#this idea has been haunting me for like weeks now i had to get it out

[not-neverland06]

𝙲𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

A/N: my stupid poor-people photo editing app stopped working so now my cropping is all off and I'm sad. My aesthetic 😭

Summary: Something brews between you and Arthur, but as always, the camp comes first. Despite the growing tension, Arthur must leave to rescue one of the gang who'd been separated in Blackwater. Jealously brews as a loud-mouth Irishman returns to camp and sets his sights on you.

Micah’s cough echoes through the camp and you wince at the sound. “He needs to see a doctor before he gets the rest of us sick.”

Arthur shakes his head and sighs, “Caught somethin’ from the Downes fella in town.” He passes you some coffee which you take eagerly. It’s part of a strange morning ritual you’d begun with him a few weeks ago. Just after the hunting trip, you’d taken to having breakfast with him if he happened to be in camp that morning. It’s become your favorite way to start the day.

You smirk slightly and nudge his side. “You’re welcome.”

He laughs and shakes his head at you, “I’m sorry?”

“Well,” you start with a teasing tone. “If I hadn’t needed a gentlemanly escort into town for some shopping, it would have been you calling in on those loans.”

He opens his mouth to argue but it stays hanging as you see the cogs turning in his head. He snaps his jaw shut with a reluctant sigh, “Suppose you’re right.”

“I always am,” you tell him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Arthur just laughs, passing you some bread. You hear a familiar set of footprints pacing outside the tent and roll your eyes, turning towards the entrance. 

Sure enough, Mrs. Grimshaw paces around the perimeter of Arthur’s tent like a cougar. She sniffs when she catches your eye and turns her nose to the air, wholly pretending she hasn’t been stalking you. 

“Shoo!” Arthur shouts, waving her off. 

You let out a bewildered laugh, smacking his arm. “Arthur, stop,” you hiss, but you don’t sound very stern as you giggle at Mrs. Grimshaw’s affronted look. 

“Go on,” he keeps going, pushing her further. “Get,” he snaps like he’s talking to a wild animal. Mrs. Grimshaw says something you can’t quite catch and stomps her foot once before running off. 

You press a hand over your mouth, fingers pinching your lips to try and stop yourself from laughing. Arthur looks at you for approval and you only shake your head. “Come on,” he tries, “she’s been botherin’ us all mornin’. What was I supposed to do?”

“She’s not a dog, Arthur.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” He teases and you swat at his arm again. 

You shake your head, letting out a heavy sigh. “I truly think she hates me,” you whisper, pouring yourself a little more coffee. 

“She don’t hate you,” he reassures. You tilt your head with a deadpan look and he chuckles. “Well, maybe just a little.”

You sigh and shake your head, “Just because I married rich doesn’t mean I had an easy life.”

“I know that,” he objects. 

You look up from your mug and furrow your brows. “Do you? You think I don’t see the way you look at me? You see the same softness they do. I just can’t figure out whether you like it or resent me for it.”

The playfulness of the morning is long gone. You seem to have a knack for ruining the moment. This question, though, has been haunting you for a while. Dutch is passive in his disdain for your upbringing—snide comments here and there but nothing quite so obvious. 

A few of the girls question you about the privileges of being a lady a little too long for comfort. Then, the conversation will end with one of them sniffing and saying, “Must have been a nice life. Too bad you’re stuck with us now.” 

There are always small moments like that to break the ridiculous idea you’ve got in your head, that you belong. No matter how hard you try to tell them, they don’t seem to understand that this freedom is better than anything money could have bought you. Your life hasn't been your own since the moment you were born. Sure, being on the run from the law and fighting for every penny wasn’t fun. But moments like these with Arthur would never happen if you were back at your estate. 

With the others, it’s easy enough to see their resentment. But Arthur’s better at keeping his cards close to his chest. It took a while for you both to settle into something easy like this. Most of the time you don’t spend more than half an hour together a day. You don’t have a good enough read on him to determine whether or not he holds your past against you. 

Sometimes, you think you might see just a hint of bitterness when he catches a glimpse of the smooth skin of your palms. But you never know if that’s real or something your paranoid mind has conjured up. 

Arthur swirls his mug in his hand, a bit of the coffee splashing over the edge as it does. You squirm uncomfortably in your spot beside him. The sun has begun to heat up the canvas tent, but you know that’s not why you’re sweating. 

He gives you a gentle smile that eases some of the dread building up in your chest. “I don’t care either way. And you shouldn't give a damn what the rest of these fools think. It’s what you’ve done with your life, with your money, that matters.”

You chuckle and shake your head, “You mean my father's money, and then my husband’s money. It was never mine. That’s why I care what they think. I’m dealing with their judgments every damn day and they know nothing about the truth of it all. I was a commodity, practically cattle to those men.”

Arthur’s brows furrow in that familiar way they do whenever you talk about the men of your old life. It doesn’t bother you to talk about them because you’re used to it and they’re gone. But you know it makes Arthur angry to think about it. 

You’ve grown comfortable with each other, but it’s still a cold shock when he casually touches you. You glance down, eyes wide, as you see his palm covering your own. You look back up with a soft smile. “You’re smart, Arthur. Smarter than half the people here give you credit for. And far kinder than anyone I’ve ever met. " Your heart kicks up a beat when you see the way he refuses to meet your eye. 

You’ll compliment him a million times a day if only to get him to start believing you. And maybe so you can keep watching that pink flush on his cheeks. 

“That’s enough of that,” his voice is gruff with something you can’t quite name. Having enough sense to know when to stop you hold your hands up in surrender. 

“Only saying the truth,” but you never can seem to stop yourself from pushing just a little bit further. Arthur shoots you a sharp look and you bite your lip to keep from laughing at him. You can see him start to wind up and prepare yourself for the brief scolding you’re about to receive. Once he’s done with that, maybe you’ll do what you’ve wanted for so long and ask him to accompany you to Strawberry. 

You’ve been trying to work up the nerve as your last two outings haven’t gone wonderfully. You’re hoping a redo might help the both of you grow just a little closer. Besides, being away from camp seems to be beneficial to you both. 

Approaching footsteps bring your conversation to an awkward halt. They’re not the heavy foot of Mrs. Grimshaw. This is someone else, someone much more welcome. You turn and smile at Charles as he hovers at the entrance of Arthur’s tent. Arthur scoffs and mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite make out, but it makes Charles grin. 

Charles gives you a brief nod but his intentions are meant for Arthur. “Whaddya want?” Arthur snaps impatiently. 

“Trelawney came back,” Charles answers shortly and your face pinches in confusion. Trelawney? You roll the name around in your mind but you don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone in camp mention him. 

Arthur’s head perks up, the frown on his face softening just ever so slightly, but it's replaced by something more bitter. Curiosity or nosiness, you’re not sure, but rather than give in to the rules of common decency you don’t leave them to finish their conversation alone.�� 

You try to lean back, pretending you’re not there so they’ll keep talking. “The hell did he want?” Arthur barks, tone still rudely short. You wonder what happened between him and Charles, they seemed to get along well enough a few weeks ago. 

Charles's gaze darts briefly to you but he continues, “He’s got news about Sean. Says he knows where to find him.” Now, that name you know, if only through vague mentions. You know Karen does her damndest to keep a mention of Sean out of everyone’s mouths. And that he made it out of Blackwater alive but got separated from the rest of the gang. Other than that, you don’t know much about him. 

Arthur gets to his feet and Charles backs away a few paces, leaving the two of you relatively alone again. Arthur looks down at you, something like disappointment on his face. “You need to go,” you assume before he can say anything. 

He nods and you give him an expectant smile, “Then you better get moving, cowboy. I’ll be here when you get back.” He lingers for a moment like there’s more he wants to say. But your mornings together have always been short, you can’t imagine why that would have changed today.

He sucks in a sharp breath before nodding and heading towards Charles. You watch him go, your plans for the day being tucked away. You’ll ask him to town another time. As long as it’s anywhere but Valentine. 

A prissy throat clears behind you and your head sinks between your shoulders with a heavy sigh. “Time to get movin’,” Mrs. Grimshaw commands, with far too much glee in her voice. 

You’re sitting on an overturned bucket, running someone’s pants across the washboard. You hate doing this, especially in the brisk of the early morning. Your fingers have already pruned up from the frigid water and you can barely feel them anymore. 

Your gaze drifts to your right, where the heaping pile of laundry lies, and you consider running off with Lady. You know whatever other chores Mrs. Grimshaw would come up with in retaliation would be a million times worse, but it almost seems worth it at this point. 

You dismiss the idea, deciding to honor the unspoken rule of ladies staying in camp, and continue scrubbing. You think this might be Arthur’s blue shirt. You notice a few fraying edges and holes and make a note to fix them up for him once it’s dry. You only hope you don’t stumble across Uncle’s clothes while you’re doing this. That man has got stains in places that make you want to throw them in the fire, rather than wash them. 

“Never gonna get used to a sight like this,” Sadie calls out as she walks up behind you. She kicks a crate over and throws herself down beside you. 

“You will soon enough,” you let out a bitter chuckle and shake your head, “Mrs. Grimshaw’s got some vendetta against me.”

Sadie shrugs and picks at some dirt under her nails. The sun seems to crest just perfectly over her head, almost making her blonde hair glow. She seems to be getting better. She’s put some space between her and the O’Driscolls and has found a place in camp just a little easier than you. 

Still, you know she’s struggling. She wants the freedom that your friendship with Arthur and Charles has granted you. You know she’s feeling cooped up here at camp. You’ll have to invite her for a ride sometime and see if that will help ease some of her anxiety. 

“Nah, it’s not just you. That old hag hates me too. She thinks I’ve got ideas above my station.” You and Sadie turn, glaring at the back of Mrs. Grimshaw who is fussing at Lenny. You shake your head with a huff of laughter and turn back to the laundry in hand. 

“I miss Jake,” Sadie suddenly blurts out. You freeze, hand still partially submerged in water as you debate how to approach this. Sadie’s always preferred the blunt way of going about life. You don’t think she wants simpering sympathy right now. 

“Which parts of him do you miss?” You ask, trying to keep your tone light as you toss the shirt into the basket beside you. 

“The non-controlling parts.” Sadie nudges your side with a laugh, “Relax, I’m not gonna start cryin’ on ya. I just miss runnin’ my own house, not being bossed around by a son of a bitch like that,” she says, motioning vaguely towards Mrs. Grimshaw. 

“She’s not much better than my husband was,” you grouse, trying to drown out the woman’s voice. 

“Ooh,” Sadie groans, tone laced with long-held resentment. “Forgive me for sayin’ it, but he was a real pain in my ass.”

You can’t help the grin that curls at your lips as you straighten up, momentarily abandoning the laundry. “You’re not my employee anymore, Sadie. Say whatever you want.”

“Right,” she shrugs, “He was a real bastard and I hope he became wolf meat.” Your lips pull back into something resembling a smile, but it's not fully there. You imagine the blood of your husband on your hands and it doesn’t fill you with the usually stifling nausea. Instead, it’s like a distant ache. You’re either growing numb to it or finally accepting that you’ve done the world a favor. 

You suck in a deep breath and nod, “I hope the same.” Sadie lingers for a little while longer, not helping with the clothes, but keeping you company. You don’t talk about anything of much substance. Mainly her irritations with everyone in camp and you echoing the sentiment. She doesn’t like Pearson always trying to force her to cook with him and you hate being his taste tester. It doesn’t matter how much seasoning he adds, he doesn’t know how to make even half-decent stew. 

When Sadie eventually leaves to finish her chores and you’re left all alone with your thoughts, you realize just how painfully slow the day passes by. You almost find yourself dragging the laundry out just to provide you some distraction from waiting for Arthur to come back. 

You’ve both been lingering on the edge of something. You need to see if it’s all in your head or if there might actually be hope for the both of you yet. 

You glare down at the basket of laundry at your feet and let out a heavy sigh. You reach for another shirt and begin scrubbing, keeping a careful eye on the camp’s entrance. 

It’s not until the sky is illuminated with glowing swirls of orange and pink that Arthur and the others come riding back into camp. You’d run out of chores a long while ago and had just been restlessly pacing since then. Every time you so much as approached Lady someone would come by and distract you with some meaningless task. 

You’d been sitting in the tent for the past hour, barely reading a book as you pray time moved faster. You stand now, hearing the cheers and whistles of the others. You move around the canvas, smiling when you see Arthur leading the men back into camp. 

There’s a man on the back of Diablo, a loud-mouthed redhead that you’ve never seen before. You can only assume this is the infamous Sean they’d been after. Judging by the look on Arthur’s face, you imagine he’s been running his mouth the entire time since they rescued him. 

He looks about ready to put a bullet in the young man as he drives him into camp. You see the others all taking notice of their return, Dutch being the loudest of them all. “Sean MacGuire!” He approaches Arthur’s horse, giving the boy a hand down and grinning widely. “Welcome back, son!”

His thick Irish accent catches you off guard, “Oh, ‘appy to be back, Dutch! ‘appy to be back,” he responds eagerly, a large smile on his face.  

You hesitate by the fire, waiting for Dutch to finish before you go darting off towards Arthur. “I do think a return like this requires a celebration!” Dutch calls out to the rest of the gang. They whistle and cheer for him, Bill already rushing off to break out the alcohol. The gleefulness of the moment catches up to you, it eases away some of the anxiety balling up in your gut and you find yourself cheering along with the others. 

Dutch keeps Sean tucked under his arm and begins to parade him through camp. You know this is a win for all of them. Even if someone here hadn’t liked Sean, getting one over on some bounty hunters is always a morale booster. Whatever your opinions on Dutch may be, you have to admit that he knows how to lead his people. 

Even if you happen to think manipulate is a better word for what he does. 

You watch Sean interact with everyone in camp, drawn into the boisterous energy he wraps himself in. It’s clear some of them are already beginning to find him a little annoying. But even his smart comments can’t seem to put a damper on the spirits of the night. 

Your mouth ticks up slightly when you see Lenny slug him in the shoulder, yelling at him for letting himself get caught. You divert your attention away from the interaction, looking for Arthur. You feel a little bit of the giddiness give way to disappointment when you realize you’ve lost sight of him. 

He’s no longer by the horses, Diablo having been hitched long enough to already start grazing the grass. You peer around the women’s tent and then take a few steps towards Arthur’s but he’s nowhere to be found. 

Just as soon as you let yourself be disappointed by this, you also chastise yourself for becoming so infatuated. You’ve always had a bad habit of getting in your head and boosting your hopes up over something mundane. You’ve only just begun forming a friendship with the man and already you’re starting to fret over him. You’re not a schoolgirl anymore, you’ll have to grow out of this at some point. 

You rub a tired hand over your face and suck in a deep breath. The aromas of camp rush over you in a wave. You can still smell the remnants of burnt morning coffee amidst the ever-present scent of the campfire and the fragrance of laundry that lingers on your hands. You can no longer tell if the mingling of odors comforts or irritates you. 

You look up to the shining stars above and pray for a semblance of sense. Wrapping your shawl tighter around your shoulders you resolve to get over this infatuation with Arthur and just enjoy the night. If anything is meant to happen, it will do so naturally. 

Dutch walks towards you as you begin to head towards the domino table. You force yourself to stop when you see the expectant look on his face. Sean trails along behind him now, already seeming to have found his way into some of the liquor. 

 “Mrs. Rowe!” Dutch calls out loudly, you give him a polite smile and he motions towards Sean. “I don’t believe you’ve met my good friend, Sean MacGuire. Mouthiest gunman in the west,” he adds with a smarmy grin.

You shake your head and hold your hand out to the boy. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. And please, no need to be so formal.” You give him your name, and he perks up. Stumbling forward and attempting to shake the drunkenness off, he turns your palm and kisses the back of your hand instead of shaking it. 

You can’t help but laugh a little at his performance. Molly suddenly calls for Dutch across camp and the three of you turn to face her. “Dutch, over here for a moment!” She waves him forward and Dutch lets out a long-suffering sigh with an easy smile. 

“Duty calls, I believe the two of you can entertain each other for a little while.” He turns towards Molly, arms wide as he calls out, “Now, Miss O’Shea, what ever can I do for you?”

Sean quickly snags your attention again and you realize that he’s yet to let go of your hand. “Not a missus, eh?” He asks, his eyebrows waggling with what his drunken mind must think is seductiveness. 

You stifle a giggle and shake your head no. “‘Fraid not. He’s not been gone long, but I’m happier for it.”

“Oh, and so am I, fair lady.” You shake your head with amusement. He’s nearly charming with all of his limitless swagger. “Now, I’ve just been cooped up in a camp with about fifty men with mugs nearly as ugly as these,” he motions towards the gang and you let out another unbidden laugh. “Would you care to dance with me?”

Your brows furrow, a disbelieving smile on your face. Leaning in, as though you’re sharing a secret, you tell him, “There’s no music.”

He pulls a little bit back from you, meeting your eyes as your breaths mingle with proximity. “Are you sure?” He asks, a mischievous look on his face. 

You find yourself frowning in confusion, and then, almost as though they had planned it, Dutch puts a record on. It’s scratchy on his worn player, but the music fills the camp as he leads Molly into a sway. 

Your lips part in astonishment and you forget for a moment just how close the two of you are. If anyone else saw, they’d think you were going to kiss. “How did you know he was going to do that?”

He waves you off and leans back. “Magician can’t reveal and all that,” he dismisses. “Now, a dance?”

You’re charmed by him, as much as you hate to admit it. Perhaps he doesn’t have quite the same effect on you as Arthur. But he’s handsome in his own way. Besides, who are you to deny a magic man a dance?

You let him lead you towards the fire and he draws you close. You’re surprised when his hand stays firmly on your waist and he keeps a nearly respectable distance between you both. You’re still what modern society would call a scandal, but this is nothing for a gang of outlaws. 

“I’m sure I’ve never met you before. Where did they find you?” Sean spins you out and then twirls you back into his arms with a flourish that makes you breathless. You almost ask him where he learned to dance before you remember to answer his question. 

“Up in the mountains. Some O’Driscolls came through, killed my friend’s husband, and kept us in a cellar.” You’re no longer surprised how easy it is for you to admit something like that. You’ve become desensitized to situations like your own the longer you’ve been in camp. 

“O’Driscolls,” Sean’s face twists up with distaste and he shakes his head. “Nasty business.”

You scoff, “You’re telling me.” Sean’s gaze drifts behind you and the little color on his pale skin drains. It makes the freckles speckling his cheeks stand out remarkably. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Cutting in, MacGuire,” a rough voice calls out from behind you. Your feet still from where they’d been following Sean’s lead and you risk a glance over your shoulder. Arthur paints a fearsome portrait against the night sky. Impassioned by the sight of him, with the brim of his hat tipped low and the fire casting shadows across him, you hastily drop Sean’s hands and step back from him.  “I’d go find your lady if I were you,” Arthur instructs Sean.

Confusion swirls through you before you spot a very angry, very drunk Karen walking past. “Rotten Irish bastard,” she mutters under her breath, shooting both you and Sean a nasty look. Sean chases, taking quick steps towards Karen without another word to you. 

“Karen, it meant nothing, sweetheart. I only wanted a dance!” You let out a loud laugh as you watch him scramble after her. 

“He’s a damn fool,” Arthur says through a chuckle, walking closer towards you. You smile, turning around and flicking the brim of his hat up so he doesn’t seem so imposing. 

“You stole my dance partner, Mr. Morgan.” You accuse lightly, pretending to be cross with him. 

He rolls his eyes with an attitude you rarely see from him. “I did you a favor. You don’t want to get involved with Sean.”

“No,” you tell him, “of course I don’t. I was only dancing. Can’t do that anymore now, can I?”

Arthur’s mouth opens and closes before he lets out a huff. “Well, you two seemed awful close. I thought that-” he cuts himself off and you frown. 

You were only teasing him. Had he actually thought you were interested in pursuing Sean? You’d barely known the boy an hour. You pause, taking a step back and really getting a good look at Arthur. His shoulders are tense, though, not as tense as they had been a moment ago. The anger on his face, when he approached, had been real and not just the fire playing tricks. 

The pieces connect one by one and you find yourself astonished. Arthur Morgan had been jealous over you. 

That had to mean something. You couldn’t be reading into something like this. You might be a little desperate, but you weren’t a fool. You feel a flutter in your stomach and swallow down nerves. “Dance with me?” You ask, in a breathy whisper, sounding much more confident than you are. 

His eyes widen and he grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m no good at stuff like that.”

You bite down your smile and lean forward, taking his hand in your own. They’re rough against the smooth surface of your palms but you relish in the feeling. “Neither am I. It was the one class I never managed to get the hang of in finishing school.”

You coax him forward slowly, drawing him into you and guiding his hand a little lower on your waist than you should. He takes your other hand in his own and leads you into a slow dance. It’s barely anything more than a sway, but you still feel exhilarated. 

Even with the warning, it’s still a little surprising how awful you both are at dancing. “Even if you're stepping on my toes Arthur, I’m still much happier to be dancing with you,” you tell him, sincerity coating your throat like honey. 

He looks away from you and sighs. “Don’t have to say that.”

Your brows furrow and you tilt your head, catching his eye. “Why would I lie?” He doesn’t respond, caught off guard by the question. 

“Well,” he starts slowly, finally facing you again. He laughs a little at himself and shakes his head, “I don’t know why you would.”

“Because I wouldn’t,” you retort. “I don’t want to dance with anyone else, Arthur.” You know that sometimes he doesn’t always catch the hidden meaning, but you’re hoping he understands this time. You don't know if you could be any more brazen than you currently are.

His brows furrow and you can practically see the dots connecting when you begin to hear it. Low grunting noises, something almost like a whimper, slip out of the closed flap of John’s tent. You both pick up on it at the same time, movements slowing until you come to a complete stop. You stand, tucked into Arthur’s chest, and listen to what seems to be two people having a lot of fun. 

“Is that-”

You’re cut off by a very loud, “Sean!” You gasp, hand covering your mouth as your eyes widen. 

“Oh, Karen,” he sounds on the verge of tears and you practically have to bite your tongue to not laugh. You bury your face in Arthur’s chest, feeling it shake as he lets out a loud chuckle. “I’ve missed you so much!” You hear him begin to cry and force yourself to turn away before they hear you both laughing at them. 

“Oh,” Arthur’s face screws up with disgust but he’s still laughing. “That’s just awful. Come on,” he keeps your hand in his, tucking you under his arm as he leads you away from the tent. He snags a bottle of something off a nearby crate as he guides you toward the trees bordering the camp. 

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we don’t have to listen to that,” he mutters, nodding back toward the sinful tent. You clench your eyes shut, trying not to picture what the two of them are doing. 

You feel your feet sink a little, mud lifting around the edges of your boot. You reach to lift your skirts, out of instinct, before you remember you’ve got your new pants on. It makes you smile a little, living without the weight of your old clothes. 

“Arthur,” you stumble into his back as you trip over a branch and he quickly rights you. “Were you jealous?” You don't give much lead-up, hoping to shock the truth out of him. 

He pauses and turns back to look at you. You smile a little impishly at him and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. “This way, woman,” he grumbles, tugging you towards a thinner patch of trees. You find yourself squeezing his hand absentmindedly, liking the comfort of holding it.

The moon illuminates your path forward and you feel your heart jump up to your throat. He’s led you to a small cliff face, a spot just large enough for the both of you, that feels incredibly intimate. The moon almost creates a halo around the area, lighting it up more than anywhere else in the forest. 

Arthur lets go of you to tug off his coat. He places it on the ground and motions for you to sit. So used to fending for yourself and always being the last priority, something as simple as that has your heart skipping. “You didn’t answer my question,” you tell him as you take a seat. 

He sits beside you, knee brushing against your thigh as he pops open the bottle of whiskey he’d swiped. He twirls it around in his hand for a moment before he places it down beside himself. Your stomach dips when he turns towards you, eyes intensely meeting your eyes. 

You almost want to look away, the blue of them too intense to face. There’s honesty in his gaze and an intention you can’t recognize that forms a lump in your throat. “Yes. I was.”

Your lips twitch and you shake your head, slightly bewildered by how easily he admitted that. “I’m jealous every day I don’t get to call you mine,” he adds.

You used to be someone else’s. First, you were your father’s toy and then your husband's. When they called you theirs it was always with the intention of owning and using you. But it feels different with Arthur. It feels like handing him your bruised heart and knowing he’ll keep it safe. He says those words, and finally, you know that someone other than yourself is looking out for you. 

His hand comes up, gently brushing some hair off your cheek and drifting down to the nape of your neck. You lean forward, following his guidance, as his head dips down. Your lips meet, and the warmth emanating from him makes you realize this is truly happening. 

Cold from the stone below you seeps through his jacket and chills your legs. The feeling only further intensifies the startling realization that this is real. This isn’t one of your silly little fantasies. He’s kissing you and you aren’t doing anything.  

You sit before him, stiff as a stone, not kissing him back or showing him any sign you’re enjoying this. He picks up on that and you can already taste the apology on his lips as he begins to pull back from you. So you dart forward, clumsily pushing your lips up against his before you completely ruin your chance. 

He laughs against your eager lips, but you feel his relief in the way his shoulders slump and he relaxes back into you. One of his hands drifts down towards your waist, tugging you slightly closer, and you could melt into the feeling of him holding you. 

He tightens his hold around you, drawing you back ever so slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “You sure you want to get involved with me? It ain’t gonna be easy.”

Unwilling to part for so long, you close the distance between the both of you and finally, let yourself give in to the sensations of this moment. His palm drifts into your hair and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. 

Perhaps due to his gruff outlaw exterior, you’d had the misguided notion that he wouldn’t be a good kisser. Men like himself seem like the type not to enjoy something as simple as a kiss. They’re used to just getting right to the point. You’re happy to discover just how wrong you were. 

Those romance books Mary-Beth devours always describe something fleeting. There’s always fireworks going off as the two people you’ve been reading about finally kiss. This isn’t like that, there isn’t a spark that reignites a cold heart. You feel safe and comforted, like you’re finally coming home. This feels real, not like some passionate moment shared between two people that will never last.

Arthur pulls back, reluctantly, and you both catch your breath. “We should probably head back soon,” he whispers, eyes trained on your lips.

You nod your head, “Probably.” Neither of you goes to move, instead you tighten your hold on one another, basking in the moment of finally having what you’ve been coveting for so long.

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

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@m1stea @pokiona

[dredgesnails]

gem and joel as a notorious criminal duo who are on the run after a robbery-turned-kidnapping goes awry. they take refuge in a small town in the middle of nowhere, so tiny it's not on any map (they only found it because etho, who helps them out sometimes, gave them the coordinates and promised to keep them hidden, and they trusted him enough to take the gamble) and it becomes increasingly clear that this small town is definitely, absolutely a front for something.

it's got everything one would expect a small town to have: a tiny bed & breakfast, a cafe-grocer hybrid that only stocks about three total items, a little old-fashioned sweets shop connected to a visitor center that's seen better days, even a small tattoo parlour that might be skirting health and safety regulations and probably should've gone bankrupt years ago. but there are almost no people. this town isn't even on a road that many cars pass through, so they're not making money from anyone stopping by on their way to somewhere better. gem's pretty sure she could count the number of residents on her fingers. joel's convinced everyone's acting shifty all the time (and he knows shifty. he's proficient in shifty.) the town is thriving, somehow (as much as a small town can thrive), but it's definitely not because of the income it generates.

so, the town is hiding something. they don't know what it is. they don't really care, either, as long as it does what etho promised and keeps them safe and away from prying eyes. far be it for them to judge, anyway. they've done much shadier things to get away from the feds.

besides, they've got bigger things to worry about right now, like what to do with the man currently tied up in the back of their car...

[surreal-duck]

happy birthday to the most idiots of all time

[longagoitwastuesday]

I have learnt things about Geto that I wish I could unlearn

[httpsserene]

I have been having SUCH a thought since the Thigh Riding, and I NEED to tell you.

We know reader has been loving Max and Charles’ thighs, but have you seen those silicone thigh toys? They’re basically ridged pads you strap to your thigh and…well you can guess what they do with them.

I just- I feel like it would elevate it, their sweet girl opening up to the world of toys whilst in the comfort of something she loved.

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞 | 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 | 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞: 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞

summary: all my (terrified and oversensitive) homies hate vibrators!! max and charles introduce you to something better.  content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. vibrators. thigh riding. sex toys. non-penetrative sex. edging. praise kink. corruption kink. dom/sub undertones. coming untouched. sub!charles. sub!reader. dom!max. pairing: max verstappen x charles leclerc x fem!black!reader word count: 2.4k words.

author’s notes: this is from december 2023, jesus christ. about fucking time right, @vetteltea? this has been haunting me in my sleep ever since this hit my inbox, now it’s y’all’s problem too < 333 psss, next post will either be toasty part two (toto) or a smau xxx

(if you’re unsure about what these specific thigh toys are, don’t worry, i would link an example but idk if that would get me put in tblr jail and i’m on thin ice with my mentions, tags, and even dms not working :| look up “grinding pad sex toy” to get an idea of what i’m referencing in this fic. )

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You’ve deeply repressed the memory of your orgasm-deprived outburst that kick started your sexual exploration with Max and Charles. Vaguely, you can remember saying that you possibly considered the thought of buying a vibrator to get yourself off since riding your pillow wasn’t enough anymore.

[…you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one)...]

[…you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy!  i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating…”]

Charles was right. You didn’t have to go streaking or buy a sex toy to get off, your boyfriends took care of you. That night, you were satisfied by riding Max’s thigh. Then a few days later, you learned how to pleasure your men with handjobs. A couple of days after that you were fingerfucked into an altered mental state, then followed up with watching Charles cum untouched as Max ate him out. You had Max’s mouth on you next and weeks later in a Spanish villa, you allowed them to take your virginity.

The five days you three spent in that villa were filled with pleasure, as Max and Charles fulfilled every request of yours without question. In bed, on the sofa, from the kitchen floor to the dining table, from the hot tub to the bathroom shower, horizontally, vertically, parabolically, from dusk to dawn—the two years of relationship you had without sexual intimacy had been put to rest. The understanding, the vulnerability, and the trust rooted within everyone had led to that moment. It was worth it.

So, one would understand your confusion when Max drops the idea of sex toys in conversation with you and Charles on a random morning. With an audible noise of confusion, you tilt your head up at him adorably, and genuinely question, “Why would I use a toy when I have you two?” Your tummy tightened when that sentence caused Charles to look at you with dripping molten eyes and Max’s mumbled grumble about corrupting your innocence goes unheard. Minutes later, you were bent over the kitchen island, the skirt of your sundress shoved up around your waist, and your white panties dangling off of one ankle as they took turns eating you out. Needless to say, you forgot about the subject of conversation the moment they knocked your legs open.

Eventually, they do manage to have a chat about toys without it devolving into sex. 

“Schat,” Max grabbed your attention, the clink of his silverware resting on his plate further interrupted your focus on spinning pasta onto your fork.

“Yes, Maxy?” you responded, meeting his eyes with a smile.

“After this discussion, we will never bring this up again if you are adamantly against the idea,” you brought your fork to your lips, munching away with a look of puzzlement, the Dutchman continued, “But, Charlie and I were talking…and we think, that—with your approval, of course—that there’s a chance you may enjoy experiencing and learning about sex toys, and how good they can make you feel. As long as either one of us is using them on you—and, with your hatred of them—they’re also not vibrators.”

You choked on your pasta, Charles making a noise of surprise as he rushed forward to pat you on the back.

Airways now cleared, you looked at Max with watery eyes, “There was not enough foreshadowing to let me know where the conversation was going. And, fuck vibrators. They are way too strong.”

The Monegasque’s eyes brightened with humor, “Hm. I think vibrators are nice, especially when they’re in Max’s hand.”

“You’re a menace and a freak,” the older man responded, “And she’s chronically sensitive. Don’t tease.”

Charles tugged at one of your curls, chuckling as he saw the brown skin of your cheeks redden.

“I mean,” you paused to play fight with your boyfriend, batting his hand from your hair cutely, “You guys haven’t been wrong with anything you’ve introduced me to. If you think that I might enjoy something…I guess I can try it. And, you’ll stop if I tell you to, right?”

“Always, mon ange.” “Of course, liefje.”

“Okay, then. I just don’t think there’s a toy that I’ll like?”

A smirk spread across Max’s lips when he glanced over at Charles, like they knew something you didn’t. His blue eyes were alight with humor as they looked back at you, “Let us worry about that.”

You did such a good job of letting your boyfriends “worry about sex toys” that you ended up forgetting the conversation happened. Until tonight, when you walked into your bedroom to see Charles on the bed completely naked, save for—what appears to be, a pink silicone pad strapped around his tanned, muscular thigh.

You freeze in the doorway, mouth parted, struggling to process the sight in front of you. The brunette is ruined. His hair is damp with sweat, strands of curls stuck to his forehead, and green eyes moist with dried tear tracks painting the ruddiness of his cheeks. His lips are bitten red, swollen, and moist with his spit—Max’s too. The bruises start on his collarbone, deep red marks brush along his clavicle and pecs, and there are visible imprints of teeth around his right nipple. Traces of Max’s unforgiving grip are painted on his waist, thumbprints obvious to your eyes. His cock looks painful; burning red, twitching randomly, the vein on his underside raised, and precome has been leaking out of his tip for a while if the puddle by the base is any telling. 

Employing his skill for perfect timing, the en-suite door opens, and Max steps into the room with a bottle of lube in his hand. 

“Charlie?” Max coos, walking over to the delirious man, pouting sympathetically when the brunette’s head falls forward to rest on his hip, ruffling his hair and scratching along his scalp. “Aren’t you going to thank our pretty girl for putting an end to your torture?”

“–rci, merci,” the exhausted man mumbles messily. Max hums in content, dropping the lube on the bed and gesturing for you to come closer. Tripping over your feet in haste to follow his order, you ask softly, “How long have you had him like this?”

“Around forty-five minutes,” Max shrugs, dismissively, “He was getting too excited as we waited for you to join us.”

Swallowing shakily, you inquire, “Excited about what?

“Your new sex toy.” 

You gasp and Max’s eyes flutter across your face as he gages your reaction. Max sees you shift on your feet and casts look downward; your thighs are pressed together for friction—you’re aroused.

“Do you want to try it?”

“Yes, Max.”

The Dutchman smiles at you, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and leans forward to press a multitude of chaste kisses on your lips, laughing lowly when you whine with displeasure as he ignores your attempts to deepen them. “You’re being so brave for me. Take your clothes off, pretty girl.”

Bare in the blink of an eye, you look at your older boyfriend for his next direction.

“Our Charlie,” Max starts, helping the fucked-out man sit up straight, “Has been so kind to volunteer his thigh to you. Strapped around it,” he pauses to slap his hand down beneath the toy, smirking at Charles’ delayed yelp, and squeezing the meat of his muscle warmly, “Is a ridged silicone pad designed to simulate the vulva and clit as you grind. The waves and spikes of silicone are malleable and soft,” Max drags his finger across them demonstratively, “and are smooth and bouncy as you slide across it, allowing for a continuous rubbing sensation—I did my research.”

Giggling nervously as your eyes flicker between Charles’ cock and the daunting pink slab of plastic, “I can tell. Um—I just ride it like it’s his thigh?”

Max nods and offers you his hand for stability as you move to straddle the pad. Charles blinks, raising trembling hands to rest on your hips, staring at you with hazy eyes. You sigh, tangling your hand in the nape of his hair and using it to pull him forward into a kiss. His lips are clumsy but eager as they move against yours, whimpers muffled into your mouth and beard scratching along your chin. He tries to tug you downwards to have you firmly sit on the pad but is halted by Max.

“Greedy, both of you,” Max snorts, picking up the forgotten bottle of lube and uncapping it to lightly drizzle some on the toy's surface, “I know you get wetter than the ocean but, better safe than sorry.”

He pats you on the ass in encouragement, and you shake your head with shame as you lower yourself down on the silicone, draping your arms around Charles’ shoulders and pausing to acquaint yourself with the new feeling. The chill of the lube startles you but aside from that, the toy is…comfortable. The raised hump sits perfectly against the curvature of your cunt and already, you’re anticipating the focused stimulation it will provide. 

Max sits behind Charles and the bed sinks under his weight, barely jostling the Monegasque’s thigh. However, it’s enough of a movement that it causes one of the soft spikes to clip your clit, pushing a quiet noise of surprise from your lips.

“Oh,” you murmur airily.

Trying to hide the quirk of his lips, Max leans forward to whisper directly into Charles’ ear, “This seems awfully familiar to the first time she rode my thigh, no?”

You whimper audibly, knowing that he purposefully spoke loud enough for you to hear his words. Refusing to fixate on Charles’ reply, you circle your hips, breath catching as the various textures set your nerves ablaze. You understand that Max added the lube to prevent any unwanted roughness—it’s rendered unnecessary as your arousal starts to leak. Digging your nails into the younger man’s back, you rock your hips back and forth slowly, moaning freely as the waves are a consistent friction against your labia. 

“It’s–fuck—i-it’s good.”

“Stuttering already,” Max tuts, and you feel the heat in your cheeks radiate down to your bouncing chest. Your rhythm roughens; dragging yourself along the toys in desperation, toes curling at every random press of the spikes against your outer lips and clit. Charles gasps in relief, your quickened pace causing his cock to bounce and rub against his abdomen in his puddle of precome. He gets lucky on every few grinds when you undulate forwards and his cock bounces to glide against your navel. His hands grip firmly around your hips and shove them into a jerkier motion, keeping you close to him so his reddened length can be soothed against your skin constantly. 

The change in angle and position has caused the spikes to form a barrage around your clit and the waves drag over your entrance, teasing you with the feeling of being opened up. Dropping your head to hide your face in Charles’ neck, you muffle your pitchy moans and shrieks by tasting the sweat beading on his skin.

“I’m jealous, schatje,” Max speaks, “I almost want to pull her off of your thigh and have her sit on my face.”

Fresh tears spill from Charles’ eyes as he begs, “N-no-no—mmmph—please, ‘m close.”

Your hips start to rabbit against the toy, and the texture between your legs is overwhelming but too pleasurable to consider slowing. 

Max yanks Charles’ head backward with a fist in his hair, “Do you want to cum, Charlie?”

The man in question babbles incoherently, chest trembling from lack of oxygen as he continues to sob; he tries to nod, but can’t, thanks to Max’s firm grip. The burning of his scalp doesn’t subdue him, it encourages him to keep tugging so the pain floods endorphins through his body. 

“You know what to say,” Max states calmly, the words sending shivers down your spine. Your own body starts to tingle as you taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue; you’re too delighted at the new sensations to let any embarrassment build from reaching the edge quickly.

Charles struggles to get his tongue, lips, and vocal cords to cooperate. You see a frantic look light in his eyes, sure he’s trying to puzzle out what language he’s sane enough to communicate in. He manages to verbalize sounds that could be likened to Max’s name if you brush past his whimpers and cries.

“Plea–,” Charles tries to push the word out pitifully, “—ah, sss'il te pla—” his cock bumps against your navel, and his words cut off, eyes rolling back before he can finish begging.

A humorous laugh leaves Max; this is the easiest way Max has ever made the younger man lose his speech. He softens, and gives into the pillow prince, “You did so good, Charlie. You tried your hardest for me, yeah? You begged so prettily tonight, almost as pretty as you look. Such a good boy, Charles. You can cum.”

Strikingly, the approval works for both you and Charles. Twin cries of pleasure erupt as your orgasms blur your vision and burn through your muscles. The feeling of Charles’s cum splattering against your stomach sends another burst of light through your skin as you continue to grind fitfully on the silicone pad. A lake of wetness puddled on the poor man’s thigh, that squelches as you move. 

Charles is rendered silent as his cock continues to pulse even when the flow of his release ceases. Max brings his hand down to squeeze at his base and Charles releases a choppy scream as it pushes another couple of ribbons out of him. His hips thrust upwards with every string, forcing hisses of over sensitivity to slip from you as it drags the soaked pad against your cunt. You would happily crawl off his thigh, but you haven’t regained feeling in your legs yet. 

Thankfully, Charles deflates back into Max, his cock finally softening and slowly losing some of its flush. Tears start to leak from his eyes again, his chest shuddering through little sobs. You whimper softly at his tears and Max pulls you both to rest comfortably in the bed, as he shushes you two through the comedown. When the tears, shivers, and shakes halt, a pleased tilt of lips rises to Charles's face as his eyes dance between you and Max. 

The Dutchman unclips the toy from Charles’s thigh and smirks at the wet peeling noise that sounds.

“So…I assume this toy has your approval?”

© httpsserene2023

[ningvory]

SCREAM - jang wonyoung

1,740 words // yall i wanted to do kinktober sooo baddd but im so outta ideas and school and work has been draining😔 so instead i'll just write 2-3 more halloween themed fics

CW: noncon -> dubcon, ghostface!wonyoung, big dick wony, bully!reader, a little knife play, choking, backshots, doggy, missionary, a little tit play, mentions of reader getting impregnated, squirting, not proofread lolz

its about 11pm on a friday, 'means girls' is playing on your living room tv while you were in the kitchen searching for a pot to put your noodles in. your parents left for their business trip to wherever, you weren't really paying attention after they mentioned you'll be alone for two weeks and that you had a spending allowance of 5k, which is why you were wearing your new black lingerie set under your fuzzy pink robe.

you were humming a song as you head to the pantry to get a bottle of water to fill the pot with until you heard your phone ringtone go off. you went to mute the tv and grabbed your phone, tapping the answer button. you held the phone up to your ear but you're met with silence.

"hello?~" you questioned, dragging out the word. it was a habit of yours when you were annoyed,

"didn't think you'd pick up." the voice was cheerful, too cheerful to the point where it had you furrow your eyebrows trying figure out who's calling you at this time.

"well, i did. so.." you responded with a little bit of attitude. you were starving and here this stranger is playing on your phone. "listen, who the hell are you and what do you want?" you raise your voice a octave.

"your tits look good in that bra, wish i can see the way your ass looks in the panties." you furrow your eyebrows once more. every window was locked and your curtains blocked any prying eyes from seeing inside.

"um—you must've gotten the wrong number or something. i'm hanging up now." you smile half heartedly, trying to wrap things up, whoever this girl is can probably hear your labored breathing.

"hang up this fuckin' phone and i’m killing you myself!" she quickly responded, you froze immediately. especially after hearing some sort of bang coming from upstairs, “not so tought without your friends here, hm y/n?"

you were assuming this was a silly halloween prank call but she knows you personally! she knows your friends and even your name—you can admit that you were a bitch to most people but you didn't think that someone would break in and kill you for it!

"w-what kinda joke is this? this isn’t funny!" you let out a nervous laugh. no way this is fucking real, this is just a prank, right?

the person lets out a hysterical laugh—almost like she’s gone crazy. "you think this is a joke? was it a joke when you make every single day a living hell for me?" she asked but you remained silent, "now you wanna act like a scared little girl? don't you think its time to get what you deserve?" she asks.

the amount of people you’ve been a bitch too, its hard to guess who this person was. the fact that this persons voice was low and raspy to the point where you couldn’t even identify who’s voice this is didn’t help you either.

"i think we should play a game. i’d advice you listen, if you want to live that is." you can hear her smiling through the phone.

your heart is racing now, you have a gut feeling that this person is in the big ass house somewhere and that promise of her killing you is haunting you.

"fine. what's this game?" you try to put on that tough façade, still holding onto your pride.

"go upstairs. into your room." she commands you and you hate it but all you can do now is obey her words.

you grip your phone tighter and walk up the stairs—just like she said. you walk into your room. your pink led illuminated the room.

"good girl~ now, strip." her praise breaks the silence.

"what?" you whispered in disbelief.

"you heard me, don't make me do it for you."

you sigh, you really aren't sure why she wants you to strip for her. maybe to humiliate you on the internet on something but you comply to her demand, untying your robe and letting it drop to the floor. you stand, praying that’s all she meant when she said strip.

"do you not know what strip mean, bitch?" she questions, noticing that you're just standing there.

you stay silent, tears were beginning to form in your eyes and you let out a whimper, “why? are you some kinda sick pervert?” you demand, looking around the room.

it was silent for a while, it was like she hung up the phone on you. your heart was racing, you were getting anxious, “hello! where are you!? who are you!?” you cry out.

as soon as you asked that your closet door opened, revealing a figure dressed up like ghostface charging right at you. you let out a loud scream, backing up into the wall but the figure used that to her advantage, her long hands engulfed your neck, pushing your head into the wall and tightening the grip, forcing a strangled whine to fall from your mouth as you gasp for air desperately.

tears began to fall from your cheeks, your hands came up to hold her wrists before hitting them, desperately trying to pry them off your neck. she swiftly slapped you right across your face and manhandled your frail body on your bed, choked whines coming from you in the process.

“you look so cute like this, crying and at my mercy.” her tall body straddled yours, under her coat and her skirt, you can feel her bulge on your tummy. no way she’s hard from this.

if you were gonna die like this you might as well see who this sicko is, you removed your hands from the hands that were on your neck and you reached up to the ghost mask, removing it from their head. your eyes widen when you realized who it was. wonyoung.

her soulless eyes looked down at yours, a smile slowly found its way onto her face which made shivers run down your spine. she removed her grip on your neck, but still remained ontop of you.

you inhaled air almost immediately, trying to catch your breath before you can question the girl. but before you could even speak, she held a butcher knife right under your chin, “don’t scream or move.” she spoke menacingly.

“since you can’t seem to follow orders i’ll force you to,” she sighs. she starts to slowly move her knife down to your shaking body. the metal causing goosebumps to awake on your body. she trailed down until she got to your bra, she easily sliced it in half with her knife. “hey! i just bought this!” you spat, your first time wearing this set and it’s already ruined? this really isn’t your night.

“shut up, whore.” she’s quick to bring the knife back to your neck, pressing down on it but not enough to draw blood.

your bottom lips quivers which makes her coo before she gets off your tummy and flips your body over. you yelp in surprise with how easy she’s moving your body.

before you can complain she’s pushing your head into the sheets and placing the palm of her hand to your back, forcing you to arch your ass up in the air. to position muffled anything that you might’ve said and you felt your heart drop when you feel her bulge prodding against your ass.

wonyoung slices your panties as well before placing the knife in her mask. she pulls her boxers down along with her miniskirt. she giggles as she hovers over you of you, large hands pinning yours to the bed before she leans into your ear with a wicked grin.

“i’m going to make you scream.”

“w-wait!” you quickly retort squirming under her iron grip.

she wastes no time before she pushes her cock deep inside your virgin cunt.

it was like the wind got knocked out of you. you can't even make a sound, all you can concentrate on is the burn on your hole being stretched out. she had just pushed in and her cock is already kissing at your cervix, just how big is this girls cock?

wonyoung harshly gripped your hips and pulled out until her cock head was the only length left inside you before violently thrusting forward, letting out a long groan at the satisfaction. her hands left your back to grab your wrists to hold them behind your back, and forcefully yanking you back down onto her cock. she wasn't letting you get out of this anytime soon.

she was using your body like you were her human sized sex doll. drool was running down your chin and down to the valley of your tits and your eyes were crossed over, "for someone that hasn't taken a real dick before--you take it like a cock drunk whore." wonyoung muttered loud enough for you to hear. if you hadn't been too busy cryin' n moanin' on her dick, you would've made a snarky comeback.

she's never heard your voice become this high-pitched but she wasn't complaining, "s-so big! y-you're gonna break me!!" you whined through your tears.

"and you're gonna keep taking it all in your little cunt. even after i impregnate you." wonyoung quickly agreed to your statement, shooting three spurts of cum into your cunt.

you thought she'd be done but her hips never stopped smacking into yours, instead, she flipped you over into missionary. she swiftly picked up your left leg, placing it on her shoulder to reach a deep angle.

she continued to drill into your cum-stuffed pussy, her cock heavily throbbing inside you due to just seeing the lewd sight below her, "like being fucked by a killer, gonna cum all over me?"

"uh-huhh~" your eyes rolled back and your body began to shake. she took one of you tits that's bouncing with her thrust into your mouth, earning a loud moan from you. you suddenly felt a little funny, almost like you had to pee? your body soon went limp before you let out a whiny moan, squirting all over her dick and pelvis.

"at first i was just gonna fuck you and then kill her." she pulls out of your sloppy pussy and grabbed her knife. you flinch at these words, a bit terrified of what was gonna happen next, "but i think i'll make you my cute cock sleeve."

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (v)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, witchcraft

A/N: it's like i never left amirite (im sorry it has been like 10 months pls forgive me ily guys let's pretend this series never went on hiatus) (i had cancer and college but now I've graduated from both and i live babyyy. anyway. welcome back to my house of horrors)

Previous part || Series masterlist

When you tell Maya you want to do witchcraft, you'd done so with the full expectation of defending your idea with the force of a PhD student who was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

She surprisingly agrees. 

“Really?” It's hard to stop the astonishment from entering your voice. Honestly, it sort of pisses you off that the Canva presentation you spent five hours on wouldn't actually see the light of day.

“Yeah, sure. I think it'd do well with the older demographic. ” She shrugs.

"Really?" Now you weren't sure she was on the same plane of existence as you were.

“Make some animals talk. Conjure up some parking spots.”

Ah. 

“I was thinking more like... hexing people and shadow demons,” you test slowly.

That seems to tether her to reality.

Her head cranes towards you centimetre by centimetre, like she was buffering in real time.

“Are you insane?" she states, not very much sounding like she was expecting an answer. "Do you want to end up on the news? Do you know how vicious Facebook groups can be?” 

“No PR is bad PR,” you preach wisely, parroting advice you’d seen bots on Twitter tell other bots. 

“That doesn’t apply to you. I already have a tough time explaining Stephen Strange and why he’s not literally the devil to the public."

Now that was a little unfair. Perhaps it warranted another Canva presentation.

"Have you considered that I'm hotter and significantly cooler than Stephen Strange?" you suggest helpfully.

She squints at you, or more likely your audacity. "I will not have another scandal on my hands this week.” 

“But next week is okay?”

Her hardened stare tells you quickly what a thousand words cannot.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Thou limit me so, Maya. How is one to find you invigorating content in these trying circumstances?”

Maya taps your shoulder on her way out, crooning, “There’s a reason I asked you to do this series. You’ll figure it out.”

You hide a smile with an all too dramatic sigh. “Thou compliment me so. How am I to not fall in love with thee?”

Maya shakes her head playfully. “Nothing that will get me called into a press conference by mid-day. No hexing. No extreme curses. ”

“Mid-level curses it is, then” you call after her.

Her leaving figure does not give you a reply.

After a week of staring at the corner of his room through the night, delirious to the point where he seriously considered using Sam’s Amazon Prime account to buy his own stupid ghost apparatuses, Bucky throws in the towel.

Clearly, he was mistaken. Sleep deprived and probably missing his family a little more than he would have ever admitted to a living soul.

Bucky's sleep deprivation adds to his already charming and sociable personality.

No one would touch him with a ten-foot pole. Bucky’s usually grumpy and while everyone had sort of built a tolerance towards his regular nonsense, he was now the very sexy combination of grumpy and sensitive.

For his part, after last week's shenanigans, Bucky has stuck to avoiding anything and everything horror.

He watches only romcoms and finds that while everyone says he seems most like Harry from Harry Met Sally, he hates that Mike Wazowski motherfucker with a passion. 

While everyone else seems to get the memo, you have chosen to ignore it blissfully, and have instead been prancing about all week, shoving meme after meme into his face.

Bucky Barnes smiling compilations that were 7 seconds long. Bucky Barnes social media fanfictions that showed him replying far more than he had ever replied to anyone in real life ever.

Bucky’s learnt to ignore you with a long-suffering glare. You adapt quickly, skillfully dodge the daggers shooting out of his eyes and shove another TikTok in his face. It is an edit of him to Toxic by Britney Spears. He doesn't want to ask where they got some of the footage they used.

After the fifth Twitter screenshot, he takes to avoiding you like the plague.

Unfortunately for Maya, that involved avoiding the set too. He sees on the official The Graveyard Shift channels that there’s an announcement put out about an episode delay. 

It is undeniably his fault. No, he still won't answer the group chat or the several knocks at his door every day.

But because the universe is invested in his sorrow, you seem to find him wherever he goes.

In the garden, digging through the vegetable bed.

In the storeroom, looking through oversized cookware.

When he walked into the alley behind the Tower and found you there, he hissed at you like a feral cat and you asked very loudly what the fuck was wrong with him. 

He checks every part of him and all his clothes for a tracker but no-- you just seem to have a karmic connection level of being exactly where he is. 

When he runs into you for the fourth time at the library, he really thinks he’s lost it.

“Are you following me?” he asks, voice sharp.

You look at him in wonder. “Your ego is so big it could have its own gravitational pull. How do you carry around your massive head all day?"

“Everywhere I go, you’re there.” He continues, finger pointing in accusation. 

“Bitch, you're the one who walked in here," you exclaim. "I’ve been here all day.”

“Doing what?”

“Who’s following who now?” you dare.

“Because you’re in this section.” He does a quick check to see what section it actually is. Witchcraft and Wizardry. He may not have known that when he accused you but he definitely was not wrong.

“Why do you care what I do here?”

Because he's wondering if he’s managed to shut down production permanently and sent a bunch of people into unemployment.

“I don’t trust you here," he settles on instead. "What are you actually doing?"

“I’m learning things. Gaining knowledge. And such." You gesture vaguely before you narrow your eyes at him. "Not that you would know, you ape.”

He scoffs. He had the intelligence of a thousand suns, mind you.

“You don’t even have a book," he counters.

“So? I’m gaining knowledge through osmosis.” You look around. “I’m absorbing.”

His nose twitches, teeth clenched.

“Whatever,” he mumbles instead, turning his attention to the bookshelf.

As he thumbs through various titles he’s too annoyed to read, a small movement catches his attention. 

He watches you from the corner of his eyes. 

“What?” you demand, this whole exchange too damn loud for a library. 

“What?” he challenges right back. “Why are you watching me?”

“Why am I– you’re the one staring at me.” You throw your hands up. “First you follow me here, second you accuse me of things that would get me burnt at the stake a couple of years ago, third you accuse me of watching you just 'cause you know you're pretty. You–”

Bucky narrows his eyes, not missing the random compliment you slipped in.

“Hold on just one second. That’s why you’ve been avoiding everyone all week.” You stare at him, wide-eyed and unrelenting.

He thinks he must have missed some part of the conversation because he has no idea why you're looking at him like you've figured him all out.

“That’s why you’ve been so jumpy and sleep deprived ever since that episode you filmed.”

Bucky’s gaze doesn’t waver, but his mind races and his breath falters for a second. There’s no goddamn way you knew what had gone down, he’d deleted every footage that could possibly–

“You missed me.”

He stops his overthinking right in its tracks.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” You tilt your head, face full of pure sympathy. “You filmed one episode without me by your side and realised you couldn’t live without me.”

“Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, eyes pressed closed tighty, partially in relief. 

“You want me, don’t you? You want me so bad it makes you throw u–”

“Fuck off.” Bucky turns on his heel at the speed of light.

“You have a fat, raging crush–”  

“I’m fuckin' moving out.” His voice is like rocks.

“You can move out, but you can never move on, baby,” you whisper-shout. “When’d you realise you liked me, Bucky? Night one? The first hou–”

He slams the library door behind him. 

From: Stevie Left some strawberries outside your door. They’re good. 

From: Stevie How are you doing today, by the way?

From: Bucky alive

From: Bucky and thanks 

From: Stevie Anything we have to talk about? Your wood chisels didn’t break again, did they?

From: Bucky nothing im fine

From: Stevie You sure? Time for a Cypress Hills visit?

From: Bucky no im fine 

From: Stevie You haven’t left the room in a week. Beat your old record and I'm going to start getting worried here.

Bucky stares at his phone wondering how he ended up with a mother a century after his own died, before sighing.

From: Bucky going to film a video this week. im fine

From: Bucky promise 

Because there really was no other way to convince Steve that he as leaving the cave he constructed from his comforter.

From: Steve Good to hear. I’m always across the hallway if you need anything. 

From: Bucky i know. your gramophone won’t let me forget it. 

From: Steve Dick.

From: Bucky it is too damn loud. old ass

From: Steve Got a new record. Haven’t listened to it yet.

From: Bucky ill be there in 10

That Friday, Bucky walks onto the set in his finest black hoodie and darkest sunglasses, looking less like a badass and entirely like a hungover teenager. 

Before he has a chance to even register what’s going on, he is ambushed by lights, a team touching up his face and his stupid dollar store sunglasses leave him before he has a chance to protest.  

“I told you he’d show up,” you pipe up proudly from your place at the table. “Lil' shit simply missed me too–”

“Stop,” he interrupts, finally getting around to look at the set when the foundation brushes stop assaulting his line of vision. 

For a hot second, he thinks you've taken over Steve's cooking show. 

There are candles floating around, which he assumes you're holding up. A large… cauldron, gigantic wooden mixing spoons and 50 little bowls worth of ingredients are neatly arranged on the table.

“What the hell is going on?” he questions immediately. “What is all this?”

“Mise en place, baby,” you reply, shutting a book you had on the table loudly before looking at him. “You’re on dish duty. Come on.” 

“What?” His eyebrows pull into a frown. 

You dust off your hands before reaching under the table and chucking an apron at him. “Back when I worked as a line cook, the number one rule was to clean up as you go. I like to think of it as--”

“What is going on here?” he specifies, already trying to piece together your timeline in his head with every new piece of lore.

“Welcome to my kitchen, motherfucker.” Your grin is nefarious. “We're gonna do some witchcraft.” 

After he spends fifteen minutes on the phone with Maya confirming that yes, that is indeed the episode and that the heads up he needed would have reached him if he opened the seventeen million messages on the group chat– he finally comes to stand behind the bench with you, a tick in his jaw but also with enough self-awareness to be sheepish. 

He thought his grand return to the channel would be a simple video with some ghost reading or whatever, not… this. 

He turns to you, ready to reach a compromise that ends with him not having to be there at all.

But in the fifteen minutes he had turned his attention to the call, you’ve somehow convinced them to start rolling before he gets the chance to leave, so he’s immediately hit with a--

“We’re on in three…two–”

“Where is your apron?” you demand, looking him up and down.

“I’m not wearing that shit.” It had some stupid slogan like ‘Life is about taking whisks!’ and he had already been through enough.

“Jeez, annyone would think that you're not in love with me--"

"I'm not."

"--by the way you're so ungrateful. I got that custom-made for you,” you tsk. “I could've gotten the other one. Mine could've said ‘he’s my sweet potato’ and yours could've said ‘I yam’.”

Bucky experiences a whole-body chill. 

“Whatever," you dismiss with a wave of hand before looking into the camera. "Before we get started, we recognize that for some, witchcraft is a deeply meaningful religion and spiritual practice that should be approached with respect and curiosity.”

“We’re not claiming this is the definitive guide to witchcraft, we’re simply trying out a book that’s been highly recommended for better or worse, and seeing where it leads us. Whaddya say, Bucko?

You look at him for input. Bucky stares at the dusty, hole-ridden monstrosity on the table.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asks finally after a long pause.

You tap the thick, old book. “Witchcraft for Weenies: A Totally Legit Guide to Authentic Witchcraft by A. Harkness.”

“Is that the actual name or are you just making it up?”  

“Rich coming from the only one between us who actually lied on camera--" you glare at him. "I would never fabricate my sources, I’m a champion for academic integrity.”

You pick up the book to show him, flipping it towards the camera too and sure enough, the book that was basically falling apart at the binding was called exactly that.

“Let’s-a go, baby.”

You stare at him, lips pressed together. Bucky gives no inclination towards changing his answer. 

“Fine. We’re going to do this the hard way, I see.” You exhale, reaching into the pocket of your apron. 

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together when you brandish a deck of cards, yank his arm towards you and drop it into his open palm. 

“Shuffle," you command.

Something very familiar faces him.

Bucky stares at the cards before looking back at you. “Why’s my face on it?”

“It’s a tarot deck I got from Comic Con,” you insist. “Avengers themed. Now shuffle it.”

He thinks you left that card on top on purpose, but regardless, he's already been too much of a menace to the crew to be the cause of any more disturbance.

So he slowly begins, careful and skilled, before you scoff in his face.

“Faster, grandpa," you chide. “I’ve seen the way those hands cut garlic when no one’s around, I know you move faster than that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but complies anyway, shuffling the cards with the adeptness only a certain Jim Morita could have taught him in a dark tent to keep him awake on a night watch. 

“Faster,” you goad, face smug. “Faster. Come on now, Barnes, your age finally catching up to you?”

It’s stupid– he doesn’t even know why he’s actually complying and increasing his speed. He can’t believe that he was letting you pressure him.

“C’mon, faster, Barnes, you abso-”

His hands were moving so fast by then that they’d have to put the video in slow motion to catch all the movement.

“Faster–” and in the commotion, a few cards fly out.

“Brilliant, thanks.” You slam them down on the table, plucking the deck out of his hand before he has a chance to process why the fuck he actually went ahead with what you were trying. 

“Right, so the universe has decided that these will be your cards,” you tell him, and he finally looks down at what had fallen out of the deck. 

The cards show Sam’s Captain America shield, Carol Danvers, and Spider-Man, with words written below.

“The Star, Six of Cups, The Hanged Man,” you read out thoughtfully.  

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they’ll fall out of his skull. 

“You know, I’m going to just make a general assumption and say you need help.” You hum to yourself. “I'm gonna make a potion to get you some.”

“Get me some?” He's too busy trying to figure out what the cards could possibly mean to see that he's walked straight into that one.  

“Get you some perspective. You need an advisor who’ll dish it to you straight. Give you the facts, no bullshit–”

"No." He had too many of those in his life and he has had enough of people being “honest” and "straightforward” and telling him his moustache was ugly every time he dared to try out a new look–

Until you reach under the table and again and suddenly, there’s a white creature buzzing around on the table in front of him.

“Behold– your new advisor,” you announce.

From the corner of his eye Bucky can see the production team scrambling to figure out where the hell this was going. He lip-reads producers’ orders to find adoption links or resources to insert during post-production, and teasers on social media, to make this look more planned. Great, so no one was prepared-- it wasn't just him.

“Whose fucking cat is this?” He looks down at it, all white except for a few brown spots all around, green eyes and evil in her aura.

“Relax, I'll give her back when we're done.”

“Give her ba–” he echoes. “Where did you get her?” 

“The alley outside,” you coo, rubbing under her chin. “I checked and she doesn’t have an owner. But look at her, she’s meant to be here.”

Bucky looks at the cat. The cat looks back at him, irises narrowing into slits. His nose twitches. 

“You can’t just bring a cat–”

“Remember to adopt, not shop,” you say to the camera before clapping your hand. “Anyway. If my potion goes according to plan, she will be giving you unsolicited life advice for eternity.” 

“You will be unemployed, then,” Bucky manages to add while watching the chaos unfold behind the camera.

“Nonsense, I’m irreplaceable.” You grin. “Besides, you can't manufacture chemistry like this even in a cauldron.” 

You send him a flying kiss. His glower was as sharp as laser beams.

“Let’s get started.” You grin at the camera. 

Bucky tries to pet the cat. She hisses at him.

Well all-fucking-right then.

One hour later, things have descended into madness of the most mundane kind.

It was precisely when you started telling him ten minutes in that a book had nothing on your instincts and raw intelligence that Bucky knew that this was going to shit. 

The cauldron was on an electric stove unlike the open fire demanded by the book because the team had enough foresight to know it would be a fire hazard.

You toss in something that looks like cardamom but he isn’t sure at this point. He just wanted to get away from the bright lights and the strange smiling liquid boiling awai.

The cat sits obediently by your side, watching curiously. He is convinced that she is evil.

Unfortunately, Bucky has had to hold her back twice when she tried to stick her paw in to attack a bubble, and at this point, he doesn’t think he has it in him to do it a third time. 

You read the recipe as if it makes any sort of fucking difference now.

“We’re almost done,” you sing. 

Bucky nurses his headache.  “Don't give me hope.” 

“Put some more reegelbeetle seeds in,” you dictate. “This is gonna work, I can feel it.”

Bucky uses his free hand to do as you say. He doesn’t even think it’s the right one, he just reaches for whatever is closer to you and you don't seem to care either.

You toss in some more seeds, stir twice and then turn off the stove. 

“Boom.” You lift the spoon up, watching the thick liquid drip back. “This is either a talking potion or a hex.” 

"Hex to do what?”

“I think it activates dormant allergies.” You squint at the book that literally had no significance besides being a prop. “You got any?”

“No.” But it makes him think of Steve’s pollen allergies. 

“Oh. Well, then there’s only one outcome here.”

“Alright, here we go.” Of the gigantic pot that you’d just stirred, you fish the tiniest amount out on the smallest spoon he’d ever seen, which you also apparently stored in the vast space that was your apron pocket.

The cat watches you hold the spoon near its face.

It takes a sniff. Then two. Finally, after deeming it non-poisonous, it sticks out its tongue the tiniest bit and takes a lick.

The whole crew is silent.

Bucky’s hand is still pressing against his temples.

“Tell us your name,” you urge, voice hopeful.

The cat looks at Bucky, and for a second, something akin to understanding flashes in its eyes. It’s uncanny and weird and something about it unsettles him deeply. 

You seem to catch it too because you look at him in surprise. He looks back at you, face pulled into a frown. 

And for a moment, he wonders. If you'd somehow done it. Because there’s no fucking way–

Then it meows.

He exhales.

Your shoulders drop as you let out an “Aw, man.”

"Great. Goodbye. Like and subcribce to the bell icon," he calls out, dusting his hands against his pants.

Someone from the production crew sneezes.

Both of you turn to him immediately. 

At the same instant, someone else all the way on the opposite end sneezes again, and the whole crew turns to look at them, before another sneezes in the front.

“We did it!” you cheer.

“We didn’t do jack,” Bucky interjects immediately as the crew errupts into a cacophony of chatter and sneezes.  

“It’s a hex that activates allergies and they’re sneezing,” you point towards them with the spoon, triumphant.

“You threw fifteen fuckin' pounds of pepper in there,”  he argues. “You've turned this room into a sandstorm of dry spices. This proves nothing.” 

“I’ve connected the dots.” Your eyes shine, ignoring him.  

“You didn’t connect shit.”

“I’ve connected them.” 

Someone in the corner sneezes. He wonders if Steve’s allergies would be activated by the trace amounts of... cursed soup that he carries with him back to the floor. 

“Well, we can’t leave them like this, Bucky.” You look around, tsking. “We gotta make a reverse hex or something.”

“You can,” he says. “It’s called opening the windows.”

“Nope,” you pop the last syllable. “We’re making another potion. C’mon.”

“First of all, this is not a potion–” he begins, but is interrupted by a buzz on his phone, the screen lit up by a text on the groupchat. 

From: Maya I don’t give a shit if it’s placebo or not. Make a damn potion before you get sued for hexing employees. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. 

“Beautiful. Grab the ash sphinx flakes,” you brandish another big cauldron from fuck knows where.

Bucky stares at you, unmoving.

“Just get the oregano,” you sigh. 

The cat tries sticking her paw in the pot again.

Bucky feels a sneeze incoming.

Whether the hex and subsequent anti-hex Maya forced you to make at gunpoint was real or not, is yet to be determined scientifically.

What actually does happen, is the damn apron you give him carries enough trace amount of your stupid experiment, that it somehow activates Steve’s very real pollen allergy. Bucky finds himself on edge for the rest of the day every time the man rattles the walls with his middle aged dad sneezing.

It carries on over to his show, which means Steve’s episode on baking a 1950s chocolate cake from tomato soup is edited extremely strangely to cut out every sneeze.

Which means Nat’s episode on spy inaccuracies in Argylle takes twice as long to film because they have to take a few seconds every time Steve’s sneezes interrupt her from the set next door.

Which means Bruce’s video on the science behind memory is delayed on shooting.

All in all, something does seemed to have been hexed, but it mostly seems to be everyone’s fucking productivity.

Finally, everyone manages to get through the day, and the videos are sent to post production.

The same night when everyone’s gathered at the dining table to commemorate the end of another shoot day, Bucky slips out, knowing that Steve would save him a slice of pizza if he never returned. 

He goes back to the library to return his copy of Understanding Wood Finishing, when his curiosity leads him back down a familiar path. 

It’s where he finds you again, in the same corner as the last time, on the floor, surrounded by shelves.

“You again.” You quirk an eyebrow when he appears from the shadows. "Aren't you supposed to be eating pizza?"

“What are you absorbing now?” he asks, voice low for once, respecting the sanctity of the library now that day had slipped into night and everything seemed a bit more solemn now.

“Nothing,” you answer.

“Then why are you here?” 

He figured you’d be out there, introducing everyone to the cat that was now set to be roaming the halls, before someone assumed it was a shapeshifting enemy and dealt with it accordingly.

“God forbid someone get some peace and quiet for once,” you mumble. “It’s too loud out there.”

Oh.

You don’t say anything else, leaning back against the bookshelf with your eyes closed.

There really isn't a need for more words. He gets it. 

The understadning leaves silence in its wake. Bucky doesn't really have anything to say.

“Did you come here just to stare at me?” you ask finally. “Did you finally admit your feelings?” 

“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Only a matter of time.” You smile before changes to something more subdued, a bit more serious. “You wanna talk about what’s actually been bugging you for the last week?”

Bucky looks at you wearily. “The tarot cards tell you something?”

You eye him. “Not more than what’s obvious. Wanna talk about it?”

He swallows, throat suddenly feeling like it's closing in on itself. 

“No.”

“Alrighty.” 

You say nothing more than that, leaving the both of you in relative quiet, save for the buzz of the warm fluorescent light above. 

Bucky takes an awkward seat next to you on the floor.

You pry open an eye to look at him in suspicion.

“Y’mind?” he manges.

“Mind what?”

He gestures to himself uncomforably, readiy to jump up and leave at any second.

You observe him for a second, and for once he stares back with no irritation in his look, just permission.

“No, you can sit.” You close your eyes. “So long as you don’t tell anyone else 'bout this place.” 

If there’s anything Bucky’s good at, it’s keeping a secret. 

He settles back into the shelf with an exhale, letting the weight of day roll off his shoulders.

You wordlessly slide a thermos towards him. He doesn’t even have to open it to know it’s the damn soup from that afternoon.

And if he’s being honest, it doesn’t taste that bad at all. 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

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Next part

[blvdprn]

— GLOOMY STALKER

idia shroud x dom!male reader

somebody has been following you around, but every time you look behind you all you were able to find was an empty space. that is until you cornered the perpetrator and he had nowhere else to go.

nsfw — handjob, grinding, consent IS there it just wasn’t mentioned, stalker!idia, self-deprecation (it’s idia guys), popular!reader, reader is kinda into it, semi-public?, no actual sex

wc: 1,024

Again, just like every other day, the feeling of eyes following your figure accompanied you everywhere. It’s been weeks since this started. The irritation on your face whenever you felt the unknown presence made your friends concerned, worriedly asking if you were alright. You always made sure to tell them “Yes, everything’s fine, I just haven’t slept well.” At some point, they knew that was a lie, but they kept asking the same thing, hoping you’d tell them the truth.

One day, you had the great idea of separating yourself from your friend’s side. Your lack of presence goes unnoticed, for a short while, that is. And while they were running around like headless chickens trying to find you, you were already far gone, almost sprinting to an abandoned hallway —one that held rumors of ghosts haunting it.

Hiding behind an old, and dirty human-like metal armor, you waited until you were able to hear the footsteps of the one you were excited to catch. With their back turned toward you, all you could see was that they had their hood up, blocking their hair from view. They were also skinny and quite tall, but their hunched shoulders made them look smaller.

With them looking the other way, they didn’t notice you inching closer. Now, with you a couple of feet away from them, you could hear their heavy pants, almost like they weren’t used to running a lot.

‘Unathletic.’ You noted.

Hurriedly, you took long silent strides, slamming your left hand over their mouth while the other arm wrapped around their waist, dragging them back into the quiet corner.

Turns out, the somebody was the resident's gloomy house warden. He’d been following you around like a lost puppy, either by looming over your shoulder or by watching you through the hallway cameras. That would explain why he followed you in here. He didn’t know about this place, seeing as there were no cameras for him to use.

For weeks, he tried hard to get rid of his crush on you. Often spying, he hoped that he caught a slip in your persona, thinking about how nobody was that perfect. Sometimes, Idia wanted you to catch him, to reveal an awful side of you so the one-sided crush he had would forcefully fade away with the humiliation you would surely show him. After all, he was nothing but a gross otaku. An ugly loser virgin that was nothing compared to you.

This is why when he ran after your silhouette, the last thing he expected was for a deity like you to do something out of a hentai.

Which is what brings you to now, hand deep in somebody else’s pants, his face buried into your shoulder.

Your dick was hard, begging for some attention. Right now though, you were too busy making the third-year moan in pleasure, seeing as he’d never experienced something like this with somebody else.

“Mmh…” Idia let out, biting your shoulder with his sharp teeth, making you hiss at the pain.

“Tch,” you clicked your tongue in annoyance. “Don’t hide your moans, you don’t deserve it after what you did.”

He whined in embarrassment, reluctantly releasing your shoulder from his shark-like teeth. Instead, he tried to stop his sounds by thinking of something else, but that quickly failed when your thumb rubbed around his tip.

“Ah!”

You huffed. “Pay attention to me. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Mmm— ‘M sorry..”

Your remaining hand then went inside his pants, grabbing the base of his cock. Rubbing it up and down, the other twisted at the top, your wrist aching a bit with all the movement.

“Ngh! Ohhh!” With Idia’s face in clear view, hood down, you could see the way his hair changed from blue to pink, eyes rolling back a bit.

‘Shit, he’s so cute.’

Not being able to take it anymore, you pulled out your hands and released his dick. Grabbing him by the waist, you turned Idia around so his face was against the wall, back arched towards you.

“O-ow.”

Quickly, you resumed what you were doing.

With Idia’s ass facing your direction, you pushed your hips against it, instantly liking the way his round ass and both of your pants created delicious friction. Rolling your hips and grinding, you saw the way Idia struggled with deciding on what to do. On one end, all he wanted was for your hands to jerk him off until he couldn’t cum anymore. On the other, he wanted and craved the way the outline of your dick just barely rubbed in between his ass.

Gosh, he couldn’t believe this was even happening. How could someone like you do this with someone like him? Were you not disgusted?

“What did I say about paying attention?” you groaned, increasing the pace of your thrusts and hands.

“S-sorry didn’t mean to.”

Hips shaking, you knew Idia was close, the twitching of his cock and the way his hair flared up gave it away. As if it wasn't enough, his moans and whimpers also grew in volume, and you saw how Idia’s nails scratched the thin wallpaper in front of him.

Your grinding against him turned rapid and damn near savage. One of your hands slid down, playing with the heavy set of balls below his dick. Not even five seconds later, Idia let out a pleasurable scream, feeling his orgasm come from the set of skilled hands that were still working.

With Idia’s hot cum all over your palms and fingers, you rutted your hips against him. Letting out a fat load inside your underwear, you could do nothing but wish that it was instead inside your stalker’s hole.

“HaaaAh— Please, it h-hurts!”

‘Oh shit.’

You forgot that you were still fisting his dick.

Hands instantly letting go, you had to wrap your arms around his waist so he wouldn’t collapse onto the floor. All you could hear were his loud gasps, echoing around the empty hallway.

Later on, you’d come to hear about a new set of ghost rumors. Ones that contained weird noises coming from the hallway you two were in.

notes: idia is so cute i need to give him a sloppy handjob and hear him cry about it. 😕

[14thgalerie]

dreamin' of him

• pairing: theodore nott x reader

• now playing: a little death by the neighbourhood / fuck it i love you by lana del rey

• word count: 5.7k

• genre: fluff

— a part of this is inspired by this scenario i saw on tiktok, can't exactly remember it which vid it was. anyways enjoy this little random scenario that i'm pretty sure is horrible because i didn't bother to proofread it again.

You shot right up from your sleep, limbs tangled in the sheets that had been strewn about haphazardly. The room is still as dark as it had been when you fell asleep with only the faint light of the full moon serving as your guiding light.

You drop your head onto your hands that sit on your folded knees, pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes until you can only see white. Ignoring the pain only so that you can be rid of the images that keep flashing in your mind.

It was excruciating, it played like a broken VHS record on your parents’ television back home. Every millisecond, a frame of you in such a vulnerable embrace with–

No. Y/N, stop it.

You were grappling with your sanity, feeling yourself incredulous at how such an idea came to fruition in your mind. Several nights’ on the end of this senseless, out-of-the-world dream that popped out of nowhere. The both of you hardly spoke with one another, for Merlin’s sake.

Throwing your head back, giving up on forcing the images out of your thoughts. Your head was spinning. Slamming your temple against the solid, wooden headboard behind you until you hear a ring resonating through your ears.

How did you let yourself get into this? What happened that you are being haunted— if that’s what you would even call it — by these dreams?

It’s been days of sleepless nights and you are plain tired. He must have cursed you. There was no other reason for this, right? He could be annoying when he wanted to be.

With your back resting on the headboard, you see that your dorm mates haven’t gotten back yet. Still, you remain seated as you wonder where they are, staring at the open window to your right.

“You’re the only one that can do this to me, Y/N…”

You gasp and sit straight, slapping your forehead with your open palm, trying to chase the image away. Throwing a glance at your watch that sits on the bedside table, you see that it’s only an hour and a half before you are supposed to wake up.

Exhaling loudly, you shove the blankets away from your body, feeling a warmth creep up on you. Maybe a good, cold, and long shower will distract you for good.

Grabbing a change of clothes, you head straight for the bathroom in your dorm. Now’s one of the few times you are glad that the dorms at Hogwarts have their own showers. 

Looking at the small, worn mirror above the sink, you chuckle humorlessly at how disheveled your appearance is. Anyone who sees you right now might think that your dreams are last night’s reality.

Stepping under the painful cold water, your body unconsciously jolts at the shock. 

Thinking about it makes your heart race. It gives you jitters, too. The feeling wasn't much to your liking. It was distracting. Not to mention it made you feel so... vulnerable. A shiver ran up your spine. You paused for a breath to calm your heightened nerves.

This has to end soon. You couldn’t stand another night spent thinking of him, of all people.  

“I uh- I need to go.” You cough, clearing your throat, hands shaking slightly as you move to stand up. “I still have this essay for Potions.” 

“What- Hey wait, Y/N!” Harry reaches out, nearly missing your arms. 

“Why are you suddenly running off? It’s not due until next week?” Giving you a worried look. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Harry. I feel extraordinarily perfect, I just- I wanna go back to my room right now.” You sigh, looking up at him. Your body remains tense under his tight grip. “So please let me go.”

Harry tries to not look disappointed, giving a quick glance back at your two other friends who watch you in silence. “Alright then, but if you need anything, you know where to find us.”

Giving him a small nod before pivoting in your heel, you walked straight to the Great Hall's large entryway. You ignored the way your skin burned with the intensity of the searing eyes that had locked onto you since its entry. 

“Why did you leave in such a hurry?” A cool voice asks from behind you. 

You freeze.

“Pardon?” You conjure up a reply, bluntly.

“Ok- what’s got your knickers in a twist?” 

“Nothing!” You reply defensively. Wanting nothing more than to be back within the confines of your dorm room.

“Alright, alright. I got it.” The cool, calm voice waves off an erratic rhythm to your heart. You continue to stare forward along the corridor, paying no mind as he circles around until there is a face attached to the voice. “I was just wondering why you skittered out of the Hall faster than when you were caught by Filch with the Weasley twins.”

Tilting your chin towards your chest, “What do you want, Nott?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, “I was just curious, that is all.”

You scoff at the mockery clear in his tone. “Seriously, what is it? Because if you’re only here to be an annoying twat, I have better places to be.” 

You purposely bump into his shoulder as you make your way past him. Not in the mood to play along with him right now. Not when that stupid smirk of his is reeling images that you have been tirelessly trying to be rid of. Images that are the cause of your cranky attitude in the mornings.

From the corner of your eyes, you see him cock his head slightly to the right. Another thing you hate. He becomes more incessantly annoying when you are visibly annoyed by him.

“Nott.” You warn.

“What?“ He asks, amusement clear in his tone. “Am I not allowed to walk the same grounds that you do now?”

“Walk elsewhere. I am quite sure that you know of other paths from here to wherever you are to go. With your many endeavors, it’ll be stupid if you didn’t.” You murmur the latter under your breath.

“What was that?” He catches up to you, walking leisurely with his long legs. “Didn’t quite hear that last part properly.”

Before you could reply, a shout from the courtyard called both of your attention. A redhead girl from Ravenclaw was waving in your direction. You turn to look at Theodore who has now turned his sight back to you.

“I think she’s waiting for you.” You swiftly walk towards your house tower, making haste before he follows you again.

Unbeknownst to you, his stare remains fixated on you until your figure disappears around the corner. Only then does he wave back at the girl and make a quick return to the Hall where he left his friends mid-conversation. 

 It wasn’t the last that you see of Theodore after, nor was it the last morning when you woke up groggy and irritated at the lack of sleep. It seems that since then, the both of you find yourselves orbiting each other much more often than before.

Not that you found it all disappointing. 

There were times that he was a good companion to have around— forget the hooded eyes that left you conscious every time. When he isn’t being an annoying twat, he knew how to hold a conversation with you; your lack of similarities is a good point as you were able to share things that the other didn’t know of.

But in truth, Theodore searched for you. In the boisterous chatters of students in the corridors, between the towering bookshelves of the library, through the window of the dimly lit Potions classroom where he has a clear view of Hagrid’s hut where you and your friends frequent.

He looks for you in all places, unable to help himself from an attempt to have a glimpse of you.

He did give his best efforts to tuck away his inexplainable attraction to you recently, and he wouldn’t dare admit that there is even a chance that he does. His denial was a fortress but cracks appeared within its walls with each time he talks to you.

“She’s at the Hospital Wing.” Blaise hesitatingly brings up. 

He almost jerks up from his comfortable position on the couch where he and Blaise are observers of their other friend’s drunken endeavors. But he manages to grab a hold of himself before the other notices.

“Why bother telling me?” His forced indifference is not as apathetic as he wished it to be. “I don’t care.”

“Oh shut up, Theo. I have never seen you so utterly fond of another girl like you do with her.” Blaise retracts back to what he was gonna say, “Anyways, I hear she will be a volunteer ahead of the Quidditch match this Sunday.”

He doesn’t reply, letting the words of his friend slip from one ear to another. You were interesting. He was unsure how, in the many years you’ve known one another, that you caught his eye now.

“She’s nice, not unlike some of her friends at Gryffindor.” Blaise continues with his taunting, eager to see a reaction from Theo. “Even managed to convince me to be her partner for Herbology.”

Theo makes a noise in a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. “From the sound of how you speak of her, it’s like you’re the one that has caught butterflies.”

Blaise simply hums, nodding to himself. “Maybe.”

Not another word slips from him again. The silence of his relinquishment makes Theo’s heart skip a nervous beat. Blaise never gives up that easily.  

“Hello there.” A voice makes you look up from your book which you have been drowned in since hours ago. To your surprise, it was Blaise. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask. Curious why he had so suddenly appeared beside you while you were studying. You scour your brain, trying to remember if you had a project with him that ultimately passed by you.

“Go to Hogsmeade with me later.” Blaise blurts out while you gather your books that are scattered along the table. 

“Huh?” You look up at him with wide eyes. You give out a confused laugh. Maybe you didn’t understand him, right? “Did I hear you right? Hogsmeade? The two of us?”

“Well, don’t make it sound like it’s such an atrocious thing.” He makes a sound of mock offense; even making the choice to put a hand above his chest. To which you vehemently shake your head.

“Gosh no! It’s just-“ You trail off. “Why all of a sudden?”

“Nothing at all…” He shrugs, but that look on his face tells you entirely different. The mischievous expression that is ever so slightly slipping through. “Just wanted to hang out with a good friend of mine.”

You look at him with a confused frown, unsure of what he’s doing. “Since when were we good friends? Last I checked we only talked every now and then and it was really only just for projects.”

“Just come with me, will you?” 

“No.” You shake your head to further make your point. “Tell me why first and maybe I’ll consider.”

Blaise sighs, giving up. He had expected that you would not be giving in so easily to his request, after all, you weren’t really that close. But he still thought that it was worth the try, he is tired of Theo acting like he’s better than his emotions. He decides to tell you.

Well… somewhat.

“Alright, lady. I want to make a friend of mine jealous.” You hummed, listening intently. Wondering why he chose you to do it. “Also, because you’re the only person that I genuinely enjoy hanging with from other houses.”

“Will you tell me who’s the friend?” You ask.

“No.” He quickly replies, “But Y/N…I’ll treat you with anything you want at the Three Broomsticks or wherever else. Just please.” He draws out the please, adding hints or really a dump load of sweetness to it to charm you.

You think for a second more before finally giving him a nod. “Ok, but you’ll have to come with me to Honeydukes. Payback for doing whatever it is you’re planning.”

“You can have whatever you want. I’ll wait for you by the Fat Lady.” Blaise tells you before walking off with a huge grin on his face. 

“Y/N?”

And when you turned your head, a surprised Blaize looked at you with a smile, apparently he had just been in mid-conversation with a fellow Slytherin as he hung about the entrance.

He whistled as he wasted no time approaching you, waving a curt goodbye to his previous companion. 

“Remind me why you never wear clothes other than your uniform?” He asks, his eyes unabashedly trailing over you. Though not in a predatory way that leaves you uncomfortable.

“Because it’s a hassle having to think of an outfit when I could just put a uniform on and call it a day.”

He hums, nodding as he thought about it.

“Well you look good in your non-school clothes, you should wear them more often.” He suggests, although he quickly amends it. “Not that I’m saying you don’t look great normally, it’s just nice to see how you would personally choose the clothes you wear. It kind of reflects a lot of your personality more.”

The two of you make no rush as you travel to Hogsmeade along with the other students, chuckling at the eager third-years who are freely roaming around. Engaging in small talk all the way. 

“What’s got you in such a sour mood?” You rolled your eyes at Theo, who has done nothing but glare at Blaise who sits beside you with such harsh blinding venom. “If all you plan to do here is to murder Blaise in a million ways inside your mind, then please do it some other time.”

The man beside you couldn’t help the amused choke that escapes him as he sips his glass of Butterbeer.

Theo finally breaks his lone stare down and shifts his attention to you. “Since when did you two hang about by yourselves?”

“We always have-“ Blaise starts to explain but he is cut off by a kick to his shin that makes his knee jerk up and hit the table. 

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

His eyes remained fixated on you still, a medley of emotions behind them that you couldn’t exactly pinpoint. 

“Well, Y/N? I’m waiting for you here.” He impatiently asks. “Are you two on a date?”

“Theo, if you think that we are, then why did you even come here?” You roll your eyes at whatever antics that the both of them are trying. Not realising that you called him by his nickname, usually reserved for his close friends.

“Well-“ He stammered, unable to explain why exactly did he approach you all of a sudden. “Blaise doesn’t have that good of a reputation with girls and I wanted to make sure he’s not trying anything with you.”

Blaise clears his throat in an attempt to remind his friend that he is still sitting at the table, clearly within earshot of whatever slander he’s being put to.

“I can hardly think of a reason why you would if he does, but we were just having a conversation as friends, Theo.” You finally answer. “Is it that much of a surprise that I tolerate one of you?”

“He wants it to be him.” The man beside you mutters under his breath which you ignore, thinking it is only a jab.

Theo once again kicks Blaise under the table, making the latter swear under his breath.

While the two of them bicker like they are some man-child, you spot Hermione and the rest of your friends coming in through a tiny door and sitting at a table by the staircase. You scoot over until you are out of the seat, glad that you chose to sit at the open end of the table, without making a noise.

You make quick haste to transfer to your friends' table without garnering attention from the two Slytherin boys.

“Hide me.” You drop your heavy body on the seat beside Harry, trying your best to hunch over his relatively short upper body. 

The three instead laugh at your obvious demise, Ron not even trying to hide his amusement with such a burst of boisterous laughter. Unlike you, the three had noticed how Theodore Nott had been seen beside you much more often than necessary. At first, it was nothing that they really paid attention to, but when you told them of your otherwise eventful dreams…they began to have other thoughts.

It was clear that both of you were attracted to one another except for yourselves. And it’s been a hilarious sight to be an audience to but they are beginning to tire of your constant zoning off when the other is in your peripheral.

“What even is with you and Blaise coming to Hogsmeade together?” Ron asks. “I thought you liked Nott.”

You exhaled in exasperation, “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t like him.” Gritting your teeth and clenching your jaw at the blatant teasing. “I am seriously beginning to regret telling you about my dreams.”

You watch as Harry stands to grab drinks for the rest of you guys, trying to explain why you came here. Not forgetting to mention how Theo had suddenly the conversation you’ve been having with Blaise. 

You were shocked to find that the both of you actually shared a lot of the same interests in various aspects; books, music, values, name it all. So despite your previous disinclination to agree with his idea that you would get along well, you thoroughly enjoyed the short time that you spent alone. 

His genuine interest in the many muggle creations that you’ve mentioned has made you all giddy. Telling him of all and everything that he must try, making a mental note to give him some things that you have in your dorm.

On the other end, Blaise shared a few of his interests with you— though it was only very few, given that the wizarding world does not really pay much attention to those kinds of things, especially the purebloods. 

“So just because he bribed you with anything you want from Honeydukes, you agreed? Y/N!” Hermione exclaims, to which you only answer her with wide eyes. 

“What?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows at the bewildered expression on her face. 

“You’ve been to Hogwarts for how many years now and yet you have no idea what going to Hogsmeade with only one person insinuates?”

“Uh- What?”

“That you two are going on a date of course?” She practically scolds you. Maybe you shouldn’t laugh at Ron anymore when she becomes like this. It's no joke that it feels like you could be the stupidest person on the planet.

“We’re only friends, for Merlin’s sake! Well, we became friends today.” You roll your eyes. “It’s not my fault that is what might people think.”

Harry and Ron look at each other with more than amused grins on their faces.

“I think I finally know why Nott was practically making the snow melt under his feet earlier,” Ron remarks. To which you give him a confused look, unsure what he meant.

“What?”

“Well, before we came in here, we saw Nott almost stomp his way to here. I swear that I actually saw steam coming out of his ears.” Ron exaggeratingly shares, taking a sip out of his pint glass. “I thought he was about to burn this place down to ashes with how he looked so mad.”

That explains why he’s being more moody than usual.

“What’s that got to do with Blaise and I?” You finally ask the question that’s been brewing in you since he mentioned it.

But the only response you get is a look of disbelief from all three of them. Each one just about screaming “Are you being serious?” without saying anything.

“Are you truly that dense Y/N?” Harry asks, his hand reaching out to pat you on the shoulder.

You push him off, glaring at him. “No, but seriously what do you mean?”

“Even Harry and Ron, oblivious as they come, recognise that Nott has some kind of interest in you.” Hermione explains, “I don’t even know if he realised it himself but the two of you are oozing love hearts everywhere you go. It’s torture to see how you both ignore it.”

You're left dumbfounded, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment at the mere suggestion. Your thoughts racing as you consider Hermione's words. Theodore Nott, the mysterious and enigmatic Slytherin, having an interest in you? It was a revelation that sent your mind reeling, and you couldn't help but wonder if you had been completely oblivious to his feelings all along.

No. That’s just… wrong. This had to be another one of their pranks again. Ever since you confided in them of your dreams, they’ve been ceaselessly teasing you with Theo. Yeah, this must be it.

You chose to respond in a haughty tone, in an attempt to mask her flustered feelings. “Gosh, if this is what spurs in your minds when I tell you about my struggles at night, then I’d rather just keep them to myself from now on. Find something else to speculate about.” 

Unbeknownst to you, while you were so flustered trying to deny anything and everything they say of you and Theo, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had mentally orchestrated a plan. Harry subtly made a signal to the other two to play along as he saw Theo stand up from his heated conversation with Blaise to approach you four.

With sly smiles quickly masked, they leaned in closer to you and feigned curiosity. 

“Alright then,” Ron begins, “But I heard from Hermione that you had another dream last night. Is it as juicy as last time?” 

Harry chimed in, his eyebrows raised suggestively. “Yes, please spill the details. We’re all ears.”

Caught off guard by their sudden and out-of-place interest.  “I said that I’m never telling you of anything again. And it's not juicy! Please don't ever use that word ever again.” You never wanted to divulge anything related to your rather steamy dreams again to your friends. 

“This is the last time, we promise! And we promise to not annoy you any more with Nott.” Hermione exclaims though you reach out to slap her on her arm at how loudly she said it. Looking around the bustling crowd to see if anyone heard it, confused when you see Blaise sitting with somebody else now, probably some friends from Slytherin, Theo nowhere in sight.

Little did she know that Theo had indeed overheard their conversation and as he was slowly nearing their table, curiosity piqued as he heard his name. He slowed in his steps, waiting to hear more.

Your face turned an even deeper shade of crimson as you think back to last night, a bit different— a whole lot different. The dream had left you truly confused because it was nothing like the otherwise steamy ones you had. It was unsettlingly normal, and it has left you with a sense of unease that left you unable to sleep properly, terrified at what this means.

 You cleared your throat, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "Well, it was just a, you know, like the ones I told you. Nothing too different. I still hate it."

Hermione's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in, feigning innocence. "From the look on your face, it seems to be different. Tell us about it, pretty please."

You hesitated but then began to describe the dream in the most vague and unassuming way possible, but you knew no matter what you said, they would use this to tease you endlessly. "Alright, alright. So, in the dream, I was in the Black Lake, and there was a gentle, warm breeze. I was walking with someone, and it was peaceful. It was like…everything is normal. No war, no problems, no animosity, just us walking like any normal person.”

Harry and Ron exchanged knowing glances, while Hermione continued to prod gently. "And who were you walking with, Y/N?"

Your gaze darted around the table, avoiding eye contact. Not seeing how their eyes slightly shifted behind you. "Well, it was just someone... you know, a dream version of someone I know. Like you don’t know already."

Hermione shook her head, “Yeah but this is different, so it must be somebody else right?”

“Hermione…It’s Theo, who else.” 

"Y/N…" You hear a voice behind you call out in a low tone, with a thread of voice. 

Your eyes widen, filled to the brim with alertness and humiliation. Your mother was right, one day this mouth will get you in trouble— not that it hasn’t been proven countless times before— but now nothing made you want to become more one with the ground than this moment.

You swallow hard and turn around, instantly the mortification in your features becomes tenfold. There it is— the stupid, bloody smirk that is always present on his stupid, pretty face when he has caught you red-handed. 

“Don’t.” You warn.

He leans his entire weight back on the wooden post behind him, staring down at you with a look of satisfaction, unapologetically reveling in your obvious embarrassment.

“Oh, but I must.” He drawls, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Your frustration surges as you fold your arms, attempting to salvage a shred of dignity in this awkward moment. You give him a glare before turning back front facing to the table.

“You are truly insufferable, you know that?”

Without even being able to see it, you already know that his grin widens at your reply. “Guilty, I’m afraid.”

Theo pushed himself off the wooden post and sauntered closer to where you were sitting, making your heart stutter. The playful glint in his eyes brings forth an image that you would rather not see right now.

"But what's the fun in letting you off the hook so easily? It’s not every day that I find out somebody has been kept awake all night because of me."

You could only continue to cast a withering look at him as you shook your head. "You just love tormenting me, don't you?"

He sits down on the seat next to you, ignoring the other occupants who have reserved to remain quiet. Truly enjoying the show that you, unfortunately, are the star of. He inches closer to you until you can almost feel your eyelashes flutter at his breath.

“Only because I quite enjoy how flustered you can be.” He admits softly, and in that moment the playful teasing in his voice gives way to something else.

A different kind of tension. 

Not one that you would like to be a part of.

“Well, that would be the last of it.” 

Theo and your friends are left bewildered when you suddenly stand and disappear among the group of rowdy students.

His eyebrows furrow and his gleaming expression turns into one of confusion and a hint of hurt and disappointment. “What just happened?”

When he finally turns to look at your friends, all they do is share uneasy glances with each other. They were unsure of how to respond to Theo’s question when they could hardly comprehend what had only occurred.

Hermione opens her mouth to say something but closes it once more when the words in her mind are a jumble.

“Astronomy Tower.” He hears someone say. His cerulean blue eyes that somehow turned grey shifted to the bespectacled boy sitting a chair away from him. “Go.” 

“Why did you run off?” You ignore the voice that shatters the silence. The bristles of the wind brush against your clothes. Your head thrumming as the sound of your shoes clicking against the concrete permeates into the air. 

He calls you by your name with a gentleness that sends tingles down your spine. But yet again, you ignore him. Choosing to stare intently at the rust that forms by the railing in front of you, the complex chemical reaction is seemingly more interesting to you now. 

“Y/N please…I don't know what’s going on your mind right now but we need to talk.” He moves to stand next to you, placing his arms on the barrier. “I will say it, no matter if you want to listen or not. We clearly have feelings for each other.”

You want to say that you are surprised that he is being so straightforward right now, but it’s evident that someone had to stop whatever dance the both of you had been playing at for the past month already. 

 “And that’s confirmed by what I heard earlier.” He chuckles in an attempt to lighten up the mood. “Gods, I hate you so much.”

“Your dreams say otherwise.” He continues with his teasing.

“Stop it. As if you’re any better with how you acted with Blaise earlier.” You hit him back. “Blaise is an annoying ass who meddles in my business way more often than necessary. But I guess he did one thing right.”

“What?” You ask, turning your body to lean on the railing, facing him.

“He kept bothering me about you, and I guess he got tired and decided to make a move leading us to this moment.” 

“He can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be." You agree. Silence befalling after.

“Gods, I don’t know what happened but it’s you.” He breathes heavily.  

A laugh escapes your chest, “If somebody came to us two months ago and told us that we’d be acting like this, I would think they’re mental.”

Theo grins at you, making you giggle to see the little fang on the corner of his mouth. He places his hands on your cheeks and cradles your face, making a move to press his forehead to yours as he nears.

The vivid, flashing images of Theo from your dreams doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing. The skin under his touch tingled and it made you itch to reach out with your fingertips, feeling as if you would crumble beneath his hands.

You pull away to stare up at him. The cold that typically veils over his eyes are gone as they reciprocate your stare with an even warmer touch. Every nerve ends in you lighting up with a golden electricity.

Theo opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, and then shut it, apparently struggling to remember how to talk.

So, he decided that actions seem to be your thing anyways, as the two of you are quite horrible at talking.

Carefully, almost as if he’s never done it before, Theo leans forward and presses his lips against yours so gently. All you can think about is him even as you respond to his kiss, melting against the touch. 

He pressed himself into you, attempting to tangle your bodies together. He wants to feel every inch of you against his skin, willing the gods to let you be one. Hell, he wanted to climb into your ribcage and possibly live out the rest of his days inside your heart.

You gasp as his hands creep under your shirt and trail along your lower back, though he doesn’t wander. He takes this as an opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, exploring eagerly.

You tilt forward, answering his devotion with an equal eagerness. In your distraction, your hands slide from their hold on his shirt and travel until your fingertips meet behind his nape.

This goes for a while before a sudden splash from the waters below you makes you jump apart, though still very much physically attached. His arms were still tightly wound around your waist.

“I think that’s a sign we should stop for now.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Laughter met in the air between you—sweet, short, intertwined. Although you would like to have another one of your dreams to come true, you want to take it slow. The idea that he thought of you as you did to him has still not truly sunk into your mind.

Even now as he leans his face slightly towards yours again and begins to leave soft, tender kisses all over your cheek, making butterflies appear in your stomach.

“Gods, I just realised something.” You laugh all of a sudden, making him stand up straight to look at you curiously. “What is it?”

“I just made Ron win a bet for the first time since we all became friends.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he was the first person to tease me about these stupid dreams–”

“Excuse me, I rather think it’s not.” He interrupts playfully raising an eyebrow. “Shush.”

“Anyways,” You continue, “Harry and Hermione initially thought it was nothing and that it probably would stop after a while— obviously not. So Ron set a bet that I’ll end up having feelings for you or we’ll end up together.”

He chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I’m still surprised they didn’t hate the idea. With us being in literal houses that hate each other.”  

“They’re only annoyed at some of you, honestly. The ones that perpetuate the ‘Slytherin’ motto too much.” 

"Plus," he continued, the joking tone in his voice fading a bit, "even if they did have complaints, I would have ignored every single one and still pursued you."

“As if! You stormed to Hogsmeade just to interrupt our ‘date’ and you wouldn’t even admit it. If it weren’t for what our friends did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

“Let me pretend, for goodness’ sake woman!”

His playful exasperation brought a genuine smile to your face, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade as you got lost in the playful banter you're used to with him.

masterlist

[traveler-at-heart]

Cat's out of the (super) bag

Summary: Natasha doesn't like going on missions with you. Learning the truth might make her change her mind.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Big thanks to @soggy-wet-cat for hearing this idea before I wrote it :)

--

Fury was going soft.

That was the only way to explain your presence on most of Natasha’s missions.

Rogers, she gets. He’s a super soldier and as capable as Natasha is, it doesn’t hurt to have an enhanced individual around.

But you.

Always slow, always too relaxed for Natasha’s liking. Insisting you could do more, but last week you weren’t even able to pick a lock.

Not to mention how much you avoid hand to hand combat. Natasha suspects it’s because your skill level is very low.

“She’d do better out of the field” Natasha complains for the tenth time. Fury smirks. “This isn’t funny. I’m risking my neck to protect her and she’s not even worried about getting better. I’m not doing missions with her anymore”

“Now, hold on” Fury protests. “That’s not for you to decide. And I thought you trusted me”

“It’s her I can’t trust”

“Too damn bad. You have a mission. No Rogers this time. And I better hear it went well, Romanoff”

Natasha rolls her eyes and leaves his office.

It will only go well if she convinces you to sit and wait at the jet.

—

“What did you do to piss off Romanoff?”

“Morning to you too, Nick” you smile, placing a cup of coffee in front of him. “I don’t know. It’s pretty obvious she doesn’t like me”

“I know that. Have you done anything to upset her?”

“I barely speak to her and when I do she doesn’t answer” you shrug your shoulders, going back to every interaction you’ve had with the redhead. Her intense glare comes back to haunt you. “Do you think she knows?”

“You tell me. Did you screw up?”

“I keep a low profile. Like you asked me to” you nod, knowing how important this is for him.

“Better stay that way. You’re both leaving for a mission tomorrow” the man hands you a folder and you skim it. “Keep your head down and don’t make her angrier”

“Is that even possible?”

“You don’t wanna know”

—

It’s a mess from the start. You try to stay away from Natasha, but every time your attempts go in the worst way possible. Like when she’s walking down the jet, and you move aside so she has space. Except you end up pushing a few buttons on the console and Natasha has to come back and straighten the ship.

“Stay still” she mutters, glaring. You nod and sit on your hands, more concerned with the woman’s temper than about the mission.

“Wait here” is all she says after landing the jet.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a very simple mission” Natasha says, without looking at you, focused on adjusting her widow bites. “So, if you really want to help, stay out of my way”

“That’s not the plan. I’m supposed to watch the south entrance”

“They’ll never even noticed I inflitrated the building”

“You’re not my boss. Fury is. And if he wants me to stand outside and watch the south entrance, then that is exacly what I’ll do, Natasha”

The redhead finally turns back to look at you, surprised. This is the first time she’s seen you upset. You’re walking past her, not bothering to look her way… have you always been this tall? It always seems like you’re trying to look small.

“Hey” Natasha tries to make you turn, grabbing your arm. She’s surprised by how strong you are. “You better not screw up. Or I’ll make sure you’re on desk duty for the rest of your career, Y/L/N”

“Oh, now that’s funny. I’ve been here far longer than you” you lean forward, whispering. Natasha tries to understand what you mean, her eyes scanning your features for a sign. Aware of how close you are to her, you take a step back and jump out the door, ignoring the ladder.

Ridiculous, to think that you (you!) are an incompetent agent.

Maybe Fury was wrong for asking you to do this.

You’re kicking the ground, huffing every few minutes, still fuming at Natasha’s words. All this time, you thought she didn’t like you and though it sucked, you could live with that. But saying you were bad at your job when it was the exact opposite makes you see red.

“Y/N?” Natasha says over the comms.

“Here” you answer.

“A little help”

Those three words make your stomach drop. Natasha asking for your help?

This must be life or death kind of bad.

“Tell me where you are” you ask, breaking into the building.

“Intelligence room. Surrounded by at least 20 guards”

“Use the vents to go out and grab one of their vehicles. I’ll distract them”

“You’re gonna take down 20 people all on your own?”

“Just do as I say, Romanoff”

It feels good to finally use all your strenght. You practically rip open a door that sets off an alarm, and then you throw a couple of grenades around.

Now, all eyes are on you.

Sure enough, it takes them a few minutes to come find you, but you’re ready to shoot at the first guards, and when the second wave has gone through their ammo, you prepare for hand to hand combat.

“I’m out but there are two individuals after me. Towards the east, away from the jet”

“Got it. Gentleman” you turn to the man. “Change of plans. Let me go or die. Whichever is fine by me”

They laugh, until you send one of them flying across the room, his neck snapping.

“Who’s next, ladies?”

—

How could this mission have gone so wrong? Now Natasha is navigating the snowy road on a motorcycle, being chased by two of the guards and dodging their bullets.

The cold air is stabbing her hands and face but she has to keep going. She is too far away to communicate with you, but hoped you had the good sense of going back to the jet.

She’d find a way to survive.

Or maybe not, as she notices a third motorcycle joining the chase.

Through the rearview mirror, she sees the new person approaching one of the guards. A fight ensues and an exchange of shots. Next thing Natasha saw was the motorcycles colliding.

“Y/N?” she tries the comms, hoping you aren’t stupid enough to be knocking down people. Whoever those two were, the force of the hit was enough to kill them.

And yet, one of them begins to run after Natasha and the man still chasing her. The figure is fast approaching, which is ridiculous, considering Natasha was going 150 miles per hour.

The brute is clearly scared, as his movements become more erratic, trying to get rid of Natasha and the mysterious figure at the same time. He shoots behind him and then at Natasha, getting to one of the tires in her bike.

She tries to keep the handle steady, but can’t turn on the curve ahead of her. Natasha is sent flying directly to a river, the cold water making her momentarily paralized. The currents confused her, and she couldn’t tell up from down. She swam and swam, until her arms were too tired.

She began to drift, and the last thing she saw was a shadow hovering above her.

—

“Natasha? Nat?” you plead, doing CPR as gently as you can. You don’t want to add cracked ribs to her list of injuries.

Finally, after what felt like hours but were only seconds, Natasha lunges forward, coughing and throwing up water. You hold her head, helping her until she can breathe again.

“I’m freezing” Natasha complains, looking around. “Did we lose them? How did you…” she then turns to you and widens her eyes. “You’re bleeding”

“Yeah, he shot me. It’ll stop in a second. And yes, we lost them. Though I’m sure HYDRA is sending more people to track us down. Come on” you stand up, offering your hand. Natasha takes it and is once again surpised by how strong you are.

Your body is also warmer than hers, even if you dived to rescue her. On pure instinct, Natasha comes closer, practically melting against your body heat.

“You’re hiding something” she states and you chuckle.

“Now’s not the time. Come on, I’ll carry you. There must be a safe house close to the river”

Natasha climbs to your back, and as if she weights nothing, you walk down the river, trusting she’ll keep an eye for any place to hide.

Sure enough, after ten minutes of walking, the redhead gets your attention and points at the right. There’s a small cottage hiding between some trees.

“Here” you say as you kick open the door, not bothering to find a key. You set Natasha down and go around the place, looking for blankets and anything that will make her warm.

“Did it stop bleeding?” she asks, looking at your abdomen. You nod, placing a blanket over her shoulder and checking for other injuries. “Are you a super soldier?”

You smile, thinking that Fury will be up in arms. But technically, you didn’t tell Natasha. She figured it out.

“Yes”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Who else knows?” Natasha says, pulling the blanket closer, as if it will help her cover from you as well. It’s clear she doesn’t trust you right now.

“Fury asked me to keep a low profile. He’s the only one that knows. I think he’s concerned about the integrity of SHIELD. You know him, keeping an ace up his sleeve”

“How long have you known him for?”

“Thirty years, give or take. My existence is top secret, and I spent some time away from the job. My father died, and he was the last person that I knew before everything, so… it was hard, I guess”

“I’m sorry”

“Me too. I didn’t like lying to you or pretending to be something I’m not”

Natasha kicks herself for not noticing sooner. It’s so glaringly obvious now that she has to roll her eyes at herself.

Your build, the fact that you never seem to be tired or catching your breath. Hell, the fact you never train with anyone else.

Natasha made an assumption and ran with it, instead of trying to see past it.

“Hey, you ok?” you ask, craddling her head in your hands. “Did you hit your head? Feel dizzy?”

“I’m just cold”

“We can’t start a fire” you regret, looking out. “Here” you pull her closer, your arms going around her shoulders. She tries to protest, but whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as soon as she feels how warm you are.

“This suit is all wet” she says, pulling away and taking it off. “Don’t look or I’ll kill you”

“Uh… what is going on?” your eyes dart to the ceiling, blushing. Then, you feel Natasha’s cold skin against you. “Jesus, Nat. You’re freezing”

You bury the both of you in more blankets, and feel her melting against your side. On instinct, your arms go around her waist and bring her closer, to which she responds by burying her face on the crook of your neck.

“So I can’t look but I can touch, huh?”

“Glad we understand each other”

—

“So…”

“So” Natasha says, landing the jet back home.

“Can we be friends? Friendly, at least?”

“No” she stands up, walking towards you. “Friends don’t look at each other the way you’ve been looking at me for the entire ride home”

“Can you blame me?” your eyes drift to her cleavage, remembering how she was practically naked and clinging to you as if her life depended on it.

“Wine and dine me, Y/L/N. And we’ll take it from there”

“Yes, Ma’am”

“Am I interrupting?” Fury shouts from the hangar.

“Yes” you say, but Natasha leaves, glaring at Fury on her way out.

“I’ve known you for thirty years and you still can’t keep it together around a pretty lady. And now I’m in trouble too” Fury says, clearly displeased.

“Hey, at least you don’t have that problem with Rogers, huh?”

“For now, Y/L/N. There’s always some trouble waiting around the courner”

You laugh and clap his back, leaving the jet. His plan may have failed, but you’re certainly not complaining.

Not when you have a hot date waiting for you.

[nouearth]

rated i for impatient.

steve harrington x male reader.

summary: in the middle of a slow afternoon at family video, steve has an idea on how to past time, and it involves you and your mouth.

wc: 3.4k. warnings: explicit smut, handjob (r!giving), blowjob (r!giving), mouth-fucking, deep-throating, lots of spit, gagging, bantering, workplace quickie, co-workers, established relationship, rough!steve, but also gentle!steve, bigdick!steve.

“Dude, you seriously couldn’t wait?” 

Heavy footsteps followed Steve as he dragged your trudge into the storage closet. Even though his back faced you, he responded with a shimmy of his shoulders, the flight of muscles equally excited to cease the sluggish afternoon.

“Oh, come on!” He shut the door once you entered with a distressed groan. Though, he knew you didn’t mean it despite your pointed tone. 

“I know you want to.” Steve sang with a tease, cornering you against the door with a playful dance, and a smile that had charmed you since the first time you had met him. 

You’d been keeping track at how many times Steve had simply captivated you with his presence. It was embarrassing because you’d lost count since day one. The only statistic that you did know was that you were losing.

Losing bad.

Always a goody two-shoes and extra responsible, yet somehow, you were never a prude and knew how to have fun. If only you weren’t so hesitant in this moment. It was your first week, your fourth day at Family Video, and you wanted to make a great impression, even if it was only something to fill up your time during the summer.

He continued to dance, singing a tune that had been stuck in his head since three mornings ago, and your lips curled into smile while he performed within the narrow space. A few stumbles threw him off balance, but upon seeing your lips bitten to hold back a laugh, the following trip had been intentional. 

Steve collided into you, though barely as he caught his weight against the door. A whisper of gasp dried your throat when the sudden thump by your shoulders jolted you and his face rushed close to yours like a bullet. Your gaze widened in surprise, only for them to roll once it catalogued the mischief on his face. “You know Keith kind of hates you, right? You’re going to be fucked if he catches you slacking again.”

“Me?! I’m sorry, are you a ghost or something? A figment of my imagination? Worse… I’ve huffed paint too many times when I was little, and now it’s all catching up to me.” There was amusement on his face and it reflected off of your smile. 

You straightened your posture to match his eye level, and rebutted his theory with the light touch of your nose to his. He laughed, wrapping his arms around your torso. “You’d get in trouble too, you know. Last time I checked, most sexual acts involve at least two participants.”

“Yeah, well, he likes me unlike you! If anything, he’d probably blame you for being a bad influence or something.” The possible truth expelled a groan out of Steve, but it doesn’t stop him from pouring the remainder of his frustration into your mouth. 

You took him in stride, earlier hesitance burying into the back of your mind when the fresh mint of his breath began haunting your mouth. Then, completely into obscurity when his tongue slid over yours, sloppily in hopes of awakening a fruitful lust, akin to his, within you.

“Steve… come on,” You pulled away, but Steve immediately captured your lips again in a tongue-swelling kiss. “What if customers come in?” You panted in between breaths, squeezing at his firm back to distract yourself from the growing tent within your khakis.

“I’ve been here longer than you, studied the activity down to the seconds.” He pressed into you, hip to hip, until you could feel his own muscle growing against yours. “We have at least ten minutes.”

“Ten?! Dude, that’s not enough—“

“Please?” Steve suddenly pulled your hand from his back and into the firmness of his bulge, looking into you with a desperation that rivaled the yearning freedom of his erection. “Please…” The curl of your hand was imposed by his grip, folding them until you had a handful of his bulge, throbbing at the mere friction of your warm palm.

“Fuck,” The determination in Steve’s gaze, as well as the devilish guidance of your own cock stirring against you, had your hand leave the aching muscle for a brief moment to hastily unbuckle his belt. You pressed your lips back to his, and muttered with a grimace. “You’re owing me one after work.”

“God, I love you.” He sighed with relief upon knowing that the heavy pressure in his pants would soon be released, thanking you by taking your cheeks into the dip of his palms and kissing you warm and wet. Even if it was going to be a quick one, his main priority was to be liberated of the painful throbs that had led him to this desperate juncture.

As much as Steve hated confined spaces, the feeling of the storage space closing in on him had only been fleeting because his desire for you was gravity-defying strong. It expanded the proximity at his very will until you were the only subject framed in his field of vision. 

Lips plumped from the bites he took from your flesh earlier, balmy skin speckled with a flush that he’d been the sole creator of, he couldn’t get enough of your presence. He took in your woody scent with deep inhales as he moved his lips to your neck, and your hands began digging into the waistband of his pants, pulling Steve close with a hard yank to harbor every warm breath into one another again.

With one swift pull, the belt collided with the floor and your hands worked at the zipper like a tailor until the khakis dropped and pooled around his ankles. You accompanied the leather and fabric seconds after, kneeling onto the cold surface with the eager guidance of Steve’s caresses to the back of your head. 

Kneeling face-to-face with his bulge, you couldn’t stop yourself from drooling even if Steve was covered. You could outline the girth of his cock, plumping and thickening under your piquant gaze, and then throbbing when you followed the curve with your palm in eager cycles until the waistband screamed for your attention. 

Your fingers hooked into the elastic band and in one slow pull, you revealed Steve’s erection in all its glory. Thick and unkempt hairs billowed first, and you played with the anticipation as you dragged the waistband over his length, weighting it downwards until all that was left covered was the plump tip that you can still taste from a few nights ago. In a final yank, Steve’s cock sprang up proudly and his groans were heavenly in its accompaniment. The weight of his large cock made him bounce in several reps before it was kept still by the warmth of your hand, then another over the remaining curve to amuse yourself with his blessed size.

“Jesus, did you not jerk off this morning? Haven’t seen or felt you this hard before...” Your mouth fell open in awe, and also in preparation to loosen the muscles in your jaw while your hands slid over him in slow strokes. Every vein throbbed at the delicate touch, pulsated strong when you squeezed a few sticky drips of his pre-cum from his spout. They would’ve landed on the undeserving floor had you not stuck your tongue out in time, lapping him up from the underside of his cock to the smooth pink rim. 

His cock jumped when your other hand dropped to fondle his balls, hanging low as if they awaited to be grasped and swung. You did exactly that as you licked the slit of his tip, amusing yourself with Steve’s package that you had sucked and fucked before, yet still managed to be surprised despite your many affairs.

“Not since we last fucked, to be honest.” At first, he balled the end of his shirt and raised it high to prevent it from obstructing your view, exposing the happy trail that you always traced over with your tongue on lazy Sundays. “Guess it wasn’t the same.” But the defy work of your hands spread the boil in his stomach to the muscular arch of his back, hot and heavy on his body until the weight of his shirt was thrown off. Moans exhaled in breathy tremors as you squeezed his shaft and pulled him forward and back in wall-closing jerks. 

“Well, I’m sorry for the long wait.” Your strokes continued while you sealed a wet promise to the pink glans. “I’ll make it worth it.” You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out to welcome the following sticky slaps of his heavy length in disgusting delight, holding him like a marker as you patterned his thick pre-cum over your pair of lips before the salty flesh was vaulted into your mouth with an inhale.

His length pushed your mouth open in an accommodating stretch, almost pleasurable if he hadn’t been so difficult to take in. The first few inches gagged you, ached a muscle in your stomach when you flexed. It was traditional at this point, and your routine often consisted of stroking the shaft that had yet felt the heat of your mouth. The sliminess of your tongue as you bathed Steve’s cock in stomach-churning sin, lapping the musk of him from the loose scrotum to the plump head. 

And it was a routine to attempt to take him again. You spat in your hand before lubing his stiff in a glaze that caught the light of his eyes, then the hiccup of his moan. “Fuck, you know I love it when you do that…”

“Yeah?” You smiled, his compliments sent straight to your erection while the sticky sounds of bubbles and drool soiled his cock in pure lust in lazy strokes, then sealed when you wrapped your lips around him again, and pushed down when the pulse of his veins beckoned you.

The size of his cock drew a moan out of you, tremors rimming the shaft while you prepared the opening of your throat little by little. Drool leaked from either corners of your mouth, staining your flushed skin and then the floor, but you hadn’t been bothered to save them despite your reputation of being a clean-freak. 

When it came to Steve, you were in a state of delirium that had forgotten who you were because there was only one purpose on your mind: to pleasure. 

“Shit, (M/N)—“ His hands had left you to fold his arms behind his head, allowing his silhouette to become yours to own and to rapture over as you worked him like one your favorite treats at the candy store. He slipped in and out of you, closer to the barrier of your throat with the help of his thrusts, and the only time you’d take a break was when you suckled on his balls. As his cock hung over your face, head dripping in saliva and thick pre-cum, you found enjoyment in rolling his balls like dice: another one of Steve’s favorite moves.

Steve was heavy on your tongue and the only way you could thank him for blessing you with his fruitful cock, was to love-bomb him with all of his favorite desires. You lined the underside with your tongue until your lips met the pink glans again, speckling it with a playful pecks before weighing his shaft down with your spit once again. “Have you always liked it sloppy?”

“Mm—no…” He murmured, and you looked up into the heaviness of his lids, surprised by his confession. “Not until I met you. For others, it’s kind of gross, but… you do it differently. Tastefully, and I’m not trying to be funny.”

You laughed at the unintentional joke and Steve joined your amusement with a smile, petting the back of your head before it was guided back to swallow him whole this time. Your mouth stretched wide the more he pushed you, burying the remnants of your humored-self into the pit of your throat with the ample of his throbbing erection. Your hands held around his thighs to brace for the oncoming gags and Steve does the same around your head, threading his fingers into your hair with a strong grip as he pushed, and pushed, and pushed, until tears brimmed the highlights of your eyes.

“Holy shit—“ Steve was enamored by the feeling of stuffing you whole. The confines of your mouth and throat restricted the blood flow around him, yet he couldn’t have felt himself pulsate more, stiffen harder in between your godly gags and whimpers. The scratches at his thighs was a telling sign for him to pull you back, and so he does in what felt like slow motion. His cock unsheathed out of your throat like a sleeve, unraveling a spell of gasps and bubbling moans in midst. 

“You did so good, baby… fuck.” Cupping your cheek, he briefly bent down to meet you in the middle of his gratification, kissing you proud and golden on your breathless smile before he tore himself away to spit inside of your mouth and submerging his saliva down your mouth with his cock again. Despite the sting in your eyes and throat, you were compliant to his every move and welcomed the sheathing of his wet flesh in prideful determination.

Steve’s hands had moved to either sides of your head, where he had complete control of every bone and muscle of your neck, and the desire to fuck your tight mouth had become a victorious reality. Your lips pressed into his unkempt hairs when he forced you down again, tasting the sweat that had been harbored within the strands. 

From then on, your gags had only become motivation as he rode the rhythm of your delectable sounds with sharp and eager thrusts. Gasps and coughs stuck to the slick of your throat while Steve’s cock fucked them down in repetitive and selfish strides. Your head moved from the guidance of Steve’s hold, meeting the bow of your head with a forward thrust and ramming into the back of your throat while you spilled sheltered saliva—thick and bubbly in its journey to form a puddle on the floor. He repeated after barely giving you enough time to catch your breath, choking and fucking your mouth with his cock while you writhed on your knees in intimidation. 

Steve sheltered you close, curling his body over you as a satisfied moan added to the thick air when he shoved your head deep in between his legs, keeping you still in midst of your squirms. Whenever you tried to pull back, Steve only thrusted and pushed you further into your struggle for freedom. He drowned you in your own saliva, locked you of your only source of oxygen as your nose pressed deep into his pelvis, and gagged you to the point of leaving scars on his thighs as your fingers curled into his flesh, desperate for a whisper of air to breathe back into you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You finally get your wish when he yanked you back, and you inhaled with a slobbering gasp, coughing out the oxygen that he had buried from within you.

Throughout all of this, you gazed beautifully up to him, Steve thought. From the highlights of the whites to the color of your orbs, you glistened like nature past dew point, and his chest swelled in agreement. His heart pulsed faster than the rhythmic sucks and strokes of your mouth and hand as you’ve gone back to sucking him, fisting him into your mouth as your mouth began aching from deep-throating, breath recovering from being face-fucked. It was a curse that you put on him, where he closed his eyes to the merit of your tongue and couldn’t bear to look at you again because if he did, he knew he could come all over your face right then and there.

“Close—fuck.” His shoulders rolled back and one hand pushed the sweat off his forehead back into the fluff of his hair, while the other maintained on your head, keeping you in close proximity.

“Fuck, Steve…” You sniffled, desperately tasting the salt off the tip of his cock while you snapped your wrist back and forth in jerking him off. Your free hand ran over his stomach, then down his flexed thighs, and you squeezed to remind him that he was spellbound under your touch. His gaze casted downwards to meet yours once again, and he nodded as if he understood. 

The pressure on the back of your head hardened, but it was your own will that had you slobbering all over him again. You took him his cock back in with desperation, the memory of how salty he had tasted days prior fortifying your delirious state of mind. You sucked Steve off, swallowed him whole, fucked him into your fist, then into your mouth, and it would repeat until he nested his hand into your hair, tightly curling them into a fist as he came undone into your mouth.

“Fuck—“

Steve’s cock pulsed in heavy bounces and his balls bounced in its drain as he emptied himself inside of you. Warm and thick seed accompanied the fill of your mouth, and your hand reached down to massage his sack, aiding the scrotum to dump the remaining few shots into the pool of cum. Slowly, you pulled back with your lips pressed tight in caution of wasting the fresh fluid, and you swallowed slow and proud, savoring every gulp that ran down your violated throat as if it the cure to the sore. He watched you, panting heavily, and his cleansed cock twitched as you quenched upon his energy for the day. 

“You don't have to swallow it al—“ Before he could finish his question, you stuck your tongue out to reveal the abyss of your mouth, and the limp of his cock roused with one more throb before finally hanging low in between his legs. Steve was left astonished, and there was a flicker in his eyes before he helped you back on your feet. “Come here, I need to kiss you right now.”

A laugh was caught in between your lips when Steve kissed you with a familiar sweetness that always rattled the butterflies in your stomach. He pulled you close to pacify the flutter of their wings, and sighed into you before a hand gently caressed the middle of your throat. “Did I go too hard?”

“I would’ve said something if you did, Steve.” You’d come to realize that it always took more than a smile and comforting words to appease his guilt, and so you pressed fleeting pecks to the center of his lips, then began massaging the sensitive fill of his cock in slow turns. “I mean, if you want, we can go for round two right now and—“

“Okay, okay.” He pressed a laugh into your lips and leaned his forehead onto yours for the moment you two shared a gaze. Looking into you, it dismantled all of his worries, as it did for you, and it was only when the cold bit at his naked body that roused him from the daze.

“I should probably put my clothes back on.”

“Dude, are you saying that isn’t your uniform?” You gasped. 

“Dude,” He took you by the back of your head again and kissed you once, grinning. “Shut up.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like! feedback is also much appreciated!

[firelilyfox]

Nightmares & Soft Words

Dune : Paul Atreides x female reader

Warnings : fluff / mention of loosing someone / mention of war / teasing

You had a nightmare & Paul comforts you

(English is not my first language so please excuse spelling and grammatical mistakes)

Words : 1033

______________________________

Your breathing is shallow as you wake up in the middle of the night because of another horrible dream. Beside you lays Paul who is still peacefully sleeping. His dark curls have managed to fall all over his beautiful face and you resist the urge to touch it to remind you that you are back in reality. Weeks have passed since you were able to sleep peacefully. Too much worries and sorrows filled your mind with fear.

Fear to loose Paul. Fear to see all your friends die. Fear that this brutal war will never end. 

But you haven’t told him about any of that. Paul has such a big responsibility to carry around, that the thought alone telling him about your stupid litte nightmares was pathetic. He deserves to rest and not have to think about his girlfriend being anxious about something that hasn’t even happened yet. 

You take a last look at him and deciding to go for a litte walk through the halls of your underground home. The massive, old stonewalls always seemed to calm you down since you were a little kid. You imagined all the stories that they had been witnessed and all of the Fremen that were here before. 

Every footstep of yours sends a little echo through the empty hallways and while you let your thoughts run free, you somehow find your way to the waters of the souls that died for the greater good. Normally this place would make people sad, but for the Fremen it is a great honor to still be a part of the remaining for eternity. 

The torches on the walls flickers and their light is reflected by the water, wich made the big hall looked warm and gloomy. Before you could take a seat near the water, something catches your attention. Paul was leaning against a wall right behind you. The look on his face made you nervous. 

„Why are you up? Did something happen?“ 

He comes towards you with a frown. „That’s what I should ask you, Y/N. What are you doing here in the middle of the night?“ 

„Oh it’s nothing. I-I just needed fresh air“, you shrugged. 

Paul shakes his head with a smile of disbelief. „You are terrible at lying, love.“ He puts his arms around you and pulls you closer to him. You let him, but still trying to avoid direct eye contact. You are more than sure about the fact, that Paul would be able to see all the horrible things you dreamed about in less than a second. So you just leaned against his touch and trying your best to put on an effortlessly smile for him. 

„Really it’s nothing. Maybe I ate something wrong or haven’t drank enough. We should go back to bed.“ You are trying to get out of his grip, but instead you can feel it tightened around your waist. 

„I won’t let you go anywhere now, until you told me the truth. You seem upset and I will be dammed if I let you go back to sleep like that.“ Paul puts his finger under your chin to force you softly to look at him. That’s when you start to tear up a little. „Talk to me, love.“ 

You sigh. „I had a nightmare again.“ 

His thumb softly wipes away a tear that was rolling down your cheek. „You haven’t told me you were haunted by nightmares before.“ 

„I didn’t want to stress you about something pathetic like that. With all that is going on with the war and the revolution right now … and the Fremen seeing you as their leader … there is no room for something irrelevant like that.“ 

Paul shuts you up with a soft kiss on the lips. Your hands grabbing the thin fabric of his shirt to hold him close to you. 

„Never say something like that again or I’m forced to use the voice on you to get rid of that stupid idea that your nightmares are irrelevant or that there is no room for you coming to me with your problems.“ His words were determining but his voice sounded so very soft, that your heart melted a bit. „I couldn’t possibly do any of this … crazy Lisan al Gaib stuff without knowing that you are alright by my side.“ 

You couldn’t hold back a little smile. „You are very good at finding the right words, Usul.“ 

You using his Fedaykin-Name always had the impact of lightens up his gaze. It reminds him, that you two are very much equal and that he is a part of something worth fighting for. 

„Now tell me what this nightmares are about.“ 

And you did. You told him everything while going back to your room and he hold your hand the entire time. The words came out like a waterfall but now that you hear them out loud, they not seemed so scary anymore. You felt the moment the tension left your body when the two of you got back to bed, lying next to each other so close that no nightmare can come between. 

„If you ever have thoughts like that you need to tell me, love. It is unbearable to me if I can’t be sure, that you and that pretty little head of yours are doing okay.“ He tapped his finger against your forehead. „Do you understand?“ 

„I do understand. But for now…“ You say while you sit up again and take a seat on his lap with spread legs. Paul leaned back on his forearms, admiring you as if there is nothing more beautiful in this world. And to him, there is none. „For now my head is doing more than just okay.“ 

He gives you a little smirk. „That’s good to know. Maybe there is a way we could make your body feel the same way.“ Paul grabs your hips and you start kissing him passionately while your fingers run through his hair. A dark sound escapes his throat as you are slowly moving your hips to create pressure to his growing length between your legs. 

„We should figure out how good you can make me feel, Muad’Dib.“ 

[raysrays]

Fatal Attraction Chapter Two (NSFW)

18+ MDNI‼️

CW for the entire story: Breeding, Size Difference,Size Kink, Jealousy, Scent Marking, Age Difference, Vaginal Sex, Possessive Behavior, Angst, Twisted, Creampie, Angry Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Hair-pulling, Biting, Master/Pet, Light Dom/sub, Violence, Knotting.

Content disclaimer: This story is inspired by the amazing artist @PammyJammy117 on Twitter/X. I in absolutely no way own or claim the idea of the “Cryptid Rengoku” character. Please give credit to the original artist who inspired the story.

Chapter One

He let me go. I can’t believe what just happened as I stumble back to the small, secluded residence where Tamayo has been housing us. My ankle hurts, but not as badly as before. The pain lingers, though it's less intense after resting and talking with that monster.

I'm in shock and disbelief. Out of all the people who have been searching for these mythical monsters for years, I had the misfortune of encountering one—and a dangerous one at that.

I think back to that haunting smile, those sharp teeth, and the glow of his red eyes. However, Tamayo's rambling might have saved me in a way. I never looked Kyojuro Rengoku directly in the eyes, which means he couldn’t sway my emotions.

If I remember correctly, the Hashira—or more specifically, these cryptid creatures—have the ability to influence a person’s control once you look into their eyes. This could be a means of protection or a manipulation tactic. I didn’t care what Kyojuro Rengoku’s intent was. Once I realized the situation I was in, I kept my gaze low.

He seemed not to notice, or at least he never mentioned it.

My mind is racing, and there's a nauseous feeling in my stomach. The full realization of the situation crashes down on me all at once: I encountered one of the nine most dangerous monsters our group has been researching. And I can’t breathe a word about it to any of them, especially not Tamayo.

The guilt didn’t set in until I finally made it back to the small house. I could see Tamayo, Yushiro, and some of the others talking in a group through the window.

There they were, discussing theories and ideas, while I stood outside with a twisted ankle, no flower, and a huge secret I had to keep from them.

In that moment, it felt like the world was working against me. I didn’t even believe in any of these ridiculous creatures, and now I’m stuck returning to see one every other day.

And return I did. Once my ankle healed, I kept my promise to him, bringing offerings of different foods and teas. I tried bringing blankets and fabric once, but he didn’t seem to enjoy those.

Even though sneaking around at night to see him was difficult, I made it work. Our dynamic was confusing, but I tolerated it. The first few times I visited, we sat and ate together. He would ask me questions about myself and my life, which I usually answered briefly. I didn’t want a terrifying monster knowing everything about me. Recognizing my face was bad enough.

When I tried to ask him questions, he would either change the subject or ignore me completely. If anyone else behaved like this, I’d probably tell them off. But when you’re dealing with an eight-foot-tall cryptid with teeth sharper than any blade, I let it slide.

Today, on my way to see him, I felt different. I’ve been visiting him for around two weeks now and never felt us getting closer, but I’ve started getting used to his company. As I continued to see him more, his appearance began to grow on me.

The blonde fur, the sharp teeth, and the red glow emanating from his eyes became something familiar, something I expected. Over time, these once terrifying traits started to become... not so bad.

"Why do you look like that?" His booming voice jolted me back to reality.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking."

"It seemed like you were staring... Haven't you gotten used to me yet?" He flashed a smile so terrifying yet charming it sent shivers down my spine.

"No, it's not that. I was just trying to decide what food to bring next time."

"I really enjoyed the sweet potato dish. Bring it again." His ears perked up almost like a dog's. It was kind of cute.

"I've brought that one too often. You should try other dishes. Besides, I won't be able to come see you for a few days, so you'll have some time to think it over."

I waited for a response, but there was none. Slowly, I looked up at him. His face was scary, his sharp smile replaced by a terrifying scowl. His ears flattened.

"That's not what we agreed upon, Y/N. Why won't you be able to come see me?" he growled.

I struggled to find the words. Tamayo had informed the group that we'd be moving locations for a few days to cover new ground. I thought he'd understand. I never assumed he'd be upset by my absence.

"My group has to move locations for our search for a while. It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll return soon. It will only be a couple of days."

He got up and moved closer, and I felt every part of my body tense as he approached.

"Where exactly will you be going?" His face was so close to mine now. I felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest.

"North… we’re going north."

I didn't have to look at his face to feel the intense glare he was giving me.

"You can’t go. You won’t," he snarled, pulling away.

"I don’t have a choice—"

"I don’t care. You aren’t going."

I didn’t understand. Is it just for the food? Why would this terrifying legend of a monster care if I came to see him or not?

"Why is it a problem? Why can’t I go?" I somehow managed to push the words out.

He was quiet, then I suddenly felt something around my wrist. I looked down to see his tail tightly wrapped around me, pulling me closer. That’s when I felt his sharp-clawed hand lifting my chin.

I instinctively shut my eyes.

"Look at me, Y/N." That usually happy tone had vanished from his voice, replaced with a voice as cold as ice.

Every bone in my body wanted to comply with his demands, but Tamayo's warning lingered in my mind.

"I can’t.”

"Look at me," he repeated.

I couldn’t resist. I knew Cryptids could influence humans, but I didn’t realize how much.

Slowly, I felt my eyes open, adjusting to the sight in front of me.

My mouth fell slightly open. I’d never seen such deep red glowing eyes before. That smile I’d grown accustomed to was completely gone.

I was scared, but why was I so… attracted to him?

"You will not go, Y/N. I'm sure you can come up with some excuse for this Tamayo woman you speak of so much," he spat.

I wanted to protest, to argue, but I just couldn't.

"Okay, I'll talk to her."

With that, he let me go, his tail slowly unwrapping from my wrist. His smile returned.

"Very good! You'll return to me tomorrow. I want the sweet potato dish once more!"

I could practically hear my own heartbeat—what a one-eighty.

As I walked back to the safe house, I planned what I would say to Tamayo, what excuse I would give for not going with the group.

Yushiro was definitely going to give me a hard time about it. But this whole situation sucks. I don’t want Tamayo to kick me out of the only place I have to call home, but on the other hand, I risk getting killed by one of the scariest creatures known to man.

-—————-

"Where have you been?"

I glanced up to see Yushiro and some of the others packing for the journey.

"I just stepped out to get some fresh air."

"Seems like you've been stepping out a lot lately," Yushiro muttered, rolling his eyes.

I had no idea why he was so hard on me. His attitude had only worsened the longer I stayed.

Ignoring him, I walked away. I don't answer to Yushiro. I answer to Tamayo, and that's who I needed to talk to.

My hand felt heavy as I knocked on the door to her office.

"Come in."

I opened the door slowly.

She was nearly hidden behind a giant stack of papers and books. As I approached, she stood and walked around to meet me.

"Y/N, what is it?"

I couldn’t believe how intimidating this small woman was.

"Tamayo... I can't go with you and the rest of the group up north."

She looked at me blankly for a moment. "Why's that?"

"Because I'm afraid I might be coming down with a cold... or something..." I hadn't really thought of a convincing excuse.

"You look fine to me. You're going," she said coldly.

Damn.

"I want to, I really do. It's just that I don't feel well, and I'm afraid I'll hold everyone back."

She scrutinized me. I knew she could tell something was off, but she was making this difficult on purpose.

"Y/N, I've asked you to look for the same flower for weeks now and you've brought me nothing. Now I'm asking you to join the group on our search up north and you're telling me no?"

When she said it out loud, it sounded ridiculous.

"You will go with us, Y/N, or you can't continue to stay here. The choice is yours."

So, my options were to face this 4'11" intimidating woman or an 8-foot-tall cryptid monster.

I'll take my chances with Rengoku.

After all, Tamayo controlled whether or not I had a place to sleep at night. I'm sure he wouldn't be too angry with me as long as I brought him more food.

"Suddenly I feel a lot better. I'll be ready to go in the morning," I said, forcing a small smile.

"That's what I figured." She retreated back behind her desk.

Something inside me felt off, my body a little uneasy. Yeah, he's going to be upset, but he'll forgive me. Right?

I walked up into my small room to get things ready, but I started to feel a little strange. My body felt odd, as if I was doing something wrong.

Climbing into the covers I think about everything, this whole situation that I’ve gotten myself into, with Tamayo, with Rengoku, all of it. I just don’t understand why it had to happen to me.

I never wanted any of this.

I was feeling confident until this morning. As I was helping Yushiro get things ready for the set out, my body kept feeling weird.

It’s like I kept having this odd sense of I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m in danger. I kept trying to shake it off but, it doesn’t go away.

Things only got worse once we hit the road. Tamayo may have thought I was lying earlier about being sick, because I was. But now, my whole body feels awful.

But it’s just a few days. I can push through. I’ll come home, make Rengoku a large dish of the sweet potatoes he loves, and all will be forgiven with a little ass-kissing.

“Y/N, are you ready?”

I look over and see Yushiro and the others staring at me.

“Yeah, sorry. Let’s go.” I push the sick feeling down and start to move.

I can’t help but think about why Rengoku didn’t want me to go up north. I know the territory mark ends, but really that shouldn’t mean anything. It’s not like I’m staying up there permanently.

As I walked with the group, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I felt like something was staring at me. It only felt more intense the closer and closer we got to the border that separated our usual territory from the north.

Once we started to step over that line, I glanced over my shoulder one last time. I practically felt my heart stop as I noticed two shining red eyes glaring at me in the distance.

He saw me, and he looked furious. I made the wrong call.

———————

To say that the trip up north was a waste of time would be an understatement—at least in Yushiro's words.

We searched around but found very little. To be honest, I was more paranoid about what we couldn't see. Knowing about the Hashira's existence has made me overly wary of wandering around.

While we were camping out, I read that we were in the territory of Sanemi Shinazugawa. His description was just as horrifying as Rengoku’s.

But what truly scared me was how violent this monster was compared to Rengoku. I knew these monsters were fierce, but the tales of Shinazugawa were extreme.

I felt so guilty keeping this secret. My group had no idea how much danger we’d be in if we ran into him. And it would be all my fault.

Honestly, if Sanemi Shinazugawa wanted to find and kill me, I wouldn't complain too much after the way Rengoku looked at me on my way out. I figured I was painfully dead either way.

I could feel my steps getting heavier as we walked back towards the safe house. It’s not like I wanted to stay in a monster-infested forest, but I definitely didn’t want to be there with Rengoku.

I’ve looked through books and journals of Tamayo’s and still can’t find much about him. Everything I found was positive. He was a kind, protective cryptid who watched over the main village in this area until humans deemed monsters too dangerous to trust.

There was nothing on his origins, background, family, or anything—certainly nothing about a temper.

So why was he looking at me like that? Like he wanted to kill me for going against him. Honestly, it felt like my body wanted to punish me for it too.

Ever since we left—no, ever since I agreed to go—I’ve felt sick and worried. I just kept feeling like I was doing something wrong.

“Y/n, when we get back, I need you to get some firewood.”

I glanced over to see Tamayo looking at me.

I’m dead.

“Oh, okay.”

The rest of the walk, all I could do was dread what would happen to me. Not only was Tamayo forcing me back into the place I wanted to avoid, but I’d also be going without some sort of food offering.

I might as well have signed my own death certificate.

Once we made it back, I helped unload everything and then slowly made my way back into the forest to get the wood. As soon as I stepped out of the clearing, a shiver ran down my spine.

Then the clicking started. He’s here.

“Y/N L/N.” The way his echoing voice spoke my name made me want to run, but my feet stayed planted.

Once he emerged from the shadows, his tall, broad figure just as terrifying as I remembered. But this time, there was no sharp smile or perked-up ears. Instead, angry, glowing eyes and a scowl that would scare any man.

I stepped back as he approached.

Just as I was about to speak, his tail wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer.

He leaned in and sniffed me. When he pulled back, his whole demeanor changed. His eyes darkened.

“You disobeyed me,” he growled.

“I had to. If I didn’t go, Tamayo was going to kick me out—”

His grip tightened, and his ear twitched with annoyance.

“You could have stayed here, with me. You don’t need her approval. The only person you should wish to please is me.”

His glare was piercing.

Stay with him? What is he talking about?

“I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t want to go.”

“I cannot believe you would deliberately disobey me. You even smell like him,” he hissed.

“Who?”

His clicking intensified with his agitation.

“Shinazugawa.” He growled fiercely.

“You left me to fall into his company? He is a vile, horrible creature. You dare to choose him over me?” His eyes flashed with anger.

I felt my heart racing as his words sank in. My mind scrambled for something to say, anything that might diffuse his rage.

“No, it’s not like that! I didn’t choose him over you,” I pleaded. “I didn’t have a choice.”

His grip loosened slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on me, burning with anger and something else—betrayal.

“You always have a choice,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You chose to leave. You chose to put yourself in his path.”

I didn't know what to say. I hadn't even interacted with Sanemi Shinazugawa, yet somehow his scent was all over me.

I looked up at him, my eyes pleading. "Please, Rengoku. I would never choose anyone other than you."

His glowing eyes bore into mine, as if trying to gauge the truth of my words.

Suddenly, he pulled me closer, his large, clawed hand grabbing my face roughly.

"Prove it to me then. Prove you're loyal to me—not to Tamayo, not to Shinazugawa, to me."

"How? How can I prove it?" I was practically shaking. I would do anything to get out of this life-threatening situation.

His intense gaze lit up, his sharp smile returning. He leaned in close to me.

"Become my mate, Y/N L/N. Prove your loyalty to me, and become mine." His echoing voice suddenly sounded less sinister and more sincere.

Become his mate?

I felt my face heat up. There’s no way. There’s just no way Kyojuro Rengoku, a cryptid, a Hashira, one of the most dangerous beings to roam the earth, is asking me, a human, to become his mate.

“What? What do you mean?”

His smile only widened at my curiosity.

“Become my mate, Y/N. Stay with me, love me, and I’ll protect you for all eternity.” His ears perked up.

I didn’t know what to think. Am I actually considering this? I’ve always found Rengoku oddly attractive despite his terrifying nature, and yes, I do enjoy coming to see him. But was becoming his mate really what I had to do to survive?

And how exactly would I hide this from everyone?

As I looked into his eyes again, they flashed. Something in me felt different. Why was I suddenly feeling more attached to him?

I remembered the first time I looked into his eyes. I could tell he was influencing my body and emotions, but this time it was different.

Everything I’ve felt for him just felt amplified: fear, intimidation, attraction, lust.

Was I seriously about to bend to the will of this monster just because my twisted mind was genuinely attracted to his horrifying appearance and oddly charming personality?

If it’s going to keep me alive, then Yes. Yes, I was.

“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll become your mate, Rengoku.”

His eyes widened, his smile growing larger as his grip on my waist tightened.

“If you agree to this, you must know I’ll never let you go. No matter where you run, I’ll always find you and bring you back to me.”

That sentence startled me, but I never expected to succeed in any escape attempt. I knew I couldn’t outsmart a monster like him.

“I understand. And I agree.”

That seemed to be all he needed to hear. He pulled me closer, our distance vanishing. His animalistic nature began to show as he sniffed and licked my skin.

“I’ll erase every trace of him on you. You’re mine,” he breathed.

I couldn’t help but feel my cheeks grow hotter, my body reacting to his possessive words.

In an instant, he was on top of me, pressing my body against the grass.

I struggled to breathe, his weight nearly suffocating me.

His eyes were locked on mine, his glowing red stare seeming more passionate than threatening now.

Suddenly, he pulled back and tore the clothing from my body, his hands groping and feeling my exposed skin.

My heart raced. I knew what was about to happen, and it terrified me. But I was also strangely excited.

He was quick, his claws shredding the remaining scraps of fabric from my body, leaving me bare beneath him.

I couldn't believe what I'd gotten myself into. This terrifying, mythical creature was about to claim me as his own. And the thought of it drove me wild.

As his large, clawed hands gripped my waist, he positioned himself between my legs.

His eyes looked at me, hungry.

"Y/N L/N."

"Yes?"

"You're mine."

I felt a surge of excitement run through me as I nodded.

"Say it," he growled.

"I'm yours."

His clicking started up again and he positioned his face between my legs.

I can’t believe it, is he really going to—

"Aah!" I cried out as his long, rough tongue began lapping at my sex.

My back arched as he lapped and teased, his sharp teeth nipping and tugging at my sensitive flesh.

I could barely catch my breath, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

I could feel my legs shaking, and my body begin to tighten as his tongue flicked against my clit.

"R-Rengoku..."

His glowing eyes peeked up at me.

“Kyojuro.” He corrected.

“If you are to be my mate, you will not address me so formally anymore.” He growled, sucking marks onto my thighs.

He returned to licking and teasing my pussy.

I can't believe this is happening.

I felt the heat building in my stomach, the pressure building as he lapped at my sensitive spot.

"Ahh... K-Kyojuro, I'm close," I moaned.

"Perfect," he rumbled, his echoing voice vibrating through me.

His grip on my thighs tightened as he pushed his tongue deeper into me, licking and sucking at my throbbing sex.

The pleasure was overwhelming.

"I'm gonna cum... I'm gonna cum," I moaned softly.

He growled continuing his assault on my clit.

His voice, his touch, it was all too much.

I cried out, my body shuddering and spasming as the intense waves of pleasure crashed over me.

Kyojuro held me in place as my orgasm washed over me, his tongue never slowing its pace.

The pleasure was so intense I couldn’t think straight. My body had never felt so used like this.

As my mind started to settle I couldn’t help but crave more. And by the way he was looking up at me between my thighs. I could tell that wasn’t enough for him either.

Once he arose up in front of me, I took in his body. The ripped muscles beneath his blonde and red fur. His tail and ears, and now…

Now for the first time I’m finally looking all of him. His cock was the biggest I’d ever seen. It was thick and curved and had a large knot close to the base.

my body shivered with pleasure, I wanted more. I needed more.

As if reading my thoughts, he smirked and positioned himself between my thighs, his cock teasing my entrance.

"Tell me what you want," he taunted.

"I... I want you, Kyojuro. I want all of you," I panted, my body aching with desire.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

He grabbed both my ankles holding them with one of his large hands above my head.

I’d be lying if I said this position wasn’t slightly embarrassing, but at this rate I didn’t care. I don’t know if it was the cryptids influence or if I was just fucked up in the head, but I was willing to let this monster use me in any way he wished.

With one smooth motion, he pushed his thick cock inside of me.

I moaned out as he stretched and filled me.

He paused, letting me adjust to his size.

"My mate," he growled, his eyes locking onto mine.

I panted, feeling his cock twitch inside me.

He started moving slowly, his cock rubbing against my walls, sending sparks of pleasure through my body.

"Oh god..."

I couldn’t hold back any longer.

I gripped the grass below me tightly as he slid in and out of me, his knot pushing against my entrance with every thrust.

The pressure was building, the heat spreading through my body as he picked up the pace.

"Oh fuck," I moaned, my body trembling with pleasure.

He clicked and growled in pleasure, his glowing eyes staring into me with a mixture of passion and possession.

He was relentless, his hips pounding into me with a primal fury.

"Fuck, Kyojuro," I cried, my body surrendering to the ecstasy.

The pleasure was so intense, it was almost painful.

His eyes flashed with desire, his pace never faltering.

I felt his cock twitch inside me, his knot pushing into my entrance stretching me even wider.

It was painful but I didn’t care, the high of my orgasm made it bearable. His cock was buried so deep inside me I thought my mind was going to blank with every thrust.

even after I came he still kept going, chasing his own release.

His rhythm grew more erratic, his breathing labored.

"Mine, my mate." he growled.

"Yes," I panted.

My words sent him over the edge.

He let out a roar, his teeth digging into my neck as he spilled his seed inside me, filling me with his thick, warm cum.

I cried out in pain and pleasure, feeling his cock pulsing inside me, his cum not spilling a drop due to the thick knot inside of me.

I was breathless, my body exhausted and sore, but my mind was completely satisfied.

"My beautiful human." he whispered, his voice heavy with lust and possession.

I held onto him, my body still trembling.

He released his grip on me, his clawed hand releasing my ankles.

I couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed as he pulled his softening cock out of me.

As the warmth of his body faded, the chill of the evening air set in, sending shivers down my spine.

But before the cold could sink in, he covered my body with his own, his warm, heavy frame keeping the chill away.

His face nuzzled into the crook of my neck, where he had bit me. his nose taking in his scent on my skin.

What have I done?

Next>>

[noyzinerd]

More Than Just A Body (Swap)

Thinking about a post-body swap Sterek fic.

One that fully takes place after a body swap has already been reversed (like, a sequel to a non-existent fic--where they swapped bodies, had to live as the other, got switched back, yet didn't get together by the end--that's constantly alluded to, but we never actually get to read), so we only see the aftermath.

Derek is super irritated and snippy for days after they get back into their own bodies. Stiles thinks it's because Derek feels pissed and humiliated he had to relive to highschool with insufferable teenagers, be helplessly human and weak, and generally listen to authority again (his dad). It definitely bums Stiles out to think that Derek found living his life so deplorable that he's still angry about it. So now both of them are upset and sort of avoiding each other.

It isn't until two weeks later, when their stand-off is starting to effect pack business, that Stiles gets fed up and confronts Derek.

"What's your deal, man? You've been super shitty ever since we swapped back. It's been two weeks. How can you still be mad about living as me? What, was doing the dishes and being forced to write 5,000 words about the Louisiana Purchase seriously that terrible? Look, I'm sorry you had to deal with my stupid, tissue-paper body for so long, but you can't just-!"

And before you know it, Derek has him shoved up against a wall. He's still pissed, yeah, but, for some reason, he also looks...hurt and broken inside.

"Your body isn't stupid, Stiles! It was the best thing to happen to me in years!"

Stiles is stunned speechless. Derek's fingers are trembling around the grip he has in Stiles' shirt. There's so much pain in those green-blue eyes that it actually aches to look in them. It looks almost like grief.

Like Derek is in mourning.

Derek's not crying, but his eyes are definitely shinier as he continues, "You have no idea what you have, Stiles. What I had. For the first time since the worst fucking day of my life, I got to do normal things, like chores and sports. Not a single person expected anything of me o-or looked to me for answers. I didn't have to worry about fucking up and getting people killed, because the smartest guy I knew was taking care of my body like it was something precious. And all I had to do in return was live your beautiful, quiet life. A life where someone gently woke me up for school and nobody found me too intimidating to get close to.

"I got to know what it was like to be loved by a father again, Stiles! To say the words 'I love you, too, Dad' when I didn't think I'd ever get another chance. I-I got to be hugged and have people smile at me like they were glad to see me and I'd get to look in the mirror in the morning to the sweetest smile at the start of my day and hear your voice every time I talked. It was perfect." Somehow, Stiles has found his face streaked with tears even though the tears valiantly sticking to Derek's lashes still haven't fallen as his voice breaks over his words.

"A-and now? All I get to wake up to is me." The word is spit out with acid and venom. "I get to wake up alone in a cold, silent, empty, concrete room and look at a face in the mirror that makes me sick. I get to go back to my pathetic fucking life where I have to choose between literally fighting against an endless wave of people out to kill me or using my family's blood money to buy myself a microwavable dinner for the night. The only difference is that now...now I'm haunted by the feel of your fingers through my hair, your arms wrapped around me," at this, Stiles can feel his heart cracking apart at the thought of Derek using his body to simply hug himself, "y-your voice telling me that I'm going to be okay, and just-just the sight of your skin and your eyes and-and-I just, I can't, Stiles, I-I can't-!"

Stiles is clutching Derek so tight to him in an instant, tucking him into his neck and slowly lowering them to the ground as Derek collapses and sobs into him.

---

Once the tears are all dry, Stiles finally picks up the courage to be vulnerable too. He owes it to Derek.

At least it'll be easier now that he can't see the werewolf's reactions.

So, as he's stroking the other's hair, Stiles tells him about how he wishes Derek could see the man he fell in love with the way Stiles can.

He tells him about how he fell in love with a man whose heart is so big and full of kindness that he physically cannot stop himself from helping people, no matter how much he likes to pretend that he doesn't care.

The man he loves is powerful, resilient, and stronger than any one person has any right to be, yet so fragile as to be afraid of loving someone too much because he might be shattered.

The man Stiles loves is smart, sassy, thoughtful, stubborn, awkward, grumpy, sweet, and so so deserving of hugs and smiles and kisses and praise, because Derek is and has always been more than just a body.

Stiles tells him about how, during their swap, he made sure to take warm baths with nice smells, nap in cozy blankets, and massage his hands and feet with lotions because Stiles wanted to take care of Derek's body as much as he could while he got the chance. He did it because he wanted to help Derek and this was the only way he thought he could.

If there had been even the slightest indication that anything more would've been well received, Stiles would have already done it. All he wants is permission.

"Please...let me take care of you?"

---

So, slowly, day by day, Stiles enfolds Derek into a gentle life.

Stiles is Derek's strongest advocate, his extra set of hands to help carry his burdens, his pillow, his introduction to new things and new people.

They're always wrapped around each other, all the time, almost like Stiles is scared of Derek getting cold.

Despite the confession, things remain G-rated for a while. Cuddles, hand-holding, caresses, just touching. Shy kisses eventually make an appearance after some time, but they remain sweet, loving little things.

Stiles makes it perfectly clear that he's fine waiting to make a move until he's sure being intimate can't possibly be mistaken as anything else. He needs Derek to understand that this isn't obligation or pity. Stiles loves Derek. And Stiles is going to take his time because he wants Derek to feel loved beyond his body, no matter how long it takes.

By the time Derek feels whole again, now living with the Stilinskis and smiling softly as a default expression, they find themselves in front of the bathroom mirror having their first time together.

It's definitely not kinky. Mostly reverent, full of "It's okay, I'm right here", fingers laced tight together, flashing eyes, and a bit of emotional tears. It's gentle and assuring, with promises of never being alone again, and whispers of "so beautiful" and "so sweet" and "so perfect". Climax is rewarded with praises, hands stroking up arms and down backs, and "I love you"s are slurred through dropped fangs and traded back and forth between kisses

But as expected, finally having sex doesn't magically make Derek love himself. It's still a long road. Because even if Derek doesn't completely hate his life anymore, there are those hard days where he still has problems with 'being Derek'.

And maybe one day Derek will learn to love the body he lives in.

Until then, Stiles will just have to love it for him.

[tinymehilainen]

Best laid plans

notes: this prompt, a bojere kiss under the mistletoe, was originally sent to @frikatilhi who set it free and tipped me off. tilhi's idea of where to go with the prompt was so delicious i kind of stole that too, so all hail tilhi for the original idea! this got quite long so under the cut it goes.

As soon as Bojan saunters off into the backroom of their rehearsal studio with Jere, Jure jumps into action. Jere has been in Slovenia for nearly a week now, Bojan has made zero progress in confessing his love for the man, and Jure is getting tired of the situation. Something needs to change and he has the power to kick start that change.

"Psst! Guys, guys. Look what I got", he whispers dramatically and whips out the secret treasure.

Jan, Kris and Nace gather around, looking at him and his offering curiously.

They stare at it in silence for a good while.

"A.. twig of some sort?" Nace declares.

Jan sighs and shakes his head.

"Jure you really can't resent us for calling you a cat if you keep dragging random twigs and leaves in from your nature adventures and expect us to find them exciting", he tuts, Kris nodding along.

Jure feels like slapping them but he controls himself.

"No, you absolute waffles, it's a mistletoe", he snaps, waving the precious find in front of his bandmates.

"Ohhhh, right."

"Right, a mistletoe."

"Of course."

"But.. why?" Kris dares to ask, Jan and Nace gesturing wildly to indicate they had the same question.

Jure cannot believe how slow and, frankly, idiotic people he has chosen to spend all his time with.

"The Christmas thing? Kissing under a mistletoe?" he says, holding the twig in question above his head and makes a kissy face.

"Right, like in the movies", Nace knows.

Now they're getting it, Jure is sure.

"Exactly", Jure confirms.

"And..?" Jan asks.

So, they are not getting it.

"Isn't it obvious? We get Jere and Bojan under it and BAM they have to face their feelings for each other", Jure whisper shouts, only just managing to keep his excitement from bubbling over.

As if on cue, Bojan and Jere burst into a giggle fit in the other room.

Realisation lights three faces in front of Jure.

"Now you're talking! I like this idea", Nace whoops.

"Could work! And they need the help", Kris agrees.

"Bojan is unbearable", Jan shakes his head.

"And having Jere here, around the holidays.. it's been extra unbearable," Kris continues, clearly haunted by the past week. Bojan and Jere have been practically glued together since Jere landed, and they never stop laughing. Neither one of them is that funny, of that they can all be sure, but the boys in the band have long realised that the constant giggle fits are just an excuse for the two to touch each other - how they figured that platonic friendly laughter comes with caressing each others faces and bodies is beyond any other Joker Out member, but they've had to accept the fact that Bojan and Jere are two members of the same species that have found each other against all odds and this is simply part of their mating rituals.

Mating rituals that are starting to turn into a never ending nightmare for everyone else that needs to stop. Now, if it's up to Jure. And it is, he decides.

"Is the mistletoe a thing in Finland?" Nace asks.

Jure stops.

"I don't know? But surely they'll get it, right?"

They must get it. Everyone knows the mistletoe, right? Except Kris, Jan and Nace who did not recognise it, but that's because they are stupid idiots, unlike Jure. And hopefully Bojan and Jere. Which might be a lot to ask.

"Bojan has definitely seen enough romantic movies to get it", Kris says, with the voice of a man who has been in the trenches. Jan pats him on the back as the band holds a moment of silence for the sacrifices Kris has made as the roommate of a man desperately in love with his best friend.

"So we're doing this?" Jure asks after an appropriate time of respecting Kris' struggle.

"We're doing this."

🩵

Snow dances in the air as Bojan and Jere make their way towards the Joker Out studio only a couple of nights before Christmas.

"You guys have so many Christmas parties", Jere chuckles, looking at Bojan with his big bright eyes that make him want to drop down on one knee (or two) right there and then.

Bojan has to look away. The whole week with Jere has been simultaneously the best and the worst week of his life. Having Jere near him makes it easier to breathe. Jere makes colours brighter, sounds clearer and flavours tastier.

Jere also makes Bojan incredibly horny, and nights lying next to Jere (who is as shirtless asleep as he is awake) trying to hide his rock hard boner count towards the list of things that have made the week almost unbearable.

"Yeah I didn't know about this one either!" Bojan laughs, and it's true. They guys had very mysteriously invited him and Jere for "A Special Celebration" only the night before.

"Seems like the guys wanted to throw you a special Christmas party and decided to leave me out of the loop, too."

Jere giggles, which to Bojan sounds like a choir of angels and the gates of heaven opening.

"They know you. They know if Bojan know, Jere find out", Jere says, and quickly brushes his hand against Bojan's arm.

Bojan pretends to be offended by the words and unaffected by the touch that actually sends his mind into overdrive. He clutches his chest dramatically, which sells the offense and calms his racing heart.

"Heey, that's not- nah, who am I kidding, it's true", he laughs, as Jere practically keels over in laughter. Bojan knows he's nowhere near as funny as Jere likes to act, but he cannot help but fall just a little bit deeper for the man every time he laughs at whatever it is Bojan has said. Jere is sweet like that, always hyping up his friends.

The laughter fades but the bright smile stays, as once again Jere turns those sparkly eyes to Bojan.

"But Bojan, I have to say. I'm so happy. Best decision coming to Slovenia this Christmas. Joker boys and you are so nice to me."

Jere stops and grabs Bojan's hand. For a fleeting moment they both just look at their joint hands, until Jere makes a show of hugging Bojan's arm to his chest like a cuddly toy, giggling happily as he does. Bojan wonders if Jere can feel his racing pulse.

"Jere, we've loved having you here. I- I've really loved having you here", he whispers, out of breath for reasons he cannot understand, but might have to do with his heart trying to leave his body.

Jere drops Bojan's arm but does not let go of his hand. The giggle has once again died down and been replaced with the softest, most sincere smile Bojan has ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

"I love being here. With you", Jere says quietly and looks at Bojan, almost expectantly.

Bojan's mouth feels dry. Sweet innocent Jere doesn't realise what his eyes can do to a man.

Bojan has no idea what Jere expects him to say, but has to say something.

"You, uh. You have snow on your eyelashes", he manages to breathe out.

"I look pretty?" Jere asks, batting his eyes at Bojan with yet another soft giggle that makes Bojan's knees buckle. He needs to get a grip.

"Hah, uh. Yeah! So pretty, pretty like a princess," he laughs, desperately.

Jere smiles, once again so damn sincere.

"Thank you Bojan. We go inside and see if princess find prince at party?" Jere tugs at Bojan's hand.

Bojan chuckles.

"I'm afraid this party is all toads, Jere. Five toads and a princess."

🩵

"Bojan?" Jere whispers as they are throwing their coats on the pile of four other coats in the corner. The studio has been quite haphazardly decorated with Christmas ornaments, and there is faint jazzy Christmas music playing to set the mood.

"Yes? Why are we whispering?" Bojan replies but takes the whispering as an excellent excuse to lean closer, until he can feel Jere's breath on his neck. It gives him goosebumps.

"I have.. sensitive question. I don't want sound rude", Jere says, looking worried.

"O-okay?" Bojan whispers, confused, and grabs Jere's hand. To ease his worries, of course.

Jere lowers his voice even more.

"Why is there some twig taped to door to back room?"

Bojan is one thousand percent sure he did not hear that right.

"Huh?" is all he gets out.

"There, look. Up, on top of door", Jere whispers, nervously, as he points above the backroom door.

And sure enough, there is something green taped to the wall near the ceiling.

It takes Bojan, a connoisseur of romantic comedies, approximately 0.76 seconds to realise that, number one, it's a mistletoe, and number two, the boys are up to something. Probably something to do with him and Jere. He knows they know. He knows he's obvious. He cannot help it.

"Oh. Oh. That's - that's the guys being.. them again, don't worry about it", he stammers, his only relief being that Jere is clearly not as well versed in American romantic customs as he is.

Jere lets out a breath, looking relieved, squeezing Bojan's hand.

"Okei. I think maybe its Slovenia thing and I'm rude if I don't know", he laughs.

Bojan shakes his head.

"It's definitely not a Slovenian thing. This is a Jure, Jan, Kris and Nace thing", he reassures.

"Okei, good", Jere giggles, pulling Bojan with him to yet another fit of hysterics over nothing at all.

There's a clang in the backroom and three voices shushing.

"Bojan, Jere? Is that you guys?" Jan's voice calls.

"We can hear you!" Kris adds.

"Why don't you guys.. Why don't you come in?" Jure says in a voice that Bojan immediately recognises as trouble.

"Yeah, Bojan why don't you show Jere in, show him our back room," Nace adds, failing miserably at sounding casual, not least because Jere has been in the back room multiple times by now.

Bojan is not going to let them ambush Jere into an embarrassing moment, no. He will protect Jere from the antics of his horrible bandmates and their childish sense of humour.

And also maybe protect his own heart in the process, because he's not sure he could survive a kiss that leads nowhere. Getting a taste of his dream, only to go back to being brrraders? He is sure he could actually die and become the talk of the medical world. "Man dies of brozoning", now there's a headline.

But mostly, of course, it's about protecting Jere from his awful, terrible, horrible bandmates.

"Jere, go on in. I need the bathroom, I'll be right there," he pats Jere on the back and heads in the opposite direction.

"Okei!"

Jere steps into the room only to be met with four excited grins that fall as soon as he stops.

"Hi guys!" Jere greets, trying to ignore the suddenly confused faces.

"Where's Bojan?" Jure asks, alarmed.

"Toilet", Jere explains.

All four guys deflate, disappointed.

"Damn", Jan sighs.

Jere is starting to feel a bit offended.

"Why..?" he starts, knowing he sounds a bit hurt.

The guys seem to realise this too, as they hurry to school their faces back into friendly expressions.

"No reason! What would you like to drink?" Jure asks as he pulls Jere in by the shoulders.

Jere starts to relax.

"I think you maybe don't have glögi", he laughs.

The guys look at each other, clearly pleased with themselves.

"Funny you should mention!" Jure can't hide the grin that takes over his face.

"We knew it's your favourite -" Nace starts.

"Because Bojan keeps telling us", Kris interrupts, rolling his eyes.

"So we looked it up -" Jan continues.

"And thought we could probably make something like that!" Nace concludes.

"Sooooo, come taste the brand new Joker Out Glu- glonki?" Jure declares, holding bottles of red liquid in both hands.

"Glönki," Nace tries.

"Glöggi," Jan corrects.

"It's glögi. And thank you guys, you are.. really, my brothers", Jere says, hand over his heart, getting a choir of awws in return.

"Anything for you, Jere. Come taste!" Jure beckons and they all gather around the table covered in glasses and bottles.

"A generous pour for the man of the hour, there we go", Jan declares as he pours Jere a big glass of their red concoction.

Jere accepts it happily.

"Thank you! This look good, look like real glögi! I taste now, okei."

Jere takes a big gulp of the drink and regrets it immediately, as what must be pure alcohol threatens to burn his throat from the inside.

"Soo, what do you think?" Jure asks, as the guys look at him expectantly.

Jere tries his best not to cough and forces a smile on his face.

"It's - ugh, sori - it's very strong, whoo. What you put in here?" he laughs.

The guys look mischievous.

"Some juice, some spice -" Nace starts.

"Some vodka, you know, the basics of glöggi", Kris concludes.

"Glögi", Jere corrects.

"Glöngi", Jure tries.

"Glögi", Jere demonstrates.

"Glöögi", Jan offers, just as Bojan finally walks in.

"Hey Jerč, trying to teach the guys Finnish?" he says.

Jere spins around, delighted. It's not that he doesn't like the other boys, no. They are his brothers, of course. It's just that, well, he is in love with Bojan, and while he is still trying to figure out if confessing that would lead to happy ever after or losing touch completely, he'll take any moment he gets with Bojan in the meantime.

"Bojan! Joker boys make own glögi for me", he says, showing Bojan his glass.

"Oh did they. How nice of them", Bojan smiles and comes to stand next to Jere, immediately throwing his arm over Jere's shoulders.

Jere is once again hit with the realisation that Bojan is quite possibly the most beautiful human on the planet. It's a realisation that hits him seventeen times a day, on average. Bojan has such a beautiful smile - the way his eyes turn into small crescents makes Jere lightheaded. It's like his eyes are celestial bodies and Bojan himself the universe, and Jere just a small and tiny space traveler, trying to discover the wonders of this universe of his.

"Isn't it, Bojan", Jan's voice shakes Jere out of his thoughts and back into present.

"You're not the only one around here who cares about Jere", Kris says, snarkily. Jere knows they all care about him but there is no reason to be mean to Bojan about it. Bojan is, after all, probably only responding to the attention he gets from Jere. It's Jere who should be more equal. Not that he will.

"We wanted to make him feel at home", Jure explains and that does make Jere feel very grateful.

"So thoughtful! How's the glögi, Jerč?" Bojan asks, pronouncing the word with ease that makes Jere giggle delightedly.

"Bojan language genius, you say glögi perfect! It's.. good. Strong," he says, carefully, taking a tiny sip of his drink.

Bojan's eye roll is epic.

"Right. Of course it is. These toads have a generous pour," he jabs and Jere bursts into hysterics.

"What did you just call us?" Kris asks, appalled.

Bojan waves his hand dismissively.

"An inside joke, you wouldn't get it."

The guys all sigh in unison.

"Oh great, another Bojan and Jere exclusive," Kris says drily.

"Can't wait to hear this one repeated over and over again!" Jan mumbles.

"Well, maybe you deserve it," Bojan smiles and lets go of Jere, much to Jere's dismay.

"Rude," Nace notes, as Bojan saunters past them on to the tiny sofa at the back of the room.

He pats the space next to him and looks at Jere.

"Come Jerč, come sit over here. Let's get cozy."

Jere practically runs to the sofa, parks himself next to Bojan and glues their sides together. Bojan throws his arm around Jere and pulls him close.

For reasons Jere can't quite comprehend, the rest of the guys look extremely put out. They wanted him to feel at home and well, he might not have said it out loud but home is where the heart is, and his heart is with Bojan.

"Janči, pour us a round of that glööni," Kris says, and Jere suspects he said it wrong on purpose.

"You know, it's actually surprisingly tasty," Jure comments sipping the drink with a straw.

🩵

"Guys, emergency meeting!" Jure hisses at the other three guys, pulling them all into a corner of the back room.

"Really Jure, emergency?" Kris asks unimpressed.

Jure gestures at Bojan and Jere, still sitting on the sofa pressed close together, chattering away using voices so low only they can hear, and words only they can understand.

"They've parked their butts on the sofa and haven't moved in damn near an hour. If we want to get them under the mistletoe, we have to do something. Also Janči, do we have more gölni?" Jure whispers.

Jan nods and lifts up a new bottle.

"Yes, give me your glasses. You know, in hindsight placing the mistletoe over the door that leads to the main hangout space really wasn't that smart. What reason would they have to be going in and out?" Jan questions as he fills their glasses.

"I don't know, to get to the bathroom?" Jure shrugs. He doesn't appriciate his methods being questioned.

"Together?" Kris asks.

"I would not be surprised at this point to be honest, if they wanted to hold hands while one of them pees", Nace mumbles.

"You have a point", Kris admits.

"So what do we do?" Jan asks, as they sip away at the glögi.

"We could ask them to go get something? From outside?" Jure suggests, forever the one who has to keep things going.

"Like what?" Kris questions, because that's all he can do, apparently, and Jure is not happy about it.

"Ummm... pinecones?" Jure says.

"Jure. What. Pinecones?" Kris, the question asker asks.

"I don't know, I'm riffing here guys!" Jure whisper shouts frustrated, nearly spilling his precious glögi all over the floor.

Nace sighs and puts his glass down on the table behind him.

"Guys, there is no need to go all the way outside. Let's just get them to the actual studio space. We'll play Christmas songs or something. You know, live music for the party. We are a band, after all," he points out.

The other three stare at Nace. Jure has to hand to him, for once one of the others has a good idea.

"Oh, right. We have instruments", Jan says.

"Yeah, that's.. actually a really good idea, Nace", Kris pats Nace on the back.

Jure takes charge, as he must.

"Right! So now all we have to do is make sure they walk through the doorway together. And preferrably slowly enough to point out the mistletoe", he says, rubbing his hands together.

"That shouldn't be too difficult! Let's go."

🩵

Bojan wonders how long he can keep his hand in Jere's hair before it becomes weird. Jere doesn't seem to mind. Those bright eyes haven't eased up for a minute, and Bojan feels hot. He wonders if Jere can feel it, if his fingers are heating up Jere's scalp.

He still doesn't want to move his hand.

But he needs a distraction.

"So you've enjoyed your time here?" he asks.

"Yes, so much! Slovenia is very beautiful place", Jere smiles.

If Bojan wasn't already completely gone on the man, this moment would surely seal the deal. Something about the way Jere speaks about his home country makes Bojan melt.

"Isn't it? I'm so glad you got to see it", he says quietly.

"Very fitting", Jere muses, still smiling. Bojan is confused.

"What is?"

"Beautiful country, beautiful Bojan. Make sense", Jere says, and turns to look Bojan straight in the eyes.

Bojan's heart skips a beat, or two. Or three. He might be having a heart attack. He takes a sip of his wine. Or maybe a gulp, just to calm himself down.

Sometimes he does have to wonder, if maybe there is a chance Jere likes him back. It's moments like these, when Jere calls him beautiful, or things like my love, my man, fire and water, and other such things Bojan has not heard much in a platonic context before, that make him think that perhaps he has hope.

But then that could just be Jere being Jere. The man who charmed Europe. He is a charmer, after all. So Bojan tells him as much.

"Oh you, you're such a charmer", he says and chuckles, waiting to see how Jere reacts.

Jere giggles, as usual.

"So.. Princess Charming? Princess Charming and five toads?" he laughs, almost spilling his glögi all over the two of them.

"Now that's a movie!" Bojan joins the laughter, relieved for the chance to close his eyes and stop drowning in the blue ocean of Jere's eyes for a second.

"But they are not really toads", Jere sobers up, and puts his hand on Bojan's chest.

Bojan's brain short circuits. As he forces it to reboot and update its firewalls, he manages to respond to Jere in a completely and totally normal, not at all breathy voice.

"No?" he says.

Jere starts patting his chest, timed to his words.

"Not how story go! They are five pretty guys. Maybe one is even prince.." he finishes and drags his hand down Bojan's chest.

Bojan is about to spontaneously combust.

"Oh- " he opens his mouth, but does not get a word out before Jure claps his hand together resulting in a clap that should not be humanly possible.

"OKAY THEN, listen up you couch potatoes!! Next up at the Joker Out Christmas Party... Christmas jamming!" Jure announces excitedly.

"So why don't you make your way through to the studio space -" Nace gestures at the door, as all four guys smile widely at the two men on the sofa.

Bojan knows exactly what's going on. There is no way they are going to trick him and Jere into walking under the mistletoe, no sir! Bojan will protect Jere from these fiends if it's the last thing he does.

"Find a comfy place on the sofa.." Jan is joining Nace in gesturing at the door.

"And enjoy some tunes!" Kris concludes and looks at Bojan, expecting him to get up.

Bojan puts on his best unimpressed face.

"What, we don't get to play?" he asks.

The guys clearly hadn't thought of that.

"Well, Bojan- " Nace starts, but Bojan won't let him finish.

"I wanna see Jere play the drums. Will you play, Jerč?" he turns to Jere, who nods excitedly.

"Sound like fun! Yeah let's play!"

Bojan very smoothly and not at all clumsily starts to detach himself from Jere.

"Great! Jure actually got gifted some pretty cool sticks recently, I'll go find them", he says as he gets up, and quickly makes his way to the door before Jere is even standing up.

Kris tries to step in his way as Nace jumps in to grab his arm.

"No, Bojan, you stay there- no, don't go in there! Ahh, fuck."

Bojan stops right after passing through the doorway and looks at Nace with his best confused face. He is a great actor, after all.

"Huh? What's wrong with you? I'm just gonna go find the sticks, I saw them just the other day, I know where they are", he says and disappears into the studio.

"Right. Of course you do. Well, come on Jere. Let's get to jamming", Kris says as he pulls Jere with him.

🩵

Jure drags his bandmates by their hands back into the backroom.

"Guys!! Emergency meeting two!!!" he hisses and this time slams the door to the studio shut.

"We know, Jure," Kris somehow manages to make his eyeroll audible.

"Good plan, shit execution! All we got was Bojan in Jere's lap on the damn drum kit and 45 minutes of them whispering and giggling, but still no lips on lips action! I have to suggest we go back to pinecones," Jure says sternly, as the guys are clearly not grasping the seriousness of the situation.

"Pinecones was never a plan!! And Jan, drinks," Kris hisses, snapping his fingers at Jan. He misses Jan's murderous glare at the finger snapping.

Jan pours Kris a lot less than everyone else.

"But we have to do something. Look at them. Bojan is mere moments away from officially changing his place of residence to Jere's lap, but all they seem to be able to do is stare at each other, whisper and blush," Jure complains, annoyed at his band mates inability to be as clever and proactive as him.

"What if.. what if we just.. let them be? Get there on their own? I mean you said it yourself, they're practically glued to each other. Maybe tonight is the night they get their shit together," Nace suggests.

Jure doesn't like that and is disappointed in Nace deciding to become lazy. No, Bojan's feelings are too big and too important to the very existence of the band, for Jure to let Bojan be in charge of them.

"Maybe it is, but more importantly, maybe it isn't. And then what?! We let them imprint on each other like ducklings in love when neither of them has the guts to do anything about it, and then Jere fucks off back to the Arctic fucking circle and we're left here with a wounded duckling whose whole world just left on a plane?" Jure rants, disappointed that he has to explain such obvious things to these fools.

"That's actually a surprisingly accurate metaphor-" Jan starts.

"Though I do have to point out that I don't think Vantaa is quite within the Arctic circle," Kris quips.

Jure doesn't have time for either of them.

"Not the point! It's fucking far away! And we can't let him leave without Bojan getting that life saving kiss first," he explains.

"So what do we do?" Nace asks.

Jure has just the plan.

"Well first of all, Jan, pour some more drinks. Second of all.. I think it's time to move that mistletoe."

🩵

Bojan has to say something. He is practically in Jere's lap, their legs entwined, he cannot just keep staring at the mans mouth. Jere must have noticed, and it's probably getting weird now.

"Jere, you, uhh.. you've got some chocolate on your face", Bojan says, gesturing towards Jere's mouth.

Jere raises his fingers to his lips, which definitely does something to Bojan's heart. And dick.

"Where? Always so clumsy",Jere mumbles as he feels around his mouth.

Bojan would very much like to close the gap between them and lick the chocolate away. And then keep going from there. Maybe lick the inside of Jere's mouth.. his neck.. his chest.. down his stomach.. towards -

No! Not the time, not the place. He will pick up from here in the shower tonight, but for now, he needs to get a grip.

"Right, uh, there." Bojan reaches as close to Jere's face as he dares.

Jere's eyes snap up to look at him.

"Can you get it?" he asks, softly.

Bojan makes a mental note of getting his heart checked out because it's starting to feel out of control. He also sternly tells his dick to stand down.

"I don't really have anything to get it with.." he whispers.

Jere holds up one finger and Bojan fights the urge to lick that too.

"Can you take my finger there?" Jere smiles questioningly.

"Yeah, sure, it's uhh.." Bojan grabs Jere's finger and starts guiding it to the elusive smear of chocolate.

"Here", he breathes and places Jere's finger on the spot.

Jere wipes at it and looks at Bojan.

"I get it?"

Bojan shakes his head amused.

"Not quite, you kind of smudged it-" he starts but Jere interrupts.

"Help me?"

Bojan didn't know it was possible to actually do the pleading eyes emoji in real life. He realises that he would do anything Jere asked him to. Anything.

"Yeah, let me just-" Bojan starts, when a loud yelp and a soft thud startle him enough to jump.

Jere is equally startled and looking around.

Their eyes land on the scene at the same time.

Nace, on the floor on all fours, Kris half on top of him, half on the floor like a ragdoll, with Jure and Jan standing on each side of Nace, frozen with their hands still up in the air, as if they were supporting an invisible weight up.

"Watafak."

"Kris?! Guys what the hell?!!" Bojan jumps up.

Nace is the first one to snap out of it.

"Kris get off me and help me up."

Kris starts to move, whining as he does.

"Guys what is going on?" Bojan demands.

Jure hurries to help Kris up and turns to Bojan.

"Nothing Bojan, nothing is going on, you- you keep Jere company we just have to.. yeah, don't worry about it", he says as he starts ushering the guys into the backroom.

"Why was Kris standing on your back, Nace?" Bojan calls after them, but Jure waves at him dismissively.

"No reason, and he's fine, he didn't fall too badly."

"My ankle..." Kris whines as he limps to sit down.

"You're fine, Krisko. Anyway! Nothing to see here, we'll be right back", Jure says as he disappears in the back and pulls the door closed.

Kris is not happy.

"And whose fucking bright idea was it to try and stick the mistletoe to the ceiling?! And Jan, drinks!" he snaps, and Jan must take pity on his ordeal as he only sticks his tongue out at Kris behind his back.

"It could have worked, I know it. Mistletoe on the ceiling, get them to dance, and BAM..it was going to work", Jure defends his plan.

"Well it didn't", Nace says dryly and Jure thinks that maybe Nace should be coming up with the plans then, since he is such an expert on what will work.

"And I twisted my ankle, guys", Kris notes.

Jure is getting tired of this no-can-do attitude.

"Krisko, your ankle is the least of our worries", he snaps and downs half his drink.

"What if I can't walk?" Kris hisses, but Jure places his hand over Kris' mouth.

"Shhh, not important!" he hisses back.

"What do we do now?" Jan asks, also not a forward thinking problem solver Jure needs on his team.

"Where is the mistletoe now?" Jure demands to know.

"Right here. Didn't stick to the ceiling but I grabbed it off the floor", Kris throws the slightly damaged mistletoe to the table.

Jure grabs it and tries to straighten it.

"Good. We're going to have to freestyle this."

"As opposed to... the preplanned stylings thus far, huh?" Jan comments, but Jure doesn't have time for him and his commentary either.

"Shut up, I'm thinking. This gölgi is honestly surprisingly great, guys, I have to say."

🩵

Bojan is deep in thought planning the most platonic and brotherly way to react to Jere practically pulling him in his lap when they sat back down, when Jere starts to speak.

"What was best part of this year for you Bojan?"

Jere swipes strands of hair away from Bojan's face, and Bojan decides (after having a small stroke) that since Jere seems to have no problem redefining platonic, he also doesn't need to worry about it, so he grabs the drawstrings of Jere's hoodie and starts fiddling with them.

"Is it lame if I say this, right now? You coming to Slovenia? Like, of course we've had an incredible year as a band, amazing shows and just unbelievable experiences, but this.. this is something super special. You're special", he says, pulling at the strings.

Jere grabs his hand and squeezes it.

"Wow, that's.. thank you. You are special too, Bojan. So special", Jere whispers quietly, and again Bojan has to wonder if maybe... but maybe not. Brothers, right?

"What about you? Highlight of your year?" he whispers in an equally quiet tone, so as to not burst the bubble they're in.

Jere smiles that heart melting smile of his.

"I have to say same.. Work is great and I am so grateful and happy. But this is new experience, with special person."

Bojan feels dizzy, and he has made sure to stay away from the homemade glögi. He has only had two glasses of wine. It was two, right..?

"Yeah?" he breathes out.

"Yes," Jere whispers directly into his ear, and that must be just because Jere has actually been sipping away at that paint thinner the boys call glögi, not because of Bojan.

Bojan shivers none the less.

"Are you going to be making any new years resolutions?" he asks, instead of asking Jere for his hand in marriage.

Jere nods. He takes a moment looking away, and then at the ceiling.

"I think maybe.. next year I try be more brave", he says, decisive with a nod.

Bojan's eyebrows shoot up.

"I think you're already super brave", he says, surprised.

Jere shakes his head and still doesn't look at Bojan.

"I want.. not be scared to say what I want say", he says, determined.

"Yeah? What do you want to say?" Bojan is intrigued.

Jere suddenly looks a bit sheepish. In fact, Bojan could swear he sees a faint blush creeping up Jere's face.

"I want.. confess something to someone", Jere whispers very quietly.

Well now Bojan has to know. Because.. A man can dream, right? And if it's not him... he still wants to know.

"Who?" he asks, barely audible.

Jere looks at him, slowly.

"... You, Bojan", Jere breathes out.

Bojan's heart is actively trying to vacate the premises through his trachea. A shiver runs through his entire body and he's sure Jere notices. Right now, he doesn't care.

Because right now, he feels, more than ever, like yes, there is a chance after all. A chance that his wildest dreams could indeed become reality.

There is a spark of hope, suddenly. The air feels electric. Maybe after all this time Jere actually really isn't the most physically affectionate Finnish man who ever lived, who chooses to channel his affections towards one platonic brother over everyone else. Maybe after all this time it is possible, that the pull Bojan feels towards Jere works both ways.

Maybe after all this time, he will hear the words he has only heard in his dreams.

Or maybe his heart is about to shatter into a million little pieces he can never ever put back together.

Either way.. he has to know.

"Me? Confess what to me?" he squeals, very attractively.

"I - " Jere hesitates and looks away.

Bojan can't take it. It's now or never.

"Yes? What do you want to confess, Jerč?" he pleads.

Jere looks at him again, emoji eyes making a comeback.

"I think... I think I like you Bojan. I think maybe.. I know I... I love you", Jere whispers.

Inside, Bojan's soul exits his body, turns into a million fireworks, puts itself back together again and returns to his body now charged with some sort of energy he has never felt before.

Outside, he stares at Jere like he is all seven wonders of the world rolled into one and turned into a man.

"Jere-" he manages to choke out.

"Is that.. okei?"

The vulnerable insecurity in Jere's voice snaps Bojan out of his transcendental out of body experiences and he rushes to grab Jere's face between his hands.

He looks deep into those mesmerising eyes and speaks from the heart.

"Yeah, yes. Yes, yes, yes, it's more than okay."

A smile that could blind Bojan spreads across Jere's face.

"Yes?" Jere asks, shy.

Bojan wants to explode.

"Yes, because I-" he starts but has to stop to close his eyes and breathe.

"Bojan?" Jere pats his hand with his own.

Bojan opens his eyes.

"I love you too", he says, determined to make Jere feel just how much he means it.

Jere's breath hitches.

"You do?" he asks, searching Bojan's eyes.

"Yes. A thousand times yes", Bojan says with confidence that can only be achieved by having your soul turn into a million fireworks because the man of your dreams said he loves you.

A tear rolls down Jere's face and Bojan hurries to wipe it away.

"Oh. Look like I find prince at this party after all", Jere whispers with a soft giggle.

Bojan's newfound confidence has indeed turned him into a storybook prince and he plays the part.

"Can I.. can I kiss you?" he asks.

Jere nods eagerly.

"Yes, please."

Bojan closes the distance between them.

On the other side of the wall, Jure is finishing his session of coaching the guys into real and true mistletoe freestylers. He's not sure they get it, but this is the team he has and this is the team he will lead.

"So, we're gonna have to be smooooth with it guys, real smooth - any more gölni left? So like.. always have eyes on the other guys and be ready to attack, okay?" Jure explains and wonders if the other guys are possibly a little bit drunk. Not him, but them.

"Yeah, be ready to take the mistletoe, be ready to pass the mistletoe, just - be ready", Kris agrees, nodding. Nace and Jan nod along.

"Okay, now. Those two have been on their own in the studio for a good half an hour now, probably whispering half flirtatious things to each other and trying to merge their souls into one or whatever it is they do. It is high time we break that tension with some mistletoe magic", Jure rallies his troops, getting whoops and cheers in return. Maybe they do get it now.

"So, we trap them, from both sides. Where ever they are, we are too, ready to hold the mistletoe over their heads," Nace concludes, and Jure has to clap. Finally, they demonstrate fighting spirit.

"They can't get away. Let's do this. Let's get our singer some tongue down his throat!" Jan shouts, joining in.

"Yes, come onn!" Jure yells.

They all jump up and immediately grab on to the table for support.

"Whoop, ha, I think I might be a bit tipsy", Jan laughs.

"Heh, yeah getting up is - oops, a bit wobbly", Kris giggles.

"We can't let that stand in our way, guys. Game faces on!" Jure declares as they keep going.

Nace is the first at the door.

"Ah, guys...?" he calls.

The others hurry behind him to look through to the studio.

"What? Oh", Jure stops.

"Huh!" Jan quips.

"What - what am I looking at here? Am I seeing this correctly or did we make gölgi strong enough to make me hallucinate?" Kris squints at the sight before them.

"They're.. making out", Nace says.

"They actually are", Jan nods.

"Wow", Kris whispers.

"Who would have guessed", Jan continues.

"Whoooho, nice!!" Jure yelps because he can't help himself.

Bojan and Jere both jump and snap their heads towards the door.

"Shhh, you interrupted them!" Nace complains.

"Oh hello guys", Bojan says with a satisfied smile, and rather than getting up from where he is sitting on Jere's lap, thighs splayed on either side of him, Bojan wraps his arms around Jere's neck and hugs him closer. He stares at his bandmates.

His bandmates stare at him.

"Don't mind us, we can just -" Nace starts to turn.

"Yeah, we don't need to be here", Jan accompanies him.

"Congrats on the.. kissing", Kris shows them both thumbs up.

"Yeah, well done!" Jure congratulates, even if he is a bit disappointed that the fight is over.

Bojan giggles and pets Jere's hair.

"Thanks! Yeah, I guess we.. got our shit together, as you put it," he smiles.

The four other guys stop dead in their tracks.

"You.. knew?" Jure asks slowly.

Bojan shoots them one of his best unimpressed looks.

"Are you asking me if I saw the mistletoe taped to the doorway and immediately knew what you were up to? Or are you asking me if I could hear the four of you getting increasingly louder with your "emergency meetings" as you drank more and more of your incredibly strong fake glögi, which I can only assume you made to get us tipsy? You know, he might not understand Slovene, but I do. And you were loud", he explains.

Four pairs of eyes stare at him, blankly.

"I'm taking that as yes he knew, guys", Jure whispers.

"We just wanted to help, Boki", Kris whines.

"Both you and us", Jan helps.

"Help us and..yourselves..?" Bojan asks, confused.

"You are annoying, Boki. So annoying", Kris explains helpfully.

"Yeah, and gross", Jan adds, as Nace, Jure and Kris nod along.

Jere starts to giggle hysterically.

"Bojan, I think Joker boys are drunk", he manages between giggles.

Bojan laughs too, shaking his head.

"They are, but they do actually mean it too. Well, lucky for you guys, we did get our shit together, and confessed our feelings for each other, so really I should be congratulating you!" he says happily.

The blank stares return.

"Th- thank you..?" Jure tries.

Bojan nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah, you got what you wanted! First row seats to us openly and happily in love. Right, Jerč?" he says and turns to Jere, who immediately knows to play along.

"We are so in love! We have to kiss all the time", Jere explains and looks at Bojan lovingly.

Bojan starts petting his hair.

"Aaaalll the time, like right now, mmh kiss me Jere, kiss me like you mean it", he sighs, and Jere surges to devour his mouth, as Bojan moans loudly.

"Okay, we get it!" Kris yells and covers his eyes.

"You can stop now", Jan pleads, but doesn't actually look away.

Bojan breaks the kiss and looks at his bandmates apologetically and very convincingly, as good actors do.

"Oh but we can't!" he pouts.

Jere shakes his head too.

"No, we maybe die!" he all but shouts.

"Or I might turn into a toad if Princess Charming here doesn't kiss me regularly and rigorously!" Bojan worries, hugging Jere's whole head to his chest.

Jere looks up pleadingly.

"Kiss me, prince! I don't want kiss a toad!" he stage whispers.

Bojan dives right in.

"Ha, ha, ha, we get it!" Jure says, unimpressed.

"There's no point guys, we're done here", Nace says and starts herding the guys in the backroom.

"Yeah, leave them to it", Jan agrees but takes one last look.

"Can we order pizza? I don't feel too good..." Kris asks.

"It's that damn glönni", Jure curses.

"GLÖGI!" comes the immediate stereo response from the couch.

"Shut up, lovebirds."

[sams-art-domain]

Why not me?

Ivan/till

No alien AU

Inspired by this artwork by @carlozw

Chapter 1 of 2, 4007 words, 99.99% angst,

Till is more emotionally mature than I meant to make him so he’s a little sillier.

Tw - general TW of death and all that entails

hehehe Please reblog if you enjoy! :3

ff under the cut.

It’s summarized pretty well by the first few sentences.

A weight on his shoulder, a squeeze around him. Maybe even an all too familiar head pat. Till knew what was going on,

 Ivan couldn’t even leave him alone through the afterlife.  He was sure of it. 

That freak had somehow found a way to bother Till, even though he was dead. And it was starting to get hard to bare, 

Till sat in a criss-cross position, drawing. Not really paying attention to what, it had been about a week since Ivan died, and his fucked up producers was going to make Till show face on stage in a few hours. Just saying a few things about the… stunt Ivan pulled, and he did not want to do that. 

Till’s face reddened at the idea of it. He couldn’t believe that selfish- annoying- Idi- 

Till jumped out of his train of thought- A strong hand patted his head, he could feel it but it wasn’t there. 

“Fuckin- Ivan-“ Till swatted his hands above his head. Even though he was alone in his bedroom, he felt stupid and if anyone else saw him, they’d probably call him crazy. 

Till stared at his paper, he had drawn the stage. Where Ivan was shot. By some insane fucked fan. Of his. His fan. It wasn’t Ivan’s fault that Till was a worse singer. If Till sang better that fan wouldn’t have flipped out and shot Ivan. If Till had moved faster then he might’ve been the dead one. Not Ivan. 

Till stood up. Suddenly very- something he didn’t know what he felt but he was pissed about it anyway, 

“God fuck this-“ He went to go punch a wall. Even though this was an apartment rented by his producers, they would have to pay for the damage. 

He hit something that’s definitely not a wall. 

“Fucking- IVAN-“ He hit him again. And again, and again, and for once in his 17 years of living he would have done anything to have been able to see Ivan’s face. Probably smiling like the weird ass freak he was. 

He slumped against the wall? Ivan? He actually didn’t care. He was tired. Really fucking tired of having to feel like this. His face scrunched up in that empty angry way. When you want to scream with frustration but there's no air in your lungs to scream with. Till stared at the floor of his stupidly fancy building.

Ivan’s fucking dead and Till just gets to move on? He gets to go show face today and make thousands of dollars while Ivan just sleeps in his coffin. It’s not fair. Till should be in the ground right now. Not Ivan. 

Till leaned more of his weight on to the wall(ivan). He exhaled in less of a sigh and more of a last-breath kinda way. He felt dizzy. Exhaustion taking hold in his bones. Like he had never not been tired. “Why not me?” He asked under his breath. Knowing no one would hear it. 

He fell asleep standing there. 

He woke up an hour or so later. Lying in his bed, his heated blanket on the highest setting and wrapped around him. He curled in on himself. Not really remembering how he got to his bed but he didn’t really care. He checked the time. 

1:45ish. He has to get up, like. Now if he wants to make it to the stage in time. “Fuck this…” Till Weakly hit his head on his pillow a few times. He didn’t want to get up. 

Something tugged at his arm. Tug. tug. Till looked at his arm, above the blanket. Something definitely was tugging his arm. 

“Ivan-” Till knew he sounded insane. It was kinda stupid, really. But what else would it be? He wasn’t exactly close with any other dead person. 

“Augh-” Till grunted as one swift, strong tug had him upright in a sitting position. Tills head spun from the sudden change. He felt weak. And tired. Really, really tired. But of course, the producers wouldn’t care that he was being haunted or that he was grieving or that he was tired. They’d threaten him. Or his mom. Tell him that her wellbeing rests on his shoulders. And he knows it does, They wouldn't be able to afford her treatment otherwise. It sucks but that's how it is. And Till loves his mom. He isn’t a quitter. 

Till stood up, and as he did, he felt Ivans hand pat his shoulder. Which was oddly tame and almost comforting. He sighed, and then got dressed in the outfit his producers instructed him to. All black, the shirt having a wide neck that was slightly off of the shoulder. The same outfit he wore in round six. The same outfit Till wore when Ivan died. Sick fucks. Didn’t give a crap about him. 

Whatever. Not like he had a choice. 

Till went to the bathroom, did his own routine rather swiftly. Covered his eyebags with concealer.then swiped eyeliner on his eyelid. Per request of the producers, he put on some subtle black eyeshadow. Till looked in the mirror. HIs brain still felt asleep. Fuzzy. Sedated almost. He just looked at himself. Thin. Thinner than usual? Tired. More exhausted than usual? He looked kinda dead. Ironic all things considered. Till felt like crying. His nose burned like he was about to. But he couldn’t cry. He just put on makeup.. 

He was hugged from behind. It was horrifically comforting. If this was all in his head he was gonna need to have some serious medication to fix it. It felt so real and as much as Till wanted to believe it was real there was always that doubt. ‘You’re crazy. Insane.’ Till didn’t really know how to feel. Never did anymore.

 He wanted to quit this stupid idol job and do something with his stupid life. But he loved singing. 

He wanted to cry but also didn't want to wallow in his own self pity. 

He wanted to see Ivan’s stupid face but also wanted to forget him more than anything.

His life was just stupid contradictions and ultimatums. Hell- his own birth was due to a failed abortion. His mother wanted to get rid of him but couldn’t. 

Till slammed his fists down on the bathroom sink counter. 

Ivan pulled him away from the sink. Holding his hands, still behind him. Till squeezed his eyes shut. Willing the tears to go away. He went to check the time. Ivan held his hand still. Sometimes Till wasn’t even sure this was Ivan. He thought Ivans soul? Spirit? Whatever. Would have been troublesome. And chaotic. Not cuddly and touchy-feely.

 Maybe this is what Ivan had wanted. To be near to TIll. To be able to hug and hold TIll. Maybe it would’ve been easier if Till had let him. Why’d Till even push Ivan awa-

Till's phone rang. He scrambled to pick up his phone. Ivan let go of him. Tills phone read “evil assholes” The producers. “Fuck my life I guess.” 

Till answered. 

“WE NEED YOU HERE IN 5 MINUTES. NOW. THE TAXI IS ON THE WAY. BE READY, IF YOU’RE LATE YOU BETTER CATCH A TAXI TO THE HOSPITAL BECAUSE THE BILLS ARE GONNA GET REAL HARD TO PAY REAL FAST.” The producer on the other end practically screamed through the phone. Good thing Till hadn’t cried. He wouldn't of had time to redo his makeup. 

“Yes. Sir.” Till spoke through his teeth. Enraged he was being held by a leash like a dog. He wanted to punch that fucker in his jaw for threatening him like this. Till hung up aggressively. A silent fuck you to the producer. 

Till walked out of the bathroom. Seething. So fucking angry. Too. Fucking. Angry. Till could feel his breath hitch like he was gonna scream. But couldn’t because this was an apartment with thin walls. Didn’t want any of the stupid rich ass CEO’s next door to flip out. Instead, Till sat on the cough to get his shoes on. Slamming his fists down on his knees hard enough to bruise before slipping his shoes on.

Till, now with his shoes on, had a moment. Briefly mind you. But a moment. To be really. REALLY. Fucking angry. Nothing even mattered to Till right now he just wanted to hurt and hurt and hurt. Whether it be him or someone else didn’t actually occur to him. Till gripped his own shoulders like a crazy person. Furious he had to live like this. Why’d his mother get sick? What did he ever do to deserve such fucked up shit to happen?  

“Fuck. THis-” Till hit his own head with the ball of his hand. He didn't even know what to do with himself. He just wanted to hurt something. He stood up. Practically shaking with anger. He couldn't even remember why he was angry. Hardly. He should be used to being held by a string like this, it had happened since his late middle childhood. When his mom got sick ad his life was turned upside down and the fucked organization that ran this show found him and abused him until he was so completely dependant on them he couldnt escape. Honestly? “Why am I even surprised!? THEY NEVER EVEN FUCKING HELPED!!!” Till was trying to stop from yelling but he had let that one slip. He trembled with anger and he couldn’t put it anywhere. His hands balled into fists seemingly on their own. He turned towards a wall and began punching. Harder. Harder. Harder. His hands hurt bad. His hands were scraped now. He kept hitting the wall and then-

“Till- you have a ride prepared. It is here now.” A higher pitched voice called through the door. Snapped Till out of his rage. 

Till looked at the door and then his hands. Shaking like he was in a snowstorm. His left, index knuckle bloodied. He didn't have time to care. It would just make the producers look bad. Till didn't mind that at all. He exhaled. And turned to the door. Putting on a straight face. Trying to hide any evidence of his breakdown from before. He could only imagine he looked horrible. He hadn't eaten in 2 days. Hadnt slept well since Ivan died. He hadn't even hardly gotten out of bed since Ivan died. Only getting up this morning because he had to.

Till ran his hand down his face, then opened the door. 

Till had made lots of mistakes in his life, but walking out that door? Probably the worst. He was bombarded with paparazzi, 3 professional grade cameras. Tons of other people with their phones out. How do they always find where he lives? What the fuck. 

“Till, I'm so sorry they just followed me and then I couldn't get them to leave-” The girl apologized, but Till just nodded. Deciding he was gonna mentally tap-out right about now. Already overwhelmed as people yelled questions at him(that he of course, ignored.) 

They practically crawled through the crowd and to the taxi as he got in, it finally being a bit quieter. 

“I’m so sorry- I didn't know if i should call security or not, I hadn’t meant for it to get this out of hand.” The woman looked like she was going to cry, and Till knew it wasn’t her fault. 

“Next time just call security, they’re here for a reason. It’s not your fault they don’t know how to act.” Till looked out the window.  But then decided to just rest his head on the front passenger seat. Already far too tired to be doing this. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, he went to look and woe-and-behold, no one. Well, not technically no one. Ivan. The woman driving had shivered, under her breath, saying something about how cold it was in the car. Promptly turning up the heat in the car, despite it being 80 degrees. 

Ivan hadn’t felt cold to Till. He had always seemed somewhat cold when he was alive, but he was always warm to Till. Something of comfort even. Till always felt far from Ivan when he was alive. Though now Ivan felt so close to Till it was suffocating. 

Kind of like the night after it was made public that Mizi was kidnapped, almost a year ago. Ivan had visited Till. He had felt so weirdly there. And close. He was so real then even though usually Ivan had felt fake and far away. He had even asked before hugging Till. Who at the time was so distraught and scared that he had let Ivan hug him. It would have been normal for any other person, but the softness and vulnerability was so new and different. It was really nice. Which is something Till didn’t know he could have with Ivan. Till thought about that night often. He had sat on the couch with Ivan and he wrapped his arm around Tills shoulder. They hadn’t said much that night. Just hello, goodbye, and Ivan had asked- “Can I hold you?” That was really it. Ivan had hugged and cuddled Till while he cried. But since then they hadn’t said much. And then Ivan was shot. And died. And Till could officially say that this was the worst year of his life. The only thing that could make it worse was his mom dy- 

Don’t jinx it. Do not finish that fucking sentence. 

Till had started to think he was the one hurting the people he loved. The day before till was going to confess to Mizi she was kidnapped and had not been heard from since. The day that he had started to really think about Ivan as more than just an annoying guy he’d known for years he died. He died. 

The car stopped. Great. He was at the place he thought of as hell on earth. It was so fucking hot in the car yet the woman driving still had the heat on. 

He sat in the car. Wishing a crazed fan would shoot him next. But he wasn’t shot, so he opened the door. 

Y’know how earlier he thought he had made the worst mistake of his life? Well this was a worse one. 

People, people, people people- Till had decided then he HATED people. There were hundreds. Some with microphones and news reporters. Some were just phones. Some polaroids. He hated being watched like this, fuck his stupid life.  

A man holding a large camera asked him a question, loud enough that he could actually hear outside of the loud ambience of a crowd this huge. “Had you been dating Ivan before he was shot?” 

Why? The. Fuck. was the first question he was asked. Not. ‘Are you okay, how have you been? Why are you back so early?’ 

No. It had to be about that stupid thing- Ivan- Fucking hell Ivan why did you have to kiss me- and then die?! 

Till thought he might’ve punched the guy. Then he felt a strong hand grab his. Ivan. It made Till tired. Sad. Less angry. So he did what he did best and ignored the question. Just wanting to get backstage and away from these people. 

And he did just that. 

Once backstage, Ivan had let go of his hand. And Till felt an emptiness. Ivans soul was very… comforting? Safe? Whatever. 

Till didn’t get to feel safe here. 

As he walked through the entrance to the room directly leading to the stage, several makeup artists rushed him to a seat and began working. Obviously, they had to make him as emo as possible. Heavy eyeliner, using contour to make him look more tired than he was. Trying their best to really make him look like he was mourning- but in an aesthetic way not “I’ve barely eaten or slept in days because I’m, so horrifically distraught and empty and of course the soul of my dead person is haunting me why wouldn't he?” kinda way. 

Once they had finished, The producer. Anakt. Came up to him. Great. 

“WE NEEDED YOU HEAR 10 MINUTES AGO!!!! WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN???” 

Till looked up at him, a sickening amount of rage washed over him. He stayed silent though. 

“UGh- fuck this. Just go out there, say some kind of basic-ass eulogy, confirm you are NOT. gay or queer supporting at all, tell them that round 7 is in two months and then get off the stage. I’ll be deducting 10% of your paycheck for your tardiness. Don’t let it happen again.” Anakt walked away. Leaving a Till trembling with rage and fear.

He stood up, and made face. 

On this stage alone is a privilege. Usually only given to the winners of Alien Stage. But of course, Till is standing here because he wasn’t shot. 

He walked up to the microphone. Sick with so many emotions. Resisting the urge to cry. And he didn’t know what to say. The crowd went silent. 

Till figured if this was gonna be about Ivan, this was gonna be honest. Something he never was with Ivan. 

“Hello everyone. I-” Till gulped. his throat already dry. “I’m here to talk about the events that happened 6 days ago on this stage. The day that Ivan-” He paused, debating his words. “The day that Ivan was murdered. Shot 3 times through his back.” Till swallowed tears. 

He looked at the crowd, the one that was usually cheering. But now dead silent. 

He felt a strong hug. Arms wrapped around him. He decided to keep going. 

:”I’ll miss him. A lot. And I don't think my life will ever be the same again.” Arms squeezed tight. Till let it happen. 

“I think I deserved to have died on that day. Taken Ivans place.” Despite being a celebrity, Till wasn't good at words and struggled on what to say next. Ivan rested his head on Tills. It felt like it was just him and Ivan. Words came easier. 

“But I didn't. So it's up to me to keep living now. I’m sorry that this is how things ended up.” Till sighed. 

Ivan pressed his forehead to Tills. And Till leaned into it. He probably looked a little weird, but who cared. 

“If I could say something to him today I’d say this: 

Ivan, you have been the person I've been closest to for almost 10 years. You have made me happy and mad and sad and made me feel just as much as I didn't know I  could. But despite that you’ve always been fabricated. Hidden. Far away. Yet I could always feel your warmth. LIke the sun, so far away yet warm all the same. 

Maybe under different circumstances we’re normal kids. Not forced to fame. Not used liked dolls. Maybe we bicker and fight but we never have to worry about faking it for PR. Maybe you’re genuine and real and we’re close and we hang out after school and play video games. 

That’s truly impossible now. And I think- I think I hate the man that shot you. Which is hard for me to say because I don't want to hate anyone. But I do. I know I do. And I think there was a time in my life where I hated you. For always being so clingy yet distant. For always being so blunt but hidden. It pissed me off. 

But now I don't think there's anything in the world that would make me hate you. Nothing at all. The only reason I hated you is because no matter how much I tried I couldn't understand you. You were so fixated on me. But was never honest. Never real.  Never close- I’m just going in circles now. But anyway. I didn’t understand you, and I still don't, and I don't think I ever will understand you. And I guess I'm stuck with that now because you’re gone. Sometimes I think you’re not really gone. Sometimes it feels like you’re right there. That I could reach out and feel your stupid hand. Or that if I could just squint a little harder I could see your stupid smile. But I guess you are really gone. I’ll never know you. And that's my biggest regret. I think. 

Since you’ve died I've barely slept, eaten, or got out of bed. Since you’ve died every morning when I check my phone, I feel something in me die when there's no good morning. Every night, I feel like my whole routine is thrown off because I don't get a good night's text. I don’t think I've had any real conversation with someone since you’ve died. The fucked up part of someone dying is that they’re existence doesn’t end. They still exist, just not with you. They’re still alive in an unfulfilled routine, a memory, a dream, a feeling. The hurt. And it's the worst. Like how when you empty a cup of water, you’ll get thirsty again but the cup is empty, and eventually you die of dehydration. And there's nothing I can do to fix it.”

Till couldn’t stop from letting a few tears slip. Ivan squeezed him, holding him like he was trying to protect him from himself. Till swallowed and kept going. He knew his producers were much more than furious at this point. Figured he could keep going. 

“I said that I wish I had died that day, not you. And that's true. Ever since you died all I have been able to think of is ‘why not me?’ ‘Why wasn't I shot?’ And I still wish I was dead right now instead of you. Though I don't think I would've wanted you to suffer like I am right now. The last thing I would have wanted was for you to be forced on stage to excuse your death while you’re still grieving. So there's gotta be a reason I didn't die. I don't know what it is. But I know that there has to be one. Right as you died. Hands around my throat, you smiled. You smiled like this was the best day of your life, and maybe it was. Maybe you were surprised, but happy with your death. Maybe you wanted it. You always were selfish. Always just doing whatever you wanted- or maybe you didn't want it? But you had accepted it anyway. I don't know. I could ask questions like these all day. It doesn’t matter.”

Ivan was holding till so gently. With so much caution and love- and Till was crying. Fat, hot tears rolling down his face as he tried to only look at his feet. 

“I don't know what was hoped to be accomplished with this. But I did it. So, before I go, I want to confirm two things.” 

This might be the true, real, most horrific mistake of his life. But Till seemed to have been making lots of those lately. So he figured, Why not one more. From this, he realized something. From Ivan dying and this speech, he had made one of the scariest and most upsetting realizations of his life. And now he was gonna tell the world. He tried to hide his slowing tears as fast as possible.

“Ivan loved me, that's why he kissed me that day.” The crowd seemed to perk up at that, lots of whispers, and Till figured that he might as well make his worst mistake, ever. 

Ivan let go of the hug, him not even expecting this.

Till decided to just say it, get it over with and walk off the stage. “And I love him. Which is why I let him.” Till remembered that at the time, he had tried to push Ivan away, so he added. “Sorta.”

“That is my eulogy for Ivan. Round 7 in two months.” Till walked to backstage, and the crowd fucking erupted with cheers and claps and screams. 

Ivan held his hand the whole time.

also yes of course the title is a mitski reference what do you take me for? A good author?