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sonamytrash · 3 months

Text

Lust For Life

Levi Ackerman x F!reader

Warnings: Sex, oral sex, fingering, creampie, more sex.

Note: Purely self-indulgent smut. Inspired by Lust For Life by Lana Del Rey ft The Weekend. Song fic, but the lyrics are in a different font, so skip if you like. I left it a little open to interpretation. Levi and reader have been apart for some time, having been in a past relationship. At last reunited they fuck on his desk. Enjoy!

_____________________

In these stolen moments,

The world is mine,

There's nobody here, just us together,

Keepin' me hot like July forever,

He reaches out and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, the proximity between the two of you making him feel alive again.

"You were always worth treating well," he says, his eyes locked with yours. "I never wanted to do anything to hurt you."

He leans in closer to you, the proximity between the two of you causing his heart to race. "I still care about you," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I always have, and I always will."

'Cause we're the masters of our own fate

We're the captains of our own souls

He leans in and presses his lips to yours, the kiss full of longing and tenderness. All the years you have spent apart, all the pain and suffering, melt away in that moment,

There's no way for us to come away

'Cause boy we're gold, boy we're gold

And I was like

The kiss between you and Levi grows deeper and drips with passion. His tongue explores your mouth and tastes every inch of you. The electric chemistry that exists between the two of you is palpable, each knowing exactly what the other desires. After all, you have danced this dance so many times before. Your bodies entwine together, the heat and passion impossible to ignore. Completely lost in one another.

Take off, take off

Take off all your clothes

Take off, take off

Take off all your clothes

Take off, take off

Take off all of your clothes

His hand finds its way to the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth hungrily. He moans into the kiss as he feels one hand trailing down his chest, another finding the waistband of his trousers, fingers working on the button. He groans as your hand travels south, caressing his hardness through the confinement of his clothes, the sensation driving him wild with desire.

They say only the good die young

That just ain't right

'Cause we're having too much fun

Too much fun tonight, yeah

One of your hands finds its way back to his muscular chest, having discarded his shirt. Removing each other's clothes, desperate to be as close as physically possible. Years of longing and desire, having been apart for so much time.

And a lust for life, and a lust for life

Keeps us alive, keeps us alive

And a lust for life, and a lust for life

Keeps us alive, keeps us alive

Levi groans loudly as he feels your hand now wrap around his cock, the sensation driving him wild with pleasure. He had missed your touch so much, and now that he's finally here, it feels like a dream. You had always known just how to drive him wild and cloud his thoughts with nothing but you.

He uses his rough hands to caress your breasts, feeling your nipples hardening against his palms. He can feel the wetness seeping through your panties, and he can't resist dipping his fingers down to tease your clit.

'Til we run out of breath, gotta dance 'til we die

You kiss along his jaw and neck, slowly pumping his cock in your hands "Remember the things we used to do together Vi, dirty teenagers fucking like animals everywhere and anywhere." You say seductively, reminding him of the days where he would pull you into an alley or storehouse to fuck you senseless. A wanton moan escapes your lips when you feel those fingers you've missed so, so much.

My boyfriend's back

And he's cooler than ever

There's no more night, blue skies forever

Levi groans as he feels your lips on his neck and the feel of your hands pumping his cock, every touch and moan you bestow upon him, driving him wild with lust.

He can't help but smile at the memory of your wild teenage years, filled with sex and passion. The two of you sneaking around to fuck in the most risqué of places, always craving the feel of each other's bodies.

'Cause we're the masters of our own fate

We're the captains of our own souls

So there's no need for us to hesitate

We're all alone. Let's take control

"I remember," he says, his voice husky with desire. "I could never get enough of you, y/n. And I still evidently fucking can't." He says almost breathless.

And I was like

Take off, take off

Take off all your clothes

Take off, take off

Take off all your clothes

Take off, take off

Take off all of your clothes

He runs his fingers along your slit, the wetness making it easy to slide in between your folds, back into familiar territory. "I want to make you scream my name again," he whispers lustily in your ear. "That was always my favourite sound."

They say only the good die young

That just ain't right

'Cause we're having too much fun

Too much fun tonight, yeah

Levi groans at the feeling of your soft pussy clenching around his fingers, the thought of the sensation around his cock after so long. He loves the way your body sings for him, the way your pussy sucks him in hungrily.

And a lust for life, and a lust for life

Without any more hesitation, he picks you up by the hips and sets you down on his desk, spreading your legs wide open. Kneeling down between your thighs, breathing in your sweet scent before his tongue begins lapping at your wetness hungrily.

Keeps us alive, keeps us alive

He sucks on your clit, fingers playing with your folds as he explores and enjoys every inch of you with his tongue again after so long apart, the picture of you having been etched into memory. The sensation is intense and the pleasure that he delivers almost too much.

"You're so fucking wet," he whispers seductively against your skin. "I've missed the taste of you, y/n."

Levi continues to lick and suck on your clit hungrily, worshipping the temple that is your body. He had missed this so much, missed the feel of you under his tongue, the taste of you, and the sound of your moans as they fill the room.

He speeds up the pace, his tongue working harder while he adds another finger into the mix. He plunges two fingers deep inside of you, working them in and out while his tongue laps at your folds.

My boyfriend's back

And he's cooler than ever

You come undone as he devours your cunt. Arching your back in pleasure as your orgasm rips through you.

There's no more night, blue skies forever

I told you twice in our love letter

There's no stopping now, green lights forever

Levi continues to work his fingers inside of you, lost in the pleasure of making you cum. Desperately trying to resist the urge to hump the air as his cock twitches in anticipation for the heaven he knows is yet to come.

You moan his name loudly, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

He drinks up every drop of your sweet nectar, the taste of you driving him wild with desire. He stands up, kissing you deeply and passionately as he shares the taste of your essence with you.

"You taste incredible, you always do," he coos, hands gripping your hips tightly. "I want to be inside of you so badly. I need to mould this pussy back to the shape of my cock." He says, telling you what he's going to do rather than asking.

You look at him, eyes heavy with lust "Fuck me levi." you pant, your legs open wide and your fingers spreading your swollen cunt for him to see before he stretches you on his cock.

And I was like,

Take off, take off

Take off all your clothes

Levi growls at your words, he positions himself between your legs, his cock hard and throbbing with need as he readies himself at your entrance.

Without warning, he plunges himself deep inside of you, feeling the warm wetness of your body enveloping him in a tight embrace.

Take off, take off

Take off all your clothes

"Fuck" he hisses, almost a whimper. "You feel so fucking good." he grunts, hips slamming hard into your own. "I've missed the feeling of your pussy around my cock like this."

As he thrusts into you again and again, he can feel the pleasure building inside of you once more, your moans becoming louder and more desperate with each passing moment.

"This pussy was made for me."

Take off, take off

Take off all of your clothes

He picks up the pace, gripping your hips tightly, thrusting harder and faster into you as you both become one. The sound of your moans fill the room, your bodies moving together for what feels like eternity.

And a lust for life, and a lust for life

He can't get enough of the sound of you and the sight of you quivering from pleasure, as you cum again on his cock, tits bouncing from his relentless movements, he relishes the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing him. With one final thrust, he feels his cock pulsing inside of you as he reaches his own orgasm, hot cum spurting deep inside of you as his cock kisses your cervix.

Keeps us alive, keeps us alive

He kisses you deeply, the taste of your lips forever etched into his memory. He knows that there's nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you, nothing that would stop him from loving you endlessly, worshipping you for the rest of his life.

#levi x y/n #captain levi x reader #levi x reader #levi aot #levi ackerman #levi smut #fanfic #smut #aot smut #aot x reader #levi x you #rivaille ackerman #Spotify

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levmada · 2 months

Note

Hey how are you feeling?

Im glad your requests are still open. Loved the answer to my last request so I hope you don’t mind me sending in another one?

Some cute hurt/comfort with taller gn reader and postwar Levi. After the ackermanbond is gone I imagine Levi getting really sick for the very first time. Fever and everything also adding the flashbacks to when his mom got sick. And reader ofc nursing him back to health and also comforting him 🧡

im so so so so so so SO sorry😭i took literal months with this sari... i wish i had a good excuse, but i hope you like this :(

i took a lot of inspo from this eruri fic from ao3. stress cannn cause flu-like symptoms, and i wanted this to be the outcome of all those years of suffering for levi finally catching up to him.

probably not medically accurate: it's not very clear what the nature of levi's knee injury. it's seen partially crushed, but it's not clear what medical technology marley has (especially w/ the last volume cover in mind). i'm functioning on my idea that levi can't get around without a wheelchair, but he does have range of motion, partly based on the health of the cartilage/joints/bone, but mostly based how painful it is. it's more complicated than that, but i wanted to add a disclaimer anyway.

(tldr this is the levi torture hour)

➥ pairing: postwar!Levi x taller!gn!reader

➥ about: Not even Levi is invulnerable, both after the war and back then, so it's stupid to be scared when he gets sick.

Until it isn't.

➥ c/w: sick fic, post-war Levi, delirium/nightmares, reverse hurt comfort, implied past csa, happy ending (promise), medical inaccuracies, nightmares, established relationship (married)

➥ wc: 5.3k

In the comfortable, quiet rays of mid-morning, you hum to yourself, and sip your mug of tea. You watch a white cardinal with red tips toddle on the windowsill on the other side of the glass. That’s rare.

It takes off.

You trace the rim of your mug, sighing slowly but heavily through your nose. It’s getting harder not to think about it.

You want to think that—now that you and Levi are retired (what an odd word…)—it’s reached that natural time to start sleeping better. Sleeping in, not out of an absurdly rare indulgence, but to relax.

It’s been nine months, not counting the few Levi was cooped-up in the hospital.

Even for him, relaxation shouldn’t be impossible after some point. In fact, he hasn’t shot awake just before dawn for a while, anticipating a reveille that won’t ring out.

But you fought beside him; your bad habits and your happiness wrestle over the reality of your new life too.

But…

You reach across the small wood table and hover your hand over the cup of tea you poured for him; decent, but not piping hot and steaming like earlier.

This will be a once in a lifetime opportunity: you get to coax Levi out of bed late in the morning.

You stand, bringing your arms behind your head to stretch just a little as you walk to the hall, down to the bedroom. The door is cracked like you left it.

Like a tired waterfall, the vast majority of the thick covers lay spilled haphazardly to the floor, so you’re surprised even before you take a look at Levi, who’s still curled up asleep, facing your way. That leaves his back to the light glowing through the curtains.

He kicked them off?

Like the sheets, his sweater is white; his trousers are dark, loose and cut (with his knee brace on underneath). With his arms tightly crossed like that, and the harsh crease sitting on his brow, he almost looks awake and stressed out.

“G’morning, ‘Vi…”

Importantly, his pallor, normally as pale as snow, glows pink. A few strands of black cling to his forehead.

You stride over with a bit of a frown that wasn’t as deep when you were feeling just plain impatient, and take a sit on the edge of the bed.

“Are you feeling sick, baby…?”

That crease deepens. He twitches awake. "M-Mm?"

Now that you’re close, you notice his breathing is a little labored. You touch your knuckles to his temple. Eyes barely crack open.

"Sweetheart, ‘Vi… You definitely have a fever..."

You comb his bangs off his damp forehead, and they close.

The heat radiating off his skin—you grimace a little.

Actually... have you ever seen Levi so much as under the weather? You can’t even remember.

He shifts slightly, as your strokes rouse him.

"Do you feel sick?" you ask for the second time.

"Huh? I'm fine..."

His eyes finally blink open, fluttering once or twice. But then, a shadow passes over his face that seems to disprove that assertion of his.

He shoves his elbow underneath himself and starts to lift himself up. "Stop—fretting. 'm fine."

He gets most of the way; he’s resting heavily on one arm when he grunts, then leans.

"Stop, sweetheart," you huff, and take him by the shoulder. "What hurts? Your head?"

Looking dazed, like he’s not all there, he lifts his bad hand to his temple and, with his ring and little finger, feels his temple.

“Don’t know…”

"Lay back down, you clearly need some rest—even if this is rare for you, okay?"

“What?” He looks perturbed with you. “Don’t be stupid. There’s too much t’do. N’ I’m fine,” he grumbles, blatantly lying.

"Levi..." you warn.

"I'm just... tired," he mumbles. He rubs his eye with his thumb. "Fuck. Fucking tired."

His strength starts to evaporate as his eyes slip closed.

In an instant—before he collapses—you thrust your arms around him, and lay him back down on his side slowly.

It doesn’t quite hit you until you maneuver his arm out from under him, and listen to his even but labored breathing for a bit of time.

You stare down, eyes wide. Are you scared?—Or anxious?

Well either way—it’s not until you stopped being at risk for a violent death day-in and day-out for years that you even realized you were constantly anxious.

It’s not a nice feeling.

It’s okay. Though. You rationalize. Not even Levi is impervious to everything, and certainly not now. It’s stupid to be surprised.

You feel his forehead with the back of your hand one more time, and kiss your teeth. Definitely a fever, but an exact number wouldn’t hurt.

The thermometer and other simple medicines are shoved in one of the high kitchen cabinets, a second thought when you both moved into this quaint little cabin in the woods (aside from his prescriptions). You didn’t even say it out loud, even.

Now pinched between your fingers, you stand back and stutter on your feet, unsure of what else you need. You want to need something more helpful, but the need to go and check back on him is most powerful.

A short ways down the hall, you pick up on the unbelievable yet unmistakable sound of… crying. Unrestrained, and yet, the kind of crying that steals breath.

You expect to wake up as soon as you reach the bedroom—some disturbing but absurd dream.

But you don’t. He’s curled up where you left him, eyes closed but now gasping sharply through his teeth with tears glistening on his cheeks. One drips off his trembling chin.

You drop onto the edge of the bed immediately, and try to speak, but find yourself helplessly stuck at a complete loss as to where to even start.

“Why…” You card your fingers through his hair, to no reaction. He must be asleep, right?—But how, why?

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” you coo gently, sitting so as to swaddle his back and caress his head.

You make it all not sound like a question. “Everything’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart… Wake up.”

His eyes tightly shut, and tears squeeze through. He croaks. “Can wake up.”

It takes a moment for you to register that he really meant to pronounce it as “can’t”.

“…You sound sorta freaked out, and you want to talk to Falco?—Is Levi alright??”

You silently curse Gabi for being so observant.

“Which place? I have the books, um, right here…!”

“No…” You swallow a little, and coil the bright red cord to the phone around and around your finger. You wish it was as simple as some tinnitus, or nerve pain.

“No?” Gabi asks on a high lilt; a question within a question.

“I know. He never gets sick, which is why I want to talk to Falco. I appreciate you trying to help, but please hurry?”

“Oh yeah, okay!”

You peer over your shoulder from your place stood in the hall and rock on your heels nervously. The only space of time you could find where you could bear to leave him was when he was quiet.

Falco has matured so much, even over the past year, and you trust him with this. He’s training to be a doctor; being a soldier never suited him much anyway. Levi was the first to say so, as usual the perfect judge of character.

You speak slowly and calmly to him, encouraged by his own composure.

“It sounds like a flu, just with that added symptom,” he’s thinking out loud. Thin pages turn. “Severe stress can cause flu-like symptoms sometimes… Especially when it’s prolonged. Does that sound like anything?”

“No. No way.” You shake your head, your brow pinched tightly. In fact you laugh. “Haven’t fought any Titans lately, at least.”

His voice lowers, thinking as he talks. “True, yeah. Especially for you guys, nothing could ever really compare, right?”

“You have no idea. Not with Levi.”

“We can talk about it another time, maybe,” you amend quickly. You know almost for certain that’s not going to happen.

Falco hums. “Anyway, if that’s the case, that would explain why it’s been so severe, with the sudden onset. But think of it like a fever he needs to sweat out,” he explains.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You hear the light smile in his voice. “Don’t be too far away, though. It’s easy to tell, you know.”

You smile to yourself.

Even if the Rumbling somehow started back up above your head, you’d rather die.

You write on a little notepad—some scrawl verbatim—Falco’s directions and words of advice, the phone trapped between your ear and shoulder. Most of it is generic, for influenza of course, but you write.

A blunt but dense thump sounds not so far away. You even flinch, but just as quickly let Falco know you’ll be right back.

In the bedroom, the pale blue duvet and sheets spilled onto the floor looks like a stiff waterfall being wrenched this way and that by Levi’s attempts to sit back up, like a puppet trying to pull its own strings. He grunts in what sounds like frustration, but you can’t know for sure as his bangs obscure his eyes. His hair all over is a downright wreck.

Gaping, you fall down beside him and hurry working off all the offending fabrics he’s twisted in.

“Lee—…”

Your help lets his shaky hand hover over his knee, like he can’t be sure if it’s his. He’s breathing hard; it’s ten times shakier than his hand.

“Come here.”

He doesn’t so much as twitch, but he doesn’t resist either. Then, when something in him registers that you’re there, he leans into you like you’ve just brought the weight of the world off his shoulders.

You tug the soft pantleg up, and sigh at what you see. The scarring, like a row of pink and purple mountains stabbed into his flesh, is more inflamed than usual, leg minutely trembling when you raise it.

He must’ve tried to stand up.

“Does it hurt very bad?”

Not even such an obvious question gets you a retort of any kind. He whines softly when you have to brace that area to lift him back up, but no more.

From the dull darkened blue cotton in the shape of a V in the center of his chest, and coming down from his underarms, he’s burning up; you need to get started just as soon as you’re finished with Falco. For now, you wipe his clammy temples and brush his bangs back. He’s looking at you, but he doesn’t seem to see.

“Levi…” You press on his round cheeks under your palms, grimacing at the heat pelting off his skin.

He moans softly, some relief softening his features. “Huh. Take m’jack-et. Yer cold.”

You shake your head even though he can’t see, as, sharply and without warning, tears appear and stab at your eyes. He’s not even wearing a jacket.

“Be right back,” you manage. “Okay?”

You don’t really expect a response, and you don’t get one.

First thing’s first, he needs water. You feel stupid not thinking of that first. That was at the top of Falco’s directions.

You catch Levi in a moment of relative quiet—not peace, but quiet—and cradle the back of his neck, unhinging his jaw with your other. Easy enough. You tip the glass and feed him water with the utmost care and precision. This is some act terribly intimate, a type of intimacy removed from hand-holding or sex entirely while managing to rank above them both. Over all these years, his life has been in your hands a few times, but feeding him pills—something for the fever and something for the pain—and working his shirt off for something fresh and loose-fitting feels more reverent even still. You put him in shorts and practically fortify his knee with a brace and pillows wrapped up with the belt of a housecoat so even if he rolls over, he won’t.

He chokes on a sob while you’re tucking a cold press behind his neck, forcing you to stop. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Levi?” you ask softly.

Either he’s having a nightmare, or he’s in pain, or, both. He tightens his crossed arms. His first movement in hours.

“What hurts? Falco said it might be your head.”

Another sob bursts from him. “S’head’s all over the wall, looked, it… sorry….”

He continues mumbling, but none of it sounds like words.

"Levi, it's okay, it's okay. Okay, baby? S'okay," you murmur; on and on. The washcloth has gotten smushed between his shoulder and the pillow—you set that somewhere aside. Then you lean over, rubbing with your thumbs the tears off his glistening cheeks, and messy black strands off his forehead.

Sometimes you will catch a word, sometimes you won’t. You will almost wish you didn’t the times you do. Yet you feel sworn to make sense of every mumble, a pervasive, unbreakable, urge. You’re sworn to it.

That’s how the rest of the day goes. He’s never lucid enough to eat; only enough to mumble when he’s freezing, or when he’s burning.

After dusk has bled into the sunset, and night has set in, you sit and watch over Levi religiously. To be fair, you don’t have anything “better to do”, but you hardly ate. If he knew, he’d be in your ear grumbling or otherwise dragging you by it to the kitchen, but does it matter, when he can’t know?

No, you decided, with some fucked-up determination. You want him to bitch at you when he wakes up. Not shivering trapped in an uneasy sleep.

When it gets late, you, arduously but carefully, do what you can for his knee.. He moves too much.

You wipe his face and neck of sweat, and lay a fresh, ice-cold and wet folded washcloth on his forehead. The fever is slowly getting worse.

You dote on him, carding back his bangs, and murmuring and repeating all manners of comfort you can think of. It’s becoming obvious when he’s having a nightmare.

…Finally, as Falco suggested, you’ve kept him hydrated; fever reducers every few hours.

All that's left to do then, is sleep. This realization makes you nauseous with worry.

Nonetheless, you squirm under the covers on your side, close beside him with your face tucked in his shoulder. You take a slow, deep breath.

It’s so discomforting; Levi can’t fall asleep flat on his back, ever, and yet…

Your head shoots off his chest before you’ve registered you even woke up—gasping, and a guttural cry from below. It’s pitch black, too dark to see.

That explodes him into motion. He repels you backwards as you grapple for his shoulders, and like fists closed around your throat, as he resists your every attempt to stop him hurting himself, as he whimpers tiredly, as his bawling stabs the most tender place inside you—you feel sick.

“Levi—! Stop. Levi listen to me!”

You’re louder than him, but nothing—his eyes won't open—and your stomach swoops just then as he almost succeeds in jabbing his knee in your stomach, an extra hard punch combined with the brace. That cry is a sob of nothing but pain.

Enough. Finally you bite the bullet, you drop your full weight down on top of him, if it means he’ll finally stop.

At first, you’re as steady as a boat on rough waters. A huff of relief slips out when his writhing grows sluggish, quickly.

He squirms mildly under you, breathing still stubbornly labored. “Get… off me.”

He tries to raise his arms from his sides, but can’t.

“I’ll, fuckin’ kill you.”

You viciously shake your head. “It’s just a dream.”

Are you telling only him that?

“S’ get off, you can’t, s’nough hurts ‘er.”

“L-Lee…”

You strain to make him out, as he sobs weakly. “Leave me alone already...”

His name escapes you over again like a prayer in the heat of a battle. Your determination crumbles right into dust; you fall beside him and sit up, unsure of what to do besides take his hand. You can’t bring yourself to switch on the lamp.

“It’s going to be okay.” You squeeze.

He whimpers. “…Please.”

You can’t open your foolish mouth and tell him or yourself that it’s just a dream anymore.

Falco was more correct than you gave him credit for.

Falco also warned you that it would get worse before it got better.

With the hours that keep passing—which have stretched out into two days so far—he more and more mutters in his sleep, other times under his breath, but most times he’s incoherent.

But, it’s all come to fall under one topic.

And just like that first night, it doesn’t quite make sense, but it doesn’t have to.

You don’t want to think about it; you just want to take care of him. Your anxiety is constant, and sharp. If only he’d wake up; you talk to him as if he’s awake—but to no response whatsoever, like you don’t even exist.

Moments you’re forced to leave him are the worst—for you and for him. Most times when you come back, the washcloth meant to rest on his forehead has drooped and sagged beside his temple.

At any rate, the difference between fever and tears has gotten hard to tell.

You just can’t stop from shaking, and your throat is tight, but Falco remains adamant that the flu is what he said it is.

A lamp is still glowing on your side in the late night. The air is cool, and it’s quiet, but a rare moment of “peace” makes the sounds of your shared breaths obnoxious.

Your heavy eyes sting; despite that, when they creep closed you feel yourself fading in seconds, with Levi’s head tucked under your chin, upon your chest. Seemingly, any covers are too stifling for him at the moment; pressed against your collarbones, you feel his forehead is hot again.

You cradle gently the nape of his neck, idly rubbing the knot of bone at the base of his jaw. As if you’re doing anything to protect him from anything…

He mumbles, slurring, “Y’have t’come back…”

You’re not dizzy with the shock or the horror, but it’s worse almost, to be confronted with the full magnitude of a rueless, unceasing pain that is just as lonely in its magnitude as it is devastating.

You rub his back as he buries his face in your neck, sobbing like it takes all his energy to do so. “I’ll be faster.”

“I don’ know where t’go, what do I do now?” he babbles over your soft hushes. “Wait, next time I’ll get it right...”

“It’s okay, love, it’s okay.”

“I don’ know why I even…”

Trailing off, he starts to whimper, and can’t go on.

He doesn’t stop, it doesn’t, not for a second while—all you can do—is hold and console him even though he may not know it.

Until he exhausts himself. Drifts. into a light sleep.

For it to happen all over again. Seeping into his sleep like crude oil, the next stress-induced terror to force his breathing shaky, labored.

"...Need," he whimpers, the first word you’ve made out in a while.

Your stomach swoops, the thought that you can do anything to help directly. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"Don't sell it. Don't sell it, I need it."

You deflate, jaw wobbling. "Sh, sh, it's okay,” you soothe. You reach for the tray on the bedside behind you, and, using the cold cloth, you dab the sweat from his blushing temple and neck.

"S'gonna take away from m...me." He starts to pant, continuing to mumble, crying, a complete melting away. Lamenting, abject.

"Shh... Shh..."

His arm loosely draped around your waist—which you’d put there—tightens its hold, but in drifting bursts, like he keeps slipping.

“Please.”

You inhale sharply. "Please?"

"Don'. Leave me."

"I won't leave," you swiftly promise. "I won't leave, I won’t.”

He cries in his sleep for so many names that aren’t alive anymore.

Don’t go. Don’t go.

Wake up, Momma.

Wait... Just wait.

That wasn’t the worst point. Not even hunched, taken-over by so much stress and pain until he gagged was the worst point. None of what he had already said combined could amount to the last night.

You snap awake on your stomach at some blurry unknown instance, acutely aware you’ve slept like shit.

Did you even, only blink?—No. The most faintest shade of grey weakly gives your bedroom the suggestion of texture and shadow, but—your arms are empty. You reach over blindly, but the side where Levi should lay is empty and cold.

A pit bursts open in your stomach, filled with bright panic.

You lurch up and shove off the covers, breathing hard.

Where could he be??

If he was feeling better, then you would've woken up a while ago, because he would've told you. Not just...

He can’t be far.

You shiver.

On your feet, you cross the room in a few strides, and frown as you pull open the bedroom door. It's never left closed at night this time of year; it gets about ten degrees colder without the insulation. (But the chill pressing to the bottoms of your feet, you barely even noticed.)

"Levi!?"

The switch on the wall is right within reach, which lights up the hall. You look right and almost jump back; you might’ve tripped over him if you hadn’t looked first.

He sits hugging his legs—tightly folded against his chest, Levi, why?—there right outside the white doorframe. Shivering, glossy face red with fever, and most certainly in agony by now with all the abuse done to his knee, you’re not sure if he even notices you. Not from this angle.

You fall down on your knees. “Levi? Look, I’m here. Talk to me, please, okay?”

His bloodshot eyes are cracked open, staring ahead, but seemingly seeing nothing. Between the tears, you can’t tell if this is good or bad.

"Levi..." You take his shoulder in an attempt to nudge his attention towards you. “Look at me. Please.”

He was already tense. His head turns, mostly looking at you sideways—emphasis on his pale eye—but looking at you nonetheless. Good.

"What's wrong?"

His brow knits together.

“C’mere.” You lean forward and card his damp bangs back to feel his forehead. The whole time, he just looks at you passively.

“Better... But this cold won’t help in the end. Medicine is in the bedroom, so...”

You huff very softly to yourself. “…You need more bedrest. I don’t know why you even came out here. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

He blinks.

“Let’s go back to bed,” you insist then, under your breath.

Some clarity crosses his dark eyes, his voice then a cracked brittle rasp. “…Not the bed.”

His gaze sort of drifts away from you.

You thought he was through with that habit. Confused, you ask, “Why not?”

“It’s ruined. It was always disgusting, but… this is worse.”

“I’ll change the sheets then. I know, it’s not—”

“You can’t do anything,” he says, tucking his chin to his chest, intent eyes focused somewhere down. “Corpse smell doesn’t come outta anything, it just smells worse the longer you leave it. It gets colder n’ heavier, then the smell, it attracts bugs. There’s a fluid,” he says quietly. Casually. “And then it shrinks. Getting eaten’s all the same. But I think that way’s worse.”

What can you even say to that?

“I won’t do th-at to you…” His brow furrows sharply, gripping his sleeves—you see now—with bright white knuckles. Even sitting up, he’s almost curled up into a ball.

You talk quickly, before the full gravity of all this can reach you.

“You won’t do anything,” you insist. “How about the sofa? Would the sofa be okay?”

“I can’ go to sleep,” he hisses. “I won’t wake up.”

“That’s not true. Why do you even say that??"

"I'm sick."

"Yeah, but it’s not bad-sick!”

You regret the moment you raise your voice. That almost innocent passivity he exuded is crushed by complete and utter detachment.

“…Denial doesn't help. Don’t be stupid. Don't even—shouldn’ touch me. It’ll end worse fer you.”

You tremble minutely, stewing in silence while in panicked, rapid-fire fashion, you rifle through explanations. He sounds so serious. And he's nothing but.

You know that Levi’s mother died from sickness. He’s called out for her, a lot.

In nightmares… A nightmare?

You guess that’s where it all started for him, as he always slips into a warm voice and delicate eyes those rare moments he does tell you about her. Being sick then, being sick with you here… It all clicks into place.

Okay. Fuck…

The real monster of it all is the fever—making him unglued like this.

You rub the bridge of your nose, swallowing thickly. Okay.

A firm calm settles over you; for once, Levi is scared. That means you won’t be.

“Levi…” you console.

You reach out to his shoulder, only to flinch when he flinches before a push knocks into your chest. It sends you falling into your backside with an injured grunt.

Instantly, intrinsically, you know it’s going to bruise; all his strength, one hand.

Your eyes pop open to his own—uncannily—wide with his lips twisting into a grimace.

Putting his eyes ahead again, he sucks in a choked breath and slumps. “Sorry, I thought you were… Sorry.” He gasps. “I’m sorry.”

You get back up on your knees, slowly, and settle down beside him without hesitation. You’re more frantic than ever to close this icy chasm-like space.

“It’s okay.”

He shakes his head as sharp and as fast as his rattling breaths. “I thought you were him. I don’t get it… it just kept hap-happening… Fucking…”

You see him still searching for the words to explain.

“It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

The warmth in your voice is genuine. When it shakes, you just hate that he’s suffering with nothing you can do to lift it all away, like blood by steam.

He grips his hair, having made himself as small as possible again. “I’m—s-sorry.”

“Shh…”

Slowly until now, you’ve been leaning in, and now you firmly rest your hand on his back, rubbing in long, consoling motions. This seems to help.

You stay like this while his breathing shudders through tears. It’ll only hurt you both to bring force into it again; either way, any way, it’s not his fault. You don’t know what he meant… but why would it be the man who came and chose to look after him?

“Sorry…”

Everything you see if one ruddy cheek and his temple glistens with either tears or sweat, and his eyes look painful.

“Look at me. Baby.”

An order seems familiar. He does.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

He understands slowly, but you know the answer. After a time, he blinks, and nods.

“Stay still, please.” You kiss his temple.

“…Sure.”

One arm around his back, the other scooped under his knees, you lift him up into your arms with not too much difficulty. He goes tense, but leans into your chest nonetheless.

“It’s going to be okay,” you murmur as you walk. You want desperately to ask about his leg, but this feels too fragile, like if you bring up physical pain then the whims of the fever will take him back over.

He’s trembling all over, it seems, before you lay him back down in bed, and once you do he clutches a bit of your blouse at the collar with a grip that confirms for you that he’s not letting go. You sit beside him with his waist pushed against the side of your thigh.

“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault,” he croaks out softly, staring at your sleeve which he now grips. “I wasn’t fast ‘nuff. I hesitated n’ it got ‘em killed for nothing after made the same mistake… Sorry i-was my damn pride…”

You let him talk, rather mumble. When there’s a lull, you rest your palms on his hot cheeks. Better than the last time you felt them. His eyes instantly flutter in relief.

It’s surprisingly easy to give him water, then the fever reducer. Meanwhile, he’s clearly fighting the weight of exhaustion pressing down on his eyelids.

“Don’t make me sleep…”

“I’m not. I’ll just stay by your side. Then”—you cup his cheek—“I’ll do it again.”

He hardly grunts, eyes closing.

You won’t sleep, and you can’t sleep (if there’s even a difference). In fact, you’ll bring in one of the kitchen chairs and sit by him with a novel; you’ll read by candlelight, with a handkerchief hanging like a tarp from the lampshade so maybe he can rest easy.

Being that the flu is a release of stress… He’s getting better. He’s getting better.

Hour-by-hour, more or less (but mostly less), you snap awake at the tiniest stirring from your husband beside you. Maybe mumbling a ghostly snatch of a word; mostly sniffling. It takes you half an hour to drift off again.

This unforgiving cycle obnoxiously persists until morning sunlight poking your sleeping mind wakes you. Suddenly, again. You see him.

It’s a mystery, how long, but Levi is gazing at you softly with bloodshot, but, maybe aware eye. You feel better when he glances away, like every time—if, not when—you catch him staring. Your legs are tangled slightly, his slow breaths brush your cheek.

"Baby," you murmur. "You’re awake?”

He looks annoyed. “No, I’m sleeping with my eyes open.”

“How do you feel? Be honest," you quickly add. You drape your arm around his waist.

He frowns at your tone. "...Like my head got hit with a sledgehammer.”

You say nothing.

His voice gets softer and gentler. “I don’t remember… And you look like shit. What happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“…So I’m going to be wrong,” he surmises, looking away. “I slept in too late.”

He goes to rub his eye, and sniffs. The distress marring his expression grows.

“It’s been a couple days, but it’s alright,” you say. You’re quick to explain as the realization seems to come over Levi that he hasn’t had a proper bath in that length of time.

Though, it’s hard to explain. It’s even harder to wrap your mind around the fact that he doesn’t remember how he’d cried, and—insinuated, what he did. What horrors he spoke of.

You finish. Behind a thinly-veiled straight face, he stares into your eyes with the quiet accusation that you haven’t told the whole story.

“It… was… bad,” you bear to admit. “That’s why I look like shit.”

The self-loathing that falls over his expression like a deathly shroud is instant. He looks away, glaring at nothing, but before he can think anything, you squirm much closer, tighten your hold, and kiss his chin.

“It’s not your fault. And if I had to, I’d do it all over again. So don’t start.”

He watches you for a beat, as if searching for some exaggeration, but soon looks resigned to the truth in your vow. At this long-awaited point in your lives, with some legwork to say the least, you’re relieved to know you’ve finally got it beaten into his head that you love him, whether he agrees or not.

You watch him swallow, and many emotions cross his eyes as he mulls your words over.

“I don’t like that it’s just a flash for me,” he resolves.

“I know. But we can… talk about it?”

Honestly you’re shocked the words left your mouth. Levi also stares at you like you just spoke a foreign language. It’s pathetic, as he would say, sure, but—people like you and him don’t just talk about things like that which fueled those nightmares of his.

He looks away, considering. Finally, he brings hand up to yours, nestled deep under the covers. Your fingers clasp gently, foreheads brushing. His silvery blue eyes calmly watch yours. That’s his answer.

It’s so different, and not so comfortable right now, but you believe, now, that’s okay.

Levi masterlist | main masterlist

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman oneshot #levi ackerman angst #aot oneshots #aot fanfiction #captain levi x reader #captain levi x you #captain levi fanfiction

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sage-green-matcha · 10 months

Text

SPILL YOUR GUTS OR FILL YOUR GUTS - JACK CHAMPION 🍽️

Singer/songwriter Y/n L/n and actor Jack Champion play “Spill your guts or fill your guts” on the Late Late Show!

Content includes: fluff! Some tension, eating gross foods, a live audience!

"Hi, I'm Y/n L/n!" "And I'm Jack Champion!"

“And we are playing a segment called spill your guts or fill your guts!" You smiled with nervousness, hands in your lap. "You ready?" Jack looked up at you with his classic smile, the smell of the food radiating into your nose. "No, not at all" you laughed, holding onto the sides of the table.

"Let's take a look at the food we have on the table!" You smiled, turning the table to show everything. "So first we have some delicious...bug trifle!" Jack exaggerated, a big smile on his face as he watched you cringe at the names. "Jellyfish! Not horrible I guess" The crowed let out a "ew" Jack agreeing. "Yea, ew"

"Giant water scorpion" you squirmed, holding back a gag. "This is horrible" You read out more of the foods, the questions officially starting. "Okay Jack, I'll ask the first question" You gave him a mischievous smile, holding back a laugh. "The producers have not shown us the questions! So it's all real" You made eye contact with him, giving him a reassuring smile. "It's all real!"

"Okay, so Jack...I think I'm gonna give you…" You looked at the array of food, deciding to not start so badly. "Jack, here is your thousand-year-old egg nog" he looked at you with annoyance, biting back his lip. "Give it a sniff" you giggled, his face dropping the smile. "That's fucking disgusting! Oh no, wait can I cuss?" "No!" you shook your head, his face stuck on the expression from when he smelled the drink.

"First question" you pulled from the deck of questions, reading it to yourself with a smile. "Jack…Who is your favorite to least favorite co-star on Scream VI?" You knew he would have to drink it, he was too sweet of a person to answer a question like that. "That's so mean, I can't answer that..." "Are you actually gonna drink that?" You teased, Jack shaking his head.

"So least favorite is probably Mason.." your mouth dropped open with a smile. "I'm kidding, no uh" he cringed before taking the cup to his lips, taking a sip. "Swallow it! Swallow it!" He held up the silver bucket to his mouth, shaking his head. You watched with disgust, laughing over at the audience.

“Good job!” You clapped, Jack’s face stuck on a sour expression. “This is my payback. You’re eating that meat cube thing” You shook your head, biting back your lip, your eyes basically pleading. “Ready?!” “Absolutely not” “Great!” He said with a laugh.

“Y/n, who is your hit song “Nonsense” really about?” You glared at him, the audience letting out a gasp. “Come on Y/n! Tell us! Or you could always just eat the tongue jello” If it were about any other person you probably would’ve told. But you knew it would be too embarrassing to tell Jack it was about him on live television.

Your lips bent into a frown, shaking your head as you took the spoon to the food in front of you. “That’s disgusting” “I know” you sighed, looking at the clear and pink jello in front of you. You held back your breath as you put it in your mouth. The taste and texture made you want to throw up, quickly spitting it into the bucket.

“You guys are horrible” you coughed, Jack just smiling at you. “You could’ve answered the question!” “That’s never happening”

“Okay! So Jack you’re gonna have the delicious cod sperm today!” His eyebrows furrowed, looking at the plate of bean shaped like sperm. “How…how do they get it out?” You chuckled, shrugging before reading out the question. “Jack, you have mentioned before that you’ve had a crush on one of your co-stars. Who is it?”

His heart pounded out of his chest, feeling his face get hot. He looked at you and then at the platter in front of him, letting out a sigh. “I really don’t wanna eat this” you smirked, watching him as he rubbed his forehead. “It was only for a bit!” You looked at him confused. “Just say who it is” he bit back his lip. “Y/n” the crowd yelled in awe, making you shake your head. He quickly noticed how your face held back a smile, his heart bouncing around in his chest.

“Okay, Y/n! Now it’s your turn!” “Hey! You can’t just say that and move on. For how long..?” You teased him, his eyes rolling. “Like a week, get over yourself” You pouted your lips jokingly, but on the inside, you were going crazy. He really liked you? Even if it was only for a week it meant he saw something about you. Maybe the stares he gave you weren’t just a figment of your imagination. Maybe you weren’t delusional…

“Y/n…I’m gonna have you eat the water scorpion!” You just sighed, hoping that the question wasn’t too personal. “Can you give us a sneak peek at one of your tracks?” You shot a glance at your manager, her smile telling you it was fine. “Yea! Okay!” You pulled out your phone. “Seriously?” “Mhm”

You scrolled through some of your voice memos, finding one of your upcoming singles. “Ready?” You held your phone to the mic on your dress, watching as everyone listened in awe. “Okay! That’s all!” You played about 5 seconds of it, everyone left wanting more. Jack didn’t say anything, instead, he clapped along with the audience. “Thank you guys…more coming soon? Maybe?” You smiled, Jack giving you a high five.

“For our last round…Jack I’m gonna give you the Salmon smoothie!” You picked up a card, reading the last question. “Jack! You’ve become a staple celebrity crush. Do you secretly watch fan edits of yourself?” You smirked, knowing the answer. “You already know!” He pointed, shaking his head. “Yes, I do” he sighed, the audience laughing. “I was literally backstage at some event and he was watching edits of himself” You shook your head. “Hey! Hey now, don’t expose me”

“Alright! Y/n, the bull penis is all yours” You shook your head, the crowd excited with laughs. “For your last question! Out of all your best friends…Who is your favorite?” The question wasn’t that bad, nodding as you pushed the plate away from you. “My favorite friend is you, Jack” “Yes!” He brought down his fist, your face with a big smile. The crowd cheered, your voice being drowned out. “That was spill your guts or fill your guts! We’ll be right back with more Late Late Show!!

You bumped Jack’s shoulder as you walked out, waving to the crowd. “You had a crush on me?” You couldn’t help but ask, your face filling with heat. “Yea, is it really that hard to believe?” You shrugged, walking into the green room behind him. “I am honored to be your favorite best friend!” He lied, he wanted you to see him as more than that. Sure, he was happy that you loved to spend time with him. But he wished it would go to the next level.

You plopped down on the couch, chugging down a water bottle to get the taste of raw meat out of your mouth. “I can’t believe you made me eat that” you made a face, shaking your head. “You could’ve just answered the question!” He was kinda glad you didn’t, it probably would’ve hurt when you said a name that wasn’t his.

“Why do you wanna know so bad?” You smiled, your heart beating a bit faster than usual. “I’m just curious” he sat next to you, faces dangerously close to one another. “Okay, I’ll tell you” “yea?” “Mhm” you shook your head, Jack staring at you with admiration. His eyes were big and doughy, making you choke on your words. “Well, I…uhm” he watched as your confidence drained, now filled with anxiety.

“You don’t have to tell-“ “It’s about you! I’m sorry, oh my god” you squirmed, Jack's eyes widening. You paused as you realized what you had just admitted. Before he could say anything you got up to leave, Jack taking you by your wrist. “Seriously?” You nodded with a gulp. “Why were you scared to tell me?” You scratched the back of your neck, feeling more than uncomfortable in the situation you had dragged yourself into. “I guess I was just scared you didn’t feel the same way…” his smile was comforting, pulling you closer to sit back down.

“I do” “You do?” He nodded, taking your face into his hands. He noticed as you panicked, your eyes tracing his expression. You couldn’t tell if he was serious. Before you could process anything you felt his lips fall onto yours, eyes widening before you relaxed into him.

Your heart was all giddy inside of you, your hand on his chest as he pulled you closer. It felt like pure euphoria when he kissed you. You didn’t know how to describe it, but it was addictive. You felt like you could truly never get enough of him, pulling him closer with a hungrier and deeper kiss. “Hey! You guys are on in-“ You pulled alway quickly, a producer with an awkward smile on his face. “Y’all are on in 20” you thanked him, looking back at Jack. His face was flushed, your lipstick messy on his face. You tried to rub it off, giggles filling the room.

“Also, I didn’t mean to friend zone you, I’m sorry” You moved the hair out of his face, rubbing his lip as he watched you in awe. “Well, I know that now” he smiled, pulling you in for another messy kiss.

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hd-junglebook · 7 days

Text

Does He Know? '

Part 1 - Word Count 4075

Masterlist

Authors Note: before you scroll away lets pretend Vince is not a hockey player for the plot.

Summary - In this you will meet Vince and Y/N, the beginning is so cute ngl I was kicking my feet imagining this in real life. Jack is introduced later, pls lmk what you think after you read. Enjoy !

warning - cuteness, hot men, cursing, men being men. the rest I cannot write because it's a spoiler.

Next Chapter Link Here

Y/N and Vince were snuggled up on the plush, charcoal gray couch in their cozy apartment. The living room was bathed in the warm, soft glow of the floor lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the hardwood floors.

On the television, an episode of "The 100" played, the sound of the dramatic post-apocalyptic dialogue filling the room. As the show cut to a commercial break, Vince turned to Y/N, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering light from the TV screen.

A thoughtful expression crossed his handsome face, his brows furrowing slightly as he contemplated his next words.

"Hey, I've been thinking about something lately," he said, his deep voice barely audible over the background noise of the television.

She shifted slightly on the couch, the soft fabric of her oversized sweater brushing against Vince's arm. "Mhmm? What's on your mind, baby?" she asked, caressing his curls.

Vince took a deep breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What do you think about the idea of starting a family? Of having a baby together?"

Y/N's eyes widened. A mix of joy and excitement washed over her delicate features, a rosy blush coloring her cheeks. "Really? You want to have a baby with me?"

Vince nodded, his smile growing wider, revealing a hint of the dimples that Y/N adored. "Absolutely. I can't imagine anything better than creating a life with you, raising a child together."

Y/N felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by the love and happiness that swelled in her heart. She threw her arms around Vince, hugging him tightly. The delicate clink of her silver Pandora bracelet filled the air as she caressed the soft strands of his hair.

"I would love that," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I've always dreamed of being a mom, of having a family with you."

Vince held her close, his strong arms enveloping her in a warm embrace. He stroked her hair gently, his fingers running through the silky strands.

"Just think about it," he said softly, his breath tickling her ear. "When you're tired from a long day, I'll come home and rub your feet, just like this."

He reached down and took Y/N's feet in his hands, massaging them gently. Y/N giggled, the sensation tickling her skin. The sound of the television faded into the background as "The 100" resumed, the dramatic music and dialogue a distant hum compared to the intimate moment they were sharing. Y/N giggled, the sensation tickling her skin.

"Keep going," she encouraged, sighing in contentment.

Vince grinned, continuing his ministrations, his fingers kneading the soft skin of her feet. "And whenever you get cranky or have cravings, I'll go to the convenience store and grab all your favorite snacks. I'll take care of you, every step of the way."

Y/N felt her heart swell with love for this man, for the future they were planning together. She gazed into his eyes, seeing the reflection of their dreams and hopes mirrored in their depths.

"And our baby," she said softly, "they'll have my face and your hair." Vince chuckled. "A perfect combination. They'll be the most beautiful child in the world."

They were in love, they were happy, and they were ready to start the next chapter of their lives together.

…

Four months later…

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft rays of gold across the spacious living room of Y/N and Vince's upscale apartment in Hoboken. Y/N stood by the window, sipping on a cup of coffee with way too much milk, her gaze fixed on the bustling city below.

"Vince," Y/N called out, turning away from the window to face her partner, who was hastily getting ready for work. The sound of Vince throwing his pajamas on the ground echoed through the room, a subtle indication of his frustration.

Y/N watched as Vince moved around the room, gathering his things and preparing for the day ahead. "Can't you stay for just a few more minutes? We barely see each other anymore."

Vince, already halfway out the door, paused for a moment, a hint of frustration flickering across her features. Vince's dark brown hair sat perfectly, catching the sunlight as he turned to face Y/N. The olive hue of his skin seemed to glow in the morning light.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Vince replied, his voice tinged with resignation. "I've got an early meeting today. I can't afford to be late again."

Y/N's heart sank at the familiar excuse. It seemed like work always came first for Vince, leaving little time or energy for her relationship.

This became an everyday occurrence, her begging for the bare minimum and him pushing her away but always finding a way to make up for it in the bedroom. And even that had gotten boring. She forced a smile, masking her disappointment.

"That's what you always say, Vince! It's always about work with you. What about us? What about our relationship?"

Vince's eyes narrowed. "You know how important my career is to me, Y/N. I'm doing this for us, for our future."

"But what kind of future will we have if we never spend any time together? You’re not doing this for us, it’s for you," Y/N countered, her voice rising. "I feel like I'm living with a ghost. You're never here, and when you are, you're too tired or distracted to really be present."

"That's not fair," Vince argued. "I'm working hard to provide for us. I thought you understood that."

"I do understand, Vince. But I have a hard job and I’m not neglecting you. There has to be a balance. I need more than just financial security and whiskey dick every once in a while. I need a partner who is actually present in our relationship."

Vince glanced at his watch, his impatience growing. "Look, Y/N, I don't have time for this right now, I can’t stand your nagging so early in the morning. Can we talk about this later?"

Y/N threw up her hands in exasperation. "When Vince? When will you have time for me, for us? Because it feels like that time is never going to come."

Vince sighed heavily. "I promise I will come home early tonight, and we will talk. I'm doing the best I can, Y/N. I'm sorry if that's not enough for you."

With that, Vince turned and walked out the door, leaving Y/N standing alone in the bedroom. She wandered back to the office, where her computer sat waiting on the desk, surrounded by piles of paperwork.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N sank into the chair, her mind filled with thoughts of the growing distance between her and Vince.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Her eyes wandered to the framed photographs scattered throughout the room, memories frozen in time—vacations, celebrations, moments of laughter and love shared between them and Vince.

Each image seemed to mock Y/N, a painful reminder of the happiness they once shared. After a moment of introspection, she finally rose from the chair and made her way out into the hall, heading towards her office.

She busied herself with work, trying to drown out the nagging doubts and insecurities that gnawed at her mind. Hours passed in a blur, the click-clack of the keyboard the only sound in the silent apartment.

As the afternoon wore on, Y/N's phone chimed with an incoming text. Her heart leapt for a moment, hoping it was Vince with good news, but her hopes were quickly dashed. "Working late again tonight. Don't wait up. - V" the message read.

Y/N sighed heavily, disappointment washing over her. It seemed Vince was always working late these days. She couldn't remember the last time they'd had a relaxing evening together, just the two of them.

Trying to shake off the melancholy thoughts, Y/N decided a hot shower might help clear her head. She made her way to the master bathroom and turned the faucet on, letting the water heat up as she undressed.

Steam began to fill the room as she stepped into the tub and slid down until she was sitting, knees pulled up to her chest, letting the spray of water cascade over her.

The heat seeped into her tense muscles, Y/N's mind drifted to happier times with Vince. She thought back to their early days of dating, how attentive and affectionate he had been.

Weekends spent exploring the city, lazy Sunday mornings tangled up in each other, stolen kisses and inside jokes. They had been so in love, so sure of their future together.

But somehow, over the past three years, they had gotten off track. The demands of both their careers meant less and less quality time together.

At first it was just dinners cut short or date nights postponed. But soon, it felt like they were two ships passing in the night, occasionally sharing space but never really connecting.

Silent tears mixed with the rivulets of water running down Y/N's face as she sat there lost in thought. How had they let things get to this point?

Was there still a way to find their way back to each other? She wasn't sure anymore. But she knew she wasn't ready to give up on their marriage yet, even if it felt like Vince already had.

With a sigh, Y/N reached forward and shut off the water, watching the last of it swirl down the drain. She couldn't hide in here forever.

Grabbing a fluffy towel, she stepped out and began drying off, resigned to another solitary evening.

…

Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with Vince. In the week since their argument, his behavior had only become more erratic.

Late nights at the office were becoming more frequent, and when he was home, he always seemed to be on the phone, speaking in hushed tones and ending the call abruptly whenever she entered the room.

She had tried to convince herself that it was just work stress, that Vince was dealing with a big project or a demanding client. But the canceled plans and missed dinners were starting to pile up, and Y/N's suspicions were growing.

Y/N felt like a detective, piecing together clues and trying to unravel the mystery of her husband's behavior. But the picture that was emerging was not a pretty one.

Deep down, Y/N feared that Vince was hiding something from her, something that could shatter their already fragile marriage.

Amidst these swirling doubts, Y/N found herself at a family gathering, surrounded by well-meaning relatives who were all too eager to pry into her personal life. Her mother, who had never been a fan of Vince, was particularly persistent that night.

"Y/N, dear, have you met Ellens second son?" her mother asked, practically dragging a tall, handsome man over to where Y/N was standing. "He's single, successful, and quite the catch if you ask me."

Y/N's mother dragged her towards Jack, who was standing next to the piano with a champagne flute in hand. Y/N cursed under her breath as she walked hastily beside her mother.

As they approached, Jack looked up, his eyes as clear as the ocean. Y/N found herself momentarily transfixed by his gaze, a mix of confidence and intrigue.

"Hello, I'm Y/N," she introduced herself, trying to maintain her composure. "I'm sure you already know my mother." Y/N plastered on a polite smile, trying to ignore the twinge of annoyance she felt at her mother's meddling.

But as Jack started to talk, she found herself drawn in by his warmth and charm, forgetting all about the encounter.

Jack's lips curled into a small grin as he extended his hand. "Jack," he said simply, his voice smooth and inviting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N."

They shook hands, Y/N couldn't help but notice the firmness of his grip, the warmth of his skin against hers. There was something electric in his touch, a spark that made her heart skip a beat.

Her mother, sensing an opportunity, quickly excused herself. "I think I see Ellen in the crowd," she said with a knowing smile. "You two get acquainted. I'll be right back."

Y/N watched her mother disappear into the throng of guests, a mixture of relief and nervousness washing over her. She turned back to Jack, who was watching her with a curious expression.

"So…" she began, taking a sip of her margarita. "How come I haven't met you yet? I've met Quinn, but I've never seen you before."

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I guess we just run in different circles. Quinn's always been the social butterfly of the family." Jack sipped his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. "And what about you? What's your story, Y/N?"

Y/N hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to reveal to this handsome stranger. But there was something about Jack that made her want to open up, to let down her guard.

"Oh, you know," she said with a wry smile. "Just hangin around. I don’t really do much just work and sleep. Navigating life.

Jack's grin widened. "Aren't we all?" he said, raising his glass in a toast. "To the adventures that await us."

Y/N clinked her glass against his, feeling a rush of excitement and anticipation. There was something about Jack that made her feel alive, made her forget about the troubles and doubts that had been plaguing her.

He had a quick wit and an easy laugh, and Y/N found herself relaxing in his presence. Jack seemed genuinely interested in her, asking questions about her life and her interests. It was a stark contrast to the distant, distracted Vince she had been living with lately as they sipped their drinks.

As the evening wore on, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way Jack's eyes lingered on her, the way his hand brushed against hers as he reached for a drink. There was an undeniable attraction there, a spark that she hadn't felt in a long time.

But there was also something else about Jack, an edge of fun and mystery. He had a bit of a bad boy vibe, the kind of man her mother would normally warn her away from. Maybe that was part of the appeal, the thrill of a chase.

As the party wound down and Y/N said her goodbyes, Jack slipped a piece of paper into her hand. "My number," he said with a wink. "In case you ever want to grab a coffee and chat."

Y/N tucked the paper into her pocket, feeling a mix of excitement and guilt. She knew it was wrong to even consider reaching out to Jack, not when she was still married to Vince. But the seed had been planted, the temptation was there.

“I’m married, but I hope this isn't the last time we cross paths." y/n said as she took his hand in hers once more. "It was great meeting you, Jack."

"I hope not either," he said softly, meeting her gaze.

With a final squeeze of her hand and a roguish wink, Jack turned and melted into the crowd, leaving Y/N standing alone with her thoughts and her racing heart before she composed herself.

…

The soft click of the front door lock echoed through the quiet apartment as Vince stepped inside, a bouquet of vibrant red roses in one hand and a rustling plastic bag filled with Y/N's favorite snacks in the other.

The sweet, floral scent of the roses mingled with the aroma of buttery popcorn and rich chocolate wafting from the bag, creating an enticing blend that filled the entryway.

Vince's footsteps were muffled by the plush, cream-colored carpet as he made his way into the living room. The soft glow of the table lamp cast a warm, inviting light across the space, illuminating the cozy leather armchair and the intricately patterned throw blanket draped over its back.

As he rounded the corner, Vince's eyes fell upon Y/N, curled up on the overstuffed sofa, a well-worn paperback novel resting in her lap.

She looked up at the sound of his approach, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the sight of him standing there, an apologetic smile on his face and his arms laden with gifts.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, a myriad of emotions passing between them in the silence. Y/N's gaze flickered from the roses to the snack bag, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion.

"What is that?" she asked, her voice soft and tinged with curiosity.

Vince took a step closer, extending the bouquet towards her. The crinkle of the cellophane wrapping seemed to punctuate the moment as he held them out, a peace offering.

"I'm sorry I ditched you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I'll be home more from now on."

Y/N's expression softened as she reached out to take the roses, her fingers brushing against Vince's as she accepted them.

She brought the blooms to her nose, inhaling deeply, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as she savored their delicate fragrance.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a hint of forgiveness in the curve of her mouth.

"Thank you," she murmured, setting the roses down on the coffee table with a gentle thud. The polished wood gleamed in the lamplight, reflecting the deep scarlet of the petals.

"And the snacks?" she asked, eyeing the bag with a mix of amusement and appreciation.

Vince grinned, the tension in his shoulders easing as he sensed her mood shifting. He plopped down on the sofa beside her, the cushions giving way beneath his weight with a soft whoosh.

"All your favorites," he said, rummaging through the bag, the crinkle of plastic and the rustle of packaging filling the air. "Popcorn, those little chocolate truffles you love, and..." he paused for dramatic effect, pulling out a small, familiar blue box, "your favorite tea."

Y/N let out a small, delighted laugh, the sound like music to Vince's ears. She reached for the box, turning it over in her hands, the cardboard smooth beneath her fingertips.

"You remembered," she said, her voice warm with affection.

"Of course I did," Vince replied, his tone light and teasing. "I may be forgetful sometimes, but I could never forget the little things that make you happy."

Y/N leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, the softness of her hair brushing against his cheek. Vince wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, the heat of her body seeping into his own.

For a moment, they sat there in comfortable silence, the soft ticking of the clock on the mantle and the distant hum of the refrigerator the only sounds in the room.

"I really am sorry," Vince said after a while, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I haven't been around as much as I should be, but I promise, that's going to change."

Y/N tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes searching his face, a glimmer of hope and love shining in their depths. "I believe you," she said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing gently across his skin. "We'll make this work, together."

Vince turned his head, pressing a tender kiss to her palm, the warmth of his lips a silent promise.

…

It has been two weeks since her encounter with jack, now here she sat at her desk. She couldn't deny the spark she had felt, the way he had made her feel seen and desired in a way she hadn't experienced in a long time.

But even as she replayed their conversations in her head, a nagging sense of guilt tugged at her heart. She was still married to Vince, even if their relationship had been strained lately, he had done his best to come home earlier but duty calls.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Y/N turned her attention to the pile of mail on her desk. She began sorting through the envelopes, her mind only half-focused on the task.

Bills, junk mail, a postcard from her sister's latest vacation...and then her hand stilled on a plain white envelope with no return address.

Frowning, Y/N tore open the envelope, her curiosity piqued Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded in half. As she unfolded it, her eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

It was a hotel receipt, dated from last weekend. The name on the receipt was Vince's, but the room was booked for two people. And there, at the bottom of the receipt, was a charge for a bottle of champagne and a couples' massage.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as the reality of what she was seeing sank in. Vince had been at a hotel with someone else, someone he had been intimate with. The betrayal hit her like a physical blow, stealing the breath from her lungs.

With shaking hands, Y/N reached for her phone. She scrolled through her recent calls until she found Vince's number and hit the call button.

It rang once, twice, three times before he picked up. "Hey babe, I’m really busy right now, can I call you later?” Vince's voice sounded casual, unaware of the bombshell that was about to be dropped.

"We need to talk," Y/N said, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "Can you come home please? It's important."

There must have been something in her tone that alerted Vince to the severity of the situation because he agreed without hesitation. "I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Y/N hung up the phone and took a deep, shuddering breath. She didn't know how she was going to confront Vince, what she was going to say.

All she knew was that their marriage, their life together, was about to change forever.

…

When Vince walked through the door, Y/N was waiting for him in the living room. His clothes were scattered around the apartment and their photos had been broken, the glass shards still remaining on the floor.

The smell of a floral perfume that definitely was not hers wafted into her nose.

She held up the hotel receipt, her eyes filled with tears and her voice shaking with anger. "What is this, Vince? And don't you dare try to lie to me."

Vince's face paled as he realized what she was holding. "A receipt?”

"No, you idiot!” Y/N cried, the tears now flowing freely down her face. "You've been cheating on me? You've been lying to me, sneaking around behind my back?"

"It's not what you think," Vince tried to defend himself, but his words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

"It's exactly what I think!" Y/N shouted. "How could you do this to me, to us? You were out getting rub downs at some hotel, Vince. I loved you."

Vince reached for her, but Y/N recoiled from his touch. She couldn't bear the thought of him touching her, not now, not after what he had done.

“I would cry myself to sleep next to you and you would turn away and complain. You didn’t care that you weren’t loving me the way I deserve to be loved!”

"Y/N, please," Vince pleaded. "It was a mistake. It didn't mean anything. I’ll end it right now, just...just please stop crying."

But Y/N wasn't listening anymore. She was lost in her own pain, her own sense of betrayal. The man she had built a life with, the man she had trusted with her heart, had shattered everything with his infidelity.

Y/N shook her head. "I don't know if we can fix this one, Vince. I don't know if I can ever trust you again. What am I supposed to do?" she questioned, her voice trembling with emotion as she looked up to meet his eyes with more emotion she had ever felt in her life.

“How long has this been going on.”

Vince's gaze faltered, his expression clouded with guilt and regret. He looked down at the cream-colored carpet, unable to meet Y/N's gaze. "Remember when I asked you to start a family?" he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

A flood of memories washed over her—dreams of a future together, plans for a family they had once shared.

…

Taglist <3

@rebelatbay @destineyxo13

101 notes · View notes

whatwouldsylwrite · 11 months

Text

At least I got you in my head (5)

(4)

Summary: Abby is straight. And then you move in with her.

Tags: modern au, fem!reader, straight!abby (she is doing some comphet bullshit), pining, idiot in love and it's abby, reader is gay and tired.

Notes: sexual themes (not with Abby), Vi from Arcane is here to make you feel better. You and Abby make decisions that rub the wrong way. Mention of reader having a complicated skin care routine that Abby doesn't understand. Also, the girl in the end is Kara Danvers from supergirl; she is never described/mentioned.

Taglist: @abbyily @lillysbigwilly @gravygranules @blairfox04 @frogtits1 @ccinnamongrl @ninazenuk @urmomsgirlfriend1 @sunkissedbibi @couchgarbage @nil-eena @inlovewithelliewilliams @st4rluvrr @mai5mai @machetegirl109 @azelmawrites (if you want me to tag/untag you for the whole series dm me please)

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Yoon Jiwoo was a little scary, but you liked how reserved she was: she didn't ask you for anything, didn't try to get to know you deeply, just polite small talk and a few jokes. Instead of coffee she asked you to come and help her with dinner, and you agreed, fully understanding the implications.

The implication number one: your chin covered in her slick while she mewled above you and tugged on your hair.

The implication number two: you sprawled out on her bed, shaking after the second orgasm.

She was teasing you a lot, which wasn't something you necessarily liked in bed, but it suited her so you rolled with it (not like you had a choice, pinned under her).

Jiwoo kissed you goodbye and you went home at 1 am on Sunday, feeling a little better.

Like your world wasn't spinning around Abby, like you could start moving on and be happy while living with the best roommate you could wish for. There were other girls, available girls, and you didn't have to suffer. Were you available though? Well, not yet. But eventually your feelings would go away, you were sure of it.

When you came home you expected Abby to be asleep already - you told her you'd be late - but she was in the living room, playing Doom, frowning in concentration as she eviscerated her enemies. She looked good like this, in her grey sweats and muscle tee, her braid resting on her shoulder. Fuck, why were you like that? You just fucked someone, weren't you supposed to fantasise about Jiwoo right now and not drool over your roommate? Jiwoo had great arms too, and she was hot too, and she was the one to fuck you.

God you really were too deep in it if Abby in muscle tee was more exciting than literal orgasms.

You took a breath to calm yourself down and knocked on the door frame, careful not to scare Abby with your presence. She looked up and paused the game, taking her headphones off. She looked a little tired and you knew she wasn't supposed to be up this late.

"Hey. Why are you not in bed yet?" You sat next to her on the couch, your knee touching her thigh.

"Was waiting for you." Abby murmured and rubbed her neck. "I wanted to make sure you'd come home safe."

Fuck you and how caring you are, you thought desperately. Jiwoo also told you to text her when you'd be home, why weren't you thinking of this? Why weren't you texting her right now?

"Well, I am." You smiled a little. "You should go to sleep, Abby. You'll be grumpy in the morning."

"Yeah. Are you hungry? I made pasta."

"You can't do this to me, seriously." You said dramatically and let Abby guide you to the kitchen.

She heated up the food for you and made herself tea after you gave her shit for wanting to drink coffee at 1am.

"How was it?" Abby asked politely and you tensed.

"Great."

"Just great?" Abby laughed kindly.

"Yeah, well. Stress relief is stress relief." You chuckled, not really understanding why Abby was curious about your sex life.

It hurt a little, that while you hooked up with Jiwoo to get Abby out of your system, she was now trying to make small talk about it.

Abby must've noticed your reluctance, because her teasing grin fell.

"Sorry, I'm so used to Ellie waxing poetry about her hookups so for some reason I expected you to do that too." Abby smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, don't worry. I just don't kiss and tell, you know. Unless you want a crush course in lesbian sex." You winked, curious if you'd make her shy, and yeah, Abby's cheeks were just slightly pink.

"I mean, Ellie talks so much about girls I feel like I could give you a crush course."

You laughed: bantering with Abby was easy and familiar and you felt a bit better, and not in love at all. Just two gals being pals.

You were lying in your bed and you couldn't fall asleep as you were going back to this weekend. You felt like the whole hookup with Jiwoo was just some kind of revenge, a knee jerk reaction to Abby breaking your little air castles where you two were in love and happy together. You told Cait you wouldn't use other people to get over Abby, but even though the thing with Jiwoo was mutually beneficial, it didn't make you feel any better. Especially since it only gave you relief that lasted until you came home.

It was a bad idea to begin with and now you regretted it a little. The sex was great, and you had a lot of fun, but the motivation behind it made you question your choice. You had to deal with your hurt before you tried to weave other people into it.

It was Monday and you decided it was time for plan B: get distracted by getting another student. Work was good, work meant mind exercises and money. Usually you'd get recommended by your previous students, but sometimes your professors would ask you to help someone out, and today was the day when you got lucky.

Your professor caught you in the corridor while you were walking to your next class and you got scared at first - did you miss an assignment and were losing your points?

"I gave your number to one of my students, she is smart but she had to miss a lot of classes. She needs to pass the test at the end of November, can you help her?"

"Yeah, of course." You nodded politely.

"Thanks." Your professor patted you on the shoulder and hurried to her next class. God, she was always running like a headless chicken and you adored that chaotic energy in her. She was a very talented teacher, she asked for a lot, but she always gave second chances, so if this girl got her to let her improve her grade, then you'd do your best to help her.

Also, you thought as you watched the hottest fucking person walk through the doors of the library on Wednesday afternoon, you'd have to do your best and keep it in your pants.

She was built very similar to Abby, the same defined arms and wide shoulders, and she had tattoos. Her nose was pierced and even the bright pink hair looked organic.

Even the way she walked was hot - Abby was always commanding, and your new student (she was bee lining to your table) walked confidently, like she didn't fucking care and like she knew she was hot.

Oh this one wasn't straight. No straight girl had the same energy as her. No, this kind of confidence came from wanting to attract a different kind of attention, the attention straight girls didn't seek and didn't need.

You sat more straight in your seat as the girl came closer, and for some reason you expected her to be cocky, but she smiled at you and you melted.

"Hi. You are (y/n)?" You nodded and the girl sat next to you. "I'm Vi."

"Nice to meet you." You said, trying to play it cool. Not only she was hot as fuck, she also seemed sweet? "Prof said you need to pass the test?"

"Yeah. I need at least B on this, and I don't understand a thing." Vi chuckled. "I read at home, but it all sounds fucking insane."

You laughed.

"Which part? I bet it's Kant."

"More like cunt if you ask me." Vi mumbled and you laughed again.

"Okay. Let's start from the beginning and then Kant will make more sense later on. Are you going to have only western philosophy on your test or do we need to cover everything?"

"I think it's only western."

You put your professional face on and tried to ignore how hot Vi was as best as you could, but judging by her little knowing smirk she was fully aware of her affect on you - though you didn't really mind. She was hot and sweet and made you feel something else except fucking sadness and desperation.

Maybe you could get both distractions this time, you thought as Vi smiled at you and looked a little lower than what would be considered friendly.

This week Abby spent way too invested in talking to Owen. They texted regularly and Abby found herself checking her phone every five minutes. He excited her: Abby liked his attention and his jokes, and it didn't happen often to her. Boys were more annoying than enjoyable, so when she'd meet a guy who was actually cool she tried not to pass the opportunity.

And now when she was spending so much time on Owen she didn't get her weird panics around you anymore. Abby still enjoyed cuddling with you and talking to you, but now she felt safe to do that, when she had an outlet to deal with her loneliness. She could cuddle you and then go to Owen to get her healthy fix of sex and intimacy.

Not that Abby planned to, but knowing she had an escape made her feel more confident, as if she separated her affectionate side from her lonely horny side.

from: (y/n)

r u home?

can you meet me downstairs?

I need help

Abby locked her phone and went to the hallway to put her doc martens and a coat - the third week of October wasn't really warm. She quickly made her way downstairs, a little worried about what you needed help with.

You were standing in front of the stairs with two big plastic bags and Abby just stared at you.

"You okay?" She asked with doubt. Why did you buy two full bags of groceries? Why did you even go without her when it was her job to do all the heavy lifting in the house? "You should've called me."

"I didn't plan to go grocery shopping, I just wanted to buy the cookies, but I spiralled." You shrugged. "Can you help me carry them?"

Abby took all the bags, not letting you touch them at all even when you protested ("equal labour, come on" "you're hunched in your chair 24/7 you have the back of a grandma, chill"). You made light small talk while you went upstairs, Abby told you about her classes and how annoyed she was with some of them: she liked to bitch about stuff with you because you bitched right back without trying to cheer her up. You just understood Abby's need to vent.

Abby took her shoes off and went to the kitchen so she could start unloading the bags. You were still shuffling in the hallway when she opened the bag and stared into the inside.

"What the fuck?" Abby mumbled as she looked over the whole bag filled with her favourite protein bars.

By that point you came to the kitchen and had the audacity to look like you didn't understand why Abby was shocked.

"Oh, yeah. They were on sale."

Abby stared at you.

"So you bought the whole aisle?"

"You burn through them like they're made of oxygen, come on." You said, embarrassed, and Abby laughed.

"You're insane." Abby chuckled and came closer, holding your face in her warm hands so she could pepper your face with small kisses.

"Thanks." Kiss. "You're ridiculous." Kiss. "I l-"

Abby's words got stuck in her throat: she couldn't finish this sentence. She didn't know why, but it felt like she meant something way different from what it was supposed to mean between friends. It didn't seem like you've noticed, so Abby kissed your forehead and moved away, making herself pay attention to your pleased face instead of wallowing in her anxiety.

"Did you really get the whole aisle?"

"I took every pack they had, yes. It was on sale, pretty good deal if you ask me."

"Whatever you say mathematician." Abby chuckled and helped you put other groceries in their place.

She couldn't stop herself from smiling: you cared. You remembered small things about her the same way she remembered small things about you (she made sure to buy you your favourite cookies every time she was shopping), and it was so warming. She felt her heart grow with l-

Why couldn't she use this word for you? God, she thought she was over her stupid panic. It was okay to love her friends. It was okay.

Maybe she should hook up with Owen again.

Vi asked you to come to her place for your fourth lesson - she had training before and she would have been late for the lesson if she had to go to the library from there. You didn't mind so you put your books into your bag and went over to her place.

Vi told you she lived with her younger sister, and you saw the pictures around the apartment: it seemed like bright hair was a theme here.

Vi's room was a little bigger than yours, and was surprisingly aesthetic with decor. There were a lot of drawings ("my sister drew them") and her table was kinda cluttered, but she quickly freed some space so you could put your books somewhere.

Being in Vi's room made you tingle. It was obvious to both of you how attractive you found each other, and you couldn't shake the thought she invited you for a different reason with the amount of tension between the two of you.

You were sitting pretty close, her strong jean-clad thigh pressed against yours, but you tried to not pay attention to it and focus on the lesson. So far Vi's been an excellent student, not shy to ask you the same question as many times as she needed, getting to the bottom of it no matter what. Sometimes you had to change your usual explanation so Vi would understand, and putting your brains to work made you feel good.

"Okay, okay, I've got it. Fucking mental gymnastics." Vi sighed as she wrote her answer on a test sample. "Check."

You read her answer and smiled: it was perfect.

"Good job." Vi’s eyes lit up.

"I want a reward." Vi said and you chuckled before picking up your pen and writing a good job with a star on her paper.

"Good enough?" Vi chuckled at this and moved closer to you, putting her elbow on the table to support herself. "Something else?" You were teasing her, you knew, but you were so curious how it’d play out.

"Yeah, I have a better idea." She murmured as she moved her face closer to yours, waiting for you to give her green light. You smiled and moved closer, enjoying her wide eyes and a pleased smirk.

Vi kissed you and you lost your breath for a moment, shocked by how gentle and tentative she was. She was sweet, god she was sweet. If it wasn't for one stupid straight blonde in your life you could have fallen in love with Vi just from the way she kissed.

You moved away, feeling guilty: you didn't really know what Vi wanted from you, and she didn't deserve to be fucked over because you were an idiot who was in love with their roommate.

"Hey-hey. Wait a second."

"Did I misread the situation?" Vi asked, worried, searching your face for an answer.

"No. But I'd like to know what you want from this, so we could be on the same page."

"I just think you're hot."

"Nothing serious?"

"No?" Vi looked like she was scared she'd hurt your feelings with her words, but you only sighed in relief.

"Good. Because I think you're hot too." Vi smirked at this and kissed you again, holding your neck with her palm as she stroked your jaw with her thumb. "Is this why you asked me to come here today?"

"No." Vi laughed as she squeezed your hips and moved you to her lap, pressing you closer. God she was strong. "But now I think past me was a genius."

You chuckled and kissed her again, burying your fingers in her soft hair as she pushed her hands under your shirt. Vi sighed into your mouth and you smiled while your hips started to live their own life, grinding against Vi. You were stupidly turned on by how strong and sweet she was, so careful with how she touched you, as if you were not a one night stand but the love of her life.

"You're gentle." You commented when Vi carefully placed you on the bed.

"I get that a lot." Vi grinned and you rolled your eyes playfully. "Tell me what you want."

You smiled at that and tugged her shirt off, staring hungrily at her abs and tattoos. She looked like she could destroy you and put you back together and your stomach burned while your eyes went dark with desire.

"Fuck me.”

---

“You sure you don’t want to come?” You asked and Abby snapped out of watching you get ready in front of the mirror. Abby came to chill out in your room as you went through your wardrobe to find something that’d work for a Halloween party.

“I’m not feeling it.” What Abby actually meant: Owen was getting a little too aggressive with his attempts to ask her out and she didn’t want to run into him.

“Well, you know how they say, you just need to come and the mood will come too.”

“No, really, I just want to stay home today. But you have fun, you’ve been working the whole week, you need it.”

You’ve been coming home late the past few days, having more lessons than usual, and Abby felt bad for you. At least you seemed to be in a good mood most of the time, more relaxed and happy than the previous week, and Abby was glad the amount of work wasn’t taking a toll on you.

“Thanks, Abby.” You smiled in the mirror and Abby smiled back. She couldn’t look away from you, a little fascinated by your little rituals with all the skin care products you were using. Sometimes she asked you questions about especially weird things she saw in your hands, but otherwise she stayed quiet and just watched you.

Abby never really was a girly girl, with no desire to learn how to apply makeup or to wear skirts, and when she was a teenager a lot of people liked to tell her if she didn’t get more feminine she’d never find a boy, because boys liked everything she didn’t. And listen, she tried. She even learned how to use eye liner, but when she looked at herself in the mirror she felt like a clown, and she decided the potential boy in her life wasn’t worth trying to become someone she wasn’t. But even if Abby herself didn’t care about doing girly things, she liked watching other girls do their magic: how Ellie painted her nails black, how Nora did her hair, how you applied god knows how many creams/essences on your face. It was calming to her.

“So, what are you going for?” Abby nodded at the bunch of clothes on your bed.

“The laziest vampire on earth.” You sighed. “You know, all black, some sunglasses to look like an asshole. We still have cranberry juice, right? I’ll pretend it’s blood.”

“Wow, that’s bad.” Abby laughed.

“Well I can’t come in my usual clothes, that would be even worse. I’ll try to look like the lack of effort was a choice and you know what? I’ll look hot doing it.”

“You definitely will.” Not that Abby understood anything in women’s hotness, but hey. She met girls who made her head turn, so.. Listen, she didn’t know where she was going with this thought. All girls were pretty, okay. It was the universal truth, what was the point of thinking she didn’t know when women were hot, she wasn’t a blind idiot.

Abby walked you out of the door with a promise you’d call her if anything happens and a kiss on the forehead.

from: Owen

Are you out tonight?

Fuck, Abby thought. Fuck-fuck-fuck. If she’d say she was home he’d definitely ask to come over, and lying was pointless. Abby stared at her phone once more. But what if she’d want to hook up with him later? Fuck. This shit shouldn’t have been so complicated.

Well. She could lie in a different way.

to: Owen

sorry, I’ve got a fever so I stayed home

That was so stupid and hardly believable, but Abby didn’t want to deal with Owen right now. Or ever.

Thankfully he left her on read and Abby sighed in relief before going to the living room to finish the next level in Doom. It took her a few hours after she fell down to death a bunch of times, missing the right moment to jump from one stupid pillar to another. And the boss at the end of the level was pretty hard, so when she finally beat him it was close to 2:30 am.

Abby tidied the living room and then took a shower, her eyes hurt a little after staring at the screen for so long. She came back to her room and cautiously checked her notifications in fear Owen’d drunk-text her, but instead there was a text from you.

from: (y/n)

Im w a girl

Abby stilled as she read your text, her heart squeezing in pain that she didn’t understand. Was she jealous? But she just turned Owen down, so it couldn't be right. Abby shook her head as if it’d shake the thoughts out of her head and quickly got ready for bed - she hoped to fall asleep before you’d come home with a girl.

It seemed like the universe hated her that night, because when she felt she was finally falling asleep, relieved she wouldn’t hear you coming home, the front door clicked open.

Abby shut her eyes and tried not to listen to any sounds: to be fair, she didn’t hear anything until your bedroom’s door was shut. She didn’t want to think about what was happening in your bedroom, but then she heard it.

You were clearly trying to be quiet, but one of your whimpers was too loud. Abby’s ears rang and her heart started beating faster from anxiety. Despite herself her head got filled with pictures of some random girl touching you. Abby wanted to barf, wanted this girl out of your bedroom, wanted to fucking rip her arms off for making you sound like that.

Abby took a deep breath and sat on the bed, her ears tuned to your bedroom - it seemed like you noticed your mistake and got quieter, but Abby didn’t need you to make any more sounds to feel absolutely sick, her brain conveniently showing her how you were being fucked right now.

Abby huffed in disgust and stilled suddenly, noticing her emotions. She was disgusted? Fucking hell she was.

You were having sex next door and Abby was so disgusted and angry she wanted to break something. She felt guilty, because you didn't deserve this, you didn't do anything bad, but Abby couldn't shake her feelings and her unbearable fantasies off.

Abby took another deep breath and grabbed her headphones, determined to force herself into sleep, even if she couldn't breathe properly from her awful feelings.

And Abby would have to be nice in the morning, wouldn't she?

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #aligyimh

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tigertales9 · 5 months

Text

Hard Reset VI Sneak Peek 👀

I'm still putting the finishing touches on the next Hard Reset chapter (bye week secret wedding/honeymoon), but I thought I'd offer a tiny sneak peek. Real life & a touch of writer's block are kicking my butt, but I hope to get the full chapter up soon. 🤞

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Monday, 10/16/23 (the morning after the week 6 win against the Seahawks)

You moan at the feel of gentle pressure against your clit, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of Joe's husky voice in your ear.

"You awake?"

"I am now," you whisper, biting your lip as he rubs your sensitive bud while pressing wet kisses against your neck.

"I woke up thinking about last night and it made me horny," he admits as he continues to tease you.

"Mmmm," you hum, your mind rewinding to last night …

~ ~ ~

He'd made liberal use of the whipped cream, frosting your nipples with the sweet whip several times then licking and sucking it off while you squirmed underneath him; he finally made his way down your body, taking his time to frost your belly button and inner thighs, leaving love bites in sensitive places as you buried a hand in his hair and begged for more. You remember the look on his face when he tossed the can of cream aside, his eyes icy-hot with arousal. "I'm not gonna put any whipped cream here," he moaned, lapping at your wet folds, "because you already taste perfect."

~ ~ ~

The feel of one long finger sliding inside your slick heat brings you back to the present. "Last night was really hot," you sigh, a shiver running through you as he sucks a nipple while slowly pumping his finger in and out. "I'm still kinda sticky since I crashed before taking a shower," you mutter.

"Let me make you stickier then we can shower together," he coaxes, crawling on top of you and giving you a dirty grin when your thighs instinctively spread wide to accommodate his big body. "Okay?" he asks, pressing the tip of his erection against your entrance, holding still until you answer.

"Yes, sir," you breathe, arching up when he slides his shaft inside you and immediately starts thrusting, slow at first and then faster. You dig your fingers into his plump ass, a thrill running through you at the feel of his muscles tensing and reloading as he drives his hips forward again and again, still holding back a little until you're ready to take all of him. A delicious coil of tension builds in your core at the noise he makes low in his throat when you beg him to fuck you hard.

~ ~ ~

An hour and a half later -- after a couple of orgasms, a shared shower and a quick breakfast -- Joe slides the last dish in the dishwasher and wraps his hands around your waist as you place a jar of raspberry jam in the fridge. He drops a kiss on your lips as you pivot and look up at him. "I'll be home by noon," he promises. "Then we can finish packing for the lake."

"I'm already packed," you chuckle. "We're going for three nights not three weeks."

"Well, I still have a few things to pack," he states. "This whole thing was my idea and I just wanna make sure I get it right."

You rise up on your tiptoes and press a kiss on his lips. "They have pretty much everything we need already there," you soothe, ruffling a hand through his hair while giving him a warm smile. "Clothes, toiletries and groceries are the main things we need to take, and we'll buy most of the groceries once we get there."

He returns your smile as he takes a deep breath. "Are you excited we're getting married tomorrow?" he asks.

"Yeah, I am. What about you?"

"Yeah, I can't wait." He leans down and presses a lingering kiss on your lips, holding eye contact as he leans back. "It feels like we've been heading for this since I first laid eyes on you."

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #sneak peek

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Hangover 1

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: can't stop, won't stop. Please leave any and all feedback! 💚💚💚💚💚💚

Part of The Club AU

“Boris, I need that big breakfast,” you call through the window.

“Yeah, yeah,” the cook gristles back as he clinks a plate onto the metal, “you don't wait.”

“It's been twenty minutes,” you rebuff as you take the hot dish and veer around Monica at the counter.

You come around and carry it over to the only customer at a table. The officer came in looking underslept and worse for wear. A bruise is faded to yellow under his eyes and his stubble is just shorter than an actual beard.

“Here you are, honey,” you put on your customer service voice, “more coffee?”

“Yeah,” he puts his phone face down and unwraps the cutlery.

You go to the machine and grab a pot. You return and fill his cup as he jabs at the scrambled eggs.

“There ya go, honey, anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah, stop calling me honey,” he snarls.

“Oh, sorry… sir.”

You back away and retreat back to the counter, offering more top ups as you burn with embarrassment. You suppose you can come on strong when you're looking for tips. Besides, you can't blame him for being grumpy. He seems to have a good reason for it.

You put on a fresh pot as you replace the urn on the burner. You dip behind the counter as Monica brings Vi her tea and egg whites. The old lady is one of the mainstays of the place.

“So,” Monica turns her back to the customers and lowers her voice, “how's Will?”

“I think he's liking college… must be having fun since I never hear from him,” you shrug, “only asks when he can come get his laundry done.”

“Typical, I'm not looking forward to Brandon being that age.”

“Yes, enjoy them while they're young and sweet,” you cluck.

“Waitress!” The cop booms from his table.

“Chipper guy,” Monica mutters under her breath as you turn on your heel.

You go back to the table. You notice the wrinkles in his uniform, the buttons aren't lined up properly either. He has his hand on his forehead. He leans over his plate as his shoulders tense and you see his boy racking.

Oh god, no! You've seen this before. Will would get like this when he brought home the flu.

“Oh no, just…”

You put your hand on his back and urge him over the plate as he pukes. You smell the alcohol then. You rub between his shoulder blades as he retches, not bringing up much more than the few bites he took.

“I'll get ya something,” you pull the towel from your apron and offer him that.

You try not to wrinkle your nose as you pick up his plate and carry it behind the counter. You dump it in the bin as Monica lets out a blech. You agree but you don't want to bring too much attention to the situation.

You go into the kitchen and wash your hands. You find a bucket and bring it out to the cop. He's bent over the table, head on his arms.

“Hon– sir,” you put the bucket on the table, “you want some water?”

He doesn't react. You go and get water for him, setting it by his elbow. He breathes heavily but doesn't move.

“You gonna be sick again?”

“No,” he grumbles, “I'm fine.”

You open your mouth but think better of it. You almost wonder if he's actually a cop. Maybe you should call the real ones.

You leave him and go to hide behind the counter. You have enough to worry about between tuition and your mortgage.

“Guy's a mess,” Monica whispers.

“Just a bit,” you agree.

“It's not even noon…”

“Shhhh, he's having a rough one,” you say, “he'll go eventually.”

“As long as he pays his bill,” she tuts.

“Yeah, let's hope,” you frown and peek over your shoulder. So much for a decent tip.

🍽

The cop leaves about an hour after he got there. You forget quickly with the lunch rush. You spend your last few hours running yourself ragged.

You exchange your apron for your coat and leave through the side door. As you come into the alley, you notice the cruiser parked beside the dumpsters. You sidle by, stopping as you see the figure strewn over the back seat.

It's the same cop that was in the diner. You're content to keep going but your shoe hits a shape that jingles. You look down, a set of keys that can be for nothing other than the car in front of you. Those doors only open from the outside… wow. You won't call the guy a disaster, you can't exactly say you're any better.

You bend and pick up the keys. You unlock the door and open it, the edge hitting the dumpster. You don't know what to do so you just grab the cops ankle and shake his leg.

“Sir,” you raise your voice.

He throws his arm off his head and props himself up on his elbow, “what?”

“Um, you dropped these,” you place the keys by his shoe. “Sorry.”

He grunts but doesn't respond. You back up, leaving the door open. He slowly slides to the edge of the seat and hands his legs out of the car, bracing the door as he wipes the sleep from his eyes.

“Was sleepin’ good,” he growls.

“I… I was just checking on you… are you okay?”

“Does it matter?” He pulls himself up, snatching up the keys and slamming the back door. “Doing just fucking fine.”

“Alright, I wasn't…” you show your palms defensively, “have a good day officer.”

“Thanks, waitress,” he scoffs.

You bite down on his tone. It's not the first time you've been spoken to like that. In your line of work, it's all too common, and as you get more years under you, it's just how it is.

You turn and head towards the street. The engine rolls over behind you and as you near the end, you hear the tires crunching on pebbles. You barely manage to move out of the way as the officer steers into the street. You just stand back and watch him veer off. As bad as your day might be, his seems worse.

#johnny storm #dark johnny storm #dark!johnny storm #johnny storm x reader #drabble #au #series #the club #fantastic four #hangover

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kupakaa · 5 months

Text

✧ Vi + Switch + Trying to overstimulate = fun !

So first things first: I am not good with overstim. Like at all. I will become a scrabbly wet cat and you will get scratched and I will slip out of your arms !

Imagining a short drabble thingy with Vi and the reader (which is totally not a thinly-veiled self-insert) where she's fingering you, her palm rubbing against your clit. Her fingers curl juuust right inside you to hit your sweet spot. Your heart pounds harder until you can't hold on any longer and you clench around her, clit throbbing against her palm. When your initial spike of pleasure begins to subside you expect her to lay off and stop pumping her fingers. But alas, she keeps going. And the sensation becomes less pleasurable and more overwhelming, inching towards aggravating.

“Ffff… Wait, wait, wait,” you groan, trying to catch your breath.

“Relax,” she says. She rubs your thigh with her other arm. “Just one more, yeah?”

A tightness grows in your stomach. Your clit, uncomfortably sensitive, is still dragging against her calloused hand. It feels like a match against strike paper, rubbing again and again in hopes of starting a fire. But you can’t; you physically cannot. Not yet, not until she at least lets the hot bundle cool.

You can see the mischief in her eyes. Your toes curl. You try to close your thighs, but her hand forces them open. Stubborn. Always so damn stubborn, she was. A need to wipe that cheeky smirk off her face runs through your veins, almost overpowering the pleasure of your orgasm.

When she’s distracted by the sight of your glistening pussy, you rush forward. She gasps, finally pulling her hand back and out of you. You wince at the sudden movement but you try not to let it distract you. You grab the wrist of her offending hand and hold it tight, threatening it with your nails. One of your knees presses her thigh against the bed while the other presses against her crotch. You can feel a quick throb beneath the fabric of her trousers. Her other arm is free, but you let her know with a stare that you won’t hesitate to try and stop it if she tries anything funny.

“I say wait, you wait, got it?” you say between your panting. You can feel your slick and cum flowing down your thigh. While you weren’t yet ready for a second round, you couldn’t deny how arousing it was to have her beneath you. The mighty pink-haired brawler, staring up at you with flushed cheeks and a small tinge of embarrassment.

Sure, she could flip the tables with a little effort. But that silent glee behind your eyes… Who is she to take that away from you?

She swallows, then nods. “Uh, mhm.”

#vi x reader #vi arcane #vi smut #arcane x reader #sapphic #switch reader #✧ Writing #this was fun #but now I will rest

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itsghvstfvce · 1 year

Text

WHAT'S IN A NAME

pairing : tara carpenter x fem!reader

summary : you can keep running, but you can't run from who you are.

word count : 2.5k

warnings : scream vi spoilers, violence, swearing, shitty non-proofread writing

You just wanted Honeybuns.

You wanted to be in and out of the bodega with your Honeybuns and make it home to watch another episode of your favorite show. You absolutely did not expect to be here, tucked away behind a shelf hoping to God that the shooter won’t find you and blow your brains out.

Just as you’re about to make a beeline for the exit while the killer wasn’t looking, you hear an empty beer can thrown into the aisle you were in which meant you weren’t the only hostage here. You hear the killer’s footsteps move towards your aisle so you quickly and quietly crawl to the next aisle before he could catch you. To your surprise, you’re met with the infamous Carpenter sisters and Sam motions both you and Tara to start crawling towards the exit.

As you’re crawling, Tara accidentally steps on broken glass and makes a sound, causing you, Sam, and the killer to stop in your tracks. The older Carpenter holds a finger up and peeks through the shelves to watch the cloaked figure’s next move. As soon as he turns around, the three of you push the shelf with all your might onto him, quickly running out the door before he could get up. Looking back into the store, the killer was no longer there and all that was left was an open back door and a Ghostface mask.

And that was how you officially met Tara.

You already knew of Tara’s existence when you started your freshman year at Blackmore University. Even with all the rumors you heard about her and her psychotic sister, you always found yourself attracted to the girl. At the frat party, you were about to introduce yourself to her but to your demise, Frankie had already beaten you to it. From where you were sitting, you drank your stale beer while watching everything unfold from Chad and Frankie’s little macho dance to Sam tasing Frankie right in the balls (which you found very impressive and also kind of hot) But you thought it’d be best to keep your distance from Tara and anyone close to her as they were known to be danger magnets.

But clearly, the universe had other ideas for you because you happened to meet Tara face-to-face at the bodega.

The three of you were brought to the police station for questioning. It’s silent between the three of you with the only thing being heard was Tara’s soft breathing and a sigh from Sam.

“Do you go there often? The bodega I mean,” the older girl asks finally breaking the silence. Tara keeps her head down, but listens intently to your conversation with her sister.

“Not really, no. I was just really craving some Honeybuns,” you laugh dryly. “But I didn’t think I’d encounter a fucking Ghostface”

“So I’m guessing you know who we are, considering you know Ghostface”

“Well for the record, I’ve also seen the Stab movies so that’s why I know it. But I do know who you are,” you say almost as if embarrassed to admit the fact.

“I’m Y/N by the way, since you don’t know who I am,” you notice Sam’s eyebrows furrow slightly as you introduce yourself.

“That name sounds familiar.. do we know you by any chance?” She asks, shifting her gaze from the table to you.

“Oh I doubt it, I only came to the city recently for school,” you nervously laugh from the sudden interrogation.

Tara’s head shoots up when Detective Bailey walks in and begins his interrogation. Luckily for them, you were helpful because you were able to check out Tara’s alibi for being at the party and seeing the both of them there (Sam bringing up the tasing incident forced you to hide a smile). But not even 10 minutes in, he was asked to leave the room due to the FBI claiming jurisdiction, leaving the three of you alone yet again. It’s quiet just like when you were first brought in here, but Tara is the one to break the silence this time.

“Wait! Y/N Y/N Y/N, I know where I heard this name,” you nervously chewed on your lip as Tara tried to remember where she heard your name.

“Got it! You’re in my film class, right? You sit all the way in the back and I always notice you when I walk in. I remember peeking down at your notebook as I walked to my seat and I saw your name,” she says proudly as if she’s solved a mystery. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, giving her a smile and nodding your head to confirm her statement.

“Okay, well it’s nice that you’re meeting your classmates and making friends but we don’t have time for this. Let’s go,” Sam starts putting on her black bomber jacket before making her way out of the interrogation room. You and Tara get up to follow suit, but before you can make your way out the room, Tara stops you.

��Do you want to grab some lunch sometime? You know, whenever this whole thing will be over?”

You look at her for a moment and take in her features; the way her brown eyes manage to sparkle under the dull white ceiling lights; how a sea of freckles paint over her face so perfectly; and how her lips were plump, red, and so god damn kissable. You knew you shouldn’t get close to her, but every moment you spent staring and glossing over her features, you knew you’d cave into her.

“Guys, come on!” Sam called out from a few feet in front of you. You look back at the younger Carpenter, who was still waiting for a reply.

“Yeah, that’d be nice” you finally manage to say.

The two of you catch up to Sam who finds Detective Bailey talking to someone else but when you realize who it was, you freeze.

“Kirby?” Sam calls out.

“Hey Sam,” the blonde walks over to give Sam a hug and acknowledges Tara. When she finds you standing behind them, her eyes widen and says a quiet “oh my god,” causing the two sisters to look at you.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“You guys know each other?” Detective Bailey asks the four of you, but Sam answers first.

“Yeah. We went to Woodsboro High together. She was a senior when I was a freshman.”

“We share a certain history together, yeah.”

“Wait Kirby, how do you know Y/N?” Tara asks.

Your eyes dart back and forth between the three of them, your palms getting sweatier and your heart racing faster at the sudden attention on you.

Kirby quickly understood and decided to clear the air by offering her help on the case. The girls divert their focus to Kirby and the detective, but not before Sam gives you a questioning look.

And as if seeing Kirby wasn’t bad enough, the three of you happen to meet Gale Weathers right outside the police station. She was looking very eager to cover the story of last night’s events as per usual. You call for a taxi while Sam and Tara talk to Gale, not missing the amazing right hook Tara gives the reporter. They start making their way to the taxi and Gale follows. When the three of them come closer, she catches sight of you and pushes pass the two sisters.

“Jesus Christ, out of all the places you could run off to, I didn’t expect the fucking Big Apple Y/N”

Sam and Tara look at each other, both heavily confused on how you knew Kirby and now Gale.

The reporter approaches you for a hug, to which you don’t reciprocate knowing Sam and Tara were watching. Deep down, you really wanted to hug Gale back but you just couldn’t bring yourself to wrap your arms around her.

“How is she?” you ask as she pulls away.

“I talked to her. She’s worried sick, you know. Are you ever going to go back home?”

“I'm fine here, Gale”

“Well with Ghostface running around here, I don’t think you are anymore. Why don’t you give her a call-”

“I can’t,” you feel the lump in your throat and try your best to fight the tears forming in your eyes. “She’ll never forgive me.”

“Of course she will, Y/N. She’s the only one who will understand what you’re feeling right now.”

The taxi driver honks his horn to get you to hurry up and get in the cab.

“I hope I don’t have to see you around. Take care of yourself,” you squeeze her shoulder and Gale watches you get into the cab together with the Sam and Tara and drive off.

Later that day, Tara invites you to meet the rest of her friend group which includes the Meeks-Martin twins, Ethan, Quinn, and Mindy’s girlfriend Anika. The eight of you sat together on campus as Mindy goes on a ramble about the new rules of a franchise and listing out her potential suspects. Naturally, you were on her top three along with Ethan and Quinn since you just met the friend group, so you couldn’t be mad at the accusation. And as if perfectly timed, your phone started to ring which startled everyone. The number was coming from an unknown number so you decline it, knowing better than to answer it. When asked who it was, you lied and said it was just your roommate. But you get a text from the same number:

ANSWER THE PHONE, BITCH.

The phone rings again and you excuse yourself from the group meeting to answer the call alone, earning you odd looks from everyone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Y/N. It’s exciting to finally be doing this with you,” the voice was all too familiar. You look back at the group and they’re all staring at you, watching your every move. You weren’t exactly doing a very good job at trying to defend yourself from being a suspect.

“Who is this?” you say through gritted teeth.

“You think just because you ran away from home, you won’t be a part of this? It’s inevitable, Y/N. It’s who you are.”

“I’m not the daughter of a serial killer fuckface, I don’t count!”

“Oh but that’s where you’re wrong. Are you forgetting who your mother is, Y/N?”

“Please, just leave me alone,” you beg with tears in your eyes.

“Your secret will be out soon. And when that happens, I can’t wait to be the one who will gut you like a fish in front of everyone.”

“How fucking original. Come up with a new catchphrase next time, you bitch!” you sneer as you end the call. You run a hand through your hair, trying not to let the tears spill out of frustration. Suddenly, a hand grabs your shoulder and you jump at the feeling but when you turn around, a small girl is standing in front of you.

“Woah hey, it’s just me. Are you okay?” Tara asks, genuine concern laced in her voice. Your tense body now relaxes at the sight of her, her presence washing away every bit of fear and anger that was in you. It’s already hard for her to trust you and you can’t blame her for that, so you decide not to keep any more secrets from her.

“He called. Said he can’t wait to gut me like a fish.” Tara shakes her head.

“That’s it, you’re staying with us tonight.”

“Wait, what? Just like that?”

“You’re in danger, Y/N. We have to protect you, we’re the reason you’re in this mess in the first place.”

“Okay first of all, you know you shouldn’t trust anyone, that’s like the biggest fucking rule in this whole franchise shit. Second, you are not the reason that he’s after me, you don’t- we don’t know why he’s after me. And third, I don’t think Sam will be too keen on the idea of me staying with you guys.”

“I’ll convince her. I don’t want anything to happen to you, Y/N.”

You take a moment to look at her again. There’s a genuine and sincere look in her eyes, and for a moment, you forget that you’re all wanted targets about to be murdered. For a moment, it just feels like you two are normal university students who want to fall in love with each other

“See, this is why I want to trust you,” you’re broken out of your trance when the younger Carpenter speaks. She notices your eyebrows furrow in confusion and giggles at the sight.

“You look at me and get lost into my eyes, like you’re looking pass all the crazy shit we’re going through right now. You look at me like you want to fall in love but you’re afraid to,” your eyes widen at how she managed to voice out your thoughts. “And I know I’ve been through a lot, I know I shouldn’t openly trust anyone anymore but for some weird fucking reason, I feel safe and comfortable around you. And maybe this will bite me in the ass later on, maybe you’re just a really good fucking actress and I’m gonna regret everything when you start slicing me up, but I really hope it doesn’t have to end up that way.”

You look into her eyes once more and you prove her statement in that very moment. In the little time you’ve spent with her, you found yourself falling for the girl. You always thought your life was fucked when you learned who your mother was, but now you don’t think it’s all that bad. If it wasn’t for your name and the bloodline you came from, you wouldn’t have been led to Tara Carpenter.

You held your pinky finger up to the girl and now it’s Tara’s turn to look confused. “Normal serial killers usually would verbally make promises or swear that they won’t do anything. But pinky promises are very serious, to me at least. I know it’ll be hard to fully trust me, so this is me assuring you that things won’t end up that way in the best way I know how.” It’s pathetic now that you think of it, offering a pinky promise not to kill the girl. But Tara laughs and links pinkies with you anyway.

“Break this promise and I’ll make sure Sam breaks every bone in your body.”

a/n: hello reader >:) my love for jenna ortega and the scream franchise has led me here. honestly speaking, this won't make a lot of sense canonically but pls bear w me, i'm going to try and execute this idea as best as i can :') if you made it this far, thank you for reading!

#scream #scream vi #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega #itsghvstfvce

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day-drawn-blog · 6 months

Text

Part VIII: "Your blood like wine, I wanted in. Oh darling get me drunk, invite me in" - I want to live.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader -- This is set in Act I

Tags: SMUT.

Part I. Crowned light moon of mine - I found you too soon

Part II : Lace your heart with mine Let your sleeping soul take flight

Part III : maybe tonight I'll rest in peace

Part IV : There is more to do and I still want to live

Part V : our futures bound, our bodies known

Part VI: These ain't my sins. I broke my chains.

Part VII: You are not mine and am I truly yours.

Part IX : I'll welcome my sentence and give you my penance

Part X : I can't go yet...don't let me die

---------------

"Maybe I should help clean you. " He smiled. "We don't want to attract, any more...vampires" He waded towards you in waist deep waters. "I am not one to share my treasures with others, you see". He smirked as he picked up a linen cloth then stood in front of you. Gently he placed the warm wet cloth on your shoulder cut. You had suffered quite a few from the splinter shower earlier.

On your cheeks, shoulders. Collarbones.

You felt his touch. His breath on your skin. A sensation was spreading through you. But you steeled yourself. You wanted to... no, you needed to talk to him. Confront him...on his confounding behavior. His oscillating warmth and icy cold demeanor. Of Shadowheart... yes, you definitely needed to talk about her... And what about... the other night, when his bite evolved to...more.

No, you didn't want to talk to him about that.

Silence shrouded you both, as you were lost in thought, only broken by the sound of the splashing water. As he kept cleaning each wound, one by one. Lost in his own world. Was he returning your favor, of dressing his wounds from the other night? You wondered. This man....had a way of returning every favor you did him. Why? Except when he drinks you, the only thing he does, is .... Kiss you.

So that's why ....he kissed you.

Of course! Hah. You weren't sure if you felt glad you figured him out or sad to know his true intentions. You laughed at yourself for thinking he had any real affection for you. Your smile broke him out of his reverie. "Hmmm...?" He looked at you, with solemn eyes. "You haven't come for my blood in a while. You found other... sources, I presume". You waited. Did you want him to crave you and you alone?

Don't be silly, you told yourself.

"I wasn't sure ... if I could have restrained myself. So I kept my distance". He looked at you. Sincere, but with piercing, intense eyes. "Every time I drink you, I lose myself in you... Perhaps, because ...you are my first ....my master once said ..." He trailed off. "No, never mind".

Another secret. You thought.

"Are you saying... I'm bad for you?" He chuckled at the conclusion you had drawn. "Quite the contrary. I'm afraid. But I wasn't happy, not knowing, didn't know...how I would feel, the next time...". He put both his hands around you, holding the ledge of the water. Caging you. "But, I may have a faint idea, why...if you let me, I could confirm, if I'm right".

"Sure. Glad to help". The Hero in you responded without thinking.

He grinned.

Then put two fingers on your chin, and then trailed the fingers down your neck, settling on your chest. Between your breasts on your bodice. Then a flick of his wrist, and he had undone the clasps. Before you had time to react, he held both your hands and pinned them behind you.

What? Your bodice was undone!

Wait! Shocked you looked at him. Your nipples still covered by what remained of the material. You felt blood rush to your face. He was still smiling. Very pleased. "Did you like my sleight of hand, cap'n" he grinned at you. Your face was hot. You tried to wrest free but your arms were still held in his strong grasp. With the same two fingers, he gently pushed the unbuttoned bodice over your left shoulder.

No...please ...you bit your lips.

"I do like it when you plead me with your eyes" his eyes were heavy, drunk with lust it seemed. You resolved not to let him have what he wanted. You pursed your lips determined not to let a sound escape. "200 years with countless victims, of course, you have perfected your skills" you cut back.

Perhaps bitter, that you were not his first.

"Not of my own free will" he answered sadly, "And yet some of them couldn't even grant me temporary pleasure." There was regret in his voice. You looked at him. Unsure what to make of that emotion. "What makes you think, I will?" You asked, indignant. Still a prisoner in his hands, trying to wrest free.

He smirked at that challenge.

"Come now, don't be coy. Your body's already given you away... I could feel it, as I was getting lost in your neck. Your little shakes of excitement....". You couldn't refute him. Remembering what you did the last time. By now he had taken every bit of clothing off your chest and laid it on the grass behind. He took you in with his eyes. No....don't look. You looked to the side.

Don't look at me.

He was just getting started. Fully exposing you, he circled a nipple with his thumb. You arched your back. The pleasure was unbearable. Then he touched another with his thumb, you moaned. He then took it between two long fingers, and stretched his hand to touch the other one with his thumb. Squeezing your breasts together with one hand.

You couldn't hold it any longer.

Your breath quickened. You let out quiet little moans and sucked in air. Breathing with your mouth, short of air. He dropped his lips on your open mouth and found your tongue with his. The devil. But you felt your resolve melt away. You kissed him back. He let your hands go, and held you in his arms caressing your back. You pulled him into your embrace, tugging at his hair. You didn't want this moment to stop.

"I know...." he said briefly before kissing you again, "...how you feel..." then kissed you again... "...because I feel it too..."

You reached down and grabbed him.

He moaned. A low throaty growl. He was already enlarged and extremely thick. Hard. "You cheeky little pup. Aren't you just....asking for it". He smirked again, pleasantly surprised. You pumped with your hands. The odd sense of control and when you pleasured him was ... unfamiliar and...all consuming. As if, the tables had turned. He shuddered at your moves.

"The gods made you, to ruin ...me".

He whispered, on your neck, before pulling your hands out and holding them, about your head. "Patience, darling" he growled. Then as if to punish your transgression put a finger down your underwear. Your felt a flame engulf you. The throbbing between your legs was excruciating. You wanted to feel him press against you.

He put his lips on your chest, between your breasts.

He looked at you, piercing, smouldering. "Push me away, if you like, my love" he said. You didn't know what warranted this warning from him till you felt something cold and sharp touch your skin. You looked down at him to find him sinking his fangs into you. A wave of euphoria courses through you. You couldn't tell if it was him drinking you, or his fingers, between your legs. It was all too much.

You leaned back and looked at the stars.

You felt all your strength leave you. Intoxicated you stared at the night sky. You could let him ruin you. You would surrender to him if he wished. You could be his if he wanted...forever. He took his hand out of your legs and held you squarely around your hips. Then he stopped drinking and licked his bite mark the way he always did. Then kissed it. And licked the side of your left breast. Eventually he engulfed one in his mouth.

You moaned out loud.

He put a hand on your mouth. "Hush darling...". Probably the sensible decision...you were in a rather, compromising state. You wouldn't want to be discovered. But what were you to do as he licked and kissed your breasts. There was something you needed to tell him...or ask him..but what was it. It felt like a lifetime ago. You could no longer remember. All you could think of, was your pulsating core, as you straggled him harder under the water.

"I think we should get back, darling".

"You must be exhausted and in need of some food...and rest.". He lifted you up from your half recline. You fell on his shoulders and embraced him. All you wanted, was to be close to him. Euphoric, ecstatic he had made you feel things you hadn't felt in a very long time, if ever. On his shoulders, you felt, your burning core. You gripped his shoulders, his back...hard. Your naked upper bodies, wet from the water, touching.

"Ravish me. Ravage me..." You begged.

"I wouldn't want to eat you up, all at once"

You could feel his grin. That half smile that you found so attractive. "I want to savor you...slowly ....darling". You had no strength in you. Was it the blood loss? He got out of the water. Stretched out his hand, and pulled you out, and you followed reluctantly. Then helped you dress. Undid what he had done to the bodice. As you stood there dazed, he reached out and firmly held your hand in his. It felt like a dream. He led you back. you felt you could follow him anywhere. And perhaps you were.

Following him to your ruin.

Part IX : I'll welcome my sentence and give you my penance

#astarion romance #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion angst #baldurs gate 3 #fanfic #fluff #vampire #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #smut #smut fanfiction #so hot 🔥🔥🔥#hot as fuck #hot and spicy

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cursedvida · 6 months

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SAD EYES, BROKEN SMILE V (Buggy x f!Reader)

PART IV // PART VI

WARNINGS: Smut, Minors DNI please go away. I mean masturbation, dirty talk, vaginal fingering and a lot of +18 things babies.

N/A: From now to the end the series are starting to be very hot, sorry not sorry. But yeah porn with feelings.

The confrontation with the marines was not complicated, it was just a ship without a very powerful captain, so it was quite easy to finish them off. As everyone witnessed -part- of your skills, you decided not to hold back in a battle anymore. You didn't show your full potential either, just enough to get rid of a few cadets while leaving Buggy free to show off in front of the whole crew.

At the end of the battle, Buggy decides to celebrate the victory using the barrels you stole from the navy ship. Another party of many on Buggy's pirate ship, it almost seems like a habit to end up all drunk on beer and rum. You must admit you've never drunk so often before.

While the musicians begin to play a song and you hear the laughter of some of your crewmates, you feel that someone is watching you. Buggy has his eyes on you, those eyes that you like so much and that you have imagined looking at you that way a thousand times. You feel the lust and desire in them, which excites and overwhelms you in equal parts. Buggy pretends to listen to his subordinates while still paying attention to you, he takes a sip from his beer mug without taking his eyes off you. You watch him from the corner of your eye, not taking your mind off what has happened this morning: the wet taste of his mouth, his hands roaming your body, his fingers in places no other man has touched. You swallow saliva, you want him as much as he wants you, you feel a tightness in your chest too great, you feel like something inside you is going to explode.

You need some air, so you decide to withdraw for a moment, get away from the people. You go down to the cellars so you can breathe for a moment. You think that you are being unconscious, that you are getting too carried away. Who is this person non capable of thinking clearly? Since when do you let yourself be carried away by absurd desires and give up a mission on a whim? That's not you, you don't recognize yourself. You've never had time for that kind of nonsense, why is it different now? Why with him?

"Do you like to meet in this place?"

You recognize that voice instantly. As you look up there is Buggy, your captain, standing in front of you with his eyes bright from the contrast they make with the dim light in the room. You keep wondering what his face must look like without so much makeup, what his lips must taste like without the aftertaste of face paint. You lose your senses again and all the questions and reproaches you asked yourself earlier disappear.

"I thought you wouldn't remember" you say in a whisper "you were really drunk that night."

Buggy approaches you slowly, never taking his eyes off you. When he's at your level he lifts your chin gently with his fingers.

"Not that much" he admits, cocking a smile.

Your heart starts pounding at the thought of him maybe kissing you at a moment's notice. At times like this you wish your life had been otherwise, more normal, less violent. Then you could have had an ordinary adolescence, met some boys, had some experiences. So, at least now you wouldn't feel so ridiculous for not knowing how to react when a man calls out to you.

You look away, somewhat self-consciously.

"You fought very well today…" You comment shyly, radically changing the subject.

"I admit I went too far" he forces your chin to look back at him "but it's just that those suckers interrupted me at a very important moment, and I really can't stand that."

A nervous giggle escapes you. God, what a fool you are. You feel ashamed of yourself.

"Buggy, I…" You move closer to him, melting into an embrace. His smell makes you feel good, in a safe place.

The captain doesn't know how to react, after your hot encounter this morning he thought you were going to go on the lust attack without too much thought, but that embrace so warm, so intimate, has caught him totally off guard. Today he watched you fight, he watched with pleasure as you knocked out those navy pigs without ruffling your hair, it made him even hornier than he already was. But when you hug him like that, like someone holding on to an iron beam so as not to lose his balance, he realizes that maybe you were right and he was really underestimating your feelings. That maybe not a purely sexual attraction.

"I don't know what's wrong with you" you confess, hiding your face in his chest so you don't have to look him in the face "But you make me feel so silly."

"Well, that happens to a lot of people when they discover my incredible wit" he boasts, trying to take the intensity out of the situation.

"It's not because of that" you reply softly "it's just… I really like you a lot. I'm not playing games."

And he realizes then how vulnerable you are being in his arms. Your honesty about emotions is something that always catches him off guard but at the same time touches him. How can you be so insanely honest? Fuck, it feels like you're playing at leaving him unarmed.

"I want you so badly," you tell him in a whisper, and it unleashes all his most primal instincts.

Buggy lets out a sort of wild animal-like growl. You then notice how he lifts you into the air, sitting on one of the barrels in the hold. You are now almost at the same height. He looks you in the eyes again, his nose brushing yours.

"You're a dangerous little girl" he strokes your hair with an open hand and a certain paternal air "very dangerous."

At that moment you give him a gentle kiss on his nose. It's something you've wanted to do for a long time because, contrary to what he thinks, you don't find it horrible, but appetizing in a way. You don't know how he's going to react to such an action, but when his gaze changes, turning wild, you know you've pressed a button from which there's no turning back.

The next thing you know, Buggy has taken hold of your neck, kissing it, biting it, leaving a trail of red paint on your smooth skin. You've triggered his wild side, his hands are no longer as soft and slow as they were this morning, now they don't hesitate to strip off your shirt, leaving you in your bra. His mouth runs down your collarbones, down your chest and finally you notice how his tongue begins to slurp the top of your breasts. On the other hand, his hands run along your waist, down to your buttocks to remove the shorts you are wearing. Before you know it you are almost naked in front of him, noticing how your cheeks suddenly turn red.

You grab his hair, pulling off his hat and then his bandana to realize that his hair is actually longer than you imagined. Strands of blue hair falling over his face. You notice your cheeks red again, for some reason you find him more handsome than ever.

"Buggy, I've never…" you're embarrassed to even say it, seeing him so thrown. He looks at you, his pupils dilated with excitement "I've never… been like this with anyone."

The idea of being the first one able to go that far with you doesn't seem to disgust him, quite the opposite. There is a smirk on his face, he feels so full of himself. He knows that you are giving him a privilege that you have not wanted to bestow on anyone else, only him, which swells his pride considerably.

"Then I'll have to make sure you have a great time," he replies to you, mischief in his gaze.

He spreads your legs then and bends down slightly, removing your panties to expose the most intimate part of you. You notice your cheeks light up just before you feel your whole face burning. Buggy is kneeling, staring at your crotch with an almost famished expression.

"Don't do that, I'm embarrassed."

He lets out a laugh just before he approaches your wetness. That's when you gasp at the contact of his tongue with your intimacy. Buggy starts to move his tongue expertly, trying to find your clit, while you do your best not to lose your balance. One of your hands goes to his hair, while the other tries to hold on to the barrel. You feel totally vulnerable, exposed to this man who has decided to make of you whatever he wants because you let him. His tongue running along your pussy, finding that sensitive area that makes you let out a huge moan of pleasure.

"Mmm, there it is" he relishes, looking at you for a moment.

You watch him, panting, spread-eagled in an absolutely obscene position that, at the same time, excites you enormously. You love being at his mercy, moaning every time his tongue caresses your clitoris, sucking expertly as you let out sighs and sounds you never thought could come out of your mouth.

"Fuck little girl, it's fucking wonderful when you growl like that" he comments just before he starts eating you again.

You notice how he has pulled his hands away from your body. As he continues to lick your pussy, he removes his gloves in midair. His hands go to your back, unclasping your bra. You are now totally naked before him. Your breasts glisten in the light of the room, your nipples are erect and Buggy's hands begin to caress them, pinching them as his tongue works faster and faster.

You let out a cry of pleasure, you can't repress it, there are too many sensations at once.

Buggy makes one of his hands reconnect with your arm, pulls his face away and starts stroking you with one of his fingers. As he jerks you off, he sits up slightly, moving closer to you. His makeup is smudged. He gets close to your ear as he inserts one of his fingers into your vagina.

"You have no fucking idea how you have me right now" he comments, as you hold your breath as you feel him insert himself into your cavity "Fuck, gorgeous, you're so tight. I think we're going to have to do some work on this."

You hold onto his neck so you don't lose your balance as you feel his finger advance inside you. Buggy grabs your wrist, pulling your hand to his crotch. You can feel the huge bulge, hard and throbbing, noticeable under his pants.

"See?" he asks, staring at you before kissing you. His mouth is salty, tasting of your own fluids, something that manages to turn you on even more "That's how you got me. That's how you get me my little minx."

"Buggy…" you moan. Slipping your hand under his pants to touch his erect member. You've never done anything like this before, but instinctively you begin to move your hand, guided by the expressions of pleasure he puts on "Like this?"

"Perfect. Mmmm... good girl" he growls, sinking his head into your neck.

He pulls his finger out from inside you and starts stroking your clit while you do the same with his member. You both start moaning at the same time, Buggy looks at you then, notices your half-open mouth, your burning cheeks, your watering eyes. He revels in that virgin face discovering sex while you try your best to give him back all the pleasure he's giving you.

"You're a insane craziness" he whispers to you without taking his eyes off you "you're going to fuck my life".

You are not able to answer him anything, you notice that you are close to orgasm, each time the waves of pleasure are bigger and bigger.

"Buggy, I think… I think…"

"Hold on a little, baby girl. I'm almost there."

You try to hold back, biting your lower lip trying to stifle your moans. You wiggle his cock quickly, noticing how he gasps slightly. He wiggles his finger more as well. You both start moaning at the same time.

"I'm going to fucking cum" he gasps.

"Me too" you moan, almost unable to hold it in.

"Fuck!"

At that moment you notice how pleasure invades your whole body, rising from your lower belly to all your extremities. Your legs even tremble, you can't modulate your moans, you start to scream disconsolately as your body fills with spasms. You feel your vision blur for a few moments and, when you want to realize it, you are half dead on one of his arms while the hand holding his cock is completely stained. He has also cum and his face is resting on your tits, breathing heavily. You feel your heart racing.

"Fuck me" he sighs, looking up.

For some reason you see him looking more handsome than ever, more attractive than any other time. At that moment, if he asked you for anything, you'd go to hell itself. He gently pulls you up. With the hand that was holding you so you wouldn't fall, he pushes your hair away from your face. He smiles then, looking quite pleased.

"You're definitely going to ruin me."

And then he lets out a tremendous laugh.

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elvisabutler · 8 months

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don't rock the boat

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( 50s elvis ) x female reader word count: 2419 warnings: handjobs. public play. use of teddy bear and sugar bear and as nicknames. mild embarrassment kink. talk about fear of heights. mild insecurity on the reader's part. minor cum eating. a minor touch of sub e but not quite? author’s note: welcome to day 11 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, public play with 50s elvis presley x reader. no real notes for this beyond you can imagine austin or regular elvis for this and this went through a name change and a "what happened in the smut" change twice. thank y'all for reading and i hope this scratches an itch for some of y'all! and yes i did forget a warning or two. that'll teach me to post before dinner.

"Don't wanna pretend ya don't exist," Elvis murmurs into the crook of your neck. "Satnin loves ya and Daddy does and Dodger a-and if my fans don't, then maybe they ain't fans of *me*."

You laugh, watching as the warm air from your breath shook a few of Elvis's strands of hair loose. "Oh, they're fans alright. Jus' of those hips and what they want you to do wit' 'em."

Your boyfriend of two years looks down at his feet, the very picture of the shy boy you fell in love with. That boy you fell in love with who stuttered so bad you had to finish his words for him until he got used to you and gave you little nicknames. None of them have stuck, though and he's had to resort to the typical baby and darlin'. Still, it doesn't change the rush of love he feels for you and that you feel for him any time you're within fifty feet of each other.

He's still managing the bashful look for longer than you think is strictly necessary and you take a moment to bend down, forcing him to have to look at your face, grin and all. "Am I making my Teddy Bear feel embarrassed? Don't wanna think of all those girls dreaming of you and your hips?"

There's more words on the tip of your tongue that Elvis makes disappear when he sneaks a kiss on your lips and steals just a little bit of your breath away. His smile threatens to fill your heart to bursting with love before he speaks. "I know I got one girl I want to. Kisses like an angel, too."

"An angel?" Your tone is a little playful, as you grab at his face and pull him in for another kiss. "Does she look like one too?"

His eyes soften just a tad before pressing his forehead against yours. "Always. Figure if I marry her I'll be in heaven on Earth."

A laugh leaves your mouth as you shake your head. "Now you're jus' bein' cheesy, 'Vis. Come on, let's— you promised me time at this fair 'fore you gotta go back on tour."

"Still think I oughta take ya wit' me," is all you hear behind you as a grumbled reply.

"I'm not going on the ferris wheel!"

"Darlin', it ain't that high. Don't ya wanna look over the whole fair? Feel larger than everythin'?" Elvis tries to reason with you in front of the ferris wheel. You're both thankfully not in line and holding it up but you're still within earshot of some people snickering.

"I— That's what you want to do, not— not me. No, I'm okay to stay on the ground, thank you very much." You wince at how you're practically stuttering out your answer and at how people are snickering at the discussion about it that you and Elvis are having.

Elvis's eyes drift to the crowd and in the back of his mind he hears the Colonel's voice reminding him that those girls are the ones who pay to hear him sing. Those girls don't know you're anything more than a friend to him. After all, it's one thing to have a famous girl on your arm, another to have in his words—a plain Jane hometown girl. One is threatening and the other is something that can be tossed aside. Their laughter has gotten louder and he sees you starting to curl in on yourself in an effort to make yourself seem smaller and less noticeable. That's not what you do. That's never been what you do and Elvis can't stand seeing it. With one final glance toward the crowd, he steps forward and grabs your face with both hands, pulling you into a kiss. There's a series of loud gasps in the crowd and you immediately start to pull away only to feel one of his hands move down to your hip and pull you back flush against him. You swear you feel his cock starting to firm up.

"I wanna take in every moment tonight wit' ya. I know ya don't wanna go up on that but— honey, I don't— I gotta have ya with me." He looks back at the crowd. "And I wanna show ya off. Want 'em to see who I love more than anyone other than my mama."

For a moment you don't move, the still tittering giggles echoing in your head even as his words fully sink in. He wants to be with you and wants to show people he's with you, damn the consequences to his career. It warms you from the inside out on the slightly chilly October night and you can't help the way you bite your lip and rock just slightly against him as a thank you almost. His eyes widen just a hair even as they darken.

"You're gonna have to protect me, Teddy Bear. And you'll have to do the leading this time."

A smirk crosses his lips before he steps away, holding out his hand as he does so. "Then come on, Sugar Bear. Let me show ya how fun these can be."

Flashes of cameras are the only thing you see going up and a part of you wants to bury your face into Elvis's chest before you decide against it. He wants to show you off so you'll give everyone a show to see you at least this once. Elvis is talking to you as you're going up, telling you to look in the distance and pointing out things that make him laugh, shaking the pod as he does. It should terrify you but seeing Elvis happy like this calms you down better than you ever thought was possible. As you finally reach the top, you've curled against Elvis, your hand settled into his lap as he peers over at you.

"Ya plannin' on doin' somethin' there, Sugar Bear?" He teases even as he realizes that this Ferris wheel is going awfully slow and he swears he hears something creaking that shouldn't be. A quick peek down has him even more worried, not that he shows it on his face.

"I felt him. Down there, 'Vis. Felt him say hello against me." You answer, attempting to appear innocent, only to have the smirk on your face ruining it. "Thought he wanted to see one of his friends."

Elvis leans back against the back of the pod and lets out a sigh. "Oh he wants to see one o' them al'ight. Jus' not the one you're bringin' out."

You start to open your mouth to speak only to hear the sound of the Ferris wheel stopping. Your heartbeat jumps as you look down and feel the pod move with every shift you and Elvis do. This is why you hadn't wanted to come up here and within what feels like an instant your breath starts coming in small pants, panicking until you feel Elvis's hands grab yours. For some ungodly reason his cock is still at attention, pressing against his slacks and giving your eyes something to focus on that isn't the ground below you.

"Sugar Bear, you— look at me. Focus on me. Ain't— We'll be fine. Got stuck on one of these in Alabama a while back. They're gonna fix it." Elvis stares at your face for a moment before glancing down at your hands, still faintly shaking. "Let— I'm gonna— Ya need somethin' else to focus on. Ya— hell, this ain't the time and place but ya wanna focus on him? Got him all achin' for ya."

"Someone might see!" You practically shout though no one can hear you from how high up you are. "I— Elvis. It'll be all over the papers and you'll be in so much trouble."

"'Cause I fooled 'round with my girlfriend?" His answering chuckle has the pod shaking just a little bit and you bite your lip, eyes trying to stay glued to his crotch in order to focus on something calming— in a way. "Darlin'— ya— ain't no one gonna see but you and me. I'll— I'll make it up to ya as soon as we're back on the ground."

As if to prove the point, he removes one of his hands and places it right above your pubic bone, pressing against it in a way that has you arching your back just a little bit. You curse the fact that he knows you so well in that moment and curse how you know he's aware of how damp your underwear has become with that action after everything else. Your tongue darts out to lick at your lips before your free hand starts to unbutton his slacks.

Tonight you had thought Elvis had on his underwear and yet as soon as your hand moves the zipper, you're greeted by the soft flesh of his foreskin. There's minor prickles of his hair but you ignore them in favor of seeing how his pink little head is starting to peek out. Your mouth waters.

"You gotta be quiet, Teddy Bear. And you better promise."

"Scouts honor, honey— Lord—" he hisses out a curse word or five at the way you spit onto his cock, preparing it before his precum could do the job for you. You take your time, inching back his foreskin and revealing his aching cock to you. "Gentle— I— Been forever since I had ya grip 'im like this."

A smile crosses your face at the praise as Elvis shifts, trying to pump his cock in your hand when you're not moving it. "Patience, Teddy Bear. I can lead you everywhere, 'member? I don't want to hurt him."

"He'll heal up for his other friends real quick," he pants as you finally start to move your hand against the soft skin of his cock. The precum his body produces in what always feels like an overabundance having your hand glide smoothly up and down his cock. Your thumb brushes against the tip and his teeth dig into his lower lip to try and not yowl at the sensation. Your hands smaller than his but it's so much softer, no calluses and gentler even as your pace feels breakneck. His hips don't want to stop moving, humping as if that will earn him more friction or give him a better hole to fuck then the one you're making with your hand. It rocks the pod enough that he finally feels your free arm practically pinning his hips down. "Come— Don't be like that. Let 'em—"

"We're shakin' too much." You say as if that explains everything. "You still want to— release don't you?"

Somehow despite having seen each other naked and despite the fact that you two have done multiple sexual things together the word come always flusters you just a little. In another time and place Elvis would have laughed. If his cock wasn't feeling like it was gonna burst, he'd have laughed. He swears his balls twitch in fear at the idea of not coming. The only response he can manage is a fierce nod. "Ya know I do."

"Then stop movin'!," you request except it sounds more like a demand than anything else. It works though and Elvis finds himself pinned to the back of the seat in the pod even as you remove your arm. He chances a glance at you, marveling in how your tongue sticks out as you pump his pink cock. Your hand can't entirely fit around it and yet it feels better than any time he stroked himself on the road to the thought of you. His cock is covered in precum and he wishes it was both yours and his making it shiny and glistening but for now it'll do. He can survive and bury his face in your little kitty and bury his cock in later. He leans back, head looking up at the night sky, trying to keep himself from coming too soon at the feel of your hand and how your face looks as you pleasure him.

There's a noise that signals they're almost done fixing the ferris wheel that hits Elvis's ears over the slick and squelching sounds of your hand pumping his cock and he moves to grab your wrist, forcing you to stop. "We're gonna start moving soon. Gotta—"

As if you don't want to hear the words he's saying you cut him off with a kiss and start to move your hand and wrist and thumb in such a way that has him clawing at the metal, your skirt, his pants, anything to try and steady himself before you lean over and whisper. "Let go."

Despite his best efforts a shout leaves his mouth as he comes, the intensity hitting him not unlike a lightning bolt. His breath comes in pants, quick and uncontrolled as he looks down to see your hand covered in his cum and the seat with some of it as well. He supposes he should be thankful it didn't get onto his pants. He starts to offer a handkerchief he has in his pocket to clean you off before he realizes you're licking your hand clean. Words fail him in that moment as he just stares.

You shrug even as he can see the embarrassment at being caught clear on your face. "I— i missed how it tasted."

"You can taste him all night long tonight." He murmurs, the words tumbling out before he even thinks to say anything else. His mouth is open to say more when you both feel the ride start to move once more. Elvis wastes no time in buttoning up his slacks and making sure you're both put back together as if nothing had happened by the time you're back on the ground.

The pair of you don't waste a single moment exiting the pod, ignoring Scotty's question about what that shout was up there to try and find some place private enough for Elvis to stick his head under your skirt. You settle for a private spot next to a tent no one goes into in the dark. As Elvis sinks down to his knees he winks at you. "Missed how she tasted too. One more ride after this? Or do I need to take you home?"

"Depends," you look down at Elvis and card your hands through his hair. "Depends on if we're still achin' after all this."

taglist: @ab4eva , @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted @be-my-ally, @mooodyblue, @pixiedustcosmos, @jessicarcates, @amydarcimarie, @flwrs4aust, @myradiaz, @adaydreamaway08, @arabellalightning505, @doll-elvis guarantee i’m missing someone. i tried the end. also i clearly added this originally. also you want to be added just ask me. i keep forgetting people or losing people in these and just it’s a mess.

#elvis presley #elvis 2022 #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley smut #50s elvis #austin elvis x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley imagine #ally writes #ally's wet hot smut summer

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tj-dragonblade · 4 months

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[FIC] I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 6949 Tags: fluff, sap, most of this only warrants a G-rating honest, the M is for mild and largely glossed-over spice toward the end, esablished relationship, winter, cold weather, christmas market, ice skating, sleigh ride, cozy cabin getaway, mulled wine, hot chocolate, a couple of things from last Fluffbruary worked their way in here oops, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, mild and inexplicit temperature play

Notes: Written for the magnificently talented and absolutely lovely @rooftopwreck as part of the Dreamling Nation Winter Exchange. Surprise, Vi! I hope you like it! You're such a warm and friendly person, a delight to know and talk to and you can always manage to make me laugh. I'm so glad I got the opportunity to write you a fic! Working with your prompts warmth, hot chocolate, and hearth (which I didn't quite get to but there is a fireplace)

Summary: It's winter in London and Hob is interested in sharing various cold-weather human experiences with his distinctly-not-human boyfriend

On AO3

"That's cheating, you know."

Dream turns to peer at Hob beside him as they walk down the street. "'Cheating'?"

Hob gestures broadly at Dream. "You," he says with a warm smile. "Your whole outside-the-bounds-of-humanity thing, just wandering around like the cold doesn't bother you."

Dream turns his gaze forward again. "It does not."

"But you could let it if you wanted to, right?"

"Is there a reason I should want to, Hob Gadling?"

"Well. I mean. You'll stand out less if you're dressed for the weather—"

"I can alter my clothing to blend in if it will assuage your concerns," Dream interrupts. He is uncertain of Hob's purpose in this line of conversation, or what any of this has to do with him accompanying Hob to buy groceries.

"Still missing the point, duck."

"Please. Enlighten me."

Hob blows out a breath, which clouds prettily around his face in the grey winter daylight. "There's a lot of really fun cold weather things we can do, human experiences that I, a humble human, would like to share with my more-than-human boyfriend. Things that just aren't quite the same if you're immune to the cold." He grins at Dream. "And then some other things that are purely selfish—how can I chivalrously offer you my scarf to stay warm if you don't get cold, for instance?"

Dream gives a put-upon sigh. "The weather is so frightfully cold," he intones, little better than deadpan. "If only some kind individual were to offer me his scarf, that I might warm myself."

"See I know you're just faking," Hob laughs, but all the same he unwinds the scarf from about his own neck, stopping to face Dream and drape it about him gently before continuing, shoulders hunching into his own coat. "It's not just about appearances, though. Isn't your sister always telling you to take more interest in humans and the 'human experience'? Isn't that how we met?"

"It is." Dream has buried his nose in the loop of scarf about his neck; it is pleasantly warm with Hob's body heat, whether or not Dream truly feels the cold as Hob does, and it smells enticingly of Hob as well.

Perhaps there is. Merit, to Hob's suggestion.

"Well, then…let me help you have some human experiences?" Hob is looking at him hopefully. "It'll be fun."

"I am quite pleased by the 'human experiences' you share with me already, Hob." Dream lets his mouth curl smugly above the scarf, tilts his head to glance at Hob through his lashes.

"Additional experiences. Cold weather experiences, outside the bedroom." Hob shakes his head, mock dismayed, betrayed by the smile in his eyes that's fighting its way down to his lips. "Can't believe you're making sex jokes outside Sainsbury's. What even is my life."

"I will. Consider your suggestion," Dream allows, as they enter the store, and no more is said on the subject that day.

~~~ When next Dream visits Hob in the waking world, he manifests his form in much greater human detail than usual. He pays special attention to making certain he has the appropriate body temperature and all of the internal intricacies to regulate it; he releases a breath, and it clouds the air before him.

He shivers.

His usual attire is indeed insufficient in this weather. He will trust that Hob can provide him something warmer.

Just as soon as Hob returns home.

Dream could let himself into Hob's flat, or wait for him inside the New Inn even; he chooses instead to wait outside, in the cold, that he might have the full effect of whatever it is Hob wishes him to glean from the experiment.

It is only a short time later that Hob returns, and his eyebrows shoot up beneath the cuff of the hat he wears to see Dream shivering outside the door at the back of the Inn. "Dream? What are you doing out here, you look like you're freezing!"

"Observant," Dream grits out, teeth clenched to still their chattering, arms tucked tight around himself. His mood has soured considerably in the interim.

"You choose the most peculiar times to take my suggestions to heart." Hob moves close, unlocking the door. "Did you miss the part where I mentioned wanting to share things with you?"

"Hence why I am here, waiting for you."

"Bloody obstinate git, you are," Hob chides fondly, opening the door and ushering Dream inside. The warm air is a relief, and Dream unclenches slightly.

"This is. A miserable experience so far," he says, uncharitably perhaps, but 'the experience' was Hob's selling point and Dream has yet to see what so enamours him of the cold.

"Ah, well, being cold is generally miserable, yes. Which is why you bundle up to enjoy the weather, and why you don't stand about waiting outside without a proper winter jacket when there's a nice heated pub right there, you numpty. Or just let yourself into my flat next time, honestly. Come on up, I'll get you sorted before we head out."

Dream is displeased by the thought of going back out, into the cold, but he is. Trying. Very hard, to be adaptable, to flow with change, to be open to whatever joy Hob thinks he might be shown. He recalls the way Hob's eyes had sparkled when he spoke of taking Dream round to the Christmas market, he recalls the dreams he has touched of such things over the centuries and he finds that he is able to muster a modicum of curiosity to see firsthand how they have evolved in the current era.

Most importantly, he does not wish to disappoint Hob.

It is much easier to brave the cold once Hob has bundled him into a jumper that is only marginally oversized (Hob is slighter than he tends to appear) and a scarf that is softer than the dreams children spin of summer clouds, and thrice as warm. Both smell faintly of Hob, which is delightful, and does a fine job of lifting his mood again.

"Hat, or earmuffs?" Hob holds out both options; after a moment's consideration, Dream chooses the earmuffs. A thick quilted overcoat ('puffer jacket', the collective subconscious supplies) and a fashionably slim pair of warmly-lined gloves finish off the ensemble, and Dream is nearly too warm thus arrayed.

It occurs to him as they leave Hob's flat that everything Hob has dressed him in is black, in keeping with his own preferences, and the realization sparks a different, softer sort of warmth in his chest.

~~~ The Christmas market is a lively, bustling affair, bright with voices and possibilities and fairy lights twinkling in the late afternoon dusk, robust with soft snatches of daydreams that twine and brush against him the way a cat might wind itself about one's ankles. There are children dashing about, parents tugged along behind them, flitting from one booth to the next in a flurry of contagious excitement; young couples and old, solitary visitors enjoying the time alone, groups of friends laughing together and Dream finds himself smiling at the wisps of half-formed fancy that reach him in the wake of everyone who passes by. It is easy to understand, immersed in this festive atmosphere, why so many humans have such love for the holidays.

"We're gift shopping for my staff at the Inn," Hob says, "and a few friends at work too. I like just wandering around to see what I can find—easy to make it personal that way." He gives Dream a wink, rakish and cocksure with the smallest edge of uncertainty hiding beneath it. "I know you're ruler of your own realm, unfathomably More Than Human etcetera etcetera, but if you see anything here that strikes your fancy? Just say so." He tugs lightly on his ear where it peeks from beneath his knit hat, glancing up and away for half an instant. "I'd be happy to buy you anything you like."

"A kind and gallant offer, Hob Gadling." Dream lets his smile curl into a smirk, leaning into coquettish charm to cover how genuinely pleased he is by Hob's generosity of spirit. "You would woo me with gifts, with tokens of admiration, when my affections have already been won?"

"Got to keep the romance alive, haven't I?" Hob shrugs, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, mouth curved in a smile that is brilliant in its sincerity. "I'd woo you a thousand times over if you wanted. Eager to please, always seeking for more, you know me."

"Intimately," Dream purrs, leaning in for a kiss. It's soft and short and chaste, as not to scandalize the other shoppers; Dream's lips and nose are mildly chilled, as are Hob's, but his heart is very warm when Hob returns for another peck before they part completely.

They browse the stalls at leisure, Hob selecting gifts carefully for each of his recipients, Dream rifling through what he knows of their dreams to help Hob choose when he has difficulty deciding. The tote bag Hob brought along slowly fills with packages and Dream has no trouble admitting that he is enjoying their evening, despite the cold.

There is a brooch that catches Dream's eye, a pair of poppies masterfully worked in silver and transparent red enamel, set with tiny black and white 'gems' for the center of each. It is a far cry from the sort of jewelry one might expect of his station, but Dream can feel the care, the dreams, the love of the craft that have gone into the creation of the piece, and it is striking. Hob buys it for him, gifts it to him, fixes it to the folds of the wonderfully soft scarf about his neck, and Hob's regard and affection, his care, seep into the brooch as well.

"Suits you," Hob says, dimpling sweetly, warmth simmering in his eyes, and Dream smiles back with equal affection. Certainly he might have simply manifested himself something similar, grander; the value of this piece, however, lies not in jeweled splendor but in the intent that went into its gifting.

~~~ "I am enjoying our time together," Dream says, while the mulled wine vendor is filling their commemorative Christmas Market mugs and adding clove-spiced orange slices for garnish.

Hob smiles, brilliant, beautiful. "I'm glad." He reaches to flick a light touch to Dream's earmuffs. "Staying cozy?"

Dream considers. Next time he will take the hat, he decides; his ears are warm but he has seen now where he would benefit from full coverage of his head. And perhaps thicker trousers as well; his jeans do not hold heat in any substantial fashion. The cold is not so bothersome to his legs as it is to his core and his extremities, but something warmer would not go amiss.

"The cold is far more tolerable when dressed properly," Dream admits, "for which. I thank you. However—" He pauses while Hob collects the prepared drinks, then continues. "I fail to see how letting myself feel the cold enhances the experience. I would be just as pleased with our evening had I not undertaken your suggestion."

"That's fair," Hob allows, contemplatively. "Thing is—" he offers a steaming mug to Dream "—if you weren't bothered by the cold, you wouldn't appreciate this half as much."

Dream accepts, cradling the mug in his gloved hands, letting the steam rise into his face. The warmth is pleasant but the aroma is utterly intoxicating, heady and fruity and laced with an assortment of spices that bloom behind his palette as he breathes it in. He can feel how his pleasure lights his face, and Hob's chuckle confirms it a second later.

"Try it, I promise it's everything you're hoping for there. Mind, it's hot—"

Dream raises the cup to his lips, heeding Hob's warning; he blows gently across the surface and sips carefully.

He makes a sound that is very nearly indecent, eyes fluttering shut for half an instant despite himself. The flavor is exquisite, bright notes of citrus and cloves and cardamom bursting on his tongue, but the warmth—it suffuses his mouth, flows down his throat with the wine, spreads softly throughout his body. He sips again, a careful slurping mouthful, and the soft heat chases through him delightfully.

"Exquisite," he murmurs, both hands wrapped around the cup, entranced with the steam rising softly into his face.

"See?" Hob's grin is bright and wide, eyes sparkling like the fairy lights around them, and Dream cannot even begrudge him the thrill of triumph that radiates from him. "Sometimes feeling the cold is worth it."

"Perhaps," Dream allows, and sips the wonderfully warm wine again.

~~~ Hob takes him ice skating on his next visit; this time, he manifests inside Hob's flat with warm cable-knit leggings, black with hints of silver threaded through, and a slim knee-length skirt that is quilted and layered for warmth. The poppy brooch Hob gifted him at the Christmas Market is tucked into his hand and his usual grey t-shirt is all he wears above.

Hob raises an eyebrow at him. "Got it half-right, at least?"

"I would. Borrow, from your wardrobe, if I may," he explains somewhat hesitantly. "I enjoyed wearing your clothing, smelling you upon me the entire evening. It is. An experience I would like to repeat."

The slow delight that brightens Hob's face as he says it is entirely worth the squirming discomfort of speaking the admission aloud.

"Okay then. You're in luck." Hob beams at him, all but heart-eyed, and goes to rummage through his wardrobe. "Same black jumper as last time, here's the scarf, had them both on for a bit yesterday, aaaannd—earmuffs?"

"Is the hat still on offer?"

"'Course it is. Here." Hob tosses him the hat instead, a black and silver cable-knit thing with a wide cuff and a large and fluffy pom pom on top.

Dream is pleased to have recalled its appearance accurately when manifesting his leggings; they are a perfect match.

He delights in the soft lingering scent of Hob as he pulls on the jumper, as Hob winds the scarf about his neck and pulls the hat snugly down to cover his ears. Dream hands Hob his brooch to pin to the scarf (the delight in Hob's eyes to see it makes Dream doubly-glad he had brought it), and then Hob curls those warm and wonderful fingers lightly around the back of his warmly-wrapped neck and leans in to kiss him, short and soft.

"You look adorable," Hob breathes, and while that is not a word nor an image he cultivates of himself in most circumstances…this is Hob. And Dream does not mind.

"Puffer jacket's in the entry hall," Hob says then, dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Let's get you bundled up and head over to the pond."

~~~ "Have you skated before?" Hob asks, while they are lacing on their rented skates at the chalet.

"I am the king of all dreams and nightmares, prince of stories; I am the entirety of the collective human subconscious. All skills are within my grasp."

"So that's a no, then." Hob grins at him brightly. "That's alright, I'll teach you."

"I do not require instruction."

"Does his majesty know how to skate after all, then?"

Dream opens his mouth for a haughty retort to Hob's impertinence and pauses; certainly the necessary skill is available to him with minimal effort, but the idea that Hob would like to teach him is…appealing. "Perhaps," he hedges, with just enough of a pout to imply that he truly means 'no', and Hob smiles, warm and brilliant.

"Then let me help you out, duck. I promise I'm a very good teacher."

"I did not say that I do not know how," he protests, for appearances, while something in him swoons at the idea of having all the skill that Hob has honed in his chosen profession focused solely on himself.

Hob chuckles brightly. "'Course not. Still. Humor me? Let me feel useful."

"Very well," Dream concedes, concealing his delight, and allows Hob to lead him out onto the ice.

Hob is indeed a good teacher, and Dream basks happily in the casual intimacy of his unnecessary instruction, the focused warmth of his attention. Gliding over the frozen pond with Hob's guiding touch at the small of his back and Hob's other hand clasping his—he feels carefree, lighthearted, happy, and can easily understand why countless stories of young romance have featured this same activity.

Hob leads him about for a good while, offering guidance as he feels appropriate, but even when he deems that Dream has mastered the requisite balance and coordination, Dream is not at all inclined to sally forth on his own. Skating with Hob is the entirety of the appeal, after all; hand in gloved hand they glide and twirl about together, faces rosy with the cold, until the weak afternoon sun slowly relinquishes its place on the horizon to the encroaching evening.

~~~ "Here. Have some hot chocolate; it'll warm you up and the sugar will boost your energy," Hob says, as Dream is tying his boots back on. Hob had taken their rented skates to the return counter and come back with two takeaway cups, one of which he is offering to Dream.

"I do not require sustenance."

Hob rolls his eyes fondly. "Yes yes, I know, but you liked the mulled wine well enough last time, didn't you?"

"Wine is drunk for pleasure, not for sustenance."

"Same with hot chocolate. Well. It's sustenance for the soul, maybe, but not for the body." He presents the insulated cup again, waggling it slightly. "C'mon. Stop being contrary and take it. It's a vital part of the experience."

Dream is being contrary, simply for the pleasure of the way Hob pushes back. He is accustomed to the deference he receives from others as is due his station, but he very much appreciates that Hob treats him no differently having learned who he is. He is both friend and lover first when he is with Hob, and he delights in the many small ways that he can prove to himself over and over again that Hob values him over his function.

But the chocolate does smell enticing, and the memory of how a hot drink warmed his body last time is compelling; he accepts the cup with no further argument.

"It's the common dry-mix stuff, not real hot chocolate, but it's got its charm. 'Specially on the go like this," Hob offers as Dream takes a sip, and he is correct. Dream had tasted what Hob had ordered for them in the back room of the White Horse in 1789; he has encountered enough dreams to know that this is a pale version of the concoction but all the same, it is pleasant enough in its own right. It is a component of the experience he has shared with Hob and is enriched by that association; Hob was correct in this as well.

The warmth suffusing throughout him is as delightful as he recalls.

~~~ "I am. Enjoying, these cold-weather human experiences, with you," he admits as they stroll toward home. He had quietly taken Hob's hand as they left the pond and Hob has made no effort to reclaim it, carrying his drink in the other and sipping from it occasionally. Dream is doing the same, and his admission comes forth with suprising ease.

Hob grins. "It's the pleasure of my sparkling company. I enhance every experience."

"Perhaps," Dream allows with a smile, and Hob's gleeful expression softens.

"I'm glad you're having a good time, love. Thanks for trusting me."

The words warm Dream as deeply as his next sip of chocolate. You are worthy of my trust, Hob Gadling, he thinks, but what he says is, "Of course."

"I've got a great idea for our next date," Hob says then, beaming brightly again. "I'm very excited about it, but I need to make sure—" He squeezes Dream's hand gently. "Would I be able to keep you two days? I mean, I know you don't sleep and you'd probably want to check in on your realm while I'm sleeping instead of just watching me snore but there's an overnight trip I'd really love to take you on, if you're amenable? If it works for you?"

"Watching you sleep would not be the dull experience you believe it to be," Dream says first, which leaves Hob flustered and tongue-tied long enough for him to gather the rest of his words. "I would. Delight, in keeping your company overnight, in spending. More than one day at a time, with you." Lucienne would gladly see to his realm for far longer an absence, he is certain, particularly if she is made aware of why he must be away—her quiet approval of first his friendship and then his romantic relationship with Hob have been a steady source of reassurance as it progresses.

"Fantastic! Alright. I'll get it booked for a couple weekends out." Hob grins, absolutely glowing with his pleasure, and Dream is deeply warmed by the knowledge that he is responsible for putting that happiness there.

~~~ They drive a good long while out of the city when the weekend comes, the heater in Hob's car keeping them warm enough without heavy jackets for the duration. Hob eventually pulls into what looks like a farm in the countryside, and when they exit the car Dream dons the long fur-lined coat that he had manifested at Hob's direction. His boots are tall and fur-lined as well, warm and comfortable; his hands are buried in a cozy fur muff and a warm fur-lined hat covers his head. Beneath it all he has once again borrowed Hob's jumper and scarf, with the brooch Hob had gifted him pinned on, and he deems himself adequately prepared for whatever Hob has planned.

It is a sleigh ride.

They are ushered to a not-quite-traditional one-horse open sleigh, the bed of it still built to accommodate two passengers but an extension in front for a separate driver, allowing for the passengers to simply enjoy the ride. Dream very much intends to do so.

"What other surprises do you have in store for me?" he asks Hob as they settle into the sleigh. The driver flicks his reins and they lurch smoothly into motion toward the open snow-covered field.

"Just a quiet winter getaway," Hob answers, sitting up straight and laying his arm over Dream's shoulders. "We've got an hour or so to ride, and then we'll get to a little cabin in the woods where we'll spend the night. Then we'll catch another ride back late tomorrow."

Dream slouches on the plushly-padded seat just enough to fit comfortably beneath Hob's arm, leans into him with a smile. "You spoil me, Hob Gadling," he declares, soft and sincere, and Hob's laughter drifts away behind them as the horse moves from a slow walk to a lively trot along the groomed trail.

The weak winter sun is making its descent across the watery-blue afternoon sky as they go; the breeze is sharp against Dream's face, but his body is warm. His hands in the thick fur muff are warm, as are his ears and his head beneath the warmly-furred hat. His eyes sting marginally and his nose and cheeks are chilled, which is easily remedied by tucking his face into the folds of the soft woolen scarf Hob had wound snugly about his neck. It blocks the mild wind, holds the heat of his breath quite pleasantly, and most importantly it carries Hob's scent still. Dream inhales deeply, smiling, and leans further into the comfortable weight of Hob's arm around him.

The sleigh ride is uneventful, and quite pleasant for it. It is easy to feel the romantic shape of the story about them, bedecked in such finery, snuggled close against Hob, the air crisp and lively as they move from field to forest on their journey to a cozy private hideaway. There are many stories such as this in the Library, and Dream is unspeakably pleased that Hob would choose this sort of tale to spin anew with him. There will be lovemaking when they reach their destination, Dream is certain of it.

The thought warms him in more ways than one.

~~~ "Here we are. Proper hot chocolate, freshly made," Hob announces, turning from the stove in the cabin's kitchen with two steaming mugs in hand, carefully making his way to the main room. The fireplace is crackling cheerfully, bleeding wonderful heat into the space around it. Evening is falling outside and with it, new snow; Dream, cozy in Hob's borrowed jumper, is only too happy to accept Hob's offering.

The warmth is again exquisite, and the flavor is indeed far richer and creamier than what they had consumed after ice skating. Dream sips at it with relish and Hob settles on the couch beside him, smiling. "A whole night with the Dreamlord all to myself," he says, eyes twinkling. "What sort of cosmic favors does one normally have to offer to lay claim to your attention this way?"

"Great boons of significant value," Dream replies loftily, in keeping with Hob's teasing tone, but he is thinking of former lovers and their laments of his inconstant attention, and how Hob is always welcoming and delighted to see him whether it has been a week or several months. How Hob is considerate and respectful of his duty even when he is irreverent to Dream himself, how he had assumed that this overnight trip might easily involve Dream slipping away to attend to his duties while he himself slept. How happy he had been that Dream agreed to his request.

"And yet you give it to me just for the asking," Hob says then, soft and wondering and utterly devoid of teasing. "I really am the luckiest bloke."

Dream would like to say something equally heartfelt and besotted, but he is overfull of affection, of soft adoration, and his words will not make themselves known. Instead, he sets his mug on the coffee table, unfolds himself from his corner of the couch, lets himself flow into the tidal pull of Hob Gadling until his arms are around Hob's neck and their lips have met.

Hob makes the softest, sweetest sound, sets his drink aside, settles his hands on Dream's hips up underneath the warm bulk of his borrowed jumper. Dream pulls back the slightest distance, brushes his nose along Hob's, tilts his head and takes Hob's mouth again, sweet and cocoa-warm. He brings a hand to cradle the corner of Hob's jaw, licks softly between Hob's lips, kisses him with all of the words that stir silently inside him. Hob wraps him close, touches him with gentle reverence, kisses back with the same quiet intensity; and as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss, the warmth between them blossoms slowly and steadily into a familiar and welcome heat.

Dream wants, with intensity, ensconced in Hob's lap and secure in Hob's arms around him; Hob so easily, so often inspires him to such wanting and it would be maddening if he did not know that Hob will always and eagerly provide.

"Got an idea," Hob gasps presently, breathless, when Dream's building tension has thoroughly infused his touches and his kisses have grown fevered and urgent. Hob extricates himself gently from Dream's embrace, slides to his knees on the rug before Dream.

The heat in Dream's core curls sharply and he turns, unfolds so that his thighs bracket Hob's shoulders. "I do not believe the proprietors of this cabin intend for sexual activities to take place on the couch."

Hob laughs, bright and beautiful. "You started it, love."

This…is not untrue. "Perhaps."

"Well, I'll just have to be careful not to spill anything, won't I." Hob winks and pulls Dream's hips forward and Dream lies back, willing and wanting as Hob opens his trousers, nuzzles him through his underwear. Hob sits back and works Dream free, then reaches for his cocoa on the coffee table behind him and takes a sip.

And then he takes Dream into his mouth and Dream jerks at the sheer heat of it, makes a stifled wanton sound as Hob's tongue strokes heavy against him within the cocoon of his mouth. It is not the simple human-sex-warm that he is accustomed to; it is hot with the drink Hob has just consumed and the difference is striking.

"Good?" Hob asks, pulling off, and Dream shivers, delighted, aflame with his wanting.

"Yes. Hob—"

Hob takes another sip from his mug; Dream holds his gaze as he swallows and when Hob's mouth closes around him again after, Hob's eyes steady on his as the heat sinks in, Dream cannot help the whimper that escapes him.

Hob smiles around him and Dream is lost. The next few moments pass in a haze of pleasure, the ebb and flow of Hob's heated mouth, Dream combing trembling fingers through Hob's hair as he goes back down after every drink, the renewed heat bringing Dream closer and closer to his peak. He makes no effort to restrain his voice; Hob has told him repeatedly that he loves to hear Dream's pleasure, loves the affirmation that he is 'doing something right down there'. So he pants and moans, clinging loosely to Hob's head as Hob's heated mouth and clever tongue bring him up to the precipice, cries out as Hob tips him over the edge.

Hob spills nothing, true to his word; when the tension falls out of Dream Hob sits back and swallows, chases it down with the last of his hot chocolate. He then tucks Dream back into his clothing while Dream lies boneless and drifting, awash in the warmth of his satiation and the warmth of Hob's affections and the warmth of the fireplace and he is. Warm. And content.

Hob touches his face, gently, and Dream returns to himself, blinks into the bright warmth of Hob's smile.

"Still with me, duck?"

Dream manages a very loose, very satisfied smile of his own. "Perhaps."

"I will take that as a compliment," Hob grins, and levers himself up onto the sofa, settling into the corner. He reaches an arm toward Dream. "C'mere."

He is beckoning Dream into his embrace, to lie against him, which. Is not the next step Dream had expected.

"Do you not wish—?"

"Later," Hob assures him, smile soft, eyes gleaming warmly in the firelight. "Right now, you're so soft, so relaxed—I just want to cuddle you, maybe read to you for a bit, let you tell me the stories behind the stories and such. And let you finish your chocolate, of course."

And so Dream settles himself between Hob's legs as Hob stretches them the length of the couch, leans into the solid warmth of Hob's body behind him, cradles the mug that Hob passes him in both hands while Hob reaches for the book on the coffee table. It is a collection of poetry and folktales from around the world, and Dream offers anecdotes from his own memories of Aesop, of Hans Christian Andersen, of Bharavi in between Hob's readings. Once he has finished his drink, he snuggles in closer, turns a little, tucks his head under Hob's chin and his arm around Hob's waist. Hob wraps an arm around him in turn, drops a kiss to his hairline, continues reading, and Dream allows himself to simply…drift. The warmth of Hob's embrace, the gentle lull of Hob's voice in Hob's chest beneath his ear, the silence of the falling snow out the window—it is all of it so quietly serene, so comfortable, and Dream cannot recall when last he felt such tranquillity.

~~~ When the book has long been put aside and the fire has burned low, and he has lain in the comfort of Hob's arms for long enough that sleep has crept over Hob some time ago, Dream stirs, and Hob wakes.

"Duck? 'M sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep—"

"I do not object."

Hob chuckles. "Naturally the King of Dreams does not object to a little nap."

Dream feels himself smiling and does not resist it. "It is no hardship to lie with you while you sleep, Hob, but your back will not thank you if we spend the whole of the night thus."

"Right you are." Hob shifts beneath him and turns; to Dream's surprise, Hob pulls him closer, wraps an arm behind him and hooks the other beneath Dream's legs before he rises, lifting Dream in bridal fashion as he stands. Dream clings around his neck obligingly, amused and warmly delighted.

"Such gallantry, Hob Gadling," he breathes, as Hob moves toward the staircase.

"Always did wanna carry you to bed properly," Hob grins, and Dream absolutely must kiss him without a second's delay.

He leaves off so that Hob may climb the stairs safely to the loft, where the bed stands laden with a thick fluffy duvet over a velvety-soft blanket and flannel sheets, a sumptuous promise of comfort and warmth. Hob sets him down, undresses them both, ushers Dream beneath the covers and snuggles in after him.

The cabin is cooling down with the fire banked, but that only makes the cozy layers of the bedding and the heat they make beneath them all the more precious. Hob has him slow and languid, ardent and tender and vulnerable in this cocoon of warmth and closeness; Dream holds to him steadfastly, clings fiercely about his shoulders, lies back and lets Hob love him.

For he knows: that is what this is. There is no doubting Hob's affections for him, nor how deeply they run. The way that Hob moves atop and within him, kissing with relentless adoration all the while, stroking reverent fingers through his hair and whispering heartfelt vows and endearments against his lips—it warms Dream through, leaves him grateful and marveling. Hob, who time and again chooses life and living, has chosen him, despite all forewarning that choosing Dream was choosing poorly. Hob loves him, wants him, wishes for his company and his happiness and goes to whatever lengths are needed to ensure both.

Hob, who clings to Dream in his sleep now, after, head pillowed on the dubious cushion of Dream's chest, smile resting soft on his lips, arms comfortably close about Dream's waist and hip. Hob, who waited faithfully when Dream missed their meeting, ensured Dream could still find him when the White Horse closed, welcomed his return without judgment or recrimination of any kind; Hob, who treasures him, warms him, looks to his well-being and wishes to share favorite experiences with him.

Hob, who seeks no power, no boon, has never asked more of him than his company when his duty allows it.

Dream looks carefully at the glowing warmth in his own approximation of a heart, in the whole of his being; tentatively, he names it for what he knows it to be, and trusts that calamity will not follow. He cradles Hob's sleeping form close, strokes through Hob's hair again and again, traces the shape of his smile with gentle fingertips.

Warm, content, he holds Hob and he drifts in his happiness.

~~~ The morning comes slow and lazy, and they are both very cozy in the bed, but eventually Hob must get up to relieve his bladder. Then, with the chill of the cabin made apparent, he starts and stokes the fire before returning upstairs and diving back beneath the covers with Dream. The rest of the morning is decidedly less lazy and quite immensely satisfying, and by the time they leave the bed the cabin is comfortably warmed.

"Shower with me," Hob offers, and Dream agrees instead of simply willing himself clean. The cascading warm water, the simple pleasure of soaping Hob's body and being lathered up in turn, the intimacy of washing Hob's hair, of Hob's fingertips then massaging his scalp and Hob's hands gently tilting his head back into the spray to rinse, these all constitute yet another wonderfully human experience that he can fully appreciate, because Hob wishes to share it.

Hob cooks them brunch once they're dried and somewhat dressed, scrambling eggs and toasting bread in only a pair of low-slung joggers with a short towel draped behind his neck to manage the ends of his damp hair; Dream watches him work, smiling, cozy in Hob's jumper and a pair of fluffy grey socks with his bare legs tucked beneath him on the barstool at the kitchen peninsula.

"Here we are," Hob says, plating him a beautiful omelette laden with spices, peppers, and roasted tomatoes alongside a slice of buttered toast slathered with strawberry jam, and Dream accepts it with equanimity. He does not need to eat in the waking world, it provides no sustenance, but the ritual of sharing meals with Hob is entirely pleasant. Hob goes to great effort to prepare things that Dream will enjoy, and Dream. Is not inclined to see those efforts wasted.

The food is good. Hob's food is always good, and especially when infused with his warmth and love, as this is. Dream savors the omelette, lingers over the sweetness of the toast—Hob has spread it with 'far too much jam' just as Dream prefers—and smiles his pleasure at Hob, who beams back with his mouth full, which is far more endearing than it should be.

~~~ "I'm so glad you let me talk you into feeling the cold," Hob says later, once they've cleared the kitchen and resettled on the sofa. Dream is in Hob's lap, hands stroking through the hair on Hob's chest, bare thighs splayed to either side of his hips. He is kissing up the side of Hob's neck, very much in pursuit of a particular goal; he forewent trousers for a reason, after all. But Hob is still talking. "Gave me a great excuse to ask you here, after all, and I'm very much enjoying all this cozy cabin sex."

Dream draws back and looks at him, amusement plainly evident in his tone. "Hob Gadling. Has all of this, your insistence on sharing cold weather experiences, been merely an elaborate ploy to convince me to come away to the woods with you for 'cozy cabin sex'?"

"Perhaps ," Hob replies, with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows, and then he laughs. "No, love, everything we've done has been for its own sake. Including this mini holiday. I'm…" He trails off, tilts his head and tugs briefly at his earlobe. "I'm really glad you agreed, to all of it. I like doing fun things with you—I like spending time with you, full stop, whatever we're doing. But it means a lot that you've gone along with my plans and suggestions and that you've had a good time too." He grins, bright and beautiful. "The Dreamlord, Prince of Stories, King of all Dreams and Nightmares and Entirety of the Human Subconscious lets me take him on dates. Ordinary mundane cozy little human winter dates, and he even enjoys them. I am truly the luckiest bloke in existence."

His pure simple authentic joy is infectious; it seeps into Dream's body and settles warm around his heart, leaves him aglow in happiness, a soft smile on his face as he leans down into Hob to kiss him again.

He loves this man, fiercely, completely. It is he who is the lucky one.

~~~ The morning passes into afternoon and stretches closer to evening before they deign to part from one another, and then only because their transportation will be arriving soon. They dress, pack, tidy up, and Dream employs a measure of power to ensure the cabin is presentable (and sanitary) for the crew who will be coming in to clean and prepare it for the next guests.

The sleigh arrives as scheduled and Dream shrinks his form slightly as he climbs into it, the better to fit beneath Hob's arm. He settles comfortably in the warmth of his hat and his coat and Hob's scarf, the warmth of Hob's embrace, and Hob cuddles him close, tips his hat up enough to drop a kiss to his forehead and tugs it back down as the driver sets out.

I know what it is, to love Hob Gadling, Dream thinks as they go, but does not say. He is brave enough to accept the truth of it, but not yet brave enough to speak it aloud. He knows, on some level, that keeping it unspoken does not change the fact of its existence, but there is power in words all the same. Perhaps it makes no difference; Hob is technically no longer mortal, their love has existed for some time whether Dream has acknowledged it or not and no disaster has yet befallen them or humanity.

Still. Dream is nothing, if not cautious.

He moves just enough to glance up to Hob's face, and finds Hob gazing down at him with love shining plain in his kind depthless eyes; he smiles, knowing full well the same shows clear in his own face, and settles, snuggles back into Hob's shoulder to enjoy the remainder of their ride back.

The air is crisp, cold, invigorating, in a way that can only be appreciated when one has bundled up properly against it. Hob has ensured that he is, and so Dream can enjoy it.

He is. Content, warm in his love for Hob, warm in Hob's love for him.

Perhaps, one day, one of them will say it.

Then again, perhaps there is no need.

=== Started: 12/8/23 Drafted: 1/5/24 Posted: 1/8/24

Title taken from I Love the Winter Weather/I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm by Tony Bennett, which dovetailed too perfectly with the themes that developed in the writing for me not to use it

I love the winter weather So the two of us can get together There's nothing sweeter, finer When it's nice and cold I can hold my baby closer to me And collect the kisses that are due me I love the winter weather Because I've got my love to keep me warm

#Dreamling #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling #Sandman #Dreamling Nation Winter Exchange 2023 #TJs Fics

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oceanlipgloss · 3 months

Text

27.1.2024

—nsfw + chapter 5 spoilers (+ a dash of dark humour)

*Spongebob narrator voice* ah, Bikini Bottom Leviathan's H-scene. One I've been looking forward to, excitedly so. And since this chapter had a fair slice of tragedy, it was sealed with an H-scene as a treat. That's not going to heal the angsty feelings, but into it I shall dive. Look, it rhymes lots of aquatic vocabulary

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intro: the scene's intro screen shows that Leviathan still has his shirt on. And you know what? WHAT A TURN-ON, THAT'S WHAT

update I: Hades Studios present 'The Sick Chicken' no but I like him SO MUCH. His attitude is a breath of fresh air pun intended but the reasons that played a role in forming it are so sad

update II: MWAHAHAHA GO HARDER ON HER

update III: *clapping like a madwoman* BRAVO, BRAVO! That's really hot of him, you know. Everything about this is sending me to heaven except for the fact that someone like me obviously can't so much as set a toe on the grounds of Paradise because it doesn't exist but I mean, COME. ON. The way he let his hand move from her neck to her chin? 'Glowering at you as though he would burn the mark off with his gaze alone'? HOLY FUCKKKK <3

update IV: GOD NO THIS IS TOO HOT GOD WOOHOOOOOO

update V: man oh man he's so MMMM

update VI: RAAAAAA

update VII: he speaks to me on a spiritual level trying not to inject angst into this by bringing up what caused him to feel this way So, Leviathan. You, me, parking lot, 'who hates people more' contest, 5PM. I'm not hanging anyone tho maybe actually, scratch that. We're hanging horrible people together like we're Harley Quinn and the Joker, baby

update VIII: pfff 'how fair of you' His reaction, though? So confident. So fucking sexy. Yours truly is already a dead girl, but at the moment she's dying, dying, dying beyond death And wdym 'he smirked, but even then he was so beautiful yada yada' like dude, he's more beautiful BECAUSE he's smirking, BECAUSE of his arrogant spite

update IX: I'm really glad she considered his feelings and didn't immediately agree to have sex with him. Truth be told, this came as quite the pleasant surprise, because while she does have moments in which she's considerate, I don't view this particular MC as someone who's truly capable of being sensitive to others that much. Sure, she didn't directly agree to sleep with Belial when he offered because she thought he was still unwell, but here I honestly still expected her to just jump right in and not think twice about Leviathan's feelings, so I was very happy when she said this instead; she didn't focus on the fact that he dislikes her, but rather on not risking hurting him should he not want to do this with her. He's definitely attracted to you though, MC. He's just not on good terms with the concept of expressing his feelings relatable as fuck I know how this may have sounded harsh or mean of me—and it's not meant to be offend anyone—but the truth is that this MC wasn't created with 'gentle and sweet' in mind; the way her brain is hardwired to tirelessly daydream about sexual things has lead her to be insensitive at times (with painfully questionable intelligence to top it off, sorry) as seen in certain instances.

update X: kinda cute. Juuuust a little bit. ...that straightforwardness is edible

update XI: he's brutally honest and his gestures are subtle, and that makes them so sensual. In other words, THIS TICKLES MY FANCY

update XII: he says something like this with an expression like that. YEEEES he looks so sweetly smug too godddd Also: lol @ 'you MAY turn me on' = [access permitted]

update XIII: my point exactly

update XIV: his attitude is so good. SO good. He's domineering and deliberately giving her a hard time lol sufferrrr, MC on a sadder note, he also won't talk about himself because it's really hard for him to give his trust after what happened to him...

update XV: I can stand behind that. I LIKE it. Vibe with it, agree with it. I REALLY DOOO

update XVI: he...really just asked her to hit and choke him, didn't he? [MASOCHISTIC TARGET LOCATED] sometimes physical pain feels nice, Leviathan, I getchu, but being hit and strangled isn't a brand of pain I would, um, choose for myself. Whatever makes u hard happy tho, ig. Rock on, king

update XVII: the jealousyyyyy <3

update XVIII: 'Leviathan thought he was going crazy' You know who's also going to go crazy reading this? ME. My God, this many screenshots and the railing hasn't started yet

update XIX: to be honest, I'm not fond of choking, slapping, spanking, and the like, so I'm most likely not going to like what's coming next much lol but let's move on, shall we now?

update XX: damn, he's provoking her so hard to make her beat the fuck out of him, and lo and behold, he's getting what he wants. She might as well just tear his soul out at this rate or send him to his maker but where the hell is God? jk jk this chapter made it clear that Leviathan can take a shit ton of hits trauma and stay alive good god it's the blackness of my soul my dark humour speaking forgive me omfg it's not me I swear I s—I SAID WHAT I SAID This part is kinda funny so far, what with how MC has gone batshit insane on him. That being said, it's really nice how she cares about Minhyeok so much that it's the foundation of her rage and the reason Satan's wrath burns in her, urging her to harm Leviathan in a frenzy after he said ruthless things about Minhyeok. Meanwhile, Leviathan is so busy trying to get turned on that he's neither jealous nor envious of that lmao

update XXI: this is going to sound weird coming from me when I'm somewhat of a sadist who likes dark themes, loves horror and gore, and enjoys seeing torture in certain scenarios do I sound like the freak I am yet? and when I just made such a fucked up joke with good intentions too, but...MC hurting Leviathan over and over like this summons a feeling of discomfort and remorse in my heart even if I completely put away my dislike for consensual violence in sexual acts. Leviathan's past and the possible psychological implications behind his fondness of undergoing physical harm make this part somewhat painful to read, because perhaps his arousal from being hurt has something to do with what he went through as a child (i.e. it may be a coping mechanism of a sort). When I think of it that way, coupled with the horrific aspects of his childhood—the pain being inflicted on him messes with my emotions. Then again, this could just be his personal preference and not have deeper meanings. Either way, the game holds true to its themes and maintains excellent dark perspectives, and as I always say, I'll never dislike that. In fact, PB better keep these founding concepts intact.

update XXII: oh god DON'T STOMP HIS PP NOT THE PP STAY AWAY FROM PP HE NEEDS IT YOU NEED IT

update XXIII: no but EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS MOSTLY THE DRIPPING HORNS (AS ALWAYS) AND HIM UNBUCKLING HIS OWN PANTS (AS SHE WATCHES TOO LORD MY KINK'S DEVOURING THIS) AND THE PRE AND— GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA Why is his horns' liquid not white like the others, though?

update XXIV: THAT EXPRESSION THE CONTRAST WITH HIS NORMAL SELF MC, GIRLLLLLL BITE THAT TONGUE

update XXV: "HOW DARE YOU FEEL PLEASED?!"—MC to Leviathan of Hades, 2024 She's going to choke him to death rip him apart piece after piece, limb by limb, shred upon shred Ronové would back her up nicely oh god it's the dark humour again excuse me But it's so damn sexy how he's the one controlling her, yet she's the one wrecking him

update XXVI: YOOOO I'M GONNA DIE THIS IS SO GOOD THIS IS SO—

update XXVII: PP goes 'fwop'

update XXVIII: he is SUCH a mess YESSSS u should get even messier, Leviathan, you MUST

update XXIX: he insists on making eye contact no matter what. FUCK YES. And the teasing? FUCK YEAHHHHH

update XXX: I LOVE I SAID I LOVE—

update XXXI: so, so hot YAAAAAA

update XXXII: her wrapping her arms around his neck and then both of them just being so dazed out of their minds that the no-more-strangling move is not bothersome anymore...*sigh* pls feed me moreeeeee

update XXXIII: bro 'frantically licked' sent me. MC, slurping on Leviathan's horn like her life depends on it: boy am I thirsty The horns are a blessing, they're everything. And he's so messed up by the lick lick what she's doing that he can't even form a sentence (likely an insult to hide how fucked out of his mind that made him feel)

update XXXIV: THIS JUST FED ME MORE FR FR MY STOMACH HURTSSS HE'S DESPERATE and dang, I didn't know even hearts could reach climax. You learn something new everyday lol nah, I get what they mean So fucking hot how they kept kissing until they couldn't breathe my kind of thing a VERY pleasing display of Leviathan's kink, yes

update XXXV: squelch...squelch...squish squish, slurp slurp, anyone? Guess this writing style wasn't reserved for Tartaros's boys after all :( Bimet and I are fake-crying in the distance

update XXXVI: does he mean the tormenting or the fucking? Because if he's referring to sex, I offer Minhyeok my condolences. MC's never going to fuck you senseless or at all, hon. Sorry, but u should've known better, BFF boy :( I know no mercy

update XXXVII: Leviathan feeling happy because of her reply and him replying with "good. It should stay like that"? So possessiveeee <3 no more images fit Kinda melting over how his envy didn't flare up and anger him like it did in the beginning 'cause the brutality sex softened him for the moment

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+notes: I was violently wishing for a Leviathan's-clothes-are-still-on-during-sex CG, so when the CG came up and there was no MC on top of him, I was disappointed for a short minute short because then I looked at his face and his godly position spread legs and how he's on the ground like that...mmm lol

It's a change of pace, new. For WHB, at least—since it isn't like previous CGs—but it's heart-throbbing in its own way; seeing cold, pretty Leviathan on the floor like that, meek with his red cheeks...slurp a delicacy.

Ahem, anyways. The CG took me down memory lane somewhat, back to my first otome-playing-days from about 10+ years ago. Whenever the 'Happy Ending' CG was of the male lead alone, I always disliked that because I WANTED TO SEE *THE COUPLE* DOING THINGS, DAMMIT (even though the wildest things players saw characters do in CGs back in those days were mostly kisses lol until they got more daring, that is).

So yeah, while I did feel sort of disappointed when I first saw this CG, while I do prefer CGs like those of previous H-scenes, and while I still wish I could've seen Leviathan and MC in action, at the same time this CG is *chef's kiss* for obvious reasons and also due to how I feel like it suits Leviathan very well in a way. He's built walls about his heart and boundaries around himself, so it's as though the game won't let players see him like they did the men before him (in the main story), if that makes sense. I'm also hoping his shirt stayed on during sex

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edit: I just inspected opened the CG in the album for a, um, better view and...MC is grabbing Leviathan's PP? Yeeeeeeaaaaaaaah that's so YESSSS RAAAAAA

#what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #whb #whb leviathan #what in hell is bad diaries

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