#i think hes been coming out of his shell on our shift and around me in general lately which is really nice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daddyjackfrost · 2 years

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darling ; dream x f!reader

sandman masterlist

read my sandman series stay with me here

The Dreaming, a realm of dreams and nightmares, was the home to many, including Dream of the Endless and his wife, Lady of The Dreaming.

In contrast to her husband, Lady of The Dreaming was a soft and gentle soul. The light to his dark. The dream to his nightmare. While Dream managed everything that occurred in the night, the nightmares and creatures, His Lady managed The Dreaming in the day, the more mundane of dreamers. Those who drifted in and out of their realm; the children, the elderly, and the night owls.

It was a good life. A happy, loving, joyful life. One that Morpheus and his Lady wouldn’t have traded for anything. They were content, and so in love.

Until the King of Dreams and Nightmares was captured. For over a century.

80 years later…

Lucienne, the head librarian of The Dreaming, paced in front of the crumbling library doors. The library was one of the only places in The Dreaming that remained upright. As the rest of the realm withered away, Lucienne and the Lady tried their best to keep the Library—Morpheus’s favourite place—as intact as they could. All their belief and love was channeled towards the tower filled with books as old as time.

With a hesitant knock, the librarian waited for an invitation.

“Come in, Lucienne.”

Pushing the door open, Lucienne’s eyes landed on the slumped figure of her Ladyship. As she had been doing for years now, the Lady of the Dreaming stared out of the Library’s grand window. She watched her realm, the one she had loved and taken care of for thousands of years, deteriorate into rubble.

Lucienne threaded her fingers together. Not only had she watched her home turn into nothing, she watched her Queen, once lively and the heart of the Dreaming, turn into an empty shell of the God she once was.

“Can I make you some tea, my Ladyship? Perhaps a meal?”

The Lady turned her head and smiled at her old friend. Without Lucienne, the Dreaming would have crumbled completely long ago. She patted the empty space next to her. “Come sit, Lucienne. I could use the company of a friend.”

Lucienne smiled and sat next to her Lady. Together, they both travelled deep within their minds, recalling old memories of their home, when it was once beautiful and filled with imagination.

“I wonder what Morpheus thinks about, trapped in that glass. I have not seen him since Corinthian made Burgess place a shielding spell. Do you think he knows we have not abandoned him?”

Lucienne hesitated. Ever since Jessamy was killed, there had been no news about the King of Dreams. Shifting her eyes to the Lady, Lucienne took in her sullen eyes, her glazed skin, and the slight tremble of her hands.

“Lord Morpheus is smart. That being said, I’m sure he does not know that his absence has resulted in… this.” Lucienne wanted to console her Ladyship, but there was little to offer. “He thinks about you, I’m sure.”

The Lady of The Dreaming clapped her hands and stood, smoothing out her long black dress. “Yes, he must. Let’s make our rounds, Lucienne. Perhaps we shall find something unusual today.”

Together, a librarian and a God in love walked the planes of their home, hand in hand, welcoming the warmth and comfort they offered the other, knowing they had little time left.

100 years later…

Dark, silver and blue eyes watched as Alex Burgess’s wheelchair wiped away the containment spell that had kept Dream, King of the Dreaming, captive for over a century.

Paul, Alex’s lover, turned back to look at the strange and powerful man. With the slightest nod, he pushed Alex’s wheelchair towards the door. This was the last time either man would come to the basement. They had hoped that this final offering would spare them.

Dream let out the softest of breaths, he could feel the freedom that awaited him. With the slightest stretch of his muscles, Dream stood. The hum around him grew louder, and settled deep within his heart.

With what remaining power he had, Dream broke free from his prison. Putting the guards to sleep, Dream rolled his shoulders. Before he reunited with his love, his wife, he had someone else he needed to take care of.

Alex Burgess had to pay for his crime. And the crimes of his father.

An unfortunate becoming, Dream thought. To pay for a father’s crime.

With a deep breath, Dream travelled to Alex Burgess’s dreams.

“Hello,” Dream spoke slowly. His voice carried through Alex’s mind, wrapping around his subconscious and drowning him.

Alex Burgess's eyes widened into a look Dream had come to familiarize with.

Fear.

“It’s you. You’re… you’re free.”

Dream stood, in all his dark glory. “I am. Do you have any idea what it was like? Confined in a cage for a century?” There was malice in his voice, running deeper than Dream’s thirst for vengeance. “Do you understand the damage you’ve done to your world?”

Alex shook his head, trying to back away from the very entity that had haunted his waking hours for years. “I’m sorry,” the man cried, “I didn’t know. Please.”

Dream stepped closer to the frightened man and leaned down. His eyes glowed and his anger simmered. “Your punishment, then, shall be a gift.” Dream had not missed the wince that came from Alex Burgess. After all, it was his father’s selfish need for a gift that had killed him.

“I give you this, the gift… of eternal… sleep.”

With a blow of sand, Alex Burgess was put to sleep for eternity.

Morpheus, now completely free of human control, thought of home. His realm. His love.

With no time wasted, Dream opened a gateway to The Dreaming. He was going home, back to his sweet lover.

Dark grains of sand prickled Dream’s face. With power he seemed to lack, Morpheus had gracefully landed in his realm on his side, weak.

“Sir? Sir!”

A familiar, feminine voice called out to Dream, and for just a human second, he imagined it to be his lover. Footsteps ran closer, and Dream tried to open his eyes.

“Oh, my goodness. It’s me.” Lucienne crouched beside her Lord. “It’s Lucienne.”

With a soft gasp, Morpheus opened his eyes. A burst of something warm washed over him, seeing his librarian. His loyal, forever liable librarian.

“Lucienne,” Morpheus said weakly.

Lucienne's lips pulled into a smile, her eyes glazed. “You’re home, my Lord.” She put her hand out.

Reaching for her hand, Morpheus’s eyes twinkled. “I am.”

Pulling her Master up, Lucienne and Morpheus stared at each other. Unspoken words, apologies, and questions hovered in the air between them. But Lucienne just smiles, and Morpheus nodded once.

They both begin the trek back to the palace, and Lucienne watches as her Lord takes in the outskirts of The Dreaming. How dull and unkept it has become.

Once they reached the doors to The Dreaming, Lucienne cleared her throat. “Forgive me, sir, but the realm… the palace… they are not as you left them.”

Morpheus pushed open the large doors. His eyes scanned the view before him. A piece of his heart broke, seeing his creation, his realm, in this state.

With a deeper, emotional undertone, Morpheus asked, “What happened here? Who did this?”

Lucienne threaded her fingers together. Her eyes on the tower, where she knew her Lady was residing.

“My lord, you are The Dreaming, The Dreaming is you. With you gone for as long as you were, everything began to crumble and decay.”

“What of the residents? The palace staff?”

Lucienne did not miss his true intention. What of my Queen? Where is she?

“Gone, sir. Most are gone.”

Morpheus' eyes lit with a dull fire. “Had they so little faith in me? That I would return?”

Lucienne wishes she could have been honest with him. Tell him just how his absence had affected the realm, the residents. She wished she could have reminded him of the Endless that had abandoned their realm. But she held her tongue. Like the loyal servant she was.

“What of my Queen, Lucienne? Where is she?” Morpheus wished he sounded less fearful.

Lucienne hesitated, and then she sighed. “She is here, my Lord.” Stepping next to Dream, Lucienne pointed at the palace tower, the library. “She is there. Waiting for you.”

Without hesitation, Morpheus began walking towards the palace. Once he reunited with his love, held her in his arms, he could think about his realm and the damage he had yet to repair.

Lucienne followed her Lord quickly behind him. As they reached the palace, Lucienne opened her mouth. “Sir… If I may?”

The hesitation in Lucienne’s voice put Morpheus on edge. Turning his head slightly back, he raised his eyebrow at Lucienne. “Speak, Lucienne.”

“In your absence, The Dreaming began to fall apart. The only reason it is still standing, is because her Ladyship has commanded it to. She is powerful, sir, but not as strong as you. For a century she has used power she does not hold, and it has taken a toll on her.”

Lucienne watched as Morpheus' back became rigid, how he flexed his fingers just to clench them.

“Like The Dreaming, I’m afraid she’s dying, my Lord. She’s carrying the weight of The Dreaming, and it was not meant for her.”

Morpheus stopped in front of the Library doors. He stood stiller than Lucienne had ever seen him. Power and anger rolled off him, and Lucienne squeezed her hands together harder. With a tone she had yet to hear, Morpheus spoke.

“Thank you, Lucienne. Leave me to mend the heart and strength of my Queen.”

Lucienne nodded, bowing. “Of course, my Lord.”

Before Lucienne could walk away, in a smaller voice, Dream asked her the one question that had haunted him for a century.

“Does she hate me, Lucienne?”

With no hesitation, Lucienne answered. “No, sir. She loves you just as much as you love her. If not more.”

Morpheus waited until Lucienne’s became a faint whisper. With a newfound fear, he brought his pale, slightly trembling hand to the door and knocked, once.

“Come in, Lucienne.”

Morpheus’s eyes fluttered. With a deep breath, he pushed open the library doors. Morpheus’s eyes landed on his Queen, sitting on a simple seat that looked like a throne. Morpheus’s dark eyes travelled the length of his lover, taking in her weaker body and sullen eyes.

“Darling,” Morpheus whispered.

With speed that had long died, Lady of The Dreaming turned her head to face her husband. Her eyes met his, glazed and remorseful, and she stood.

With parted lips, the Lady whispered, “Morpheus?”

As magnets do, or souls bounded by fate, Morpheus and his lover pulled towards each other. Arms and bodies tangled together, and they both took their first breath. Scents of the other filled their bodies and their hearts beat as one.

Morpheus tightened his arms around his lover, and let out a sigh at the feeling of her hands in his hair. Their bodies fused together as one, unknown to them where one started and the other ended.

His Queen pulled away, just enough to rest her forehead against his. “Am I dreaming, Morpheus? Please say no, I cannot handle it. Are you really here?”

Morpheus’s voice, thick with emotion, came from deep within his body. “I am here, my love. I am here.” At the sound of a quiet, broken sob, Morpheus pressed a kiss to his Queen’s forehead. “Oh, my darling. My love. My Queen. I am here.”

Fragile hands tightened their grip on his robes. Morpheus lifted his hand from his lover’s waist and placed it on her cheek. “You’ll never be alone again, I promise.”

Lady of The Dreaming nodded, believing her King. She could feel his trembling fingers. “It was horrible without you, my love. I…” She lifted her eyes to meet Morpheus’s. His eyes were screaming at her. Tell me everything. Be honest with me. I’m sorry. I love you.

“I am tired.”

Morpheus shut his eyes. When he spoke, his breath tickled her cheeks. “I know, darling. I’m sorry.”

Then, Lady of The Dreaming asked her husband for the thing she had wanted–needed– for over a century.

“Kiss me, Morpheus. Please.”

Knowing he owed her much more, Morpheus brought his lips to hers. Her lips were soft, almost silken, and untouched against his. Morpheus could feel the soft tickle of her breath beneath his nose, fingers carding through his hair and he breathed her in.

Pulling each other closer, the King and Queen of The Dreaming used their bodies to convey all their words, the apologies and confessions that had gone long unsaid.

Their reunion pleased The Dreaming, and as the King and Queen mended their relationship, The Dreaming began to mend itself.

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aizawaskittenwhore · 8 months

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august first—r. braun

summary: you fuck reiner as a birthday gift. that’s pretty much it.

notes/content warnings: rough sex, facefucking, degradation, choking, some angst cause relationships are messy, unprotected p in v sex cause we raw dog over here, armin is a sweetheart and eren needs to go to bed, i think i covered everything but let me know if i missed anythin!

this was meant to be a birthday piece for rei 😔*stares in september * to be completely honest i have zero idea how long this ended up being but it’s been taking up space in my drafts and i kinda freestyled it so enjoy sexies <3

the floor is sticky with liquor, limestone tiles splotched with little islands of red as reiner’s body meets it, it’s surface tacky beneath his flushed skin. his head lolls back against the dial of his dishwasher, seeming to relish in the surrounding moment. the apartment is quiet with the din of murmured voices, gentle rustling of keys , someone slipping on a jacket, a faint “who’s riding with jean?” uttered from one of the many intoxicated partygoers; as for who , he does not know.

all reiner is aware of is the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears, body warm with the coat of whiskey, the glow of his solar return pervading the sallows of his face from the previous year’s torment; as if filling a once-deflated balloon with air yet again.

confetti has woven itself into the carpet, solo cups littering the surrounding dining room, a cake still sits on the table, half-eaten. “happy birthday reiner” it read, for a total of ten minutes. only reiner’s name remains due to your insistence that the birthday boy should get to eat his own name, and in pure self-adoring leo fashion, he co-signed.

and there his name sits, beneath its hard plastic shell as his gifts are sprawled around, some big, some small; though reiner had insisted that presents weren’t necessary by any means, you all came together to at least get him a few things to remember the day by. and what a day it had been. he was grateful. and so, so drunk.

his body suddenly takes a dive to the right—he had failed to realize his passive swaying from side to side and lost his balance—his face finds itself directly in your lap, nose mere inches away from knocking over a rather tall bottle of grey goose lingering not too far from your current position. you’re not much better than he is, face flushed and your smile dazed, as you begin to card your fingers through his hair, seemingly unaffected by his sudden landing.

“hey, we’re gonna head out.” armin says, footsteps lightly sticking with every step he takes further into the kitchen. he grimaces at the noise, but says nothing, in favor of checking on the pair of you. yet before he can utter the words “are you guys alright?” a hefty grip on armin’s wrist from the stockier blond sends armin to his knees, discombobulating the shorter man momentarily before he was met with a fierce hug.

“thank you..for coming.” reiner had been struggling to properly pronounce his syllables since the fourth round of tequila shots with eren, but those four words were the most coherent he’d been all night. the sentiment wasn’t lost on armin, and he returned the embrace, even if his lungs felt the slightest bit compressed the longer they hugged. “n-no problem!” armin pats his back thrice and shifts his gaze to you once reiner pulls away and nestles into your lap yet again. “would you like a ride home? you and sasha live not too far from each other, so it’s on our way.” he offers, so thoughtful as always. you begin to nod your head, thinking of the throbbing sensation that’ll soon swim within your temples, your lack of a change of clothes, along with numerous other things—

“i don’t mind if you stay..” reiner mumbles, a hand swirling patterns into your thigh. “never have, you used to sleep over all the time. i still got your toothbrush, s’ in my bathroom” he’s drunk, there’s no nuance , it sounds so scandalous when he says it like that and yet your heart picks up when he says your toothbrush is still in your space in his bathroom. you contemplate his words, given that it’s two minutes shy of one am (from what you can make out via a blurred glance at the microwave), and it is rather late..

armin surveys the two of you with a knowing glance, choosing to once again say nothing. he’s always been one for reading between the lines, clearly there’s some unspoken tension between you and the birthday boy, a history even. “n-not like that.” you laugh, pulse quickening as you try to divert armin’s attention from reiner’s hand attempting to work its way up your thigh, minuscule movements of his hand feeling like leaps and bounds over your already heated skin. “there was a time where i was going through some shit, so reiner let me hang here for a little while. it’s not nearly as..uh..intimate as it sounds.” your voice is low, your head leaned towards armin.

“i don’t mind sleeping here though. it’s one in the morning, and you’ve already gotta take sasha and eren’s drunk ass home. i’ll be good here.” a smile, and a gentle hand on armin’s shoulder is enough for him to leave you with reiner for the night.

“text me if you need anything, okay?”

mikasa‘s jacket and eren’s vomit crusted dress shirt clink amongst armin’s keys as he makes his way to the door (the shirt is tied in a plastic bag, he’s not a psycho).

‘maybe the mad dog jello shots were a bit much’, you think, saying your goodbyes to everyone as they stumble down the remainder of the driveway, jean corralling each person into their designated cars, and silently regretting his decision to double up with armin tonight to drive. it doesn’t help that he’s shoeless, considering eren yacked all over those too. it’s not funny, but it is, and you laugh as the door clicks behind you.

parties have a very poignant atmosphere.

they fill the space and somehow suck the air out of it once it’s over. but what you feel right now has nothing to do with the party and everything to do with the tension between you and reiner. who seems to have disappeared from his spot on the kitchen floor and made his way to the shower, leaving behind a trail of clothes in his wake. his loft is spacious, open floor plans met with a man’s taste in furniture (which equates to the bare minimum, sadly) and sumptuous windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. it’s one way glass, can’t see in but you can see out, rather convenient considering reiner had a very bad habit of never wanting to wear clothes around the house. case and point, the calvin klein boxers strewn across his floor. ‘jesus, even when he’s drunk he’s a slob.’ you think, grimacing as you reach for them in an attempt to chuck them into the nearby hamper—

“sorry for the mess.” he mutters, stepping out of shower as a plume of steam clings to the nearby mirror. towel hanging from his waist, hair slick with water. the scent of his soap and deodorant envelop you as he walks past, rifling through his dresser in an attempt to find clothes for the both of you. from the quick glance at his figure you’d allowed yourself, you quickly deduce that reiner finally made good on that crossfit membership he’d been blabbing about for the last three months. he was always handsome, always with a body that looked like it was carved from stone but the torso you’re looking at (and shouldn’t be) has gotten a major upgrade. ‘this is a bad idea’ you think to yourself, wondering how you allowed a spur of the moment decision lead you back into a bedroom you swore you’d never step foot in again.

you weren’t lying to armin when you said that the conditions of you staying with reiner weren’t romantic, that part was true; but the last time you were in this house, this room, things weren’t exactly…platonic.

“i found these, pretty sure you forgot em when you were leaving.”

a grey t-shirt and a pair of panties plop onto the bed where you sit, and you cringe upon the realization that you’d even left anything here to begin with. he offers you a pair of his sweatpants to help preserve your dignity, but you decline, knowing there’s no way they’d fit you.

“you remember where the towels are, yeah?”

you nod. third door to the left, past the coffee maker.

“cool. use whatever’s in there, i don’t care. i’ll be in the living room, so if you need somethin’ just yell.”

you give him a thumbs up as you disappear into the bathroom, the humidity mimicking the haziness of your mind as it begins to wander, your hands slippery with soap as you run the cloth over the curve of your hip, the same way he did that night.

“fuckkkk.” the sight before you is delicious, blonde burrowing it’s way between your thighs as reiner tongues your clit; a man starved. lust has taken over the bedroom, coiling around the two of you and winding so tight you feel as though you might burst, but if this is what it feels like to be consumed, you don’t mind one bit. he’s rutting against the bed desperately, your moans sending him into a frenzy; his mouth pools with your essence and he can barely contain himself. he adds his ring and middle finger to the equation, sensing you need more, just the slightest bit extra to bring you to paradise and you keen with pleasure.

“don’t stop..m’ gonna cum..” you’re shaking now, thighs shuddering around his ears and your pulse begins to throb so hard you can feel it in your temples, each wave of dopamine crashing over you, into you; you’ve never gotten head like that before. trust, you’d remember if you had. his tongue wanders in the mess you’ve made between your legs, and his face is no exception. your slick glistens in the cropped cut of his facial hair, and before you can utter a word of embarrassment, his tongue is giving you a taste of what he’d worked so hard to pull from you. the kiss is filthy, lips slotted together with strings of saliva; they break like bubbles when you pull away for air.

“shit!” lost in reverie, you’d failed to notice the increasing temperature of the shower water until it scalds your skin, shocking you back to the present moment. soft linen wraps around your body, soothing the harsh burn, legs still shining with droplets as you towel off, noting that you smell just like reiner does; but you’d rather not ride that train of thought. you make your way to the kitchen for a glass of water, brow raising as you realize his slice of cake is missing.

“the fuck?”

“what’s wrong?” floats from the living room.

“the hell happened to your cake?” you peer around the corner, and find the answer to your question stuffing his face. “nevermind.” you laugh, taking a seat on the couch, a cushion separating the both of you. he gestures with his left hand, offering a fork full; you take it, given that you’re both still not sober and this slice of sponge cake is the closest thing you’ve had to food in the last few hours. buttercream icing coats the roof of your mouth and you moan in sheer joy.

“oh my god.”

“right? shits’ so good” reiner mumbles, already on his last bite. his eyes are closed in bliss and you can’t help but feel jealous, you ache to be the cause of his expression rather than some slice of confectionery. little do you know, when your head turns, his eyes rake up the expanse of your bare thighs, resolve crumbling little by little. you’re beautiful, beyond it. he fights the urge to caress you and settles for a loaded question:

“why’d you say that to armin?”

“say what?” you respond. you’re avoiding his gaze intentionally, you know exactly what he’s asking about, this just isn’t the time.

“that it ‘wasn’t like that’ when i said you could stay the night.” the fork clatters against the cardboard of the cake box, filling the silence for a second, but it does nothing to ease the awkwardness of this interaction. “because it’s the truth? i didn’t start staying here so we could be fuck buddies—“

“—but that’s what happened, right?”

“reiner. don’t start this again.” you warn, tone firm. it’s not that you don’t want to talk about this, it’s been weighing on your heart since the night you left, but what could you say? you were running from the problems in your relationship and escaped into the arms of someone you called a friend, and very quickly that became much more than a friendship. the man your boyfriend couldn’t stand became your shoulder to cry on, and dick to ride. and in the end, everyone got hurt. you included.

“how’s galliard?” his voice seems harmless, but you sense the smugness that lies beneath.

“really? now?”

“it’s just a question.”

a pause.

“i haven’t seen him since..you know. we’ve spoken though. he seems to be doing alright, i think.” you answer. you briefly remember a photo dump he posted coming across your feed, he was in the netherlands with his brother last you heard, but that’s as much as you know. you’ve kept your distance from your ex since the fallout of your breakup, and for good reason. considering the last time you’d spoken, he’d told you that he “hopes it was worth it” and that you were dead to him.

you couldn’t be mad. if the roles were reversed, you’d have probably said the same.

the relationship (despite its relatively short run of five months) was volatile, and galliard has never had a desire to communicate with people in a way that isn’t riddled with hostility and aggression. it was the source of many arguments, and “i’m sorry” voicemails. one night you got sick of it, the pettiness, tit for tat, the pointed indirect insults in front of friends, the building of resentment every day you stayed together; so you left, needing to clear some space in your already heavy heart. a bag hurriedly packed, you’d found yourself at the door of a friend who you knew would have questions, but would never judge.

but friends don’t do the things you have done with one another.

“why did you invite me tonight?” since we’re asking loaded questions.

the text came as a surprise, a simple invitation and an address linked in a text message: ‘hey. my friends are throwing me a birthday party tonight. my house. i was wondering if you wanted to come. it’s cool if not, here’s my address tho in case you forgot it’

“i wanted to see you.”

“bullshit.” you scoff.

“why would i lie? you know how i feel about you.”

a pause.

“prove it.” the reposado speaks for you now, and you’re feeling dangerously curious to see just how far reiner will go. intoxication makes for a great truth serum, you’ve learned. he balks at your challenge, pupils shattering and reforming all at once as he attempts to snap himself out of whatever daydream he’s conjured. it has to be, there’s no way you’re sat so prettily on his couch making “fuck me” eyes, with a sliver of your panties visible beneath that thin fucking shirt. it’s a dream. has to be.

a chuckle. “you’re fuckin with me, right?” reiner’s fidgeting slightly, trying not to draw your attention to his increasing arousal.

“not even a little bit.” you’re so close he can feel your breath ghosting along his lips, a hair away from unleashing the pent up sexual tension between the both of you, but you don’t move any further. “i feel kinda bad..you invited me to your party, and i didn’t even get you a gift.” you pout.

“you can make it up to me.”

he’s finally gotten the courage to make the first move, securing both hands around your waist and tugging you into his lap. your clit pulses almost rhythmically when your lips meet, and the noises he’s making aren’t helping. “take these off.” he groans, plucking the waistband of your panties. you oblige his request, but the cool air still makes you shiver when your back hits the couch, legs spread. his eyes rake up your body, once, twice, before his middle and ring fingers take their place spreading your lips; they trace circles around your clit once they’ve spread enough of your juices around to slicken things up, but he’s just getting started. all the little gasps and cracks in your voice drive him insane, and while reiner loves to tease, he couldn’t wait any longer to taste you. locking himself between your thighs, his arms securing your legs around his head, he makes sure to hold on to your hips when he begins to suck on your clit. there’s no running for you, not when you’ve been dangling this pussy in front of him all evening. his tongue is fluid, slippery when it strokes your sensitive nub from every direction, he’s everywhere and somehow you still want more. “feels so good..don’t stop—” you beg, hips bucking into his face. he loves seeing you so fucked out, so desperate to cum all over his tongue, it only encourages him more as his fingers curl against that spot that makes your vision dip, and you gush all over his lips and jaw. your face burns with arousal and mild embarrassment, but he couldn’t be more pleased.

“can’t believe you let me eat this pussy ..and you made me watch you cum all over my face…such a slut.” he mumbles, his tongue still running laps around your clit. still throbbing, still sensitive. your body shivers and shakes with the continuous sensation, but reiner couldn’t care less. he licks and sucks with reckless abandon for a minute or two longer, before finally detaching himself from you, and giving your body reprieve. you struggle to catch your breath, your attention now drawn to the tented fabric below reiner’s torso. knowing it’s a shitty thing to think of in the current moment, you can’t help but lament at just how much thicker he is than your ex.

then again, reiner braun has never been, especially physically, average.

you splay your hands across his length as he pulls you in, neurons firing when you taste yourself on his tongue. he groans into your mouth, his eyes fluttering when you’re stroking and twisting your hand like that—

a brief disconnection of your lips forces his eyes open, but it’s worth it when he gets to sear the mental image of you spitting into his dick into his eyelids for eternity. your hand strokes the hottest noises out of him, the schlick-schlick of your motions only getting faster when filth begins to pour from his lips.

“mhm. just like that—fuck, i missed my nasty girl.”

you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before. and that’s saying a lot, genuinely. your tongue winds around his tip, settling against the underside of his shaft as you descend; the remainder of his dick is in your right hand as you work him over. your efforts matter little though, as reiner has other plans for your tight, tight throat. his hand settles at the base of your neck, winding his fingers at the root of your hair, and grips. rocking you backwards and forwards, he bullies his cock into your throat, and he nearly cums when he watches your eyes well up with tears; at first you panic at the activation of your gag reflex, but your throat slowly relaxes once you realize resistance is futile.

“take it…ah, shit—just like that mama, feels so fuckin good..such a good girl when im fuckin your face” he praises through gritted teeth, pumping himself with your throat a few more times before stopping, and changing your position so that the two of you were in missionary. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t get you soaked whenever he’d handle you so roughly, the way your eyes would glaze over and your body would become completely pliant for him and him only. for him to be such a typically serious and quiet man, reiner was so mean, so cocky when he fucked; even teasing you for the way you whine when he puts the tip in: “what’s the matter? can’t take the real thing? i know it’s—”

he retreats, and slams back in, taking a ruthless pace. “a lot bigger than those little boys you whore around with.” he finishes with a whisper, folding your knees into your tits as he throws your legs over his shoulders. “m’ n-not a whore..” you whine, voice cracking.

“no? you haven’t seen me in three whole months, you come over for a few hours and the first thing you let me do was stretch out this tight little cunt.” he taunts, a thumb circling your clit. “y-yeah..m-missed you..missed this dick—“ you babble, eyes rolling.

“i know baby, i know, let me in, let daddy make you feel good.”

“j-just like that, fuck fuck fuck” you feel like you’re on the verge of collapse, his cock is pummeling it’s way into your stomach, his sweat is glistening in the glow of his lights and it’s taking everything in you not to beg this man to cum in you here and now. “only whores know how to take dick and still be able to beg for more.” he taunts, his little hair trick from before making an encore appearance as he forces you to watch yourself be debauched, a thick white ring forming at the base of his length like a badge of honor. he was fucking into you so fast and so deep it made you dizzy, but you were too far gone. “love when you fuck me like this’, love when you slut me out” you mumble, teetering on the edge of cumming, you’re so close you can taste it—

“fuck, you’re so fuckin’ nasty, such a good girl for me, always lettin’ me get my way.” reiner moans, a hand wrapped around your throat and a good squeeze has your vision exploding, you melt and your body goes limp, senses still firing off as he coats your insides with sticky white seed.

the aftercare is, to be real, half assed. you’re both exhausted, but reiner still makes sure you’re wiped down with a hot towel, and carries you to bed upon your insistence that you’d, quote, “love to enjoy the sleep part of being fucked to sleep”. you doze off quickly, and reiner follows suit shortly after; the both of you failing to hear reiner’s phone emit a soft ding!

eren 2:23am

you owe me that 20 dollars

your apple watch is still synced to my phone from leg day man…not judging tho. get in there soldier 🫡

#reiner brainrot #kittybutmakeitferal #reiner x reader #aot smut #snk reiner #snk smut #reiner braun #reiner x y/n #reiner x reader smut #reiner braun smut

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heehoonieluvs · 9 months

Text

Don’t call me cute!

Jungwon x reader

Fluff

The way that the members are depicted in this story has nothing to do with how they really are or how I feel they are. It is all solely for the storyline so please bear that in mind 🫶

Summary: Jungwon isn’t very fond of his gf calling him cute… at least that’s what he wants to think

Masterlist

Since today was a (rare) free day for the boys, they invited me to come over to their dorm to have a meal and stay for the night. Of course my adorable bf Jungwon was attached to my hip the whole time and not letting me leave his side for one second.

“No Y/Nie! Jay hyung can deal with dinner by himself. Just stay here with me.”

“Hey you brat! I need at least one person to help me out and Y/N is the only one here who I can trust to not burn the kitchen down.” Jay responded. Of course he knew that there was no way of getting you from the kitty leader but it was worth the try I guess.

“Nope. Y/N will stay here with me.” Jungwon insisted with a smug grin on his face, showing off his adorable dimple.

I couldn’t help but coo at him “OMG baby you’re so cute I just wanna squeeze those cheeks of yours!” As I poke at his dimple.

However Jungwon pouted at my words. CUTE?!? He’s not cute! 😡

“Babyyy! Don’t call me cute! Call me handsome and manly!” He whined.

At his response, I looked at him with sad puppy eyes. “What do you mean?? You’re my cute baby, just like a floofy kitten.”

“Nooo you’re MY baby. I’m not cute I’m handsome!” He insisted.

“Ok then” I said with a pout and turned away from him to sulk. Obviously I didn’t take his words seriously but I decided to mess with him to see if he’d crack.

I felt him poke and pinch my cheeks

“Babyyy, bubbaaa, loveee, Y/Niiieee. Don’t be sulkyyy. Look at meeee.”

He carried on poking my cheeks and planting small kisses to try and gain back my attention.

“Don’t worry Wonnie I’m not upset! I understand and won’t call you cute anymore ☺️

He couldn’t help but feel a bit cautious but hey! He wasn’t being called cute!

Time skip

Third person’s POV:

Jungwon didn’t know how to feel after that night honestly. He could feel a slight shift in the way his gf acted around him. Even your texts didn’t seem as chirpy as before. Of course you still sent him cute messages and said ‘I love you’ frequently but he could just tell something felt different.

It didn’t help that when you were out with the boy’s, you’d be very calm around him but all of a sudden would coo at Sunoo and pinch his cheeks. He felt a slight twinge of jealousy at the sight but it wasn’t like you had never coddled Sunoo before. From the start of the relationship, you always told Sunoo how cute he was and he never minded it so how come it felt so different now?

Because the poor baby was feeling a bit down from stress of you not babying him he invited you to come over to the dorms again so he could have a nice cuddle session with his baby

Once again, Jay was cooking dinner for everyone since according to him “Instant ramyun isn’t a meal” but we can agree to disagree

Jungwon had been a lot clingier to you tonight and you were not complaining one bit. It may not have seemed like it from an outsider but you had been trying so hard to stop yourself from just going hours about how adorable your bf was. But he clearly wasn’t a fan so you’d respect that to make him happy.

Even during dinner, it took all of the strength in you to not squeeze his cheeks as he stuffed them with food. God he’s so bloody cute and I can’t do anything about it 😭😭😭

Y/N’s POV:

After we all cleared up our plates from the dinner Jay had made, we all decided to play Mario Kart (I don’t play games so this was all I could think of 😅)

So far Niki was winning with Sunoo not so far behind, followed by Jake and Sunghoon. There was so much chaos going on as each of them were so close to overtaking each other. It was a close race till before the finish line, Sunoo hit Niki with a shell and beat him for 1st place

“Yeaaaa I won! Whoop whoop” Sunoo screamed whilst doing a shimmy dance. And ofc Niki grabbed Sunoo’s feet and dragged him around in a circle 😂

Still full of giggles, Sunoo carried on doing his little dance with a bright peachy smile.

Seeing how cute he looked, it reminded me of Jungwon’s previous comment from a few days ago so I tried to see if what I said next would make him react 😈.

So I squealed “Ahhhh you’re so cute Sunoo!”

From the corner of my eyes I could see a ball of poofy hair pop up with bright round boba eyes looking at me.

I carried on giggling with Sunoo and saying how cute he is. But I can’t help it! Sunoo’s bright eye smile was to die for.

The boys carried on fighting over who’s turn it was to play and I felt a slight tug on my sleeve.

“What about me?”

I turned and saw my Wonnie looking at me with his round eyes and his bottom lip slightly jutted out.

“Of course you’re my amazing and handsome boyfriend.” I said with a bright smile

“Is there anything else?”

“Oh yeah! You’re my manly boyfie who will protect me from anything!”

He felt slightly better hearing you call him exactly what he wanted to be called. But after seeing how you reacted to Sunoo, he couldn’t help but think that maybe he liked you calling him cute… and ONLY him.

“Baby? Am I also cute to you?” He couldn’t help but ask

Ah ha! Finally!

I felt guilty for making him jealous but I just knew that he DID want to be called cute. And I’d gladly do that for my baby.

“Of course you are Wonnie! You are the most adorable little dumpling ever! My cute kitty”

From that, Jungwon’s face lit up with joy and he could feel butterflies in his stomach. He then nuzzled his face into my neck and mumbled “Promise you will only call me cute. I don’t like it when you say it to other people. I am your cute cat”

The members turned around and started teasing their leader but he didn’t care. All of his attention was on you and he wanted you to shower him in compliments while cuddling.

“Yes baby, you are my adorable, handsome and manly boyfriend”

Author’s note: Here it is! Thank you to those who voted for this fic and waited to patiently for it, I hope it was worth the wait 🫶 I think we can all collectively agree that our cat leader is most certainly very cute and handsome and so much more 🩵 I hope you guys enjoy this and thank you for taking the time to read my work!

#heehoonieluvs #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fluff #jungwon imagines #jungwon oneshots #jungwon x reader #jungwon drabbles #jungwon fluff

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puer-aurea · 5 months

Text

Etho's session 5 trauma

this literally just fanfiction that i felt like writing bc im obsessed w weeping angel etho. all

which, btw, if you decide to read my fic Gods are Obsessive on wattpad when i start postin it (which should be soon? i hope, i just finished the build for Safe Haven so i can move on to the builds for it then start writing) weeping angel etho will be a big thing when it gets to that point

all platonic btw!!

Etho knows he doesn't have to worry about it anymore. Well, he tells everyone he knows. Most of the other players haven't picked up on it, but Cleo and Grian notice the panic in his eyes and his frantic movements to shift into a less compromising position when someone looks in his direction.

Etho knows he's not a weeping angel anymore. But he can't help the anxiety when he feels eyes on him. He prepares for his joints to lock up like the stone statue the watchers made him into for that task. And then, when they don't, he has the shameful moment of rememberance that he passes off with a nervous laugh.

Grian picked up on the panic first, but both him and Cleo noticed how Etho felt embarrassed about forgetting he didn't have to worry anymore. Neither of them chose to mention it, they knew he was dealing with enough shame (though, they wouldn't say it's shame and they're pretty sure the other players would agree).

The other players haven't noticed the aftermath of Etho's task, but they're not around him much anyway.

Cleo always warns him when she's entering a room, subtly reminding he's not a weeping angel. Grian mostly keeps his eyes off Etho, only looking if it's an emergency.

Etho feels bad they have to walk on egg shells around him but he can't help it. Of course the watchers had to give the person who was figuratively stone cold the task that would literally make him stone. And of course it left everlasting effects. This anxiety ridden person wasn't him.

"Hey, Etho?" Cleo's voice came from downstairs.

"What's up?" Etho could hear the creaking of the stairs and he quickly shifted into a comfortable position at the enchanting table.

"Grian's tired after the warden-wither battle and asked for cuddles."

He could feel her eyes on him and he expected his joints to turn to stone.

"Etho, honey, you're not a weeping angel anymore." She places her hand on his shoulder.

He felt his muscles relax and he let out a breath.

"Yeah, I know. You don't have to remind me."

"I'm pretty sure we do." Cleo and Etho jumped at the new voice as Grian rounded the corner.

"Jeez, Grian. Don't scare us like that!" Cleo laughed.

"It wasn't intentional. Well, it might have been. I'm going to Bdubs' bed. Why don't we have any other beds?" Grian walked off into Bdubs room.

"We put all our beds in the bed shrine and didn't think about ourselves." Cleo followed behind him.

Etho watched them walk away, staying by the enchanting table.

"Come on, Etho! I know you're tired after being chased by the warden. The bed's big enough for the three of us." Cleo called for him.

He let out a small laugh and headed into Bdubs' room for a very much needed nap. He'd be dealing with the weeping angel trauma for a while, but at least his roommates and friends were there to help him cope.

why does this feel poorly written? im bad at dialogue

#secret life #etho secret life #grian secret life #secret life cleo #traffic life series #trafficblr #traffic smp #weeping angel etho #ethoslab #grian #zombiecleo #i forgot how to tag

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cartoon-lovers-world · 4 months

Text

My first Trolls fanfiction...?

Ok, so, the thing is, that movie seems amazing, alright?! (I haven't seen it yet, so this can be a bit ooc)

It's just fluff, because I like fluff, between the older brothers and sister, because we didn't see them actually acting like siblings

Sooooo...enjoy?

Undercover siblings

"Kiss her already, man," Bruce whispered from behind the bushes. "She's your girlfriend!"

"Go easy on him," Floyd whispered. "He's shy"

"Not an excuse," Clay muttered.

"Guys, guys, shut it, he just smirked at her," John Dory interrupted.

The brothers' gazes shifted to their baby brother, careful not to be seen.

"Ohhh, what do you think he said?"

"I bet he's telling her one of his sarcastic remarks," Bruce whispered excitedly.

"Or maybe he's teasing her about something," Floyd chimed in.

"Guys, can we just focus on watching? Quit speculating," Clay interjected.

"I agree. Let's not jump to conclusions," John Dory added, his eyes fixed on the couple.

As Branch and Poppy continued to stroll along the colorful meadow, the brothers strained to hear any snippets of their conversation. They were determined to catch a rare glimpse into their usually reserved little brother's romantic life, even if it meant sneaking up on his date.

"He just said something funny!" Bruce whispered, excitement lacing his voice.

"What do you think he said?" Floyd asked, trying to peek around the bushes for a better view.

"Keep it down, guys. We don't want them to notice us," Clay cautioned them.

The brothers watched intently as Branch leaned in closer to Poppy, his voice barely audible. The occasional smile tugged at his lips, enchanting his siblings even further.

"Look at how comfortable he appears around her," John Dory remarked, impressed by the change in Branch's demeanor.

Suddenly, Branch reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from Poppy's face. The brothers collectively held their breath, captivated by the small gesture.

"Smooth move, little bro," Bruce whispered, a proud grin spreading across his face.

"He's really coming out of his shell, isn't he?" John Dory said, smiling.

Bruce chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving the couple's interaction. "Who would have thought that our grumpy, survivalist brother would fall head over heels for the Queen of happiness herself?"

Clay smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "What can I say? Love can smooth even the sharpest edges."

Floyd stared blankly ahead, setting his binoculars down, then asked, "Hey, guys, do you think we should give them some privacy?"

The brothers stayed silent for a minute, staring into the distance, deep thought. Then, they shrugged.

"Nah, I say we keep watching," John Dory replied with a mischievous grin. "Just to make sure our bitty b doesn't mess this up."

Bruce nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we can't trust Branch to handle his emotions properly. It's our duty as his older brothers to ensure he doesn't sabotage his own happiness."

Floyd rolled his eyes. "You guys are ridiculous-"

Suddenly, a loud, sweet, cheerful voice interrupted their talk, saying excitedly, "Hi, guys!"

"Viva?" Clay looked up, giving a little wave, then his eyes widened when he saw Branch's head turn towards them. He grabbed Viva's hand, pulling her down next to them and making sure she wasn't visible to the couple.

Meanwhile, Branch's gaze shifted to the bushes. He rolled his eyes, shook his head, then turned his attention back to his girlfriend.

–

"Just do something!" Viva exclaimed, whispering. "Stop talking and kiss him, little sis,"

Floyd set his binoculars down and shrugged. "Trust me, we've been like this for, like, a whole hour!"

"And still…nothing" John Dory muttered, his voice tinged with disappointment.

"Poppy started it last time, so it's Branch's turn" Viva pointed out.

Bruce nodded. "Totally agree"

"Guys, guys, guys!" Clay whispered excitedly, pointing towards the couple. "Branch is whispering in Poppy's ears…and she's…blushing?"

"What do you think he's saying?" Floyd asked eagerly.

Bruce smirked. "Probably something like 'You're so beautiful, Poppy', or 'I'm lucky to have you',"

"Is that a flower crown he's making?" Clay questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"You betcha," Viva said, beaming.

John Dory pouted. "He didn't want to make breakfast with me this morning! And now he's gladly making a flower crown!" he said, annoyed. "This traitor…"

"You're his brother," Clay pointed out. "He has four of those, but there's only one Poppy"

The rest of the crew shrugged, nodding in agreement.

"I bet Poppy will start the kiss again this time" Floyd suddenly said.

Bruce looked at him. "Dude, not twice in a row"

"Well, from the looks of it, your brother is too shy to start it," Viva shot playfully.

The four brothers gasped dramatically. "You take that back," Clay whispered.

But before Viva could respond, they felt someone's eyes, and they turned around to see the couple standing behind them, Branch giving them the 'Seriously?' face, while Poppy waved at them enthusiastically with a wide smile.

"Wow…" Branch said, raising an eyebrow. "Are you done?"

"Alright, what gave us away?" Clay surrendered, rising to his feet.

The younger troll smirked and replied, "Well, let's just say I have some hidden talents that come in handy when it comes to detecting unwanted guests."

"Har, har, so funny, bitty b," Bruce teased. "We were just making sure you didn't ruin your date-"

"Branch never ruins our dates!" Poppy interrupted cheerfully. "You guys don't have to worry about it."

"And see you two kiss," Floyd continued, blushing slightly

"Not you, Floyd," Branch muttered under his breath

"Now that we're here…" Poppy began slowly, then, as usual, her words came out in a rush. "I was planning to throw a party tonight to celebrate the twins' birthday, you know, Cooper and Prince D, will you guys sing? DJ Suki will prepare the music you want, but we'd like something funk, what do you say? Can you do it?"

"What did she just say?" Bruce whispered to Branch, who shot his brother a warning glare, then smiled softly at his girlfriend.

"Of course we can, just prepare good music."

Poppy beamed, grabbing her sister's hand and rushing to Troll village to spread the news, shouting a loud, "Thanks, guys" before leaving.

"Seriously, what did she say?" Clay said.

#Trolls #Fanfiction #Trolls fanfic #Poppy #Branch #John Dory #Bruce #Clay #Floyd #Viva #Broppy #I'm still improving #I 100% accept and welcome criticm

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creativesnek · 7 months

Text

Death will not do us part

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the ancient tombstones that dotted the royal graveyard. The air was heavy with a sense of solemnity, as if even nature itself recognized the sacredness of this hallowed ground. Silence enveloped the area, broken only by sporadic sounds that seemed to emerge from the shadows.

Occasionally, a mischievous Boo cackle would echo through the stillness, its eerie laughter sending shivers down one's spine. These playful spirits, known for their spectral pranks and tricks, found solace in this realm of eternal rest. Their ethereal voices danced on the wind, adding an otherworldly charm to the otherwise somber atmosphere.

Amidst the Boo's haunting laughter, an owl hoot resonated through the night. The wise creature perched on a branch nearby, its golden eyes gleaming with ancient knowledge.

The Boo looked at the glorious sarcophagi, staring longingly at the jewels encrusted on the surfaces. They were captivated by the shimmering gemstones, their translucent forms yearning for the touch of earthly riches. Though they could not physically interact with the sarcophagi, their spectral fingers traced the intricate patterns carved into the stone, as if trying to absorb the opulence through ethereal means.

As the Boo continued to marvel at the treasures before them, a soft whisper filled their ears. They floated toward a particular sarcophagus. Judging by the new design and intact luster, this person passed recently. The Boo looked at the placard floating on top of it, curious to know whose grave this was.

The whisper turned into a groan.

The heavy lid of the sarcophagus shifted as a large, skeletal claw moved it aside. A glowing red eye stared at the Boo. The spirit yelped and covered their eyes. The skeletal figure emerging from the sarcophagus. Its bones creaked and cracked with each movement, as if it hadn't been disturbed in centuries. The red eye continued to glow ominously, piercing through the darkness of the graveyard.

With a raspy voice that sent shivers down the Boo's ethereal spine, the skeletal being spoke. “Finally,” it said. “The month of fright is here.”

The constant eye-contact was too much for the shy spirit, so they vanished. The skeletal being cackled as other sarcophagi opened. A dozen other skeletons rose from the graves, sporting spiked shells and bracelets. The red-eyed one looked at his reflection on the lid and fixed the hair on his skull into a bun.

“There he goes to see his husband.”

“Every fright month…”

“I still think he should have married that Mushroom Princess.”

The other Dry Koopas stared at the one who said that disapprovingly, causing them to slink back into the sarcophagus. A Dry Bone with a metallic gold shell crossed her arm and touched her cheek, “Look at him. Ever since he met and married that little human, he’s been so happy, even after death,” she said.

“Their rule over the Darklands was glorious! They brought peace and honor to our kingdom,” said a male Dry Koopa.

“Bowser may have had a rough life at first, but everything worked out in the end.”

Bowser removed some moss on his ribs and adjusted his spiky accessories. He listened to their words, a faint smile playing on his skeletal face. He had come a long way from his days of loneliness and bitterness. Meeting Luigi had changed everything for him - he had shown him love, compassion, and the power of redemption. Satisfied with his appearance, the Koopa climbed out of his grave. “I’m heading out!”

“Travel safely, Bowser! And say hello to Luigi for me!”

“Bye, Mom!”

Other skeletal relatives bid their goodbyes. As he made his way across the graveyard, his bony tail wagged madly with excitement, causing a faint rattling sound that echoed through the night. Orbs of light appeared around the haunted space, casting an eerie glow. More members of the Royal Koopa Family arose from their graves and began to sing and dance; after all, they had a full thirty days of sentience to enjoy!

Bowser crossed the red gates protecting the graveyard and sprinted to the Boo Woods, ready to find his love.

The Dry Koopa looked at the dilapidated mansion before him. Its cracked walls and broken windows were a testament to the passage of time and neglect. As he stood there, a gust of wind blew through the decrepit structure, causing the remaining shutters to creak in protest. Windows and pillars were covered in vines and moss. Lightning struck overhead, lighting the eerie floors. Some of the windows had eerie yellow lights.

Bowser rattled with excitement as he knocked on the cracked door. The door eerily swung open on its own. He stepped forward into the darkness and looked around; the door slammed shut behind him. Eerie whispers echoed around him. Lights slowly turned on and furniture started to float. The Dry Koopa’s tail wagged, “Luigi, are you here?” he asked.

A chill went down his spine as something cold touched his shoulder and a voice replied, “Hello~”

The Dry Koopa turned his head around 180 degrees and smiled at the ghost behind him. His body was somewhat translucent with a greenish hue. The ghostly figure floated in front of the Dry Koopa, its ethereal form flickering in and out of existence. His once brown hair was now white and long; his overalls were replaced with a light green poet shirt, black pants, and boots.

Bowser grabbed the ghost and pulled him into a hug, nuzzling his skull against his face. Luigi squealed with joy. As Bowser embraced the ghostly figure, memories flooded back into his mind. The first date they went on, how Luigi became an ambassador and helped with the peace proceedings. How terrified they both were about announcing their relationship publicly and the pure joy on their wedding day. Luigi peppered ghostly kisses all over his face. “I missed you, amore,” he said.

The Koopa smiled. “I came here as soon as I woke up!” he said. “My mom says hi.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. Hopefully I can come visit the graveyard soon,”

Luigi linked arms with him, floating beside Bowser as he walked further into the haunted mansion. The two chatted, reminiscing on the good times when they were alive. As they strolled through the dimly lit corridors, memories of their past adventures flooded their minds. Luigi couldn't help but chuckle as he recalled the time Bowser accidentally got stuck in a warp pipe during one of their battles.

"Remember when we had to team up to defeat that giant Boo?" Luigi asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Bowser laughed heartily, his deep voice echoing through the eerie halls. "How could I forget? You were so scared, you jumped into my arms!"

They continued down the hallway, passing by portraits of long-deceased residents and cobweb-covered furniture. The mansion's ghostly inhabitants watched them curiously, some whispering among themselves. Seeing the undead couple was the highlight of the year, that and because other loved ones, no matter what dead form they took, could freely visit.

Luigi leaned his head on Bowser’s shoulder, “I hear Junior is doing well.”

Bowser chuckled. “Of course he is! He’s our son,” he said.

As they walked further into the mansion, Luigi couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. The memories of their past adventures flooded his mind, reminding him of all the times they had fought against each other as enemies, only to eventually become allies and then husbands.

“All the Koopalings are faring well too,” he said.

Bowser nodded. “I’m glad there was no fighting over the throne after we passed,” he replied. “Hell, they even divided the kingdom amongst themselves.”

Luigi guided him down a hallway and into a massive ballroom; spirits floated all around, talking and dancing. Several pieces of furniture glided around the room. As Bowser and Luigi entered the grand ballroom, the ethereal atmosphere engulfed them. The spirits, adorned in elegant attire from various eras, gracefully twirled and conversed with one another. The room itself seemed alive, with chandeliers illuminating the space and casting a soft glow on the floating furniture.

The Boo glided around Bowser before standing before him. Luigi extended his hand and grinned, “Can I have this dance?”

“Always, my love.”

With a slight nod and a gentle smile, Bowser took Luigi's hand in his massive clawed one. Their touch sent shivers down their spines, but it was a comforting sensation that neither of them could deny. The Boo, sensing the intensity of the moment, dimmed the lights and conjured a soft melody that filled the room.

As the music began to play, Luigi and Bowser moved gracefully across the floor. Their steps were perfectly synchronized, each movement flowing effortlessly between them. Two souls that not even death could separate.

#bowuigi #bowser #luigi x bowser #luigi #fanfic #oneshot #bowuigi halloween event 2023 #halloween #spooktober #fluff #writerscorner #writers on tumblr #dry bowser #booigi

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elvisabutler · 1 year

Note

I know you aren’t taking requests again until March 12th, but I just wanted to ask early LOL!! Do you think you could write something about pregnant!reader and Austin being away for filming during her first trimester and when he comes back he notices her baby bump has developed and he goes feral (more breeding kink😸😸)

pop goes the bump

summary: your boyfriend- your eventual husband, truth be told, and you decide it's a good time to get pregnant before he goes off on location for filming. austin- gets a little surprise when he comes home. fandom: austin butler rating: m pairing: austin butler x plus sized female reader word count: 1894 warning: oral ( f receiving ). talk of pregnancy. talk of a breeding kink. pregnant reader. implied p in v sex ( future ). hiding something from a partner, technically. author’s note: first off anon, thank you for this request even though it was during the gala and honestly, let me tell you the way you were like I KNOW IT'S NOT MARCH 12TH BUT I'M DOING IT EARLY to this day makes me giggle. second, you know how to dangle a prompt and say this is irresistable isn't it? austin butler breeding kink- one of my weaknesses. honestly breeding kink in general is but you know there's a reason i can pump breeding kink fics out really quickly for anyone. i hope you're okay with this being a plus sized reader, i can rewrite this fairly easily without it being that but- i said the words big girl in the beginning and, my brain just ran away with it. also i'm aware the first trimester ends at twelve weeks but as i did plus size i adjusted our timeline just a bit for this knowing fully well my own bump with my daughter didn't pop until about sixteen to twenty weeks. in addition not apologizing for the title being a play on pop goes the weasel.

The thing about your life with Austin is that you've gotten used to planning things around projects. You've been thoroughly thankful that since Elvis there hasn't been anything that ends in staying away in a different country for three years with a severe lack of communication. Only the typical several months of a filming schedule and award seasons that drag on but have an end goal in sight. Those are the sorts of things you can plan around, they are the things you thrive planning around. It's why after the Oscars you can't help but propose an idea to Austin.

"You want to try for a baby?" You ask simply with your head on his chest watching the sun slide slowly down the horizon, bathing you both in a warm glow. If you were a less perceptive woman you wouldn't have noticed how Austin's grip on your waist tightened and how he moved just enough to splay his hand on your stomach.

"I start filming for that movie in a few months," he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "you okay with that?"

Okay with being left alone while pregnant if it sticks before he leaves is what he means. However, at the same time it's also clarifying that you're okay with remembering he'll still be busy and may leave you alone to deal with your changing body. Your answer is a shrug as you turn to give him a kiss.

"As long as I'm not alone the whole time, I don't care. I'm a big girl, Austin."

The smirk that crosses his face as he shifts your positions is downright evil before he starts to kiss you. "Oh, I know just how much of a big girl you are, babe."

And so you try and try and try those four months before he leaves for filming and while it was discouraging to see your period come the first three months, you wait for your period to come that fourth month only to see nothing. Austin had to leave a week before and you couldn't help but call him the moment you confirmed it with the doctor. Yes, you could have told him when you had the positive test but you refused to get your hopes up until you could show him the little tiny speck of a baby on the sonogram photo. He talks about taking the weekend off to see you, to celebrate but you tell him that if he did that- he'd be gone longer on the backend of filming. He'd be gone longer when you're more pregnant than you are now so he's talked out of it, barely.

You never thought you'd be the sort of mom who watches all those little apps and tells their partner how big the baby is from week to week. It seemed silly to talk about babies being the size of blueberries and seeds and yet there was something so delightful, so touching about seeing the way Austin's face would light up at the knowledge of how your baby was growing and how he swears he sees your body changing. You have a bit of weight around the middle so you're pretty sure he's lying even if you can feel parts of your stomach hardening from the baby- from your uterus growing. Still, you show him your stomach every single week to document how it looks until one morning when you're sixteen weeks and you realize you can actually see a difference. You can see your bump- it's barely there but it's there, the physical representation that you're carrying Austin's and your child. That the baby is growing strong and healthy and going through all those little fruit sized milestones. You should show him, you think, you should show him like you have every week and yet this- this you want to keep to yourself until he comes home. It doesn't stop Austin from noticing how you don't show him the bump.

"Something wrong?" He asks, his brows furrowing just a little. "Nothing's wrong with-"

"No!" You answer a little too quickly, "no Austin, I would have told you if there was something wrong with them, I just- I don't want to show you any more until there's something you can see. Until I pop, you know?"

"Babe, I like seeing you grow, I don't-" He starts before stopping once he sees your face, sees how you stubbornly aren't going to show him a video of your bump. "You know I'm gonna see it come next month, right? In person."

You smile at the thought, smile at the fact that he's finally coming home after five months away and it almost makes you want to show him the little swell that you can finally tell is a baby. "I do. And that's why I think you can be patient and wait. It'll be worth it."

The answer he gives you is just a fond eye roll before he acquiesces, holding up his hands and telling you more about his day and how he's getting tips from some of the people on set who are parents. You listen without a care in the world as you rub at your bump.

Your belly continues to grow over the weeks until it's fairly obvious you're pregnant and not just carrying extra weight around the middle. It's firm and you swear you've felt a flutter or two from inside. You should show him and he keeps asking, almost begging after your last call but you know it'll be worth it to see the look on his face when he finally can see you in all your glory. Almost as if he wants to get back at you, he doesn't tell you when his flight is coming in beyond the day, leaving you to guess what time of the day he'd arrive. Still, you find yourself wearing a light green sundress on that day, it flows enough to not constrict your growing belly while still accentuating it enough that you keep looking down and smiling at it.

His plane lands around noon and he finds himself pulling up to your shared house around lunchtime, his key easily opening the front door and despite his call out to you, you don't hear him, earbuds firmly in your ears as you make yourself lunch. It doesn't take him long to follow the sounds of your singing to the kitchen where he stops in his tracks. Nothing could have prepared him for what he sees when you turn to throw something in the trash.

There's something to be said about his visceral reaction to you being literally barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen but his mind doesn't care. His mind that reminds him you've made fun of that phrase so many times that if you knew it's the first thing he thought of you'd laugh. But- but here you were, your dress stretching over your bump- God, when had it gotten so big- making lunch without a care in the world. He did that to you, he's made your chest swell, barely being contained by the top of your dress. He did that to you, made your belly grow and swell and you still had more months to go- he knows from the books this isn't even when the most growing happens. If he had seen you before now, seen even the hint of this swell he's pretty sure his reaction wouldn't be as strong as it is. He's pretty sure his cock wouldn't be standing at such attention that it's painful. He wants to fuck you, he wants to bury himself in your cunt and touch your stomach and whisper how he's going to always keep you this way now that he's seen how gorgeous you look carrying his child, how you look like a goddess. How you look like Venus, curves and swollen breasts and a stomach holding his child.

It's as if he's possessed when he sees you, throwing down his bags and immediately falling to his knees in front of you. You're startled and open your mouth to speak only to have his hands move to cup your stomach through your dress. His lips plant kisses all over it, over and over with mumbles you can't make out beyond our baby, gorgeous, can't believe you hid this from me, gonna keep you like this forever. The grin that threatens to overtake your face grows even more as you feel his hands move to the hem of your dress. He groans when he looks at your underwear, sees the wet spot he's already caused before dragging them down your legs just enough for him to place a kiss on your cunt. It twitches under the attention and you can feel the smirk he gives you. Words fail you as you feel his tongue against your cunt, licking slowly at first before one of his hands moves to spread you open, the other hand resting firmly on your bump. Your hands claw at the counter, praying that they'll help you stay standing up even as you grind into Austin's face. His nose nuzzles at your clit while his tongue dips in and out in a poor imitation of his cock. He knows you like the back of his hand, knows what gets you to come faster than any partner you've ever had but he isn't using it to his advantage this time. He's taking his time giving you leisurely licks around your clit, in your cunt, everywhere. His fingers tease you, crooking just so but not deep enough unless you grind down on them. It's a torturous game he's playing, it's a torturous punishment you've earned for not telling him but Austin is nothing if not kind. He's nothing if not kind as soon as he hears your whimpers and moans and feels one of your hands move to his hair, tangling within the strands and as he feels the other rest on top of his own against your bump.

Your orgasm comes quickly once he starts to attack your cunt with a vengeance, once his tongue runs across your clit, once his fingers crook and once he takes your hand and squeezes. You can't help the way you grind down as your oragasm overtakes you, wanting Austin to coax you through it, to lick you lightly through it as your legs shake and you lean against the counter for support. You hear a slurp that has you shuddering before Austin manages to pull himself out from under your dress, your release covering his lips and mouth as he grins up at you.

"Hi, mama."

You swear your heart skips in your chest as you look down at him and there it is again- that little flutter you swear you've been feeling. You exhale softly, and ruffle his hair. "Hi, daddy," you move to pull him up even as his hand never leaves your bump. "that was quite the hello. You like how I look?"

Austin lets out a shaky exhale before taking your hand and placing it in the front of his pants where his arousal is pushing against his sweatpants, "forget about lunch and I can show you how much."

The two of you order lunch about an hour later. You eat it an hour after that.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x plus size reader #ally writes

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fruitcoops · 10 months

Note

hello lovely eve. ive been having thoughts, recently. anyway wondering if you would want to write something to do with the day/time after a hard day. youve done some of my absolutely favourite fics for like Bad Days (im thinking esp rn of what we deserve (i think thats what its called)) but also after that? bc the after support is so crucial and i think the lions would do so well. any ship!! if not, i totally understand, i hope your day/week is lovelylovely!!

This is such a great prompt! The aftershocks of hard events are just as important as the conflict itself--this ask was combined with one for a timeskip followup to Self-Care, a fic about Finn's bad habits. All characters belong to @lumosinlove <3

Leo paused at the back of the couch and bent, nestling a kiss on the top of Finn’s head. “Good book?”

A quiet hum answered.

“Good part?”

Another hum; Finn pressed up and Leo tilted his head to leave another kiss on his temple. A clatter and a soft curse filtered out of the kitchen, but Finn hardly flinched.

Leo nuzzled against the wispy, silken ends of his hair until his cheek could slot just above Finn’s ear. The couch dug into his stomach a bit, but he didn’t mind. “You tired?”

Finn’s laugh answered his question before his words ever could. “Yeah.”

He picked at the hem of Leo’s threadbare Saints sweatshirt with a sleepy kind of apathy. His book hung limp from the fingers of his other hand, abandoned only two pages past where it had been the last time Leo checked on him. Finn’s breaths were methodic when he rubbed a palm over his chest and nibbled the shell of his ear, just to watch a smile pull at his tired eyes. “Come to bed.”

Finn cast him a sideways, skeptical look. “It’s 8:45.”

“And you’re the sleep police?” Leo hooked a finger in the collar of his sweatshirt and pulled. “It’s been a long day. You’re tired. We can fix that problem with our nice new mattress.”

Finn was quiet for a moment; Leo felt him lean back into the cushions and the cradle of his arm, a slow breath leaving him when Leo began toying with the hoodie strings. “You know, I kind of miss the old one.”

“It barely fit us.”

“Yeah.” Fondness shone on every word. “It was nice. Waking up all over each other. Always had you in arm’s reach.” Another beat of silence passed. “I lose you at night, sometimes.”

Oh god. Leo’s heart yanked—he held Finn a little tighter. “Sorry, cher.”

“Not your fault.”

“Is that…is that why you were upset today?” Logan came out of the kitchen with a precarious tray of tea, tongue poking out over his lower lip as he balanced their mugs on the table. Leo caught his eye and gave a small smile that relaxed the pinch of his forehead.

Finn took no notice of the change, save for a shift to the side in an obvious bid to have Logan sit next to him. “Nah,” he said as Logan took the hint and tucked himself between the arm rest and Finn. “Just a bad day, I think. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Logan tugged the book from Finn’s hands and set it aside, then replaced it with a mug of tea and pressed his fingers around the warm ceramic with an encouraging nudge. “Drink. You’ll sleep better.”

Finn smiled wryly. “Morphine? Chloroform?”

“Decaf. Very potent.”

“Thanks, Lo.”

Logan poked his ankle with his foot and snuggled Finn under his arm. “Don’t thank me for things you do every day.”

Finn went to protest, but something on their faces must have stopped him, because he bit back the words and took an obedient sip of tea. Leo didn’t know why he watched so intently—maybe for reassurance, maybe to make sure Finn was really on the up-and-up. Steam curled up around his copper lashes and turned the tips invisible when he blinked. He gave a nod. “ ‘S good.”

“Of course it is.”

“I’m—” Finn pressed his lips together and exhaled; steam billowed off his mug. “I’m sorry my brain doesn’t work right.”

Once, that would have broken Leo’s heart. Once, he would have jumped to soothe and bent over backwards to fix it all. Once, he would have taken it as personally as a slap to the face. Not enough. Not good enough. Missing Finn’s signals left and right—did Leo even love him, if he couldn’t pay attention?

The tight ball of insecurity in his chest may as well have been a marble, rolling about and looking for something to knock over in an empty room. He kissed the top of Finn’s head again. “I don’t see anything you need to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry I missed your pass earlier,” Logan said, taking a long sip of his own tea. “It was a good one. I just wasn’t looking.”

Finn’s shoulders relaxed under Leo’s hand. Fuck yeah, Tremblay. There’s my MVP. “Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“What about—”

“You were on form.” Normally, Leo didn’t like it when Logan interrupted. This seemed like a much-needed exception. Logan raised his eyebrows at Finn’s suspicious look. “You were. I know you don’t feel like it, but you looked really good out there. That pass was on me.”

Finn’s punch to his shoulder was a roll of knuckles at best. Logan still smiled, still took it with faux-hurt and a hand over the heart. “Eyes up, Tremzy.”

Logan whistled quietly. “Five for fighting and two for roughing. What would Coach say?”

“Doesn’t count if you deserved it.”

“Oh, is that how that works?” Leo laughed. Logan glanced up at him with an impish grin, and passed the last mug over the couch. Peppermint filled the air, sweetened by honey.

They drank in relative silence, hands and legs and arms looped around each other until Leo could hardly tell where one ended and another began. Finn was right; however nice it was to not risk falling off the mattress in the middle of the night, he did miss the inevitable proximity of fitting three people on a single bed.

He supposed it wouldn’t be too hard to make an effort tonight.

The clock ticked as nine o’clock arrived at last. Leo finished the last of his tea and leaned over Finn to set it on the table, offering an apology in the form of a kiss to his cheekbone. “Bedtime.”

“Yeah.”

Logan took the mugs, Leo took Finn, and Finn went without protest into a brief, firm hug. “Love you,” Leo murmured. He felt the answering mumble more than he heard it. “Your brain isn’t broken.”

Finn sighed, slipping his hands under Leo’s shirt to rest against his skin. “Feels broken.”

“I think it’s pretty great, regardless.”

“You’re just a really nice person, Le.”

“I just love you a whole lot.” He let Finn pull away and cupped his face in both hands, running his thumbs along the summer lilac under his eyes. Exhaustion tarnished his bright edges. “Come to bed with me?”

Finn rested there for several seconds, then nodded. They went together.

Leo had only just managed to tuck Finn into the curve of his body before Logan was there, shuffling under the sheets to join them and reaching over Finn’s waist to hold the crook of Leo’s elbow. Finn made a quiet, sleepy noise and pushed his face into Logan’s chest; Logan’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and his expression only grew more contented when he looked up and found Leo already watching them.

Leo waited until Finn had mostly relaxed into drowsy limbo before risking a thumbs-up across the sheets. Logan fought back a smile and returned it, nose scrunching. Success. Another win for their tally. It was a shit day, a hard day, but they could still end it like this and that would be more than enough.

#leo knut #finn ohara #logan tremblay #oknutzy #cubs #coast to coast #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #hurt/ comfort #fluff #sleepy #caretaking

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compacflt · 1 year

Text

Home. February 2009.

Mitchell’s got the radio on in the garage—quiet, but still loud enough that he doesn’t hear Kazansky come through the door. He’s working on one of his bikes, crouched low, parts and tools scattered on the concrete around him—but, in typical Maverick fashion, with a method to the madness. Kazansky leans up against the doorjamb and watches him work for a few moments—his intense laser-like focus, even as he’s tapping the toe of a cowboy boot to Duran Duran’s “Rio;” the steadiness of his hands; the way the gears turn so obviously in his head…watching Mitchell think is sometimes as entertaining as a football game. Around others, he makes a point of annoyingly remarking on every little thing; but when he’s by himself, he’s quiet, systematic, methodical. When one piece doesn’t fit, he sets it down and tries the next. The two of them really are more alike than they are different, when it comes down to it.

It takes a few more minutes, but Mitchell finally looks back for something, and catches Kazansky watching him. “Jeez,” he says with a facetious sigh of relief, “you scared me!”

“Your ass is hanging out of those blue jeans, Captain.”

“Oh, yeah?” says Mitchell, standing to hoist them back up. “And how long have you been standing there admiring the view?”

“Either a few seconds or a few hours, depending on who’s asking.” He comes closer. “Whatcha doing?”

Mitchell leans back against his workbench and taps his little crescent wrench against his grease-stained palm. “It’s kinda boring. Just fixing shit. It was long overdue.”

Kazansky shrugs. “Show me. I got time.”

“Well,” says Mitchell, crouching again and gesturing to the gaping-open wheelwell of his bike— “This old girl’s got trouble with her gear shifts. It’s a known issue with Kawasakis. Once you disengage the clutch, sometimes the flywheel slips between fourth and fifth gear and you get stuck there without moving up. Normally it’s not a big deal, I just pull the clutch and slow down a little and then gun it back into gear, but it’s been pissing me off for a decade, so I figured I’d just fix it myself. Ordered a smooth-shifter kit a few weeks back. Now I’m just trying to get it onto the P.V.C. module. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“Uh-huh,” says Kazansky, and that’s when he notices that he hasn’t looked at the bike once. Sometimes he gets a kick out of just watching Mitchell talk. “You’re the only one of us with an actual mechanic's license, so take my advice with a grain of salt, but I think the process would go a lot smoother if you actually bothered to read the instruction manual…”

“I have an A. and P. license to work on planes,” Mitchell specifies, “and just our plane in particular.” Then he tosses his head with a smile. “Sure, it might go smoother with instructions. But where’s the fun in that?”

It’s one of those slow little moments where Kazansky isn’t thinking—and, more importantly, when he doesn’t want to think. He rests his hand on Mitchell’s hip, tugs him gently forward, leans down, and kisses him—a little chastely, but only a little—and then can’t control himself away from smiling against Mitchell’s mouth. Keeps his eyes closed. “I just came out here to tell you—I’m hungry, and I was gonna go get food, and to ask you if you wanted anything in particular.”

Mitchell still has a hand on the nape of Kazansky’s neck, a thumb on the shell of his ear. “Let’s do Mexican,” he decides after a second.

“Again? We just had Mexican on Tuesday.”

“I’m a hardworking boy,” he counters, “and I deserve a burrito.”

“Fine,” says Kazansky, already stepping away and fishing out his keys. “I’ll just go downtown. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in forty-five.”

“Oh, you know me, Ice,” says Mitchell, turning back to his precious bike. “I never go anywhere.”

He’s already come back to a laser-focus, his smile dropping; he crouches again and gets back to work, and he really is something of a genius, because he’s putting together this puzzle without even looking at the picture on the box, and so intently focused that he never even notices Kazansky standing in the doorway, watching him work for another three-and-a-half minutes straight.

Many, many years later, Tom will tell Pete he loves him—as he so often will, in those days; it will eventually come to him as easily as breathing—but for once Pete will stop and jokingly reply, “Why? —No, go on, give me a list. Why?”

And that’s such a complicated question Tom won’t know how to respond for a few seconds.

But then he’ll think of moments like this one, moments that at the time had seemed insignificant and forgettable—if not forgettable, then like they should be forgotten—but were of course impossibly important in hindsight. Tom will think of all these little moments, all these little ways they said they loved each other without ever needing to actually say it—and it’ll make him want to cry.

But he won’t, because in the grand scheme of things, moments like this one were always the furthest thing from sad.

He’ll still need to answer Pete’s question. “Well,” he will say slowly, “you might think this is a ridiculous answer, but…you know how you never use instructions when you’re building something…?” —and that’s how the very long list will begin.

#an excerpt from the ‘very sappy drabbles’ section of my now-90k second google doc #top gun #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #icemav #when we get around to talking about it #top gun fanfiction #i don’t have classes on wednesdays so im just gonna go to the library and knuckle down on the debriefing edits till my fingers bleed #just gotta do it #this is wip wednesday i guess #it’ll all be okay :)

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ryverbind · 4 months

Text

Faceless Fixation: Brownie Boy [18]

I've never really been much of a skeptic. If it has a name and a meaning, I think there's always a possibility for it to be real.

Take dreams, for example. In my mind, they always have some kind of connection to the waking world and to the psyche. Your mind knows your greatest fears and your crutches— if you lose teeth in a dream, you feel like you have a loss of control. If you search up something on Google for an answer while in a dream, you lack at decision-making.

There's meaning in everything we do. And our minds, while belonging to us, have an entire personality of their own. Once our conscious shuts off, our brain makes its own decisions. We are but a shell for our mind to manipulate. And this is why we see what we fear most in our dreams— what we love most, what we value most, what we appreciate. Our dreams are what we want and despise most on this earth.

So tell me why the fuck Sal has been in my dreams for the past week.

It's despicable. It aggravates me to no end. Every dream is some rendition of his sky blue eyes glaring into mine. Discreet touches-- his fingers brushing the back of my thighs, his hair on my neck, his leg pressed against mine.

"Y/n, there's three customers up front waiting for a table."

Michael's voice beside me is suddenly followed by his hand clapping onto my shoulder. I flinch in surprise, turning away from the chef with my hands full and my anxiety maxed out.

"I'm not hosting right now," I say frantically, glancing between my fellow coworker and the chef. A lot of the work that I don't normally get has been dropped on me the past few days and I really haven't been appreciative of it. I say that sarcastically, of course. And I don't blame Michael-- he isn't at fault, he's just delivering orders to me that are coming from the boss.

But as of current, I'm sweating from rushing around for lunch, and that's also mixed in with how nervous I am. I can't even take a single breath without someone telling me I have something else to do.

And the reasoning behind this? According to my boss it's, "because you were out so long, you have to make up for the work you missed out on."

An empty wallet has never looked so appetizing before.

"Here's a proposition," Mike says, leaning against the counter beside me. The chef is done with our shit. Usually if we talk to him, he stays silent anyway. "You grab those fellas up front to make our boss happy and I'll take a few of your tables. Sound good?"

I look up at Michael with the best puppy dog eyes I can possible muster up. "Please," I whisper, cracking my knuckles and bunching up the fabric of my apron in my hands.

Michael grins and pushes off the counter, stretching his arms. "Sure thing. You might want to get up there before Mr. Krabs comes stomping out of his glory hole, though."

That makes me perk up a bit. A hand slaps over my mouth to contain my internal giggles just as Mike shoots me a wink and walks off to one of my tables, likely to inform them that he'll be their server.

It's bad and I'd certainly rather be anywhere but here, but I can make do for now, especially if it means repaying Michael for all his help. So I ignore the anxiety (said anxiety is so anxious that we're both trembling) and I walk over to the front of the restaurant to sit some hungry customers.

Thankfully, most of the rest of my short-ish shift slowed down a bit after lunchtime. Upon finally reaching my apartment at about two in the afternoon, I quite literally launched myself into bed and... consequently, I wished I was working again.

For the past two hours, I've sat here staring at my ceiling and reminiscing on my recent past. Thinking about the opportunities I took and missed. Remembering all the fun I had, just wishing I was back with my friends in Las Vegas. It's been a little over a week and June is finally here, but it still feels like I was sleeping in with my best friend just last night.

Thinking about what I've lost and gained within the past month or so is both depressing and incriminating. The sheer amount of down-bad that overran my body is impressive, but wasn't worth it. Never was worth it.

I've slain myself with the sword I wielded. And it was only a matter of time— I knew the consequences, yet I still went along with it. It's not that I'm sad or whatever, I'm merely disappointed in myself for getting involved with someone so heartless and vile.

I feel like I've betrayed myself. I was nothing but a speck and I knew that, but I still allowed myself to be used. That's what everyone would say, and it's what I'm starting to feel. Is that all I am? Is this all I ever will be to someone? Just a body with no mind. Something to be used and defiled over and over again.

By far, the worst pile drive of grief came from having to see photo after photo of Sal and I together on every social media site in existence. It was painful in an unfamiliar way-- a way that I don't quite understand. It was all photos of photos, photos I didn't even realize existed, or the two of us with fans. I clearly remember liking the pictures that Lexi and Kennedy posted. Oh, and apparently the handsome emo knight's name is Timothy. But even the nice memories of my time in Las Vegas doesn't feel as comforting as it once did.

Everything I experienced with my friends is slowly being altered every second that I'm alive. The way I lived in Vegas will never be exactly the same as I remember it now. Being aware of psychological changes is damning. It's depressing. I will never experience anything, or those memories, the same way I did at the time I was really there.

Fuck you, Freud.

My ceiling spins above me, a kaleidoscope of misery and darkness that I haven't suffered through since before being diagnosed with depression. I'm not even quite sure what it is that I'm so down about-- missing Las Vegas, feeling far from my friends, or Sal's asshole persona. It's something, but I feel sick being so torn up over something that's perceived as trivial by everyone else.

Why do I have to care so much? No one else is like this. So why me?

I pinch my lips together, finishing my recount of the tiles on my ceiling. There are 133 whole tiles. 24 half tiles. Add them together and there are 157 total, but it feels weird to bunch those two shapes together when they're clearly different.

I feel like I'm going insane.

Before I can think harder about how frustrated I am with myself, I force myself to sit up then sling myself out of bed. My heels smack into the floor beneath me, cushioned by grey carpet. It's saved my soles, but it can't buffer the deep grief in my heart. A grief that has no explanation or source.

This afternoon will be the first time I play online with The Faces since before Vegas. The first time I see my friends in a week. The first time I face Sal since briefly making eye contact with him the morning I left Nevada (he didn't even bother to come to the airport with the rest of us). And most importantly, the very first time I show my face while streaming-- and of course, when I say my face, I mean my mask. But I haven't shown myself at all. Anything that anyone has ever seen of me has been from pictures shared on social media.

For once, I'm not terrified by the prospect. I'm more worried about having to face Sally Face and more than eager to talk with Ash again. I really, really miss her.

I'm bundled up in my trusty Twenty One Pilots sweatpants (that are still falling apart), Ash's merch hoodie, and slip on the brand new pair of Kuromi slippers that my dad had waiting for me when I got home. If I'm going to endure the hell-spawn that is Sal Fisher, I might as well be comfortable.

A sigh slips past my lips as I drag my feet over to my PC and turn it on, slumping into my chair. I grab my mask that's been sitting on my desk, untouched for days, and fix it onto my face.

My computer whirrs to life as I stare blankly ahead, slipping into a hypnotic state. Dissociating. Wishing this life was anyone else's but mine.

I blink past my own distracting mental state after mere seconds of waiting for things to get moving. I log onto Discord, clicking into The Faces' server and catching up on all the messages I missed.

The first thing I notice is that Ash, the owner of the server, has apparently discovered that she can change everyone's names. Which, honestly, is news to me. It's apparently causing an uproar in-chat.

Two Face: haha. funny ash. hilarious. very original.

Subtract Thine Father: wut did u expect from Ash??? unicorn cum nd fairy shit???? Subtract Thine Father: omfg mine is rad

He Who Pegs: Much like the joke you made in Vegas, right, Sal? He Who Pegs: My username is correct. I am a pegger.

I'm scared to find out what my new name is. These are personal attacks on absolutely every single member of this chat.

With quaking hands, I type out a quick message and hesitate before pressing send. I'm terrified of what Ash has managed to come up with. But it's whatever, surely it couldn't get worse than Two Face, right?

Closet Dweller: these are horrendously accurate names... i'm a little scared...

My stomach flies out of my ass when I see my name. Good God, I'm not sure how Ash managed to come up with that one but... it's not too far off the marker. I'll give her props.

Closet Dweller: dear god.

Subtract Thine Father: LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO VI

He Who Pegs: Do I smell a fellow homosexual?

Closet Dweller: i will neither confirm nor deny. maybe i'm just locked in my mother's closet or something, ever think of that?

He Who Pegs: Like an Oedipus Complex?

Closet Dweller: NO TODD!!! NO!!!!!!!

It's impressive how simple socialization has managed to cheer me up a bit. I know Todd is really into psychology like I am, so I'm not surprised that he threw something like that in, but I am shocked that he hit me with a joke that heavy.

He Who Pegs: Laughing my ass off.

Subtract Thine Father: srsly todd, just abbreviate it i'm guna die of erection Subtract Thine Father: embarasment**

He Who Pegs: That was an epic fail and epic foreshadowing. Bravo, Larry. Quite the Freudian slip.

I shake my head at my two friends, tears brimming my eyes as I try to contain the fit of laughter that so desperately wants to be released.

Closet Dweller: what's ash's name?

Kween Pussy Popper: Hi :3

I have to shut my eyes and look away from the screen. Her name is funny enough, but her little emote and the casual entrance just makes this entire thing ten times funnier.

My hand slaps over my mouth and I shake my head, tapping my fingers against my desk. I'm so going to get in trouble with these people.

I'm going to cough up a lung or something later, but it'll be worth it, so I look up at my computer again.

Subtract Thine Father: waddup pussy kween Subtract Thine Father: can u share sum bc i am lacking. Subtract Thine Father: u kno how the grinch's heart grows 4 xmas? well my dick shrinks the longer i go wo a snazzy lady Subtract Thine Father: save a horse ride a cowboy, as they say Subtract Thine Father: i am the cowboy. where r my bitches??????? lonesome. desperate. choking. dying.

The chat goes quiet momentarily so I smile and scoot away from my desk. The objective was to roll across the floor-- no, glide-- and look like some kind of fairy in slo-mo, but I forgot that I have carpeted flooring. So my chair rolls for not even a second before coming to an abrupt stop. Pathetic and not so glorious.

My smile slips off my face as I push myself off the chair and walk across the rest of my room to my bedroom door. Lame.

Getting to talk with everyone has really upped my spirits in a way I didn't expect. It's really odd how the little things just so happen to matter so much when even big things don't seem to matter as much anymore. Even I don't feel like I matter much anymore, but Larry, Ash, and Todd somehow manage to remind me that they care in their own little ways. Whether it's through goofy conversations that don't even include me or silly nicknames, they're the sole reason for my overflowing dopamine.

My feet pad through the hallway and into the kitchen where I get my hands on the #1 best struggle meal that America has to offer.

Microwaveable ramen. Beef, specifically.

The funniest thing about microwaveable ramen is that hardly anyone makes it the right way. And if you do make it the right way, great job! You have an extra brain cell. The rest of us heathens, on the other hand, put the little styrofoam cup in the radiation incubation tank anyway and call it a day. Warnings be damned.

So I walk back to my room with my little cup of ramen, styrofoam nice and warm, fresh out the microwave for all my haters, and I plop back into my desk chair with chopsticks at the ready.

But my eyebrows furrow when I place my headset back on and catch up on the Discord conversation I'd walked away from.

Kween Pussy Popper: Can we get on a call now? I miss Vi and starting early is my excuse to talk to her now :( Kween Pussy Popper: OMGGG!!! It's also a really big day bc Vi is going to be on camera for once!!! eeeee >.<

Subtract Thine Father: ya getin on now >:)

I scroll down on all our channels to find all four members of The Faces in Ash's VC. I'm late to the party. Now, the issue with this is... I'm stuck. My cursor hovers over the voice channel, but I just can't find it in myself to actually click on the thing. My finger lightly sits on top of the mouse, ready to press down but I can't. My heart physically jumps into my throat, choking me with emotion and grief and unadulterated fear that has absolutely no fucking business hanging around in my body like this.

Truth be told, I knew I'd get tired of my fear sooner or later. I'd get so tired that I'd just grab my issue by the balls and disrespect it doggy style. And I'm close-- so close to finally following through with this aggressive exhaustion. But I need one more excuse to tip me over the metaphorical edge.

My chopsticks dip into my steaming ramen and pick up brothy goodness in noodle form. I slurp up the last bit of dignity I need to be restored and finally click on the option that launches me into the chat before I can stop myself again.

Only, when I do this, I'm staring at all four other members of our server... but also myself. Noodles hanging out of my mouth, broth drip-dropping onto my desk because I'm a messy eater. Dignity not restored, but even more lost in exchange.

I love life so much. Note the sarcasm.

Larry grins while everyone else kind of watches me, stuck like a deer in headlights and unable to just eat my food like a normal human being. "Gobble, gobble, Closet Dweller," are Larry's first four physically spoken words to me since I hugged him goodbye in the Las Vegas airport about a week ago.

A small smile tugs at my own lips as I quickly suck the rest of my way too big bite of noodles into my mouth and, well, gobble as Larry suggested.

"Closet Dweller was targeted. I'm only a little offended, but I think that name would be better suited for Todd, right?" I ask, eyes glancing between Ash, Larry, and Todd on the screen while purposefully avoiding a no doubt brooding Sal. I refuse to look at him.

Ash's nose scrunches up in disagreement, her melodic voice flowing through my headphones to follow the action. "Todd is out of the closet. You, on the other hand, are still playing hide and seek behind your mom's pajamas like you're looking for a passage to Narnia. Plus, Todd is a renowned pegger."

Todd nods, pinching his lips together. I wait for him to laugh and say 'Jay kay' or something, you know, odd like he is, but he doesn't. And even freakier is that no one seems alarmed.

"He also has a shirt that says 'I got pegged at Cracker Barrel' so no one is more worthy of that nickname than him. King Arthur ain't got shit on my guy," Ash chirps proudly, tilting her chin up with a little smirk on her lips. Her cat ear headphones glow a bright green, reflecting the joy and pride she feels regarding the nickname she came up with.

My eyebrows pinch together beneath my mask and my attention turns to Todd. "You have a shirt that says 'I got pegged at Cracker Barrel?'"

Todd gives me the sweetest little upside down smile and quickly rises from his seat, showing off the back wall of his room that is... plain as fuck, to be quite honest. But that's okay because Todd is organized, so it's only fair that his walls are organized as well.

Todd reappears just two seconds later, holding up a long-sleeved, mustard yellow shirt that says exactly what he and Ash claimed it would.

I break into a face-splitting grin. "That's sick," I voice, moving closer to my computer to get a better look at the shirt. I didn't lie either. I'd assassinate some really important government leaders to get my hands on that.

"See! You're such a closet hermit!" Ash exclaims, pointing a finger at me with wide eyes and an open-mouthed smile.

"Since when?" I counter, crossing my arms over my chest good-naturedly. This is all in fun, Ash knows damn well I wouldn't have kissed her or even entertained the idea if I wasn't a little fruity. "Sal should get the nickname, he was the one trying to bed Hot Excalibur Emo Knight."

Yea, the acknowledgement and statement left my lips before I could remember that I was inadvertently giving Sally Face the silent treatment. Hades' personal hellhound is a taboo here. That man is a curse word in this house. I set myself up and now I have to put a quarter into my mental swear jar.

I note how Sal shifts in his seat out of the corner of my eye. Not that I care. In fact, I saw nothing.

"You're missing the point, Vi!" Ash shakes her head, faux disappointment marring her meticulously designed facial features. "Sal is out of the closet. He's as much of a cooked noodle as he is a raw one." Her distinction between gay and straight is fascinating. "You, on the other hand, are a recluse and hiding betwixt MawMaw bras and old, dusty infinity scarves from your mother's regretted youth. You want a different name, then come out of your hidey-hole already."

My jaw drops and I stare at my friend who looks quite proud of her outlandish accusations, even if they aren't so outlandish.

Larry is red-faced and Todd couldn't care less; he's too busy folding up his Cracker Barrel shirt.

"How come I'm a target today?" I snicker, leaning my head on my fist as I look back at my best friend.

"Because I'm feeling extra aggressive and a little frisky. In other words, the fruit is ripe. Flirt with me and I'll be in your bed within two to five business minutes," Ash winks at me, tongue swiping along her bottom lip.

I frown. "Well that sucks. I don't have any good pick-up lines. I only have really shitty psychology jokes. I guess I'll be sleeping alone tonight." I sigh and take another bite of ramen, dramatically looking off into the distance-- which is just the wall behind my computer. Blank space, baby.

"There's so much sexual tension packed into you two that I'm starting to suffocate," Larry pipes up, voice soft and astonished. "I'm drowning and I love it." He has stars in his wide, hickory-colored eyes.

I can't stop smiling. This expression is permanently etched onto my face, a tattoo. "We're just picking, Lar. Don't get your hopes up."

"Picking?" Ash gasps, feigning shock. She leans back with a hand to her chest. "All this time, your affection was a lie?"

"Alas, it was never real," I reply, dipping my head down to hide the my happy smile again. I have to play my part, but I can't do that with my face set like this.

Larry cackles in response. "The one woman you can't get, Ash!" He exclaims, wild giggles filtering through the call. I look up again, watching the way Ash's eyes narrow.

"I never thought this would happen to me. Not my Vivi..." She trails off, shutting her eyes to express her sadness.

"The fuck did you expect?" Larry prods, scooting close to his camera so that all we see is the bridge of his nose, dark eyes, and his thick brows-- one is arched in question. "Unicorn guts and fairy shit?" He quotes himself beautifully, reusing his remark from in-chat. "Fellatio and scissoring? This isn't Disney, Ash. If anything, we're wrapped up in a Grimm Brothers' fairytale."

I have to put my fist over my mouth to hide my reaction because that's the most accurate thing that Larry has said all day. And he even brought out big boy words like fellatio. Has he been studying?

Sal lets a boyish chuckle slip and my gaze cuts to him despite my better judgement. He's bent down, instinctually covering the mouth of his prosthetic, seemingly forgetting that we can't actually see his facial expression. It's such a normal action, one that I'm not used to when it comes to him. It's a moment where I can't look away. A rare moment where I get that weird feeling for him again-- one that I've only experienced maybe three times since meeting him. It's that domestic and naive feeling, where he's a normal person that I yearn for a bit. He's not an asshole, he's not hidden behind a prosthetic. He's just a guy that I know. A guy that I'd like to touch and see and feel on a deeper level.

I blink when he tilts his head back, revealing his pretty dagger tattoo and a veiny hand that runs through his hair. He pushes his fringe back, making little blue strands stick up in different directions.

I can't help but straighten my sitting position. Slouching gone, body attentive. I don't know if I'm nervous, wary, excited, or stuck in some admiring state. But it's weird. And I do not want to be feeling it. I never asked for this.

And yea, he still looks the same. Painfully the same. Like a beacon in the dead of night. Tales of his past on his skin, his hair like streaks of bright cerulean paint on a canvas. The worst aspect of him is his eyes. They haunt me.

He looks up at the camera again, having finally collected himself a few moments ago, showing off the feature of his that I loathe so much.

All the colors of an Aurora Borealis dance in his irises; the natural blue hue darkened into a teal from the lack of lighting. Little flashes of green and pale purple reflect onto his eyes from his computer screen, creating a kaleidoscope clash of colors that cover his entire prosthetic face. So many shades of life that mix to mimic something I've always wanted to witness for myself. I just didn't expect to see it in the eyes of who I both despise and desire most in this miserable life of mine.

What the hell is wrong with me? How dare I fall into this kind of depression over Sal Fisher? No one has ever betrayed me as many times as I've betrayed myself at this point.

Ash's voice steals me from my mind's ruthless vices. "That's a pretty morbid scarf, Vi."

My gaze flicks to her and I scrunch my eyebrows again. "Scarf?" I ask. I'm not wearing a scarf. It's summer. In Los Angeles. "What scarf?" She's probably going to make some kind of joke that she's been holding out on for a while.

Ash scoots closer to her computer, eyes filled with confusion. They squint and she says, "Yea... scarf. It looks like a hand. Is it a hand?"

"Ash, what the fuck are you talking about? It's summer. Why would I wear a scarf?" I give her a bewildered look that's buffered by my mask, but the conversation attracts everyone else's attention too. Larry and Todd both move closer to their computers and, shockingly, Sal even tilts his head, eyes glued to the screen.

I look down, but I can't see anything near me or on me. Is this some elaborately planned joke or something?

"Uh," Todd says, voice a mix of confused and concerned, which sets off alarm bells in my head. "Yea. There's a hand. That's a hand."

I plan on answering, but then Ash screams and then something cold wraps around my throat and I scream in turn.

My reaction is instant-- I shove myself away from my desk, headset ripped off my head and the hand forced off of my neck. I hear a resounding 'oof' as I knock into something, or more like someone.

My room is dark, pitch black, so I leap off of my chair and into the darkness. My heart is racing a mile a minute, my hands shake with fear and adrenaline, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. Who the fuck is in my room. What the fuck is going on?

I see the silhouette of a tall figure through the low light of my computer. It's bent a bit, pale arm wrapped around their stomach.

I back up toward my wall, listening to the quiet, panicked voices of my friends yelling for me to answer them from my headset. And then my phone rings in my pocket-- for fuck's sake-- so I have no choice but to rush to the knife hanging on the wall right beside my door (I'm paranoid and clearly for good reason) and flick on my bedroom light, ready to launch and attack whoever's dumb enough to be here.

I hold my breath, wide-eyed with a war drum hammering away at my chest as light floods my room. I'm going to either get charged with homicide or be the homicidee. Is that even a word?-- actually, I don't care. It's a word now.

But as soon as I see the supposed figure squinting in the sudden brightness, I'm so relieved that I nearly fall to my knees, whimpering despite how embarrassing that might seem to someone else.

The Faces start yelling again.

"Did I scare you?" His hypnotizing, baritone voice fills me with an eerie calm that melts away the string of adrenaline keeping me afloat as of present.

"And my friends who think I'm about to be murdered? Of fucking course, you thundercunt," I hiss, stomping over to what I previously thought was going to be my demise.

"That's for never bringing back my screwdriver."

I roll my eyes, groaning in a mix of anger and exasperation once I stand in front of my neighbor and long-time friend. Nate looks down at me with a handsome little smirk on his full lips and forever messy black waves hanging over his forehead. "Fuck you," I grunt, taking a step past him to kick in the back of his knees. Said knees buckle and he yelps, quickly catching himself with a hand on my shoulder as a deep chuckle rumbles in his chest.

I grab my headset off the ground and lean down so my friends can see me. I watch relief flood their faces instantly, with the exception of Sal, of course. I grab my mic without putting the headset on and say "I'll be right back."

Setting them back down, I turn away from The Faces and look to Nate again, arms crossed over my chest. I pull my mask off just so he can see how astronomically pissed I am.

The asshole only laughs harder. The charm in that singular sound alone makes me want to punch him in the face.

Nathaniel Emilio Luis Espinosa has been a daredevil since I met him, always raging over danger and reaching for that incomparable fear factor. He has lots of personality, and a lot of that personality has been met with a chancla to the face, courtesy of his overprotective mamá that won't take his bullshit even after she's in the grave.

And that's why Mrs. Lucía and I are besties at heart. And in sandals.

But to go with Nate's desperate yearning for bad things is social anxiety. He hardly ever leaves his apartment and he'll claw at his walls to stay inside. I think that's why he's more than happy to make brownies for me and get absolutely decimated in Mario Kart whenever he comes to visit-- he isn't really leaving the apartment building, but he isn't alone either.

He's also quite a looker. I have no doubt that if Sal ever met him, he'd be drooling all over the guy. Nate has sharp facial features that are just... perfect in almost every way. Little beauty marks on different sections of his face, angular nose, a jawline that could cut air. Everything is only accentuated by his shoulder length, wavy, midnight black hair that he hates so much (all he ever talks about is how aggravating the upkeep is) and his equally as dark eyes that still entrance me to this day. Plus, he's tall. 6'4 last I checked and built like Stonehenge-- gorgeous and unbreakable.

Basically, he has no problem getting pussy. I'm never concerned about his sex life. His love life, on the other hand...

"You're in deep shit," I huff out, looking away from my friend who grins proudly. I move over to my bed-side table and dig in the one drawer it has, pulling out his beloved screwdriver. I turn back to him and hold it up for him to see, waving it dramatically before walking back over to him.

I grab his hand and slap it into his palm. "You're lucky I don't scrape off your kneecaps for that. I ought to call your mom and tell her what you've done. I could have had a stroke!"

Nate's eyebrows pinch together as if to sarcastically say 'sure bitch' but then he seems to process what I said. He suddenly hisses and his sable eyes go wide. "Please, I'm actually really sorry. Don't call my mom."

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't," I counter with, stepping up so we're nearly chest-to-chest.

"Because you love me," Nate bats his eyelashes at me, but that ship sailed years ago. He can't get me with that look anymore. He licks his lips, pink tongue darting out quickly. "And because I'll make brownies for you every week for the next month?" he tacks on.

I purse my lips. "Let me continue to borrow your screwdriver and it's a done deal."

Nate looks like a kicked puppy over our game of deal-or-no-deal. But he accepts anyway, sniffling over his loss.

"How did you even get into my apartment?" I ask with a scoff, putting my mask back on and plopping into my desk chair. I face my friends who watch me in confusion, terror, and intrigue.

"With the key you gave me. Duh," Nate says matter-of-factly, walking up behind me. I need to go get checked out or something because how could I forget that I gave Nate a key? "What's with the mask?" he asks.

I suck in a breath. "That's a really long story for another time," I tell him, grabbing hold of my headset and situating it back on.

Nate leans over me, settling his chin on my shoulder from behind as his hands grip the armrests on my chair. I watch him through my camera as he gazes at my screen, meeting the eyes of The Faces.

Tongue in cheek, I address my friends again. "Sorry, I'm not a victim of murder," I say quickly. "this is my neighbor, Nate."

Larry blinks, "Oh. He's brownie boy?" I snort. "He's kinda..." A sexy grin forms on his face and I roll my eyes.

"Yea, he'd love to hear that," I say pointedly, glancing at Nate who's still hanging around.

"Wait," Nate murmurs, lifting his head and moving closer to the screen. "Why are you talking? You're just watching a video, right?"

"You're late to the party," I tell him, unable to stop myself from giggling a bit. "This is a discord call. With The Faces. I know you've heard of them, I talk about Ash all the time."

"Of course I've heard of them. I just... didn't think you meant this Ash," he says bashfully, shaking his head a bit so his hair falls into his eyes. It's a little anxiety thing of his, makes his hair fall into his face in an attempt to hide however much he can.

I put my hand over his that's still holding onto my armrest in hopes of both calming and reassuring him. He gets so nervous...

He lets out a little sigh behind me before setting his chin on my shoulder again. He doesn't say another word. That skill is lost on him at the moment, which is a frequent thing for him in social and social-ish settings.

I look back to my other friends and give them a little smile, but they're still staring. They look so confused that they don't know how to act, which, okay. Fair.

And all is quiet up until Sal talks for the first time since the call started.

"You moved on from the hot knight pretty quickly."

It's said in a very... suggesting way. It makes my eye twitch in response. It's so aggravating that he still manages to piss me off by simply breathing. I swear if his mic was too close to his face right now and I heard him take a breath, I'd have to fly to Nockfell just to slap him.

"Hot knight is still on my list," I say tastelessly. "But I didn't see him interested in you so I don't understand why he's a topic."

I watch Sal's eyes narrow in agitation and I match his emotions and expression. He thinks he's so important. What was the point of bringing up Timothy the knight? He's been quiet this entire call. Why couldn't he have just stayed that way?

"I can talk about whatever I want. You just piss me off. Your boyfriend tried to kill you and he's getting in on our call. I have an issue with his presence. Yours too, honestly," Sal says, voice monotonous and bored, like it's a waste of his time to have to explain himself.

"He's not my boyfriend, jackass," I say in a grating voice. I'm at that tired point again. Just fucking tired of him... and not at the same time. Part of me is yearning for the aggression. The vexation. The resentment we share for each other and all the delicious arguments and loathing it brings. I miss it-- everything before we embarked on our short-lived shit-uationship. "And I have an issue with your presence too. You piss me off. I see why Ash nicknamed you two-face-- you're so nice to everyone, but you're a wolf in sheep's clothing. You're actually just a lint licking, cunt flap, cum infested puss bubble of a fucklet."

"Damn," Larry hisses, leaning back in his chair and staring at his screen like he's been stabbed. "I felt that in my prostate."

Nate's head moves from my shoulder and I turn to address him, but end up watching his form crumple to the floor in a heap of laughing mess. He shoots me a quick thumbs up, but whether it was an agreement, pride, or to tell me he's okay-- I'm not sure.

Ash is holding herself together by a thread, bottom lip between her teeth as tears well in her eyes. She doesn't dare blink, or else those tears will fall (and crash around me, or whatever Bullet For My Valentine once said).

"You're lucky as fuck that I'm not in your general vicinity," Sal barks out, fire blazing in his otherwise frosty eyes.

"Or what?" I taunt, tilting my head. He wouldn't hit me. He's a self-proclaimed feminist after all, if that's even true. So what would he do? Punish me? Tarnish my squeaky clean online image? He could still do that without being in my general vicinity. That statement was so loaded that I'm starting to get a little nervous...

"Military weapons-grade, apocalypse-inducing, soul-severing revenge. That's all," Sal says nonchalantly. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed and ring-clad fingers tapping his biceps. And he's... hot. And terrifying. And so, so infuriating. I hate him.

"I'd like to see you try all that," I reply, sucking my teeth. In truth, I'm not as on top of my shit as I could be because I'm still upset and confused over him. I'm angry, but not enough to properly express it. Sal's been an issue from the start, but now he's becoming even more of one.

"Watch me," is his snarky reply. And I know I can't actually determine if it's me he's staring at like that, but the feeling I get says that his glare is baring right into my image on his screen. I can feel his detest across the country, aimed directly at me. It makes a shiver run down my spine and I grip my armrests tighter.

"Is that a threat?" I bite out, swallowing thickly.

His eyes light up a bit, and then they squint. Almost like he's smiling. And then he says, in a sickeningly gentle and dark voice, "It's a promise."

________________

A/N::::: On today's episode of Ryver Rhoulette: is that a decomp stain or is it just moldy cum?

SORRY anyway, HI I AM BACK <333 i spent most of my break sick and suffering from writer's slump... it's not a block because i know what i wanna write, just couldn't get the thoughts out o_e

first off, i know this chapter is a little shorter and i'm sorry about that. i know it's been a while, so i definitely owe you guys a LOT more content than what's in here (especially since it's pretty much filler...) but next chapter is going to be VERY fun :D i can't promise or predict when the next chapter will be, but i have plenty of time to work on it before i go back to school on january 12th! so if not soon, definitely whenever college starts up because i have a yucky habit of procrastinating and getting WONDERFUL fic ideas instead of doing work >:)

also of note: i will be posting a Sal-lore chapter again soon. it may come before the next Faceless Fixation canon chapter, just fair warning. i literally have no idea which i will get inspo for first LOL

until next time, my sweet doves! i love you all so infinitely much <33 have a great morning/day/evening/night! sending big squishes and loves :3

P.S. GUESS WHO NATE IS BASED ON I FUCKING LOVE HIM SO MUCH LIHEIWHEL

P.S.S. huge thanks to @weaslebeeps for coming up with Todd in a "I got pegged at Cracker Barrel" shirt AND for drawing it??? LIKE ACTUALLY????? i love u sweetness <3

#sal fisher #sally face #larry johnson #ash campbell #todd morrison #travis phelps #enemies to lovers #sally face fandom #sally face fanfiction #fanfic

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sarahowritesostucky · 1 month

Text

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, cannibalism, kidnapping, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, dub-con bordering on non-con, ignoring of sexual boundaries

Summary: Just when he's given up on ever finding Mr. Right, Steve meets the - seemingly - perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen"--or something like that

4. Mise-en-Place

Wait! I haven't read the previous chapter(s)

youtube

Steve has to promise his coworker Daryl everything short of oral sex to get him to pick up his weekend shifts. But he does agree to do it.

And then Steve spends most of the week daydreaming about the upcoming trip with James. He packs and repacks his bag probably a dozen times. He doesn’t really know anything about what they’ll be doing, other than fucking and hanging out at the house. And he doesn’t know anything about the house except that it has a hot tub.

“The Catskills?” Clint complains when Steve calls the morning of his departure to let him know that he’ll be gone for a few days. “You’ve known this guy for a hot second and you’re letting him take you away to the middle of nowhere?”

Steve huffs. “It’s not the middle of nowhere. He’s got a house out there. He goes there all the time.” Steve stuffs his swim trunks into his already stuffed-full weekend bag, then wrestles the zipper closed. He plops down onto his bed with the phone at his ear. “Be happy for me. I really think this is going to go somewhere.”

Clint sighs over the line. “Fine. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Steve says primly.

“You’re welcome. Look, just … just let me know when you’ve gotten there safely, okay? And text me his address so I at least know where to send the cops for your body.”

“Thank you, Safety Officer Barton,” Steve drawls. “I’ll text you.” They say goodbye and Steve hangs up. He checks the time—still an hour to go. He sighs and tries to resist the urge to check and repack his stuff again.

Steve’s smile is massive as James pulls up in front of his building in the most ridiculous car Steve’s ever seen outside of a movie. “Wow,” he says.

James is movie star handsome in his windswept hair and sunglasses, jaw working as he chews a piece of gum. “Get in loser, we’re going shopping!”

Steve laughs at the line and tosses his bag in the backseat. He opens the passenger side door and slides in across buttery leather. “Is this a fucking Lamborghini?”

“Bugatti, baby,” James says, popping his gum. “You like it?”

“Well I’m not exactly a car guy but …” Steve looks around the interior and nods, impressed. “Don’t you think it’s too cold to have the top down?”

“Psh, 'course it is.” James pushes a button on the dash and the top starts coming out. He leans over and pecks a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Just wanted to pull up in style.”

Steve hums, taking in the nice outfit James is wearing, how he manages to look so well put together even when he’s casual. (What is something like that called? A sports jacket?) “Yeah. I don’t think anybody could accuse you of not being stylish.” He tries to remember what all he’d stuffed in his bag that morning. It hadn’t all been tee shirts and jeans, had it? Hm. He fiddles with his hands, picking at where there’s still a bit of ochre #217 crusted under the nail. “This isn’t what you were driving on our date.”

“I usually keep this one out at the house,” James tells him. “I’m not about to shell out for a second parking space in fucking Midtown.”

Steve laughs at him, because anybody who drives a Bugatti sure as shit doesn’t have to worry about wasting a few grand on parking.

“Hey! It’s the principle of the matter,” James argues as they zip down Atlantic Avenue, headed for the interstate. “Some things are worth splurging on, some things aren’t.”

“Okay.” Steve settles back in his seat. “What’s worth splurging on, then?”

“Mm.” James pretends to think about it. “Cars to impress your new boyfriend,” he says, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. “Watches. I fucking love watches. Hm … travel, art, a view, privacy,” he continues listing, unaware that Steve’s still totally stuck on the first part. “And a good meal.” He looks over, grinning. “Don’t you think?”

“Um,” Steve licks his lips, trying to calm down. “Y-yeah. Yeah I guess all of those things.” He looks back out the windshield, thoughts spinning. Should he say something? He thinks he should. No better time than when they’re stuck together in a car. There’ll be no escaping the conversation. “So … are we boyfriends?” he asks, his voice coming out much quieter than he intends. He sounds exactly as nervous as he doesn’t want James to think he is. “I mean …” He looks over, can’t read James’ expression because the guy’s half cloaked by the aviators. “Are we?”

James takes one hand off the wheel and holds it out for Steve, threading their fingers together. “I was thinking that we were,” he says, not looking away from the road. “I haven’t been seeing anyone else since I met you. I haven’t wanted to.”

Steve swallows, the butterflies (or frogs or whatever-the-fuck idiom it is that lives in his stomach) jumping around happily. “Me neither,” he says. He tries not to beam too much, tries to be smooth and cool like James is. “Ah, that’s kind of what I was hoping for. What I was hoping you wanted.” He huffs and scratches at his neck awkwardly. “I just um, guess I’ve gotten used to not putting a label on things. ‘Boyfriend’ and stuff.” He looks down. “Guys tend to disappear once you start talking like that.”

“Fuck. What sorts of losers have you been dating?” James says, and Steve is so honestly taken aback that he has to laugh at himself a little and concede the point.

“Yeah, I guess you might be right.”

“I know I’m right.”

It’s cute, how James has gentlemanly outrage for Steve’s lame ass dating life. Steve shrugs, smiling because it’s nice to feel wanted for once, instead of disposable. “S’fine. It just got disheartening after a while. I was starting to think maybe I’m one of those people who’s just meant to wind up alone. The odd one out. Ya know?”

It’s quiet, and when Steve looks over he’s surprised to find James staring at him, the aviators slipped down his nose to reveal his eyes. “Yeah,” James murmurs. “Yeah I know a little bit about being the odd one out.” On the center console, his hand gives Steve’s a squeeze. “And nobody’s meant to be alone, Honey.”

Steve’s chest constricts a little. He licks his lips and watches James watch him. He doesn’t think he’s ever met anybody with eyes as kind and as real as James’. He’s so fucking genuine that it makes Steve feel cracked open whenever James stares at him, peeled down to the raw bits underneath. “You know,” he says quietly. “I’ve never met somebody who looks at me like that.”

James’ mouth quirks. “Like what?”

“Hm. Like you know me already.” Steve turns his head with a sigh and lets his eyes slip closed while he feels the warmth of the sun coming in through the car window. “Like you can read my thoughts. Like you see something other people don’t. It’s intense.”

“... Too intense?”

“Mm mn.” Steve shakes his head. “No, actually I like it. It’s nice for a change. Makes me feel ... I dunno, almost kinda savored?”

When Steve peeks at him again, he’s treated to the sight of James, with his sunglasses pushed back up, grinning at the road. His smile is a slash of sparkling white across his handsome face, making him look too good to be true. “Somebody like you should be savored,” he tells him. “You know, I think I might keep you, Steve.”

Steve grins and turns his head to look back out the window as they drive farther and farther from the city.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Steve opens his eyes, yawning as the car pulls to a stop. “Mm.” He stretches and unhooks his seatbelt. "We there?"

“We’re here.”

From the driveway, the house isn’t much to look at. It’s almost fully concealed within the expertly done landscaping, as if the house’s existence itself is supposed to be a secret. The custom building materials visible at the front door are severe but unique, hinting at what’s inside.

“Holy f—” Steve trails in after James, eyes wide as he looks around.

“Home sweet home,” James demures, dropping Steve’s bag on the kitchen island and walking over to the fridge. There’s the tinkle of ice as he pulls things from the freezer drawer. “So what do you think? It’s nice, right?”

“Um …” Steve walks slowly through the living room, taking in the expensive house. One glance around and anybody with two braincells to rub together would be able to tell that the place was completely custom made, from the studs right on up to the roof. “Yeah. It’s really ...” he looks around. “Intimidating.”

“‘Intimidating’,” James echoes, amused. He pours something amber from a crystal decanter. “I guess that’s fair. You told me I'm intimidating, and I am the one who designed it.”

Steve goes to sit on the couch. “No, I mean it’s great, don’t get me wrong.” He looks around, considering the dark wood and poured concrete and brick, the beaten leather sofas and various oddball art pieces that somehow feel right. “Very … midcentury meets 70’s eclectic.”

James smirks and brings their drinks over, handing Steve his. “Ya know, I know you’re a snobby artist,” he teases. “So I’m not sure if you’re actually complimenting my house or poking fun at it.”

Steve grins around his cocktail straw. “Well it’s more fun if I leave you wondering.”

James sits down next to him on the couch. “Gonna keep me on my toes?”

“Oh, always.”

“By the way, that’s my version of an old fashioned,” James tells him. They clink glasses in a little toast.

“To our weekend away,” Steve says.

“To our very relaxing weekend away,” James agrees. “By the way,” he nods at Steve’s glass. “There’s a little something extra in there. Want to try and guess what it is?

“Ooh. Okay. What are the stakes?”

James waggles his eyebrows. “Oral sex?”

Steve snorts. “Okay sure. But is there really a loser in that equation?”

“Probably not.” James gives him a wink. “But there is most certainly a winner.”

Steve brings his glass up for a thoughtful sip. “Hmm … peach?” he guesses.

James smirks and sinks back further into the couch. “Nope. Close though.”

Steve tries again, sips and thinks about it. “Apricot?”

“Nope.” James is looking delighted. “One more guess. You are close.”

“Well if it’s a stone fruit …” Steve frowns. “Oh! Nectarine?”

“Ha! Yep you got it.” James looks utterly pleased as he leans over to peck a kiss to his cheek. “Smart boy. You win."

Steve flushes at the words. “You don’t seem like a very sore loser.”

“There’s no bet I’d be happier to lose.” James heaves himself up off the couch with a deep sigh. “Alright, obligatory tour time?” He holds out his hand, and Steve is back to grinning like a fool as he lets his boyfriend show him around his intimidating—but also, really damn nice—house.

“It doesn’t feel very lived in,” Steve admits, as they’re changing into their swim trunks. James leads him to the back patio where there’s a hot tub sunken into the concrete. “I thought you said you spend a lot of time here?”

“I said I spend as much time as I can here. Which isn’t as much as I’d like.” James scoots over to sit beside him. “You know we didn’t actually have to wear swimsuits. We’re hours from the city.”

“So isolated. No neighbors at all?”

“Mm mn. Not for miles.”

“Wow. It’s strange to think that places like that even exist anymore.” Steve lays his head on James’ shoulder. “After a lifetime in Brooklyn, ya know? To think that there’s that much space left in the world for just two people?” He shakes his head. “S’crazy.”

“Yeah. But I like it.” James wraps an arm around his waist, holding him close. “It’s freeing, you know? You can just be yourself out here. Don’t have to worry about what anybody will think.”

“Think of what?” Steve asks, remembering how James has said similar things about enjoying privacy in the past. “Are you not out to your family, or something?”

James laughs. “No, not that. I’ve been out to everyone I know since med school. I just meant: in general, I find the seclusion relaxing. I don’t have to worry about nosy neighbors, or being too loud.” He squeezes Steve’s side playfully. “Or walking around butt naked if I want.”

Steve giggles. He pulls away from James in the water, turning to face him with a sly look. “Well, maybe you’re right then.” He slides out of his trunks and holds them up in show before tossing them away. They land with a wet 'splat' on the concrete. “Fuck swimsuits.”

James laughs in delight and copies him, tossing his shorts in the same direction. “Yeah, fuck ‘em.” They’re both laughing as he pulls Steve back in to straddle his lap, the water bubbling around them and mostly-obscuring their nudity. “Oh, Steve,” he sighs. “I’m so glad you let me bring you out here.” He reaches up and cups his jaw. “I really want to get to know you, intimately.” His thumb traces a tender path on Steve’s cheek. “It’ll be nice. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Yeah, it really will.”

They talk for what feels like hours, flirting and sipping cocktails and trading jokes. They share their opinions on stupid topics and meaningful ones, interspersed with the few quiet moments that happen when one of them works up the nerve to tell the other about some intimate detail from their life.

Steve confesses that he'd reached a low point, after his mom's death, and that he hadn't improved until he'd sought out therapy. James receives the information with sympathy, and then keeps his eyes averted as he admits that he’s been married, once before. “It didn’t last long,” he mumbles, looking rueful about it. “Less than a year.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says gently. “What happened?”

James shakes his head sadly. “He just wasn’t the one. We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things and ... he left me."

Steve bites his lip, hating how sad James looks as he talks about it. He tries to lighten the mood by recounting the story of one hilariously bad date in recent memory. It gets James laughing again, which is a relief, and they fall back into the easy banter that seems to come so naturally to them. They’re both dog people. James prefers tea to coffee. Steve is a staunch murderer of houseplants. James fancies himself a gourmet cook.

“Yeah, you still have to prove that to me,” Steve teases as they head back inside, their discarded bathing suits left behind on the patio like shed skin.

James towels Steve off and pulls him into the bed, lying over him. “Oh, I'll prove it. Gonna cook you an amazing dinner tonight.” He dips down, kissing him gently. “But first, I think there’s a wager I lost that I need to make good on.” He kisses down Steve’s throat, his chest. “You want that?”

Steve squirms and nods, blood flowing south at just the thought of James’ beautiful mouth around his dick. “Yeah. Yeah, you definitely should. Don’t want to be a sore loser.”

“Definitely not. Especially since you’re such a gracious winner,” James continues kissing his way down, taking his time, big hands splayed out over ribs, caressing him. “Love your body, honey,” he murmurs against the pale skin of his stomach. He lets his hands slide further down, thumbs swiping over hip bones. “So sweet. So delicate.”

“Christ,” Steve complains, but James doesn’t let him get away with that.

“No. I mean it, Steven. Every part of you. You hear me?”

“Yeah yeah, I—” Steve inhales sharply as he’s suddenly enveloped in the wet heat of James’ mouth, not even very hard, yet. “Oh!”

“Mmhm,” James hums around his mouthful of rapidly-hardening dick. He sucks him gently, rubbing his hands over Steve’s hips, his belly, his sensitive inner thighs. He pops off and taps Steve’s cock against the flat of his tongue. “Feel good?”

Steve nods shakily. “Y-yeah. Yeah keep going. Please.”

James smiles and kisses his belly reverently, then takes him right back into his mouth. Even as Steve hardens all the way, James can still handle a lot, not choking even when Steve’s cock hits the back of his throat. Steve moans at a particularly strong suck. “James, yes,” he whispers, sliding his fingers into James' dark hair and holding him. “Oh, god …” A hand joins in, stroking while James lavishes attention at the head. He’s gentle in how he handles him, but utterly methodical. Steve’s hips kick up once James starts playing with his balls, and he whines near-desperately when a single finger ventures back to his asshole. “Oh fuck …”

James makes a pleased noise that reverberates all the way through Steve's cock and into his balls. He presses the tip of his finger in dry, takes him all the way down to the hilt—and swallows compulsively around the head of his dick.

Steve comes with a sudden cry, clinging to James helplessly as he spurts against his tongue. "Ah ah, ahnn ..." James hums and holds him and sucks him through it, only pulling off once Steve is shivering in oversensitivity. He lays his cheek on Steve’s stomach and waits him out while he recovers. “S-sorry,” Steve pants. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh, it’s okay.”

Eventually Steve’s breathing calms, and he opens his eyes again. He looks down at where James is resting against his stomach, his dark hair against Steve’s pale skin, mouth red and shiny with cum. “Fuck,” Steve breathes. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

James licks his lips clean, staring up at him. “And you’re delicious.” He climbs back up his body, dick hard and insistent where it drags a wet line across Steve’s belly. “Can I fuck you, Sweetheart?” he asks, the words sweeter than they have any right to be as he dips down and kisses him with the taste of cum still on his lips. “Is that okay? or are you too sensitive?”

Steve shivers, rolling his hips up even though his dick has gone soft. “No. No, you can,” he breathes, reaching down to take hold of James' cock and give it a squeeze. It's so hot and big, and the feeling of it throbbing against his palm makes arousal flare back to life in Steve’s belly. “Just … just go slow, yeah?”

James kisses him tenderly, promising, “Of course. Always. Hang on a sec.” He stretches away for the bedside drawer, and then his weight returns. He encourages Steve to roll over onto his front, gently maneuvering a pillow under his hips. “There you go,” he praises, running a hand down the center of his back, over his ass and then the back of one thigh. “God, Steve ... You’re a fucking wet dream, you know that?”

Steve huffs. “Yeah, sure.” He pulses down against the pillow, dick spent but still enjoying the sensation. He gasps when he suddenly feels James nosing between his cheeks. “Oh! Oh fuck, are you gonna —”

“Yeah,” James breathes out against his hole and grabs handfuls of his ass. He squeezes. “Oh, Baby. This fuckin’ peach of an ass." He kisses just below Steve’s tailbone and murmurs, “You’re so small but you got the roundest little ass I ever saw. You know that, Honey?”

Steve makes a tiny sound of protest, but then in the next second James is licking right over him, lapping and sucking at his hole like he can’t get enough. Steve grunts into the sheets and screws his eyes shut, panting at how good it feels. “God, ugh, James …”

James tongues and sucks at him, pulls away with the wettest, filthiest sound possible and growls, “Just want to eat this ass up.”

Steve cries out at the sharp pinch of teeth on his ass, but that sound bleeds into a groan when James sucks hard on the spot, almost certainly securing a bruise in Steve's future. “Fuck,” Steve pants quietly, grinding down against the pillow beneath his hips. He realizes he’s getting hard again just as James starts to really tongue fuck his hole—quick, dirty little jabs that make Steve clench and twitch, desperately aware of how much more he wants to feel. “James,” he gasps, mouth gone dry. He turns his head and pants. “James, oh, please. Please, come on.” He huffs and whines and tries to reach back, and James gets the hint.

He crawls up Steve’s body and seals his chest to Steve's back, kneeing his legs apart, laying his full weight into him. He kisses the nape of Steve's neck and slowly slides his hands all the way down the length of his arms, hands covering Steve's smaller ones at the very end. Steve groans at how good it feels.

“Oh, Daddy.”

He doesn’t mean to say it. It just slips out.

James is quiet for a heartbeat, feeling Steve's back tensing beneath him. He hums smugly and starts kissing and licking at his neck. “Aw, what’s wrong?” he coos. "You embarrassed, Princess? Just cause you like Daddy’s tongue in your ass? Does that get you real worked up?” Steve whines in mortification and James snickers. He licks along the shell of his ear. “Oh yeah, that’s what it is. You’re embarrassed cause you need Daddy to put something a little bigger up there, don'tcha? You need it, and you don’t want to have to ask.”

Steve moans weakly, tears nearly coming to his eyes at how easily James just accepted it, went with it. Fuck, he’s too good to be true. “Yes,” he whispers, pushing his ass back the little bit that he can, with James’ big body weighing him down. “Yeah Daddy, please.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay Baby,” James exhales shakily, as if this is getting to him just as much. “Anything you want, you know that? You can have it.” He kisses Steve’s shoulder and lubes up his fingers, dragging them right over Steve’s hole. “Relax for me, Honey. Just let me make you feel good.”

He presses in with two, slowly, and Steve gasps at the sudden pressure and the stretch. “Oh,” he pants quietly against the sheets, “Oh f-fuck ..."

“Okay?” James asks. He hooks his fingers and gives a slow drag out. “Hm?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. His eyes are closed and his brow furrowed as he focuses on the feeling. “Fuck, yeah. It’s–it's good ... oh…”

James pushes back in. He starts up a slow but steady rhythm, fucking him softly on two fingers until Steve’s pressing back into it eagerly, ready enough for another. “Fuck, Honey,” he groans when Steve is clenching and moaning on three of his fingers, wet and loose and pushing back into it, crying out when he gets at his prostate just right. “You ready for my cock, baby?” James asks, already pulling his fingers out.

“Yeah,” Steve says, nodding eagerly and squirming. “Yeah. Condom?”

James hums and rolls his hips, sliding his dick through the slicked up valley of Steve’s ass. “I got tested,” he murmurs. “Don’t need one.”

“What? But—”

James hushes him with a kiss to his shoulder. “We don’t need one,” he whispers, reassuring him. “It’s fine.”

Steve whines, trying to think past the haze of his lust. “Yeah but I … I don’t think—”

James has propped himself up on one arm and is holding his dick with the other, guiding it where he wants it, rubbing the head against Steve’s hole. His knees spread Steve's legs wider, and Steve whimpers,

“Oh, w-wait,”

“Shhh.” James presses harder. His cock slips inside. “Theere we go.”

Steve’s breath catches at the feeling. “Fuck, oh …”

“Beautiful.” James falls back over him, body heavy and warm, cock sliding in in in, until his hips meet Steve's ass. "Oohyeah." He grinds into him and kisses his shoulder. “You’re okay,” he soothes, hips rocking just the barest bit, his cock huge and unrelenting where it's fully seated. “S'that good? Tell Daddy how it feels."

Steve whimpers and nods tightly, because it does feel good. It feels amazing. He loves this part, always has; the first few, overwhelming seconds of being penetrated, being taken. It’s so full, so much pressure inside that he can hardly stand it. “Y-yeah,” he says shakily, thinking about the condom, how James is bare up inside him right now. “S’big. Oh, fuck, James …”

“Yeah,” James says, moving against him in another, dirty grind. Then he seeks out Steve’s mouth and kisses him as he starts to fuck him softly.

And Steve kisses back, accepting the slide of James’ tongue and the hot push of his cock as the pleasure mounts. His cock throbs against the pillow and his insides begin to coil tighter and tighter, wanting more. He tries to fuck back harder, tries to wedge a hand underneath of himself, but James catches him in against his body and rolls them over, Steve still held captive against his chest. He hooks a heel over Steve's shin, curls a hand at the base of his neck. His other hand slides down his belly, bumping his cock but not reaching to take him in hand. He just holds him still while he keeps rolling his hips, fucking up into him languidly.

It’s frustratingly slow but it’s at the right angle. In fact it’s at such a fucking perfect angle, and the feeling of being trapped so thoroughly against James' body is so nice, that Steve starts to get close anyway. He cries out and begs, telling James how good it is, babbling at him, begging him for just a touch, just a little more. “I’m gonna cum, please. Ohgod, ohmygod ...” He reaches for himself, cries out loudly when James knocks his hand away, denying him with a breathy,

“Wait.”

“Please!” Steve hiccups, voice small and thready. He’s so close.

“You feel perfect, Steve,” James whispers, kissing the side of his head. “Feels so fucking good for me, inside of your body. D’you know that?” He rolls his hips deep and stays buried up in him, finally wraps his hand around Steve’s cock.

Steve sobs and thrashes against him. “Oh, please! Uhn, ah ah—”

“You beg so pretty, Honey.” James holds him tighter at the neck and strokes him off—so tight and slow. It’s so good, so close but not enough ...

“I–I need,” Steve gasps,

“Shshsh, I know, I know. You’re so close, aren’t you Baby?” James is hardly thrusting now, just grinding his cock inside Steve while he jerks him off. “So close,” he whispers. “You can almost taste it.” He flicks his tongue over the shell of Steve’s ear and Steve sobs.

He nods against the hand on his neck, relishing the way that he’s being held so tight, controlled so completely, coaxing words whispered right into his skin, working him closer and closer to the edge. Fuck, there really are tears in his eyes now. “P-please,” he begs wetly. “Oh.”

“It’s okay,” James coos, squeezing his cock even harder and going faster, knuckling under the head on every stroke. It’s enough, finally. Oh. “Let me feel you now, Honey. Right on my dick. Let Daddy feel it happen.”

It's that knuckle under the head that does it; that, and Bucky's voice purring reassuring filth in his ear. Steve grunts as his orgasm breaks inside, that high tide of pleasure finally tipping over and crashing so good that it hurts. “Oh, god, ohfuck ...” He seizes in James’ hold, voice sticking in his throat as he goes silent and shoots off hard, pulsing and pulsing with it. So fucking good.

James groans and curses beneath him. He wraps both of his huge arms around Steve’s middle and holds him like a sex doll while he ruts into him, chasing his own climax until he’s coming, too. He fucks him through it, until his cum is slipping back out around his slowing thrusts and his softening dick, their bodies messy and wet. “Fuck,” he pants hotly against the back of Steve’s neck. “Steve.”

Steve whines at the feeling when James pulls out, the rest of his cum following a second later. “Oh god. Ugh.”

James chuckles and moves him on the bed. He lies over him, one leg thrown over Steve’s and a hand cradling his face. "C'mere, you."

They kiss, long and slow, lips dragging softly together. James hums and speaks without pulling away. “Well, that was amazing.”

“Yeah.”

He sighs and rolls onto his back. “Come here. Put your head on my chest. Lemme hold you.”

Steve obeys, turning into James and wrapping an arm over his middle, while he thinks about the cum he can still feel leaking out of his ass.

He’d tried to stop it, had felt wrong going bare when they hadn’t talked it over first. He bites his lip, unsure how to say anything now without ruining the afterglow. Maybe he can’t.

“I love making love to you, Steve,” James says quietly, tracing fingertips along his spine. “You’re so beautiful. Perfect.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs back, smiling a little because he’s just been fucked probably better than he ever has in his whole entire life.

... Even if James did ignore him about the condom, it was still fucking amazing.

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i-eat-worlds · 19 days

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Wow Birthday Whump Day 12: Magic exhaustion / Collapsed / "So tired..."

Featuring our favorite t4t gay idiots and a location that was mentioned all of one (1) times

Aaron, Kai, and Phoenix belong to @/pigeonwhumps

Content: team fluff, comfort, fainting, romancey vibes, food ment.

Joseph opened the door to Cornico’s Pizza, taking in the familiar smell and relaxing atmosphere as he wound around the many full tables back to the corner booth where Kai, Aaron, and Phoenix were sitting, snacking on some garlic knots.

“Hey guys,” he said, sliding into the seat next to Aaron, smiling at the soda they’d gotten him. “Eric says sorry, last minute review meeting popped up.”

Kai groaned a little, nodding.“Those are the worst. Tell him I said good luck.”

“I will.” He turned to Phoenix, who was finishing a garlic knot. “How was your day?”

“It was good!” They reached for another, eyes flickering up to Kai to make sure it was okay. He nodded, mouth full of bread. “We did sparing. Kai won against Lian. A lot.” They rubbed at their wrists, then smiled. “It was fun.”

“I’m glad.” He glanced over at Aaron, noting the tired look in his eyes and the droop in his posture. “You doin’ alright?”

“Just a long day.” He rolled his neck out, bones cracking with the movement. “Nothing some more bread and cheese can’t fix.”

“Second that.” Kai flipped open his menu, quickly scanning through it. “What’re we thinking?”

“I could split a veggie with Phoenix and you two could do whatever?” They sighed, index finger digging into their thumb’s fingernail.

“That sounds good.” Joseph opened his menu, looking over the options. “Pepperoni, sausage and cheese?”

Kai nodded. “Absolutely.” He waved the server over, and they quickly placed their orders.

They fell back into an easy conversation while they waited for their food, comfortably bouncing back and forth between topics. Phoenix slowly started to talk more, interjecting with their own side stories and anecdotes. It was nice to see them coming out of their shell a little, and Joseph couldn’t help but smile.

Still, Aaron’s silence made him uneasy. Joseph could see the exhaustion written on him plainly. His shift had obviously been more taxing than normal. He placed a comforting hand on their shoulder, squeezing it a little bit. Aaron leaned into it, a quiet thank you for the gesture.

Suddenly, his brow creased, facial expression turning frantic. “You okay, Aaron?”

They mumbled something inaudible, hands pawing at his shoulders like they were trying to climb over him. “Aaron, what’s wrong?”

“I needa lay down,” he repeated, a little more clearly.

The words spurred Joseph into action, and he tried to move so Aaron could get out, but it was too late. Their eyes slid closed as they collapsed, body pitching forward and slamming into Joseph’s chest.

“Aaron!” Phoenix shouted before immediately sinking in on themselves, eyes wide with concern.

Joseph wrapped his arms around Aaron’s slack body, supporting his head while he got them out of the booth and onto the ground. “You with me?” His fingers dug into Aaron’s shoulders as he shook them awake.

His eyes flickered up to Kai, about to order him to call for help, when Aaron produced a sleepy groan. “That hurts…” They tried to push his arms away, but they lacked the coordination and the strength necessary to do so. “Wha’ happened?”

“You passed out.”

“Oh, sorry.” They were silent for a second. “Didn’t think the healing hangover was this bad.”

Joseph hummed, unbelieving. “Sure.”

They were still for a moment, eyes locked together, and one could only imagine the silent conversation that passed between. Slowly, Aaron tried to sit up, fighting through the dizziness. He didn’t even get halfway up before Joseph had to steady him. “Nope, you’re laying back down.”

Aaron huffed. “The server is coming with our food. I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You’re not in the way. There's plenty of space.” He reached for their hand. “We can try again after five minutes?”

“But I’m hungry,” they grumbled wearily.

Joseph was about to respond but Kai got there first. “Listen to the medic!” He said, and Joseph followed it up with a look.

“Alright, I will.” They threw their hands up in surrender. He squeezed Joseph’s hand. “Will you walk me home?”

He tried to ignore the heat rushing to his cheeks. “Yeah. Always.”

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump @painful-pooch@rainbowsandwhumperflies@snaillamp @whumperofworlds

#worlds babbles #whump #wow birthday whump #wow birthday whump day 12 #magic exhaustion #collapsed #team fluff #romance #comfort #food ment tw #Aaroseph #they’re so sweet together

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freesia-writes · 2 months

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Crosshair x Reader, Post Episode 3

SPOILERS for the first three episodes of The Bad Batch season 3.

Just a little drabble of where Crosshair and Omega may have gone while trying to figure out what to do next after escaping. I originally wanted it to be a lot more touchy/romantic/comforting/warm and fuzzy/etc but it just didn't come out that way cause it felt like it would have been forcing it. So here's 2.7k words of just... comfort.

GN Reader, 2.7k words, SFW. Previous intimacy alluded to in one sentence. Dividers by @ve-ti-ver. <3

The knock on your door is so quiet, it seems as though the person on the other side is second-guessing every move. You pause your holofilm, glancing at the clock and grumbling that it’s far later than you thought. Must have lost track of time as usual. Pulling your robe around you and fastening it around your waist, you shuffle to the entryway, grabbing your blaster out of habit. No matter how much of a backwater planet this is, you’ve heard stories of the Empire showing up with zero warning and wrecking an entire way of life, and you’re not about to lose everything you’ve worked so hard to protect.

A glance through the peephole freezes you in your tracks.

You look to the side, scanning the perimeter cameras to see if there’s anyone else on the property. You can’t believe your eyes. But something inside of you is compelling you, more strongly than you’d ever have anticipated, but then again, you’d never have thought something like this would happen. You press the button and the front door whooshes open.

“Crosshair?!” you whisper in disbelief, taking in his very different appearance. There’s a girl at his elbow, looking tired but curious, and they’re both in some weird white outfits covered in mud and grass stains. “What the kriff…”

“Can we come in?” His voice is broken. Weathered. It taps at the edges of your fortified heart.

“You alone?”

“Very.”

* * *

The fire has grown low in the hearth, reduced to the occasional flicker above glowing coals that emit a cozy scent. The girl, Omega as you’ve learned, is fast asleep on the couch, and Crosshair is hunched in the armchair across from you. You’ve never seen him look like this – his silver hair is gone, replaced by a hint of stubble and a hideous scar. He seems a shell of what he was, and you yearn to ask him everything, but he looks so, so tired. They’d both been grateful for the soup you offered, but no amount of insistence on your part had been able to convince him to take a nap in your bed. So instead you sat quietly in the living room, alternating between sporadic, pointless conversation and long stretches of silence.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” you confessed, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“Sorry,” he muttered, saying nothing else.

“What… uh… What are you doing? Like… Why are you here?”

“The long-range communicator on the shuttle was damaged. We need to contact our… Some others.”

“Ah. I don’t have anything like that…”

“Where’s the closest comm center?”

“I can show you tomorrow.”

“Mmm.”

“Crosshair?” you said, more softly now. The faintest wince crossed his face before disappearing without a trace. He lifted his sharp eyes to your face, his face completely passive, and waited. “I don’t know what all you’ve been through, but…” You faltered, unsure what you were even trying to express. A quick sigh, a shift of the gaze, a reposition in your seat… “Well, just let me know how I can help.”

He nodded, eyes drifting back to the floor beneath shoulders that hunched beneath a thousand regrets.

* * *

You’d apologized a few times about the scattered assortment of food in front of your guests, having had to throw together a dinner the next day with what you had left in your cooling chamber and cupboards. Money was tight and the added mouths made it difficult. But you’d managed to scrounge something acceptable, and Omega had gratefully proclaimed that it was more than enough. Better than the bland nuggets she’d survived on for months, at least. Crosshair was silent, but the way he ate – intentionally and without hurry – hinted at a bit of enjoyment.

The comm center had been mercifully empty, allowing them to get a transmission out, but there had been no reply. Crosshair’s encryption knowledge was impressive, and you made plans to return the next day to see if there would be any response, although he seemed fairly certain there would not be. Omega refused to believe such a thing, insisting that things would only get better from here.

Another night of staring silently at each other across the tiny living room, with the girl sleeping fitfully on the couch and your feet stretched out opposite his. He’d slept in the armchair the night before, and you’d accidentally woken him with a start when you appeared in the kitchen, feeling terrible for the awkward way his tall frame was bent and crumpled in slumber.

“It’s been… what… almost five years?” you said quietly, staring into the flames of the hearth as it pushed away the nighttime chill, encompassing all of you in its warm glow.

“Who knows,” came the curt reply.

“I’m surprised you even remembered where I lived,” you pointed out, unable to decide if you were pleased or paranoid by that revelation.

“Hmm.”

Conversation stopped and started, and you found yourself noticing more about him that seemed different from before, although you weren’t sure your memory was accurate. You’d only seen each other a handful of times, when he was the signature snarky member of Clone Force 99 during the war. When the Republic became the Empire, everything seemed to hit the fan, and nothing had been quite the same since. Now, he was carefully guarded, seemingly unfazed by anything, but the occasional twitch of a muscle seemed to indicate pain or trauma of sorts. There was a tremor in his hand that was always quickly stifled by a clenched fist or grasp from the other, as well as a grimace of frustration. But most of all, the haunted look in his eyes chilled you to the core. You were known for your compassion, and the impact of the war on so many innocents across the galaxy rested heavily on your shoulders. It was easy to spiral if you dwelt on it too long, so you pushed it away and worked hard to fortify both your heart and home.

* * *

“Crosshair! It’s there!” Omega exclaimed, tapping rapidly on the control panel at the comm center. “Look!”

He sidled up beside her, leaning over her shoulder to squint at the screen. A transmission had indeed come through, although by the look on his face, you couldn’t tell if he was relieved or repulsed.

“Good news, I hope?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“They can meet us in a few days!” Omega read, tracing her finger across the lines of text. “They just have to… drop off a few… kids?” She glanced at Crosshair with questioning eyes, and his expression almost made you laugh aloud.

“Hunter is so kriffing soft,” he muttered, face sour with disgust.

“Well either way… We’re going home!” she insisted, eyes filling with tears. You felt a sense of awe at the girl’s ineffable hope in the face of so much pain, and you hoped her attitude would inspire Crosshair a bit too.

“There is no home,” he spat, turning to exit the building, arms clasped around himself.

No such luck, it seemed.

* * *

Things felt somehow lighter that evening. You’d picked up a large pot of soup from a friend on the way, effusive with thanks and promises to make it up to him, and had enough supplies at home to make a large loaf of bread. It felt like a good night for a candle, creating a distinctly cozy atmosphere as the three of you crowded around your tiny table, bent over steaming bowls of fairly bland soup.

“So how did you and Crosshair meet?” Omega asked, realizing that part had somehow been left out so far.

“Who cares,” he grunted, casting a sideways glance at her.

“I do,” she said simply, and you found yourself smiling at the stark contrast between the two of them.

“His squad was here a few times during the war. The first time, they were held up for… what was it? Technical issues?” You glanced at him, hoping for a better memory than your own, but he barely made an effort to lift a single shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, so you continued. “Well, something like that. The other times, I’m not quite sure what happened.” A wry smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “He just happened to find himself here.”

“Hm. Well it’s nice to have old friends,” she nodded, missing the tiny look you flashed his way as she moved on to ask about your own life experiences.

* * *

Another day of work, another evening of sitting by the fire. The quiet felt soothing, somehow. Perhaps you were imagining it, but it seemed to be some sort of salve for whatever he’d endured, and the sight of him allowing himself to relax, just a little, warmed your heart. You felt a bit jittery too, however, having come up with a plan that you hoped he’d agree to, but you were fully expecting to get raked over the coals for it too. So when Omega was fast asleep, and he had slumped further and further in his chair with the passing minutes, you rose to your feet, stretching the stiffness away.

“Can you help me with something?” you ventured tentatively.

“No,” he said, not moving a muscle as he sat there with his eyes closed. You were equally miffed and amused, but the slight reminder of his old snark goaded you on.

“Then get out,” you quipped. He cracked an eye to assess you with a squint.

“No.”

“Okay,” you chuckled, “But please come here.” Your tone softened, an honest request, and he got up with an eyeroll. You led the way to your bedroom, which was really just a single bed stuffed against the wall with some space on the side and at the foot.

“No,” was all he could say when you set foot inside and turned to face him, earning a little eyeroll and chuckle from you this time.

“That’s not what I’m–”

“Just leave me be,” he snapped, with a slight sharpness that sobered you up very quickly.

“Alright, stop it.” You’d had enough, for now at least. “I get that you’ve been through it. And you can make yourself pay for all your terrible deeds for the rest of your life. But you’re not accomplishing anything by this… martyr stuff.”

“Say what you want,” he sniffed. “I’m not sleeping with you again.”

Now you did laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth at the flash of affront that quickly dissipated behind his sardonic expression. “Nope,” you shook your head, “Not where I was going. I want you to sleep here–”

“No.”

“--and I will sleep on an air pad in the living room,” you finished. “I borrowed one from my friend when we picked up the soup.”

“No.”

“Maker above, Crosshair!!” you breathed, thoroughly exasperated. “Just get one night of rest for your pathetic, sad body and stop insisting on being miserable!”

“How insensitive,” he hissed, lips pressed together as he scrutinized you with dark eyes.

“If you don’t, I’m waking up Omega and kicking you both out.”

“Going after the kid? That’s just cruel,” he taunted.

“Yeah, well, I mean it,” you said, and he could tell by your tone that you did. There was a frustration that had risen like a dragon out of deep slumber, and your eyes glittered with challenge. “Now stop arguing with me, take a hot shower, and allow yourself one kriffing night of comfortable sleep.” Without waiting for a response, because you were fairly certain you’d start yelling if he said “no” one more time, you turned on your heel and marched out of the bedroom, closing the door behind you.

You waited a moment in the hallway, half expecting him to come right back out, but it was quiet. A thought crossed your mind, based on what little you knew about what had happened to him, and you turned back, knocking once before opening the door.

“Changed your mind?” he drawled.

“No,” you said obstinately. “But… I mean… You’re not a prisoner in there… But just… Like… You can go wherever you want… except… I want you to sleep there… So… Stay there… But you’re free to go… Oh kriff.” You could swear you saw the ghost of a smirk on his sharp features as you waved him off and closed the door again, and the tiny snort of mirth that reached your ears definitely wasn’t a figment of your imagination. The memories that surfaced suddenly were surprising in their potency – his strong fingers entwined with yours, hands clenched together on your pillow, his heavy breath against your neck – and you fought them off as you made your bed in the living room, trying, and not always succeeding, to write them off as relics of a past life.

* * *

You knew one night of sleep wasn’t going to magically fix him, but there was a muted look on his face when he emerged the next morning, accepting your proffered cup of caf with a wordless tip of the chin. You left for work with the standard lecture of where everything was and how to avoid getting into trouble, which both he and Omega received with good-natured eyerolls and nods. They were scheduled to meet their friends the next morning, and you’d been shocked at the magnitude of care you felt toward both of them after just a few days. From what you’d gathered, they’d both been through suffering beyond belief, and you wished you could just snap your fingers and make it all go away.

You made some tea that evening, as you returned to your customary seats by the fire, and he took the mug from your hand without any protest. You noticed later that he never actually drank any but left it steaming on the table beside him. The conversation was sparse, and you couldn’t quite determine why it was that he seemed so dreary when he was about to be reunited with his family. But there was no need to press, and you were grateful that he tolerated your company at all, considering the shell of a person he seemed to be.

After a long silence, he got up, grimacing through some stiff stretches and turning to head toward the hallway.

“Ahem,” you said, arching an eyebrow as he looked back. “Where do you think you’re going?” You made no effort to hide the playful smirk on your face, thoroughly undeterred by his narrowed eyes in response.

“Bed.”

“I said ‘one night’ of comfortable sleep,” you jabbed, watching him press his lips into a thin line at the way you’d caught him in a tricky position. He turned without a word to head back to the chair, but you were on your feet quickly, waving both hands with a dumb grin on your face. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Please. Go.”

He cast one last steely squint in your direction before disappearing, and you hoped that his old spark would continue to return, inch by inch, wherever he ended up.

* * *

The next morning, they were packed and ready at the door. Omega had given you a short, chaste hug and heartfelt thanks before heading outside, pausing to take a deep breath of the fresh air. Crosshair lingered for a moment, staring at the ground before muttering something under his breath.

“What’s that?” you poked, stepping closer and tilting your head to try to catch his gaze.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, lifting his chin to look at you evenly.

“I believe the words are ‘thank you’, but if you need to get a few ‘no’s in there first, I’ll allow it.”

He snorted.

“I hope it all works out for you two,” you said, moving on to some sincerity. “I… I’m sorry for all that’s happened.” His brow furrowed for a moment before relaxing back into an expressionless line, and he stood silently, leaving you room to shift awkwardly on your feet and flex your hands at your sides. Everything simmering under the surface was hard for you to ignore, and you lifted one shaky hand toward his face, pausing as he stiffened at the sight of it.

You lowered it slowly.

“Sorry,” you whispered, returning it to your side.

He reached forward suddenly, taking it and shaking it briefly, holding on for a split second, then letting go.

“Thanks for everything.”

I really wanted there to be some cheek-cupping and head-stroking and the slow closing of the eyes in quiet allowance of affection. But he's just not there yet, in my estimation. So I kinda want to apologize for this existing at all, LOL, but whatever. 😂

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