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tteokdoroki · 8 months

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ೀ⋆OCT 16TH CLUELESS ━━ megumi fushiguro + step-cest !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. megumi fushiguro + step-cest. are you totally buggin’ or is your college-goer, goody two shoes step-brother kinda into messing around with you? (7.6K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, dark content, characters aged up to 20s, college!au, enemies to lovers (?), step-cest, photos, videos, fingering, choking, praise kink, panty sniffing, body worship, riding stuffed animals, daddy kink, soft sex, unprotected sex, bimbo-ish + fem!reader, step-brother!megumi fushiguro.

୨୧ — director’s note. lets gooo another kinktober installment! i actually haven't written for megumi in ages and this is kinda long so...i hope this is okay? sorry this is late btw, please enjoy! <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

let’s get one thing straight.

not all daddy’s girls are dumb.

on the contrary, you’re actually highly intelligent and thoroughly educated — graduating at the top of every single one of your classes in high school, despite negotiating a fair portion of your grades with your teachers. after school, however, you couldn’t quite figure out what you wanted to do and everyone else you knew spent their time growing up around you. daddy wanted you to go to college, get your degree so you could find your footing in the world…he would even pay for it too.

but like every other twenty-something year old girl your age, you were completely and utterly clueless about the direction you wanted to take.

perhaps that was the reason as to why your step-brother, megumi, annoyed you so much. indoctrinated into your family unit of two (yourself and your father, of course) — megumi had joined you to play happily-family when his mother married your father. their fast-paced union didn’t last long, however, for your parents were quickly divorced by the new year…and apparently, you can only divorce people. not children. meaning that your older step sibling had decided he would much rather stick around for the long haul.

it could even be said that megumi fushiguro was an even bigger daddy’s boy (or kiss ass) than you were a daddy’s girl. he went to college on daddy’s money, ate on daddy’s money and got jobs using daddy’s money and power. now, he’s some big time hot shot at an environmental law firm and it irks you just how much your father is pushing for you to be just like megumi. in everybody’s eyes, your step brother was the picture perfect child, an example to follow, a fine gem.

and since your father liked that so much; likes how responsible and diligent megumi is — it would explain why your older step-brother could get away with sneaking up on you in your own house (favourite child privileges). “what are you all dressed up for?” the husky lilt to his deep voice sends shockwaves through your system and a shiver down your spine, making you jump away from the fridge you’re rummaging through.

“a party.” you say frigidly. the dark haired male makes a face and you roll your eyes at him in a disapproving manner. as if megumi was in any position to judge you for your plans and late night endeavours. he was a boring old college student clinging to his younger step sister whilst you were doing society a favour and helping your friend get together with the guy she liked.

it’s what you do! helping the less fortunate instead of studying for some boring piece of paper and graduate degree.

you were such a good person.

turning away from the cool air and dull hum of the fridge freezer, you tuck a few juices to be used as mixers for the party into your bag — ignoring the heaviness of your step brother’s admiral blue gaze as it slips over the curve of your waist, the expanse of your thighs and the bounce of your chest peeking out from your skimpy little get up. it’s funny, how you’ve never liked the way boys have looked at you in the past — but something about the way he drinks you in as if you’re the last glass of water on the plant makes your legs shaky and your breath turn short and…

“can i come?”

with his lips pressed into a thin line and his emotions hidden behind the perfect mask of his perfect face — megumi slams the fridge door shut, to make you squeak again. his brows raising expectantly while he waits for your answer. “a-as if fushiguro.” you huff in annoyance, jabbing the older step-sibling in his shoulder as he towers over you. “aren’t you too old for house parties? i wouldn’t want you to cramp my style.”

“i’m not that much older than you.” he laughs, it’s melodious sound sending a warmth through your body.

rolling your eyes, you snap back. “you’re old enough.”

you make yourself small as you pass by him, attempting to escape his suffocating presence. he makes you feel weird, and you don’t exactly hate it — sure megumi is annoying, snarky and a little mean but he’s… attractive, like next level attractive. he’s got those dreamy sea-storm eyes that make you feel as though you’ll die and go to heaven, a sexy smirk that gets you hot and bothered even if it’s not directed at you. all of your friends have had crushes on your step brother at some point, ones that cause jealousy to brim just under the surface of your skin, pricking you like a thousand tiny needles. your jealousy totally doesn’t have anything to do with you trying to hook your friend up tonight by the way (lying to yourself makes you feel better).

however, feeling this way about megumi is wrong, nowhere near normal. anybody could have told you that — it’s just that your family relationships make things complicated and you don’t want to make this weird between you both. you’d never admit it, but you do enjoy the back and forth sibling-like banter the two of you have. would ruining that be worth it? even if your step-brother was like…everything you’d ever wanted in a guy; not like those snot-nosed, unhygienic, monkey-brained losers you used to go to school with.

instead, megumi was smart, established and with his future practically set in stone. maybe that’s why you picked on him, why you acted like a spoiled brat whenever he was around, why you pretended to despise his every existence and wish he’d never become a part of your family. because megumi constantly reminds you of your failures or what your future could be if you put your mind to it and actually tried.

“maybe, college guys like me wouldn’t seem like such losers if you actually gave furthering your education a shot,” your step brother cuts through your thoughts, stalking behind you with his hands in his pockets as you leave the kitchen and head towards the foyer — getting ready to head out for the party. “just do what your daddy wants, angel. go to college, get your degree so he can get off my back and you can be smart like me. yeah?”

“and why would i listen to you?” there’s nothing you can do to shake him — your older step brother tailing you as if he’s your own personal guardian. he stops walking when you stop walking, bumping into your back, while a shocked whimper lays flat on the seam on your lips.

megumi passes you a jacket (which you slide on by yourself) whilst he chuckles again, the sound rumbling in his chest and through your body pressed hotly against his. “‘cause i’m your big brother.” his voice is almost scolding, playfully so, holding a darker tone that you almost recognise as lust whole his larger-than yours hands force their way down to the fat at your waist. “now c’mere, let me fix your outfit. can’t have you goin’ out like this…” megumi squeezes your hips, using his grip on them to spin you around so that you can face him.

you expect him to tell you to cover up more — that your pretty white dress is too short and that you’re too promiscuous. what you don’t expect is for the dark haired male to sink to his knees before you, soft and attentive fingers sliding up your inner leg to fix your thigh-highs as that have slipped down. you barely manage to choke back a needy moan.

he doesn’t let up on the eye contact either; only serving to fog up your pretty little head. “s-step brother,” you manage to remind him gently, finding your voice.

fushiguro rolls his eyes, poking his tongue into his cheek. “that was your take away, pretty girl?” he doesn’t stop touching you, going as far to peek his head up your skirt — pretending to finish fixing your socks despite the subtle press of his nose against your panties and pinging them against your backside once done fondling you. “there we go, better.”

he even goes as far to pat your bum in accomplishment too.

you feel pathetic for letting your step brother touch you in such a taboo way, failing to push megumi off. but he’s never been so bold and you’ve never wanted him more — craving megumi through an insatiable burning in your chest. there’s always been a sexual tension brewing between you both, fuelled by your banter, your rage and mischievousness but how could you act on it?

megumi was practically family. your family. it would be weird. you couldn’t be anything more without crossing the line of what’s deemed acceptable and what isn’t for step siblings. you have to remember who he is to you, an older brother, a menace to your friends who crush on him and someone who had called you selfish once upon a time.

finally snapping back to reality, you force yourself away from the tendrils of your step-brother’s grip — swiping your purse from the entryway table and storming towards the door. “you’re buggin’ gumi!” you squeak from the porch. “stop being weird a-and stay out of my room!”

the door slams harshly as you vacate the property in favour of the party, practically running down the steps with a rapid shake of your head. doing anything you can to rid yourself of all thoughts concerning the enigma that is your older step brother.

the party doesn’t help, and instead ends up a total disaster.

your plan to set your friends up completely falls apart when your ex-best guy friend decides to make a move on you on the way home and drops you off in the middle of nowhere after rejecting him. to top it off, some asshole robs you for your fendi purse at a gas station and makes you lie down on the ground in your matching designer dress!

the whole ordeal nearly reduces you to tears and forces you to call the one person you’d been trying to forget about all night. megumi.

he picks you up without a word of protest, but you swear that you can feel his disappointment radiating off of him in thick, asphyxiating waves. “please don’t tell daddy,” you had sniffed, eyes big and teary. and megumi can’t bring himself to blame you or to be mad at you because you’re so sweet and sensitive and a little too good for this world. that and you have no idea how much seeing you cry fucks with his head.

“you’re a smart girl, baby.” he’d replied softly — though his eyes were hard and his grip on the steering wheel even harder, indicated by the white of his knuckles. “you shouldn’t be messing around in places like this. it’s exactly why you should be in college.”

like the good big (step) brother he is, fushiguro sneaks you back into the house without a word to your watchful father. instead, he spends the rest of the night comforting you with silly cartoons to heal your inner child. deep down, it means a lot — usually the two of you would argue over control of the remote, and he would always win. this time, megumi lets you be.

“i don’t think i’m cut out for college,” you sigh after a moment’s silence, ren and stimpy providing the backing track to your vocalised thoughts. “‘m not much aside from my pretty face.”

fushiguro rolls over so that you lay side by side, nudging you with his elbow playfully. “what would you do instead?”

“i dunno,” growing bashful, you tuck your face into your shoulder — afraid that he might laugh. “start a fashion business, give people make overs? i think i’m good at that.”

“you’re good at a lot of things, angel. and making people feel god about themselves is one of them,” rather than belittling your dreams, tearing them down like you’d expect — megumi encourages you, flashing you a small yet supportive smile. “you take care of people.”

flustered by his praise, you lean into megumi’s side — playing footsie with him at the end of your bed shyly. “you’re better at taking care of me, though.” you whisper, nearly missing the way his eyes drop to your lip-gloss smudged lips.

“yeah? s’what big brothers are for, right?” he whispers back, a breath’s width away from your lips, nose inches away from nudging yours as if he’s going to kiss you. he wouldn’t be your step-brother if he wasn’t so full of annoying surprises, instead of pulling you into a lip lock — megumi grasps at the remote on your other side in an attempt to change the channel to something more boring and scholarly.

you protest in the form of a sibling play fight causing you both to roll around in the sheets — fighting for the remote or perhaps dominance over the sexual tension that thickens the air. heat rises throughout the room and your wrestling turns to megumi pinning you to your babyish pink sheets, straddling your waist. he grips your wrists, clasping them together between his large, veiny hands and forces them above your head.

everything happens so quickly, yet so slowly and all at once. one moment you’re fighting like siblings do and the next — megumi fushiguro is finally kissing you, tongue lapping at the crack between your parted lips from where you’ve gasped in shock. tasting every ounce and every essence of the remainder of your gloss, breathing weightily into your mouth as if it’s a relief to have it pressed against his own. you swallow everything he gives you and drink up his saliva as it pools into your mouth to the point where your head spins and you feel like he’s spiked you with arousal.

this is wrong, on so many levels. as if you would ever make out with your step brother. but this isn’t some kind of twisted dream, it’s a reality you find yourself basking in. you pull megumi onto you by the roots of his dark hair, mewling each time your lips slot together perfectly and whining when his hips start to jut down to meet the softness of your tummy. or when his large hands push and pull at sensitive parts of your body.

“you’re nothin’ like those college girls.” he tells you once you break apart for air. megumi’s nose nudges your cheek and his kisses dive lower into the crook of your neck while he waits for you to catch your breath. “you’re softer, prettier, you’re—“

he lets go of your wrists.

tilting your head back into your plush pillows, your shaky fingers tangle in the dark, unruly curls of your step brother’s baby hairs. “i’m what?” you tease through a series of pretty little moans, like music to megumi’s ears. you feel him twitch against your inner thigh and the temperature of his body spikes to a sweltering degree.

“perfect.” his rough tongue swipes over your prominent collarbones and over the fabric of your dress, slipping under the crevice where your breasts meets your rib cage. using his teeth, fushiguro pulls down your dress until it inches off of your shoulders, revealing more of your skin marked with scars, beauty and stretch marks. it comes off easily, exposing you to a pair of hungry, murky blue eyes. the dress remains bunched at your middle.

you must be tripping out — you’ve never seen this look in your step brother’s eyes before. he stares up at you, lips swollen and breath ragged, as if you’re the last meal on earth he’ll ever get to taste. the sexual tension was never obvious to you, and while you’ve always found megumi weird — it didn’t mean you disliked his company.

“quit staring,” you whine, arching your back into megumi’s touch as it drags across your searing flesh. “it’s weird…you’re making it seem like it’s a bad thing…”

he yanks down the front of your dress, smooths down the valley between your breasts and over your tummy as they rise and fall with each of your baited breaths. “you don’t like it when i look at you, pretty baby?” then suddenly, his thumb slips back over your naked nipple, curling your sensitive areola before applying a gentle pressure that makes you jolt up the bed. “there’s nothin’ bad about you.”

fushiguro’s grip runs down to your sides like an easy stream of water, grasping at any flesh he can while simultaneously pulling your hips up to meet his — slotting perfectly against your body to make sure you can feel how hard he is for you. “i’m not like those college girls you’re usually into…” comes your shaky whisper. “‘m too dumb.”

it’s weird, megumi’s never made you nervous until now.

“no. you’re smart, you’re perfect… you deserve more than the guys that you’re into. you shouldn’t waste your time.”

his steady hands slide over the curve of your ass, dip beneath the hem of your dress to play with your doughy thighs and every note of his praise is sung over your quivering body.

“so what?” you go on, stepping into the dark to explore whatever the fuck this is with your step brother. “i should waste it on college boys like you?”

the tail end of your words are lost in a gasped breath as megumi nudges a knuckle against the crotch of your underwear — chuckling softly at the wetness that pools in the seat of them. “you would be if you came with me.” a sort of sick and twisted expression, morphs on his handsome face. one that’s usually so stoic and unreactive to your whines and mewls. but this version of megumi seems to like watching you squirm, revels in the way your hips buck up on instinct the further he presses his fingers between your sticky, viscous folds. “god, sweetheart. your princess parts are already so wet for me.”

heat flashes across your face, accompanied by the unfamiliar twinge of lust you for megumi you feel buzzing beneath your skin and swirling with the blood in your veins. the way he coos down at you, eyes hooded and tone condescending — it only serves to cloud your judgement and your mind. you shouldn’t be doing this. but you want to. so badly.

“shut up.” you huff and look away, eyes threatening to roll back into your skull as megumi flicks at your clit from over your skimpy panties. the more he plays with you, rubs at his little sister’s cute pussy, the more your thighs twitch apart — revealing the treasure between them to his dirty-minded gaze.

the groan that follows vibrates around in the cavity of megumi’s chest before shooting down to your glistening core as it convulses under his fingertips. “you’ll miss me when i go back, don’t deny it.” he tells you like he knows you, voice horse with growing desire. “you should really come with.”

you scrunch your nose up at his request — of course he would choose now of all times to be annoying and tease you about college. “as if, megumi.” you warn, though it’s hard to stay mad at him when he presses two fingers against your spasming entrance, azure eyes darkening at a stream of your arousal dampens your panties — defining the shape of your puffy folds even more.

“yeah, yeah. i know, baby. not the time, huh?” megumi hums in amusement, gaze flickering up to your face to watch it twist with euphoria as he continues to pinch and rub at your cunt until your chest is heaving. “you want it that bad. wanna be touched so bad. pretty girls like you can’t do anything without their big brothers...” while he rambles over the drool replacing logical words on his tongue, your step brother pulls his hand away from your sex briefly to push past the lace scalloping on your underwear and access your wetness. “all this, ‘cause of me?”

“all ‘cause of you.” you breathe the words out like they’re air and nod shyly at your own admission despite the high pitched, babyish tone. to let your stupid older step brother know how much he affects you is embarrassing, borderline humiliating, but you can’t help but fall into him. megumi rewards you with two fingers stroking their way past the tight ring of your entrance, curling instantly to explore your gummy, oozing walls and locate the exact spots that make you tick.

he presses a chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek, body hunched over your shaky one as if to shield the scandalous sight from the world. his little sister split open on his fingers, drenching him in her scent and her slick as fushiguro scissors them and fucks you silly. “mhm, that’s my girl. so nice for me and my fingers. i like you better this way,” he slurs, long and dark lashes (ones that you’d die for) fluttering against your skin as his digits move faster and faster within your selfish, ribbed walls. “when all you can do is cry and make those pretty noises, instead of being a little brat to me all the time.”

fushiguro pauses his ministrations, forcing you to wriggle and writhe and chase your pleasure for only a moment. “m-megumi!” your hips jut upwards in an attempt to coax some friction out of him, anything on your pulsing clit or against your pleasure spots dotted along your insides. “p-please. fuck, gumi— i need it.”

he only smiles, his thumb finding your clit and his fingers pick up the pace — bearing down on your g-spot with every thrust into your tight heat. “that’s what i like to hear, none of that back talk. just your pretty voice, beggin’ for me.” he sweet talks you over the dirty, lewd and squishy sounds from your thoroughly fucked cunt as they ring out into the sex tainted air. they form a chorus with your hiccups and pathetic bleats for more — and if your body is a choir, megumi fushiguro is the conductor. he guides you to the gates of heaven, feeds you pieces of pleasure from the grapevine of sun and you let him.

because he’s your big (step) brother, and you trust him after all.

“fuck, you’re so pretty. could watch you make a mess of me all night.”

the bricks bliss build up in your lower tummy, cemented together by megumi’s relentless fingers pumping in and out of your slick sex. you’re the perfect vision, a sight to behold — darling gem eyes shiny with tears, tongue tied to the roof of your mouth by strings of saliva and your body doused with a glimmer of perspiration. your step brother can’t help but create a copy of you grinding against his hand on his mind. filing it away for later.

pulling his fingers from your selfish heat, megumi brings his hand down against it in a harsh slap — his entire body shuddering at the surprised wail you let out, and the stream of juices that fly up his arm as a result. “ooh, baby. what a pretty noise you just made.” he laments with a rough voice, soothing over the spank with soft flicks to your swollen clit. “can you do that again for me?”

he doesn’t give you the chance to answer, spanking your pussy again, and again and again until his head is heavy with the sounds of your broken moans and your panties are soaked all the way through — darkened by the running two of your sweet honey nectar that allow his slender fingers to slip back inside you with ease.

they tease at your stimulated walls and push and pull your tight little hole — and you swear you can practically see the stars that line the night sky with every new sensation. fushiguro is in no better state, cock painstakingly hard and straining against the insides of his sweats while his cool midnight eyes drink in the way your hips stutter and struggle to keep up with the pace of his digits inside of you.

“‘gumi… i think i—“ your words escape you, drowned out by your own pussy as it squelches around megumi’s fingers.

he kisses your forehead, contrasting my soft compared to the way he stretches you open and preps you for his cock. “i bet that feets good, huh? you feel like you’re gonna cum.” his tone turns into a mocking one, deep enough to send shivers down your spine and threaten to knock down the wall of mounting pleasure in your lower gut.

tears teeter over the edge of your waterline, streaking a hot path down the apples of your angelic cheeks as your hips lift off the bed — chasing the high only your big brother could give to you. “feels so good, p-please let me cum, ‘gumi.”

you look to him for reassurance and permission, hiccuping as megumi pulls his fingers out of you to trace from your clit and down the length of your juicy slit. pride swirls in his blazing chest when your body jerks at the sensation, hips running after the source of pleasure. you’re such a good little thing, so pliant and naive — following after your step brother no matter what he does to you. maybe you’re right, maybe you’re a little too dumb for college. but it doesn’t matter right now, not with the way your creamy entrance clenched down on fushiguro lovingly, pleading with him to let you cum.

you’re so close and he knows it, he’d have given into you if he weren’t trying to make this last.

“actually, i want you to do something for me.” he stops right before you’re about to burst, dragging his fingers out of your pulsating pussy to smear your wetness across your tummy and thighs.

a babyish blubber bubbles up on the swell of your pouty lips, coated in a layer of salt from your free-flowing tears. “w-what? m-megumi! i was so close!” you say in a petulant manner, squishing your thigh together and trapping his hand between them as if to coax him back into making you cum.

“so spoilt, more like.” your step brother bites back, almost punishing you by removing his body from yours so that he can rid himself off all of his clothes. he tosses them off the bed, but not before pulling his phone from his sweatpants and setting it to the side.

you swallow thickly when his cock springs free and slaps against his washboard abs. megumi is lengthier than he has girth, his balls heavy with an incredulous amount of seed saved up just for you. his tip is pink, almost bright red but coated in a layer of pre that’s no doubtedly smeared along the inside of his sweats but it’s a delicious sight to see nonetheless.

now you really must be bugging. you’re most certainly clueless to have never thought of megumi this way before today.

your throat bobs when he grabs hold of his rock hard shaft, hissing at the first few lazy pumps he gives himself. “i want you to do something for me. then i’ll make you cum.” fushiguro proposes gruffly, locking eyes with you carnally. “put on a show for me princess, ride one of your cute little stuffed animals over there so i can make a memory for when i go back to college.”

his ask doesn’t register in your pretty little head, and megumi figures he might have left you dazed from withholding your orgasm. or maybe you’re distracted by the way in which he fists his cock, spreading webs of milky white up and down his shaft and over his mushroomed tip with each movement. you hardly notice the fact that he’s reached for his phone, setting it to record using his free hand.

“you hear me, pretty… fuck…girl?” he curses in a low moan, squeezing himself.

this time, your attention shoots to his face while your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “y-you want me to… fuck my stuffie?”

you ask megumi so innocently, head tilted to the side like a sweet little puppy dog and he swears he might bust to you right then and there.

“fuck…yes.”

“and you won’t touch me?”

“not until i’m satisfied, princess.”

and like the bratty little sister you are, dress pushed down to your middle and makeup askew, you huff at your step-brother — all while grabbing your favourite and biggest stuffed bear to tuck against the ruined treasure between your thighs.

“you’re so fuckin’ mean, ‘gumi,” you try to keep your cool, but you’re too sensitive — lowering your twitching sex onto the soft toy slowly. “o-oh…”

he angles the camera perfectly to record you, zooming in on your cute little cunt as it slips and slides over the bear with ease.

even beyond the camera, you’re a sight for megumi fushiguro’s sore eyes, each of your curves and dips illuminated by the glistening beads of sweat that roll over the expanse of your skin – catching the low, warm yellow light from up above. he always knew that his little step sister was pretty, practically an angel, but up until now he’d relied soley on his dirty imagination to picture the way you’d look fucking yourself for him. the stuffed toy easily disappears between the meat of your pudgy thighs as you rock back and forth over it, nudging your clit against the nose of the fluffy brown bear.

“feels good, right?” he mumbles lowly, the sound vibrating in his chest. megumi can’t help but be engrossed in your every move, the soft jut of your hips and the bite down on your plump and shiny lips, the way in which your fingers dare to dance up the salacious softness to your curves and skin. “my pretty little thing. i can see why your daddy loves you so much. you’re such a good girl, listening to everything i say.”

megumi’s words waft over your mind like a thick fog of lust, darkening every pure thought you’ve ever had. your whole body twitches at their patronising air, dopamine crackling about in your skull and shooting down to the heartbeat swirling around your fluttering hole. it gushes and gushes, like an endless stream of erotica and glazes over the apex of your thighs like the shin of a sugary treat.

one that makes your step brother’s mouth water with anticipation.

each of your sweet mewls and whistle-tone bleats run through his ears like thick honey, rotting him from the inside out. perhaps that’s what makes megumi so perverted and what makes him crush on his perfect and prim little sister, you’re a fool to have not noticed it before. how he looked at you then and how megumi looks at you now, midnight blue and stormy orbs drowning with lust. your gaze flutters down to his cock, standing tall and flushed against his creamy white skin, neglected as it leaks all over his stomach.

“oh you like that, huh? you shake so much when i talk to you like that.” fushiguro starts to fist his cock faster, matching the speed at which you shakily circle your hips over the poor stuffed animal — panting as it’s fabric darkens with your wetness. “a daddy’s girl through ‘n through.” he teases while you throw it back for his phone.

sure enough, the camera picks up his warm chocolate voice as it coos its praises to you. such a good girl. ride it out princess. all of it fills you to the brim with wanton and desire, makes you crumble before the glaring lense of fushiguro’s phone.

“s-shut up.”

“uh-uh. and you were doing so well,” your step brother sounds almost cruel, reminding you of the reasons you didn’t get along before today. acting like a school boy picking on his crush, being mean to her because deep down he knows that she likes it. that you like it. “don’t be rude baby. put on a show for ‘gumi.”

he takes to palming himself more, precum slinging across his knuckles and down his thighs the more turned on he gets. it clings to every vein on his shaft, spreads to the weight of his balls and no doubt can be heard through the camera since slick and lewd noises of the both of you touching yourselves echo throughout your bedroom. megumi does his best to keep the camera steady, but he can’t help himself — following your movements and thrusting up into his closed fist to mock your pussy while you ride your stuffie for dear life.

you’re still so sensitive, but your big brother can tell you’re trying so hard to keep up for him — fighting off your next orgasm as it builds up strong in your lower belly. you want to please megumi, at the end of the day. a smart girl like you knows “that’s it, keep it movin’ for me…god, you make me wanna cum.”

you pout at the praise, rutting over the face of your stuffed animal as you breath heavy. it feels way too good, you’re overwhelmed by too many senses and megumi watching you spill your juices about the place doesn’t seem to help. dragging a hand up to your bare chest, you tweak your nipples and tug them until a needy squeal dancing on your wobbly bottom lip — doing your very best to please the dark haired college student.

you want him to cum, want him to memorise the way your eyes roll back and your moans and quivers — you feel so beautiful beneath his heavy, desire burdened stare. “m-megumi,” you say for the millionth time that night, squirming before his very eyes while you dream on the nose of your precious toy. “i-i’m close!” your hips burn holding back you release, exhaustion and just intertwining in your veins — combusting in your lungs.

clueless. you were absolutely clueless as to how it would feel falling apart under the caring gaze of someone who loves you so much.

“yeah, pretty girl?” fushiguro hums gently, giving his cock one last squeeze at the base — cutting off the stream of ore that he dribbles from the source. “c’mere, i gotcha.” he shuffles over to you on the bed, catching you before you fall with his lips pressed to your wet babyish cheeks. “i’ll let you cum, but only on my cock. you’ve got to stay good for me, okay?”

nodding timidly, you accept a few more kisses from megumi — the ones that he peppers across your face, before he manoeuvres you onto your side and nestles in right behind you. “say you want me,” the words coast along the back of your neck and your body erupts in goosebumps. his voice will always be like a dragon breathing life into a fire. sure to be careful, megumi lifts one of your thighs and hooks it over his slender waist so that he can better access your sluice sex.

he tugs your underwear to the side with one hand and positions his cock at your entrance, sliding the length of his shaft through the strings of your arousal glueing your pussy lips together. both of you hiss in harmony when his bright red tip grinds messily against your pulsing pleasure bud. your unused hole clenches around nothing, pushing out juices as if to claim megumi.

your head rolls back to rest on megumi’s broad shoulder and you reach a hand behind you to tangle in the dark mass of his sweaty locks — keeping him close. “i need you, ‘gumi. please.” you rasp weakly as his shaft breaches your silken walls, coating him in everything your body has to offer. you spoil megumi, giving him a moment to remember before he leaves for college again.

there’s a delicious residual burn from the way his girth stretches you out causing your cunt so selfishly squeezes down on every inch of your step brother’s milky cock. with a stuttered breath, fushiguro bottoms out until his balls are pressed hotly against your ass and his seedy mushroomed tip is just grazing your womb.

“just what i wanted to hear,” he purrs into the shell of your ear — nipping it tenderly. you blubber softly into the satin pillows, prepped with a fresh set of tears as you push back onto megumi to meet the push and pull of his dick into your tight, creamy sex. “you’ve always needed me, pretty thing. my precious baby sister, relyin’ on me for everything. even this.”

your entire body burns bright with desire for megumi, you’re surprised you’ve gone this long without him before today. maybe you’ve always needed to feel his sticky tip grind against your juicy walls or his hot breath fanning against your shoulders and neck. you’ve always needed your step brother to guide you in the right direction. you’ve always needed megumi.

“f-fuck, g-gumi!”

fushiguro fucks you slow and softly, pouring all of his affections into you — letting it buzz in the sex scented air between your salt slicked bodies. his fingertips leave their paw prints along your tiger striped thighs and soft tummy, he’ll kiss them better later, but for now he just wants you to know how much he’s always needed you. “oh i know pretty girl, i know.” comes megumi’s low, bristling simper — adding to the stacks of pleasure cementing together in your lower tummy. “you’re so good, taking me just right. i’ve always known you’d be good for me.”

your back arches away from the molten centre of your step brother’s chest but he refuses to let you run from him — wrapping a strong arm around your middle to anchor you and your pussy down on his throbbing cock. “i never wanted to ruin you.” he drawls hungrily, but that doesn’t stop the salacious buck of his hips upwards and the way his hands traverse over each of your perfect imperfections. “but you’re such a sweet thing… you always have been. god, baby, you drive me crazy.”

fumbling around on the bed, megumi gasps at the phone and hits record once more — propping the device up on the nightstand opposite you so that he can remain hands free. “this body, this princess cunt… the way you grip my hair—“ as if on cue, your fingers tighten at his dark roots and tug him down for a sloppy, spit swapping kiss. “everything about you, s’perfect.”

the room spins with ecstasy and your pathetic screams die in your throat at the feeling of megumi’s abs contacting against your back, his cock hitting that spongy spot inside of you over and over again. you drip sweet nectar onto the sheets, his pelvis and his thighs — tainting him with your precious sin. everything burns with exertion and exhaustion, so you’re forced to slump against your big brother and rely on him to carry you to the high heavens of pleasure.

he doesn’t disappoint, cupping your swaying breasts as you jolt up the bed from the force of his pounding thrusts, flicking at your nipples while keeping himself tucked in your squishy insides. you’re pleasured from every possible angle and it’s all caught on grainy film for megumi to take to college when he leaves without you.

“‘m so fucking happy… t-that our parents got divorced. s-so that i can…have you like this.” fushiguro tongues at the pulse point under your ear, giving you one hard thrust to emphasise the point, it makes you jump, pushing you that little bit closer to the edge. your step brother never stops pumping himself in and out of you, hardly giving you a second to breathe between sucking on your tongue and slapping a hand down on your slit.

“aren’t you happy?” he goes on to ask, carving the shape of his dick into your raw sex. “take a deep breath for me, gorgeous.”

megumi wraps a hand around your throat from behind, squeezing ever so slightly and your glistening doe eyes tear away from the camera to focus on him. you witness the stars align in his azure orbs, the adoration they hold for you and a cry-baby wail slips from between your cherry bitten lips in response.

“look so pretty with my hand around your throat ‘n my cock in your pussy… look at that. it’s like your body was made for me.” he chimes up again, watching the drool deep from the corner of your mouth as it hangs open with dry moans, like a a cute puppy panting. “how lucky are we?”

“o-oh! gumi!” you sniff blearily, not caring that there isn’t enough air in your brain to think straight. you’re swallowing down his cock and he’s leaking fat droplets of precum against the ridges of your walls — only adding to your wetness. megumi can’t expect a single logical thought to escape you this way. “‘m s-so glad. s-so lucky! so happy! i-i love you.”

the stuttered admission brings out the worst in megumi, causing him to lose his shit. your panties are rubbing his shaft raw, your pussy’s so good that he feels like he’s fucking high, not to mention you sound so pretty he could die here and be the happiest man alive. a feral desire takes over your step brother, his snapping his hips into you so hard that your headboard repeatedly smashes against the wall.

your panties are completely soaked through at this point, equally as ruined as your cunt… but megumi doesn’t care. “love you too. my good girl, my good fucking girl.” he coos, his thrusts growing animalistic and erratic — your bodies dancing to the tune of desire as you chase release. “can you cum for me, pretty? wanna see it, bet you’re so gorgeous when you’re cumming for me little sis.”

despite being fucked brainless, you still manage to do what you’re told — your hips back onto his from their own accord, puffy pussy locking down on megumi’s base to keep him inside. “i’m close… r-right there gumi!” you choke out.

“right here, baby?” is all he manages to respond with, moaning pornographically into your sweaty shoulder while he shifts the angle of his thrusts. “wanna feel you gush all fucking over me.”

that’s all you need to hear before your toe curling orgasm comes crashing down on you like a large tidal wave. the knot in your tummy finally unravels and you break beneath the pressure of it all, waves of your juices splashing out onto the sheets and megumi’s pelvis — rewarding him for fucking you this good. you cum so hard that it’s enough to force megumi from your twitching hole, expelling a musky scent into the air.

“f-fucking shit, fuuuck me…” fushiguro stumbles off the edge not long after, using the seam of your panties to finish himself off while you twitch through the aftershocks of your high. he just barely makes it, fucking your underwear and nudging his sensitive cockhead against your abused mound until he’s filling the seat of your panties with fat globs of white hot seed. “jesus…’hmygod, baby. you’re such an angel...d-did so fucking well for me.”

he peppers you with smooches until you’re calmed down enough to be rolled onto your back. megumi is careful to pull away from you, staying close while you sniffle and come back down to earth. he babies you throughout, lifting the rest of your dress over your head and waiting until you say he can move before grabbing you a spare shirt from your dresser.

“let me see you.” megumi whispers lovingly when he crawls back onto the bed to join you. he grabs his phone from the nightstand and ends its recording, pushing your thighs apart to snap pictures of your cum soaked undies and the thick white that clings to your fat pussy lips and clit. “perfect, you’re so perfect.

“i am?” you whinge — camera shy. but you don’t tell him to stop, letting your older step brother rub his sensitive and overworked cock over your crotch, smearing the last evidence of your orgasms against you for a quick video. another one that’ll be added to his spank bank for later. “‘gumi…” you warn once you start to feel overstimulated.

he chuckles at how whiny you are, tugging your clean shirt over your head before he pulls you into his arms. “i got it, i’m sorry.” rocking you both back and forth, fushiguro kisses the crown of your head. “yanno… if you’re so serious about not joining me at college. i’ll try and convince your dad to let you stay in town. as long as you keep up your promise and try to start a business.”

your heart skips a beat, and you cast a glance upwards at your step brother. “really?”

“really. if it means that much to you.”

sleep settles heavy in megumi’s bones and on his pretty face — one you didn’t realise you loved so much. “it does! thank you, ‘gumi,” you say quickly, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. “m-maybe you college boys aren’t so bad.”

“oh come on now, didn’t me fucking you stupid literally just prove that?”

“maybe.”

“so you’ll come visit me at college then. since you like me so much.” fushiguro quips cheekily, narrowly missing your swat to his chest.

you roll your eyes and try to unravel yourself from your step brother’s affectionate grip, but don’t hide your smile. “ugh! as if, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

but teasing megumi further only gets you dragged back into the sheets — two sets of laughter echoing throughout the room in what appears to be another sibling fight.

except this time, you’re not as clueless.

you know that something like this, and with megumi, means something much, much more.

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ozzgin · 26 days

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Yandere! Sea Monster x Reader

In the spirit of Mermay, I come to you with a slightly different approach: an octopus hybrid, dwelling in the dark depths of ancient waters. :) Hopefully close enough to the sea monster you imagined, @wally0117

Content: gender neutral reader, male yandere, monster romance, reader likes sharks (a lot); inspired by The Shape of Water and My Octopus Teacher; photo from Whalebone Magazine

He’s always been aware of humans, naturally. Observed them from the beginnings of time, from the very first rudimentary attempt of a boat that crossed his waters. Though he can only guess how these creatures exist, how they breathe, how they move. What arrives in his depths is always a corpse of some sort. Bloated, decaying carcasses, rarely intact, whether chipped by fish or by time. Everything else is left to his imagination.

Until today. The fish are restless, the currents are stronger. Something must be happening above, stringing him along curiously. His many legs sway in tandem, opening and closing, as he investigates the source of interest. His pale white eyes narrow to a mere squint, unused to the light of the surface levels. At last, he finds it: a human.

Yet this one is unusual. Intact - save for the bleeding wound - and unlike the washed-out, cadaveric blue tint he’s normally accustomed to. He notices a twitch of the limb and it dawns on him: this one is still alive.

You wake up with a violent cough, thrusting out the leftover liquid that had invaded your lungs earlier. You clearly remember drowning, so how did you end up on shore again? The answer reveals itself rather quickly: a monstrous creature, albeit humanoid for the most part. The upper half resembles a man, but the torso ends in thick, enormous tentacles, now flopped onto the sand, surrounding your body. You search for the creature’s face, framed by translucent tendrils that seem to replace what you’d expect as hair.

“Thank you”. He scans your features and remains silent. Does he even understand human speech? After a moment of consideration, he looks ahead, surveying the water, then returns to you, giving you a nudge. He most likely wants to know how you ended up in that situation to begin with. “That’s, well…”

Conveniently enough, the monster has brought you back to your little camp, so you reach for your backpack and pull out a book. Of course, no words can ever replace the image itself. With renewed enthusiasm, you open your encyclopedia and turn it towards the man, showing him a photo of a sand tiger shark, tapping on it excitedly. “I was looking for sharks!”

Ever since the bizarre, life-saving encounter, you’ve been returning to the same spot most days. And without exception, the monster will be waiting for you in one of the neighboring caves. Judging by the pellucid, pale skin and his reluctance to be in the light, you guessed early on that he might be a creature of the depths.

One that has been around for a long time, it seems. Once he understood your interest in sharks and other aquatic animals, he developed a liking to play guide for you, silently touring you through forests of kelp, hidden caves, labyrinths of reefs and hills. He knows where the animals linger, and they don't scurry away when you approach. You've never dreamed of being so close to them, staring into their eyes and tracing their fins as they swim past you, unbothered and relaxed. The monster will gaze at you from a distance, amused by your passion.

On ground, you’ve begun your own little experiment: can the octopus creature learn sign language? You didn’t need long to discover how intelligent he is, mimicking your gestures with flawless ease, instantly memorizing the meanings, the connections, the implications. He seems to be terribly delighted by this newfound tool of communication, often asking you questions with earnest curiosity.

Ah, yes, the questions. It makes sense that he’d want to know more about humans, though his interrogations are rather…particular. Specific. It’s less about humans as a whole, and more about you. How long have you been swimming here? How deep can you actually swim, with or without aid? Might you have a family waiting for you back home? A mate, perchance? No? Interesting.

"My vacation will end soon", you sign with pursed lips. He tilts his head. "Leaving?" his webbed hands gesture, somewhat uneasy. You nod. You can discern a glint of melancholy in his eyes. Eventually, he resumes: "Would you like to see my home?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise. His home? Down there? Was such a thing even achievable for a human like you?

The plump suckers attach themselves to your skin, one resting over your mouth. "Do you trust me?" You cast one final glance over the underwater abyss, a black hole trapping all light and matter. You shake your head in approval. Without hesitation, he plunges over the cliff, pulling you after him and into the yawning void of darkness. His form glows eerily, and his movement is swift and elegant. You can tell this is his land, his territory. You would've been dead a long time ago.

He releases you on the wet stone, inside the air pocket of a cave. You need a few moments to overcome the wave of claustrophobia pressing against your lungs. As you catch your breath, you recall your long path from the surface. It would be impossible to make it back out again without your friend. A cold shiver runs across your spine. "Have a break, and I'll show you everything else afterwards", he gestures with a smile. "How long will it take? I don't want to walk back at night", you explain.

Silence. You stare into his empty orbs, awaiting a reaction. There's not a sound, not a gust of wind, not a shred of light. "You're not going back", he finally answers.

You see, he's done a fair amount of research himself. He doesn't need an encyclopedia to figure you out: how you breathe, how you move, how you exist. In fact, he is rather confident in his ways of helping you adapt to a life spent together. He would've never brought you down here if he wasn't certain of your survival. His grin widens in anticipation, a strange warmth enveloping his innards at the mere thought of it: a future with you in it, right here. However, one question remains, a cheeky, perverted detail that has been on his mind from the moment he met you, yet he could never investigate it properly.

How do humans mate?

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nottsangel · 2 months

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the red means i love you — r.c.

pairing: dark!rafe cameron x dark!reader

warnings: 18+ smut, murder, vaginal sex, extreme violence, stabbing, blood, knifeplay (carving), bloodplay, possessive and obsessive behaviour (reader and rafe), fingering, hair pulling, slight spanking, toxic relationship, reader and rafe are both fucked in the head

word count: 5k

summary: in a relationship fueled by hidden obsession and jealousy, you and your boyfriend are more alike than you initially thought.

moodboard // m.list // blurbs m.list // taglist

You hummed along to the song blasting from your speakers, stretched out on your stomach while absentmindedly scrolling through TikTok, your long nails tapping against the screen. With your boyfriend away on their annual family vacation, you were left restless and bored. Since you started dating him a year ago, you've spent practically every moment together, causing your hobbies and personal interests to gradually fade, along with your sense of individuality. He was the centre of your world, everything in your life revolved around him— you were willing to go to any lengths for him, and you knew he would do the same for you. What you both didn’t know, was how far you would be willing to go for each other.

Yawning while watching the nth slime scoopability video on your TikTok for you page, a notification popped up on your phone— rafe_cameron posted a new picture! You instantly tapped on it, having notifications turned on for a reason only to find a photo of your boyfriend on a yacht, clad in nothing but his blue swimsuit. Fuck. His defined abs, the tight shorts showing his bulge through the fabric, his hair messy and slightly wet— you instantly felt an ache between your legs, prompting you to rub your thighs together.

Though it had only been a few days since you had last seen him, his absence weighed heavy and the picture didn’t help. You found yourself analysing every single detail of the picture, but your focus kept going back to his bulge as you could practically feel his cock filling you up so perfectly like he does every night again, except for tonight. You were desperately craving his touch, and just as you were about to reach your hand into your shorts to relieve the achy feeling, your mood was ruined when you checked the comment section.

oliviaprentiss4: looking good Cameron! 😍

Bang. You threw your phone aggressively at the wall while letting out a piercing scream as your breaths grew shallow and fast, anger coursing through your veins. Fucking bitch. Of course it’s Olivia, who goes after your man every chance she gets. Despite Rafe's constant assurances that she's just a friend and nothing more, as a girl yourself, you can't help but notice the subtle flirtations — the way she twirls her blonde locks while gazing up at him with fuck-me eyes whenever they talk. You're not stupid.

You fixed your gaze intently on the wall, attempting to collect your thoughts and calm your breathing as a plan dawned upon you. Swiftly grabbing the lip gloss from the bedside table next to you, you hastily reapplied it before gathering your phone from the ground and switching to the camera app. You raised your phone in the air, pushing your tits up and pulling your top down just a tad bit, leaving nearly nothing to the imagination as you snapped a few pictures while switching poses.

Brandon is gonna fucking love these, you thought to yourself while scrolling through your camera roll, referring to a fratboy you met at a party before you started dating Rafe. You hooked up with him once, seeing him as nothing more than just a one-night stand, but he became obsessed with you after that— replying to your Instagram stories daily and asking you to hang out at least once a week. You knew he would comment if you posted a few sexy pics, and you were right.

brandontheman: cute top, but im more interested in whats under it ;)

You bit your lip as an amused but sinister smile spread across your face, knowing it would infuriate Rafe. Clicking back on his profile to check the new picture once more, you noticed new comments had been added. Your smile abruptly vanished as you glanced at Rafe's comments section again, feeling the anger that had started to subside returning with force.

rafe_cameron: @ oliviaprentiss4 Thanks liv.

Liv. He fucking calls her Liv. Fucking asshole. You muttered curses under your breath, fists clenching as your breathing quickened and your jaw tightened again. He could've simply ignored her. Or deleted her comment. Or blocked her when you started complaining about the bitch four months ago. But no— the fucking idiot calls her Liv, for everyone to see, including you.

With hands trembling from sheer rage, you redirected your attention to your phone before switching profiles. rafe_cameron. Now, you wouldn't exactly label yourself as toxic for having his profile logged in on your phone. You're just, you know, keeping an eye on him, with the best intentions after all. Even though he was unaware that you peeked into his phone to get his password when he was showering. Hmm. Okay, maybe you were a little toxic, you can admit that much. But being toxic means being smart so you went to settings and disabled notifications, ensuring Rafe wouldn’t suspect a thing before tapping on his chat with Olivia.

As you scrolled through the chat, nothing new caught your eye, which didn't come as a surprise given that you checked his profile on a daily basis. It was the usual— Olivia showering him with compliments whenever he posted a picture of himself, and him graciously thanking her. You shook your head in disbelief, your jaw tensing with anger at his consistent responses to her. She was a big problem— a serious threat to your relationship, and you desperately needed to get rid of her. You took a deep breath, hoping your plan would succeed, before typing out a message.

rafe_cameron: hey liv.

oliviaprentiss4: hey rafey!

Rafey. Oh, this bitch really wants to die.

rafe_cameron: my girlfriend is out of town tonight. wanna come over?

oliviaprentiss4: sounds good! I’ll be there at 9!! 🤍

Not a girl’s girl, huh? You scoffed at how easily she agreed to a man cheating on his girlfriend, yet a small smile tugged at your lips as it seemed that your plan was starting to take work. Now you just had to figure out how to get inside Tannyhill, but let’s be real— breaking in is the easiest part of it all.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows across the Cameron’s estate except for a few lights that you hastily switched on when you arrived five minutes before nine. It was quiet; the only sounds in the eerie mansion were the ticking of a clock and a few birds chirping outside.

You were impatiently sitting on the couch, waiting for Olivia, with your knee bouncing up and down— not from nerves though, but rather, excitement. A wicked grin spread across your face as you heard the doorknob turn, followed by cautious footsteps on the wooden floor. Olivia gasped audibly when she spotted you, her face flushing bright red as she stumbled over her words, too stunned to articulate a coherent sentence.

“I- Sorry, Rafe said- I mean. I thought you wouldn’t-“ “You thought what, exactly? That you could fuck my boyfriend without me knowing? God, you really are such a stupid, fucking bitch.”

Your words hit her hard, causing her to freeze in place as she fiddled with her fingers nervously. She realized she fucked up bad when she caught the insane, psychotic glare in your narrowed eyes, which was filled with unmistakable hatred directed at her. It sent shivers down her spine— she came to the stark realization that you were more than simply a jealous girlfriend; she was fearing for her life.

You rose from the couch and marched towards her, causing her to take steps back in panic, her eyes widening in terror. But you were quicker, consumed by rage. She cried out in agony as you seized a handful of her blonde hair, and violently hauled her towards the ground until she smashed into the floor with a loud thud.

“Tsk, so many men, and still, you had to choose mine. Dumbest decision you could make, Liv. And you’re gonna fucking regret it.” You hissed as you straddled her. She slowly opened her eyes, feeling disoriented from her head hitting the floor as she confusedly gazed up at you. It was over for her. You knew it, she knew it. The poor girl gulped when you took a knife out of your back pocket— the pocket knife that Rafe bought you to defend yourself from men. Oh, if only he knew. Thank you baby, best present ever.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do. I will use this cute little knife to stab you, okay? Not just once though, no, there’s no fun in that.” Now, this was the moment where she broke down in tears, pleading for you to let her go. You revelled in the sense of power, devoid of any trace of empathy, as you observed the girl's panicked state with streaks of mascara running down her face. What the fuck did she expect? It’s the consequences of her own actions.

You gripped her face tightly, sharp nails pressing into her skin as you forced her to meet your gaze, her eyes wide with fear and brimming with tears as they met yours. She was frozen in place, paralyzed by an overwhelming sense of dread. “Hey, hey, just shut up for a moment and let me do my thing, okay? This is my moment and I can’t have you fucking it up. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

You paused and slowly closed your eyes, savouring the momentary bliss until Olivia interrupted you, prompting an irritated exhale and forcing your eyes to reopen. “Let me go, please! I wasn’t even gonna do anything with him! I promise!” she attempted and pleaded for one last time, despite knowing deep down that it wouldn't change anything. Your hatred was too strong, as evidenced by your eyes— the psychotic look on your face caused goosebumps to form all over her body.

“You think…” you started, breath quickening in growing anger as your jaw tensed, shaking your head and snickering in disbelief, “…you can fucking LIE TO ME?” you screamed before raising the knife in the air, not wasting any more time as she only fuelled your rage further, followed by bringing it back down, right into her chest next to her silver necklace with the letter ‘O’ attached to it. She let out a piercing scream out of agony before you quickly pulled the knife out, blood spurting in every direction possible just like in slasher movies, making you forget for a moment that this was real life. You were so caught up in the moment— it felt therapeutic in a way to finally release all of your pent-up rage.

“Don’t” stab. “touch” stab. “my” stab. “man, Liv.” stab, stab, stab.

Your heart raced as you witnessed the life drain from her ocean-blue eyes, a rush of power and exhilaration consuming you as you smiled down at her with a manic glint in your eyes. You experienced a strange sense of peace along with a wave of relief washing over you. Problem solved.

Standing up again, you had to steady yourself as you felt slightly lightheaded with adrenaline rushing through your body. You wiped the remaining blood from your face with your shirt before hearing a faint scream coming from upstairs, making you gasp as your heart beat out of your chest. What the fuck? You were convinced that no one was home, the entire Cameron family on their yearly vacation far, far away.

The screams came to an abrupt halt followed by a loud thud before hearing a person grunt, as if they were struggling while carrying something heavy. Fuck fuck fuck. This was when you started to panic. Whoever it was coming down the stairs right now was about to witness you fully covered in blood with a fucking dead body lying next to you on the floor. It was over.

“Shit man… why’s it never the skinny, short guys she fuckin’ falls for?” you heard a familiar voice complain, making you blink your eyes a few times as you saw your boyfriend descend the stairs while dragging a lifeless body behind him. “…Rafe?” you uttered, making him snap his head to the side, startled by your sweet-laced voice calling out his name.

First, his gaze fell on you, locking his blue eyes with yours, both widening in shock while staring at each other. Oh, he really fucked up, he thought, until he noticed the corpse next to you with the knife in your right hand, fresh blood dripping from it onto the floor. He then turned to face the body he was dragging down the stairs, blinking several times as he attempted to process the bizarre situation.

“Oh shit. We’re like that one Spiderman meme, babe.” you chuckled, cocking your head to the side as you watched the body comically fall down each step with a thud, leaving a trail of fresh blood behind. Rafe looked at you in astonishment, before his face quickly turned into one of absolute fury with nostrils flaring and his eyes narrowing. You knew that look on your boyfriend’s face— he was about to freak the fuck out. “ooohh my god, oh my god… what— what the FUCK are you doing?!”

Your face instantly dropped as you scoffed at the hypocrisy, “What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are YOU doing?” you hurriedly marched towards him, casually stepping over the girl’s lifeless body with the bloody knife still in your right hand. With your faces merely inches away, you stared into his enraged, narrowed blue eyes before turning your attention to the body resting against the stairs. Brandon. The poor boy has been beaten to death with what you assume Rafe’s baseball bat, which has been sitting in the corner of his room untouched for quite some time, always leaving you wondering why he still had that thing. Well, that question was answered now. Brandon’s face was nearly unrecognisable, it was not a nice sight. He was covered in blood from head to toe, and it was clear Rafe used Brandon’s body to get all his aggression out.

Your attention was then drawn to the once-white carpet he was standing on, which was now ruined and completely covered in blood. “Oh, and real smart, Rafe. Letting a body bleed all over your fucking carpet. What are you gonna tell your family, huh?” You snorted, taking in the mess that Rafe had made all over the house.

“That’s… that’s what you’re fuckin’ worried about here!? Just… I— I don’t know, say you were on your period or some shit, jesus.” he rolled his eyes and shook his head, obviously not thinking about the fucking carpet right now as his mind raced with a thousand thoughts while squinting his eyes, still trying to figure out who the body was on the other end of the room.

“Is that— is that Oliv-“ “ON MY PERIOD, RAFE?! I’D BE FUCKING DEAD ALREADY IF THAT’S HOW MUCH I BLEED EACH MONTH, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”

Rafe briefly closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, attempting to block out your exasperating voice but failing miserably as it was the only thing he could hear at that moment. His breathing accelerated and his eyes narrowed as his frustration reached its boiling point, his vision blurred with a red haze of anger before punching a hole in the wall, the impact echoing throughout the room, sending shockwaves of sound outward. “FUCK! Why do you— why you always gotta fuck things up for us, huh? Can’t you just be a normal fucking girlfriend for once? Jesus fucking christ.”

A normal girlfriend? Your heart shattered into a thousand pieces at his words. Each syllable fell like a knife to the heart, leaving you more vulnerable and hurt. In that moment, you realized with a sense of sorrow that no matter how much you loved him, it would never be enough. Tears from sheer rage and heartache began to well up in your eyes as your grip on the knife tightened. You felt so misunderstood— why couldn’t he just see that no girl could ever love him the way you do? That everything you do is for him?

“I— I did this for you, Rafe, for us. Can’t you fucking see that? She was gonna— fuck— she was gonna ruin what we have!” you spoke in a trembling but urgent voice, swaying the knife in front of his face as blood splattered all over the walls, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “I’d do anything for you, you hear me? ANYTHING! Nothing is ever gonna get between us, Rafe. And no one— no one will ever love you more than I do.” His eyes were eerily still, devoid of any trace of humanity, as he stood frozen, listening to your ramblings. It only fuelled your rage more, as you so desperately tried to get it through his head that you did it for him, with the best intentions, but Rafe gave no reaction.

“I just— I just don’t get it… How the FUCK is this my-“ you continued with tears streaming down your face but gasped when you were abruptly interrupted by Rafe grabbing your face, leaving a red blood imprint on your cheek before pushing you against the cold wall followed by his lips meeting yours in a fervent urgency. His body was pressed against yours with his hand gripping the back of your head, pushing you deeper into him to intensify the kiss as your tongues danced together. At that moment, all your surroundings melted away as you were lost in the overwhelming need for each other.

Because oddly, it turned him on— your insanity turned him on. It stirred a sensation of warmth, a tingling feeling, and a deep sense of gratitude within him. Knowing someone loved him to the point of being willing to do anything for him, even if that meant killing— that was all Rafe needed in his lonely existence, longing for someone to love him with the same intensity he felt for them. Rafe Cameron just needed to be loved.

“You’re— you’re… fuckin’ perfect.” Rafe whispered, his voice laced with an unfamiliar sweetness as his blue eyes intensely gazed into yours. Perfect? You blinked a few times as you shook your head, unable to process the sudden change in demeanour. “W-what?” you stared at him before he cupped your face with both hands, a look of solace and devotion on his blood-stained face. “Listen to me, yeah? ‘m never gonna let you go, I fuckin’ promise that. I’d do anything for you— anything, you hear me? Gonna take good fuckin’ care of my girl, a’ight?”

A relieved smile graced your lips, a chuckle escaping as you found comfort before you leaned in to kiss him once more, the embrace deeper and more intense than before, filled with longing and desire. He pushed you towards the couch, making you stumble backwards while feeling more aroused with each step you took. It was a bizarre scene— both of you covered in fresh blood, hungrily touching every part of each other’s bodies, with two corpses on the floor next to you, still bleeding all over. But that wasn’t any of your concern at that moment. All you cared about was how his skilled hands moved over your skin, making you crave him even more.

Rafe, on the other hand, felt he still had something to prove— as if murdering a man wasn’t enough. He needed you to know how good he could make you feel. He needed you to understand that no man on this planet could treat you better than him. You could see it in his lustful eyes as he pushed you back on the couch, followed by him crawling on top of you and attacking your still blood-covered neck with hungry kisses. The ticklish feeling of Rafe’s mouth made you giggle as the metallic tang of blood flooded his senses, coating his tongue with an iron bitterness that lingered long. He didn’t know whose blood it even was, maybe both of theirs together mixed with yours, by the way he was so aggressively biting and sucking on your skin.

“Mine. All fuckin’ mine. Got it?” he snarled as he withdrew and grasped your face tightly, forcing you to look him into his intense eyes. You agreed with a nod, flashing a naughty smile as you gazed up at him coyly through your lashes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Don’t wanna go around killin’ the entire neighbourhood.” He growled, before trailing his lips to your earlobe, gently sucking on it as his expensive cologne filled your nostrils. “But I will if I have to.” His voice raspy as he spoke, making you become wetter with each passing second.

“Hm, i don’t doubt that.” You remarked before a moan escaped your lips caused by Rafe’s hand groping your tits under your shirt, massaging them over the laced bra that he bought for you. “But know that I would kill the entire female population of the Outer Banks.” He couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle, still wrapping his head around just how insane his girlfriend truly was. “You’re so fucked in the head, shit.“ he whispered, pulling your bra down and toying with your nipples, making you bite your lip, “Just how I like it.”

Rafe then grabbed the knife from where you had dropped it next to the couch, skilfully twirling it a few times. You observed him with a rush of anticipation, uncertain of his intentions. He slid the knife beneath your top, eliciting a gasp as he swiftly sliced through the fabric, ruining your clothes, before repeating the action with your shorts.

“Rafe, what the fuck!” You hissed in annoyance as he destroyed your clothes. “Those were my favourites! Oh, don’t you fucking dare do the same with my underwear” It was evident he wasn't taking you seriously, the smug smile on his face only grew bigger before he slipped the knife under your bra and cut it open as well in one swift motion.

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. You know I can buy you anything you want, yeah?” Your lace underwear was next, leaving you inwardly agitated as he cut the fabric and flung it across the room. Seeing your dejected expression, he released an exasperated sigh. “Stop with the whining. I’ll take you shopping tomorrow, a’ight?”

He seized you by the hips and quickly turned you around, pressing your face into the cushion before you could comprehend what was happening as in an instant, you found yourself face down with your ass up, angled towards him. “Fuckin’ soaked already, huh?” He suddenly grabbed a handful of your hair and raised your head, then stuck his blood-covered fingers into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around his digits with a mixture of blood and drool running down your chin while feeling his clothed boner press against your bare ass. “Yeah— that’s right baby. Lick my fingers clean like a good fuckin’ girl.” You could feel yourself dripping down your inner thighs before Rafe scooped it up with his now clean fingers and slipped them into you from behind, making you let out a hitched breath at the sudden sensation as you moaned his name.

It didn’t take long for his digits to find your g-spot as he skilfully rubbed against it, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your pornographic moans combined with the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you made it difficult for him to control himself any longer, so he abruptly pulled out, causing you to whine at the sudden loss of contact. “You bitch! I was so fucking close!” Rafe’s hand reeled back before you felt a stinging pain on your ass, making you jolt forward on the couch. “Watch that fuckin’ mouth if you wanna cum.”

You heard the unbuckling of a belt behind you followed by feeling Rafe’s erection teasing your folds, dragging the tip up and down as his precum mixed with your wetness. Growing increasingly impatient, you tried to push yourself back onto his cock, to no avail as he held your hips firmly. “Aww, poor girl wants it bad, huh?” his voice laced with faux sympathy. “Then beg for it.”

“Rafe just fucking do-“ your words were quickly interrupted by him grasping your hair and leaning down to your eye level. “I said fuckin’ beg for it.”

“Fuck. Please, okay! I need to feel you! Just, please, fuck me” Rafe pushed himself into you in one quick thrust, swallowed by your warmth as he watched his cock disappear into your body. He gave you no time to adjust as he stretched you out completely, causing a brief sensation of pain that was quickly replaced by pleasure. He let out a sigh at the feeling, one hand on your lower back and the other on your hip as he quickly set a brutal pace— deep, erratic thrusts hitting your sweet spots so perfectly. Your nails scraped against the leather of the couch, nearly tearing it apart as you pushed yourself back onto Rafe’s cock, making him grunt at the sight. He massaged your inner walls so perfectly, making you moan his name loudly over and over again.

Rafe suddenly stopped in his tracks, cautioning, “Stay still or this will hurt, like bad, a’ight?”, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion before hearing him reach for the knife once again from next to him, sending a gulp down your throat. You tensed, anticipating the sensation, well aware of what was about to happen, just as you felt the sharp edge of the blade against your delicate skin while he was still balls deep inside of you. “So fuckin’ pretty all covered in blood, shit.” You could feel the letters he was etching into your skin— R.C., his initials. Once he was done, he tossed the knife on the floor before quickly pulling out, causing you to whine at the sudden empty feeling as he leaned down, licking up your blood that was dripping from the fresh wounds, mingling with Olivia's still-stained blood on your skin. “Forever mine.”

Rafe slapped your ass once again, causing you to cry out from the stinging pain of his hand making contact with the fresh carvings on your skin. “Now, where were we?” He slipped into you again as he mercilessly continued his thrusts, strangled noises leaving your mouth at the sudden feeling. He noticed your moans were muffled by the pillow so he grabbed a handful of your hair and tugged it firmly, pulling you back to meet his thrusts.

“Shit, look at ya now. Not so tough anymore, huh?” Rafe groaned as he pounded into you, his brutal thrusts making your eyes roll to the back of your head as your vision started to blur. “Shut— up.” You muttered in between his thrusts, your mind all fuzzy as his tip repeatedly hit your cervix. You clenched around him when he kept hitting that one spot inside you, the pleasure building as you could feel his cock twitching inside you.

You arched your back with your eyes fluttering shut as felt your orgasm approaching. “I’m— I’m so fucking close, oh my god” You moaned out with your mouth agape, nails digging deep into the skin of his arm that was wrapped around your body as the sensation became too much for you.

“Come f’me, doll. Gonna fill you up so fuckin’ good” Rafe’s hand snaked around your body to rub fast circles on your sensitive clit, making you moan loudly as your orgasm abruptly struck you, causing you to clench hard around his cock with buckling knees. All your muscles tensed as you saw stars, a wave of pleasure fully overtaking you with Rafe still pounding into you, chasing his own orgasm. He came not too long after you, slow and drawn-out curses spilling from his lips with his head thrown back as you could feel the familiar pool of warmth fill you up to the brim, completely emptying himself inside of you as his orgasm hit him.

He rode out his high before he carefully pulled out as your chest rose and fell in a frantic rhythm, each breath a struggle to fill your lungs with air while trying to regain your breath. “My pretty, pretty girl.” Rafe praised, staring at your cum-dripping cunt with a grin on his face.

As you opened your eyes, the harsh reality crashed over you like a wave, sending a shiver down your spine at the sight of the lifeless bodies lying across the floor. Panic laced your voice as you turned to face Rafe, desperation evident in your words. "Rafe? What the fuck are we going to do with the bodies?"

His response was surprisingly calm, his tone carrying an unsettling assurance. "Don't worry ‘bout that. I'll take care of it, a’ight?"

The eerie composure in his voice sent a chill down your spine, hinting at a familiarity with murdering that made your stomach churn. "What? How— how do you know how to clean up bodies?"

A sinister smirk crept onto his handsome features, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion and disbelief before his blue eyes stared deep into yours, holding you in their gaze with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “Princess, what do you think happened to poor Jake last month? And Dylan before that?”

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phas3d · 5 months

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Celebrity Crush|| Slytherin Boys

type :: fluff

tw/cw :: suggestive jokes (all)

contains :: draco malfoy, tom riddle, mattheo riddle, theodore nott, lorenzo berkshire

summary :: you're either friends or enemies and they see you freaking out over your celebrity, making them jealous. they search them up only to find out that the celebrity looks almost exactly like them

alternative :: your celebrity crush looks nothing like them

DRACO (enemies)

Your group just watched the newest movie that came out

Ever since then, you couldn’t stop gushing about how hot the villain was

Although the villain was an awful person, you still went on rants about how fine he is

Your friends kept laughing at how out of pocket your jokes were

“I can fix him I swear, just give me a chance” you grieved as if someone died

"I'm gonna get on all fours and start hitting my chest like a gorilla if he keeps looking this fine" you said with passion, not scared of the whole school hearing you

Draco, despite not wanting to say it, was extremely jealous as he gripped his fork extra hard as he heard you

He was a dick, why didn’t you like him? Maybe he wasn’t hot enough? He’s always been slightly insecure about his appearance

The second lunch ended, he ran to the bathroom and secretly looked up the actor

But as he looked at him… he realized he wasn’t too far off from the actor

Their faces were almost completely different but, they both had short bright blonde hair, cold blue eyes, always wore green, and had similar body types

From seeing that, he smirked to himself and got an ego boost

He goes to sleep with a fat ass grin on his face

He won’t directly say the actor looks like him, but he’ll know it deep down

TOM (friends)

Although Tom could stand being around you, he wished he could mute you out

You two were studying together in his room

Or… he was studying while you kept replaying the same edit of some random celebrity

“He could take my eggs and eat it like skittles”

Tom has literally killed and tortured people but he still widened his eyes slightly at your comment

He felt a small bit of jealousy, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he was scared of losing his only friend or because he liked you

(It’s because he likes you but he’s not that emotionally aware)

Tom has always been nosy, so he tilted slightly to see your phone

That’s when he saw a man with pale skin, brown eyes, and wavy brown hair

But beside those basic attributes, he also had the same nose as him along with a resting bitch face

He doesn’t show it, but on the inside he felt much calmer

It gave him a small sense of hope that maybe one day, he could actually be seen as attractive by someone

No one has ever confessed or even liked Tom romantically throughout his whole life due to his insane hobbies

He sleeps a little bit better with the thought that maybe someone could like him

And he really hopes it’s you :)

MATTHEO (enemies) (I made this so long on accident... whoops)

You two clash constantly due to Mattheo’s class clown behavior and your goody-two-shoes attitude

He was always cracking mean jokes and bullying your friend group since you were kinda nerdy

You despised him and have beaten his ass multiple times (with magic) but he still doesn’t learn his lesson

But that's mainly because he thinks it's hot when you beat his ass and yell at him

Once again, he was walking towards your group to pick on you guys once more, especially you

But that’s when he heard you freak out over some random character

At first he thought it was just some lame anime character, that's how you usually are

But when you start showing your friends the photo-card in the back of your phone, he realizes it’s a real person

Instantly, he's pissed and jealous of a stupid piece of paper

He stalks you until you repeat the celebrities' name so he can google him and ruin his career

But once he looks up the idol, he sees that he also has dark curly hair with deep brown eyes

He actually researches and tries to learn about the idol more so he can take note on what you like

That's when he learns that the idol is known as a funny and protective person, just like him

He giggles to himself and decides to be insanely cocky

He prints out a photo of himself in the same pose as the idol, rounds the corners, and even puts his own signature on the back

The next day, he hands it to you and is smirking to himself

But... surprisingly... you didn't know it wasn't the idol????

You smiled widely and freak out, you thank him and quickly put it in the back of your phone case

From that, he smiles insanely widely. Not only at how cute you were from freaking out, but by also knowing he's on the back of your phone without you even knowing

THEODORE (friends)

He's always known you were a fangirl but it was normally for weird things

You've had a few celebrity crushes over the years, but it's never been this extreme before

"GOD I WANNA LIVE IN HIS TOILET!!!" You shouted as you stared at a photo of the celebrity

Theo never understood how people got so attached but he was curious

How hot was this guy for you to like him THIS much? and why was he so jealous?

Theo has always been confident in his looks since he pulls bitches left and right

But, for some reason, he's suddenly strongly craving your validation

He asks you to show him the celebrity, only to see an almost exact clone of himself

Light fluffy brown hair, green eyes that were the same shape as his, thick brows, and a strong jaw

Theo smiles lightly and shakes his head, you perceived it as him making fun of your crush

You hide your phone from him and proceed to watch a pile of edits of this man on loop

Although he didn't get the hype of being a fangirl, he supported this one

He researches the celebrity during his free time and tries to become more like him slightly

Of course, he doesn't change anything drastically

But he might get the same shirt or shoes as him

LORENZO (rivals?) (can you tell he's my favorite?)

You and Lorenzo were constantly at the top of your charms class within the entire school

Both of you have constantly gone head to head with each other just to compete for first place, only to tie for it together

There was no hatred or extreme feelings, just a fun rivalry that was oddly flirtatious at times

While you were in the library with a few friends studying, you suddenly start slamming your fist on the desk

Lorenzo was often in the library in order to check out new books to read in order to beat you

He looked over, worried that something bad happened

But all he saw was you on the floor, as if you melted, with your phone held high showcasing a man

He was curious as to how you got to the floor so fast despite banging on the table only 2 seconds ago, but he didn't care

Many people in the school shipped you and Lorenzo, but you both always denied it in order to not make it awkward

But, Lorenzo has liked you for ages. Despite that fact that he's a fuckboy, he would give up everything just to kiss you

"I would save his nail clippings and make a necklace out of it" You said in a harsh whisper that made all your friends hold back a laugh

Lorenzo was shocked, he's never seen you be so vulgar

He felt slightly hurt, not only by the fact that you were freaking out over some celebrity but also because he's never seen you act like this with him

"The things I would do for this man is un-ex-plain-a-ble" You aggressively whispered as you slammed your fist on the desk again

The librarian came around and told your whole group to shut up, which made Lorenzo happy

He decided to do his usual routine, he walked up to you and flicked you on the head as a joking gesture

You wince and hold your forehead, that's when he looks at your phone and sees the name of the celebrity

He repeats the name over and over and over and OVER in his head until he gets to his dorm and instantly searches him up on his phone

That's when he sees how similar he is to the celebrity

At first, he was doubting it since he didn't want to be cocky

But he told Theo and Theo instantly agreed, saying the celebrity looks just like him

Sharp jawline and cheekbones, fair skin, soft light brown hair, brown eyes, and even the same body build

He smiled to himself, feeling a bit of self love for himself from seeing how similar he is to your favorite celebrity

He's always been slightly insecure of his body build due to most of the guys in Hogwarts being buff as shit while Lorenzo was slightly more lean

But seeing the celebrity be called the heart-throb of the year made him really happy

After he knows all of this, he's much more confident around you and even finds subtle ways to bring up how he knows your type

Uses this as evidence against you to make you blush during petty arguments

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theminecraftbee · 7 months

Text

Tango lies back against the walls of Decked Out. Their guests have left now. Most of the Hermits have left by now too. He’s spent the last hour helping clean up and setting the dungeon up to be ready for non-guests again, closing the paths he’d built for hermits to use the dungeon’s eyes for the day.

He kept finding little things as he did. Signs with dumb nicknames. The remnants of everything the hermits had done in the waiting room. Crumbs of Scarland snacks, and a few discarded maps. A museum ticket. A photo someone must have dropped of the finish line at Blue Rivers Raceway. As the lights came up to help him clean, he’d just… he’d…

He’d had to sit down. He’d sat down outside of the door. That’s where he is now. The day is late. The sky is dark. The lights of Hermitcraft are lit on the horizon. Decked Out is cold, and Tango’s chest is warm.

He’s smiling. He’s crying.

He hears rockets and footsteps. “Hey, Tango, sorry for leaving you with cleanup, since I helped set this up I thought I should—”

Grian stops. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Tango says.

“You sure?” Grian asks.

“I just. I didn’t think we’d live to see this, this time two years ago. But we’re here, aren’t we? We’re here, and it’s perfect.”

Grian considers for a moment before smiling himself. “Yeah, it was pretty great, wasn’t it?”

They both stay there next to each other to finish watching the sunset. Then, they both go inside to finish making Decked Out presentable once again.

#hermitcraft #a bee fic #tangotek #grian #I WILL NEVER STOP BEING LIKE. MAN TANGO DID SOMETHING SO COOL.#and with that tango clip from big moon going around again and me thinking about some of my fics like that I’m like #MAN. MAN.

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hellenhighwater · 10 months

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A month or so ago I came across a listing on Marketplace with one photo, a price of $50, and the following description: "12x8x1 i have 45". Now, $50 for 45 pieces of stained glass of that size is an insane deal; $50 per piece of stained glass is...well, it's not crazy, but it's not a price I'd be willing to pay. Glass generally isn't as expensive as you think.

So I messaged him, and he clarified that the price was per piece, and I did my best to politely explain that I was not interested in paying $2,250 on stained glass slabs. Extracting myself from that conversation took some time, since he was keen to make a sale, and I had zero budget for it, but I did eventually make my graceful exit.

And then three days ago he messaged me, saying he was moving and to make him an offer on the glass.

I told him I really don't have much room in the budget for this, and I know it's not a number he'll like, but the best I could do is $200.

He said sold.

So yesterday I went and fetched forty five slabs of stained glass, each an inch thick and a foot long, and eight inches wide. My plan is to use some in the aviary, and also I may use some for book pressing, because they're pretty. The glass is so thick that you can hardly tell what color they are when they're laid flat. The colors are mostly a range of dark blues, purples, greens, and browns, which works great with my color palette. I want to eventually add a loft so that the doves can be out year-round, and ideally natural light would be good. However, doves are easily startled, and transparent glass runs the risk of them trying to fly through it. Stained glass is both prettier and safer.

They're intended for a stained glass technique called Dalle de Verre, where slab glass is chipped into irregular facets and set in concrete, which was popularized during the Brutalist movement. It's a cool technique! I don't know if I'll try it, but it is lovely.

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comphy-and-cozy · 15 days

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down bad - mat barzal

Pairing: Mat Barzal x unnamed OFC

Summary: Mat takes a late night booty call to the next level.

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY): Unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), creampie. Mega simp Mat. This has barely any plot but has potential to expand into a universe, maybe? Masterlist

The Snapchat notification brightens the screen for a few moments, catching Mat’s eye even while he focuses on shooting down his opponent on-screen. Beau shouts a warning in his ear, and Mat emits a low curse when he gets sniped from behind.

After one more round, and after bidding goodbye to his friend, Mat’s attention draws back to his phone sitting on the table beside him, tapping to see who the Snapchat was from. His jaw pulses, just slightly, when he sees the name attached to the notification. Instinctually, he feels a gentle throb below the waistband of his gray sweatpants, just at the mere sight of her name.

The photo isn’t set to a timer, and Mat sends a silent thank you to the higher powers that he gets to gaze at it for as long as he desires. The foggy mirror is what he notices first, eyes quickly drawing to the generous cleavage exposed underneath the loosely-wrapped towel, a sliver of delicious skin dragging his eyes down to where the countertop regrettably cuts off the view he would have—of hip bones, leading his eyes down to the apex of two thighs he desperately wants to splay open.

There’s no caption, no commentary needed; the message is loud and clear. A calling that he responds to without fail despite his every effort to remain the nonchalant, professional athlete playboy. Obedient and eager, it’s almost Pavlovian the way his senses kick into gear when her messages come through.

Some might call him whipped, but he prefers the term ‘infatuated.’ He has been, ever since he got that first mirror selfie showing off generous curves clad in Calvin Klein underwear. He’d never admit it outside of the privacy of messages that disappear in 24 hours, but he had never come as hard as he did that night, hand gripping his length while his mind was flooded with images of that body, of those gorgeous lips, of the hips that looked like they were made for his hands.

Mat swipes through the photos he’s saved from her texts, for his eyes only. They’re more private, more sacred; selfies in bathroom mirrors with her top pulled down, videos showing a few specific details of her slutty nurse Halloween costume, and his favorite: his girl, perched on the edge of her bed, a Barzal jersey bunched up around her hips and revealing a gratuitous shot of her ass in a deep blue thong.

When he first matched with her on Raya, he never anticipated that he’d meet up with her, let alone see her multiple times after that. A free night in Chicago before a game, he was lying in the hotel room bed in search of his evening plans, in need of a good release. It was her eyes that drew him in first; the same eyes he stared into while she took him in her mouth later that evening. After finding heaven between her legs and climaxing so hard he saw stars, he told her he’d call her the next time he was in Chicago—and he meant it.

Since then, he returns dutifully to her bed when the Isles come to town, and he leaves the door unlocked for her when she travels to New York City for client visits as a CPA (hot and smart; a lethal combination). It’s become an excellent arrangement, the distance far enough to keep things casual, though on nights like tonight, when all he wants is to be buried inside her, he really wishes she was much closer.

Mat’s attention snaps back to his phone when he sees another notification come through with her name on it, and this time, the dark purple square has his heart fluttering. Clicking into the video, his heart leaps into his throat when he sees the same shot as earlier, only this time, she lets her hand slip so the white towel sags against her body. He’s practically panting, eyes glued to the way she teases him, until she drops the towel altogether.

He’s hard in an instant, flipping back to his Snapchat app to send a photo back of his sweatpant-covered erection.

‘Wish you were here,’ comes her reply. ‘In the mood to get railed.’

Swallowing thickly, Mat feels the twitch against his pelvis. He lets his mind draw back to the last time he saw her; thinking about the feeling of her perfect, wet heat gripping onto him, the way she moaned his name in his ear. He hadn’t gotten more than a few hours with her, hadn’t spent enough time buried between her thighs and worshiping her the way she deserved. The way he craved to. Now, with his last trip to Chicago complete and tax season in the books, he doesn’t know the next time he’ll see her—this fall, at the earliest.

The thought flits through his mind out of nowhere. He considers it for a millisecond, then with a blink, laughs it off. Fly to see her? Tonight?

No, that would be wild, though. It’d be insane.

But you have an off-day tomorrow. You could be back before anyone would notice you’re gone.

Mat shakes his head, pushing away the impulse. He opens his phone, hoping to distract himself by scrolling on Instagram. But the thought doesn’t go away; instead, it patiently nudges at the corner of his brain, lingering until he grants it his full attention. His dick twitches again, as if it knows he’s only a few steps removed from being inside her.

A glance at the airline app can’t hurt, he thinks. Just to see if it’s even a realistic possibility.

He isn’t sure what he’s hoping to see when he opens the Delta app—the perfect timed flight, or a flight that doesn’t work with his schedule. A quick search confirms the former, and he can’t help but laugh out loud at the situation he’s found himself in. Mat shakes his head, the reality of his decision sinking in: are you really about to do this?

He texts her, hoping the distinction of message type symbolizes that he’s serious. The response comes a few minutes later, and he lets out an audible groan when he sees that she’s naked, an arm draped across her breasts seductively. The caption comes next: ‘This is what’s waiting for you if you do decide to come.’

Twenty minutes later, he’s pulling on a baseball cap as he shuts and locks his apartment door, small duffel bag in hand.

Once the Uber drops him off, he briefly notes that it’s strange to be using the public entrance, used to the special business aviation sector that the team used for travel. He could’ve taken a private jet, if he really wanted, but purchasing a commercial ticket was both quicker and easier. And much, much less embarrassing.

He’s halfway through the security line when the reality of what he’s about to do hits him, and he can’t help but laugh at himself. Purchasing and boarding a flight within an hour—for a booty call. Talk about impulsive. And desperate.

The question of ‘why?’ briefly flits through his mind, contemplating his life choices. But then his mind trails to those gorgeous lips, pressed against his mouth, his neck, his—

“Sir, may I please have your ID?”

Mat blinks, coming back to reality, embarrassed that he let his imagination run wild in the middle of the fucking airport. As he pulls his wallet out of his pocket, he does his best to subtly adjust the half-hard erection threatening to make an appearance, smiling innocently at the TSA agent.

If he’s recognized by anyone, no one says anything, though he keeps his head down as he finds his way to his gate. ‘Chicago’ lines the monitor, the flight number and departure times floating across the bottom of the screen. Her last text buzzes in his pocket once he takes a seat, duffel bag seated on the floor by his feet.

The text is actually a photo that has him slapping the face of his phone against his leg, glancing around to make sure no one near him is in sight of his screen. Once he’s sure he’s in safe territory, he sneaks a glance at it again, thirsty for another peek of her completely nude body, a sizable pink dildo pressed against her pouty lips.

Hurry up, the message reads. I’m getting impatient.

Mat hopes nobody notices the way he twitches beneath the dark fabric of his joggers, willing his erection to chill the fuck out as he gets in line to board the plane.

When he lands 3 hours later, Mat’s knee bounces anxiously as he glances out to watch the plane make its way down the tarmac. A quick check on his Maps app tells him he isn’t far from her apartment, and he sends a silent prayer that he can get deplaned quickly.

Waiting is excruciating, and he already has the Uber app loaded as he exits the plane, a ride called by the time he steps off of the jet bridge. Mat’s footsteps quicken when he sees the signs pointing toward baggage claim, and it isn’t long until he’s getting into a red Toyota Camry, his driver, Todd, greeting him from the front seat.

‘The door is unlocked,’ her text read. ‘I’m in the bedroom.’

The lights are off when he enters, though the light over the sink illuminates the small kitchen just enough for him to toe his shoes off and head toward the bedroom door. Mat’s heart thuds in his chest as he nears it, nears her, fingers itching to caress every inch of her body. His dick gives another wanton pulse, like it knows its wait is almost over.

What he sees when he opens the door has him speechless—and that’s hard to do to Mat Barzal.

The room is dark save for the small string of fairy lights by her window and a sandalwood candle burning on the bedside table. Flickering candlelight casts a warm glow over the room, dancing on the panoramic photo of Wrigley Field on the wall across from her bed.

But Mat isn’t looking at any of that.

Instead, his eyes are locked on his girl, lying on the bed, gazing straight at him. She’s completely naked, save for the very sheer black lace kimono, untied in the front, revealing her bareness to him entirely. Her legs are spread in a way that he has the perfect view. The warmth of the candle makes her skin look like it’s glowing, soft and golden and delicious.

This time, his dick doesn’t just twitch. It throbs.

He thinks he might’ve let out a whimper, dropping his bag on the floor; his body moves of its own accord, approaching her bed and immediately slotting between her legs. His lips are on hers before he even realizes it, unable to deny the yearning to feel her touch any longer.

“Hi,” he murmurs against her mouth. She giggles, lips curling into a smile against his own. “Missed you.”

Her reply is a hum, hands carding through his hair, hat knocked on the floor. His lips suck, lick, and nip their way over her jaw and to the place he can feel her pulse against his lips. Mat likes the way she shivers when his breath skitters over her skin, body shuddering at the sensation.

“Can’t believe you’re actually here,” she breathes, drawing his lips back up to hers for a heated kiss. The pressure mounts, his tongue desperately seeking out the seam of her mouth; involuntarily, his hips begin a slow grind, pressed right against her bare heat. There’s no hiding or denying his own rigid erection, groaning at the feeling of finally getting some friction after hours of waiting.

“Had to have you,” he whispers back. “Teasin’ me with those pictures like that.”

She moans when his mouth makes a sloppy, wet path from her jaw, down her neck, over her collarbones, landing on her breast. Mat licks and sucks every inch of skin he touches, drinking in the taste of her nipple between his lips. “Makin’ me so hard with these tits.”

“Just wanted to see if you were really whipped enough to fly here,” she purrs, raking her hand over his scalp when he takes her hardened peak between his teeth, biting down. His cheeks warm, embarrassed at the attention to just how desperate he is for her.

But he can’t deny it, so he doesn’t. Instead, he allows himself to indulge in her body, thinking that he might as well live up to his newfound title.

“Need this pussy like I need water, baby,” he says with a sleek grin, letting his hand drift between her thighs, hissing with delight when he finds her drenched. She rolls her eyes at the exaggerated comment, though she can’t ignore the flutter in her belly at his carnal need for her.

Her mouth opens to quip back, and he revels in the way a gasp usurps whatever sass she was about to deliver when he plunges a finger into her tight heat. She grips his digits snugly, squeezing him so tightly he wonders how he’s gonna fit another finger in, let alone his dick. The appendage gives another wanton throb.

The lemony jasmine of her shampoo invades his senses as his hand continues to pump, working his girl into a slow, maddening frenzy. Her back arches upward, kimono falling open so she’s all but bare to him. The slope of her breasts, curve of her waist, soft breath of her whimper draw him into her, pulling him into her trance.

Mat can tell by the high pitch in her whine that she’s bordering on desperate for something more. Slipping in another finger, he smirks against her lips when he hears the audible squelch of his digits pressing into her drenched center. The sound has his mouth watering, suddenly quenched of thirst.

Gripping the plush, soft skin of her thighs, Mat pries her legs open—“jus’ a little more for me, sweetheart”—to make room for his broad shoulders before shifting his body down until he’s at eye-level with her waiting, wanting core. He doesn’t wait for her whimper before he’s pressing his face against her, moaning when his tongue tastes her slick.

His girl is divine, her pussy a certain, secret entrance to the pearly gates. Each lap of his tongue isn’t nearly enough to curb his addiction, the craving never satiated. Her fingers twist into the long locks of his hair, tugging and pulling him exactly where she needs him; he’s pliant, moldable, eager to please. He’d devour her cunt whole, if he could.

Unabashed moans encourage Mat to allow his fingers to rejoin his tongue, teasing the swollen nub at the apex of her gorgeous, heavenly slit. He drinks in her nectar like it’s the elixir of life, greedy and indulgent. The soft moans that he coaxes from her throat are just an added bonus.

He’s precise, paying close attention to the way she reacts to each flick of his tongue, each twist of his fingers. Between the choked gasps slipping from her pretty lips and the way her thighs tighten around his head, he knows he’s close—that she’s close.

Another long, languid suck of her clit sends her hurtling into orgasm, spine arching off of the mattress. Mat’s hand rests firmly on her hip, holding her in place even despite the way her body writhes with the force of her release; he savors the taste of her flooding his mouth.

Mat loses track of how many times he makes her come, flooding his mouth with her nectar. Three? Four? Five? His jaw aches, his mouth, chin and cheeks glistening with evidence of her arousal like he’s at a fucking all-you-can-eat buffet. He wishes Lou would let him grow a beard so he could taste her on his face for hours.

“Matty,” she sighs, and he can hear in her voice that she’s done with the foreplay. Her hands weakly tug at the cotton of his t-shirt in an attempt to draw him up to her. He obeys, pressing his mouth to her lips, letting her taste herself on his tongue; as he does, the clothed tip of his erection bumps against her open, waiting center, and she whines.

“I know, baby,” he coos, massaging the inside of her thigh with a large hand. She’s practically putty underneath his touch. “Wanna fuck you so bad I think my dick might fall off.”

“Too many clothes,” she says, voice still distant and hazy from her orgasms. Mat feels a smug sense of satisfaction at the way she weakly paws at his clothes, fingers searching for purchase in the cotton of his t-shirt. She’s right, though, and he wrenches his body from hers in favor of pulling his shirt over his head.

Heat floods her eyes and Mat watches the way her gaze falls to the cut lines of his muscle, shamelessly running over the abs and the biceps he’s worked so hard on. He’d be lying if he didn’t think of her—think of this—on the early mornings he dreaded getting out of bed to workout; the thought of her lips, her hips, her body never failing to encourage him to do one more rep. Mat knows his role, his duty, as the professional athlete: maintain the god-like physique that has her all but drooling.

And when she looks at him like that, how is he supposed to deny it?

Mat shimmies his pants off, palming his aching erection through his boxer briefs. His girl’s hand reaches up to aid him, the thin material barely a barrier between her skin and his, and he can’t help but groan at the contact.

“How long have you had this?” she purrs, stroking him leisurely. He can hardly process her words and she’s barely touched him.

“Since—fuck—since you sent me that picture.” His voice is more of a choked whisper, breath hitching in his throat when she offers him an affectionate squeeze.

“But that was hours ago, Matty,” she says, but the evil glint in her eye tells him that she isn’t really feeling sympathy for him; instead, there’s smug pride hidden behind a coy smile. “You must be desperate.”

All Mat can do is hum in response, every nerve on heightened alert as her hand drags slow, languid lines up and down his length. He knows if he opens his mouth, only nonsensical gibberish is going to come out and probably ruin the moment.

“Desperate enough to fly from Long Island to Chicago just to fuck me,” she continues musing. “I’m flattered.”

Pulling himself together—eyes closing when she gives him a squeeze—Mat steels himself to say, “Best pussy I’ve ever had. ‘Course I’m desperate for you.”

“Aww, Matty,” she says with a wry, teasing smile. “You have such a way with words.”

Impatience huffs out of Mat’s lips, doing his best to suppress a whine and a plea to please, grant him some relief. “Let me fuck you, baby.”

Her fingers dip into the waistband of his boxer briefs, tugging it down before he’s hurriedly shucking the material down his hips. “You gonna be polite?”

“Please,” he tacks on, pressing himself forward to connect his lips with hers, needing something—anything—to take the edge off. “Please, baby, swear I’ll fuck you so good.”

His girl hums, returning his kiss, letting his tongue slide into her mouth; symbolic in its action as he teases, dragging the muscle in and out in intentional, suggestive motions. He shifts his approach, letting his voice take on the sickly sweet, honeyed purr that she loves. “Know you want it, sweet girl. Bet you’re jus’ drippin’ for it, aren’t you?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

If Mat had a single ounce of resistance left in him, he’d tease her back, but he can’t draw out his own torture any longer. He lets his hand trail down her body, meeting her own that’s wrapped around his hard, bare length. His fingers brush against her, placing themselves over her hand before guiding himself toward the apex of her thighs. She smiles against his mouth, exhaling softly as his tip broaches her entrance.

“Think I can hear her purring for me,” he says, pressing his hips forward to plunge into her with a groan. A gasp leaves her mouth, hands quickly finding purchase in the dips of his shoulders. The feeling of her walls gripping him tightly nearly makes his eyes roll back in his head.

There isn’t a whisper of a retort on her tongue, his quick-witted girl rendered speechless with him sheathed inside her. As much as he loves her quick wit and feisty attitude, he can’t deny that it’s extremely satisfying to be the one to shut her up.

For awhile, he’s content to simply stay that way, feeling the way her walls flutter around him, her body silently begging for more. But then she remembers how to speak, saying, “Mat, fuck me.”

It takes a moment to ensure he isn’t going to completely ruin everything by finishing immediately, but once he does, he lets his hips tick forward, then back, then forward again. He works the pace up to one that earns a lusty gasp in his ear, arms holding himself above her, silver chain dangling between his neck and her chin.

“Squeezin’ onto me like your life depends on it, baby,” he grunts. “Fuck, this cunt is so worth the 3 hour flight. Would charter a private jet just to have it in my bed every single night.”

She hums, responding by wrapping her legs around his waist, welcoming him deeper. “Better make the most of it then, Barzal.”

And, well, when she puts it like that.

Mat fucks her slow, fucks her fast, doing his best to remember everything he’s thought about doing to her since he kissed her goodbye when he slipped out of her apartment two months ago. His voice is low in her ear, filthy words strung together between nips at her neck and sloppy, heated kisses against her mouth. She feels so fucking good, and he makes sure to tell her that—communication has always been one of his stronger points.

He presses his hips firmly against the backs of her thighs, burying himself as deep as he can go. His hands wander freely, one making a path between her neck and her breast, the other languidly trailing along the slope of her ass.

Her ass. Of course.

Lost in the euphoria of seeing her, touching her, tasting her, he’d almost forgotten about his very favorite body part of hers—the one he thought about on nights where he missed her, furiously fisting his length, that never failed to bring him to orgasm. Slowing his hand’s movements, he matches his smooth strokes to the tempo of his fingers kneading the globes of her ass.

She loves it. He can tell in the way her hips roll, grinding herself against him, a feral-sounding moan coming from deep in her throat. Mat can practically feel the orgasm building inside of her, keeping his movements careful and precise, unwilling to change a single thing; he can’t tame the desire to feel her come around him.

“Matty,” she whimpers, a hand slipping between their bodies to rub at her clit. His eyes glance down to the movement, cursing lowly at the sight. “M’close.”

“Yeah, baby? You gonna come for me? Come on my cock after I flew all this way just to fuck you?”

If she tries to answer, nothing comes out other than another moan. Her eyes squeeze shut, and he imagines the fireworks that will soon dance beneath her eyelids. Fingers stroke at her soft skin, almost as if he’s willing her orgasm into existence. He lowers his voice to murmur, “I’ve been dreaming about feeling you come all over me for weeks, baby. It’s the least you can do.”

When she reaches the precipice, her body freezes beneath him, time standing still for a millisecond as she shatters. He can almost feel the way it courses through her, the way her pussy clamps onto him so tightly he sees stars of his own.

It’s glorious. Sinfully, decadently, maddeningly exquisite.

Mat’s patient with her comedown, whispering soft words of encouragement, hips resuming a gentle motion that probes her sensitive core. She whines, pawing at his shoulder to push him away. Her voice is gentle, a soft command. “Matty.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says with a cheeky smile. “Y’feel too good.”

He’s aware, though, wants to give her a moment of reprieve before he bends her over the way he wants to. So, he suppresses a huff as he pulls out of her delicious heat, distracting himself from the loss by kissing her hotly. She seems distracted, too, sighing into his mouth, enjoying the way it feels like he’s devouring her whole.

“Wanna fuck you from behind,” he murmurs against her lips. “Watch this ass bounce on me.”

Mat helps her up, allowing her to tear her lips away from his in favor of flipping over. Once she’s settled on her hands and knees, the mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight, he takes a moment to admire the view: pussy glistening with the remnants of her orgasm, framed by the globes of her perfect ass. Heaven.

“Gotta be inside you,” he says, a statement that’s more like a declaration.

“Quit making me wait.”

His eyebrow raises. “Thought we were being polite.”

“You are. I can be whatever I want,” she shoots back with a smile. His dick gives another mild twitch.

Mat hums. “Guess I better give the lady what she wants, then.”

Judging by the way she’s backing up to meet him, he assumes she’s had plenty of reload time and slips back into her. This time, he doesn’t take his time to ramp up, instead setting a grueling pace from the start, his hands gripping tightly onto her hips.

A groan, followed by a loud curse. “Think about this every damn day. You, taking it from behind like this. Bent over jus’ for me.”

Her reply is to lean forward farther, spreading her arms forward onto the mattress and opening herself to him even more. Mat accepts the invitation to drive deeply into her, hips slapping loudly against the back of her thighs. The thought of her neighbors briefly flits through his mind, but another glance back down at her ass has that consideration slipping away as quickly as it came. He doesn’t care who hears or who he wakes up; hell, he’d be fine telling the entire world that he gets to fuck her.

“Since you came all this way, you deserve a treat,” she says, twisting her head to glance over her shoulder at him. The sight of her peachy, round ass and her bedroom eyes looking up at him makes his balls tighten.

“And what might that be?” Mat accentuates the question by squeezing her hips tightly. He swallows down the comment that this, here, being inside of her, is already reward enough.

“I’ll let you come inside.”

Since their trysts began, she’s made Mat relieve himself elsewhere—her chest, her ass, her face; his mind briefly flits to each, reminiscing on the mental snapshot he took each time. The thought of not just not having to pull out moments before the strongest climaxes of his life, but at the idea of finishing inside of her is enough to have his heart pulsing rapidly in his chest.

“Yeah? You want me to fill you up?” he says with a grin, leaning forward to brush his lips against her ear. The action presses him even deeper inside of her, his hips snug against the curve of her ass as he whispers, “Fuck my load deep inside this perfect little cunt?”

She nods, mouth opening in a silent gasp when he gives a particularly hard thrust. “Yeah. Wanna feel you, Matty.”

Her eyes shoot open when he pauses his movements, glancing back at him in protest when he pulls away. Both hands pull lightly on her hips, encouraging her to flip over onto her back. When she does, her eyes catch his and he smiles.

“Wanna see your face when I come,” he says with a shrug, easing himself back into her waiting core.

“Oh, he’s down bad.”

He laughs, face crinkling into a smile despite the way the burn of euphoria builds in his stomach. A hand drags down the outside of her leg, tucking her calf around his hip. “Fuck off.”

“Are you gonna come in me or not?”

“You begging for it?”

The four words dramatically change the mood; Mat watches her eyes darken as they sink in. Like he gave a secret code to have her submissive and pliant beneath him. Her voice is barely above a whisper, her lips pouty. “Please, Matty.”

Mat slows his hips, savoring the way her pussy sucks him in, greedy. He can’t help the grin that curls up on his face, watching the way her eyebrows knit together. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart.”

“Please, baby,” she whines, “wanna feel you come in me. I—I need it.”

He hums. “Been dreaming about filling this tight pussy up for months, baby. Wanna watch my cum drip out of this slutty little cunt.”

“Please,” is her whispered plea—quiet and desperate.

“You sound so pretty when you beg,” he says with a smirk. The pace of his hips increase, balls tightening with the threat of his climax. He listens to her moans, the sound of his skin against hers, the rustle of the sheets beneath his knees. His girl’s hands tighten around his shoulders, holding onto him as she absorbs the weight of his thrusts, body shifting up and down on the mattress.

Mumbles of her name, of obscenities, flow out of his mouth, low murmurs in her ear. His rhythm starts to falter, no longer a steady metronome but a series of sloppy, uneven thrusts as Mat finds it harder and harder to stay focused.

The release starts deep in his core, bursting through with a loud groan as he finally meets his end, reveling in the feeling of spilling inside of her. It’s freeing to have no barriers between him and her, to feel her in all of her pure, whole self, the way she contracts tightly around him as her own final climax barrels through her. Mat’s vision goes fuzzy, and for a moment he’s pretty sure his soul ascends out of his body.

It occurs to Mat that he’s slumped on top of her, panting into the crook of her neck while soft, small hands trace lazy lines up and down his spine. The touch ignites his nerve endings, sending another wave of consciousness through his system. Her nails drag delicious, soothing lines onto his scalp, and he feels his throat vibrate against her collarbone in a moan. His vision gradually grows from fuzzy to just a bit of a haze when he peels his eyes open.

“Baby, that was the—”

“Hardest you’ve ever come?”

Mat blinks, fully back in reality now, shifting his head to look at her in disbelief. “How did you know?”

She chuckles, lips brushing against his ear. “You said that last time, too.”

#mat barzal fic #mat barzal imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #hockey smut #nhl fanfiction

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sirfrogsworth · 19 days

Text

Dinner with Aunt Denise & Uncle Jeff A Tale of Science Fair Photography

Ever since my parents died my aunt and uncle have done their best to fill some of the hole left in my heart. It almost feels like they adopted me in a way. They check on me. They help me clean. They helped me sort through all of my parents' belongings. And from time to time they invite me over for dinner when I'm feeling up to it.

Last week I got a new invitation. I had been feeling pretty lonely as of late so I graciously accepted. Before I left I saw my camera sitting on the table and realized I had this fancy new lens which is especially suited for taking pictures of people.

I thought to myself...

"This lens has only taken pictures of bridges at sunset."

Which is cool and everything, but I don't really want my only photos to be of bridges at sunset. I like taking pictures of other things.

I didn't have any lighting equipment handy—just a single external flash. And without a solid plan for how I was going to use it, I quickly packed said flash and headed westward. As I saw the sun lowering in the sky above the highway my big photography brain had an idea...

"I should take pictures of *people* at sunset."

I needed a reflector of some kind to bounce my flash against. I thought poster board would probably suffice so I stopped at Walmart and headed to the arts and crafts area. I found these tri-fold poster board thingies that grade school kids use to display their science fair experiments.

I got 2 for $7!

What a deal!

After I arrived I asked if my aunt & uncle minded having their photo taken. My aunt said she was fine with it but warned me that no one had ever been able to take a decent photo of her.

I'm typically not one to be braggadocious, but I replied...

"Well, that's because you've never had your photo taken by ME."

I'm not sure I should have been so cocky considering my lighting equipment is typically used to display the life cycle of earthworms, baking soda volcanos, and... potato batteries—which was the delightful and totally real project I just found on Google.

Science Fair Entry from Billy, Age 10

After a delicious feast of bratwurst, salad, and non-electrified potatoes, I convinced my aunt and uncle to sit for a sunset photoshoot. They even helped me set up my science fair project.

Science Fair Entry from Froggie, Age 42

I decided to do a quick test indoors to make sure my plan would work. Jeff volunteered for my first experiment.

Without my contraption...

With my contraption...

I think my experiment was quite promising. But would my idea hold up outside during the sunset with constantly dimming conditions?

We moved everything to the backyard. The tri-fold poster board was a bit ornery regarding its uprightness and needed to be tamed. My Uncle Jeff used a large rock, some pillows, and a step ladder to keep the makeshift reflectors in place.

I started taking test photos without the flash to figure out the background exposure.

Those pesky power lines were going to need to be zapped later in Photoshop, but I was really digging the scenery.

I dialed everything in, started taking photos, and even on the little rear camera screen I felt like they were turning out well. With the sun setting the sky looked like it was on fire. But then the batteries died in my flash and I was starting to lose that fiery sky as darkness began to creep into view.

Unfortunately, all of the potatoes were in our bellies so my aunt scrambled to find regular batteries in the house.

This photoshoot had become a complete team effort with everyone doing their part to make it a success.

Surprisingly it was my Uncle Jeff was giving me some bona fide model poses. He just naturally has some sort of... resting model face. Very masculine and authentic. And my Aunt Denise is just pure sunshine manifested as a person. So I had no problems getting nice expressions from her.

So... would you like to see the pictures?

Will I get a blue ribbon on my science fair project?

Am I building up the suspense too much?

Okay, here we go...

I suppose the only validation I really need is from the person who has never had a decent photo taken of them.

Let's see the verdict.

All of those hours and hours of photography training helped me learn the problem solving skills I needed to pull off a photoshoot with seven dollars in supplies.

Take a small light source, bounce it off something larger, and you get a big light source.

And big light sources make people look snazzy in photographs.

Easy!

Are you kidding me?

I lost to the potato kid?

What kind of rigged nonsense...

#photography #long post

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2btheanswertothequestion · 1 year

Text

(part 2 of November Paramedic; part 1 is here.)

Steve's honey-sweet eyes, gleaming with confidence, ask 'why don't you take a bite?'

His pink mouth, deliciously curved, wonders 'don't you want a taste?'

His dark chest hair, leading a mouthwatering path down his pants, says 'you know you want to'.

And Eddie does. He really does. He would, if Steve was actually here. Alas, all Eddie has is the calendar photo currently staring at him from where it's propped on Eddie's dresser, and he's not biting into it. It's the only one he's got, you see; he won't be ruining it with bite marks and drool due to his intrusive thoughts.

If he had a copy machine close at hand, though? If he could make as many pictures as he'd possibly want? Oho, watch out, Slobbertown!

It's been one week since Steve the sexy paramedic revealed himself to be a real person and not just a dude in a softcore porn calendar. One week since he Florence Nightingale'd Eddie before vanishing in a flurry of bloody gauze and blinking blue lights, leaving both Eddie and Gareth breathless.

(Though in Gareth's case, it was due to laughing so hard he choked on himself.)

The calendar doesn't do it for him anymore. Don't misunderstand – he still uses it when beating the meat. In fact, it has exclusively become his primary masturbatory aid, and it has served him especially well the past few days. The moment those 48 hours were over and Gareth left, Eddie chucked off his sweatpants and went to, well, Slobbertown. But it's not the same anymore. How could it be, when he knows the real Steve's hair smells like a meadow and his aftershave like lemon and spice? When he's felt the pressure of Steve's fingertips on his jaw? When he's seen the faint scar running down Steve's chin from his mouth? When he can still hear Steve's voice use his name, give him orders, call him 'sir'?

It's impossible. Fuck, just whenever Eddie closes his eyes Steve's face appears, as vividly as if it happened yesterday. Of course, that might have something to do with Eddie already having made himself oh so familiar with Steve's face, and chest, and hands, and… everything else, for the past two years. Jesus damn it, if he knew this was where he'd end up he never would've bought the calendar in the first place.

Groaning, he throws himself back on his bed; then he shouts as his head thumps into the wall. Typical. He rubs at the spot to soothe it. No bump, though it hurts like a bitch. Pain (and suspicion he just aggravated the previous head injury) aside, he's comfortable, thus he sprawls out and stares at the ceiling as planned.

He's been distracted. He knows that because literally everyone has been on his case about it. Gareth gives him smug smiles that have turned alarmingly calculated as the week has passed. Jeff and Marv, having been filled in by Gareth, are rather more amused in a benign way. His boss almost sent him home to recuperate after catching him staring into space for the third time. Uncle Wayne noticed something was off through the phone. And Max has been giving him weird looks.

Ah, little Max. The only person in the complex who doesn't steer clear of him. She doesn't actually know what went down – not completely. She knows he got injured, because she caught him and Gareth as they stumbled home while she was exiting her apartment to toss the trash. Her sharp eyes zeroed in on the plaster, and on Eddie's arm that was slung over Gareth's shoulders for support (at Gareth's insistence).

"You got in a fight?" she asked.

With a grin he'd exclaimed, "Battle? You know me better than that! Nay, I did my utmost to escape the violence... but the ruffian got to me regardless."

"Huh. You okay?"

Gareth had rolled his eyes. "He's fine. I mean, listen to him."

"Don't worry about me, Red." Eddie tapped his own head. "This ol' noggin is harder than it looks."

A corner of her mouth twisted up, though if it was in amusement he couldn't tell in the dim hallway. They ought to team up against the super; maybe their combined whining will have him finally fix that broken light bulb.

"Make sure you don't take aspirin or ibuprofen," she said. "It can-"

"Yeah, I know. Paramedic already told me."

"Good. Is our lesson still on?"

"Certainly, m'dear."

And then he'd tipped an imaginary hat, she snorted, and Gareth hauled his ass to bed.

He didn't see Max again until Sunday afternoon, when she came by for their aforementioned weekly guitar lesson. Parking themselves on each end of the couch, his acoustic in her lap, he'd made her play the 'homework' from the previous Sunday. It sounded pretty good. She honestly won't need his help soon – probably doesn't need it now. She understands basic theory and is diligent about practicing. He'd be fine with awarding her temporary custody of the guitar for a while. She insists on coming over, however, claiming she has to be perfect by the time of the next open mic down at Connie's Corner Coffee.

The reason she has to be perfect? Well. Eddie is pretty sure it's to impress her boy. She hasn't confirmed that it's for her boy, or even that she has one, but it totally is and she totally does. He knows this because 1. she becomes flustered and grumpy (grustered? Flumpy?) every time he brings it up, and 2. if she was learning to play for herself he'd be subjected to a lot more Pink Floyd and a lot less Curtis Mayfield.

It's cute, to be honest. Picking up an instrument for a boy you like? That's romantic as fuck. If he hadn't been the Lord of All Losers he would've serenaded tons of boys when he was younger. Hell, he'd do it now, if only there were anyone willing to listen. But he hasn't had as much as a date in ages, and none of his previous attempts at relationships ever reached the 'romantic gestures' stage.

Maybe he should ask Max to set him up with someone. Why not? She probably meets dozens of people every day, at the campus, at the skatepark, wherever else she hangs. If there's anyone who could sort out his disastrous love life, it's Max Mayfield. She's so put together, and she's not even 20 yet. She's got her own place (in a supremely shitty building, but still a place), she's got a man (reluctant as she is to admit it), and she is halfway through her math degree. A fucking math degree, for Christ's sake! Math majors are built for solving problems!

Maybe she could even calculate how many times he'd need to injure himself before he'd meet the one paramedic he wanted to kiss… him better.

It was around that point of his daydreaming that Max shot a hair tie at his forehead and demanded he stop zoning out and correct her hand placement.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing deeper than usual. "Have you been resting?"

"Yes. For the prescribed 48 hours, and then some. I'm fine."

She'd frowned, scrutinizing him with those pale blue eyes. He squared his shoulders and met her gaze like a man. Easier said than done, to be truthful. He likes Max – she's fun, easily the most kickass neighbor he's ever had – but she can be intense. And when she gets her stare on? She's downright creepy.

"I'd prefer to cancel over you fucking up your head more," she at last said, posture stiff and chin jutting. 'Don't lie to me,' is what she meant.

Eddie sighed. "Red… I'm fine. Seriously."

And he was. Physically speaking, at least. Mentally, he'd always been a little off. Part of the patented Munson charm, really.

She must've realized that, because she relaxed, her expression going from 'active bitch face' and back to 'resting'.

"All right. Sorry for being overbearing. It's just." She shrugged a shoulder, gripping the neck of the guitar as it started sliding off her crossed legs. "One of my closest friends is a medical professional. Another one is studying biology. They've been discussing human anatomy and… I guess they've gotten into my head."

Damn his friends for caring. How was he supposed to sell this image of a dark, dangerous, rocker dude if he was constantly misty-eyed from how sweet his buds were to him? He leaned forward to pat her knee.

"I appreciate the concern, unnecessary as it is. But!" He drew himself back and pointed in the air. "We're not postponing! Open mic is less than a month away – you only have so many days left before you'll be on that stage, in front of aaaaall those people… and your beau."

He's certain that if she hadn't still been sorta concerned about his health, she'd have smacked him.

That was Sunday afternoon. Now is Wednesday evening. He is still hung up on Thursday. He doesn't even know why. Yes, he was face-to-face with the hottest guy ever. Sure, that same guy has been the star of his most critically acclaimed fantasies. Indeed, he hasn't gotten laid in eons. Of course, he's pent-up with sexual frustration and yearning for another man's touch.

But still. He's not an animal or a sex-crazed teenager. He's smart enough to know that nothing good will come of this. It's not like he'll ever see Steve again. That'd be so unrealistic.

A knock on his front door reaches his ears. Eddie makes no effort to get up and answer it. He's not expecting anyone – whoever it is will have to return another day.

The knocking turns into a pounding, followed by yelling.

"Eddie! Let me in, asshole, I know you're there!"

Ugh. What does he want? Hasn't he heard of texting?

Eddie drags himself off the bed and toward the door. Yanking it open, he's met by Gareth's self-satisfied visage.

"Good evening," he says, heedless of Eddie’s glare. "I come hither with your solution."

"My solution?" Eddie mutters as he stalks to his couch to crumple into another heap.

Gareth follows him inside. "I have a plan to get your man!"

"What? Who? What?"

"Steve. November-paramedic," Gareth says, like it's obvious, which, what the actual fuck?

"He's not my man?"

"But he could be."

"Gareth, what the fuck-"

He moves to sit up, but Gareth's palm hits him square in the diaphragm and pushes him back down.

"No, listen: you are a terrible patient."

"I'm not-"

"Remember back in high school, when that asshole rear-ended us in the intersection at Hickory and 5th?"

Eddie grimaces. How could he forget? They'd stopped at a red light when a drunken motherfucker plowed into them, sending them careening into the T-junction. One car managed to break before hitting them; another veered only to crash into a fourth car. The result was, for them, whiplash injuries and, for the people who collided, bruises, sprains, and a dislocated joint. It had been the scariest moment of Eddie's life, and the neck pain had been excruciating. That wasted piece of shit was lucky no one died.

He says, "Yeah?"

"You were so snarky with that poor EMT."

"Okay, first off, I was a snot-nosed brat back then-"

"Dude, you were nineteen."

"-and she was rude to me first."

"She was following protocol!" Gareth shakes his head. "The point is that you never follow orders or instructions, not even when a doctor tells you to. But November-Steve? I've never seen you be so pliable."

"I-"

"And after, when I had to babysit you for two fucking days? I expected it to be difficult. But you were so busy sighing and yearning-" he says, ignoring Eddie's indignant sputtering, "-and replaying him tenderly caressing your face with his big, manly hands and holding your gaze with those big, manly eyes-"

"Do you want to fuck him?"

"-that you forgot to complain or be a contrarian about everything." Gareth smiles, sweet as cavities. "It was great. I'd like to recapture that. And if November-Steve is the one to bring it out of you, well!"

Eddie glowers at him. No, really! With the metaphorical thunder clouds swirling over his head and everything! His world has been shook. It is tilted off its axis, and it's his best friend's duty to mock him relentlessly for it. But this? Trying to encourage him? Give him hope? That's going too far.

Gareth notices. Of course he does; curse the heart on Eddie's sleeve. The sickly-sugary smugness evaporates off him, and he takes a seat on the dingy couch seat.

"Eddie," he says with a softness reserved for a select few individuals. "Seriously. You've been all moon-eyed for a week. You've been thinking about him. Really thinking."

Eddie balloons his cheeks and huffs out the air. "Well. If you spend two years jerking it to a guy-"

"Gross."

"-and then he suddenly appears before you, in the flesh? I've been fantasizing about it. He's a fantasy. And when it actually happens, that's…"

He trails off. Gareth knocks their shoulders together.

"He seemed nice."

Eddie scoffs. "I spoke to him for fifteen minutes. Tops."

"Fifteen nice minutes. You haven't dated in ages. Maybe this is a sign?"

Chuckling, Eddie slumps his head onto Gareth's shoulder. They're the wrong heights for it, so it's awkward and strenuous on the neck. He remains.

"You're just looking for another opportunity to embarrass me," he says.

"Embarrass you and improve your life. Like only true friends strive to do."

Eddie hums. "So what's your fucking plan?"

Gareth shifts, turning toward Eddie, but doesn't say anything yet. Glancing up, Eddie is met by a zoomed-in, upside-down view of Gareth's pointy grin, his canines gleaming.

"The university!"

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

Taglist: @rougenancy, @raisedbylibrarians, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @emma77645, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @eddielives1986, @stevesbipanic, @the-redthread, @fandemonium-takes-its-toll, @henderdads, @gay-little-bitch, @lordofthepointygerbils, @lenore1232, @imzadidragonfly, @zerokrox-blog, @eddiemunsonswife, @cherrycolas-things, @ediewentmissing, @princess-eddie, @atombombbibunny, @ajamlessbaby, @dogswithforks, @grimmfitzz, @cutiecusp, @cuips-not-cute, @manicallydepressedrobot, @messrs-weasley, @madaboutmunson, @mightbeasleep, @suikatto, @brassreign, @snapshotmaestro, @bea-sayan, @courtjestermunson, @csinnamon-fox, @steveisabicon, @spectrum-spectre, @spinmewriteround , @just-super-fucking-gay, @escapingthereality, @oneweirdcryptid

No longer adding to the tag list, due to numbers and (hopefully temporary) technical difficulties. Please save or memorize the tag #steddie fic: november paramedic instead; all the parts will be there (unless something goes terribly wrong).

Thank you for reading! 🖤 ☺

Part 3

#no steve this time (he's there in sexy spirit) but you get more gareth AND some max #steddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #max mayfield #my writing #steddie fic: november paramedic

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saintescuderia · 2 months

Text

pancakes (pt. 1)

welcome a new multi-chapter fic. enjoy.

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

P1 - bulgarian split squats

Really, the only way to survive Formula 1 was by going to the gym.

The gym addiction was something that had existed long before joining the circus of a motorsports paddock filled with politics and rumours, as well as the slim fitting uniforms that always seemed to be accompanied by, in your opinion, ugly ass shoes.

Sure, Puma was the offical sponsor but couldn’t they get anything other than the Speedcat? And what even was that name? Speedcat? It was on brand, sure, but at what cost? Really? If Formula 1 was trying to grow its popularity they could honestly start with their dress code. Seeing Christian Horner in Skechers really took the intimidation out of him when you served him his double espresso during the Spanish Grand Prix that one time last season.

One of the perks of working in Hospitality - and there were very few far and in between - was that uniform was not so strict. F1 Hospitality only required an all black service with ‘comfortable shoes.’ This you took for interpretation. Dunks. Jordan 4s. Maybe 1s. Never 13s. Forces were good for a night race - that usually meant more stairs - and Vans were what you reached for in the morning when you knew you’d be working the barista shift. Converse were for ‘throw away’ races.

These were the races where you knew the shoe-care was not important. For example, Silverstone with its torrential UK drinkers who were likely to throw up on your beloved sneakers. Alas, you had learned the hard way when you almost lost your job by rushing to the kitchen to start scrubbing the vomit off your blue and red Cortez during peak lunch.

Never again.

Admittedly, you did try to keep at least one pair of Converse in good care since they were the renowned shoe come leg day.

Another perk of working in F1 Hospitality was that every circuit’s map layout had been drilled into your head. Meaning you always knew exactly where the communal driver’s gym was located at and could therefore get your daily dose of dopamine before dealing with… well, everything.

You silenced the shrill horror that came from the iPhone alarm. 4:00 read the lockscreen, the light shining brightly into your face. It didn’t help that your wallpaper had a photo with a clear blue sky, making the light even harsher in the darkness. You could’ve very well changed it and avoid the pain you routinely go through every morning. But it was this very photo that reminded you why you were getting up in four in the morning in the first place.

You had snapped it during a free practice in Italy that had miraculously lined up with a break in your shift. The sky was clear and the red car was small, but clear on the circuit. Ferrari, of course. You still remember the buzz that circled around the paddock staff that day. No matter who you routed for or whatever bias you had, there was a unanimously acknowledgement that Ferrari winning at Monza was special. He was special.

Then again, you’ve known that long before he stood on that podium in Italy and was given his infamous nickname.

It didn’t even take you ten minutes until you were out the door. Your gym clothes (pump cover included!) were on the one limpy chair that decorated your poor little hotel room, your shaker sat on top of your gym bag with you black high top Converse right beside it. By the time you had made it to the gym, it was a little past 4:15 and you had already scooped in pre-workout into your mouth ready to get through the oncoming pain.

Your hips were a little tight, as per normal. The left side even more so. The hood of your hoodie was up, headphones on and blasting the hardstyle house music that would see you through the next two hours. You went through your usual stretches but with today’s added focus on the lower body.

And then you went about destroying your legs.

It was about an hour or so that Oscar finally sleepily arrived. You weren’t actually sure what time it was but you were up to doing bulgarian split squats - and hating life - and that was usually at the hour mark. You gave him a curious once over, noting the odd choice of clothing. It was a little odd to see a driver in the paddock wearing athleisure that wasn’t their team uniform.

“Bro, it’s five in the morning.” Oscar groaned, shuffling over to come and sit on the bench next to you. You gave another three more reps - Oscar silently watching you groan in pain through the last two - and then finally dropped the dumbbells. You reached over to take a sip of water and checked the phone for the time.

“It’s five thirteen in the morning.” You corrected. It had been just about the hour mark. “Are we training today or?” It wasn’t the first time Oscar had joined you. The reason his neck was getting stronger was because of you. In your opinion, the trainer Alpine had assigned Oscar was a fucking idiot.

“You’re doing legs.” Oscar pointed out, as if that was enough of an answer. He leaned to lay back down on the bench and stared up as he continued to speak. “Drivers don’t need bulky legs. We’ve been over this.”

You had. Many times. You knew he was right. It still would be nice to have someone to go through legs with you, though.

“So train with light weights.” You offered, trying. Oscar just gave you a look that made it clear he was not picking up any type of weights. You shrugged, not deterred. “I’ll do calisthenics with you. Or we can work on plyometrics.” Oscar’s response was to close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Fuck it man, do some cardio.” You came to the last resort, coming to kick his legs as you walked past to load up the smith machine with some different plates.

“Piss off Tezza.” The Australian-ness continuing to shine through with the nickname that Oscar had specifically designed for you in respect of your shared citizenship to the ‘land down under.’

Except unlike the blond caucasian boy who loved AFL, grew up in Brighton East and attended Haileybury, your Australian-ness was less obvious. Your accent, for one, wasn’t as prominent since your parents were African immigrants. This, of course, didn’t just influence your speech patterns and accent.

Dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair, you weren't exactly the picture of a 'true blue Aussie.' The rite of public school bullying from those who did look 'Australian' (whatever that meant) had you scoffing at vegemite and preferring to follow EPL and La Liga than whatever the fuck was Aussie Rules Football.

Why is it called football if the players pick up the ball?

Still, when a homesick Oscar Piastri overheard one of the Hospitality staff yell out that that they were going for a 'Macca’s run' between the practice sessions on his very first F1 race weekend, he instantly picked up on the Australian-ism. And he didn’t let it go. And cue the beginning of a friendship that had Oscar Piastri calling you ‘bro’ and shortening your last name as per Australian rite.

Even if you had sworn off that sort of thing.

“Oscar, man, if you ain’t here to train then why are you?” You said, locking the plates in place on the smith machine. You lifted up your hood up and ducked under the bar to rest the metal against you shoulders, the hood acting as a cushion. The starting weight was light enough that you wouldn't have to worry about music for your first set. Besides, if Oscar was here, he could be the entertainment for this set. “You forget that this is a driver’s only gym. You could get in trouble." The sarcasm was all too clear in your voice.

No one used the ‘drivers-only’ gym. It was something that every Grand Prix had set up. Mobile, communal and high-end, it had enough equipment to rival the local 24/7 studio franchise gym that seemed to exist in every neighbourhood. Despite the fact that every driver preferred to train at their own motorhome gym - or that every team had their own mobile gym set up in conjunction to the motorhome - F1 still went about packing up and moving their own studio gym to every single location come race weekend.

If anything, it was a nice stop during the presentation walk during the sponsorship lunches where good old Stefano Domenicali would show off all the amazing resources that the Grand Prix space has to offer.

So, no. F1’s Driver Gym was not used.

The only reason it wasn’t gathering dust was because every weekend it was packed up and moved. That and you woke up at 4am every weekend to destroy your muscles in the familiar red and black equipment.

"You're here." Oscar reminded you. "And not a driver."

You ignored him and just kept up with your repetitions, focusing on engaging your glutes and keeping your core tight. Oscar was silent as you finished your first set. When you finished your last rep, he stood up and came round as you locked the machine. He knew you well enough to pick up the 10kg and help add it to the sides.

"Thanks." You said. Oscar nodded and added the weight to the other side. There was a quiet air for a moment and you went to pick up your headphones to put them back on. Things were getting heavier and you would need music to get through the next few sets.

“I might be leaving Alpine.”

You looked up at Oscar who dropped the bomb and then looked back at your headphones. You sighed and then dropped the headphones back to land in your gym bag. Headphoneless, you went back to the machine and Oscar took your invitation.

“Zak Brown approached me yesterday and suggested something about picking me up for next year.” Oscar said.

You just kept squatting. Oscar was far too removed to yet be aware of - well, everything.

“And with talk of Fernando quitting, I know that Alpine will be calling me up but do I trust that? Honestly Lando has been doing so well and Ocon has always pissed me off.” Oscar watched as you started to struggle.

He stood up and came around to help you but you just shook you head. You pushed through one more rep and then called it.

“He does have a punchable face.” You said, now out of breath. Esteban had always annoyed you and before meeting Oscar, you used to dread the weekends where you were put on Alpine.

Your friend handed you the water bottle sat beside your gym bag before you could even ask. You gave a two finger salute in thanks as he continued on.

“And Lily and I got into this massive fight again! Apparently I don’t communicate enough!” He huffed. “But I sent her flowers and chocolates because she’s going through finals and she likes daisies and Cadbury."

“Yeah, but is that her love language though?” You asked, dropping your bottle and going to stack up the final set of weights on the smith machine. Oscar stood up again to help you.

“Her what?” He asked, handing you the plate.

“Love language.” You answered, still panting, and explained, “You’ve got physical touch, gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation and acts of service.”

“Are you saying people love in specific ways?" Oscar asked, quick to process new information as always.

“Exactly. You did something nice for her, an act of service. Maybe all she wants is a nice, long phone call or maybe some texts complimenting her or something.” You shrugged and then brought up your headphones.

Oscar accepted this, knowing the last set would require music.

He watched you as you settled back under the smith machine bar and went on squatting more than his body weight. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He really shouldn't have been surprised at your lack of surprise. Little shocked you. That or your might’ve already known and just kept it to yourself. F1 Hospitality were a part of the Formula One Group and, therefore, were not associated to any one team. They had rotations across all teams and, therefore, every member of staff were required to sign an NDA. Not that ever did anything in this damn place.

Still, Oscar knew that you were one of the few genuine people left in this place.

He knew that there would’ve been so many opportunities where you could’ve easily done something for yourself by recounting something you had overheard while pouring Toto Wolff his coffee or serving Mattia Binotto his lunch. It was the reason why so many teams hired their own internal hospo staff.

It was also the reason why Oscar felt comfortable coming to tell you about Alpine and McLaren before he had even told his own parents, or Lily. The argument with his girlfriend had prevented him from getting any sleep, mulling it over in his mind for hours. Oscar knew you would be able to help him through it all.

And that you would be the only one awake at this godforsaken hour.

By the time you had finished your first set, he was Googling love languages and having a quick read through.

By the time you had finished your second set, he was halfway through doing the love languages quiz.

By the time you had finished your third and final set, he was seeing what the problem was between him and Lily.

“I think Lily is words of affirmation and I'm acts of service." He said, coming up to the machine as you stepped back and pulled down your headphones. You blinked and nodded, still put of breath. "I think I forgot to check in with her and send her some compliments. Tell her I'm proud of her for getting through exams. Especially because she never is one for gifts, really."

You held out your hand to him. "There you go. Growth."

"I don't know what to do about Alpine."

"Call a lawyer."

Oscar pursed his lips and then considered this. That wouldn't be his first move but thinking about it, it was probably for the best. "That's actually a good idea."

"Isn't that why you're here?" You retorted. "Since you're not here to train. Speaking of which, the fuck is that?"

“What?” He asked and realised you were looking at his feet.

“Zak Brown isn’t going to hire you if he finds out that you’re wearing fucking thongs with socks.” You said, finally recognising the flip-flops he wore with some white socks that really needed to be washed.

“You’ve been a great help, thanks.” Oscar smiled. You rolled your eyes and went to your gym bag. Pulling out a pair of white Adidas Sambas, you tossed them to Oscar.

“Put these on.”

“Is my footwear really that offensive to you?”

“We’ll go run the track.” You said then gestured to all of him. “It’ll help you burn all of this off.”

Oscar sighed and did as he was told. He laced up the shoes you'd given him that surprisingly fit his large feet and followed you out to the track. He used his pass to get through since a driver running the track at 5:30 in the morning would just be seen as the dedication to the grind. A Hospitality staff member would just be accused of breaking in.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going through a crisis. I’ve always wanted to do a morning run on the track.” You said with a grin as the pair of you came to the starting line that, in a matter of hours, would be full of mechanics, engineers, reporters, camera crew members and, of course, drivers.

“If I get a seat at McLaren, you can be my trainer.” Oscar said as you both started warming up into a light jog.

"Ha." You snorted. "As if you could afford me, bro."

next ch [2] >

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