. He’s halfway across the ring before you can even respond.

You press your sleeve tighter to your nose. Shake your head.

“It’s nothing. Just dry air. I’m fine.”

But your hand trembles.

And that’s when you realize: Snotlout’s watching.

He’s standing off to the side with Minden, half a laugh caught on his face like it got stuck in his throat.

You meet his eyes for a second.

And you see it.

The hesitation.

The concern.

The confusion.

He takes a step forward.

But Tuffnut is already there — hand at your back, steady, quiet.

“C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You don’t protest.

You don’t even look back.

And Snotlout?

He doesn’t follow.

—

Snotlout POV

He stop thinking about the blood.

It wasn’t a lot. Barely a smear across your sleeve. But it wasn’t normal. And the way you brushed it off, like it was nothing — that’s what unsettles him most.

Because you don’t just brush things off. Not when it’s real. Not when it matters.

And yet, you didn’t even flinch.

You didn’t look scared.

You looked… resigned.

⸻

He meant to check on you.

After training.

After the others had left.

But by the time he got to the forge, you were already gone.

Tuffnut said you needed rest.

Snotlout just nodded and didn’t ask questions.

Not out loud, anyway.

⸻

The next day, you’re back at it.

Flirting with Tuffnut. Sparring. Laughing.

Business as usual.

But now? He’s watching you differently.

He notices the pause you take before swinging. The second longer it takes to catch your breath. The way your hand lingers at your ribs when you think no one’s looking.

He doesn’t say anything.

Because what would he even say?

“Hey, I noticed you bled on the sand yesterday and looked like you might pass out. Wanna talk?”

You’d laugh in his face.

So instead, he watches.

Quiet. Careful.

And for the first time, he finds himself wondering—

When did you stop looking at me?

Because you used to.

He remembers that now. How your gaze used to linger when he talked, even when you rolled your eyes. How your laugh sounded different when it was meant for him.

Now?

You look at Tuffnut.

And whatever you’re holding inside… it’s not meant for Snotlout anymore.

⸻

That night, he stares at the ceiling of his hut, arms folded behind his head, jaw tight.

He doesn’t understand why it bothers him.

Why he keeps replaying your expression after the nosebleed. Why it stings that Tuffnut got to you first. That you let him.

He tells himself it’s nothing.

That you’re fine.

But the feeling in his chest says otherwise.

And it won’t go away.

—-

You find him waiting outside the forge.

It’s rare, seeing him without the usual bravado. No puffed chest, no cocky smirk, no bad jokes about how the flames match his “smoking hot personality.”

Just Snotlout.

Quiet. Fidgeting with the strap of his bracer.

You stop a few feet away, holding a pouch of freshly sharpened arrowheads.

“Hey.”

He looks up, like he wasn’t expecting you.

Even though he clearly was.

“Hey,” he echoes. Then pauses. “You… feeling okay?”

You smile.

Soft. Reassuring.

Because you know what he’s thinking about.

Because you know what he saw.

“I’m fine, Snotlout. Really.”

His eyes search your face. Not like he doubts you. More like he wants to believe it — needs to.

“It just looked bad. The nosebleed, I mean.”

You nod, stepping past him into the forge. You set the pouch down gently.

He follows, hesitantly.

“If there’s something going on, you can tell me, y’know,” he says, voice lower now. “You don’t have to act like it’s all—”

“I’m not acting.”

You turn to face him, calm and steady, voice warm but measured.

“It’s nothing serious. Just the forge, maybe some stress. I’ve been pushing too hard.”

That last part? Not a lie.

Just not the whole truth.

He exhales, relief softening the worry in his face.

And it kills you, a little.

Because he looks so glad to believe you’re okay.

And you hate how much it hurts to lie to someone you still love this quietly.

“You sure?” he asks again.

You nod.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Snotlout. I’m tougher than I look.”

He chuckles — just a little. And for a moment, he looks like the boy you used to dream about when you thought maybe he’d see you.

He gives you a smile. Not the flirty kind. Not the loud, showy one he gives everyone else.

A real one.

“Yeah. I guess you always have been.”

You smile back.

But when he leaves…

You press your hand to your ribs again, just below your heart.

And you breathe slow.

Because if he’s relieved, then you’ve done your job.

—

He should feel better.

You told him you’re okay.

You smiled — not forced, not fake — and said he didn’t have to worry.

You even made a joke about being tougher than you look.

And Snotlout believed you.

He did.

He’s always been good at accepting what people say, not questioning what they don’t.

So why is he still lying awake?

⸻

He keeps replaying the moment in the forge.

The calm way you answered. The way you looked him in the eye. How your voice didn’t shake.

It all felt real.

But the more he thinks about it…

You never used to look at him like that.

Like you were keeping him at arm’s length.

Like you were comforting him instead of letting him comfort you.

He hates how long it took him to notice that difference.

⸻

Minden finds him the next morning near the cliffs, watching the sunrise and picking at a cracked piece of dragon armor.

“Didn’t think you were a sunrise type,” she says, sitting beside him.

He shrugs. “I’m not. Just… couldn’t sleep.”

She bumps her shoulder against his. “Thinking too hard? That’s dangerous territory for you.”

He laughs, but it dies quickly.

She watches him a moment.

“You okay?”

He looks at her.

She’s kind. Easy to be around. Likes him in a way that doesn’t make him feel like he’s got something to prove.

But she’s not the one stuck in his head.

“Do you think…” he starts, then stops.

Minden tilts her head.

“What?”

“…You think someone could be hurting and still act totally fine? Like, not just hiding it, but like… convincing you they’re fine even when they’re not?”

She blinks.

“Yeah. All the time.”

“You’re talking about (Y/N), aren’t you?”

He looks away. “She said she’s fine.”

Minden’s quiet.

“She also looked like she was about to collapse in the sparring ring. People don’t usually bleed out of nowhere for fun.”

Snotlout’s jaw tightens.

He hates this feeling. Of not knowing. Of realizing he might’ve missed something important.

Of wondering when you stopped needing him — or if you ever did at all.

“I just… I don’t get it,” he mutters.

“She used to tell me stuff.”

Minden’s voice is gentle.

“Maybe you stopped being the one she trusted to tell.”

He doesn’t answer.

Because he doesn’t know if that’s true.

Or if it just hurts to consider that it is.

—

You wake up with your throat already raw.

Not from sleep. Not from yelling.

Just… tight. Like your lungs forgot how to breathe overnight.

You sit up slowly, hands trembling slightly as you press them to your ribs.

Still no petals.

But the cough that comes next drags something up anyway — not quite blood, not quite clean.

You spit quietly into a rag.

Wipe it away before your dragon stirs beside you.

⸻

Later, by the cliffs, the sky is pale and overcast. A perfect day for hiding.

You sit with your journal open but untouched, pen hovering over the page.

You think about writing to yourself.

You think about the moment in the forge, when Snotlout looked at you like maybe — maybe — he still saw something in you.

Then you remember how fast he left after you told him what he wanted to hear.

He believed you.

Because it was easier.

Because you made it easier.

And that’s what you do, isn’t it?

Make things easier for everyone.

Even when your lungs are a battlefield and your hands keep shaking during patrol.

⸻

You glance toward the main camp and see him — talking with Minden again, their shoulders close, her hand brushing his arm in passing.

You look away.

You don’t flinch.

You don’t react.

You just write:

Day 5: symptoms lingered past noon.

No nosebleed. Coughing worse.

Hid it.

Tuffnut knows something.

Snotlout suspects nothing.

That’s how I want it.

If he ever looks again, I want it to be because he chose to.

Not because I was breaking.

⸻

You tuck the journal away. Not because it’s done.

Just because you can’t stand to read your own handwriting anymore.

—

It happens fast, the next symptoms that is. Just a scouting mission, nothing risky. Until it happened.

You’re in formation, high over the canyon ridge. A simple recon mission — until it’s not.

The ambush comes from above. Arrows cutting through the air, dragon shrieks echoing against the stone walls.

Chaos explodes in seconds.

You veer hard to the left, narrowly dodging a bolt meant for your shoulder. Your dragon jerks midair, roaring in pain as a grazing hit slices across their wing.

You’re fine. You’re okay.

You move to recover — but then another arrow cuts too close. You twist—

—and lose your footing.

Your fingers miss the saddle straps. Your foot slips. The world tilts.

And you’re falling.

⸻

Everything slows.

You hear the wind rush.

Your dragon’s roar as they twist, trying to follow.

And out of the corner of your eye — just as the weightlessness hits — you see her.

Minden.

Falling, too. Hit square in the ribs. Razorwhip spiraling.

And Snotlout?

He dives.

No hesitation. No looking around. No second thoughts.

Straight for her.

Like instinct. Like gravity.

Like choice.

⸻

And that?

That’s the moment.

Not the impact.

Not the sky.

Not the arrow.

That.

That’s what rips you open.

Because you don’t expect him to choose you.

Not anymore.

But now… now you know he wouldn’t.

⸻

You close your eyes.

You don’t scream.

You don’t panic.

You just… let go.

The air feels cold against your skin. Your heartbeat slows.

And for a second, a small part of you thinks:

Maybe it’s easier this way.

—

Then someone grabs you.

Hard.

Arms around your waist, sharp jerk upward, wind blasting in your face.

You gasp — the first breath you’ve taken in what feels like forever.

And then you hear him.

“You’re not dying on me, you hear me?!”

Tuffnut.

Of course it’s him.

Of all people. Of all moments.

It’s Tuffnut who dives.

Not as a statement. Not as a symbol.

But because he saw you.

Because he looked.

⸻

He lands rough. Messy. Both dragons scrambling. Your knees hit the dirt hard, vision flickering white at the edges.

Your chest heaves. Your throat burns.

You cough — once, twice.

You taste blood.

And Tuffnut doesn’t say a word.

He just holds you up, arms steady as the world spins.

“I got you,” he mutters.

“Even if no one else did.”

—

You’re sitting against a boulder, knees pulled to your chest, Tuffnut crouched in front of you, arms braced on either side like a human barricade.

You can’t breathe right.

Your ribs ache like they’ve been splintered from the inside, and every inhale feels like swallowing shards.

Your vision pulses.

Your ears ring.

And then it happens — a thick, wet cough tearing up your throat. You barely manage to turn your head before the blood hits your glove.

“Okay. Okay, it’s okay—”

Tuffnut’s voice is shaking now, but his hands are steady.

He doesn’t flinch.

He doesn’t yell.

He just moves.

Puts himself in front of you, back to the canyon, blocking the view of the others regrouping in the distance.

“Don’t let them see,” you rasp, voice barely audible over the static in your ears.

And he nods.

Because he understands.

He ducks lower, making his body wider, hunching protectively to hide you.

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching up with one sleeve to wipe blood from your chin, “You’re good. You’re okay. No one’s looking.”

But that’s a lie.

Because he is.

And what he sees now terrifies him.

⸻

You feel something warm drip past your jaw.

You touch your ear.

More blood.

And something inside you folds.

But not aloud. Not externally.

Because if you start to cry now — if you fall apart now — you won’t come back from it.

So you bury it. Again.

And Tuffnut doesn’t stop you.

He just sits with you like a wall, like a shield, like a friend who knows better than to ask questions you’re not ready to answer.

⸻

In the distance, someone calls your name.

It’s Snotlout’s voice.

You stiffen.

Tuffnut looks at you.

“You want me to tell him you’re fine?”

You nod. Quickly. Almost too quickly.

And Tuffnut stands up, cracks his back like nothing happened, throws a thumbs-up over the ridge and yells,

“All good over here! Just a little tumble!”

No one questions it.

No one comes closer.

Because they believe him.

⸻

He crouches beside you again once they’re gone, face serious in a way that feels wrong on him.

“This is bad, huh?”

You nod once.

Just once.

“You gonna let me help?”

Another nod.

But only him.

Only him.

—

Tuffnut hut is empty, but you don’t sleep on it.

You’re sitting on the floor instead, back pressed against the wall, blanket around your shoulders, knees tucked up to your chest.

It’s well past midnight.

The fire’s burned low. The air smells faintly of herbs and metal. The room is still.

Tuffnut sits across from you, legs crossed, braid undone, gaze tired but steady.

He hasn’t asked questions. Not since the fall.

He doesn’t need to.

⸻

You’re the one who breaks the silence.

“I think I know what this is.”

He doesn’t move.

But his whole body goes still, like he’s holding his breath.

You swallow around the ache in your throat.

“It lines up. The chest pain. The coughing. The bleeding. The way it only started when…”

You trail off. You don’t need to finish.

He already knows what you mean.

“It’s… stupid,” you murmur. “My body’s trying to kill me because I love someone who doesn’t love me back.”

Tuffnut says nothing. Just watches you.

Gives you space.

You let the words sit between you for a moment before continuing.

“If I’m right… and it is hanahaki… I’ll need to do something about it soon.”

You don’t look at him when you say the next part.

“There’s a procedure. Removal.”

“You’ll live,” he says softly.

You nod.

“But I won’t be able to love again. Not the same way.”

It doesn’t sound dramatic. It doesn’t sound like a tragedy.

You say it like a fact. Like a plan. Like choosing a path in the woods because it’s the only one not on fire.

“I don’t want to die over something that was never mine to begin with.”

Tuffnut exhales slowly, leaning his head back against the wall.

“That’s heavy.”

You let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. Almost.

“Yeah.”

Another silence. Long. Gentle.

Then—

“If you do it,” he says, “I’m not gonna tell you it’s wrong. I’m not gonna try to stop you.”

You look at him.

“But just so you know—if you ever want someone to remember what you felt, or who it was for…”

He lifts a hand, taps his temple.

“I’ll hold it. In here. As long as you need.”

You feel something tighten in your chest — not pain, not love — but something close to comfort.

Something that makes the room feel just a little warmer.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He nods.

And neither of you says anything else for a long time.

—

He didn’t think much of it at first.

Just another sparring injury. Another fall. You’d brushed it off. Tuffnut had waved and shouted something dumb about “catching like a hero.” Everyone moved on.

But it’s been different since then.

You’re different.

Still the same laugh. Still that dry, sharp wit that cuts through training tension like a blade.

But you don’t laugh with him anymore.

Not like you used to.

Now it’s Tuffnut.

You walk beside him after missions. You sit with him during meals. You nudge him when he says something dumb instead of rolling your eyes like before.

And maybe no one else thinks twice about it.

But Snotlout?

He notices.

Because he remembers that mission.

He remembers diving — not for you.

For Minden.

⸻

He’d seen you falling.

Just for a second.

A shape tumbling through the sky.

But then he saw Minden, bleeding, screaming—

And he chose.

He told himself it wasn’t a choice.

It was instinct.

But now?

Now when he sees you look at Tuffnut the way you used to glance at him?

He wonders if maybe that was instinct too.

⸻

He remembers the way Tuffnut held you afterward.

How protective he was.

How he didn’t joke.

And you? You let him.

Didn’t push him away.

Didn’t say “I’m fine” with that smile you always wore for Snotlout.

You just let Tuffnut see you.

⸻

Today, he watches from a distance as you sit near the forge, leaning against a crate, laughing at something Tuffnut’s saying.

You look tired, but not unhappy.

And he tells himself that’s what matters.

But a voice in the back of his head whispers something he doesn’t want to hear:

You didn’t catch her.

He did.

—

—Snotlout’s POV

He notices it again during training.

You’re moving slower.

Not limping, not obviously hurt — just a half-step off. Just enough to make someone like Astrid frown. Just enough to make Snotlout watch you closer.

But before he can say anything, Tuffnut steps in.

Literally.

Slides between you and the others, claps a hand on your shoulder, cracks a joke about “muscle fatigue” and “too many hero landings,” and shifts the group’s focus instantly.

And you?

You smile. Play along.

Like always.

But Snotlout sees the way you lean into Tuffnut’s side just a little.

Like you’re steadying yourself.

⸻

He pulls Tuffnut aside later.

He doesn’t plan to. It just happens.

The words come out before he can stop them.

“She okay?”

Tuffnut’s whole posture changes.

He doesn’t joke.

Doesn’t smirk.

Just studies Snotlout for a long, quiet second.

“She���s handling it.”

It’s not an answer.

Snotlout crosses his arms. “What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t need to worry.”

Snotlout frowns. “Since when do you get to decide that?”

And then Tuffnut does something rare.

He drops the act.

No grin. No sarcasm.

Just quiet intensity.

“Since I caught her when you didn’t.”

Snotlout’s breath hitches — just slightly.

And Tuffnut doesn’t press. Doesn’t shout. Doesn’t accuse.

He just says:

“You didn’t do anything wrong.

But you don’t get to ask questions now just because you’re finally looking.”

Then he turns and walks off, back toward the forge.

Back to you.

⸻

Snotlout stays where he is for a long time.

Listening to the waves crash, watching the sky darken.

And for the first time in a long time… he doesn’t know what to do.

Because someone else saw you falling.

And they were fast enough.

-

You’re fine.

You keep telling yourself that.

The coughs aren’t as bad this week.

The blood’s less frequent.

The pressure in your chest? Manageable.

You’ve gotten better at hiding it. At knowing when to disappear and how long you can fake it before the shaking in your limbs betrays you.

But today?

Today is harder.

—-

The training ground is loud. Dragons circling. Blades clashing. Snotlout laughing at something Ruffnut said.

You’re helping Fishlegs with gear repairs, sitting on the edge of a crate, hands moving slower than usual, fingers not quite gripping the buckles right.

You feel it before it happens — that familiar flutter deep in your chest, like wings beating too fast inside your ribs.

You close your eyes. Breathe shallow. Wait for it to pass.

It doesn’t.

⸻

Your lungs seize.

A cough claws its way out of you, sharper than expected. You turn away quickly, into your sleeve, forcing it down. But the second one comes harder.

You bite the inside of your cheek. Focus. Control it.

But your vision’s blurring.

The sun feels too bright.

And something warm drips past your lip.

Blood.

⸻

Not now.

Not here.

You stand quickly — too quickly — and stumble.

Someone’s voice calls your name.

Not Tuffnut. Not yet.

Someone else.

You wipe your mouth and keep walking.

One step. Two. Around the edge of the shed, out of sight. You press your palm against the wall to steady yourself, willing your heart to slow down.

Your ears are ringing.

But you’re not going to fall.

Not again.

⸻

A shadow stretches across the ground beside you.

You look up, breath catching.

Tuffnut.

Of course.

He doesn’t speak. He just steps in front of you like a wall again, glancing once toward the sound of Snotlout’s voice somewhere nearby.

“He saw you coughing,” Tuffnut murmurs. “You want me to cover it?”

You nod.

Wipe your mouth again.

“Please.”

And just like that — he turns, walks back around the corner, throws a ridiculous fake coughing fit of his own loud enough to draw attention.

“Fishlegs! You ever inhaled yak fur by accident?! Asking for a friend!”

Laughter follows.

Distraction achieved.

⸻

You lean your head back against the wall. Chest burning. Hands shaking.

Almost.

You almost didn’t make it.

And the worst part?

No one would’ve known why.

—

It’s late when you finally sit down.

Not in your hut. Not in the forge.

But at the edge of the cliffs, where the air is cooler and no one thinks to look.

Except Tuffnut.

He finds you easily.

Of course he does.

He doesn’t speak right away. He just drops down beside you, cross-legged, his braid half-undone and an entire bread roll sticking out of his mouth.

You snort softly.

He tears it in half and holds the rest out to you without a word.

You take it.

⸻

You eat in silence.

The breeze pulls gently at your sleeves. Your head still aches. Your ribs are sore.

But it’s bearable.

Because for once, you don’t have to pretend.

Not here.

Not with him.

⸻

“You looked worse than usual today,” he says eventually.

You hum. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

You sigh. Lean your head against his shoulder — not because you’re fragile, not because you want comfort, but because you’re tired.

“It’s getting harder to hide,” you admit.

He’s quiet for a beat too long.

“You should tell them.”

You shake your head.

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

You shrug.

You don’t say:

Because I’m not ready for them to look at me with pity.

Because I don’t want Snotlout to look at me and feel guilty instead of—

You just shrug again.

Tuffnut doesn’t push.

He never does.

⸻

You watch the ocean turn to silver under the moonlight.

“Do you ever wonder what it’d feel like,” you say, “to be the one someone runs toward?”

Tuffnut doesn’t answer right away.

Then, soft:

“You’re the one I ran toward.”

You close your eyes.

Not because it hurts.

But because that’s the kindest thing anyone’s said to you in weeks.

⸻

You don’t cry.

But you let the silence wrap around you like a blanket, and for the first time in a long time, you feel warm.

Not whole.

Not better.

But warm.

—-

The cliffs are quiet again. Same spot. Same view.

Only this time, you’re the one who speaks first.

“I’ve been thinking more about the procedure.”

Tuffnut stops fiddling with the flower he’s been weaving into a crooked crown and looks up.

“Yeah?”

You nod, slowly. Carefully.

“If I want to live… it’s probably the only way.”

He doesn’t say anything, so you continue.

“But it’s risky. Not just the surgery itself. The way it affects you.”

You draw in a shallow breath, your fingers curling slightly around the edge of your sleeve.

“If it works… I’ll survive. No more coughing. No more blood. It’ll all be gone.”

You glance down at your lap.

“But so will the love.”

He stares. Quiet. Processing.

“Like… all of it?”

You nod.

“The one I have now, yes. The rest…” You pause. “It’s different for everyone. But most never feel it the same way again. It’s like… a part of your heart just goes numb.”

Tuffnut frowns.

And then, he laughs — not like he’s mocking you. But because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“You’re telling me you either die loving… or live without it?”

You smile faintly.

“Pretty poetic for something that’s going to require a surgical cut to my lungs.”

He shakes his head, fingers tightening in the half-woven flower crown. His voice drops.

“You shouldn’t have to make that choice.”

You don’t respond. Because there’s nothing to say.

Not when he’s right.

⸻

You close your eyes, letting the breeze move through your hair.

“If I do it… I need you to understand something.”

He looks over.

“What?”

“I won’t be able to love anyone again.”

The words come soft. Flat. Final.

“Not like that. Not deeply. Not fully. Not the way you deserve to be loved back.”

Tuffnut swallows. Hard.

You don’t mean it romantically — but the weight of it still lands.

“It won’t be your fault,” you add.

“But it will be gone.”

⸻

He’s silent for a long time.

Then he sets the broken flower crown beside you.

“If that happens,” he says, “then I’ll love enough for both of us.”

You don’t respond.

But your throat tightens in a way that has nothing to do with your lungs.

—

The coughs come more often now.

You time them with the wind. With dragon roars. With Tuffnut’s loudest tangents. You’re strategic.

You’re careful.

But not even the best timing hides the pain in your chest when you take too deep a breath. Or the way your hands shake when you try to hold a quill for more than a few minutes.

Your hearing fades in and out, just for seconds at a time.

Sometimes you don’t notice right away — until someone’s lips are moving and you can’t hear the words.

You don’t say anything. Not even to Tuffnut.

Because you already told him enough.

And you’re not going to make him carry more than that.

⸻

You still smile. Still train. Still spar.

But you’re conserving now.

Not living.

Just… preserving.

A few more days. A few more laughs. A few more moments before you make your choice.

And when you look across the training ground and catch Snotlout watching you, eyes narrowed in that almost-worried way…

You offer a wave.

A smile.

Something easy to believe.

And then you turn away.

Because you can’t be the one to hold out hope anymore.

⸻

Snotlout

You should’ve stopped lying to yourself weeks ago.

You know something’s wrong now — you feel it in your gut.

It’s not just the coughing. It’s not just the fall. It’s not even Tuffnut standing too close anymore.

It’s the way you move. Like you’re bracing. Like your body’s not quite yours anymore.

And it’s the way you look at him now.

Like you’re trying to memorize him.

Like you’re getting ready to leave.

⸻

He watches you from across the courtyard as you help Astrid adjust her shield harness. You laugh at something. The same sharp laugh he used to hear up close.

Now he hears it from across rooms.

Why didn’t I notice sooner?

He doesn’t know if you’re mad at him.

He doesn’t know if you’re hurting because of him.

But he knows something’s slipping through his fingers.

And for the first time, he starts to feel something that tastes a little like fear.

—

You’re at the forge again.

Not working. Not crafting. Just… sitting.

Your tools are clean, untouched. The fire’s out. You’re just letting the warmth of the stones soak into your bones, trying to forget the cold that’s been creeping in underneath your skin for days now.

You cough once. Soft.

No blood this time.

Just tightness.

Still there. Always there.

Still unloved.

⸻

The door creaks behind you.

You don’t look up.

You already know it’s him.

“Hey.”

His voice is quieter than usual. Not the cocky bark you’re used to. Not full of jokes or arrogance.

Just… soft.

Worried.

“You’ve been off lately.”

You give him a look, one brow raised. “Since when do you notice things like that?”

He smiles faintly. Shrugs. Steps closer.

“Since it started to feel wrong when you stopped talking to me first.”

That hurts more than it should.

Because it means he only noticed when it affected him.

You chuckle softly. “Didn’t think you’d miss my commentary that much.”

“I do,” he says.

You look at him then.

Really look.

And his eyes… they’re not teasing.

They’re not flirty.

They’re concerned.

But not because he knows what this is.

Just because he doesn’t know anything anymore.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Like, really okay?”

Your heart stutters.

And your body answers before your mouth can:

Your ribs ache.

Your lungs throb.

You taste iron at the back of your throat.

Still here.

Still sick.

Still unloved.

You smile.

Gentle. Convincing.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

He stares at you. Searching.

Like he wants to believe it.

And he will. Because you made it easy.

“If you ever—” he starts.

You cut him off with a soft laugh.

“Snotlout, I’m not dying.”

Not out loud, at least.

He relaxes just a little.

“Okay… good.”

You don’t miss the way his voice catches.

And you hate how much that almost feels like enough.

But it’s not.

Because if he loved you—

If he really did—

This pain would be gone by now.

⸻

You walk past him, back straight, breath tight, and toss over your shoulder:

“See you at dinner?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

—-

He’s heading toward the stables when you stop him.

“Snotlout.”

He turns, blinking. “Yeah?”

You nod once toward the bench outside the forge.

“Sit.”

He tilts his head. “What’d I do now?”

“Nothing,” you reply. “Just sit.”

He does. A little confused. A little curious. The wind messes his hair as he flops down, arms crossed over his chest.

You walk up behind him without another word, fingers already reaching into your pocket.

He doesn’t flinch when you touch his hair. Doesn’t move.

He just… sits there.

Lets you gather the strands near the back. They’re still warm from the sun. Coarse and familiar.

You braid.

Small. Simple. Precise.

The way you always did your own.

“You’re not going to do something embarrassing, are you?” he mutters.

You roll your eyes — the smile in your voice masking everything you’re holding down.

“Your hair doesn’t look as messy like this,” you say, using the same flat, unimpressed tone you’ve always used when teasing him.

And then—without fanfare, without pause—you untie one of the thinner braids woven along the underside of your own hair.

You slip the strand loose. Tie it gently beside the one you just made for him. Not tight, but secure.

He doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t feel what you’ve just given him.

You give the braid a firm tug.

“There. Less of a disaster now.”

He snorts, rubbing the back of his head. “Didn’t know I signed up for a makeover.”

“You didn’t,” you say, stepping back. “Consider it a gift.”

He stands, brushing off his legs.

“Should I be worried about the next one being flowers and glitter?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’d make it work.”

He grins.

You smile.

And when he walks away — laughing to himself, braid swinging gently with each step — you let the wind tangle your fingers.

He doesn’t know.

He’ll never know.

But now?

He carries a piece of you.

Even after you let the rest go.

.

.

.

|Part lll soon|

Author note:

I cried like a train wreck writing this piece 😭