#pluribus x reader

[ko-kimchi]

New obsession and they go by the name Pluribus!!!! Now I must consume everything about this show from theories to fanfics. And then rewatch it 10 times

[fairytsuk1]

if I fall, you will fall too | (s)

synopsis: carol wasn't there for you when it happened. she regrets it every day, yet still begs for you. any version of you.

pairing: carol sturka x reader

words: 2k

warnings: plurbed!reader, oral sex, grief/mourning, lesbian sex, fingerfucking, top and bottom carol sturka, dry humping

You still smelled the same. Woodsy. Just like the Redwood trees you’d both seen in 2008. Carol remembered it well as she chewed on her nail in the middle of your home. The two of you had woken up early, gotten ready and walked out as far as you could to find the biggest tree. It was hard; there were so many, and Carol felt hopeless.

Stopping in front of a tree with your dorky binoculars – Carol remembered fondly, you stared up at the tops of the trees. Your gasp had been cute.

“This is the biggest one!”

“Yeah, maybe. They should really put a sign or something.”

“Right?” You laughed and pulled Carol closer by the sleeve.

Carol had been looking right at you. The way your hair framed your face, your gorgeous lashes and even your boots were somehow cute. You’d turned to her in your stupid little vest with the brightest smile she’d ever seen and declared.

“I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Carol tried to think of that moment every time she looked at you. That had been the happiest you’d ever been. Not this false elation that overtook you by force. Her fists clench at the thought, if only she hadn’t helped that man on that day — she should have been there for you on the day of the Joining.

She was just that type of person, she guessed. Maybe she deserved it, too.

“Is something wrong, Carol?”

She could feel you, that inescapable warmth, because the Hive knew exactly how to love her. They had taken your memories and broken them down into pieces. Dissected like frogs in a biology classroom. It was all to make her cave, to fall into your arms and plead to join.

Carol refused. She knew you would’ve too if you could have. You two were different.

“Nope. Nothing’s wrong.”

It felt weird being cold towards you. Your eyes glance at the alcohol cabinet, and it feels so fucking you that Carol scoffs.

“What, concerned about my drinking? Wanna breathalyze me?”

“No,” you say slowly, eyes flitting back and forth as if searching hers for something. “We–I, was just wondering if you’d had anything to drink. Would you like me to make you something?”

Carol stands suddenly, rounding the counter and stomping right in front of you. You’d always been taller than her, and she had to look up at you with that quivering lip and those watery eyes. She’s quiet. Blue eyes scan your face over and over again.

“Don’t act like my wife,” she forces out in a tight voice with her fists clenched. “I know you’re manipulating me, so don’t act so, so fucking human!”

You look so sad and rejected that Carol wants to take it back. She almost does, her lips parting before she remembers who and what you are. She looked away, teeth chattering as she clenched her jaw.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” you whisper with an ache in your voice.

The move to touch her would normally be sweet, but Carol holds a hand up and stares flatly at you. She tries to think of the Redwoods, of the cabin you stayed at, of the memories from before. Carol sidesteps you, then storms off.

She comes back to you three drinks deep. Shy and wanting. Carol notices how you move to steady her as she stands in front of you, your warm hand molding to her waist the same way you used to do in line at coffee shops.

Her want for you is just barely surmountable, and she dives forward to kiss you because, god, she remembers how you used to hold her. How you used to kiss her. Make love to her.

Whether it’s the alien virus or you, you kiss the same. Lips gliding against Carol’s, you kiss like a starved woman who’s desperate for her first meal. Carol’s hands cup your face as she moans into it. Your hands find her hips and pull her close against your body. Feeling every mold and curve of you drives her a little crazy. She already had you mapped out from head to toe in her mind, but to feel you like this? Well, nothing compared.

Her voice is garbled and wet when she pulls away, her fingers digging just a little into your skin as she stares imploringly into your eyes.

“Act like her,” Carol rasps. “Please.”

The shift is instantaneous. Your moans are sweet and ripe, plucked at just the right moment to make Carol’s clit pulse. Carol takes control. She needed to feel it solidly in her hands, the same way she could feel your skin under her fingertips. She guides you to the bedroom, refusing to make prolonged eye contact, but rather intent on kissing and losing herself in your scent as she drags her lips and nose across the expanse of your neck.

You collapse onto the bed with a soft grunt, hands coming up to steady her as she follows you onto the plush bed. The two of you are all hands, all lips, all physical. Carol dominates the way she used to; she tries to grasp those memories of being on top of you, caressing your thighs, and biting your neck.

In the now, she pins your wrists to the pillows and sucks on your bottom lip. She slots her leg between yours, and you whimper. Carol pants above you, grinding her thigh against you as she watches your face for every movement and twitch. It was so real, you were so real.

She has to let go of your hands. Carol opts to feel your chest, thumb rubbing over your nipples in her cotton shirt; you were still so undeniably hers, it was impossible to think about wanting or touching someone else.

Carol feels your leg press up, your eyes seeking hers as she grinds down against your thigh with shaky hips. Her moan is stilted, almost reluctant. Both hips work in tandem, dry humping over sweatpants and leggings. The friction was delicious.

You don’t cry out, only gasping and grabbing her head and tugging her down, down, till her lips meet your tits. Carol suckled and groaned, tasting your sweet skin and feeling your body writhe under hers. Shaky hands come to Carol’s waist, grasping the hem of her thick ribbed tank top to pull it upwards.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I-I missed you, too,” and she says your name in a watery voice. “God, I missed this.”

Your wife knows it’s not you, but when everything feels just like it did in 2008, in 2015, in 2025 — it was almost impossible to say no. Not when she could have you again and again. You could stay with her somehow, tethered together like ships in the harbor.

“Make me cum,” you sigh out.

Carol ignores the pang in her chest at hearing you say, ‘me.’ She ignores it as she kisses down your stomach and tugs off your bottoms to reveal smooth legs. Her arms, toned, part your legs easily, and Carol’s mouth waters at the sight of your soaked cunt.

Her tongue flattens against your clit, driving upwards as you keen and grasp onto the now shorter blonde locks of your wife. Yes, you were acting just like you, and it brought tears to Carol’s eyes as she devoured you as if it was the last time she’d ever do it.

That wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Carol loses herself in you, remembering how your nails would scratch against her scalp and how your lips would part into an ‘O’ as your thighs locked around her head. She can’t help herself, a hand sliding up to slip two fingers inside you. She curls them upwards, blue eyes flicking to yours as she watches your face contort into pure ecstasy.

It was satisfying to make you feel like this, to feel your slick coat her fingers as she pumped them in and out of you the way she knew you liked it. She’d finger-fuck you all day; in fact, she used to.

“Talk to me,” Carol demands over the soft squelching of your pussy.

“I love it, feels so good,” your hands seek any part of her, resulting in your hands gripping her hair at the root.

It stung in a way that made Carol moan. Your hips bucked up, toes curling as your moans became stilted and breathy. Every touch, every sound, every fucking little thing was just like how it used to be; Carol only went at it harder.

“Do you like it when I touch you like this? Can you remember how I used to,” she pauses, licking her lips as you stare at her with a pleading expression. “How I used to make love to you?”

She needed you to say it. 

“I remember,” and your hand strokes her cheek.

Carol makes you cum a minute after you say those words, tongue lapping and circling your clit until you’re creaming whilst writhing. It was both immensely satisfying and devastating. You could see the turmoil on her face, and you wanted to make her happy.

Pushing your wife onto your back, you look up at her with an affectionate expression. She’s breathless, working her jaw and asking, “what’re you doing? I was–”

“Let me take care of you.”

“This isn’t about me,” she tries to sit up, but your palm to her chest guides her back down. “She would never act this way.”

“But she would. Remember your last birthday? Remember how we,” and you’re quick to correct yourself. “I tied you up with my scarf? You’d loved it, then.”

Carol looks guilty. Of course you knew that, the Hive, whatever. Your hand turns her gaze back to yours, and your eyes are so pouty with your lips downturned that Carol feels she’d do anything you want.

She’d always been weak for your eyes.

“Okay,” Carol's whisper is tight.

It’s like a switch flips inside you. Carol watches your eyelids lower just the slightest. You sit naked on your knees, slipping her sweatpants off along with her boxers — dark blue plaid. Touching her feels religious, holy. Your hands roam over her body, up her thighs and down her arms.

No one says anything. Your eyes do the talking, rather dancing, as they flit. Back and forth, back and forth, eventually remaining on each other’s eyes as your hand slowly touched her. Instantly, your fingers are soaked as you rub her clit in slow circles.

Carol’s teeth sink into her lip, and she tries to let go. You were still in there, touching her, loving her. One by one, her muscles relax, and she loses herself in the sensation of your fingers expertly working in and out of her. Your hands are the culmination of many nights together.

Her breathing picks up as you guide her to release.

“I love you, Carol. You look so perfect like this, you feel so good,” you croon into the still air.

She moans, your thumb making quick circles as she pulls you closer to connect your lips. You can tell she’s close, the way her thighs shake, and she practically begs to feel your tongues glide against each other.

“Keep fucking me, please,” she says.

“I’d never stop.”

“Oh fuck,” she groans, arms winding against you and pulling your bare body against hers. “Oh god, ‘m gonna cum!”

Carol cumming is like a star bursting. She winds up tight, and then explodes with a cry of your name. Her head thrown back with her legs shaking. Only you could make her feel just like this.

She comes to moments later, feeling your soft caresses against her skin as you move to be next to her. Carol’s hazy, and her hands are desperate to feel you close. This was her lately, clingy. She hated it. Carol would not consider herself a clingy person, other than when she was with you.

But this was different. Because you weren’t you.

“I love you,” Carol says almost automatically, pausing after the words are spoken. “If you’re still in there.”

“We love you, too,” you say, smiling and squeezing her cheek. “We are always here.”

Carol nods. That atom bomb would come in handy. If this wasn’t reversible — she looked at you, really looked into your eyes — then hell, she’d rather go out with a bang. Maybe it would look like fireworks.

[ayimkys]

AAAAAAAHHH 👅👅👅👅 everyone watch pluribus

[richeeduvie]

The way I kinda wanna write for Manousos Oviedo but I’m also 75 percent sure he’s going to be canonically gay 🤷

[fairytsuk1]

that I'm afraid of losing you, losing you later | (f)

synopsis: carol sturka and you became fast friends in college. now, as her wife, you reflect on a life shared.

pairing: carol sturka x reader

words: 939

warnings: none!

notes: i tried something new, hopefully there's an audience for it! i will keep writing for her because, well, I love her. enjoy!

You’d always campaigned for her novel ideas. Carol and you had become fast friends in college; her edge met your softness the way the sun melted into the water at sunset. It was a mere draft back then, a hopeless idea as she lounged on your dorm bed and read her work aloud.

What had it been called again? Your aged mind struggled to remember as you stirred two cups of coffee. 

“So, do you think it’s good or what?”

Carol lay strewn across your bed and looked at you with those beautiful bright blue eyes. You can’t help but feel a little entranced by them, seduced even.

“What? I think it’s amazing,” you shake the pages in her face. “This is art!”

She blushed and looked away, snatching the pages from you as her lips quirked up into a small smile. Carol set them aside, and sat up in her navy blue hoodie. Her lashes dusted her cheeks every time she blinked; your cheeks felt hot as you watched her.

“If you say it’s good,” she says.

“It is.”

Carol had been different then. Haunted by her trauma. Memories of tearful nights come to mind, of ones where she let you hold her as a quivering lip spilled about the camp, the fear, the pain. Even in the present day, it makes your lips tug down in a frown. She had been so sad.

Shaking your head and gathering the two steaming cups, you make your way out of the kitchen. 

Your wife had always known how to drink; you reckon she honed her abilities for adulthood in college. She taught you how to take your first tequila shot, eyes wide and teeth pearly, as she instructed diligently.

“Salt, then shot, then lime. You can’t possibly mess it up. It’s easy,” she goads in a packed bar.

“Do you think I need more salt?”

“Oh my god,” she exhaled, and promptly downed her shot before watching you with intense eyes.

You followed suit, and the mutual grins that broke out between you were priceless. She hadn’t even come out to you yet, but something stirred you when she grabbed your hand and squeezed with lowered lids.

Kissing came shortly, and you collapsed on your dorm bed with Carol pinning you to it like she knew what she wanted. For the first time, she did.

Carol was still too shy to do anything other than kiss. You laugh to yourself as you remember how she tried to pretend she had blacked out before the kiss, and therefore didn’t remember it. She’d had bad lies, but that one had been especially egregious.

So you’d kiss in the quiet mornings before classes—you’d always been infinitely thankful for the single room. Maybe she’d read an excerpt or two to you before you had to leave for your own classes; a domestic routine that initially came from close friends began to feel like something very hot and warm. Love, you now knew.

Your bare feet pad to the bedroom, walking past various paintings and photos. Carol at her first book signing. Your wedding photo. Carol and you on your first vacation.

Italy. It had been fall, a few years ago now. You could still smell that salty sea air.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

The hotel was more than luxurious; the air felt expensive as you traversed the large room. Thank god for Wycaro. 

“It’s nice,” Carol’s hands brush over the comforter of the bed. “Can’t believe it costs an arm and a leg to make you happy.”

“Raban’s arm and leg, you mean.”

Carol laughs, a rare rough sound escaping her as she walks over to you and envelops your waist in the privacy of the room. She kisses you the way you like to be kissed, the way she knows you love it. Her tongue slips past your parted lips to trace yours, and you both pull away with cloudy, horny, eyes.

She’d had you all over the hotel room by that evening. 

The door to your expansive bedroom opens, and you’re welcomed to the sight of a topless Carol sitting upright. The sheets pooled around her waist, giving you the mere illusion of more, and it made your mouth water. She caught you staring.

“What, do I look good or something?”

“You know you always look good,” you murmur whilst handing her a mug of coffee. 

Carol smirks at you, nudging your hip with her foot before patting the space next to her. You eagerly snuggle up close, head resting in the crook of her neck. Her arm wraps around your waist in a way that makes you feel wanted, desired. She tightens her grip.

“Wanna just do whatever today? Fuck it, I don’t know, go for a picnic or something,” she says in a sigh.

“I’d love to. Remember those prosciutto sandwiches we had in Italy?”

“God, if you could make those,” she whistles and shakes her head.

You laugh in agreement. Those sandwiches were unique to that memory. There was no recreating.

“Well, whatever, we’ll bring a bottle of wine and bread and call it a day,” you fill the silence with a shrug and another kiss to her cheek.

“Now that’s true Italian,” she murmurs in a low voice, nose rubbing against your cheek. “Sounds like a plan.”

Her lips are soft and tender. You moan into the kiss, as does she, and she’s quick to set her coffee aside and mold you to her body. Mug left abandoned on the side table, you cling to her and pull her closer till you feel like you are one.