#in the back of a single garbage truck

[babybluebex]

drink the honey | erik campbell x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in visiting your friends' bar, you happen to meet his older brother, aka the guy who pierced your ears forever ago. cue a lesson in grief and exactly what can be pierced and where, as well as a night you won't soon be forgetting. wc 9.7k (i am. so sorry.) title stolen from closer by nine inch nails. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: erik campbell (final destination: bloodlines, 2025) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: semi-canon compliance (howard has gone to his great reward, the shop fire happened, but none of the death hitlist stuff), drinking, one single mention of jerry fuckin fenbury, mild descriptions of burn injuries/scars, lots of innuendos, smut (minors dni)(holy shit there's a lot here, bear with me yall): p in v, creampie city baby (but then mention of intention to use morning-after pill), oral (f!receiving), genital piercings (like... we all watched the same movie, we know what's going down), lots of teasing, hittin it from the back + spanking (i know yall saw what he did to that garbage truck), biting/hickies, one tiny quick slap to a cheek, panty thief erik, look-in-the-mirror type shenanigans, light choking, halfway decent aftercare considering the circumstances, nicknames such as: sweetheart, baby, babygirl, princess/prince 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: soooo like after a year-long writing hiatus, i am back. it's been. a lot. and as far as this fic goes, i cannot explain myself, i knew i needed erik carnally even before the garbage truck thing so like. idk, dick piercing goes brrrr. anyway. follow @babybluebex-writes to be notified whenever i post a new fic!

You had only seen him once before. He had been the guy at the sketchy tattoo shop downtown that had done your second lobe piercings, and he was totally fine. It hardly hurt, probably because he was able to distract you long enough for the needle to pierce your skin by getting you talking about your own job, and he was pretty good about reminding you how to clean the piercings and everything. You didn’t exactly remember his name— something with an E, or an A? It was a little while ago, and you had been a walk-in— but you acutely remember his big, blue eyes and the stink of cigarettes that lingered on the leather jacket he wore while piercing you. That, actually, was the same jacket he was wearing right now, sitting directly across the bar from you. 

He was by himself, bottle of Hice in hand, seemingly off in his own world as he gazed at the bartop. Every so often, every time the cute blond bartender passed by him, he would lift his head and give him a curt nod or a flick of his eyebrows, but he didn’t talk to anyone else or look in any one direction other than down. You were totally intrigued by him, even though he was not your usual type— as your friend beside you had joked as you walked into the bar earlier that night, maybe your “boyfriend” would be working, AKA Bobby, the cute blond bartender. Bobby was an absolute sweetheart, greeting you with a grin and asking how your night was every single time you came in, but he was a sweetie with everyone that walked into the bar, so, even though it wasn’t necessarily special treatment, it made you like him a whole lot. 

Speaking of your friend… You looked one way and the other, trying to catch sight of her, and you frowned mildly as you tugged your phone from your purse. Just as you suspected, she had texted you about ten minutes before, telling you that she had absconded to go smoke, which was code for “I’m going on an adventure and it’ll be your job in two hours to track me down and get me back home”. You sighed, clicking off your phone screen, and sucked down the last of your liquor from your plastic cup. 

“Lookin’ pretty glum there, friend,” a voice said, and you gazed up to see Bobby. There was a relative lull in the crowd, although the rap music playing over the speakers still shook the walls, and Bobby’s kind smile softened you. “What’s got you down?” 

“Ah, shit,” you chuckled. “Not sad or anything. Just tired.” 

“Tired?” Bobby repeated. “You want a vodka Redbull?”

You shook your head. “Just a long day at work,” you informed him. “Didn’t really even wanna come out, but Anna convinced me, and then immediately…” You trailed off, gesturing around you and the obvious lack of Anna. Even though you had never seen Bobby outside the bar, you had been going for years and knew him well, and Bobby had a good memory of the regulars, so he nodded, familiar with Anna’s disappearing act. “Probably one more of these, then close up my tab.” 

“You got it,” Bobby said. “Single or double?” 

You twisted your mouth as you thought about it. Obviously, you wanted a double, but a single would probably be better for you and your poor wallet. Bobby tilted his head towards you with a smile, almost as if to say C’mon, you know you wanna, and you sighed. “Just a single,” you told him. 

“Heard,” Bobby nodded. As he made your drink, you watched him walk to the opposite end of the bar and sharply say something to the brooding piercer, and he looked up from the bartop again to say something equally sharp back at him. A weary smile passed over his face, and he pulled at the glass bottle of beer. 

“Hey, so,” you started as Bobby handed you your cup. “Who’s that at the end you keep talking to?” 

Bobby scoffed. “Who’s asking?” he started, popping a small black cocktail straw in your drink. 

“He pierced my seconds for me a few months ago,” you explained. “Was thinking about getting my nose done, and wanted to go back to him, but I couldn’t remember his name.” A total lie; you liked your nose the way it was, with the appropriate number of holes. You just wanted to know more about him; he had a pull, like a magnet, and you needed more. 

“You let that motherfucker stick needles in you?” Bobby chuckled. “And you want more? Ill-advised.” 

“Okay, well, who is he?” you asked, a flash of fear running cold down your body. 

“Erik,” Bobby said, and your brain flashed with recognition. Erik; that’s right. Something with an E. 

“And it’s bad that Erik pierced my ears because…?” you asked. “Did he, like, get his license taken away or something?” 

“No, no,” Bobby sighed. “Ah, I shouldn’t talk shit about him. He’s my older brother, though, I can’t help it. Genetically predisposed to give him hell… Maybe not genetically, but y’know, half-genetically, or whatever…” 

Oh. Throughout the years, you could recall Bobby making passing mentions of his siblings— his older sister graduating college last year, his older brother flunking out of college prior to you ever meeting Bobby, his sister being “back in town”, his brother “traveling for work”, yada yada yada. “This the same brother that flunked outta college?” you asked, and Bobby laughed loudly. 

“Yes!” he wheezed. “Yep, that’s him! Fuck, how do you remember that?” 

“Because I’m a nice person, Bobby!” you smiled. “I remember things that people tell me!” 

“Shit, that’s funny,” Bobby said. “Yeah, one and the same. Went for one semester, decided he didn’t like it, grades went downhill, dropped out before they could boot him out… Probably for the best, honestly, he never really was into the whole ‘establishment’ thing. Think he only ever went there to get our mom off his back.” 

“Dad didn’t care?” you started, and a twinge flashed over Bobby’s face. 

“Well,” he started. “Not necessarily, but y’know… But Dad passed away about a year ago. It sorta sucked for all of us, obviously, and that’s when Ma got intense about… Well, everything. But he had been out of college for… Shit, more than ten years, and when Dad died, Erik just… I don’t know, he had a break or something. You find out, in the wake of your dad’s death, that your dad isn’t actually your dad and that your mom’s friend is actually your dad, and that fucks with you, so I get it, but he got super withdrawn from all of us after that. I mean, shit, this is the first time I’ve seen him in months.” 

“Wow,” you sighed. “That’s… Um…” 

“Sorry,” Bobby said, clearing his throat. “Airing out my half-brother’s dirty laundry, I shouldn’t have… I just worry about him, y’know? He’s my big bro. He used to be so… He lit up whatever room he walked into. He’d come over to grill for family barbecues and to play video games and just to, like, hang out, but ever since that fiasco last year, he’s just… Tattoo shop, his apartment, over and over. Getting him to even stop by tonight was like pulling teeth. Truly, I think he needs a girlfriend. Boyfriend. Cat. Whatever. Something to get him out of his head.”

The man across the bar certainly did not fit the shining description that Bobby gave of the old Erik. By now, he had his phone in his hand, lighting up his face, and the light glinted off a large silver ring hanging from his nose. You remembered the same jewelry from when you met him, and you absentmindedly tugged on your earlobe. “Well, shit,” you said finally. “First of all, sorry for all of that. My dad isn’t really in my life, so I can’t sympathize exactly, but… Y’know. Still sucks. I’m sorry about that. And additionally… Jesus Christ, Bobby, you need to learn to keep your mouth shut!” 

Bobby smiled. “You wanted to close your tab, right?” he asked, and you nodded. “Sure thing.” 

You handed Bobby your card, and your gaze drifted to Erik one more. Still on his phone, but now with furrowed eyebrows, concentrating on something. The POS system was right next to where Erik sat, and you watched Bobby say something to his brother as he ran your card. You couldn’t read lips, so you were at a loss as to the conversation, but you watched Erik roll his eyes and swig at his beer, saying something in response to Bobby. Bobby froze up for a single second, then said something that you could obviously tell was “Really?”, and Erik nodded. Bobby seemed like he was malfunctioning, still for a moment, then turning back to the computer, then back to Erik once more, repeating “Really?”

Erik was obviously annoyed, cocking his head towards his little brother, and he went into the pocket of his leather jacket, extracting his wallet and passing his card to Bobby. Bobby pushed your own card into his empty hand and poked at the computer for a moment, and he ran Erik’s card through the computer. In a second, the POS churned out a receipt, and Bobby shoved it towards his brother as he turned back towards you and came your way. “Um,” Bobby started, a red flush hitting his cheeks. “So, Erik picked up your tab for you.” 

“Huh?” you asked as Bobby slid you your card back. “Why?” 

“Couldn’t tell you,” Bobby shrugged. “Maybe he thinks you’re my friend or something… Well, I mean, you are, kinda, we’re friendly…”

“Or maybe,” you started. “He’s getting a move-on with that ‘girlfriend’ thing you mentioned.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Bobby mumbled. 

“Or, and consider this,” you began, sliding your card back into your purse and grabbing your drink as you edged yourself off the barstool. “I’m a pretty girl who just gets drinks bought for her from time to time.” 

“I mean, obviously,” Bobby said with a smile. “It’s just never my brother doing the buying.”

Erik looked up from his phone as you approached him, and your heart slammed up against your ribcage with anxiety. His hair, all shaggy and a little too long, hung in his eyes, and a careful smile touched at his mouth. “Saw you talking to Bobby,” he said. He shifted slightly, opening his body towards you and not solely at the bar, and you saw Bobby give a sort-of pained smile, almost a “What the fuck?!” type of face. “Figured you were one of his little girlfriends or something.” 

“No, not me,” you said. “I’m just a regular, nothing more.” 

“Ah, well,” Erik shrugged. “Bobby can use as many friends as he can get.” He cast a look at his brother, who swiftly threw up a double bird, and Erik rolled his eyes. “So, does my baby brother’s regular friend have a name?” 

“Yes,” you said, and a smile came across his face when you told him your name. He repeated it back to you, gentle and sweet, like he was committing it to memory. You liked the way he said your name, and the closer proximity allowed you to see his pink mouth, the skin of his lips a little dry and bitten. 

“That’s pretty,” he told you. “I’m Erik, if Bobby didn’t already tell you.” 

“I already knew,” you told him. A flash of confusion wiped across his face, and you put a hand up to your ear, almost as if you were showing them off. “You did my seconds a little while ago.” 

“Oh!” Erik laughed. “Well, shit, I did, didn’t I? I remember you now; I knew I’d seen your pretty face before.”

“God,” you chuckled. “Are you always such a flirt?”

“Not always,” Erik said. “Only when it can make my baby brother uncomfortable.” He gestured towards Bobby with the end of his beer bottle, and Bobby gave him another “What the fuck?” type look before rolling his eyes and going to serve other people at the bar, away from you and Erik. 

“Well, you’re certainly brothers, based on attitude alone,” you said, and watched as Erik hooked the toe of his boot in the barstool opposite him and tugged it out, giving you a place to sit. 

“What, the blindingly good looks didn’t give it away first?” Erik asked. 

“You two look nothing alike,” you told him. After a momentary beat, you added, “I like your look better than his.” 

“Oh yeah?” Erik asked. “You into the brooding, mysterious types?” 

You shrugged. “I could be,” you said. “I think it’s the whole, like, ‘tortured artist’ thing you’ve got going on.”

“So, that answer is yes, the brooding and mysterious type,” Erik nodded. “Tortured artists are, in my experience, inherently brooding and mysterious. Can’t claim the title if you aren’t.” 

“Damn, today I learned,” you replied, and Erik gave a little laugh. You examined his face as he looked to the side, towards Bobby, to flag him down for another beer; soft skin, a little pale with a rosy flush, rough facial hair that showed a little ginger in the blue neon signage behind the bar, with thick, dark eyelashes around his almond eyes, piercing blue. A silver ring inside his nose, to match the ones in his ears; it looked like a thicker metal than you thought piercings typically were. “So, here, you can teach me something else. How did you get your nose ring in?” 

“Like, how you pierce a septum?” Erik asked. 

“No, like, that’s way… I don’t know…” you started, already regretting the question, knowing your next choice of words. “Way bigger and thicker than my earrings. How?” Your face burned hot at having to look him in the eyes and say the phrase “big and thick” to him, but he either didn’t catch the unintentional innuendo or actively chose not to acknowledge it. 

“Oh, I see,” Erik nodded. “Yeah, so, it’s a little complicated, a lot of terminology and shit, but the short of it is that you gotta stretch it out. Like, it wasn’t this big when I first did it, I’ve had to size up the hole over the years so I could get bigger and thicker things in there.” 

You bit your bottom lip to hold in your laughter, and Erik scoffed. “Okay, that was too much eye contact on my part for saying all of that, that’s my bad,” he said and shook his head. “I could have said that way differently.” 

“I-It’s fine,” you told him. He exchanged the empty bottle for another one from his brother, and Bobby passed him the bent-up bottle cap, which he put into an inside pocket of his jacket. “I mean, I started it.” 

“That you did,” Erik said. “But, yeah, it’s a whole thing, sizing up, it takes a while.” 

“Neat,” you said. “I don’t know too much about, like, tattoos or piercings or whatever, that’s not really my style.”

“Well, I’m an open book,” Erik shrugged. “You got questions, I’ve got answers. And I won’t even charge ya for it.” He gave you a playful wink, and the heat returned to your face. 

“Cool,” you nodded. “Do you have any tattoos?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Erik nodded quickly. “Got more ink than skin at this point, I’m pretty sure.” With that, he shrugged off his jacket, leaving him in just the black t-shirt for some band that you didn’t know, with that weird scratchy font that metal bands usually used. You could hardly focus on the t-shirt, though; all along his now-exposed arms, he had different pieces of artwork, all varying sizes, some colorful and some not, none of them remotely similar. You felt your eyes widen as Erik held out his arms to you, and you examined the spiderwebs, serpents, and roses that he had embedded in his skin forever. “You can touch ‘em, if you want,” he offered, then winced. “I promise I’m not trying to say everything as obscenely as possible.”

“It’s fine,” you smiled. Gently, as if you were worried you’d hurt him, you brushed your fingers along the large spiderweb that encompassed the majority of his lower right arm. “I mean, it’s just skin. Skin is skin, ink or not.” 

“I know,” Erik said. “But that’s a sorta cheat code with people like me— let the cute girl touch your tattoos and she might give you her number. A high success rate, you’d be surprised.”

You gently turned his arm over to get a look at the softer, paler skin on the inside of his arm, and you sighed. In large script, the word DAD was inked in, along with a pale scar in the shape of a heart towards the end. “Oh,” Erik started. “So, the heart was, um, sorta an accident. Not sorta, it was an accident, but, like, I don’t know, it’s a long story. The night after my father died, I was closing up shop by myself, and some freak fire got started. Through a series of unfortunate events, I ended up on the floor, but a jewelry case had busted in the fire and I didn’t realize it, and my arm—” He made an exaggerated splat noise that made you giggle despite the horror of the story. “Landed straight on top of it. Worst pain I’ve ever been in that I didn’t enjoy.”

“Wow,” you mumbled. “I’m glad you’re alright… I remember last year, hearing from some friends that there was a fire there, but… And I’m sorry ‘bout your dad.” You only added the last part to try to banish the thoughts that his last remark had ignited, but he did nothing to mitigate it. 

“Yeah, it’s coming up on a full year,” Erik said. “And I was thinking about it recently, and I’m tired of… I don’t know. When he died, I felt like I lost a part of myself. I mean, he’s my dad, y’know, I kinda did lose a part of myself. But one day a few weeks ago, I looked down at the tat and the burn scar, and saw that everything had healed up as nice as possible, like nothing bad happened at all, and I figured that it was Pops, taking care of me one last time. I realized I was tired of being a sad little recluse, especially if he was going to make sure I was okay.”

There’s the explanation that Bobby was looking for on why Erik changed. And, it seemed, like the old Erik was starting to rise from the grave. “That’s a nice thought,” you told him. You let go of his arm and cleared your throat, going after a sip of your drink, and you added, “Do you have any more?” 

“Thoughts?” Erik joked, and you smiled. 

“No, tattoos,” you told him. “I’m assuming it’s not just your arms.”

“Oh,” Erik said, shaking his head. “Nah, got ‘em all over. You can sorta see this one…” He hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged slightly, showing off the corner of what looked vaguely like a bird’s wing— “And my stomach piece, and the bullshit on my sides… And more.”

You could tell he was fishing for you to ask what “more” meant, and you gave him a soft smile. You could read his energy as easily as a book, and the words that his soul and body gave to you were telling you some things that you’d rather hear his voice say and his lips move around. “More?” you repeated. His hands weren’t all full of ink, and you carefully let your finger trace the lines of his palm as you lowered your voice as quiet as you could. “My, my, Erik. That almost sounds like an invitation.” 

The hand of his that you weren’t tracing touched your knee, moving slowly to give you time to retreat if you wanted to. “An invitation to do what, exactly?” he asked, and you slotted your bottom lip between your teeth. “Oh, don’t you go getting shy on me now, baby. You’re almost there. All you gotta do is ask.” 

A shiver ran down your back at the sweet little name he bestowed upon you, and you battled it with venom. “What if I don’t wanna ask?” you countered. “What if I’m content just looking at the tattoos on your arms, and have no interest whatsoever at seeing what’s under— and inside— your pants?” 

Erik laughed the way that only incredibly hot guys could get away with, his lip between his teeth as his laughter rumbled low in his chest. “Who said anything about getting in my pants?” he asked. Moving slowly, once again giving you time to move if you so wanted, he got up from the stool he was sat on, instead leaning up on the bar on his elbow. He was taller standing than sitting, and having to look just so slightly upward made your mouth run dry. He wasn’t a big guy, but definitely not some twig, but the energy radiating from his chest made you feel so tiny in comparison. You didn’t hate it, though. Now, as close as you were, you could smell the mentholated smoke on him, and it made you dizzy. What the fuck was wrong with you? You had never been so unashamedly turned on by someone before. 

“I did,” you said boldly. 

“Now, that’s mixed signals,” Erik chuckled. “You don’t wanna see the tattoos or piercings I’ve got under my jeans, and yet you wanna get inside ‘em?”

You paused, replaying what he said in your head as your eyes widened, and quietly replied, “Piercings?” 

He smiled slow, biting the edge of his lip, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “It’s like I told you, babygirl,” he said. “All you gotta do is ask.”

He took a half-step closer to you, his hand landing on your waist, and he angled his head down so that his mouth was right next to your ear. To an innocent passerby, it could have looked like he was just talking to you so he wouldn’t have to shout over the music, but the words that spilled from his lips were anything but innocent: “If you knew how fucking hard I was right now, you wouldn’t be wasting any more time out here. You’d take me into the bathroom and lock the door, and you’d open your legs and let me stretch your pussy open and do whatever I want to you. Right?” You nodded quickly, your own hand reaching out and hooking a finger in his belt loop to draw him closer. His tongue slowly wet his bottom lip as he took in your reaction, and he added, “And I bet you’d just love to be split open on my cock, wouldn’t you? Take me in your mouth, in your sopping wet little cunt. I bet you’re such a slut that you’d let me… Nah, you wouldn’t let me, you would beg me… To cum inside you, breed that filthy little cunt of yours until you’re absolutely full of me.”

You nodded quickly and grunted out a meek “Mhm.” 

“You ever had a pierced cock before, baby?” Erik asked softly, almost turning sweet for a moment. But you knew it wasn’t sweetness; it was condescension, he was making fun of how mild-mannered you had turned. It only made the fire under your dress burn hotter. If he could have bent you over that bar that very second, you would have let him. But then his words sank into your skin— Sank maybe isn’t the right word. It hit you like a truck, slammed under your skin like all the ink on his body, needled in with a satisfied pain. Did he say pierced? 

“N-No,” you stammered. “I didn’t even know you could… That anyone would wanna…” 

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “You wanna know a secret?” You looked at him with widened eyes, nodding, and his big blues softened at your doe-in-headlights look. “Only just got it last year. You’ll be the first to know what it feels like.” 

“Oh my God,” you gasped. “I’m flattered.” 

“How ‘bout you go check out that bathroom?” he asked, and you nodded again. Your head was spinning at the notion, and Erik’s eyebrows creased for a moment. “If you don’t, that’s alright. Let me know if I’m coming on too strong, I can back off or fuck off completely, if you want.” 

“I like my men strong,” you told him, and you did. Forthright, assertive, commandeering; he was ticking all your boxes. “I was just thinking about it.”

“About what?” Erik asked. “I need words, sweetheart. I can’t do what you don’t tell me about. I’ll do anything for you. Just ask.” 

You cast your gaze to the side, to your forgotten drink and his beer, and you whispered, “How many of those have you had?” 

“That’s only my second one,” Erik told you. “I’m not drunk. Not even a little bit. And you?” 

“Just the one,” you said. “And this has been collecting melted ice since I came over. But you know that, you paid for them.” 

“Fuck, am I glad I did,” Erik smiled. “I wasn’t sure how else to get your attention. You were having such a good conversation with Bobby, I was almost worried the wrong Campbell brother might get a hold of you.” 

“Easy, tiger,” you told him. “You don’t have a hold of me yet.” 

Erik nodded slowly, the hand on your waist carefully sliding upwards to flatten against the small of your back, his pinkie edging oh-so-slightly under the waistband of your skirt. “M’getting there,” he told you. “I like to take my time, y’know?” 

“Slow and steady?” you asked. 

“Something like that,” Erik replied. Then, gently, a shift to a much softer side, he nestled his lips into your neck, just below your ear, and he gave it a gentle kiss. “Go to the bathroom, get all nice and ready for me while I finish up here. Can you do that, sweetheart?” 

You nodded. “Don’t keep me waiting too long,” you told him, squeezing his arm. 

In turn, his hand abandoned your leg and snatched your wrist. His grip wasn’t painfully tight, just enough to let you know that he meant business, and he said, “If I walk in there and catch you touching yourself, you’re gonna be in huge trouble. Okay? None of that shit, I’m the only one who makes you cum tonight.” Your eyes stuck on his mouth as he talked, the way his pink lips pulled and puckered as he talked, and that dizzy, hypnotized feeling came back. You wanted to kiss him, taste his mouth and tongue and feel his pretty lips against yours, but you were nearly certain that a quick fuck in the bathroom of a bar wasn’t exactly a “kiss” sort of situation. 

Luckily, Erik read your mind. His own eyes flicked down to look at your mouth, and he sighed softly. “Lemme…” he whispered, and he surged into you, pressing his lips to yours for just long enough for you to get a head full of his scent. If he had stayed put for one second more, you would have kissed him back (again, if he decided to spread you open on that bar right then and there, you would have let him without question, so a simple kiss felt relatively lowkey), and, as he pulled away, you felt like it was a painful parting. “Just wanted a little taste,” he told you, swiping his thumb along the corner of his bottom lip. “God, if your pussy tastes half as good as your mouth, I might have to really pick my battles ‘bout what I want to do to you.” 

As you departed towards the restroom, Erik sent a quick swat to your ass, and you bit your lip as you smiled at him. The restroom was towards the back, down a corridor about halfway until the room with the sign on the door, and you slowly opened it, expecting the resistance of someone in there shouting, but nothing came. A single-room situation, the counter for the sink painted shitty black with stickers for local bands and Sharpie graffiti littering the walls, and, thankfully, a functioning lock. You set your purse on the hook on the door, tugging out your phone to make sure Anna hadn’t texted you back, and you frowned at a new message from her. r u ok?? She had asked, sent less than 20 minutes ago. u haven’t come and found me and begged to go home yet!! :P

You quickly pecked out a message that was light on details, a simple got to talking to a friend, i’ll be done soon, and you turned towards the mirror, swiping at your lips with your finger to tidy up your lipstick. Erik didn’t seem all too concerned with the state of your makeup, but you still wanted it to look nice, and your concentration on cleaning up lipstick made you jump in shock when the doorknob to the bathroom started to jostle. You took a deep, steadying breath— you had never hooked up with a stranger in the bathroom before, and your chest felt full of nervous energy— and flipped the lock back on the door, then turned back to the mirror, trying to act unaffected and nonchalant. 

Erik was quiet as a ghost as he entered, deliberately shutting the door behind him and locking it once more, and he came to stand behind you, looking in the cracked and dirty mirror as well. You could trace his eyeline, though, and he was only looking at you as he moved his arms to brace against the counter, trapping you against his chest. He seemed almost contemplative as he tilted his head, shifting his eyeline to your neck and the sliver of shoulder coming out of the collar, and he pressed his mouth to your bit of shoulder. He left soft, slow kisses on your skin, traveling up to your neck, then pressing another kiss below your ear. “Did you do what I asked?” he whispered in your ear. “Got yourself ready for me?” 

“Not yet,” you admitted. “Was sorta hopin’ you’d do it for me.”

Quick as a flash, one of his hands was up off the counter, slithering around down your front to go up your skirt. His thick bicep pressed up against your body, pulling you closer into him, and you hummed with satisfaction as his big hand roughly cupped your pussy. He hadn’t done anything yet, hardly even touched you, really, but you were already wet, dampening your panties. “Fuck,” he groaned, pressing his cheek into your neck. “I can feel you, sweetheart, you’re soaked. Surely that can’t all be for me.” 

“Who else would it be for?” you asked, and a wicked smile crossed his face. 

Erik moved with confidence, like he had done it a thousand times, his fingers stroking the wetness of your panties with rough pressure, almost like he was threatening to penetrate you through the thin fabric. You realized he seemed to be mapping you out, memorizing the way you felt, and his fingers moved upwards just a bit to grind against your throbbing clit. A choked moan involuntarily left your lips, and he carefully nibbled at your soft neck. You had a feeling that he would have sank his teeth in if you would let him, and you hated to admit that you would have. Something about him made you feel dangerous for even knowing his name, and your blood felt like fire in your veins. 

“You want ‘em?” Erik asked.

You panted, pressing your ass back into him like some pathetic bitch in heat, and your heart skipped a beat at the feeling of him right against your ass, stiff inside his pants. You felt like you could have drooled as Erik laughed, rumbling low in his chest, and your voice came out as a high-pitched whine: “Want your cock, Erik, please!” 

“Oh, yeah?” he asked. “No prep, nothing? You like it when it hurts, huh? Fuck, what a woman…” He bit his bottom lip as he smiled and shook his head, seemingly impressed with you, and, as fast as lightning, his hand cracked against your ass, palm open, echoing around the tin bathroom. The sting and flame of pain made the headrush increase tenfold, and the burn of tears pricked at your eyes. You loved it, though. The dudes you fucked before were pretty easy and vanilla, and even though this wasn’t exactly the kinkiest hook-up to ever take place, even just spanking you was the most wild thing a guy had ever done. Something told you, though, that spanking and hitting it from the back (also something new for you) were part and parcel of Erik’s routine. 

His hand bunched up in the fabric of your panties, pulling it tight for just a moment, before inching it down your legs. He greedily took in the sight through the mirror as you dug your fingernails into your palms, and his free hand moved to grasp your chin, making you look in the mirror with him. “You see that?” he whispered, capturing the soft flesh of your ear in his teeth. You nodded quickly, whimpering, and the quietest growl purred at his throat. “What do you see? Tell me.” 

“I-I see…” you started, and you shuffled a bit to get your panties off completely. Erik balled them up in his fist and slipped them into the front pocket of his jeans, and your whole body pulsed and throbbed. “Am I gettin’ those back?” 

“Debatable,” Erik said swiftly, and he let go of your jaw to land a not-exactly gentle hit on your cheek before grabbing your face once more. “Eyes on the prize, sweetheart, tell me what you’re lookin’ at.”

“You,” you choked out. 

“Oh yeah?” he mused. “What am I doing?” 

The skin-to-skin contact of his rough fingers with your clit made you think you would cum from that alone. His middle fingers circled your bud, putting the perfect amount of pressure to have your legs shake, and you keened high in your throat, squirming to press your back fully against his front. You could feel his heartbeat against your shoulder blade, dampened through your clothes but still quick, fast— he was excited, nervous, on-the-edge-of-his-seat, like you, and then you remembered the secret he had told you. He had never had sex with his piercing before. He was probably as wigged out of his mind about it as you were. “Touchin’ me,” you gasped. “Touching my clit, making me feel so good.” 

“Good girl,” he whispered. His hand on your jaw slunk down, repositioning to grip your throat, and you watched his face tense as he faltered. “If I do something you don’t like, please tell me. Don’t be quiet just ‘cause I like it, okay? I wanna get my rocks off, sure, but, at the end of the day, I’m only satisfied if you are. So, if I’m too rough or say something weird or you wanna do something else, just say the word and I’ll do it.” 

“You’re okay,” you assured him. “I’ve, umm… Never done anything like this before.”

His hands jumped away from your body like your skin had burned him. “Like what?” he asked. “‘Like this’, what is ‘this’?” 

The ceasing of his rubbings on your clit made you sigh, and the shaking in your legs got worse. “The-the slapping,” you started, but a genuine laugh bubbled from your chest. “Looking in the mirror, choking, all of that, it’s new for me.” 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I just assumed, that’s totally on me.”

“I never told you to stop,” you offered lightly, raising your eyes to look at him in the mirror. “I never said I didn’t like it. I mean, if you hadn’t stopped rubbing my clit, I probably would’ve cum.” 

Those big blue eyes of his blinked once with surprise, and he said, “Fuck. You were that close?” With your nod, Erik laughed. “Damn. Shame on me, sweetheart.” 

“I do think that I want you to fuck me from the front,” you told him, easily turning to face him. “I mean, I can’t very well watch your cock sink into me if you’re fucking me from the back, can I?” 

“Where have you been all my life?” Erik asked, all breathy like he couldn’t believe what you were saying to him, and you smiled. Your minds seemed to think the same thing at the same time, because his hands went under your ass to help you as you perched on the edge of the counter, opening your legs for him to see all the slick and wet he had left you with. His chest heaved as he drank in the sight of your pussy, his hands skimming up your thighs, and you reached out to grab at his belt buckle, undoing it with much more deft fingers than you were used to having. He let you get as far as pulling down his zipper before he dug his blunt nails into your soft skin, making that growling purr again. 

“I just need a taste of you,” he told you, and before your brain could catch up with what he meant, he was getting down on his knees and he was getting to work, licking a broad, fat stripe up your glistening cunt. The wet warmth of his tongue made a broken moan rip from your mouth, and your head tilted back as he landed a messy kiss on your hole, throbbing and clenching around nothing. “Just like I thought, sweetheart: sweet as candy. I oughta start calling you sugar, huh?” 

He shifted, standing back to his full height, and the fire in your veins grew hotter at the sight of his mouth, shining in the light with your wet. You reached out for him and drew him into a messy kiss, and you let out your first true, full-chested moan of the night as you let yourself sink fully into him, into his smell and taste and energy, and Erik’s hips bucked forward. “Fuck,” he hissed, and drew in a tight breath. “I knew it was sensitive, they told me it would be, but fuck me, that’s intense.” 

“What is?” you asked, chasing him back into another kiss. 

“My stupid dick,” Erik chuckled against your mouth. “Rubbing against my pants, it’s, like, holy shit. You’d think I’d never had my dick touched before, the way it feels.” 

You resumed the job that you had abandoned before as you kissed him, and his hands joined you to help tug down his jeans just enough to shove down the band of his boxers, his belt buckle jingling as it moved. He had a nice dick, decently long and deliciously thick— now you understood what his whole “stretching you out” thing was about, because oh my God— but you couldn’t focus on the whole thing for too long. Extending from his beautiful rosy tip was the silver metal ball, indicative of the end of a piercing, and your stomach pitched. That was going inside of you, and you had never thought something could be so arousing. Quickly, before he could push your hand away, you wrapped your fingers around his length, pulling on his bottom lip with your teeth as you stroked his cock. 

His cock jumped in your hand as he groaned, his eyebrows furrowing with the pleasure of it. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Holy shit, sweetheart, I think you’re gonna kill me if you make me wait any longer.” 

“We wouldn't want that,” you told him. You shuffled a bit, opening your legs wider for him, and his strong hands angled your legs to wrap around his waist. He was quick, obviously rather skilled with it, as he grasped his cock and guided it to your hole, pressing just the smallest bit in before he raised his eyes up to meet yours. A shiver ran down your back at the eye contact, and he seemed to notice the effect he had on you, because he put a hand on your face, keeping you from moving. 

“If it hurts,” he started. “Don’t tell me. Just scream for me.” 

Your breaths timed in tandem as he bullied his way inside you, going slowly to savor your tight resistance, and you gasped. His dick felt so good inside you, that funny little electrical charge working overtime with every bit he gave you, but the hard ball of the piercing in you nearly made tears fall. Not because it hurt— it didn’t; it was noticeable, of course, but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why it felt so damn good, it just did. His cock was stiff and hard and hot, heated steel under warm velvet, and you cried out a wrecked little noise as he bottomed out, his thick balls nestled against your ass. 

Thankfully, you somehow managed to keep your head on straight and look at his face, and you saw a man possessed. His cheeks pink, his spit-slick rosebud mouth open, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows pitched, messy hair falling over his forehead. God, the man was in heaven inside you, and his moan came as he opened his eyes. “Fuck,” he laughed. “Look at that— fits like a glove. A really tight, really… Really warm, super wet… Glove— Fuck.” He abandoned the joke almost immediately, instead moving to pull his hips back, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of himself. You watched as well, seeing his softest skin all slick and shiny with your wetness, and he pulled himself out fully, watching as your hole throbbed in his absence. 

“God,” you whined, a pit opening in your stomach. “Erik, baby, put it back in, please.”

“I like the way you say my name,” he told you. “You say it like… I don’t know. Like you love the way it tastes.”

“I do,” you told him. Your chest heaved as you waited for him to take pity on you, and he quickly shoved your shirt up your chest, exposing your tits and the pushup bra you had worn, and he gave a wolfish grin. 

“Good,” he said. “I’m so glad. Now, sweetheart, you said you wanted my cock back inside you?” 

“Yes!” you yelped. He leaned down and kissed the swell of your tits as you writhed, and you added, “Please, Erik, please, put your cock inside me again, I feel so empty without you in my pussy.” 

“Such a filthy fuckin’ mouth,” Erik smiled, and he shook his head. “Nah, Bobby wouldn’t have been able to handle you, you would’ve knocked him out, you’re too much for him.” 

“Y’know,” you started. “I came here tonight to see Bobby. My friend always jokes that he’s my boyfriend.” 

Erik’s eyebrows furrowed, this time in confusion. “Have you fucked him?” he asked with narrowed eyes. 

“No,” you told him quickly. “Just— I don’t know. Had a little crush on him, that’s all. It’s those blue eyes, makes it hard to keep a girl away. Same as you, actually.” 

“Past tense ‘had’ a crush on baby brother,” Erik repeated. “Not present tense?”

“Not as of… About half an hour ago,” you told him. “Found another somebody to focus on.” 

“Someone caught your attention over Bobby?” Erik laughed. “Whoever that guy is, he is one lucky bastard. I bet you’d let him lick your pussy, wouldn’t you?” He rolled his eyes at his own joke, and you giggled softly. 

“I’d even let him fuck me in this gross-ass bar bathroom,” you said. “If only he would shut his stupid mouth and put his dick back inside me.” 

Erik made a big show of closing his mouth, looking a little like a gaping fish, and you held back a snort of laughter. This time, you watched him, slapping your pussy with the head of his cock a few times, hearing the wet sound echo around the bathroom, and his dick twitched as he ran his thumb across his sensitive head, smearing his pearly pre-cum around. “Jesus,” he gasped. “Gotta quit doing that, s’gonna make me bust before I’ve even really fucked you.” 

You watched as he situated his pierced head back at your entrance, and you felt like all the breath in your chest got knocked out in one punch as he pushed inside, a little quicker and rougher than before. He didn’t waste time to start up a rhythm, wrinkling his nose as he gripped your hips and fucked you, and your arms circled around his neck, hiding in his shoulder and attempting to muffle your noises. It wasn’t quiet exactly in the bathroom, the music from the bar proper still very clearly audible, the walls still sorta rattling with the heavy bass, and you weren’t worried that anyone out there would hear you, but you were also hesitant to risk it. “D-Does anyone know?” you stammered. 

“Know what?” Erik asked. His belt rattled again as he snapped his hips forward into you, and you let out a wrecked moan into the dip of his neck. 

“That we’re in here together,” you said. “Th-That you’re fucking me within an inch of my life.” 

“I don’t think so,” Erik said. “Told Bobby I was heading back here, then was gonna split, but I don’t know if he saw you come back, so who knows what he knows. Why, are you worried your little boyfriend is gonna get jealous?” 

“No,” you told him with a shaky voice. He was so close to that spot inside you with every drag of his cock, and you could almost taste the incoming pop of electricity that would snap on your tongue when he did. 

“You want people to know I’m fucking you back here?” Erik asked. “Let the whole damn bar know that a pretty thing like you would let someone like me violate you? Damn, girl, you might be kinkier than me.” 

“Not likely,” you countered. “I mean, who here has the pierced genitals?” 

“Fair point,” Erik said. “Ya like it?” 

“I might never go back to regular dicks after this,” you chuckled, and Erik nodded in satisfaction. “But I don’t know if it’s the piercing, or if you’re just an absolute godlike fuck, even without that thing.” 

“Mix of both?” Erik offered. “I’m sure my sparkling personality has something to do with it too.” 

Before you could think of a snappy comeback, he fucked into you, and that electricity popped in your mouth as white flashed in your vision. “Fuck!” you squealed, tangling your fingers in his hair. “Erik, oh my God!” 

“Right there?” he asked, and you nodded quickly. His grip on your waist tightened, and you could almost feel the capillaries bursting under your skin to bruise up all tender by tomorrow morning as he fucked into that spot once more. Your whole body jostled with the feeling, and you squeezed your thighs hard around his body, urging him on. He was quick with it now, hammering into you and forcing out uh-uh-uh! moans from you, and you dug your fingernails into his scalp. He wasn’t quiet either, hissing in tight breaths and groaning as you throbbed around him, and a properly loud moan tumbled from his lips when your mouth attached to his neck, sucking at the sensitive pulse point. “Fuck, you gonna mark me up?” he panted, and you looked up at his face. His forehead under his hair was shiny with sweat, his eyes blown way the fuck out, lips bitten all red and raw— he was just about the most handsome guy you’d ever seen. 

“S’that so bad?” you asked, leaning back and biting at a different part of his skin. You intended to leave many bruises, in as many places as possible, and one of his strong hands lifted from your hip to cradle your head against his neck. Your tongue soothed the sting of your bites, and you could feel his throat and chest rumble as he pitched his head towards the ceiling and moaned. 

“Not at all,” he whispered. “‘Specially if you leave your pretty lipstick all over my neck.”

“Wanna leave it everywhere,” you told him. That telltale knot was tightening at the bottom of your tummy, and, based on his shaky breathing and the slow increase in volume, he didn’t have much longer left either. “E, baby,” you whispered, and he touched his forehead to yours, stealing a kiss to your mouth. “Wanna see us. Turn me around.” 

The brief few seconds where he pulled out of you felt like torture, but he guided you off the counter and around, back in the position you started with. You steadied yourself on your hands, and hardly had time to even think again before he was back inside you, anchoring on your hips. It was louder now too, the hits of his skin on yours coming faster with the angle shift, and his dick (and the associated piercing) rubbed against your tender spot with every single thrust. Your legs felt like jelly and you dug your nails into the countertop as you looked up to the mirror, and you jumped with shock. 

Who the absolute fuck were you looking at? By all accounts, the girl in the mirror was you— she had your eyes, your pretty face, the same outfit you wore. But her eyes were blown wide like she was rolling, her lipstick smeared across her face with her mascara gathered and running under her eyes. Her fingers moved when yours did, her chest heaved when yours did, she even moaned when you did. This was you; or, at least, this is what Erik did to you. You didn’t hate the fucked-out look on yourself. 

You cast your gaze to Erik in the mirror and found him studying your reflection as well, his bottom lip firmly between his teeth. He had pulled his shirt up with the position change, and your mouth watered at the collection of tattoos on his chest and stomach, the focal point being the large, dark skull in the middle of his torso. His stomach tensed and flexed as he fucked you, and you only managed to catch a momentary silver glint of nipple rings (what the fuck was with this guy?) before the knot in your stomach began to loosen, threatening the last shreds of your sanity. 

“Erik!” you squealed. Skillfully, he molded his front to your back and placed his arms over top of yours, threading your fingers together as he bit at your shoulder. 

“You gonna cum?” he asked, and you sobbed as his rhythm changed, from quick and hurried, to one hard slam after the other, a decidedly slower flow but all the more serving to get you to your end. “You gonna scream when you cream all over my cock?”

“Yes!” you cried. “Fuck, I’m so close, E, please!” 

“Aw, you poor thing,” he said, all condescending once more. “Little sweetheart, can’t take it anymore, huh?” One of his hands started to inch away from yours, and you knew exactly what he was on his way to do. 

You weren’t sure if his rough fingers actually made contact with your clit when you came. True to your word, you sobbed and moaned through your climax, drawn from so deep within your chest that it almost hurt, your head dropping forward as your whole body shook in the aftermath of the absolute assault on your nervous system. Erik’s strength was on full show now, because he used the little bit of it that he still had harnessed to keep you upright, his arm around your waist as he roughly buried himself up to the hilt in you, and it didn’t take long for you to feel the warmth of his cum inside you. You hadn’t even thought about a condom until right that second, when it was decidedly too late for one. 

And then it was quiet. Not completely, of course; his breathing was rattly and hard from exertion, and you were sniffling and whimpering, but it was much less noise than it had previously been. He cleared his throat and sniffed, and he carefully stood back to his full height with a sigh. “Goddamn…” he whispered. “You alright, sweetheart?” 

“M’good,” you whispered. “Just… Holy shit.” 

Erik chuckled raspily. “I know,” he said. “Think you can stand, or do you need me to hold onto ya?” 

“I can stand,” you assured him, and he slowly withdrew from you, earning himself one last, pathetic moan as his piercing rubbed against the spot inside you that felt raw and ultra-sensitive. The emptiness inside you was a strange feeling that you weren’t used to, and you tried to even out your breathing as he reached around you, grabbing at the stack of paper towels next to the sink. Before you really knew what was happening, he was on you again, turning you and lifting you back onto the counter, and you started, “Erik, I can’t, not again, give me a minute before—”

He shushed you, soft and gentle. “Not what I’m doing, sweetheart,” he told you, lifting your head up to look at him with a finger under your chin. He ran the tap against a few of the paper towels, soaking them with cold water, and he carefully wiped at your cheeks, trying to cool you down and help you settle. “There you go, that’s good, we’re calming down, we’re okay. What’s the shaking for? You alright, is it just the adrenaline? Or is something wrong?” 

You hadn’t even noticed the quivering that had started in your hands until he said something, and you frowned. “I’m alright,” you whispered. “Just… Oh my God.” 

He gave you a lopsided smile, then went to wipe down the sides of your mouth, cleaning up your makeup. “I know,” he said. “That was… I’ve never been like that before. I don’t know what happened to me. S’like I got inside you and, like, Hulked out or something. That was super fucked up, I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

You couldn’t help your laughter. “See that?” you repeated. “Erik, I’m the one you were fucking, I lived through that. Don’t know if I’ll be able to walk tomorrow, let alone out of here tonight.” 

Erik pouted at you. “Poor little princess,” he joked. “Need your prince to carry you into your Uber home?” 

“I don’t need saving,” you smiled. “But I might need your number.” 

Erik shared your smile, and he swooped in to land a kiss on your mouth. “See? I told you; we let cute girls touch our tattoos, and we get their numbers.”

When you woke up the next morning, in your own apartment, Anna already puking her hungover guts out in the bathroom, the first thing you thought about was Erik. You both managed to escape the bathroom unnoticed, even if you were walking like you had just ridden a bike across the country nonstop, and you found Anna out front, sharing a cigarette with some frat-dude-looking motherfucker. She hadn’t seen you and Erik together, so she didn’t try to pry into what you had been doing, but you caught Bobby’s eye, and he absolutely knew. Erik went back to his seat at the end of the bar, and you heard him ask his brother for a shot of tequila, and Bobby asked about what had happened just then, but Anna was whisking you away before you heard Erik’s response. It didn’t occur to you until you were already in the Uber home with a much-more-drunk-than-you Anna that you didn’t actually give Erik your phone number, and you could have hit yourself. How stupid did you have to be? Dude fucks you dumb and cums inside you, and you don’t even get his fucking number? What a fail.

Your whole body was sore and raw as you shifted in bed, grabbing at your phone tangled in your blankets. It was on 2% battery, having been forgotten the moment you got home, but it wasn’t the battery percentage that you were focused on. You had two texts, both about an hour old and from the same unsaved phone number, a local area code. The first text was a payment to you for $50, and the second said I’m an idiot. Get some breakfast and a Plan B. Take care of yourself. :)

Just as you were unlocking your phone to text Erik back, asking how exactly he got your phone number (probably Bobby), your phone vibrated with a third text; you could envision, for the past hour, him pacing around and debating whether to text you again. You had certainly done it before, and then promptly thrown your phone across the room when you finally hit send. So when will I get to see you again? 

You hit the call button, and the phone trilled for just a few seconds before the call picked up. Erik’s raspy voice, half-morning voice and half an obvious hangover from time spent at the bar after you left, said your name, as sweet as honey, like the first time he said it, but it wasn’t a question, like he was surprised you called. No, he was even and prepared, calm, cool, and collected. The memory of him last night, eyes blown out like he was on molly and his hair in his face, flashed in your mind’s eye, such a contrast from him right now, and you smiled. “If I sent you my address, would you come pick me up?” you asked. “We can get breakfast together, and you can see me again.” 

“Only if you also wanna see me,” Erik said. 

You could hear his smile from across the phone, and it made you smile even wider, like some lovesick teenager. “I would love nothing more.” 

[navybrat817]

The Day After

Pairing: Roommate's Brother!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Your new roommate introduces you to her brother, but you met him last night.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: Implied explicit sexual content, mention of hooking up, tension, humor, flirting, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes being a menace (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Calling this AU About Last Night. No one asked for it. Hope you enjoy it anyway! @targaryenvampireslayer @tavners @starlightcrystalline he's such a menace! ❤️ Thanks to the lovely @whisperlullaby for prereading and assuring me it isn't garbage. Any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You groaned as you saw the time and wiped down the coffee table again. Rebecca Barnes, your new roommate, would be there any minute. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous. She seemed like a sweetheart and was down to earth, the perfect person to take the other bedroom and help with rent. Plus, she had already seen the place and seemed excited to be roommates.

She was doing you a favor by moving in. Your last roommate got engaged and moved in with her fiancé. While you were thrilled for her, keeping a place in this part of town was costly. You had debated downsizing, but there was nothing available. Giving up the place would’ve been tough as well since you did love your apartment and it was close to work.

“It’ll be great,” you said, taking a wipe to the table once more.

Maybe you were on a cleaning spree so your mind wouldn’t keep going back to the guy from last night. The one at the bar with the piercing blue eyes and charming smile. And the beefy frame and soft chestnut hair that framed his face. The same hair you pulled when he laid you down on his bed and kissed down your body and-

You jumped at the knock on your door. Now wasn’t the time to think about the guy who blew your back out. “Just a sec!” you called out, putting the cleaning supplies away before you straightened up your top. With a deep breath, you opened the door with a smile. “Becca, hi!”

Rebecca’s smile was enough to light up the whole place, her brown hair swept back to showcase her beautiful face. You imagined guys, and maybe girls, flocked to her, but she told you she was single and happy that way. You were single, too, minus whatever last night was. “Hi,” she said, balancing a box in her hand before you held your hands out to take it. “How are you?”

“Good. How are you?”

“Good, but I’ll be better once I get everything inside. I didn’t realize I had so many boxes,” she teased.

“I’m happy to help with whatever you need,” you promised, setting the box down by her bedroom door. “Is your car outside?”

“Actually, one of my brother’s friends let us use his truck to haul most of my stuff here,” she said, a worried look crossing her face as she looked your way. “It’s okay that they help move the stuff in, right? I’m so sorry. I don’t think I asked. The furniture is just a bit heavy.”

“It’s fine. You have nothing to apologize for. This is your place now, too,” you assured her. You remembered her saying she had an older brother. Was his name James? “And you shouldn’t have to lug up an entire bedroom by yourself.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks. My last roommate would’ve flipped,” she smiled, heading back to the door to stick her head out. “This way, guys!”

The first man that walked in was thick with broad shoulders and a smile as golden as his hair. If you had to imagine an all-American man in the flesh, this guy was it. But the guy that followed inside after him, he was the one who made your heart stop. The one who made your knees buckle. Because you knew those blue eyes.

And as his eyes bore into yours, he smirked.

Fuck…

“This is Steve, one of my brother’s best friends and pretty much like another brother,” Rebecca said, pointing to the blonde as you blinked. “And that’s my brother, James. Everyone calls him Bucky.”

You were very much aware that people called him Bucky. It was the name he made you cry out when he was balls deep inside you the night before. There was still an ache between your legs that reminded you just how thoroughly he fucked you. It was a miracle you were able to walk by the time he was done with you.

Not only did you manage to walk out of his room, you left his place before he woke up.

To be fair, it wasn’t your plan to ditch him after he took you in just about every position you could imagine. You just had to get home, shower, and clean up a bit before Rebecca showed up. And you did leave your number for him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve said as Bucky continued to stare.

The room suddenly felt very hot.

“James, could you not gawk at my new roommate like that, please?” his sister asked, waving a hand dismissively when he continued to stare at you. Thank god she spoke because your words were stuck in your throat. “I’m sorry. He does this weird staring thing sometimes, but he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s okay,” you said, clearing your throat as Bucky raised an eyebrow. Why wasn’t he saying anything? You didn’t know what to say. “It’s nice to meet you guys, too.”

Bucky’s pretty eyes darkened a shade as he continued to stare you down. You shifted slightly on your feet. Was he upset that you left or that you just pretended not to know him, like last night hadn’t happened? But if you said you knew him, how would you explain it to his sister? You could’ve just said you met at a bar and left it at that. Or blurted out everything.

But how the hell were you to know Bucky was her brother? It wasn’t like the two of you had exchanged last names. Oh, Jesus, what was wrong with you?

The corner of Bucky’s lip tugged in a smile as he said your name. How did he manage to make it sound like honey and something sinful? “Becca was telling us all about you on the drive over. Said you’re very welcoming.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as he gauged your reaction. “That was nice of her to say,” you said, tearing your gaze away because you didn’t know what else to do. “Becca, I can go to the truck and-”

“Actually, could you show me where the bathroom is?” Bucky casually cut you off, jerking his head toward the door. “Steve, Becca, if you wanna grab a couple more boxes, I’ll be right down.”

“Sure,” Steve nodded as Rebecca narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t bother my roommate,” she warned before she left with Steve.

The brunette swung his head back toward you, a wolfish grin on his face as you gulped. “I won’t be a bother, will I?”

“Bathroom’s this way!” you said much louder than you needed to, your heart racing as you went down the hall. He was right on your tail and you wondered if he would figure out which bedroom was yours and drag you into it. The hall seemed more narrow with him in it. The wonderful smell of him took up the space, too. “Right there,” you said, not looking him in the eye as you pointed to the bathroom door.

He put an arm up to block your exit. “Nice to meet me, huh?” he asked, tsking as he shook his head. “Did I fuck you so good that you lost your memory?”

You inhaled, your cheeks hot. “Bucky!” you hissed, looking over his shoulder to make sure his sister and friend weren’t back yet.

“So, you do remember my name,” he said. The smirk that followed almost had you dropping to your knees. What sorcery did this man have over you and how could you get it to stop? “I mean, you should remember it. I did have you screaming it.”

You stuck a finger in his face as you stepped closer. “Shut the fuck up! If your sister hears, she might get upset and back out of the lease. And I don’t want her to leave. She’s nice and I can’t afford this place without a roommate.”

He gripped your wrist and maintained eye contact as he swirled his tongue around the tip of your finger. An unashamed whimper slipped past your lips that you couldn’t smother, yet you didn’t make a move to stop him. “My sister won't back out of the lease, so don’t worry about that.”

“O-Okay,” you said, trying not to let him distract you as he repeated the motion. Your nipples hardened under your top anyway. Damn him. “But if she stays, how am I supposed to explain that we…”

“Fucked until the sun came up then fucked again? Yeah, you're right. It might be really hard.” He tilted his head as his gaze went lower. Was he trying to kill you? “About as hard as when I had my cock in your sweet, wet-”

You covered his mouth to smother the rest of the statement, but you felt the vibration from the word “pussy” against your skin. He chuckled at your expression. The man was going to drive you crazy.

“Yes, yes. We fucked. Best fuck of my life, okay?” you admitted in a huff.

A genuine smile touched his lips as he lowered your hand. Not a smirk or smug smile, but something lighter like when the two of you chatted over a drink. A smile that made your knees weak. “I was the best fuck of your life?”

You shook your head. You shouldn’t have said that. “That isn’t the point, but I do want to point out that I don’t make it a habit of hooking up with random guys,” you said, hoping that would be the end of it.

Amusement filled his eyes. “I know. You told me that when I brought you home and I believed you,” he reminded you, your breath hitching when he leaned in close. “But you still begged me to fuck you raw. Or did you ‘forget’ that, too?”

Electricity crackled between the two of you slowly exhaled. “I didn’t forget,” you breathed, your tongue darting out to touch your lip. It almost touched his.

How could you ever forget how right it felt when he filled you up?

“Yeah? Then were you embarrassed that you went home with me?” he asked, his voice quieter than before as he took your hand in his. His thumb moved over your skin as your pulse quickened again. “Is that why you left this morning? Or acted like we hadn’t met?”

Your gaze softened. God, did you hurt his feelings? You hadn’t meant to. “No, I’m not embarrassed that I went home with you. Not at all,” you promised. Bucky was like a god and you were a mere mortal that he somehow chose to bless with his presence. “I’m sorry I left. I only did that because I had to get back here.”

“I could’ve given you a ride. Well, another ride,” he said, brushing his fingers along your cheek, his voice still not back to normal yet. “I’m a gentleman like that.”

“I didn’t want to wake you, but I did leave my number,” you said, hoping that would at least soothe the unintended wound. “And I’m not at all pointing fingers, but you didn’t exactly jump to tell your sister we had met either when you walked in.”

He shrugged and looked over his shoulder. “She’ll be back any minute. Let’s tell her.”

“Tell her what?” You asked. The two of you hooked up. There was no label or relationship yet. “We did a lot of things that I don't think she needs to hear about.”

The smile morphed back to the smirk that was getting under your skin in the best way. “Then come to my place so she can't hear the things we’ll do to each other. You know I have a great bed.”

You smiled and considered it for a moment. The handsome menace was single and so were you. Would it be so bad to go with him again? Yes. You couldn’t ditch your new roommate to hop into her brother’s bed, especially on the day she was moving in.

With a shake of your head, you backed away. “You’re unbelievable,” you replied, almost giving in when he pouted. That look probably got him whatever he wanted with most people. “And I’m not going back to your place today.”

“Why not? Like you said, you left me your number,” he said, making a show of holding up his phone. “You obviously wanted to, at the very least, talk to me again.”

“Look, Bucky, can we talk about this later? Please? Your sister’s moving in today. Let’s focus on that.”

His shoulders slumped, but he recovered in the blink of an eye. “Okay, you’re right. But you promise we’ll talk? Because I haven’t stopped thinking about last night.”

You bit your lip. Yeah, you wanted to talk to him again and it warmed your heart that he seemed interested in talking to you, too. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it either,” you told him. But you couldn’t dwell on that when you heard footsteps approaching. “I promise we’ll talk later and figure out whatever this is.”

That appeased him for now since he dropped his arm. “Later then.”

“James! Are you done going to the bathroom? I thought you were going to help?” Rebecca’s voice rang out. “Oh, God, you’re bothering her, aren’t you?”

You giggled as you ducked past him. “He isn’t bothering me.”

“But I am offering to order dinner for all of us if she doesn’t mind the company after we bring the rest of the stuff up. Maybe we can all watch a movie, too,” Bucky said from behind you, smiling when you looked over your shoulder with an exasperated gaze. “What do you say?”

You had to smile back because you knew you’d say “yes” before Steve brought the next box in.

And things were about to get a lot more interesting in your life since Bucky Barnes seemed determined to continue whatever had transpired the night before.

Neighbor!Bucky level of being a menace. 😂 I also like to imagine this is a version of Stud and Smartie in another world had she lived with his sister instead. ❤️‍🔥 How long before Becca finds out? What shenanigans will these two get up to? Do you lovelies want to see the night before? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[spaceshipkat]

hmm currently thinking about how Buck recognized Eddie’s nice cologne when he was going on a date. and im also thinking about maybe Eddie asking if Buck wants to go to that new fancy restaurant everyone’s been talking about but Buck didn’t want to go to alone, since he’s single rn and just. not feeling up to dating. he’s sharing Eddie’s house still, now that Eddie and Chris are back, and he’s kinda maybe stopped talking about moving out because it feels so, so good to be under the same roof with two of his favorite people. he hasn’t been to any apartment viewings in ages, and Eddie isn’t asking him about them, so he feels like maybe he can just. stay here a little longer. until he gets the vibe that it’s time to move out (as if that’d ever happen. every morning Eddie walks into the kitchen to find Buck cooking at the stove and Eddie’s coffee already sitting on the island, made exactly how he likes it, Eddie feels just. so unbelievably happy. he can’t confront why yet, but he’ll get there. he will. Bobby—who is alive!!—told him he has time, bc Buck isn’t going anywhere. he’s staying right here with Eddie)

so Eddie asks if Buck wants to go to the new fancy restaurant, and of course Buck says yes (and he’s definitely not calling it a date in his head, bc he knows that’s not what it is: Eddie is straight, after all, and he’s just doing this romantic thing with Buck because that’s just how their friendship works. it doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else), so Eddie says “great, i’ll pick you up at seven,” and Buck just laughs and pretends not to notice Eddie’s cherry-red cheeks. it’s probably just the heat anyway, so Buck turns on the air conditioning. and he spends the day doing busy work so he doesn’t have to think about tonight, even though it’s all he ends up thinking about: what he should wear, how he should do his hair, which aftershave he should put on. because this isn’t a date—Eddie is straight!—but it is a fancy restaurant and Buck doesn’t want to stand out like a sore thumb. so in the end he does dress nice, and he does style his hair, and he does put on his best aftershave, and if Eddie later remarks on it Buck will just point out that Bobby (who is alive!!) told him he should dress to the nines because it’s a fancy restaurant (and who cares if Bobby kinda insinuated it’s a date. it’s not. Eddie is straight!) and Chris helped Buck pick out the right tie and it turned into a little lesson of Buck showing Chris how to tie a tie like Bobby once showed him, so Chris ties Buck’s tie for him and Buck definitely gets a little misty eyed oops

anyway then Buck’s turn in the bathroom is done but he makes sure that Eddie doesn’t see him after he gets dressed bc for some reason he really wants his appearance to be a surprise, so he’s hiding out in the kitchen while Eddie does his thing in the bathroom. Chris is in there with him, and Buck can hear the low rumble of their voices but he purposefully doesn’t listen. (and when it gets too tempting to try to eavesdrop on their conversation, he turns on the garbage disposal)

then Chris steps out of Eddie’s bedroom and says “have fun tonight!” with a waggle of his brows that Buck tries not to recognize from his own damn face (Chris isn’t his kid! however much Buck loves him! no matter that Chris asked Buck if he could go to the park this morning and Buck said yes and gave him cash for the taco truck he and his friends like for lunch and told him to be back by six, and it was only after Chris left that Buck realized he probably should have told him to ask Eddie, seeing as how Eddie is his dad and Buck is…his Buck, so Buck hurried to tell Eddie—who was out in the backyard working on his herb garden, bc his sisters got him into gardening while he was in El Paso—and Eddie just nodded and barely looked up when Buck rambled about where Chris was going, and it’s strange that Eddie isn’t at all concerned or upset but Buck isn’t gonna question that bc he doesn’t want to ruin the vibe of the date that isn’t a date tonight) and Buck’s facing the sink so his back is to the kitchen doorway but then he hears Eddie stop, and it’s quiet for a moment and Buck pretends he can’t feel Eddie’s eyes on him, lets Eddie believe that Buck hasn’t noticed his arrival, and besides he knows Eddie is probably just making sure his slacks aren’t stained with soap bc Buck is going a little nuts on a dirty coffee mug that Eddie used to house a worm until he could find a better place for the worm to live than a flower pot

and then Eddie clears his throat and says, “you look good, Buck,” attempting to be casual, but his voice gives him away: a little raspy, Buck’s name wrapped in heat and affection that Buck knows is just his imagination going wild. and so Buck licks his lips and says, “thanks, Eddie,” like they do this all the time (do they?! Buck feels like he would know if they do this all the time, but then again, so much of his life with Eddie is rote that he barely notices when they’re holding hands in a crowded room so they don’t get lost until he realizes they forgot to ever let go and now they’re holding hands while Chim and Hen see to a patient who called 911), and Eddie asks “you ready?” and Buck breathes in—

and he knows that cologne. it’s Eddie’s nice cologne. the cologne he only ever wears on dates.

—and Buck breathes out.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-five —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

A hand grips your shoulder. "We'll take care of them. Keep low and find a place for all of you to hide. Do not come out until we say."

His words blur together, but you manage to act accordingly, ignoring the pit in your stomach when he disappears around the truck. The concrete is covered in glass and rusted debris, so you keep low without letting your knees touch the ground and motion for the others to follow.

The closest place is an old café, the door closed with chains but the glass window shattered enough for you to crawl through. You pull the knife from your ankle as you move everyone behind the cash register, gripping the handle tight once you lean your back against it. The café is quiet. Still. No one else is here. You steady your breath. Staring at you are the double doors to the kitchen in the back, a thick waft of mold radiating, and behind you are tipped-over chairs and tables.

The noise outside has drifted. When you take a quick peek, you don't see anyone near the truck anymore. It is as if the three of them have followed whoever was shooting.

"Twix, I—"

You look back. Blue is holding her hand out, a shard of glass thrust in her palm.

Blood oozes.

You have no supplies on you, but you carefully pinch the glass between your thumb and forefinger. She bites her lip as it wriggles free, releasing another gush of blood. As if on cue, the kitchen doors burst open with ear-splintering screeches, and three Greys surge toward you.

Blue's bloodied hand reaches for her ankle knife as one tackles you, grinding your spine into the counter's edge. Two gunshots ring out over the snarling in your face. You thrust your arm against its throat, keeping the chomping jaws at bay, and with your other hand, stab the knife into its skull three times, until it whines like a dying animal.

When you shove the corpse to the tile floor, you see the two others on the ground. Blue is pulling her knife from one skull, and Ari has a gun in his hand.

"I only have one more bullet," he pants, double-checking the barrel.

"Someone could've heard the gunshots," Nereida whispers frantically.

"Then we find somewhere else to hide. Come on." Your eyes land on a graffitied door on the side wall. It leads into an alleyway that smells putrid. You motion for Ari to give you the gun as you lead the way, sandwiched between brick walls. You can still hear rounds firing from the street. They stutter in sync with your heartbeat.

You shove a rusted crate that blocks the path. You catch sight of movement, and something scurries between your boots. Blue squeaks and grips Ari's arm, your hand tightening on the gun—but it's only a raccoon.

"There."

You spot a sizable dumpster around the corner, where the narrow alley widens enough for cars to pass behind the buildings. Nereida helps you shove off the debris on top and heave open the lid. A thick waft of rot rises, along with a buzz of fruit flies. The dumpster is half-filled with blackened garbage and charred bones, but no Greys. You don't have time to find another spot as two male voices echo from down the alley.

"I heard it over here!"

"Let's check, come on."

Shit.

You lace your fingers for Blue to step on them. "Quick, get in."

Once the kids are inside, Nereida grabs the edge and hoists herself up. You glance back, stomach coiling as two shadows approach the corner. Quickly, you close the lid after her, scatter the debris back on top, and scurry behind a nearby crate, palm sweaty around the gun.

A fevered study of the shadows reveals two healthy, fit men. One bullet. Something in the second one's gait seems slightly off. You make a split-second decision, peek over the crate, and aim for the first man's chest, doubting your ability to land a headshot.

He falls dead with a thud and then you are launching blindly at the second man with your knife, but you fail to pierce flesh when a strong grip snatches your wrist. The man's rifle skids across the ground and your back is slammed against the wall, your skull colliding with the brick hard enough to make stars dance across your vision. A muscled forearm presses into your neck, effectively cutting off your air.

"Fucking bitch."

Even through the blood rushing between your ears, the growl in your face is—familiar.

You blink up at a man swallowed by a massive burn scar.

The tip of his nose is gone, with eyelashes and scalp burnt away, revealing poorly healed ripples of flesh.

One eyelid fails to open properly, the skin too scarred.

The recognition unfurls your eyes.

He presses harder. "I know you, don't I?" Anger cuts through his gaze. "Ah. That's right—a thief and a killer. You're full of surprises, sweetheart." The curl on his burnt lips makes you flinch, but there is nowhere to go. "I guess you found new friends."

"I guess—I guess you did... too..." Short gasps leave your mouth.

"Shut up," he growls. "I don't want to hear a word from a stuck-up bitch like you who thinks her tits and her cunt are worth more than my goddam face." He is yelling now, spit flying in your eyes. "Don't you dare look away from it! What, not proud of your handiwork?" He breathes hard and looks you over with a snigger. "Finding you is just my luck. I was going to go easy the first time, but now I think I'll kill you then enjoy you. How's that sound? Your corpse being passed around? Hope your cunt is as good when you're dead—"

White-hot anger ripples through your veins and you snarl before hurling a wad of saliva in his face, using the brief distraction to drive your knee into his groin. He staggers back enough for you to escape his hold and push away from the wall.

Gulps of air feel painful down your throat. You back away, readjusting the hold on your knife while he rubs his eyes furiously. 

"You're sick," you growl, voice hoarse and low. 

"And you're not, princess?"

"I'm not a goddamn rapist."

"You ruined my fucking face," he retorts, stalking you down the alley. At least you are drawing him away from their hiding place—you make an unnoticed glance at the dumpster to ensure no one else has approached, relieved to see the lid unmoved. When your eyes flick back to him, a sick curl twitches on his lips. "You're not innocent here. You're damned like everyone else. That ride of yours now has a shot tire, and that boat—" he chuckles, "—what? Thought you were gonna get out of this hell? We made sure to put a hole in that, too."

His words sink in. 

For a moment, horror grips you.

But you channel it through your veins as something useful—rage—and launch at him without abandon. He anticipates an attempt to stab his side again, so he blocks there, but instead, you reach for his marred face and claw the unhealed wounds, reopening them. He howls like an animal, stumbling back and cradling his cheek as blood seeps between his fingers. 

"I'm going to kill you, bitch—"

He blindly reaches for the rifle on the ground but you are quick to kick it away. You jump on him, this time bringing him to the concrete, which scrapes against your exposed skin as you wrestle to come out on top. But he is stronger. Heavier. For the second time you become pinned, he tries to dig his hands into your throat. The lack of oxygen threatens to turn the world black, but you slap a hand back on his face and rip off his scarred eyelid before it can.

He roars.

You spit in his face.

Your knife—you lost it in the midst.

As blood pours from his eye, you outstretch an arm and feel for the handle.

The leather is in your palm.

You stab his side.

You shove at his shoulder to get him off.

Then you pin him down, and plunge the knife over and over into every piece of him you find. Neck, chest, cheek, shoulder.

Again and again.

A slashed jugular. Ripped arteries.

Your vision is consumed by blood. You let yourself drown in it. Hot, thick—

Arms grab you by the waist and lift you into the air.

You attempt to wriggle free and dig your knife in them, but the person is quick to disarm you.

"Twix." 

A skull face stares down at you. Your bloodied fingers wrap around Ghost's shirt as you pant heavily. It's him. He's here. 

"Where are they?" he shouts over the ringing in your ears.

He sets you down, gripping your shoulders to steady you. It takes a moment to gather your senses, to comprehend his words. Your hands, shirt, and face are drenched in blood. Your head throbs with weight. Slowly, the world snaps back into focus. You glance around, spotting Kyle and Price standing behind him.

"There," you finally breathe out. "The dumpster. They're...they're in there. Safe. They're safe."

His eyes flick over the length of you, perhaps to ensure all of the blood is not yours, before the three of them thrash off the debris and lift the lid to the dumpster around the corner. They help out Nereida, Ari, and Blue. 

"Ghost." You try to swallow, but the pain hums with each attempt. His eyes snap to yours just as he checks over Blue. "He... They've shot a tire."

"I know. I've got a spare."

"The kayak, too. How are we—"

"We figure that out later. We need to leave." Price slings the rifle over his shoulder and grabs his wife by the arm. "Those fucks are going to be drawn straight to us now."

Blood. Right. 

You push through the ache in your head and run after them back to the truck. The absence of gunfire signifies everyone else has been taken care of, but just as predicted, a chorus of moans begins to filter through the buildings. From windows, underneath cars, and benches—Greys begin to crawl out. The faster ones are quickly shot by either Kyle's handgun or Ghost's rifle. Price helps everyone into the car and slams the door shut as Ghost and Kyle continue firing.

"Wipe yourself, quick. And change inside." Price throws a rag at you. Your backpack.

You get into the passenger seat, wiping your face and hair with a splash of water from Blue's canteen, then toss the stained rag out onto the street.

You don't care if anyone can see as you slip off your shirt, throwing it out the window, and slipping on a clean one.

Outside, Price and Kyle shoot away any Greys that approach as you suspect Ghost is changing the blown out tire, because you can't see him even in the side mirror. 

Within ten minutes, he flings open the door and takes seat behind the wheel. This time Price and Kyle hop in the truck bed with their guns as Ghost starts the ignition with a loud rumble, veering sharply back onto the road. 

Time has been stolen. It is high afternoon, the sky a clear blue even though the streets you leave behind in Halstead are tainted red.

Now the map is in your hands, but Ghost seems to know the way from here.

"How long can the spare go for?"

"Long enough." His words are clipped. "But the kayak we need to figure out."

"It can't be fixed, can it?"

His silence is your response.

Your mind races.

Minutes blur. Behind you, Nereida quietly helps wrap Blue's hand.

Colchester whirls by without obstructions, but you keep looking out the window and squinting, paranoid. You make it to the coast within an hour. The buildings turn into colorful, seafaring cottages and the streets turn to uneven cobblestone. Seashell chimes dance in store fronts that are plastered with old signs reading KEEP OUT IF INFECTED. Ghost makes a sharp right down a narrow street and parks the truck in front of a lone, blue cottage that seems remote enough to be safe. Even if the kayak was fine, you'd have to stop for the night in order to get out on the water at the start of morning.

A flock of oystercatchers scatters as the truck doors slam open and close. The air, thick with salt and spume, is cooler here, the breeze tugging at your tangled hair, where bits of dried blood still clings. The view of the sandy shore and rocky pier would be beautiful, if your mind weren't elsewhere, if the day hadn't been marked by panic.

Ghost circles around to look at the kayak. "How bad is it?"

"Bad," Price mutters.

He helps him pull it out. 

Blue and Ari sit on the steps to of the cottage's porch and listen in silence. 

Nereida watches from beside you, tucking a sweater on against the chill.

Ghost flips the kayak, revealing a bullet hole that goes through one end and out the other. Anger radiates from his tense shoulders. "Christ."

"We can't patch it like we did the raft, can we?" Kyle asks, bending on his knees to look at the damage.

Price raps his knuckles against the hollow sides. "No, it's hard plastic. It would need welding to fix holes like that."

The understanding lingers in the air as you cross arms over your chest. "I'll stay behind, then," you speak up. Nails cutting your palms. You're damned like everyone else. Nereida looks at you with wide eyes, touching your arm. "If we can't fix it, then all we have is the raft and it only fits six. You guys take it in the morning and I will stay behind here—"

"No one is staying behind," Ghost grits fiercely. He gestures at the truck bed. "It doesn't even matter if we got rid of a person. The supplies have to fit, too. Even if we make it across, we're dead without the ammo and food."

Price trails his thumb over the hole in the plastic. "Two would have to stay behind in order for us to fit all the supplies." Your breath hitches as you watch him calmly stand up. "Or... two would have to swim."

"Swim?" you repeat. "You can't just swim it. I mean—it's open water."

"Nothing we haven't swam in before." Kyle leans against the side of the truck, crossing his arms. "But it's further across than the strait. Jesus, what is it? A 40, 50 kilometer swim?"

"Then we take turns," Price says. "Two of us at a time."

"I can take a turn," Nereida offers. "I used to swim in college. I mean, it can't be so bad if we go in intervals, and hold onto the raft."

You breathe deep, looking at the water that crashes upon the shore in the distance and then at Ghost, who is already staring at you. "I can take a turn, too."

"The three of us will start it off. If we need you two to cover, then you'll be ready to go. The kids stay in the raft."

You swallow. "It's not just about getting tired, we need plenty of water to drink. You can still get quickly dehydrated, and the temperature of the water—I mean, hypothermia can set in fast even it is warm."

"We load up on clean water tonight and have blankets and towels ready to go," Kyle says.

You glance back at Ghost. The rise and fall of his chest turns more steady as he nods his head in resignation.

"That's our only choice, then."

The evening is thick with silence.

No one has the energy for conversation, only exchanging brief requests or simple instructions. Starting a fire is risky even here, but you need clean water. A freshwater creek lies a few kilometers back, so Price and Ghost take the truck while the rest of you work on inflating the raft for tomorrow. Whatever happened between you and Kyle goes unspoken, both of you focused on the task at hand, taking turns pumping and checking the seams for anymore holes. When the two return, you help boil the water over a small wood-burning stove in the cottage, praying the smoke rising from the chimney isn’t too noticeable in the growing breeze as the sun sets.

The cottage is mostly bare, with only a dining table, a knocked-over chair, and a stripped bed frame in one of the rooms. The bathroom is quaint, its sea star wallpaper faded, and a warped mirror hangs above the sink. You stare at your reflection while the others lay out sleeping bags on the dusty floor, turning in early to conserve energy for the new plan to cross the channel. Ghost has taken first watch, sitting out on the porch with a rifle.

You listen to their soft murmurs outside the bathroom door as you work on getting out the rest of the blood in your hair. There is a red mark on your throat that is sore to the touch, and the back of your head still feels like someone has taken a hammer to it. Your eyes seem darker than the last time you saw them. You take another rag, wet it, and wipe it all over your skin. Then, you pad back out where the last lamp has been turned off and only moonlight through the boarded windows is left.

You slip into the empty sleeping bag next to Blue and stare at the ceiling. It is impossible to sleep—to even close your eyes for longer than a few seconds. Your heart refuses to even its pace, furiously pumping blood through your veins.

After an hour of lying still, the itch becomes intolerable. You slip silently from the sleeping bag, grab your backpack, and creep to the back door by the kitchen. It opens to a patch of overgrown grass. The cold air raises gooseflesh on your arms, but after emptying your bag, saving only the clothes, and tying it up on a branch, your blood runs hotter. Teeth gritted, you pound your fists into the makeshift punching bag, breathing hard through your nose to keep the noise to a minimum. 

You hit it until your lungs burn cold, and take a pause only to grab the backpack, close your eyes, and lean your forehead against it while breathing deeply. 

"I would say you can't sleep because you're excited for a swim tomorrow, but I know better."

His voice is just behind you, a rough murmur over the distant lapping sea.

You don't turn around. "I'm thrilled for it, actually."

A pause. Then, "Quite heroic of you. Offering to stay behind."

"I wasn't trying to be a hero. It just made the most sense."

You let out one last huff and then settle back into your stance, reopening your eyes to take another swing, but a hand on your wrist wretches you away. You glare up at him as he holds both of your closed fists, peering down at the raw, reddened knuckles.

You’re ready to argue—to tell him to leave you alone and let you hurt your own hands if you want to—but instead, he surprises you by letting go and stepping back. He chucks off his jacket and tosses it to the ground, unrivaled strength evident in the width of his bare, inked biceps. His feet widen, and his fists rise, silently beckoning you.

It’s been over a week since your last sparring session, but as soon as your fists are raised, the familiar rhythm takes over. He doesn’t hold back—not here, not ever. You abandon strategy, driven by the primal satisfaction of ramming your knuckles into his ribs. The adrenaline surge becomes the perfect distraction, each punch feeding your hunger for more. Your breath quickens, harsh and ragged, as you throw punch after punch. Most of your hits are deflected with effortless grace. He mirrors your every step, matching your intensity with his own.

He sweeps his leg out, sending you to your hands and knees. A growl escapes your lips as you spring back up.

He circles you like a vulture.

"I saw his face."

Cold sweat trickles down your bruised neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It was burned. Well, what was left of it. You fucked him up more than necessary." He lowers his fists, eyes locking onto yours with an intense scrutiny. Your nostrils flare as you aim a swipe at his jaw, but he catches your forearm, yanking you close until your chest is pressed against his. With a firm grip on your chin, he tilts your face upward, forcing your narrowed gaze to meet his."You can't hide, Twix. Not from me."

"He was the one who almost raped me, is that what you want to hear?" You dig your free hand into his chest. "And I killed him."

The shade of his irises darkens. "You did what you had to do—what I knew you could do when I left you. You protected yourself and the others."

"I enjoyed it. I wanted to kill him, and I have never wanted that before." You swallow through your sore throat and feel a subtle tremor up your spine as the fresh images brandish your mind. "I wanted to feel his blood on my hands, and if you hadn't stopped me, I would've kept going."

"He deserved it ten times over. I would've done the same."

"And what do I deserve?"

His voice is harsh. "You deserve to cross the channel tomorrow, and keep going. It was life or death. He got death, and you got life."

"And how much longer do I get it? Until the next time people start attacking us? The next horde of Greys? Even if we make it there alive, it will never be a normal life. I can never be a normal person again. Never. I feel like...like there is something broken and rotten inside of me, a-and maybe it was always there, like you said. But only now can I truly feel it."

By the last word, your voice has quieted to a harsh whisper. You avoid the stare bearing down at you by turning your chin. You failed to realize how close your faces have become. Your gaze drifts to the arm still holding you, prominent veins trailing beneath the inked skin, and you swear you can see a pulse in them as fast as your own. Heated breaths pass between your bodies in silence before you look back up at him.

"You murdered someone, didn't you?" you breathe out. "Before shit happened. Outside of the military. Actual murder."

His jaw ticks. "Yes. I did."

The blunt admission doesn't surprise you, nor does it frighten you.

He lowers his face a bit, enough for his exhalation to leave gooseflesh across your cheeks. "Ask me if I enjoyed it. Go on."

"Did you?"

"Very much so."

You swallow hard. "I guess you haven't been normal for a long time."

"No. I guess not," he murmurs.

The air feels thick between you. He studies you intently, fingers uncomfortably tight around your wrist, when the tip of his masked nose nudges tentatively—experimentally—against yours. Your breath hitches at the top of your throat. Your fingers absentmindedly slip under the hem of his mask on their own accord, peeling it up his neck to reveal a stubbled, scarred chin and full, pink mouth.

He doesn't move to stop you.  

You study the sight before you—one you didn't see so close up even when he broke his nose.

Then—the last thin thread of sanity within you snaps. With a surge of abandon, you firmly close your lips over his.

Heat instantly spreads through your mouth, through your limbs, and down to your socked toes. It is enough to flood you with the raw need to taste more of it. Your hands lower to twist tightly in the fabric of his shirt, drawing him closer, and for a moment, those warm lips move slowly against yours. Then, he firmly presses on your shoulder and breaks away with a thin thread of saliva joining your mouths.

"Ghost." You pant raggedly, eyes darting across his face. Humiliation is ready to sink in at his rejection, but he growls under his breath and kisses you again—harder this time, drawing you in with a hand to your jaw.

It quickly turns into a clumsy, greedy mess of clanking teeth. One of your hands curls around the short hair at the nape of his neck. It is difficult to comprehend that it is his tongue, hot and demanding at the seam of your mouth, pushing in once you part it open. It is his hand moving from your jaw to your hair, fisting it to the point of pain, while his other grips your hip and backs you into the tree.

Your spine presses roughly against the bark. The heat and solidity of his chest against your breasts makes your mind go numb. You can't think about anything, not the day behind you or the one ahead, only feel. Blood courses through your veins with the same heat as when you fight him, but instead of growling in anger, you release a throaty sound of desperation, moving your hands to the backs of his shoulders and digging your nails into the flexed muscle. It encourages him to grind his hips against yours with a low groan, striking an unfamiliar wave of warmth between your legs.

You try to recreate the satisfying friction, greedily bucking into him, but it's difficult with the standing position. The mess of emotions inside you is impossible to sift through, but one certainty stands out: you need more of this, whatever it is.

You attempt to lift your legs and lock your ankles around him, biting his lip as a demand for him to help you, but his hand suddenly releases its hold on your hip and he rips away from your mouth, breathing hard through his bitten lips.

"That's enough," he says roughly, stepping away.

What?

It doesn't feel like even close to enough.

Before you can reach for him, he gives you his back and leaves you there, trying to regain your breath. 

[storiesofsvu]

Secrets Among Siblings

Olivia Benson x fem!reader Warnings: language, fluff, smut, teasing, sexting, secret dating, caught in the act. 5 times Elliot wished he knew who his sister was dating + 1 time he really wished he didn't know. 6.1k. I'm so not sorry? Lol. This was requested AGES ago and once I finally figured out *how* to do it, it all came flying out in one afternoon. Hope you enjoy! <3

Living with your brother had its downsides, you were well aware of that. Especially when your brother happened to be the older one, the very much overprotective one who wasn’t afraid to use his authority as a member of NYPD to keep you safe. He meant well, but it was more than a little annoying now that you were a fully grown adult with a big girl job you’d worked hard to achieve and move up the ranks to the point where you could afford your own, nice apartment in Manhattan. You would have understood it if you were freshly twenty one, or fighting your way through college, but you were the same age he was when he got married, then again, that’s how you had ended up in this living situation in the first place. A string of disagreements, a trial separation, Elliot needing a place to stay and your empty guest room being halfway between his precinct and family home. 

There were some great benefits, Elliot was used to routine, no snoozing the alarm in the morning meant the coffee was brewed and there was breakfast on the table by the time you got up, or you had a morning workout partner for once. You didn’t have to plan every single bite of food that you were going to consume; groceries would just appear in the fridge, you’d swap off the cooking, dishes and cleaning. It was nice to have someone else around to help share the load for once, you’d nearly forgotten what that was like. You enjoyed your sibling dinners, especially on Friday evenings, getting to wind down from the week, hearing the wild stories of his hours spent with NYPD while you could vent your heart out about your terribly annoying coworkers. 

Elliot had come to rely on them, a nice distraction from the work week and any lingering family tension, it was his debrief of the week before shifting into Dad mode over the weekend that he spent with the kids. Family time was important to him; it always had been which is why he was a little bit bummed when the text came into his phone halfway through a Friday afternoon.

‘Gonna miss dinner tonight, sorry. How about I treat you and the kids to pizza and a movie Sunday?’

He countered that while you may have had other obligations, you hadn’t mentioned what they were, they were likely work, maybe a friend’s birthday, and most importantly you’d offered up extra family time to make up for it. Getting to spend time with your nephew and nieces was just as good. 

Between the camouflaged cover ups and his extra long hours at the precinct, he didn’t notice how the hours the apartment was empty seemed to be increasing. You had mentioned a big project at work, a busy time of year for tutoring on your side gig, it made total sense when he was the second to wake up in the morning or the first one home. Apparently the days of business lunches were over, he assumed fancier business dinners were the norm now, catching glimpses of you dressed up leaving the apartment in the early evening or slipping back in after the lights were all out. 

The first time he thought anything of it was when he got up to an empty apartment on a Saturday morning, early enough the sun was just starting to stream through the curtains. The sounds of birds chirping and garbage trucks in the alley accompanied his morning shower and mental preparation for the day. It was only on his way out to the kitchen that he noticed your bedroom door wide open, bed still made from yesterday, half empty coffee mug on your makeup table where you regularly drank it while getting ready. A few pieces of make up were still scattered across the table, your curling iron out yet unplugged, a couple pairs of high heels beside it as if you were trying to decide what matched your outfit. It wasn’t like he was snooping; he couldn’t help but scope out the scene a little bit, eyes darting around your room to try and get any clue if you had been home between Friday morning and now.

He shrugged it off; you must’ve just taken off already for brunch or something and not bothered to tidy up, it was the weekend after all. His stomach grumbled and he went on his way, meandering into the kitchen to start the coffee pot. After a summary of what was in the fridge, he pulled out eggs, cheese, turkey sausage and the loaf of bread from the counter. Sausage and eggs were sizzling away in the frying pan when his ears picked up another sound, his head swiveling around until he realized it was the deadbolt slowly creaking its way open from the front door. 

You crept around the door, bracing two gentle hands against it as you slowly and quietly shut it behind you, wincing when the deadbolt whined as you locked it. You were wearing a cute dress, heels dangling from your fingers, hair swept up into a topknot, your work bag and a small purse in the crook of your elbow. A gasp escaped your lips and you jumped, your hand flying to your chest when you turned around to find your brother watching you.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Hey, language.” He scolded and you rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t realize you’d be up so early.” You ducked your gaze, gently placing the heels down on the shoe rack before slipping out of your coat.

“Are you…” his brow furrowed, a teasing grin on his face, “sneaking in?”

“No.” You scoffed, your nose crinkling. “I thought you were still asleep, I was trying to be nice and not wake you up.”

“You sure about that?” He asked, eyes glancing over your appearance again.

“Oh what’re doing? Trying to be Mom? I had a late meeting, met a friend for dinner right after. We hadn’t seen each other in a while; I ended up crashing there.”

“I didn’t realize people in their thirties ‘crashed’ at their friends.” He teased and you shot him a glare.

“They do when said friends have guest rooms, which I no longer do, thanks to someone.” You moved through the apartment, coming close enough to punch his shoulder, “otherwise I would have hosted.”

“Sorry to cramp your style. You must’ve been out late to be too tired to come home.”

“We’d been drinking.” You shrugged a shoulder, “didn’t think my big brother would be too happy to find out I’d been wandering the streets of Manhattan alone at three in the morning. Or worse, getting behind the wheel. I’d like to be spared from either of those lectures, thank you.”

“Fine, fine.” He held up the spatula in his hand in surrender, “you can text me next time you know? I’ll always come pick you up.”

“Thanks, but I had my car. No point in leaving it if I’d have to come back and get it in the morning, just makes more work.”

“Work smarter not harder.”

“Exactly.” You mock saluted him as you backed down the hallway, “enough coffee for me?”

“Yeah, food should be ready soon too.”

“Keep a plate for me? I’m gonna shower really quick.”

“Sure.” Elliot turned back to the stove and as soon as his eyes were off you, you darted into your room, attempting not to slam the door behind you.

Palms flat against the wood you lightly banged your forehead against it chastising yourself as your heart raced a mile a minute, pounding against your chest. You thought you had better time management that morning, an alarm set for an ungodly hour to actually tear yourself away from Olivia and have time to get home before Elliot was awake. Unfortunately, it appeared Olivia was both too distracting and convincing to get away from in a timely manner. You’d have to come up with a better excuse next time or face the fact that your brother would find out you were the one secretly dating his partner. 

**

You slipped into the apartment midday on a Sunday, a laugh echoing from your lips,

“I know. I had fun too.”

“You should have come back to my place.” Olivia replied, her voice dropping and you couldn’t help but feel your body already tingling.

“I can’t do Sundays, family dinner nights, remember?”

“Oh, I know.” She chuckled, “I was invited this time.”

“What did you RSVP?” You asked, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“That I had way too much laundry to get done before the work week.” She replied, “I figured it would be a little too difficult to keep my hands off you.”

“Oh, did you now?” The grin spread across your lips as you moved through the apartment, placing your bag and keys down on the breakfast bar, leaning against it. “And what exactly, prey tell would those hands be doing?”

“Well for starters I’d have to sneak you away to the bathroom, can’t risk anyone seeing or walking in.”

“Mhmm…” you started twirling a piece of hair around your finger. 

“Start out by holding your waist, grabbing your ass while I kiss you, gently pinning you to the door. Then things might get a little sneaky, start exploring under your dress, trying to see if you were a good girl who wore panties or not.”

“Christ Liv.” You stuttered out a laugh, your cheeks heating as she chuckled through the phone.

“Well, which would it be sweet girl?”

“I always want to be good for you.” You cooed into your phone, “I know how much you like that. But what if I wanted to play for once? Want to pretend I’m your naughty girl instead? Make you think I’ve got panties on but the surprise you’d find is that they’re crotchless and your fingers are—” your head shot up at the sound of the deadbolt creaking open and your entire body jolted upright, “yeah, thanks again for calling me back. I really wanted a chance to read over the preliminary before Monday.”

Olivia let out a huff of a laugh on the other end of the line, “I take it your house is no longer empty.”

“Correct.” You replied, “I’ll see you soon. Thanks.”

“Bye my sweet girl. Don’t forget what I was saying.”

“Definitely won’t.”

You hung up the phone, tossing it deep inside your purse, praying your cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt as Elliot approached the counter.

“We gotta get some WD-40 on that thing.” He gestured toward the door, “who you talking to?”

“Crystal. From work.” You replied, instantly turning to the sink to pour yourself a glass of water.

“You’ve been on the phone a lot this weekend.”

“I’ve got a lot going on.” You shrugged as he eyed you for a minute.

“Okay… don’t let work stress you out, you need to actually enjoy your weekends.”

“Says you.” You shot back, grabbing your purse off the island before disappearing down the hallway.

*

Sitting on the kitchen counter you were tucked in the corner by the window, coffee mug beside you while you were distracted on your phone.

‘Thank you again, you really didn’t have to.’

‘Sweetheart please, you couldn’t stop staring at that necklace. Even from across the store you kept going back to it, what was I supposed to do, not buy it for you?’

‘It’s not even a special occasion.’

‘Everyday with you is a special occasion.’

It was hard to bite back the smile on your cheeks at that, so distracted with your girlfriend you didn’t even hear your brother come into the kitchen. 

Elliot took one look at you, the dopey smile on your face, the way your feet were swinging back and forth, they were very telltale signs.

“Good news this morning?” He prompted, picking up the coffee pot.

“What?” You were suddenly yanked out of your trance, your entire body tensing as you looked up at him with wide eyes. In one brisk movement you had locked your phone, tossing it to the counter, replacing it with your mug of now chilled coffee.

“Looked like you were in good spirits is all.”

“Got good news about work.” You fibbed.

“About time.” He replied, eyeing you over the rim of his coffee.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been working insane hours the last couple of months.” He pointed out, confusion washing over his face at the way your brow furrowed, “at least I assumed that’s why I’ve barely seen you.”

“Yeah.” You ran a hand through your hair, “crazy amount of OT.” Your phone buzzed on the counter and this time it actually was a work-related text, “speaking of. Gotta run.” Scooping up the device you hopped off the counter, squeezing his shoulder as you moved past him, “I was thinking chicken stir fry for dinner, thoughts?”

“Sounds good.” Elliot watched as you grabbed your bag and scurried out of the apartment. He was a detective, he knew whatever you had been texting about had nothing to do with work.

*

After a long day of work, a few glasses of wine in as you winded down for bed you were sprawled across the couch, tv playing in the background. Though your attention was on your phone, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you read the last message Liv had sent.

‘God, I really wish you were here tonight. I could use your help with something.’

‘Oh?’

‘Bored.’     ‘It’s annoying to have to think of ways to occupy myself.’     

You grinned at her innuendos, your breath catching in your throat when the next message was an array of pictures. The first one her tits pushed up in a deep blue, lacy bra and your mouth practically watered. The second only her arm was covering her chest and the third made your skin prickle with heat. One of her hands sliding down her bare torso, sneaking under the waistband of matching blue lace panties.

‘Thoughts?’

‘I can definitely help with that.’

‘Yeah? Tell me sweet girl, how should I kill some time?’

‘Pretend I’m there, sitting in your lap playing with your tits while your fingers are buried inside me.’

‘You’d like that wouldn’t you? All cute and riled up, grinding down onto my hand. Your fingers sneaking between my legs.’

‘Baby I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands away from you. I want to feel every inch of you, all wet and warm for me.’

An audible gasp left your lips the next time your phone buzzed it was a video, her fingers moving underneath the lace, soft moans and whimpers coming from her lips.

‘Like that sweet girl?’

‘Just like that.’  ‘Fuck, Liv.’  ‘Keep going for me. You know I wouldn’t stop until I’ve made you come. And if I was actually there, I would make you come over and over again.’

‘You really know how to earn a good reward.’ A little smirking emoji accompanied that text.

‘It wouldn’t just be my hands either. You know I adore having my mouth on you, tasting your pussy on my tongue, the noises you always make are so fucking hot.’

‘Can I sit on your face?’

Your entire body tensed, your pussy fluttering and you nearly dropped your phone. ‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’

‘Good girl.’    ‘I picked something up today, something new and just for you, wanna see?’

‘Of course.’

You let out an audible groan when the next picture came in. Olivia was wearing a strap on, her pussy puffy and slick under it, with a new, large purple dildo attached.

‘Wow.’

‘You like it?’

‘I love it.’

‘Shame you’re not here. I’ll just have to wait ‘til the weekend to fuck you with it.’

‘Now you’re just being mean.’

‘Only a tease baby and you know I always follow through on my promises.’

‘So Friday or Saturday?’

‘Lol. Someone’s eager. I’m working late Friday, but off the rest of the weekend.’

‘Perfect. I cannot fucking wait.’

‘Me neither. But not just for the sex, I do honestly really miss you.’

Your heart warmed at her words, a soft smile breaking onto your cheeks as your thought process moved away from the naughty side. Olivia was always so sweet, she made sure you knew how much she cared about you, how much she wanted to be around you all the time, even if things like work were hoarding all her time. You were special to her, and she wanted to make sure you never forgot that. 

‘It really does feel like the days have been dragging recently.’

‘Unless I’m with you then the hours fly by.’

‘You’re turning into a sap, you know that?’

“Who’re you talking to?” Elliot’s voice suddenly came from behind you, and you jumped, bolting upright as you locked your phone. You were so incredibly thankful that all the pictures and sexts had been far enough up they weren’t on the screen anymore.

“No one.”

“Yeah right.” He chuckled, snagging the tv remote to change the channel to something he liked as he dropped down onto the couch beside you. “You’re not hiding it well anymore kid.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“So, spill, who’s the lucky guy?” He nudged at you with his shoulder and you grumbled.

“I’m not saying a word.”

“C’mon, just give me a name. I need to run him through the system.”

“El, stop it. No.” 

“I’m not gonna let you date someone with a record! You deserve better than that.”

“Thank you, but I can guarantee you they do not have a single flag on their file. Hell, their file doesn’t even exist!”

“Perfect! So, you can give me a name.”

You rolled your eyes again and just as you opened your mouth to redirect him, your phone buzzed on the couch with an incoming message. Elliot managed to grab it before you could, and you let out a frustrated groan. At the very least, you’d saved Olivia’s contact as only an ‘L’ with a kissy faced emoji beside it.

“Knew it was a guy.” He grinned at you, finally giving the device back when you started physically fighting to get it back. “L… hmm… Liam? Landon? Lucas?” He tapped his chin as he hummed, “you’ve gotta tell me when I get it. What about…. Leonard!”

“Fuck off Elliot.” 

With your phone safely in hand, you shoved off the couch, retreating to your bedroom where you could continue to text your girlfriend in peace.

**

Olivia absolutely despised the precinct coffee. It was a well-known fact that it was crappy drip coffee provided to them, meaning it was probably the cheapest brand on the shelf. She’d been told that she would simply get used to it over time, but that time was definitely not anytime this decade. She wasn’t aware just how much she actually complained about it until she looked up from her desk to see your smiling face walking into the bull pen.

You dropped a bag of treats off with the desk sergeant, waving hello to the other few detectives that you knew before approaching her desk, leaning against it with your hip as you placed the tray in your hand down.

“Hey.” You greeted with a smile, squeezing at her hand. While some of the squad did know you were together, you still opted for professionalism, especially if it wasn’t your workplace.

“What are you doing here?”

“Brought you the good stuff.” You gestured to the tray, plucking one out to hand to her, “figured you could use a little pick me up.”

“What were you planning on doing if your brother was here?” She asked quietly, a small grin on her face at the thought that you were still more than willing to show up to surprise her.

“I’d come up with something.” You shrugged, “besides isn’t he in court today? He had the fancy tie on when he left for work.”

Olivia laughed, Fin snorted from beside you, saying a quick hi before he dug through the bag of goodies and you handed him a paper mug.

“You should stop by more often. Whenever you want.” He insisted, groaning over a sip of luxurious in comparison coffee, “you’re the better Stabler anyways.”

“Aww… flattery will get you everywhere Detective Tutuola.”

“What’s this?” A voice rang out from behind you and you tensed, the feeling becoming all too familiar, “surprise visit, one of those better be for me.”

You swiped the coffee from Fin’s hand as you turned around, bright smile on your face, “was just waiting for you! I didn’t realize you were in court today and I thought you could use a pick me up.”

“Thanks.” Elliot took the coffee from it, taking a swig and as he swallowed his eyes narrowed in Liv’s direction. You glanced from your brother to where his gaze landed, gulping nervously. “Why does hers have a heart on it?”

Liv glanced to the side of the cup, smiling at the hand drawn heart in a different colour than your name scrawled across the cup and shrugged, “barista must’ve thought she was cute.”

“Barista…” he turned back to you, small grin on his lips, “is that the mystery? Are you dating a barista?”

You glanced at your watch, “shit, would you look at that, my lunch break’s over. Gotta run, I’ll see you at home.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Elliot beamed as you glanced back to your girlfriend with apologetic eyes before scurrying from the bull pen. “Oh, come on! That’s how you’ve been affording the expensive beans isn’t it?” He was practically chasing you out of the room as you made a beeline for the elevator doors, trying to get in before they slid shut, unfortunately, Elliot was just as fast as you.

Back at her desk, Liv and Fin watched the whole thing while she shook her head at Elliot’s antics. Fin let out a sad sigh, his eyes lingering on where the other man had disappeared into the elevator.

“I was drinkin’ that…”

Olivia laughed, handing over her coffee.

**

“Fuck baby… don’t stop.” You groaned, your fingers twisting Liv’s hair tighter around them as her tongue swept through your pussy. 

She simply moaned against you in return; there was no way in hell she was letting up until you were coming undone under her. Your hips rocked up off the bed when you gasped and her mouth suctioned around your clit, tongue flicking it in various patterns. One of her hands snuck between your legs, two fingers sinking into your heat and you bit back a louder moan. 

“Shit…” you moaned, your body shivering, “feels, s-so good.”

Her fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot just right and your thighs trembled around her.

“C’mon baby.” She murmured, lips brushing against your cunt, “let go for me. I wanna see how many times I can make you come tonight.”

You nodded furiously as her fingers picked up the pace and her mouth returned to your swollen nub, it only took a few more strokes before she brought you to your peak, your body arching up off the bed. With a small chuckle and a wicked grin Liv kissed her way up your body, still palming between your legs.

“A promise is a promise; I’m far from done with you.”

“Good.” You grinned, tugging her down to you for a kiss, your tongue surging into her mouth, “but my turn first.”

In one swift movement you wrapped your leg around her waist and flipped her onto her back, your lips mapping out every inch of her skin while your hand sunk between her legs.

~

At the other end of the apartment, the door opened, swinging shut behind Elliot as he turned to lock it. The first thing he registered was a thunk echoing from down the hallway. His natural instinct was to go check it out, make sure you were okay and hadn’t broken or spilt anything. Then he noticed the second pair of shoes sitting beside yours that definitely weren’t your style, there was a plate of half-eaten cheesecake on the coffee table and two empty glasses of wine alongside it. The next sound he heard was your giggle, followed by a swear that morphed into a moan and he made the correct choice to not even go look down the hallway.

‘Good for her.’ He thought, picking up a pair of headphones to drown out whatever other noises might end up coming from your bedroom. Maybe now he’d be able to solve the mystery of the barista, name starting with an L.

~

“Christ, you are relentless.” Olivia chuckled breathlessly, collapsing into the pillows of your bed. Her entire body felt like jelly, exhausted with pleasure and satisfied with how many orgasms she’d managed to pull from you.

“You started it.” You grumbled softly, dropping onto her chest as her arm wrapped around you and she left a kiss on the top of your head.

“Maybe we should place bets more often.”

“I like your style detective.” You smirked, shifting up to kiss her, “you’ve left me absolutely parched, you want a water?”

“Please.” Smiling, she watched you slip from the covers, eyes raking over your naked body before you covered it with a robe and slipped out the bedroom door. 

Out of habit you closed it behind you and boy were you glad you did when you rounded the bend into the kitchen to spot Elliot over the breakfast bar on the couch. A heat of embarrassment shot up the back of your neck and into your cheeks, heart pounding again but for a totally different reason as you sidestepped to the cupboard. He nearly jumped at the sudden movement when you swung the cupboard open, yanking off the headphones.

“Hey.” You grimaced, quickly turning your back to him as you filled up the glasses, “sorry.”

“You’re an adult.” He replied with a shrug, “do I get an introduction?”

“Now?” You snorted, “yeah right.”

Picking up the glasses you raced back down the hallway before he could interrogate you any further, whipping the door shut behind you. Liv took one look at your face as you put down the water glasses and her eyes widened,

“Was that El?”

“Yup.” You nodded, your voice a hoarse whisper, hissing through the air. “I thought he was working tonight! He said he was gonna sleep at the precinct!”

“Shit.” She muttered, dropping back onto the bed and running a hand over her face. “I can’t stay tonight…”

“If you want to walk right past him to the door, be my guest!”

“Are you suggesting I go down the fire escape?!”

“No!” You let out an exasperated sigh, dropping down onto the edge of the bed, “fuck…”

“He really has no idea?” She asked, sitting up as she reached for your hand, stopping you from picking at your nails.

“No. He’s still as clueless as the day I dropped you off coffee.”

“Still thinks it’s a barista?”

“Yeah.” A puff of air left your lips as you looked up at her, “Liv I’m so sorry. I never should have convinced you into this.”

“It’s okay, we never get to spend time at your place.”

“No, I meant this whole fucking mess.”

She stalled, eyes darting around your face, “sweetheart… I asked you out. I was the one doing the pursuing, and this isn’t a mess.” Her hand slid up your arm, squeezing at your shoulder, “besides, what was I supposed to do? Let Elliot stop me from dating you? Fat chance. You outrank him any day.”

You cast her a small smile and she tapped her finger on the tip of your nose. “You sound like Fin.” 

She laughed, quickly moving her hand to cover her mouth and your smile quickly reached your eyes. With a quick glance at the clock you did the mental math, 

“It’s late. He always showers before bed; we can sneak you out of here then.”

“God, I feel like I’m sixteen again.” She laughed softly as you raised a brow at her, “it’s exhilarating.”

You swatted her arm, “okay, but next time we’re at your place.”

“Agreed.” She leant in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

**

You and Olivia were twisted in her bedsheets in the late Sunday afternoon, the sun lowering in the horizon casting her bedroom in golden hue. You’d been at it most of the day, movies playing in the background while you went round for round between naps entangled in each other’s arms. It was safe to say that you’d both worked up quite the appetite, ordering in for what would be acting as dinner. Her lips brushed against yours again as they curved up into a grin, lazily kissing you as there was nowhere else either of you would rather be. Her phone vibrated on the nightstand and she blindly reached for it, hitting the button to buzz the driver upstairs. 

You let out a loud groan, attempting to roll away from her but her arm tightened around your center.

“Nope.”

“Liv,” you laughed tickling at her arm, “I need to pay the man, and I can’t answer the door naked.”

“Fine.” 

Reluctantly she let you slip from between the sheets, so you could tug on your panties and an oversized shirt she usually wore to bed. You dug through your purse for your wallet and padded through her apartment, getting to the door right as it was knocked on. Quickly unlatching the chain, you swung it open, only problem was the guy standing in front of you didn’t have any pizza in his hands.

“What are you doing here?” You asked your brother, taking a wary step back from the doorway.

“I’m here to see Liv.” He replied, not even recognizing the state of undress you were in, “what’re you doing here?”

“Waiting for my pizza.”

“Babe?” Liv called from the bedroom, “what’s the hold up? You need more cash?” She stepped into the living room tightening her robe with one hand while the other clutched her wallet, “I—” She froze at the sight of Elliot in her doorway. The realization finally fully crashed over you and your body tensed, glancing between the two of them, “El. Shit, hey.”

“You didn’t pick up your phone.” He said plainly, looking right past you.

“Yeah… I was a little busy.”

He glanced around the living room, as if he’d lost all of his years of experience as a detective and had no possible way of putting things together right now. 

“Movie night?” He asked, his voice creeping up in an unsure way.

You couldn’t help it, bursting out into laughter, “yeah, okay. You are not that dumb.” You turned to your girlfriend, a hand wrapping around her waist as you pulled her to you and planted a kiss on her lips, lingering longer than you normally would in a PDA situation, “let me know when the food’s here?”

“Yeah.” She murmured, flustered with heated cheeks.

Elliot shook his head as if coming back to life, “wait a minute. What the hell!?” He called after you, stepping into the apartment as you attempted to disappear into the bedroom, “hey! You get back here!”

“Can I at least put on some fucking pants?” You yelled back, yanking some shorts up your legs before returning back to the living room.

“What is going on here?” He asked, looking between the two of you, “I thought you were dating that barista.”

Olivia laughed and you dropped your face into your palm, muttering to yourself, “oh my god. There is no barista! There never was a barista.”

“What about the heart on the coffee cup?” He asked.

“I drew that… for Liv.” You gestured towards her and she smiled sheepishly.

“You had a guy in your room a week ago!”

It was your turn to blush as Olivia let out a small chuckle, “wasn’t a guy…”

Elliot’s eyes widened for a second as it finally dawned on him, “how long has this been going on?”

You and Liv glanced at each other before you spoke, “like… six months.”

“Six… six months?” He dropped down onto the couch behind him, “so all those late nights? You sneaking back in?”

“I was… with her.” You shrugged.

Elliot turned to Olivia, “every time you opted out of drinks? Took off early…”

“I was defiling your little sister, correct.” She smirked; you barked out a laugh and Elliot pulled a face.

“Listen, El…” you started, “could you spare us the lecture, at least until Monday?”

“Lecture?” He looked up at you and you raised your hands.

“The lecture you give me anytime I date someone, the ‘I’m a cop I’ll hunt you down’ threats you give my partners….”

“I mean they are kinda redundant now. I’ve got my own gun.” Liv commented, now completely free of any embarrassment she was totally ready to tease the hell out of her partner.

“I think I’m just… shocked.” He stated, slowly piecing together his words, “I spend every single day with the two of you, how the hell did I not pick up on it?”

“We were careful.” You suggested, “I didn’t want you getting pissed, doing something stupid that made us fight and you be a total ass to Liv at work.”

“Something stupid?”

“Like forbid us from seeing each other?” Liv offered.

“I, eugh, no.” He shook his head, “even if I tried…”

“Wouldn’t be possible.” The two of you finished in tandem.

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing both hands over his face before he leant back into the couch, taking a second to think things over. He looked to you first,

“Are you happy?”

“Inescapably.” You couldn’t help the giant smile that took over your face.

He nodded, glancing over to Liv, “and you’re treating her right?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, she deserves the world.” She replied, unable to tear her eyes away from you as she spoke with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Elliot hummed, sitting forward, “okay, fine.” He shrugged, “it’s not like I have any say anyways.”

“Okay, great.” You lunged forward, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him up to standing, “now would you get out of here so we can enjoy the rest of our weekend?”

He was almost considering protesting but there was another knock on the door and he was well aware it was the takeout you’d been expecting. With a final sigh he glanced between the two of you,

“Fine. But you keep it down at our place, I don’t want to hear anything to see any gross PDA.”

“That will literally never happen again as long as you keep the calendar updated with your actual schedule!” You pointed out.

“And you’re coming to family dinner next week.” He pointed to Olivia, “no more excuses, no more hiding.” His eyes landed back on you as you slowly backed him toward the door, “and no more secrets, okay? There shouldn’t be any reason you have to lie to me.”

“Okay.” You nodded, pulling open the door and he stalled one more time in front of the very confused delivery guy.

“And one more thing.”

“Elliot!” Olivia groaned with an eye roll, stepping forward to usher him out of the apartment.

“You two take this,” he handed over the boxes, “I’m paying, an apology for barging in on your night.”

He swung the door shut before either of you had any time to protest, finally leaving you in peace. Liv flicked the lock to make sure he wouldn’t have any last-minute interjections and took your hand.

“Well… that’s that.”

“Yeah.” You lifted your head, smiling brightly at her.

“Could’ve been worse.”

“Definitely.” You laughed, “he could’ve come home extra early last week and caught us on the couch.”

“Remind me to never take my clothes off anywhere but your bedroom ever again.”

“What about the shower?” You raised a brow and she grinned at you.

“Is that a question or a request?”

“I’m a sucker for hacks on how to save on my water bill.”

“Suggestion heard and granted.” Liv wrapped her arm around your waist, the takeout left forgotten on the coffee table as her lips captured yours in a kiss, a low growl coming from her throat as she started backing you down the hallway.

It didn’t matter what Elliot thought, it didn’t matter what anyone thought. As long as the two of you were happy and having a good time, everything was wonderful. And when you finally collapsed into her bed that night, bodies aching in the best way possible as you tangled your limbs together, soft ‘I love you-s’ whispered in the dark, you knew there was no place more meant for you to be.

____________

@red1culous @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @svulife-rl @lesbianspacecowboy @wannabe-fic-reader @lawandorderimagines @venablemayfairgoode @mysticfalls01 @beccabarba @littlegaybabe @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @enduringalexblake @wosoimagines @solemnnova @infernumlilith @australiancarisi @cerberus-spectre @wandas-wife @lawandorderuswnt @wandasbrat @hbkpop @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @sia2raw @ladysc @narvaldetierra @dxtery @poisonedcrowns @momlifebehard @holycrapraewth @alexxavicry @onmykneesformarvel @kmc1989 @temp0rary-bliss @gamma-rae-bursts @oliviasgayvibe @cabotnovak24 @schemmentisimpasours

[dollysoob]

— TOXIC TIL THE END, 犠牲 ⨾ wrong number 𓈒𓈒

— ⌞ ‘ it’s honestly just sad.. i miss her. ’ ⌝

ⓘ / 𝒾⠀⦂ ⠀‘ riki calls you on accident, his ex, about how much he hates you, not knowing that he was talking to the wrong person. as your heart started to break, his words become more about 𓈒𓈒 wanting you back?

•⠀著者の日記 ⦂ bday special.. 彼だけに

feedback + reblogs are always welcome!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

the moonlight shines your room in a pretty, aurora shade. you sigh, laying down on your bed. you took an everything shower, did your laundry, washed your comforters, everything was just right.

ring— ring— ring— you look over and see your phone vibrate on your nightstand. you reach for it, wondering who in the world would call you during this time of day.

riki. you froze, your heart clenching at the sight of his name appearing at the top of his screen. blinded by feeling of missing him, you tentatively pressed accept. why was he calling you?

₊˚ෆ. look under the cut!! ᕱ⑅ᕱ

as your finger pressed accept, you hear riki sigh angrily. “dude, today was fucking ass.. don’t talk, i just want you to hear me out.” he says, a cold tone clearly visible.

oh, he must’ve pressed the wrong number, aka, yours.

you try, in your best boy voice to say, “sure.” riki laughs softly. ah, that laugh and how you missed it so much.

“what the hell? are you sick or something? nevermind-, anyways i couldn’t stop thinking about y/n..” he says with a hint of disgust in his voice.

you wanted to shout and yell at him, but you bit your tongue, staying quiet. “god, she’s so annoying. i hate her. i’m glad she dumped me even though i was humiliated infront of everyone..”

you had to bite your lip, trying not to laugh at the flashback of the shock and offended look on riki’s face when you broke up with him.

“she would always give me gifts, it was so cute.. she’d run to me whenever we meet up and hug me as tight as she can..” he says, adding a scoff at the end of his last statement.

where the fuck are these backhanded compliments coming from? you thought as he rants on about you, some being compliments, others making it seem like he was describing a garbage truck.

then, you heard him sniffle. “i-i think i fumbled..” he starts to cry softly, but they turn into louder, more emotional sobs and weeps.

“i miss her. i want her back.. i know we fought almost every single day—, i know that all too well, but it feels like a part of me is missing with her out of my life..” he sobbed every other word, choking on his tears.

“i don’t know what to do.. i fuckin’ messed my life up..” riki continued to sob uncontrollably before you realized the reality of this harsh situation.

you sighed, glancing away before saying to the phone. “riki.. it’s me.. y/n.” you could hear him pause his crying, soft sniffles coming out.

“what? no-, i called jake-hyung..” you could imagine him in that exact moment checking the number he had called.

“shit, fuck.. you heard everything i said..” he cussed, muttering something to himself.

“riki, hear me out.. i feel the same way.” you replied softly, trying to make your voice seem as calm as possible.

“really? you do?” he asks, not believing you. you could hear his heavy breathing on the other side of the phone.

“yeah, of course i do.. i really miss you..” you said, hearing the rustling of clothes in the background.

“i’m on my way, baby.” he replied, hanging up the call before you could even respond. you sigh, muttering to yourself, “of course he wants to see me right now..”

this was an unfinished draft, js pretend you and him made up and get back together, living happily ever after. 💗

© ⦂ haruahugs

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette: Bonfire

Hey hey! This weekend I’m doing more drabble roulette. I’m still recovering and I’m feel a bit blah and foggy.

I randomised a list of characters, then I spin a wheel and write for the character beside the number. Then I spin the wheel to choose a prompt from a list.

Character: Captain Syverson

Warnings: this drabble includes insinutations of noncon, age gap, alcoholism, and allusions to abuse.. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Prompt: Him finding your "escape" bag and burning it in front of you.(source)

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

You sit up as the front door closes. You scramble to shut off the TV and grab your plate off the coffee table. Shoot. 

Your husband stalks in as you flit into the kitchen. “Babe,” he calls after you. 

“Just tidying up,” you holler back. 

It’s not a lie. You were going to start right after a nap. Eventually. 

It’s not like you hadn’t done anything. You gathered up all his empties and put them by the sink. You put the plate to the side and focus on rinsing out the brown bottles. His shadow appears in your peripheral, filling the doorway. 

“You’re early,” you say. 

“Am I crashing the party?” He crosses his arms as he leans on the frame. 

“No,” your voice piques. “Not at all. I just wasn’t expecting you.” You shrug. “I would’ve started dinner by now.” 

“Nah, don’t do all that,” he says. “I’m early ‘cause I got a surprise for ya.” 

“A surprise?” You peek at him cautiously. 

“Sure do,” he winks and his lips curl to a grin. 

You gulp. Something’s off. Last night he was ranting about the dishes until you got them all clean and stacked away; now he’s not even batting an eye at the overflowing garbage bin and your basket of clothes still waiting to go to the laundromat. 

“Oh, um, okay.” You shut off the sink and put the bottle in line with the rest. You look at him expectantly. 

“Go get dressed.” 

“Are we... going somewhere?” 

“It’s a surprise,” he puts his finger over his lips. 

“Right,” you nod and turn away. 

“Doll yourself up a bit. It’s a special occasion.” 

“Okay, Sy.” 

You head into the bedroom and slow as you enter. A special occasion? Did you forget something? No, he’s the one who forgot your anniversary. And your birthday. So what could it be? 

You open the dress, the drawer scraping on the frame. The damn thing is busted. You fish out a fluttery pink top and a denim skirt. Glamourous, you know. 

You put them on the bed and sigh as you undress. This isn’t the married life you expected. Not the one he promised either. His drinking, his mess, his anger; all of it is yours to clean up after. 

You should have listened to your mom. Too old for you. What did you know? Nineteen and googly-eyed over the vet in his pickup truck. 

You shimmy into the skirt. The top is tight and squeezes on the belly you didn’t have when you got married. The top helps distract with the frills. 

You dip into the bathroom and rinse your face. You wrangle in your undone hair to something decent. A touch of makeup. You stopped buying it a while ago. Couldn’t afford it. He bought beer first. 

You come out into the front room. The single-floor home is barely more than a trailer on a foundation. There’s not much to it. It’s a roof and four-walls. 

“What’s this surprise?” You ask. 

“You look good,” he smiles. He looks the same as ever. A camo ballcap with a curled brim, a band tee and cargo shorts. His eyes are already glazed over. He was probably at the bar. 

“Thanks, Sy,” you say. 

“Why don’t you wear those shoes that make your legs look so nice? With the big bottoms?” 

“Sure,” you go to the shoe rack. The pair of platforms are weathered. You haven’t bought a new pair since the wedding. You step into them and stand straight. You face him. 

“You’re so sexy,” he charges you. You barely keep from tipping over as he grabs your hips and draws you in. Shit. Usually you turn around. It makes his drunken fumbling easier. He kisses you but stops himself from more. “Come on.” 

He grabs your hand and drags you out the door. You stumble after him. He gets you into the passenger side of his truck and snaps the door shut. You flinch and buckle in. As he climbs up in the driver’s side, you get a waft of beer. 

“You want me to drive?” You offer. 

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if you did,” he turns the ignition. 

You bite back your protests. He’s got a problem, you know it. It doesn’t make it better. Not any less his fault. 

He backs out and swerves straight. You grip the sides of the seat. You brace yourself as the truck rumbles. He’s never been a patient driver. 

He steers down to the country roads and you watch the fields blow by. You frown and turn straight. It’s been a while since you went out this way. Him and his pals from serving used to get together out here, drinking and shoot the shit. 

He steers around the abandoned farmhouse where you fucked for the first time. It was one of those get togethers. Right up in the loft. You nearly fell through the rotting wood with how hard he went. His friends teased you after even though he promised they wouldn’t hear. 

He stops and you hesitate to get out. He lurches from the driver’s seat and you open your door. He helps you down. You let him lead you forward. The sky dims little by little. 

There’s a big metal vat and a picnic table. On the table, there’s a basket and a cloth covering the splintered wood. It’s almost sweet. 

“Sy?” 

“Last night was... a lot,” he says. Still no apology. 

“It was,” you agree. 

“Go on, there’s something in there for ya,” he points to the table. 

You near it and open the basket. There’s a bottle of wine. Good wine. You take it out and read the label. 

You look at him as he drops a match in the vat. It crackles a fire starts in the base. Slowly the flames build. You twist off the cap of the sparkling wine and take out the small paper cups inside the basket. 

“Huh, not burning too well,” he mutters. 

You turn to him and offer him some wine. “Want some, Sy?” 

“Sure, honey,” he accepts it, knocking it back in a single swig. He crumples the cup. “You like it?” 

“It’s... thoughtful, Sy,” you say. Maybe he’s ready to try. “Really--” 

“You know what, I think I saw something ‘round back. Gonna get chilly soon.” 

“The fire looks good,” you assure him and step closer to the can. 

He ignores you and lumbers off. You chew your lip. Maybe you shouldn’t have given him the wine. You nurse the cup in your hand as you watch the tips of the flames. Something’s strange. 

You hear him coming. You look up and before you can react, he drops the duffle into the vat. It smothers the fire to smoke. You gasp. The daisy charm on the zipper makes your chest plunge. 

“Sy?” 

“Not really smart. That crawlspace is full of mice,” he goes to the table and reaches beneath. He grabs a bottle of lighter fluid. “Things will chew up all your nice shit.” 

He squirts the liquid all over. The flames below puff and burst up around your go-bag. You cringe and drop the cup of wine. 

“Sy, it wasn’t-- it was only... a thought--” 

“Don’t worry, I got this before the vermin did,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bank envelope. It’s not much. A couple hundred scrounged here and there. He tosses it on the ground next to the spilled wine. “I’d say you were more than thinking.” 

“Sy--” 

He barrels towards you. You stagger back. You spin and your ankles twist before you can sprint away. That’s why he wanted you to wear those stupid shoes. 

He tackles you to the ground. You cry out as his weight knocks the breath from you. You reach out desperately as his alcohol-laced breath storms around you. You squirm as pushes his knees between yours and pushes your legs wide. Your skirt rolls up your thighs as he does. 

“You remember our first time?” He growls into your hair. “Why don’t we go back, honey? Why don’t you remember what you told me that night?” He nuzzles your scalp and snarls. “What was it you said? Forever?” 

[artificial-transmutations]

Idea: My fantasy is to be forcibly transformed from a young, affluent, VERY clean, well-educated, well groomed, well dressed white corporate executive into a VERY dirty uneducated garbageman. I must be forced to surrender my corporate career, my car, my office, my name, my money, my expensive formal business suit and tie, my wristwatch and polished black dress shoes and even my dress socks, along the way to my new real life.

Boardroom to trash bins

You glance at the golden watch on your left wrist and decide to walk a little faster.

You are not late - yet - but the board meeting is too important to be late to. Of course, on the other hand, you can't walk so fast that you would break a sweat. The thought alone of arriving at meeting room with beads of sweat on your forehead or, God forbid, a damp spot on your dress shirt is even worse than coming a minute or two late. That, at least, you can blame on the traffic, which is not even wrong. Your expensive German car has been stuck behind a garbage truck for a good ten minutes. Inacceptable, of course. You would expect the city to schedule such annoying but probably necessary services at night, when there is no traffic that could be slowed down by it.

After all, you have a reputation to uphold! You are Jameson Pierce, son of the millionaire and successful investor James Pierce. You are also the owner and CEO of one of the most prominent investment companies, Pierce&Co.

You have the best business education money can buy and your decisions influence the fate of thousands of employees of yours. You don't arrive late to board meetings like that!

Still, there is no reason to get agitated yet. If the lift is free, you will arrive perfectly on time.

As you quickly make your way over the office parking lot that is being overshadowed by the 50 story skyscraper you own, you almost collide with an old man in a blue uniform, who is blocking the way into the building by picking up refuse from the ground. Apparently, the wind has knocked over the garbage can next to the entrance, and all the contents have scattered on the pavement. The old man is just bending down to pick up the cans and garbage bags and put them back in the bin.

"Out of the way!" you blurt. Usually, you are nicer to your employees by just curtly ignoring them, but this old man is blocking your way and moves slow as a snail.

"Of course, sir, right away!" he says with a toothless smile, and you almost gag. The old man is disgusting! He looks as if he has been sleeping on the street, and the smell of booze emanating from him makes that assumption very likely. You briefly wonder if he even works for you and decide that if so, he needs to be disciplined for his appearance.

However, you are interrupted by his next sentence.

"I just need to pick up all that garbage here. You could help, sir, that would make it quicker."

What? This filthy old drunkard dares to ask you for help? The audacity!

"Out of my way!" you repeat and push the old man aside. You are now standing directly in front of the revolving door, ready to enter your company's building. Behind you, you can hear the old man mumbling something and then start cackling, like a maniac.

You shrug it off. The man is lucky you don't have time for that right now, as you carefully navigate through the scattered items on the ground. You need to be extra careful not to ruin your thousand dollar shoes or dress pants by stepping into something sticky and foul-smelling.

Even if you weren't in a hurry, there's no way Jameson Pierce would bend down to pick up garbage. You are reasonably proud to have never touched anything that has been in a bin - that's what employees are for, not managers like you.

The board meeting continues as bad as the day had started. It is way too warm in the meeting room and you can't prevent a single drop of sweat forming on your forehead. Of course, you wipe it away with your silk handkerchief and hope nobody has noticed, but that's not the only thing going wrong. Twice in your report, you find yourself at a loss of words. Instead of using the correct technical term, you have to verbally set back half a sentence and explain what you mean in simpler words. How very, very embarrassing.

It comes as no surprise that, when the meeting is finally over, you are in a particularly bad mood. Sadly, the old man from before has left, otherwise you would have fired him on the spot as a therapeutic action.

On the way to your car, you call your secretary to cancel all further appointments today, but as you try to ring the number, you just get the message that no connection could be made.

Just great. So, your office phone system has broken down as well. Angrily, you get in your car to drive over to your office yourself.

You don't get very far. Halfway on the way to your office, there is a grinding noise from the engine and then, your car just stops. Right in the middle of the street. You almost can't believe your bad luck. Angrily, you hit the steering wheel, sounding the horn in the process, but it's no use. Trying to ignore the honking from outside and the rude gestures of drivers finding their way around you, you reach into your pocket to call the car dealership. Luckily, you're well covered for such situations.

You stare blankly at the device in your hand. This isn't your cell phone. Instead of the brand new current flagship model with the big Pineapple on the back, you are looking at the cheap plastic of a no-name device with a cracked screen that is probably ten years old.

"What the...?"

You frantically search all of your pockets, but they are all empty.

You can't help but feel as if you have gone insane. No, there has to be a rational explanation. You have probably just pocketed the wrong phone when you were at the board meeting. Of course, there are immediately nagging voices in your mind that remind you that you had tried to call your office just before getting in the car, or that surely nobody at the board meeting would have such a phone, but you decide to tune them out.

Your office is now only two blocks away. There, you have your tablet with all of your contacts. You can call the car dealership to care for the car and then just end this horrible day.

You get out of the car and ignore the shouting from the other drivers. A line of cars has formed behind your expensive Mercedes, but you ignore that as well and begin to walk. Two blocks don’t sound too bad, but it is a hot day, and you feel uncomfortable quickly. You have to loosen your tie because it feels constricting around your neck. That's not the only piece of clothing feeling wrong. Your step feels heavier, and you have to scratch yourself multiple times, trying to readjust the expensive Italian dress shirt, which is suddenly not sitting right.

Finally, you arrive at your office building. You don't even want to look down on yourself. You can feel your shirt clinging to your body and you feel disgusted by your appearance. Good thing this will all be over soon.

As you approach the elevator, you notice that you don't have your wallet at the ready - you must have forgotten it at the car. Ignoring the fact that you just now have realized the lack of its weight and the fact that you never leave your wallet in your car, you go to the reception for an elevator.

The receptionist, a perfectly styled young woman, watches as you approach and smiles.

"Hello Sir, what can I do for you today?"

"An elevator to my office." you say, adding a "Please." although you don't really feel like it.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but what exactly is your office?"

You look at the receptionist dumbfounded.

"My office." You repeat slower now.

"I don't know you sir, you need to be more specific." The young woman smiles.

That's it.

"What do you mean you don't know me?!" You shout. "I own this fucking place. It is me, Jameson Pierce! Now call me an elevator and then pack your things, you are fired!"

The receptionist looks at you as if she was dealing with a madman.

"Sir, you are not in the company register and I'm sorry, but if you don't leave the premises immediately, I'll call security."

"What are you talking about? I have an office on the 50th floor, which is where I need to go!"

"You can't have an office there, sir, that is the executive offices. Now, please leave."

"Listen, girl." you lean closer, invading her space. "Call. Me. An. Elevator. Or else."

The young woman doesn't even flinch. She presses the intercom and speaks with a steady voice: "Security, there is a madman in the lobby. Please come and remove him."

"You little...", you start, but the young woman is done talking to you. Instead, she turns away and starts to file her nails, waiting for security, which arrives some seconds later.

"Good!" You address the bulky Black man in the dark security uniform. "Could you please tell the girl that I have an office on the top floor."

"I don't think so." the man replies, "But I can show you the exit. Follow me, Sir."

"No. I am the CEO. I own the company! My father James Pierce gave it to me!"

The security guard shrugs his shoulders and takes hold of your arm.

"As far as I know, Mr. Pierce has no children. Leave the premises, Sir."

"But... you can't treat me like that! Do you know who I am?"

The Black man doesn't reply, instead, he begins dragging you towards the door. Unsurprisingly, he is much stronger than you, and your expensive shoes drag over the marble tiles.

"You can't do this!" You yell. "I will sue the company! You will all lose your jobs, just watch!"

"Whatever you say, Sir." The man pushes you outside the building. You stumble a little and then turn around, but the door is already closing.

"Fuck you!" You shout after the guard.

You take a deep breath. Whatever is going on here, it's not good. What to do.

After some consideration, you decide to grab your wallet from your car and take a cab home. There, you will deal with all of this.

As you arrive at your car again, you come just in time to see it being towed away. All running behind it and shouting does not help. You almost cry as you see the towing truck disappear around a corner, along with your car, your wallet and everything else you left in there. As you turn around to leave the scene and walk home, the next disaster is already waiting for you. There is a muddy sinkhole in the sidewalk, left over from some construction work and you don't notice it until it's too late. The next moment, you find your right leg standing in stinking mud all up to your knee. You try to free your leg, of course, and it works, sort of. With a smacking noise, the mud swallows your right shoe whole and leaves you with one dirty sock.

This day can't possibly get any worse, you think, but you are wrong.

Half an hour later, you have to admit that you got lost entirely. You are in a part of the city you have not been in before. Usually, you navigate the city with your cars GPS, but that is not available. You try to use the cheap phone to find out where you are (stoically ignoring the fact that it unlocks just fine with your fingerprint) but the only thing you find is that whoever owns the device has not paid for mobile data. You are offline. You could, of course, ask someone, but it takes some courage to ask a stranger where you are, especially in your current state.

Finally, you realize that you have to ask someone if you want to get home anytime soon. Right now, you find yourself in front of a landfill, which is both a blessing and a curse. It smells absolutely disgusting, but at least the people working here should have a good idea on how you can get home.

You enter the building with the grimy walls and look around.

"Hello?", you ask into the empty room. You are just about to leave again, when a burly man comes from the back. He is at least a head taller than you and twice as broad. His clothing is dirty, and you can see tufts of body hair coming out the top of his shirt and his armpits. Absolutely revolting.

The man looks at you for a second before shrugging his shoulder.

"Whatever." he says. "What's your name, kid?"

Needless to say, you are confused. "I am Jameson Pierce. Could you please..."

However, the big man interrupts you again. "Fancy name. I'll call you Jerry, okay? Come with me, I'll show you around."

"Wh-what do you mean?", you stutter but follow the man automatically.

"You're the new hire, aren't you? Gotta say, you're pretty scrawny, Jerry. But the job has no requirements, so if you don't mind getting your hands dirty, you're gonna fit in fine. Here are the lockers. The name's Hank, by the way."

You look around. You are in a room with a dozen dirty lockers. There is a foul stench everywhere and you have to suppress the urge to gag.

"No, I'm not new here. And I don't want to work here, or get my hands dirty!" you protest, but Hank ignores your lamenting.

"It's not gonna be easy finding an overall in your size, but we have a few small ones here as well. By the way, the overalls are shared with the other boys, hope you don't mind. Ah here. Try this one."

Hank throws you an overall. It is, in theory, blue, but both your nose as well as your eyes tell you one thing: It is entirely unwashed. For days, possibly for weeks. The clothing reeks of sweat, dirt, piss and probably even more things that you don't even want to know about.

"What's wrong with you? I am not gonna wear that."

"Well, what did you think when you came here?" Hank is clearly amused. "You can't work in these clothes of yours, even if they are dirty enough. Come on, strip, while I look for boots."

"I won't do that." you say. However, Hank is already gone. You don't think about it too much and begin to take off your expensive clothes. It is almost painful, but for some reason you... have to? It's a difficult to describe feeling. The dirty blue overall is sitting next to you on the locker room bench and is almost inviting you. You can't help it. You just have to strip. Soon, you stand in the dirty locker room clad in only your silk boxer shorts. You didn't notice that every piece of clothing you have taken off somehow changed. Your expensive dress shirt became a cheap t-shirt with stains on it. Your pants turned into a pair of ripped jeans and your golden wrist watch just... vanished.

"If I were you, I would be going commando." Hank, who had returned with a pair of work boots you can smell from over there, comments. "You're going to move around a lot. Besides, all the boys are doing it.

You look at the overall again, almost gagging now. Some other guys have worn it, rubbing their bare asses and dicks into the fabric. And Hank expects you to do the same. Suddenly, you remember the smell. Sweat, piss and other smells. You shudder. You shudder in... anticipation? As you automatically lower your boxer shorts (who turn into plain cotton briefs as you do), you can feel yourself growing hard at the thought of stepping into this dirty overall. At the same time, you are disgusted beyond measure.

Still, it's almost like your arms are on auto-pilot as you step into the overall and pull it up around your naked body, until the disgusting smell envelops you.

"Glad you like it." Hank grins and playfully grabs your very obvious erection through the dirty fabric. "You might want to meet up with some of the boys here in the locker room after shift, I hear some of them need to release some steam after a good shift. Now, come on. Pull the boots and get moving, we don't have time to waste."

You stare blankly at the big man as you realize what he just said.

"Wait." you stutter. "You think... You think I'm..."

"You're gay." Hank interrupts. "No worries. A lot of the boys are."

You can't believe what he's saying. Gay? You?

"But I am not!"

Hank doesn't even seem surprised.

"You might want to tell that to your hard cock. Anyway. Boots."

He tosses the dirty boots in front of you, and you find yourself bending down to pull them up. They are a little bit too large and feel like they are made of rubber, not leather. As soon as you have both of them on, Hank nods approvingly and then grabs you by the arm, pulling you out of the locker room and towards the garbage truck.

The next few hours pass quickly. The other men (it seems the job has exclusively male company) are friendly but don't go easy on the "newcomer". Everybody calls you Jerry and you have to do the most disgusting work you have ever done: Hauling full bins to the truck, sorting through garbage, cleaning up spilled garbage from the streets. Still, nobody is complaining and so you don't, either. After all, there are more pressing concerns: You feel dirty, your whole body is covered in a thick layer of sweat and dust. Your hands are filthy, and so is your face. And the worst part of it all is: A part of you is enjoying it, a lot. At first, the part is strictly physical. You have a boner pretty much the whole time, and whenever you need to do something especially disgusting, it visibly and violently throbs against your work pants - a fact that doesn't escape the rest of the boys.

After a while, though, more changes set in. The full bins appear to become lighter and easier to move. Of course, that isn't the case: Your muscles grow in front of your eyes, and the overall, that was a bit too big, fits better and better. Hair starts to grow on your chest, your legs and arms, and stubble forms in your face. Your carefully maintained hairstyle dissolves into an unkempt mess on your head.

But the changes don't stop there. Overall, you feel like you are getting more and more youthful. You weren't terribly old to begin with, in your mid-thirties, but a strange energy makes you feel more like end-twenties, mid-twenties and finally, like a man who just turned 21.

At the same time, however, your personality changes as well. You start to talk less and less, and when you do, the words aren't quite as sharp as before. Your education slips away with every word you say, and your vocabulary is replaced by slang, often with a bit of swearing. It becomes more and more difficult to think, too. The boys quickly pick up on this and joke around you not being the sharpest. It's not that they're wrong. You're dumb, if you're being honest. School wasn't for you, so you dropped out at some point. Bit by bit, you really become Jerry, the dumb, sweaty, smelly garbageman. And Jerry, unlike Jameson, enjoys the dirt around him. You can hardly remember being a clean and smart businessman, and that's alright with you. Even though your thoughts are slower, however, the memories of your former self are not gone entirely. Every once in a while, you remember who you used to be. But at the latest when the shift ends and you and the rest of the horny boys are going to the locker room, you decide that this is, indeed, a simpler and a better life.

There is literally a metric ton of more pictures here, in my tip jar - variations of Jerry at the end. If you like my writing, consider joining the riot page for a tip (and ocassional additional pictures)

[technically-a-kiwi]

The Noise lore 100% no fake totally not written by me and undeniably canon

After being made by an evil pizza company to counter the other competing companies, tiny homunculus The Noise was rejected because of malformations that made him too unapealing for a kid's mascot

The Noise was then put in a trash bag in a garbage truck heading to Panama's cap where he was sure to drown and disolve into toxic scum

Fortunatly for The Noise, the truck broke down in a random town in Mexico's country side, where he was retrieved by a nice family

After some weeks, The Noise grew to be a healthy young boy, where he developed his loves for pranks and jokes thanks to his cousin, together they wreaked havoc to the town until the cousin disappeared in mysterious circumstances

The Noise, using his super homunculus powers investigated and found his cousin, turns out the kidnapper was his former evil pizza company, they took his cousin to lure The Noise back into the company so he can become their mascot, as he became more appealing as a pizza mascot growing up

The Noise discarded the offer, the company wasn't fund of that at all, and so to teach him a lesson, they killed him

It was a warzone, The Noise massacred every single employees of the company in retaliation, when he was done, he swore to destroy every pizza company in the world, and to do that he'd use the most powerful weapon of all : The press !

After some months, as he grew older, he started his studies to become a journalist in America, where he got his souther-ish accent and learned the art of using guns

He also did a small MC carear in highschool

After some years, The Noise started his carear as a weather forcast presentator, he went to multiple programs, all declined after a week or two because of the anti-pizza propagenda that was judged unacceptable

So, The Noise decided to make his propagenda more subbtle, so he could stay in a program for more than a week

It worked, and was the most famous presentator for three month consecutively

Eventualy he decided to create his own program, something as crazy and witty as him, but no one accepted to take him in because it was judged too violent, even for a TV program (and when you think of how cursed they can get, the bar is preeetty high to make something considered as "too much")

All exept a certent tower

Now I won't continue

I'm tired and busy

OH NO I mean uuuuh

The document

The document ends here

Because it's Pizza Tower lost media

Not something I made haha! ha...

The end 🌸 lalala 🎵🎵🎵

I wipe my butt with orthography 🌸🌸🌸

[hoopingwjuju]

Mikaela was a better girlfriend by a long shot. I just really hate how Sam’s parents treated her like it was her fault her and Sam were always in danger, that one man even said “he's a danger magnet. Every time I see him, something terrible happens." But they wanted Sam to break up with her so bad talking about "We just want you to be happy, Sam."

Mikaela waited a good minute for him to answer the facetime call and went to see him even when he didn’t answer the call. She was always there for him and never left him behind whenever they were in danger. When Sam was telling her to go to safety with his parents during the battle in Egypt she said no and stuck by his side. She even said I love you first when Sam was playing in her face. Like jeez how can his dad say "I loved her. I loved her like a daughter. She was the greatest thing that ever happened to you, and she treated you like garbage."

Carly needed someone to save her unlike Mikaela she knew how to save herself she literally went back into the battle field with Bumblebee hooked up to the truck when he got shot and legs were all broken. This girl literally drove him into the fight like???

Home girl Carly told Sam “it’s me or the autobots?” like how are you going to tell him to leave the autobots and ran to her freaking bos. Like omg Mikaela would have never picked a rich man over Sam and she would have dropped kick that man so quick if he started calling her pet names and flirting with her. THEN SHE HAD THE AUDACITY TO BE SCARED after finding out her boss was a bad guy???

When Sam was getting attacked by the flying decepticons all she was doing was screaming “no Sam” LIKE HELP THE MAN???

Back to the parents again because it tics me off so bad they liked Carly because she was giving him a fresh new start “normal life” when he didn’t even want a normal life half way into the movie talking about “I want to mean something again” TUH he was in love with Mikaela and she was in love with him too. They were the end game at that. The chemistry was like off the freaking roof so I don’t see how people think Carly was a better fit and their chemistry was ehhh. Plus anytime Carly would kiss Sam it was never be like how Mikaela did LORRDDDD the way he used to look at Mikaela. I would have rather had Sam be single for the rest of the movies than Carly no offense, she was fine tho.

Carly did eat that one piece telling Megatron all he is, is Sentiel b*tch like 😯😯 but Mikaela would have did that too but quicker. Prime wouldn’t even have have lost an arm yet.

[miceblinded]

I’ll try my hand at this writing thing 🧨

This is just me writing modern day Din Djarin and Grogu because I am such a sucker for him-

.-. .- --.. --- .-. / -.-. .-. . … -

Din rests his head against the headrest of the driver's seat, closing his eyes for less than three seconds before he feels an insistent tapping against the edge of his 

He opened his eyes and sighed deeply at the toddler who had unbuckled himself from his car seat and was now insistently and rather violently hitting his small fist against.

“Yes?” He says lightly, the voice filtering though the voice module in his mask. He raised a single eyebrow behind his sunglasses and realized with another tired sigh that the poor kid could not see the eyebrow raise behind the curls of his hair

“Boo,” the kid says rather instantly, still trying to wrap his small hand around the band that keeps his mask in place.

“Off?” Din try’s lightly, he wanted the kid, his kid; to speak more often, the speech therapist suggested this but honestly he wasn’t so sure as to how well it was working, seeing as the kid just got more insistent and seemed to ignore his words.

“Grogu, use your words” he says easily, the car has been in park the whole time but that doesn’t mean Din is particularly fond of letting his son stand on his legs and possibly hit the horn.

“Boo!” Grogu says again, now gripping din’s sunglasses to try and take them off.

Din was nothing if not prepared, and the sunglasses stayed on by use of a sports band he had started using because grogu would just randomly yank them off and Din and his sensitive ass eyes did not like that.

“Boo doesn’t mean off, boo means to scare someone if you want them off you can sign off,” Din explains gently putting his hands under his sons arms and setting him in the passenger seat, untangling his hands from the sunglasses and waiting for the impending meltdown, or silent treatment, what ever came first.

Grogu looked down right offended, brow scrunched and frown plastered in his face. He eventually— after a tense few seconds— sighed deeply as if he was not at all the cause of this problem and it was in fact Dins fault, a common theme for a two year old.

‘Off,’ he signs, and then points to the sunglasses again.

“I guess I’m figuring out what boo means later when we see Luke.” Din sighs, he takes the sports band off of one of the arms of the glasses and takes the glasses off fully. Blinking a few times to adjust to the muted light in the car, before turning his head towards Grogu.

“Happy kid?” He says lightly, leaning his head down and letting Grogu smack their foreheads together in a non graceful way, one that can only be achieved by someone with the motor skills of a toy garbage truck.

“Ow” He mutters and just rolls his eyes, smiling behind the mask when Grogu squeals. The kid had always had a fascination with Din’s broken pupils, the head trauma from being a lawyers worst nightmare and a cops barely there cousin had caused his iris to break. The black dipped into deep chocolate and didn’t affect his vision like people assumed, really all it did was just make his eyes sensitive to the light, which they already were from living in a place where it was basically dark 9 months of the year, but whatever.

He reaches behind his head and un does the clasp at the back of his mask, carefully pulling it off his lower face and setting it on the center console. He rubbed the side of his jaw and opened his mouth a few times, the mask allowed him to speak but that didn’t mean he spoke often. 

He listened to grogu’s excited squeals and just closed his eyes for a second, it had been a long day and he wanted to go inside, but he knew for sure that Paz was home, and as much as he loved him, he could not convince himself that he should show his face, it wasn’t like Paz was partial to showing his either, both of them having grown up in the same strict foster home and had a habit of masking up, but Paz was more likely to just wear sunglasses or a mask, not both like din. Especially when Paz’s adoptive son was also in the house.

Grogu taps his face again, and coos once more, knocking his forehead with din’s once again.

Din just sighed and laughed a bit, before pulling back to put his mask and sunglasses back on. He unlocked the car doors and grabbed the back of his Kids jacket before he could get to the passenger side door handle.

“Every time you open the door you fall out of the car, sit down and wait.” He says warning grogu and ignoring the angry huffs of protests as Din lets his jacket go and gets out of the car. He takes his time walking to the other side and when he opens the door he watches Grogu fall out of it, clearly having been reaching for the door handle and miscalculating how soon Din was getting to the door, and shockingly gently landing on his back on the grass of the tree lawn.

“So? How was the fall?” He asks calmly, raising an eyebrow and smiling behind his mask when Grogu sat up, and immediately started rolling around on the ground in a sort of silent tantrum.

“That’s an answer I guess” he says easily, squatting down and grabbing the back of Grogu’s jacket again, similar to the way he did in the car, before standing up and letting the kid squirm to try and get Din to drop him. 

Din doesn’t make any move to drop him, just holding him like a bag of groceries and closing the door. Waiting for the click of the lock before he shoves his keys in his pockets and walks towards the house.

Grogu hasn’t stopped his wiggling, still being carried face down by the back of his jacket, but when they made it to the concrete walkway he did still enough that he knew his dad couldn’t drop him. Not that Din would drop his kid, but Grogu has slipped out of his jacket enough to know that if he kept wiggling he would slip right out arms and all, and the concrete is much harder than the grass in his toddler opinion.

.-. .- --.. --- .-. / -.-. .-. . … -

[sunderingstars]

simulated universe addendum: ace trash digger

— i can’t believe i came across this occurrence literally the day after i posted my simulated universe analysis (talk about timing), so here’s me yapping about it!

— written during 2.6

— word count: short, list format

not only is this occurrence in every single simulated universe update (wow!) but it seems to be a more belobog-connected piece of potential sampo material!

— “he” pronouns. matches with sampo koski as we know him.

— he’s carrying a trashcan and the name of the occurence is “ace trash digger.” this is a pretty easy link to belobog since that’s the planet that has the most trashcan-related shenanigans. also, since he’s carrying it i can almost see the trashcan as symbolic of belobog itself — i.e. sampo and his little garbage planet he cares about and likes to carry around.

— “treasured trashcan.” once again, i can pretty easily see the trashcan as belobog, so the occurrence might actually be referencing sampo and his “treasured jarilo-vi.”

— he has a collection of “pitiful love poems.” this could connect to sampo’s theme of love, particularly broken hearts, as seen in things like his e4 and heart-bomb burst. these love poems may be written to aha as part of some lingering attachment, or may also be written towards belobog itself since he seems to care about the place so much.

— “put your waste in it, and the items will evolve into an advanced awareness, then come running out energetically on their own!” if the trashcan is symbolic of belobog and the person is supposed to be sampo, i would take a doll theory reading on this. with how much doll theory relies on the “betrayal” of a creator towards its creation, i almost see this as meta commentary on how aha may have betrayed or “discarded” sampo.

— it makes sense, after all, that aha would get bored with their creations quite easily (at least given the whole worm debacle), and what else to do than to discard it? it may be that sampo was not always like this, but evolved to become more “aware” after being abandoned on jarilo-vi, which aha may have seen as just some backwater junkyard snow planet.

— (honestly, the idea of jarilo-vi being seen as a cosmic junkyard is so funny to me. like, aha basically did the equivalent of driving their pickup truck to the scrap heap at the edge of town and tossing everything in. very mundane to them, totally traumatizing to sampo.)

— from there, i would interpret this occurrence as saying sampo slowly rejoined the wider universe — i.e. “running out energetically” on his own. this likely included becoming part of the masked fools or trying to re-contact aha. (alternatively, this could be what is going on currently in canon, with belobog and, by extension, sampo, becoming more present on the galactic stage.) this may have actually surprised the aeon themself (if they even cared anymore), as it would essentially be the equivalent of throwing out a stuffed animal halfway across town, only for it to get up, walk, and find its way back to your house weeks later talking like “why have you forsaken me, father?”. this may even be how sampo became an emanator — aha may have found the whole situation so hilarious they decided to promote sampo on the spot.

— overall, if the trashcan is meant to be belobog and sampo is meant to be the waste (like “hazardous waste” in the friendship is magic event), then this occurrence may be hinting at sampo’s backstory of being discarded by aha on jarilo-vi.

— hunt option (swarm disaster). mean, why are we being so mean?! i would never steal from sampo, i’m simply built different.

— remembrance option (swarm disaster). “you recall the past lives of these discarded objects” implies a sort of sentience and agency. even though the objects may not be at “advanced awareness” yet, they clearly still have past experiences and lives. comparatively, i would say this may mean that sampo, although only recently evolving into a unique kind of sentience, has always been “alive.” for me, i see this as gaining personhood, or perhaps new perspectives on life. he may have started as a toy with no real agency of his own, but he’s been able to find some sort of autonomy for himself on belobog, even being able to reach beyond the love and find the “hate” for a creator who treated him cruelly.

— erudition option (gold and gears). erudition once again! man, erudition and elation love going hand-in-hand. “even trash has its unique ‘value’” seems to send a deeper, general message. not only is it the erudition doing what the erudition tends to do when confronted with something new — find its value, either through experimentation or dismantling — but it communicates the idea that even though something may be seen as worthless or forgotten, it still holds purpose. even though sampo may be seen in the eyes of his creator as a “discarded doll,” he still has value. he’s still a person. he still has his own hopes, thoughts, and dreams. although the erudition likely means this phrase in a more troublesome “let’s take him apart to see what he’s made of” way, a nice message can still be gleaned.

— normal option. as with all other options, there’s a big theme of “transaction,” or exchanging items for more. i don’t have a lot to say about it, other than it fits right in with sampo’s con-man trade and propensity for bargaining.

— i found it a bit surprising at first that there was no elation option, given how that would’ve been a more solid link to sampo, but perhaps there isn’t supposed to be. perhaps, aha stuffed toy having an elation option is meant to be symbolic of a time aha cared enough to turn their gaze of sampo, but here the occurrence is dealing with the period of and after his abandonment. in this case, there may be no elation option because aha quite simply does not care enough for there to be one. he’s all alone. sad :((

overall, i can’t believe this one almost slipped under my nose while doing my simulated universe analysis! the irony is not lost on me that i almost passed over it in a similar way to others in-universe; i guess the “cosmic junkyard” planet really did its job !! i think this has some nice little tidbits for the potential timeline of doll theory, and gives some insight into what sampo’s “betrayal” might have been! (also, of course aha would do something like this. of course lol)

thanks for reading!

© analysis by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[steviewashere]

Want to Go Home With You (Bring Me a Home)

Rating: Teen and Up (May Change With Future Chapters) CW: None, at least for now Tags: Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Hurt/Comfort, Dialogue Heavy, Took Canon Out Back And Pulled an Old Yeller, Mer!Steve Harrington, Fisherman!Eddie Munson, Soft Steve Harrington, Confused Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Wants to be Loved, Mermaids with Animal Like Instincts, Future Propositioning, Lowkey Might Involve Some Omegaverse Aspects in the Future (Not Sorry)

This is chapter one of ????. Also this takes place in Oregon because that's what I know and the idea of a merman living in an Indiana lake-beach is odd to me. So...bear with me. This is my first like actual alternate universe, completely separate from Stranger Things, so be nice.

Also, I've written Steve here as a merman who's had no contacts with humans—his English is choppy and his understanding of basic human communication is weird. If that's a turn-off for you, turn back now.

Read Part Two Here

Can also be read on AO3

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ Fishing wasn’t the ideal career to be going into after high school, but Eddie had to do something while he waited for his dreams to kickstart. Granted, going into this business was easy because his uncle owned the local bait shack. But it didn’t make the job any more appealing in the end. Not even the many beaches he had the chance to truck out to. There was Cannon Beach and Seaside’s, but he stayed close to home in Newport’s.

The beach wasn’t anything super spectacular. Sure, there were parts of it inhabited by the native seal population, some of the areas overloaded with crab shells. And it was damn near majestic during the summertime. Eddie, however, didn’t see the gist of spending time there, though. Maybe it had to do with how every single one of his work days would go, the hours spent sitting in the serene stretches of water. But nothing was intriguing or worthwhile about spending his time there.

That is, until one particular early summer day.

June isn’t a busy summer month for Eddie and his uncle. It was the right temperature, but there was still the risk of storms. Heavy duty kind of storms. Business didn’t stop, though. He woke up at 5:30am, when the sun was still acclimating to the baby blue sky, and readied himself in coveralls, thick and tall rubber boots, and a bucket hat that protected his lopsided mop of curls. His hair remained back in a bun and his skin was doused with paste-like sunscreen. In one hand he carried a red fishing rod and in the other, an old black lunchbox transformed for tackle.

He went out to the docks. To the few run down boats. And climbed aboard his uncle’s tried and true, S.S. Lenore—a tiny thing, made for up to four people, overrun with nets and crusted muddy footprints, and equipped with a singular cooler. The engine always took a few pulls to start up, jostling and crunching like food run through a garbage disposal, but it did the trick. And then he was off.

Eddie always took the chance to float out for a handful of minutes. Sometimes fifteen. Sometimes ten. Set himself up stagnant in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nobody, with no chance in hell he’ll be interrupted. Today he just needed to get a cooler full of trout. Rainbow trout, to be more exact. They’re easy fish to gut and debone, good for baking in the oven, and stuffing full of herbs for marinated fish stew. He’d gone out previously to hoist in mackerels and herrings. This was the last trip he’d need to take for a good two weeks, but he was going to do a damn great amount of work for it.

“This should be good,” he mumbles to himself, just barely breeching the edge of his boat. The ocean underneath him moves in subtle pushes, rocking him lightly against itself. Its color is bright and shining—bluer, somehow, than the last time he visited just a few days ago. He can see schools of trout idling underneath the sheen of the water. And so he rigs one of his nets, tosses it over the side of his boat, and slowly sinks it into the water.

And he waits.

It isn’t until half past when he came out that the net begins to rustle. Tugging and splashing, but it doesn’t settle the way it does when it’s some regular trout. No, this threatens to topple Eddie straight into the cold depths of the water below. To sink his boat and turn it over of all its resources.

He grips to the ropes holding the damned thing up. Pulling at it hard enough to give him the starts of burns on his soft palms. And he heaves. Groaning with it. Panting unrelenting in the face of this thing trapped inside his net. Whatever he caught is surely not some common fish for his soup, this is something more—maybe even more dangerous. And he hadn’t thought to bring anything with him to ward off danger.

There had been one time where a shark got caught. Eddie happened to have a knife on him that time. He gave in, cut the ropes on the net, and let it free—which cost him the equipment, but luckily saved his life.

This is a time where having that knife would be spectacular. But as he hefts the net, he realizes that this creature caught is no ordinary thing. It’s not a shark. Not a seal. Not a school of fish. However, through the floundering waves around him, he catches on a fish-esque glimmer. Scales of some sort shifting with the catch of light breaking through.

He wrestles with the net for a few minutes more before eventually getting a good enough grasp to tie it down. Pulling up the rest with his hands, he’s met face to…tail with this creature. It has scales—pearl white and baby pink and pastel yellows—they shine iridescent in the high rise of sunlight. The end of the tail sports two fins, both of them crescent shaped, thicker towards the base of the tail, and spindly where it faces Eddie. Before he can stop himself, he’s poking at the scales, where they taper into absence at the creature’s fins. It’s then that the creature really notices him.

In one fell motion, grand and heaving, the boat rocks. Teetering into flipping. The creature turns its head to him and…hisses. Like the guttural bubbling hiss of a harbor seal. It rocks in the net again, as it lunges towards Eddie.

Immediately, Eddie pulls his hands away and steps as far back as the boat will allow him. Granted, it’s only four feet in width, but that puts space between him and this thing. The thing that he calculates slowly with his eyes. Tail—yeah, he already knew about that. But then he rakes up to the torso of the fish like creature, where his tail is ombre with the glistening, golden skin of a nude torso.

“That—That isn’t right,” Eddie finds himself stuttering, surveying the torso once again. Sure enough, there’s skin. Dotted with moles and freckles. Dark brunette chest hair that could almost be mistaken as black. Toned arms and big, veiny hands. At the ends of this creature’s fingertips are short, curved towards the palms, white claws. Gills where its ribs are. And then Eddie goes to its head. Square-ish jaw, more freckles and moles, smile lines and baby crows feet. Thick eyebrows, triangular nose with a bridge that angles slightly to the left. Ears that threaten to point at the tops. Brunette hair that swoops to the right, falls to its collarbones, wavy and stringy with saltwater.

And its eyes.

Human eyes. Hazel, glowing honey in the sun. Long eyelashes. Drooping eyelids. Pupils that are pinpoint small, dilating with every hiss that leaves the creature’s throat.

A mermaid.

Eddie Munson is looking at a fucking mermaid.

Or…merman? It doesn’t have the seashell bra like all the mermaids he’s heard tales about, but maybe that’s just fable. He’s played all kinds of fantasy games, but he never thought what he described would be looking at him. Wild eyes and baby shark-like teeth, though without the second row. Hissing.

It struggles in the net again, lunging. Wrapping its hands on the edge of Eddie’s boat, squeezing at the metal material. The force of this merman’s grip enough to cause the edge to creak. Eddie’s stomach drops.

“Woah! Alright, okay!” He exclaims, hands up and placating. Briefly, he wonders if it has a good sense of smell and hearing. Like it can scent the excretion of his sweat even in the cold air. Or how his heart beats like the galloping of a race horse. “Easy! I ain’t—I’ve got no reason to hurt you!”

It seems to know what he’s saying, as it relaxes in the net for the first time. But it shoots him a pitiful, pleading look. Petulantly whining at him, though the sound is gargled.

Eddie wipes his sweating palms on his coveralls and takes a tentative step forward. “Easy,” he murmurs, “I’ll free you, but you have to stay calm.”

But the merman shakes its head. “No,” it croaks, “No free.”

Okay, so the guy speaks. It knows English. Even as choppy and awkward as it sounds.

“No free?” Eddie questions, “You don’t want me to free you?”

It shakes its head again. Whines, gargling again in the back of its throat. Its hands grip to the boat again, this time lugging some of its weight. As if it’s trying to…climb in.

Eddie startles back once more. “Hey, no,” he barks, “no climbing in. You can’t come onto my boat.” Though he wants to take it all back the moment he locks eyes again. If it didn’t have scales and gills, Eddie would almost think it was a sad puppy hybrid. He can almost imagine the droopy tail paired with the glistening, fearful, and pleading eyes. “Why shouldn’t I free you? My boat isn’t your home and I can’t take you back with me. You belong in the water.”

“Home,” the merman echoes, croaking. “Your home…warm?”

“Uh—“ What the fuck, he can’t help but think, exasperated. “—uh, sure. Home is warm. My, uh, home is warm. I live by the sand with my uncle, selling worms and cooking fish. The sun hits my skin every morning.” He doesn’t know why he’s answering the guy, but something in its stare, the broken words—Eddie’s allured. “Can you please answer my question? I’d like to go home. So, why shouldn’t I free you?”

The merman points a clawed finger at itself. “My home not warm. Cold.” Eddie nods along because—of course, duh, the ocean is cold. But it murmurs, “Love.” And now Eddie’s confused all over again.

“Love?”

Its voice is soft and sweet, curious. “You have love?”

Eddie shouldn’t be indulging this. He shouldn’t. But maybe the merman is a siren with how he’s drawn to answer. “I don’t have a partner, if that’s what you’re asking. But my uncle loves me. And I love him. That’s—I have love like that.”

It nods like it understands. Looks away over its shoulder, to the cold, salty water. And visibly shudders before facing Eddie again. “No love,” it says, pointing at itself again. “I no have love. No warm.” It tries to climb in again, even as Eddie’s moving to pry its hands away, but it holds tight and hisses again. “Want warm. Go with. Want to go. Go now,” it demands in a low timber.

And even as pretty as this merman is, Eddie has to refuse. He shakes his head softly. Gently, he says, “You can’t. I—I don’t know you. And…I don’t have an ocean in my house. You’ll die if you come with me.”

“Steven,” it mutters.

What? “What.”

“Know me—Steven,” it says. “Know you? Name?”

Tentatively, Eddie relaxes again. Realizes that this won’t be an end all conversation. “My name is Eddie. It’s short for Edward,” he answers, “but I like Eddie more.”

It hums, observing. “Eh-die,” it sounds out. “Eddie,” it whispers. Without warning, it trills at him. High pitched, chirping and bubbling from the back of its throat. Smiling with the sound, squinting its pretty honey eyes. Something in Eddie stirs. “Like that,” it chirps. “Short and easy. I want.”

“You want a short and easy name, too?” Eddie clarifies. It nods at him, squeaking an affirmative thing. “How about…Hm, what’s a good name for Steven?” He ponders as the merman continues to look on at him, eyes bright and curious. “How about Steve? Is that good enough for you?”

“Steve!” It crows. Trilling again, higher pitched than the last, squirming again in the net, closer and closer to heaving itself into the boat. “Easy, easy, easy,” it says at him.

Eddie can’t help but chuckle. “So…Steve, am I able to call you a he? Like…His name is Steve?”

He nods at Eddie. Wriggling again as if he can’t contain his excitement.

“Well, now I know you, huh? It’s a shame I still can’t take you to my home.”

And now Steve frowns, eyes saddening again. “But…My home is cold. You have warm,” he says solemnly.

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, “but I don’t have space for you, Steve. Your home is in the water. If I take you out of the water for too long, you’ll die. You need the water.”

“I will see you again?”

Eddie shrugs. “If you see my boat again, you can visit me. How about that? And…what’s special about that, is that I can bring you things that aren’t in the ocean.”

“Man’s stuff?”

Befuddled, Eddie asks, “What are man’s stuff?”

“Stuff I see from up here. From Eddie’s home,” Steve answers. “I find and I keep and I hide. Nobody knows. Just Eddie. Eddie is nice, though. You make me happy.”

Humming, Eddie assesses Steve again. Smiles softly. “You’re nice, too, Steve. Even though you scared me earlier. But you were scared, too, huh? Caught in my stupid net.” He takes a careful step closer, standing over where Steve rests in the net still. He places a hand on one of Steve’s, tentatively, but purposefully. “But if you see my boat again, you can come visit. Maybe next time I’ll bring some fish soup? Do you eat fish?”

“Fish are tasty,” Steve says as a response.

Eddie chuckles again. “Okay, Steve. I’ll bring you fish soup. Tomorrow, though. I have to free you and go home, okay?” He reaches down for the ropes that he tied down earlier. Tugs on one of the knots and frees one side. Steve yelps.

“Promise you come back?” Steve meekly asks.

“Promise,” Eddie murmurs intensely, unraveling the last of the rope. “Look for Lenore. She’ll bring you back to me.”

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ If you'd like to be tagged in future updates, let me know. Taglist for this is open <3

[coopigeoncoo]

Meat Cute, Chapter 5

Chapter Links: First, Previous <- Chapter 5 ->Next

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (rating may change)

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Cannibalism, Reader is a cannibal, Fake/pretend relationship, Puns, Raccoon Reader, Tags may change, Swearing

---

In a bid to appear more approachable to the denizens of the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor enlists the help of his favorite butcher to step into the roll of an (after)lifetime: pretending to be his paramour!

---

“You can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow; his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

–--

A story where one thing is certain: the steaks are never bigger than when love is on the line.

---

Continue reading below, or follow the link to A03!

Most days, Charlie's incessant prattling amused Alastor.  It was one of the few traits they both shared after all; the ability to pick up the threads of dropped conversations and weave them into something new.  Usually a pithy quip on his part while Charlie would provide some long-winded tirade about friendship and optimism; nonsensical sorts of things that Alastor didn’t spare much thought towards. 

Generally, it was an effortless feat for Alastor to redirect Charlie's attention and energy onto something or someone else; goodness knows that the residents of their hotel could generously be described as an absolute mess most of the time.  There was always some sort of disaster brewing that the little Princess couldn't help but insert herself into.  A lovers tiff here, a genocide there, another new guest with an uninspired tale of woe that required comfort and a supportive embrace or two.

But there was a stubborn streak in Charlie today that kept her focus fully on the Overlord.  And while he usually never shied away from being the center of attention, Alastor had to admit that he was beginning to grow increasingly weary of her present line of questioning.

“-so what do you think?  Are you willing to give it a shot?”  Charlie asked, her entire body practically quivering in anticipation for his answer.  

“Hmm?  I'm sorry, I must have drifted off for a moment there. What were you saying?” Alastor apologized, his eyes alight with false sincerity.  

“Oh, come on!  There was no way you tuned out that entire musical number!” Charlie groaned in frustration.  “I hit like, three super high notes!  There was confetti-”

“I was dancin’,” a passing sanitation worker interjected, unceremoniously dumping a bin full of used hypodermic needles into the back of an idling trash truck.  

“-the garbageman was dancing, Alastor!”

“I’m sure it was a most spectacular sight!” Alastor assured him.

“Damn right it was,” the garbage man grumbled under his breath as he hefted a heavily stained mattress into his arms.  

“Okay, just- ugh!” Charlie sighed, dragging a hand down her face in exasperation. “Forget the song-”

“Way ahead of you, my dear!” Alastor grinned, spinning his staff merrily as he set off down the sidewalk, Charlie quickly catching up despite his longer stride.  

“I'm just worried, Alastor.  You haven't really made any effort to open up to anyone at the hotel.”

“Haven't you ever heard the saying about mixing business and pleasure?  I'm merely maintaining a professional demeanor.  I would hate for the sterling reputation of our fine establishment to be tarnished by unprofessionalism!” Alastor explained, wiggling his fingers at a passing sinner who cowered under the oppressive weight of Alastor's fleeting glance.

“See, this is exactly what I mean!” Charlie shouted, frantically waving at all the pedestrians ducking down alleys and darting recklessly into oncoming traffic to avoid having to cross paths with the Radio Demon.  “People are afraid of you, Alastor.”

“As well they should be!  I am an Overlord after all, my dear.  Being terrifying is part of the job description.”

“Yes, I know that!  But the problem is that everyone is afraid of you.”

“Are they now?  I guess most people must be smarter than they look!” Alastor laughed in delight as Charlie's consternation grew. 

“I'm being serious here!  Even the people at the hotel are still…uncomfortable with you,” Charlie offered diplomatically.  “Which isn't what the hotel is supposed to be about.  It's supposed to be a place of friendship and comradery- where people can feel safe enough to open up and be vulnerable.”

Charlie paused in her explanation to gesture to the palpable air of malevolence that radiated from her hotelier.

“And you come off as everything but safe.”

“Oh, stop it!  You're making me blush!” Alastor cooed, lifting a coy hand to cradle his pale cheek.  

“Alastor,” Charlie sighed, quickly shuffling around him on the sidewalk so she could place herself directly in his path, forcing him to come to an abrupt halt and look into her pleading eyes.  “Please.  I need the hotel to be a success.  And I think that's what you want, too.  For whatever reason.”

Alastor was quiet as he examined the determined jut of Charlie's chin, his head tilting slightly to the side in consideration.  “What exactly is it that you require of me?”

“To be friendly.  To honestly try and connect with someone.”

“Shall I braid your hair then?  Gossip with the Effeminate Fellow about boys?”

“Those are both great ideas!  But they…don't really seem like your thing,” Charlie hesitantly admitted.  “Why don't you start out with something you're good at?”

“Torture?” 

“Talking.”

“If you insist,” Alastor sighed.  “But my suggestion would be considerably more entertaining.”

“Hey, you never know where a good conversation might lead!  Just look at me and Vaggie!,” the Princess chirped excitedly, her eyes sparkling in delight at the mere thought of her taciturn partner. “She would barely say two words to me when we met and now we tell each other everything!”

“Ahhh,” Alastor narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  “Is that your angle?  To find me a partner?  A paramour?  To try to soften me up with affection?”

“What?  No, that's not it at all!” Charlie rushed to assure him, her hands flapping wildly in front of her body as though she could physically waft away the misunderstanding.  “I mean, it would be great if you could find someone like that, you know, if- if you wanted to!  It's nice to have someone to care about- to care about you , in that way.”

“Please, do elaborate,” Alastor said, gesturing in front of himself with an exaggerated wave of his hand, encouraging Charlie to continue down the hopelessly cracked and pitted sidewalk towards Cannibal Town. 

“Oh- uhhh,” Charlie sputtered, stumbling over her own legs slightly as she moved to fall into step beside Alastor, her fingers nervously twiddling around each other as she struggled to find the words to explain herself.  “Partners are, well- it's sort of like being friends, but more?  Better, I guess?  You talk with them and spend time with them like friends, but they just-”

Charlie paused, heaving in a deep sigh as she imagined her girlfriend in her mind's eye, and tried to verbalize all the wonderful feelings that Vaggie cultivated in her heart.

“When you see someone you love, your day just instantly brightens.  You get excited thinking about the next time you see them- it feels like a bunch of moths are fluttering around inside of your belly.”

Alastor's upper lip curled up in revulsion.  “And that's a desirable feeling?  Intestinal insects?”

“Well, not when you put it that way,” Charlie huffed, crossing her arms across her chest in frustration.  “It's something you can't really explain unless you've experienced it.”

Alastor was unusually quiet, the ambient humming that surrounded him barely audible as they continued on their way.  For a moment, Charlie worried that she had maybe gone too far; that she had drawn an exclusive circle around herself and her experiences that painted Alastor as even more of an outsider than he already was.  An apology sat perched on her tongue, ready to assure him that it was okay to never have felt these things, when Alastor spoke up.  

“It doesn’t feel like fluttering,” Alastor drawled, his free hand pressed against his abdomen pensively.  “It’s more akin to a gnawing sensation.”  

“Wait-,” Charlie gasped, quickly sucking in a lungful of the humid Hellish air.  “Alastor, is there- is there someone you have feelings for?”

“Upon reflection I do believe there might be, based on your exceptionally vivid description of the experience,” Alastor informed her with an excited grin, pushing open the reinforced glass door of a building and ushering Charlie over the threshold ahead of him with a courteous incline of his head.  

“Ooooohhhhh, Alastor!” Charlie squealed, bouncing on her toes in barely suppressed jubilation as she queued up in the short line in front of the register.  “Who is it?  How long have you known them? Can I meet them?  Do you think they like you back?  Wait- that's too many questions!  I'm sorry!  But I'm just so excited for you!”

“It's fine, my dear!  Perfectly understandable,” Alastor reassured her with an indulgent laugh.  “And of course you can meet them, if that's what you'd like.”

“YES!” Charlie yelled, only realizing how loud she was once all the numerous eyes of both the customers and the walls of the store quickly shifted their focus onto her.  She coughed into her fist and straightened her lapels in embarrassment as she waited for the other customers to lose interest and turn away. “I mean- that is to say, it would be lovely to meet them at your earliest convenience.”

“But of course!” Alastor agreed readily as he stepped with Charlie to the front of the line.  “Here she comes now!”

“Now?” Charlie squawked, spinning around frantically in quick circles to try and catch a glimpse of who in the store Alastor might be referring to.

“Here you are, Alastor, Sir,” you announced with a nervous grin, sliding a large, paper-wrapped parcel across the counter.  “One whole venison round, as requested.”

“Thank you, my dear!” Alastor said as he took hold of the meat, vanishing it to locations unknown with a quick snap of his fingers.  “I was wondering if I might trouble you for a moment longer, though?”

Sweat immediately began to gather at your hairline as you tried to swallow down the bile creeping up your throat.  “Is- is there a problem with your order?”

“No, no, nothing like that!” Alastor assured you with a sharp grin that did little to settle your nerves.  “It has recently been brought to my attention that I am enamored with you.”

All sounds inside the butcher shop abruptly halted, like the entire store had been sucked into a vacuum; customer's jaws hanging slack in shock at the unexpected confession. 

“You're what?” You squeak in obvious distress, casting pleading glances at your coworkers who were quietly peeking in  through a slim crack through the backroom door, eager to spy on the unfolding drama.

“Enamored, my dear!  Beguiled!  Infatuated!  Smitten, if you will.”

“You… like me?” You muttered dumbly as your brain struggled to process the bizarre scene you had found yourself thrust into the middle of.  

“Apparently!” Alastor laughed, reaching behind himself to tug his companion to his side.  “See, I was chatting with my associate here, Charlie, the Princess of Hell-”

“Your Grace,” you croak dryly, dropping into what was hopefully a passable curtsy.

“Hey, uh- nice to meet you!” Charlie greeted with a stiff wave and an even stiffer smile. 

“-and she made me realize what my true feelings for you were!  How you make my day better, how I look forward to the next time I see you, how you make my stomach rumble,” Alastor growled lowly, his already towering form seeming to elongate as he loomed over you.

“...It ah- it sounds like maybe you're just… hungry whenever you see me?”

“Perhaps!” Alastor cackled, his staticy laugh even more distorted up close.  “But one man's passion is another man's hunger, as they say!”

“Do they say that?  Is that a thing people say?!” You whispered manically towards Charlie, her shoulders jumping up towards her ears in a helpless shrug.

“Gastrointestinal palpitations aside, you can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow, his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place; afraid that any sudden movement might somehow cause him to pounce. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

“RIGHT, okay!” Charlie interrupted with a nervous laugh, slamming a handful of bills down onto the counter as she managed to mercifully push herself between the Radio Demon and the meat counter.  “So sorry, but we have to go- there's important hotel business we need to get back to!  It was lovely meeting you, have a nice day, BYE!”

You were still staring at the door minutes after Charlie had frantically pulled Alastor out of the store, only snapping out of your daze when your manager shuffled up beside you, nose buried in the employee handbook.  

“I've triple checked and experiencing sudden romantic overtones isn't grounds for taking personal leave,” he explained, pointing to the exact passage in the well-worn guide.  “You're gonna’ have to finish out your shift.”

“Of course,” you replied distantly, unable to meaningfully focus on anything other than your racing thoughts and the strange, muffled ringing in your ears.  “What about if I pass out?”

“Says here you'll get a fifteen minute break and a strong cup of tea.”

“Better put the kettle on then,” you mumbled as your knees buckled, vision going black as you plummeted towards the floor.  Your manager looked down at your crumpled body and sighed, nudging you out of the way with his foot and stepping up to the register.  

“Next in line!”

[n30nwrites]

I've Died, Many Years Ago (Jason Todd)

So people liked the first one, now heres this.

Back Next

You've found that you didn't really age. You also didn't bleed anymore and your heart was only 6 beats per minute.

Then their was the cravings.

After your first day of resurrecting, you found a mans dead body, he had a joker smile painted on his lips and you could already taste him. You took a large stray brick and pounded his head in. Over, and over again for the tiniest taste of brain.

Tasting it was seeing the truth, it was Eve's apple dangling from the tree as the serpent whispers how God wasn't here now.

God wasn't here, you wouldn't be this if they were.

You didn't know what to do, you had been dead for years, well three years. You were 19 now, with nowhere to go. You couldn't just resume your life, could you? Your mother was gone, you had no idea where she lived now, and Jason was dead, he had to be.

So what could you do now?

---

It took a year for you to start living. You left Gotham and went to Detroit after fudging your papers, you went by a different last name, and hacked into your old school and Hospital you worked at to submit your documents to the Detroit Police Department.

It's easy to get brains from the dead.

Your boss is Alec Mobek, the head Medical Examiner. He's a decent man, you never attempted to get close to him with small talk but he enjoyed talking for the both of you. He liked some geeky video games and loved his job even more. He was so painfully normal, and you were jealous of that.

He reminds you of everything you could've been.

You used to be ambitious. You used to be passionate. Inspired. Alive. Now, your mostly just hungry.

At least you still had your intuition.

Sometimes you thought about confiding in him. He was older than you, in his 30s, he seemed more like a father-figure than anything. He offered you food, rides to and from work, and had even gotten you more clothes when he noticed how you wore the same outfit to work everyday.

But your burden is of the 'bare it alone' variety. You would know if there were others, there would be an outbreak if there were. Being alone was for the best. You didn't touch anyone, in fear of spreading it. You kept gloves on, your nails trimmed, and never had sex.

It was like a bad STD. But you couldn't die.

In the shitty apartment that you lived in, there were multiple containers of brain just sitting. You liked to finish them off one by one, but sometimes the personalities and flash backs got so overwhelming that you had to switch.

The brain you were last on was a lackey of the Jokers, some man who had lost it long ago. You didn't feel a single thing on his brain, and had constant images of killing people.

You might've been made into a monster, but you wouldn't act upon it.

"Alright, what do you got for me?" Dick Grayson is handsome, if you were human (and older) you probably would've tried to pursue him at one point. He transferred just a few months ago, and unlike other Detectives, he didn't stray from the ME's office because of the bodies.

"An unidentified Jane Doe, found in the back of a garbage truck. The garbage truck was using a crusher so that complicates finding the cause of death. Could be suicide, could be murder." You know Alec cares, it's just that he sees so much death that at one point, if he kept focusing on it, it would ruin him. "My assistant is going to sew her back up, bag her and box her." He walks over to the side where the detective is. Dick has a small frown on his face.

"In your personal opinion, what do you think happened?" Dick questions as he and Alec walk up the stairs. They continue to talk and get quieter, and it was your time to strike.

The autopsy saw sat in your hand, it was plugged in already and when the coast was clear, you cut through the mans skull. You were a professional, this was something you had done to every body since you had gotten there. There were multiple brains in your fridge, having Missing bites, you didn't have to eat everyday, thankfully. A brain usually wore off after three days, and the abilities with them would as well.

You would have flashes of their past, you could gain certain personality traits or habits they had.

You once ate the brain of a man who was considered the right hand man to Joker, he was a looney. You dumped that brain down the disposal after you found yourself buying items for a bomb. You then switched to an older woman.

This Jane Doe would be your meal for the day. You took it out as carefully as you could, ignoring any guilt you could feel as you cut up pieces of her brain and tossed her in with some spicy Beef ramen. Heating what used to be a person up for 3 minutes and scarfing it all down in your mouth. The rest of her brain you kept hidden in the back of the fridge, something that Alec rarely opened.

When Alec comes down, you're filling out some paperwork that just need his signature. He talks about how they have a suspect, someone who was seen on camera arguing with her. Alec only heard that because Dick didn't know how to be quiet.

"I'm heading out for the day, Jane Doe is taken care of. Paperwork as well, you just need to sign off on it."

"Thank you so much..." He looks to where her body is, bagged and tagged as the body is in the cooler. "Detective Grayson, Do you like Him?"

He was your boss, you reminded yourself. You had to answer. "He seems fine."

"You know he's Bruce Wayne's son?"

As was Jason.

"So?" You didn't care, he wasn't Jason. He would never be Jason. He was Dick Grayson, AKA Nightwing, Detective by day and vigilante by night. It sounded like a shitty comic.

Detroit had it's issues, you can't tell how many times you had been shot at or people had tried to rob you. Many villains have stopped by, many underlings trying to be villains had also stop by.

"Most people are on their knees for him."

"Sexually or metaphorically?" You question.

"Both I guess." Alec huffs as he reads over the paperwork, "Susanna likes him, but I guess that with money comes attraction." He seems jealous.

"That and he's considered attractive." You nod your head as you turn to walk away, Alec mutters something about the unknown victim. You grab your backpack and as you go to open the back door, you are suddenly transported.

"I told you to stay away." The voice coming from your body is feminine, she's panting, sweating. You can feel it all. She's exiting out the door, not looking at the man who you assume is following her, he has heavy footprints. "I want nothing to do with you, you're fucking insane-"

"Don't run away from me Stephanie." The man grabs her hand and turns her around and he's decent looking. Nothing compared to your soulmate, but he was easily identifiable.

"My name is Valeria. Valeria Prinsky. Get it through your thick fucking skull." She yanks her hand back and as he lifts his arm, it is quickly stopped by a man in a red helmet.

You come back to Alec saying your name, Dick Grayson was in the room with him, and they were both staring at you. While it didn't feel long, time seems to lose all sense of purpose during your visions. You blink your eyes. "Do we need to call someone?" Dick asks as Alec puts his hand on your shoulder, you quickly pull away.

"No, no I'm fine." You tell them, rolling your neck slightly as you pop it. "I just forgot something." You turn back in, going into the other office away from them and quickly grabbing the brain and stuffing it into your backpack. When you turn away from the fridge, you see Jane Doe's file.

Valeria Prinsky. She has a name, she has a life, and you were living off of her. The least you can do is give her a name. You cross out Jane Doe on the file and write her name, and when you leave, Dick and Alec are talking in hushed whispers.

You can't find it in yourself to care.

[regina-del-cielo]

Since we're all trying not to think about A Certain Event™️, here you get:

🇮🇹🇮🇹🇮🇹 THE IMOLA GRAND PRIX LIVE EXPERIENCE RECAP! 🇮🇹🇮🇹🇮🇹

1) first of all, Imola the town is??? SO PRETTY?!?!?! Like, holy shit. The road from the train station to the track is a straight line that cuts through the historical centre, and it's a LOVELY walk with a lot of trees. Seriously, if you're ever in the area go see it, regardless of F1

No way to get lost on your way to the track lol

2) the smell of food was. EVERYWHERE. There was NO WAY of missing food or a drink. ALL ALONG the town, not just inside the track. Every single shop had a gazebo out serving something

3) honorable mentions to the place advertising their beer with the sign 'box box for beer on this lap' and the one whose sign read, in Italian: "the walk to the track is 3 km long. Are you sure you want to do it all WITHOUT a cold beer in hand?"

4) I arrived at the track around the time F2 was starting and like. The SOUND, guys. JESUS FUCK.

5) queue to enter went pretty fast, even with the bags check. And the track itself is so pretty, with the Ferrari tower and the park all around it... it really feels domestic in a way

6) My seat was on one of the Rivazza grandstands, and it was... a Walk™️. IT HAD NEVER OCCURRED TO ME THAT IT WAS AN HONEST TO GOD HILL.

7) there are houses with their pretty gardens all around the track. One at the foot of the Rivazza hill was of particular interest to the crowd because they had EIGHT ENTIRE FERRARI ROAD CARS parked outside. The majority of them red, but I also saw a black, a yellow and a white one. Insanity.

8) I got to go because my sister gifted me a ticket for my birthday, and boy did she choose my place well

Like, THIS 👇 was my view

I had the speaker tower on top of my head, a maxi screen straight in front of me, and the track IN FRONT OF MY NOSE. I owe that woman my LIFE

9) the temperature may have been 23 degrees Celsius but boy did the sun BEAT. I kept putting my SPF 50 cream on my back. I did get a bit of sunburn but it was somewhere I couldn't easily reach by myself and also it didn't hurt much, so I count it as a win. That said: BRING SUNSCREEN AND A WAY TO DAMPEN YOUR NECK.

10) I have read accounts of female fans feeling unsafe and/or being put in uncomfortable/dangerous situations at tracks. Going alone, I kinda had similar worries, but I was pleasantly surprised that never, not for one second, I felt out of place or in any way in danger. Huge kudos to Imola and to whoever was around me.

11) people-watching at these events is incredibly funny. The layers of DECADES of merch you can see could very well be a book. Also, shoutout to the guy with the t-shirt that said 'MILF (Man, I Love Ferrari)'. You have my entire respect.

12) there was a tractor with air blowers attached to the rear that passed the track to blow any debris/plastic/garbage away. You would not BELIEVE how we cheered that guy. Our hero for real

13) I felt a bit of patriotic outrage that the pre-race show was done by English F1 TV and not by the Italian F1 reporters, but such is life

14) The hostess trying to find McLaren fans in Imola was... entertaining to say the least (there were, but other teams' fans were in HUGE minority)

15) OH SOMEONE ACTUALLY BOUGHT THE CUM SHOT PUMA MERCH. I SAW A COUPLE CAPS AND EVEN A T-SHIRT. ASTOUNDING.

16) whoever thought to have Paddock club trucks do the parade around the track before the drivers needs to be shot. NO ONE CARES ABOUT THEM. FUCK THEM.

17) the marshals stationed in front of my grandstand made us a sign to tell us that the drivers' truck was coming, we all loved them 🥰

18) I only saw them from afar, but. Charles and Lewis. Apart from the others, waving at us together. MY ROYAL CONSORTS 😭😭😭😭

19) I find it so funny that every driver that doesn't have English as their mother tongue gave an interview first in English and then in their native language

20) they had Kimi do a separate parade on a Merc road car with the hood down, driven by his dad, with an Italian flag draped around his shoulders. We all cheered for him

21) 'CIAO TIFOSI' LEWIS HAMILTON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

22) while we were waiting for the race to start they would send this ad about how Emilia Romagna is the 'motor valley' of Italy, and it felt so cool like 'YES GUYS FUCK THE ENGLISH F1 HUB WE ARE THE COOLEST FUCKING PEOPLE'

23) I loved the flag waving show before the anthem. Also having the Italian anthem sung by six tenors was a CHEF'S KISS DECISION I L O V E D THAT

24) the track has a live commentary that is completely unaffiliated with the F1 streaming. So while F1 was sending the starting grid graphic on the screens (from P20 to P1), the commentator was doing the same thing from P1 to P20. Hysterical

25) this commentary means that watching the race live on track has like. Probably half of the info you get from watching it on TV. This caused quite a fascinating difference in perspective between what I perceived of the race vs my entire Tumblr dashboard once I got a functioning connection again - for example, even though they broadcasted a few team radios, I understood ZERO words.

26) I was SO FOCUSED on the Ferraris that I COMPLETELY MISSED the Turn 1 move from Max. AND I MISSED IT AGAIN WHEN THEY SHOWED THE REPLAY. ABSOLUTELY ZERO FUCKS GIVEN.

27) nothing like seeing the cars pass in front of you to feel the weight of the time gaps. When it takes you more than two blinks for the next car to appear you KNOW the gap is big

28) every time the Ferraris passed in front of us it was all 'GO LEWIS!' and 'GO CHARLES!' we were PUSHING those cars ourselves

29) the 'noooooo' that went up when Kimi parked it on the grass... we were all so sad

30) I was all eyes for a potential Albonium until the Ferraris caught up with him and then he became Public Enemy Number One

31) I hope the Albon girlies can forgive us, but the CHEER that ROARED through Imola when Alex ended in the gravel from Charles's defending and Lewis passed him...

32) I would find out that Charles had given Alex the position back only while listening to my podcast recaps, while on track it looked like he simply couldn't defend anymore

33) the race was definitely worth the money spent, zero regrets 10/10 no notes

34) at some point, while I was retracing my steps back from where I'd gotten in, I got stuck in a mass of people that weren't moving, so I had to turn back and cut through the grass to bypass the block - I would later find out that the block was because Lewis and Charles were waving at the Tifosi on the track 😭

35) I left the house on Sunday feeling despair at the thought of seeing a huge Ferrari flop and instead watch my beautiful GOATS fight their way to the higher points so grazie Imola, ti voglio bene 💚🤍❤