#...felt kinda presumptuous of me... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-kaash-me-outside · 4 months

Text

a bit dirty - ch6

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch6 [masterlist]

// a really great idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ~ 7392 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, squirting, sex in a bed!!, a lot of feelings and love!!!!, intimacy in more than just the bedroom fr, names names names pet names a million pet names, oral f!receiving, afab she/her pronouns

tori talks: oh good god guys we're finally here. thanks to everyone who is going to read this last chapter even though it literally took me over 6 months to write it. i hope you enjoy it and i'm glad it's over and that it happened. ily all. hope u enjoy. ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

you’re not sure you’d admit it to anyone, but walking into osamu’s apartment for the first time feels like coming home after a long day at work. you can see yourself here, more than you can in your own apartment or your childhood home. you feel just a little bit more like yourself, shoulders relaxing in a way that you didn’t think they needed to, breath a tiny fraction steadier. you’re not sure you’ve felt this comfortable in a really long time.

you don’t have to ask him where to put your shoes or where to hang your jacket, and he doesn’t take them from you either. he doesn’t put them away for you or tell you to hang them on the hangers in the empty closet down the hall.

when he unlocks his door and pushes inside, you mimic his motions, placing your shoes gingerly on the rack to the right of the closet between his white sneakers and black work shoes, hanging your jacket on the empty hooks above the spot where you've just retired your shoes.

stepping deeper into his apartment, he offers a small, “so, welcome,” he says, gesturing to the living room, one hand softly wrapped around yours as he tugs you along. stepping past the barrier of the front door, further into osamu’s space, you don’t feel like a guest here. you just feel like you belong.

“oh my god, it’s so clean in here,” you say, a few paces ahead of him now, but he refuses to break contact, to let go of your fingertips so he walks quickly along with you.

“well, yea, i’m not really ever home,” he explains, shrugging, as you walk around his living room eyes stopping at the neatly organized coffee table with cork coasters and a yellow hard-covered book titled this book will make you kinder, at the photos on his wall of him and his brother and him and his restaurant and him and suna, at the plants in the window sill and the dustless, dirtless ledge beneath them.

you shake your head, “no, that’s not true. you come home after work and you’re here before you leave for work, and i’m sure you’re super busy leaving in the morning and super tired when you come home at night, so it’s really impressive that it’s really clean.”

he lets out a half-laugh, a breathy light scoff in the place of a real response. you turn around, looking at him directly with a mischievous look on your face, “unless you cleaned your apartment just for me tonight?”

osamu’s quiet, a very telling silence, a wordless admittance. “oh my god!” you say, hands on your hip, and the slight hold that he has on your fingertips isn’t broken yet, his hand now pressed against your side, fingers curling around your hip as he pulls you a little closer.

“okay!” he admits, “so i am pretty tidy anyways, but there may have been a few dishes in the sink and the bed might not have been made and the couch cushions didn’t look that good before but-”

you shake your head, clicking your tongue, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you tease, “how presumptuous of you that i would come back here after our date?”

“i didn’t think we’d just fuck in the bathroom again, baby, what was i supposed to do, you literally said-” he says, trying to explain himself, unstoppable smile on his face as he pulls you even closer to him.

“do you think i’m that kinda girl? to just fuck you on the first date?” you ask, palm flat against his chest now, the other hand snaking up to lazily drape around his neck.

he shakes his head, wrapping his arms around you tight around your arms and shoulders, holding you in place as he laughs so deep that it sends tingles and shivers down your spine and skin. “you’re very funny, y’know that?” he asks, squishing you against his chest as he presses kiss after kiss into the top of your head.

“you made the bed? fixed the couch cushions? samu, i mean, really, what did you think was going to happen tonight?” you giggle, emphasizing every other word dramatically as you squirm in his tight grasp.

“i mean,” he says, leaning back to look at the warmth on your face, the fluster that lies with it, “you are here, aren’t you? i couldn’t have been that wrong if the cleaning paid off.”

you giggle harder now, leaning up and pressing a kiss into wherever you can reach in his strong hold. “i sure am,” you agree. he loosens his grip, hand falling down your arm to thread his fingers with yours again. he pecks a small kiss against your lips and then your cheek.

“you sure are,” he says, warmly.

you really could’ve stayed in the middle of his living room forever surrounded by couches and books on shelves and an impressive entertainment system. you didn’t need any of it either, didn’t need a place to sit or things to keep you busy, you’d be really happy just staring at osamu for the rest of time, at hearing him laugh, at feeling his pulse in your palm.

“can i getcha a drink?” he asks, pulling you out of this mellow, love-struck state in the name of hospitality.

“only if i can come with you,” you say, looking over his shoulder into the kitchen. your motivation is 70% wanting to stay with osamu and 30% wanting to see what his kitchen looks like: what kind of mugs he has, where he keeps his silverware, if his knives and pans are on display or tucked away in cabinets.

“clingy,” he teases, smile huge because there wasn’t any way that he was leaving you alone for even a second.

“fine! i'll stay in here,” you pout.

he doesn’t respond, only laughs and pulls you by the hand, “come on, pretty.”

you don’t protest anymore, following along happily into the kitchen, forcing yourself to sit on the barstool in front of the bar rather than snoop in his cupboards and drawers. he’s hesitant to let his touch fall from yours, to let go of the contact he has on your hand and your hip, but he does, presses a small kiss into the side of your head, and walks deeper into his kitchen.

from here you can see the kettle on the counter and the knives on a metallic strip above the black countertop. the pans are nowhere to be seen. they must be hidden away somewhere safe. you don’t say anything and neither does he as he pulls wine glasses and mugs and cups out of the cupboard and places them on the countertop in front of you.

and you still don’t feel like a guest.

it feels like osamu getting you a drink is because he loves you, like you could get up and get your own if you wanted to, like you already knew where the tea bags were and the spoons and the shelf that the sugar resided, like next time you would return the favor, let him sit down for a minute while you made the two of you tea or poured another glass of wine.

“what’s it gonna be?” he asks, gesturing to your choices on the bar in front of you.

“y’know you could’ve just asked me that before pulling out all the cups?” you tease, eyes moving from cup to mug to wine glass.

he shrugs, “not as visual.”

“what are you in the mood for?” you ask, reaching to pick up the mug, black ceramic with a gray stripe along the base. you turn it over in your hand, running your fingers along the matte texture. yeah, this feels like a mug osamu would own.

“anything, really,” he says, smiling before the rest of the flirt even comes out of his mouth, “as long as i’m drinking it with you on my couch, i will be very happy.”

you roll your eyes. it’s really unfair how predictable, yet how adorable, he is when it comes to things like that. “alright, how about wine now, tea later?” you ask.

he rests both of his hands on the edge of the counter for a moment, nodding as he does, removing the cups from the counter and pushing the mugs towards the tea kettle. “sounds like a plan, angel,” he says, disappearing behind the pantry door and coming back with a bottle of wine.

he doesn’t recork the wine or put the bottle back, leaves it exactly where he sets it on the counter in a rush to just drink wine on his couch with you. he carries your glass for you as he guides you back to the couch.

sitting on the plush, perfectly set cushions, tucking yourself into the corner against the arm rest, osamu pressed up against you, pulling your legs over the tops of his, his hand resting comfortably on your calf, you’re not sure you’ll ever really be ready to go back to your own cold, lonely apartment. when you close your eyes, you can see this moment next week and next month and three years from now.

your first glass of wine isn’t even finished before he interrupts your current conversation of favorite movies and media with a stupidly cute, nervous question, “so, can i ask you now?”

you want to be stunned or at least fake it, but you can only lean closer into him, setting your wine glass down on the coaster on the coffee table to wrap both of your arms around his bicep. “ask me what?” you tease.

he shakes his head, “y’know that night i thought you were so out of my league.”

you lean backwards, mouth agape, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, “no fucking way.”

“swear,” he laughs, leaning forward to set his glass down next to yours, “and i was out of my depth, had no idea what i was doing, just couldn’t stop staring at you-”

“oh, i know,” you say, recalling his smitten, lingering stare so perfectly that your face feels warm, “every time i would look over in your direction you would be looking at me like this.” you mimic your recollection as best as you can.

he puts his face in his hands. “that’s so embarrassing,” he says, and it’s muffled by his palms. you wrap your hands around his wrists, pulling them away from his face and kissing the backs of them.

“no, no, it was cute,” you say, but he still groans. you continue, “samu, i was into it, obviously.”

he explains further, “sumu was like shoving me over there so blatantly that i almost didn’t go over there.” he shakes his head at the memory, at the alternate universe where his stupid brother alone failed to start the best chain of events of his life. “and then omi leaned over to me and was like, ‘i'll distract your dumbass brother, go have a good night, you deserve it.’”

“remind me to thank him then,” you say, softly, shifting against the couch to lean against his shoulder instead of the armrest.

“will do,” he says, smile in his voice as he snakes his arm around your waist, hand resting on the side of your thigh. “i’ve thanked him plenty for both of us, but it might mean more coming from a new mouth.”

“you just say the most romantic things like it’s nothing,” you say.

“i don’t try,” he admits, “just hard not to be romantic when i’m with you.” he reaches across you with his other arm, pulls you further into his lap until both of your knees are on either side of his thighs and you’re facing him. “sorry,” he mumbles, “wanted to look at ya.”

“you’ve gotta be doing this on purpose,” you whisper.

his fingers scrape against the tops of your tights before rooting on your hips. he shakes his head. “it’s all you, really,” he whispers back. “these thoughts just come into my mind and i say them. love you so much, you make it easy.”

you’re very grateful for this position because it’s effortless to lean down and crash your lips into his, to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him deeper into the kiss, to feel his chest lift to kiss you harder. he tastes like expensive wine and a little bit like you still and you might cry, he’s just really perfect.

he places his hand on your shoulder, holds you in place as he leans back into the couch. the pout is already forming on your lip, so he runs his thumb across it gently. “will you be mine?” he asks, adding before you’ve even answered, “let me love you with labels.”

“oh my god, samu, you’re going to kill me, y’know that?” you say, hands cupping both of his cheeks before kissing him sweetly. “how do you expect me to keep up with this?”

“just say yes,” he says, quickly, “that’s enough for me.”

“of course,” you say, forehead resting gently against his, kiss placed on his nose and then the high of his cheekbone. you repeat it again just in case he missed it the first time, “of course.”

“i’m sorry that i didn’t make this happen sooner,” he says, soft sigh accompanying his remorseful tone.

“stop that,” you hush him.

“i mean it,” he says, sitting up into you a bit more, “if i would’ve figured my shit out sooner, we could’ve been doing this for months.”

“yeah, but you don’t know if everything would’ve turned out the same way,” you say, bringing your hands up into his hair, “if that would’ve been too soon or if we needed to go through all we went through to be as strong as we are now, there’s no way to know, really.”

he smiles at you, not opening his mouth to say anything, just soaking in the moment, humming at your astute thought. you continue, “i guess i just mean that, yea, getting more time with you would’ve been great, but we can’t do anything about that. so i’m just really glad to be with you now, here, drinking wine and sitting in your lap and kissing you.”

“and you say i’m the romantic,” he murmurs, kissing you once more.

“you are,” you argue.

/\ /\ /\

neither of you even finish your first glass of wine. even if you had, there was no way the two of you were untangling from each other and making your way into the kitchen for another, not in the middle of unimportance conversations about your thoughts on christmas lights or osamu’s thoughts on the type of pet he’d like to have one day.

but as the hours tick on, as the clock hands droop lower and lower, osamu knows that you need some sort of transition period to staying the night. “cup of tea before we go to bed?” he asks, head resting against the back cushion of the couch staring into your eyes with as much love as he can.

“are you being presumptuous again, samu?” you tease, but your eyelids are getting heavier and you can’t put a lot of effort into the taunting.

“i’m sorry, princess, do you want to stay the night?” he asks, gut-wrenchingly sincere.

“i would really love that, yea,” you say, flustered in the backfiring of your banter, “and tea sounds really nice too.”

he nods, once, short and happy, ready to move you off of his lap to go get the two of you a final drink before bed, but you get off of him first. “i’ll get it,” you offer, waiting with bated breath for him to fight you on it or to be weirded out by the forwardness of raiding his kitchen to feel the domesticity a little harder.

he doesn’t protest at all, lets the smitten, lingering stare last for a few moments before saying, “only if i can come with you.”

before you’ve made it to the kitchen with osamu in tow, he stops you, plants in place in front of the hallway to his bedroom, and nods towards it. “but first, can we get you into some comfier clothes?” he asks. “nighttime tea tastes better when you’re in comfy clothes,” he reasons. you can’t disagree.

you follow him down the hall to his room. you don’t get a good look at his plainly decorated room or the nicely made bed as you wait in the doorway. he returns quickly with a t-shirt of his. “you can change in the bathroom across the hall if you want,” he offers.

“you know you were inside of me in a fancy restaurant bathroom hours ago, right?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, pushing past him into his room and taking off all of your date clothes. osamu folds them neatly as you set them on the bed. when he picks up your torn tights, he can’t hold back his small laugh.

“oh yea, so funny,” you joke, “you can probably throw those away.”

“but they’re perfectly good for having sex in public bathrooms,” he jokes back.

you pull his shirt over your head, soft cotton taking the place of going out clothes and the difference is already lulling you to sleep. you’re determined to make osamu tea, but you can’t promise most of the cup won’t go cold on the counter.

it doesn’t take long for osamu to be on you, arms wrapped around your waist, hands roaming over your body, “you look so good right now.”

“shut up,” you say, pushing him away with the least amount of resolve anyone has ever had, “imagine how i feel looking at you wearing stuff like this.”

“you look better in it than i do,” he says, shaking his head.

“not possible,” you say back.

he leans down to kiss you once before reluctantly pulling away, walking back over to his dresser to change into comfier clothes as well. if you weren’t so stupidly tired, seeing osamu shirtless and in super casual sweatpants would’ve been the perfect catalyst for your first night together having sex in a bed.

tea. sleep. tea. sleep. tea. sleep. you remind yourself.

“c’mon, angel,” he coaxes, pulling you by your hand back down the hallway and into the kitchen. he leans against the countertop, doesn’t say another word or try to make you tea despite your earlier statement.

you start the kettle with the push of a button, pull the mugs from across the counter in front of you. you pluck two tea bags from the glass jar where they live. you have to open a few cupboards before finding the spoons, but the sugar is right where you think it will be.

“i think knowing that you take sugar in your tea is both the most surprising thing and also somehow completely aligns with who you are,” you reason, pouring the gently boiling water over the tea bags. by the time you finish your sentence, you’ve noticed the enamored look on his face, but you don’t have time to comment on it as he replies.

“that’s because you know me really well,” he says, nodding, loving smile still lingering. you put half of a spoonful of sugar into the cup, stir until it dissolves and then slid it against the countertop to him. he wraps his fingers around the warm cup, brings it to his lips, blows on it gently as if that’s going to do anything at all, and then takes the smallest sip. “perfect.”

you lean against the edge of the counter, holding the mug in your hands, waiting for the air to cool down the steaming beverage. “i think i’d be really okay with ending every single day of my life just like this,” you admit. if his eyes go wide or he recoils even the smallest percentage, you’ll blame it on the eventful day and the exhaustion that’s quickly overcoming you, but they don’t. his features soften, hand reaches across the counter to rub the back of your hand.

“me too,” he reciprocates. “you’ll have to stay over more often,” he doubles down.

“what?” you ask, taking a sip of your tea. you can feel the warmth hit your stomach. “have dinner ready for you when you come home and spend your nights off intertwined on the couch?” everything that you’re saying is getting closer and closer to practically asking to move in, but osamu doesn’t seem to mind.

“exactly that,” he murmurs, “you’ll have to see if you like my bed first, though, before you resign yourself to coming over every night.”

“every night?” you ask, cheeky smile the only form of teasing that you’re giving right now, “maybe we should go check it out then.” you take one more sip of your tea and then set the cup down on the counter. osamu doesn’t even do that, pulls you away from behind the counter and down the hall.

you climb into his bed, under his covers without asking or another mention. osamu joins you, climbing into the other side, and the two of you don’t waste a single second, curling up against each other, limbs lazily tangling, pressing up against one another as close as you possibly can.

“the first time we’re in a bed together and we’re not even having sex,” he says, softly, reaching over and turning off his bedside light. it takes a few moments for your eyes to get adjusted, to make out the shapes of his face in the dark.

“crazy, right?” you ask, smiling as you snuggling into his chest impossibly closer.

“i like this though,” he admits, traces his fingers up and down your arms, “just being in bed with you, falling asleep with you, means i get to wake up with you.”

you hum at his voice, soft and deep, and the darkness looks the same as it does with shut eyes, but you’re trying your best to not let the sleep take you that fast. “can you keep me awake?” you ask.

“you’re literally falling asleep as we speak,” he says, your eyelids fluttering shut as if to make a point. you shake your head, but you don’t say anything else. “why do you want me to keep you awake, babygirl?”

“cause i wanna be in this moment a little while longer,” you reason, breath taking over your voice as the darkness and warmth pull you into a comforting hug.

“we’ll have plenty of time for moments like this later,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “plenty of time, so go to sleep, angel.”

you’re not even embarrassed at how quickly you listen to him.

/\ /\ /\

if last night wasn’t enough to convince you that you were exactly where you needed to be for the rest of your life, waking up in osamu’s arms definitely was. they’re strong around you, wrapped tightly around your waist, nose nuzzled into the back of your neck, legs intertwined with yours.

you’re incredibly surprised that you’ve woken up first, but the second that you start to stir, osamu’s grip loosens, and his head peaks over your shoulder and he places a small kiss on your cheek. “mornin’,” he says, raspy as he talks off the sleep.

you turn in his arms, laying flat on your back so you can look at him directly. “good morning,” you say back, lifting your head to kiss him. “very good morning,” you say again.

“cute,” he murmurs against your lips, “stupidly cute.” you reach your arms up, draping them over his neck loosely to pull him down into you. “do you want breakfast or something?” he asks.

you shake your head, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “no,” you say, “well, maybe later? i think right now i just want, y’know, this.” you gesture with a small nod not really towards anything in particular, just to the situation.

he laughs, kissing the side of your face, “alright, this it is.”

you don’t say much else. nor does he. it’s all stolen kisses and roaming touches and silent exchanges. you don’t feel the need to talk, don’t have much to say, you’re communicating just fine without them.

every touch is getting needier, every kiss is getting longer, sloppier, more desperate, and the only thing that you’ve been able to think about for the last hour is all of the promises that have been made to you about after date things.

it doesn’t help that he’s on top of you now, tops of his thighs resting between your legs, hands on either side of your waist just looking at you like that. the first thing you say in over an hour is, “what, samu?”

he laughs, pushing his fingertips up your body, under the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and up until your entire stomach is exposed. “god, you’re so hot,” he says, grabbing onto your waist to pull you closer to him.

“samu,” you whine.

“what, doll? it’s true,” he says, pushing your shirt up even further now, tits on display so pretty that you can feel him begin to grow hard against your inner thigh. “so pretty,” he murmurs. he tugs your shirt off, tosses it to the side with no regard for the tidiness of his room anymore.

you’ve really never been this exposed before when you’ve had sex with osamu, always an article of clothes on, but now the only thing stopping you from being completely naked is the thin fabric of your panties and osamu’s fingers are already hooked in the waistband. you don’t protest as he drags them down your thighs, picks up your legs and rests them on his shoulder as he does.

he presses a kiss into the side of your leg, slowly drops them back around him. your stomach is in knots, can barely breathe with the way that he’s looking at you, eyes traveling down your body so slowly that you can see each point that they linger a second longer.

“fuck, you look good,” osamu says, leaning down to kiss your shoulders, your collarbones, your chest.

“shut up,” you murmur, fingers threading into his hair, scratching against the back of his head as he scrapes his teeth against your sensitive skin.

“no, i’m serious,” he says, leaning back, “you’re so fucking pretty, gorgeous actually.”

“ew, shut up,” you push him away jokingly, gently, “or i’m not going to let you fuck me unless we’re fully clothed ever again,” you joke.

he laughs against your neck, breath and vibrations tickling the wet skin. every single kiss feels personal, hand-crafted and perfectly thought of just for you. the placement is direct and purposeful and you can feel his love in every single one.

“god, i’m going to take my time with you,” he says, pulling away again. you can feel the blush blooming under your skin, warming up every inch of you, igniting fires in your stomach.

“first time that we have a lot of it,” you joke, coaxing him back up to your lips. “and first time that i don’t have to be situated on a sink or the floor.”

“so you’ll be perfectly comfortable,” he says, kisses trailing between your tits and down your stomach, “while i eat you all morning long.”

“samu,” you say, crook of your elbow rising up to your face to hide behind it. he reaches up, pulls it away from your face.

“don’t hide from me, doll, look so cute like that,” he says, laying between your thighs, pushing them open with familiar hands. you give in to the gentle pressure so easily that you swear you hear the faintest laugh coming from Osamu, but the light kisses peppering your thighs that follow gain your focus instantly.

it should feel agonizing, the way he takes his time dragging his lips across every part of the skin between your legs, kissing and biting lightly. but the longer he’s there the more laughter flutters through your chest, the more your cheeks flush, the more loved you feel. you bring your hands to his face as he rests his head against your knee cupping one under his jaw and using the other to push his hair back a little.

“make me feel so pretty, samu,” you mumble. he makes no attempt to answer, just holds your gaze with loving eyes as he brings himself to ghost near your already soaked pussy, the feeling his breath overwhelming any of your other senses.

“just want you to see yourself through my eyes, princess.” the end of his sentence comes with a long, slow swipe of his tongue against your hyper sensitive clit and it feels good to finally not worry about who can hear you.

you dig your head back into the pillow, hair already a mess after a perfectly restful night’s sleep. you can feel his eyes burning into you, even if you can’t see them, even if your focus is really anywhere but the agonizing feather-like touches between your legs.

it’s a shame, you think, but only for a moment, that his mouth is so busy that you can’t hear him call you pretty names or poke fun at you for whining so much. only for a moment.

if there’s one thing that osamu cannot be called it’s all-or-nothing. osamu doesn’t do all-or-nothing; he does slowly, consistently, comfortably, and then all. this is no exception. he runs his tongue between your puffy lips, smears your juices all over your sensitive pussy with the tip, and then he eats you- not like a man-starved, but like a man who he gets to indulge in his favorite dessert.

his fingertips are digging into the fat of your hips, palms pressing to keep you in place, to keep you from squirming, and it’s working. he lets you scratch your nails into his hair, down the back of his neck, resting on the tops of his shoulders. you don’t guide him, don’t buck your hips impatiently, you don’t need to. if he isn’t lapping exactly where you want him to, you know he will be soon, you know it’s deliberate, you know that he knows what’s best for you even if you have to wait for it.

you’re not sure you know how many times you come on his tongue, how many are attributed to just his tongue and how many are attributed to the noises that he’s making, the grunts that are coming from his throat, the mumbled praises that he’s whispering against your soaked folds, the squeaking of the mattress from the soft grinding that he’s doing against the blankets.

without a watch, you’d have claimed you were there for hours, all morning, just like he said. you’re not sure if he would’ve stopped either, if you hadn’t sat up on your forearm, somehow more out of breath than he was, and tugged on his hair. “samu, baby,” you whine.

you can’t help it, the even-more-breathless-breathlessness that hits you when he looks into your eyes, bottom of his face soaked with you, licks his lips, wipes the rest of it with his palm, and crawls slowly up to meet you. he kisses you hard, as hard as you’ll let him, and then he kisses you again, and then he kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, then your neck, mumbles against your skin, “what do you want now, bunny?” he’ll give you anything. “i’ll give you anything.” you know that he will.

the opportunities are endless. the world is your oyster. anything that you ask for, he will give you, and it will be wrapped with neat paper and a pretty bow with a handwritten note several miles long. you swallow, eyes searching his face for nothing in particular, just because he’s pretty and because he’s yours.

“i don’t think i have anything to ask for, because you’re already mine,” you whisper.

his face lights up, skin hot and flushed on the highs of his cheeks and traveling down his neck and chest. for a second it looks like he short-circuits, like you’ve broken him just by telling him the truth, and then, in a second, the world catches back up to him.

he shakes his head slowly and then you’re on top of him, sat with both legs on either sides of his, strong hands steadying you before you can even clock that you need to be steadied. “you’re really asking for it, huh?” he asks, and now you’re feeling warm.

“i- what are you talking about, samu,” you say, eyebrows furrowed. you can feel his hips- and yourself- lift off the bed as the fabric between the backs of your thighs and the tops of his is replaced with soft skin. you yelp softly as you’re lowered back down, hands on your inner thighs pushing you back just enough for his cock to rest between them.

you’re soaking wet, making a mess between your lips and on the insides of your legs and now all over his hard cock, slowly pushing through your pressed together thighs. he brings his hips off the bed, steady thrusts rocking the mattress ever so slightly, both his hands squeezing the outsides of your thighs. he clicks his tongue, “saying shit like that, angel, you know i’m not going to be able to help myself.”

“samu,” you repeat, breathless. “what ar-.”

he cuts you off, sliding his thumb from the tip of his cock to the base, his leaking head slipping between your messy lips until it’s teasing your hole. “sound so in love with me, baby, need to fucking feel you around me so fucking bad right now,” he breathes, sharp inhale punctuating his sentence as he pulls you by your hips until you’re fully seated on his cock.

you don’t know if the warmth is coming from the blush or touch of his skin or the desire that’s burning in your core, but it’s there, and before you can even fully register what he’s saying, he’s honest-to-god whimpering, spouting more lovey bullshit, “god, it’s like falling in love with you made you fit even more perfectly around me.” he lifts you slightly, fingers digging into your hips as he lets you slowly fall back down onto his cock.

he tilts his head into the pillow, but immediately picks it back up, locking eyes with you before letting his gaze fall down your body, like he can’t believe you really exist, like he can’t believe he let himself relax into a position where he couldn’t see you at all times, like he “can’t believe you’re fucking real,” he grunts, “and that you’re all fucking mine.”

“osamu, if you don’t knock it off,” you say. you’re only half-joking. you’re not sure that you could take him talking to you like this for much longer. you feel so full, every part of you feels so full. you slide your hands down his chest, palm against his rapidly beating heart acting as leverage as you start moving in time with him.

you close your eyes, partially to focus on the parts of you that are on fire right now, and partially so that you don’t have to keep looking at how much osamu is looking at you. he can’t keep his hands off of you, can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“can’t help it, pretty, not when i get to savor it like this,” he says, brings his chest up and wraps his arms around your back, holding you securely to him. he kisses the side of your face, whispers in your ear, “not when i finally get to fuck you in my bed and tell you that i love you and see you- all of you.”

“are you trying to make me cry or something?” you ask, placing both of your hands on either side of his face, forcing his attention on just your eyes and the hints of shyness strewn all over your face.

a slight smirk is followed by raised eyebrows and a tiny kiss to the temple. osamu flips you over, lying you gently on your back while you’re still fully encompassing him. “that can be arranged, puppy,” he says, kissing down your neck, nipping at your shoulders and chest. he slams his hips into you and you can’t help the pleasured, high-pitched moan that comes as a result. in fact, you can’t help the ones that come one after another after another as he keeps snapping his hips, insides of your thighs growing raw from the impact.

you’re babbling at this point, a symphony of half-finished words and tiny whimpers, and when a single tear breaks free of your blurred waterline, osamu can’t hold back. “fuck, holy fuck, babygirl, you sound so good, don’t stop, princess, keep making those cute fucking noises, fuck, sound so good.”

you shake your head no and hope that he understands what it means, that you won’t stop as long as he doesn’t. you’ll cry and scream and make cute little noises for him forever if he never pulls out of you.

you’ve always known that fucking in bathrooms has been disadvantageous, you just couldn’t pinpoint it, not when it always felt so good anyway. you never thought the space bothered you or the hard, cold various materials of sinks or the fact that people were often only a door away; you never thought any of that mattered until now, now when you can cry for him and feel the softness of the blankets beneath you and the plushness of the pillow behind your head.

“baby,” you cry, “i’m- you’re gonna- fuck, i love you so much. i’m-.” you throw your head back, you can’t finish your half-constructed sentence before osamu is fucking you faster, harder, wrapping an arm around your lower back and lifting you up the slightest bit to angle you perfectly. your hand moves on instinct, reaches down between your legs and circles your throbbing clit for only a second before you’re squirting all over him, a release of pressure drenching him as you gasp for air, drawing in enough breath to cry out his name.

you place your hand on his lower abs, eyes closing softly to center yourself. you could’ve passed out right here, slept for a million years, and you’re not sure you would’ve completely recovered. your body is shaking, throat is sore, and when you open your eyes, osamu is looking at you with such adoration and awe that you’re certain you’ve missed something.

“the first time we’re not in a fucking bathroom and you fucking make me squirt,” you mumble, shaking your head, “what are we going to do with you?” you ask, removing your hand from his stomach, silently letting him know you’ve recovered enough for him to keep going.

“i don’t care,” he says, kissing your jaw, “i don’t care what you do with me for the rest of my life, that was the most amazing thing i’ve ever seen.”

“you made a mess,” you tease.

“i made a mess?” he asks.

you nod.

he breathes a laugh before accepting responsibility, “i made a mess,” he confirms.

“so you’ve gotta do one thing for me,” you say, circling your hips, matching his lazy thrusts as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“anything,” he says. and you know that he means it.

you use your loose grip around his neck to coax him closer to you, your lips now pressed against his ear. “need you to make a mess inside of me, samu, please,” you say, low enough to send shivers down his spine from the tone alone. his hips stutter. he wants to regain composure, to not give in to blowing his load deep inside of you just from you saying his name and asking him nicely, he really wants to savor it and last a little bit longer.

but you’re so wet. you’re drenched, but you’re still so tight and sucking him in so nicely, perfectly sculpted for him, gummy walls still clenching and fluttering from your orgasm, and you kiss the skin right below his ear and you say, “please, i’ve been waiting for it ever since i fucking met you, please, don’t make me wait any longer.”

and he can’t.

he wouldn’t.

he doesn’t.

he snaps his hips forwards, pressing himself flush against the insides of your thighs and releases deep inside of you. you can feel his cock pulse with each stream, feel yourself getting fuller and fuller and fuller with each throb and accompanying grunt. you can’t get enough. you don’t want it to ever stop, but it does. he keeps himself deep inside of you for a moment, not wanting to lose the feeling just as much as you don’t.

when he starts to get soft, he pulls out, come dripping out of your hole and onto the blankets below just adding to the mess the two of you have created in the span of a few hours. he doesn’t exactly know where to go, what to do. the two of you could’ve passed out just like this, intertwined together and had the most incredible sleep of your entire life, if it weren’t for the huge mess beneath you.

“what now?” you mumble, not moving.

you feel osamu flop next to you. you’re not sure if he’s avoided the mess or if he’s embraced it. part of you wants to stand up and apologize and start throwing his bedspread in the washer, but that part of you isn’t winning, not today. if that part of osamu exists, it’s not winning either. he wraps his arms around your waist, rests his head on your chest, pulls you into him.

“are we just going to lay in this?” you say, laughing. it sounds ridiculous coming out of your mouth, but you’re sure it wouldn’t take much convincing for you to not have to move from this very spot. osamu doesn’t answer you, but you feel him unwrap from your body and then get off the bed. you go to sit up, but you don’t make it that far, opening your eyes as osamu pulls the blankets out from under you and throws them in a heap in the corner of his tidy room. he opens the closet door and comes back with a spare, small, but clean blanket.

he reassumes his position on the now-much-more-acceptable bed, throwing the blanket overtop of you and him and cuddling into your side. “is that better?” he asks, but he doesn’t really expect a response. your small smile and content hum is all he needs.

after only a few moments, recuperated by a clean blanket and strong arms, your body is ready to move onto the next thing, ready to get up and start making breakfast or start kissing him again or start getting ready for work despite how long you have until your shift. your skin is antsy, pulse is quickening. there are a trillion things in your head that you want to do with osamu, plenty of dull activities that seem like they’ll be much better with him by your side. you want to see them. you want to do them.

osamu shifts and pulls you into his chest, kisses the top of your head. “love you, angel,” he murmurs into your hair. “love you so much,” he says again. you feel calmer now, the most at ease you’ve ever been, because you know that there’ll be time for all of that, plenty of time, hours and hours of time to do all of the things that you want to do with osamu, more time than you know what to do with, you just know it.

for now, all you have to do is lay here, in bed, surrounded by warmth in more ways that you thought were possible, maybe let sleep take you again or stay awake in these passing moments, it doesn’t really matter. your exhale is steady, matches with his. you close your eyes and you can see this moment next week and next month and three years from now.

you look happy there.

you look really happy there.

taglist: @miyaluv127 @useless-bicth @mushasstuff @unstaaableaf @mimivinx @tsukiran @kurapika-1999 @hehatesmati @karmakarter @hunny-hotline @bella009888 @um-no-ok @footjib @mon-cherries @privthemis @agashki @renster05 @greeniegreengreen @tokyo-banana @fandomtrash5092 @coyloves @heathsuii @pasta-water @ran-rangasma @ayz-it-they @ellesalzar @dabibreeder @s4m1 @perry-gallifrey @barely-coherent @katsunarii @thisbicc @jaynawayna @levis-wheelchair @sugar-crumbs @miyaslvt @sheeshizzy @i0nlyr343mut @ajbutasimp @snazzyturtles @idontevenknowlolls @nicerthanu @angelgvtzzz @lovely-part-time-whore @lilac-ski3s @dovenu @heirxx @kur0obaby @tetsuswhore @alienvarmint @georgettesand @misfit-megumi @bijuu-naginata @captain-alien-america @ti-mame @buckys-hoeee @whos-curiosity-killed-the-cat @stargazing-girl @whoisgami @zany17 @privthemis @pennylanewrites @buckys-hoeee @avfox24 @reinertiddiejuice @poke-pia @its-simply-me19 @nahcho @sugamonster22 @destinyg237 @msbyomimi

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

tori talks more: i do not know if i'll be around to write more to be honest with you. like i probably will at some point, but who knows. maybe when the new movie comes out. maybe ill do a jjk pivot bc i just finished it. feel free to scream in my inbox abt it or this or whatever. ily all and im so glad i could finally finish this. <3 :)

#osamu x reader #osamu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #osamu x reader smut #hq x reader smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haiykuu x reader smut #miya osamu x reader smut #osamu x reader fluff #osamu fluff #osamu fic #hq fic #toriwritesshit #abd update!

305 notes · View notes

bettyfrommars · 6 months

Text

the corner of Heartache & Jameson

18+only, cemetery meet cute, talk of grief and death, allusions to depression and alcohol consumption. Eddie is grieving and so is reader.

wc: 706

You hug yourself against the brisk, icy wind, flexing the collar of your coat up to cover your ears as you stand in the cemetery staring with wet eyes at the headstone in front of you.

“Sometimes I hate you for this, you know?” You scowl and shuffle your feet. “For dying on me like you did, for leaving me alone here in this shitty world. It’s not fair.”

Your grandmother’s name is spelled out on the cement slab, and there are fresh poinsettias just below it that will soon suffocate under the freshly fallen snow. The sun is down and darkness crowds in around you, as if stumbling over shafts of light in its eagerness to be by your side. You don’t avoid them like others might; you let them curl into you like stray cats and make a home.

You silently dare the gathering shadows to do with you what they will.

You sniff back a sob and wipe tears from your eyes with angry yanks across your cheeks. “I came to say I love you and I miss you and I wish you were here. I don’t have anyone to spend the holidays with so—-”

Footsteps crunch in the snow and you hear a lighter flick.

You look up to see the small flame from a few yards away, and then, a face.

“Did I scare you?” A man's voice asks, lit cigarette bobbing between his lips.

He sucks in a drag, and you scoff at whoever it is, irritated that he would dare to interrupt your therapeutic, sulking rant to your dead grandmother at her grave.

“Quite presumptuous of you to think you’d have any effect on me,” you bite, wrapping your arms around your ribcage tighter, feeling for the pepper spray in your coat pocket, just in case.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. He lowers the cigarette, and you can only see his silhouette against the falling snow. “I’m just not used to bumping into people out here this time of night.”

“You hang out in the cemetery a lot? How hardcore of you.” Your tone is mocking, you want him to leave. You wish to be alone with your misery and the several travel-size bottles of Jameson.

“These past few months, yeah,” he admits with a shrug. You can see the outline of his hand and the bright cherry glow on his smoke. “Since my uncle passed. He’s right over there.”

He sticks his elbow out to the right, in a general direction. As if he can’t look, as if it’s still too hard.

“He raised me,” he offers, as if to accentuate the point that the man had not been just any uncle. “So, I like to come here and get sad, too, you know?”

You relax your hand on the pepper spray. You relax your jaw too, and for a brief second, you hope that he is the grim reaper coming to take you away from this earthly hell.

He takes a tentative step closer, and in the dim glow of the moonlight, you can finally see the gentle curves of his face. “Names Eddie,” he shoves one hand into the front pocket of his jeans and flicks ash from his smoke with the other. Other than ripped jeans and sneakers, he only has on a threadbare concert tee and a thin leather jacket.

You don’t tell him your name because you’re not sure if you want to know anyone anymore. Being alone is better, being alone is safe.

But you can’t help but notice: “Are you cold?”

He snorts a laugh. “I kinda am, yeah. I didn’t really expect to come out here. It just…happened.”

You understood the compulsion. You’d driven to the cemetery in your pajamas once in a fit of grief.

You felt in your other pocket for the tiny bottles of alcohol and rolled them around in your fingers so that they sounded like crashing marbles. You held one up to him by the glass neck. “You want to come back to my car and get warm? Be sad together?”

“Well, it is the holidays,” he tried not to smile but couldn’t help the grin that crept up one side of his face like the Grinch with an idea. “Sucks to be alone this time of year.”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson blurb #grief #loss #heartache

140 notes · View notes

chaoticrushu · 10 months

Text

God everything about Lisa is so tragic. Her trigger event, being forced into villainy by Coil, her desperate attempts to find out as much as she can to prevent the end of the world, and her whole relationship with Taylor.

She sees Taylor for the first time and immediately knows she's passively suicidal. She can't let that go, if course she can't, she can't let another Rex happen. So she reaches out, she invites Taylor to join the Undersiders, knowing the whole time Taylor's lying from the start. She gives her a friends/family/a support group, desperately hoping to give Taylor a reason to live. She takes her shopping, hoping to boost Taylor's confidence in herself. She pushes Taylor to go out with Brian, because she knows Brian has the same feelings, and she thinks it'll both help Taylor feel more tied to the group and help make her happier.

And it kinda works. Taylor gains confidence, she's stronger, she's happier.

"I'm sorry," Lisa put her hand on my shoulder. I felt grateful that she wasn’t pulling away or laughing. It was the first time I’d ever really talked about it, and I wasn’t sure I could’ve dealt if she had.

Shell 4.3

It kind of surprised me, but I realized what I was saying was true, so I didn’t even need to worry about tipping Lisa off. A second later, I realized I might have been a little presumptuous.

"I mean, assuming that we are frien—"

"If you finish that sentence,” Lisa warned me, "I'm going to slap you across the head." I felt the heat of a flush in my cheeks and ears. "Yes, Taylor, we’re friends," Brian said.

Shell 4.3

"I don’t know how to say this gracefully," I said. I paused, noting the presence of a hero nearby who’d raised a camera towards me. Whatever, I’d say it anyways. "But you guys mean a lot to me. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, but I couldn’t without letting on that something was going on. You’re my family, in a way. As lame as it might be, I love you guys."

Drone 23.5

"I know," Grace said, after a pause. "I get that. I get that there’s other reasons. Like the fact that you love those guys and you never loved us. Cool. Makes sense."

"I liked you guys."

"But you didn’t love us.”

"No," I said.

Venom 29.1

By Arc 19, Lisa's sure she succeeded. She averted another Rex, she saved Taylor. Even with how self destructive Taylor is, pushing herself so hard towards a goal, first saving Dinah then saving everyone, throwing herself in dangerous situations one after another, she's in a better state than she was before. But is Lisa?

Taylor and Lisa have somewhat of a distant emotional connection. As much as Lisa has helped Taylor, Taylor can't really do the same to Lisa. Because even when she isn't wearing a mask in a literal sense. she's always wearing one metaphorically, one that she almost never lets slip. So as much as Taylor loves Lisa, she doesn't really know Lisa. She can't. Lisa's given Taylor a support system, but she herself doesn't have one.

"Except you’ve been talking to the heroes, and you’ve had that to help center yourself, figure out where you stand," Tattletale said. "I haven't."

"That’s it? You need to talk to someone?"

"No. That’s not what I’m saying," she said. She sighed. "Yes. Kind of. It’s only part of it. Who the hell am I going to talk to that grasps things on a level I do? Do you really expect me to find a therapist and sit down and not pick him apart faster than he can decipher me?"

"You could talk to me ," I said. "Not when you’re part of the problem, part of what I’d need to work past."

"That’s not fair," I told her.

"No, it isn’t," she admitted."

Scourge 19.7

And that disconnect shows in Taylor's pov. Even in Taylor's head, Lisa is so often thought of as Tattletale, not Lisa. Even as she's eviscerating Taylor on personal level in 30.1, she's still Tattletale, not Lisa. Rachel is almost always Rachel more than Bitch, and I'm pretty sure Aisha is Aisha'd as much as she's Imp'd.

Later in the same chapter, she explains herself, her first time in the whole book being genuine and letting herself be vulnerable.

Me? When you shot Coil, I realized I was done. I’d helped you out of the same trap of despair Rex had been in. Don’t know if the road I helped you down was a good one or a bad, but I’d finished."

"But why be reckless? Why take the risks?"

"Because I did what I had to do, I helped you, and I still feel like the stupid, self-obsessed little child that let her big brother die. It wasn’t conscious, but maybe I felt like I needed to up the stakes. Pull something dramatic. Show that, with these crazy smart capes like Alexandria and Faultline around, I could still be the smartest person in the room."

Scourge 19.7

She's finished her project, she's saved Taylor, whether for good or ill. She's freed herself of Coil. And it didn't fix her; She still bears all that guilt over Rex. Maybe, given time, Taylor could have helped Lisa, returned the favour. But they never had the time, because so soon after this, Taylor is outed, and things escalate, and Taylor is gone. I can't imagine what that did to Lisa, but it I'd guess that it means that her one true friend, probably the only person who even comes close to understanding her, is gone. Of course, she keeps in touch. But the letter she sends, its so impersonal, naught more than a status report. Whereas Brian and Rachel's are emotional and personal, confessions of their feelings. (I love Taylor and Rachel's relationship so much, but that's not the point here.) And when they meet all meet back up before Behemoth, the only thing she says to Taylor is asking her to survive. I think that even though she said she felt like she'd succeeded fixing Taylor, she was still doubting. Taylor is Taylor, I don't think she ever really could have been saved just by who she is. And Lisa could probably tell.

With a touch more seriousness, Tattletale said, "No dying, okay, Skitter?"

"Weaver," I corrected.

"Skitter," she said. "Here, today, you’re Skitter. Consider it a good luck charm. And no dying . I’ll say it as many times as it takes, until it gets through to you."

...

“Just remember,” Tattletale called out, “You’re officially Skitter today. Don’t be a hero. No point to all this shit if you do something brave and get yourself killed.”

Drone 23.5

And it all leads to Khepri. Taylor ruining herself, letting someone alter her brain to such an extent in a desperation to beat Scion. And it kills Lisa

"You couldn’t have made it easy?” Tattletale asked, looking down at it. “Because standing by while you do this… that’s fucking hard . It’s honestly easier if I’m on their side and I’m helping them stop you. If I can blame the fuck-up job Panacea did to your head."

"While I’m saying all this, kiddo, you gotta know I love you. I adore you, warts and all. You saved me, as much as I like to think I saved you. All this stuff I’m bitching about, it’s the same stuff that got us through some pretty hairy shit, and I love you for it as much as I groan about it. You’re brilliant and you’re reckless and you care too much about people in general when I really wish you’d leave things well enough alone and be selfish. But this?"

"Shit ," Tattletale said. "You gotta forgive me, just this once. Because seeing this and knowing what you pulled hurts enough that I gotta say this. This makes me feel really sorry for your dad, because I’m starting to get a sense of what you put him through.

Speck 30.1

Like, god. The tragedy of loving Taylor Hebert, a stubborn, persistent, unyielding person, one who doesn't value herself but will give everything to fight for her friends. For all that Lisa could try and do to save her, for all the happiness she could try and give her, it didn't work. Taylor becomes Khepri, and she loses her forever. I'm don't even know if Lisa knows what happened to Taylor, that she's on another earth, safe with the opportunity for genuine happiness without all the crises, able to be a regular person. Or does she assume Taylor died, maybe at the hands of a cape traumatised and angry and being mind controlled, maybe because of her own shard destroying her?

Does she ever regret trying to fix Taylor? Does she ever think back on it and wonder if Taylor would be better off if she hadn't guided her into villainy?

264 notes · View notes

ihopesocomic · 23 days

Note

Am i projecting or is it kinda really uncomfortable when people bring their hyperspecific interests to artists, as oddly specific questions or requests. Idk to me it feels like it could be a fetish or something close to it and being asked to indulge it feels weird. How do you feel about it? The leopard/adamant ask is a good example actually

eh I wouldn't go as far to describe it as a 'fetish'. I get what you mean when it comes to certain asks but let's not be too hasty, anon. lol

We're both artists, we're used to this kind of thing from the countless art requests we've gotten in our years on the internet. I view it on the same level as that. Yeah, it's kinda presumptuous but this is a PG-13 comic and we appeal to a lot of minors and well, minors are still learning these things.

tbh a lot of the time we ignore these kinds of requests and just delete the ask but considering this specific request has now happened with two of our characters and one character's wiki article was edited to include this mysterious female leopard character, we felt we had to say something. lol

All we can do is encourage them to make their own content because, as much as we'd like to, we can't include every single fan character and we certainly can't change the story for them. Sure, we're including cameos and some are related to some of our cast in a way, but none of them change the storyline to the degree of having an intimate relationship to a main character.

But some people won't get that distinction and that's OK, because I get the whole confusion of 'well, you included this person's character in the story: why not mine?'

Thus, all we can do is point out that the rules are a) we include these characters because they're either cameos we like or we're friendly with their creators and b) even if point a is met, the agreement between the pair of us is that we're not gonna change the storyline in any way for them. - RJ

#ask #ask us stuff #rj answers #fan characters #cameos

25 notes · View notes

yesimwriting · 9 months

Note

Hi! I hope you're doing well!

I've recently watched scream 6, and while it definitely wasn't my favorite (the original cannot be beaten) I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.

I've seen you mention him a little, but I really liked Ethan. His betrayal felt kinda predictable, but he was cute and I'm a sucker for "soft/sweet/nerdy character is actually a killer".

Ig I'm just wondering if you have any more thoughts about him? I really like how you portray characters so I wanna know your take on him ig

hi!! i totally get what you're saying about scream 6 i can't imagine anything beating/slaying as hard as the originals but i did thoroughly enjoy it as it's own thing lol

especially ethan!! like him being a ghostface was so obvious, but his character was so awkward bf and i really like the soft/nerdy character as a killer trope too!!

i also feel like there's so much in the movie that gives us a way to characterize him so i have a lot of thoughts, some stick closer to canon and others are just vibe-based, ig? if that makes sense

idk if these count as headcanons, i feel like they do bc i have a lot of thoughts on him

have to immediately mention the "a special bond between a father and his first son" line, i love any excuse to give a character daddy issues 😭so maybe i'm projecting, but i can definitely see that relationship being strained and maybe a competitive relationship with his siblings, especially Richie

i'm not saying that this means he didn't want to kill!! between the cut stuff about their mom and the way Anika died, the urge had BEEN there lmao, and i think it actually would have added to any competition with Richie

like maybe growing up Ethan felt jealous of Richie in a way bc he had this outlet for exploring gory things bc of his interest in horror movies, but that's just not how Ethan's family saw him and not something he was particularly drawn to

or maybe he liked the movies and tried to bond with Richie over them when he was younger just to have that thrown in his face (siblings are such gatekeepers sometimes😭 Richie gives me mean vibes so i feel like he'd be the worst about it)

i feel like growing up he didn't have many close friends, like the jokes about being a virgin were obviously more about his romantic life but i think it kind of hints at him not being super socialized, and he dropped everything pretty quickly to just join a random college in NYC

ik Quinn did the same thing, but she seemed to click/adapt a lot quicker socially, like she was closer to the girls than Ethan and she was dating

besides the way Ethan switched up and became a Chad hater,, i could see that stemming from hating that kind of person, like maybe in high school he struggled bc of guys like Chad and that's where that aggression came from

this one is a bit more of a stretch, but going with the assumption that he had some kind of rivalry with Richie, i could see Ethan seeing Chad as competition bc of how easy college and pulling girls was for him

anyway!! that's a general psychological break down! let's get into more presumptuous/friendship/romantic relationship thoughts!!

i can see him being relatively used to having crushes on people/generally thinking someone's attractive so he wouldn't go totally feral over just liking someone

i think this is his most noticeable romantic difference from other ghostfaces i've written (cough, billy and stu, cough) bc i read him as having more psychopathic tendencies than sociopathic ones

BUT the second that that's reciprocated in anyway some switch flips in his head

like he's probably used to being an outsider in friend groups and feeling relatively disposable, so if you were to make a point of calling him a best friend or picking him over anyone else even in a small way,, poor guy wouldn't know what to do with himself

like that would take his crush to the next level and suddenly Ethan's like 'well ig i have to do whatever to ensure their happiness for the rest of time now'

it's not his fault :( it's just bc he's not used to having anyone pick him first

would probably be less inclined to follow through/have murder-y thoughts while being caught up in some kind of crush/relationship,, at least at first bc i can see him being content/distracted

but i see one exception with that:

i could see Ethan being super prone to jealousy and not even being aware of it until he really started to have a crush on someone/dating them

like before when people he liked would either blow him off or date other people he'd be like that's life, but with the only person that's ever made him feel irreplaceable?

he's not having it!! suddenly, he's imagining what it'd be like to brutally murder anyone that flirts with you/hints at liking you

not saying he'd act on it every time he felt jealous, but he'd think about it!!

would definitely be pouty though, trying to act cold bc he's mad at the other person and is trying not hold it against you but then he starts to wonder if he imagined your connection and if you've been stringing him along

but the second you make it clear that it's still him, Ethan's snapping out of it and is immediately all heart eyes

actually a vicious cycle because every time you "pick" him he just starts to feel even fonder for you and then that makes him more upset when someone else tries to come between you two and then you "pick" him again, so it keeps adding to itself lol

kind of random but i feel like he's closest to Quinn in his family, like yes they still might have competed a little but it wasn't that son vs son thing, so it wasn't as tense

if he had a crush i feel like he'd eventually tell Quinn about it, at first casually like 'omg y/n just showed me this song, that new perfume you got is similar to hers, ik we're here to avenge our brother but y/n needs help with her econ homework so let's reschedule the plotting session'

and then one day he's like 'i think i like y/n' and Quinn's like 'no way!! really🙄?!😒' and then she's instantly giving him all the dating advice even if the timing is terrible bc she's a real one and her brother never likes anyone!! let him hook up with someone for once!

i feel like after the ghostface thing starts his ego would switch up, like the adrenaline and confidence of knowing what he's doing and getting away with this would make him act different

nothing that you could quite put your finger on, but he'd be a little touchier, maybe care less about hiding clingy tendencies

his dad's sudden influx of approval would probably also make him feel more like a man, y'know, so he'd be able to accept/get you liking him more bc of that

despite the aggressive undertones that i've focused on here i actually feel like he'd be such a cutie while pining/dating someone

like he'd go out of his way to remember things about you, would want to ghostface anyone that upset you, definitely would give 'my girl is mad at me, i hope i die' before you're even officially dating

he's a whole puppy once you have him, but will still be happy to stab ppl

----

this was a lot longer than i thought it'd be and it was really fun to write!! if anyone wants anything else ethan related pls send asks!! actually might just write a fic just bc lol

also a reminder that i'm generally open to writing about any scream character :)))

#scream #scream x reader #scream x you #scream 2023 #scream 6 #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader

65 notes · View notes

finniestoncrane · 1 year

Note

Kissing as a dare with Dano!riddler??

Truth or Dare

Dano!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 650 ah big brain anon he's the perfect one for a silly little smooching dare 🐀💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff, kisses, kinda teasing and also maybe a bit of stress on eddie's end oop

Sitting on the rough, stained carpet in Eddie’s apartment you took another sip of your drink and then offered him the question.

“Truth or dare, Eddie?”

He looked nervously up at you, still picking at the skin around his fingers as he spoke.”

“Uh… truth.”

Your eyes lit up with glee and mischief, and he felt his heart sink in his chest.

“Ok… where is it you go every evening?”

He didn’t answer, but his wide eyes and narrowing pupils suggested you’d struck a nerve. With a self-satisfied grin you continued.

“I hear you sneaking off at night, we live next door to each other remember, dummy. The walls are paper thin. I can hear every time you open your apartment door. Do you have a secret someone you’re not telling me about?”

You hoped not. This was supposed to be a way to get to know him better, and here you were, running the risk of hurting your own feelings. Thankfully, Eddie interrupted your spiralling train of thoughts.

“That’s two questions.”

Smiling, you shoved his arm lightly.

“Ok, well answer the first one.”

“I… I’d… I think they’re supposed to be yes or no questions?”

Eddie held his breath, desperately trying to give himself time to think of a decent excuse that wouldn’t incur follow up questions. He really couldn’t afford to have you snooping around. You were such a good friend to him, more than that, he hoped… it would be a shame to have to… He shook the rather violent thought from his head and focused instead of trying to look casual, natural.

“That’s not the rules, Eddie. You’re thinking of Twenty Questions. Do you forfeit? You can try for a dare if you want.”

Thankful for the opportunity, he nodded profusely.

“Yes, please.”

He tried not to sound desperate, but he was still nodding, not even realising it until his soft hair fell out of place in front of his clear glasses. As he straightened them up and tucked his hair back into its usual neat but maybe slightly unfashionable style, you giggled a little.

“That’s fine. I’ll get the answer out of you either way.”

With a sly wink you brought your finger to your mouth, making a dramatic show of your ‘thinking’ when you knew exactly what his dare was going to be.

“Hm… ok… I dare you to… kiss me.”

“What?”

“I dare you to kiss me, Eddie.”

“How… h-how would that-”

“Because! If you’ve got a secret partner that you’re not telling me about then you won’t want to be kissing just anyone. So, if you forfeit, I have my answer. You won’t kiss me because you can’t betray someone’s trust. And then you’ll owe me dinner.”

You were so pleased with your logic until Eddie undermined you.

“That’s presumptuous.”

It was. Maybe he didn’t want to kiss you because he just didn’t like you, or didn’t feel that way about you.

“I mean, I might just be a bad person.”

Blinking slowly, you looked into his eyes.

“I don’t think you are, Eddie. Definitely not.”

“Oh.”

Surprised at how sincere you sounded, Eddie allowed himself to let go, to ease up, leaning in to you and pressing his lips to yours in a soft and tentative kiss. His mouth didn’t move, his lips stayed still against your own as he pressed harder into you before he sat back, his glasses lightly steamed and his cheeks turning pink. He smiled, a lopsided, goofy little grin, as he wiped the lenses on his shirt and cleared his throat.

“Ok, your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

He thought for a moment, looking deep into your eyes, slightly less afraid now that he’d actually kissed you. Now that he knew you thought he was a good person.

“Do you really want to know what I get up to at night?”

#finnie writes #riddler smut #fanfic #the riddler fanfic #riddler fanfic #riddler x reader #riddler x you #ridler scenario #dano riddler #dano!riddler #edward nashton #the riddler fanfiction #the riddler #paul dano #danonation

111 notes · View notes

beautifulpersonpeach · 28 days

Note

i remember you’re a Kendrick Lamar fan BPP. Are you following the beef with Drake? I have to confess i normally don’t listen to rap but i remember you love Kendrick and this beef has gotten even to my neck of the i-woods in a sense and it all seems a bit intense? Sorry if this is presumptuous but do you mind sharing your thoughts? Is Kendrick living up to your expectations or not?

p.s. I sent you another ask about the MHJ situation but I understand if you’d rather ignore it for now. Always hoping to read your thoughts.

***

Shit is getting kinda dark lol.

Usually, I’d be happy about this. I love Kendrick because if there’s one guy who will go there, it’s him. He’s one of the best rappers to ever walk this earth and that’s been my firm opinion since A.D.H.D on Section.80. His bars have triple and quadruple entendres layered in intervals in time with cadences not just in his own flow but also in the tracks he samples for the kill. In short, Kendrick is a genius. The problem is, he knows it, and his ego shows it. He’s a bit of a bully too tbh. By that I mean, he’s both cruel and efficient when he chooses a target. He’s hardly ever evenly matched and sometimes that makes him… careless.

Drake on the other hand, has a documented history of being just as egotistical, and while he’s dropped some solid bars too during this beef, it’s clear he’s a bit more… fragile. Reckless.

And that’s dangerous.

Kendrick’s carelessness paired with Drake’s recklessness is a match made in hell. It can only end badly unless by some divine intervention both men find a way to walk it all back and make peace. In this way, J.Cole appears to have escaped the worst of this by wisely bowing out of the fight early but things have gotten so dark that I don’t believe it’s clear that even he’s gone scott free, just yet.

Given I don’t want (and I hope nobody does) a repeat of Tupac and Biggie’s beef, things are progressing at a worrying rate. Speaking just in terms of skill however, I think it’s clear Kendrick completely bodies Drake but I’ve always felt he’d win every round anyway lol.

—

About your P.S., assuming your ask is anonymous I can’t possibly know what ask you’re referring to. Can you send it again or tell me what exactly you’re talking about? Much of the anxiety about the MHJ-HYBE sitch has kinda bundled up into one ‘thing’ in my inbox and it’s difficult to pick out specific questions.

Thank you.

#kendrick lamar #Kendrick drake beef #min heejin #Hybe

12 notes · View notes

animalcrossingshowdown · 8 months

Text

an assortment of asks under the cut bc I came home from work and there were a bunch

okay then I will add that next round

sameee I wanna play so badly but after the QoL improvements from NH I know it'll be hard going back, but also this tournament is really emphasizing how Not Cozy NH is so I kinda don't wanna go back to that either. the music, loading times and general sound design are really the three things that have kept me from picking up NH again

gotta be honest 7pm is the only NL track I might consider saying I dislike lmao it kind of stresses me out BUT I've seen a lot of people over the years single out 7pm as their favourite so I think you'll have a good shot. I still like it though just,, not as much as the other 23 hours

I was gonna make a poll before this tournament for you guys to predict how many NH tracks would make it to round 2 bc I saw this coming a mile away, but I felt it was maybe too presumptuous 😭 now I feel like I should've done it

30 notes · View notes

oatmilktruther · 3 months

Text

fic first lines!

post the first line from the last 10 fics you posted (and are there any patterns?)

i got tagged by @mxmollusca and @chaotic-neutral-knitter

the ocean

“it’s a storm.”

Kalahari Down

“Ed had this sense about the land, the kind that could serve you real well if you knew how to talk about it, but the same sort that would have you written off as funny in the head if you didn’t.”

Every Snowflake Is Different (Just Like You)

““I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but do you think we could— go back to your place?””

Untitled

“Look.”

Half-Light

“Stede had quite a lot of practice not doing things.”

Anything We Want

“It happens in a thunderstorm, because of course it does, cause it had to be a big, poignant moment that would stick in his bones and pulse along to the rhythm of his heart and never leave him when things got quiet or when things got loud or when things simply were.”

I Want It All

“There’s a ringing in his ears.”

Different Names for the Same Thing

“Stede was well used to the feeling of watching Edward as though from afar, even if they were right next to one another.”

It Wasn’t Me

“"What is your mission?””

Take a Byte

“Ed figured he was well past the point in his life, felt like the internet itself was past the point in its life, where he would find himself googling “hot blond dilfs in my area” and clicking “allow” when the browser prompted for his location.”

i dont feel like theres a pattern here except that i am clearly not afraid to make my opening line nearly an entire paragraph. and also that im not afraid to make it a single word. and also that my opening line for KD still fuuuucks. also kinda fuckin crazy to take stock that i really have that many fics (plus three more) posted. damn.

@ajibooks @scarrletmoon @edsbacktattoo uhhhh anyone else if you see this please do it if you want to and if i tagged you and you dont want to, pretend i didnt

#m #f

8 notes · View notes

deepspacedukat · 1 year

Text

Conference

What do we do when we get woken up real early? We write suggestive things about @bigblissandlove1‘s sexy Romulan Captain, of course! (I hope this is okay, friend! Literally just had the inspiration to dive into this one on this fine, chaotic morning.)

S’Talon is a Romulan OC created by @bigblissandlove1. This story was written/posted with their permission. Go check out their story, “The Raptor’s Descent” if you haven’t already! That’s where S’Talon came from! ✨

Also, I swear, I don’t plan these random S’Talon drabbles. They just kinda...happen. I’ll have like a vague idea, and my brain is just like “SEXY ROMULAN CAPTAIN TIME.”

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

S’Talon (OC) x Reader

[A/N: This has implied smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Flirtation, suggestive language, implied interspecies sex, implied Human/Romulan sex, S’Talon is walking seduction.

~*~

No member of any species has the right to be that attractive, I thought as I sat across a conference table from a Tal Shiar agent. According to Sloan, he was one of Koval’s most accomplished people. Riov S’Talon of the T’Met was a tall drink of water, and he was very aware of how handsome he was.

When we were introduced, the graying but still very much full of life Romulan had given me a charming smile and lifted my hand to his lips. With a wink, he’d stated how much he looked forward to working with such a lovely lady.

“I’m sure we’ll get along famously, won’t we lhhei?” On anyone else, that level of flirty presumptuousness would’ve bordered on annoying, but with him, well...as he winked at me from across the table during Sloan’s briefing, I couldn’t help but acknowledge that he made it work for him.

With a quick mental shake, I tried my best to focus on our mission. Section Thirty-One and the Tal Shiar did partner together at times, but it was still rare enough that we needed be on our best behavior to make sure relations between our organizations remained cordial. I couldn’t afford to get distracted and do sloppy work. Sloan would have me for breakfast if I fucked this up.

Still, I found my eyes straying back over to the Riov without my mind’s consent. He gave me a warm smile when my gaze met his - had he ever looked away?

“...rendezvous should be on the Federation side of the Neutral Zone, so if your ship is detected, you’ll obviously have to relinquish command temporarily to your Section Thirty-One partner,” Koval added, speaking pointedly to S’Talon at that point.

“Understood, Dhaemnasi,” he replied in that utterly sinful, low voice. Those sharp, mischief-filled eyes didn’t leave mine for the rest of the briefing. When we were finally left to our own devices to discuss the mission, Riov S’Talon leaned back in his seat and allowed his eyes to skim over me. “Well, lhhei, it seems we’ll be working together for quite some time. I suggest we take a few moments to get to know one another. After all, we’ll be working very closely for this mission.”

The suggestiveness in his voice made me smirk as I walked over to the food slot and ordered two cups of tea. Sliding one over to my new partner, I tried to match his tone with a smirk of my own.

“What would you like to know, Riov?”

“Oh, many things, but, for propriety’s sake, I doubt I can say even half of them aloud,” he murmured before taking a sip of his tea. The thought of him saying inappropriate things in that voice of his made me bite my lip.

“Is that so?” I realized belatedly that I sounded probably just as flustered as I felt.

“Yes, of course. With a gorgeous woman like you, who wouldn’t be curious beyond the bounds of decorum?” S’Talon asked, and I couldn’t help but let out a little huff of laughter. “You doubt my sincerity?”

“No, I’ve just never been on the receiving end of such flattery before,” I said as I crossed my legs carefully beneath the table.

“Flirtation is only flattery, lhhei, if it is not true. I assure you, I mean every word.” His gaze shifted to something a little softer. “Have you ever been sketched before?”

“What?” At the sudden change in topic, I couldn’t help but wonder what he was getting at.

“Has anyone ever drawn you? Or painted you, perhaps? Graphite or oil paints would certainly allow enough flexibility to capture your likeness in more precise detail,” the Riov murmured, seemingly deep in thought. Was he an artist?

“No, not to my knowledge. Why?” He simply smiled and got to his feet, wandering slowly to my side of the table with some question in his eyes. He leaned against the smooth, black surface and offered me his hand, which I took almost without conscious thought. He lifted it to his lips, placing a slow kiss onto my knuckles as he looked into my eyes.

“Because, lhhei, over the course of this mission, I’d like to change that answer to a confident, resounding ‘yes.’ You deserve for the answer to that question to be a ‘yes’ so that generations from now, your beauty can still be admired and appreciated. First, however, I would like to sample this tea from a slightly different source,” S’Talon leaned in slightly before stopping. His voice came out low and raspy when he spoke again. “I’d like to become more familiar with every part of you, lovely. With your permission, of course...?”

Swallowing nervously, I realized I’d made that decision the moment I laid eyes on Riov S’Talon.

“If you believe such familiarity would be beneficial to our mission, rekkhai, then who am I to say no?” The devilish grin he gave me made my heart flutter in anticipation. Maybe this assignment wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“It definitely will. The more you know about your partner, the easier it is to gauge their strengths,” S’Talon murmured, “and there is no better way to learn about a person than through their pleasures...”

He trailed off and closed the remaining distance between our lips with a hungry hum, placing my hand on his chest. In the space of a desperate breath, the Captain lifted me from my seat and placed me atop the table. Standing between my legs, he grasped my waist and nibbled his way down my neck. His mouth spread into a devious grin against my skin when he managed to draw a whimper from my throat.

“Exquisite. Oh, my dear lady, I daresay this is going to be a very interesting collaboration,” he crooned as an insistent hardness rose between us. “Tell me, how would you prefer that I take you first? As we are now? Or bent over the conference table? I’m at your service entirely...partner.”

~*~*~

Romulan Words:

lhhei = my lady

rekkhai = sir

Riov = the Romulan rank equivalent to that of a Captain

Dhaemnasi = Romulan title for the Chairman of the Tal Shiar

~*~

Taglist:

@bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes @emilie786 @horta-in-charge @toebeans-mcgee @android-boyfriends @wafflingchemist

#deepspacedukat fic #Riov S'Talon of Romulus

15 notes · View notes

davidjrpalos · 8 months

Text

♡

If it wasn’t obvious I’ve been feeling very reflective lately and I kinda just wanna talk about the changes I’ve gone through in the past year. Almost a year ago, after doing odd jobs inconsistently since I was a teenager and relying on what I made off just my artwork, I took a stab in the dark for some financial stability with the intention of eventually leaving town and going back to the city. I took a normal job working nights about five minutes away from my house. At that point I was very guarded, distrusting of others, had zero intentions of putting any emotional investment in the enviornment around me. I’d been isolating myself more and more and just overall hated my life, living situation, being away from my best friend and not being closer to where I was raised. I spent my late teen years and emerging twenties chasing a false sense of comfort I thought I lost in my childhood. I thought the only way I could get it back was to run from my present, unknowingly going backwards, it never worked and I felt wronged and resentful over how my life was leading. As deeply uninterested as I was in others around me at my work someone somehow managed to wake my interest and make me think differently. For some reason I still try to understand, something about him made me question and confront myself and my beliefs, and for an even wilder reason I thought if I had a chance with him that I really needed to be better and stop wallowing in my own pity, stop letting my bad moods keep me unapproachable, just generally not be the human embodiment of my pain and not be the person my loved ones were always concerned for. I had the realization that if i wanted something nice then I needed to take care of myself, be more patient with myself, and believe I actually deserved something good if I wanted to be able to care for another. A realization I’m still grateful I chose to pursue today. The thing with trying to handle years of trauma and undo every terrible belief and self destructive habit you taught yourself to cope is that it absolutely can’t be done alone, after never even earnestly attempting recovery in my life i thought i could carry this unmeasurable weight I’d accumulated and try to ‘fix’ myself on my own. I made a lot of mistakes, was presumptuous, unclear, naive, strange, the list goes on. After months of self reflection, and some genuine progress mixed with some failed attempts at communicating myself properly I hit complete burnout. It was discouraging to see how I ended up back deep in my depression and anxiety, feeling sick, stuck, suicidal, especially after trying my hardest to show myself some empathy and actually seeing growth. As I’ve talked about in the past few months I finally reached out for help, went to inpatient psychiatric care, started medication, did intensive outpatient therapy for a little over a month and have been regularly attending traditional therapy since. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for myself in my life. The genuine peace and patience I feel for life and myself is something I never could have imagined achieving, especially in just shy of a years time. I’m really happy and proud of myself for the person I’m turning out to be. The pain it took to get to this point was hell, it felt endless until it wasn’t. I’m understanding that recovery is an ongoing process, but one I fully believe I have what it takes to manage.

As for the boy I feel helped spark this unimaginable growth, it just doesn’t seem to be happening, and i can finally say I’m okay with that. Ive learned tough lessons and harsh truths throughout my life through cruel and unjust means and this wasn’t one of those. I can honestly say I’m grateful for how this year has transpired, I’m grateful I learned what I have this way, I’ll always have a soft spot for him, I felt a range of untapped emotion I didn’t know I was capable of, i would’ve very much loved to express this to him and what it’s all meant to me, but I think what I’ve gained is fulfilling in and of itself. I operate from a more loving and faithful place. I didn’t have to burn bridges or hurt others to get here and that’s something I’m very proud of. I’m doing things the best way I can, the way I want to, it’s tough, it requires endless patience, but it’s been immensely rewarding. It’s been an odd year, one I had no idea would ever turn out this way, I’m a little tired but I’m okay and it’s been worth it in more ways than I could say

#text #very long post #felt like I can finally look back and see this moment in its full

9 notes · View notes

octoberobserver · 1 year

Text

A Quiet Storm - A Bill/Frank Fic

(Read on ao3)

“I still can’t believe you have a coffee maker.”

They were the first words spoken into the usually-quiet kitchen at just after dawn on day four.

Bill grunted in the affirmative, enough to acknowledge that he had been spoken to but not enough to carry on a conversation. Something Frank was quickly learning was his default in most situations.

“A working coffee maker. With fancy artisan beans. In the apocalypse,” Frank chuckled as he sipped from his cup. “I really have heard it all now.”

He felt rather than saw Bill begin to bustle around behind him, gathering the makings of breakfast.

“Thought you mighta left,” he said suddenly, so quiet that Frank almost didn’t hear him.

He froze, cup halfway to his lips.

“What?”

Bill shrugged, his back still turned to him as he lit the stove.

“I woke up and…” he trailed off, clearing his throat, the sizzle of fried onions filling the air.

You weren’t there went unsaid but not unheard.

Something panged in Frank’s chest at that. He had been surprised when he managed to untangle himself from those strong, sturdy arms without waking him, but he had somehow. Tiptoeing out of the room to go explore a little. It was the first time he had awoken before his vigilant host, and he couldn’t help but take another look around the fascinating, if somewhat unkempt, house. It wasn’t snooping, not really. He was just…curious about the mysterious home of the even more mysterious man, was all.

He honestly hadn’t intended on sharing a bed with him every night. Didn’t want to be presumptuous or anything. It just sort of…happened. But fuck, was he glad it did. Being in someone’s embrace, being held again, after so, so long of sleeping alone and scared and fitful, was…a dream among nightmares. And Bill’s arms felt safe, protective, even though he clearly didn’t mean to spoon him in his sleep and always broke away all quick and embarrassed when he woke up. It was cute. He was cute. In a grumpy, he doth protest too much kinda way.

“I wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye, Bill,” Frank assured softly after a beat, knowing that if he had any say, he wouldn’t leave at all.

Bill nodded at that, his back still turned, but his shoulders noticeably less tense.

It had been a nice three days. Like a mini vacation from the horrors of the outside world. But something loomed over them. Something big and dark and the absolute, very last thing that Frank wanted to discuss.

A few more days. That was what he had said that afternoon as he took Bill to bed for the first time. And he made good on his word, he wasn’t a whore who had sex for great lunches. He had stayed and helped Bill with some general upkeep around the house that it had been seriously lacking in recent years, surreptitiously cleaning up where he could, earning his keep like any good houseguest not paying rent. He was no freeloader.

But ‘a few more days’ was in danger of turning into ‘overstaying his welcome,’ and Frank knew it. He feared Bill did too.

“Storm’s comin’,” the gruff voice that was on its way to becoming familiar to him cut through his impending spiral.

“Hm?” he asked, forcing himself to take a sip of coffee and shake off those troublesome thoughts.

“A storm. A bad one,” Bill repeated, louder this time, as he transferred the onions onto his plate. “We’ll need to batten down the hatches.”

We.

The small word had warmth blooming in Frank’s chest. It took a herculean effort not to comment on it.

“Alright, boss, just put me to work,” he couldn’t help but quip back, as Bill finally turned to catch his eye, an adorably flustered look on his face.

Frank found that he liked that look on Bill’s face. He especially liked causing that look on Bill’s face. Whether in the kitchen, in the bedroom, or anywhere else for that matter. That look made him downright giddy. And he was quickly becoming addicted to it.

“Uh, we’ll—we’ll need to clear the gutters,” Bill continued, his voice a little strained as he went back to assemble more food on his plate.

Frank shoved down the urge to make the obvious dirty joke. But just barely.

“And trim some of the bushes and maybe cut down that tree in the back in case the wind gets it.”

He did his best to listen as Bill outlined his smart, responsible plan but found his eyes wandering to the expanse of his shoulders, remembering with vivid clarity how his nails had scratched a jagged line down between them only a few hours before.

“—right?”

Frank blinked.

“What?”

A plate was placed down in front of him, turned clockwise. A heady scent of musk filled his nostrils as Bill's arm brushed against his.

“Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Frank replied honestly, staring up into those large blue eyes. “I was uh…a bit distracted. Sorry. Tell me again?”

He let his gaze roam over Bill appreciatively, delighted as a gorgeous blush joined the flustered look he had become so fond of.

“The uh, gutters will need…”

He let his words wash over him, taking them in this time as he devoured the delicious meal, nodding where appropriate and stealing glances at his host in between bites.

They headed out after breakfast, the first splatter of misty rain darkening the early-morning sky as they got the ladder and set to work. The tasks took most of the day, with brief reprieves for a short lunch and shorter dinner, the sky growing gloomier and gloomier as time wore on.

Frank made attempts at light conversation with limited results and did his best to aid Bill however he could—holding out a bucket to collect the leaves and other gunk from the gutters, keeping the ladder steady for him, and just about managing to not sink to his knees in reverence at the sight of him wielding an axe and chopping wood like something straight out of his teenaged Paul Bunyan fantasies. It was a long, arduous, sexually-frustrating day.

“Get inside,” Bill barked at the first flash of lightning that lit up the sky later that evening as they were finishing up. “Get inside, Frank. Now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, barely restraining a wince as a roll of thunder echoed in his ears.

Heavy droplets of rain pelted down on them as they raced back towards the house, feet stomping in the mud. Bill’s strong hand gripped his shoulder, steering him steadily and keeping him upright when his feet almost slid from under him.

Just as the backdoor of the house came within reach, an almighty crack of lightning splintered across the sky right above their heads, causing Frank to jump in fright, his left palm colliding with the rough edge of the doorframe.

Hissing in pain, he felt the jagged wood pierce his skin.

“Are you okay?” Bill asked as they stumbled through the door, his breath causing the hair on the back of Frank’s neck to stand up.

“Frank, are you okay?” he repeated, his tone a little more urgent this time as he slammed the door closed behind them and propped one of the kitchen chairs up against it.

“Wha—yeah, yes, I’m fine,” Frank forced himself to reply, his eyes locked on the large beads of crimson pooling in his palm.

Another hand appeared in his blurry eye line—rough, calloused fingers clasping his gently.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, still staring at his palm. “It’s just a—”

“Go sit at the table. Don’t touch it,” Bill cut across him, shuffling off god knows where with an almost frantic pep in his step that had Frank puzzled.

Heaving a sigh, he did as he was told, carefully folding himself at the head of the table and grimacing at his stinging hand and the way his soaked clothes clung to his body. A slight shiver ran through him as his back rested against the chair, effectively gluing him to it.

Before he could peel himself off the seat, a movement caught his attention. Bill was striding back into the room with vigor and set mouth, slamming a small, dark green case down onto the table and taking a seat to his left.

“We’ll need to get you outta that shirt,” he groused, waving at his now practically-translucent white T-shirt.

“Oh Bill, you smooth talker you,” Frank couldn’t help but tease, pleased when the predictable blush rose on his cheeks.

“I meant that you’re soaked through. Last thing we need is you gettin’ pneumonia.”

With that, he shoved a dry, black T-shirt and towel into Frank’s uninjured hand and threw open the mysterious case, revealing an array of medical supplies—bandages, disinfectant, cotton swabs, gauze, and an assortment of band-aids.

“Wow,” Frank stared wide-eyed at the stash. “You really are prepared for anything, huh?”

“Hmm,” Bill grunted, grabbing a myriad of supplies. “Don’t mean I got somethin’ for everythin’, though.”

“Right, right, I’ll do my best not to get pneumonia,” Frank replied, awkwardly shifting in his seat to try and peel off the shirt one-handed. “I gotta say, though, I do have a newfound appreciation for Tammy-Leigh from college. How she entered all those wet T-shirt contests night after night, I’ll never know.”

He made several botched attempts at pulling it over his head before a loud sigh, followed by two hands clutching his shoulders, had him stopping in his tracks. Stilling, he let Bill pull the fabric up and over his head, manoeuvering his good hand out of the sleeve. Once it hung loosely at the wrist of his injured hand, he looked up.

Bill was staring down at it with an unreadable expression before slowly, and so, so gently, taking his wrist and pulling the shirt down and off, letting it fall to the floor.

Frank let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as Bill turned his palm in his, silently assessing the damage. Brow furrowed, he took out some sort of clear solution and dabbed it onto a clean flannel.

“Some good news and some bad news,” he murmured, eyes focused on his task. “Good news—no splinters. Bad news—this is still gonna sting like a bitch.”

With that, he pressed the cloth to Frank’s skin.

“Motherfucker!”

“Told ya.”

Bill worked quickly but attentively, cleaning the wound, steadily wrapping his hand in gauze, and securing a bandage tightly at his wrist with a safety pin, his fingers brushing against the thin skin of his pulse.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Frank couldn’t help but ask when he finished, his brain buzzing with something. “Will I live?”

Bill let out a noise between a chuckle and a scoff.

“You’ll live. Your piano-playing days may be limited, though.”

A surprised laugh escaped Frank as he reluctantly took his hand back.

“Well, good thing between the two of us, you’re the maestro, then.”

Their eyes locked. That same unreadable expression was on Bill’s face. It was a little frustrating if Frank was honest with himself. He was so used to being able to read people and thought he had Bill’s number that first day, but as time wore on, he realised that there were layers to him that weren’t so easily peeled back.

It was kinda fascinating, too, if he was even more honest with himself.

“I’ll sand down the doorframes tomorrow,” Bill murmured before standing and heading over to the window to peer out through the drapes.

Frank watched him for a moment, drinking in his silhouette framed in the window, his heart aching with a feeling he wasn’t sure he could name yet.

He was moving before he knew it, coming to stand beside him.

“Storm’s pretty bad, huh?” he remarked as lightly as he could, staring out into the furious darkness with a furrowed brow.

He felt Bill step ever-so-slightly closer to him.

It was at that moment he realised that he had yet to put on the dry shirt and was standing there, bare-chested, in the middle of the dining room. And if Bill’s repeated darting looks were any indication, he had noticed too.

“Wow, look at me all indecent. The neighbours will talk,” he joked, making to take a step back to the table where the new shirt still lay, when Bill’s fingers shot out and wrapped around his uninjured wrist, halting him in his tracks.

Their ragged, mingling breaths were the only sounds in the room as the world thundered outside. Frank’s gaze lingered on Bill’s jaw, which was clenching and unclenching as he struggled to say whatever it was that had been clearly plaguing his mind since that morning.

“You can…stay a few more days. If you like.”

The words were quiet, hesitant, and just a touch vulnerable.

And suddenly, Frank, for what could’ve been the first time in his entire life, was lost for words of his own. So instead, he reached out and gently cupped Bill’s cheek with his injured hand, brushing his fingertips along his skin in thanks.

While mother nature wailed outside, here, a quiet storm brewed between them, one rife with the potential of what could be.

He wasn’t sure who stepped closer first, but their lips met in a chaste kiss all the same.

A flash of lightning lit up the dim room as Frank deepened the kiss, licking into Bill’s mouth and swallowing his moan. An excited thrill ran through him when Bill walked him backward, pressing him into the wall, between the window and the grandfather clock. Emboldened, Frank grasped his hip, pulling them flush together as he broke away to bite along his neck.

A tiny, winded mewl wrenched from Bill’s throat at that, his breath hitching as Frank straddled his thigh, pressing his rapidly hardening cock against his.

“Ngh, Frank—shit, I…”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, I got ya,” he mumbled back, reaching out and cupping him through his jeans.

Another wounded sound escaped Bill as Frank latched onto his earlobe, nipping at it playfully.

“You are great at surviving, Bill,” he murmured into the flushed skin of his neck, reflecting on his impressive display these last few days. “But how are you at living?”

Bill could only offer another moan, his fingers digging into Frank’s hips so hard they were sure to leave bruises. That thought shot another bolt of arousal through him.

Forcing himself to break away, Frank's gaze trailed Bill’s face as he fought to catch his breath.

“What do ya say? Take me to bed?”

Something enigmatic passed over Bill’s face at that.

“Are my first aid skills really that impressive?”

Another surprised laugh escaped Frank at that.

“Hey, I’m not a whore who has sex for medical attention, either,” he quipped, raking through Bill’s hair and tugging in such a way he had been learning he liked. “But I gotta admit, that sexy lumberjack routine you pulled today has had me half hard since lunch.”

Bill looked absolutely stunned at that piece of information, so Frank took that opportunity to begin walking him backward, out towards the stairs.

“Come on, Paul Bunyan. Show me what ya got.”

~*~

The storm broke a few hours later, just in time for the early-morning sun to peek out through the clouds and into the bedroom. It was that sliver of light that had Frank stirring awake, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Good morning.”

He felt a pleased smile spread across his face as he glanced to his left to find Bill looking down at him, eyes still a little soft with sleep.

“Good morning.”

They watched each other for a beat, drinking each other in before slowly, gently, leaning in for a kiss, morning breath be damned. And somehow, despite having had sex not six hours ago, this touch felt more intimate, more loaded.

It had Frank’s heart hammering in his ears. It had the potential to be even tender if they let it.

Oh, no. You’re in trouble, Frankie boy.

“I have coffee brewing. And the chickens laid some fresh eggs.”

Big, big trouble.

“Sounds great,” he forced himself to croak back, trying and failing to shove down the fond feeling growing in his chest.

With that, Bill nodded and got out of bed, making his way toward the door. It was when he reached out to the handle that Frank called to him softly, halting him in his tracks.

“If it’s still okay with you, I’d like to take up your offer of staying a few more days.”

Slowly, Bill turned and met his gaze.

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, his eyes crinkling at the edges as a tiny, gentle smile graced his face. “A few more days…”

In the end, it was 8,547 more good days, bad days, fun days, boring days, terrifying days, beautiful days, and everything else in between. But even with the whole world gone to hell, neither one of them would sacrifice a single one.

“I’m old. I’m satisfied. And you were my purpose…”

#the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou #bill x frank #my fanfiction #i'm still sobbing over bill and frank like the rest of the internet here's how i tried to deal with it

36 notes · View notes