#stomach literally dropped for a sec

[thedragonsnotdead]

hannibal raising his voice a singular time in s1e13 scared me more than any of the murders in this show

[theragethatisdesire]

pretty girl - jean kirschtein x afab!reader - 18+!!!

there's def more eren coming but while that's in the works please enjoy the result of the jean brainrot i experienced the other day. fair warning- it's going to get pretty rough, but that's what you asked him for ;)

pairing: reader x jean kirschtein

wc: 4.6k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, established relationship (jean's ur gorgeous bf lucky u), unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, pretty rough sex, vaginal fingering, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, daddy kink, use of names (pretty girl, crybaby, good girl), very dom jean, multiple orgasm, dacryphilia/crying, creampie

this one was super fun and is very tasty u guys enjoy <3

-

-> be there in 5 babe :)

You are not looking forward to this, to say the least. You pace madly around your little apartment in a massive t-shirt and sweatpants covering the skimpiest lingerie set you own. It’s got all the bells and whistles: a matching garter belt, lace in all the right places, stockings that come up to where your plush thighs are the fattest. You should be looking forward to this, you tell yourself, candles lit and ambient lighting ready to go. You have a gorgeous boyfriend who’s going to “be here in five”, and you should be brimming with excitement. But…you’re just not.

Jean’s been in your life for a few months now. What had started as a run-in at the coffee shop around the corner had turned into candlelit dinners, movie marathons, and exclusive titles, and you adore him. His sandy brown hair, the tattoo on his strong bicep, pretty hazel eyes– Jean’s sexy, loving, sarcastic, attentive, literally everything you could ask for in a boyfriend. Except when it comes to your sex life, that is.

The sex isn’t bad per se, you just can’t shake the feeling that he’s holding something back from you. He’s almost too perfect; he’s gentle with you, always taking care to ask permission before touching you, chaste kisses as he slides in, hand-holding in missionary. He cums every time, immune to the whiskey-dick you’d expect from his bourbon drinking habit, so you know he’s enjoying himself, but he doesn’t always seem all there. The fire just isn’t in him, and you know he has that side to him. You’ve seen those hazel eyes you love so much blaze, in a heated argument, at the gym. Why it doesn’t happen in your intimate moments is beyond you, it’s like he’s afraid to break you, like he’s not doing everything–

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Shit, knocking on your front door is what he’s doing.

You take one last look in the mirror: hair’s casual, but still sexy, makeup to a minimum, all straps and lace covered up by your inconspicuous pajamas. Time to potentially ruin your relationship.

“Hey beautiful,” Jean greets you with an innocent smile, “you look cozy.”

“Feel cozy,” you accept his kiss, chewing on your lip as he comes in. Your heart’s pounding in your ears; poor thing has no idea what’s to come. Maybe it’ll go well, you think; false hope might be the only thing that gets you to pull through with your plan.

“Have any movie ideas for tonight? I was thinking Hereditary, but only if you’re not too chicken…” Jean raises his eyebrows, a taunting smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Ha! If only he knew all of the things you aren’t “too chicken” for.

You smile weakly, stomach churning. “Maybe. Can we just…can we just talk for a sec?”

Jean’s playful demeanor drops instantly, replaced by a faint frown. “What about?”

You amble over to the couch, playing with the strings of your sweatpants anxiously. How the fuck are you even supposed to bring this up? Your mind’s racing so quickly it draws a blank, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt: “Sex.”

“Sex?” Jean’s cheeks tinge pink. He hasn’t shaved in probably a week, a shadow covering his sharp jawline. God, he’s gorgeous, you can’t mess this up, you really can’t.

“Yeah,” you confirm, “sex. Our sex, to be clear.”

“I figured as much,” Jean’s sat himself beside you now, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. He’s not upset, not yet, but you’ve definitely caught him off guard.

“I– I feel like we’re on different pages,” you stammer– fuck you are so bad at this, “I just feel like sometimes you’re so…gentle, and you don’t necessarily, like, have to be?”

Jean’s frowning full on now, a precious little wrinkle appearing in the center of his forehead. You’ve hurt him, and your heart sinks. Probably should have started with the pros. “Like…what do you mean, by ‘don’t have to be gentle’?”

“Our sex life is great,” you try to smile enthusiastically, as if you don’t actually want to blow your brains out right now, “please don’t think I’m saying you’re bad in bed or anything. I just, like– okay, for example, have you ever tried anything rough?”

His mouth is a flat line. “Like what?”

“Like, handcuffs, or roleplay, any of that stuff.”

“What have you tried?” His voice is even, collected, but there’s something simmering in him that you can’t put your finger on. It’s not anger, but it tastes similar, running in the same vein but not quite there. It’s your turn to feel your face warm.

“I mean, I’ve tried handcuffs before. Some light slapping, spanking.” You’re twiddling your thumbs, confessing into your lap. You can feel his eyes on you.

“That it?”

“I guess.”

“Did you…enjoy that kind of stuff?” He’s taking the bait. You finally meet his gaze and it ignites a little fire in your stomach; he’s never looked at you this intensely, brows pinched together like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. All of these little mannerisms are tells, you’re intuitive enough to know that, but exactly what he’s trying to convey you just can’t figure out.

“Yeah.”

“How rough are we talking, here?” Jean sounds deeper than normal, the slightest bit of strain to his words. That’s definitely new; Jean’s the most unshakeable person you’ve ever met.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, I–”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” an easy chuckle floats out of his mouth, “just trying to feel you out is all.”

Your brows furrow. “Feel me out?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised?” Your nose wrinkles. “Did I ever give off the impression that I was, like, super vanilla or something?”

“No,” he laughs again, a bit of the tension melting from the room, “no, not that. We’re just still pretty new, that’s all. Wasn’t going to whip out everything in my toolbox ‘til I knew you were okay with it.”

That piques your interest; you think you’d very much like to see what’s in this toolbox of his. “So you do like some of this stuff?”

Jean rolls that thought over in his mind for a beat before responding, a suspicious smirk that you can’t read tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess you could say I like some of this stuff.”

“We’re back to my original question then: what do you like?”

“I’m more worried about what you like,” Jean says, “especially since you won’t come right out and say it. Gonna make me guess?”

That’s your Jean, blunt as ever. The fire in your stomach sparks and spits at the conversation, teasing and tempting. There’s something playful to his words; you can’t shake this feeling that you’re missing something, that he’s toying with you, but you like it. You let him keep pushing, see where he’s leading you. “Sure, guess.”

“Do you like…” Jean trails off, examining you with his chin nestled between his thumb and index finger, “to be dominant?”

“No.”

“Submissive, then.”

“Yeah.” He likes that, you can tell by the way his eyes glint at you. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Like to be tied up?”

“Already told you about the handcuffs.”

“I bet you have a praise kink.”

That has you flustered. There’s a sinking sensation in your stomach that you’ve underestimated him, waded out too deep into the water, but fuck it, you’re already here. “How’d you know?”

Jean smiles, pleased. “I just do. Overstimulation?”

“Sure.”

“Orgasm denial? Degradation?”

“If I deserve it.” It’s a bold answer, but it makes Jean suck in a sharp “fuck” between his teeth. Oh yes, you’ve definitely underestimated him.

“You like to be punished, don’t you?” His hand has traveled up to cup your jaw, thumb playing absentmindedly with your bottom lip. There’s an anticipatory warmth gathering between your legs, and the air between you both is practically crackling, charged by the tension thrumming through both of your bodies.

“Yes,” it comes out in a breath, almost pathetic, but you can’t help yourself. He looks so good, always does, and now he’s grazing his eyes over you like he wants to take a bite.

“You know how safewords work?” You nod a bit too eagerly. “Ours is going to be red, okay?”

“Okay,” you’re agreeing, but you aren’t entirely sure what to, caught up in the soft rubbing of his thumb over your mouth.

“If your mouth is,” a deep breath shakes through his frame, “occupied, give me a sharp pinch with your nails.”

“I can do that,” the tension between you is palpable now, the room’s so hot that you’re surprised your wallpaper isn’t peeling off.

“Go to your room,” Jean releases you, eyes dark and hungry, “take your clothes off and wait for me on the bed. I’ll be in soon.”

You follow his instructions without thinking twice, as if a switch has flipped in your brain. Maybe it was his tone, an authoritative way of speaking that threatens consequence, or maybe you’re just so ready to see what this perfect boyfriend of yours has been hiding all this time. As you’re getting undressed, you realize he still doesn't know about your lingerie. You bite back a smile, kneeling on the bed. This is going to be so good.

A minute or so ticks by slowly, and just when your legs are starting to ache, Jean’s entering your room. His face darkens in a way you’ve never seen before when he sees your little get up; lightning shoots through your core.

“Put on a pretty outfit just for me?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“That’s good,” he says in that slow drawl of his, “good girl.”

He’s only testing the waters, but you can feel your body viscerally react to the little pet name, shifting on your knees to mask your desperate attempt for friction, dampness spreading in your panties. Jean sees right through your act, smirking.

Jean joins you in undressing, slipping his shirt over his head. You take your time admiring his torso; miles of long, lean muscle, little ripples by his ribs trailing into a ridiculous six-pack. Jean’s a confessed gym rat, and it shows in every little line along his body. You have to blink and look away before you start salivating.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jean scolds, tilting your head up towards him, “eyes on me, got it?”

“Got it,” you answer. Jean frowns.

“That’s not very nice,” he says, “try again.”

You go out on a limb. “Yes, sir.”

Jean’s eyes glint again in that mean, pretty way you saw earlier. You did good, you did good for him. “Much better. Get on the floor.”

You slide off of your mattress, practically buzzing with anticipation, settling on your knees in front of him. A low groan rumbles in Jean’s chest.

“Look so good like that, my pretty girl.”

Oh, you really like that, nuzzling against his hand on your head. Jean smiles down at you, inching his pants down until that little thatch of brown hair starts revealing itself. “Open up for me, nice and wide.”

Your jaw’s dropped, mouth open and tongue out, expectant. Jean smiles wider, sharp and dangerous, pulling his cock out for you. He taps the head against your tongue a few times, even slaps you with it, facade faltering for a fraction of a second to gauge your reaction. You’re good for him, sitting still and patient with your mouth still open, a drop of drool starting to slide off the end of your tongue. Jean makes a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a chuckle.

“Oh, you’re an obedient little thing, aren’t you?” Your panties grow impossibly wetter, you wiggle on your thighs under him, earning yourself another slap of his cock on your tongue, heavy and drooling. “Gonna fuck this pretty face, okay?”

You close your mouth around his head, sucking lightly to show your approval. He’s not even touched you, not so much as a kiss, and your brain’s foggy, running like a hamster on a wheel chasing the circular thought of be good, be good, be good. Jean grabs your hair none-too-gently, tugging it at the roots, and starts canting his hips towards your mouth, muttering under his breath about how good you are, how good your mouth feels on him.

You lower your jaw ever so slightly, and before long, Jean’s picking up speed, knocking your gag reflex here and there and making you cough around him. He doesn’t seem overly concerned; in fact, he grins cruelly down at you when he hits an extra-sensitive spot, making you hunch and gag on him.

“Look at my pretty girl, so happy getting her mouth fucked,” he hisses when you moan around him, feeling the vibrations up his cock. He’s moving faster now, rougher than he’s ever been. You’re gagging with some regularity, tears welling up in your eyes and threatening to spill down your cheeks. You expect him to let up, give you some air, but it only spurs him on, and before you know it, there are thick streams of tears running down your face. Your jaw aches, your knees burn, but you stay, letting him use you how he pleases.

“Fucking crying on me,” Jean growls, “my cock too much for you?”

You try to answer with a shake of your head, but he’s relentless, fingers tightening in your hair and cock shoving to the back of your throat, making you retch.

“No, you love it, don’t you? My little crybaby.”

You’re so wet you can feel it gathering on the insides of your thighs, entirely soaked through your panties. You move your hips subtly, this way and that, desperate for friction. Jean notices, pulling out of your mouth but staying connected by a string of your spit.

“You squirming, pretty girl? Need some attention?”

“Yes, sir,” you rasp, nodding eagerly. Jean helps you up onto the bed, lays you back against his chest facing the mirror on top of your wardrobe. It’s a terribly lewd sight; you spread out in front of him, face swollen and teary, the telltale glisten of wetness glittering on your thighs.

Jean slides a hand down your body, rubbing you over your panties and nibbling at your ear. “You’re gonna watch me make you cum, and if I see you look away, I’m fucking you ‘til I cum, and you’re not getting a damn thing. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” your voice wobbles pathetically. Jean seems to like it; his cock twitches in interest against your back. He pushes your panties to the side, flicking his fingers faster over your clit. Embarrassingly enough, you’re already nearing your halfway point from the face-fucking, moaning and grinding up into his palm.

“Need something?”

“Mhm,” you grit out, jaw clenched. Jean slaps your pussy; not too hard, but firm enough to make you jolt, bring you a moment of clarity.

“Manners,” he reminds you sharply.

“I’m sorry, I– can I please have a finger?”

Jean’s placated, slides one finger into you and laughs hot against your neck at the obscene sound that tears from your throat. “What do we say when we get what we ask for?”

“Thank you– fuck, thank you,” your words are coming out in puffs of breathe. Jean has long, skilled fingers, a fact you’re already familiar with, but the position he’s put you in has you dripping onto the sheets: forcing you to watch as he pumps in and out of you, grinding into your clit with the heel of his hand. You’ll be lucky if you last another minute.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? My pretty girl likes being full, right?” Jean murmurs, hot against the shell of your ear. “Tell me.”

“Yes, sir, I– I like it, I need– fuck!”

“What do you need?” Jean coos, entertained, as if he’s not unraveling you with just the one.

“I want one m-more finger, please,” you stutter, relieved you’re able to get the words out at all.

“Learning so fast,” Jean kisses your shoulder, granting your wish. His fingers are thick, the slight stretch making you throw your head back against his shoulder, hips rolling into his hand of their own accord. “Still looking?”

You force your head back to its upright position, mindful of the threat in his tone. His fingers work faster at your obedience, curling insistently against the gummy spot inside your walls that makes you see stars, makes you a little out of your mind with need. It’s that out-of-mind dizziness in your head that causes your little slip-up:

“Fuck, please, more- more, Daddy.”

Jean’s fingers still; it’s not until you’re halfway into a whine of disappointment that you realize what you’ve said. Your face burns; you meet his eyes in the mirror, yours shot wide and embarrassed. You trip over your words, trying to explain yourself. That definitely hadn’t been mentioned in your earlier conversation.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, I just–”

“Just what? Already so fucked out you can’t think straight?” Jean curls his fingers pointedly against your walls, punching a groan from your chest.

“Yeah,” you sigh, head growing cloudy again.

“Say it again.” That definitely isn’t what you expect to hear him mutter against your neck. Jean works a third finger into your cunt with some difficulty, stretching you to your limits. “Fucking say it, or you’re not cumming.”

“Oh my God, D-Daddy,” your cries are pathetic, punctuated by whimpers. The bubble in your stomach is about to pop, the tension growing unbearable. You’re almost there, grinding into his hand pitifully and babbling, when Jean takes one of his hands to grab your throat roughly. He holds you captive, staring at your own stretched cunt on display for you in the mirror.

“Good, good girl,” he says, “now watch Daddy make you cum.”

The band inside you snaps viciously; your back arches away from him, and you squirt, gushing all over your bed sheets, inhuman sounds tearing from your throat where you struggle under his hand. Jean’s working you through the whole thing, still steadily pumping his fingers and whispering dirty little nothings into your ear. It finally begins to quiet, overstimulation washing over you. You push urgently at his wrist, mumbling something or other about “too much, too much”.

Jean mercifully obliges, pulling his hand from you with a shameful sucking sound, giving your pussy another light slap.

“Such a good girl for me, yeah? How you feelin’?”

“Good, so good,” you slur, “I’ve never– never…”

“Never squirted?” Jean’s eyebrows shoot up at your answering nod before a smug expression settles over his face. “Such a fun little toy, aren’t you? Just wait, you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing; so he can make you do that? Again? Jean’s slid out from behind you and is repositioning your limp body, dragging you down the bed by your ankles to line you up with his cock. He bends your knees up, pressing them close to your head. Jesus, he’s going to kill you at this rate.

“Want me to fuck you?”

“Please,” you hate the begging lilt to your voice, but you’re beyond fighting it. You gave up the reins a long time ago when you knelt for him, let him call you a good girl, let him fuck your throat.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl, Daddy’s gotcha,” Jean starts bullying his way into your pussy, still tight and pulsing from your orgasm. “Shit, got a tight little cunt, don’t you? Feels so good– fuck.”

You’re simpering under him, barely able to process the stretch of his cock in you. He’s well-endowed and you’re overwhelmed, a dizzying combination for your fucked-out brain to handle. Just when you think he might be in your throat he’s so deep in you, his hips press to the back of your thighs, both of you letting out a long groan at the feeling.

“So pretty,” Jean muses, not moving yet, just placing a thumb on your clit and absentmindedly playing with it, “such a beautiful pussy.”

You whine, frustrated. He glares at you, landing a harsh smack to your inner thigh.

“I’m not going to warn you again.”

“Please fuck me, oh God, please,” you pant, past the point of humility. Jean licks his lips, presses his palms deep into the backs of your knees, practically folding you in half. He gives you what you ask for.

You’re jolted back and forth on the mattress, mouth hung open in a silent scream as he splits you open on him, forces every inch deep into you. His tip’s kissing your cervix, pain blooming in your abdomen, but you don’t even care, so lost in the rhythm of his hips.

“Jean, I– oh my God,” you try to tell him how good he feels, but all you get is a firm hand around your throat.

“Who’s fucking this pretty cunt up, hm? Fucking you good and deep? Who is it?”

“Daddy,” you choke out, breathless, “Daddy’s.”

“There you go,” Jean’s focused on where you’re connected, eyes never leaving the frothy white ring forming around the base of his cock. You’re crying again, vaguely aware of the streams of tears running down your temples, into your hairline, but fuck, he just feels so good your brain can’t even process it. Jean takes notice, wipes one of your tears and licks it off of his thumb. “Cute fucking crybaby, all happy and cockdrunk, aren’t you?”

You whimper some semblance of an agreement, feeling the band of tension in you already getting stretched to a breaking point. He’s at an angle that allows him to hammer into the most delicious spot inside of you, rubbing against it with each thrust.

“Gonna cum soon, I– I’m gonna cum soon,” you manage, locking his gaze.

“Let me feel it, go on, do it for me,” Jean pants, squeezing your neck tighter. The lack of air goes to your head; the room spins until all you can focus on is him pounding into you. You cum violently, throbbing around his cock, thrashing against his strong arms. Jean fucks you through it, never losing his pace. “Good fucking girl, just like that.”

You’re practically wheezing as your senses return to you, clawing at Jean’s arm on your throat. He lets up on your neck, smiling down at you. “Feel good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, blissed out and half-asleep until Jean flips you, forcing you to prop up on your hands and knees. “Wait, Jean–”

“Wait?” Jean scoffs, sliding back into you. You let out a little cry, and he smacks your ass sharply. “This is what you asked for, right? Said I was being too nice to you.”

“I didn’t– oh my god…” your eyes roll back into your head, a well-placed thrust cutting your words off. “It’s so…it’s so much, Jean.”

Jean lands three more sharp slaps to your ass, already thrusting into you at a brutal pace. “What was that?”

“T-too much, Daddy,” you collapse, face shoved into the bed to mask the pitiful cries leaving your mouth. It is too much; if you tuck your chin to your chest, you can see a little bulge in your tummy where he’s fucking into you, another orgasm already building in the pit of your stomach. You feel like you might pass out if he makes you cum again, but he’s ruthless.

“Too much?” Jean coos, fisting your hair to turn your face. He’s glaring down at you. “You were practically begging me for it, and my pretty girl gets what she wants, right? Said you wanted it rough, so you’re going to fucking take it.”

You nod miserably, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Jean hisses when you clamp down around him. “Squeezing me so goddamn tight, this pussy.”

You feel a hand start thrumming insistently against your clit and nearly shriek; your pussy’s so swollen, so sensitive already. You claw at the bedsheets, feeling something warm and wet swelling inside of you.

“Daddy, I– fuck, it’s, it’s–”

“Gonna make you squirt again,” it’s a promise from behind your ear, “you’re gonna squirt on my cock and Daddy’ll cum for you, okay?”

“I can’t, I–” you’re wailing, words cut off by your own moans. Jean loves it, you can feel his thrusts growing more urgent against your hips, so deep in you you could choke.

“You can,” he corrects you, hand moving faster, “want Daddy to cum in you?”

“Yes, please, p-please,” You cry, letting him use you as he wishes. 

“I’ll give it to you, gotta cum first, you can do that, can’t you? Taking me so well, pretty girl, just need you to cum one more time for me.”

“Uh-huh,” the edges of your vision are starting to close in. He’s ruthless, hips slamming into yours hard enough to bruise, cock stretching you out so nicely, you can’t hold it, but you know, somewhere deep in this primal part of your brain, you need to be good, need to ask him. “Need to cum, Daddy, please– please let me, I–”

“Go ahead,” Jean shushes you, hips moving impossibly faster, “be a good girl, let me feel it.”

That tips you over the edge and Jean makes good on his promise; your cum is dripping out of you, spraying onto his thighs and ruining your sheets. You’re thrashing your head back and forth and sobbing through your orgasm, pinned and powerless under him. Jean swears at the vice-like grip you have on him; it doesn’t take him long to follow suit, pressing himself as deep as he can go, cumming in you. He bends over you as he does, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to him, kissing you hard in a mess of tongue and teeth. You feel it warming your stomach, moaning appreciatively until you both collapse in a sweaty mess of limbs, gasping for breath and clutching onto one another.

Jean allows himself a few moments to catch his breath, and then he’s pulling out of you, leaving you empty and whimpering. He shushes you, holding you close to his chest and letting you work through the intense session in his arms. You’ve never been so fucked out, nuzzling into his chest and simply letting him hold you, letting the aftershocks wrack through your sore body. After a few minutes you’re coming to; the haze begins to lift, and you peek up at him, unsure of where to start after…that.

“You okay?”

You turn the words over in your mouth before you can get them out, still feeling a bit like you’re floating. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. That was…wow.”

Jean, the man that just held you down and forced what were probably life-threatening orgasms out of you, blushes. “Yeah, it was really something.”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, giggling despite yourself. Your mind is still a little cloudy, a little soft after everything. “But it was good. So good.”

“Yeah?” Jean grins, hoisting you up into his lap so you can both sit up, still cradling you to his chest. “Not too gentle, was I?”

Your face grows hot, you want to hide it behind your hands. “No, not too gentle.”

“You were right earlier,” he admits, “I was definitely holding out on you just because the way I like to…I mean, I don’t think I need to get too into it, you were there. It can be a lot. Didn’t want to push you too far.”

You hum contentedly, playing with the little gold chain he always wears. “I understand that now, but I’m a big girl. I can handle whatever you want to give me, promise.”

“Don’t say that,” Jean groans, “too tired for round two.”

Your hand falls into the mess between your thighs, and you wince. “Maybe after a shower?”

“Greedy,” Jean tuts, scooping you up with him to make the journey over to your bathroom, “my greedy, pretty girl.”

[lucidfairies]

pretty girl [a.a]

pairing: experienced!Abby x inexperienced!reader // Owens sister!reader x bbf!Abby

synopsis: Abby was irritatingly beautiful, nobody could deny that. But one night, everything changed between the two of you.

warnings: mdni 18+, religion mentioned, dom!abby, sub!reader, poc friendly, oral sex [r], fingerfucking [r], praise, slight size kink, corruption if you squint

word count: 2.1k

a/n: this is short and really not good but that's okay cuz I have more coming out soon! also no more virgin reader because it kinda made me wanna shoot myself

Out of all of the friends your brother, Owen, had over the years, Abby Anderson was definitely your favorite. Aside from the fact that she was built like and had the face of an actual god on earth, she was so sweet to you all the time. Always acting like, well, a sister. The feeling had never been mutual, though. You didn’t want her to see you as her best friend’s cute younger sister, you wanted her to see you as her best friend’s undeniably sexy younger sister.

You never really knew when this crush became, but Abby had been in your life for so long that it didn’t matter. All you knew was that every time you looked at her, your stomach flipped and warmth spread between your legs. Because, god, those eyes. Always looked like they were picking you apart, one inch at a time.

She’s the exact reason you were tossing and turning in your bed, trying to get her out of your head. Your body reacted differently to her lately, every accidental touch was like a punch to the gut, and at night, every time she crossed your mind, your clit throbbed, a feeling you weren’t used to.

It’s not like you never found people attractive, it’s just… she was different. You needed her in a different way, in a very unholy way. One your brother would absolutely not be okay with. You tried to tell yourself that that’s why you wanted her - just to get to Owen. But that didn’t work.

You sat up in your bed, wiping the sleep out of your eyes and forcing your legs together to end the throbbing. You were so fucking wet. Looking in the mirror at the end of your bed, you huffed and got up, brushing your hair out and changing into a smaller, hotter pajama set. Before you could register any consequences to what you were about to do, you grabbed your keys and left the house.

You knew where Abby’s house was. You’d been there a handful of times over the course of the years, normally to pick up Owen when he was high. Suddenly, you were pulling up and parking at the curb and getting out of the car, slamming the door on the way out. Standing at the door, you banged harshly, hoping she miraculously wouldn’t be home.

“Okay, Jesus, give me a sec- y/n?” Your stomach dropped. The reality of what you were doing hit you like a truck, and you suddenly second guessed everything, ready to turn around and run away. “What’re you doing here this late, sweetheart?” You sighed, digging your palms into your eyes and rubbing them.

“I need your help, Abby.” You looked up at her, unwilling to elaborate until she let you in. And she did. She opened the door further, allowing you to step in, then shut it behind you. “There’s this… feeling in my stomach that won’t go away. It’s like heat. I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

Abby wanted to pretend like she didn’t know what you were talking about. Wanted to pretend that she was thinking about the fact that you were literally horny and came to her for help, not to mention the little pajamas that you had on, that hugged you tight and hardly covered anything. She could tell you that Owen would hate her if she helped you the way you needed, and it was just unethical, but.

But.

That would be like telling you she hasn’t been in love with you for seven years, telling you that she didn’t want you, telling you that she hasn’t thought about this every night practically since she met you. And she surely didn’t want you thinking any of that.

Abby sighed. “Is that all it is? Heat?” She took a step closer to you, making you catch your breath.

“No,” you paused, taking a step forward as well, so that your chests were almost pressed against each other. “It’s this wet feeling. And this throbbing.” Abby could’ve come in her boxers, right then and there, if she wasn’t trying to focus on you.

“Where?” Your face was burning. She placed her large hand on your stomach, head dropping to the crook of your neck. “Here?” she ran her thumb over the skin. You shook your head, placing your hands on her shoulders. Her hand cupped your cunt, heel of her palm pressing up ever so slightly, just to press into your clit. You pushed up on your toes, trying to get away from the overwhelming sensation, but it was unrelenting. “Here, baby?” You nodded quickly. “Words.”

You moaned at her harsh change of tone. “Yes Abby,” she left an open mouthed kiss on your neck, pulling her hand away from your pussy. “I don’t know what to do about it.” The way you looked at her made her want to kiss you until you couldn’t breathe. Big doe eyes, unknowing but curious. You were so innocent, and it turned Abby on more than it should’ve. All she could think about was your pretty, big lips wrapped around her strap, taking it deep in your throat.

“Oh honey,” Abby sighed again. She didn’t want it to seem like she didn’t want this, want you, but she didn’t know how to go about it. “Have you never touched yourself?” Your brows scrunched.

“No. But that’s not what- oh!” Abby couldn’t take it, she picked you up and threw you over her shoulder, walking down the hallway and going into her bedroom. She shut the door and sat you down on her bed. “Abs.. I’ve wanted this for a while.”

“Wanted what, baby? I thought you didn’t know what you were doing.” She was on her knees in front of you, hands on your waist as she looked up at you.

“I..” you groaned, running your hands over your face in embarrassment. “I want to have sex with you. That’s why I came here, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Abby knew that. But she didn’t stop you from telling her. It sounded so nice coming out of your lips. “Owen can’t know, if we do.”

“I never said we were doing anything, darlin.” Remaining on her knees, she pressed against you and caught your lips in a kiss. Her hands were on your thighs, wrapping them around her waist, while she kissed you so hard you lost your breath. It was all tongue and teeth, nothing sweet about it. “What do you think about when you think about me, baby?”

Your brain was in a haze as you tried to formulate words. “You-your arms. And h-how your voice sounds, and how you look at me w-whenever we make eye contact.” She hooked her fingers under your shorts and pulled them down, then tossed them and shifted the two of you so that you were laying against her pillows and she was overtop of you.

When Abby caught a glimpse of the gold cross around your neck, she almost stopped. But the thought of corrupting you, turning you against the things you believe in just for her... extremely attractive.

"The heat between your legs is because you're horny, baby. Don't they teach you that at your pretty prep school?" You shook your head quickly, mind fuzzy as she kneaded your tits overtop your pajama shirt. She grabbed your hardened nipple and ran her thumb over it, making you shiver.

"Too much, Abby. Too much." You whined, pushing away from her hand.

"Is it really too much, sweet girl?" She twisted your nipple and pulled it, making you whimper and arch slightly off the bed. You couldn't tell whether you liked it or disliked it, but the way she was doing it felt extremely different from the way you briefly experimented with yourself here and there.

She knew what she was doing, and it made you want to moan and ride her fingers like you'd heard Owen talking about with her. You had listened to the vulgar stories she would tell your brother of her hookups, talking about what she did and how she did it.

You pushed up, sitting against the headboard as you pulled your pajama shirt up and over your head. Abby couldn't tear her eyes away from your tits. In seconds, her lips were latching onto your nipple and biting lightly, her hand flicking the other. Your back was arching into her mouth, moaning quietly.

"You're so pretty, my love." She mumbled into the skin of your sternum as she made a path of open-mouthed kisses towards your pajama shorts. Your skin was burning, and you were tingling at the thought of her teaching you what to do and how to do it.

She slipped your shorts off your legs and tossed them somewhere, gently running her thumb down your center. You shivered and whined, lacing one of your hands in her hair. "Abby," your head lolled back when she finally pulled your underwear down, kissing your clit gently. "Abs be gentle."

"Don't worry pretty girl, I'll go easy on you this time." Your stomach flipped at 'this time'. Would there be more times?

She licked a fat strip up your cunt and your hips bucked into her face, encouraging her. The sensation was brand new, and so much different than anything you'd ever done or felt. So much better.

Her tongue circled your clit, tracing shapes and letters, spelling her name against you. "Oh God, Abby," you moaned, the feeling of her hot breath and wet tongue creating the best mixture on your clit. The harsh middle ground where hot and cold met, where her thumb ran down your folds, was the greatest. You decided it was a good thing you waited, but you could definitely get used to this.

Moments later, Abby's middle finger was slowly pushing into your entrance, and she was groaning into your clit. She pulled away from your clit, watching her finger sink into you as she pressed kisses into your stomach and thighs. "So fucking tight, baby," her other hand rubbed your thigh, "need you to relax, angel."

A whine was ripped from your throat at the unfamiliar pressure. Your hips moved, trying to find some way to make it more comfortable. Abby was praising you, leaving quiet chants against your skin reminding you to breathe. You took a deep breath and released it, allowing your lower half to become less tense.

She began to thrust her finger slowly, curling it towards the sensitive bundle of nerves within you and grunting at the way you squirmed and cried out her name, begging her to do it again.

When you were ready, she added another finger, letting you adjust to both of her digits before reattaching her lips to your clit. Her right hand had found its way back to your tits, pulling at your nipple.

Your stomach became wound up, almost like a cramp in need of release. You knew it meant you were going to cum, but you never had before. "Abby- m'gonna, oh, Abby," a gush of warmth flooded between your legs, stronger and much better feeling than when you got wet.

Your legs were shaking and your hips were twitching, head thrown back and she worked you through it. Abby on the other hand, was wide-eyed and blushing as she watched you come around her fingers. She hooked up with girls regularly before now, but she had never been with someone like you.

She retracted her fingers and licked them clean. You were panting, forearm thrown over your eyes so that you wouldn't have to meet hers. "You did so well, my love." She had her hands pressed into your hips as she kissed your neck, waiting for you to come out and talk to her.

She was painting your skin in soft kisses when you finally brought your arm away from your face, cupping her face with both of your hands. "That was nice," you both grinned, which turned into laughter. It felt so good to laugh with her without worrying about Owen.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" She asked once the laughter had subsided, turning things to a slightly more serious note. "I wanted you to be comfortable."

"You didn't hurt me, Abby. I'm glad I waited for you." She was kissing you then, smiling into your mouth as your teeth clashed and nicked at each other's lips. "Can I stay here tonight?" Abby rolled over next to you and took your hand as hers before looking towards you.

"You can stay here forever." She whispered quietly, kissing the back of your hand.

[lixiesfreckless]

mind games | p. js

➸ synopsis: a little playful banter and psychoanalysis never hurt anybody.

➸ starring: park jisung x reader

➸ word count: 1.3k

➸ general content: college au, house party shenanigans, kissing, sungie is exactly the smooth man I know he could be if he didn't get flustered every 0.2 secs-

➸ warnings: alcohol consumption

➸ rating: 15+

➸ author’s note: I've literally had this in the drafts for MONTHS sorry for keeping park jisung content from tumblr, that should be a crime punishable by firing squad-

♫ this fic has a soundtrack! it's empty cups by charlie puth put it on pUT IT ON

You don't know what's making you more drunk; the alcohol or the man in front of you.

You've been watching his dark hooded eyes gaze at you this whole conversation, something that should feel casual, but with no one else on the couch, feels more intimate than you would have expected. And try as you might, you can't ignore the deep timbre of his voice, almost reminding you of a siren in how you can barely focus on anything else. Even the loud music of the party seems to fade when your eyes naturally trace the sound to the curve of his mouth, occasionally curling on one side when he catches your eyes wandering lower.

Damn. You don't remember being this much of a lightweight.

“-but enough about my major,” he sighs, rubbing his finger absentmindedly along the trim of the couch, a gesture that definitely should not have your insides twisting into a coil. “I am becoming increasingly curious as to what yours might be.” The tilt of his lips gives away the mock sincerity he's using, a sarcastic stab to the dull nature of collegiate small talk. You fight the urge to grin, feeling like a silly teenage girl. It was only one shot of vodka, what the hell?

“Guess.” An unoriginal response, but he leans back and strokes an imaginary beard, looking to the ceiling as if he was consulting the gods of career choices.

After a moment, he snaps his fingers and points at you.

“Culinary arts?”

“Close. Psychology.”

He bursts out laughing at your blatant lie, and you don't think you've ever heard a sound more disarming.

There is no way it was just vodka in your red solo cup.

“Have you been psychoanalyzing me?” He says with a glint in his eyes as he narrows them.

“I can't help it,” you laugh.

“Tell me.” His voice was so clear despite it being barely above a whisper.

“You just want to know how you're perceived by a stranger, don't you?”

His jaw drops open in awe. “You really are a psych major, huh?” You nod your head and let a laugh slip out again.

“So what have you gathered about me then?” He leans closer again, quieting his voice even more just in case anyone could hear him over the raging bass of the speakers.

“Well for one, you’re quiet,” you begin, and you wait for him to open his mouth(probably to argue that that’s obvious) to continue, “but it’s not because you’re shy. You’re reserved, probably choosing to keep to yourself in public situations because you don’t crave social interaction.”

His tongue pushes the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile, and you have to digest the butterflies in your stomach to keep going.

“And you’re observant, which is pretty common amongst introverted…?” you wait for him to confirm your guess with a nod, “Right. Introverted reserved guys that get caught people watching at parties.”

“I was not!” He argues, scrunching his nose in defiance.

“How’d you know what was in my cup then?”

“Oh that?” He nods his head over to the strawberry blonde that has the kitchen on lock, entertaining practically every girl within earshot of him. “Jaemin makes the same drink for every new girl he meets.”

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “A vodka cranberry?”

“With a splash of lime,” he adds, rolling his eyes. “He insists it elevates the drink.”

“Does he know it’s a house party?"

“Shh, he doesn’t need to know that.”

You’re both laughing, with heads so close that if it weren’t for the decibel levels of the party, you’d be sweating buckets at his proximity.

“You’re good though,” he says, sighing, and when he sees your confused stare he elaborates, “your psychoanalysis, I mean. That was pretty spot on.” You shake your head, waving him off with your free hand.

“That was nothing– I’d rather see you try,” you subtly challenge, raising your cup back to your lips.

“Oh yeah?”

You raise your eyebrows, as if you were daring him to try and figure you out.

He leans back from you, now gazing at you thoughtfully as he crosses his arms across his chest. Immediately you feel warm, clearly unprepared for having this much attention on you, let alone his. Your outfit was nothing unusual for a college party– just a short dress you felt confident in paired with a shrug that matched your sneakers –and you smirk to yourself knowing that the only piece of your personality he could derive from your clothes was well out of sight.

“I think you have a lot of secrets,” he says suddenly, meeting your eyes and leaning in close again. There was a lilt to his voice; was he teasing?

“Doesn’t everyone?” You ask, attempting to get him to elaborate.

“No, you’re probably a vault now that I think about it,” he chuckles, eyes wandering down to your neck as he eyes the locket necklace hanging just above your collarbones. “And assuming you want to go into a career where you help people, you’re always giving advice and listening to others, but don’t bother bothering others with your problems.”

He hit the nail on the head so hard you’re practically drooling.

“Who are you, seriously,” you laugh, feeling ridiculously exposed.

“Park Jisung, creative writing,” he says, swirling his hands and giving a mock bow, and you playfully slap his hand away. “How’s your back?”

“Sorry?”

“Your back. You know, doesn’t it hurt from carrying the weight of your friends’ trauma?”

When was the last time you laughed this much? “Not nearly as much as writer’s block.”

He scoffs, holding a hand against his hoodie and leaning back as if you’ve delivered a fatal blow. Which you probably did, to his ego. “So she plays dirty. I should have seen that coming.”

“Careful, I know how to weaponize words.”

“Well that makes two of us,” he muses, leaning close enough so his voice is clear again. “I’m also good at telling people what they wanna hear.”

“Is that so?” You bend down and leave your solo cup on the floor, no longer interested in its contents. “What do you think I wanna hear then?”

He pauses, probably weighing the risk of voicing his next thought.

“Mmmm…something like how from the moment I saw you at the bar, I knew I couldn’t leave this party without your number,” he says, fighting a smirk as he lifts a hand to his face to hide his bashful expression.

“Oh really,” you laugh, mentally thanking the low light in the room for hiding the blush coloring your cheeks. He wasn’t wrong though, you won’t let him leave without your digits in his phone.

Your gaze flickers down to his pouty lips, hoping he’ll pick up what you’re putting down. ”Anything else?”

“I think…” he says slowly, leaning in just enough so his intentions are clear as day, “you want me to say that I wanna try that vodka cranberry.”

“With lime,” you add, eyelids dropping as his face inches closer to yours. “The lime is essential.”

“Right. Can’t forget that.”

He smiles right when his lips touch yours, and the action has your skin nearly bursting into flames before he finally commits to the kiss.

Pillowy and soft, his kiss is slow and sensual against your lips, and immediately you feel so dizzy that you brace a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself, which unintentionally pulls him closer. The second kiss is deeper as a result, and the buzz in your fingertips is not from the alcohol, you’re sure.

Pulling away with a smile on his lips, Jisung watches your reaction carefully, and you hope that you don't look half as flustered as you feel with his face still close to yours.

“Riddle me this, psych major,” he says, eyes flickering around your face, “can you tell me what I’m thinking right now?”

You don’t even have to think twice; following his gaze was enough of an indication.

Somehow, you find it in yourself to giggle amongst the tension. “You want to get out of here?”

“Well,” he grins, tilting his head towards the door and offering a hand to you, “since you’re asking…”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

[star-girl69]

Lovers Rock

Caroline (KK) Harvey x Fem!Reader

—-

synopsis: kk wins national gf day, obviously

a/n: shoutout to you anon anyways super short!!!!

Lovers Rock - TV Girl

warnings: swearing, kissy kissy, literally just fluff, mentions of freaky stuff tho, tell me if i missed anything tho!!

—-

“Good morning my beautiful, beautiful girlfriend.”

You groan into your pillow.

“What? Too tired to let me love you?”

You can feel someone’s hands all over you. You’re lying almost on your stomach, someone else practically on top of you, moving your hair to the side to kiss the back of your neck, hand sliding under your shirt to hold you against them.

“Y/N,” the voice whispers. “Y/N, wake up. I’m bored.”

“What?” You finally manage to say, cracking one eye into the darkness of KK’s bedroom. You slept so good last night, it takes you a second to realize where you are.

She forcefully flips you over so you’re on your back, climbing on top of you with a grin that can only be described as mischievous.

“Too early for you to be so happy,” you mutter, eyes falling shut again as she grabs your legs, wrapping them around your waist and not so subtlety feeling you up. Regardless, you wrap your legs around her tight and draw her down to you.

You finally crack an eye open, her hands moving from your thighs to your waist, her hands so big it makes you’re stomach do a few somersaults- you’re sure she can feel it.

She looks at you with absolute reverence, biting her lip lightly.

“Fuck, baby,” she mutters, looking up from the way her hands look around your waist to stare at your eyes. She kisses your temple. “You look especially pretty this morning.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around her neck to play with her hair.

“Thank you, my very happy girl.”

It’s another second of just basking in her touch, your eyes drifting shut again-

“Happy national girlfriend’s day, baby,” she whispers before pressing a kiss to your lips, one she obviously means to deepen-

You gasp, sitting up and forcing your faces to clash together in a way that is not at all sexy.

“Sorry!” You gasp, kissing her on the lips again before quickly trying to escape from her. Of course, she’s on top of you, so that’s not really possible. “Wait! Let me get up for one sec, I’ll be right back.”

She rubs her forehead where you had slammed into her, immediately frowning.

“No,” she says.

“Caroline,” you say, exasperated already.

“Um, babe, it’s national girlfriend’s day for me too, and all I want to do is stay in this bed the entire day. With you. I seriously don’t even want you to leave this room.”

You fall back against the pillows, fake pouting and putting your hand on her face, your thumb pulling her bottom lip down.

“Aw, that’s sweet.”

She kisses the pad of your thumb.

“I want to spend the entire day with you, my pretty princess. And since you’re my princess, that means you cannot leave this room- preferably this bed.”

“Caroline.”

“Why do you need to leave?” She asks, pressing her face into your hand.

You sigh. “It’s national girlfriend’s day for you too.”

“We’ve discussed this.”

“I have something I want to give you.”

“Your body?”

The sweet, sleepy smile on your face immediately drops.

“We just woke up, horny freak.”

She smiles even wider, leaning down to peck your forehead. “Love you.”

“I don’t,” you huff, attempting to push her off of you. Your denial of loving her shocks her enough to give you a little traction, and you’re almost free of her-

“Hey!” She yells, somewhat annoyed like you’re ruining her entire life. She immediately drops all of her weight onto you, pressing her hands against your arms to keep you literally pinned down- you always forget how strong she is. Until she’s on top of you like this, and suddenly her strength is the sexiest thing in the world.

“Caroline!” You yell right back, also annoyed. “Let me get your gift!”

“Fine,” she huffs, and you can’t help but chuckle at her.

“You’re a big baby,” you tease, finally escaping bed, standing up and immediately putting your hands over your head to stretch.

She comes to sit at the end of the bed, her legs wide open and eventually her hands on your hips pull you in between her legs.

“You’re so sexy,” she complains.

“And this is upsetting to you?” You grab her wrists and tug her up, letting her keep her hands on you and she follows you closely throughout the apartment.

“All I want to do is love my beautiful girlfriend, and she won’t let me.”

You sigh, finally reaching the kitchen cabinet, opening it to reveal a bouquet of flowers in a small glass of water. It wasn’t anything fancy, it was just from the grocery store two blocks down- KK pretended like she was really some big tough guy, but you smiled at the way she blushed when you turned around to present her with the flowers.

“For me?”

“I- babe. Yes, for you.”

She smells them quickly before immediately putting her hands on your face and kissing you, hard.

You laugh against her lips, choosing not to tease her for the way she’s blushing like crazy right now, and instead deciding to kiss her back just as hard. Eventually, her tongue slips into your mouth, and when you finally do manage to pull away from her you’re completely breathless.

“I love you,” she says, so seriously it’s like she’s vowing it to you. “I love you so much.”

You place the flowers on the middle of the kitchen counter where everyone can see them, feeling kind of proud of yourself- when you’re suddenly turned around and bombarded by a beautiful, ornate vibrant bouquet.

“You’re fucking joking.”

She lowers the flowers that were previously covering her face to stare at you.

“Oh, I’m completely serious. I don’t play when it comes to my princess.”

“Caroline,” you sigh, looking between your sad bouquet- at least they were her favorite color, you supposed- and her extravagant one that must have cost a small fortune.

“I love your gift,” she quickly blurts out, sensing that you’re feeling a little shitty about yourself now. “That’s exactly what I like. And I probably could have gotten you a simple one like that, too, but I… kinda wanted to one-up you.”

“One-up me?” You repeat, eyes narrowing. “You did this on purpose.”

“Nope. I’m simply just the winner.”

“Of what?”

“Best girlfriend.”

“Oh, my God,” you moan, leaning against the counter but feeling a smile cross your face. “You’re so fucking competitive, KK.”

“You love it,” she smiles, placing the bouquet down and kissing your chastely once more. Unfortunately, you do. “Okay, sweetheart, seriously- can we go back to bed now? What’d you want for breakfast?”

“What do we have?” You ask, her comforting hand pressing against the small of your back, leading you back to bed.

“Anything. Too early to cook, I’m ordering.”

“Really?” You ask, kind of shocked. Caroline was always one to choose cooking at home over ordering out.

“Yeah,” she replies, like it’s the most simple thing in the world. “Cooking would mean less time spent with you. I mean, if you really want me too I’ll cook you lunch and dinner. Whatever you want, really. Put on a movie, baby?”

She hands you the remote, climbing back into bed and opening the duvet up for you.

You hesitate for a second.

“Oh, and for dessert I was thinking that maybe we could go to your fav ice cream place?”

You think you might cry.

“I don’t deserve you,” you smile, somewhat teary. She smiles as you finally get back into bed with her, curling up into her side. She holds you against her, slightly disturbed by your crying, you can tell, but knowing they’re happy tears.

“I don’t deserve you,” she echoes.

You rest your head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat, wrapping your arm around her waist as she wraps one arm around you and presses the other against the back of your head. Keeping you there, as if you would ever want to move.

You take a deep breath, savoring this moment.

You finally look up at her, so overwhelmed with love for this girl your heart feels like it might burst. But just when you think you can’t take it anymore, your heart will burst, you love her that much- your heart simply grows.

“You deserve everything and more. Happy national girlfriend’s day, my pretty girlfriend.

She smiles and presses a kiss to your nose.

“I love you,” she replies, and those words don’t feel enough, but you can’t even describe how much you care about her. How much you need her. How much she means to you. How she makes you feel. You don’t think there are words in any language.

“I love you too.”

And, you know what? She doesn’t even say a single word when the movie you pick is the one she hates.

You spend the entire day in her arms, listening to her call you baby and pretty and just hers. She probably says “I can’t believe you’re mine” at least 20 times.

She pays for breakfast to be delivered, you battle her to pay for lunch, and as much as you love her cooking- you think she had the right idea. You can’t let her get out of bed.

She of course pays for dinner too, and ice cream, claiming that she has to spoil her girl.

And you don’t get mad at her when she reveals her second present- lingerie for you in her favorite color.

—-

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Vaggie: “Stop trying to push past me, asshole.”

Angel Dust: “Move, I’m gay.”

Vaggie: “And I’m down here at 2 am getting a snack a drink for my girlfriend, what’s your excuse.”

Angel Dust: “Do ya want me raidin’ the fridge at weird hours, or doin’ drugs?”

Vaggie: “I want you to wait your turn and quite shoving.”

Angel Dust: “Ya gonna have to bribe me."

Vaggie: "With? Letting you live?"

Angel Dust: "Please, I'm gonna need way more than that- I wanna know why you’re wearing Charlie Chip’s button down shirt and ONLY her shirt!”

Vaggie: “Only one I could find.”

Angel Dust: “Oooh~?”

Vaggie: “She’s pretty annoyed at my clothes by the time she gets them off me.”

Angel Dust: "HA!"

Vaggie: "And I get pretty annoyed with you by default."

Angel Dust: "Aww thanks toots, my heart is all mooshy. Cotton candy princess got some SPICE to her, huh?”

Vaggie: “Yeah well, speaking of spicy, if any of my clothes made it out a window and onto the hotel steps again, they aren’t mine and I’ve never seen them.”

Angel Dust: “I mean I guess that shit lie will work… if they’re ya panties or whatever-”

Vaggie: “A thing that I wear. Right.”

Angel Dust: “-the rest is kinda an iconic outfit thing though, toots, don’t know anyone wouldn’t know who’s it- wait a sec- are ya saying ya DON’T wear-?”

Vaggie: “Here. Leftover cake.”

Angel Dust: “You can’t bribe yourself outta THIS talk, Vaggie Tales!”

Vaggie: “Sure I can, it’s triple chocolate and has sprinkles. Take it and hide or else everyone else will come crawling out of their rooms for a share.”

Angel Dust: “Crawling, ya say?”

Vaggie: “Literally. Trust me.”

Angel Dust: “Hmmm… and, is triple chocolate-”

Vaggie: “Husk’s favorite. Have fun.”

Angel Dust: “We’re picking up the panty thing tomorrow, toots!”

Vaggie: (already leaving) “No we’re not.”

Angel Dust: “We sure as hell are! Maybe for real! Off the hotel front steps! IF YOU EVEN WEAR ‘EM!”

Vaggie: (already gone) “Go pick up your Doctor Seuss crush before the cake gets stale!”

Angel Dust: “YOU TAKE THAT BACK! He’s not a twink in a hat! HE’S A RUN DOWN TONY THE FUCKIN’ TIGER WITHOUT STRIPES AND AFTER A WHOLE CARTON OF SMOKES!”

Vaggie: (distantly) “Whatever…”

Angel Dust: “You’re just too lesbian to appreciate it!”

Vaggie: (fading out upstairs) “That, and I’m too not-single for it either…”

Angel Dust: “Oh that bitch….” (bites cake) (mumbling) (sulking) (single) “Hope Charlie Chuck yeeted her damn clothes clear across town.”

Charlie: “I didn’t. This time.”

Angel Dust: (SHRIEKS)

Charlie: “Hi.”

Charlie: (dropping down from ceiling and scurrying over the counter top wrapped in just blanket)

Charlie: “I wanna share an extra piece of the cake, please.”

Angel Dust: “DON’T BEDSHEET GHOST SCARE ME LIKE THAT! Fuck!”

Charlie: “Sorry! Cake?”

Angel Dust: “Didn’t ya girlfriend already get you a slice!?”

Charlie: “Of course she did!”

Angel Dust: “So what’s wrong with THAT one??”

Charlie: “It’s gone…”

Angel Dust: “Gone HOW-”

Charlie: “I started missing her and came down to meet her and the cake, um.” (points at stomach) “Didn’t survive.”

Angel Dust: “Un-bi-lievable.”

Charlie: “Caaaaake?”

Angel Dust: “Here.” (shares cake) “SHOO!!!”

Charlie: (shoos) “I’m shooing! And by the power of this cake, maybe I can throw MY shirt off of her this time!”

Angel Dust: “Oh your dad have mercy..... how much sugar have ya already had?”

Charlie: “Enough to shower a tit- uh sorry- THROW shirt clear across town!”

Angel Dust: “Just take it off her before ya yeet it.”

Charlie: “? Oh!! RIGHT!!!!”

-an hour later at angel dust’s door-

Charlie: (knocking) “Angel? I need you to watch the hotel for little while!”

Angel Dust: “I’m busy! Don’t interrupt the cake!”

Charlie: “PLEASE Angel Dust it’s IMPORTANT and I wouldn’t bother you but I can’t find Husk so-” (door opens) “-oh hi Husk, can YOU please watch the hotel for me??”

Husk: “Why the fuck.”

Charlie: “I need, to go apologize, to my girlfriend.”

Angel Dust: “Vaggiraptor is right upstairs, ain’t she? Why’d we have to watch the hotel for that?”

Charlie: “Because I…”

Charlie: “…I need to figure out, where she landed, first…”

Angel Dust: (GASP) “Nooo…”

Husk: “What?”

Angel Dust: “You didn’t.”

Charlie: “I didn’t mean to!”

Husk: “What the fuck did she do?”

Charlie: “It was- the sugar! My hands were shaking- I was frustrated! And really really distracted!!”

Angel Dust: “HOW could you!? I TOLD ya-!”

Charlie: (on her knees) (wailing) “And I FORGOT!!!”

Husk: “You know what? Fuck it. I don’t wanna fucking know.” (heads back to the cake)

[bbyhellfire]

Best friend!Eddie Munson who is secretly in love with you, but doesn't have the guts to do anything about it. Instead, he takes every opportunity to remind you that your ex is a dirtbag whenever he can.

eddie munsion x fem!reader, previous reader x male oc 890 words no major warnings; unrequited love, jealous eddie, oblivious reader, pls excuse any typos!

If Eddie has to hear you mention your ex one more time, he is going to scream. Scream and scream until his rage could be heard in the deepest parts of the ocean. Fuck, maybe even aliens in another galaxy would hear how jealous Eddie Munson is.

If ever there was a physical embodiment of what it means to be a lying scumbag, it's your ex. Eddie doesn't know much about Rob (the Knob), but he's enough to make his blood boil at the slightest mention of him. And rightfully justified. Your ex, Rob, is a certified manwhore, fucking his way through half of Hawkins all while making you fall in love with a fantasy of you and him.

When you caught him with his dick shoved down Carol Perkins' throat, Eddie thought that'd be the last he would hear of him. You cried and cried, and he was there to glue back the pieces of your shattered heart. Just two months ago you had a ceremonial bonfire to burn the last of his possessions and now you're bouncing on your feet, giddy at the news that your ex is back for the summer.

It makes Eddie want to put his head through the wall.

You're hardly looking at him or else you'd see the annoyed look on his face. You're fluttering around his room, smiling and giddy even though you're trying to stay so casual about it. Your hands run over the various knickknacks and trash that cover his bedroom as he sits on his bed, counting his baggies in preparation for tonight's party.

"Do you think he'll be there tonight?"

Eddie groans, his hand flying to rub his face and he lets out an exasperated "Jesus Christ." Not that you hear him. You're too caught up remembering the good times with Rob. Granted there weren't exactly many happy memories, but enough for familiar happiness to spread through your veins. You don't even realize you're smiling

"Unless Harrington is making friends with lying scumbags who break their girlfriend's heart, I doubt it. But he used to be friends with Tommy Hagan so who knows."

He's not jealous. No, not at all. He's just protective. There's a difference.

Diverting his attention back to his black lunchbox, counting the baggies again just to distract himself. The green-eyed monster inside of him is making his stomach feel is a liter of Coke and you just dropped in a Mentos shaped like your shitty ex.

"He's changed, Eddieee," You whine, turning to face him. "You know he's studying business? That's like...really serious. Totally mature and grown up. You know, like what CEOs and accountants study."

That cuts deeper than Eddie would like to admit. He knows you don't mean to hurt him - you're just trying to justify wanting to see the person who shattered your heart - but it still makes his jaw clench.

Eddie wouldn't have the chance to go to university and get some stuffy degree that he wouldn't even care about. If clean up his act now, he might become a shift supervisor at the plant by the time he's 40. Maybe 35 if he cuts his hair.

He shakes his head, shoving the rest of the baggies into his lunchbox and locking it shut. Whatever. It doesn't matter. Not when you're hoping to run into Rob at tonight's party.

"Hey, come on now," He doesn't notice you've sat down across from him until you're holding his hand, your fingers fiddling with his rings. Your voice is more timid than before, "He's changed. He's maturing, he's not the same person he was. I know it."

It's like you're trying to convince yourself. He should say something comforting, but Eddie Munson doesn't do comfort if it means walking you towards another heartbreak like you're pig heading towards the slaughterhouse.

"Sweetheart, banging your university professor so you don't flunk your second semester is not how you mature."

"That's just a rumor," You dismiss, dropping his hand much to his dismay. You cross your arms over your chest to protect you from the truth. Deep down, you know Rob hasn't changed. Eddie's snark is justified no matter how much you wish it isn't.

"Maybe. But he and O'Donnell were awfully close, just saying."

Your face churns in disgust, which makes him chuckle. "Gross, Eddie."

"Just reminding you in case you forgot."

You groan, turning around so you can fall back ontothe bed, "No, you're right. You're always right." You cover your eyes with your forearm for extra dramatics. "I'm going to die alone."

"Not true," He chuckles, placing his lunchbox on his nightstand so he can lay down next to you. "I bet if you keep feeding those strays, you'll have your own army of stray cats."

You groan despite the smile spreading across your lips. "That's even worse! Who the hell wants the crazy cat lady?"

Me, I do. That's what Eddie wants to say. He wants to hold your hand and tell you that he'll take you with our without an army stray cats. He'd take you in any way you'd have him.

It's what he should say.

But that means potentially ruining your friendship and that scares him more than you and your ex reconnecting. So instead, he cracks another joke at Rob's expense and this time you laugh and Eddie thinks another time. He'll tell you another time.

[svltzmans]

could you do fiona taking reader with a strap for the first time? 🙏

meddle about - f.g.

fiona gallagher x fem! reader

warnings: smut (18+), strap on use, dirty talk, nipple play, mommy kink if you squint really hard, this is so smutty lmaoooo

a/n: i'm back with a bang (literally lol). this has been in my drafts for so long 😶 but i'm obsessed with this request. i'm also writing this and posting without proofreading but i might check it later lmao

fiona kicks her shoes off, relieved to finally be in her apartment.

managing a diner is surprisingly difficult, and she had found that out the hard way.

despite the aches in her knees and ankles, she was quick to make her way home. she knew her girlfriend, y/n, had stayed over.

fiona makes herself blush, thinking about how thrilled she is to get home to y/n.

hearing the door close and fiona's shoes drop to the floor, y/n practically jumps out of bed, making her way to the foyer.

"hi baby," y/n coos, pulling fiona into a welcoming kiss.

fiona finds herself melting into y/n, her thoughts escalating despite the innocence of the contact.

"someone missed me, huh?" y/n teases, noticing fiona's change in reaction.

"just been thinking about you all day," fiona responds, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend.

"c'mere."

y/n extends her hand to fiona, encouraging her to follow.

fiona does so without thought, allowing y/n to guide her to their bedroom.

y/n sits on the bed, beckoning fiona to sit on her lap.

fiona wraps her legs around y/n's waist, resting her arms on her shoulders.

y/n instinctively leans in to kiss fiona, her fingers in her hair.

the kiss escalates quickly, fiona letting her hands roam over her girlfriend's body.

hearing y/n's quiet whines and feeling her start rocking back and forth flips a switch in fiona.

"lay down, baby girl," fiona mutters, gently pushing on y/n's chest.

y/n does as she's told with no hesitance, letting her body sink into the mattress.

fiona hovers over her, finger rested below her chin. she leans in to kiss y/n again, the closeness to her girlfriend's body driving her crazy.

y/n can't help but frown when fiona pulls away, only for her face to change immediately when fiona starts kissing her chest.

fiona stares up at y/n, her piercing eyes locked into hers.

she starts licking cirlces around y/n's nipple, her fingers rubbing the other.

"fi..." y/n moans, throwing her head back at the sensation.

hearing her girlfriend moan only turns fiona on more, and she can't help sucking harder to elicit a louder reaction from y/n.

"fiona!" y/n almost screams in pleasure, her body instinctively jerking upward.

hearing these sounds from her girlfriend practically breaks fiona. she pulls away, looking into her eyes.

"wanna try something new with you," fiona coos, running her finger along y/n's chin.

"new how?" y/n responds, growing more excited.

"you'll see. close your eyes for a sec."

y/n feels the bed rise and fall as fiona stands, retrieving something from the drawer.

a few seconds later, fiona stands at the foot of the bed.

"you can open 'em now."

when y/n takes her hands off her eyes, she has to blink a few times to ensure she's not dreaming.

her girlfriend had put on a strap, tightly affixing it to her waist. the sight put y/n in a daze immediately, her eyes instinctively rolling to the back of her head.

to y/n's surprise, fiona sits at the edge of the bed next to her waist.

her hand quickly makes it's way to y/n's underwear, their lips touching once again.

"gonna get you ready for me, use my fingers first," fiona mutters between kisses, her fingers hovering over y/n's clit.

y/n nearly screams when fiona puts two fingers inside of her, slowly pumping them in and out.

"fuck, faster baby. do it faster," y/n chants out, craving more of the feeling.

fiona hovers over y/n once again, slowly sliding her fingers out.

"think you're ready baby? i'm gonna fuck that pretty pussy of yours," fiona teases, putting a coil in y/n's stomach.

"please, oh god," y/n instantly responds, her desperation growing by the second.

"spread your legs for me."

fiona taps y/n's clit with the strap, earning sharp whines from the girl below her.

"holy shit, you're so wet already y/n," fiona praises, still lazily rubbing against her.

"are you gonna fuck me or wha-"

before y/n can even finish her quip, fiona pushes herself into y/n, the tip of the strap inside her.

"oh," y/n sighs, adjusting to the new sensation. she had never felt so full, even though fiona was far from all the way in.

fiona pushes deeper, burying half of the strap into y/n's pussy.

y/n lets out a guttural moan, the sensation driving her crazy.

"don't know if i can take it all, fi," she moans, hands laced in fiona's hair. "it's so big."

"i know you can take it baby. wanna fuck you so deep."

fiona is shocked by how good wearing the strap was making her feel, the base of it colliding with her clit with every movement.

they both moan loudly when fiona pushes all the way in, their waists colliding.

fiona starts slow, y/n quickly adjusting to the feeling.

"faster, please," y/n begs, desperation growing in her stomach.

fiona picks up her pace, moaning at the feeling of the strap against her body.

they both moan loudly, sloppily kissing as fiona hovers over y/n.

"that's my girl," fiona praises, feeling herself already growing close.

y/n feels like she can't stop making noise, her body out of her control.

"don't stop mo- m' getting close," y/n manages to save her slip up, not knowing fiona's thoughts about being called names like that.

fiona doesn't seem to notice, her body overtaken by such intense feeling.

"fuck baby, gonna cum with you. feels so good to fuck you like this," fiona breathes out, throwing her head back.

"need you inside me more often," y/n smirks, more whines escaping her lips.

"oh my god, i- i'm right there. cum with me, please," she cries out, grabbing onto fiona's shoulders.

"god baby, i'm cumming," fiona sighs, her body shaking as she struggles to stay up.

soon enough, she can't, and collapses next to y/n, starting to giggle.

"that was one hell of a surprise," y/n smirks, kissing fiona gently.

"wait, what did you call me before?" fiona sees y/n turn beet red, smiling at the shyness of her girlfriend.

"um, that's a tomorrow conversation."

[silentcrowsilentravens]

Stars alpha reacting to their partner pulling a Richard and sacrificing themselves for them?

"Pulling a Richard" lol.

I'd like to apologize in advance to Lisa Trevor for this.

Joseph Frost, Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, Brad Vickers, Barry Burton, and Albert Wesker reacting to their s/o sacrificing themselves to save them.

(Gender ambiguous).

Warnings: death, blood, gore.

Masterlists here!

Joseph Frost

Arklay Mountains. It’s the evening of July 24, 1998. Led by Captain Wesker, you and four other members of the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team are searching for signs of Bravo team and pilot Kevin Dooley, with whom contact was lost the day prior. 

You trudge through the tall grass, gun unholstered and flashlight scanning over every dark shape in your path.

A persistent sense of unease hangs in the air. You’d be hard-pressed to think of another time you’ve felt so on edge while on the job. 

There's shifting behind you. You whip your head around.

Joseph is standing there with his gun. "Jumpy?" he teases half-heartedly. You roll your eyes at him and resume what you were doing.

"Hey... wait a sec..." He motions for you to come over.

"What is it?" You point your light down as you approach. It catches a metal object laying in the grass between you. It's a gun. A standard-issue Beretta.

Joseph bends down to pick it up, which is when you realize that it's attached to something.

It's...

It's a hand.

A human hand with no human attached to it.

Joseph drops the severed part in shock. Both of you jolt away from it with a yelp.

Upon further inspection, realize that you know who it used to belong to. You recognize the fingerless glove and the wristwatch. They're part of a S.T.A.R.S. uniform. More specifically, the uniform of Edward Dewey from Bravo team.

For a moment, the only thing you can hear is the wind and your heart pounding in your ears. You can do nothing but stare in disbelief. 

There have been a lot of deaths lately. Gruesome ones. 

You’ve seen the crime scene photos.

You’ve seen the crime scenes.

They’re difficult to stomach.

But the feeling that washes over you here and now is particularly visceral. Every last drop of blood in your body has run cold. You feel dangerously close to hurling.

Edward is someone you see almost every day. He...

He’s a great man. A friend of yours.

He can’t be...

You finally manage to tear your gaze away and look at Joseph. 

“...Eddie can still be kicking,” he says blankly. “Guy doesn’t need both hands to live.”

Yeah. 

Yeah, Edward can still be out there. Alive. Hopefully. He's tough...

...

Is that...

...growling you're hearing?

Out of the corner of your eye, you realize something—multiple somethings are rapidly approaching. Joseph notices just a beat later than you do.

“Joey, watch out!” With all of your might, you shove your partner out of harm’s way.

He hits the ground. 

A bloody creature collides with you, its sharp teeth sinking into the exposed skin of your forearm. You cry out, wrenching your arm to the side in a desperate attempt to make it release you. It does, tearing a chunk of flesh away in the process, and quickly latches back on.

A second beast joins in, causing you to lose your balance and fall.

Followed by another one.

And another.

And another.

There are so many. They look like dogs and smell like rotting corpses, but you aren't paying much attention to that. You're in so much pain, it's difficult to think. They're quite literally eating you alive and all you can manage to do is flail about, weakly attempting to get them off.

Joseph shouts your name in alarm, scrambling to pick up his gun. His weapon-mounted light illuminates the mass of creatures pinning you down. Blood and viscera glisten.

He fires round after round, trying to kill them.

Jill, Barry, Chris, and Wesker rush over to help.

Your screams abruptly stop, cut off by an awful, strangled, gurgling noise as a set of teeth manage to rip your throat out.

"No!" Joseph keeps firing, unable to process it all. Just because you've gone quiet doesn't mean you're dead, right? Right? There's a chance you're still alive. There has to be! "Get off! Get off!"

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

"Joseph, it's too late!" Chris grabs Joseph's shoulder, trying to make him stop. Joseph won't. "We have to go!"

This can't be happening. This can't be real. You're not gone. You're not!

The remaining beasts turn their attention toward the rest of the team.

Finally, Chris and Barry seize Joseph by the back of his tactical vest and physically drag him along as they start running. He doesn't stop calling your name, doesn't stop reaching for you even as your body becomes further and further away from them.

"Brad!" Chris shouts as their helicopter abandons them. "Brad! Where's he going?!"

This night can't get any worse. They end up seeking refuge in a mansion. The moment Jill slams the doors shut and locks them, Joseph plops down on the floor, breathing hard and cradling his head in his hands.

He can't believe it. You're gone just like that. It all happened so fast... And if you hadn't done what you did, it would've been him instead.

He wishes it were him instead. His eyes begin to burn.

Jill Valentine

It's the dead of night in the summer of 2005. You and Jill are stranded in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea on the Queen Zenobia, which just narrowly avoided being completely obliterated by the Regia SOLIS.

Unfortunately, the ship still ended up getting caught in the shockwave of the blast, leaving you to deal with even more water pouring into the ship.

It's time to clear out and fast.

Both of you are swimming through the flooded corridors in search of an exit when eventually, you make your way into a room that has yet to fill completely. The surface of the water is in view. You speed up, sparing a glance over your shoulder to where Jill ought to be.

She isn't there.

You come to an immediate stop, a jolt of panic passing through you as you spin around in an attempt to locate her.

You find her a little ways back, having fallen behind because she's busy grappling with a sea creeper that's caught up to her. Damn things!

It's gotten ahold of her legs and she's fighting to keep its wide maw away. Despite their spindly limbs, earlier encounters have let you know that they're rather strong.

There's already been quite a stretch between this and the last opportunity you got to get some air. In the time it would take you to pop your head out and swim back to help Jill, it could already be too late.

With that thought at the forefront of your mind, you ignore your body's desperate pleas to breathe and make your way over.

You unsheathe your Bowie knife. Using all of your might, you drive it straight into the B.O.W.'s soft shell.

Blood turns the water red. The creature reels back with a high-pitched cry and you take the opportunity to seize your partner.

With a tight grip on the equipment harness strapped to her back, you begin to swim upward, pushing yourself to go as fast as you can.

You're so close. Fresh oxygen is just within reach when something grabs hold of your ankle and sharply tries to yank you back.

Looking down, you find the same sea creeper giving things another go.

'Get offa me, dammit!' You slam the heel of your boot down on its covered head until it releases you, then kick away.

You lift Jill and force her above the surface, managing to get her arms hooked onto a ladder leading up to a catwalk.

There's yet another tug on your leg, far harsher than the last.

You release Jill, not wanting to risk pulling her down with you.

Bubbles begin to stream past your parted lips and water floods your lungs. The burning in your chest is beginning to worsen exponentially as you're dragged away, simply unable to hold your breath any longer than you already have. You're certain this is it for you.

Jill coughs and sputters. As the darkness begins to fade back to the edges of her vision and she's able to form a thought other than 'I need air or I'm gonna die down here', she processes that you haven't resurfaced along with her.

Her still-pounding heart leaps into her throat and she curses, diving back down without a moment's hesitation.

Her eyes instantly lock onto a red cloud in the water, which both you and the sea creeper are in. It has you in its grasp and you aren't struggling. You aren't moving at all.

As Jill closes the rest of the distance, she continues to hope against all hope that she can save you.

The handle of your blade is sticking out of the creature's back. She yanks it out and plunges it into a new spot, tugging you free and kicking the thing as hard as she can, sending it into a wall.

With you in tow, Jill makes her way above the water and back to the ladder.

You aren't breathing anymore when she successfully gets you onto the catwalk. She hastily begins to perform CPR, determined to fix that. She has to.

Unfortunately, she can't. It's already too late for you.

Finally, resignation begins to set in and she lets her hands still on your chest.

Jill is no stranger to losing people, and there's a persistent nagging fear in the back of her mind about losing more. You've often been at the forefront of it.

She's always tried to push it aside, though, always hoped that it wouldn't come to pass.

Her fingers tremble slightly as they curl into fists. She lets her head hang.

If only she hadn't let that damn B.O.W. catch up to her...

There's a lump forming in her throat that she tries to swallow as she stands, sending you a silent apology for letting you down.

...

Even if she wants to stay here with you, she knows this ship isn't going to last much longer. Cursing under her breath and blinking away the tears beginning to form in her eyes, Jill keeps moving. She has to...

Chris Redfield

"We're picking up a large bogey on radar. It's heading right for you!"

Just when you thought shit had already hit the fan, that message came through on comms and not even a minute later, a tandem rotor helicopter appeared, dropping off another absolutely massive—probably a good thirty feet tall—B.O.W. onto the team's already full plate.

Echo needs three anti-aircraft guns taken out before further help can be given, so everyone tries to provide cover for Finn as he sets the charges needed to blow them up.

The wrecked buildings around you provide little cover from the ogroman, which is intent on crushing the lot of you.

Chris points out a weakness that can be exploited: Soft, exposed red flesh around where a big metal connector is sticking out of its back.

You and a few others distract the beast with bullets. Chris manages to leap onto its back while you do so, ripping out a bit of protruding bone and driving it straight into the weak point. The process is rinsed and repeated a few times before the ogroman dies, dissolving into a foul-smelling, steaming goop that leaves you coughing.

Two anti-aircraft guns down, one more to go.

Everyone's comms crackle. "There's another giant B.O.W. closing in on your location!"

A loud roar rings out.

A massive hand grabs onto a rooftop, sending shingles raining down onto a few j'avo.

"It's the one we lost at the Two of Hearts," Piers points out.

Chris orders the team to prepare to engage. You follow Finn to the last gun, making use of an underground passage that leads you into another building. When you're standing on the top floor, the target of the objective comes into view, sitting on the ground below beside a barricade.

"Let's try to make this quick."

The ogroman has other plans.

Finn and Piers, a little ways ahead of you, head down the ladder.

You and Chris are stepping out from behind a partially destroyed wall when it turns and spots you there.

The two of you begin to unload your clips into it, not getting too many hits on that weak spot thanks to the way it's positioned itself.

Click.

Click.

Click.

"I'm out!" you announce.

"Me too," Chris says. "Look out!"

A massive hand shoots out toward you.

You both dive out of the way in time. You land back behind the wall, and Chris is still out in the open stretch. Another hole is smashed into the building.

The ogroman draws its arm back, then raises it up and prepares to sweep it across.

"Chris!" You don't even think, you just act, launching yourself back onto your feet and sprinting toward him. It'll hit him if you're not quick enough!

The arm grows closer.

With mere seconds to spare, you shove Chris back to the floor.

All the wind is knocked out of you as the ogroman makes contact, sending you sailing straight over the edge.

You make a graceful arc before colliding harshly with the pavement down below.

"Shit!" Chris shouts your name in alarm.

He needs to get to you.

"Cover me!"

He slides down the ladder while other members of the team show up to keep the ogroman busy.

A red puddle has begun to form beneath you. By some miracle, you're still responsive, but only barely.

"You're gonna be alright. You're gonna make it. Just hold on, okay?" Chris begins to drag you over to cover. You let out a groan, unable to process any of what you're hearing. "I need you here." Speaking into his comm, he calls for urgent first aid.

Before long, your feeble movements begin to peter out. Chris feels his stomach drop.

"No... No, come on. You have to stay with me. You have to!" You mean so much to him. He can't lose you. He can't. Not like this.

One last raspy, rattling breath leaves your lips before you're gone.

The grief, the devastation is like an instant weight settling upon Chris' shoulders. He slams his fists against the ground and cries out, leaning down to rest his head against your chest.

This is his fault... He'll never forgive himself.

Brad Vickers

"Pizza's here," you announce, shutting the apartment door with your foot. It's late in the evening, and you and Brad decided to call in and order one for dinner.

(Both of you also went ahead and ordered one for Brad's friend, Jill, who has scarcely left her home since being suspended. Brad would've been as well, had he joined in on the shouting match she and three other S.T.A.R.S. members got into with Chief Irons over the mansion incident. You know Brad still feels guilty about it).

"Brad. Pizza." You pop open the box and waft it in front of his face before placing it on the coffee table. He snaps out of it and sends you a small smile.

"You pick out something for us to watch already?"

"Uh-huh." He places the TV Guide down and picks up the remote. "They're showing one of our favorite flicks tonight, actually."

"Yeah? Which one?" You plop down beside him on the couch with a few paper plates in hand.

...

Hours have passed, and you've fallen asleep living room. The movie has long since ended, the remaining half of dinner is sitting abandoned, and Brad is snoring lightly beside you. You might've remained that way until morning...

...if not for a loud noise from somewhere on the street below waking you up.

You slowly straighten up, removing your head from your partner's shoulder.

Then, you begin to process the not-so-distant sounds of chaos. There are sirens and people screaming.

'What is going on...?'

An orange glow is bleeding from around the edges of the drawn curtains. You get up and pull them open. Multiple fires are burning.

You hurriedly wake Brad. "Hey. Something is wrong," you tell him as you drag him over to the window. "Very, very wrong. Look."

"Holy shit." He blanches. "We need to go."

You throw on a coat and shoes while Brad puts on his S.T.A.R.S. getup. He grabs his Beretta. All you have is a pocket knife.

The two of you make your way out of the apartment, hurriedly heading down the corridor and into the stairwell.

When you reach the emergency exit at the bottom of the stairs, you encounter a problem. Before Brad even gets the chance to push the door open, something rips it off the hinges. It's a huge figure clad head to toe in a black outfit, which is dotted with small yellow hazard symbols and staples.

"S.T.A.R.S...." it growls.

After a moment's hesitation, Brad seizes you by your sleeve and begins to high-tail it toward the front of the building. Time to try the front doors instead.

The thing gives chase. It's fast. Surprisingly so.

Brad aims his gun over his shoulder and opens fire. The bullets appear to have no effect. Not good.

It lifts its hand. A thin tentacle shoots out quick as lightning, wrapping around one of Brad's ankles and tripping him up. He lands harshly on the floor, his weapon slipping from his grasp. It begins to drag him.

"Help!"

You stagger to a stop, whipping around and grabbing hold of him. All that accomplishes is making the pursuer pull you along as well.

"Let go of him!" You take your blade and slice the appendage in two. The half still attached to it retreats. You help Brad up.

"S.T.A.R.S.!"

A new tentacle pops out of its sleeves. The moment you catch a glimpse of it, you put yourself directly behind Brad.

Rougher than before, the pursuer swings its arm back, yanking you over to it.

"Brad, run!"

Brad doesn't. He freezes in place.

It picks you up by your face, squeezing so tightly that it feels as though your skull might shatter. You struggle. "Run! Before it gets y—"

Your sentence is cut off by the tentacle going straight through your mouth and out the back of your head.

You're tossed aside, dead as dead can be.

You land facing Brad, your face stained red and your eyes wide open. He feels himself begin to shake.

Then, he runs.

This can't be happening. This seriously can't be happening!

He should have stepped in to help you. Doubly so after you had done that for him.

He should have done something. Anything but just stand there! What the hell is wrong with him?!

'Oh, god...'

When it seems that he's finally lost the pursuer, Brad slumps against the wall and slides down it until he's sitting. Alone in a random building, he cries harder than he has in a long time. He's so incredibly angry with himself for practically letting that happen.

There's a hole in his heart where you used to be that can simply never be filled again. You're gone. Gone. He can't believe it...

Barry Burton

As the Starlight slowly sinks into the waters below, explosions rattle it, illuminating the pitch-black night sky with bright oranges and yellows.

You, Barry, Leon, and Lucia stand safely aboard the deck of the Umbrella submarine Barry hijacked. Admittedly, you're still a little mad that he scared you again. A few years back, when you were both part of S.T.A.R.S., he pretended to betray you and the others the same way Wesker had.

He did it to protect your daughters and kept the ruse up long enough for Wesker to let his guard down. Tonight, he pulled a similar stunt. He made a fake deal with Umbrella and acted as though he was going to hand Lucia over to them, abandoning you and Leon on the ocean liner in the process.

"Sorry, honey," Barry says, noticing the sour look on your face. "I couldn't risk them finding out."

You sigh. "No, I get it. I just can't believe I fell for it again, even if only briefly."

"I guess I must be that good of an actor, huh?"

"I wouldn't go that far," you tease lightly. "It was just the panic of it all..."

"Ouch." Barry puts on a hurt expression.

Somewhere behind you, you hear the crackle of a radio. "Hey, I'm finally getting through to headquarters," Leon announces.

Barry places a hand on Lucia's shoulder. "I'm sure Polly and Moira will be excited to meet their new sister."

Lucia's eyes widen. "You guys were being serious?"

"Of course!" Your hand lands on her free shoulder. "Welcome to the family."

She grins. A genuine, happy-as-can-be grin.

"HQ, this is Leon. Mission accomplished. We're heading home."

You glance behind you in an attempt to see Leon, but he's standing closer to Barry. Your gaze only finds his shadow. You look away.

Over the sound of the rain and explosions, your ears manage to pick on a subtle gurgling noise.

Once again, you turn your head. The shadow is beginning to change. It's distorting and growing.

With dawning horror, you realize that all of the B.O.W.s haven't been eradicated, that it isn't actually Leon standing with you guys, that he's probably still aboard the Starlight.

"We aren't out of the woods yet!" is all you can manage in warning before the Tyrant finishes turning into its true form, red, intestine-like tentacles shooting out of the wide cavity in its stomach.

Barry doesn't even get the chance to fully pull his magnum from its holster before you throw yourself into the path of danger.

Rather than your husband, the appendages end up grabbing you instead. With how your arms end up pinned to your sides, you can't grab your pistol or knife to try and free yourself.

Panic instantly tightens itself around Barry's lungs. "Good god! Lucia, get inside!" He opens fire on the monster, desperate to make it release you.

It swings you all around, making it difficult for him to get a clean shot. It slowly but surely begins to squeeze you.

A big gray forearm collides with Barry, sending both him and his weapon flying across the deck.

The monster leaps off the sub and into the cold ocean, slowly sinking.

"No, no, no!" Barry practically throws himself over the railing, grasping it with one hand and desperately grabbing for you with the other. Just barely, he manages to take hold of your webbing.

The monster tightens its grip and there's an audible crack. You stop struggling.

...

Barry stills, his fingers going slack. He can't breathe, can't believe it. The devastation hits like a sucker punch to the gut.

Your body fully disappears into the dark waters. This is one of his worst nightmares.

He curses, banging his fist against the sub. It should have been him, not you! Why did you do that?

...He knows the answer. It's because he means as much to you as you do to him.

He knows he would've risked himself like that too if the roles were swapped.

He wishes that they were. What is he meant to do without you?

Albert Wesker

By all accounts, Albert Wesker should be dead. Instead, he's woken up as something else. Something more than human.

And now, he needs to leave this place before it turns into a pile of burning rubble. It isn't clear how much time is left before the self-destruct sequence goes off, but it ought to be enough for him to make it back out the doors.

Most of the bioweapons are easy enough to take out and get past.

There is, however, one problem—one nuisance that is refusing to leave him alone: Lisa Trevor. She's followed him all the way back up to the mansion proper. Since she doesn't have the good sense to give up, he's had to take a different route in an attempt to lose her.

Finally, he thinks he might have. The exit is close. Just down the stairs, in fact. He can see it.

A door behind him flies open. He turns, tightening his finger on the trigger of his Samurai Edge.

"Captain Wesker!"

Oh. It's only you.

Albert is pleased to see that you've made it this far. Not that there was much doubt in his mind that you would. You're one of the best S.T.A.R.S. has to offer when it comes to your combat abilities.

"Where'd—" Your eyes widen before your features twist in concern. "What the hell happened to you?"

It's evident that you haven't run into Jill, Chris, Barry, or Rebecca since everything that happened down in the basement labs. This could work to his advantage. He was hoping to have you join him.

Sparing a glance at the absurd amount of red staining the front of his tactical vest, Albert tells you, "It's nothing serious."

You head closer and stare at him incredulously. It's a lot of blood. As in, more than should be outside of anyone's body if they're still alive. Maybe not all of is his? He isn't acting like he's injured.

"...Alright, if you say so," you reply, unable to shake your worry completely.

"Come with me. We're leaving." Without waiting for another second, Albert starts heading down the stairs.

"But what about the others?"

"There's no point in going after them now,'" he answers vaguely. "I'll explain everything once we get outside."

You hesitate for a moment before beginning to follow him...

...Only to be stopped moments later by an awful, raspy moan and a hunched figure hobbling into the entrance hall with surprising speed.

'What is that?!'

It's clad in a raggedy blue medical gown, wearing a mask that appears to be made of stitched-together human faces, and making a beeline for Albert.

He moves to pull out the gun he just reholstered.

The monster hunches further. A load of worm-like tendrils shoot out of its back.

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion. Wordlessly, you throw yourself between the two of them in order to save your captain from further injury,

As though they were sharp knives, two of the tendrils pierce straight through you. One through your stomach, and another through your chest. You land in a limp pile on the marble floor, blood pouring from your wounds and past your lips.

...

No...

No, this won't do at all.

White-hot anger slowly begins to crawl through Albert's veins.

"You have no idea how grave of a mistake you've just made."

Yet again, he deals with her, this time ensuring that it will be the last time. You watch through half-lidded eyes, unable to truly process any of it. You're teetering dangerously on the edge of nothingness and it's far too late for you to be saved.

Albert just about unloads the rest of his ammunition into Lisa, saving his last bullet so that he can send the chandelier crashing upon her.

"Be a good girl and stay dead." He sneers, then turns to you.

You're already dead. He picks you up.

"Don't worry, my dear. I'll fix this. I will help you rise from the ashes as I did. I will make you something more."

[gunilslaugh]

Not How It's Supposed To Be

Goo Gunil Summary: Gunil was the enemy, so were you falling for him. (non-idol au) WC:925 Warning:none

part 2 part 3 epilogue!

photo not mine credits to owner.

Go undercover and get the evidence needed to take Gunil and his corrupted organization down. That was the plan, it was simple. However now that the plan is in action it doesn’t feel that simple. You knew Gunil was a bad guy. You knew about all the illegal business he was doing under the guise of his product distribution company. You knew that Gunil was distributing psychotropic drugs. Then how did you end up here? Why were you lying for Gunil instead of to him?

“You know the kind of people I hate most y/n?” Gunil asked you one day while you were having lunch together in his office. 

“What kind?” you questioned. 

“Liars,” he answered. Your heart dropped. Did he find out about you being undercover? Was he about to do something to you? Were you going to be able to walk out of this room?

“Who would like a liar?” You chuckled nervously. 

“My mom was a liar and so was the person I considered my best friend.” He went on to say. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You know it really does damage when the people closest to you lie to you.” He stabbed his fork harshly into the piece of meat in front of him, making you flinch. 

“I can only imagine.” Gunil stands up and comes over the couch opposite of him you were sitting on. 

“That’s right. You’ve never been hurt by someone close to you have you?” He very gently strokes your cheek with the back of his hand.

“Fortunately not,” you responded. Gunil smiled. 

“And you wouldn’t hurt someone close to you either right?” he asked. 

You shook your head. “I don’t want to hurt those close to me.” 

“Can I be close to you?” He leaned closer to you.

So maybe that’s how you found yourself in this situation. Because the more time you spend with Gunil. The more you learned his story. The more you felt for him. It doesn’t make what he does right, but you get why he does it. With the way life treated him, it only makes sense he turned into the villain that he is. 

“I don’t know. I’ve only been working here a month. Why would he tell all his dirty secrets to a new hire?” You told the people who you were supposed to be working with to take Gunil down. “There is a shipment going out soon, but I don’t know all the details,” you lied. A part of your job was literally managing shipping schedules. “I’ll look into it ok. I gotta go now.” You hung up the phone and let out a sigh. What were you doing? This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Yet the thought of something happening to Gunil tugged on your heartstrings. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/n?” Gunil’s secretary called you. 

“Yes?” you asked. 

“Mr. Goo requests you in his office,” he tells you. 

“Ok I’ll head there in a sec.” You saved the work you were working on before heading over to Gunil’s office. 

“If you don’t find who broke into the warehouse I’ll get rid of you for being useless, do you understand!” You hear Gunil shout from the other side of the door. His icy tone sends a shiver down your spine. You knocked twice on the door. 

“It’s me,” you say gently. 

“Come in y/n.” His voice is much softer now. You took a small breath before opening the door. 

“You wanted to see me,” you said. Gunil approaches you. 

“Yeah I did.” Next thing you know he’s melting into you. Wrapping his arms around your frame in a hug. You freeze in your spot. 

“...Is everything ok?” you asked. Very slowly you lift your hands and rest them against his back.

“Someone broke into the warehouse,” he tells you. You know exactly who it was. You feel something knot in your stomach. 

“Was anything stolen?” Gunil pulls away from you and straightens his tie, fixing his composure. 

“Fortunately not, but it was still a close call.” 

“Guni,” you say. 

“Yeah,” I know who it was. Those words sit right on the tip of your tongue. 

“Did you check the security cameras to see who it was?” You say instead. 

“They were wearing a cap and mask, so we couldn’t see. It was a man though,” he told you. You nodded. “Come sit.” Gunil motioned for you to sit down. Slowly you walked over to the couch and took a seat. Gunil then takes a seat beside you. “Did me asking to be close to you make you uncomfortable?” he questioned. 

“Huh? Oh, no it didn’t. Why are you asking?” you replied. 

“You just seem a bit distant with me since then,” he tells you. Cause that’s when you started feeling conflicted. You didn’t want to lie to Gunil anymore, but if stopped you’d be betraying your partners. 

“It’s not that. It’s just…remember when I said I don’t want to hurt those close to me?” you brought up. 

“Of course,” he said. 

“Well, I found myself in a situation where I have to make a decision and no matter what choice I make somebody's gonna get hurt,” you informed. 

“Which decision would make you the happiest?” he asked you.

“How can I be happy when I’m hurting someone?” 

“Then can you tell me what the situation is? Maybe I can handle it,” he suggested. Your heart sinks. 

“That’s the thing…there’s something you don’t know about me,” you say. 

“Which is?” He looked at you expectantly. 

“I’m a liar.”

part 2 part 3 epilogue!

Taglist: @purplelady85 @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses @mon2sunjinsuver @mxlly143

[leaentries]

jack hughes x chubby!reader headcanons

a/n- this has been a long time coming. also i want to apologize i’ve been kinda MIA recently, i’ve just been super busy with life!

SFW & NSFW under the cut!

SFW

i’ve discussed this briefly, but i think jack found his love for the chub on accident.

like he never thought he’d be into it, until next thing he knows, he can’t get enough of your rolls and curves

thinks they are so warm and squishy

loves to nestle and bury his face in your plushy tummy cause it’s just so so soft and comfy. definitely the type to lay all his weight on you and take a nap for hours.

you are his favorite place to sleep, so get used to it. he will actually just fall asleep on you everywhere, and i mean everywhere.

he loves your boobs. and everything about them.

how squishy and warm they are, how even though they don’t fit right or look perfect in everything you wear they still somehow manage to poke out a bit. he is super into the way they spill out slightly near the crease of your arm and shoulders. he’s so weak for your tits, bro.

sometimes if you are wearing a low-cut shirt or tank top and your boobs are showing he will literally just poke them

same goes for the cute rolls on your sides. dude loooooves them side rolls. he loves to grab, poke, squeeze, squish, bite, you name it.

his favorite thing is to sneak up behind you and grab your sides and tickle you, what an asshole.

being able to do little domestic things with you has his heart doing flips. like being able to buy groceries with you, cooking you dinner (when he tries), cleaning the apartment, he loves it all

he especially loves being able to wake up with you in the morning. the way your body keeps him warm. he’ll grab your round hips and pull you into his frame as far as you can possibly be. the type of guy to want to crawl into your skin, yk?

he’s just such a softie cuddly love bug when it comes to you. he can go from 😠 to 🥺😍 in a matter of seconds when you walk into the room

although we ALL know that he isn’t just a softie. baby boy knows how to fight. aho can attest to that firsthand.

i dare anyone to say anything bad about you in front of him, he’s immediately jumping to defend you. let someone say something to him on the ice? he’s dropping the gloves and helmet immediately.

his mood depends on your mood. if you’re not happy, he’s not happy. if you’re cranky, he’s cranky. he will do anything to see you happy and see your cute chubby cheeks light up with that gorgeous smile he lives for.

NSFW

as i’ve already established, he loves your tits.

so it’s only natural that he’s very big into playing with your boobs during any kind of sexual act.

BOOB JOBS. he will lose it in 30 secs. ngl he used to get embarrassed about how quickly your boobs could make him cum, until he realized the power trip it gave you and how good you felt that you could do that to him with just your tits.

but don’t worry, just the sight of your heavy breasts covered in his release is enough to get him hard again.

his favorite position is cowgirl. i know, i know, cliche. BUT he gets to feel all your weight on top of him AND see your tits bounce in his face. dude is in heaven.

he loves to hold your hips in place and fuck up into you 😋 he’s just so silly like that

#1 goal is to get you so fucked out to the point where you can’t hold yourself up anymore and collapse into him cause he just loves the feeling of your soft rolls against his stomach and chest.

hickeys, hickeys, and more hickeys. wants to cover you in head to toe with them. disclaimer- you better invest in a good concealer

[3terna15unshin3]

time, curious time

1 of 6 ★ 6433 words

masterlist — next

— warnings: alcohol consumption, recreational drug use

“This area’s too dry. Grass looks like hay. It’ll look rubbish to set all the mic stands on it,” You argue.

Matty sighs in defeat. “You never like my ideas,” he whines sarcastically, rolling his eyes in the process.

Your elbow juts into his side, making him groan and then laugh. It’s your turn for an eye roll.

“Do you want my help or not?” you challenge. “I don’t have much experience with music videos, to be fair, so if you'd rather empty your pockets and hire someone professional—”

“Okay, okay, okay. Shut up. Let’s keep moving,” he interrupts.

You both continue on your path, scoping out locations for a video that the boys want to film later in the week. There are plenty of spots Matty suggests, stopping repeatedly to ask you to capture a certain frame. Though, as he had complained, none of them have been up to your standards. 

By now, you’re used to his constantly fleeting and sometimes messy creativity. You find comfort in it, actually, and feel the most empowered in your own strength as an artist when Matty’s there. Your camera seems the strongest in your hands when it’s pointed at him.

He nudges you to point out one last possible shot. The trees hang hauntingly low and its branches are frail, almost skimming the tops of your heads. Your feed tread over the now slightly greener grass as you come closer and look around in awe. Matty’s right, for one of the few times today.

“Now we’re talking,” you whisper in satisfaction, raising your Nikon to your eye out of instinct.

You back away slightly to get him in frame. From behind, the last hour of daylight shines through the kinks of Matty’s hair, backlighting him. It accentuates the slope of his nose as he turns to the side and looks up at the tree above him. His side profile is one of your favourite things about photographing Matty. It’s strong, but gentle.

He glances back at you after hearing a few clicks of the camera’s shutter. The sun that lights his silhouette contrastingly shines directly onto your face—since you face him—painting an orange glow across your skin.

There’s something that makes you feel like he’s staring. And you’re right, because he is, but it’s a stare that feels good. Not exposing, or perceptive in a way that usually made your heart drop. You almost want to look behind you to see if maybe he was looking at something else.

It’s sort of how he always looks at you, though. Maybe that’s how he looks at everyone, you think, but part of you hopes it wasn’t. That you were an exception. Something outstanding. 

You gasp when Matty suddenly lunges to steal your camera from your grip.

“Gimme this for a sec,” he mumbles. He’s lucky it isn’t hung around your neck as it usually was.

Embarrassment immediately creeps up your neck as he points it at you. You habitually block his view of your face with your hands, and insist, “Stop it!”

“The lighting’s nice!” Matty protests, pushing your hands away.

You replace them quickly to prevent any photo opportunities. “I don’t have space on my memory card for you to fool around, Healy.”

He rolls his eyes, turning the lens back onto himself to take a horrendously close-up picture of his own face. You giggle at the way his wrinkled skin was on display from the weird expression he pulled and the odd angle he held your camera at.

“This is literally our last location. Relax,” Matty points out.

Then, a bird tweets aggressively behind you, so you turn around to look for the culprit. Your eyes widen when it catches you off guard and squawks again, your sight flickering around the sky to try and find it. 

“God, what was that?” you mumble, but when you face Matty again, he has your camera held up. A flash and click tells you that he sneaks a picture.

“Seriously, Matty,” You say after catching him, and his smile falters. The thought of him capturing you candidly makes your stomach flip with anxiety, and he knows that. Since he’s aware, he hands your camera over, in case he’d pushed a bit too far.

It’s the way you’ve been since he can remember; always groaning and uncomfortable to be in a group photo at school or denying his requests to pose for his camera every once in a while.

It grows frustrating sometimes, since it’s hard for him to grasp what you could possibly be insecure about. And, most of the thousands of pictures from the years you’ve grown up together showed everyone else’s faces and not yours, which made him even angrier. But that’s how you wanted them, after all.

This attribute of yours is one of the things most different about you and Matty. He loves having eyes on him—craves it, even. Wants to be seen and understood. But you're an observer, on the other hand. The world is fascinating to you, lighting your urge to preserve and savour its meticulosity. It explains your addiction to capturing it all with a camera. 

The difference makes you two a great team. Though you regret your commitments in moments like these.

“Let’s go before we get shat on by that bird,” you snicker, lighting the mood back up and giving Matty a shove. He stumbles over with a chuckle and the two of you bee-line for where his car was parked. 

By the time he’s arrived outside your building, the sun has set. You yawn after a fairly long day, walking in with Matty and dreading the four flights of stairs you’re about to climb together. The lift in your building is under maintenance and has been for the past few weeks, so you’re used to it. But that doesn’t stop Matty from complaining.

“What maintenance could they still possibly be doing on that fucking lift?!” he puffs as you tackle the first flight.

“I’d rather take the stairs than plummet to my death in a dodgy lift,” you add. 

The second floor approaches. Matty trails a couple of steps behind you and is already audibly out of breath.

“Agree to disagree, I guess.”

You finally reach your level and walk side by side over the creaky floor of the corridor. There’s still quite a way to travel until your flat nears.

“I feel like you can’t really complain about the stairs when you and the guys only live on the second floor. That’s half the amount we need to get to ours,” you point out, fishing your keys out of your pocket as the flat numbers grow closer to your own.

“And what do I do every time we arrive? Walk you up to your flat! Up four and then back down two!” he exclaims. “I’ll complain as much as I’d like.”

You unlock the door and your best friends are sitting on the sofa. Their heads of hair—one blonde and the other raven—turn around to watch you and Matty barge in. 

“And each time I insist that you don’t need to walk me up,” you counteract, bending down to take off your boots. 

Matty stops at the doorway, not planning on sticking around. He gives a wave to Avni and Greta with a small smile, but isn't done making his point to you. “I don’t trust our weirdo neighbours. You should thank me, honestly.” 

“Fine. Thank you for always walking me up. Happy? Now please leave. You smell like dirt from when you laid down on that pile of gravel,” you say, waving him off and grabbing the edge of the door to let him out. 

“I wanted to see if it looked cool,” he defends, then pulls you in for a hug goodbye, and pecks your temple before you back away. He begins walking back down the corridor to the stairwell. 

You call out, “It didn’t!” and watch him throw both of his middle fingers up in response. 

The door closes and you bolt the lock. You sigh, ready to collapse into bed. But before you have the chance to, Avni motions for you to come sit on the sofa. And though there are many places you’d rather be, you oblige, sinking down into the cushions between her and Greta.

“Come on, talk to us! We haven’t seen you all day,” she nags, nuzzling the side of her face into your shoulder. 

“Yeah,” agrees Greta. “I thought you were going to be back after your shift?”

“I was going to be, but then Matty picked me up and brought me dinner as a bribe to scout music video locations with him all evening. I was hungry, so I accepted his offer,” you explain.

Avni shrugs. “That’s a fair deal, I guess.”

You begin to stand up, thinking that what you’ve given was enough to satisfy your flatmate’s curiosities, but Avni’s hand yanks you back down. 

“But wait,” she starts. “Everything’s okay, right?”

There was worry in her voice that confused you. “...Yes? Why would it not be?”

“Oh,” she lets go of a breath she seemed to be holding. “I just saw Matty hug and kiss you before leaving so I thought he might be comforting you, or something. I don’t know. Forget I asked,” Avni finishes with dismissal. 

The three of you chuckle casually and they finally allow you to get up. 

“Doesn’t he usually do that? I feel like that’s always how he bids any of us goodbye,” you say, walking around the sofa to head to your room, but pause to hear their answers. 

“I’ve known that bloke since he was pre-pubescent and never has he just casually kissed me without reason,” declares Avni, raising an eyebrow suggestively and making you shake your head in annoyance. 

You know what she’s trying to get at, but you don’t want to talk about it. You never want to talk about it. Avoidance really is your best friend.

She’s convinced she sees something there—and though you secretly wished there was something, the idea of attempting to do something about it makes you want the ground to swallow you up. You could barely admit it to yourself, let alone another soul, or Matty.

Plus, you really are convinced that it’s just a you thing, not a you and him thing. That you just need some time to get over it, even though it’s been nearly ten years. How could it ever be a you and him thing?

Thankfully, Greta’s big ego and her pestering lighthearted crush on Matty shuts down anything Avni is trying to insinuate, when she says, “He’s kissed my cheek plenty of times,” as if it’s obvious.

You glance back at Avni, and as you expect, she’s giving you a look that screams, ‘Of course Greta’s just said that…’ 

“There you go,” you point to Greta and end the conversation, acting like she helped prove your point. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. I work the morning shift so I should be back early.”

They respond tiredly and continue watching the telly, not concerned about the late hour like you are. Neither of them have an early morning to worry about, so you won’t be surprised if you hear another film begin when you’re about to shut your eyes. 

Avni is a full-time student about to finish her degree—which her parents fund for her—so she only works here and there, doing integrated jobs within her program at the University of Manchester. The only time she sees the early hours of the day is when she’s been hunched over a computer through the night, writing a paper about something you don’t understand. Since it’s the weekend and Avni’s free of class, you assume she’d sleep in.

On the other hand, Greta is like you, and opted out of A-levels and uni once completing GSCEs. She’s never been all that interested in studying, so after working as an associate at the Space NK back in Wilmslow, a position opened at the Manchester location and she stuck with it. In perfect correlation with the rest of the group also moving to the big city. 

At this point she’s a manager and is earning quite a lot—certainly more than what you make at the cafe—so her working hours can be unpredictable. But since the store never opens earlier than 10 o’clock, Greta’s rarely a morning person either.

You wake up at a concerningly early time to make it to Cafe North for 6am. It doesn’t open for another two hours, but since you’re desperate for as many shifts as possible, you take on any position necessary. This morning, your position was baker. 

It’s not a strong suit of yours, and you were only hired as a waitress, but the cafe being known for its fresh pastries made the morning shift annoyingly important. So, you often find yourself trudging in at the crack of dawn to cover for your coworkers when things come up and your boss needs you.

Cafe North helps pay your bills, since doing freelance photography work in Manchester isn’t quite enough to live comfortably. Work seems to be slowing down as the year goes on as well, so your only consistent clients are the up and coming local bands. You photograph their shows even though they barely make enough for themselves, let alone to be able to pay you fairly. 

The reason you frequent the music scene is due to the growing popularity of your favourite band—the one that happens to be made up of some of your closest friends—so of course you photograph every one of their shows. Though you refuse to let them pay you, being at their gigs leads to plenty of more work, so you manage.

Thankfully, you leave your shift at the cafe with your newest paycheque in hand. So, you stop by the bank on your journey home and deposit most of it into your savings. It’s what you do every time you get paid, and the guys sometimes make fun of how frugal it makes you. 

Their teasing persists when you walk into the pub to meet them for a gig. A morning shift and a night out all in the same day is usually a bad idea, but you run home to nap for a few hours and have tea with Avni before showing up, so you hope it isn’t a completely terrible night. 

“Come on, mate! One cocktail?! It’s Saturday night, get pissed with us,” begs Ross, who has already downed a few pints.

The seven of you; him, Matty, Hann, and George, along with you and the girls, squeezed tightly into a booth to commit to your normal routine. If the guys were playing at a pub, you’d come a couple of hours before the show to have some drinks and chat shit. If they weren’t, you’d come to some pub anyway before heading to the venue. Beer was a part of the equation either way.

Weekend shows always brought the whole crew out. The audience had more bodies and their set had a bit more length. Smaller shows sometimes had your flatmates opting to stay home—busy with school and work or just not in the mood—but you never missed any. 

You like to say you’re forced to, in order to keep the band’s Facebook updated with stills of every set, but truthfully, you never want to miss a show. You’d rather be in the crowd with your eye glued to your viewfinder than be anywhere else.

“I’m a classy woman,” you declare sarcastically, sipping your espresso martini leisurely. “Plus, I just got word that my application is being processed, as of a few days ago. Gotta save up for London if I get it, can’t be draining my bank account at every night out.”

“It’s always about London. Blah blah blah London, blah blah blah internship. Fuck off,” he drunkenly spits at your face. You laugh, not offended in the slightest since you’re used to his bluntness.

“By ‘fuck off’ he means ‘we hope you get it’, by the way,” Greta reassures you after flicking him up upside the head. It made Ross wince and whine but the alcohol in his system makes it hurt less. 

It also apparently makes his reflexes slower, as you’re able to easily steal the glass from his hand to take a few large gulps to spite his comment. Ross’s jaw drops, newly offended, and moves with haste to snatch it back from you—though it’s now almost empty.

“You deserved that,” says Adam, chuckling and enjoying his full pint.

“Thank you!” you say and then clink your martini glass to his in solidarity. The rest of the group then add on and cheers you as well, leaving Ross to walk to the bar and fetch himself another beer, sulking.

“Can I just say, I’m not gonna pull a Ross and tell you to fuck off about London, but Gret can speak for herself about this whole ‘we hope you get it’ narrative,” George clarifies. “At a happy medium I will be happy for you but also very upset that you’d be leaving us.” 

You smile at his sweetness through the fear that everyone might actually be upset at you leaving Manchester. It was hard enough to break the news that you were interested in an endeavour so separate from them. The sheer distance made it even worse. 

Which is why you lied. 

The internship Ross mentions is really in New York, not London.

Well, it could have been in London if you wanted it to be. ELLE Magazine has headquarters in both cities, and there are plenty of UK internships you qualify for. But, the program that calls to you is for international study—they provide housing for a year-long position (which is a paid one, thankfully), and you feel that the scene in New York is more exciting than anything in your home country. So, you apply. 

But, change has always been difficult for you to accept; growing up and sticking to the same people, fantasising about the same career and carrying around the same camera. You enjoy your life being that same you. 

And up until you discovered the internship, you planned to be just that. You like Manchester. You know Manchester. It’s comfortable, and has everything you need to make it in the industry. But so does New York.

The idea ignites a flame in you. Nobody would ever describe you as spontaneous, or as confident, or as a dreamer. You always feel diligent. Compliant. Following through with the plan that you’ve always had. But you want to be outstanding. Unpredictable, for once. Reaching for something so big that it’s scary.

You lie because you’re scared. What will people think of you if you fail? You think about telling the truth to the people you’re closest to and it makes you sick to your stomach. 

How they probably think that you don’t have it in you to follow through with it. That you’re a good photographer in Manchester, and won’t compare in America. That you’ll be broke and back in England within months. A two and a half hour train ride of shame back from London sounded much less frightening than an 11 hour flight back from America.

Of course, they’re actually lovely about the ELLE internship. They have so much faith in you—maybe more than you have in yourself. But they don’t know that you’ll be packing up and moving 5 time zones over. And their loveliness doesn’t put your crippling anxiety to sleep, and doesn’t stop you from creating and keeping up with the London lie. It’s your safety blanket.

“Just think of it like this, George,” you begin. “Coming down and visiting me will give you guys an excuse to play some gigs and show all of the big London labels how badly they need to sign you.”

All four boys groan at the mention of record labels. They’ve been working their asses off trying to get attention from them and it hasn’t gone very smoothly so far.

“If the sad little indies in this city won’t bat an eye at us then I doubt any fancy London ones will give a shit,” complains Matty with an eye roll. 

“For a man with such a big ego you can be so pessimistic,” Avni responds. 

You’re sitting across from Matty, so you use your knee to shove his. Though his tone is confidently spiteful, you can tell that the band’s struggle to get signed sometimes gets to him.

He looks up at you since you gain his attention, and the two of you share a small reassuring smile. Matty’s knee shoves yours back. It softens his expression. 

“I’ve got a multi-faceted personality, Avni,” he defends.

She raises her hands, accepting his statement as a fine enough rebuttal. 

“At least the place is pretty packed tonight,” Ross interferes. 

Everyone looks around and surveys the busy nature of the pub they’re about to play for. Ross has a good point, and the group’s excitement grows with the realisation. They could tell the energy would be great.

With the mention of why they’ve arrived in the first place, the four boys take note of the quickly lessening time before their set would begin. So, they finish off the last drops of what sat in their glasses and eventually begin to prepare. 

It’s not long before you’re in an uncomfortably crouched position, waiting for them to come on and begin their first song. Gret and Avni stand behind you, drinks still in hand and chatting away. You adjust the settings on your camera, making sure to up the exposure to accommodate the dark pub lighting. 

Small cheers and woops erupt from a few of the patrons who are familiar with the boys, and you raise your camera to your eye when the set begins. Every time it settles on Matty, you almost feel a sense of relief to have an excuse to watch his every move. 

It paralyses you, how natural his body and mind present themselves through the music. You watch him through the haze of cigarette smoke that floated in the air, seeing his hands dance up and down the fretboard of his guitar. They move with urgency and make pretty sounds. His eyes close when he sings and you find yourself missing the brownness of his irises when they are, sighing in solace when they open back up.

You have to remind yourself to photograph the others. They’re naturals on stage as well—and you can’t deny their talent—but they’re humble in nature. And Matty isn’t. He makes the perfect frontman; overtly confident and spilling with an amplified arrogance. It’s so easy to capture him and have the photos ooze magic. You aren’t sure if the magic comes from you or from him. 

When you’re satisfied with the amount you’ve taken, you relax to enjoy the show, quietly singing along to the lyrics to your favourite tracks. Your friends chat here and there but you stay engaged with the performance. You chase contact with Matty’s eyes, which are usually scanning the depth of the growing crowd, and have to suppress your smile when you succeed, stealing his attention for split seconds at a time.

And as quickly as it begins, it’s over. You detach yourself from your camera and carefully place it back into the bag that slings over your shoulder. Applause rings through the pub. 

Everyone sticks around for a couple of hours after the show, as the boys ride on what’s left of their post-performance adrenaline—but your eyes droop with tiredness and they can tell. Clearly, the nap you took after getting back from work wasn’t enough to keep up with your friends. 

“Falling asleep on us, are you?” notices Avni, poking at your cheek, sufficiently drunk. 

You smile softly and try to shake some energy into yourself. “Not anymore,” you say, embarrassed that they can see through your attempts to hide the fact that you’ve been up for nearly 21 hours. You’re even too knackered to sip on your drink, and the copper mug sits full of a concoction of Moscow mule remnants mixed with melted ice in front of you. 

“Quite the grandmother tonight, Y/N,” Hann teases. 

You don’t tease him back because you can tell he just cares, and will probably suggest that you make your way home, knowing his sensibility. “Can’t help it. Been up since 5.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, 5 in the morning?! Doing what?!” asks Matty, who sat between you and the edge of the booth. 

“Going to my job, Matty. Have you heard of those? Jobs? Or have you not, since you’ve never been able to keep a real one?” 

The whole table ‘ooo’ at your burn and Matty shakes his head in disbelief. 

“In my humble defence, I have been helping George deliver for Flame and Wok and they do pay me now. So yeah, darling, I have,” he defends matter-of-factly. “You know, I slept for 12 hours last night. Maybe more. And for some reason I think I’m just as fucking exhausted as you.” 

You turn to him, confused. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to one-up me with how tired you are or if you’re bragging about how much sleep you got.”

“I’m trying to point out that you’re a trooper for still being up. And am also insinuating that I am very unusually tired and willing to leave if you come with. If everyone else wants to stay,” he clarifies.

Oh, you think. He’s just being sweet. 

“Thank God someone finally offered. I’m dying here,” you whine. “You lot keep having fun for me, alright? I don’t want to start being known as the buzzkill.”

Matty scooches sideways to stand up and you do the same, slipping on your denim jacket. 

“Oh, you will,” confirms George. You flip him off, and he laughs. “I’m joking. Get some sleep, love.”

You smile at the fact that underneath the sarcastic humour all of your friends share, is a synonymous deep care for each other. You’ve really lucked out. A sudden sadness pangs your mind when you think of the fact that you might be leaving them. You wipe it away before it can settle.

They all mutter farewells while you lean down to peck Avni on the cheek. You repeat the action for Greta, and then you and Matty begin heading out.

“See you at home,” he calls, waving. Everyone waves back, and then returns to their slurred banter and cold drinks.

He holds the door open for you and you step into the chill late night (almost early morning) air. You follow the pavement towards your building and walk side-by-side.

“I need to meet Wade before we get back, by the way. If that’s okay with you,” Matty admits. “He’s just waiting for me on the corner of Spears.”

Wade is Matty’s dealer, who regularly supplies him the weed that everyone often smokes together. At one point, you try to figure out a way to somehow split the cost by seven, but since Matty and George have a much more intense fixation than the rest of you, they agree to just pay for it themselves. 

So, you’re complicit, and follow him a block past your flat to where Wade was waiting. You’re retrospectively thankful that walking an extra block is the trade off for free weed.

It’s quick; you both throw a casual ‘Hi, mate,’ to the dealer and a few seconds later you’re already turning back with your arm linked in Matty’s, who had the small baggy tucked into his pocket.

You climb the dreaded stairs together and reach your floor. It’s mostly quiet between you, due to your energyless states, but before you come to your door, you mutter, “Thank you for leaving with me, Matty. I know you would rather have stayed.”

“Don’t be silly,” he responds, “I know I’m crazy, but I actually am knackered. I should be thanking you for giving me an excuse to leave.”

A smile is shared between you and you unlock your flat, sighing in contentment at the lessening proximity from you and your bed. “You’re right about being crazy.”

Matty rolls his eyes, and you send him a look that tells him it’s okay for him to head to his flat. That you’re all good and safe in yours. But before he leaves, he stops to say one more thing.

“You really should rest up. I know everyone likes taking the piss out of how much you work—especially tonight—but it really is a lot. And I get that it’s for a reason and you’re saving up or whatever. I just hope you know that we won’t be offended if you don’t come and take photos of every single show we play. It’s okay to miss them, really. You’ve seen it a million times over. If it means you can avoid 20 hour days and draining all of your energy.”

“I like coming to your shows. I don’t feel like I have to. I just want to,” you insist while taking off your boots. “But thank you. I appreciate it. ‘S very sweet.”

He accepts your answer with a gracious nod and briefly wraps an arm around your shoulder to press his lips to your cheek, then turns to find his flat. You watch him walk down the hall and finally close the door when you hear his footsteps bouncing in the stairwell. 

You have to suppress the giddiness you feel bubbling up and convince yourself that you’d feel the same way if any of the other guys had walked you home and said what he’s said—though you know that isn’t true.

Now washed up and in bed, you check your phone one last time before shutting your eyes. You see a message from Matty.

matty: Wanna to try out the stuff I picked up earlier?? It’s a new strain, needs opinions. I’ll be home all day tmrw just stop by x

y/n: beautiful 

y/n: ill text when i leave x

You think about how nice a joint sounds after the long day you’ve had. So, you agree, and fall asleep soundly.

But when you wake up the next morning—far too early—to the scariest email you’ve ever received, you’re even more in need of a smoke. Because you’re about to have a panic attack.

You’re moving to New York.

You reread the congratulatory words maybe 30 times before you can bear to look away. Tears of both happiness and fear threaten to spill from your eyes, but you blink enough times to make them disappear.

The kettle is whistling in the kitchen and you can hear it from your room. It’s probably Greta. You wonder if she boiled enough water for you and Avni to make cups as well, since you’re usually up by now. You can pick apart two sets of footsteps. They’re both up. 

What if they can hear that you’re up? What if your thoughts are so loud that they can hear those, too? You quiet down your quick breathing and hide yourself and your screen beneath your covers. Just in case.

You’ll have to start packing soon. Book a plane ticket. You’ve never booked a plane ticket by yourself. What if it’s hard? What if you can’t find your passport? You get up and rummage through your bedside table to find it. It’s exactly where you left it.

Eventually, after hiding out and panicking for what seems like a couple of minutes but is actually many hours, you let yourself cry. You let it all out in heaving sobs. The girls don’t hear you or question the fact that it’s past noon and you’re still in your room. They assume you’re catching up on sleep. But you’re wide awake.

You think about how bad you’ve been wanting this. You want it so bad. You would never be able to forgive yourself if you let your fear ruin it. 

So, you compose yourself. Wipe your eyes dry and sniff up the snot. Get dressed, plaster a normal smile on your face. You ask Greta and Avni if they want to come to the boys’ flat with you for a smoke. You tell them that Matty’s got a new strain he wants you to try. They agree after asking if you’ve had a good night’s sleep. You lie and say yes. 

y/n: heading over now

y/n: and bringing the others if u don’t mind

You need an excuse to have everyone in the same room again. An opportunity to tell them the news. You’re not sure how long you can go before it eats you alive. 

matty: Course

matty: Door’s unlocked

Matty doesn’t mind, but is weirdly disappointed to know that it won’t just be you and him. He calls Ross, Hann, and George out to the lounge to let them know that everyone’s coming, to act like he meant for it to be a group thing all along. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, so the boys don’t question it.

To be fair, hanging out one-on-one wasn’t out of the ordinary either. He’s just worried that you might find it odd for him to like it better that way, versus seeing the other girls. So he keeps that part to himself.

Everything’s normal when you arrive. Matty explains that the joints you puff and pass are supposed to give you a more concise high. Less scattered but definitely less alert, and maybe more focused. He thinks it might be good for writing, or something. You’re not sure. You just inhale and let it happen and then think in circles about how to start mentioning what you need to mention. It blares at your conscience. 

Thankfully, at the perfect time, Avni asks you a question about the cafe. Which you know you’ll have to quit soon. It’s the perfect segue.

She’s complaining about accidentally volunteering to organise an event for her colleagues before winter break came along. “Thought I’d just be setting up the place but now I’ve got to plan the whole program of honourees and even sort out the catering.”

“Catering? Fuck, that’s fancy,” sneers Ross.

“Right? I think I’ll plan it at an odd time so that I can just get coffee and pastries, or something,” Avni lazily says, blowing smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Does the cafe do catering? Like big carafes of coffee and tea?”

“We do,” you answer with hesitance.

“Oh, gorgeous! Would you be able to ask your boss to sort me a few? So I can use some of my budget on other stuff?” she asks.

Your heartbeat quickens. Now’s your moment.

“I would, but—” You cough and bite at the skin on your fingertips to stall. “I—Um, I won’t be working there anymore. In December,” You finally sputter out.

Everyone’s in their own little world as you hang out; George busy mixing something on his laptop, Greta bringing over her latest crochet project to finish (hoping she doesn’t get too high and fuck up the pattern), the others making casual conversation and enjoying the company. But they stop when they hear the words leave your mouth, and there’s a moment of eerie silence when the gears in their heads grind to figure out what you mean.

“Have you been sacked?” asks Adam. You shake your head no. “...You’re quitting?”

You nod slowly, searching for some sort of release in each of your friends’ expressions, hoping they figure it out before you have to say it on your own and out loud, since you haven’t done that yet. But nobody says anything, and you can’t bear any more silence. 

“I got the internship.”

A sense of shock blanketed the room before Ross finally jumps out of his seat to tackle you in an embrace. You grin, a wave of relief hitting you, and flipping the morale in the October air on its head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! How long have you known?!” he screams in your ear, and you wince at the volume, though you can’t help but giggle with joy as your friends erupt in praise.

He climbs off of you and you stand so that everyone can have their turn wrapping their arms around you.

“I got the email early this morning and have not been able to function since,” You explain. “Genuinely had a panic and hid underneath my bed sheets for about 3 hours before I could face the fact that it’s actually happening.” 

“We have to celebrate! I should go get a bottle of champagne. Someone come with me, please. Balloons? Streamers? Do you want a cake, love? I can get a cake,” Avni rambles, dragging Greta up from her seat and heading for the door.    

Your cheeks hurt and your head spins. 

“Please, Av, you don’t have to do all that,” you argue. 

Matty’s the last to hug you so he leaves one of his arms draped around the back of your neck, standing close. He leans his head sideways and your temples touch. He leaves his head there. 

“Please, Y/N,” Greta copies you. “You deserve it. None of us work tonight, why can’t we party?!”

“This buzzkill narrative is really catching up to you,” George buts in. “And don’t you want to spend time with us before you leave? There’s not much time left, you know.”

Your cheeks finally relax, and you’re brought back down to Earth. Fuck. He’s right. The room falls silent as they all make the same realisation. 

You feel your nose get fizzy with emotion. You can’t move on and let them celebrate you without telling them the truth.

“Yeah, you’re right. There’s also one more thing you should know. About the internship,” you start nervously. 

Everyone looks you in the eye but you can’t dare to meet anyone’s stare. They sense the lighthearted and energetic mood shift, and their mouths fall flat. Why are they not smiling anymore? But there isn’t anything left for you to do besides explain yourself.

“It’s with ELLE Magazine. They have a head office in London, and I applied through ELLE UK, which is why I said the position would relocate me there. But, in my offer, they gave me the option to intern there, or at the headquarters in New York.” 

Your breath shakes as you inhale.

“And after some thinking, I’ve decided to choose New York.”

[monsterfuker3000]

Let’s Get in the Back of Your Cop Car, Officer ♡

You can ask me anything you want, anything, anything <3

More Leon brain rot for you my luvs!

Word count is 1.8k yummy

Warnings: NSFW, mean!dom!(?)Leon, a smidgie of degradation (I think he says ‘whore’), p in v sex, rough sex, unprotected sex (DO NOT DO THAT,) handcuffs, idk dubcon for a sec? Leon checks in w/reader though!! Leon is a big big big meanie in this but I promise it’s only bc he’s soooo frustrated :( he gets softer at the end hehe. RE2 Leon because he is my pookie bear.

There is no way in hell the two of you are meeting quota today. Not when you’re spending your shift practically folded in the back of the squad car with Leon’s cock shoved so deep in you that you could swear it was hitting your lungs.

You’d been paired up with Leon today as an ‘exercise in getting along,’ as the higher-ups put it. Everyone at the station was sick of the back-and-forth between you and Leon. The two of you couldn’t be civil with each other to save your lives. You’d tease him, he’d boil over, you’d tease him for boiling over. It was a vicious cycle.

The two of you had been sent out on patrol on the edge of town to watch for speeding drivers. Everyone hoped a little forced proximity would force the two of you to reconcile your differences.

Good lord, were the two of you reconciling.

You weren’t exactly sure how you’d ended up in the back of the squad car with him; everything that happened from the moment he peeled off into the parking lot of a closed wayside and threw it in park had been fuzzy.

You’d been teasing him of course, talking about how he’d probably never had a girlfriend and you doubted he could make a girl cum even if his life depended on it. He was sick of hearing it. You laid under him in the backseat, unsure where your uniform pants had disappeared to. He was on all fours above you, effectively caging you in with his limbs.

He brought his face close to yours and growled. “I’m so fucking tired of hearing you run your mouth, especially when you have no idea what you’re talking about,” he ground out. He grabbed you by your waist and flipped you over on your stomach as you yelped in surprise. “God, I know it would fucking kill you to be proven wrong, wouldn’t it?”

You turned to look at him over his shoulder as he fought to undo his belt buckle. “What, you gonna fuck me? Think you’re gonna make me cum? I doubt it, Kennedy. We both know you get zero pussy.” He grabbed your hair and wrapped it tightly around his fist, pulling you up to him so he could whisper in your ear.

“I’m going to be the best lay you’ve ever had in your goddamn life.”

He let go of your hair and you landed back on your hands, but he quickly grabbed each of your wrists and cuffed them behind you before dropping you to damn near land right on your face. Did he seriously use his RPD cuffs on you? Your ass was still in the air and you gasped as you heard the sound of fabric tearing as he quite literally ripped your panties off.

“Relax, I’ll buy you some new ones,” he spat. He balled them in his fist and brought them just inches from your face. “I should shove these in your mouth to keep you quiet, but I’d really rather hear you scream when you cum around my cock.” The words went straight to your core and you could just barely see him stuff them in his pocket out of the corner of your eye.

He roughly shoved two fingers into you and curled them, making you cry out. He pumped them in and out at an unforgiving pace, and you could hear just how wet you’d gotten. “You hear that? That’s a much better sound than you constantly running your fucking mouth, hm? Tight little pussy keeps sucking me in, you want my cock?”

You moaned, the pace making you unable to form a coherent sentence. Leon pulled his fingers out and sharply slapped your ass, making you cry out again.

“What, nothing to say now? You run your mouth all fucking day but the second I ask you to answer me, you’ve got nothing to say. What’s that about, hm?” He was seriously pissing you off, now. “And look at this,” he said, dragging his finger through your slick that had pooled out onto the backseat. “You’re literally dripping like some kind of whore. You liked it that much?”

Before you could answer, Leon shoved his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself. You whined, doing your best to lick them clean before he pulled them out with a pop. “Now, answer me. You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, Leon, please fuck me, I want it so bad!” you cried out.

“Aw, but you said I couldn’t ever make a girl cum,” he answered, mock pouting. No, you thought, please don’t stop now. You tried to press your hips back against him, whining when you couldn’t make contact. Fine.

“Please, Leon, please fuck me, I want it so bad, I’ll do anything, I swear!” you whined.

“Alright, baby, I’ll give you what you want,” you could hear the cruel sneer in his voice, even if you still couldn’t see him. You heard the rustle of fabric, assuming he was pushing down his pants and boxers, and you cried out in surprise when you felt the head of his cock run over your clit and catch on it. “Relax, baby, just getting my cock nice and wet for you,” he teased. You desperately wanted to see him.

As if he read your mind, he grabbed the chain connecting your handcuffs and yanked it toward him, pulling you upwards enough that you could turn your head and see what you were working with. Jesus.

“Is. . . Is it going to fit?” you asked. He laughed darkly.

“It’ll fit, darling.”

He pressed the head against your entrance, just a quarter of an inch or so in before pausing. His attitude did a one-eighty as he quietly spoke. “Hey, this okay? You can say no,” he urged. You shook your head almost too enthusiastically while trying to push your hips back into his. The dark smile returned to his face and he straightened. “Good.”

He pushed in, the almost ridiculous amount of slick leaking out of you making it much easier than you expected. He didn’t give you a chance to adjust before he started fucking you in earnest, using the chain between your cuffs to pull you into him with every thrust.

“Fuck, Leon, yes!” you cried. His balls slapped against your clit with every thrust, sending what felt like an electric shock through your body each time. Leon barely registered that you had even spoken, already lost in your pussy.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair again, once again using it to pull your back flush with his chest. He hooked his chin over your shoulder and spoke into your ear again.

“Why, hm?” he asked. You made a sound in the back of your throat that almost sounded like a question; it was all you could muster up. “Why don’t you ever. Shut. The. Fuck. Up?” he questioned, punctuating each word with a thrust so deep it hit your cervix hard, sending a deep ache through your entire abdomen and making you scream. You came, silently thanking God that Leon was holding you up as you gushed around him and down your thighs. You knew if he wasn’t then you would have fallen flat on your face.

He pulled out and you whined at the sudden empty feeling. He flipped you over onto your back, the cuffs now biting into the skin on your wrists and back, but you didn’t care. He entered you again, continuing the breakneck pace he’d set earlier.

“Every time you open that mouth it drives me crazy. You know that? Every time you mouth off at me I want to take my cock and shove it down that pretty throat of yours, that would shut you up,” he muttered. Huh? Where was this coming from?

“I’ve always wanted you so bad,” he continued. “From the first day you came in I wanted you. I’d have done anything for you, anything you asked. I’d walk barefoot across a mile of broken glass for you if that’s what you wanted from me. So why do you have to be so fucking mean?” he almost whined, finishing the sentence with another particularly hard thrust. What on Earth is he talking about? You weren’t sure if he even meant for you to hear this, he seemed almost hypnotized.

“Leon, look-fuck-look at me,” you demanded. He looked up at you, tearing his gaze away from where he’d been looking the whole time; the space where your bodies connected. He didn’t stop thrusting, may God strike him down if he ever did stop.

“Leon I-I tease you because-God-because I li-fuck, so deep-because I like you,” you finally managed to grind out. He paused. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, seeming to make a silent agreement to discuss this later. Leon had other things on his mind right now.

He fucked into you again, still at a grueling pace but now rolling his hips, brushing against your g-spot with every thrust and gripping your hips like he needed you to live.

You were already close, so the new angle made you cum again, practically painting his thighs with your slick, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer either. He looked at you pleadingly.

“W-where?” he muttered.

“Inside, please,” you whined.

Your pussy was still clenching around him from your orgasm and it sent him over the edge quickly. He spilled inside you, enough that some dripped out onto the seat, deep as he was. He spent a moment catching his breath before pulling out, flinching when you grimaced.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” he questioned, sincere this time. He looked cute with his eyebrows furrowed in concern

You winced as you tried to close your legs. “Just a little s-sore is all,” you replied. Then you laughed. “Some bonding exercise, huh Leon?”

He laughed in return as he searched for something to clean you up with. “I think we’ve got some stuff to discuss,” he said as he found a stray napkin and began gently wiping at your thighs with it.

You took a deep breath as he did so, the napkin just a little too rough. Not much to be done about that. “True, but I’d like for you to uncuff me before we have a heart-to-heart,” you grinned.

Leon’s eyes flew open wide. “Fuck! I’m so sorry, I’d forgotten I’d done that. Give me just a second.” You laid there in the backseat, spacing out as he searched his pockets and his tactical belt. “Uh-oh,” he mumbled.

You tried to sit up. “Uh-oh? What’s ‘uh-oh?’ Uh-oh is literally never good.”

Leon flashed you that signature crooked grin, sheepish this time instead of amused. “I uh. . . I’m having a little trouble locating the key.”

BOY OH BOY THAT WAS SURE FUN

[britcision]

I gave you Danny last week, and continuing my cruel streak of not giving you the Bruce-And-Constantine that makes up most of the meat of this chapter… 😈 have some Jason!

We’re close to the end my dears so with any luck this is the last WIP Wednesday we’ll spend on chapter 11, and get that posted soon! I’m just slowing down a little, because Jason’s… well, he’s a little heavy in this one

Needs some cheering up. As always, the rest of the fic is in the tag and on AO3 under Danny Fenton: Dead and Loving It

——————

Fuck the no killing rule, Jason was gonna murder Harley Quinn. And by that, yeah, he probably actually meant “seek vengeance in some small but annoying way”, but still.

He didn’t actually have a crush on Danny. It was a bit they were putting on to fuck with his nosey brothers, and it was probably a good sign that they’d apparently fooled Harley too.

But Harley was a hopeless romantic and prone to see romance where none existed, so maybe it wasn’t that good.

More importantly, Danny didn’t fucking know he was Red Hood yet. He’d have to text Harley tonight and drill that in, since she’d definitely picked up that Danny was in on the secret.

And since apparently they were all gonna be hanging out tomorrow.

He kinda wished he hadn’t brought it up. That Harley hadn’t asked.

He’d monopolised so much of Danny’s time already over the break, three full days and they still had to make that run back to Frostbite.

Danny must have had some other plans. Something he actually wanted to do with his time instead of just following Jason around.

The gala had been fun though. And so had today, it just… Jason couldn’t help feeling he was being too needy. Too clingy, with a guy he’d known for all of a week if you were generous.

Being around Danny made him feel like himself for the first time in fucking years, and he knew what he’d have given up for that.

He didn’t want to be too much. Too pushy. Didn’t want Danny to get sick of hanging out with him so soon, and leave him right back where he’d been; bitter, angry, and alone.

At least Danny didn’t seem to be thinking too much about Harley’s parting shot. There was definitely something on his mind, but they hadn’t actually unlinked arms.

Jason could feel his aura.

Concern-worry-worry.

Shit, they hadn’t fucking unlinked arms. Should they? Should Jason have? For fucks sake he was literally clinging to the guy, this was fucking ridiculous, he should just.

But Danny hadn’t pulled away.

It’d be weird to pull away now.

Jason managed to keep himself distracted in that little spiral all the way to the garage he’d parked his bike in. Danny waited until they left the manor’s grounds to speak again though, arms tightening around Jason’s chest.

“Pull over a sec?” He called above the wind, and Jason very firmly did not let that pitch him further. He pulled over, still firmly in the heights and far from any living souls.

Unless theirs counted. Probably not.

He dropped the kickstand and pulled off his helmet, hoping Danny just wanted to talk. Maybe ask him to make his excuses to Harley.

Ask Jason to drop him at the university and not follow him home. That’d make sense. He didn’t need a wayward puppy.

He didn’t actually get off the bike. Didn’t want to give up Danny’s arms wrapped around him, even if it was just for expedience.

And maybe realised that wasn’t a great idea when Danny rested his cheek on Jason’s back and a warm wave of relax-safe-reassurance threatened to swallow him.

“I know what you’re thinking about,” Danny admitted softly, and Jason damn near bolted. Barely heard the next words, which…

Well.

He knew Danny tended to overlook things. But it turned out he could be pretty damn perceptive too.

“She’s gonna be okay, you know. Cass. I can feel her anywhere in the city if I try, and I’ll know if something happens to her.”

And just like that, the bottom dropped out of Jason’s stomach.

He’d been trying not to think about it. Pretended he didn’t know what she’d be doing when she left, out in the city, one fucking accident from being like him.

Even worrying about Danny getting sick of him was better than that.

She might not even need the pit to bring her back this time. Gotham had a fuck ton of native ectoplasm even for a city; it couldn’t not.

Ectoplasm was made of and attracted to raw emotional energy. For all that people died every day in the city, more were born or moved in to join their ranks.

Gotham would be a metaphorical ghost town if they hadn’t, instead of the literal version slowly creeping across the city’s vigilantes.

From the rogues’ overdramatic schemes to the peoples’ undercurrent of rage and defiant joy, Gotham seethed with emotion. Most of the dead didn’t stay to use the ecto up, and every rogue attack brought a fresh wave.

Not clean ectoplasm like the realms, but tainted with their individual torments, the fierce glee, the desire to burn, it all churned into an ambient ectoplasm Danny swore he’d never seen in another city.

And that defiant spirit, the Gotham je ne sais quoi that made people put up with all the rogue attacks and dangers, was powerful too. Jason had known that even as a kid.

Now, it was literally the reason he was alive.

He might have a second core filling his system with pit water, but they’d both have dried up without the boundless “fuck off” energy Gotham was built on.

He’d felt it since the second he returned. He was alive in Gotham in a way he hadn’t been in Nanda Parbat, anywhere but the fucking pit. It let him think clearly.

Well.

Apparently Danny let him think clearly. That thought still stung. But it shouldn’t have surprised him.

He’d never been much of anything that other people didn’t make him.

It was why he didn’t really mind Clockwork trying to make him Danny’s knight within a couple hours of learning he was half dead. It was kinda what he did.

People had been using him as a weapon since he swung a tire iron at Batman himself. Protecting the guy who gave him his fucking soul back?

He’d have done that anyway, for free. And he got a kickass gun and a supernatural sense of when said asshole needed him. Honestly, easiest job of his life.

The catch would come eventually, but this whole “feeling the intent of people you talk to” thing left him way less suspicious than he still kinda felt he should be.

He’d rather that than be left nebulously owing his whole self to Danny with no way to repay him and no idea where the catch would come from.

It had just… never occurred to him that the same way Danny could reach out and find Vlad, he’d be able to find Cass. Or Jason himself, probably.

Jason hadn’t realised how tightly he’d wound himself until the pressure eased.

He sucked in a breath that seemed to fill his chest for the first time in hours, folded his arms forward onto the handlebars, and let his head rest against them.

Danny followed him down, never losing contact but his face slipping lower and lower down Jason’s back. It almost made him chuckle, imagining how they must have looked.

Actually, he did. Just a moment, a soft and almost giddy sound that he choked back immediately. He sounded… well. Not like himself.

He’d been itching since the girls left to patrol, wishing he could join them. Be Cass’s backup in the field and be sure she wasn’t going in on anything big alone.

Cass was a step beyond competent, she was exceptional and she’d been doing this for years without a shadow. On a regular day, she wouldn’t need help.

But hearing how close she was to losing her humanity and not coming back right no matter what had him on edge. He wanted to shield her, protect her from what he’d gone through.

It wasn’t that he wanted her out of the fight. The idea of asking her not to go out hadn’t even occurred to him. She could make her own choices and he’d back her with all he had.

He just absolutely fucking hated the idea that she was out there alone, while he had fucking nothing on him that’d let him go after her if she did need backup.

If she needed help, he’d have to waste time gearing up before he could go out after her. The other bats would have her back, they all would, so long as they weren’t busy too.

It wasn’t like he was anyone’s first choice for backup even now, he just.

Yeah. He might kinda get what Danny meant about his Obsession being protection. Protecting the bats was a recent addition, but Jason had burned himself out on enough missing kids since he got back to suspect.

He’d have to ask what an actual capital-letter Obsession felt like, but that would wait for another time.

Just knowing that Cass would be safe, had another pair of eyes and more powers than a Kryptonian watching her back made him feel like he could breathe again.

Even knowing that though, he was glad to have left the manor. He could take Danny home, suit up, and… wait.

Danny had no choice but to move back as he straightened, half moving to frown down at the smaller man.

“Is that why you wanted to leave?” He asked quietly, gauging Danny’s face.

Had Danny worked it out on his own? Felt him stressing out about his baby sister back in the field?

Did Danny know that Jason wanted to join her, if not necessarily which costume he wore, and cut his night short?

Would Danny do that for him?

The answer was obvious in the other man’s face as Danny shrugged, even before he spoke.

“I didn’t wanna put you on the spot, and I figured you’d rather get out of there,” he explained casually, leaning just a little into Jason. Enough to feel what warmth Danny had.

Jason hesitated for a long moment, not sure what to say. If he should thank Danny. If Danny would ask, and if Jason should tell him he was the Red Hood now.

It’d be weirder the longer he didn’t mention it. Like he was keeping a secret.

The same secret Danny had kept as a teenager, so at least he’d probably understand, but Jason didn’t like how it felt. He wasn’t fucking ashamed of being the Red Hood.

He’d done shit no one else ever could have, and every inch of his territory was safer than it had ever been without him. He was proud of what he’d done, even if he wouldn’t brag about his methods.

It worked. It got him where he was today, where he didn’t need to kill anymore because people turned tail at the hint of his damn name.

He still didn’t know how Danny felt about killing. It wasn’t something that came up in conversation much. Maybe he’d find a way to ask first.

Tonight, he managed a stiff nod and leaned a little of his own weight back into Danny. Even if the guy thought he was just gonna go home and mope there instead, it was a win.

“Thanks,” he said softly, half wishing for his helmet’s voice modulator. He didn’t like hearing his own voice sound so… vulnerable.

Danny, fucking angel of mercy that he was, chuckled softly and gave him a gentle tap upside the head.

“Yeah, well. Also wasn’t sure how the others would react to “99% of you are permanently on my radar” anyway, and I wanted to make sure you knew for Cass,” he explained cheerfully.

And yeah, Jason still hadn’t really processed that yet, and wasn’t even sure how he’d react. Smart fucking call on Danny’s part.

Chuckling under his breath, Jason shook his head and flipped the kickstand back up.

“Anything else before I take you to bed?” He asked, half teasing Danny’s own unfortunate choice of words earlier.

They were absolutely still fucking with his family to think this was some kind of romantic relationship. Maybe a bit to punish Bruce, who clearly couldn’t handle the idea of Jason happy.

Danny laughed, a hint of something Jason almost identified behind it, then settled himself more firmly against Jason’s back, hanging on properly again.

“Not a damn thing. Oh, are you gonna come pick me up tomorrow or do I make my own way to the manor to join you and Harley?” He asked, snugged up tight.

Jason had almost forgotten that was happening. Apparently. And suddenly he was glad for at least the motorcycle helmet as his cheeks flushed pink.

Fuck he’d say he was trailing after Danny like a puppy, except Danny was the one going where Jason needed to be.

Another excuse to get Danny on his bike, arms around him.

Fuck off, Jason Todd Romance Heroine. It was a goddamn jailbreak, if a legal one. Not a fucking meet cute.

“If you actually want to come,” he agreed a little hesitantly, because the voice that insisted he was just a burden and Danny was only humouring him wasn’t all displacement activity after all.

Or pit related, apparently. Delightful.

He coulda tried to pretend it was, but that had been more convincing back when it was always a background grumble of anger, not the little calm pool of happiness now sitting in his gut.

Unforeseen side effect of getting his toxic sludge cleaned up: he was gonna have to own some of his own bullshit now. Work out what was his and what wasn’t.

Danny leaned back a little, grip loosening, and Jason could feel concern like a whisper soft touch.

“Yeah… I would, if you don’t mind? It seems like he’s important to you.”

Jason wasted a moment trying to work out what the hell Danny meant by that.

Did he want to meet Croc cuz he was important to Jason? Or did he think Jason wouldn’t want him to if he was important?

Cuz while yeah, Jason considered Waylon a friend (and thanks, Harley, for the new name crisis, love that. The guy introduced himself as Killer Croc but Jason knew all about controlling a narrative) it wasn’t like he was family. Not like Dick, Cass, or the others.

Except. Roy was family. Long before any of the bats made it back into Jason’s good books, Roy was one of the first people to be happy Jason was alive.

And Waylon had helped Roy get help when Ollie fucking kicked him out.

Waylon had been a restraining hand on Jason’s shoulder too, in the bad old days. Keeping him from pushing too hard, going too big, doing something he really couldn’t come back from.

Family didn’t have to mean annoying texts at four AM. Didn’t have to come around for dinner every Sunday; how often did any of them really see Harley?

Fuck, how often would they have seen each other if Alfred didn’t have them all firmly under his culinary thumb.

Waylon had to count as a reliable old uncle at least.

And that kinda made it a different question. Did Jason want Danny to meet his family?

It had been an easy “yes” with the bats, not least because the nosy bastards would muscle their way in regardless. Croc…

Waylon never judged Jason. From his highest highs to lowest lows, he never looked down on him. Not even when he was telling Jason to stop and think.

It kinda made Jason ache for what his life should have been. His, and Waylon’s if he’d never been called Killer Croc.

And maybe it’d give Jason a read on how Danny would react to the Red Hood thing. Or whether or not Danny already knew.

——————

Ah, the darker sides of this story back again. We’ll get to Waylon himself next chapter (I hope), and in the mean time dear Jason has some baby angst and Bruce will only confuse things further

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna

[whumpy-wyrms]

The Last Lab Rat #3: Surreal

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content: lab whump, medical whump, captivity, accidentally getting outed as trans (dw nothing bad happens), gender dysphoria, nonsexual nudity, needles, top surgery, noncon drugging, manipulation mention, trans whumpee, intimate/creepy whumper, whumper as caretaker

when the whumper can excuse unethical experimentation but draws the line at gender dysphoria. there’s gonna be actual whump in the next chapter i swear, just had to get this stuff out of the way first :>

—

Dew waited until he heard Anton leave the room before he got in the shower. He was happy to have his binder off, but it was still terrifying not knowing what the future will be like for him here.

The bathroom door had no lock, which kinda sucked. He tossed the mud soaked hospital gown on the floor and hid his binder in the cabinet under the sink.

Anton seemed so upset at his poor attempt at an escape. Dew had never been so afraid of the mad scientist, well, it’s not like he knew him for that long anyway. How long had he been here? Two days? He’d get out of this soon, he was sure of it.

But he couldn’t stop that voice in his head telling him he’d ruined his only chances of escape. Anton had mentioned a punishment earlier, was he planning on hurting Dew every time he went against him?

Dew couldn’t stop his mind swarming with the terrible things he saw earlier, trying to block it out by the sound of the water raining down on him. After he washed all the mud off of him, he sat down and curled up in the corner, legs to his chest, feeling the water pour over his head. He didn’t want to think about this, didn’t want to think about being a mad scientist’s lab rat.

It was hard though, when that’s all he really could think about. What was this freak going to do? He hadn’t even started experimenting on Dew yet but he was already terrified. The suspense of not knowing was killing him. Dew tried to ignore it, tried to remind himself he wasn’t going to die here and he just had to wait for his next moment to escape. But how long would it take for that moment to come? How many experiments would Dew have to endure before he’d get another chance?

Dew’s internal monologue was interrupted when he heard the bathroom door open. Dew’s body went rigid, he felt like a deer in the headlights, staring at the shower curtain in the direction of the door, hoping Anton wouldn’t come near him.

“Don’t mind me, Dew,” Anton said nonchalantly. “I’m just replacing your clothes, I’ll leave in a sec—” There was a noise, as if a cabinet door was opening, and a confused hum. Shit.

“A-Anton?” Dew squeaked.

“Yeah, uh,” Anton stood, holding Dew’s binder. “I didn’t know… you’re trans?” Dew’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropping and feeling like his entire world was over. “Uh, I’ll go get you some other clothes… be right back.” The door shut, and Dew was left alone once again.

The suspense itself was killing him, if not the fact this captor literally knew Dew’s other only weakness. What would happen to him now? Dew tried to let the pressure of the water raining down on his head drown out his thoughts, but it seemed he just couldn’t stop worrying anymore.

Dew’s spiral was interrupted once again when he heard the door open, and more shuffling on the other side of the curtain. He didn’t dare say anything unless he wanted it to come out as incomprehensible sobs.

“I put some different clothes on the counter,” Anton said. Dew couldn’t decipher his tone, it sounded normal, if not a little awkward, but he never had any idea what the man was thinking. If he didn’t know any better, it sounded like his captor was a bit remorseful. “I’ll uh, talk to you when you’re done?”

Anton once again left Dew alone with his thoughts. He didn’t know what he preferred more, honestly. Being alone, his mind thinking of all the terrible things that could happen to him, or being around his captor, where those thoughts could easily become reality.

The only thing Dew could really do was be done now. The water was starting to get cold, and he didn’t want to anger the scientist any more by taking too long. He peeked his head out the curtain to see a baggy sweater and sweatpants. Different from his other clothes, but much better than what he was wearing before. He put them on, and stared at the door.

Dew was tired. He wasn’t going to wait anymore; he had to face what he did, who he was. He had to get it over with, whatever it was that Anton was going to do to him. It’d be over eventually, and Dew could curl up under the bed again.

When he opened the door to see Anton staring at him, sitting cross legged on the edge of the bed, Dew crumbled. Pretending to be strong was so hard when all he felt was fear.

“J-just let me go, please!” Dew cried, falling to his knees. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wanted to go home. He’d do anything at this point. “It’s— you don’t want me. I-I have too many problems you’d have to deal with, it would be too much of a hassle! J-just let me go and t-take someone else to use as your test subject, p-please.” He knew it was selfish, but he didn’t care at this point. He didn’t want to be a lab rat.

“Dew… I’m not mad,” Anton said. Dew still couldn’t read his tone, nor his facial expression. What was he gonna do to him? “And obviously I’m not letting you go either, you learned that earlier. And frankly I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

Dew let out a small sob, but otherwise stayed silent, eyes drifting away. He felt Anton’s stare, his eyes felt like lasers burning into him, the events of earlier hitting him like a truck. He tried to escape, and he was so close.

“I don’t know what terrible thing you thought I would do if I knew you were trans, but I’m not like that. I’m not a monster.” Pretty ironic coming from the guy who kidnapped someone with the intent of turning him into his lab rat. “If you need like, hormones or something, I’ll give you that. You’re my test subject but you’re still human. I want you to stay happy and comfortable for the most part, you know? This factor would just interfere with the experiments.” When Dew still didn’t answer, Anton sighed. Which made Dew flinch, which made Anton feel even more… guilty?

“…If it makes you feel any better, I’m trans too.” Anton had never come out to another person before, besides his mentor.

“Really?” Dew’s head snapped up, surprised. He had certainly never expected that to be his reaction.

“Yeah,” Anton sighed. “And it’s not healthy for you to wear that binder for that long, you should know that.”

“…Yeah I know.”

“Okay,” Anton rolled his eyes. “So why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“Because you’re a fucking weirdo scientist who kidnapped me.”

“Seriously—”

“I want my binder back- please.”

“No can do, Dew. Sorry, I had to get rid of all your old clothes.”

“What? Why?”

“Relax, I can get you a new one if you really need it, though, you know, top surgery would be more optimal.” Dew could not believe what he was hearing.

“Wait, you could get me top surgery?”

“Yeah, I performed it on myself years ago. It’s no big deal really, I have lots of serums that make healing go faster, and makes everything less painful too. I know what it’s like to be dysphoric—”

“I want it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Yes I want it.”

“…I guess I’m not in a huge rush to start the experiments just yet…” Dew stared in disbelief. Was this real? Was this a trick? “But Dew, there’s something else I need to talk to you about.” Oh. Just as fast as Dew’s weird excitement came, it was gone and replaced with dread.

“W-What?”

“You tried to escape earlier.” Shit. “I was going to punish you for it, but I changed my mind.”

“O-oh…” Dew gulped.

“That was your freebie, any other escape attempt, or attempt to hurt me, or attempt to communicate to anyone outside, you’ll regret it. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes,” Dew shuddered under his gaze. No way in hell was he giving up just like that, but he’d keep his thoughts of escape to himself now. He just had to wait until the right moment came.

. . .

Anton “scheduled” the surgery for tomorrow, whatever that meant. It’s not like he had a real job or other responsibilities. Dew wondered how this guy could even afford a place like this, with all this expensive equipment and science stuff. Were his experiments being funded by an outside source? Oh god, that was a terrifying thought, the government being behind all this. Dew would have to ask about that later.

Everything felt so surreal. It always had, but now it was different. He didn’t know what he expected from his captor anymore, not after today.

Anton had told him he wouldn’t “punish” him for trying to escape earlier, pretending to understand what he was going through and that he’d “been there.” But he also warned, in his usual cryptically threatening ways, that if Dew makes any more escape attempts, there will be consequences. And that he didn’t want to know what Anton would do to him.

He also remembered earlier, when Anton was showing Dew all of those terrible experiments and lab equipment, and hinting at all of the terrible things he would do to Dew once he starts experimenting on him. He remembered what he was really here for, and that terrified him. No matter how “kind” Anton sometimes seemed, for some reason, he was still a stranger who wanted to hurt Dew. He was still the guy who took him from his friends and home.

And now he wanted to give Dew something he’s always wanted, his whole life, that he never expected to get, at least anytime soon. He worked a dead-end minimum wage job; he couldn’t possibly afford anything like this, and now it was being handed over to him like it was no big deal— from his abductor, no less. It didn’t make any sense. Anton took Dew’s life away, but he still wanted to keep him happy and comfortable in his body? His body that was surly to be changed by these experiments anyway? What was the point of all this?

Maybe it was because Anton’s trans too, and it would be easier for him if Dew was comfortable in his body. It’d be easier for him if he gave something Dew had always wanted, so he’d have some leverage over him— some reason for Dew to be in his debt. Dew knew that his captor wanted him to trust him, to be compliant in being experimented on, for some demented reason. But Dew wasn’t going to let that happen. He wasn’t ever going to give up his freedom for this guy, hell, he didn’t even know what the scientist’s goal was for him.

But now Anton had suggested that Dew get top surgery, and who was he to decline an offer like that? Dew knew it was probably a way to manipulate him, but he didn’t care. He’d always wanted this, and now, even if it was a sick and twisted way, he was happy he was getting it. He was still planning on not sticking around this place, escaping the next chance he got. But he also wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. Maybe if he kept learning more things about Anton, or vice versa, he’d keep going easy on him.

After all, he needed Anton to trust him, if he was ever going to get a chance to escape.

Dew didn’t know what time it was now, but it had to be pretty late. Anton told him he’d leave him alone for the rest of the day, that he should rest from the events from earlier. He tried that, but his mind was too active. He obviously couldn’t rest knowing what was going to happen to him tomorrow, so he was once again alone with his thoughts for a few hours until he heard the familiar footsteps coming towards the room.

Anton unlocked the door and walked in, holding a sandwich and some water. Dew hesitantly looked up from his spot on the bed, still terrified of the man.

“Here,” Anton said, holding the food out for Dew to take it, who chose to glare at the scientist instead. “Seriously? If I wanted you drugged, I’d just stick a needle in your arm. Just eat it.” He emphasized that by ripping a part off the sandwich and eating it himself, showing Dew that it was safe. He wondered how much longer Dew would be stubborn about not trusting his food.

As Dew ate, Anton kept staring. He did that a lot, Dew noticed. Dew tried to stare back, but the eye contact was way too uncomfortable sometimes.

“You really don’t talk much, do you?” Anton asked.

“I dunno.”

“When was your last T shot?” Shit. Dew wanted to avoid this today, but he supposed it was inevitable. He knew he needed to stay on schedule, but he really didn’t want this guy around him with needles, even for good reasons.

“…A week ago.” There was no point in lying about it though.

“Oh, so you need one today, then?” Anton asked. Dew nodded. “Alright.” The scientist left the room, locking the door behind him, and arrived shortly after with the stuff.

Dew, excited for something familiar in his routine since all this happened, was also terrified because that scientist was holding a needle again. The only other person he’d let give him his T shot was his doctor the first day, and then only he could. It was still hard for him, having to inject himself with a needle, but it was better than anyone else doing it.

Dew reached out to take the syringe, “I can do it,” he said.

“Dew, you’re shaking. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“W-well I don’t want you to do it!”

“Why not?” Was it really not obvious?

“I- It’s my T shot, I’ve done it like a million times before! I’ve been doing this for over three years now— just let me do it.”

Anton knew how scared his test subject was of needles, for reasons he didn’t understand. He supposed it would be easier to let Dew do it, considering he’d done it all those times before. But he still didn’t want Dew to get away with everything he wanted. His test subject would have to learn to do as Anton says.

“I’ll do it. You need to learn not to resist me. I won’t always go easy on you like today, you know.”

“Fine,” Dew said through gritted teeth. “Just get it over with.”

“We also need to work on your little fear of needles you have.” Anton said, prepping the needle and bringing it closer as Dew flinched. “It certainly makes things much harder than it needs to be.”

“I get it.” Dew sucked in a shaking breath as Anton rolled up his pants to expose his thigh. He was shaking in fear, he realized, Anton was right about that.

“Why are you so scared of needles anyway?” Anton asked as he plunged the needle into Dew’s leg.

“I- I dunno.” Dew squeezed his eyes shut, wishing this would go faster. Anton’s grip tightened on him as he leaned away, trying to stop the tears from flowing.

“Weird.” When Anton was done, he stood and started to leave. Dew let out a sigh of relief, finally alone.

“Asshole,” Dew whispered under his breath, thinking Anton couldn’t hear. That wasn’t the case, as the scientist suddenly whirled around and took Dew’s wrist in a grip, turning his test subject to face him.

“I let your escape attempt earlier slide because you’ve only been here only two days, and I… felt a bit of remorse. Gender dysphoria’s a bitch, so I’m trying to get rid of that obstacle for us. But know, I can do anything to you. You’re still just my test subject, know your place. If you try to escape, you will wish you didn’t.”

“J-Jeez okay, s-sorry!” Dew stuttered. Anton released his grip and exited the room.

“Get some rest, big day tomorrow.” The scientist said, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

. . .

Dew could hardly sleep that night, his mind racing with thoughts of the surgery. It was really happening, wasn’t it? A part of him knew he shouldn’t trust his captor, especially with something like this. What if he was lying? What if it was a trick to get Dew to agree to some terrible experimentation? Dew had to admit, it didn’t matter if he thought Anton was lying or not, because he was still going to accept that offer. There was a small chance that Anton was telling the truth, that he’d give Dew something he’d wanted all his life, and Dew wasn’t going to decline.

Besides, if Anton was that desperate to experiment on Dew, he could easily force his test subject to do anything without being able to stop him.

Dew realized it had to be Monday by now, and that his friends and coworkers were sure to notice he was gone. That gave him some hope, that maybe he’d be rescued soon. He just had to keep waiting it out, as he kept telling himself. He’d see Hayden, Layla and Sawyer again soon, and maybe tell them what he’d been waiting to for so long. He didn’t realize how much he missed them.

Dew didn’t get a lick of sleep that night. He was used to nights like that, he’d always been a sort of insomniac. He hoped Anton wouldn’t notice, but that was unlikely. It was morning before he knew it, and the clicks of the locks took Dew out of his racing mind.

Dew didn’t wait under the bed after Anton entered the room this time. He timidly crawled out before Anton said anything, too full of energy to stay still any longer.

“Big day, Dew.” Anton said with a big, unsettling grin on his face. “You excited?” Dew gulped. What was he thinking, trusting this maniac like this against his better judgment?

“Y-yeah,” Dew said. “I guess.” Anton’s eyes narrowed, looking his test subject up and down.

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Um, n-not really?”

“Huh. I’ll deal with that later. C’mon, let’s go then.”

“W-wait, I wanted to ask something, i-if that’s okay.” Dew fidgeted nervously with the hem of his sweater, and when Anton made a ‘go on’ gesture, he continued. He made sure to choose his words slowly and carefully. “I know I… I remember what you said yesterday. But um- I uh, I’m wandering if I can make a phone call? To- to tell my friends I’m okay… I d-don’t want them to worry about me. I miss them.”

That was at least half of the truth. Anton looked in a much better mood than yesterday, so maybe he’d recognize Dew’s sorrow and let him say goodbye to his friends, hopefully not realizing that Dew’s real plan was to somehow tell them he was in trouble and get someone to track the phone call.

“Dew,” it turned out that Anton had seen right through Dew’s half-assed plan, suddenly looking serious with his cold gaze locked onto his test subject. “Forget about them. Your home is here now, you’re not leaving. If I have to repeat this one more time, you’ll regret it. Understand?” Dew looked away, shuffling on his feet and trying to think of anything to say to convince his captor to go easy on him.

The silence seemed to anger Anton more, grabbing Dew’s chin in his hands, tilting his head up to look at him. It was intense, every time Dew made eye contact with the scientist, it was intense. Something about him, something about his eyes- it didn’t feel human. Dew didn’t know how to describe this feeling, but it terrified him. He felt like prey cornered by a predator, as if it was playing with its food. He remembered Anton asked him a question, and quickly nodded his head before he could scare him further.

“Say it. Say it and mean it.” When Dew hesitated, Anton moved his hand to rest on his test subject’s throat, squeezing lightly. It didn’t hurt, but the threat was known.

“I-I won’t leave,” Dew forced out, his mind screaming at him not to let himself believe it. “I won’t try to escape or- or contact anyone for help. Or ask to contact my f-friends, or anything like that.” When Anton still looked at him expectantly, Dew knew what he had to say next, though he was never going to mean it. “I-I’m your test subject now. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Good,” Anton released his grip and turned away towards the door, seemingly going back to normal as if none of that terrifying encounter had just happened. “Let’s go already.”

Dew followed Anton out the door, after he took the chain off his ankle and tied rope around his wrists and ankles this time, so he wouldn’t run. Dew was too sleep deprived and strangely excited to care about that terrifying lack of mobility out there, causing him no way to escape.

Dew once again reminded himself this was probably a manipulation tactic, and the odds were more than likely Anton was just going to preform some fucked up experiment on him instead. He remained cautious, glancing to the exit, reminding himself of yesterday. Reminding himself the same plan wouldn’t work, he’d have to think of something different another day, when he got a different chance.

They arrived at that operating table, and Anton stood to the side, gesturing Dew to lay down, to which he timidly did.

“So, um, h-how are you gonna do this?” Dew asked nervously as Anton walked around the table, picking up a few restraints. “It- it won’t be painful or anything, right?”

“You won’t feel a thing,” Anton said, smiling as he started restraining Dew to the table. He strapped his arms and legs down, making it impossible for his test subject to move. Once Dew realized what was happening, his struggles came too late, the terror of his situation finally catching up to him.

“W-What’s with the restraints?” Dew asked, voice shaking. He almost didn’t want to know the answer.

“It helps me relax,” Anton said nonchalantly, moving out of Dew’s line of sight.

“Okay, that makes absolutely zero sense, but whatever.” Dew tried to calm his nerves, but it felt impossible when all he could think about was this all being a trick to get him to agree to being directed like some alien’s research specimen.

“Calm down, I won’t hurt you, you know.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Dew continued struggling against his better judgment, hating being restrained like this. “Th-This isn’t a trick, right?”

“Dew, if I wanted to experiment on you, I’d just do it. It wouldn’t matter if you agree to it or not, because you’re mine. But no, this isn’t a trick. I’m not like that. You want top surgery, right?”

“Yeah!—”

“Great, then stay still.” Anton brought another dreaded syringe in Dew’s line of sight, and he held his breath in anticipation. Of course he knew this was coming, and he honestly sighed with relief knowing he’d be knocked out soon. He realized Anton could easily just operate on Dew while he was fully awake and conscious, feeling every cut, incision, and pain that came with it.

Dew closed his eyes as he felt the injection, and slowly started drifting away. The last thing he heard before succumbing to the anesthetic was a soft, “Goodnight, Dewey,” and then he was out.

. . .

Dew woke up a few seconds (hours) later, back in the room he’d been stuck in, lying snugly in bed and covered in the softest of blankets. His mind was groggy, and he could barely sense someone standing over him. There was pain, but it was dull, hardly noticeable. He honestly felt comfy there, relaxed and warm and without that blinding fluorescent light that would always shine in his eyes.

Right.

Dew slowly opened his eyes and tried to move into a sitting position, but found his body far too weak, and also felt a strange weight off his chest. That made sense. He felt a firm hand moving to hold him down to the bed, telling him he needed to rest. That was probably a good idea.

When Dew’s mind cleared enough to remember what was going on, he almost couldn’t believe it. His chest was flat, they were gone. He had just gotten something he’d always wanted.

Then why was he filled with so much dread?

Dew should be happy. He should be relieved. No more gender dysphoria. No more hiding in oversized hoodies or being forced to wear a binder all day. He was finally in a body that felt like his, he wasn’t trapped anymore. But yet he was, in a completely different way.

He should be with his friends right now, laughing and smiling and celebrating. Hayden would be holding his hand with his pet ball python on his shoulder, cheering him up and lightening the mood as he always would. Layla would be lovingly info-dumping about a special interest of hers, as usual, but in a way that made him feel loved as well, with her cat purring in his lap. Sawyer… He’d definitely be there too, cracking jokes and playing video games in the corner, too awkward for his own good, but that’s what Dew loved about him.

But that wasn’t what was happening. Dew was all alone and afraid in a scary place with the man who kidnapped him. He wasn’t with his friends, he wasn’t celebrating or eating cake or hugging his friends or listening to music. He was alone.

His friends must’ve been worried sick. Dew wondered if anyone was looking for him. He didn’t know what to feel, he’d always wanted this but… not like this. None of it was right, he didn’t belong here and he had to leave. He had to tell everyone the good news, he had to tell them that he—

Anton was in the room, and Dew almost felt like he could hear his spiral. He forced himself to calm down and stop thinking about home, it was too painful right now. He needed something real, something tangible to latch onto, otherwise he’d deteriorate.

“I’m th-thirsty,” Dew rasped. That was a good start. Focus on anything else.

Anton handed him a glass of water that must’ve been on the nightstand, and Dew gulped it down eagerly, ignoring the sudden sleepiness he felt, and the way his eyelids felt far too heavy to keep open all of a sudden.

. . .

The next week was spent with Dew resting in bed, relying on his captor for everything, and it felt humiliating. He absolutely hated it.

The scientist told him that the healing process would go much faster than usual, because of what could only be described as some sort of healing potion he had concocted. Dew didn’t care for science, and he certainly had no interest in listening to Anton explain it, much less trying to understand what he was explaining.

But he was right, the recovery was quick. Though, Dew was filled with drugs and painkillers and even sedatives, after he resisted succumbing to the sleepy effects of the healing concoction and falling asleep.

What was worse, was that when Dew was awake, he could hardly move anyway. The first few days of recovery was spent relying on Anton for everything. Being hand fed food, water, having to be carried to the bathroom, he hated being so dependent on the guy holding him captive.

It was a few days after the surgery, when Anton came into Dew’s room to feed him. Dew hated to admit it, but he was starting to get lonely by himself, and started to look forward to when Anton would come to see him. It wasn’t like he had anyone to talk to or anything to do besides stare at the ceiling and count the seconds.

“You hungry?” Anton asked, a bowl of chicken noodle soup in hand.

“Yeah,” Dew said, getting used to this new routine. He was excited for when he’d finally be recovered enough to do, well, anything for himself again. And sleep under the bed, away from the open space, bright lights, and the scientist.

Anton sat at the edge of the bed and helped Dew sit up, taking a spoonful of the soup and raising it to Dew’s mouth. He hated this, it was excruciatingly hard not to curse his captor out whenever he fed him like this, but he realized it only helped gain Anton’s trust. Which of course, he needed.

Dew sighed and moved his mouth to the spoon, eating the contents of it. He felt like a doll Anton was playing with, or some animal he was training to be nice and docile, not the wild animal yearning for freedom that it was.

Dew learned to just let Anton do what he wanted, and it was easier to just get it over with than let it ride out forever. Arguing with the scientist never worked, so what was the point? When Dew was done eating, instead of Anton getting up to leave, he began to speak.

“It’s been a few days, you probably need a bath, huh?” Hell the fuck no.

And then Dew was being carried to the bathroom, helped out of his clothes, and gently set in the bathtub. He hated absolutely everything about this. The scientist seemed to not notice- or care- about Dew flinching as he raised his hands to Dew’s head.

“Relax, Dew,” Anton said gently, carding his hands slowly through Dew’s fluffy hair as he washed it thoroughly. Dew hated that he let himself lean into the touch (he blamed that on the drugs), the only nice touch he had gotten since he’d been thrown into this place.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He was almost fully submerged under the water, his body not visible under the bubbles. Dew closed his eyes, imagining himself anywhere else, with anyone else doing this to him. He felt a warm rag slowly wiping away the grime on his face, wincing as he let it happen. He couldn’t help but find it relaxing when Anton poured warm water over his head, rinsing away the shampoo from his hair.

And then it was time for Anton to check how his body was healing, which was fine with Dew because he didn’t really feel any gender dysphoria anymore. After the bath, Anton helped Dew stand and gently wrapped a towel around his body, and used another towel to dry his hair off.

It all felt so surreal, once again. Why was his captor being so nice to him? Why did he care so much about how Dew felt about any of this, about his mental well being? Was he trying to manipulate Dew into wanting to stay here? Because it was… Not working.

Sure, it was nice. And Dew didn’t remember the last time he’d been treated like this, without having to worry about responsibilities like work or chores. But he was still being held against his will. And he could not let himself forget about his status here, as a test subject. As the week went on, and that healing stuff did its magic, Dew was only filled with more dread for the future. He could tell that Anton was getting antsy too, excited to finally be able to start experimenting on his little lab rat.

Besides eating, using the toilet, and the few baths he was given, Dew spent most of his recovery from the surgery unconscious. He argued against it, but Anton told him it meant the healing potion— what Dew chose to call it— was doing its job.

Dew guessed it could be worse. He was kinda happy he was unconscious for most of his recovery, in a strange way. Dew hated being in pain, and sleeping it away basically meant it was never there to begin with. He didn’t like the fact that he was losing count of the days though, and was more than frustrated that Anton refused to give Dew a calendar.

It was about a week and a half since the surgery, and Dew was already fully back to normal. He reminded himself that he was supposed to be scared of Anton, and started sleeping under his bed again to avoid the guy. Whatever terrible experiments the scientist was planning would surely start soon, and Dew was more than terrified. He just hoped they wouldn’t be too painful, and that he’d get out of here soon. Maybe this whole experience would just end up being free top surgery and a small vacation from work, and then he’d get rescued and could forget any of this ever happened. That would be nice.

One more thing lingered in the test subject’s mind. He didn’t understand why Anton was so adamant on taking his clothes and belongings away from him. It wasn’t like he was too picky about what Dew wore now anyway, just a few different sweaters and sweatpants when he wasn’t bedridden in recovery. But there had to be a reason, right?

Dew hummed some of his favorite songs to himself, missing his music. Despite everything, he hated being alone. He couldn’t stop thinking about his friends now, wishing he had spent more time with them the week before he was taken. He just wanted to go home.

—

this chapter was not very whumpy but like, necessary for the story and stuff. now that the boring stuff is out of the way, the test subject can actually start being experimented on soon :) fun stuff.

taglist: @whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long @whump321 @fuckcapitalismasshole @sorry-i-spaced @theelvishcowgirl

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[fbs-fc-ur-mommy]

! Tomioka Giyuu! x! yamada sagiri reader! Short ch

Warnings :mentions of bullying, manga spoilers (demon slayer) major character death, angst.

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-Nobody knew that you we're together until Mitsuri became suspicious when she saw you two so close, and Giyuu smiling around you which was an rare sight.

-spy you 24/7

-When she confirms it she couldn't wait but to share her unexpected news to Obanai.

-He was shocked. Literally jaw dropping. Who thought an loser like him could pull women. If he do it, he should do it with Mitsuri too.

-Obanai shared this information to Sanemi, Sanemi to Uzui, Uzui to Shinobu and Shinobu to Renkogu.

-Sanemi keeps asking you how you could get together with someone like Giyuu.

-Shinobu started calling you miss Tomioka.

-Giyuu situation was worse

-Sanemi keep threatening him

-Shinobu teasing got worse, until it becomes annoying than before.

-Distances from Shinobu

-Uzui wanted to tell giyuu methods of more "beautiful sexual experience"

-Obanai like Sanemi, always when they meet, he smash his shoulder on Giyuu s.

-For you it was like your fellow hashira approved and support you. For Giyuu it became pure hell.

-"We need to break out"

-"HUH"? You couldn't believe what you heard, what you're seeing. It's this man, before you, looking at you coldly like, you are some demon, the man you loved before? The man who cried in your lap, the one who-

-"Stay away from me and my estate, until you keep your dogs away from me we can give another chance "

-Furrowing your eyebrows you drew out your katana ready too attack. You couldn't handle the disrespect. Father, brother or lover everyone needs to respect you as long you do.

-"I'll let that slide, just imagine if I say what you just said about our fellow hashira you j-." as you said that you saw Giyuu right hand on his katana handle and before you knew you two started attacking each other.

-Deciding to attack him with your Ninth Form: Idaten Typhoon, that allows user to flip into the air and dash multiples powerful strong circular wind blows that destroy anything below.

-Your effort put in that attack was just countered by his 11 form. And with an hand of sand, trowing in your direction blinding you.

-Closing the eyes just for 1 sec and your katana is out of your hand, and you're on your back, breathing heavily, Giyuu above you on your stomach fully weighted on you and a katana at your neck, cutting the first layer of skin. Your stamina and resistance wasn't your thing.

-"Hah? You look beautiful above me, but I prefer below me" just as you said this an hand slapped you hard against the cheek, smiling sarcastically you couldn't help but laugh.

-"I will let this slide, just imagine if I say what you've just done to your fellow hashira? " getting up he put his katana back and turned to leave.

-Your an loser! I have millions of explanations ! Do you think that you can turn me off with that statement?! Think about your words more carefully son of a b!" as you let finnaly let your tears out you watched him leave without an care." I will leave you the same as you did to me! " you thought, getting up to your estate.

-He couldn't get her out of his head for the next 6 months. Her long brown hair, her eyes everything was perfect. She had the looks of an ordinary girl, not like mitsuri or shinobu but her beauty was elegant and simple. His type.

-You two didn't talk to each other for 1 year. You heard that he saved some boy with his sister. You didn't have an fuck to go to the meeting. Your mom funeral was more important .

-Months passed away and this boy was like some upper moon talisman. Lucky or unlucky you didn't know, but you refused two times to go with him. You didn't want to lose something like Uzui. After this they planned to have an "training". You aggred having the spot as "stealth" being after Uzui training.

-You've left to meet your fellow teacher. You we're just an tsuguko 4 years ago but now you are an hashira. You thought if Sanemi could see you more as an ex tsuguko. As you saw Sanemi fighting with giyuu you didn't intervene. Being boring to wait you decided to walk a bit around. As you walked, an door suddenly appeared under your feet, devouring you in..

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Shinobu pov.

As I walked through this castel, I opened the door, first thing I saw was an back then they turned to me. I immediately regonized the demon. The one who killed my sister. He was having an arm in his mouth, and as i turned my focus on the corpse he was eating. It was Sagiri. Laying there in her blood her left hand still griping her katana. Her eyes where closed and she was looking like she was sleeping. An big slash to her neck was visible, right where her scar was. I pulled my katana out. Ready to fight. 1.2.3 set. Go!

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I dont love overrated reader srry if I make sagiri to weak I watched just one ep of hell paradise