#like. the horror is something you could maybe experience if you hit all the right buttons

[avatar-aaang]

keep trying horror movies and. I know there are horror movies that I like. but lately... I guess I keep picking absolute duds bc I almost think im not a fan of the genre lol

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — eddie x fem reader (7.1k)

summary: 2011– your roommate drags you to a frat party and ditches the second she sees the guy she’s been fucking. left by yourself, you meet someone by accident, someone who isn’t in the fraternity 

warnings: smut, underage drinking, p in v, unprotected sex, grinding, dancing, eddie is trying to be cocky but he’s just awkward and silly

notes: i had a blast deep diving back into my hs and college days to reminisce with this. i hope if you were growing up during this time you can giggle along with me. love youuu oooh! also i hid some easter eggs in here (they’re not hidden at all)

The basement was steamy, and not in a ‘oh it’s a little warm in here but more like, every single person is drunk off their ass and the walls are sweating’kind of way.

College was everything you’d hoped it to be and more.

Your roommate, Kenzie was the type of girl who had an ‘open closet’ policy letting you wear her clothes almost more than your own. You weren’t too keen on sharing a dorm room with a girl you’ve never met before, but thankfully—you had gotten lucky. 

You had heard the horror stories from your older sister about her terrible roommate freshman year and you worried for most of the summer that you’d strike the same type of fortune. It wasn’t until you got a friend request on Facebook and a cheery little message : 

[Kenzie Walmen 2:07 PM: heyyyy roomie (;] 

that you knew you had nothing to worry about. 

She was from the west coast in sunny California, that bright western sky seeped deep into her personality. Kenz was sun kissed and bright haired, pretty ocean dipped eyes to give her the All-American type of aesthetic that most girls wished for. And maybe it was her laid back disposition, or her thrill for living it up and every hour of the day— that landed you here tonight at Delta Kappa Sigma. 

It wasn’t your scene.

You weren’t shy or new to getting drunk, you had even been so brave to take the occasional hit from a homemade bong in your neighbors dorm a few times, but the frat parties were known for their out of control Project X style of getting shitfaced. 

And something about guys with too much testosterone and too much Adidas cologne made your skin crawl and not in a good way. 

“Prints always look weird on me,” you grumble into the mirror eyeing your curves in a leopard lace tank top and black skirt, “is it too much?” 

Kenzie adjusts her off-the-shoulder top, adding a bit of shimmer powder to her exposed shoulder, “absolutely not, if anything it’s not enough.” Neon feathers decorate her bouncy curled hair as she eyes you in the mirror, “add that silver chunky necklace, and you’ll look bomb.” 

She was right, the necklace really pulled the entire look together, and if it were Halloween weekend you could even pass as a Spice Girl or maybe Snookie. 

“Sooo, is Steve gonna be there tonight?” You ask elongating the vowels in the aforementioned name, followed by some kissy faces and porn worthy moans. 

Kenzie rolls her eyes, a dusting of pink warming her cheeks, “yeah… about that. He said he has a “surprise” for me when I get there, so if I disappear, I’m just with him, okay?” 

“Wait wait wait—” you protest, holding a death grip clutch on a bottle of UV blue. “We aren’t even at the party yet and you’re already planning on ditching me?” 

— 

And that’s what got you here, a little more than drunk, holding a piss warm Green apple flavored Four Loko to your mouth, leaning against the corner basement wall in hopes to maybe disappear, wishing you were anywhere but in this cesspool of basement. 

The “DJ” (a frat guy wearing neon glasses with bars across them, scrolling through an ipod and a playlist more than likely named ‘Get Crunk’) was playing Kid Cudi, again. Everyone was screaming along to the chorus like he personally wrote it for them and their experience at college. A headache was brewing behind your eyes as the beat thumped loudly into your chest and radiated to your temples. 

Kenzie left almost immediately upon arriving. Swooped up and tossed over the broad shoulder of Steve the minute he answered the door. You laughed and shook your head, imagining how she was probably face down in navy cum stained sheets by now. 

The hours she spent on her hair and makeup went to waste, only being seen by the dead catalog eyes of Playboy’s finest from their pinned positions on the walls of Steve’s shared bedroom. 

Another sip from the overly carbonated beverage has you shuddering, the fiery ripple of fruit flavored [vomit] alcohol scouring through you like lava, causing your face to screw into a disgusted look.

How can people drink this shit? 

Your bladder screams at you to break the seal, demanding to find relief, immediately. The black lights were zero help in disguising if there were any doors that might lead into a bathroom. Pushing from the wall and taking the last hot sip from your drink, you navigate your way to the stairs. 

A table holding lone solo cups in formation from a forgotten beer pong game is now the proud owner of your empty can.

Weaving through the jungle of fist pumping douchelords and tipsy sorority girls making out for risqué facebook pics labeled [*~Freshman Y3ar!~*] you finally emerge from the sweaty pits of fraternity hell and climb the beer stained steps to the main floor. 

The monotonous beat from the music thumped a little less loudly up here, as if the noise was absorbed by the maroon colored carpeting and the oak cabinets in the foyer. 

The house was dated, decorated with a clash of orangey dark wood mixed with emeralds, dark reds and gold. As if this house was based out of Tuscany instead of midwest nowhere— complete with the rubbery fake fruit and vines that stood solely to collect dust. 

You had never been here before and didn’t know where in the hell to start looking to find the bathroom, and like Alice, you figured you might as well try every door knob in this type of Wonderland. 

The first door you peeked into looked like it was a formal dining room, but instead sat a television on the great oval table blasting obnoxiously loud as a pornstar moaned ripples of “pleasure” through her pink pout. Above her was an extremely tanned guy rocking a set of hard abs, thrusting in a slow rhythm that didn’t match her orgasm. 

A snicker slips from your lips and you gently pull the door closed with a small click, loud whoops and whistling from what you could only assume were a couple of frat guys erupt behind the door.

Watching porn together. 

You’ll have to add that to your growing list of things you didn’t know about the brotherhood behind a fraternity. 

The second door looked more hopeful as it was adjacent to the kitchen area. Upon nearly peeing down your leg, you were shocked stupid when you yanked the door open to find a closet housed with cleaning supplies. 

What the fuck? 

How could a frat house not have a bathroom? 

Your bladder squeezed in on itself and you were certain you couldn’t hold it any longer. Just short of giving up on this quest of relief and going back to your dorm, a gaggle of girls run down the steps leading to the top floor, where you could only assume the bedrooms were. 

“…why are frat bathrooms always so fucking dirty?!” 

Bingo.

Hustling up the never ending carpeted stairs, your bladder was on the brink of exploding as you shoved past a wooden door with a paper sign that read, “no jerking off in the shower!! pipes are clogged!” 

Your sandals clapped along the sea foam tiles floors as you slipped into one of the many metal stall doors. With a swift hike of your skirt up to your middle and pull of your panties, you were finally able to pee. 

A choir of angels sang the HallelujahHallelejuah chorus as you went and you sighed in relief that you had made it. 

“..yeah yeah, okay asshole,” a loud voice sounded from just outside the bathroom door frame, “you still owe me from last time,” the voice now echoed as it hit against the tiles and cement block walls, “no, payment is cold hard cash buddy, I don’t care if you have to dip into your trust fund.”  

A pair of black docs stomp into the tiled bathroom, nearing the stall you were in. There's no way he’ll come to this stall. 

“Tell daddy that you need more money for polos or Jordan’s— I really don’t give a fuck, but you need to pay the fuck up.” 

But as fate would have it…and in your hurry to get to the toilet before pissing all over yourself… and forgetting to lock the door in your haste… the stall door swings wide open— revealing a very bottomless you, to a pair of very wide dark, deer-in-the-headlight eyes. 

A beat that feels like an eternity passes, his hand is choked against his belt in a yank to unthread it, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. Your hands fly to cover yourself the best you can, panties still at your ankles, skirt still around your midsection. 

It’s all yells and screams with this random guy stumbling over himself dropping his phone on the ground and spewing, “Shit! Sorry! Sorry!” and you yelling for him to shut the fucking door already. 

His apologies don’t stop as he pulls the door closed, and from the other side of it as you pull up your underwear and adjust your skirt. 

“I swear! I didn’t think anyone was in there! I promise!” 

Your face burns in embarrassment as you contemplate melting into the floor and becoming one with the poorly aimed piss stains and the dirty grout. As good as that sounds you still have to leave, you still have to pass the guy who just saw your bare vag and you still have to navigate your way out of here. 

His phone lays face down on the floor, and you pray it isn’t broken for his sake. You pick it up, flipping it over to see that it scathed by with just a fine crack from one corner to another. His screen saver is a picture of a group of guys in a skatepark in the dark, smoke billowing thickly to cover their faces as they stand on the boards, the one with dark longer hair is shirtless, and painted with tattoos. 

“Shit,” you breathe quietly, “your phone is cracked.” 

You can see the shadows of his feet pacing back and forth but when you speak they stop, “oh..,” he mumbles, clearing his throat a bit, “umm, yeah, no biggie it was broke like that already.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah— hey, if you wanna slide that under the door I can um, let you ..ahem.. finish up in there.” 

Shit. Duh he needed his phone, and you were just holding it hostage in here as your shame hung thickly in the air. God this might really couldn’t get any fucking worse.

A deep breath in through your nose, you fake a mask of confidence and open the stall door. 

You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when he barged in on you, but now in the fluorescent dust covered light you dared to look a little longer at him. 

Long locks of honeyed brown locks fell onto the tops of his shoulders, covered with a green plaid flannel that hung open showing his neck and a flick of dark lines from a tattoo hidden under a black band tank top. His eyes were just as brown, round and flocked with a grove of thick lashes. Clearly he was the shirtless one in his background picture. 

He smiled sheepishly, pulling his jaw taunt as he averted his gaze to the toe of his boots, noticing your hand stretched out before him to give him back his phone, he glanced at your face, skimming his hand over your palm.

“Thanks— uh…” he started, shifting his weight to lean back against the many rows of sinks, “sorry again, I promise I don’t normally walk in on ladies using the facilities.” 

His eyes met yours and you instantly felt a heat run to your throat, his lips were impossibly plump as he drew them into a tight smirk. 

Fuck are those dimples? Of course they were. God he’s so pretty. 

You smile, “normal people lock the stall, but I was in a hurry… well I was lost!” you exclaim in a huff, fully hands on hips annoyed, “why the fuck would the bathroom be on the top floor?” 

You asked him incredulously like he should know. But on second thought…

“uhh… I dunno,” he shrugs, sliding his phone into the front pocket of his light wash colored jeans, not even looking at the broken screen as he leaned back again, “I’m not exactly an architect.”  

“But you live here?” you question, turning on the sink to wet your hands, “haven’t they ever thought of putting even a half bath on the main floor?” 

He rumbles out a laugh that makes your cheeks tingle, your buzz still in full force, “nah, you got it all wrong, I’m not a member of the ‘fraternity brotherhood of Alpha Mega Steroid’”, he jokes with air quotes, smiling wide when your lips tick up at the ends. “But I am a frequent guest, of sorts…”

This guy seemed to be one of those people who can make a nun blush, witty and dripping with a sexual charm that radiated from him like a ray of fucking sunshine. And fuck that grin of his. You’re in trouble. 

“Ahh, okay,” you banter back easily, shaking your hands to dry them since there were no paper towels in sight, “which one is your boyfriend? Let’s see I know.. Kyle? I think is his name, reddish hair, kinda feminine hands, or are you fucking Steve because I gotta say, I think my roommate might be giving you a run for your money right now.” 

Eddie’s eyes light up, a quirk in his brow as he asks, “Blonde girl? Kinda naive, head over heels for that mop of perfectly styled hair? Shit, what’s her name…Kelly? Kitten? She’s your roommate?” 

Of course he would know her, Kenzie knows everyone, and seems to leave a kind of impression on people that you envied. As bright as she shined, you were the shadow behind her. 

“Yeah,” you say, not hiding your annoyance, remembering how you got into this predicament in the first place. 

Eddie looks just as pissed as you’re feeling, “Oh, Stevie boy and I will be having words later on his lack of tact. They’re the reason why I was out wondering the halls like a fuckin’ ghost in a haunted mansion.” 

He takes note that you’re in the same boat he’s in but in your case, it’s a little worse, being a girl alone in a frat house never ends well. 

“I’m Eddie, uhh…designated dealer,” he says in almost a whisper, “for the deep pocketed asshoels full of daddy’s money.”

You connect a few dots, realization hitting hard in your frontal lobe from conversations you’ve kind of listened to from Kenzie about Steve. 

“Ahh, okay… now that you mention it, Kenz has talked about you before. You’re Steve’s old friend, Munson? I thought she meant like a forty year old or something.”

He laughs, loud and belly rolling like, “nah, minus a twenty from that. Steve and I are just close friends ‘s all… and no, not boyfriends.” 

You laugh then, all bubbly and light hearted that has his own skipping beats. Saying your name, he repeats it, a little grin on his face that he tries to hide, “mm that’s cute.” 

“Cute?” you question, an eyebrow raised as you fold your arms in on themselves, poking a hip out. 

“Yeah… cute,” he says standing fully and peering down at you, “your name is very fitting for you.” 

You roll your eyes playfully at his flirty words. Even though your stomach is somersaulting at the way his eyes seem to drip from heaven when he looks at you, your cheeks heating beneath his gaze.

“Is this the part where we exchange our hometowns and majors, because I’d rather get run over than do that right now.” 

Eddie chuckles, “oh yeah, well I’m actually here on an athletic scholarship.” 

“Really?” you question, eyebrows cocked in disbelief. 

“Yes!” Eddie jokes back, trying to bite back a smile, “if you must know it’s for Tennis, but please don't bother me for an autograph. I'm just trying to be a normal guy tonight.” 

“Noted.” You giggle, admiring the way this banter is coming so easily, maybe it was the liquid courage taking over or the fact that he was actually fun to talk to— either way, this night is starting to take a turn for the better.

“So, what does a Tennis star/designated rich boy drug dealer usually do at these kinds of things besides bursting in on girls using the bathroom?” 

He smiles, dipping his chin and looking at you through those impossibly thick lashes. Pushing off the sink he asks, “Sell a little here and there, sometimes dip into my own stash…what do you usually do at these things?” 

“Well,” you tease, twisting on the ball of your foot and heading towards the door out to the hallway, “I’m not usually at these things.”

“Ohh my god,” Eddie preens in his best valley girl/ Kourtney Kardashian impression, “you’ve never been to frat party!?” 

You smile, at his stupid joke, “Noo, I haven’t actually. Kenzie drug me out for a little pick me up after we bombed our History midterm, to…y’know— live it up— YOLO, all that.”

“Okay okay, letting off some steam after the stress of class, I get it...school was never a cake walk for me either.” 

“Yeah! But then your friend snatched her up, and since I don’t know anyone here… I was doing a very impressive wall flower guise, until my bladder interrupted that… and then a guy barged in on me in the bathroom.” 

Eddie stalks towards you, his eyes roving over your body, “Well… now you know me, soo Miss Lady Wallflower,” he cracks, “shall we descend to the basement and keep this party going?” 

His infectious smile stretches wide, practically ear to ear and you find yourself grinning just as wide, trying to twist your lips to at least hide your enthusiasm a little bit but goddamn— something about the way those dimples compliment the fucking christmas twinkle in his eyes.. ugh. 

He was trouble. The kind you had always craved but never dabbled in. But when in Rome…

“Lead the way.”

—

Eddie had made a pit stop in the large kitchen before returning to the basement. 

“Now sweetheart,” he purred, fishing around the shelves, of a pantry, moving cans of food and bags of chips, “I didn’t plan on drinking more tonight, but I’m not gonna let you drink by your— aha!” 

Eddie stands upright, brandishing a large box of saltine crackers. Your eyebrows furrow in response and he bows low, puts his hand inside the box, “I present to you, Stevie’s not so secret hiding spot,” pulling out his hand, his fingers are wrapped around a bottle of Burnett’s Vodka.  

Your eyes widen with devilish glee as you smirk, “how did you know it’d be there?” 

Eddie unscrews the cap and puts it to his lips for a long six second pull. 

You weren’t watching the way his throat bobbed and gulped when he swallowed each burning swig. Nope, not at all. You definitely weren’t memorizing each valley of cords and muscles as a single drop fell to his sharp chin and jaw. Never, not you!

And you weren’t holding your breath right along with him only breathing when those fucking glorious thick lips popped clean from the mouth of that bottle… his lips shiny from the bitter alcohol like a gloss you desperately need to lick clean. Yeah… no. that was not you…

So it’s only fitting when he speaks hoarsely and clears his throat that you are snapped back to the moment, your core keeping its own pulse. 

“He’s been keeping vodka in the same box in a food pantry since we were in high school, guy is the most unoriginal bastard I know,” he shrugs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, and you can’t help but almost pout in the wasted opportunity. 

His eyes meet yours and they look just as hungry as you were feeling. He smirks crookedly and you practically flatline from the depth those molasses colored eyes hold. He moved first, inching towards you like a wolf stalking its prey, your pretty chapstick smile daring him to come closer. 

But the fuse between you is snuffed out cold as a crying girl erupts from the basement steps, her gaggle of friends helping calm her down as they leave the house. 

Eddie shakes his head and clears his throat as if he was just as bothered by you as you were of him. Turning towards the fridge he asks, “I’m sure they’ve got some Sunny D you can chase this with if that’s cool?” 

—

The basement proved to be in the same situation you had left it in: hot, sweaty, sticky. 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes hotly behind you, loud enough to hear him above the music, “it’s like a furnace down here, no wonder that girl was crying.”

You lead him to the corner you were tucked in before, your drink still sitting on the beer pong table. By the way he is standing you can tell that this really isn’t his scene either, but after a while of passing the vodka and orange juice back and forth between you, he seems to loosen up a bit. His shoulders relax as his back leans against the wall next to you. 

Eddie’s words slurring together as his stories became more and more animated, and you giggle along, never taking your eyes off of him. Completely enamored. 

Your stomach burned with a flurry of butterflies when a few of his clients came up to him to buy, each more nervous than the next. Eyeing you suspiciously, questioning if you were some sort of a narc. 

Eddie stepped ahead of you, his shoulders squared and chest out to casually announce that you were cool and were with him. 

You didn’t know that he was waiting for you to object to it, to shove away from him and call him a pig for even assuming that you’d ever be seen with the likes of him besides in the dark, but you never did. 

Hours pass and the music just gets worse. Wiz Khalifa starts singing about colors and Eddie looks at the crowd of people grinding and rolls his eyes. 

The alcohol has you feeling tingly, a buzzing of flirtation sparks your blood and you are closer to Eddie than ever, the smell of his musky cologne and laundry detergent invade you.

Like any drunk girl, you start getting antsy, a little more touchy, and a lot more feely. Standing around isn’t cutting it anymore and you want to move, toss your hair back to some cheesy song, want to feel those hands you’ve been staring at all night run along your body as your hips move against him. 

Running your forefinger along the inside seam of Eddie’s flannel shirt, you look up at him through your lashes. 

“I’m assuming you’re not one to dance to a club remix?” 

Eddie watches your finger stroke up and down, your knuckles barely grazing his abdomen, but the small touch sending electricity to his spine. 

He leans into you, following your lead and pinching the hem of your skirt between his large fingers “you’d assume correct, the music I listen to is a little more head bangy than this.” 

“So,” you say coyly, pulling him towards you just a fraction more, “what you’re really saying is that you can’t dance.” 

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back, his throat sticky with sweat and the hair by his ears wet and curling into ringlets, “oh I can dance my ass off honey, taught Channing Tatum everything he knows.” 

His hands find your hips, and you almost lose the little bit of confidence you have gained when the warmth of them seeps through your shirt, his blunt nails skimming your skin in small strokes.

“Do these little white lies masked as dorky ass pickup lines work for you?” Your hands are on his chest now, the black light illuminating each letter of his Deftones shirt to sparkle like snow beneath your fingers. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers into your ear, pulling you tight against him so your chest is pressed into his, “you tell me.” 

The music changes and a throwback song  

comes on, one you haven’t heard in years. 

“Guess you’ll have to show me those moves, because in typical drunk girl fashion… this is my song!” 

You grab Eddie’s hand and stomp to the middle of the floor, pulling him along with you until you’re shoulder to shoulder with other drunk and sweaty college kids. 

“Get low?” Eddie asks from behind you, his mouth dangerously close to the shell of your ear as his hands land heavy on your hips, “seriously?” 

Leaning your head back so your lips could reach him you talk loud enough just so he can hear you, “stop talking and fucking dance with me already.” 

“Goddamn…” he groans when you finally push your body fully back into him. 

It’s sloppy and horribly uncoordinated the way your drunken hips move beneath his hands. You’re both swaying along with the music, trying like hell to match the rhythm of everyone else around you. But in the tiny square footage you have in this cluster fuck of a space, Eddie has all the right moves. 

His palms are pressing you tighter into him, making sure you can feel just how hard he is, how hard you are making him. 

Courage and a few prom night dances under your belt have you dropping low and coming up slow, your skirt fanning out the tiniest bit as your knees are bent to the ground.

And Eddie is practically thanking God himself when you run the fattest part of your ass up his body, on the bunched denim by his shins, skimming the barely there fabric of your skirt against the hole in his knee, and finally up where he desperately needs your body the most. 

When you come back up he moves your hair from the side of your neck, his lips puckering around your earlobe as he nibbles lightly, “spin around so I can see you.” 

He groans again when you shake your head and laugh at his dismay, as much as he is turned on and bothered you are too, but the power of keeping him like this, teasing him with your body— turned you on even more. 

You snake your hands upwards seductively, landing daintily at the nape of his neck, twirling the wet tendrils of curls round and round pulling gently. Eddie hisses through his teeth, his hands roaming freely from your hips to your ribcage running them along the length of your sides, bruisingly hard. 

One minute you’re facing away from him, eyes closed in pleasure as he roves over your body, his lips pressed to your neck, and in the next he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face— eyes locked on eachother, the heat and the alcohol and the endorphins are too much to handle. 

Your once labored breathing snuffs out to nothing when he leans in with licked lips his eyes fixated on your mouth. Standing. Staring. Staring and standing. You’ve had enough of this cat and mouse game. 

“Fucking kiss me alrea—”

His mouth with its plush pillow lips slam into you. He tastes like tart orange juice and a bite of alcohol. Like the way a summer day would taste if it were bottled up. He licks into your mouth and you whine for more of him, clutching onto his neck and pulling him further into you. 

When you break for air it’s loud, smacking lips and lapping tongues, tilting your heads to line up perfectly. When you twist yours again, Eddie holds onto your neck angling it just so with a glint of trouble in those whiskey eyes as he dives into the supple skin at the column of your throat. 

Sucking, swirling— his tongue is hot against you and you’re clutching onto his shoulders, your nails digging into the pilling fabric like he was the only thing keeping you Earthbound. 

You wiggle in his arms, squealing and whining out but he’s holding you tightly against him, moaning words into your neck that you can’t hear above the music. Then he’s on your mouth again, working you into a fit. His big veiny hands move along your back, grabbing your ass softly, then work up to wrap in your hair or lightly scratch at the inch of skin between your skirt and your tank top. 

Doing your own little damage to him, his shirt is shoved up over his chest, your fingernails trailing down his tattooed skin. A rise of goosebumps following in their tracks, and he stops kissing you to suck in a breath, your smile on his lips as you laugh and he whispers a breathy ‘fuuuuck’. 

Your fingers trail down to his waist band, tickling his skin as you suggest an idea with your eyes, one that you’re certain he would understand.

“C’mon,” he mouths, gesturing his chin to the exit as he slowly begins to pull you from the dance floor, up the stairs and into the kitchen area.

Eddie knew what he wanted. Knew it the second you walked out of that stall with that sweet fucking smile on your lips, shy and coy when he called your name cute, like you weren’t at all used to the type of attention he was giving.

And maybe you didn’t want this with him. Maybe you were a: ‘fuck-me-in-the-dark-so-I-won’t-be-embarrassed-by-being-seen-with-you’ type of girl, but you did dance with him, you laughed at his stupid jokes, stuck by him almost all night, but still he needed to be sure. 

He thought maybe in the brighter light you’d change your mind about what you wanted, what you needed from him, but you surprise him when you cling to his side, going up the steps, and backing into a wall pulling him with you by his shirt needily when you reach the top.

“D’ you uh..wanna get outta here?” he slurs, almost sleepily, his bangs fucked up beyond belief, his hair drenched and sticky with sweat and humidity, lips swollen red.

“My dorm isn’t far,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes running your finger along the waist of his jeans, “across campus.” 

Eddie chuckles, “fuck…” he sweeps a thumb over your pouted lips, groaning as he bites his own. “I’d crawl to fuckin’ Alaska for these, honey.” 

Your cheeks burn sweetly from his inebriated compliments. And even though you’re tipsy and so is he, you feel an odd sort of comfort with him—one you haven’t experienced before. 

“Let’s go then,” you whisper into his ear, “I want you inside me.” 

That did it for him. 

Eddie was all but running with you across the campus green, but not before taking off his long sleeved shirt and placing it over your shoulders murmuring how it was freezing and you’d probably get sick. 

Your combined laughter ricocheted off concrete forums and neatly trimmed grass. Passing by the fancy Chemistry Lab building, the Art Museum, the Med School and finally to your painted black brick dorm building: “Wheeler Hall” 

“Here’s home,” you sing out, placing your key into the door and pulling on the steel handle. 

The Wheeler Dorms were the newest addition to the college town. Named after a family that was killed in an accident back in the 80’s or something… you didn’t really remember what happened. 

The side door you had come in through was closest to your room, 011, on the first floor, again, the universe being kind to you. 

“Never been here before,” Eddie said looking around with wide eyes, “any of the dorms actually.” 

You smiled upon unlocking your room and entering, hanging up your keys on the command strip hooks by the door. Whatever confidence he had back at the party is now deflated a bit once he realizes just how different the two of you are. What the hell was he doing here? You’re in college, he’s only here because he deals. 

“Uhh..?” he questions, eyeing the lofted bed, “you know I was joking about being an athlete, right?” 

You giggle and toss your purse onto the futon, “relax, that’s Kenzie’s bed, mine is the shorter one.” 

“Oh thank fuck,” he practically sings letting out an over exaggerated sigh as he plops down on your futon, eyeing the leopard throw blanket, “I may look like a suave Casanova but I’m about as agile as Mr. Bean.” 

Laughter fills the room and you click on a lamp throwing the room into a cozy ambience as you slip off your sandals and sit on your bed, leaning forward, “you’re way hotter than him.” 

Eddie blushes a bubble gum pink sheen, using his still damp and unruly hair to cover his face, “keep being sweet on me see where it gets you.” 

“Is that supposed to be a threat, or a promise?”

“Oh baby, I don’t make threats, not to a girl that’s like you.” 

“Like me?” 

“Yeah you,” he deadpans, standing up and waltzing towards your bed, crowding you in, “funny, sexy, and by some greater power— digs me… at least I hope.” 

“I’m not the type of girl to bring a guy back to my place, Eddie,” you nearly whisper, putting a finger into his dangling necklace and pulling him forward, “you’d be the first.” 

Eddie places his hands next you on the bed, “like your first? Or just here in college first, I’m cool with either I just— are you sure you want this? I can leave if y—”

Cutting him off you kiss him, but not like the heavy kisses earlier when you two were making out like you were each other's oxygen masks, this one is sweet, like melted  sugar on Eddie’s tongue. 

“You talk too much,” you say with a warm smile, wrapping a finger around his curled ends of hair, “no more of that, just kiss me.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eddie wraps his arm around your waist and shifts you up further into the bed, laying your head on a pillow his body pressed into yours. He takes his time with you, kissing your lips then your jaw, working his way down your neck to where the bruises he’s already sucked into your skin were painted. 

Your moans and little breathy sighs have him hard against his zipper, his hips bucking into the tiny fabric of your panties that’s covering up that sweet pussy he got a glimpse of earlier. 

His shirt is somewhere on the floor, you had pried it off of him between locked lips and groans of having to move your lips from his that earned you a throaty laugh from him and the sexiest eyes that drove into you with an intense ferocity. 

He lowers further down your body, kissing every inch, moving your tank top out of the way to eye your orange bra, his mouth between your cleavage, moaning about how orange is now his favorite color. 

Eddie’s everywhere all at once, a hand traveling up and down your thigh, from the crux of your knee to the waistband of your skirt, the other hand is popping your tits out from that new found favorite colored bra of his —smiling wickedly at your peaked nipples. 

You moan lustful bliss as his tongue circles each one, giving equal attention to both, “you like that?” he asks.

“Feels so good,” you whine, “more, please.” 

Eddie smirks with your nipple between his teeth, “don’t have to ask me twice.” 

You weren’t a virgin, but holy shit you felt as if you had never had sex before, well never sex like this. Eddie teased you with his fingers, his thumb rubbing your clit while his fingers pumped inside of you, each curling inward towards a place nobody has reached before. 

He groaned with his bottom lip tucked between his sharp bite rubbing his achy cock through his jeans when you pushed your skirt down laying there in a matching orange lacey thong, bedazzled on the hips. 

“Would it be corny if I say you look like a Goddess?” he asks sheepishly, pinching the stretching fabric around your hips, “because… wow.” 

You bite your finger as if you were really thinking hard on this, hiding a smile, “you’re too much, Munson.”

“Too much?” he scoffs, pulling down your panties and settling himself between your legs, “you haven’t even seen my dick yet.”

You sit up, tits out and naked from the waist down, “well by all means, show me.”

“Greedy girl,” Eddie smirks, “did you bring me here just to get me naked? I’m appalled!” 

You move to your knees, sitting upright a bit so your face is level with his. You kiss him softly, moving to his neck and sucking just right to pull those deep moans from him that make your knees shake. 

Feather light touches skate along the expanse of his chest, working down down down until you’re undoing his belt, thumbing open the button on his jeans and yanking down his zipper.  

When your hand slides between him and his boxer briefs,  Eddie hisses, watching you pump him slow and tight. The feel of your smooth palm against his velvety shaft makes him almost cum right there and then, it’s been awhile since the last time. 

But you’re not hesitating or questioning yourself and he isn’t either. It’s almost fluid like a rocking wave the way Eddie lays you down, a team effort to swiftly shove down his jeans so you can finally feel eachother where the desperation is needed most. 

Legs hiked over his hips, he lines himself up with your gummy slicked entrance. It’s a deep and achy stretch for you, a vice grip for him. The lazy gasping moans you both emit are drawn out, yours practically breathless. 

“Holy fuck,” you breath into his mouth as he peppers you with kisses. He drags his hips out at a measured pace, pushing in just as unhurriedly, enjoying the way your body adjusts, cuffing him like a glove. 

Eddie breaks away from your lips to watch your bodies join together, moaning your name as he presses his forehead on yours collecting your mouth with his. 

“Shit…This okay?” he asks earnestly, nipping at your ear. 

You nod in gasping silence, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he speeds up. Your hands are skimming down his bareback, pressing him further into you with every thrust, begging him for more. 

He snakes a hand between you, rubbing circles in your puffy clit as he thrusts harder, trying to get you there before he loses all control. “Want you to feel good sweetheart, fuck— keep making those pretty little noises, you’re squeezin’ the hell outta me.” 

And he does. You cum hard around him, your walls fluttering and pulsing so fast you practically black out from the mixed pleasure of his fingers rubbing your clit and his cock stuffed in deep. 

His name falls from your lips in tiny little whines and he bucks into you a hard and final time before he groans, holding onto your headboard for support as he’s bottoming out, stringing rope after rope of hot spend inside of you. 

“Baby,” he whispers, “God—” he stops cold, realizing what he just did and what he didn’t do. “Oh shit, fuck fuck fuck! I didn’t pull out, I'm sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!

You laugh wickedly, your body shaking beneath him at his worried panicked face. 

He’s a babbling, out-of-breath mess, “’s not funny! I just got caught up in the moment and you felt so fucking good and I’m still a little dru—”

“Eddie, it’s fine,” you say, holding his cheeks with both hands squishing them together so his lips pucker like a fish, “I’m on the pill.” 

His face is still squished together when he speaks, “oh, well… okay.” 

“You’re fine,” you coo, coaxing him down from the ledge of regret and self hatred, “I—” you lean up and kiss him square on the mouth, licking into it and sliding your tongue against his, “I liked it.” 

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs and before he can open his mouth to speak you’re pulling him onto you kissing him deep and needy. 

The two of you end the night that way, him holding you, your hands in his hair, kissing so much your lips are chapped— never getting enough. Legs entangled together like a weaved basket. You fall asleep before he does, your little huffed breathing making his skin damp as you curl further into his chest. 

Wonder if Verizon is open tomorrow? He thinks when he remembers that his phone is definitely broke from it landing on the bathroom floor—but he’d never tell you that. 

He also wouldn’t tell you how he was supposed to go back to Steve’s tonight because they were leaving to see another old friend in California for the weekend— or how they needed to be at the airport by 2 AM for a 4 AM flight.  — or that Eddie was Steve’s ride because he lost his license in July. 

Nope.

He wouldn’t tell you any of it. None of that seemed to matter when you were sleeping so cute on his chest like that. 

When late morning comes you’re at it again, this time you’re riding him on the futon, slow like a twangy country song his hands rocking your hips. When you both finish you drag him to the showers, pumping some expensive shampoo into his hair and giggling when you tell him to be quiet so you won’t get caught. 

Steve called Eddie’s phone all night, and all morning, sending duplicate texts of rage, wondering where the fuck he had gone. 

Eddie silences the last call from Steve as you’re getting dressed, wearing a black pair of yoga pants and a zip up hoodie. He smiles when you offer to comb his hair, grabbing your wrist to pull you onto his lap kissing behind your ear. 

His voice is low, soothingly sweet and minty from your toothpaste as he asks, “can I take you to breakfast?” 

[simpjaes]

FIRST DATE ETIQUETTE (p.sh)

Park Sunghoon is not dull, nor is he the clean cut neighbor your mother thinks he is. Oh, the horrors of if she found out that the man she set you up on this date with immediately took you home and rendered you unable to walk...he'd never be able to defend himself without a swift slap to the head.

៸៸៸ minors do not interact! 

៸៸៸ PARING:  park sunghoon x afab reader

៸៸៸WC: 9.3k

៸៸៸ TAGS: mentions of food (meat), strangers to fucking immediately to the possibility of dating later, brat taming, mocking and making fun of each other, sneaky sex, flirting and bullying in the same instance, cocky sunghoon, um…they’re kind of competitive in bed

៸៸៸ A/N: what’s that? you’ve read this before? that’s bc i wrote it! I’ve revised the original now to fit sunghoon because I am insatiable in my lust for him. (original title: the bore next door)

smut tags under cut::​​​

SMUT TAGS: dom sunghoon, bratty/sub reader, huge cock agenda (again), he gets the best head he’s ever had, he calls you messy a lot (he likes it messy),  face fucking, pussy eating, nipple biting, finger fucking, squirting,  dirty talk, wow i can’t believe I actually wrote a condom being used this time!!!!, sunghoon tries to make you moan because his horny brain wants your parents to know, dirty talk, praise, hair pulling.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

23rd street. The restaurant is on 23rd street, and you can honestly say you’ve managed to hit every street but this one. From 13th to 35th, does the street in question even truly exist? Were you set up by your parents?

In short, you have been single since high school. Maybe a few flings here or there throughout college but you never truly settled on one man or woman in a relationship. You’re almost shocked that your parents are pushing so hard for you to find love. They want you to somehow feel the love from the movies, something like they had felt when they met. In this century, unfortunately, love isn’t quite as predictable.

 You can’t just pick a person who has a good job and a decent face and assume love will settle in someday. 

Not only is it not predictable but it isn’t a priority in your life. You have no interest in meeting the standard a man could hold for you, nor a woman, or family member. You’re here to exist in your own way, work your way up through the corporate food chain, and live in a home with over thirteen cats before dying a peaceful death in your late eighties. Why do you need a man to do any of this? Why do you need to settle for one cock, one set of hands, and one personality?

Right, because mom wants you to at least try to experience what love is. Surely, it’s just because she desperately wants a grandchild from her one and only daughter. Sorry to disappoint, but that will not happen any time soon. Children were never a thought in your mind, nor was marriage, a honeymoon, or a burial plot next to another person. Your mother knows this, but the least you can do is show some effort to please her, right? To prove that relationships just aren’t your thing, and you’d much rather have the funds to live a comfortable life all on your own.

23rd street is the small thumb tack on a map where there is a restaurant that holds a very, very, annoying arrangement. 

Your mother had really sold the idea to you. She says the nice neighbor boy next to her seems to be around your age, he brings her the mail sometimes. He seems to have a job, his own car, his own home that sits in a plot next to theirs. His lawn stays mowed, the siding on his house stays clean, and apparently he seems quite lonely considering your mother appears to have watched him enough to know he doesn’t bring any girls home.

At least that she’s aware of.

She doesn’t mention what he looks like and of course, when you’d asked because, in all honesty, that’s the most important thing to you if you’re going to get anything out of this, she simply states that he dresses well, is handsome, and has dark hair.

For all you know, she just set you up on a date with Antonio Banderas. 

What you weren’t expecting though, is to find this restaurant almost an hour late and walk in to find an already half-eaten meal in front of a man who looked at you as if you were any stranger on the street.

 A stranger you were, and so was he, but honestly, he is attractive. That alone made you feel a bit guilty for not having found this place sooner. The idea that the man in front of you did not wait for you shows that he also has priorities that aren’t you. This is probably a huge inconvenience for him too, if anything. 

Imagine your nice neighbor lady telling you to go to a restaurant to meet her daughter? God. The first words out of your mouth are an apology. Not for being late, and not for not even wanting to be here, but for your mother for even trying.

“Sorry about my mom,” you mutter, plopping down into the booth with a sigh. You eye over his food, already knowing that the check will likely be split. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Why the rush?” The man immediately says, pushing an untouched glass of water your way. “I don’t mind that you were late, I was just really hungry.”

You hum at him, waiting for the waitress to come over so you can place the most obnoxious order in the world because you’re really not in the mood to even look at the menu or the prices. Chicken strips and fries, obviously.

“So, what did you order?” You state, eyeing his plate. 

“Steak?” He says it like a question, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world and it definitely is. Clearly there is a half-eaten steak that probably costs over twenty dollars on his plate. Still, you were just trying to make small talk.

The man says nothing after this, offering nothing but an awkward atmosphere. It doesn’t take long at all for you to stop caring about the entire arrangement, as if you cared in the first place.

“Look—” You try to offer, and the handsome man in front of you doesn’t even quirk a brow as he sips his own drink. “I don’t even remember your name, and I know my mom is trying to set us up but—”

“You’re not interested, and you have better places to be?” The man finishes for you as he sits his drink down with a gulp that makes much less sound than your own. “That’s fair. My name is Sunghoon, by the way.”

You nod at him, already deciding that you’ll get chicken strips somewhere else on your own so that you can eat them in the comfort of your own home, alone, without a stupidly handsome man in front of you that has, probably, less interest than you do.

“Well, I’m interested, and I don’t have anywhere better to be,” Sunghoon says, shooting his eyes up at you. “And to be quite honest with you, your mother was right. You are pretty.” 

Taken aback, you’re somehow comforted by his forwardness towards you. He acts just as uninterested as you do but counters that demeanor with his words. You can’t imagine that this is how the man picks up women, there’s honestly no way he would win that way. No wonder he is single.  Then again, you kind of do the same thing. You see an attractive person and you act much the same as Sunghoon right now. Uninterested in anything long-term but clearly interested in something. 

“I’m pretty, huh?” You laugh, sipping the water and internally giving this man an extra three minutes to fully sell the idea of this date to you. “Imagine my surprise to walk in and find that I was set up on a date with someone that is actually attractive.”

“Oh?” Sunghoon quirks a brow. “Is this how you return a compliment?” 

You shrug. 

“Is this how a date normally goes for you—you know, where you’ve already eaten your food and would probably rather pay and leave before she even gets a chance to order?”

“No,” he responds pointedly. “Would you rather me throw a tantrum that you were late?”

“You’d be a lot less dull if you did.” You throw back, eyeing a waitress as she heads over. 

Sunghoon watches as you place your order and watches a bit harder at the way you smirk at yourself through nearly everything you say. You must think you’re clever, you must think he’s willing to chase you or something.

“I’m dull?” He questions, staring you down with narrowed eyes when the waitress walks away. “You just ordered chicken strips at one of the most expensive restaurants in town.”

You’re taken aback a bit, shaking off his little insults and sitting straight up. Interesting date, truly.

“Okay then, Sunghoon—” You say his name as if it’s a joke or something, but you don’t really let him react to it. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a systems software developer,” he deadpans, swirling his very nonalcoholic water in his hand. “Not that you’d know what that is or anything. And you?”

In all honesty, you don’t really know what that means, but it isn’t hard to figure it out. Assuming he must make programs or something, assuming he probably flew through college in order to do it in the way he seems proud of what he does. In all honesty, it still sounds like such a bore. He must talk in code or something in his free time. 

“I’m—uh—I’m a teacher.” You try to laugh, realizing that you’re kind of putting him down when he very clearly must make more money than you do. 

Only now does it set in that your mother stated he has his own home. One that sits directly beside theirs in a neighborhood that you grew up in. One that you tried to find your own home in but ended up in a shitty apartment in the city because it is all you could afford. Sunghoon must make good money. 

“Oh yeah? What do you teach?” He perks up in interest, no longer acting as if he is trying to insult you and instead offering conversation to you with such ease that you almost forget you’re supposed to be getting through the date in discomfort. 

“I teach everything, I guess. It’s just first grade. I swear, I teach them how to pull up their pants properly more than how to spell words.” You smile to yourself thinking of the loud and obnoxious children you teach five days a week. 

Your job is why you don’t want children though. Your job is why you’d rather stay single. All you hear about is how the third-grade english teacher is fucking the fifth-grade science teacher even though he has a wife who is pregnant with their second child. Sometimes you hear gossip about the students themselves. Who in their right mind as an adult would gossip about elementary school kids? It’s no wonder you’re not a favored teacher. You’re sure they’ve said something about you for not having a significant other or a child on the way too. 

Sunghoon smiles through your endearment towards your class, eyes perking up at the plate of chicken strips on their way to you. He doesn’t say much when you thank the waitress and doesn’t really pay attention to the way you devour the first strip in nearly one bite. 

“Seems like a lively job. I just sit around all day staring at a computer screen…” He begins to drone on about his own job, sounding more like background noise in your head if you’re being honest. You can barely hear him over the crunching of your chicken and you’re a bit thankful for that.

“And I think that it was really worth the—” You interrupt his long string of sentences with a call of his name. “Sunghoon, do you have any other interests?” You ask, sipping your water.

He deadpans at your rudeness of interrupting him. Sunghoon doesn’t often go out on dates, nor does he often get asked about these types of things so, he goes quiet, flicking his eyes down to his hands and then back up to you.

“I like to go hiking, I guess? Watching movies? Sometimes I like to cook—”

Ah. He’s one of those guys. 

“Those are like, the most common interests a person can have. You don’t have any special hobbies or weird quirky things you like to do?” You question, trying to see something in him past the fact that he’s nice to look at and has a decent paycheck. 

“I don’t really have the time to put into other things. When I’m not working, I’m busy cleaning my house or doing yard work since I’m usually too tired during the week to do it.”

“God, you are such a bore.” 

Sunghoon realizes now that maybe you’re not just throwing around banter. Sure, neither of you really wanted to come on this date but he could have used the time away from a computer screen to look at his neighbor’s daughter. If anything, it was an interesting offer, and those don’t come by him too often. He had seen photos of you. He knew you were pretty, and he also should have known you were a bit stubborn with the way your mother warned him before the date.

“If I was so boring, would I be sitting here on a date with a woman I don’t know?” He glares over at you. 

“I don’t know, probably. It isn’t the riskiest thing in the world. What? You don’t have tinder?”

Sunghoon looks down again, because no, he doesn’t have fucking tinder and he doesn’t understand why that matters.  “Why does that matter?” 

“Ah, so we are similar.” You smile to yourself in a small win, and you’re not even sure if it’s even an argument at this point. “No time for hobbies, so no time for dating either?” 

He nods slowly at you, completely confused by the way you go from picking his personality apart to finding some way to connect with him. 

“We can wrap this up then if you want?” You offer, still picking at the food on your plate. “I can pay for mine, so I release you from this arrangement.” 

He just sits there staring at you. What a peculiar woman. Do you really assume he isn’t somehow finding the fun in all of this? In all honesty, this date is going off without a hitch compared to many other dates he’s been on. He has never been on a date where he is criticized, nor has he ever criticized a date himself before.

 It’s almost kind of nice, like a breath of fresh air being able to meet someone who isn’t trying to show their best aspects. Someone who is sitting in front of him being as real as they possibly can be. Sure, you’re attractive, but your lack of interest in this date is somehow—flooring.

“What if I want to stay?” He makes eye contact with you. “What if I want to pay for your overcooked chicken?” 

“I’d be letting you win if you pay for me, but you’re free to stay.” You wave him off with your hand, realizing that the chicken is very dry and wasn’t hitting the spot like you’d been pretending. “So, what now then?” You add with a tilt of the head. 

“Admitting I’m interested in you?” He says it with so much confidence that you’re a little bit surprised, because this entire time you’ve been trying to act as uninterested as possible, despite finding some amount of attraction to Sunghoon.

“Poor you,” You coo, pushing your plate away from you and pulling your almost-empty water closer. “Okay, let’s try and make this worth something then.” 

Sunghoon prepares himself to listen, but honestly, he couldn’t have prepared for what you’re about to say to him.

“Neither of us are looking for anything serious right?” You ask, continuing after he nods. “So,” you pause briefly, thinking a bit too hard on how to word it. “Why don’t we just treat it like a tinder date?”

You’re definitely implying that the night could continue together, only to never speak of or see each other again after the sun rises. 

“Are you suggesting I bring you home with me?” He looks at you with a face you can’t really read. 

“Isn’t that what people do when they’re on a date, find each other attractive, but want nothing more?” You reiterate for him, because he seems to have trouble processing what you’re trying to get across to him. “Unless this isn’t your thing?”

Sunghoon pulls his hand up and pushes his hair out of his face for a moment. He’s thinking about it, barely even realizing that you’ve known each other for less than an hour.

“I didn’t take you for the type of fuck on the first date.” He cocks his head, looking at you in a lazy way.

It feels a little painful that the first curse word he says out loud is describing something that involves you and your offer. 

“I’m not, usually, but it has been a while for me and I can’t help but think we could have fun with it.”

He nods, eyeing you down. “Do you want to drive to my house then? Or do I need to bring you back to get your car?”

“Nah, I can drive. I know where you live, considering I grew up next door and all. I can just crash at my parent’s house once we are done.”

Sunghoon kind of shifts his eyes nervously, looking down at the table and then back at you with a lick against his bottom lip. “Speaking of, your parents—” He pauses, fiddling with his hands. “Look, they probably wouldn’t expect me to be the type to uh, get intimate with their daughter on the first date.”

“Only date,” you correct him, amused. “What, you thought we would meet again after this?”

Sunghoon waves you off dismissively. “That’s not the point. I don’t want my neighbors thinking I’m some fuckboy, and I’d rather them not find out because I’m sure your mom would slap the shit out of me the next time I bring her the mail.”

“Sunghoon—” You snort in a mocking tone. “My mom set you up on a date with me, you’re gonna take me home and show me a good time within an hour of meeting me. Imagine if she found out you’re not as sweet and innocent as she thinks–”

His face goes warm, but his eyes darken a bit as he looks at you. “Listen, I don’t usually do this.” 

“Well yeah, you seem too boring to actually have some fun.” 

Offense taken. 

And when he says nothing else to that, you speak up again, this time a bit more gentle. 

“Don’t feel like you have to. I can go home and we can pretend this never happened.”

“No, no,” Sunghoon assures, making eye contact with the waitress as if to silently ask for the check. “I could use the distraction.” 

He was slim when he stood up, obnoxiously attractive getting into his stupidly expensive car, and even the way he drove in front of you pissed you off. He drove the speed limit all the way to the familiar street of your childhood. What a boring, boring man.

When he pulls into his driveway, you aren’t sure if you should park at his house or your own. You realize if you park at either your parents will wonder why you’re parking in their driveway but not in their living room, or wonder why you’re parked in the clean-cut Sunghoon’s driveway because he would never fuck their daughter on the first date. 

You opt to park a block away, walking to Sunghoon’s house and feeling a bit silly for hiding. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Fitting,” you say as you step into his living room and scan the way he is entirely boring.

“What?” He asks from behind you, watching you judge his space.

“Very monotonous, very you.”

Sunghoon sighs at your constant critiques of him, but he’s smiling through it because you’re still here, and you’re the one who suggested coming home with him.

“I’ve gotta say, I’ve never brought a woman home just to have her insult me,” he laughs, stepping around you and placing his jacket on the end of the couch. “I can imagine that your place hasn’t been cleaned since you moved in.”

You glare at him, slipping your own jacket off and throwing it on his floor out of spite.

“I am a comfortable mess, Sunghoon, and you–” you scan the room once more, “are very clearly uncomfortable.”

He shifts his eyes for a second because, yeah. It’s not that he wouldn’t enjoy having colorful photos on the walls or a couple of knick-knacks lying around. Arguing about it isn’t your purpose for being here though, and he’d much rather skip the banter at this point.

“I can admit that your jacket looks good on my floor,” he takes a step forward, attempting to be as bold as he typically would be with a woman who knows how he is in bed. He’s never had to play off of his own cleanliness though. “I’m willing to make a mess of this house if you take more off.”

Oh, okay.

“Oh, so you can be interesting?” You mock him once again, reaching for the hem of your dress (yes, dress.) and looking at him. “You want to see my clothes on your floor?”

Sunghoon watches you intently, seeing your thighs being exposed more and more as the dress raises. His body is already reacting, becoming more attracted to your witty sense of displeasure toward his entire personality and lifestyle. After all, he’s a computer whizz and you deal with screaming children all day. He wonders why he expected anything less. Little do you know though, he fully intends to have you praising him before the night is up.

“I’d like to see you on my floor,” he answers, reaching for your dress and pulling it up further and above your head. “If I’m being honest, anyway.”

You were trying to go slow with the removal of your dress, mostly to see how he reacts to seeing a woman nearly naked in front of him but damn. You weren’t quite expecting how forward he’s being about it. Here you were expecting to be fucked missionary without any foreplay in a bed with all white sheets, right next to a washer and dryer, socks on, lights off. 

“Oh,” you gasp, slightly out of character in his opinion but his body reacts even more to that. He’s already allowing himself to get aroused so, naturally, his confidence is also bubbling up through each thought and word he decides to say to you. 

“What, you’re shocked?” He laughs, dropping your dress to the floor and scanning your body. “I can admit that I’m a little shocked too.” 

You look at him in confusion, moving your arms over your chest and wondering what the fuck he’s talking about. 

“You wore a matching set for a first date? With a complete stranger?” He mocks you this time, stepping even closer and running his fingers along the hem of your bra. You can feel the warmth from his thumb gently rubbing the skin as he does it and instantly your body tells on you in the form of goosebumps. 

“I’ll have you know,” you’re the one stepping closer this time, “I always wear matching sets, because I like to feel sexy.” 

You’re a liar. You definitely wore them just in case.

He hums, mere inches from your face as he looks down at you. It feels like he’s fucking looming, it feels like he must have his heat set too high or something.

 It gets even worse when his eyes don’t leave yours, but you feel his hand drop from your chest only to hear the familiar sound of a belt being unbuckled. He stares at you while he does it, his hair falling in his face at the movement of what he’s doing waist down. For some reason, that does it for you, and you’re already rubbing your legs together as you stare right back at him. 

“I think that’s bullshit,” he smirks, slipping his belt from the loops of his pants and tossing that to the floor as well, and then he brings his face another inch closer, “and don’t think I can’t tell that you’re turned on.” 

You don’t back down, nor do you admit that he’s absolutely right. You just look at him, watching a strand of his hair fall in front of his eyes that are beginning to darken by the second. 

“I’m not turned on, believe me, it’ll take a lot more than–” You’re cut off by him planting his hand directly between your legs, two fingers pressing your panties slightly into you. 

“Hm?” He encourages you to say that again, but you’ve got your breath caught in your throat at his extreme change in demeanor.

Still, he’s looking directly at your face, watching the way you try to think of a lie. 

“You wanna keep pretending that I’m boring?” He asks, sliding his fingers up and pressing against your clit. 

You shake your head, finally dropping the act and blinking at him with empty thoughts. 

“That’s what I thought,” He ticks his tongue at you, now pulling his fingers away and showing you that even through your panties, his fingers are already soaked. “Now take the rest off.”

You do as he says, watching him step away with his shirt untucked and his pants undone. You note that he grabs a condom, which for some reason reminds you that you’re definitely about to get railed into the next dimension if that bulge behind those pants implies anything. 

Standing there with all of your clothes thrown around his living room, you watch him harder than you already had been. He’s slow when he sets the condom down on the table, and even slower when he walks up to you and places a hand on the top of your head before guiding you to sink down.

“Wha–right here?” You ask, feeling the clean carpet offer relief for your knees rather than the hard wood floors of the room over. 

“I said I wanted to see you on my floor, didn’t I?” He smiles, already admiring how shameful you’d appear to be if your parents saw you naked and on your knees for him. 

You nod, looking up at him. When you reach forward to actually lower his pants though, he steps back and continues to create distance between the two of you as he backs himself up to the wall and lounges against it. 

“Crawl to me,” he instructs, wondering if it’s too much for you but letting out a pleased sound of relief when you instantly do it.

Would you normally let a man tell you to do that? No. Would you ever actually listen to a man who speaks to you like this? Fuck no. You can’t defend your actions when you do it and you also can’t lie that you’re absolutely fucking dripping over it. Like, honestly, he’s going to have to deep clean this fucking carpet by the time you leave this house. 

When you reach him, you can feel the heat in your cheeks at the very idea of him from this angle. You sit on your knees, lifting your hands to his pants and lowering them before he can try to draw the process out even longer. You can hear him let out a short chuckle at the way you try to be quick with it, and you already know he’s about to say some shit.

“I didn’t expect you to be this eager.” He talks down to you with a deep and raspy voice, one that sounds entirely sensual. In terms of what he says though, honestly, you shouldn’t expect much more considering how the two of you practically roasted each other before this very instant. 

You ignore his words, letting his pants drop to the floor and now reaching to pull his briefs down. You were incredibly unprepared for his size as you watched it stand stiff and raging in front of your face. Not a single hint of precum is seen, and it makes you feel kind of pathetic for how wet you’ve already gotten. It almost feels like a challenge now, to make him feel just as desperate as you do now. 

Thankfully, your throat is fairly trained for sucking men until they’re trembling. Hopefully, all those dudes you’ve fucked around with before come in handy and don’t let you down this time around. 

Sunghoon watches you from above, smiling over the way you stare at his length before finally touching it. He keeps his cool though, wondering how just over an hour ago you were ordering the worst food a restaurant has to offer, scoffing at his job, his hobbies, and now look at you. What a sight. 

“Go on,” he encourages you, pressing his hips forward so that the head of his cock hits your cheek, “let me see how messy you are.”

You roll your eyes at him, gripping the base before closing your eyes and breathing in through your nose. The very second you wrap your lips around him, he has both hands on your head, not moving it, not pushing you down or anything, just resting there. You’d think it was sweet if it weren’t for the fact that he pushes his hips forward after four whole seconds.

So, he’s not going to guide your mouth, he’s going to hold it there? Okay, you guess. Thankfully, he’s not being super rough with it like you anticipated. If anything, he’s sliding himself into your mouth much as you’d do on your own. 

He hums out at the feeling of your inner cheeks hugging against his length, pressing in more and more with each thrust of his hips until he finally gets the majority of his length past your lips. He can see you breathe through your nose, but he doesn’t feel resistance at all so he presses his hips in even more, essentially until he’s blocking your airways and your throat is restricted around him in a gag. 

Instead of pulling your head back though, he feels your fingers grip the back of his legs, you’re trying. He holds your head there in place, feeling your throat massage his cock in probably one of the best ways he’s ever felt. 

“Shit,” he seethes out between a bite of his lip, “you’ve done this before?” 

The very thought of you letting your throat be used is enough for him to want to keep doing it, but hearing your response as a half-moaned gag vibrating around his length is a whole other story. 

He releases his hands from behind your head just to see if what he thinks you’re implying with those vibrations of sounds is right, and god is he thrown for a loop. You stay there, and even when he pulls his hips back before fucking into your throat once more, you still stay there.

He’s going to lose his goddamn mind because never has a woman been able to withstand this amount in their throat for this long for him. Enough to actually have him a little worried that you’re essentially suffocating on him. 

Sunghoon snaps his hips back, pulling out of your mouth and leaning down just a bit to grab your chin and guide your eyes up to him. 

“Breathe,” he says, watching the way you smirk at him as if you’ve won some sort of award. He narrows his eyes at you, “You can choke all you want babe, but you’re gonna have to not be this cock drunk if you want to pretend that you’ve got the upper hand.”

That motherfucker. You’re trying to make him show just a hint of desperation for you and he completely flips the tables on you? 

Before you can even argue again, he’s guiding your lips back on him. You decide that it’s not over yet, he can talk down to you all he wants, but you’re going to be the one laughing at him by the end of the night. 

You allow him to place his hands back on your head, and you kind of like the weight of his cock on your tongue if you’re being honest, but god damn does he have a harsh rhythm. His hips snap languidly but he buries himself deep.  Even when you try to look up at him as your nose presses against his pubic bone, he’s looking down at you so casually. Like he feels okay. Just okay. 

This time, when he pulls his hips back, he doesn’t have to hold your head steady. You chase his length even as it tries to slide from your mouth, and you start to move your head back and forth in time with his hips. You finally receive a moan from him when you reach a hand up and cup his balls, massaging them in one hand as your saliva bubbles out from around your lips.

“So fucking messy–” he chokes out in a surprised moan, praising you for somehow making this feel even better than it already did. 

You hum around him again, feeling the weight of his cock pulse against your tongue and you start to taste more of his precum. Shamefully, you’re starting to want this more and more. You want him to call you messy, you want him to bruise your throat. You don’t mind, now that you’ve seen a snippet of what he’s like when he shows his pleasure.

Just a moment goes by when you feel his hands grip your hair, pulling slightly and following the rhythm of your movements, just putting a bit more force behind them until he finally presses you one last time against his pelvic bone, swirling his hips and stretching out your throat impossibly more around him. 

“Just like that, yeah,” his moans echo throughout his empty walls and it causes your eyes to flutter as you try to breathe in through your nose. When you gag, he moans again. “Fuck, you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Then, he releases you and watches with a smirk at the way you pull back in a deep breath before wiping your mouth. 

You’re not sure why, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel proud. Maybe it’s because he’s managed to pull out this weird, needy side of you, or maybe it’s because he looks incredibly good looking at you like this after the two of you spit insults at each other all night. 

“Do you want me to return the favor?” He asks, finally unbuttoning and removing his shirt.

Seeing him now, you stare at his chest and toned arms, wanting to grab onto them and feel him do whatever it is he wants to do to you. He, on the other hand, can’t tell if you’re nodding to his question or looking him up and down slowly. 

“You were so talkative earlier, what happened?” He smiles, stepping forward and falling to his knees himself, nudging your legs open in one go as he presses you back against his floor. “Do you want to fuck my tongue, or no?”

He continues to smile at your silence, eyes trained between your legs as he spreads them and then looks up at your face. “No?” 

You shake your head, leaning back on your elbows to watch him and take a breath in.

“It’s hard to talk when you’re like,” you motions towards him, “that.”

He chuckles, taking it as a compliment before snatching a pillow off of his couch and tapping your thigh to get you to lift up. You do so, allowing him to place the pillow under your ass before he settles himself there.

His eyes stay locked on yours as his fingers start to trail to your core, slipping through your folds with such ease that your embarrassment shows plainly on your face. 

“Messy,” he compliments, lightly tapping against your clit before lowering his head and blowing softly against the glistening heat you offer to him. “Keep your legs spread for me, darling.”

You still watch him, his eyes glaring up from between your spread thighs as he lets his tongue fall from his mouth and lick one long and languid stripe up your slit, stopping just before your clit and pulling back as if he’s tasting. You’re not sure what it is about him but goddamn, he must know he looks good when he’s pleasuring a woman. 

Despite him asking you to keep your legs spread for him, it appears that he doesn’t trust you to do it because he’s still got one hand prying one of your legs apart and his head moving in all sorts of ways as he allows his tongue to lap every part of you besides your clit. Even his other hand, exploring and gently placing pressure against your entrance– the way he’s doing this makes you want to press forward, it makes you want to do exactly as he asked. 

You roll your hips forward, and he instantly attaches his lips to your clit. You stop, and he trails back down and flicks his tongue against your folds in a teasing way. You grind forward, he’s right back on your clit, flicking his muscle the same way and eliciting a whine from you. 

This time though, when you roll your hips back, he takes both hands and presses your legs open as far as he can get them, spreading your pussy out across his lips for him to take full control of. He nips at your clit before licking down, pressing the pointed muscle into you and only then does he release your legs. Now, he’s sliding both hands under your ass and rocking you against his face, angling his head so that he can lick inside to taste your plush and wet walls.

God, you’re gonna lose it. Even if you didn’t want to, you’d think the way he’s moving his mouth is enough to get anyone to take advantage of it. You moan, pressing forward and back against his mouth as your own fingers fall to your clit. You rub when you press forward, feeling his warm and wet saliva drip from your slit and down to your ass, and you rub harder when you pull back, watching his eyes flutter open and still somehow manage to glare at you.

And just as soon as it started, you blink and his face is right there. You would have let out a shocked sound, because jumpscare much? But you moan instead, because he hovers over you with a smirk and an arm between the two of you, his fingers instantly sliding into you as he attaches his lips to yours with little more than a moan of his own. 

“Have you ever tasted yourself?” He asks, licking against your lips and scissoring his fingers open inside of you.

You have, but for some reason it tasted better this time when he prods his tongue against yours. Perhaps it’s because it’s from him, or maybe it’s because you are a little obsessed with the way he navigates sex. 

When he pulls back from your mouth, now losing himself a little bit in the heat of the faces you make when you feel good, he can’t help but give you a moan along with your own. You sound so fucking good when you’re not talking your shit, and god he knew that mouth could do more than be annoying. 

“Open up,” he whispers against your lips, licking your bottom lip as he thrusts his fingers deeper into you, “let me hear you.”

You can’t really help it. When you open your mouth, you’re practically panting for him. His arm is moving harshly as he fucks his fingers into you and causing you to nearly lose balance on your elbows, but he holds you there with his other arm wrapped around your waist, still licking against your lip and smirking when you still can’t say anything. 

“Louder,” He instructs, at least wanting you to moan louder for him if you’re going to act like this when he’s touching you. “Let your momma hear how good it feels, babe, go on.” 

Your eyes shoot open after that, and god, he is the fucking worst. Or maybe not, you can tell he does it on purpose. His fingers curling up inside of you and putting intense pressure against a spot that takes every man ages to find if they manage to even remember it.

“Sunghoon,” you groan, rolling your eyes back while rolling your hips forward, hand shooting to his and holding it there, “can’t you just fuck me already?”

He chuckles, dipping his head down to give a sharp bite against your nipple, his fingers still curling up into that spot. 

“Soak my fingers first.” He says, floored by how good your voice sounds when you want to get fucked. 

He continues to suck and bite against your nipple, and that sends shocks of pleasure straight down to where his fingers meet your g-spot. You could come right now if he’d just–

You roll your hips forward harder, grinding your clit against his wrist and essentially fucking yourself on his fingers now. He moans against your nipple at the movement, biting down harder as he hears you just above him holding your breath. It seems like you like not being able to breath, which is just fucking great for him. Your mom would be so heartbroken, honestly. 

“You think you can ride my cock like this?” He asks, popping your nipple out of his mouth and moving those bites up your neck and to your ear, “Think you can take it?”

You nod with heat rushing through your body, feeling his wrist stiffen up for your pleasure to grind against. 

Fuck, he can feel your cunt gripping his fingers as you work yourself up and it takes everything in him not to pull his fingers from you and absolutely bury himself into the tight heat you’re offering, but he holds back, pulling from your neck and watching the way your brows furrow and your mouth falls slack.

“Yeah, that’s it babe, ride it.” he encourages, hearing your wet slide against his fingers with each movement of your body.

You shake as it washes through you, feeling his fingers remain in their spot against your little bundle of pleasure inside of you. You feel like you can explode from this alone and he practically forces it out of you, pulling his fingers out and immediately rubbing circles on your clit. 

“Let it go for me,” he encourages in a pleasured sigh, watching your body tremble involuntarily as your face contorts to what anyone else would assume is pain. He moves further back and watches your body soak both him and his floor. “Fuck, yes, such a fucking mess.”

Well, that’s never happened before and the fact that you’re still orgasming is also new. You feel so sensitive, releasing in waves that offer little in terms of self control. Your hands shoot to his arm, gripping him so tightly as you try to hear his moans for you, but to be honest, you can’t hear a fucking thing through this wall of arousal in your head. 

Finally, you open your eyes and he’s just looking at you, smirking at the dripping against his legs and the wet spot on the floor. 

“Messy, messy girl.” He says with a chuckle. “Dirtying up my living room like this? Come on, get up.”

This is the first time Sunghoon has ever had a woman squirt for him, and honestly he’s been trying for ages to let someone experience this through him, goddamn was it sexy to see. You look absolutely fucking gone at this moment, and he might be fucking in love with the image. So badly does he want to see those shaking legs try to stand for him, so badly, does he want to see you fucking buckle.

“Come on,” he says again, not giving you enough time to even think about standing before he’s pulling you up on wobbling legs and pressing your toward the couch.

He watches how you wobble over, shuffling your feet with your knees turned inward with each step. He can’t help but lick his lips, seeing how your arousal drips down both of your legs in a shameless show of how much his fingers alone could do for you. 

“Sorry,” You rasp out as you make your way over, brain fogged from the orgasm and unable to feel much at all outside of the pulsing inside of you. “I’ve never–”

“Don’t worry, I like the mess.” He smiles, snatching up the condom and tearing the wrapper open with ease before rolling it down his length, staring at you.

Oh, right, he still hasn’t even fucked you yet. Fuck, he’s good.

He sits himself next to you, pulling an arm around your waist and guiding you on top of him. He doesn’t even think twice at your shaking legs, soothing them as you follow his hand and position yourself against his long neglected cock being held up with his other hand. 

“Gonna keep that promise?” he asks, still smoothing his hands over your legs and looking up at you. “Gonna take my cock better than you did my fingers?” 

You nod, feeling a pulse of electricity inside of you. Willing you to take more, wanting to be stretched further.

Besides, you know that once you’re seated with his length fucking impaling you, you’ll at least have his broad shoulders to hold onto if you need to stay steady.  

And when you sink down, you hear the sound you’ve been trying to pull from him all night. He lets out a soft moan, almost a whimper if you think hard enough about it, and it ignites a brand new fire in you as you take him in inch by inch. Feeling the searing stretch offer a bit of pain despite the sheer amount of wet you have collected between your legs. 

He can feel you clench around him in the attempt to adjust, and your legs shaking only offer even more in terms of pleasure as you envelope him entirely with your heat. He can’t help but moan, almost unable to keep up his dominant persona with a pussy so sweet wrapped around him. God, he loves blind dates, honestly. 

“Mhm,” he hums, rubbing both of his hands now against your thighs as you sit yourself flush against him and wait to adjust to his size, “I definitely like you.”

You fall forward with a small laugh, the irony of the situation a bit too much on top of your mind falling helplessly and embarrassingly fast at how lucky you are to have a mother to set you up with such a man. 

He’s a bit soft at this moment, wrapping both arms around your waist and listening to your breathless laughs against his neck. Loving the way each inhaled chuckle forces your body to squeeze his cock delightfully tight. 

God, You’re pretty, and so fucking annoying. Just his type. 

“I’m still going to fuck you senseless though.” he finally says, feeling your body still at his words as you lift a bit, just to slide back down on him.

“Is that a promise?” You ask weakly, pretending that he didn’t already manage to do it with his hands alone. 

He nods, the softness in his eyes disappearing instantly when he feels the drag of your cunt hug his length. He doesn’t hold back his moaning for you this time though, and he shows no shame in slapping your ass, and guiding you even closer to his chest. 

You stand on your knees a bit on top of him, watching his eyes zone in on your tits in his face. Hopefully, he’s going to keep that promise too.

His hips snap up harshly as his hands grope your ass and spread you apart. He snaps his hips again and again, nearly pulling his entire length out of you each time just to fill you up once again. Stretching you open and loosening you up, the pleasure of it hitting him right in the throat each time with small grunts against your nipple when you bounce at the movement. 

You whimper out, the sounds still echoing throughout his house along with the sounds of your thighs slapping against his. His grunts are deeper, and all of the sounds together sound like a desperate soundtrack of what you’ve always wished sex was like. He fucks you good, despite your legs still shaking, and despite the pain of his teeth biting against your skin now. 

You can’t help it when you fall forward again, hugging around his head as he starts to relentlessly fuck into you at a faster pace, the thrusts going from slow and deep to tight and pointed. His thick cock easily pressing against that same spot his fingers had been teasing earlier. You choke out at the feeling, legs jolting and causing you to sit again out of sensitivity.

He doesn’t falter at your failure to stay in position for him, and instead he gropes your ass harder, swirling your hips around him. You can feel how hard he is inside of you, splitting you open and pulsing at a near constant pace. 

“Ride it,” he instructs, much like he did with his fingers and you follow suit, lifting just slightly and sliding back down again. “Harder,” he demands, pulling his head from your grasp and looking up at you with a wild smirk. 

You look down at him, wondering how pitiful you must look up here. He appears to be loving it though, absolutely in love with the way you struggle to do what you swore you’d be able to. 

Trying again, you begin to bounce on him and he grants you his fingers on your clit for that, moaning at your own choice of rhythm and leaning forward yet again to pop his presumed favorite nipple back into his mouth.

The ministrations of his fingers paired with his mouth sends you spiraling once again into a world of pleasure. The shaking in your legs become more of a driving factor than anything as you ride him better than you’ve ever ridden anyone.

Finally, he’s the one moaning out and trying to string together choked words of praise.

“Your grip is so tight,” he mutters out, kissing up your chest and to your neck, “i can fucking feel you dripping down my legs.” He adds in a moan, losing himself in the way you move your hands through his hair and scratch at the nape of his neck. He wants to ruin you so badly, and he’s already drenched in you. He wants more. 

You knew you’d have him just as desperate as you by the end of the night. Now look at him, muttering out strings of curse words as you do nothing but ride and pet him. He’s melting under you, and you’ll be damned if he comes before you get that second orgasm. 

Shooting your hand to your clit to replace his lazy movements, you work yourself up to your second orgasm and he just watches you, taking in the image of you practically riding him into oblivion until you’re clenching even tighter around him, throwing your head back and shooting your hands to his shoulders as you harshly roll your hips into his. You’re working yourself through it when he starts pumping into you again, short and tight thrusts pushing you through your orgasm until he’s gripping you equally as hard, holding you down on him as he spills out and into the condom in more of a purr than a moan.

You watch him, dazed out of your fucking mind as he bites against his bottom lip and slowly blinks through his orgasm as you. Part of you wishes he just did it raw, wanting so badly for him to make a mess of you like you did to him.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You find yourself with him at your parent’s house just a week later, eating lunch in the chaotic mess of your mother’s kitchen. It’s funny, really, how he’s trying to be polite to her as if he’s not about to take you next door and probably fuck you against an open window just to blow his own cover.

“I told you he was a keeper,” your mother compliments him as she lays a plate of croissants on the table. “Just yesterday he offered to mow our lawn when we head off for vacation this weekend!”

She’s praising him much like you wouldn’t, and you kick him under the table for trying to suck up to her even more now that he’s fucked you several times already. 

“Did he now?” You ask, glaring over at him and then smiling sweetly at your mother. “Guess he is kind of a keeper, maybe.”

His eyes shoot to you and he smiles around his bite of croissant at you. 

“You were right though,” he counters you towards your mother, “she’s definitely a handful.”

Your mother crosses her arms as she leans against the counter, looking between the both of you. 

“How many dates have you been on without telling me?” She asks, looking at you.

“A few…” If she considers it a date to meet up and fuck every other day this week.

“We had lunch a few days ago.” he adds, backing you up. It’s just that the lunch wasn’t exactly like–you know, at a restaurant, and if she knew that cum was on the menu, perhaps you both would be slapped shitless. 

“So, are you guys going to be exclusive, or?”

Sunghoon looks at you curiously, and you look back at him. 

“I dunno, it’s only been a week, Mom.”

She nods, clapping once before pushing off of the counter and leaving the kitchen. 

It’s silent between you and Sunghoon for a few moments before he speaks up.

“I wouldn’t be against it.”

“Against what?” You ask, looking at him with a raised brow. 

“You know, like, dating. I can’t imagine anyone actually putting up with you besides me, anyway.”

You kick him again from under the table, causing him to wince out in pain before glaring at you. You smile in return though, giving him a shrug and now rubbing your foot against the bruise you probably just caused. 

“I find myself agreeing with that statement,” You laugh thinking hard about your next words. “But for some reason, agreeing with you pisses me off more.”

Sunghoon nods, smiling through the pain of the bruise forming on his shin. 

“Good thing I know how to fix that, huh?” He finishes the conversation, fully aware that he knows how to shut you up and make you love it. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[awkward-walking-potato]

so I was thinking for a request. what about reader who seems to have bad luck in dating. she has tried to date but it doesn't go further than one date . but the thing is she's actually in love with her best friend wade wilson. but with everything that happened to him: the cancer, vanessa breaking up with him, and her simply never having the guts to tell him. she decides she will try to get over him so she asks wade for advice in dating so he gives her tips and now she's getting more dates to last longer than one date but now wade has been feeling things romantically for her. you decide what happens next. 💖

Good Luck, Bad Luck, Deadpool

[Y/N] sat on her couch, her phone in hand, staring at the latest message from her latest date. It was polite, cordial even, but the meaning was clear: another date that wasn’t going anywhere. Another one-and-done.

She sighed, tossing her phone onto the cushion beside her. It wasn’t that she was unlucky in dating—okay, maybe she was—but there was something else behind her constant failures. Every time she went out with someone new, she found herself comparing them to her best friend: Wade Wilson.

Wade, who made her laugh until she cried with his off-color jokes and ridiculous antics. Wade, who had a dark, hidden side that he rarely showed but which made her heart ache with understanding. Wade, who she had fallen in love with long ago, but could never bring herself to tell.

Wade, who was a mess of scars, broken dreams, and a heart bigger than anyone realized. After everything that had happened to him—the cancer, the experiments that turned him into Deadpool, and then losing Vanessa—how could she possibly burden him with her feelings? He deserved someone whole, not someone who couldn’t even manage to get past a first date.

Determined to move on, she had finally decided to ask Wade for advice. Maybe, just maybe, if she could figure out what she was doing wrong, she could start dating someone who could help her forget about him.

Wade Wilson was the last person anyone would think to ask for dating advice. But then again, [Y/N] was anything but predictable. When she had shown up at his door a few weeks ago, sheepishly asking for tips on how to improve her dating life, Wade had been more than happy to help. After all, he had been a hit with the ladies back in the day. Sure, he was disfigured and kind of a psychopath now, but he still knew how to charm a date.

At first, he treated it like a game. He gave her the best advice he could: be confident, show interest, and, of course, don’t be afraid to show a little skin. He even helped her pick out outfits for her dates, outfits that made her look so stunning he had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something stupid.

And to his surprise—and maybe a little horror—it worked. Her dates started lasting longer than just one awkward evening. She was getting second, even third dates. But with every new date she went on, Wade felt something stir inside him. Something he hadn’t expected.

Jealousy.

At first, he didn’t recognize it for what it was. Wade wasn’t exactly in touch with his emotions—at least not the softer ones. But the more he thought about her being with someone else, the more it gnawed at him. He’d tried to convince himself it was just because he didn’t want to lose his best friend, but it went deeper than that.

The truth hit him like one of Colossus’s punches. He was falling for her. Hard. He had fallen for his best friend, the one person who had always been there for him, scars and all. The one person who saw past Deadpool and still cared for Wade Wilson.

And now she was trying to move on. Move away from him. And that, he realized, was something he couldn’t let happen.

[Y/N] stood outside Wade’s door, taking a deep breath before knocking. After weeks of going on dates with people who were perfectly nice but just not right, she was back where she started: thinking about Wade. She needed his advice again, and maybe this time, she could finally get some closure and really move on.

When the door swung open, she was greeted by a sight she hadn’t expected. The usually cluttered and chaotic living room had been transformed. Candles flickered softly around the room, casting a warm glow over everything. In the center was a small table set for two, adorned with a simple vase of roses.

“Wade?” she asked, her voice full of confusion and something else—a flutter of hope in her chest.

Wade stood by the table, wearing something that resembled a nice suit, although still accessorized with his favorite katana strapped to his back. He looked at her, and for the first time in a long while, he seemed almost nervous.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You look… really good.”

She blinked, still trying to process what she was seeing. “What is this?”

Wade gestured to the table, his usual bravado faltering slightly. “This… this is me, trying to get my shit together. To ask you… on a date.”

[Y/N] felt her heart skip a beat. “A date?”

“Yeah,” Wade said, taking a step closer. “I know, I know—I’m a walking red flag. I’m about as stable as nitroglycerin, I’ve got more issues than a Marvel crossover event, and let’s face it, I’m not exactly pretty to look at.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.

“But,” he continued, his voice softening, “you make me want to be better. You make me want to be the kind of guy who deserves a chance with you. And I know I probably should have told you this before, but I was scared. Scared you’d laugh, or that I’d screw it up, or that you’d find someone else who was better for you.”

Wade reached out, taking her hands in his. “But the thought of you with someone else? It kills me. I don’t want you to get over me, [Y/N]. I want you to give me a chance to be the guy you deserve. And if you’ll let me, I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

[Y/N] felt tears well up in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. This was Wade—her Wade—baring his soul to her in a way she never imagined. He had always been so strong, so tough, and here he was, laying his heart out for her.

“Wade,” she whispered, stepping closer until they were inches apart. “I’ve been in love with you for so long. I just… I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same way.”

His eyes widened behind his mask, and he let out a soft laugh. “Well, I guess we’re both idiots then.”

She laughed too, the sound breaking through the tension in the air. “I guess we are.”

Wade grinned, and for once, it wasn’t the manic, over-the-top grin he usually wore. It was genuine, full of hope and something that looked a lot like love.

“So, what do you say?” he asked, his voice light but full of meaning. “Will you go out with me? On a real date?”

[Y/N] smiled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’d love to, Wade.”

The kiss was sweet, a promise of something new and wonderful. When they finally pulled away, Wade rested his forehead against hers, a contented sigh escaping him.

“Good,” he murmured, pulling her close. “Because I’ve got a whole night planned, and it’s gonna be awesome.”

[Y/N] laughed, the sound full of joy. “With you, Wade, I have no doubt.”

And as they sat down at the table, the candlelight flickering around them, [Y/N] couldn’t help but feel like her luck had finally turned around. She was exactly where she was meant to be—with the man she had loved all along, who loved her just as much in return.

[sage-green-matcha]

KILL FOR YOU - ETHAN LANDRY 🔪

having a little fun with Ethan after your murder spree <3

MINORS DNI!

Content includes: Smut! P in V sex, blowjob, a bit of overstim! Mentions of blood, murder, gf!Reader, gf!Ethan

A/n: I love writing psychopath reader 💪

<3

<3

<3

It was off-putting, the way you hummed as you cleaned the pool of blood below you. Ethan paced back and forth as you scrubbed, trying to process what you had just done.

"Please stop spreading the blood" He left prints of red as he walked, making you have to clean up an even bigger mess.

"Sorry..." He felt his chest tighten as he listened to your calm words. It's like you had done this thousands of times before. You were so calm, so confident.

"You said you wanted me to help you with this, E" You mumbled, collecting more water into your bloody sponge.

"Do you regret it?" You asked so nicely, looking up at him with your soft, doughy eyes.

"No...I don't know" His eyebrows furrowed and you smiled, going back to cleaning.

"Richie is proud of you, you know that...right?"

To make Richie proud was all he ever wanted. Sure his father was some half-ass cop and he wanted to make him proud too. But to make Richie like him was all he ever wanted. He always looked up to him, and when he saw what he did in Woodsbooroe he knew he had to do the same.

You know, to carry the legacy.

But it wasn't him who killed the group of friends. It was you.

You knew Ethan's plan would let you experience some of your deepest desires.

The rush of killing was like no other. You felt your body get hot with each stab, every splash of blood that hit your face made you excited.

Ethan watched in horror, he thought he would enjoy watching his brother's murderers get killed. But it was the total opposite.

His skin crawled and he cringed each time the blade made contact with skin. He thought about telling you to stop, telling you he wanted to call off the plan. But it had fallen too deep, there was no going back.

"I know" he gulped and you watched as he slipped his shoes off, carefully to make sure you wouldn’t get upset.

He sat on the couch as you finished cleaning, resting his head back while trying to think.

Your eyes watched Ethan carefully, noticing how tense he was. Maybe it was because of the heavy bodies he had just dragged, or he was just stressed about what to do next.

Whatever it was, you knew you could help him.

You sat down on the sparkling wood floor. The one that was just covered in blood. But you didn't make that connection, you were too focused on Ethan.

You traced small circles on his knee, making Ethan look down at you with intimidation in his eyes.

He wasn't sure how to feel. You looked so cute, so innocent. But what you had just done made him question that.

"Talk to me" Your face was squished up against the soft cushion, your finger still moving up and down his leg.

He hesitated as he went to speak, opening his mouth before quickly closing it. "Was this the right thing to do?"

You batted your eyelashes. You were obviously annoyed. He had just had you kill 4 people...for nothing? But you didn't say that you didn't say anything. Instead, you comforted him.

"It was the best option, Ethan. The only option"

"I know, I'm just..." He bit down hard on his lip, scared to admit how he was feeling.

"I'm just confused, I thought if they were dead I would feel better...but I feel the same"

"Let me help you feel better"

The feeling in the room changed. The awkward tension became sexual and it flowed perfectly throughout the quiet room.

He wasn't sure if now was the time for something like this. But yet again, he would never say no to you. You were just trying to help him. And maybe this was just what he needed.

His cheeks were flushed pink as he nodded, giving you the green light.

Usually, you went slow with him. Giving him a handjob till you stuck his cum covered tip in your drooling mouth.

But this time you didn't have patience for any of that, and neither did Ethan.

You sat yourself between his legs, carefully undoing his belt before reaching into his boxers.

Ethan's heart raced, his tummy filled with butterflies as your hand wrapped around his warm cock.

You almost forgot how perfectly he fit in the palm of your hand, slowly pumping his hard shaft.

He shivered as you spit into your hand, a lewd moan falling from his mouth while you watched with amusement.

Precum leaked from his tip, matching the shiny spit on his cock. With every stroke you felt his veins engrave into your hand, memorizing them.

Ethan was so caught up in his own pleasure that he didn't notice you getting closer. When you paused he let out a small whimper, missing your touch.

But he wouldn't complain again, not when your lips were wrapped around him. Your tongue swirled on his tip, kissing and sucking with your entire mouth.

Ethan basically levitated, his hips twitching forward while his eyes were closed tightly.

He pushed himself deeper into your mouth, a small gag coming from your throat.

The sound made him reach for more, thrusting himself into your neck desperately.

"Shit y/n, fuckfuckfuck" Whimpers fell from your lips while tears escaped your eyes. He barely fluttered his eyes open to see you choking on his cock, the sight being one he had imagined hundreds of times before.

He felt a tight feeling in his stomach, his cock twitching in your mouth before you pulled away.

"Why...why'd you stop?" His chest rose up and down with each heavy breath. His eyebrows were furrowed, but his eyes were open just enough to see you unbutton your jeans.

You sat yourself on top of his lap, moving your panties to the side before sliding his length up and down your slit.

You shivered at the feeling, your juices mixing into each other.

Ethan placed his hand on your waist, holding back whimpers and moans while you held onto his cock.

It wasn't like Ethan to get impatient, he was always good for you. But he was desperate, pushing your hips down with a harsh motion.

You let out a small gasp, feeling his veiny cock fill you up. He stretched you out so well, making you hold onto his shoulders.

Before you moved you pushed yourself all the way down, taking every inch of him. You squeezed him tightly, whimpering at the feeling of your hole being fully stretched out.

Gently you rolled your hips, biting your lip to hide any noises. Ethan’s eyes were closed tightly, his mouth wide open while small moans fell from his lips.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room, your head falling onto his shoulder.

You could hear his muffled whines above you, his hands grabbing all over your thighs and ass.

“Shit, Eth. Making me feel so good” You could barely speak as you felt him inside of you, the feeling making you melt. You were never verbal during sex, but Ethan could get used to it.

He trusted his hips forward, his tip making contact with your G spot. Mumbled moans fell from your lips as sweat formed on your forehead.

“Y/n…” A quiet groan fell from his lips, stopped by your teeth digging into his clothed shoulder.

You pushed your hand under his shirt, running it on his toned chest. “Take it off”

You continued to bounce as he slipped it off, Ethan messily throwing it to the side.

Your nails scratched at his chest, your mumbled moans against his skin.

“M close” Ethan's grip got tighter, the pain from your nails shooting straight to his cock. “Cum in me”

All you wanted was to feel Ethan, to hold him close and make him feel better. You needed all of him.

He trembled at your words, his nails digging into your waist. Marks formed in your skin, deep and red but the pain felt so good.

Your face smushed against his chest as his legs started to shake. His cock twitched inside of you, the feeling of hot cum shooting into your pussy.

He tried to breathe but you were desperate for your release, overstimulating Ethan. Your legs began to shake and you melted into him once again, gasps falling messily out of your mouth.

You felt the tie in your stomach snap, legs still shaking as cum dripped out of your hole.

You pulled him into a messy kiss, running your hands through his hair. You weren’t one to express how you felt, but you needed to tell him. It overpowered everything that had just happened and you wanted him to know.

“I love you Eth, I’d kill for you again and again”

[ozzgin]

I was pondering on what horrors to write for Halloween and when I remembered how many times I’d hoped for Valak content…I ran and whipped out my Grimoire and started typing in delirious inspiration.

Yandere! Valak x Reader

Featuring the Infernal President and a blissfully unaware reader backpacking through Romania. Warning: NSFW, blasphemy, non-consent

[Horror Masterlist]

“Mommy told me something

A little kid should know

It’s all about the Devil

And I’ve learned to hate him so

She said he causes trouble

When you let him in the room

He will never ever leave you

If your heart is filled with gloom”

"Now, you can't really say you've visited Romania until you see at least one monastery! Most Romanians are very religious, so churches and monasteries are popular attractions for tourists and locals alike." The tour guide is awfully enthusiastic for a cloudy Sunday morning. You nod politely and follow the group, although you can already feel yourself become distracted.

You're mostly interested in the old castles and bucolic hiking trails that Transylvania has to offer. Religious places...not so much. Alas, it's part of the experience. You check the flyer containing today's travel plans and google the location mentioned by the guide. Cârța Monastery. Seems to have some ruins included, and you'll be right on time for the Sunday chorus service, huh. Maybe that's why they picked today for a visit. 

You hurry along the cobblestone path until the first traces of a building come into view. Somehow you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You scan over the visible windows, wondering if someone is watching from above. Nothing. Once you lower your gaze again, you notice the tour guide vigorously waving his arm and encouraging you to enter the church with everyone else. You were at the very front of the group, so how long did you stare at walls? You flash an apologetic smile and rush inside. The wooden door closes with a grating creak and you fumble to the first available seat. There's a few coughs and shuffles and eventually the Liturgy begins. Your eyes wander until they find a clear window, so you entertain yourself with the sights outside. It's not like you understand the words of whatever is currently happening, and you're not religious to begin with. 

"How long is this going to take?" you groan internally and switch your focus to your hands, intertwined and resting in your lap. The monotonous chants cause your eyelids to feel heavy and they gradually lower themselves until all you see is black. It's okay, you're not sleeping. It's just a short nap, until...huh...the voices of the singing men diffuse as if distorted by distance and now everything is quiet. 

"Took you long enough." 

You jolt awake. You turn your head to check if whoever is sitting next to you has just spoken, but the room is suddenly empty. You jump from your seat and the thud of your feet hitting the stone floor creates a cavernous echo that sends a shiver down your spine. Ah, could it be that you're dreaming? The candles of the chandelier flicker, as if startled by a breeze, and abruptly go out. 

"I don't like waiting. Especially for mere humans like you."

The same voice as before reverberates through the chamber. It's deep and jarring, sounding almost unnatural. You don't like it. You tilt your head, afraid to find the source of speech but too curious nonetheless. It's a person dressed like a nun. For a brief second you relax your shoulders, assuming it's one of the people living here. But after one step ahead the figure becomes vaguely illuminated, and you can discern the features bearing on this creature's face. Blood drains from your face and you can feel the bile pooling at the back of your throat. A blasphemous deformity, oozing with blight and evil. From within the hollow, dark sockets, two yellow orbs glisten with raw malice. You realize you've held your breath until now as your lungs contract in a pitiful attempt to pump more oxygen. The movement brings back your senses and your flight instincts kick in. You immediately sprint for the door and use your elbow to slam it open, nearly collapsing to the ground. Your eyes squint under the flash of bright light. 

As you pant for air you notice you're back outside. There's people taking photos and talking cheerfully, and inside the church your group seems to have gathered before the iconostasis, listening attentively to a hearty discourse from your guide. The liturgy ended. What on Earth did you just witness? Before you can ponder the event, you feel a tug at your sleeve. It's an old lady, short and comically hunched. She's dressed all in black, with a head covering that hides most of her face, though you can still see the deep wrinkles that cross her features. 

"Oh? Sorry, I don't speak-"

"L-am văzut și eu. Diavolul, maică. Aici nu mai e demult casa Domnului. Pleacă cât mai poți, am să mă rog pentru tine." 

Her voice is shaky and she seems in distress. She strokes your arm once before limping away hastily. You blink and spend a moment trying to collect your thoughts. There's no one else nearby to ask for a translation, so you can only hope she finds help somewhere else. You return to the group and hope you won't have to deal with any other adventures. 

"This is the annex. You can still see some details in the arches." Your guide points around the pillars and mossy brick patches. You take out your phone for some photos and your arms tremble slightly. 

"It's suddenly very cold here, don't you think so?" you remark to your neighbor. 

"Really? I'm quite literally sweating right now" they respond, baffled.

"It's a shaded area, that's probably why."

"Or you're just that excited to see me again."

Your eyes widen. It's the voice. You blink, and you find yourself in the empty church once more. No, no, no, this isn't happening. No. You're dreaming. This is an absurdity. Some hallucination of sorts. You try the door handle, except this time it's locked. 

"It's not often I become interested in a mortal. In fact, this is the only time."

The nun is sitting on a bench, hands together in a praying motion. There's a mocking grin on its face. 

"Maddening, truly. Deplorable, disgraceful, outrageous. Humiliation would await me if they suspected my intentions with a perishable being like you."

"Who the hell are you?" you interrupt the erratic monologue. The nun stands up and locks eyes with you, instantly making you nauseous. 

"The Sixty-second Spirit, President Mighty and Great. His Office is to give True Answers of Hidden Treasures, and to tell where Serpents may be seen. The which he will bring unto the Exorciser without any Force or Strength being by him employed. He governeth 38 Legions of Spirits."

"What?"

"Valac." the creature extends a hand, as if expecting a handshake. "At least that's how they introduce me in the Lesser Key of Solomon." The fingers spread out and you feel a gravitational force pull you closer. It chuckles.

The cold fingers sink into your back and feel like claws digging your flesh. You let out a scream of protest and try to push away without success. It hurts. The touch burns your skin and spreads out like a wicked plague. What would this fiend even want from you? You search your mind for potential meanings and explanations. Truth be told, however, you're not well-versed in theological fantasies. 

"You can't just possess someone's body. I won't accept it. You don't have my permission."

The creature erupts in hysterical laughter and you feel your knees weaken at the sharp, grotesque teeth that creep their way out. Everything about it is vile, scandalous. Unholy.

"If you want to call it like that...Then sure. But for this kind of possession I don't need your input, I'm afraid."

Your limp body is picked up and sloppily thrown over the altar table. The impact of the hard surface against your stomach causes you to gasp. You try to turn your head and look behind, but the large, clawed hand locks around your neck and keeps you in place. You can only glance ahead. You can sense your garments being ripped apart with one swift move and shudder at the unexpected contact with the cold air on your bare body. The creature's other hand slides over your forms before stopping on your bottom, adjusting it. The realization sinks in and you begin to panic. Is this the time to say a prayer? You don't know any. 

"Our Father..." you mumble, trying to remember the continuation. 

"Go on. I'm sure He'd love to hear from you while you're being fucked on His altar. Send Him my regards."

He forces your hips upwards, exposing your intimacy. Without any further delay he thrusts his member in, painfully stretching your entrance around it. Tears well up in your eyes at the sudden discomfort. The iconostasis in front of you blurs and sways with each violent plunge into your frail body. 

"Oh, God" you sob.

"God ends here."

[the-arceo-analysis]

Double A, The Arceo Analysis.

wip audio drama by klaus j

The Arceo Analysis is a series in the making (by yours truly!) which will mainly feature a long audio drama... With a twist! The plan is to combine the audio aspects of podcasts with visual aspects of artwork and site design. Eventually, Double A will have it's own website, where listeners can find transcripts, social media links, designs, artwork and more...

Double A follows an arrogant scientist, Klaus Ormr (centre), and his good-looking assistant, Poseidon Delito (to the left!) through Arceo, Velum per the request of Sean Lokachari (front right).

Arceo's Apprentice Detective's Agency (or the AADA for short!) is an up-and-coming agency just a few buildings down from the old one, Bronzeward, which was indefinitely closed due to suspicions of tampering with evidence not even three months ago.

Founded by a man with no interest outside of the title - Markus Porter - Lokachari is left to help six young adults become hardworking detectives. Despite his extensive experience as Bronzeward's lead detective for over 20 years, being left to train six people with no clue what they're doing is a draining task. Having no other choice but to cash in a favour brings in two old friends- who had moved away three years ago after a life-changing accident no one wants to recall.

The Arceo Analysis has everything a podcast fan could want- The Horrors, psychological torment, strange homosexual pining, disability representation- and much more! The main cast consists of 9 characters, all of which are vastly different with completely contrasting backgrounds!

A little about me (the creator) and the origins of Double A under the cut!

Hi again! I'm Klaus. (Yes, the main character is named after me (more or less!)) I'm queer in a couple different directions, and you can refer to me with he/him/his. I just recently turned eighteen and graduated from highschool, which means I've been working on since I was maybe 15? (Note: Didn't pass my maths classes) I have a handful of mental illnesses and a few more that aren't confirmed just yet but highly suspected. At the moment I've got a dislocated shoulder with bone damage! (Skating accident & several falls after the original dislocation) Rather painful but we make do with what we can!

Due to my mental illnesses, Double A has been put off more than a few times. I'm rather severely depressed, making my day-to-day life hard, not to mention my hobbies and work life. Despite this, I've been keeping at it as much as I can, getting progress under my wing consistently enough to update every few days.

I got into The Magnus Archives two-ish years ago and ever since I've had a fascination with horror audio dramas. (Though, I've only got that, The Left Right Game, half an episode of The Silt Verses, and 20 episodes of Malevolent to show for it) I'm also very invested in House M.D., Arcane, and Hannibal NBC!

The Arceo Analysis is a project I've been working on for almost three years! It originated as an idea between myself and an old friend (though many characters had already existed prior to that) that I remade into something new after we ceased contact. I'm incredibly passionate about it and I sincerely hope that it can bring you the comfort and joy it's brought me over the few years I've had the honour of creating it.

I don't take myself very seriously, and I very rarely post large walls of text like this- Most of my tumblr is shitposts and artwork, with the occasional update on script progress!

If you'd like to reach out and ask something, whether about myself or my work, please hit up my ask box! I'm not very comfortable DMing followers.

[s-ephiroth]

a cat can have a little bit of soup, as a treat

Sephgeal Week Day 3 - Soup

Angeal picks up a half frosted cat. Shenanigans ensue.

-

He comes home to a decent pile of snow at his door.

Well… now that's just great.

It sort of makes him miss his hometown a little bit. Just a little. Winters were chilly but not enough that he would need to shovel his way back into the blessed warmth of his home after a rather busy workday. Back then he would joke with his childhood friend that the town would only pretend to be in winter, to give them an excuse to eat hot foods and skip school days when it was too much.

Heh, those were good days, for sure.

His shovel hits something that doesn't feel frosty. Something that lets out a tiny little meow at the offending object.

The hell?

He kneels over, digs fast with his hands to find… the saddest little thing he's ever seen; soggy and trembling, but the color of snow itself otherwise. Or so he presumes. It looks a little dirty and probably malnourished.

Definitely thin and miserable, and even then, it tries to scratch him, to bite at the hands offering sudden warmth and kindness. When its lack of energy proves to be too much for that, it hisses, and— Oh! It's a little guy!

Well, not so little, for it's surely an adult, but his junk is out for the world to see, as he’s picked up. A little man!

Now, Angeal has always been more of a dog person. But what else is he supposed to do in this situation? He wouldn't have the heart to leave a soggy, half frozen cat outside to possibly perish at his doorstep. Even if said cat regards him with a murderous green gaze; truly a creature with the most gorgeous eyes in existence. Truly unfair of nature to give him those, only for the little guy to look at Angeal as if eager to draw blood and go to some war.

The cat’s probably seen some things, alright. Probably experienced some horrors.

Well, maybe a little warmth, a good bath and some food could help! After all, who wouldn't be cranky in that state? Even Angeal himself is somewhat grumpy after work, after having to go out in all that snow.

The cat fights him every single step of the way, feist little thing even in his sorry state.

Once he’s clean, Angeal realizes two things: the cat ironically looks like a snowball and… what is he even supposed to feed the poor thing? It’s not like he keeps cat food lying around for emergencies. And he needs to eat just as well.

He warms up leftover soup for himself, of the pumpkin and meat variety. The cat looks at it as if it’s made of something holy and not just something Angeal put together the night before to keep things from going to absolute waste. Coming from a creature who tried to murder him and the towel after being bathed, that’s quite something.

Can cats eat soup? He finds himself typing on his phone.

Said soup is almost stolen as he’s reading on it.

Angeal barely has enough time to prevent a whole paw from going into his dinner.

-

Humans aren't supposed to be like this, he muses.

In his experience, the regular person would have just called animal control or ignored him, or worse, found a way to send him back to that damned lab somehow. And the people of the lab would do much worse than ignoring him or calling some service to deal with him.

But not… this guy.

(Apparently his name is Angeal?)

This human washes him until he’s clean and smelling like lavender, takes a good look at him and quickly decides, “You look like a snowball. Hm, Snowball… Not a bad name, I would say… But you probably have a home to go back to, right?”

No, no, no, no, no—

“But hey. I guess you can stay if we don't find your owner. I wouldn't mind the company.”

The man shares a bit of soup with him; just the kind he has always heard about but could never try before. The one he thought he would die without ever trying.

“Just this once, ok?” He explains, “We gotta get you proper food.”

Even if just once, it's already enough. Perhaps too much.

Nobody has ever treated him with such kindness before… It's so shocking. So… confusing.

He has to remind himself that this human’s intentions are still to find who “owned” him before he ended up at the doorstep, fully intending to perish to the elements, to escape worse fates. Maybe the Lifestream would have given him a new life, one where he could protect others without worries.

Maybe…

Instead, he eventually finds himself in some sort of blanket nest beside the man’s pillow on the bed, too full of soup to really care about much.

“G’night, Snowball.”

But he doesn't sleep. He watches the human, instead, as if trying to break apart a puzzle. Why so kind? Can I have more soup? Please, the soup is good. Please.

Turns out, Angeal’s unique skill consists of falling asleep as soon as his back meets a good mattress. The cat’s fascinated. How dare he sleep with a foreign creature in his territory? It's really a mysterious behavior.

But still… Snowball… Snowball, it indeed sounds decent; carries with it the irony of almost being frozen to death. He finds that he likes that.

-

Angeal doesn’t find the owner.

Instead, he finds himself getting quite some cat accessories through the weeks and, of course, cat food. Which the little stray seems to greatly dislike.

Maybe giving soup to the cat has been a mistake. Snowball is definitely addicted to his food now, to the point Angeal has to be extra careful not to put in something that would kill the poor thing, just in case the cat successfully steals something from him. Aside from his heart, that is.

If he were to find that there is, indeed, a rightful owner… it would probably break him, at this point.

He’s got too attached.

His coworkers remark on it, on the day the weather gets so bad that he’s forced into working from home. The cat shows up for enough time on the video feed that they ask to see him and oh! His little beans are so pink! So cute! The green of his eyes can’t be made justice with his laptop’s camera.

Snowball makes a home out of his lap and stays there for the remainder of the video call, blissfully asleep and being a spot of warmth.

How is Angeal supposed to move him off without disturbing him?

-

Maybe working during the winter and having to deal with ice everywhere, snow in the parking lot and other complications is starting to mess up his head.

Angeal could’ve sworn the night before that he left dirty dishes to wash in the morning… and now they’re gone. Could he have washed them and forgotten due to sleepiness? No… he’s sure he would remember that. The coffee machine even has fresh coffee by the time he gets to the kitchen. It’s just… weird.

He doesn’t have a roommate; it’s just him and Snowball, who couldn’t possibly have cleaned the kitchen and made him coffee.

He’s just a healthy little kitty. A good boy who likes to be patted behind his ears.

Would someone break in just to care for his well being? That sounded odd, but he’s heard about weirder things happening in the world.

Snowball gets his fill of soup, made just for him, and Angeal leaves for work.

He comes back home to find that his laundry’s been done too.

Well, what the fuck.

-

Maybe… he should get the cat neutered.

He doesn’t tell the cat as much, because even if cats (probably) don’t understand human language, maybe the seriousness of the situation would put him off. Or it’s just that Angeal over worries, thinking that the delicate balance of their pleasant master-cat relationship might be affected somehow.

Snowball went from an aggressive little thing to being practically glued on him at almost all possible times, after all.

It doesn’t prevent the absolute note of betrayal when he makes the mistake of mentioning his thoughts to someone over the phone, though. Shit. The cat spends the following days all tense, almost as if he understands the loss that’s to follow. Barely eats his food, hiding in obscure corners of Angeal’s place, instead.

Absolutely hisses at Angeal when he insists that he should eat.

Reminds him of Genesis, a little. Which is why he calls his friend about it, only to be ironically scolded about discipline, honor, boundaries, etc, etc.

“Gen,” he says, “you know it’s just a cat, right?”

“Yes, but you’re trying to take away his manhood! His balls! He’s not even aggressive, is he? Why would you try to do that?”

“I don’t want him to make a lot of kitties all over the neighborhood. That’s all.”

“Does he even leave the house?”

“No, but—”

“Goddess. And you’re threatening to take away his balls? Holy fuck. I’m very glad for you that I’m a whole continent away at the moment,” he says it so dramatically, emphasizing every word in such an elegant way, that Angeal can’t help but worry. “Because otherwise I would be shaking you by the shoulders right now. His balls, Angeal! How could you do that to a man?”

He’s a cat, Genesis, he wants to correct him, but only sighs instead.

Snowball lets out an angry little meow, as though he understands what can be easily overheard and agrees wholeheartedly with Genesis, despite being (apparently) just a cat.

-

The cat watches him sleep, with dread and a little desperation.

Vaccines are one thing; annoying and of no effect on him anyway, but not as invasive as… the thing Angeal mentioned to someone over the phone.

He didn’t flee the lab only to end up on a medical table all over again. That’s messed up. Why are humans like this, he wonders, while worrying over it; gently running the tip of his fingers over Angeal’s jaw and trying to fool himself, to pretend he’s not in love with the guy.

Gaia, if only he knew, if only… Maybe the kind of thought that threatens one’s virility wouldn’t be there to begin with!

He sighs, ears deflating, considering whether or not to reveal the truth.

The possibility of disgust and rejection makes him avoidant. He’s a freak of nature, after all. Perhaps it would be better to simply stay as Angeal’s housecat, even if the costs are too high. Hah…

He drops his head to Angeal’s chest, curling up a little against him and basking in the warmth without expecting anything; the guy sleeps like a brick, after all. But perhaps trusting too much that Angeal would stay asleep is, instead, his downfall.

A hand finds silver strands of hair and a shape too big to be that of a mere housecat and time freezes for a very long moment.

There are cat ears, but the shape is more… humanoid, heavier. Like a strong man pressed on top of him. Angeal tries not to freak out too much, as a lot starts to make sense, as he feels a little guilty, because in retrospect Genesis was right about something.

That really is a man.

“Well… I gotta double check what I’m putting in my soup, if it’s making cats grow into men.”

“It wasn’t the soup,” the cat-man retorts, “I just… I’m what I am, I suppose.”

Angeal finds that he can’t help but run his fingers through what seems to be long, silver hair. It’s soft… it smells good, probably because he gave said cat a bath, recently.

“And you are?”

“Sephiroth. But I find that… I much prefer to be your Snowball.”

And the Goddess has no mercy on him, because Sno— Sephiroth is pretty hot.

-

Of course, that changes things. A lot.

Having a regular cat is one thing, but having Sephiroth around is… something else, really.

Angeal doesn’t tell anyone he knows, swearing secrecy on the same breath he promises to teach him how to make that one pumpkin soup from the first day they met. It has left an impression, apparently, just like the marks on Angeal’s neck that he hopes he can hide somehow, because otherwise things will be awkward at work.

Sephiroth threatens to bite the other side too, when Angeal points it out. Just for good measure. To make it clear for everyone out there that Angeal has an owner, their roles in this charade being reversed in the most unexpected way possible.

Heh.

He tries to open the door to go to work after kissing the man his goodbyes — and Goddess, how unfair it is that those are the most gorgeous green eyes in existence. Makes it too hard to leave.

There’s a decent pile of snow right outside the door.

Angeal sighs and looks back inside; Sephiroth has taken notice of the situation and giggles away at the irony of it.

Thankfully, it’s just snow this time.

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 68

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: The Alexandrians deal with the fallout after the attack. Someone makes a rash decision. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; teaching youths to use guns; discussions of fear and panic; character hanging above walkers; near-death experience; guilt-tripping

Chapter 68 - Heads Up

Iris stopped during her morning stroll, watching Morgan making use of one of the free spaces of grass in Alexandria. He was going through the motions with his staff, and now that it wasn’t covered in gore and they weren’t in the midst of an attack, Iris could admire the smooth intricacies of the carving and the skill Morgan exhibited in its wielding.

“Good morning.” He called, continuing his practice.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Iris called back, stepping closer. “We’ve never been properly introduced. I’m Iris.” 

“Morgan Jones.” He replied. 

“Did you have a teacher?” Iris asked as he finished, looking almost as if he was praying over the staff before resting it at his side.

“Yes.”

“I did too.” She offered, spinning a knife between her fingers. He nodded.

“It’s not a good story.”

“Mine either.” She replied. He offered a small smile, nodding. 

“You’ve been teaching a couple people in here some self-defence skills.” He stated. Iris nodded.

“Nothing else to do while… waiting.” She replied. “See you around?”

“Sure.” He replied. Iris waved before continuing her trek. She was supposed to meet Rick, Carl and Ron to assist in their gun training. Not that Carl needed any, but it was good that he was there to learn. When she got there, they had already started, standing around one of the tables near the expansion site.

“Start without me?” Iris called.

“You’re late.” Carl replied, hitting his target dead on. She grinned, walking up to where Rick was talking to Ron directly.

“Handguns will be a little better for your first go.” Rick explained. He went through the parts, listing as he pointed them out. “Magazine release, slide release, thumb safety.”

“That stuff’s easy, right Dad?” Carl asked. He and Ron exchanged a sour look.

“Yeah.” Rick replied. “Empty magazine. Empty chamber. See it?”

“Yeah.” Ron nodded. “Someone’s in front of you, they have a gun.”

“You’re gonna be scared. You will be.” Carl assured. Ron seemed a little tired, but no less annoyed.

“Iris?” Rick requested, gesturing in front of him. She took the empty gun, pointing it at him in their fake scenario. “Your body’s gonna tense. You’re just gonna want to pull the trigger when you get it in front of you. But you’ll miss, and you’ll be dead. You’ve gotta get it up to your eye.”

“You’ve gotta be strong enough to wait for your moment.” Carl added.

“Can I, uh…?” Ron asked, accepting the gun from Rick. Rick stood beside him as he got into position.

“Hey, your finger doesn’t touch the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.” Rick chastised. Ron squeezed one eye closed, tilting his head.

“Straighten it up, keep both eyes open.” Iris instructed. “Won’t help you see better and your depth perception will be off.”

“Carry that one with you.” Rick offered as Ron pulled the trigger, the empty click sounding. “Get a feel of what its like to carry one around.”

“Can I shoot it?” Ron asked. “Maybe like down at the walkers?”

“No, with how things are, the walls are strong but we’re lucky the walkers are spread out. We don’t want to pull them all to one spot.”

“What about like, target practice in the centre of town?” Ron proposed. “The sound will spread out in each direction. Or maybe we could use silencers or something like that.” Rick tilted his head, pursing his lips at Ron's eagerness.

“Slow down, sharpshooter.” Iris taunted. “When the walkers are gone we can take people out to practice. For now, we have to wait.”

“Probably don’t want to waste bullets anyways.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just want to learn more.”

“Uh-huh.” Iris nodded, amused. 

“You will.” Carl replied. Ron looked up at him before turning away, going off to do whatever. Iris shook her head.

“I’ll be right back.” Rick stated, jogging off to give Ron a talk about gun safety. Iris turned to Carl.

“Okay, so what’s that about?” She asked.

“What?” He replied.

“You two hate each other, or…”

“I don’t know.” Carl admitted, sitting up on the table. Iris raised an eyebrow in question. “He wasn’t good to Enid. She just liked him because he was… innocent, I guess.”

“Ah, it’s a girl.” Iris nodded in understanding. Carl flushed, shaking his head. “Not just that. I mean, I tried to go after her over the wall, but he stopped me and told my dad. I don’t know if she even made it out.” 

“I know the waiting is the hardest part.” Iris nodded, Carl nodding, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. Of course she knew that. “But you know that was the right thing for him to do, right? She’s a tough kid, and we can’t take risks by trying to save people who don’t want to be saved. Or might not need to be in the first place.” 

“Yeah. I just… it’s frustrating how little he knows.” Carl stated. Iris chuckled.

“Yeah, I get that. But we know why, and all we can do is try to help. Maybe just… leave Ron to your dad and try and help some of the others.” Iris suggested.

“What? Why?” Carl frowned.

“It’s just… no matter your intentions, if he sees you as an ‘enemy’, so to speak,” she air-quoted, “then whatever you say to him is going to sound condescending, like you think you’re better than him, even if you don’t think that.” She hurriedly added as he opened his mouth to protest. He nodded then, in understanding.

“You can’t save people who don’t want to be saved.”

-

Iris was walking through the streets with Rick and Tobin to talk about the expansion area’s reinforcements when they saw something rather unusual. Someone had tied a cable from the guard post across to the roof of the church and was crawling upside-down above the sea of walkers. They had a backpack and weapons, clearly headed somewhere.

“What the hell?” Tobin murmured. Rick burst into a sprint, Iris following quickly after, climbing up the ladder to the guard post. 

“Spencer, what the fuck are you doing?” Iris called, eyes wide. 

“Hey, Spencer, get back here!” Rick yelled. He was grunting with the effort, his weight pulling the cable down. “Get back here now!”

“Rick, the cable’s not going to hold.” Iris said quietly, pointing to the rusted grappling hook just barely hanging on to the edge of the church roof. 

“Spencer, Spencer move!” Tara called. She and Eugene were on another guard post having noticed what was going on. The metal hook groaned, clanging loudly as it changed positions. The hook and cable held, but shook violently, Spencer losing his grip and hanging just by his gloved hands. He grunted in pain, feet dangling just above the clawing hands reaching upward. Any taller and he would have been walker food.

“Go! Keep moving! Hurry!” Rick yelled. The hook gave one last effort before snapping, the cable falling slack and sending Spencer slamming into the wall into the hands of a few walkers.

“Come on!” Iris yelled. Tara fired her gun from her post, keeping some of the walkers off of him, but any more shots and she’d draw every walker in the place to that one spot on the wall. Rick grabbed the cable and started pulling, crying out in pain as it rubbed against his bare hands. He braced it a little, allowing Spencer to climb a bit further from the other side. He lost his grip a little, almost going over the side to join him.

Iris grabbed Rick’s shoulders, hauling him backward as Tobin climbed up to help them. The three of them pulled Spencer out of the walkers’ grip, back safely over the other side of the wall. Tara, hanging over the side of the wall, needed Michonne’s help to get back over, panting as she braced her hands on her knees.

“Tara! You almost died once for these people!” Rick yelled.

“What?” She yelled back, incredulous.

“What the hell were you doing?” Rick asked. Tara simply answered by flipping him off. Iris gave her a thumbs up behind Rick’s back.

“Lost a shoe.” Spencer gasped. “Damn it.” Rick exhaled sharply through his nose, towering over Spencer, who laid panting on the post floor. “What was that?”

“I was trying to help.” He explained. “I wanted to get to a car, draw them away.”

“You ever make a climb like that before?” Rick asked. Spencer didn’t reply, looking down sheepishly. “You want to help? Don’t make us come running to save you. You got an idea, you come to me.”

“Would you have listened to me?” Spencer asked. Rick didn’t say anything, his silence speaking for itself. Iris huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “Are you okay?” She asked. Spencer nodded, shooting her a small smile in thanks. “Don't look at me like that. That was stupid. If you’re gonna do something stupid, you should be smarter about it.”

-

 “Hey, Iris, can you help me find Denise?” Tara asked, walking over to where Iris was ‘supervising’ Rick and Tobin’s work on the wall supports. 

“Sure.” Iris agreed, brushing off her jeans and following after her. Rick murmured something to Tobin, jogging after them.

“Hey.” He called. “I’m sorry about before. I was just—“

“He was stupid. That, we know.” Tara stated.

“I just meant what you did for him, you didn’t have to.” Rick explained. 

“I know.” Tara replied.

“You could have died.” 

“I mean, I’d like to say I was thinking about it, but I wasn’t.”

“Is that why you did it? You weren't thinking about it?” Rick asked.

“No, that’s how it works with us. We’re stuck with each other, right?” Tara replied.

“You know, you don’t have to psychoanalyze someone every time they do something selfless.” Iris grumbled. Rick gave her a look and she shrugged. 

“Rick, Iris, you saved my son.” Deanna called, jogging toward them. “Thank you.”

“You should thank Tara.” Iris replied, smiling.

“I already did.” Deanna replied, offering her a smile. Tara smiled back, patting her shoulder before continuing on her search.

“Do you want me to come—“

“I got it!” Tara called to Iris, waving as she walked backward. Iris waved back, shaking her head.

“Now I need to thank you two.” Deanna said, looking to the both of them. 

“What Spencer did was stupid.” Rick stated.

“I can’t argue that.” Deanna agreed. “At least he tried.”

“That’s not the point.” Rick replied. “I could have tried. There was a chance.”

“How’s that?”

“When the walkers were going for him, it made a gap. I could have jumped down, ran, made it out. I could have got in a car, used it to lead the walkers away. I could have done that and Spencer would be dead.” Rick explained. Iris scowled at him, shaking her head.

“But you didn’t do that.” Deanna replied. “Why?”

“I helped save him because he’s your son.”

“Wrong answer.” She shook her head, looking to Iris. “And you? Why didn’t you run?”

“Because I wouldn’t.” Iris replied simply. Deanna smiled softly, nodding. 

Their conversation was interrupted by a sight in the distance, and they all turned to look. Out past the wall, from a cropping of trees, a bundle of green balloons, the same ones they’d used to set up along the herding road, floated up into the sky, disappearing into the clouds. 

Without hesitation, Maggie scrambled down from her post, running down the street toward them.

“That’s Glenn!" She called. “It’s Glenn!” Iris smiled, nodding. He was safe, he was alive. Their happy reactions, the small sliver of relief was short lived, however.

A thundering creak sounded throughout the community, bringing everyone’s attention from the balloons to the bell tower. It was where Spencer had always kept lookout before the semi truck bashed through the base, cutting off the stairs. The Wolves’ attack left it in a ruin of sorts, and now, the large crack along the side was growing. 

Iris thought for a moment that her head was spinning, or she was falling, or she was tilting her head. It was nauseating, the sight of the tower moving. It tipped toward the wall.

No one saw it hit the ground, they only heard the booming crash echo through the community, the forest, everywhere. Everyone had turned away, starting to run. They all knew what it meant, the tower bringing down the wall. The swarming moans on the other side rose up in reply.

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[thehistoriangirl]

The Bridge We Can't Cross Over

Hiiii, this fic and its heartwrenching plot was requested by donor Caroline from @itsjustcaroline <3 I loved this idea sososos much that I'm truly lucky to have worked on it. Thank you very much for your donation in the event organized by @arcanefans4gaza and I hope you like it 🥹🥹🥹

Jayce x Viktor---2.3K---SFW*

The link for an AO3 experience is H E R E !

Summary: It's time for the both scientists to confess their secrets and the mistakes that led them on, hoping not only to find solace in each other, but also a solution. Before it'll be too late to amend anything at all.

Tags: Angst* | Hurt/Comfort | Based on that scene by the dam in Episode 9 | Implied Suicidal Thoughts *(Viktor) | Mentioned Character Deaths* (Sky and Renni's son) | Confessions | Guilt | Implied Relationship | Promises | Hopeful Ending (?)

Albeit the day was bright, Viktor didn’t feel the warmth of the sun.  

Ever since last night, when the horrors of his decisions taken up to this point had left him numb and pointless—with the rest of his hopes shattered into guilt, with his life purpose gone.  

What worth would be to survive when so many ghosts would cling to his every second of existence, reminding him that his dreams were just that; fleeting things that would only survive inside the mind of a child.  

And such innocence had gone so long ago.  

The ashes flown with the gentle breeze, running down the dam. Brown water with grey, particles sinking before Viktor could even think of something to say. Sorry wouldn’t cut it, and everything else was too complicated for his troubled mind to even start arranging his thoughts.  

No apology or regret could be enough—he hated to think that he’d become a flicking image of Singed, the one who loathed so much for his unethical view of life in the name of progress.  

In the name of selfishness, even, Viktor thought, pondering about the first time he visited the dam, accompanied by a mentor that could never understood his struggle. A twisted kind of pride that would bestow him with the category of a private hero. To bless his life with purpose so his existence could be passed on, not in any grandeur like Jayce’s, but just like the blatant proof of his capacity.  

Jayce. The name felt like a punch to the gut. What would he say once the truth got unveiled?  

And after their disagreement about the ultimate purpose of Hextech; what a fool he was to lean against war and end up staining his hands with innocent blood anyway.  

What a twisted life this was.  

To think he could’ve had what he wished for all his life, right in front of him, all the time. And now… now all left was the empty, rusty metal box where he unceremoniously kept Sky’s ashes.  

He wanted to throw up, yet his stomach was empty, throat raw from crying all night until everything he had inside his chest burned into a plain coal. Small and churned.  

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, weak fingers letting go of the lid as another blown of wind passed by. Grey ashes mixing with the continuous flow of water, black and grey and brown. They quickly sunk, and Viktor felt like sinking with them.  

After the euphoria of last night, and the appalling wave of reality crashing down right after, Viktor’s bones ached. But in a different kind of pain; not just worn-out use and taut muscles. It was within, in the mere marrow of his bones, every cell composing his being.  

It was his punishment, and yet he knew it wouldn’t be enough to compare to what it reverberate through his mind—years and years of comments, of mentalities, proven truth. 

The tip of his feet found the void below the edge, and even if his crutch was supporting his weight, he knew it would be so easy to let go.  

Picturing it perfectly; the clunk of the metal hitting rock, though maybe he wouldn’t hear it above the gurgle of water. The freezing liquid enveloping him, letting him sink like Sky’s ashes.  

“Am I interrupting?”  

If it weren’t for the crutch centering him on the ground, Jayce’s voice would’ve teetered him off the edge by mere impression. What was he doing here?  

He was so bad at lying, too. Pushing Sky’s diary in the depths of his ill-fitting vest, as if the bright teal blue could be concealed with his brown clothes.  

Though it seemed Jayce had battles of his own to care too much about his strange behavior. With new cuts adoring his face, the skin still tender and red. And the functional Hammer in all it’s glory falling with a loud clank on the ground.  

He didn’t even notice when he completed it—or where, even.  

It seemed both had their secrets. 

His eyes were tired and red, mouth upturned. They were almost a reflection of each other, and it would’ve been funny for the stark contrast if it weren’t for the bleak circumstances.  

“Remember the Distinguished Innovators’ Competition?” Jayce said, sitting at the opposite side of the dam’s aperture. 

Ah, the old times—it was so easy to get lost into them. Once they were naive enough to think their perfect world laid in the palms of their hands. Just like the day when they cracked Hextech, that time when the rules didn’t matter. Yet, how that had ended now? 

He couldn’t help but smile, nostalgia filling every cell of his body. 

“I remember you notching gears in the carriage over.” His voice had the faintest air of a chuckle he was too exhausted to emit. 

“They started cracking the engine and the whole thing was rattling,” Jayce continued, hazel eyes looking almost golden against the sunlight. “I thought a loose cog was gonna take someone’s eye out.” 

Viktor remember it quite well too; with people crowding them, the newest geniuses the City of Progress had produced. They were too close, and Jayce’s rich brown skin had looked yellowish and pale, his small napkin fiddled between his hands as he had even forgotten to keep patting the sweat off his forehead.  

“At least you didn’t throw up,” he couldn’t stop himself but tease him. Old habits hardly died, and now to stick to remembering the best, just as the way Jayce’s presence warmed him from the inside out. 

It was the first time he saw the Golden Boy lose his footing, leaving Viktor to lead the presentation. And it didn’t matter the gazes full of disdain, because they were paving the way to reach their juvenile dreams. The future had been brilliant, practically laid in the palm of their hands.  

Jayce scoffed, the memory slipping through his fingers.  

“Everything made sense then.” He stole the words out his mind.  

Viktor felt his legs giving up, the edge of the rock from the edge of the dam cold and humid under him, his limbs dangling in the air.  

He knew what he should do; the mere thought making him feel dizzy, his heart hammering inside his chest. The words we talked with Singed echoed inside his mind like a mocking chant. 

Jayce will understand, he told him. But would he? 

His lips were dry once he opened his mouth to speak.  

“Jay--” 

“I was wrong, Vik,” Jayce interrupted him, his voice hurried, almost fearing that if he didn’t say it right away, whatever truth about to be spilled would never come out.  

He looked at him, patient.  

“War isn’t the option,” Jayce sighed. “It can’t be.” 

“What happened?” The scientist was about to pass his hands through his face, wincing once he touched one of the cuts through his cheeks. “Is it about the hammer?” Viktor tried to guess, easing into the topic that it couldn’t be as smooth to confess. Truth was never. 

Jayce leaned his elbows against his thighs, rotating his body toward him. “I thought it was best to uproot the sickness from the origin. So I... I had the stupid idea of destroying the factories of Shimmer. To snatch Silco’s power right in front of his eyes. But...” 

I can’t do it, stayed floating in the tense air between them.  

“I realized that it’s easier to destroy than to help. To kill than to save.” Jayce opened his palms, observing the rough edges, the red spots that would develop in calluses from how hard he’d been grabbing the hammer, both before and after the raid. “They use children, Vik. Did you know? I didn’t, and at first I didn’t... I couldn’t notice them—because I didn’t wish to; I thought that everyone there were bad and corrupted. And then they... they sent those... monsters, with their full-on armors and flashing pink blades.” 

Jayce chuckled, such a bitter sound. “I got caught in the heat of the moment. And now I have so much blood in my hands I don’t think it will ever justify itself. I don’t think I’ll be able to wash it off my mind. I don’t want to.” 

He intertwined his hands, the sunlight showing the glimmering tears trapped inside his gaze. “Ever since that mage saved my mother and me from the blizzard, I wanted to be like him. To be a hero, like the ones you read about in books, with my cape and my suit. You know, a child’s impossible dream. I wanted to save people like the mage saved us. The same way he did, with... magic.” He observed the Hammer, now laying unceremoniously on the ground, looking dull and big and... wrong. “And when I felt like war was breaking in, I wished to stop its advances, to take the upper hand. Yet I just made everything wrong.” 

His shoulders sagged. “The boy wouldn’t be older than when the mage saved us, and yet his first sight of Hextech was his last,” Jayce muttered, wishing his voice to never reach Viktor. Because he would think of him as a monster, and he was. So many nights imagining if only he’d meet Viktor earlier, during their stay at the Academy, or even before, how many great things they would’ve achieved, how many moments would’ve been built before a clock suspended itself over their heads. “I killed him, Viktor. And I should say it was a mistake, that I didn’t notice it. But I don’t wish to excuse myself. I’m no better than the person behind all this; and if I’m no different, then how am I supposed to create a plan to protect Piltover?” 

Duty weights heavy, and Jayce hadn’t wish to take on the opulent cloak in the first place. Yes, he loved the way the city had put their hopes of a brighter future to be on Viktor and him, but he’d never wanted power. Jayce had been foolish enough to believe he could get his freedom without cost, ignoring that only those on top could achieve it when they didn’t have anyone else to explain their reasoning to.  

Power and wealth bought freedom, and he had noticed too late to stop. 

“Jayce,” Viktor said, his voice broken. “Do you think our younger selves would hate us if they could see us now?” 

His hazel eyes closed during a long, painful sigh. “Would they have preferred to turn their backs to this research?” 

Yes. Viktor felt the truth burning his chest like red irons. He would’ve returned to be a simple assistant, to try fight death in another way. Or not at all, even. Viktor wasn’t sure about that. 

“Sky is gone.” I killed her, got stuck in his throat. “I... I deserve to be banished, Jayce. I’ve done so many wrong things that I-I don’t know how to keep on going.” 

The secrets spilled out in a constant stream, accompanied by the flowing water of the dam. Viktor’s voice almost drowned out by the noise. “I lied to you when I went to the Undercity.” He grabbed ahold of his crutch, so forcefully his knuckles tinted white. “My... acquaintance gave me a solution. An experiment. But I couldn’t calculate the risks properly, and... and I... I—” 

Viktor took the soft edge of Sky’s journal, the teal-colored leather soft and warm under his fingers, such a stark contrast to the hard edges of the metal box, of the dusty nature of ashes. Her ashes. He showed the notebook to Jayce, whose frown eased once he recognized the handwriting.  

“You have to destroy it,” Viktor blurted out, closing his eyes as he remembered the lightning of red, hot pain travelling through his leg all the way up his head, the Hexcore looming with its purplish, corrupted light over his collapsed form. Horrible, disembodied moans and screams flooding the quiet room. 

Jayce looked from him toward the Hammer, the gears of his mind working overtime.  

“The Hexcore,” Viktor explained. It wasn’t Hextech anymore, not since it had tasted organic matter.  

“But Vik, I... I can’t do it.” 

“It has been corrupted, Jayce. You need to destroy it, because I can’t.” Viktor looked at the dirty stream of brown water running toward the Undercity, thinking hopelessly about how many kids would end up like him from that same liquid. “I mixed it with my blood and with Shimmer, and now it... it killed Sky—it helped me kill Sky so I could...” He could what? Heal? His right leg was barely mobile anymore, the feeling of his legs sprinting along the dock just a dream at this point. His once muscles and bones had fused into metal and purple threads. “You have to destroy it. Please.” 

“And what about your disease, without the Hexcore--” 

Viktor’s dry cough interrupted him, the scientist’s mind already understanding the consequences of such petition. If he had asked such a thing, it meant that there was nothing else to try.  

It meant he was giving up, and that terrified him. Viktor, the man that saved his life, his friend and partner. The only one who could understand him. He was going to die.  

“We’ll find a way,” Jayce said. “To amend ourselves, to save you. I promise you, Viktor.” He reached for him, patting his sharp shoulder. “We can make the impossible possible, you know that, right?” 

They had cracked Hextech, controlling magic and changing the course of the whole city—they could save themselves, too. Together, they could do whatever they wanted. 

Viktor nodded, his head still low yet with the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Promise me, Jayce,” he insisted, golden eyes glued onto his.  

“Okay, okay,” Jayce gave up, a heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he stood up next to Viktor. “I promise.” 

They stood there in silence for a while, with Viktor leaning against Jayce and soothed by his steady heartbeat, both hoping that this promise wasn't mean to be broken like the myriads of them laid across history. 

[piracytheorist]

Spy x Family Episode 27 thoughts!

We start with something very relatable

I love how the family just lets Bond lie on the couch. He takes up the entire space with how massive he is, and yet they allow him that. I love it.

I pretty much immediately read the respective manga chapter of this after I was done, and I've gotta say, before that I was very confused with what Bond was imagining. I don't think that the anime showed clearly what was going on.

Instead, I actually understood it when I read the manga, which made it pretty clear that he was confused by seeing only black in his vision, and then was trying to come up with ideas why this would happen.

Even as I rewatch the episode, I still think it wasn't made clear in the anime.

I love, however, how Bond could imagine that, for whatever reason, Yor would blindfold him in order to surprise him with something. And the way she would lead him there is adorable XD

A lot of adorableness in this episode in general, but then you hit right in the drama.

Like any research facility escapee, Bond fears he'll be found by the people who experimented on him and will be immediately executed. But...

THIS REALLY HAD NO BUSINESS BEING THIS FUNNY. Bond was right there getting traumatized and fearing for his life and I was actually laughing my ass off. The little butt-naked angels! Bond having a halo over his head! The drama of it all! I love it XD

Then I nearly damn cried when he went to look at the family pictures and THE FAMILY THEME PLAYED. MA BOI JUST WANTS A FAMILY 😭😭

I also love how he imagined Loid saying he lived happily. Bond has indeed found a place that makes him feel loved and safe and happy, and he knows that the family knows that. And the way he imagined Loid tearing up for him and understanding what a positive influence this family was on him is very important; Bond's mind may be simple than his human family's, but maybe exactly because of that he sees past the façades and the lies, and into his humans' souls.

And then he just resorts to the fact that he will die, and wants to go say goodbye 😢

I just realized that Bond understands Anya can read his mind! And only Anya. I don't know why it took me so long. Perhaps I had understood it but it never registered, lol

Gremlin Anya my beloved <3

Unless it was a new moon that day, it's amazing how focused Anya was on studying. Here was Bond with a face that practically said "Do the cool thing and read my mind!" and Anya was like "Nope. Homework." I immediately imagined it was a new moon day and she actually couldn't read his mind, but it may be a safe assumption that she's learning to control her power? Idk.

But then Bond sees that Yor will make an absolute horror of a dinner for him.

How is she so out of it that she doesn't realize the monstrosities she's creating. I love her.

I'm still trying to piece things together, though. There's a clear difference in visual between reality, vision, and Bond's imagination.

Bond thinks that he'll die by eating Yor's food; it's not a certain future.

This doesn't explain the black in Bond's vision, though. It could be a red herring, idk.

In any case, he takes Anya's words from their first days together very seriously, so he doesn't even attempt to say no to Yor's food.

And though we know Yor is way too sweet to even shout or give a stern look to someone because they disobeyed or made a mess, it also makes sense for Bond to immediately consider his mistake will be met with violence. He spent a significant amount of time of his adult dog life in the research lab, where the scientists abused him, hurt him and belittled him. Having trouble trusting a new environment is typical abuse victim behaviour. So even though he feels loved and protected there, his trauma can still rear its ugly head whenever disobedience is involved.

And so Bond finds the solution. Help Loid come home earlier from work so that he can cook food for him!

For all his intelligence, Bond's perception of "humans working" is still stuck on the times of when humans first domesticated dogs. He's like "human put spiky rock on wood and then hunt". How does one explain red tape and politics to a dog, either way XD

This screenshot has everything. Wild savanna background. Loid hunting with a prehistoric spear, all in his fancy suit and WISE pin getup. Heteronormative pigs. Comic sans font. 10/10

Bond runs out of the house and I immediately wondered why Yor didn't immediately run after him, before I remembered that she couldn't leave Anya home alone.

And thus, Bond's adventure in Berlint begins!

The hot dog vendor called Bond a stray and I'm like wow, stray dogs in Berlint must be in excellent shape if people see a dog with a massive white fur that's clean and smooth and don't immediately assume he lives in a house with two clean freaks.

Once again, the art style here is clearly showing that this is in Bond's imagination, which is more influenced by his traumatic experience in the lab than his actual experience with the Forgers. I almost felt it was unfair how Yor was portrayed in his imagination!

I felt so sad for him in the bridge! Boy just wanted some food that wouldn't kill him 🥺 and then I laughed my ass off.

What an absolute unit this dog is!

His adventures continue until he finally catches a whiff of Loid's scent and he's off to help his human!

And we have a truth serum in the world! That could be an awesome opportunity of a Chekhov's Gun! While in general the spy things happening seem to be rooted in the real world, Endo also takes the James Bond route sometimes and I would really like to see if that stuff actually has an impact in the story later on.

(As usual, I'm anime only, so don't spoil me for later developments in the manga!)

Bond finds his human, relieved he'll be given safe food tonight!

Bond starts leading Twilight down a clear path and I'm very, VERY interested by how Twilight reaches the conclusion that Bond wants revenge on the scientists who abused him.

And if you ask me, in the manga his expression looks even more sympathetic. Look at that worried brow there.

At least the anime didn't rob us of blushing Twilight this time *grumble grumble*

Bond doesn't understand one bit of what Twilight is saying, though. He just wants food.

It's classic Forger family misunderstanding and jumping to conclusions, but I feel it says a TON about Twilight's character, not only that he considered Bond would want revenge for how he (and the other dogs!) was abused, but also that he honoured that supposed wish of Bond and didn't try to change his mind. I mean, it also helped him in his mission, but this time "For the MissionTM" wasn't in his mind at all, at least regarding Bond.

I think it's the first time that this happens? That he brushes his "for the mission" aside and focuses on what his family wants - at least, consciously. He's been doing that from day one but I think this is the first time that he does it knowingly. It also helps that he knows Bond would never be able to report him as a spy so he doesn't mind being a little more open with him. Wow. It's amazing in how many ways this family gives this man opportunity to reach back into his emotions and self.

Anyway, yeah. I think it says a lot about how sympathetic Twilight is, how much he values justice and feelings of vindication, and also how he believes that Bond wanted revenge not only for himself, but for his fellow dogs too. And of course, how he then helped him get his supposed "revenge".

I mean, it's one of the few logical conclusions he can make with his limited intel at that moment, but still I find it interesting and very telling that this is the conclusion he settled on.

Again, Bond doesn't understand a word but he settles on a positive borf since that will make Twilight finally move his ass so he can finish early and come back home and cook for him.

BOI HUNGY

Twilight behind him like "But what about your revenge?!!"

Another small difference between manga and anime, as in the manga Twilight looks actually distressed about getting home late. In the anime he's just... "eh".

Like, make up your mind guys. Is he more emotional in the anime or no?

I'm using my Sundays in a very productive manner, you see, dunking on overworked and underpayed animators.

Bond has his vision of the staff coming back and Twilight saying he'll be late, and we see angry Yor in, once again, the "imagination" style.

This is not the real Yor. This is the Yor traumatized Bond makes up.

Maybe, in a way, he doesn't understand that Yor's horrible cooking is 100% unintentional. When we see his flashbacks in episode 15, the people there threw some horrible-looking mush at him to eat and told him to be thankful for it, too. So he probably correlates food of bad quality with bad intentions, so it could be a reason why he imagines Yor being so cruel to him.

This. Was. Hilarious. I don't know if it's Anya's influence on him, but it was amazing to see him do something that a hardened spy like him would consider childish and yet be so effective in what he wanted to do 😂 Also, boy doesn't even try to hide? T. as in Twilight/Tasogare? How is this man a spy I swear to god

Action! Bond beating the shit out of the bad guys! Loved it!

Despite the very serious implications of a truth serum being developed and used, we don't get to see Twilight's thoughts about it. Truth serums, if effective, could be detrimental for people like him, especially when fallen into the wrong hands. Of course, simply destroying their samples wouldn't do, as they could simply make more, so he doesn't bother with more than just one vial needed for WISE's analysts. I wonder if we'll get to see more of that in the future.

Bond's vision clears, and he gets to see the real way Yor would react.

This warmed my heart no joke 🥺

Anya looks very curious in the background, and I wonder if that's her face as she reads into Bond's mind, or if she's curious exactly because it's a new moon and she can't read his mind and is trying to imagine what could have happened. I need to know!!

(I don't. Don't spoil me if it's revealed - though I doubt there's that much more to be revealed about this chapter XD)

This man really invested in Bond's revenge huh. He just made it up in his mind and then went like "He got his revenge! I'm so happy for him!" Whatever floats your boat, dude.

Speaking of floating boats...

I don't have that much to say about the second part of the episode, other than a couple parts here and there.

I'm still not even close to liking Damian but I cannot imagine the kind of emotional abuse this six-year-old must have gone through to hear "do not shame your family" and take it as fucking praise, my GOD. I don't like the kid and I'd be a lousy parent but even I would treat him better than that.

As I've said before, there's a lot of personal trauma that rises to the surface whenever Damian is involved - especially after seeing how some fans tend to completely dismiss how much of a bully he is - and I was actually dreading this part, but it managed to hit some good spots. His friendship with Ewen and Emile still needs work, but the way they purposefully threw away their free day and angered Henderson - who by the way, got their intentions from the first moment and was like are you serious - all because they didn't want Damian to be alone was really heartwarming. If they caught Henderson in a bad day they could easily risk a Tonitrus, and I think that's something Damian will have to appreciate at some point. Maybe not immediately, but he'll get there. What this boy needs is not to be tapped in the back and told "Your trauma justifies bullying the girl you have special feelings for", but to be told he's valued as a person and not for how much he fulfills his father's expectations.

Mr. Green is a SUPER interesting guy!! He's funny and down to earth and sympathetic and he gave this parched anime-only some political commentary finally MY GOD

DEFECTING TO THE WEST YOU SAY

The fact that defecting has taken a code name speaks to how much of a common yet covert practice it is. The boys immediately fear that they will be sold off to Westalis, same way George Glooman feared that when he thought his dad's company had gone bankrupt. Then they ask why someone would even leave Ostania and Mr. Green is like "Well we have a beautiful night sky!" I don't know if he was being sarcastic, but I absolutely love how we got that insight into how deep nationalistic propaganda runs in Ostania, especially from the point of view of three innocent, very privileged but also sheltered kids.

"Why would someone flee" well for starters there's this thing called surveillance--

The lake was indeed beautiful!

So beautiful it even touched Damian and not only had him break through his very disciplined upraising and he admitted he is enjoying the sight, he also laughed like the kid he is. I gotta admit this touched me.

Look, as I said, I have a lot of personal feelings and traumatic experience that influence the way I see Damian. I don't hate him and I want him to be better... I just feel really uncomfortable whenever people try to act like his bullying isn't that bad, or is justified, or even isn't bullying at all. And no matter my efforts, seeing fans talk about Damian like that has influenced me negatively to the point where I have to consciously try to not hate him. I understand that all of those fans have read the manga and those developments I see now are years-old news to them by now, but I still feel there's a very big space between what I see and what that part of the fandom sees. I don't need to see an episode where Damian relaxes and gets a little in touch with the kid he still is to understand he deserves better. But I also don't think him doing that undoes the emotional damage he inflicts upon Anya. He can be a bully, and he can be a victim, both at the same time. I'm just saying... if you're someone who will jump to his support whenever you hear takes like mine... maybe take a moment to think if you're putting your feelings over a fictional character over the feelings of a real person who is still carrying scars from having been bullied as a kid.

Yeah, that got a little personal, I'm sorry. But I'm not here to make objective analysis and I'm probably the only anime-only here talking about the story in such depth. I just wanted to make my stance clear, that's all.

[alliskit]

The Grand Design.

On AO3.

CH. 2: Horror Movies Aren't Scary When You're Living In A Nightmare.

- Gale really does try; thank you Gale for always trying - Alligators - Everyone loves a cowboy shootout - Nobody loves a weak link (with a kid in tow)

I was a pool of liquid, weeping, as I stared up at Sylas' precious worried face, smoke rising behind him. We were still on the staircase surrounded by a devastated Nautiloid. Everything was broken apart and on fire. But we were alive.

He was alive.

A bruise painted his cheekbone, probably from when we hit the stairs or during the actual crash that caused me to pass out. But, he seemed fine otherwise. 

"How did..." my voice came out clogged and scratchy.

"The alien guy put us in a purple bubble and protected us," he finished.

"Is the alien guy..." 

Sylas shook his head. His eyes went distant, probably remembering something horrific I had been unconscious for. I sat up and pulled him to my chest, "We're alive, that's what matters."

I felt him nod in agreement, even if it seemed like hollow acceptance. Looking around, it was pure carnage. Bodies of a few aliens and several, what looked like humans, were strewn about. We needed to get out and see if we could find some help. "Come on, love, let's get out of here."

We stood up, making a move to climb down the remaining stairs. "And go home?" he asked.

Considering I hadn't heard an update on our location since the alien mentioned Toril, the chance of going home was a long shot, but that wasn't something I wanted to tell my six-year old who was on the verge of a breakdown. So, instead, I said, "Let's try to get home, okay?"

He put his hand in mine as we stepped carefully through the wreckage. It was a miracle we were alive. Besides my distaste for being abducted, the tentacled aliens had been kinder than expected. I fully anticipated being an experiment and, surely was about to be, but part of me thanked the small kindness they exhibited to keep us alive. It was something they didn't have to do. 

"Mom, look!" My heart jumped a little. The last time he said those words, we were taken. "Footprints," he added. I thought of the three who had taken control of the ship. Maybe one of them lived, maybe they all did. Hope lit like a small spark over old coals. 

"Let's follow and see if it leads somewhere we can get help." I pushed a little between his shoulders moving him forward as we followed the footprints in the sand. Sadly, the sand quickly began to pack into harder ground, erasing the prints at the top of the small hill. 

"Whoa, what's that?" Sylas asked pointing. 

As we stared at the swirling vortex in a rock, I realized I would be answering that question a lot.

"I'm not sure, bud, but stay back here. I just want to make sure it's safe." To be completely honest, it was pure curiosity, not protection, that drew me to check it. I jumped back as a hand shot out waving from the void. 

"Is that a hand?" my son asked from several feet away.

"Yeah, I think it is," I replied watching it wiggle back and forth. 

A voice called out of the hole in a language I didn't know. "What did he say?" Sylas called. 

I looked back at him, "How do you know it's a he?"

He shrugged, "Sounded like it? I dunno. Maybe a lady with a deep voice?"

"Guess we're about to find out." I turned placing a foot on the rock near the swirling and gripped the hand, pulling back hard. I didn't anticipate the feeling of being sucked forward and ended up twisting harder than I realized in response. The new person and I flailed as they landed on top of me, hitting the packed ground with a grunt. Sylas had been right about them being a man. We awkwardly rolled off one another, the stranger's face reddening in embarrassment and mine with effort. 

He talked with his hands, saying something I assumed was his translation of "I'm so sorry". I waved him off kindly, signalling it was alright. 

He asked me a direct question. I stared at him trying to consider what to do. Sylas beat me to it. "What is he saying, Mommy?"

I turned my attention to my son, "I can't understand him, we don't speak the same language. I'm not sure what to do now."

Sylas shrugged again and stared, concerned, at the new man.

I looked back at our new companion dressed in a weathered, and now dirt stained, purple robe with shoulder length brown hair pulled back and a five o'clock shadow gracing his face. He was what I would consider conventionally attractive. He had a tattoo creeping out of his chest over his collarbones and up his neck on the same side as a silver earring. If he had two, he was now missing the other. He watched me and Sylas with compassion and empathy and held up a finger to signal to wait.

Sylas gasped in delight as the man spoke, moving his hands in a practiced motion, weaving around purple light into different shapes. He walked over to me and spoke again as he touched me lightly on the shoulder. He smiled and nodded, then held out his hand, saying, what I can only assume was his name and possibly hello. But, it was still in his own language. I watched him in confusion and he looked confused back, then looked down at his hand, concerned. 

He did the spell again quicker, then touched his chest. He pointed at me then at his mouth, saying something else. 

"I think he wants you to say your name," Sylas added. 

I raised a brow at him, "I got that, but thank you."

"And I got that," the stranger added.

I flicked my head to him, "How..."

"A spell of tongues to do the trick," he smiled. 

Sylas stepped up to my side, "Did you just do magic?"

His kind smile spread into pure enthusiasm. "Ah, a quick young man, I see. Yes, it was indeed magic. Have you no mages where you're from?"

Sylas shook his head. "No, only clowns and they aren't real. They're just dress up."

"Many a clown is simply dressed as a man," the stranger quipped.

The six-year old stared blankly up at the man.

"A little over your head then," He turned to me as I licked the inside of my cheek trying not to laugh. The man had some jokes. "I'm Gale of Waterdeep."

I pointed at myself, "Abigail of..." There was a very slim chance this complete stranger from another planet, possibly another dimension, knew of Earth.

He smiled politely, "It's alright, you don't have to say. Unless, you can't remember?"

"We live in Washington," Sylas interjected. 

Gale squatted down and held out his hand, "Gale of Waterdeep, to whom do I have the pleasure of thanking for my grand rescue?"

Sylas held out his hand to shake Gale's, "My name is Sylas Andrews. Why are you wearing a dress?"

Gale flinched as he shook my son's hand, but recovered quickly. Then looked down at his robe, feigning shock. "Why it's no dress, but a great wizards' robe!"

"Whatever you say," Sylas teased.

"I'm so sorry," I added quickly. 

Gale shook his head, "It's quite alright, I assure you. Children are notoriously cheeky."

"Do you have children, Gale?" he had been so quick to entertain Sylas. It was easy to guess the man either had children or was an attentive uncle. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly. "I am flattered you think me so well adjusted to children. Alas, I have none of my own."

I nodded, absently. The conversation started to die between us. 

I watched as he quietly took me in completely for the first time. I was clad in a dirty t-shirt and jeans, with hiking boots and my gun safely holstered at my waist. Sylas was in a t-shirt as well as cargo shorts and boots (Leave the description or trash it? Necessary or need a Faerun equivalent? Add to the list of things to invent here - I will make millions). A flash of concern and confusion was followed by a kind grin as he pointed at me, "You were on the Nautiloid as well, I take it."

"The space ship was super weird. And the aliens were so ugly, but they were nice," Sylas interrupted.

Gale's brow rose, "We clearly had differing experiences," then he looked back to me, "We're you on the receiving end of an unwelcome insertion?"

I laughed oddly thinking about the grubby worm that chewed through the other abductee's eye, then shook my head, "I got lucky. They did try, though."

Gale's brows bunched in apparent confusion and wonder. "How, might I ask did you avoid that?"

I pursed my lips as I signaled with my eyes to my son.

"A long story, one for another time, I presume," he added slyly.

I nodded, looking down at a suspicious Sylas, "A very long and boring story."

Gale gave me a mischievous grin, winking in understanding. "Well, first, thank you for pulling me out of that stone. Hopefully, I will have ample opportunities to return the favor."

"You're the first human I've seen that's not dead, so it would be nice to team up. I assume, by your previous question, that you have a worm in your head?"

Gale sighed, "Unfortunately, I've been made an involuntary host. I may have only a few days to live if we don't find someone to extract it."

"Days?" I felt my face contort in muted horror. I truly did get lucky. "I watched them place one in someone else's eye and it looked like it chewed straight through, but your eye is intact," I examined his inset dark eyes under strong brows. Purple had begun to collect under them, which I knew I must have too. I was starting to feel the exhaustion of the last 24 hours. If it had been simply 24 hours. 

As if thinking along the same lines, a small voice perked up, "I'm hungry. Can we get some food?" 

Gale glanced down at Sylas, "Do you happen to like apples, young man?"

Sylas nodded.

"Then I have just the thing." With a swish of his hands and a whispered word, a bag appeared from thin air.

"Cool!" Sylas' eyes grew twice as big as he watched the wizard work. Gale drew out the drama by pretending to dig around deep in the bag for the apple before tossing it over to the boy.

"I've never heard use of a temperate description as an exclamation. Alas, I'm getting older." 

I shrugged, "You and me both. How old are you anyway?"

"I'll be thirty and eight years in a couple months. May I ask your age?" he responded politely.

"I'm thirty five. Six at the end of the year... Well, I don't know how your calendar works, but I guess it would technically be midwinter."

Gale furrowed his brows again, "How my calendar works? Surely, we use the same dating systems, even if we hail from different regions."

I paused, then added, "Possibly. We could very well have the same one. I guess we will have to check one. I'm not sure how long we were on the"

"Space ship," Sylas interrupted again.

Gale looked confused at the boy, "Why do you keep calling it a 'space' ship?"

Sylas' teeth crunched through another bite, his mouth full, "Because that's what it is."

Gale lifted his brows at me and I shook my head stifling a laugh. Then I glanced around us at the landscape which seemed to be shaped out of some canyons. "Did you see any other survivors before getting stuck?"

Gale shook his head, "But we should seek a healer. Well, I should, but you're welcome to join me. You don't happen to be some kind of cleric do you?"

"To be honest, Gale, I don't know what that is."

Gale's brows bunched again, "I see. Tell me again where you hail from?"

"Seattle," Sylas answered.

I leaned over awkwardly toward my son, "I don't think he knows where that is, my love."

Sylas looked up at me in confusion as Gale looked at us suspiciously. "Which, pray tell, region is this Sea Attel located?"

Sylas watched Gale like he was an idiot for asking. "Washington state, in the country of America," he stated flatly.

"And where is this America?" Gale asked.

"On a different planet," I answered quickly.

Gale's eyes went wide. "Which planet?"

"Earth," Sylas answered with a tone. 

I turned to my son, going full mom mode. "Sylas. We're clearly no longer on Earth. We saw aliens, dragons, demons, and he can do real magic. Don't talk to him like he should know better. That's rude." 

"Sorry," he said under his breath. "We're not on Earth, mommy?" 

Gale answered instead, "You, my well traveled friend, are on Toril, on the continent of Faerun... I think. I can't guarantee we aren't on the other side of my own planet."

"Is that why he doesn't speak English?" Sylas asked.

"Yes, honey. He's not from America so he speaks a different language. But, remember, people speak lots of different languages even in America."

"Sounds just like Faerun." Gale smiled haughtily, "I, actually, speak several languages and can read them too."

Sylas pursed his lips and nodded, impressed. I laughed, I had never seen him make the face before. 

"Glad I could impress such a fine young mind. Well," he held his arm out, "Let's see if we can't find more of us. And hopefully a healer."

As we took to walking around the wreckage for possible survivors, Gale leaned in, "I'm going to need you to tell me everything about where you're from. It sounds fascinating."

I held out my hand, "Only if you do the same."

"It's a deal." He slipped his hand into mine, but as I gripped his, he quickly pulled his out of my grasp. "Sorry," he said quickly, as he flexed a fist.

"It's okay," I said slowly, as I watched him strut ahead of our small group.

[Gale affix: 

Meeting you was a most unique experience. I simultaneously wanted to make you feel at ease, as well as garner as much pertinent information about you as I could for an overall assessment. You and Sylas spoke and were dressed unlike any I had ever come across, and I had met many an individual from differing locales and planes of existence. You still carry the most distinct of accents, even now that you're fluent. It always brings me joy to hear you speak.

Also, please include a reference about shaking your hands. I'm unsure if you were privy to my discomfort, but it surely spooked me!]

As we turned a corner, Gale threw out his staff to stop us from running into whatever he had walked into. My heart lifted for a millisecond as two familiar faces came into view, alongside a new one. But my anxiety seized the measly hope at the sounds of yelling, growling, and what seemed like threats over brandished weapons and gnashing jaws. 

Gale turned to Sylas and I, "Let me see what's the matter and if it can be handled with diplomacy. If not, we will make a swift exit. Just stay here for now."

We saw him make his way to the new group. The others assessed him cautiously, but the black-haired one and the dragon-man settled after a few shared words. The last to respond was the one who had brandished a knife. Gale shook hands with the more receiving two, then the pale elf gave his hand, reluctantly. 

I looked around the scenery as Gale continued his conversation with the new group. The large river was clear and seemed to cut through the canyons. I hoped we hadn't landed in Faerun's equivalent of my own realm's large uninhabited forests, which we call National Parks in my home country of America. Hundreds of miles of nothing but wilderness, no civilization in sight. I doubted there was some kind of a National Guard or Forest Ranger Service that would be sent out to rescue survivors. But, I also hoped we hadn't landed on some kind of small town, decimating it, or next to a large city to be arrested like fugitives.

I rubbed my chest. My heart beat erratically, causing a pain to start thrumming. An anxiety attack was imminent. It felt as if no amount of Faerun's freshest air could fill my lungs fast enough. 

"Mommy?" a small voice asked, breaking my thoughts.

I looked down at my son. He pointed. Walking up to us were the newcomers led by Gale. My heart felt like it was going to rip through my rib cage. Hopefully, Gale had given them all that weird tongues spell. 

The black-haired warrior walked up first, hand ready, but Gale threw his arm out. She looked up at him in confusion and irritation, but it dissipated as she listened to him explain what I assumed was an explanation on how I couldn't understand her. Instead, she stopped short and gave a little awkward wave and grin. I waved back just as awkwardly.

Gale, finally, turned to Sylas and I. "These are more survivors of the crash. They, also, have been, what we are coining, 'tadpoled'. So, they will be joining us." He indicated to the other woman, "This is Shadowheart. She is a cleric." He nodded to the dragon-faced one on his right, "This is Durge, he is what we call a Dragonborn. He seems to have been injured in the crash..." Durge said something to Gale. "Or possibly as he was being abducted, and is having memory issues. He thinks he may be a sorcerer or wizard of some kind. And," he stepped aside to reveal the final companion, the pale elf, "This is Astarion. He's an elf from Baldur's Gate." 

The elf, with his arms crossed, eyed me with disdain, scanning me from my toes to my head, his face exhibiting his disapproval. I met his gaze and actively rolled my eyes, like a teen who refused to be bullied. I wasn't the one who might die in a few days, so let him judge. He looked like a court jester in his frilly doublet and could probably use some time touching grass.

Gale turned to the others again, introducing us in his language. I nodded and held up my hand in a small wave, while Sylas just stood there.

"Can they understand us, Mommy?"

I looked down at his small head, "I don't think so, hon. Why?"

Gale glanced back at Sylas, "With this spell, whenever I speak directly to you, you will hear your own language, but not when I speak directly to someone else."

He stood quiet, nodding, deciding whether to say something, "I'll tell you later," he responded. I guessed he didn't want to risk it and I rubbed his back in reassurance. I felt someone watching and saw Shadowheart smiling softly at us. I smiled back. 

"Well, I guess we had better get moving," Gale announced.

Shadowheart said something to Gale, looking back at Sylas and I, before stepping past him down the path she had been on earlier. 

"Shadowheart said to tell you to check crates and bodies for supplies. If pilfering off of corpses isn't to your taste, then don't worry about it. But, if you find anything of use, you can put it in my bag of holding."

Sylas stepped past me and up next to the wizard as the elf and the dragonborn followed after Shadowheart. "What's a bag a' holding?"

Gale smiled down at Sylas as we continued after the others around the wreck site, "It's an enchanted backpack that has no bottom. You reach in and think of what you want to find and it will put it in your hand. Though, you have to place it in the bag first. You can't just ask for anything. This isn't a djinn lamp."

Sylas' face quickly went from wonder to confusion, "What's a djinn?"

"A genie, like in the Aladdin movie," I added. (oh to have movies and tv shows...)

"Oh! The blue guy with the wishes?" Sylas said excitedly.

"Yes, what Gale is saying is that you can't just reach into the bag and pull out whatever you want. Just like any backpack, you have to put it in first. But, there's a lot more space in Gale's bag than what it looks like on the outside."

Sylas nodded, his face considering the new information. "Can I try it?"

Gale smiled, "Absolutely!"

As the wizard pulled the bag once again from thin air, I walked around the two to walk behind the other group of three as they stepped through more of the crash site. 

"More of those wretched things!" Shadowheart exclaimed, as brains with legs bolted toward us. I had missed them on our trip through the ship, thankfully. The gods of this world were creative. 

I watched in rapt amazement as she threw what looked like pure light at one of them, but missed, leaving a scorch mark on the floor. 

The Dragonborn had started running after another with a small red sword, while the elf next to me unsheathed a dagger in wait.

I looked back and saw Gale standing guard in front of a shocked Sylas. I turned back to the fight and drew my gun, clicking the safety off, as a brain scurried out from being nearly cut in half by Durge's blade. All three were now bolting in my direction.

The elf mumbled something and I turned to see him smiling maliciously. I didn't have time to analyze him and turned my attention to the screeching brains (gods it was so gross to hear them make noise). As they grouped within a few feet of me, I pulled the trigger. Three echoing shots later, they laid in a small heap a few feet from me. 

Everyone else stood in shades of awe and distress, staring at me holding the hand gun. I glanced around sheepishly. Even Gale had paled a little. "You're welcome?" I said breaking the silence.

Shadowheart eyed the weapon suspiciously, then me, nodded, and walked off a little quicker than before. I turned to Astarion, who had been excited at the prospect of killing the beasts, who was now looking at the gun with the same level of amusement. I looked up at Durge who was just watching me like some kind of animal in the distance. I holstered the gun on my waistband clip and walked back to check on Gale and Sylas. 

Gale watched me carefully, eyeing the gun on my waistband. “I think I can guess as to how you escaped our fate.”

I gave him an awkward smile, “I guess you could.”

Gale ushered us after the others as they continued to pass through the ship toward the river. 

Sylas pulled on my shirt. I leaned over to him, him smirking up at me, "That was really cool, mommy."

I gave him a high five.

[Jen note: That gun was so loud! Of course we got used to hearing it, but in the metal cavern, it was deafening. Gods I thought my ear drums had burst.]

We camped inside of an old crypt. I have camped in a cemetery on Halloween, a holiday in my country that celebrates death, and this was somehow creepier. 

I had joined in on checking sarcophagi for loot, but sleeping surrounded by them was a little disconcerting, like we were guaranteeing a midnight visitation. Not to mention the giant skeletal visage in a cloak looming over us in silent judgment as we passed around small bits of bread, cheese, fruit, and jars of water. I nearly expected to find my name etched on the scroll rolling out of it's hands.

We had no tents, just stolen dirty bed rolls. Well, Gale had a nicer bedroll from his bag of holding. He was polite enough to offer up spare food, but even Sylas would have to make due on what we had picked up from some of the adventurers Durge had scared off. My companions were able to get a hold of some more weapons and gear for themselves before we discovered the underground crypt, deciding to call it a day.

As we sat quietly eating around the fire, every small attempt at conversation seemed to die out among my companions. It wasn't as if Sylas or I could understand anyways. I had witnessed Gale repeat the tongues spell on himself several times throughout the day, which I gathered meant it only lasted so long. He had stopped after we had gotten situated, which meant his magic must have limits and we were all exhausted.

"Mommy?" I looked over at Sylas.

"Yes, love?" He was glancing around the small temple that had a few old chests and long dead scribes looking as if they may have simply fallen asleep on duty, never to wake. 

"Can I look around? I'm bored." 

I truly felt for him. He was stuck with four random adults on the most unusual camping trip of his life. "Sure, just don't go through any doors. If you find anything cool, just call for me, okay?"

He hopped up on excited feet, as he agreed. The others watched in curiosity and boredom as he started wandering around, then quickly went back to watching the fire, reading, sharpening weapons, or trying to rest. 

The group was odd. Now, without armor and robes, I could really get a good look at them.

The cleric, which Gale had described as some kind of battle nurse, was in some kind of armor underclothing. She was much more fit than I had anticipated, but it did make sense to her occupation. Looking down at my t-shirt, jeans, and bare feet, I realized I really needed to get back 'on the horse' when it came to being in shape. The gun allowed me to keep up for fighting, but when I ran out of bullets I was going to need to swing a sword and I definitely wasn't physically ready to do it.

Gale had taken off the outer robe and loosened the wrap shirt underneath. I could see the full extent of his tattoo over his sternum which looked bruised. He was much thinner than I realized. His collar bones were very prominent with a faint dipping of ribs over his chest. He looked like he could catch up on a few meals. The lines of his tattoo up his neck seemed to fade into the veins leading up to his left eye. It seemed like they might be connected. A magical tattoo for a wizard didn't seem so out of reach.

Durge, who was sharpening his blade, was covered in white scales, and when standing was well over six feet, a wall of muscle with red fiery eyes. It made sense why the dwarf adventurer and his team had folded so easily. He was physically intimidating, especially with his sharp teeth and horned head. I had to remind Sylas several times not to stare (as well as myself), especially after he stripped down to simply pants while we made camp. I found myself blushing a few times he looked my way. If he had been more human, I probably wouldn't have been able to look him in the eye without smiling like an idiot. I needed to tuck that thought away and deal with it later.

Lastly, was the elf. I had my share of attractive male friends throughout my lifetime, so I wasn't as affected by him as I was Durge. He was elegant as I expected any elf would be with high cheekbones on a symmetrical face, long pointed ears, and perfectly styled soft silver curls. It was as if he had stepped right out of one of the romantic fantasy books that were so popular these days. But, in the frilly laced undershirt, I noticed that he, too, seemed a little too skinny. Maybe skinny was Faerun's male social beauty standard. Or, maybe, both Gale and Astarion were a bit sickly. 

Red eyes caught my brown ones staring. He made a mocking sultry face, as if he were 'flattered' by my examination. I raised a brow in challenge and his face settled on a look of bored irritation as he went back to picking his oddly long nails. The red eye coloring was new to me. No one in my realm had true red eyes. Some with albinism sported almost pink or purple irises, but never blood red like the elf and the dragonborn in my camp. 

Watching those two companions in particular, I thought of an observation Sylas had made while we were setting up.

"The guy reminds me of the alligator at the zoo," Sylas said quietly.

"The albino one?" I asked at a similar volume. "Is it because he's part dragon?"

"The elf guy too."

I had eyed Astarion unbuttoning his doublet. "Why the elf guy?"

Sylas pointed to his teeth, "They both has sharp teeth." He snapped his teeth at me, "Just like the alligator."

Now, I watched Astarion bite down on his thumbnail, hooked it with a sharp canine tooth and pulled. A small disgust roiled in my gut. Apparently, Faerun had yet to invent some kind of nail clippers. 

"What's this?" I heard Sylas say from across the room.

A hissing sound spread through the sanctum. I froze as I heard the clanking of metal and bones, watching in horror as the dead rose. My three companions and I shot up whipping our heads around watching them rise all around us.

Stone sliding on stone and rounds of what I assumed were curses echoed through the room, muffling Sylas cry of, "Mommy!" as I bolted to where I assumed he was. My companions started yelling at one another as they readied their weapons, Durge letting out a loud roar.

Shadows cast by the campfire danced up the walls making it hard to spot our new assailants spread around the room. Then the dead started their attacks, both magical and physical.

I made it to the stairs that lead to the small room where Sylas was now hiding, but a harsh grip wrapped itself around my upper arm, yanking me back as I came face to face with Astarion as my back slammed up against the wall, demanding something.

"What?" I said automatically.

"I said where do you think you're going?" he repeated just as harshly.

I stood there speechless in shock.

"Oh don't go dumb now, where is the weapon from earlier?" he raked.

I automatically reached back to my hip, only to find it empty, my fear plastering across my features. "Shit. I left it next to my bedroll." I looked out over the din of the fight to see the skeletons had started to amass in the camping area, blocking my way to the gun. 

Astarion shoved a quiver of arrows against my chest, as he leaned his face close to mine, "I hope you know your useless runt is to blame for anything that happens to me. So, at least make yourself useful and pass me arrows when I tell you."

I didn't even have time to quip back at the insult before he spun around and shot off an arrow at a dead warrior who was aiming at Gale's head. It didn't kill it, if they could be killed, but it did knock it on its back. 

"Dock," Astarion commanded.

I slipped him another. Over and over, as we made our way carefully to my bedroll, I passed him arrows as he called out for them. He shot off a few fire bolts out of his fingers, meeting ice shards mid flight in our direction. 

"Do you have it?" he called out over his shoulder

I didn't answer. I simply stood and shot off a round into one of the skulls of a warrior standing nearby, the blast shattering bone across the floor. 

"I hope you know that what I'm shooting can pass through flesh and bone, and can ricochet off stone. And I can't retrieve them like arrows either," I yelled back.

"Then don't waste your shots," he called back. "Your left!"

I turned, and sure enough, another was taking aim. I shattered another skull, the rest of the bones crumbling into a heap.

Astarion shot off another fire bolt at the same time Gale threw a red one, both aiming true at the final adversary, finishing the small battle.

The elf whipped around to face me.

"You can speak my language?" I asked quickly.

"I forced the wizard. I wasn't about to do all the heavy lifting when your weapon is so efficient."

Durge laughed darkly from behind him, shaking his head, as if not in agreement with Astarion's self assessment. The dragonborn turned and headed into the alcove at the top of the small set of stairs. 

I faced the elf again, "If you'll excuse me, I need to check on my son. He's had one hell of a weekend. He's probably terrified. It's too bad he couldn't be more useful." I stepped around him, making sure to shove him a little with my shoulder. If he wanted to play the bully, I was game to see him try. 

I found Durge and Shadowheart standing and kneeling next to Sylas who had been crying while huddled in a corner. Shadowheart patted his knee while shushing, a small attempt at comfort. Durge was standing behind her, arms crossed, watching. He nodded to me as I came up next to Shadowheart. I heard steps behind me, but refused to turn around in case it was Astarion and not Gale. 

I opened my arms and my small boy fell into them. He sobbed, his cries the only sound in the stone room for several minutes. It felt as if he were crying for all of us. For the loss of home, the loss of autonomy, the loss of what could have been and what was. I doubted any of my companions ever expected to be standing in a dark tomb surrounded by the undead with bugs in their heads that would lead to their deaths. How fitting it was we were camping in a crypt.

As Sylas calmed I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. I looked into the soft and tired face of Gale as I felt Sylas start to nod off in my arms. Astarion and Shadowheart had already left the room, only Durge and Gale stayed. I grinned softly up at Gale and he nodded before walking off leaving only a dozing Sylas and Durge.

The imposing figure sank down to a knee before me, then leaned his face toward mine. "I can take him to bed if you would like."

Surprise colored my face. His voice was soft, but deep, his accent more like my own than the others. "Did Gale give you the tongues spell too?"

The dragon shook his head. "I've been able to understand you the entire time. I heard what he said about your alligators. Very observant. We've got alligators and dragons here too." He sighed, "I remember such random shit. I can barely remember my own name and I can't remember where I was a week ago, but I can remember alligators." He shook head, a side of his mouth tipping upwards slightly, "I don't know why I can understand you or speak your language, but I'm glad to be able to talk to you. I didn't want the others to ask questions I don't know how to answer, so if we can keep this our little secret for now, that would be helpful."

I nodded. "Of course." I watched his intense eyes stare at me with impossible softness. His facial structure was incredible, even being so distinctly reptilian, it was decidedly animated. 

He nodded toward Sylas, "I think he finally passed out. Let me get him." He reached down and scooped up my son with a surprising amount of gentleness, as if lifting a feather from the floor. 

I grinned softly up at him as we both stood, Sylas resting in Durge's large arms. "Thank you," I said quietly, setting a hand on his arm. 

Durge closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, sighing a little. He smiled without teeth, watching me. "You didn't have to do that, but gods, that was nice."

I tipped my head, "What do you mean?"

He stepped toward the doorway and looked back at me, "Your magic. It's... calming, peaceful." I cocked a brow and he chuckled quietly, deeply, "Looks like Astarion was wrong. You aren't a weak link after all." 

[Astarion affix:

I wish I could say that meeting you was eventful, but it was rather dismal. The only thing of note, which I doubt you were astute enough to decipher, was that when you rolled your eyes at me I decided then and there you would be my dinner. Whether that night or another, you were the mark. I do feel a bit of shame that I never once considered the implications on Sylas. I was too numb back then to care what happened to him. He was simply a small obstacle that I was willing to overlook. 

Well, if it's any consolation, we all know how it turned out.]

[stardustloki]

The Unfairness of Life

Omega stared down in horror at the blood.

For that was what it was - blood. She’d seen enough of it on clothes and old bandages to be able to recognise the deep brown colour in a heartbeat, to know the crusty way it dried onto fabric.

So, she had internal bleeding. That was fine, that was manageable, they could fix this.

-

Or: Omega gets her first period, and has no idea what it is. Thankfully, Lyana is there for her.

-

Tags: Omega & Lyana, Hurt/Comfort, Omega is so unimpressed by puberty, it's gross, babies should grow in tubes, as is Right and Proper

Read it below the cut, or on ao3 here.

Omega stared down in horror at the blood.

For that was what it was - blood. She’d seen enough of it on clothes and old bandages to be able to recognise the deep brown colour in a heartbeat, to know the crusty way it dried onto fabric.

Kriff.

She forced herself to take deep, steady breaths, in the way her brothers had taught her, ignoring the way her head had started to spin.

So, she had internal bleeding. That was fine, that was manageable, they could fix this. The fact that she wasn’t in any pain yet and that the amount of blood she’d lost was small enough that it had already dried seemed to indicate that she wasn’t in any immediate danger of bleeding out. She would just need to get back to her brothers, who could run a full medical scan, and heal whatever the problem was.

This was fine.

A tentative knock came from the bathroom door before Lyana’s voice filtered through, hesitant and uncertain, “Omega, are you okay in there?”

Screwing up her eyes, she cursed internally. She couldn’t tell Lyana what was wrong, there was no way her friend would be able to deal with this without panicking. After all, she didn’t have all her experience on missions, and had thought a little cut was worth crying over a few weeks ago! No, she’d just have to deal with this by herself.

“I’m fine,” she replied, trying to keep her voice level.

“You’re a bad liar.”

Wincing, Omega did have to admit that this was true. She sighed.

“Can you get one of my brothers and AZI? I’m bleeding.”

“What kind of bleeding?” Lyana asked after a few moments’ silence, strangely calm for someone who surely must have started freaking out by now.

“The blood kind of bleeding.”

“No,” Lyana let out a sigh that sounded mildly frustrated. Omega wasn’t sure what her problem was, she was the one who’d just asked a stupid question. “Do you mean you’ve hurt yourself, or have you just started your period?”

Now it was Omega’s turn to fall silent for a few seconds as she considered this new information. 

“What’s a period?” Obviously it had something to do with blood, and was something she was meant to be aware of, maybe it would explain the situation? However, judging by Lyana’s tone of voice, a ‘period’ didn’t sound like it should be a serious thing, so maybe it wasn’t the answer to her problem - finding dried blood in your underwear due to some kind of injury inside you was clearly serious.

“...You really don’t know?”

“Should I?”

“Well…” Lyana started. “Most humans who can grow babies inside them get them. So, you know the place inside you where you can grow a baby when you’re an adult?”

Omega’s face morphed into a grimace while her friend paused, clearly trying to figure out what to say next. Sure, she knew that natborns who had the same parts as her were able to make kids inside them, but she’d never thought of herself in that way. It was disgusting. It was unnatural. Babies were meant to be made in nice sterile tubes, not squirming around inside of you. And they definitely shouldn’t be squirming around inside of her!

Then a new thought hit her, and as the full horror of it sank in, she struggled to remember how to breathe. Lyana wasn’t gonna tell her that there was a tubie inside her right now, was she? She was sure other stuff was meant to happen before that, wasn’t it? But it would explain the bleeding…

“There’s like a layer of tissue and stuff inside you, that’s meant to protect the baby,” Lyana continued while Omega wrapped her arms around her stomach, reminding herself that soldiers did not panic. “But once a month, when your body sees that there isn’t a baby inside of you, it gets rid of the layer, which comes out as blood.”

Omega put her head in her hands, trying to process this. “So,” she said slowly, “this is meant to happen once a month. ”

“Yeah, for a few days.”

But that was so inconvenient!

“Then why hasn’t it happened before?”

“It’s not meant to happen when you’re a little kid, it’s meant to start when you’re around our age.”

Omega sighed, and tried to think about this logically. Objectively, this completely sucked, especially as she was never gonna grow a tubie inside of her because a) they belonged in tubes, and b) it would make her completely useless on missions. However, it did mean she probably didn’t have some major internal bleeding problem, which was definitely a plus.

She pulled herself together, stopped staring at the brownish spots of blood, got up off the fresher, pulled her shorts up and washed her hands. When she unlocked the door she saw Lyana waiting on the other side, eyes wide with concern. 

“Are you alright?”

She thought about moaning about how kriffing unfair it was, how she bet her brothers didn’t have to deal with anything this stupid, but she stopped herself. What would be the point? Whenever she complained about anything normally they all talked about solutions like blowing things up, or putting things right, or getting back at the Empire - how was she meant to get magically a day younger and then stay like that?

She frowned. She’d talk to AZI. 

“I’m fine.”

“It’s okay, I hate it too,” Lyana smiled weakly at her, “but if you need a hand with any of this, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, folding her arms, feeling embarrassed and childish. “I just think tubies belong in tubes, that’s all. Cloning is a lot less messy.”

Lyana blinked at her.

“What?”

[lifeofpriya]

The Trendy Dessert - Jack Draper

[gif credit goes to @athletic-collection]

summary: jack ft. andy + baking = ...unique experience

"Why do I feel like something chaotic is going to happen?" Andy shook his head, his eyes warily staring at Jack through his phone screen.

"Have faith in me, Murr, I've got this," Jack replied with a wink, his hand hovering over the ingredients scattered on the kitchen counter. The camera angle shifted as he grabbed the salt, pouring a mountainous pile into the mixing bowl. "It's all about balance, right?"

Andy's eyes widened as he watched in horror from the other end of the call. "Jack, no, that's way too much salt!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of amusement and panic.

"Salt? I'm pretty sure this is sugar," Jack said, his eyebrows quizzically knitted together as he held up the salt container. "I know what I'm doing, Andy. Chill."

"Why don't you give the dough a little taste if you know what you're doing?" Andy couldn't help but smirk, his skepticism growing with every second that passed.

Unfazed by the challenge, Jack scooped up a bit of the cookie dough with his finger and popped it into his mouth. The moment the salty taste hit his tongue, his eyes bulged, and he spat it out dramatically. "Bloody hell, that's salt!" he coughed, reaching for a glass of water.

"I told you so," Andy laughed, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. "What's your plan now, Gordon Ramsay?"

Jack's face flushed red as he frantically searched the kitchen for a solution. His eyes darted around the room before landing on the untouched bag of chocolate chips. "More chocolate!" he exclaimed, dumping the entire bag into the salty dough. "It'll mask the taste."

Andy, still chuckling, leaned closer to the screen. "Jack, that's not how it works. You can't just add more chocolate to fix saltiness."

Jack paused, the spoon hovering in midair as the gravity of the situation settled in. He looked at the cookie dough, now speckled with an obscene amount of chocolate chips, and sighed. "I suppose not." He glanced around the kitchen, spotting a bottle of vanilla extract. "What about this? Can I add more vanilla to balance it out?"

Andy's smile grew wider, his amusement evident through the phone. "Jack, that's not how it works either. You need to start over or add something to soak up the salt. Maybe some more flour?"

Jack scrunched his nose, his mind racing. He didn't want to admit defeat so quickly, especially after the promise he'd made to you. He looked at the clock on the wall; time was running out. You were due back in less than an hour, and he needed to pull off this surprise. He grabbed the flour, dumping in a cupful with a hopeful look on his face. The dough looked more like a sad, gooey mess than cookie dough now.

"Andy, I can't just start over. Y/N will be home soon," Jack whispered urgently, as if you could hear him through the phone. "I need a miracle here."

Andy leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Okay, okay. But this is your last shot. If this doesn't work, you're going to have to face the music."

Jack nodded, desperation etched into every line of his face. He took a deep breath and mixed the flour into the dough, his muscles straining as he tried to salvage the disaster before you arrived. The mixture thickened, but the salty taste remained. "It's still salty," he murmured, licking his lips to confirm his suspicion.

"What now?" he asked, his voice tight with anxiety.

Andy leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Well, if you don't want to start over, we need to think outside the box."

Jack nodded, his eyes searching the kitchen for inspiration. "What do you suggest?"

Andy's eyes lit up with a devious glint. "How about you make it a salted chocolate cookie? It's a thing, you know. Some people actually like that combination."

Jack stared at him, unconvinced. "Salted chocolate cookies? That's not what I was going for."

"But it's a trendy twist, Jack. Trust me, it could work," Andy said, his voice a mix of hope and amusement. "Just roll with it. What's the worst that could happen?"

Jack, desperation creeping into his voice, considered the option. "Alright, fine. How do I make it seem like I did it on purpose?"

Andy's grin widened. "Easy. Just add some more salt to the tops of the cookies before you bake them. Make it obvious. You know, like a gourmet chef."

Jack stared at the phone, then back at the dough, then at the salt shaker. He took a deep breath and shrugged. "In for a penny, in for a pound," he muttered to himself, sprinkling a pinch of salt on top of each cookie before placing them on the baking sheet. He slid the tray into the preheated oven and set the timer, his heart racing. The sweet aroma of chocolate began to fill the kitchen, mingling with the faint scent of the sea.

As the cookies baked, Jack paced the floor, biting his nails. He couldn't believe he'd messed up so badly. Ever since he'd teased you with the idea of a surprise, you'd been looking forward to these all week. He hoped against hope that this crazy plan would work. The timer dinged, and he rushed to the oven, pulling out the tray with oven mitts. The cookies looked… interesting. They were a little flatter than usual, with a glossy sheen from the extra chocolate and a sprinkle of salt on each one. He let them cool, trying to convince himself that they would be a delightful surprise.

Andy watched him through the phone, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Well, they look… different," he said, trying to be supportive.

Jack rolled his eyes but couldn't help but laugh at his own misfortune. "Yeah, different is one way to put it." He took a cookie, still warm from the oven, and broke it in half, the chocolate oozing out like molten lava. He took a tentative bite, the salty-sweetness peculiarly hitting his taste buds. He chewed thoughtfully, trying to gauge whether it was edible or not.

"They're… interesting," he said, trying to keep a straight face. The saltiness was definitely more pronounced than he would have liked, but the chocolate did temper it somewhat. "I mean, they're not terrible."

Andy's chuckles turned into full-blown laughter. "Well, that's a ringing endorsement."

Jack shrugged, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "Look, they're not perfect, but they're not inedible. I'll just have to play it cool."

Andy nodded, his laughter subsiding. "Alright, just be prepared for Y/N's reaction. You never know, Y/N might actually like them."

Jack sighed, hope flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, maybe. I'll just have to play it cool." He carefully placed the cookies on a plate, arranging them to look as presentable as possible. He slid the plate onto the kitchen counter, just as the front door creaked open. Your footsteps grew louder as you approached the kitchen, the scent of rain and the outdoors wafting in.

Jack's heart thudded in his chest, his palms sweaty. He took a deep breath and plastered on a confident smile, turning to face you. "Welcome home!" he exclaimed, trying to sound casual despite the chaos in his head.

You looked tired but happy, your eyes lighting up at the sight of the cookies. "Jack, you made cookies?" you asked, stepping closer to the counter.

Jack nodded, his smile a tad too bright. "Yeah, I had some free time, so I thought I'd whip up a little surprise for you." He hoped you wouldn't notice the nervousness in his voice.

You leaned in, inhaling the aroma deeply. "They smell amazing," you said, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

Jack's heart skipped a beat. "Here, try one," he offered, pushing the plate closer to you. As you selected a cookie, he watched with bated breath, the salt glinting under the kitchen lights like tiny stars.

You took a bite, your eyes widening slightly. The crunch of the cookie filled the air, followed by the sound of your chewing. For a moment, Jack was sure you'd spit it out, but then your eyes lit up, and you swallowed. "Wow, these are… intense," you said, your voice filled with a mix of surprise and delight.

Jack's shoulders relaxed a fraction. "Intense, huh?" he echoed, trying to sound nonchalant.

You nodded, taking another bite. "They're definitely unique. The salt and chocolate, it's an interesting combo." You studied the cookie, the wheels in your head turning. "Did you add something extra to these?"

Jack tried to play it cool, his heart hammering in his chest. "Just a little twist," he said with a casual shrug. "Thought I'd try something new."

You tilted your head, eyeing him curiously. "Well, you've definitely achieved that," you said, taking another bite. The cookie crumbled in your mouth, the saltiness and sweetness fighting for dominance. It was peculiar, but somehow it worked. You chewed thoughtfully, the flavors blending together in a surprisingly pleasant way. "They're… good," you finally exclaimed, reaching for another. "Really good."

Jack's relief was palpable, his shoulders dropping as a genuine smile spread across his face. "You think so?"

You nodded, savoring the unexpected taste. "Yeah, they're like salted caramel but with chocolate chips. I've never had anything quite like this before."

Jack's eyes lit up with hope. "So, you don't hate them?"

You laughed, taking another cookie. "No, I don't hate them at all. They're actually pretty good." You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But you have to tell me, how much salt did you really put in?"

Jack's cheeks flushed as he chuckled nervously. "Well, it might have been a bit of an accident," he admitted, watching you closely for a sign of anger or disappointment.

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. "How much is a bit?"

Jack sighed, unable to keep the truth from you any longer. "Okay, maybe a little more than a bit," he confessed, his cheeks growing redder by the second. "But I figured it out. It's the new trend, right? Salted chocolate cookies?"

You studied him, a smirk playing at the corner of your mouth. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Jack grimaced, his ears reddening. "Andy suggested it. He said it could be a gourmet twist."

You looked at the phone, Andy's face beaming with mischief. "Oh, did he now?" You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head. Well, you two make quite the culinary duo."

Jack groaned, playfully rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I know. It's a miracle these are even edible." He took a cookie for himself, popping it into his mouth and making a dramatic face. "But hey, if you like them, I'll take it as a win."

You chuckled, taking another bite. "They're really not bad, Jack. I mean, they're not your usual amazing, but they're definitely not inedible." You licked the salt from your lips, the salty-sweet combination growing on you. "I have to admit, it's kind of fun to have a surprise that's both delicious and a little… offbeat."

Jack's eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of disappointment. Finding none, he visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping. "Well, if you say so," he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I guess I'll take that as a win."

You nodded, the corners of your eyes crinkling with amusement. "Definitely a win. Besides, it's the thought that counts, right?" You leaned in to give him a kiss, the taste of salt and chocolate lingering on your lips. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, his laughter mingling with the sound of rain outside.

Andy, watching from the phone, raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess I'm not the worst cooking consultant ever," he said smugly.

Jack rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his relief. "Thanks, mate," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "You're a real lifesaver."

Andy chuckled. "Anytime, Draper. Anytime."

Jack playfully glared at the phone. "Just don't tell anyone about this, alright?"

Andy held up his hand in a Boy Scout salute. "Your secret's safe with me, Cap'n Clumsy."

Jack flipped him off, his smile betraying his true feelings. The tension in the room dissipated as the two of you sat down at the kitchen table, the plate of cookies acting as an awkward centerpiece. You picked up another one, examining the salt crystals sparkling on top. "So, tell me, Jack," you began, your tone teasing, "what inspired this… unique creation?"

Jack's cheeks grew warmer, but he met your gaze with a shrug. "I was just trying to do something nice for you," he said, his voice earnest. "I wanted to surprise you with your favorite cookies. I guess I got a little carried away with the seasoning."

You laughed, reaching over to pat his hand. "It's okay. I appreciate the effort," you said, taking a sip of water to wash down the saltiness. "But maybe next time, you should stick to the recipe."

Jack nodded, his cheeks still aflame. "Definitely. Lesson learned." He took a cookie for himself, trying to seem nonchalant despite the overpowering saltiness. The chocolate was delicious, but the salt was a stark contrast that lingered on his tongue. He made a mental note to invest in a cookbook—or at least some measuring spoons.

As you both sat there, the rain outside grew heavier, creating a soothing backdrop to your quiet evening. The warmth of the kitchen and the aroma of the slightly botched cookies filled the space, creating a cozy atmosphere.

[bloggingboutburgers]

Hello again from the crunchy fishstick! Based on your latest tapas comic update, guess you had a fun Halloween ^^ "sexually anorexic" sounds both confusing and funny lols

I dressed up for the day myself...went out as "a maid from the 23rd century" and got a few compliments--but it wasn't until after I already got home and changed out of it that I realized maids are apparently not just a fun cosplay choice but also something sexualish?? :') oh, the woes of accidentally doing something that might be seen that way to others without realizing it.....I sincerely hope nobody who saw me thought anything sexual (I just liked wearing a skirt and being cute for onceeee)

I've been "out" as aroflux/arospec to some (online) friends already and thankfully I didn't find out any of them were aphobes. (yay!) A few didn't really get it even after my short explanation but oh well--kinda tough with non-queers sometimes but they're cool otherwise. Got the "so like a plant?" reply as a joke lol. One friend, one of my closest, had a hard time understanding how I could be an arospec and dating my bf so that was...something. Didn't get it when I was like "I just fluxxed into a demi phase" but eh. At least no one's an aphobe and no one laughed at me (with intent to make fun of me) for it!

The "you just haven't met the right person yet" hits hard though ngl...recently I tried to lightly hint and bring up that I'm arospec to my mom cause...yeah, I'm kinda tired of "be careful about dating" "don't start liking boys too early" and stuff like that. So to simplify it, I was like "I feel like I'm probably on the aro spectrum, a spectrum of people who just don't do romance like how lesbians don't like guys or gay guys don't like girls" (disclaimer: some things have to be REALLY simplified to boomer-minded people, sorry if that offends anyone or seems to exclude them or anything, it was just the best way I could think of to shorten it) and she thought for a moment before telling me "you just haven't met the right person yet".

I mean fair, I am still young and full of vinegar but still...I mean I did see it coming from her but I still said it (didn't really reply on that topic after though). Oh, to be pulled through a laundry machine of thoughts and having to wonder if you're really a legit aro or if you jinxed yourself again (there's a history...fun stories). Maybe eventually I'll reach the stage where I'll confidently think "yep, I'm arospec" on a regular basis like I did about my bisexuality...maybe it just takes time... Rough being a wishy-washy and indecisive sort of person who doesn't have the lines fully clear :sob:

If I want to be arospec and I feel like I identify with it (even if I get a little dysphoria of sorts sometimes), then that's enough to call myself one, right? Maybe that applies to more queer identities too...

Idk I'm just prattling on again sry, in between a few bad days and there's a sort of comfort in typing it all out anonymously like this... Thanks for existing mate, and uhhh the crunchy fish stick is signing off for now!

fjigkdf Sorry I'm replying sooooo late after Halloween TwT To be fair, the comic I shared on Webtoon/Tapas that day was from a previous Halloween, but watching horror movies around that time of the year with my partner is something we do every year, just from a distance, it's par for the course

I sympathize tho TwT I'm still puzzled to this day as to why a professional uniform was turned into something so sexualizable, I can try to reason it in my head as playing with taboos or power and maybe that's sexually exciting for people somehow but I have no idea how that reasoning works since I'm very much clueless about anything sex-related so... Yeah. It's an odd one to me for sure. Always will be I guess.

I'm really glad coming out to people has been a good experience for you overall!! That's honestly so fortunate when that happens TwT And I'm glad any potentially hurtful comment that some of us typically get was only shared as a joke, from a place of not understanding but willingness to understand, or with the exception of your mom, from what I get.

To be honest, it's a sad thing to accept, but I think sadly it's possible some people may expect you to eventually be "fixed" forever, even if you yourself know for a fact you'll never change and will repeat it endlessly. I'm out to all of my close family, living grandparents and parents' relatives, and I'm pretty sure at least one of them expect it to be that way still. I don't do much about it, since as hurtful as it can be, it's just some hopes they're projecting on me without seeing the real me, and yeah, it's kinda painful, but they can't control me with those hopes. Heck, I was mentally prepared for my parents to be like that with me. I'm incredibly fortunate that they're not and they accept me for what I am now (although somehow I think getting a queerplatonic partner really helped in the matter, the idea is probably much less scary to them than me not having a partner in any way, shape or form for some reason). But... Yeah. In my younger years it wasn't really shaping up like my parents would accept my orientation, and they are now, so there can still be hope. Whatever happens to you, I wish you the best either way.

And... YES, if you feel an orientation defines you well, then it IS enough to call yourself one. I only have my experience to go by but I feel it's extra hard for orientations like ours where they're so often stigmatised, invisibilised, perceived as a "phase" etc etc. What we may not get in demonization and hate, we get in being treated like something that doesn't exist at all. And that's tough for the confidence to affirm yourself in that orientation. But yes. If you feel it defines you, if you feel it describes who you are, then it IS enough to be right. Nobody has the right to make that ultimate call for you, but yourself.

...Welp, at least that's how I feel about it. As always I wish you the best moving forward, thank you for checking in, and sorry again for the late reply! TwT

[grievedifferent]

Do you think Miles as a character and his fate is more encapsulated in body horror or psychological horror? Like specifically what do you focus on in your portrayal, the distortion of the body or the mind? Or both?

i want to say body horror first, psychological horror second, and here's why i say that.

mostly this: miles remains pretty sane throughout his experiences, primarily getting more emotional (lots of anger) in his loggings of his journey, before ultimately accepting death — he knows he won’t live through this.

(chapter 8 note, "underground mountain")

while what he is experiencing is a psychological horror and immensely distressing, miles experiences primarily body horror … while one could argue waylon experiences psychological events combined with body horror — but miles is known best for missing fingers, he’s always being thrown, chased, or tortured, and even the fact that his model doesn’t have a head (ie is the camera basically) kind of lends itself to that idea that while he is emotionally and mentally suffering, he is definitely taking the brunt of the game physically almost right away.

it’s kind of a “one lends itself to the other” here with him, but even to the end, he is possessed and then confirmed dead (in a past and very hastily deleted tweet lol).

so, he was always meant to take it to the grave ... but he never really changes mentally at all. if anything, miles becomes more angry, more vindicated, and more determined to get to the end, even knowing he will not make it out.

though he is meant to be scared, miles only becomes more affirmed. i rely a lot on inner narratives because he writes for us, the player (as we are supposed to be miles, yet there is almost a distinct "you are controlling miles, you are not miles" vibe i get in outlast), to get to know him. he never isn’t feeling, be it emotional or physical.

(last note, chapter 8, "death of hope")

miles does progressively talk about "the static" a lot in his notes as he progresses, but i think we have to remember there's a whole supernatural meets manmade experiment type of thing happening under his feet. he's being compelled by several things: the narrative first, his own need to finish second, and the supernatural pull third ... but kind of all in conjunction together, none is more motivating than the other, they just sort of exist together.

"The static again. A patient knelt in prayer. Maybe he bought Father Martin's line of bullshit. Maybe he hears what I hear but more clearly. Maybe it's his way out of this place. The Priest called it the Gospel of Sand."

"So much blood in the water I can smell it. Like putting a penny in your mouth when you were a kid. The whispers are making more sense, I'm looking for static. It's like an itch." <- the whispers he's hearing are from the morphogenic engine, which has its wiki article linked!

miles is being also compelled as the new host (despite dying at the end), he is made to make it "to the end" ... but waylon is the survivor, ironically working right beneath miles the whole time, even the whole reason miles is there.

ultimately, miles is truly one of those horror protags that, while he experiences so much mentally, he really is the "take the hits" kind of guy, if that makes sense? he is brutalized ... and even content was removed that was considered too brutal, so miles was really gonna go through it, in ways that i think they do translate to waylon (which are more fitting), but give a look at how miles was really going to be treated in the game ... he is literally meant to run, hide, survive ... for a while. i'm not saying he made it to the end totally sane and sound, but comparatively? especially to say josh? oh yeah, miles was mostly compelled by something outside of his own mind, which is pretty solid. this (to me) again sort of asserts "miles is a character we control, not a player substitute", as well as the idea that miles is more a body horror guy unfortunately for him. makes you wonder what he would see in like silent hill, eh?