#its not intentional things happen this way but i will still laugh

[xxplastic-cubexx]

so like do you think they made the plastic wheelchair ALONGSIDE the plastic prison as a Just In Case situation, only after they realized charles was going to be a frequent visitor, or both as in because they knew charles was going to be the only person visiting him during planning they decided to make him a chair ahead of time

[sixosix]

wanderer can fly; you cannot. he makes it his problem.

“What? Giving up already?”

“Shut—” heaving, you barely have the energy to flip him off, “shut the fuck up. Fuck off.”

Wanderer chuckles, all low and mean, as if his entire purpose in life is to ridicule you. He continues ascending overhead, moving and looking like an angel, but the words that come out of his mouth are far from angelic. “Careful, now. I know you overestimate yourself, but I won’t save you if you continue to scale a mountain with one hand.”

“Stop agitating me on purpose then!” You nearly slip from the intensity of your yell, but thankfully, it isn’t your time yet.

“How can I? You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Grumbling, you focus back on the mountain. Cute when mad. He must think he’s goddamn adorable, then.

You’re starting to lose sight of dents or protruding surfaces to get a hold of, and the mountain is getting steeper. You curse under your breath. If only you had Geo or Dendro—that’d help a lot much more. Maybe even Anemo, but that would be admitting defeat to the man who’s currently watching you intently.

Wanderer scoffs when your breath hitches, the surface you’re holding onto crumbling. He descends until you’re eye level. “Idiot, I told you that it’d be safer if we didn’t climb this all the way.”

“I know my limit.” Maybe. You may or may not have gotten a little over-competitive and jumped a few times, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

“Not more than I do,” he says.

“Don’t say it like that, weirdo.” You appraise the mountain overhead and, with a sunken stomach, realize that he’s right. There’s still a long way to go, and it’s a long fall back.

“Damn,” you say. You turn to Wanderer and blink up at him with wide eyes, hoping he would take the hint without having to say it outright.

Wanderer sighs, holding out his arms. “Jump.”

“Are you serious?”

“I won’t let you fall—of course I’m fucking serious.”

You grit your teeth, wondering if it’s easier to humiliate yourself and jump into his arms or to let gravity do its work.

“Hey,” Wanderer says, gliding closer and hovering an arm behind your waist. “No stupid ideas. Just jump and hold onto me.”

It’s always unsettling when Wanderer is not acting all bratty, like you’re not quite sure if you should goad him back to being mean or watch him bristle when you point it out. It’s been happening too often recently. That must be saying something about him if his soft moments are scarier than his jabs.

Wordlessly, you reach out for his shoulder with one hand and hold back a yelp when the lack of balance causes you to slip. You hold on tight around his neck, eyes wide and heart jittery. Wanderer secures his arms, moving in one swift motion. Before you even know it, he has one arm on your back and the other under your knees.

“How convenient it must be to have a ride as your companion,” Wanderer mutters in amusement at your relieved face.

“Yeah. That’s why I keep you around,” you say as he glides upward, barely straining from your weight. He looks as unaffected as ever.

He looks as infuriatingly and devastatingly beautiful as ever.

“Ha,” his smile is all sharp, “and not because you have a little crush on me?”

“You follow me around because you do. Don’t get it twisted.”

He snorts, tipping on something a little more genuine. You wisely decide to stop ogling at his face and enjoy the view of the sky instead. The blue of his clothes and the shade of his eyes are much prettier, but you’d rather lose that than start squirming in his arms. Not when he’s carrying you bridal style and all.

Finally, he descends, hardly disturbing the grass with his grace. He sets you down, arms crossed, as you pat yourself off from dirt and stuff.

“Well?”

You eye him warily. “What do you want?”

“Some semblance of manners will do,” he says, then leans close as if he’s baring his face for you. He’s been less and less subtle recently, too.

Nonetheless, you find yourself smiling. The things he’d do just to get a kiss���it nearly makes you laugh out loud. But then he’d start getting all irritated like a cat, and you much prefer when he’s sweet like this. Sweet in his very Wanderer way, you mean.

You kiss him on the cheek. He puffs up like some proud peacock. He calls you adorable all the time, but he’s the one who’s acting like this. It’s no wonder you keep him around.

[drchucktingle]

One of my fav podcasts is doing an episode on you and I'm shaking my head because they're not real buckaroos and they don't understand that you write because love is real and everyone should have joy in their lives. They're just making jokes and I'm like "at least buckaroos embrace what makes us happy"

yes this is interesting thing that happens with my trot A LOT. i usually will repost a podcast or interview if someone does a nice talk on chuck, but there is STILL a large portion of folks who seem to have the irony poison pumping through their veins and cant come to terms with the fact that my work is sincere

you can pretty dang quickly tell if someone is laughing AT you or laughing WITH you. i have trotted onto interviews where i IMMEDIATELY know i am getting laughed at and honestly that is okay. i cant really blame them because i know the way the culture of irony swirls around us and swallows everything up, especially online. i also know that as i trot forward and break down walls of 'low brow' and 'high brow' art there will be resistance, ALL the good trots forward will face resistance.

HOWEVER it also has to be said that a lot of this is just plain old SUBCONSCIOUS BIAS (or maybe conscious bias sometimes) against queer people and neurodivergent people. if my work was straight and i followed the neurotypical template for art i would not be treated like this. honestly the most fascinating thing to me is that these otherwise kind, well-meaning or even politically left people are just publicly tearing apart someone for, if you really wanna get down too it, being bi and autistic. i think they would be HORRIFIED is someone pointed that out, and for some reason they cant see it

i think a lot of this has to do with people thinking i am not 'real'. it is much easier to treat a 'character' this way.

but it is fine. its the trot ive got, and if you think about it, even though these folks are resistant to take me seriously and with actual respect for my work, it is actually THEIR loss. a podcast episode where you make fun of my book titles for an hour is SO MUCH LESS INTERESTING than a podcast where you pull apart what im actually doing and the intention behind my work. any time a buckaroo dives into THAT part of it, their analysis resonates across this timeline. so really its the folks makin fun that are missing out

[pyxxiestyxx]

Humans are Made to be Pets

"I don't fucking believe you." I laughed in response. I mean, how could I not? I've been perfectly fine as an independent for years. I've made plenty of friends (independents, affini, AND florets), but my favorite friend was definitely Her.

Jaz was an oldbloom of some kind. She refused to tell me the actual number, and I wasn't going to press it. But you bet your ass I was going to outright deny it when she says some Bloomer-ass bullshit like, "Humans are made to be pets, Petal~"

She tilted her head, as if surprised. "Did no one tell you, dear?" I frowned.

"What do you mean exactly?"

Jaz hid a chuckle behind some vines. "Flower, I've been around for a while. I've seen thousands of species. Some of them were almost extinct by the time we found them, and some were far more technologically advanced than the Accord ever was. But out of all of them -all of them, darling- I have yet to find a sophont who wouldn't make a perfect silly pet. Why do you think terrans would be any different?"

I sputtered. "No! No, that's ridiculous. Beeple I can understand, to some extent. They evolved alongside you, and your reproduction at least used to co-exist. You both needed each other. Humans are different."

"Oh, in some ways perhaps! Its true that we were able to work with beeple, but there are a few things that, in order for humans to have gotten where they were, were required to happen." She held up three fingers.

"One. Humanity are social creatures. I'm quite sure I don't need to argue this point. Its been an observation many have noticed. But it still matters that, despite your culture's best attempts to sequester everyone into individual homes and away from communities…you all crave that interaction, that exchange. You Look for it." One finger went down.

"Two. Humanity are intelligent creatures. They learned so much, and fought for their place on the top of the food chain. It was truly incredible to learn your histories! Being able to learn from another's mistakes? An important skill to have, and one that allows for rapid growth of a civilization. And also allows for you to be manipulated, controlled, really; a rock cannot hear my arguments, after all. You Listen all too well. " Two fingers were closed, now. Her thumb remained.

"Three. Humanity are hierarchical creatures. Ever since that whole 'survival of the fittest', terrans seem intent on having everything ranked, everything in relation to the things better or worse than it. It's what worked on Terra, and I don't judge you all for using the tools given to you! But it means, at the end of the day…that culturally speaking? Humanity was going to see itself as either above the Compact, or below it, part of it, inside it." She smiled. "And I think it would be fair to say that the Accord winning was not a valid concern. So when something bigger and stronger comes along? You learn to Accept it."

I was frozen. I didn't…I couldn't…I couldn't think. I was a bubbling mixture of terrified and in awe, looking up at her. My knees wobbled as she gently cupped my cheek, sliding her hand down to my chin.

"Sweet thing~ Its alright. I know that this is a lot to learn, that it sounds scary to you. Perhaps you felt yourself on equal terms to an affini. And in many ways, you are right~ I will always treat you with love and respect, just as I would treat any sophont, any floret. But at the end of the day, my dear…" Her eyes drew me in. There were so many of them, all looking at me. Pinning me underneath their careful stare, somehow both alien and familiar, gentle yet controlling, above me and beside me. Watching as I looked, as I listened, as I accepted.

"An affini's task is to care for pets, and your task is to be cared for~"

[putiflowy]

◌. ˚✧˖° ͎ Salesman x Fem!Reader ͎°˖✧˚.◌ ̥

Summary: You have recently moved to Seoul where your current boyfriend (Seong Gi-Hun) lives. Lately he has been very focused on his work of uncovering a criminal network that he and many other people were victims of. Although he lives in a turbulent motel, he has a rather cozy room. To put a spicy twist on the relationship, you decide to surprise Gi-Hun with something you bought at a sex shop. You wait anxiously for him to arrive, but to your surprise, a different man appears to enjoy you.

Warnings: Cheating, the reader is tricked to sleep with the Salesman, blindfold, dog collar kink, handcuffs, choking, squirt, bj, slut shaming (just a bit), gun kink, v penetration, unprotected sex, fluff (highly questionable), creampie, +18.

Word count: 2k (5 minutes).

...

Sex with Gi-Hun could not be described as bad. After all, he is a man who goes out of his way to make you feel pleasure. Still, sex with him is a bit vanilla, so you decided to give it a little twist. Your intention was to explore with him and gradually work your way up to perhaps more extreme forms of BDSM.

“Maybe this is a bit too much for him?” You thought as you put on a black string thong. On the bed behind you, you had some metal handcuffs, in case he felt like trying them out. Most importantly and what you thought would get the most play: a blindfold. Maybe not feeling judged by your gaze would make it easier for him to fuck you. While you were putting on the leather collar, you smiled to yourself in the mirror and gave yourself a light slap. You were feeling hotter than ever.

"He's going to love it". You thought confidently, putting on knee-high stockings. There was still time before he got off work, but you decided to wait patiently for him on the bed, like the obedient bitch you were with the blindfold on. You sat on the bed with your legs spread widely with the collar leash dangling between them. You couldn't contain your laughter thinking of all that could happen. In no time, you heard a noise at the door. Your patience was rewarded. The noise at the door made you raise an eyebrow, as Gi-Hun was taking longer than usual to open it.

"Is he drunk?" You thought to yourself and brushed it off. There were other priorities at that moment. In no time, you heard Gi-Hun's footsteps approaching towards you. With each step you leaned your body forward, as if to give him a kiss. However, there was no kiss. You only felt the pull of your leash and also you heard an evil chuckle. Although you found the laugh a bit unusual for your boyfriend, who knows, maybe he was into it? You certainly liked it.

"I was worried you were not going to like it". You smiled trying to reach his body. Gi-Hun was very well dressed which was atypical for him. You grabbed his tie to pull him closer to you. Your lips were not so far away from his and you could feel his breath.

"Did you get dressed up for me?" You asked him without receiving an answer. You brought your hands close to his cheeks and you could feel that he was smiling from side to side. If you saw him behind the mask he would probably scare you.

"Is that cologne?" You inhaled its woody notes. It was a very fresh smell, very pleasant. The man just laughed. Next, you heard the sound of a metallic 'click' and felt a cold sensation on your wrists. The man pushed you and pinned your arms above your head. This sent a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed by the sensation of something hard under your boobs.

"You are already like this for me?" You asked with content knowing that his cock was already hard. You again received the same mischievous chuckle but this time accompanied by a caress on your cheekbone. "I didn't know you would be this good-" His fingers slipped from your cheekbone to your lips.

"Shhhh..." He ordered silence and then proceeded to place his hands on each side of your head. You also heard him lift his knee and slot it in between your legs. The next thing you felt was his breathing somewhat quickened near your neck. Suddenly, his hand choked your neck to which your thighs tightened around his leg. Just enough to show his strength but not enough to kill you. He laughed again knowing you liked the feeling. You wanted to express how much you liked this, but he recently told you not to speak, which also turned you on. Maybe you couldn't do it through words, but you could do it nonverbally. The man was surprised to see you rubbing your parts up and down against his clothed knee. You could tell he liked that. His clothed erection was pulsating and you could feel it in your exposed chest. To your surprise, the gentleman responded moving his knee away from you, but the lack of touch was replaced with his fingers exploring your inner thigh. He wasted no time and pulled your thong aside. Two fingers ran up and down your slot, exploring with hunger. He caressed it first before placing his fingers inside you. He wanted to feel your wetness for him first.

"Fuff..." You heard him take a deep breath as he took off his jacket and then loosened his tie. In no time, his fingers were inside you again. Moving in and out mercilessly. Even if he wanted you to be silent, you could not contain your moans. You tried to do so by moving your handcuffed hands to your mouth but he didn't let you. He pinned you in place instead. After all, he enjoyed the sounds of your wet pussy and your moans.

His pace got even faster, with his fingers curled hitting your g-spot constantly. You held on to the railing of the bed's header as your vaginal walls were quivering. The pleasure was getting overwhelming.

"Fuck-" You managed to say between deep breaths. With the blindfold on, all other sensations were amplified. His touch, the wet sounds, the scent of his cologne. It was too much for you to handle. In no time you were squirting for him. You didn't see it but you were sure that it had stained his shirt. He did not care at all.

You didn't know what had possessed Gi-Hun that day. He didn't even let you catch your breath. He curled the leash around his knuckles and stood up, moving you onto the floor. You were on your knees, or at least trying to, as your legs were still trembling. This man wasted no time. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his throbbing erection from his boxers. He grabbed a few strands of your hair, pressing his tip into your lips while pulling your hair back into a ponytail. You parted your lips softly and with a fast thrust, his dick was deep inside you. His thrusts were ruthless, not waiting for you to adapt to his pace. He almost choked you with his huge dick. Despite of everything, you had to admit that this was one of the best nights you had with Gi-Hun. He soon became even more aroused, his breaths were heavier and his thrusts sharper. You could taste the saltiness of his precum lubricating your mouth. Suddenly, he let a groan escape from his lips. He bit his finger with force, so that you would not recognize his voice. His teeth pressed so hard against his skin they made him bleed. He pulled you away for a moment to catch a breath and also to change positions. He could not contain himself anymore.

"I wasn't aware of this side of you, Gi-Hun". You complimented him as you slowly stood up and moved your handcuffed hands to your blindfold. You thought he might need a break. Before you had time to remove it, he pushed you again against the bed. He climbed on top of you and pinned you again but this time, he removed one of your handcuffs. Then he moved it around the bed rail and handcuffed you again, restricting your movement even further. You could feel the tip of his wet throbbing erection close to your entrance. You opened your legs for him and waited for him to fuck you mercilessly, as he did before.

"Impatient, aren't we?" The stranger's raspy voice gave you goose bumps. Who was this? To his surprise, you did not close your legs. You were into it actually.

"Who are you?" He lifted your blindfold and the man revealed himself. He was a very handsome guy. Younger than Gi-Hun. It now made sense how his member lasted longer erected. His face had some blood stains, probably from his bitten finger. He just watched you with curiosity and a sadistic smile. "So, now what?" You asked flirtatiously which took him aback. He expected you to be scared, but he had to admit, this was even sexier to him. Someone to play with without limitations.

"Well. Now that I know you won't run away or fight back, we could try something different..." His hoarse voice sent shivers down your spine. He removed the handcuffs from your wrists. He took off his tie and left it on a chair with his jacket. He kept his white shirt on but unbuttoned it so you could appreciate his body. "You know... It was a bit offensive that it took you so long to realize I was not Gi-hun." He whispered into your ear pulling you by the leash. His voice sounded almost dangerous. "Now, will you be a good girl and do what I say?" You nodded like a compliant dog to his master. "Good". Your obedience made him smile. "I want to see how far can I go with you."

"Woah!" You exclaimed surprised when you saw him pull out a gun. He pointed the gun to your head and you closed your eyes tightly. Is this how you were going to die? Your adrenaline was soon gone with the pull of the trigger.

"It's not loaded!" He happily showed you the gun's drum even if the demostration alone was enough. What an emotional rollercoster.

"You're a psycho". You spat, not wanting to be completly submissive to his desires. After all, the power struggle was part of the game. What you were maybe not so aware of is that he was the one in charge and he could do whatever he pleased with you.

"You finally show your teeth". His gaze was fixed on yours the whole time as he got down on his knees. His gun was now in between your thighs. You opened your legs even wider so it would be easier to fit in. You gasped covering your mouth as he penetrated you with the gun. "You like that, huh?" He asked, his eyes still fixed on yours, pushing it in and out slowly. His member was still throbbing for you, waiting to have you.

"I would prefer to get fucked by you". He moved the gun away and left it cautiously next to his belongings. It was rather odd for him to be listening to your desires.

"Really?" He massaged the tip of his dick and moved closer to you. You left some space for him on the bed so he could get more comfortable while fucking you. He lined his member with your crotch and pressed it softly. His eyes were filled with desire, but they hid some dark intentions. "You are going to wish I fucked you with my gun". He snapped, thrusting his dick in and out of you. He was ruthless and with a hand pulling your leash, there was nowhere to go. You were already his. "You like that, bitch?". With his free hand, he grabs your hip dipping his nails into your skin. He was fast. And. Rough. He was not going to stop until he came.

"Yes-" You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you shuddering and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, pulling him closer to you. You took some time to admire his handsome features as he pumped his dick in and out of you. He looked even better all sweaty and without that creepy smile on his face. Behind his predatory eyes, he seemed to enjoy this connection, even if it was an unexplored area for him.

"(Y/n)..." He whispers your name, his thrusts becoming more erratic. How did he know it? Well, if he had broken into your house, it wasn't very surprising. You did not know his name, but all that mattered at the moment was the intense pleasure you were feeling. He tilted his head backwards, clossing his eyes. He was about to come. With a loud moan and his nails digging into your hip, he filled your pussy with his hot cum. "Fuck..." He stayed still for a moment before moving away from you. "I really enjoyed that". He said standing up and bending over to give you a kiss on your forehead. "I'll be back, you know that, right?" He stated, giving you some hope as he put his suit on. He left you alone with his cum dripping from your cunt.

[goldengirliez]

STEALING MIKEY'S KEYS SO HE'S LATE FOR A MEETING>>>>>

09:32 pm

I believe that intimacy is the new kind of pure love. Getting to know someone on a deeper level is something that goes beyond simple attachment, it goes beyond the simple but necessary need of validation.

Being intimate means getting on the same frequency level as a person and communicating effectively with each word, each action, and each stare.

Intimacy isn't something you only find under the sheets until sweat, tears and arousal dampen the mattress. Its true nature lies in between the actions of your everyday life, moments that don't need any kind of particular reason to happen and yet feel special because you are there, you are connected.

You have realised such a thing only briefly as the air is getting in and out of your lungs hectically, your breath coming short and irregular and the adrenaline rushing through your veins full speed with each pump of your vital muscle.

Your legs almost shake and your feet ache slightly, your eyes darting to the person in front of you with an excited and rebellious glimmer, the glint of life.

You've been running away from Mikey for the last ten minutes because you had taken the keys to his motorbike.

He has been spending every evening with Toman recently, not passing by your home to even say goodnight because the meetings always finish late at night.

You know that he always tries his best to make it up to you for the lost time with his ways of bringing your favourite sweets to school, taking you home and around the city with his bike whenever you need to, sending you a sweet message randomly throughout the day to check up on you, never missing the opportunity to hug you, kiss you or keeping you close when you pass by, and yet… You can't help but miss him more than anything.

You tried to talk to him about it but he prefers for you to not get too involved in his gang business: he fears your safety, not wanting hundreds of testosterone-filled guys to get close to his beloved.

You fear nothing when he's by your side but he still turns you down when you ask to come along with him: he has lost too many people he cared about for his good and he has no intention of putting you in danger even the slightest.

This had to change.

That's why you're preventing him from heading to the meeting of Toman until he makes up his mind.

“Y/N! I'm gonna be late, please, give me those darn keys back, goddamnit!!”

His voice spurts out desperately, short puffs of air coming out of his mouth as he tries to catch his breath: you're fast for fuck’s sake!

He is a bit pissed at you for acting this stubborn, sure, but he can't help the wide smile that plasters on his face the more he hears you laugh every time he can't catch you, every time you hide behind his motorbike and fool him by running in the opposite direction, almost tripping on your own feet.

That smile of yours, that light in your eyes is worth every spare minute of his life and the meeting can wait if that means he has the chance to see you this full of energetic playfulness.

You're both in the flowers of your youth and sometimes you forget that due to how harsh life experiences can be. Moments like these make up for the lost time.

As you raise your hand high and shake his keys, making them jingle as you do so, you can't help but feel overpowered by pride: having your super athletic boyfriend, the invincible Mikey whining out to you so he can get what he wants isn't an everyday occurrence (I mean– unless he's begging for sweets or your attention, of course). Maybe you could break him and he would finally let you come along in one of his meetings.

“Begging ain't gonna do shit, you gotta work for it, Mikey!”

Sprinting to the other side of the garden of his house, you can feel him sigh exasperatedly and follow you along as he mutters “If I catch you–" in between a breathy laugh.

The wind feels magical against your skin, the cool breeze of the night after a heated summer day gives you goosebumps and yet you feel hot all over; your blood pressure rising with each stride of your run is what keeps you going, laughing nonstop as you stare up the full moon over your head briefly, savouring such a moment that will surely become a core memory of yours.

As you hide behind his motorbike once again, Mikey stops a few feet away from you, the vehicle is the only thing separating your bodies.

“You’re a menace, y/n!”

You shrug at his words, rotating his keys on the tip of your index finger with a proud expression.

“I guess that dating a delinquent made the trick– eek!”

You can't even finish your sentence as Mikey takes a run-up and easily jumps over his CB250T and lands not so graciously on top of you, making you fall on the grass with a thud. The impact doesn't hurt that much though, not when Mikey put a hand behind your head right on time so you couldn't injure the slightest.

He couldn't resist the urge to bring you down and wipe off your face that shit-eating grin and see that cute pout your peachy lips make every time he catches you by surprise. He's a weak man, bear with him.

Pinning you down on the floor he takes away his keys from your hand and smiles toothly: his rosy cheeks and messy hair shine under the moonlight, his obsidian gems staring into your soul easily make you melt and your initial annoyance turns into an amused laugh. He's your angel, no matter what.

“Sorry, what were you saying about dating a delinquent?”

Rolling your eyes at his statement, your smile slowly fades when he gets off you and brushes some grass away from your shirt with his hand, before kissing the top of your head with the soft petals of his lips.

He was going to leave again and that thought screeches inside your brain. It doesn't sit well with you the fact that he's keeping you detached from a big aspect of his life… There's a strong gut feeling that tells you you shouldn't let it slide, you should insist on being part of this area of his life because, if you don't, something extremely bad will happen in the future.

And Mikey sees right through you, he always does, because he loves you and he is connected to your being in every way for respect and admiration.

He feels the intimate bond you two share, he can almost touch that connection, he can feel the burn of the red string that connects the two of you.

He can feel his bones ache under the weight of letting you drown away from him so sad and helpless and whenever he sees your angelic face darken out of worry and fear for him, for the both of you.

He knew why you took the keys away from him that day and he couldn't help finding it amusing and cute... but believe me when I say he's not blind and recognises the desperate attempt to have yourself near him for longer.

Mikey stands up from the ground and offers you his hand to stand up, his calloused hand brushes against your tender palm and holds in a strong and warm hold that doesn't flatter even when you're finally standing.

Staring down at your feet, your voice comes out in a whisper, a loving but pained one.

“Please, be careful Mik–”

“Hop on.”

Your head snaps up, your eyes searching for his out of confusion and then hope.

The two of you are intimate, you understand each other's worries and can feel them within your organs, you can feel each emotion run through your being and resonate like a magnetic wave from you to him and vice versa.

You two are flames that burn for love, with love: your glint should never flatter, you deserve to feel it alive and vibrating.

Mikey smiles at you as he puts his helmet on top of your head and secures it attentively.

“I'll keep you safe, pinkey promise”.

That's your man to you.

I have had this idea bouncing inside my head for a while now! I've been inspired by this post of the sweet @xsleepinggoodx.

I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it.

English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes!

Sending y'all hugs. ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

©GOLDENGIRLIEZ do not repost or modify on any platform.

[wearysparrows]

The D Word

ao3/masterlist

Summary: At Tara's suggestion, you try something different on the phone with Sylus. Things quickly escalate.

CW(18+): daddy kink, phone sex (kind of), masturbation, dirty talk, fem (afab) reader, female terms of endearment are used, cringe pet names, porn with feelings, reader is MC, sylus is not a booktok daddy dom, he's so much more than that to me 3.4k

“Why don’t you just try it? He seems to dote on you so much already. It doesn’t seem like a stretch.”

Tara, your best friend and semi-frequent interloper into your personal relationships, was attempting to convince you to get under Sylus’s skin. “Skye,” as she knew him. Your boyfriend in every sense of the word – except that you had never made it official. Tara was especially privy to this fact – it had become nearly impossible to hide all of the time you spent with Sylus from her, nevermind the constant influx of gifts and attention from him. He had never broached the subject of putting a name on your current relationship, and you had been too nervous to ask for fear of scaring him off, or being rejected. As things stood now, you were soaking up what he was willing to give you – which, to be fair, was quite a bit. 

Tara wasn’t wrong, though. Despite your lack of a label, you had begun to rely on Sylus in a way that differed from anyone else in your life. While your relationship had started on a purely professional level, it had quickly evolved into something much more personal. As it stood now, you even relied on him for assistance with mundane tasks – like helping you build furniture, or heavy lifting that you could definitely do but didn’t want to if there was a big, strong Sylus around instead. He came at your beck and call without much complaint, and often initiated spending time with you on his own accord.

Still, there was one aspect that was missing. Despite your continually growing affection and reliance on him, you and Sylus had never been truly intimate with each other. You had definitely sexted him more than a few times – and he had happily reciprocated. You weren’t an idiot, either. You were certain you had felt him hard against you more times than you could count while settling down to a movie, or while lazing around in bed. This was another thing that he had never broached of his own volition – which made you reluctant to try Tara’s line of encouragement to tease him. You weren’t sure if he was being respectful, just wasn’t that into you, or if it was something else entirely.

“I don’t know, Tara. What if he like, gets grossed out and completely drops me?”

Tara, who was sitting across from you on the couch in your apartment, wrapped up like a burrito with a cup of tea in her hands, raised a quizzical eyebrow in your general direction.

“Are you kidding me? The man looks at you like he’s liable to eat you at any moment. You could probably ask him to take the moon down for you, and he’d find a way.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her turn of phrase. Her encouragement was wearing away at your reservations. If he hated it, maybe he’d just brush it off and pretend it never happened. Best case scenario, you figured. You didn’t even want to consider the worst case scenario. You sighed, relenting to her devious plans for your situationship. She had yet to steer you wrong when you had come to her for advice in the Sylus department.

“Fine, fine. I’ll try it. If it all comes crashing down, I’m blaming you, though.”

Tara grinned, looking extremely pleased with herself. She sipped her tea innocuously, hiding her smile behind the drink as if you hadn’t already seen its evil intent.

“You have to let me know how it goes.”

This was how you had ended up pacing around your house that night, unable to bear executing your plan from the safety of your bed. You had too much nervous energy, even after completing your nighttime routine. It was late – around 11PM. Just around the time you knew that Sylus had finally begun to start his “day.” You had locked and unlocked your phone to send him a text more times than you could count, now. You stared at the irritatingly blank message box under Sylus’s contact. It really wasn’t helpful that the last set of messages between you two was about something incredibly innocuous – something about going to the shooting range to blow off some steam. The friendly nature of the messages did nothing to bolster your confidence on this matter. You made your way to the couch, finally forcing yourself to stop screwing around. You put a blanket over your bare legs, which had taken on a bit of a chill from the night air in the apartment. You opened the message thread between you and Sylus. You took a breath. Your heart thudded around, and threatened to take up residence next to your intestines as you typed out a message.

Me:

Hi. Whatcha doing?

11:03PM

You eyeballed your own text. Innocent enough. You weren’t sure if Sylus would even respond – sometimes the two of you were both so busy that you went days without contact. It wasn’t ideal, but to be expected considering the nature of your lives. You, a Deepspace Hunter, and him, the enigmatic leader of Onychinus. Despite earlier anxieties, you knew now that Sylus would always get back to you eventually. You couldn’t help your surprise, though, when his response came within the same minute of your original message.

Sylus:

In a meeting. grueling. Everything OK?

11:03PM

You stared at his response. This was the one thing that was difficult about texting Sylus – he wasn’t one for casual conversation over text, unless it was about making plans, or very brief. He seemed to be under the assumption that you texting him, especially at night, was because you needed something from him. He technically wasn’t wrong in this case, you mused, though you weren’t sure it was a need he was even willing to fulfill. Or cared to. You worried your lip between your teeth, trying not to doubt yourself now. Tara’s words about Sylus wanting to eat you came back into your mind, and you stifled a laugh in the silence of your empty apartment. You imagined him sitting in on his meeting, bored out of his mind. The image made you want to see him all the more.

Me:

Everything’s fine. Couldn’t sleep and I was just thinking about you

11:04PM

You had to force yourself to hit send, squeezing your eyes shut as you did so. It wasn’t as if you had never told Sylus something like this before (though not enormously often), but your trepidation about your plans was combined with the fact that he was currently in a meeting, and therefore liable to ignore your texts entirely (for good reason). Being rejected in an indirect way was somehow worse than if he had just outright said he wasn’t interested. Despite your reservations, the reply came quickly.

Sylus:

Funny, I was thinking about you too. want to tell me exactly what it is you’ve been thinking about me?

11:04PM

You felt your face heat up into a hot crimson at his response. It wasn’t overt at all – and you couldn’t even be quite sure that he had meant it like that . It was sometimes impossible to tell with Sylus, especially over text. He often said things that could be taken many ways. You were certain that you could be inconveniencing him in whatever extremely-serious-Sylus-business meeting he was engaged with. But it was too late to back out now. Your mind was made up. You took a breath, steadying yourself.

Me:

Was thinking about what we’d do if you were here. It’s pretty cold tonight.

11:04PM

You opened your camera app. The room was somewhat dark, so your form was a bit obscured, but just visible enough in the low light to take a photo. You turned over to lay on your stomach, and kicked your feet leisurely into the air. You were wearing one of Sylus’s big sweaters, which he had loaned out to you in the name of the recently dropping temperatures. Other than that, you had elected only to wear your panties underneath it. You snapped a picture, not including your face. You squinted at it. It showed the slope of your back, and the swell of your ass, just barely peeking out to show your panties from under his sweater. The bare soles of your feet and the backs of your bare legs were visible, too. You quickly righted yourself onto your back, pulling the blanket back over your form. You attached the photo to the message and hit send before you could change your mind. You buried your face in the blanket. You weren’t sure about the logistics of him opening the photo in his meeting – but considering it was Sylus, the leader of Onychinus, Relentless Conqueror ,  you doubted it was that much of a problem. 

There was a space of about two minutes before Sylus’s reply, and you had already begun to worry that you had somehow managed to push it too far this time. Maybe he just wasn’t that into you. But the reply came just as you had begun debating apologizing for overstepping.

Sylus:

Do you think it’s fun to get me all riled up while there’s other men in the room? If I was there, I’d already have two fingers inside of you.

11:06PM

Attached was a photo of Sylus from the waist down. He was seated with his legs open in a relaxed position. You recognized the black slacks he was wearing – some of his favorites. You even recognized his shoes. The carpet you didn’t recognize. Clearly in an establishment belonging to someone else. But none of this was important, because you could clearly see the outline of his erection straining against his pants. And it was big . You knew Sylus was big – of course you did. There was never any doubt. You had felt it before. You tried to imagine what it would feel like to take him all in when he was fully aroused. You were already feeling slick between your thighs. He had casually taken a photo of his hardon during a meeting. He was hard because of you.

Shit.

You had never even gone so far as to feel each other up (short of fleeting touches), but he was already talking about fingering you over text after just one slightly risque photo. You would have to unpack that another time. Right now, there were more pressing matters. You figured now was as good a time as any to try it out – Tara’s idea. Your mouth suddenly felt very dry. You forced your fingers to swipe across the keyboard. Your anxiety and arousal had combined into a feeling like that of nearly being outside of your body as you typed, and you hardly recognized your own words on the screen before you sent them.

Me:

I’d rather have your cock inside me, daddy

11:06PM

You flung your phone to the end of the couch, where it landed with a soft thud . You could hardly send the message, let alone read it back more than once. You put your face in your hands, wondering if you had just screwed up all of the time you had spent cultivating your current relationship – whatever it was – with Sylus. While you had nothing for contempt for him when you had first encountered him, he had slowly wormed his way into your mind until he began to consume your every waking thought. You were always wondering where he was, what he was doing, what he was thinking. If he was thinking about you. If he was wondering about you, too.

There was a lull of time, and Sylus still hadn’t responded. One minute passed, then two, then three, then four. You felt yourself begin to sweat with the anxiety of it, and kicked the blanket from your body once again. Maybe you really had fucked up. You reached for your phone, intending to check the time. As soon as you touched it, it began to ring. You nearly dropped it again in your shock, but managed to right it in your hands. It was Sylus calling. Your palms were slick with sweat.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 His name and contact photo stared you squarely in the face from your phone screen. You gawked at it while it rang. You had never expected him to call you in response to your teasing – nevermind the fact that he had been in a meeting only minutes prior. Maybe he even intended to admonish you. Your heart had begun to beat erratically. In your anxiety and excitement, you even had begun to feel a bit nauseous. You took a great intake of breath, steadying yourself. You hit the answer button with a shaky thumb.

“Hello?” You answered. Your voice sounded much calmer than you felt. As if you hadn’t just been asking your not-boyfriend to put his dick inside you over text. As if you hadn’t just referred to him as daddy. Your knee bounced up and down involuntarily, your nervous energy having nowhere else to direct itself. It felt like ages before he responded on the other end of the line.

“Tell me what you just told me over text.” 

You felt your ears grow even hotter at his command. His tone was raspy and hushed. He sounded needy . You had never heard his voice like this before. The sound of it only made you feel even more aroused than you already were, combined with his commanding timbre. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought he was trying not to be discovered, somewhere. Had he stepped out of the meeting just to call you for this? You twisted your thighs together, squirming.

The thought of following through with his command flooded you with even more embarrassment than you already felt. Over text was one thing, but over the phone? You had hardly had the guts to send it, let alone say it out loud. Your mouth suddenly felt even more dry. Your tongue flicked out in an attempt to wet your lips, with little success.

“I..”

You attempted to start, but you lost steam. You took a shaky breath. Sylus was quiet on the other end of the line. Clearly waiting for you to continue. It was if you could feel his gaze on you, without even being with you here. If Sylus wanted something, he wouldn’t stop until he got it. You began again.

“I said I…that I’d rather have your cock inside me, daddy.” You couldn’t help but emphasize the last word, just a little. He seemed like he was into it, after all. Your own voice sounded foreign to your ears. 

“Fuck. ” Came the growl of a response. It was rare to hear Sylus curse – and something about you eliciting that response from him was incredibly sexy. You felt your core pulse in response to just one word from him. You heard the sound of metal jingling –  what you thought sounded like him struggling with his belt. 

Did he go to the bathroom or something to get himself off on the phone with you?

You swallowed dryly. Sylus’s voice came to you again. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, princess. My pretty girl. If I was there right now, I’d be fucking you so hard that you’d forget your own name.” 

You heard fabric rustling, and the sound of wet skin on skin. He was definitely jerking off to this. He had referred to you as his . You desperately resisted the urge to get yourself off at the same time – you wanted to enjoy him losing his composure over you, just this once. It was rare for him to lose face in front of you – let alone show you a side of him like this. You pressed your ear against the speaker harder, trying to catch more of his noises. He continued speaking. 

“And you’re wearing my shirt. I just know you’d feel so fucking tight around my cock. I’ve wanted to take you for so long, baby. But I’ve held back. Fuck .”

Your panties were completely soaked, now. You opted to remove them entirely, discarding them thoughtlessly over the edge of the couch, exposing yourself to the cool night air. You thought about Sylus touching himself to the thought of you. To the thought of being inside of you. How he might feel inside of you. Stretching you to your very limits. You suddenly felt very, very empty without him filling you up.

“You can fuck me the next time you come over. I want you to. Really badly.” You blurted, voice barely above a whisper. It sounded incredibly loud to you in the stillness of your apartment. It hadn’t been at all what you intended to say – despite the insanity of the situation, you were worried offering yourself up to him so soon would somehow still put him off of it. But it was what you wanted. You couldn’t help but be honest when he was like this.

“Shi–iit,” He breathed.

“I’m gonna fill you up, sweetheart. And you’re gonna take all of my cum inside, do you understand? You’re going to be so good and take it all for me.” 

You could tell he was already getting close. The wet, lewd sound on the other end of the line had increased its tempo, and he was breathing so hard you swore you could almost feel his hot breath in your ear as if he were already on top of you, inside of you. You clenched around nothing for what felt like the umpteenth time that night. You had no idea you could want someone this much.

“You can cum inside me, daddy. I’ll take it all, okay? As...as many times as you want.” You had begun to feel more confident now, emboldened by Sylus’s response to your words. You didn’t know you could have such a strong effect on him. Despite your nervousness, you began to feel the beginnings of anticipation for when he would actually fuck you.

“Fuck. Fu-uuck . Gonna cum, baby. Holy shit. ” His orgasm was nearly silent except for his words and the intensity of his breath. You wondered if he was always quiet, or if it was just because he was getting off to the sound of your voice in a public place that he shouldn’t be. You squirmed, your own unresolved arousal now leaking onto your thighs. You wiped at it half heartedly. You could hear Sylus panting, trying to collect himself. Righting his pants and belt after cleaning himself off quickly. You listened intently to these sounds. He had cum so quickly to you that you almost couldn’t believe what had just happened.

His voice came to you again, still sounding a bit wrecked.

“If I could, I’d come there right now and take care of you. I’m going to come and see you tomorrow. As soon as I can. Wait for me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his insistence. He was trying to reassure you, you realized. He wouldn’t just disappear back into his world like nothing had just happened between you. Your heart fluttered in your chest like a bird that longed to go to him from its cage. 

“Okay. I’ll be waiting. Sorry for interrupting your meeting.” Not that you were actually sorry. Still, it was only right to apologize.

Sylus snorted in response.

“You’re much more important than these fools. But I do have to get back to them eventually, unfortunately. I’m sure they’re wondering where I’ve gone. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.” 

Butterflies flitted about in your stomach. Sylus referring to your importance in his life always made your insides twist up in all different directions. You wanted to be filled up with him in more ways than one.

“Okay. Talk to you soon. Bye, Sylus.” 

“Goodnight, little dove.”

You hung up the line. The air suddenly felt very empty without the sound of Sylus panting in your ear, and the cold began to creep back into your bones. Despite him never having actually been with you physically during the call, he had certainly managed to warm you up. You padded quickly back into your bedroom and buried yourself into the plush blankets of your bed. You thought about getting off – but Sylus’s words came to you.

Wait for me.

You knew that Sylus was a man of his word. He had never fallen back on a promise to you, and you knew tomorrow would be no different. It would be better if you held off. The anticipation made it that much more intense. You elected to finally find your way to sleep, your last thoughts conjuring images of all the ways Sylus would find to bend and fold you over for his own pleasure.

[p0orbaby]

Dancing in the Dark

summary: a tactics coach and a vice captain walk into a bar… have a not so secret relationship

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

a/n: i asked for requests and someone sent me this gem

word count: 3.1k

-

Leah texts you at exactly 12:02 a.m., a time she insists is “late enough to avoid suspicion but early enough that we’re not knackered in the morning.” The precision of it is very Leah—practical, calculated, with just the faintest whisper of rebellion. It’s always the same text—Room 308—as if she’s writing it for a stranger who might need the address for their sat nav. She never adds punctuation. You think that’s intentional, a way of keeping it casual, devoid of any intimacy that could be misconstrued.

You’ve stopped bothering to reply. It’s not that you don’t want to see her—want isn’t the word for what you feel when you see her name flash on your screen, but it’s close enough. It’s that typing on my way feels excessive when the answer’s already obvious. She knows you’ll come. You know she knows. And there’s something about that silent agreement that feels like the only part of this whole arrangement that makes sense.

The desk lamp casts a faint yellow glow across the room as you pack up. Your laptop goes into the bag first, followed by the notepad you’ve been using to scribble ideas for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. You pause to carefully align its corner with the edge of the desk—a habit you’ve had since you were a child, though you’re not sure if it’s a quirk of personality or a learned behaviour from years of Catholic school and its draconian rules about neatness.

Your hoodie is next, slung over the back of the chair like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. It’s an old one from university, the logo cracked and peeling, the sleeves stretched from too many washes. It smells faintly of your laundry detergent—a scent marketed as “ocean breeze,” though you’ve always thought it smells more like cheap fabric softener and an overactive imagination. Nothing about it suggests the ocean, or even a breeze. It’s more akin to the air freshener in a Southend-on-Sea rental cottage, the kind with faded floral curtains and a broken kettle. You wonder, briefly, if Leah would find this thought amusing. Probably. She has a way of laughing at things that don’t seem funny until she does.

The hotel corridor is silent, save for the distant hum of a vending machine and the occasional creak of overused floorboards. You walk quickly, your trainers barely making a sound on the patterned carpet—a gaudy, swirling design in shades of burgundy and gold that seems to scream corporate retreat. You keep your eyes trained forward, as if avoiding eye contact with the carpet will somehow render you invisible to anyone who might happen to step out of their room.

You’ve mapped out every staff member’s room, memorised the most efficient route, and calculated the probability of running into someone based on their known habits. Karen from PR always goes to bed early, probably still jet-lagged from the US tour. The physio, Jamie, is a night owl, but he’s more likely to be glued to Netflix than wandering the halls. Leah finds this level of detail ridiculous.

“You’re acting like MI5 is going to raid the place,” she’d said once, sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her hair was still damp from the shower, a faint halo of gold catching the light as she turned her head to look at you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know”

She’d been peeling off your shirt as she said it, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, her eyes glittering with amusement. You wanted to argue, to tell her that fun is precisely what you’re having, in the only way you know how to have it: meticulously planned, risk-assessed, and executed with the precision of a military operation. But then her hands had moved lower, and the argument had dissolved into something else entirely. Something much harder to put into words.

-

Room 308. You knock twice—firm, precise knocks that betray none of the absurd nervousness bubbling under the surface. The kind that makes your palms clammy and your chest feel like it’s trying to audition for a drum solo. The knocks are part of a ritual now, as familiar as tying your boots before a match or double-checking the pitch markings. Three sharp raps, never four, because three would seem impatient, and two would feel too casual, as though you’re dropping by to borrow sugar or ask for her Netflix password.

The door opens almost instantly, as if she’s been standing on the other side, waiting for you. Leah’s dressed in one of those oversized T-shirts she always wears off the pitch, the kind that blur the line between effortless and lazy. This one is black, or it might have been once, but it’s faded now, the fabric soft and worn thin at the seams. The logo across the chest is barely legible—AC__ME—as though it’s been through the wash one too many times. You can’t tell if it’s a nod to Arsenal, a subtle homage to Wile E. Coyote’s endless misfortunes, or one of those niche designer brands that only appear on people with a six-figure salary and a curated Instagram aesthetic. It’s probably the latter. Leah strikes you as the kind of person who’d know what Vetements is and pretend she doesn’t care about it while secretly owning three pieces.

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. Her voice has this easy warmth to it, like she’s just woken up from the kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is. There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, the faint lilt of someone who’s just thought of something funny but isn’t planning to share it with the group. You’ve always liked that about her—how she can hold a joke in her mouth like a secret, like it’s something she doesn’t owe to anyone else.

“Hi,” you reply, because what else is there to say? Hello feels too formal, like you’ve shown up for a job interview, and anything else—anything softer, more intimate—feels dangerous. Like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff just to see how far you can lean before gravity kicks in.

Her room is a mirror image of yours, down to the garish burgundy carpet and beige curtains that don’t quite close properly. It’s a symphony of stereotypical hotel design, where the furniture all looks like it’s been bolted down as a precaution against theft. But there’s something different about hers, something distinctly Leah. It smells faintly of her perfume, a citrusy Chanel scent you’d once looked for in John Lewis out of curiosity. You’d sprayed it onto one of those paper tester strips, only to feel your lungs contract at the price tag. It smells like sunshine and sharp edges, and now it’s permanently tangled up in your memory of her.

The bed is unmade, the covers thrown haphazardly across the mattress like they’ve been caught mid-escape. One pillow teeters on the edge, a casualty of her apparent inability to sleep neatly. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand, its label peeling from condensation. A pair of socks—crew-length, white with a small Nike tick—lie abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, one inside out. The room is messy in a way that surprises you. Leah, who is precise and meticulous on the pitch, leaves her personal space in a state of mild chaos. And for some reason, it makes you smile. It’s humanising, like finding out that superheroes still get toothpaste on their shirts.

You step inside, careful not to trip over her trainers—Adidas Sambas in a muted beige tone, scuffed at the edges but somehow still immaculate in their coolness. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound punctuating the silence like a full stop. You turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the dresser now, her hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. She’s watching you, her eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of open skies and lost afternoons.

“What?” you ask, because the weight of her gaze always makes you self-conscious, like you’ve walked into a room wearing mismatched socks.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You just look…” She pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air like an unfinished melody.

“What?” you repeat, a little sharper this time, though you’re smiling too.

“Like you’re trying not to smile,” she finishes, pushing off the dresser and moving closer.

And maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying not to give away how much you like this—the quiet intimacy of it, the way she looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who knows what this feels like. Maybe you’re trying not to admit how much you want to reach out and touch her, to close the space between you with a single step. But you don’t. Not yet.

-

The sex is unhurried, languid. Leah moves with the same precision she does on the pitch, her hands mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, like she’s planning her next move three steps in advance. It’s the same deliberation you’ve seen in her during matches—the way she reads the game like it’s written in a language only she understands. But this isn’t a match. There are no spectators, no whistles, no rules, just her and you and the slow, deliberate way she’s undoing you, piece by piece.

Her kisses are deep, focused. They land with intent, the kind that makes you forget your own name, let alone the fragile, tenuous boundaries of this arrangement. Her mouth lingers on yours, then moves to your neck, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. She doesn’t bite, not yet, but you can feel her teeth graze your skin, an unspoken promise that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of the hotel sheets.

Her fingertips press into your skin—not hard enough to hurt but just firm enough to leave the ghost of her touch behind, as though she’s marking her territory. They trace the length of your back, down your spine, to your hips. Her thumbs skim over the waistband of your joggers before she tugs them down with a kind of casual confidence that feels maddeningly unfair. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always does.

“You’re so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing. She presses a kiss to your collarbone, her hands slipping beneath your shirt to push it up, her palms warm against your ribs. “That’s not like you”

“I’m—” You try to respond, but her mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice smug as she moves lower, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, her pace agonisingly slow. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips instinctively, barely registering the soft laugh she lets out, the sound dark and smooth like melted chocolate.

There’s no rush. Leah’s always like this—methodical, unhurried. She knows how to take her time, how to keep you teetering on the edge until your body feels like it’s no longer your own. She kisses her way back up, pausing to nip at your jaw, your shoulder, the place where your pulse beats just beneath your skin. Her hand slips between your thighs, her touch deliberate, controlled. And you’re gone.

It’s like a tidal wave, slow to build but devastating when it crashes over you. You’re not sure when you start begging—if it even counts as begging, the broken sounds spilling from your lips without your consent—but Leah doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems pleased, her smirk pressing against the hollow of your throat as she mutters something you’re too far gone to catch.

At some point, she presses her forehead to yours, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She murmurs something—low, unintelligible, a slurred mix of swear words and your name. Or maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s a prayer. Maybe it’s both. You don’t ask her to repeat it. You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe, your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer like you can merge into her, like you can stop time if you just hold on tightly enough.

By the time you collapse onto the mattress, tangled in the hotel’s suspiciously rough sheets, you’re vaguely aware of how loud you’ve been. The walls are thin. The kind of thing where you can hear your neighbour’s TV murmuring away or the occasional flush of a toilet. It’s almost comedic, really, the way you’d tried so hard to avoid being seen earlier, only to make it painfully obvious now. You half expect a knock on the door, some irate teammate demanding silence.

Leah doesn’t seem to care. Of course she doesn’t. She lies beside you, her face flushed, her hair falling loose from the ponytail she’d barely tried to secure. She’s smirking, the way she always does after these nights, like she’s just scored the winning goal and nobody else on the team noticed. Her arm brushes against yours as she stretches out, her skin warm and damp, her breathing slow and even.

-

The next morning, you arrive at breakfast twenty minutes late, a record even for you. You’ve spent the better part of that time in front of the mirror, tilting your head at impossible angles to assess the carnage Leah left on your neck. Hickeys, in various stages of bruise-like blossoming, dot your skin like a battlefield casualty report. You try concealer—two layers, then three—but it only makes you look like you’ve dipped your neck in cake batter. After an extensive wardrobe evaluation, you settle on a jumper with a collar just high enough to obscure the worst of it, but not so high that it screams I’ve made several poor life choices and am now concealing the evidence.

You enter the dining area cautiously, your eyes scanning for witnesses like you’re in the opening sequence of Casino Royale. The room is loud with the sound of clinking cutlery, chairs scraping against linoleum, and conversations overlapping in a way that is both chaotic and oddly comforting. You spot Katie McCabe first, standing by the buffet with a bowl of cereal that is more milk than anything resembling a solid. Her spoon hovers mid-air as she glances at you, then swivels her head in Leah’s direction, who is seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone like she has never made a suspicious noise in her life.

Katie’s eyes narrow, and her mouth stretches into a grin so wicked it should be trademarked. She sets her cereal down and makes a beeline for you, walking with the kind of determination that belongs exclusively to people with too much time on their hands and absolutely no regard for personal boundaries.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes dart to your neck, then back up to your face. “Someone had a busy night.”

You freeze. Instinctively, your hand twitches toward the collar of your jumper, but you stop yourself. Guilty behaviour. Act normal. Be cool. You shrug in what you hope is a convincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, don’t play dumb,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. “What’s that, then? Tactical bruising? Working on a new game plan?”

“I slipped in the shower,” you deadpan. It’s a lie so bad it physically hurts to say, but the alternative is giving Katie McCabe ammunition, and you’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.

She snorts. “Jesus, you’ve got to at least try with these excuses”

You glare at her, but it’s useless. Katie is like a shark in open water—she can smell blood, and she’s circling. She follows you to the table, sliding into the chair next to yours without so much as an invitation. Her cereal sloshes precariously in her bowl, milk dripping onto the edge of the table. She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

Leah, of course, is completely unbothered. She’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone like she’s reading the football section of The Guardian and not actively trying to avoid eye contact with you. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie that looks suspiciously like yours. Katie clocks the hoodie immediately and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Not yet.

“Just to clarify,” Katie says, her voice loud enough to carry to the next table, “are we calling this a team-building exercise or…?”

Leah doesn’t even flinch. Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Mind your business, McCabe”

Katie lets out a delighted laugh, stealing a slice of toast from your plate like she’s earned it. “Oh, it is my business,” she says, buttering the toast with an enthusiasm that borders on offensive. “You lot kept me up all night. Thought someone was being murdered in the next room. Turns out it was just—”

“Katie,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. Your face is burning, your ears hot enough to fry an egg on.

Katie leans back in her chair, utterly unrepentant. “Relax,” she says, taking a bite of the toast she stole. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now”

She winks at you, a gesture so insufferable you consider lobbing a teaspoon at her head. Instead, you glance at Leah, whose lips are twitching at the edges, betraying the smirk she’s desperately trying to suppress.

You shoot her a glare that you hope translates to I will kill you later, but she only raises an eyebrow, as if to say go ahead, make my day.

Katie’s still watching you, her grin as infuriating as ever. “You’re lucky it was me who heard you,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Imagine if it had been Beth. She’d have the whole squad doing impressions by now”

Leah finally looks up from her phone, her expression cool, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “You done?”

Katie holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, try keeping it down. Or don’t. Makes for great entertainment”

You slump in your chair, burying your face in your hands. You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, and when you finally peek through your fingers, she’s smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, but actually smiling, like this is the most fun she’s had in weeks.

You make a mental note to kill her later. Or maybe kiss her. You haven’t decided yet.

[gicosmo]

When They Neglect You Pt.1

One Piece Men(Luffy, Shanks, Mihawk, Corazon)

Warnings: Neglect, A bit a toxicity on Mihawk’s part, Corazon being a stressed, Doflamingo(he deserves his own warning), Just overall angst for this first part :((

This is my first time writing for One Piece characters lol. I’m sorry if any of them are ooc😔Part 2

Luffy

You knew Luffy would never intentionally ignore you. Let alone neglect the whole relationship. But that didn’t stop the pang in your chest when you realized you weren’t spending as much time with him.

Walking around on an island, the town was bustling with people. The crew finally had some air to breathe after continuous battles. Finally, you thought you had a chance to be close with your boyfriend again. Reaching for his hand to hold, he suddenly stops, snatching his hand away from yours.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt your feelings. It hurt. A lot.

“Looks like we’re fighting again.” Luffy chuckles, cracking his knuckles with a sly smile. Zoro huffed, readying his sword by his side. Sanji sighed, “Do we ever catch a break?”

“Luffy—”

“Sorry! Not now!” Luffy replied ever so quickly before jumping straight into fighting. Even though it was a moment to fight, a hurt feeling still rose in your heart.

You felt like you were overreacting… Or maybe this was just the result of being constantly pushed aside, regardless if intentional or not?

Shanks

Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time Shanks had neglected the relationship. And it definitely won’t be the last.

But this incident ticked you off to the max. After sailing to an island, Shanks had conducted his usual business. After he was done, of course the crew had to celebrate(even when it wasn’t really necessary).

In the bar the crew cheered and laughed. The overall vibe was positive, nothing but smiles plastered on everyone’s faces. Well… Everyone except you. Throughout the night you had tried getting Shanks’ attention, but his attention was always elsewhere.

You were moping in the corner, your brow twitching in irritation. After a while, Beckman made his way over to you with a soft smile,

“Someone’s upset.” He chuckled.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” You sighed, rubbing your temples. Beckman just shook his head with a smile, “When is it never.” He grabbed a chair, sitting next to you, “Go on. Tell me what he did this time.”

You laughed. Beckman always had to be the peacemaker, “It’s what he always does, Beck. Every time I want a bit of his attention, it’s always elsewhere.” You sighed as you looked up, the sight you saw sending you over the edge.

There Shanks was, chatting it up with someone else. Being a bit too friendly for your liking. Beckman followed your gaze, immediately mentally face palming. He was about to speak but you had already left the bar.

All Beckman could do was sigh and shake his head. Seems like he had to be the one to make peace. Again.

Mihawk

Your relationship with Mihawk was nothing but bliss. Everybody around you would be shocked to hear of such a sweet relationship ever happening with such an apathetic man like him. But he loved you… Or so you thought?

When Zoro and Perona lived with you both for two years, your relationship did have its moments of distance. Mainly due to Mihawk helping with training for Zoro and you doing your duties that you usually did.

You both knew having two strangers, two strangers that were practically your guy’s children during those two years, would put some type of strain on the relationship. But you both silently agreed that you both always found a way to make things work.

When Zoro and Perona left, you couldn’t lie about the slight emptiness that filled the castle. The only upside was now you could be close with your lover again. Well, you thought that was supposed to be an upside, only it didn’t happen.

“I’m busy.” Mihawk spoke with little to no interest, not even sparing you a glance as he read the newspaper. You crossed your arms, glaring at him, “Mihawk, it’s been weeks since those two left and you still haven’t at least tried to put some effort into our relationship again?”

Mihawk sighed, a sigh you knew all too well,

“I honestly don’t understand what you’re getting upset about.”

“And I honestly don’t know who you’re talking to right now.” You snapped back rather quickly. Mihawk placed his newspaper down, standing up and staring you down, “You’ve never been this much of a pain before. We were and are quite fine.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. He thought the relationship was… Fine? You immediately scoffed, “Oh? So you think us being distant from one another is fine?”

“I liked it when you weren’t a nagging brat.”

“I’m nagging now? Seriously?”

All you could do was shake your head. Not bearing to hear whatever else he had to say, you immediately stormed off.

Little did Mihawk know, you got on a boat and left. You didn’t know where you were going, but anywhere was better than being with someone who clearly didn’t care for you anymore.

Corazon

Corazon was also someone who wouldn’t intentionally neglect you. Your relationship was a secret from the Donquixote family, more specifically, Doflamingo.

Corazon and you took a liking to one another. You didn’t care that he was mute, well, you thought he was mute until he revealed who he really was to you one day. That faithful day solidified your relationship. He couldn’t have been any happier.

What he wasn’t happy about, however, was Doflamingo’s ever so obvious liking to you. Countless times he had to sit there and witness his brothers constant flirts and rather interesting remarks about you. The whole thing made his blood boil.

Everything changed when Law came into the picture. Corazon made it his mission to save him, and you, of course, tagged along on said mission. You really didn’t have a choice since Corazon wouldn’t dare leave you alone with his brother.

Going from hospital to hospital was stressful for everyone. Corazon witnessing how horrible society really was irked him day by day. He slowly began to lose hope, but didn’t show it much. But you knew better than that.

Day by day, he would pull away from you. In all honesty, you barely noticed it since you were so busy comforting Law. It was one day when Law was sleeping, you went to talk about your frustrations to Corazon only for his responses to be short. If you even got a response, that is.

Of course you were hurt, but you understood. This whole thing was stressful on everyone. You could keep your feelings to yourself or find other ways to let out your frustrations.

But you couldn’t.

Law thankfully had comfort from you. Corazon found comfort in occasionally smoking and sometimes maybe a drink or two. You? You had nothing.

You wanted nothing more but the love from your partner… But you felt selfish for wanting that when you all had more important things to worry about.

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki x reader (fem)

a.n; i blame this completely over the Olympics, again. sorry, but it has me on chokehold and i'm not resisting against it LOL 😜

Okay, hear me out...

Third date with Bakugou Katsuki.

The first one, of course, was very awkward and tense and sometimes even a bit worrisome. We are talking about dating Bakugou Katsuki, the one aggressive and violent Pro Hero that everybody has a hate-love feeling towards for; because the man looks and acts –and can– step on your head and crush it with malicious intent and yet, he's Nº 2 Pro Hero on the ranks and you just know that if he's around, you are completely safe. But he's big and tough and harsh in his talking and walking –how can anyone look that scary by just walking, you're still wondering, but it's real. He's fucking scary.

The second date was way more relaxed. He cooked for you. In his massive penthouse that probably costs more than your annual salary. Yep, morherfucker is rich rich. And you think he deserves it really. After all the troubles he goes through to keep the whole country safe –and even the world–, he completely deserves it. You just forgot how well he does his job to get to be that rich. You don't care about money though. You're dating him because you saw him helping a granny cross the street and that was the cutest thing you ever saw. So, back to the second date, he cooked for you, and damn... now you can say you'll keep dating him because of his food. Man cooks like the gods, like a fucking professional chef of the most expensive restaurant on earth. And also, you noticed how relaxed and in peace he looked in his own environment and he looked. So. Freaking. Attractive. Hot even. He looked just so... deliciously handsome.

So for the third date, and because he picked the second one, this one was of your choice. You decide to go ice skating. And you did not expect what happened at all. 

One would expect that Pro Hero Dynamight, civilian name Bakugou Katsuki, being who he is, would have exceptional balance and even a hidden talent for this. You’re wrong. Everyone is wrong. The second the blades of his skates touched the Ice Rink, he fell. Your eyes opened wide and you definitely were holding back your laugh as he struggled to get himself up by holding the handrail around the rink.

“Need some help?” You asked, getting close to him with no trouble at all. He looked up at you annoyed, struggling so hard to get up and keep his balance that his cheeks turned pink. How. Freaking. Cute. You’re glad that dating the Pro Hero came with its perks –like closing the whole rink just so only you and him are there, enjoying your date on a late wednesday night.

“Shut up. No, I can do it…” He declared, but another fall on his knees made you giggle while sliding backwards and away from him with ease, hands up in surrender. Katsuki looked at you once his stood for the nth time holding the handrail like dear life with a frown on his face, watching you how easy you made it look, “How the fuck are you doing that?”

You giggled again, amused by all of this situation. Sliding back towards him and extending your hands, you said, “Come one, let me help.”

Katsuki buffed but he placed his hands on yours, whole body trembling, barely holding himself up. The image of him sticking his ass up and body bending forward while his feet barely moved made you laugh out loud and he yelled another “shut up!”.

You changed your grip to his forearms and again slid backwards to make him move forward, his legs still trembling and his eyes never leaving the floor. He looked so cute, it made your heart flutter. The smile never left your face as you spoke again, “I used to skate a lot when I was younger. I even prepared myself to compete, but an injury put me out of the game.” 

He immediately looked back at you at your words, “What happened?” He looked curious, but also worried and kind of sad.

You shrugged, “I landed pretty badly over my right leg after a spinning jump once. After that, the shin splints became unbearable and I couldn't continue…” 

He looked down at your leg, watching you move attentively, “Does it hurt now?”

You shook your head and smiled at him, grateful for his worry, “Naah. It would only hurt badly if I tried to skate the way I used to… Guess I demanded a lot of myself back then.”

Katsuki didn’t comment further on, but he kept his attention on your leg. Didn’t that make him even cuter! 

It took you a while –long while– to finally be able to let go of one of his forearms once he was ready on his balance; his other hand still held yours strongly.

Time went by, both of you laughing and smiling while skating around the rink, hand in hand. You’re so happy that you could stand on the ice again. It brought you so many fond memories of when you were a kid. Skating was the only thing that could easily make you smile just because; the wind in your face made you feel free, content. and Katsuki could clearly see that.

For a moment, he got distracted by how beautiful you looked… and he lost his balance again. This time bringing you down with him. He was fast enough though to catch you and make you land over him. Your amused and loud laugh was contagious, so he couldn’t help but smile. He's having fun –even if he knew his body was going to hurt a bit the next day for how many falls he had.

“You’re so clumsy…” You laughed, joking kindly and funny.

“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t you show me what you can do?” His smirk made you suddenly stop laughing. It’s a clear challenge, yet curiosity shined in his eyes.

“Alright, hero… watch and learn,” you helped him stand up and directed him towards the handrail. 

Once he was away from possible harm, Katsuki watched you skate around the rink as if you were flying, gliding around with so much confidence and ease, as if you were made for it. Your hair floating behind you for how fast you were going, dancing beautifully with the air. He was hypnotized. Completely mesmerized by each little form you decided to enlighten him with. He particularly felt fascinated when you decided to spin fast and so many times he couldn’t count how many, then you stopped like it had been nothing and kept gliding around. 

You looked so nice and professional, Katsuki felt a little pang of pity for the world. It would never be able to share how beautifully perfect you looked at the moment.

A few more glides around, until you stopped in a very experienced way right in front of him, a huge smile on your face and a shine on your eyes that were proof of how immensely excited and happy you felt.

Did katsuki say already how fucking beautiful you were?

Just to prove his point, he instantly grabbed your face and kissed you for the very first time.

And fuck, he planned on keep kissing you as much as you would let him.

He let you go for a moment just to say, “That was beautiful… You’re gorgeous.”

You smiled one more time before sliding your arms around his neck to kiss him again. He moved a bit to surround your waist with his arms…

And that’s when he forgot about the handrail and sent you both again towards the floor.

[diejager]

how does a (monster AU) phoenix! reader sound? ...I kinda imagine 141 (except price) getting a heart attack when reader takes a bullet and bursts into flames and then a heap of ash, and then (im pulling a harry potter description of pheonix but its ur choice) the most ugly bird or something pokes their head out of the ashes and they're like '...oh'.

I remember watching Fawkes burning and turning to ash before he popped his head out. So adorable.

Ashes Cw: burning, death, rebirth, tell me if I missed any.

Ghost knew when someone was lying, able to sniff out a liar within a mile. Your dimmer smile, shorter laughter and exhaiusted expression, nothing seemed to make your days better than a warm bump of tea once or twice a day to sooth the ache in your bones and the strain in your muscles. He’d approach you with a clear mind, wanting to get to the bottom of your sickness, why you’d occasionally cough, voice weak and breathy until it cracked. You told him you were fine, that it was just the weather affecting you, but he’d seen this kind of sickness before, a cold that sunk into the bones and clogged every sinuses with intent —sick and vulnerable.

He wasn’t alone in this thought, Alejandro and Gaz shared similar doubts, coming forth to Price with their fears rather than sneaking around like he did, but Price had waved them off, telling them that it was a seasonal thing, you got sick from time to time and rose back from it as if death failed to catch you. This did not seem like something simple and mundane, Ghost could see death follow you like it followed him, it was ever present, so much so that Alejandro and Horangi - the two with the weakest nose out of the four - could smell it ooze off you like a dark miasma plaguing your body.

It seemed as if the both of you shared something that the others weren’t privy to, a low whisper in the dark that they failed to catch or the secret you shared through confidentiality higher than even a colonel. The captain knew you before you joined them, forming a tight connection through past trauma and fuck ups. Perhaps that’s why Price seemed almost chipper about your saddening state.

It seemed that Ghost was kept in as much darkness as the rest, the higher ups had kept it hidden from him, from König and from Alejandro who should’ve had the jurisdiction to have access to your documents. Especially after seeing you burst into flames after being shot in the neck by a surviving sniper (Ghost was quick to shoot him down), body gone in a coud of ash and dusted feathers. He panicked, but he wasn’t the only one to rush towards what remained of you. Despite their panicked mumbles and frantic thoughts, Price had reassured them that it was normal, that you were still alive —all they had to do was wait a few seconds for you to reappear.

Appear you did, a small, ashen head, beak the length of a child’s thumb, small ad brittle, big, rounded eyes blinked at them, narrowed in confusion until you called, a tiny croon from a chick’s throat. You shuffled your way through the mess, featherless wings flapping as you hopped towards Price, who quickly met you half way, picking you up with one nimble swoop.

“Look at you,” Price cooed, pressing his thumb to your forehead, feeling the soft, newly grown feathers that glowed white, “About time you burned, yeah?”

“Fuckin’ hell,” it was the only thing he could answer with when his mind was building up these theories, every little thought in his head went to understand what and how you were made. It was as close as Soap’s Steamin’ bloody Jesus or König’s dumbfounded Was.

“Is that why you told us not to worry, Captain?” Gaz’s ability to think clearly in adrenaline-inducing moments was a blessing, able to restrain his unending thoughts to connect two together and conjure up a sentence - a few words, a mumble or a plea - to understand whatever happened to you. “What happened?”

Price let out a deep rumble, a laugh from his belly, deep and amused, a striking contrast to their worried frowns. He handled you softly, petting and pinching at the young feathers growing on you while he turned you around, showing them how Price held you with such careful ease and soothing smile. Ghost doubted that Price didn’t have any prior experience in caring for you, seeing how loving he was with you —like a lover caring for his sickened, or a dragon guarding his treasure, Ghost wasn’t sure which one was right.

“Hunter’s a phoenix, “ he smiled softly, eyes gleaming with too much glee, a silent laugh at their sudden bewilderment, approaching you slowly to admire you themselves. “They burst to flames every three years or so, the last one was around five years ago- long overdue for a reset.”

Soap and Horangi were the first to attempt to touch you, the excited dog and the curious feline, tentatively poking at you with a finger until you pecked it, annoyed by their incessant jabbing. You let out a shrill cry from your throat, small and hilariously fierce for something so small and fragile. You crawled to the ends of Price’s fingers, wings flapping to urge them to pick you up instead of pointing a finger and cooing at you as if you were an exotic animal. You somewhat were —exotic, that is.

“A wee thang, aye, Cap?” Soap awed, cradling you in his palms, you weighted so little, as light as a feather on Gaz’s wing.

“Ugly as a rat too,” Horangi snickered, making light of the situation that had made their hearts stop.

You screeched, shaking your head wildly at him, his shoulders bobbing while you showed how offended you felt by acting out, an angry, little chick putting on a show of aggression and courage. His dark thoughts receded, Ghost’s fears and demons falling back into the depths of his mind when his eyes met your beady ones, round and doe-eyed, your age shining through the innocence of a newly-hatched. It made him wonder how you’d look once your feathers grew out, would you be as majestic as the stories portrayed phoenix did, with your great wings and great strength, feathers bathed in the sun’s warm embrace and tipped with the power of undying flames of power. Phoenixes were seen as symbols of immortality, resurrection —of life and death. Untouchable by death and favoured by life, you would live in a cycle of ashes and flames, embers cracking until it softened to flickers, a soft, gentle flame ready to yield to nature.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143

[littl3cloud]

Tell Me What You Need

pairing: vi x reader

Description: You've always seen Vi as a close friend but when a teasing remark hints at something more you realize that maybe your feelings are more than platonic.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering (r receiving)

The past week had been weird, the air thicker than usual. And it was no one's fault besides your own. It started with your parents pointing out that you had been ridiculously single ever since you became friends with Vi. It wasn't their intention, but you had gone home that night feeling confused. And in your confusion you had confided in Vi, leaving out that you had wondered if therer was more to your friendhsip.

Since that night, you acted cautious around Vi, tiptoeing like you had a secret you couldn't share. You were so far in your head, trying to convince yourself there was nothing more to the friendship. And unbeknownst to you, Vi had noticed.

Every glance you gave her lingered for too long, every touch carried this unspoken weight. And you couldn't help but feel that maybe your shifting friendship was because of your own projections.

Snapping back to the scene on screen you both looked away to see the characters sharing a heated kiss. Great, perfect timing you thought.

Vi's lips twitched into a sly smile with her voice almost too casual. "You know, you should think about seeing someone, with how much you've been overthinking the whole relationship thing."

You raised your eyebrow. "What like a therapist?"

Your stomach did a strange flip when she threw her head back and laughed. Even in the terrible shitty apartment lighting, all you could focus on was how pretty she looked when she laughed. When she noticed your lack of response she looked at you with this unfamiliar glint in her eye.

It did not go unnoticed how nervous you looked when Vi realized you were staring. Without thinking you blurted "I don't think a date with some random person is what I need."

She leaned in closer, her voice lowering with an almost dangerous confidence. "Well, what do you need?"

In the second she said that it felt like all the air in the room disappeared. You quietly gasped at her words. Could she tell the effect her words had on you? What had she even meant by that? You couldn't tell, but it felt more like an invitation than a close friend checking on you.

You froze, your heart hammering and the words stuck in your throat. Vi's gaze softened at your hesitancy, but her eyes still held a certain mischief that made your pulse race.

"I-Vi, I don't," you stammered trying to keep your cool. Her teasing smile never wavered. The way she was looking at you made everything feel different. Like all those nights you stayed up trying to convince yourself you didn't have feelings for her were for nothing.

You swallowed hard, caught between the sudden desire to pull away and the urge to lean in. And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself wonder about what would happen if you just accepted.

Vi's gaze never wavered and in the silence between you two, you leaned in. She followed, her breath warm against your skin, and you could feel the space between closing in as the air became thick with anticipation.

She tilted her head, her lips just barely brushing against yours and she whispered, "You have to tell me what you need."

Everything inside you screamed to pull back. To laugh it off, but her presence, her touch, was like a magnet drawing you in. And you couldn't ignore it anymore. Her hand found its way to your knee, her fingers softly brushing over your skin. And it was then when you realized, that what you wanted was to be more than just friends.

"I don't know if I can tell you." Hesitancy filled your words. Vi didn't falter, but there was something softer in her eyes. She simply reached over, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ears. The room shrank around you both as the weight of the moment lingered.

Your hand moved to her jaw, tracing the scar that adorned her lip. Your eyes flickered to meet hers one last time before you pressed your lips against hers. There was urgency behind your kiss like there was a burning passion for what you had been missing all this time.

Her tongue shoved into your mouth and she groaned at the mint taste from your gum. Wet and almost pornographic sounds from your mouths echoed in the room. One of her hands trailed up your torso before landing at the area under your breast. They moved up, groping the soft flesh under your shirt, forcing faint whimpers to come from you.

You couldn't help the want, no the need, you felt within you. And you could tell Vi felt the exact same as she pulled you onto her lap and started to grind her crotch against yours. You opened your mouth, taking the opportunity to suck on Vi’s tongue,forcing a breathy moan out of Vi.

"Vi, I-" you let out as you pulled away from her. She tilted her head, planting wet, sloppy kisses against the side of your neck.

"You what, baby?" she murmurs against your skin. You almost pull away completely from her, stopping short when a whine leaves her mouth. Just like that, the undeniable need to continue erupted in you. You needed to hear those sounds again. You needed to be closer, you needed more.

Before you could think, you found your hands moving down to undo her zipper. Her hands stop you and you pause, worried that you had moved too fast.

Instead, she reaches and puts her under the seam of your skirt, looking to you for permission to go further. You nod at her, and just as fast you find her hands tracing the wet spot on your underwear.

A groan leaves your mouth as you shimmy your underwear off in desperation. With your pussy bare to her, she groans and makes her move, fingers moving up and down your wet slit.

She watches as your hips rise to meet her movement and it's almost too much for her to bear.

"Please Vi," you pant. "Please give me more." Vi had never heard anyone beg as deliciously as you did. Who would she be if she didn't give you what you wanted?

And just like that, she slowly glides a finger into you, her gaze glued to your pussy. She groans, feeling your slick dripping down her hands.

It doesn't take long until you're spreading your legs for her, begging for more. Your mouth falls open in ecstasy as she expertly traces her finger inside of you, looking for the spongy center. The knot builds into your stomach and your knuckles are white from how hard you're gripping the couch.

The room blurs around you and all you can see is the curves of her body straddling you, her fingers disappearing between your legs. Vi’s face is flush with pleasure as she stares at you with hunger in her eyes.

A pornographic moan erupts from you as she crooks her fingers and presses her fingers in just the right spot. The sound is primal and raw, matching the desire that fills the room. She smirks and her thumb joins, rubbing tight circles into your clit.

"Yea baby? You gonna cum soon?" she taunts you, enjoying the way you're losing yourself in the pleasure. You can't even respond, words turning into hiccups at how good she's making you feel.

You start to feel the familiar tightening in your lower stomach, your best friend whispering filthy things into your ear and your eyes open to meet hers.

"Please Vi," you whine. "Baby please."

Her mouth hungrily meets yours as you let out a pitchy whine. Your legs snapped closed but she used her hand to push them back open, holding your hips down so she can continue.

"Come on baby, be a good girl and cum on my fingers."

With one final thrust, you come undone, screaming her name. Her fingers continued the assault but it was too much for you to handle. Pushing her hand away, you lean forward and pull her into a kiss, filled with passion instead of pure lust.

Vi’s lips moved against yours, but softer as you came down from your high. Your heart was still racing, your chest filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with what just happened. As you pulled back, you saw Vi looking at you with a tender and almost vulnerable look.

“That was…” you trailed off, not sure what to say.

“Yea,” Vi agreed, her voice husky. She moves to push your hair away from your sweaty forehead. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” your best friend admits.

“Really? I thought… I didn’t think you felt…”

She chuckled. “Why do you think I’ve been weird since you told me about what your parents said?”

Your face flushed in embarrassment. “Oh.” Relief, excitement, and embarrassment from how oblivious you had been washed over you.

Vi’s hand cupped your cheeks before she admitted. “I thought maybe I was reading into things. But then I noticed how you’d look at me when you thought I wasn’t paying attention.”

She pauses to look at you like she was scared to continue. “It’s the same way I’ve looked at you for years.”

Your heart skips a beat at her confession. All this time, she had feelings for you?

“So what does this mean for us?” you ask softly, suddenly shy despite what had happened between you.

Vi smiles, tracing her fingers along your jaw tenderly. “Well, I was hoping I could take you on a date… and make you my girlfriend?”

You nod eagerly, a giddy laugh escaping you. “I’d love that, Vi.”

Her smile turns mischievous. “But first,” her hand slides down your body, tracing the slick that adorned your inner thighs. “Maybe we could finish what we started?”

You could barely answer, instead opting to nuzzle your head into her neck as her fingers returned to the spot you so desperately craved.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the flower guy. l Joel Miller

Summary: someone leaves flowers at your door

Warnings: some bad words (fuck), but other than that just fluff and stupid sweet talking

A/N: I think Joel deserves everything sweet and nice, I would like to give him this scribble. (and I wanted to thank you for every heart, reblog and observation. it means a lot)

It happened again.

Curiosity led you towards the porch where for a long time, every morning, you found a flower lying there. Sometimes it was an ordinary wild flower like a poppy or cornflower, and sometimes a few daisies. And even though your mind told you that it couldn't entirely be safe, your heart melted every time you opened the door.

This time you found a lilac flower on the doormat and without thinking, you inhaled its intense scent.

Was it stupid? Unwise?

You didn't know who left you such surprises, but he definitely made your day. You went to sleep wondering if something new would appear on the wiper, and then you woke up excited like a child on Christmas Day.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Ellie's voice broke you out of your thoughts. You were walking through a meadow near Jackson, partly to look around and partly to kill time. The warm sun warmed your backs as you lazily walked through the tall grass.

"Did he show up again?" the girl lowered her voice, but couldn't hide her excitement. "Did he leave anything?"

You looked at Ellie's bright face, then quickly glanced over your shoulder. The girl's gaze followed yours.

Joel followed you a dozen or so steps and didn't seem to care about you at all.

"Shhh!" you hissed, but you couldn't hide your smile.

"He doesn't even listen to us." Ellie shrugged. "We could be talking about all your ex-boyfriends and intimate relationship details and Joel would still just find dangers around us. He doesn't care."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. He's wandering around looking for something to do. Jackson seems to be boring him. Anyway," she grabbed your arm lightly, "Did he show up again?"

"Yes." you replied quietly, "He left me a lilac flower."

"Damn! I thought he would finally invite you somewhere! Idiot..."

"Why do you say that?" you were outraged, although you didn't feel angry at the girl at all. "I think it's sweet and romantic. Besides, blind dates, in this day and age, are probably not a good idea."

"Maybe you're right, but that doesn't change the fact that he's an idiot. He could just talk to you. Say something like, 'Hey, girl. You look stunning. Do you want to go out together?' "

You burst out laughing and quickly glanced over your shoulder again. Joel still didn't seem to be paying much attention to you.

"You should stop reading those teen magazines. They're just bullshit!"

"Are you kidding me?! They're fantastic. Can you tell me about your first time?"

"About what?!"

"About your sexual experience." Ellie sighed as if explaining such simple things to you was boring for her. "I asked Joel, but he told me to shut up and he went somewhere again."

"And he was right. You're too young for this."

"And you're too old to play ‘throwing flowers on the doormat’."

You already regretted that you had even told Ellie about what you found in front of your door in the morning. However, you had no choice, one morning she caught you picking up flowers and wouldn't leave you alone until you told her everything.

You weren't even going to tell Joel about it. He would definitely tell you right away that all this was suspicious, and then he would lie in wait outside your house with a shotgun to catch whoever was visiting you. This was definitely not a good idea.

"Hey!"

You both turned towards the voice calling to you. Joel stopped and stared intently at the nearby forest.

"I think I saw a deer there. Maybe we should go that way?" he pointed to an unspecified place.

"Are you sure?" you asked as you and Ellie approached him. "Maybe he escaped?"

"Maybe, but it's always worth checking."

"Sure. There's nothing we can do anyway. At least Ellie will be quiet."

Joel smiled slightly. You liked this view. Those little sweet lines around his eyes and some warmth radiating from him at that moment.

You were already used to Joel and Ellie's presence in Jackson, and you were also glad that they found each other in this place. You quickly found a common language and after some time Ellie became a frequent guest in your home. Thus, Joel Miller also became your close friend.

You liked his presence. And although sometimes his response was a grunt, or he looked at you in a strange way that made you wonder if you had done something stupid. You recognized his silhouette from a distance. Tall, broad shoulders, warm brown eyes, hair streaked with gray and that smile hidden in a soft beard.

Yeah, you could keep your eyes on him longer.

You quietly closed the door and ran down the few steps onto an empty road bathed in the first rays of sunlight. The pleasant coolness that surrounded you immediately woke you up. Despite everything, all you wanted to do was lie in your bed and try to get some sleep. Molly's twins cried all night because their teeth were coming in, and you promised to help her so she could nap for a while. So that night was hard.

You were already close to your house when you suddenly saw it. There was a person standing on your porch.

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest, but you reacted quickly, hiding behind some boxes standing next to the nearest building.

Maybe it was stupid and you could have acted like a responsible adult, but still... Fuck! You didn't expect to catch him in a situation like this. Especially since you were so curious and...

The man withdrew and went down the stairs, the sun shining on his face.

You'd recognize this man anywhere.

You knew you wouldn't fall asleep again. Even though you were lying in bed and the window curtains were drawn tightly, you were staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. It was insane.

You would never in your life suspect that the person who left you flowers for so long was Joel Miller. Because how come? Joel?

You were friends, you spent a lot of time together, and Ellie treated your house almost like it was her own. But it seemed to you that he never took you seriously. To him, you were just like any other resident of Jackson, and you even had the impression that he became more gruff around you.

“Fuuuck…” you moaned, rubbing your face with your hands.

Your brain no longer functioned normally and only gave you a headache. You needed at least a few hours of sleep, but that probably wasn't going to happen.

After some more fidgeting in bed, you got up, intending to take a shower and eat something.

Joel. Why did it have to be Joel? After all, it changes everything. How were you supposed to look him in the face now? Would you act like nothing happened? And why was he doing it?

You didn't even feel like going to the bar today. You were sure you would find Joel and Tommy there, and that was probably the last thing you wanted.

A loud knock on the door echoed through the house.

"Y/N? Are you there?" Ellie banged on the door again, “Y/N?”

Did you just hide behind the kitchen cabinet? God! What the hell was that supposed to be?

Ellie's footsteps faded away and you finished your coffee sitting on the kitchen floor. You had only one way out of this situation, you could pretend that nothing happened, avoid Joel for a while until the matter resolved itself. Because he definitely just wanted to please you. Flowers are not a wedding promise, right?

"Pull yourself together, kid." you muttered to yourself as you got up from the floor. “It's just Joel. Just stupid flowers. Nothing more. Don't look for something in it that isn't there.”

You could have avoided Miller, but Ellie found you the next day. She wasn't happy when you told her you wouldn't be going on patrol with them for a while and you were taking on other responsibilities in Jackson.

"But it was so fun!" the girl groaned, leaning against the bar counter. “Even Joel had fun.”

"Right. But you see, we can't spend every free moment together, Ellie." you replied, placing the just-washed glasses in the cabinet.

"Why not?"

"Because I guess I feel awkward when Joel is around." of course you didn't tell her that and she couldn't read your mind.

"Do you have anyone?"

"W-What?!" the glass almost fell out of your hand.

"Maybe you're dating someone and that's why you can't see us?"

"Bullshit."

"And your flower guy? What about him? Did he talk to you? Did he show up?"

"Ellie, please. Can you get off of me?"

"I knew it! He must have been some hideously ugly and sleazy guy!"

"Ellie!" you interrupted her, placing your hands on your hips. “Stop it! I don't want to talk about it. These are adult matters, not for you.”

"Oh, sure! Joel says the same thing when I ask him where he's going alone this early in the morning. 'None of your business, kid.'" the girl mimicked the low tone of Joel's voice, "You two should meet up and talk about your adult stuff, because you're both acting weird." "

Was it easy for you? NO.

Did you feel bad for Ellie and Joel? Yes. Especially towards Joel.

Would you give anything to go back to the way it was before? Yes. You guess.

There was one big swirl of thoughts in your head, and your life had been like a game of hide and seek for several days. Flowers continued to appear on your doormat and you felt extremely guilty.

You liked Joel. Even very much. You could list a lot of his advantages and disadvantages, but it all made him what he was. You missed him so much, but you were afraid that if you went any further, your friendship might suffer. And then avoiding him in Jackson would be even more difficult.

It happened the day you were cleaning one of the warehouses. It was already starting to get dark outside when you, completely immersed in your thoughts, were arranging cans and jars on wooden shelves.

"I got you."

It was like a gunshot. A low and warm voice appeared out of nowhere, but you knew its owner perfectly.

You turned around. Joel stood leaning against the door, watching you warily. His denim shirt had a few buttons undone and his arms were folded across his chest.

"Oh, hi." you mumbled, "I didn't hear you come in. Do you need anything?"

"You." he replied and you felt your throat tighten.

You must have looked scared, because Miller added after a moment.

"I mean... Fuck." he cleared his throat, "I was looking for you because you seem to have been avoiding me lately."

"Where did this idea come from?" you tried to smile, but it probably came out too nervous. “I'm definitely not avoiding you. I've just been busy. Just busy.”

"I got a different impression."

You didn't know how to respond to that so you tried to go back to work, but Joel was still standing there. You felt his eyes on you and your cheeks burned.

"So everything's okay between us?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Definitely." you replied quickly, "Everything's great!"

"Okay then."

Silence again. It would be easier for you if he left, but he still stood there.

"You know, Ellie thinks you're seeing someone." he started again.

You turned to Joel.

"No, that's not true. I already told her about it." you replied, "I don't know why we're even bringing this up, Joel. I've had some work to do lately. I can't be with you all the time, even if I wanted to... It's complicated, Joel."

"I get it. It's a little complicated for me too, because I really like being with you."

You bit your lip because those words were really...nice. And comfortable for you. You missed him so much that it was hard for you to admit it, even to yourself.

“Listen, Y/N. I'm really bad at this.” Joel nervously placed his hands on his hips. "I haven't done this in years and it might seem embarrassing. Ellie would definitely say I'm acting like an idiot. I think I know why you've been avoiding me, and it's not because of work."

"You think so?"

"Yeah."

The ball was in your court. Joel stood in front of you, completely disarmed and needing your help to sort this all out.

"I know it's you, Joel." you started hesitantly, "Those flowers, I saw you the other morning. It kind of surprised me."

"Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, I..."

"NO!" you interrupted him quickly. "It was the nicest thing that's happened to me in a long time. I was just scared, you know. We're friends, I don't want any of our bad decisions to change that."

“We're only human, Y/N. We'll always make bad decisions, but there will be good ones too.”

"But should we take the risk? I really like you a lot, Joel. I've missed you so much."

He walked towards you slowly.

"I missed you too." he said "God, every day I found myself wanting to look at you, hear your voice or laugh. And then I realized that you weren't with me. I didn't want you to feel trapped by me."

"I didn't feel like that! I guess I never realized what I felt. Having you next to me was just natural to me."

"Same here." he smiled "I guess we actually acted like fucking kids."

"I think so. Ellie wouldn't leave us alone if she found out."

"She'll find out anyway." Joel shrugged. “Because now I want to do it right, Y/N. I know we don't have many options, but maybe you'd like to... Fuck.” he took a deep breath. "Maybe you'd like to spend the evening with me? We can have a few drinks, talk, and spend some time together. Alone."

"Sounds really good."

His face lit up with a smile, and you realized how much you missed him. Maybe it was stupid, maybe you were acting like kids, but why wouldn't you?

When Joel left the warehouse, he seemed to be in a really good mood, and you felt a flock of butterflies in your stomach. You wanted to spend this evening with him, you wanted to see his wonderful and warm eyes again. You may have had a soft spot for him, but he definitely felt the same way.

And you were both like teenagers, and that was good.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[bonny-kookoo]

for your little drabble game what about…. just super super lovely fluff and soft and cute and lovely fluff of your fav story because your favorite is my favorite

Sadly, my favorite isn't a favorite on this blog.. but I'll take this opportunity either way 🥲💜 I just love my Tsundere Vampire Boy...

-> belongs to BloodLust

Someone knocks on your door, and you’re confused.

You’re not expecting anything, or anyone for that matter- but the knock was still clearly heard, and not just part of your imagination or the commercial currently playing on the TV. So, you sluggishly stand up and drag your tired body to the door to check who’s standing in front of it.

And you’re surprised to see Jungkook, hands in the pockets of his jacket, long hair a little curled from the snow and rain currently outside.

“What’s-” You start but are instantly forced away from the door to cough, carefully closing the door a little further in fear of getting him sick- but he doesn’t look bothered. In fact, he doesn’t look even remotely grossed out or anything; you can’t quite tell what’s going on behind his dark red eyes.

“Thought I heard you coughing your lungs out.” He simply states. “Do you need anything?” He asks, and you pull the blanket a bit tighter before you shake your head. “Sure?” He asks again, and you look up now again, confused.

“Why’re you asking?” You wonder, and he knows you’re not quite asking as to why he wants to help you. You’re asking him about his intentions.

“Because I haven’t seen you leave this shithole in days.” He sighs, crossing his arms in annoyance.

“So?” You huff, equally standoff-ish. “Why would you care? I’ll be fine for your appointment next month-” You begin, but he rolls his eyes and groans.

“Can you just let me be fucking nice?” He argues. “It doesn’t matter why I’m doing it.” He huffs, and you shiver a bit, catching his eye. “Get back inside now. Text me what you need if you want.” He just says, before you sneeze.

“...I’ll get you sick.” You complain softly.

“I can’t get sick.” He responds.

“You can if you-” You start, but he shakes his head.

“I’m not here to feed.” He chuckles. “I’m here to feed you if anything.” He jokes, and you contemplate, before you open the door for him fully.

And strangely enough, it seems true- he cleans up your kitchen and helps with some chores you had to neglect due to getting sick, makes some basic soup for you to reheat once you got your appetite back. Of course, none of this happens in quiet- he does shower you in snarky comments left and right, but that was to be expected.

Its when he sits down next to you that he finally seems to reveal the reason for his behavior. “The.. I received a letter. That the charges against me were dropped.” He almost mumbles. “And I saw you near the police station last week.”

“They asked me for a statement.” You shrug. “I just told them what I know.”

“They asked you if you believed I was capable of such a thing.” He presses on.

“And I said no.” You cough before you pull the blanket closer. “You’re stupid, and arrogant, and mean-” You say, his brows lowering in annoyance, “-but you’re not a monster.” You shake your head, before you watch his expression soften.

“How do you know?” He asks, barely above a whisper.

“A monster wouldn’t have done my laundry and cooked me soup without wanting anything in return.” You giggle. “Also you don’t look like one. Your face is too round.” You tease, making him sit up a little.

“What are you talking about, my face isn’t round-” He argues, while you just laugh.

“It is!” You deny. “And you pout when you concentrate-”

“I gotta go now, actually.” He shakes his head, but you hold onto his hand playfully, causing his eyes to instantly snap to you because of your cold fingers.

“Pleease stay.” You whine.

And much to your surprise, he rolls his eyes-

But sits back down, after fetching another blanket to wrap around you.

[gilverrwrites]

would love to hear more of ur thoughts of jason... ANY jason thoughts, virgin, getting pegged, dom, on top on bottom, angry, emotional, loving, clingy...

any jason thoughts are appreciate tenfold pls i love the way you write its so sensual and enjoyable (//ω//)

Virgin!Jason/Sex Worker!Reader, 1.9K Words Why thank you anon, you're too kind. It’s funny you sent this in because I have been thinking about Jason a lot recently. Bit of a an odd one actually, I’ve been thinking about how easily he could get hooked on OFs or something similar. Stay with me here...

‘Jason loves cars, and girls, and getting into fights…’

The problem is, ever since he came back, he doesn’t know how to talk to or act around women.

Think about it. He was a teenage boy when he died, still going through puberty, never truly finding closure on all those changes. Now he’s a man.

A man with emotions, and desires, and urges that he doesn’t understand and has no idea how to satiate. The not knowing makes him nervous, angry even.

The first and only time Roy tried the “Have you met Jay?” line it was painful. Like giving water to a hydrophobe. Dying of thirst, wanting it so bad, but his hands are shaking, he can barely even make eye contact, let alone hold a conversation. Or touch her. Man, he wanted to touch her, she had such a pretty smile and glowing skin and the most brilliant laugh. He wound up muttering a ‘sorry, bye.’ To the floor and walking out. When Roy finally caught up, he got one hell of an earful. Yelling was all Jay could do not to start throwing punches he'd regret later. Roy had only had the best of intentions after all.

It was Dick who’d mentioned that the posters of half-naked women splayed across car bonnets or dowsed in lite beer might be a bit distasteful. He’d wanted to argue, if they’re bad, why do they sell them? But he was smarter than that really, and Dick was right, if he ever did bring a girl home, he wouldn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. Though the mattress without a bed frame and the lack of amenities might do that anyway. Regardless, he takes them down and throws them out along with a stack of vintage Playboys from his youth. He’ll rely on the words of D. H. Lawrence, Cleland and the likes for that sort of thing.

And just reading works, for a while. But there are itches books just can’t scratch, and like hell is he mortified himself trying to talk to women in public again. He’d almost gotten up the courage once since the debacle with Roy.

At the library, looking for classics and checking out their damaged clearance sale. He’d noticed her the moment he’d entered, such a sweet, sharp woman, teaching seniors how to use computers. He’d lingered for a while, until the class was over, determined to make small talk with her while getting his books checked out, but then he remembered what he was checking out. Immediately he was flooded with doubt. She'd think he was a perv. He put his books on the put-back trolly and left without a word.

That same night, feeling sorry for himself is when he falls down the rabbit hole of social media. Scrolling endlessly through post after post of girls on Instagram. His own page consisted of only a faceless gym selfie and the engine of a bike he’d been restoring, but he followed a lot of accounts. Book reviewers, muscle car enthusiasts, musicians. It wasn’t purely coincidental that most of those content creators were women.

His heart jumps out of his chest when he gets a notification, that doesn’t happen often, and usually it’s from Dick sending him funny dog videos, or Steph tagging him memes but this one is a ‘follow back’.

He’d been following you for a while, liking all your posts and occasionally commenting. Nothing flirty, he didn’t wanna seem like one of those creeps saying gross, inappropriate shit, but that often resulted in him sounding lame for praising the high amount of protein in your home-cooked meal, or something else mundane. Today he’s pointed out how nice the clouds in the back of your group selfie looked but apparently that was enough to get your attention.

You like his two photos and drop him a message. “Hadn’t noticed but you’re right. Those clouds were very pretty.”

‘Not as pretty as you.’ He types out then quickly deletes it. You were very pretty, exactly the kind of girl he would choke up around. You didn't have a lot of followers, and your posts weren't really curated to a theme or gimmick. You just documented your life. For some reason though Jason had been drawn to you ever since your smiling face had popped up in his recommended following.

Instead replies with a very creative “Yeah”

“Sorry, hope I’m not bothering you. You just seem cool.”

“You’re not bothering me.” He answers instantly, not wanting to put you off but unsure what to say.

“Good! If you’re ever feeling chatty, hmu 😊”

Easier said than done, but he massively appreciates the offer. He just doesn’t know how to take you up on it. Looking for inspiration he looks at your account again, noticing a link in your bio that he’s sure hadn’t been there when he’d first followed you. He does a spit take when it leads him to an OF page. No, that definitely was not there before.

Now he’s even more unsure what to do. Would it be weird for him to subscribe after you’d just spoken to him? Or was that what you wanted? Surely you put it there because you want subscribers, right? Should he ask you or would that make it more awkward? Why is taking down drug lords and killer clowns less scary and confusing than this?

He stews on the conundrum for a while, but eventually, he takes the plunge, signing up with the same username as his Instagram, irlgothamzombie. He could spend all night looking at your posts, and he does. Judging by your post history, and low interactions, you’ve not been doing this long, but he circles through the same handful of posts over and over, keeping his own hands full throughout. wink wink.    

He can’t get enough of looking at your body, squeezed into little costumes, draped in colourful lingerie, naked and stark against your bedspread. There’s one video in particular he can’t get enough of though, it’s you in a lacy green slip, giggling as you play with the hem, teasing the camera with a cheeky glint in your eye but never really showing anything. He plays it over and over again, fisting his cock as he images it’s his hands sneaking up your thighs, making you laugh over and over until he cums into his hand.

Even though the caption is specifically asking him your followers what type of content they’d like to see you make while in that outfit, he only comments “nice wallpaper” and logs out, cheeks burning with shame as he cleans up.

It’s a few days before he works up the nerve to log back in. He’s still high on adrenaline after a face-off with Black Mask. Feeling bold and looking for release, it’s the first thing he does when he gets home but seeing two notifications from you is like having a bucket of ice water thrown at him.

You’d replied to his comment, “😂Hadn’t noticed but you’re right.”

When he hadn’t said anything else you’d sent him another DM. “Losing interest, or are you just the shy type?”

“The ‘you’re so hot I don’t know how to talk to you type.’” He’d read through the other comments you’d gotten, that felt tame. A little out of his comfort zone, but safe enough to press send.

“That’s actually so sweet.” You get back to him quickly, sending multiple messages at once. Hopefully that means you’re glad to hear from him. “You can talk to me however you like.”

“You never said what you wanted to see me do?”

“If you’re comfy answering.”

Shitshitshit. His throat is painfully dry as he thinks up a response. “idk but I like it on.”

“green is my favorite color.”

“looks good on you”

“Do you want to see me fuck myself while wearing it?” The question is accompanied by a racy picture of you wearing the slip in reference that you hadn’t posted anywhere else.

YES! “yeah”

“Should I use my hands, or something naughtier?”

“whatever you like best” it probably seems like such a cop-out answer but he means it. “want you to enjoy it as much as I will”

“Can’t tell if you’re my nicest subscriber or not, but I got you, sweet stuff 😉”

The next day you upload the results, and he watches it straight away, not that he’d been waiting for it or anything. He’s already half-hard when he hits the play button. Then you say “This one’s specifically for you irlgothamzombie” straight into the camera with a wink and he can’t get his dick out of his pants fast enough.

He tries to take it slow, wanting to enjoy the whole video but that’s easier said than done. He’s leaking pre-cum minutes into watching as you run your hands along your body, dipping your fingers between your legs, over your covered nipples but never revealing anything.

His resolve wavers when you start to rub yourself through the fabric, cooing and moaning as you build friction. He bites his lip so hard to ground himself that it starts to bleed.

Then you bring out the big guns, he doesn’t know what it’s called, but it’s some kind of toy. Long, with a round head that you hold to your clit and fuck, do you enjoy it. You’re practically drooling as you buck your hips and roll your eyes back. Your orgasm is loud and wet, and he almost breaks until he realises there are still a few minutes left.

You keep going, so he does too. Holding out until the very end. Is it possible that sex could feel better than this? Wild.

He messages you first this time.

He buys the green slip and the matching thong, still dirty after you’d cum all over them. Under the bawdy smell of sex he can just make scent of your perfume. It's intoxicating. Maybe he should ask you what brand it is so he can get a bottle and spray it all over his apartment.

He spends all day in bed, clutching the delicate lace to his chest and sucking on the underwear until his dick aches and he physically can’t cum again without hurting himself.

He isn’t sure how he feels about your return PO Box being in Blüdhaven. It's exciting and terrifying to think that you're real, and out in the world, within driving distance even. He could just bump into you one day. He could probably track you down if he wanted to but he kind of likes the comfort of you being behind a screen.

Eventually, he buys every service you offer, custom videos, a dick rating, your private Snapchat, and he practically purges your wish list. Not just the sexy stuff, but the gift cards, the clothes, the collectables, anything you want.

With every purchase you send him your thanks, ask him about his day, his interests both sexual and in general. You offer him services for free or heavily discounted, expressions of your gratitude for all he’s done but he always declines.

A part of him believes that you’d still talk to him if he stopped financing you, you're practically two steps away from asking for it outright, and he knows that. But the money is like a safety net. Like his helmet; a barrier between him and heartbreaking humiliation. As long as he keeps doling out the cash, he’ll never have to know if you’d reject him without it.

[yesimwriting]

Stawp!

Louis and bestie reader are so cute

They would be so satc coded and go out for drinks and vacays

Also i think reader would introduce him and call him "my beautiful louis" to other people

But imagine louis getting home and texting her with a smile on his face all cute 🥰

I like the idea of the person who makes vampirism good being her, a platonic relationship, in contrast of a romantic companion.

Also i imagine this convo:

Armand: do you have to go over to her apartment every other day?

Louis: first of, we have our movie night fridays together and you know this!

Armand: its 4 a.m

Louis: duh? I got to get there while the sun is down, besides we need to pick up thai food because she does not cook and she will starve herself before turning on the stove

AND ARMAND WITH HER

I feel like after he knows her, he would be jealous of any relationships/ one night stands she might have (louis knows about them obvi! She calls him all the time 💅🏻)

Im obsessed with this concept 😭

everything about this is so perfect!! i'm so happy you got the vibe! i feel like he just needs someone to pull him out of his (slightly subconscious) angst and something about that happening through a platonic relationship is so endearing to me

they're so satc coded too, just besties drinking and vacationing and having (slightly) delusional conversations <3

also bestie reader calling him "my beautiful louis" to others is everything to me 😭 they for sure love each other so much omg

armand is definitely so messy with this 😭 he's like a cat trying to gaslight their owner into thinking they don't want attention

bc i love this sm here's an actual drabble/fic:

pls be nice writing for new characters for the first few times is so daunting for no reason 😭, also armand is a bit messy here <3

----

Not unlike daylight's earliest hours seeping through shut curtains, the haziness--the easiness--you offer him is persistent.

Louis has grown accustomed to the feeling, to the consistent warmth of your friendship, but every once in awhile the sentimentality of it all digs at him.

"This is..." You trail off, legs crossed beneath you and television remote still loosely held between your fingers. "Complex."

Louis's focus flits between you and the screen you're intently staring at. The two of you hadn't set out to watch a documentary on some nature channel, but this is far from the first time you've gotten distracted by some default program while attempting to put on a movie. "Very."

His sarcasm is enough to break the spell. You turn your head, frowning, "Don't make fun of me."

The documentary cuts to a well lit, sparsely wooded forest. The camera focuses on a deer patiently grazing on the surrounding foliage.

"I’d never," he mumbles, suppressing a smile in an attempt at seeming as serious as he needs to be for the joke to work.

You let out a sound that's too gentle to be a laugh before straightening your shoulders and returning your attention to the television screen. There's something ironically pointed about the way the peaceful background melody fades into something more sinister. Looming Danger.

The deer, alerted by some sixth sense, stiffens, its body stretching to its full, insignificant height. The camera zooms in, focusing on the deer's wide eyes and unmenacing features. "That kind of reminds me of you."

This time, your laugh is full, sharpened by a partial scoff that's as amused as it is offended. "That's the weirdest thing you've ever said to me."

The comment is almost enough to ease him. The camera pans out, allowing the audience to see the other surrounding deer. "Maybe the deer from that one animated movie."

You're quiet for a moment, thinking through the implication of the words before turning your head towards him again. "You mean Bambi?"

He had been much too old to be interested in the film by the time it came out, but the name is vaguely familiar enough. "I think so."

You blink at that, tilting your head slightly. "How do you know Bambi?"

"I don't know Bambi," the argument is a relatively flat one. Louis turns to better face you, resting his arm against the back of your couch. "I've just seen some commercials."

That only seems to confuse you further. You straighten, pulling your legs towards your chest. "Where would you have seen Bambi commercials?"

"They were everywhere when it came out in the 40's."

You don't respond right away, your attention shifting away from Louis and towards your bent legs. As far as references that remind you of his lack of humanity, this is far from a drastic one. The 40’s weren’t long enough ago to be inconceivable to you.

Still, you’re quiet, as if thinking through the potential outcomes of your reaction. You nod once. “Right."

When you look up at him again, there's a hesitant sort of curiosity behind your eyes. It's an expression Louis's more accustomed to than he wants to be, it's the way you look at him when you're reminded of the reality of the differences between the two of you.

You tap your nails against your knee. "Does it feel weird?" The question comes out with a suddenness that doesn't suit you, the stiffness of the words sharp and uncertain. "All that time--carrying it inside your head?"

For a moment, all he can bring himself to do is sit with the question. Your question. It's a simple enough thing to ask, but not a exactly a straightforward thing to answer. Especially not to you, who has yet to experience a significant passage of time even by human standards.

"Well," he starts, "You know about the way that time has impacted aspects of my memory." You watch him patiently, saying nothing to prompt or rush him as he thinks through his response. "It does make things feel different--years spent with someone can feel like moments, and moments with others can feel like eternity."

You nod once, allowing his answer to sink in. "Which one am I?"

He knows his answer before he knows how to put it into words. You’re too familiar for either.

“You’re more like a memory.”

Your eyebrows briefly pinch together at that. You part your lips, but before you can respond the documentary’s music swells.

You turn your head in time to see the coyote lunge at a deer. You sigh, screwing your eyes shut before leaning forward, You press your forehead against his arm. “That’s depressing.”

Louis could have anticipated the reaction, you’re usually more bothered by animals dying in movies than people. Still, though, your ability to find comfort in him of all things will never not perplex him.

Instead of pointing out that you’re the one that chose to watch this, he gently reaches for the remote. “Fine, I’ll put on the movie.”

----

The familiar ringing is so muted, so low, Armand's certain that if it wasn't for his enhanced senses, he wouldn't have been able to hear anything at all. By the time he's turned his head, Louis is already reaching for his coat's pocket.

Armand frowns. If the late hour and limited number of people Louis talks to weren't enough to let Armand know who the message is from, Louis's smile as he unlocks his cell phone would be evidence enough. You--it's always you.

He continues forward, allowing Louis to type out a response without interruption. Once he's certain the message has been sent, Armand begins, "It's her again."

Louis's attention shifts away from the screen. "She's my friend."

"I know," he says, voice flat, "Your best friend."

"Stop it." There's nothing aggressive about Louis's response, but there's an underlying warning pressed into the syllables, the same almost-sharpness that Louis relies on whenever Armand implies a lack of fondness for Louis's latest source of entertainment. "It's not like that."

No, it really isn't. When you first began to weave yourself into Louis's life, Armand had almost convinced himself that this was a blatant betrayal that defied Louis's usual preferences. After about five minutes of assessment, Armand realized that the two of you really are as affectionately platonic as you claim to be.

"No," it's an easy enough concession. Armand continues forward, the coolness of the night's air sharp against his skin. Their walk hasn't exactly been the most exciting night of their companionship, but it has been non-contentious in a needed way after their latest session with Daniel. "You do spend a lot of time with her."

Louis's quiet for a moment, thinking through his response in a way that Armand finds unusual. "You could spend time with us, too."

The sentiment isn't as true as Louis intends it to be. While Armand's been around you regularly enough to consider you familiar, there are a few things that the two of you want to do on your own. Your weekly movie nights, casual drinking at bars, the surprise trip to Milan. And during the evenings in which Armand is there, Louis regards him with a subtle uneasiness that if you've noticed, you know better than to mention.

In your presence, what they are may only be portrayed in the softest of lights. The facets of vampirism must only ever be suggested, alluded to so faintly that they're rendered incapable of tarnishing that darling soul of yours Louis is so determined to preserve.

"And subject the poor, little fawn to an evening with two vampires?"

Armand keeps his gaze focused on what's ahead of them, but he can practically feel the lack of amusement radiating off of Louis. "Come on," he tries again, "She's not like that."

Although he'd love nothing more than to solely resent your existence, Armand does have to give you credit for that. You hadn't so much as missed a single step when Louis revealed the truth to you, never once treating him differently. You also barely flinched when Armand appeared in your home with no warning as a way of hurting Louis during a particularly lively argument. Armand's yet to determine if your bravery is a sign of idiocy or a testament to how certain you are in your connection to Louis.

It's far from rare for Louis to feel the need to defend you, but there's a determination there that seems urging. "She asked you to come over."

Louis's hesitation, though brief, is confirmation enough. He almost stills but seems to think better of it, placing his phone back into his pocket as if that will be enough to make Armand forget that you're the source of this. "She just ended things with the boy she's been seeing."

Hm. Not exactly an interesting update, but intriguing...more intriguing than why you usually call Louis, if nothing else.

"Alright," Armand agrees, "Let's visit your puppy."

----

The apartment building you live in is far from run down. You've slowly but surely transformed yourself into one of those rare artists with a curated following so obsessed with being able to credit themselves as the discoverer of the next big thing that they go out of their way to purchase anything that you've labeled as yours. Existing at the cusp of fame has allowed you to afford a decent apartment in the city, but it's nowhere near as nice as where you could be if you'd accept Louis's offer to get you a place closer to them.

Louis knocks on your door twice. In less than a second, you're clicking the lock out of place. You're beaming as you pull the door open, "Louis."

Armand watches Louis's expression melt into one of total warmth. There's a definiteness to your friendship that Armand might envy if he understood it any better. What's so special, so interesting about you that your presence is always desireable?

Louis extends an arm, offering you the bouquet of flowers he insisted on purchasing before visiting you.

Your smile widens even further at the arrangement. If it wasn't for the information that Louis gave him earlier, Armand would have no reason to think anything remotely upsetting happened to you tonight. "I love peonies. Thank you."

You lift a hand, your pointer finger gently brushing a thin petal as you examine the flowers. After a moment, you straighten, turning your head enough to acknowledge him. "Armand, hi." The greeting is cordial yet far from cold, the way you often are with him.

"Hello," he replies. You step back, pulling your front door open as a way of inviting them in. "I'm sorry about your boyfriend."

You pause at that, parting your lips as you look back at him. Louis speaks before you get the chance to, "I told you to look sad when we got here."

It's a playful chastising at best, but you react as if Louis had really meant it. In some ways, Armand believes he did. "Oh," the sound falls flat. You walk further into your home's entryway, giving them the space needed to enter. "Give me a second, I can do better." You turn slightly, holding onto the flowers a little tighter as you bring your free hand to your chest. "I'm distraught."

Your performance isn't worthy of a standing ovation, but there's a humor there that might have been charming if Armand's disinterest in you was less inherit.

"Nice try," Louis mumbles as he wanders towards your couch. He sits down with a casualness that highlights how used to existing in your space Louis really is. "Armand wasn't up for visiting anyone and I wanted you to at least look sympathetic."

You walk past your living room. Armand watches you for a moment before following, if for no other reason than to feel something resembling Louis's familiarity. He keeps his steps even, making a point of remaining a few paces behind you.

You stop in front of a cupboard. After opening the cabinet, you have to extend your arm so fully to reach a vase Armand's surprised when you manage to grab it without knocking it off its shelf.

"Trust me," you say, exaggerating the syllables as you approach the sink, "I'm very sympathetic." You place the vase beneath the sink before turning on the faucet.

Armand steps forward, setting a palm against the granite that makes up the island attached to your sink. "I'm sure." The words are spoken so lowly they're nearly drowned out by the sound of running water.

"What did he do?" Louis asks from his spot on the couch.

You lift the vase out of the sink's basin, shutting off the faucet as you move to set the glass onto the counter. "Broke up with me because he thought he had a chance with his ex-girlfriend."

"What?" Louis turns fully at that, craning his neck to look at you.

You nod sharply, completely validated by Louis's shock. "I know." You remove the plastic binding your bouquet together. "Men are the worst." You carefully pull a flower away from its bundle before placing it in the vase. The process of arranging the flowers must remind you who brought them to you, because after a second, you amend your statement, "Except you guys. Obviously."

"Obviously," Louis repeats in a way that only feels somewhat sarcastic. "So are you...upset? Angry?"

You pause, giving yourself a moment to really think about your response. "A little of everything, I guess." You pick up two smaller flowers by their long stems before placing them in the vase. "But not crushed." You reach for a filler flower. "I don't know...it's not like I was in love with him."

Louis rests an elbow against the back of your couch, propping his head up as he watches you continue to adjust your flowers. "I'm glad you weren't." You raise your eyebrows at that. "He wasn't the right person."

"You always say that."

"And I haven't been wrong yet."

You give him another look that would be threatening if it wasn't for the underlying fondness there. "Don't start." You don't wait for Louis's reaction before returning your attention to the flowers.

Armand watches you for a moment before allowing himself to take in your apartment. This place is a known entity, but it's not exactly familiar. He's never seen anything beyond the living but he has heard you talk about a room that you've converted into a studio space.

It's not as easy as it should be to imagine a space solely dedicated to your work when touches of it seem to cover your entire apartment. Two canvases too uniquely you to be purchased are hanging behind your couch, there's a ceramic vase on your dining table that reminds him of the way you paint, and then there's the abandoned palette and partially finished canvas still on its easel.

Armand walks forward slowly, approaching the painting as you and Louis begin discussing your least favorite things about the boy that ended things with you.

Even unfinished, the project is strong in its certainty, in its style. Your brush strokes are sharp, unafraid. Next to your well loved palette, there's a small photograph that parallels but doesn't exactly fully match the partially completed house on the canvas.

"That's an idea for a new collection--the repurposing of abandoned things, places..." Your explanation is abrupt in a way that borders on shy. "It's not meant to be as pretentious as it sounds."

There's a self deprecating quality to the disclaimer that doesn't fit you. Perhaps he's stumbled onto an actual insecurity. "Does someone seeing it like this make you uncomfortable?"

"Uh," you start, confused by his own suddenness, "No, not really. As long as you know to look it as a work in progress." You tap your nails against the counter. "I--I have a room down the hall that's full of half-finished stuff if you want to look at those, too."

The offer feels more like an attempt to convince yourself that you're okay with his analysis of your work before it's been polished than anything else. The concept of your uncertainty makes Armand curious enough for him to actively reach for your thoughts.

Armand's concentration shifts onto your mind, and he's immediately thrown by the vaguest implication of resistance. Your mental defense is so feeble it might as well not exist, but the fact that it does...that you're trying to at all is almost endearing enough to convince Armand to leave you be. Almost. "Are you attempting to block me out of your thoughts?"

You blink, the blood beneath your skin rushing its way up your neck at your embarrassment. "Are you trying to read them?" When your counter question doesn't impact him at all, you sheepishly offer an explanation, "Louis taught me."

Of course he'd teach his pet a new trick.

Louis lets out a small laugh at that. "The fact that he felt it at all tells me you're better at it than I'd thought you be."

Armand's gaze returns to your painting. You've managed to find a warmth, a beauty in the forgotten. "The implication of resistance isn't the same as resistance itself."

The criticism stings, but you don't let it impact your expression. You let out an exaggerated sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly to add to your point. "Be nice, I was just broken up with. Over text."

He continues to study the painting, his mind attempting to break the piece down by individual brush strokes. "That doesn't matter to you. Not really." Armand can almost imagine the creation of the house's boarders, of the formation of each individual stone and the heavy ivy covering them. "You're not 'crushed' because you're interesting and he's not, and a part of you knows that."

The sentiment behind the words leaves you desperate to push him away. Blood settles itself beneath your chest. Your feeble mental shield returns, this time determined enough for Armand to feel its desire to push him out.

"You don't know if I'm interesting," the response is too soft, too curious to reflect your unease.

You tap your nails against the counter, the gentle clicks of them hitting the granite echoing throughout the space. Armand refocuses on the canvas. "Louis wouldn't like you if you weren't."

Something about the statement seems to ease you. Armand's reminded of how almost overly genuine your friendship is. "Thanks."

Louis lets out an almost-scoff at that, his eyebrows briefly drawing together in a display of mock offense. "Don't make me sound so shallow."

"It's less about your shallowness and more about my winning personality."

"Uh-huh," Louis mumbles, pressing a synthetic lack of interest into syllables, "Well, as long as its about you."

----

a/n this is lowkey way longer than i expected it to be but i loved this dynamic so much so if you want to see more of them pls let me know <3