#<- holy shit they remembered their writing tag for once….

[birdo-is-here]

Bit of an aftermath to the most recent nightmare Michael had, from Raphael’s perspective this time! How fun

Warning for: Descriptions of lots of blood and injuries, one of those injuries being impalement! also some (rather strong) allusions to abuse (let me know if i missed anything please!)

As soon as Raphael stepped into the room, she winced. Michael was splayed out across the tile, unmoving aside from the violent shaking in his body. Peculiarly, he looked to be in his human form. That was interesting; they didn’t usually ask Michael to change into a human form for these punishments.

The polished, white tile was contaminated; dark red blood was smeared around and pooling beneath Michael. The hoodie — the hoodie he only wore when in this form — was almost entirely tinted the darker colour, soaked in the angel’s own blood. 

Raphael approached her patient, taking in what more she could of Michael’s condition as she did so. There was blood on his face. A lot of blood. He didn’t seem to be responding to her approach, either.

As she reached him, she knelt down in the blood, placing a gentle hand on Michael’s shoulder. 

His shaking looked worse, now that Raphael was closer to him; his breathing was incredibly laboured, it was probably stretching it a bit to call what the angel was doing “breathing”. There was a puncture wound right in the middle of his sternum; judging by the blood pooling beneath him, it was certainly a full impalement. Great.

His face was in fact mostly covered in blood. It seemed to be quite a large facial wound, though it was rather difficult to tell… where exactly it was with all the blood, or even if there was only one wound there. Michael’s eyes were clouded over with pain and delirium, staring absently up at the ceiling, though his pupils shifted very slightly in response to the Doctor’s touch.

Good, at least he was… somewhat responsive. 

“Michael, you with us?” She asked as clarification. Michael blinked once, and then proceeded to screw his eyes shut. She hummed to herself, looking over his wounds once more. His arms and legs were broken, too.

… Bloody hell. Alright.

She slipped her hand a bit more onto Michael’s back, gently coaxing him into sitting up. He didn’t take it too well. 

His eyes shot open, fear still fresh as his shivering got worse. He whimpered, shrinking away as best he could manage in his state.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright, it’s okay” She immediately pulled away, her voice softening for the other. The after-effects of these punishments were becoming a bit too… human, lately. Michael settled again, his demeanour relaxing as much as it would allow.

“Can you try to sit up? I’ll help you, I just need to look over your injury,” She tried again. Michael made no response at first, just staring absently at the ceiling. A moment later, he shifted as he tried to pull himself up by his torso.

Raphael’s arm quickly found his back, staying cautious of the spear-shaped wound there, too, as she helped him sit up. He made a small sound of anguish, tears beginning to stream, which certainly would have only hurt his face more. 

Once up, she quietly coaxed him into leaning against her, which he did without arguing. The tears still fell. Raphael adjusted her hold a bit, still staying cautious of his back.

“Cough up what you can of the blood. Get it out of your throat.” Before she even finished speaking, he followed through, hacking up dark red blood into his lap. His coughs were throaty, and clearly painful even to another person. She rubbed circles on his back, holding him close against her.

His arms were completely slack, holding themselves at odd angles on the angel. The bleeding had gotten a little worse in his chest. Time to deal with that. An already-prepared piece of cloth appeared in Raphael’s free hand.

“This is going to hurt. You’re okay, I'm disinfecting the wound,” She had to repeat herself before Michael responded with a very subtle nod.

Raphael gently pressed the cloth to the injury, and Michael tensed. He sucked in a pained, shallow breath, his eyes widening slightly, though he didn’t move — or at least, he didn’t try to.

“You’re doing great, you’re okay. Just shake your head if it gets too painful,” 

…

Immediately after disinfecting the wounds, Raphael teleported herself and Michael into her office. She nearly stumbled. The room was perfectly clean and, for lack of a better term, simple. A box shape; with several cupboards and desks scattered about, alongside a strange, small bed in the corner that now housed the quivering Michael.

… Ah. Right. She still needed to get used to the more… modernised look of the place. Ever since she had noticed it was subtly changing to suit the time frame, it was getting increasingly difficult to keep “up to date” with its new looks. 

No matter, she’d adjust. She had work to do.

Raphael set off to her cupboards, grabbing several new bandages and a few tools, those namely being: a suture kit, four different types of syringes — the other types just in case — and a small bottle of liquid. By then, she was out of hands, so she quickly hurried over to where Michael was and placed the supplies on a nearby desk. Then she was off again.

This time, she grabbed a roll of cast padding, and then a roll of plaster cast. ..And then a couple more rolls. She began to double back to Michael again, before stopping just as quickly.

… He was in his human form for this one, wasn’t he? His measurements may have been different in this form. She went to collect a roll of measuring tape, before finally making it back to the injured angel.

As Raphael turned her attention back on him, she noticed he was staring, unblinkingly, with a look of mild terror — or caution — at something behind her, somewhere above her. Confused, she followed his gaze, until it landed on…

.. Ah. He was staring at the light. Suppose any point of fixed light would… have that effect, considering it would resemble… …H. Hm. 

She momentarily considered snapping her fingers, turning the light off. ..Of course, she chose to keep it on. He would have to learn eventually. They only wanted the best for him.

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Cherry Boy. [l.c.]

Chapter One of "Losing it". Reminder that each chapter in this series is stand alone and can be read without reading any of the others!

A new relationship is always difficult to navigate, for Chan, it appears to be even more difficult. For you? You’re just left confused as to why your new boyfriend of a month and a half hasn’t made a move on you despite your very obvious attempts to invite him into your personal space.�� You soon realize that your boyfriend is a virgin, and that’s why he’s always running away with his hands covering his bits, even through a simple goodnight kiss. 

ao3 | m.list | minors dni! | reblog for chan's happy trail

WORDCOUNT― 10k

PAIRING― lee chan x afab reader 

CONTENT― brief break up due to horrible communication skills, virginity loss, reader gets super insecure about her body and personality, fluff, smut obv

NOTE― This is the reason I gave chan the first chapter in the series. It's because of those pics...you know the ones. Anyway, shoutout to @ressonancee and @onlyhuis for proof reading this for me! love u guys with my entire being!

smut tags under cut:: 

SMUT TAGS― virginity loss, makeout session, neck kissing, tit fondling, unprotected sex, belly button kissing, mentions and focus on his happy trail, he’s ticklish oops, blowjob, premature ejaculation, pussy drunk chan forgets how to speak, desperate sex babbling, finger fucking, hand and cock guiding, cream pie 

~

Chan has a dilemma, and yes, it’s one that most men would scoff at. 

Trust him when he says that he is so very aware of what is happening around him but he simply cannot manage to muster up the courage, strength, or confidence to admit to you, his lovely and patient girlfriend, that he’s dodging your advances solely because he is the text-book definition of virgin. 

He is not only nervous about having sex for the first time, but there also comes the weight of him either not being good enough when he tries, or you laughing in his face and mocking him for it.

You, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so fucking in your head if he really could just muster up a tiny amount of confidence to say that to you. 

It has been almost two months now since he asked you to be his girlfriend, and throughout this time never once has he done more than a gentle kiss to your lips or lying a slight guiding hand to your waist. It feels so… juvenile, so… middle school for a boyfriend to treat you this way. 

Seeing as how the first three dates you went on with him seemed to suggest he was more than willing to be a fulfilling boyfriend who can, hopefully, fill all of the roles that comes with the title– you’re starting to second guess that he ever liked you at all.

Perhaps the twenty-four year old man asked you that night to be his girlfriend out of pity. Or maybe he’s simply changed his mind about you. Regardless of the reason for why he acts like this, it’s getting to you.

Deeply, actually, by this point. It only stung a bit at first, but now it’s starting to feel like he has to be with you as a joke. Why else would he be consistent in wanting to hang out? Why else would he always be inviting you out on well-priced dates and buying you pretty gifts? 

It’s a joke. 

It has to be a joke. 

Oh, but that’s so far from the truth. If you would simply open your eyes, perhaps you’d notice the struggle that your polite little boyfriend goes through each time you try to suggest he make an advance on you. 

Even the slight kisses, it makes him suffer from embarrassment at how quickly his body reacts to you. 

He likes you so, so fucking much.

~

“I don’t think I’m feeling it today.” You respond to the muffled voice of your “boyfriend” on the phone, asking if he can come over to see you. 

“What? Why not?” He asks back, his voice concerned. 

“Do you want me to be honest?” You finally say with a long and annoyed sigh, giving up on any hope that this relationship will ever go any further than it already has. 

You’re fed up with feeling unwanted, undesired, and possibly even uninteresting. He’s the one person in your life that you care about when it comes to who you are and what you look like. His reaction, or lack thereof, regarding you as both a person and his girlfriend feels astonishing and does nothing more than make you question what it is that you’re doing wrong. 

It has to be you, right? Perhaps your body isn’t as pretty as he wants it to be, is that it? Or maybe your voice annoys him? God, what if he cringes thinking of how you’d move if he were to actually have sex with you? What if he doesn’t think about it at all? 

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to let the intense insecurity weigh on you. You always promised yourself that you’d never let a man make you rethink your worth. 

You need to live up to that promise. 

“Chan, it’s been nice and all, but I think we should break up.” 

The silence he offers to you is entirely too loud, and feels more like a confirmation in your head that this is the exact choice you should be making right now. 

He’s thrown for a loop though, standing at his kitchen table staring off at the wall as you say those words. 

What did he do wrong? 

“Wha–” He cuts himself off, trying to find words to say. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?” 

You let out another breathy sigh, annoyed at the way he plays dumb. 

“I’m shocked you’re asking me that. I’ve been wondering if you were ever going to break up with me yourself, y’know?” You let out a sad little chuckle before you feel that insecurity he instilled in you burn against your eyes. “I’m just making it easy for you, so that you can go and spend your time with someone that you’d rather be around.”

He pauses, still dumbfounded by what you’re saying. 

“Why are you saying that?” He bellows out in a deeper tone, making you feel as though he’s angry with you now. “I’d rather be around you.” 

“Oh? Is that right?” You roll your eyes now, annoyed. “Is that why you push me away when I try to kiss you? Or what about– what about when you left the party last week after I sat on your lap?” 

Ah. He knew it. He knew he should have admitted it. Despite his consistent apologies for his body acting on instinct to run away from you, he should have really tried to see from your point of view rather than his own. Even if he only ran to hide the fact that he is horribly aroused by you at all times, in every given moment. 

You can hear a pained groan fall from his lips, and a door opening on his end. 

“I’m coming over.” 

He doesn’t let you protest, and instead hangs up the phone. You sit there in silence at his rejection of your break up. As if it were his choice? As if he had any say in it? You want to break up, that’s final. 

Still, that doesn’t explain why you don’t call him back to tell him not to come. It also doesn’t explain why your heart is thumping against your chest in anticipation.

Or, maybe there is something to explain why you’re feeling butterflies over his blatant refusal. Perhaps, this is the first time you’ve felt wanted by him? 

That also makes it worse. Why should your boyfriend make you feel this way only when you’re breaking up with him? Why can you only see that he cares when he’s faced with the idea of losing you? By the way he’s acting, you can argue that he wouldn’t be losing anything precious to him if you were to walk out of his life right this moment. 

Still, you sit here in wait. More curious now to see if maybe you'll figure out why he refuses to look at or touch you in a way that would show you he wants you.

~

The first thing Chan does when he steps through the door of your apartment is slip his shoes off. The second thing he does is stand there awkwardly, as if every thought left his head upon seeing your face.

You look like you’ve been crying. 

“This is my fault.” He says with a slight crack in his voice. “Because I keep hiding from you….right?”

You nod silently, remaining on your couch that faces his timid and stiffened figure. 

He stares at you, examining the consequences of his own actions. 

“You want to break up because I haven’t tried to, like, do things with you.” He winces as he says it, struggling to not feel awkward talking about having sex. He’s embarrassed, but would be even more embarrassed if he lost a girlfriend over this. 

“That’s not the only reason.” You shake your head, looking away from him and to your hands as you pick at your nail beds. “I’d be okay with no sex if you’d simply tell me why. The fact that you haven’t told me anything–” Your voice cracks a little bit, feeling stupid for being so emotional over such a short lived relationship. “It kind of destroyed my confidence.”

He watches the way you refuse eye contact, which is something that stabs him directly in the stomach. He can feel it drop to the floor, adrenaline making its way into that empty space you’re creating for him. 

“Before we break up, I just want to know why it took this for you to act like you genuinely might have feelings for me.” 

He stumbles over his thoughts the same way he stumbles over his feet trying to approach you. 

By now, he doesn’t think he can ever feel more embarrassed than he does at this moment. He crouches down in front of you, sad that you didn’t laugh at the way he nearly knocked himself out on your living room floor. Then he looks at you, chasing your line of sight as if to reassure you through nothing but the air in the room.

“I was afraid you’d laugh at me.” He starts, and after seeing that your expression doesn’t change even a little bit, he continues. “You seemed so into me that I–” He takes a deep breath, willing himself to be as honest as he can be. “I just didn’t know how to act.” 

You look at him with irritation at those words. 

“Of course I was fucking into you. Why else would I have agreed to be your girlfriend?” You roll your eyes, pushing yourself back into the couch cushions and away from his crouched body. “Think about how I feel. The fact that you just watch me throw myself at you time and time again? The fact that you rejected me every single time? How is that not giving you the answers you need as to why I’m breaking up with you?”

He takes note of that heightened voice of yours, defensive and likely more hurt than you’re letting on. 

“Listen–” He breathes in, trying to internally hype himself up to bite the bullet. 

You were listening, but he’s keeping whatever it is he’s thinking about in his head for just a second too long. 

“No, I think we’re done h-” 

“I’m a virgin.” He interrupts you, lowering his gaze to the floor and refusing eye contact with you. 

Your eyes shoot to him though. The last thing you would have expected was for him to be a–

“You’re–” You try to repeat his words for confirmation, but he interrupts you again. 

“I can promise you it’s not because I don’t want to do these things with you.” He says, still staring at the floor. “It’s because I was afraid that you’d lose interest over it.” 

Your mouth falls open as you look at him, every feeling of frustration in your body disappearing almost immediately. 

“It’s because I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to, like, be any good at it.” He continues to admit. “I was trying to work up the courage to tell you, or to just like, do it.” He rambles, now scooting back and standing up to his feet. “And if you still want to break up, I understand. I just thought I at least owed you an explanation.” 

You watch as he nods to himself in an unsure way, turns on his heel, and heads back to the door to slip his shoes back on. 

You sit in stunned silence as your brain erases every single insecurity you gained over this month and a half relationship before jumping to your feet. If anyone could have been more insecure about this than you were, it was him. And now that you can see that, the guilt hits you twice as hard as the presumed break up would have. 

“You’re a virgin?” You ask, though that wasn’t at all the words you intended to say. “I mean, you kept pushing me away because you didn’t want to disappoint me?”

He nods timidly, halting his body and still refusing to look at you. 

He has one shoe on, and his other foot half in the other when you make your way over to him, closing the distance quickly and confidently.

“Don’t leave.” You say first, before physically moving his body for him to remove that foot from his half-on shoe. “Chan, I’m your girlfriend. We can wait for as long as you need, I just...”

You pause, now feeling annoyed with yourself for making it about you. Then again, it’s not like you could read his mind. Though, thinking back to all of those instances where he pulled away from you before, perhaps you could have read context clues a little better. 

“I didn’t know–” You trail off, now determined to save the relationship that both of you accidentally started to sink. “Did I make you feel like you couldn’t tell me?”

He feels…relieved by your words. Saying you could wait, asking what it is that made him so afraid to admit it. 

Finally, he presses one foot against his other, pulling his foot out of his shoe and stepping back, looking at you with eyes fonder than you’ve ever seen them.

“It’s not that I felt I couldn’t tell you. I was just embarrassed.”

You very nearly coo out at him, but you keep your distance with both your words and your body now. 

“It’s not that I’m not ready to lose it. Especially with you.” He admits, glancing at you for a reaction before sighing. “I think I’ve been ready for a long time, again, I was just embarrassed and also knew that I should probably tell you at some point…”

“You want to give your virginity to me?”

You watch as he blows his hair up through puckered lips, rolling his eyes before smiling at you.

“It’s not that I view virginity as sacred or anything either. There’s just a lot of weight that people tend to put on it, and I wasn’t sure how you’d react.” He tries to explain as his body relaxes by the minute. “I wanted you to be my first time, yeah. When I asked you to be my girlfriend, I knew I wanted you to be the one to show me what all the hype is about.”

You’d laugh if it weren’t for the fact that this is still kind of a touchy subject. You’re not entirely sure how you feel about being someone’s first time, but you know you have feelings for him and to deny him of sex after you blatantly wanted it so bad from him…Okay, maybe you’re just in your head. Of course you’d be happy to be his first time. 

Ecstatic even. 

“So….” You sway on your feet, looking up at the ceiling before landing your eyes on him playfully. “It’s not because you think I’m disgusting or like, not living up to the standards you want for a girlfriend?”

“Jesus, no.” He says. 

You watch him scratch the back of his head, still probably embarrassed by how low this relationship had fallen due to the awful communication skills. 

“And you’re also kind of admitting that you have thought about it?” You continue, prying out the words you’ve wanted to hear so badly since you met him. 

He pulls back only a little bit, his cheeks warming at the words and the way his brain automatically thrusts him into the thoughts of all of those nights where he absolutely fucking thought about it. 

“Y-yeah. Yes. I have thought about it.” He nods in a self-reassuring way as his eyes land on everything in the room but you. 

You’re quick to give him your own reassurance though, trying to learn his boundary now that the secret is out and the relationship appears to have a second chance at succeeding. 

He can feel you close in on him, wrapping your arms around his middle and nuzzling your face against his neck. There, he holds you back, breathing in deep and feeling the scent of you wash through his body. 

Quite literally actually. As he would normally avoid, his lower half reacts far too quickly to even the simplest of touches from you. 

He pulls back on instinct, but you don’t release your grip this time. 

“You seem as ready as ever, I’ll admit.” You laugh upon feeling him stiffen against you, but you really do try not to shame him for it. “Still, we can wait until you feel ready enough to give it a shot, okay?”

He nods, entirely reassured by the way you don’t press up against it or comment any further about the happenings in his pants right now. Then he sighs out. 

“I can imagine I must look like an idiot right now, getting hard over a fucking hug.” He finally says as he pulls from the hug and makes his way back to your living room. “But we’re okay, right? You’re not breaking up with me?”

You follow after him, keeping your sexual distance, but absolutely indulging in the loving, sweet, and careful cuddling you’ve wanted to do with him for so long now. 

He appears comfortable when you tuck yourself under his arm and rest your head on his chest before answering him.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” You say, feeling his chest heave with each breath and intentionally ignoring the blatant tent in his pants slowly fall back into its flaccid position as he calms down. “It’s kinda cute, you know? That you were so worried about it.” 

His cheeks are still on fire, willing his body to calm itself through this sweet session of cuddling. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment with you, and still, it is embarrassing in the way he knows you’re ignoring it for his sake too.

But goddamn, how heavenly it would be for you to like, touch it right now…..or something. 

“Never thought of it as cute, if I’m being honest.” He tries to joke. “If anything, maybe it's a little pathetic on my part.”

You shake your head against him, feeling more confident of your place in his life. 

“Pathetic? Don’t be mean to yourself. Besides, it’s kind of hot knowing that you got so turned on over a simple hug.” You laugh, hoping you’re not crossing a boundary. “No wonder you ran so fast when I sat on your lap, I definitely would have felt that on me.”

“Alright, alright–” He tries to hush you of your playful remarks, but ultimately, if you really think it’s an attractive aspect of whatever sexual dynamic the two of you will come to have, he’s going to make damn sure you see just how fucking turned on you make him. 

~

Things are good. Great even, now that you can pin point each moment your boyfriend gets a little too overwhelmed with you. He does still push you away, probably out of instinct but he doesn’t shy away nearly as much from intimate moments with you. Especially if the two of you are alone together. 

You’re a bit more careful in public or with friends though, because the last thing you want to do is make him feel insecure about it. Still, there are playful moments where you indulge in the act of touching him or kissing him just to get him excited, just to watch him stutter his way through ordering something. 

The point is, you almost ended a relationship with someone who, arguably, makes you feel more wanted than you ever knew you could. It’s nice, and it feels good. 

Even now, this is only your second full on make-out session with him, you feel absolutely adored. It’s cute in the way he’s trying to train himself to not get hard at even the simplest of touches, it’s even cuter when his efforts fail miserably and he’s arching his body away from you as if he could even hide what he’s packing. 

You don’t push for more, despite wanting it badly. He also doesn’t push…despite also wanting it just as much as you do, if not more. He still seems to need a push of confidence to actually go any further than a nice, non-body touching makeout session. 

This is fine though, and you indulge far more than you ever knew you would when it comes to this kind of thing. As if simply licking into his mouth is foreplay enough to counter a fucking blowjob for him. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be this into the fact that your boyfriend is a virgin. And it’s not even that he’s never had sex, it’s that he seems to want it so bad, and there’s just something about a man who is desperate that gets you going these days. 

Still, kissing him is something that fulfills you, especially with the way he’s avoiding his lower half and keeping it away from you. 

He kisses you back in a telling way though, more telling than that tent in his sweatpants that you can visualize even while your eyes are closed. He radiates the arousal through the way he moves his lips against yours, and the way he lets out little suffering sounds when you kiss him harder and harder. 

His hands stay against your face, neck, and sometimes your waist, but god. His kissing is genuinely just so good with the way it tells on him every few seconds. 

And when he pulls back, he’s out of breath, flushed, and looking as if he would want nothing more than for you to hint, to lay down some sort of implication that he can cling to for relief from the heaviness that’s been in his pants since the fucking relationship started.

You wonder if tonight is the night, because he doesn’t appear to want to stop making out like he did last time. If anything, as he looks at you with those heaving breaths, you can tell he’s thinking harder than he ever has about it. 

“Chan,” You whisper out to him, just inches from his face. “Do you think of me?”

When he keeps his eyes on you, seemingly stunned by your question, you continue. 

“Do you think of me after you leave? When you’re all by yourself in your room–” You turn your head so that your eyes can trail to the space he is attempting to keep from you. “When you’re touching yourself?” 

He feels the words run straight through him, causing an utterly pathetic twitch in his pants. The way your voice comes out soft and sensual as you ask him, as you look at him. He doesn’t even remember words at this moment, not even a simple “yes”. 

He tries to answer by losing a little bit of his self control, turning your head back to him with his palm just so he can chase against your lips out of the sheer arousal, but you pull away. 

“Do you?” You continue, encouraging him to answer you. 

“So much,” He wills himself to whisper confidently, ignoring the fact that his body just forced him to rut up and against nothing, all for you to see. “Every time I leave,” He puts emphasis on his words. “Sometimes I can’t even make it home first.” 

You smile at the image of him rubbing against himself in his car, so desperate to relieve himself of what you do to him each time he comes to see you. Not even making it out of the seatbelt before releasing all over himself, all in his pants. Shaking, panting, all alone and without you. 

“Cute,” You chuckle, finally turning your head slightly and landing a pop kiss on him. “I think of you when I do it too, every time you leave.” 

He looks at you, willing his hips to stay put as he thinks about the image of you doing that in this very room, to images and thoughts of him. 

“You do?” He asks for reassurance easily.

“Mhm,” You look away from him as you sit straight up and then scoot down the bed. There, you lay yourself down against your pillows and look at him. “Come here.” 

He’s reluctant to take your hand. But even he can admit that this side by side makeout session is starting to hurt his neck, and you’re clearly asking him to get on top of you right now. 

“You don’t have to but, Chan–” You say, looking down, “I don’t want you to leave this time.” 

Well, shit, all you had to do was say that. Honestly, the way you look at him with pure acceptance is enough to push him past the wall in his head that keeps him from finally trying to take the next step. You accept him as he is now, surely you’d accept him if he…. doesn’t last, right? What about if he isn’t good at it? 

Still, he finds himself planting one hand on the other side of your head to balance himself on top of you. Still just hovering, not yet wanting or willing to, you know, put it against you. 

You smile. 

“It’s okay, I can tell you’re nervous. We don’t have to do anything else, I’m happy with just this.”

And then you both fall back into another, much more comfortable and natural feeling, makeout session. 

As much as you’d love for him to try and take control, his reluctance allows you to contain yourself. It allows you to respect him and his decision of whether or not he wants to do anything more than this. Still, this satisfies you. And if he really does stay, maybe he wouldn’t be entirely against watching you take care of your own arousal for him. Maybe he’d feel better watching even, taking notes on what you like, learning where to touch you. 

And you know, that really would have been okay but you can’t help but feel like he’s definitely wanting more. With the way his lips grow hungrier rather than more tired, with the way he’s starting to moan shamelessly into your mouth, with the way his hands are trying to travel to more intimate places on your body before stopping himself. 

You might be pushing it with the assumption, but it doesn’t hurt to try and help him, right?

When you feel his hands moving to your waist, up, up, and up until they’re just barely brushing against the underside of your breast, he pulls back again and pulls your shirt down to cover the exposed skin, all while kissing you harder.

You place your hand over his, wasting not even a second as you guide him back under your shirt, right up to where you know he wants to touch. 

And holy fuck does he. He doesn’t even pull back when you lay it against the warm and exposed flesh from under your shirt. His hand immediately starts groping. His lips immediately stutter against you in a relieved sigh from him, and all you can do is kiss him now with the same energy he seems to have in that one single hand. 

“You’re allowed to touch me, but if you need help doing it, just tell me–” You pull back to whisper, trying to take it another step further in the act of kissing against his jaw and down his neck. “I want to touch you too, but I’ll keep my hands to myself unless you tell me otherwise.”

It’s like he really forgets how to talk or give proper consent when his entire body is acting like a fucking greenlight for you right now. He feels so pathetic, on the verge of orgasm with nothing more than the soft fabric of his sweatpants to relieve him, and yet your breast in his hand, nipple hardening under his palm before he musters the courage to put it between his fingers, it’s a lot to take in, okay?

Still, he tries to say something, and he’s even more embarrassed by the way his voice sounds like it isn’t even his own. He sounds broken when the sound reaches his ears. 

“Don’t–” He starts, cutting himself off at the feeling of your lips kissing against the pulse point of his neck. 

“Hm?” You ask, pulling back and away, hoping you didn’t press too much. 

“Don’t stop.” He mutters out again, a little less embarrassed now that he feels you sigh against that same pulse point with the way his fingers fondle your nipple mindlessly. “Don’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Your brain falls into a stunned silence at his words, bringing a type of nervousness to bubble up in your own body. Is this really it? Is this when it’s going to happen? On a saturday night, against your pillows, muffled cartoons playing in the background…..past ten in the evening? 

You can’t help it as you kiss against his neck. You really can’t, with the way he opens himself up to be vulnerable with you while actively being on top of you, while playing with your breasts, while containing himself.

He seems to need you to do the pushing, but you really cannot shake the nervousness of being his first. You’re almost certain he is nervous about so many things, but still he appears to be eager to try. He’s eager to be with you, and, ultimately, to know what it feels like to be with another person that matters to him in that way. 

“Is there–” You stop, breath caught in your throat, only to fall out against his throat when he finally seems to have the confidence to make his first move. One that would seem so small to anyone else, but he– he raises a hand and holds the back of your neck, trying to press your lips and guide them to the area of his neck that he wants you to kiss. 

And you do, with blatant encouragement to him for doing that, all while trying to finish your previous thought. 

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?” You ask, kissing and now, licking against the spot on his neck that makes him shiver. 

He sighs in a shudder, craning his neck to expose more skin for you before his hand stills against your nipple and he pulls his hand from your shirt. 

“All of it?” He starts, a bit unsure of himself. “Everything?” He adds, pulling himself back from your lips and watching you fall back to your pillows. He leans his body up, relieving his legs from his weight and sitting on his heels in front of you, only slightly between your legs now. 

You can see that he has a bit more confidence with the way he’s looking at you. 

“I want to try all of it.” He continues, placing two hands on your knees, pushing your legs together and using his palms to make them sway left and right. It’s as if he’s thinking hard. “I mean, if you want to.”

You smile. 

You want nothing more than to do this with him, for him, and for yourself. 

“Yeah?” You ask for confirmation, now lifting yourself and re-positioning yourself onto your knees to mimic his own stance. 

He nods in a blatant and shy way, knowing that you can physically see how badly he wants this, and how badly he wants you to be the one to do this with him. He’s achingly hard, and he isn’t sure if he’s ever managed to get this fucking hard in his entire life.

It really is painfully arousing, with the way his pants stretch against the head when he’s sitting like this. The way the fabric offers little to no sensation but while looking at you, he feels all fucked up and warm. He tries to forget that there’s precum all over him, seeping through the pants that are presented before you, and god, the way you look right at it. 

He doesn’t shy away despite being as shy as he could possibly be right now. In fact, when your eyes trail back up to him, licking your lips before smiling, he a fucking goner. He knew he wanted you bad, but never did he know he needed you this badly. 

He’s so fucking lucky. 

“It looks… big.” You comment, leaning forward only slightly and sizing your boyfriend up. “But for your sake, I’ll try to control myself from moving too fast. I’ll go slow, okay?”

He doesn’t even nod, he’s too entranced with you in front of him, fully clothed, lifting his own shirt off of him as if he is incapable of doing it himself. Then again, he kind of is incapable at this moment. He swears his IQ must’ve dropped to a single digit by this point. 

And when that shirt comes up and over his head, you note that he doesn’t even blink. That small moment where his face was obscured as you pulled it off of him? His eyes stayed on you both before and after, only now– his hair is a total fucking mess and all you can do is feel endeared by it. 

“God, you’re so fucking attractive,” You groan in sexual frustration with an eyeroll. “I can’t believe someone hasn’t jumped your bones yet.”

Now he breaks eye contact at the praise, glancing away from you and trying his hardest not to smile like an idiot at those words. 

“To be fair, I’ve fucked up my fair share of relationships being embarrassed.” He laughs. “Kinda glad I did though.”

You land your eyes back on him, staring blankly at his naked chest and trying your damnedest not to look at him like he’s some piece of meat. But goddamn, the body of this man. 

“Come here, switch places with me.” You smile, reaching forward and trying not to think too hard about the way his arms flex when you grip them to move him. “Here, lay back.” 

And within seconds, you’re between his legs and looking down at his half-lidded, arousal driven eyes. 

“Fuck, really?” You groan again, glancing away. “It’s really taking everything in me, Chan, it really is.”

His heart is doing flips as he stares up at you. He feels doted on, adored, attractive. So he encourages more of those annoyed praises from you. 

“Taking everything in you to…?” 

You chuckle, because the audacity of this drunk and in love fool. 

“Do you have any idea how badly I’ve wanted to be in this exact position?” You smile, reaching down to run your fingers down his chest and straight to that happy trail that he so readily hid from you. “It’s taking everything in me to slow down–”

“Then don’t.” He says proudly, albeit still a bit shy at your words. 

You can see how red his ears are, only partially hidden by that head of messy ass hair. His stupid pretty eyes and gentle smile are directed straight at you without any type of reluctance. 

“There’s my confident boyfriend.” You chuckle, toying with the hair beneath his belly button and trying to not comment on the way his body jumps a bit at the feeling. “Was wondering where he went after he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

And he remains silent after that, watching the way you take the reins and lean down to kiss against that same spot of his neck. Warm breath fanning over the skin before attaching yourself there. 

Surely you can feel the way his hips react, humping up at each flutter of your lips. If you couldn’t, he knows for a fact that you’ll be able to now. With the way you trail down, across his own sensitive nipples, and then down, down, down. 

He glances down at you at the same time when you glance up at him and right then and there he thinks he melts. He’s never seen a woman look at him from this angle, and it’s only a little bit detrimental to his heavy and pathetic cock. The twitching never stops, he feels so fucking sticky in his pants and it really just doesn’t stop. Continuous leaking, and he really had no idea that there could even be this much pre-cum. 

Then, he’s pulled out of his thoughts with….a tickle?

“Oh?” You smile, leaning down to repeat that lick up his happy trail before landing a kiss straight on his belly button. 

His body jumps again, and he lets out a moaned chucked unintentionally. 

“Oh.” You smile wider, gripping both of his hips with your hands and holding him down in a playful way. Repeating the act once again. 

Your suspicions are confirmed with a third jump of his body, and another chuckled, frustrated moan. 

“So, he’s ticklish too?” You say with another kiss against his belly button before fluttering your fingers at the side of his hips. 

His entire body goes rigid before melting against the bed in an attempt to not react to the way you take advantage of a hidden weakness he had. God, he should have known that…like, sex stuff could be ticklish. 

“No– I’m not.” He lies, jolting again when you continue to test the resilience he thinks he has against your lips and fingers. “Hey–!”

And, well, you would’ve stopped if it weren’t for the fact that his hips raise with each tickled sensation, and you can genuinely feel how damp and heavy he is in his pants. It’s entirely arousing in the way its weight is obvious through his attempts to wiggle from your ticklish touches. 

“Alright,” You finally relent, landing one final kiss to his belly before licking down that same line of hair he offers his body. “Chan, I want to–”

His hips immediately raise to your words, the wetness from your tongue feels like ice against his skin when the air hits it and at this point, he thinks he knows what you’re suggesting. 

“Please–” He nearly cries out in a stutter. “Touch it.”

You smile as you nuzzle your nose against his abdomen before giving him a short nod that you know he doesn’t see. Considering, well, he just threw his arm over his face and keeps his hips tensed, and his ass only slightly lifted off of the bed. 

Desperate. Willing. 

You prepare yourself for seeing it for the first time by not seeing it at all just yet. Instead, you kiss down until your lips are met with warm, damp fabric. Immediately you can feel his length twitch under your lips when you reach it, and all you can manage to do is flatten your tongue out and against it to feel it pulse again. 

And again, until that same arm thrown over his face reaches down in a desperate attempt to take the pants off for you. He’s the one losing his self control now, no embarrassment or nervousness in sight from him, and it’s so fucking attractive to see him do it.

His shaking fingers fumbling with the waistband, shoving the pants down just an inch or so more to reveal more of that trimmed hair.

You don’t comment on the way he’s acting out of fear that it’ll make him feel shamed or even mocked, despite you truly believing it might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen a man do in front of you. 

Instead, you help him. Sinking your own fingers beneath his pants and tugging them down all in one go before allowing your eyes to land on it. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” He moans out, the air alone offering an overwhelming amount of sensation due to the temperature change he now feels between his legs. 

You finally look at it, so dark in color. As if all of the blood in his body resides only here. You gently move your hand just over it, feeling the heat radiate from him, seeing the precum continuously dribble from the head, and then, finally– 

“You’re so….” You trail off, in awe of the way his body just….keeps reacting. So much pre-cum. “Hard.” 

He releases a broken little sound at the feeling of your fingers finally touch him, and it feels insanely different from when he touches it himself. As if he’s not in control of his pleasure, and it’s all just you. You are the one who feels good against him. 

You’re shocked briefly when his hand makes it’s way back down to yours, grabbing it and essentially trying to get you to stimulate him more. He puts so much pressure against your hand, sandwiching it between his own palm and stiffened cock. 

You’re tuly in awe. This man has essentially edged himself to a world record, surely. 

“Slow down,” You try to soothe him, moving your hand against him and watching him retract his hand. “Relax, It must feel good, right?”

That little sob he lets out shows you his frustration. So needy, so ready. And even with you moving your fingers to circle his pulsing length, his hips continuously fuck up, not allowing him to have even a moment without a forceful amount of stimulation. 

“So good,” He moans, entire brain focused on what your hand is doing and unable to open his eyes. “I want it so bad.”

You don’t think he hears you chuckle and you’re thankful he doesn’t. You can imagine he would genuinely be embarrassed to know you’re witnessing his pure blissed-out and aroused-state of mind right now. 

And it’s not shocking that he’s entirely focused on himself at this moment, because he’s the one experiencing this for the first time. Even if you find it hard to believe that another woman has never touched his dick, you’re entirely flattered that it very well may be the case and that he wanted you to be the one to make him feel this good. 

“I’ll give it to you, just relax. I’m not going to stop.” You reassure his needy movements, and the way his body squirms at the slightest of touches. “What feels good?”

God, he’s so frustrated. 

“All of it.” He groans shortly, trying to take in a deep breath and just relax like you asked him too. 

You nod to his closed eyes and slacked mouth, fighting against his hips to be the one to pleasure him rather than himself and only when you blow a gentle breath against the head of his cock do his hips still and he shoots his hands up to your pillows, gripping them as if he’s preparing for something. 

You watch intently at the way he’s actively fighting to move now, waiting impatiently for you to do something now. Licking his lips, chewing on his bottom lip– god, he’s so pretty up there. 

Then, you grant him a new sensation. Only because by this point you’re the one who is about to lose control. 

You stick out your tongue and lick all the way from his balls to the head of his cock, making sure to keep pressure against it so that you can taste all of the arousal he’s spilled up until now. And while you were going to pull back to examine his reaction, this is the part where you release your self control.

The taste alone was enough to have you moaning, vibrating your voice against the vein of his length and then circling your lips around the head. 

Instantly, you suck at the feeling of pre-cum still pouring out of him. This time, there seems to be more. Coating your tongue with an almost sweetened salty taste. 

You feel briefly the way his hips chase the new warmth, clearly wanting to tuck itself into your mouth and quite possibly, down your throat, but you pull back and blow once again against the head. 

His entire body shivers as you glance up at him. 

You can barely comprehend just how into you he looks right now before rolling your own eyes in arousal at the image before immediately giving him everything your mouth has to offer.

Who cares if he comes too fast? Fucking look at him. You’d be stupid not to suck the absolute life out of him! That’s your boyfriend up there, chewing on his bottom lip, eyes sparkling through hooded lids, chest heaving–

And god, you almost wish he wasn’t as big as he is because it’s difficult to keep your eyes open when you take it in. You have to focus on sliding it through your lips, against your tongue, and right up to the back of your throat where the head of his cock bumps.

He can feel the way your fingers grip his legs through it, and by this point he has gone entirely non-verbal at the feeling. 

The only sound he can make comes from deep within his chest, and he can only release those sounds with heaved out and rigid breaths. His heart is pumping faster and faster the deeper you managed to take him, and–

“Ah! W-wait!” He panics, sitting straight up and becoming fucking floored at the way you stay on him. Moving your hands to his stomach and trying to shove him back. “Fuck,” He seethes as he takes in a sharp inhale, legs shaking as he flops back against the pillows. “Fuck, i’m sorry.” He continues to murmur, feeling himself hit the wall of orgasm and practically pulverize it. 

And you, oh, you. You taste it. You feel the twitching and the way his muscles stiffen under your fingers. You can hear him muttering apologies as it spills into your mouth, down your throat, and even out of the corners of your lips. 

You try to take all of it, up until you can’t fucking breathe, and only then do you pull up and replace your mouth with your hand, watching in awe at the way he just……

It doesn’t fucking stop. 

He went from rigid to stammering his words, to now blatantly and full-on moaning through both the pleasure and frustration of losing the warmth of your mouth. 

“God, Chan….” You whisper in a raspy voice, slowing your hands and intentionally pumping it out of him by now. 

“I’m sorry–” He stammers, body still shaking as you pull the rest of it out of him. “I tried to,” He winces with another unintentional moan. “I didn’t think it would feel that good.”

You smile both proudly and fondly, watching him stumble through his words and whatever excuse he tries to come up with. 

“I don’t think you know how hot you look right now.” You finally say, in a more stern voice. “You couldn’t have stopped me if you wanted to.” 

Only now, when he’s absolutely drenched himself in his release does he open his eyes in a drowsy way. He looks at you and that little smile on your lips and decides that, yeah, he can believe you. He trusts you, and he’s entirely obsessed with you. 

“But we still haven’t–”

You cut him off quickly.

“We have all night. All day tomorrow. All week, month, year. I don’t care.” You dead-pan, reaching for his, somehow, still hard length. “Chan.” You add, gripping it and testing the actual hardness of it. “You’re still hard, which is fucking amazing by the way, and you have no idea how wet I am right now.”

Oh, my god. He forgot. 

“You– you’re turned on?” He asks, looking away from you. 

“So fucking turned on.” You confirm for him, now releasing his length to give him a bit of a rest, considering he must not realize he’s still shaking. “Look, feel.” 

You say it as you crawl up and on top of him, seating yourself right up against his abdomen and grabbing his hand. 

He just stares, watching you guide his hand straight to the seat of your shorts. 

“Oh.” He sighs out. 

“Even through my shorts. See? Feel it.” You continue to move his hand against you, trying not to rut your own hips up much like he was doing before. 

Brain malfunction. He doesn’t even have a fucking IQ at this point as his cock immediately reacts in all of it’s sensitive, pathetic glory. 

“Do you want me to, um,” He swallows around a breath he didn’t know he needed. “touch you? Can I try?”

You sigh, relieved that he’s willing and immediately push yourself off of him and take care of all of the busy-work as quickly as possible. ie: taking off your clothes.

Unfortunately, you somehow briefly forgot that the man is still a fucking virgin. You can very nearly see his mouth fall open at your nude body being revealed to him. Even more so, you can see the dribble of saliva that he doesn’t quite catch fast enough, and his cock reacts. 

“You’re so cute, god.” You praise with the same compliment you’ve been giving him all night. 

And when you seat yourself next to him, hugging one of his arms and tucking it between your legs before closing your thighs around it, you smile at him and the way he literally cannot stop staring with his mouth agape. 

“Babe, you’re drooling.” You chuckle, shifting your hips a bit to rub yourself against his knuckles, where you’re still hugging his arm. 

Only then does he slurp up his embarrassment and try to remain calm. His fogged brain comes back to him quickly upon your comments as he wills himself to sit up beside you. 

He gets to….touch you. 

And boy does he. 

Eagerly, messily, and quite frankly, kind of embarrassingly. 

You make it easier for him though, laughing as you flop back and spread your legs for him. He’s quick to simply��explore. He’s not aiming for any singular area of your pussy because to be quite honest, he’s still struggling to stop staring at the entirety of you. 

You watch his eyes, the way they stare at your tits, then your thighs, your pussy being petted by his fingertips, and then– eye contact. 

He seems so sure of himself despite still managing to barely touch the clit. It doesn’t bother you one bit, because his eager fingers still find ways to touch you beautifully. There’s so much intent behind the messy movements. 

Slipping and sliding two fingers between your lips, up your folds, and then stopping just short of your clit before sliding back down and feeling where his cock would go if he manages to make it this far. 

I mean, surely he will, right? He’s losing his virginity as he does this right now, even. Foreplay still counts, right? 

And then, after several minutes of him exploring, learning, and practically teasing you half to death, you reach down to guide him. 

“Right here,” You soothe out in a soft voice, pressing his fingers against your clit and seeing him take note of it. “And here.” You trail his fingers down until they reach your clenched hole, and you very slightly press against his fingers so that the tips just barely enter you. 

He tilts his head at you, concentrating on where you lead him before releasing his hand and essentially leaving him to his own devices now. 

And you know, he did tell you he was a quick learner, because almost immediately he’s experimenting with putting a finger into you, and using his other hand to find a rhythm to rub against your clit. 

The whole time, he checks for your reaction, noting when your breathing hitches and when your body tenses. He continues, trying to only do things that make your body react and soon, you’re already turning to mush beneath him.

His fingers circle and tap your clit at a quick pace, with the other twisted inside of you. When he slides his finger out, and then back in, he rubs your clit harder, and god, yeah. Okay. You see his effort, and it’s such a good fucking effort too.

“Feels good,” You finally moan out for him, allowing yourself to give in to the pure arousal of the entire situation taking place. Thinking hard about what it would feel like to have such a desperate cock inside of you. “Use two fingers?” 

He listens instantly, moaning along with you when he slides the other in with the next thrust. His fingers against your clit trail down shortly after, curiosity getting the best of him when he spreads your lips open to see you stretch around his fingers. 

“It’s so warm–” He comments more to himself than to you, watching the way you pulse around him, watching the way your slick seeps out of you. It’s so hot for him to see it up close like this, and his pace slows at the image before him. “Can you take more than two?”

You lift your head in amazement at how he could ask such a thing. 

“Chan.” You smile at the way he jumps in surprise at your sudden, louder voice. Fingers nearly slipping out of you. “I can take way more than just two fingers.” You glance down between his legs. “Way, way more.”

He glances down to what you’re looking at before letting out an embarrassed sob.

“You’re really going to let me?” He nearly whines in excitement. 

You nod, reaching for him and pulling him to you by his shoulders. You land a kiss against his lips, trying not to shake at the way his fingers angle different inside of you as he moves to chase your lips.

“Mhm,” You soothe against his lips, intentionally scooting your hips down to your best ability to sink his fingers into you more. “Move your fingers– it feels good like this.”

He listens, feeling you throw your arms around his neck and cling to him through it, all while moaning and groaning right up against his lips. You’re not even kissing him, you’re just….acting like this and it’s fucking great.

He thought he would be the only one to be desperate in this situation, yet here you are, clinging to him as he works his fingers in you. 

“When?” He finally asks upon noting the way you start to move your hips against his fingers. 

You peek your eyes open and pull back to look at him. 

“Now? Do you want to do it now?” 

He nods, slipping his fingers out of you and inspecting how wet they’ve become. 

“Can I?” 

You finally fall back, leaning against your elbows and spreading your legs wide in front of him. Lending him a nod, you watch the way he just freezes after the fact. 

All you can do is laugh at this moment with the way he loses any ability to remember how sex works. 

Then again, you wonder if he ever even watched porn, considering how he’s acting and couldn’t manage to find the clit. 

“Do you want me to be on top?” You question, blinking up at him and his blank expression.

He shakes his head at you, still frozen in his spot before his eyes slowly make their way down to the glistening sheen against your pussy. 

“Don’t we like, need a condom or something? I can’t promise I’ll be able to pull out.” He asks, finally glancing away. “I don’t know if I can last as long as you want me to….”

And with that, all you do is lunge forward, grab your boyfriend by the cock, and pull him to you. 

He laughs, you laugh, and then it’s silent when he leans over you, feeling his length lay against your core, already feeling spent but so, so ready to give himself to you. 

“I’m on birth control. You don’t need to pull out.” You smile evilly, wiggling your hips and watching the way he closes his eyes tightly as if to regain his composure of those words. 

“I’m seriously in love with you.” He mutters, pushing his hips forward and letting his length slide through the mess he made of you. 

You smile, feeling that by this point, your face may actually be stuck like this permanently, and lift your head to kiss against his lips once more. 

“You’re ready?” You ask quietly, against his lips. “I can help you adjust to where it needs to be. After that, I want you to do what feels best for you, okay?”

He nods timidly, taking in a deep and nervous breath before feeling your hand guide his length to the opening. 

“Go on, slide in it.” You encourage him. 

And he does. 

Slowly at first, gently, until he feels your wet hot walls envelop the head of his cock in full, clenching, pulling him in. 

His arms shake from either side of your head as he balances himself there, and it doesn’t take long for him to drop his head against your shoulder in deeper breaths than he was taking before.

The sensation is so much, it’s no wonder people like to have sex. It’s so good, you feel so, so good around him. He can’t help it when he slides in deeper, not stopping until he’s releasing a wet moan against your shoulder and holding onto you as if his life depends on it. 

He thought that once he got it all the way in, it would get easier. But it doesn’t. Even as the two of you are unmoving, with your hands in his hair and soothing him through it, you still clench him. Your pussy still stimulates it without either of you doing a damn thing.

You on the other hand, won’t admit to struggling through that one, long and languid thrust inside of you. It felt as if he was splitting you open despite how wet you already were, and still are. The heaviness, the consistent twitching, all of it stretches you out more than you even knew you’d need and god, it feels so good to have him just hold onto you like, to have him adjust to the feeling. 

He’s no longer a virgin, and that’s not even what matters right now. 

What matters is the way he continuously nuzzles his nose against you, snaking his head to your neck and moaning consistently against your ear when he manages to finally move. 

He pulls out only a little bit before his hips stutter at the sensitivity, then he pushes back in. 

In and out, in and out, until–

“Fuck.” He moans, lifting suddenly from your neck, sitting up, staring directly  at where his cock sits inside of you, and he just… lets go.

Knuckles white against the grip of your waist, he powers through the sensitivity, he fucks through it. Fast, with no real rhythm or ability to realize just how deep he’s pushing himself into you, and then….

He’s done for. 

“That’s it,” You encourage him through half moans at the feeling, your swollen clit begging for a little bit of attention too. “Shit, Chan, that’s it.” You continue, losing yourself in his reaction to you. 

He only moves faster, his hips only stutter more, and thank fuck he already came once because he wouldn’t have made it a solid inch into you before coming undone if he hadn’t. Now though? He’s pleasantly surprised to be lasting even this long. 

Until he’s not, of course. 

And there, between your legs, he presses in as far as he can reach and loses his breath. 

Eyes rolling back, eyebrows furrowing, mouth agape, a deep moan rumbles from his chest as his shiver flows through his body at the first release inside of you.

You immediately shoot your hands to your clit, feeling it pump inside of you much like it did in your mouth. Already so much, you feel entirely full, and entirely ready if he can manage to keep coming for as long as he did before. 

You fingers assault the swollen nub so fast, working yourself up much like you would during a quick session of masturbation, not wanting him to miss out on what it feels like to have a girl come on him– 

It hits you faster than you can realize. 

Even when he buckles and falls back to your chest out of breath, you can’t even tell him that it’s happening. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t move just yet. Well, until he feels your pussy clench him tigher than before. In a rhythmic way, almost. 

Only barely can he lift his head to watch you, and that’s when he notes that you’re holding your breath. 

You pussy is pulsing, and then–

“Are you?” He questions, experimenting with the idea of trying to thrust into you as he asks. 

There’s the breath you’d been holding. 

“Yes!” You call out, both to answer his question and to appreciate that little thrust he gave you.

Even if his cock is slowly becoming flaccid, you’re still full, and he can still feel the orgasm wash over you. 

He’s silent through it, wincing at his hyper-sensitive cock and very nearly cursing it out for not having waited just a minute longer to release– then, you’re hugging him. 

Tightly. So tightly, you’re holding onto him and breathing into his hair. He can barely breathe himself with this hold you have on him. Still, he doesn’t fight it, he simply lets you. 

Letting you cling, letting the last jolting pulses of your core push the rest of him out of you. There, he manages to lift from your weakening grasp and throw himself beside you. 

Out of breath, sweating, a total mess, he looks at you like he truly will never be able to love another person the way he does right now. 

And it falls silent for a long while before you roll over, throwing both an arm and leg over him. 

“Man,” You sigh out. “How does it feel?” You ask this time, opening your eyes to playfully look at him.

“Huh? What?” He asks, quirking a brow. 

“You know, now that you’re not a virgin anymore. How does it feel?” 

He thinks hard for like two seconds before taking in a deep breath and smothering himself against the top of your head. 

“Like I’m in love with you, maybe.”

And you know, given that this relationship is barely even considered one in the eyes of most people. You don’t think you care. 

“Because I made you feel good, or because you want to let me make you feel good for like…” You pause, lifting your head to look him in the eye. “the rest of your life?”

He doesn’t even have to think twice. 

“The second reason.” 

“You’re such a simp, Chan, really.” You joke, skewing your head fondly to look at him. “But I think it’s worth a shot.”

~

Chapter two: LOSER. [wonwoo] ― coming soon!

series m.list

[nereidprinc3ss]

toaster waffles

in which spencer is woken up by fem!reader and their young daughter after being away on a case

fluff warnings/tags: none really, a bit of suggestiveness between spencer and reader but nothing explicit, their daughter is a genius duh, i love dad!spence so fucking much holy shit a/n: i wrote this in like thirty minutes so good luck! just needed to write dad spencer it just needed to happen idk

“No—baby, we have to let daddy sleep in,” you chide your daughter, jogging to catch her as she races down the hallway on clumsy little legs. 

“No! I wanna see daddy!” She yells—and if Spencer wasn’t awake yet, he will be now. You give in, opening the bedroom door for Ada with a fond (exasperated) sigh. 

“Daddy! Daddy wake up!” 

He blinks sleepily several times, sitting up and grinning at his daughter as she attempts to climb up onto the bed. 

“Hi, princess,” he laughs, grunting dramatically as he pulls her up onto his lap. “Oh my gosh, did you get all grown up while I was gone?”

He catches your eye as you stop at the foot of the bed, arms folded and mouthing an amused ‘I’m sorry.’ Spencer smiles and almost imperceptibly shakes his head, eyes sparkling as Ada attempts to use him as playground equipment. No apology necessary. 

“I made you breakfast!” she remembers, grabbing onto his shoulders and springing up and down on the bed. His eyes go wide. 

“You did? Where is it?”

“Oh no!” she claps her hands to her cheeks and opens her mouth wide, Home Alone style. Spencer laughs. “I forgot it!”

Then she’s wriggling off the bed and running as fast as her little feet will carry her, presumably to the kitchen. 

“You like cold toaster waffles, right?” you tease, approaching the bed and filling the now empty seat that is Spencer’s lap. His hands find your waist as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“I would go so far as to say I love them. Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder. “I missed you. I forgot how hard it is when you’re gone.”

He hums, running his hand over your hair. 

“I know. Me too.” Spencer now only consults on cases, and very rarely is he actually obliged to travel with the BAU. It was never easy before, but now that you have a child, it takes more out of everyone. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do, lifting your head and meeting his soft gaze. He leans forward and captures your lips in a gentle kiss, brushing his thumb over your cheek before pulling away. “I love you. Thank you for taking care of the progeny while I was away. I know it’s not easy on your own.”

“Eh. She’s alright. She reads to me at bedtime.”

Spencer grins, eyes darting back to your lips. Several quick kisses are pressed there in succession, and it’s not exactly how he wanted to say good morning to you but that will have to wait until later. 

“Ewww!” 

Ada is at the door again, waffle in hand, making a half-disgust half-delight face before prancing back to the bed and receiving another airlift from Spencer up onto the mattress. 

“What do you mean, ew?” he asks in mock offense as her legs swing in the air. “You’re next!”

You watch in unadulterated joy as he peppers little kisses all over her face and she pretends to hate it, squealing with glee.

“Is that for me?” he asks once she’s comfortably sharing his lap with you, pointing to the forgotten waffle. She holds it up, pressing the disk against his lips. Spencer takes a bite, makes an exaggerated yum sound, and kisses her forehead once more. “Thank you. That was delicious.”

“You have to eat all of it so you’ll grow up big and strong.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll do that. Why don’t you leave it on the nightstand and go find a book we can read together?”

“Game of Thrones!”

“No!” he laughs. “That book is way too grownup for you!”

“But I read the first three pages!”

“I know you did. And Auntie Penelope is still in big trouble for that. Go get Lord of the Rings.”

Full of energy despite the early hour, Ada skitters off again to find the book. 

“She’s too smart for her own good,” you sigh, listening to her making up a song as she picks through the book shelf in the next room. 

“Intelligence is generally more nurture than nature. If we act fast we could probably stunt her IQ to just two or three standard deviations above the average.”

You giggle, straddling him as he slips his hand under your shirt to rub your back. Then you try to school your features into a serious expression.

“Not funny.”

That big, lazy grin might never fade—and you’d be happy to look at it forever. 

“You’re right. Not funny at all.”

“Hey,” you remember, grabbing his biceps. He raises his eyebrows expectantly. “I was gonna make you real breakfast. What do you want?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t. I want to. So tell me what you want.”

“Anything other than a toaster waffle.”

You snort, moving to slide off the bed. 

“We can probably make that happen.”

“Hey—" he catches your waist, pulling you closer. “Penelope is taking Ada to the park this afternoon. We’re gonna spend some time together, okay?”

After having an entire child together, you still get butterflies when he looks at you like that. 

“What if I have plans this afternoon?”

Spencer doesn’t even look mildly concerned—just tilts his head, brushes his thumb over your lips. 

“Then I’m asking you to cancel them, pretty girl. I owe you some undivided attention.”

You chew on your lip. It’s embarrassing how easily he can still fluster you. 

“Right now I have to go find out why our child is being so quiet.”

He laughs, letting you slip from his grasp for good. 

“She probably got into the Stephen King again.”

You pick up the waffle and gesture at him with it emphatically as you walk away.

“This is all your fault.”

“Mm… let’s call it a team effort.”

[pedrospatch]

not a thing

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

part ii

summary: You and Joel had a private moment while Ellie was asleep. Or so you’d thought she was asleep.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. implied smut, but no actual smut. grumpy Joel, Ellie is a little shit.

Word Count: 1.5k

a/n: nervous to write for TLOU but still giving it a shot! poor Ellie for being subjected to what i am about to subject her to lol. Edit: holy shit, i did not expect this to get much attention. thank you all sm for reading, liking and reblogging!

It had been an incredibly stupid thing to do.

So, so, so fucking stupid.

You knew that.

And Joel knew that.

You two were supposed to have been standing watch.

Not to mention, there had been a teenaged girl sleeping close by, just mere fucking yards away from the two of you had been—

Jesus Christ.

Dammit, you and Joel fucking knew better than to be this goddamn stupid.

Careless.

But neither of you could help yourselves.

It had been several weeks—actually, it had been several months since you two had been able to steal a private moment for yourselves. That moment would have been missed had you not somehow woken up in the middle of the night, only to find Joel wide awake, his rifle in hand as he stood watch while you and Ellie had slept. You’d offered to take his place for a few hours so he could get some rest too, but instead, a few minutes and many, many desperate, feverish kisses later, the two of you found yourselves on the other side of Bill’s old white and blue Chevrolet pickup truck, Joel’s jeans unzipped and your own jeans pulled down around your knees along with your underwear. He’d had you bent over, but still standing at a point where you could peek over the bed of the truck so that you could somehow keep a watchful eye out in between the moments of mind-numbing pleasure—both for any signs of potential danger and also for Ellie, who was passed out, curled up into a little ball in her sleeping bag and completely unaware of what her two reluctant protectors were doing behind the vehicle right next to her.

Your bottom lip was busted, bruised from biting down on it so hard.

The deal had been no noise, not even a single whimper, although you couldn’t remember how well either of you had stuck to that rule in the heat of the moment. It had been a quick fuck, just enough to give you and Joel some much needed relief from all of those pent up stresses and frustrations you two were carrying on your shoulders since Ellie had entered your lives just the week before. And just like back in the Boston QZ, Joel said nothing to you once it was over and done with.

It never hurt your feelings. It was just how things were.

It was some sort of twisted, fucked up unspoken pact the two of you had. 

Joel Miller fucked you, and then he just pretended like nothing ever happened, not until the next time he found himself buried inside of you.

It’s not like you expected Joel to return your feelings.

Hell, you weren’t even sure the man knew how to feel anything but anger, bitterness, and violence. 

Afterwards, Joel took you up on your offer to keep watch and slept for a couple of hours until sunrise came and had you both moving, packing up the truck and getting ready to continue the long drive ahead to Wyoming.

“She’s been oddly quiet,” Joel mumbled to you as he packed up the remnants of the small campsite into the bed of the pickup truck. “Go check on her.”

Obediently, you nodded and dropped the sleeping bag in your hands before turning away and walking over to where Ellie was sitting cross legged on the ground, her fingers mindlessly fiddling with a small, broken tree branch on the ground. “Hey,” you offered her a small smile. “It’s almost time to get going. You doing alright over here?”

She looked up at you and gave you a small nod. “Yeah. Just cold as fuck since we can’t have a fucking fire going,” she said, tossing a tiny glare over in Joel’s direction. “But other than that? I’m just fucking peachy.”

You chuckled and shrugged out of your worn out, brown windbreaker jacket. You draped it over Ellie’s shoulders before taking a seat beside her on the ground. She may have been a thorn in Joel’s side—then again, who wasn’t a thorn in Joel Miller’s side—but you’d warmed up to her fairly quickly. A lot quicker than your partner, anyway. He was still a work in progress.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Ellie nodded, clutching your jacket close. “Kinda,” she shrugged her small shoulders. “The ground was really hard and uncomfortable. I woke up a couple of times throughout the night and had trouble falling back asleep.”

Your smile faded ever so slightly. “Oh? You did?”

Noticing the sudden change in your demeanor, a small smirk crossed the girl’s face. “I knew you and McGrumps over there were a thing.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva as you nervously sputtered out, “W-What the hell are you talking about?”

Ellie raised an eyebrow at you, shooting you a knowing look as her smirk widened.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Ellie had caught you and Joel while you two were—fucking?

Mortified did not even come close to cutting it.

“Oh god,” You muttered, your face on fire. 

“I really hope you two are being smart and using protection,” she added teasingly. “What’s that saying? Wrap it before you tap it?”

“Ellie!” You hissed, glancing over your shoulder. Joel went about his business and it was times like these where you were actually thankful that his hearing wasn’t what it used to be. You turned back to her and quickly started trying to explain yourself. “Ellie, I don’t know what you think you saw but—”

“Oh, it was too dark to see anything. I heard you guys.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Back behind the truck.” She paused, thoroughly enjoying every single moment of complete and utter discomfort she was causing you. “You know, if that’s gonna keep happening, I’m really gonna need you guys to find me a Walkman with some headphones. Noise cancelling headphones, please and thank you.”

You dropped your head into your hands and anxiously rubbed your face with your palms. “Fuck. I’m really sorry, Ellie,” Was all that you could say.

What else could you say?

Sorry you had to hear me getting fucked by my partner while you were laying just feet away in your sleeping bag?

“Sorry for what? For not being able to keep it in your pants?” Ellie giggled, slapping your knee with her hand in an attempt to get you to lighten up. “I get it. Nature. Hormones. Biology and shit.”

You lifted your face from your hands. “Joel can’t know,” You warned her. “Or he won’t be able to look you or me in the eye ever again.”

Ellie groaned in exaggeration, throwing her head back. “Aw, come on! I really wanted to see him squirm.”

“Me squirming should be fucking enough you little shit,” You laughed, shoving her playfully with your elbow. Once both of your giggles had subsided, in a more serious tone, you told her, “And for the record, we are not a thing.”

Ellie stared at you in disbelief. “Get out of here, you lying sack of shit! You totally are!”

“I know it’s hard to understand. But just because two people—” You trailed off, trying to choose your words carefully. It was more often than not that you had to remind yourself that despite what Ellie had been through and all she had seen, she was still fourteen. A fucking child.

“Bump uglies?” she suggested, wiggling her eyebrows.

You sighed. “Jesus Christ, please don’t ever fucking say that out loud again.” You paused briefly, running a hand through your hair. “But yes. Just because two people do what he and I were doing, that doesn’t mean anything. For a lot of people, it can be quite meaningless actually. It does not mean they are a thing. Me and Joel? Not a thing. Understood?”

Ellie blinked. “That’s probably the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard. Even before last night, I knew you two were a thing. Whether either of you admit it or not. I can tell.”

You knew better than to play into what she was saying, but the sheer curiosity got the better of you.

What had Ellie noticed about you and Joel?

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged, bringing her knees up to her chest. “I dunno. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. He’s a guy who doesn’t seem to give a shit about too many things or too many people. But I know he does give a shit about you. He cares about you. Even if he might have a shitty ass way of showing it.”

You glanced back over at Joel and then back at Ellie, confused.

“And you can deny it all you want. But if there’s one thing that stone cold asshole cares about, it’s definitely you,” Ellie stated firmly.

Your mouth fell open slightly, unsure what to say to her.

“What the hell are you two yappin’ about over there?” Joel called, looking over his shoulder.

“Nothing!” Ellie practically sang, causing him to roll his eyes and turn his attention back to his task.

“Well then, get off your asses and let’s get a fuckin’ move on. Ain’t got time to waste.”

[strniohoeee]

Crass

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N hates Chris with every fiber in her body, but one night while clubbing things take a turn🤭

Warnings⚠️: SMUTTTTTT, hate sex?? Fucking in a public place, enemies to lovers-ish??? Mann idk it’s just sum sweet for the kids (hope yall know that meme. I do not write for kids)🤞🏽

Song for the imagine: Rude Boy- Rihanna

⚠️This is an 18+ imagine, so minors do not interact, or do??⚠️

I like the way you touch me there

I like the way you pull my hair

Babe, if I don’t feel it I ain’t faking no, no

Can’t remember the last time Chris and I ever got along. He was such a fucking dick always, and I was a bitch. Everyone tried to keep us apart most of the time.

I wasn’t exactly too sure why I hated him. It could be the fact that he thought he was untouchable, hot and his ego was bigger than his fuck ass hair. I really had it out for the guy

I hate any guy who acts like they’re all that, and that their shit doesn't stink. It made my blood boil because who are you? You're a nobody go away. Chris was the textbook definition of this

Actually Chris was the definition of toxic masculinity. Every ick a guy could give you was exactly what Chris was. If some of these girls knew half of who he really was they’d leave his ass in the dirt.

I was Nicks friend, but he came as a package deal with his loving sweet brother Matt, and that fucking gremlin Chris. Usually my interactions with him included me rolling my eyes at him, huffing at his words and full on walking away while he was in the middle of speaking. Because it’s like shut the fuck up, you know?

Tonight Nick asked me to come to the club with them because Nick really wanted to dance. Weird ass request but I agreed…it’s dancing with Nick I had to go

I had gone to the triplets house while they were all getting ready. I let myself in, and walked to Nicks room where Matt and Chris were also at

“Hiii” I said walking in

“Ughhhh” Chris said groaning and throwing his head back

“Shut the fuck up” I said throwing my purse at him

“Why are you always tagging along” he said

“In case you didn’t know Nick invited me first, and then I presumed you were being an ass eater and had to come too” I said giving him a bitchy smile

“Whatever” he said rolling his eyes

“Exactly” I said laughing at him

“Mattttt you look so cute” I said looking at his outfit

“Thank youuu” he said smiling at me

“And me?” Chris asked

“Who gives a fuck about you” I said giving him a dirty look

“Y/N what color shirt?” Nick asked me holding up two shirts a purple one and a green one

“Purple all the way” I said to him

“Great minds think alike” he said nodding at me, and walked to the bathroom to put the shirt on

“Y/N thinking? Who would’ve thought” Chris said scoffing

“You’re lucky you’re nicks brother because if not I would’ve laid your ass out by now” I said looking at him

“Guys no fighting” Matt said

“Yeah sure…” Chris said scoffing

“You don’t know my past, I beat up guys like you” I said looking at him

“Whole lot of yapping shut it” Chris said kicking my back

“You fucking dick that hurt” I said reaching back and pinching his leg

“Ow you bitch” he said pulling his leg away

“Enough fighting for once holy shit” Nick said coming out of the bathroom

“Tell your dog of a brother to chill out before I clock his shit” I said to Nick

“Chris be nice for once” Nick said looking at him

“I’ll try, but I can’t make no promises” he said smiling

We had all piled into their car, and headed downtown to the clubs. When we arrived we walked to the one that looked the safest for Nick and I.

We headed in and found a table to sit at in the back. We ordered some drinks, and once we drank them Nick and I went up to the dance floor to dance

We were dancing to Pour it Up by Rihanna singing and dancing on each other.

“THROW IT THROW IT UP WATCH IT FALL OUT” we screamed as we danced

Once the song ended we headed back to the table

“Fuck I love dancing” I said sitting down and drinking my water

“Me fucking too” Nick said catching his breath

All of a sudden Bottoms Up started playing

“FUCKKKK THIS IS MY SHIT” Nick and I screamed

We had gotten up and danced to the song for like two minutes before needing another break.

We sat back down, and was bopping to the song

Right as it got to Nicki’s part Nick started recording, and turned the camera on me, so I started rapping

“I’m with a bad bitch, he’s with his friends” I said pointing over to Chris, and Nick recorded it

“I don’t say hi, I say keys to the Benz” I said sticking my hand out at Chris

Nick started recording Chris and Matt and himself, and then flipped it back to me

“YELLIN all around the world, do you hear me? DO YOU LIKE MY BODY? ANNA NICKI” I said rubbing my hands all over my body

Nick finished recording and posted it to his instagram story, and by this point Rude Boy by Rihanna started playing

“WE HAVE TO DANCE” I said to Nick

“I’m sooo tired I’ll get the next one” he said fanning himself

“Chris?” I asked him randomly, he looked at me before nodding, and following me to the dance floor

I started singing to him

“Come here rude boy, boy, can you get it up?” While swaying my hips

He pulled me in whispering in my ear

“Be careful how you sing at me” he said

“Don’t flatter yourself rude boy” I said winking at him

I went to walk away, but he pulled me back slamming my back against his

“You want to dance, so fucking dance” he said sternly sending a shiver down my spine. I wonder if this was the three drinks I had making me feel this way

He held me by stomach against him while I grinded up against him, and he followed his hips with mine

I spun around swaying my hips and dragging my hands down his body as I went lower, and then came back up swaying my hips while looking into his eyes

“You’re sexy as fuck when you do that” he said leaning in

“I must be mistaken, is Chris Sturniolo being nice to me?” I said turning around and grinding against him again

“Don’t push your luck baby” he said gripping my waist

I continued to sway my hips against hip, and let my head fall back onto his shoulder

I looked over at him, and he was looking at me already

“Kiss me I know you want to” I said with a smirk

Suddenly Chris lips crashed to mine, and we began to have a heated make out session as he ran his hands up and down my body as we danced

Soon we pulled away, and I looked at him before walking off the dance floor and heading back to the table

“What the fuck was that?” Matt asked shocked

“I have no fucking idea” I said closing my eyes and shaking my head

“Still hate me?” Chris said walking up from behind me

“Shut up…you got lucky” I said looking at him

“I’m going to the bathroom” I said walking away

I got to the bathroom, and there was only two girls ahead of me, it was a single stall

When it was my turn, as soon as I got in and locked the door I heard banging on the door. I unlocked it and opened it seeing Chris

“What the fuck?” I said, and before I could react Chris shoved his way into the bathroom locking the door behind him

“You hate me so much just fuck me already” he said walking over to me

“Why would I fuck you?” I said rolling my eyes

“You don’t look at me, touch me and kiss me like that and think it’s fine” he said

“Come on then Chris I can take you” I said smirking at him

He ran up to me crashing our lips together, and slamming me against the wall with a thud

We began to make out sloppy, my hands raking through his hair and him grabbing my body harshly with want and need

“Getting handsy are we?” I said pulling away

“Stop being a tease already” he said rolling his eyes

“Where’s the fun in that” I said

“Fuck I hate you so much” he said biting his lip and smashing his lips to mine again

Going down to my neck leaving sloppy wet kisses

“Fuck Chris” I moaned out throwing my head back against the wall

“We have to be quick” he said coming back up to look at me

“Yeah okay” I said in bliss

Chris hiked my dress up, and unbuckled his belt sliding his pants and boxers down enough for his dick to spring out

“Such a slut, letting me fuck you in here” he said slipping his hand into my underwear rubbing my clit

“Fuck Chris” I moaned out looking into his eyes

“Just fuck me already, I hate you I don’t want this to go on longer than it needs to” I said through gritted teeth

“You might hate me, but you’ll love this dick” he said smirking at me

“Arrogant fuck” I said

“Annoying bitch” he said back

He lifted up my right leg, bring his dick to my entrance and slowly inserting himself into me

“Shiitttt” I moaned out wrapping my hands around his neck

He lifted both my legs up completely holding me up against the wall by fucking into me

“Mmm for someone who hates me so much you sure are taking my dick well” he said moaning out

“Just because I hate you doesn’t mean you’re not hot” I said moaning and licking my lips

“Oh she thinks I’m hot” he said

“If you weren’t balls deep in me right now I would’ve smacked the shit out of you” I moaned out throwing my head back

“Play nice baby” he said thrusting into me faster and harder

“Fuckkk Chris this feels so good” I said

“You feel so good around me baby” he moaned out

Chris was thrusting into me at an ungodly pace, and I hope no one was outside waiting for this bathroom

“All it takes was for my dick to be in you to get you to play nice” he said cockily

“You’re lucky your dick game is strong because I hate you so fucking much right now” I said

“The feelings mutual babe, nothing new here” he said huffing out

“Shut the fuck up” I said

“You’re so annoying” he said back

Chris started to pound into me even harder causing my eyes to roll to the back of my head, and my mouth to fall slack

“I’m going to cum holy shit” I moaned out letting my head fall forward

“Yeah baby cum on my cock. I know it’s all you’ve ever wanted” he said with a cocky grin

“Don’t boost your ego” I panted out

He kept pounding into me, and I started to clench down on him. My toes pointing in my shoes and my thighs beginning to shake

“FUCKKKK IM CUMMINGGG” I screamed out allowing my thighs to shake, and my pussy to clench around Chris cock

I was coming down from my high, my eyes still shut, my mouth still open and my breathing heavy.

Chris pulled out and helped me down on the ground. Pumping his cock in his hand, and suddenly he came into his hand his lower abdomen constricting and his brows furrowing as his mouth fell slack

“Fuck Y/N” he said fucked out

I had fixed my underwear and slid my dress back down

“I still fucking hate you” I said looking in the mirror and fixing myself up

“I fucking hate you too don’t worry” he said pulling his pants up with his other hand, and coming over to wash his hands

“Friends with benefits?” I asked him

“Only if we’re only fucking each other” he said drying his hands

“Ohhh territorial?” I asked him

“You’re mine” he said

“I thought you hated me?” I asked

“Oh I do, don't get it twisted” he said fixing his belt

“Mmm sounds like you have a crush” I said fixing my makeup

“Do not” he said rolling his eyes

“It’s okay Chris I have a crush too” I said winking at him

“I don’t like you” he said rolling his eyes at me

“Yeah keep telling yourself that….” i said getting ready to leave the bathroom

I had unlocked the door, and shockingly nobody was waiting. I walked out, and Chris followed after. Coming up behind me grabbing my hand and interlocking our fingers

“Mmmm but no crush?” I asked him

“Don’t push it” he said giving me a stern look

We got back to the table and Nick and Matt were looking at us with smirks on their face

“Hope yall fucked the hate out” Matt said

“Mmm fucked, but the hates still there” I said shrugging my shoulders

“Yall are absolute dogs” Nick said laughing

“What can I say” Chris said shrugging his shoulders

We had decided to head out, and head home. For someone who hates me Chris sure did enjoy having me staying in his room that night…..

The End

Alright guys I hope you enjoyed this one because I sure did……am I becoming a Chris girl??? LMAOO HELL NAH I KNOW WHERE HOME IS I LOVE YOU MATT🧎🏽‍♀️🖤

-J💅🏽

[just-some-random-blogger]

Editorial

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: "Can I read your diary?" "No." "Please." "I said no." "Pretty please?" "Ellie." "P l e a s e?" "No."

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, writer!reader, slice of life, mom and dad problems, some meta references, me being corny, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: This can be read like a p2, or within the same universe at least, of this fic but also as a stand alone whatever you want babe Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

"Ohemgee look!" Ellie calls, running through rubble and debris, making her way off to the rack of magazines with both ripped and dilapidating issues, and ones still very much intact and still in plastic wrapping.

She grins and begins to rummage the rack, "what was the magazine you used to write for again?"

I follow after her, tilting my head at the selection, "I've written for them all actually."

Ellie turns to me, cocking her head out, "whaaaaaaat? Seriously?!"

I shrug, "I was a freelancer."

"That's so fucking cool man!"

I roll my eyes, "yeah, cool, up until you had to pay rent," I turn over my shoulder as Joel walks over to us, then goes down the other aisle, continuing to survey the shelves.

I point, "there's some bleach over there."

Joel looks at it then back to me, "do you want it?"

I shrug.

Joel rolls his eyes and grabs it.

Ellie rips through the pages of one magazine and turns to me, "do you know who Tom Holland is?"

I walk over to her, looking through the available magazines, "actor. He was Spiderman at one point."

"What does that even mean?" Ellie shakes her head.

"It means he played Spiderman in films for a period of time."

"Oh," Ellie turns back to the page, "you in this issue?"

"Honey, I have no idea what date it is today," I reply as I examine other magazine covers. I recognize one of them and take it. Ellie immediately loses interest in the magazine she had, dropping it to the floor, coming close to me, pressing her cheek onto my shoulder as I flip through the pages of the magazine.

The telltale smell of the ink and paper makes me smile. I bring the object close to me and smell it. I chuckle, moving it to Ellie, "smell?"

She gives it a sniff then looks at me.

"Smells nice, right?" I smile.

Ellie gives me a weird look, "... I guess?"

Joel, from afar, comments, "signs of a druggie. Watch closely, Ellie."

I snort. Ellie looks over her shoulder and chuckles, turning back to me. She leans in as I flip the pages, breathing in deeply. I bring the magazine close to her again. She pulls back, sighs, and looks back at me, "I don't get it."

I laugh under my breath, "maybe I am a druggie," I give her a look. She mimics my wacky expression. I then survey the crumbling supermarket and sigh, "or maybe... it's really just not the same."

Ellie watches me as I go through the magazine.

She perks when I make a sound. I scan the pages and begin to laugh as I point to the corner, "and behold."

"HOLY SHIT!" Ellie gapes. She takes the magazine from me and begins to eagerly read the work upon seeing my name on the side. Ellie's jaws are parted as she goes through the text.

I laugh, brushing her hair back amorously.

"JOEL, SHE'S FAMOUS!" she shouts as I begin to walk off to the said man.

Joel grunts, "congratulations."

I chuckle as reach Joel and his push cart full of whatever he deemed important enough to take. He mumbles to me once I'm close enough, "sold your soul to the devil for shit."

I grab the box of thumbtacks on the shelf and place it in the cart, "I was told it was actually just a minor demon."

"WHO'S PEDRO PASCAL?" Ellie calls.

"Actor," I turn over my shoulder and call back. I then turn back to Joel, "was he the one in that Marvel film?"

"I don't give a fuck," Joel shakes his head as we continue going down the aisle.

"OHEMGEE YOU SAID IN YOUR ARTICLE YOU HAD A CRUSH ON HIM?" Ellie laughs.

"I honestly don't remember babe!" I reply to her.

"IS THIS HIM?!" she shouts and begins to run over.

Ellie pants as makes her way to us with a bunch of magazines in her arms. She rips one of them open once she is next to me, throwing the rest in the cart. Joel eyes Ellie after doing this.

She then points to a stylishly suited man with mustache and a debonair smile. The image of him instantly jogs my memory. I gasp and pull the magazine closer to me, "no wait, I remember. I did have such a big crush on him. He was so sweet and he made me laugh the whole interview."

"OHEMGEE!" Ellie giggles, "that's so cheesy of you!"

Joel grunts as he pushes his cart over a rocky part.

I grin at the sight of magazine Pedro Pascal. Ellie then begins to look between the magazine and Joel. She tilts her head then suddenly points, "oh my gosh, Joel looks like him."

"What?"

"That's why you like him," Ellie grins, "he looks like your actor crush!"

I give her a look, "Joel looks nothing like him, Ellie."

"What do you mean?! The mustache, the eyes, everything! That's Joel."

"Maybe if you showed me a pic of Joel in his heyday, I'd pretend to believe you. But that would honestly be such an insult to Pedrito."

"Pedrito," Joel scoffs under his breath, "Ellie take those magazines out of the cart. We are not taking them."

I steal a look at Joel as hold back a laugh. I shake my head, "rip the page of my article out. I'm feeling sentimental."

Later that day, on our stopover, I was curled up, sitting at the roof our car, looking between my notebook and the ripped page of my magazine laughing to myself. It was an amazing feat to find this in the middle of everything.

"Can I read your diary?"

I look down to my side, smile dampening slightly, "no."

"Please."

"I said no."

"Pretty please?"

"Ellie."

"P l e a s e?"

"No," I raise my brows at her. I motion to Joel who was going through some of the abandoned cars, "go help Joel."

"He told me to wait in the car because I'm a nuisance."

I scoff out a chuckle, "you're not a nuisance, baby."

"I know," she reaches out to me, "but if you feel bad, let me read your diary."

I roll my eyes, "why do you want to read my diary so bad?"

"Why do you write to much?"

"If I didn't, one of us would be dead," I said.

She gasps, "I get killing Joel, but me? You could never, you love me!"

I don't get to reply as Joel comes back and orders me to get off the roof.

Later that night, Ellie wakes up to the sound of arguing. We were camped in the middle of the woods and promised no one else would be camping. She shoots up from her sleeping bag and sees two people arguing from afar. She panics, turning to see the two sleeping bags by her side were empty, then she realizes that they were the ones fighting.

She pretends to go to sleep.

The sound of bickering intensifies.

Ellie gathers from the hushed growls there had been an accident.

In the morning, Ellie would find out whatever happened last night got the adults to non-speaking terms. She does not have the guts to ask, even through the silence of the long drive.

"Go left," I coldly dictate.

Joel turns left.

Ellie nibbles on her lower lip as she leans forward between the two front seats. She looks over to me. She looks over to Joel.

"So..." she says.

No one responds to her.

She notices how I lift my leg up when we pass a hump. Ellie points to my foot, "what happened to your ankle?"

"Accident," I turn to her with a soft smile.

Ellie looks worried, "is it broken?"

"Sprained," I retort.

"Twisted," Joel cuts.

I turn to Joel, "I've had worse sprains from running before."

"Oh, I'm sure you did!" He turns to me, "then you went back to your apartment-"

I turn away from him.

"-and put fucking ice and hot compress on it."

I sigh as I look out the window.

"I mean I'm sure you can do that now-- oh wait," Joel turns back front, "you cant!"

Ellie leans back into her seat, thinking of something to say to change the subject. She leans onto the window, eyes widening, "ohemgee, look, it's a family of-"

"I wouldn't have gotten in an accident had you not snuck off at-"

"I didn't sneak off!"

"Oh yeah," I turn back to him, "you made it a point not to wake me."

"You're a heavy sleep-"

"I'm really not, Joel!" I bark, "you wanted to do some heroic shit by doing a run all by your-"

"YEAH AND I REGRET DOING IT ALRIGHT!"

"WELL YOU SHOULD BECAUSE YOU'RE SO FULL OF SHIT WHEN YOU SAY THAT YOU-"

"I'M FULL OF SHIT!?!"

"YES YOU, YOU DIPSHIT! IS THERE ANY OTHER HILLBILLY FUCKER HERE THAT GRINDS MY GEARS SO FUCKING MUCH I WANT TO FUCKING -"

"YEAH WELL YOU'RE A FUCKING PRETENCIOUS RAT WHO HAS NO IDEA HOW TO SURVIVE BECAUSE ALL YOU USED TO EVER DO WAS GET ON YOUR LITTLE COMPUTER-"

"THAT MAKES YOU FEEL SO FUCKING HAPPY RIGHT? THE FACT YOU WORKED IN MANUAL LABOR AND-"

"NO IT DOESN'T MAKE ME FUCKING HAPPY-"

"SHUT UP!" Ellie rips through the verbal abuse, "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Shut up!"

Joel and I look turn away from each other, heaving in anger.

The tensions worsened once he had to go on foot.

"Ellie," I say, turning to the girl, "you have a choice. Do you want to go with me, or do you want to go with Joel?"

"We're sl-" Ellie panics, "we're splitting up?!"

Joel says something under his breath that I wholeheartedly ignore.

I release a breath and motion vaguely, "we're getting two different things," I point to the left, "one is in the tunnels, which stinks worse than shit," I point to Joel on the right, "and one is up in building, but you have to climb, like, a hundred levels."

"49," Joel grunts.

I shrug, not bothering to look at him, "your pick, El."

Ellie looks between me and Joel. She begins to overthink what was happening. Before I could tell her it wasn't a big deal, she blurts out, "can you walk by yourself?"

I purse my lips, feeling somehow defeated by the fact her question meant she was choosing Joel. I nod once, "I told you, I've had worse."

Joel scoffs.

"My ankle is fine," I speak sternly.

Ellie nods, "okay. I want to wait in the car."

Joel and I turn to each other when she says this. I quickly turn back to her and furrow my brows, "you sure?"

She nods, "I'm kind of tired actually... we woke up... pretty early."

I nod slowly and ask, not looking at who I was talking to though, "you good with that?"

Ellie turns to Joel. She looks back where his sights were, watching me stretch my neck. Joel nods once, "don't go outside the car."

Ellie turns to Joel and nods back, "I wont."

Ellie burns time by going through some of the pages from magazines she had ripped out for herself. Once she was bored of that, she began to count the windows on all the buildings she could see. Once she was bored of that, she began looking for something else to read.

And then it struck her. The diary. It was here, fresh for the pickings.

Ellie wastes no more time. She opens a random page.

Day ~98 with Joel & Ellie

I didn't write for two days because we nearly died, Suzie.

Who's Suzie?

I'm glad we didn't. I'm glad you're still here. If you were a real person, you would have wanted to die after what we went through, considering the state of you, pages falling off and all. Ellie would have roasted you for your appearance.

Ok... Suzie's the diary?

I would have loved to have been her teacher in literature. She's got an amazing mind. She uses fuck as a punctuation though.

Fuck yeah!

Joel would have been her substitute math teacher who actually taught PE. He'd be really good at math though actually, he'll teach you how to compute rates and interest. He's good at that. He's practical. He's safe. I love him Suzie. I love them both.

Cute, she thinks. Ellie skims the page and tries to part the others that were stuck together. She gives up on that and decides to read something else.

Joel gave me a hicky-

Nope.

Joel nearly broke my back af-

NOPE.

I FUCKING HATE JOEL SO MUCH

Better.

I DONT UNDERSTAND WHY HE ACTS LIKE THIS

Ellie squints at the furious handwriting, unable to read parts of the passage.

I DON KNOW WHAT PLANET HE THINKS KEEPING THE FACT HES INJURED FROM ME IS A GOOD THING LIKE I WOULDNT NOTICE LIKE SUDDENLY I WOULDNT CARE

Ellie tilts her head at the next words she reads.

I HATE THAT HES SO SCARED OF EVERYTHING HE MAKES ME WANT TO EXPLODE

She ponders on what the text she read meant cause- well... Joel's not afraid of anything. She reads something else.

I look at your face and I feel like the noise doesn't have a sound. I feel your calloused hand touch me like I'm the most precious thing, even when they hurt me so bad. Don't push me away. I love you so much. We can do things together. We should do things together. I can stay up late sometimes. I can stay up late with you. Why don't you trust me? You're strong and capable. I love you. I am not. I am nothing to you. I am nothing. I am weak and timid. But with you I am everything. Why won't you believe me? Why won't you trust me? I love you. Joel. Ellie. I cant take care of you. I can take care of her. I love you. please believe me.

Later that night. We've set up camp by the woods.

"You want this?" I ask Ellie as I give her the other half of my food. She reaches out for it, but pulls her hand back when Joel barks, "don't take that."

I shoot him a look, "I'm not hungry any-"

"Like hell you are!" Joel snaps, "you didn't eat anything in the afternoon."

"I wasn't hungry then either."

"So what?" he chews exaggeratedly, "you're going through something? Or you're doing this to get back at me?'

I scoff and shake my head. I walk off.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Joel screams as he watches me walk off.

"I'm going to take a PISS by the fucking LAKE!"

Ellie watches Joel as he watches me.

Ellie looks at the fire in the middle of them. Joel mutters under his breath. She licks her lips, "you know... it's... okay."

Joel turns to Ellie, giving her an incredibly annoyed look, "what?!"

"... you don't have to always be the strong one," Ellie mumbles as she looks off to the distance, "she's really strong too."

"You mean bullheaded," Joel grunts as he finishes the last of his food.

Ellie turns back to Joel, finding that he was looking at the same direction she had been. She brushes crumbs off her, "you worry about her. She worries about you-"

Joel turns to Ellie.

"I'm worried about my eardrums..." she trails off, looking to the dark sky, "but strangely enough, I'd rather go deaf with all your screaming than never be able to see you fight again."

Ellie pauses. She scrunches her face up and looks down at Joel. She raises a finger, "I was trying to be sentimental but I feel like that just makes no sense."

His nostrils flare, "you should leave the sentimentalities to-"

AHHHHHHH!

Joel shoots up from his spot and looks out to the source of the scream. Ellie shoots up as well, tense as she looks between Joel and the dark unknown, "should we-"

"Wait here," Joel says, grabbing a gun as he quickly makes his way deep into the woods.

Ellie watches as she uneasily fidgets on her spot.

Joel listens intently to the sounds around him. He slows then continues after hearing what he did, gun up and ready.

"Joel?" I call out as I walk. I repeat his name as I continue through the forest. I grunt when I step on a rock with my bad ankle. I lean against tree as I wince in pain. I try to stretch my injured ankle. It's a bad idea. I hiss.

I hear my name get called out. Before I can even look, there is a hand on my arm.

I turn and see Joel looking at me with a concerned expression. I whimper as he takes my cheek in his palm and shift to face him. He quickly asks, "are you okay? What happened? Is someone here? Did you fall? I-"

I silence him by placing my hand on his cheek, "Joel."

Joel's brows tense.

I sigh and shake my head, "I was... I was spooked by a racoon that brushed against me while I was peeing."

He lets out a breath. His shoulders relax and he lowers his gun. He then puts his weapon away and wipes his face. I chew my lower lip and grip on his bicep.

Joel turns to me as I give him a look. I gulp, "I also... stepped on a rock, and... my ankle hurts... like... really ba-"

I am cut off when Joel bends down and picks me up in his arms. I squeak and grip tightly on him. He grunts when he begins to walk off. I begin to feel agitated as he strains, "Joel-"

"Shut up," he blurts, "I can fling you into the sun if I want."

I lick my lips as I adjust my arms around his shoulders, "but what about your back?"

"What about my back?" he mumbles, "you haven't been eating and it shows. I would run a lap with you in my arms."

"..."

"You have to stop skipping meals."

"... I'm not hun-"

"I didn't ask if you were."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Joel."

"What?"

"I don't like it when we fight."

Joel scoffs out a chuckle.

"I'm sorry."

He sighs as he continues walking back to our camp. I caress his cheek. He looks down at me, blinking slowly, "I'm sorry too."

Joel looks back up and I begin to fiddle with his collar. A smile plays on my lips, "you know when you say 'too', it's like you're just agree-"

"I'm sorry," he blurts.

I hold back my chuckle, "well now it really feels like you're just agreeing with me."

"Do you want me to drop you?" he rolls his eyes as he gives me a quick look.

"I don't mind," I smile, brushing his hair back, "I like it like this. When I'm injured," I stroke his jaw, "you always do what I ask you to."

Joel clenches his jaw as he eyes me darkly.

I chuckle softly, rubbing the line between his brows, "hey."

"What?" he quips, no longer looking at me.

"I love you."

He purses his lips. His chest releases a deep breath of air. Joel spots Ellie from afar, and she very evidently spots us as she calls out. She runs over to us, "holy fuck, what the fuck happened?!"

I turn to Ellie and smile, "I'm being dramatic," I call back.

I reach out to her and caress her cheek, explaining my incident with the racoon.

At this point, we all had our sleeping bags set up and were getting ready to go tot be.

I give Joel a kiss on the cheek before he pulls away after helping me in my spot.

Ellie catches this then places a hand on her chest, "oh thank fuck you guys made up."

I turn to Ellie as she brings her sleeping bag close to mine. She says, "it was because of me right?"

I watch as Ellie looks out to Joel, who does nothing but set up his own bag close to mine.

Ellie begins to ramble, "I took a page from your book and got really sentimental with Joel."

I snicker, "did you, now?"

"Yeah," she raises a hand, "I talked about... going deaf and not being able to... hear you fight or something-- honestly, it was really cringy."

I give her a look, "are you indirectly calling me cringy."

"Absolutely," Ellie speaks without missing a beat as she nods her head.

I scoff, "you're so mean."

"No," she shakes her head and beings pointing, "he's the mean one, I'm the funny one, you're the sentimental one."

I laugh and shake my head at her words, "okay, sweetheart. Whatever you say."

The three of us are now cozied up in our bags.

"Good night mom and dad," Ellie says.

"Night, my love," I mutter, brushing her cheek, "I love you."

"Love you, mommy," she says softly then a little louder, "Love you, Joel!"

I grin and turn to Joel, "I love you, Joel."

Joel rolls on his side, facing away from us.

I curl up in my blanket and release a breath.

"I love you... I love you."

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 3

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

The Regent’s forces were rivers of darker red, driving inroads into their lines, mingling their armies together, like a stream of blood hitting water, then diffusing.

He killed, and it was simply that men got out of his way, or were dead.

He had grown used to something that had been temporary, like the flash of exhilaration in a pair of blue eyes for a moment catching his own. All of that tangled together inside him, and tightened, through the killing, into a single hard knot.

something about the way this is written just hits me in the abandonment issues

‘If the Prince of Vere shows himself, I will kill him.’ Nikandros half spat the words.

nik private twitter venting moment #2

The ground was wet, his legs were mud-spattered above his knees—mud in dry summer, because the ground was blood.

i don’t know man i feel like after a point you have to just be like. hey. why are we doing this again? like yeah i get that fighting in a military force can be for A Cause but unless you’re directly involved in enacting ideological change, aren’t you basically just cannon fodder

On the far side of the field, he saw the flash of embroidered red. That is how Akielons win wars, isn’t it? Why fight the whole army, when you can just—

i’m guessing the part in italics in a previous laurent line, about damen killing auguste at marlas?

He used the little name that Damen had been called as a boy; the childhood name, reserved for intimates.

the fact that is was kastor specifically asking the veretians to call him that…

Damen realised that he was on his knees, his own chest heaving like the chest of his horse.

laurent’s horse will be glad to know that damen’s horse lived. because, as we all know, they’re in love

‘Over?’ The word grated out of him. All he could think was that if the Regent still lived, nothing was over.

it is interesting how, even when he thinks laurent screwed him over (see previous chapter), damen has this uncontrollable rage towards the regent rather than laurent. i think this has more to do with the regent killing his men and trying invade his country, though. and maybe just that it’s easier to hate him than laurent. “regent = bad” is something that’s easy for damen to comprehend right now, while laurent’s whole thing is a lot more confusing and intimate

And with returning awareness, he saw as if for the first time the bodies of the men that he had killed to get to the Regent’s decoy, and beyond that, the evidence of what he had done. The field was a rutted earthworks strewn with the dead. The ground was a churned mess of flesh, ineffective armour and riderless horses. Killing ceaselessly, for hours, he had not been aware of the scale of it, of what he had caused to happen here. He saw flashes behind his eyelids, faces of the men he’d killed. Those left standing were all Akielon; and they stared at Damen as at something impossible.

damen holy shit… i guess that’s one way to reclaim your authority. and he didn’t even mean it as a sign of intimidation, he just wanted to get to the “regent.” who by the way was just some random guy RIP

‘Find the highest-ranked Veretian still living and tell them they have leave to bury their dead,’ said Damen. There was a fallen Akielon banner on the ground beside him. ‘Charcy is claimed for Akielos.’ As he rose, Damen wrapped his hand around its wooden pole and planted it in the earth.

not sure if calling it an akielion victory despite the combined forces is just customary, or intentionally out of spite. i’m leaning on the former, since it’s damen and not laurent we're talking about

The herald came cantering across the devastated landscape on a white, glossy mare with a curved neck and a high, flying tail. Beautiful and untouched, he made a mockery of the sacrifice of the brave men on the field. His banner streamed out behind him, and its blazon was Laurent’s starburst, in blue and shining gold.

here is an excerpt from a post i made while reading king’s rising for the first time:

“damen when he realizes he’s not in a slow burn romance with problematic beginnings, but a complex psychological thriller in which the smartest fictional character i have ever personally encountered has decided to make his life a living hell and also they’re in love with each other but the psychological thriller stuff is way more important to his bitchy blonde nightmare malewife and he is SO down bad and just has to deal with laurent’s mean girls 4d chess petty nonsense bc it’s enrichment for him and damen will kill anyone who gets in laurent’s way and he can’t even pick up the very very VERY clear implications of laurent’s trauma that would probably allow them to reach some kind of vulnerability equilibrium in their relationship”

on a re-read, i think this is a great time to dig into that a little more ;)

SO what i love about so much of laurent’s choices in the next few chapters is the fact that much of what he says and does is entirely petty. like, yes there’s always strategy and trauma and depth as usual, but i think it’s not denying him depth to say that he is 20 years old, this is his first love in the midst of an extremely stressful and messy situation, and despite his own wishes he cannot prevent his emotions from affecting his actions. laurent has had control over so much of the situation with damen thus far, both with the power dynamics between them as master and “slave” and the fact that damen didn’t know that laurent knew who he was. but now laurent knows that damen knows, so all of his previous and future actions are going to be under damen’s scrutiny in that context. they’re equals now, and the secrets reinforcing laurent’s prior cognitive dissonance have dissolved. that leaves laurent vulnerable (especially after being tortured and genuinely letting damen down even if by accident) and emotional compromised (he has no choice but to see damen as damianos, and with that comes all of the auguste baggage and the fact that they’ve already fallen in love and had sex under different circumstances).

all that is to say, the next few chapters are laurent’s mean girls era. he is, again, still being smart and strategic (4d chess), and his feelings are valid and his trauma is real. however, he is also just being MEAN, for the same reasons classic high school movie mean girls tend to be: he feels insecure and vulnerable about his romantic attachment to damen, stressed out by the insane amount of power he definitely should not have, and self-righteous about all the ways the world has conspired against him. regina george might have been the villain of the movie, but she was the hero of her own story. janis and cady methodically dismantled her life as a popular, powerful, and confident person. that’s why she got revenge with the burn book instead of looking inward and acknowledging her own issues, of which there were many. she had a machiavellian view of life, in which mean people always won, and so being mean in retaliation was how she could protect herself from being a victim.

that is laurent’s perspective too, for a lot of this series. we don’t know anything about regina’s backstory, or heather chandler’s (another great example), but we do know exactly why laurent has the worldview he does. he used to be sweet and it made him a victim. so he is mean to protect himself, even if that robs him of his sweetness. damen’s integrity and honor have challenged laurent’s worldview, though, and that has been the source of a lot of laurent’s slow reconsideration. but now that laurent can’t just pretend that damen isn't damianos, now that he has to accept this situation in its full interpersonal and political messiness, he isn’t nearly as inspired. laurent assumes, now that laurent has gone “mask off,” that damen will realize that laurent doesn’t deserve the love he has shown him in the past. because laurent has been mean to damen, by lying about his awareness even at the times damen thought he was being earnest and sweet. that makes damen a victim and fool—two things laurent deeply fears being, and therefore assumes everyone else also fears in themselves. two things the regent had wanted laurent to consider himself, by placing damen in his life in the first place.

therefore, in his insecurity and vulnerability and anger, as a 20 year old just experiencing his first love, as someone with a lot of power and stress who cannot waste time or energy on genuinely confronting his own flaws in good faith, laurent is gearing up to be sososososo mean to damen specifically in the next few chapters. like comedically mean. aimlessly mean. pathetically mean. on purpose. ultimately, if he must be alone (which he obviously must, says laurent's brain), laurent would rather be the villain of someone else’s story than a victim in his own. that, at least, is similar to book 1 laurent—but while he was a cat playing with a mouse in book 1, in a position to do serious damage to his opponent, now he’s more like…. a cat, slapping another cat. evenly matched, but still throwing hands. transparently insecure and pathetic, only effective in doing emotional damage in ways he doesn’t intend. damen isn’t hurt by the petty things laurent says and does, because he sees through them for what they are. he’s hurt because laurent sees them as necessary to protect himself and keep his distance, when all damen wants is to make things okay between them. which laurent would never expect, because he assumes that damen wants nothing to do with him, and would be happier and better off if they stayed apart.

basically: unstoppable force (damen's persistent caring) meets unmovable object (laurent's refusal to be genuinely cared for). the only way for this cycle to end is for damen to choose to stop, or for laurent to choose to yield. laurent will eventually make that choice, but he still has to be a huge bitch about it first. he's going to lash out at damen and challenge him to stop caring, but ultimately fail—both because damen is just built different, and because he's lowkey written as a fantasy partner for emotionally volatile people with attachment and abandonment issues.

rest assured, laurent’s genre is still psychological thriller, but it’s also now a high school drama movie. and damen is about to get a bitter taste of that, with pretty much no choice in the matter. this poor man will have to deal with laurent’s bitchy theatrics as they try to co-parent an army, and he’s already too emotionally invested and aware of laurent’s habit of lashing out when he’s in pain to genuinely fight back.

this could also be called laurent’s s1 catra era, but i’m not sure what the venn diagram of capri and she ra enjoyers looks like. to those who get it—laurent is doing what catra did at princess prom for the next several chapters, down to the “hey adora” = “hello lover.” this dynamic is very fun to read because it doesn’t overstay its welcome. it’s different from laurent in book 1, or catra in general, because it’s so clearly pathetic, damen and laurent are on the same side of the war, and damen could technically make it stop at any point. so i think it’s very very fun, while it lasts >:)

The herald reined in in front of him. Damen looked at the mare’s shiny coat, not dirt-covered, not heaving or darkened with sweat, and then at the herald’s livery, in immaculate condition, unflecked by the dust of the road. He felt it rising at the back of his throat. ‘Where is he?’

damen showed up to the prom laurent planned with him to unite their rival high schools, only to find himself dateless and laurent’s promised fancy party decorations missing. this is the moment where damen checks snapchat (i was in high school from 2013-2017) and sees everyone from vere high at their own immaculately-decorated prom, where laurent is being crowned king. little does damen know, laurent was blindsided by the vere-only prom and forced via social pressure to be there since everyone elected him prom king. they’re mad at each other for a high school drama pacing-typical period of time, and then make up when they realize the misunderstanding and reassert their dedication to each other.

laurent did still murder someone with a chair, though. but like a metal folding chair from the band room

The herald’s back hit the ground. Damen had dragged him bodily from his horse into the dirt, where he lay dazed and winded, with Damen’s knee in his stomach. Damen’s hand was around his neck.

His grip tightened before it opened enough to allow the herald to speak. The herald rolled onto his side and coughed as Damen released him. He pulled something from inside his jacket. Parchment, with two lines on it. You have Charcy. I have Fortaine. He stared at the words, written in familiar, unmistakable handwriting. I’ll receive you at my fort.

lamen hr complaint #5 (unnamed herald): ragdolling this guy over what should be impersonal, professional correspondence

also, because i can't help myself:

Fortaine eclipsed even Ravenel, powerful and beautiful, its towers high-flung, its jutting crenelles biting the sky. It rose to a sheer, impossible height and, from every vantage, it was flying Laurent’s banners. The pennants seemed to float on the air effortlessly, patterned silk in blue and gold.

WELCOME HOME, BROTHER KILLER

Rows upon rows of peaked, coloured tents were pitched on the field outside Fortaine’s walls, the sun lighting the pavilions, the banners, and the silks of a graceful encampment. It was a city of tents, and it camped a fresh, intact force of Laurent’s men, who had not fought and died through the morning. The constructed arrogance of the display was intentional. It said, exquisitely: Did you exert yourself at Charcy? I have been here examining my nails.

this is funny and i wouldn’t put it past laurent, but also i’m not sure if he like. really meant this part of it specifically to piss damen off. he was just tortured idk he probably just wanted things nice. a good part of the fun of lamen divorce era is remembering that damen’s interpretation of events isn’t necessarily accurate, and that it’s hilarious how he interprets things as petty personal slights even when they might not be. they’re both so obsessed with each other and it’s great

Nikandros reined in alongside him. ‘Uncle and nephew are alike. They send other men to do their fighting for them.’

nik tweets this verbatim on priv (#3)

Damen was silent. What he felt in his chest was a hardness like anger. He looked at the elegant silken city and thought about men dying on the field at Charcy.

but not exactly anger—betrayal? heartache? self-consciousness?

Some kind of herald’s greeting party was riding towards them. He gripped the Regent’s bloody, torn banner in his hand.

the phrase “greeting party” just made me imagine them rolling up with like confetti and a speaker blasting the celebration song. while damen holds the bloody torn banner

‘Just me,’ said Damen, and put his heels into his horse. About halfway across the field, he was met by the herald, who arrived with an anxious party of four attendants saying something urgent about protocol. Damen listened to four words of it. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Damen. ‘He’s expecting me.’

lamen hr complaint #6 (more unnamed heralds): disregarding protocol

(also “he’s expecting me” girlllll)

Without even pulling off his gauntlets, he strode to the tent. He knew its high scalloped folds; he knew the starburst pennant. No one stopped him. Not even when he reached the tent and dismissed the soldier at the entrance with a single order: ‘Go.’ He didn’t bother to see if his order was obeyed. The soldier let him through: of course he did; this had all been planned. Laurent was ready for him whether he came docilely behind the herald or, as he did now, the dirt and the sweat of the battle still on him, blood dried in the places where a cursory swipe with a cloth had not reached it. He swept the tent flap back with an arm, and stepped inside.

again i do have to question, beyond the drama, how much of this is as intentional and petty as damen thinks it is. like, the heralds literally cite protocol, damen knows this is the correct way for a camp to be run. i think he is assuming a lot here, although it’s reasonable to do so. we have seen in the past that damen assumes things of laurent that laurent is just like, “uh. not everything i do is on purpose” about, or damen is just WRONG about. i just wonder if damen’s approach here confirms things laurent was worried about (damen thinking poorly of him now that they’re on even ground), further fueling the fire of his rejection-sensitive bitchiness. not that it’s an excuse, or even undeserved, but it’s good to remember that there are two sides to the story.

like to damen, this is an angry post-battle rush of a moment to confront laurent and speak his truth (he doesn’t know laurent knows who he is), but to laurent this is like. post-torture and escape, and basically being thrown into the deep end of vulnerability with damianos and what this all implies to auguste’s memory. we’re not getting the best or most rational version of either of them right now, which is great for the drama but also makes the narration less reliable

This was the place Laurent had chosen.

right. damen thinks laurent chose this place to hear the truth about him, because the “you have charcy” note implies that at some point laurent probably figured out that damen is damianos. therefore laurent chose this occasion for them to meet each other, as they truly are by birth, for the first time. damen just doesn’t know the twist that laurent has always known who he’s been, and has chosen everything else before now with that knowledge too

There were a few furnishings, low seats, cushions, and in the background a trestle table hung with its own coverings, and set with shallow bowls of sugared pears and oranges. As though they were going to nibble at sweetmeats.

the same guy who ordered the “sorry you were given a severed head and discovered a suicide” fruit basket in prince’s gambit had to order a “sorry i gaslighted you for 2 books but not really because you also technically gaslighted me” fruit basket in kings rising

He lifted his gaze from the table to the exquisitely attired figure leaned with a single shoulder against the tent pole, watching him.

lucky number laurent lean #13!

Laurent said, ‘Hello, lover.’

It was not going to be simple.

this being the follow-up line to “hello lover” is such a good combination of funny and tension-building. like laurent’s cunty tableau immediately put out damen’s fiery righteous indignation and now he’s just like “oh this is going to suck.”

He made himself breathe through that. ‘Your men think you’re a coward. Nikandros thinks that you deceived us. That you sent us to Charcy, and left us there to die by your uncle’s sword.’ ‘And is that what you think?’ said Laurent. ‘No.’ Damen said, ‘Nikandros doesn’t know you.’

this is really a testament to pacat’s cleverness, how in chapter 1 there are a lot of moments where it’s almost like damen is directly saying he thinks laurent screwed him over—nikandros and the herald saying it and him not disagreeing, him accepting the reality that laurent is not going to show up—but he never does truly say that he thinks the abandonment was on purpose. because he didn’t, and he doesn’t, which makes sense. but he’s still angry and confused and also just concerned about how laurent is taking the “news” that he’s damianos. how much of damen’s anger about laurent’s composed appearance is projection of his anxiety about laurent seeing him as he truly is, a powerful authority figure in his own right who just won a battle against insane odds?

it’s so ambiguously written that it’s almost like pacat WANTS us to spiral. which i did, and will probably continue to do, so well-played. these books are like evil catnip to anxious overthinking theater people with attachment issues and an interest in understanding complex fictional situations to cope with the fact that real life never makes enough sense. also kinky gays but let's be real that's just a trojan horse for the other stuff

‘And you do.’ Damen looked at the arrangement of Laurent’s weight, the careful way he was holding his body. Laurent’s left hand was still casually resting against the tent pole. Deliberately, he stepped forward, and clasped Laurent’s right shoulder. Nothing, for a moment. Damen tightened his grip, and ground in with his thumb. Harder. He watched Laurent turn ashen. Finally, Laurent said, ‘Stop.’

proving that he knows laurent well enough to pick up from his posture alone exactly where he’s been injured. also they’re both so messy, like let’s put pressure on each other’s literal and figurative wounds instead of just talking about our misconceptions and feelings, awesome

He let go. Laurent had wrenched back and was clutching his shoulder, where the blue of his doublet had darkened. Blood, welling up from some newly bandaged, subterranean place, and Laurent was staring at him, his eyes oddly wide. ‘You wouldn’t break an oath,’ said Damen, past the feeling in his chest. ‘Even to me.’

damen proving to himself, and proving to laurent, that he knows that laurent didn’t screw him over, and instead was injured and failed to show up. laurent is shocked by how quickly damen picked up on this. also ow

He had to force himself back.

he doesn’t want to see laurent in pain, or know that he’s causing it :( which is especially unfortunate given the conversation they’re about to have about damen murdering laurent’s brother

Laurent didn’t answer. He still had a hand clutched to his shoulder, his fingers sticky with blood. Laurent said, ‘Even to you?’

“you wouldn’t break an oath, even to me” (“even to me” being a sort of freudian slip, meaning “i killed your brother, and i’ve known that this whole time and i haven’t told you, and you have a good reason to hate me for that”) “even to you?” (to damen’s incomplete understanding: “well i know who you are now, and if i’d known before i would have broken every oath to you i’ve ever made”)

He made himself look at Laurent. The truth was an awful presence in his chest.

babygirl it’s about to get so much awfuller

He thought of the single night they had spent together. He thought of Laurent, giving himself, dark-eyed and vulnerable, and of the Regent, who knew how to break a man.

damen totally sees laurent as his “victim” right now, set up well by him re-opening laurent’s physical wound. damen fucked this man while knowing that he (damen) killed his (laurent’s) brother, and put trust in him. if they were normal, or this was a normal story, that’s where the confrontation would end. it would be that simple—damen didn’t mean to hurt laurent but still did, and laurent has to forgive him for that, and forgive himself for being fooled—and then it would get tearfully resolved because they love each other so much that it doesn't matter. but they are not normal, and this is not a normal story, so…

Outside, two armies were poised to fight. The moment was here, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He remembered the Regent’s constant suggestion: Bed my nephew. He had done that, wooed him, won him. Charcy, he saw, hadn’t mattered to the Regent. It hadn’t meant anything. The Regent’s real weapon against Laurent had always been Damen himself.

damen thinks the regent’s plan had been to weaken laurent by putting him in circumstances where he’d unknowingly make himself vulnerable with his brother’s killer, triggering him emotionally and destroying his judgment. i'm pretty sure that this was basically his intention, but had also made sure that it would also torture laurent even if he did recognize damen on the spot.

personally i think the regent knew that laurent knew in book 1 through observing his reaction, but had planned for both possibilities in advance. what he hadn't expected, though, was for laurent and damen to start genuinely working together instead of against each other. this happens early as the thing with patras, and really pops off during the botched assassination attempt.

charcy was meant to drive a wedge between them, to correct the regent's previous miscalculation. and given the inevitable truth damen must now reveal, there's nothing he can really do to stop laurent from being upset.

‘I’ve come to tell you who I am.’ Laurent was so keenly familiar, the shade of his hair, the strapped down clothing, the full lips that he held tense or cruelly repressed, the ruthless asceticism, the unbearable blue eyes. ‘I know who you are, Damianos,’ said Laurent. Damen heard it, as the interior of the tent seemed to change, so that all of the objects in it took on a different shape. ‘Did you think,’ said Laurent, ‘I wouldn’t recognise the man who killed my brother?’

the way i YELLED during my first read. i remember even like posting something before, like “oh my god damen just tell him put this poor man out of his misery,” and then after i got to this part i immediately went and deleted that post

Each word was an ice chip. Painful, sharp; a shard. Laurent’s voice was perfectly steady.

do you think he practiced this?

‘I knew in the palace, when they dragged you in front of me,’ said Laurent. The words continued, steady, relentless. ‘I knew in the baths when I ordered you flayed. I knew—’

he definitely practiced this

‘At Ravenel?’ said Damen.

“you knew when you kissed me and let me fuck you????”

‘If you knew,’ said Damen, ‘how could you—’ ‘Let you fuck me?’ His own chest hurt, so that he almost didn’t notice the signs of it in Laurent, the control, the face, pale at any time, now white.

he almost didn’t notice the signs, which means he still totally did. because even now, damen is attentive and caring towards laurent

‘I needed a victory at Charcy. You provided it. It was worth enduring,’ Laurent spoke the terrible, lucid words, ‘your fumbling attentions for that.’

LIARRRRRRR

It hurt so much it took the breath from his throat. ‘You’re lying.’ Damen’s heart was pounding. ‘You’re lying.’ The words were too loud. ‘You thought I was leaving. You practically threw me out.’ He said it, as the realisation blossomed inside him. ‘You knew who I was. You knew who I was the night we made love.’

tbh i think this kind of realization would make me have a panic attack on the spot. also do you think this is the kind of betrayal he’s been trying so hard to avoiding confronting, coming from kastor and jokaste? but here he has no choice to confront it, because laurent is forcing him to understand the depths of the deception. no avoiding it now

He thought of Laurent surrendering, not the first time, but the second, the slower, sweeter time, the tension in him, the way he had— ‘You weren’t making love to a slave, you were making love to me.’

very true, but laurent isn’t ready to deal with it. he can’t keep up the cognitive dissonance in the present, but that doesn’t mean he’s about to accept that it was real in the past. instead he’ll just lash out.

And he couldn’t think that through clearly but he could catch a glimmer of it, a glimmer of the edge of it. ‘I thought you wouldn’t, I thought you’d never—’

OF COURSE damen suspected, at some points, that laurent knew. but this tells us that he’d ultimately dismissed the notion because it would have been insane for laurent to kiss and fuck him, while knowing his real identity. “i thought you wouldn’t, i thought you’d never—“

this is similar to how i thought about it during my first read—i suspected for all of book 1, and some of book 2, but then figured that the story was taking a different direction because how the hell could the plot points of “laurent knows who damen is” and “laurent makes himself vulnerable to damen and does a romance/sex about it” possibly be compatible? laurent, a deeply traumatized and self-protective person, wouldn’t and would never. except i underestimated laurent’s capacity for self-delusion, and overestimated the amount of control he truly has over his emotions and impulses, beneath all the posturing. damen, here, is recognizing that he’s made similar miscalculations, and now he’s seeing laurent as he truly is. they’re both seeing each other, truly, for the first time.

‘Laurent, six years ago, when I fought Auguste, I—’ ‘Don’t you say his name.’ The words were forced out of Laurent. ‘Don’t you ever say his name, you killed my brother.’

i like the simplicity of this. just the plainness of “you killed my brother.” laurent’s language is so often clever and cagey and embellished, but that last sentiment is raw and informal, and what we the reader are probably screaming in our heads. because yeah, holy shit, damen killed laurent’s brother. it’s a pretty hard thing to argue against, or ignore. “you lied to me” “you killed my brother” “you flogged me” “you killed my brother” “you forgot to do the dishes” “you killed my brother”

Laurent was breathing shallowly, almost panting as he spoke, his hands rigid on the edge of the table behind him.

his practiced words are saying one thing, but his body is very obviously having a panic attack. this scene isn’t nearly as much of a laurent mean girl moment as it seemed during a rushed first read. that’s actually kind of a relief to me, bc it made me sad to interpret him as so heartless and unfazed the first time around. even if “hello lover” is an iconic moment, it’s a performance more than anything else. and pacat shows us this sooner than i recalled or first perceived. she’s not torturing us, the reader, as much as she’s torturing both damen and laurent. and it’s not even like a lazy misunderstanding kind of torture, this is genuinely complicated and they’re both in the wrong and they both are justified in this pain and hurt. i just couldn’t see that as well the first time, having binged like all of book 2 already and having no idea what would happen next and honestly just being shocked and betrayed and compelled by the massive mislead with laurent’s awareness of the situation

‘Is that what you want to hear, that I knew who you were and I still let you fuck me, my brother’s killer, who cut him down like an animal on the field?’

you know he doesn’t, laurent, that’s just what you’re telling yourself now that you’re forced to confront it. you started this scene with “hello lover” and your prepared speech, hoping to destroy damen emotionally, but once again you’ve just kinda played yourself. maybe just cool it with the emotional gambits for now, when it comes to damen, bc they only really seem to come back and hurt you (oh fuck he can’t hear me)

‘Shall I ask you how you did it? What he looked like when your sword went in?’ ‘No,’ said Damen.

laurent, shaking, pale, looks like he’s about to pass out: “you bastard, tell me about how you murdered my brother as i think about the fact that i let you fuck me in a similar way, go ahead just make it hurt more”

damen, not a therapist but still emotionally intelligent enough to know this isn’t really about punishing him: no, i don’t think i will. can you like sit down

‘Or shall I tell you about the illusion of the man who gave me good counsel. Who stood by me. Who never lied to me.’ ‘I never lied to you.’

that italicized “i” is interesting. is it an accusation of laurent’s own lying and hypocrisy, or a specification that damen never directly told laurent he wasn’t damianos? given damen’s well-established integrity, i’m guessing it’s the first option. again with the mutual moral arbitration. and damen wouldn’t want to take such a weak a cop-out as “well i never technically said it,” it’s just not typical of his character.

The words were awful in the silence that followed them. ‘“Laurent, I am your slave”?’ said Laurent. He felt the breath forced out from his lungs.

of course laurent takes it as the second option, though, and implies that by swearing himself to laurent and then bedding him damen was directly lying about his identity. because to laurent, damen =/= damianos. a slave can’t be a prince. so damianos, the prince, must have been intentionally lying about being damen, the slave. and that’s actually easier, and less painful, and less complicated to accept than any kind of nuanced alternative.

‘Don’t,’ he said, ‘talk about it like—’ ‘Like?’ ‘Like it was cold-blooded; like I controlled it. Like we didn’t both close our eyes and pretend I was a slave.’ He made himself say the exposing words. ‘I was your slave.’

he’s right. nothing much to add here. damen wasn't just literally laurent's slave, he had devoted himself emotionally as well, and he's admitting it here despite the fact that it makes him vulnerable—something laurent is too much of a (traumatized, understandable) coward to do himself. i love damen's characterization so much

‘There was no slave,’ said Laurent. ‘He never existed. I don’t know what manner of man stands before me now. All I know is that I am facing him for the first time.’ ‘He is here.’ His flesh ached as if he had been prised open. ‘We are the same.’

this gives us some insight to laurent’s actions in book 1—not necessarily excusing them, but making them fit better into what we’ve since learned about his moral code. it ties things together, which isn’t the same as making them simpler or easier to like. pacat is very very VERY good at establishing continuous moral ambiguity in her characters, and does not rush the slow burn of making ends meet. so when she does eventually begin to connect things, it’s satisfying, because it hasn’t been all been spelled out the whole time so readers don’t have to think for themselves. this, in reference to a lot of the series’s more problematic themes, is exactly why i think people end up seeing capri as apologism or glamorization. but by claiming that, i also think they’re exposing themselves as impatient, shallow, and (sorry) simply lazy.

but i don't just want to be reductive and uncharitable, because that would be shallow and lazy too. to be perfectly clear, i honestly can't blame people for disliking this series, and not being willing or able to have patience and understanding for its more problematic elements. this series is marketed as romance/erotica. it started as indulgent kink fic. it ended up evolving into its current state during its development—and i'm really glad it did, but that doesn't change the fact that so much of its marketing and premise imply certain things that it doesn't quite deliver. and if you look up the series today, as it's still being published years after its completion, it's still marketed in a way i find somewhat misleading. to the extent that when i picked it up, it was in an intentional attempt to expand my own horizons—i wanted to challenge myself with indulgent shameless problematic porn/romance, as opposed to the weak-ass "enemies" to lovers running rival bakeries gay romance novels with canva covers that haven't worked for me in the past. the logic was basically, "well, if i don't like romance on that side of the scale, maybe i'll like the opposite extreme, or at least learn more about what i don't like." and i did feel pretty challenged during book 1, to the point that for a while i only kept reading out of morbid curiosity and vague horniness rather than any genuine expectation of depth or satisfying storytelling. it was only around the assassination scene in book 1 that i started to see the book as something capable of more depth and intrigue than just like kinky debauchery, and it pretty much just snowballed from there. and as someone who frequently reads about these dark topics in other genres and contexts, i was familiar enough with the things happening on the page to at least stomach them and push foward.

however, if i was coming at the series from a different place—like if i loved cozy romance and had very little familiarity with reading about these topics—i can see the first book especially being very blindsiding and distressing, and not wanting to engage with it further. that's not laziness, it just means that the book wasn't for me.

and the nuance doesn't end there. one of the things i love most about this series is that, even if i was just looking for shameless slavekink porn and decidedly did not want to rise to the occasion of depth or thematic exploration, i would also walk away unsatisfied. because the truly problematic shit in these books is not shameless at all, and indulgence never comes without a cost. there are a few distasteful moments that make me roll my eyes, and the garden scene definitely prompts a Conversation—but as a whole, i think pacat is very aware of the moral implications of these themes. and i also think she's perfectly aware of the fact that many people get off on them.

this series almost feels like an accidental study of, like, the psychological implications of being a person compelled by dub-con and problematic kink, finding a sort of gratification in situations where those things ar kind of inevitable (like they are for damen in book 1). AND this is made even more complicated and brave by the fact that laurent is, very relevantly, a victim of serious sexual assault. like, as hot as some of the scenes in this book are, i really don't think it makes itself easy for people to just uncritically get themselves off to. it doesn't encourage shame, but it does encourage introspection. and a lot of people simply don't read erotica and romance to introspect. (couldn't be me though. if it isn't clear, i love the laurent of vere "having insane mindfucking sex fully clothed across the room" approach to eroticism).

i feel like it's actually kind of funny that i specifically got here, as a person who almost always reads books that force dark introspection, and assumed that this erotica/romance book would be mindless, but ended up with gestures vaguely instead. for me, coming across this series and realizing what it truly is was an incredibly happy accident. but for others, i completely understand how it could be the exact opposite, and it's not lazy or shallow to realize that you misunderstood what you were getting yourself into and step away.

what is lazy and shallow, though, is to either DNF and review based on those misconceptions, or keep reading simply to fuel your own disdain and discomfort. ultimately, i think that the true error of people who walk into capri wanting shameless porn or untroubling romance is the fact that they keep reading, even when it becomes clear that the book isn't doing that. and then they decide to evaluate the book based on expectations and standards that aren't the ones the author or fans have for the work itself. people seem to take out their anger towards the SUBJECTS of slavery or rape in fiction themselves on capri, rather then the way capri specifically portrays them. either because they fucking stopped reading the book and just wanted to go on a tangent on the topics in general, or hate-read to confirm their own pre-existing bias.

my point is, nobody has to read things that trigger or upset them, and it's okay to just pass on fictional stuff that makes you feel bad or frustrated. aspects of this series made me feel bad and frustrated, even on re-read, but i enjoy the intellectual and emotional exercise of exploring those feelings and better understanding the true meaning and purpose of the art. but there are certain topics in other works of fiction that i'm unwilling to explore, which would cause me to simply stop reading, and if asked for a review i'd just say that i'm not the right person to say. and there have been many times where i've continued reading a book, hoping it would change directions, and ended up just being like, "yeah, that wasn't for me," and moving on.

the exchange "there was no slave, he never existed" "here is here, we are the same" is almost a meta-commentary on the reception of the series as a whole. it would be dishonest to deny how this series started, and some of the themes and subjects it intentionally confronts. you can't say "there was no slave [kink], [it] never existed" because the narrative proceeded to be more of a commentary on kink rather than an uncritical display of it. kink, and dark topics in fiction in general, do all have depth, and while they might not be for everyone, they are for someone. exploring that depth is entirely optional, and i understand why people with certain experiences don't want anything to do with that exploration. but our personal tastes don't change the fact that subjects like slavery and rape exist, and that reality is inseparable from the stories that come from it. ultimately, the choice is whether we're willing to take that specific reality thoughtfully on, or else just walk away.

the people i have the hardest time with are the ones who choose neither of those options. like, what do you even get out of continuing to read something that you're unwilling to explore in good faith, or that you straight-up hate? just read something else. we only have so much time in the day. stop wasting yours, and stop wasting the time of people who actually enjoy the thing with your useless bad-faith criticism. sorry this tangent has totally departed from the chapter itself, but that really is what pisses me off so much about current-day online book culture. like, i'm thinking about all of those smug-looking booktubers making 2 hour videos called "i read [name of book that doesn't appeal to the lowest common denominator of people] so you don't have to." i know how long it takes to read books thoughtfully, and then to write, film, and edit videos. maybe stop wasting your own time and dig into something you love instead, or even try to make your own thing, and just hope that some smug asshole on the internet doesn't decide to do to your work what you've done to other people's work. but no, lazy cynicism and appealing to the easy gimmick of cringe is way more profitable, i guess. and it makes you less vulnerable to people criticizing work that came from your soul, because the work you're creating is completely soulless.

anyway. i wonder what kind of totally normal things damen and laurent are up to in the chapter i'm annotating

‘Kneel then,’ said Laurent. ‘Kiss my boot.’

"if you really are still a slave, even though we both know you’re a king, then do a demeaning slave thing right now"

He looked into Laurent’s excoriating blue eyes. The impossibility of it was like a sharp pain. He couldn’t do it. He could only gaze at Laurent across the distance between them. The words hurt. ‘You’re right. I’m not a slave,’ he said.

can’t indulge in the kink anymore by circumstantial necessity, but i’m sure they’ll find something even weirder to do instead on purpose

‘I am the King.’ He said, ‘I killed your brother. And now I hold your fort.’ As he spoke, Damen drew out a knife. He felt rather than saw all of Laurent’s attention swing to it. The physical signs were small: Laurent’s lips parted, his body tensed. Laurent didn’t look at the knife. He kept his eyes on Damen, who looked right back at him. ‘So you will parley with me as with a king, and you will tell me why you called me here.’ Deliberately, Damen tossed the knife onto the floor of the tent.

okay this is just extra of him, but i mean laurent got to do “hello lover” so damen deserves to be dramatic too as a treat. i also like what this symbolizes, as opposed to their previous knife moments. as defined by their stations, they don’t have a power imbalance anymore, and they don’t have a reason to be enemies. they are a prince and a king, not a master and a slave. they are military allies, teaming up against the regent. any power imbalance and beef they have now is emotional, complicated, and abstract, nothing clear-cut (haha) enough to be represented by an instrument of simple violence like a knife. and damen summarizes this perfectly, in the context of their previous knife moments, by viscerally reminding laurent of those encounters and then just tossing the thing across the room.

honestly, i bet laurent feels jealous of the clever performative gesture. and maybe a little turned on, too, despite the horrors. that’s a fun reversal.

‘Didn’t you know?’ said Laurent. ‘My uncle is in Akielos.’

yeah, he got a really good all-inclusive deal at the akielion sandals resort and needed a vacation after all of the murder and [redacted]

[zenlesszonezero]

You feelin' fired up now? Make way for the undefeated Champion! —Welcome to New Eridu!— PS5™/iOS/Android/PC | Version 1.3 "Virtual Revenge" of Zenless Zone Zero, HoYoverse's urban fantasy ARPG, is out now

[closetcasefabray]

jesus saves (i spend)

i have been writing parts of an avatrice college au for two gd years now. the ideas & writing are scattered between here (one of the tags below should work), my whatsapp convos with @snowandwolves, on discord, my dinosaur laptop that crashes, & my email. it’s a fucking disaster but whatever so am i & not once in my life have i had my shit together so this is all unsurprising.

SO what i’m saying is, here’s the only part i have ‘formally’ written in fic form bc i posted that other ficlet. doing this made me almost throw my dino laptop & my phone out a window on several occasions—that’s why there isn’t more. but i just wanna share this.

more notes & rambles at the end.

//

You notice her because it's syllabus week of your freshman year, it's an 8 AM class, and you're fairly confident you're still drunk from the party you attended last night, but she raises her hand and correctly answers a question posed by your theology professor without hesitation. Your professor, Father Vincent, was likely hoping for a good guess at best, but there she is, exceeding expectations from the moment she speaks. You pickup on an accent, which you would find incredibly attractive if you weren't so thrown by her perfect and concise response, like a well-prepared speech is always readily accessible in the back of her mind—a girl with all the answers. A young woman, really. 

You, however, are not—you're just a girl. You're just a girl who shows up to her morning classes smelling like the bar or the house party from the night before, like the weed you started smoking almost immediately upon arriving to university during orientation week, like the cigarettes you smoke because it affords you a little more quiet outside and an excuse to borrow a lighter and talk to a cute boy or a pretty girl.

You're just a girl who technically died, existed in nothingness for a whole minute before being ripped back into a reality of blank ceilings and the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You're just a girl strangers prayed for after they heard about the American child pulled from the wreckage. You're just a girl who didn't get any credit for teaching herself to stand again, to walk again—and if you’re being completely honest, you’re a girl who’s incredibly bitter that a god you never saw in that one minute got all the credit and none of the blame—for taking your mother from you, for taking years from you that had to be spent healing from god’s grace or lack thereof. 

You're just a girl who is tired of being told to look at her life as an expression of holiness, who thinks it is more so the consequence of indifferent stardust. But you still look for the beauty in that, in humanity and its flaws—these meaningless beings in a vast universe, creating and destroying their own little, myopic worlds on this spinning rock. Some will dream of poetry for their lovers, and some will dream of arsenals to level cities. You wonder how many lips were pressed together in a final kiss versus hands clasped together in prayer when fire fell from the sky in the name of God. You wonder what that says about faith.

You'd like to think if your mother could see you, she'd laugh at the irony because once you were baptized, she never took you to church. God finds a way, so you spent five miserable years in a Catholic orphanage before you were sent back to America. People said you were lucky to have two years in a foster family at your age, but it felt like living with strangers who were tasked with the minimum of keeping you alive. Then you were moved into a home for teen girls with a nun at the helm, and that’s where you actually felt fortunate for the first time in years. It was there that Mother Superion helped you with your studies and college applications. So here you are, tipping into a hangover in one of the oldest buildings on campus, learning theology from a priest.

But your mom would understand. (You don’t remember much of her, and you try not to think about that too deeply, or else you have to deal with the resulting ache that comes from reaching inside yourself for something that’s gone.) You have spliced together what you can recall into a short reel—you mom buckling into your car seat while humming a show tune, showing you how to fold a pizza slice and telling about a city famous for their pizza, and holding your hand in a museum in Spain, promising to take you to another big museum closer to home, the home you never saw again. So you promised yourself and the parts of her you carry that you’d make it here.

You would have had to pay almost full tuition if you wished to attend your reach, requiring immense debt, so you ended up at the school that offered you a ticket to the city and a hefty enough scholarship you could get through four years without requiring loans or a full-time job to afford it. (You first refused to use your mother’s death as a sob story in you application letter, but Mother Superion put her hand on yours and said, So rarely do these letters contain truth, but do not be afraid to tell yours. In telling your truth there is a sadness, yes—and I know you detest pity—but of all the things that have been taken from you, do not feel guilty for taking some of it back to live a better life.) You remember getting your acceptance letter, and looking up at the sky and flipping it off, praying whatever god hears you, No thanks to you!

But your bitterness temporarily takes a backseat in your mind as you look at your classmate, beautiful in the refracted light shining through the stained glass window, speaking so graciously of god you'd think Jesus were in the room, about to hand her his latest work. It's poetry, bordering on scripture in a new tongue, and you'd almost be a believer if it didn't sound as if she had repeated these words—practiced—enough times to believe them herself. You wonder what that says about her faith.

If the nuns at the orphanage had spoken the gospel as she does, maybe you'd be here for different reasons. You're fascinated.

Behold, you are beautiful…

//

i promise this fic gets lighter & has some silliness. so some notes/tangents:

this is 100% self-indulgence bc i heard ‘write what you know’ & ran with that shit. when i visited a friend at a state school in a college town i was so so confused bc it was just a diff campus culture entirely. then i was going to make this set in an ambiguous city, but i literally have saved places in google maps that would be great places to kiss someone sooooo you get NY avatrice.

likely setting this before instagram & smartphones bc i’m old/lazy & i can.

the title is from st. vincent who my friend introduced me to in college. “paris is burning” changed my brain chemistry & so i listened to her music on repeat for ages—“jesus saves, i spend” is on the same album.

father vincent will not be a bad man or evil professor. he will be as he was before adriel—a lost man who found himself through god & still a little broken but caring & devout.

also song of songs/song of solomon is like… the only part of the bible i fucked with in theology class so that’s the reference at the end. also another line used in another scene with JC, chanel, & ava written in v rough form. maybe will share that later.

this is meant to be a fic with a post-grad sequel as well. not much written of that but a lot of ideas everywhere.

once i figure out where i’m moving (hahahaha i’m so stressed), i’ll consider a ko-fi or something (i wish emails & names weren’t shown though). but mostly i will likely need a second job to save up for an actually good computer/macbook. once i have that i’ll be able to post on ao3.

anyway thanks for reading & being here :3

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 12th: Soulmates | Eight - Sleeping at Last | Perceptive a/n: steddie, soulmates au (phillia + eros). eddie & jeff as platonic soulmates, stobin soulmates mentioned always. un-betaed because I’m challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 | link to masterpost on ao3

Soulmates, Eddie scoffs to himself as he doodles in his notebook at the back of the coffee shop. Bullshit. 

He knows it’s actually not, that people walk around every day hand-in-hand with beautiful, swirling tattoos that grow in intricacy and detail the more time they spend with their soulmate. Most days, Eddie doesn’t mind that the simple snake design on the inside of his wrist never so much as slithers, but today? Today, he minds. 

Dating in the world of soulmates is challenging. He tries to just focus on how feels, on if the person sitting across from him is compatible with his lifestyle, on if there’s any kind of spark, but it’s inevitable that at some point, both he and his date look down at their wrists to find nothing. 

His coffee date had gone well enough but, like always, was a dead-end. How many paths can one person try before the destination seems moot? 

So he sits and scribbles in his notebook, hoping that perhaps staying in the coffee shop rather than returning home to the apartment he shares with Jeff will provide some inspiration. That tattoo, the one that’d started as a small star on his ankle, has grown into a whirling galaxy since moving in with Jeff– a philia connection if he’s ever seen one. But if his eros tattoo won’t build upon itself naturally, he’ll do it manually with a tattoo gun. 

It also helps that the barista is perhaps the most beautiful man Eddie’s ever laid eyes on, enough so that it’s… actually a little intimidating, if he’s being honest with himself. Intimidating to the point that Eddie’s yet to approach him for a refill since the girl who’d given him his first sugary abomination finished her shift. Besides, the mystery barista must’ve already found his soulmate. His entire left arm, from fingertip to at least his elbow, is covered in delicate, colorful designs that twist and wind about his skin, curling around each finger and looping gracefully up his arm.

I can still enjoy the view, he justifies to himself, taking a sip from his cup and remembering for the third time that it’s empty. 

He sighs and sets it back down, clearing his throat. It’s as good a time as any, he supposes, as he stands from his little corner table by the window and strolls across the room to the counter. 

“Hi, what can I get started for ya?” The barista asks, his name tag now visible and proclaiming Steve. 

“Uh,” he starts. “Salted caramel mocha, please?” 

Steve’s smile is bright and he leans on the counter, leveling it straight in Eddie’s direction. All Eddie wanted was a refill on his sweet treat disguised as coffee and instead, it feels as though he’s smacked in the head.

“Comin’ right up,” Steve replies, turning around to get his order going. “You’ve been sitting over there for a while, how’d that date go?” He asks with the confidence and familiarity of someone Eddie’s known his entire life. 

“Watching me, were you?” 

Steve grins over his shoulder, shrugging. “A little.” 

“I’m flattered. Well, I’m still here and they’re not so that oughta tell you everything.” 

Steve hums and turns back to the machine, finishing up his order. Eddie’s heart beats rhythmically, somehow slowing and quickening all at once and his lungs feel buoyed by something more powerful than his breath. When Steve faces him again and hands him his cup, exchanging it for the empty one in Eddie’s hand, they both freeze. 

Eddie’s snake begins to move. 

A clear, serpentine movement at the center as small, geometric lines begin to appear in the background. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie whispers, setting his full cup down so he doesn’t spill it. 

“Yeah, holy shit.” Steve places his other arm on the counter, the blank one, and Eddie sees that it’s not blank. There’s a small, barebones tree on his forearm whose leaves begin to blossom and shake, different shades of greens and oranges appearing before his eyes. 

“But– your other arm?” Eddie chokes out, eyes flickering between his own wrist, Steve’s forearm, and Steve’s other, fuller arm. 

“Philia. That’s Robin. But this one, this is eros.” Steve smiles again, matching the one Eddie can feel spreading across his own face as he looks up from his forearm. “I’m Steve.”

Steve smiles again, matching the one Eddie can feel spreading across his own face as he looks up from his forearm. Eddie looks in wonderment, searching for any sign of lie or trickery in Steve’s eyes and finds nothing but warmth and familiarity. 

“I’m Eddie.”

[a-kaash-me-outside]

a bit dirty - ch2

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch2 | next [masterlist]

// most likely a bad idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 5608 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, more exposition in this one, osamu being a caring adorable little bitch oh my god, fucking your boss, names names names pet names a million pet names, slight slowburn? like they fuck but-, afab she/her pronouns

join my taglist here!! ~~ ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

you can’t take your eyes off of him.

you can’t stop staring at miya osamu for a number of varying reasons, each one maybe a bit worse than the last starting with oh he’s looking at you and ending with he’s your boss and also your most recent hookup with a bit of wow he’s so attractive sprinkled in the middle. 

neither of you are saying anything. the tension is palpable, evident, buzzing in the air, and you just keep strong eye-contact with him because you don’t know what else to do. what do you say to him? do you instantly address it? let him bring it up? just walk out of here right now and leave in embarrassment?

osamu is about to open his mouth, save you from this repetitive torture in your head, but he’s interrupted by another voice.

“hey,” a voice calls from the kitchen, getting louder as the swinging door is pushed open and the blonde guy from last night emerges. “unless you need me to stick around and run front of house while you train today, i’m headin’ out, kay, samu?” his voice trails off at the end as he notices osamu just standing there, confused only until he sees you and remembers you right away. 

“holy shit,” he says, “what? did ya track him down or somethin? thought you didn’t know each other’s na-” the end of his sentence trails off again as he notices the apron in your arms and the signature onigiri miya black t-shirt that you’re wearing. “holy shit.”

“atsumu, kitchen, now,” osamu says, low and commanding and despite how joking and mischievous this atsumu seems, he knows not to push it any further than he already has. he pushes the swinging door open with his shoulder and walks back inside of the kitchen. 

it’s quiet again, but he’s already spoken now, the air of his voice still lingering as you wait for him to talk once more, to you this time. you take a few more steps inside towards the counter and when you’re close enough, you let your hands rest on the edge. “sorry, let me just,” osamu says, turning around and setting the rice cooker down on the counter by the kitchen door. he wipes his hands on his white apron and then walks back over to you. 

“we should probably talk about…,” he says, not finishing his sentence because both of you know exactly what you need to probably talk about. you don’t just know this man, he’s been inside of you. you nod in agreement, pushing the thought from your mind before you get yourself all flustered, setting your apron on the counter and tapping your fingers against the fabric.

osamu takes a deep breath very similar to the one you took right outside of the restaurant, “if you’re uncomfortable at all, i would be happy to ask around to my restaurant buddies to find you a new position or write you a letter of recommendation or-”

you cut him off, shaking your head curtly, “that won’t be necessary, really.”

“are you sure?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, “i want to make sure that-”

“miya-san,” you interrupt, eyes flickering down to his name tag, “i’m not uncomfortable, i swear. i’m okay. i’m good. i wasn’t even working here when it happened. and it really isn’t a big deal, we don’t have to make it a big thing. it happened. it’s over. it’s a new morning,” kinda, you think, “and it’s in the past. i’m great to just move on from it.”

osamu is quiet, thinking over everything you’ve said, but not saying anything in return. 

“if- if that’s okay with you,” you tack on.

“yea, of course,” he responds quickly, “i just wanted to make sure that ya have a comfortable work environment and that,” he clears his throat, “last night doesn’t hinder that fact for ya.”

you shake your head back and forth. the thought of going through the process of finding another job, even with a recommendation letter and networking, is already giving you a headache. besides, you’d probably end up working for someone osamu knows anyway and then what? they know about what happened or they don’t and you have to guess whether they do or not? you shake your head harder. you can get over this. 

“‘m sorry i didn’t notice. if i’d’ve known your name or somethin’, i would’ve maybe put the pieces together, but i only saw your resume, didn’t talk to ya or meet with ya, y’know?” he says, hand on the back of his neck, eyes on the floor for just a moment. 

“no worries, i get it,” you say, tiny laugh, but you’re really thinking, wasn’t expecting my boss to be out at a club 6 hours before my shift. 

he hums, a knowing smile on his lips as if he read your mind and shot right back, wasn’t expecting my new employee to be out at a club 6 hours before her shift. 

“it won’t happen again,” you say, “already out of my mind,” you lie. 

“right,” he says, smiling, and you’re not sure if you’re reading into it or if it’s real, that same regret and hesitancy that you saw last night as he left without your number. he shakes whatever it is quickly, “lemme teach ya how to make the onigiri.” he nods towards the kitchen, pushes the door open for you and you walk under his arm, sliding past him, shoulder brushing up against his chest in passing. 

already out of your mind, yea fuckin’ right.

/\ /\ /\

if there was a chart of the relationship between the time you’ve spent working at onigiri miya and the tension between you and osamu, it wouldn’t be linear or exponential or constant in any sort of way, it would be disruptive, an arrhythmic pattern of ups and downs. 

even if the two of you hadn’t mentioned it a single other time, it lives in both of your heads, the events of that night. well, you know that it lives in your head, you suppose you can’t speak for osamu completely, but you can’t imagine the things that remind you of that night don’t remind him as well.

there are spans of time when you don’t think about it for weeks, usually the times that you aren’t scheduled as frequently or the back to back shifts that you spend busy out of your mind, no room in your head for anything other than work work work work work. you’re not sure if you welcome or rebuke these bouts.

in fact, between these mindless interim periods and the many instances that filled your head with reminiscing thoughts, you’ve survived over four months at onigiri miya without a single incident. rather, without a single explicit incident.

there were plenty of times that the chart spiked, that the chaotic pattern between your timeline and the tension skyrocketed only to fall back down to a normal level shortly thereafter, no follow up, no mention. 

it was as simple as his strong hands on your hips, exceedingly busy as he rushed from one side of the bar to the other, sliding behind you, but not wanting to bump you out of the way, unwavering grip, fingers digging into the fabric of your apron and your soft hips beneath it, a low sorry under his breath ghosting over the skin of your exposed neck. the butterflies that accompanied it and the bewildered look you threw him and the one he threw back as he approached the other side of the bar.

it was as quick as him reaching over your shoulder for something in the kitchen, fast-paced and thoughtless as his chest pressed up against your side, pushing you into the counter the slightest bit, hips pressing against your lower back, hand on your shoulder to steady you as he withdrew.

it was as innate as asking to tie your apron on one of your first days, hands smoothing over your stomach to find the strings without sight, pulling them a bit too taut as you step backwards into his hips, the way that he stayed put for a few moments before creating a bit of distance to tie it behind your back, one hand holding both loose strings as he adjusted it correctly against your waist, the carefulness of his fingers as they made a neat bow against your back and pulled it tight.

it was as effortless as a question, walking past the open door of the walk-in, “can i help you with that?” asking, arms already reaching up to support the heavy cardboard box that you were pulling down from the top shelf, not grabbing on until you nodded yes, and the second that you did, placing his hands on top of yours and guiding it down with you, soft hand on the back of your elbow, making sure, “got it?”

tonight is just another one of those nights, a night home to instances of incline and tension. you haven’t had one in a while. you enjoy living in these moments, drinking in the tiny amounts of callback to a really great night you once had. 

“shit, we were so busy tonight,” you say, throwing your bag over your shoulder, undoing your apron and stuffing it in said bag. you remove the clip that’s containing your hair, punch your employee number into the computer, clocking out and exhaling a breath without the weight of your work day resting on your shoulders. you are no longer on the clock, no longer responsible for people’s order and the restaurant's reputation. 

“yea, can’t believe you’re better than sumu and it’s only been a few months,” osamu laughs and you shrug with a false smugness. 

“what can i say?” you ask, tilting your head into your shoulder as you hold your shrug, a very genuine and prideful smile replacing your joking cocky one. “i had a really great teacher.”

“ha! so did sumu,” osamu says, pointing at you, “promise it’s not me makin’ the difference.”

ba-bump.

osamu clears his throat in the small bout of silence, shaking his head as if to reset. “anyway, seriously,” he starts, “thanks for stickin’ around and all your great work.”

“no sweat,” you say, fiddling with the strap of your bag to distract yourself from the praise he keeps sending your way. “i’ll see you tomorrow? i switched shifts with aran, so i think you and i are opening together, yay.”

he laughs, dipping his clean rag into the clean sink filled with soapy water, ringing it out tightly before wiping it along the bartop. “i do enjoy opening with you,” he admits, “ya know what you’re doing and i don’t have to babysit you.”

“i’m telling aran,” you quip, smiling.

“i mean, i don’t have to babysit aran either,” osamu points out.

“then what’s the difference?” you tease, but it’s not really supposed to be a tease, not like this. the two of you often joked around with each other, but typically in larger groups where there were more people to witness it and the words held less weight than they do now. 

osamu ignores your question, shaking his head as he throws a different one to you instead, “hey, didya even eat?” what was maybe meant to be distracting turns into straight concern, his eyebrows furrowed as he pauses his cleaning motions.

you tilt your head back. “shit, no,” you groan, “ugh, i was so busy i didn’t even remember to eat dinner.” you pull out your phone, opening your maps to try and find somewhere decent that’s open this late, somewhere fast and easy to get to. you let out another groan. “i could probably make it to-”

“i can whip ya up somethin real fast,” osamu says, cutting you off.

“no, no, you have to get home,” you wave your hand at him, eyes still on your phone as you scroll past all of the quick places on your way home that say closed closed closed closed. you point at him, “i know what time you’re in tomorrow, it’s far too late to make food.”

“i was gonna make myself dinner, anyway,” he says, hands up in surrender. you squint your eyes at him, skeptical. “honest,” he says and your words and breath get caught in your throat. you’re not sure he clocks the parallels and the way that that word has stuck around in the back of your mind for four months, but that coupled with his enticing smile is coaxing you back to the barstool. you set your bag on one of the seats. 

“fine,” you say, finger tapping on the wooden bartop before grabbing your apron back from your bag and reclipping your hair. “but i’m helping you in the kitchen so it goes even faster.”

“alright, alright, deal,” osamu says. his laughter is already buried in your chest and now his smile is burned into the backs of your eyelids and soon enough his entire memory will be with you no matter where you go.

you follow his instructions in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables and stirring the food on the stove and grabbing ingredients from the pantry and every so often when you’re not deadset focused on something and when he’s just casually moving around food in a pan, you watch him watch you with a very familiar look in his pretty gray eyes.

he’s behind the bar, standing as he’s about to take a bite of the dinner the two of you have quickly made and you’re sitting on the barstool in front of him. “do you ever sit?” you ask, spoonful shoved in your mouth as you realize how hungry you actually are now that you have food in front of you. 

“usually, no,” he laughs, watching your lips close around the spoon and smiling only once your food-caused smile arises. 

“well, come sit,” you say, gesturing to the seat beside you, “makin’ me feel like a customer or something, gonna start talking to you about the weather and how business is going if you don’t hurry.”

he doesn’t say anything, only offers a teasing eye roll as he pushes the bowl in front of the seat next to you and makes his way beside you, leaning down to pluck two beers from the fridge before joining you on the other side of the counter. he sits down, a soft grunt falling from his lips as he realizes that, huh, he really hasn’t sat down all day and, huh, it does feel nice, but maybe that’s not entirely due to the fact that he’s sitting. in fact, most of it is probably due to who he’s sitting with. 

“see? isn’t that better?” you ask, reaching in front of him and taking one of the beers. you stand up in your seat, reaching over the counter and grabbing the bottle opener because you know exactly where it is without even having to look. he hums in agreement.

by the time your bowls are finished, so are a handful of beers, 2 for you, 3 for him, and long after your dinner is over, each of you are nursing one more. you have been for the better half of an hour. you haven’t mentioned the time and he hasn’t either and there isn’t any plan to.

“thanks for dinner,” you say, a bit quieter now because you’re facing him, knee up clashing against his as you swivel in your chair, but neither of you say anything about it and you don’t go to move it. you rest your head in your hand, chin on your palm as you smile up at him, warm from the alcohol and the fact that you’ve been dying to have a moment like this with osamu since the moment you were hired.

“wasn’t gonna let you go home hungry, doll,” he says, lets it slip in the lateness of the night and the laziness of the conversation and it takes him a few half-seconds to clock it. when he does, his mouth is open, back straighter, instantly about to apologize, but you reach out, desperate for him not to regret it, and you rest your hand on his upper thigh.

“i know,” you say, low and viscous, tip of your tongue swiping against your bottom lip, teeth biting down, slow blinks and fingers curling against his toned thigh, “you’re thoughtful like that, samu.”

you swear you can hear his heart skip a beat as he tries to take in everything that’s happening, tries to make a rational decision, but any rationality is quickly leaving his mind as you stand up, supporting yourself on his thigh, now standing between his chair and yours, little room to move, pressed up against the sides of his knees. 

your movements are slow, giving him plenty of time to object or stop you, but he doesn’t. his lips part as your palm rests against his jaw, thumb under his chin to tilt his head up towards you and if you could hear his heart skip a beat earlier, you know he can hear how furiously yours is beating right now. 

you lower your head, guide his lips to yours and kiss him again, finally. he tastes like beer and dinner, but somehow just like you remember him tasting that night. it takes him only a second to move, for his brain to catch up to the events that are happening, but when he does, it’s like something snaps. 

hand on your lower back, standing up to meet you, to pull you closer to him, other hand on the side of your neck, fingers spanning the skin, massaging your throat, curling around the back, fingers grabbing onto strands of your hair, his touch is desperate. 

his kiss is even worse, teeth dragging against your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, tongue mashing over yours, he can’t taste you enough. and you get it. you understand more than anyone because you’ve had to work with osamu for the last four months, see him every week, be reminded of his strong arms and tight chest and pretty eyes and soft voice and you need him very quickly, embarrassingly quickly. 

you want to take your time, more time than you were given in the club, more time than you could ask for. you want to kiss down his chest and feel his heavy cock on your tongue and have his head between your thighs, but your mind is filling in all of the blanks, telling you exactly how the rest of the night is going to go and it doesn’t matter how much you want hours and hours of teasing foreplay and drawn-out intimacy, you’ve been empty since he came all over your thighs.

you let him hold your face, move you to kiss him exactly how he wants to be kissed, and you snake your hands down to his belt and his zipper. you need him now. you murmur it into his mouth, down his throat, “need you now, osamu, please, been so long, please.”

he hears you, every whiney syllable, every desperate word, and he’s not going to deny you, no matter how badly he wants to taste you like he didn’t get to taste you before. “okay,” he breathes, “not here, though, puppy, okay?” 

he cycles through acceptable places for him to fuck you in his restaurant and the very open floor plan of the main dining area definitely isn’t it. absolutely not the kitchen either. his office is locked, would take an entire code, a 2 minute waiting period, and, at worst, a call to his security company. he looks down at you, eyes darting all around your whimpering face and you know what he’s going to say before he’s even said it. 

you laugh first, and then nod. “guess i was right,” you say, “that you’re gonna fuck me in the bathroom again.”

he doesn’t know whether to roll his eyes again or shake his head jokingly or laugh along with you, so he doesn’t do any. “thank god,” he groans, pulling you through the restaurant into the single-room women’s restroom. 

he shuts the door behind him and locks it as if anyone was even able to get inside of the restaurant right now. still, being trapped in these confines is reminiscent in the best way. it’s cleaner here, quieter. you’re able to focus on osamu instead of worrying about touching wet spots and if people can hear you.

you’re in front of the mirror staring back at yourself and osamu behind you. you go to turn around, to face him, but you watch his hands root onto your hips, fingers digging in to hold you still, and then you watch them slip under your shirt, the shape under the fabric moving from your tits to your stomach up to your neck and back down to the button of your jeans. 

all the while, he’s grinding into you, hard cock confined in his jeans thrusting into your ass and all you can do- all you want to do is watch it happen. he’s not paying any attention to the mirror, but he makes sure that you are, moving your chin to stare directly back at yourself every time you turn your head.

he kisses the side of your neck as he quickly undoes your jeans, zipper, hooks his fingers into the waistband of both and pulls them down to your ankles, nudging them apart while he’s down there to spread them as far as they can. you can’t see him fiddling with his own, but you can hear it and you can see his arms moving in the mirror, head down, and you can hear his jeans fall onto the floor as well.

“can- can i ask?” you preface your question with a question, timid and sweet, and he looks up into the mirror, meets your eyes and there’s no way that he can turn you down.

“anything,” he says, hand on the base of your neck, heel of his palm pushing as it slides down your spine. your chest falls towards the sink slowly, both of your hands gripping the sides of it as your face gets closer to the mirror and the faucet. 

“did-,” the question is circling in your head, but the embarrassment is rising to your cheeks, trapping it in your throat, you can’t get it out. you look at him through the mirror. 

“what is it, doll? anything,” he reminds you, three fingers gingerly touching your clit, following up between your lips, scooping some of the mess that he’s already of you onto his fingertips to circle around his leaking head. 

“did you- were you thinking about this? have- have you thought about this?” you ask, because you’re dying, burning, aching to know. 

“that’s hardly appropriate, bunny,” he says, shaking his head. 

you feel so warm, insanely warm, impossibly hot, but he leans down and kisses the back of your shoulder, replacing his lips with his grip as he pulls you backwards onto his cock, not using his hand to guide himself inside, but the tightness of your cunt sucking him in again. he grunts as he enters you, fingers like a vice on your shoulder so hard that if you weren’t so drunk off the feeling of being so full again, it might even have hurt. 

he lets out a soft laugh, a tiny chuckle, “every fucking night, angel.”

you don’t get to watch it disappear inside of you, but you get to watch osamu’s expression as he does, eyes screwed shut, chin tilted upwards as a moan rises from his chest and leaves his throat. the stretch is so much better than last time, no prep from his thick fingers, just his fat cock slipping inside of you, hips driving it deeper until they’re right against your ass. 

he pushes the back of your shirt up, places the heels of both of his palms in the small of your back, soft against your skin, and then he moves you back and forth on his cock. he moves his hips to match the pace, fucking into you repeatedly, eyes trained on your movements in the mirror, of your facial expressions melting as his cock drags against your fluttering walls. 

“o-,” you whimper, “s- samu, fuck.” your fingers grip into the sink harder, trying to brace yourself as best you can, pushing back onto his cock as he continues to fuck you because you can’t get enough. you need him deeper, harder, more. 

“should’ve told you my name that night,” he says, clicking his tongue. he reaches down, grabs you by the inside of your thigh to spread your legs even wider, and then rubs small circles into your swollen clit. your arms are shaking against the sink at the feeling. you’re unraveling very quickly, eyes closing, unable to focus on the sights in front of you and now it’s him that can’t take his eyes off your reflection. you look fucked out, gorgeous, adorable, eyes rolling back, trying so hard to stay strong as your first orgasm approaches.

“what?” you breathe at his last sentence, eyebrows furrowed, so much on your mind. he could mean a million things. you can barely focus on not crashing your face into the faucet let alone understanding whatever he’s saying.

“sounds so good coming out of your mouth,” he huffs, picking up the pace, balls brushing against the inside of your thighs as he fucks into you harder, “need to hear it forever, pretty girl.”

you don’t even say it to show off or to make him happy, barely register what he’s asking for, just need to repeat it over and over again because how else are you going to prove that the noises you’re making are just for him, are because of him. “s- samu, please, gon’ come, please make m’ come, samu,” you cry.

“can’t say no to you, dove,” he whispers into your skin, kissing the back of your shoulder softly as he rubs his messy fingers against your throbbing clit. 

a symphony of thank yous and osamus leave your tongue as you come around him, walls choking his fat cock, gushing all over him as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. when you’ve come down from your high, when the immense pleasure has faded, you feel weak, drunk, so fucked out that you can barely stand, arms wobbling against the edges of the sink. osamu notices it in an instant, leans back, takes care of you, pulls you up with him, walking backwards, holding you in place on his cock as he pushes his back up against the bathroom wall. you can still see yourself perfectly in the mirror when you recover enough to fully open your eyes. 

you can’t imagine that the way that he’s holding you now is a walk in the park, supporting all of your weight on his thighs and in his hands, but he’s acting like it’s nothing, or maybe it is nothing to him. regardless, you feel completely supported as he thrusts up into you and you fall back down onto his cock. you’re not moving a muscle, not expending a single bit of energy other than to keep yourself from falling from side to side and even that is helped by osamu’s hold on you. 

you’re moving like a doll on top of him, bouncing up and down. he can barely get a good look, view obstructed by you, but he can see the ripples in the fat of your ass as you slam down against his hips. he can hear the sharp inhale every time his head dives as deep as it can go. he can feel how tight you are around him, how your walls hug him perfectly. he can remember how much he’s missed this feeling, how he’s tried to replicate this snugness with his fist and failed miserably.

“fuck, angel, gonna come,” he exhales.

“gonna fuck m’ thighs again, samu?” you ask, sweet and thick like syrup and he grunts at the tone, hips skipping just from the sound of your voice.

“yea, puppy, been thinkin’ bout this since that night,” he says, kissing the side of your neck, pulling out of you quickly as he feels the tightness in his balls. he slips between your thighs, soft and plush and messy. he fucks up into them the same way he fucked into your cunt. you squeeze your thighs around his hard length as tight as you can and he almost falls to the ground, a growl leaving his throat as he fucks your thighs even faster. you reach down, wrapping your fist around his head, swiping your thumb over the slit, tightening your grip as he fucks into it.

his release is unannounced, ropes of come spilling over your fist and onto your thighs, running down the insides of them gathering around the base of his cock as he slips through the mess he’s made, come leaking from the tip, drooling down the sides, between your legs and onto him. 

he presses his back completely against the wall, slides onto the floor breathless, arm instantly wrapping around your stomach to hold you in place and you don’t mind one bit, leaning back into him, feeling his heartbeat against your back and his cheek nuzzling into your neck, small kisses being placed at the base. 

you could’ve fallen asleep here, right here, in osamu’s arms.

you really could’ve fallen asleep here.

right here.

in osamu’s arms.

in the bathroom of onigiri miya.

where you work.

where someone could’ve found you in the morning. 

a customer or a coworker or someone much worse. 

fuck.

you’re too far down on the floor to see your reflection in the mirror still and you’re so grateful for it. you don’t want him to see the pained expression on your face and you don’t want to know what his looks like either. “we-,” you hesitate because you really don’t want to say what you’re about to say, “we probably shouldn’t- do this anymore-,” you whisper.

his response is instant, remorseful, embarrassed, “fuck, shit- yea, no, i’m so sorry-”

“no,” you cut him off, shaking your head, “i don’t- i don’t regret it,” you say, strong, “don’t regret the first time, definitely don’t regret this one, fuck actually, i really needed that, but i think maybe that should just be our last time.” if he can hear your voice break and crack a bit at the end, he doesn’t mention it as you push on, “‘ts a fine line we’re walking, fucking in the bathroom at work.”

“neither of us on the clock,” he notes and you suppose that does make it somewhat better, though, you’re not sure he’s ever really on the clock, “but you’re completely right.” he lets go of your waist. you’re slow to move to your feet, terrified that this whole act of cleaning up and going home will be weird and awkward, but the second that you’re off of him, he rushes to his feet, pulls you up gently, one hand on your waist to steady to you as you stand up straight. 

he hands you tissues and fixes himself up, brushes your hair out of your eyes and looks at your lips as he does and the atmosphere of the bathroom isn’t awkward or weird, it’s impossibly hard. you don’t want to leave, suddenly feeling very guilty about telling him that you should probably stop these impromptu sessions because you’re not sure how you’re going to keep up with your side of the bargain at the very least.  

“should we-,” you motion to the floor, to the wet marks and the fingerprints on the sink. he shakes his head.

“i’ll get it in the mornin’, okay? you head home,” he gestures to the front door. 

“are you sure?” you ask, smoothing out your shirt, swallowing gently as you look into his soft gray eyes. 

he nods, quick and assured. “i’ll see ya in the morning.” he hesitates before adding, “unless you want me to call aran and see if he won’t switch back with ya-”

you shake your head, “no way. you prefer opening with me anyway,” you tease, “i’ll see you in the morning, samu.” you offer a small wave as you leave the bathroom. 

he doesn’t move until he hears the front door open and then close again and then he lets out a huge sigh, puts his face in his hands and lets out another along with a small, but audible, “fuck. fuck, how does she this to me?”

he doesn’t hear the door open and close the second time, the time that you actually leave after hearing his exacerbated private sentence with your forgotten bag in tow and a sinking feeling in your stomach.

the guilt is biting at your heels as you walk down the street to your bus stop, screaming at you to turn around and run back and kiss him very hard and very confidently, god knows you could’ve, but you don’t. 

each step is heavy, dragging, and your bus shows up at the exact second that you make it to the stop, no time to overthink decisions or even look back in the direction whence you came. 

and yet, despite everything, no regret is harbored in your heart or your veins, just an underlying fear that you won’t be able to follow your own rules very well or very long.

♡ tori's polls ♡ ( what drove u crazier? )

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[kaylaz-world-00]

Bloopers

So I decided to make a bloopers to celebrate 300 followers :)

I thought and was like why would I choose one fic to write bloopers about so I am gonna write all my Bullfrog and Rayman fic’s bloopers (But because there is a lot published I can’t do a lot for one fic)

Lemme write for Rayman first because he has less Qwq (I will leave a link to -nearly- every bloopers I’ll write so if you guys don’t remember/didn’t read yet you can go and see)

Masterlist

Taglist: @blorbostation @eateableworm @livelaughluvvfaithyy @darkchanx @astoraa @shiroisotto64 @kalemwoof @oneofthesillies @sleepyscribe @lpsyumy-chan

Everyone is welcome in the tag list

Dear anons; I would really appreciate it if you could choose an emoji while sending your asks and requests (and stick with it) so I can tell you apart. Thank you~

Stary Night

“You are over one hundred?”

“Cut! You didn’t sound too shocked let’s do it again!”

“Why didn’t you sound too shocked Y/N?”

“It’s not too surprising you old man.”

“Hey!”

——————————————————

He quickly sit up with the most arrogant, playful grin you ever saw him wearing, “Ahhh, I know. I get it. It’s me isn’t it?”

You burst into laughing, “Holy shit, what? You?! No way!” You chocked between your laughing fit, hitting his side playfully.

“Shit!” He yelped, losing his balance and falling off of the tree. You freaked out, crawling to the edge, “Rayman!!?”

A painful muffled moan come from him, “..am fine….”

——————————————————

On The Run

You two run for your dear little lives, meantime trying to escape the spears throwing at you two, only for you to lose your balance and face plan on the ground, a few spears falling on you causing you to grunt in pain. Everyone stopping their act and start to snicker. Rayman comes to your side laughing, “Run, Y/n! Run! They are coming to get our asses!"

—————————————————

You scoffed turning to him, you can finally question him. But you halted seeing him strugle. "What are you doing?"

He turned to you, "Oh nothing it's just--" he pull out a rose under him and smirked, "This is for you."

—————————————————

He was inviding your space, "Are we about to kiss?"

You smack him on the head, "Tell the lines right! We've been trying to take this scene for an hour!"

—————————————————

"You okay?" Rayman glanced back.

You were struggling inside the cauldron, "Shit I am sorry, I can't feel the ground under my feet—" accidently pulling Rayman with you as you two were tied together. You both loose your balance falling together with the cauldron, "Fuck!"

—————————————————

Fruits (suggestive warning)

"Well, yes, but it's mostly because... uh... fuck I forget my line." Rayman groaned

"Again? Really?"

"What?"

—————————————————

The camera lands on the two kissing agressivly. The two soon loose balance and fall.

"What the--"

"We Are Practicing Kissing!!"

—————————————————

"Should we measure our hands?"

"Why?... oh, fuck, wait!"

"You idiot. Tell your lines right for once!" You sobbed

—————————————————

He dipped you down, "Oh god you are heavy." He wheezed out jokingly. "Slipping! We are falling!" He yelled teasingly.

"No,no,no,no,no,no! RAYMAN!"

—————————————————

Hotel

Playing with his clothes as if they are suffocating him, "God, I don't like these clothes at all. They are so tight."

"Shut up and play along." You scoffed

—————————————————

You were about to slap him to wake up. “WAKE UP BITCH” and you just did that

“AH! HEY! THAT FUCKING HURT—”

—————————————————

You shake him outside of the plane, the cold didn’t seemed to faze him, “Fuck, He actually slept? Again?”

You glanced around and smirked mischievously, letting him go off of the plane. “Heh.”

You heard him groan in pain as he face planted on the cold concrete, “Fucking… traitor…”

—————————————————

“Light! It’s been so long since I’ve heard from you— What are you both doing?” He paused walking over the view of the camera as he stared at you and Rayman’s dance

“JOIN THE CULT FROG—“

—————————————————

It’s Bullfrog’s turn!

Rooftop Talks

You notice he pulled out a can of juice. He took its straw and dipped it into the box, “Wants some?”

“Sure.” You leaned in for a sip. After a long sip you let it go with a sigh. Bullfrog poked his tongue out trying to get the straw in his own mouth and sips on it with a happy hum.

Someone from the background snickered, “You know that you two technically kissed right?”

You flushed, “Shut the fuck up.”

—————————————————

He took its straw and dipped it into the box, “Wants some?”

"Sure.” You leaned in for a sip. After a long sip you let it go coughing, "Ah fuck." You chocked loudly.

"Oh shit."

—————————————————

Don’t Leave

You are carrying Bullfrog on your back as he wraps his arms around your shoulders tightly.

“Mm you are so warm.”

You wheezed, “bullfrog…can’t breath..”

—————————————————

Bullfrog covered in fake blood, he dips his hands inside the pail full of them, and flap his hands around, “Blood. Bleh. Bleh. For you and for you, mes amis. Je vomis du sang.”

You wheezed on the hall.

—————————————————

You accidentally hit his head on the door while carrying him inside. He hissed in pain and you panic.

“HOLY SHIT. I AM SO SORRY—“

—————————————————

Hibernation

You two roll around on top of each other fighting. You were nearly able to escape and get up from the ground but he jumped on top of you like a basketball player with a huge snowball on his hands, hitting you right in the head. “REVENGEEEE” You both fell on the snow, he on top of you as he laughed. You screamed in fright as he held you hostage under the snow. “YOU WANTED NEIGE. THERE YOU HAVE IT—“

—————————————————

Bullfrog seemed to choose to run away.

“FUCK—“ He slipped and fell on his butt.

“Holy shit.”

He laughed, “I am so sorry! One more time, s’il te plaît!”

—————————————————

He grabbed your arm, “Let’s go!”

He pulled you causing you to lose your balance and drop your drink, he fell along with you “Shit.”

You two laughed.

“I am sorry!” He yelled, “We have to took this scene again!”

“Please, my arm gonna pull off—“ You choked out.

—————————————————

“Hey, Bullfrog where are you going?”

He said his line and waited for you to shoot him with a snowball but he burst out laughing to see you miss him. Again.

You laughed falling on your knees, “NOO, THAT WAS MY LAST STRENGTH. WE ARE TRYING THIS FOR AN HOUR. WHY AM I MISSING YOU EVERYTIMEEEE!!!”

He fell on his side wheezing. “Want- want some break?” He choked out.

“Please.” You sobbed. “I can’t feel my feet and hands in this snow!”

—————————————————

You read the script as it is written, “Dors avec moi. How am I pronouncing this?”

Bullfrog, “Okay say. Doğ-avek-moa”

“Dogh avek moaa- what?”

He snickered, “Haha okay— Repeat after me. Doğ-“

“Doghh?”

“Avek.”

“Aveyk?”

“Moa.”

“Mua?”

“Dors avec moi.”

“Ddohhhhh…. Can you repeat again? A bit more slow this time. Please….”

—————————————————

Assurance

You glance up from the chair you are sitting in the balcony, to see a movement “FUCK!” You jump on your seat in fright to see Bullfrog, not expecting him.

He quickly apologized with a concern and amused face as you gripped your chest and took deep breaths.

—————————————————

“We are going to watch the sun ri—?“ He paused with a buzzing nose. He pouted and shoo the fly away. “Tu dois être en train de me baiser en ce moment. Une mouche?” He grumbld to himself as you laugh.

—————————————————

"You are so beautiful just by being you, and you are so fascinating just by being you. Among all the people I know, you easily stand out, with your stance, the way you speak, your thoughts and—“ You suddenly sneezed in the middle of his speech and then turn to him like nothing happened. You two stared.

Then laugh.

“Oh my god. I am so sorry” you wheezed out

—————————————————

Enemies

He pinned you to the ground, you two both breathless. And then you couldn’t hold back your laugh, “I am so sorry.” He laughed along with you letting you go.

He sit next to you, “mon Dieu…”

—————————————————

“Halt and raise your havavazghh FUCK!”

Bullfrog snorted at that.

—————————————————

“Leave me alone, madame, Its- I’m no—“ He choked on his breath, “baise, water?—” He choked loudly.

“Shit! He is dying!!”

—————————————————

“I always wanted to die as a hero.” The moment you two glance at each other’s eyes you burst out laughing.

He wheezed, “This is one of those moments! I have no clue why I am laughing!”

—————————————————

You pressed him on the ground with a growl.

He bit his lip. “Wow” He didn’t even said anything and you start to laugh just by his expression.

“Fuck no.” You let him go as you two laughed.

—————————————————

Drunk

“Shh you are so loud.” You pressed your finger over his lips, he couldn’t stop himself from coughing out a laugh. You both stood on the door snickering.

You wheezed, “I am so sorry. I can’t play like this.”

“Let’s do it again.”

“Ookay okay…”

You pressed your lips into a thin line trying to suppress yourself, though it didn’t work much as you both start to laugh again.

“FUCK”

—————————————————

He tries to help you walk only for you to lean all your weight on him disturbing his balance, you both fall on the ground laughing.

—————————————————

He sighed with your inaudible whining. He flushed even more with you leave little kisses over his face. Soon your lips find his, “Kiss me frog and turn me into a princess/prince.”

He wheezed out, “Isn’t that suppose to happen the other way?!”

“Will you turn into a prince if I do?”

“Wanna try me?”

“GIMME A SMOOCH”

[the-kr8tor]

Ahhhh request are open again (^^)

What about just some cute and wholesome TTN! reader and Hobie cooking chirstmas dinner for the two of them

Hi, angel! I changed some things around bc I've already written about cooking with Hobie, but I really wanted to write ttn Hobie during the holidays with you, so hopefully you still like it!! Happy holidays 🫶

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mentions, cw drinking, TTN! Hobie, TTN! Reader. FLUFF

Thread the Needle Masterlist

TTN oneshots

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You're practically ogling Hobie from the dinner table while everyone’s chattering about some new album that you're too enthralled to pay attention to. With his spidey senses, he feels you stare from the head of the table. A non threat, he surmises but a welcome one that he knows came from a certain someone that would most definitely be flustered if he turns around right now.

His hands are full with a tray of freshly baked holiday cookies which you two painstakingly made and decorated. The evidence of it is still stuck on the kitchen walls, chocolate icing clinging onto the white tiles.

Hobie stands up, the heat from the cookie tray is comparable to the warmth in your cheeks when he turns around to gaze straight at you. He smirks, throwing you a suave wink that makes you choke on the wine that you're using to hide your ogling stare. After all these years, you can't believe he still wakes the butterflies in your stomach.

“You alright?” Yuri asks from your right, taking a napkin to give to you.

You nod, coughing up, tears pricking behind your eyes. “Sorry”

Ned pipes up, “It's not new years yet and you're already letting out fireworks!”

Hobie purposely bumps into Ned's chair to silence his teasing. James laughs when Ned almost swallows an entire chicken leg, choking because of it.

“Fuck off!” Ned says in between coughs.

“Happy New Year!” James yells, his cheeks are red from all the wine and eggnog he's been guzzling down.

You all laugh loudly above Ned’s coughing, the soft holiday record playing in the background; the fake fireplace roars to life on the telly, adding to the festive atmosphere.

Hobie lays the cookies on the table, the tray clanking on wood, plates scraping to make space for dessert. Your guests ooh and ahh at the designs. If they only knew the mess you two made during baking the cookies and cooking dinner. And if only they knew that all the preparations would've been finished hours before they arrived if not for your constant snogging and teasing. But they probably didn't after seeing everything put in place once they entered the houseboat, bringing in food to share and presents.

They fight to grab the tastiest looking one, Yuri slaps hands away from a reindeer cookie that literally has her name on it.

Hobie sits next to you, taking the mittens off immediately to hold your hand under the table. He leans to whisper into your ear. Air tickling your cheek.

“Caught you”

“I can't help it when you're showing off your assets” you whisper back with a smile.

“I remember you telling me I don't have any assets” he raises a brow, beaming at you only.

“I'm feeling generous with my compliments today, it's the gifting season after all”

“I blame the Americans for turning you like this.” He lowers his voice even further, his timbre raising goosebumps on your skin, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “I love it though” Hobie makes you shiver with a quick kiss on your jaw.

“Christ, okay you win this round” you squeeze his hand twice whilst he chuckles.

“Holy shit, look!” James cuts off your not so private moment.

At first you thought he caught you two flirting with the intention to announce it to the entire table. But you follow his pointing finger, leading towards the small window. Snowflakes fall from the sky, making your heart flutter at the sight.

“Yoooo!” Ned exclaims, his chair almost falls when he stands up too fast, immediately lunging towards the door. “It's a holiday miracle!”

Yuri follows suit, James hits his shin on a chair, wincing his way outside the houseboat, jumping on one foot.

From your position you could see the open doorway, snow falling over the ‘porch’ while your friends took their tongues out to taste the first snowflake of the season.

“That can't be sanitary” you lay your head on his shoulder. Hobie moves his chair closer to yours, you thank him with a quick nuzzle of your cheek to his neck.

The twinkling lights he put up a while ago makes your eyes sparkle, to which he thinks is better than any snowflake.

You loop your arm under his, Hobie lays his head on top of yours, eyes closed, thanking the universe for making this exact moment possible.

[reriart]

Hi i saw your post about Percy headcannons and I was wondering if you could write about Percy together with an adhd reader and the readers meds make them lose their appetite and he helps them eat and just a generally fluffy headcannon?

Hiii! Thank you for asking :3 I have ADHD too, so I hope I somehow made the story more realistic. I hope you don't mind if I ended up writing a fanfic directly, I've been thinking about this comfort story for the entire day!

I'm safe with you.

Additional tags: reader has ADHD and they're using meds, stimming, food disorder, GN!Reader, not smut for once, love confession, very soft Percy. You can read it on AO3 too! Remember that English is not my native language (plus I've wrote it in the middle of the night). Divider: cafekitsune Summary: It has passed three days since the last time you've eat something. You fainted between Percival's arms, who is deadly worried for you.

“I swear I can burp louder than you!” Grog shouted, swaying the overflowing beer mug dangerously, then drinking it all in one gulp and loudly belching in front of Scanlan's face. 

“Pff. You're a rookie. Take that!” the bard replied, echoing the gesture but intensifying the sound through his magic.

The vigorous man crossed his arms over his chest. “That's not fair! I can't win that way!”

On your end, you stood in a corner at the very end of the table, smiling shyly. Or rather, it wasn't so much a shy smile as a nervous one, which exuded discomfort. The medicine that Whitestone's doctor had prescribed for you (Percival had insisted that you go there) tasted terrible and the side effects were even worse: nausea, tremors, lack of appetite, dizziness. Except for that last one, so far you had checked all three off your daily list. You hadn't told anyone about it, to avoid worrying anyone (or even worse, that someone would force you to stay at the De Rolo castle, especially if that someone was your boyfriend). Yet, as soon as you looked up from the plate full of beans and steaming beef, two pale green eyes, circled by an elegant silver frame, were there, staring at you. Eyebrows bent downward, lips half-closed as if to say something. Percy was doing the dishes -- it was his turn (and, besides, he was practically the only one respecting it, besides you) -- but he was close enough to know that something was amiss. Although his attentions were always appreciated by you, whatever their nature, you just wanted to stay by yourself that night. 

However, the first (and only) attempt to sneak away was a fiasco. Two steps and your knees collapsed like a potato bag. Thankfully, keeping you from hitting your head, Percy was right there. He had thrown the plates in the air to catch you on the fly. You felt your mind getting foggy, your mouth heavy. 

“Hey,” he said, his eyes wide. “Are you okay?” “Mm-hm.” You didn't have the energy to think. Curling up in his arms suddenly seemed like the most reasonable choice. He smelled of jasmine and black powder. Around him, Grog, Scanlan and Vax also gathered.

“Maybe I'd better take you to the room. Hold on to me.”

“Do you need a hand?” asked the half-elf, frowning. 

“No, I thank you. I'll take care of it,” he replied, lifting you up and resting his arms behind his neck. Vax couldn't see it, but he was gently stroking your muscles with his thumbs. He loved to run his fingertips over your body, especially when he could get lost in making little circles. Somehow, he was giving comfort to both of you.

He carried you out of the huge dining room without saying anything else, holding you to his body. He was radiating a pleasant warmth, and you instinctively rubbed your face against his blouse on the way. Within minutes, you were in your bed, him sitting beside you, stroking your face.

“Hey,” he said smiling, stroking your cheek. “It's the medicine, isn't it? How long has it been since you've eaten?”

Three fingers up. You hadn't eaten for three days.

“Three days? Holy shit... you should have told me,” he remarked, running a gloved hand through his snow-white hair. 

“I didn't...want to worry you....” Guilt began to weigh down your heart, forcing you to bite your lips nervously and touch your fingertips to each other in a vain attempt to calm down, but it was only his hand under your chin that stopped the flow of obsessive thoughts. He forced you to look at him.

“It has to stop happening, okay? Talk to me. Let's communicate. You don't have to carry everything on your shoulders.”

Yeah. Percival was right. But it was so difficult even the act of thinking sometimes. Your head was perpetually bulging with thoughts, things to do, external stimuli, sounds, smells, textures. The missions, the places to explore and their dangers, the screaming, the blood, the metal, the fire. Medication had lessened all that, it was true. For a moment, sleep and daily life had become more bearable, but food had lost your attention. 

“I'm sorry.” You felt tears in the back of your eyes. The last thing you wanted was to make him angry. 

“You don't have to apologize to me,” he said softly, then stood up and reached for a pitcher and a glass of water. He filled it, handing it to you. “Let's start with the simple things. Drink a little.” 

Very quietly, the first sips went down your throat. Then, faster and faster. In a few moments you had swallowed all the water. Percival watched you from the edge of the bed, one hand on your leg distractedly playing with the fabric of your pants. 

“Good. Shall we try to eat something?”

Your stomach hadn't fully opened yet, but the idea of worrying your boyfriend made you feel worse. 

“W-What can I eat?”

“Let's see-I can get you a slice of cake, if Grog has left some. Gods, he eats like he's still about to grow!” she huffed, raising his hands to the sky and earning your laughter. His green eyes sparkled and he smiled back. “Wait for me.”

“E-even if I wanted to, I don't think I could move from here except as a worm. Crawling.”

He stood up, chuckling. “You're terrible,” he said, kissing your forehead and then pointing toward the door. “I'll be right back.”

You spent the next few minutes looking at your hands. How worn they were ... then, flashes of hands covered by leather gloves: protecting your fingers, squeezing them, medicating them. Not a moment had passed since you had met Percival De Rolo that those hands had been left to their fate. Since he had become your boyfriend, then, less so. The knuckles had been kissed, the hands held on your warm, milk-white chest. Loneliness was but a distant memory, but ... having someone taking care of you was far beyond your expectations. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the squeaking of the wooden door and the rush of cold air against your skin. Percival was holding not one, but two slices of chocolate cake, rigorously arranged on finely decorated plates. He placed one of them on your thighs, held the other in his hand, then sat back down on the edge of the bed. 

“Can you sit closer?” 

“How much closer?” “Here. Let's eat together.”

Percy, being very careful not to let his dessert fly onto his jacket, settled down next to you at your pat on the mattress. You rested your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, and he rested his own on top of you. Your free hands sought each other, entwining. It was a quiet, long minute, except for your breaths in the cold room. Then, he broke the silence.

“I know it's hard -- but really, let me carry some of your struggles on my shoulders.”

“Percy...you just got a demon off your fucking back, why don't you leave them in peace?”

“Because I love you.”

You almost had a stroke. Yes, you were now a couple (in a very adolescent way, had been your response after an initial, very shy kiss and his question, “What are we?”), but you had never confessed to each other, you had limited yourselves to a few brief contacts of hands, arms and yes, occasionally lips. Things between you were complicated, mainly because neither of you had ever been in a steady relationship and everything was pretty new. 

And just as you opened your mouth to respond, a forkful of cake flew down your throat, followed by her laughter. 

“Percy! I was going to choke-”

A blow kiss sealed your lips. “Maybe I found a way to get you to eat more often.”

[strawberrycheeks-and-glasses]

Listen to Me

Tsukishima x f!reader | rated E | 5k

Summary: Failing one of your classes, you remember a flyer you saw on campus offering ‘on call’ tutoring sessions. So, in your desperation, you call and develop a crush on the guy’s voice on the other end. Pretty soon, things start to heat up.

A/n: this is very self indulgent porn tbh, pls don’t judge me but I had a craving for a voice kink and the thought of Kei whispering in my ear gave me goosebumps. So~

“Hey there,” the smooth sounding voice on the other end of the phone says, sending a shiver down your spine.

You had seen a flyer on campus for a call in tutoring session a while back and as a joke, you snapped a picture of it for future reference. Well, good thing you did because guess who’s failing chem?

“H-hi,” you hesitate, being completely thrown off by the sound of this guys voice.

“Hello,” he greets again. “Did you need help in a subject, or are you one of those girls who call because they heard I have nice voice?”

“People actually do that? I mean you sound, like a normal guy,” you shrug, fiddling with your pencil.

“I’ve been told my voice is soothing to the ear,” he replies. “Not too deep, but not too high, and with a tone that is both unbothered, yet still attentive.”

“I just meant that you sound familiar, is all,” you scoff a laugh, rolling your eyes at how pretentious he’s sounding.

“I get that a lot,” he chuckles. The sound vibrating through the speaker tickles your ear. “Was there something I could help you with?”

“Oh, right,” you almost forgot why you called in the first place.

Talking you through your chemistry homework like he’s in the same class, he teaches you how to find the compounds and use your graphic calculator with ease. And, yeah, okay, his voice is kind of soothing, but he doesn’t need to know you think that.

“Holy shit, I think I understand now,” you laugh, amazed at how simple it actually is once it was explained in a way you could grasp. “You’re pretty smart aren’t you?” You tease him.

“Well, yeah,” he says, and you can hear him rolling his eyes at your stupid question.

“Okay, nerd,” you playfully insult him.

“This nerd just saved your ass from failing chemistry,” he rebuttals. “And the next time you have to call me for help, I’m charging you. Only the first one’s free.”

“Ugh, fine,” you say, pointedly, ending the call.

Please read the rest on ao3

Also, I’m not sure who to credit for this pic that my friend had saved from Pinterest, the artist is no longer active on Twitter and there is no watermark or signature on the art (I even reversed Google image searched and nothing came up), but if you know who made it pls lmk so I can tag them or link their art!!

Anyway, this is the Kei I think of when I wrote this fic, just to get an idea of why I needed to write this fic 💁🏻‍♀️ (also, my friend said Kei biting on the pen is slut behavior, and I agree I agree I agree)

[aspynnwoofs]

Um. hi. your fanart of Marcy waking up from a nightmare is probably my favorite piece of Amphibia fanart ever. curious what was going through your head when you made it. also what are your headcannons/thoughts about The Core, Marcy, what she experienced while under its control, and its lasting effects on her?

holy shit dude, thanks? i don’t know what i did to deserve all this nice stuff you’re saying, but thanks. also the tags on the reblog were not aggressive or mean or anything, they actually made me super happy to see! i’m really glad you like it.

coming back after writing all the stuff, there’s a lot so i’m putting a ‘keep reading’ thing. seriously there’s so much

what was going through my head… hm. it’s like, i imagine Marcy having lots of nightmares about things that happened to her, or things that could have happened, stuff like that. i’ve read a lot of fanfic so now i really like the idea of her clutching her shirt when remembering being impaled. or even just for comfort, to know that her weakest point is covered in moments of terror. also she’s crying. sobbing. the only times she recovers quickly after bad nightmares is when she’s with the others.

i really like the idea of the Core not only sticking her in a box in her mind, but also showing her things. like to keep her from trying to get out. can’t resist if your mind is shattered and devoid of hope! anyway i mean like using the illusions to show her various things, situations, people. more peaceful ones where she’s with her girls, only to realize they aren’t there. terrifying ones where they make her live through her worst memories, her betrayal (of her and by her), her death, her torture and possession. twisted situations where Anne and Sasha proclaim that they can’t be seen with her, they can’t trust her, even hate her for what she’s done. sometimes the Core sticks her in unending darkness so they don’t have to think of anything, or if they’re focused on something else and need her out of the way (this is where the thing about being unable to sleep or feel safe in complete darkness is from). sometimes they’ll make a fake scene where it seems as though she is being shown what her body is doing, she can see through her eyes, and then she hurts people. kills people. sometimes it will be real, but she doesn’t know that, and she will still hurt people. when whoever in the Core in charge of her is feeling particularly cruel, they’ll do a simulation of her being saved. rescued. freed. forgiven. she’s finally with her girls. but. she isn’t. she’s still here. of course they didn’t save her, why would they? she’s a horrible person, and she did so much unforgivable stuff? why would they ever want to save someone like her? (shit this is long, yeesh. well i’m having fun soo-) sometimes Anne and Sasha kill her as she’s possessed, because she needs out of the way, and her life doesn’t matter anyway. sometimes they free her and then take their fury at her out on her by hurting her.

recovery from that is incredibly hard. when she’s rescued, she doesn’t believe it. firmly denies it, hides from them, tries to keep them from hurting her, curls into a ball and refuses to acknowledge them. because they aren’t real, they aren’t. hasn’t she been through this enough? it takes the others a while to convince her she’s in reality, and that yes, they do really forgive her. she’s actually completely free.

later in life she has trouble discerning reality from her nightmares. she has insane trust issues. she can’t walk, not by herself. she’s terrified of fire, because fire is what impaled her, killed her, and fire is the color of the eyes that haunt her. a small zap of static electricity is enough to send her into a flashback of her possession, of the chair, of fire and lightning and code flowing into her, burning burning burning. once someone tried to calm her by grabbing her wrists, which only sent her further. the cuffs. they chained her down. she can’t move she can’t move! the color orange makes her nervous, if there’s too much of it she half convinced they’ve taken over somehow and tinted her vision the color of her nightmares. (looking at this you’d really think i’d be able to write something. i should write something) sudden complete darkness, such as someone turning off a light without warning, has her half believing whatever just happened wasn’t real, that the Core got bored and stuck her in the darkness. sound and small lights can help her come back to reality. sound because the Core wouldn’t let sound into their void, that would defeat the point! and small lights because if it all comes back quickly it just means the simulation has been turned back on. better to show her something small but concrete. Anne and Sasha have gotten really good at realizing when she needs a reality check, and then knowing her to ground her. (btw she doesn’t move away because i need her to have a support system. she might actually go crazy if she’s separated from her friends) ( whAT THE FUCk-?? this is so long! i need to wrap up! holy shiiiit) Marcy likes to hold their hands to help her remember where she is. physical touch is very grounding. the Core could never get it right so it’s even more so. after some nightmares she flinches from touch, so other things are needed, but once she’s returned from the hell in her mind she needs touch. sometimes weighted blankets help to ground her when she feels as though she might almost float away, sometimes they chain her down and trap her beneath the weight of all her mistakes.

there’s probably more, but if i kept going i’ll just have written a whole ass fic in an ask answer. hope you liked it! if not idk what i can give you (you’ll like it, because it’s great)

i don’t think i’ve ever written things out like things before, i should do that more. it helped to have specific questions, so thanks man i guess? heh.

[bamnamuu]

Birthday Surprise Sim Jake

w.count 548 | warnings slight cursing, bad writing, typos not fully proof read | requested @ghostiiess | em’s note this has been in my drafts for some time but now it’s JAKE DAY!!!!! i hope you enjoy it 🤩

Your relationship with Jake is special, to say it’s unlike all the other ones you’ve been in is an understatement. For starters Jake is an idol that many people fawn over, which makes you happy that so many people love him, obviously not more than you. Being an idol Jake has to be careful with you, having to keep your relationship private to make sure you're safe, however you wouldn't change anything.  Jake has been busy preparing for Enhypen's comeback and you haven’t had much time to see each other which is normal but this time it’s different because Jake's birthday is coming up and you’re upset that you might not see him, until an idea pops into your head! while waiting around the green room for the boys to finish their performance you caught up with some of the staff who have become more like your friends than people who work for your boyfriend, and one of them said “you should join us and you’ll see him everyday!” Obviously she was joking, but the thought of being with Jake while he does whatever makes you say “that’s a great idea!” “y/n no i was kidding!” After telling everyone your genius plan that insisted on you pretending to be a staff member watching in on Jake's live and then when he’s done you would surprise him, they agreed and it’s a good thing you’re so close with their staff that they are letting you do this.

 So there you were sitting in your disguise of one of Jake’s hoodies and a face mask waiting for Jake to come in, scrolling on your phone you start to hear the door start to open and your boyfriend walks in. you get up trying not to look him in the eye just in case he might recognise you immediately, and to which you fail miserably because the minute that you lock eyes he starts to realise that it’s you, “holy shit!” he said smiling like a puppy. “what?” you replied back putting on a deeper voice which only caused him to laugh “how did you …. did you sneak into the building?” he said “nope i work here” you can’t help but start giggling at yourself as you see Jake make his way to you. Once he is, he brings his hands up to pull off your mask and hood off “surprise!” you say beaming up at him, “hi love!’’ he said wrapping his arms around you ‘’happy birthday baby’’ you said quietly, ‘’OH i have something for you!’’ you said remembering his present, which only caused you to startle your boyfriend with the volume change, detaching yourself from him you walk over to your bag and take out his neatly wrapped present. ‘’What no, I don't need anything else, you're the best present’’ Jake argued. ‘’you have to take it, i cant return it, oh shit.’’ you said causing Jake to worry ‘’y/n i was kidding i’ll take your present i'll even open it up right now!’’ Jake said while taking off the ribbon bow you put on his gift, he only stops when he hears you start to laugh ‘’what?’’ he said, looking at you. ‘’you have to do your live, remember!’’ ‘’oh yeah.’’ he giggled, putting down his present. 

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