#........this came to me in a whim. i. just felt like it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

screampied · 2 months ago

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#THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY. g. suguru

☆ sum. the last thing you’d expect for a surprise birthday present by your friends was a visit to a men’s strip club. geto suguru��your dancer’s got it all. tall, handsome, and he wants waaay more than just thirty minutes with you.

wc. 6.9k (h.. haha)

warnings. fem! reader, stripper au, stripper! geto, unprotected, lap dancīng, dry humping, switch geto, lots of riding, 69, finishing too quick, choking, geto has nīpple piercings, hair pulling, spīt, dirty talk, he licks champagne off you, nīpple play, breedīng, praise, **** cameo :), petnames.

an. ty to the ppl who voted on my poll <3 kinda scared to post this LOL. this came on a whim ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ

➤ kinktober mlist.

“i understand your body wants it. i know your thoughts, oh you ‘bout it ‘bout it . . ”

the erotic lyrics that blared through the club’s abject speakers nearly deafened your ears the moment you stepped inside. you were flashed with a plethora of luminescent jade lights as you read a glowing sign near the bar that read ‘welcome to the vixxxen lounge.’ your friends, who decided to surprise you for your birthday with nothing more than a girls’ trip to a men’s strip club told you they’d be getting drinks if you need them. of course . . that was probably code for: going to spend time near the private rooms.

apparently, it’s ‘happy hour’ which meant countless discounts—and you’d already had your two individual sessions paid for by one of your friends. crisp aerating air waves from the air conditioner chills against your skin as you lean against the bronzy brick pillar. you gather your surroundings, eyeing the oily attractive glossed men that entertained the screaming crowds of thirsty women. the wide stage was spacey, and it almost looked like a concert—you started to wonder just who you were paired up with. but right as you’re pondering deep in thought, there’s a light tap on your shoulder.

“miss.”

you turn around to face probably the most attractive man you’ve laid your eyes upon. he’s tall with lengthy long hair — tangled black tresses of strands that reach just about past his shoulders. you couldn’t help but openly gawk a bit . . finding your eyes to leisurely trail down toward his skimpy attire. near his neck, he had a stained smooch of a lip stick mark that was a dark shaded red. you then noticed a few hundred dollar bills stuck in between his red thin straps.

this guy, it appeared he was dressed as some kind of firefighter. he had on the helmet along with the matching baggy yellow pants, but was completely topless. the only thing that went against his chiseled pecs was the skinny straps that attached onto the belts of his pants.

“heyy,” he waves a hand in your face, arching a brow.

“o- oh, sorry,” you bashfully murmur, mentally cursing yourself out for wandering off into space again. embarrassing, embarrassing. fishing for your vip pass that gave you direct access to one of the secluded private rooms—you dig it out your pocket, staring down at the assigned dancer and room number. “are you uh . . geto?”

“i am. but ah, suguru’s fine,” he murmurs, and he takes your pass, putting the temperature lanyard over your neck. geto’s fingers brush against your skin and you nearly shudder.

his touch.. it felt like sparks of electricity, and near the far distance by the crowded stage, your friends waved at you. with a throaty, “follow me, birthday girl,” he swiftly turns his heels and starts making a beeline toward the back of the club. you follow him, continuing to eye his costume.

but phew, he had quite the ass.

but anyway—that’s not the point.

it never really occurred to you how all the male strippers had specific costumes—you were far too entranced by geto. it was probably because of how halloween was only a mere few weeks away, so it’d make sense how they’d be ordered to get into the spirit of things.

“and imma let you do it how you wanna girl i’ll riiiide with it, riiiide with it . . ”

the lyrics of that catchy same song that resounded through the speakers of the club grew louder—and as he guided you inside the dimly red lit room, he makes you lie back against a cushioned sofa. there’s a few piles of money scattered near the front, and you didn’t count but that amount could make anyone filthy rich.

geto rubs the back of his neck, rolling it around to stretch before he glances down at you. you struggle to look him in the eye and a faint smile creases across his lips.

you’re new, and he could tell you weren’t used to such carnal provocative environments.

“relaaax, pretty girl,” his voice was low purr. the way he talked was soothing, a good amount of teasing and playfulness. right at his words, your shoulders slumped and you lean back.

the air around you seems to close in, getting thicker ‘n thicker before he makes you haul your arms over the edges of the couch. “comfy?” and he doesn’t do anything else until you give him a subtle complying nod. geto takes off his amber-colored helmet before putting it on your head. “lean back. just focus on me.”

“o . . okay,” you exhale, and your eyes finally meet his.

the fake firefighter helmet crooks, tilting a bit to the side over the crown of your head as you watch him starting to sway to the bass dropping beats. you gulp as he gets closer . . and closer, following the exact steps to his usual routine before he gets on your lap.

he’s so pretty, and now that his helmet was off of him, you got an even more view of his face. geto starts to slowly grind against you, one hand resting near back of the couch that’s next to your shoulder. he’s fully in sync with the song that booming blares in the background.

the friction. he was moving up against you, and you couldn’t help but glance down his glossy chest. his legs were huge, and you didn’t even notice the clamped silver piercings that stuck against his reddened nipples. “is this okay?” he whispers, and you already feel yourself starting to heat up. the a/c was blasting—and yet, you felt like it was over a hundred degrees.

“ ‘s okay,” you breathlessly say, feeling your facial expressions serene. geto swiftly gets off you, and he starts to rock and grind his hips against the floor.

he’s slow and precise—each movement matches the following before he sits up, flicking against the straps of his costume. fuck, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. you knew he was probably used to this . . seeing so many women at a time, giving them a thirty minute private dance and going on with his day.

geto had charisma and lots lots of it.

it was ironic because he didn’t even have to say anything. throughout the duration of his entire routine, he let his hips do the rest of the talking. speaking of hips, you’ve never seen a more a slutty waist.

it’s unapologetically snatched, and you start to envision seeing his face plastered on every cover of a a men’s vogue magazine. he’s gorgeous—and the second he’s back in your lap again, he leans into the crook of your neck. “hey,” he repeats, and his voice was a lot more pitched and lower. it’s a dirty kind of husky that makes you clench your thighs together. as he’s up close—you get a whiff of his cologne. it’s quite loud, and you’d guess the scent was something between bergamot and rich aromatic oak moss. “do you wanna touch me?”

a breath gets trapped in the back of your clogged throat at the question.

geto continues to gradually grind his hips into you as pretty black strands of his hair tickles near your shoulders. “y- yes,” and the words smoothly flow from your lips like smooth molasses of chocolate.

geto was patient, and he wanted to make you comfortable—that was his number one priority.

he speaks in a more rough yet sly tone. “ ‘m gonna grab your wrists okay? just feel me,” and you feel mentally prepare yourself. biting down on your bottom lip—you mouth a soft, ‘okay,’ and geto gently grabs your wrists.

he’s still slowly jerking his hips against you, matching each sultry beat of the song. the base of the chorus rang through your ears and the lyrics flowed through once ear ‘n out the other.

as you stare up at him, he makes you press your hands firmly against his shaven flexing chest. sheets of slicking sweat that covers the top part of his body coats on your hands and you cutely furrow your brows. “heh, oh sorry love. ‘m a bit sweaty, hope that doesn’t turn you off.”

��it’s f . . fine,” you utter, and he resumes to guide your hands. his chest was as hard as a brick, and you felt how his muscles would freely tense.

god, geto was a literal sculpture. you probably looked stupid with how you kept openly staring at his perfectly carved abs. an entire six pack - each section even more strenuously ripped than the first.

as you continue to gawk, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets—you feel him shifting his weight a bit so he wouldn’t crush you. your thumb snags against his pierced nipple and he grunts, breaking character for a second. he lets off a cute snarl. “sorry! i didn’t-”

“sweetheart, it’s okay,” he hums, releasing a low puff of air. so he was sensitive there, noted.

as he continues, he makes your hands reach lower. the thin straps of his costume glide against your plump fingertips before he stops at his fading raven-colored happy trail.

black ‘n bushy . . you could make out every single tiny speck of hair that stuck against the lower part of his abdomen if you squinted, and you did.

the rest was hiding underneath the upper hem part of his prop turnout pants. “now ‘m gonna let go of my hands,” he whispers, eyeing you intently.

it was so much lustful ardor in the air. the more you stared at the dancer, the more you started questioning why the hell you never visited a strip club sooner. a question that was probably gonna remain unanswered..

“ . . ‘n ‘m gonna let you do whatever you want while i finish.” he concludes his sentence, and as if his hands were attached to your own with adhesive velcro, geto slowly pulls away.

now, it’s just your two balmy palms pressing against his chest. you take it upon yourself to drag an invisible line down his flat sleek cheek with your fingers.

your hands then find themselves reaching for a few papery fifty dollar bills, tossing it at his glossed grinding body. geto sighs with a cunning simper, continuing to rock his slim hips into your lap. “that’s it, feel me princess. ‘m all yours.”

and in a way – he was.

it was only you two in the room, and yet it felt like you ‘n suguru were the only people on earth. the entire mood was sensual and you could almost smell the libido that radiated off his skin. it was a scent you couldn’t describe—but you didn’t want him to stop.

as your hands kept roaming down his puffed out chest, you stop right at the hem of his pants. poking out, his sharp carved-like ‘v’ shaped pelvis arches within each muscle he moves forward.

the crimson red lights that flicker every three seconds narrowly spotlights toward geto’s fit body. for a quick moment—you get a good glimpse of his face and he’s inches away from your shimmery twitching lips.

geto leans up to your ear and he hoarsely whispers. “birthday girllll,” and he huffs out a drawn breath, feeling you eagerly tug at his pants. a snicker leaves from him before he gets a nice smell of your citrusy perfume. “ah. is the pants gettin’ on your nerves?”

“a bit,” you murmur honestly, and you were already undressing him with your eyes. you were sure geto was most likely wearing a thong underneath but you imagined otherwise.

filthy - you couldn’t believe the thoughts you were having.

to think, if you hadn’t accepted this little ‘girls’ trip’ with your friends, you’d probably be sleeping the entire day away. after all, they did want you to get out more. especially for your special day. with a pout twisting across each part of your lips, you sigh. “can i—”

“what, undress me?” he tries to play coy, seeing your pouty expression increase. geto hums, amused as you lightly hook a finger underneath his hooked strap before he shrugs. “go ‘head, princess. knock y’rself out.”

geto found your hesitance cute. you didn’t wanna seed ‘needy’ but you were showing all signs of it. at the moment, you completely forgot you were at a strip club and he was just a dancer.

but fuck it.

you went slow as he still straddles your lap, slowly pulling down his loosely fitted pants. they were baggy.. a flashy color of yellow, and the more you tugged them down, the more you got a glance at his scanty thong.

it’s dark purple with his name embedded on the thin white strips.

from all sides, it spelled ‘s u g u r u,’ in bold lilac plum colors. he even had custom made thongs? as if you couldn’t get even more aroused—

yeah, you were aroused. leave it to your legs that remained glued together starting to swelter up with … stickiness.

not everyday did you have a man grind against your lap, and to be fucking frank you didn’t think you’d last.

“you’re so pretty,” you pant, watching him shimmy his pants down to where it flops down to his ankles. and oh, he had quite the bulge.

it looked almost painful—so swole and round, you just wanted to kiss it. it looked like at any second it was about to just burst through the cottony stretched fabric. the scenery grows more hedonic as the red lights dimmer. you could barely see his face anymore, just a silhouette that grinds against your lap at each beat of the song playing loudly.

as you nearly slip out a moan, you lean back before your heaving breaths start to accelerate. “suguru.”

“aw,” he coos, feeling your arms wrap around his slender waist. geto’s still swiftly grinding into you, feeling your cute nails claw into his back. the back of your brain kept chanting ‘more, more, more!’

you still have the helmet on, and with the way it’s crooked and could barely fit your head—he found that small detail adorable. as he remained seated on your squished thighs, it was embarrassing to think you were starting to feel yourself erratically throb.

leaning into your neck, he could loudly smell your sheer arousal and it makes him lowly chuckle against the soft shell of your ear. “not satisfied, yeah?” and he lets off a quiet bellowing grunt, feeling your hands trail down his sweaty body once more.

he’s so built, parallel to a literal tank.

geto’s rocking against you in rhythm with the same song that still trumpets through the speakers before whispering. “just say it ‘n i’ll give it to you.”

“you always come to the parties. to pluck the feathers off allll the biiiirds. . ”

the lengthy song continued to drag on—and the busted speakers in the private room sounded like it was about to break from the distortion. it was loud, but your panting breaths was even louder the more geto dances on you.

letting off a longing three second moan once a leg of yours voluntarily hooks around his slim waist, you mewl out a sweet, “i want you. suguru, fuck me.”

“oh. sounds like a demand, sweetheart,” he purrs, and he stills his hips against your lap.

geto’s got a plethora of rings on each of his fingers. pretty silver ‘n gold bands that would wrap around his digits. he had long fingers, thin and perfectly slender.

the more you stared, the more you thought how good they’d fit insi—

“eyes up here,” he cuts you off, and you shudder feeling his palms cup your face. your leg still wraps around his waist before another shortly follows.

he’s barely rocking into you now, and with a bumpy shimmy, you feel his bulge rub against you. “mhm,” geto grunts before meeting your needy gaze once more. as a thumb strokes your bottom lip, pulling it down gingerly, he whispers. “ask nicely. say pretty please.”

“you won’t … charge me extra?” you sheepishly say, beads of perspiring sweat trickling down all sides of your forehead.

geto smugly smiles, grumbling a subtle, ‘nah,’ before making you lean all the way back against the padded sofa. “okay,” you breathe, and you just didnt care anymore.

you wanted him – maybe even needed him..

geto’s hardened bulge that presses against his thong throbs harder before you sweetly murmur,“please, fuck me, suguru.”

“anythin’ for the birthday girl.”

and those words were the same exact words that ran through your mind as you now found yourself in . . quite the risqué position.

you’d be the one straddling geto now. he’s got you in a classic 69, and your pretty perked ass hovers over his face. right in front of you was his weighty fat cock, and it’s a pretty flushed pink with rosy-lime veins prodding from the sides.

you’re whimpering out sweet harmonic keynotes as his long pointed tongue slithers its through your inviting entrance, two broad arms clinging onto your hips. “fuuckk,” he’d groan, feeling you smear a thumb over his leaky mushroomy tip.

you’ve already got him sopping wet from the chin down thanks to your wet cunt – glossy pearly drool seeping from the sides of his dick.

geto’s shaft remains idle, and you wrap a hand around his base before pumping it, rotating your wrist – once, twice, thrice..

he was aching, and the entire time he was giving you a show he had a boner. it was rare, usually whenever he gave lap dances—he was one to never really crack, he was a trained professional and yet here you were.

“mmch,” his swollen puckered lips smack against your cunt as he eats you out entirely from the back.

your mouth drops, jaw dangling— goofily hanging open like a cartoon as he resumes to extends the length of his tongue inside the outskirts of your warm room-temperate-tastin’-pussy.

lolling it out all the way, he licks from top to bottom—stopping at your clenching hole. geto gives it a five second kiss, a sloppy one that glues a mixture of his spit and your slimy juices on his mouth. “sweetheaaart,” he rasps, biting back a greedy groan once he feels you starting to take him in your mouth.

your throat’s seraphic warmth draws a hot sharp breath out of him as he swats a hard palm against your ass for you to start. “when i say move your ass against my face, i fuckin’ mean it. move,” and you let off a candied whimper the second the temporary sting sends singles toward your weeping whiny clit.

feebly, you start to flop your ass up and down against his face and you hear a satisfy ‘hmm’ purr from his lips. you’re moaning, sinking his cock down your throat in the process before your sticky tongue swirls around his angered crownhead. “mmph,” and you take a few inches before you feel his tip swipe against the scaled roof of your mouth.

going back up, it loudly ‘pops!’ out as a bit of sheeny saliva trickles down your chin. you’re taking him deep within no time, and you let off a cute hiccup once his swollen sack paps near your jaw.

so full ‘n round…

you’re breathing through your nose, still shaking your ass against his face, swipin’ his nose occasionally like a credit card with your honeyed-slathered cunt.

his wide flat tongue felt so good that you felt your toes curling each time he playfully nibbles on your sensitive throbbing clit. his tastebuds felt each pulse and it was so hot. “sugu, fuck.”

“i know, i know,” he gruffly whispers against your runny folds. bringing a pair of long twinned fingers towards your pussy, geto strums it down the pulsating slit in a straight pillaring line.

with a bit of pressure—he spreads your lower lips apart, getting a front row seat view of your clit pumpin’ pumpin’ away.

you had such a pretty throb, the prettiest he’s ever seen.

“god, you’re pretty but you’re even prettier down here too,” and not only do you hear him swallow but you feel it too.

a long full gulp, and he’s making sure to savor as much of your sweet slick on his tongue as possible.

geto’s just nasty, and a proud eater. he zigzags his tongue everywhere until your vision’s murky and clouded. you’re left crossed eyed with puffed up cheeks, barely able to focus on his dick that’s laying flat on your tongue.

a hand of his squeezes against your ass before with a mean ‘whack!’ he spanks it again just to see the bouncy recoil. the way a ‘lil fat portion of your ass would jiggle all due to the hasty-rash contact of his palm makes him throb.

and you feel it right in your mouth.

as your head bobbles at a more quick yet languid pace, your tongue skims down one of the many veins that paint down his cock. your repeated moans become muffled, and geto groans at how sloppy you sound—from the front and from behind.

the more he slurps every syrupy drop that dribbles out from your gurgling pussy, his precisely-thorough licks turn into exaggerated four second sucks.

geto softly caresses a hand against the bare skin of your exposed flesh, tugging on your pulled up skirt. pulled to the side were your panties that had a pretty pink star imprinted on the back decorated with glimmery rhinestones. you moan as your back slowly arches inward ‘n out and your knees become to buck.

his tongue, he definitely knew how to eat.

“ ‘s good, juuuus’ like that princess,” he huffs, feeling minuscule dewdrops of your saliva pour down the sides of his cock, slicking all over his base.

your thumb traces a heart over his hefty sack, massaging his tender full testes before you hear geto whine out a sweet, “o- oooh shit,” he was tender there too, huh..

and the sound catches him completely off guard because he grunts, the swaying of his tongue gradually slowing down. geto’s pretty lashes flutter before he grunts, taking a second to breathe. “don’t . . stop, play with ‘em some more,”

“pf—” you pop your mouth off his dick again, wet slimy sounds following as you stroke him off with an closed palm. “are you sure?”

“yeah yeah, ‘m sure,” and there’s a bit of sass in his gruff tone.

geto’s getting flustered, and never in a million years would he admit that you playing with his balls made him feel so good but fuck, it did.

geto paws a hand against your ass before letting off a hurried breathless, “fuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

you went back to bobbling your head up ‘n down, pumping his fleshy pillar of length in your free hand before you start writhing your ass against his face even more quicker. geto moans, a surge of a trill nearly escaping out his gruff vocal chords before he grunts loudly. “mmp,” and your throat was so wet ‘n warm.

it enveloped him entirely, and as your cunt’s sitting over his slick lips—every so often rubbing against his nose and slick-streamed chin, he peppers it with a few kisses.

your hips were arched ‘n askew, and as your tongue occasionally darts down his sensitive slit you hear him grunt again. the burgundy colored sofa pathetically dips inward due to the stacked weight of both rutting bodies. geto’s eyes start to roll their way back as you continue, nearly sucking the soul out of him.

“fuck, baby. spit on it,” he groans, clasping his teeth at your needy clit.

he slides his tongue against your cute bulbous-shaped nub before sucking on it for the umpteenth time. you moan, still tossing your ass around for him in a slow meandering manner, feeling his tongue drag down the slope of your ass again.

geto’s pussy drunk entirely, and he didn’t care if this was against policy, having a customer touch him. when you tasted this divine, he couldn’t help devour your cunt like the starved, starved man he was..

at his words, you spat out translucent globs of saliva from your lips, pasting the slightly curved sides of his dick with your slick mess. “pff,” and you drench him from the base down, twisting his shaft with your wrist before hearing him groan.

geto’s about to finish and you could feel the vigorous pumps of his dick in your mouth growing weaker … and weaker – until, he cums.

geto’s jaw goes slack the moment his peak abnormally reaches, and growls out a husky ‘fuuuuuck,’ with the muscles in his neck tensing.

within a blink of an eye and a snap of a finger, the flat tip of your tongue’s now being sprayed with spritz of waxen cum. it’s a bittersweet taste that coats on your judgy tastebuds, and as you close your eyes with a humming moan departing from your lips, you hear him hiss. his body’s violently shaking, and his hips start to hungrily thrust into your mouth.

you wriggle your ass in face as he’s barely eating you out anymore, frantically heaving as he dumps his all down your pretty tight throat. “fuck, fuck, take it,” and his body still sporadically tremors.

as your mouth’s still full, geto gives your teary wet cunt it’s last few lapping licks before his head collapses back in lecherous defeat.

with cheeks still plumply puffed — his cock remains shoved inside. his aggravated red tip’s just swiping ‘n erupting near the roof of your mouth as you slurp him clean.

you swallow instantaneously, luxuriating in the mildly honey taste before feeling him shudder underneath you. “goddamn, so fuckin’ good. fuckin’ filthy, princess.”

with clammy palms, he turns you over and you lean in to kiss him. geto’s taken by surprise, and as you make him flop back against the velveteen cushion, you made your way on his lap. rough edges of teeth clash and roughly clatter against each other as each tongue plays a more salacious version twister.

geto reclines back, his hands moving toward your rocking waist as he grunts—tasting himself on your tongue. its bitter, but with the help of your lip gloss—it turns far more sweet within seconds. feverish breaths ghosts inside each mouth before you watch him reach near the side of him.

grabbing a half filled up bottle of mousseux, he flicks off the cork with a flick of his middle finger. geto’s eyes still closed as he’s delving his tongue right into your mouth.

the merciless smacking of lips grew louder before he pulls away, huffing breathlessly. “wan’ more of a taste real quick, princess,” and it sounds more like a needy plead. you see how flushed his face was, and geto’s eyes dart straight toward your bare chest. the top you wore was pulled down, clinging near the very bottom of your waist. “c’mere..”

and as you lean in, you watch as geto starts to pour down a small stream of champagne all down your chest. right between your tits, cupping underneath your tummy so none wouldn’t spill further down.

he makes sure a few glosses over your pretty round breasts before he grunts, closing the distance between your chest.

geto buries his face in between the valley of your tits, licking it right up. the bubbly fruity taste lingers on his tongue as he laps you up from top to bottom moaning at the spicy sweetness.

a mixture of your skin and champagne—better than any cocktail this club’s ever served.

“f- fuck,” he moans, lying his tongue flat. geto stares at you the entire time too, and his mouth gradually trails it way toward your damp neglected nipples. he cups his lips around the first nipple—slowly transitioning to the next before slurping the drink right off your body.

a tight breath gets caught in your throat as he continues to lick the rainy drops of sugary champagne off your body. geto groans, savoring the taste before with a loud ‘plop’, he pops your tender wet nipple out of his mouth.

there’s nothing but utter lust and infatuation in his eyes—and he then gets up to kiss you. the room’s nearly pitch dark without the help of the dim effulgent red lights that shined against you both. it added to the mood perfectly.

as tongues continue to try to assert dominance, you moan right in the dancer’s mouth, returning the gesture of swapping gauzy strings of gossamer spit.

abruptly though, you pull away, gently pushing geto back against the sofa.

with a raspy ‘ugh,’ geto lands on his back as you give him a light shove. he’s at your mercy, and you stand up from his lap, a wind of confidence coming out of nowhere and nearly pulling you forward.

he stares at you with hooded cunt-drunk eyes, watching you do a figure eight with your body.

“what’s . . this?” he huffs, burly arms stretching over each edge of the sofa. you looked so pretty, eyeing him up and down as he does the exact same to you.

the luminescent lights started to beam on you now, highlighting your curves and entire physique.

“lie back,” you murmur, slowly sashaying toward him. geto runs a hand through his hair, his dick twitching from the cool air wafting against it. you teasingly drag a finger down the scarred middle line of his bare-puffed chest, stopping at a hardened row of his brick-made abs. “i wanna try your little routine.”

“yeahh?” geto snickers, sucking in a sharp breath once you spin around, bending all the way over. the helmet that was still on your head—you put it back on him, watching him scoff at your audacity.

so you stole his profession now, great.

as you’re turned the other way, you slowly wriggle your ass in front of him, putting a hand over your sopping pussy and he kisses his teeth. “tch. don’t tease, sweetheart,” and geto’s allured stare fixates on you the entire time. his dilated irises frantically roamed around every and any part of your body like a laser. “fuck,” he grunts, watching you finally make your way on his lap.

geto’s all submissively underneath you—bare ‘n exposed with his poor tip flushed. its color was a sheeny carmine red that’s akin to a ripe cerise rose.

a few dried up splotches of cum stick near his weighty sides before he shudders. your ass sits on his flaccid dick before you start to move.

slowly,

you’re rutting into him—just like he was to you, grinding back and forth. geto looks so pretty though, underneath you. he’s still panting a bit, sweating bullets as you tease him with your crazed hips.

you weren’t at his level quite yet, but fuck could you move. geto groans, feeling your sloppy pussy rub off against his dick. you were so close to his tip that his foreskin would peel back a bit. “do you wanna touch me?”

touché..

geto narrows his eyes at you as you tease him, repeating his exact words from what he said to you earlier.

he doesn’t just touch you, he fucks you—

but in this case . . you fuck him.

geto holds back a moan as he’s watching his claret-colored cockhead disappear between your sappy folds. it’s like a magic trick, and with a ‘poof!’ half of length vanished within you.

you let off a soft shrilling whine, trying to writhe yourself around his length.

his dick was fat. ‘eyes-rolling-tongue-lolling-drag-your-nails-down-his back-’ type of fat.

and his girth only made things ten times more intense. you felt him rearranging your guts within each prolonged inch you took – literally.

you’re as slow as a snail with the way you try to take him wholly. even as you’re gingerly sinking your bare ass down with his cock snug ‘n deep inside you, he easily kisses against your g-spot.

it’s happening already, and you don’t even realize he’s fully in before a cooing whimper rawly snatches from the back of your dry esophagus. “oh fuck,” you huff, tossing your arms around the dark haired man.

geto’s got the same wide-eye-jaw-dropped reaction to you, and with one arm snaking around your waist—another’s tightly gripping onto your right ass cheek.

he spanks it, giving it a short squeeze afterward. your chest starts to heave in quickened intervals, and once he feels you starting to move it’s game fuckin’ over..

“god, pussy’s ‘ta die for,” he groans, eyes sexily rolling back until his sockets show nothing but white.

you had him whipped, and he can hear your cunt trying to have a word of its own, squelching out cute gargled squelches. you start to ride him at a mere hypnotic rhythm—and geto’s a lot more vocal now.

with his adam’s apple bobbing, both hands of his were now gripping onto your waist now. piles of money surround you too, a few sticking against his sweaty beefy thighs. “fuck me,” he grunts, and it’s more like he’s begging.

geto locks eyes with you, shaggy long bangs running past his eyes before he securely grabs your hips—trying to keep up pace with you. “mhm, thaaa’s it. ride it, ride . . the shit out of me, uuughhh.”

“ ‘m trying,” you moan, biting your lip each time his swollen cockhead plummets its way deep.

he’s just so big—you couldn’t wrap your head around how a guy could be so damn big.

the good kind of big, and each time he’d seep a single girthy inch into you, your stomach would churn like butter. he’s in sooo deep, your legs could barely support yourself anymore and he had to hold you steady.

as he pulls you all the way down, geto reaches waaay inside of your sloppy gripping cunt that’s oh-so desperate to wring him like a vice.

his thick cock greets your pretty fleshy cervix, mimicking a soft ‘knock’ before introducing itself with a welcoming pound.

he holds your hips, pumping himself into you again, and again, until your pussy remembered each stroke, each thrust, each fuckin’ letter of his name—front to last..

slow but fucking deep.

you gasp, clinging onto his neck before soft hurried pants of ‘yeah, yeah’ ‘s scurry past your glossed lips.

geto’s dewy eyes were half lidded and he’s never felt more pussy drunk in his life. trust—he’s had his fair share of women but oh, you were far different. it was something about you, and he just wanted more after each carnal second passed.

you’re so into his dick givin’ your pussy a fuck of a lifetime that you don’t even realize your hand was now wrapped around his thick neck. not too tight, but geto’s reaction time was slow also. once he realizes seconds after you did, he sheepishly scoffs before slyly humming.

“goddd, y’r so fuckin’ hot when you choke me,” he purrs, tugging at the panties that pull to the side of your thighs. of course he’d enjoy it, and as his dick’s still massaging your gummy walls, he moans. “harderrr.”

“don’t be greedy,” you mumble, burying your knees into his bulky thighs.

the way you rocked against him was hypnotic—and geto’s hands remain on your waist.

you nearly shudder, feeling the various cold bands of his rings run and tickle down your skin. he’s in love with your body, and even more in love with the way you feel from the inside.

leaning in close until you’re just inches away from his spit-slicked lips, your thumb runs its way down the bulging ball that lies inside his throat. “say ‘pretty pleaseee.’ ”

“tsk,” geto scowls, and even with a pout he’s effortlessly attractive. your hips continued to champion its way up ‘n down at a deranged pace as you moved, and his cock’s pumping you full over and over and over. with a vexed grunt, he utters. “pretty please, choke me harder.”

leaning in to kiss the side of his mouth, you whisper a crooning, “good boy,” and geto whines the moment you add a bit more pressure around his neck.

his hair’s all in his face, and your ass was just ruthless.

ferociously slamming down onto his stout cock, you’re drenching him from the base down with your syrup-coated slick. a bit of your own sloppy arousal glues against the pried apart crevices of your thighs—pasting against his as well.

it’s a mess, and with how close he was getting, he was about to create an even bigger one..

geto felt like he was ascending—and with how you were riding him, it didn’t take him long before he’s close again.

yet this time—so were you, and you could recognize the feeling all too well. geto’s cock stretched you to capacity, and he grabs the few dollar bills that scatter on the sofa, throwing it at your body whilst you rode him. he makes it rain on you, spanking your ass with a crumbled up hundred rubbing against your stung skin.

“fuck, ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum again,” he grunts in your ear, feeling your pace accelerate by a mile. you were draining him, preparing to milk him and the thought of him stuffing your cunt full made you pulse.

your tongue salivated at just imagining it..

the warmth, the stickiness, the way it’d spill between your thighs. you’re moaning out sweet noises yourself as you both rut into each other at a demented overzealous pace. geto’s thick thighs clench—and while you’re letting out cute blubs of his name on repeat until it’s the only syllables your dumb brain could register—he pulls you close. “ngh, same time, pretty girl. cum with me, let’s make a . . hah, mess together.”

“okay,” you mewl out, both hips pivoting in lascivious unison.

both sweaty mounds of flesh blissfully bounce into at other and each squelch makes you whimper out in ecstasy.

you cup geto’s pecs, smearing a thumb over his pierced nipples and he whines instantly. you lean in to suck against the bars that slash through his tender areola. geto leans back manspread, growling out husky, ‘fuuuuck!’ ‘s as you hum, giving both his nipples its few seconds of attention.

it lasts for seconds that felt like years, and one you pull away he lets out a cute blasé huff.

as your cunt’s in the midst of overflowing—your hips tremor once more time before within milliseconds, you both cum.

it’s quick..

and with your jaw dropping and geto’s shoulders fatally sagging after his big, heavy sigh—he starts to fill you up ounce after ounce.

it’s patching hot, and the second he’s beginning to spill ‘n dump out his perfect ivory ribbons of cum inside of you, you grunt out a melodic finishing, “fuuuck.”

swinish, weak hands grab at your ass as you come undone also—whimpering soft defeating babbles from the sensitive feeling of your cunt spasming right between your jittery numb legs.

you feel static … shock, electricity pulsing through your veins all at once. your entire body was turning haywire. as you start to grow limb right with geto underneath you—nirvana runs through each individual axon on your body before you hear a loud ‘pop.’

it’s more of a sopping squishing sound, and you were so dumbed down from his dick that you didn’t even realized how full you were..

peeking down, he filled you to the brim. wads and wads and wads of cum went inside of you and you moan, spreading your ass apart while craning your neck around just to see for yourself.

“ ‘m so full, suguru,” you pant, sliding a thumb down your sputtering cunt that’s plugged with both his cock and his thin oozing seed. you lick your lips before turning back towards geto and he’s absolutely fucked stupid.

you rode him so good to the point where he’s just stammering out inaudible whines. it’s cute, and you lean in to kiss him once more.

oh.. he was hooked.

he deepens with a few clingy hands feeling at your chest. the kiss gets more passionate rather than sloppy, and as he’s still buried inside of your cunt—he slowly starts to trail butterfly kisses down your neck. you moan, turning your head before you pull away. “shit, i almost f- forgot.”

“forgot what?” he hoarsely rasps, watching you unalign yourself, plopping down on the sofa with a big content sigh.

geto leans in, allowing his thumb to draw circles around your hips before you reach in for your purse, pulling out another decorated vip pass.

sheepishly, you utter. “my friends bought me two sessions with two dancers. so i have another one after you,” and you glance at the clock, squinting before you let off a bashful titter. “. . . oh, that was way past thirty minutes.”

“who? what dancer, sweetheart?” geto utters with a pout. he was still aching, already missing his you felt from the inside. he watches as you squint at your pass that reads the dancer’s stage name and / or full name on the back.

“uhh, it says t—”

“she means me,” and the both of you spin heads, ogling at the glittery red carpet and decorated pathway that was once covered up.

you could hear geto that laid beside you muttering out a jealous, ‘fuck,’ as you meet the other dancer’s gaze.

he’s wearing a leopard thong with an added on accessory of the most smuggest grin you’ve ever seen.

a slashed scar runs down the right side of his crooked curved lips and you spot bills sticking at both sides of his halfway on thong that nearly shows his sharp hips before he hums.

“name’s toji,” and you’re suddenly being lifted up by strong, tatted brawny arms before he turns around, winking at a very pissed of geto before trodding out the private room with you in his arms.

“i’ll take it from here,” and feral green eyes with an even more feral grin. “ain’t that right, birthday girlll?”

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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

Text

✎ forever

- gojo satoru x reader

the three times he asked you to marry him

genre: slightly suggestive, fluff/comfort, silly and lovesick gojo, wedding proposals, mild angst, mentions of injury and protective gojo

note: i was inspired by some fics with this kind of trope and i can totally see gojo asking you to marry him while he's dead drunk—

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Why don't we get married?"

The first time Satoru brought this up was right after you both had exhausted yourselves in an intense, passionate lovemaking session.

His bare skin was against yours, and the intimacy of it almost made you want to go along with his suggestion, until you grasped the profound meaning behind his words.

"Satoru," you breathed out, still breathless as you came down from your high. "Are you seriously asking me that now?"

A dopey smile was on his face. "Yeah, is there a problem with it?"

You blinked. The nerve of this clown-head—

"Not even a proper proposal? Or a ring?" you scowled. "Considering your usual flair, this is a rather lackluster attempt at a proposal."

Of course, you weren't a material girl, but considering his big ego and tendency to go overboard, you just had to call him out.

"Hmm? So if there's a grand proposal and I bought you a ring, then you'll say yes?"

There was practically a twinkle in those bright eyes of his now, and you were a bit caught off guard because well, so he is for real?

You’d be lying if you said that the thought of marrying him hadn’t crossed your mind. But to be frank, Gojo Satoru didn't strike you as someone who was interested in anything as cliché as marriage and everything that comes with it.

Which brought you back to this point—you had absolutely no idea what possessed him to bring up this question.

"Hah," you let out a sardonic laugh. "Not that easy. I'll think about it."

When he let out a “Ehhh?”, and started sulking, you were quite sure, and dismissed the question as one of his passing whims.

The second time he posed the question, he was a babbling, slurring mess of alcohol and hiccups.

"Can't we—hic!—" His face was flushed, and he was pitifully wobbling on his feet. "—just get married—hic!—already?"

This time you scoffed, partly out of disdain, crossing your arms in front of you. Satoru seemed to pick up on your unfavorable reaction and attempted to convince you. "I'm being—"

"No," you sternly interrupted, supporting him as he struggled to stay on his feet. You shot an unapologetic look at the other patrons in the bar who were watching you both with disapproving frowns. "Satoru, we're going home."

"I'm—hic!—asking you to marry me!"

"I said no."

"Why?!"

You sighed. "You're dead drunk."

"What will—hic—make you say yes?"

You let out another sigh. It already took a great deal of patience to deal with his immaturity as his girlfriend, and you could only imagine how much more challenging it would be as his wife.

"I'm so heartbroken," he whined, crocodile tears pooling in his eyes as he peered at you like a kicked puppy. "I got rejected twice already... How could you reject me twice?"

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics.

"Marry me."

The third time around, he was neither bringing it up on a whim or drunk, also he wasn't quite asking—his tone was almost pleading.

And you just woke up from your comatose state after a mission gone wrong, still in your bloodied uniform, eyes barely adjusting to the bright room.

Satoru let out a grunt, clasping your fingers in his warm, reassuring grip. It was evident how deeply distressed he was from the furrowed brow and the quiver in his lips as he looked down at you, as well as the gentle way he was stroking your hair.

At this moment, you wanted to cry. The fact that he was so genuinely concerned for you filled you with warmth and emotion.

. . .

He saw it happen right before him—the crimson blood flowing out of your wound like waterfall. He had screamed at you to breathe and not let go of his hand. The moment he felt your head loll back in his arms and you lost your grip on him, he could swear his own heart had stopped too.

He had never been more grateful that you—his best friend, love of his life, the only one he had left—awoke from that horrifying ordeal. Seeing you stained red by your own blood had undoubtedly distorted his point of view, but his desire to marry you, as what he had been suggesting as of late, clearly was not just a mere passing thought.

Because he is acutely aware of how cruel this world is. This damned world has always taken everything that's important to him, and before they can snatch you away too, he will claim you as his first.

"Marry me," he repeated, his voice now sounding more hoarse, not as confident as it had been the first time.

As you gazed into his beautiful eyes, it occurred to your hazy mind that you very nearly died. That you were that close to not seeing him ever again. You had been apprehensive with how he had phrased his proposals so far, and you didn't want your marriage to be a split-second decision forced by some sort of looming omen.

And yet, falling in love with Gojo Satoru had never been the easiest, but you did anyway. He still held onto your hand, patiently awaiting your response—

—but suddenly, like a sharp whiplash effect, what shocked you was that who you saw then wasn't your boyfriend.

But rather, the man with the mantle of the strongest sorcerer alive.

You could lose him just as much as he could lose you. Sooner or later, who knows? His title is both a blessing and a curse. Up until now, it has been a blessing, but who can say when it might suddenly turn into a curse that tears him away from you?

. . .

This time, you didn't snort or doubt his intention. Instead, you smiled, embracing the profound flutter in your chest as you were being proposed.

"Okay," you whispered, voice dry. "Yes… I'll marry you, Satoru."

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intromortal · 15 days ago

Text

BIRTHDAY BOY HOON IS VERY SORRY !

pairing older!sunghoon x reader

word count 1.8k

warnings smut. mdni. more of my very poor attempts at daddy kink, hoon is in his 30's, reader doesn't have a specific age but is younger. no blr reader is not a minor. oral fem receiving, lots of pet names, praise.

nia note ! have this while i try to work on 8283 other things at the same time... and happy birthday to our fav prince

“I’m so sorry, little thing,” Sunghoon whispered against your temple, your precious heartbeat on his lips making his own stutter in his chest.

“I was worried.” You said. Softly, as if speaking any louder would make Sunghoon disappear into thin air.

Sunghoon’s heart clenched again, like it first did when he walked into the apartment and found it all decorated in big heart shaped balloons, a champagne bottle in a bucket of ice that had melted all the way, accompanying glasses and candles that looked like they had once been lit; all waiting for him. He had called your name all over the place until he found you laying in bed with your ruined makeup dried on your cheeks.

“I know baby, I’m sorry. Work stuff. You know.”

Of course you knew, you had gotten to know ever since you started dating Sunghoon. Dating someone older came with its perks, but he was always so busy. You liked to joke he’d end up dating his own job someday, but lately it had started to feel a lot less like a joke and more like reality.

“But it’s your birthday!” You pushed against his chest, yet it only made him hold you even tighter. You felt so delicate and precious in his embrace, and he noted how hard you were shaking, though he couldn't tell if it was all the emotion you were feeling or if you were cold in the pretty little dress you’d chosen to wear for the special occasion. He thought it might be both.

“It’s just a birthday, it’s–”

“Would you say that about mine too?” You looked up to him, big doe eyes that looked even more innocent with your lashes clumped together by the tears.

“It’s not the same thing, baby. Your–”

“Yes it is! You have to stop thinking you’re not as important as I am in this relationship.”

You were starting to sound more distraught by the second, and Sunghoon hated it. It pulled at his heartstrings in ways he had never experienced. You were so fragile in his mind, he was supposed to protect you, to take care of you. And yet here you were, hurt by none other than him. Sometimes despite the age difference and how he’s supposed to be the wiser, the one leading the relationship, he felt like you had his heart in your hands, ready to be squeezed for all it’s worth at your whim.

“I never really celebrated my birthday,” he said, looking anywhere but your eyes. “And I need to work, for us. For you. I want to take care of you as best as I can.”

“But I need my love too.” You took his face in your hands, and looked at him with such softness in your gaze Sunghoon felt like his soul might burst out of his body to get as close to yours as possible. “I need my boyfriend, and I want him to rest sometimes. And I want to be able to give him back at least ten percent of what he gives me. And I want to love him freely like he deserves and to know that he’s doing well. No distractions.” Your foreheads pressed together, lips touching lightly as tickling feathers as you whispered.

He chuckled. “Is my job a distraction now?”

“It is if it keeps you away from me more than necessary.”

“We really need the money though.”

“I love you, Park Sunghoon. Not your money.”

The air felt lighter, and Sunghoon felt like he could breathe again when he noticed the faint hint of a smile on your pretty face. That’s what he wanted to see all his life. No more frowns on your forehead, no more tears down your cheeks—unless it’s from how good you are feeling, that is.

You could tell he wanted to kiss you, but was hesitant in case you were still too upset. Like you could ever be too upset to kiss him. So you took the first step, and that’s all he needed. Sunghoon immediately melted against your lips, soft sighs of pleasure leaving him.

“Love you too, baby.” He pulled back the tiniest bit, just enough to look at you as he caressed your face with his thumb. “Missed you so much. Never wanna miss you like this again. I’m sorry.”

You glanced at the alarm clock on your bedside table, next to the chocolate you had bought to try for the night. That could wait another time.

“There’s still a little time to make up for it, birthday boy,” you said, placing soft pecks on Sunghoon’s face until you got him to smile. The smile that had made you fall head over heels for him so quickly, with the sharp canines and the faintest ghost of a dimple on his cheek. The smile that made him look so boyish even in his thirties.

You tried to get up, but he kept his hands on your waist, leaving you unable to move.

“What does my pretty girl think she’s doing?”

“Want to make you feel good…”

“Mhh, is that so?”

You nodded shyly, feeling exposed under his gaze even if completely covered, a different intensity to it, one you knew very well, yet one that still left you breathless every time.

“Then lay back for daddy and let him do the work, mmkay?”

You tried to protest, feeling it was unfair since it was still his birthday after all. But Sunghoon ignored any complaint and immediately slid his hands down to the hem of your dress. He bunched the fabric up at your waist, revealing your bare cunt to the air.

“No panties? My baby is so naughty.”

“‘s for you,” you gasped, two his fingers dragging up and down your slit mid sentence.

“Of course it is, all for me mhh.” He collected your juices, spreading them all over your pussy as he worked on it, getting you all nice and ready for him.

“So so naughty,” he murmured. “Look at how wet you are getting baby, it’s dripping down my wrist.” He raised his hand to prove the point, the cuff of his work shirt spotting a wet patch. “Daddy makes your pretty princess parts this wet? You’re so, so good.”

Sunghoon lowered on the bed, his strong arms grabbing your thighs and dragging you towards his face, his cock that had started stiffening up in his pants twitching at your little yelp of surprise. You were just so cute, it made him so horny. So cute and adorable, all for him to eat up.

He nuzzled his face right into your heat, inhaling your scent. Embarrassed, you tried to close your legs, but it was all futile.

“You wanna hide this from me?” he said, looking up at you from between your legs before drawing a long fat stripe with his tongue, from your fluttering hole to your clit. He hummed at the taste, dipping down right away for seconds. And thirds.

“Missed this pussy, so fucking much. It’s all I could think about at work. Made daddy’s cock so hard.” He ran his tongue all over your cunt, not leaving a single inch unexplored.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he spoke against your heat, mouthful of your juices muffling the sound as he refused to relent. “Will make it up to you, I promise.”

He swiped his tongue over your clit, repeating the action when you let out a louder moan, alternating from side to side flicks to light sucks, his cheeks hollowing with the motion.

You looked down between your legs, the sight of the older man so focused on pleasuring you sending electricity jolts down your spine, unable to stop your hips from bucking desperately against his firm hands.

Sunghoon seemed to get the hint, lowering his mouth down to your hole that was fluttering around nothing and desperate for any attention. He gave it a few kitten licks before shoving his tongue in as far as he could, massaging your warm insides in all the right ways. His nose made contact with your clit every time he pushed his tongue far inside you, providing all the stimulation you needed as you lifted your hips to grind against his face. Sunghoon looked up to you, his eyes so glazed over with pleasure one might think he was the one getting tongue fucked so passionately, his bangs sticking to his forehead, wrinkled in concentration. His fingers were digging into your skin, nails sure to leave moon crescents, but neither of you cared. Not when you were so close to coming all over his face.

His pace got faster, and all you could do to ground yourself was grab a fistful of his hair, pushing him further into your heat. Sunghoon was not able to breathe, but he couldn't bring himself to care, the feeling of your warmth on his face and your thighs squishing his head far too good for him to ever consider stopping. He moaned right into you, the vibrations just what you needed to be sent over the edge, your head moving to the side and pushing against the pillow to silence your noises as searing white overtook your vision.

Sunghoon kept working his tongue inside you, relishing in the clenches of your orgasm and how your pussy seemed to beg for him to always stay inside you. But he eventually pulled out, moving to place kisses all over the skin of your thighs as you rode the aftershocks.

“Did so well for daddy, tasted so sweet” he whispered, going back to your cunt and lowering to suckle on your clit one last time, smiling to himself when you whined in overstimulation, not having yet completely cooled down.

“Are you alright, pretty?” He came up to your line of vision, cradling your face in his big hands.

“Mhmh.”

“C’mon pretty, use your big girl words.”

“‘s all good,” you slurred your words slightly, mind still reeling from your orgasm. You blinked a few times, finally looking at your boyfriend. The sight alone sent hot waves of need in your lower belly all over again.

Sunghoon’s hair was all sweaty and disheveled, the bottom half of his face completely soaked in your juices, which you could taste when he pulled you in for a quick kiss.

“That’s good, little girl.” He flipped you over once you had slightly regained your breath. He grabbed your hips and made you arch your back, pulling your bottom half against his crotch. He pressed his very hard cock, still covered by his slacks, against your bare pussy, the wetness seeping on his pants right away to form a wet patch. “Because daddy hasn't forgotten how you interrupted him earlier, so now he will put his precious baby in her place.”

#sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon drabble #enhypen x reader #enhypen drabble

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zooophagous · 2 years ago

Note

So why do you hate the advertising industry?

Hokay so.

Let me preface this with some personal history. It's not relevant to the sins of the advertising industry perse but it illustrates how I started to grow to hate it.

I wanted to be a veterinarian growing up, but to be a vet you basically have to be good enough to get into medical school. I do not have the math chops or discipline to make it in medical school. I went into art instead, and in a desperate attempt to find some commercial viability that didn't involve moving to California, I went into graphic design.

I've been a graphic designer for about seven or eight years now and I've worn a lot of hats. One of them was working in a print shop. Now, the print shop had a lot of corporate customers who had various ad campaigns. One of them was Gate City Bank, which had a bigass stack of postcards ordered every couple months to mail to their customers.

Now, paper comes from Dakota Paper, and they make their paper the usual way. Somewhere far, far from our treeless plain there is a forest of tall trees. These trees are cut down and put on big fossil fuel burning trucks and hauled to a paper mill that turns them into pulp while spewing the most fowl odors imaginable over the neighboring town and loads the pulp up with bleach to give it a nice white color.

Then the paper is put on yet another big truck and hauled off to the local paper depot, then put on another big truck and delivered to my print shop, where I turned the paper into postcards telling people to go even deeper into debt to buy a boat because it's almost summer. The inks used are a type of nasty heat sensitive plastic that is melted to the surface of the paper with heat. Then the postcards are put on yet ANOTHER truck and sent to the bank, which puts them on ANOTHER truck and finally into the hands of their customers, who open their mail and take one look at the post card and immediately discard it.

Heaps and heaps and literal hundreds of pounds of literal garbage created at the whim of the marketing team several times a year. And thats just one bank in one city.

I came to realize very quickly that graphic design was the delicate art of turning trees into junk mail.

And wouldn't you know it there are a TON of companies that basically only do junk mail. Many of them operate under the guise of a "charity," sending you pictures of suffering children or animals and begging for handouts and when they get those handouts the executives take a nice fat cut, give some small token amount to whatever cause they pay lip service to, and then put the rest of the cash right back into making more mailers. "Direct mail marketing" they call it.

Oh but maybe it's not so bad, you can advertise online after all. Now that there's decent ad blocker out there and better anti-virus ads usually don't destroy your computer anymore just by existing.

Except now when I search for the exact business I want on Google it's buried under three or four different "promoted search items" tricking me into clicking on them only to shoot themselves in the foot because I searched for the specific result I wanted for a reason and couldn't use those other websites even if I felt like it.

And now we have advertising on YouTube and on every streaming service, forcing more and more eyes onto the ad for the brand new Buick Envision that parks itself because you're too stupid to do it on your own.

Oh thats ok maybe I'll get Spotify premium and go ad free and listen to some podcasts- SIKE we have the hosts of your show doing the song and dance now. Are you depressed and paranoid from listening to my true crime podcast about murdered and mutilated teenagers? That's ok, my sponsor Better Help can keep you sane enough to stay alive and spend more money.

It's gotten so terrible that now you have content farms, huge hubs of shell companies that crank out video after video to get more and more precious clicks. Which if the videos were innocuous maybe that wouldn't be so awful except now you have cooking hacks that can actually burn your house down and craft hacks that can electrocute you being flung into your eyes at the speed of mach fuck so some slimy internet clickbait jockey doesn't need to get a real job.

It of course goes without saying that animals are also relentlessly exploited by clickbait companies that will put them in compromising situations on purpose to create a fake fishing hack video or even just straight up killing them for sport by feeding small animals to a pufferfish that rips them apart for the camera.

And all of this, ALL of this doesn't even touch how adveritising is the death of art in general. Queer topics, any kind of interesting art, any kind of sex or substance use topics are scrubbed clean and hidden at the behest of advertisers.

Sex education, a nude statue, topics such as racism or sexism or bigotry in general have tags purged or hidden from search, even life saving information about SDTs or drug use, because if someone saw that and complained then Verizon might sell fewer tablets and we can't fucking have that.

Conservative talking heads often bitch and moan that they're being censored on social media. The stupid part is, they're right! They are being censored! But it's not by a woke mob, it's by ATT and Coca Cola not wanting their adspace sharing screen time with their stupid fucking opinions.

However, they won't ever figure that out, because the talking heads they get their marching orders from like Tucker and Jones ALSO rely on the sweet milk flowing from the sponsorship teat and they aren't about to turn on their meal ticket so they have to come up with even stupider shit to say for the train to continue rolling.

I managed to rant this far without even getting into the ads I see for the beauty industry. The other day a botox ad described wrinkles as "moderate to severe crows feet" as if wrinkles are a symptom of a fucking serious disease! Like having a flaw in your skin is a medical problem that you need thousands of dollars of literal botulism toxin to fix! I was incandescent with anger.

Advertising is a polluting, censoring, anti educational and anti art industry at it's very core. It destroys human connections, suppresses human thought and makes us hate our own bodies. It ads no value, actively detracts from value, and serves no real purpose and I believe it should be almost if not entirely banned.

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sinofwriting · 4 months ago

Text

Claiming - Max Verstappen (Dark Fic)

Words: 2,231 Summary: In a world where F1 drivers can claim someone as a wife while at a race, here is Max’s version. Note(s): DARK FIC, NSFW. Reader is essentially kidnapped. I’d like to thank lovey on Ko-fi for commissioning this. I had a lot of fun writing this and oh boy did it take a turn I wasn’t expecting. Takes place in 2023. Also, once again thank you to 🦢 anon for this idea and all your thoughts! Claiming wouldn’t be a thing without you.

Charles’ Version

Masterlist | Support Me!

Since a month ago the emotion she’s felt most is confusion. From the moment a security guard and an FIA official escorted her from the grandstands to the Red Bull garage, to Max Verstappen’s drivers room. From him gently grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it, to the conference room where the FIA official explained things to her and god, she felt like she had only heard every three words, to now.

Max is the source of all her confusion, because he is confusing. He’s aggressive and dominant on track. So clearly hates press and events he’s forced to go to. If he likes you, he likes to make you laugh and make sure you’re happy. He’s attentive in a way she didn’t know was possible.

As soon as they were in Monaco after the race, after he claimed her, and she fiddles with the heavy diamond ring on her finger at the thought, he had taken her to the grocery store, claiming that his fridge and pantry were empty since he’d just come home from a triple header. She hadn’t realized then but as they walked through the grocery store he had watched her closely. Watched what shelves she paused at, what brands and items she put in the cart versus the ones she made small faces at. Making a note of them all.

It wasn’t until a few days later when someone came by to drop off groceries and she saw all that all the groceries were things and brands she likes that she started to realized that it’s quietness in the grocery store, him following behind her, hadn’t been him giving her a bit of space, some grace, but rather him making notes of what she likes.

She’s unable to hide anything from him, which is even more confusing, because he doesn’t know her. Had chosen her seemingly on a whim. When she was told why she got taken his driver’s room by the FIA official, she had thought it was some sort of prank, a joke, but as three different binders had been laid out in front of her and proof of everything had been shown to her, had proved that she had been claimed, that she was now married to Max Verstappen the odd, weird, confusing reality had sunk in.

She had honestly figured as she laid awake next to Max that night that she would be just kept at his place for quick relief. Asked to undress and roll or bend over whenever he needed a quick easy fuck along with someone to keep his place clean and cooked meals in the fridge. She hadn’t expected for him to not even touch her like that.

He did however like to look at her like that. Eyes darkening, just a little narrowed as his jaw would sometimes twitch, deep breaths through his nose. But he never touched her like that which made her more confused because he did touch her.

He kissed her hand in greeting, put his hand on her lower back, would sling an arm around her waist, put his arm over her shoulders. He’d make their legs intertwine in bed or practically blanket her with his body when he didn’t have her cuddling into him, head resting on his t-shirt covered chest. Max hadn’t even tried kissing her on the lips despite clearly wanting to with the way he would sometimes stare at them as she talked.

Max Verstappen is confusing.

—

Max knows that he was supposed to claim a wife much sooner than he did. He could have done so the day of his first win, when they pulled him aside and told him that he could. He knows that’s what they wanted. They wanted him to claim a wife, to calm down, to bring a little less negative press to the sport. Luckily it was up to him to decide and there was no way in fucking hell he was claiming a wife. He made that clear in his celebrations with the team and his private words to people about how the FIA could fuck off.

He was also lucky that Red Bull backed his decision. He was their first driver since Mark Webber to get to claim a wife, the youngest in the history of the sport. The FIA couldn’t pressure him into it or punish him for not claiming anyone yet, but they could try and flaunt options for him to choose from. And they did. They did every year at nearly every race until finally the start of the 2022 season happened and there was a number one on his car.

That didn’t mean they stopped during the 2022 season, it was just significantly less than before. And now in 2023, just a few races away from winning his third championship, they hadn’t bothered him at all. The end of Monza marked them never being able to bother him again, he thinks as he watches his wife look at the clothes he had delivered for her. His now three championship trophies somewhat framing her with how she stands in front of the large couch.

They were all in her sizes, some from brands that she already had clothes from and other’s from more luxury brands that he had to be familiar with. She liked the one a lot, her fingers kept going back to the two tops from there, rubbing the fabric. He’ll have to take her to their store after COTA, he muses. The heat in Qatar had been too much for his poor wife and it had even got the better of him.

“Do you like them?” He asks, wrapping his arms around her from behind, relishing in the sharp inhale she gives, the slight sped up breathing.

“I do. They are all really nice.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, making a note to not buy her anymore hoodies, or at least buy them for himself and wear them a few times. She had worn so many of his, he figured she’d want one or two of her own, but the hoodie was the only thing her eyes and fingers had not returned to. “Good. I have some jewelry coming for you tomorrow as well.”

“Oh, thank you, Max.”

“Of course, vrouw.” He smirks at the way her body shivers at the Dutch word for wife.

—

It’s been nearly three months since Monza, since Max claimed her, since she became his wife. Which means it’s been three months since the last time she got off, six months since she last had sex. The sex part she can deal with, but she doesn’t think she’s gone this long without masturbating since she learned what it was and started doing it. And it feels like it’s killing her.

Because Max… Max is handsome. She’s seen tweets and things about how Max is ugly and she can’t even begin to comprehend that. He has some of the bluest eyes she’s ever seen, a nice jaw just barely covered with facial hair, slightly pouty lips and god it kills her that she hasn’t kissed them yet, kissed the freckle that rests on his top left lip. He has broad shoulders, strong arms, large hands, fingers that make her thighs press together when they tap against her hips or press into her. And his thighs. Every time she sees them, whether it’s in shorts or boxers, she can feel herself clench around nothing.

Maybe he wouldn’t affect her so much if he didn’t so clearly want her back. But he does. His eyes more and more frequently watching her, want simmering in them. And he’s never been shy about his morning wood, but instead of tilting his hips away from her, scooting away, or just adjusting her so it’s not pressed against her, now he stays. Lets her choose to move away when she feels him against her.

She never moves away, not until they absolutely have to get up.

She’s reached her limit, however. She constantly feels turned on, a warmth always burning inside of her, sometimes getting stoked to burn a little hotter and she fears that if she doesn’t get off in the next few hours she will jump Max. It’s tempting to just get to it, just lay down and fuck herself quickly, but that won’t leave her satisfied. She needs more than one quick orgasm to satisfy herself and she’s in luck because Max is leaving the house, having been invited to a paddle match.

She accepts the kiss on the cheek he gives her, wishing him good luck and then waits by the front door for a few minutes before turning and nearly rushing to the bedroom. Her arms somehow get tangled in her tank top as she pulls it off and her fingers fumble with her pajama pants and underwear as she tries to push them down. It takes longer than she wants, but finally she’s undressed. There’s an urge to fall onto the bed, but she forces it away, forces herself to take a deep breath as she goes to their closet.

Going to one of her shoe boxes, she lifts the lid, breath shaky as her fingers touch the lace of a La Perla balconette. She had never spent more than seventy dollars on a bra before Max, had privately thought people who spent more than a hundred dollars on scraps of lace and fabric were crazy but as she feels this against her fingers, she understands why people spend so much.

Her fingers are surprisingly steady as she puts on the balconette and matching panties. As she looks at herself in the mirror, hands rubbing at the body, her breath catches. She looked good, hot even. The lace against her skin making her blood rush.

She’s nearly back into the bedroom when she spots the shirt that Max had been wearing to sleep in last night. It’s just barely hanging on the edge of the hamper, about to fall on the floor. Before she can stop herself, she snags it and throws it on, breathing in the familiar and nice smell of Max.

Laying on the bed, she runs her hands over her body, eyes fluttering shut as they go under her shirt. Her breath catches as they trail over her stomach, fingers pausing at the waistband of her panties before moving back. They trace over the lace details of her top, breath catching when the tips of her fingers catch on her pebbled nipples. Moaning as she twists and pulls at them lightly, thighs pressing together.

She continues to play with her breasts, enjoying the feel of them and the lace in her hands. Drawing moans and whines from herself as she squeezes them, pinching and twisting her nipples, grazing her nipples with the tip of her finger. She’s aching for more, her panties damp. Her dominant hand leaves her breast, fingers just about to slip into her panties and there’s a hand clamping around her wrist.

Her eyes fly open, a gasp leaving her. “Max.” Her other hand drops away from her breast.

His grip on her wrist tightens, eyes darker than she’s ever seen them. Her name comes out in a near growl.

Her tongue darts out, swiping across her bottom lip and Max’s eyes fall to them at the motion and she breaks. “Please. Max, please.”

“Please what?”

She takes a shaky breath, “Touch me, kiss me. Please, Max.”

It’s like she blinks and he’s on top of her, his hand no longer gripping her wrist but instead gripping at her hip as he kisses her. She moans at the roughness of it, not even noticing him adjusting her until he’s fully in between her legs, one of them hitched around his waist. She only notices when he grinds their hips together, the friction making her break the kiss, panting as her fingers rake over his back.

“Max. Please.”

“What vrouw? Am I not kissing you?” He presses a kiss to her neck, over the flutter of her pulse. “Touching you?” He rolls his hips into hers.

She throws her head back at the contact. “I want,” a whine leaves her as he dips his head, running his tongue over her still lace covered nipple. “Fuck, Max.”

His hand still gripping her at her hip tightens its hold and she hopes he leaves bruises. “What do you want?”

“I want,” She nearly loses her train of thought again when grinds into her again. “Want you to fuck me. Please, Max, want you so bad.”

He groans, head resting on her chest as he gives a slightly stuttered thrust.

The slight loss of control makes her moan, her other leg moving to wrap around him, encouraging him to grind against her. She wants him. She wants him to touch her everywhere, not leave a single place that hasn’t felt his touch. She wants to feel his breath against her lips, his teeth sinking into her skin. She wants the press of bruises as he holds her tighter than maybe he should. She wants him sinking into her over and over again even though she hasn’t felt it once yet. She wants and wants and she doesn’t think that doing this once, twice, a hundred, a thousand times, will satisfy that want.

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen dark fic #max verstappen smut #f1 dark fic #f1 smut #sins fics #claiming a wife : max #claiming a wife

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wheneverfeasible · 5 months ago

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Bullshit (part 2/3)

Continuation “fix it” of this ficlet where Steve changed himself to try to earn Eddie’s love.

Steve missed his polos.

He missed his light wash jeans, his music, watching his favorite movies, he even missed his stupid plaid walls.

Eddie had laughed at them the first time he’d been in Steve’s room, back before they’d even started dating. Technically they were still there, they were just covered up with posters of bands Steve only knew about because his boyfriend liked them. Eddie had teasingly gifted him a Black Sabbath one back when they had just been friends to give his room more “personality” instead of his mostly undecorated room, which…okay, fair, because Steve had admittedly not done much of it himself just because he couldn’t be bothered.

(And he did, actually, kind of like the poster because it was their own little inside joke. It made him smile when he saw it, even to this day, even if he thought he could still taste the damned demobat sometimes.)

It wasn’t like he really knew much of who he was to begin with. He still had the bowling pin he and Tommy had stolen from the bowling lane their sophomore year (Steve’s idea, though only to impress his friend), and the picture of the car he had bought on a whim because Tommy had said he wanted a car just like it. Any other knickknack had either been gifted or purchased for a similar intent.

Now, that car picture was collecting dust in his closet, replaced by the Black Sabbath poster that Eddie had pinned to the wall slightly askew for ‘aesthetics,’ though it being slightly off-center and at an angle made Steve a little itchy. Soon, however, other posters soon followed, some given to him by Eddie and some he purchased himself after learning what bands Eddie liked, with a large Dio one taking up space by his bed.

Flyers of Corroded Coffin shows or other band merch dotted around the room as well, which he didn’t really mind because he liked supporting his boyfriend, though the clutter and disorganization slightly bothered him. Eddie had grinned at the sight however and called him a ‘real boy now’ for looking like the room of a young man and not a ‘30-something corporate stooge,’ so that would have to be fine too.

But he still missed his room looking like his room, instead of a replica of Eddie’s. It made Eddie feel more comfortable however, so he tried not to think about how it wasn’t his aesthetic at all, because he could learn to like it. He could change for the better. He could be what Eddie wanted. He could be good enough.

Which was why he was confused, staring at the garment box on the kitchen table where he’d been circling car ads in the classifieds, trying to find something cooler than his bimmer. Eddie had come over with a wide grin, sliding a box he recognized from one of the department stores he used to shop at before dating Eddie.

Eddie had proffered it with a flourish, grinning expectantly, practically vibrating with anticipation as Steve had carefully lifted the lid and moved the tissue paper aside to reveal the piece of clothing inside. A polo shirt in a soft, buttery sort of yellow with thick vertical white stripes running vertical over it.

Steve looked up at Eddie with a furrowed brow. “I…you got me a polo?” he questioned, confused and also concerned, knowing the department store was definitely outside of Eddie’s usual price range.

“Yeah!” Eddie confirmed happily, moving to sit in the chair next to Steve, looking down at the soft material Steve had yet to pull from the box. “The check from the gig came through, and I remember you looking at this shirt a couple weeks ago. I’ve been waiting to be buy it ever since.”

Steve blinked at that. He hadn’t known Eddie had caught him admiring the shirt in the window while he and Eddie had been walking around downtown. He felt a flair of panic at the thought, annoyed at himself for slipping up, for reminding Eddie that he was a stupid preppy rich kid. Eddie didn’t look upset though, or at least…he hadn’t. Now his eyes were darting over Steve’s expression with growing worry, chewing on his lower lip.

“Is that…is that all right? Was it a different one you wanted? I-I still have the receipt, we can return it and get the one you wanted,” Eddie rushed to say.

“No,” Steve quickly said, his fingers of one hand tightening slightly on the box while his other reached out of their own accord to slightly touch the shirt within. “I…Eddie,” he breathed, not knowing what else to say, what this meant. Why would Eddie buy him something like this? “You shouldn’t waste your hard earned money on…something like this.” Shouldn’t waste your money on me, he wanted to say. “It’s your first paying gig.”

Eddie shook his head quickly, an almost embarrassed smile curling his lips with a slight blush. “I wanted to, Stevie. You always buy me things, I wanted to return the favor. You’ve been so supportive of me and I wanted to…I don’t know. Thank you.” He glanced down at the polo with a soft expression, though he did frown a little too afterwards. “I haven’t seen you wear your polos in a really long time,” he murmured quietly.

Steve tensed at Eddie’s words. Of course he hadn’t. Polos weren’t cool. Polos weren’t good enough for Eddie. It was why he was so confused at this gift. He didn’t understand why Eddie would buy him something that wasn’t metal. That wasn’t suitable for his boyfriend.

“I know that you’re experimenting with your style and all, and I won’t deny you’re hot as fuck in these,” Eddie grinned, moving to pinch the loose sleeve of Steve’s tee between his fingers. It was from some band he didn’t actually know before he’d bought the shirt, something called Leatherwolf, though he had bought their tape as well so that he could pretend to be a fan and know some of their songs. “But you look hot in your polos too. I miss them.”

Steve sat up straighter at that, his eyebrows flying up in surprise. Eddie…liked his polos? “Aren’t the polos…kind of lame?” he asked carefully.

Eddie snorted, smiling as he leaned in to press a kiss to Steve’s neck, causing a startled smile to erupt over Steve’s own lips as he squirmed at the slight tickle of Eddie’s lips and hair. “There’s nothing lame about you, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, voice roughened with his tease. He pulled back though, a touch of his worry on his expression again. “Do you like it?”

Of course Steve liked it. He loved it. It was exactly the one he had been looking at before, even though he’d tried to hide it, which meant that Eddie really had noticed it and really had been waiting to buy it for him. With his first paycheck from Corroded Coffin’s first real paying gig.

There had been the fear that Eddie’s involvement with the band would limit their options, that no one would want to listen to a band that had a member who was suspected of grisly murders. Eddie had been prepared to step down, to let the others move on without him, had offered it even though Jeff and the others had vehemently opposed the idea. They’d said that Corroded Coffin wouldn’t exist without Eddie and if he wasn’t part of it then they didn’t want to do it anymore.

In a surprise twist that probably shouldn’t have been all that surprising, Eddie’s infamy had actually helped the band. The news of his believed guilt and then later innocence and injury from the actual killer that he had tried to stop had spread even beyond Hawkins, drawing a crowd for their nights performing at The Hideout who began to see more patrons than ever before.

Then they’d been invited to participate in a Battle of the Bands, which they hadn’t won but they’d placed second, and the random shows they’d throw themselves at the quarry or wherever else saw larger crowds than usual, even the one they threw to celebrate Gareth graduating, and they’d even been asked to play at the fair, though it was a free gig.

Then, most recently, someone had approached them after one of their shows and asked to hire them for an event in Indianapolis. A paying event in Indianapolis. With it was the promise of possible future paying gigs as their fanbase grew and spread. There was even talk of a possible scout being at the gig.

Dustin had joked that maybe ‘86 hadn’t been his year, but ‘88 could be, though Eddie had just grinned and denied it, saying that ‘86 had been his year after all. He hadn’t said why, but he gave Steve a secretive smile and reached out to tangle their fingers together.

Steve felt a flare of warmth beneath his skin as he stared down at the polo again, hesitating before giving a brief nod. Eddie’s previously nervous smile bloomed into a joyous one, and he leaned in quickly to plant a smacking kiss to Steve’s cheek. Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t prevent his own smile from growing on his lips.

“Thank you, baby,” Steve murmured, sliding a hand over Eddie’s neck to draw him in for a slow kiss. He didn’t know what it meant still, Eddie buying him a polo of all things, but it made him more determined than ever to be good enough for his boyfriend.

When they pulled back, Eddie soft with happiness, Steve made the decision. He needed to go all in if he was to keep Eddie happy. He drew in a deep breath and moved to take Eddie’s hand, his finger lightly tracing one of the scars there.

“I was thinking of growing out my hair. Maybe even dying it. Or maybe shaving i—”

“Don’t you dare!” Eddie interrupted, expression and tone absolutely scandalized as he squeezed Steve’s hand. Steve jumped slightly at the sudden explosion, blinking wide eyes at Eddie, causing the other to flush slightly in embarrassment. “I mean. You can, obviously, if you really want to, it’s your hair after all, but…” Eddie let out a small whine of protest as his gaze moved up to take in Steve’s hair.

Steve self-consciously reached up with his free hand to pass his fingers through his hair, which wasn’t quite as voluminous as he used to style it, but was still the last real testament of his former style. His former personality. The bullshit one.

“I mean,” Steve hedged, glancing away with a small roll of a shoulder in an aborted shrug. “It’s not exactly metal is it?” He looked back at Eddie with a slightly strained smile, rolling his eyes as though in commiseration. “I don’t want to embarrass you by making people think you have a prep for a boyfriend,” he laughed.

Eddie’s expression changed immediately as he stilled almost unnaturally, falling into a blank neutrality, even his eyes shuttering as he slowly pulled his hand from Steve’s grip. The response caused Steve to start panicking, worrying he’d messed up in some way, that he reminded Eddie of all the ways that he was lacking.

Steve opened his mouth to start apologizing, ready to apologize for anything, but Eddie held up his hand palm out to stop him, causing Steve’s mouth to shut with a soft click of teeth.

Eddie’s gaze dropped from Steve as his brows slowly began to furrow, a calculating expression settling over him as his eyes fell to the soft yellow polo still in the box. His lips twisted into a frown. After several excruciating moments, his eyes moved towards Steve’s shirt, an even more pinched look settling over his expression.

“Who are you wearing?” Eddie asked, his voice low and slow.

Steve glanced down at his shirt, the panic in him spiking, before realizing that this was a test. He had to prove to Eddie that he could like metal too (he didn’t, not really, though he could appreciate some of it) and wouldn’t be an embarrassment. He could do this.

“Leatherwolf,” he answered, thankful that he had done his job well enough to answer this pop quiz. He straightened his spine and pulled up the information he memorized with a slightly relieved smile. He could do this. “They’re from California. They were founded in, um, 1981.”

“What’s your favorite song of theirs?” Eddie asked, and there was something slightly off in his tone, but Steve couldn’t place it, not when he was frantically trying to recall the titles of the songs he’d made himself remember.

“Um. Cry Out?” he hesitantly asked more than answered, which caused Eddie’s lips to press into a thin line. He felt his breath catch at the obvious displeasure on Eddie’s face, wondering if he’d answered wrong. Was that a bad song? “O-or no, um, not that one. Uh. I like…um. I like…Magic Eye?” Fuck no, that wasn’t right. “Magical Eyes, I mean,” he corrected himself hastily.

Eddie’s eyes slowly dragged over Steve, his lips compressing again into a thin line as he drew in his own deep breath through flared nostrils. “Fuck,” he muttered, obviously not meant for Steve but it caused Steve to panic anyways as Eddie looked away, his brow furrowing in thought as his gaze settled on the newspaper on the table and the circled ads there.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized, though he wasn’t certain what he had done wrong this time. Maybe Eddie didn’t like that band?

“Steve…” Eddie heaved a heavy sigh, rubbing his hand over his face before he looked over at Steve again. “I had thought you were just…trying things out. Experimenting. Lord knows your folks never let you be your own person,” he muttered before waving a hand as though to swat that thought away. “I didn’t realize you were actually trying to change.”

Why did Eddie sound so appalled by that? Wasn’t that a good thing? He was willing to fundamentally change who he was just for Eddie, to become someone deserving of Eddie, who fit in Eddie’s life. Didn’t Eddie want Steve in his life?

“Why are you upset about me changing?” Steve huffed, his worry turning into annoyance in his tone. “I thought that was a good thing. Not being the douchebag I used to be.” He scowled, crossing his arms with a roll of his eyes to cover his unease.

Eddie just looked at him in that way that made it seem like he was seeing inside Steve, which normally Steve liked because no one ever actually saw him, but now it just made him uncomfortable. Like he had done something wrong. He was just trying to be a good boyfriend, however. Besides, it’s not like he had come up with the plan on his own.

Everyone always talked about how different he and Eddie were. Always pointed out how preppy he was, made fun of Eddie for falling for a jock, had even asked at the start when they first came out publicly to their friends who was blackmailing whom into the relationship. Steve knew he had to change. They were too fundamentally different. It was the only way to keep Eddie.

Except Eddie didn’t look like he was going to be kept. He had started slowly shaking his head, pulling back, his eyes skittering over Steve again but in a way that said he wasn’t liking what he was saying. Steve’s panic spiked again.

“Eddie. This is good. I’m willing to change for you, that’s how much I love you,” Steve breathed, reaching out to grab Eddie’s hand with desperation. “I listen to your music now, and I play Dungeons and Dragons, and I don’t even talk about basketball around you anymore. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Don’t you see? Isn’t that all that matters?”

Eddie’s lips turned down into a sharp frown. A shuddering breath left him before he all but yanked his hand from Steve’s, his dark eyes turning even darker as he pulled away from Steve and said those damning words:

“But I’m not happy, Steve.”

Steve felt all the air leave his lungs, felt all the blood first rush to his head and then drain out of him, felt his mouth and tongue and throat shrivel into dryness as his eyes widened in horror. Eddie was shaking his head, stumbling out of his chair and back, an unreadable expression on his face as he distanced himself from Steve and this revelation.

“This wasn’t what I wanted, Steve. This doesn’t make me happy.” Eddie’s took another step back when Steve stumbled from his own chair, putting the table between them. “I…I need to go. I need to think.”

Steve knew with certainty that if he let Eddie leave now, that this thing between them would never be the same. His heart clenched in his chest painfully, and he felt his eyes sting with encroaching tears. “Eddie, please…” he begged, his words cracking.

Eddie only shook his head, sending his hair arcing around him, before straightening his spine. “This isn’t you. I don’t want this to be you. I love you Steve, but this version of you? The one that I created—” This time it was Eddie’s voice that cracked.

Clearing his throat, Eddie backed away. “No. No, this isn’t what I wanted. I’m sorry, Steve, but I need to go. I need to think. I can’t be here right now. I’m sorry.”

And with that, Eddie spun on his heels and all but ran towards the door, escaping from Steve’s incompetence, his unworthiness, his undesirability while Steve could only stand there in frozen horror, the tears he couldn’t hold back any longer slowly dripping down his cheeks.

Because he knew. He knew this would happen. He knew that no matter what he did, he would never be good enough. He knew that Eddie would leave him one day. Knew that he would never be able to keep the one he loved.

Knew that he, like his love, would always be complete and utter bullshit.

Part 3

tag list: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

#fic: bullshit #this was meant to be a fix-it #but the angst wouldn’t leave me #but don’t worry!#I already have the fix-it planned!#only one more part to go #hehehe #steddie angst #angst continuation #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #plot thots

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entitled-fangirl · 5 months ago

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You’re a Stark now.

Cregan Stark x reader

Summary: Cregan and the reader take a trip to the market to spend time away from the Winterfell walls. One vendor gets too aggressive.

Warnings: extra protective Cregan, anger, talk of harsh punishments

Masterlist

…………………………………….

Cregan had woken his still newly-wedded wife to the question of if she would accompany him out of the Winterfell walls.

Any time with him was welcomed by her. He was very busy as the Warden that any moment was precious.

She quickly rose and began to get ready, biting her lip when she still couldn’t retrieve her Stark pin for her cloak. Now three days without, and she’d have to tell him.

But that’s a problem for later.

…

“This is lovely,” Lady Stark commented to the merchant as she neared the small table.

Cregan had disappeared to the blacksmith, trusting her under her guards gaze until he returned.

Her finger grazed over the top of one of the handmade arrows before the merchant’s voice chipped up, “careful.”

She jumped a bit, created the smallest of nicks on her finger, but it still oozed blood just the same.

The man huffed, “Can’t ya read the damn sign?”

She looked up with wide eyes to the sign that laid on one of the tables. Her eyes scanned it, but it made no sense to her. Now was not the time to admit to her people that she couldn’t read the common tongue. Her cheeks flushed red, “my sincerest apologies. I meant no harm.”

“Whatever, girl.” He huffed lightly.

She turned back to look at her guard, Ser Martin. He always stayed far enough for her to enjoy herself, but not too far as to not intervene when needed. But he hardly moved when words were said. Only when actions took place. She liked that about him.

She frowned slightly and moved to the merchant’s next table. Atop it laid a tool she had never seen before. A small mallet of some sort and a rather large spike. Multiples of them laid out for sale, and she couldn’t think of a reason to need such a thing. Fearing another scoff, she asked, “What are these exactly?”

The man felt the need to roll his eyes and he laughed mockingly, “What are these?! You can’t be serious!”

Her cheeks couldn’t be more red, “I… I am not Northern. I do not… I do not know much of it, I am afraid.”

The man sneered, “You stupid girl. I wager you’ll freeze your little arse off before winter even comes.”

She felt her eyes water but she held it back. She couldn’t stay there any longer.

She distracted herself at the booth a few down, where a young woman sold seeds and dried petals of various flowers. She chatted with the woman for a while, even making a friend of her.

She helped the Lady of Winterfell pick petals to scent her chambers with and seeds to grow said flowers in the window of her chambers, swearing that they lived through the cold.

She thanked the woman kindly before turning around, directly into a broad chest.

When she felt a familiar hand around her waist and chuckle, she relaxed into Cregan.

He bent down to her ear with a low voice, “have you enjoyed yourself?”

She looked to him and nodded lightly, “I… I have.”

He smirked just barely, “Ser Martin tells me you have made many friends.”

“I suppose I have,” she answers truthfully.

“I have finished my business at the smith. Are you ready to journey back, or is there still things you must see?” His hand began to trace up and down her back through the cloak.

“I am at your whim, Cregan.”

His other hand came up to her chin, “Let us lazily return then. I’m afraid I have not had the chance to make friends as you have.”

She nodded and pulled away, “I’d like that.”

The two journeyed back ever so slowly with interlinked arms, pointing to each table with their favorite oddities on it, even stopping at a few now that Cregan had become interested.

Cregan seemed entirely fixed chatting with a vendor about maces when her eyes wandered a bit up the road.

She pulled on his sleeve with a soft voice, “Cregan.”

He immediately gave his attention to her and bent down to her and spoke softly, “yes, my love?”

She furrowed her brows, “I was curious about something I saw earlier. Can… can you tell me what it is?”

His brows furrowed in turn, “I suppose I can. Where did you see it?”

She pointed up the road to a few tables down.

He nodded and looked back to her, “Go ahead and I’ll meet you there. Let me finish here, sweet girl.”

She let go of his sleeve and bowed her head lightly to the vendor in an apology of the interruption.

She quickly made her way up the road to the same vendor that had been so rude to her earlier, but she hoped Cregan’s eventual presence would help ease the tension. She wanted so desperately to understand the tool she had seen.

But the man’s eyes were already set on her.

He immediately moved out into the street to meet her halfway, “Go on, girl. Take your pretty fur coat and go on! I’ve no business for you here.”

She paused in confusion. She really hadn’t thought she’d angered him that awfully. “I-“

“-ya what?” He stepped closer to her and reached out to touch her shoulder. “I won’t have no silly girl that-“

“-Touching my bride like that is an act of war, Bolton.” She didn’t need to see Cregan to know exactly what was happening. He was behind her with a tightly clenched jaw and a hand on the sword still held in its sheath.

The man immediately stopped all words from his mouth and seemed to be in a daze.

Cregan gave a vicious smile, “I would suggest you remove your hand from her before I remove it entirely from your body.”

The words registered and the man moved away as if he’d been burned, “My deepest apologies, my lord. I… I didn’t know…. She had no sigil on her cloak.”

She didn’t have the heart to turn to Cregan and see his reaction to her loss of pin.

Cregan’s hand wrapped around her from behind and pushed her backwards as he stepped around her. He now stood in front of her protectively. “And here I believed you wanted Stark patronage.” He scoffed, “If that is not the case, say so, rather than turning your Lady of Winterfell away in the streets.”

Only then did she looked around and take in the fact that everyone in the street was staring.

But Cregan couldn’t have cared less.

The man held his hands out, “Lord Stark, I am honored to have your patronage. I… I simply did not know. She…” he pointed to the woman tucked away safely behind Cregan, “She was being reckless-“

“-Reckless? How so?”

The man paled but knew he had to continue what he’d started. “She disobeyed the signs and… and then did not know what an ice pick was-“

“I don’t care if your Lady of Winterfell asks for your left eye, I expect you to take it from your socket gladly!” Cregan’s voice raised angrily, “and you’ve made her feel like a fool in her own lands!” His gripped on his sword tightened in deep thought, “Perhaps I should take your hand as payment.”

Her hand shoots out to Cregan’s back, a silent plea to not take things too far. He reacts to it almost immediately, relaxing himself with a deep sigh.

The man becomes hysterical, “Please! Please, my lord! I will do anything!”

“Cregan-“ her voice finally broke out.

He growled under his breath in thought before finally speaking again, “Apologize.”

The man looked up, “m…my lord?”

Cregan grunted, “Apologize.”

Bolton nodded, “I am most sincere in my apologies, my lord. I was wrong. So painfully wrong-“

“Beg for it.” Cregan growled.

The vendor paused for a moment before he dropped to his knees shamefully, “I will do anything. I am sorry-“

“And not to me.” Cregan grunted again. His arm moved behind her to pull his bride from behind him to now directly in front of him. He pulled her tightly to him, her back against his firm chest. He bent his head down to the side of her head, his voice low and dangerous, “to her.”

She was at a complete loss for words. She knew Cregan was gruff and demanding, honorable and proud, but she had never seen him so angered. He looked like a wolf ready to devour anything that stepped too close.

And all for her.

The man pleaded and whined and begged for her forgiveness immediately and she nodded. Cregan gave a light “tsk” in her ear before speaking softly to her, “make him work for it.”

She turned her head to him in confusion.

He spoke again, “you’re accepting because you feel empathetic. What do you want him to do for you to truly earn your forgiveness?” When she doesn’t answer he chips in, “It’s hard to earn, and rightfully so. Especially from a sweet girl like you.”

“I don’t want anything,” she finally says.

Cregan’s smirk returns, “that’s why you’re mine.”

He straights up to address the man, “Your lady has forgiven you, and so has Winterfell now.” He looks to the crowd and back to the man with a light sneer, “and Bolton? Thank the gods tonight that she is so forgiving.”

He immediately pulls her along with him, not bothering to stop at anything else after the scene they had caused.

His anger was still too great to be out in society and he needed something to take it out on.

The horse ride back was tense and awkward. She knew he wasn’t angry with her, but she wasn’t sure what to say or how to fix it, and so she didn’t.

The two even separated once inside Winterfell. She went to their chambers and Cregan went immediately to the training yard.

She watched from the balcony for a while. He beat away at a dummy with a wooden sword, clearly in an unapproachable state.

…

Supper was equally quiet. The two stared at each other from across the table.

Finally, Cregan spoke, “How are you so easily pleased?”

She tilted her head, “I’m sorry?”

“Earlier. You forgave him so easily.”

“Well, he was sorry.”

“Not enough,” Cregan continued. “I would have made him do far worse”

“It was not worth-“

“-Do not tell me what it was worth, love!” He slammed his fist down. “If he had embarrassed me, I would have taken his tongue. But he didn’t. He did it to you.” His voice turned to iron, “I should have made him worship the ground you stand on.”

“Cregan, I hold no grudge over it.”

“There it is again,” he almost laughed in frustration. “You are too kind, my love.”

“The only frustration I hold over it now is towards you.”

His brows raise, “Me?”

She sat her glass down on the table, “You are the only one still in flames about it. I wanted to enjoy a day out of Winterfell with you.”

He took that like a hit. He clenched his jaw and sighed, calming himself. “You’re right. I’ve been too hard on you. On everyone. Let me try again today?”

She knew she could never hold a grudge against him, “of course.”

He smiled at her, “Thank you.”

The silence grew into a comfortable one now and she was the one to break it. “I have a confession.”

He looked up to her as he ate, “oh?”

“It is rather embarrassing and I do not wish for you to be upset with me.”

“I am never upset with you,” he quickly countered. “Out with it.”

She sat straighter in her chair, “I lost the sigil you gave me. The one for my cloak.”

Silence grew.

She tried to reason, “I’ve misplaced it. I promise I shall find it again. I shouldn’t have set it down and I am most sorry-“

She stopped when she heard his light chuckles from across the table. “What? Why do you mock me?”

He quickly held a hand out and collected himself, “I do not mock you, sweet girl. I’m simply surprised it took you so long to tell me.”

She stuttered, “I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

Cregan looked up to one of the servants, “Bring the new one for me, will you?”

The Lady of Winterfell simply stared in embarrassed confusion.

So, Cregan began to explain, “When I wedded you, beautiful, I did not have time to have a pin of your own crafted for your cloak, so I gave you one of mine temporarily.”

She nodded, trying to see where he was going with the story.

“That is why I was at the black smith today. They’ve created all my best ones and I only thought it fair that you deserve the best. I took the one you had been wearing to them to be replicated. They managed to finish it today and I retrieved it.”

“That is why we were out today?” She asked.

He smiled, “entirely. That and I suppose…” he tilted his head back and forth, “when the North manages to see the sun, I like to see you in it.”

She grew a smile.

The servant returned with a cloth in hand, setting it on the table next to Y/n.

The woman took it and unwrapped it, revealing the finely decorated pin for her cloak.

Her eyes widened and she smiled, “Cregan, this is quite beautiful, but I loved yours all the same.”

He chuckled, “I know that, pretty, but you deserve your own. You are a Stark now.”

Her eyes met his dark ones, “that I am.”

………………………………….

#cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #fanfiction #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon

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goldfades · 2 months ago

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SEX TAPE──BUECKERS⁵

─ summary | “what if we record it?”

─ pairing | paige bueckers x fem!reader

─ warnings | nsfw!!! oral (paige receiving), heavy praise, sex tape (obvs), um... pretty short but i wanna make another part, lmk if yall enjoyed it

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

The idea just came out of seemingly nowhere, it had caught you off guard.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked, pulling back slightly to meet Paige's gaze. Her lips were still swollen from kissing, her eyes dilated and you could see something more intense beneath them. You weren’t sure how to respond right away.

She's such a horny fuck.

“Wait, what?” you asked, voice a little shaky, heart thudding in your chest.

Paige smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, her touch lingering against your cheek. “You heard me,” she said softly, her voice low but playful. “It could be a lot of fun.”

A rush of heat spread through your body, and suddenly, you were caught between the thrill of the moment and the surprise of her bold suggestion. Your thoughts raced—was this really happening?

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as the weight of the situation settled over you. Paige’s fingers gently traced your jawline, sending shivers down your spine. The idea had shaken you, but it also stirred something deep within—a curiosity, an excitement that you hadn’t expected. There was no denying the heat between you, the electric charge that always seemed to spark whenever you were together. But this… this was different.

“Paige…” you whispered her name, almost as if saying it would help you make sense of what she’d just proposed. Your eyes searched hers, trying to gauge how serious she was, or if this was just a momentary whim.

She didn’t flinch. Her gaze held steady, playful but sincere. “What, baby?” she asked softly, leaning closer, her breath warm against your lips. “We don’t have to. But…” Her fingers curled against the back of your neck, pulling you gently toward her. “If we did, it would just be for us. No one else would ever know. You know how I get when I'm on away games...”

Again, such a horny fuck.

Her voice was a mixture of teasing and promise, and the way she looked at you—like you were the only person in the world that mattered—made it hard to think straight. The space between you was almost nonexistent now, your foreheads nearly touching as her lips hovered dangerously close to yours again. The temptation was overwhelming.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of anxiety and anticipation swirling together. “You… you’re serious?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you wanted her to confirm or dismiss the idea.

Paige’s lips curled into a half-smile, and she tilted her head slightly, eyes twinkling with that mischievous glint that always made your knees weak. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she said softly, brushing her lips against yours in a feather-light kiss that left you wanting more. “Think about it—something just for us. A secret just between us.”

A secret.

That word sent a ripple of excitement through you, despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. The idea of something that was just yours and hers, shared in the privacy of this moment, was undeniably thrilling. You’d never done anything like that before—never even considered it, really—but with Paige, everything felt different. She had a way of making you feel like you could step outside your comfort zone and still be completely safe with her.

Your fingers unconsciously tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, your body betraying the uncertainty still lingering in your mind. Paige noticed, her smile widening, and she took the opportunity to press her lips against yours again, deeper this time. Her kiss was demanding but patient, giving you time to melt into it, letting the hesitation slip away with each passing second.

When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours for any sign of doubt, but you were lost in her, your mind spinning with possibilities. “Got my phone right here,” she murmured, voice low and seductive, her hand sliding down to the pocket of her basketball shorts. She pulled it out slowly, holding it between you like a tempting offer.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the device in her hand, your mind racing. It would be so easy to say yes, to give in to the moment, to let yourself be swept up in the rush of it all. Paige’s thumb hovered over the screen, her expression a perfect mix of teasing and serious.

But the gravity of what she was suggesting wasn’t lost on you. This wasn’t just a random suggestion—it was intimate and personal. Something you couldn’t take back once it was done. You thought about what it meant, how this moment would tie the two of you together in a way that went beyond anything else you’d shared.

“P,” you started again, your voice softer this time, more sure of yourself. “I… I don’t know. What if something happens? What if—”

“Nothing will happen,” she cut you off gently, her hand coming up to cradle your cheek, grounding you with the warmth of her touch. “I would never let anything bad happen. Not to you. Not to us.” Her eyes softened, the playful edge fading into something more serious, more real. “It’s just for us, I promise.”

You searched her face, feeling the sincerity behind her words. Paige had always been good at making you feel safe, like no matter what you did or how crazy things got, she’d always be there to catch you if you fell. And right now, looking into her eyes, you wanted to believe that more than anything.

Still, there was a part of you that hesitated. You weren’t sure if it was fear of the unknown or just the sheer intensity of the moment. “I trust you,” you whispered, leaning your forehead against hers, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath against your chest. “But this is… new.”

Paige’s lips pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, her voice tender when she spoke again. “It is new. But that’s what makes it fun, right?” She pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, her thumb brushing your bottom lip gently. “We can stop at any time. If you’re not comfortable, we won’t do it. I can always delete it.”

That’s what you needed to hear—the reassurance that she wasn’t pushing you, that this was completely your choice. And in that moment, with Paige so close, so open, so trusting, you felt the last bit of your doubt melt away.

“Okay,” you breathed, the word escaping before you could overthink it. Paige’s eyes lit up immediately, and you couldn’t help but smile at her excitement. “But only if—”

“Only if it’s just for us,” she finished for you, her lips crashing against yours again before you could say anything else. This kiss was deeper, more urgent, as if the floodgates had been opened, and all the tension between you was finally spilling over.

Her hands roamed your body, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the rapid beat of her heart against your chest, mirroring your own, as her phone clattered to the floor beside you, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

She pulled back slowly, analyzing your expression to see if there was any trace of hesitation left. When she was satisfied, she pulled away slightly and grabbed her phone. There was no going back now.

───

"Just like that, pretty girl," she mumbled as she let out a low moan, her hand gripping your hair as you glanced up her iPhone lens facing you. You hummed at the sight, your tongue poking out to taste more of her.

You were on your knees as Paige laid on the couch, her legs spread as you ate her out slowly, just how she liked. Her hands were on your head, controlling your every movement. Every time you glanced up at the camera, it was a new level of motivation—the idea of being recorded was exhilarating, and the thought of Paige rewatching the tape when she was alone...

God, the thought alone made your pussy wetter.

You moaned as you gazed up at the camera once again, a small smile on your lips as you leaned away. At that, Paige let out a chuckle. "Dirty fucking girl," she shook her head in mock displeasure.

Your chin was covered with her juices, you were glimmering under the camera's flash. Paige's free hand leaned in, wiping it all over your face before pushing your head in again.

You shut your eyes at the taste, humming once again. God, she tasted heavenly. You began moving your tongue quicker across her wetness, the sound echoing throughout the room as Paige let out another groan.

"Oh fuck, yeah. Keep going, just like that, just like that," she praised as her head fell back on to the couch in pleasure. Her grip on your hair tightened as she pushed you into her pussy, another groan leaving her lips.

Your tongue began flicking her clit rapidly, her moans and your sloppy sounds echoing throughout the empty apartment. A few seconds later, her body stilled as she came, the tape becoming shaky before her phone fell onto her stomach.

Paige leaned down to give you a sloppy kiss, humming at the taste of her on your tongue. "Was so good, baby," she mumbled against your lips before leaning away.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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deadsetobsessions · 5 months ago

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Fae adjacent! Danny, pt. 3

Jason returns to consciousness with a scream trapped before it could come to life. He twisted his neck back and forth and back and forth.

It was the last thing he did before he died. When the Joker left and told him to say hello to the big guy, Jason could not muster up the energy to make a single sound.

But Bruce… Bruce was here this time, heavy head making the mattress by his leg dip.

The scars that ran over his face stretched as he blinked.

“…B?”

Bruce’s head shot up, eyes bloodshot and bags heavier than a Gotham socialite’s solid gold Dior purse.

“Jaylad.”

Jason- Jason was alive now. Bruce’s hug felt warm, the tear spot on his shoulder was damp as his dad cried while hugging him.

And Jason should be happy. He’s alive again. His dad loved him.

But all he could think about was the cold of the coffin, the squelch of mud and dirt, and the unerringly wrong feeling of knowing he came back but he came back wrong.

——

Tim had wandered Gotham in the weeks following Jason’s reawakening. He wasn’t avoiding Bruce Wayne. He wasn’t. But Tim knows he’ll have to answer questions soon. He just wasn’t ready.

Tim looked up at the den of pixies- pixies were real!- and squared his shoulders. He did his research. Tim Drake walks into the den with nothing but foolish hope and Gotham-brand audacity. He’ll get answers about Danny today. He will.

——

Soul-Plucker, they called him. Danny Fenton, the proprietor of Fenton Artifacts. The High King.

“I thought King Oberon was the High King?”

The pixies chittered at the little human that could have been kin. Their wings fluttered at their backs, muffled by cloth. It’s not often they find kindred. It really is too bad that Fenton had his mark on the child. How they would have loved to whisk him away. He would have made entertainment that would last a millennia! Or until the court decided to cut of his tongue, at least. How well he had tricked them!

“Of course! Of course! King Oberon is our king, see?” A younger pixie swirled her drink, a shining red and blue thing. “But he’s the High King of another court!”

“The High King of the Infinite Realms, encompassing far more than King Oberon and Queen Tatianna could ever reach.”

Another pixie chimed in, on their fourth glass of amber colored nectar. “The Soul-Plucker!”

“The Beginning of the End.”

“Afterlife IRS department!”

“He who wanders.”

“Death-Caller.” Another one said, grave and serious.

“The Arbiter.”

“So, he’s like, the boss of bosses?” Tim asked. What kind of entity did he make a deal with? Why was he kind to Tim? What motives did Danny have?

“Uh huh!”

“Then what’s he’s doing here?”

“Who knows? The whims of the most powerful are unknown to us.” The pixies clustered around Tim. “Won’t you play another game with us, Alvin? You’re so good at it! Oh, how about a drink?”

“Can’t. I gotta get home. Also, I’m a minor.” Tim slipped passed their fluttering wings and manic smiles. They move to let him past, waving drinks at him in a tantalizing manner.

“And where is that, sweet one?”

“Somewhere, Liltri. Somewhere.”

Tim Drake was a child of pure will, pure hard headed foolishness, a mind sharper than any blade, and luck more terrifying than the creatures he now dealt with. And so, he stepped out of the Pixie Bar with more questions than answers but he stepped out unharmed.

——

“Who are you?” The shadows shift as Lady Gotham unveiled her knight.

Danny felt his eyes cool, glinting green and blue. Lady Gotham forgets who her liege is.

“Haven’t you done your research? You who walks along the edge of shadows, my shop is not a place to dismiss decorum.”

“You brought… you brought him back. How. Why?”

“You want answers? Then give me something in return.”

Danny gestured to the circle his clients have come to know as the deal-maker. Danny doesn’t ask for much in return. Just… something equal to the request.

“Ah,” Danny pointed up at the sign. “I am legally able to deny you my service, so don’t get any ideas.”

Batman was studied up on myths. But he was not a believer, and that both hindered and helped him. What was a god, in front of the faithless? What was the faithless in front of power?

The vigilante stepped into the circle, unable to see the subtle shimmering of magic but remained unbound by the virtue of his disbelief.

“What do you want for answers?”

“You do not often deal with the occult, do you?” Danny tapped the counter. Batman remained silent.

“I have a soft spot for vigilantes,” Danny continued. “And so I won’t ask for much. Just… your cape.”

“Not my hair? A body part?”

“If you were dealing with the fae, you’d probably would lose something of that value, yes.”

“You aren’t fae.”

Danny merely smiled. “Do we have a deal?”

“My cape in exchange for honest answers to my questions.”

Danny huffed, approval glinting in his eyes.

“Your cape for honest answers to three questions,” Danny pointed at the sign, still hanging above them. “Three questions or nothing.”

Batman grimaced. “Deal.”

“Ask your questions, protector.”

“Why did you bring Jason back to life?”

“I didn’t.” Danny grinned. The Bat should have stipulated that he must answer elaborately. He looked like he realized that. Oh well. His mistake. Well, not like there was actual magic binding Danny, so technically, Danny could lie off his ass.

“…Will Jason stay alive?” Danny had a heart and this man was a much better father than Jack ever was.

“Yes. Barring unnatural causes, his soul is firmly attached to his body and will not shuffle off the mortal coil without warning.”

The lines of Batman’s shoulders slumped. Relief. He paused.

“What are your intentions in this city?”

“To run my shop… and to enjoy retirement.”

Danny laughed at Batman’s stoic face. “Disappointed I am not up to nefarious deeds, little knight?”

“No.”

Danny tapped the table. “My payment?”

Batman shucked off his cape and handed it to Danny.

“Why my cape?”

Danny smiled a fanged little thing. “Because your costume looks stupid without it and I could use a laugh.”

Batman grumbled and turned to leave. Ha paused, eyes catching on the glint of camera lenses.

“How much for that?”

“For the little sparrow’s camera?” Danny sighed, eyes fixed on the form of a vigilante who was more kind than angry for once. “Two thousand dollars.”

“That’s a huge markup.”

“That’s how much it means to me, compared to the rest.” Danny slid beyond the counter, a ghostly air about him. He pinned his newly earned cape up. “My shop, my prices, little knight.”

Batman silently handed him two thousand dollars and left with the little sparrow’s camera.

#fae adjacent danny #danny phantom #batman #jason todd #tim drake #dc x dp #dpxdc #my favorite trope is actually Danny selling things to Batman at a markup

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marvelstan0905 · 6 months ago

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"What do you mean a real baby?!"

Kenji Sato X [afab]reader [Oneshot]

TW : spouse reader/petnames/implied sex/pregnancy/Emi mention/panic/mixed POV

Hi guys so I made this on a whim, lmao. Just came to my head lmao. I haven't properly proofread it yet but I hope you like it😫🥺

He didn't know what to do. Kenji found it. The thing that turned his world into a total 180 once again. As Kenji stared down at the positive pregnancy test he found in trash, Kenji's mind was racing a million miles per house. He had just started adjusting to life without Emi, he would visit the kaiju infant from time to time but now this...was something else.

"How the hell did this happen?! I mean..I know how it happened but how?!" Kenji murmured to himself. His wife was at the store and he was taking the time to properly process everything. "Ken Sato..y-you can do it...no you can't! Oh my God!"

Kenji started panicking a little. Mina tried to calm him down. "Ken, you need to calm down. Your heart is racing. You'll be fine. A human child is almost the same as Emi" Mina reported. The robot assistant hovered next to Kenji as he clawed at his hair panicked.

"MINA! What do I do? That's an actual baby! Something my size! No...even smaller" Kenji gulped whiles hugging his knees. Kenji didn't even notice that the door had opened and his wife had returned from the store.

"Baby? You okay? What's going on?" I asked deeply worried as I sat down on my knees on the bed. I gently pet my husband's head. I looked around to find anything to give me a clue as to what made my husband panic so much. My eyes stopped as I found the positive test, I had taken a few hours ago. I hadnt been feeling well for a few weeks, before then Kenji I had been going at it like rabbits so it was kinda..expected. With widened eyes, I took a deep breath and gently hugged him. "Talk to me. Whats going on your head? And yes, I am pregnant"

Kenji's world turned upside once again. He felt alot of things now with this confirmation. Worry, happiness, panic, joy, fear. It was all over the place. "I mean..wow...I'm worried about taking care of a human baby this time.. they're much smaller" Kenji started and exhaled deeply. I hummed listening to him. "Don't get me wrong I'm happy..I'm j-just worried I'm not up to it. This baby is different from a Kaiju. W-What if i end up like my dad? Or my kids end up hating me later because of Ultraman"

"Kenji..breath. Deep breathes, okay? Shhh.."I soothed my husband as I listened to him. I put my hands on his shoulder and gently massaged him to ease his tension. "Honey..I know you're worried but trust me, you've got this. You're gonna be an excellent father. Think about it..remember how you took care of Emi. You're her dad too" I started whiles kissing his face softly.

"You're gonna be a better father than you're dad. You know firsthand how it felt with your dad and I know you wouldn't want our baby to feel how you did. You're gonna be fine. One day at a time. Plus we took care of Emi so well and look her..she's the most beautiful and friendly Kaiju" I reassured him. Kenji took deep breathes and listened to me. His stress and worries were eased but not completely.

"You're right. You're right.." Kenji murmured.

"I'm always right" I joked playfully whiles nuzzling into his nose. Kenji rolled his eyes playfully and kissed my cheek.

"See, baby. You're gonna be fine, okay? The best father ever. Look at our baby Emi. You have some daddy experience" I smiled whiles kissing his face. Kenji chuckled and returned the affection. Kenji began rambling about his excitement. I cupped his face as I listened to him.

"Bet you wanna go and tell Emi right?" I giggled whiles tilting my head with shake of my head. Kenji bit his lip in pure excitement and nodded. I pecked his lips. "Go on. Tell her I said hi, okay? Don't be too late ,okay? We have a lot to talk about"

"I won't. I love you, sweetheart" Kenji laughed and stood up as he opened the doors to the balcony before jumping out and transforming into the giant of light he was.

"I love you too, baby"

#ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato #ken sato #ultraman 2024 #ultraman rising #emi ultraman #oneshot

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bunny-jpeg · 7 months ago

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simon "ghost" riley - drabble

cw: smut/pwp, daddy kink, size & strength kink, masked man, reverse cowgirl, dirty, doggy style, degradation,

"that's a good girl." his voice was like honey that dripped down onto your soul. your focus was phasing in and out, your mouth felt dry and there was a steady thumping in your head. he was seated up against the headboard, his strong hands on your hips as he moved you up and down his cock like you weighed nothing. like you were his own personal fleshlight. he was just so much bigger than you, stronger and scarier. most would flinch at the sight of him, but not you. instead you reached behind yourself for some leverage as he pounded into you. he added, "i love how ya feel on me. how this tight cunt takes me so well." his hot breath in your ear. you could feel his mark brush up against your neck. he still had that mask on, same with his gloves. simon just loved the sounds of your sex that filled your shared bedroom. it felt like home to him, the safest place he can bully that pussy of yours until your eyes rolled back into your head. you were his toy, his savory little fuck toy. "you like when daddy fucks you, don't you." his pace was gaining speed, "you like when i fill ya up nice and good. because you know, you're mine. my girl." his voice was a low growl as he continue to batter your cunt. words were lost in your throat as he fucked the sense outta you.

simon's words melted off his tongue and left you feeling out of your body. they were harsh and dirty, but they made you hotter. it made the slick between your legs grow and the cotton in your head feel heavier. he fucked you like you weighed nothing. he held your arms behind your back and fucked up into you. he used you as leverage to spear his cock deeper into you. the noises you made were small and pathetic, he had fucked the voice out of you earlier when he finished down your throat. your head throbbed and your pussy ached. the need of him, you craved him in ways that were concerning to most. it was a deep primal urge to let him use you like this in the bedroom. to use his strength and size to mold you to his whims. your heart stuttered when he got tired of reverse cowgirl and folded you over onto your hands and knees. with your face buried into the sheets, he had a better angle to abuse your pussy. "ya like that, love. ya like how i just use that sweet fuckin' cunt of yours?" his accent grew thicker as sex clouded his brain. you whined in response and gripped onto the covers under you. your body felt so heated and your brain felt abuzz. you moaned pathetically and let him use you. his voice was sharp in your ear, you could feel the mask against your ear, "my girl, my fuckin' girl lets me fuck her with the mask on." you felt your eyes roll back a little as you felt the first of many orgasms be pulled from your daddy. as you made a weak noise as you came, simon said lowly in your ear once more.

"that's it... daddy's sweet girl."

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monzamash · 7 months ago

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my side of the sofa — lando norris

rating – mature (language, sexual references) requested for✨monzamusings✨ inspired by the kooks' sofa song – and i kinda want to continue this lil story... lmk what you think x

lando was the andy to your april, the tom to your zendaya – on paper there was no logical reason why your dynamic worked, polar opposites in almost every way. he was sunshine personified, wildly charming and devilishly handsome. he was the kind of guy who wore his heart on his sleeve, staunchly loyal with a smile brighter than the stars he swore you hung in the night sky.

in contrast, you walked on the darker side of life; a little mysterious, quietly confident and self assured but humble, generous and effortlessly beautiful but to some, you were intimidating – always kind and caring but scary until those impenetrable walls that had been iron clad from birth started to come down.

somehow lando norris had achieved what most thought was impossible.

it started small with knowing smiles and inside jokes – my god, you had jokes for days! and he laughed at every single one, without fail. wild curls thrown back and smile lines crinkled together, creating a jigsaw you desperately wanted to piece together. you loved in his dry british sense of humour – dark, macabre jokes sprinkled with tasteful sarcasm that he saved just for you. on paper, you couldn’t make sense of it, how your heart felt safe with someone so different to you.

“you know that giving a guy a key to your apartment means things are getting serious right? like, way more serious than a stupid label…”

lando stood in your kitchen, patiently brewing you a cup of tea – strong and dark with the tiniest dash of milk, just the way you liked it, while you scrounged around in the cupboards for the shortbread you bought on a whim just in case you had visitors, though rare it did happen from time to time. why the fuck did I put them up there, you muttered under your breath. lando placed down the teaspoon he’d been drumming on your countertop and came to your rescue, his warm hand resting on you lower back as he reached up beside your head and plucked the shortbread from the top shelf with ease.

“short arse.”

“prick.” you quipped back, snatching the delicious snack from his hand and skipping away.

“and to answer your question – no, i don’t think giving you a key means anything but being smart because it saves me having to come all the way down here to unlock the door for you... because you're here allll the time,” your drawling tone earned a pinch to the ribs as you launched onto the sofa, lando following closely behind.

“i’m here all the time because you call me, miss ‘i’m scared of the dark and need a big, strong man to look after me’,” lando mocked in a high pitched voice, causing you to scoff into the hot cup of tea nestled in your hands.

“big feels generous…”

a shocked expression swept across lando’s face – eyebrows raised as he playfully brushed off your burn, “ooh does it now?” his attitude turning cocky in the blink of an eye.

“i don’t think that’s how you felt last week in monaco – just saying,” he shrugged before taking an exaggerative sip from his mug, your eyes suspiciously narrowed but the smile itching the corners of your mouth threatened to give you away.

“admit it.”

"no way!”

“come oooon, admit that i’m big or i’m not watching vanderpump with you.”

lando quickly grabbed the remote control from the coffee table in the midst of his ultimatum and held it above his messy head of curls as you carelessly shuffled into his tracksuit-clad lap, determined to take back what belonged to you.

“don’t you dare threaten me, norris – i have so much dirt on you so you do not want to push me…” you couldn't be serious if you tried.

"all the dirt you have on me includes you, my sweet girl so do your worst,” he taunted with a whisper, his smug smile making your eyes roll.

he had no idea who he was dealing with.

“three words; facetime in singapore… or maybe you need me to re-jog your memory?” lando’s face dropped in disbelief, dragging his bottom lip between his two front teeth at the memory but as he peered into your playful eyes, a dubious scoff puffed from his mouth.

"pfft, you wouldn’t do it…”

“oh baby,” you mocked, hands pressed to his tight chest as you settled into his lap, eliciting a groan when you looked down at him, “try me and find out..”

lando's eyes fluttered shut for a millisecond as his head lulled back in defeat, placing the remote on your side of the sofa, “you win.”

“i always win.”

lando softly hummed, tilting his head with a smirk, “nah ‘cause after all that, who’s side of the sofa are you on?” the proud smile lit up his handsome face and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how goofy and beautiful he looked admiring his handy work.

“so you see, i win. and maybe you can too.”

“oh, i’m definitely winning.” you leaned in with a smile and pressed a firm kiss to his perfect lips, melting into his touch. the one thing you knew for sure was that you could kiss him all day, every day, maybe for the rest of your life.

lando was the first to come up for air, eyes blurry and heart shaped while you took a couple more seconds to return to the real world, begrudgingly opening them to see the sweetest human being staring right back. the sigh he exhaled was so deep that it reverberated through your bones, worrying you a little until his hands brushed down your sides and the smile etched on his face remained.

“why are you being such a chicken about us being together?”

“i’m not being a chicken, i’m just being realistic,” you whispered, desperately wanting to change the subject, “... your eyes look really pretty.”

lando chuckled, “i know they are so why don’t you want to wake up to them every morning and tell me that, huh? because i wanna do that.”

“tell yourself that you have pretty eyes?”

it was lando’s turn to eye roll and plant a soft smack to your backside, “such a smartarse.”

“you love it.”

“yeah i do and i love you sooooo…” lando nudged gently, searching for an answer that would ease his fear of losing you.

“soooo…” you mimicked but quickly shied away from his intense gaze, “i’m in love with you too, you dumbarse but we’re weird and so different to one another and i feel like people aren't going to understand us and ruin everything... what do you think?”

you hadn't even realised that you'd started chewing through the black varnish on your nails until lando gently grasped your wrist and laced his fingers with yours. he sighed and kissed the back of your hand – the pause in conversation gave him time to gather his thoughts while the circles he drew into your palm with the pad of his thumb calmed your racing mind.

lando answered hundreds of questions every day but he was struggling to think of a time when his response to a question held this much meaning. actions meant everything to you, and he couldn't wait to hold your hand in public and not be afraid of getting caught sneaking kisses in the paddock when the two of you were meant to be working, but words were a good place to start.

“what i think is that we love each other, yeah? and what i know is that i don't give a shit what other people think because you're fucking hot and i love being weird with you, my scary little angel of death,” he teased, tickling your sides until tears ran down your cheeks and you succumbed to his embrace, face buried in his neck.

“i love being weird with you too.”

shout out to mar (@percervall) for the prompt! more writing...

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #monzamashmasterlist #monzamusings ✨#formula 1 blurb #lando norris fluff

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halfmoonaria · 1 month ago

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what i can’t say

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara wants the only person she can’t have, but she’ll do whatever it takes to change that —even if it means risking everything.

word count: 10.7k

author’s note: yall don’t forget to wish me a happy birthday this friday on the 22nd!

Tara wasn't used to hearing the word "no."

Growing up, she'd mastered the art of getting exactly what she wanted, whether it was a toy, a treat, or just a little more attention.

All it took was a well-timed look, a hint of a pout, or a small scene in a public place—not that she ever felt bad about it. After all, it always worked, and it always felt worth it.

But more than any toy or treat, Tara always seemed to have what she wanted most: you.

Her best friend since... well, since you both were small enough to think scraped knees were the end of the world. You'd been there from the start, the friend who laughed with her, who stood by her through every phase and whim.

Tara didn't have to beg or throw a fit to keep you close. You just were. It was like you were woven into each other's lives, and if anyone asked, she'd say you'd always be there—like you were something she'd managed to keep just for herself.

If anyone asked, Tara couldn't quite recall a time before you.

You were there in every memory that mattered, the friend who understood her quirks, finished her sentences, and knew every dream she'd ever had.

You were inseparable, not just in the way kids cling to each other, but in the way people do when they know they'll never quite find someone who gets them like this again.

You shared everything with your clothes, midnight snacks, and every embarrassing crush you'd ever had.

You laughed together about the silly things you thought were love back then, sharing conversations about who you'd marry someday and who had the best smile.

Although. Tara was always a little quieter during these talks, listening more than sharing, and you never thought much of it. That was just Tara, after all, always keeping a bit of herself back, tucked away in her own mind.

But when it came to your middle school crush, she never missed a chance to tease you, brushing him off as if he wasn't as special as you seemed to think.

She'd laugh and tell you he wasn't as funny as you made him out to be, or that his smile really wasn't anything to write home about.

To you, it was just typical Tara, always finding a way to poke holes in the things you liked.

You didn't notice how her smile faltered when you gushed over him or how her gaze turned a little sharper, though even she didn't fully understand why.

It left her with an uneasy feeling, the kind she could never quite explain, that made her want to change the subject whenever she could.

And as time passed during this time, it seemed like your crush only grew, and so did the way you talked about him.

No matter how many times Tara brushed off your comments or tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, you still lit up whenever his name came up.

Brian.

Brian slipped into conversations almost daily, whether it was about the way he made everyone laugh in class or how he'd held the door for you that morning. And each time you brought him up, Tara felt a pang of irritation she couldn't quite explain.

She never told you how much she despised Brian, but the feeling ran deep. It gnawed at her whenever you mentioned him, and even though she tried to brush it off, she found herself disliking him more and more.

The worst part was, she couldn't understand why. It wasn't like you weren't allowed to like a boy—that was just part of life, after all.

Whenever she hinted at her frustration with her mom, she'd hear the same thing: it was normal, fun even, to have a crush, and Tara would experience it too someday.

But she hadn't. She'd never felt that way about any boy in your grade, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself she should.

It confused her, and in a way, it confused you too. You'd always laughed off the fact that Tara never seemed to "crush" the way you did, teasing her about how she'd figure it out someday.

But whenever you'd gush over Brian, Tara would just sit quietly, trying to ignore the strange knot in her stomach that seemed to tighten with every word you said.

Time went on, and those middle school crushes never quite faded.

Brian only seemed to grow more attractive, transitioning from the shy boy you liked to someone who was effortlessly charming, with a confidence that made everyone notice him.

Back then, you'd have called him "cute," but now, there were new words—hot, gorgeous—terms that made Tara roll her eyes every time they left your mouth.

But you still felt that rush of excitement when he was around, that same giddiness you'd had since you were ten, only now it felt a little more real.

Tara, on the other hand, hadn't changed much when it came to relationships.

While others around you both dated, broke up, and fell in love, she stayed quietly distant, brushing off questions and teasing about why she never seemed interested in anyone.

The truth was, she didn't really know why herself. There was a part of her that felt left out when you gushed about Brian, when your other friends talked about crushes or brought dates to dances. She tried to tell herself that she just wasn't interested yet, that maybe someday she'd feel what everyone else seemed to.

But as the years went by, Tara started to realize that maybe she was different—and she couldn't shake the strange sense of frustration that came with that realization, especially whenever Brian was mentioned.

Somewhere along the way, as high school turned into something more serious, so did her thoughts about you.

Tara didn't want to admit it at first—not to herself, not to anyone. The idea crept up quietly, unexpected and unwanted, like some shadow she couldn't shake.

The way you'd laugh at something silly, the familiar warmth of your hand in hers, or the way her heart would skip when you'd throw an arm around her shoulders. It all made sense now, but it was a sense she desperately didn't want.

When the realization hit her, it was like she couldn't breathe.

There was this tiny voice in her mind that whispered, almost cruelly, You're in love with her. Tara's immediate reaction was to shut it down, to deny it with everything she had. This couldn't be right. She wasn't in love with you.

That wasn't what best friends did. She told herself she was just confused, that maybe it was normal to feel this strongly about someone you'd known your entire life.

But every time she saw you look at Brian—every time you said his name with that sparkle in your eyes—it felt like a punch to the gut, and there was no denying it anymore.

The more she tried to reason with herself, the clearer it became. And that terrified her.

She couldn't let herself feel this way about you. You were her best friend, the person who knew her better than anyone else.

The idea of telling you—of you finding out and looking at her with pity, or worse, disgust—made her stomach twist. She could already imagine the awkward smile, the way you might back away, laugh it off, or even leave her behind. It would shatter her, and she knew that.

And so, she decided then and there that this secret would stay with her.

She'd lock it away, bury it so deep that even she could forget about it someday. Telling anyone—even her parents—wasn't an option.

Not only did she fear their reaction, but she knew they wouldn't understand. To them, you were her friend, nothing more, and the thought of losing you, or of anyone making her feel like her love was wrong, was enough to keep her quiet.

But keeping quiet wasn't easy. The secret felt like it was burning a hole through her, consuming her thoughts and leaving her frustrated in ways she couldn't explain.

She wanted to be around you, but every moment with you felt like a reminder of what she could never have, and it only made the ache grow stronger.

She was angry, scared, and hopelessly in love with the one person she could never tell.

So she became skilled at hiding the depth of her feelings, putting on a mask that had somehow become part of her daily life.

She played her role well, acting like nothing had changed between you both.

At school, she kept her gaze casual, listening to you talk as if she didn't want to lose herself in the way your lips moved.

During sleepovers, she'd lie next to you, forcing herself to focus on anything but the warmth of your arm just inches from hers.

And at parties, now that you were both old enough to go, she'd laugh and dance alongside you, all while pretending her stomach wasn't in knots from the way you looked at her under dim lights, a playful grin lighting up your face.

It was like living with a constant tug-of-war inside her, balancing between wanting to be near you and needing to keep her heart steady.

She'd perfected the art of nonchalance, even when you made it nearly impossible. When you got excited about something—eyes wide, laughing about some small victory—Tara would have to swallow down the urge to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from your face or lean in just a little closer.

The hardest moments were the little things, the 'normal' things, like when you'd give her an easy, carefree compliment, your eyes warm and sincere.

She'd feel the blush rise to her cheeks, and she'd quickly look away or laugh it off, hoping you didn't notice the way her voice wavered.

And when you held her hands, like you always did, squeezing them to give her a little boost of courage, she'd act as though it didn't send her heart racing, as though she wasn't fighting the impulse to hold on tighter.

Every smile you threw her way, every moment you lingered too close, she had to act like it didn't make her insides flip.

She trained herself to respond with that same easy smile, to pretend she didn't feel like the air had been knocked out of her whenever you looked at her like she was the only one in the room.

It was a constant game of pretending, a battle against herself that she had to win every single day.

And as much as she tried to hide it, each touch, each laugh, each simple, familiar look left her more tangled in her own emotions.

She tried to tell herself that these things were just... normal. Friends did these things all the time, she told herself, even if everything in her felt far from normal.

But no matter how many times she told herself that, her resolve was starting to crack. She couldn't help but notice her jealousy flare up when she saw you talking to other people, especially Brian.

Then, one Tuesday at lunch, you dropped a bombshell that flipped her world just a bit more.

She leaned back, half-focused on your conversation with the others at the table, when she saw you walking toward her with a grin so bright it felt like it could light up the whole room.

Tara felt her heart jump at the sight, her thoughts immediately swept into the excitement that was clearly radiating off of you.

You barely took your seat before bursting with excitement. "Tara!"

Tara's smile matched yours, though a part of her already felt a small pang of unease. But she pushed it aside and leaned in eagerly, mirroring your excitement. "What happened?"

You practically glowed as you told her, "He sat next to me in class today." Tara's chest tightened, but she held her expression steady, keeping that casual, easy smile.

She already knew who you meant—you didn't even have to say his name. It was in the way your voice softened, how your eyes sparkled with excitement she rarely saw except when you were really, really happy.

She couldn't stand the sight of it. Seeing you so... in love, so giddy, felt like a punch she wasn't ready for.

You practically glowed, your whole personality seeming to shift as if you were that younger version of yourself again, like back in middle school when every new crush filled you with wide-eyed excitement.

Except now, it wasn't an innocent schoolgirl crush; it was real, and you were already slipping further from her reach with each passing second.

Tara kept smiling, but inside, every bit of her was tangled up in knots.

You'd never look at her like that. Never talk about her with that bubbly, uncontainable happiness. The thought clawed at her, a reminder she could never push away.

She was your best friend, sure, but she'd never be the person who made your cheeks flush or your heart race. And somehow, knowing that made it even harder to keep that same easy smile on her face.

"And?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her, even as she felt a knot forming. She listened as you recounted every word, every laugh you'd shared with him in that class.

Then you dropped the real news, your eyes sparkling. Your grin only widened. "And then, right before class ended, he asked me to go with him to that party next weekend."

Tara's heart sank, yet she barely let the smile slip. She forced herself to open her mouth in surprise, eyes wide, like she was just as thrilled as you were. "Really?" she said, trying to sound as shocked and happy as you seemed, her voice just a bit too bright. "Did you... did you say yes?"

Of course you did. Tara felt stupid for even considering asking you that question.

But you didn't seem to mind, you just nodded eagerly, your whole face lighting up. "Obviously!"

"Oh, wow. That's... that's great, actually," she said, her voice a little too steady, but it was the best she could manage.

Inside, though, she was unraveling. You were actually going with him. It shouldn't have been such a shock—after all, this was what you wanted, right?

But knowing that you'd be there, dressed up, all smiles and laughter... with him... felt like a lead weight sinking in her chest.

She could already picture it, the two of you in some dimly lit room with music thumping, Ethan leaning in close to say something to make you laugh, you smiling up at him like he was the only person in the world.

The thought of it made her throat tighten, her mind racing with feelings she didn't even want to name.

"Are you excited?" she asked, her voice coming out just barely above a whisper. She hoped you wouldn't notice how strained it sounded, how much effort it took just to ask.

You nodded, your smile impossibly bright. "Yeah, I mean... I didn't think he even noticed me like that, you know? But now... maybe he does."

The way you said it—hopeful, almost in disbelief—cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Maybe he does. Those three words stayed in her head, echoing louder with each second.

She was supposed to be happy for you, and maybe part of her was, but mostly, she just felt hollow.

Because even though you'd never know it, she'd been looking at you the way you were looking at him, longing for that same chance to mean something more to you. And now she was faced with the awful reality that she might never get that chance.

Swallowing down the bitterness, she forced a tight-lipped smile. "You'll have a great time, I'm sure."

But even as she said it, a part of her was already wondering if she'd do something she'd regret. The thought of watching you fall for someone else—someone who wasn't her—was more than she could stand.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she knew she'd do almost anything to keep you from slipping away.

Your eyes brightened again. "You should come with us!"

Tara's heart twisted at the invitation, feeling both flattered and devastated. Of course you'd want her there, being the good friend you were—unaware of what it did to her to see you light up over someone else.

Forcing herself to stay casual, she shrugged, managing a small playful smirk. "I'm not exactly great at third-wheeling."

Her voice sounded steady enough, but inside, it felt like she was clinging to the last threads of composure.

She couldn't stand the thought of watching you fall for him right in front of her, yet the idea of saying no, of letting you go without her... that hurt, too.

Maybe if she was there, she could stop whatever was beginning to grow between you and him. Just maybe, she thought, she'd find a way to keep you by her side, where you'd always belonged.

Her mind spun, the smile on her face frozen, all she could focus on was the sinking realization that she might actually lose you.

Until now, she'd convinced herself that her feelings for you were something she could handle, something she'd eventually learn to live with. But now, with Brian's name hanging between you, that quiet acceptance shattered.

She could see the way this might unfold, each painful step already clear in her mind.

She'd watched enough romance movies to know how these things went, and as much as she wanted to push the thoughts away, they crept in, vivid and unrelenting.

First, you'd go to the party together, and maybe he'd make you laugh so much that you'd find yourself leaning in, your hand brushing his.

She could already picture the two of you on future dates—sharing secrets over a quiet dinner or standing too close on some sidewalk, your face lit up in a way that made her stomach twist with envy.

And worse, she could imagine what might happen after those dates, how one day soon he'd reach for your hand, and you wouldn't hesitate to hold his back.

She didn't want to picture it, but the thought seeped into her mind anyway, filling her with a fierce, unfamiliar ache.

The image of you wrapped up in his arms, whispering into his ear, or—even worse—laughing with that same joy you always shared with her, but this time meant for him, made her chest feel hollow.

The thought kept spiraling, her mind betraying her with scenes she couldn't bear to picture.

You, with Brian, alone, closer than she'd ever be, maybe even leaning in for a kiss.

She imagined his hand brushing your cheek, the two of you getting so lost in each other that you forgot everyone else around you—including her.

The jealousy was sharp, hotter than anything she'd felt before.

She hated the way it took over, the way it made her feel small and powerless, like she was losing something that had never even been hers to begin with.

And then, a terrible, aching thought hit her: she might never get to be close to you in that way.

She might never get to be the person who held you, who kissed you, who made you laugh like that.

It wasn't just about watching you fall for someone else—it was the crushing realization that you might never look at her the way you looked at him.

Maybe it would be better if she came along?

The idea took a root in Tara's mind, an unexpected, half-formed plan that both excited and unsettled her.

If she went to the party with you and Brian, it might give her a chance to keep things from moving forward between you two.

She could play it off as tagging along to "keep an eye" on you, to make sure you had fun—and stay close enough to step in if Brian tried anything. It was risky, maybe even a little desperate, but what choice did she have?

At least if she was there, she'd know exactly what was happening. She wouldn't have to lie awake later, imagining him whispering things in your ear, pulling you close, stealing the attention she wanted only for herself.

She could keep you safe from all that, and maybe, if she was careful enough, find subtle ways to draw your attention back to her, where it belonged.

In her mind, it sounded almost justified. A "protective friend" sticking close to make sure you were all right. But the truth simmered beneath that excuse—she knew this was more than friendship, that she wanted to keep you to herself in ways you might never understand.

If Brian was going to try to win you over, he'd have to do it with her there, watching his every move, ready to swoop in the second things started looking too cozy.

And maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to make sure that night ended with you still hers—still looking at her with that easy, trusting smile that had always been her anchor.

Her chest tightened at the thought of it, the chance to stay close to you a little longer, to stave off the reality she dreaded.

If you didn't have the chance to fall for him—if she could prevent that—maybe she'd finally have the time and courage to make you see her the way she saw you.

You nudged her lightly, snapping Tara out of her thoughts, leaning in with that familiar, hopeful smile that always made it so hard to say no to you. "Come on, Tara. It'll be fun—just this once. Please?"

Tara's chest tightened at the way you looked at her, like her answer actually mattered to you. It made something inside her ache, the way your face lit up with excitement, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in her mind.

She should've said no. She wanted to say no.

But the thought of watching you leave without her—without knowing what might happen between you and Brian—made her stomach twist painfully.

And now, thanks to the idea she'd let herself entertain earlier, the thought of staying home didn't feel like an option anymore.

That plan, desperate and reckless as it was, had already taken root, and no matter how much a small part of her whispered it wasn't right, she couldn't let it go.

What if she stayed behind and missed her chance to stop something from blossoming between the two of you? What if she sat in her room, alone, while you fell for him right in front of everyone? The mere idea made her skin crawl.

But going wasn't any better. If she went, she'd have to watch you fawn over him, maybe even see you with him. And that thought was enough to make her want to bolt from the room. Yet here you were, looking at her like her presence actually mattered.

But why? Did you think she needed convincing, or was there some part of you that truly wanted her by your side? Her stomach churned at the thought.

She hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her shirt as she tried to keep her expression neutral. If she said no, you'd go without her, and that stung more than she wanted to admit. But if she said yes...

Her mind spun with the possibilities. She didn't even know what she'd do if she went—how far she was willing to take this twisted plan of hers. But what she did know, with a growing certainty, was that she couldn't stay behind. Not when the thought of Brian pulling you closer was enough to make her chest burn with jealousy.

Your face shifted slightly, your brows knitting together when she didn't answer right away.

"Tara," you pressed gently, your voice dipping into that teasing tone you always used when you were trying to coax her into something. "Come on," you pressed again, your grin widening when she hesitated. "You have to come. It won't be the same without you."

It won't be the same without you.

Those words sealed it, though not in the way you meant them to. Something twisted and desperate bloomed in her chest, making her pulse quicken.

You didn't even realize it, but you were giving her exactly what she wanted: a reason to stay close. A reason to be where she could see you—and control what happened between you and Brian.

"Fine," she said at last, forcing a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "But don't complain when I tell you it sucks."

The way your entire face lit up at her answer sent an ache through her chest. Her stomach fluttered against her will, a mix of longing and guilt tangling together in a way that made it hard to breathe. She hated how much it affected her, how happy you seemed just because she'd agreed to go.

She looked away quickly, pretending to focus on something across the room, anything to avoid the way your joy sent another wave of guilt and longing through her.

She knew it wasn't right—none of this was. But she couldn't let it go. Not when her plan had already started to take shape. Not when the thought of Brian having you was enough to make her reckless.

Because no matter how hard she tried to tell herself this was just a party, just a stupid night out, deep down, she knew she wasn't going for the music or the fun.

She was going because if Brian thought he was going to win you over tonight, he was dead wrong.

___

"What about this one?"

Tara looked up from where she was sitting on the edge of your bed, her gaze drawn to the shimmering fabric you held up against yourself. It was a short, fitted dress, one you'd clearly been saving for a moment like this.

The way Tara sat there, watching you flit around the room, sifting through piles of clothes you'd pulled from your closet.

It reminded her of when you were younger, back when the two of you would raid your moms' closets, parading around in oversized heels and dresses that pooled around your feet. You'd giggle uncontrollably, striking exaggerated poses in front of the mirror.

But this wasn't dress-up anymore.

Now, the clothes were your own—real, grown-up outfits that fit you perfectly, accentuating curves and edges Tara wasn't sure she was supposed to notice. It wasn't just playtime; this was your life now. And tonight, you weren't dressing up for laughs or pretend tea parties.

You were dressing up for him.

Her eyes flickered briefly over the dress before settling on your face. You were beaming, the excitement practically radiating off you as you turned to the mirror, holding the dress against your body.

She should've said something. A simple "looks great" or even a teasing "a bit much, don't you think?" would've worked, but the words caught in her throat.

It wasn't the dress—it was the way your whole body hummed with energy, the way your smile was just a little too wide, your movements a little too quick. Tara saw it all, and it was like watching you wear your feelings on your sleeve.

The way you twirled the dress in front of the mirror, the way your hands moved restlessly as you smoothed down imaginary creases—it was all too familiar. She knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn't say it out loud.

Did Brian? She doubted it.

He didn't know the little things, like how your voice got higher when you were nervous or how you couldn't stand still when you were excited. He didn't know the way your lips pressed together when you were thinking too hard about something or the way your shoulders tensed when you wanted something to go perfectly.

He didn't know you, not like she did.

"What do you think?" you asked again, snapping her out of her thoughts. You turned, holding the dress out at arm's length, giving her a better look. "Too much? Not enough?"

Tara forced a smile, her heart twisting as she watched you. "I think it's... nice," she said carefully, her voice steady even as her stomach churned.

Nice. The word felt like a betrayal. It didn't come close to how she really felt—how beautiful you looked, how much she wished those bright eyes were sparkling for her instead of someone else.

"You think Brian'll like it?" you asked, your tone innocent, but the question struck Tara like a punch.

She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the fabric of your comforter. She wanted to tell you Brian didn't deserve you, that he wouldn't know how to appreciate all the little things that made you you. But instead, she kept her tone casual, masking the storm inside her.

"I mean... yeah," she said after a pause. "It's hard not to like you in anything."

Your grin widened, lighting up the room in a way that made her stomach flutter. You didn't notice the tightness in her smile, the way her eyes lingered on you for just a second too long.

"You're the best." you said, turning back to the mirror.

Tara's chest tightened, a quiet ache settling beneath her ribs. She glanced away, forcing a small smile as she leaned back on her hands.

She let her fingers dug slightly into the comforter as she watched you move across the room again, this time heading toward your closet. You sifted through the hangers with an almost frantic energy, pulling out one piece of clothing after another until something caught your eye.

"This," you announced, holding up a sleek black skirt and a tiny top with delicate lace accents.

Tara blinked, her focus shifting from the faint hum of her own thoughts to the outfit in your hands. The skirt was just short enough to grab attention, and the top would clung to the curves in all the right places—your curves, she couldn't help but think.

Her stomach twisted again, but not with the same bitterness from earlier. No, this was something else entirely. She couldn't stop herself from picturing you in it, couldn't stop the way her mind immediately conjured the image of you standing there, all done up, looking effortlessly hot and completely out of her reach.

She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away. "You're not wearing the dress?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

"Oh, I am," you replied with a grin, holding the outfit closer to her. "This is for you!"

Tara froze. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, her chest tightening as your words sank in.

She had been so caught up in watching you, so wrapped up in her own spiral of emotions, that she had momentarily forgotten she was actually going to this party.

"Me?" she echoed, her brows furrowing slightly as she tried to act like the idea of dressing up didn't make her stomach drop.

You laughed softly, stepping closer to hold the outfit up against her frame. "Yeah, you! Come on, Tara, you can't just wear that." You half-pointed to her attire.

Tara's eyes darted to the mirror, catching a glimpse of herself in her usual hoodie and jeans.

She had planned on blending into the background tonight, just another shadow in the corner, but now you were holding out a version of herself she wasn't sure she wanted to confront.

"It's... a little much, don't you think?" she murmured, her fingers brushing over the fabric.

"Not at all," you said, undeterred. "Trust me, you'll look amazing.

The way you looked at her, so excited, so hopeful, made it impossible for her to argue. The truth was, she didn't want to blend into the background—not really. Not if it meant letting Brian win.

"Alright," she said finally, forcing a small smirk as she reached for the outfit.

You grinned, clearly thrilled, and the sight sent her heart fluttering all over again.

As she stood up to take the clothes in you, the weight of the night ahead settled on her shoulders again. She knew this wasn't about the clothes or the party. It was about you—about keeping you close, about holding onto the part of you that still felt like hers, even if it wasn't.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she was willing to do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Tara pulled the clothes from your hands, her fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary before she turned away.

She hesitated only briefly, her eyes darting to the bathroom door, but then she decided against it. It wasn't like this was anything new. You'd seen her change plenty of times before.

Slipping off her hoodie, she pulled the top over her head, the soft lace brushing against her skin in a way that felt oddly delicate, almost foreign.

The skirt followed, the fabric snug around her waist and flaring slightly at her hips. When she finally turned back toward you, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

It was strange. She didn't recognize the girl staring back at her right away—not entirely. The clothes fit her so well, so effortlessly, that she felt a flicker of something unexpected: pride.

She looked... pretty. Not in the same way you did, with your radiant energy that drew everyone in, but still. Pretty enough.

Her heart jumped a little at the thought of you seeing her like this, of you noticing her in the way she always noticed you. She didn't know why she wanted that so badly, but the hope curled tightly in her chest, warm and persistent.

You looked up from where you'd been smoothing out your own dress, and your reaction was immediate. Your eyes widened slightly, and then your face lit up in that effortless way that always made her stomach flutter.

"Tara, oh my god, you look so good," you said, your voice soft but genuine, carrying none of the over-the-top excitement you sometimes used when joking around. This was real.

Tara felt her cheeks warm under your gaze, her fingers automatically reaching to adjust the hem of the skirt, as if she could somehow shield herself from the weight of your words. She tried to play it off, shrugging casually. "It's just a skirt," she mumbled, but her voice lacked its usual bite.

"It's not just a skirt," you countered, stepping closer. "You look amazing. Seriously, this is perfect for you."

Your words were kind, almost too kind, and Tara wasn't sure how to process them. There was no teasing, no playful edge, just an earnestness that made her chest feel tight and achy.

She glanced away, pretending to focus on her reflection again, but the warmth of your approval lingered, sinking into her skin like the lace of the top.

She wanted to feel good about it, to let herself bask in the way you saw her, but the nagging thought that this wasn't for her—that it was all part of your excitement for Brian—kept her grounded.

Still, the way you smiled at her, so unreserved and so entirely you, made her feel something she hadn't in a long time: seen. She wished, just for a second, that you were saying all of this for the same reason she wished you would.

You spun on your heel, nearly tripping over the pile of discarded clothes strewn across the floor in your excitement. Tara's breath caught for a second, her hand twitching instinctively like she was about to reach for you, but you caught yourself, laughing it off as if nothing had happened.

"You need to clean your room before someone gets hurt," Tara muttered, though her tone held more amusement than annoyance.

You ignored her, too caught up in the moment as you reached your makeup table, rifling through your collection with a kind of chaotic precision.

Pulling out a palette, you held it up, the colors catching the light as you grinned at her. "What do you think? Want me to do your makeup?"

Your voice was so full of unfiltered excitement, your smile so wide it made her stomach flip. Tara hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her skirt as she glanced at the palette in your hands. She wasn't really the makeup type—not like you were—but the way you looked at her, like you were just waiting to make her feel special, made it impossible to say no.

"You don't have to," Tara said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.

"I want to!" you insisted, stepping closer, the palette still in hand. "Please, Tara? I promise I'll keep it simple. Just a little something to go with the outfit."

She sighed, feigning reluctance as she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Fine."

You grabbed a chair and pulled it in front of her, gesturing for her to sit. "Alright, let's make you even more stunning."

Tara rolled her eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she leaned forward.

___

The buzz of the party hit you as soon as you stepped through the door.

Music pulsed through the house, the bass vibrating in your chest as voices overlapped in a cacophony of laughter and shouted greetings.

People crowded the space—groups gathered near the kitchen, couples pressed close against walls, and a few brave souls danced in the living room, already letting loose despite how early it was in the night.

You glanced over at Tara, catching the way her shoulders stiffened slightly as the noise and energy enveloped her. She'd been quiet on the drive over, her fingers drumming against her thigh in a way that let you know her nerves were kicking in. But she'd never admit that, not to you.

"See?" you said brightly, bumping her shoulder with yours as you stepped further into the house. "I told you this would be fun."

Tara gave you a look, one that was half-skepticism and half-amusement, as she tugged at the hem of her skirt. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

Your laugh was warm and easy, a sound that somehow made the chaos of the party seem less overwhelming. You reached back to grab her hand, pulling her through the crowd as you made your way toward the kitchen. The feel of your fingers around hers made something in Tara's chest twist uncomfortably, though she forced herself to ignore it.

The kitchen was just as packed as the rest of the house, but you managed to snag two drinks from the counter, handing one to her with a grin. "Alright, party rule number one: stay hydrated."

Tara raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cup in her hand. "This is definitely not water."

"Details." You waved her off, your playful smirk making her stomach flutter in that maddeningly familiar way.

Before she could respond, a voice called out from across the room. "Y/N! There you are!"

Tara's grip on her cup tightened as she followed your gaze, her stomach sinking when she saw him—Brian—making his way toward you. His smile was wide and easy, the kind of grin that would make anyone else swoon.

But Tara wasn't anyone else.

"Brian!" you said, your face lighting up in a way that made Tara's chest ache. She stepped back slightly, letting go of your hand as he drew closer, though her eyes never left you.

He didn't deserve that smile.

Brian's gaze flickered to her briefly, his smile faltering just a bit. "Tara, right?"

She nodded, her expression neutral as she took a sip of her drink. "That's me."

If he noticed the edge in her tone, he didn't comment on it, turning his attention back to you instead. "You look amazing," he said, his eyes raking over your dress in a way that made Tara's jaw tighten.

You beamed at him, clearly pleased by the compliment, and Tara had to look away, her hand gripping her cup so tightly she was surprised it didn't crack.

This was going to be a long night.

And it most definitely was.

As the night went on, the party only grew louder and more chaotic. People drifted in and out of the circle you, Tara, and Brian had settled into, friends of his joining the conversation with easy smiles and casual jokes.

You made a genuine effort to include Tara, always pulling her back in when she started to fade into the background, but it was clear who held your focus.

Brian.

He stood close to you, his arm brushing yours as he leaned in to talk over the music.

You didn't seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you didn't mind. Either way, the proximity between you two only seemed to grow as the minutes ticked by, and Tara couldn't stop watching.

Every time you laughed at something he said, her chest tightened just a little more.

You weren't doing it on purpose. Tara knew that. She knew you didn't notice the way her jaw clenched or how her fingers drummed against her cup.

You were just being you—kind, bubbly, and effortlessly charming. But watching you with Brian, seeing how much of your attention he was soaking up, felt like a slow, relentless sting.

She hadn't expected it to bother her this much.

At first, Tara tried to play along, chiming in when she could and taking small sips of her drink to distract herself.

But then Brian's friends started joining the conversation, their loud energy making it harder for her to keep up. You were still trying to include her, turning to her every so often to ask her opinion or flash her one of your brilliant smiles, but it wasn't enough.

Not when you lit up like a damn firework every time Brian said something that made you laugh.

Tara tipped back her cup, finishing it quicker than she probably should have. She wasn't much of a drinker to begin with—she never really liked how it made her feel—but tonight was different. Tonight, she needed the edge taken off.

"Want another?" you asked, noticing her empty cup.

She hesitated, but before she could respond, Brian offered. "I'll grab her one. Be right back."

She opened her mouth to say she didn't need another, but he was already walking away.

You smiled after him before turning back to Tara, your expression so full of effortless warmth it made her stomach churn. "You having fun?"

She forced a small nod, her grip tightening on the plastic cup. "Yeah. It's... fine."

You didn't notice the strain in her voice, too caught up in the energy of the party to catch on.

By the time Brian returned with her drink, she'd already decided she wasn't going to overthink it. She took it with a quiet "thanks" and drank just enough to feel the buzz set in. It wasn't much—maybe two drinks total—but Tara was short, and she always felt the effects quicker than most.

The alcohol didn't drown out her frustration, though.

Every laugh you gave Brian, every time you leaned in to whisper something to him, only seemed to magnify it.

And you? You were oblivious. Still trying to keep her in the conversation, pulling her in with the same ease you always had. But she could feel the gap widening.

Tara's foot tapped against the floor as she shifted her weight, her eyes flickering between you and Brian. She should've left, should've wandered off to another part of the house to escape this torturous little triangle, but she stayed.

Because if she left, she'd have to admit to herself why she couldn't handle this.

So instead, she took another sip of her drink and plastered on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"You okay?" you asked, your voice cutting through her thoughts.

"Yeah," she said quickly, her words sharper than she intended. "I'm fine."

But she wasn't. And as the night wore on, that became harder and harder to hide.

And after an hour, or maybe even more.

The alcohol was definitely working its way through Tara's veins. She could feel it, the familiar warmth spreading through her chest, making her limbs feel looser but her thoughts louder.

The edges of the room blurred ever so slightly, but her focus on you was sharp as ever, almost painfully so.

You were giggling at something Brian said again, your hand brushing his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tara had been watching you both like a hawk all night, trying to play it cool, but the subtle touches, the shared smiles, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him—it was getting under her skin.

She clenched her jaw, tipping back the rest of her drink as if it might drown out the frustration bubbling inside her. But it didn't.

It wasn't just the alcohol making her feel reckless, though it didn't help. Tara was desperate.

Desperate to do something—anything—that might shift the balance back in her favor. But how? She wasn't like Brian. She didn't have easy jokes or effortless charm. And she wasn't like you, all soft laughter and open smiles.

So she sat there, stewing in her own silence, searching for an opening she couldn't find.

Then she turned her head for just a moment.

A distraction—a loud burst of laughter from somewhere across the room. She glanced over, barely processing the source, and when she looked back...

Her heart stopped.

You and Brian were kissing.

It wasn't shy or hesitant. It was full and unguarded, like something out of the movies. His hands rested lightly on your waist, your fingers clutching the front of his shirt as though you were afraid to let go.

Tara's first thought wasn't sadness. It wasn't heartbreak or even surprise.

It was rage.

Her body went rigid, the plastic cup in her hand creaking under the force of her grip.

Because of course this wasn't a problem.

Why would it be?

You weren't hers. You'd never been hers. You were allowed to kiss boys, especially the boy you'd been crushing on for as long as she could remember. It wasn't like you were breaking some unspoken rule. She had no claim to you, no right to feel betrayed or blindsided.

But God, it felt like a betrayal.

Her rational mind tried to reason with her, repeating the same useless mantra: This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem.

But the other side of her mind—the side that had been clawing its way to the surface all night—was screaming the opposite.

It was a problem. A huge one.

The anger burned through her like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought as it spread. It started in her chest, hot and heavy, before curling into her throat and setting her teeth on edge. Her nails dug into the soft plastic of her cup until it crumpled under her grip, a sharp crack breaking through the buzz of the party.

And still, she couldn't look away.

She hated it. Hated the way his hands touched you so easily, like he'd earned that right. Hated the way you kissed him back like you'd been waiting for this your whole life. Hated how he got to have what she wanted so desperately without even knowing how much it mattered.

Her breaths came quicker, each one catching in her chest as if she couldn't quite fill her lungs. The alcohol amplified everything, stripping her bare of the filters she usually relied on. Every raw, unspoken feeling she'd buried for years was rising to the surface now, and there was no stopping it.

She wanted to scream.

To grab you and pull you away, to tell Brian to get his hands off you, to do something.

But she didn't.

Because no matter how angry she was, no matter how much she hated what she was seeing, there was a part of her—a small, quiet, agonizing part—that whispered:

You're not supposed to feel like this.

So instead, Tara sat there, her body tense and trembling, her nails biting into the palms of her hands. She didn't even realize she'd crumpled her cup until the sticky remnants of her drink dripped onto her lap.

And still, she couldn't look away.

Eventually you pulled back from Brian, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol coursing through your system.

A small, almost dazed laugh escaped your lips as you glanced at him, then turned to find Tara in the crowd. She hadn't moved from where she'd been watching, her posture stiff and her eyes fixed on some indistinct point on the wall—anywhere but you.

When your gaze landed on her, your smile widened, bright and unrestrained, like you hadn't just set her entire world on fire.

Tara's chest tightened, the molten frustration inside her bubbling hotter with every passing second. She couldn't stop her thoughts, couldn't silence the storm brewing in her mind.

You stumbled a little as you reached her, still grinning like a fool, your energy infectious to everyone but Tara. You leaned close, tipping forward on your toes, your voice loud but slurred enough to betray your tipsy state.

"I think he kissed me," you said, as if it hadn't been entirely mutual.

Tara felt something snap.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms so hard she half-expected to draw blood.

She couldn't speak, couldn't trust herself to even try. If she opened her mouth, she was sure she'd yell or say something she couldn't take back. Worse, she might cry—and that wasn't an option.

Her silence stretched on, but you didn't seem to notice. You were too lost in your own world, your thoughts spinning with the buzz of the alcohol and the remnants of Brian's touch. Tara's silence didn't matter, because you filled the space with another easy laugh, leaning closer so she could hear you over the pounding music.

"I need to use the bathroom," you said, your lips brushing near her ear. The warmth of your breath made her stomach twist. "Wanna come?"

Tara's mind scrambled for an excuse, her mouth dry as she fought the urge to say something reckless.

"No," she said finally, forcing her voice to sound casual, detached. "I think I'm good down here."

It wasn't true. She wasn't good down here, or anywhere else in the universe at that moment.

You gave her a light shrug, your expression still full of that easy joy that made her want to scream. "Okay! Be right back!"

You disappeared into the crowd, weaving your way toward the bathroom, leaving Tara standing there alone.

The second you were out of sight, she exhaled sharply, her hands shaking as she reached for another drink she didn't need.

She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the anger, or the ache of jealousy threatening to overwhelm her. Maybe it was all three, swirling into something she couldn't control.

But one thing was clear—she couldn't keep this up. Not tonight. Not with you and Brian. Not with her chest full of feelings she couldn't name and didn't want to face.

Tara's eyes burned as they landed on Brian, standing not far from where you'd left him. His posture was easy, relaxed—too relaxed.

He stood there like nothing had happened, chatting casually with a couple of his friends, his hand lifting a red cup to his lips like this was just another night. Like he hadn't just kissed you.

The most beautiful girl on the planet.

Tara felt her stomach twist painfully, her grip tightening around the drink in her hand. How could he be so unbothered? So unaffected? He wasn't grinning ear to ear, wasn't puffing out his chest or gushing about how lucky he was.

He wasn't laughing with joy or smirking proudly like any sane person would if they'd just kissed you.

How was he not telling everyone in earshot about what had happened? How was he not reeling from the fact that you—you, with your blinding smile and endless energy—had given him even a second of your time, let alone your lips?

Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as she stared at him, her anger bubbling hotter with every second he stayed calm. Her hands itched to grab him by the collar, to shake him and demand he act like he understood the weight of what had just happened.

Did he even realize how lucky he was?

Did he know how many people in that room—how many people in general—would kill to be in his place? To have even the tiniest fraction of your attention, let alone that?

Her vision blurred, and it wasn't from the alcohol. Her chest felt like it was about to implode, like something inside her was trying desperately to escape, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep it together.

Brian's laughter snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. He was laughing at something one of his friends said, his expression light, carefree—unbothered.

Tara nearly saw red.

She downed the rest of her drink in one go, the sharp burn doing nothing to dull the fury roaring in her chest. How could he be like this? How could he act so normal, so indifferent, after kissing you?

How could he not be overwhelmed by the fact that you'd chosen him, even for a fleeting moment?

It was insulting. Infuriating.

She wanted to march over there, to grab him and make him feel the way she was feeling. She wanted him to hurt, to ache, to boil with jealousy the way she was.

But she couldn't.

Because none of this was his fault.

The real issue—the one she didn't want to admit—wasn't Brian. It was the simple, heartbreaking truth that he could kiss you without consequence.

He could have you.

Tara wasn't sure what happened next.

What she was thinking when it happened, or if she was even thinking at all. Maybe it was the anger—burning hot and uncontrollable—making her body move before her brain could catch up. Or maybe it was the alcohol, buzzing in her veins and drowning out every voice in her head that might've told her to stop.

All she knew was that one second she was standing there, glaring at Brian like he'd committed some unforgivable sin, and the next, she was storming toward him.

His friends noticed her first, their chatter faltering as they shifted awkwardly under her sharp glare. But Brian, oblivious as ever, didn't see her coming. He was mid-sentence, that stupidly calm look still plastered on his face, when Tara grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her level.

The movement was forceful enough to knock the air out of both of them, and before he could even process what was happening—before she could process what was happening—she pressed her lips against his.

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't sweet.

It was messy, rough, and fueled by a cocktail of rage and desperation. Her hands fisted his shirt tightly, holding him in place, her nails biting into the fabric. Brian stiffened for a second, shocked, but then his hands hovered awkwardly near her waist, unsure of what to do.

Tara didn't care. She didn't care about his reaction, about his hesitation.

Because this wasn't about him.

It wasn't about his stupid, clueless face or the fact that he'd kissed you without giving it a second thought. It wasn't about him being unbothered or unaffected.

This was about her.

Her anger, her frustration, her absolute inability to sit there for another second and watch him act like kissing you was nothing.

The kiss deepened as her grip on his shirt tightened, pulling him even closer. She wanted to erase the memory of you from his lips, to replace it with her own. To make him feel something, anything, the way she was feeling.

But it wasn't working.

If anything, the kiss only made it worse.

Because no matter how hard she pressed, no matter how desperate her movements were, it didn't feel right.

It didn't feel like you.

And that thought was like a punch to the gut.

Brian made a soft, surprised noise against her lips, his hands finally settling on her hips, but it only made her angrier. How dare he hesitate now? How dare he act so unsure, like he didn't know exactly what he wanted when he'd so easily taken you from her just minutes ago?

Her chest heaved as she pulled back slightly, her lips still brushing against his, her heart pounding in her ears.

His wide eyes stared at her, confused and more than a little alarmed. "Tara—" his voice laced with bewilderment, but she silenced him with another kiss, pressing harder, needing to cut him off.

She didn't want to hear his voice. She didn't want to hear him try to make sense of this, because she didn't have an explanation. This wasn't about him.

It wasn't about you either—not entirely, at least.

It was about her. About the way she felt like she was unraveling, about how every smile you gave Brian felt like another thread being yanked loose, every laugh you shared with him felt like a blow to the chest.

She didn't know how to make it stop, and the only thing her mind could come up with was this. She didn't have to think when she was kissing Brian. Didn't have to feel the jagged ache of watching you be so happy with someone else.

This wasn't about him.

But it was all she could do to stop herself from falling apart completely.

And Tara wasn't sure what was happening anymore.

Brian hadn't pushed her away. He hadn't stopped her, hadn't hesitated for even a moment after that first surprised noise.

No, he'd leaned into it. He'd kissed her back with the kind of intent that only made her angrier, made the fire in her chest blaze so hot she thought she might combust right there.

Because it wasn't supposed to go like this.

His hands slid from her hips, pulling her closer, pressing her tighter against him, and she hated it. Hated the way he responded like this was exactly what he wanted, hated the way he kissed her back like she wasn't just a replacement for you.

And worse than anything, she hated herself for not stopping it.

His hands moved lower, gripping her ass, pulling her even closer, and she felt herself clench her fists tighter into the fabric of his shirt.

She didn't know if it was the alcohol buzzing in her veins, numbing her better judgment, or if it was the anger still consuming her every thought, but she didn't do anything to stop him.

She should've.

But she didn't.

Because in this moment, it wasn't about him. It wasn't even about you. It was about the chaos she felt boiling in her chest, about the way she felt like she was spiraling further and further out of control.

Brian murmured something against her lips—she didn't catch it, didn't even try to—but his hands stayed firm on her, guiding her, pulling her toward the stairs.

And she let him.

Every step felt like she was wading through quicksand, her mind shouting at her to stop, to push him away, to pull herself together. But her body wasn't listening. She didn't know if it was the heat of his hands on her or the fog of alcohol clouding her better judgment, but she let him lead her.

Because stopping meant facing the truth. And Tara wasn't ready to do that.

Not yet.

She'd barely registered how they ended up in the room. One second, she was being pulled up the stairs, Brian's hand gripping hers tightly, and the next, they were in a dimly lit bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them.

Her heart was racing, but not from excitement. There was no thrill, no anticipation, just a gnawing sense of wrongness she couldn't shake. Yet she didn't stop it. She didn't stop him as his hands found her waist, as his lips trailed down her neck. She didn't stop herself from responding, from letting this spiral further than it ever should have.

It was mechanical, empty, and every moment felt like it was happening to someone else. Brian's touch wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't what she wanted. His lips weren't the ones she craved, his hands didn't spark anything but an aching hollowness inside her.

And yet, she let it happen.

Because, for a fleeting second, it felt like power. Like control. Like maybe, just maybe, if she could take this from him—take you from him in some twisted, nonsensical way—it would hurt less.

But it didn't.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word she barely heard, only drove the knife deeper into her chest.

When it was over, the silence was deafening. Tara lay there, staring at the ceiling, her body still and her mind racing. Brian shifted beside her, saying something she didn't hear, and the sound of his voice made her stomach twist. She felt nauseous, disgusted—not with him, but with herself.

What had she done?

Her chest tightened as she fought to keep her breathing steady, refusing to let him see the tears threatening to spill over. It hadn't helped. It hadn't made anything better. If anything, it had only made everything worse.

Because no matter what she did, no matter how far she went, it would never be enough to make her stop wanting you.

Afterwards Tara laid still, the dim light of the room casting shadows that felt too heavy, too oppressive.

Brian was beside her, breathing evening out as if nothing monumental had just happened. As if this was just another casual moment in his life.

Her mind, however, wouldn't stop.

It wasn't Brian she was thinking about—not the way he'd touched her, not the way he'd looked at her. No, every thought clawed its way back to you.

She pictured you in the bathroom, probably still staring at yourself in the mirror, giddy and flushed. She could almost see your smile, so wide it was infectious, and the way you'd probably tilt your head, trying to relive every second of that kiss.

You'd been dreaming of that moment since second grade, scribbling his name in the margins of your notebooks and lighting up every time he was near. Tara could already imagine how you'd be practically glowing, heart racing with excitement as you ran your fingers over your lips, trying to make the feeling last.

She wanted to hate you for it. But she couldn't. She never could.

You'd come out of that bathroom with a smile so bright it could light up the whole house, your hopeful eyes scanning the crowd as you made your way back to the spot you'd all been standing. And what would you find?

Nothing.

Tara wasn't there. Brian wasn't there.

She could imagine how your smile would falter, confusion settling in as you looked around, searching for the two people who were supposed to be waiting for you. How long would it take for the excitement to drain from your face? How quickly would hope turn to disappointment?

The thought was like a knife twisting in her gut.

And yet, she still couldn't make sense of why she'd done this. Why she'd let it happen. Because it didn't feel like she'd won anything. She hadn't taken Brian away from you. If anything, she'd stolen something from herself—something she could never get back.

Her chest tightened as the realization hit her like a freight train. She hadn't wanted him. She hadn't wanted this.

She'd wanted you.

And now she'd ruined everything.

#jenna ortega x reader #mabel x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #ask #sam carpenter x reader

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