#like not in a 'i want u back' or manipulative kinda way just in a nice acknowledgment of the past way

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

S/O is cuddling or at least sitting down next to the main 10/12 (whichever you feel like or even other skeletons) and they starts petting their head, kinda doing papouilles (yes. The French thing. No clue how to say that in English)

Which would pur, or any other reaction honestly.

Bonus point if Skeleton also does papouilles back.

Thank u <3

Undertale Sans - You know how dogs' eyes sometimes roll back when you're petting their ears? That's Sans right now. You can tell he's struggling so hard to not fall asleep but that it's a battle he can't win lol. He's in paradise right now, and yes, if you hear very closely, you can hear something sounding like a purr. It's so faint it's barely noticeable though. Ten minutes later, he's snoring.

Undertale Papyrus - He's more and more leaning on you, and eventually ends up on your lap. Papyrus loves physical affection and he could never have enough. He's holding your arm and kinda drag it back to his head when you want to stop lol. No stopping. He could do this forever. Papyrus can gladly reciprocate too. If you try to leave, he starts to do it to keep you with him longer. Like I said before, he's good at manipulating people into giving him affection.

Underswap Sans - He's resigned to his fate, sighing every ten seconds or so. You are holding him tight by the spine, forcing him to stay by your side. He's kinda mad, and regularly tries to escape by trashing around and growling like a gremlin. PLEASE. HE'S BEGGING YOU. He has a ton of things to do today, he doesn't have time for this!

Underswap Papyrus - Honey melts on you, purring hard. He loves head massages and being touched by his S/O in general. He's clinging to you, slowly drifting to sleep. You can feel his soul calling yours regularly to check if you're still with him. It's rare to see him fully relax because he's so damn anxious all the time, but that's definitely one of these times. If you're lucky, you can hear him mumble in his sleep about how much he loves you.

Underfell Sans - He's a bit tense at first, not used to being touched like that, but the longer it lasts, the more he relaxes. Eventually, he cuddles against your little spoon style and keeps nuzzling your stomach, clearly happy. Red won't show too much his feelings, that's why he's hiding against you, but you can tell he likes that. He might even surprise you by doing it back when you least expect it, a few days later.

Underfell Papyrus - He's purring, mortified. He can't stop. He wants to stop, he desperately tries to stop, but his body isn't answering him. You found his weakest point, and you can practically do anything of him right now, as he's kinda paralyzed on your knees, entirely red. What kind of sorcery is this? He hates it! Well, no, don't stop, he loves it, but also stops it! His mind is confused!

Horrortale Sans - He's dead on your lap, purring like a tractor and desperately headbutting your chest for more. The hole in his skull itches all the time and that for sure soothes the pain a little. He whimpers from time to time, trying to have your hand to touch certain parts he wants. He's not moving for hours though, and he's HEAVY. But that's the life you chose. Willow will most likely come to stop him at some point because his purrs are making the house shake and he needs to focus lol.

Horrortale Papyrus - It depends if he's on a good day or not. On the good days, he will definitely purr and reciprocate, because that must be tiring to pet his head when he is way taller than you. On the bad days, he's just going to cry because you're too nice to him and he doesn't feel like he deserves it.

Swapfell Sans - Nox is desperate for affection and he will melt in your arms. That's a bit shocking the first time it happens, as he's pretty much clinging to you and burying his face against you. Doing this on his rough days can actually get him to confess a little about what's bothering him, so that's a good strategy to keep in mind.

Swapfell Papyrus - Aw, you're too nice to him. No, really, you're too nice. You can tell he's weirdly tense, and that's because he stuffed the couch with whoopie cushions and suddenly realized it might compromise his cuddling session. He keeps insisting to go cuddling in bed, which you start to find suspicious. Until you push a little too much on the couch and it suddenly farts in agony. Rus throws himself at your legs, begging you to keep petting him. You leave, offended, dragging Rus's body on the floor lol. Please, let him have a boobies session... He's begging you.

Fellswap Gold Sans - You're doing it all wrong. Sit down and let HIM massage you so he shows you how it's done. He expects you to learn from his gestures to reproduce it better on him next time. You're happy about the massage, but also offended? That's a weird feeling. Wine is definitely good at what he's doing though. He's extremely good at massaging people, despite his sharp claws.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He's holding you in a death grip. You're not going anywhere. You're going to pet him for a very long time. He falls asleep quickly, but Coffee clings to you and refuses to let you go, hugging your entire leg. You're not going anywhere without him. He's purring loudly too, smiling in his sleep. He's so happy right now his soul is shining bright orange in the entire room.

[bloodhailmp3]

the way the passing of time and circumstances changing can simultaneously feel deeply painful and utterly healing

[httpsvgin]

ᯓ “IN YOUR WILDEST

DREAMS.” ۶ৎ

“he’s so tall, and handsome as hell, he’s so bad, but he does it so well.” (TAYLOR SWIFT.)

BY @MZLLSIT!!! ᥫ᭡

PAIRING. hwang in-ho & fem!reader.

FANDOM. squid game (seasontwo.) ꪆৎ

T!W. shameless smut. porn with plot. angst. blowjobs. slight age difference. gagging. rough oral sex. violence. blood. slight manipulative in-ho?? (not as bad as it sounds.)

GENRE. smut, slight fluff?

“PART TWO OF ‘SAID YOU’RE A WILD

MUSTANG’ AS REQUESTED!!!!

(I SUGGEST READING ^ FIRST AS THE PLOT WOULD MATCH UP EASIER FOR YOU!!!

SUMMARY. ᝰ.ᐟ the day following yours and in-ho’s small.. ‘interaction’ left you feeling hopeless as you found that he had been avoiding you since the second he left you vulnerable in that bathroom. a million questions spiralled in your head to what possibly could be the reason he was acting so stubborn and hell, did you want your answers. taking matter into your own hands, you cornered in-ho into giving you the answers you want and deserve.. until you found yourself in a rather.. sticky situation?

!!!!AUTHORS NOTE!!!!! . . . in this fanfic i twisted up the story a smudge and basically removed the whole last scene of the rebellion and replaced it with the aftermath of the night games and the players making their way up toward their 4th game just so this story would kinda like make sense bruh??? and on another note the comments left on my last post were so supportive istg my ego is through the roof yall i love it. also, im thinking of writing a story with the love interest being sangwoo cuz hes been my man since day one guys. lmk who u want to see me write about next and thank you so much for all your support!!!!!!!! ᥫ᭡

─────────────

the hours following after the blood bath that erupted amongst the players felt as though they could last a million lifetimes. you watched as the pink covered guards entered the room with those obnoxious boxes, plush and dark with a taunting pink bow on the top just to add another “fuck you” to the players about their power while they scrooped up the bodies of the dead.

blood seemed to be on every surface your eyes could catch, the floor, walls, even the beds as you watched a guard carry a limp body of a woman who’s stomach was mutilated and open for all to see, her eyes fluttered shut to show she probably was attacked in her sleep. you couldn’t help but feel bile rise in the back of your throat at the scene, swallowing the acid back down to your stomach with a trembling lip. how can anyone be so fucking inhumane?

yet while you fought away your vomit, your eyes pinned onto a familiar body who was being carried into a box. nam-yu’s wide, dead eyes felt as though they were following your live ones as they lowered him into the box. instantly your mind snapped to the memory of in-ho puncturing the metal pole in through his heart and feeling his warm, crimson blood drip along down your face before his body collapsed ontop of you. this time, your final view of the man who tried to end your life was left with a hole through his body and his head tilted up to stare at the ceiling as they slid the lid of the box over his body.

and yet the man who saved your life seemed to have removed himself from it completely as he sat in the same corner with gi-hun, jung-bae and the rest of their alliance, his eyes staring at the ground with what looked like guilt but with feeling your eyes on him, he tilted his own to look back at you for a short moment which made your heart rattled against your chest before his attention was quickly yanked away as jung-bae opened his mouth to talk.

so here you sat across the room, feeling like a crumb that was kicked under the carpet, longed to be forgot about. not even an hour ago he was staring up at you from between your legs like you were a prized antique, fragile and precious and made to be cherished. now here he is, running a firm hand through his messy hair, not daring to look in your direction. how man like of him.

biting the flesh from under your finger nails you sat a few bunk beds away from your group while the x’s stayed firm in their side of the room but this time each of the sides were down by far more numbers and looked slightly more frightened than ever before.

“hey. .” a soft voice came and dragged you out of your thoughts as you turned your head at the sound of your name. player 120 looked down at you softly, hands tightly at her side to try not to spook you. “my god, i thought you were dead.” she whispered a little breathlessly as she smiled a sweet smile she knew you needed yet you could tell she was more than thrilled to see your face alive and well.

cho-hyun ji her name was, she was someone you stuck along side with during all of the games you played. she and her group recruited you to be theirs during the second game where you shocked your group with your skill of spinning top. to be honest, despite your angered shape it was more than soothing to see such a kind and comforting face after everything.

“come, sit with us.” slowly and carefully she brought her hand up to settle on your shoulder yet not firmly enough to scare you or pressure you.

your eyes were brought to the group who you found to be staring back at you with a smile, player 222, she held her large belly with one hand yet her other tapped the spot next to her, signalling you to sit. gi-hun, the leader you supposed also offered a kind smile toward your way where as in-ho’s dark eyes stared in way you couldn’t quiet put your tongue on. lust? anger? guilt? who knows, instead you took hyun-ji’s hand and followed her over to the rest of the group and ignored the fiery feeling in your stomach.

“ah-haha! there she is!” jung-bae called out from his seat on the stairs and before you could even respond he pulled you into a tight, suffocating embrace, his plump arms patting your back while he chuckled. “we thought we lost you for a second there!” you laughed kindly at the groups relief of seeing your face again and as jung-bae released his bear grip on you, from over his shoulder you caught eyes with in-ho, a strand of his dark hair fell over his eyes which looked like they darkened in colour at the view of you two, and fuck, did it make your stomach sink.

after your small reunion with the group you finally took your seat inbetween player 222 and gi-hun, who affirmed your nervousness with a warm smile yet you could see the pain from behind his eyes as he quickly returned his attention back toward the conversation jung-bae and his marine friend were bantering about. you guessed they were probably trying to make the best out of a bad situation judging by how deflated and scared most of you seemed.

your mind blurred with whatever conversation was happening amongst your friends and instead your eyes pinned to stare at the pink, square guards that stood at the metal double doors, then stared to in-ho, then back to the guards. what correlation did this man have with them? because hell, theres no way they would’ve opened that door even if you pleaded with your whole life and still they allowed him with you at his side to slide away from death and into heavens gates? it made no sense to you at all. and why was it so easy for him to act as though nothing between you had even happened not even a few hours ago when it was eating you up from the inside not to scream in his face.

maybe im overreacting? you thought. anyone in this room is just as desperate for sex, he probably saw you in that bathroom as a stress reliever, a one ‘night’ stand that he could easily slip away from with no feelings attached? sure, it made sense, but nor did it stop the way you felt towards him and it definitely did not make sense on how easily those guards let him live. this man has power, and nobody else knows about it.

and you were going to find out what is was, even if it costs you your life.

. . . .

“attention all players, the next game will commence shortly. please make your way toward the game hall!” the ai voice called from the several speakers around the room to which everyone began to shakily rise from their spots, making their way to the now opened doors.

“any idea on what the next games could be?” you heard jung-bae ask gi-hun, to which gi-hu replied with a tight shrug, assuring that the games have changed since the last time he played and that it was completely out of his power. gi-hun was kind and definitely did not deserve all that was racking on his shoulders, besides, he was a good man with a good heart.

you stuck behind the crowd, following tightly behind hyun-ji while the rest of your group walked through the doors to where the bright colours of the spiralled hallways illuminated and burnt your eyes. in-ho followed closely behind you, alone, and you could practically feel the way his eyes burnt holes at the back of your head. this was your opportunity.

hyun-ji chatted alongside player 246, making their way hastily up the stairs while you shortened your steps, slowing your legs down down and listening quietly to in-ho behind, who’s steps were beginning to match your pace.

waiting until you were out of sight, you twisted your head around to face in-ho behind you before using all your strength to pull and yank him up against the wall, anger lacing your eyes. even though you were at an advantage, his height still towered over you, like he could swallow you whole as he stared down at you, grinning. you felt vulnerable at how beautiful he looked pinned against a wall, keeping his eyes calm and settled on you, hair messy and scattered along his relaxed features.

“mm, little girl finally found her strength, yeah?” his tone was glazed sweetly like honey with a hint of sarcasm laced on his tongue as he took the view of you, knitted eyebrows, hair pulled back into a loose bun as you panted harshly with your hand tight against his chest, trying to keep him still.

“youve been avoiding me.” your chest heaved, staring into his souls with attempted anger yet a slight glisten of lust shimmer behind your eyes. the way you had him pinned reminded you of how he had you in that bathroom, pretty face buried between your legs and eating you out like a man starved of thirst. it sent your thighs to clench just at the thought.

“i have reasons.” his tongue poked on the inside of his cheek, the nerves in his jaw clenched for a moment yet he never broke eye contact or even tried to move out of your grip.

“oh yeah? what reasons, cause i sure as hell know theres something up with you.” you gripped his shirt harder under your shaking hands, yanking his shirt forward in attempt to gain your dominance. he laughed. right in your fucking face, soft and innocent but fuck did it damage your ego.

“reasons that don’t concern you, sweetheart.” the nickname rolled on his tongue in a way that sent butterflies to spiral in the pit of your stomach and your cheeks to flush in a soft pink colour. “now, are we going to do this the nice way, or my way.”

now it was your turn to laugh, cocking an eyebrow and yanking his shirt tighter toward you so his face was inches from yours. “you don’t fucking scare me, in-ho.” you spat, face now laced with seriousness as you stood you firm ground.

“well, so be it.” he shrugged firmly before his hand wrenched around your wrist and yanking it behind your back in a split second. crying out in pain, he shoved your back against him to where your ass pressed firmly against his front while his other hand wrapped around your mouth to muffle your yells. your free arm clawed and slapped against the arm that quietened you yet his strength overpowered yours so easily.

“why’d you have to be so difficult, hm?” his lips were so close to your ear lobe that his hot breath ticked against the plush of your neck.

“fuck you..” you whispered out from a shaky breath, feeling embarrassed at how quickly the tables turned in just a few seconds. then, he chuckled again, but instead this one came out darker.

“as you wish.” he whispered into the crook of your neck before grabbing both your wrists with one hand and used his other to yank the door handle behind him that his back pressed against, shoving you both inside.

the first thing that caught your eye was the long walk way and how nearly every material of the room was covered in gold decor, walls covered in black paint with shelves of whiskey and liquor that probably dated back to centuries ago sat behind a glass case while in the centre sat a large tv half the size of the room. on the screen played footage of the players still walking up the stairs to the game, in front sat a plush, leather couch with a side table that had a half drank glass of bourbon ontop. next to that sat a mask, yet it was different from the one the guards wore and it made your skin tingle.

yet your wondering eyes were stopped in their tracks as in-ho pressed himself tighter against your lower back before leading you forward through the walkway, his breathe tickling softly against your skin.

“you’re shaking.” he spoke against your pulse point in your neck, still pining your wrist behind you as he walked you like a fucking dog toward the plush sofa to where he brought you round to the front. slowly, his long fingers trailed up your body, not once letting his lips leave your skin as he practically inhaled your scent. eventually they landed on your clothed shoulder before he pressed down on it for you to lower yourself down on your knees.

fuck. you tried to swallow the lump that grew in your throat as you sat on your knees in front of him, watching as he man spread out before you, arms resting behind him while he stared down at you with that same fucking smirk that made you clench your legs.

“who are you working fo—“ the words muffled your throat before you were shoved face first into his crotch, feeling his hard erection through the material of his joggers. he rubbed your cheek against the bulge in his trousers and you swore you heard a small, whiny hum from his lips.

“shh.. why don’t you use that pretty mouth of yours for a greater good, hm?” his large palm petted the back of your head, stroking you like you were a soft animal as you swallowed the gathering saliva that gathered anxiously in your mouth. “do me well and ill answer any questions you have for me, sweetheart. deal?”

you nodded your chin up and down as you slowly edged your finger to the waist band of his tracksuit bottoms, pulling them slowly with shaking fingers. feeling your trembling touch, in-ho brought a warm palm to your cheek, thumb running comfortingly over the scar left under your eye as his eyes glistened beautifully under the gold lighting. and shit, you swore you get sticky just at his touch.

“mhm, just like that.” he coed down at you quietly, treating you as precious that if he spoke to loud you would shatter like a piece of glass. being validated by him was a drug you never knew you needed, and hell, were you addicted. cautiously, you began pulling at his clothes again until they were down to his thighs, leaving him in a pair of calvin kline boxer briefs. hot and ironic, judging his rich scent you werent exactly surprised to see them with his large bulge staring back at you.

for a moment, you looked up at him to where he was already staring back down at you, palm still cupping your cheek as he gave a gentle nod of approval before your finger tips brushed at the elastic top of his pants as softly yanking them down. fuck.

his size practically made your mouth gape open slightly, your wide eyes taking in the mouthwatering sight. a baby pink tip beaded and glistened with pre-cum while a pretty vein ran along the side of his cock, starting from his base and traveling the full way to the tip. you gulped at his girth, fantasising at how perfectly he could satisfyingly fill you up against this fucking couch.

“please.” he mumbled, sounding breathless already and slightly needy as he took one hand to gather your soft hair into a ponytail before shoving your head down harshly on his cock, forcing his tip to stab against the back of your throat which made your eyes fill with tears as you choked.

bobbing your head up and down, your lips wrapped around his large girth perfectly while your palms sat firm on either side of his thighs for support. the sounds leaving his mouth were like they were sent from heaven, breathless and desperate, almost enough to make you cum there and then. his fingers interlinked with the roots on your hair, tugging on the strands.

bringing yourself up from his cock, you admired the way it glistened with your saliva as you caught your breath. for a moment, you looked up to capture the view of this man, his head tilted back as his adams apple bobbed in his throat while his eyes wrenched shut. he was fucking beautiful and vulnerable while you sat in between his legs, it made you want to suck him dry until he cried out your name to stop.

gently, you leaned you head back down to his tip, using your tongue to kitten lick around the base to taste the sweetness of his pre-cum. this caused in-ho to grip at your hair painfully, letting out a deep groan at the way you teased his sensitive tip.

“who do you work for?” you whispered against his length and you swore you felt it twitch between your hand as you used one to work at the base of his cock while your tongue remained along his tip, licking long stripes.

“i dont work for nobody.” he grumbled from the couch, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, his chest heaving slightly at how beautifully you worked and treated him. “what makes you think i do, hm?”

“during the night those guards just—“ you gripped on the meat of his thigh as he shoved your mouth back down on his cock, making you gag out loudly against him which sent shivers down his spine at the vibration. tears battled behind your eyes at the burning that began to ride in the back of your throat yet his cock continued to thrust harsher and deeper between your lips.

you couldn’t even breathe against him, yet he couldn’t give less of a shit as he continued to shove his dick balls deep in your snappy mouth that got you in this position in the first place. sucking and gagging along his cock felt euphoric for you, even leaving your panties wet with your slick yet you attempted to cross your legs at the uncomfortable, sticky feeling that grew in between them.

squeezing on his thighs, you felt hot tears stream from your cheeks while your mouth battled with the roughness of his thrusts as he fucked your mouth vigorously. soon enough, your knees bucked at the way he twitched in your mouth before his warm cum coated every surface of your mouth, filling you up completely.

“fuck..” he panted harshly, letting go of the grip of hair he held to look down at you with your mouth full of cum. your lips were puffy and pink while your cheeks stained with tears as you swallowed harshly, his taste leaving a sweet tingle on your tongue. then, he took your face in with hand hand, lifting your chin up to look at him as he squeezed both sides of your cheeks between his fingers.

“look at me when i talk to you.” he grunted down at you, fluttering your eyelashes to look at his face with your glossy eyes as you sniffled slightly. taking one hand, he wiped a drip of cum from the crease of your lips before tugging at your hair to open your mouth. sliding his thumb between your lips, you licked of the residue with the warmth of your tongue, then softly he removed it with a short pop.

“you’re a smart girl, yeah? but not smart enough to understand what danger you have put yourself in.” his tone was gentle, yet his words made your heart thump wildly against your chest. the fuck does that mean? you wanted to ask, yet you chewed on your tongue to not do so.

“i dont.. understand?” you almost choked on your words, eyebrows knotting into a thrown as you felt just as clueless as before, yet this time with a slight bit of your dignity stripped judging by the fact you had to suck off a potentially dangerous stranger because you were curious.. well, not just that. but still, he had your mind lopped in confusion thats for sure.

“i don’t expect you to, sweetheart.” he coed, twirling your soft hair between his finger tips while his other still remained on keeping your chin up at him. “but, please, understand this.”

slowly, he lowered his head down toward yours, brushing his thumb along the softness of your bottom lip. in-ho stopped to trace his lips along your ear lobe, nibbling at the soft skin before opening his mouth to whisper upon it. “if anyone even dares to hurt you, i promise ill chop off every single one of their fingers and serve them to you on a silver platter.” he chuckled against your neck, licking a nipping at the skin as he felt you tremble bellow him.

��with their head as dessert.” he growled in your ear, violence and threat slashed on his tongue while he used his spare arm to scoop you up from the plush carpet floor and into the warmth of his lap. “do you understand that?”

“yes.” your bottom lip trembled and eyes widened with the seriousness of his tone, and fuck did he mean every word of it. nor did you hesitate to believe him either, taking your hands to wrap around the back of his neck and rest your chin into the crook of his neck, inhaling the expensive scent he let off.

“thats my girl.”

[tellafairy]

thoughts on shifting + manifesting with ease. (as someone who's shifted many times, alongside manifesting)

coming back to this side of tumblr after spending years away from it has made me realized how many of you are truly the problem, it might sound kinda harsh but really. so many of you ask the same questions over and over again.. "but HOW do i do it?" "how do i shift" "how do i manifest" JUST DO IT. stop looking for signs, stop looking for methods or "cheat codes". just do it man.

your mind is so powerful and it actually kinda irritates me how many of you doubt it, just because it "seems to easy". you don't understand how you've been manipulated by society to not see your power. how have you been on loa social media, shifting social media, for soooo long — yet still don't see it?? let me tell you..

the moment i got off social media, the moment i took time to erase everything in my head and stop overthinking everything, was the moment everything came to me. i already had it, i just needed to stop telling myself i didn't.

it took me barely any time to get used to convincing myself i had everything i wanted, i shifted to my desired realities, and everything worked out in my favour. AFFIRMING IS ALL YOU NEED. I AM YELLING AT YOU. JUST AFFIRM.

really, please, affirm. the routine is so simple.

1. any bad thought is instantly turned positive.

ex: "i really want her waist"

to

"am i stupid ... i have her waist.. tbh mine even looks a little better.. am i crazy?? like actually? this must be a glitch or something cause my waist is practically identical to hers.. i literally love my waist"

exaggerate, say what you need to say to erase the negativity.

2. it's yours, so act like it..

ex: talk about ur DR normally. it's your reality, not a fantasy land you made up in a dream. ITS REAL. it's a reality. for example, i'd watch videos of my s/o in this reality, and speak about our lives in my dr. "i can't wait to see __ tonight... god i love __, it's so nice hanging out with them everyday.. wow they look so pretty in this video — i'm so lucky their mine". it's natural, they're yours aren't they? exactly, so act like it.. this is used the exact same way when manifesting..

you see someone with something you want? thinking of something you wanna do? something you wanna be? ... it's urs... so can you act like it?? like whyre u feeling sad someone else got a job promotion 😹😹 you literally got a better one ...

3. that's literally it

you don't need a fancy method (although it can give u some peace of mind.. let's be real, a lot of methods set y'all back and make you overwhelmed, blocking ur beliefs and making everything seem harder). you literally just need to live. tell yourself it's done, over and over again. nothing matters. it's done, it's yours, you have it, you're happy and fulfilled. other peoples sucess should really mean nothing to you negatively. it shouldn't make you stressed, shouldn't make you feel behind.. why would it when you have everything, you can do everything, go anywhere, and you can be anything.

it'll seem like manifesting blogs and shifting blogs just repeat the same things.. which is true, they do, because i'm telling you there's nothing more to it than what you've already read. it is that easy. all it takes is your mind. decide, and tell yourself.

as i said before, it took me barely anytime to switch my mindset once i actually started focusing on myself, my journey and not every body else's results. repeating stuff to yourself WORKS. repeating is literally ALL i did. choose what i want, told myself it's mine in any way i could describe it. and there, it's mine. ive shifted to many different realities, along side gaining a better life in this one after years of convincing myself there was nothing for me. if i can break out of the cycle, trust me you can too. i cannot describe how desperate i was at the beginning, how long i took in false info and wasted time on methods all while doubting every single thing.

so why don't you believe it? you'll sit there and tell yourself over and over again that you're ugly, or broke, or friendless... but you won't tell urself that you've shifted? that you have your dream body...? girl okay i guess....

once you realize nothing besides your mind truly matters, is when you'll be free with yourself. circumstances don't matter, past feelings don't matter, doubts don't matter, your mind is all you need.

yes this is just loa explained longer, that's the point of the post because some of u still can't get it in ur heads

[pshbites]

LOVE ON AiR

SYNOPSiS » two podcast groups, both equally popular on the internet, start interacting with one another. however it isnt how fans want it to be.. OR yn sees sunghoon hating on lauryn hill and accidentally starts an entire fanwar with him.

PAiRiNG » sunghoon x fem!reader

FEAUTRiNG » all of enha, giselle of aespa, txt briefly mentioned

GENRE » smau (social media au), fluff, angst, enemies to lovers (barely), chronically online humor, romance, podcast au, influencer au, HEAVILY inspired from suburb talks and under the influence podcasts, SLOWBURNN

WARNiNGS » profanity, suggestive humor, kys/kms jokes, lots of pop culture references (im chronically online im sorry), drinking, drugs, fanwars, yn haters (BOOOOO), stalking (sorta?) manipulation (NOT FROM SUNGHOON OR Y/N) changes every chapter.

STATUS » completed — (08/03/24) to (10/26/24)

PLAYLiST » your eyes only - enha, after midnight - chappell roan, ex factor - lauryn hill, kiss me - dpr live, read your mind - sabrina carpenter, 3005 - childish gambino, poison poison - renee rapp, thirst - dpr live, just a little bit - enha, daisy - wave to earth, nouvelle vague - wave to earth, thinkin about you - frank ocean. (got carried away .. 😁)

AUTHORS NOTE » BIGGG thanks to my bestest friend ever, my fav british person, @lqfiles , ily so so much and thank you so much for helping me with this process. teaching me how to work tumblr like i was a grandma even tho im only 2 years older than u and making this AMAZING cover (isnt she talented), i love u sooo much more than words can describe, you annoying brit (endearing) 🫶

TAGLIST CLOSED!

written chaps in blue

🔴 RECORDING..

teaser (read first for context!!)

profiles i & profiles ii

1) call my phone a vibrator the way it keeps buzzing

2) YAP CENTRAL EP.135: alpha male podcasts?!

3) first hate thread. feeling nervous

4) pussy slay queen!

5) okay alpha

6) ROUND TABLE EP.149: perfect pitch :o

7) 1 down 3 to go

8) what the fuck is a ynhoon

9) YNXOXO VLOG: night out w/ won and riki

10) wet and bothered

11) just a normal tuesday

12) jungwons evil arc

13) YNXOXO VLOG: cafe date with my girls <3

14) the battle of thirst traps

15) twitch streaming era

16) YAP CENTRAL EP.136: did social media ruin relationships?

17) second interaction: kinda scared

18) fuck skater boys

19) park sunghoon v. round table

20) riki emo era: OVER

21) sunghoons side hoes

22) ROUND TABLE EP.150: we traded phones?!

23) bro define: friend

24) spidey sense

25) on my cellular plan i pay for?

26) YNXOXO VLOG: night time routine + surprise!!

27) a face i would kiss

28) collab of the century

29) YAP CENTRAL EP.137: has love lost its meaning?

30) eyes don’t lie

31) operation: ynhoon (postponed)

32) crybaby

33) operation: ynhoon (BACK ON)

34) chat is this a date yes or no?

35) boss baby jay

36) boyfriend

37) soft or hard?

38) what da heck *tyla voice*

39) YNXOXO VLOG: ice skating! | vlog w/ a special guest!!

40) love is on air

UNCUTS

1) operation: get riki ip banned on twt

2) try not to blow up challenge: FAILED

3) JAYS KITCHEN: my friends trying to help me make food blindfolded. (spoiler: it’s a fail)

4) YNXOXO VLOG: my boyfriend does my makeup voiceover !

5) YAP CENTRAL BLOOPERS: riki kat and yn patreon ad

© all rights to pshbites 2024

[explorevenus]

my soul to keep ♡ vampire!leon kennedy x virgin!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors. dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 6.4k

tags/warnings: romantic vampire leon, virgin/innocent f!reader, leon turns reader into a vampire, some religious allegory, bloodplay (obviously), gravedigging, some gory descriptions but not a whole lot, one instance of overeating (reader's learning, leave her alone </3), manipulation kinda, praise, fingering, p in v, creampie

description: leon creeps into your village at night for a quick drink, only to find himself infatuated with an angel like you. it's a good thing he possesses the means to preserve you for himself.

a/n: yes this is the vampire leon fic i started like a year ago don't look at me <33 i'm just proud of myself for getting it finished before halloween this year AAAAAAAA

divider by @saradika-graphics !!!!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

The last time Leon remembered feeling this alive, well… he was still living, and that was a long time ago. When lonely and undead as long as Leon has been, it can be difficult to show restraint upon first contact with anything that evokes such emotion. 

But he did, for a while. You were just too cute, he thought as he stood over your slumbering body that first night. It wasn’t something he liked to make a habit of, but a light hunting season for him meant starvation through the winter, and he didn’t have much choice but to go wandering into the nearby little village for a quick bite to eat. 

Until he found you. 

You looked like a cherub sleeping there in your plush little bed, buried beneath a quilt he could only assume you made yourself. Precious, fragile. You looked especially fragile. 

And humans are so fragile, he thought. You smelled so sweet, it made his teeth ache just standing there staring at you without acting upon his festering need to sate his appetite, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to scare you, or worse, lose control of himself and kill you. 

He wandered silently around your little cottage in hopes of learning more about you. It was tidy but lived in, well-kept in a way that made him think you were probably a good homemaker. Your old leather boots sat by the door, dirtied by years of garden work and general wear. There was a little handmade ceramic candle holder on your bedside table, the candle in it burned nearly down to the base, and he wondered if maybe you’d held onto it because the piece was sentimental to you. Carefully arranged bouquets of flowers were strung together and hung up above the cracked window, likely to dry them out and preserve them. 

And suddenly he realized that maybe he would like to preserve a flower for himself. 

He couldn’t allow himself to feed from anyone in your village that night. If word spread around about a vicious animal attack or some other form of brutality, it would only hinder his ability to ultimately get to you, and he couldn’t risk that. Weak and delirious and ravenously hungry as he was, Leon forced himself to bid you adieu and stalk off into the night, back to his crumbling old castle in the middle of the woods… but not before leaving you a gift. 

His gift. The gift.

Your lips parted in a dreamy sigh as you slept, rolling over onto your back. He admired your face for a moment before he couldn’t take it anymore— if he didn’t leave now, you were going to become dinner, and he couldn’t have that. Hastily, he bit down on the meat of his palm and squeezed, watching as his old crimson blood bubbled up to the surface, and then he held it up over you.

Drip. Right between your rosy, plush lips. Even in your slumber your face scrunched up at the foreign taste, your heavy arm coming up to swipe at yourself like you were just trying to get your hair out of your eyes.

And just like that, he was gone, having taken his leave through the very same open window that gave him the idea. 

He wasn’t a monster, of course. He kept an eye on you as you experienced the very same pain he felt decades ago. 

The next day, you woke up later than usual feeling quite lousy. Your whole body was sore and weighty and, reasonably enough, you chalked it up to poor form while tending your garden the day before. It was an easy mistake to make from time to time, after all. But as the day dragged on, you only felt worse, so you retired to bed right after supper that evening. 

The day after that, you woke up in the early afternoon feeling awful. Your head was screaming with a migraine and your heart was beating slow and hard in your chest. You were sweating and shaking and could barely even open your eyes because the light hurt so bad. A friend stopped in to check on you after noticing how late of a start to the day you were getting, and almost as soon as she stepped in the door, she was rushing back out to the apothecary, begging the village healer to come check on you. 

The village healer loaded you up with tricks and tinctures and anything she could think of to break your fever or at least ease your pain. Dried herbs and poppyseeds and fungus ground up in the mortar and pestle, the paste slathered under your nose, on the bottoms of your feet, steeped into tea that was too hot for you to drink. None of it worked. At a loss for advice to give, the village healer urged you to drink plenty of water and rest, and to quarantine yourself. Couldn’t risk passing whatever you had to the rest of the community. 

You woke up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night and didn’t even have time to throw your quilt aside as you doubled over the side of your bed and vomited. This continued for a few moments until you could barely breathe, tears dripping from your eyes as your face reddened with strain and you inwardly resented yourself, knowing you would have to drag your sick body out of bed to clean up the mess you’d just made. You struck a match and lit the candle at your bedside and hesitantly peered down to survey the damage, only to be met with the image of your beautiful wooden floors drenched in blood. Reaching up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand yielded the same result. 

As you stared at your own blood in horror, Leon stared at you in adoration from the other side of the window. For a moment your bleary eyes caught on the glass and he wondered if you saw him, but if you did, you didn’t react. 

Even at a distance he could hear your heartbeat continuing to weaken. Soon enough you would be just like him, a beautiful preserved flower, and better yet, you couldn’t be harmed. You wouldn’t change, you wouldn’t grow, you wouldn’t die.

Although your village certainly thought you did. It was a dreary, overcast day when the village healer decided to stop in and check on you, only to find you completely lifeless and splattered with blood where you laid. She had to be the one to break it to your family that you had lost your battle with whatever illness plagued you. Leon watched from the shadows as your father lifted your limp, blood-soaked body from your bed and held you close, sobbing, hesitating to admit to himself that you were gone.

By the end of the afternoon, as the sun went down and the drizzling rain refused to let up, the entire village was standing over your grave, watching you get lowered into the soft, soggy ground. 

Once everyone had paid their respects, Leon watched them all retreat to share a drink in your honor, hushed whispers revealing just how unsettled everyone was by your untimely demise. You were so young, they said, so bright and healthy and undeserving of your fate. They wondered what it meant for themselves, and only Leon knew it didn’t mean anything at all. Your illness wasn’t going to spread because he had what he wanted now, and that was you. 

As soon as the final candle was blown out for the night, Leon took a shovel from your garden and began to dig, the metal piercing easily through the soaked earth until it revealed the handmade box you’d been laid to rest in. He popped the top off and looked at you, your arms still crossed delicately over your chest with a beaded rosary tucked beneath your palms, a pale flower in your hair. Your family didn’t need to know they’d be spending the rest of their lives praying over an empty coffin in the ground. 

Leon scooped you up into his arms, cleaned up after himself and set off into the woods with you clutched to his chest like a princess.

It was a few days before you finally roused. Leon had barely taken his eyes off of you the entire time you slept, and admittedly, he was a bit grateful it had taken you so long, for your own sake. He watched over you and cared for you as the last of your body heat drained out and your fangs descended behind your lips. From what he remembered, that was the most painful part of the transformation, and you were lucky to have slept through the worst of it. 

When your eyes finally shot open, he could barely contain his excitement. In one swift movement you sat up on the couch, bringing one hand up to clutch at your pounding head, the other massaging your sore jaw as your worried eyes darted around the room to drink in your surroundings. Then and only then did your gaze finally land on Leon. 

The fright and confusion on your face were evident. He knew you would have a lot of questions, and he was prepared to answer them. 

“There you are, darling,” he greeted you warmly, the first words he’d ever spoken to you. “How are you feeling?”

"W-Where am I?" You rasped, throat sore and shot from vomiting up blood the other day. Once your new condition fully set in, you would heal, but for now you were still a touch miserable. "Who are you?"

“I’m Leon,” he was gentle in introducing himself, taking your cold, shaking hand in his own so he could brush a polite kiss over your knuckles, “and this is your new home.” 

You blinked slowly at him, brows furrowed as you mulled over what he meant, and you came up short. Tears welled up in your bloodshot eyes and you hesitated for a moment before asking him a question you were afraid to know the answer to; “Am I… Did I die?” 

Leon wasn’t quite sure how to answer that at first. He imagined that question being posed much later in the conversation, so it sort of caught him off guard. He took a breath and then replied gently, “Something like that, yes.” 

“Huh?” 

“Shh, don’t worry,” he whispered, kneeling on the floor beside the couch so he could get on your level, his cold, pale fingers tracing gently over your lifeless skin. “You’re safe, your family is safe, your village is safe. I’m just here to take care of you, my beloved, to guide you in this tricky space between life and death. Do you trust me?” 

Strangely enough, you did-- or, rather, you felt compelled to. 

But that didn’t make the implications of your condition any easier on you. You were such a frightened little lamb, your cheeks hollowing and your eyes glowing like rubies and your skin tone taking on more and more of a pallid quality by the day as you refused to feed. He knew you would have some difficulty with this at first— after all, you were just far too sweet to kill anything— but he also knew you would only become weaker and more agitated if you continued to starve, and perhaps more grim, you would remain stuck in this odd limbo between death and vampirism. 

He tried everything he could think of. You wouldn’t drink animal blood, from the body or in a glass, and you certainly refused human blood in either form too. Every time he broached the topic of sating your hunger you would cower away from him and shake your head, eyes screwed shut as you continued to deny the reality of your situation. Starvation brought forth only misery, that much Leon knew, misery and longing and weakness and worse, everything he didn’t want for you. 

For two weeks you pushed back on the topic, insisting that if you couldn’t truly die, you would rather starve than take the life of another. As much as it pained him to see you this way, Leon appreciated that you could be so stubborn about your morals. He just wished it wouldn’t come at the cost of your own well-being.

He left you at the castle one night to go hunting himself. It wasn’t often he’d stumble into humans in these woods, especially during the winter, but he hoped he would get lucky for himself anyway. Leon burned a few hours stalking through the trees and all he had to show for it when he returned home was a few small animals that wouldn't last him more than two light meals, but it was better than nothing, he thought.

Then he stepped through the creaking castle doors and his nose perked up to the familiar rich scent of human blood-- thick and heady in the air, cloyingly sweet and indulgent. Intoxicated by it for the moment, it didn’t really dawn on him immediately what that meant… until he followed the scent from the foyer to the living room and found you. 

You were on your knees in front of the fireplace, hunched over the writhing body of the village healer, her eyes wide and glassy as she choked out gurgled sounds of agony and clawed weakly at you to let her go. You didn’t even seem to notice Leon as he entered the room, a concerned grimace on his face, though it was accompanied by a tangible sense of relief that you were finally feeding. 

“Sweetheart,” he said lowly, causing you to blink with confusion and look up at him through your lashes, the poor village healer’s carotid still clenched tightly between your teeth. “Easy now, you’ll make yourself sick.” 

Your brows furrowed and you bit down a little bit harder, siphoning out a few final greedy gulps from the woman before dropping her from your grasp, your eyes still trained on Leon as her weak body flopped limply to the floor. His eyes softened with empathy as he looked you over, gore dribbling down your chin and the front of your white dress, your stomach puffy like an engorged tick. Now that you weren’t feeding anymore it would seem you made the same realization he had, the fog of desire clearing in your brain to make room for the shame and discomfort. With a soft whimper, you reached for him with both arms outstretched, but otherwise didn’t move. 

Leon gave you a nod of understanding before scooping you up into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he carried you out of the parlor. “My poor baby,” he sighed softly, “It gets easier, I promise. I’m so proud of you.” 

He ran a hot bath for you and left you to soak for a while as he got to work cleaning up the mess you’d made. The village healer was barely clinging to what remained of her life, and while he was extremely tempted to nurse her back to health and keep her around to continue feeding on, he knew it would hurt you. He could already tell you hated yourself for victimizing her in the first place, the very same woman who’d tried so hard to save your life just weeks ago and who was responsible for ensuring the health of the entire village, which included your friends and family. 

So he mopped up the blood, bottled what he could and wrapped her wounds to the best of his ability before compelling her to forget, dumping her just at the edge of the trees outside the village so someone would find her in the morning.

When he returned again, tired and dirtied from hauling an unconscious woman through the woods on your behalf, you were still relaxing in the tub. The water was tinted pink from all the blood and you still looked a bit swollen in the middle, but the color was returning to your skin and the expression on your face was one of such complete exhaustion that he wasn’t sure if you were actually conscious at first, until your gaze fluttered up to meet his. 

Leon let out a deep, sweet sigh, sitting on the bench beside the porcelain clawfoot bath as he took your hand in his and whispered, “What am I going to do with you, huh?” 

“I-I’m sorry,” you said just as quietly, bottom lip quivering as you continued to drift back down from your blood-induced daze. “I d-didn’t want to h-hurt her…” 

“Shh, shh, I know, darling,” his other hand came forward to pet gently through your wet hair. “She’s going to be alright, I made sure of that. But this can’t happen again, okay? I’ll help you get control of your urges, I promise, but you have to listen to me.” 

You were nodding along as he spoke, clutching his hand and shivering in the hot bath. Even transformed you were still fragile. Leon wanted nothing more than to care for you like the fine china you were.

It was fun watching you learn how to walk, so to speak. You were like a baby deer, taking careful steps and looking back at him for reassurance after each one, like his guidance was all you could think to cling to. While your gingerly approach to things was incredibly endearing, he loved watching you grow to love your new abilities with an innocent sense of excitement that he hadn’t seen in a long time, not in himself or in anyone else, really. 

You’d taken to exploring the rafters and the view of things from the ceiling, leaving the candles in your room unlit all night just so you could bask in how odd and cool it felt to see so well in the dark. It scared the moonlight out of him every time, when he would scour every inch of the castle in search of you just to find you perched criss-cross on the ceiling, lost in a lengthy novel in a pitch black room. 

But he would never scold you, never tell you ‘no.’ In his mind that was a very important lesson for you to learn, one that would open you up to endless possibilities and happiness in an otherwise bleak state of consciousness. 

So, when your small voice chimed in from the parlor ceiling one night and startled him more than he’d like to admit, and you asked him a deceptively simple question– “What now?”-- he knew exactly how he wanted to respond. 

“Indulge,” he said just as simply, sitting calmly down on the chaise lounge to look up at you, hanging from the rafters by your knees. “Let me ask you this. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

You took pause, humming in thought for a moment. All your life you were never much of a forward thinker because you didn't really have to be. You lived your little old life moment by moment, taking extra special care to appreciate the here and now. You had good friends, a loving family, a beautiful community, food on your plate and a warm bed to return home to every night. That didn’t leave you wanting for much.

Finally, you spoke shyly, "I guess I always wanted to fall in love."

It was so quiet, if he was still human, he wouldn’t have heard you. But he wasn’t, and he did. The corner of his lip tugged up into an endeared and somewhat amused expression, baring the sharp edge of his right canine. 

Leon adjusted his posture, sinking back into the couch to gaze up at you, trying to pretend like he wasn’t looking between your legs where your upside-down position left your skirt flipped up nearly to your waist. He cleared his throat softly and cooed, “You poor thing, you’ve never loved before?” 

Your face burned and you avoided his eyes, stretching your arms out toward the floor just to give yourself something to do. “N-No,” you began, smoothing your skirt out over your thighs just to watch it ride up again. With a short huff of breath you pulled yourself back up into a normal sitting position on the rafters, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I just never had the chance.” 

“What, not enough fish in your little pond?” He teased, quirking an eyebrow at you. 

You laughed, appreciating the way he eased the tension, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. “I mean, yeah, the dating pool made for a better puddle.” 

“I figured as much.” 

A comfortable silence blanketed over the parlor, broken only by the gentle crackling of the fireplace. You swung your feet idly back and forth, watching the warm flame as you asked aloud, “So… What does it feel like, then?” 

“What does what feel like?” He responded, but he knew what you meant. He just wanted to hear you say it. 

“Y’know…” You kicked your frilly socked feet, “Love?” 

“Well, sweetheart, that’s quite a broad question,” Leon began, patting the space next to him in an attempt to beckon you down from the rafters, and to his delight, the gesture succeeded. You dropped gracefully to the ground and fixed your skirt before curling up beside him on the other side of the couch, your legs tucked up beneath you. You couldn’t possibly be more adorable if you tried.

As you situated yourself at his side, he continued, “There are many different kinds of love. You love your family, and you love your friends, but you don’t love your family in the same way you love your friends, and vice versa. Correct?"

He watched your expression for a moment to ensure you were following along, and surely enough, you were. Your posture was relaxed but you remained dutifully at attention, just like a good little doll should.

Leon felt a pang of pride when you nodded.

“It’s the same thing, just a different kind of love. I’m not sure I know how to describe it, really,” he said, tracing his fingertips along your knee casually. “But I could show you?” 

“Show me?” Your head tilted with that innocent curiosity he loved so much about you, and his heart melted all over again. “Show me how?” 

He said something lowly and it took you a second to register it because right after, he took your chin in his hand and drew you in for a kiss. Only after your lips collided did your brain recognize his words as, ‘Like this.’ 

With one hand cradling the back of your head and the other still tracing little shapes on your leg, Leon’s embrace felt all-consuming and overwhelmingly safe. Through it all, you really did trust him. Your fangs knocked together as he pulled you closer to deepen the kiss, making your head spin and your brows furrow in concentration. It felt incredible, unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, but the nerves kept you tense and you couldn’t help but fear you were doing a poor job. 

So you let him lead. You resigned yourself to the feeling of his cold lips on your own and his tongue exploring your waiting mouth, his broad hands keeping you pressed against him and feeling slowly up the length of your thigh. His touch made you shiver and tingle in unfamiliar but exhilarating ways and when he eventually pulled away, you were left panting for breath and wanting for more. 

He watched your face in an attempt to gauge how you were feeling, and it was evident you enjoyed it. Leon felt a rush knowing he had effectively just turned a new leaf in your training. 

You had finally learned to walk. Now it was time for you to sprint. 

Leon brushed your hair away from your shoulder, baring your neck to him. He’d waited so long for this moment, for the chance to sink his teeth into you. He wished he could have tasted you fresh, when you were still living, but he would settle for the alternative, and truthfully, it didn't even feel like settling. Especially not when your syrupy sweet blood hit his tongue and pulled a deep, guttural moan from the core of him, his pearlescent eyes rolling back in a display of momentarily mindless rapture. It was unexpectedly hot to see him react to you in such a way. No one had ever expressed such intense need for you, and you were so hung up on it that you barely noticed your thighs subtly shifting together.

But Leon was observant as ever, of course, the movement in no way making it past his keen attention-- you were too precious, too virginal for your own good. He wanted to ruin you, he wanted to tear you apart piece by piece and savor you like holy communion, to pump your undead heart with his own two hands until the end of time, his beautiful baby, his fragile little doll, his corpse bride, his darling and beloved consort.

You were both gasping for breath as he pulled away from your throat, remnants of your tart cherry blood smudged around his pallid lips. Blessed be the gift of undeath, Leon thought to himself, for it granted him the ability to feed from you without consequence-- and vice versa-- to strengthen your bond in the most intimate way imaginable time and time and time again. It still made you dizzy, of course, light and a bit tingly all over, but Leon didn't see that as a bad thing, and as it stood, you didn't seem to either. 

He was just trying to come up with a smooth way to tempt you into tasting his own blood, but found himself pleasantly surprised by your initiative. 

"Can I try?" You practically purred, your sweet voice all hushed and breathy as your dainty little hand crept up his shoulder, palm coming to rest at the leftmost side of his strong neck. 

As you caressed the pad of your thumb over the icy expanse of his skin, you couldn't help but notice the faint, scarred over marks that were dotted about, barely-there dips and craters telling a story that suggested decades of indulgence like this, decades of past lovers, and your heart inexplicably clenched in your chest. Suddenly you were overtaken with the desire to leave your own mark there, much more prominent and recent than any of those faded old others. 

Leon was quick to give you his consent, of course, and that was all it took for your mind to snap into a completely different mode of function. The highest points of your mouth were flooding with saliva and the lowest points were pooling with it, slicking your puffy lips as your tongue fell forward to drag a deep, wanton lick up the length of his cold carotid. Then, as anticipated, you helped yourself to a healthy bite of him. 

And just like that, you had discovered a new infatuation, as he knew you would. You were bonding yourselves to one another in real time, creating a connection that not even true death could break. 

You nearly went weak with how overwhelming it felt, like drinking down pure heaven, hardly even noticing you were moving for a moment as you crawled mindlessly into his lap to straddle him, grinding deep and slow. The pheromones in his sap made your head spin, bringing about the kind of spontaneous sensuality that you'd only ever felt after one too many glasses of mead, the kind that loosened your bones and tinged at your cheeks, the kind that called warmth to bloom at the pit of your stomach. 

The flavor of him was coppery and rich, but balanced, a bit dull from undeath but otherwise magnificent. That it was faint only made you want for more. 

"Easy, easy," Leon grunted quietly in your ear, reaching a hand up to card through your hair at the back of your head. "Don't drink too fast, little princess... just breathe..."

But it would seem you weren't really listening to him, and that needed to change. Thankfully, Leon knew just the way to grasp your attention. 

Letting one arm slip between your two bodies, he wedged his hand down, down, down, until it dipped beneath your skirt to close his palm over the sticky cotton of your panties. That you were already leaking through the fabric like a busted faucet was perfect. You were an absolutely perfect little untouched virgin, and thanks to him, your body would remain that way forever, ripe for his plucking.

Bringing down some pressure on your clit with the base of his palm, testing your reaction, he reveled in the way you whimpered on his throat and unlatched to finally suck in a breath, rutting to meet his attention without a second thought, so easily captivated by such slight stimulation. He couldn't wait to show you more, but he'd need to work you open first. He didn't want your first time to be painful, after all. 

Leon took you at the waist and moved to put you on your back, hovering above your spread out form on the chaise lounge and pinning you there in the most delicate way possible. Every bit of that attention to detail paid off. 

"My precious doll... my most delicate princess," he sighed reverently, stooping low to breathe you in at the neck again, laving his tongue over the bite he'd left just moments ago. "This is what true love feels like, and I wish to share it with you for eternity..." 

He let you ponder that as he continued, working you carefully out of your clothes, finding it cute how you seemed to shift and arch along with him to help him get you naked, like you just couldn't wait. In your pretty doe eyes, your undead life had just begun. 

It was a bit strange at first, feeling his finger sink into you, but it wasn't long before Leon was seeking out your soft spots and doing an excellent job of it, no less. He curled and pumped one finger carefully in you until he was sure you were comfortable, until he felt any remaining tension in your muscles melt away, and then he introduced a second. You were so wet and so absorbed by the feeling of it all that you almost didn't notice at first, but that delicious stretch was impossible to miss. 

"O-Oh," you quivered, head falling back against the plush velvet beneath you as you bucked into his hand. 

With an appreciative hum, Leon allowed himself to become a little less careful with his ministrations, watching your reactions with interest as he worked you open on his fingers, his infatuation with you growing more and more with every moan and whine, every flutter of your silky walls. 

"There you go, little one," he cooed, "you like that, don't you?"

Your response was barely more than an airy nod, but it delighted him anyway. How could it not? You were just too sweet for words, too cute to handle. You could've done or said anything in that moment and he would have adored it all the same. 

Nipping playfully at your throat, fingers still pumping dutifully in and out of your drippy cunt, his lips trailed up to your ear so he could ask in a sultry whisper, "Think you can take more?"

The next several seconds were a blur of impassioned movement, each of you weaving around one another to shed the elder vampire of his own ensemble, revealing his carved marble frame piece-by-piece. You were amazed by the strength in his shoulders, how smooth and soft his skin was from being kept away from the sun for so long, the dark blonde trail of hair that disappeared below his belt, only for its path to be revealed upon the long-awaited removal of his trousers. 

Leon's cock was painfully hard, tip flushed red and weeping with milky beads of precum as he freed himself from his confines at last. He felt the intense need to give it a few strokes with how pent up he was at this point, but he didn't see a point in wasting any time pleasuring himself when you were right there, skirt hiked up to your waist while you laid there panting and leaking your arousal all over his nice furniture. With a pout that pretty, it would be a disservice not to fuck you until you cried. 

He angled your hips with one hand and lined himself up with the other, pushing in slowly. Your expression screwed tight for a short moment as the swollen head of him caught at your hole, an opportune moment of distraction for him to sink in deeper, stretching you out until he hit the root, drawing a shocked cry from your throat that gave way to a pleasured whine just as quickly as it came. 

So he began to move, wanting to draw out that gorgeous sound for as long as you would allow him to hear it. Your cunt was so fucking tight, pulsing and squeezing around his shaft like you were made for it, made for him, delivered to him by fate so that he might just get to fuck you like this forever and ever, and in that moment, he knew he made the right choice in sharing his gift with you. For the first time in recent memory, the future felt bright. 

"L... L-Leon..." You babbled, hooking one leg over his hip for purchase just to find out it allowed him to prod that much deeper. You went boneless at the feeling, finding strength only in your ability to claw at his shoulders for dear life, the faint scent of his blood lingering in the air and making your head spin. "Feels... g-good... so good... don't stop..." 

He wouldn't dream of it. 

Fingertips printing into your thighs, he pulled your legs up to rest over his shoulders instead, driving you down into the soft couch in a firm mating press. You were nose to nose, needy lips catching and fangs clacking between filthy words and gasps for breath as you felt his presence envelope you fully. Leon was in you, on you, around you...

Leon was your home now. Leon was where you laid to rest. 

For the first time in your undead life, you felt your body licking with heat, temperature rising steadily at the pit of you and threatening to hit a fever pitch. Every inch of him lit you up from the inside. 

"Oh, my baby," he groaned, letting go of you with one hand just to swipe his silvery blonde hair away from his face so he could gaze at you like a work of art. "You're getting close, aren't you? Squeezing me so tight like that..."

"Yeah," you whined, even though you weren't fully sure what it even felt like to be close. You weren't dumb, you knew what orgasms were, you'd just never had one yourself, and as such, you had no basis for comparison. 

Leon aimed to fix that, to make damn sure you familiarized yourself with the feeling over the course of your shared eternity. 

His thrusts picked up with renewed vigor, the legs of the old chaise lounge scratching against the hardwood floors with every push forward, and he didn't even care. Everything else about life felt so worthless in comparison to you, the new center of his universe. The whole entire house could collapse and he would still be content, so long as he had you. 

And every time he remembered that he did have you, that you were here with him right now, squirming and rutting on his cock so beautifully, that he was all you had... it just drove him that much crazier, made him that much more determined to make your first time one you would never forget. He couldn't be happier to spend the entire rest of his endless life topping the last performance. 

You were losing your grip, struggling to keep your eyes open and eventually sinking your itching fangs into what you could reach of his throat just to push yourself a little higher, a little closer. The flavor alone made you purr against his skin, jaw clenching tighter, and the delicious sting of it was pushing him forward too. Now his biggest concern wasn't just making sure you came, but making sure that you came first. 

So he withheld, even as his balls drew up tight and ached to release, focusing instead on getting you there. 

"Don't be shy, princess, I've got you," Leon moaned into your ear, "let it happen... just let it happen..." 

Tears pricked at your eyes, the overabundance of stimulation rendering you down into a tearful little puddle, but it wasn't until he spoke up to encourage you that you realized you really were holding back, stalling yourself at the precipice like it was wrong to let go.

But it wasn't wrong. It was divine. It was indulgent.

Sucking back a mouthful of his blood, you unlatched from Leon's neck just to press your forehead against his own, your jaw stuck open in stilted whines and gasps for breath as that molten heat in your belly finally boiled over, and you discovered exactly what it was you were close to. 

Your spine drew up into an arch, toes curling over his shoulders as you came on his length with a cry, thighs trembling with strain. Leon had never been baptized before, but it felt like he was just now. He'd never felt so close to God as he allowed himself to finish deep inside your perfect pussy. 

You collapsed together in the afterglow, the parlor going quiet again as you both caught your breath and your bearings, a heaping pile of mess on velvet.

"Leon," you whispered, kissing some of the excess blood away from his cold skin as you innocently and earnestly admitted, "I... I think I love you." 

He cracked a fond smile at this, if only because he knew you would catch up in time. After all, you still had much to learn, and he didn't want to overwhelm you more than he already had for one evening. 

"I love you too, little one."

[rafecameronssl4t]

can u do kinda inspired by new season where Rafe finds out what Sofia did and confronts her and calls her saying get out of his house but it’s bitchy!kook!bsf!reader x Rafe where they’re kinda more than friends and she tells Rafe a lie about Sofia and he believes her and gets super mad at Sofia

Passenger Princess || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: love this idea tysm!!

Warnings: r is manipulative, slight angst

Word count: 1,583

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

“Wanna come over?” you ask, your voice casual but your eyes lingering on Rafe’s profile, gauging his reaction. He turns his head to you briefly, pausing as the car idles at a red light. Without missing a beat, he reaches over, taking your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, rubbing his thumb gently across your skin in a way that makes your heart flutter.

But tonight, his words hit you before the warmth of his touch does. “I can’t. Sofia wants to go out later,” he says, his gaze flickering back to the road, oblivious to how your expression shifts instantly. The mention of her name is like a slap, and your expression falters instantly. You let out a scoff, the sound sharp and almost bitter.

Without thinking, you pull your hand out of his grasp and cross your arms over your chest, turning your gaze out the window. The hurt and jealousy you’ve been pushing down surge to the surface, making your chest tighten.“She’s still living with you?” The words leave your mouth more accusatory than you intend, but it doesn’t matter now.

You need him to feel what you’re feeling, to understand just how much Sofia is getting under your skin. Rafe’s eyes flicker to you, his brow furrowing slightly, but he doesn’t say anything right away. He rolls his tongue against his cheek, his gaze narrowing as he presses down on the gas pedal when the light turns green. You can tell he’s frustrated, but you want him to feel more than that.

“Y/n…” he says, the soft plea in his voice making you grit your teeth. He’s clearly trying to de-escalate the situation, but you’re not having it. His voice falters slightly when he says your name again, as if he’s unsure of how to handle you when you get like this. You don’t respond, eyes fixed on the road, even though you don’t see anything.

Your mind is consumed by the thought of Sofia still lingering in his life. “I don’t understand why you’re still with her!” you snap, turning to face him, your voice sharp with frustration. Your heart races, and you know exactly where this is going. You’ve been waiting for the right moment to make your move. Then, with a practiced vulnerability, you let your eyes soften, allowing tears to well up.

You turn your head slightly toward him, making sure he sees the hurt in your eyes. You know the exact tone to use, the one that cracks just enough for Rafe to feel guilty, to feel like he’s let you down. You draw in a deep, shaky breath, letting your eyes glisten with tears. With a careful tremor in your voice, you speak softly, like you’re letting out something painful. “After everything she did to me…”

Just as you anticipated, Rafe’s head snaps in your direction, confusion and concern filling his expression. His eyes dart between you and the road, brow furrowing as he tries to process your words. “What are you talking about?” You let the tears begin to fall, looking down as though ashamed, your shoulders subtly shaking as you pretend to hold back sobs.

“What did she do to you?” His eyes flickered back and forth from the road to your tear-streaked face, searching for answers. He was desperate, each glance showing his growing frustration and need to understand. “Y/n…” he said, his voice lower now, tinged with an edge of anger that made you shiver. “Tell me—what did Sofia do to you?”

His tone was a mix of urgency and something fiercer, like he was barely holding himself back. You continued to sob, letting your shoulders shake as you turned away, keeping up the act. Rafe’s jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin as he stared ahead, but his entire focus was on you.

~

“Hey babe, what’s up?” Sofia’s voice rings out, saccharine sweet, and it instantly makes you cringe. The way she says it, as if she’s trying to mask something, makes your skin crawl. Rafe’s eyes flicker over to you for a split second, taking in your tear-streaked cheeks, red from how much you’ve cried.

Your heart races, a cold pit settling in your stomach. You’ve made sure Rafe is in the right headspace, pushed all the right emotional buttons, and now it’s time to watch it unravel. Rafe’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as he presses the phone to his ear, his expression hardening into something unreadable.

The silence that stretches between him and Sofia is palpable. You can feel the tension in the air, the unease settling like a storm cloud. “Rafe… what’s wrong?” she coos, trying to soften the tension. You can tell she’s trying to maintain control, but you know it’s slipping. But Rafe is done. He’s had enough.

“Is it true? Is it true what Y/n just told me?” he demands, his voice suddenly low, razor-sharp. The words are a punch, sharp and deliberate, leaving no room for misunderstanding. There’s a long pause, a dangerous silence on the other end. You can hear Sofia’s shallow breathing, the way she’s stalling, trying to figure out how to save herself.

It’s almost like she’s trying to put on a mask for him, pretending everything’s fine, but you both know it’s not. Sofia’s mind races, the memories of her deal with Hollis flooding in through her mind. “Is what true?” she finally asks, her voice faltering, a hint of nervousness breaking through her usual façade. “Don’t play games with me, Sofia,” Rafe’s voice is firm now, his jaw clenched.

You can feel the weight of his anger simmering just beneath the surface, ready to burst. You watch Rafe closely, your chest tight with both anxiety and satisfaction. This is what you wanted. You wanted him to finally see her for what she truly is. And now, it’s all about to come crashing down for Sofia.

On the other end of the line, Sofia’s silence is deafening. You can almost hear her panic, her inability to talk her way out of this one. Rafe’s anger is too much, too raw. And it’s all aimed at her. Rafe can’t contain it anymore. He slams his fist against the steering wheel with a deafening sound, making you jump in your seat.

The force behind it makes the entire car shake, and his anger is now fully unleashed. His knuckles are white, his body tense with fury, and for a moment, you think he might explode. You can see the muscle in his jaw working, his anger mounting as he struggles to keep his cool. The tension in the air is suffocating, and you almost feel bad for Sofia—almost.

You got him here—you’ve got him angry at her, and it’s exactly what you wanted. “Pack your shit. Get out of my house,” Rafe says through gritted teeth, the words biting and final. His voice is low, full of rage that you can feel in the pit of your stomach. Sofia’s voice cracks on the other end. “What?” Her voice wavers, like she can’t believe what’s happening.

You can practically hear her trying to regain control, but it’s too late. Rafe scoffs, his patience wearing thin. “We’re done, Sofia. Done.” he seethes, his hand slamming against the wheel again with a force that makes the whole car jerk. You jump slightly, but you can’t help the small, satisfied smirk that pulls at the corners of your lips.

“Pack your shit and get the fuck out of my house,” Rafe repeats, his voice steady now, but laced with disgust. There’s no room for negotiation, no chance of a second chance. This is it. With one last frustrated breath, he ends the call, the click of the phone punctuating the finality of it all.

[xiao-come-home]

Boothill relationship headcanons;

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✰ Characters: Boothill x reader.

✰ Words: ~1k.

✰ SFW+N//SFW ; SFW mentions no pronouns or gender of the reader. N//SFW section was written with fem!reader in mind.

Warnings: THIS HAS A NSFW PART. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS skip this section if possible. some of these hc are based on this post, since i wanted to write a little more about it.

A/N: BRAINROT gRR he truly gives me doctor by Miley Cyrus vibes. idk how to explain it but take it

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

Boothill:

SFW

he's such a gentleman! opens doors for you, pulls out a chair, kisses your hand when he sees you first for the day, it doesn't get boring for him at all. if you ignore some of his unhinged behaviors, then he's a perfect man.

like i mentioned in my previous post, he's VERY possessive of you. he does like to go to unknown clubs or bars with you to try out their best drinks in his spare time, though he doesn't have you attached to his hip (even.. if he wouldn't probably mind at all), he does keep a sharp eye on you. if a weird guy approaches you and you're clearly uncomfortable, he tries to intimidate the guy away and clearly let him see that you're his (aka placing his arm around your waist and pushing you into him), if being polite doesn't work, well, they have a rough night. not in a good way.

this man SCREAMS BACK HUGS!! since his body is like 90% metal and machines, he loves to embrace you from behind and wrap his arms around your tummy, while his chin rests on your shoulder. he misses the softness of his own skin, so having you gives him a lot of comfort; the warmth you're radiating makes him reluctant to ever pull away. boothill often finds himself touching his cheeks with his robotic arms, when they get warm enough - the feeling almost long forgotten in his mind.

speaking of back hugs: he's also very big on neck kisses, mostly giving than receiving, depending on how he feels, they're either very innocent and loving - very soft, paired with butterfly kisses, or biting you and then kissing it better, when things get steamy.

boothil finds it funny when his hair tickles you when he hugs you from behind. if he's feeling particularly like a little shit that day, he can annoy you the entire day like that, only to respond with "hmm? what do you mean? I'm not doing anything, baby!" ...don't tell him his smirk gives it away, but honestly, at this point, he probably doesn't try to hide it that well.

he DOES slap your ass when you go past him. EVERY time. it doesn't get boring for him, he likes the sound it makes AND how soft it is, bonus if it jiggles, then he's even more proud. he might offer "an apologetic massage," which you rarely agree to (but he'll try until u say yes).

if someone ever tinkers with his Synesthesia beacon, he cannot swear for his life. you might catch him trying to cook, spilling something, and then hearing loud "YOU LITTLE DAISY FLOWER! CUTIE PIE! CURSED FROG!" it's kinda impressive how colorful they can get...

speaking of his voice, he's probably able to manipulate it so it sounds the best according to your taste. although his flesh heart has been gone for so long, he still feels that familiar, warm feeling and squeeze of his own, mechanical one, when your answer is always the same - to modulate it so it sounds the closest to what it used to be, or that the current one is just as pleasant to hear.

he likes to kiss you. no matter where, or when. if he wants to, he'll get one, pressing you against him, cupping your face with one hand, and kissing your puckered lips. once you give in, he kisses you properly, caressing your cheek ever so slightly to ease any discomfort left, only to hold you tightly on your hips and whimper on purpose just to tease you more (i believe in boothill is a little shit theory).

if we assume his face is the only human part of him left (besides his eyes). In that case, he just truly loves the softness of your lips on his. he kisses you as much as he can, and will get all fussy and whiny if he doesn't get his good morning kiss, we-see-each-other-for-the-first-time-today kiss (note: this is not the same as good morning kiss), goodnight kiss and so on. yes, he could get it by himself, but he wants it from you first. he's just very stubborn.

watch out! he likes to draw blood on your lower lip when his intrusive thoughts win. he licks the blood off later, and gives it a loving kiss.

his hair is genuine, so he loves whenever you play with it, brush it, or take care of it in general. it's probably one of the very few human features of his, so if your boothill lets you carefully pamper it, let alone without flooding his cords, he's not only very impressed, but also very willing to indulge in more sessions.

finds it absolutely adorable when you wear his hat when he isn't looking. or, well, when you think he isn't looking.

N/SFW. minors and ageless blogs shoo!

the council has decided that he has a vibrator in place of his real junk. but if you're into experimenting and want him to feel a bit more, hm, natural - he's more than happy to change his parts. shape, size and pace - everything for his lady.

you can probably guess, but that's an absolute ass man. he sees you in tighter pants that hug you just so nicely and might go feral.

eats pussy like a starved man. he has no shame and licks, sucks, and fucks you with his tongue and THE SOUNDS could put the devil himself to shame. boothill always wants everyone to know that you're his, how you scream and moan for him, so in return - he never lets a drop of your juices go to waste, slurping and moaning into your slit.

he's literally so flexible, that he'll fuck you in every position you want him to. if it means he'll get deeper, he's on board. and probably on top of you too.

likes to grope you through your clothes. sounds very tame, but it really gets him going, and might sometimes cause trouble in public.. unless you WANT that trouble.

adding to the headcanon above - he truly just gets turned on by your skin, especially imperfections. stretch marks? he'll kiss them all, scars? he has them all memorized. when he touches you through your clothes, he already remembers what is where, it's like he's edging himself knowing that soon enough he'll undress you completely and see it clearly; he quite literally worships what truly makes you... you.

he. is. so. SO over when you pull on his hair. when you make out, when he fucks you - doesn't matter. DO IT and he'll go absolutely crazy, hissing in pleasure and grinding into you.

[bubblexkitty]

Missing u- c.s

pairing: toxic!chris x obsessive!reader

summary: After finding out Chris cheated on you at a party you had declined to attend, you became overwhelmed with a flood of emotions—one of them being anger. You tried to leave him, but instead, he convinced you to take him back.

warnings: cheating, toxic!chris, angst (?), gaslighting, manipulation,gullible! Reader, fem!reader, obsessive!reader

{a/n: I kinda enjoyed writing and might right a part 2 bc I have it all planned out:) also some of the spelling and grammar might be ass and this might not make sense sorry😿 }

Chris was getting ready in the bathroom, leaving the door wide open as if to remind you he was still there—but how could you forget? The loving yet uncomfortable feeling of his presence, even just being close to you, was enough to keep him in your mind. Especially with every bang on the counter, every clink of him tapping his razor on the sink, trying to shake the hair out of it—even though you’d told him multiple times how hot he looks with stubble. To that, he’d always respond with, “I don’t really care how you feel about it. Other girls don’t like it,” a comment that never failed to unsettle you. Every curse under his breath as he nicked himself with the razor served as yet another reminder that he was still there.

In fact, you might never get rid of him. Not that you minded. You loved Chris. Some people—like your friends and family—would say maybe a little too much. Your friends always hated him, warning you that he was a bad person, but you always ignored them. In fact, every time, you defended him. You thought they were just jealous—jealous that he was yours, jealous that they had no one.

This morning, you both had woken up slightly late, which wasn’t really usual. Of course, Chris wasn’t too happy about it. As soon as he opened his eyes, he made a sly comment, mumbling something about you always messing up his life. You tried to laugh it off, but of course, it stung. I mean, if someone you were head over heels in love with told you that you were basically annoying and a burden in their life, you’d be upset too, right? But you didn’t really mind—he was just joking, after all. And when he did it around your friends, you would always remind them that it’s just his way of showing love.

Chris didn’t seem to remember Tara’s party until you sank back under the covers, trying to cuddle closer to him. His groan echoed through the otherwise empty apartment, startling you enough to shuffle back a little in surprise. He practically jumped out of bed, mumbling something with a small growl in his voice, still groggy from being woken up just a couple of minutes ago. “God, you always gotta make me forget shit! Why don’t you ever remind me, huh?!” he snapped as he walked over to the dresser, angrily yanking it open. Chris always expected you to be his personal calendar, reminding him of every little thing he had coming up, never really caring about what you had going on.

Chris didn’t really want you to go. He was hoping you’d stay behind, not wanting you—his girlfriend—to be around while he tried to flirt with other girls. Chris had cheated on you before, but he told you over and over again that it was “just an accident” and that you were “not enough for him anyway.” Still, you believed him. He had told you with a dark expression and a small smirk that he would never do it again. Of course, he wouldn’t lie about something like that

Snapping back to reality, you answer Chris’s question with furrowed brows. “I’m sick?” you reply in confusion, knowing he was already aware of that.

Chris’s expression shifts as you say it, looking almost relieved that you weren’t going, though he still finds a way to blame you. He lets out a bitter chuckle as he pulls a clean pair of jeans from the drawer. “Fucking figures,” he mumbles—loud enough for you to hear but not loud enough for you to respond.

It broke your heart to hear how angry he was about you not going, but you tried to ignore it, even though it felt like a punch to the gut.

Now, back to the present. As Chris finished up in the bathroom, you suddenly felt yourself drifting off again, the weight of your blanket comforting in a way that Chris rarely ever was.

Over the months you had been dating, you spent the entire time convincing yourself that moments like this—quiet, slow, and sweet mornings—were enough to make up for all the emotional and mental abuse he had put you through. Not to mention the gaslighting and manipulation. But you always reminded yourself that he did it because he loved you. Because he didn’t want you to get hurt.

As your eyes begin to feel heavy, you hear Chris walk out, his steps heavy and deliberate. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple. The smell of his cologne overpowers your nose, but you ignore it, accepting the kiss from Chris, which feels more like a routine than a genuine display of affection.

“Alright, ma… I’mma head out,” he mumbles against your skin. You hum in response. “Mk… love you…” you mumble back, too tired to form proper words. The mix of sickness and exhaustion in your body makes it even harder to stay awake, let alone hold a conversation.

As he was about to walk away, his hand slipped around your throat, his fingers curling tightly around your neck—maybe a little too tightly. “Don’t let anyone into this house until I get back, do you understand?” His voice dropped a couple of octaves, making you shiver softly, but not in a good way. “You’re mine, and you belong to me. And absolutely no one touches what is mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice made you cringe softly, your body freezing and your muscles tensing. But of course, you didn’t argue—because you never argued. Not with Chris, that is. Especially not when he was showing this amount of what you thought was love, even though deep down, you knew it wasn’t true. You knew he didn’t truly love or care for you. But that tiny, foolish part of you couldn’t let go of him. It clung to the affection he gave you, as it always had.

The door unknowingly slams shut, making you flinch. Being left in the silence and loneliness of the room makes you highly uncomfortable. You suck in a shaky breath, trying to convince yourself that his words didn’t bother you at all. That this was love, and it was completely normal.

You didn’t know it yet, but today would be the day he broke your heart—again.

Before you could even process your feelings, exhaustion overtakes you. The countless times you were woken up throughout the morning have left you completely drained, and you slip into unconsciousness almost instantly.

A couple of hours later, you wake up in complete darkness, having been asleep for a while. You sniffle and whine as you sit up, stretching and reaching for your phone, which is still on the charger. Quickly, you type out a text to Chris, wanting to check in on how he’s doing at lthe party. You hit send without hesitation.

you: hey baby! How’s the party going?:))

You smile and close out of the chat, opening Instagram. Noticing that Chris uploaded a story, you tap on it, curiosity getting the best of you. What you see makes your heart pound against your chest. Chris is making out with Tara. At her party. The same party you were invited to but decided to decline.

Seeing the video makes your heart shatter, tears forming in your eyes as your breathing becomes shallow. Shakily, you set your phone down, sitting in silence, unable to believe what you just saw.

Chris was cheating? But—that’s… that’s impossible. Chris loved you; he would never do that. But there it was—the proof. Right on your phone. The 10-second story replayed as you stared down at it, tears now streaming from your eyes. After sitting in silence for what feels like hours, you let out a shaky breath. Anger surges through you as you grab your phone and reply to Chris’s story

you replied to Christopher sturniolos story: your cheating on me?? With TARA???

you: wtf???

you: we’re DONE Chris.

you: don’t fucking talk to me unless your coming over to get your shit.

After a minute or two of sitting and staring at your screen, your heart begins to pound again as you see three little dots, insinuating that he is typing. Your face felt like it was burning, your fist clenched in anger unable to comprehend what was going on right now as you read his message

Chris: alright

‘Alright’?! He can’t be serious. This couldn’t be the same Chris who was showing so much love to you this morning—the one who told you that you were his and his only. The one who ‘protected’ you from hanging around other boys because, according to him, they couldn’t treat you the way he could. You began to think back to all the times you defended him over your friends. Over ykur family. You began to think that..Maybe they were right..?

Maybe he was toxic. But that couldn’t be! He loved you—he told you every day! Sure, he’s cheated before, but it was an accident. But as you begin to think, you feel yourself getting angry again. No… you thought. It’s his fault though… he cheated on me.

Just as you began to think more, you heard keys jingling in the door, making your heart stop and your body freeze.

As the door opens, it reveals Chris standing there with that stupid smirk on his face. The overwhelming smell of alcohol and weed hits you, making it clear he had been drinking and probably blowing all his money on weed too.

“Chris? I told you not to come unless—”

“Unless I’m getting my shit? I know, honey… but I missed you. Come here… I want a hug, ma,” he says, approaching you with his arms open. You push him back, your face still stained with tears from earlier. “Are you serious?! You can’t just cheat on me and expect everything to be fine! This is the second time, Chris! I’m done!”

Your nose wrinkles as you cringe at the overpowering smell of cheap alcohol and the (not-so-cheap) cologne Tara bought him for his birthday.

His smirk drops as he stumbles back from your forceful push, lowering his arms. “Cheating?” he scoffs. “Is that what you think that was?” he asks in disgust. Your eyes widen in disbelief. You couldn’t believe he didn’t think that was cheating. “Yes! I saw the video, Chris! I’m not stupid!” you shout, crossing your arms as tears begin to form in your eyes again.

Chris’s eyes darken, and his jaw clenches. “Don’t blame me! It’s your fault for not going! I—I have needs, you know!” he slurs, his voice rising. You drop your arms in disbelief at his unbelievably stupid words. He was playing the victim? After he cheated on you with your friend?

Your jaw tightens, and you softly say, “Get… get out, Chris…”

He looks at you with wide eyes, sobering up a little. “You don’t mean that, baby… come on, ma… it didn’t mean anything—” “Didn’t mean anything?! You were making out with Tara—my best friend—for who knows how long! I’m tired of you!” you snap back, anger taking over.

“You’re so delusional! She forced herself on me… God, you always want to play the victim! You’re lucky I haven’t left your ass yet!” he scoffs, his voice rising another level.“Go ahead! Leave! I hate you!” you shout back, tears streaming down your face, overwhelmed by a storm of emotions.

“You don’t mean that… it was your fault anyway! You should’ve come! If you were there, I wouldn’t have done that! You’re such a bitch!” he yells, his words cutting deep.

You sniffle your eyes widening as he calls you a bitch but falling victim to his tactics. “Y-your right…I should’ve went it was my fault…” you look down “I’m sorry Chris…please forgive me..” As you fall victim to his gaslighting and manipulation, he smirks, working his ‘magic’ on you again. “I don’t know if I could forgive you…”

Tears continue to fall as you cling to him. “Please, Chris…” He smirks at your desperate tone, fully aware of your obliviousness to his manipulation. “You have to beg for it, princess,” he bites back in a low growl. Your eyes widen as you drop to your knees, wrapping your arms around his legs. “Please… please, I’m sorry! I won’t mess up again…”

“Mhm…” he hums, pretending to think. “I can forgive you this time… but let it happen again, and we’re done. Got it?”

You nod again, less frantically this time, as he pulls you up harshly and drags you to the room, practically throwing you onto the bed. You let out a small whine but quickly stop when he lays down beside you. “I’m sorry, Chris… I promise I won’t do it again,” you apologize, feeling a twinge of pity for yourself. “You fucking better be. You’re lucky I put up with your shit at all,” Chris barks back in mock anger—a tone you believed. But unbeknownst to you, he was delighted. Delighted that you fell victim to his ‘powers,’ knowing he could control you forever and you would always listen.

Your eyes close, and your head feels heavy against the pillow as you try your hardest to stay out of his way, not wanting to piss him off further. Slowly, you begin losing your battle against sleep, muttering a faint, “I love you, Chris…” before exhaustion finally takes over.

How couldn’t you? He loved you, after all. Or so you believed. “I know, ma,” he said, a sly smirk on his face. Although he didn’t love you. He loved how you fell victim to his ways. And he always would.

( Dividers from: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more + @anitalenia )

[mrs-hatake]

How JJK Men Hold Your Chin

Warnings: MDI!!! yandere behavior, obsessiveness, manipulation, dacryphilia, over protectiveness, human sacrifice, mentioned assassination, foul language, female reader, HUMAN!sukuna

A/N: i kinda went overboard with sukuna lmao. credits are in the pics! also, shoutout to my soulmate who encouraged me to write and publish this luv u 🥹

Toji:

Toji’s eyes shoot open when the soft rattle of the window opening fills the bedroom. Whoever decided to ambush Toji, in own home no less, is doing a piss poor job at it. The number rule of breaking and entering is that you need to be as quiet as the dead…Or make sure you aren’t breaking into a room where the occupants of the house are in. 

He doesn’t move, makes sure to keep his breathing deep and even as his ears focus on the soft thud across from his bed. The gentle rustle of feet on carpet is thundering. It makes Toji wonder which sorry idiot decided to attack him. He lies still. Waiting.

Toji senses a presence behind his back. The stare of the invader doesn’t feel oppressive but more hesitant. Big mistake. Waiting a heartbeat before striking, Toji quickly has the criminal pinned under him on the bed. A terrified screech stabs sharply in his ears, ringing like an alarm clock.

Leaning over, Toji harshly tugs on the string of the desk lamp on the nightstand. Dim yellow light floods the corner of the room where Toji’s bed is placed. 

With the darkness gone, Toji’s eyebrow quirks at the sight below him. A pair of eyes stare at him in a vacuous stupor, their lips formed into a silent ‘o’ shape. 

Toji blinks down at the frightened woman. 

She blinks back. 

Whoever sent her his way is a freaking dumbass. Aside from the fear drowning in her eyes, incompetence screamed at him. How did his enemies expect to dispose of him with someone as weak as her?

Lost in his thought, the woman raises her leg and tries to kick Toji off of her. Luckily, Toji’s reflexes are as sharp as a cat's and dodges the attack. He yanks her leg down before pressing all of his weight on it, trapping her.

“Don’t kill me.” The woman pleads and it forces Toji’s head to tilt to the side in confusion.

“You’re here to kill me.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious thing, “It’s only fair I defend myself.”

His words strike a nerve. The woman begins to frantically shake her head, jostling Toji with her movement. “Please.” She whispers repeatedly like a broken record. 

Having had enough, and with the exhaustion from today’s mission catching up to him, Toji’s large and calloused hand grabs the woman’s chin, successfully suspending her thrashes. 

The tip of his thumb is brushing the edge of the woman’s chapped lip. The two, caught in a daze, are silent. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you?” Toji’s voice drops to a murmur, his already deep voice growing deeper.

The woman continues to stare at him but there’s something calculative in her eyes, as if she’s determined the best course of action. Whatever she finds, melts the tension from her. Her form relaxes under Toji but he still maintains his weight on her. It could be a trap after all. Waiting for him to drop his guard down before she strikes. Toji has been in the business for so long that such a childish trick is insulting.

“I’ll tell you who hired me.” The woman's breath comes out shaken, broken.

Toji contemplates her answer before shaking his head, “Not enough.” 

His response doesn’t deter the woman. In fact, it strengthened her resolve.  “Not just the organization I work with but several of them. It’s like a betting ring.” She explains, her eyes hard, unafraid to meet him. 

Toji thinks. People wanting him dead isn’t something new but that doesn’t mean he has the free time to hunt down every single one of them. However, what the woman says next sends a chill down his spine.

“They’re coming after your son.”

Her statement is a bullet shot straight to his heart. If what this woman is saying is true, then he needs to take her word for it.

“If you’re lying,” Toji’s grip on the woman’s chin is unforgivable, “I will kill you and your pathetic family.” he spits before letting go. 

Satoru:

The woman is panting harshly as she leans against the metal pillar at the underground train station. The ruckus of the coming and goings of the people blend into the background until it’s nothing but a gentle hum. She swallows her dried throat, thick and heavy, gathering whatever moisture to nourish the muscle. The woman’s back presses against the pillar as her eyes close shut. Greedily, she sucks air into her lungs. 

Weakly, her eye opens and it darts frantically across the station until it lands on the departure board. The orange LED lights glaring harshly at her. Still, the woman squints as she reads the list and the corresponding time. Her train leaves in less than half an hour. She’s exhausted. Her legs are screaming at her from her earlier run and throat is begging for water. But the woman pushes through.

With one final deep inhale, the woman pushes herself and makes her way to the platform where her train will arrive in ten minutes. 

The woman hasn’t taken a single step forward when a voice wells up a wave of acid deep from within her belly. 

“Found you.”  A voice she once associated with reverence has her recoiling in horror.

Inchmeal, the woman turned.

Gojo Satoru is standing in front of her. Despite the gentle smile on his lips, Satoru’s blue eyes are as wild as a stormy sea, raging and fervent.

A blink and Satoru’s hand is cupping the woman’s cheek in a tight embrace. She winces at the pain, reaches her hand to wrap around Satoru’s wrist and tugs it away to no avail. 

“Oh, Y/N,” Satoru sighs as if she is some naughty child, “It’s cute that you think you can run away from me.” 

The woman’s eyes pleads Satoru, begs him to let her go, set her free, but Satoru is blind. 

With a powerful pull, Satoru yanks the woman into an embrace. His muscled arms trapped her in an unbreakable cage. 

“Let’s go home.” Instead of Satoru’s whisper resembling a kitten’s soothing licks, it feels like a spider crawling up her throat.

Nanami:

Warm hues of orange and pink spreading across the sky is the last thing the woman sees before her eyes shut close. She doesn’t scream as she falls to her death. Her descent is calm, freeing in a morbid sense. Though the curse is still rampaging the abandoned hospital, terrorizing the second year students, the woman accepts her demise with a serene smile. 

The impact she has been embracing for doesn’t come to her. Well, not in the way she had imagined numerous times whenever the woman is sent off on a mission. Instead, a firm but pliable object breaks her fall. 

Cinnamon and black coffee invades her senses. A roaring heartbeat echoes in her ears but before the woman can open her eyes, she is gently put on her feet.

“How can you be so careless?” A voice growling in her direction forces the woman’s eyes to open.

Blinking the black spots from her vision, the woman lifts her gaze from the ground to where Nanami Kento is standing just a few feet away from her. His muscles are stiff and his lips are pressed together in anger.

Oh shit.

“What were you thinking?” Kento continues, uncaring of how his voice is increasing in volume but the woman is shell shocked. Not from the fall but from the fact that, in the years she has known Nanami Kento, is losing his cool.

“I’m fine.” The woman sighs in exhaustion as her hands dusts her outfit free of dirt. She notices in her peripheral vision the second year students delivering the final blow to the curse spirit, their cheer turning into horrified groans when the curse exploded into tiny little pieces and it covered them with neon green goo. “I had it under control.”

Kento rolls his eyes, “Like hell you were.”

Worn out and oddly hungry, the woman turns away from her livid colleague. “I don’t have time for this.” she mutters.

“We’re not done talking.” Kento calls after her but the woman doesn’t meet his dark eyes, raging with an uncontrollable fire.

Just as the woman is turning to leave, Kento’s massive hand cups her chin and forcefully pulls her to face him.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Kento seethes through clenched teeth. His thumb on the apple of her left cheek presses deeply into the supple skin, almost bruising.

The woman’s jaw clenches, the muscles flexing underneath Kento’s fingers on her right cheek. Her piercing gaze is unyielding but Nanami Kento doesn’t back down.

“Don’t you dare do that again.” Though Kento’s tone is cold and disapproving, the woman hears the concern loud and clear. 

“Answer me.” He barks with the authority of a man who should not be challenged. 

“I won’t.” The woman responds in a strained voice. 

Geto:

The woman’s eyes are large and rimmed with tears as she meets irises colored in vibrant amethyst.

The man returns her gaze with feigned kindness and condescending pity. His hands cupping her cheeks are warm and they light a fire in her belly. His thumbs are slightly rough with callouses but they are gentle as they wipe away stray tears. Soft lips kiss the woman’s forehead, their velvety touch is soothing, imbued with a delicate tenderness that has the woman melting like putty in his arms. 

“Now, be a good little girl and do as you’re told.” Geto Suguru’s voice is rich with sweetness and has a velvety timbre, resembling a bitter drink with traces of sugar. It has a propitiating quality to it that embraces the woman in a sense of tranquility.

“Suguru.” The woman hiccups, vision blurred with unshed tears. 

Suguru coos, the sound echoing that of a mother worrying over her child after waking up from a nightmare. He leans in, slowly and tenderly as if to not frighten her off, and licks each tear trail from each cheek.

“Suguru?” The woman sputters, her eyebrows furrowing in bewilderment as she tries to process what just happened. 

Though the soft smile Suguru gives her radiates warmth, there’s a subtle glimmer in his eyes that hints at something the woman can’t recognize but it fills her with dread. 

“There, there.” Suguru whispers gently, his hands still cupping her cheeks. His fingers are wet with tears but the fact doesn’t bother him.

“This will all be over soon.”

Sukuna:

Sukuna’s hibernation is interrupted by cacophonous ceremonial chants reverberating from the forest below.

Year after year, Sukuna has reprimanded the villagers for their never ending harassment. They mistake his cursed lineage as an entity to protect his village when, in reality, the Ryomen clan was cursed by the Gojo clan three hundred years ago for violating the peace treaty because one member from the branch family decided to be a cocky little shit and terrorize humans and now Sukuna has to suffer the consequences. 

Every first day of spring, the villagers leave animal caracases at the mouth of his cave to satiate his hunger. When that didn’t work, the villagers sent wooden crates filled to the brim with glimmering gold coins and a crown decorated in sparkling diamonds to persuade Sukuna in blessing their harvest. Stupid villagers and their stupid myths. If they had bothered to open a history book, they would have discovered that Ryomen Sukuna is just as human as any of them. The only difference is that part of the Gojo clan’s punishment was to inject every member of the Ryomen clan with poison into their bloodstream that altered their genetic composition. Instead of having two arms and two eyes like everyone else, the Ryomens now have four arms and four eyes. Oh, and an additional mouth on their belly.

A satisfied moan falls from his mouths when his muscles pop as he stretches his four arms high into heaven. Scratching his side with one of his hands, Sukuna trudges to the mouth of the caves and watches with complete boredom as those fools travel the winding path leading to his habitat. Glancing at the sun, Sukuna figures it’ll take them another hour before they arrive. 

When the villagers do arrive, they wordlessly leave their sacrifice at the cave entrance and leave, just as silent and unnerving. 

With nothing better to do, Sukuna humors the villagers and steps out of his stifling home.

Despite it being early spring, the weather is still warm but the air has a certain bite to it. Not enough to warrant thicker garment but enough to appreciate the cool breeze caressing Sukuna’s skin.

Stepping outside, Sukuna comes to a sudden halt. His four eyes blink before they glance around the forest, searching for a glimpse of the villagers who will explain what this year’s present is. 

Below him, just a few meters away from his feet, is a woman lying on her side. She is dressed in all white and her hair is fixed in a complicated updo. Gems dangle with each blow from the wind and Sukuna’s nose picks up the hints of honey and vanilla.

Sukuna’s thick fingers massage the spot between his eyes while his two arms cross in front of his stomach, pressing against his mouth.

Great, just great. Those idiots brought him a human sacrifice this year for whatever fucked up reason. Sighing, long and heavily, he picks up the unconscious woman and carries her into his cave.

It’s around nightfall when Sukuna hears soft groans coming from his bed. His upper right arm is stroking the fire to life while his lower right arm throws wood into the fire pit. His stomach has been growling for the past hour and his tongue keeps licking the curve of his belly button. If Sukuna will ever have the chance to fight the infamous Gojo Satoru, he wants to inject him with the same poison just so he can understand the hell Sukuna’s been through. 

“You’re awake.” Sukuna’s voice cuts into the night air, deep and smooth. 

The woman freezes on the bed and takes a moment to gather her thoughts before pushing herself into a sitting position. 

When the woman turns to face him, Sukuna’s two pairs of red eyes roam over the woman’s face that’s painted with soft makeup to enhance her beauty. 

“Greetings, Sukuna-sama.” The woman greets him in a luscious voice, no doubt a skill taught to her by the elderly women of the village. Sukuna resists rolling his eyes at their stupidity. Instead, he tosses the iron rod aside and saunters to his bed. 

Though the woman bows her head in submission, her form lowered in a beautiful arch, Sukuna can see her trembling in her place. After all, Sukuna cuts an intimidating figure. Not just with his additional limbs and eyes but also with his height; totaling at two hundred centimeters. It's a small wonder she is frightened. 

An index finger that is as long and slender as the iron rod hooks under the woman’s chin and tilts it upward to face him. 

A soft hum emits from Sukuna, “The villagers have outdone themselves with this year’s sacrifice," his finger glides down her neck, "heh, they must be desperate to please me.”

The woman says nothing. Her eyes are lidded and they are clouded in something that Sukuna cannot discern but they add to her charm. Flames flicker to life in Sukuna, sparking intense desire that burns through him like wildfire.

“I’ll take good care of you.” Sukuna vows, his voice lowering into a hummed whisper, each word heavy with yearning and licentiousness.

[aezuria]

*ੈ✎ xoxo, gossip girl!

content: leo valdez x reader, percy jackson x reader, jason grace x reader

╰┈▸ back cover: how would gossip sessions with them go?

warnings: cursing, rude humor??

librarian's annotations: doing this instead of requests um

*ੈ LEO VALDEZ

SASSY MAN APOCALYPSE

god hes probably talking shit more than u

"oh her? yeah she was such a bitch like no way she looked at you like that when i said i was so obviously taken!"

"and her hair? has she ever heard of a brush? like, if you're gonna come at my girlfriend, at least make yourself look better so you don't embarrass yourself. oh wait, you can't!"

probably laying on you as he does this, and starts squeezing you tightly

"because my girlfriend is the prettiest girl in the world!"

awww that's cute right?

WRONG this man is so quick with his comebacks its actually insane

does NOT think before he speaks

doesnt hold back, even against you (booo why did ur gf privileges not apply to that)

"leo! can you like, move your fat ass off me?" you groan under him as he lays down with his dead weight on top of you.

"like the fat ass you don't have?"

were you silent or SILENCED

everytime you think he wouldnt take it that far?? oh he will go THERE (but he always makes sure u know hes joking)

doesnt want to invoke your wrath so he apologizes IMMEDIATELY

"fix your hair-"

"fix your face- IM SORRY I DIDNT MEAN TO-"

*ੈ PERCY JACKSON

guys. we cant forget abt the OG SASSY MAN

also talking shit a whole lot more than he should

"uh, she needs to get her act together before she can start coming at others; like-" rolls his eyes for EMPHASIS "who does she think she is, talking to you like that?"

damn, who taught this man sass?

bro was BORN with it or smth

even outsasses you sometimes

if you tell him to get like a snack or something and hes in the mood to just lay down with you, he will huff SO loudly

"ugh, fine!"

gets you extra snacks anyway in case you want more (and drinks obviously)

SO SO INVESTED like he has the WHOLE story down

but sometimes mixes up the ppl if its been a while

"wait wait, so the library girl and the jock are dating?"

"the nerd and the library girl are dating, but the jock wanted library girl."

"that makes a lot of sense, actually."

has tea of his OWN because the sea knows everything apparently

"tobias told me-" percy started.

"who the fuck is tobias?"

"the turtle, duh. anyway, he said that this guy always takes girls to the beach on their first date, to make them fall in love with him or something. like, every single girl he's dated."

"...does that count as a manipulation tactic?"

*ੈ JASON GRACE

will be on your side no matter what

like if you end it with an "it is what it is"

um??? it is NOT what it is hello?

doesnt look like hes listening but hes paying attention to EVERYTHING

like hes "reading" a book but hes been on the same page for the entire time youve been talking

tries not to laugh at your rather creative insults, but sometimes you get a soft chuckle out of him

you take that as a win

once, you caught him listening through the door as you gossiped with piper over the phone

he was SO embarrassed omg

after that, you made sure to tell him all the tea as soon as you have it

"—and he cheated on her with her SISTER. who's like, three years younger than him! like, what the fuck? that's not even all he did!" you sit up, hands playing with the blanket. you think you see him lean a bit closer, as if wanting to hear more. "she fucked his brother in his room, like, her ex boyfriend's room for revenge! okay, that was a bitch move, but was it deserved?"

jason shrugged. "i'd say no one deserves to be cheated on, but he kinda did deserve it."

"exactly!"

[extinctlesspains]

heyy can you pls do a kwon x y/n story, that y/n and Kwon are already dating and their in the Sekai Taikai as captains, and y/n is kreeses granddaughter and she’s a literal SOCIOPATH and blud is insane 💀 and she saves him from his death by taking the knife before he grabs it and running with it with another guy (probably Diego from the spanish dojo) from a dojo chasing her upstairs and she casually just pushes him off the railing and he’s the one that dies and y/n gets away with it and she’s like ‘it’s not my fault, he shouldn’t of chased me and he knew about the knife) and Kwons kinda like ‘wtff’ but he’s so in love 💀💀

A/n: LMAOOO THIS IS GOOD😭 I worked really hard on this y'all... I hope u enjoy 😓💕

𝑆𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝐷𝑒𝑓𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒: 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑒-𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔

𝐵𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠

»»——⍟——««

»»——⍟——««

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑒-𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝑡𝑏ℎ 𝑖𝑑𝑘... 𝐻𝑂𝑅𝑅𝑂𝑅? 𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑅?

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: 𝑆𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑠, 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼𝑓 𝐷𝑖𝑒𝑔𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑒, 𝑤ℎ𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑑 ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢? 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑡 𝑒𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟... 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑦 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑟, 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑌/𝑛.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Kwon loved you. You were his partner, his love, his everything. Being the granddaughter of Kreese meant you were amazing at manipulation, combat, and you had ruthless intelligence. Enough to break a man in both body and man.

The way you carried yourself—poised, dangerous, and utterly indifferent to the weight of lives—was something that both terrified and fascinated him.

Today was no different. You stood tall at the forefront of the Cobra Kai team, your eyes scanning the other teams. Your expression was unreadable, but Kwon had learned to understand the little things—the subtle flickers of excitement behind those cold eyes, the way you moved ever so slightly when she was truly intrigued. He couldn’t help but admire you.

He thought today was no different yet it had become different.

It happened in the blink of an eye. As the match ended, a sudden commotion erupted behind you. A figure lunged at you from the shadows—Diego, the most dangerous fighter from the Spanish dojo, a man who’d been gunning you since their last encounter. He’d seen the way you moved, the way you fought, and he didn’t like it.

Kwon saw it all happening too fast and wanted to reach out and help you, but he already his hands full.

Diego was coming for you.

You didn't flinch, making your movements fluid, almost graceful, as you swiftly disarmed Kwon, who was holding a knife, when running past him. Your hand snatching the blade from his grasp before he could even comprehend what was happening.

In one smooth motion, you were on the move again, darting down the hallway with Diego hot on your heels.

Kwon’s heart raced as he began to follow, completely ignoring hi fight with Axel and leaving him baffled. There was something in the way you were moving now that made him hesitate. You weren't panicking. In fact, you were calm, almost too calm.

"Y/N!" Kwon shouted, running after you, his feet pounding on the stairs behind you. He saw Diego just behind you, the knife in his hand now, desperate to finish what he started.

You reached the staircase that overlooked the main arena, a steep drop to the lower level. You were running with fluid speed, effortlessly leading Diego up the stairs. But then, in an unexpected flash, you turned.

Kwon barely had time to process the movement before your hand shot out, shoving Diego in the chest. He didn’t even have a chance to scream before his body was sent careening over the railing, falling to the floor below with a sickening thud.

You casually brushed your hands together, as if nothing had happened.

You didn’t even look back.

Kwon stood at the top of the stairs, frozen in disbelief. His eyes locked on the twisted body of Diego sprawled at the bottom, blood slowly pooling beneath him. His thoughts were racing. What the hell just happened?

It was then that you turned to face him, your face eerily calm as you strolled back toward him, the knife still in hand. Your smile was so unsettling that it made his blood run cold.

"It’s not my fault," you said, tone utterly matter-of-fact. "He shouldn’t have chased me. He knew about the knife. He made his choice."

Kwon blinked, still processing your words. His heart was thudding in his chest. He knew exactly what you were saying, and part of him understood it, but the other part—the one that had been so in love with her—was beginning to unravel.

"You… you pushed him," he said, almost in disbelief.

You raised an eyebrow, expression never faltering. "Yes, I did," you replied simply. "But don’t worry. It’s not my fault. He was going to die anyway. If I hadn’t done it, someone else would’ve. It’s survival."

Your gaze softened for a moment, and Kwon swore he saw a flicker of something—regret, maybe? But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

You stepped closer, and for a moment, Kwon didn’t know what to do. Part of him wanted to shout, to be furious, but the other part—the part that had fallen for you, that couldn’t resist you—just melted under your gaze.

You were a monster, but you were his monster.

"I had to," she added with a shrug. "You understand, right?"

Kwon blinked, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. He had always known you were dangerous—hell, he'd seen you kill before. But seeing you do it so... casually, as if it were nothing, unsettled him. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to be angry.

He reached out to you, pulling you close. His voice was soft, but there was a hint of something dangerous in it as he spoke. "You’re insane," he muttered, his forehead resting against yours.

You smirked, your hand trailing up his chest. "I know," you whispered. "But I’m your insane."

Kwon sighed, his heart still racing, but he couldn't deny the pull between you guys. You were a sociopath. You were ,terrifying. But you were his—and no one else would ever be able to tame you.

"Let’s go," You said, your voice light. "I’m bored of this place."

Kwon didn’t know whether he was going to survive this relationship. But he knew one thing for sure: He would follow you anywhere.

As you two walked off into the chaos of the Sekai Taikai, the crowd oblivious to the brutal death that had just taken place, Kwon couldn’t help but wonder what his life had become. But as long as he had you by his side, the world could burn, and he would still choose you.

After all, it was just self defense.

[catscidr]

˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ 𝐤!𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟏: 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐤!𝐧𝐤 // — 𝐟𝐭. 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫!𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐮/𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐳𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢.

i. note — OFF TO A ROUGH START the kenny/geto fic ended up being a whopping 4,5k so i edited it down to be roughly 2k (the full ver is gonna be on ao3 though!) so if the writing seems funky That's Why + im still not completely used to writing smut yet. similar thing kinda happened w zhongli but i went fuck it we ball so im sry if the smut feels short bare with me. im stressed. ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) anyways pls enjoy and happy kinktober lads ii. includes — amab!kenjaku (geto's appearance), zhongli. afab!reader iii. cw — kinda mean dom!kenjaku, he's referred to as suguru for Reasons, dubcon bc power dynamics, manipulation, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, one singular cl!t slap, praise and degradation, he's a yapper. -> can very well be read as a mean!suguru/reader if u choose to ignore that one line about his forehead lol — soft dom!zhongli, hu tao cameo, praise, fingering, some whimpering, piv, implied multiple orgasms, a lil breathplay, he nuts dubiously fast, implied round 2 iv. wc — 4,3k -> ao3 link for the full kenjaku fic here!

— 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐆./𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐮.

“So, according to your medical records, you’ve never had a pap smear. Is that correct?” 

Your blood runs cold. Shit, I didn’t think he would bring THAT up during a normal, unassuming routine checkup. I’m so fucked. 

“Ah, um... no, I haven’t,” you respond sheepishly, clenching your teeth so hard you wonder if he can tell just how hard you’re trying not to bolt out of the door. 

If he wasn’t a medical professional, Suguru would have made a fine actor; and so, as all normal doctors do, he belts you with numerous questions you loathe answering, one of them being the infamous; 

“Are you sexually active?” 

Swallowing down the urge to flee the scene, away from those stupid fluorescent lights and that irritating cleaning solution smell, you answer as normally as you possibly can. “I have been, but-” 

“Have you been made aware that all female bodies that have been sexually active should get a pap smear as soon as they turn 21?” he adds, jotting something down in his notes—your personal file, you assume. 

You gulp, internally thinking of excuses to worm into the conversation. “I have, yes. But Doctor Ieiri told m-” 

“I’m sorry, but I am not Doctor Ieiri. I want the best for my patients, even if some procedures can be uncomfortable. That’s just the way life is; but I’ll do my best to accommodate your needs.” Suguru gives you a patient smile and a nod, though he was firm and, honestly, quite stubborn. 

Relenting, you murmur a quiet ‘okay’, already justifying this, telling yourself that it could be worse. You could be getting a pap smear from an old man that still believe women shouldn’t be allowed ibuprofen when getting an IUD inserted. 

“Great! Then please take off your pants and underwear. I’ll step out to give you some privacy.” Suguru flashes you an award-winning smile as he leaves the vicinity, drawing back the light curtain that separated his actual office to the examination room. 

All blood drains from your being as you listen to the sound of his footsteps fading, and instead you’re met with heavy, oppressive silence. 

... 

You knew getting a pap smear would be uncomfortable, that much was a given, but you didn’t think it would be near as humiliating as this. Doctors witness people both inside AND out, day and night; so pray tell, why were you sweating bullets at the prospect of your doctor doing his job? Was it because he was infuriatingly attractive and the thought of someone like him performing your pap smear was enough to get your blood rushing south? 

(Obviously.) 

“You’re doing great,” he coos encouragingly. “Do you need a moment?” 

You blink away the tears that glossed your eyes, and nod sheepishly. He flashes you a smile and gently pulls out the speculum. You wince, but the sting wears off quickly. As a silent apology, he slides the hand that rested on your stomach down until it reaches your pelvis and applies slight pressure. 

“Deep breaths.” 

You inhale slowly, eyes fluttering shut. Right when you started to feel calmer, you jolt; his thumb brushes against your clit, a movement that seemed too calculated to be an accident. Your eyes snap open and as you look down, you’re met with his eyes piercing into yours as he continuously rubs you, almost casually. 

“W-Wha-” 

He shushes you by pressing his thumb down firmly, earning himself a nice, breathy whimper. 

“You need to relax. Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, lips curling upwards. 

Your eyes zero in on the way his thumb smears your slick all over your clit— and his hand. You’re so wet that you can hear your pleasure, squelching noises violating your ears with the repetitive movements of his thumb, and you feel the coil inside of you tighten in tandem with his fingers. Tighter and tighter, aggressively shoving you towards your rapidly incoming climax. 

And God the latex of his glove rubs against your skin so deliciously. Your hips roll up to meet his hand for more stimulation you don’t even think you can handle. You’re so lost in the pleasure he’s giving you that you don’t even notice how desperate you look until he laughs, the noise sounding so incredibly sweet in your ears despite your humiliating predicament. 

Straightening his back, Suguru breaks eye contact to peer down at your slick cunt. “You’re dripping so much it’s getting on the table. Did you even notice you were this aroused, or were you too focused on drilling holes into me to realize it?” He scoffs, decidedly amused at the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing while he continues to stimulate your needy clit. 

You want to deny his (correct) assumptions, to pull away and leave this damn building until further notice, but God was he skilled with his hands. His fingers were dangerous, lethal even. 

“I’m n-” 

Your breath hitches when he smacks your clit, his sharp brows furrowing as he sneers at you and your blissful expression betraying what you wished to say. It shouldn’t, but the sight turns you on in a way you’d never say without squirming in shame. “Don’t lie to me now. How long have you been wet for?” 

Shaking your head, you purse your lips in a tight line, ashamed to admit that you had been ever since he first started the examination. 

Scoffing, he stands up, towering over you from between your legs. He leans over you, cupping your face as he forces his thumb past your lips, making you taste yourself and the polymer fabric of the glove on his thumb. 

“You didn’t think I’d notice? You started fidgeting quite a lot once I started the checkup. Was it the proximity? Do you find me so attractive you forget how to act normally?” he gloats, pushing his thumb down onto your tongue. Looking up at him through dewy eyelashes, you swallow the saliva that pools in your mouth.

He grins, lowering his face closer to yours; some strands of his hair come undone from the bun, and you feel drawn to his gaze. You can’t look away—neither figuratively or literally. You stare into his eyes, drinking in the sight of his picturesque features, and that painful-looking but intriguing scar running across his forehead. 

(You’re not sure you would look away even if you had a choice, anyways.) 

“Do you have a fetish for doctors or something? How filthy,” he croons. “Or is it my gloves? Do you like feeling my hands prodding at your cunt? And here I was, trying to be useful.” When you whimper around the thumb in your mouth, he knows he’s guessed correctly. 

(He’s so pretty. Vague images of him—his hands—appear in your mind. You want him to pin your wrists together while he fingerfucks you, you want him to wrap a hand around your throat while he scissors you open, you want—) 

He uses his free hand to glide it between your legs and slides his fingers up and down your slit to collect your juices. It drips down his fingers, past the polymer of his glove down to the porcelain skin beneath it. “I bet there isn’t going to be any resistance when I slide my fingers in,” he pulls out his thumb from your mouth and smears your saliva on your lips, then cups your cheeks with said hand. “Want to find out?” 

You gasp when he pushes his ring and middle fingers inside simultaneously as your walls flutter so nicely around them—with the dexterity of, well, a doctor, he quickly finds that spongy spot inside of you and abuses it until you’re a writhing, squirmy mess. 

Moans slip freely from your tender lips, a cacophony of wet slaps and ‘ah! ah!’’s echo in the room while Suguru drinks in the sight of your body submitting up to him. 

“There you go, wasn’t this worth putting your trust in me?” he uses the opportunity to slip two fingers inside of your mouth with the hand that held your face, muffling your slutty moans. “Aren’t you glad you let me do your pap smear? Aren’t you glad I could tell how badly you wanted this?” 

A choked whimper rips through you when he begins to use his thumb to rub your clit at the same time as he bullies his fingers in your wet pussy. His lips stretch into a sinister grin as he watches you struggle to catch your breath; you were so overwhelmed your head spun, oxygen failing you. 

You latch your hands around his forearm and wrist as you try to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure; though your attempts are in vain. “P-Please! I can-can't take much... more...!” you manage to choke out. 

He laughs, his own breathing becoming shallower and shallower the more he pushes you near the edge of your orgasm. “I don’t care, I’ll make you take it if I have to. Come on, you can be good for me, can’t you?” 

You drool around the fingers he kept in your mouth as tears threaten to slide down your cheeks, overwhelmed with how much he kept rubbing you from the inside and out. Cracking your eyes open, you take a peek at the mess between your legs, and immediately clench around him when you catch but a glimpse of the mix of dried and wet slick on his blue glove. 

He notices and slows down the rhythm of his fingers thrusting inside you, letting you catch your breath for a moment. “So filthy,” he hums condescendingly. “Since you love my hands so much, you won’t mind cleaning them off, right?” 

Your poor, fucked-out brain doesn’t have the time to process what he meant before you whine at the loss of his thick fingers inside your cunt and then are immediately met with those same fingers thrust past your lips, making you gag around them. The tangy taste of your juices hits your tastebuds as you wrap your tongue around them, dutifully doing as he asked. 

His sharp eyes meet your own cloudy ones, seemingly satisfied. “Good girl,” he coos. “Who would have known that someone like you would get off to sucking off a glove.” You whine, holding onto his free hand to bring it between your legs, batting your eyelashes up at him needily.  

“Hm? Does my filthy little patient want to cum?” You shudder as he drags his fingers up and down your cunt, collecting your slick to flick your clit. You choke around the fingers in your mouth, whining, almost crying, and your eyelids flutter shut, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you finally surrender yourself to him. 

“Of course she does.” He plunges three fingers inside your cunt, bullying them in and out over and over and over until you can’t even lick and suck on his fingers anymore. You’re too busy letting out loud moans as he abuses your sweet spot endlessly; long forgotten are the worries that plagued your mind earlier. All you could think of was Suguru, Suguru, Suguru. 

A shudder runs down his spine as he watches you writhe in pleasure, and for a moment he imagines just how much worse you would look if he had teased your tits or kissed you until you couldn’t breathe. If the tip of his cock kissed your g-spot instead of his fingers. 

(Maybe he should bribe the secretary and make her schedule your next doctor’s visit with him instead of Ieiri.) 

“That’s it, come on. Cum on my fingers.” Your lips wrap around the fingers in your mouth, teeth grazing them just barely as you try to contain your moans.  

Unable to contain yourself any longer, you clench around his gloved fingers as he continuously rubs up into your sweet spot. The coil in your abdomen snaps; slick gushes out of you, forming a thin sheen on his fingers. 

“F-Fuck—!” With trembling thighs, you gush and moan; Suguru pulls his hand away from your face, cooing sweet nothing into your ears that your brain can’t even process while thrusting his digits into you at a slower pace to drag out your orgasm. After almost wringing his fingers dry with how hard you came, you lay numb on the examination bed, chest heaving while you try to catch your breath and come to your senses. 

Your eyelids flutter open just in time to watch your doctor lick his gloved fingers clean, humming as he tastes your juices. “Sweet,” he hums, never breaking eye contact with you. “Here, since you loved them so much.” With swift movements, he tosses his gloves on your chest, grinning at your astonished expression. 

“Well, nothing’s wrong with you,” he says as he stands tall, rolling his shoulders to lessen the strain from being hunched over you for a solid ten minutes. When you respond with nothing but a quiet, blissed-out ‘huh’ he scoffs, decidedly amused. 

He clarifies, voice light and casual. “The pap smear. Nothing abnormal in there.” 

Feeling your face heat up, you’re unsure if you should curse out or thank Doctor Ieiri for taking a vacation at the same time you needed to schedule your annual checkup.

— 𝐙𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢.

You don’t know what you’ve done in your past life for Celestia to reward you with the most caring, loving boyfriend in the world but you’re not complaining—not one bit. 

Even something as banal as waking up next to him is a blessing in it of itself; watching his hair drape over bare shoulders, locks shimmering like a river of gold beneath the sun’s rays peeking through your curtains—you could die happy if it meant dying at his side. 

You get to admire him when he goes through his—your morning routine. Brushing your teeth together, cooking and then eating breakfast together, basking in the lively sounds of the city beneath your patio as you engage in easy, comfortable conversation with none other than Rex Lapis while you eat. 

The one thing you’re certain you would never tire of—not that you’d get tired of anything when it came to him either way—is watching him get dressed. 

There’s something so comforting and entirely domestic when it comes to helping your lover slip out of his pajamas and into his day clothes. Kisses are a common form of currency between you two, exchanged gingerly when you hand him an article of clothing. He never fails to make you feel loved, and you bask in the affection like a cat sprawled out beneath a window on a sunny afternoon. 

Though, one sure-fire way to obliterate the cozy atmosphere within your flat is, you’ve recently discovered, to stare at Zhongli just a liiittle bit too hard when he gets dressed. 

Specifically, his arms and hands. 

Strong, scarred biceps that used to reshape the mountains of Liyue leading to elegant, lithe fingers. Sleeves that hide intricate, delicate black and grey markings on his arms that fade into a rich golden yellow, adorned with veins of the same color that make him look even more expensive than he already does. 

But when he adds the finishing touch and slips on those pretty gloves with his rings? 

It’s like you just defy all normal bodily functions and start ovulating even if you’re nowhere near that part of your cycle. 

“Dearest? You’ve been zoning out a lot lately, is everything alright?” 

...Though, of course, Zhongli hasn’t been up to date with your newly raging hormones because how are you supposed to tell him you can’t help popping a metaphorical boner every time he puts his gloves on.

“You’re fi—I mean, I’m fine! Yes. Everything’s okay!” 

He is the concept of temptation itself. You’re certain that if you had a dick, you would have passed out cold on the floor from your blood rushing down to your hard-on every time you merely lay eyes on his beautiful self.

And it’s gotten even worse these last couple of days; all because he cupped your cheek one morning before he left for the funeral parlor, and left a salacious kiss on your lips that left more than just your usual desire brewing in your abdomen. The material of his gloves left your skin feeling pleasantly tingly for a reason you couldn’t explain.

….Those stupid gloves.

“I can tell something’s bothering you.” Long legs stride over the bed as he closes the distance between you two. “What’s wrong?” 

He’s half-dressed, with his tie slung around his nape and both his vest and tailored coat lying flat on your shared bed, next to where you sat. You sheepishly avoid eye-contact; with how perceptive he is, you wouldn’t be surprised if he hit you with a nonchalant ‘hey babe are you turned on because of my hands and gloves?’ 

No.

Yes.

“It’s nothing,” you hum. “You should finish getting dressed, don’t you have a meeting in half an hour? Director Hu won’t be happy if you-” 

Zhongli places his thumb and forefinger on and beneath your chin, gently tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “That’s not what I asked, darling.” You suppress a gasp; but focusing on anything but the scrumptious man in front of you is a task more daunting than Sisyphus having to carry that stupid boulder up that stupid mountain. 

“Promise you won’t laugh.” Your voice comes out so meek you fear he might make you repeat yourself, but ever the gentleman, Zhongli merely hums, coaxing you to continue. “I won’t,” he says softly. 

You swallow, clearing out your throat before speaking. “It’s, uh,” you murmur. “Your gloves are... nice...”

Unable to hold his gaze, you look away. The warmth of the morning sun beating on your back isn’t entirely helping your situation, as beads of sweat form at your hairline from the sheer pressure he kept over you. Curse his Archon blood.

But Zhongli merely stares, lids relaxed as he tries to dissect you with his eyes. “They are, thank you,” he chuckles quietly, lips curling up into a soft smile. “Are you sure that’s everything, though? You know you can tell me anything, right my dear?” 

“Um,” you deflate, partly wishing for that to be the end of it. “...Are you sure you won’t laugh?” 

“I promise,” he confirms. 

Huffing, you internally think of how much mora you would have to take out of your savings to get a name change and disappear off the face of Teyvat if he ends up going back on his promise. 

“Your gloves,” you reiterate slowly. “I like them. A lot.” 

He blinks, expression entirely unchanging as he keeps staring. He tilts his head, wordlessly expressing complete and utter confusion.

“They’re, uh... I’m just.” You clench and unclench your hands at your sides, too aware of his calm breathing compared to your erratic heartbeat. “...Youmakemehorny.” 

With your fists clenching the sheets and your gaze firmly planted on the wall, you fail to notice the amused quirk of his lips and his shoulders bobbing up and down from holding in his laugh. “What was that?” 

You exhale sharply as your lips press into a tight line, but his patience greatly outweighs your own and you fold. “Your gloves turn me on! It’s hot! When you wear them!” 

True to his word, Zhongli doesn’t laugh—not a peep. You do think you hear a chuckle leave his lips though, but when you finally glance at him again, you’re met with a look that might have made you implode on the spot if this were your first time together. “Zhongli—” 

“Thank you for being open with me, my dear,” he cuts you off smoothly, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on your lips. Pulling away slowly, he looks at you with such intensity that you fear for your legs in the future. “Shall I reward you?” 

... 

“Ngh—Zhongli...!” 

You two had been at it for... what, twenty? Thirty minutes straight? You don’t remember what happened after you admitted what had been on your mind for almost a week; he wasted no time and immediately got to work. 

Talk about dedication. 

Chin covered in your slick, Zhongli laps up the juices spilling out of your puffy pussy, dragging out your last orgasm—the third of the session. He groans as the sweet taste hits his tastebuds, the Archon’s hips unconsciously rutting against the bed; the tent in his slacks was borderline painful, but being the gentleman he is, it was his duty to get you off before the main course.

“Ride it out darling,” he hums, pumping two gloved fingers in and out of you at a leisurely pace. The obscene noise of your juices echo in your mind, making you clench around his digits with carnal need for something more—something bigger. 

“I-I can’t, I want...” you trail off, weakly tugging at his disheveled hair. The hair tie he used slipped uselessly off of his locks, having fallen victim to your vicious pulling of his hair. “Please, baby,” you beg weakly, still choked up from your climax(es).

With one last, long lick, he pulls away from your cunt. The sight of his cum covered face makes you whine with desire, but as your eyes trail down, your mind immediately forgets about needing his tongue back on your clit. He shuffles up the bed and straddles your hips, bucking up against your wetness.

Slick covers his crotch, and you can’t help but stare at his bulging cock pressing against the fabric of his pants. “See something you like?” he taunts, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to lick them clean from your juices.

You stare at his lips, then back down to his very obvious hard-on, and back to his lips again.

His figure shadows yours as he cages you in with his forearms, golden eyes piercing into your own. “Zhongli...” you reach down to tug at his belt, looking up at your beloved with big, glossy eyes. “Please don’t make me beg.” 

A hand comes up to your face, stroking your cheek gently. He brings it down to tug on your bottom lip, smearing his saliva on your skin as a gentle smile spreads across his face. “Of course not, darling,” he hums. “I know what you need anyways, so there’s no need to tell me.”

He swiftly unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants, exposing the prominent wet patch on his briefs. “See what you do to me?” Zhongli purrs, watching your fingers impatiently pull down his underwear, shuddering when his heavy cock smacks against your cunt. “You’re not the only one here that gets riled up in such a way.” 

You whine, dragging your hand up and down his throbbing length, pushing it down at the same time as you slide up the bed just enough for his flushed tip to snag onto your entrance. 

“Z-Zhonglii...!” you huff again, impatiently grinding down onto him, desperately needing him to fill you already. A chuckle slips past his lips, and he pulls himself out of his short-lived trance that consisted of staring at his beautiful partner to cup your face. 

“I’m sorry darling,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your nose so gently it feels like a butterfly brushed your flushed skin. “You just looked too beautiful not to admire.” 

The compliment makes heat bloom onto your face, but as quickly as your expression melted into a love-stricken one, it morphs into pleasure as you gasp, feeling him push his fat cock into your needy hole.

“Fuck—so tight,” he mumbles, slowly bottoming out. “Are you alright, darling? Do you need a minute?” Zhongli huffs, brows pinched together as he exerts his self-control to not just ram himself into you immediately. You shake your head quickly, jaw slack, desperately trying to create more friction against your g-spot. 

“Please just—” you choke on your words, feeling him pull back and thrust into you again in one swift movement, the slap of skin against skin making your skin burn with both arousal and embarrassment. 

Zhongli’s right hand slides down to pull your shirt up over your chest, and almost immediately he gropes your breast, groaning at the feeling of the fat of your tit spilling out from between his fingers. 

“So good to me,” he praises, amber gaze burning into you, studying your expression to burn it within his mind. “I can feel you clenching around me.”

He swallows, trying so hard not to bust right then and there. “D’you want to cum, darling? Are you close?” 

Whimpering, you grab his left wrist and tug, looking up at him with a gasp. “Mhm,” you hum quietly, while biting your lip. Shlick sounds invade your eardrums, forcing soft little gasps to leave your lips in tandem with his thrusts. 

“My sweetheart.” The Archon slides his left hand down your face to your throat, pushing down just enough to make your head feel lighter. The cold metal of his rings makes a shiver run up your spine, and as you choke out a gasp, Zhongli brings his other hand down between your bodies to rub your clit. 

“Go on, cum for me darling.” He grunts, shutting his eyes to hold his impending orgasm back. “P-Please, need to feel that gorgeous pussy milking me before I do,” he breathes out, focusing on the pressure he kept on your throat. 

Your eyelids flutter; and as your eyes roll up to the back of your head, you buck your hips up to meet his thrusts, clenching dangerously around his shaft. He thrusts once, twice, and you feel the dam snap as you gush around him, your back arching clean off the bed. You claw at his arms, writhing against the bed as moans leave your throat in waves in rhythm with your orgasm.

Zhongli’s brows furrow and his thrusts slow as you cum, but right as he blinks the bleariness away and meets your glossy, fucked-out gaze, he feels his heart clench. 

“Haah, m-my love—” 

Unable to speak a warning into existence, he shoots his load into you, painting your walls white with thick, warm cum. Pretty moans leave him as his head droops down to the junction of your neck, and his hips stutter while instinctively pushing his cum deeper into you, overstimulating both you and himself. 

“Z-Zhongli, ‘s too much,” you whimper, pressing your palms onto his clothed chest—a poor attempt of pushing him away. “Too full...!” 

Reluctantly, he gives you some breathing room and sits on his haunches to catch his breath. Watching your cunt flutter around nothing, he hums, pressing his hand on your lower stomach to watch the cum pool down the sheets with a hungry gaze. “Mm, I beg to differ,” he coos, flashing you a smirk. “There’s plenty of space left still.”

Your limbs rest numbly as you lay there on your shared bed, completely breathless. Your gaze flickers to the hand he kept on top of your stomach, and your pussy instantly clenches at the sight. 

“Then... how about round two?” 

v. taglist — @leiselotte, @sukunadckrider, @moraxnomora, @skylar896, @callinz, @animecinnamonroll99 , @pe4rl-diver, @kimisukimimi, @casuallynotthirsty, @coffee-ground-bones

[fuqnia]

I Wanna Go on Walks with You (2) ₊˚⊹♡

♡ stan marsh x fem!reader insert | college au, smut

♡ A/N | sorry if this part is kinda fucked up, but i really did enjoy writing the smut LOL. i love u stan <3 thank u guys again for all the support!!! kyle is also based af in this... also this will probably be my last fic for awhile, uni and work is starting back up for me so im rlly sorry!!

♡ C/W | nsfw (18+), all characters are aged up! drinking, smoking, hookups, vomiting, physical fighting, inexperienced reader, p in v, bj's, fingering, reader is kinda manipulative/asshole-ish and depressed, stan is depressed, bi stan

♡ Synopsis | stan thought he could outrun the weight of his feelings, but when the past and present collide at a party, the cracks he's been trying to hide threaten to shatter completely. amid the chaos, one truth becomes impossible to ignore—sometimes, the mess you make is the one you can't escape.

event masterlist | part one

Stan’s breath hitched as he fumbled with his keys, the cold metal slipping in his trembling fingers. He cursed under his breath, his voice cracking as he shoved the key toward the lock again. His vision blurred—not from tears, not yet—but from the suffocating weight pressing down on his chest.

Why couldn’t he get the damn key in? His hands were shaking so violently that he couldn’t even do this one simple thing. The door wobbled slightly under his palm as he slammed his other hand against it, his frustration boiling over into a muttered, “Fucking useless.”

Finally, the lock clicked. He pushed the door open and stumbled inside, letting it shut behind him with a loud, hollow thud. The sound reverberated through his skull like the echo of every mistake he’d ever made.

Stan wasn’t expecting to see Kyle sitting at his desk, surrounded by open textbooks and scribbled notes. His best friend’s head snapped up at the noise, his expression immediately shifting from tired concentration to alarm as he took in Stan’s disheveled state.

“Stan?” Kyle’s voice was cautious, his brow furrowing. “What the hell happened? Are you—”

Stan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The words jammed in his throat, choking him as he dragged himself to his bed. His legs felt like they might give out, and the second he hit the mattress, he folded in on himself. His elbows dug into his thighs, his head dropping into his hands as his shoulders slumped forward. His hoodie felt too tight, like it was strangling him, and he tugged at the neckline with shaky fingers, desperate for air.

Kyle didn’t move at first. Stan could feel his gaze, sharp and calculating, like he was trying to piece together the puzzle of what had just walked through the door. The silence between them was thick, suffocating, broken only by the sound of Stan’s uneven breathing.

“What the hell is going on, Stan?” Kyle tried again, his voice quieter but no less insistent. “You look like you just—” He stopped himself, his words trailing off when it became clear that Stan wasn’t going to respond.

Stan’s mind was racing, but none of his thoughts made sense. They jumbled together, incoherent and overwhelming: the heat of your skin, the weight of your words, the way you looked at him when you wiped your  mouth and told him you wanted to. The memories hit him like a series of sharp, jarring flashes, each one leaving a heavier weight in his chest.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he stopped it sooner? He’d let it happen—hell, he’d encouraged it. He could still feel your touch, your breath, your voice as you asked if it was okay, and all he could do was nod like some pathetic, desperate idiot.

His stomach churned violently, and he swallowed hard, willing himself to keep it together.

Kyle finally stood, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor grating on Stan’s frayed nerves. His footsteps were slow, cautious, as he approached the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under Kyle’s weight as he sat down beside him, leaving just enough space to avoid crowding him.

“Stan,” Kyle said softly, his voice devoid of the usual judgment or irritation. He waited, but Stan didn’t lift his head.

Then Kyle’s hand landed on his shoulder, firm and steady. The contact jolted something loose in Stan, and he let out a sharp, broken gasp. The tears came before he could stop them, spilling hot and fast as his shoulders began to shake.

“I can’t—I can’t fucking do this,” Stan choked out, his voice cracking with every word. He dug his fingers into his hair, pulling slightly as if the pain might ground him. “I’m so fucked up, Kyle. I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing anymore.”

Kyle’s hand tightened slightly, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t tell Stan it was going to be okay, didn’t try to fix it, and for some reason, that only made Stan’s chest ache more. He wasn’t sure what he wanted Kyle to say—maybe nothing, maybe everything. Nothing felt like it would be enough.

“I keep screwing everything up,” Stan muttered, his voice muffled by his hands. “I’m such a fucking mess. She deserves better than this—better than me. And all I’m doing is—” He cut himself off, a sharp sob tearing its way out of his throat.

The image of your face flashed in his mind again, bright and vivid and so goddamn innocent compared to the mess he’d made of himself. He hated it—hated himself for letting you get caught up in his shit. You deserve someone who wasn’t drowning, someone who wasn’t going to drag you down with him.

Kyle shifted beside him, his presence solid and unmoving. “You’re not a lost cause, Stan,” he said finally, his tone even but firm. “But you can’t keep running yourself into the ground like this. Whatever’s going on, you need to face it. You can’t keep burying it under all this… whatever this is.”

Stan let out a bitter laugh, though it came out more like a strangled sob. “Yeah? And what if there’s nothing left to face? What if I’m just broken, Kyle? What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

Kyle didn’t answer right away, and Stan could feel the weight of his silence like a lead ball in his chest. Finally, Kyle let out a quiet sigh, his hand still firm on Stan’s shoulder. “You figure it out. One step at a time. But you can’t keep doing this alone.”

Stan shook his head, his hands dropping from his face to rest limply in his lap. His chest ached, his throat raw from the effort of holding back more tears. He stared at the floor, his vision blurred, and muttered, “I don’t know if I can.”

The words felt hollow, heavy, like they’d been pulled from the deepest part of him. For a moment, he thought Kyle might try to argue, to push back against his hopelessness. But instead, Kyle just sat there, his presence a quiet reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Stan’s voice was hoarse as he spoke again, barely above a whisper. “I’m ruining everything. And I don’t know how to stop.”

Stan leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window, his eyes unfocused as the city lights blurred past. The hum of Kyle’s car engine and the chaotic noise from the backseat felt distant, like it was happening to someone else entirely. Kenny and Cartman were mid-argument—something about who ate the last slice of pizza before they left—but their voices were muffled, almost drowned out by the weight pressing on his chest.

Kyle was muttering under his breath, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel as he navigated through traffic. Stan wasn’t sure if Kyle was complaining about the frat party, the noise in the car, or the fact that he had to drag Stan out at all. Probably all three. But Stan didn’t care. None of it mattered.

His phone buzzed again in his pocket. He didn’t need to check to know it was you.

You’d been texting him all day, calling him, leaving voicemails he hadn’t dared to listen to. The notification counter on his lock screen was absurd—double digits at least. It was like you were desperately trying to reach out, to fix something that Stan had already smashed into pieces.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing harder against the window like he could will himself to disappear. Every buzz of his phone was a knife in his chest, sharp and relentless. He didn’t have to read the texts to know what they said. He could hear your voice in his head, asking him why he’d been avoiding you, why he hadn’t answered, why he’d left so suddenly that night. And what could he say? That he’d felt so disgusted with himself, so ashamed, that he couldn’t even face you? That every time he thought about you—about your hands, your voice, your touch—he felt like he was going to fucking unravel?

Stan’s stomach churned as he imagined you sitting in your room, staring at your phone, waiting for a reply that would never come. He could picture it so vividly: the way your eyebrows furrowed when you were frustrated, the way your leg bounced when you were nervous. You probably thought you’d done something wrong. Maybe you even blamed yourself.

He hated himself for that the most.

“Yo, Stan,” Kenny’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and teasing. “You gonna sulk all night, or are you actually gonna have fun for once?”

Stan didn’t move, his forehead still pressed against the window. “Not in the mood, Kenny,” he muttered, his voice flat.

“Shocker,” Cartman chimed in from the backseat, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Stan Marsh, king of depression, strikes again. Someone get this guy a participation trophy for most miserable bastard alive.”

“Cartman,” Kyle snapped, his voice sharp and tired. “Shut the hell up.”

Stan didn’t even flinch. The jab rolled off him like water on glass. He’d heard worse—from Cartman, from himself. His own thoughts were infinitely crueler than anything Cartman could come up with.

His phone buzzed again, and this time, the vibration felt like it echoed through his entire body. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing the cool metal of the device, but he didn’t pull it out. He couldn’t bring himself to look at your name on the screen again. Couldn’t bring himself to see the timestamp on the last text he’d ignored.

God, why won’t you stop?

The thought hit him like a slap, bitter and sharp. He clenched his teeth, his jaw aching from the tension. He knew why you wouldn’t stop. You cared. You’d always cared, even when he didn’t deserve it. And that was the worst part. Because no matter how many times you reached out, no matter how hard you tried to pull him back, he’d only end up dragging you down with him.

Stan let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into fists in his lap. The party wasn’t going to help. It was just another excuse to drown himself in alcohol and noise, to bury the weight of his guilt under layers of bad decisions. But Kyle had insisted. Said he needed to get out, to “snap out of whatever funk” he was in.

Funk. Like it was something he could just shake off. Like he hadn’t been carrying this hollow, gnawing emptiness for years, long before you’d gotten tangled up in it.

Another buzz. Another text. Another reminder that he was too much of a coward to face you.

He closed his eyes, the cool glass against his skin the only thing grounding him. His mind replayed that night in your room on an endless loop—the way you’d looked at him, the way your voice had wavered when you asked if it was okay, the way he’d broken down the moment he’d left.

He deserved every ounce of this misery.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a two-story house, its windows glowing with multicolored lights. The muffled bass of music thudded against the walls, vibrating through the air. People crowded the porch, cups in hand, laughter and shouts spilling out into the street like the party couldn’t be contained.

Stan dragged himself out of the car, his feet heavy against the pavement as he followed Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman up the steps. The scene was chaotic, but Stan barely registered it. All he could think about was how desperately he needed to shut his brain off, to drown out the endless loop of shame and guilt that had been gnawing at him since he’d bolted from your room.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the stench of sweat, alcohol, and something vaguely herbal hit him like a wall. The house was packed, bodies pressed together in a chaotic rhythm that matched the deafening music. Stan scanned the room, his eyes narrowing as they landed on the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen. Without a word, he started toward it.

Kyle grabbed his arm, his expression tight. “Stan, come on. Maybe you should chill for a second.”

“Get off me, Kyle,” Stan muttered, yanking his arm free. He didn’t stop walking.

“Dude, just let him,” Kenny said from behind, his tone light but laced with a resigned edge. “If he wants to drink himself stupid, it’s not like we can stop him.”

Kyle shot Kenny a sharp look, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he trailed behind, his concern palpable as they followed Stan into the kitchen.

The bar was a mess of half-empty bottles and sticky counters, but Stan didn’t hesitate. He reached for the nearest bottle of clear liquid—vodka, maybe—and unscrewed the cap with shaky hands. A few people around the bar turned to watch as he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long, burning swig.

“Jesus, Stan,” Kyle hissed, his voice barely audible over the music.

Stan ignored him, the vodka scorching its way down his throat and settling in his stomach like fire. He took another swig, longer this time, the burn making his eyes water. Someone nearby let out a low whistle, and a few others laughed, their voices mingling with the pounding bass.

“Damn, dude. Save some for the rest of us,” a guy called out, his tone half-amused, half-impressed.

Stan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his grip tightening on the bottle. He didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. The vodka was already doing its job, the edges of his thoughts starting to blur, the weight in his chest loosening just enough to breathe.

Kyle reached for the bottle, his expression tense. “Stan, stop. This isn’t—”

“Leave it,” Stan snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. He pulled the bottle out of Kyle’s reach and tipped it back again, the alcohol rushing through him like a lifeline.

Kenny leaned against the counter, his eyes tracking Stan’s movements with a mix of curiosity and unease. “Guess we’re doing this, huh?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Stan didn’t care about the stares or the murmurs around him. He didn’t care about Kyle’s disapproval or Kenny’s detached amusement. All he cared about was the bottle in his hand and the numbness creeping over him, muting the thoughts that had been eating him alive for days.

But as he took another swig, he couldn’t help but think about how temporary it all was. How the numbness would fade, leaving him raw and exposed again. How he’d have to face your texts, your calls, your voice in his head asking why.

He pushed the thought away, his grip tightening on the bottle as he took another drink, his focus narrowing to the burn in his throat and the faint, fleeting relief it brought.

Stan barely registered the presence next to him until a hand clapped down on his shoulder. He flinched slightly, his body tense, but then the unmistakable voice of Cartman broke through the haze.

“Alright, dude,” Cartman said, his tone surprisingly even for once. “Let’s take this outside and chill, huh?”

Stan turned his head, blinking blearily at him. Cartman had a half-empty bag of chips in one hand, crumbs dusting his hoodie. The contrast between Cartman’s casual demeanor and Stan’s unraveling was almost laughable, if not for the fact that Stan couldn’t summon the energy to care.

“What?” Stan muttered, his voice hoarse, the word dragging out like it took effort just to speak.

Cartman gestured loosely toward the back door with the bag of chips. “You heard me. Outside. You’re, like, two seconds away from face-planting into the counter, and I’d rather not have to haul your drunk ass to a hospital. Plus, it’s too loud in here.”

Stan stared at him for a moment, his grip still tight on the bottle. The idea of going outside, away from the noise and the crowd, wasn’t entirely unappealing, but he couldn’t shake the nagging voice in his head that told him to just keep drinking. To keep burying it all.

“I’m fine,” Stan mumbled, raising the bottle again.

Cartman’s hand tightened on his shoulder, uncharacteristically firm. “No, you’re not,” he said, his voice lower, almost serious. “And I’m not asking. Let’s go.”

Stan hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced down at the bottle in his hand. The burn of the vodka had dulled, replaced by a creeping nausea he couldn’t quite shake. The room felt too hot, too claustrophobic, the thrum of the music pounding in his skull like a second heartbeat.

Without another word, Cartman started guiding him toward the back door, his grip firm but not rough. Stan didn’t resist, his legs moving on autopilot as they weaved through the crowd. Kenny and Kyle were still in the kitchen, their voices blending into the cacophony around them, but Stan didn’t look back.

The cool night air hit him like a slap to the face as they stepped onto the porch. It was quieter out here, the muffled bass from inside fading into the background. A few people lingered around the edges of the yard, smoking or chatting in low voices, but it felt a world away from the chaos inside.

Cartman let go of his shoulder and leaned against the porch railing, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched Stan with an unreadable expression.

Stan sank down onto the steps, the bottle still clutched in his hand. He rested his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low as he stared at the ground. The vodka churned uncomfortably in his stomach, mixing with the weight in his chest until he felt like he might collapse under it.

“You’re a mess, dude,” Cartman said finally, his tone blunt but not unkind. “And that’s coming from me.”

Stan let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “No shit, Cartman.”

Cartman shrugged, his hand rattling the bag of chips as he reached for another handful. “I’m just saying, whatever’s got you spiraling this hard? Might wanna deal with it before you end up, I don’t know, dead in a ditch or some shit.”

Stan looked up at him, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. “Thanks for the pep talk,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Cartman smirked, leaning back against the railing. “Anytime, Marsh.” For a moment, he was silent, his gaze shifting to the bottle in Stan’s hand. “Seriously, though. You gonna talk about it, or are we just gonna sit here while you drink yourself into oblivion?”

Stan didn’t answer right away. His grip on the bottle tightened, his knuckles white as he stared at the ground. The thought of talking about it, of saying any of it out loud, made his throat close up. But the silence felt heavier than the words he couldn’t bring himself to say.

Finally, he sighed, the sound shaky and hollow. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said quietly, though even he didn’t believe the words.

Cartman didn’t push. He just stood there, eating his chips. Stan’s chest tightened as the silence between him and Cartman stretched on, his own words hanging heavy in the cool night air. He could feel Cartman’s gaze on him, assessing, but he didn’t look up. He didn’t have it in him.

“So,” Cartman said, his voice casual but pointed as he crunched on another chip. “This spiral of yours—it’s about [Y/N], isn’t it?”

Stan’s stomach dropped. He didn’t move, didn’t react, didn’t give Cartman the satisfaction of an answer. His hands clenched into fists on his knees, his nails digging into his palms as he focused on the ground in front of him.

When Stan didn’t respond, Cartman just shrugged, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth. “Figures,” he said through a mouthful of food. “Chicks, man. They’ll fuck you up every time.”

Stan finally looked up, his glare sharp, but Cartman wasn’t even looking at him. He was leaning against the porch railing, staring out at the yard like this was just another Saturday night. For all his bluntness, Cartman didn’t press the issue, and Stan was oddly grateful for it.

He let out a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, when movement caught his eye. Out in the yard, among the small clusters of people, was someone who looked exactly like you. The way they moved, the curve of their shoulders, even the shine of their hair—it all screamed you. His heart stopped, his chest tightening painfully as a wave of nausea rolled through him.

Oh, God. No. Not here. Not now.

Stan felt his stomach twist violently, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as he tried to ground himself. His grip on the bottle tightened until his knuckles turned white, but his hands were trembling too much for it to feel steady.

“Dude, are you gonna puke again?” Cartman asked, his tone half-concerned, half-mocking as he finally glanced over at him.

Stan shook his head sharply, his eyes locked on the figure in the yard. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice sounded far from convincing.

It wasn’t until the person turned slightly, giving him a better look at their face, that he realized it wasn’t you. The relief that hit him was immediate but fleeting, replaced by a hollow ache in his chest that left him breathless.

Get a grip, he told himself. You’re losing it.

Without looking at Cartman, Stan pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as the alcohol in his system made his movements clumsy. “I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice low and strained.

Cartman raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop him. “Yeah, sure. Don’t die or anything.”

Stan ignored him, his focus zeroing in on the person who looked like you. He didn’t know why he was doing this—why he was chasing a ghost in the middle of a party—but his legs moved before his brain could stop them.

His steps faltered slightly when they turned, their profile confirming what he already knew: it wasn’t you. The sharp pang of disappointment hit him, but he pushed it down, plastering on a crooked grin as he closed the distance between them.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, though it wavered slightly. “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the yard.”

The person turned fully, their eyebrows raising in mild surprise. “Uh, hi?” they said, their tone cautious but polite.

Stan shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, trying to steady himself as he leaned slightly closer. “I know this is kind of random, but… you look familiar. Do we know each other?”

They tilted their head, studying him for a moment. “I don’t think so,” they said finally. “But… thanks, I guess?”

“Sorry if I’m coming off weird,” Stan added quickly, the words tumbling out before he could think them through. “It’s just—you have this vibe. Like someone I used to know.”

His stomach churned at the words, the lie leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore—flirting, coping, or just flailing in the dark. Maybe all three.

The person gave him a small smile, their posture relaxing slightly. “Well, I hope they were cool,” they said lightly, their voice carrying a faint edge of humor. “Because that’s a lot of pressure.”

Stan laughed softly, though it felt hollow. “They were… one of a kind,” he muttered, his throat tightening as he glanced down at the bottle in his hand.

The person shifted their weight, their gaze flicking to the bottle before meeting his eyes again. “So… are you okay?” they asked, their tone genuine but hesitant.

The question hit him like a slap, the concern in their voice cutting through the haze of alcohol and self-loathing. He forced another grin, though it felt like it might crack under the weight of everything he was trying to hold back.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “Just… blowing off some steam, you know?”

The person nodded slowly, their expression softening. “Well, don’t go too hard on yourself,” they said, their smile faint but kind. “It’s not worth it.”

Stan’s chest tightened, the words hitting far too close to home. He hesitated, the idea forming in his mind before he could stop it. Maybe if he just leaned into this—into them—he could bury the mess he was drowning in. Just for a night.

“So, uh…” He cleared his throat, his grin turning slightly sharper, more deliberate. “Do you want to maybe get out of here? Just hang out, away from all… this?” He gestured vaguely toward the party, his pulse racing as he waited for their response.

The person blinked, their surprise evident. They hesitated, glancing around before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t know,” they said, their tone cautious. “I’m not really looking for anything serious.”

Stan’s grin faltered for a split second before he forced it back into place. “Neither am I,” he said smoothly, though the words felt like sandpaper in his throat. “Just… looking for some company.”

They looked at him for a long moment, their expression unreadable. Stan’s chest tightened further, the silence stretching as his grip on the bottle grew tighter. Finally, they nodded, their smile faint but genuine.

“Alright,” they said, their voice light. “Lead the way.”

Stan exhaled, the relief crashing over him like a wave as he gestured for them to follow him. But as they walked toward the edge of the yard, the hollow ache in his chest twisted deeper, darker. He could feel it gnawing at him, an insidious reminder that this wasn’t about connection or distraction—it was about punishment.

Because that’s what he deserved, wasn’t it? To scrape the bottom of the barrel, to throw himself into fleeting moments that meant nothing and left him emptier than before. To chase ghosts and bury himself in mistakes just to forget the weight of your voice, your touch, your trust. He clenched his jaw, his steps heavy, each one dragging him further into the abyss he’d created for himself.

It didn’t matter who they were or how kind their smile was. They weren’t you. And no amount of cheap liquor or borrowed warmth would change the fact that he’d ruined the one thing that might’ve saved him. He wasn’t just falling apart—he was clawing himself to pieces, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

As he led them into the dark, his lips twisted into a bitter smile. Maybe he was beyond saving. Maybe this was all he’d ever be—a mess of regrets and bad decisions, staggering forward just to avoid looking back.

The phone felt heavy in your trembling hands, its screen glowing with the draft of a message you couldn’t bring yourself to send. Your mascara streaked down your cheeks, smudged by the steady flow of tears you hadn’t managed to stop for hours. The lump in your throat ached, a constant reminder of the sobs that wracked your chest. You sniffled, trying and failing to take a steadying breath, as your thumb hovered over the send button.

“Hey… I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore.”

The words on the screen blurred through your tears, and your hands shook so violently you could barely hold the phone still. Damien didn’t deserve this—he hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been patient and kind, the perfect blend of calm and confident, someone who made you feel like you mattered. And yet, none of it had been enough to drown out the relentless weight of Stan in your mind.

Your chest tightened as you stared at the message, the silence of your room only amplifying the storm of your thoughts. A week had passed since you’d last seen Stan, but his absence had carved itself into every part of your life. You couldn’t escape it—not in the dead of night when you stared at your phone waiting for a message that never came, and not during the day when everything reminded you of him.

Every laugh, every smile you’d shared, every clumsy touch from that night—it all played on an endless loop in your mind, growing louder with every moment he ignored you. And now you were here, mascara running down your face and heartbreak threatening to choke you, about to push away the one person who had actually wanted you.

You felt your stomach twist with guilt as you thought about Damien. He’d been so excited when he’d texted you last night, asking about your weekend plans. The idea of crushing that enthusiasm, of turning his warmth into confusion and hurt, made your fingers falter.

But you couldn’t keep lying to yourself, or to him. Your heart wasn’t in this—how could it be when it was still chained to someone else? To someone who hadn’t even spared you a text in a week? Someone who was probably out there living his life without a second thought for the mess he’d left you in?

Your tears fell harder at the thought, your thumb finally pressing the button as the message sent with a soft ping. The room seemed impossibly still as you stared at the screen, watching the text sit there, delivered but unanswered.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to no one, your voice hoarse and broken.

You dropped the phone onto the bed, your body trembled with every sob, your chest heaving as the weight of guilt crushed you. It was unbearable, like a physical ache gnawing at your ribs and spreading through every inch of you. You let your head fall into your hands, your fingers tangling in your hair as shame and regret clawed at your heart.

How could you have been so selfish? So stupid?

You replayed that night in your mind, every detail vivid and suffocating. The way Stan’s hands had hesitated before gripping your hips. The way his voice had trembled when he asked if it was okay. The way he’d broken apart in your room after you’d pushed too far.

You’d told yourself it was for practice, for Damien. That lie sat bitter in your chest now, hollow and meaningless. You hadn’t cared about Damien in that moment, not really. You’d cared about Stan, about distracting him, about being the one to pull him out of the darkness that had been swallowing him whole. But instead of helping him, you’d only dragged him down further.

I used him. The thought hit you like a slap, fresh tears streaming down your face as the realization sank in. You’d taken advantage of his vulnerability, of his trust in you, and for what? To play pretend for a few fleeting moments? To feel wanted?

You pressed your hands against your face, your fingers digging into your skin as if you could scrub the guilt away. “I’m a terrible person,” you whispered, the words shaking as they fell from your lips. “I’m so fucking terrible.”

The silence of your room felt deafening, wrapping around you like a noose. You hoped, desperately, that Stan was feeling better now that he didn’t have to deal with you. That cutting you out of his life had given him some peace, even if it left you feeling hollow and alone.

The thought of him—his face, his voice, his touch—was like a knife twisting in your chest. You wanted to forget, to drown out the ache that wouldn’t let up no matter how much you cried. You wanted the numbness that had always felt so far out of reach. And then, unbidden, your mind drifted to the one thing that might offer it.

Alcohol.

You thought about the parties Stan and the guys dragged you to, the cheap liquor that burned your throat but left your mind blissfully hazy. You thought about how easy it would be to lose yourself in that fog, to forget the guilt, the shame, the sound of your phone buzzing with messages you couldn’t bring yourself to read.

Your breathing hitched as the thought took hold, the temptation curling around you like a siren’s song. You pushed yourself off the bed, your legs unsteady as you stood. Your heart pounded in your chest, your movements shaky and uncertain as you made your way to the closet.

Throwing the door open, you rifled through the clothes hanging limply on their hangers, your fingers trembling as you searched for something—anything—that screamed distraction. Your hand paused on a short black dress, the one you’d worn to a party months ago, the night you’d laughed too loud and let Kenny drag you onto the dance floor. You grabbed it without thinking, pulling it off the hanger and clutching it to your chest like it was a lifeline.

You needed out. Out of this room, out of your head, out of the suffocating guilt that threatened to consume you whole. And if a few drinks and a crowded room were the only way to get there, then so be it.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the makeup wipes on your desk, dabbing at the streaked mascara that had smudged across your cheeks. The image of your tear-streaked face in the mirror only deepened the knot of guilt and shame in your stomach, but you pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand. If you were going to do this—if you were going to escape your thoughts tonight—you couldn’t look like the emotional wreck you felt.

As you applied fresh eyeliner with trembling hands, you heard the familiar jingle of keys outside the door. The knob twisted, and Red stepped inside, her phone in hand and earbuds dangling from her neck. She stopped mid-step when she saw you at your desk, makeup wipes and half-finished cosmetics strewn across the surface.

“Whoa. What happened in here?” she asked, her voice lighter than the concerned look on her face.

You didn’t meet her gaze, focusing instead on lining your lips with the bold red lipstick that matched the armor you were trying to piece together. “Nothing,” you said quickly, your voice tight and unconvincing.

Red closed the door behind her, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took you in. She set her bag down on her bed and crossed her arms, leaning against the edge of the frame. “You don’t look like nothing.”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself to keep your composure. “I’m fine,” you insisted, though your shaking hands betrayed you as you applied a final swipe of mascara.

Red didn’t budge. “Fine,” she said slowly, drawing the word out. “Fine enough to be getting all dressed up for something. Where are you going?”

You capped the mascara with trembling fingers and turned to face her, forcing a smile that felt brittle. “I was going to ask if you’re going to any parties tonight,” you said, deflecting the question. “I thought I’d tag along.”

Red’s brows shot up in surprise, but she didn’t push the obvious lie. “Uh, yeah, I was gonna head to that Pi Kappa party. I heard it’s gonna be huge. Why, though? You haven’t wanted to go out in weeks.”

“I need to get out of here,” you said quickly, your voice too sharp and too quick. You softened it with a weak laugh. “Clear my head, you know? Blow off some steam.”

Her playful grin faltered, her expression softening with something you hated to see—pity. But, thankfully, Red wasn’t the type to prod too much. “Okay, babe. If you’re in, you’re in. Let me throw something on real quick, and we’ll Uber together.”

You nodded, relief mixing uneasily with the lingering ache in your chest as she turned to her closet. While Red rummaged for an outfit, you sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your reflection in the tiny mirror propped on your desk. The person staring back at you looked composed, ready for a party. But beneath the fresh makeup and tight dress, you were anything but.

“Okay, done!” Red chirped, snapping you out of your thoughts. She stood there in a sequined mini-dress that shimmered under the fluorescent dorm lights, her lips curling into an excited grin. “You ready, or are you still doing that thing where you stare at yourself like you’re in a bad movie montage?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

She grabbed her bag and slung an arm around your shoulders, leading you out of the room with her usual bright energy. Her chatter filled the silence as the two of you walked toward the dorm exit, her voice animated as she hyped up the party and gossiped about who might be there. You nodded along, grateful for the noise to drown out the storm in your head.

But no matter how loud Red’s voice was, or how bright the city lights were as the Uber carried you both toward the party, the knot in your stomach refused to loosen. You hoped the drinks would help. You hoped the crowd would distract you. You hoped you could forget, even if only for one night.

You hated alcohol—the taste, the burn, the way it made your stomach twist and churn. But tonight, you didn’t care. You didn’t want to care. All you wanted was to drown out the heavy, suffocating weight in your chest and replace it with something, anything, that felt lighter. Even if it came at the expense of your body.

The frat house was alive with music, laughter, and the faint haze of cigarette smoke wafting in from the backyard. Red tugged you inside, her arm looped tightly around yours as she greeted nearly everyone who crossed her path. Her energy was infectious, her voice rising over the thrum of the crowd as she exchanged hugs, jokes, and smiles with familiar faces.

You tried to mirror her enthusiasm, but it felt hollow. When she greeted Craig and Tweek, who were standing near the corner with Clyde and Tolkien, you forced a weak smile and waved. Their replies were friendly enough—Clyde even cracked a joke about your absence at previous parties—but their voices blended into the background noise.

Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces you knew: Jimmy and Butters at the beer pong table, Cartman and Kenny arguing over something near the kitchen, Wendy and Bebe chatting animatedly with Heidi and Nichole by the staircase. But there was no sign of Stan. Relief and disappointment mingled in your chest, twisting together in a way that made you feel like you couldn’t breathe.

“Be right back,” you mumbled to Red, slipping your arm free from hers before she could protest. “I’m gonna grab a drink.”

She nodded, already turning back to her conversation with Bebe, her laughter ringing out as you retreated toward the counter. Your hands trembled slightly as you scanned the selection—plastic cups, kegs, an assortment of bottles in varying states of emptiness. Your eyes landed on a bottle of vodka, the label peeling at the edges, and you grabbed it without hesitation.

No one was looking. No one cared.

You twisted the cap off and pressed the bottle to your lips, the sharp smell making your nose wrinkle. The first sip burned, and you nearly coughed, but you swallowed it down and took another. And another. The fire in your throat spread to your chest, and your stomach twisted in protest, but you ignored it. You kept drinking, the edges of the room blurring slightly as the alcohol began to take hold.

Your thoughts swirled, chaotic and relentless, as you clutched the bottle tighter. You hated how desperate you felt, how pathetic it was to stand in the corner of a party, drinking like your life depended on it. But you hated the silence in your head more—the voice that whispered that this was all your fault, that you’d ruined everything, that you deserved to feel this way.

You deserved it.

The vodka burned, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as everything else. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, setting the empty bottle back on the counter with a hollow clink. The world felt hazy now, the room swaying slightly as the alcohol settled into your system. You grabbed a red Solo cup and filled it halfway with whatever was closest—some dark, amber liquid that you didn’t bother to identify. You just needed to keep going, to stay numb.

You turned back toward the crowd, the cup clutched tightly in your hand. Your eyes scanned the room for Red, but instead, they landed on something that made your breath hitch.

Kyle was at the edge of the crowd, his hand wrapped firmly around Stan’s arm as he pulled him through the throng of people. Stan looked disheveled, his hoodie rumpled and his hair a mess. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place, and he moved sluggishly, like he was trying to resist Kyle’s pull. Kyle leaned in, whispering something urgently into Stan’s ear, his expression tense.

Kyle’s eyes flicked up and met yours, and the world seemed to still for a moment. His lips pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowing slightly as he held your gaze. The knot in your stomach twisted tighter, and your breath felt caught in your throat.

Stan, noticing the shift in Kyle’s attention, turned his head to follow his gaze. When his eyes landed on you, his entire body seemed to lock up. His expression shifted in an instant—his jaw tightening, his eyes widening briefly before narrowing into something unreadable. He froze, his arm still in Kyle’s grip, and for a moment, it felt like the entire party had gone silent.

Then, as if jolted into action, Stan yanked his arm free from Kyle’s grasp and turned sharply, heading in the opposite direction. He didn’t even glance back as he pushed through the crowd, his movements stiff and hurried.

Your chest tightened painfully as you watched him retreat, the cup in your hand trembling slightly. Kyle turned back to you, his gaze softer now, almost apologetic. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but the distance between you made it impossible to hear.

You shook your head, breaking the stare, and looked down into your drink. The liquid swirled lazily in the cup, the faint smell of alcohol wafting up to meet you. You downed it in one go, ignoring the bitter taste, and wiped your mouth again.

Red appeared beside you then, her voice bright and oblivious. “There you are! Come on, they’re playing flip cup in the kitchen!”

You forced a smile, the edges of it wobbling. “Yeah,” you said, your voice hollow. “Let’s go.”

Red dragged you into the kitchen, her arm hooked around yours as she babbled on about the flip cup teams already forming. The room was buzzing with energy, laughter bouncing off the walls as drinks were poured and rules were loudly debated. You scanned the crowd and saw a mix of familiar faces—Clyde, Tweek, Craig, and even Bebe, who was already half-draped over a laughing Jimmy.

“You’re on my team,” Red declared, her grip on your arm tightening as she pulled you to her side. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and you managed a small smile despite the heavy knot still twisting in your stomach.

The game started, the air thick with playful shouts and competitive taunts. Red went first, downing her drink and flipping the cup expertly in one smooth motion. “Boom!” she cheered, throwing her hands in the air.

When it was your turn, you hesitated, the Solo cup trembling slightly in your hand. The alcohol buzzing through your veins dulled the sharp edges of your thoughts, and for the first time all night, you didn’t feel the crushing weight of everything on your chest. You took a deep breath, downed the drink in one gulp, and flipped the cup on your first try.

“Hell yeah!” Red whooped, clapping you on the back. “You’re a natural!”

The cheers and laughter from your team were louder now, and you couldn’t help but laugh along. The alcohol coursing through your system made everything feel lighter, fuzzier, and the tension in your chest loosened just a little more with every round. By the time you’d flipped three more cups flawlessly, you were grinning, your cheeks flushed with both alcohol and the heat of the crowded room.

“You’ve been holding out on us!” Clyde called, pointing at you with an exaggerated look of mock betrayal.

“Where’s this pro-level flip cup energy been hiding?” Red teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You shrugged, laughing as you reached for another drink. “Beginner’s luck,” you said, your voice lighter now, almost unrecognizable to yourself.

As the game went on, you found yourself laughing more, the warmth of the alcohol and the camaraderie of the group easing the heaviness in your chest. The laughter around you started to blur as you spotted him out of the corner of your eye—Stan, standing in the crowd, leaning against the wall with a girl you didn’t recognize. She was all legs and confidence, her hand lightly touching his arm as she giggled at something he said. You couldn’t hear them over the music and chatter, but whatever it was, it made Stan smirk. That smirk twisted something deep in your chest, something sharp and unexpected.

Jealousy.

You didn’t get jealous when Stan flirted with people. You’d seen it before, a million times, and it had always been just Stan being Stan. But this? The way he was looking at her? The way she was looking back? It made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t explain.

Your grip tightened on the edge of the counter as you watched him. He must have felt your stare because his eyes flicked up, meeting yours across the room. For a split second, you thought you saw something flicker in his expression—hesitation, guilt, maybe even regret. But then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and kissed the girl.

Your breath hitched, disbelief freezing you in place. His lips moved against hers with purpose, his hands resting low on her waist as if he wanted to make sure you didn’t miss a single second of it. The girl looped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and your stomach dropped.

They were full-on making out now, right there in the middle of the party, and all you could do was stand there, your mouth hanging open as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman watching too. Kyle looked horrified, his brows furrowed in a deep, disapproving frown. Kenny had a smirk on his face, though his eyes flicked between you and Stan like he was watching a train wreck unfold. Cartman, of course, was laughing, the sound obnoxious and grating as he elbowed Kenny in the ribs.

Your blood boiled. The knot of anger and hurt in your chest exploded into a white-hot fury that you couldn’t contain. “Be right back,” you muttered to Red, your voice tight as you shoved your way through the crowd.

“Wait, where are you going?” Red called after you, but you didn’t answer. Your sights were locked on Stan, your pulse pounding in your ears as you marched toward him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” The words flew out of your mouth before you could even process them, your voice cutting through the party like a thunderclap. You weren’t even sure who you were directing them at—Stan, the girl, the situation itself—but as you stormed across the room, the alcohol buzzing hot and angry in your veins, your focus locked on her.

She turned to you, her perfectly manicured brows raising in surprise before they knit together in irritation. She didn’t flinch under your glare, instead tilting her head and looking you up and down like you were an inconvenience rather than a threat. That expression alone made your blood boil hotter.

Stan stood frozen, his face slack with shock, but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when the girl—the one he had just been making out with—was standing there, calm and collected, like she hadn’t just done something unforgivable.

“You,” you spat, pointing a shaky finger at her. “What the hell is wrong with you? You think it’s cute throwing yourself at someone like him?”

The room seemed to hush slightly around you, but the alcohol made you too numb to care. Your heart pounded against your ribs, your head swimming from the vodka and the rage coursing through you.

The girl arched an eyebrow, her lips twisting into a smirk. “Excuse me? Who even are you?” Her voice was sharp, disdain dripping from every word. “His fucking mom or something?”

Her tone was like a match to gasoline. Your vision blurred, your fists curling at your sides as you took another step toward her. “I’m the person who actually knows him,” you slurred, your words tumbling out unsteady but vicious. “Not some random nobody trying to get her claws into him.”

The girl’s face darkened, her smirk replaced by a scowl. “Oh, please,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “If you knew him so well, maybe you’d have done a better job keeping him.”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and humiliating, and they cut deeper than you wanted to admit. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, tears threatening to prick at the corners of your eyes. But the vodka burned hotter, stronger, drowning out the shame with unrelenting anger.

“Desperate,” you sneered, your voice shaking as you leaned closer to her. “That’s what you are. Desperate enough to kiss a guy who’s clearly not even into you.”

She barked a laugh, the sound cold and mocking. “Desperate?” she repeated, her eyes flashing with disdain. “You’re the one making a scene over a guy who doesn’t give a shit about you.”

The room seemed to tilt, her words cutting through the haze of alcohol and hitting you square in the chest. Without thinking, without even registering the consequences, your hand swung out, the sound of the slap ringing through the air like a gunshot.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as her head snapped to the side, her hand flying up to her cheek. She stared at you, wide-eyed, for a single frozen moment before lunging forward.

“You psycho bitch!” she screamed, her voice shrill as her hands flew toward you. You barely registered the sharp pull at your hair as she grabbed at you, her nails scratching at your arm. You swung back instinctively, your movements clumsy and fueled by adrenaline, landing a hit on her shoulder.

Everything was chaos. People were shouting around you, their voices blending into an incoherent roar. You couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of your own heart, the way the room spun around you as the two of you clawed and yanked at each other.

“Hey! Stop it!” Kyle’s voice cut through the chaos, and suddenly, strong hands were gripping your waist, yanking you back. You struggled against him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you tried to shrug him off.

“Let me go, Kyle!” you shouted, your voice cracking as tears burned hot in your eyes. The fight, the alcohol, the shame—it was all too much.

“Not a fucking chance, perfect for each other, my ass,” Kyle snapped, his grip tightening as he pulled you farther away from the girl. Across the room, her friend was doing the same, holding her back as she glared daggers at you.

Stan hadn’t moved. He stood rooted to the spot, his face pale and his eyes wide with disbelief. The sight of him just standing there, saying nothing, doing nothing, made your chest ache with something raw and unbearable.

“You’re insane!” the girl yelled as her friend dragged her farther away, her voice echoing in your ears like a siren. “Fucking crazy!”

Kyle finally let go of you when he was sure the girl was out of reach, spinning you around to face him. His face was tight with frustration and concern, his brows furrowed deeply. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, his voice low but filled with anger. “What were you thinking?”

You shoved past Kyle, your breath hitching in uneven gasps as you pushed through the crowd. The hallway blurred around you, voices and music melding into an unbearable hum. You found the bathroom door, yanked it open, and stumbled inside. Before you could slam it shut, Kyle’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist.

“Get off me,” you snapped, your voice breaking.

“Not a chance,” he shot back, his tone sharp and unforgiving. “You’ve already caused enough of a scene.”

Twisting your arm free, you stumbled toward the toilet, dropping to your knees as your stomach twisted violently. Before you could even think, you were retching, the sour burn of alcohol and bile scorching your throat. Shame burned hotter than the vomit, tears spilling down your face as you gagged.

Kyle let out a frustrated sigh but didn’t leave. Instead, he crouched behind you, gathering your hair in one hand and holding it back as you emptied your stomach. “Jesus, you’re a wreck,” he muttered, his voice laced with equal parts exasperation and concern.

You gasped for breath, your body trembling. “Leave me alone,” you croaked, but the words carried no conviction.

“Not happening,” Kyle snapped. “I’m not going to let you self-destruct because you’re too stubborn to deal with your shit.”

You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand, refusing to meet his gaze. “I’m fine,” you mumbled weakly.

Kyle scoffed, the sound harsh in the small bathroom. “Fine? You’re puking your guts out in a frat house bathroom after starting a fight with some random girl. Yeah, you’re real fine.”

You clenched your fists, anger flaring up alongside the shame. “Why do you even care?”

“Because someone has to!” he shot back, his voice rising. He loosened his grip on your hair but didn’t let go completely, his other hand gesturing wildly. “You’re acting just like Stan, you know that? All this drinking, picking fights, spiraling out like you’re trying to hit rock bottom as fast as you can.”

You flinched at the comparison, your stomach twisting for an entirely different reason now. “Don’t,” you whispered, but Kyle wasn’t done.

“Oh, no, I’m saying it,” he continued, his eyes blazing. “No? So what, you just ‘accidentally’ used Stan, picked a fight with some random girl, and drank yourself into oblivion? Grow up. Take some responsibility for once.”

Your head snapped up, and you stared at him, wide-eyed, your breath catching in your throat. “What did you just say?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Stan… he told you?”

Kyle’s expression didn’t waver. If anything, his gaze hardened. “Of course he didn’t tell me,” he said sharply, crossing his arms. “He didn’t have to. We’ve known Stan since we were kids—I can see the signs. He’s been a fucking wreck since that night you got with Damien. Do you think I wouldn’t put it together?”

Your heart sank, a pit forming in your stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol. You hadn’t realized it was so obvious, hadn’t considered that Kyle—or anyone—would notice the cracks in Stan’s carefully constructed façade.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks again. “I—”

Kyle cut you off with a bitter laugh. “You didn’t mean to?” he repeated, his voice biting. “Then what the hell were you doing? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been on a one-way trip to self-destruction and decided to drag Stan down with you.”

“I hate myself,” you choked out, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t—”

Kyle’s hand tightened on your shoulder, not unkindly, but firmly enough to ground you. His voice softened just a fraction, though the frustration still lingered. “Then fix it,” he said, his tone quieter but still firm. “Before there’s nothing left of either of you to fix.”

You buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as you sobbed. Kyle stayed for a moment longer, then finally stood, reaching for the toilet paper. He handed them to you without a word, his expression unreadable.

“Clean yourself up,” he said as he turned to leave. “And figure out what the hell you want, because this? This isn’t it.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with the sound of your ragged breathing and the reflection of a stranger in the mirror. Smudged makeup, tear-streaked cheeks, and hollow eyes stared back at you, and for the first time, you wondered if Kyle was right.

Maybe it wasn’t Stan or anyone else you were hurting the most.

Maybe it was yourself.

You sat on the cold bathroom floor, the sobs wracking your body so violently that it felt like your chest might cave in. Your cries echoed off the tiled walls, raw and unrelenting. There was no point in trying to quiet yourself—no one left to pretend for. You buried your face in your knees, the damp fabric of your clothes soaking up your tears.

The sound of the door creaking open barely registered through your haze, but the quiet shuffle of footsteps did. A moment later, you felt someone kneel in front of you. You lifted your head slightly, your blurry vision focusing on Kenny’s face. His usual smirk and mischief were nowhere to be found. Instead, his expression was soft, his brow creased in concern.

At the sight of him, the sobs came harder, spilling out of you like a dam breaking. Your hands flew up to cover your face, shielding yourself from his gaze, from his pity.

Kenny didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. He reached over to the crumpled sheets of toilet paper Kyle gave you, forgotten on the bathroom counter. Slowly and carefully, he began wiping at the streaks of mascara and tears staining your cheeks. His touch was steady, almost too kind, and it made the guilt inside you churn like acid.

“Stop,” you choked out, your voice cracking, though you didn’t mean it. “Why are you… why are you doing this?”

Kenny paused briefly, his gaze flicking to yours before he continued wiping at your face. “Because someone needs to,” he said simply, his tone calm but firm. “And because you obviously can’t right now.”

His words broke something inside you, and your hands dropped limply to your lap, letting him finish his task. He worked in silence, each swipe of the tissue a quiet reminder of just how far you’d unraveled.

When he finally tossed the crumpled tissue aside, you whispered, “I screwed up, Kenny. I messed everything up so bad, I—I don’t even know how to fix it.”

He sat back on his heels, watching you for a moment. “Yeah, you did,” he said bluntly, his honesty cutting through you like a knife. “But sitting here crying isn’t going to fix it.”

Your throat tightened, and you nodded faintly. “I just… she didn’t deserve that,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “The girl, the one I fought with. She didn’t do anything wrong. I just—I don’t even know why I went after her like that.”

Kenny leaned back against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest as he studied you. “You know why,” he said, his tone quiet but pointed.

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Because I’m a mess? Because I can’t deal with my own shit, so I decided to take it out on some innocent girl? She was just… there, and I hated her for it.”

He shrugged, his gaze unwavering. “At least you’re owning up to it now. That’s a start.”

“I’m a terrible person,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands again. “Stan… he’s better off without me. Everyone is.”

Kenny didn’t respond right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, more measured. “Maybe you are a mess. And maybe you’ve screwed up a lot. But you’re not beyond fixing. You just have to stop running from everything. From Stan, from yourself.”

You sniffled, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “What if it’s too late?”

“It’s only too late if you keep doing this,” he said, gesturing to the bathroom, the remnants of your breakdown still visible. “Start being honest. Own your shit. That’s the only way you’re gonna move forward.”

His words hung heavy in the air, sinking into you in a way that left you feeling raw but strangely steady. For the first time, you felt a flicker of resolve, faint but real.

Kenny sighed and pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand to you. “Come on,” he said, offering a small, tired smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up before Red comes in and loses her mind.”

You hesitated before taking his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Kenny said with a faint smirk. “I’m still debating if I should charge you for this therapy session babe.”

You let out a weak, breathy laugh that barely felt real and let him lead you out of the bathroom. Your hand clung tightly to his, like letting go would drop you into some void you weren’t sure you could climb out of. Kenny glanced back, catching the death grip you had on his hand, and chuckled under his breath.

“Relax, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, though the softness in his voice was a sharp contrast to his usual teasing tone.

The music and the noise of the party hit you like a wave as the two of you stepped back into the crowd. People danced, shouted, and laughed in every corner, the chaotic energy of the house thrumming against your skin. Kenny navigated the sea of bodies with ease, tugging you along as if it was second nature.

Then you saw her. The girl from earlier. She stood with her friends across the room, and their conversation came to an abrupt halt when they spotted you. Her glare was sharp, and you could feel the animosity radiating off her group as they stared. A lump rose in your throat, but you refused to shrink under their gaze.

Before you could stop yourself, you stuck your tongue out at her—a childish, stupid gesture that you regretted immediately but couldn’t take back. Her expression darkened, her friends whispering among themselves before one of them dramatically rolled her eyes and turned away.

Cartman’s raucous laugh broke through the tension, loud enough to make your head snap toward him. He was a few feet away, holding a red solo cup and grinning like a hyena.

“You’re a goddamn disaster,” Cartman wheezed, swaggering over to you and Kenny with a look of absolute delight. “Holy shit, this is better than reality TV.”

“Fuck off, fatass,” Kenny muttered, clearly unimpressed.

But Cartman wasn’t paying attention to him. Instead, he leaned down toward you, his breath reeking of beer, and whispered something that made your stomach plummet.

“Stan’s watching you. Just thought you’d want to know.”

Your body went rigid, and your grip on Kenny’s hand tightened instinctively. You hated how Cartman’s words set off a flurry of nerves in your chest, but you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing across the room. And there he was.

Stan was leaning against the far wall, his expression carefully neutral, but his eyes weren’t on you. They were on Wendy, who was standing beside him, gesturing animatedly as she spoke. He wasn’t looking at her, though. His gaze was distant, unfocused—until it suddenly snapped to you.

The weight of his stare knocked the air out of your lungs. Your stomach twisted as his expression hardened, his jaw tightening slightly. Wendy noticed, following his line of sight, and when her eyes landed on you, her brows furrowed.

Cartman’s grin widened. “Oof, triangle vibes. Messy as hell,” he muttered, stepping back with a laugh.

“Dude seriously, shut the hell up,” Kenny said sharply, tugging you forward before you could spiral further.

“Let’s just… move,” you mumbled, voice trembling as you ripped your gaze away from Stan and Wendy. Kenny gave you a knowing look but didn’t press, instead tugging you toward the other side of the room.

You spotted Kyle near the drinks table, engaged in what looked like a heated debate with Tolkien, his hands gesturing wildly as he made his point. Kenny let go of your hand and went to interrupt, leaning casually into the conversation like he hadn’t just been babysitting your emotional meltdown moments earlier.

Red appeared seemingly out of nowhere, slipping up beside you with a grin. “Well, well, look who’s causing chaos and stealing the show,” she teased, nudging you with her elbow. “That fight back there? Iconic. The stuff of legends.”

You gave her a weak smile, but the lightness in her tone made your stomach churn. “It wasn’t… I shouldn’t have—”

“Relax,” she interrupted, brushing off your guilt like it was nothing. “She had it coming, I’m sure. Besides, you looked badass.”

“I don’t think that’s the takeaway here,” Kyle interjected sharply, stepping away from Tolkien and Kenny to join you. His gaze was serious as he folded his arms over his chest. “What’s the plan here, huh? Keep ignoring each other until the tension finally explodes and ruins everyone else’s good time?”

Your stomach dropped. “Kyle, I—”

“No, don’t even try,” he cut you off, his tone exasperated but not unkind. “You and Stan need to figure your shit out. It’s making everything worse—for you, for him, for everyone.”

You glanced at Kenny, hoping for some kind of backup, but he just shrugged like he agreed with Kyle. “He’s got a point,” Kenny said, sipping casually from his solo cup. “This whole cold war thing? It’s exhausting.”

Kyle stepped closer, lowering his voice but keeping it firm. “If you two don’t talk by the end of the week, I swear to God, I’ll step in myself. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

You blinked at him, stunned. “What do you mean you’ll step in?”

“I’ll lock you two in a room, throw away the key, and let you sort it out like adults,” Kyle said flatly, but there was an edge of humor in his voice that didn’t quite soften the weight of his words. “Or maybe just yell at both of you until one of you finally cracks. Either way, this has to end.”

You didn’t know what to say. The idea of talking to Stan, of facing everything head-on, felt insurmountable. But Kyle’s stare didn’t waver, and the weight of his words settled heavy on your chest.

“Fine,” you muttered, barely audible. “I’ll try to talk to him.”

“Good,” Kyle said, satisfied. He turned back to Kenny, who was smirking into his drink like this was all some kind of sitcom. Red just gave you a sly grin and a thumbs up, clearly amused by the whole exchange.

But you didn’t feel amused. You felt like the ground beneath you was crumbling, and the thought of confronting Stan made your stomach twist into knots. Still, you knew Kyle was right.

Stan lay motionless on his bed, the faded ceiling tiles above blurring into nothingness as his chest tightened with every passing second. The air in the dorm room felt thick, suffocating, like it was trying to choke him out. His phone buzzed once from the desk where he’d abandoned it—just like he’d abandoned you. He didn’t even need to check to know it wasn’t you this time. You’d stopped trying a few days ago, and the silence was worse than the calls ever had been.

Kyle was at his desk, typing something furiously. Stan didn’t care. He barely registered anything outside his own head these days. His mind kept circling back to that night, the way your voice had cracked, the way you’d called him out in front of everyone, and worst of all, the way you’d gone after that girl.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the memory still played like some sick, never-ending movie. You screaming, your voice loud and shrill and full of venom. That slap—sharp, unforgiving, echoing through the room. Stan’s stomach churned just thinking about it. She hadn’t done anything to you. Nothing but exist, but smile at him, but… but what? Be the wrong girl at the wrong time?

You don’t even know her name, asshole.

But that didn’t stop him from standing there, frozen, as everything spiraled out of control. He could still hear Wendy’s voice in his head, soft but firm as she pulled him aside after it was all over.

“She’s a mess, Stan,” Wendy had said, her eyes piercing through him like she already knew everything. “And you’re making it worse for her. For yourself.” She’d put a hand on his shoulder, her touch grounding in a way that should have helped but didn’t. “You need to figure out what you want. Otherwise, this is just going to destroy both of you.”

He’d nodded like he understood, like any of it made sense, but inside he felt like he was fucking disintegrating. The guilt, the anger, the shame—they were eating him alive. He’d wanted to scream at Wendy, to tell her to fuck off, to say that this wasn’t her problem—but he didn’t. Because she was right. She was always right. And that only made it worse.

“You gonna talk to her?” Kyle’s voice cut through the silence like a knife, snapping Stan out of his thoughts.

He stayed silent for a moment, his jaw tightening as he stared at the same goddamn spot on the ceiling he’d been fixated on for hours. “No,” he muttered finally, his voice flat and lifeless.

Kyle let out a frustrated sigh, the sound grating against Stan’s nerves. “Seriously? You’re just gonna sit here and do nothing? That’s your plan?”

“Fuck off, Kyle,” Stan said, his tone harsher than he intended. He didn’t care.

The scrape of Kyle’s chair against the floor made Stan flinch. He heard Kyle move closer, felt the weight of his stare like a physical thing pressing down on him.

“You’re unbelievable,” Kyle said, his voice low and bitter. “You can’t keep running from this. From her.”

Stan didn’t respond. What was the point? Kyle didn’t understand. Nobody fucking understood.

The door slammed shut behind Kyle, leaving Stan alone with his thoughts again. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he replayed the scene from the party for the millionth time—the way you’d looked at him, furious and hurt and drunk off your ass. The way you’d lashed out at that girl, the sound of the slap still ringing in his ears.

What the fuck had you been thinking? What the fuck had he been thinking, letting it get this far?

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shove the memories aside, but it was useless. They were always there, lurking in the back of his mind. Wendy’s words echoed louder now, and they felt like a slap to the face. You’re making it worse for her. For yourself.

But how the fuck was he supposed to fix this? He wasn’t good at fixing things. He was good at ruining them. And you—you didn’t deserve to be dragged down with him. You deserved better. Better than him. Better than the wreckage he left in his wake.

His chest felt like it was caving in as the weight of it all pressed down on him. He thought about you crying, about the way you’d looked at him when he kissed that girl, about the way you’d tried so fucking hard to act like what happened between you didn’t mean anything when it meant everything.

Maybe Kyle was right. Maybe he needed to figure out what the hell he wanted. But as he lay there, his body heavy and his mind drowning in guilt and shame, one thing became painfully clear:

He didn’t deserve you. And he sure as hell didn’t deserve forgiveness.

Some time has passed, and Stan hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. The ceiling tiles blurred together as he stared blankly, his thoughts a mess of self-loathing and memories he wished he could erase. The muffled sound of yelling seeped through the door, but he chalked it up to his imagination. He was used to noise in his head.

But then the screaming grew louder, sharper. It wasn’t in his head. It was outside.

Before he could sit up to make sense of it, the door burst open, slamming against the wall with a bang. Stan flinched, his head snapping toward the noise as Kyle stepped into the room, dragging you behind him.

You were a whirlwind of rage, your voice raw and cracked as you hurled accusations and protests at Kyle. “Kyle, I swear to God—” But the moment your eyes locked on Stan, everything came to a screeching halt.

The room was thick with silence.

Stan sat frozen, his breath caught in his throat as he stared at you. Your hair was a mess, your cheeks flushed from exertion, and your makeup was smeared—but it was your eyes that hit him the hardest. Red-rimmed, puffy, and filled with something he couldn’t quite name. Anger? Hurt? Desperation? Maybe all of it.

Kyle, panting slightly from wrangling you all the way here, broke the tense silence. “The two of you are gonna talk this out,” he said, his voice firm and unforgiving. “You’re not leaving this room until you do. I’ll be right outside, so don’t even think about trying to get out.”

Before either of you could argue, Kyle shoved you further into the room and stepped back, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed ominously.

Stan stared at the door, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear Kyle’s muffled voice outside, probably telling someone off, but it was distant compared to the deafening silence in the room.

“You’re just gonna sit there?” Your voice broke through, sharp and biting.

Stan looked at you then, really looked at you, and felt the weight of everything between you crash over him. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, your voice trembling as you crossed your arms over your chest. “You’re really just gonna sit there like this is nothing?”

“It’s not nothing,” Stan finally croaked, his voice low and rough. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Then say something!” you snapped, stepping closer. “Because I’m standing here, trying, and you’re just… just—” You gestured helplessly, your voice cracking on the last word.

Stan sat up slowly, his hands gripping the edge of the bed as he tried to find the right words. “I didn’t ask Kyle to do this,” he said finally, his tone defensive, but weak.

You let out a bitter laugh, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, because God forbid you actually confront anything.”

Stan flinched, the words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. He looked down at his hands, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the mattress. “What’s the point of this?” he asked, his voice quiet but edged with something raw. “You didn’t want to be here, and I sure as hell didn’t ask for this either. So why even bother?”

Your anger faltered for a moment, your expression softening before it hardened again. “Because I’m tired of this, Stan. I’m tired of us pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. I’m tired of not knowing what the hell we even are. And I’m tired of you avoiding me.”

Stan’s jaw tightened, and he looked up at you with a mix of guilt and frustration. “You think I’m avoiding you because I don’t care? Because I don’t want to deal with it?” He stood abruptly, the sudden movement making you take a step back. “I’m avoiding you because I can’t fucking handle it. Any of it. You. Us. That night.” His voice cracked, and he turned away, running a hand through his hair.

You blinked, stunned into silence for a moment before the anger surged back. “So what? You just decided to shut me out instead? To let me sit there and drown in my own guilt while you—what? Pretend I don’t exist?”

Stan let out a humorless laugh, his back still to you. “Guilt?” He turned then, his eyes blazing. “You think you’re the only one who feels guilty? I haven’t been able to fucking sleep because every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is how much I’ve screwed everything up.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words hanging heavy between you.

“Stan…” Your voice was softer now, hesitant.

He shook his head, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t know what I’m doing, okay? I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if it can be fixed.”

You stepped closer, your own anger fading as you looked at him—really looked at him. The dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands were trembling slightly at his sides. “It’s not all on you to fix,” you said quietly. “I messed up too. I—” Your voice faltered, and you looked away. “I’m sorry for how I handled things. For that night. For everything.”

Stan’s gaze softened, and for a moment, he looked like he might reach for you. But then he took a step back, his walls going up again. “Sorry doesn’t change anything,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “I know. But it’s a start.”

You hesitated before sitting down next to him on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight, and for a moment, you thought he might move away, but he didn’t. Your hands fidgeted in your lap as you stared down at them, the lump in your throat growing heavier with each passing second.

“I… I cut things off with Damien,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavier than you expected, like you were exhaling something you’d been holding onto for too long. You hadn’t planned to say it like this, hadn’t planned for your voice to break halfway through, but the weight of everything was too much to hold back.

Stan turned his head slightly toward you, his brows knitting together, but he still didn’t say anything. His silence was unbearable, and you felt like you had to fill the void before it consumed you.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t keep pretending that it was working,” you continued, the tears spilling before you could stop them. “Not when I—” You bit your lip, cutting yourself off. You couldn’t say it. Not yet.

Stan’s gaze finally lifted to meet yours, his blue eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. Hurt? Anger? Something else entirely? You didn’t know, and the not knowing only made your chest ache more.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse. It wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t kind either. It was cautious, like he didn’t know what to do with the information you’d just given him.

Your shoulders trembled as you took a shaky breath, swiping at your wet cheeks. “Because you deserve to know,” you said, forcing yourself to look at him even though it hurt. “You deserve to know that I…” You hesitated, your throat tightening around the words. “That I messed everything up. That I hurt you. And I hate myself for it.”

Stan’s expression flickered, something almost imperceptible crossing his face, but he quickly masked it. He let out a sharp exhale, his hands running through his hair as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Cutting things off with Damien doesn’t change anything,” he muttered, his voice cold and distant. “It doesn’t fix what happened. It doesn’t fix what you did.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you nodded. “I know,” you whispered. “I’m not trying to fix it. I just… I just wanted you to know that it’s over. That he’s not part of this anymore.”

Stan let out a humorless laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly. “It was never about him,” he said, his voice dripping with bitterness. “It was about us. Or whatever the hell this is.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, his frustration spilling over. “And I don’t even know what that means anymore.”

You swallowed hard, the sting of his words cutting through you like a knife. “I don’t either,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “But I miss you, Stan. I miss us. And I’m sorry—God, I’m so sorry.”

Stan’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he stared down at the floor. The room was heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid, the air thick with tension and regret. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence wrapping around you like a shroud.

Finally, Stan lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in weeks. “You don’t get to just say sorry and expect it to fix everything,” he said, his voice trembling. “But… I don’t know. Maybe I needed to hear it anyway.”

You nodded slowly, your throat tightening as the tears streamed unchecked down your cheeks. It was hard to meet Stan’s eyes—those blue eyes that had seen you at your worst, that now held a mixture of exhaustion and guarded curiosity. But you forced yourself to speak, your voice trembling with every word.

“I—” you started, your voice cracking immediately. You cleared your throat and tried again. “I thought… that night in my dorm… I thought if I could make you forget, even just for a little while, that maybe you’d feel better. That whatever you were dealing with, whatever was hurting you, it wouldn’t feel so heavy.”

Stan blinked, his expression hardening slightly, but he stayed quiet. His silence felt like a double-edged sword—an invitation to continue, but also a sharp reminder of how much your actions had hurt him.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” you went on, your voice quieter now, each word weighing down on your chest. “I just… I’ve seen you spiral before, Stan. I’ve seen what it does to you, how it eats you alive. And I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Stan let out a sharp exhale, leaning back slightly and running a hand through his hair. “So your solution was to use me?” he asked, his tone bitter but not as sharp as it could’ve been. “You thought making me… what, lose myself in you would somehow fix everything?”

“I wasn’t trying to use you!” you shouted, your voice sharp and raw. “How could you even say that? You think I wanted to hurt you? You think I wanted to make things worse?”

Stan flinched at your outburst but didn’t say anything. His silence only fueled your anger, the dam of your emotions cracking wide open.

“I just wanted to make you feel better!” you screamed, the words tumbling out of you in a messy, desperate rush. “I didn’t know what else to do, Stan! You were falling apart, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t just sit there and watch you drown!”

His head jerked up, his blue eyes blazing with emotion. “So what? You thought kissing me, escalating things—doing all of that would somehow fix me?” His voice cracked, the hurt in it cutting you deeper than you thought possible. “Dude, do you know how fucked up that is?”

“I know it’s fucked up!” you yelled back, your voice shaking as fresh tears spilled down your face. “I know I handled it wrong, okay? I know I made a mess of everything, and I hate myself for it! But I wasn’t using you, Stan. I swear to God, I wasn’t.”

Stan stared at you, his jaw tightening, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress so hard his knuckles turned white. “Then what the hell were you doing?” he demanded, his voice quieter but no less intense. “What was all of that supposed to be?”

You hesitated, your breath hitching as your emotions threatened to swallow you whole. You looked down at your lap, shaking your head as you sobbed uncontrollably. “I—I was trying to help you,” you stammered. “I just wanted to see you smile again. I wanted to make you feel something good—anything other than what you were feeling.”

Stan’s eyes softened, but his expression remained guarded. “And that’s supposed to make it okay?” he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

“No, it doesn’t make it okay!” you shot back, your voice cracking as you threw your hands in the air. “Nothing about this is okay! But I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Stan. I just… I just…”

You sucked in a ragged breath, the words bubbling up before you could stop them. “I love you, okay?” you shouted, the confession bursting from you like a wound splitting open. “I love you, and I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember! And I didn’t know what to do when I saw you falling apart, and I panicked, and I made a mistake!”

The room fell deathly silent, your words hanging heavy in the air. Stan’s eyes widened slightly, his lips parting as he stared at you, stunned into silence.

You buried your face in your hands, sobbing harder now, the weight of your confession crashing down on you. “I know I screwed up. I know what I did was wrong. But I swear to you, Stan, I just wanted to help. I just wanted to make it better.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The sound of your crying filled the room, raw and unrelenting, as Stan sat frozen beside you. Finally, he exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair as his own emotions threatened to spill over.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before it got so… so fucked up?”

You shook your head, your words muffled behind your hands. “Because I was scared,” you admitted. “Scared that you’d hate me, scared that I’d lose you, scared that I’d mess everything up—and I did anyway.”

Stan let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. “Yeah, you did,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “But… I’m not blameless either.”

You looked up at him through tear-streaked eyes, your breath catching as you saw the raw vulnerability etched across his face. His hands trembled as they rested on his knees, and his gaze flickered between you and the floor.

“Why do you hate Damien so much?” you asked softly, your voice trembling as you tried to bridge the chasm between you. “And why did you… start to spiral after that night? After we practiced?”

“You want to know why I spiraled?” he asked, his voice low and rough. He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Because seeing you happy with Damien—seeing you in a relationship—made me realize something I’d been too scared to admit to myself for years.”

You stayed silent, your breath hitching as you waited for him to continue. His blue eyes, rimmed red from unshed tears, locked onto yours.

“It made me realize I’ve always loved you,” Stan confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words carried a weight that seemed to fill the entire room. “Since we were kids. Through everything. You’ve always been there, and I just… I don’t know. I thought maybe it was just friendship or something, but seeing you with him—watching you look at him the way I’ve always wanted you to look at me—made it impossible to ignore.”

Your heart clenched painfully, and your tears spilled over as his words sank in. “Stan…” you breathed, your voice trembling.

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying this to guilt you or make you feel bad. I know I screwed up too, okay? I know I pushed you away when I should’ve just been honest. But watching you be with someone else made me realize how much I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me. And it fucking killed me, because I wanted to be the one who made you happy. I’ve always wanted to be that person.”

You felt like your heart was breaking and mending all at once, the weight of his confession crashing over you. “I didn’t know…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Of course, you didn’t,” Stan said, his tone softer now, tinged with resignation. “I never told you. I didn’t even let myself admit it until it was too late. But it’s the truth. It’s always been you.”

Tears blurred your vision, and you reached out hesitantly, your hand brushing against his arm. “Stan,” you said, your voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know I was making you feel like that.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something else—something softer, more fragile. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know you didn’t mean to. And I don’t blame you for moving on or trying to be happy. I just… I couldn’t handle it. And that’s on me.”

The silence stretched again, heavy but different this time, as if something had shifted between you. Finally, Stan let out a deep breath, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t know if things can ever go back to the way they were,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel this way. I’ve loved you my whole damn life, and I don’t know how to stop.”

The words hung heavy in the air, the weight of Stan’s confession pressing against your chest. Your breath caught, your pulse pounding in your ears as you searched his face, taking in every crack in his composure, every flicker of raw emotion in his eyes.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But I know I don’t want to lose you, Stan. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

His gaze flickered to yours, hesitant and vulnerable, as if he was bracing himself for whatever came next. “You didn’t lose me,” he said softly. “I don’t think you ever could.”

The knot in your stomach loosened just slightly at his words, but the ache in your chest remained. Slowly, you leaned in closer, your hands trembling as you reached out to cup his face. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, and you could feel the faintest tremor in his jaw as he looked up at you.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart hammered against your ribs as the words left your mouth, the question carrying more weight than you could have ever anticipated.

Stan’s eyes widened for a moment, his breath hitching. He didn’t answer right away, and for a terrifying second, you thought you might have pushed too far, too fast. But then, he nodded, just once, his gaze locked on yours.

You leaned in slowly, your heart in your throat as you closed the gap between you. Your lips brushed his, soft and tentative, like you were both testing the waters, afraid of drowning but too desperate to stay away. His breath hitched again, but then his hands came up, one settling on the curve of your waist, the other tangling gently in your hair.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The guilt, the fear, the pain—it all melted into the background, leaving just the two of you, tangled up in the unspoken truths and years of emotions that had finally come to light.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the space between you. “Stan,” you murmured, your voice shaky but resolute. “I don’t know if I can make up for everything. But I want to try.”

His eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a mixture of disbelief and something softer, something fragile but unbreakable. “Me too,” he whispered, his voice rough but sincere. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Stan’s breath hitched as your lips met his again, the sudden intensity catching him off guard. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his like you were afraid he might vanish if you didn’t hold on tight enough. He froze for a split second, his heart slamming against his ribcage, before his hands found your waist, steadying you.

What the hell is happening? The thought raced through his mind, tangled with a thousand others—your warmth, the softness of your lips, the way your fingers threaded through his hair like you were trying to memorize every strand. He felt dizzy, like the world had been tilted on its axis and he was still trying to find his balance.

She loves me. The words echoed in his head, impossible and overwhelming. She actually loves me.

He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve you. And yet, here you were, holding him like he was something worth holding onto, kissing him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin as if to reassure himself this was real.

She’s not pulling away. That realization sent a bolt of something electric through his chest. All the years of pining, of watching you from afar, of convincing himself he could never have this—it all dissolved in the heat of your kiss.

But there was still a tiny voice in the back of his mind, nagging and relentless. What if she regrets this? What if you’re just another distraction, another mistake she’ll hate herself for later? The thought made his stomach twist, but he shoved it down, focusing on the way your lips moved against his, the way your body felt pressed against his.

As you shifted in his lap, pulling yourself impossibly closer, Stan let out a quiet gasp, his hands instinctively gripping your hips. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the world around him. You pulled back just slightly, your forehead resting against his as your breaths mingled in the charged space between you.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he murmured, his voice cracking. His fingers traced slow, hesitant patterns on your waist, his touch light but grounding. “I’ve spent my whole life wanting this, wanting you.”

You smiled softly, your hands framing his face as you looked at him with an intensity that made his chest ache. “It’s real,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain. “I’m here, Stan. I’m not going anywhere.”

He wanted to believe you. Wanted to believe that he could have this, that he could have you. But the fear still lingered, a shadow he couldn’t quite shake. Still, as you leaned in and kissed him again, Stan let himself forget about the doubts, the guilt, the pain—just for a little while.

Stan blinked, still dazed from the kiss, as he felt you hide your face against his neck. Your breath was warm against his skin, your words spilling out in a nervous tumble.

“Is this okay?” you asked, your voice muffled and trembling. “I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. I’m not trying to use you, I swear. If you’re not okay with this, just tell me, and I’ll stop. I’ll—”

Stan’s arms instinctively tightened around you, cutting off your rambling. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You pulled back just slightly, your eyes searching his with a mix of uncertainty and vulnerability. Your cheeks were flushed, and your lips were slightly swollen from the kiss, and it hit him all over again just how real this moment was.

“I mean it,” you said, your voice cracking. “I’ll stop if you want me to. I don’t want to mess this up, Stan. I—” You stopped yourself, biting your lip as tears welled in your eyes.

Stan reached up, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. His heart clenched at the sight of you so raw and open, and he realized how much he hated seeing you like this—so unsure of yourself, so afraid.

“Stop,” he said gently, his voice carrying a softness he didn’t know he was capable of. “You don’t need to explain yourself. You’re not using me. I promise you’re not.” He let out a shaky breath, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb traced the edge of your jaw. “And if I wasn’t okay with this, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be here like this with you.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching, and he could see the conflict in your eyes—the doubt, the guilt, the lingering fear that you were somehow doing something wrong. But he wasn’t going to let you spiral. Not now.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Stan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared too, okay? I don’t know if we’re doing this right, or if we’re gonna screw it up, but…” He paused, his thumb still brushing your cheek, grounding both of you. “I don’t care. I just know I want to figure it out with you.”

Your lip quivered as you looked at him. Without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” you whispered against his shoulder, your voice choked with emotion.

Stan let out a small, relieved laugh, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. “We’re in this together, okay? No more overthinking. No more guilt. Just… us.”

You pulled back slightly, your heart hammering in your chest as you looked into Stan’s eyes. They were so close, so full of emotion that it made your breath hitch. The words spilled out of you before you could stop them, raw and unfiltered.

“Can I be yours?” you asked, your voice trembling. “I mean… officially? I want to be your girlfriend, Stan.”

Stan froze, his lips parting slightly as the words settled between you. His hands, still resting on your back, tightened their hold ever so slightly. His brows knit together, a mix of hesitation and disbelief crossing his face.

“You really want that?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost unsure. “Even after everything I’ve put you through?”

You nodded without hesitation. “Yes. I’ve made mistakes too, and I know I hurt you, but I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you, and I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t.”

His breath hitched, and he exhaled sharply, his eyes softening as he took in your words. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that,” he murmured, his voice thick. He paused, searching your face for any sign of doubt, before letting out a small, shaky laugh. “Yeah. You can be mine. You’ve always been mine, really.”

Your chest felt like it might explode, the sheer weight of the moment leaving you breathless. Before you could stop yourself, you asked, “So… you’ll be mine too?”

Stan blinked at you, his lips twitching into a faint, lopsided smile. “I wanna be your boyfriend,” he said simply. His voice was rough, but there was an undeniable sincerity in his tone. “I wanna do it right this time. Dates, hand-holding, all of it. I wanna go on walks with you—just us.”

Tears stung your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness. Relief, joy, and overwhelming affection coursed through you. “I want that too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but sure.

Stan’s hands moved to cradle your face. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The kiss deepened, your breath hitching as you pressed closer to him. Every brush of his lips against yours sent sparks through your body, and you felt a quiet desperation in the way you clung to him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, the intensity of the moment making it hard to breathe.

Stan’s lips curved against yours, and you could feel the faintest hint of a smile as he pulled back just slightly. His forehead rested against yours, and his voice was soft but tinged with amusement. “You’re, uh… getting a little carried away there, dude,” he teased, his own breathing uneven.

Your face burned, and you tried to pull back, but his hands stayed firm on your waist, grounding you. “Sorry,” you mumbled, your voice shaky as your eyes darted away. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey,” Stan interrupted gently, tilting your chin so you’d look at him again. His blue eyes were warm, filled with something so soft and unguarded that it made your chest ache. “I didn’t say I minded.”

You bit your lip, a small, nervous laugh escaping you as you tried to steady yourself. “I just… I really want this to work, Stan. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“You won’t,” he said firmly, his thumbs brushing soft circles on your hips. “We’ve both screwed up enough to know what we don’t want. This… this is what I want.” His voice lowered, his words carrying an almost reverent weight. “You’re what I want.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time they didn’t spill. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him again, slower, softer, but no less fervent. The way his hands moved, holding you as if you might disappear, made your heart swell.

You shifted slightly in his grasp, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. The soft rustle of fabric drew Stan’s attention, and his hands instinctively tightened their grip on your waist as you pulled the shirt over your head, leaving you in just your bra.

“Is this okay?” you asked, your voice trembling with nervousness, your eyes locked onto his for any sign of hesitation. Your cheeks burned, your vulnerability on full display, but the warmth in his gaze made your pulse race.

Stan swallowed hard, his eyes flickering over you before quickly darting back to your face. “Y-Yeah,” he said, his voice a little shaky but sincere. “But… you don’t have to do this just because you think you need to.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I just— I want to be close to you, Stan. I want this to feel… right. With you.”

His breath hitched, and he reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It already does,” he murmured, his voice softer now, steadier. “You don’t have to do anything to prove that.”

You bit your lip, your heart pounding as you searched his eyes. The sincerity in his words made your chest ache, but it didn’t quell the need you felt—this overwhelming desire to bridge every gap that had ever existed between you.

Stan’s hands moved slowly, tentatively, as if giving you a chance to stop him. His fingers brushed against your sides, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “We don’t have to rush this,” he said, his voice low, his blue eyes filled with something tender, almost reverent. “I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes.”

“I know,” you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was brief, but it held every ounce of emotion you couldn’t put into words. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and you let out a shaky breath. “I want to, Stan. I’m sure.”

Stan exhaled sharply, his hands still resting on your bare sides, his thumbs brushing against your skin. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice laced with both hesitation and determination. “But if you ever feel like it’s too much, just tell me. Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whispered, your lips curving into a faint, nervous smile.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with unspoken emotions. And then Stan leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was deeper, more certain, more consuming than any before. 

Stan’s fingers played at the hemline of your sweatpants, his touch light but deliberate, sending sparks through your skin. He teasingly dipped his fingers just below the waistband, his lips brushing against yours in a way that left you breathless.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, and his voice was low, almost a whisper. “Can I?” he asked, his fingers still toying with the fabric. “Can I take these off?”

Your cheeks burned as his question lingered in the air, your chest tightening with both anticipation and nervousness. You swallowed hard, nodding before you found your voice. “Yeah,” you murmured, so quiet it was almost drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat. “Yeah, you can.”

Stan hesitated for just a moment, his gaze searching yours for any sign of uncertainty. When he found none, his hands slid to your hips, his touch steady despite the slight tremor in his fingers. Slowly, he tugged your sweatpants down, his movements careful, almost reverent.

The cool air against your skin made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating off him as he leaned back, his gaze flickering over you. His eyes softened, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a faint smile.

“You’re… stunning,” he said, his voice thick, the words carrying a weight that made your heart ache in the best way.

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively reached for him, pulling him closer as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. “You don’t have to say that,” you mumbled, your voice muffled and shy.

Stan chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you as he rested his hands on your waist. “I’m not saying it because I have to,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Your laugh was soft, a nervous yet genuine sound that made Stan’s smile widen against your temple. His hands, warm and steady, shifted you gently so your back pressed against his chest, the closeness making your heart race. His breath tickled your ear as he leaned forward, resting his head against your shoulder, his lips brushing against your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

Stan’s fingers found the waistband of your panties, his touch featherlight, teasing, as he traced the elastic edge with slow, deliberate movements. You felt heat bloom in your cheeks, your hands instinctively rising to cover your face in a mix of embarrassment and anticipation.

Stan’s hands gripped your waist firmly, keeping you steady as his lips moved against your shoulder, leaving a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His voice, low and rough, sent shivers straight to your core. “You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, his fingers teasing just under the waistband of your panties. “Can I touch you? Really touch you?”

Your breath hitched, a mix of nerves and anticipation making your voice tremble. “Y-Yeah,” you stammered, nodding as you shifted slightly, giving him permission. “Please.”

His chuckle was warm, vibrating against your skin. “That’s all I needed to hear.” Slowly, deliberately, his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, brushing against the heat of your slick folds. A sharp inhale left your lips as he dragged a finger down your slit, collecting the wetness there before circling your clit with maddening patience.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he muttered, his voice thick with awe. His lips found your neck again, sucking lightly as his fingers slid back down, testing your entrance. “All for me?”

You whimpered, your hands gripping his arms for support. “Yeah,” you whispered, barely audible, your walls clenching around nothing as you felt his finger press into you, slow and careful.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, his tone soothing yet filled with need. “Relax for me. Let me make you feel good.” His finger eased in deeper, and you bit your lip, overwhelmed by the stretch even though it was gentle. “So tight,” he groaned, curling his finger slightly to test your reaction.

Your hips moved instinctively, seeking more, a soft moan escaping you as he found a rhythm, each slow thrust of his finger coaxing more sounds from you. “Stan,” you gasped, his name leaving your lips like a plea.

He kissed your neck again, adding a second finger with care, his free hand gripping your hip to keep you from pulling away. “You’re perfect,” he rasped, his fingers pumping steadily now, scissoring slightly to stretch you. The wet sounds of your arousal filled the room, obscene and intoxicating, making him impossibly harder. “Taking me so well, baby. So fucking good.”

Your breath hitched at the word, a new kind of heat spreading through you that had nothing to do with his touch. Baby. You’d never heard him call you that before, and the intimacy of it sent a jolt straight to your chest. “Baby?” you repeated breathlessly, your voice trembling as you looked back at him. Stan’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his fingers never slowing. “Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze dark and full of something you couldn’t quite name. “You are, aren’t you?” The way he said it—so natural, so sure—made your heart twist in a way that almost hurt.

Your head fell back against his chest, your thighs trembling as his pace quickened. He curled his fingers just right, hitting a spot inside you that made you cry out, your nails digging into his arm. “Right there,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Please, Stan—”

“I got you,” he interrupted, his voice low and rough as his lips brushed your ear. “Gonna make you cum for me. Just let go.”

Your walls fluttered around his fingers as he pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles that sent pleasure shooting through you. The pressure built quickly, your moans growing louder as you bucked against his hand. “Stan—fuck—I’m—”

“Cum for me,” he growled, his teeth grazing your neck as his fingers thrust faster, relentless now. “Let me feel it.”

Your body tensed, then shattered as you came, your cries muffled as you bit down on your lip. Your thighs clenched around his hand, and he didn’t stop, drawing out every last wave of your orgasm until you slumped back against him, boneless and breathless.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with pride as he pressed soft kisses to your temple. Slowly, he eased his fingers out of you, and your breath hitched at the loss. He held them up, glistening with your release, before meeting your gaze with a smirk. “So sweet,” he muttered, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks burned, but the heat in his gaze made you shiver all over again. “Stan,” you whispered, your voice still shaky. You didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter. He leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, grounding you as you melted into him.

Your fingers moved instinctively, threading into Stan’s hair as you deepened the kiss, your lips parting against his in a rhythm that left your heart pounding. The warmth of his body against yours was intoxicating, grounding yet electric all at once. Slowly, your hands trailed downward, brushing over the hem of his shirt before settling at the button of his jeans. You hesitated for only a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his as you worked the zipper down with trembling fingers. His sharp intake of breath was audible, his lips parting as though to say something, but the weight of the moment rendered him silent. 

Your fingers grazed the waistband of his boxers. The way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard sent a thrill through you. Slowly, you tugged at the elastic, watching as his cock sprang free, heavy and already leaking at the tip.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers hesitating for a split second before wrapping around him, the weight of him warm and solid in your hand. His reaction was immediate—his head fell back slightly, his lips parting with a low groan that sent shivers down your spine.

"Fuck," Stan muttered under his breath, his fingers gripping the sheets beside him. His hips twitched slightly, as though he was holding himself back. "You don’t… you don’t have to—"

You cut him off with a soft laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his precum. "I want to," you murmured, your voice soft but certain, your hand starting to pump slowly, spreading the slickness along his length. "Let me take care of you, Stan."

His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as you began to move with more confidence. You blew softly against his weeping head, watching as he twitched under your touch. “How are you this pretty everywhere?” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Your lips curled into a faint smile as his eyes snapped open, dark and filled with need.

“Pretty?” he huffed, a shaky laugh escaping him as he tried to focus on your face. “You’re killing me here, dude.”

You didn’t respond, instead letting your tongue drag slowly down the length of him before circling back up to the head. His reaction was everything—his hands flew to your hair, fingers threading through it as his head fell back. "Shit—" he hissed, the sound rough and desperate.

When your lips finally closed around him, taking him inch by inch, his hips bucked slightly despite his effort to stay still. You moaned softly around him, the vibrations drawing a choked sound from his throat. "Fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice rough. "You feel so—"

You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper until his tip brushed the back of your throat. His grip on your hair tightened, not enough to hurt but enough to ground himself. "Slow down," he rasped, though the way his hips shifted betrayed how much he wanted more. "You’re—fuck—so good."

The wet, lewd sounds filled the room as you worked him over, your hand stroking the base while your tongue teased his slit. His thighs trembled under your touch, and the low, broken moans spilling from his lips only spurred you on. “Dude, I’m—” he gasped, his voice catching. “I’m close—”

He tried to tug at your hair, as if to pull you off, but you shook your head slightly, keeping your lips sealed around him. You tightened your grip on his hips, holding him in place as his cum spilled hot down your throat. He moaned your name, the sound raw and unrestrained, his body trembling as you swallowed every drop.

When you finally pulled back, a string of saliva and his release connected your lips to his cock. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, meeting his gaze with a mixture of shyness and satisfaction. "You taste so good," you murmured, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips, letting him taste himself.

Stan was still panting, his chest heaving as his hands cupped your face gently. "You’re… incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He kissed you deeply, his lips moving against yours like he couldn’t get enough. "And, dude, I think you might’ve just ruined me."

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, brushing your lips against his once more. “Do you…” You hesitated, biting your lip as your cheeks flushed. “Do you have a condom?”

Stan blinked at you, his darkened gaze clearing slightly as your words registered. He stared at you for a moment, his expression caught between disbelief and a flicker of something softer, almost hesitant. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice low but steady, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m sure,” you whispered, your voice trembling but full of intent. “If you are.”

Stan’s lips parted as he let out a shaky breath, his hands dropping from your face to rest on your waist. “I, uh…” He glanced toward his nightstand, a faint, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I think I do. Hold on.”

You shifted slightly, giving him space as he leaned over to open the drawer. His movements were hurried but not frantic, his fingers rummaging through the clutter until he found what he was looking for. He held up the foil packet with a small, nervous laugh. “Got it.”

Your cheeks burned as you watched him, your stomach twisting with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. “Okay,” you said softly, your hands fidgeting slightly in your lap. “I’ve never… I mean, I don’t really know how this works, so…”

Stan paused, the condom in his hand, and turned back to you. The teasing smile he usually wore softened into something more serious, more earnest. He reached out, taking your hand in his and squeezing it gently. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and comforting. “We’ll go slow, okay? We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

You nodded, his reassurance grounding you as you met his gaze. “I trust you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Stan’s expression softened further, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I promise.”

You watched as he fumbled briefly with the condom, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he rolled it on. The vulnerability in his movements tugged at something deep in your chest. While he was focused, you reached behind yourself, unclasping your bra with shaky fingers before sliding it off. Your panties followed, leaving you completely bare before him.

When Stan turned back to you, his gaze landed on your form, and he froze. A breathless laugh escaped him, one hand running through his dark hair as he took you in. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The awe in his tone made your cheeks flush, and you instinctively tried to cover yourself with your arms.

“Don’t,” Stan said gently, his hands catching yours and lowering them. “Don’t hide from me. Please.”

Your heart pounded as he leaned forward, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone before trailing lower. His lips found your nipples, sucking lightly at the sensitive buds, and you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair.

“Ah—S-stan,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

He didn’t reply, but the warmth of his kisses and the way he held you so delicately spoke volumes. He positioned his hard cock at your entrance, his eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching your face for any hesitation. His tip was dripping from his previous release, and the way he dragged himself across your slit, in an almost teasing manner, made you shudder.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with vulnerability.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. “I’m sure,” you whispered. “I want this. I want you.”

Stan exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead against yours as he began to push forward slowly. His length parts your walls, inch by inch. The stretch was unfamiliar, and you tensed for a moment, but his hands on your waist were grounding, his voice soft and reassuring.

“Relax dude,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “I’ve got you. Tell me if it’s too much.”

You bit your lip, focusing on the sound of his breathing and the way his hands held you like you were something fragile and precious. Slowly, he eased further inside, his movements careful until he was fully in. Your hips were touching now, and the sensation was maddening.

“You okay?” Stan asked, his voice hoarse as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes—from pain, but also from the overwhelming intimacy of the moment. “I’m okay,” you whispered, your fingers trailing along his jaw. “I’m more than okay.”

Stan’s lips curved into a soft smile as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and finally your lips. “You’re everything,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “I hope you know that.”

You didn’t respond with words at first, instead pulling him closer and wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips pressing softly to him again. The kiss deepened naturally, slow and deliberate, as though neither of you wanted the moment to slip away. His hands skimmed down your sides, gripping the flesh of your ass, and you could feel the faint tremble in his touch.

“God, Stan…” you whispered, your breath hitching as you gazed into his eyes. Your cheeks burned as you added hesitantly, “Please move.”

Stan exhaled shakily, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint as he slowly drew his hips back. He watched your expression closely, searching for any sign of discomfort as he thrusted forward again.

The stretch was still there, but it wasn’t as overwhelming this time. Instead, a new kind of heat unfurled within you, building with each careful movement. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, grounding yourself in the sensation of him, the closeness of his body against yours.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. His lips brushed against your temple, trailing down to your jawline as he found a steady but punishing rhythm. “So fucking tight—so tight.”

Your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping your lips as the pleasure began to build. “Stan,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “Y-you’re so deep, I—” You're cut off by his cock twitching against your walls at your words, a shiver coursing through your body.

His strokes become faster and deeper, his hands roaming your body with reverence. The intimacy of it all—the way he kissed you between every thrust, the way he whispered your name like it was something sacred—sent a surge of warmth through you that had nothing to do with the physical connection.

Stan’s lips pressed against your neck, sucking and nibbling on your soft skin. The tightening of your walls stopped his advances, his breath coming out in soft, uneven pants. “I can’t believe this is real,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “You… you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re—ah—you’re so good f’me.”

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against his cheeks as your eyes met his. “I—fuck, I love you,” you moaned, your voice all over the place due to the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. “This is s-so not real.”

Stan’s lips captured yours again, a quiet groan escaping him as he deepened the kiss. His thrusts grew slightly faster, more confident, and you arched into him, a gasp slipping from your lips as he fucked that spot that made your vision blur.

“Right there,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Don’t fucking stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice trembling as he clung to you like you were his lifeline. “I’ve got you, baby. Always.”

The tension built higher and higher, each thrust drawing you closer to the edge. His name fell from your lips in a breathless chant, and when his hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb circling your clit, it was enough to send you spiraling.

“Stan. Stan, oh my G-god,” You choked out, your nails clawing his shoulder blades leaving red, angry marks in their wake. Stan could feel your slick arousal dripping against him, creating audible squelching noises, and he knew you were close.

Your release hit you hard, your cunt fluttering around him as waves of pleasure washed over you. Stan followed shortly after, a guttural moan leaving his lips as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering against yours. You felt the warmth of his cum through the condom as it expanded. The way he held you so tightly as if afraid to let go, left you feeling safe, cherished.

As the aftershocks faded, Stan eased himself back slightly, his hands cradling your face as he pressed soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. “You okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse but gentle.

The soft, hoarse question lingered in the air, and you managed a shaky, “Yeah,” your voice barely above a whisper. Stan let out a small breath of relief, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as if grounding both of you. His lips pressed against your forehead again, warm and comforting, before he shifted slightly.

The sensation of him pulling out was slow and careful, but it still made you whine softly, the emptiness leaving a dull ache behind. Your cheeks burned as the sound escaped you, and Stan’s gaze immediately snapped to your face, a faint flicker of worry crossing his features.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, his hands sliding down to rest lightly on your hips. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head quickly, your arms wrapping instinctively around his neck to pull him closer. “No,” you murmured, your voice still trembling. “I just… I don’t know. I feel… weird without you.”

Stan’s expression softened at your words, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “Weird?” he repeated, the word coming out in a gentle tease as he kissed the tip of your nose. “Is that a good weird or a bad weird?”

You hesitated, the vulnerability of the moment making your chest tighten. “Good, I think,” you admitted finally, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I just… I don’t want you to let go.”

Stan’s arms tightened around you at that, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a soft, contented sigh. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

For a while, neither of you moved, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a blanket. The weight of everything—the vulnerability, the connection, the raw emotion—settled into something warm and steady, a feeling that made you fuzzy all over.

Finally, Stan pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice soft as he broke the silence. “Let’s clean up, yeah? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.

A playful grin tugged at your lips despite the lingering warmth in your chest. “Okay, boyfriend,” you teased, your voice still a little shaky but lighter now.

Stan rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward into a faint smirk. “Love you, girlfriend,” he shot back, his tone carrying just enough sarcasm to make you laugh softly.

“Good,” you replied, still smiling as you brushed your fingers through his hair. “Because I’m kind of obsessed with you.”

His smirk softened into something more genuine, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’ve got no idea,” he murmured, leaning in to press another kiss to your lips.

After a moment, Stan pulled back, his cheeks slightly flushed as he gave you a sheepish smile. “Alright, seriously though, let me grab something to clean us up. Be right back.”

Kyle leaned back against the dorm door, his legs stretched out on the hallway floor as he scrolled through his phone. The muffled sounds of your voices arguing inside were barely audible, but every now and then a sharp tone or raised word would cut through. He rolled his eyes, letting out a soft scoff as he aimlessly refreshed his feed. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Minutes passed, and the dorm grew quiet. Too quiet. Kyle glanced at the door, debating whether to knock or just barge in to check if you two had killed each other. Just as he was pushing himself to stand, his ears caught something unmistakable—a faint moan followed by the rhythmic creak of the bed frame.

Kyle froze.

His phone slipped out of his hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud as his eyes went wide. For a moment, he stood there in disbelief, his face heating up so quickly it felt like steam might shoot from his ears. "What the actual fuck?" he whispered to himself, his voice tinged with panic.

The creaking continued, and Kyle bolted, muttering curses under his breath as he sprinted down the hall. His thoughts were a jumbled mess—equal parts disbelief, irritation, and a deep desire to bleach his brain.

Reaching Kenny and Cartman’s shared dorm, Kyle didn’t bother to knock. He shoved the door open, startling the two boys who were mid-conversation. Kenny blinked up at him from his seat on the bed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Cartman, lounging in a beanbag chair with a bag of chips in hand, raised an eyebrow.

“What’s your problem, dude?” Cartman asked, crunching obnoxiously loud.

Kyle stood there, chest heaving, his face still flushed a deep red. And then he started laughing. Not the normal kind of laugh either—it was a borderline maniacal, disbelieving cackle that had Kenny and Cartman exchanging wary glances.

Through his hysterics, Kyle waved a hand, doubling over slightly as he tried to catch his breath. “Don’t ask,” he managed to choke out between gasps of air, his laughter tapering into a slightly unhinged giggle.

Kenny leaned back, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he eyed Kyle skeptically. “Did you, like, witness a murder or something?”

“Nope,” Kyle said, his voice cracking as he wiped at his eyes. “Worse.”

Cartman snorted. “Worse than a murder? Doubt it, bro.”

Kyle just shook his head, sinking into the nearest chair and burying his face in his hands. “Just… I’m never going near that dorm again,” he muttered, his voice muffled but filled with exasperation.

poor kyle... | part one

[taintedcigs]

YOU'RE NOT SCARED, ARE YA?

wc: 4.1k+

pairing: ghost face!eddie munson x final girl!reader

warnings: 18+ !!smut, smut smut!!, MINORS DNI!! absolutely no minors!! p in v, dom/sub elements, dark!dom!eddie, naive and innocent!reader, final girl!reader, mean!eddie, fingering, kinda manipulation, slight dubcon, this is kinda dark so if this kind of stuff bothers u DO NOT READ!!, minor character death, dom!eddie, squirting (??), sub!reader, heavy/graphic smut, knife kink kind of, very brief choking kink, kind of a breeding kink??, praising, degradation (name-calling etc), mean!soft!eddie JUST OVERALL FILTH MINORS DNI!!!

summary: you were happy to be a survivor and finally ready to get back to your life after ghost face was caught, but was he actually caught?

authors note: okay so i watched scream 6 yesterday and i had to i just had to write ghost face!eddie !! NOo SCREAM 6 SPOILERS DON'T WORRY OFC !! this is for u wyv OMG hope u like it i kinda have doubts abt it but oh well!! also hope u enjoyed scream 6 omg @sleepy-wyvern the reader is very forgiving and just gives in im sorry for that okay ill write another darker one maybe later pls send me ur ghost face!eddie requests and help me indulge in this fantasy omg xo, em &lt;3 line divider creds to @attxnt

The breeze from the window had you chilling up before you could realize. Your head popping in the direction of the window as your eyebrows furrowed, you never noticed that you had left a window open.

With a sigh you get up to close it, as it's already freezing inside, a creak on the floors causes your head to pop up again, more confused than ever, you look around.

The TV is faintly playing in the background, screams of a woman in the horror movie you are watching is pitching your ears as you hurry to turn the TV off, wanting to see what the noise is about.

As soon as you turn the TV off, you hear another creak, the sound is now familiar to you in an eery way, you feel uneasy as you tiptoe around the living room, looking around to see what is causing the noise.

You shake your head at your paranoid thoughts, it's probably just the noises an old house makes.

Huffing, you make your way into the kitchen, re-opening the fridge for the hundredth time that day as you wait for a meal to magically appear.

Another windy noise behind you catches your attention, you swiftly turn around. Nothing.

Then the loud rang of the phone causes you to jump.

The phone ringing isn't easing your worries, you know the Ghostface murderer who has been roaming around town, killing a bunch of teenagers in Hawkins was caught, but still, it didn't give you comfort as you saw the face of Jason Carver who was being arrested, he looked innocent —as innocent as he could look for someone who was an awful person.

You shake your thoughts as you realize you are being paranoid, the Ghostface killer is caught, you need to calm down, you remind yourself.

"Hello?" You answer the phone calmly, hoping that it's Eddie, ready for him to ease your worries.

"Hello," The distorted voice speaks at the end of the line.

"Yes?" You ask, curiously now, wanting to know who the caller is. You shake off the feeling that the distorted voice reminds you of the ghost face killer, you don't want to believe it.

"Who is this?" The voice asks, and you furrow your brows.

"Who are you trying to reach?" Your voice comes out small, you're still uneasy from the creaking noises and what had happened in town before the killer was caught.

"I don't know." The distorted voice sounds careless.

"You have the wrong number." You answer, any sort of phone call still gives you anxiety. "I'm hanging up" You almost huff, annoyed that it's not Eddie, just some random guy.

"Wait, don't hang up." The voice is soft now

"Why?" You reply, your eyes narrowing.

"Because I think you need to hear this." The voice is mysterious.

"Hear what?" You ask, confused.

"They got the wrong guy." The voice is taunting, and the uneasy, chilling feeling from before is back.

"What? What the fuck are you talking about?" You ask, getting more uncomfortable, you look around, the paranoid feeling setting into your stomach once again.

You thought you had left the ghost face killer thing behind, happy that you survived.

"Jason Carver is innocent." The voice is more direct now, it sends shivers down your spine. "Well, he isn't innocent, but he sure isn't the ghostface killer." The voice chuckles.

"Who's this?" You ask, your voice getting shaky now.

“The question isn’t who am I, the question is, where am I?”

"Fuck you, asshole. This isn't funny." You spit, ready to hang up the phone.

"Oh, I'm sure you would beg me to."

"You know what-" Your words are quick to cut off as you are swayed by a mysterious figure, hooded hands cover your mouth as you attempt to scream and squirm.

"That's not going to do you any good, sweetheart." The distorted voice is enough to make you shaky again.

A scream dies out in your throat from the shock, you are left speechless and you feel almost paralyzed.

"Let me go." Your voice is muffled, tears are prickling your eyes.

"You want me to let you go?" The ghostface masked figure tilts its head to the side, you eye him curiously, nodding slowly.

"Don't you wanna know who I am?" The voice is taunting you again, and as much as you want to know, you don't want to give whoever it is the satisfaction.

"Let me go." Your voice is still muffled, a chuckle is heard from the other end.

"I think you know who I am, sweetheart." The voice is oh so familiar now, but you are still in denial as you shake your head.

"I- I don't." You manage to let out in your shocked state, the ghost masked figure chuckles, and the distorting voice is now going back to normal as you are finally hit with the realization.

The figure lets you go as he rips off the ghost face mask off his face, you first see the curls, those curls that you twirled your finger around as you laid in his bed, are now taunting you.

A grinning Eddie is revealed under the mask, you are now shaking as your face is contorted.

No words come out of your lips as you stare at him in shock, hoping for this to be his idea of a sick twisted joke.

"Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?" He is fully smirking, you are speechless, you can't believe that it was Eddie, your Eddie who had been behind the sick killings.

"Eds...?" Your words linger in the air, you feel small, so small.

"Yes, doll." The nickname should make you feel disgusted, you should feel disgusted. But you can't help but still be so enamored with him, you feel disgusted by yourself.

"What... why- How?" Your questions are spiraling, your eyes never leaving his, you want answers.

"It's... you?" You are dumbfounded, and the expression on Eddie's face is something you have never seen before.

"Yup." He's quick to let you know that he really is ghost face.

"I- I don't understand..." You are fighting your tears now, and Eddie walks closer to you to cup your face, still gentle, and you are too shocked to push him away, too comfortable with him that you let him.

"It's not that hard to understand, sweetheart." He chuckles almost, your eyebrows furrow. "Why?" You dare to ask, he clicks his tongue.

"It's simple really."

"You- you killed them, Eddie." Your voice is meek again, it's cracking as your tears freely escape your cheeks, he's quick to wipe them away. His other hand still holding onto the knife.

"Shhh, angel. There's no need to cry, they don't deserve your tears." He attempts to comfort you, but you squirm. "Don't be scared of me angel, 'm not gonna hurt you, I promise." He reassures, and you want to believe him, as much as you're scared, he's Eddie, your Eddie.

"Why- why did you kill them?" You manage to ask between your tears, Eddie's head tilts to the side.

"You're looking for a motive?" He asks. "How about the town "freak" is getting sick and tired of all those assholes calling him a "freak" and a "satanist", so he decides to finally show them how much of a freak he can be, how's that motive for you, hmm?" He taunts, the knife is still behind him, but you feel uneasy.

"Vicki, Tommy H., Carol, Tina..." You name every one of his victims, and it brings a smile to his face.

"I had to do it, sweetheart." His voice is calm and collected.

"Why... why..." You are still in shock.

"Oh, it's easy, sweetheart. Vicki, Carol and Tina were awful to you, d'you remember how they splashed you with their drinks, and laughed while you ran away sobbing, d'you remember that? Cause I never fucking forgot." His voice was harsh now, he was feeling the anger, the pain you had endured in their hands.

"Thought it was funny to humiliate my girl, make her feel bad, and they thought they could fucking get away with it? No chance." He hummed.

"Tommy H. was a fucking asshole, he got what was coming to him, no real loss there." He was talking about these people as if they were disposable, and you hated to admit he was right, you would probably never admit it out loud, but all of them were terrible people, destroying all the people they didn't deem to be "popular".

You look at him, still in shock, you don't know what to say, what to think, especially when Eddie is standing this close to you.

"And Jason?" You asked, your voice was less trembling now, what Eddie had done was horrible, but you didn't feel as scared anymore.

"Oh, he was easy to frame." He grinned. "I couldn't let him get away with fucking touching you at that party, princess." His hands were caressing your cheek now, and you gulped.

"I knew you tried to hide that from me, you knew how angry I would get, you didn't want me to get involved or hurt myself... Robin told me." His voice was more vulnerable now.

"But I'd do anything, fucking anything to protect you, princess. And I did. All of them, deserved what was fucking coming for them." His eyes squinted, you could feel the anger radiating off of him.

"S'all good, now. You have me, to protect you, princess." His hands drooped down from your cheeks, as they traveled across your body, you couldn't help but get chills all over where he touched, you felt disgusted with yourself that you were enjoying this, but you had waited so long, so long for him, and now he was actually giving you what you had waited so long for.

"Eds..." You get his attention.

"They tried to hurt what's mine, they tried to take my girl away from me." He murmured into your ear, his hot breath fanning against your face, and you can feel the smirk forming on his lips.

"But I've got you now, princess. No need to be afraid." His words were late to register in your head, the infamous ghost face killer was in front of you, his body is pressed against yours, and he was telling you all about his murders, and for some reason, you were still not screaming and running away.

"I- I can't." You squirmed, your eyes were getting teary again.

"C'mon, Y/N. No need to make this harder than it is." His hand raised the knife, you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

"You- you killed them, Eddie." Your voice was shaking, you eyed his movements.

"You taunted me... with your calls." Your voice was shaky. "How the fuck am I supposed to trust you?" You gulped, trying to push him away, but he held you in place.

"Baby, I just had to warn you of them... they were supposed to be your friends, do you remember everytime you defended them to me, telling me that they were your friends and that I should be nice, hmm?" He asked, you were ashamed to nod, he was right, he had tried to warn you of them but he never listened.

"But they ditched you the moment you told them what Jason had tried to do to you, they humiliated you... you deserved so much better." His voice was calm as he attempted to comfort you with the knife still in his hand.

"I had to taunt you a little for not listening to me, but whatever I said to you wasn't bad." He reassured, you shook your head.

"But killing them was the only way?" You raised your voice this time, getting confidence from the way Eddie saw you as his soft spot.

"I was protecting you." His calm voice was more irritated now, his gaze landed on yours, and it was piercingly sharp.

"I- I didn't ask you to do that for me." Your voice was shaky, and Eddie tssked as he dragged the knife along your face, you squeezed your eyes shut, afraid.

He noticed your movements, and he was quick to drag the knife away, knowing it had scared you. "No need to be scared of me, princess." He still had that smirk on his face, but he was gentle now.

"Let me go or I'll scream." You demanded, but he just chuckled.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet, angel." He hissed, but he let you go. And you look at him dumbfounded.

"Go on, then. Call the cops, tell them it was Eddie, your Eddie." His eyes narrowed as they watched you, you gulped. He knew where to hit you.

You didn't want him to be in trouble, even after everything, even after how you had tried to hate him in these last five minutes.

"I- I..." You stuttered, and Eddie chuckled.

"Do it, princess, turn me in." He taunted again, and it's like you were unable to move.

"Can't do it, can ya?" The taunting voice was back again. But he wasted no time as he pinned you against the wall this time, standing closer to you than he ever did.

"Knew you wanted me, as much as I wanted you princess." His voice was sultry, the knife that was supposed to scare you was now running against your clothes, and he felt you shiver under him, it makes him feel more in control, and he loved every second of it.

"Look how you squirm with just my touch, princess. I bet you're s'soaked under that tiny little skirt, aren't you?" He questioned, you squeezed your eyes shut, you hated how much you were enjoying this, and you felt disgusted with yourself.

"Let's see." His hands were cold as they landed on your thigh, riding up your skirt as you sucked in a breath.

His touch was so soft and demanding that as soon as his ringed fingers circled around your panties you let out a whimper, Eddie’s pants tightening at the sound.

“You really needed this, huh?” He whispered against your ear, leaving sloppy kisses on your neck.

"Look at you, squirming under my touch, holding out your pretty little whimpers from me, you want this as much as I do, sweetheart, don't lie to me."

The hand that was holding the knife grazed your thighs, the knife's coldness caused a gasp out of you, and Eddie smirked. "Such a slut." He almost chuckled, and you whimpered at the nickname, Eddie knew you like the back of his hand.

"You enjoying this, princess? You enjoy me making you squirm with the knife I killed the assholes that tried to hurt you?" He questioned darkly, you didn't want to answer, you felt ashamed.

Eddie's hand that circled your panties cut contact, and you gasped, your eyes opening, he cupped your face harshly. "Fucking answer me." You looked into his dark eyes, and you nodded, simply. You needed him.

"Words, need your words." His grip on your cheeks was harsh.

"Yes- yes! I- I need you!" You stuttered over your words but it was good enough for Eddie now as he smirked.

Eddie's rough and demanding demeanor, as well as his protectiveness, was sickly making your panties dampen, you hated to admit it.

His hands let go of your face as they returned to their place, and his finger easily slipped past your panties as they entered into you without warning, you whimpered loudly.

“S’fucking soaked for me, angel.” He purred against your ear, his hands gliding in and out of you easily as your whimpers were blissful to his ears.

The knife in his hand was still gliding your thighs, his lips harshly collided against yours as you were left out of breath.

“Eds…” The words slipped past your lips in a state pure of euphoria. He focused his one finger on your spot, causing you to almost scream out, as he pushed his other thick fingers into your dripping cunt.

“Look at you, doll…” He murmured.

“I haven’t even fucked you and you’re already dripping. Waiting to get fucked by me, my little slut” He chuckled as his fingers stretched you out, making you gasp.

You were captivated by him and willing to comply to all of his demands. You had been yearning for him to touch you, for you to feel him, for his cock to wreck you utterly.

"Need to get rid of these." He hummed as he swiftly used his knife to cut your panties, you gasped, as the air hit your cunt, whimpering.

"Need... need you." You couldn't take it anymore, you looked up at him doe-eyed, and he almost melted with your words.

"What do you need pretty girl?" He needed more from you.

“Need you between my thighs.” You whimper as he groaned at your words. “Need your cock.”

"Need your cock, inside of me, fillin' me all the way up." Your words are enough for him to quickly free himself from his pants and boxers.

He hissed as his angry red tip, oozing with pre-cum, faced you.

You licked your lips at the sight, spitting in your free hand and taking him in your hand hungrily, giving his cock a few strokes.

"Atta girl... but no fucking, teasin'" His hands were quick to swat yours away, you pouted.

He took the knife again, this time he freed you of your almost transparent blouse. He recognized that blouse immediately, he could almost always see your tits from them, enjoying the way they jumped up and down when he purposefully hit the curbs when you were inside his van. But now he wanted to see them, fully exposed.

The knife was quick to get rid of the tiny blouse. His eyes devoured your bare breasts flashing him, and he groaned at the sight.

The hand that was free of the knife played with your nipple as he latched onto it, hungrily, sucking, pulling and everything filthy he could possibly think of.

The other hand with the knife was still travelling across your stomach, and then getting closer to your other nipple. always grazing to give you a bit of pain, but a hell lot of pleasure.

"Please, Eds, please." You were begging now, and he loved it.

"Such a lil' slut... begging for me to fuck you, after I just told you I killed all those people..." He mocked, chuckling. You felt your cheeks flush with his words, you were ashamed, but he was far from wrong.

He still had your nipple in his mouth, kissing and nibbling.

"You were fucking made for me." He murmurs.

"This fucking cunt was made for me." He lets go of your nipple, now his hands give your clit a tight pinch.

Eddie lined his angry red tip to your entrance, groaning at the sight of your glistening cunt, waiting to be ruined by him.

Without warning, he pinned you further against the wall and pushed himself inside of you, your cunt engulfed him almost instantly as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

It was as if your cunt was made for him, gripping him nicely.

He groaned, your pussy was milking him as he felt nuzzled by your warmthness, he was in pure ecstacy, and he never wanted to let you go.

Your whimpers were getting so much louder now, and he never felt more proud. He growled against your ear and choked you out with his free hand, muzzling out your cries. He watched the way your tits rose up and down, enjoying the sight, making him sink lower into you.

"Look at you, fuck, princess. Takin' my cock so fuckin' well." He groaned.

"This tight fucking cunt was made for me. Made for me to fuckin' use, perfectly made just for me."

Eddie was sure he was in heaven as he rocked his hips roughly and deeper into you, splitting you open until he was sure you were stuffed with his cock.

“D’you know how long I wanted to this, princess?” He asks.

You shake your head, whimpering.

"Up." He demands as he taps your thighs, you oblige immediately wrapping your legs around him.

His thick thighs are pushing your legs wider, “I waited so fucking long to take you. To take this fucking cunt and make it mine, make you mine.”

“D'you know how much I wanted to stuff you with my cock, fill you to the brim till all that pretty little head of yours would be able to think would be my cock.” He growled, harshly gripping into you, your hands tugged on his hair guiding him to go faster.

"You wanted this as much as I do, doll. I can tell, I can tell by the way your sweet little cunt is milkin' my cock, lookin' so fuckin' pretty when you're s'fucked out." His voice was dark now, and being filled fully by him made you whimper once again. You nodded your head.

“S’stuffed with my cock that you can’t even speak, baby?” He asked, smirking. You nodded, needing more, you were moaning loudly now.

“Lookin’ so pretty beggin' for my cock, I knew you would love the idea of me killing for you, didn't you? You love the fact that I'd do any fucking thing for you” He purred, his hips pushing against you.

You knew it was wrong, what Eddie did was wrong, and you surely knew that him stretching you open with his cock right after he told you he was a murderer was wrong, but fuck, he just felt so damn good.

“Needed this so badly, needed to stuff this tight lil’cunt to the brim, show you who owns it.” He moaned loudly.

He was quick to slip out of you, and you gasped, he didn't give you any time to process anything as he plunged himself inside your walls in a glorious thrust once again, stretching you open once again, and making you scream out.

“Yours, yours, yours” You murmured, trying your best to adjust to his huge cock again.

Eddie eyed you as you squeezed your eyes shut again, your head fell back from pleasure, your pretty lips were shaped in an 'o' form, and he could tell you were getting close.

“F-fuck, baby. You're squeezing so tight around my cock. You gonna cum, sweetheart?" He asked, groaning.

With both of his hands he was now holding onto your waist, the knife in his hands was dangerously close to your skin, grazing every once in a while, and he couldn't help but sickly smile as you had a terrified look in your face as it did so.

Eddie decided you looked so pretty when you couldn't decide if you were terrified of him or you wanted him inside of you forever.

He was pounding into you harder now, and you couldn't help but nod, you wanted to, you needed to cum.

"Needa cum..." You whined and Eddie's eyes glimmered with lust.

“Look at my lil' cockslut.” He purred.

“Cum for me, slut.”

"Cream my cock, sweetheart." He didn’t stop his movements as he roughly rutted his cock inside of you, your sweet cunt taking all of him as you released around him, gush of wetness pulsing out of you.

"Shit... shit... Look at you, f-fuck." He praised.

"Squirtin' all over my cock, f-fuck, made just for me."

Strained moans escaped your lips as the sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with Eddie's groans were all that was filling the room.

"Your cunt gets so tight right after you cum, shit- shit." He moaned, his movements were animalistic now, he wasn't stopping.

"Don't think I can hold much anymore, sweetheart. Need to fill up your sweet fucking cunt." He cooed.

“Fuckin’ made for me. You’re mine and mine only.” He grunted as he pounded deeper into you now.

“Gonna fill that tight lil' cunt so deep with my cum, sweets. Paint your walls white” He cooed. "Gonna dump my load so fuckin' deep inside you, you'll never get it out, sweetheart."

Eddie’s deep growls and his animalistic noises filled the room as he sheathed himself further into you before releasing his warm seeds within your waiting cunt, his hot cum quick to fill your insides, causing you to groan once again.

He let out a last groan as he slowly attempted to come down from his high. He felt ecstatic, his big smirk never leaving his face.

After he caught his breath, his cock growing soft inside of you, he sighed. Finally relaxed, he pulled out of you with a huge grin plastered onto his face as he looked down to admire his work.

His warm cum was leaking out of you, dripping down your thighs. He was quick to stuff back all of his cum that tried to leave your pretty glistening pussy.

"Mine." He murmured as he placed a sloppy kiss against your lips, taking you in his arms as he carried you to your bed, so you could have your well-deserved rest.

[l0velysmut]

Can you please write Neteyam with readers as Enemies to Lovers? with smut and he says he's loved readers for a long time.Please I really love your writing.

neteyam x fem!omaticaya!reader

contains: enemies to lovers (but ur not really enemies), stalker neteyam, kinda manipulative neteyam if u squint???, love confession, virginity loss, tsaheylu, p in v, creampie, poorly written !!!

wc: 2.8k unedited

na’vi words: skxawng = moron/idiot.

a/n: sorry if this isn’t what you expected!

Ever since the first time Neteyam laid eyes on you, he had been head over heels in love with you. But he didn’t like that he felt that way about you, so what better way to cover it up then by hating you more than anyone else in the clan?

You were so confused when you were the only person he would target and make fun of. To the public eye, he was nice, athletic, a charmer, and overall the golden boy of the clan. And not only was he the future Olo’eyktan, but he was also the son of Toruk Makto, which in your opinion, made it even worse and even more embarrassing whenever he would bully you. So, you’ve stood up for yourself the best you could.

But the truth was, he never enjoyed bullying you. He never enjoyed calling you degrading names like stupid or meaningless. In fact, he called himself stupid on the regular for starting a hateful pattern towards you and having no choice but to stick with it.

Every day he saw you, he wanted nothing more then to tell you how he truly felt, but he couldn’t just stop being mean to you out of the blue. You’d think something was up and that he was pranking you, so he just kept doing what he’d been doing since you were children.

He watched you from afar, doing your daily chores and sticking to the routine you had forged to keep yourself busy. Neteyam kept note and even followed you from a distance just to see where you were going, and he even kept track of who you talked to.

He had memorized your schedule, so if anyone just so happened to ask him where you were, all he had to do was figure out the time and then he’d know.

But today, you were doing something different. You were going somewhere he was unfamiliar of.

So, with a quick glance around to make sure no one was paying attention to him. He discarded what he was doing, and followed you discreetly, being far away enough for you to not realize he was there. He ran up a tree and jumped from vine to vine and tree to tree, following you from above and watching like an ikran hunting its meal.

And soon enough, you came to a stop, but Neteyam’s brows furrowed when he saw the stature of another man. He hears you laugh, and you take hold of another man’s hands. He watched through the green vines, glaring at the man he knew very well from training.

His name was Eaopu, and from what Neteyam could see from training, he had nothing to offer you. He was lazy, and couldn’t tell his left from right. Neteyam was in disbelief that you went out of your way to see this man, deep in the middle of the forest. Neteyam could feel his chest tighten as his mind raced with numerous thoughts of just marching over there and bashing Eaopu’s head in then making you his, but obviously he couldn’t let his emotions get the best of him because, afterall, you two were enemies and he couldn’t let you find out that he was basically stalking you and had been for years.

Neteyam watched as Eaopu pushed your dark, unbraided hair behind your ear, leaning in to whisper what he could only imagine was something dirty by the lustful look on his disgusting face.

“Eaopu,” Neteyam hears you say in an almost angry tone. “You know I don’t do that stuff. I’m waiting until marriage.”

“Oh, c’mon. We both know you won’t be mated any time soon,” Eaopu replied, grasping your forearm. “Why not just get it out of the way?”

Neteyams nostrils flare and his eyes darken as he listens to the conversation.

“Because! I want it to be special.” You tell him, pushing his chest to back him away from you, but he doesn’t budge. And Neteyam then knows what Eaopu’s intentions were with you. Leading you out into the deep forest to try to convince you to have sex with him, knowing how adamant you were on not having sex until marriage. Neteyam knew Eaopu was strong, so there’d be no way for you to get away if Eaopu tried what Neteyam feared.

“So then why’d you even meet me here? Huh?! Was this your plan this whole time? Get me all excited and leave me with blue balls?” Eaopu yelled, his voice echoing throughout the empty part of the forest you two were in.

You stare at Eaopu in disbelief as he backs you up against a tree. Neteyam then knew he had to step in.

The future Olo’eyktan jumped down from the tree and marched over to the scene, pushing back Eaopu’s shoulder, causing him to flinch.

“N-Neteyam!” Eaopu’s eyes widened, and he was taken aback by Neteyam’s sudden appearance. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh, really?” Neteyam knew he didn’t have to say much in order for Eaopu to surrender in fear and walk away. When he had done so, Neteyam turned to you, back against the rough bark of a tree.

“You okay?” He asked you, observing your body language.

“I don’t need your protection.” You say, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes. You were grateful, but you still quote on quote “hated” him so you had to keep that going.

“Hey, I just saved your ass from whatever he was about to do to you!” Neteyam shouted, arm pointed to where Eaopu had left.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t need you to save me! I can save myself.” You argue, and he chuckles.

“This is unbelievable.” He shakes his head, placing his hands on his hips. “I follow you out here, and save you from him, and you start-“

“You followed me out here?!” You cut him off and he freezes, lips parted. He tried to think of things he could say to get out of this.

“N-No, no. I didn’t follow you out here. Please.” He scoffed. “Why would I want to follow you, of all people? That’s ridiculous.” He defended himself, and you raised your hairless brows.

“Oh, yeah? So then how’d you get to save me just in time?” You ask, arms still crossed as you take a step towards him.

“I was hunting!” He defended once again, arms outstretched for a moment before falling to his side.

“Really? Where’s your bow and arrow?” You question.

He knew you had him, and he sighed in defeat, ears folded against his braids. “Okay, okay, fine. Yes, I followed you. But don’t let it get to your head, you skxawng. I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” He admitted, his eyes not missing the way your lips quirked up slightly.

You stay silent, feeling your cheeks burn up. Your heart thumped against your chest like a rock being tossed against your skin from the inside, and you looked away.

“Thanks. I guess.” You say in a soft tone, glancing at him when he steps forward.

“You're welcome.” He replies, and both of you are silent for a few moments before he breaks it.

“Listen, I…” He starts, but doesn’t know how. “I don’t want to hate each other anymore.”

His words make you stare at him, brows furrowed. “Hey, you’re the one that started it. What did I ever do to you, anyway? Y’know, since we’re here all alone, you might as well tell me. None of your friends are around to influence you, so please. Enlighten me.”

He opens his mouth then closes it, and he sighs again. “You never did anything to me, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“You never did anything to me. I suppose I started picking on you because..” He breathes in deeply before admitting his feelings to you. “I really liked you, and I didn’t know how to go about it because I was young, and dumb. But over the years, I just started liking you more and now I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do because I was a bully and I made you hate me and I don’t think we could be anything more the enemies and it hurts my soul every time we go at each others necks because it’s not what I want! I just want…” He runs his fingers around his mouth. “I just want you.”

Your eyes are wide as you listen to his rambling, and you swallow to relieve your dry throat. He just opened his heart to you, revealing that all this time when he made fun of you and humiliated you, he actually was just in love with you.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know why I dropped this on you. I should go.” He says when you just stand there and stare at him, but as he’s about to walk away, you grab his wrist and smash your mouth against his.

He melts into the kiss, his heart melting along with it. He brings his hand up to cup your cheek and his other hand to hold your waist. This is what he’s wanted for years. He’s wanted so badly to feel your lips against his; he’s spent years just imagining it.

When you pull away, your faces stay close and you can feel his warm panting against your lips. He pressed his forehead to yours and you whispered, “I want you, too.”

His eyes close briefly with a smile stretching across his lips, and he kisses you again.

“Then be mine. Forever.” He whispers against your plump lips, and you pull away slightly. When he sees your reaction, he’s quick to drop to his knees and lean his forehead on your lower stomach, hugging your thighs. “Please, Y/N. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this; how long I’ve wanted you. Do you know how many women I’ve turned down all because I was stuck on you?” He looks up at you, amber eyes filled with an emotion you’ve never seen on Neteyam.

His eyes were glossy and he looked up at you with pure desperation. He would never force you to do something you didn’t want to, but if you truly wanted him, then you two would come to an agreement.

“Neteyam, this is so sudden… and besides, you’ve said it yourself, no one would ever want to mate with me-“ He cuts you off and stands up, cupping your cheeks.

“No, no, no, no, I was lying, I was just saying that, I’m sorry.. I never meant anything I’ve ever said about you.” He tried to reassure you, and you stared at him, not quite knowing what to do.

“You want me, too, right?” He asked, and you nodded, putting your hands on his shoulders.

He takes your hands in his and gently brings you both to the ground on your knees in front of each other. He decided to sit and have a long talk with you about everything, and you both opened your hearts to each other. Tears spilled, and laughter filled the part of the forest you two were in, but eventually you came to an agreement.

That’s how you ended up underneath him, his bare body grinding against yours. You two had finally connected after years of covered up desire, and now you were one for all of eternity.

Neteyam couldn’t describe the feeling of being mated with you in words, he could only feel how amazing and euphoric it felt for your souls to be intertwined.

You two breathed heavily, gasping and panting between kisses as Neteyam pushed into you, his cock pulsing in his hand as he breached you for the first time. You hissed at the pain of being stretched out this much for the first time, and he could feel it through the bond. He could feel your pain, but also your burning desire to get past it the best you could.

“Are you alright?” He asked in a voice you’d never thought you’d hear him talk in. He has bottomed out inside of you, and remained very still while hovering over you, his arms holding himself up at either side of your head, caging you.

He tried so hard to not pull back and pound into you like his gut was telling him to, but he wanted to listen to his heart and his mind, and he wanted to wait until you were ready.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Ju-Just go slow.” You tell him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled out about an inch and then pushed in. This feeling was so new for the both of you. The way your pussy enveloped around his cock tightly made his head dizzy, and the way his cock penetrated you and hit spots inside of you that you didn’t think could be reached made your brain feel all gooey.

He kissed your jaw, and pulled out more, then back in, searching for any sign of discomfort through the bond. He fortunately found nothing within the shared connection, and slid in and out of you faster.

You place a hand down at his abs, trying to tell him to go slower because you weren’t quite ready, and he groaned before slowing down. He wanted to pound you like an animal, but he wanted you to feel good, too. He didn’t want to hurt you, not anymore. He wanted to protect you forever, and he didn’t want anyone to walk all over you anymore. Now, he would protect you like a mate should.

“Oh, great mother.” You whine, throwing your head back and clenching around him even tighter then before. He didn’t even know it was possible for him to be inside something so wet and tight.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Can’t believe I’ve been missing out on you for so long, I should’ve told you I loved you a long time ago.” He said softly in your ear and his hips rocked back and forth. “I regret everything from before- fuck… I regret not taking you as mine since the moment I realized I was in love with you.”

You couldn’t speak, you felt like everytime his bulbous tip hit that spongy part inside of you that felt particularly good, the air left your lungs. You struggled to form a coherent thought as his cock fucked you dumb. You never knew your enemy's cock could feel this good; though, you’re not enemies anymore.

Neteyam supported his weight on one arm while the other reached down to play with the small nub he's thought so many times about sucking and rubbing. He rubbed tight circles on your clit, making your back arch into him, your chest pressing against his.

“You’re so pretty,” He whispered, kissing your cheek and then pecking your lips. “So beautiful.”

You wanted to thank him, but you knew he could hear it in his mind.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum already.” He murmured, whining loudly when his cock twitched. He felt a burning sensation throughout him, and you grind your hips back against his, helping him reach his orgasm as well as reaching your own high.

“M-Me, too, I think.” You say, panting and moaning. He rubbed your clit faster, and you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling his cock further inside of you.

You both cum at the same time, your orgasms sending tingles throughout both of your bodies that twitched and spasmed against each other. Neteyam’s hips continued to grind as he spilled inside of you, and you could feel his cum sloshing around inside of you. You closed your eyes at the feeling, and your hips jerked at the stimulation.

“That was…” Neteyam started talking to praise you, but he couldn’t wrap his head around how good it felt. He never thought he would actually be able to get you to be his, he always just thought he fucked up his oppurtunity to be with you, but now that he had you, he was never going to let you go for as long as you two lived.

He was going to worship you and never say anything mean to you ever again until his dying days.

He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and remained inside of you. You hug him tightly, inhaling his scent. Then, he rolled over to lay next to you, pulling out of you slowly with a pop! sound.

He grabbed your waist and pulled you close, your nude bodies pressed against each other as your limbs tangled before finally sleeping. He knew his father would be looking for him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything else or any other responsibilities. He only cared about you now.