#just crunched that motherfucker

[shineyfish]

I love drinking canned drinks this is an optimal way to consume a beverage [PHYSICALLY RESTRAINING MYSELF FROM BITING THE CAN. DO NOT BITE THE FUCKING CAN. DO NOT-]

[splickedylit]

vivid childhood memory activated: stealing and eating entire heads of iceburg lettuce out of the fridge

[bookwyrminspiration]

sat down like okay. gotta be serious for a second to figure out this kink in my story. it might be annoying, it might take some effort, but it's crucial for the end result. and then 30 seconds in I realized I'd actually worked it out a few days ago

[froggierboy]

there should be a way to gain muscle that doesnt involve exercise

[fantabulisticity]

Waiting in the airport for 2 hours and someone is fucking C R U N C H I N G behind me and I am going to DIE

[refrigerated-conscience]

tell me why my back sounds like a glow stick then huh

[rarely--motivated]

THE STUPID!!!!!!!!

UI my favorite iterator............ i need more UI lore watcher dlc better get me more UI lore or else i am calling up video cult themselves and asking them about if they got any UI lore (JOKING-)

[luludeluluramblings]

Still holding out hope that Roy will somehow make a comeback in the baby daddy poll (I’m delusional ik) but this scenario popped into my head when thinking about Conner.

Ok so like, Reader gets dragged to a gala or something by the Batfam, and she’s starting to show.

And then lex is there, and lex being lex says something pretty rude because if he’s a shitty father then I doubt he’s a good grandfather. And because of what lex says to reader, reader just kicks him in the balls and starts yelling about how he tried to hit her first or something.

Idk man, I just want lex to feel Reader’s wrath

-🪼

Lex Luthor: Looks like someone got their first boob job. Daddy’s money, correct? They look lovely.

Pregnant!Reader: You motherfucker—

Pregnant!Reader in point toed stilettos kicking him in the balls.

Clark hearing the crunch from across the room and turning to Lois: I hope our grandchild takes after their Ma.

Bruce: *proud dad noises*

A/N: I will polish this up later. But, I am cackling right now.

[piningforstan]

I just recently found your page and love your work!!

can you write an angsty Stan fic where reader and Stan are still dancing around their feelings and reader finally gets the courage to confess to Stan but maybe overhears a conversation with him and Ford out of context saying he won’t date them and r is crushed? Then cue r trying to move on and jealous!Stan and then they get together somehow?

Thank you!!💕

I ended up placing this fic when Stan and Ford are still in high school before their falling out. I apologize if the timeline with Carla isn’t canon, I just wanted to include her. Also, reader is mentioned as a female a few times but this can easily be read as gender neutral.

I hope you like it!

You loved alcohol as much as you loved getting bamboo shoots shoved under your nail beds. But Carla “Hotpants” McCorkle had just broken up with Stan, and it was your duty as his best friend to support him. And if that meant drinking cheap beer on the beach with his brother, then so be it.

“I thought she was the one,” Stan grumbled. He crunched his empty beer can, belched, then reached for another.

You rolled your eyes. “You say that about every girl. Even that one you saw in a dream.”

You knew because you kept a detailed record of Stan’s revolving door of women, each declaration of love another stake in your heart. Secretly, you were pleased that Carla ended things with Stan. You could never date him in fear of ruining your friendship, but that didn’t mean you liked to see him with other girls. Especially not stuck-up bitches like Carla.

“I just dunno what she sees in this new guy.”

“He doesn’t litter?” Ford answered. He nudged the growing pile of discarded cans with his foot. Stan’s brother never drank, but he certainly lamented about how much the two of you did.

Stan continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “So what he can play guitar. Anyone can do that.”

“Can you?”

“No.” Stan angrily kicked up sand. “But I would learn if I thought I had a chance of winning her back.”

“You don’t need her,” you told him. The beer in you warmed you from the inside out, initiating the familiar tingling sensation in your legs that happened when you drank. “You’re Stan motherfucking Pines.”

Stan grinned at you. “You’re right. I don’t need her.” After slurping down the rest of his beer, Stan grabbed the bottom of your chair and pulled you closer. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple.

It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to — Stan happened to be very affectionate, even worse when he was drunk — but it still sent your pulse skyrocketing.

“I got the only girl I need right here,” Stan said, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

Your insides turned molten. Of course, you loved when Stan called you “his girl” but the sting of the words were especially painful in the wake of his breakup. You would never actually be his girl in the way that it mattered.

You could never jeopardize your friendship with Stan, or Ford. You had been inseparable since you were children, when Stan received a particularly nasty note about you in class and instead of passing it on promptly ate it. You took a likening to him immediately. And, since Stan was never without his brother for very long, Ford became the reasonable cornerstone of your friendship.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that you realized you saw Stan as much more of a friend. To be specific, when he successfully grew out his mullet and you fawned over it instead of throwing up in your mouth. On anyone else you might’ve. But it weirdly fit Stan, who you’d watched go from a weird, skinned-knee little boy to a weird, broad-shouldered man with dark curls that you desperately wanted to run your hands through.

Ford shattered the moment. “Why don’t you guys just date then?”

You’d both been asked the question before. It was expected, when a boy and girl were friends. Parents, nosy teachers, old ladies peering at you from wiry glasses. Usually the two of you fielded the question with various degrees of hilarity — “he gave me an STD” or “that’s my sister!” — but tonight it felt profoundly different.

Perhaps it was because you were so close, physically. Or perhaps because you had confided in Ford the secret crush you harbored on his brother. You trusted him not to tell but to hear it now, spelled out in the air, made you stiffen.

“She knows all my disgusting habits,” Stan finally said to break the silence, “I couldn’t trick her into it.”

He grinned at you in your peripheral, a certain softness in the corners of his mouth that weren’t usually there. You rallied your best grin back,

“Yeah, it would be weird. Right?” You chuckled nervously.

Stan, with unprecedented exuberance, nodded in agreement. “S’weird. I’ve seen you in your retainer. Could never fool around with you after that.”

Ouch. You pretended it didn’t feel like a blow to the stomach. “And you smoke too much. It would be like kissing an exhaust pipe.”

“See? It could never work.” Stan tore another beer off the plastic rings, drained it, then announced he was going on a walk. You watched his retreating form until you were sure that he could no longer hear you.

You whipped around. “Ford! What was that?”

“I’m sick of you two dancing around the subject. If you just dated I wouldn’t have to sit out here every few months when you inevitably get dumped because you’re with the wrong person.”

You groaned and slid down in the lawn chair, covering your face with your hands. You actually liked the smoke that clung to Stan’s clothes, the deft flick of his thumb striking up the lighter. Why did you tell him you didn’t?

You’re a coward, your inner voice accused. You panicked. It wasn’t like you could exactly agree with Ford, especially not after what Stan said about your retainer. Did he mean that?

If he did, that was worse than anything else. Not only did he not harbor a secret attraction, but he was repulsed at the idea of you together.

Stan stumbled back down the beach a few minutes later, to your chagrin. It was much easier not to think of him when he wasn’t in front of you; even like this, swaying on his feet and looking slightly green.

“Stan, are you —?”

He lurched and fell face forward into the sand.

Ford glared at you like it was your fault. “This is the last time.”

“Sure. Just get his other side.”

“Thank you again, hun.” Caryn Pines smiled sweetly at you. The small kitchen smelled profusely of her perfume and cigarette smoke, wrapping around you like an embrace.

“Yeah, of course. No big deal.”

Caryn looked at you strangely, in that way that adults did sometimes. “You’re always takin’ care of my Stanley. I know he ‘ppreciates it, even if he doesn’t say it.”

“I couldn’t leave him on the beach.” You took a bite of the babka that Stan’s Ma put out, chewing thoughtfully. “Again.”

Caryn always tried to feed you when you came over, no matter how fleeting of a visit. You had seen her sneak the food out of packages and container and pass it off as her own, but you didn’t care. It encompassed her parenting abilities — well-meaning but slightly manufactured, a desire to be the mother that she wanted to be but not exactly the drive to put in the work.

Either way, you knew she loved you like her own.

“Ya know, I see the way he looks at you. And you look at him. It doesn’t take a psychic to figure it out,” Caryn said.

Your face warmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s crazy ‘bout you. I know my Stanley.”

“But what if…what if we broke-up ? I can’t lose him in my life.” Tears strained your voice. Here you were, admitting your feelings to another Pines family member except for the one who actually needed to hear it.

Caryn clicked her tongue and edged around the island, pulling you into a hug. “But what if it’s great? What if it’s everything you imagined?”

“Maybe,” you said, muffled in her side.

Caryn gave you a final squeeze. “I could only pray for someone like you for my son. Say, you don’t happen to have a sibling for Ford, do ya?”

You shook your head. Caryn made a gesture like too bad then fiddled with the coffee machine.

“Here.” Caryn shoved a steaming mug in your direction, then wiped her hands on her dress. “Take this upstairs for me, will ya? I’ve gotta check on Shermie.”

You stood rooted in place for an embarrassing amount of time, mulling over what she had said. What if it was great? Your heart jumped. Maybe she was right. You would tell Stan.

Emboldened, you crept down the hall and past the living room. The TV flickered ghostly blue lights over the couch where Filbrick snored, and you were careful to avoid the creaky stairs. It wasn’t ever said aloud but everyone knew in the house not to disturb Pa after work. He wasn’t abusive, that you could tell, but somewhere on the verge of it.

Stan and Ford’s voice drifted from their shared bedroom — Stan’s gruff, drunken mumbles and Ford’s clever quips lined with affection.

You were going to tell him. You loved him.

A hitch of agitation in Stan’s voice made you pause at the first step, just out of earshot, a silver of light falling across you from the cracked door.

The delirious, bubbly feeling of excitement in your chest fluttered uncertainly.

“Oh, would give it a rest, Sixer?”

“Stan, I just think —”

“You know how I feel about her,” Stan interrupted. From your vantage point you could see him sprawled out on his bed, one hand over his face.

Her? Meaning you?

Your grip tightened on the mug. Here it was, the universe delivering you a sign that Caryn was right. That you were right.

The view didn’t offer any insight on Ford but you could hear his desk chair squeaking as he leaned backwards, contemplative. “And how do you feel about her?”

A beat of silence, the covers rustling as Stan lifted himself onto his elbows. “She’s my best friend.”

“Uh huh.”

“And-And of course I love her.”

“Uh huh.”

“But I could never date her.”

Your blood turned cold. What? Didn’t he just say that he loved you? Whatever brief, sweet bliss you had went plummeting into the ground. You turned away, coffee in hand, unable to listen to more.

Stan stared up at the ceiling, at the water stain that looked like an elephant. Sometimes when he tried to get his feelings out, the words would run circles around and around in his head until he chased them down. It didn’t help that he had drank so much.

Towards the end it wasn’t even really about Carla anymore, but you. You, with your dumb perfect face and laugh. The way that you stuck around despite knowing everything about him, about his family, leaving him feeling raw and infested like an overturned rock.

His stomach churned. Stan waited for the nausea to pass, pinning down his words before eking out, “I would fuck things up with her. It ain’t worth it. Losin’ her. Ya know?”

God he hoped he was making sense. The room was spinning and the elephant was now doing summersaults.

“I wouldn’t let you,” Ford quietly replied. “I know you love her. I’d stop you from fucking up.”

Stan laughed, dry and brittle. “No one can stop me. I’m a one man fuck-up.”

“You’ve never been one man.”

Stan curbed his nausea enough to look at his brother. Really look at him. Any other given day and he might’ve kicked him for saying something like that. His throat bobbed. “Yeah. Yer right.”

A moment passed between them, one of those brotherly, twin moments that he hadn’t felt since they were kids. Ford clapped his hands together.

“My first declaration of not letting you fuck up is to tell her tomorrow how you feel.”

“What? Tomorrow! No way.”

Ford narrowed his eyes. Stan waved a hand and flopped back down onto the bed, resigned. “Fine, fine. Hey, can you tell that elephant to stop moving? He’s bein’ a real dick.”

After that night, you avoided the Pines family like the plague, dodging after-class visits and letting calls go to the answering machine. Your parents asked where your “boyfriend” was, as they lovingly referred to him, but it only felt like salt in the wound. Stan would never be your boyfriend. He said it himself — he could never date you.

You hated the heavy grayness that clung to you, and most importantly, you hated that the one person you wanted to talk to about Stan was…Stan. And you couldn’t. How mortifying it would be to confess something so life altering for him to say that he only saw you as a friend.

Stan left message after message, wondering what he had done and if you could. But you couldn’t bear to see him. You ate lunch in the girl’s bathroom and nearly sprinted to your car after school, peeling out of the lot as soon as the final bell rang. He tried to come by your house, too. Your parents, loyal to you no matter how much they loved Stan, told him you weren’t there.

It was safe to say that, after a month of this, they were relieved when you stepped out of your room in actual clothes. Your mother actually clutched her pearls. “You look amazing. Where are you going? Did you make up with Stanley?”

You ignored that line of inquiry. “I have a date. Not with Stan,” you added, well aware that was the follow up question.

“Oh.” Your mother’s happiness faltered slightly. “Who with?”

“Just someone from school. I’ll make sure they drop me off before curfew.” You pretended to be oblivious to their probing stares, kissing them each on the cheek before striding out the front door to the idled car in the drive.

A dark shape shot out of the driver’s seat and scrambled to open up your door. Eugene glanced nervously at your house as you climbed in. “Are you sure you don’t want me to meet your folks?”

“I’m sure,” you said, monotone.

Eugene had been interested in you for a while now, but you always hedged your answers, not wanting to commit. Last week you finally said yes. You needed to get over Stan — even though the first thing you thought of was how he would laugh at Eugene for opening your door. You could just hear his rasping, seething laugh. Pussy, he would call Eugene, and you would punch him.

Throat thickening with tears, you forced yourself to admire Eugene in the glow of the streetlights that passed by. He was classically handsome. Smart, kind. A musician. Everything that, on paper, would make the perfect boyfriend. It was incredibly sweet that he wanted to meet your parents and open your car door.

Yet all you could think about was Stan: his untamed mullet and cauliflower ears from boxing, the nose slightly too large for his face that was crooked from all the fights he instigated. The braying sound of his laugh and how he thought it was funny to snap your bra strap. The fact that, beneath the jokes and the crude humor, he was soft and compassionate and an excellent artist. He always made you laugh. He was a million things that Eugene would never be.

But Eugene was one thing Stan wasn’t.

Interested in you.

You shoved all of that down by the time Eugene pulled up to your date, flashing him your most winning smile. A drive-in movie seemed innocent enough. You were confident that Eugene wouldn’t try to make any moves, but you still directed him to park near a minivan of children.

“Want to steal some candy from them?” You asked.

Eugene’s expression shifted as if you’d suggested something morally offensive. “What? From the kids?”

“I was just teasing,” you said. You hadn’t been.

Stan would’ve happily jumped at the offer, distracting the family with one of his wild stories while you snuck a pack of candy. The two of you would then share whatever snack and giggle the rest of the movie over your cleverness.

You felt like throwing up. Why couldn’t you stop thinking about Stan?

Abruptly you shoved open the door. “I’ll just go get snacks then.”

“Wait!” Eugene’s voice was muffled, you had already shot out of the car and nearly closed the door. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’ll pay,” Eugene said.

“It’s fine.”

You needed to get out. Needed to get away. Without waiting for any further questions, you slammed the door shut and stalked off towards the concessions. The night air was uncharacteristically cool, brushing over your flushed skin.

“Okay, calm down, you’re okay. You’re on a date with a nice guy,” you coached yourself.

“You’re on a date?”

You wheeled on your heel. Stan stood a few feet away, brow furrowed. His fur-lined jacket bulged with hidden contraband. “Stan?”

“You’re on a date?” He repeated, the timbre of his voice sinking dangerously low.

“Yes.” You raised your chin.

His jaw feathered. “I haven’t spoken to you in, like, a month. You’ve been dodgin’ my calls and avoidin’ me. What’s goin’ on? Now you’re on a date?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you bit back.

“You don’t?” Stan barked out a scathing laugh. “You just stopped talkin’ to me without any s’planation. What am I supposed to think?”

You stepped into line at concessions. “I don’t know, Stan.”

“Talk to me.” Your name on his tongue was a prayer. “Please. I can’t take this.”

A knot formed in your stomach. You ordered for you and Eugene then brushed past Stan, ignoring his protests. He followed you to Eugene’s car. You wretched open the door, intending to fling yourself inside, but Stan stopped it. He leaned down to peer at your date.

“Eugene? Really? This guy?”

Eugene sputtered. You gritted out, “Stan. Go. Away.”

Stan’s dark gaze bounced from you to Eugene, then back to you. The look on his face was unreadable. “Fine.”

The door shut with a resounding thud. It took all of your strength not to watch him walk away. You tore off the top of a box of M&M’s and shoveled the candies into your mouth.

“Was that Stan Pines? I thought you guys were, like, friends,” Eugene finally said.

“Not anymore.” The candies slid down your throat, suddenly dry and pasty.

“Oh.” Eugene pretended to fiddle with the radio, switching through stations. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Mercifully, the movie screen flickered to life and saved you from more awkward conversation. You kept putting handfuls of candy in your mouth to keep from talking or interacting with Eugene at all. Frankly, you just wanted this date to end.

Eugene respected your space, too, which only worsened your conflicting emotions of shame and regret. You wished you could apologize to him but you couldn’t form the words.

You were jerked from your self-loathing when a huge shadow played across the screen, disrupting the movie. Yells of outrage sounded from across the grassy knoll, until the dark shape on the screen split apart. The candy in your stomach threatened to come up. The profile was unmistakably Stan’s, confirming your theory when you twisted around to spot him in front of the projector, entangled with Carla McCorkle.

He grabbed her hand, smirking at the enraged onlookers, and ran off.

Carla? Again?

Eugene examined you. “Do you…want to go somewhere else?”

“Yes. Please.”

He took you to get Dairy Queen, then dropped you back off at home. The passing shadows in the window told you that your parents had anxiously been awaiting your arrival. Eugene moved to get out, to open your door again, but you laid a hand on his arm.

“I’m really sorry. About tonight,” you choked out.

Eugene smiled sadly. “It’s okay.”

You kissed his cheek and climbed out of the car, up the stairs to your house. Eugene waited until you were safely inside before pulling away.

School sucked. You were forced to see Stan with any number of girls. In fact, it seemed as if he was going out of his way to flaunt them, the lingering touches and kisses. It burned you inside.

He preferred anyone but you.

Another month passed, each day growing more and more unbearable without your best friend, without Ford, the reliable foundation of your friendship. With the end of school approaching, so was college, the awaiting jaws of a monster threatening to swallow you whole. You couldn’t even tell them that you got accepted into your dream school.

When a hand grabbed your arm, the familiar face following, you were struck with a swell of emotions. But it wasn’t Stan. The body was all wrong, the measured expression never once belonging to him but his brother. Ford’s eyes were pleading. “We need to talk.”

“Stan can’t know about this,” you said after consideration. Ford nodded.

He brought you into a deserted classroom. You lingered near the door, not sure what to say after all of this time.

“Stan is falling apart,” Ford said without preamble. “I don’t know what happened, but neither of you can continue like this.” A flicker of vulnerability crossed his features. “I can’t.”

You inhaled. It wasn’t fair to drag Ford into this, but it was hard not to. You could never make him side against Stan. “I just…I can’t do it.”

“Do what?”

You turned your face from him, ashamed. “I heard him. That night after we brought Stan home from the beach. He said…he said he could never date me.”

Ford’s face shutters closed. “Is that all you heard?”

“I didn’t need to stick around to hear about how abhorrent the thought of dating me is,” you replied, tone bitter.

Ford flipped open his messenger bag and rifled through it, muttering something that sounded a lot like “two idiots” before finding what he needed. He handed you a folded flyer. “Stan is throwing a party here this weekend.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“You should go.”

You glanced at the paper. The address stated a beach not far from your usual haunt, promising alcohol and a good time. Leave it to Stan to make invitations to a party like this, complete with crude renditions of women in bikinis. You clutched the paper. “I’ll think about it.”

Ford was halfway out the door when he stopped. “He really misses you.”

The words resonated with you the rest of the day. Sometime between meeting with Ford and that weekend, you decided you would go. Eugene told you he couldn’t go, he had to study, so you informed your parents you were going out and that was that. They let you without complaint, probably because you had been moping around the house the last two months.

Tonight you donned your best dress, black and sparkling and totally inappropriate for a beach party but when you bought it, at the mall with the twins, Stan hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you. There had been no reason to wear it until now and you secretly hoped he had forgotten about it so you could shock him all over again.

By the time you arrived, sweat had gathered at the base of your neck and dampened your hair. You regretted wearing the dress upon seeing the other girls in their bikinis and hotpants, and made a beeline for the keg to soothe your nerves.

The beer was sticky and warm. You sipped it, wishing that instead of being here with people you didn’t know (or care about) you were with Stan and Ford on lawn chairs. The usual. Instead you gazed out upon the rest of the party and found Ford, trapping someone into listening to his theories most likely, and Stan presiding over a beer pong games.

Almost as if your gaze was a beacon, Stan looked up immediately as you spotted him. A cord of familiarity, of affection, tied you together and you could feel its tug behind your navel.

Stan stormed over to you, kicking up sand in his wake. “What are you doing here?”

“Ford invited me.”

“He did?” Stan searched for his brother, who had conveniently found somewhere else to be. “Why are you here?”

“I got invited, remember?”

“Where’s Eugene? Is he here, too?”

“No.” You didn’t feel like giving him an explanation, didn’t need to. You especially didn’t want to tell Stan that it was because you were still in love with him.

His dark eyes hardened. “Where is he?”

“What does it matter to you?”

Stan’s mouth moved as if he was biting back a retort, debating whether to say it. He raked a hand through his hair. He spit. “It doesn’t.”

You spent the rest of the party drifting from place to place, never lingering long. The bonfire funneled smoke into the air, as inconsistent and tangible as you, a ghost on the outskirts. You’re not sure why you came, why Ford invited, why you were still here. The beer had given you a nice buzz, a certain looseness in your limbs, and you decided that was enough. You started up the sandy dunes, shoes in hand, when you heard the sand behind you being displaced by footsteps.

Stan followed you, silhouetted by the fire in an orange haze. “What do you want?”

“I’m walking you home.”

“No. You’re not.” You marched off.

He trailed behind. You thought that he might get bored or fed up and leave you alone but he persisted. Only once you hit the sidewalk did you furiously spin around. “What do you want?”

“I ain’t lettin’ you walk home by yourself,” he replied.

“I walked here by myself. I’m fine.”

Stan took a few steps toward you. “Just let me do this, okay?”

“It’s your party, you shouldn’t leave,” you replied.

“Exactly. My party. I can do what I want.” Stan drew to his full height, shoulders back, reminding you that without his rounded posture he cut an intimidating figure. But it wasn’t intimidation he sought, but protection — protection of you.

Your back molars gritted together. “Fine.”

It actually felt nice, relieving, actually, to walk side by side with him. He maintained a step or two behind you, undoubtedly sensing your anger, but you didn’t correct him. You stayed like that, your strange, wordless dance all the way to your house. When Stan moved as if to follow you inside, what he would’ve done before, you barred him from the door.

“You shouldn’t,” you told him softly.

His brow furrowed and Stan shoved his hands in the pocket of his jacket. The porch awning cast him half in shadows. “What did I do? I know you’re punishin’ me but what I can’t figure out is why.”

“I’m not…I’m not punishing you.” You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Then what? Is it your new boyfriend?”

“Who, Eugene?” You shook your head. “No, this isn’t because of him. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“He’s not?”

“No.”

“What ‘bout yer date?”

“It was just one time. And it was a mistake,” you admitted.

“Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Stan’s infuriatingly handsome features were set in determination. You wanted to go to him, bury yourself in his chest and let him envelope you. But that same feeling twisted, grew sharp teeth that latched on and refused to let go.

“Why? What do you care?” You fired back. “You’ve been so busy with your tongue down every girl’s throat that I’m surprised you even noticed I wasn’t around.”

Something shifted in Stan, a spark igniting into an inferno. “You’ve been avoidin’ me and ignorin’ my calls, refusin’ to speak to me without telling me why. I don’t get it. If you’re so against me, then why do you care what I do?”

You hissed back, “I don’t. But it’s hard to miss when you’re dry humping your flavor of the week in front of the whole school.”

“How do you think I felt when I saw you with Eugene?”

You paused, his words soaking into your skin. The fist of anger in your stomach loosened at the pain in those words, if only slightly. “I didn’t know you were going to be there, Stan. And I didn’t think it would matter even if you were. You could never date me.”

“What?” Stan’s entire body stiffened.

“You said it yourself,” you said. You were loathed to say the words aloud, which made you cry, which only made you angry to be crying. “You could never date me.”

“When did I ever say that?”

“I heard you,” you said. You explained to him how you had overheard the conversation between him and Ford that night. He listened the entire time, quiet and unmoving.

Stan rubbed a hand over his face. “You didn’t stick around to find out why?”

“Sorry if I didn’t want to hear how repulsive and horrible I was,” you snapped.

“I told Ford that I couldn’t date you because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. The last few months have been hell, doll. Going without you every day has been…unbearable.” Stan brushed his knuckles over your cheek, tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Please don’t make me go through that again.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes swimming with tears. “I’m sorry, Stan. I only did it because I couldn’t stand to be around you if you didn’t feel the same way.”

“Same way?” Stan’s mouth morphed into a tired, wistful smile. “I’ve loved you since that first day in class. Since you saw them passin’ that note and instead of bein’ upset you raised your chin.”

You faltered. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you.” Such a simple, genuine statement.

“Stan, I love you too. I’m so sorry —”

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve just told you how I feel. I’m an idiot.”

You touched his arm. “No, you’re not. Well, you are, but not because of that. I was scared too. And I hurt you.”

“I’m tough.” Stan lifted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. In his face you saw a whole lifetime of memories, of laughter. “But you gotta promise me not to ignore me again. Messed me up so bad that Ford said he saw me stare at a wall for two days straight without sayin’ a word.”

“You? Not talking?”

“I know.” Stan shuddered. His composure softened a bit, examining you as if seeing you for the first time. “When I told you that you were my girl, I meant it. You’re the only girl for me.”

In way of reply, you grabbed the front of his jacket and pressed your lips to his.

You had kissed before, in middle school, just to get the first one over with. It had been brief and awkward, his front tooth clashing off yours. This kiss maintained the same level of comfort, of familiarity and safety, but charged with a current of passion. He kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to do it again, pulling you into him in a frenzied manner.

Stan’s tongue ran over the seam of your lips, parting them so that he could slip inside, invited by your breath of surprise. You melted into him. Everything about him, this moment, felt right. Perfect. His hands in your hair and roving over the form-fitting dress you had worn for him, sighing and muttering praises on your flushed skin.

You didn’t stop until the porchlight flickered on and the front door ensnared you in its beam. Stan still held you to him, lips bruised, frozen. Your mother took one look at you entangled together on the porch and then sighed in relief.

“Well, finally.”

[ghoulbrain]

mmm can we do: “Open your mouth,” before spitting into it. With ghoul x reader?

18+ ghoul x reader. you have a mighty bounty on your head with an order to be returned alive, but that doesn't mean your captor can't have a little fun with you along the way. kidnapping, deprivation, bribery, folks getting horny over water.

Fucked.

You're so completely fucked.

The worst of it all was that you'd been so close to making it out. You'd gotten far enough that you'd paid your weight in stolen caps to get safe passage away from your dead end life. You didn't have a cent left to your name when he found you.

The Ghoul.

Running didn't get you far. You couldn't bribe him. Begging only made him laugh.

He's got you bound thoroughly in coarse lithe rope. Your hands are clasped over your chest as if in prayer, and your elbows are tucked snugly to your ribs. The rope job makes for an excellent harness, and he hasn't been shy about yanking you by it.

It's been almost two days of this slog back towards the shithole you fled from. You fought hard at first, mouthing off at every opportunity, but the heat has worn you ragged, and this son of a bitch hasn't given you so much as a drop of water.

You collapse to your knees. Your throat is so dry, even breathing hurts.

"Trust me when I say you do not want me t'drag you the rest of the way, darlin'," he tells you, giving the rope a jerk. You barely manage not to fall flat on your face.

"At this rate you'll be dragging a corpse," you hiss, voice hoarse. "I need water."

The earth crunches beneath his boots as he approaches, crouching down near you. Roughly, he grabs hold of your chin, tilting your head up to look you over. He pinches your cheek with a thoughtful hum.

"Yeah, y'might just be right. Awfully dehydrated," he muses. You could swear he's enjoying your slow decline.

"Water," you repeat tersely.

"Y'know, for such a sweet face, you're a real sourpuss," he says, drawing his canteen from his satchel. You swallow dryly, too thirsty to even salivate. "I haven't heard a single 'please' outta that mouth of yours."

"I'm not going to beg for the life you're selling," you spit right back. This is the closest he's been to you since your capture. If you could gather wetness enough on your tongue, you'd be weighing the pros and cons of spitting that in his face instead.

He chuckles, unscrewing the lid. You can already smell the wetness of it. Your jaw aches. "Y'got chutzpah, I'll give y'that."

You lean forward, opening your mouth instinctively when he lifts the canteen. Please, please, please, please...

The Ghoul brings the canteen to his own gnarled lips, holding your gaze as he gulps once, twice, three times before drawing away with a satisfied aahh, humming like it's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. Your heart falls into your stomach.

"Oh," he says, looking from your dejected expressing to the canteen and back. "I'm sorry, did you want some?"

"You son of a-" you start, but he interrupts you with a sharp yank of the rope.

"Ah, ah. I've had just about enough of hearin' your gutter mouth," he says, but he doesn't sound it. His smile is downright chuffed. "Now, if you want so much as a drop of this, y'gonna say please."

You grit your teeth. Your pride is all you have left in this world, and apparently this motherfucker is determined to take that away, too. Your gaze drops to his mouth, where a rivulet of water rolls out from the corner. You're so desperate you almost lurch forward to lick the drop before it drips from his chin.

Steeling yourself, you drag your eyes back up to his. "Please," you say tightly.

The corner of his smile tics upwards. "Please what?"

You inhale a steadying breath. "Can I please have water?"

"That's much better," he says, lifting the canteen once more. "Open your mouth."

With a flood of tentative relief, still wary of his sincerity, you tip your head back and do as you're told, ignoring the wicked flicker of pleasure you see light in his black eyes.

"Now, if y'want a sip, keep that mouth open," he says, taking a long swig from the canteen. You stare in disbelief, beginning to protest, but he holds up a single gloved finger to silence you, humming sharply.

He swishes the water loudly in his mouth, and understanding dawns on you. Heat that rivals the arid desert sweeps through you in a hot rush of humiliation, but you refuse to let him see it. You refuse to back down.

Steadily, you open your mouth once again, chin jutting out defiantly.

He quirks a hairless brow beneath his hat, rolling the water from one side of his mouth to the other, as if daring you.

You push your tongue out, expression expectant.

He grabs hold of your chin and yanks you forward, fountaining the water into your open mouth, spitting to finish it off. You choke it down, trying not to cough for the amount of it that hit the back of your throat, your head hanging forward.

It feels like bliss on your tongue, soothing the burning dryness, but the relief of it is gone far too soon. You could easily guzzle a full bottle to yourself.

It's not enough.

After a beat, you lift your head, mouth once again open, tongue pushed forward.

The Ghoul laughs. You can feel his breath on what little moisture is left on your lips.

"Well now, don't you paint a pretty picture," he says, catching your chin in his grip again, pulling you forward. Resolutely, you keep your mouth open, waiting. His eyes flicker down to the sight of it, darkening. He licks his own lips as if he's the one deprived.

"Maybe you're worth the caps they're payin' for you after all," he says, drinking from the canteen. He moves even closer this time, tilting your head all the way back. His lips nearly brush yours while the water spills into your mouth.

You swallow it back greedily, little noises leaving your throat unbidden for the sheer relief of it. You swear you can feel the water rushing to your temples, soothing your pounding headache.

His thumb moves up your chin, collecting water you'd dribbled in your haste. He pushes it up over your bottom lip and into your mouth. Without thinking, you close your lips around the intrusion and suck, greedy for every last drop. His hold on you tenses.

You meet his gaze and in it you see dark prowling hunger. How much of his predator nature is he holding back right now? Would he sacrifice the caps if he thought you looked good enough to eat?

"Thanks," you say, voice little more than a rasp.

His jaw shifts like he's biting his tongue, and then he screws the lid back onto his canteen, hauling you up with him as he stands. He's rough with you, but not overly so.

If beggin' and cussin' don't work on the big bad Ghoul, you suppose you've got nothing to lose in trying to use good ol' fashioned manners to wriggle your way out of this.

Ghoul or not, what you just witnessed was a man's hunger, and that's something you can work with.

[gottalovetumbler]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 1

𝓓𝓪𝔂 2

𝙸’𝚖 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 (𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚘) 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐)

ᵍʰᵒˢᵗ ˣ ⁱⁿʲᵘʳᵉᵈ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

Info: Fem!reader, small injury but it hurts a lot (like a lot a lot), no blood tho, not gonna spoil the injury, just know it happens, cussing, fluffy

——— 1st encounter ———

The day it was announced that there’d be some allied soldiers coming to visit for a bit was a day full of anxiety. You just couldn’t stop over thinking how much you’ll end up embarrassing yourself when you inevitably have to speak to one of the new faces. You were especially scared of the Russian ones seeing as there weren’t many examples of them in the media you watched growing up.

Before their arrival, you heard names float around and tried to keep a mental list of who you’ll need to avoid more than the others. The only ones currently on your, ‘don’t even meet their eye and let them know you exist list.’ Were Alejandro, Nikto, and Konig. Everyone else was a typical avoid but if you some in contact just awkwardly laugh and run. Nothing against the three men, they just made the list based on their descriptions.

Your fellow kitchen-hand Chase, a fellow American you were transferred over alongside, passed you info that he got from the grapevine. Nikto and Konig were the main issues seeing as they were known for never taking their masks off (muffled speech much?) Alejandro was on the list both because of his presumed accent but also because no one has been able to mention him without talking about just how handsome the man is. It’s already a struggle with Gaz even though you’re pretty sure he’s caught onto your issue a bit because he now seems to enunciate more when he talks to you in passing. So you don’t really need another gorgeous man you can barely understand talking to you with you just stare wide eyed.

It’s only about an hour after the last man arrives that you have your first encounter. Luckily it’s with a semi familiar face unluckily it’s after an incident in the kitchen. You’re not on kitchen duty today so you stay cooped up in your room during dinner rush. Figuring once everyone, or Atleast the new faces, clear out you’ll just grab a quick snack and head to bed. Chase is your lookout and eventually sends you a quick text letting you know that the cafeteria is now a ghost town.

It’s nearing 10:30 pm as you slip on some socks and quietly sprint through the halls, not bothering to take off your headphones seeing as no one else should be up. Sliding to a halt with a small smile and silent laugh you creak open the door and slide in, beelining to pantry. You decide on some cereal and grab the appetizing Captain Crunch from the top shelf. You quickly scarf down a few handfuls and put the box back up on the shelf.

You’re not sure how it happens, you’re known for having decent depth perception. But somehow, someway, as you shut the heavy 30+ year old solid wood door, your middle finger gets crushed in it. The door bounces back from the force but you just stare at the offending appendage as it slowly comes to life with pulses of pain. Tears prick your eyes as you reach for the for agin and successfully close it while flapping the injured finger/hand, trying to will away the pain.

‘motherfucker.’ You mumble still flapping the hand at about shoulder level. ‘Fuckkkkkk’ you semi-whine flapping your hand harder.

Pivoting on the ball of your foot you spin around only to slam your nose into a very hard and broad chest. The snap of pain on your nose caused the tears lining your eyes to slowly drip down. With one hand flapping violently and the other cupping your now injured nose you can’t help but glare as you meet the eyes of the chest you slammed into.

Well you tried to glare but all Ghost was met with was a very sad looking, injured soldier. One he had just watched shovel 5 handfuls of cereal into her mouth for dinner while quietly sipping on some late night coffee in the back corner. Now that he thought of it, he’s seen you around quite a bit but he’s definitely heard of you more. You the pretty little bird Johnny can’t stop thinking about, the one who always fakes a call the second he so much as glances at her.

The realization of who you were “glaring” at makes your heart skip a beat. Decked out in a tee-shirt and sweats accompanied by a simple skull print balaclava, was the 141s LT. You immediately begin thinking of ways to get away from him asap. Your first attempt is to simply apologize and slide to the right to get out of his way. You only get about 5 inches over till he follows you effectively blocking your path.

‘You alrigh’ there? Looks like you slammed your finger pretty hard.’ Is what Simon heard, all you heard was, ‘Oo ali’ tere? Los li oo slamd oor ing ity ard.’ Made 10x worse by the fabric covering his mouth. He stands there clearly expecting some sort of answer, so you give him one. ‘Haha so true, well you have a good night Mr.Ghost.’ Figuring you either answered him perfectly or he’ll be confused enough, you attempt to slide away again but get stopped when his hand grips your shoulder. The way his eyes look it seems like he’s got an eyebrow raised so safe to say, he wasn’t telling a joke.

‘I said are you alright there luv? Looks like you got your finger pretty badly.’ Looking at him like a deer in headlights seems to make something in his brain click because instead of waiting for an answer he just grabs the hand with the still pulsating finger and holds it up to his face. Examining it for a second he wraps his fingers around your wrist and drags you to the freezer. A few seconds later your finger is covered with an ice pack wrapped in a towel.

‘Keep that on it for only about 20 minutes ok? And then leave it off for another-‘

‘Haha so true!’ And with that you flip and speed walk out of the kitchen, leaving a wide eyed Simon Riley in your wake.

———Hope y’all enjoyed!———

[the-kr8tor]

Bloodbath

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Your vampire roommate accidentally gets drunk off of blood.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, vampire hunter! Reader, wwdits au, mockumentary trope, vampire au, set in the pursuit of blood au, cw blood, cw injury, cw suggestive, fluff.

In Pursuit of Blood Masterlist

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Octobie 🎸

A request from @al1x00 — May I have garlic cloves in a heart shaped bottle please? IPOB!Hobie accidentally drinking the blood of a drunk person and now R has to deal with an incoherent tipsy vampire.(Make sure you get some proper rest and drink lots of water! Ly😽❤) --- i could not pass this one up for the halloween theme it's literally so perfect! Thank you for requesting, angel!!!

“Hobie, no!” You yell just as when he's about to lunge at a poor runner, who's unfortunate enough to jog at night, who just happens to run past you and your very drunk vampire roommate in his enormously large bat form.

The camera pans towards the yelling, lenses zooming in, spotlights shining brightly on the man in the shortest running shorts known to mankind and his entire body floating five feet off the ground as Hobie's claws latch onto his shirt. His screams echo around the park, and Hobie's bat shrieks sound above it like an endless click of a ballpoint pen.

You glance at the camera with your wide desperate eyes, mouth agape and hand pointing at the situation. “Put. Him. Down!” Yelling, you jump up, trying to grab hold of the stranger's trainers. “You've had enough blood!”

The scene shifts to you looking disheveled, hair messed up with your cheek having an unmistakable claw scratch while you hoarsely talk to the camera crew.

“Motherfucker drunk from an incredibly inebriated CEO of a shady tech company.” You explain bluntly.

The lens zooms out of your exasperated face, camera showing you hugging the large shrieking bat in your arms with your jean jacket wrapped around his flailing form whilst he tries and fails to bite and scratch you. “I tried to warn him that the fucker had every drug and cocktail flowing in his veins. But noooo, no one ever fucking listens to me!” You shake him in your arms, making the annoyed and adrenaline filled bat yell in his high pitched shriek.

Hobie's face escapes his denim prison, long ears fluttering in the breeze and fangs in full display as he tries to take a chunk out of you. You manage to dodge his attacks, face turning as far away as you could.

With a crunch of leaves underfoot, the cameraman backs away when you accidentally shove your face in the lens. Panting, the man behind the camera makes sure to keep his distance away from you and the angry bat as it zeroes in on the bleeding corpse right behind you. The body's foot twitches, and the producer takes that as a sign to anonymously call an ambulance.

“Fuck!” You stomp your foot down, and the thousand year old vampire stops his twisting and turning to look up at you with his big red button eyes. Hobie makes a sound akin to a chirp, fangs sticking out from his lip. “We're going home, Hobie.”

He trills in your arms, fuzzy head nudging your chest. You can feel how incredibly warm he is under the denim jacket, a sure fire way to tell that he is still under the influence of…everything.

“Don't flash those pretty eyes at me, you little shit.” You start to walk towards his street, hugging him tight against your chest like a chihuahua gone wild. He sneers, and you realize that he's taking a peek into your head and he did not like that thought one bit. “Get out of your head!” You squeeze him in your arms.

Smirking, you flash an image into your mind of him wearing a fancy three piece suit with a look of sheer egotistical pleasure while counting wads of dirty money. He shouts gutturally, now regretting the little peep inside your mind. The sound makes a few passers by look at you weirdly. The entire camera crew following you around doesn't help. “It's a toy, mind your fucking business.” You say to one of them, making them walk faster away from you.

Sighing, you finally see the dark gothic house around the corner. Its spires just screams ‘there’s a vampire living here!’ and its stained glass windows, circular topiaries, and wrap around porch says that the person living inside wasn't born in the same century as anyone else living in the same street. You still have no idea how no one has noticed their thousand year old neighbor. You love the place though, it's home and you wouldn't have it any other way. Even though the pipes need to be replaced with ones that don't give you some type of rusted water related disease whenever you take a drink from the faucet.

Your trainers stomp on the porch, juggling in between carrying Hobat and getting your keys from your pockets. He tries to escape your hold, head wiggling out of the denim burrito you wrapped him in. You can feel his toes wiggling on your stomach. “Don't you dare, Hobart.” With a stern tone, he falls limp, chirping, sounding like a whine. “Don't be cute with me,” you struggle to find the right key in your carabiner. “we're almost there.” You say much softer this time when the door unlocks.

The second you open the door, Hobie wiggles out and then flies off into the house. He zigzags, making questionable turns as he flies under the influence with his large wings flapping about and accidentally swatting away hundred year old vases and furniture.

“I'll let him empty his energy before I try to sober him up.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, arms crossed as you watch him fly around with endearment. He looks and sounds adorable just squeaking and flying about.

Closing the door, the crew stands just behind you, capturing the perfect moment when Hobie, again, a thousand year old vampire with abilities beyond human comprehension and years of forgotten knowledge from fallen civilizations inside his mind, flies into the far end of the hall. Crashing into the mauve wallpaper, leaving a Hobat shaped mark of dried blood from his unfortunate victims.

His claws try to keep him on the wall but his bat body has run out of steam. He slides down the wall, claw marks dragging down and scratching the wallpaper.

You briskly walk towards him, concerned, you walk a bit slower to feign nonchalance in front of the camera. Once you make it to him, you bend at the waist to look down at his stretched out form. His wings are unfurled, belly up, and ears perked as he sees you in his vision.

“You done now, Hobie?”

With a puff of black smoke, he returns to his form. His legs are sticking up and folded against the wall, arms stretched out next to him with his lopsided grin thrown at you.

“‘ello, lovie.” He chuckles, or giggles more like, as he makes grabby hands up at you. “What am I doin' on the floor? We havin’ our fun time on the floor now?”

The camera crew looks at each other with furrowed brows and questions swirling in their heads. You spare them a look of embarrassment that quickly morphs into fake ignorance.

“Not today,” you say gently, his red eyes sparkling in the yellow light of the hallway. You always wonder why he chose yellow bulbs in some parts of the house including his room. You have a feeling it's because it reminds him of the unobtainable warmth of the sun. “You need your coffin.”

“Will you join me?” He asks, fingers flexing about as he beckons you over. You indulge him, leaning down to let him grasp at your jaw. Surprisingly, he holds you carefully like you're the most valuable thing in the house instead of all the artifacts he gathered throughout the centuries just laying about the home.

“You need to sober up, and you can't do that when I'm hogging all the space in the coffin.”

“That's why I keep tellin' you that we should get a bigger coffin that can fit the both of us together.” He brushes his thumb across your cold bitten lips. Gasping like he got a brilliant idea, he pats each of your cheek, squishing it in his hands, careful not to scratch you with his sharp nails. “We should buy one tomorrow!”

You chuckle, hands reaching up to bracelet your fingers around his wrists, grabbing them to make him unlatch himself off of you. “Okay, sleep first then we'll go out to look for one.”

A wide grin spreads across his face. “Really?”

You subtly (or think that it's subtle enough) kiss his pulse point where you would feel his heartbeat if his heart still beats against his chest. “Really, we'll get a red velvet lined one.”

“How about a coffin with a telly in it so you could watch your shows?”

You smile, “I'd like that. For now, shower first because you smell like the floor of a pub.”

“Still fit though, hm?” Hobie winks, but with his drunkenness, he looks like he's spasming. It earns a guffaw from you, finding it adorable.

“Very handsome, my—” you glance sideways at the camera still recording, you've forgotten about them for a second. Clearing your throat, you help him up on his feet. “Let's go before I puke.” Playing it cool, you still look like your pants fell down to your feet.

Even drunk off his mind, Hobie sees through it, arms snaking along your middle, putting a show in front of the camera by shoving his face into the crook of your neck. Not biting, just smiling against your flushed skin. You can feel his fangs poking and prodding at you playfully.

You curse silently, holding him properly and hiding your flustered expression from the camera as you turn your back from the crew.

—

Locking the bathroom door, you made sure that the camera crew had enough tea and biscuits in the dining room before walking upstairs to check on Hobie. The crews’ chatter echoing from the vents prove that they're well occupied and distracted. Turning around, you face Hobie with a soft smile as he lounges in the bubbly bathtub that smells like Halloween incarnate.

“How's the water?” You ask, closing the distance and sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet to look at him fondly.

Hobie places his cheek on top of the edge of the black bathtub, cheek squished on the porcelain. “Just right, love.” He smiles as steam rises from the water, condensation rising up to the forest coloured tiles, “and the children?”

“Occupied with my expensive biscuits from my godmother.” You place your chin on your palm, eyes flicking from his wet face down to his shimmering torso. “You seem to be having fun with my bath bomb.”

He chuckles, fangs peeking out from his lips. A sign that he's extremely happy, you know it well. “It's red!” With a handful of bath water, he pours it from above to show you its crimson hue. “You're such a big fan of me aren't you? Mimickin’ a fraction of my power.”

“You bathe in a tub full of blood? I don't remember you ever doing that, Hobart.” With a roll of your eyes, you stand up only to sit back down next to the tub. Sitting cross-legged, you place your arms on the cool edge of the porcelain, eyes staring up at Hobie with pure affection while your index finger swirls patterns in the glittery red water. “Sounds like a great bath though.”

“Says the vampire hunter.” He dabs a droplet of water onto the tip of your nose, watching it slowly drip down into the tub. “Stop it with the bloody Hobart, thought we got past that months ago.” He seems completely sober by now, the blood juice box (that may or may not have come from your veins) helped a lot in flushing his system. You always kept them fresh in his freezer next to your orange popsicles.

“Whatever you say, Hobat.” You wink, feeling relaxed with the warmth from the water and the cinnamon pumpkin smell.

Hobie smiles softly instead of scoffing like you thought he would. A single fang peeks out from under his lip, reminding you of an adorable cat. He reaches for your hand closest to him, and then slowly, he puts his head atop your hand, nuzzling close to you. Thumb brushing along your scratch mark on your cheek, he looks apologetic while he heals it with his touch alone. Literally, it's nonexistent now that he poured a fraction of his power atop your warm skin.

Your heart squeezes in your chest. “Just curious, can you turn into a cat?”

“Is that not in any of your tomes?” He raises a brow, red eyes hazy from the hot water and tender affection from you.

You shrug, laying your head down on your arm so that you're facing him adjacently. “I remember reading that it's a rare ability.”

“Yeah?” His eyes soften, leaning ever closer to you. You can feel his cold touch amidst the warmth of the water as his lips gently caress your jaw. From the tip of your jawline down to your chin, he kisses you with so much affection that your breath hitches in your throat and nothing in your mind remains but his lips upon your own. “Tell you what,” he says against your waiting lips. “I'll tell you in exchange for a proper kiss.” He didn't need to open his mouth to say those words to you, you can hear his deep voice in your mind. Whispering those words only for you.

“Deal,” you reply in your mind, and he grins, showing you his fangs that have never scared you. Sharp ends that have always been gentle against your soft skin, fangs that were meant to leave you bone dry, but he never does. Only leaving you woozy on your feet, happy that you've helped him, content in the arms of someone you were meant to kill— taught to kill. You're glad you didn't that day, that day you got close with your wooden stake mere inches away from his heart that you now adore.

He kisses you, and you don't mind the copper taste anymore as the kiss gets sweeter than ambrosia and as saccharine as nectar whilst he pulls you into the tub with him.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @the-shroom-garden

[cuttleimagines]

𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚞𝚛'𝚜 𝙶𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝟹 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚜:

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝™ (part 1)

𝙱𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝟹𝚊𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚕

Contains: Astarion, Halsin, Gale, and Wyll

Warnings: 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜, 𝚗𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢/𝚗, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚞𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚘

Have more headcanons? Let me know in the comments!

Like what I write? Tip me on ko-fi! ⚔️

Halsin:

Halsin’s the outdoorsy BBQ dad who takes you on family camping trips.

You learn all of your life-saving skills from daddy Halsin. How to build a campfire from scratch, how to safely put one out, how to pitch a tent, how to fish.

A particular core memory you share with your dad is when he brought you to the lakeside, teaching you how to skip rocks across the calm waters.

“Look for flat rocks, little one. The ones you can run the pads of your thumbs over.” Halsin hums, the rocks crunching under his shoes as his eyes scan for the best rocks to gather for you to practice with.

His strong arms give the best hugs, and his broad shoulders are the best to lean on when sitting down next to him.

You already know all the moms simp over him when he shows up for school gatherings 💀

They see how attentive he is, how he’s always at LEAST 10 minutes early to your recitals, games, award ceremonies, fundraisers, you name it. He’s always willing to volunteer if the school staff need an extra pair of muscles too.

Since he volunteers a lot, he starts to become pretty popular amongst your classmates too. Definitely the cool dad without trying to be the cool dad.

Probably one of the coaches for the local little league

Mans has an affair with his grill. That thing is his BABY. It’s sacred.

Your weekend evenings are filled with the cool summer evening air against your skin and the faint scent of bug spray and the smoke from dad’s grill, playing with your yard toys.

He’s happy to have helpers as long as you ask! He’s a very patient teacher. He’ll pass you a turning fork and a meat paintbrush to perfectly cover the meat in his homemade BBQ sauce that was passed down for generations.

“Look at you, making dinner all by yourself!” He’d let out a hearty laugh, a proud smile on his face as he eats with the rest of the family, the small glow of a latern on the table outside illuminating his face. “It tastes better than I usually make it. Well done.”

He can hike like a motherfucker

There is not one trail this man has not conquered. His favorite is always one closest to the waterfalls wherever you all camp.

You are his pride and joy and he shows it. A HUGE sucker for you but he is firm with discipline. Refuses to hit you, only believes in consequence with experience.

Will 100% put you in the timeout corner. Is not fooled by toddler crocodile tears.

He has expectations, but he’s such a caring dad to the point where you don’t really see them as annoyances or burdens.

He’s a listener. If you’re going through something, he’ll listen and carry it out. Helps you in all the ways he knows how.

Puts a LOT of trust in you, highly suggest you don’t break that trust as you get older and become more independent.

Hyper-protective but not in a helicopter parent way. Just pls always give him frequent calls and updates whenever you’re out otherwise he will worry.

His texting style is very brief but you can tell he cares lol

“dad I’m going to my friend’s house and staying the night.”

“👍❤️” “Stay safe. Call me when you get there.”

Idk if I stressed this: DAD BEAR HUGS !!

Dad Song™️ that reminds you of him: You’ll Be In My Heart - Phil Collins

Wyll:

Wyll’s the nostalgic workaholic, attentive and caring dad who taught you life lessons that you’ll think about for the rest of your life.

He’s very very passionate about helping as many people as he can and saving those who need it the most, so I picture him being gone a lot due to work.

He probably travels a lot and you were mostly with your other parent while growing up.

However, when he is home, I cannot explain to you how amazing of a father your dad is.

Like, I can picture your other parent getting so fed up with all the responsibilities of holding down the fort so long without his help, and when he walks in the door, all of that tension is just gone.

He’s a movie dad, probably knows all the classic films and wins all of the trivia games when it comes to 60s - 2000s movies.

(No, seriously, never bring this man to an Olive Garden or a Chili’s to play the trivia games on the little iPads. He’ll win every fucking time.) 💀

That also means frequent movie nights when he’s home!

Imagine being cuddled up with popcorn, laying beside your dad on the couch while he makes side commentary on the plot that makes you laugh.

If you show him a movie or a song, he’s very attentive and will ask many questions, such as “Who’s this actress? She’s really talented” or “When was this made?"

When you were a baby, he'd be the type to sway with you in his arms, singing to one of his favorite songs as it played on the stereo in the morning

Occasionally, he still does it. He gets really happy if you learn the lyrics and sing with him. 😭

Being active is a big, big thing for him. Please, play outside. Be a kid. Don’t be cooped up inside. He HATES that.

He’s gonna encourage sports, as long as you stay up-to-date on studies and try your best.

I don’t see him getting upset if you have grades below an A. Just as long as you’re passing and trying your best, he’s happy.

However, if you have a goal to get into a competitive school, he might push you a little.

“The hardest steps are always the first ones. After you pass that, you will sail.”

Whenever anyone at the school is giving you shit, please, please tell him. He'll be so heartbroken if his baby doesn't come to him with their problems. ☹️

I don’t think it’s a surprise that he’s not going to swear in front of you, or encourage drinking or sneaking out of any kind.

He volunteers a lot at your school events, similar to Halsin. They have frequent conversations together, bonding over their little bundles of joy. 😭

When you get older, he’s teaching you everything he KNOWS about adulthood

Shows you how to do your taxes the DAY you turn 17 so you’re a year ahead and don’t have to pay anyone, takes you out to practice driving a lot, helps you move into your college dorm.

“Are you positive you have everything you need? I know I’m not here frequently, but I’ll drop my duties if you need anything.”

I think for your 18th birthday, he gets matching tattoos with you and lets you pick out the design/the words.

He flaunts it a lot, regardless of whatever it is.

You’re his BABY!! He’s so proud to be your dad 🥹

Dad Song™️ that reminds you of him: Love Will Keep Us Together - Captain & Tennille

Astarion:

Astarion is 100% the "don't tell your mom" dad who lets you get away with murder.

Astarion never pictured himself as someone who would be having children. He didn't even think he'd be a good father. So when you were born, everything crashed around him, and all he could see was tunnel vision when your tiny hand held his finger. 🥹

However, please keep in mind that he has no idea what the literal fuck he is doing when he's getting into the whole "dad" thing. Whenever you spit up, start bawling, or shit yourself he just holds you up like "What the fuck do I do?"

This slowly fades as you get older and he goes from holding you like a fragile piece of glass to hoisting you up by one arm like you were a sack of potatoes.

Encourages mischievous behavior. If you want a cookie before dinner, you get one. If you want to watch TV past 9:00, he won't tattle.

Whenever you're young, it's a little difficult to get along with your dad, surprisingly, but mainly just because he doesn't know how to properly play with you and give you the one-on-one you need. But trust that he'll be there. Just distant.

As you get older, though, he finds it easier to relate to things with you, and you grow closer. Especially when you start learning how to gossip. God, he loves that. Tell him what that one bitch told you in the hallways. He's the BEST at talking shit.

"Honestly, darling, you need to use that backbone I gave you. The best way to piss somebody off is to act like they can't touch you. Come on, practice on me. Tell me my mother's a whore."

Yeah, you get in trouble quite often. You're Astarion's kid. Who's surprised?

However, your little eyes light up whenever the teacher threatens to call your father. That man is your lawyer in the principal's office.

He is the school board's worst nightmare. It's so good. 🤭

"So what if they put gum in her hair? Honestly, though, have you SEEN her? She needs some color in her hair, I think. I believe they were helping her, personally."

I'm sorry but if you stay at home a lot of the time and you're in your teens, he WILL give you shit for it.💀

You always remember seeing him sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, swirling a glass of wine in his hand as he stares at you with that raised eyebrow.

"It's a Friday night. You have friends, don't you? Sneak out every once and a while. Be a kid, for gods sake."

Although he's incredibly relaxed about you partying and staying out late, you'd better CALL him if you get in trouble. He always stays up to make sure you get back home safe.

One memory you always hold onto is your dad always having a hand on you in public. Whether that be on your shoulder, absentmindedly twirling your hair, hand on the small of your back, or just holding the cloth of your shirt. NOBODY is touching you. ‼️

Surprisingly, he’s a dad who prioritizes safety beyond everything else. Look both ways, carry pepper spray at all times, always carry cash, never have your phone below 20 percent out of the house. More importantly, CALL him if you’re walking home alone so people know not to fuck with you.

He has your location on and checks it frequently, but don’t worry, he’s not anal about anything as long as it’s in character for you.

Because of this, you have the best street smarts out of all your friends.

He's an absolute NIGHTMARE at your school games. Talks shit to all of the parents on the other side and is the loudest when it comes to calling out the refs for bad calls.

“Double dribble?! Where?! How about you double dribble on this dic—“

He's gotten escorted out of the gymnasium a few times. 💀

When you get older, he becomes someone you confide in a LOT. And he’s going to be there for you, no matter the circumstance.

Overall, he just wants to give you a better life than he had. He's the most loyal father EVER.

Dad Song™️ that reminds you of him: Renegade - Styx

Gale:

Like Astarion, Gale is also a "don't tell your mom'' dad, but for very, very different reasons.

He's just a sucker for you, honestly. Can't say no to your big puppy eyes that you got from him.

I don’t think it’s a surprise that Gale’s secretly always wanted to be a father. That man gets off on sharing his knowledge. Passing that down to a little tiny Dekarios running around the house is right up his alley.

Gale just absolutely loves being a dad.

He loves playing pretend with you, getting to see how your little mind works while he crawls on the floor pretending to be a horse while you ride on his back.

Playing hide and seek is his favorite because you giggle so loudly and hide in such an obvious spot every time. It’s the cutest thing ever.

“Hmm… Where could that little rager have run off to…? I wonder~” He’d grin, staring right at the blanket you had so deviously hidden under.

Gale would buy those math flashcards to teach you times tables when you’re way too young for it.

You don’t care though because you get to spend time with your dad and his frustration’s funny when you just stare blankly at him.

Another thing he loves to do is read to you. You know those preschool teachers who show the book around and make little voices for the characters? That's him.

As you get older, you learn what to go to him for.

If you fake a sickness because you don't want to go to school, he's coming to pick you up. Even though he's very well aware that you're faking, and you're gonna get an earful of a lecture about it, he's always there if you need him.

He'd take you out for ice cream and while you're stuffing your face, he has the most disapproving look on his face.

"You know, you can't expect to get good grades if you've got chocolate ice cream in your stomach while the other kids are getting fed important information, sweetheart. Are you listening to me?"

As you get older please be gentle with him because he still sees you as a freshly wrapped-up newborn. It breaks his heart whenever you get in arguments when you reach your rebellious hormonal teenage persona.

Despite your issues with your dad being a little overprotective with high expectations, he's such a teddy bear and you grow a big soft spot for him as you get over your rebellion.

He's very easy to make laugh if you pull pranks on him. If you hide behind one of the doors and scare him, he's so animated it's great.

"I'm getting old, you know! You'll make my heart stop one of these days!" He'll joke, laughing through his rapid heartbeats.

He always has photos of you as a baby and insists on taking photos at all your big moments. Your graduation, he's first in line to take a picture with his baby. Damned scholarships can wait. He's the one who raised you.

Posts pictures of you all the time with witty captions and might throw a baby photo or two in the mix for a bit of nostalgia.

"Still terrorizing my wallet after all these years. I am a walking piggy bank. 😂 Love you, you hellion! Happy birthday. 🥳" Posted with a picture of you as a baby with one of those boujee toy kitchen sets right next to a picture of you getting your first car.

He's so posh about his cooking and will insist on eating at home ALL the time. You started to grow sick of it but after moving out you missed home-cooked foods so bad. Everytime you visit, you INHALE your dad's food.

Wears a "Kiss the Cook" apron, plays music whenever he grills.

Speaking of grilling, all the dads get together to grill once every few months but Astarion doesn't participate and just brings his family there for the free food because he can't be asked to cook. 😭

Dad Song™️ that reminds you of him: Dream On - Aerosmith

[pandagyaru]

"Jasper, don't you think this is a little risky? And high?" You ask, clutching onto his shirt. Your finger nails catching onto the fibers. He grabs your hand, taking it off his shirt and into his own.

"Would I ever put you in a situation where you get hurt?" He asks, nuzzling into you. You look below you, at the ground covered in sparkling layers of snow. From up there in the trees it looks quite pretty, you stare at it for a short while; contemplating what you're going to say. (Completely not getting blinded by it)

"No, but I don't see how jumping from tree to tree is supposed to be fun for me" You deadpan, looking up at him and falsely glaring; a puff of air coming out of your mouth. His gold eyes watching as it disappears.

"You'll see pumpkin" He declares, grabbing your waist with one arm and jumping to the next set of trees with the other.

"You do realize if you DROP me. I won't just get up and walk it off like you would, right?" You whimper to him, grabbing him tighter as not to perish in the snow below.

"Well good news, we're where I wanted to go" He brushes branches out of the way to reveal a beautifully reserved clearing, which you assumed would have flowers covering it fully if it weren't for the snow. Jasper turns to tell you something but he stops at the sight of you staring in awe at a deer. It slowly walks into view, sniffing the ground as it looks for a place to just lay down and relax.

"Jasper! Look at it! Isnt it cute!?" You whisper to him, watching to make sure the deer doesn't hear you. He's still looking at you, a smile appearing on his face.

"Yeah it is" He whispers back. You turn to look at him and sees he's staring right back at you. Your face burns from the contrast of the cold air and your now warm face.

"The deer! Not me!!" You hit him on the arm. He chuckles and tightens his grip on you so he can jump down from the tree. The sound of his feet hitting the snow scares away the deer, causing you to pout. He sets you down.

"You scared it away!" You yell at him, walking into the clearing and just plop yourself down in the snow. The crunching of newly laid snow fills the silence. (You ever see people write "a pregnant pause" motherfucker what?!) You lay back and put your hands out above you, the sky is a cloudy grey color compared to the white on the ground and trees.

"Looks like it's about to snow again sugar" Jasper states, coming to lay next to you. You turn your head to make eye contact with him. (I hate eye contact 😭😭)

"Hey wait. Since your body temp is cold, do you not get cold from the snow?" You ask, starting to flail your arms about in a snow angel formation.

"Not really. Doesn't mean I won't bundle up in blankets tho" He tells you, turning on his side and propping his head up with his arm. You stop making snow angels and just stare at him. The beauty of his sparkly skin with the sparkling white snow, you wish you had brought your phone. (Wait, I know like non twilight vampires can't show up in pictures, is it the same for twilight vampires?? If it is the same, shhhhh)

"Should we be heading back? You're shivering" He asks, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him.

"Maybe, I can already not feel my fingers" You muttered, blowing hot air onto your hands. He chuckles.

"Let's go home then beloved"

At home

"Ahhhhh" you sighed out as Jasper wrapped another blanket around you. He stands up and looks over you.

"You warm?"

"Like a damn burrito" You joke, sticking your hand out of the blanket and reaching for him.

"Are you sure you need me up against you?"

"I always need you up against me" You tease, grabbing him. He rolls his eyes but then he smiles.

"You're dirty"

"Yeah but you like it"

It's kinda short but I have no idea how to write for this man. LOVE YA

[spockandawe]

You know what I can't get enough of? Speculation about what the fictional novel Proud Immortal Demon Way says about its fictional author. Because it would be completely possible to make a story like this without that connection. I'm not sure I've read any other transmigration story where the author was a character, so just that addition adds a lot of interesting texture to the situation even without getting deep in the author's head, but it's so interesting how deep I can speculate in so many directions if I think about getting in his head.

And oh man, I could talk for AGES about how Shang Qinghua and his iconic protagonist reflect each other, but a lot of people have written about that already! Including in the medium of fic, which is my favorite way to consume that kind of crunch. So let's talk about familial neglect and mistreatment and the author's favorite character.

Honestly, when I look at how iconic this ship is, I'm astonished there aren't more hit novels where the author gets yeeted into their own book and has to navigate platonic or romantic relationships with their own characters. A lot of the parallels between Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe are about them being alike in ugly and vulnerable ways, ways I don't think either of them likes about themselves, and regarding aspects of their personalities that I don't think they'd be happy discussing period. Like, Binghe very much hates himself, that's right there on the page. And Shang Qinghua is a ridiculous character, he's very funny, but he's also not stupid. He's very aware of who he is and what he is, and makes a decision to behave the ways he does. I'm typing this up because I was scrolling through an old chat looking for something and tripped across a conversation about shang qinghua and fawn trauma response.

He knows he does this thing! He has an easy opening to turbokill Mobei-jun while he's unconscious and decides to go the route of begging for his life and trying to ingratiate himself after Mobei-jun wakes up instead, which is a much trickier process. He says it himself, that Mobei-jun is his ideal, that he embodies everything Shang Qinghua wants to be, that etc. And that's hilarious and all, especially in light of the eventual romance and the clownery it takes to get there, but in classic svsss fashion, it also becomes a lot sadder when you add up all the pieces and see everything Shang Qinghua hates about himself.

In some ways he's an even more avoidant narrator than Shen Qingqiu, he deflects and jokes like a motherfucker, so it really is a matter of assembling all the pieces and seeing where there are gaps. But what really underscored the connection for me was Mobei-jun's reaction to parental neglect. Because that's what pushed Shang Qinghua into being an author in the first place, his parents divorced and remarried and kinda just.... forgot about him.

Mobei-jun's dad doesn't exactly do that, but he is operating without a mom in the picture, and rather than remarrying, he just chooses to ignore the thing where his shitty brother is persistently trying to kill his son. That really sucks! But Mobei-jun never shows the smallest hint of weakness or vulnerability over this, even when it would have really helped to use his words, like 'hi my uncle is coming to kill me and i trust you to protect me.' He's everything cool, aloof, arrogant, proud, all a bunch of adjectives that really do not apply to Shang Qinghua. Mobei-jun honestly looks like a boring character if you just stick to the main story, because he's so self-contained and controlled. Compare and contrast to Shang Qinghua, who accidentally outs himself as a transmigrator like two minutes after showing up and proceeds to be hilarious for the rest of the book.

(Brief aside to say that I don't think Mobei-jun is necessarily a happier or healthier person for all of this, lmao. The conversation that fawn reaction thing came from was talking about freeze (tee hee) versus fawn in response to threats or stressful situations. But that goes along with the svsss theme of people used to engaging with this universe as a fictional property coming to terms with the depth and complexity of other people's emotions and not just seeing them as simplistic not-real characters in a book)

(Additionally, this makes the ship hilarious as a take on 'opposites attract,' but also it gives me actual Emotions that Shang Qinghua's ideal who he wishes he could be, purely incidentally, he is able to value and love Shang Qinghua in a way that Shang Qinghua can't and doesn't seem to totally understand)

And what's very interesting here. Is that Shang Qinghua made these two characters, Luo Binghe and Mobei-jun. His protagonist ultimately reflects a lot of his own vulnerabilities and insecurities (secretly and quietly in pidw, much more.... overtly in svsss), and Mobei-jun corrects for his vulnerabilities and insecurities. He's the person Shang Qinghua wishes he could be, which is basically... the opposite of Shang Qinghua, to an almost comical degree. And he then gives Mobei-jun the VERY BEST plot armor he can devise. It's hard for a male character to exist near a stallion protagonist without getting swept up in rivalries/suspicions/etc and getting killed by the protagonist, but he makes sure that his favorite character is safe from these things. He's protecting the character he wishes he could be from the character whose faults most reflect his own. That is very sweet and weird and sad, and that's very reflective of the svsss experience, I think.

[seattlesellie]

mirage

pairing: ellie williams x reader

summary: ellie doesnt like you. she cant. and then she does. but fuck, she cant.

warnings: suggestive themes, cursing, not proofread, lowercase on purpose

authors note: just wrote this on my phone. lil blurb abt ellie and u on a hot summer day and theres nothing i love more than ellie being pissed and reader being a sunshine, literally.

it was a hot, summer day. one of those days where your lips get swollen from the dryness of the air, and your breathing gets heavier with every step you take. the sun was cooking you up, quite literally. you could just feel the stinging pain of the sunburn forming on your shoulders.

what didn’t help this situation was at all was patrol. neither was the fact that your patrol partner was ellie. ellie motherfucking williams. the one girl that made your blood boil, the only person in the world you had to walk on fucking eggshells with, since every word you said, every sentence you formed, seemed to piss her off. she was like a mosquito to you, buzzing in your ear, not letting you sleep, never giving you any peace. was it your sweet voice that made her mad? was it your light steps, compared to her heavy ones? was it maybe the sound of your laughter filling up the room - every time she walked in? you couldn’t quite point your finger at it. something about you ate her up alive, biting forcefully.

“just fucking walk already” she said, dominating as ever. it wasnt her fault the flowers bloomed so beautifully - you had to get another look.

you stared her down, frowning at her demand, still crunched up with your nose deep in the blossom of the white daisies.

“i just wanted to see the fucking flowers, ellie. lighten up, jeez” you said, getting up quickly, trying to hide the fact that you were hurt at her words. it wasnt like you liked her or anything, but something about her made you want, no, need her to accept you. everyone else did. dina fucking loved you from the moment you walked in to jackson, all hurt and disheveled, jesse thought you were the fucking coolest and hell - even joel took a liking to you. everyone but her.

“just be useful for once and walk” she demanded, yet again.

you picked out a small flower, sighing at your patrol partner’s unwanted words.

“we need to clear this house and then you can go flower picking or whatever the fuck” ellie said, rolling her eyes so far back into her head you thought she might have an aneurism. her voice was stinging you harder than a bee.

“fine” you muttered. if you weren’t so small, figuratively speaking, compared to the auburn haired girl, you might have even cussed her out. told her she could go fuck off, do the patrol on her own and abandon you. but you couldn’t, because you were you, and she was ellie, and she always got the last word.

“fine” she spat back, and threw her hand ever so carelessly at the air so you could get the clue and follow her lead.

you followed her, keeping quite a large distance between the two of you. somehow, you swore to god himself, you could feel her. she wasn’t even close to you at that point, and yet her presence was still haunting you in the most physical sense of the word. her steps on the drying leaves - loud, stomping them. mad. her backpack - slamming against her back, making a small thump with every hit.

“could you walk any louder?” you said, raising your voice so she could hear you over the sounds of her own stomps.

“i could, actually” ellie retreated, sarcastic as ever. her voice was dry - was it her annoyance at her inexperienced, ever so easily distracted patrol partner? or was it the hot, dry, summer air bathing in her lungs?

she started purposely stomping even harder, all in order to piss you off. she loved seeing just what made you tick. one step closer to breaking you completely. for some reason - she needed it. needed you to tell her you were done, needed you to tell her to back off, to stop being so fucking mean. but you never did. the why of it all killed her. why didn’t you just put her in her place? why didnt you snap already? and why did she need to know so damn bad?

“real mature” you said, followed by a deep sigh. honestly, you were too busy focusing on how your sweat made your white tank top stick to the bottom of your breasts right now. too busy by your own uncomfortableness to give in to her bickering.

and then - you spotted it. the clear water almost blinding you with the reflection of the glistening sun. a lake. the lake. dina told you all about it, how when you take this patrol road, theres the most beautiful lake hidden by a number of trees. how jesse and her were convinced they were hallucinating as a result of the glaring sun, but when they realized it was real, not some mirage, they ran so fast dina almost tripped on a wire and took a dip, getting lost at the feeling of the cool water against their burning skin.

“ellie!” you shouted with excitement, like a little kid who spotted his favorite gummy at the candy store. when she didnt turn around - pretending to ignore you, you ran so fast to her you practically almost bumped into her back.

“ellie, look!” you exclaimed, pulling at her backpack and physically turning her around. she seemed startled, looking for any signs of danger, ignoring the huge smile on your face that would have pointed to her that the only danger was you.

“what? what?” she said, a bit frantic, already reaching over with her hand to grab her trusty switchblade. infected she could handle - but you and infected? she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pull through.

“the lake!” you were jumping up and down, still holding the back of her backpack, making her move with every leap.

she looked at you with a confused face, eyebrows squint together, her nose slightly scrunched. if you didnt find her so insufferable, you might have even thought that was the cutest face youve ever seen.

“wha…- what lake?” she said, eyes scanning the area. ellie williams - the ever so diligent.

“are you blind? look-“ you said, pointing at a bunch of trees.

“are you okay? are you having a heatstroke?” ellie said, half serious - half amused, looking at you up and down.

“just-“ you said, and grabbed her arm forcefully in order to guide her through. she didnt know if you could feel it, or if she had imagined it, but the contact of your small hand on her wrist made her pulse fasten. or maybe - it was the possibility of danger. she would definitely have preferred the latter. that was her reason to her heart dropping to her boxers. danger, not you. not the touch of the pretty girl, definitely not that.

she let you guide her - while her conflicting thoughts ate her burning skin up.

“faster, ellie c’mon!” you said, panting as you walked faster and faster, dragging the girl behind you.

jesus. those words, coming out of your delicate lips, they arose something in her, yet again. did she wish you said them in a different context? shit up, stupid fucking brain, shut the fuck up. the green eyed girl thought to herself. not her.

“i swear to god - if youre trying to kill me or something, ill fucking stab you” she said, still following your lead.

“you would be dead” you extorted back, with a stupid grin on your face you were grateful she didn’t catch. as if.

finally, you were there. you weren’t hallucinating, this was a fucking lake. and if you weren’t with that certain auburn haired girl, you would have taken all your clothes off and jumped right in. gosh, it was so fucking tempting.

“ta da!” you said, beaming, borderline salivating at the thought of the cool clear water caressing your skin.

“no” she deadpanned and walked away slowly, eyes glued to the lake, and then to you.

“i’m not doing that” ellie said.

“what? you cant swim?” you said, poking at her shoulder.

playful. you were being playful. and she didn’t know how to fucking react.

“i can fucking swim” she said with a sigh, hand forming a fist. what an grumpy toddler you thought to yourself.

“were on fucking patrol, y/n, i’m not going in” she said, certain of herself. she wasn’t supposed to lose control around you.

“suit yourself, williams, i’m taking a dip” you said with a sly smile, batting your eyelashes sarcastically at the girl. she let out a small chuckle, and then coughed.

she doesn’t get to have you like this, ellie, get it fucking together.

and then, without warning - you started stripping, desperately trying to get the sticky fabric away from you.

“jesus” she said with a loud voice, panicked look on her face - as if she walked in on someone doing the wrong thing. her eyes were flickering over everything that wasnt you. the tree, the ground, her feet, the lake. she could have turned around, she knew she could. but that wouldve made it even weirder.

first - it was your tank top. and then - your pants. and stupidly enough, you thought you could make her laugh. so what you did - was starting to unclasp your delicate pink bra, almost taking it off.

“what the fuck?!” ellie panicked again, and this time - she turned. it wasn’t because she didnt want to see, she didnt want you to see. her face was burning up - cheeks red as a rose.

“i’m fucking kidding, jesus ellie - i wasn’t gonna skinny dip… not with you around, anyways”

the joke landed terribly. ellie didnt find you stripping in front of her to be funny - it was anything but.

you kicked the sand under your shoes, awkwardness sending a shiver down your spine. you started fighting with your bra, trying to clasp in back on, but your clumsy hands, and the fact that you had your underboob on display in front of ellie made your hands shake even more. what the fucking hell were you thinking.

“fuck” you murmured, followed by a bunch of annoyed grunting at your failed attempt to clasp it back on,

“shit!” you were full on battling with it now.

ellie was just there. standing still, fidgeting with her hands.

“help me?” you said in a quite voice, shameful.

she let out a breathy laugh followed by an “ahh”

“fuck you, fix your own mess” she chuckled to herself.

got you.

“s’not funny, i cant do it!” you said, visibly frustrated.

“nope” she said, popping the p. she sounded so fucking satisfied with herself.

“fix your own mess” you mimicked, mocking her with a high pitched voice.

“did you just fucking mock me?” that was the last straw. she turned around, crossing her hands, still somehow trying to avoid your gaze. she was in her element now. and the element was anger. embarrassment, awkwardness, she couldn’t do - not anymore. but anger? that was her.

you were still fidgeting with your stupid bra, but somehow managed to keep your tits from spilling out.

“help. me.” you demanded, shooting arrows at her with your gaze.

“beg.” she extorted, eyes filled with pride. she couldn’t let that one go.

“pfft” you rolled your eyes- trying to ignore the butterflies creeping up on you. why did she make you feel like this?

“never” you said, trying to keep your composure, hands flailing behind you.

she walked towards you, slowly, like an animal who found her prey. she was a lion - you, a lamb. a half naked one.

she got even closer.

“then i’m not helping” she said, ever so casually. her her eyes - everything but casual.

part 2?