#how do you fucks continually just bounce between the topics that makes me feel Most Violent Towards You? literally how do you not realize i

[vaguenotions]

Oh, yes, I just love your unannounced sleepover where you both come back from the bar after carefully avoiding telling me that's where you were going, and also neglecting to tell me when you'd be home! I definitely do not want to knock you on your ass and take a bat to your dome! That would be rude and unnecessary :)

Oh yes, please do start talking about shit amongst yourselves and make me feel isolated and othered in ny own room! These moments are what I live for, of course. Naturally. Who would ever have any issues with this arrangement at all?

#txt #might delete this later but i also might not because my irritation and rage is real and i shouldnt have to so constantly discard it #i am so tired of constantly putting it aside #i want your blood in my fucking teeth. and it's your fault i want it there- certainly- because I TRY. I try so hard not to feel this way #but eventually you get tired of those little games too #okay I drafted this for a minute bc idk if this fucker is actually spending the night or not i just know he took off his belt. BUT THEN ONE #+ OF THESE FUCKERS DECIDED TO START TALKING ABOUT SPIDERS. A THING THAT I HAVE A VERY BAD PHOBIA ABOUT. I AM GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU #thinking of killing and maiming and maiming and killing and killing and shredding and tearing and killing and- #seriously though what. the fuck. you even go ''oh they're not gonna like this'' THEN HOW ABOUT YOU DONT FUCKING SAY IT #ohh and now you're sitting here making plans for when you go out without me next! I'm going to make you a bloody smear on my fucking floor #i am going to Dissect you. I'm going to rip you apart and feed you to the local strays and csrrion birds. #not even getting up and leaving right fucking now would assuage me. i wish i wasn't so full of fucking hate but you just keep adding fuel + #+to the fire #im so tired. I'll come back with a ''im fine now'' if he fucking leaves but im going to seethe now. im so fucking angry. #how do you fucks continually just bounce between the topics that makes me feel Most Violent Towards You? literally how do you not realize i #+ want you dead at this point? how do you not realize the grave you've dug for yourselves in my mind? #i dont fucking mask it that well. i know i dont. and still you fucking do this #((part of why it being a bar specifically that bothers me besides the very deliberate and careful avoidance of mentioning it to me is that #+*one of you is at serious risk for becoming an alcoholic. why the fuck are you being enabled this way?*)) #((if i was dating someone with a genetic predisposition of alcoholism i would make your regular dates nights- idk- NOT THE FUCKING BAR + #+ DISTRICT. DO YOU EVEN FUCKING CARE ABOUT THEM? DO YOU? This fucking boils my god damn blood.)) #(ultimately its their decision if they want to fucking drink yeah sure whatever YOU DONT NEED TO REGULARLY AND READILY ENABLE IT. BASTARD.) #(If they want to drink so fucking bad- if they push for the bars- JUST BUY SOME ALCOHOL AND BRING IT FUCKING HERE. It limits how much they+ #+can have for one- and it would isolate me from you two less! just as an added fucking bonus! but no very unreasonable of me. what was i + #+thinking? clearly not about them 🙄) #i might be a little out of line here. i can admit that. but if anyone spent a week in my fucking shoes back when they first got together + #+and then now? you would fucking understand. #and they just. keep. talking. to eachother. no attempts to include me. not even glances my way. like always. #''oh nothing will change'' IT FUCKING CHANGED. I want to hurt you so bsdly for that lie with ever passing day. do you even know it was a li #do you? anyway was abt to post this and noticed a gif i have of a woman ripping her shirt off so im going to stare at that until im calm ig.

[byechristopher]

chris x squirter gf plz ♥️

keep going. [+18]

– Chris Sturniolo smut.

chris x squirter!gf.

Author's note: you ask and you shall receive. Didn't think about it before this request but shit, that is hot. I hope you enjoy, lovelies. ♡ Don't copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: smut smut smut. Just pure filth. Long. Praise kink, squirter gf, don't know what else. Minors dni. Bye.

"Hey, cutie." I smile even though she can't see me through the phone, "I'm okay, how are you? Everything okay with the date?" I ask her. I am on the bed (I'm pretty sure she is, too), laying on my back and I close my eyes.

I can feel myself getting a little cold and I remind myself I am only in my underwear and a simple, thin white top. Not even wearing socks. Shit. I am a little too comfortable to move and I know Chris is taking a shower so, I just stay like this for a while, still talking to my friend.

I don't know how long it's been but me and my friend have talked about 55 different topics and I completely forget Chris is even home. So when I feel soft lips on my leg, I am a little caught off guard – I open my eyes to see Chris. His hair is still wet, water dripping down his body, he is wearing gray sweatpants. I can see his smile as he slowly trails kisses up my leg, all the way up to my thigh.

"I know right.." I try to keep my voice as normal as possible, although I can barely breath as he moves to the other leg. I'm not sure if I hear what my friend actually says.

Chris massages my thighs as he makes himself comfortable in between my legs. Droplets of water fall from his hair and land on my skin but his kisses make sure to keep me warm. He wraps his arms around my thighs and leans closer to where I need him the most – he rubs the tip of his nose against my panties and I try to supress a moan. He grins and places a soft kiss on the fabric. Then he sticks his tongue out and I almost lose it.

"Yeah.. no.. I mean, I guess?" I don't know what the fuck I am saying, all I know is that my boyfriend is fucking french-kissing me down there and I am dripping for him. I hang up as soon as possible and let out a groan.

"Why do you always do this to me?" I whine as I push my phone to the side (of course making sure it is switched off, just in case), spreading my legs a little wider to make room for him.

"Do what, babe?" he hums and continues locking me down there with my panties still on.

"Teasing me when I'm talking on the phone." I glace at him and he gives me an innocent smile back.

"Mhmm sorry pretty, want me to make it up to you?" his smile is always there, even when he hooks his fingers around my panties, slowly pushing them down.

"You better." I groan and as I am about to spread my legs again, he keeps my thighs together and pushes my legs so that my knees touch my chest. My panties are resting on the back of my knees and I can't see him in this position, but I can feel my pussy dripping.

"Shit, you're already making a mess, baby." he whispers before spreading those lips down there, taking my clit in his mouth, licking it hungrily. He slowly pushes his tongue inside of me and my hand immediately reaches behind my legs, finding his hair and grabbing a fistful of it.

"Please, you've tortured me enough today." I moan as he keeps slowly fucking me with his warm, wet tongue.

"Mhmm, that's true." he keeps his voice quiet and after placing a little kiss on my pussy, he sits up and grabs my panties, finally taking them off completely and throwing them to the other side of the room.

He gets up and I follow him with my eyes, trying to think of what he's doing instead of just fucking me already. I stay quiet, though. He sits on the armchair that is right next to them bed and motions me to come over – a little confused, I do as he says.

"I need to fuck you here, like this, I need to see you bouncing on me."

That's the thing about Chris – he could be the most playful, sweetest, smiley person but then, he says something like this when we have sex and I completely lose it. He's such a dirty-talker, I love him.

I immediately grin at his thought, but before I do exactly that, I get on my knees to take his dick in my mouth, after pushing his gray sweatpants down a bit, not taking them off though. He groans, throwing his head back and I place my hand on his chest, rubbing his skin as I continue to move my head up and down in a slow pace. My hand travels up to his throat and he immediately grabs my wrist, pushing his head forward to look at me with a look full of lust. He grabs the hand that's still on his throat and brings him close to his mouth, taking three of my fingers inside of it and I feel myself getting wetter. He sucks on these three fingers and then pushes my hand down, indirectly telling me to rub his dick with my hand.

"You taste so good." I groan and keep moving my hand as I place a soft kiss on the tip of his cock.

Then, abruptly, he pushes my hand away and grabs my shoulders, making me stand up and taking my shirt off, now leaving me completely naked. He grips my waist, fingers digging in my sides, and he kisses my belly gently before turning me around. My back is now facing him and as I feel him pushing me down to basically sit on his lap, my breath gets stuck in my throat.

"Pretty girl. I've been thinking about you all day." he whispers and I can feel him rubbing the tip of his cock against my pussy. He finds the entrance and without wasting any other time, he pushes me down on his dick. I scream.

"Fucking.. Chris.." my feet are on the ground, knees are bent, body slightly forward with my hands on his thighs and my ass pressed against him.

"Baby, shit.." he moans and leans forward to place a kiss on my back, hands caressing my thighs.

I know he's not moving to make sure I am okay and adjusting, so I take matters to my own hands and support myself on his thighs, starting to move my hips back and forth. He moans and I can almost hear his smile as he leans back again and grips my hips. He starts moving me up and down on him and I can't stop the loud noises that come out of my mouth.

"Babe.. you're fucking wet.. and so warm.. shit." one of his hands rests on my lower back and then drags itself up all the way up to the nape of my neck. He grabs it and pushes me forward, making me arch my back and perk my ass, as he lifts his hips to fuck me like this.

"Chris.. Chris.. yes! Like this.." I moan as he speeds up, his thrusts now becoming faster, rougher. His hands go back to my ass, squeezing it and slapping it, before grabbing it again and guiding me all the way down so he's balls-deep.

"Come on, pretty. Bounce on my dick, I wanna see you fuck yourself on it." he moans and slaps my ass again.

With my hands on his knees now, I start practically jumping up and down on him, his dick filling me up, "mhmm, I can feel you.. so deep.." I moan, bouncing on his cock, my ass slapping against his skin.

"Shit, shit.." he hums and wraps an arm around my waist, his hand moving up to my breast to pinch and tug on my nipple as his other hand goes down to my pussy, his middle finger rubbing my clit in circle motions.

"Chris! Please!" my moans start to get louder but he keeps the same pace.

"What is it, beautiful? Do you want to cum? All over my dick?" I am lost in the pleasure but I know he's smirking.

"Please." I want to cry from the overstimulation, he's been teasing me all day long and I didn't cum all day.

"Mhmm, I'm not done with you, baby. Get up." he says and I whine because I knew it. I keep moving my hips desperately and he smacks my ass. I groan and slowly take his dick out, getting up and turning around to face him. I am a mess.

He doesn't waste much time this once and immediately pulls me into his lap so that I'm straddling his thighs, guiding his cock to where my entrance is and pushes all the way inside me again. I grab his shoulders and start moving my hips, throwing my head back. He takes one of my nipples in his mouth, sucking on it and I look at him, seeing that he hasn't taken his eyes off of my face.

"Like it when I fuck you like this, baby? When I make you mine, over and over again?" he whispers against the skin that's in between my breasts and continues to thrust inside of me roughly.

"I'm.. Chris.. I– please.." I actually feel a tear running down my cheek from all the pleasure and he smiles, grabbing my ass with one hand and rubbing my clit with the other. I lose it.

"It's okay, baby. Don't hold back. I am going to let you cum this time." he hums and places kisses all over me. I want to cry happy tears. A sigh of relief leaves my lips and I lean forward, placing my lips against his, my tongue searching for his immediately. He kisses me hungrily, his dick moving inside of me and his thumb still rubbing circles on my clit.

Then, something weird happens. I can feel a wave of pleasure desperately searching for release, but it's not quite the usual one. It's as if it's something.. more. Something that I have no control over whatsoever.

"Chr.. Chris.." I stutter because I can feel my whole body shaking, trembling.

"You feel it, baby, hm? Are you going to cum all over me?" his thumb presses a little harder against my clit and he thrusts into me faster, "are you going to make me wet, too?" he says and I literally scream, my fingers digging in his chest, "cum, beautiful. Cum."

That's all it takes for me to lift myself up quickly, taking his dick out as he squeezes my ass to keep me closer and keeps rubbing my pussy to keep me going – I let out another loud moan/scream and with my body fully trembling now, I finally let go, my juices coming out of me like water, "fuck, baby yes, that's it" I can hear him say and I can feel him cumming with me but I'm still going and he's now fully covered in my juices, from his chest, to his cock, to his sweatpants.

Utterly exhausted, I let my body fall on his, not caring that we're both covered in cum and sweat. His arms wrap around me carefully, making me curl up on his lap and placing little kisses on my head.

"Baby, you okay?" he mutters, his voice hoarse.

I just nod reassuringly and curl up even more against him. He strokes my hair and grabs one of my hands that's resting on his chest, placing little kisses on my fingers, my palm, everywhere.

"Sorry for making a mess, I didn't know.. you know." I whisper, my eyes closed – I'm tired.

"I love you so much, babe. So much." he hugs my head and rests his chin on it, "you're beautiful."

"I love you too." I place a little kiss on his chest.

"I know. Now, come on. Let's go get cleaned up." he picks me up and I chuckle, hugging him, "also, I didn't know you were a squirter. How much hotter can you get?" he teases and I whine, hitting his chest – he laughs, I laugh too.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #fanfiction #fiction #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #smut #one shot #oneshot #imagines #imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo imagines #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fluff #aftercare

[sadlittlesquish]

Hot, Wet, Sticky Sweet

Chapter Two: Come Crashing into my Little World

A/N: A few things before we get into it.

Number one, I would like to thank you all for being so nice and sweet about this fic. It's meant the world to me that not only did you enjoy how I write Eddie, but also my OC. I know y/n reader inserts are most everyone's bread and butter concerning Eddie pairings or StEddie, so to have a good reception to my OC means the world to me.

Number two: I know the Ride the Lightning tour was in Indianapolis around February 1985, but for the continuity sake (and to align with my OC's bday) I fudged the date a little. I'm doing my best to write albums and products that were available in the fall of 1985 to the summer of 86, but there will be a few things I blur because I just want them to gush over shared interests.

Number 3: Some heavy topics are going to be discussed in later chapters if I continue this fic. I will put trigger warnings in the beginning of any of those chapters.

Now, without further ado, please enjoy.

Over the weekend, Eddie had come to peace with his greatest humiliation in front of the girl of his dreams; and he resolved himself that come Monday afternoon he was going to walk right into Home Ec, look her square in the eyes, and act like nothing happened. He reasoned with himself that if maybe he played it off cool, he might still have a .001% chance of charming her. 

Yet, as he sits in his van he hears the bell for third period chime distantly, and closes his eyes to try and block out his cowardice. He really had every intention of waltzing in there, playing it all off like nothing had happened. His feet had other ideas apparently, as his heart thundered into his ribs at the mere thought of seeing her again. So, here he was, ditching 3rd period like a fucking weenie. 

Eddie's leg is bouncing erratically, a cigarette burning between his agitated fingers. His other hand is slamming against the steering wheel to each thunderous beat of the drums as the high wailing vocals of Judas Priest fills the space. 

"Hypnotize me

Mesmerize me

Feel my willpower slip

Light my fire with cold desire

Losing all my grip" 

There's a blue-gray cloud of smoke spilling from his mouth as Eddie's raspy voice joins the one blaring from his speakers. 

In retrospect, the scene he had gotten off to a couple days prior had been tame compared to some of the things he'd jerked off to in porn mags and filthy tapes. Sure some of them would occasionally feature a girl with an edgier look than the rest, but none so far had captured everything that this girl had given him in just the span of ten minutes. 

Arousal was flickering through him from the mere memory, making Eddie take a heavy drag on his cigarette, the burn distracting him enough to not pop a stiffy. However, the memories persisted and before he knew it, Eddie was half hard with sweat prickling at his temples. 

Her thighs had looked so soft, like he could sink his teeth into them and it would feel like biting into a marshmallow. And the fishnets definitely didn't help… Eddie didn't realize he had such a debilitating weakness, until he saw her sweet, creamy thighs peaking through threads of black fabric. 

An appreciative groan slips unwillingly from somewhere deep in Eddie's chest as he dared to imagine her soft thighs bracketing his hips while she sat in his lap like it was her own personal throne. The weight of her would feel heavenly, and Eddie knows he would die a happy man just to be on the receiving end of her affections. 

"Shit," Eddie huffs out, as the realization dawns on him that this infatuation wasn't something firmly rooted in his pent up lustful desires. He liked her. Maybe he was unsure of how badly he was falling for her, but Eddie can feel butterflies mixing in with the arousal at the very idea of holding her hand, while they screamed themselves hoarse at a concert. 

Goin' under

Hear the thunder

Death defying grace

Your condition breeds ammunition

Shoots me in the face

Vicious talkin' (vicious talkin')

Stabs me like a knife

Scratched and bruised (so abused)

I'm a human sacrifice 

Eddie can't help the shiver that sprints up his spine, the image of her blood red lipstick making marks up and down his neck, mixing with bruises and teeth indents has his whole body fever hot. He can see the flush of his cheeks in the reflection of the window, and is almost speechless by the sight of himself. 

He looks absolutely wrecked, not even having to lay a hand on himself to get so worked up. 

Another groan punches its way out of Eddie, his wild eyes flicking over to see the time displayed on his dash. His next class was one he couldn't skip out on if he really wanted to keep up that steady army crawl towards a D. But… well… he did have a little time to indulge. 

Guilt finds its way amongst all the other emotions he was feeling right now, especially since he knew it wouldn't be the last time he frantically fucked into his fist thinking about the best ten fucking minutes of his life. Maybe it was a little pathetic, virgin freak Eddie Munson jacking off in his shitty van in the school parking lot to memories of the longest and hottest interaction he had ever had with a girl since middle school. 

 

But right now, Eddie didn't really fucking care. 

He closes his eyes, focusing on the dancing images behind his eyelids. The way her tits had swung heavy and full, back and forth in such an entrancing way. The swell of her lower lip being pulled behind her teeth as she concentrated, revealing her wet, pink tongue. 

Eddie shudders, his hand already down his pants as he remembers her sticky honey toned eyes. There was a darker depth to them than that, something about her eyes reminds him of quiet nights spent with his Uncle Wayne, sipping aged scotch and watching sunsets. Warmth and darkness contrasting in perfect harmony in her sultry brown eyes. 

He has a hand wrapped firmly around his aching cock, the heat of himself making him hiss out in surprise. The previous song is fading, the next one off the Screaming For Vengeance album kicking into gear as Eddie starts to jerk himself to the rhythm. It's slow and languid at the beginning as the guitar comes in soft and sweet, but as soon as the chorus revs up, Eddie is slick fisting his cock and tipping his head back in pleasure. 

"Help me, I'm beggin' you please 

You've got the power, down on my knees

Give me some kind of life

Leave me be

Take these chains off

Take 'em off of my heart

Take these chains off

Take 'em off of my heart"

Eddie is wrapped deliriously up in the fever pitch of it all. The high octane drum beat, the wailing guitar and the sinful sweet lyrics edging him closer and closer to his end. He can't stop himself from imagining the girl, her arms above her head as she thrashes alongside him in a crowd. He wonders if she would wear fishnets and shorts again if they went to a concert together. 

"Hmmmm… fuck," Eddie sighs, his wrist cramping a little from jerking himself off in the confined space of his tight pants. But there was no way in hell he wanted to pull out his dick for all the world to see if someone happened by and looked into his van at the right moment. It was bad enough how obvious it would be for anyone to notice what he was up to… 

But he just couldn't help himself. Not when he was so, so fucking close to cumming and he'd barely even begun. 

"'M close," Eddie slurs, and pathetically imagines he's talking to her, letting her know how badly she was corrupting him with each and every orgasm caused by her. 

Eddie wants to imagine her, looking into his eyes with that gentle teasing smirk caught at the edge of her lips, her voice smoky soft like a perfectly chilled hit when he felt ambitious enough to add ice to his bong. 

"Eddie," he remembers the way she had said it clear as day, the way her lips wrapped around his name like it had always belonged to her. It's what finally makes the tension snap; cum roping out over his sweaty fingers in hot, thick spurts that leave him shaking. 

By the time Eddie is able to come back to his senses, the last song on the album is halfway over, and his forgotten cigarette has burnt out. He groans at the mess in his pants, a little annoyed with himself for giving in to his horny brain that never thought things through. 

"Fuck me," Eddie grumps, twisting and turning to find something in the back of his van within reach to wipe his cum covered hand clean. Eventually he finds one of his ratty old hoodies, already ruined by cigarette burns and the general messy (gross) disaster his back seat sometimes became when life got hectic. He quickly cleans his mess, an embarrassed flush warming the back of his neck and cheeks as he does so. 

The act is methodical and by the time he's sure all the cum stains are gone, he's calmed down considerably. His pants zipped back up, Eddie opens his window to flick out his cigarette as the cassette pops in the player, ready to be pushed back in for another time. 

Before he heads back into school for his next class, Eddie paws around the glove box for some cologne, just in case the scent of cigarettes and sex lingered on his skin. Drakkar Noir was definitely a better alternative, even if the bottle was almost empty. 

Eddie moves aside his hair and spritzes some of the cologne onto his wrist, so he can control the wear; he dabs the rest below his jaw line and in the hollows of his neck. A trick he remembers quite vividly seeing his mother do, sat in front of her boudoir as she fussed with her makeup to hide any visible bruises. 

Finally satisfied with his shameful cleansing, Eddie shoulders open the heavy metal door and hops down from his van. He checks the time on his watch, only a few minutes before 3rd period ends. With a final once over in his side view mirror, Eddie heads off to the trenches of Ms. O'Donnell's class. 

"War Machine is like, ten times better than Iron Man," Lucas argues, his arms crossing as he stares Dustin down, silently egging him on into a debate he knows he'll win. 

"You're crazy!" Dustin sputters, "War Machine wouldn't even exist without Tony Stark inventing the suit in the first place!" 

At one point the whole Hellfire club table gets roped into this heavy debate, sides taken and hotly defended debates flying around. 

None of this matters to Eddie as soon as he hears a voice ringing out in the cafeteria. It was laughter, but he instantly recognized it as belonging to her; because he had replayed every minute detail of their interaction a million times over in his head. 

His head whips up so fast as he starts to look around frantically for her. It doesn't take long for his gaze to catch on her hair, the bloody red color broken up by black tips and streaks unmistakably hers. 

She's at a table with a few other people, and to Eddie's absolute mortification (delight), she is wearing fishnets again. He leans forward, doing his best not to catch the attention of his friends, as he tries to get a better look at her. 

This time she's wearing a skirt; a tiny thigh high acid washed skirt that just looks so fucking hot paired with the black netting clinging to her thighs. Eddie watches her push playfully at someone's shoulder, and as she leans forward he gets a perfect view of her cleavage. 

The cut of her red paisley bandana top is low enough that Eddie can see the plentiful swell of her chest even from a few tables away. 

A strangled sound, something Eddie had never heard himself make before, bubbles in his throat at the sight. His cheeks are going flush, as his friends all turn to look at him. Reluctantly, Eddie tears his eyes away from the girl so the group can't figure out who he has in his line of sight. The teasing would never end if the Freshman finally saw him getting interested in a girl. 

"Sorry, bit my cheek," Eddie mumbles out, a pathetic attempt at covering up whatever the fuck that was. 

"Yeah… right," Lucas adds, his tone very much conveying that he didn't believe Eddie's lie for a second. 

But the attention quickly goes back to the impassioned arguing over Iron Man Lore, and Eddie is sat sorting glumly through his pretzels, trying to find the one's with the most flavoring first. 

It's so lame, but he can't let this opportunity go to waste; to drink in the girl for as long as he can in case he never gets another moment like this again. 

Eddie surreptitiously raises his eyes, finding her so fast it's like there is a magnetic pull between them. He realizes this mistake within .10 seconds of his gaze landing on her. Eddie chokes, literally chokes on the pretzel he had been sucking all the flavor off of; because why in the hell was she licking on a fucking sucker now? 

Her lips were dragging on an outward motion as she pulled the candy from her mouth to say something to one of her friends. But all Eddie can glean from the image is how she probably looked just like that when giving head. 

Eddie is fever hot, and he can feel his eyes widening enough to probably look insane as he watches her. She has the sucker, cherry from the looks of it (and Eddie internally groans because that's his favorite flavor) poised on the tip of her tongue, ready to continue enjoying it. 

One of her friends, the only guy at the table, must have said something again, because she's throwing her head back and laughing. Eddie is torn between being grateful so he doesn't have to see the red swell of her sucker disappear between her lips again, and annoyed because well… that's exactly what he wanted to see. 

"Eddie, are you going fucking mental?" 

Dustin is snapping in front of his face, trying to break him out of his trance. 

"Geez, what?" Eddie regretfully pulls his attention away from her again to find the whole gang looking at him like he'd finally lost his marbles. 

"Your eyes look like they're about ready to pop outta your skull," Jeff scoffs, flicking his football shaped folded up napkin at Eddie. 

Eddie frowns, his eyes narrowing at his friends. "Guys, don't you have more important things to focus on? Like War Machine vs. Iron man— whatever is going on over here in Eddie land is nowhere near as interesting as that, trust me." He's trying to play it cool, popping some pretzels and a couple mixed in M&M's in his mouth; crunching away with a deceptive smile. 

Everyone at the table eyes him skeptically, but to Eddie's surprise, they let the matter drop; quickly returning back to their debate. Perhaps they had all become so used to his odd behavior that even this out of the ordinary display doesn't faze them. The thought wounds Eddie's pride a little… 

The bell ringing interrupts any further outbursts. Eddie can't help trying to steal one last glance at the girl, and he sees her pull the empty stick from her mouth and chuck it playfully at her guy friend with a smirk on her face. 

Jealousy rears its ugly head, causing Eddie to slam his metal lunchbox closed a little harder than he intended. His friends raise their brows at this, surprised to see Eddie scowling angrily at thin air. 

The group looks around, but silently decides not to poke the sleeping bear of Eddie's strange mood. Besides, they all needed to head off to class. 

Eddie doesn't really register his friends getting up and leaving, tossing concerned glances over their shoulders as they do so. All he can feel is ugly, black self loathing. 

Of course a girl as pretty and cool as her would have a boyfriend. It makes Eddie rethink everything about their previous interaction. How she had clammed up the moment Eddie complimented her. Her not getting the hint that he was only interested in watching her at the car wash… 

He felt so stupid. 

And, much to Eddie's unending despair, he also felt a little heart broken. 

Eddie's mood had considerably soured the more his day went on. He just could not stop replaying what he saw in his head– over and over like some kind of torture porn. Eddie wasn't able to get a good look at the guy, so he had nothing to compare himself to, which only made his imagination go haywire. 

The guy was probably ridiculously hot. Probably wasn't 20 years old and still in high school, hanging out with friends far younger than him… 

He probably was the kind of person who deserved her. 

Eddie's hands are stuffed into his coat pockets, his fingers finding the stray lighter there and fiddling with it occasionally as he walks toward where he always kept his van parked. 

He's in the middle of pulling out his lighter so he can get a cigarette lit as soon as he is inside his van, when he looks up from the ground; shock racing through him at what he finds. 

She's leaning against the side of his van, one heel kicked up to rest on a tire. There is a cigarette, half burned away between her fingers that she takes a slow, lazy drag off of. 

Eddie can barely comprehend what he's seeing, part of him beginning to wonder if he had somehow died between leaving the school building and now, and this was his view of the afterlife. Heaven or hell, he would take it if it meant seeing this girl for the rest of forever. 

She looks up, the sound of Eddie's feet crunching leaves and twigs in the underbrush near the forest where he kept his van safe from assholes who liked to vandalize it. A tiny smile lifts the corners of her lips, still wrapped around the end of her cigarette and she gives Eddie that tiny little wave again like she had at the carwash. 

"Um… hello," Eddie cocks his head to the side, the question in his tone apparent as he approaches her. 

Eddie watches her flick her cigarette onto the ground, putting it out with the heel of her boot before she pushes away from her leaning position on his van. 

"Oh good, I'm glad I got the right van– though it was a little hard to find parked all the way out here." Her voice is sweet, and the smile on her face is making Eddie blush to be on the receiving end of it. 

Eddie's heart is hammering so hard that he can feel the pulse behind his eyes. Her sweet voice is making him feel like he's on the brink of breaking down. And his brain is practically shutting off at her adorable smile. 

"Yeah, I uh... yeah," it's all he can say, feeling like he's about to puke up all his nervous energy. 

She steps forward, pulling a slightly squashed box from her school bag and sheepishly offers it up to Eddie. It looks like a miniature version of the kind of box donuts came in, and it makes Eddie's face crinkle in confusion. 

"You didn't show up to Home EC today... I felt bad that you missed out on making cookies, so... I saved some for you." 

Eddie's eyes widen as he takes the box from her, his heart doing silly twirls at the thought that she was going to share her cookies with him. And they were from her.

"Wow…," he says, accepting the box almost as if it were a precious jewel. "You... you really didn't need to," he finishes off softly, struggling to maintain his composure enough to appear at least semi-normal. 

She shuffles, and if Eddie didn't know any better, it almost looks like she's nervous. "Well… I thought that maybe you didn't show up because of what happened the other day." Her brown eyes look so earnest and apologetic as they flit over Eddie's face, as if she's afraid of overstepping a boundary and hurting him. 

"I just… wanted you to know that I'm not grossed out or mad at you for what happened— there were like, a ton of super hot girls there. I mean, if I had a dick I probably would have been in the same boat—" She's rambling as she toys anxiously with one of her black tipped strands of hair. 

Heat flares through Eddie, and he can feel it burning in his cheeks hot enough to make his face go red. However, after the embarrassing sting fades a bit, Eddie realizes that the girl was under the impression that he had cum in his pants because of someone else. 

His silence seems to make her uncomfortable because she continues to ramble, "A-anyway, the cookies aren't perfect– I think I made the icing too runny or something… but, I gave you the best ones." 

She was acting more nervous than he was now, and that was adorable. He wants to reach out and touch her hair, to brush it behind her ear and watch her blush deepen. But he keeps himself in check, and decides the best thing to do was simply say thank you. 

"Hey, I'm sure they aren't any worse than what I would have made," Eddie responds, opening the box and looking through the cookies, finding that the icing was indeed a bit runny and messy. That made her even more endearing to him than if she had presented him with something perfect. 

The cookies inside are flat and misshapen, with horribly doodled Halloween creatures done in icing; like a toddler had got ahold of a box of crayons and a blank wall. 

"Sorry again," she mumbles, toeing at the dirt beneath her boots self consciously. "Hopefully the present on the lid flap makes up for everything." 

Again, Eddie is confused– until he lifts the lid that had flopped over and sees a ticket lightly taped to the inside. 

A ticket for the Ride the Lightning Metallica tour for the end of this month, front row seats. 

Eddie is surprised at the sight of the ticket, and he actually has to take a moment to just look at it. A ticket to a Metallica concert... that she had bought *for him!* He looks back up at her, his mind racing. 

He wants to thank her again, to try and tell her how much this means to him. He wants to try and repay her. He just can't find the words. 

"Is this seriously for me," Eddie breathes out, his fingers lightly tracing the edges of the ticket as if he's afraid it will disappear at any moment, like fairy gold. 

"Mmmhm," the girl hums, an expression of relief on her face as she sees how happy Eddie looks right now. "If you don't mind driving us out to Indianapolis, I've already got the room booked and everything. That is, of course, if you wanna go with me." 

Eddie can't believe this is reality for a moment, a part of him lost in the Euphoria of her generosity. The other part of him is suddenly wary, and confused. 

"This is like, one of the most amazing gifts any one has ever got me… I just… I don't think your boyfriend would be too happy about you going to a concert with someone like me." 

She stops fidgeting for a second, frozen in place by Eddie's sudden dark tone. Her face draws up in confusion, especially since Eddie was scowling so heavily. 

"Boyfriend?" 

Eddie refuses to look her in the eyes since he's having such a hard time hiding his Jealousy. 

"Y'know… the guy you were flirting with in the cafeteria today— you threw your sucker stick at him." 

Her sudden laughter makes Eddie cringe, waiting for her to rub it in that he didn't even stand a chance in hell with her compared to whatever Adonis she was dating. 

"Eddie! Jesus Christ— that was my cousin. He's a fucking idiot, but he's definitely my idiot. And this isn't Alabama, so I'm definitely not dating my cousin." 

"O-oh," Eddie practically squeaks out, wishing once again the ground would crack open and swallow him whole. 

The ache of a punch to his arm draws him out of his spiraling misery, and Eddie looks up to see a playful smile on her face. 

"Charlie hates metal music, so I'm definitely not taking him to something so epic that he can't appreciate. 'Sides, you'd be more fun to hang out with anyway." 

The way she's looking up at Eddie, shyly under the rim of her delicate lashes, sends him back to LA LA land. 

"Please say that you'll come with me Eddie, I can pull the Birthday card if I have to– since I'll be turning 19 soon, and I really want to celebrate it with you." 

"Shit— yeah of fucking course I'll go! Just hella surprised you want me to join you for something so special." 

Her smile could power the whole solar system in that moment; and Eddie feels like he's about ready to pass out from how badly his heart has been pounding this whole time. 

"Yes!!!" She exclaims, fist pumping the air in triumph. 

Eddie was so fucking screwed. 

Without a doubt in his mind, in that moment he knows, he's hopelessly head over heels for her. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, suddenly hyper aware of how shitty he feels for not remembering her name. 

"There is one condition though," Eddie rasps. 

"Yeah, fucking anything you want Eddie, just say the word!" 

Mind out of the gutter, MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER. 

"Promise you won't get mad, but… I never properly got your name, and i… well I don't really know anyone's names from any of my classes." 

The girl clutches at her chest dramatically, a move that Eddie himself would 100% perform himself if he was on the receiving end of someone not remembering his name. He tries not to look down, but temptation is a bitch. 

Her black nails really look hot against the pale expanse of her chest… 

"I truly am wounded Eddie Munson," she emphasizes his name, showing off that she knows it because she paid attention to him even before they properly met. "I get you a ticket to what's going to be the best concert of your LIFE, and you can't even remember my name…" 

Her hand is now pressed to her forehead like a damsel in distress as she flutters her lashes theatrically. 

Eddie laughs, even if he feels like absolute dog shit as she lays it on thick, he can't help it. 

"Alright, alright I get it– I'm not worthy of the maiden's fair tokens." 

The two of them giggle like idiots for a moment, the playful twinkle in her brown eyes making up for being teased so thoroughly by her. 

"It's really okay Eddie, I wouldn't remember me either." Her tone is still jovial, but something dull and sad in her eyes lets Eddie know that part of her really believes that. "I'm Marnie Wellwood," she adds, holding out her hand for Eddie to shake. 

"Marnie," Eddie echoes, his cheeks warming at her name finally coming from his lips. 

Eddie takes her hand in his, the first skin to skin contact with her making him feel hot all over. 

And as the familiar trickle of arousal ripples through him just from touching her hand, Eddie knows with 100% certainty that Marnie Wellwood is going to be the death of his sanity. 

@butts4sale @rubyiren @grungegrrrl @mrsjellymunson

#eddie munson x oc #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x oc #virgin!eddie munson #mdni #minors dni #minors do not interact

[starlitheaven]

hii! congrats on 1k! for the event, miracle aligner by the last shadow puppets + gojo :D up to you if you want to do nsfw or not! lots of love and hope you're having a great day :] <3

thank you! <3 this is actually an idea i've been meaning to write so i'm glad this song gave me that feel. sorry if this isn’t the best.

MIRACLE ALIGNER — SATORU GOJO

1.3k words. established relationship, fluff, no curses au, moving in together

for all his prestige and pedigree, satoru is just a man who's trying to gain his footing.

his family name commands respect but he’s rarely been given it since his youth. he’s often been described as wild, unruly, rude, disrespectful, immature, and arrogant. by people who barely know him—they take one look at the front he puts up and write him off as a reckless man who acts on his own without a care to anyone else.

and sure, some of it is true and he isn’t ashamed of admitting his own faults. yet impulsive isn't a word he’d use to describe himself; at least not in the sense that alludes to him being irresponsible. that isn’t entirely wrong either, but he often thinks things through before making decisions others may deem as rash. 

it’s not his fault that his mind operates on a higher level than the average person and that his gut feelings are rarely wrong. the exception to this is you. when it comes to you, he tends to overthink that genius brain of his and go through every possibility all in hopes of making the right decision.

you're the one thing that satoru won't be careless with.

you’re moving in together.

the choice wasn’t made on a whim while high off of young love and sweet promises. not something you suddenly decided half asleep in bed after fucking for hours. it’s something you’ve been discussing for some time, even if it was in an offhand sort of way. he can come off as flippant, no matter how serious the topic. he finds it hilarious and an asset.

but no, he was 100% serious. swear.

satoru has treated you and your relationship so gently and tentatively since, well, you two became exclusive. after one too many dates, it could no longer continue being “dating around” in the way you two had intended after hitting it off during that mixer months ago. not when most of his walls had dissolved like sand. more like when you came at them like a bulldozer if he was gonna be honest.

he’d always been so frivolous with no regard for personal space. most are wary around him and very few have welcomed it. very few, as in less than three people. you being one of them, instead you indulged him and bounced off of his energy. he’s always loved that about you. 

you’re patient and gentle in ways that he could never be, and he wanted to keep that for himself. wanted to nurture it and give you the life you deserved.

now you’re stepping into a new milestone side by side, hand in hand. 

the decision was made one day over dinner after spending the day in at your apartment. your lease was up in a few months and you were unsure whether you wanted to renew it or not. it was a casual conversation between two adults in a relationship, and he'd mentioned his was up as well some time after yours. he hadn’t thought about his words at all, it was just a normal conversation. 

then, suddenly. 

“what if…” you trailed off, setting your chopsticks down to turn to him. at your pensive voice, he turned back to you with a soft questioning hum. there was some rice stuck to his cheek and you picked it off without thought. “what if we moved in together?”

even then, it wasn’t a sudden yes or no. you waved your hands suddenly, assuring him that he shouldn’t feel obligated or forced to. didn't even have to respond right away, it was just an option you suggested. and satoru didn’t respond right away. he said it’s crossed his mind, but he didn’t know what to think now that it’s out there. so, you let it go while you continued contemplating your own decision. 

over the next few weeks, the idea took root and made a home in the deepest parts of his mind. he hated whenever you’d have to take the train late at night from his place. or coming over to your apartment after work and hearing you say “welcome home!”. except, it wasn’t his home.

then, one night, he rolled off of your naked and flushed body to pull you into a post-coital embrace. wrapped a thick arm over your shoulders and hummed pleasantly as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck. the realization that he had to leave the little world you two created in your bedroom to his own apartment cemented the decision he’d been mulling over. 

he didn't want to wake up or fall asleep in bed without you beside him. he nuzzled his cheek over the top of your head that night and told you he's made his choice. satoru wanted to move in. your lips pulling into a wide grin is all he needed to see to know that he’ll never regret this. you squealed and peppered happy kisses all over his face.

the mere thought of him living with you brought a bounce to his step and made him even worse to be around. he was on a fucking cloud and decided to make it everyone’s problem. actually, he made it nanami’s problem. his poor coworker had to listen to him list the pros and cons of certain neighborhoods, have gojo’s several boards on pinterest shoved in his face during lunch, and grieve over no longer being minutes away from his favorite patisserie.

the buzz of excitement was riddled with the tedious busywork of finding a place to live in tokyo that would work for two working adults. it was important to live near a train station that you both used, have your favorite stores nearby, and preferably near a bigger park. satoru wanted to get a dog soon. then there was setting up appointments to view apartments and go through that whole process. the documents, the paperwork, the movers, the deposits. 

all of that annoying shit and now satoru is standing in his new apartment. your new apartment. one that he’s sharing with you. it’s all white and empty, nothing but boxes to fill the large space. there’s so much to unpack that he has no idea where to start.

he’s literally standing in the kitchen holding a box of mugs but it hasn’t hit him yet. he’s still reeling from the past few months and can’t wrap his mind around the fact that this is it. it’s done. the words that came out of your lips those months ago caused this. what if...what if we moved in together, and now here it is. it’s happened. 

but then he’s unwrapping the mugs from the box, washing them, and drying them. he’s opening the cabinet he decided will store them and starts arranging them inside. his expensive ceramic one, your strawberry patterned one, his cat one, your totoro one. 

satoru can hear your music playing from inside the bathroom and he absently hums along to it. such a weird place to start, but he also finds it very cute. he’s got the dishes out and is beginning to put them away before realizing that he’ll need to give you the lowest levels. taking your shrimpy height into consideration, satoru begins to fill up the kitchen. 

when he’s done, he feels something stir in his chest. the space is filled with items that you’ve each brought from your old places. it’s the embodiment of you joining your lives together as a couple. not only that, but there’s also things that you two have purchased together. you’ve come together and are now a unit. 

this is it, satoru thinks. there’s no more of the empty feeling he feels when either of you have to go back home. no more longing for you on his cold bed. no more having to plan a good time for you two to spend weekends together. 

satoru is home, and it’s with you.

#this was inspired by sweat and soap! #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo fluff #gojo fanfic #anon #summer mix

[sibyl-of-space]

grad school feels below readmore, last semester is coming up

I have an advising session tomorrow, and registration opens next week, for my last semester here. Holy fucking hell that went by fast. Almost 2 years already. Gonna graduate and have a Master’s in music technology and composition. That’s actually not something I think I saw myself doing when I graduated undergrad ~6 years ago... I was so done with school at the time, and had done such a shit job networking because I was treating it like high school and just trying to Get Good Grades, that my bachelor’s in music felt like a paperweight. A paperweight that I thoroughly enjoyed the studies it took to obtain, but a paperweight nevertheless.

And now a bitch (almost) has a master’s. I mean still, after all this, a paper that says you have a degree is just a paper - but I’ve worked my ass off and learned so much these past 2 years. I haven’t done the internships etc that you’re “supposed” to do, but I have made a lot of friends, some of whom I am sure to continue collaborating with when I graduate, and I think I’ve met at least a couple teachers who I might be able to keep in touch with too. My lesson teacher in particular. And I’ve gotten the #1 thing I wanted which was a better grasp on what tools are available to me to create music and sounds, and a better ear to figure out what sounds I like and how to make them. I’ve become a MEASURABLY better artist.

So now.... really the question is, how do I get the most out of one final semester here? I absolutely cannot do another 17-unit semester like I’m doing now, because I need to spend a LOT of time OUTSIDE of school preparing to transition into The Real World (TM). In order to do that I need time that I do NOT have right now drowning in this many units. But I don’t want to take the bare minimum units and coast, either -- I KNOW I’ll regret that. It’s about finding the classes that really matter to me and being completely certain that I am getting the skills I want from my education.

(I think I’ve done a really good job of that so far. It required more or less fistfighting my advisor on certain topics, but I know myself well enough that I was able to make what - in retrospect - were definitely the correct decisions for me. There is one last thing I want to fistfight my advisor about tomorrow, and I have a backup plan for if I lose that battle, but I will not go down without a fight.)

I still feel nervous about how I’ve continued to have such a Jack Of All Trades approach - I've bounced between being obsessed with recording and being obsessed with sound design and being obsessed with scripting/implementation and being obsessed with arrangement and being obsessed with composing. Even took a stint in being obsessed with early 20th century French newspaper articles. But finally thanks to my lesson teacher (and my Unity/C# teacher) I feel like I have met a few people who see my approach to things as a strength and not a weakness, and I really hope I can find a way forward through them.

Going to be very scary facing that job market with not one but two music degrees though. Oh well yolo

#personal #by age 30 leo will have a masters degree in music composition #i definitely did not ever see myself ending up here but now that i am here it is the only place that makes sense for me #birthday present to myself will be ill have to start repaying those loans rip

[sanguinescorpios]

stream sniper

dream x f!reader

summary | dream is on an important stream and too busy to give you attention. unfortunately for him, you’re feeling needy.

warnings | smut, thigh riding, voyeurism, dom!dream x sub!reader, edging, cockwarming, orgasm denial if you squint, this is filthy

word count | 2.8k

it started out innocent. you had been missing your boyfriend; between your school work and his editing, you rarely got to spend time together despite living in the same house.

you admit, you were a needy partner. you liked to be attached to clay’s hip at any chance you got, and he just let you. during recordings, during editing, even during streams; you were always there. it didn’t matter if he couldn’t really pay attention to you or if you had to sit on the couch behind his set up, you just enjoyed being in his presence.

this one, however, was slightly different than the average stream. you could count on one hand the amount of times clay had refused to let you be present for a stream and every time he had, it was a trainwreckstv stream.

it was fine, you always said, you understood. of course he wouldn’t want you there for a stream like that. he had to focus a lot harder on how and what he said on train’s podcast because the demographic and content was so drastically different from his own, and you would only distract him. it wasn’t personal. still, you couldn’t help but feel bitter about it. you missed him; final exams week had just ended and the idea of spending worry-free quality time with him was what got you through it. so you did what your totally logical brain told you to do: walk in anyways.

the door creaked as you opened it and you cringed internally. your sock-clad feet tread lightly as you moved forward into the room, praying your boyfriend wouldn’t notice your presence.

he did.

being a faceless creator, he didn’t even own a camera to accidentally have on, so you were safe on that front. the look on his face, however, told you that you were not so safe after all.

“i thought we agreed on you not being here for this stream?” he asked after tapping the mute keybind on his keyboard. he spun around in his chair with an abrupt kick from his heel, trying and failing to veil his annoyance.

“we did...but i missed you.”

he rolled his eyes, still ticked off but not so much that he was willing to turn you away. he missed you as well, he couldn’t deny it. not having you in his arms for so many hours was excruciating, though he tried not to think so dramatically. clay waved you over to him, the corners of his lips curling up at your attire.

“is that my shirt?” he asked, and you nodded. placing his large hands firmly on your hips, clay kept you close to him while he took a closer look at the oversized red t-shirt. it hung loosely on you, two sizes too big and ending mid-way down your thighs. clay couldn’t help but notice your lack of pants, too.

swooping his head down, he pressed a kiss to your exposed thigh. you brought your hands up to your face, heating up by the second, and giggled.

“no pants, hm?”

you gave him another non-verbal response, bashfully shaking your head while looking down at him through your fingers. he tsked you before pressing another kiss against your skin, inching closer and closer to where you needed him most.

“naughty girl,” he remarked after a few more kisses.

“aren’t you on a stream right now?”

clay glanced behind himself at his monitor, watching as the grown men on the screen argued with each other over some nonsensical issue. returning his gaze to you, he shrugged.

“yeah, but it was getting pretty boring.”

without a warning, clay clumsily pulled you into his lap and spun the two of you back around in his chair. after giving you one more kiss, he placed his headphones back on his head and returned to the conversation on his computer.

“yo, dream, you’ve been pretty quiet, man,” train noted, just in time.

“yeah my cat was acting weird, so i was gone for a minute.” clay placed a hand on your thigh and squeezed, a stupid grin on his face. this was gonna be one hell of a night.

***

you hated to say it, but you regretted crashing the stream. the conversation was painfully boring and dragging on, but there was no way you could leave now with the hold clay had on you. one hand lay around your middle and the other was firmly gripping your thigh. with his calloused fingers rubbing circles into the crease between your leg and your torso and his confident voice rumbling in your ear, you weren’t sure if you’d make it to the end of the stream. maybe he was teasing you, or maybe you were just needy. either way, you were gonna need a little more attention than this.

you stretched your neck in order to meet clay’s gaze, hoping he’d see the desperation in your eyes. instead, he gave you a soft smile and a kiss on the nose before turning back to the screen. he expected you to turn back as well so when you didn’t, he took notice.

reaching to mute himself, he gave you a concerned look.

“you alright, baby?” he asked and you shook your head no, “what’s up?”

“need you,” you admitted, barely concealing the whine that threatened to escape your throat.

clay’s eyes darkened ever so slightly, making it feel like the air had just been sucked out of the room. he was thinking, debating what to do next as he bounced you on his leg. the pace was punishingly slow and you grit your teeth to hold yourself together. 

“i’m a little busy, pretty girl,” he began as you let out a whine, “you’ll have to take care of yourself for now.”

you weren’t sure what that meant until you followed his gaze down. oh. oh. he wants you to...use him. okay. you raised yourself off his lap and he gave you a confused look, but it disappeared as soon as he saw you slipping out of your panties and was replaced by a smug smile. 

climbing back onto his leg, facing him this time, you let out a puff of air. fuck, he felt good. your already dripping center pressed against clay’s jean-clad thigh, the rough fabric intensifying any amount of friction you could manage. you wanted to move so badly, but clay’s tight hold on your hips kept you stationary. you looked up at him with big eyes, silently asked for permission. finally, he nodded.

you immediately began rutting your hips against his thigh, resting your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself. fuck, you thought as you felt the sturdiness of him underneath you, his shoulders. small mewls and whimpers escaped you as you increased your pace, chasing a high that you weren’t sure you could reach on your own.

train had clay talking about his sudden success, which was a fan-favorite topic as everyone either hated or loved him for it. the only catch was that, being the nature of train’s podcast, the focus was less on the money and more on the, well, you know.

“think about it, dream. there are people out there fucking themselves to the sound-to the thought of you. isn’t that crazy?” you heard train ask, though it was muffled by clay’s headset. 

clay looked down at his lap, on which you were grinding your bare clit like a bitch in heat, and then back up to his monitor.

“not really.”

you nearly moaned at his words, but hid it by sucking a bruise into clay’s neck. clay hissed at the feeling and tried to push you off, but you were unrelenting. you swirled your tongue around the section of his skin to soothe the pain. pulling back to admire your work, you were met with a now aggravated clay.

“y-yeah i’m alright man,” he started, glaring down at you, “my cat just scratched me.”

you rolled your eyes. great excuse, asshole.

you began to lean back down towards his already bruising neck, but were instead met with a strong hand gripping your jaw, turning you to face your now dually frustrated boyfriend. something had shifted, the air felt thicker and clay felt sharper, all softness void from his demeanor. the look in his eyes was made of steel and flickering between your own gaze and your mouth, brows furrowed and tongue dipping between his lips to swipe across them. the little voice in your head was screaming “danger”, but danger didn’t look so bad in that moment. danger looked good, danger looked worth the risk. danger looked like getting the best fuck of your life. 

ignited by the heat building in your core and the near-paralyzing look clay was giving you, you continued your previous actions. rutting your hips against clay’s thigh with fervor, you smiled proudly at him. the roughness of his jeans sent shivers through your body, you had to be soaking him and you were only getting wetter by the second.

your chin raised, a smug smile plastered to your features, and that challenging glint in your eye - you were such a fucking brat and clay lived to put you in your place. his hold on your jaw tightened before sliding down to rest on your throat, squeezing until your eyelids began to flutter and your thrusts grew sloppier. the knot in his stomach twisted tighter at the sight. fuck, clay thought, you were something else. something that needed to be taught a lesson.

clay muted again, taking advantage of the ad break to pull down his sweatpants and pull out his cock. he pumped it a few times, precum leaking from the tip and sliding down his length. your stomach flipped at the sight, never not taken back by his size. clay grabbed you by your hips and spun you around so that you were facing his pc, facing everyone on the call that you had nearly forgotten he was still on. then, he began to tease his tip at your entrance. 

“this what you wanted, pretty girl? wanted me to treat you like a slut? wanted me to fuck you with everyone on the call?”

you moaned at the feeling of him circling the place you needed him most. the heat was still heavy on you from your previous actions and your body was no less frenzied than before, you wanted your release more than anything. knowing that all of those people were there didn’t help your crazed state. you felt dirty and you liked it.

“sit.”

you lifted yourself over him without a second thought, slick and sensitive from the buildup of your long-awaited orgasm. a moan slipped past your lips at the stretch, feeling every inch of him against your walls as he bottomed out. instinctively, you let your head fall against clay’s shoulder, overwhelmed by how full you felt. god, he felt so good. when you went to move, clay’s strong hands gripped your hips and held you in place.

you whimpered against his neck, trying and failing to get some sort of friction going. when that didn’t work, you opted to clench around him, but clay simply tsk-ed you.

“you’ve been naughty, baby,” he started, “now you’ll sit here like a good girl and keep me warm until the stream’s over.”

what? you thought to yourself, the panic setting in. he can’t be serious!

“no, no, no, no, i’ll be good!” you begged. you’d been practically edging yourself for what felt like hours now, you needed him to let you release.

“i know you will, baby. now sit still for daddy, okay?”

time passed immeasurably slow. your mind was racing with thoughts, trying to focus on anything but clay’s cock throbbing inside of you. you tried your hardest not to squeeze him too often, despite how much relief it brought you. clay was feeling the heat too, your warm, velvety walls gripped him impossibly tight and he was beginning to regret choosing this punishment. you needed the lesson, but god was he suffering for it.

when the stream finally came to an end, the first thing clay did was thrust up into you. you yelped, gripping his arm in surprise at the sudden movement. he started up a steady pace, pounding up into you and rubbing harshly at your clit. the feeling was intense, especially after how long you’d been teased and forced to wait, and you found yourself moaning wildly because of it, unable to control your noises as he spun you around in his lap once again.

“had to-make me-punish you-during a stream, huh?” he taunted between harsh thrusts, grabbing you by your hair and forcing you to look at him. “had to choose today to be a little slut?”

you let out a near-pornographic noise, your eyes rolling back into your head as he hit your most sensitive spot.

“i asked you a question.”

“i’m sorry, daddy. i - ah! - i won’t do it again!” you wailed, head falling back as you felt your release fastly approaching.

clay grunted and forced you to look at him again, pushing his thumb into your mouth and letting you drool around it.

“look at me when you fucking speak,” he ordered.

he picked up the pace in frustration, wanting you to apologize appropriately. you distracted him, you should know how much he hates that. you should also know how much he demands your eye contact, getting fucked or not.

you coerce your eyes open and look at him, not concerned about how absolutely wrecked you must look right now. mascara running down your cheeks with tears from over and under stimulation, eyeliner smudged around your blown out eyes, lips red and sore from kissing on his neck, you were a mess. a hot one, if you asked clay.

“i’m sorry, daddy. i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry!” you continued to babble around his finger as his thrusts somehow grew harder and harder, the pace excruciatingly pleasurable. you were going to cum, you knew that much, but you needed permission.

“gonna cum, daddy!” you warned, feeling the burning knot in the pit of your stomach begging to unravel.

“cum for me, baby. make daddy proud.”

and make daddy proud you did, cumming hard around clay’s cock and feeling yourself spray his stomach with your juices. did you just? oh my god, you did. the embarrassment only made you feel hotter as clay continued to fuck your hole past your orgasm. you whined from the overstimulation, but he couldn’t have cared less.

clay’s moans went from low grunts to higher, breathy gasps, the closer he got the lighter his noises became. his brows were furrowed tightly and his eyes were blown out, the darkest shade of green you think you’d ever seen. the muscles in his arm pulsed as he gripped your waist tighter, completely using you as his own personal fuck toy. he was almost there, you could feel it in the way he gave his all but couldn’t keep up the organized pace he had before. you needed him to cum, not just because you were close to being worked up all over again from the stimulation, but because you wanted to make him feel good. in that moment, making him cum felt like your life purpose, your only purpose. you didn’t just want him to cum, you needed it.

“please give me your cum daddy, wanna feel it inside me,” you begged, taking matters into your own hands, “need you to make me yours.”

at that, clay groaned out a loud string of profanities and came inside of you. he painted your insides, you could feel him everywhere. you sighed at the feeling, warm and full and satisfied. clay let his head fall into the crook of your neck as he breathed through his cool down, pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder and mumbling praises and ‘i love you’s’. it took a moment for either of you to actually speak, just relishing in the moment and enjoying each others company.

“you gonna move anytime soon, bud?” you finally asked with a giggle. clay simply shook his head and buried it farther into your neck, humming out a ‘no’.

“wanna make sure it stays in for a while.”

you giggled again at his confession, pressing a kiss to the side of his head and ruffling his hair.

“okay baby,” you paused and pouted, “i’m sorry for interrupting your stream.”

clay sat back and gave you a soft smile, pressing his finger to your lips and turning your frown upside down, literally. he shook his head and gave you a sweet kiss, pressing his own lips tenderly to yours.

“don’t apologize, it was worth it.” a cheeky smile spread across his face and you rolled your eyes, the endearing air around you severed by your boyfriend’s childishness. you loved it, though you’d never tell him.

“you think anyone was suspicious of us?” you inquired, hoping to god no one had picked up on your quiet moans while the stream was still going.

“nah,’ clay lied.

#dreamwastaken x you #dream x you #dream x reader #mcyt x reader #dreamwastaken smut #dream smut #dreamwastaken x reader #dream #dreamwastaken #mcyt

[noteguk]

bro bad influence! jk and reader are 100% the type of couple to argue mid-sex i love this culture

They are!!!!

Taglist: @ft-multi @cryinginmypromdress @kooafraid @kissestothesky @dianaaviny @ggukkieland

[ ! ] this drabble is for “bad influence” — it can, however, be read as a standalone. 

— words; 1.8k

— contents and warnings; hmmm smut, semi-public sex, oral (m rec and mention of f rec), unprotected sex, dirty talk, mention of cum play, playfully “arguing” mid-sex, the endless adventures of bad boy!jk x good girl! reader

~

“I can’t believe you, Jungkook,” your voice came out as an irritated murmur against the warm skin of his neck, barely interrupted by a soft whimper. “We’re gonna be late for class.”

His hand grew tighter around your thigh, pushing your leg higher up. Jungkook was buried deep between your folds, filling you up in every way that you loved, and yet you were a bit too paranoid to fully dive into those sensations. “Hmmm don’t care,” he groaned, the slaps of his skin against yours filling that small cabinet in a rhythmic symphony. Twice already, a broom had fallen on top of you, knocking you right on the forehead, and so you refused to let it go. That entire scene was ridiculous. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he moaned. 

You rolled your eyes, amazed at how he managed to ignore everything else but the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The fact that you two were having a quickie in the janitor’s closet, exactly fifteen minutes before your most important class, was bad enough as it was. Your escapade was far from heavenly, with the stiff air impregnated by the nauseating aroma of a hundred different chemical products, the annoyingly flickering lightbulb over you, and, as stated, the paraphernalia that was knocked over every time Jungkook’s thrusts got a little too rough. 

“God, why are you like this?” you complained. 

He hummed, his fingers digging into your flesh. You could tell that Jungkook was starting to lose himself in you, for the roll of his hips started to get slower, less coordinated, as they always did when he was trying to prolong his pleasure. “Like what?” He breathed out.

You leaned your head back against the wall, looking at those devilish eyes of his. Jungkook’s hair was a mess, exploding around his head like a failed scientific experiment, and you knew that one look was all it took to know that it was sex hair. “Why do you always have to pick the worst time to do this stuff?” you clarified. 

He scoffed. “Excuse me, princess, I think it was you who locked us in here,” he said. He wasn’t wrong, but, to be fair, you weren’t expecting that your make-out session would escalate to that. Then again, you were often naive when it came to his antics. “Now stay quiet or people are going to hear you.”

“Fuck off,” you whispered — whispered, because he was right. You had been controlling your moans and whimpers fairly well, but your normal speaking voice wasn’t a good idea either. There was no way to lock the room from the inside, and anyone could open that door at any given second. 

Jungkook smirked like he knew what you were thinking about — that fucked-out, greek god smirk that had your knees weak for a second. His face was bathed by the golden light from the bulb, dripping in shadows and lustful gazes. “Wrong answer,” he teased. “You were supposed to say ‘Oh, Jungkook, I can’t keep quiet when you’re fucking me so well’.”

As if to prove his claim, Jungkook placed his face on the crook of your neck and pressed himself even deeper inside you. The feeling of his cock stretching you open was intoxicating, and the timid moan you let out was enough to make him throb inside you, gasping against the sweet scent of your hair. 

Still, you wouldn’t bulge. “Gooood, shut up, please,” you whined, interlacing your fingers in his hair. There was a thin layer of sweat on his nape, the expected result from fucking in a hot, closed-off enviroment. “Are you close?”

“Yeah, almost there,” he moaned, picking his pace back up. You had to bite your lip to suppress a particularly loud moan after one of his hands slithered up your abdomen and grabbed your clothed breast, playing with it as he continued to seek his own high. His other hand still had its iron grip on your thigh, keeping your leg up as he continued to pound himself in and out of your wet heat. “Fuck, I love these skirts you wear. Easy access.” 

“You’re such a caveman,” you said. Jungkook was breathing heavy against your ear, fighting for air as he mumbled sweet nothings just for you. You were almost overtaken by him — the pounding of his cock inside your pussy, his delicious moans and curses, the praises that he threw your way for being so good for him. Almost. “Don’t cum inside.”

Jungkook visibly tensed up at your request. You could tell that some part of his primitive brain was thinking of repeating one of his past endeavours — one that he came inside you, and made you walk around campus with his cum in you for the rest of the day. It was really hard to keep an upper hand when Jungkook was always knowingly smirking at you from across the room, loving the way that only the two of you knew of that little nasty secret. 

(Miraculously, it was one of the few times that he didn’t feel slightly jealous when he saw you talking to other guys, but you didn’t have to know that). 

Still, you weren't wearing pants that day, so the whole ordeal wouldn’t be so easy to hide. 

A small whimper left his throat as he leaned forward, placing a wet kiss against your lips. You were looking at him with those big, doll-like eyes of yours, and he couldn’t refuse your request even if he wanted to fill you up so bad. “Awn, you’re so mean,” he whined, forehead touching yours. Every shove of his cock inside you had you bouncing up and down against the wall, that stupid broom threatening to tilt once again. “Can I cum in your mouth, baby?”

You hummed, trying to torture him with a fake thinking session. “Don’t know…” You hesitated. Jungkook cursed against your shoulder, his cock throbbing inside you once again. “Do you have gum?”

“Jesus, woman,” he complained, almost choking on his own pleasure. “Yeah, I have gum. Can I do it?”

You smiled. “Suit yourself.” You had to use all the force inside you to place your hands on his shoulders and push him away. Jungkook almost sobbed when he pulled himself out of your heat, his cock glistening with your wetness, swollen and reddened. “And cum quickly or I’ll kill you.” 

You got to your knees before Jungkook had the chance to respond, your hand wrapping around his base and pumping him tentatively. He bucked his hips towards you, hissing at the sensitivity. “Listen, I’m really fucking close,” he told you, “and I don’t think you’d fancy a facial right now, so stop with that teasing.” 

You chuckled at his comment, fumbling closer to him. “You know me too well.” 

With that, you wrapped your lips around his tip, sinking his member inside your mouth until it almost reached your throat. Jungkook cried out in delight, louder than he had the entire time, and you were sure any passing strangers had heard him. 

Yet your paranoia was forgotten when he started talking. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, placing his hand on the back of your head and tugging at your hair. Jungkook guided your movements with little force, watching as you had your fun around his cock — sucking and slurping him like it was the best thing in the world, the tears that accumulated at the corners of your eyes looking like a divine gift to him. “God, I love when you suck my cock, fuck—“ 

You moaned around him, the vibrations feeling like heaven to the boy. With a few more pumps of your mouth around him, Jungkook was coming undone with a loud hiss and a desperate buckle of his hips, calling out your name as he released his cum inside you. “Swallow everything,” his voice was hoarse as he told you that, meeting your watery eyes as you fought to drink every drop of his cum that you could. Jungkook smirked at your efforts, fingers caressing your scalp as you finished cleaning him up. “Good girl.” 

You sighed happily at his praise, taking his hand as he helped you back on your feet. You could only hope that your knees wouldn’t be red by the time that you arrived at your classroom.

“Love watching you with my cock in your mouth, baby.” Jungkook leaned closer to you, wrapping his arms on your lower back. He gifted you with a quick peck on the lips, still breathing hard against your mouth. “I hate that you don’t let me snap a picture.” 

You laughed at that, running one hand through his messy hair in an attempt to save it a bit. In the end, you decided it would be better if he just pushed it back. “I’m not an idiot, believe it or not.” You smiled. “Gum?”

Jungkook nodded and reached for his jacket’s pocket. “Here you go.” He handed you the small colorful wrapping. You promptly threw a piece in your mouth, humming at the sweet taste. He pouted. “You’re going to class like this? You didn’t cum, baby.” 

“I’m aware,” you told him, fixing your panties and skirt. Jungkook didn’t seem to worry about the state of his pants, though, because he didn’t follow your movements. “But I’m not gonna be late to this class, today’s topic is half of what’s gonna be on the test. Pick me up after the lesson and maybe you can deal with my delayed orgasm situation. If I’m feeling nice.” 

Jungkook smirked, pulling your body closer to his. “Hmmm, love when you boss me around.”

He kissed you again and, when the kiss started to get a bit too long for your liking, you pushed him away. “Jungkook, listen, I have two fucking minutes—“ 

“Okay, okay, go.” He rolled his eyes, noticing that his attempts at prolonging your little escapade wouldn’t be fruitful. Jungkook stepped back so he could tug himself back inside his underwear, and you turned around to open the door. As your fingers were curling around the handle, he made sure to add, “Don’t exhaust your wrist with all those notes, princess, you’re gonna need it later.” 

And of course he smacked your ass when you walked out. 

~

Thirty minutes after your class was over, Jungkook was happy to have his face buried between your thighs, eating you out on the backseat of his car. Suddenly, it seemed as if you weren’t so worried about being caught, because he never heard you moan so loud. 

He made a mental note to do that more often.

~

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

#smut #smut drabble #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #bts smut #bts fic #drabble #pwp #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bad boy jk #good girl reader #bad influence drabbles #bad boy jungkook #bts x you #bts x reader #jungkook smut #reader insert #jungkook pwp #drabble series

[harryskalechips]

you want to give it a go?

A/N Omg hi guys I’m back with a little update. I’m so sorry I haven’t been writing much. I’ve been super busy with school but I wanted to say thank you to everyone who still supports me on this platform and appreciates my work. I love you guys so much. The friends I made on here are absolutely incredible. You can always reach out to me despite me not posting hahah. Anyway here it is! Hopefully I’ll be back with something new in some time. 

Y/N and Harry are just friends but when they get themselves mixed in a threesome, things change. 

Word count: 3.7k / Masterlist

Harry and Y/N are just friends. They met back a year ago through Nick at his birthday party and ever since that they clicked. 

He enjoys the time he spends with her after all, everything felt normal. There was never a discussion about his fame or her anxiety about who will see them together. Instead, their friendship was always just about them and that was all. 

Harry may have been seeing someone and although he never thought it was serious, Nadia was coming over during the nights where Y/N was supposed to be hanging out with him. It was fine and dandy since they decided to hang out together as Nadia knew her “boyfriend”’s best friend wasn’t much of a threat. This continued for months until one night, Y/N brought some wine to celebrate her big promotion earlier from the day.

 The three were having a great conversation on the floor as they smoked some weed and had some messy Chinese takeout on Harry’s living room floor. It was just about 9 PM when Nadia sparked up a new question in their group. A rather dirty one perhaps. 

“Have you guys ever been in a threesome before?” She smiles as she stares innocently at the man in between her and the other girl. Harry sips his wine as his eyes widened a bit. He waits for Y/N to answer first but she doesn’t reply. Instead, her cheeks turn red as a tomato. “Be honest! I’ll say it first. I’ve never been but I’ve always wanted to try it.”

“I may have?” Harry mumbles as he rubs his bottom lip.

“What type of answer is that?” Nadia laughs as she puts her joint in an ashtray on top of the coffee table. “I won’t get mad.” She shakes her head.

“I remember doing stuff with other girls and guys but I don’t remember clearly.” He answers truthfully and looks at his best friend. “What about you, Y/N?” He didn’t know what to expect. Would he feel a bit angry or protective?

“Why are you guys asking this?” She tries to change the topic and laughs. “Who wants some more wine?” Nadia leans over Harry’s legs to grab the glass out of Y/N’s hand.

“Answer the question.” She laughs at her as she rubs her boyfriend’s thigh. Harry coughs again and tries to drink some more wine. Luckily, he still had some left.

“No. I haven’t been.”

“Would you want to try it?” Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t Nadia who asked but instead, Harry.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Y/N tries to brush it off. “Maybe, one day.”

“Here, I’ll let you think about it.” Nadia giggles. “I can make out with Harry and if you feel like joining you can.” Not a surprising act from Nadia to be honest. She was always the type of girl to try anything.

“Na-” Harry tries to stop her. He didn’t want to pressure Y/N into having a threesome. He especially didn’t want it to be awkward for their friendship. Isn’t rule #1 of threesomes is that the third person is someone you don’t know?

“Harry, it’s fine. The most she’ll feel is uncomfortable but I mean, she’s seen us kiss before.” Nadia straddles him as she wraps her arms around his neck. She begins to softly kiss his jaw as she moves her soft pink lips to meet his. Her hips softly rock into his, that as his eyes watch Y/N -he held Nadia by her waist. 

A soft moan comes out of his mouth which makes Nadia pull away. She takes her shirt off and tosses it at the girl watching them. Harry looks at her with his pouty lips. Y/N looks at him too as she tries to read his mind. Does he want me to join in? Would this get weird? Do I want to actually do this?

“It’s a one-time thing. We don’t have to talk about it ever again.” Nadia smiles as she unbuttons Harry’s shirt. Harry’s thumb slides down her bottom lip as he looks at Y/N again.

“What do you think H?” Y/N could feel her heart beat fast as she watched him. She knew she didn’t like him romantically so she was not concerned about catching feelings. She was scared of how her performance would be. Maybe, they would judge her?

“Come on.” Harry whispers reassuringly as he takes his hand out for her to reach. Nadia immediately gets off him as she runs to his room, taking her clothes off in the process. Although Harry leads Y/N  to the room hand in hand, he was nervous as fuck yet he couldn't deny his excitement. 

Nadia lays down in the middle of the king bed as she watches her boyfriend take Y/N’s clothes off. Maybe, since she was new to all of this he wanted her to feel special? No biggie. She thought. 

She watches Harry lean in to kiss Y/N which the girl reciprocates without any complaint. Of course, she was a bit hesitant but she couldn’t ignore the fact how she could hear his heartbeat so fast as if it was in sync with hers. His hands slid from her waist to the bottom of her shirt as he carefully helped her take it off. “You’re doing so well, baby.” He kisses her a bit more deeply as he unbuttons her pants. He drops to his knees and kisses her tummy as he takes her underwear and her jeans off together. 

“I’m getting a bit lonely here.” Nadia quietly complains. She sits up immediately and approaches Y/N from behind to take her bra off. She kisses her neck as she gropes her chest. “How are you feeling?” She asks sweetly as they both watch Harry take his clothes off.

“Really nervous.”

“You want to do this, for real?” Harry asks. He knows it’s a bit too late but he needed to hear it from her just to be sure. Because as much as he wants to have this night for themselves, there’s a tiny part of him that wished it was just him and … No, she’s your friend and you have Nadia. 

“Yeah.” She purses her lips as she eyes his chest. God, she’s checking him out right now and for the first time, he’s actually aware.

 “Alright. Nadia, go to the bed,” Harry instructs her as he bites his lip. He sits on the edge of the mattress as he fists himself slowly. “Come here and suck it.” His voice deepens. Nadia smirks as she kneels on the floor. Her hands replace his as she confidently spits on him to jerk him off. Y/N stands in the corner of the room watching the couple. She definitely felt like she was intruding. “Come here.” Harry’s voice softens. His hands intertwined in Nadia’s blonde hair softened as he watched his friend walk behind her to sit beside him.

 “Should I do something?” Y/N asks as she covers her chest. Harry laughs as he removes her arms. 

“Baby, why are you covering up?” This nickname seems to be a popular word tonight. It made Nadia’s focus from their pleasure to just observing them. “Why won’t you come a bit closer,” Harry suggests. His hand takes her face as he kisses her. Nadia goes faster trying to deep throat him so she can try and get his attention back on her but all he does is ignore her as his hands play with Y/N’s chest. Groping and sucking and overall, just loving.

 “Fuck.” Y/N mumbles out loud as she watches Nadia suck her best friend’s dick. 

“You want to give it a go?” Harry takes himself out of Nadia’s mouth. He slaps her cheek and moves himself to the bed. “Y/N, come here.” She obeys. He gestures her down as he grips himself in front of her. He helps guide it into her mouth as he cups one of his balls. The pure image of her laying down on his bed sucking his dick made him already want to burst. “Fuck, baby you’re such an angel aren’t you?” 

Nadia helps herself onto the bed and without a word, she sits on Harry’s face so she doesn’t have to hear him talk. She didn’t even face Y/N because she realized this was a big mistake. Her fault for drinking too much wine. 

Harry’s hands held onto Nadia’s thighs as he ate her out but once he felt Y/N gagging, they immediately went to her instead. His big hands removing her hair from her face as he slowly forced her head down. Her eyes rolled back a bit as he thrusts himself involuntarily into her mouth.

 Nadia pulls his hair and puts more pressure onto his face so he can direct his attention back to her. He gropes her boobs as well but that didn’t stop him from thinking of the dirtiness Y/N was doing. He instantly tapped Nadia off him as he pushed himself up. He made Y/N sit up so he can push her onto the bed where the pillows were. He held her arms above her head as he sucked on her nipples. His tongue bouncing in and out of his mouth as he left soft licks down her torso until he reached her wet centre. His fingers going into Nadia’s mouth before rightfully so inserting them into Y/N’s core. Soon after he fingers her at a quick pace. He ignores the fact Nadia sat on the bed, just looking at them speechless. 

“Fuck, I know you’re fucking beautiful but the way you look right now is driving me absolutely mad,” Harry mumbles as his hands tightened on Y/N’s neck. As she reaches her first orgasm, Harry reaches over her to put on a condom. After permission. He rocks himself forward, putting one of her legs on his shoulder. Nadia hovers over Y/N’s chest to kiss Harry but she slowly pushes his chest to make him stop focusing on Y/N. Harry for once got her message. He takes his condom off and tosses it onto the table. He puts a new one on and forces Nadia on all fours. He fucks her behind as he pulls on Y/N’s hair. His eyes watching her chest and her centre as she laid down beside Nadia touching herself. Nadia leans over to make out with her but all Harry wanted to do was fuck Y/N all over again. 

Not after long, Harry pulls out of Nadia without another word. He takes his condom off and stands from the bed and pulls Y/N from her legs. He flips her around and bends her over the mattress. He slaps her ass and holds her arms down as he fucks her hard. His hand eventually tugging on her hair as he let out grunts. Naida watches her boyfriend fuck his best friend bare as she hears him mumble, “Best fuck ever”

~

The following day, Harry leaves Y/N in his bed as he goes to the kitchen looking for Nadia. He was wondering where she was. Yet there she sat in his shirt, crying at the counter. 

“Are you okay?”

“You’re really asking me that?” She wipes away a tear as she sarcastically laughs. 

“Why?”

“I know you like her.” She closes her eyes. “You told me there was nothing to worry about but the way you treated her last night… it’s a whole new story.”

“Nadia, we had a lot to drink I’m sorry if I made you feel like that.” Harry tries to reason with her. There is no way he likes Y/N. she’s normal and he’s famous. She wouldn’t want to be part of his mess. She’s basically out of his league anyway. 

“Harry! You legit fucked me for 3 minutes while making you and her cum five times.” Harry covers his face with his hands. 

“You suggested it, didn’t you?” He retaliates. “I don’t know what happened last night. You should’ve said something. It was her first time.”

“I think you’re forgetting it’s my first time too.” Nadia mumbles. Harry immediately shuts up as he feels the guilt in his chest. Nadia puts her coffee mug in the sink before going up to him. “Be honest. Do you like her? Was last night really the best fuck you ever had.”

“I don’t fucking like her Nad!” Harry groans. “She’s my best friend and I did that because I didn’t want to make her feel left out. I’m sorry.”

“I d-”

“I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Harry steps forward to put his hands on her shoulders. He didn’t like Y/N. They were just friends. Nadia is who he is seeing. “She wasn’t even that good. I was just showing her the ropes. Every time she made me cum I was thinking of you.” Nadia laughs but Harry gulps as he knows that was for sure a lie. Y/N was a living wet dream last night. He was pretty much still thinking of her when he woke up today with her laying down on his chest.

 “Glad to know.” A voice speaks up. Y/N was dressed in a spare shirt she had in the house as she stood by the archway. She was nervous to see them in the kitchen but she had hope that everyone would forget about last night “Thanks for teaching me.” She sarcastically replies. She leaves the house without another word. 

Harry. Harry, her best friend who basically said yes to her last night was now shoving her dignity up her ass. She could even feel a tear fall down her face after what she heard from him. She knew she was new to it all but to be judged at a time you were the most vulnerable is fucked up. She expected more from them. From his especially, since last night he couldn’t shut up about her. 

“Y/N, don’t go,” Harry yells out as he stood at his door watching her go to her car. “I- That’s not what I meant.”

“Fuck you!” She coldly replies as she opens her door. She tosses her purse and last night’s clothes in the passenger seat before closing the car door for herself.

“Y/N. Baby, don’t go. Nadia was jealous about last night.” Harry pleads as he taps her window. She opens it slowly and sighs.

 “Was she not the one who initiated it?” She snaps as she puts her sunglasses on. “I knew last night was a mistake.”

“Y/N. It wasn’t -hey, get out of the car. Can we talk?”

“I don’t feel like talking. That’s the problem.” She rubs her cheek in frustration. “It’s not your fault okay? I just need time.”

“Time for what?”“

Time to understand that things are different for us now.”

“No, it’s not. You’re my best friend. Y/N come-”

“Harry, I’ll reach out just give me some time.” She repeats to him.

~

It’s been a week since Y/N ghosted Harry. A week absolutely too long, in his opinion. Their routine used to be solid. They would facetime, visit each other, and honestly just talk. Some nights they watched movies, some nights they made dinner but at least they were together. As much as Nadia was mad about that night, she forgave Harry because he’s right. She initiated it so the most she can do is let go of her anger. But maybe it wasn’t just Harry lying to himself.

 “You okay?” Mitch asks him as they sat in his home studio trying to make a new song.

 “Y/N is mad at me.” He lets go of the guitar on his lap to scratch his nose. “She asked for some space but I don’t know for how long.”

“You miss her.”

“No.” Harry lies because missing her was already another tunnel into a statement he denied. He is not romantically interested in her. “I wish she came back that’s all. She’s stressing me out.”

“You miss her because you realized she wasn’t the problem.” Mitch pushes further. He smirks a bit as he watches Harry become speechless. “I don’t know what happened to you guys but don’t let her out of your sight. You might not realize she’s gone.”

And as Harry pretended to sit there like he didn’t care, a strong feeling in his chest arose. Something that’s been buried deep for way too long.

 ~

2 months later.

“Happy birthday Sarah!” Y/N greets her as she walks into her home. It was Sarah’s birthday and Mitch decided to throw her a surprise party. 

“Thank you so much.” She smiles as she hugs her. “I haven’t seen you in so long, where have you been?

”“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.” Y/N answers truthfully. She puts Sarah’s gift on the table beside them as the birthday girl takes her hand to lead her into the living room.

“Guess who’s here!” Sarah yells out to her friends. Nadia sitting on Harry’s lap was the first one to notice Y/N and soon after the man underneath noticed too. 

“Hi, guys!” Y/N smiles as she tries to ignore the couple on the couch. Harry was about to greet her when a man walked up behind Y/N.

“Babe, here’s your charger.” The guy hands it to her as he puts his arm behind her lower back. 

“Thanks.” She smiles sweetly as she holds his hand instead. “This is Brendan. We’ve been dating for a while.” She proudly introduces him to everyone.

“You finally got a boyfriend?” Mitch teases as he drinks his beer beside Harry. “Nice to meet you.” Brendan nods as he greets him back. Overall, Y/N was happy, he came with her because the way Harry was looking at her made her not feel so good.

As the party continued, Y/N’s boyfriend stuck to her like a lost little boy. At least that’s what Harry thought. After Nadia went swimming in the backyard with some other girls, he sat with Mitch secretly observing Y/N. She looked happy and overall, just pretty... really pretty. 

As other guests walked around the house socializing, Sarah and Mitch sat with Harry at the couches while Y/N and Brendan made their way over towards them. “Glad to see you again.” Harry greets Y/N nonchalantly as he raises his beer to them. His eyes were focused on the TV that was playing some movie. 

 “You too. It’s nice to see you and Nadia still together.”

“Yeah.” He replies and after some silence, he realized he needed to get out of here. “I’m going to the kitchen.” He sighs as he rubs his thighs. Y/N wanted to follow him. She knew it was going to be awkward seeing him again but she didn’t expect him to be this mad. Does he even have the right to be?

“Brendan, I’m going to get a snack actually. Why won’t you ask Mitch about how his job works since you were wondering?”

“Oh yeah, sure.” Brendan looks confused as she steps away from the conversation. Y/N walks to the kitchen and sees Harry biting his cheek as he munched on some chips from the bowls laid out. 

“I know you were mad about me wanting some space but I don’t know why you’re still mad about it.” Harry laughs sarcastically as he watches her. 

“It’s been 2 months and you’re asking me why I’m mad?”

“Well, yeah. I thought you’d be happy to see me again.”

“No, Y/N. I would be happy if you got out of your fucking car that day to talk to me. I would be happy if you just told me why you needed space.

”“You’re telling me it’s not clear to you?” She crosses her arms against her chest.

“I expected you to come back!” He looks around the kitchen and lowers his voice. “It’s a bit hard to see someone everyday then suddenly they disappear.” He scoffs. “You wouldn’t answer my texts or my calls.”

“We shouldn’t have done what we did that night.” She mumbles. “It was the alcohol and the temptation that influenced us and at the end, it’s what destroyed us.”

“Do you regret it?” He closes his eyes, praying she didn’t. Because maybe just maybe, that night meant a lot to her the same way it did to him. Does he love her? Yes, but romantically? He has no fucking idea. He just misses her.

 “I don’t know.” Not the answer he wanted. “Look it’s not your fault nor was it Nadia’s but I think our choice made me realize who I am in your life.”

“Not to be fucking clueless but what does that even mean?”

“Yes, I’m your best friend but at the end of the day, you saw me as a girl you pitied that night. A girl that meant nothing to you but just for your pleasure.” She clarifies for him.

“Y/N what? That’s not true. How-”

“I heard what you said to Nadia.” She shakes her head “I’m not stupid. I know how those work but I expected more from you. I just thought you wouldn’t see me that way. We had so many moments together that night and I finally realized how good of a man you are for me. Yet the next day, I hear you tell your girlfriend that I suck in bed and you were using me. Hurts a bit.” She sarcastically laughs. “Who am I kidding? That hurts a lot.”

“What so you love me now?” He retaliates. “Nadia was jealous. I had to tell her that. It doesn’t mean it’s true!”

“Funny thing is - I do love you, Harry. That night. it made me realize that maybe I was in love with you this whole time! You were so sweet and gentle and it made me feel good. You made me feel safe but I didn’t need you to throw my feelings back at my face!”

“In love with me?” Harry hysterically repeats after her. “You’re dating some loser named Brendan and you’re telling me you’re in love with me?”

“So you’re saying you did not feel anything that night?” She bites her cheek, trying not to cry. He stays silent, pretending to look at the chips and deciding what to eat next. “Goodbye, Harry.”

“Y/N.” He speaks up as he denies her eye contact. “I don’t like you that way. I don’t and I never will.” His last words burned in her head. As well as in her heart. God, she’s crazy. 

But maybe he’s worst.

He said that lie a million times in his head and saying that to Y/N made it feel 100% more real. He doesn’t like her because she’s normal. She’s perfect and she’s his best friend. Friends don’t call their friends baby. Friends don’t look at Y/N the way he does. That’s why he’s going to stick to this decision. If he has to lose her as a friend then fine because no way in hell would he lose her if they were together. 

Because that hurts more and Harry is tired of hurting. 

Part 2 Part 3

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #smut #harry styles blurbs #one direction #one direction smut #one direction fanfic #fineline #Smutty blurb #soft!y/n

[meetevieinthehallway]

hi! here’s a crappy old blurb that i had sitting in the drafts!

in which lovie is sick and stressed from uni at one in the morning and harry finds her hyperventilating.

harry was absolutely exhausted.

per usual— but there was a specific ache in his back today, one that had accompanied him from morning to night—he told his love they needed a new mattress, she told him he needed to stop laying twisted to her chest (he refuses to do so, pouting every time she suggests it)—and it’s pulsing at the top of his spine and making him wince in certain positions. 

his hair at this point was ultimately unruly and unkempt from the amount of times his fingers ran through, pulling and tugging in frustration, as if he could rip new ideas out of his scalp.

his hands were sore, too, from gentle plucks of the guitar he had toyed this afternoon, praying that the indents in his fingertips would bring about motivation, inspiration— god, that it would bring anything.

he’s desperate to get out of this block.

nevertheless, he cranked out two songs today, making him ultimately beaming and his throat a bit raw and tired.

he stumbled through the door with heavy feet and an unzipped coat, his nose pink from the cold circulating in the outside air. his beanie had been pulled down to the middle of his forehead from the time he walked from inside the studio to his awaiting driver, who he last-minute remembered possessed a peculiar hatred for artificial heating. so, correspondingly, harry’s body never warmed up in the fifteen minute drive, causing his toes to go numb and his teeth to chatter lightly. he would never ask him to crank the heat, because it’s bad enough he has to drive around a famous stranger all day— harry wasn’t gonna torture the guy with something he specifically despised. (no matter how fucking weird it was). 

his boots clunked as he passed through the doorway, wrinkling his nose up and closing the door behind him with his back. a wince, a sharp inhale, then a slow exhale, eyes closed. it was a solid minute before he cracked his eyes open— but he swore he could have fallen asleep standing. 

his love had reduced the lighting significantly, the lamps dimmed and several candles lit around the room. it was close to dark, matching the scene outside, and the warmth wrapped his body and nuzzled him. he smiled lazily, his hand carding up and taking the beanie off his hair, curls bouncing out as he shivered. she lit that vanilla candle he likes, and he can feel the sleepiness start to settle further into his veins.

“angel? where are ye, bub?” harry’s voice was a soft coo and his dimples appeared as he leaned his hand against the wall.

he kicked his shoes off, throwing his coat on a chair nearby as he hummed his way down the foyer. he craved for his girl like he craved the warmth to envelop him; he wanted her wrapped around and within his soul, caressing his skin until he was lulled to sleep. he couldn’t wait to bury his face in her neck and stay there for a while, his lips caressing her own and her skin for a time before he found the energy to carry her to bed. he always told her to stop waiting up for him, but she would kiss her teeth and roll her eyes and tell him shut up, and that was that. 

stubborn little thing she was— and he loved every ounce of it.

harry pondered what she could be doing on his search for her, thinking about how she may be sleeping with a book on her chest in the den or giggling at a sitcom in the living room; either way, she’d be cozy and wrapped in a blanket—maybe, hopefully, in his shirt, maybe even with no pants on and—

oh.

he was completely wrong.

he turned a corner with a half smile, hearing her laptop keys being softly pressed, but his face sank and his eyebrows furrowed quickly, his lips slowly pronouncing her name.

she was sat on the floor in a ball, papers scattered around her frame and closing in on her body, her face in her hands and a bun wrapped on the top of her head. she was sniffling softly and her breaths were deep— yet shaky. he could hear her mumbling to herself, yet not responding to her name.

“angel?”

she jumped, looking up at him and harry frowned at her red-rimmed eyes and red nose. the sweet thing looked so sad and worn, eyes wide and teary.

“what’s goin’ on, baby?” he padded towards her, her head shaking as she started to begin typing again. “hey hey—” he mumbled, starting to sink to the floor.

she’s continuing to type, not ignoring him as much as she’s so out of it he doesn’t know if she’s here, but he grabs at her hands to stop typing, pulling them towards him. she whines, shooing him away, and his concern deepens. “angel.” he murmurs, tilting his head, starting to pull her body towards him. she barely turns her face away from the screen, but his thumbs still move to pad away her fallen tears as she writhed to get out of his hold. “hey.” he said, “now wait just a mo’, bub—”

“jus’ let me finish—”

“it’s one in the morning.”

she’s typing again, hitting a few keys before he grabs at her hands, stronger, pulling them toward his chest. 

“why are you writing at this hour?”

she finally meets his eyes, and she’s snapped back to reality. and once she sees the concern swimming in his irises, it breaks her. she’s sobbing once more, harsher than how she has all night, whining and whimpering as she tried to get back to her laptop. he shakes his head, picking her up, placing her bum on his thigh and draping her legs across his own. she immediately falls into his chest, and she feels fragile. 

“stop.” he murmured, pinning her hands down with his own, right on her lap. his thumbs run over her wrists. “take a breath, baby— ’s not good for you. tell me what’s wrong.”

she whimpered then, taking her sleeves and wiping her face, sniffling and shaking, her breathing trembling. “’m so tired.” she cried, wiping her nose and keeping her palms to her eyes.

“you need sleep. why the fuck are you doing work this late, hm?” he’s petting at her hair. “you’re so overwhelmed—” he pauses, to press his lips to her forehead, but he inhales sharply when he felt the heat resonating from her skin. “oh, angel. we definitely need to get you to bed, you are burning up—”

“can’t!”

he flinched as she said it in frustration and sadness, in between a sob; she hastily, in a blur of quick movements, reaches and grabs her computer again, settling it on her thighs before furiously typing.

“stupid paper for my stupid professor on a topic i hate and he made it due at two a-and i just don’t feel well—”

her mumbling broke into cries but she kept going, and harry couldn’t understand how she was simultaneously describing her frustration while continuing sentences about god-knows-what-topic. she was frantic, tears still falling and if she didn’t slow down harry swore she was going to pass out.

“have you been writing this all day?” his hand rubbed at her back.

she sniffled, shaking her head. “been sick and gross all day and i completely forgot. ‘m so fucking stupid and now i jus’ wanna be done—” she gasped for air and broke completely, her voice choking on sobs. her trembling hands pressed to her eyes, cries escaping her lips and her head shaking. “it doesn’t even make sense. can’t focus. ’ve been throwin’ up all day and i jus’ wanna sleep, but—”

“woah, what?” he sputtered. “you didn’t think to call me?” he asked incredulously.

her head fell forward in time with her shoulders, the jumper on her body sliding off her collarbones. her head was absolutely throbbing, pulsing with need and making her dizzy. she looked up and her eyes closed tight, weeping more intensely. her sleeves came to her eyes slowly, pitifully, and harry realized that him scolding her was not what she needed right now. he grabbed her and pulled her back to his chest, her sobs increasing and her will to fight against him diminishing.

“okay, okay, okay.” harry mumbled as his hand came to the back of her head, his thumb stroking the base of her neck. she completely collapsed into his collarbones, her forehead heated and her eyes squeezed closed, a trembling jaw and sniffly nose pressed to him. she was a proper mess. “—hey hey.”

his love whined once, then sniffed, blinking her eyes open to view her fumbling fingers. she sighed, hiccuping, sitting up to look harry in the eyes. he frowned when he saw her flushed cheeks and watery lashes, his knuckles gently coming up to brush at her skin. she smiled sadly, her lips quivering.

“’m sorry i didn’t call.” she swiped at her eyelid, breath staggered. “didn’t wanna disturb you.” he gazed at her with sad eyes and frowned. “a-and... you— ….” she whimpered, shaking her head and gazing at him. “you just walked through the door ’nd you’re like— not even settled and—” her breath hitched and more tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and harry cooed. her eyebrows furrowed and her soaked sleeves came to her lips, covering them and shaking her head. “’m sorry—” she whispered.

“no no no.” he murmured, brushing her loose strands of hair away. “no apologies, love, okay?”

she sniffled, leaning forward until she was in his neck again, whimpering. harry’s face sunk, his lips kissing the top of her head as he rubbed her spine.

“i hafta finish.” she whimpered, shaking her head. harry kissed her forehead and sighed, shaking his own.

“no. we are going to email your professor and if he has a problem, he can speak to me and—”

“can’t!” she cried, “no exceptions, must be turned in on time.” her voice dropped several octaves to mock her asshole of a professor, and harry shook his head.

“don’t care.”

she hiccuped, eyes sad. “h—”

“i don’t care about his stupid rules.” he gruffed. “you’re sick as hell and your health comes before anything. understand?” his voice is deep and monotonous, frustrated, but not at her. harry wasn’t going to let this teacher make his girl feel as if she must finish a stupid paper when she’s most likely got the stomach flu.

“please, angel. let me get you settled and i will email him, kay?”

she sniffled. she stared up at him with weepy eyes and saw his desperation in his irises. her head was spinning and her throat was sore, but he gazed at her like she spun the stars into their orientations. even with teary eyes, skin irritated and red, he looked at her with such care and awe. 

she looks down momentarily and suddenly realizes how bright her laptop seemed, and how the words on her page looked garbled and wrong. even if she wanted to keep going, she doesn’t think she physically could. 

she wiped her nose, eyes fluttering around his face. she nodded slowly. “okay” she murmured, shoulders deflating a bit. 

harry smiled small and placed a wet kiss to her nose, mumbling an “atta girl”. 

she stood slowly, knees cracking as harry’s jumper fell to her the middle of her thighs, the bunched up socks coating her ankles and feet falling off. she was utterly adorable to him, even with teary eyes and a sad frown. 

“c’mere, i’ll carry you to bed, angel.”

god did she love him.

he bent slowly, and she draped her weight over his spine, lazily putting her arms around his neck. harry’s hurting back was no longer important to him, because her breath was soft and hitting the back of his neck and the top of his arm, and he swears heaven has continuously blessed him. 

“thank you, harry.” she mumbles it as she slides off his back once they are next to their bed, and he presses his lips to her forehead, then her cheeks. he lays her down, pulling the covers over her, stroking her hair back from her eyelids. she catches his hand and holds it to her cheek, her eyes looking at him.

“sleep, pretty girl. i’ll be in bed soon.” 

#harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #Harry Styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #blurb #fluff #harry #harry fluff

[cozycryptidcorner]

Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”

#exophilia #fae #fae/reader #fey #monster lovers #monster boyfriend #monster/reader

[writefightandflightclub]

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.  

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys.  You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.  

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own. 

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way. 

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.  

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.  

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked. 

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”  

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.” 

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.” 

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?” 

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.” 

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE

#Richard Alonso Muñoz #richard alonso munoz x reader #the letter room #oscar isaac #richard alonso muñoz x reader

[rreyie]

sheets

summary- you think it’s about time to explore sex in your relationship. but will levi agree?

warnings- smut, unprotected sex, oral sex, dacryphilia, a little usage of pet names at the end

a/n- this fic is just basically canon levi if he was hornier, isayama confirmed he is in fact a sub so i’m doing what i can with that information

*this work is a part of the 500 follower milestone special

bringing up this conversation wasn’t easy.

you had been dating levi for about a year now, since the rumbling had stopped. you two talked about getting married, buying a house, but somehow he had always seemed to avoid the topic of sex.

you knew he went through some stuff during his childhood which made him a little apprehensive to engaging in any physical contact. you were understanding of this and took things slow, which he seemed to appreciate. you’ve only suggested it once, but even then levi seemed oblivious to the fact that you were ready for the next step in your relationship.

you had eventually come to the conclusion that if you wanted this, you needed to be upfront with it and tell him directly what you needed.

you decided to make a move one night when you two were about to settle down for the night. levi was drinking a cup of tea while reading a rather large novel. he licked a finger and turned the page as you came walking into the bedroom.

“hey levi”, you say, climbing into bed next to him. “whatcha readin’?”

his head turned up to you, calm gaze meeting yours as he shut the book. “just something i found on the bookshelf. thought it would be interesting to read something other than documents relating to the war.”

you nodded and pulled the plush grey comforter over your body until it came up to your chest, and snuggled into levi’s body. you could feel him tense up a little bit, but then wrapped an arm around you and pulled you in closer.

gradually, you scooted your backside to the point where you were laying on his lap, head resting on his toned chest. the arm that was once wrapped around you was now resting on your head, fingers gliding though your hair. he placed a soft kiss on your head, and rubbed it.

you returned the favor, peppering small kisses along his jawline and on his cheeks. his face was rather cold, but you had gotten used to the feeling since you started to date him. you took a hand and brushed his raven hair out of the way of his forehead and kissed above his eyebrow and on his forehead. he moved his face so that his lips aligned with yours and pressed the back of your forehead so that lips would crash with his. levi had not always been a good kisser, but he learned once you told him what to do.

the kiss got deeper and deeper until you two were practically making out, something that rarely occurred between you two because he thought that making out was too sloppy for him. his tongue fought with yours, soft lips continuously bashing up against yours.

you pull away from the kiss, a look of discontent on levi’s face as he pulls you in again.

“wait, levi...” you say. “i-i wanted to try something new, only if you’re okay with it.”

his brows furrowed, and he sat himself up so that his back was against the headboard. “what?”

“well, i was thinking that we could take this a step further- only if you’re comfortable. i don’t want to make you scared or anything.” you could feel your cheeks begin to warm, but levi’s face was pale and for the most part emotionless as always.

he raised an eyebrow to this. “what exactly are you suggesting, y/n?”

you sigh, and take a deep breath. you anticipated that he wouldn’t know what you were talking about. but now that the time had finally come to be clear with your request, butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“i want to have sex.”

his silver eyes widened, and he took his hands off of you but still let you remain in the position you were in. that was an indication that he wasn’t too mad.

“well, i uh...” he stammered. “i haven’t really thought about it, actually i’ve never thought about it. it sounds gross-“

“oh okay then. i’ll go to bed then-“

“wait, no.” he interrupted. “i never said i didn’t want to. i just don’t know how...”

“that’s alright”, you say, straddling his hips. “i’ll show you what to do. just sit back and relax.”

you press a kiss to his lips once more before focusing your attention on his crotch covered by his thin pair of pajama pants. you slip a hand down into them just so your fingers grazed upon his cock.

“ah, oh god-“ levi chokes. your hand retreats.

“what’s wrong? did i hurt you..?”

“no...” he says. “i’m just- just not used to being touched like that.. please just keep going.”

you nodded and proceeded to move your curious fingers in between where his groin and boxers met, slipping your hand through his boxers where you could feel him. his cock was hot, throbbing and pulsating though his skin. you could see him wince, but that only made you go further.

you pulled his pants and boxers completely down so he was exposed. taking his length in your hand, you pump him slowly to try and get him hard. his tip began to become more prominent, the head turning a nice shade of red. a bead of white began to leak from his tip. you smeared it around, making him fist the sheets eagerly. he mumbled a few curses under his breath.

“enjoying that?” you ask in a half teasing voice. this made him flash a warning glare at you. you never knew that he would enjoy a handjob this much, being the one who was grossed out by the idea of intercourse.

he wasn’t necessarily a large guy down there, hence being malnourished as a child. but you weren’t going to judge yet, you haven’t even gotten to get him inside of you.

you figured that you had been fisting him long enough that he probably wanted something more that the hand, so you lowered your head down to his groin and put your tongue right on the tip. it was hot underneath the slippery flesh of your tongue, but that was exactly how you liked it. you gently licked him starting from the bottom of his throbbing shaft up, making a groan slip from his mouth. your head shot up instantly, smirking at the sight of levi panting even though you’ve done almost nothing.

you continue and begin to slide your mouth around his cock, and his eyes began to roll into the back of his head. it was almost funny how sensitive he was, seeing how his tongue started to hang out of his mouth as you continued to envelope him.

“f-fuck...” he whined. you chuckled, sending the vibrations through his cock and making him thrust his hips into you, tip hitting the back of your throat. you lifted your head up from him and coughed, levi pouting because you had stopped your ministrations.

“ready to actually get into it?” you ask him, beginning to unbutton your shirt. his eyes were half-lidded, likely as a result of the pleasure he was just immersed in. a little bit of drool hung out of his mouth, cheeks heated and a shade of red. he looked so pretty like this, all fucked out even though you’ve only blown him for all of five minutes.

his gaze focused on your chest as you slid out of your nightshirt. he had seen you naked plenty of times before, but it seemed to just feel different tonight. perhaps less innocent then the past few times.

“lay down for me, and just relax”, you say to him as he nods and lays himself down on the mattress of your bed. you pushed your panties to the side to reveal your mound, already somewhat wet from the past activity. levi gulped and grabbed your hips to drag them on top of his.

“if anything i do is uncomfortable, please just tell me”, you said as you began to sink down on his length. his grey eyes rolled into the back of his head, grabbing the sheets even harder than before.

“ah-oh fuck-“ he groaned. his words were strained as if someone was choking him. but your hands weren’t on his throat, they were intertwined with his to have something to hold on to. it made it seem more intimate, more close than you two have ever been.

you started to bounce yourself on his lap, feeling him slide between your walls. though he wasn’t necessarily well endowed, he still managed to fit nice and snug inside of you.

“h-how’s it feel, love?” you ask him. but he can’t speak right now, since the new sensations are taking over his body. his balls are starting to tighten, blood rushing to his dick. “i get it baby boy, you’re feeling new things.”

all of a sudden, you see a little tear drop from his left eye and run down the heated flesh of his cheek. a barely audible sob escapes his lips, jet black hair all in his face and splayed out on the pillow.

“oh... you’re crying?” you ask, a soothing tone in your voice, but you don’t stop your bouncing. “it’s alright.” you take your thumb and place it on his cheek, wiping the tear away.

“j-j-just feels... so good...” he stutters, voice cracking with each word.

“i know, i know”, you coo. “i’m taking good care of you. just try- try to relax.”

your pace quickens and his grip around your hands seems to tighten, another moan failing to stifle from his mouth. his moans were so goddamn pretty, they weren’t like most men. they were gentle and quiet, breathy and somewhat high pitched. well fuck, what else did you expect? he’s always pretty.

“think i’m- m’ gonna cum” he gasps. and to be honest, you were about to as well.

“i know baby, but can you wait a moment? just for me?” you ask. “just gotta- oh my god, right there-!” you yelp as you tilt your angle and find out exactly where levi can hit your sweet spot.

the repeated motions are enough to send you over the edge, making you twitch as levi lets out another cry and spills himself into you, not even caring to pull out. his tongue was hanging out of his mouth, a bit of drool at the tip. he was like a dog, completely at your mercy.

after you’ve come down from your high, you take a look at how levi was holding up. a sweet smile forms on your face as you notice how he is, panting with cum littering his abdomen.

laying down next to him, you brush a few strands of hair out of his pale face. his tired, hooded eyes look up to you, an amazed expression painted on his face.

“you did so well. i’m proud, levi”, you say sweetly, placing a kiss on his soft lips.

he kissed you back briefly, but the moment soon was cut short after he realized how much cum was everywhere. he shot up from his position and immediately sprung off the bed.

“levi what are you-“

“fuck, there’s cum absolutely everywhere”, he groaned. “get these sheets in the laundry while i clean up. then hop in with me, we’re gonna sleep on the couch tonight, alright?”

you giggle. though you did like levi when he was all sweet and submissive, you had to admit that you did miss his bossy side.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #aot hcs #aot headcanons #snk headcanons #aot smut #snk smut #levi hc #levi smut #levi ackerman #aot levi #levi aot #snk levi #levi snk

[syn0vial]

Hello Wise One! I was actually hoping if you can give me some solid personality pointers on Jango, rather than Boba, Fett?

sure thing! full disclosure that my knowledge of jango is not as extensive as my knowledge of boba, but i’ll do my best with what i have! here are some personality traits of jango’s i’ve observed:

paranoid/protective: this is a big one if you ask me. jango endured a life of betrayal and loss before he became a bounty hunter and it shows. besides boba, he doesn’t trust anyone fully, not even those closest to him and is always ready to cut ties at the drop of a hat—lethally, if necessary. his mistrust of the rest of the galaxy is so potent that when he takes boba on missions to populated areas, he instructs him to hide even from normal foot traffic and becomes anxious when he learns that others may have spotted him. it becomes pretty evident that part of the reason boba was so isolated growing up was that jango didn’t trust the vast majority of the galaxy enough to let them near the kid. and when other bounty hunters find out about him? ho boy. jango actually convinces them that he killed boba using a cloned child’s body, bc he’d rather be known as the worst kind of monster rather than make boba a target. there’s also the fact that, after their apartment on kamino gets found out by obi-wan, jango is packed and ready to leave in minutes. not only is he ready to bug out at the first sign of danger, but he’s well-prepared to do so at a moment’s notice.

a loving father: another big one. for those who look at a man as battle-hardened and stoic as jango fett and wonder whether boba got enough affection as a kid, worry not: in the vast majority of depictions, jango is a very loving father, especially when he’s out of the prying eyes of clients and colleagues. he hugs boba, tells him he loves him, joins him in playing with toy starfighters, and tries to make time for him as much as he can. he even does his dadly duty of going fishing with his son (though he and boba practice spearfishing rather than using a rod and tackle). there’s also a wistful little scene where, trying to help boba feel better after zam’s death, he takes him to kamino’s main spaceport and lets him infodump about all the ships he sees there :,) so overall, he has a lot of good qualities as a dad

controlling: and the other side of the coin! while jango is a genuinely loving father, he’s not at all the type to encourage his son’s independent development. self-sufficiency? sure. interests in anything other than the path jango has laid out for him? not really. he actively discourages boba from learning about “unimportant” topics from books, an apparently very broad category given it includes things such as schools, moms, and other children. he drills into boba’s head that he’s going to be a bounty hunter and that he needs to abide by a code with such healthy guidelines like, “don’t have friends or attachments” and “trust no one but use everyone.” boba, of course, goes with it bc he loves his father and wants to live up to his expectations, but he never really gets a choice in the matter. honestly, i think this side of jango is best summed up by him leaving a post-humous note for boba that says, among other things, “i am more than a parent to you.” it kind of goes along with how, after jango’s death, boba continued to think of his father not just with love and grief, but also an almost religious dread of failing his expectations. jango undoubtedly loved his son but he also seems to have defined a very narrow path for him to walk, without room for deviation.

possesses an actual charisma score: okay, now for a more fun one: jango has a charisma score and he apparently makes a habit of using it, to the point where his old friend rozatta pokes fun at him for it (he compliments her and she’s like “oh, you’re flattering me? must mean you want something!”) he also pulls the same thing on zam, calling her charming to get her to agree to help him break into a target’s stronghold. so yeah, jango fett turning up the charm to get people to help him/give him info? 100% canon, baby

very fun friendship with zam wesell: look, this isn’t a personality trait, but it’s important to me. these two are just so fucking funny together. like, on the surface, it’s just a fun dynamic of zam making flirty banter and jokes while jango pretends to be annoyed and drag her, much to her delight. but then on a professional level, you have these two ammoral assholes bouncing wildly between being one another’s Sexy Rival and being one another’s Unhinged Partner but whoops, jango went and had a kid, so now they’re Unhinged But Mostly Responsible Co-Parents. one of my favorite scenes is when, in an attempt to intimidate a prisoner into talking, zam impersonates a politician and lets jango pretend to “kill” her in front of him. for some reason, even after they’re done, jango continues to bridal carry zam’s “body” into the cockpit of slave I, at which point, she perks up, bats her eyelashes at him, and goes, “you’d never really kill me would you, jango?” jango quite honestly replies, “only if i had to.” there’s a beat and then zam’s like, “....you’re so sweet! 😘” honestly, they’re so stupid, i love them

ascetic: much like his son, jango doesn’t seem to have much interest in luxury or “the finer things.” despite having enough money to live very comfortably, his apartment on kamino is described as “spartan” in design and furnishing. this may have something to do with the first bullet point, given that a simple life is easier to pack up and take with you at a moment’s notice, but i do think there’s some amount of preference in this lifestyle, given it’s what both fetts seem most comfortable with in all circumstances.

traumatized: i mean, he’s a fett, ain’t he? particularly, just like boba after him, jango is traumatized by the loss of his family, especially his own father figure, jaster mereel. much like boba, jango seems haunted by the need to live up to jaster’s name and legacy. for background, jaster was betrayed and killed in an ambush by the leader of deathwatch, after which he passed on the title of mand’alor to jango. however, some time after this, the true mandalorians led by jango were wiped out by a combination of death watch and the jedi, with jango himself being stripped of his armor and sold as a slave. after this point, jango does not seem to see himself as worthy of jaster’s legacy and thus attempts to pass it on to his son, resulting in the high and narrow expectations he sets for boba as mentioned in bullet point #3. boba himself concludes as much as an adult. on top of the trauma of losing his family, jango also seems to have been traumatized by his time as a slave. most notably, when he’s being tortured after being captured by target komari vosa, he at first remains fairly stoic, even as she starts to mutilate his face. it isn’t until she mentions enslaving him that he seems to panic, struggling desperately to get away. vosa even laughs and says that she must have touched a nerve with her comment. basically: fetts be traumatized :(

soft spot for (some) kids: another thing that’s interesting about jango is that he... usually attempts to do right when kids are involved. i say “usually” bc fat lot of good it did all the cloned children he had a hand in creating >:( but, for example, after killing a runaway clonetrooper as part of a bounty, he finds out that the clone had a son. unwilling to let the child live in poverty due to his own actions, he has regular payments sent to the boy’s mother to help support him. in another instance, jango and zam help deliver an artifact to a client who intends to use it to carry out a terrorist attack on coruscant against millions of civilians. when zam finds out about the client’s intentions, she’s horrified and goes to jango demanding they steal the artifact back. jango completely brushes her off at first, telling her it’s not his problem and that he needs to spend more time with his son. zam coldly asks him how many “sons” he thinks live on coruscant. needless to say, her argument convinces him to join her in stopping the terrorist plot :,)

aaand that’s all i got at the moment! i hope it helps to characterize jango a little bit more!

#crcgeneralwandsmith #jango fett #boba fett #zam wesell #fetts pass on trauma like a family heirloom :`) #like ''got this from grandpa jaster so don't lose it now''

[pure-kirarin]

Slow & Steady [P6] [Sabo x f!reader] (+18)

A/N : Hello ! I wanted to start by thanking you guys for the AMAZING responses on chapter 5. This makes me want to continue investing in this story !! I read all of your messages and I cherish them, they make me want to continue. I'd also like to thank my beta reader for her hard work. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter as much as the others.

Please always tell me your opinion as it’s my kryptonite ! Also feel free to ask to get tagged.

Synopsis : Isn’t love a matter of timing after all ?  That’s what Sabo has always thought. It was about finding the right tempo, making the right moves and hitting the right spot. Patience is a virtue after all, and he had a lot of it. It all started when your ex cheated on you. You were heartbroken, you needed someone and he was there. Was he always that hot ? You didn’t know. But after that night you have never seen him in the same way. Chapter Warning : Smoking (cigarettes) - mention of ex relationships AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/31877203/chapters/81748033

P I - P2 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6

I made a playlist for this chapter but I suggest you listen to it after ! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3posJHlUg1XFJzQbPkjF0J

------

The crimson-haired man ceased to look at you, as if it hurt to do so. Your lack of response discouraged him. How could it be otherwise? You had created a narrative where he was a cheater, believed in it, ended the relationship - all of this without him knowing; without him even doubting it. It was ironic enough that he who saw so clearly in the future, he who knew how to read people’s moves so easily was totally blind when it came to love. Or maybe had he tried to blind himself? To overlook the fact that you weren’t answering your phone anymore? To find excuses upon excuses for you? He had always been that type of person after all. As a big brother, as a “responsible” person, it was second nature to him to bottle up his feelings and to never lose composure. And even in this moment, he couldn’t tell you how much your actions hurt him.

But for once, he accepted the fact that he saw a future that you weren’t a part of. Deep down, he knew that by overlooking the signs and hints, he has also played a role in the downfall of your relationship.

He saw it too clearly: you weren’t his anymore. Just like when you excluded him from the decision making, choosing to put an end to your relationship on your own - you didn’t even have the courage to tell him that yourself. He had to do the same: fill in the gaps and read between the lines. He remained silent for a moment. He got up from his seat when he gave up on you saying anything.

He moved towards the door, ready to leave all your shared memories behind his back.

People don’t always get the closure they need in order to move on, he knew that too well.

“Katakuri,” you called for his name weakly. He didn’t know if it was his imagination or if you had really pronounced his name. He turned his head towards you, unimpressed.

Your heart was pounding hard in your chest. You knew that if you let him go now you would regret it forever. You knew that you had to tell him about everything. He deserved it, after all. It was hard to be the bad guy of the story. But you had been a bitch and you had to face the consequences of your behavior. Wasn’t that what being an adult meant?

“There is something else that I think you need to know,” He seemed interested now. He was listening to you without turning your way.

“I apologize for everything that I have done and I know that you will probably not forgive me and honestly, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't either.” You took a deep breath before going on. “What I am going to say might be hard to hear, but I feel like you need to know it.”

You don’t know exactly how the rest followed, nor how you found the courage to tell him about everything. You didn’t get to any details, it would have been too cruel, but you told him what he needed to know.

“I am really sorry, but I think that it’s best for us to split up. My feelings have changed, I have caused enough damage as it is. I think that it’s better for both of us. I am really sorry I hurt you.”

You looked down and from this angle you couldn’t see his smile. It was bitter, the smile of someone that had seen all of this coming. And yet, he was relieved that you confided in him. It was the closure he needed after all. At least now, he could move on.

* * *

The cigarette trembled between your index and middle finger. Your head was clouded. It took too much effort to try and empty your head, to try not to think of what was going to happen. You had lost so much already and what you were going to lose was beyond repair. With every breath you took, you felt your stomach contract and your legs get weaker. It was one of those days when you wished you hadn't woken up. Despite all of this, a feeling of peace submerged you. Peace? Maybe because you had been honest to your ex, maybe because you were trying to be honest to yourself. What got you into this situation was your indecision after all. You didn’t want to hide anymore.

If you can’t see it, then it doesn’t exist. This mentality of yours had to change and you were going to change it tonight. It was the best opportunity, it had to happen, you had to grow. Maybe to some extent, your “romantic” failures weren’t all to blame on others, maybe you also played a role, maybe you weren’t ready yet. Didn’t Sabo say the same thing?

“I thought that you stopped a long time ago.”

A firm voice broke your trance. His hand snitched the cigarette from your lips before putting it out with the sole of his shoe.

“Hey!” You whined in protest, features softening when you were met with his dark eyes.

“I did quit. But I was stressed,” you tried to justify yourself. “I needed it.” You mumbled.

“Bullshit. You always have the choice.” He shrugged and took place next to you on the sidewalk.

Choices, decisions, you were already done with all of this. An awkward silence swallowed the atmosphere, but it seemed as if it was only awkward for you.

Now that you had nothing to do with your fingers and mouth, you started scratching at your wrist slightly - a nervous tic.

The ambience of the park offered you, however, a feeling of safety. The darkness hid your embarrassment. He was now sitting next to you and it was as if words deserted your mind. He didn’t want to pressure you, he didn’t say anything. Under the moonlight, his blond hair took on a silvery shade. He kept looking in front of him, hands in his pockets. Silence didn’t bother him, he knew that something was wrong, otherwise you wouldn’t have texted him to come to the park at around midnight.

Truth is, you couldn’t calm down, you felt like you had to come clear about this whole situation, you felt like you had to make a decision. You felt that if you let today pass, then you would find one hundred excuses and hide again.

It was now or never.

“Sabo,” you started.

“Y/N,” he mirrored your answer.

“I’m going to tell you something... But please don’t judge me, alright?”

“Have I ever judged you?” He arched an eyebrow, his eyes meeting yours, making you switch your gaze almost instantly.

“Well... You have... Like that time I used the microwave at your place…”

“Y/N, you microwaved a fork…” You fake pouted as you playfully punched his arm.

“Well, the fork was in the bowl and Ace was there and he didn’t say anything! Not my fault.”

“And you trusted Ace?” he smiled and held your wrist to stop you. “He’s a living disaster. You guys can’t do anything without me, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. What would I do without my Mr. know-it-all of a best friend?” you laughed it off.

Best friend. That word reminded you of the reason why you contacted him so late. You coughed two times, trying to switch his attention to you. Laughing things off helped ease the atmosphere. You twirled a hair strand around your finger then started as if you were going to give a speech.

“Hey, I’m gonna try to... be decisive…”

“That’s some character development.”

“Sabo!”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he said with a sweet smile. You sighed and started bouncing your leg nervously.

“So If I called you tonight it’s not to have the pleasure of your company… and it’s not to rip you off your precious hours of sleep... It’s also not to... ”

Noticing that you were starting to diverge from the topic, he held your hand in his softly and gave you an encouraging look. Honestly speaking, he didn’t have much patience around others but he had loads of it with you.

“I called you for something else. And don’t you dare hang up on me next time! I want to have a serious conversation about…everything, about us, and most importantly about…” you sighed before continuing “About my ex situation.”

He took his hand off yours now that you seemed calmer. He was surprised by your willingness to talk about such matters. It was a pleasant surprise to him, it meant that you wanted to take things in hand, that you were growing.

“I’m listening to you.”

“I thought that it was only fair for you to know as well... that I fucked up pretty badly. I assumed that my ex cheated on me and as it turns out, he didn’t. I just learned it this evening so I feel very confused and bad. It’s a long story. It was just me, assuming things because I was scared and because I feared confrontation. Then everything happened so fast between you and me... I shouldn’t have... I feel very ashamed. For him, for you, for acting so immature.”

Your voice cracked and you couldn’t hold your tears any more. You looked down and started wiping your tears with both hands on your face. You didn’t want to cry in front of him because you had caused him pain as well. Sometimes not taking action is also an action and it has consequences.

You didn’t dare look at him, did he look disappointed? Did he stop loving you? After all, you didn’t even know the reason behind his love. Maybe he was “playing games” too as that anon suggested on Reddit. No, you couldn’t afford to assume things again now. You had to be honest, raw, vulnerable. You couldn’t see his reaction through your tears, but you felt his hand on the top of your head, gently bringing you towards him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Wow, this really sucks.” You were surprised by his reaction, but the fact that it wasn’t one of disappointment as well as his easy-going demeanour released your stress. You started sobbing, shoulders shaking. He didn’t know how to react at first, but one thing he knew for sure: you came first, and he hated to see you cry.

“Shh... Here, here... It’s okay to cry... Let it all out...” He then continued “It’s going to turn out just fine. You can count on me, okay?”

“I was a really bad person. I should’ve acted differently. I should’ve at least told you... or Nami or someone... but I just... assumed things... I was so scared that you’d stop... that you’d stop being my... friend... And stop loving me…”

His grip tightened around your shoulder as he pressed you a bit closer to him. He offered you a warm smile as he spoke in the same light note.

“Well, whatever happened, happened. I don’t think that you are a bad person. You’re human and you made a mistake that you’re now aware of. I know that you had no ill intentions. At least you learned something, hm? And about me... Aren’t you underestimating me a bit?” He smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Did you forget that I’m Luffy and Ace’s brother? I’m tough, you know.”

You were overwhelmed by his kindness, and this just made you realize that it wasn’t only about your feelings, you couldn’t count on everyone else to put up with you and clear up your mess.

“Sabo, you’re so kind.” Despite your mascara running under your eyes and you looking like a total mess, he found you incredibly beautiful. He felt proud, he knew how hard it was for you to go through all of this. He felt like it was worth it that he had loved you for this long, you were honest and strong, even if you weren’t aware of that strength, you had proven it in this moment.

“I’m not being kind.” He meant it; after all, his intentions weren’t all that innocent towards you, he had wanted you from the start. “I’m just being truthful, as your best friend.”

Maybe he wanted more, but he was content being your friend as well. Since for him everything needed time, he had no right to rush you.

Love is a matter of timing after all. Too fast and all of his subtle efforts would go to waste.

“About that... I mean... The “best friends” part...” He could easily see your chest heaving with your breath. Your heartbeat raising little by little until it was unbearable, your lower lip slightly trembling as you dreaded the weight of the words you were going to pronounce. He looked at you with genuine interest and curiosity; he laid off a bit, turning your way.

“I don’t think that we could act this way anymore...” You dug your nails into the palm of your hand nervously.

“I... told Katakuri about everything. I told him that I couldn’t be with him anymore because of how things have changed. I can’t be here and pretend that nothing happened when so much did…”

“Nothing has changed for me.” He said in a stable voice, trying to anticipate your reaction. Despite being sure of himself, of every step he had taken till now, he felt a hint of uncertainty, for this was a variable that he hadn’t taken into consideration.

“But everything changed for me, and I can’t ignore it. I can’t continue to play pretend... Of course it was convenient for me... And I didn’t wanna lose... Whatever it is that we have. But I didn’t realize that it had already changed. I can’t be your friend anymore, Sabo. Not like this. Not with these thoughts in mind. Not after…” Y our eyes flicked from his lips to his eyes and back. “After... everything we did.”

You didn’t give more reasons, but your eyes gave one hundred more.

We can’t be friends because I touched myself to the thought of you. Because I can’t help but think about being with you. Because I don’t stand the thought of you being with someone else. Because I love the way your arms fit around me. Because I love everything about you, from the way you say my name to these stupid blond eyelashes that reflect the light everytime you blink. And most importantly... because I love your way of loving me unconditionally.

As much as I want you...

As much as you want me back...

I can’t be with you, not now, because it would hurt me and hurt you even more, because I have to make a decision, because I can’t draw the line between love and lust and because I am afraid to wrong you in the way I was wronged.

But just for a moment, just for this time, you wanted to kiss him just one last time. You wanted to get intoxicated by that mint smell that you have grown addicted to. He looked at you as he drank your words, eyes reflecting the darkness of the sky. His piercing gaze seemed to understand your dilemma. Suddenly, the emptiness of the park felt too weighty and the air too heavy.

“Say something,” you pleaded, almost begging him to break the silence.

To words, he preferred actions. Before you even realized, he captured your lips into the kiss you were longing for. His hand was fast to encircle your back, pressing your upper body against his. Your fingers instinctively reached for the fabric of his shirt, tugging on it as to pull him closer. For him to kiss you so passionately, it only made you realize his burning desire for you. The more you kissed in an attempt to ease your craving, the hungrier you got for his lips, for his stupid minty taste. But it wasn’t nearly enough for you, the growing warmth and tingles created a desire that you were unable to appease yet. You pressed your legs together when his free hand gently rubbed your thigh. He kissed you deeply, almost willing you into giving up on your decision to give in to his embrace. He was indeed that good of a kisser, making you want to shift into his lap and have him inside of you. You whined at this thought growing more eager, tongue chasing his, teeth nibbling on his lips. But you eventually had to break the kiss, even when you prayed for the seconds to last for hours, it was bound to end. You took a moment to collect your breath again. His eyes were demanding, pupils dilated and greedy, yours were more modest, shifty.

“Looked like you were dying for it.”

He broke the silence, finger tracing your neck before lifting up your chin, making you lose composure as you looked into his deep gaze. It was too late to deny it, you were indeed dying for it. But instead of satiating you, that kiss felt like the promise of something forbidden. You only groaned meekly as an answer, feeling too weak to actively protest. You indulged in his embrace, resting your head in the crease of his neck. You breathed in his scent, even his hair smelled fresh like mint. As you took in a bigger gulp of air, you could inhale the subtleties of a thyme or violet underlying smell. What shampoo did he use? Another diverging thought that you discarded.

You closed your eyes. “Can we stay like this for a little longer?” you asked, and who was he to deny you so little? He revelled in your desperate need for his touch. He felt needed, wanted, but he knew that he shouldn’t get carried away, he knew that it wasn’t the right timing yet. So he just let you sink into his warmth. For now.

You peeled yourself off of him reluctantly. Your eyes avoided his. Nice progress ,he thought, but there was still need for improvement.

“I can’t be selfish, not anymore. I have to make a decision. I am sorry I can’t make up my mind yet.” Your voice cut through the silence, firm, yet not devoid of sensitivity.

You needed time, it was clear, but he was nothing if not patient with you. He was ready to settle for your friendship for now while he worked for your love, but he liked your idea more. He wasn’t one to push his emotions onto you, he was there to lead the dance, to toss a bottle into the sea. If good news came then good for him, if nothing came out then he had gambled and lost. But he wasn’t as detached and passive as things might have seemed, as he took multiple variables into consideration to place his best bet.

“Take all the time you need.” Not an ounce of annoyance was to be detected in his voice. It was steady, a rock that couldn’t be moved. He had what it took, he knew what he wanted and he was ready to wait for it because he had the deep belief that you were worth the wait.

“Why are you so patient? Don’t you think you’re too confident? Aren’t you scared? ” It was genuine curiosity, but you bit your tongue realizing that your words might’ve seemed cocky or doubting. His lips stretched into a roguish smile, making him devastatingly handsome. And here he was, a Sabo that you had encountered a few times between two eyelash beats. It was so destabilizing, the way he morphed into a totally different person from one second to another, giving you a strange feeling. It was something that you couldn’t fully place yet. He kept escaping from your grip while being totally still. He was like sand between your fingers and you were fascinated by the prospect of catching him.

“I thought that it was obvious, doll.” Here he goes again, calling you sweet names and raising the rhythm of your heartbeats. How did he make everything sound good? You would’ve scoffed at anyone else calling you ‘doll’, but that voice of his made it sound oh so appealing. Or maybe it was the seed of desire that he had planted in your core, that was now growing and blossoming, vines intertwining with your lungs.

He got closer again, black eyes scrutinizing yours.

“You can have all the time you need. What I want is simple, non-negotiable, immutable.”

At first he was startled; your ex appearing out of nowhere seemed like an inconvenience, but after giving it some thought, he realized that he was in luck. He didn’t have to make you choose, the choice was there for you to make.

“And what is it that you want?”

“You. But all of you.” He looked you up and down as he said this then got up. He wasn’t the type to settle for less. He wanted no compromises, no half-open doors, no half assed answers. If he wanted something then it was all of it, out of respect for you and for himself. Another reason was probably that he knew: the longer the chase, the bigger the prize.

He got up since he considered that the conversation was over now and it was also getting late. You looked at him, eyes wide open, cheeks aflame. His voice trailed off, cutting through the silence.

“No rush, I think that it’s better for you to focus on your exams for now. Will you manage without my help?” Another charming smile, shifting back to that playful Sabo you have always known. The mood felt less serious now.

“I think I’ll do just fine this time…” you smiled gently, following his lead.

“Good, then. Good night.” He put his hand on your head, softly ruffling your hair before turning back. He seemed a bit more distant now, like he was plunged into some deep reverie. You instinctively got up, looking intensely at his back slowly fading into the darkness. Before his silhouette got completely enveloped, you shouted.

“Sabo!”

He turned back instantly and you threw something in the air towards him. He was quick to catch it.

“I don’t think I need these anymore. Take them!”

He opened his hands, looking at the packet of menthol cigarettes and a blue lighter. He put it into his back pocket prior to giving you a proud smile. He then continued his way back home, leaving you behind. You felt both relieved because things had gotten a bit clearer, yet apprehensive since your feelings were still very much unclear. But maybe what you felt above all was exhaustion. You looked for a moment at your empty hands. Did you make the right choice? Whether it was good or bad, you couldn’t care less. At least you had acted true to yourself.

tag list : @chloenanami @mwls-garden @soanywaysistartedsimping @portgaslari @lofi-coffee @donvampiro @fishandfuck @vemuabhi @gabrielasalazar18 @kiriechanx

#slow and steady #sabo x reader #sabo the revolutionary #one piece x reader #one piece sabo #sabo #one piece imagines #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction #sabo x you #sabo imagines #revolutionary sabo #charlotte katakuri #katakuri x reader

[peggyrose19]

What Happens in Vegas Doesn’t Always Stay There

i was gonna do homework but i got inspired and wrote this instead. i also took a 90 minute nap at 6pm so now i’m bouncing off the walls and can’t actually make myself focus for longer than 30 seconds.....what was i saying? anyways this really got away from me wow. i have no regrets.

characters by @lumosinlove​

@im-oknutzy-trash, @wonder-womans-ex

cw: mentions of characters being drunk, swearing, idiot gays

Alex wasn’t sure how on earth they’d gotten on the topic of marriage. But conversations were always chaotic between the three of them so really he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Besides, if he was being honest with himself, he’d been thinking about it far more than he cared to admit.

He enjoyed the idea, the three of them being married. Making the commitment to each other. It wasn’t legal, but that didn’t matter. They could still be married in spirit. Maybe one day it would even happen.

“Y’know, Alex and I are married,” Kasey said casually, raising the bottle to his lips. Natalie gaped at him.

“You what?”

Alex laughed. “I forgot about that.”

Natalie glanced between the two of them quickly. “Please explain.”

With a laugh, Alex just shook his head. “We were playing Vegas in 2015, right after they legalized gay marriage, right? Both of us got shit-faced drunk and, in our drunken state, decided that getting married was an obviously very sound plan.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, after we had sobered up, we had kind of....forgotten it happened.”

“Then a few days later I was going through some pictures on my phone for whatever reason, and found one from that night, of the two of us holding a marriage certificate. Alex found it in his suitcase when we got home.”

Alex and Kasey both watched Natalie expectantly. For a long moment, she just stared at them in disbelief, mouth open almost comically wide. Then she burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” she cackled. “I cannot believe you two.”

Kasey shrugged. “We never got around to getting it annulled. I suppose neither of us particularly wanted to. We could now, I guess. If you wanted us to.”

Nat’s laughter faded. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well what about you?” Alex asked before Kasey could, as synced with him as he always had been.

“What about me? I don’t need a piece of paper to say I’m in love with you two, not to mention it’s impossible anyways. One day we can have a ceremony with our family and friends and it’ll be dramatic and over-the-top, but for right now? I don’t need anything else.”

Alex very nearly melted at that. He glanced over at Kasey, unreadable to most everyone else, who was smiling that half smile Alex loved so much.

“You wanna get married someday?” he asked quietly.

“Hell yeah, I do.”

~

Alex had never spent a whole lot of time with Sirius Black. He was a bit of an enigma to him, someone so well-known in the media but so secretive in real life. These days, everyone knew Sirius as the first gay NHL player, and the first player to be married to his own teammate. Alex had gotten to know him as Kasey’s teammate, as a good player and captain. So when he found himself beside Sirius and Remus in a crowded bar, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say to the two of them. He could have gone and joined Kasey and Natalie, somewhere on the dance floor together, but he had never been one for public dancing.

“So. How does it feel to be married?” he asked the pair, who immediately glanced at each other and grinned sappily.

“Really good, man,” Sirius replied, not-so-subtly grabbing Remus’ hand. Alex smiled at the gesture. “And being on the same team is great, I mean we get to see each other so much more now.”

“Yeah, it’s cool,” Alex replied unthinkingly, remembering playing with Kasey even before they were together and relishing in the closeness it brought, the long hours they spent together both on and off the ice. He’d missed having that recently.

“What?”

Alex burst out laughing before he could stop himself, receiving a confused look from Remus and a glare from Sirius.

“You good?” Remus asked warily.

“Fine, fine.”

“What d’you mean ‘it’s cool’?” Sirius asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Ah jeez.” Alex shook his head at himself. “Well, might as well get this over with.”

“Get what over with? Alex what the hell are you talking about?” Sirius looked bewildered, watching him with equal parts suspicion and confusion. Remus too was frowning, but there was a knowing look in his eye, as if he was starting to catch on.

He sighed heavily. “It’s possible Kasey and I got married like, six years ago.”

“What.”

“Yeah. Back when we were on the Rangers together, we were playing Vegas when gay marriage was legalized. And the two of us got shit-faced drunk and decided getting married was a good idea. Then we promptly forgot about it in the morning and once we finally remembered, never actually bothered to annul it. So. We’re still married. Technically. According to the state of Nevada.”

Sirius and Remus both stared at him, expressions strikingly similar to Natalie’s. Alex eyed them warily, unsure what was going to happen now.

“You mean we’re not the first NHL players to marry each other?” Sirius asked, and he seemed so genuinely disappointed Alex had to fight back a laugh.

“Uh, I guess not?”

“Merde,” Sirius swore. Remus just looked at him.

“Does that really matter?” he asked amusedly.

“Of course it matters! We’re the first, Remus! This is a very important development.”

“Okay,” Remus laughed, nodding along. “Whatever you say.”

Sirius just grumbled under his breath.

~

“Hey Harz, how attached are you to your brother exactly?” Sirius asked at practice the next day, and Kasey glanced over at him. Alex had filled him and Natalie on their conversation the night before, and Sirius’ newfound knowledge was not likely to lead to anything good.

Finn frowned. “He’s alright. Why, what’d he do?“

“Got married, the little fucker.”

Finn dropped the jersey he’d been holding. “What, he’s married? Since when?!”

“Did Nat finally propose?” James piped up.

“He’s not married to Nat,” Sirius said.

If possible, Finn looked even more confused. “He’s not married to Nat?”

“No he’s fucking married to Winters.”

Finn just gaped at Sirius. James looked positively delighted. “What- our Winter?” he asked. “Like, Kasey Winters... the Lions goalie?”

“Standing right here,” Kasey added. He fought a smile.

Finn glared at him. “Explain yourself right now.”

Kasey squirmed a little under the sudden attention, but he couldn’t fight a laugh. Of course this was how they were all going to find out.

He sighed. “Long story short, Alex and I got ridiculously drunk one night in Vegas and decided to get married for shits and giggles, and then we never did anything about it.”

“What the fuck.” Finn was the first to break the silence. “What the fuck what the fuck.” He grabbed his phone from his stall and opened it, aggressively tapping at the screen. “Alex!” he very nearly shouted into his phone. Kasey could hear his bright laughter through the phone. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t bug him, Finn,” Kasey tried, but the red-head would hear nothing of it.

“Alex O’Hara, you get your ass down here now,” Finn demanded into the phone, and then promptly hung up. Kasey just shook his head and went back to getting dressed. A few moments later, the locker room door squeaked open and Alex stood before the team, wearing his Winters jersey and fighting a smirk.

“Something wrong Finn?” he asked with feigned innocence.

“Yes, you little shit. Sirius said you’re married? To Kasey?”

Alex’s eyes danced. “It’s possible.”

Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”

“Finn how the fuck do you propose I do that?”

He jerked his head towards Kasey. “Kiss him.”

Alex frowned. “Dude, we’re literally together, you know this.”

But Finn’s jaw was set stubbornly, and Kasey knew that look never meant anything good. So Alex sighed good-naturedly and crossed the room to Kasey, stopping in front of him.

“Okay?” he asked quietly, meant only for Kasey’s ears. He nodded minutely.

Alex smiled softly, then leaned forward and captured his lips in a gentle kiss, one hand coming to rest on the small of Kasey’s back, the other cupping his cheek. After a moment he pulled away and looked expectantly back at Finn, staring at the two of them with a mixture of shock and approval.

“Satisfied?” Alex asked smugly, staying tucked against Kasey’s side. Kasey would never admit it, and certainly not in front of the team, but he rather enjoyed having Alex here, feeling his warmth even through the pads, knowing he’d later be watching the game and cheering him on.

“Fine,” Finn grumbled. “But I still can’t believe you kept that a secret.”

Conflicting emotions crossed Alex’s face, there and then gone, invisible unless one knew to look. Kasey knew the unintentional pain Finn’s words had on his brother, and knew Alex was far too polite to get into it with Finn right then.

“Talk to him later, baby,” Kasey whispered to Alex, hiding it by pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It’ll be okay.”

Alex nodded, hiding the pain with a good-natured smile. But he stayed pressed against Kasey, and that told him all he needed to know.

~

“Hey Finn!” Alex called out, jogging down the hallway to catch his brother, leaving with Leo and Logan.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked distractedly, still glancing down at his phone.

“I need to borrow you for a moment.” Finn looked up at him, eyes narrowing, before murmuring something to his boys. They both nodded and kissed him before continuing on towards the exit.

“What’s up?” Finn asked, clicking his phone off and sliding it into his pocket.

“I um...” Alex trailed off, finding himself suddenly without words, despite thinking over what he wanted to say earlier. “Just wanted to talk.”

“If this is about before, you don’t have to worry about it,” Finn interrupted gently before Alex could continue. “It’s okay. I get why you kept it a secret.”

Alex released a breath and stared at his little brother. He felt like he was just now seeing him for the first time, and seeing the man he had become in the past few years. He’d never noticed before, the understanding and kindness behind Finn’s lighthearted gaze.

“How did you know?”

Finn shrugged. “You’re easy to read.”

~

When Alex got home, he found Natalie watching television on the couch, Kasey seemingly asleep on her lap. She smiled when he appeared in the doorway, beckoning him over silently.

“You talk to Finn?” she asked silently as he slid in on her other side. She let him lean into her, tossing the blanket over him as well.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Alex shrugged. “He was... surprisingly understanding about the whole thing. I didn’t even have to say anything. He just seemed to know.”

“Yeah, he’s like that sometimes,” Kasey mumbled, and Alex jumped a little.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Kasey didn’t bother sitting up, but he opened his eyes and looked blearily up at the two of them.

“Yeah. Was just resting.”

The three of them fell silent then, letting the comfortable silence settle over them.

“Hey Nat?” Alex broke the silence after a while.

“What’s up?”

“Were you serious about the whole marriage thing? Do you really want to get married at some point? Like, not married married. But, you know.”

“Yeah, I do,” she replied sincerely. “Maybe not yet. I don’t think we’re ready for that yet. But at some point.”

“I’d really like that,” Kasey said quietly.

“Me too.”

She smiled. “We should go to Vegas. Bring the whole thing full circle, y’know?”

Kasey huffed a laugh, “Whatever you want.”

#o'darwin #alex o'hara #finn o'hara #alex and finn being brothers #idiots in love #natalie being the amazing being she is #sirius being dramatic #marriage talk #kasey and alex being drunk fools #sweater weather #coast to coast #lumosinlove

[kireijae]

i.o.u- l.dh

summary: a late night adventure with Haechan, your older brother’s best friend, leads you to confront your feelings for him.

genre: non idol au, fluff, tiny bit of angst if you squint, technically a college au as well, also kind of comedy but i’m not very funny

word count: 4,029

warnings: swearing and there’s a slightly steamy makeout scene, also like the implied use of weed but it’s a v small one i promise.

a/n: eee my first hyuckie imagine! i worked really hard on this so i hope you all like iittt! please leave feedback if you can! also this was edited at 10:55pm and i’m exhausted so there are probably mistakes-

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Your eyes scanned the street from your place on the sidewalk. The streets glistened under the streetlights with the rainwater that had fallen earlier. The cool breeze was refreshing against your skin, unlike the musty air you’d been swamped with in the party upstairs. The smoke and the presence of so many strangers had nearly left you gasping for air.

You checked your phone for any messages from your brother, eager to get as far away from the party as possible, but as soon as your phone unlocked you heard a honk from the street, which pulled your head up.

There was a black car pulled up right ahead, your heart picked up its pace when the tinted window sunk down low enough to reveal Haechan. His hair was a light brown, somehow still shiny even though you’d seen him with at least three different hair colours in the past two months. His skin was glowing too- even under the subpar car light.

“Y/n!” he had to yell to be heard over the scraping sound of the cars, “Taeil sent me to pick you up!”

You dropped your shoulders from their tensed position, pushing down your feelings and stepping forward to open the car door and get inside. The car smelled like Haechan: men’s shower gel and a faint woodsy scent.

“Where’s my brother?” you turned to him, genuine confusion curved into your brows.

“What? Am I not good enough?” Haechan asked, placing a hand on his chest and feigning offence.

You shook your head at him, used to his antics by now. He’d been best friends with your brother since preschool, always there at family gatherings and lazing around your house on most weekends.

“Well, when I asked my brother to come pick me up I sort of expected him to pick me up,” you said it slowly, matching his teasing with your own. Things with him always fell into a rhythm like this, after the initial anxiety of being around someone you had feelings for left, snarky comments bounced back and forth like a ping pong ball between the two of you. 

“Okay, fair point,” he said, starting the car, “He’s still busy with that essay. Apparently it’s due in like twenty minutes or something. So, since I’m such a good friend I offered to pick you up.”

“Haechan, before I left you were the reason he wasn’t doing any work,” you scoffed, refusing to let his ego inflate- even for a minute.

“That’s not true! He was on a break!” he whined, eyes wide at the accusation but his gaze still directed towards the road.

“For three hours?”

“Yes,” he said, matter of factly with a nod of his head, “Rest is important.”

“Whatever,” you said, “Just take me home.” 

“I actually have to do something else for Taeil, too,” he didn’t take his eyes off the road, they were glinting from the neon signs that lined the buildings on the street outside. The streetlights made the skin of his hands glow in passing, creating a hypnotic rhythm of light and dark over his skin.

“Can you not drop me off first?” you knew the answer even before you asked- he was going to make you go with him. And you were going to give in.

“Please?!” he whined again, plush bottom lip drooping in a pout, “It’s pretty far and I hate being alone!”

Sighing, you asked, “Where is it?”

“Johnny’s house…” He trailed off, expecting an outburst to come from you at the distance you’d have to drive.

You couldn’t believe you were considering this. Johnny’s house was on the other side of the city and you were already tired out from the party you’d spent only half an hour at. But, something in you wanted to stay. The thought of spending some time with someone outside your friend group seemed refreshing and the fact that it was Haechan was even more enticing.

You turned your head to look out the tinted window at the buildings passing by you in a blur, “Fine,” you sighed, “but you owe me.”

He grinned, his full cheeks jutting out further, and made a sharp turn in the opposite direction of your apartment. Your body swayed at the sudden change in direction and you held onto the side of the seat instinctually. Haechan was a good driver- but a slightly wreckless one at that.

After a few moments he turned on the radio, tossing you his phone, “Put some music on.”

Looking through his phone, you weren’t surprised at the extensive collection of music he had on his Spotify- most of the songs were new ones you hadn’t heard of before. Others were old throwback songs from the 2000’s and your mouth turned up into a smile at the sight of Shinee’s ‘Replay.’

You pressed play and leaned back in your seat, grin even bigger now. You waited for his reaction, which came in the form of a wave of laughter. 

“Oh, fuck,” he said, barely able to speak from laughter, “Remember when Lucas danced to this at your sleepover party?”

“Of course I remember that, he ruined the song for me forever,” you laughed along with him.

Your smile turned into a grimace at his next question though, “What ever happened to Lucas- actually to that whole group of friends? I never see them anymore.”

“Drifted apart,” you mumbled. You truly wished there was more to say than that. You wished you could say you tried to stay in touch when you went to university but couldn’t; or that something huge had happened that couldn’t be fixed. That wasn’t the truth, though. You hadn’t done anything- nothing that made them leave and nothing that made them stay.

Haechan sensed the tension around the topic and let the conversation fade, hoping the sense of unease would dissipate with it.

When the next song was over, Haechan came to a stop at a gas station, “Want anything?” he asked, pulling up the handbrake and taking the keys out of the ignition. The car practically fell down to the road beneath it as the power was turned off.

“I don’t have any money on me,” you raised your empty hands.

“So you don’t want any of those gross gummy bears you like? Or a soda?” he raised his perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, “I’ll buy them for you.”

“I’ll take the gummy bears if they have any,” you said gratefully, and he got out of the car and went into the shop.

You thought about your earlier conversation with Haechan- about how much you missed your friends. The way they’d joke around with you and tease you lightheartedly about anything and everything. A year ago you would have nearly exploded at the idea of being alone with Haechan at all- let alone for this long- and they would have teased you about it for weeks. Somehow though, those friendships faded. You went to a different university to them, you paid attention to your studies and spent more time at home than you ever had. The only contact you had with other people being with fellow students between lectures and at home with your brother and his friends.

“I got you the biggest packet they had,” came Haechan’s voice through the open window, “and the peach soda you like.”

You smiled at him, thankful that he’d brought you out of your thoughts and thankful for the snacks, “I could kiss you.” 

“Mm? Then by all means please do,” his signature shit eating grin was plastered on his face. 

Your cheeks heated up visibly at that, though you hoped the poor lighting in the car hid the fact. You hit him in the chest with the back of your hand and he doubled over in fake agony, the canned coffee he bought falling to the ground.

“Awh,” he groaned, continuing his act. 

“Oh please,” you said, rolling your eyes, “Just start the car, Hyuck.” 

“I can’t. My pride- it’s bruised,” he held onto his stomach and shook his head, eyes screwed shut.

Before you could stop yourself you leaned over and pressed your lips to his cold cheek in a hasty kiss.

“There,” you tried your hardest not to show your surprise at your own actions, “Better?”

He perked up, back pin straight, eyes wide and a huge smile on his face, “Very much so, yes.”

Before you could do anything, he started the car. A smirk struggled its way onto his face despite his efforts to stop it and his cheeks became a beautiful pink colour. His sudden shyness made yours deflate slightly and you felt your heart and cheeks warm at the thought of your effect on him.

“Hey,” he said suddenly after a few moments, “Hand me one of those gummies.”

He held out his hand, the skin pulled tightly over his slender, outstretched fingers. When you didn’t make a move to place one of the sweets in his hand, he made a grabbing motion with his fingers. That brought you out of your weird staring stupor and prompted you to grab a few gummy bears from the packet to place in his hand, hoping he hadn’t noticed your weird hand staring moment.

He shoved all six of the sweets into his mouth at once, face scrunching up in disgust, “These really are terrible,” his words distorted by the gummies in his mouth.

“Then why’d you ask for them?” you looked over to him, your mouth pulled into a smile and your brows furrowed at his actions. Your cheeks were starting to hurt- they always did after spending so much time with him.

“I forgot they were that bad,” when he came to a stop at a red light he shook his body as if it would rid his mouth of the flavour. 

The rest of the drive to Johnny’s house was filled with more laughter and sneaky comments thrown back and forth. There were fewer cars on the road the longer you drove and the movement of the car seemed to calm you.

In the driveway of Johnny’s parents’ house, Haechan turned to you once again, “Are you gonna come in?” 

You nodded and got out with him, you’d never actually been in Johnny’s house- since most of them still lived with their parents, Taeil’s friends usually came over to your shared apartment.

Johnny opened the door even before you got to it and ushered both of you inside, you assumed Haechan and texted him when you stopped.

“You guys have to be quiet,” he said, without even a ‘hello’, “My mom and dad are sleeping and they were in a shitty mood earlier.”

“Hey,” you asked quietly, grabbing Johnny’s attention, “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Right through that door,” he pointed behind you and you went in.

You went to the sink to wash your hands, they were sticky from the sweets you’d had in the car. Along with the sound of the water spilling into the sink, you heard Johnny and Haechan’s voices through the thin walls- so much for being quiet.

“You two finally together or something?” 

“Huh? No. Listen-”

“Dude, you’ve had a crush on them since forever, how have neither of you said anything?”

Your eyes widened at those words and you felt the blood in your face sink down to your heart. You turned off the tap and put your cold hands on your neck, before wiping them on a towel.

“Listen,” his voice was as stern as it could be, though it broke a bit at the end of the word, “Did you find Taeil’s textbook: yes or no?”

You heard a chuckle that had to be Johnny’s, “Alright I’ll go get it- by the way-”

His sentence was interrupted by you coming out of the bathroom.

“Did I interrupt something?” you asked in a tone that you hoped came off as joking. 

“I need a favour,” Johnny said, ignoring your words and leaving the room for a few seconds to find the textbook Haechan had been so adamant about getting. He came back, textbook in one hand along and a dark piece of material in the other, “Jaehyun left his hoodie here, can you get it to him, please?”

You yawned, taking the textbook when he handed it to you, “Why can’t you do it?”

“My parents won’t let me use the car after I locked the keys inside it last week,” he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment as he said it, words falling pathetically to the carpeted floor.

“And why can’t Jaehyun come get his own damn-” you were cut off by Haechan.

“Okay we’ll do it, but-” he took the black hoodie from Johnny, who was looking up at Haechan with his head still bowed. He pointed a finger at him, “-you owe me,” then pointed the same finger at you, “And I owe you.”

“Twice!” you said as he pulled you by the hand towards the front door. You both said your goodbyes to a smiling Johnny and got back in Hyuck’s car. Little raindrops had appeared on the windscreen since you’d gone inside.

“I swear after this I’ll take you home,” you smiled at him at that, letting him know it didn’t bother you. 

The car began moving again, 90’s RnB playing softly in the background and soon the rain got heavier, bulbous drops hitting the car. Jaehyun’s apartment was only a few minutes away from Johnny’s, in a highrise building lined with silver, glittering windows. 

“His parents are loaded,” said Haechan when he noticed your eyes trying to see the top of the building through the rain clouds above.

“Please tell me he’s not on the top floor,” you whined as Haechan parked the car.

He got out before you and you heard a satisfied sigh echo through the undercover parking.

“I���m so fucking good at this,” he said, hands on his hips, standing behind the car. 

You got out and shut the door, walking over skeptically to see what he was talking about. 

“Perfect,” he said, gesturing to his car in the parking space.

He was right- the car was perfectly in the centre of the two white lines. You huffed out a laugh at him and his ego, handing him the hoodie he’d apparently forgotten about, “Alright, I get it , you can park a car. Can we go inside now?”

“Hey, you’re lucky you get to witness a master operating that vehicle! Maybe observing me will help you actually pass next time,” he leaned his head over to you while he was walking, his tone was cocky and he had a sly smile on his face.

You flicked him on the forehead between the fluffy strands of hair that lay there and he yelped while you said, “Fuck off that test is rigged.” 

“First of all- not true. Second- why the fuck did you flick me?!” he yelled before you came to the automated glass door of the lobby.

In front of you stood two marble pillars in the middle of the room that twisted all the way up to the ceiling. Beyond them was a chandelier, jewels dangling over a seating area, where lush white couches stood. They looked as if no one had ever laid a hand on them on them and the plants that littered the room looked so real you had to touch one to be sure of the material. 

“You were being an ass,” you answered simply after taking in the room.

You followed Hyuck over to the elevator, the sound of your footsteps seemed to have a mind of their own, you swore you could hear them walking up the walls and across the ceiling.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, a group of people around the same age as you stampeded into the lobby and then the elevator. All of them dressed in glittering clothes and bright, shining makeup. One of them had eyelids full of pastel glitter and another had a coat made out of fluffy white feathers. 

You all crowded into the elevator, you and Haechan unfortunately squeezed right into the back corner of the metal box.

“What floor are you two headed to?” asked a man who was in the highest heels you’d ever seen in your life.

“The top floor!” Haechan basically had to throw his voice over the glittering heads of the other people.

You groaned at his words and felt the elevator start moving. When you’d asked to get picked up from a party you hadn’t expected to be shoved between Haechan and a girl with rhinestones on every inch of her dress instead. You’d left the party to get away from people, not to get pressed up against them.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to the girl. “You two dating?” she asked, blue eyes lingering on Haechan’s face.

“Uh n-” you began, but Hyuck spoke over you.

“Not yet- I’m working on that,” he said smoothly and winked at you, which made your heart begin to push against your chest rather violently. 

“Too bad,” she said as the doors to the elevator slide open to the fourth floor, “you’re cute.” She winked at you and walked out with the rest of the group, their heels and accessories clinking down the hallway. 

You stood in shock from having been flirted with twice in the span of thirty seconds, not realising that you were still pressed against Haechan. 

“Y/n~” he said in a sing-song voice, dragging your eyes away from the spot you’d been staring at.

“Sorry!” you said a bit too loudly, moving to dart off him. Hyuck, however, held you to his side, only stepping forward to press the button for the top floor again with his index finger, holding Jaehyun’s now crinkled hoodie with his other fingers.

“Just needed to press the button again- it resets sometimes,” he said, stepping back into his place, “You okay?”

“Were you being serious? About ‘working on’ dating me?” the words came out quickly. Your voice was smaller than you thought it would be and it carried an air of surprise- which it shouldn’t have, since you’d heard him and Johnny talking earlier, but it felt more real now.

His brown eyes glided across your face, he seemed to be exploring every option he could in his mind. Lips pulled close to his teeth and eyes wide, before he leaned in and kissed you. 

He tasted like the canned coffee he’d had and mint and the second you tasted that combination on his lips you couldn’t pull away. He placed his hands on your waist and pulled you flush against him, your arms flung over his shoulders. The kiss heated up fast, his hands gripping at you to try to pull you even closer, your fingers threading through his hair, shaky sighs and satisfied hums filling the elevator. 

Just as you both pulled away for air, the doors opened on the floor seven levels down from where Jaehyun’s apartment was. An old couple appeared immediately and stepped into the elevator. You took a step to the side to get away from Hyuck, but stood on the hoodie Haechan had apparently dropped. You picked it up, holding it in front of you with both hands.

“I told you it was the wrong floor,” said the woman, closing her eyes in annoyance.

You tried your best to look presentable as they bickered, straightening your shirt and wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. Hyuck did the same, combing his hands through his hair and adjusting his jeans. Once the reality of the situation sunk in for the both of you, it became hard to even look at each other without laughing. You had to pretend to yawn in order to hide your smile and Haechan pulled his lips between his teeth to literally bite his own smile back. 

Once the couple got out on their floor (still one below the top), you and Hyuck fell into laughter, with him literally falling to the floor on hands and knees. You leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator and laughed in silent breaths and funny hiccoughing sounds. Soon, the door opened and you gathered yourself as much as you could before you helped Haechan up off the floor. Halfway down the rows of apartment doors you and Haechan had calmed down, the mix of embarrassment, tension and perhaps a bit of tiredness having died down. 

The hallway was carpeted and filled with the muffled sound of music coming from one of the residents on the floor. Your heart nearly dropped when Haechan stopped in front of the door from which you were sure the music was coming. 

He pulled out his phone and, not letting go of your hand which he had been holding onto since you helped him up, texted Jaehyun. A few seconds later, the door opened to Jaehyun, who seemed half asleep as he leaned on the doorframe. You were glad the mood of the apartment seemed to be the opposite of a houseparty. 

“Yeah?” he blinked slowly, eyes slightly red.

Haechan snorted at Jaehyun’s state- because he was most definitely in one- “Johnny asked us to bring you this,” he pointed to the hoodie- which was now completely crinkled and had a dirt mark on it- which you held out to him.

Jaehyun took the hoodie, not even looking at it. He looked between the two of you, his gaze falling down to your intertwined hands, “Fuck you, Haechan,” he said, head tilting back in annoyance, “Now I owe Johnny ₩10,000.”

“What?!” Haechan’s jaw dropped

“I have a bet with Johnny,” he said, yawning halfway through and leaning his head on the doorframe, “And I just lost.”

“How long have you had this bet?!” Haechan sounded genuinely betrayed.

“About 15 minutes,” he said nonchalantly, moving his hair out of his face, only for it to fall right back where it was.

That had you confused, “What was the bet?”

“That you two would get your shit together by the time you got here,” Hyuck scoffed and looked away in disbelief, tongue in his cheek, “Oh and I think Taeil owes Taeyong money now, too.”

Right then, your phone chimed with a message from the gambling brother in question and you opened it while the two boys argued about Hyuck himself not being in on any of the bets.

the youngest: hey, can u guys bring milk? its finished :/

you: sighs alright 

you: btw apparently you owe taeyong money now xx :)

You locked your phone before you could see his reaction and slid it back into your pocket. You turned to Hyuck again and sighed, “Taeil needs milk,” you stated incredulously.

He raised his eyebrows, “Okay now he owes both of us. And this isn’t over- next time there’s a bet I want in,” he said frowning at the older boy like a little kid.

The two of you said goodbye to Jaehyun, who kicked the door closed behind him, and returned to the car once again.

“Were we both really that obvious?” you asked as you clipped in your seatbelt.

“I don’t know about you but I was really good at hiding it,” his smug- and obviously sarcastic- tone made you cackle.

“Yeah that’s why Johnny knew you’ve liked me ‘since forever,’” you said, quoting the words you’d heard through the bathroom wall. 

His eyes widened so much you thought they’d come tumbling out of their sockets, “You heard that?” his gaze was switching rapidly between you and the road now.

You smirked at him and nodded simply.

“By the way,” Haechan’s voice was a bit croaky now, after all it was nearing 3am, “You will go out with me right? Like tomorrow night?” 

“Of course,you owe me two actually,” you didn’t have the energy to tease him further, your eyelids were practically dragging themselves across your eyes.

The last thing you saw before you fell asleep was Haechan’s flushed cheeks and the giant smile on his face.

i just remembered you asked for a tag o-O @infnteen sorry for the late one!

if anyone else wants to be tagged in my works please lmk!:)

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