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birdantlers · 8 months

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A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

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#artists on tumblr #Artistic #digital art #art history #anthropology #humanity #art discussion #art theory #skit yells

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gamermattsgf · 27 days

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“Cool spider…” // Tattoo artist Chris

Warnings: sextape / colleague relationship / favour for a favour trope / riding / petty Chris x reader / nose piercing!Chris / spanking kink / mommy kink / slight breeding kink / tattoo!Chris / praise kink / ownership kink / degradation kink / ‘good girl’ / creampie / unprotected sex / hair pulling / exhibitionist kink / scratch kink / tit play / overstimulation

Summary: you and Chris both work in a tattoo & piercing gallery, and your toxic ex just won’t leave you alone… so Chris decides to shut him up and put him in his place.

Author’s notes: I’m baaack. someone’s seriously got to stop me from making up fics on stuff that I’ve just randomly yapped about and blogged for fun. Me: posting about tattoos I’d think Chris would look good with. Also me: ‘-now hang on a sec that’s actually given me a great idea…’ *pulls out a notebook and starts vigorously writing shit down*.

“Gotta know, I ate her, she's so sweet, now or later. I want that all the time, all the time I'll make you all mine” - Toes Down, Loukeman

. ♱ .

You sigh, checking your phone once again before flipping it back around to face the desk. You shake your head and put it into your hands to rub it slowly in exhaustion. This is the fifth time he’s texted you today and your patience with him was slowly thinning.

‘You good?’

Chris mumbles absentmindedly from his hunched over position at the counter. He has his shirt off - as he usually does - to keep himself cool as the ceiling fan whirls above your heads. You look at his back, and the way his light wash blue jeans wrap around his lean waist lowly.

His right arm moves languidly as he sketches out a stencil for one of his clients, the graphite of his lead pencil scratching against his favourite sketchbook soothingly in the otherwise quiet atmosphere of the tattoo parlour.

You admire the jet black ink adorning his torso, that stretches from the bottom of his spine to cover the expanse of his shoulder blades in jaggedly aggressive patterns, the back tattoo attractively sat over his otherwise soft skin.

The muscles wrapped around his shoulders move as he draws, and you can’t help but swallow thickly at the sight of them.

‘Yeah… I’m fine’

You reply, not at all convinced by your own weak attempt of trying to mask your obvious distaste for the sight of the messages on your Lock Screen whilst you shuffle about trying to clean a needle gun.

‘Oh really? Cos’ I’m hearin’ a great deal of sighing for your corner of the room and not alotta action…’

Chris sarcastically snorts back, his voice containing buckets of care masked within the joking manner. He doesn’t even bother turning his face, far too absorbed by the current drawing of a tiger he was doing on someone’s chest in a couple of weeks time whilst he expertly shaded in the small black stripes of its rippling body.

You pause for a minute, debating on whether or not you should actually tell Chris about what’s been going on. It’s your ex. And Chris doesn’t like him at all. So how is he going to react when you tell him he’s been quite literally harassing you for the past couple of weeks?

Not well is your guess…

Even though you two are co-workers, you share an extremely close relationship and tell each other practically everything, which sometimes readily blurs the lines between your strictly professional work ethics.

‘Ugh fine, it’s Max, he’s just sort of been bothering me lately…’

This catches Chris’ attention, and his head perks up. Craning his neck he looks back at you with narrowing eyes of suspicious icy blue.

From this angle over his shoulder you can see the gleam of his silver nose ring, and his torso twists just enough to reveal a new tattoo. One that you actually did on him yourself.

It was a delicate but bold patchwork tattoo of a large black widow spider, its long spindly legs stretching across the expanse of his ribs and looking like it was using them to scale up his chest. You struggle to hide a smile at being able to remember doing it on him so well.

You can easily recall the faint buzz of the needle gun and Chris’ soft occasional groans as you punched in the bulbous back of the widow’s body onto his skin that rose and fell to the rhythm of his exhales.

It must have been a sensitive part of Chris’ body because his breathing had been raggedy and his eyes had been squeezed shut for a majority of the tattoo. You had faintly mumbled ‘cool spider… you draw it yourself?’ To which he had responded with a grunt and an affectionate ‘duh’.

Whenever his eyes had opened to look at you they had been dilated heavily, with either pain or pleasure, you��re not quite sure.

He glares over at you and shakes his head. ‘Not this fucking idiot again… what’s he done this time?’.

Chris’ patience for Max has never been there, and he’s often one to be petty about every single move your ex boyfriend makes.

Chris has never liked him and so rejoiced when he heard from you that the break up had been messy on his side of the bargain.

Max was trouble, and so you had done the right thing when breaking things off with him. However, Max wasn’t one to easily let go, and he had been pestering you to take him back ever since.

‘Just being his normal asshole self I suppose’.

You’re deliberately vague with Chris, because you don’t want him to get all riled up like he usually does. He had given up his sketch now and had fully turned to lean his back and elbows onto the counter, knowing that you telling him this information was far more important than the task at hand.

His eyes then flick to the door of the studio, where the welcome sign hangs in the centre of the glass window pane. All around the door are frames of hundreds of different tattoos, all in the different styles of each of the employees that work here. No one else is working today though, it’s just Chris and yourself maning the store.

Chris is a primarily black work realist, and so his designs take up quite a lot of time, their lifelike splendour forking cash loads of money into his bank account whenever a piece is completed.

Multiple clients of his have been here for months as Chris prefers to take his artwork in sessions so the healing isn’t as tenuous.

Quite a few of his previous works have been photographed and framed about the waiting area, just to showcase his impressive ability.

Your area of speciality is more in line with fine line tattoos, you prefer delicacy over all else and likewise, some of your bigger works have been photographed and framed about the shop.

‘You got any more scheduled clients with appointments today?’ Chris spontaneously enquires, and you can tell simply by his face that he is pondering some form of idea within his head that makes you nervous. You hesitate with your response.

‘…Emm- no, I don’t think so?’.

Chris nods mischievously and smirks with his mouth open and his tongue pushing against the side of his teeth playfully.

‘I’m gonna need a little bit more of an explanation than just ‘he’s being an asshole’ then, cherry…’ Chris sing-songs as he pushes himself from off of his slouched position and starts to exit from behind the counter.

The nickname ‘Cherry’ had caught on fairly quickly between the two of you, because Chris had thought that you honestly looked way too sweet to be working in a downtown, grungy tattoo shop. After his first usage of the fond name it had just kind of stuck and now always sounded like molten amber honey dripping from his mouth.

He puts ‘he’s being an asshole’ in knowing quotation marks because he already knows how much of an asshole Max is. He’s experienced it before whenever your ex has decided to show up to your place of work and be a nuisance.

You’re pretty sure you almost had to hold Chris back from planting a right hook into his jaw one time because he had knocked over a bunch of new inks the store had just purchased for everyone’s clients.

Chris’ jaw had clenched immeasurably and you had quickly veered in front of him to plant your palms onto his collarbones after he had taken a large stride towards Max.

You had held him back gently, telling him to take several deep breaths and keep cool whilst you dealt with it.

Well… your version of dealing with it was calmly escorting him out of the shop and reassuring him that you’d see each other later before meekly returning back into the reception area to face a fuming Chris who immediately rolled his eyes and spat a quick ‘I’m gonna ban that bitch from coming in here next time he shows his ratty lookin’ face…’

You had simply sighed, shook your head, and tenderly patted him on the shoulder.

At the present, you squirm nervously when you see the way Chris walks right up to the door, before twisting the heavy duty lock on it and flipping the welcome sign to the side that displayed a big ‘closed’ on the front that was visible to passing strangers.

‘Chris it’s not that big of a deal honestly!’ You try and laugh it off as Chris spins back around. He then walks right up to you.

Grabbing one of the other chairs at the desk you were sitting at, he turns it around so that he can comfortably straddle it.

‘Uhh, well that’s where you’re wrong because it just so happens that my favourite girl’s ex is bothering her, and if she’s gotta problem with it… then so do I’ he sassily bites back, referring to you in the third person as he rests his taut forearms onto the spine of the chair, which gives himself something to lean on.

You have to ignore the way your stomach flips when he calls you his favourite girl, and you shyly flit your eyes to the floor whilst still fumbling around with the tattoo gun.

‘Well um… he just- he just keeps uhh’ you start, stuttering and having to sigh in utter frustration at not even being able to articulate your words properly.

Suddenly your eyes feel hot, and they sting a little. You are not going to cry in front of him. You panic when your voice wobbles and try to regain your composure as Chris looks at you with a worried expression.

‘Hey- hey… s’okay cherry, s’alright. Take your time, I’m here’.

Chris notices your flustered state and coos gentle reassurance at you whilst stretching one of his hands out to softly stroke the ball of your shoulder, right on the section of naked skin where the fabric of your top straps don’t quite reach.

You want to say that Chris is just being friendly, but somehow, the way he touches you tells a different story. It could have just been a harmless pat, but instead he had curled the knuckles of his hand and used them to soothingly skim up and down your skin, slowly, repetitively… almost sensually.

Chris liked any excuse to touch you. You were so soft and supple, a major contrast to his own skin. And he hated seeing a man like that crumple you up like a simple ball of paper and toss you into the trash.

You take one last stuttering breath before continuing.

Gazing at Chris’ soft smile and focusing on the calming gleam of his nose piercing, you find yourself relaxing once again as you take your time to look at each of his individual statement pieces whilst relaying your story.

His silver nose ring, his two lobe piercings that were decorated with spiked metal hoops, and his helix piercing, that came in the form of a small snake charm. It shone in the natural light of the room as it slithered up the expanse of his cartilage and provided a nice distraction for you.

‘I don’t know… h-he’s just saying these disgusting things about my body, and- and how I’m never going to find someone that will treat me better than him in bed. Just general filthy shit like that…’ you mumble, feeling absolutely humiliated and degraded at having to tell Chris about what Max has been saying to you as you sniffle and rub your nose.

As you explain yourself, the motion of Chris stroking your arm slows up significantly, and his little smile fades with every word you speak to him. His eyes narrow, something you noticed he does whenever he’s seething with rage.

‘Gimme your phone, I wanna see these texts’ Chris quips demandingly, using the hand that was once rubbing your skin to unfold itself and silently ask for your phone.

You sigh and hand it to him without much of a fight. You know that there’s no use in trying to argue with Chris when he gets like this. He’s driven, and once he has an idea there’s rarely anything you can do to deter him from it.

He unlocks your phone, already knowing your password, and starts to scroll through the endless shower of sexually abusive messages. You bite your lip as you look at him reading them over.

He sits on the backwards chair with his jean-clad thighs casually spread out, still one arm resting on top of the spine whilst the other one holds the phone and vigorously scrolls downwards.

You then flick your eyes to his face, and the way his rosy lips wet themselves as they quietly announce some of the words that he reads back to himself. The further down he goes the more furrowed his brows get.

Suddenly he shakes his head with an angry tick and slams your phone face down onto the table. You jump slightly at this, and blink at a Chris that had immediately shot to a stand.

‘That’s it, m’not dealing with this shit anymore. If he can’t leave you the fuck alone then I’ll make him.’

You look at him in confusion.

‘What’s that supposed to mean…?’ you shyly trail off but your question is shortly answered as soon as Chris bends down to level with you and seamlessly digs his palms into your thighs so that he can pluck you up from off of your chair.

You yelp a little in shock, your heartbeat thrumming against your ribcage before you quietly recover as Chris curls your legs around his hips. Upon touch, your hands instinctively fly to grip onto the back of his neck, his skin being warm and tepid.

The scruff of his long hair feels like satin tickling over your fingers and Chris groans in achievement as soon as he feels your thighs tense against his waist.

He’s been waiting for an excuse to do this.

‘Max is tellin’ you that you’re never gonna get a better fuck than him? Well I’m about to prove him wrong, s’that okay with you, cherry?’ Chris asks, not really expecting no for an answer as he starts to walk over the squeaking floorboards to the backrooms of the shop.

He knows exactly where he’s going and something deep within your core flutters at this assertive kind of attitude.

Chris has always been the extremely blunt and forward type of guy- if you looked pretty that day, he’d tell you, and make it obvious that he was attracted to you.

Today was no different, you could tell he had every intention of fucking you and making it extremely clear to Max just how good he was going to do it.

‘Y-yeah’ is just about all you can muster in your shaky state.

As you look down at Chris’ face, his chocolatey waves tussle in a rather wild-looking way whilst nestled about his pierced ears. Your fingers timidly skim about his neck, and one of them draws nervous patterns over the black bat tattoo situated behind his right ear that he had gotten for his brother a year ago.

‘That’s my girl’ he praises cockily as he barges through the beaded entrance way into one of the client operating rooms. There’s a black leather stretcher in the centre of the room and a stool sitting idle right beside it where the artist sits.

Chris goes straight for the client table though.

He smirks a toothy grin as he plops you down onto the spongy leather and you find it within yourself to crack an equally as excited smile. He nudges open your legs so that he can stand in between them and weighs his hands down onto your hips, pressing his thumbs into your bones and rubbing them fondly.

‘Did Max kiss you at all when you two fucked?’ He asks breathlessly with his cerulean eyes lilting down to your lips hungrily.

He’s itching to get all over you. He’s been dying to taste your tongue on his for ages and it just so happens that this posed as the perfect, sneaky way to do so.

‘Well, hm… not that much, but I guess a-’ you start to explain, but ‘not much’ is enough of a pathetic answer for Chris to fall forward and engulf your lips in between his before you can finish anyway.

Your little muffled whine of shock is swallowed by a Chris that attaches himself to your bottom lip quickly.

Winding one of his hands behind your back, he uses that - and the other one gripping your hip - to yank your body towards his. You two stay flushed together, and you can feel Chris’ throbbing prick against the seam of your pants already. He’s hard, and clearly pent up for you behind his low-waisted jeans.

‘That’s not good enough’ he mumbles, almost in a tongue-drunken stupor against your lips, criticising Max so that he can subtly defend his choice to kiss you.

Really, he had no need to, but fuck did he want to.

You don’t complain, in fact, you simply sigh at how close Chris is. You can feel his nose delicately skimming against your cheek the more he twists the side of his face to gain better access to you, and you can’t help but lust for the way his dewy lips wrap around your own.

The contrast between his cold fingertips brushing against your body and his hot tongue leeching out to slip into your open mouth makes you shiver.

‘N-no you’re completely right… that’s not good enough’ you coquettishly add on to the conversation you two have in between kisses. As you shit talk Max together, you only encourage Chris to take further jabs at him.

‘And what about these pretty little things here…? Did he touch these enough?’.

Chris’ nose trails down the line of your jaw to dip and run along the jugular vein of your neck whilst he pants desperately. He holds your sat figure into his standing leant one with one hand gripping your ass whilst the other one trails up to squeeze against one of your braless tits.

Wanting Chris to play with them, your blushing figure shakes its head and you swallow thickly. ‘No…’.

Chris hums a casual ‘huh’ in playfulness before the hand playing with it decides to slip itself under your shirt for better access. You heavily hiss and arch your back as soon as skin on skin contact is reached and Chris gingerly touches your peaked nipple.

‘You make me feel like such a pervert when you don’t wear a bra to shifts we do together because I stare at them all the time…’ Chris confesses as he gently kneads one of them within his big palm. Whilst he does this, his face buries itself into your neck to pepper sprinkles of sloppy kisses all over your skin.

‘What if I told you I do it on purpose… I like it when you look…’ you breathe with your head knocked back in pleasure. Chris stops his assault on your neck to gaze at you with raised eyebrows of shock.

‘Fuck. Max was an idiot for fumbling you…’

This makes both your heart flutter and your core drip. You like Chris’ praise a lot more than you like Max’s degradation, and make sure to let Chris know this by giving him another kiss.

‘S’mommy gonna let me suck on her tits?’ He ponders in a feigned babyish voice against your lips, the sweet lilt of his sensual tone almost making you melt into the client’s table.

Your needy reply of ‘yes’ is soon followed by an immediate response from Chris, who slowly reaches into his back pocket for his phone.

He slides it out and then presents it in front of your face with his brows raised.

‘And is mommy gonna let me film it so that I can send it to Max and let him see me having my treat?’.

Your eyes flick to the phone, then to Chris’ expectant face, absolutely drowning in lust at the thought of Chris wanting to film himself sucking on your tits. You nod without hesitation, and Chris smirks in victory.

He’s definitely using this to touch himself later.

Chris quickly fumbles around with his phone in excitement, scrubbing his home screen into his camera roll before he’s pressing the small red button to record himself propping it up onto the counter right next to where you were sitting.

You watch within a trance as Chris feeds his hands into the bottom of your top to sensually slide it right up your ribs. He then runs it over the top of your tits and leaves it to rest above them with a purr of ‘good girl’.

You feel your knees get physically weaker at the sight of Chris veering his face down into your tits, his mouth almost feathers against them as both of you look at the camera at the same time.

Chris has a little victorious smirk on his face, that he smugly flashes to his phone before turning back in and gently kissing your nipple.

He can’t stop his conniving smile as you seal your eyes shut and throw your head back, whimpering with your fingers combed into the back of his hair and tugging on it. Chris makes a show of poking out his tongue and licking you before he fully kisses one of your tits into his mouth to suck on it.

He moans a little starved whimper at the feeling of your soft flesh in his mouth whilst his tongue rolls and his teeth clamp down onto you.

His hands get grabby as you pant, listening to the way the microphone of the camera absorbs the sloppy sounds of him sucking on your skin whilst he kisses and licks wherever he can.

‘That feel good huh?’ Chris mumbles into you, and you whine in response with a stuttered ‘so- so good’. He nods cockily, eying the camera with your second tit already in between his teeth. ‘Yeah? This the best mouth you’ve ever had?’.

Struggling to fight off his smile at the comment he completely stole from Max, he knows it’ll make your ex’s blood boil, especially when you reply with an instantaneous shout of, ‘fuck- yes, I- I need more baby!’.

‘You want more?’ He drawls temptingly, pulling away from your chest that was now red and glistening, some sections littered with subtle teeth marks and some with purpling hickies.

‘I’ll give you more baby’ he laughs through his teeth before pressing his fingertips onto your core.

‘Hope you’re soaking for me, you’re gunna need it’ he quips before lightly trailing his hand up to the button of your zipper.

Your core clenches again when he pops it open, the insinuation that you need to be extra wet for him because of his size making you want to pass out in horniness.

He opens the front of your jeans before feeding his hands underneath your thighs so that he can pull you towards him and also force you onto your back to tug your jeans down.

After that, he watches the way you squirm when he sticks his fingers into the side of your sheer panties. In view of the camera, the pad of his thumb swipes up your slit as he checks your sensitivity himself.

‘Awe angel you are soaked… what a good girl for me’.

His sweet praise melts over you in the best way possible, and you can’t help but get shy and cover up your eyes to smile.

Sometimes you forget that the camera is there, but Chris never does, and he glances over at it constantly to smirk as if Max is already watching on the other end of the line before turning his attention back to admire you.

‘I’m gonna make that pretty pussy feel so fucking good momma’ Chris boldly states as he starts to fumble around with his chunky and glamorously rhinestoned belt buckle. The leather of it flaps and his buckle gives a metallic jingle whilst he undoes it, his hair falling in front of his eyes because of the downwards slant his head holds.

‘Please- I really need you’ you mumble breathlessly, spreading your legs even further in reaction to seeing the stretch of his cock against his white Calvin Klein boxers as soon as he lets his jeans drop to the floor with a heavy crumple.

From here you can see his thigh tattoo of a crooked spiders web, done in extremely fine ink, delicate but dark.

‘I know you need me baby I know- be patient alright?’ He shushes you with a reassuring coo, before sliding to the side of you and hopping up onto the table himself. He positions himself right in front of his still recording phone so that he can get the best angle for this.

‘Why don’t you go ahead an’ take off those panties for the camera sweet girl… do it for me?’.

Chris’ whiny sounding voice is just so sugary and compelling. You’re pretty sure you would do anything he asked if it really came to that extreme because along with his voice, his lips and eyes really did the trick for you.

Chris stutters a breath as soon as he pushes his hand down his boxers to take ahold of his hot, silky cock, it’s skin already wet with precome at just how divine you had sounded whilst he was attached to your tits.

He tightens his fist to squeeze himself and throbs in his hand, his mouth dropping open and his shoulders heaving as you slide off the table and strip from your clothes fully.

As soon as you’re done, you can feel your wetness trickling and sloshing about your folds, and so you squeeze your thighs together when looking at Chris for his next instruction.

Chris hungrily gazes down to your panties that lie in a messy heap on top of your jeans. ‘Gimme those?’ He commands and gestures for you to grab a hold of your panties and give them over to him, which you do obediently and without question.

Chris grasps ahold of them and balls them up into his fist before smirking at the camera once again. ‘These are mine now… so’s your pussy’.

You turn red at this low and beastly remark, trying hard not to pounce on top of Chris for saying it. He talks so smoothly. It’s as if every word his mouth forms puts you under a lemony haze of pleasure and you just can’t get enough of it.

You just don’t understand how he can keep this up when you yourself already look like a fucked-out hot mess.

‘I’m all yours Chris’

You practically flee into his awaiting arms, and he hoists your bare and pink centre over his lap.

Kissing your tits again, he grips onto your fleshy thighs and moans a whimper whilst side eyeing the camera in ultimate possessiveness, just to make a show of it being him who’s sucking your tits, and not Max.

He’s going to feel so smug and proud of himself as soon as he sends this his way.

‘Can I have your cock Chris, please?’ You beg, stroking his waves of hair once again to butter him up - not that you’d really need to work all that much to have his cock in the first place…

‘Of course you can Cherry, you’ve been so good for me’ Chris replies as his fingertips stroke against your stretch marks, before he leans in and whispers ‘help yourself…’.

You glance down to the tent in his boxers with your lip bitten and a giddy little smirk on your face. After Chris invites you, you waste no time in pulling his weeping cock from out of the restraints of his boxers.

The hip tattoo he has of a Cupid with angel wings, a halo and a winking face soon makes itself known to you after you tug his underwear down a little further. The ink of the little boy’s heart-encrusted bow and arrow cheekily point right to the base of Chris’ cock, and so you crack a smile, shaking your head fondly at Chris’ inappropriate but witty humour.

He’s thick and throbs in your hand, his tip sticky and slick as it pulses a light pink taffy colour whilst a thick blue vein pokes itself out from the side of his length to travel right down to his base. ‘Fuck’ you breathe. Chris looks at you cockily and is very much pleased with your wanton response.

‘Want you to sit on it till it hurts and you can’t no more precious girl’ he mumbles as he hitches your hips up into his hands and lifts you above him. You nod with a little ‘Uhuh’, your stomach flipping and oozing to feel the stretch of him. He’s bigger than Max, and the thought makes you careen in pleasure.

You almost forget that you two are both supposed to be at work, because all of this feels so private and intoxicating, and the implication of Chris making it into sex tape gives you life.

As soon as you’re placed on top of him, you hold his base so that you can sink down properly, and both of you choke out whines at how fucking amazing it feels.

‘Shit… still tight honey… has Max really been using you properly or is his cock just that small?’.

Chris can’t help it. He gets off on criticising your priggish ex boyfriend because he truly fucking hates his guts. And damn does it feel good to be fucking you with the intention of letting the man himself know through the recording of it.

‘Fuck, I feel so full’ you speak into the air.

You then have to bite your hand so that you don’t draw tears because of the burning stretch Chris gives you. It’s almost unbearably uncomfortable for the first minute of bottoming out.

But then it stops being uncomfortable and starts making you squirm again at needing some form of friction to move yourself.

So you do.

Lifting your hips slightly, you slip back downwards and grind forwards at the same time whilst Chris looks up at you with star-ridden irises. They twinkle in the light and he pants heavily after every time you move.

He soon starts to naturally move himself, needing to respond to you in some sort of way.

He loves watching your tits bounce whilst you rise and fall onto his cock, the sticky slickness of it slapping within his ears and making him want to come all over your insides already. You squeeze him so fucking well, and he equally stretches you out to the limit.

The rough skin of his prick steadily rubs against your walls and ignites an explosion of sensitivity within your centre whenever Chris pushes himself far enough to hit your g-spot. He’s so big he almost bulges from your stomach.

‘Who owns this pussy, who does it belong to?’ He barks as you squeeze your eyes closed and scrunch your nose up, having to slam your head onto his shoulder because of your overstimulation in pleasure.

You stutter out a quick ‘ugh- y-you’ as you feel Chris’ fingers grab onto your hips because of their slowing roll. He digs them into your skin and starts to move you himself at an even faster pace which makes you whine even louder.

‘Sorry… not quite sure Max heard you- can you say that again for me Cherry?’ Chris meanly rebutts and makes your cheeks flame red after he actually takes his palm and harshly swats it against the side of your thigh. You yelp at the brash cracking sound the sweaty skin-on-skin contact creates, but nevertheless still cry a humiliated ‘you!’.

Chris praises you immediately after with a soothing ‘that’s right… good girl’, before starting up his sly and conniving antics once again.

‘And whose name are you gonna be screaming from now on hmm?’.

Chris’ little taunting hum is fucking petty. But also, just what you need to finally cum.

‘Yours Chris! Fuck- all yours!!’.

You’re almost shouting as you arch your spine and throw your head back in ecstasy whilst your legs quiver and an almighty wave of euphoria rushes over your whole entire being.

‘Awe baby… cumming already? I was just getting started…’ Chris coos cockily as he lets go of one of your hips to soothingly stroke against your back with a pretty pout on his lips.

However that pout doesn’t stay for long because it struggles to fight the smirk that quickly overtakes his facial expression at the thought of how quickly he had made you cum.

He glances at the camera once more, to admire the position the both of you were in with dilated eyes, before focusing back onto you and speedily forcing your hips up and down a couple more times to finish himself off.

You squeak and claw at him in overstimulated pain, whining for him to slow down, but all he does is gently hush you in comfort. ‘I know shhh, I know. Wanna make sure I fill you up nice and good though baby’.

His voice is so gentle, and in lulls you into a drooling stupor with tears in your eyes as you claw at his tattooed back with your sharp nails. That’s going to leave heafty scratch marks.

Chris is tempted to wipe them away, but doesn’t have enough time before he’s groaning loudly and his tip is uncontrollable squirting out thick ropes of cum.

He bounces your hips a couple more times to get rid of as much as he possibly can. He wants to see it practically leaking from out of your abused hole. After he thinks you’ve milked him dry, he lets go of your bruised waist and you crumple back down into his embrace.

He rubs your back as you try to desperately regain your breath with your core raw, stinging and slimy with Chris’ cum.

‘There’s my good girl… taking all of me like that. Swear I’ll give you my babies next time you take me that well.’ He absentmindedly praises you for the last time, and you find it within yourself to laugh in disbelief, shaking your head before you slap his shoulder and lean upwards to look at him in the eyes once more.

‘Okay… you’ve proved your point. Now stop recording so I can kiss you a little more.’

Your thumbs stroke the bags underneath his eyes, and his smile is so sunny that you’re sure it could have opened up flowers on a dewy spring morning.

‘Yes ma’am…’

. ♱ .

Later that evening, Chris had sat alone in the tattoo parlour.

He had told you that you could go home early and that he’d sanitise the rooms and lock up as a special treat for you.

You had done as you were told and left a while ago, which left Chris to watch back the sex tape that you two had made earlier with a mean and satisfied smirk slapped over his lips.

He had rewatched it about 3 times, admiring the way both of you had moved with the volume all the way up to listen to your heavenly sounding whimpers. He had replayed his favourite bits a great deal and was fucking obsessed. He couldn’t help himself.

He had then exited the camera app and went straight into Instagram, searching up Max’s account profile to slide into his DMs.

With one final smirk, he had bitten his lip victoriously and selected the video of you and him together before attaching it and typing one final thing before clicking the send button and locking his phone.

Might wanna think next time you make bold allegations about how she’ll never find a better D x

. ♱ .

Author’s notes p.2: guys I’m actually so sorry for disappearing off the face of Tumblr for fuck knows how long without an explanation. Truthfully there isn’t really much of an explanation apart from the fact that I’ve simply been too busy to write (and have also had major writers block atm- hence me and @luv4kozume collab taking so long lol). BUT I’m back with something that has actually turned into one of my favourite pieces of writing on this blog, so I hope it’s been worth the wait!! I love all of you guys for asking where I’ve been and equally as much for missing me. I’ve missed writing for you guys so much and am absolutely obsessed with tattoo artist!Chris, also don’t worry you guys, you’ll get cherry popper 3 one of these days lmao… Anyways, until next time cherry pies!! 🍒

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ohcaptains · 1 year

Text

don’t you dare fall in love | 3

pairing. dealer college student! ellie williams x f! reader

PART ONE. PART TWO. MASTERLIST. synopsis. ellie tries her hardest not to mix business with pleasure. or, ellie gets a new customer and unfortunately falls in love with her.

warnings. 18+. blank & ageless blogs will be blocked. clichè comments on sorority girls (sorry), sexually explicit descriptions of female receiving cunnilingus, fondling, fingering, and dry humping. not beta’d.

an. well here ya go! thank u to all those who were so patient and lovely with me<3 to those who weren’t and were mean to me...i’m giving you the nastiest dirty look rn. pls comment and reblog!!!! love u.

When Ellie gets out of her meeting with her personal tutor, she’s just about ready to throw herself down the stairs.

Catapult herself out of the window and perish on the campus floor. That way, she wouldn’t have to rewrite this God. Damn. Essay.

It sucks that she has to do actual work to get her degree, but what sucks even more, is doing the work and being told you’ve done it all wrong.

At first, Ellie was angry. Now, she’s frustrated. Tired. Was up all night writing this essay because she’s been waiting for this meeting for a whole week, and all the man did was say, you’re not actually answering the question.

“Fucking asshole,” she murmurs, pushing through the doors.

She reaches the quiet hallway of the humanities block, the dilapidated building stuffy with age. She misses her uber-funded science building. Misses the cool white and sleek edges. Here, there’s paper covering everything.

The hallways go round and round – lift creaks from the weight of students carrying War and Peace in their backpacks, year after year.

She’s near tears when she hears you calling her name.

“Els?” you ask, tone confused and edged with excitement. Ellie’s heart does its little familiar leap. She turns to you, sniffing the tears away. It’s been a minute since she saw you in the flesh. Her body aches, eager to touch you. “Hey,” she greets, the presence of you brightening her mood for a sweet second. You’re wearing a casual pair of black jeans and a band tee – Ellie owns a similar one, and for a moment, she thinks you’re wearing her shirt. “I was just about to text you –” you start, but your face twists, noticing hers. “You okay?” “Yeah,” Ellie lies. The tears push harder now, your concern making her belly flop.

You frown. “No, you’re not.”

Her lip wobbles.

“Ellie?” “Sorry, just – fuck --” her eyes are rimmed red, tears pushing over the edge. “—had a really shitty meeting with my tutor about my essay that’s worth like, 50% of my grade and I’m so busy with other work and—” a tear slips down her cheek, but you’re quick to take her in your arms, murmuring, “oh, Els,” as you cup her head and pull it into your neck.

She releases a breath, leaning her full weight into your body.

You smell like laundry detergent and coffee. Smell familiar. She’s comfortable here. It’s why she lets herself begin to cry against your shoulder.

“Awh, sweetheart,” you whisper, hands running up and down her back, soothing her like a baby.

“What did the feedback say?” “Have to change the whole thing. And I have enough time, but I have other work.” “Yeah, I can imagine.” “He basically said that if I submit this essay, I’ll fail.” “Well, you won’t, because I’ll hack into the system and change your grade for you.”

Ellie hiccups a laugh, “you know nothing about computers.” “I’ll learn for you. Take some night classes. What’s the essay for?” you ask, still rubbing her back. “English.” “I can help you if you want.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, come to mine. I’ll look through the question with you, and help you plan.”

Ellie pulls away, wiping her wet, red-rimmed eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. You help her, drying the dampness from her chin and cheeks, and smoothing her hair behind her ears.

She beams from your touch. Her body goes hot from your care -- belly flips over.

You hold her shoulders, keeping her steady, and Ellie thanks the Gods you texted her that day. Your smile is resolute as you say, “It’ll be okay. We got this.”

When you open the door to your accommodation, Ellie is mid panic attack. “You live in a sorority?” she squeaks. When you sent her the address earlier, she hadn’t really read it, too busy trying to calm her beating heart. Going to her house going to her house.

Now, she’s standing in front of you, and thinking – this is your house? There’s a teardrop chandelier hanging behind you, and the staircase loops around the entrance hall, feeding into the back of the house.

You frown, confused. “Yeah, did I not tell you?” “No – “Ellie bursts, clearly flustered, “-- you failed to provide me with that information.” She makes a mental note to text Dina, simply – what the fuck, man? “Is it a problem?” you wonder, leaning against the doorframe, comfortable in your home. (Wearing pyjama shorts and a baggy top, you know, comfortable)

You didn’t seem like a sorority girl. But what did that even mean?

You did have a lot of…spirit.

Ellie imagines you hosting mixers and philanthropy events.

(Imagines you wearing a lot of pink and jumpers with your sorority name on it and nothing else.) “I don’t really sell to frats or sororities,” she explains, because, yeah, that’s the reason she’s having a hot moment. She thought she knew a lot about you. This, right here, is a big deal, and yet she’s only now just finding out.

What else did she not know about you? You think for a quick second. “Oh. Well,” you smile, patting your chest, concluding, “I’m the exception,” and you take her hand and pull her in, closing the door behind her.

When Ellie’s in the house, she doesn’t let go of your hand.

Instead, she uses it to tug you closer, and your wrist pushes into her belly. “They let queer girls into sororities?” she whispers, close enough to taste the mint gum you’re chewing.

Ellie has ideas of girls on the straight and narrow. No girl kissing here, unless guys are watching. Ellie cringes at the cliché, but you’re not offended – hadn’t heard her thoughts, so, that would be why – as your lips pull into a sly smile.

You lean forward, a ghost of a kiss. Ellie’s throat squeezes. “They don’t know that I’m a queer girl,” you whisper back, the heat of your eyes all-consuming.

Ellie watches you shrug.

“They don’t know that at least a quarter of them are queer girls, but – they’re not ready for that conversation.” “But you’re out, no?” Ellie quickly stumbles. If you’re not out, then that really messes with her plans to marry you and meet all your family. “Yeah,” you shrug again, explaining, “they just haven’t asked,” as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. In some ways, Ellie guesses, it is. She beams, “Well, they’ll ask when they see you hanging with me.” “What, why?” “Because I’m a known queer girl” “Oh, you have a reputation?” you quirk, and Ellie hums, “It’s possible I may have fooled around with some of your sorority sisters.” You chew on your lip, and cock your head to the side, “But did you share a really weird and intimate high with them where you cuddled all night, woke up mid-orgasm and then it made things super weird and odd to the point where you never really spoke about it again?”

Ellie grins, “No.” You shrug, “Oh, well. I win then,” and take her hand and begin to drag her behind you like a lost puppy dog.

She’s behind you on the stairs again, and you catch her staring when you turn to say, “Let’s go to my room.” As you drag her through the house, Ellie doesn’t see anyone, but she does hear the ominous sound of girl giggles and whispering. Heat blooms in her cheeks, as if she’s got omniscient eyes at the back of her head.

Ellie didn’t get along with peppy girls – too full of inner turmoil to match their happy-go-lucky attitude. The thought makes her clutch your hand tighter, and she speeds up, bumping her shoulders with yours.

“So, what’re the rules?” “Huh?” you ask, looking at her funny. The pair of you pass a group photo, and Ellie wants to stop and gawk – try and find your smiling face – but you tug her along, sensing her motives. “Like,” Ellie starts, stuck on her phrasing. “How should I be around you?” You frown up at her, deciphering her meaning. Slowly, your frown loosens. A small smile pushes into the side of your cheek. You squeeze her hand.

“Just be my Ellie.”

The pair of you go through Ellie’s question, and you help her write up a plan, noting all of her points and the quotes she should use.

Ellie tries to focus, but the whole time she’s thinking about how close you are to her – leaning against her, pushing your shoulder into hers.

She’s sitting on your bed in your room, and she’s hot all over as a result – smelling the scent from your burning candle and listening to the soft music you’re playing out of the laptop speaker.

Your walls are covered in posters. Pictures of you with family and friends and Ellie is surrounded by so much you that it feels like it’s always been like this.

Always been in your room, with her head on your lap, listening to your playlist – Ellie’s got Shazam out, but you’re just sending her the link. On her main phone, now – no busted one at the bottom of her bag.

She’s so busy being with you that she’s not wondering what she’s doing with you.

What are we? She wants to ask, but then your roommate decides to come in.

She pauses in the doorway, flinching as if she’s walked in on something intimate.

Ellie watches your eyes widen an inch, but then you catch yourself, smiling and waving. “Hey,” you greet, and your roommate – actually wearing a hoodie with your university name on it -- smiles, “Sorry, just grabbing my charger.”

“No problem,” you respond, and when she finally flicks her gaze to Ellie – kept on looking around her, like she was panhandling for money on the subway – her smile loosens.

She’s silent as she grabs her wire from her bed and doesn’t look at the pair of you as she leaves. When she’s out of the door, you get up and lock it. Coming back, Ellie gets comfy on your lap again.

“Did she look at me funny?” She’s not sure what your relationship with her is like, so she steps carefully. “I think she fancies me,” you casually explain, and Ellie’s belly flops. “For real?” You nod, wiggling your brows. “Should I be jealous?” she jokes, and your lips curl, tongue peeking out as you run it across the backs of your teeth. “We were together, once.” Ellie tries to imagine the pair of you together, and she comes up blank. Though, that’s probably because she’s too busy editing the image to clip her face in. “Yeah?” “Mm, at a Halloween party.” You’re grinning too wide. “You’re just fucking with me,” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m not! I was dressed as a cat, and she was this like, sexy nun or something.” “Really?” Ellie asks, raising a brow and pulling a face that says, you’re full of shit. “Fine – I won’t tell you then.” “No no, I wanna hear this.” “What’s with the tone? I thought you’d for sure want to hear about my sexual escapades.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” You pull your lips together and raise a brow. Ellie suddenly feels too hot. Suddenly wants to run very quickly out of your bedroom door. Butterflies swirl in her belly, blood rushes to her cheeks, to her neck, and she feels the tips of her toes go numb.

You’ve danced around each other with this flirty banter for a while now, but it means something more now that you’ve said it out in the open.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ellie lies, hoping the red of her cheeks isn’t too prominent in the warm glow of your bedroom. You don’t lose your pursed lips, and Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Just hurry up and tell me about how you fucked your roommate.” “Say please,” you quickly rebut, and Ellie chokes.

The fuck? “What?” She laughs nervously, ignoring the quick electric bolt that shot through her groin, “fuck off.” “Fine,” you bleat, leaning back against the bedframe. “I won’t tell you then,” and Ellie shakes her head, proclaiming, “You’re insane,” and you grin at her, raising a testy brow, “It’s just manners, Ellie.”

When Ellie had imagined the dynamics of your relationship – but not relationship – it was you saying please. Preferably whispering it with your fingers in her auburn hair. Please Ellie, please do that again.

Ellie sits up from your lap, shaking the image away.

She takes in the curve of your brow, and the teasing slip of your lips. She dips closer – sudden, quick – and relishes in the way your mouth falls open an inch.

“I’m not begging you,” she whispers, not bothering to hide how mesmerised she is by your mouth.

“No?” you speak, matching her lazy tone. You nod to her, “I thought you’d be into that.”

Jesus fucking Christ, what’s happening right now? Ellie thought you’d help plan her essay and be done with it – she’d hoped for some flirty banter, but this was different. This was… Ellie leans closer, propped up by her hand that she’s planted beside your thigh. “If I say please, I want intricate detail.” “If you say please, I’ll give you whatever you want.” This girl…

“Whatever I want?” Ellie quirks. “Yeah,” you respond, and you press your forehead against hers, tone breathy as you repeat, “Whatever you want.”

Ellie can think of a lot of things she wants. For starters, she wants to close this gap and finally kiss you, but she says, “Please tell me your story,” and you smile, all teeth.

“It was Halloween.” “You said that.” “n, we were really drunk, and she’s like – straight straight, right?” You say straight like someone would say sorry. “Mm,” Ellie hums, her belly swirling. She hasn’t moved a fucking inch. Her palm is cramping, but hell if she’s going to lean away from you right now. This is a whole other kind of foreplay. “We’re in the bathroom.” “Here?” she asks, needing details – information. What day was it? Time?

You nod, and your nose brushes against hers. Her face blooms red again, and the brush of your touch makes her brain fuzzy. “We’re making out, and I thought she only wanted to kiss, but then she starts tryna take my top off.”

There’s a sincere edge to your tone. Your eyes are wistful, but you’re beaming – spurred by the excitement evident in Ellie’s eyes.

“Things get heated. She’s touching me everywhere, you know, hands just, between my legs, on my chest. Says she’s wanted me for ages but couldn’t say it, I mean, she’s got a boyfriend.” “A boyfriend?” Ellie asks, and fuck, that makes it worse. Or better? Either way, her body begins to ache like it did that morning – when it was just the pair of you and the world was quiet. Thrums electric and Ellie’s suddenly worried about the electric bill. “Yeah – frat boyfriend. Frat president boyfriend.” “Look at you, miss home wrecker.” You roll your eyes, “you want me to finish the story?” “I said please, didn’t I?” “You’re the worst.” “So…she’s taking your top off.” “Yeah. Then she’s taking my pants off, too. Then says, she’s never been with a girl before, can I show her?” Ellie pulls back with a groan. She can’t help it. Pulls back and falls into your lap, imagining you showing her how to fuck.

Her eyes are glazed over, like she’s somewhere else, thinking, about something else. She rubs her face and listens to your sweet giggle.

“Sorry,” she says, settling back, and you hold your hands up.

“No worries, take your time.”

Ellie waits – patiently. Waiting for you to divulge more information. Please carry on, she thinks. Please please please.

She feels like a kid at camp listening to the teens tell a ghost story around the campfire. And then what?

“You made her come?” she whispers, failing to hide the excitement in her whisper. A small, thoughtful smile finds your lips, and you lean down, hair brushing over her face.

Your thigh pushes into the back of her head, and you smell like a forest.

Your room smells like a fucking forest. Pine and vanilla.

The lights are dim, cloaking the room in a warm glow. She swears she hears trees swaying in the distance, but she realises – faintly – that it’s just the blood rushing in her ears. No trees here, she thinks. No bloody forest.

You’re looking down at her, eyes glittering in the warm light. After a stress-filled silence, you nod, whispering, “against the wall, cat ears still on. Made her come so hard it was dripping down my chin.” “Jesus,” Ellie whispers. Her legs fidget, trying to squirm from the warmth pushing between her thighs. She pushes her hair away from her forehead, even those it’s already tucked behind her ears. “Then what?” she asks, moving in your lap. Then what then what.

Your lips curl into a small smile, “Then we never spoke about it again.”

Ellie feels her eyes go dark with the memory. Imagines a film over them — lost in her own brain. Pictures you crawling on your hands and knees, on the prowl with your cat ears sitting pretty.

What was it you said again? That she was dripping all over your chin?

Her tongue peaks through her lips, pretty in pink, and she notices your small smile curve wider. Though, it’s not kind. It’s edged with something, as if you’ve made a funny and she doesn’t get the joke.

Ellie’s belly drops.

A laugh bursts out of your mouth, and she freezes. Nononononono, you didn’t. “I’m sorry—” you start, hiding your smile, and Ellie’s lips open in shock, then she’s snapping to -- jumping up from your lap, red all over.

She’s looking for her coat, hands shaking “nah, that’s not funny,” she’s saying, all while the faux image of you between a girl’s thighs buzzes behind her eyes.

It was her. She was the girl. She’d even imagined taking your cat ears off and putting them on her head. “Yeah, it was – Ellie,” you laugh, reaching for her hand, and Ellie’s body reacts to the touch.

You spin her into you, pouting, “Come onnnnn, I was playing.” “You’re mean for making that up. You’re a horrible person.” “Awhhh, I’m sworry. I’m sworry, come here –” You pull her into you, wrapping your arms around her neck. Be mad. Ellie thinks. Be mad be mad be mad—oh, but you’re so soft and warm.

She falls into you, hands catching your hips — holding you steady, as her head pushes into the curved gap between your throat and shoulder. You hold the back of her neck, hugging her close.

“I’m sorry, that was mean.” “Made me all worked up,” Ellie admits. The all-familiar ache is back. Then again, it’s never far when you’re around. “Yeah?” you quirk, the tone saying: tell me all about it. “Mm.” “Thinking about me with another girl?” She breathes a laugh, then breathes in your scent, the smell causing her to hold your hips tighter.

“You gotta write my essay now, make it up to me.” Your laugh rattles against her body.

“What you on about? I gave you free material to think about.” “What?” she laughs, squinting her face together. She pulls away, and you look up at her, chewing on your bottom lip.

You glance down at her mouth, and a breath gets caught in her throat. “Nothing,” You grin, and she cocks her head to the side, tightening her grip on your waist. “No, tell me. You made fun of me, you gotta tell me.” “I don’t have to do anything, Ellie.” “I’ll get it outta you.” “Yeah, how?” “You won’t know until it happens.”

“Weirdo,” you scoff, pulling away. “Let me walk you home, they wanna do a group meeting about some charity event later.” “Ooo, little miss sorority girl.”

You smack her chest, “Hey!” but Ellie grabs your hand, laughing as she pulls you into her, catching your hips again. You gasp in surprise, hands catching hers, and your chest pushes into hers.

She feels you focus on the cavern of her eyebrow scar, then the dust of freckles over her nose. The wild brush of her eyebrows, and the small, circular, chickenpox scar on her cheek.

Ellie gets confident or forgets the proximity of your relationship — nothing new — and rests her forehead against yours.

The world gets quiet.

The buzz of your music fades out, and all Ellie can hear is the small, clipped, and shaky sound of your breathing.

Your eyes flutter closed for a brief second, and Ellie wants to kiss you. Always wants to kiss you, but this is different. This is new and sudden and sweet. It’s soft. Gentle.

Your fingers graze over hers, and she imagines holding you like this forever.

Imagines doing this, as often as she likes.

All you’ve done together, and you haven’t even kissed yet. Ellie gazes at your wet mouth.

“Wanna come to mine? We don’t even have to smoke; you can just help me with the intro to my essay.” Your lips twist, and a small smile appears. “Ellie,” you whisper, tinged with a double meaning. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence. “I can’t,” you whisper.

She breathes in deep, eyes closing as she presses her forehead against yours. “Not even for a second?” “Ellie.” “Please?” she whispers, looking at you, and your face falls. Your mouth opens an inch, the red of your tongue alluring. When you don’t respond, Ellie slowly dips lower and tentatively brushes her mouth against yours. Your breath catches.

The skin of your lips is pillow soft, and for the first time, she’s able to taste your lip gloss from the source. “Doesn’t please get me anything I want?” Ellie hushes. The music has bled into the background, a hum in the walls of your room. It rattles through her toes and dances through her chest, forcing her heart to thrum with life. Your eyes are half-lidded, lashes brushing over your cheeks when you look at her mouth. “That was a one-time deal,” you manage to tease, despite the nerves radiating off of you. “So, I can’t kiss you?” “I never said that.”

Your tone is dangerous. Ellie’s lips quirk into a smirk. “I didn’t say please though?”

There’s a heated 30 seconds where you pluck up some courage. Ellie can hear the cogs turning in your pretty little head before you conclude that, “manners are overrated,” and press your cherry lips against hers, sticky and artificially sweet.

The world stops in that movie magic kind of way.

Reality flutters to a pause, the music switches off, the natter from your roommates downstairs goes quiet, and Ellie can no longer hear the constant anxious beating of her heart.

It’s just you and your mouth – the press of your lips, no tricks, just the delicate touch of yours against hers.

Ellie is 15 again and playing truth or dare at that camp her uncle forced her to go to.

She’s picking dare and kissing Jessica Carter, the daughter of a man that owned a slew of Ice Cream shops in Salt Lake, and it means so much more to Ellie than it does to Jessica.

She feels the electricity of the kiss pulse throughout her body, like she’s got her soapy fingers in a light switch socket, and as she pulls away and Jessica laughs – giggles, cupping her wet lips, I can’t believe we just did that – Ellie feels the cavern in her chest close just an inch.

She was about to thank her, but then she thought better of it.

Pulling away now, there’s no Jessica, it’s you, and you’re pressing your fingers to your lips like you’re holding them out to a cat, nervous as to what’s going to happen next.

Ellie leans her forehead against yours, lips numb.

You’re breathing like you’ve run a marathon. Then you kiss her again.

Ellie stumbles back from the shock, but you move with her, guiding her back until her legs hit the bed frame.

She makes a quick decision – pulls away and gets back onto your bed, hoping you follow her down. Thankfully, you do – quirk a nervous smile and knee walk over to her, spreading your legs and clambering onto her lap.

You sit back on her thighs with your knees pressed against her hips.

The position is a memory re-lived, except this time, you’re both alert – no sleep to mask the feeling, just the nerves pulsating through your veins. New new new, it’s saying.

Ellie reaches out and steadies your hips.

Taking a shaky breath, she slips her thumbs under the fabric of your shirt and runs the length of your shorts. The skin there burns, heat radiating off of you like a furnace, and it’s as if you enjoy the touch, as you take Ellie’s hands and cup them with your own, keeping them against your skin, before dragging them around your hips.

Ellie catches your eyes, breath lodged in her throat.

It stays there while you run her fingers up and under your shirt, painstakingly moving her hands over your stomach, over your rib cage, and Ellie’s heart swells in her chest as the tips of her fingers feel the underwire of your bra.

Ellie can’t decide what she wants.

There are too many options – kiss you, undress you – and she so badly wants all of them all at once. When you finally drag her palms over your breasts, she feels your nipples pressing through the thin and lacey fabric, and her belly swirls, the pressure pushing low.

Your breath rattles in your chest. “You okay?” Ellie asks, and instead of answering, you bow down to kiss her.

This kiss is different. It’s desperate. Tinged with the need to tell Ellie it's okay, it's okay, as you slip your tongue in her mouth. She groans.

It’s deep and low, echoing around the room, and there’s a fleeting second where Ellie is embarrassed, but you swallow the sound down, hips reacting, pressing into her crotch.

Ellie aches with the memory of before.

She wants to tease you, wants to say, you gonna come like this again? but you drag your lips over to her neck, and she whines pathetically.

Oh fuck, she thinks. Ellie goes liquid, like syrup. She melts into the mattress, hands relax on your breasts, and just – lets you pepper kisses over her throat. Let’s you run your tongue under her jaw, and her hips buck in response. Jolt up into your crotch, and your breathing changes, now coming out in long, deep pulls.

You mark her neck with your mouth, and Ellie feels the suck of your lips in her gut. Her hands go exploring, sliding over your tits, and she rubs her thumbs over your nipples, listening for your breathing stutter.

When you mumble a desperate fuck, into her throat, Ellie suddenly wants you on your back.

She knocks the pair of you over, and you fall back onto your mattress, grinning up at Ellie with a wild smile. You take her in. Eyes flutter over her like butterflies, taking in her statue as she sits on top of you. Suddenly, though, your smile changes. Goes nervous.

“What does this mean for us?” you whisper, and Ellie shakes her head, moving to kiss you again. Now on top, she swells with the feeling of control.

“Don’t think about it,” she mumbles, then tastes cherry again.

Ellie’s a hypocrite because all she does is think about it.

Up all night in bed, thinking about it. Thinking about how she wants you as her girlfriend, but she hasn’t even taken you out on a date yet.

Doesn’t know about your family. Your friends. Doesn’t know your favourite movie, or colour. All she knows is your weed order. The thought makes her sick with shame.

The mumble of her name coming out of your lips brings her back.

You stuff her shirt in your hands, and Ellie wants it off.

Wants your hands all over her, wants to grind her hips into yours like you did hers, with your hands on her hips guiding her.

“Wanna see,” you mumble, tugging at her shirt, and Ellie’s skin prickles.

She drags her hips back, the seam of her jeans pushing against her crotch, and sits up straight. She grins, all teeth, then fists the shirt, pulling it up her chest. The lines of her muscles are revealed, along with a few white scars that dot her stomach and back. She’s wearing a casual cotton bra, but you look at her as if she’s donning silk. “So pretty,” you whisper, blinking up at her, and that shame that sat inside of her dispels. You slide your hands over her chest, and the warmth of them pushes into her bloodstream. “Pretty?” Ellie quirks, needing something to distract herself from the languid movement of your hands. You trail your fingers over her ribcage, then push your pointer up her breast bone, mouth open an inch, ignoring her, and Ellie’s limbs go jelly.

You’ve got your goddamn explorer hat on as you drag the base of your palm between her tits, your spare hand lazily rubbing her hip bone.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, words coming out as a breathy whisper. You flash a small smile, “committing you to memory.” A dangerous pressure builds in Ellie’s heart. Her cheeks bloom red, her skin prickles, and she feels light-headed, as if you’ve removed all the oxygen in the room.

You hook a finger around the elastic of her bra and tug her forward. Ellie catches herself on the mattress beside your head just as you kiss her, pushing your tongue into her mouth and crotch up into hers.

She shudders.

The kiss is all tongue, desperate, as she bumps her nose against yours to taste you. She’s preoccupied with your mouth, so she doesn’t notice your hand sliding between her thighs. When she does, she forgets how to kiss. “S-Shit,” Ellie stutters, caught off guard. Your touch is gentle, just, lazily rubbing your fingers into her jeans. There’s a lot of fabric between you, thus Ellie’s left the chase the friction.

Resting her forehead against yours, she clutches the sheets beside you, rolling her hips into your hand. She blinks at you, opening her eyes, and you’re staring at her like she’s an artwork – trying to memorise every brush stroke.

You bump your nose against hers, flexing your palm. Ellie hums again.

“You sure you wanna do that?” she jokes, clutching onto any semblance of sanity. You give her a lazy smile, lips wet with her spit. “’s ’only fair.

“Not –” Ellie starts, but chokes, your knuckle just hitting the top of her pussy. Her eyes flutter closed, mouth opening an inch, and you must sense the shift, because you keep your hand there, nodding, knowing what she was going to say before she said it.

“Gonna make you come 'cause I want to, not ‘cause I have to.” “Fuck – okay,” Ellie relents. There’s no way she’s going to leave in the middle of this. She can’t. She’d probably collapse mid-way. A pressure pushes between her thighs, hot and constant. Her pussy clenches around nothing and she whispers something. Sounds like your name.

Been a minute since she’d had a hand other than hers between her legs.

Ellie lazily chases your palm, thinking that If she moves too quickly, this moment will poof into a dream. Doesn’t want to scare it away.

To hide her red face, she nuzzles into your throat, roles reversed from that morning, except Ellie didn’t have her hand between your thighs. She tells herself it’s her turn to do that next.

You pop the button on her jeans, and Ellie glances down at your hands, seeing/feeling them tug at the band.

You turn into her head, “Jesus, these painted on or something?” and Ellie breathes a laugh, “Didn’t expect someone else taking them off.” “I need easy access from now on, only sweatpants.” “Noted.” Your smile goes silly, “preferably those grey ones you wore when I came over that time, when I made you dinner.” “Thought you liked those ones, caught you staring at my ass.” “No you did not.” Ellie kisses your neck, “It’s so sexy when you gaslight me.” You huff, “You gonna help me take them off, or watch me struggle?” and a slow grin builds across Ellie’s face. “Wanna see you work for it.” “Well, you’ll be watching for a while. Enjoy the show!” you joke, trying to drag the denim off of her hips. You grunt loudly, brow furrowed as you tug.

Finally, you throw your hands up with a huff, then pout and cross your arms. Ellie’s leaned back at this point, and she mimics your face.

“Defeated by The Gap,” Ellie sighs. “I’m gonna put in a complaint. Tell them that their stupid jeans stopped my girlf—” you catch yourself, eyes widening.

Ellie goes still.

There’s a second where she hears the crowd cheering in the background, but it turns out it’s a kid crying on the street outside.

“What did you just say?” she asks, tone filled with awe. She cannot help the shit-eating grin that splays across her face. It’s so big that you have to cover your face from the shine. “I said nothing.” “Um, I heard something.” “You didn’t hear anything.” “I heard the word girl and then an ‘F’ sound.” “You didn’t! I’m telling you; you’re hearing things. Going crazy.” “Ummmmmm,” Ellie drags, squinting down at you.

She tries to pull your hands away, but you won’t budge. “I heard something!” “I was going to say, girl fellow!” “Girl what?” Ellie laughs, eyes alight with humour.

“Yeah—” you start, pulling your hands away and masking your features. You’re a beacon of control.

“Girl fellow. It’s this new thing I coined. A girl who is a fellow, as in friend.” Ellie squints, “Fellow means boy, you weirdo.” “No it—” you frown. “Does it?” “Yes, have you not seen Robin Hood?” You pause, “No.” “Oh my god!” Ellie erupts. “How have you not seen Robin Hood? I used to be obsessed with it.” “Everything makes so much sense now.” “The fuck does that mean?”

You push your hands into her hips, fingers tickling. “Do you have a pointy bow and arrow at home? A little green hat?” “Shut up,” Ellie laughs, trying to bat your hands away. She catches them. “That makes so much sense,” you start, joking around, “You’re far too into social justice.” “How are you bullying me about world change? You just called me your girlfriend!” “Fellow!” you correct. “That means girl boy!” You grin triumphantly, “Welcome to the 21st century, Ellie.” She rolls her eyes, “you’re so annoying.” “Your jeans are annoying.” “My jeans are cute.” You point a finger at her, “I’m gonna fight your jeans.”

Ellie dips low and kisses you, mumbling into your mouth, “mm, my money’s on the jeans,” and you wrap your thigh around her ass, using it as leverage to roll her onto her back.

You suddenly slide down, standing at the edge of the bed and shoving your hands into the band of her trousers. With a determined look, you manage to pull them down, “fuck your jeans.”

They end up on the floor, and Ellie’s left in a pair of boxers and her bra. She’d clap for you if she wasn’t so suddenly dazed. You appear on top of her, and she automatically wraps her arms around your shoulders, humming contently as you kiss her.

When her brain comes back to reality, she manages to switch positions again, knees pressing beside your thighs. With a tentative touch, you trace your hand over her stomach, distracting her with the wet of your kiss.

When your fingers touch the band of her underwear, Ellie’s breathing changes. It’s all suddenly real.

“Wanna stop?” you breathe, tone sincere and gaze gentle. Despite the bubble in her chest, Ellie has never wanted to continue something more. She shakes her head, eager. “Fuck no.”

Your sweet giggle distills the tension. “Good,” you grin, sliding your fingers lower, “wanted to do this since I met you.”

The tips of your fingers drag over her clothed pussy, gentle and soft. Ellie releases a shaky breath.

There’s just a piece of flimsy cotton stopping you from skin on skin, but she’s so wet that it feels that way, anyway.

Her eyes flutter closed, the sensation lulling her, fueling her with dopamine, and she buries her head in the crook of your neck, flexing her hips to meet your hand.

You drag the corner of your knuckle up her clothed slit, pushing into her clit when you get to the top. Ellie groans quietly, and you grin into the side of her head, rolling your knuckle into her, and she moans.

“Fuck, s’good.” “Yeah?” you ask, and Ellie nods. Propelled by her quiet desperation, you twist your hand and push a finger against her damp clit – the wet fabric showing the lines of her pussy – and roll it gently.

The fabric in the way makes it dirtier, more desperate, and makes Ellie moan pathetically into your neck, forgetting you’ve got roommates. She chases your hand.

Hips stir up, wet heat coiling in her belly and pushing into her cunt. Is this what you felt? That morning in her apartment?

The fire is quick to rise, and it’s only been a couple of minutes of her grinding into your palm when her pussy clenches, heat pushing at the back of her clit.

“Mm,” she hums, inhaling a shaky breath. Her thighs begin to shake. “Baby, you’re gonna make me come,” she hushes into your ear, and she swears she hears you whimper. You turn to look at her, and pout, “Want it on my fingers, Ellie,” you admit, eyes innocent, wide with wonder, and Ellie’s jaw clenches.

Her hips lose their rhythm, and how the fuck is she in control right now? She doesn’t feel that way. Feels like she lost any semblance of control when you flipped her over and pulled her jeans off. “Fuck, okay. Okay. Shit. Take my – fuck,” she stumbles, and you push your fingers under the band of her underwear, asking, “Can I?” in such a pure tone that Ellie has to close her eyes and breathe through her nose. “Yeah baby,” she nods, “s’okay. Fuck. It’s okay.”

You drag your fingers through her pubic hair – eyes on her the whole time – before you stuff your pointer and index against her wet clit. You start to roll the nerve, and Ellie chokes on her spit. Her body shudders.

She’s in your goddamn dorm room in your sorority with your hand down her pants.

You’re watching her intently. Glazed eyes gazing at her features, fingers controlling the way her brows furrow and cheeks bloom red. It’s wholly intimate. Ellie’s slick coats your fingers.

“So hot, Ellie.”

Her body flushes – she has to bury her head in your neck again, where she nods. She grinds her cunt into your hand, forcing you to press harder and roll quicker. “Mm, fuck,” Ellie swears, spit dribbling over her lips, drunk on your fingers, “Fuck, m’ gonna come.” She feels the familiar pressure behind her clit, the heat that sears – almost painful. You twist into her, nodding, saying, “Give it to me El’s.” Then, “please.”

The wave rushes up and pulls her under, rendering her voiceless and still, before it crashes, and she gushes over your hand, chasing the spin of your fingers as she shakes. “Mm, god, god, shit” she whimpers, voice muffled by your neck, trying so hard to keep quiet, but fuck, she’s not in control of her body. She clenches the duvet as her pussy clenches and un-clenches, clit spasming, whole body slick with sweat.

Her hips grind into your fist, eyes rolled back, mumbling curses into your throat, and she’s clenching the duvet so tight that her knuckles go white.

Then someone calls your name.

You freeze. Fingers go still.

Ellie wants to cry, but somewhere in her drunk mind, she realises the severity of the situation.

When you don’t respond, your name gets called again.

“Fuck,” you curse, then “Ellie, baby, I’m sorry, you gotta get off of me.”

Ellie manages to find the energy to roll off of you, and you get up, legs stumbling before you reach the door.

“Y-Yeah?” you call out through the wood.

Ellie lays boneless on your bed, breathing deeply through her nose. Her boxers are pushed low, pubic hair on show, but she doesn’t have the power to sort herself out.

She should be nervous at the idea of being caught, but fuck, her clit still throbs with the memory of your fingers. She languidly blinks at the ceiling, trying to calm her heart.

How the fuck did that just happen?

“Meeting soon, you coming?” the faceless voice calls, and you mumble a curse before saying, “Yeah! Gimmie a minute.”

When you turn to her, Ellie’s already gazing at you. You quirk a small, sad smile, and Ellie nods, understanding.

“Lemme just,” she starts, rubbing her face, “find the energy.” You giggle at her. “Let me help you put your stupid jeans on.” Ellie props herself up by her elbows, beaming, “My top down there, too?” “Got it.”

She manages to shove her jeans on, wincing when she knocks her sensitive clit. You eye her.

“Listen, I—” you start, clearly flustered. You motion to her, “—Would take better care of you after but.” “Whoa – what?” Ellie cuts you off, shoving her shirt on with a frown.

You purse your lips, “like, cook you dinner or kiss your forehead or something.” “You’ve already cooked me dinner, and you can kiss my forehead whenever you want.” “I mean. I don’t usually make a girl come and then dip.” “Oh,” Ellie frowns, “But this is different.” You pout, “Still feel bad.” “Don’t,” Ellie firmly spouts. She takes your hands and kisses your forehead. “I feel good, you should feel good.” “It was good?” you ask, suddenly lit up and eager to hear more. Ellie laughs. Her body is filled with a warm, buttery feeling. She’s still drunk on you, lethargic from coming, and she doesn’t have the space to panic.

Her subconscious tries to tell her everything that has happened that should cause her concern.

She nearly called you her girlfriend, then made you come on her double bed with a flowery bedspread. Now she feels bad because she doesn’t have enough time to give you adequate aftercare. Dude.

Still, Ellie shows no alarm when she kisses your forehead and says, “I’ll call you.”

It’s only when she gets home, looks in the mirror and sees her lips glittery with your lip-gloss, that reality sets in.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams fan fic #the last of us #the last of us 2 #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #smut #ellie williams the last of us #dealer!ellie williams #tlou2 #tlou

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toji-girl · 1 month

Text

all mine | t. fushiguro

tags: 18+ ONLY content + explicit smut: minors and empty blogs DNI + fem reader + repost from my old blog + not beta read + feedback such as comments and reblogs are helpful + spit play + handjob + spit as lube + really no prep + fingering + unprotected sex + dry humping + preestablished relationship + pet names

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Toji asked watching you from the doorway as you removed the makeup you put on before the dinner for your boss’s retirement.

It was boring more than anything until you found one of your co-workers with her fresh manicure running up and down the expanse of your husband’s chest.

He was still in his suit, his tie loosened, the sleeves rolled to his elbows and his jacket slung over his shoulder. You turned to look at him with daggers while you rolled your eyes.

“Overreacting? I heard what she said that she’s surprised I was able to get a man like you.”

Toji kept a straight face as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly. “Get in the bed, face down, and ass up, princess.”

It didn’t matter that it was you who slid the silver band on his finger or that it’s your mouth that gets to suck his cock and she most certainly doesn’t know the sheer pleasure he gives you, but it didn’t dull the fire raging in your chest.

You were quick to scramble on the bed getting into position, Toji was grateful you wore a dress that was a bit tighter than you were used to, the fabric rolled up and over the curve of your ass exposing the deep red satin panties you picked for tonight.

Toji chuckled behind you rubbing his chin while standing behind you as his gaze fell to your ass and your cunt that was straining against the fabric, he leaned in running his finger up and down between your folds making you shiver.

“Does she know how to make me happy like you do? I didn’t even hear what she was fucking saying anyway, I only thought about your legs squeezing my head, but since you want to throw a little pity party I guess I’ll remind you that you’re my wife, not her, but you baby girl.”

His words were like electricity running through your veins, zapping all your nerves and senses, your cunt gushed when he pressed in more against your clit, and you heard the clicking of his belt buckle and the rustling of his pants.

Followed by him getting undressed you felt the cool leather from his belt run over your pussy then he pulled it away and yanked down your panties bending at the waist gathering his drool and spitting it on your cunt.

“Toji!” You gasped feeling him smearing it in, his other hand settled next to you as he leaned in more letting the rest of his spit drip down, the sound soon became lewd and wet as he smeared it in before sliding two fingers inside you with a loud squelch.

You surprised him by sitting up when he pulled his fingers out and kneeled in front of him running your hands over his chest and abs. “You don’t need to remind me of anything, it’s me who needs to remind you.” You whispered wrapping your fist around his tie and pulling him down on the bed.

His hands found purchase on your hips as you rutted against the thick bulge in his pants. “You’re right, and she will never know the way you growl when you fuck me senseless.” You said scooting back and resting on his thighs as you quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants pulling them down enough to free his cock.

More times than not Toji and you preferred for him to get you off at least twice, once on his tongue then the second time with his tongue and fingers but all you could think about was her touching your husband.

“Fiesty, maybe I should go to the gym shirtless next time.” He teased making you roll your eyes as you struggled to wrap your fingers around the base of his dick, just like Toji, it was big and thick, the length quite impressive, and heavy balls to match.

“Then I’d just fuck you in front of everyone.” You replied jerking him off and leaning forward, giving him the same treatment, he watched you spit on his swollen head and drip down pooling around the base, you bunched your dress up more and hooked your finger in your panties moving them to the side.

Toji helped keep you stable as you rubbed his head against your clit before slowly sheathing yourself halfway past the tip, he could feel you clenching around him, the stretch stung as you lowered yourself down more gasping and reaching for his hands. “You can take it, baby.” He whispered.

You looked down at him and leaned down pressing your chest against his as you slotted your mouth against his fully sitting down, both of you moaned against each other’s lips, slowly you found a perfect rhythm of rolling your hips sitting up looking at him once again.

Toji rested one hand behind his head watching you claim what’s rightfully yours.

#Toji smut #Toji x reader smut #Toji Fushiguro smut #toji x y/n smut #toji x you smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk toji smut #reader x toji smut #toji x yn smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji jjk smut #toji thirst #Fushiguro Toji smut #toji x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you

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hotjaneaustenmenpoll · 26 days

Text

WHO IS THE HOTTEST JANE AUSTEN MAN ? THE FINAL

Propaganda...

Captain Wentworth (1995):

Ciaran Hinds has that perfect ruggedness yet friendliness to his face that makes him the perfect charming Wentworth. And all of the longing that he manages to convey in his eyes is so hot.

Wentworth may be angry/resentful with Anne but in general he is charming and the best friend you could ever have. Ciaran gets the pleasant parts of his character and brings them out, while keeping a guarded coolness (protective camouflage) with Anne.

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I dunno if this counts as propaganda or not, but Ciaran Hinds has a face that looks like it was jackhammered out of a shale cliff.

If a line like 'I am half agony...half hope' comes out of a face like that you know that man has a soul for poetry.

I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in

F. W.

I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never.

This is propaganda for the next round because I need my boy to be a finalist! But this letter is all the persuasion I need to know that he is a winner

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Ciarán Hinds in this is a whole other level of "a good man" He makes Anne's decision at the end so much more perfect.

LOOK

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HOW

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YEARNS

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The yearning the yearning - JLM gives a great look but Captain Wentworth is the king of longing stares. He's trying sooo hard to hate her sooo hard to get over her - 8 years and he thinks he's ready to face her and move on but no he has to notice she's exhausted on the walk, that her nephew is being overwhelming, that she should be dancing and not just playing the piano for everyone else. And even though he's jealous later on when Mr Elliott gives her an "admiring look" in lime he's pleased for her because he knows she deserves to be admired and cherished even if he's angry that he wasn't able to be the one she let admire and cherish her. I just this man - he loves Anne so much and it's so so hot.

Propaganda for Captain Wentworth.

I've always loved Persuasion and so I was voting for him in his polls anyway, but I had never seen the 1995 adaptation. So because of this blog I decided to check it out.

Well. Now I'm obsessed. I came into this tournament fully expecting to vote Firth Darcy to victory. Ciaran Hinds suddenly showed up and sparta kicked him to curb. His every look, every gesture is laden with longing. He's so tender with Anne but then the barely restrained rage in his voice when he speaks to Lady Russell. He's rugged and manly yet tender and considerate.

I BURN, I PINE, I PERISH

If you're wondering why you should vote for Wentworth 95 in the @hotjaneaustenmenpoll, it's because he's got something hot for everyone.

Do you think it's hot when a man dresses up fancy? He looks very dapper in his uniform! Or do you find it more sexy when a man is more casual, a little mussed up, maybe even a little grimy? He does that perfectly too!

Do you find men hot when they're being tender and restrained? Or do you find men hot when they're losing control a bit, maybe getting a bit passionate with anger or jealousy?

Do you like a refined man of culture? Or a rugged outdoorsman?

A warm smile? Or something more broody?

Someone who's the life of the party, boisterous, laughing, charming? Or the strong silent type, serious, calm, mysterious?

Hinds's Wentworth does all of these sexy things brilliantly! You cannot lose with him, he's got it all!

II ranked Wentworth as the #1 Austen man in terms of fuckability, and I stand behind that when it comes to Wentworth 95 versus Knightley 09.

Is Wentworth 95 angry sometimes? Yeah. But that's hot, at least coming from Ciaran Hinds' ruggedly handsome face. Have you heard of makeup sex? Tell me Wentworth 95 and Anne don't have the most scorching hot angry makeup sex imaginable 🥵

And yet Wentworth 95 is also super tender! The slow, gentle, worshipful way he kisses Anne at the end?? So beautiful and hot. The longing way he looks at Anne in silence. The way he is so solicitous of Anne's comfort to put her on the carriage with his sister! You can just tell he's gonna take the time to worship his wife in bed.

And let's not forget that he writes the most romantic letter ever written! The depth of passion in this man, my god! 🔥💕🔥

This is not a who is the better man contest, or who is the more faithful to the book, or who would you most want to marry. This is a hotness contest, and Wentworth 95 is so fucking hot.

Mr Darcy (1995):

Colin Firth (1995) is book Darcy brought to life. He uses tiny gestures and looks to communicate with us and Elizabeth… his struggle is so subtle but so palpable. A beautiful asshole with a creamy nougat center. Just perfect.

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Those heart-eyes right up above☝️? Hot!

Passive-agressively drinking tea? Hot!

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The way he rushes over to see Elizabeth at Pemberley on those delicious long legs of his with that slutty wet curl hanging over his forehead? Hot!

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Fencing? Hot!

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The way he is so concerned about Elizabeth crying and takes her hand even though he shouldn't? Hot!

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This dimple-y smile of pure joy because he knows he's married to Elizabeth freaking Bennet? Hot!

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Colin Firth Darcy is simultaneously immaculately put together and entirely falling apart internally. The wet shirt scene is so iconic not (only) because ‘oooh almost-shirtless sexy man’, but because it’s a metaphor for how he’s absolutely falling apart!!! This is a private moment, when he doesn’t think anyone can see him. And then he bumps. into. Lizzie. At his house!! And the entire sequence that follows with him rushing out still doing his jacket up to catch her before he leaves. They are both on the back foot and it’s THAT moment of confusion that opens a more honest dialogue between them.

Without Firth in a lake you wouldn’t get Macfadyen in a downpour!

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There's a reason why Colin Firth is forever known as Mr. Darcy above all other roles he's had and will have! Even ignoring the wet white shirt, which has become A Thing now, he is so hot with his curly hair and his little half smiles and his intense looks of longing and his legs that go on for milessss.

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This cannot be real. My fellow Jane Austen people. Without Colin Firth’s Darcy we wouldn’t have 90% of modern JA content. He opened a door and there was no turning back for modern culture. There would be no MacFadyen standing half undressed in a field at dawn without Firth jumping into a lake first. There would be no hand flex if there hadn’t been Firth doing his best impression of a man undressing Elizabeth Bennet with his eyes and hating himself for liking it. There would be no Bridgerton without Bridget Jones. Let’s face it people. We wouldn’t be here having these arguments if Colin Firth had not been Mr Darcy.

Colin Firth understood Mr. Darcy in a way no other actor ever has. He is awkward as fuck in a way that comes across as snooty and judgmental on a first watch-through, then can be read as awkward and longing on a second time. His performance had such depth while looking extremely shallow at first glance. This man WAS Mr. Darcy. (I love 2005, as well, and I love Matthew McFayden, but he was awkward for awkward sake.) Colin Firth made Darcy's awkward look snooty and aloof.

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THE socially awkward Darcy is the 1995 Darcy - look at him coming and sitting in awkward silence with Elizabeth pointedly asking her if she wants to live a long way from her family (to obvious relief) and then abruptly leaving - vote for him please 😭😭😭😭

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GIF by my-little-random-world

Colin Firth served so much as Darcy that when they did Bridget Jone's diary, they brought him back.... AS DARCY. The smoulder. The angst. The man is the quintessential Darcy.

“Firthing” is an actual term that is used now to describe someone yearning intensely. It is named after Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy performance.

Colin Firth all the way. He's known in our household as Owl Eyes because in every frame he's mooning over Elizabeth Bennet. Unsurpassable, unmatched, golden television (and some of the worst dancing you've ever seen).

Colin has beautiful, touchable curls.

Link

My high school English teacher was very into using movies to teach alongside literature, which was a great teaching tool. When we read Pride and Prejudice, he used both 2005 and 1995 for various scenes. What stands out to me all these years later was when it got to the part when Lizzy went to help Georgiana after Caroline dropped Mr. Wickham's name and Darcy gives Lizzy this look:

My teacher stopped the film and pointed at Darcy's face and said, "See that? That is THE look. If someone ever looks at you like that, you know they're in love." And what is hotter than that?

Also this teacher had two cats named Lizzy and Darcy. Not relevant to the poll but I wanted you all to know about them.

Colin Firth dazzles and amazes in the nuanced performance that just blows all other attempts away.

The best thing about the Colin Firth wet shirt scene is actually the scene that follows where him and Lizzie are both just dyinggg of embarrassment but Darcy pulls himself together refuses to lose his advantage and runs to get dressed and chase her down before she leaves - just the mix of cringe and hopefulness at seeing her again is so well done and so attractive!!! (this is just the bit where he's running after her but I love it all!)

#hotjaneaustenmenpoll #the final #take two (SORRY)#captain wentworth #mr darcy #persuasion 1995 #pride and prejudice 1995 #ciaran hinds #colin firth #persuasion #pride and prejudice #jane austen #frederick wentworth #fitzwilliam darcy #Youtube

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helluvapoison · 2 months

Note

hey! saw your blog n thought u were like super fuckin cool- so yk can I request a vox x wife!teader and vox accidentally forget their anniversary? it's fine if jot, have a good day/night!!

Vox x Reader

Sitting in Hell’s Kitchen, the finest restaurant of Pride Ring, staring at an empty chair across from you, you decide to find out for yourself just where the fuck your husband is today of all days

• Vox was zipping through cables and wires all over the house to look for you. He checked your favorite spots first but, to his chagrin, you weren’t there

• The money making, signature smile he always wore began slipping on one side when his phone buzzed to life, your icon taking over his screen

• “Darling! I just got home,” Irritation had his voice glitching, “Where are you?”

• “Hm. Late night?” You asked, pettily avoiding the question

• “I-? Yeah, yes,” He sighed, slipping back into work mode for a minute, “Back to back meetings and I had to reshoot yesterday's episode because—“ Minute over, “Wait, that doesn’t matter! What matters is I wanted to come home to my darling partner and you’re nowhere to be found! Where are you!?”

• “Oh me? I went out for a bite to eat. An hour ago. There should be a notification somewhere in your planner, why don’t you check it.”

• Vox huffs and rolls his eyes. He pulls the phone away from his face and quickly swipes through today’s agenda. Anything regarding you is always his top priority—

• x/xx/xxxx: congratulations! today is your anniversary! you have a reservation at 8pm!

• “Fuck.”

• “Mhm.”

• Your phone goes silent. Only half of a second passes before your husband materializes from the wires at the front desk. The panicked expression on his screen is almost enough to satisfy the tornado of emotions inside you. Of course he recognizes there’s people around and there’s an image to project so he gathers himself all too quickly

• His steps over are hurried and clumsy. He presses a kiss to your cheek that buzzes softly on your skin as he sits down, taking your hands into his own in case you decide to leave. Or throw your wine at him. Or both. “Happy Anniversary, darling!”

• Your brow quirks, unimpressed and irate

• “I know it seems like I did, but I didn’t forget. Look I planned this dinner—“

• “That you were late to.”

• “And I have your present right here! Look! I made it months ago just for this.”

• A part of you expects a new phone or watch that hasn’t hit the market yet. Instead Vox pulls out a thin screen from behind his back (Somehow. You’ve learned not to question how he does that) and forces it into your hands

• It scanned your fingerprints the minute you touched it and bloomed to life. For a few seconds it showed you and Vox closer to when you first met, slowly and silently moving as you both laughed. Then it faded and brought a new image of when Vox poured coffee in Val’s lap because he was staring at you. You couldn’t help but snort at that one despite trying very hard not

• “It’s an electronic picture frame,” Vox explained excitedly, “Only this one scans and recognizes your favorite memories. I, uh, already put mine in there for you.” His eyes dart away for a moment, a light blush making his screen glow slightly, “Don’t let anyone else see this.”

• You’re really torn now and he can clearly see it. As a businessman he wants to go in for the final kill, but as your husband he wants to reassure you

• “I didn’t forget, not really. I knew I was missing something all day. I’ll clear my calendar next year— or tomorrow! We can redo the whole day just you and me!”

• You purse your lips together and tilt your head at him with narrowed eyes. Something you did right before you forgave him. “No work at all? No taking calls from Val or Vel? Not even watching yourself on tv?”

• “Let me take care of everything! No one will bother us for an entire 24 hours. Just me and you, my dear. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

• You give him a final skeptical look before your gaze drops to the picture frame with significantly more fondness. You inevitably give in with a sigh, “Fine.”

• Vox is standing up and bringing you with him, his claw on your lower back to guide you out of the restaurant, “Excellent! You won’t regret it baby, I’ll make it our best anniversary yet.”

• To the host at the front his smile doesn’t waver but his voice drops to an octave that leaves no room for arguments, “We’ll be back here tomorrow, same time but we’ll take the table by the window instead. You can put that under Vox. Thanks.”

• “Vox, what are you doing!?“ You whisper loudly in disbelief

• He doesn’t stop, continuing to push you out and onto the sidewalk where a VoxTech limo already awaits. Suddenly his hands are on your shoulders. His eyes meet yours and they’re devoid of the facade he puts on for everyone else

• “When something goes wrong at VoxTech, I have to scrap the plans and start all over to get it right. And I want to do this right for you. I’m going to fix everything, my dear. One hour and I’ll meet you back home with all your favorites.” Despite the tv-ready tone, Vox’s words are coated in sincerity that has you inclined to believe him

• You allow him to help you into the limo, “I don’t need it perfect, y’know. I just need you there.”

• “And I will be! You’ll get both; myself and perfection. Don’t I always say you deserve it all?” Vox kisses the back of your hand before closing the door. He stands there with a smile and waves until you’re out of sight

• He keeps his word, he’s at home with you 45 minutes later. He brings dinner, dessert and wine, all your favorites, and a few extra presents

• The 24 workless hours begin as soon as he walks through the door. He turns off his phone and puts himself on “do not disturb”

• All he needs is you and you’re right here. Happily sitting in his lap while he feeds you cake, your favorite movie in the background. The sound of your laughter or wine glasses clinking together is a far better sound than his ringtone

• (He’ll need a new assistant when he returns to work… and someone to repair that window on the 13th floor. That’s probably why he has 237 notifications from Velvette and Valentino when he turns his phone on after your anniversary do-over)

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ OMG YOU’RE SO SWEET!!!! please enjoy!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanons #vox hazbin x reader #vox headcanons #vox hazbin hotel x reader #vox imagine #vox x reader #poiboiwrites

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javelinbk · 9 months

Text

Here it is, Beatle People! The official 'Insane Things Paul Has Said About John' list, as created by the people of tumblr. I hope this is a useful supplement to the original McLennon iceberg

Sources under the cut:

“He was a very cool boy” (@javelinbk)

"Whenever other people do that it always reminds me of John" (@javelinbk)

"We put our names next to each other in our school exercise books" (@beatlepaul4ever)

When was Lennon at his best? "When he was asleep." (@didwemeetsomewherebefore)

"A delicious broth of a boy" (@zilabee)

"A lovely little baby, John was" (@mallowedheart)

"Daddy's room" (@pauls1967moustache)

"We’re songwriting together even if we’re not together" (@midchelle)

"John seemed like some sort of emperor in control of it all" (@blondecasino)

"I'm trying to get my son to have a son and call him Lennon, and then he'll be Lennon McCartney" (@peaceloveandstarrs)

“John and I had millions of fabulous little experiences in Paris” (@divine-sphinx)

"We used to have wanking sessions" (@merseydreams)

"You can be heterosexual and be having a homosexual dream and wake up, and think, 'Shit, am I gay?'" (@skylikeaflame)

"It was a place called Menlove Avenue. [Pauses] Someone's going to read significance into that: Paul and John on Menlove Avenue. Come onnnnnnn" (@s-l-martin)

"I slept with him a million times" (@s-l-martin)

"A wild and woolly genius who it was my pleasure to work with, walk with, talk with, and occasionally sleep with." (@didwemeetsomewherebefore)

"In bed" (@i-am-the-oyster)

"Well, I’m sure Brian was in love with John, I’m sure that’s absolutely right. I mean, everyone was in love with John; John was lovable, John was a very lovable guy." (@whenyourbirdisbroken)

"Dear friend, throw the wine, I’m in love with a friend of mine." (@heartsinthebasement)

"We got very drunk and cried about how we loved each other" (@nikidontsurf)

“Then also we were like married, so you got the bitterness. It’s not a woman scorned this time, it’s two men scorned — probably even worse. And I had to make way for Yoko. My relationship with John could not have remained as it was and Yoko feel secure.” (@thefortunateisle)

"If I was a girl, maybe I could go out and…" (@alienoriana, @majinmelmo)

"You just don’t hang around with your ex-wife" (@javelinbk)

"No, I have a lot of dreams about John, and they're always good" (@notgrungybitchin, @skylikeaflame)

"This (painting) is John’s Room. It just looked to me like John, when he had his long hair and then his cloak or whatever this is. Then I just scratched in that, looked like one of those drawings John used to do. You know his funny little men. So then I called that John’s room … If I’m gonna see a face in a painting it’s highly likely to be his." (@foryouwereinmysong)

"I wish I had sat and just hugged John all the time when we were together.’ (…) I’d just sit around and hug him forever. That’s the depth of my feeling for him" (@theoldmixer)

“Here Today - a love song to John” (@javelinbk, @bluewater9)

"So if you've got someone, you want to tell them you love them, just get it said, don't wait" (@lennon-gal)

And honourable mention for the following stories:

Stalking John all over Liverpool until Ivan officially got them introduced (@only-a-northern-soul)

He’s been telling himself and the whole world that nobody cared about writing songs and his music before he met John. He knew George Harrison. (@greatsaladavenue)

Quitting his job to commit to the band aka explicitly picking John over his father (@adriansfrombrooklyn)

Writing "Here, There, and Everywhere" by John's pool while waiting for him to wake up and write with him alone in his attic (@aint-that-kind-of-blog-bruv)

Taking the one photo of him and john from that night with the cursed pictures with jane and then blowing it up and hanging it in his office at apple (@pauls1967moustache)

Taking LSD so he could join John in his potentially bad trip (@scurator)

The time he vaulted over a table because another man was touching John and Paul had to physically intervene (@scurator)

#kind of heartbreaking seeing them all in one place #but also insane #some of these are even more insane in full context so I suggest you read the full quotes for maximum impact #paul mccartney #john lennon #john and paul #mclennon #insane quotes

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imyourbratzdoll · 9 months

Text

𝒂 𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒓 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏

hello, something I came up with that was initially supposed to be written with chris as the man, but seeing as I no longer write for him, I give a huge thanks to @royalsweetteaa for helping me choose.

summary - sebastian decides to download tumblr and comes across your blog, slowly, he becomes obsessed with you and your work.

warning - smut, obsession, masturbation, oral sex, swearing, slightly dark content.

18+ only please, the gif and header I use aren't mine.

On a cool Saturday night, Sebastian lies in bed, staring at his phone as he looks at the app he has just downloaded. He had heard many things about it, had heard that there was fanfiction written about him on this app. Sebastian didn’t think he would ever download Tumblr, but he was taking a small break from acting, hiding away from the world and thinking, why not. He didn’t know if reading what the fans wrote about him would be creepy or exhilarating.

He thinks for a few seconds as he tries to think of a perfect username. Sebastian lets out a noise as one comes to mind. His fingers move fast as he types ‘nottherealstan’, smiling triumphantly when his account is created, and many things appear on his home screen. He lies there for a while, scrolling through, wondering where these stories would be, not wanting to type his name in, but maybe he has to.

His fingers move to the search bar, typing in his name and fanfiction at the end of it. His eyes widen as he scrolls through, taking his time to read the many stories designed about him. He couldn’t believe his eyes at how people could bring incredible stories to life with just the idea of one person. He continues to scroll until one story catches his eye.

‘I’m a sucker for you.’ He reads the title, humming as it begins to sound interesting as he reads the summary. He gasps, feeling his cock twitch at how descriptive it starts to get. His hand slowly slides down his body and underneath his trackies.

You knelt on the ground, looking up at the blue-eyed man, feeling yourself throbbing between your legs as you watched him suck on the lollipop that you were previously sucking on. Your lips and tongue are stained a soft pink, and you whimper when Sebastian slowly drags the lolly from his mouth, making a popping sound and placing it into yours. “Suck, bunny. Be a good girl for Daddy.”

Sebastian groans, stroking his cock up and down as he continues to read. His breath picks up. No other story had lived up to this one. He felt needy. He could feel sweat building and pre-cum leaking. He quickly blinked away the fuzziness building before his eyes, needing to read more.

You wrap your lips around the lollipop as Sebastian unbuckles his belt, slowly unzipping his pants. You suck hard on the cherry-flavoured lolly, moaning when your eyes land on his hardened member, drooling at the sight of the pre-cum leaking from his angry tip. “You going to be a good bunny and suck on daddy’s cock?” You nod, opening your mouth wider, allowing him to remove the lollipop, replacing it with his member. You moan, eyes slipping closed when the sweet flavour is mixed with his musky one, immediately becoming your new favourite flavour.

Sebastian moans, squeezing his cock, picking up his pace. Tingles shoot through his body as he realises the thrill of this, imagining an imaginary woman on her knees for him, sucking his cock and worshipping him. No matter his fame, he could never find a woman to act like this for him. Be his little slut, his bunny. “Fuck!” He can’t stop his head from falling back, stroking his cock faster. He needs to stop because he wants to make it to the end of the story. Sebastian squeezes his base, swiping his thumb across his tip and shivering. “C’mon, don’t cum like a damn teenager.” His eyes move back to his phone.

Your head bobs back and forth on his cock, gagging and choking as you take as much of him as you can. Your tiny hands rest on his thighs, moaning as you feel him. Sebastian’s hands fall onto your head, assisting you. His cock twitches, thrusting into your throat, grunting and groaning at the feel of your mouth around his cock. You stare up at him with wide eyes, and your hand moves from his thighs, making its way to his heavy sacks, watching his breath hitch when you cup them. You caress them, softly tugging as you suck and slobber all over his thick member.

Sebastian feels his orgasm quickly approaching, causing him to squeeze his cock and slam his eyes shut. He can’t, and he shouldn’t. This was so wrong but so good. He could imagine himself in the story and desperately wanted to be the man in the story. The story may have been written about who he is, but he was jealous. He wanted someone like Bunny to be here, be with him. Sebastian wanted to see how this would end. He needed to finish the story before he came. It had seemed that this was a series, and he wondered if it could get any more spicier.

You continue to suck his cock, moaning when you feel him twitch in your mouth, filling it with thick spurts of his salty cum. You swallow all his goodness, sucking him dry and licking him clean. Your tongue swirls around his tip before you pull off with a pop. Sebastian strokes your head, smirking down at you with hooded eyes. “Good little bunny. Did so good for Daddy.” You whine, grinding against your foot, pouting up at him and opening your mouth when he grabs the lollipop again. You moan against it, sucking on it while he picks you up. “My bunny deserves a treat.”

Sebastian groans, thick amounts of cum spurting out of his swollen tip and all over his hand and sheets. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and his chest heaves up and down as he tries to catch his breath. “Jesus…” He looks back at his phone, eyes widening. “What?! That was the end!” He looks around, knowing this is a series, but there’s no link for part two. “C’mon… What…” He whines, clicking on the blog, feeling his cock twitch at the username, ‘ahornylittlebunny’.

He scrolls down, checking to see if there is an update, and he lets out a sigh of relief when he sees a post you made that same day. Sebastian imagines how cute you must look when you type these stories out. He reads your words, fascinated.

‘hi, all! I know you’ve all been waiting for part two of I'm a sucker for you, and you’ll be happy to know that I'll be posting it later tonight!’

Sebastian licks his lips, knowing he must be present when you post the story. His fingers move fast, clicking your notifications and turning them on. He needed to see everything you posted. He spent the whole night reading everything you’ve written, smirking at the posts about him, saying if you ever met him, you’d instantly become his little slave. Your eyes widen slightly from the other side, watching your phone blow up with notifications of likes, comments, and reblogs from someone named ‘nottherealstan.’

Sebastian can slowly feel himself becoming obsessed, he doesn’t even know who you are, but he’s intrigued and wants you. His eyes light up when he gets a notification that part two has finally been posted, and he feels his cock harden, already leaking pre-cum. “Fuck, such a good bunny.” He growls, clicking the story and slipping his hand into his pants. He groans as he reads, never having read something so sexual before. The title perfectly describes everything for him. ‘beyond your wildest dreams’.

Sebastian slips between your legs as you sleep, groaning when your legs fall open, exposing your glistening cunt to his hungry gaze. He licks his lips, sliding his hands up and down your thighs, getting closer to the sweetest treasure he’s ever known. “Such a cute little bunny, so soft and sweet.” He nuzzles closer, creeping near your cunt. Sebastian slides his hands to your hips, gripping them and dragging you closer to his face. You whimper in your sleep as his tongue swipes against your folds, drinking your juices in and wrapping his lips around your swollen pearl, sucking it into his mouth. “Taste like a dream, bunny.” He groans into you.

Sebastian moans, gripping his cock and rapidly stroking it. He couldn’t get enough. He needed this to be true. But he didn’t just want anyone. He needed you. Sebastian reached down and began tugging his balls, twisting his wrist as he jerked himself. “Shit, bunny. You feel so good.” He slips his eyes closed, imagining you, a faceless woman wearing a cute little bunny costume, those little bunny ears and that fluffy bunny tail. He opens his eyes and continues to read, needing to finish.

Sebastian pulls you flush against his face as he feasts on your juicy cunt, ravenously sucking on your swollen clit and thrusting his tongue into your tight hole. Your head moves side to side on the pillow, fingers curling into the sheets as Sebastian continues to eat you out like a man starved. You wake with a moan, your back arching as he pulls you even closer to his face, staring at you with those pretty blue eyes. Your toes curl, and your eyes roll to the back of your head as your juices squirt out of you and cover his face. “Oh god! Sebastian!!” You pant, sagging into the bed, clutching the pillow as you come down from your high.

Sebastian can’t help it. His toes curl, his balls tighten, cock twitches frantically as rapid amounts of cum spurt out of his mushroom tip, “Fuck! Shit!” He groans as he sinks back into the silk sheets, placing his phone down and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand before he reaches over and cleans himself. Never having cum so hard in his life, no one had ever made him feel like this. He felt like a teenager again, constantly jerking his cock and cumming. Sebastian picked his phone back up, reading the rest of the delicious story, making sure to reblog with the perfect response.

‘Fantastic, just fantastic. I’ve never read something so delicious and captivating in my life, and I won’t lie I couldn’t help but touch myself when reading. This masterpiece made me cum twice. What I would do to make you my perfect little bunny.’ Sebastian smiled, sending it through.

Sebastian plugged his phone in and headed to the bathroom. He gets ready for bed, looking at himself in the mirror, and he can’t stop picturing the perfect little bunny beside him, also getting ready with him. Someone who admires him, worships him, and loves him. He shuts the light off, heads back over to his bed, gets under the blanket, and stares up at the ceiling, slowly blinking. He probably shouldn’t have downloaded Tumblr because now he has become obsessed with you.

As Sebastian slowly falls asleep, he speaks. “Don’t worry, little bunny. I will find you and make you mine, bringing all of your little fantasies alive.” His cock stirs, imagining having you in his arms finally, your wide eyes staring up at him as you realise he’s found out your dirty little secret.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

#imyourbratzdollwork #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan fan fiction #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan imagines #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan au #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x fluff #sebastian stan x plus size reader

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xxbimbobunnyxx · 8 months

Text

Being Weird Is Cool

(SingleDad!Eddie Munson x SingleMom!Reader)

Summary: You and your son are new to Hawkins and meet Eddie and his daughter at the park. WK: 1.7K

Warnings: None really, this is just a fluffy sweet little self indulgent meet cute. Eddie and Reader are in their mid 20s and their kids are around 5 going into Kindergarten. Modern AU. Reader is implied to be alternative but it doesn’t have to be read that way.🩵 But as always, my blog is still 18+

A/N: So this is just a cute little blurb that came to me. I always see single dad Eddie but I hardly ever see single mom reader so I thought this would be cuteee. My son has a speech condition and I never see kids with special needs in fics so this is just something small n cute n close to my heart. Maybe I’ll turn it into a series of blurbs about these four, we will see. If anyone has any ideas/requests for these four I’d totally be open to writing them. 🤭🖤Part 2 - My Masterlist - Series Masterlist

“Excuse me, is that your child?”

You looked up from your phone, hearing the voice of an irritated sounding woman, ready to defend your son at a moment's notice. But when you looked up she wasn’t talking to you, she was standing in front of the man who was sitting on the bench next to yours. A scowl on her face, her hands on her hips, and a pudgy little boy with tears in his eyes and chocolate smudged all over him by her side. She tilted her head towards the little girl across the playground that had been playing with your son since you got here. She was very clearly this man’s daughter by the way the unruly brown curls on their heads matched. She was sitting on the ground next to your son with her hand on his shoulder, seemingly comforting him.

“Yeah, she’s mine. What’s up?” The man sounded annoyed, rightfully so.

“Well, she just made my son cry.” The woman scoffed.

He raised an eyebrow at her, looking at your kids then back at her.

“What happened?”

“Apparently she yelled in his face and pushed him over, you really need to teach your daughter how to behave.” The woman’s dirty blonde ponytail that was so tight it looked like it was going to make her eyes bulge he out of her head waved from side to side as she spoke.

“Charlotte! Can you come over here please?” The man called to his daughter, waving her over.

You watched as she stood, dusting wood chips off her black white colored dress before reaching her hand out to your son. She pulled him behind her as she walked over with a determined look on her face.

“Daddy! That little boy was mean to my friend! He told him he was weird and was mocking fun of his voice!” She stomped a little black booted foot and pointed her finger towards the boy in question.

“Charlotte… honey, did you push him over?” He asked her as he stood to his feet, crouching down so he was eye level with her.

At this point you had fully turned your body in their direction, ready to intervene.

“Oli, are you okay baby?” You asked him gently.

“Mommy!!!” He ran over to you and wrapped his arms around your legs, burying his face into your knees.

“What happened honey?” You ran your fingers through his hair and he buried his face further into you. You look over at the man beside you, who looks at you apologetically before turning back to his daughter.

“Char… did you push that boy over there?”

“Yes! But-“

“Hey, no buts, okay? We don’t push people no matter what they do, it's not okay to push.” He told her and he gently rested a large ringed hand on her little shoulder.

“Okay daddy…” she looked down at her little feet with her hands behind her back, bashful.

“Now, do you want to tell me what happened? Calmly.” He titled his head so she was looking him in the eyes again and she pouted. “Come on baby, we can’t fix it if we don’t know.”

“Her PUSHED me! I was just trying play with them and she yelled and pushed!” The little boy spoke up, pointing at her from behind his moms legs.

“No! No! Mean!” Your son, Oliver, who was normally very soft spoken and shy raised his head from your knees to yell at the other boy.

“Okay whoa whoa whoa, let’s everybody calm down.” You looked down at Oli and smiled, rubbing soft circles on his back to try and keep him calm.

“Hey sweetie, your name is Charlotte, right?” You asked her.

“Mhm” She stuck her bottom lip out and nodded.

“Can you tell us what happened please?”

“Yes! That kid!” She pointed and glared at the chocolate covered boy “was being mean to MY new friend! He was mocking fun of his voice and calling him weird! But that’s just not nice!”

It didn’t take you long to figure out what she meant, Oliver was a late talker and very shy. He didn’t talk much and when he did it was only to people he was comfortable with. This wasn’t the first and probably wouldn’t be the last time this happened. Most parents didn’t take the time to teach their kids that everyone is different so you’ve had to take it upon yourself to explain it to them on more than one occasion.

“So that other little boy was being mean to Oli about his voice and you stood up for him, right?”

“Yes! I didn’t want him to play with us and he wouldn’t go away and kept mocking fun of him! so I told him my dad said being weird is cool and I MADE him go away!” She was still stomping her little foot and pointing her little finger at the kid and you had to hold in a laugh at how cute she was.

“Well thank you for standing up for him honey, that’s very sweet of you. But I don’t think your daddy wants you to push people even if they’re mean, right?” You look over to her dad and make eye contact, silently asking for backup.

“Yeah baby, it’s very nice of you to stand up for your friend but I want you to apologize to that little boy for pushing him over, okay?” He put his hand on her back and tilted his head toward the boy and his mother.

“Well is him gonna say sorry? To my friend?” She narrowed her eyes at her father and looked between him and the other child.

“He has nothing to say sorry for! You pushed him! And maybe his mother needs to teach him how to communicate better!” She definitely should not have fucking said that.

“Fucking excuse me???” You stood up and walked past Oliver and straight up to the woman’s pinched face. “We were trying to do the right thing and teach our kids that hitting is never okay but if you want to play it like that?? Okay. How about you teach your son how to treat people? That everyone’s different and it’s not okay to just talk down to people because you don’t understand them? How about you wipe his fucking face and get the fuck out of mine before I show them that maybe hitting isn’t so bad after all.” You practically growled, your eyes boring into hers.

“You people are fucking insane, who let people like you even have children??” She gasped before turning on her heel and leaving the park, dragging her son behind her.

“Fucking bitch.” You scoffed, turning to Oliver and crouching down in front of him. “You okay baby?”

“Yeah mama, okay.” He smiled at you and gave you a thumbs up.

“That was fucking awesome.” The man next to you chuckled and slapped his thigh. “Her face!! She couldn’t even believe you were talking to her like that!!” He laughed.

You looked over at him and smiled, this was the first time you were really looking at him and wow. He was beautiful. You had already noticed his hair but now that you’re looking directly at him you can see his pretty brown eyes, and plush pink lips. When he smiles you see two cute little dimples appear on each side of his mouth and he’s dressed really cute too. Ripped jeans, old band tee, beat up sneakers and a leather jacket. Damn.

“I promise you that is not the first time I’ve dealt with a woman like that and I’m positive it will not be the last.” You chuckled.

“Well you handled it like a goddess, if I was a woman I might’ve punched her.”

“Well I absolutely wanted to.” You both started busting up laughing.

“I’m Eddie, by the way, and you already met Charlotte.” He smiled at you and extended his hand, you took it and told him your name in return.

“And this is Oliver, who you already kinda sorta not really met.” You gestured to your son and Charlotte came bounding over.

“Oli! You want play with me still?” She smiled big at him.

“Yep! Mhm!” He clapped.

“Gotta catch meeeee then!!!!” She ran off towards the playground and he went chasing after her.

“You’re a good dad, not a lot of kids take the time to understand that other kids are different, just because they aren’t taught that at home. You clearly teach her well.” You said with a smile.

“Yeah, I try to teach her that everyone’s different. I mean look at me, it’s not like I had the easiest time growing up, or even now other parents judge me and look down on me for being a single dad and well, just being me. I never want her to feel like that.” He watched his daughter run after your son with a fond smile.

“Yeah” You looked down at your own ripped jean shorts and tights and smiled. “Yeah, I think I get that.”

“Are you guys new in town? I haven’t seen you around and I think I’ve seen everyone in this town at least once”

“Oh, yeah, me and him just moved here last week so we don’t really know anyone yet. I’m hoping once the kids start school next month he will have a bit of an easier time making friends.” You sighed. “He’s just really shy, he has a hard time talking and he gets really nervous.”

“Well, it looks like he already has one friend.” He smiled at you and pointed towards the playground where Oli was pushing Charlotte on the swing.

“Looks like it.” You looked over at Eddie and smiled.

“And that goes for you too, you know? You have one friend now too, if you want.” He smiled at you hopefully, those cute dimples showing.

“Yeah? I think I’d like that.” You felt your face warm when you smiled back at him.

“We were going to get ice cream after this, do you guys want to come? It’s just down the street we usually walk from here.”

“That actually sounds really nice Eddie, thank you.”

“KIDS!!! Ice cream!!?!!” He yelled the magic words and huge grins spread across both their faces as they came running full speed towards you.

Maybe Hawkins wouldn’t be so bad.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #dad!eddie munson fic #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader

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bllk-after-dark · 1 year

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wildest fantasies.

pairing. itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu, nagi seishiro x f!reader

content warnings. MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI, nsfw, how the top 6 imagine fucking you, dom!character x sub!reader, vary in each installment, some are prevalent than others (oops), written in lowercase

itoshi rin. breeding kink, creampie, degradation, edging, fingering, jealousy, marking, possessive behavior, wall sex

mine is written on your skin with invisible ink. he fumes at a player from his team talking to you, who seems to be having fun when he sees you laugh. he doesn’t experience rage quite often, but that guy is the initial point and gets worse when the poster boy of blue lock strikes up a conversation with you.

“what’s with the silent treatment, rin?” you become frustrated over the lack of dialogue. the entire ride on the way home was tense and he treated you like a ghost. he also feels the same, but for different reasons. as the two of you enter your house, he pins you to the door with both arms above your head and cunt on his knee. you attempt to focus on lust in his eyes as his tongue battles against yours and teeth nips at your throat to leave bruises in its wake.

“craving attention from him out of all people, hm? fucking slut.” you gasp at the sharp friction of his knee against your cunt. he isn’t this rough and riled up, not that you’re complaining. he slips his fingers inside, pumping them in and out very slowly as punishment. “think he can fuck you like this? lukewarm, want him and everyone else to know that you’re mine.”

to prolong this type of behavior, you instill delicious images in his head. “how are you gonna show me off? the hickeys, sure. but what about a ring on my finger? your cum dripped out of me? or perhaps a baby in me?”

he pulls his fingers out when you’re nearing an orgasm, leaving you a whining mess. the impulse to buy a fancy ring with his salary and propose to you live, to fuck you in the locker rooms to see copious amounts of cum staining your underwear, and to fuck you enough to make you pregnant so that damn golden boy can mind his own business — which he’ll gladly make it happen. he rams his cock in you without warning and spends the entire day in the bedroom to make sure it takes.

“ah, there you are. i had to ask one of your teammates, but we lost track.” he’s back in the stadium, dazed from his daydreaming. you didn’t notice him blanking out as you’re busy geeking out about his plays. “watching a match in-person was so exciting! i get to see you steal a ball by kicking it between another player’s legs and score a goal with a direct shot— is that it? whatever, you’re so cool, rin!”

he shuts you up by kissing you, and everyone in the stadium reacts in a domino effect. the cameras pan to the two of you so it’s on live television, his fans freak out that he’s actually in a relationship, and his teammates — specifically that guy — are in pure disbelief. you wonder why he had done that, but he looks proud so you didn’t pry any further. “there. now the whole world knows.”

shidou ryusei. anal sex, blowjob, cuckolding, exhibitionism, face fucking, impact play (spanking), shower sex

demon is what everyone refers to him as. known to be vicious in the field, people hate to admit that he’s a damn good player. aside from being skilled at soccer, he’s also skilled at pulling risque acts in the context of yourself — willing to let the whole world know how tight you are. right now he’s fucking you from behind in the shower with hands on the wall and back slightly bent to stabilize yourself from his powerful thrusts.

“shit, you’re even tighter than yesterday!” he howls as his thick and wide cock drags along your walls and slaps your ass multiple times, leaving a red handprint there. this is a position favored by the both of you, and it never gets old. although, you do want to try out other things that you and he can find exciting. what he says afterwards is an adventure you can’t wait to embark on.

“i wonder if eyelashes will agree with me. how about we invite him someday?” you’d like that very much, honored to be acknowledged as a favorite pastime by the best player in japan. for now you want to practice sucking your boyfriend off, so you detach from him and kneel in front of his dick, lapping the bulbous tip with your tongue.

“holy shit, you’re tight here too! fucking hell… i dunno which one i like more but let’s find out, hm?” he shoves his cock deep into your throat and grips your head as he bucks his hips, eyes rolling to the back of his skull at how stimulating it is.

“feeling so fucking good. looking so fucking good, too. i bet you’ll do even better at the shower stalls in the locker rooms. or at a bar. or at an alley. or—” it’s incredible how he manages to talk about his shameless ideas when he’s at the verge of cumming whereas on the other hand you phased out. streams of opaque white gush out past your lips and trickle down your chin. his dick is still hard, meaning he’s ready for another round. his stamina is inhuman, like a demon. but knowing him, he won’t be satisfied until he has tried out every single thing on his growing list.

“can’t believe you took a nap during our bath. was expecting you to be more awake from the bath bomb i bought, but i guess not.” he’s greeted with a sweet peck, eyes fluttering halfway but can see you beaming at him brightly like the lights in the room. “got your towel here. now i have to drain the water, so shoo.”

he wraps his towel around his waist and then observes you unplug the drain. he happens to sneak a peek at the curve of your ass when you bend over to reach it, smug at how he happens to catch wind of how glorious the view is. he startles you by pinching the fat of your cheeks, and you turn to him, completely flustered. “what? want me to do it again?”

karasu tabito. aftercare, hand holding/kissing, insecurities, loss of virginity, missionary, petnames (baby), praise

sorry is your automatic reply when he hints that he wants to have sex. you’re a virgin; the thought of being unable to satisfy someone, especially one experienced such as himself, is deeply rooted in your head. on the contrary, it’s a huge turn on. since it’s your first time, he wants to make it extra special. it makes him more excited than he should be so he tries to tone it down to not scare you.

he reaches for your face, staring at him like a lost puppy. he smirks at how entranced you are when his fingers slide to your chin then glide over your lips. he kisses you hard, taking your breath away as he gently pushes you down on the bed. he gives you time to breathe while he takes off his shirt. you looking intently on him makes his heart flutter, that his body is for your eyes only.

“i’m okay. you can keep going,” you tell him when he checks up on you. with the slight encouragement of his hand drawing circles on your skin, you take off your shirt as well so he can explore more of your body. the two of you eventually strip yourselves to bareness in the midst of devouring each other with tongue and spit.

“squeeze if you want me to stop.” your hand is intertwined with his, ready to signal for the sake of your safety. he slowly penetrates you, his cock buried to the hilt inside your pussy. he blabbers about how you’re taking him so well, swearing he’ll cum faster than expected. he hooks a leg on his shoulder which allows him to thrust into you harder and deeper. the pitch of your voice rises higher and higher, you pull him toward your mouth to crash your lips against his. you hate how you sound it seems, but rest assured, it tells him that he has done his job right.

“shit, baby. you’re so perfect for me. how is this possible— agh,” he hisses out as he spills inside you. you’ve gone exhausted afterwards, skin sensitive from the caresses on your curves and kisses on your hands. this is what he’d like to happen, but the next time he blinks, you’re lying beside him fully clothed, meaning that the scenario is anything but real.

“tabito? you’re not saying anything.” you avert your gaze from his. you’re ashamed of literally pushing him away, believing that he’ll take offense judging from his silence. “i didn’t mean to do that. it happened so fast that i freaked out. can we start over and… start a little bit slower?”

“sure. let’s take things slow, then.” he kisses your forehead as a way to reassure you that you haven’t done anything wrong. somehow it makes you bolder, being the one to initiate the kiss while sneaking your hands under his shirt unconsciously. you immediately retract from the sudden move and are about to apologize for acting out of the blue. he cuts off a smile, gesturing you to keep on going. he’s so weak for you, and he’ll do anything to make you happy.

otoya eita. begging, cunnilingus, mutual masturbation, nipple play, phone sex, toxic relationships (with reader’s ex)

relief washes over him hearing that you broke up with your former significant other through the phone. he never liked them to begin with and doesn’t understand what you see in them. being the good friend he is, he wants what's best for you. yet he decides to remain civil, albeit painfully. though, it’s not as painful as suppressing his sinful thoughts about you crumbling under touch.

“eita? can you do me a favor?” he loves your voice, but you saying his name is his greatest weakness. instead of heading it wirelessly, he’d prefer you moaning it in his ears when he’s railing you into a begging mess. he should feel guilty for harboring these feelings as he promised to play the ‘good friend’ role. but promises are meant to be broken anyway. “can you make me forget about them?”

the lines of friendship blur into indescribable tension. you express your frustration over the shitty quality of your sex life your former partner provided, rambling about how badly you want to be fucked on someone’s mouth. the cries of your nipples and clit aching to be touched causes his cock to strain in his pants. sex isn’t a topic you confide in with your friends, especially your male friends, but now it doesn’t matter. you called him to forget after all.

“to tell you the truth, you’ve been driving me crazy,” he sighs with his head leaned back as he pumps his length. labored breaths and whimpers are heard on your end; it seems you have the same idea. “so you want me to make you forget? what if i tell you i’m jerking off right now, wishing that i was inside that pretty pussy of yours? what about you, wishing that my mouth is there too and on your pretty tits to claim what has been mine in the first place?”

“i’m yours, always yours. please, faster!” your whines become more frequent that he cums on his hand and some on his thighs. he leans against the headboard, catching his breath alongside you. if you’re here, he’d leave more proof that you’re forever his with no room for your ex in your world as it should. yet it’s all white noise. the entire time he has been blanking out, so you were waiting for an eternity for him to say something.

“hello? earth to eita?” he snaps back to reality. the only real thing is the stickiness of his hand that’s covered in cum, so he really has been mindlessly jacking off to your voice. “i asked if you can do me a favor but i think i rather stop by your place to cool off. is it okay if i come over?”

“yeah, sure.” you thank him before hanging up. he tosses his phone to the edge of the bed, contemplating what he has done. never, ever again will he do this and vows to not speak on it. all he can do is to stick being the ‘good friend’ to comfort you through your breakup. he’ll do whatever it takes to prove he’s the better choice. they’ll be the day where you’re all his for the taking.

yukimiya kenyu. body worship, mirror sex, lap dancing, lingerie, riding, sex toys, strip tease, voyeurism

risk is his middle name. not only taking it to become the top striker in japan, but in the context of having strong urges to impale you on him. it’s confined in his pants, just like how his hands are confined to his sides. he’s restricted to ogle at your body clad in lace lingerie, attempting to tempt him to give into his desires with your alluring expressions.

the lingerie surprise tips him over the edge. he follows your fingers running down your breasts to your clit, agonized by the drag of one of them along the lips back and forth. he grips his seat to the point where he can almost break the bones of his hands. oh how badly he wants you, but being the menace you are, you keep insisting to stay patient until the end of your performance.

“mmm, not yet. keep your eyes on me,” you giggle, lifting his chin to face you with your mouth ghosting over his. you’re enjoying the sight way too much, but how can he also feel the same when you’re torturing him with the sway of your hips on his lap, the flex of your muscles when he glances at the many mirrors around him, and the teasing of your bra straps down past your shoulders? and when you also grind on his bulge along with a vibrator plugging in you which is your source of pleasure instead?

as if his body has a mind of its own, he finds himself dancing with you with an arm wrapped around your waist and the other cradling your head, kissing you with his life. then clothes start to fly off left and right. he yanks out your vibrator decorated with your slick and plunges you onto his throbbing cock, having you seated for his part of the performance. oh how the tables have turned; now you’re the one being tortured, pounded with quick upward thrusts from him.

“now for the grand finale.” despite your protests to slow down, he wants to relish your face and body contorting in pleasure through the mirror beside him. a multitude of thrusts later, he reaches his climax and feels your walls clench to make sure you didn’t miss a single drop. it’s a shame that time goes by so fast, because he sure wants to see your body arch for him over and over again.

“you know, it’s rude to stare without saying anything.” loud noises flood his ears. he’s in the mall on a shopping spree with you to help you pick out new clothes to spice up your wardrobe. although when you mean by ‘spice up’, he doesn’t expect to see you in lace lingerie at the fitting rooms. “so, uh… what do you think?”

he has speculations on whether you may have a hidden agenda to seduce him or just trying it out for fun. but all he do is marvel at how the lingerie fits nicely on your body, making you nervous. an idea pops into his head and whispers into the shell of your ear. “not sure. why don’t you buy and put it on tonight for me so i can see it better, hm?”

nagi seishiro. bulge kink, cockwarming, size difference (reader is implied to be smaller), somnophilia, spooning

warm is his favorite sensation when he’s curled up with you in bed. his chest is on your back and his left arm hugs your corresponding side while the other engulfs your right hand. his cock throbs inside you which can be seen poking your stomach, making him curse and groan as he places his hand there. the feeling is delicious, addicting even, and he’s hungry for more.

he pants against your neck as he lazily thrusts against your ass, the outline of the bulge moving up and down from what he can feel on his hand. so good, he chokes out in your ear, followed by a string of fucks and moans. that manages to wake you up, having you grab on the sheets from being overwhelmed by the pleasure from behind.

“sei…” his impatience causes your breath to hitch. at that moment you’re losing your damn mind upon his balls coming into contact with your skin. “fill me up…”

as he shushes you to go back to sleep, he kisses the junction of your neck and shoulder and hooks a leg over your waist for better access to pick up the pace to fulfill your wish. “mm, yeah. gonna make you so warm and full of me.”

“hm, sei?” the morning light seeps through the blinds, spotlighting on you who’s sitting up on his bed stretching. for some reason, you press your butt against his groin which is painfully— oh. “um, did you get hard from sleeping with me last night?”

it’s a dream after all. he throws the blanket over his head and turns away from you, refusing to answer as it’ll be bothersome to explain in detail. you dismiss his silence with ‘okay’ and by telling him you have to go to work. when you reach the edge of the bed, he pins you down with his arm around your waist and drags you closer to him.

“stay with me. just a bit longer.” you cave into his whims, deciding to indulge him during then by pulling your pants down to take his huge length. it somehow knocks you out, and he hopes that you’ll forgive him for making you late. but you’re so warm and so good, just like in his dreams.

vera. ayo, finally i posted something. it’s my first time writing smut and i died inside. as expected: it’s 10% smut, 90% cringe. the top 6 has me in a chokehold and i’m not okay.

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bwabys-scenarios · 23 days

Text

Tears and Cake(NSFW)

Kurapika x Fem!Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY KURAPIKA!! 💗💗💗

warnings: nsfw, oral(f!receiving), breeding kink, creampie, pregnancy

taglist: @desiray562 @lovelyxkazuha @ashdownunderscorebeloved @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @pannacottababy

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️

Since the massacre, Kurapika has spent his birthdays alone and in silence. Sometimes he’d get himself a little treat to celebrate the special occasions, but most of the time his birthday would pass by without him even noticing.

That was, until he met you.

The two of you had met up for some coffee and snacks while he was in town, and the topic of birthdays came up.

“Yeah, my birthday is actually next month!” you said, watching his eyes widen slightly.

“Really? I’ll have to send you a gift. I’ll be busy, but I promise I’ll come to celebrate with you when I’m able.”

“That’s okay. And yours?”

Kurapika blinked, looking at you. “My what?”

“Your birthday. I told you mine, what about yours?”

For a moment, he considered whether he should tell you or not. It wasn’t a day he liked talking about… not anymore.

But the way you looked at him, as if you were already planning something made his heart twist. It was important to you, so it would be important to him.

“It’s… April 4th.”

“Oh, so 4/4? That’s pretty cool!”

And that was that. The topic changed to something business related, and when the two of you were full of coffee and baked goods, you parted so he could go and get some work done.

‘Now, it’s time to plan his birthday…’

———————

Kurapika was swamped at with work lately, juggling being a bodyguard while also trying to find information on the Phantom Troupe and possible locations of the scarlet eyes.

The days were blending together, and he struggled to remember what day of the week it was most days, much less what day of the month it was.

So when you called him up asking if he’d be free that weekend, he cleared his schedule for a much needed break.

After all, you were really the only person he made time for these days. The two of you had been dating for about a year now. He always felt a bit bad about not spending enough time with you. You never asked for much though, and with how excited you were over the phone, how could he say no?

That didn’t mean he was super excited. Kurapika was exhausted, both physically and mentally drained. He slept nearly the entire train ride to your hometown, and was still tired when he hailed a taxi to your place.

By the time he got there, the sun was setting, casting your apartment in an orange glow. The stairs up to your apartment door felt so familiar. He’d walked up the flight a hundred times, usually carrying chocolates or flowers to make up for his long absences.

And now he was at your doorstep, knocking with one hand while carrying a plush in the other. He had found the thing in his travels, something he knew you liked to collect. Kurapika couldn’t wait to see the look of surprise on your face when you saw he had found the exact one you had been looking for.

When you opened the door, he sighed in contentment. Just getting to see you in person already put his mind at ease. Every second he was away from you, Kurapika worried over you and your safety. After all, there were a lot of people out for Kurapika’s head. It made sense that you would have a target on your back due to this, which was why you were occasionally visited by his close friends for wellness checks.

He adore you endlessly, it was evident in the way he melted the second your eyes lit up at both him and the plush in his arms. “Oh, you found it! Eeek!”

You grabbed it from his arm, squealing in delight and spinning in a circle. “I love it, thank you so much, Pika!”

Kurapika walked in after you cracked the door open a bit, his eyes soft. It smelled sweet, like vanilla and cinnamon. A bouquet of flowers sat on the kitchen table, and he blushed to think you may have picked them up for his visit.

“It was no trouble, love. I’m happy whenever you’re happy.”

Your cheeks heated up, and you couldn’t help but lean against him, wanting his attention. “Mmph… missed you so much, Pika…”

His own cheeks turned a pale pink as he wrapped his arms around you, his lips placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Missed you too, angel. More than you could ever know.”

Kurapika knew that even you, someone who was more patient and kind than anyone he knew could get lonely sometimes. The guilt of being away from you more often than by your side ate away at him, and sometimes he wondered if being with someone who could give you more attention might be better for you in the long run.

But as you led him to the kitchen, unable to keep the excited smile off your face, he realized how much you truly loved him, and that the prospect of you loving another would never come true.

On the table was a small chocolate cake, with strawberries and candles placed neatly on the top. Sitting nearby were a few presents, and another bouquet of flowers too.

“Happy birthday, Kurapika!”

For a moment, Kurapika was in shock. He’d been so busy that he hadn’t even remembered that his birthday was that weekend. But you had, and his heart thumped against his chest with love and affection for you.

“Kurapika… are you alright?”

He didn’t realize he had started to cry until your gentle hands were wiping away his tears. He blinked, his expression shifting to one of devotion and gratitude.

“Oh, my angel… this is all for me?”

You nodded, smiling as you sat him down in front of his cake. He blushed when you took out your phone and pressed record. Kurapika usually didn’t like being on camera, but with you it was different. He knew you just wanted to capture the moment to look back on later… and he loved that about you.

As you sang happy birthday to him, Kurapika knew that one day, you would be his wife. He thought he had been sure before, but now it was all clear to him.

For a while before you met, his future was blank for him. He didn’t plan anything, knowing there was a possibility he could die attempting to complete his mission.

But with you… he could almost picture your wedding day. Him in traditional Kurta attire, and you in a white gown. It was so clear, he could imagine the day the two of you hunched over a pregnancy test, and him pulling you in for a kiss when it was positive.

When he blew out the candles, Kurapika could only think of one wish he would ever want to come true.

‘I want to stay with (Name) forever…’

“Made your wish?” you asked, giving his cheek a kiss. The blonde smiled, sighing contentedly as he leaned into your touch.

“Mhm… I did.”

The presents were all wonderful, ranging from a scarf you knitted yourself, to a pair of ruby earrings that matched his eyes. Each item was tucked carefully away into his satchel, where he promised to the gods above that he would give back to you tenfold.

This love, this adoration was almost overwhelming, and as you smiled at him in bed, he couldn’t help but act out his feelings by pulling you closer.

“I want you…” he said softly, his thumb caressing your cheek. “It’s been too long since I’ve pleased you. Please, my angel… let me make you feel good.”

Your cheeks heated up, and you pouted just a little. “B-but it’s your birthday, shouldn’t I be pleasing you?”

He chuckled, moving to hover above you. “My love, making you cum pleases me more than anything else.”

“O-oh…” you couldn’t protest one bit as he removed your pajama pants, giving your lacy panties a soft smirk.

“It’s like you planned for this, (Name). Aren’t these the panties I bought for last week?”

You nodded, trying to hide your flustered face. “I was… hoping we would… be intimate tonight.”

Kurapika felt bad for just a moment… he had only thought about how much he had been craving you… but how about the longing you felt? How long had his little angel been waiting for him to make love to her? It had been at least two months…

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I should be taking better care of you…”

He gave a soft lick to the wet spot already forming on your panties, groaning at the taste of your arousal on his tongue. “Need it…”

Your panties were off in a second, and his face was buried between your thighs. It felt amazing, and you were cumming within a minute. His tongue circling your clit, his fingers thrusting into your needy cunt was too much for you to take, especially after going without for so long.

“P-Pika!”

The little pants and moans that left your mouth when you came were enough to get his cock rock hard, painfully pressing against his pants. He was quick to tug off his pants and boxers, desperate to be inside of your warm cunt.

“F-fuck, (Name)… so sorry, angel, need you so bad.”

Usually, Kurapika spent a lot more time between your legs, often leaving your thighs shaking from overstimulation… but today he was too needy.

He snapped his hips against yours, sinking into you until he was buried to the hilt. The whine you let out as your pussy clenched around him was enough to have him rutting into you like an animal.

Kurapika was usually such a gentle lover, but something had snapped inside of him tonight. He needed you like a man dying of thirst needed water. You weren’t just part of his life, you were essential.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to cum together, considering how long you both had gone without another. He kissed you as his cum painted your walls, softly moving his hips as he came down from his high.

You were both exhausted after, but completely happy and satisfied at the same time. He couldn’t help but chuckle a little when you yawned, nuzzling your face against his chest.

“My sleepy girl…”

He placed a kiss on your forehead before he carried you to the bathroom for a quick bath. If Kurapika was good at anything, it was aftercare. He always made you feel appreciated and beautiful, his hands cleaning away the sweat and cum from your body as you sleepily clung to him.

When he wrapped a fluffy towel around you, gently drying you off, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Got… one last present for you, Pika…”

He tilted his head. “Another? But you’ve already given me so much, I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

You smiled, reaching into the drawer by your bed. “Oh, it’s something you’ve been wanting for a while.”

After he helped dress you in comfy, warm pajamas, he yawned, taking the box from your hands. “Open it…”

Kurapika couldn’t believe his eyes. He had to look several times, the usual brown shade turning scarlet as tears fell down his cheeks.

“You’re… pregnant?”

Inside the box was a pregnancy test with two lines showing. You nodded, giggling in delight when he pulled you into his arms.

Kurapika sobbed, unable to stop himself from crying as you rubbed his back. “My angel… oh my love, you’re carrying our baby?”

“Yes… I found out a few weeks ago. It’s been hard hiding it, but I thought revealing it today would be more special-“

He covered your face and neck in kisses, kneeling before you so he could lift your shirt. It was like a devoted believer kneeling before their goddess in prayer, his lips soft on your belly.

The future that he had been looking forward to was already here… his girlfriend was pregnant, they were in love, and now he could only think of one thing.

“Marry me, (Name).”

And you said yes, your own eyes filling with tears as you embraced. He didn’t have a ring now, but by god he would get you the best one there was as soon as possible. You would get everything you wanted, he was devoted to you, body and soul.

As the two of you fell asleep that night, Kurapika felt grateful, and so goddamn happy. He had so many things to look forward to, so many reasons to keep living when he thought he would never even make it into his 20s.

But today, he was 21, engaged, and a father to be.

This was the best birthday of his life… and he would never forget it as long as he lived.

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itsmealaiah · 3 months

Note

Tom x reader 2010 he’s playing video games and she cuddles up to him on his lap and then things escalate and they fuccin 🥰

yes 🤭

Heartbeat

tags/ warnings: dom! tom, cuddling, bondage, tying of hands, not proofread at all, author rushing to get it done

MDNI ⚠️ don't like don't read or leave hate.

do not repost, copy, translate, or claim as your own. Use is and will only be intended for this blog and this blog alone.

pairing: tom x afab

Your POV:

I curl up on Tom's lap, nestling my head under his chin. It's our favorite spot, him in his worn-out chair, me on his lap. He's playing his favorite game, shooting and looting with his friends on the big screen. His strong fingers fly across the keyboard, his breath warm against my ear. I love this, being close to him like this, feeling his heartbeat under my earlobe.

My hands find their way to his stomach, tracing lazy patterns on his skin through the soft cotton of his shirt. He gives a low groan, his hips moving in a way that presses me even closer against his hard length. I want more of him, want to feel his skin against mine, want to taste him.

"Tom…" I whisper, my voice husky. "I want you." He hesitates for a moment, fingers stilling on the keyboard. I can feel his hesitation, the battle between his need for the game and his desire for me. And then he speaks.

"Come with me," he says, standing up and pulling me to my feet. He guides me over to his bed, already pushed against the wall, and kneels in front of me. His hands move to my hips, gently urging my jeans down my legs. When they're at my ankles, he leans forward, kissing the inside of my knee.

"Spread your legs for me, baby," he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. I do as he says, opening my legs wide, feeling the cool air brush against my already damp center. He looks up at me, eyes dark and hungry, and then he's pushing me back onto the bed, climbing on top of me. His weight is like a blanket, surrounding me, making me feel safe and wanted.

He trails kisses down my neck, sucking and nipping at my skin, before moving lower, to my breasts. He cups one in his hand, rolling the nipple between his fingers, and then takes it into his mouth, sucking hard. I arch my back off the bed, moaning loudly.

"Tom…" I whimper. "Please…"

His reply is to slide his free hand down between our bodies, parting my folds, finding me already wet and swollen for him. He groans into my skin, fingers pressing roughly against me as he curls them up, seeking out my clit. I buck my hips against his hand, meeting his rhythm, needing release.

"little slut," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "my good little slut, all f'me."

Before I can respond, he rolls me over, pinning my arms above my head with one of his strong hands. The other hand finds its way between my legs, teasing and pleasuring me, fingers slippery with my desire. I feel the rope sliding across the bed, and then it's binding my wrists together. I look up at them, a little surprised, but the feeling of being so completely at his mercy is exhilarating.

"You like this, don't you?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "Being mine?"

I nod frantically, arching my back into his touch. "Yes, yes, I do."

He smirks down at me, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "Good girl." His fingers press harder against me now, finding a rhythm that has me seeing stars. I feel him moving against my leg, his erection straining against his sweatpants. I reach down, fumbling with the waistband, desperate to feel him inside me.

"Please, Tom," I beg, "let me feel you." He smiles down at me, eyes dark and intense. "Soon, baby. Soon." His fingers push in and out, making me let out a pornographic moan.

"You're so fucking wet for me," he growls, kissing down my stomach. His tongue tracing the outline of my belly button, sending a shiver through me. His free hand reaches between us, teasing my clit, circling it with his thumb. "You're going to come so hard for me, aren't you?"

I can't answer him, can only moan and writhe beneath his touch. His fingers move faster, his movements becoming more urgent. I feel myself getting closer and closer, the sensation building inside me, making my body ache for release.

Just as I'm about to explode, he stops, pulling his fingers away. I let out a cry of frustration, arching my back off the bed. "Please, Tom," I whimper. "I need…"

He leans down, kissing me roughly. "You're going to come when I say you can," he growls into my mouth. And then he's pushing his sweatpants down, freeing his cock. He positions himself between my spread legs, the head of his dick teasing my entrance. He looks down at me, eyes dark and possessive, and then slides inside.

"Ahhhh!" I cry out, feeling him stretching me, filling me completely. He groans, thrusting deeper, burying himself to the hilt. His free hand grips my hip, holding me steady as he begins to move, slowly at first, building up speed.

"You're mine," he growls, his breath hot against my skin. "And you're going to stay mine." His hips move faster now, his thrusts deep and powerful, driving him deeper inside me. I feel a wave of pleasure washing over me, building up inside my core. I arch my back off the bed, meeting his rhythm, my body responding to his dominance.

"Cum with me," he commands, his voice rough and demanding. "Now." And as if he's flipped some switch inside me, I explode, my body shuddering with the force of my orgasm. I cry out his name, my nails digging into his shoulders as I writhe beneath him. He follows, his body tensing as he empties himself inside me, his hips bucking wildly as he lets out a growl of release.

For what feels like an eternity, we're locked together, panting and sweaty and sated. He rolls to the side, still inside me, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close. I nestle my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and I snuggle into his embrace, letting out small whispers of "thank you"

#bill kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz imagines #tom kaulitz #tokio hotel x you #itsmealaiah #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz angst #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you

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chelseeebe · 9 months

Text

and i never (saw you coming)

summary: coming back from college for the summer, you never would have expected to meet someone in your tiny town. and you most definitely would not have expected that someone to be steve fucking harrington.

a.n: so this is a henderson!readerxsteve BUT there are absolutely zero descriptors and no mention of being blood relatives or anything so please take the sibling relationship however you would like!! this is also a part one to a lil two part thing. set in s4 but i've changed it to be summer break rather than spring and i am finally writing canon material wherein the UD exists (part two) shout out to miss swift for the title xx

wc: 6k+

no smut but there may be in part two and as a baseline, i am an 18+ blog so please respect that. mentions of weed, drinking and sex. no use of y/n!

‎♡‧₊˚

Steve doesn’t usually make the effort to get out of his car to collect Dustin. But he had honked his damn horn five times now and was getting frankly sick of waiting for the petulant boy.

He races up the gravel path, cursing under his breath about not being a fucking taxi and how he shouldn’t take him for granted. Steve’s sure there’s smoke coming out of his ears as he pounds on the door, prepared to give the boy an earful.

His mouth is open when the door creaks open, “Dustin I have told you-,” it’s only then that he realises that Dustin isn’t the one behind the door. It’s you.

“Excuse me?” you start, frowning at this apparent grown man who seemed to have a problem with your younger brother. As much as he got on your last nerve, you’d defend him to the moon and back.

“You’re not- um, is Dustin home?” he asks sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in utter shame. Dustin had mentioned you a few times and he was sure he remembered you from school but never really took much notice.

“Why?” you ask pointedly, scowling at the man. He was from school, you knew that much. One of the basketball players that absolutely would have sniggered about you in the halls.

“I’m giving him a ride to uh- to the movies,” he nods, realising that he sounded like an utter weirdo.

“Aren’t you a little old to be hanging out with my brother?”

Steve hesitates because yes, he probably was too old to admit that your little brother was his friend. Let alone the fact he considered him a best friend.

“Uh.. I could see why you think that but mentally I’m probably more his age than mine,” smiling at you, genuinely not seeing an issue with his statement.

Your eyes narrow, brows knitted together. You knew he wasn’t some dodgy old pervert but he had absolutely not helped his case there. “Right.. well, no. He’s not back yet so…”

“Oh, well I’ll just.. wait in my car,” he nods, slowly turning to jump back into his car. Eager to not make himself look any stupider in front of you.

You sigh, “you can wait inside,” opening the door wider for him, you wouldn’t hear the end of it from Dustin if you made his dear friend wait outside.

He tiptoes into the house, eyeing the quirky decorations your mom had covered the house in. It was clear now why Dustin was so.. eccentric. He’s like a stray dog, hovering around the couch, too scared to sit down.

You resume your spot, attempting to pay attention to whatever movie is on the TV but struggling knowing he’s still just standing awkwardly above you.

“You can sit down, you know?” you bark, not bothering to look at him.

He does almost immediately, running his sweaty palms along his knees. God, why was this making him so flustered?

“You’re Dustin’s sister then?” the words falling out of his mouth without much thought. He wants to fall into the floor. Obviously you were his sister. Fuck.

“Yup.”

“Cool.. I haven’t really seen you before.. I’m uh-,” sticking his hand out for you to shake, “Steve.. Steve Harrington,” smiling as you glance at his outstretched hand, hesitantly shaking it.

The mention of his name makes everything click into place. This is the infamous Steve that Dustin didn’t shut up about. You were in the same grade at school and had shared a few classes but had never really spoken. That might’ve been something to do with him being a gigantic prick the entire five years you were in school.

“Oh,” you nod, trying to mask your apprehensions, “I remember you,” hoping that didn’t give too much of your distaste away.

“Yeah.. I’m not like.. that anymore,” picking up on your obvious distrust. It’s not surprising that so many people still hold reservations about him, even he could admit that he wasn’t exactly a saint.

You hum in response. You can mostly believe him because there was no way in hell Dustin would’ve ever become friends with someone like King Steve. In fact, knowing your little brother, he probably would’ve detested the kind of boy he was in school.

“So.. you go to college?” he asks, trying desperately to change the subject.

“Yeah.. uh, Chicago, I didn’t wanna go too far yanno?” not that you really could’ve. College was a last minute, fuck it kind of decision and you hadn’t really even planned on staying past the first week. But you had, and had even found yourself liking it.

“That’s cool.. what do ya’ do? If you don’t mind me asking,” shifting in his seat, eyes dead set on you.

“Language studies, it’s not cool or exciting at all but I enjoy it,” shrugging as you pick at the loose thread on your shorts, avoiding any direct eye contact.

Despite Steve Harrington being a changed man, he still made you incredibly nervous and you felt like suddenly you were back in high school. He just had this aura to him and the way he carries himself, even now, was just intimidating.

“No, that is cool? I wish I was smart enough for college,” chuckling nervously, “I bet it’s crazy out there.”

Your definition of a crazy night meant smoking with Julia, your roommate, and eating a stupid amount of shit food. His definition of crazy definitely included some frat party and hooking up with some stranger in a crowded house.

“Hah.. not really, I think maybe we have different definitions of crazy.”

“Well, what’s your idea of crazy then?”

You look around on the off chance Dustin and your mom had somehow snuck into the house completely silently, “getting high and eating a bunch of junk food.. not exactly the kinda shit you imagined.”

“How d’you know what I imagined? Maybe I think that’s a crazy night too,” laughing at your assumptions, evidently he was still hanging onto that King Steve persona.

“Nah.. you’re thinking of getting black out drunk at some party and then having sex with some girl you’ll never speak to again,” raising your brows, smug that you’d sussed him out completely.

“Is that what you think of me?” jokingly placing his hand over his heart, shaking his head, “I don’t even like parties that much anymore and actually I think you’re right, that would be a crazy night,” smiling to himself.

Because to him that did sound like a great night, and he’d kill to be able to do that with Robin and if it wasn’t for the fact that she got so intensely paranoid that one time they’d smoked together, they’d probably do it more often.

“Oh, well.. you’ve surprised me,” giving him a small smile. You still had your reservations about him, but if he was good enough for Dustin, you were sure you could come to perhaps tolerate him.

“Yeah, I do a lotta that nowadays.”

“Well are you surp-,” you’re cut off by Dustin barging through the front door, nearly taking the damn thing off its hinges.

“Steve? We’re gonna be late! C’mon!” he yells into the living room as if he wasn’t the one who had shown up fifteen minutes late. He’s huffing and puffing with his hands on his hips, clearly something inherited from your mother.

“Woah dude, chill out,” he looks at his watch and jumps up out of his seat, “okay shit- sorry uh, oops let’s go,” rushing over to Dustin. He turns at the last second, waving at you over his shoulder, “it was nice to meet you,” a genuine grin on his face.

“You too,” you call back, watching as your brother drags him out of the house. Muffled voices arguing over what time the movie started and how dare Steve enter his house without him present.

Dustin’s still going on in the car after much push back from Steve that actually he was early and Dustin was the one who was late.

“Your sister’s pretty cool,” Steve blurts out, driving along the bumpy road. He wants to rescind his sentence almost immediately after Dustin glares at him from the passenger’s seat.

“Absolutely not. No, Steve. No.”

“What?” flabbergasted that Dustin had so brazenly assumed he had some ulterior motive. He hadn’t even said anything. Not yet anyway.

“Just no. I know you and I know what you’re thinking and I’m putting a stop to it now,” Dustin cringes, mentally perturbed by the thought of you and Steve even speaking.

“Wha- dude, I was just saying.. you barely speak about her.. that’s all,” tapping on the leather steering wheel, playing it off rather smoothly, he thinks.

“I know my sister’s cool.. way too cool for you, okay? So you should forget about it because it will never ever happen.”

“I wasn’t even gonna.. you’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

Steve’s sat in the booth, opposite what must be the worst date of his life. Dear God, Tammy Thompson was hot but holy shit was she annoying. Her voice agitating his ear drums with every word, irritating and nasally as she rambled on about her singing ‘career’. It wasn’t much of a career, Steve thought. Singing the national anthem in your high school gym was hardly a career. He thought it was quite sad actually.

He nods along to her bullshit, maybe she would sound better when he got her into the back of his beemer. Well, he was hoping anyway.

“You guys finished?” the familiar voice rings out across the table, his eyes darting from Tammy to find you standing at the end of the table with a fake grin plastered on your face.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” he sounds confused, attention fully shifted from the blonde in front of him to you. Surely Dustin could’ve had the courtesy to let him know that you worked at his favourite date spot.

“Uh.. yup, so you’re done?” still in customer service mode, trying desperately to ignore the awkwardness.

“Oh, yeah.. thank you,” he smiles, pushing the empty plates toward you “how long have you worked here.. I’ve never seen you,” positively baffled but happy nonetheless.

You shrug, “like sophomore year,” confused why he seemed to care so much, “I’m just doing part time over the summer..” stacking the plates as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to get far away from the awkward date you had stumbled upon.

“That’s cool, I mean, I’m here a lot so..”

Both you and Tammy flash him a look, granted hers was far more annoyed than yours. You mutter a small nice before scurrying off to the kitchen, relieved to be far from the impending disaster that was waiting to implode.

Something’s not right.

Even with Tammy practically climbing over the centre console to get to him, fully willing and eager.. he’s just not feeling it. Something or someone rather stuck in his head. They had been since last week and no matter how much he’d tried to shake it.. nadda.

He pulls away from Tammy, sighing pathetically, “I’m sorry.. d’you mind if I just take you home? I don’t feel great..” he hopes it’s at least half-convincing.

“Are you fucking serious Steve?” Tammy whines, staring across the car in utter disbelief.

He offers an apologetic smile, shuffling in his seat to get away from her, “yeah.. must be something I ate.. sorry,” grimacing at this incredibly awkward moment. He couldn’t exactly tell her the truth, could he?

“Whatever,” crossing her arms over her chest, frowning as she re-buckles her seatbelt, starting straight ahead.

He starts the car with a sigh. She was a nice enough girl, but she just wasn’t.. well, she just wasn’t Dustin Henderson’s mysterious older sister who just hadn’t let this mind since you’d met last week. That was the problem.

She doesn’t say a word as she gets out of the car, making sure to slam the door in his face when he leans over to say goodnight. He’s sure she’ll tell all her bitchpack friends who’ll vow to ignore him until he smiles at them over the Family Video counter and they’ll forget all about it.

Why couldn’t that just work on you?

You don’t see Steve for another week. Dustin normally runs out of the house the second he hears Steve’s car in the driveway meaning you don’t cross paths.

But now he’s sat in the exact same booth as last week, this time alone with a half empty cup of coffee in front of him.

Your legs sort of work on their own, carrying your body over to the booth. It’s only when you’re stood at the end of the table do you realise you have no idea what you should even say to him.

“Who’s the unlucky lady this week?” your mouth blurts out without second thought, startling him from staring out the window. His lips curling into a smile the second he realises it’s you.

“No lady this week, flying solo,” internally dying from his choice of words. Yeah, that totally made him look cool.

“Oh,” pulling the dirtied plate across the table, “Tammy Thompson didn’t work out then?” Why are you even asking? You shouldn’t care about who he dates.

“Nah.. we didn’t really..” he mashes his hands together, “vibe,” smiling up at you from the seat. He obviously wasn’t heartbroken over it.

“Well if it’s any consolation, I always thought she was a massive bitch,” and she was. One of those girls that prowled the halls waiting for somebody to humiliate. Bare in mind, Steve was too, he just picked on the weird boys rather than the girls.

Steve chuckles, “yeah, she was.. or is.. I don’t know,” he’s sure that in her opinion, he was the bitch that didn’t want to hook up with her because his ‘stomach hurt’, and really that was a fair enough assertion.

You give him a quick smile before picking up the plate, beginning to walk away when his voice calls out from behind, “what time do you get off?”

“Nine.. why?” apprehensive as you answer. Spinning on your heel to face him.

“I can give you a ride home? I mean, if you want?”

You pause just before you reach the counter. It seriously would beat walking home in the summer heat. Dustin would certainly have a few choice words when you showed up at home in Steve’s BMW, but who cares?

“Okay, yeah that’d be great.. thanks,” giving him a tight lipped smile, “you gonna sit there for the whole four hours?”

“I- wh.. no,” laughing awkwardly because he hadn’t exactly planned what he was going to do until nine but he had assumed it’d be fine if just hung out here. “I’ve gotta go uh.. pick Robin up from work,” lie. He and Robin had worked the morning shift and she was off at some family dinner she had complained about all week.

“Robin Buckley?” you ask, slightly confused as to how the two of them even knew each other.

“You know her?” he perks up.

“Eh.. kinda, we were in band together.. how do you know her?”

He’d love to tell you that they had become inseparable after nearly dying in a Russian basement with your little brother last summer. But he doesn’t. Because you, like the majority of Hawkin’s residents, were still blissfully unaware of the weird underworld that lived beneath your town.

“We worked together last summer and now we’re best friends I guess,” it sounded far too simple as he said it out loud.

He was an asshole in school and was well aware of that fact, someone like him would never have become friends with someone like Robin if it weren’t for the Upside Down. But he was grateful nonetheless, and telling you the shortened story was much easier than opening the can of worms that was the Upside Down.

“Oh..” you nod slowly, “you really have changed, huh?” thinking back to Dustin’s constant appraisal of the new Steve and how you didn’t really believe any of it.

“Yeah.. I don’t..” he clears his throat, “I don’t know if I was an asshole to you in school but if I was then.. I’m sorry,” looking sheepish as his head hangs low. In all honesty, he couldn’t really remember you ever being at Hawkins High but felt an apology was due either way.

You nod, accepting the apology though the worst he’d ever done to you was the time he sat there and cackled as Carol Perkins knocked the pile of books out of your arm.

“You want another cup of coffee or d’you have to go?” still clutching onto his dirty plate.

He checks his watch, not that the time actually mattered as he’d leave here and probably end up driving around until it was socially acceptable to come back in. “I could do one more.. thank you,” grinning softly.

You slip into the kitchen, questioning the warm, fuzzy feeling that had settled in your chest. Convincing yourself that it was only because he was being nice to you. Nothing more.

Steve strolls in again at 8:40 after driving around the entire town, ending up parking in town and just watching the tiny clock in his dash until it turned 8:30 and he could slowly make his way back to the diner.

It’s empty, has been pretty much all night bar the few regulars that seemed to spend their lives here. You’re sat behind the counter flicking through the Hawkins Post someone had left behind, reading about the upcoming bake sale. Riveting stuff, really.

“You’re early,” you point out, looking at the clock that had moved incredibly slow all day.

“I had nothing else to do so thought I’d try and squeeze one more cup of coffee from you,” he grins cheekily, testing the boundaries of this incredibly new.. friendship?

You roll your eyes, motioning over to the pot, “help yourself,” sending one of the clean coffee mugs over the counter so he could do your job for you.

The clock slowly ticks over to nine and you do one last check around the place to make sure you’d done everything needed. Javie, the cook, had gone home already, thankfully cleaning the kitchen before disappearing. Begging you not to tell Kevin he’d slipped off early with a promise of whatever you wanted to eat on your next shift.

You turn the key in the door as Steve stands behind with his hands shoved in his pockets, “are you normally the only one in there at this time?” walking beside you to his car.

“No, Javie normally finishes when I do but he had a date or some shit so he left early,” shaking your head. It would’ve been useless to make him stay anyway.

Steve jumps in front of you, grabbing the handle before you got the chance, pulling the door open, “Oh.. good, yeah that’s good,” closing the door and clambering into his own side. He wants to believe that he’s not sure why the mention of Javie’s name made him feel so funny.

“You sound disappointed.. were you planning on robbing me?” chuckling to yourself.

“No! No.. what? It just seems unsafe for you to be there on your own so late..”

“It’s nine pm Steve.”

“Yeah I know but.. there are a lotta weirdos in Hawkins yanno?” starting the car as quick as possible, not wanting to stick his foot in his mouth any further.

You smile, it was very kind of him to look out for you after all. “Yeah.. I’m in the car with one right now,” glancing at him with a shit eating grin.

“Oh ha ha.. you’re so funny,” rolling his eyes in jest though his lips twitch into a small smile.

“I know that actually,” turning to watch the trees as they disappear behind you. The air is perfect, reminiscent of the summers you had here as a child.

Steve takes the opportunity to look over at you admiring the night sky. Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, this was going to be the death of him.

Well, you were.

Steve’s itching to just ask him, get it out while he’s driving so Dustin can’t run away.

“So.. I have a question for you,” testing the waters before fully committing.

“Uhh.. what could you possibly have to ask me?” Dustin asks, curious.

“Well.. I need you to ask your sister if she’d maybe wanna come to the movies with me,” he holds up his hand to preemptively stop Dustin’s inevitable reaction, “I accidentally bought two tickets and I don’t wanna let it go to waste, so don’t start.”

“Steve, I already told you that that is not happening.”

“It’s not a date Dustin,” Steve hisses, “you said she liked horror movies so.. I thought she might wanna come.. that’s all.”

Dustin looks incredulous, “since when do you like horror movies?”

“Uh.. since forever?” lying through his teeth. Steve hated horror. Would point blank refuse to watch anything even remotely scary when Robin suggested it.

“You’re a bad liar,” Dustin frowns, he’d had many of his own movie suggestions shot down by Steve for being inappropriate and too scary.

He rounds the corner, pulling up onto your drive. He was running out of time to convince Dustin to do this for him. And see, he’d do it himself but that would mean he’d undoubtedly end up a bumbling idiot in front of you and that was not what he was aiming for.

“Can you- will you please just ask her?” he begs, pleads even.

“Fine,” Dustin rolls his eyes, sliding out of the car. His feet dragging along the pavement as he walks into your house, not bothering to give his usual wave to an idling Steve.

He slinks up the stairs, banging on your bedroom door. Get it out of the way and then he could mourn the loss of both his sister and his best friend as quickly as possible.

“Yeah come in,” you call from the other side, closing the notebook.

“Steve asked me to ask you if you wanted to go and see some movie with him, he also wants me to tell you that he accidentally bought two tickets instead of one but I think you and I are both smart enough to know that isn’t true,” your brother rolls his eyes, perched in your doorway.

You smile to yourself, rolling your eyes. It was childish but admittedly endearing, “tell him to ask me himself and I’ll think about it.”

Dustin nods, frowning as he walks over to your bedroom window, leaning out of it to holler at Steve who was still sat in his car awaiting your answer, “she told me to tell you to ask her yourself,” sticking his middle finger up at him before storming off into his own room.

You watch him leave, open mouthed before going to the window to find Steve looking up to your window. He points towards the door, shrugging. This really wasn’t how he’d have liked this to go.

The door swings open and you blink at him, allowing him the opportunity to go first. This was his question after all.

“D’you wanna come to the movies with me? I- Dustin mentioned that you like horror movies and I don’t wanna waste this ticket.. it’s cool if not,” Christ, he really needed to stop hanging around Robin so much. She had a knack for being completely defeatist before even receiving her answer and it was clearly starting to rub off on him.

“Yes, I’ll go to the movies with you,” smiling softly at him. He really was light years away from the dickhead you once despised, now just some shy guy trying to ask someone out on not-date-date.

“Okay,” he responds with far too much enthusiasm, “great.. Friday! I mean- I’ll pick you up on Friday.. eight o’clock,” cheesing as he walks back to his car. Throwing up a thumbs up before realising how stupid he looked and rushing to get into his car. Heart fluttering out of his chest.

You’re shitting it.

It wasn’t a date. No really, it wasn’t.

But you couldn’t help the nerves bubbling up in your stomach as you wait for him to pick you up.

“I think this is disgusting by the way,” Dustin pipes up, scowling as he paces the hallway. Desperately trying to conjure up a plan to stop you from going. He couldn’t think of anything worse than his sister and his best friend dating. He shudders at the mere thought of it.

“Well it’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion,” rolling your eyes, peering out of the window to see if his car had pulled up yet.

“Why can’t you date any of the other losers in this town? Or someone at college? Why does it have to be Steve?” his shoulders slump, frown evident as he skulks into the living room.

“Oh my God Dustin, stop it. Yanno, the more you complain about it, the more I’m going to make sure it happens,” letting go of the blind and giving him a smug smirk. For his sake, it probably would just be a movie.

You weren’t exactly Steve’s usual type so you were certain that the second someone from school spotted you together he’d probably get embarrassed and drop this little crush. But hey, you could entertain the idea for the summer and perhaps you also had a tiny, smidgen of a crush on him too.

The doorbell rings out and Dustin lets out a ghastly wail, rushing to answer the door before you could. “You never come to the door for me!” he pouts, glaring at Steve who stood nervously on the front porch.

“Because I don’t like you,” Steve jokes, attention quickly pulled from your younger brother as you appear behind him. “You look.. nice,” smiling as Dustin’s eyes ping pong between the two of you.

“Thank you.. so do you,” barging past Dustin who looks positively distraught, “don’t cry too hard,” you call out, walking down the path beside Steve. The door slams when you reach his car and you share a look with Steve, giggling as he opens the door for you.

The second you sit, the nerves come spilling over. This was no longer just a silly thing you could tease Dustin about anymore, it was actually happening and you were here and he was here and you were about to go on a not-date-kinda-date.

You’re both fairly quiet on the ride to the cinema, exchanging small talk about your days and the movie you were about to watch. It was fairly obvious that he’d bought these tickets specifically with you in mind, because Steve Harrington would not willingly watch Friday the 13th, especially not on his own.

“So you accidentally got two tickets, huh?” eyeing him from across the car.

His cheeks flush, bottom lip trembling as he attempts to come up with something to explain his bullshit story, “I- fuck, no.. I didn’t,” looking bashful as he pulls into the parking lot, “I didn’t actually think you’d say yes.”

“Why?”

Steve sighs as he turns off the ignition, “I don’t know.. you’re like cool and in college and I’m just some loser from high school,” shrugging half-heartedly, finally meeting your eyes.

“You’re not a loser.. you were a loser but, I think you’re pretty cool now.”

His eyes widen, his smile fighting to come out, “I think most people would say the opposite,” he certainly didn’t hold the same level of prestige he had in school anymore. In fact, he’d sorta lost it in senior year when he’d decided that people like Tommy H and Carol were not the type he wanted to associate with.

And it wasn’t like he’d lost it all, girls still fawned over him and the basketball team would still get excited to see him but he had kinda just slipped into the background. Another guy who had peaked in high school that was destined to stay in this dead end town with a dead end job and a wife he’d grow to loathe. At least, that’s what he had always pictured.

“Yeah well, I’m not most people,” climbing out of the car. Not once in your life had you ever thought you would be telling Steve Harrington that you thought he was cool. Much less getting out of his car to go see a movie together.

You’re met with a genuine smile from over the roof of the car, he doesn’t need to speak for you to know that he appreciates your words.

For a moment you forget where you are until his eyes linger a little too long and your heart begins to pound again. Pulling your own gaze away and mumbling something about missing the trailers.

It’s unfortunate and a little sickening but you can hardly focus on the film and even though it’s dark, you can feel his eyes shift to your face every few minutes, distracting you from the movie. You don’t look back of course, keeping your eyes firmly glued to the screen.

His hand shifts suspiciously close to your knee, stopping just before he makes contact. You’re trying your hardest not to overthink it. He’s just.. moving his hand. That’s all.

Fuck.

You were fucked.

Your hands are practically trembling as you sit there. Finally gaining enough courage to look back at him the next time his eyes wander.

Steve’s not like you, see. He’s a little nervous of course but he’s had years of experience with girls, knows all the tricks in the book to get them falling for him. And when it really came down to it, he could unleash his moves to have you right where he wanted. His eyes don’t flicker back to the screen, they lower, gazing at your lips instead. He wants to do it. He does. Urging himself to just lunge forward and close the distance between you.

But you’re not like that. You wouldn’t have even looked at him twice in high school, immediately and rightfully passing him off as the dickhead that he was. These tricks were futile on you.

“Watch the movie,” you whisper despite not watching it yourself, blinking rapidly as you feel your cheeks heat up. Praying that the dark of the cinema would shroud your flushed face.

His lips twitch before slowly pulling his eyes away, nodding to himself as an acknowledgement to be on his best behaviour.

It takes every single fibre of your very being to get through the rest of the movie without looking at him again.

“Well I actually enjoyed that,” he professes loudly, walking out of the theatre a few paces behind you.

“Oh? I’m surprised you actually saw any of it,” walking to his car in the pitch black parking lot.

“I wasn’t talking about the movie,” grinning as he lays on that signature charm. It’s shameless and you feel like a fool for even falling for it.

“Shut up,” you mutter, pulling on the door handle as his car remains locked. He sidles up to the passenger side, one side of his mouth curled into a small smile.

“How tired are you on a scale of one to ten?” mere inches from your face.

“Hmm.. a five.”

“Great, get in,” leaning closer to open the door for you, outstretched arm keeping you between his body and the car. You swallow harshly, slipping past him and into the car.

You’re not sure if you like this version of Steve, the one that had the confidence to make you a bumbling fool for him.

“Where are we going?” you eventually pipe up, bewildered that you had just let this boy drive you to this mysterious location without any contest.

“You’ll see.”

The very second he turns onto the darkened road you groan, knowing exactly where he had taken you, his motivations becoming increasingly clear.

“Fucking skull rock?” you exclaim. Everyone had heard the rumours in school, this was his spot and girls were to be extremely appreciative if he brought them here. You should’ve known really, he hadn’t changed a bit.

“Well yes, but that’s not why we’re here.. I swear,” only now realising how scummy this looked but the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind until it had yours.

Your arms wrap over your chest, jutting your bottom lip out, “then why are we here?” you sounded disgusted with him. How could you have been so stupid?

“Because I-,” the car stops in the tiny lookout spot, “wait, get out of the car,” he instructs, hopping out of his side.

You don’t move a muscle, refusing to fall for his tricks once again. So he walks around the car, opening up your door, “look, I wanna show you something,” his tone is desperate and it makes you ever so slightly believe him.

There was no chance he was that eager to make out with you surely.

Your nostrils flare as you get out of the car, immediately wrapping your arms back around yourself. “What? What could you possibly have to show me out here?”

“Just look,” pointing towards the sky. It was littered with stars, bright and twinkling with the view of Hawkins in the distance. It was breathtakingly beautiful, a sight you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

He chuckles, “I come here sometimes.. just to think and stuff,” scuffing his shoes on the loose stones, “I thought you’d appreciate something like this,” hands shoved into his pockets, gazing at you as you gaze at the sky.

“Wow.. you can see everything from here,” still marvelling in the absolute beauty, blissfully unaware that he was doing the same, just not at the same beauty you were seeing.

“I thought you’d like it,” dragging his feet along to the bonnet of his car, leaning back against the maroon metal. “I’m a little offended that you just assumed that I was tryna get you here for any other reason though,” laughing softly, what more could he do to prove that he was no longer that meathead jock from school?

You finally break your gaze, looking at him as you join him on the bonnet. Heart pounding as your elbow brushes against his as you shuffle further up the car. It’s so silly, you feel like a fool, trying your hardest to contain your flushing cheeks.

“I’m sorry..” admitting that perhaps you were a little harsh, “but can you blame me? We’ve all heard the stories,” purposely knocking your elbow into his arm, wiggling your brows. Turning your attention back to the picturesque view in front of you.

“Yeah yeah.. that was a long time ago, I told you, I’m not like that anymore..” it’s only a tiny lie. He still made out with girls in his car and took them to darkened corners of your tiny town. But see, the difference was that he was actually trying to date these girls, mindless sex was no longer his goal.

“Yeah I can see that now..” your shoulders slump, relaxing as your guard comes down, “thank you, this is a really cool spot and I’m grateful you chose to share that with.. me,” smiling softly.

“You’re like the second girl I’ve ever shown this to.. by the way.”

“Second?” poking fun at him.

“Robin came first, obviously,” choosing to ignore your little dig.

You had wondered why he wasn’t just dating Robin, he was a changed man now and obviously the pair got on like a house on fire so why wouldn’t he have tried it with her? Maybe he had and she’d shut him down. She seemed cool enough in band, definitely not someone that would ever be interested in Steve, no matter how much he had changed.

“Ahh.. obviously,” trying desperately not to sound jealous.

“So you like it?” watching your face instead of the sky once again.

When you pull your eyes away from the sky to look at him, you’re taken aback to find him already staring back. “I love it,” the way the moon illuminated his face left you breathless, struggling to contain your heart in your chest.

“Good..” he smiles before descending into some ramble about the stars and how he had discovered it.

You weren’t interested. Focused on one thing and one thing only. Deciding against your better judgement to just do it. It was utterly reckless and someday you might live to regret it but you’d regret it tomorrow if you didn’t.

Pressing your lips to his, quietening his little tangent. It takes him a moment to register what was happening and you doubt yourself, wanting to pull away and run through the woods hoping to never see him again. But it finally clicks and he springs into action, masterful hand snaking its way through your hair, resting on the back of your head. Keeping you right there, pressed to him just like this forever.

Your hand nervously finds his cheek, brushing over the slight stubble that adorned his jaw. There’s no urgency, no ulterior motives. Pure and simple, only a desperate need to stay like this forever.

You pull away, lips still lingering over his. A small giggle erupts from your throat, crumbling under his stare. “Sorry..” you mutter, still trying to catch your breath, “you were saying something..”

“Sorry?” he exclaims, keeping his hand intertwined in your hair, “don’t ever be sorry for doing that.. like ever,” the stars reflecting off of his chestnut eyes back into yours, his features intricately lit up by the sky.

“Okay..” laughing slightly, “okay.. I’ll keep that in mind,” shying away from his eyes, dipping your head.

There was not one part of you that would have ever guessed that you would be the one to make a move on him first. Or that he could ever be so sweet, so kind and thoughtful and you feel awful for ever just assuming the worst of him without even giving him a chance.

You’re pulled out of your head when his head dips down to match yours, “can we do that again?” thumb tracing back and forth along your neck. You nod quickly, chest bubbling with excitement as his lips connect with yours once more.

It must’ve been gone three by the time you sneak back into your house. Praying that Dustin is already asleep as you sneak back up the creaking stairs.

It’s too late. You’ve been caught.

“Come here,” he whispers harshly, peeking out of his bedroom door, his brows furrowed.

You oblige, slipping into his room and shutting the door quietly, “you gonna give me a lecture?”

“No,” he sits cross-legged on his bed, “I was going to ask if you had a good time,” willing to put his pride behind him for the sake of his dear sister's happiness.

Your frown turns into a grin, joining him on his bed, “I did.. he’s really nice, Dusty,” moving the deconstructed lego set from his duvet so you could scoot closer. “If you really don’t like it.. I can tell him that we can just be friends,” smiling earnestly at your little brother, it would suck but after all, he was Steve’s friend first.

He sighs, swallowing his disgust, “you don’t have to do that..” this is hard for him to even get out, “if you’re happy then.. I’m happy,” giving you his brotherly blessing.

You beam at him, “but, I have some rules that you’re both gonna have to agree to,” setting his boundaries for your budding relationship.

“Shut up,” you giggle, ruffling his mop of curls before collapsing back onto his bed.

You’re happy. Genuinely happy and you’re not sure anything could happen to change that.

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