#Quiet reader

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ LOVE AND MERCY !

summary: you're more stubborn than the apocalypse. eric is the personification of a sad, wet dog. your world's collide when the world as you know it ends. (6.3k)

pairing: eric (a quiet place day one) / f!reader

contents: strangers to friends to lovers, a couple of losers in love, apocalyptic setting, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of grief and anxiety, brief mentions of injuries, and smut 18+

You wake up that morning in a bed that is not yours, in a room that does not belong to you, in an abandoned cabin you turned into a safe house three weeks ago.

Everything around you is foreign. Including the world outside these rotted walls, which turned entirely on its head in a blink. A blink that somehow turned into three months gone.

The only thing familiar to you now is the stranger lying in the bed beside you — on the right side that he has wordlessly claimed as his own. Before Eric was a guy you shared beds with, he was a guy you found in the rain. A boy with big, wet, puppy dog eyes who followed you like a stray after the world fell.

That was all he was to you for a month straight. A burden. Deadweight. An ever-anxious being that had nearly gotten you killed more times than you could count. You never saw him any differently until you almost died — a certain death involving you, an old beartrap, several aliens with uber-sensitive hearing, and a stupid boy who was too dumb to leave you behind. 

“I can’t leave you,” Eric blubbered through tears, whimpering in faint whispers so the blind monsters wouldn’t hear. “I won’t.”

“Then you won’t make it at all, you idiot,” you spat through gritted teeth, eyes wide and stern and glittering. You wouldn’t let yourself cry, not even with your leg all but torn to shreds, but Eric’s sudden stubbornness scared you. Why now? Of all times? you thought to yourself, Why does he have to be so stubborn now?

“I wouldn’t want to,” Eric promised, bloodied hands trembling where they gripped your arms. “I wouldn’t want to make it without you.”

That was a month or so ago, but you carry the horrors of that day still. 

In the vivid nightmares that rattle your bones. In the marred skin of your ankle, hidden beneath bandages, slowly healing with each passing day. And in the strange boy with puppy dog eyes who still hasn’t left your side.

Let me check your leg, Eric scribbles on a notepad. 

His handwriting is slanted and small and hardly legible — fitting for a man whose mind is always racing faster than he can keep up. 

The marker is fading slowly, too, dying from excessive use because the majority of your conversations are spoken through written words on a page. You’ve gone through a notebook or three already.

You snatch the notepad from his grip to write a response of your own. Eric peels the tattered blanket from your body to survey the gauze around your ankle. He peeks beneath the bandage, and his chest pinches at the sight — not because of his sensitive stomach, but because of the harsh reminder of the day he almost lost you.

The paper swishes faintly when you turn the notebook back to him. Okay, Dr. Eric :P, you’ve written in sloppy cursive. The boy grins at the mischievous look in your eyes.

“That’s Doctor Eric Esquire to you,” he corrects in a whisper that makes his accent sound more posh than usual. He smooths the gauze back into place with a gentle hand and says, “You’re healing fine, I think. I’ll have to go out and scavenge for more bandages soon, but these should last for another…”

The sounds of your rapid scribbling fill the quiet cabin. Eric trails off in wait, wide eyes darting from the marker in your hand to the pinched look of concentration on your face. 

He sees a strange sort of giddiness sparking in your otherwise serious features that makes him fearful. Intrigued, yes, but still distantly fearful. All your ideas tend to get him into trouble.

The notebook turns to him again. His stomach does a backflip.

Wanna go on an adventure?

“This is… Not what I was expecting,” Eric muses beneath the sounds of a rushing waterfall. 

His words echo slightly in the expanse of the dank cave. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice in full volume, deep and accented and smooth. His pretty whispering annoyed you to no end back when he was just a stranger with exactly zero survival instincts. Now, you never want him to stop talking.

“Well, that’s why it’s an adventure,” you lilt, wiping water from your brow with the neck of your t-shirt. 

Your clothes stick to you in places where the waterfall had splashed you on your way underneath it. The still air of the cave, strangely cool compared to the humid air outside of it, makes you fight back a shiver.

Eric eyes you from a distance, features swirled in a quiet concern. It’s impossible to relish in this little ounce of peace when you have the kind of mind he does — the kind of mind that’s always anxious and always filled with thoughts of you. 

He cares so much for you, far more than he planned to, that it’s made him chronically fearful. He’s grown to realize, since he met you, that the two words are rather synonymous. You can’t have love without fear — and what is there to be fearful for, if not for the ones you love?

“Your bandages really shouldn’t be getting wet, you know?”

You scoff and limp further into the damp hollow. The quiet sound of your steps reverberates within the stone walls, along with the subtle scuffing of your bad foot. “You said I was healing okay, remember?” you huff and drop the basket in your elbow onto the cobblestone.

“I said you were healing fine,” Eric chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s a difference.”

“Not really,” you shrug with a scrunched nose, flashing him a fleeting glance over your shoulder. You turn away again and wince at the distant ache in your ankle when you crouch. 

Sometimes the scars hurt like they’re still fresh, still weeping scarlet and throbbing like a new wound. Eric’s not a doctor, but he tells you that it’ll probably be that way forever. “Phantom pains, I think they call it,” he says in a posh accent that makes him sound more official than he really is. You’re inclined to believe him, anyway.

The boy watches as you sort through the wicker basket you stole — or borrowed, as you claim, “’cause it’s not like the owner’s coming back for it anytime soon.” It’s full of stuff you wouldn’t let him see, like it was some kind of big secret. 

He grimaces when you squat, putting unnecessary weight on a barely healing leg. He knows it hurts, even when you pretend it doesn’t — especially when you pretend it doesn’t. His chest pinches like the ache is his own. Like sympathy pains or something. He worries so much for you that you’ve given him fucking sympathy pains.

“We shouldn’t have left,” Eric agonizes, wiping a pair of anxious hands down his face. He swipes his fingers through his hair and finds the chestnut curls now partially damp. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. I mean, what if we have to run, huh? What if we have to—”

“We won’t,” you groan as you stand to full height again. You hold an old quilt in one arm and gesture wildly with the other. “That’s what the waterfall is for. They can’t hear us under here. Nothing’s coming.”

He knows you’re right, but it doesn’t worry him any less.

“How’d you even know this was out here?”

You falter for a moment. A mere blink of a second. But Eric catches it immediately because there isn’t anything about you he doesn’t instantly notice. He’s rarely ever seen you, his silver-tongued girl, so ambivalent. And something about it frightens him.

“I was… on a walk one day… while you were out scavenging—” you answer slowly, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal at all, though you immediately follow it with, “—Don’t get angry.”

Eric’s pink mouth falls softly agape, opening and closing like a fish’s might, while he tries to find the words to say. To shout. To scream. 

“Y-You... You— You left without me?” he stammers, voice booming. 

The words ring across the expanse of the shallow cave, bouncing off the damp stone walls. It’s the loudest he’s heard himself talk since the world ended, and the notion startles him. Like a dog just learning how to bark.

Eric’s breath hitches in his throat as his dark eyes widen in fear. He waits instinctively for the screeching of far-off monsters and their booming footsteps — prepares for an adrenaline rush that’ll give his weak arms the strength to carry both of you to safety.

It never comes. 

The sounds of the waterfall shield you from the war raging outside of it. 

When the panic passes, the anger resumes.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” Eric agonizes, quieter now, though the corner of his lip twitches with withheld anger. 

You keep your back to the boy and lay out the contents of the wicker basket. A floral quilt to cushion the stone flooring, two bottles of wine to share between you, several bags of stale chips, and one MP3 player that’s somehow stronger than the end of the world. You pay Eric no mind as he continues to rant behind you.

“What if you’d gotten killed? What if— What if you got lost and I couldn’t find you—?!”

“Don’t shout!” you gripe despite your own booming voice. 

“Why not?” Eric questions with a cynical laugh. “I thought nothing could hear us under here?”

You spin back around to face him, grimacing slightly when your healing wounds start to burn. You tilt your chin in a look of defiance, though your eyes sparkle faintly in the dim natural light — something mischievous and strangely shy. 

“I don’t want you to shout because I put a lot of effort into this,” you answer in a steady voice, lips quirking in a distant smile. “And we can’t enjoy it if you’re gonna be grumpy the entire time.”

Eric blinks at you for several long moments, brown eyes wide like an owl. Only then does he notice what you’d set up for him in the brief minutes he’d been blinded by his anger. A picnic of sorts — fashioned with a moth-eaten quilt, dusty wine bottles, and snacks you’d scavenged and seemingly stashed like a squirrel. It’s about as fancy as you can get in an apocalypse.

His mouth opens and closes again, this time in a quiet sort of shock. “Wh… What?”

“Well, you kinda spent your entire birthday taking care of me, so… I figured we were past due for a celebration.”

Eric’s brows pinch together. A furrow of deep thought settles between them. 

He realizes he hadn’t thought twice about his birthday till now. Hadn’t thought twice about turning another year older, just like he hadn’t thought twice about needing to be repaid for taking care of you. He did both things without thinking. He can’t control his urge to dote on you like he can’t control the existential dread of getting older.

“How’d you know it was my birthday?”

“‘Cause you told me once,” you shrug. “And I keep track of the days in my calendar, so—”

“So, you’re saying that… That you did all this...” the man laughs, gesturing to the cave and the waterfall and the wine. “For me?”

A similar-sounding laugh sputters from your own mouth ‘cause you do it all for him. From going on stupid picnics to fighting monsters from another planet. Everything you’ve done up until this point, you realize now, you’ve done for Eric. You keep on living despite the unfavorable odds for Eric.

“Of course I did. It’s not that big of a deal,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest to shield your bleeding heart. “I mean, you kinda saved my life. The least I can do is take you on a stupid fucking picnic.”

When you turn around again to ease yourself onto the blanket, Eric tries to make out the words to thank you. Not just for what you’ve done here, but for what you’ve done all the days since he found you. Because you’ve saved his life too, more times than he could count, actually — ‘cause that’s just what you do. You save each other and don’t think twice about it because that’s what you do when you care for someone.

He forgot all about birthdays and picnics and what it meant to be alive before he found you. And now that you’re here, you spend every single day reminding him of everything the end of the world begs him to forget.

“I’m— I’m sorry… I’m sorry for shouting at you,” Eric stammers in a sheepish murmur, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I know,” you nod, smiling as you pat the spare spot beside you. “Now stop being weird and come sit down.”

The wine is warm, the chips are stale, and the quilt just barely cushions the hard ground beneath you — but everything’s still somehow perfect. Your MP3 player is almost as old as you are and cracked down the middle, but the music plays just perfectly from its headphones, anyway. 

Maybe it’s perfect ‘cause it’s not perfect. 

Or maybe it’s perfect because you’re here.

You sit side-by-side on the handmade blanket, legs crossed and knees brushing, as you share an earbud between you. Conversation ebbs and flows between snacking. Music fills the silence.

I was sittin’ in a crummy movie with my hands on my chin,

All the violence that occurs, seems like we never win...

Eric tips his head back to down the rest of the cheesy crumbs in the package he holds in a pale fist. His scruffy cheeks jut like a chipmunk as he chews through the mouthful. “I missed this, you know?” he mumbles.

You set the wine bottle beside you after taking a lengthy sip, licking the bitter-sweet grape from your lips. “What?” you wonder aloud. “The wine? The Cheetos? The music?”

The boy goes quiet as he ponders the question. He figures he was talking about you, mostly — this sort of connection between humans, this sort of comfort, this sort of normalcy. The music answers your question in his silence.

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

He nods anyway. “All of the above, actually…”

“You know what I miss?” you wonder beneath the rustling of the Scooby Snacks you dig your hand into. You chuck a cartoon bone into your mouth and find the graham-cracker components have gone soft with time. “I miss driving down backroads… going way faster than what’s probably allowed… with the windows down and the radio all the way up…”

Eric watches the far-off look in your eyes as you stare, unblinking, at the waterfall ahead of you. Clear water rushes from the mountain and falls hard onto the cobbles and the still water below. Rogue drops splatter inside the shallow cave, occasionally splashing you with fat droplets.

The running waterfall cast fleeting shadows over your face, littered now with faint scars. Your features are much softer than he’s used to in the natural light.

“I miss college parties,” he confesses, wiping his palms on his knees.

You wash the dry graham cracker out with another sip of wine and try not to laugh as you swallow it down.

“Why’s that funny?” Eric wonders through his own chuckle, only partially offended.

“I don’t know… I guess I just didn’t take you for a partier.”

“I wasn’t really…” he concedes with a shy shrug, gaze averted and cheeks pink. “But I was a really big fan of karaoke.”

“Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Eric humors with a scrunched nose.

You tilt your head back to laugh — a pretty, airy sound that echoes within the cobbled walls, only partially drowned out beneath the rushing waterfall. You shift closer toward him when you’re upright again, probably without realizing, but Eric notices. He can’t help but notice everything you do. And he can’t help but lean instinctively closer to you, too.

He can smell the natural scent of you beneath the various surrounding ones — of freshwater, pine, and whatever cologne was spritzed on your shirt before you found it. He can smell the sweet wine on your breath, too, and he quickly realizes that you’re close enough to kiss. If only he weren’t so chicken shit.

The proximity makes his cheeks flush, though you’re not nearly as fazed by it.

“I forgot what that felt like…” you muse in a quiet voice of disbelief.

Eric smiles so hard his eyes squint. “What?”

“I don’t know… just, like, happiness? I guess?” you laugh. “I used to think that was impossible before now.”

“Yeah… Me too.” 

The conversation lulls for a moment. The music playing in your ears takes over: 

—I was standing at a bar and watching all the people there…

All the loneliness in this world, well, it’s just not fair…

You cage your smile between your teeth in a feeble attempt to conceal how wide it’s grown. Your eyes are wide and sparkling, likely from the wine, as they flit between both of his darker ones. Eric exhales a breathy chuckle in response, all giddy and nervous for a reason he can’t name (probably from the wine, too, if he had to guess).

He feels himself leaning in to kiss you before he realizes it. He only catches himself when you pull unknowingly away, reaching again for the glass bottle at your side. His heart drops to his swirling stomach as his cheeks flare a deep pink.

“I’m glad you followed me like a creep for a week straight, you know that?” you confess with a teasing squint in your eyes as you bring the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

Eric scoffs at the memory, which feels like yesterday and ancient history all at once.

He was by himself when the world first fell — a stranger in a strange country, and the loneliest he’d ever been in his life. And, perhaps, the most scared, too. 

Then, all of a sudden, he sees this girl rush out of an alleyway and into a monster-infested street to save a dog from an otherwise unavoidable death. Eric watched from a distance as you returned the scared pup to its owners — a very young couple cowering behind a car, not that much older than you. 

You pointed them in the direction of a military base setting up camps for civilians then went the opposite way. Away from guaranteed protection. Like the safest hands were your own. 

Eric made the quick decision to follow you as you went. He figured if you were brave enough to save some dog that wasn’t yours, and stare death directly in the face while you did it, then you could do just about anything.

He didn’t know, then, that he was making the best decision he’d ever made in his life.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t pummel me in the face for following you like a creep.”

“I should’ve,” you quip. “But I liked your company too much, I guess…”

“Liked?” the boy parrots, laughing loudly at the turn of phrase. “Is this your way of saying you’re finally tired of me?”

You roll your eyes and hide your smirk behind the neck of the wine bottle. “Do you think I would’ve done all this shit if I wasn’t the least bit fond of you, Eric?”

The question is rhetorical, but you expect a lighthearted quip from the British boy anyway. Your words seem to settle something heavy on him, though. It’s the very first time you’ve admitted out loud, without a shred of sarcasm, how much you really care for him. 

Eric forgets to say anything at all. The cave fills with a loud silence. The steady drumming of the waterfall and the whisper of rustling trees. Strangely peaceful for the end of the world. 

“Wanna know something wild?” he asks you after a few long moments. His accent makes the words sound heavy on his tongue. Your brows raise to egg him on, and he continues, stumbling over himself in the process. “I’m… I’m not happy the world ended, but… I am— I am glad that it brought me you.”

Your breath catches. It’s the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you, you think. Way deeper than any measly ‘I love you.’ And how are you meant to respond to that? To his confession that the end of the world was worth finding you? There’s no string of words in the English language that could possibly compare to that.

Eric waits for your response with bated breath. He hopes for an affirmation of your similar affection, of course, but a rejection would be better than nothing at all. He blinks at you with hopeful chocolate eyes, then flinches away when you laugh.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, giggling, as you reach suddenly for his face.

You cradle his scruffy jaw between warm and gently calloused hands, pulling him into you with an admirable effortlessness. You kiss him like it’s natural to you — like he was never just a stranger — like you’ve spent entire lifetimes kissing him.

You take the breath from his lungs with little effort. Eric tips his head back and sighs when you swipe your tongue along his chapped bottom lip. The exhaled breath fans across your cupid’s bow, and you smile against his mouth as you clamor gracelessly into his lap — straddling his lean hips and pressing your beating heart to his. 

The earbuds fall carelessly to the ground, and the fading song plays muffedly from beside you:

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

Your mouths click when they part, a subtle sound beneath the drumming waterfall behind you. Your eyes are heavy and lidding as they fall to Eric’s kissed mouth — now a rosier shade, gently swollen, and shining with your spit. A stamp of ownership, almost, that makes your chest swell with pride.

Eric looks up at you with big, wet eyes as his hands fidget on either side of your waist. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages,” he confesses in a low murmur.

A small smile quirks faintly at the edges of your mouth. “Could you maybe say something that’s not super cliché?” you tease.

“How about… I really, really want to kiss you again?” Eric offers in a honeyed tone that makes his accent heavier. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “And that I… I wanna make you feel good?”

You cage your bottom lip between your teeth to hide your smile. Your fingertips are calloused and cold as they toy with the curls at the nape of his neck — tiny chestnut strands coiled in perfect ringlets. Eric fights back a shiver.

“Then I’d say that…” you begin with a mischievous lilt to your voice, wild eyes flitting from his pink lips to his watery eyes. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages.”

You part from him then, taking the warmth of your body with you as you sit on your knees across from him. The rugged ground is hardly cushioned by the thin quilt. You can vaguely feel small rocks digging into your skin, but your need for him is much louder. 

You cross your arms in front of yourself to swipe your t-shirt over your head. You toss the discarded fabric carelessly beside you, then work at the buttons of your jeans — also borrowed, and just a half-size too big for you. 

Eric watches with his heart in his throat. It’s the most naked you’ve ever been in front of him before. The sight of your bare skin, covered now only in the sports bra you’ve had since the world ended, makes his head swim. It takes him a moment too long to realize he should be undressing, too, and he rushes to catch up.

The two of you undress yourselves in relative silence. The sight is hardly as sexy as you’d expect — full of fumbling limbs far too eager to be graceful. Eric’s shirt gets stuck on his chin. Your jeans get caught at your ankle. The tense lull between you ebbs into a symphony of entwining giggles.

With your clothes scattered in abandoned piles, you lay back against the blanket. Eric settles on top of you with a strange sort of effortlessness — like it’s muscle memory to him, even though neither of you has done this for a long, long while — much less with each other. 

The weight of his body is warm and heavy over yours. You slide your hands under his arms and curl them over his freckled shoulders, digging your nails softly into his pale skin to pull him further into you. 

You watch with heavily lidded eyes as Eric brings his hand to his mouth. He slides his pointer and middle finger between his lips, wetting the pads of them with his tongue. You exhale a deep breath when the limbs come out again, glittering in the low light. 

He studies your features with a dark and unwavering stare as he slips his fingers between the lips of your pussy — tracing the velvety lips for a moment before easing them slowly inside. Your eyes flutter shut at the foreign feeling. Eric smiles to himself, wrist flexing, as he explores your silky cunt with his fingers. 

“Please fuck me,” you sigh when his palm bumps your swollen clit. Your head tips back as your hips buck upward, all but melting under his touch. “Please.”

It takes Eric a moment or more to formulate a response. You’ve never been so subservient like this before, so needy for him. This must be the eighth wonder of the world, he thinks to himself, as he continues to work you open with unworthy hands.

“Have to get you ready for me first,” he tells you, voice and low gritty, as he exhales a breathy chuckle that fans across your jaw. “Don’t wanna break you, honey.”

You manage a scoff in response. “Well, that’s very presumptuous of you— oh…”

Eric crooks his fingers until the tips of them brush a spongy depth inside you. Your mouth falls agape at the feeling, so foreignly full beneath him. His spit-slick lips curl into a lazy smirk. “That shut you up, didn’t it?”

You would’ve spit a snide remark back at him if his thumb hadn’t pressed so mercilessly to your delicate clit then. The words dissolve like dust on your tongue and escape only as a breathy moan. 

Eric continues his relentless pursuit with nothing but two of his fingers. Relentless, you think,because he’s hardly trying to make you cum now. You’re not sure if he’s just oblivious to how good he’s making you feel, or if he’s pushing you to the edge and jerking you back on purpose. It’s agony either way.

He only stops when his pointer and middle finger start to prune, the pads of them softly wrinkled from your honey. He wipes them off on the quilt like a total barbarian. You would’ve said something about that, too, if you weren’t still trying to catch your breath.

Eric rises to his knees. His bare chest, dusted with sparse hair over the sternum, rises and falls with uneven pants. His cock hangs heavy between his spread thighs — half-hard, glowing red, and leaking faintly at the tip. His wide hands are softer than your own as they smooth up and down the length of your thighs. His thumbs rub soothingly over the supple insides of them — with a touch almost as gentle as the melted chocolate gaze he looks at you with. 

“Are you alright?” he wonders, all quiet and suddenly shy, like you aren’t all but dripping for him now.

“You’re so annoying,” you gripe with a scoffed-out laugh, rolling your eyes because you’re certain he’s teasing you. Your stomach sinks when the genuine glimmer in his eyes doesn’t waver. You squirm beneath him and his unyielding gaze. “I’m okay, Eric,” you murmur sheepishly, never easily serious.

He nods to himself and swallows hard, still visibly unsure. It makes you wonder if he’s second-guessing. “Stop staring and kiss me, you asshole,” you grouse with a forced laugh, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

Eric’s mouth quirks in an absentminded smile. “Just let me look at you for a second…” he whispers, squeezing the outsides of your thighs with warm hands.

“We don’t have to whisper anymore, dummy,” you tease in a hushed tone of your own.

His grin widens until his eyes wrinkle at the edges and his tongue pokes softly through his teeth. He laughs despite himself and grips his heavy cock in his fist. “You’re so mean, you know that?” he asks, folding your knee back with his free hand. You’re not sure if he’s expecting a real response, but he slips into you before you can give him one.

He fucks into you slow — bitterly, painfully, and agonizingly slow — forcing you to feel every inch of him. His cock is of average length, but girthy enough to stretch you open. You’re suddenly grateful he thought to use his fingers on you despite your impatience, but the two of them alone hardly equate to how thick he is.

Both of you inhale sharply when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, neither exactly used to the feeling. Eric allows you a moment or more to adjust before sliding out again. You exhale softly together in entwining moans that get lost beneath the sounds of a raging waterfall.

Eric thrusts into you again with gritted teeth, trying not to whimper too loudly when your pussy clenches around him. He bends at the waist to hide his face in your neck and exhales all his pathetic moans there. 

He keeps one hand clenched into a fist on the blanket to prop up his weight; his other slides beneath your head to cushion your skull from the hard ground. You grip the boy by his flexing biceps, digging your nails into the skin every time he thrusts into you. Jaw clenched, nose scrunched, eyes squinted — you take his cock without complaint despite the very loud feeling that it’s all too much for you.

Eric is everywhere, and the notion alone overwhelms you. He’s in you, on top of you, all over you. Like the air you breathe. You need him just the same. Not because he’s your friend but because you’re scared you might seriously die without him. 

It’s dramatic at best. At worst, it’s the exact opposite feeling you should have for anyone in the apocalypse, where death is essentially promised for both of you.

Tears prick your eyes at the thought, though you’d rather blame them on Eric’s merciless thrusts. They’re sloppy and unmeasured as he struggles to find a rhythm. He’s similarly overwhelmed by the pleasure. You can tell by the way his body trembles over yours, and the way he buries loud moans into your pulsepoint. You can feel the vibrations of each moan in your veins. 

The way you’re pinned beneath him cages your clit between your bodies. Every time Eric’s lean hips thrust upward and back again, the coarse thatch of hair above his cock brushes your sensitive button. You couldn’t free yourself from it if you tried. You’re not sure if you even want to.

“This is good for you, right?” Eric wonders through heavy pants, voice wavering under the weight of his pleasure. “Please tell me this is good for you.”

Any other time, you would’ve laughed at him, but now you only nod. Rapidly and with your jaw clenched tight. Just as pathetic as he is. 

“’S good,” you promise through gritted teeth as the coil in the pit of your stomach starts to tighten. “It’s so good, Eric. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

The affirmation makes him moan. Loudly. Enough for you to be momentarily grateful for the cover of the rumbling waterfall. Eric buckles down over you and strengthens his rapid, irregularly timed thrusts with a feeble cry. 

Your own whine rumbles in your throat, falling from your mouth like honey. Your warm skin, now slick with a layer of sweat, begins to buzz. The need for release builds like a dam within you — somewhere deep, right where the tip of Eric’s cock fucks into you. 

Your thighs start to tremble on either side of his waist. Your hips begin to buck despite yourself. You can’t be sure if you’re running from the pleasure now, or chasing it entirely.

“You gotta cum, baby,” Eric tells you through a pitiful whine, face still tucked into your neck. He licks his lips and starts to babble: “I can’t— I’m too close— I need you to cum before I do, baby— Need you to cum right now— Fuck.”

“Is your idea of dirty talk always this pathetic?” you would’ve joked if you weren’t already cumming for him. 

Your mouth falls agape in a silent moan as your head tips back into his palm. Your back arches as you reach the height of your pleasure, pussy fluttering through every wave of it. 

Eric fucks you the entire way through your orgasm — despite your nails biting crescent shapes into his shoulders, despite your velvety cunt tightening around him, despite the very overwhelming feeling that he might burst entirely.

Only when your body goes lax does he pull out of you. 

The empty feeling makes you whimper. Your weeping pussy clenches around nothing while Eric jerks himself off. You can’t see him, but you can feel his wrist moving in rapid motions between your legs. 

A groan rumbles deep in his throat as he tenses on top of you. His still body goes rigid. Something warm and wet spits on your inner thigh a second later — a heavy load of his pearly white cum, which he gives you three of before he’s milked himself dry.

Eric collapses on top of you when he’s officially spent. He forgets to hold up his weight, and you deliberately decide not to remind him. You let the man soak in the waves of his pleasure while you strain to reach the wicker basket at your side — struggling for a moment to find the handful of napkins at the very bottom, then using them to wipe up the mess on your thigh.

“Ah, shit,” Eric curses when he notices (his mess or his weight, you can’t quite tell). He sniffles and rolls off of you. “Sorry…”

Your head whips in his direction. You find his face all flushed, glowing red along the apples of his cheeks and the very tip of his nose. His eyes are big and wet, too, glassy like he might cry. 

Buzzing with concern, you rise to your knees, watching intently as Eric reaches for your discarded pile of clothes. You set them aside when he passes them to you and hold his face in your hands instead. His stubble scratches at your delicate palms. Your wide eyes sparkle with concern as they dart over his teary features.

“Hey… Hey, what happened?” you agonize. “Are you okay?”

Eric laughs at himself, then sniffles again as he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah… So much for not being cliché, right?” he jokes.

“What happened?” you repeat, giggling this time at his crooked smile.

“Nothing,” he assures, shrugging his freckled shoulders. “I just… I’m just really happy, I guess…”

Your tight chest deflates with a sigh of relief as you nod in response. “Yeah… I am, too.”

Eric’s grin widens at your confession. His cheeks speckle a rosy color, like he’s pleasantly surprised by the response — as if his softening cock isn’t still sparkling with a mixture of your cum. 

You meet his smile with a scowl, rolling your eyes as you shove playfully at his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that,” you grumble and turn away from him, reaching for your clothes. 

Your body looms over him as you stand, putting very little weight on your scarred leg. You bend at the waist to tug your underwear up your thighs.

Eric shoves his boxers on with a cheeky grin. “I’m really glad I found you, you know that, right? Even though you’re mean to me all the time?”

You scoff and drag your sports bra over your torso, yanking it at the hem to pull it over your breasts. “I’m happy you found me, too, stalker,” you respond in a monotone that would otherwise suggest the opposite. But Eric catches you smiling when you reach beside him for your shirt and knows you really mean it. 

“You love me,” he insists playfully, right before stealing a kiss from you. 

His lips only manage to brush the corner of your mouth in his haste, but he grins wide about it anyway. Your face screws like you weren’t begging him to fuck you ten minutes ago, as you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand.

“You’re disgusting…” he hears you mumbling as you turn away, tugging your shirt over your head. 

But he knows what you really mean.

[ericshoney]

Quiet Girl ~ Brothers!Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: Your a quiet person, sometimes opting to not talk at all, but your brothers check in on you regularly.

Warnings: usual swearing, nicknames

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

You loved getting the chance to hang out with your brothers, either it being in Boston, or LA. Spending free time with them was special, especially since they were busy with their careers.

You were also very similar to your brothers, many fans compared you to each of them regularly, the only big difference was how quiet you were. You were a lot quieter than Matt, sometimes didn't even talk at all, but that didn't stop your brothers from caring or checking up on you.

You were sat at the kitchen table doing some of your online school work. After Nick, Matt and Chris got more popular online, you started to struggle in school, people harassing you, so your parents decided online would be best and that way you could visit the guys in LA too, which you were doing right now.

"Hey kid, you okay?" Chris asked as he walked in.

"Yeah." You replied shortly.

"Whatcha up to?" He asked, taking a seat next to you.

"Work." You answered.

"Need any help?" He offered.

You nodded as he tried his best to help you. Matt and Nick both walked in from their rooms and laughed slightly, seeing you hitting Chris' arm.

"See this is going well." Matt mumbled.

"I was trying to help!" Chris exclaimed.

"How about you take a break and we go out?" Nick suggested, gently closing your laptop.

"Okay, where?" You asked quietly.

"Where do you want to go?" Matt asked.

"Um, happy ice!" You exclaimed, making them smile. Your shouting was like Matt's regular voice.

You all then got into the car, Matt driving to happy ice. You sat quietly just enjoying the view, Chris and Nick singing to the music from the AUX, which made you smile.

After getting through the LA traffic, you all arrived at your destination. You jumped out the car and walked besides Nick, listening him rant on about the last time he came here.

"And the worker was so fucking rude! Like he clearly had a people problem." He rambled on, making you giggle.

"What flavour do you want, sweetheart?" Matt asked you as you walked in.

"Umm." You started, looking at all the flavours, but it was slightly overwhelming. You knew your brothers wouldn't make you order for yourself, but too many good choices was hard.

"That one." You finally said, pointing to your favourite flavour.

Matt nodded and told Nick, who was ordering for all four of you. You stood behind him, just looking around. You then felt a tap on your shoulder and looked up to see Chris.

"You okay?" He questioned.

You nodded and gave him a smile, to which he returned, before you all got your sweet treats. You walked around eating them, the guys talking about random stuff as you listened in. You were happy to spend some time with your brothers, even if you didn't add to the conversation much.

[cyberkitty1]

RAFE CAMERON X OPPOSITE READER

you’ve always been his polar opposite; quiet, soft spoken, the type to avoid conflict like it’s your full time job. you have no idea how you’ve stayed friends this long, but somehow it works.

he’s like your own personal chaos generator, pulling you into adventures you’d never go to on your own. like tonight, when he shows up at your door unannounced, grinning like he’s up to no good (per usual).

“let’s go,” he says, leaning casually against your doorframe.

you blink at him clutching the blanket you were very much planning to stay under all night. “go where?”

“to watch the meteor shower,” he replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

you hesitate, glancing down at your pajama pants. “rafe, it’s late and cold”

he rolls his eyes but steps inside, completely ignoring the fact that you haven’t technically invited him in. “it’s not that cold,” he argues, grabbing a hoodie off the back of your couch and tossing it at you. “come on, you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

you mumble something about not regretting staying warm, but he’s already dragging you out the door.

you end up at some quiet spot by the water, the two of you sitting in the bed of his truck. he’s talking a mile a minute, pointing out random constellations and telling you random stories. one specifically about how his dad once tried to convince him shooting stars were alien spaceships.

you just nod and smile, your hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie, which is way too big for you. it smells like him, cologne and bonfires and you’re trying really hard not to think about it too much.

at some point, he notices how quiet you’ve gotten. “you okay?” he asks, turning to look at you.

you nod quickly, your cheeks heating up under his gaze. “yeah, just tired.”

he doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t press either. instead, he reaches over and tugs the hood up over your head. “there,” he says softly, his voice quieter than usual. “that should fix one problem.”

you laugh. “you’re so dumb.”

“yeah, but you love it,” he teases, bumping his shoulder against yours.

you don’t say anything, but your heart’s doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does when he’s being sweet. and when a shooting star finally streaks across the sky, you can’t help but glance over at him instead of the sky, thinking that maybe you don’t need to make a wish after all.

a/n - i’m locking in trust

[ssturniolo]

chris x like quieter/calmer reader

but i feel like chris wouldnt be that chaotic irl as he is in car videos i feel like it’s just bc he’s w his brothers so like he’s less like energetic but still like silly😛

(help i feel like that makes no sense)

Chris x quiet reader headcanons

𝔴𝔞𝔯��𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 - kissing? I think that’s it 💋

- Your one of the only people Chris let’s see his soft side, and he feels like he can tell you anything.

- whenever you’re in a car video or vlog, Chris is noticeably calmer and more careful of what he says (bc the fans are crazy asf)

- He’s constantly bringing you out of your comfort Zone without pushing boundaries

- He’ll sit in silence next to you while you read or do something just so he can be around you

- Chris is actually so sweet and kind, he’s just a little bit extra crazy with his brothers

- Movie night dates with cuddles and snacks

- Being quiet doesn’t necessarily mean you’re shy, it just means you’d rather not add to the conversation all of the time and just observe

- You’re not ALWAYS quiet and feel safe to be 100% yourself around him

- Chris will say/do the littlest things just to make you blush and get all flustered

Pulling you close and giving you a big ole’ smooch in public

Checking up on you during videos -> “doin alright back there ma?” As he reaches his hand back to hold yours

“How’s my girl doin?”

Constant cheek and neck kisses whether people are around or not💋

- Chris would never put you in a bad situation and has your best interest at heart always 🫶🏻

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

Love you guys sm 🫶🏻

XOXO - Zoe

Tag-list ⬇️

@dwntwn-strnlo @soleilsturniolos @mbbsgf @gabbylovesreading @0-r-a-y-0 @sturn3g1rl @lvrsparadise @taylorssfilmsss @emssturniolo @ilovemattsturn @nickenthusiast @itsaaliyah2 @thetriplets3 @urfavstromboli

[a-reverii]

▸ WRITTEN IN THE STARS⌇regulus black.

› pairing ━ ꒰ regulus black x shy!reader ꒱

› in which ━ ꒰ two almost-strangers meet one another by coincidence, and find that they may have more in common than they initially thought. ꒱

› content warning ━ ꒰ light flirting ; angst (?) ; basically no warnings. mainly just two people chatting. very slightly ooc regulus, ig (just has to do w/ his views), etc. ꒱

› word count ━ ꒰ 3 . 2k ꒱

━━ ( navigation ) ( masterlist ) ( request )

A YAWN PASSED THROUGH your tired lips as you gently laid yourself down onto your soft bed, slipping underneath the covers as to protect yourself from the cold air of your dormitory. Your eyes fluttered shut as you awaited for a peaceful slumber to consume you — one that never did.

It was rather impressive — impressively idiotic, that is, that you could spend an entire day wishing that you were asleep, but once your body was given a comfortable bed and the silence needed to do so, you felt more awake than you ever had over the long course of the day.

It was for this very reason that you found yourself now sauntering about the halls of Hogwarts, a book held snuggly between your chest and your arms. It was already nearing midnight by the time you'd decided to leave your dorm, coming to the conclusion that, if you could not sleep, it was better to appreciate the night for what it was worth.

Though you were able to remain relatively quiet, the halls seemed to resound with the sound of your footsteps. You'd never been one for breaking rules. Even now, you found yourself pausing to listen for any sounds that would indicate the presence of another, in the case that a professor, too, was wandering the halls. Though it didn't make very much sense — after all, the teachers required just as much rest as the students — you were at times convinced that some of the professors never slept.

Not that you could blame them. There was no doubt that many of the students in Hogwarts were skilled in the art of troublemaking.

You hadn't even realized that you'd entered a classroom until you noticed the faint flickering of a candle's light, sending some of the shadows dancing along the walls. Moonlight bled in through the large window that occupied the majority of the tower's walls, casting a faint silver hue throughout the room. You'd entered the Astronomy Tower, and it seemed as though you were not alone.

Before you sat none other than the silver-eyed, raven-haired boy by the name of Regulus Black, his eyes trained on a novel in his hands.

You knew of Regulus. Though you'd seldom spoken to him outside of the context of classes, it was common knowledge that he was the younger brother of the notorious Sirius Black. He was a reserved boy, not unlike yourself, but a stark contrast to his brother, and exuded a certain coldness and respectability. You often noticed him reading in the library or even in the few classes the two of you shared, sitting by himself or with his small group of Slytherins.

"I haven't seen you up here before."

You jolted at the unexpected voice. Lost in your own thoughts, you had deliberately failed to notice that Regulus was no longer consumed by his book, and was instead staring directly at you.

"I'm — I'm sorry?"

"No one usually comes up here — not at this time, at least," the boy explained. "I didn't expect to have any company."

"O—oh." You replied, pursing your lips. "I could... leave, if you'd like?"

Regulus shrugged, his eyes returning to the pages of his book. "You don't seem like you'd be much of a bother."

You nodded, awkwardly looking back at your own book, not yet having decided where to sit. You were unsure if he wanted to continue talking with you or if he wanted to be left to his solitude, so, after some thought, you situated yourself some good distance across from Regulus, not so far that the two of you could not converse but not so close that you or he would feel compelled to do so.

"You're in my potions class."

Startled yet again by the sudden statement, you looked up from your novel to find Regulus watching you carefully.

"I am," you breathed.

Regulus nodded to himself thoughtfully, and you could swear that a ghost of a smile danced along his lips.

"I remember, now. Y/n, isn't it? Slughorn has a certain fondness for you. He complains of your absence at his dinner parties."

"He does?"

"Nearly every time."

You considered his words. "I've — I've never been very interested in the prospect of attending one. Are they... any good?"

"They're dreadful."

Your brows furrowed. "Why do you go, then?"

"My parents would never let me refuse such an opportunity."

You could understand this. You supposed the only reason you were able to spend your nights without Slughorn's presence was because you had never told your parents of the invitation in the first place. Though, you suspected that even if you had, you would still find some way to avoid the dinners. Social gatherings were never something you particularly fancied.

"That makes sense, I suppose."

The two of you maintained a prolonged eye-contact, before you inevitably looked away, deterred only by the impenetrable nature of his stare. You could feel, however, that Regulus's eyes did not falter from you, and you tried to ignore his piercing gaze by focusing on your novel.

"You're reading Pride and Prejudice?" Regulus then questioned after some time, one brow raising in what appeared to be curiosity.

"You know of it?"

"I've read some muggle literature. I haven't read it myself, but I most certainly have heard of Jane Austen."

"You've — you've read muggle literature?" You echoed, utterly bemused. Though you didn't normally assume such things, you'd never imagined that Regulus Black, known Slytherin and blood-purist, would find any interest in literature that was not written by someone of magical descent.

"When I find myself alone, yes, I occasionally give it the benefit of the doubt."

You stared at Regulus, quite nearly impressed.

"I don't believe I've ever heard of a pureblood that willingly reads non-magical literature, even fiction."

He offered you something akin to a half-smile. "Well, I am not as tasteless as the rest of my family. I don't believe one needs to be of magical descent to be skilled in the art of writing." He paused. "Speaking of, you know of them?"

"Well, I — everyone knows of the Blacks, don't they?"

Regulus shrugged. "I suppose they do."

A silence followed, and although a certain tension was present, the quiet was not entirely unbearable.

"Why have you come up here so late?" He asked you after a few beats.

"Couldn't sleep," you replied simply. "You?"

"I needed some time to think. I find that this tower is the perfect place to do so, when not filled to the brim with students and teachers."

You felt the beginnings of a smile tug at your lips. "It truly is."

Your eyes fixated upon the night sky, and a quietness settled oncemore.

Some idle conversation passed after this, coupled with even more silence, but the quiet was not unenjoyable. You’d always quite liked silences — they always made thinking much easier, but your appreciation of them seemed to be enhanced in the boy’s company, something you would have never suspected. To be fair, however, the mere fact that you had any company at this hour was something that you would have never guessed would happen.

"I should head back to my dorm," you then said, getting up in a rather abrupt manner. You did not know why you did so. You weren't yet tired, but you felt a sudden need to return to the safety of your bed — felt it suddenly and quite intensely.

“So soon?” Regulus didn’t seem too troubled by your potential departure despite his words, his eyes wandering over to the book in his hands and his expression so perfectly indifferent. You couldn’t tell exactly why, but you felt a certain sadness at the thought of him not caring, not that you could very much blame him if he didn't. He hardly knew you. 

“I just remembered that I have an exam in Herbology. I don’t want to be any more tired than I should be.”

The lie rolled easily enough past your tongue, but you knew that Regulus could tell that what you were saying was not the exact truth as he nodded and leaned against the wall, narrowing his eyes upon you for all but a moment before opening his book. 

You stared at him for perhaps a moment too long before you made your leave. 

“Wait.”

Your footsteps came to a halt just as you reached the doorway. You turned. 

“Come back,” Regulus said, and you felt your eyebrows knit together at the statement. “If — if you cannot sleep any other night, come back. Your company is not entirely intolerable, and I come up here nearly every night.”

It was a question in the form of a demand, and you could tell such by the way Regulus seemed to shift awkwardly in his spot, his eyes holding something indescribable behind them. Nervousness, perhaps. It was odd. No one had ever acted nervous around you before. 

“If I am ever particularly energetic,” you agreed, before disappearing into the hallway. 

* * *

You thought of that night for the rest of the week. 

Your mind mulled over every word spoken, every moment of silence that the two of you had shared. You had little idea of why this very interaction occupied your thoughts in such an obsessive manner. It was a mere coincidence that you had found and spoken to Regulus; nothing more. Still, some small part of you hoped it wasn’t. 

It was, in hindsight, rather foolish that you forgot that you and Regulus shared Herbology among other classes. When you lied, for some strange reason you were under the impression that Potions was your only class in common. 

If Regulus was angry or annoyed, he didn’t show it — only shot you some small, knowing smile when your eyes met that made your stomach turn. He did not make any effort to speak or interact with you, and this made you feel all the more guilty — you didn’t want to make him think that you disliked him in the slightest. If anything, his presence had been refreshing. 

Other than this, classes went on as they usually did: slowly, painfully. 

It wasn’t until the next week that you decided to return, figuring that the only remedy to what was now your inability to think of anything but school and of the Astronomy Tower was by returning to it. 

Your footsteps echoed throughout the room, quiet but loud all at once. 

You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that Regulus looked somewhat surprised at the sight of you. It was, perhaps, wishful thinking that he then smiled, but he was undoubtedly startled by your presence, and at this you felt a certain satisfaction. 

“Hi,” you greeted, not very sure of what else to say. You always found that interactions with just barely acquaintances and almost-friends were more difficult than those with strangers. A lack of familiarity was something that was in itself familiar to you, but a small amount of such was something you were much less used to. 

“Hello,” Regulus responded after a moment. “Trouble sleeping?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I could.”

Regulus nodded.

Though there was some initial awkwardness, it was soon mollified by a steady stream of conversation, ranging from topics that evolved from trivial things to what could have perhaps been considered philosophical discussions — not that you disliked this in the slightest. In fact, you were beyond glad to have someone to speak to on topics that transcended the simplicity of day-to-day life.

From that night on, you found yourself, much to your dismay, only thinking more of Regulus, of your discussions. However, you couldn't bring yourself to stop your visits. Instead, you allowed them to become part of your routine. Visiting Regulus soon became something you expected.

* * *

"Are you usually this quiet?"

Regulus's voice startled you out of your thoughts.

"Sorry?"

"Well, and I don't mean for you to take any offense, but you are awfully quiet. And considering my own nature, that's especially odd for me to say."

You pursed your lips. You'd always known yourself to be quiet, but remaining so made you the most comfortable. Besides, idle conversation and small talk had never been a fortitude of yours.

"I have a loud mind."

Regulus hummed at this, and your heart skipped a beat at his next words. "Would I hear it if I got closer?"

"Maybe.”

Regulus took a seat beside you and leaned against the wall, admiring the stars.

A silence ensued, one in which the two of you merely gazed at the stars, appreciating the way they flickered from bright to brighter, expertly illuminating the night sky.

"Are you any good at Astronomy?" Regulus then inquired, his voice piercing through the quiet.

"I like to think so. When I was... when I was young, I always wanted to learn about the stars." You sighed contently, bending your knees so that you could rest your chin against them. "Are you?"

"My parents didn't name me after a star with the expectation that I'd be bad at it."

You hummed in response, before you felt a smile curve your lips, and eventually your giggles filled the air.

"What?" Regulus asked, a bemused smile on his visage.

You allowed your laughter to dissipate before you spoke. "I'm sorry, it's just — I just realized that it's rather ironic, that your name is Regulus and you just so happen to be in the Astronomy tower this late at night, every night."

Regulus, at this, felt his smile grow, until peals of laughter too fell from his lips and danced with yours. He liked your laugh, he thought to himself.

It wasn't even something that was particularly funny. Ironic, yes, but nothing to warrant this fit of laughter from the both of you. You had, in all honesty, no true understanding of why this affected you so, but you mused that it may have had something to do with your company.

When your laughters finally quieted down, a comfortable silence settled, and you couldn't help but steal a glance at Regulus, at the way his eyes squinted and his lips curved so perfectly when he smiled — a true, unbridled smile. And for one brief, foolish moment, you mind toyed with the idea that he may have been one of the most beautiful boys you'd ever seen. You didn't allow the thought to mingle in your mind, however, as he opened his eyes and spoke.

"Do you not find it difficult, being by yourself so often?" Regulus then questioned suddenly, pausing.

"I — I see you in the halls or during feasts occasionally. You never seem to have very much company, or when you do, you never seem to be engaging in very much conversation."

He noticed you. You didn't know why you felt so struck by his sudden statement. Perhaps it was the question itself, one that you'd so often asked yourself, sitting in your dorm or in the library, so close yet so far from everyone else. Or, perhaps it was because he saw you, someone he'd never before talked to outside of the safety of these nights, where social standings meant virtually nothing — that even though you often thought yourself to be so, you weren't nearly as invisible as you thought.

"I... I will admit, it can be lonely, at times, being alone. I mean — I do like being by myself, but I don't fancy being alone as often as I am. I think... I think, though, that it can be just as lonely as having superficial friendships or relationships where you don't really like each other, but you're just staying together for comfortability or for fear of change. I just so happen to not spend my time trying to nurture something that I know will never truly grow."

Regulus hummed at this, his eyes wandering back to the stars. He then closed his eyes, and you admired the way the silver light of the moon seemed to make his skin glow.

"Now that I'm thinking of it, I don't think I quite like my friends."

"You don't?"

He shook his head. "In fact, I don't believe I'd have any if keeping up appearances was not important. Every one of them either have an awful nature, or they lack any sort of intelligence."

"Why wouldn't you like them? They sound lovely."

Regulus smiled, and you couldn't help but mirror his expression. "Not nearly as lovely as you are."

Your smile faltered, but then grew as your eyes fixated themselves onto the floor. You wanted to tell him, that though the both of you didn't spend time together outside of the cover of darkness that you also thought that he was lovely, that you wanted to speak to him again the next night, and then the next, and then the next — that you looked forward to seeing him all day, that your heart skipped a beat whenever he sat nearer than usual, that whenever your skin so much as accidentally brushed against his, any doctor in their right mind would think that you belonged in a hospital by the way your heart was racing. That there was just something about him — something so very indescribable that drew you to him.

But you never were very good with words, so you hoped that your heated cheeks and the silence between the both of you spoke loudly enough on your behalf.

"I want you to come to the Yule Ball with me."

At the sudden words, your head shot up to find Regulus staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I... what...?"

"My friends are bringing dates to the ball, as everyone seems to be doing, and... I don't believe I'd truly want to go with anyone but you."

You opened your mouth to reply, but felt utterly unable to truly respond the way you wanted to. You so desperately wanted to reply with an exuberant 'yes', but so startled by the statement, you were having trouble expressing this. He wanted to take you to the ball. You hadn't even anticipated going, suspecting that, if you did, it would be alone, or with some friends who already had dates — and you knew better than to third wheel at events such as those.

"I don't want you to feel compelled," Regulus muttered after a moment. "It's merely a proposition. If you don't want to — "

"I do," you then blurted. "I... I would love that — to go with you. To the ball."

Your heart fluttered as a radiant smile curved Regulus's lips, and already you knew it was worth it. If all did not go well — if the ball was not all that you would expect it to be, just his smile made it worth it.

"Brilliant. Well, I'll... I suppose we'll have time to discuss everything else later."

You smiled, breathing a laugh. "Lots, I'd imagine."

You hadn't even realized how very close Regulus sat until you stared at him with a certain twinkle in your eyes, one of amazement and admiration — one that could perhaps turn into something even more.

And then, maybe without realizing it, Regulus leaned forward, you following his actions until your lips met in the softest of kisses.

And, Merlin, was it one of the most tender things you'd ever experienced.

Regulus was gentle, his touch on you electric, and you grinned against his lips as his hand just barely grazed the skin of your cheek, before resting there to support your face.

You, too, were shy at first, but your fingers managed to tangle themselves in his dark curls, something you'd wanted to do for much too long.

You had no idea how long he had been kissing you by the time he finally stopped — hours, minutes, seconds — they were all meaningless in those few, blissful moments. So, before you could think of anything else, you spoke.

"Kiss me again."

And he did.

[a-998h]

hi!! May I request rye cookie x kind/sweetheart and shy/quiet fem reader?

bonus if first meeting is included!

READER IS THREATENED AND GETS KIDNAPPED WILD WEST STYLE!

It all started when she walked into the saloon you worked at. You were a saloon girl there. The staff and customers love you, as you were so kind to everyone who deserved. Though, you were also shy and quiet so most customers didn't pay you too much mind. The cookies who knew you well were so taken by your kindness that they gave you a nickname, Sweetie girl. Your shyness meant you somewhat relied on your co workers if someone was bothering you, which is how you ended up in the situation you're currently in.

It was a regular evening. Juice was flowing, people were merry, and things had been relatively calm. They a cookie with a long ponytail the color of grain walked in. The Wild Gun they called her. She took her seat at a corner table and ordered a juice on the rocks. The other saloon girls were busy so you'd have to be the one to deliver the drink. Gulping down the saliva forming in your throat, you approached the Wild Gun's table.

"Well, thanks for the drink, darlin' " she says as you place the glass on the table.

You get a bit flustered and scurry off to serve another patron. Rye cookie couldn't help by chuckle. She had been coming to this saloon for a good while but she never paid too much attention to you or the other saloon girls. She was a decent customer, but not overly friendly or chatty while on the job. That's why she was here after.

Pulling the crumble wanted poster from her pocket she scans the saloon for a cookie matching the description of a well known gun slinger that terrorized these parts. So, she drank her juice and waited for him to show his face.

Well, she didn't have to wait long as the outlaw bursts through the saloon doors, causing deathly silence to settle over the once rowdy saloon. He walks over to the booth Rye Cookie is sitting at, glaring down at her.

"Move it! This is my table," he demands.

Rye Cookie smirks under her hat as she stays right where she is. The outlaw gets angry, slamming his fists on the table as he shouts at Rye Cookie to move. When she doesn't he begrudgingly sits at a different table, demanding a drink.

The energy slowly comes back, though not as cheerful as it was moments before. You're the unfortunate soul who has to deliver him his drink, so you just stay quiet and place the drink on the table before going to scurry off. He grabs you, asking you to stay and chat for a bit. You try to get away but his grip is unrelenting. Rye Cookie stands up and walks over to the table, looking at the outlaw.

"Now, I do believe that darlin' asked you to let her get backed to work. So, let her go and we won't have a problem," she says, her accent and low voice making your face turn the color of a sugar gnomes' mustache.

"Or what?" The outlaw mockingly asks.

Rye Cookie looks him dead in and eyes and she can see the fear and recognition within them. She smirks, demanding the outlaw come quietly. He doesn't listen, instead he pulls out his gun as he pulls you against him. Tears start to leak from your eyes as the outlaw backs his way to his waiting horse. Rye Cookie follows behind carefully, waiting as he ties you up before tossing you onto his horse. She gets on her own horse and starts following the moment he takes off.

The chase is intense as Rye Cookie tails the outlaw like a bloodhound. She wants her bounty, but she also wants her new favorite saloon girl to be safe. She pulls out her lasso and manages to get the outlaw. Though, once he's pulled off the horse it stops and you're bond body falls and almost hits the group.

"I got ya darlin'" Rye Cookie reassures as she holds you bridal style in her arms.

Your face is red and tear stained by the time she brings you back to the saloon with her target in tow. Patrons and coworkers alike ask if you need anything and if you're OK. You reassure them, saying all you need is a moment to break and some water. A fellow saloon girl leads you to the back while the bartender makes you the fanciest water he can.

Rye Cookie has already collected her reward when she comes back to check on you. She saw you working as normal and sat down at a table. When you came by with her drink she asked if you were doing alright. You tell her you're fine and she softly chuckles.

"Whats so funny?" You ask.

"Nothin', it's just that you're such a sweetheart I thought you'd faint like a baby deer. Well, nice to know you're alright," Rye Cookie explains.

You giggle a bit and go to turn away but Rye Cookie gently grabs your first. Turning you nervously ask if everything's OK.

"Yeah, I was just winderin' if you'd want to go out sometime," she badly admits.

Your face is now a new shade of red as you cover it with your tray. Rye Cookie laughs, saying that your blush makes you look so much cuter. That makes you blush more but you do accept her invitation.

Now you have a loving cowgirl girlfriend who thinks you're the greatest bounty she's ever caught.

[cutielights]

Haven’t given Mikey his own one yet, felt bad, here it is!

Also this is just a lil warm up before I write the requests I have currently laying in my drafts

Mikey x Quiet Reader

Tw: none

Can be read as either platonic or romantic (they/them pronouns used)

You’re just quiet, and he realises that, it doesn’t mean you’re shy or anything, just prefer to not use your voice for whatever reason

Tied between incredibly scared and incredibly impressed whenever you sneak up on him

Like I said, q u i e t

Gaining a good gauge on what different eye movements and hand gestures mean

“Hey what pizza do you want?”

“…”

“I was thinking the same thing!”

“THEY LITERALLY DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING!”

“Donnie, stop being jealous of Mikey’s psychic abilities.”

Using a notebook to communicate with people

Mikey drawing you tiny happy things full of bright colours and serotonin in the corners of your notebooks

Giving you glitter pens for said notebook

If you do ever speak to him, it would probably be where nobody else is, and one word. Nobody believes him when he tells them you spoke

Having entire conversations with you just sitting there

“So what do you think I should do?”

“…”

“You’re right, I should apologise.”

*thumbs up*

[semiorphanaccount]

Can you write the reader is another jabami yumeko elder sibling. The reader has the opposite attitude to yumeko. If yumeko is cheerful and friendly, the reader will be quiet and lonely. (Tomioka Giyuu 2.0)

Kakegurui x Yumeko's Sibling! Reader.

Good thing: you are good at gambling but isn't ...extremely horny as her.

Bad thing: You don't want to gamble but when you heard Yumeko was going to Hyakkaou Academy you had to go with her.

"Y/n can you gamble with me I want to see if you're any better than Yumeko-"

"No."

You have been dubbed the "quiet jabami"

You tried your best to stay quiet but when people forced you to gamble you started to gain more popularity.

Soon enough the student council heard about you.

They sent Ririka to spy on you.

That didn't work out because you accidentally scared her.

You two are somewhat of friends now.

Yumeko tries her hardest to introduce you to her friends.

You always say no but she doesn't listen.

Meari and Ryota kinda became your friends.

Well, they think you like them.

You are besties with Runa

The only person you will honestly open up to.

You two love to game together

Sometimes the student council members walk in and witness the little competition on.

But then you go silent in mere seconds whenever they start to ask you questions.

✧༺♥༻✧

Sorry I've been gone (again) but trust me I'll start uploading again😭

[vaguely-concerned]

lucanis is a 'I could sit in our quiet kitchen on a grey tuesday afternoon drinking coffee and talking with you about nothing much in particular forever and be the happiest man who ever lived' romantic, not a 'classic tropes and grand gestures' romantic. this is a distinction and conceptual gap I personally feel is crucial to understanding what's going on with him when romanced. for all his almost painful sincerity and clear depth of feeling he's not a very effusive guy by nature, but in the history of time no one has ever, with their whole soul, chest and being, been so genuinely and openly happy to just do laundry and taxes with you.

[shotmrmiller]

just porn. and a comparison of cocks:>

finally deciding to sleep with ghoap after dating them for a couple of months, but because they're overwhelming together— you'd like to breathe, not drown— you decide to be with them separately for now to experience their gravity one at a time without getting completely swept away.

(you don't know whether to be insulted that they're playing rock-paper-scissors on who gets to go first or flattered that they both desperately want to be first. simon wins and johnny pouts.)

with simon, you'd been outright terrified. that thing between his legs didn't spring up when you made him lose the pants, didn't bob with each step he took toward the bed, toward you; gravity pulled it downward, each step he took made it sway heavily. if he hadn't taken the time to work you open, his thick fingers curling as his tongue focused on the apex of your pussy until your slick traced a sinuous path down his wrist, coming to stickily drip from his elbow onto the sheets, it would've ached a lot more than it did.

because it did. ache, that is. there was no staving off the discomfort of the stretch, the sting only spreading its sharp tendrils further when you took him to the root, the orgasms simon had wrenched from you only a thin barrier against the full brunt of it. but fortunately, your generous lover gave you as much time as you'd needed to accommodate, to give in, to surrender, and the pain bloomed into warm, rich pleasure when his hand slithered down to your hips, the pads of his fingers brushing over your oh so tender pearl and when you'd keened out a sigh, he'd begun to fuck you in earnest and anything after that is one big blur.

simon is a big guy. massive, really, built like he belonged on the battlefield. he did not take up space; he was space, so you hadn't been surprised that he'd been as egregiously endowed as he was. painfully fitting, you reckon.

so, when it's johnny that's pressing hot, wet kisses against the smooth column of your throat, you're gulping down a sigh of sharp relief when he breathes that while he's not as blessed as simon, he'll treat you better than him, he promises.

(still sore from having lost that silly game, you notice.)

johnny's thickly built but compact— all muscle and tightly coiled energy, like a fire burning too close, so you're expecting him to be proportionate the same way simon was.

oh, how grievously wrong you were.

what he lacked in length, barely an inch or two, who cares, was insignificant compared to his sheer, staggering girth. you'd thought simon was overwhelming, but johnny was something else entirely. it hung ominously, the thin, groomed skin above it seemingly stretched taut, strained with its density. what's worse, it didn't sway with his movements; it just hung there, rigid, a deadweight.

you'd survived simon just to die at the hands— and cock— of johnny.

figures.

(time had seemingly slowed when johnny had begun to sink into you, every second stretching as painfully as your poor cunt, fire licking at your nerves, spreading through your limbs in waves, one more intense than the last. your breath is shallow and uneven as your body resists, stubborn against the intrusion and johnny hooks his arm under your leg, just at the crook of his elbow— easy does it, hen, breathe f'r me— and he cants your hips to that sweet angle that allows him to slip in, like a stone sinking into a pond. The flood of relief you feel is euphoric in contrast to the raw feel of you being stretched to your absolute limit, and while the tension isn't completely gone, the fragile respite perched right on the edge of discomfort, it is a victory.)

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[loverslodge]

very discreet

summery: you and bucky have a relationship nobody is aware of. they keep trying to set him up with other women while bucky is trying to avoid them.

pairing: Grumpy!Bucky x Quiet!Reader

warning: SMUT, fluff, bad writing???, swearing

A/N: clearly i have a thing for grumpy bucky but i also have a thing was hidden relationships. you can read the asks for this fic at the lodge's BNB and also here is the steve's story in this universe

“Oh come on Bucky, how long will you stay single? Don't you think it's time you start looking for a partner?” Natasha pointed her knife at Bucky while they were polishing their weapons.

“I don't need anyone, Nat.” Bucky sighs and keeps on cleaning his guns.

“Bullshit!” Natasha stabs the wooden table beside Bucky. “We're all wrung out after missions and we all need a release. You know better than to stay holed up in a room with veins full of adrenaline. If not a girlfriend, get some beneficial partner.” Natasha shrugged.

“You might be doing that, Nat but I really don't need someone. I am happy where I am.” Bucky picks up his guns and arranges them back in their place. He wipes his workstation clean and walks out.

The mission today wasn't that bad but Bucky felt tired. The entire team has been on his case for over two months. How can he convince them that he doesnt need anyone? He's fine where he is. In fact, he is happier than ever and he would never trade this with anything else.

He walks in his room and wearily grabs his towel and sweatpants to take a shower. He turns on the water and stands under it till he hears his bathroom door being opened. He turns on the hot water to the right temperature and shuffles to make space. He hears some rustling and the shower curtain is pulled slightly open. You, very slowly step in and stand under the water source.

“I missed you, doll.” Bucky wraps his arms around you. You nod with a slight blush.

You pull out the loofah and pour the body wash on it. Bucky takes it from your hand and starts helping you clean up. Once you are covered in soap, you turn to Bucky and return the favor. Washing away the grime, dirt and tiredness of the day, you both towel each other dry.

“Bucky,” You point at one of his t-shirts from the wardrobe and look down thinking he might reject what you're asking.

“You don't need to ask me, doll. What's mine is yours.” He pulls a t-shirt on you and kisses your cheek. You nod and blush even more. You shuffle onto the bed and snuggle to your side of the bed, waiting patiently for Bucky to come.

“Tell me about your day, doll. Was it very draining?” he slips into the bed and brings you closer. You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his chest and nod a yes.

He sighs in content and pulls the comforter up. Your legs are parted and one of them is resting on Bucky’s hips. He kisses your forehead and his metal arm slowly drags to your inner thighs. You weren't wearing any underwear, giving complete access to Bucky, as he plunged his metal middle finger into your core. You gasp and your hold around Bucky tightens. He pulls out his finger and rubs your clit, making you moan in his chest. His hold on your waist tightens as he pushes two fingers in you again and uses his thumb to caress your nub. Your moans and gasps fill the quiet room as you reach the edge. You twist a little and put your hand on your mouth as you come all over Bucky’s sweatpants. You sigh and push Bucky a little, signaling him to grab new sweatpants. He complies and snuggles back into the bed against you.

……………………

The kitchen was lively today. Nobody was on a mission so the atmosphere was very relaxed. But not everyone was relaxing.

“Bucky, come on, go on this date. She's really nice and totally your type.” Sam pushed the topic further.

“How do you know my type, bird brain?” Bucky walked behind the kitchen counter.

You were standing there, making lunch for everyone while Bucky helped. Bucky would discreetly hold your waist or find a way to keep close to you in the kitchen. You were a blushing mess but Bucky didn't mind. As he saw nobody was looking, he kissed your cheek and went to the fridge to pretend as if nothing had happened. You just stood there with eyes wide.

“Let me help out.” Bucky very subtly held your waist and moved you away from the stove and started stirring the soup pot. He knew he had shocked you enough and you needed to calm down.

“She's all goth. You grunt, she stares. It's like a match made in heaven, Tinman. Go out with her. Nat arranged the date for you.” Sam continued and Nat nodded.

You looked up and saw Bucky roll his eyes and shake his head. His hand went to his chest and caressed his shirt before going back to the stove.

“I'm not going anywhere. I've told you before, I do not want to go on dates. I am happy where I am.”

“Too late, Barnes. She'll be waiting for you at the cafe this evening. I've already arranged the date and promised her. You can't back out now.” Nat warned Bucky.

“What the fuck, Nat! I told you I'm not interested. Cancel it. Im not going and thats final.” Bucky slams the stirring spoon on the counter and stomps out of the kitchen but not before subtly nudging you to follow.

“Talk some sense into him. He listens to you. Tell him it is a good idea to meet new people,” Sam pleads to you.

You just shake your head and grab some soup in two bowls. One for you and one for Bucky. The rest of the team gather slowly to grab the soup.

You stop in front of your door and knock. A furrowed eyed Bucky opens the door and side steps to let you in.

You hold out the soup bowl towards Bucky who has turned his back to you. “Bucky?”

Your quiet whisper of his name was enough to melt his brains off. He stands up and takes the soup bowl from your hand, putting it to the side. He hugs you and nuzzles his head in your neck, breathing in deeply. Your hand instinctively wraps around his waist and you start rubbing his back to calm him down.

“They just won't let it go. I'm sorry, doll. I wish I could give a better reason to them.” Bucky mumbles into your neck, sending waves of goosebumps all over your body.

“It's okay. Go.” You try to make him go because you know what it's like to be stood up and you know for the fact that Bucky will stand the girl up.

“I'm not gonna listen to you this time, doll. This is ridiculous. I am not leaving and that is final. Maybe I'll send one of those apology flowers you talk about to her through Happy.” he tightens his hold on you. You sigh. You knew it was pointless from getting him to change his mind.

You just wanted him to go and tell the girl that he is committed elsewhere but he is so stubborn that he won't even listen to what you have to say so you try to pull away to at least have him finish his soup.

“No. stop pulling away.” He sits back on bed with you in his lap, not even letting you go. You giggle and try to make space between the two of you so you can at least grab the soup bowl.

“Bucky, soup.” You manage to release your hand point at the bowls.

“Fine. but only because you are hungry and you made this with so much love.” His stomach grumbles and he makes a face, making you giggle even more.

His frown melts into a smile and he grabs your face, peppering kisses all over it, making you giggle and laugh. “This is why I'm not going anywhere. You are perfect, doll. I love you.”

……………………

“You piece of shit! Did you seriously stand her up? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Nat blasted at him and threw a punch at him.

Bucky ducked and svewerd to the side to keep you safe. You were standing very close to Bucky to hide the fact that he was holding your waist. But just as Nat threw a punch at him, he pulled away and moved away from you.

“Are you crazy? You could have hurt her.” Bucky pointed at you while dodging Nat’s punches. “And I sent flowers to say sorry. I told you I am not interested. When I say no, accept it.”

Bucky blocks Nat’s punches with his metal arm and pushes her away. Before she could do more damage, Steve walks in and stands between Bucky and Nat.

“Enough, both of you. This is not a dueling ground. Walk it off, Romanov. And you, Bucky, let's talk.” Steve nods at you and guides Bucky out of the gym leaving you sigh in relief.

That night, everyone had dinner on their own. You weren't very keen on cooking so you, Bucky and Steve got pizza together. They had put on Harry Potter since you loved talking about it.

Bucky couldn't keep his eyes off of you as you mouthed the dialogues with the characters. He smiled. Steve nudged Bucky and shook his head with a smile.

Steve loved seeing his best friend so happy. Steve loved you like a sister too. Your quiet and shy nature had calmed Steve in many situations and he was grateful. You had taken Steve’s side during the fallout and helped Bucky without a complaint. Surprisingly Bucky wanted to keep you by his side. Steve saw Bucky open up to you and you accepted him naturally. One day Steve found Bucky cuddled up with you and he knew this was his brother’s happy ending.

“I'm off to bed. Doll, take care,” Steve kissed your forehead. “Buck, please stop fighting with people. And think about what I said, both of you. I know where you come from but think about it before it causes more such issues.”

Steve closed the door behind him as he walked out and went off to bed. You turned off the movie and got up to throw the boxes away. Bucky took the boxes from you and walked out of the room to throw them off while you cleaned up the room and got ready to sleep.

Bucky walked in, took off his shirt and crawled in the bed beside you. “What are you thinking, doll?” He saw your solemn expression.

“Maybe Steve is right.” You whisper quietly, fumbling with the edge of the blanket.

Bucky holds your hand and pulls you close to lie on his chest. “Are you worried? I will do what you want to do, doll.”

“You have been doing what we want, Bucky, but after today, I didn't think it would get this serious.”

“Are you talking about my little tiff with Nat? It worked out at the end. You know that.” Bucky kissed your forehead.

“That and the fact that you got set up on a date. I-i know that you won't ever go but, it-it scared me. I-” Your voice started to waver.

You cried on Bucky’s chest. He lifted your face up and wiped away the tears, kissing your forehead.

“Doll, I get it. That's what made me more angry. They were talking about it to you as well. Trying to involve you in their little plans. I hated that you had to listen to all of that.”

“So? What do you think?” You lift your face and rest your chin on his chest, looking at him.

“Don't tell Steve I said this, it'll get to his head, but he is right.”

You rise up to give him a peck but Bucky pulls you for a deeper kiss. You moan and straddle his waist. He lifts your (his) t-shirt up and throws it on the floor, without letting his lips leave yours. You grind against his clothed erection.

“Didn't wear any panties, doll? My perfect girl.”

He flips you and removes his sweatpants. He aligns himself against your folds and slowly pushes himself in. your back arches on the bed and a loud moan escapes your throat. He flips the pair of you again and gets you on top of him, pushing his cock deeper into you. You slowly start to grind against him, making him moan and hiss. His hands are kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples as he starts pushing himself into you. You start bouncing over him to match his rutting speed.

“Fuck, doll. You're being so good right now.”

You whimper as you get closer to the edge. “Bucky, im gonna-”

“Cum, doll. Ive got us.”

His speed increases and soon you both cum and he fills you up while you're gushing down on him. You pant as your body falls on him. He caresses your back as you both catch your breaths.

He slowly gets up, taking you with him, to the bathroom to clean up. The cleaning up in the shower turns into another session and later you both fall on the bed, naked and exhausted. You pull yourself a little further from Bucky and pull out a dainty gold band from the bedside table.

You hand the ring over to Bucky who chuckles and slips it on your finger. You sigh with content and snuggle into the blanket with Bucky’s chest against your back, all tucked in.

……………….

The New Year’s party by Tony Stark is always iconic and it was just as this year too. You and Bucky came to the party together. Bucky was immediately called over by Tony to meet some people while you made your way to the corner of the room. Steve saw you and stood beside you with beer in his hand.

You look at Steve with beer and giggle.

Steve looks at you and rolls his eyes. “I know. But I enjoy the feeling of the bottle in my hand. Makes me feel normal, y’know.”

You nod and pat his back. He relaxes. You point at his hand and he shakes his head. “Not today.” Steve instantly changes the topic. “Bucky told me about your plan today. I'm here for support, you know that, right?” You nod your head vigorously, making Steve laugh out loud.

Hearing Steve laugh, Bucky turns his head in the direction to see a smile on your face while Steve laughs. He relaxes a little and goes back to the conversation. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not get to you the entire night. Someone either dragged him away or you were occupied with conversation with the teammates, but mostly it was the first reason.

It was time for dinner and you started digging around the buffet table to find your favorites. Bucky subtly joined you and handed him the plate.

“I'm nervous, doll.” He whispers in your ears. You look up to him and his stale blue eyes are staring deep into yours. You look around to see if someone isn't looking and pull him in a very secluded corner. You peck his lips and hug him tightly. He releases the breath he didn't know he was holding and wraps his free arm around you.

“Thank you, doll, I needed it.”

You take the plate from him and walk back to the buffet table and gather more food before moving back to the corner of the room. Bucky looks at you as you go with a bounce in your step. He could tell you were happy with the decision and he smiled.

……………….

People were counting down and Bucky was dragged to the other side of the room. You stood in your corner and tried to find Bucky in the crowd. You could have pushed through but he was too surrounded. You shift from one foot to another. The heels were killing you and Bucky had promised that you'd leave immediately after the countdown was done.

Bucky dodged and stumbled against the crowd to reach you. He heard many women in the crowd saying they had a chance with him and he did not want to give it to them.

3

Bucky came across one woman who tried to grab his shirt.

2

Natasha pointed at some woman behind Bucky who would like a kiss but Bucky distracted her

1

Almost there

Happy New Year!

Your back was to the crowd. A hand slipped around your waist and pulled you around to face your blue-eyed man. “Happy New Year, doll.”

He kissed you deeply. He was pouring out all the adrenaline that had flown into him while reaching you. Your hand cupped his face and pulled him closer. His metal arm held the back of your head to angle it better while his flesh arm held you tightly against his body.

You heard the entire room gasp and then pin drop silence. You needed to breathe so you tapped his shoulder twice. He pulled his lips away from yours and rested his forehead against yours.

“I guess it's time, doll.”

He moves to your side and pulls you closer to him. But before he could get a word out, Sam jumped in.

“You and her? When did that happen?”

“Well, if you would be quiet, I would tell you.” Bucky pulls you to the couch and sits down, taking you on his lap. You try to slide down beside him but his hold won’t budge. “Well, this is a family matter and I assume the rest of you got the message.”

“Right, well, thank you all for joining the party but I guess it ends here today.” Tony starts shooing people away.

Steve comes and sits beside Bucky and you. He slaps Bucky on the back supportively and you smile a little before burying your face in Bucky’s neck out of embarrassment.

“Everyone is gone. Out with it, Tinman.” Sam jumps onto the adjacent sofa with Nat and the rest of the team in tow.

“We're married.” Bucky pulls out his hand from around your waist and grabs your left hand to show off the matching wedding bands.

“What the fuck!!!” Natasha jumps out of the seat and comes close to check the rings.

“Since when?” Tony asked.

“Three years now, right doll?” You nod.

“Three years! Right under our noses?”

“When did you get married? Where? How? What?”

Everyone was very confused with the revelation.

“We met during the fallout and well, i started to fall in love with her. She felt the same and we got married in a city hall in New York.” Bucky explained in short terms. You were still in his lap and nodded to everything he said, supporting his statement.

“But, why were we not invited? We were with you the whole time! How did we not know about this?” Sam almost screamed his head off.

“You werent there all the time. Remember the day Steve sent you all to stakeout? He helped me and the doll get to the city hall and we got married. Captain America as our witness.” Bucky chuckled at the last statement, earning a small whack from you on his chest. Steve just rolled his eyes.

“You knew!” Natasha pointed at Steve who shrugged. “It wasn't my story to tell and I just wanted to see my best friend happy. He was happy with her so I stopped them.”

The discussion went on for almost an hour. Your little stifled yawn caught Bucky’s attention and he got up with you in his arms.

“Alright kids, my wife and I are tired and I have plans for our third anniversary tomorrow.”

“Bye.” You wave at them and slump back in his arms.

“Wait! At Least tell us your anniversary date.”

“It's January 1st. It was dead winter and my wife showed me that I can be happy during the cold too.”

He lets the elevator door shut on everyone’s faces. Seeing a sleepy you in his arms was all he could ask for this New Year.

................................

this fic is open for requests

[ofswordsandpens]

percy, mentally ill: I feel like I deserve to die. It's a punishment because im a horrible person. Does that sound crazy?

jason, also mentally ill: No that tracks bro samesies

[neigepomme]

🍎 quick headcanons about the lads guys pt. 2 WOOO!! media added for better experience :9

⋆ most of the couple tiktok videos you do with caleb are actually his idea. his whole fyp is filled with cute couple trends, and he sends them all to you. he really loved when you picked out his outfit for the h.s.k.t trend and has to fight himself to not wear that outfit daily now. his phone background is you two with the lipstick heart trend on your cheeks.

⋆ rafayel never shows up to your place empty-handed. when you tell him it's okay to not bring you a gift (whether it be flowers, some snacks or pastries, a cute handbag, etc) whenever he visits, he looks at you like you offended him before going "yeah, no. no way cutie." he actually started gifting you more stuff after you commented on it.

⋆ even though xavier's jealous nature is really cute and you don't mind it, he tries his best to keep it at bay. by that i just mean that instead of glaring daggers at a guy who's hitting on you, he starts resting his head on your shoulder from behind and dramatically sighing like a kicked puppy. it works AND you pet his hair, so it's a double win. xavier - 1, the guy who hit on you - 0.

⋆ sylus never tells you, but you quickly figure out that he loves it when you care for him and play with his hair when you two are cuddling. he's a big man and typically has you sleeping on his arm (and he loves it), but at one point, he fell asleep with his head on your stomach while you stroked his hair. when he woke up and you flashed him a warm smile, he almost saw god and thought to himself that he really ought to fall asleep like that more often.

⋆ zayne deliberately leaves his dress shirts at your place, in hopes of seeing you wear them. when he drops by to see you at one point and you answer the door only wearing his shirt, his knees actually buckle and he falls on the floor. you got really worried, and he got really embarrassed, but he gave you some excuse along the lines of "sorry, i think my blood sugar is low right now." you didn't miss how his ears turned bright red tho!

⋆ additional headcanon about zayne because he's my favorite, and i've been neglecting him recently: your phone background is his flushed face covered in lipstick marks, your handiwork. the actual video of you kissing him is the greatest thing in your camera roll — it's zayne growing more and more flushed and giggly as you smother his face in kisses. he could die happy!!

ok moving on to loser headcanons i need them to lose some aura rq

⋆ caleb never had a musical phase, he says. guess who knows the lyrics to meant to be yours from heathers tho! because that sure as hell isn't gideon! at one point, he got really drunk at the DAA and was belting it out. he also kissed gideon during that drunk episode but that's a story for another day (spreading my caleb bisexual agenda)

⋆ rafayel has edited wikipedia articles to be right in arguments and is not above pouting like a toddler and making you feel bad when you find out. at one point, he started forcing tears out of his eyes and going "no it's fine! you hate me, i get it, your boyfriend's feelings are less important than trivia night, it's fine!" like. he's a loser but a really pretty one so it cancels out kinda

⋆ xavier's the type of guy to go "huh??" at least 3 times when you explain something to him before he finally goes "ohh i get it". he in fact does not get it but he felt you getting worked up and he decided not to hit you with a fourth huh. his survival instincts are good and he'd rather look it up than have you be mad at him #loverboy

⋆ sylus has a really good grasp on his facial expressions, but he will hit a disgusted face when he hears something stupid. like yeah sure big bad unreadable boss and stuff but one time, he hears some guy on the street loudly say the worst take he's ever heard in his life and he can't help the side eye + disgusted face combo. he also stank faces when he listens to good music

⋆ zayne meows at cats. not elaborating on that it's pretty clear LOL but sometimes he'll think of the really cute cat he saw on the street that morning and quietly go "... meow..." greyson catches it and is so in shock, but no one will even believe him if he talks about what he heard ("yvonne you're not gonna believe this i just heard dr. zayne meow" “girl what the hell are you saying”)

[a-reverii]

▸ TO LOVE AND TO LOSE⌇regulus black.

› pairing ━ ꒰ regulus black x reader ꒱

› in which ━ ꒰ your lover is gone, and you have no idea what to do about it. ꒱

› content warning ━ ꒰ angst ; major character death ; hyperventilating ; thoughts of suicide ; etc. i recommend reading rue des trois frères or je te laissera des mots with this one (i did). ꒱

› word count ━ ꒰ 1 . 0k ꒱

━━ ( navigation ) ( masterlist ) ( request )

HE WAS GONE.

That was the first thing you could think when the letter slipped from your hands onto the ground, before you inevitably followed it, your legs buckling underneath your weight that you'd never realized was so very heavy.

Your lover, your other half, your Regulus. He was dead, never to return, never to kiss you with those soft lips again, never to hold you in his arms and whisper sweet nothings to you again, never to play that song that the both of you loved far too much, and never for the two of you to dance to it again.

He was truly gone.

Your world didn't feel entirely real now. You looked around, frantically searching for something to grasp onto, something to ground you, but found that no such thing existed ━ save for that awful, damned letter with which Regulus wrote his last words. No, this could not be your reality. It was a mere illusion, the likes of which was made to torment you.

Your first instinct was to scream. To cry, to sob, to weep. To do something that any normal person would do when they'd lost the person that most mattered to them, but when you tried to scream you found that your voice lacked the power to do so, and that all that came out was a pitiful rasp, and when you tried to sob you lacked even the strength to do so.

So there you sat, crippled by the news of your lover's death, and alone. Terribly alone.

You always seemed to end up alone, didn't you?

"No, he can't be ━ he isn't ━ " The words came out quickly, and were almost inaudible. You breathing grew ragged, erratic, and in moments you were hyperventilating, trembling, unable to intake breaths properly at your panic grew.

For who were you without Regulus? He'd always been your star, your star, outshining everyone ━ even you. But you'd never minded as much, for the spotlight was somewhere he always belonged. And you'd forever be there to greet him in the shadows, to kiss him and to tell him of how much you loved him.

A small, bitter chuckle escaped your lips at the thought.

Forever.

What a lie.

Forever was a promise, one that could never be kept. You wondered what kind of a fool was the first to make it. Yes ━ a fool. That is what love had made you. A fool, for hope of such a bright future.

How you wished Regulus was here, now. He'd always so easily comforted you in times such as these, ones of utter despair. For what was pain if he was there? Nothing more than an afterthought. You'd once likened it to an obstacle. How wrong you'd been. You'd never known pain. Not like this.

You hated him, you then realized, as you sat there, broken beyond belief. You hated him, your Regulus. Hated him for leaving you this way, hated him for never telling you of his plans. You could have helped him, could have stopped him, could have done something.

But instead, you laid here, your tears staining the already grimy floor, your ribcage racking with horrible, terrible sobs ━ cries for him, for your now dead lover. And how awful it truly felt, to have such a person gone. He was your other half. He always had been. When you'd met him, it was as if he'd shown you this side of yourself that was always hidden from your view. And now? Now that he was gone, never to return?

It felt as if someone had dug their hand straight into your chest and, carelessly, tore your flesh and took out your heart, before crushing it right there in front of you. All you could do was look and watch as it the muscle stopped moving, as blood gushed from it and as your own body began to grow tired and cold. Yes, cold. That is how you felt ━ so very cold.

Perhaps it would be best to end myself here, you then thought, a dry laugh leaving you at the prospect. Perhaps I should cut out my heart, just as he had just done, and lay it out on the ground. It wouldn't change very much ━ it most certainly wouldn't change how I feel now, for I'd feel just as cold as I do now and just as broken as I do now. And maybe, even, I could show Regulus his mistake when I make it to the afterlife ━ could make him realize in what state he left me.

But you wouldn't do it. No matter how you longed to. You were too much a coward to do so. Even with all the anguish that now occupied your heart, fear controlled you.

And you also knew that you couldn't, for what Regulus did was noble, and for that, you did not hate him. You could never hate him, no matter how much you wished to do so. For he'd done this so that you could live on, and even if that was the last thing you wanted to do, you would do it. For him.

Life would go on, just as it always had, and so would you, with time. You would grow, adapt, and maybe even learn to accept his death. But not now, and certainly not anytime in the near future. But, for Regulus, you would go on.

You would live just as he'd wanted you to, even if you couldn't imagine living without him ━ couldn't bear it. You'd go on smiling, even if your cheeks ached and begged for rest. You'd go loving, even if you couldn't foresee loving another.

Because, for Regulus, you'd do anything.

[cybermindz]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ contains. nsfw, explicit : fem! reader, size difference, big beefy man mmmngh (⸝⸝⸝╸﹏╺⸝⸝⸝)♡, oral (m! receiving), gagging, praise, throat bulge, throat fùcking. wc : 400+

thinking about big beefy boyfriend sukuna, shiu, or toji who straddles your neck while you’re laying down on your back.

his chiseled body hunched over your small head as he shallowly thrusts his hard, throbbing cock into your mouth—thunder thighs on either side of your ears. one of his veiny hands on the crown of your head to hold you in place whilst the other grips the pillow into a tight fist you’re rested on to refrain his desires from plowing into the wet tight cavern.

the muscles on his stomach flexes every so often before your eyes—it’s all you can perceive in this obstructing position every time you bob your jaw to take him fully, forehead brushing against his abdomen. he’s all but hissing and grunting when you gag around him. and as soon as his flushed tip gets the pleasure of hitting the back of your throat he’s pushing deeper and deeper until your neck is bulging and you’re tapping at his calves weakly. his restraint of being gentle flying out the window. obscene wet sounds of him fucking your throat, sputtering and whining coming from your full mouth are the only noises filling the room soon after. it’s messy, it’s nasty, but you both can’t seem to care. the outline of his thick length continuously disappearing and appearing at the front of your neck as he ruts himself again and again, heavy balls slapping against your chin.

‘plap!’ after ‘plap!’ after ‘plap!’

“thaaaat’s it, good girl- taking me so fuckin’ deep.” he’d make sure to praise you in his low gruff voice to ease you from the struggle, you’re writhing underneath him—crying, unable to breathe. but you can’t deny the way his voice and behavior makes flashes of white hot pleasure shoot straight to your aching core.

then sitting back on his haunches in gratification to give you some breathing room, his weight going onto your shoulders as he reaches behind him to cup your pussy in his palm—leaking from the rough treatment all the while you continue to chase his length with your plump lips, head tipping forward. not even caring for the sore or rawness of your throat, drool seeping from the corners of your mouth, eyes glazed over with need—eager to please him. utterly cock-drunk. and he can’t help but feel a sense of pride swelling in his chest whilst you work him over until he cums, stifling a deep growl as he peers down at you from up top with a cheshire-like grin, his sweet little slut.

© 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐙 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works.