#sometimes i get the strangest feeling you're not talking to me

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.6 - Eye of the Storm

[cu7ie]

big bro satoru ! ୨୧ — see: virgin killer, cherry popper — mdni!

( ˶ᵔᴗᵔ˶ ) — cw. perv!gojo, alcohol consumption (you're both drunk-ish). reader's a virgin. just some casual headcanons. pornography viewing! voyeuristic reader (sorta.) drabble at the end. vagina having reader.

imagine hanging around with your friend and they offhandedly mention they have an older brother. they don't talk about family much but he sounds just as cool as he actually is when you finally meet him.

you're out of highschool and you still don't have much experience with relationships. your friend on the other hand has had tons, and sometimes they're giving you lengthy talks about their past relationships or inadequate sex life and you just smile and nod through it luv. 

on the inside you're burning up! they tell you the raunchiest shit with no filter or padding, your virgin baby brain has grown ten sizes bigger with knowledge you honestly have no business knowing. 

leaves you all hot and bothered, grappling with these new feelings - maybe a desire to try it out for yourself? you shake your head. as of now, it’s not like you have many prospects.

you’re a stranger in college. nobody knows your name, and your bestie is only your bestie because they practically forced themselves into your socially inept arms.

so you put a pin in it, for the time being.

gojo only comes into the picture because your friend invited you to hang out with them both, and gojo didn't mind you in his house, so boom:

you guys are chatting. and siblings being siblings they have inside jokes and banter you can only laugh at!! then you're trying to contribute, but the conversation just takes the strangest turn .

your friend starts talking about their ain't shit ass boyfriend (again, they always do this) and gojo is a supportive sibling, so they take turns tearing the dude to shreds.

you can only quietly wonder why she’s still dating the guy, anyway.

you guys are passing drinks around at this point, and your friend , verrry tipsy, starts getting a little … provocative with the complaints. slurring their words, they look you in your eyes and just starts rambling.

"shrimp dick," , "can't fuck worth a damn", "shit head-giving ass"

gojo's mostly overhearing, but responds to everything she says. he’s just like: “can't relate. that’s soooo crazy. could never be me tho!” 

irritated by his interruption, more than a little drunk, they start to bicker.

friend: "nobody cares about your dick satoru!"

gojo: "hey hey maybe your friend does!!!  … been side-eyeing me all night."

!!!! the way your head snaps to look at him !!!!

because you did, but you didn't think he'd notice!

and plus it's not like that ?!! he's just very handsome man ,,

he is very pretty .....

but he really made you nervous !! you're all hot in the face and it's not cause of the alcohol and your friend is making a face at you now, a little dramatic disappointment curving their lip and it's just like,

bff: ew?? right in front of me????

you'd hide in your drink if you could.

you: uh n-no i wasn'- it’s not like that!

they don’t believe you, just roll their eyes and say:

bff: i know you don't get any but like??  calm down lol there's more fish in the sea, get out of your little pond, babes.

and you're embarrassed and can't come up with anything witty in response so you just lower your head and sip your drink while they just fall back into banter.

you guys end up watching a movie. 

your friend drank too much and ended up falling asleep! you're a little tired but gojo's wide awake and maybe he's drunker than you thought because he's slurring a lil.

gojo: heyyyy, pst

he slides a little closer to you, beer bottle in hand. wraps his arm around your shoulder and the contact jolts you out of any sleep you could have been having.

you: wah?

gojo: i said -

you: i heard you ... what did u want ??

he leans into your ear and whispers in it.

"i got a movie for you. way better than this shit they put on .. check it"

and you expect him to pick up the remote but he just fishes out his phone and pulls up a video from his gallery , and it looks blurry at first, but the camera comes into focus and,

your breath hitches.

it's a video taken of gojo, nose deep in some pussy. 

the video is taken by someone else clearly, his head in between their thighs just slurping up on that clit - it's so slick and wet and squishy and the audio isn't down so you are a few feet away from your friend on the couch , who's knocked

and you're just watching this, wide eyed and clutching onto this pillow for emotional support and gojo's hand on your shoulder feels heavier

you: hhhh satoru-san, i don't think i should be seeing this ... isn't it a little private ?

little is an understatement

gojo: well i don't mind showing if you don't mind watching ; )

you: ....okay

you whisper as you sink further into the chair.

he's showing you multiple videos.

there one where it's not his face - it's a girl's, about your age maybe - but he makes sure to point out that it is, in fact, his penis going into her mouth. it's so big she's tearing up. what you think is mascara follows tracks on her cheeks and you gasp at how sloppy the ordeal is. you wonder how she's even breathing.

then there's another one, where he's bouncing them on his cock so good they're crying, 

"deeper, deeper! harder - fuck!"

and that’s when you put your hand up to the phone and your cheeks are so hot they're numb. you feel like a voyeur !!! and you don't know if you enjoy it or are just shocked but something's getting to you !

gojo just points to the video , looks at you and says

"i think you'd look good in these kinds of movies. i think you're real pretty ..... n' well.... i'd fuck you."

and he giggles and pats your head and you're gaping like ???!!!!!????? satoru-san why are you speaking to me like that! 

you: "satoru - san. i .. i think you're handsome too but i don't ... i'm not ... "

gojo pulls your body closer to his, you're touching his torso with yours and

gojo: i really like the way you say my name. it's... kinda turning me on 

and you don't pull away when he grabs your hands and one onto his crotch, wraps your fingers around him until you’re cupping his balls and your thumb is grazing his clothed cock.

he's so annoying actually 😭

like satoru is cute !! you've told him as much several times !!

but your hand slowly traveling up hard cock is too too too much!

you: satoru-san! i've never umm.. really done something like this before ? please. we shouldn't, n-not here anyway.

gojo: we head up to my room ?

you: satoru-san ..... that's not what i meant..

but he's already picking you up easily and carrying you down the hall despite the little squeak of protest you offer!

he mentions something about being glad to "pop your cherry"

gojo: she's always on and on about how you've never had a boyfriend,,, ssssweird but that probably means you've never been fucked either right ???

you sputter and flush, satoru’s grin nearly reaching his ears as you tremble but don’t struggle in his grasp.

you: that's none of your business!! seriously what is -

he pushes his door open and you're cut off by him tossing you onto his bed, fumbling with his lamp until he remembers how to turn it on. 

your back hits his mattress and you sink into it immediately. satoru’s room is cool, but the situation at hand ensures that his decor is the last thing you’re interested in. the warm orange lamp light fades out the jewel tones of the night’s shadow, though gojo’s silhouette cuts into the brightness and for a moment his presence takes your breath away.

you feel like a mouse caught in cat’s teeth. “i know about your type.” the way he curves his words makes your ears perk up, your elbows propping your body up as you retort, “and what could you possibly know ‘bout m-me….?” your voice trails off as satoru clambers into bed beside you, overtaken by impossibly soft sheets, stare directed right at you.

“you wanna fuck. i know that look from a mile off. lucky for you, i can help you get off." he whispers in your ear, and you feel your pussy clench down on absolutely nothing. his hand brushes against your thigh and you quiver.

"hnn." you make a noise of indecision, the arousal pooling in your panties feels sticky and irritating, and satoru - the tease - stills his hand on your leg, and feels along your tummy instead.

"oooh."

"you like that baby?" he's disarmingly charming, coaxing you out of slumber into your grand sexual awakening.  "um.. i.." satoru pauses.

he mutters. "go on… use your words, precious." 

your resolve escapes you at satoru's teasing. he's already so experienced - his .. aptitude makes you confident that he'd treat you well, there's no reason why you shouldn't …

just be a little selfish.

"c-can we kiss?" gojo laughs a little softer than you're used to.

"what's so funny? i just want to-" satoru flips you onto him, gripping your hips and adjusting you so you comfortably lay atop his. 

"s'not funny, really. you're just as cute as i thought you'd be, though. wet pussy and all and you still just 'wanna kiss'." his second laugh is heartier, but not loud.

"watchu waiting for then?" he grins cheekily and you body grows frustrated. it's too hot in here.

 your hands are curled onto his chest, your head close enough to his that you can smell the alcohol on your breath - he could probably smell it on you, too - but you don't care.

he's hard beneath you. you feel his cock pressing into your ass and he uses his big hand to squish you against him. 

your cheeks burn.  "kiss me-"

your lips press to him with a fervent need. your inexperience is cute to him, so he lets you take the lead. you have spirit, the ambition of a slut - but no skill. you squeak and moan a little nervously as he deepens the kiss, his hands cupping your ass gently as he starts to play with it. he palms the fat in his hands and nips your lower lip before you pull back to catch your breath.

your body is hidden under your clothes and it makes gojo suck his teeth, trying to ascertain with his hands instead, those curves and planes of your body, starting at your hips and moving up. a whine gets caught in your throat as his hand creeps beneath your shirt and you realize just how cold he is.

"satoru!" you jolt, feel your nipples grow diamond tough in response.

"hush hush. they're still asleep, n' as far as they know, you were coming onto meee…" you look down at him, pupils blown and mouth parted and lips slick.

"you're a pervert, satoru-san. i-i'd tell them as much." satoru laughs louder and you can't be convinced he's not doing it on purpose, now.  your positions shift again.

you yelp as he flips you over suddenly once more, your back hitting a velvet duvet and your head gracing the soft, cool top of his pillow, your breathing more labored that it had been before. 

he whispers. "let me eat you out." he's already weaseled his way between your thighs, looking at your shorts like the idea of them offends him. "these shorts make ya ass look fat. but skirts are easier access. you ever wanna have a quickie again, take notes." he's already peeling them from your thighs, infernal heat pouring off you in waves. your panties follow in short order.

"oh wow." satoru's excitement renews unbidden, getting up close and personal with the pretty petals between your thighs and licking his lips like it's his last meal on earth.

you feel your nerves prickle. an uncertainty that pervades your chest cavity makes an uncomfortable heat rise. you can feel his every breath. your pussy throbs like it's your heart and for a moment, your unsettled. "hey!"

you clasp your hands over your mouth and satoru's eyes slowly drift up. "s-sorry. didn't mean to-"

"yell? 's fine. you still want me to keep going?" 

he looks unreal like this.

his hair sticks to his forehead a bit, swear dewing on his temple as he shudders and huffs, basking in this smell of you. is it sweet? his lip curls in hunger, and you know every instinct in him is primed to eat.

your hands find themselves tangled in his hair. you fold your fingers between the strands, flipping it up and out of his face. "yessss. please. i need this." you beg, and he gives in without ceremony.

the sensation is tantalizing. he curls his tongue in between your folds, gathering your slick on the tip of it. he groans, spreads your thighs wider so he can bury his whole face in your box.

first, it makes your spine twitch and your toes curl - the feeling so intense that your body wants to rip you away from it. your back arches; his lips wrap around your clit and you whine as he starts suckling on you. the sound of wet lips on wet pussy is obscene.

he slurps loudly, eagerly, not even paying mind to how quickly you've fallen apart in his arms. 

any mess he makes, he cleans up with his tongue. he laves the muscle over your precious pussy, teasing you with how deep he can go into the fold. 

you never noticed his tongue was so long. 

you're soaked. there's something coming - and you,

yelp just then, feeling the barest sensation of teeth against your cunt. "s-satoru!" (he chuckles into your muff and the sensation makes you groan.)

 even distracted, you can feel it. just stronger now. a coiled snake in the depths of you, beautiful and aching and eager to be free.

you've masturbated before - er, tried it. you're just a little awkward on your own, and it's never felt anywhere near this. incomparable in every sense of the word.

you didn't even realize you closed your eyes until you hear gojo say, "you squirt?"

the whole of your face burns. "i.." you're searching for breath you didn't notice you lost.

you shake your head. "i dunno-" 

"well, let's see." his hand leaves your thigh, and the pad of his thumb presses onto your clit molasses slow. the way he pushes and tugs at the nub nearly makes you cum on the spot.

your moan is broken and cracks, and you're too far gone to be embarrassed to ask for more. "you … are we going to h-have-" sex, is what you were going to say, but satoru interrupts, tearing his eyes away from your slick cunny.

"just say fuck. 'are you gonna fuck me'?" he mimics the lilt of your voice faithfully. "say it." he goads, urges you even, massaging your cute clit with his thumb. 

"a-are… are you gonna fuck me?" you mewl, and gojo's ministrations ease up. you don't know if you want to cry out in relief or desperation. your whole body feels like its throbbing. you need this so, so bad…

a mischievous glint in satoru's eye appears, sudden. you bite your lip.

"say my name." you don't hesitate.

"satoru-saaaan." gojo's breath catches. then he laughs at you. a question settles on your tongue - what's so funny - but you're shuddering and don't have a mouth to speak.

great thing that Satoru's observant.

"you're tryna be here all night, clearly." 

[catt-leya]

I was wondering if you could do an enemies to lovers?? I’m so original, but maybe where they are on a run and get lose, and get into a huge fight because reader says they’re lost, but Rick is too stubborn to admit it:) plzzz and thank you!! Also love your posts btw, the bests toe curling pussy twisting smut I’ve read

Hurts So Good || Rick Grimes 18+ ❣Darker❣

Thank you so much for the request 💗 I LOVE enemies to lovers and I tried to make it up to you 💕

Soooo it's new for me to write Rick that way. Please look into my trigger warnings and I hope there are some people liking it 👉🏼👈🏼💗

Trigger: cnc (?), gun play, breeding, degrading, sir kink, darker Rick yeah he's a warning and my usual smutty stuff

You stuff a blanket in the trunk of the car and listen to your best friend talk about her new boyfriend. 

You love her to death, but since you arrived in Alexandria, she barely talks about anything but Spencer. Spencer this. Spencer that.

Somehow the two of them found each other and actually got together. That has changed your topics of conversation. 

So you grit your teeth and listen to the oh-so-awesome Spencer bring her a bouquet of flowers yesterday.

It's not that you're jealous or anything. 

No, you don't even feel like getting involved with a guy, but you just don't like Spencer and you let him feel that every time.

Now, though, you're a good friend and smile at her, "Sweetie, I gotta go."

Several times she blinks at you, as if she's forgotten why you packed some things in the car behind you, before sighing, "Oh yeah. How long is the run scheduled for?"

You shrug and lean your butt against the car, "I don't know. Rick wasn't sure how long we'd be on the road, so I packed a few things for several days and nights."

She nods slowly and you take a deep breath, "I don't even know where we are going."

You notice her glance sideways past you and know she's looking at Rick, who's a few feet away discussing something with Michonne.

Without looking at you, she says, "I'd really like to go with you."

Surprised, your eyebrows go up. Your best friend is not a person who likes to be out in the outside world. She likes the safety of Alexandria, and that's probably why she fell in love with Spencer.

When she looks at you again, she notices your gaze and shrugs, "Not that I necessarily want to fight walkers. I'm happy to leave that up to you. But I'd just like to see you in a little car with Rick, trying not to go for each other's throats."

You roll your eyes, but can't hold back a grin.

The fact is, you already like Rick just fine, it's just that your kind of 'friendship' is driving each other crazy. 

Much to the sake of everyone else. That's why it's better that it's just the two of you and you can pick each other apart in peace.

You're about to say something back when you hear Rick call out, "Are you done, sweetheart?"

Again you roll your eyes and smile at him sugary sweet, "Whenever you are, sugar bum."

The nickname Rick gave you at the very beginning gets on your nerves and he knows it very well, that's why he calls you by your real name extremely rarely and always teases you with his stupid 'sweetheart'.

The way he pronounces the word with his broad southern accent sometimes makes you blush unintentionally and to cover that you started to give him the strangest nicknames in between. 

As always, he doesn't seem to care and nods goodbye to Michonne, which is your sign to say goodbye to your friend as well.

She frowns, "Sugar bum?"

You bite your lower lip, "I couldn't think of anything else."

She doesn't respond for a moment, until she bursts out laughing, "Oh my God..."

Smiling, you pull her into your arms and murmur, "Take care of yourself" in her ear.

"You take care of yourself, too."

Before you let her go, she whispers softly, "You blushed again, honey. Watch out you don't start drooling if he calls you that again."

Gently, you punch her in the arm and hiss, "I won't."

As she looks you in the face, it feels like she knows more than you do and you have to avert your eyes.

Slowly, you walk around the car and climb into the passenger seat.

You'll have another quick glance at your friend as Rick opens the door to the driver's seat and drops into it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him push the sleeves of his blue shirt further up and then pull the door shut.

Without a word to you, he shifts into first gear and drives through the open gate.

You suppress a soft sigh and lean your head against the window beside you. 

For a long time you don't speak a word to each other and you think that Rick doesn't want to start a fight as long as you depend on each other beyond all measure.

After a few hours, you exchange positions and he calmly instructs you to follow the road until you come to the next intersection. When you ask him approximately how long that will take, he just mutters, "Long enough, sweetheart."

You stifle a comment that his answer is vague and start up.

Again and again you look over at him out of the corner of your eye and at some point his soft snoring enters your ear.

Unwillingly, you have to smile and now look at him properly.

His head is leaning against the window pane, like yours before, and his arms are crossed in front of his chest.

Although you can't see his eyes, you know they're exactly the same color as his shirt, and because he has those beautiful dark curls, his eyes always seem much brighter in the daylight.

You catch yourself thinking about him way too hard and jerk your head back around to look at the street. 

Again and again you repeat in your head: I don't care how beautiful his eyes are.

For some time you force yourself to look at the road, but eventually you weaken again and look back at the sleeping leader next to you.

He wrinkles his nose slightly in his sleep and you can't help but notice how soft and almost innocent he looks in his sleep. You could easily forget how many people he has already killed with his hands, looking at his soft features now.

Even with the grayish beard, he looks much younger in his sleep and as you catch yourself staring at his pink slightly parted lips, you mutter, "Holy shit."

It's not supposed to be that loud, but immediately Rick slams his eyes open growling, "What's wrong?"

Sleepily, he looks at you and frowns. All softness is gone from his features and you don't even realize you're still staring at him until he grumbles, "Look at the road and not at me."

The fact that he caught you staring at him by your own stupidity, makes you blush and you immediately look back at the road, "Sorry."

Now it's you who feels his gaze on you, praying that he'll just let it go, but hope is in vain, "What happened?"

"Nothing," your voice is a little too high and you hear Rick sigh softly, "Then why were you staring at me like that?"

His snotty question, makes you snap, "I wasn't staring at you, you dumbass."

"So did you strain your neck or what?" he teases. 

He knows for a fact that you were staring at him and now he's going to use it to drive you up the wall, which unfortunately works out just fine, "You were snoring so loud I wanted to make sure you weren't going to use it to attract walkers."

He snorts and you mentally pat yourself on the back.

You can finally get back to focusing on the track ahead of you.

You drive for what seems like an eternity on the road Rick told you about, then ask him, "Are you sure this is the right place? It doesn't look like there's anything here."

You've long since left the housing complexes and now there's nothing here but woods. Not even a small field where you could find crops is visible and you frown, "Rick?"

By the time you look to him, he's pulled out a map too and seeing his lost look, you groan, "You have no idea where we are."

His jaw tenses before he growls, "I know exactly where we are."

You spot a narrow path at the edge of the woods and pull off to stop, then turn in your seat to Rick, "Where are we, Sheriff?"

Vaguely he points to a spot on the map and you lean over to take a look at it too, "You don't think we're anywhere near Atlanta yourself, do you? We should have seen the skyline by now, Rick."

The forest he points to is close to the big city, and when you left Alexandria, you were going in the opposite direction.

But of course Rick wouldn't admit he has no idea which forest you're parked in, "The trees are just so tall we can't see the skyline."

You lean forward some more and your chest brushes his arm, "Why don't you just admit you have no idea where we are and let us out of this damn forest?"

He stiffens a little and then grumbles, "I know where we are."

You groan in annoyance, "Oh Rick." If your breasts weren't touching his upper arm, you wouldn't have even noticed, but he flinches as the words leave your mouth and immediately you blush.

You know what he must be thinking about and then you quickly say, "Swallow your pride and admit that you got us in deep shit."

Rick snorts and turns his head in your direction. 

Because you're still leaning so close to him, his face is suddenly way too close and you slide back into your seat as he growls, "Maybe it's your fault if I couldn't tell you 100% where we are right now."

You laugh out loud because he phrases it as if it's just a possibility and not a fact that he doesn't know what shitty forest you're hanging out in, "My fault? How so? YOU told me to take the road."

He throws the map in the back seat and looks at you with bright eyes, "I told you to go all the way to the intersection. It's not my fault you stared at me for half the drive and probably passed the intersection when you needed to catch your drool."

Staring at him in disbelief, you almost shriek, "You miserable asshole."

You yank open the car door and get out, because if you didn't, you'd rip Rick's head off. 

But instead of leaving you alone, he gets out too and you throw your arms up in the air, "How could I have ever gotten involved in going on a run with you?"

You go back and forth, "If we croak, it's your fault. Only your fault. You got that?"

Rick thrusts his hands on his hips and growls, "Sure, if it makes you happy."

Jerking, you look him in those ridiculously beautiful eyes, "Happy? You know what would make me happy?"

Your voice becomes shrill, "If I wasn't standing in the middle of nowhere with you."

You can see him struggling for self-control and clenching his hands into fists, "We. Are. Not. Lost." Every word is a growl and you turn your back on him, "I'll check the road for a sign so I know where we are if you're too proud for that."

You take a step and he demands, "You stay here."

Laughing in disbelief, you look at him over your shoulder, "Oh yeah? I'm certainly not taking orders from you now."

He takes a step toward you, "Stay here."

At his full height, he towers over you significantly and if he were to reach out, he could touch you. Challengingly you look at him, "Or what, Rick? What are you going to do if I just leave now and let you sit here, huh?"

Something you can't place flashes in his eyes and your eyes lock onto his Adam's apple as he swallows hard.

Suddenly your throat goes dry and instead of just going and leaving like you cockily announced, you stop in front of him and wait for his reaction.

You blame it on the adrenaline in your veins that you suddenly feel the need to reach out and put your hand on his chest. 

To feel his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Your body leans towards him, that's when you hear a crack in the bushes and before you can even react, Rick has already drawn his gun and is aiming at whatever should come out from between the trees.

Groaning, a lone walker emerges from the trees and when Rick doesn't lower his gun, you put your hand on the cold barrel of the gun and press it down a bit: "We can take him."

He doesn't quite lower the gun and looks down at you, breathing heavily.

You give him a weak smile, "Let me do that."

Gently you push the gun down even further and when he finally lowers it, you disengage from him and pull the knife on your thigh.

This one walker gives you no trouble and as he lies dead at your feet, you turn back to Rick who is watching you.

Still holding the gun, he looks to you and you clear your throat quietly, "What, you need to get something off your chest?"

The silence is cutting until he harshly demands, "Come here."

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief, "Haven't we been through this? I don't take orders from you."

His eyes don't leave you for a second as he lifts his chin slightly and hisses, "You come here now, or I'll come to you, and you don't want that. Trust me."

Your whole body screams to move toward him to find out what he wants, but your stubbornness is not so easily put out of action, "Rick-"

The knuckles around his gun turn white, "Now."

The tone in his voice actually makes you walk toward him, and as soon as you're within his reach, he grabs you by the arm and tugs you toward the hood.

His grip is so tight that you struggle against him, suddenly feeling something like panic as you realize you don't stand a chance against Rick.

He pushes you in front of him like a doll and presses your upper body onto the hood.

Panicked, you try to push yourself up with your hands, but his hand is heavy on your back and you flounder helplessly on the hood, "What are you doing? Let go of me!"

Your breathing becomes frantic and you can hardly believe it, but you're actually afraid of Rick.

When you think about how innocently he was sleeping next to you in the car earlier and now he's forcing you to bend over the hood, you feel sick.

You try to take a deep breath and relax as best you can as you murmur as softly as you can, "Let go of me, please."

Never having thought about how strong Rick actually is, you force yourself not to fidget as he takes a step closer behind you and you feel his leg against your thigh.

You barely recognize his voice as he whispers, "Stop talking, sweetheart."

Your heart stops for a moment at your nickname and you have to suppress a soft whimper as you feel his hand on your neck.

He's so...close to you. 

You can barely think straight through fear and what feels like arousal.

Rick can feel your resistance slowly weakening and he dares to loosen his grip on your neck a little. 

When you don't move an inch, he whispers softly, "Good girl."

Shit, he totally digs it when you push up against him. He loves the games you always play when you're teasing each other. He enjoys every minute of it, but after all that shit today, he's had enough.

In fact, he has no idea where you guys are and you having to rub it in his face all the time is driving him nuts.

He sees himself as a pretty controlled man, but as he watched you take out the walker, he couldn't suppress the feeling of finally breaking you for him.

How much he wants you to submit to him is almost laughable.

Quietly, you lie on the hood in front of him and he can't help but look at your pretty ass, which is maddening in those tight jeans.

Rick takes a deep breath and closes his eyes as his cock presses uncomfortably against his pants.

He doesn't really think about it as he rests his gun-holding hand on your soft ass and the cold barrel of the gun slides between your thighs. Roughly you groan and push yourself against him a bit, which surprises you so much yourself that you wince and hope that he hasn't noticed.

The hope quickly disappears as he pulls the barrel a little higher again and you take a loud breath.

Watching your body react is mesmerizing and he stares at your ass, which keeps trying to push against him, "Sweetheart?"

Mortified, you close your eyes and murmur, "Yes, Rick?"

He releases his hand from your neck and briefly you think about straightening up to get away from him, but as his hand reaches around you to grab your pants, your body resists the thought of getting away from Rick's hand and you remain still on the hood, waiting to see what Rick is trying to do.

He turns a little in your direction and instead of his leg, his cock is now pressing against your thigh and he murmurs softly, "Spread your legs."

Your stomach tightens and you do as he says, which makes him laugh harshly, "Oh, when it comes to me touching your pussy, you suddenly do as I say."

It's so incredibly humiliating and you could cry as he pulls your underpants, including panties, down so far that the fabric stretches around your thighs and the cool air hits the embarrassing wetness between your legs.

Almost as if driven by self-preservation, you do try to straighten up, but he quickly pushes you back onto the hood, "Stay down."

These little moments when you seem to be struggling after all turns him on incredibly and he slides a hand between your thighs.

A jolt goes through your body as Rick's fingers brush over your most intimate spot and you hear him moan harshly.

You bite your lower lip as you feel the cool barrel of his gun contrast with his warm fingers on your skin.

He slowly slides the gun in the direction where his fingers linger and immediately you tense, "What are you doing?" You barely recognize your own voice, but you don't care and croak again, "Rick?"

He can literally feel the panic you're feeling, and it's probably completely wrong that that's exactly what's making him harder.

Rick slides the barrel of his gun between your butt cheeks, enjoying the way you flinch as the metal of the gun digs into your soft skin.

He pulls his fingers from your wetness and instead slides his gun between your already swollen labia, "You take what I give you, sweetheart."

You whimper, "You can't be serious."

Firmly he pushes the barrel of the gun an inch inside you, "Does this feel like I'm not serious?"

The barrel is wide and you so damn tight that you feel like he's tearing you apart inch by inch as he slowly pushes it inside you. As he does so, the legitimate thought that the gun is loaded fades completely into the background and all you can feel is the cold thickness penetrating deeper and deeper into you.

Groaning, you squirm and gasp, "It's too big. It hurts."

Your pussy clenches around the barrel and Rick pushes it in a little deeper again, "Does it?"

Whimpering, you nod and look up at him for the first time since he forced you over the hood.

As you look at him with eyes veiled in arousal, his cock twitches and he tilts his head a little, "Why don't you beg me to stop then?"

He pushes the barrel a little deeper into you again and you moan, "Rick..."

It feels so incredibly dirty to be at his mercy like this, and yet you want more.

Pathetically, you try not to tighten around the barrel of the gun again, taking in as much as you can, which doesn't escape Rick's notice, and he grumbles, "Then stop lying and take it like a good girl. All of it."

Trembling, you yip, "Turn me over. I want to look at you while I do it."

He pulls the gun back a little and immediately you miss how deep it was inside you.

"What was that?" 

You can tell by his voice what he wants. 

What he's always wanted. 

For you to beg him.

"Please, turn me around. I'll take anything you give me, but please...I want to look at you while I do it-" Briefly you take a breath "Sir."

Growling, he grabs your waist and reaches around you so he can spin you around so you're sitting on the hood and he can keep the barrel of the gun inside you.

With your lips slightly parted, you watch Rick pull your pants down to your calves and then climb over them so he can stand between the fabric and your body like he's trapped. 

But only you feel like you can barely breathe because he's so close to you and your pussy is still being stretched.

Finally he looks you in the face again and the pure lust in his eyes makes you lean forward and put your lips firmly on his.

Rick grabs your chin with his free hand, pushing the barrel of the gun deeper into you again.

The feeling is so intense that you break the kiss and bite his lower lip to stifle a loud groan.

With his hand on your chin, he forces you to open your mouth and release himself so he can lean in and murmur into your ear as he thrusts into you again, "Do you like that, sweetheart? Do you like me fucking you like a whore with my gun?"

The thought of what he keeps thrusting into you makes you go crazy and you bury your face in the hollow where his shoulder meets his neck to muffle your moans, "Yes, oh god yes..."

You could never tell anyone what you let him do to you and that makes it all that much more wicked.

Your moans vibrate against Rick's hold and he takes his second hand to touch your clit.

It's only a small touch, but your hands tangle in his hair and he continues to tease, "So pathetic."

He knows exactly what he's doing and what he's denying you as you start to move on his hand to get more, but the circles he draws around your clit are too slow and he knows it.

Whimpering, you cry, "Please, Rick...please, sir."

You're so pathetic in his arms that he can't suppress a laugh, "Stop whining."

He's pushed you to the point where you'll do anything for him. 

Anything just so he wouldn't stop.

Trembling, you spread your legs as wide as you can and push your hips closer to him, but his touch remains frustratingly light and gentle, making you cry, "I'm begging you...please...what do you want me to do...I'll do anything..."

He presses a little harder on your clit and your pussy tightens around the gun inside you, "Anything then?"

You jerk your head back to look him pleadingly in the eyes as you whimper, "Anything."

He loves seeing that addiction in your eyes and he tilts his head as he pulls the gun out of your dripping pussy and you moan in protest, "No..."

Rick raises his eyebrows, "First you don't want to and now you do?"

Normally you're eye-to-eye with Rick, but his cocky demeanor makes you shrink into yourself and you whisper, "Please."

His eyes slide over your soft features and flushed cheeks, and he holds the gun shiny from your wetness in front of your face, "Lick it clean."

You hesitate for a second before looking him in the beautiful blue eyes and leaning forward to put the gun in your mouth. At the taste of your own, you roll your eyes and let out a muffled moan before looking back up at him. 

Slowly, you let the gun slide out of your mouth and lick it with your tongue.

Rick can't take his eyes off you even if he wanted to.

The way you lick the gun that took so many lives, as if it were his cock and the most beautiful gift in the world, makes even the last rational thought fizzle out and he hisses, "Unzip my pants."

He sets the gun down next to you on the hood and leans back a bit as you reach for his pants with shaky hands.

His cock pressing against the fabric is hard to miss, and your mouth waters as you think of him replacing the gun that was inside you earlier with his cock now.

You undo his holster, which immediately falls to the floor, and then his belt, which holds his pants low on his hips.

Your heart hammers in your chest and you feel your wetness dripping onto the hood below you.

He watches you undo his pants and then reach for the waistband to pull them down over his ass.

His cock immediately pops out and a low moan escapes you.

Your eyes are fixed firmly on the twitching cock in front of you and your pussy clenches at the sight.

The way you sit there and can't look away is the best thing he's seen in a long time. 

The fact that a few minutes ago you were still resisting and trembling with fear, while now you are begging to be fucked by him is all he can think about.

You are still staring at his cock, when Rick grabs you by the waist and pulls you to the edge of the hood so that his tip presses against your pussy and you look him breathlessly in the eyes, "Please."

You wiggle your ass to somehow get him inside you, but his hands on your hips are firm and unyielding, "Please what, sweetheart?"

He lifts his hips a little and slides his shaft over your wetness, making you moan hoarsely, "Please, sir. Please, please, please."

You've never begged before and never intended to, but right now all you want is for him to have mercy on you and let you wrap your wet walls around him.

He leans in and his lips graze your ear, "Will you do whatever I want you to do?" His accent is wider than usual with arousal and you gasp, "Yes, sir."

Rick presses an inch into you as a reward and growls, "Always?"

Completely will-less, you press your torso against his and whimper, "Yes, sir."

Another inch, "Good girl."

His tongue licks over your neck, "Do you want my cock?"

Moaning, you close your eyes and breathe, "Yes, sir." 

Your voice breaks on the last word and as a reward Rick thrusts his hips forward replacing what was previously the barrel of the gun inside you.

The metal from his gun was cool inside you, whereas his cock twitches hot and heavy inside you, making you almost pass out.

Your hands tighten in the fabric of his shirt to find purchase as he pulls back slightly and then thrusts slowly and deeply into you again.

Gasping, you bury your face against his neck as your pussy clenches around him again and again.

The feel of your wet walls around his cock, makes his heart stop for a moment and a low growl escapes his throat.

You feel so good around his hard cock and every time your pussy tightens around him, it feels like you're just pulling him deeper inside you.

He releases one hand from your hip and uses it to push your hair to the side so he can spread wet kisses on your neck, and you willingly tilt your head to the side to give him more room.

Slowly his thrusts get firmer and faster, causing a smacking sound between your legs that you don't even have to be ashamed of as Rick gasps against your neck, "Fuck, you're so wet for me."

He fucks you so hard you feel like he's rearranging your guts, and you dig your teeth into his neck to stifle a loud moan as he slides his hand between you to press on your clit.

You're already so incredibly sensitive there that you whimper, "I'm about to cum."

His circles around your clit speed up and your whole body is on fire, but he hisses, "No."

You tug at his shirt, "I can't take it anymore."

To torture you, his circles tighten and your legs start to shake. 

You force yourself to work against the orgasm as he thrusts firmly into you, "You'll cum when I tell you to, sweetheart."

Him calling you 'sweetheart' only makes it worse and you try to slide away from him so you can comply with his request and not cum on his cock yet.

But his grip is tight and you're too weak to pull away, "Rick...you have to stop...I can't...oh god..."

Your whole body tenses and tears come to your eyes as you actively fight against your release. 

It's almost sad that you want to make him proud by suppressing your orgasm and he just hisses, "You take what I give you and I swear I'll spank you if you cum without my permission."

Tears roll down your cheeks and you sob, "I can't take it anymore."

His fingers on your clit and his cock in your pussy feels too good and as he growls harshly, "Now." It tears you apart from the inside.

Never in your life have you come so hard and desperate as when pressed against Rick's body.

Your pussy pulses around his hardness and the feel of your tears leaving wet trails down his neck only turns him on more and he can't help but lay claim on you, "Whose pussy is that, sweetheart?"

Your whole body trembles under his grip and you give a long drawn out moan, "Yours, sir."

He rewards you by pulling his head back a little and kissing you hard on the lips and then gasps, "When I've come in your pussy, it's not just mine. Then you're mine."

Your foggy brain only hears that he's going to come inside you and you panic, "Rick...no...not inside me."

He grabs your chin and looks at you questioningly as he keeps fucking you and you whimper, "Please don't."

You look up at him pleading and trembling and his cock twitches inside your pussy wet with cum, making him grumble harshly, "You're shaking from cumming all over my cock and begging me to stop? You don't really want me to stop doing this...you like when I make your little pussy all wet and sticky, huh?"

Your last resistance breaks and you bring a soft "yes" to your lips before he presses his mouth over yours again and his beard scrapes across your chin.

His fingers dig into your hips and you know you'll be carrying away marks tomorrow as he stiffens and moans harshly into your mouth as he comes jerking inside you.

You've never had a man come inside you before and at the warm feeling spreading through your belly as he thrusts his warm cum into you, you whimper against his swollen lips.

You feel him softening inside you and you pull away from the kiss, blinking.

The adrenaline rush slowly wears off and you stare at Rick in disbelief. 

Not only because he did this to you, no, but also because you can't believe yourself that you let him do this to you.

He pulls his cock out of your pussy and you feel his cum mixed with yours dripping onto the hood.

Speechless, you stare at his pretty face as he looks between your legs and slides his hand between them.

He gathers up what's dripping out of you and pushes his fingers, saying, "You are supposed to say 'thank you'." Into your overused pussy.

As if in a trance, you say, "Thank you, sir." And he nods in satisfaction.

Rick surprisingly gently pulls you off the hood and pulls your pants back up over your ass.

You find your own thoughts, "Why did you do that?"

You look so utterly confused that this amuses him deeply and he raises an eyebrow, "What do you mean? That I fucked you or that I put your pants back on?"

He sees you swallow, "The fucking."

Unimpressed, he shrugs, "I wanted you, so I took you. Get used to it."

Speechless, your mouth drops open and he adjusts his own pants as he reaches for his gun on the hood, "We should spend the night here and see where we are in the morning."

You don't even realize he just admitted he doesn't know where you are and can't suppress a whimper as he pulls away from you and walks around the car to the driver's door.

Shit, you're dependent on him. 

Something you never wanted, but you already miss his hands on your body and run after him like a lonely puppy begging him to sit on his lap.

@hail-yourselves  @bean-is-reading  @chanlvr2  @criminalwalkingsupernatural  @sunshinevirus  @toxic-ink  @kingtwhiddleston  @bloodycherry22  @vane28282  @bamslover  @revesephemeres  @emo-potato-virgil  @tropodyn  @mrsashleybarnes18-blog  @igotbasicdrag @starsaroundmyscxrss @moonshine147 @1-800-isabellapotter @starkstiless

(If anyone else would like to be tagged, just let me know 💗)

[mochirimochi]

Someone Else

William Afton X Reader

I continue to wanna smash the pervy dilf in the rabbit suit.

Part 2 in a series. I strongly suggest reading part 1 first, but you do you.

p1 ● p2● p3 ● p4

-----

William spots you attempting to make a quick escape through the security cameras. He decides to make a quick call to demonstrate the... benefits of sticking around. You're his, afterall.

18+ Minors DNI.

~3500 words, no use of y/n

------

content: extremly dubious consent, voyerism, mutual masturbation, phone sex, dirty talk, degradation kink

cw for abusive relationships

You can also read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51615532

-----

You slowly blink your eyes open and it takes a moment for you to remember why you’re lying with your face down on a musty old couch cushion. You sigh and force your pounding head up, attempting to ignore the screaming pain in your hips and back. Why in the world were you so sore? You’d slept on worse couches than this one and they’d never done you this dirty before. You’d had the most vivid dream as well, the strangest, most frightening, and yet also the most… stimulating wet dream you’d ever had in your life. 

You push yourself into a seating position and a sharp twinge between your legs gives you pause, as does the breeze over them. Slowly, you look down and realize your pants and underwear are tangled around your ankles. Still tangled around your ankles.

Fuck. 

The events of the night before come flooding back to you with all new clarity and you bury your head in your hands with a groan as it sinks in. You don’t know whether to be ashamed, terrified, or uncontrollably aroused. Actually, you seem to be managing to feel all three things just fine. When you stand up your hips practically scream, and after a moment you feel something warm and viscous begin to slowly drip down your thighs. Your cheeks and ears burn with what must be the most intense blush you’ve ever felt.

First order of business is going to have to be getting clean. You’re sure you can manage that literally, but figuratively it feels like you might never achieve it again. You pull up your jeans and underwear and limp your way out of the staffroom on stiff, aching legs. Around the corner you spot a bathroom and you push your way through the doors. To your surprise and relief it not only contains the regular amenities, but also a cramped shower stall. It makes sense, the mascot suits the staff wore sometimes must have gotten awfully hot on the inside, you’d probably want your employees to freshen up a bit after wearing one before they went back out to interact with customers.

You reach in and flick on the shower, twisting the knob all the way to the top of the hot dial. You don’t really have any hope for hot water, but you can dream can’t you? The shower spits out a stream of cold, rusty water that thankfully clears after a few minutes. While the water flows you strip out of your clothes and use a fist full of the paper towels that are thankfully still in the dispenser to scrub off the worst of the grime that’s accumulated in the stall. To your utter shock the water eventually begins to warm, and you gratefully step into the hot shower.

There’s no soap of course, but it’s better than nothing. You rub your hands over your body, flinching when you hit a large bruise on either hip. Unbidden, your mind slowly starts to drift back to the night before. You remember the way his nails sank into your flesh, his iron grip as he’d slammed into you. A shiver runs through you and you don’t even have cold water to bame it on. Before he left you last night he grabbed your panting form by the hair one last time, pressing his face into your neck and licking you from collarbone to ear.

“Stay as long as you like.” He’d practically purred, pushing his cheek against yours as you whimpered helplessly. “As long as you let me collect rent.” With a sharp nip to your jaw he’d finally let you go, allowing your limp body to crumple onto the couch. You must have passed out after that, because the next thing you can remember is waking up.

Just thinking about it makes desire curl in your stomach all over again, but it also makes your blood run cold. You can’t be sure, but you don’t think he’d come to you that night looking for sex. No, you have a feeling his intentions had been much, much worse than that. It seems to you like you survived that encounter through sheer, dumb luck. The best option for your continued survival is probably to beat a hasty retreat and find somewhere else to lay low. Yes, that’s definitely what you should do, but even as you mentally commit to getting the hell out of dodge you can’t help feeling a pang of disappointment. You can't remember the last time you were so uncontrollably and unreservedly turned on. None of what happened last night should have aroused you. You know on an intellectual level that it was deeply, deeply wrong and dangerous. Your body however, feels differently.

Your body isn’t the boss of you though, and as you turn off the water you resolve to pack up and leave. It’s better to be left wanting than left for dead after all.

You do your best to dry off with the paper towels, a frustrating affair that leaves you mostly still damp and you struggle your way back into your clothing. There isn’t much to be done about your wet hair, so you settled for running your fingers through it to tease out the worst of the tangles. Without letting yourself think about it too much you hurry back to the staffroom and begin to gather your things. You don’t have much to grab, just your flashlight and bookbag. The guts of your phone are still spread out across the floor and for some reason you feel compelled to pick them up and drop them into the nearest garbage. It feels like disrespecting the building by leaving trash around would be the wrong move to make.

After peeking out the window to make sure the coast is clear you shrug your bag over your shoulder and hastily make your way down the hall. You can’t help but feel like you're being watched as you walk, and your brain pictures a large yellow figure looming behind every door you pass.

Just as it seems like you’re going to be able to make your way back into the main area of the building, something stops you in your tracks. The sharp and abrasive ring of an old fashioned phone pierces the quiet and you twist towards the sound. It’s coming from the room next to you, helpfully labeled as the “security office”. You continue to peer into the room as the phone’s shrill ringing echoes in the empty hallway. You can’t think of any good reason that someone would be calling the long defunct business and dread begins to pool in your gut.

The phone is not your problem though, and after a few more piercing rings it falls silent. You give yourself a shake and try to move on, taking a few steps forward and reaching for the door to leave. Just as your fingers brush the knob the phone rings again, causing you to practically jump out of your shoes. You turn back towards the room, staring at the door in trepidation until the ringing stops. It has to be a coincidence, right? You stay frozen for a few long minutes, but the phone doesn’t ring. It could easily be a wrong number you reason, or kids calling on a dare. You reach out for the door one last time and your heart begins to hammer as the ringing once again fills the silence.

Not a coincidence then.

With a gulp you begin to move towards the security office, stepping through the door and casting your eyes around the room in search of the phone. You spot it sitting on a cluttered and dusty desk, just behind a rickety old fan. Your hands shake as you reach out and pick up the receiver.

“Hello?”

–

William has been glued to the monitor from the moment he arrived in his office. Connecting the video feed from the pizzeria to his office at the counseling center had been a simple endeavor, and one that he had found necessary to keep an eye on his… wards over the years. He’s thankful for it now as he watches you blink the sleep from your eyes. The sight of the dark purple bruises forming on your hips and ass sends a wave of possessive pride through him that has his cock twitching in his trousers, and he hisses in disappointment when you pull up your jeans to cover them. 

He watches in amazement as you effortlessly navigate the halls and disappear into a bathroom. What is it about you? How can you survive unscathed and with such little effort where so many before you struggled and failed? He knew the animatronics knew you were there, he’d watched you bumble right into Freddy the night before. Yet somehow they had no desire to pursue you, they even seemed to be actively avoiding the areas of the building they knew you were in. Were they trying not to frighten you? It stokes a deep curiosity in him, the same one that had driven him to visit the pizzeria in person last night for the first time in years. 

What makes you so special?

That curiosity had been all that motivated him the night before, but now he finds he has an even better reason to keep an eye on you. Claiming you last night was thrilling, and now that he has that he wants to do it over, and over, and over again. He’d watched you sleep all night through the security feed, stroking his cock as he replayed your dalliance in his head until he couldn’t take it anymore. You’d been so wanton, so pliable. It was exquisite. 

His brows furrow when you emerge from the bathroom (damp clothing clinging deliciously to your frame) and begin to pack. It’s immediately clear that you’re planning on leaving.

Now, that just won’t do. He’s just gotten you, he won't be letting you go that easily.

He didn’t expect you to pick up the first call, but when you ignore the second his teeth clench in frustration. 

No, that won’t do at all. You’re his, and things that are his do not ignore him.

When you finally begin moving towards the phone the wait is agony, but he relishes the fear in your eyes as you lift the receiver.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

–

You suck in a deep breath at the familiar voice, your blood is pumping so fast you can hear it roaring in your ears. The mix of fear and desire from last night comes flooding back to you all at once and you squeeze your legs together despite yourself. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to stay here.” You lied, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “I was going to find somewhere else to stay.”

“Now that won’t do at all. Here I’ve offered you room and board out of the kindness of my heart, and at such a reasonable price. You wouldn’t throw all that back in my face by leaving, now would you?” His voice is smooth and even, taunting you. The underlying threat in his words sends chills down your spine.

“I appreciate all that, thank you.” You push the words out quickly. “But I don’t want to impose on you anymore. I’m sure I can arrange to stay with someone el-”

“You’ll do no such thing.” He cuts you off with a harsh growl. “You’ll stay where you are like a good little slut.”

You flinch at his words, but heat floods your stomach.

“Please, I can’t stay here forever.” You whisper, clenching your fingers around the phone cord.

“The way I see it, you don’t have much choice in the matter. You’re mine now, little mouse, let’s not forget that.” 

A whimper forces its way past your lips, and you can’t be sure whether it’s in fear or in longing. You hate that your body is reacting to him like this. You’ve just jumped headfirst from one terrible situation and straight into one that’s even worse. And yet you find yourself practically buzzing with anticipation. You shake your head to disagree with him, but it doesn’t have much conviction behind it. 

“There’s no use fighting it, little mouse. Besides, you didn’t seem to mind it last night.”

“I’m not. I can’t.” You gasp, but you don’t know what it is that you can’t do. Can’t stay here? Or can’t fight it? Does it even really matter?

“You can and you will.” His tone is sharp, demanding. You can feel your chest heaving in desperate breaths and his next words fill you with a delightful dread. “I want to hear you say it.”

“No.” It comes out in a whisper, and even to you it doesn’t sound very convincing.

“I want you think very carefully before you say ‘no’ to me again.” He speaks slowly, and the words sound like they’re coming from behind clenched teeth. “Now say it.”

You clench your fingers even tighter around the cord and feel the hard rubber press into your skin. After a moment you finally manage a response.

“I’m yours.” It’s barely audible, no more than a breath, but you know it’s true the moment you say it. Just admitting it fills you with a shocking longing.

“Again.” 

“I’m yours.” Louder this time, it comes out in a breathy moan.

“That’s my good little slut, I knew you’d make the right decision.” He chuckles into the receiver, but his voice is deep with arousal. You clench your legs even tighter and grasp at your stomach with your free arm, desperate to relieve the throbbing heat at your core. “Does that get you off? Knowing you’re all fucking mine?” The rumbling of his voice in your ear and the desire behind his words has you gasping.

“Yes.” God, you wish he could step through the phone and take you right there, bend you over the desk and fuck you into oblivion.

“Then be a good little whore for me and take off your shirt.”

–

God, you’re exquisite.

Hearing your whimpers, watching you give in to him, knowing that you’re his? It’s enough to drive him insane. His cock is straining at the seam of his trousers and he can’t resist the urge to free it any longer. He takes himself in his hand with a satisfied groan, letting his head fall back against his chair and closing his eyes for just a moment to drink in the pleasure.

When he looks up again your hands are tangling themselves in the hem of your shirt as you chew your lip, pinching the phone between your ear and your shoulder. Just as he’s about to repeat his command you slowly begin to pull your shirt up.

You tip your head just so as you lift your shirt off over it, giving him the perfect view of the love bite he’d left at the base of your jaw as a parting gift. His cock jumps in his hand and he groans in satisfaction. He wants to leave his mark on every inch of your body, leave evidence of his presence everywhere he touches. His attention shifts to a deep, mottled bruise at the base of your neck, one that he knows he didn’t leave. The groan turns into a growl. He remembers the pathetic man whose voicemail he overheard you listening to the night before. The thought of another man putting his hands on you, leaving a mark on what’s his, fills him with rage. Your body is for him and him only, no one but him will ever touch you again. He’ll have to find a way to pry his name out of you, although the thought of anyone’s name but his on your lips makes him sick.

His attention comes back to you as your shirt drops to the ground. He’ll have time to worry about staking his claim on you later, he decides as he watches you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting for his next direction.

“Now the bra.” He breathes into the phone and watches as you slowly pull down the straps and undo the clasp, baring your breasts to him for the first time. He wishes that the monitors were bigger, that he had more than one angle to appreciate your delectable body. He wants to touch you, but settles for stroking his cock while he watches you squirm for him. He sees your eyes roaming around the room, looking for the camera that you must have realized is there by now. When you finally find it, staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes he can’t suppress a groan. 

You're all his, and he plans to take full advantage of that.

–

You don’t know what’s come over you.

Your chest is heaving, your whole body trembling as you hang on his every word. A small part of your brain is still rebelling, telling you this is capital “B” bad and you should turn around and run straight out that door and never come back. But that thought can barely surface before it’s washed away by a flood of earth shattering arousal like you’ve never experienced before. You really should run… but you won’t. 

His voice comes through the phone again.

“You wish I was there don’t you?” His voice was like velvet brushing against your skin. “Wish I could bend you over that desk and take what’s mine.” You gulp, had he seen your hungry glance towards it earlier? You nod frantically.

“I can’t hear you, little mouse.”

“Yes, please, come take what’s yours.” You rasp, you hear another groan on the other side of the line.

“Well then take off your pants and show me how much you want it.” You almost drop the phone in your haste to rip your jeans off and another deep chuckle signals his approval. “Now sit in the chair and face the camera.”

You do it without a thought, swiveling the chair around and crumbling heavily into it. Your practically soaking panties are the only barrier between your ass and the seat. 

“Spread those legs for me, I want to imagine my face between them.” You obey with a moan. You’re desperate to touch yourself, desperate to plunge your hand into your panties and relieve the thrumming pressure between your thighs. You don’t dare to deviate from his instructions, so you sit there, the cold air and your arousal forming goosebumps on your skin.

A few minutes pass before his next direction, you can hear his deep breathing through the phone as it quickens. You realize with a gasp that he must be touching himself and the image in your head makes you throw your head back and groan. The thought of him stroking his cock to the sight of you is almost enough to push you over the edge and you haven’t even touched yourself yet. You haven’t even taken your panties off yet.

“Please.” You beg, and for what feels like the hundredth time in the last few hours you don’t know what it is you’re begging for.

“Stroke that pussy for me until you cum like the little slut you are.” He barely has time to groan out the words before you plunge your hand into your panties. You’re so sensitized that you gasp when your fingers meet flesh. You imagine that they’re his fingers and you whimper at the image. The sound of his ragged breathing in your ear tells you he’s matching your frantic pace.

“No one else will ever make you feel like that, little mouse.” His voice is tight and strained.

You groan as your hand works with feverish intensity. You’re so close.

“Whose are you?”

“Yours”  You’re gasping for breath, his voice driving you wild with desire.

“Who owns your pussy?”

“You.” There isn’t anything you won’t agree too right now, as long as he doesn”t stop talking.

“And you won’t try to leave again.”

“Never.” You practically sob out the words, your brain going blank as your body takes over.

The intellectual part of your brain is sounding another alarm and desperately waving a red flag, but the red heat of your desire outweighs everything. You scream as you reach your peak, twitching and spasming as your muscles clench with a strength you’ve never known before.

You hear his breath stutter, and his deep groan sends another wave of pleasure through you. You imagine him coating his fist and thighs in his cum, all the while watching you from wherever his video feed leads.

Neither of you speak for a long moment, the only sounds filling the room are the twin sets of ragged breaths that come from you and the man on the other side of the phone.

“You won’t forget who you belong to again.” His words are both a threat and a promise. When the receiver clicks and the dial tone assaults your ears you collapse out of the chair and onto the floor, still quivering.

You are literally and figuratively fucked.

[holylulusworld]

Biggest grump

Summary: Your best friend’s friend is not as annoying as you believed.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: banter, language, mentions of pegging and anal play (they play a game, okay), snowed in, enemies to lovers, fluff

<;< Part 1

“So…how does this game work?” Bucky tries to buy himself some time. He doesn’t want to answer your questions. Especially when it comes to the girls he dated lately.

“Barnes don’t act as if you never played truth or dare before,” you slap his thigh. “Because you tried to trick me, I’ll ask you first.”

“That’s not fair,” he grumbles. Bucky looks at the glasses you placed on the coffee table. Drinking is out of the question for tonight.

“I don’t care.” You lean closer and stick your tongue out. “Fight me!”

He sighs deeply. “Fine. Whatever. I didn’t want to play this stupid game in the first place.”

You giggle at his pained expression. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“When you first met Steve, did you already know you’ll become friends?”

“He was a weak and sick boy,” Bucky smiles at the memory. “But he had guts. I first saw him when he was in trouble. Three boys tried to rough him. Steve stood his ground. A damn tough boy. I knew we will get friends right away.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.” You swoon. “I met him when he was all grown. I wish we grew up together.”

“My turn,” Bucky grins. You swallow thickly, fearing he will ask you embarrassing questions. “What's a secret you've never told anyone?”

“A secret? Hmm…” You ponder. “Oh, I know!” Bucky leans a little closer when you grip his arm. “I stole a lace panty when I was sixteen. It was red, and my mom didn’t want to buy it for me. I wanted to impress my boyfriend.”

“You naughty girl.” He grins. “Did he like it?”

You sigh and shake your head. “He broke up with me after I told him I wanted to wait a little longer. He was clumsy and I didn’t like how he groped me.”

“His loss.”

“What?” You blink a few times.

“What?” Bucky clears his throat. “I mean, if he messed up it’s his loss.”

“I enjoyed wearing it, though. I sometimes buy underwear only for myself. I love to feel sexy.” You run your fingertips up and down his arm.

Bucky swallows thickly. “Your turn,” he breathes out. “Shoot me with your best shot, doll.”

“Hmm…Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What's something you're glad your mum doesn't know about you?” You ask. “Tell me everything about your dirtiest secret.”

“You want the dirt, huh?” Bucky flashes you a smirk. He wrinkles his forehead. “I let a girl peg me once.”

“No!” You slap his thigh. “Really? Who was it? Was it good? Did you like it? I didn’t take you for a guy letting the girl take the lead.”

“If it’s the right girl,” he whispers lowly. His fingertips graze your cheek and instinctively lean into his touch. “I let her have control once in a while.”

“Did you like it?” You press on.

“It was…different.” He answers honestly. “Not bad or anything. But she was a little impatient and uh…it wasn’t that good.”

“I guess she didn’t do it right,” you nod to yourself. “I let a guy finger my ass while he fucked me from behind. It was hot, and I came so hard.”

“Y/N…we should talk about boundaries. No more questions about sex,” Bucky suddenly says. His pants feel a little too tight and he doesn’t want to cross a line.

“Aw, don’t be a spoilsport, Bucky,” you whine. “Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?” He asks.

“Truth.”

“Have you ever cheated on someone?”

“No. Never. If I love someone, I do it with all my heart.” You grab one of the glasses to take a large sip. “If the love is gone break up. Don’t cheat. If he doesn’t fuck you right, talk. Don’t cheat.”

“You’re a good girl too.” His eyes drop to your lips. He whispers your name as you are engrossed in watching his long lashes flutter.

“My turn,” you stop Bucky before he can ask more. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“What's the strangest dream you've had?”

“Dream…hmmm…” He closes his eyes and tries to recall the dreams he remembers. “I remember one dream. I had horns, and my skin was on fire.”

“You dreamed that you were the devil?” You ask.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Steve was there too. He was wearing a suit made of cookies. And then there was this girl. She was wearing wings and looked like an angel. But she begged me to kiss her.”

You lick your lips. “Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What's your worst habit?”

“I fall in love with the wrong guy every time,” you dip your head to look him deep in the eyes.

“Do I need to break someone’s face?”

You laugh at his question. “No. I haven’t been with someone for a while. So, truth or dare.”

“Dare.” His reply surprises you. “Come on, challenge me, doll. Do you want me to jump from the rooftop or empty the bottle on ex?”

“No.” You scoot a little closer to Bucky. He watches you place your hand on his chest eyes widen when you whisper the words in his ear. “I want you to kiss me.”

“Doll…Y/N…I can’t. I…Stevie will kill me.” You smirk at his nervous state. Bucky wants nothing more than kiss you, but his best friend will flay him alive if he dares to put his hands on you.

“Bucky,” you whisper. Bucky gasps when you straddle his lap and cup his face. He tries to protest but you claim his lips, making a move before he can chicken out.

“Doll…” he mumbles against your lips. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Kiss me again.”

You wrap your arms around his neck to kiss him deeply. He slips his tongue inside, swiping over your tongue. “Stevie…will kill me.”

“Who do you think made sure that we end up stuck at his cabin?”

Bucky looks at you in his lap. “Stevie…”

“The one and only. Now...do you want to see my red lace panties or do you want to play another game.”

>> Part 3

Tags in reblog.

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 8.

Summary: The fallout of arguing with Oliver, not fighting with Farleigh, Felix hooks up with your not-girlfriend, and so you provide comfort to his sort-of-ex.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: someone makes a move on the reader while they're very very drunk and the reader is far more sober, but it doesn't go past kissing, if that's something you're possibly concerned about.

A/N: 5424 words. welcome back. this one goes many different places in the span of one night. the farleigh of it all. the annabel of it all. im worried this one might feel OOC so id really like to hear if there's anywhere i could improve on my characterisation, what worked, what didn't?? as always unedited, and as we're nearing the end of the term (in the fic) we only have a few chapters left at oxford before we get to go to saltburn!! LOVE YOU ENJOY!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Didn't have to do that," Felix sighed from his desk, head bent low over his textbook. It's the first thing he'd said since Oliver left. You, still on his bed, picking through a textbook for a class you both share, found half-shoved under his bed, look up.

"Do what?"

"That thing with Michael What's-His-Name's file," it almost sounds like guilt in his voice, but he still isn't listening to you, "you could get in real trouble for having that."

In swift movements he stands, and you catch the sight of his scowl despite how he doesn't turn it upon you. Once again he's sitting on the floor, back to the foot of the bed, lighting up another cigarette, legs crossed in front of him.

"I'll put it back tomorrow." You're not used to Felix disapproving of you, it's a kind of discomfort you want to shake as quickly as you're able to. After a moment you add, "I know it's not really Ollie's fault, I shouldn't have -"

"I don't want to talk about Ollie right now." He's focused on balancing his ash tray on his knee, watching it with such intensity it's as if he's trying to define life's secrets from it.

"Should I go?" Murmured, almost like you're afraid of anyone hearing it, even Felix. It hangs, golden in the hazy heat of the afternoon.

"'m not the boss of you," Felix mumbles softly, head low, again his words coloured almost with guilt. You know he will never shake the quiet shame he sometimes is hit with when he remembers the way people often perceive the relationship you two share; too close, too loyal, too imbalanced.

But you've never cared; you will never treat him differently, never want for anything but his happiness, never beat the canine allegations. One day you hope you'll convince him that's okay.

So instead of leaving, you close the textbook and stretch yourself out across his bed, laying the on your belly with your head resting at the foot, by his. Your hand rests on his head, running your fingers through his hair.

Felix breathes out a lung full of smoke. He doesn't look at you. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes. The moment is a quiet one, tension thick and choking and full of things neither of you can talk about.

It's the strangest afternoon you share in a long while, one full of silence and the slow, mind numbing sound of pages being turned and the scratch of pen against paper.

"I'm gonna get ready to go out tonight," you say softly, finally breaking the silence when the courtyard outside is every shade of gold and orange in the sunset. Felix just hums in acknowledgement from his desk, "Fi?"

"Yeah," he huffs, dismissively, still looking at his notes. You've got the file in one hand, doing up the buttons of the shirt you'd forgone in the afternoon heat of his dorm room, but had to wear back to your own.

"You want me to text Oli?" You watch him grow tense at the name alone.

"Yeah, maybe, I don't know," he mumbles, almost forcibly nonchalant, despite the hard line of his shoulders that hadn't been there moments ago. Then, as if to clear the moment, he sits up straighter, turning to you in his desk chair with a look of determination in his eyes, "India still into me do you think?"

"I know India's still into you," you can't help but snort, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Would you be totally cut up if I -" he doesn't even need to finish before you're rolling your eyes.

"She'd be thrilled," but your smile softens a little, even as you shake your head with exasperation, "she's all yours, Fi."

Perhaps it's the fondness with which you acquiesces to his arguably selfish request that makes him take in the full exchange that had just passed. Felix takes a moment, tension and expression dropping as he turns pensive for a moment, unable to look you in the eyes. After a beat, you turn to the door, fully intending on letting the moment pass, but you hear Felix stand.

He doesn't say anything as he approaches you, still wearing that rather grim, thoughtful expression, but he wraps you up in a hug. He holds you as close as he's able, and after a beat of surprise, you gently drop the file to wrap your arms around him in return.

I love you. I'm sorry. All the tension from the afternoon drains away in this hug, in him pressed against you, leaning into you, breathing deep and even and steady. Pressing your face against his shoulder, you give him a brief kiss against his warm, golden skin, and hope he can feel your smile too.

The hug breaks, but still he holds your face for a long moment. He's smiling again. I love you. Thank you. He kisses your cheek quickly.

"I'll catch you at the King's Arms, yeah?"

"'course, Fi," you assure him with a warm smile of your own.

Back in your own dorm, that single moment of warmth unfortunately can't overwrite the entire afternoon of sickly tension. Looking at Oliver's name in your contacts, you frown. You should text him, invite him, Felix told him he would -

"Yeah, maybe, I don't know."

You don't text Oliver.

Annabel also isn't at the King's Arms that night. Of course you know why, the answer sits across from you with his arm around your not-girlfriend, but part of you still kind of feels bad for if the sweet redhead ever finds out.

"What are you sulking about?" Farleigh's smug voice in your ear, Farleigh's arm around your shoulder, Farleigh's cigarettes you keep stealing, Farleigh who you've tucked yourself up against for the night.

"'m not," you try insisting, frowning at the lighter that's clearly out of fluid and refusing to relight your cigarette. He gives your shoulder a squeeze.

"You sure, Peter Pan? Where's your shadow?"

"You don't give a shit about Oliver," you snap a little too quickly, both frustrated by the situation you're trying to ignore, and the useless lighter, but Farleigh reads right through it and practically cackles. Still, he wraps his other arm around you and squeezes you against his side with glee, even as you try to protest.

"Ooh~" Farleigh teases, poking your side with a wide, fond smile, "trouble in pauper's paradise?"

"That's fucking mean," you rib him none too gently, but he actually snorts with laughter. The lighter still won't bloody well start.

"I feel like you're fucking edging me with that lighter, fuck," Benji, from Farleigh's other side, smacks your lighter out of your hands and holds out his perfectly working one.

"Thank you, Benny, that was pissing me off," Farleigh says with a satisfied smile, his laughter having died down. You, finally take a draught on your cigarette, grateful for the warmth, and the nicotine as it hits.

"Could kiss you, Benj," you finally let yourself smile, "someone remind me to get a new lighter," you add, leaning across Farleigh without hesitation to plant a kiss squarely on Benji's lips after he'd wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, teasingly at you at your comment.

"We'd fascinate psychologists," Farleigh chuckled, but his voice is warm and fond, and Benji turns back to his conversation with Alicia and Jake on his other side once the moment had passed.

"Probably," comes out distracted, however as your teasing mood drops and you look to your phone. Should I have called Oliver? But when you look up, across the table, you see warmth and fondness in the way Felix looks at India, enraptured by whatever story she's telling. With one arm around her shoulders, he lets her distractedly play with his other hand, leaning into her, all attention on her. Making her feel like the centre of the universe, the way only Felix knows how to do. India glows in a way you've never seen before, lighting up under his direct affection, beautiful and elated, maybe even a little bit flustered.

There's not even a hint of jealousy at the sight of them. All you know is how much you love your friends, and how happy and beautiful they look together in this moment. There is contentment, satisfaction, like a job well done... Farleigh might have a point about the psychologists.

Speaking of - Farleigh grabs your chin and tilts your face to look at him. Immediately you smack his hand away.

"Stop that! What is that? What are you doing?" You squawk at him immediately. Again, he grabs your chin, frowning, intent upon gazing intensely into your eyes. This time you let him.

"I'm figuring out what this is," he mutters like he's deep in thought. You let your gaze roam for a moment, hoping he gets whatever this is out of his system. You wiggle your chin in his grip, and it's enough to prompt more of an explanation, "if you're not sulking, then I don't know this -" rolling your eyes, you smack his hand away.

"Fuck man, I'm not sulking," you insist, remembering your cigarette and taking another puff, glad it hadn't gone out.

"You've been weird lately; angry - ranting," Farleigh made sure to stick to your cover story despite having seen through it the minute you'd tried out the other week, "you and Felix have had some weird vibes," he takes the cigarette from you, and you settle yourself against him further.

"Fi and I always have weird vibes," you pointed out with a little smirk, keeping your voice as low as he was, glad he didn't feel the need to publicise this discussion too broadly. Farleigh snorted, but shook his head.

"You, sure," Farleigh conceded, handing back the cigarette, "but," he leans in, leans into your with a knowing, dangerously sharp smile, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, "Felix has been weird about you," his voice slides along the word weird as his hand slides up your thigh, as if to prove a point, before sitting back. Giving you a moment to recover, Farleigh sits back up like nothing happened, letting go of your thigh and taking a drink. He gives you a squeeze, arm still around your shoulders, "or hadn't you noticed?" Back at regular conversation levels like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Across the circle of your friend group, Felix's gaze momentarily flicks to you as India's in the middle of some kind of enthusiastically rambling. Gaze briefly passing to Farleigh, he then looks back and raises an amused eyebrow in silent question. The smile you give him is instinctive and warm, a silent answer. He mirrors the smile for the briefest moment before his attention returns to India.

Of course you'd noticed the change.

"Of course I've noticed." Your gaze dips; you become fascinated with your drink for the moment, trying to brace yourself for whatever comment you knew Farleigh had coming.

"Surprised he hadn't put you on a leash."

You elbow him hard in the ribs. He retaliates by flicking you repeatedly in the forehead. Its a blurry mess of frustration and elbows after that, pulling hair and wet fingers in ears and trying to sink nails into each other's soft sides, all squabbling and cursing and insults not made for polite society.

"- you put your fingers near my mouth I'll bite them off!" You holler even when he's got his arm around your neck in a kind of choke hold, which is around the time the two of you are pulled away from each other.

The rest of the table is staring at you both, while you and Farleigh straighten yourselves up, a little flustered at the many incredulous stares you were getting.

"The fuck was that about?" Felix, of course, is the one to voice the question the others all had. You look to Farleigh, his expression mirroring yours; no malice, no frustration, like nothing had happened.

"Bit of horseplay," you shrugged easily, meeting Felix's eyes, tone bright and chipper. He looked unconvinced.

"Just two dudes being guys," Farleigh's tone was light and breezy as he settled back into the booth, and you alongside him, letting him once more sling an arm around your shoulders.

"Guys bein' pals," you agreed with a nod. Farleigh pats your head for emphasis. The group thankfully decides that they've had enough of the weird moment to go back to their own conversations. Felix was the last to focus back on the conversation he'd been having with India and Alicia, narrowing his eyes as he looked between you and Farleigh.

Before turning his attention entirely away, his gaze fixes on you. There, in the very slight tilt of his head, the look in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens, you see his concern for you. You lean your head back on Farleigh's shoulder and let yourself relax, let yourself give him a genuine, reassuring smile. It's enough.

Farleigh clears his throat.

"It was either that or tell him you said that," you explained under your breath, to which Farleigh nodded in understanding, hand running up and down your shoulder idly as he reached across the table for the communal fries, bringing the basket closer to you both.

"And you don't want to tell him because you know I'm right," Farleigh is back to smug, but at least this time you can join him in his amusement.

"No, but I'm humouring you because I'd like to talk about how good I'd look in a collar," picking up a chip, you eat it with a grin as Farleigh rolls his eyes. After a moment, however, he comes back with this contemplative look, still amused, but eyes narrowed and searching like they had been earlier. You eat another chip and tell him to put his eyeballs back in his head, "seriously, quit looking at me like that, Farleigh -"

"He has been weird-weird," Farleigh says like he's agreeing, though you tell him you have no idea what the fuck he means. Taking a deep breath like he was ramping up to something, Farleigh looks across the group to Felix, before looking back at you with a kind of put-upon smile, "I say this only as someone who's know you for like, more of my life than I'd like to admit -"

"I love you too, go on."

"- so I kind of think that it might not look that different to anyone else, like they don't know it's not your usual brand of weirdness," he wets his lips, giving you a look like he's not even sure if he's meant to be saying this, like he might be letting you in on a secret you're not supposed to know, "he's been really hot and cold with you."

Of course you'd noticed.

"I slept with Oliver."

Beside you, Farleigh appears to go through all five stages of grief at once.

"You make it very hard to be friends with you sometimes," he says, shaking his head. You, however, are focusing on how many chips you can eat in a rush rather than think too much about the topic at hand.

"That mean," you tell him flatly, mouth full of potatoes, "you're being mean again."

"You chose to sleep with Oliver, that is a choice you made; I'm gonna be mean about it, you've earned it, you know you have -"

"Remember," you gave him a shit-eating grin, "how the next time we went drinking after that costume party, you spent a full half hour in the beer garden ranting about how stupid you thought Ollie's costume was," you ate another chip while Farleigh narrowed his eyes at you with barely concealed contempt, but you powered on, "and it turned out that you thought the costume didn't do him justice, which then -" your grin grew wider, "became you ranting about how his eyes are too blue, and why does he dress like that when we can all see his arms, imagine if he wore a shirt that fit!" You gleefully recounted, even as Farleigh's mouth flattened into a thin line, like he's bitten on a lemon, but he couldn't look you in the eyes.

"Hey, that's not what I -"

"And then -!" You spoke over him, "you forgot where you were and tried to take an angry nap in the bushes."

"I don't -" a flustered Farleigh squirms for a moment in his seat, unable to look at you, "remember that, and," he turned a faux serious look upon you, "if you tell anyone I said that, I'll tell them you're lying."

"I'm just saying," you shrugged, "don't act like you don't know part of the reason why I slept with him."

"Fine," Farleigh rolled his eyes, allowing his flustered frustration to ease. After a moment of contemplation, of watching Felix, he hums quietly, thoughtfully, "that can't be it, right?"

"What can't be it?"

"If Felix was going to start being jealous it wouldn't be over Oliver."

"See, that's what I thought."

"So he is jealous?"

"I don't know," you say quietly, still not quite sure how to feel about it; Felix had taken the news fine when you'd told him, he hadn't seemed any different, but of course there'd been a change. Why now?

"That's really stupid of him," Farleigh finally says, dismissively.

"It is, isn't it?" As you try and laugh, your heart's not in it. You look at your phone again, another wave of that strange discomfort that you'd been feeling lately washing over you again. You can't stay.

Everyone's surprised by your early departure as you say your goodbyes. You cite the need to study hard tomorrow, giving hugs and kisses as you start the short journey back to your dorm. Felix murmurs that he loves you and a cheeky thanks in your ear and you know he's talking about India. You kiss his cheek, and then you head off.

Nothing had seemed off when you'd told Felix.

"You look like you're about to burst into song; what happened to you?"

"Something happened!"

"Am I meant to guess?"

"No, no- I mean, like how nothing happened between me and Ollie a few months ago; something happened!"

"Something happened between you and Ollie?"

"The something that didn't happen last time -"

"I don't remember last time, Y/N, you're being so cryptic, I love that you're excited but -"

"Yes, Ollie and I slept together. Finally!"

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"No, good 'oh', promise!"

"Didn't sound like a good 'oh', Fi; is everything alright?"

"Yeah, of course, sorry Y/N, I promise, I'm just... I don't remember you being this excited about a hook up... and I don't think I was excepting it to be Ollie, you know? Was he really that good?"

"Let me put it this way, it was the kind of good that none of our other friends would believe if I told them."

"Fancy that, Ollie knows what he's doing; good for you."

"Great for me."

It wasn't particularly vulgar or explicit, you'd had far more in depth conversations about your various hook ups, Felix had seemed as happy for you as he always did with these kinds of stories. But he'd started looking at Oliver different, you'd noticed it. That too is when he became the clingiest. Farleigh was right; on nights out with Oliver around, Felix threw out any pretence of subtlety or person space. Felix acted like your boyfriend.

But then, any other night, any other group situation, it was like any other day. Sometimes he'd barely even glance at you. Hot and cold.

You're so in your head on the walk home that you barely register someone sitting at your door until you all but trip over them.

Annabel.

She'd been crying.

"Fuck you." Is how she greets you.

"What are you doing here?" A twinge of pity, a twinge of guilt, to see her obviously distraught at your doorstep. She gets unsteadily to her feet, swearing at you again. Reaching out to steady her, she surprises you by lunging at you, grabbing you.

"You were there, weren't you? With the rest of them," Annabel's gripping your collar, makeup smeared with tears and eyes red-rimmed, "with him," lips still inches from yours, her gaze unfocused but searching, "I can fucking smell it on you- you- you and rich boy-" but she stops for a moment, expression falling to confusion, "Farleigh?"

"Annabel -" you ease her hands off of your collar, partly confused, but mostly pitying.

"Why do you smell like Farleigh?" She sounds almost like a lost child, refusing to let go of your hand as you pulled out your keys. God she looks so helpless, tears still welling in her eyes, vodka bottle mostly empty by her feet.

"Why are you so good at telling what Farleigh smells like?" You countered with, swinging the door open. At this, some of the righteous indignation fires up in her again, flouncing into your room.

"You all went to the same boarding school, you've all got these same habits, and same but different scents you cling to," she's scowling at your dresser as you picked up the vodka bottle and brought it into your room, shutting your door. You watch her for a long moment, see how she analyses everything you have there, perfumes, colognes, makeup, skin care, little bits of paper rubbish - she picks up a bottle and flicks off the lid, not caring where it landed amongst the rest of the things there. When she sprays it, she seems to almost relax amongst it's mist. Of course. It's Felix's favourite, Felix's scent as she'd so aptly described it, for when he'd spend the night.

"Of course you have his too," she says faintly, almost derisively.

Allowing your attention to finally drift from her, you start getting ready for bed, heading to your closet to hang up your jacket.

"You all need to mark your territory," she spits, out of your peripheries, you see her move away from your dresser and pick up her vodka again, "need everyone to know who you own, who we all belong to -"

"Anna, that's not -" you sighed, unsure of where any of this was going, but not liking it either way. As you search your drawers for pyjamas, you felt her gentle hands on your hips. Jumping at the sudden touch, when you spin she braces herself against the drawers with hands either side of you, while your hands become trapped, the last bit of resistance between her chest and yours.

"I smelled like you both for weeks," she murmurs, gaze roaming your body, almost hungry, landing back on your lips, "you remember that? I should- I should- should have been fucking sickened," she admits, voice a low whisper, the hunger turning needy, turning into almost a whimper, "the things I want you both to do to me make me sick to my stomach," her lips inch closer to yours, shared breath, heat in the air, "of course I know what the fuck you all choose to smell like, I can't get it out of my fucking head," you should lean away but there's something intoxicating about her rage, her desperation, her desire, "Our Annabel, that's what he'd called me, what you'd -" and she kisses you, vodka still wicked and bitter on her tongue, all but panting into your mouth as her hands find your hips again.

But it can't continue, you can't let this go on. As you lean back to free your arms, to hold her back, she takes advantage of the opportunity to slide her hands beneath your shirt, cold and nimble against your belly -

"Could've been my Felix -" she mumbles, as if in a trance, eyes hazy and full of both tears, like she was looking into a memory. The minute her fingers find your fly you grab her hands firmly. It takes you a moment to regain your composure, to remind yourself that she wasn't in her right state of mind, that she probably didn't even know what she was doing or saying -

My Felix flares bright and hot and possessive in your mind. My Felix.

"Ow," Annabel's noise of pain brings you back to reality, but thankfully it seems the shock to her system brought her back too. Looking down at your vice-like grip on her wrists, she looks back at you as you let her go, embarrassment in her eyes as she perhaps realises some of what she'd been doing.

"I'm not sleeping with you tonight, Anna," still, your voice is gentle. She huffs an embarrassed little laugh, starting to sniffle again. Again, you remind yourself that this poor girl just got her heart broken by your best friend, and decided to deal with that by drinking an entire bottle of vodka. You'd committed to showing her some compassion tonight.

"I know." The tension drops, and she just leans her head forward to rest her forehead on your shoulder. You can't help but hug her, feeling the heavy way she sighs as you're giving her a reassuring pat on the back. The two of you stay like that for a very long few minutes until you hear her start crying again.

"Do you wanna borrow some pyjamas?" You ask softly, and feel her nod.

The rest of the night is quiet after that, taking care of this distraught young woman who got her heart broken by your best friend. It reminds you of nights you'd spend with Venetia back at Saltburn.

Annabel sits on your bathroom counter patiently, ankles crossed, watching the way you focus as you wipe off her makeup with meticulous care. When you take off her necklace, you coil it delicately on top of the nice clothes she'd been wearing, now sitting on top of her shoes by your door. At first she tries to wave you off when you offer to brush out her hair -

"There's -" she hiccups; the full bottle of vodka has finally hit her, but still she tries to shake her head, "too much hairspray, it'll be a hassle -"

"I'll be gentle," you told her softly, assurance in your eyes and a warm smile on your lips, "if you'll let me." Annabel melts under that gaze, sitting in borrowed pyjamas, face clean, cross-legged on your bed in the lamp light. You treat her with the gentlest care, brushing out her hair while you can still hear her occasional sniffles; she sits as primly as she's able, only apologising once at the start for it's length. You assured her it's fine.

"You scare me sometimes," Annabel mutters into the quiet, voice watery. For a moment, you pause.

"Me?"

"Both- both of you. You and Felix," she sniffles again, "and Farleigh too now, I guess," you can tell she swallows thickly, voice catching in her throat. When she tries to dip her head, she can feel the way you're still holding gently, still working, and she apologises faintly. Carefully, quietly, giving her space to organise her tipsy, upset thoughts, you continue to brush out her hair.

"Never met anyone like you, you know? Didn't think people like you guys existed. You're always everything; the most without even trying," she takes a deep breath, but it's undercut by a faint sob that's almost a chuckle, "I kind of think you don't even know what I mean- you especially, you know?" You... don't.

You brush, only giving a faint apology, but all she does is fidget, the words spilling unrehearsed from her, things she's clearly been bottling for far too long -

"Felix is everything everyone wants, and you're everything everyone wants him to be," she says it so forlornly, "the sun and it's fucking warmth," then, almost disgusted as she spits it under her breath, "I think about how he's never going to fuck me the way he looks at you while he's shitfaced, how sick is that?"

With a few more strokes her hair is brushed out, and without even thinking you start to braid it. Annabel's dissolved into tears again, her face in her hands, but you're just careful not to tug on her hair too hard as her whole body shakes with them.

"He never gave a proper shit about me, did he?" Annabel sobs as you're tying off the braid. The minute it's done, she turns and throws herself into your arms, sobbing against your chest, "I'm just another fucking girl to him!"

"He still loves you as a friend, I'm sure; you know how Fi is-" you pet her shoulder carefully as she clutches your shirt for dear life.

"I don't wanna be his fucking friend! I gave him my fucking heart and now he's probably got his dick in that slag India, who said she was my friend!" Spitting her words with fury, with venom, she looks up, but only sees a look of pitying apology in your eyes; she's probably right. Lip curling, she throws herself back on your bed, hands covering her face once more, "he doesn't fucking care," she groaned, fury turning poisonous with resignation, "I know he doesn't care; if I thought he truly cared I would have fucked Oliver -"

"What?"

"- Felix is so fucking fickle, god, seems like he doesn't even care about Oliver anymore, I should have- should have -" she continues on, but breaks down crying again. Getting off the bed, you leave for the common room for half a moment, filling it with water.

"Drink this," you instruct, sitting next to Annabel on the edge of the bed. She scowls, but follows your orders easily, even if she can't properly look you in the eye. The water seemed to have at least helped, as her crying quiets down as you refill the glass in your bathroom sink.

"I feel like shit," she mumbles, watching you come back into the room and place the cup on her bedside.

"Well you look pretty," you tell her teasingly, trying to lighten the mood even a little as you gently pinched her cheek. She does not appear to find the humour in the moment. Still, you turn off your lamp and climb over her into the bed, "please don't throw up in my bed or on my floor."

"I know where your bathroom is."

The two of you kick off the neat duvet but pull the thin, luxurious sheet over you both.

"Thank you..." it sounds begrudging as she says it. You tell her it's no stress, sitting up for a moment in order to open your window a crack, let a breeze in overnight, but still hear her when she says, "you're a bad friend."

Still sitting, you take a deep breath, sighing as a silhouette in the moonlight.

Annabel is more astute than you possibly gave her credit for in this state; amongst all her felt injustices, she'd never once asked about how you felt about Felix fucking India, your well established not-girlfriend. Because somehow she knew, perhaps even that you gave your blessing. You'd never been a cruel person as long as you could help it, but you'd made peace with your priorities too long ago to start apologising for them now. So yes, you'd taken Annabel in for the night, but she knew in her heart that you were partially at fault for her despair in the first place. You both knew.

Enabling Felix was never really about making anyone else happy.

"I know."

Something about your admission seems to be enough for Annabel, however. When you lay back down beside her, she curls up against you, tucks herself all along your side, arm around you, head on your chest.

The next morning, Annabel moves silently around your dorm. When you wake up, all that's even left of her presence is the empty cup of water on your bedside. No kind of note, no text, she'd made sure she didn't even wake you before leaving.

Fucking Christ, what a bloody week did yesterday feel like, is all you can think as the mid-morning sun slashes through your barely parted curtains and paints your chest with light.

You consider sleeping in, consider that you'd definitely earned it after yesterday, but then your phone starts ringing. It's Felix. He sounds grim.

"Hey, can you get over here? We need you."

[unique-high]

Hi love 💕 I would like to request a fic where y/n gets pregnant and Mark from NCT is just so soft and loving and just completely takes care of her. Btw thank you for writing all genres for us black girls and making us feel loved and seen 🥺🤍

My baby is having a baby | Mark Lee x blk fem reader

word count: 847

sorry for any mistakes.

Note: Omg I love this! Thank you so much for requesting. And awe you're welcome. 😭 I just want black girls to have nice things too. 🥹

Mark: He loves your little round belly. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, always touching your belly and caressing it. One of the things Mark loves to do is lay his head on your belly and talk to the baby. He was amazed at how you and he created another human being and how it was growing inside you each day. “I want another baby,” Mark says one night in bed as he’s rubbing cocoa butter onto your stretch marks. You laughed at him saying, “We haven’t had the first baby yet, Mark.”   Your boyfriend smiles a little saying, “I mean after this little one.”

Mark: Ever since becoming pregnant, you hadn’t felt your prettiest with the stretch marks and the gained weight and how your body was changing. But Mark loves your body even more now that you're carrying his child. One morning you cried because you couldn’t fit into your favorite pair of jeans anymore saying how fat you had gotten. Mark pulls you into a hug, kissing the top of your head, his hands gently running up and down your sides as he speaks to you in the softest voice ever. “Hey.” Mark says, “When can get you another pair of jeans.”   You shake your head pouting into his chest. “I want these jeans!”      Mark's hands were still moving up and down your sides. “Okay, love we can get another pair of jeans like those.” 

Mark: Before your stomach got bigger and rounder. You would wear Mark's hoodies all the time because they smelt like him. But now the hoodies wouldn’t go past your belly. You cried to Mark about it. So one day he went to the store and bought some larger hoodies. He wore them first leaving his scent and favourite cologne behind. He gives them to you. “You do too much for me.”  You say as you put on one of the hoodies.   Mark cups your face, he's smiling. “You deserve it, baby.” 

Mark: Being pregnant, you ate a lot and craved the strangest of things in the middle of the night. Like tonight, you craved pickles and chocolate sauce again. You wake up Mark, feeling a little bad about it. But he doesn't mind at all. “What is it, Y/n?” he asks you, voice groggy, as he rubs sleep from his eyes.     “I'm hungry.”   You pout. Mark nods, gets out of bed, slips on his slippers, and grabs his car keys and wallet. “Prickles and Chocolate sauce, right?” He asks with a yawn.

Mark: Today you and Mark were going to the autumn festival. It's been hard for you to put on your own shoes and tie them since your belly was in the way. You sat on the little stool near the front door. Mark was kneeling down at your feet, slipping your socks on you, and then putting your shoes on you and tying them nicely. “Mark~ I don't deserve you.”  You say.     “But you do deserve me,” Mark says as he reaches up, bopping your cute nose, making you giggle.

Mark: He's in love with every version of you. But his two favorite versions of you are when you're sleeping and when you're smiling and dancing around. Now you're pregnant. This version of you was going to be just as special. On the days when you worry about being a bad mommy.  Mark gently scolds you saying, “Ah, don't say something that's not true. You're going to be an amazing mother. Don't think that way.” He then wraps you in a comforting hug, pecking your face with sweet little kisses and telling you how much he loves you with each kiss. 

Mark: Sometimes you're exhausted because of your pregnancy so you can’t do things you wanted to like during your hair. And Mark knew how you liked keeping your hair done. He’d watch a bunch of YouTube videos and even took classes on how to do black hair so he could help make things easy for you. It’s raining outside. The soft flow of Neo Soul plays from a Bluetooth speaker, you sat between Mark’s legs as he did your hair into two strand twist. “You really didn’t have to do this for me.” You say.   Mark puts some product on your hair. “But I wanted to, Y/n.”    You couldn’t help but smile and feel warm all over. Mark was the best guy you ever had been with and you were so grateful to be having a child with him.

Mark: He couldn't wait to see who the baby would resemble. “I really hope the baby has your nose and eyes. I really love your nose and eyes.” Mark says as he's helping you with nesting.   “I hope our little one has your smile! Like that would be the cutest thing ever.” You said gushing. You loved Mark's smile a lot. You will never forget that big excited smile on his face when you told him you were pregnant.  He picked you up and twirled you around the bedroom, saying, “My baby is having a baby!” 

[hrrorflm]

I want to hear you.

Sebastian Vettel x fem!reader.

Warnings: fluff, a lot of fluff, English isn't my first language, age gap, slight mentions of sex.

It had been a pair of difficult days for you, between school and the problems at home, aside your own problems between missing Sebastian for his job and your insecurities hitting all the time for feeling not being enough as a friend and a girlfriend, everything makes you feel bad and sad. At least today was friday, which means you can be able to have some rest from the major part of your responsabilities and enjoy some time for yourself but still something was bother you. And the fact of your mother taking it out on you for a fight with her boyfriend was not the way you wanted to be welcomed home after a very long and tiring day.

The walk to your room feels like you're walking a hundred miles, until you finally walk in and the tears begin to roll down your cheeks, the low sobs and the pounding of your fists against your legs become all you can think about. Dropping the backpack on the floor, the best thing you can do is shorten the distance between your tired body and the bed, just to drop there and hug yourself. How much you wish you were in Sebastian's arms right now, listening to his soft, calm voice with that accent you can still make out perfectly, taunting him every time he tries to hide it and it comes out.

There is nothing in the world that can make you feel happier and safer than Sebastian, listening to him talk to you, whispering sweet words in your ear and putting his arms around you every time he is close to you. And like a divine sign, or maybe a special connection that binds you to him, the phone in your room starts ringing, not wanting to disturb anyone you pick up the receiver and answer, trying to hide that you've been crying.

"Hello".

"Honey, what's wrong? Did something happen? Are you okay?" The tone in Sebastian's voice lets you see that he's worried about you, so trying to calm your breathing and sobs, you answer a little more calmly, "It's just, it's just that I've had a rough couple of days, and I miss you. It's been so hard being away from you, without you, I needed to hear your voice."

"My voice?" A soft laugh is heard on the other end and a small smile is inevitable on your face, for which you immediately respond "Don't laugh! I like hearing your voice, it's like a calming." Sebastian can guess that there's a smile on your face, and that makes him feel better after hearing you cry at first. "Why? I sure sound like an idiot, love", he's trying to make you laugh, cheer you up, you know it perfectly. That's how he is, always wanting the best for you. "I like listening to you because you transmit peace to me, and it reminds me of the first time we met, it was the strangest thing in the world."

The first time they met, Sebastian walked into the same bakery you were in, quite a coincidence. And his gaze, unable to move away from you at all times even though he avoided your gaze every time you tried to catch him, led you to ask him not very nicely if he was looking for something or if he knew you. The blush on his face and the multiple hasty apologies he told you was the funniest thing about it, and the fact that you looked too young in that short pink dress didn't helped at all, but his voice was definitely the icing on the cake, because even though he looked very embarrassed, his voice remained calm.

The silence that existed between you for a couple of seconds was the key for him to ask about your state of mind. "May I ask why the love of my life was crying?" sounds sweet, kind, and you're totally grateful.

"A fight with mom, I've been feeling so stressed with homework and tests, and I've felt so left out by my friends, I don't know, maybe I'm just overthinking."

"Did your mother get mad at you, love?" Sebastian knew perfectly well that your mother suffered from bipolar disorder, and that sometimes that didn't turn out well for you because you were the one who had to deal with the constant mood swings, which also ended up for affecting you.

"I think so, she had an argument with her boyfriend, I don't know, but I was there to take out her anger so I ended up paying the piper" you shrugged even if he couldn't see it, but it was something he figured you would, after all, he knew you like the back of his hand.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, but you'll see that with the new treatment your mother will feel better in less than you think," he murmured softly, hoping that would calm you down a bit.

"I know, I just wish she realized that all of that hurts me, and who he should be mad at doesn't," the helplessness in your voice makes Sebastian sigh. Sometimes all he wants is to take you everywhere and keep you happy and safe. Your voice comes back through the earpiece "but thank you, my love, thank you for listening to me."

"You know I do it because I love you" his sweet voice reaches your heart, and that makes you smile. "Hey, I know something that will cheer you up", opting to change the topic of conversation to not continue on it, his voice takes on a playful and hoarse tone, so you can already guess what it is going to be about.

"Sebastian, I'm not going to do that to you again! Last time I couldn't stop laughing and I almost got caught", her laughter soon becomes present and you catch it, remembering the first time they tried to have a sex call.

"Why not? You don't like me anymore? Surely you have a new boyfriend and that's why you don't want to do it", you know he must be making a dramatic gesture with his face because his voice is totally a mess trying to hide his laughter, and your cheeks are colored a soft red.

"Yes, he does it to me like a god every time we see each other, but that happens every two weeks" your giggle makes him smile and his ego feels alluded to by what you just said, so the call continues like this, between laughter and an occasional attempt by Sebastian to ask you what you're wearing.

There is nothing better in the world than listening to your boyfriend, and even more so when he encourages you not to fall, worrying about you and listening to you every time, reminding you how much he loves you and how important you are to him.

[bitterie-sweetie]

Stay up

Pairing: Joshua x reader Genre: fluff WC: 2.5k A/N: happy joshie day nat @syuperseventeen ! i hope this fic is enough to fuel ur delusions for the next while <3

He calls you his favourite person, yet you have no idea he's hosting a party until you get the invite in the mail. Joshua Hong confuses the hell out of you and perhaps now is the time to finally figure him out.

Joshua Hong is someone you can never figure out.

On paper, he's perfect. He attends church every Sunday and goes as far as to volunteer at all the events, sometimes even at charities outside of it. At school he's popular and well-liked by everyone around him—a teacher's pet, a straight A student, involved with all the extra-curriculars under the sun. Your parents love to use him as the standard every time you do something less than perfect in their eyes.

Well, that's because they don't know what he's really like.

To you, Joshua Hong is someone who calls you his favourite person in the world as he gives you his best smile. He likes to confide in you with all the latest gossip, and then listens attentively whenever you vent to him about your day and takes the time to remember everything you say. That includes knowing your favourite fast-food order and how you got the tiny scar on your elbow when you were five.

But the same Joshua Hong is the one who never replies to your texts except once in a blue moon, doesn't make eye contact with you on campus, and often pulls silly pranks on you and laughs when you fall for them. And while talking to him may leave you feeling cared for and appreciated, you often end up realizing he's told you nothing about himself. Like this party he's hosting next week—you'd think that the two of you are close enough for him to tell you about it, but he still hasn't said anything.

It's like he only pops into your life whenever he feels like it, and usually that means at the strangest times of day.

Hence why you're sitting across from him in the local McDonald's at 3am.

"Did I wake you? You look too awake to have been asleep when I called."

"Yeah, you did. How rude, Joshua Hong." You shoot him a glare for emphasis even though he's right: you weren't asleep when he called. Perhaps you'd been staying up in the hopes that you'd be hearing from him, but that's something he doesn't need to know. You also leave out the part where you had to sneak out of your window which wasn't easy at all; it had to be done if you wanted to do anything fun while back at your childhood home for the winter break. "Also, my parents are going to kill me."

Joshua actually smiles. "Don't worry, they won't find out. Besides, they say I'm a good influence, so you'll be fine if you just tell them you were with me."

It may be the first time the two of you have done this, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. The week before finals, he'd thrown pebbles at your dorm window to get your attention, and you both proceeded to make snow angels all over the campus fields. To destress, he'd said. And the time before that, he turned your shopping trip into the most ridiculous costume contest by picking out outfits for each other to try on. He still insists he would've won if the two of you hadn't been forcibly removed from the store.

"Good influence my ass," you mutter under your breath. "So why are we here this time?"

"I skipped dinner and got hungry," he says with such a straight face that if it were anyone else, they would've believed him. But you're all too familiar with his humour and strange antics by now.

"You really will say anything and everything, huh?"

"Yes," Josh admits with a laugh, "but that's why you love me."

At times like this, you feel like there is more to your friendship than just what is on the surface. When the two of you are at this empty McDonald's and he looks at you like you're the only one in the world, or when he goes out of his way to pick you up at 3am and comes prepared with an extra jacket because he knew you'd be cold. Somehow each moment with him feels special, like an inside joke or a small secret that only the two of you know.

And even though you don't see him all that much, somehow these are the little things that make him feel like he's your close friend. No, your best friend. Or maybe simply... yours.

You throw a fry at his face and manage an 'I hate you' in an attempt to cover up how his words have caused your pulse to speed up. Do you love him? Probably, if the heat at your cheeks is any indication. That's something you're still trying to figure out, but deep down you suspect you've always known the answer to that and being with him only seems to prove it.

It irks you to hear it said out loud so casually though. You hate how he seems so unaffected when it throws it out there and how you can never tell what he truly means. You can never tell what any of this means. What does it mean to be sharing a pack of nuggets under the ugly florescent lights of McDonald's at this ungodly hour?

But then he says something funny, and those thoughts are left forgotten.

An hour later, he's pulling up to your driveway. The streets are still as dark as when you'd left, the roads still silent. By then the exhaustion has started to set in, and you only have half the mind to figure out how to sneak back in through your window.

Joshua turns off the engine and silence fills the space where the low rumble was before. You reach for the door handle and are about to say your goodbyes before leaving, but the continuing silence has you hesitating. This is somewhat unusual—normally when he drops you off, he leaves the engine running as he waits for you to get back to your house, but now, the stillness makes it seem like he doesn't want you to go just yet.

Your guess is confirmed a moment later when Joshua turns to you, and you can feel your stomach twisting with uncertainty.

"So, are you coming to the party?" he asks softly.

Right, the party. How could you forget when the invitation is still sitting on your desk, untouched? It should probably be something nice to receive, though the sight of it only reminds you of how little you really know about Josh. You're close enough to be here with him in the middle of the night and yet you had to find out about the party through an invitation, instead of from his own mouth.

"Do you want me to be there?" You try to mask the hint of venom lacing your voice. It still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

If he hears it, he doesn't seem to react to it. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, I don't know. Maybe because I didn't even know you were planning to throw a party since you haven't exactly mentioned it to me. Ever. I only found out through that invitation."

"Ah." He looks away and is still for so long that you don't think he's going to answer at all. "Jeonghan sent it."

"So are you only telling me about it now because you found out that Jeonghan sent the invite? Did you want to invite me at all?"

If you were expecting an excuse, an apology or explanation of some sort, you don't get one. Josh glances at you and there's an unreadable expression on his face before he shakes his head. "You're right. I didn't want to invite you."

Oh.

It's a direct punch to your gut. His answer echoes your mind, blocking out everything else beyond this moment and the way your heart is being crushed under the weight of his words. Is this it? Has he gotten sick of you? Or worse—has he somehow discovered that your stares linger a bit too long and your texts are a bit too frequent to hide any of your true feelings?

"W-what?"

He nods. "It's only because it's not a great place to be. Don't ruin your holidays there, Y/N. I'd much rather do something else with you that day."

"You want to... hang out with me that day?" you repeat automatically, frozen like a deer in headlights. None of what he's saying makes any sense—he didn't want to invite you to his party and didn't want to tell you about it either, but he still wants to hang out with you?

You've already been having trouble discerning his intentions and have been trying to convince yourself that it's okay. That what the two of you have is enough and you don't particularly need to know where you stand with him. But having this whole party thing blow up in your face is feeling a lot like the last straw for you. Regardless of your feelings for him, the pushing and pulling, the distance, it's become all too confusing.

Joshua must notice the look on your face for he continues. "Like, maybe we could do something more normal for a change? I know you've been wanting to do that. We could watch that movie you wanted to see, or go to the Christmas market? Or—"

"Josh," you say softly, and he stops. You take a deep breath and try to get your thoughts together because this is something you have to ask him now or you'll never get the chance or the courage to again. "I don't really get it. You don't want me at your party but still want to hang out with me that day?"

He opens his mouth to respond but closes it again, looking away.

"I guess it's not just about the party. It's that you—you confuse me. On most days we're good friends, maybe best friends or maybe... something more than that. But other times, it's like we don't know each other at all. I feel like I don't know you. And I don't get it; you clearly care about me but what are your intentions? What are we?"

Your words are left hanging in the air. It suddenly feels suffocating to be in the car with him now that you've blurted out what's been on your mind, and it makes you wish that things were different. But now it's too late to take it back. It's too late to undo this moment.

After what feels like an eternity later, Joshua breaks the silence. He lets out an audible sigh and closes his eyes, slumping forward against the steering wheel like he'd rather be anywhere else. "I'm not good at this stuff, Y/N."

"It's okay, you can tell me." You try to make it sound truthful, maybe slightly nonchalant. It's not exactly a lie, but why does it feel like one? Maybe you'd rather not know. Maybe it's better if the two of you don't breach the subject. "Just let me know what you're thinking."

"You're the only good part of my life, Y/N. The only real part."

"But?"

"But I don't deserve this. I thought that if I detached myself, if I worked hard, then things might be fine. But I feel like shit, and heck, I didn't even want to host this party."

"What do you mean?" you whisper, but he makes no sign of having heard you. Then a little louder, "What are you trying to say?"

"I was trying to be perfect, Y/N. All the things I've been doing—the volunteering, the church stuff, all those clubs. The side projects. I thought that if I did those things, they would make me perfect." Joshua runs a hand through his hair but still doesn't meet your eyes, opting to stare out into the darkness in front of him instead.

After hearing what he said, things start to make a bit more sense. He might be talking around the question at hand instead of answering it, but the answer does seem so close you can almost taste it. Maybe you should be able to put it together by now, but it's just slightly out of your grasp.

You have to ask him one last question. "Why are you trying so hard to be perfect?"

"Because I'm not good enough for you. I did all those things so that maybe they would somehow make up for everything else."

And there it is. He doesn't say any more than that, but already you know exactly what he means now. He's talking about the other side of him, the one that you see the most—his eccentricity, the unusual adventures the two of you often go on, his spontaneous ideas that might not always lead to trouble but seem to be somewhere on the spectrum of wrong anyway. Joshua Hong is trying to make up for his true self by creating the most pristine persona, one that no one can say anything bad about.

One that might be able to impress you.

"Is that what you've been thinking this whole time?" You want to reach for him, pull him in to reassure him that everything is fine, but settle for putting your hand over his own on the steering wheel. "Josh, you don't have to be perfect. It's enough to just be you."

Josh lifts his head. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. To me and everyone else who cares about you. Besides, perfect is boring."

"Well," he says slowly, "I thought you'd disapprove of all the crazy things we've been doing."

You stifle a laugh. "Trust me, I wouldn't have done all those things with you if I didn't want to."

"So... can we do something together on the day of the party?"

"Of course." You nod, giving him a smile. "We can do whatever you want to do."

"Good." He leans back in his seat, looking so visibly relieved compared to just a minute ago. The corner of his lips curves up just the slightest like it's a glimpse of the real smile he's trying to hold back, and you can't remember how you were uncertain about his intentions before when everything is this real.

Everything the two of you talk about in the next hour only proves that too. He tells you about himself, about his likes and dislikes and favourites, about all the things he's wanted to say but have been too afraid to. He talks about the other parts of his life, about hosting this party with Jeonghan but it's really a ploy to play matchmakers for all the people around them.

Before long, the first glimpse of sunrise is on the distance, and you realize the two of you have stayed up all night.

"Hey, Josh?" You turn back just before leaving. "Does this mean you're going to skip your own party?"

Joshua shrugs, and when he looks at you the smile turns mischievous. "Jeonghan's not going either. But I'm sure everyone will be just fine."

[saint-gerard-of-arc]

Touch starved/cuddle curse

This with Terror Twins. I would be cool if like Nikki can't be touched for whatever reason (superpowers, curse, non supernatural reasons) and Tommy seems the only one to care or break it

[i feel like this isnt exactly what you asked for but here you go bestie <3]

It all started when Nikki was trying to summon a demon. The reason why he would do that is unknown even to him, probably because he thought it would've been cool or funny, for shits and giggles as one would say.

Nikki didn't manage to bring a beast from the underworld in the kingdom of the living, as in he didn't see the monster in flesh and bone, but it must've disturbed some dark presence or energy, since strange things began happening after he started his demon summoning shenanigans. Forks and knives were raising from the cutlery drawer and flying towards him, to name one; black cats seemed to have taken a liking to him, following him everywhere; but the strangest thing was definitely the fact that whoever Nikki tried to touch, even by mistake, those who had contact with him fell sick.

As soon as Nikki realized what was happening, he started getting very nervous and paranoid about human contact, becoming more and more aggressive towards others in order to keep them a good distance away from him, bringing great tension between him and his band mates and the girls they would take to home sometimes. Little did they know, he was trying to protect them.

But there was one person who was brave and careless enough to go past Nikki's hostility: Tommy. The drummer, very attached to the bassist and always looking for an excuse to snuggle him, knew that something was up: Nikki has never been the cuddly type, but whenever Tommy offered him a hug Nikki wouldn't say no either; lately, though, Nikki seemed to be very unfriendly even to him, which was very suspicious to say the least.

On the latest attempt of Tommy to get a hug from Nikki, to which he responded with a “Don't touch me!”, Tommy had enough of that behavior.

“Can you tell me what the hell is your deal, man? You've been avoiding me for weeks now!” Said Tommy.

Nikki turned his gaze up from the smutty magazine he was reading and raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about, dude?”

Tommy came closer. “Don't play dumb with me, Nik! Did I do something to you?”

Nikki sighed, visibly annoyed, and returned to read.

Tommy teared the magazine out of his hands.

“Hey, give it back – !”

“Not until you tell me what is wrong with you!”

Nikki frowned, throwing his arms in the air. “Do you want a list or what?”

“I didn't mean in general!” Exclaimed Tommy, rolling his eyes. “You've been acting super weird lately, and I know something's up.” He added.

Nikki hesitated. “Fine.” He said in the end, “But don't tell anyone, okay? Especially Mick, he'll be all like I told you so for the rest of my life.”

Tommy nodded.

“Do you remember when we tried to summon Satan?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Well... I think I've been cursed.”

Tommy widened his eyes.

“You gotta believe me, man! Everyone I touch seems to get sick, or become very unlucky all of a sudden. And I don't want this to happen to you...”

“Alright, that makes sense.” Said Tommy pensively, sitting down on the couch next to Nikki. “But I feel like I've touched you many times since then, and I'm fine!”

“You almost burned the house down three times.”

“That's because I can't cook!”

“How do you burn cereal?!”

Tommy inclined his head to the side, as to think about it, then he raised his index finger: “Okay, that one was an outlier, for sure.”

A pause.

“Do you think... Do you think that I am immune because I was with you when you did the summoning?” Asked Tommy after a while, turning towards Nikki.

The bassist shrugged. “Probably. You're still alive, so that has to count for something. Although...” He brought a finger to his chin.

“What?”

“Maybe you've been cursed as well but with the opposite. A cuddle curse, if you will.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don't think I haven't noticed. You crave affection all the time, hugging Vince and Mick whenever you can.”

“Well, uhm...” Tommy hesitated. “Maybe.”

“So I'm not the only one who got cursed, huh!” Nikki sneered. “You lied to me!”

“I didn't lie! I just didn't tell you!”

“That's even worse!”

“Whatever!” Tommy was sick of arguing, and his skin was itching for human contact. “How do we break the curse?”

Nikki shook his head. “I have no idea...”

“Well, I have one, but I don't know if it's gonna work.”

“I'm all ears.”

“What if we kissed?”

Nikki raised an eyebrow. “A kiss...?”

“If you think about it, every fairy tale ends with like, the curse being lifted by a kiss. What if it's the same for us?”

Nikki raised both eyebrows.

“Just hear me out for a second, dude!”

“Alright, alright, I'm willing to try. Hell, I'll try anything at this point.”

Tommy came closer to Nikki and cupped Nikki's face with his trembling hands. Their lips touched, and the world around them seemed to dissipate.

Nikki recalled that they already kissed maybe once, while drunk and emotional, so it wasn't as shocking. Tommy's lips were warm and soft, like a summer breeze. Then, they quickly separated and exchanged gazes.

“Felt anything? Like a curse leaving your body?” Tommy asked in between breaths, as if he ran a marathon.

“Don't think so.” Replied Nikki, his heart racing. “Have you?”

Tommy shook his head. “Well... Apart from the fact that now I feel... Like a weight on my shoulders has been lifted.”

“Yeah, me too... Maybe that was it, but I expected something more striking and obvious, like the heavens would open up above us or something.”

Tommy looked at Nikki and shrugged. “I dunno man, I have never been cursed before. I don't know what's supposed to –”

“We should try again.” Suggested the bassist, all of a sudden.

“Wait are you sure –” Tommy didn't have the time to finish the sentence that Nikki pulled him closer and planted a kiss on him. As soon as their lips came into contact again, a warm rush ran through their bodies, as if they were made of fire, feeling their lips burn to the touch of one another.

They distanced themselves and looked at each other.

“Dude...” Whispered Tommy. “Have you felt it too?”

Nikki nodded. “It was like...”

“Like a fire coming out of our bodies?”

“Exactly!”

Tommy looked at his hands, then back at Nikki. “I don't feel the urge to touch everyone anymore. Y'know, I always felt like an itch going through my body before, but now it's gone.”

“That's a good sign.” Said Nikki, pensively. “I, too, feel like the dark presence that was following has disappeared.” He added, instinctively looking around.

Tommy could finally hug his best friend. “We did it, dude!”

Nikki hugged him back, squeezing tightly, realizing how good it felt being touched again.

Put That Guy in a SituationTM Ask Game/Prompt!

[ashtray-girl]

Sorry if i'm bothering you but i really wanted to rant abt Johnny and Moz and hear some of your thoughts about these two certain topics that i can't get out of my head:  

I find it incredibly weird that Johnny and Morrissey (as far as we know) never became friends again or never tried to reconcile their relationship after the breakup - like how do you go from being best friends and hanging out with each other 24/7 to "We haven’t known each other for 35 years - which is many lifetimes ago." as Morrissey said on that letter. The strangest part to me is that, since the break up and to this day both Johnny and Moz never hesitate to mention again and again how much their relationship meant to them in the band and how much they loved each other during that period of their lives - i mean the way they describe each other and the words that they use come straight up from a romance novel. Also the fact that Morrissey continued to write songs abt how much Johnny meant to him and like Johnny getting that swallow tattoo on his neck and other weird stuff like why care to mention each other so much and make everything so dramatic when you - as you claim - haven't known each other for a lifetime? And idk on a personal level if it would be me in their situation i would at some point try to fix whatever we had if we obv meant that much to each other after all these years.

In all honestly when i read abt Marrissey Johnny sometimes just comes off as someone who suffered (and maybe still does) from internalised homophobia, when you read the way Moz talks abt him in his lyrics it definitely gives off that vibe "Though she needs you More than she loves you " , "Love is natural and real But not for such as you and I" or "I am born to hang but not to have kids and to never be wed - no, to someone whom I don't even love" and that interview when Moz said that "That perhaps Johnny Marr was in fact madly in love with me, but didn't feel he could act on that - or that he didn't have the courage to ever take it any further?'" And i don't want to seem like i'm trying to bash Angie or anything but i find they way the got married pretty weird and almost rushed in way like would they even get married if Joe Moss hadn't insisted that they do? Even Andy thought it was weird "They got married in some evangelical church. It was pretty bizarre. There were only about 10 of us there, including the crew. The ceremony only lasted about 15 minutes. I was a witness. Afterwards they hired a function room in the hotel and we had champagne and a buffet. It was a nice day, but it was just weird. It didn't seem real. You know what it's like in America - everything's plastic and phoney. It just didn't seem like a proper wedding. No relatives were there."

Anyway sorry for the long rant!! I just wanted to say that i absolutely love your Marrissey ramblings, Have a nice day :)

Hi anon! don't worry you're not bothering me at all, i'm always down to talk abt marrissey haha i'll just have to reply w/2 separate parts bc there's so much i want to say lmao 1. i've been chatting to @loathsome-tonight abt this (comparing notes, so to speak) and both of us agree that the "no-contact" situation after The Smiths' breakup is essentially bullshit, and for quite a few reasons: - first of all, there's proof they were exchanging notes around the time Morrissey was recording Viva Hate - when Johnny Rogan first published his book Morrissey and Marr: The Severed Alliance Morrissey predictably wanted no part in it, and Johnny only got involved bc he felt pressured by the author getting a bit too close to his friends and family. however, once the book came out Johnny apparently felt compelled to call Morrissey and reassure him abt the extent and the reasons of his involvement - when Morrissey released The Last of the Famous International Playboys, Johnny apparently sent him a note to congratulate him on its success - if you've read Morrissey's Autobio, you'll know he sent Johnny a letter in 1992, to which Johnny replied telling him he was sorry for everything that happened and taking "full responsibility". they then met each other and went for a drive on the moors - after that meeting, their relationship seemed to improve. in a 1993 interview for Select, Johnny said: "the relationship between me and Morrissey is the best in the group, of the four of us. i still see him now. i called him last night. last time i saw him was a couple of days before he went to do his recent album. we let a bored media get the better of us, but there's always been a certain telepathy between us even when we didn't see each other. we played a game with the press and they played with us, but it's not true life. no, we're friends." - then, the trial happened. and that's when things went south again between them. being interviewed with Bernard Sumner for The Face in july 1996, and being asked if he and Morrissey were still friends, Johnny said: "not... (pregnant pause) not particularly... [...] if i'm too glib then people think i'm being disrespectful and if i'm too serious they think there's a reconciliation on the cards. i just don't have any feelings about it." except a month earlier, once again being interviewed with Bernard Sumner (for the NME this time) he was playing quite a different tune. asked if he was still in contact with Morrissey, he said: "occasionally. last time we met it was a really nice experience. it was really good to see him, especially since a... a feud that didn't really exist had become public property. and because of the relationship we had it was time to resolve it in private and do something ourselves because it was really quite a serious situation. i was tired of being involved in other people's games and i wanted to do something for us. [...] i know it's interesting for other people, but it's kinda private. i certainly don't wish him - or anyone i've worked with - ill. life's too short." whatever happened between them at that time, it seems like 1996 was quite a turbulent year for their relationship... - years after (seemingly) going their separate ways, in 2008, they met once again. this time in person, in a pub in Manchester. apparently they even talked abt a potential Smiths' reunion, but Johnny already had other engagements with The Cribs, so nothing was done abt it - in recent years, Johnny also mentioned exchanging emails with Morrissey so even tho i highly doubt they're still in contact now, there was definitely a time when they were on speaking terms, even after The Smiths broke up. however, it seems like their relationship was quite volatile and hot and cold, with them being fine one moment and being snarky the next. personally, i've found it surprising how none of the biographers/journos that wrote abt them directly challenged them on this, bc ultimately it's very easily disprovable.

[mod-doodles]

Credits: Epiceditinggray TikTok

Can we please address to the lyrics of the song used for the table scene!?! The fact that’s it a love song (it’s definitely not about lose of life in this instance), the fact that we got the full rendition, the fact that Syd gets her own love song but also steals Claire’s song during the panic attack 🤭.

Come Home - Pearl Jam

If I keep holding out, will the light shine through? Under this broken roof, it's only rain that I feel I've been wishing out the days Oh-oh-oh, come back

I have been planning out all that I'd say to you Since you slipped away, know that I still remain true I've been wishing out the days

Please say, that if you hadn't of gone now I wouldn't have lost you another way From wherever you are Oh-oh, oh-oh, come back

And these days, they linger on And in the night I've been waiting for The real possibility that I may meet you in my dreams I go to sleep

If I don't fall apart, will my memories stay clear? So you had to go and I had to remain here But the strangest thing to date So far away and yet you feel so close And I'm not gonna question it any other way There must be an open door For you to come back

And the days, they linger on And every night, what I'm waiting for Is the real possibility that I may meet you in my dreams Sometimes you're there and you're talking back to me Come the morning I could swear you're next to me And it's okay

It's okay It's okay

I'll be here Come back, come back I'll be here Come back, come back I'll be here Come back, come back

[ay-chuu]

By-The-By a/n: I hate dumxlr and his dumb problems with writing ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Dazai likes you.

Sometimes he may not understand you and your strange thoughts, (he understands) he may remain unusually silent next to you because you are different from everyone else (because he likes the feeling of momentary peace inside,so he dont talks) and the strangest thing is that he cannot put the mask that he puts even next to Odasaku when he is with you.

But he likes you.

He was here. He was at Bar Lupin, sitting with you and having a drink. Because you talk in such a way that he wants to live a little so that he can listen to you. You make him feel that everything is so for that moment that he loves it.

But sometimes, you annoy him. Because he can NEVER lie to you without getting caught, even worse, you even catches the lies he tells himself and you tell them directly to his face. (This actually makes him happy. )

You looked Dazai in the eye. You spoke indifferently while sipping your tea.

"You're lying."

Dazai feels shocked as his heartbeat quickens.

"Hm?"

"You said you were happy to feel that people didn't trust you, that's a lie. You're trying not to feel trusted, because that way no one will get attached to you and suffer, so that no one can see inside you, and so that no one can guess you when you make sudden movements. Because sometimes even you can't guess yourself. That's your nature, I guess…"

Dazai gulped, and even though he can act amazing, he felt weird again because he couldn't fool you.

“Ah! You always talk like that! It makes me want to flirt with you more!! You should commit double suicide with me! A suicide tale with your mystical aura and my wonderful charm! How beautiful-"

"No, keep it. I'm happy to live, as long as I can question it."

"As long as you can question it?"

"As long as I can question every moment I live, and I can reach an answer that will satisfy myself."

"Hm! So how is that beautiful brain of yours questioning this moment right now! I'd love to swap bodies with you… How nice it would be to live with a brain that never shuts up!"

"None of our brains shut up. It's just like your brain right now, on the one hand, questioning what I'm saying and on the other hand, questioning how not to show me this, making you talk. And because our souls are changing, the brain automatically begins to think about your logic and feelings. So changing the body is unnecessary."

Dazai feels that he is getting angry, (he feels like a little kid that caught) and quite quickly his demeanor changes.

"You don't know what I'm thinking."

"You're right, I don't know, but I can sense it and by telling you this, I can tell from your reaction whether it's true or not."

"Oh~ You're a naughty person."

"Hm.."

And then you smiled. He still feels frustrated, but he's more nervous, just because you're being truthful…

And although Dazai does not like this feeling he loves it. he wants to listen to you even more. He wants to understand you and your personality because...

because you two are similar. He wants to listen to you because, like you, he wants to question everything so that he can help himself, his inner self. He wants to listen to you because, like you, he wants to learn to love living without a reason, just by questioning.

"For the question,"

Coming out of his dull gaze, he turned to you. You smiled at him.

"My brain and my heart finds this moment very peaceful. Because it's a moment with real feelings."

"Maybe its not real?"

"Who says that? Your feelings or thoughts (of trying to fool me)?"

Dazai returned your smile. You were like a secret philosophy that he couldn't make sense of. And he was trying to solve your mystery.

Oh, he definitely likes you.

[writing-is-a-martial-art]

this is super random but i wanted to tell u oleg that your zest for life is really inspiring esp when i feel like shit like i do rn. it means a lot and i hope that life treats you just as kind and as lovingly as you treat it 💛

Ren!! My guy!!! Tumblr has decided to not notify me about asks so I just discovered this, this webbed site (unsurprised)

Thank you, you're kind and made my day and this entire message feels like a hug <- man who has forgotten how to words. I feel like I write/talk about hope and the will to live a lot, and truth is I'm often running them manually in my head. I will live and I will enjoy it for fuck's sake even if I really don't feel like it at the moment, and writing a certain way helps me focus those feelings into something that gets me through the day, and if my silly scribbles do that for anyone else then that's more than enough of a reason to keep them coming.

It's been a couple of days, so I don't know how you're doing now, but I do hope life's kind to you, too.

Also have a little poem because I love you and you should have a little poem just for you:

I have to tell you about the smallest things. About how citrus cells are so big you can eat a tangerine a few cells at a time, about how trees have a song about growing and I elect to think they’re saying: “look! there’s more of me! there’s more of me!”. 

About how hedgehogs have ways of cuddling in piles without hurting anybody, a long dance to achieve a kindness of touch. A group of squirrels is called a scurry, and sometimes words feel just right. 

About how scientists concluded the fable of the slow-boiled frog is nothing more than a fable but a turtle does come first, one shuffling step at a time. About how there’s a dog’s pawprint in cement an ocean away and they changed everything around it but let the pawprint be. About how I’m telling you all this because the world hasn’t ended for either of us, and it's not much but it is something. 

I hope you’re eating well. I hope you have pocketfuls of the strangest kindnesses and to them you can add all of these. They won’t take up any space at all. 

[netherfeildren]

this might be cliche... but who are your favorite authors/artists?? influences in general? aside from donna tartt?? your writing and the network of little references sprinkled in them literally make me want to tear out my wallpaper and eat it it's so good wtf do you put in it dear author?????

gosh so many things. if it's not glaringly obvious I am a huge media person so books/film/tv are all things I love and consume voraciously. I've always been a big big reader. I've made a list of some of my favorite book recs here as well as some of my favorite films here

I'm also a big lover of the ballet and the city I live in has a large company which I go to watch every chance I get, the last one I saw was swan lake and it was wonderful :) I've found it's a great source of inspiration when it comes to choreography on the page. when writing large amounts of physical scenes ie. sex or action or what have you physical descriptors and body placements become tedious and repetitive and I like looking to dance as a source for differentiation in my own written choreography. If you're a writer I'd definitely recommend for physical aspects!

I also obviously really love art and although I wouldn't say I'm very well studied or deeply knowledgeable on the subject I know what I like and have a clear grasp on my tastes. I'm endlessly scrolling Pinterest for visuals that inspire me, and I'm also a big museum person and as I travel a fair amount, whenever I'm traveling I go to lots of museums.

not to sound cliche as well but music is also obviously and of course a big influence in my work. when I was writing greener memories of better men I'd initially gotten the idea from this random Facebook post I'd seen but the true tone of the story came from the song The Weight by The Band. After writing several different versions of Joel's so in depth I've found now I'm worried about becoming repetitive in my characterization of him which is tricky because it's extremely extremely important to me that my iterations of him be true to his canon personality. I'm not a big fan of an OOC Joel and it's important to me to always stay true to who I think he really is in his original story personality wise, u know? but at the same time it becomes difficult navigating the inevitability of monotony when writing the same character over and over again. so I suppose what I try to do each time is provide a different view of the same man. for some reason that song brought that version of him I was trying to write very into focus for me at that moment. I don't know if that makes a lot of sense lol but sometimes inspiration or direction arises from strange places.

I feel like I've talked too much about Nabokov this year but I've been very slowly studying his work this year and I feel he's been a huge influence on my tone and cadence as I've progressed. I feel like he switches between having a very complicated way of saying very simple things and then saying very complicated things in very simple ways. he's also a master at sentence structure - again when trying to avoid monotony - I like studying the way he crafts these truly complicated sentences into a single monolith without ever actually breaking any rules of grammar or if he does it's in a way that doesn't seem wrong, if u know what I mean. he also comes up with he strangest metaphors for the smallest things. the last thing I read he describes a man's face as a "wet galosh" to tell us he was morose or sad or what have you and it's just soooo funny and interesting to me. I need my own mind to work in strange and creative ways like that, I'm trying to train it into doing so

if you're eating your wallpaper please make sure it isn't yellow, we don't want you getting trapped!

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

so I think after y/n's first encounter with Sun in Narnia (I haven't actually written my vision for it but please bear with me here I'm a bit all over the place this week), they find themselves feeling a bit under the weather for a few days. After they deem themselves well enough, they throw on a coat and some mittens (last time they weren't prepared, and they don't wanna get sick and miss more work days) and step into the wardrobe. Real quick for those of you who have read the Chronicles of Narnia-makin it so that y/n can go through the wardrobe whenever they want because it'd just be much harder to write around that specific plot point.

Anyways, they trudge through the snow and stumble upon the little clearing with the lamppost. Seeing no sign of Sun and not remembering the way to his cave, they decide to wait for a little while. And who should stumble upon them but our silent wolf, our guardian and protector, our dearest Mr. Moon, who had been out on patrol before spotting a visitor of the strangest sort.

He watches through the evergreen trees, hidden behind branches that sag with the weight of the snow. He can't remember the last time he's seen a human before.

Well.

He supposes a quick stop wouldn't hurt.

He walks out and introduces himself to a surprised but unbothered y/n, who gives their name in return. They walk and talk for a bit, with y/n asking questions and Moon dodging answers. Occasionally he'll give an odd, shrill little laugh at a point in the conversation they wouldn't deem funny, but they think nothing of it. He asks where you're from, and you tell him about the wardrobe and the human world, to his intrigue. He flicks a sharp wrist and mentions his own line of work, something about tending to a statue garden for his employer. He offhandedly suggests stopping by sometime. Just as you're about to answer, his ears twitch, eyes going from a soft red and black to a blank darkness. His pupils return momentarily, fixed on you before he tells you he has to leave, and, without another word, slips into the shadows.

You go from the company of one to another, predator to prey, for as soon as the wolf disappears, the smooth, yellow hands of the fawn tap you on the shoulder. You look up, smiling at Sun before noticing that his own soft smile is absent. His attention is on the dark trees and underbrush that Moon just disappeared through, then it drifts back to you. He pulls you along suddenly with rushed greetings and a quick change of topic as he leads you to the cave.

All the while, the trees listen.

Red eyes watch the pair retreat.

It seems an investigation is in order.