#I was actually going to sort the blogs by groups but then I was too lazy lol

[simpjaes]

renaissance man (p. js)

Taking note of the strangers you see day to day isn’t something you’d normally do. The only reason today is different is because the guy who made small talk as he rang you up for your intimate items was the same guy who showed up catering for your family reunion.  or the one where jay is a dildo salesman, a caterer, a self-titled mechanic, and also your ride home. he is not an expert in any of his jobs, but he sure is an expert in wit and well, other things.

minors dni!! | pls reblog to show your support!

WORDCOUNT― 14.6k

PAIRING― park jongseong x afab reader 

CONTENT― fluffy comfort smut, strangers to lovers like immediately, you buy a monster sized dildo, blatant talking of masturbation and toys, smut, cliche blooming an attachment to someone after (1) fuckening. 

!!ATTENTION!!― read this before? that’s because I run two blogs and like to re-vamp fics i’ve previously written for other groups! [@/ncteez is likely where you’ve read it from. THAT IS ME!!!] 

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― it’s kind of fluffy im so sorry i just have feelings for him, average cock size jay!!!![i am not of this belief, i think his cock is fat and huge], he is very much a service top, making out, hand holding, caressing, grinding, finger fucking, titty worship,  unprotected sex, sweet talking as a form of dirty talk, missionary bc i refuse to pretend he wouldn’t want that, back scratches (sexual)

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Never have you been put in the position to make small talk about the sex toys you place on a counter to purchase. Then again, you guess it’s part of the job description that most people ignore or aren’t privy to actually doing. 

Never have you been informed of the wide variety of lubricants, additional toy-cleaners, or the bigger and smaller alternatives to your chosen toy. You don’t show discomfort though, because it’s not uncomfortable. Sex is normal, masturbation is more normal, and the man in front of you appears to be normal too.

“There’s twelve different color variants if you prefer something less fleshy.” The man says, standing at the counter with some sort of a permanent pout on his lips. 

“I’m fine, if you could just ring me up now I can get out of your hair.” You respond, glancing at the time on your phone and wondering how you got stuck with the only employee who actually does his job here.

“Are you sure you don’t want any lubricant?” The man adds, gazing at the size of your toy and then looking you up and down as if you clearly wouldn’t be able to handle your chosen toy without help.

The man with no name tag appears to be blissfully unaware of his invasiveness with that question as you tilt your head with a raised brow. Shocked at the very question, it’s actually quite laughable that he’s so monotone with the offensive comment. You imagine he’s done this for so long that he must be a manager trying to get the day over with, going through the steps in a bored mood with little to no regard as to how he must sound to strangers buying their first or twentieth dildo. 

With your assumption that he doesn’t exactly care about the level of wet your vagina is when you use this toy, you respond. “I think I know my body well enough and I already have lube, but thanks.”

He nods, not even sparing you much of a glance before giving you a total and bagging your item.

Now, despite Jay’s lack of interest toward the purchase of toys, he finds it comical that he’s grown numb to the very fact that he knows what everyone in this town’s kinks are after they step out of the shop’s door. Someone’s gotta do this job and keep those secrets…he likes to think he fits the bill perfectly. 

Lively as he may be outside of this shop, each job comes with a personality and this one calls for one of disinterest in your product but interest in the sale. He’s not one to lie to himself though, many times a pretty girl has marched in and bought toys far bigger than any man and he does tend to let his mind wander about it from time to time. When he first started this job, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, he found it hard to navigate a single sale without a flush of tints crossing his cheeks and ears. Now, he’s become a veteran at keeping his dick locked in place if he were to feel some type of way about a purchase and the one purchasing. 

Shy as he was when he started, it’s all lost now as he handles dicks and dongs, pocket pussies and anal plugs, even whips and chains. 

Shy. That’s definitely a word and surprisingly one that can describe him when he’s not on schedule within these walls of alien dicks and lime flavored lube to match the grotesque green color. At his other job, because he works two, he takes the praise of being the charming yet timid man who shows up with pans of food for events. 

The guests seem to love him and many times during weddings and company parties he has been offered phone numbers or asked for one simply because he appears to be that of a friendly face with a kind sense of being. Someone you’d wanna bring home to mom, some might say. 

It’s a stark contrast of jobs, and somehow he’s managed to dodge knowing many of the people coming into his night job to shop for ways to fuck themselves. The rare time it had happened, he was thankful to have another person in the shop to ring them up. Keeping up with two jobs is hard, and keeping up with two personalities is even harder.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You hadn't thought of that guy from the sex shop even once until he showed his face at your family reunion. 

He noticed you before you managed to realize it was him though. Stealing looks in your direction as you chat with little cousins and elder aunts and uncles, mostly to double check in his brain if you’re really the girl who showed up and nonchalantly bought the newest dildo in stock. The fleshy colored one with rotating beads and a g-spot stimulator button. You know, the really fucking huge one. 

 Upon meeting his eye again for the first time, he could tell it really is you, simply because of the way you furrow your brow as you recognize him. 

Jay couldn’t help but smirk. He knew that eventually someone at an event would recognize him as their local sex-shop manager, he’s actually shocked it doesn’t happen more often. At least it’s you though, a woman who looks near his age and clearly has a very healthy relationship with her sexuality. So much so that you weren’t shy or nervous in buying the toy from him. Because it’s honestly pretty common to see someone nervous or uncomfortable while buying items far less telling than the one you bought.

His smirk doesn’t go unnoticed by you before you look away from him and focus your attention back to your family and by the time he’s prepared the food and is standing aside to explain what ingredients the dishes have, you’re walking up with your empty plate and an awkward glance. 

He follows you down the line of dishes, seemingly more interested in you than anyone else. You could argue it’s just an attempt to make you feel embarrassed, or perhaps even an attempt to ask you not to snitch on where else he works to make his money. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” You ask, a knowing look telling him that you’re already very aware of that ‘somewhere’ you know him from. 

His pursed lips and snide hidden laugh at you is one thing, but the way he whispers to you over a pan of potato casserole is another. 

“I think you know who I am.” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back again with a flicker of a crooked grin. 

You leave it at that, looking him in the eye curiously and for some reason, smiling back at the strange second encounter with a man who appears to have a name tag now.

“Thanks, Jay. See you around.” 

Heading away from the tables of food and toward the table that contains all of your favorite cousins, you are immediately bombarded with a raised brow from one of them. Ah, nosy. 

“What was that about?” One of them leans over to ask, glancing at the man who is still overseeing the table of food and maintaining perfect temperatures. She doesn’t quite catch the way Jay’s eyes flicker back to you, over and over again, repeatedly. 

“Huh? He was just telling me what was in the potatoes.” 

She takes your answer as truth without issue, and the conversation falls away and into something else. College life, job life, family life. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, you’re trying to hear yourself out here. Are you somehow curious and interested in speaking with Jay? Yeah. Do you know why? Also yes. For one, he just sold you a fucking interesting sex toy last weekend in the most uncomfortable way possible, and now he’s here at your family reunion to remind you of what you do in your apartment when you’re alone. 

His personality seems different this time too. He wasn’t monotone, he was snide with you about knowing who you are. He probably thinks its funny that he ended up at your family reunion over any other event.

So yeah, maybe you find yourself going up to the table for seconds even though you’re no longer hungry. Maybe you definitely wait until no one else is at the table and he appears to be tidying up the space and wiping up spills before speaking to him again. 

“Just how many jobs do you have?” You ask in a sarcastic tone when you reach him, the table between the two of you creating a comfortable distance to poke and prod.

He jumps only slightly at your presence because he didn’t notice you walking up. The brief break he’s taken from stealing glances so he could actually do his jobs appears to be the time you feel the need to finally approach. Still, he’s smiling again, looking at you up and down. 

“Plenty. How much lube do you have left?” He answers before shooting back his own question and getting right to the point. 

You freeze in shock at his question, reminding yourself that his monotone voice from the late dildo purchase is no more and he now comes across as vibrant and charming to you. You check him out for a moment, taking mental notes of what may not or may not be to like about him. You can’t tell if it’s good news or bad news that you’re not finding anything to raise any red flags. 

He’s bold, confidence, charming, clearly has a decent work ethic– 

“I can’t imagine you have much left, that thing was a fucking monster. We have tons in stock if you wanna–” He pauses to cover his mouth, forgetting that he’s supposed to be timid and gentle during his day job. He’s not supposed to be himself.

You find yourself laughing though, leaning over the table and holding out your empty plate. Mostly just to get in closer to him without alerting your family of a new future husband or something. 

“Why are you so interested in my ‘fucking monster”’ dildos anyway?” You narrow your eyes. 

He pauses, easing up at the way you’re just as cheeky and playful as he is, despite being surrounded by your family. It’s mildly inappropriate, but it’s making his shift go by quickly. You’re making his shift enjoyable today, so he continues. 

“I think anyone would be interested, with all things considered.” He checks you out again with a brief pause, knowing the size of that dildo you bought by heart, and fully aware that it probably ripped you in half if you really managed to put that thing anywhere inside of you. “Correction, they should be worried.” 

“You’re different from before,” you comment, both of you now blatantly staring down each other. “I like this version of you more.” 

Something inside of him feels giddy at that. Not to be cliche but he wonders if this is what it’s like to instantly have a crush on someone. Again, he’s not one to lie to himself. You’re pretty and you appear to be confident. Confident enough to take time from your family reunion to have a discussion about your plastic cock intake anyway.

“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime then.” He puts a hand forward, inviting you to shake it but you simply stare it down instead.  

“Yeah, maybe you will.” You smile, slapping his hand as if you’re low fiving him before swirling around and walking away thinking hard about the fact that…yeah, he might actually see you sooner than he thinks. 

Honestly, maybe within the next day or two because he was kind of right to ask about how much lube you have left, but it’s not like you’d answer that truthfully if at all. You might be running out after just two uses. He was right again about it being a fucking monster, because well, yeah. Maybe you’ll pop in and shop for bulk lube instead of rejecting his up-sale this time. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Unfortunately for you upon the reunion coming to an end, you get into your car and of course it doesn’t start. You drop your head to the steering wheel in a sigh and annoyed grunt.

The last thing you need is your father driving you home because he will lecture you about your car and how it’s got to be some fault of your own for it to not start. And you know, yeah maybe it was your fault. Why were your lights turned on during a sunny Sunday afternoon? Fuck if you know. Why were they left on for the entire nine hours you’ve been here at your parent’s house? You refuse to answer your own question.

And just as you go to accept your defeat, preparing to head back inside and take the walk of shame ten minutes after saying your goodbyes, a savior appears. 

That savior is none other than Jay,  walking up with his stiff button down shirt partially unbuttoned, hair now disheveled as he must have ruffled it up after the day of work. He watched you from his catering van for just a few minutes before finally getting out to offer his expertise. 

“The battery is dead.” He smiles, slapping both palms on your hood and leaning to look at you through the windshield. 

“Smart man, can you un-dead my battery before my dad comes out?”

Jay shakes his head apologetically. 

“I already checked the van for the cables, could be a write up on my part for not checking before leaving. We are supposed to have all sorts of shit to prevent breakdowns on a job. Not today though, apparently.” He scratches the back of his neck as he walks to your opened car door. 

“If you can hang tight for like ten minutes I can swing by after dropping the van off.”

Your eyes plead with him. You’d prefer this, yes. If he’s willing to help, you’re willing to accept.

“You sure I’m not too out of the way for you to do that?”

He shakes his head nonchalantly, waving you off as he leans into your car to pull your keys out of the ignition. He smells like food, obviously he does, but there’s a scent of something else on him that’s far more attractive. The dull scent of cologne that matches him all too well. 

“Don’t try to turn it on anymore if you don’t want your dad coming out.” He laughs. “I’m sure he would help you but if you’d rather I help you, I am more than happy to do it.”

He’s teasing. His little crush pushes him to want to help you, but he’s gonna play it off as casually as possible. 

“I’ll hang out here. My dad would lecture the fuck out of me.”

Jay nods, backing away and heading back to his van to fulfill his offer.

On another note, you’re shocked that your father didn’t hear the commotion, and even more shocked that he didn’t step outside once since the reunion ended. He must have been tired, and you know him, he sleeps like a rock and probably already hit the sack without even cleaning up the yard.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Oh, it’s dead dead.” Jay looks at you apologetically, peeking his head out from the side of your hood and through your window. 

“Define dead dead.” You comment, taking your keys out of the ignition with a huff. 

“Like, you need a new battery. This one is done for.”

You sigh loudly, knowing that now you’ll have to go ask your parents for a ride home. Knowing that your dad is going to add more to his lectures with each day your car is sitting in this driveway. This is so fucking annoying. At least you work from home though, so it’s not like you’re gonna lose your job over this or anything. 

Jay unhooks the cables and turns off his car, then stands there and watches you for a moment. You look frustrated and annoyed, and it’s very much like him to offer more help. 

Of course it is. 

“Would it be too forward to ask if you need a ride home?” 

You look at him confused, tilting your head and studying his body language much like before. You’re not one to decline someone making your life a little bit easier, and he is interesting to talk to. You nod slowly, then pause.

“You’ve worked all day, don’t waste your off-time helping me out.”

“I’m already wasting my off time on you though, might as well let me drive you home too?”

You stare at him. 

“Okay.”

The awkward silence sets in shortly after you seat yourself in his car. You fill that silence with small sarcastic comments about said car though, and soon it becomes easy to be in the space with him.

“Where did this sticker come from?” You ask, poking your finger into a sticker with its edges rolled from the summer heat, probably.

“Ex girlfriend, I couldn’t get it off without it leaving a residue so I’m just letting the sun do its job and melt it off.”

“Oh, harsh.” You laugh, wanting to prod further. “Why’d you break up?”

Jay pauses, you can tell by the way his foot lets up from the gas momentarily that he wasn’t expecting you to ask that. Then again, he’s said some weird shit to you too, so you figure it’s not an end-all question. 

“Was that too forward to ask?” 

“Not at all, just wasn’t expecting it,” He shakes his head with a small smile, nearly reaching his hand from the wheel to pat your leg in reassurance. He holds back, wondering why the fuck that urge felt so normal for him to do. “It’s been like a year, so I’m over it and stuff. She just thought I worked too much and didn’t spend enough time with her.”

“Ouch, even harsher.” You smile in reassurance to him, also feeling it normal to want to do that for some reason. “Her loss, I mean, discounted dildos and food? Huge loss.”

He laughs at your comments, briefly looking over at you once he stops at a red light. Your eyes are shining with life, with interest even. At that moment, he feels something between the two of you. Which is quite strange considering this is your first time officially meeting him outside of his working hours. He can’t help the way his face softens though, it happens against his will, honestly, it does. 

“You’re kind of cute,” You blurt, breaking eye contact with him and shifting in your seat. “and fun to hang out with.” 

“Hang out?” He laughs at you, eyes now adjusting back to the road and lowering his speed just to have a bit more time with you. “This is hardly a hang-out, but if you’re interested, I’m more than willing to check my schedule to see when I’m free next.”

You feel confidence raise up in your chest, bubbling to be free in the form of a question likely too bold to actually consider.

“You’re free right now…right?” You comment quietly, glancing at him. 

“Hm?” He asks, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and feeling your eyes on him. He heard you, but he wouldn’t mind hearing you repeat it.

“I said, you’re free right now.” You repeat, this time with more confidence. “Would it be too forward to ask if –”

“Nothing is too forward to ask, I literally sold you a dildo.” 

You pause in shock, all thoughts leaving your head.

“Damn, alright,” You laugh, feeling kind of warm inside at how his forwardness matches your own. “If you’re free right now, we could hang out right now.” 

How lucky for both of you. He’s actually not catering tomorrow and only has to be at work at the good ol’ sex shop in the evening. 

“Alright,” He nods, glancing over to you. “Kind of fucked up we are hanging out after I met your entire family and still haven’t gotten a name from you yet though, wouldn’t you think?” 

Oh fuck, he’s right. 

“I’m sure you heard the kids yelling it all day. Don’t be dramatic.”

He laughs, already in love with the idea of spending more time with you.��

And you hear him echo your name, asking where it is that you’d like to go. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

If your parents were to ask why you’re walking through your apartment building with the caterer following behind you, you’d have no excuse. Then again, as an adult, you don’t think you need one. It’s strange despite how open and casual you are with making friends though, because you never just invite strangers to your place for friendship. At least, not without hanging out a few times first. 

You guess it’s not super awkward because it’s true that he already knows things about you that your family doesn’t. Such as, the things you penetrate yourself with when you’re alone. It’s a major ice breaker, and something that makes the friendship with him come easy even after barely talking to the guy.

The few words you have shared have been easy and fun, so it’s only natural that if your instinct is to want to be around him a little longer, you’d invite him in right? You weren’t really expecting him to accept your answer to his question. 

“Where to then?” 

You thought for a moment when he asked that. You don’t go to clubs or bars anymore, most places would have been closing within the hour, and it’s not like you didn’t eat to peak fullness during the family reunion so having a late dinner with him was out of the question too. You answered him so easily, and he accepted in a way that seemed just as natural to him. 

“We could just hang out at my place, I’ve got plenty of streaming services, a gaming system, and wine.”

“Sounds good.” 

It was so easy to become friends with him, and now with him following you up to your apartment, the typical awkwardness that should come with this type of thing isn’t swarming your mind at all. He’s even making small talk about the building itself after parking in your parking spot. 

“This building is way nicer than mine, you got a door code and everything just to get in.”

“Wasn’t always like this. Being a single woman in a city like this calls for safety measures though.”

A little box in his head checks out. He didn’t even have to ask if you’re single, because he already assumed you were with the way you so easily invited him over. And in all fairness, you’ve been trying to find a reason to slip in your relationship status to him. 

By the time you get to your door with him, he’s polite when he walks in and takes off his shoes. Polite in the way he looks around and studies your space, even polite in the way he walks into the living room and invites himself onto your couch and grabs your remote. 

“I was going to say make yourself comfortable but–”

“Well, would you prefer I sit on your floor?” He shoots back with a sarcastic tone in his voice. “Would you prefer I start digging through your cabinets for snacks? Would you prefer–”

“You’re so much more talkative when I’m not trying to buy something from you.” You comment with a laugh, dipping into the kitchen for two glasses and that cheap bottle of wine. 

“Speaking of, do you actually use that thing and like it? I mean, I see some weird purchases but that specific one is super popular with the fetish groups.”

For the first time, you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You should have known that the sex toy would be a point of conversation, considering the first time you ever met was buying it. 

“Yes, I use it. I’m surprised you find it shocking considering it’s literally your job to know what people like in terms of getting off.”

He smiles at that, because you’re damn right he knows. Most of the time he would prefer not to know, but he always did wonder if, on the off chance, he ended up hooking up with a customer he’d have some prior knowledge of how they like it based on toys alone. 

“You know, normally people don’t buy toys on a Monday at nine in the morning.” 

“I buy toys at nine in the morning on a Monday,” You chuckle, carrying the two glasses and wine into the living room and plopping down next to him. “Why does that matter? I’m sure you make your quotas even on the slow days considering how hard you were trying to up-sell me.”

He shrugs as he watches you pour him a glass. 

“It’s easy to up-sell when you know people’s kinks after a few purchases. I do that to everyone just to gauge what they need so if they come back I can make more offers.”

“A true salesman.” You laugh with a pitied voice. “What would you say my kink is?”

He studies you, looking you up and down without shame and thinking hard about your single purchase. 

“Well, considering that specific item is, again, usually looked at by a specific type of person or couple, I’d say–”

“Wrong.” You interrupt before he even tries to make a guess. “I don’t have a kink, I just have a really high sex drive.”

You take a sip at his silence of being beaten to the punch, and then he takes his own thoughtful sip. 

“Okay then, What do you think my kink is?” He asks slyly, cup still against his lips as he sips again. 

“Wha–” You narrow your eyes at him, trying not to stare at him for too long because goddamn is he handsome. “Hell if I know, you probably don’t even have sex after being in a hyper-sexualized space like that for hours on end.”

“Wrong.” He pokes his tongue into his cheek and looks away from you with another casual chuckle.

“Are you telling me you have a pocket pussy or like, a buttplug or something?”

“Three pocket pussies, actually.”

You don’t know why you’re shocked. For some reason his sex toys becoming the focus makes you feel more shy than your own being the focus. 

“I bet you named them.”

“Pocket 1, Pocket 2, and Jessica.”

“Jessica?” You raise a brow despite the sarcastic banter, wondering if maybe that’s based on his ex girlfriend or something. 

He nods in a matter-of-fact tone with a proud smile. 

You feel comfortable around him, never having a friend who openly talks to you about these things without any type of awkwardness. It’s the fact that he’s a man too. Usually they think with their dicks and he seems to have no qualms in admitting that it’s something he may do from time to time too. 

You imagine he needs this type of personality to work such a job though, being casual about sex can be so difficult for your average joe because for some reason, it is embarrassing. It’s hard to talk about even to sex-shop employees. You like to think he’s probably someone who makes others feel comfortable about their sexual habits though, because you feel comfortable. 

“I’m lying by the way.” He cuts through your thoughts, “I only have two.” 

You nod energetically with a laugh. 

“Variety is good.” You continue, not mentioning the array of toys you have stashed away. 

“Yeah, I think experimenting with different things is good. I only really liked the two I kept though, I guess.”

“And yet, you’re shocked about my single dildo purchase without knowing of my other items of interest? I could have just been trying something new too, y’know.”

Another sip of wine, and another glance away from him because you were looking a little too fondly at that little scar on his nose, the birth mark on his neck, the way his lips crease when he swallows his drink and– yeah, you definitely glance away.

“No one buys that as a first time experience.” He comments, tapping the cup against his lips and looking at you.

You’re a little stunned by him, never having met a man so open to speaking like this, with a woman he barely knows no less. 

“Okay, enough about my dildo. I actually have a question about something you might have in stock but I’ve kind of been too embarrassed to ask until now.”

He nods, his personality shifting only slightly into that as the manager of the sex-shop.

“Oh? Embarrassed? Since when?” He jokes at first. “What is it then?”

“Do you guys have like,” you pause, unsure of why you’re even trying to ask. Again, it’s not like masturbation is embarrassing, nor is the purchasing of toys. Asking for a specific item is a bit too intimate to you though, seeing as how you usually just buy those things online. “Okay hear me out.”

“Tentacles? Furry buttplugs with tails attached? Bondage rope? Paddles?”

“No…” You pause at his spewing of different types of toys. “I know you have all of that.”

He pauses, studying the way you make yourself a bit smaller compared to just minutes before.

“Do you guys have sex dolls for women? You know, like, just a doll with a very normal dick?”

Jay fucking snorts. How mundane. 

Unfortunately for you though, Nope. 

“Nah, the owner tries to cater more towards men and fetish stuff. We’ve got fem tantaly dolls and all sorts of blow up dolls but he’s never brought in just like, a torso with a cock, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You shrug. 

“Guess sticking it to the wall is all I can do for now then. But like,” You pause, realizing that you’re actually going into detail at this point, which might be a little uncomfortable for him? Maybe? “It’s really annoying to have it sticking to the floor, and you’re like, riding it and it just pops off and stabs your thigh slipping out mid-orgasm.”

He snorts again, that pretty smile you’ve seen time and time again echoing the most attractive laugh you think you’ve heard in a long time. This time, his smile doesn’t fade as the seconds pass, no. He’s unable to stop laughing at the image of whatever orgasm instilled the frustration in you to even mention that happening. He tries to stifle his laughter with the last sip of his wine before choking it down and pushing his glass at you for more. 

“Noted,” He snorts, nodding his head and almost hiding his face from you. “I’ll tell the boss we need male sex dolls so the women don’t get dick-stabbed where they don’t need it mid orgasm.”

You glare. 

“Wait, no, because it actually hurts.” You frown at him. “I just wish your shop catered a little more to women who just wanna ride a dick without the dangers of riding said dick.” 

“Maybe you should slow down next time so the full force of your–” He pauses, realizing how sexual the image in his head is of you right now. “Um…” He trails off uncomfortably, unintentionally adjusting himself in his jeans by spreading his legs slightly against your couch. 

“Okay, wait. I’m sorry, is this conversation too much right now?” You ask, looking him up and down and giving him a new glass of wine. “You’re blushing.”

He tries to play it off. 

“As if you could make me blush.” He laughs at you, downing half of his glass in one go. “To make up for our lack of product though, and if you don’t tell anyone, I’ll give you a discount on your next purchase just for embarrassing yourself telling me that.”

“Oh, I was supposed to be embarrassed?” You counter, knowing that all you need to do is point out that he got flustered to shut him up. You opt not to because still, the two of you barely know each other. Instead, you opt to laugh along with him, letting your gaze fall back to studying all of those features he has that you didn’t quite notice before.

While you did notice he was handsome before, it’s not like you paid that thought any mind. There are a lot of handsome men out and about after all. It only starts to matter when they allow you to get close enough to appreciate it more. Not to mention, in your experience at various sex shops, most employees of them are mundane and nonchalant. Some are strange old men, or cool old women. Jay though? Jay.

Hmm…how to explain him?

With his messy hair that covers his eyes every time he whips his head toward you in a laugh, with his sharp jawed smile and pretty eyes. The little marks and celestial kisses against his skin that shows you of a life he’s been living. He feels…warm. Like everything about him looks comforting, smells comforting, sounds comforting. And now, even compared to when you met him at the shop, even at the reunion just this afternoon…he’s so much more handsome in this moment. 

Learning his personality, hearing his voice say your name, having him take the time to not only help you but befriend you? 

His shoulders are broad, and he’s just… you don’t even know how to explain to yourself the attraction you have toward him at this moment. Handsome is one thing, and you would have continued calling him that if it weren’t for the fact that he’s laughing with you on your couch about a ruined orgasm. 

“You know, Jay,” You start, looking into your glass and swirling the liquid inside, then you look up again and make eye contact. “I’m really not usually this forward but like,”

His brain stops for a moment at the serious tone in your voice, his expression softens and you can tell he’s listening. 

“I know masturbation and stuff is normal, and like, you see and talk about these things all the time but I never really talk about it to other people, they always get weird about it.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. I can’t say this is the most normal hang out I've ever had. Usually we talk about our favorite movies or books or something.”

You wave him off. 

“Yeah, that’s a good point. We could talk about our favorite movies but I find myself, um–” You stop for a second. 

“Is talking about it making you realize that it’s uncomfortable?” 

“No, the opposite actually.” You laugh, now actually feeling embarrassed. “I keep thinking about you mentioning the other things you’ve bought and experimented with.”

“Oh? You’re curious?” He laughs, now feeling a bit shy himself because he’s pretty sure that’s you asking him to put images in your head. “I mean I could go into detail but it actually might be too-telling right now.”

You nod, unsure of why you even suggested.

“Maybe next time?” You change the subject with a smile, one that does seem slightly disappointed. 

“There’s a next time?” He smiles, setting his glass down on your table and shifting toward you.

“I don’t see why not? I’m having fun, plus you offered me a discount.”

He nods, looking around the room and checking the time. 

“I should probably head out then? We’ve both had a long day.” 

You nod back to him, feeling a bit sad. 

“When are you free next?” You ask, grabbing your phone in a way that seems a bit too excited. “Can you give me your number?”

He obliges, exchanging phone numbers and promising to contact you with his next free day or night to hang out. Just as he goes to leave though, for some reason both of you feel as though the satisfaction of this hang out wasn’t reaching full potential. 

“Hey, um,” He stops before he puts his shoes back on. “Would it be too forward to say I’m not tired and wouldn’t mind–”

“Staying for a bit longer?” You finish his sentence for him, patting the couch as if that was also on your mind.

He doesn’t even respond, and instead makes his way back onto the couch where the cushion is still warm, unable to help the fluttering feeling in his chest.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It's almost two in the morning by the time he offers to leave again, and yet, he stays at your clear disappointment of the offer. Another hour later, the two of you are sitting contently and pretending to watch some shitty tv show in comfortable silence. 

“We should say something.” He blurts, mid episode.

“What do you mean?”

He turns toward you. 

“We should talk about this.” He motions at the space between the two of you. 

You’re silent while you try to build up the confidence to meet him half-way again. 

“You can correct me if you’re not interested but I actually really would like it if you kissed me or something.” He adds as you continue to process what he seems to be getting at.

You’re taken aback by his forwardness for some reason, and instantly you knew he didn’t communicate this earlier for your own sake. Thankfully, you’ve tried to make it easy for him to read you and he ate it up like his favorite meal. The content feeling between the two of you was buzzing up to this point. Very loudly in your brain where you were thinking of how to kiss him before the night is up. Even as just a “thank you” if he were to turn away from it. 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, tilting your head and seeing him scoot closer. “Kiss you, or something?”

He nods his head, looking at you without much issue and searching for a reaction. 

“Are you interested in me like that, in any way?” He asks, looking for confirmation.

“Oh, most definitely.”

The smile that spreads across his face is one that you can argue will be unforgettable. It’s an expression you hope to bring to every person in your life, one that seems to express nothing but relief, excitement, and maybe even a hint of bashfulness.

“You thought I'd invite you inside without being interested?” You smile at him, feeling a little bit fuzzy in the head at the admittance. 

“I thought you were just being nice, or like, just interested in friendship,” He rambles on, stopping himself short to give more context to that statement. “I mean, it would be fine if this was all for friendship and I'm happy with that too but I can admit to coming into your apartment with maybe, uh, a small crush.” 

“I can admit to inviting you in with a small crush, maybe.” 

“Maybe.”

“Are we being too forward?” You ask, emphasizing the repetitive way that word seems to appear. “Even though you’re in my apartment at an ungodly hour and both of us are giving any and every excuse to keep you here?”

He smiles this time in a way that appears to be self-soothing, and you can imagine you are too. It’s always nerve-wracking to walk on eggshells with another person, the threat of wondering if you'll fall alone or fall with them into a new version of partnership. 

You don’t think about the lack of knowing him past a purchase, a quick conversation at a family reunion, or the past several hours he’s huddled up with you on this couch. You simply don’t think it’s strange at this point. After all, you’ve met people online and invited them over without much more than a name, age, and quick conversation about what they want sexually. How is this worse? How is this strange? 

“You’re right. Maybe we should stop being so polite when the reality of it is that I’ve been imagining what you’ve done with that toy since the day you bought it.” 

Okay, maybe that was too forward but all is lost now as your image of him changes drastically within the mere seconds it took him to say that, not in a bad way either. Again, of course he’s comfortable admitting it, the dude stares at dicks and holes all day. But now he’s staring at you, and talking directly to you.

Your silence makes him shift a bit, shaking his head apologetically. 

“Found the boundary, got it.” He shames himself with a timid voice, looking away from you and back to the tv with a hint of embarrassment. “I’m not lying though.” He adds after a few more minutes of your silence.

“Not much of a boundary if I admit that I was blatantly asking you earlier what you’ve done to experiment with your toys.”

“Aha! So I was right in thinking you were straight up asking for mind-porn of me?!” He feels instantly comfortable again, turning his entire body toward you as he folds up one of his legs to sit on with a little bounce. 

“Maybe, but what do you mean you’ve been imagining since I bought it? You barely made eye contact with me that day.”

“Oh, I was checking you out the whole time you shopped. Imagine my face when I knew exactly what toy you were reaching for.”

You shove him by the shoulder with a laugh, realizing that this is the first bodily contact you’ve ever had with him, but he actually leans into your shove rather than out of it. Meaning, he barely budges. 

“If I looked you in the eye at the register, you would have thought I was some pervert.” 

“You are a pervert. You said it had, what? Twelve other colors?” 

He shrugs with a pained smile at how cringe he must have sounded to you. 

“You seemed more like a sparkly pink girl rather than a normal flesh tone girl. Then again, this was before I knew you were looking for a literal male sex doll for super normal pretend-sex.”

You shove him again, your laugh coming out more forced now at the way he jokes with you. Once again, he doesn’t budge. In fact, he’s leaning in closer. 

“Now hold on, you didn’t mention anything about one having glitter in it.” You joke, wiggling your brows. 

“You trying to fuck a man or a magic unicorn?” He laughs yet again, all of it coming out more forced as the two of you drag out information just to hear the dirty words in a voice you’re only just realizing you like far too much. 

“A man.” You dead-pan, this time not laughing, looking him dead in the eye and trying to pretend you don’t notice how close the two of you have gotten. “Why else would I go for more human skin tones?”

“Fuck if I know, I haven’t met a single man who has vibration settings or rolling beads though.” 

You snort. 

“Shame…but also, why do you think I’m on the hunt for the most mundane sex toy a woman can buy now? The rolling beads almost had me passing out.” 

“Was it too much?” He asks seriously, hoping to god it was. 

“A little bit, yeah.”

“I can imagine you want something to feel real after that.”

For some reason, his words hit you straight in the gut. Your stomach drops as your attraction heightens, and suddenly you’re just staring at him as you respond. 

“I can imagine so, yeah.” 

He stares back, almost no space between the two of you as the banter only brought you both mentally and physically as close as possible without becoming twisted together. 

“When was the last time you felt something real?” He asks against his better judgment, wondering if you’re on the same page with him. Wondering if all this banter was leading to somewhere or nowhere. Because he could have sworn admitting to wanting you to kiss him, and you’ve yet to do so. 

“A month and a half.” You respond dryly, suddenly needing something to drink. 

He glances down at your neck when you swallow around your words, then stares at your lips before breathing in a sigh. One that was supposed to relieve the tension in this moment, but only building it more because he knows you see him do it. He knows you see him wet his bottom lip too.

“Are you going to kiss me, or are you planning to wait another month and a half to get what you want?” He continues on his streak of boldness as if to distract you from noticing the sexual tension, feeling his heart skip beats at the intensity of the moment. 

“It’s not like we have anything better to do.” You start, leaning in and still looking straight into his eyes.

“Are you suggesting that I’m boring?” He narrows his eyes as he feels your breath against his lips, still sweet from the wine that did close to nothing in terms of altering the brain. The two of you are totally planted into reality, if anything, a little drunk on the other. 

“Not at all.” You adjust your words from earlier, there, hovering just over his lips. “I’m just saying that nothing is more interesting than kissing you right now.”

Oh, the fluttering in his belly is so fucking intense right now. No eighteen inch alien tentacle dildo on a shelf could scare him as much as you do at this moment. Intimidatingly outspoken and aware of your wants and needs. His eyelashes flutter just like his stomach does, closing them slowly until he can feel your lips on his. 

Your stomach, on the other hand, has been doing flips since the first instance he admitted to wanting to stay. All of the tension, all of the comfortable silence, all of the glances, the smiles, the laughing, all of it was leading up to this. The moment your lips hit his, they feel much like you imagined they would. 

Soft, plush, warm. The thin lipped grins he’s given you all day now laying flat against your own lips, no longer grinning, now just wanting. And he’s gentle, so fucking gentle with it. Never has a man asked you to kiss him. Usually they close the gap to try and swoon you. It appears you’re both being swooned by each other at the moment though, and his soft kiss only pulls back momentarily before he leans forward, closer.

The third touch, save for you shoving him, his lips on yours, and now…his hand on your cheek. Caressing so gently as he deepens the kiss with ease. The heat rises up and through your skin at the simple touch. You think he must feel it with the way he chuckles into the kiss and starts peppering them against your lips over and over again. A split second between each lay of his lips, and then another solid kiss. One where you finally start moving yours too.

It’s slow and languid in the way he kisses you like this, barely even darting his tongue out but focusing more on your cheek against his palm. He can feel your jaw move as you kiss and can’t help but love what’s happening, and when you’re the one to lick against his lower lip, he falls in so easily. 

That little movement from you, that little feeling of your tongue experimentally prodding his lips open releases the last bit of tension holding him back. He pulls back to look at you and you’re not backing down even slightly. 

“Does this feel more real for you?” He asks in a snide way, swiping your bottom lip with his thumb of the glistening saliva before tilting his head with a smile. 

You very nearly roll your eyes at him for that. And by very nearly, you do roll your eyes at him and can’t help but smile yet again. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” He says, palm still against your cheek, tips of his fingers toying with the baby hairs on your hair-line. “because I can imagine that the toy couldn’t ki-”

You shoot forward to kiss him again, only just realizing how awkward the positioning is considering neither of you were probably expecting more than a first kiss. 

He laughs into it, knowing you were silencing him of something that could arguably be the most cringe-worthy thing he can say after kissing you. His laughs start to stifle though, as you press forward and somehow manage to have his back against the seat of the couch and you planting yourself on top of him. 

“Can you shut up about the toy now? I thought we got past that,” You argue as you pull back, your cheek already missing the feeling of his palm against it. “You can’t just act like this and then say some dumb shit like that.”

You’re joking, he knows it. If anything, you’re complimenting him right now and he eats it the fuck up as he stares up at you. 

“Was I wrong though?” 

You take a moment to look at him, realizing that this is the man who you just kissed. With his hair a mess and fanned out on the cushions, strands falling in front of his eyes, but mostly swept back and exposing the entirety of his forehead to you. 

You reach forward and brush a strand from his eyes. 

“Actually, say whatever you want.” You correct yourself and manage to ignore his question.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” He half-chuckles as he brings his hands up to sit against your waist, hoping you don’t pull out of the intimate position the two of you are in. 

“I don’t know, I was just looking at you and thought it would be stupid for me to try to argue with you right now.”

“Why’s that?” He prods for more compliments, feeling himself twitch at the way you look hovering over him. 

“Are you trying to argue right now?” You tilt your head, adjusting yourself now to sit directly on his thighs and lay forward, both hands cushioning your chin on his chest as you straddle him. 

“Would it be so wrong to admit that you’re fun when you argue with me?” 

You can feel him breathe under you, nearly rocking you further and further into whatever headspace Jay seems to put you in. It’s too comfortable, and it almost feels as though you’ve been with him for years now. You barely know him, yet you’re lying on him as if you got married two years ago. Insane how this works. How the heart works, or the brain, or whatever drives the arousal you’re feeling right now. 

“Will you argue if I ask to show you my room?” You start, lifting back up and away from his chest, now scooting forward a bit. You don’t dare sit on it yet, but you very much would like to if he were to suggest not moving at all from this couch. “My bed.”

He stutters and quickly quiets his excited words, replacing his voice with a nod and a sharp inhale.

“Hah! Telling me to argue and instantly buckling the second I mention my bed.” You laugh, pulling yourself up and sauntering out of his view.

He stares at the ceiling for a moment, in a daze over just how much he likes you. He wonders, would you be shocked to know he hasn’t had sex in much longer compared to you? One and a half months for you? That’s nothing to him. He’s been besties with his right hand for at least six months by now. Trust him when he says that it truly was difficult to not turn into a hormonal idiot when he saw you in the shop that day. 

Finally, he shakes himself out of the spaced out horny brain staring at your ceiling and stands to his feet. He’s quick to adjust the bulge in his jeans, uncomfortably shaking his leg before looking toward where you walked off to.

“Um.” He stops, realizing you were watching him, looking directly at the spot he just adjusted. “I mean,” He tries to start again, adjusting again as he feels it slowly move out from its tucked place. “Listen,”

“No, I get it.” You say, snickering at his embarrassment as if he somehow doesn’t know you were suggesting at least some foreplay by moving to your room.

“Of course you do,” He drops his head, now blatantly shoving his hands down his pants to adjust before looking back up and taking a step forward. “You’re the one who sat on me like that.”

“Please, I didn’t even sit on it.” 

“Didn’t need to.” He shrugs, now coming up to you and waiting for you to guide him through your space and into your room. 

Once the two of you get there, him not even attempting to hide that he is very aroused at this moment, you’re very quick to turn and face him once he comes inside. 

“We are on the same page, right?” You ask, looking at his lips and the way they still look so kissable. 

“As far as I know, with all things considered.” He responds, looking down at himself and how pathetic he must seem in getting so aroused by nothing more than a kiss and a position change. 

You smile, reaching for his hand and watching him tumble forward to you. Now standing mere inches in front of you. 

“Do you want to see it?” You ask, a cheeky smirk on your face as you turn away from him and run to your bedside table. 

He has no idea what the fuck you’re referring to until he sees it. There, in all of its non-human glory. Jay ticks his tongue, curiously straining his neck out to peek at what else is in your drawer as he walks closer. 

You make no attempt to close the drawer and instead pull out another one, and another one, another one.

“If you keep pulling out toys I’ll start to think you were lying in saying you wanted to feel something more, um–”

“Real?” You say, turning from your presented line-up of toys to look at him. 

He nods, gazing over the toys, four dildos all far bigger than he is. 

“I can admit that men can’t vibrate, nor do they have those little rotating beats but,” You chuckle at the conversation, scooping the toys up quicker than you laid them out and tossing them back into the drawer. “They’re not warm, or attached to someone that can kiss me. They’re also not witty.”

You study his expression.

“They don’t make me laugh before getting me off.” You continue, wondering if you may actually be too forward about this now. 

He’s rendered a bit speechless, which is rare for him in any given situation. He always has a quick response, not at this moment though as he looks at you. He wonders if you pity that obvious act of self-doubt upon seeing your toys. 

“They’re not attached to you.” You add, this time stifling your chuckle, because it’s a pretty funny conversation if you look at it from the outside but you can imagine he must be feeling some type of way to be so quiet.

He thinks hard about it, knowing damn well where this was leading and pushing for it himself. Hearing you now though, so confidently say these things, all doubt erases from his mind. 

“Before we do anything,” he starts, his shaky voice coming out more confident as he continues. “Is this just a hook-up to you or are you feeling the way I’m feeling right now?”

You look at him with a question in your eyes. He was kind of shocked that you didn’t finish for him this time, actually. 

“Like, you know if we do this, I’m going to be calling to take you out to dinner at some point unless you say you don’t want me to, right?”

You hadn’t thought of anything past him since you’ve gotten here. You didn’t think about anything more than hanging out with him, and now, kissing him, and maybe you know, feeling him. For some reason though, despite the lack of sex you’ve had lately, him saying that only arouses you more. It’s been so long since you’ve intended to sleep with someone and have them want to stick around after. Some of the people you’ve been with didn’t even ask for your number. Is this what adult relationships are actually like? 

“As in, you’d want to see where this goes in the–”

“Future, yes. I’m not just going to fuck you and pretend I didn’t when I see you again.”

Shockingly, that’s a first for you and you like the feeling it gives you. Plus, him implying that he’s about to, or very willing to, fuck you sends a wave of fondness through you.

“Alright. Let’s not call it a hook up then.” You say, the playful arousal from before stifling out at the idea of being intimate with someone who is making you aware that you’ll see him again, now being replaced with…feelings? Arousal with feelings?

“What should we call it?” 

“A date?” You say back immediately, sitting on your bed and finally closing your bedside drawer. 

“Oh, you fuck on the first date?” 

You laugh at how quickly his wit comes back, especially with the way he crowds up and stands in front of you. 

“With you? Looks like it.” You smile wide for him, feeling the tension bleed away and replace itself again with the arousal of him standing and looking down at you. 

“How did we not meet earlier?” He asks, leaning down a bit as if to kiss you.

“Fuck if I know, I bought all of those toys at your shop.”

“Ah, right. Nine in the morning on a Monday. I don’t usually work mornings.”

“Guess I got lucky last time then.”

“I guess you did.” He adds like a period to a sentence, finally kissing you again and making no effort to hide the fact that he’s attempting to lay you down much like you did to him before. 

You let him, falling back on your bed and feeling him nudge your legs to spread. Again, you let him, feeling your heart begin to race with excitement in the way he kisses you now versus how he did it earlier. 

There is clear intent behind it this time, as he positions himself between your legs. Your heart only races faster when one of his hands slides down your arm and he tangles his fingers with yours. It’s all very intimate to be coming from a man you officially met today, but you really do feel lucky. 

Lucky that he works two jobs, lucky that your family throws lame ass reunions every five years, lucky that you left your headlights on during a sunny sunday afternoon, lucky that your battery died. 

It’s so normal already to smile into the kiss and feel giddy inside. Never have you smiled into a kiss save for laughing when a leg cramp happens mid-fuck. You can’t believe how much you’ve smiled and laughed today, and you can’t believe he’s making you react this way just by holding your fucking hand and kissing you this way. 

He laughs when you react though, probably feeling at ease on your bed with you under him, squeezing your fingers tightly each time he licks against your tongue. And when he pulls back to breathe, you just look at him and the way his hair hangs in front of his eyes. He looks so pretty at this angle, even when he’s moving slowly, even when his other hand remains planted beside your head to hold his weight from falling onto you. 

It’s not been since highschool that you’ve laid with someone simply making out, fully clothed, giggling. You’re unsure of how he’s pulled this out of you, because usually when a man is on top of you, you’re already trying to get his clothes off. But this? This is something that you want to last. You want it to be slower than a usual fuck, because you like when he’s here with you. Whether on top of you or not, there was a reason he’s stayed this late already and you already know it wasn’t solely to fuck you.

“Did you expect to be on top of me someday?” You ask between kisses, and he takes that as an invitation to laugh against your neck and tickle your cheek with his messy hair. 

“Expect it? No,” He starts, leaving a kiss just under your ear before lowering his lips to the collar of your shirt and kissing there too. “Hoped I could, though.” 

Your heart swells up at that. You realized he must have meant it when he admitted to having a small crush on you. Only now do you realize that the curiosity that brought you back up to the food-table during the reunion may have been the start of a crush on your end too. 

You don’t say anything more after that and instead fall into the feeling of his lips kissing along your collar. For some reason the sensation of his lips pushing the fabric out of the way so he can kiss new exposed skin makes you feel incredibly wanted. Maybe it’s the pace, or maybe it’s just because you really really like him, and want him to want you. 

“Do you want to take it off?” You ask after a few more of his kisses, wanting to control yourself but also very much wanting to feel his lips everywhere else too. 

You can feel him nod in the form of his hair tickling your cheek more. But he doesn’t move from that spot at first, continuing to kiss you the same way and in the same places. You let him, up until he finally sighs and pulls back. 

Looking at him now, even compared to a few moments ago, he looks even more pretty. His eyes are now soft, you can almost see the lines from where he’s smiled for you all day. His lips, looking more kissable than they did the past two times you thought they looked as kissable as they ever could. His eyebrows, showing no signs of tension but permanently arched in a way that makes him appear constantly moody. 

You’re staring and you’re not intending to hide it. Even as he lifts your shirt from your waist and starts to pull it up. You barely budge as you stare, and stare, until you can’t because he’s trying to pull your shirt over your head.

“If you’d stop staring for two seconds maybe I could get this off of you–” He smiles knowingly, finally pulling it off when you arch your back and then prop yourself up slightly with your hands. “There.”

He sighs when he says it, going silent and almost frozen at the image of your nearly-naked torso. You watch him stare now, a smirk forming all too quickly.

“Now look who’s staring.” You chuckle, noting that his eyes still don’t leave the newly exposed skin or the fabric of your bra.

“Yeah, I am.” He admits, wetting his lower lip again and then flicking his eyes to you. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Suddenly, that eye contact makes you feel shy. You’re more naked than he is, despite mostly being dressed still.

“You know,” you start, avoiding his intense eye contact just to get the words out. “If we just take all of our clothes off now, it would probably be easier.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle at you but nods, already lifting his shirt off and going for his zipper and button.

“There’s no rush, but if you’d prefer we do,” He scoots back and away from you, standing to his feet to shove his jeans down his legs. “I don’t mind.”

You watch him undress and lose all ability to act on your own for a solid thirty seconds before you finally start panic-shimming the rest of your clothing off. Save for bra and panties, and he, now standing there clad in only a pair of form-fitting briefs. 

You’re glad he isn’t as shy as you at this moment though, or rather, he appears to be entirely infatuated with your body and doesn’t look away from it for even a moment to feel embarrassed himself at standing on the side of your bed nearly nude. 

“No rush?” You ask, when he finally trails his eyes up to you and takes his position between your legs from earlier. Except now, you can see his biceps and the way they flex, now, you can feel the immense amount of warmth radiating from him. Now, his hair is even more of a mess.

“I can try,” He says quietly, balancing on one hand and lowering his lips to yours once more, trying to ignore how dangerously close his length is to bumping against your core. “No promises now, though.”

You smirk, wondering where he lost his self control within that short span of time where you got undressed. He cuts your chuckle off mid-way though, now kissing you again and moving his hand up and down your waist. It tickles and causes goosebumps to form all over you, to the point that you can’t help but sigh into his kiss. 

He continues, still holding his hips back from grinding against you, kissing you as good as he can until trailing back to your neck again. 

It’s not until you run your fingers through his hair that he sighs himself. That relief and heavenly feeling of your fingers scraping the back of his neck— such a simple touch can literally send him straight to hell at this point and he wouldn’t care a single bit as long as it’s from you and your hands. 

He lowers himself more, just to prevent his hips from intruding into this moment only to lock his lips onto the mound of your breast, other hand lowering so he can lay down and push your bra to the side a bit. 

The cold air that hits your nipple is short-lived when you feel him immediately suck it into his mouth with a deep breath. You continue to scratch through his hair, now using your other hand to nearly hug his head in place as you feel the sensations shoot straight between your legs. Each flick of his tongue sends signals to your brain to go! go! go! But much like him, you hold back, even though your legs still manage to squeeze his body between yours in an attempt to find the friction he isn’t yet offering. 

He continues this for a few minutes, and then works his fingers under the bra on the other side of your chest before switching his lips to that one. Perking them up so perfectly that he can graze his teeth against either nipple and feel your legs react to it. All of it is turning him on beyond belief, it’s dangerously attractive to him now too, to know that you have several toys that could have already gotten you off by now, but you choose this. You choose his lips playing with your tits, and your legs doing an amazing job of showing him your lack of control. After all, toys can’t give you the foreplay that he can.

His lips continue their work, up until he’s trailing further and further down, making your sighs hitch higher and higher in pitch. He kisses your waist, just above your belly button, then just below your belly button before leaning back.

There, he looks directly at the seat of your panties and smiles at the wet spot there. He plants a kiss right in the center of your mess  before climbing back up and caressing your cheek again. 

“You’re wet.” He comments in a huskier voice than he normally uses, balancing yet again on his other arm.

Goddamn, if this is how he sounds when he’s with a girl then you feel more lucky than before. You can’t imagine the amount of women who have fallen completely in love with this guy. And, before you can actually respond to him with another cheeky comment, his hand on your cheek disappears and is instantly between your legs, cupping you there and even scooting you up the bed with the force of how he grabs you.

You hitch out a sigh and look at him with a smile.

“Obviously.” You say back, rolling your eyes playfully before unintentionally bucking your hips into the pressure his palm offers against your clit. 

“Cute too.” He adds, lifting his palm to run his fingers up the wet spot on your panties before pressing in slightly. 

You can feel the fabric stick to you uncomfortably, but it still feels so fucking good. Any amount of touching from him feels good, if you’re being honest. 

“And you’re teasing me.” You argue, looking away from his smirk as he plays with the wet fabric against his fingers. 

“Just ask. I’m not teasing you if you're not telling me what you want.” 

You shoot your eyes back to him, a mixture of curiosity and shock in your eyes. It’s true though, you are a little shocked. Most men really just do what they want, and so do you. Never have you been asked what you want. 

Your eyes trail down as far as they can, what his hand is doing is mostly hidden between your legs but you focus entirely on the way his arms flex as his fingers travel up and down your panties. 

“You want me to ask?” You question, hips bucking up again unintentionally. 

“Not so much ask, but like, tell me what you want.”

He nods to himself as he says it, licking his bottom lip and pressing the fabric of your panties in yet again. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to do what he wants right now though, definitely not. He just figures you know your body far better than he does, and he’d rather not make assumptions and embarrass himself when you could just ask him or better, guide him. Who is he to assume you want his fingers right now anyway?

“I’ve never…” You start, swallowing your words as your brain goes back to focusing on his fingers momentarily. “I haven’t–”

He knows what you’re trying to say, so he attempts to make it a bit easier for you. 

“Do you want me to pull your panties to the side?” 

You sigh with a nod, looking at him and allowing him to guide you through telling him what you want.

“Do you want me to touch you?” 

You nod again, pushing your head back against the mattress out of frustration that you, for some reason, can’t find the words to just tell him yourself. 

He listens to your body though, more than your weak nods and frustrated sighs. The way your legs shake when he asks, the way you react to the air hitting your folds when he does push your panties to the side. He can’t bear to look down yet though, because he knows for a fact that if he were to pull back and look at you in full, he’d no longer be asking you what you want. He’d be embarrassing for sure. 

You can feel his fingers now sliding through your folds though, bare pussy out and on display but not yet being looked at, only being felt. And arguably, all you can do right now is feel too, as he leans forward to kiss you in this silent moment. 

His fingers continue to explore as he kisses you, collecting all of your arousal and swirling it around your clit before sliding back down and prodding at your entrance. You make a sound at that, kissing him a little harder than before when he lets out a hum.

“Hm?” He hums against your lips, and you nod to him. 

There, he dips a finger in only slightly. Your arms reach around his neck at the feeling and pull him closer to you. To the point that you can feel him struggle to angle his hands right to slide in deeper, but you pay no mind to it. At least not until you kiss the fucking daylights out of him.

That, you do. Kissing him with full-force and making a show of how turned on you are for him. He feels it, with or without your kiss bruising him. The wetness on the tip of his finger only becomes wetter, and when you release your grip around his neck, he still doesn’t leave the kiss.

He goes back to gently kissing you, focusing more on his fingers than what his tongue is doing. He slides that same finger in all the way now, feeling your walls clench almost instantly and beg for more. Chuckling at the feeling, he fucks his finger into you experimentally before pulling them out and adjusting two fingers at your entrance. 

“Hm?” He hums again, and you nod again.

So, two fingers slide in and you’re releasing a soft moan against his lips. Already out of breath from focusing so hard on how he feels when he touches you. Your lips fall slack just to catch that lost breath, and he doesn’t argue, going right back to that spot on your neck to kiss as he picks up rhythm with his fingers. Effectively fucking you open with them as you cling to him.

You hate to say you didn’t pay much attention to his hands until now. Having not noticed how deep just those two digits reach inside of you, and good fucking lord does he know how to use them too. Curling them up at just the right moment to have your legs shaking. 

Never have your legs fucking shook for a man. This only happens with the g-spot stimulating toys. God, you open your eyes to look at the ceiling in thought, and it has you wondering if he even knows he’s doing it. 

“Keep doing that–” you urge him, and he hums at you finally at least trying to tell him what you want. 

He finally lifts from your neck to look at you, now placing his weight back on that one free arm that had been toying with the ends of your hair this entire time, and he’s fucking floored. Even if he pictured you before with those toys, none of those images came close to this. And it’s just his fingers? No where near the size of your toys, no where near as expensive, or warm…or alive.

Oh. You want to feel someone who wants you. 

“I’ll do anything you want.” He says, doing exactly as you asked except a little faster, still hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly that you’re moaning out now. 

He tunes in entirely to the sounds you’re making, the faces you’re making, and the way your pussy clenches around just those two fingers. He is aching at this point, pulling back from hovering over you to sit now between your legs, fingers still keeping pace, and sliding his other hand down his briefs. 

You don’t notice at first, too enthralled by the feeling of his curling fingers inside of you, but when you do–

“God,” You moan, rolling your eyes at the image of him out of breath, both hands working to pleasure both of you. “Come here.”

He listens, already pulling his hand away from himself but keeping his fingers in you, in a daze as he takes his original position of hovering over you.

“No, I mean, come here.” You say, looking at him as you reach between your bodies and pull his fingers out of you, then reach to grab between his legs. 

He immediately moans at the feeling, his hips pressing harshly into your grip with a whine as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes just to feel it. 

“Pull it out.” You continue, slowly becoming more and more comfortable telling him what you want. 

Just watching him do what you ask is insanely hot. The way he pulls his cock out seems so natural to him, you suddenly imagine what he must look like all alone while getting himself off. Thankfully though, he’s not all alone right now, he’s with you, and you intend to be getting him off. 

You look at him, between his legs, and then back at him once more before grabbing it again and practically pulling his hips to you by the cock. He groans all the same at it though, and only holds his breath when he feels your legs spread further and essentially press his cock between your folds and hold it there from the head. 

“Grind.” You say, still holding your hand in place to keep the pressure against him, which also puts pressure against your clit when he does grind up.

You both shiver at it, and he still looks down at you, fucking smiling through his sighs of relief regarding the new sensations you’re offering. 

“You’re actually fucking perfect.” He compliments, fucking his hips up and coating his cock with the dripping of your needy cunt. 

Out of everything he’s ever said to you up to this point, out of everything he’s fucking done to you, that’s the one thing that has you spiralling into a world of fire. It makes you feel so warm, especially with the head of his cock bumping your clit. He has barely gotten any friction and he is still calling you perfect? Sign you the fuck up, forever, actually. 

“Don’t be stupid,” You start, waving him off between moans and gripping his shoulders.

He grinds up harder at your words though, now propping himself up on his elbows and grabbing your face on both sides. 

“You, don’t be stupid.” He says clearly, pointing his thrusts directly at your clit and moaning only slightly as he looks at you.

You swear, at that moment he could see your entire life. Everything about you. Everything you love and hate. The way he doesn’t look through you but at you? 

“You’re actually insane.” You laugh, crumbling to his pointed gaze and thrusts, your legs automatically shooting up to wrap around his waist. 

He seems proud of being called insane right now. Mostly because he can come up with at least fifty reasons as to why this is anything but insanity, but he remains quiet at the feeling of your legs squeezing around him. 

Such a girl was looking for mundane sex toys to have normal sex with? Lucky you, this is his fucking favorite. Plain ‘ol missionary? Check. Legs squeezing around him, almost pulling him in? Check. Looking directly at the face of the person he wants to make feel good? Check. 

You barely notice his lack of control by this point, the closeness alone feels like you’re already having sex but you realize you’re entirely empty still. This is fine though, until it’s not.

When does it not become fine? When his confident moans turn to soft sighs, and you notice his arms shaking a bit to hold his weight above you, and when his eyes go dead staring at you. You can tell he’s focused entirely on the feeling between the two of you, doing nothing more than aggressive yet…weak grinds? 

“Jay,” You say, slightly out of breath. 

“Hm?” He responds half-heartedly, releasing his weight from one elbow and dropping his head between your neck and shoulder.

“Fuck me.”

It’s like you can feel the switch in his head go from losing sanity to gaining it back in an instant at those words. He felt like he was pleasuring himself against you for so long, with so much friction between your hand and his abdomen constantly pressing into it. He could have gotten off from this, if you wanted him to anyway. It would have been an intense orgasm after working up for so long too, but now? 

He doesn’t even say anything, he doesn’t even move his head from between your neck and shoulder. Instead, you feel him expertly adjust his hips and press in without much trouble. He finds exactly where he belongs so fucking fast that is has you spinning and clenching immediately. 

“Shit,” He drones out with a long sigh, slowly sinking his cock into you. “You’re throbbing.” 

You chuckle, because yeah. You definitely are, but so is he. You can feel his thick length spreading you open inch by inch, until he’s fully planted into you and twitching. Then he doesn’t move again.

“This alone could do me in,” He chuckles against your neck, breathing in a deep sigh and attaching his teeth to your lower ear lobe. “Honestly, I can't believe I didn’t already cum  just from having my fingers in you.”

You’re both flattered and shocked by this comment, before you can even think to respond he’s talking again.

“You’re so tight, so wet.” He soothes himself through the feeling of your walls clenching around him by explaining how good your pussy feels, not yet wanting to move and just wanting to feel what your body does to him on its own. “It’s so hard not to move right now.”

“Please,” You manage to get out, struggling to focus on just one thing with the way he’s talking and the way he sits so perfectly inside of you. “Please, move.”

And he does, instantly. Pulling out and sliding back in so easily that the slapping sound is muted entirely by the matching moan you both release. You can feel his voice vibrating against your neck, and you can imagine he might be able to feel yours through your pulsing walls, because it feels like every sound, touch, and sensation is sent straight there for him to enjoy. 

It doesn’t stop either. Both of you shamelessly moaning at the feeling of him snapping his hips into you at perfect speed, with a perfect voice, and a perfect hand moving up to grip your chest. 

He’s practically blanketing you with his body, your legs holding him in this spot, his hair still finding a way to tickle your cheek with each thrust in. It’s so fucking much. It’s so good, and so…comfortable.

You’re comfortable. So comfortable you don’t even feel the need to rub your clit, you don’t want to chase the orgasm, you just want to feel him. And apparently, he’s still on the same page with you. 

When he lifts his head, kissing the bottom of your chin and then your lower lip, still the two of you are groaning at each deep thrust in, but he manages to talk through it, somehow.

“Don’t stop,” he says, despite you barely doing anything. “Keep doing that.” He continues as his thrusts pick up pace. 

Only now do you realize that you were doing something. Without noticing, your hands were nearly tearing his back apart. Not literally, but your nails may have dug in a few times. Normally, once you notice doing that, you would stop because normally men don’t want the trace of another woman on him. Jay though, he’s in love with the idea that you’ll leave a mark. 

Obsessed with the sting of it, really, loving the idea of going to his night-job tomorrow and staring at all of the toys that don’t offer you a back to hold onto like this. 

You do as he asks much like he does for you, gripping him so tightly that your nails have no choice but to leave half-moon shapes on his skin. Each thrust drags your fingers up, down, up down, and with each thrust it somehow feels deeper, harder, hotter.

When he releases your chest from his other hand and puts it back to your cheek, caressing much like he has each time he’s focused on kissing you, you think you’re a fucking goner. 

As expected, he kisses you at that moment and thrusts once, hard, before holding himself there.

“I’m really close,” He whispers apologetically between kisses, “tell me how to get you there with me.”

You smile when he kisses you again instead of letting you answer, but you fall into it much like he does and you opt to grab that hand on your cheek and guide it to your clit. 

Instantly, he’s rubbing harsh and sloppy circles around it, and you reward him for the perfect work of his fingers yet again with your fingernails digging into his back. He softly moans at that, and you swallow it up all too easily. 

Tensing your muscles, his fingers on your clit work you up so quickly that you barely warn him of your oncoming orgasm, even as his cock sits leaking and heavy inside of you. You don’t even know how to tell him, all you can do is frantically moan out shortly.

“I’m–” 

Instantly his hips are back at work, barely even thrusting but instead remaining buried into you for the most part. He pulls out an inch and slams back in, wanting your orgasm to get him off more than his own movements. And fuck, it does.

The way you clench when you reach your high, slack lips against his own, he releases at what he could argue is the best possible time. Your tenses muscles work him up perfectly, gently massaging his cock as he releases in full without too much overstimulation. 

And you. You have never gotten off with a man staying mostly still inside of you. Actually, you’ve only gotten off that way with toys because nothing beats getting off while completely full. Jay really is something, or, someone. 

The two of you release together, and his lips fall slack just like yours do. The kissing turned to that of desperate, orgasm-fogged moans into the other’s mouth. For some reason, it was incredibly hot to you that you both reacted that way. So insanely drunk on the other that nothing felt embarrassing.

Even the way his fingers moved on your clit through your orgasm, he somehow knew when to go and when to stop. 

Even now, as your orgasm tapers off, you are so blissfully aware that you want to immediately fall asleep even with him inside of you. Jay is polite though, and gently pulls out with a small apology of the mess. 

When he looks at you, looking so sleepy under him, maybe it translates to him too and he instantly yawns but tries to be strong for both of you.

“We should clean up.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

There wasn’t even a question in your head when he slept over that night. He didn’t even hint at leaving. Nor did he hint the morning after as you groggily opened your computer for your daily work. 

He did hint that he would miss you when he eventually had to go to his own house and get ready for an evening at the sex-shop. He also hinted a few times at feeling like, when he looked at you, you weren’t a brand new person in his life. Part of you wonders if that’s because maybe you want to be permanent in his life from now on.

Later that night, he came back. Bright eyes and a stinging back.

For some reason, you feel it’s safe to say that neither of you can stand being apart for too long. So yeah, maybe this is what a normal relationship is like. If, you know, you were in a relationship with him.

Ironically enough, only a few days later that relationship is established in the form of a new car battery and a bottle of lube that he bought for you. 

Not that you need it. (The lube.)

[rafeandonlyrafe]

defending you (nsfw version)

i somehow forgot this fic when i was reuploading all the ones from my old blog. fun fact: this is the first rafe fic i ever wrote! and i actually wrote two different versions. this is the established relationship and smut version, here is the sfw version!

words: 3.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, bullying?, violence, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, daddy kink, fingering, female receiving oral,

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450

“rafe!” you yell, relieved to see him standing out on his dock, sorting through something in a box. you swim closer, the final stretch of the long distance somehow seeming like miles.

“rafe!” you yell again, waiting for him to hear, but you know the sound of the whipping wind is carrying your voice in the opposite direction.

rafe straightens up, and turns back towards tanneyhill. “rafe!” you’re yelling desperately at this point. he finally turns, having heard what he thought was his name. he scans the dock quickly, thinking he’s going crazy hearing things, and then he sees you wave at him frantically from in the water.

“y/n?” rafe screams, his face going pale seeing you swimming towards the dock.

“rafe.” you smile, received to finally be done with your long swim. 

“what are you doing?” rafe rushes towards the ladder as you begin to climb up, legs and arms weak. “the water is freezing and there’s a storm coming in.”

“i know.” you shiver as you pull yourself onto the dock, with help from rafe. you can’t even stand as your legs crumble. “i was paddleboarding before the storm came and someone came and knocked me off my board and took it and my paddle. i swam here because it was closest.”

you’ve never formally labeled your relationship with rafe, not beyond him calling you ‘my girl’, but everyone on the island knows you’re an item. 

it all started with your friendship with sarah. you’re not rich enough to be a kook, but not poor enough to be a pogue, leaving you in a weird middle ground that you’ve grown to love, getting accepted into both groups' parties. you became friends with sarah pretty quickly when you both agreed that the silly feud between the two sides of the island has gotten too extreme.

whenever you would sleep over with sarah, or even just head out to surf or get ice cream, rafe would find some sort of way to be involved, much to sarah’s annoyance and your joy.

it wasn’t until you and sarah began to grow apart that rafe made his move. he kissed you one night at a party and ever since then, it’s been the two of you against the world. you still get along with sarah, but it’s different now that you’re with her brother.

“who took your board?” rafe eyes flash with anger, the kind all the pogues tell you he’s capable of, but that you haven’t seen for yourself. you know rafe hides his bad parts from you, but you’ve heard whisperings from people about the best place to score on the island, and that his rage can get out of control.

“kelce’s friend. i don’t know his name. that blonde guy.”

“topper?” rafe questions, knowing it can’t be him, but can’t think of any other guy you might be referring to.

“no, no. that new guy. family just moved into that blue house.”

“luke?” rafe practically spits his name out.

“yeah, him.” you nod, a shiver racking through your body. the water was the coldest you’ve ever felt it in obx, but thankfully your hard swimming kept you from being too cold. it’s only now, on the dock with the harsh wind, that you feel the real chill.

“hold on, let me get you a towel.” rafe curses himself for not getting you one quicker. he runs to the nearest boat, flipping open a seat and grabbing the fluffiest, warmest towel he sees.

rafe helps you stand now that you’ve got some feeling back in your legs. he wraps the towel tightly around you, pulling you into his arms to warm you up even more.

“what kind of boat was he driving?” rafe asks

you don’t want to talk, or think, just want to lay your head against rafe’s chest and soak up his warmth, but you’re eventually able to mutter out, “a black speedboat. i don’t know more than that, it all happened so fast.” truth was, you knew it was an expensive brand, just way beyond anything your family would be able to afford, so you had no clue what it was.

“and he just came and knocked you off?” rafe curses himself as soon as he says it, because it sounds like he doesn’t believe you, but really he just wants to get the story straight before he beats this guy to a pulp.

“yeah.” you sniffle. “he made a huge wake on purpose that made me fall off, and then he just grabbed my board and paddle before i could get back on.”

“y/n?” you hear your name being called and turn to look down the dock at ward and rose, concern etched over their features. you got along decent well with them, being invited to some family dinners with rafe, but there was still a bit of awkwardness, you being the first longterm girlfriend that rafe has ever had.

“hi, sir.” you say as he walks closer, stepping out of rafe’s arms.

“don’t tell me you were swimming in this weather.” ward says. it is unseasonably cold in the outer banks, and the wind is picking up every second with dark clouds on the horizon.

“not intentionally.” you shake your head. "someone knocked me off my paddleboard and they took it. i swam here because it was closest."

ward looks at his son, and rafe gives a stern nod, a silent conversation happening that you’re not privy to.

“i’m gonna go get your board back for you, y/n.” rafe says, effortlessly snatching the boat keys out of the air that his father tosses to him.

“rafe, i don’t expect you to do that. plus the storm-” your worried expression is snatched off of your face with a quick kiss from rafe.

“we look out for own here, yeah?” rafe says, hand coming to your face and pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“thank you.” you say with a tight swallow of your throat, worried about rafe in this weather, but knowing that there’s no stopping him.

“i’ll be back soon, you go inside and warm up, okay?” rafe says, stepping back towards the boat. you nod, a tight feeling twisting in your stomach as you watch rafe going to defend you, going to get back what’s yours. he especially knows what that paddleboard means to you, having bought it for you himself. you had one from your parents, but it was a few years old and worn from how much you use it.

“come on, y/n.” rose says, placing a hand on your back as you walk up the dock to the house.

“thank you so much.” you say as you reach the kitchen, rose handing you a glass of water.

“no problem at all, you know you’re always welcome here.” ward says, and you almost blush at the approval of rafe’s father. you’ve always tried hard to get on his good side, being almost overly polite and helping out whenever needed, but what really won rose and ward over was rose going to your mothers hair salon. it’s the best on the island and your mom gives her extra product since you’re with her stepson.

“are you okay? can i get you anything else?” rose asks you.

“no, thank you so much. i might just go hop in the shower and wait for rafe to come back in his room, if you don’t mind?” you give the best pleading puppy dog eyes you can to ward, and he nods after only a second of hesitation. he doesn’t like you being in rafes room, and usually makes you hang out in common areas, which lead to a lot of interrupted cuddling or makeout sessions.

it’s not like ward is completely unaware what you two get up to, he even one time bought rafe a pack of condoms and attempted to have a safe sex conversation with him, much to rafe’s dismay, which he later recanted to you, before pouting that you were giggling at him, but made up for it by putting one of those condoms to good use.

“thank you again for helping me, i was so scared out there all alone.” 

“go before i change my mind.” ward says. you give a flash of a smile before speed walking towards rafe’s room, a path you know by heart. you undress in his attached bathroom, leaving your wet clothes on the floor.

you take a deep sigh of relief at the warm water, but you don’t want to spend too long in there, anxiously awaiting rafes arrival back. you use his soap, the one that leaves a scent on his skin that you’re obsessed with, but forgo trying to control your hair, opting to put it up in a bun with the hair ties he leaves in his bathroom cabinet for you.

you end up grabbing clothes from rafes closet, even though you know sarah won’t mind if you borrow some of hers, putting on one of the few casual tshirts rafe has, as well as his boxers in favor of actual bottoms.

you’ve warmed up a lot, but there’s still a chill in your bones, so you slide under the covers, flipping on the tv, missing your phone at this moment which is sitting at home, waiting for you to return from your paddleboarding trip.

you’re about to drift off when the door suddenly opens.

“rafe.” you breath out, hopping out of the bed to go to him. he’s soaking wet from the rain that came in with the storm, but he’s got a proud gleam in his eye.

“i got your board back.” rafe says. “and that asshole won’t mess with you anymore.”

you gulp, hoping that just means rafe gave him a stern talking to, but as you look down at his knuckles, you can tell it’s not true.

“rafe!” you gasp, grabbing his hand and lifting it up. his knuckles are red and looked bruised.

“it’s alright, baby.” rafe says, stepping into the room and closing and locking the door behind him. “i just punched him once so he would know not to mess with you again. i know you don’t like violence, but he needed to learn his lesson not to mess with you.”

you pout, but nod in agreement. you certainly wouldn’t want any other girls, or anyone at all for that matter, to fall victim to the same ‘prank’ he did to you. 

“thank you so much.” you place your hands on rafes neck and bring his head down so you can kiss him, having to get up on your tippy toes to do so.

“anything for you baby, you know how much i love you.” but you don’t, and you freeze at the words.

“what, you don’t love me back?” rafe teases, acting like he didn’t just drop something so huge for the first time in your relationship.

“of course i love you, rafey, i just didn’t expect you to say it.” you blush, ducking your head. you’ve actually thought over the past couple months about your time with rafe, how safe and loved he made you feel. it came naturally to you, loving him.

rafe ducks down for a strong kiss, leaving you breathless when he pulls away and strides towards the bathroom. “gonna shower quickly princess, you get back in bed.”

“okay.” you say shyly, suddenly nervous. you get back under the covers, thankful for the thick comforter wrapping you in warmth. your eyes return to the tv, and you don’t even realize that you’ve started to drift off until you’re suddenly awoken by the bathroom door opening and shutting and rafe stepping out in just a towel wrapped around his waist.

“oh, i’m sorry baby, i didn’t mean to wake you.” rafe says, seeing the sleep in your eyes and how desperately you need it.

“it’s okay.” you sit up, only for rafe to gently push your shoulder back into bed. he climbs in next to you, leaving the towel around his waist much to your disappointment.

“but i have to thank you for getting my board back.” you pout as rafe wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest.

“you can thank me once you’ve rested.” rafe says, stretching to turn the lamp next to the bed off. he also turns down the tv, but leaves it on.

“mmkay.” you really don’t have it within you to argue. you lay your head against rafe’s chest and snuggle close, a shiver wracking through your body.

“are you still cold?” rafe’s body tenses under you.

“i think the effects are still wearing off, im okay though, promise.” you really don’t want rafe to leave to go punch luke again, so calming him down is your best bet.

“i got something that can warm you up, princess.” rafe says, hands suddenly finding your hips. his fingers skim underneath his boxers that you’re wearing, and you can’t help but let out a soft moan, knowing there’s no way ward or rose can hear you from the opposite wing of the house, and with the rain now battering against the windows.

“off, please.” rafe says, tugging them down. you help maneuver until you’re left in just his shirt.

rafe tugs you so you’re half on top of him, one leg slinged over his hips. his hands find your pussy instantly, pleased that your wetness is already growing.

“my pretty girl needs daddy, right?” rafe says, using the nickname for himself that has you biting your lip, feeling your nipples harden against his chest.

rafe laughs gently, fingers sweeping up and down the outsides of your folds, not moving closer like you want him to. he only teases for a minute before he presses his finger against your hole. you instantly relax at the familiar feeling, letting him shove his long and slender finger inside of you.

you’re able to get just enough angle to grind your clit into the towel, making his finger thrust in and out even easier. you let out a mewl as a second one presses against your entrance.

“you can take it, baby.” rafe says, causing you to shake your head. usually rafe gives you a lot of time to warm up before he even tries to finger or fuck you, knowing how much it helps you loosen up.

“you can.” rafe says, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “you wanna know how i know you can? because you’re my good little girl, and you’d never disappoint me. so you’re gonna take both my fingers, and then you’re gonna take my cock, alright?”

you stay silent as his second finger enters you, it only burns for a split second before the pleasure returns.

“answer me.” rafe says softly, knowing better than to be too rough with you considering what you just went through.

“gonna take your cock.” you nod. “gonna be good for you.” you lift your head off of his chest to kiss along his jaw, nipping at it with a giggle when he clenches it as you grind your hips just right to press against his cock, already completely hard under the towel.

rafe drags his fingers out, somewhat reluctantly as he already misses feeling you clenching around him, but is brought relief knowing his cock will be next. he pulls the towel to the side, letting himself spring free and rub against your bare pussy.

“do you trust me?” rafe whispers, not making any move to reach for a condom.

“of course.” you say, kissing the side of his mouth, “i love you.”

rafe slides his fingers up to your clit, rubbing it gently as he presses his cock against your entrance. you sink down onto him, eyes squeezing tightly closed as the pleasure takes over.

“good girl. almost all the way in.” rafe says, helping push your hips down until you’re fully rested on his cock. you lay your head back down on his chest, letting yourself breathe as you wait for rafe to begin to snap his hips up into you, or for his hands to tap your hips, signaling you to move.

it doesn’t come, and eventually you begin to rock, wondering if rafe was letting you take control.

“no, no, shhh.” rafe says, holding your hips down. “let me just warm you up from the inside baby, you go back to sleep. when you wake up i’ll put a condom on and fuck you like you deserve.”

you realize as he speaks that you are now completely warmed up, his cock bringing you to the perfect temperature.

“you sure, baby?” you ask, hoping he says yes, loving the thought of sleeping together, joined in the most intimate way.

“of course i’m sure. you keep my cock nice and warm in that sweet pussy and i’ll keep you warm in my arms.” 

“thank you.” you turn your head to kiss his chest. “i love you so much.”

“love you too. now close those beautiful eyes and get some rest. i know you’re tired.”

rafe is right, as soon as you stop fighting the sleep, you’re out like a light.

you’re not sure how long you sleep before a loud clap of thunder wakes you up. you lift your head, the only light in the room being from the tv, still on, now muted. 

you circle your hips, smiling at feeling rafe’s cock still deep inside you. “mmm, that feels good baby.” rafe says, also waking up from the storm.

“can you fuck me now?” you ask, almost politely. it makes rafe smile, thinking about what a good girl you are.

“i thought you said you wanted to thank me? don’t you wanna ride me?”

you nod quickly, glad to have a chance to be in charge. usually rafe is the one on top, not liking to be out of control, so you start moving before he has a chance to rethink.

you sit up, his cock hitting a whole different angle as your position changes.

“wait.” rafe places a hand on your hip. “let me put a condom on first.”

“it’s okay.” you say quietly, not sure if rafe feels the same way. “i’m on birth control and i’ll take a plan b tomorrow. you’re doing such a good job warming me up i want your cum warming my insides up too.”

this sends rafe into a spiral, the thoughts of flooding your insides, of marking you as his. even though he knows its too early, he thinks about the future where he gets to cum inside you with no birth control or plan b taken the next morning, seeing your tummy swell up, marking you as his.

his plants his feet on the bed and begins to fuck up into you, his hands lifting you up and down in pace with his thrusts. you place your hands on his chest to try to keep yourself stable, not regretting your words even though it now means you don’t get the control you were secretly excited for.

“you want me to fill you, huh, my perfect slut?” rafe asks, rubbing one hand aggressively over your clit.

“yes, rafe.” you whine, grinding into his thumb. his cock is throbbing inside you, and you know neither of you are going to last much longer, considering he’s been inside you for at least a couple hours.

rafe flips you suddenly, not wanting his little princess to have to do any more work than you need to. 

“so good rafey.” you whine, his cock hitting your sweet spot every time, making you see stars. 

your head picks up suddenly when his dick leaves you, making tears instantly fall from your eyes at the loss.

“it’s okay, baby, don’t cry.” rafe kisses the tears away quickly, before pressing one to your lips. “i just need to taste your pretty pussy before i cum all inside it.” 

rafe slinks down the bed, and you watch him with wide eyes. rafe will give you head sometimes, but he much prefers getting right into the action and fucking you, feeling no better joy than when you’re joined together.

rafe lays between your legs, adjusting his erection so he doesn’t cum on the bed from pressing against it. you spread your legs for him, giving him a shy smile as his eyes find yours.

“keep them open. look at me. watch the man who loves you kiss your pretty little pussy.” rafe’s words make you want to flutter your eyes close, to toss your head back, but you fight that instinct to keep looking at him.

rafe leans forward, licking from your dripping entrance all the way up to your clit. you moan as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking it harshly, wanting to get you as close as possible to cumming, because he knows once he’s inside of you again, he’s only lasting a couple thrusts.

he switches between tonguing at your clit and sucking on it, trying his best to keep you on your toes, not knowing what sensation to prepare for. he swipes his tongue down ever few moments, tasting your wetness like golden honey on his tongue.

“taste so sweet, princess.” rafe says, making an embarrassing slurping noise that has you momentarily covering your face with your hands, before remembering rafe’s order to keep your eyes on him. “gotta eat you out more often, my favorite little meal.”

your hands move to rafes hair, dragging him back up to your clit. rafe flattens his tongue against it, letting your hips move and grind just how you like it against his tongue.

“fuck baby.” rafe has to rip his head away as he feels your clit start to throb, signaling how close you are.

“need you rafey.” you whine. he moves quickly to your pleads, his cock reentering you quickly, hips thrusting wildly. he places the palm of his hand against your clit, grinding it down.

“fuck, baby, so good.” you whine. “so close rafey.” 

“me too, princess.” rafe says with a grunt, his voice gruffer than you’ve ever heard it. “gonna fill this pretty pussy up. my favorite little kitty. gonna breed you. you want my kids one day, huh?”

“yes, rafe, want your babies.” you cry out as you can’t hold back any longer, your orgasm washing over you like the waves outside hitting the shore. the tightening of your pussy around his cock has rafe cumming instantly, spurting thick ropes of white inside of you. 

he collapses down as the last few drops of cum are squeezed out of him by your pulsating pussy.

neither of you say anything for a few minutes, rafe just rolls you over so you’re on top of him, his cock still deep inside you, plugging you from letting any cum drip out.

rafe begins to slowly pull out, but your hips follow him. “please stay inside me until morning.” you pout.

“you want me in you all night?” rafe says, pushing some of your hair off your face that’s sticking to your sweat. 

you nod, tiredly blinking at him as sleep begins to overtake your body again. rafe smiles gently. “of course i’ll stay inside you.”

“thank you.” you whisper, kissing along his cheek, until you reach his mouth. your lips slide against each other, and you resist the urge to squeeze your pussy around him for a round 2, knowing how tired he must be from the sudden burst of energy.

you’ve never slept calmer than you have with rafe filling the missing pieces inside of you.

[cybernaght]

The fandom echo chamber: fanon, microanalysis and conspiracy brain 

As someone who has been in fandom spaces, on and off, for 20 years, I find some fascinating trends popping up in the last decade that I thought to be fandom-specific but clearly aren’t. So, I would like to do a little examination of where those things come from, how they are engaged with, and what it says about the way we consume media. This is a think piece, of sorts, with my brain being the main source. As such, we will spend some time down the memory lane of a fandom-focused millennial.

This is largely brought about by Good Omens. But it’s also not really about Good Omens at all.

Part one. Fanon.

The way we see characters in any story is always skewed by our very selves. This is a neutral statement, and it does not have a value judgement. It’s simply unavoidable. We recognise aspects of them, love aspects of them, and choose aspects of them to highlight based entirely on our own vision of the universe. 

Recognition comes into this. There is a reason so many protagonists of romance novels have a “blank slate” problem. Even when they do not, we love characters who are like us or versions of us that we would like to be. And when we say “we”, I also mean, “me”. 

(I remember very clearly this realisation hit me after a whole season of Doctor Who with writing which I hated utterly when I questioned why I still clung so incredibly hard to Clara Oswald as my favourite companion. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh. Well. That would do it, wouldn’t it?)

Then, there is projection, and, again, this is a neutral statement. Projection exists, and it is completely normal and, dare I say it, valid way of engaging with — well, anything. Is the character queer? Trans? Neurodivergent? Are they in love? Do they like chocolate? Are they a cat person? Well, yes, if this is what the text says, but if the text does not say anything… You tell me. Please, do tell me. Because, in that moment of projection, they are yours. 

And then, there is fandom osmosis, and that is the most fascinating one of them all, the one that is not very easy to note while you are inside the echo chamber. It’s the way we collectively, consciously or not, make decisions on who or what the characters are, what their relationships are, and what happens to them.  

(Back when I was writing egregiously long Guardian recaps on this blog I actually asked if Shen Wei’s power being learning actually was stated anywhere in the canon of the show. Because I had no idea. I have read and reread dozen of fanfics where that is the case, and at some point through enough repetition, it became reality.)

We are all kind of making our own reality here, aren’t we? 

Back when things were happening in a much less centralised manner - in closed livejournal groups, and forums of all shapes and sizes - I don’t remember there being quite as much universally agreed upon fanon. Frankly, I don’t remember much of universally agreed upon anything. But now, everything is in one place: we have this, and we have AO3, and it’s wonderful, it really is so much easier to navigate, but it’s also one gigantic reality-shifting echo chamber, with blogs, reblogs, trends, and rituals. 

Accessibility plays its part, too. If you were, say, in Life on Mars (UK) fandom between seasons, and you wanted to post your speculation fic, you had to have had an account, and then find and gain access to one of the bigger groups (lifein1973 was my poison, but ymmv), and then, if you feel brave you may post it, but also, you may want to do so from your alt account if you wanted to keep yours separate, and then you would have to go through the whole process again. And I’m not saying that fan creations then were somehow inherently better for it than fan creations now (although Life on Mars Hiatus Era is perhaps a bad example - because some of the Speculation Fic there was breathtaking), but there is something to say about the ease of access that made the fandoms go through a big bang of sorts.

(I mean, come on, I can just come here and post this - and I am certain people will read it, and this blog is a pandemic cope baby about Chinese television for goodness sake.)

The canon transformations that happen in the fandom echo chamber truly are fascinating to witness as someone who is more or less a fandom butterfly. I get into something, float around for a bit, then get into something else and move on. I might come back eventually when the need arises, but I don’t sustain a hiatus mind-state. This means that when I float away and return, I find some very intriguing stuff.

Let’s actually look at Good Omens here. Season two aired, and I found it spectacular in its cosy and anguished way; deliberately and intelligently fanfic-y in its plot building; simple but subversive, and so very tender. (I will have to circle back to this eventually, because, truly, I love how deliberately it takes the tropes and shatters them - it’s glorious). And, to me - a person who read the book, watched the first season, hung around AO3 for a few weeks and moved on - absolutely on-point in terms of characterisation. 

So imagine my surprise when the fandom disagreed so vehemently that there are actual multi-tiered theories on how characters were not in possession of their senses. Nothing there, in my mind, ever contradicted any of the stated text, as it stood. This remained a strange little mystery until I did what I always do when I flutter close to an ongoing fandom.

I loaded AO3 and sorted the existing fic by popularity. And there it was, all there: the actual earth-shattering mutual devotion of the angel and the demon; willingness to Fall; openness and long heart-aching confession speeches. There was all of the fanon surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley, which, to me, read as out of character, and to one for whom they became the reality over the last four years, read as truth. 

Again, only neutral statements here. This is not a bad thing, and neither this is a good thing, this is just something that happens, after a while, especially when there are years for the fandom-born ideas to bounce around and stew. I can’t help but think that so much of what we see as real in spaces such as this one is a chimaera of the actual source and all the collective fan additions which had time and space to grow, change, develop, and inspire, reverberating over and over again, until the echoes fill the entirety of the space. 

Eventually, this chimaera becomes a reality. 

Part two. Microanalysis 

Here are my two suppositions on the matter:

1. Some writers really love breadcrumb storytelling. 

Russel T Davies, for instance, on his run of Doctor Who (and, if you are reading it much later - I do mean the original one), loved that technique for his seasonal arcs. What is a Bad Wolf? Who is Harold Saxon? Well, you can watch very very carefully, make a theory, and see it proven right or wrong by the end of the season. 

Naturally, mystery box writers are all about breadcrumb storytelling: your Losts and your Westworlds are all about giving you snippets to get your brain firing, almost challenging you to figure things out just ahead of the reveal. 

2. We, as humans, love breadcrumbs.

And why wouldn’t we? Breadcrumbs are delicious. They are, however, a seasoning, or a coating. They are not the meal. 

Too much metaphor?

Let’s unpack it and start from the beginning.

Pattern recognition colours every aspect of our lives, and it colours the way we view art to a great extent. I think we truly underestimate how much it’s influenced by our lived experiences.

If you are, broadly speaking, living somewhere in Western/North-Western Europe in the 14th century, and you see a painting in which there is a very very large figure surrounded by some smaller figures and holding really tiny figures, you may know absolutely nothing about who those figures are, but you know that the big figure is the Important One, and the small ones are Less Important Ones, and the tiny ones are In Their Care. You know where your reverence would lie, looking at this picture. And, I imagine, as someone living in the 14th century, you may be inspired to a sense of awe looking at this composition, because in the world you live in, this is how art works. 

If you, on the other hand, watch a piece of recorded media and see the eyes of two characters meet as the violins swell, you know what you are being told at that moment. You don’t have to have a film degree to feel a sort of way when you see a green-tinged pallet used, when cross-cuts use juxtaposing images, or notice where your focus is pulled in any given shot. This stuff - this recognition of patterns - has been trained into us by the simple fact that we live in this time, on this planet, and we have been doing so long enough to have engaged recorded media for a period of time. 

As humans, we notice things. Our brains flare up when they see something they recognise, and then we seek to find other similar details and form a bigger picture. This often happens unconsciously, but sometimes it does not. Sometimes we do it on purpose: finding breadcrumbs in stories is a little bit like solving a mystery. It allows us to stretch that brain muscle that puts two and two together. It makes us feel clever. 

So yes, we love breadcrumbs, and, frankly, quite a lot of storytelling takes advantage of this. It’s very useful for foreshadowing, creating thematic coherence, or introducing narrative parallels and complexity. It’s useful for nudging the viewer into one or the other emotional direction, or to cue them into what will happen in the next moment, or what exactly is the one important detail they should pay attention to.

Because this is something media does intentionally, and something we pick up both consciously and not, it is very hard to know when to stop. We don't really ever know when all of the breadcrumbs have been collected. It becomes very easy to get carried away. There is a very specific kind of pleasure in digging into content frame by frame, soundbite by soundbite, chasing that pleasure of finding. 

But it is almost never breadcrumbs all the way down. They are techniques to help us focus on the main event: the story. I truly believe those who make media want it to reach the widest possible audience, and that includes all of us who like to watch every single thing ever created with our Media Analysis Goggles on and those who are just here to enjoy the twists and turns of the story at the pace offered to them. And I think, sometimes in our chase to collect and understand every little clue we forget that media is not made to just cater for us.

One can call it missing a forest for the trees. But I would hate to mix my metaphors, so let’s call it missing a schnitzel for the breadcrumbs. 

Part three. The Conspiracy Brain. 

If you are there with me, in the midst of the excited frenzy, chasing after all those delicious breadcrumbs, then patterns can grow, merge together, and become all-encompassing theories. Let’s call them conspiracy theories, even though this is not what they truly are.

So, why do we believe in conspiracy theories?

One, Because We Have Been Lied To. 

All conspiracies start with distrust.

If you are in fandom spaces - especially if you are in fandom spaces which revolve around a queer fictional couple - especially-especially if you have been in such spaces for a period of time, you have most certainly been lied to at one point or another. 

We don’t even have to talk about Sherlock - and let’s not do that - but do you remember Merlin? Because I remember Merlin. Specifically, I remember the publicity surrounding the first season, with its weaponised usage of “bromance” and assertions that this whole thing is a love story of sorts, and then the daunting realisation that this was all a stunt, deliberately orchestrated to gather viewership. 

And, because we were lied to in such a deliberate manner for such an extensive period of time, I genuinely believe that it forever altered our pattern recognition habits, because what was this if not encouragement to read into things? Now we are trained to read between the lines or see little cries for help where they might not be. Because we were told, over and over again, that we should.

(Yes, I think we are all existing in these spaces coloured by the trauma of queer-bating. I am, however, looking forward to a world where I can unlearn all of that.)

Two, Cognitive Dissonance.

The chain reaction works a bit like this: the world is wrong - it can’t possibly be wrong by coincidence - this must be on purpose - someone is responsible for it.

Being Lied To is a preamble, but cognitive dissonance is where it all originates. In so many cross-fandom theories I have noticed a four-step process:

A) this is not good

B) this author could not have made a mistake 

C) this must be done on purpose

D) here is why 

(Funny thing is, I have been on the receiving end of the small conspiracy spiral, and it is a very interesting experience. Not relevant to this conversation is the fact that a lot of my job revolves around storytelling. What is relevant is that my hobbies also revolve around storytelling. And one of them is DnD. Now, imagine my genuine shock when one of the players I am currently writing a campaign for noticed a small detail that did not make a logical sense within the complexity of the world, and latched on to it as something clearly indicating some kind of a secret subplot. Their thinking process also went a bit like this: this detail is not a good piece of writing — this DM knows how to tell stories well — this is obviously there on purpose. It was not there on purpose. I created a clumsy shorthand. I erred, in that pesky manner humans tend to. And, seeing this entire thought process recited to me directly in the moment, I felt somewhere between flattered and mortified.)

This whole line of thinking, I think, exists on a knife’s edge between veneration and brutal criticism, relentlessly dissecting everything “wrong”, with a reverent “but this is deliberate” attached to it like a vice, because it is preferable to a simple conclusion that the author let you down, in one way or another. 

Three, Intentionality 

I believe that there is no right or wrong way of engaging with stories, regardless of their medium, and assuming no one gets hurt in the process. While in a strictly academic way, there is a “correct” way of reading (and reading into) media, we here are largely not academics but consumers; consumption is subjective.

However, this all changes when intentionality is ascribed. 

The one I find particularly fascinating is the intentionality of “making it bad on purpose” because, as open-minded as I intend to always be, this just does not happen.

It certainly does not happen in long-form media. Even in the bread-crumb mystery box-type long-form media. 

When television programs underdeliver, they also underperform, and then they get cancelled.

If all the elements of Westworld Season 4 that did not sit together in a completely satisfactory way were written deliberately as some sort of deconstruction for the final season to explore, then it failed because that final season will now never come.

(There will likely never be a Secret Fourth Episode.)

And look, I am not here to refute your theories. Creativity is fun, and theorising is fantastic. 

But, perhaps, when the line of thought ventures into the “bad on purpose” territory, it could be recognised for what it is: disappointment and optimism, attempting to coexist in a single space. And I relate to that, I do, and I am sorry that there is even a need for this line of thinking. It’s always so incredibly disappointing that a creator you believed to be devoid of flaws makes something that does not hit in the way you hoped it would. It’s pretty heartbreaking. 

Unfortunately, people make mistakes. We are all fallible that way. 

Four, Wildfire.

Then, when the crumbs are found, a theory is crafted, and intentionality is ascribed, all that needs to happen is for it to catch on. And hey, what better place for it than this massive hollow funnel that we exist in, where thoughts, ideas and interpretations reverberate so much they become inextricable from the source material in collective consciousness. 

Conspiracy theories create alternate realities, very much like we all do here. 

So where are we now?

I am not here to tell you what is right and what is wrong; what is true, and what is not. We are all entitled to engage with anything we wish, in whichever way we wish to do it. This is not it, at all. 

All I am saying is… listen.

Do you hear that echo? 

I do. 

[vivalas-vega]

unexpected / bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader

howdy y'all - we've got another rooster fic. i feel i've neglected this man too much on my blog and wanna start writing for him more so here we are with a fleet week fic inspired by my own journey onto a navy ship yesterday!!! (the similarities between my fic and the real deal start and end with waiting in line. my guide was cute but let's just say he was no bradley bradshaw). it was very cool and educational and if your city does fleet week i highly recommend checking it out! this fic will have maybe three parts total. anyways hope you enjoy :)

unexpected / bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader

follow my taglist blog and turn on notifications to be updated @vegaslibrary

word count: 3.2k

warnings: slight language, naval inaccuracies!! (even tho I just did my own fleet week tour I still don't know shit, I'm just a girl)

The ocean breeze filtered through your hair as you stood off to the side, eyes fixated on the impressive carriers in front of you. The sun felt hot on your skin and excitement was buzzing through your veins as you listened to your best friend in your ear… well, half-listened.

“We’re brunching! Come on, meet us at Malibu Farm,” Maggie said and you sighed.

“I told you it’s Fleet Week, I’m already down here,” you replied and you could feel her eyes roll on the other side of the phone.

“I would be supportive if you were trying to bag one of those Navy hotties but come on… bottomless mimosas and all the dirt on Stephanie’s breakup are better than some boats,” she said.

“I will see you for drinks tonight,” was all you replied before hanging up. You’d tried (very unsuccessfully) to convince some of your friends to come with you, telling them about how cool these carriers were and how you only got the chance to see them up close and personal once a year but they had zero interest… you were the only one in your circle who found this sort of thing interesting, and you would have been bummed except for the fact that you were more than okay doing things by yourself.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to go to a concert or a museum solo, you actually enjoyed it… you loved hanging out with your friends but it was nice to not be tied to what the majority of the group wanted to do (or didn’t want to do), and as you waited in line you were actually a little glad none of them had taken you up on your offer. If Maggie were here she’d be ogling the cute officer who appeared to be getting ready to take your group on board, and she’d spend the whole tour trying to flirt with him instead of listening to what he had to say. 

You were content to wait in line as long as it took, taking in the beautiful ships to your left before switching to people watching, you knew this week drew all kinds of visitors and you found it entertaining to see such an eclectic mix of people all in one space… there were the obvious ex-Navy types, returning to their roots and reliving the glory days, there were couples who looked a little out of their element but excited for something new to do as a date, and families with kids… you even spotted an entire elementary class on a field trip. Spare your friend group, most people were more than interested in the opportunity to spend a day aboard multi-million dollar vessels and you were one of them.

Across the way Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw was chatting with his teammates about how much they wanted today to be over… it wasn’t that he hated Fleet Week, because he did enjoy it for about the first hour, but after that it became tiresome to give the same spiel over and over and over. They’d all tried to get out of it, Natasha had even gone so far as trying to manifest a deployment, but according to the higher ups there was no excuse for the Navy’s best and brightest to not make an appearance at an event happening so close to their home base. 

But then he saw you and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched you seem so enamored by everything around you… you didn’t hold an ounce of annoyance over the fact you’d been standing in that same spot going on half an hour now, something he’d seen from other visitors a dozen times already, and when a gust of wind kicked up your hair and sent it fluttering around your face you gave a half hearted attempt to tame it, but really you were just enjoying the breeze and the sun on your skin and he knew he had to know your name. He watched Jake getting ready to take your group aboard and he had to know if you’d abandon the formal tour in favor of letting him take you up instead.

You were eavesdropping on a conversation between a sailor and a kid just ahead of you, a soft smile on your lips as you listened to just how excited both parties were to be talking about the ship in front of you and you were so focused on them that you didn’t notice a person approaching you, not until his shadow cast across your face and when you turned you saw a man who nearly knocked the wind out of you… he was tall and solid, arms straining against the short sleeves of his khaki uniform and you thought that no one should look good in that color yet here he was proving you wrong. His golden brown waves glistened in the direct sunlight and he had a slight smirk beneath a mustache that you really wanted to hate, but you really didn’t… he was handsome, potentially one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen, and here he was standing directly in front of you and you looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

“Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, ma’am,” he introduced, extending his hand for you to shake which you did as you gave him your name and a smile. “What brings you out today?”

“A bizarre fascination with ships the size of planets,” you replied and he laughed. It was warm and a little rough around the edges, much like you’d appraised him to be in your short interaction, and you wanted to hear it again.

“Well, my day wrapped up not too long ago and I couldn’t help but notice you waiting for a tour…” he started, leaning in slightly with a mischievous look on his face as if he was about to tell you a secret, “and between you and me, your tour guide is a dud.” he finished and you looked towards the man, tall, blonde and oozing charisma and you had a feeling Bradley was lying to you as you watched him charm the entirety of your group with one sentence… but you weren’t feeling too keen on calling him out on his fib.

“Oh no, is that so?” you replied, disappointment lacing your tone.

“Mmhm,” he hummed. “I think you oughta let me take you up, make sure you get the tour you deserve,” he propositioned and you nodded, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“I think that might be for the best… for the sake of a thorough Navy education and all,” you said and he nodded, gesturing towards the ramp and he held out his hand for you to take as you pulled yourself onto the steep landing. His hand was warm in yours and all-encompassing as he held it and made sure you made it safely before letting it fall back to your side and you were almost a little disappointed when he did.

He led you into the cargo hold, a massive room filled with so many things your eyes had a hard time adjusting at first. You trailed alongside him as he explained everything to you, sparing no detail as he went and you were particularly fascinated by the boat that was rigged to be deployed at a moments notice, positioned right in front of a hatch door, and he told you it was primarily there for search and rescue missions as he rattled off information about how long it takes to get it down into the water and pointed out the crane used to move it around as needed.

You listened with rapt attention as you continued through, you added a quip or a question here and there but mostly you were hanging onto his every word as he pointed out things like their freezer and the gym, and you realized you might have been content to listen to this man read you his grocery list and you had to make a conscious effort to focus on the words themselves and not just the voice that was speaking them. As you made your way up a steep and narrow stairwell, so much so you might have described it closer to a ladder than stairs, he stayed right behind you where he could catch you if you fell and you tried to ignore the fact that his diligence almost made you want to fall.

“There’s a lot up here,” he said as he led you down a hallway lined with doors, “but it’s mostly just bunks and offices. We’re not technically supposed to show you this, but… I won’t tell if you won’t,” he added as he pushed one of the doors open and you pretended to lock your lips and throw away the key as you peeked inside, taking in the modest living quarters with multiple twin beds.

“So, this is where you sleep when you’re deployed?” you asked and he nodded, brow furrowing when you looked at him, clearly skeptical about something as your eyes trailed him top to bottom before returning to the beds in front of you, “how do you even fit?” you followed up and immediately you flushed, not meaning to ask that at all but it was the first thing that popped into your head and it flew out of your mouth before you could stop it.

“Not comfortably, sweetheart,” he replied with a laugh and you smiled softly at the term of endearment as he shut the door and nodded for you to follow. He talked about the photos lining the walls, telling you who was who or what was what in the ones he recognized before you went up another stairwell and before you could walk through the door frame in front of you he placed his hands on your shoulders, stopping you in your tracks.

You turned your head to look at him, an unasked question on your face, and he gave you that addictive smirk of his, “now this is the really fun part that very few people get to see,” he prefaced and you felt anticipation brimming as he kept his hands on you and guided you forward.

“Just breaking all the rules today aren’t you, Lieutenant Bradshaw?” you replied and he wanted to tell you that you could just call him Bradley but one look at the mischief in your eyes told him you knew that… you just liked calling him Lieutenant and he liked hearing it too much to stop you. When you turned your attention forward you were faced with two beautiful jets right in front of you and you faltered for a moment, stunned by the sheer impressiveness of the aircrafts.

“Holy shit,” you muttered, careful of your step as you approached one of them and Bradley tried to commit that look of awe on your features to memory, his heart stuttering at the sight. You instinctively reached a hand out before snapping it back, realizing you probably shouldn’t be touching things with price tags you couldn’t comprehend.

He chuckled, “go ahead, it’s mine so do your worst.” 

He thought you might get whiplash with how quickly you turned to face him, “yours? How have we made it through this whole tour without you mentioning you’re a pilot?”

“Thought I’d keep you on your toes,” he replied as you returned your focus to his jet, hand trailing along the smooth metal as you walked around it.

“I never thought I’d get to see an F/A-18 in person… at least not one that’s active,” you sighed, and now he was certain his heart had stopped in his chest. “Tops out at what, twelve hundred?” you asked and he blinked in surprise, only able to nod in response because he didn’t quite trust his words right now. He knew he liked you as soon as he saw you, so much so he was taking you on his tenth tour of the day when all he’d wanted to do previously was go to the bar, but now he was worried he was in a little over his head as you appreciated his jet, having identified it immediately without any help from him. “God, this is incredible, Bradley,” you said, maybe a little breathless from how excited you were and before you knew it he was disappearing, leaving you standing at the nose with a confused expression.

You laughed when he returned, rolling a ladder to the side of his jet and beckoning you over. He hadn’t anticipated you to know anything about planes, or really have any interest beyond the first minute of being in front of it, but now that he knew otherwise he wanted to show you everything. He held onto your hand as you took each step, trailing right behind you just as he had in the stairwells and when you got to the landing he started pulling the canopy back and you let out another soft gasp.

“Can you get in trouble for this?” you asked, turning to look at him. You knew private tours with high ranking pilots were not standard for Fleet Week, and you also knew this wasn’t an area most people would be allowed in, and you worried for a brief moment what would happen to him if anyone caught you.

He shook his head, “you’re accompanied by a Lieutenant, we’re fine,” he answered, smiling as you leaned over slightly to look inside his cockpit and his heart was thudding in his chest at the sheer wonder in your eyes. He started pointing out all of the controls, telling you what they did and why, and he answered your every question just as he had with the rest of the ship. “Sweetheart, I’ve gotta be honest… I’ve never met anyone who gave a damn about these jets that didn't work in or around them already.” 

You pulled your attention back to him with an incredulous look, “how could they not?” you asked, and you wanted to keep your gaze on those pretty brown eyes that were locked on you, but the novelty hadn’t quite worn off yet and you looked back inside the jet. “I mean… this is next level engineering wrapped up in a pretty package, what’s better than that?” He thought you were beautiful when he saw you standing on your own with your hair blowing in the breeze and the sun kissing your skin, he thought you were beautiful when you laughed at his dumb jokes in the cargo hold, but right now he was certain he’d never seen anything more beautiful than you slightly bent over and leaning into his cockpit as you truly appreciated the one thing he loved most in this world.

“Please let me take you on a date,” he blurted out, unable to stop himself and you looked at him a little surprised. You’d been hoping since he approached you that he’d ask, but you couldn’t help but laugh a little at the unexpected timing.

“Ask me again after the tour,” you replied with a smirk and though it vaguely sounded like rejection he couldn’t help but smile. If you wanted to make him work for it then he absolutely would. You asked him a question about the gauges and he told you exactly what they measured, and when you finally made your way back down the ladder he even let you sit on the second to last step as he wheeled it back to its place.

“Bradley!” you squealed when he whipped it around, hands bracing on the poles on either side of you and you were a little breathless when you were suddenly facing him, looking up at him as his strong hands gripped just above your head as he continued pushing you through the open area.

“Just wanted a better view,” he replied and you flushed at the compliment. Even though it was only two steps he still offered you his hand as you got off and of course you still accepted it, lingering for a moment before dropping it. He took you back through the carrier a different way than you’d came so he could show you absolutely everything, still narrating as he went. Truthfully, there wasn’t much difference on this route than the other but it was longer and he wanted to drag this out. He knew as soon as you stepped off the ship he wouldn’t have any reason to keep you longer than he already had, and he wanted to postpone that moment as long as he could. 

When you entered the now familiar cargo hold you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, you didn’t want your time with Bradley to come to an end but it seemed it was inevitable as he led you down the ramp and back onto solid ground. Your eyes were bright when you turned to face him and you still had that smile on that hadn’t seemed to leave your face all day and it was another sight he wanted to commit to memory. You had surprised the hell out of him, turned his boring day around the second he saw you and he knew with certainty he couldn’t get enough of you… and you were in the exact same boat. You knew when you got here today you’d have a good time, that the other man Bradley insisted was a dud still would have given a good tour and you’d have gotten exactly what you came for but the man in front of you exceeded every one of your expectations and then some, and you weren’t looking forward to the moment you had to go back to your car and not have his eyes on you anymore.

“Bradley, that was…” you sighed, “that was incredible, I don’t really know how to thank you for that.”

“Let me take you out,” he replied easily and you flushed, the tour was over and he was wasting no time in asking you out again, and this time you let him. 

You nodded, “I’m free tonight.” His grin was wide as he fished his phone out of his pocket for you to input your number, and you couldn’t help but mirror him when he told you to put your address as well so he could pick you up… if this was anyone else, if you hadn’t just spent the afternoon with him catering to your every query and whim, you would have told him no. You would have said you could meet him somewhere, but you trusted him. The few hours spent together showed you that you could, and that wasn’t lost on Bradley. If you’d said no he wouldn’t have even blinked, he would have suggested something else that made you more comfortable, but you didn’t say no… and that caused his chest to tighten as he looked down at your beautiful smile.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek and you felt your skin tingling as he pulled away. “Wear something comfortable.”

You nodded, a little curious as to what he could have planned but you could just tell if you asked he wouldn’t say, and you were more than happy to let this man surprise you. “I’ll see you tonight, Bradley.”

“And I’ll be counting down every second.”

[roseykat]

KINKTOBER DAY 1

Title: Same coin, different faces

PAIRING: Bang Chan x Reader

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

SUMMARY: Despite not being together with Chan anymore, you somehow end up in the back of his car...fogging up the windows.

TAGS: pre-established breakup trope, swearing, a dash of angst but also a hint of resolve, mentions of alcohol (neither the reader nor Chan is drunk), a bit of manhandling by both parties, oral sex (reader receiving), car sex, unprotected, sort of hate/rough sex. 

MASTERLIST - KINKTOBER LIST

(This is currently unedited but I will be proofing it later on)

It wasn’t as fun as you had hoped it to be, a party that is. Given it was the end of the semester, people usually prefer to go all out - which they did, but you weren’t feeling it. There were far too many people off of their faces, including your entire friend group that you showed up with.

Two of them were playing drinking games in the kitchen, one of them - Minho, who had completely disappeared for the past few hours, and another one who had found himself someone to hook up with. 

In the end, you were on your own for the remainder of the party. After having found a way into the lounge through the masses of people attending and remained on the couch, watching those around you for a while, you decided to get back up and grab a drink. There wasn’t an entire selection to choose from; either warm beer or cheap wine, which you grab from the latter and pour some in a plastic cup to try and fit in with everyone else. 

The briny taste of the wine was enough to make you think that maybe it was time to go home. It wasn’t fun, interesting, nor a good way to spend your time on a Friday night. Before being able to make the decision to leave, you find yourself planted on the ground when your eyes catch onto a familiar figure amongst the people. 

Chan. Your ex-boyfriend - your ex-best friend at that too. 

It was a surprise to see him given that he isn’t really a party goer, but also a surprise to see him in general after the pair of you went through such a tumultuous breakup a month ago. Things just didn’t work out the way they were supposed to which was unfortunate because Chan is one of a kind.

There isn’t anybody like him that exists in this world. He’s gentle, caring, and has a bottomless well of love to give. Now that you’re not together anymore, you know that whoever he ends up with in the future is well taken care of. 

“Hi,” Chan says, walking up to you. 

“Hey,” you respond back, unsure of how to actually talk to him now. “What are you doing here?” 

Chan sighs, looking at the screen of his phone momentarily then turning his attention back to you, “trying to find Minho. I’m here to pick him up, but I can’t find him. Is he here?”

“I haven’t seen him for the past couple of hours,” you answer. “I highly doubt he’s actually here still.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, “course he’s not.”

“He probably went to Jisung’s at some point,” you add.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he replies before his eyes peer down at the plastic cup. “Drinking? That’s not like you.” 

“It’s the end of the semester,” you say in your own defence. “I was trying to finish off strong.”

“Right. Have you got a ride home then?” 

Your eyes dart beyond Chan to ‘your ride home’ who has probably now consumed half of his body weight in alcohol. Chan catches your gaze, turns around and sees Seungmin throwing back another shot with a couple of strangers, presumably his classmates.

Chan sighs once more and faces you again, “don’t tell me he was supposed to sober drive.” 

“He won’t be now,” you respond. 

“Okay well, I can drop you off. Minho’s not replying and he’s probably not here, plus I’m getting tired,” he offers. 

You ponder for a moment. Since Chan had come up to you, you hadn’t felt that sting of pain that a breakup usually induces. Not since the day you both called it quits on the relationship. But that’s only because things were never awkward with him. It’s only until now that you realise how depleting life has been without him. It’s not colourful anymore. 

It’s an issue because you don’t want to be reminded of what you don’t have anymore. Sometimes, the best things can be the worst for us. 

“It’s okay, thank you though,” you decline respectfully. “I might tell the others to get ready to head off.” 

“And who’s going to drive them? You?” He asks with a brow raised then shakes his head with disapproval. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Not that much,” you retort. “I’m not even tipsy, plus I don’t want to leave them behind.”

“Seems like they left you behind,” Chan points out a very good point which you find hard to not be in denial about. 

He takes the plastic cup out of your hand and places it on the nearest surface cluttered with other discarded items. He then returns back to you to gently take hold of your wrist and leads you out of the lounge full of people. 

“Wait-”

“I’m not letting you drive under the influence, end of story,” he decides. 

With that matter in hand, you’re quickly reminded that Chan has always had a strong head on his shoulders and his morals are very clear cut. He held reasonably strong opinions on doing unnecessarily dangerous things, particularly when it comes to you. It happened to be one of the poisonous factors that pierced the final dagger into the relationship. 

The cold air then hits you when you both make it out into the front yard. 

“I can walk thank you,” you say to Chan who forgets that he’s still holding your wrist. He looks down at his hand and releases. 

“Sorry,” he apologises. “Car’s this way.”

He leads you once more just across the street to the vehicle while you think about the fact that you never actually agreed you were going to accept his offer to take you home. In saying that, there was no other alternative other than walking which Chan wouldn’t have put up with anyway. 

The pair of you hop in his car, finally able to catch a break from the blaring music that was blasting throughout the house. After both of your seatbelts are on, Chan starts the car and drives away down the street. 

It’s not long until silence falls quickly. Things had never been this terribly awkward between you both, but there had been pockets of quietness which used to be comfortable to sit in. Now you can see that it’s not as nice. 

“So what have you been up to these days?” Chan asks out of the blue, breaking that silence. 

“Nothing interesting I guess,” you answer blandly. “Just studies and that’s it.” 

He nods, “how’s that going so far?”

“Fine, I suppose.”

Chan lets out a small huff, “you know, it’s still okay for us to talk right? We don’t need to be so hostile.”

The glow of your phone from your lap catches your attention away from his comment. You blink down at the screen and read a text from Felix. 

Lix: ‘Saw you leave with Chan. Please tell me you’re both back on.’ 

You roll your eyes. You love Felix, but sometimes he can be too optimistic. There wasn’t any way you and Chan were going to find your way back to each other. If anything, it wouldn’t be the same anymore. 

“I wasn’t being hostile, plus there’s not much to my answer anyway unless you want me to lie?” You respond back.

“No, I don’t want you to lie,” Chan adjusts his tight grip on the steering wheel. “But you speaking just proves my point on why we shouldn’t act like that.” 

You turn your head, shooting him a well-deserved glare. This isn’t usually how Chan acts. He never says backhanded things as such even though he can be relatively blunt. Whatever subtle malice was behind his words obviously came from the same place that helped the relationship tear apart. 

“This is why we never worked out because you always had to have some degree of control,” you scoff, ignoring the fact that you’ve now doused the flicker of the argument with petrol.

“I was only doing what I though was safest for you,” Chan argues back strongly. “It was never about having any type of control, it was because you couldn’t see what the consequences were.” 

“Then why couldn’t you have let me figure it out for myself? How else am I supposed to learn, when you’re not here anymore?” 

“You, driving drunk isn’t something that you just learn not to do. You don’t do it, full stop. Anyone with common sense knows that,” Chan bites back. 

“I’m not even talking about that! When have I ever driven drunk? Now you’re just fucking reaching for things! All I’m saying is that it didn’t matter how much time I spent with you, I never got to be my own person. It was like I was turning into another ‘you’.”

Chan shrugs, “in comparison to what you can be like sometimes, I honestly don’t think that’s so much of a bad thing.” 

The last nerve inside you, had been struck.

“Stop the car, I’m getting out.” 

“No, we’re nearly at your h-”

“I don’t care Chris, I seriously don’t want to be anywhere near you right now,” you cut him off sharply, not wanting to hear another word come out of his mouth. 

Chan looks over at you, absorbing how painfully angry you look right now and the fact that your hand is on the door handle, ready to bolt as soon as he pulls over. It was fairly obvious because once he did, you were out of the vehicle before he could say anything more. But as fast as you are out the door, Chan is already on the other side to meet you. 

“Don’t go home angry,” he says urgently. 

You shoot him a dirty look, thinking who the hell is he to tell you what to do, “or what?”

“Well can we at least talk then?” He questions, trying to grasp onto some common ground here. 

With as much force as you can muster, your arms come up to shove Chan by the chest, “fuck you.”

He stumbles back a few steps and is not as nearly as surprised as you are by your own behaviour. Never has anyone elicited as much of a reaction from you until now. The shock has you to the point where you can barely assemble an apology to Chan. Even so when he comes back forward, grabbing you by the sides of your arms, and shoving you right back against his own car. 

Before either of you say another word, his mouth crashes straight against yours. His swift hands are quickly groping and roaming in every place around your body that he can reach while you submit to his moves. You’ve forgotten how electrifying Chan can be at times when it comes to intimacy, that you really start to feel it when he slides his knee in between your thighs. 

You gasp against his lips, yelping almost when his hands reach behind you to squeeze your ass and to try to bring your body as impossibly close to his as he can. For a split second, you break away to consolidate what is happening. Chan remains latched onto you, his mouth now working its way to your jaw and down to your throat, sucking and biting into your skin. 

Neither of you care about whether or not he’s going to mark you up. All you care about at this point in time, is the hope that he’s going to fuck you. 

“The door…open the door,” you mumble to him, even though you’re trying to find the handle yourself. 

Even with the unshakeable frame of mind that he’s in right now, Chan listens to you. He pulls you forward with him so that he can yank the backdoor open. You hop onto the seat, pushing yourself backwards to the other side of the car to create room for him to join you. But Chan had his own idea planted already. 

He grabs you by the ankles and pulls you right back to the edge of the seat closest to him. His hands take pride in reaching underneath your skirt and tearing your underwear down your legs. 

He doesn’t even get the opportunity to fully take them off as they dangle on one leg. In saying that, it doesn’t take you very long to click onto what he wants to do. So you help him by doing your best to hike your skirt further up your thighs. Chan decides to take a few seconds to appreciate being able to relive this moment once more by using his thumb to swipe over your wet slit, collecting your juices only to bring it up to his mouth and suck it right off. 

“Fucking missed this,” he speaks for the first time in about five minutes before lifting both of your legs and separating them for his head to slot in perfectly between. 

The fan of his hot breath washes over your skin, already making your squirm forward towards his mouth. It’s been a long time since someone had touched you and Chan could tell. He knows how needy you can be, but not when you’re like this. Not when you’re straining to reach for the back of his head to pull him closer to your pussy. Not when you’re already moaning when he’s barely touched you.

Not when you’re wetter than what he usually thinks you are.

“Y-Yes…right there,” you sigh out and lie back down, waiting eagerly. 

One of your hands threads through his dark hair and tugs every time he sucks on your clit. Shivers of pleasure reverberate throughout your body, already making your legs tremble on his shoulders. If anyone were to drive past, you know you and Chan would get done for public indecency. Except that devious consequence became an elicit far away thought drowned out by your own moans the more Chan continued to eat you out. 

The best thing about it is that he’s not going easy on you. He’s being deceptively rough by digging his nails into your thighs and showing zero remorse when he relentlessly licks over that same sweet spot. The more work he puts into trying to make you cum, the harder he gets in his pants, straining at this point.

“P-Please Chan, hurry,” you cry out, trying to sit up and slide down further into his mouth. “Need to cum, please.”

When your begging and moaning become increasingly louder and more frequent, Chan knows you’re on the cusp of an orgasm. However, as much as he used to enjoy you cumming on his face, the idea of you cumming on his cock is just as good, if not better. So just as you’re about to tip over the edge, Chan pulls back. 

You blink in amongst the haziness of what was about to be a mind shattering orgasm to see Chan who’s head had lifted up from in between your legs. His mouth and chin were covered in your juices, and is completely unashamed about it. 

“You can just fucking wait,” he snaps and begins to adjust your legs so that he makes sure they cage his body at his sides, that way he can grab onto your thighs and fuck you hard and steady. 

Although you can barely see, you hear the zipper to his pants open before he takes out his cock, hard and ready to put it to use on you. You bite down on your bottom lip when Chan uses his tip to tease your entrance. He pushes his hips forward, enough to make his cock slide up and in between your pussy. 

Chan’s shaky hand manages to get a proper hold around his dick, aligning it with your wet hole, and slowly pushes in as the heat begins to encapsulate around his length. The top half of his body nearly falters forward if it weren’t for his hips that thrust forward first. 

“Chris…” you mutter in an aspirated voice, feeling the fullness of his cock stretch you out.  

There is no forewarning for the strength he has behind each buck of his hips. It takes you back to times before during your relationship and how deliciously memorable the sex always was. Chan’s main priority was to always make you cum first and regardless of his own needs and pleasure. Whether you misbehaved or were being an outright undeserving brat in bed, even then he would still let you cum. That’s how much he loved you. 

“Nobody can ever fuck you the way I do,” Chan grits his teeth, his eyes watching his cock disappear inside of you each time he rams forward, hard and fast. 

Every second that goes by, you’re grappling more and more onto your last threads of sanity. It’s hard to keep up and absorb Chris’s stamina and pace - a relentless and unapologetic pace that hits the same spot inside you over and over again until that build up of pleasure starts spreading around your lower abdomen. 

“Make me feel…so good,” you mumble incoherently. “Gonna make me cum.” 

It’s been a long time since Chan has heard you say those words - hell, even heard you moan at the very least. It’s enough to keep his pace steady but he’s very wary of the fact that he himself is already near the edge of an orgasm too. Nonetheless, he’s determined to get you there first once more. 

So Chan lets go of one of your legs at his side so that he can use his thumb to now rub fast circles over your clit. Your hands grip at the hem of your skirt, back arching as you start submitting to the crest of intense pleasure Chan has built up for you. Then within seconds, Chan has you cumming hard around his cock, shuddering, and straining his name out of your mouth as it rings throughout his car. 

“Fuck, baby…” he groans as his head tips back before he starts spilling white inside of you. 

His hips stutter finally, gently slowing down to a leisurely pace while he drowns in the afterglow from one of the most transcendent orgasms he’s ever had. He gives you both time to come down before he carefully slides out of you. It takes you a while to fully fathom what just happened, but you allow yourself to think about it. Whatever it is, it’s not regret. There’s a longing feeling there, a borderline sense of relief. 

Once Chan is decent, he helps you slide your underwear back on even though you’re both fully aware of the fact that he just came inside you. It’s not like either of you were prepared for this to happen. In saying that, Chan gently takes hold of both your hands and gets you to sit up.

“You okay?” he questions, using his finger to hook some of your messed hair out of your face. 

You nod, “yes. You?” 

“I’ve been worse,” he answers, making you smile. “I’m really sorry for what I said earlier.” 

You shake your head, “I’m sorry as well for being so stubborn. I figured that the more hostile I am towards you, the more I push myself away so that I don’t have to deal with any feelings from before.” 

Chan completely gets it, “I know. I thought I could do the same, but it seems that I’m too nice.”

You roll your eyes, “you’ve had your moments.” 

“I definitely have,” he replies. “Anyway, we should go in case anybody just saw that.” 

A bashful sense of embarrassment washes over you. It’s been minutes before you realised that you just fucked your ex. But even so, it doesn’t really feel that way. It’s just Chan, someone who you still have a lot of love for. 

“You can stay at mine, it’s late,” you suggest to him. 

Chan smiles softly, “as if I’m going to say no.”

-

A/N: Yes, I am a day late already to Kinktober - I just realised bc my dumb ass was trying to figure out time zones and when would be the best time to upload for people bc I’m quite some hours ahead from other countries. So I’ll just stick to my time zone, that way you’ll get my works a few hours earlier x

KINKTOBER TAGLIST: @mal-lunar-28 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung @lizzetmv @luneskies 🩷🩷

[olderthannetfic]

I know ao3 is supposed to house transgressive works but like, what’s the value in hosting actual racist screeds? Like a racist can post racist fanfic on their own blog or whatever. But why do we need to protect the rights of racists to be hosted on ao3

--

It's the same question we ask everywhere about free speech vs. protecting community members.

The biggest issue is that it's hard to find clear cut-offs. On smaller sites, it makes sense to have a mod make the call. When you're small enough for human curation by a few people who can talk things over, it's easier to sort through the gray areas. Small forums can have taste-based curation, and they're often nicer for it. AO3 is way too large for this, however.

I know it seems obvious which things are just completely beyond the pale, but it's difficult to make clear rules that will hit only those and not other things. Like it or not, every rule on every site is instantly weaponized by assholes. In the case of fanfic content rules, that usually ends up as people reaching really hard in order to attack a rival ship or fandom or explicit fic or shipping in general. Often, readers attack a fic because they can't imagine anyone could have genuinely found it hot or could have written it to work through personal trauma... but it turns out the author was absolutely in earnest and this is just a failure of imagination. And this doesn't just go for majority groups having oppressive fantasies: often, minorities grappling with things that affect them more are the ones who make dark or contentious art and then get attacked for it.

Thinking it's simple to sort different types of art is the black and white thinking of a child.

If an author is calling people slurs in the comments, we can judge their intent by their behavior. If the work itself seems offensive, it's harder to tell what's going on.

[zombvic]

VROOM (harry lewis x reader)

summary : in which y/n and harry get invited to go to the silverstone formula one grand prix (2023)

face claim : no one exact

notes : im an absolute noob at writing fics so please excuse the quality lmao. im petrified of posting on here but ive been thinking about starting a blog for over a year. im open to feedback, opinions and any sort of questions/advice is welcome! i happen to waffle a lot so just skip those parts if uninterested. this is my first post so enjoy 😝 also pls request because i have the creativity of a koala so id appreciate some ideas :D

pairings : harry lewis x reader , lando norris x platonic!reader

"WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?! Are you actually serious?" You asked your boyfriend in genuine shock, followed by a laugh from the man dressed in head to toe in Ferrari merch. The red and yellow colors clashed hilariously with the sleek, orange McLaren paddock pass hanging around his neck.

"What? I thought I'd support the winning team." He shrugged, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. You and Harry got invited by the Mclaren F1 team to watch the Silverstone Grand Prix from the paddock. As a Formula 1 fan youself, you were excited to see the cars upclose. To watch the mechanics to the pitstops, engineers do their things (idk what they do lmao) and to watch Max Verstappen overlap the whole grid like seven times. Even since you were a little kid you were amazed by those cars driving freakishly quickly. Now, several years later you get to experience it right infront of your eyes.

"Look, there's Lando!" Harry pointed out, spotting your friend talking to a group of mechanics. You approached Lando, who broke into a wide grin as he saw you. "Hey! There are my favorite YouTubers!"

You beamed. "Lando! It's so good to see you. How's it going?"

"It's been wild but amazing," Lando replied, glancing at Harry. "And I see you've managed to get Harry in the right gear this time."

Harry laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I had a little help with that."

Lando gave you two a playful nudge. "So, who are you rooting for today? Besides me, of course."

You laughed. "Well, McLaren, obviously. But I'm also excited to see how the Brits perform. It's going to be an interesting race."

"That's the spirit," Lando said, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "Alright, I better get back to my team, but I'll see you guys later? Enjoy the race!"

You and Harry found a spot in the back of Landos garage, it had a view on the screens but also the pit-stop. The whole race went by fast. The moment the lights went out Lando tried his hardest with a deserved P2 at his home race.

Liked by mclaren, f1 & 1,002,485 others.

yourusename mom, i got invited to the silverstone grand prix.. still lowkey in disbelief like wtf.. me?? anyways, tysm mclaren 🩷 enjoy my lovely film camera dump raaaah.

View all 2,547 comments.

user harry looking fine as always😍

user y/n and lando finest friends

wroetoshaw whos the first fella hes fit

- yourusername he has a girlfriend..

user i can imagine y/n just walking around taking pictures of everything and everyone 😭😭😭

user i almost melted when they came on the screen

- user me too 😭 forgot i was watching f1 for a second

wroetoshaw i still think i shouldve worn my ferrari outfit #hater

- yourusername youd be sticking out like a sore thumb youre lucky i stopped you #loser #youalmostworepajamapants

user y/n looked so good there 😍

user i LIVE for y/n and landos friendship

faithlouisak i cant believe you chose him over me..

- yourusername im sorry bae.. next time im taking u

faithlouisak finest woman out there

calfreezy wtf fake friends.. theburntchip are you seeing what im seeing ???

- theburntchip bunch of fakies😔

holy what a yap fest lmfao please someone REQUEST something 😭 cause this is too plain.. !

[alpaca-clouds]

So, You Wanna Write A Solarpunk Thriller

Based on the blog I wrote yesterday about conflict in Solarpunk stories and how people either don't understand how stories work, have never read a book, or plainly act more dumb than they are. Because, yes, you can in fact tell almost any sort of story in a Solarpunk work - without resorting (like, sadly, way too many writers do) to "Actually the utopia is a lie and Solent Green is people!"

Meaning: If you need a "dark secret in society" to have a conflict in your story, you have a skill issue.

But let's talk about the genre that usually comes with those kinda dark secrets. While not necessary for the genre per se, it is a common trope here. Thrillers.

Ironically we all have some picture in our heads what a thriller might be - even though it might be one of the most loosely defined literary genre. Though probably we will think first of some movies.

The top 10 thriller movies according to this list on IMDB, the top ten thrillers are:

Seven (Police/Crime)

Silence of the Lambs (Police/Crime)

Shutter Island (Psychological)

The Sixth Sense (Supernatural)

Zodiac (Police/Crime)

Inception (Crime)

North by Northwest (Spy)

Identity (Psychological/Crime)

The Game (Financial)

The Prestige (Psychological/Crime)

Something you will note to your surprise: None of those actually feature a central conflict based on the society having a dark secret. In fact half of them are basically just Mystery movies with higher stakes (which is what turns them from mystery/crime drama to thrillers).

In fact I would argue that at least half of those movie plots could be rewritten fairly easily to take place in a Solarpunk world without any problem. Like, sure, The Game would not work, because this story very much is build around capitalism existing. And one could argue how those stories, where the main character is a cop need to be changed (because I know that my vision of a solarpunk does not involve cops).

In fact, going through the list of those 50 movies in total, I count a total of 6 movies in which a government conspiracy is part of the central conflict. Out of those 6 movies 4 are Cyberpunk.

Generally speaking, there is a variety of concepts for thrillers. There is the police/crime thrillers, but others as well. Wikipedia lists those kinds of thrillers:

The legal thriller, spy thriller, action-adventure thriller, medical thriller, police thriller, romantic thriller, historical thriller, political thriller, religious thriller, high-tech thriller, military thriller.

And I might add, I am very much missing the psychological thriller in there.

So, what am I saying here?

Basically: All you need to write a thriller is high enough stakes. In the end, a good thriller works by the stakes being high (though what means "high" might also vary from subgenre to subgenre), and by the readers or watchers understanding the stakes well.

So, that said, let me go through the kinds of thriller we have named above and name one example each for how the story could be made solarpunk.

Legal Thriller: The easy example here would be the fight for a Solarpunk world. Either pre-Solarpunk and a group of environmentalists is taking a big company to court for what they did against the environment. Or in a Solarpunk future I could also see some former rich folks trying to bring down the Solarpunk society by trying to find loopholes in the legal system - and a group of lawyers fighting against it.

Spy Thriller: This one will depend a lot on how you construct a Solarpunk future. The easy answer here is a world in which not all of the world is solarpunk - and we basically have a cold war happening between the solarpunk state and the old world state. Works out fine.

Action-Adventure Thriller: A good chunk of the movies in these genre feature natural catastrophes. So... Uhm... An earthquake will still happen in a Solarpunk world - and people try to survive. Easy. Next?

Medical Thriller: Another easy one. There is a break out of a new pandemic. People work hard to prevent further spread. Bonus points: Here we can actually use the setting to show the advantages and the shortcomings of a Solarpunk society, that is an anarchic and socialist/communist society.

Crime Thriller: (I will say, no police, because I do not believe in Cops in Solarpunk.) Again, even though it is to be assumed that crime will go back a lot if we create an equal society, there will still be some people who will kill. And there might still be a serial killer. And there will be those, who will try to capture that serial killer. Again. Easy.

Romantic Thriller: Okay, let's face it. The romantic thriller is so watered down by now that it is "a thriller that also has a strong romantic subplot" for most of the part - rather than the romance being the source of the trilling elements. But for the sense of saying the actual "romance turning into a thriller"... Let's be honest. Even if we had a Solarpunk world in which polyamory was the norm, there would be still crimes of passion - and just plainly abusive partners. So, here my prompt: One partner in a polycule goes to a mental crisis. In the attempt to protect them, the polycule gets drawn more and more to violence.

Historical Thriller: Uhm, okay, I will leave this one out because historical and scifi setting do not quite gel xD

Political Thriller: We have a more anarchic world, but there are still some people who hold more influence, because old habits die hard. Some of them try to use political tools to get the world to revert into the old ways, just to gain more power for themselves.

Religious Thriller: Let's face it. This genre is often very close to horror. But to go with the non-supernatural way... No, I do not believe in forbidding religion in a Solarpunk future. However, there is the issue that religion will always make it easier for cults to form. So, this is the story of a young man who gets into the claws of a religious cult - but only realizes too late what he got into.

High-Tech Thriller: (Translate: SciFi Thriller) Alien, but Solarpunk. The only difference: There are in fact people trying to help. They just fail to do so.

Military Thriller: Like the spy thriller - but instead of cold war it is open war.

Psychological Thriller: I am going here with a parent who gaslights their adult child, while the adult child tries to differentiate reality from the fiction presented by said parent.

So, why did I do this?

Basically just to show you: If you really think the only story you can tell as a Solarpunk author is how the Solarpunk utopia is in fact an illusion made to paint over a corrupt system, then it is very much a skill issue. You just are not very good at telling stories.

Thankfully there is a cure for that: Consume more stories. Watch movies. Read books (or listen to audiobooks). Read comics. Watch shows. Just consume more media.

[euniexenoblade]

I'm transmasc and I don't think I completely understand the discussion around TMA/TME.

I'm pretty sure I mostly agree with you. Like, "transandrophobia" is not a helpful or accurate description of the transmasc experience, and I can see how it could be used to belittle what transfems go through.

Transfems definitely get more attention from hate groups. Transmasc erasure sucks, but it can definitely be a blessing when the bigots are picking their targets.

I keep seeing posts comparing trans men to incels and MRAs. I haven't seen many transmascs who would warrant that comparison.

That's not to say it's necessarily an unfair comparison. On the contrary, it probably means that there's a lot of transmisogyny going around that I'm not seeing. And if I'm not seeing it, that probably means I'm inadvertently participating in it.

IDK why I felt the need to send this to you. I guess I was hoping you'd tell me how to do better, which totally isn't your job. Feel free to ignore me and/or tell me to fuck off.

I'll send you $20 for tolerating my bullshit. Have a nice day.

Ok I wanna answer this before I get too high (I'm honestly feeling it already). Thank you for the $20, when I realized I forgot to pack a lunch today that money helped me eat still so legit thank you.

So first off, "trans women get more attention from hate groups, transmasc erasure sucks but can be a blessing." (I can't copy and paste on this screen, so I'm paraphrasing) yes but I wouldn't call erasure a blessing, no matter who it's for. They're two sides of a very fucked coin, on the one side transfems get lots of attention and vitriol, and the erasure of transmascs makes it harder for some transmascs to understand they can be trans. But on top of that, the form of transfems we see are never real representation, 99% of the time it's a transmisogynistic ideal of trans women, it's the weirdo white boy spreading lipstick all over their face just before they smash the mirror in a fit of "dysphoria" kind of shit. Though transfems have extreme visibility, our actual selves are not visible, we are ultra violet rapist horn dogs or we're the super ignorant, super emotional crybaby.

And, a side tangent, cuz you sorta did a thing the transandrodorks do that is frustrating. It's not a measurement of what's "worse." That's not how oppression works, that's not what we are saying, we are talking about the forms of oppression.

Men are not oppressed for being men. They can be oppressed for a variety of things, racism, ableism, interphobia (is this the right term I forget), homophobia, etc etc. Masculinity is rewarded, masculinity is the desire, patriarchy exists so men get to be above women. Things like "misandry" do not exist, they are inventions of violently misogynistic men, your MRAs, your incels, your conservatives (this includes liberals btw).

The person who coined "transandrophobia" used to talk about wanting to correctively rape lesbians. I'm not gonna go at someone's kinks, but the blog was not presented as a kink blog, I literally went there myself and read the posts when this first popped off and they come off as true lesbophobia in the context of their blog and coupled with the misandry posting, this person literally looks like MRAs and incels. The defense the community uses is "it's a kink are you kink shaming?? It was on a private locked blog!" Which, the latter, no it wasn't, I literally went there and looked, and the former. Idk I think if you're saying you want correctively rape lesbians while also talking about misandry and counting "transandrophobia," you look misogynistic and homophobic.

The main writers people follow for transandrophobia related content are straight up liars, who make shit up, and one specific non horse entity consistently cites himself as his own "source" and when he doesn't, he cites terf blogs that are connected to kiwifarms and sites of the sort. They will take bits talked about in feminism and present it as a thing they discovered and present it as transandrophobia. Ie. "Men can't show any femininity and can't cry and that's misandry" despite things like this are discussed at length in feminist texts, men can't do these things cuz that makes them more "woman" in the societal lens. Yeah it's fucked, but it's misogyny, not misandry.

I am, consistently, misgendered by the transandrodorks, and so is every other trans woman that disagrees with them. And it's definitely intentional.

Then there are token trans women who don't know much of anything about feminism or transphobia and will straight up harass you for saying women are oppressed. They often weaponize transmisogyny against other transfems, they misgender, suicide bait, or in velvetvexations case, will stalk your blog for two days even though you ignore her and when she's sees you're on a date with your wife, she goes to your wife's blog and starts messaging her instead. Legit, this woman is one of the worst people on this website, the only reason she's not seen as communismkills 2 is cuz men like her.

On top of this, terfs consistently support "transandrophobia" as a concept and constantly say that transandrophobia is compatible with terf ideology. The transandrodork community is ripe with terfs and crypto terfs. Like that one who said he hoped a friend and I get raped, cuz saying "men arent oppressed" warrants wishing rape on people. Or the trans guy that outright said "trans women are male" and tripled down harder saying "trans women don't experience misogyny and oppress transmascs cuz they're really men," claims that were so wild that even velvetvexations couldn't agree with them lol.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: not every person that believes in transandrophobia is a bigot or a bad person. A lot are just young transmascs who are under read about oppression and history, and this terf/transphobe community swoops in and pretends to be representing them and sucks them in. For every disparaging transmisogynist piece, there's two more that are talking about the problems of transmascs. So when you tell these guys "that's a hate group" they don't remember the post calling trans women men, they remember stuff about T being super illegal. So they think we are attacking them for having a problem, not the actual bigotry on display.

Honestly, if these people would just stop misgendering trans women, they might have more trans women who'd be nice to em. But that's the consistent trend.

Transandrophobia is a violent, transmisogynistic ideology that is propped up by terf ideology. That's why they are compared to MRAs and incels.

[alphajocklover]

just wanted to say that Uncle story you made was really good... Any chance for a part 2?

Hey everyone. I wanted to thank you all for your kind words concerning my Uncle John. After I shared what had happened to him and how I got into TF reporting, I got a lot of supportive messages (along with the regular ones that seem to think this is some sort of… kink blog? What even is that?). Because of how kind you’ve been, I thought I should update you on how everything is going. I’m sorry to say there isn’t much to update you on though. I have a good idea as to who transformed my uncle, which I’ll probably expand upon in another post (I keep saying that, I know, but I will), but what I don’t know is where he is. I haven’t got a clue where he is at the moment, but luckily I’m not the only one searching for him.

The Douchebag Revolution has been keeping an eye out for him for one. Since I help them out sometimes they’ve been helping me. They can be surprisingly nice at times, and they’re pretty sympathetic to people who have been transformed against their will, since they all were at some point. They also seem to have somehow gotten the idea that Uncle John was straight before he got transformed, but since that seems to motivate them more I haven’t corrected them.

I have members of other groups I’ve mentioned helping me too. I won’t name names, since they could get fired (or transformed), but I do have some connections at EB Jewelry, despite the company's anti-journalist policy. They’re the reason I was actually able to get some information on the company in the first place, and they’ve been using some of their connections within the company to help look for my Uncle. They haven’t found much yet, though it's because of them I can safely say that EB Jewelry isn’t involved in what happened.

Then of course there are the other TF Reporters who help, a few personal friends of my Uncle, and… Nick. My Uncles literally devilish friend, Nick. Honestly, he’s been looking harder than anyone, and I think I know why. I’ve always referred to Nick as my Uncle’s devil friend, and that's how he introduced himself to me, but… from what I’ve noticed, they were actually closer than that. It was the little things that gave it away. The look in Nick's eyes when he talks about my uncle, both fond and painful, the way he seems more desperate to find him than I do, how protective he’s been of me since my Uncle disappeared. I think he and my Uncle John were seriously involved, for quite a long time.

It’s kind of weird to realize your Uncle is, or at least was, in a long term relationship with a devil, but no matter the reason, I’m glad he's here. I don’t know If I could do all this without Nick's help. He’s half the reason I haven't been turned into a dumb hunk myself. I do worry sometimes that this is starting to get to him. Whoever transformed Uncle John has been sending… pictures, recently. He’s always transformed in a different way and with a different look, but I can just tell it’s him. They’re showing him off like some sort of trophy, using him to mock us. Nick never says anything but it’s killing him seeing my Uncle that way, I can tell.

This whole thing is my fault. I was the reason my Uncle got changed. I have to get him back. I know whoever took him is reading this post. I know you’re powerful, powerful enough that time travel, demons and capitalist don’t want to fight you. But I’m not afraid of you. I know who you are, and I’m giving you a fair warning: I’m coming for you, and I’m getting him back. No matter what.

**I’ve been meaning to do a sequel to the ‘My Uncle’ story for a while. I love big lore stories. I need to introduce the big bad soon, but there so much other stuff to write too so it might still be a bit. Hope you love this story and hope you guys can wait!**

[wildemaven]

don’t drink the punch | dave york

-> pairing: dave york x f!reader

-> word count: 3382

-> content warning: 18+ blog; insecurities, jealousy, holiday party antics, mentions of food and alcohol, office gossip, smut (unprotected p in v, fingering, orgasms), there’s no mention of it but reader is on BC, Dave is divorced from Carol, Soft and Sweet Dave, let’s say this is AU and no murdering is happening (or that at least reader is not aware of), reader is mentioned to be wearing a dress with heels and lingerie, otherwise zero descriptive features for reader, I think that’s everything but let me know if I missed anything

-> notes: more soft Dave because he’s been rotting my brain and making me weak lately. This could be the same universe as Caught Kissing Santa, but also can be read as a stand alone piece too.

-> masterlist / holi-dave masterlist

“I would enjoy these holiday parties a little more if the drinks being served had some actual bite to them. Then I wouldn’t have to give another forced Thank You to my Secret Santa for another gift I’m just going to re-gift to an unsuspecting family member. Did I mention how much I hate these parties?” Cathy shares among the small group of you and a few others, tucked in the corner of this year's CIA Holiday Party. 

You laugh into your fluted glass of sparkling apple juice. Mainly because she’s right. These parties tend to be a little boring, as do most office holiday parties. Lacking any sort of decorum that would indicate there’s an actual party taking place. The lobby has far more holiday cheer than this conference room at the moment. 

Red streamers taped to the wall above the food table and green plastic table runners haphazardly draped over random surfaces help add some festive color to the drab atmosphere. But the tiny plastic tree with misshapen branches bent in different directions placed in the middle of the long table in the center of the room, really ties everything together. Due to budget cuts, there wasn’t much of an allowance for new decorations, according to Cathy. Thankfully, you had convinced Dave to keep leftovers decorations from last year’s party in the supply closet

Once gifts were exchanged, the party felt like it was dragging on longer than it should. Your feeting aching in the too high heels you always decide on, snacking on nearly stale bread and cold artichoke dip, most of the other items already picked over. You patiently wait for the moment everyone else decides it’s time to call it a night and meet up at a local bar to continue the celebration, all while you make your way home to enjoy the rest of the evening with order in pizza and comfy clothes. 

The majority of the party you spend talking with a few friends to pass the time. Catching up on random office gossip, the latest romance rumors that have all departments engrossed in every detail and any other dramatic news that you haven’t heard about. All topics are enough to keep you entertained for the time being. 

“Maybe if York wasn’t so tightly wound and put some actual effort into these things, they would be easier to enjoy.” Sheryl adds to the conversation. “Between us, I might have brought a small flask of vodka to add to the fruit punch— should make things a little more interesting.”

“I’m sure his hands are tied, so you can’t really fault him for not allowing the hard stuff. Plus, are you even allowed to drink on site?” You decide to give your opinion. While you do see where they’re coming from, you can’t really hold it against Dave for not wanting to deal with everyone liquored up. And you’re more than certain there’s a zero tolerance policy for alcohol anywhere in the building, clearly Dave is just following the rules. You’re more than fine enjoying several glasses of the fizzy juice, noting to steer clear of the punch bowl. 

“By the way— did you see the new tie York got? I’m shocked she made him put it on as soon as he opened it— a little awkward to do in front of everyone. I will say, it looks good though, doesn’t it?” Cathy points to where Dave and one of his much younger Agents are still talking on the other side of the room. 

You watch as he holds up the ends of the tie, as if they’re both discussing the color and material of it. He must have said something funny, because she’s laughing now. You no one notices the way you subtly roll your eyes when her hand reaches out to him, holding the side of his forearm as she talks. She must be telling him how hard it was to shop for him, but she just knew he’d love the tie. And how she spent hours searching for the right color— it's black.

She’s cute, whatever her name is. One of the newer recruits you haven’t had a chance to meet yet. She looks to be in her mid to late twenties. A young, confident woman whom you’re definitely not jealous of with all the attention Dave is giving her right now. She’s a good 10 years younger than you if you had to guess. She’s attractive too. Dave seems somewhat oblivious to her slightly flirtatious behavior. Being the nice guy that he is and giving her his undivided attention— makes sense. 

“Don’t you think it looks good?” You realize you’re being asked a question about said tie he’s wearing. 

“Yeah. It looks really good on him.” That’s a lie. It does look good, but you kind of hate that she gave it to him, given how flirty she's being towards him. It’s not anything you would have ever picked for a Secret Santa gift, especially for Dave. The premise of the gift exchange was supposed to be fun, silly gifts. She should have opted for a coffee mug that says, Tears of my Employees, but that’s just your opinion. “Such a great color, too.” That part is the truth, it is a great color on him. 

“Speaking of looking good— that dress on you is killer!” Sheryl shifts the compliments in your direction, catching you off guard and has you feeling slightly embarrassed at the attention. 

“Oh! This? It’s just something I picked up earlier this week. I feel a little overdressed though.” You say all demure like, looking down at the way the black material drapes over your body. The dress feels a bit much compared to everyone else’s business suit attire. The high cut of the slit and the low straight neckline with straps holding it onto your body have you sticking out more than you would like. 

“I’m sure Dave has told you plenty how beautiful you look in it.” Sheryl says confidently. 

“Umm—  no he hasn’t mentioned it. I haven’t had the chance to talk to him much today, actually.” You say meekly, looking back over in the direction of where Dave is. 

When you go to sneak a glance at him, he’s already looking at you, not caring what the cute younger Agent is saying in that moment. His attention fully focused on you. He gives you a wink, raising his half-empty glass— cheers to you from across the room. You mirror the gesture back to him, pairing it with a genuine smile now painted on your face. He turns his attention back to the younger cute Agent, both of them now joined by a pair of Agents from analytics. 

“Well, the night is still young. I’m sure he’ll be giving you all the praise soon enough.” Cathy says, pouring some red punch into her glass.

“Sure.” You smile politely at Cathy and Sheryl. “Umm, if you’ll both excuse me. I need to go use the ladies room.” Deciding you need a minute to yourself. Ditching your glass at the end of the long conference table, you make your way out of the room down the hall. Seeking out a few minutes of quiet to let your mind clear before heading back into the lackluster party. You catch Dave’s profile as you walk by the glass wall of the conference room, paying no mind to anyone outside the little holiday bubble he’s in. 

The echoing of your heels clicking against the tiled floor is the only sound you hear as the bathroom door shuts behind you. You debate whether or not you should give your feet a break from being stuck  in such a high arched position for so long, deciding against it at the thought of walking nearly barefoot in a bathroom. Placing your purse on the porcelain countertop, you take in your reflection in the mirror. Adjusting the straps on your shoulders, then sliding your hands down the front of your body. Admiring and reminding yourself how good you do look in this dress, it’s the main reason you decide to wear it tonight. 

You’re not even sure why you were doubting yourself to begin with. You groan out loud into the unoccupied space for how you were comparing yourself to another woman— a woman you don’t even know. She doesn’t deserve that. Sometimes your insecurities creep in, clouding your mind with lies and false narratives you’ve conjured up. You brush it off. Grabbing your purse, you apologize mentally to yourself as you make your way back out into the hallway. As well as to the young woman who had also been on the receiving end of your near downward spiral. You’ll introduce yourself properly when you get back to the room. 

Someone must have found a speaker. A vibrant Christmas song, you can just barely make out, is coming from the conference room. Most likely another one of Sheryl’s attempts to liven up the crowd. You’d given anything to see the look on Dave’s face right now— he has the worst poker face when he’s annoyed. 

You’re halfway back to the party when you get distracted. An open door to an empty office has you intrigued. The plaque next to the door reads Dave York - Deputy Director NCS. Your fingers tracing over the carved out letters engraved on to the gold metal. 

Laughter pours out of the party filled room at the end of the hall. Your fingers pausing over the last letter of Dave’s name. Glancing back over your shoulder, double checking that you are alone. Shadowy figures are still milling about on the other side of the glass wall. The party far more alive than when you left it. The addition of music was just what it needed. 

You decide you’re in no rush to head back. The open door to Dave’s office practically welcoming you in. 

Wall to wall shelves behind Dave’s desk have some sort of lighting that adds a soft ambient glow to the otherwise dark room. The rest of the walls are adorned with college degrees and various certificates, years and years of hard work and dedication.

You toss your purse to the leather chair that is off to the side as you make your way to the large desk. It’s made of some dark slab of wood, the sleek angles and metal hardware gives it an elaborate modern look. The desk is cool to the touch, your fingertips following the grain of the wood, as you take in the details of Dave’s space. 

There’s a gold frame that catches your eye, twinkling under the dim lighting. You grab it from where it sits next to another photo of Dave’s daughters, Molly and Alice. 

You’re instantly drawn to Dave in the photo. The sheer happiness that’s evident in the smile he’s wearing. A smile that he doesn’t wear often at work or for many outside of it. His dark locks brushed off of his face, in a dressed up polished manner. Face cleanly shaven, allowing his dimple to be on full display. There’s also a brightness in his eyes. You admire the way the photographer was able to capture such a beautiful candid moment. 

“That’s my favorite picture” You turn to see Dave standing in the doorway of his office. Suit jacket discarded somewhere. His hands in his pants pockets. Head tilted ever so slightly as he slowly scans up your body until his eyes meet yours. 

“Hmm… You have to say that, it’s your wedding photo.” You say as a matter of fact. Turning back to his desk, you glance at the framed photo one last time. You finger brushing over the portion of the picture where his handsome face is. 

You’re too focused on the happy couple staring back at you, missing the barely audible sound of his shoes drifting over the carpeted floor as he slides up behind you. You nearly gasp at the sensation of his body pressed up against you, butterflies erupting in your stomach. His touch is captivating, evoking a sense of want, desire blooming immediately. 

Your body doesn’t shy away from the way his hands settle on your hips. Welcoming the way his lips move over your skin, a gentle trail of kisses that lead upwards from the round of shoulder to the small space below your ear. Your stomach tightens. Goosebumps erupting all over. 

“It’s our wedding photo.” A gentle squeeze of your hips as his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. He plucks the frame from your grip, setting it back in its designated spot on his desk. 

“Are you trying to seduce me in your place of work, Mr. York?” A playful smile forms on your lips as you turn to face him, rucking the skirt of your dress over your hips as you sit on the edge of the desk, the silky material pooling around your waist. 

The insecurities you had been feeling earlier in the night, long gone, forgotten under his intense gaze. Your hands lay flat over his documents and files as you lean back into a more seductive position, careful to not disturb their tidiness. 

“Fuck, Baby. Looks like you’re the one doing the seducing, Mrs. York?” The new black lace panties and garter set you picked up this week on display for him. His hands glide over the black stockings that stop mid-thigh, his fingers slipping under the garter strap, continuing their upward movement, as he steps into the space between your legs. 

“Is it working?” You purr, knowing full well it is based on the grip he has on the apex of your thighs. A small yelp escapes your throat as he slides your lower half closer to the edge so your flush against him— not missing how hard he is under his black slacks. You carefully allow yourself to lay back fully over the desktop. 

Your hands catch the end of his new tie. Pulling at it tautly, bringing him down so he’s maneuvering his body over yours. One hand resting next to your head as the other guides one of your legs over his hip, encouraging you to wrap them around him. 

“I just got all of these papers in order. Hours of reading and organizing. They’re going to be a mess now.” Dave’s voice is honeyed, holding zero malice in his words. 

“I’m sure you can have one of your cute little Agents clean them up for you.” You tease, which only encourages his own seductive movements. Your eyes flutter shut at the way he ruts himself hard against your aching mound. Open mouth kisses delivered across your cleavage.

“Are you jealous, Mrs. York?” You can feel the way his lips perk into a smile on the top of your breast when he asks. 

“I-I was. She’s very pretty. But I know who you’re going home with at the end of the night.” Your fingers card through his soft locks at the base of his neck, your head tilted back as he soft nips at your jaw. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I think Julie finds you more attractive than she does me. She asked several times who the breathtaking woman in the black dress was.” That was a twist you hadn’t expected. 

“Oh! Did you let her down easily?” Dave’s wandering lips are halted by your question. He pulls back, eyes filled with reverence as he looks down at you. The air between you is charged with an unwavering love for each other. His hand gently cups the side of your face, thumb slowly tracing over your bottom lip. 

“I told her how you’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. How you make my life better. And that I don’t know what I did to deserve such a beautiful woman like you.” He’s the sweetest man you’ve ever met, a wonderful father to his two girls and an incredible husband—  falling in love with him was one of the easiest things you’ve ever done. 

“Dave—“ Tears prick at your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, let me take you home so I can unwrap you properly.” He tries to lift himself off of you, but you have other plans— more exciting plans. 

Grabbing his face and pulling him back to you, your lips connect with his. Tongues melting into a fiery kiss. No further words needed, as your body does a fine job of conveying exactly what you need from him and you’re grateful he catches on quickly.

His hand slips under the lace material of your panties. Seeking out your pleasure as he alternates between soft deliberate circles over your throbbing clit and working you up with two fingers inside your warm cunt, hitting that delicious spot over and over again, causing you to bite back an explicit moan as you silently tip over the edge. 

Rushed movements blur into the next. Working together to free his hard cock from his boxers and pants. Forgoing the effort it takes to remove your elaborate straps and lace, pulling your underwear to the side is all that’s required before Dave is slowly sinking into you. 

Shared breaths and discreet whimpers fill Dave’s office. Nails biting into exposed skin with each heady thrust Dave delivers. Papers shuffling beneath you as your body tenses, arching into his. Dave senses you’re close, your vise-like grip has him nearing his own release. 

“Dave! —fuckfuckfuck—  Baby, I- I’m going to come!” You're breathless, trying your best to keep your voice low, not wanting to be heard by anyone. 

“I’m right there —shit!— with you, Sweetheart.” 

Your lips connect with Dave’s again as your orgasm surges through you, swallowing each other's moans and triggering Dave to spill inside of you. 

The room is nearly quiet again as Dave’s forehead rests on your chest. His skin is warm against yours.  Your lungs work effectively to help regulate your breathing to a normal state. 

A kiss placed over your heart, then to your lips before he’s slipping out of you. Dave adjusts your underwear back in place as you still lay boneless on his desk, body a tingling mess is bliss. 

“That was a first for us. Surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.” He smiles down at you as he tucks himself back into his boxers, tucking his dress shirt and refastening his slacks. 

“Hmmm— I’m not opposed to it happening more often— make sure to pencil me in.” You hum softly at him. You reach out for his hand to help you off the desk. His hands instantly catching you and your grip onto his shoulders, your legs a little wobbly when your heels hit the ground. 

Your dress adjusted, Dave’s tie situated, compliments exchanged —You look gorgeous in this dress, This tie was a nice choice, she did a great job picking it out— sweat patted down with a tissue— a valiant attempt to look less conspicuous as you both head back to the party hand in hand. 

You both decide to stay a longer, indulge in a little more of the festivities, you suggest ordering some pizza for everyone. Dave agrees and mentions also needing to call Carol at some point to tell the girls goodnight.  

“You think they will notice we were missing?” Dave asks, his arm wrapping your waist and pulling into his side as you both stop at the door to the conference room. The space is still filled with boisterous laughter as music continues to keep the energy flowing. 

“I doubt it. They’re probably too busy discussing how boring your parties are.” You smirk at him. 

“Boring? Who’s saying they’re boring?” His head whips over to you. You can already see him mentally running through names, his signature scowl now visible, looking back at his fellow agents. 

“That’s for me to know and for you to stress about until the next one. I’m going to go introduce myself to Julie. I’ll see you in a bit.” You kiss his cheek and make your way back inside. You take a few steps before stopping and turning back to him, your dress skirt billowing out around your legs. “Dave, don’t drink the punch.”

[readbyred]

Hi :)

Heard you were accepting dps requests so what about a charlie fic

I feel like charlie is the type of person to flirt with everyone and ask anyone he finds attractive out except when it comes to the person he actually has feelings for so what about charlie x reader where reader has been waiting since before they graduated for him to ask her out and as soon as she decides to move on charlie gets all sad and jealous and confesses and yknow how it goes

Would love to see this in a fic ♡

Not a fic blog (maybe someday), but I can give you a headcanon (so, shorter and no dialogue) though… I did get a bit inspired, so its longer than my usual writing

I think as a teen he was the sort of person to try and prove he’s popular with people. It would feel bad to lump you in with that. Like, he actually liked you, so it's different. Not that he has no respect for people he flirts with, but he knows it isn't anything serious. He was just a teen guy trying to impress his friends and get the experience he was prevented from getting (with his strict school and all). Especially with his position in the friend group and all.

Still, he hoped to have something serious with you one day. One day when he gets the courage, when he feels like it will work out and he won't jeopardize the whole friend group because of his crush.

But that day didn't come when he was at Welton. Then he had other things to worry about, considering his departure from the school. It was a hard time for everybody. But no matter the odds the poets kept in touch, as much as they could. And that included you.

Only, as years passed you started losing hope. I mean, if he wanted to he would, right? It felt so helplessly pathetic to be waiting for Charlie when it seemed that he had never and will never return your feelings.

When you were younger, it felt like the end of the world. Like you were destined to be alone. Oh, how many nights you’ve spent with Knox, wallowing in self-pity after Chris left him. Just sitting there with your buddy, talking about how you should go to a monastery. Not out of a spiritual need, but because there would be no one ever to love you. Guess you were a bit dramatic back then. It took Pitts many tries to smack some sense into you but you matured eventually.

When college approached, you were ready to meet new people. Although you weren't in the same school together anymore, you made a promise with the poets to keep seeing each other regularly.

Meanwhile, you met Mark. A true romantic soul with quite a witty humour. And Jack who would always treat you so sweetly and had the same interests as you. And Adam who walked you to the dorms every day. And Matt who had so much passion for life. You opened yourself up to people. Started meeting up with others.

Suddenly, you’d bring up your dates every meeting. Not to rub it in, just to recall funny moments. Like when a rainstorm caught you and Jack in the middle of a walk and you raced to the dorms. Or how you and Adam got lost in the park at night because neither of you lived in that city before. Knox would encourage you to spill every detail.

Surprisingly, the more you talked about your love life, the less you heard Charlie talk about his. By winter break you haven't heard him talk about any girl in weeks. At first you didn't notice. Then you figured that maybe he just fell for someone who wasn't as easy to charm so he didn't have anything to brag about yet.

The thought of him being so head over hills for this unnamed person made something inside you feel empty. You knew the feeling well from high school and you detested yourself for still having those sorts of thoughts and feelings. But you decided to let it all fizzle out.

You had better things to think about too. There was a ball coming around. Some fancy tradition at your university. Before you knew it, you had quite a few invitations. The sweetest one was from Jack.

He told you to close your eyes and open your palm. Then, he handed you a handcrafted note asking if you'd like to go with him. Later that day you found another one in your pocket (so that's why he told you to close your eyes) telling you he’s grateful to have you in his life. It was perfect. And officially approved by Knox Overstreet!

When you recounted the story, the guys were pretty happy for you. Before anyone could get a word in, Charlie suddenly asked if you were planning to go with Jack. Sincerely, you affirmed. Why not? He was the sweetest guy and you certainly were done moping around. I mean, you knew that Charlie wasn't going to change his mind so you could as well see if you end up liking someone else.

To your surprise, Charlie wasn't as ecstatic as the rest of the poets. He was rather skeptical and even a bit snarky. Commenting on the guy and just being so… weird about it. It angered you to no end because softly rejecting you is one thing. But trying to get in the way of you moving on? That didn't sit right with you. But your drama queen days were over, so you didn't walk off or anything. Just huffed and looked for a way to change the topic.

At the same time Charlie was thinking. Before college it was easy to reassure himself that he had all the time he wanted to make you his. And all the time he wanted to decide if he would do that at all. Everything was easier back when you didn't talk about any guys. Ever. Now he felt like he had to do something. Damn the risk of ruining the friend group. Damn the fear of rejection. And damn Knox for encouraging this mess.

The last thing you expected was for Charlie to get up suddenly. The poets all looked at him confused. When he stood up, his eyes met yours and he asked you to talk with him outside. Honest to Gods, you had no idea what that was about. But he was being dramatic (more so than usual) and something about the determination in his eyes told you to follow your friend outside. It was snowing and only buildings around you somewhat shielded you from the cold wind.

Charlie didn't waste time choosing words. For the first time when talking to a girl, he was completely raw. Just as it hit him, he blurted out his confession. No overplayed charm. No smirks and winks and cheap tricks. Just him. Charlie Dalton telling you that he likes you. That he had liked you for some time. That you should just, please, think about it.

As the last word fell from his mouth, a heavy silence fell between you. Silence colder than the wind and the snow. But Charlie stood there, undeterred, waiting to see the answer in your eyes. Even at his most frantic, he was confident. He understood that he did what he did, what it meant, and that he grasped this last chance by a miracle. There was no turning back now.

Your response first came muffled, as if the falling snowflakes were absorbing your voice. But finally, you confessed. Not without telling him, how long he made you wait. And how stupid he was acting, if he really just ignored his feelings for this long.

Your talk was tender, full of relief. But, as it happens with Charlie, as soon as the talk of real feelings was out of the way, he dragged you back inside, to announce your happy ending.

You couldn't believe he wanted to brag to your friends at a moment like this. But you just stood there, watching him with a smile. Some things never changed. Charlie certainly didn't. And you wouldn't have it any other way

[star-wrote]

hello❤️i just saw your blog! im irish so i was wondering can you do whatever fic you write with an irish reader? i think the accent and the slang difference would be fun to read! you don’t have to specify the fic on r being irish just a fic wheres r is irish hope i could explain that!😅

Leannán

ao3 link

Characters: Farm Era Daryl Dixon x Irish!Reader

A/N: so excited for this request !! thank you love! i have irish heritage so this was so fun to write(and also incredibly self-indulgent). i decided on daryl since it would be the most difference in accents:) also feel like i totally didn’t do this justice, it feels kinda short and rushed…but i had fun so slay!!

Warnings: fluff, love confession, bad accent writing, cursing, reader is sort-of mentioned to have green eyes(very self indulgent), reader knows irish gaelic (yes i know the language is practically dead, it’s just so pretty)

Word Count: 605

not my character | images from pinterest

Making fun of your accent is one of Daryl’s favorite activities.

You know he likes to see your face get all red, cartoon steam coming out of your ears. It reminds you of the little boys on the playground who would push you to the dirt as a way of flirting.

Not that he would ever admit that it was flirting.

Luckily, you could take the teasing… and dish it right back.

“You sure are one ta talk; what with your grunts and yee haws.” You shove his shoulder as he eats his breakfast with you by the fire.

“Ain’t say yee haw,” he pouts, “and ya jus’ say weird words fer things. Like tha’ one fer kiss.”

You smirk at him. “What, póg? Why, ya want one?”

“Stop.” He rolls his eyes.

That’s how your usual conversations with the arm-swinging grump went.

Days on the Greene farm were usually quite relaxed after the chores for the day got done. You’ve found yourself drawn to Daryl more and more after every conversation, his soft spot for you becoming apparent to everyone. Maybe it’s because you both felt like outsiders in the group. In a weird way, you felt like he understood you… even if he quite literally couldn’t sometimes.

“Shite.” You curse under your breath. Lugging water to the house from the well was tough work, but work you’d rather be doing compared to washing clothes or making food. Curse you and your feminist ambition.

“Need some help, Irish?”

You blush at the nickname that has become common from the mouth of Daryl Dixon. “I do, please.” You sigh as you hand a bucket of water to him. “Why are you back so early? The sun’s only mid-sky.”

“Was hopin’ you’d wanna go on a hunt with me. Could use the help.” He grabs the other bucket from your hand as well, carrying them both with no difficulty.

“I doubt that you, mister hunter man, king of the wild, actually need help with hunting. But, I’ll gladly join.” You smile while stretching out your sore back.

He finishes your chore for you, Lori tossing a “thanks” over her shoulder on your way out of the farmhouse.

Hunting with Daryl feels like one of the most peaceful things in the world, obviously ignoring the occasional walker.

You trail quietly behind him, soaking up the nature around you while he does all of the work.

However, you know he wouldn’t have it any other way. He just likes your company.

“Ya know… yer eyes remind me of the woods. My favorite place.”

You’re sure your eyebrows raise to your hairline after hearing his statement. You’ve never heard him speak so directly before.

He stops abruptly, causing you to walk into his back.

When he turns around, you can see the blush that reaches his ears. He was nervous.

“Daryl, what are you trying to tell me?”

He kicks at a clump of grass. “Nevermind.”

“Don’t, it’s okay, you can tell us.”

He smiles a little at you using “us” instead of “me.”

“I think I like ya, Irish. Nah, I know I do.”

“I like you too ya eejit.” You punch his shoulder.

It’s his turn for his eyebrows to raise to his hairline. “Really? Ya don’t have to jus’ say that.”

Instead of responding with words that you know would fall short in reassuring him, you pulled him into a hug.

“Leannán.” You whisper into his chest.

“What does tha’ one mean?”

“Darling.” You answer while smiling up at him.

He tucks your hair behind your ear and gently kisses your lips.

“I like tha’ one.”

[lovelaurs]

my own silly mystreet characters headcanon list!

aphmau:

has the worst "hear me out" takes you'll ever hear. like seriously. she can very much point to a yield sign and say "would" to everyone's dismay.

knows every line in moulin rouge as she is OBSESSED with the film. she and laurance preform the elephant medley as dramaticly as possible whenever they watch it for movie night.

obsessed with pre-endgame marvel movies.

ao3 writer! she writes fics for the nichest of fandoms, so she doesn't get that many reads.

one of the few reliable booktok users you can TRUST will give you a good recommendation to read!

garroth:

obsessed with the movie megamind. like seriously. will talk to you for hours on and WILL defend the "sequel movie" and show because, in fact, they are NOT that bad.

can infodump about a topic he's interested in for hours on end.

actually really smart and kind, but ever since he found out he made zane insecure he tries to tone it down. he used to show off a lot but wants to make sure his brother shines as well.

carries stress balls on him so he doesn't use his strength unnecessarily.

always organizes group movie nights with all his friends.

laurance:

loves to listen to and read AITA (am i the asshole?) reddit posts when bored.

an amazing listener, will listen to someone for hours on end and provide insight when needed (perfect for having a conversation with garroth).

loves gossiping. he has really good hearing so he tends to hear others share secrets nearby. he's like the wine aunt you just KNOW has the most interesting stories to tell.

likes to go on vacations a lot, explaining why he is absent sometimes during big group events.

he sometimes returns home to his family farm to take care of it when his parents are out of town.

he often voluntarily babysits caleb to impress aphmau and garroth with his caretaker skills (he's a showoff).

katelyn:

she loves the show big time rush and watches it in her freetime.

OBSESSED with musical theatre and visits broadway shows often. if the friends she brought along even DARE to suggest skipping the stagedoor? they receive a glare that could kill thousands.

adores singing and often sings in her room when the others aren't home.

continues to play volleyball with her friends after a long day of work (she's a freelance writer).

her music taste can range from alternative music like waterparks to kpop groups like red velvet!

KC:

an ao3 writer as well! she and Aphmau gift eachother fics from time to time! she mostly writes x reader fics for tumblr sexyman.

has taken a liking to cooking outside of baking! she especially likes to grill! she even wears an apron that says "kiss the cook" as well as a hat that says "fish fear me women love me".

watches any and all trending animated shows like tangled the series, adventure time, avatar, etc.

has her own tumblr blog where she writes reviews on shows and posts art! her page is quite popular.

dresses in mainly lolita fashion! she has a flare for the beauty of style and loves to recommend people styles and outfits whenever they go out shopping!

travis:

calls katelyn, zane, and dante hot nonchalantly

has attempted.

dante:

loves to bake and nana teaches him all kinds of recipes to make. he supplies the snacks at movie night.

takes taekwondo lessons. "can never be too careful" he says while living in a pretty standard upper middle class neighborhood. why is he like this.

works at a pet shelter and takes care of the dogs and cats left behind. he adopts any that have been there for years, thus making his house full of many different pets.

the designated driver for whenever they go out to clubs. he doesn't like to drink so he usually takes everyone home by the end of the night.

travis (the actual headcanons):

actually respects others and doesn't harass them like he did early on (that was a weird trope and i HATED it). he's just a flirt and if someone he flirts with flirts back he gets all flustered.

the group gamer. spends hours grinding on all sorts of games just to brag about it on his steam profile. specifically a fan of the spider-man games on playstation.

loves to cosplay! he, aphmau, and nana go to lots of conventions together in group cosplay. their last one was the powerpuff girls! they dragged garroth along and made him mojo jojo.

can recite everything and anything about the ninjago lore. this man is obsessed with any lego product or franchise and has many sets built in his room.

practices talking to himself in the mirror every morning to give him confidence. he has very low self esteem.

aaron:

dream stan.

probably friends with dream.

uhhhh idk probably streams the song "mask" by dream.

minecraft streamer.

dream.

those are all my headcanons! i hope you enjoyed! (slandering mystreet aaron is a passion of mine i'm sorry)

[trans-cuchulainn]

hello and welcome to the niche corner

hello i'm néide and this is my blog, which mostly consists of me being grumpy about niche things. i have multiple degrees in medieval irish literature and while sometimes i use these to be vaguely educational, more often i use them to write incredibly specific fic about characters nobody else cares about, and this fic can be found on ao3 (for logged-in users)

so this is a guide to my incredibly specific fanfiction, which i feel also gives a reasonably good introduction to the kind of thing i'm likely to be yelling about on this blog

i am reliably informed that you don't actually need to know anything about the source material to have fun with these fics (or suffer from the angst), but also they can be more fun if you do. some have bibliographies/refs/explanations so i also know a few people have used them as a way to get started with medieval Irish lit which will never not be extremely funny to me

current WIP: chasing someone else's dream (16k, WIP): a cú chulainn/láeg reincarnation fic. they have been reincarnated, not for the first time. they've also been cursed, and thus, unlike in every life before this one, they've never met. ngl this fic contains some of the best prose i ever wrote, please read it

group chats of the ulster cycle, or, the in loco parentis series

a modern AU of the ulster cycle. sort of a college AU, turned into a ballet AU halfway through. consists of:

in loco parentis (135k, complete): my magnum opus. cú chulainn and láeg are university flatmates; group chats featuring all your favourite ulster cycle characters and also some you probably never gave a shit about; cú chulainn as a tiny trans ballet dancer and ferdia as his pas de deux partner; baking; everybody hating on conchobar; nobody dies; way more feelings about both ballet and shostakovich than anybody was expecting, including me; and much more. comes with explanatory notes / bibliography because i'm just Like That

getting the dee (9k, in progress/abandoned): a prequel to ILP, sort of a longes mac nuislenn fic except nobody dies and there are more sex toys. naoise/deirdre with guest appearances from conall. one day i'll go back to this but also i'm a coward

valentáin's day (4k oneshot, complete): a prequel to ILP, featuring láeg and cormac in the pub on valentine's day making fun of all their friends in relationships. they make out, fortunately their friendship survives the experience.

and when you move, i move (2.5k oneshot, complete): a sequel to ILP. just a horny lil cú chulainn/ferdia oneshot set a few months after ILP wraps up.

miscellaneous ulster cycle oneshots

i will be honest, most of these are sad fics of oidheadh con culainn ("the death of cú chulainn") because i just love writing angst, but there's a couple of others in there

a moment's silence (3k): smutty cú/láeg fic set during táin bó cúailnge, inspired by this picture. the most explicit fic i've written

to walk this world alone (6k): extremely niche fic featuring láeg after cú chulainn's death. some otherworldly happenings. sad but not as sad as it was originally going to be.

counterweight (3k): cú chulainn/láeg during oidheadh con culainn, anticipating cú chulainn's death. this one's pretty sad too.

dindsenchas (3.5k): missing scenes between cú chulainn and láeg during táin bó cúailnge. narrated by the landscape of ulster and addressed in second person to cú chulainn himself because the best sex scenes are the ones narrated by a tree.

in one dwelling place (2k): láeg/cú chulainn/emer. vaguely smutty, vaguely fluffy.

we'll say goodbye, today (2k): cú chulainn and láeg during oidheadh con culainn, anticipating cú chulainn's death. big sad hours.

glorious as the sunrise (3k): this is just angst. cú chulainn/láeg during oidheadh con culainn again. not particularly shippy but they love each other very much.

a marriage of inconvenience (3k): modern AU. cú chulainn wants to marry emer but unfortunately never bothered to get divorced after he married láeg for househunting purposes. a very silly fic.

of grief and glory (1.7k): cú chulainn deals with the aftermath of táin bó cúailnge, especially fer diad's death. more sad times lol.

flight risk (2.3k): teenage cú chulainn and láeg steal a spaceship. they get caught. fun scifi AU.

other medieval lit fics (non ulster cycle)

patron saint of toasties (2.5k): finn cycle fic. oisín took time out of uni to travel and now all his friends have graduated and he's lonely enough to text the christian union's "text a toastie" hotline. which is how he meets patrick. very silly modern AU gen fic mostly taking the piss out of st patrick

two birds of a feather (2.8k): yonec (marie de france) | togail bruidne da derga crossover fic. bird dad support group. conaire and yonec hang out and bond over their dads having maybe been birds. stupidest thing i ever wrote and i adore it.

quiver and shake (1.8k): fourth branch of the mabinogi fic. gwydion and gilfaethwy's special brotherly bonding time. canon typical content warnings apply.

other

absent thee from felicity (11k, WIP): hamlet | romeo & juliet crossover modern AU in which horatio and benvolio attempt to deal with the aftermath of their respective tragedies. sad at first, will gradually get sillier. haven't updated in a couple of years but that doesn't mean it's permanently abandoned, i'm just busy

a guild doctor and an abolitionist walk into a bar (5.5k, complete): mortimer sark/daragh vernant (the butterfly assassin by finn longman). in which they become friends while coparenting their fucked up assassin child and pretending they're not doing that. blatant pro-mortimer propaganda tbh and i'm not sorry

if you've never read any of my fics before and are wondering where to start, i firmly believe the reincarnation fic (current WIP) is a good one because it has a solid mix of angst, shenanigans, and weird fuckery, so you can experience the tonal whiplash of the rest of my fics all in one place! but it is a WIP and i make zero promises about upload schedule, it happens when it happens, so not so good if you're impatient haha. plenty of others to get you started though

[gin-juice-tonic]

I've been thinking a lot about gender identity and stuff lately, but to my shame I’m not the most educated person when it comes to lgbt related stuff. Every time I try to search it to learn more I end up freaking out and clearing my browsing history because of the feeling of being watched. I know I’m being unreasonable, but it’s stronger than me. I don’t have anyone to ask about this kind of stuff. Everyone around me is negative about lgbt, I grew up among this negativity. I’m afraid to ask my online friends because I don’t want to seem ignorant or stupid. What have I decided to do? Send an anonymous ask to a stranger about my concerns (sorry about that), whose blog helped me to accept the fact that I might not be who I though I was at the first place. It feels more safe. Back to the point.

As a teen I used she/they pronouns and a different gender-neutral name online for years. I still do it as an adult and now I realise that “she” was more like a compromise for me because it was what I used to be referred as for my whole life, but didn’t feel quite comfortable with. So it’s they/them for me, I guess. Okay. I’ve always preferred to not be related to any gender, but now I see that there’s more to it. I might be a nonbinary, but what if I’m actually an agender? I also consider the possibility of being a genderfluid because one moment I wear a dress and think that it looks good, and the other moment I cry in front of a mirror because of the idea of wearing it. So yeah, it depends on my mood. I don’t know how it works. I’m just so confused. The only thing I know that I’m not comfortable with being referred to as a female anymore. I’ve never really been.

Admittedly, as someone who is binary trans, I do not have a lot of knowledge in this area. I do know what it’s like to not know what you’re “supposed to be” though. And I know it can be frustrating and scary to be lost in trying to figure out your own identity. 

I asked some of my friends, who are nonbinary and genderfluid themselves, and the first thing we all have to say is you should allow yourself more kindness. I am sorry that you grew up around so much negativity. But I want you to know that it’s both okay to feel afraid but also okay to not know everything. If a friend is going to treat you badly for asking questions, they’re not a very good friend. 

One of my friends says the part you said about “making compromises” resonated a lot with them a lot, so you aren’t alone there. As for how you feel in a dress, clothes do not equal gender. You can like how you look in a dress without any of it having to do with girl-ishness. I suggest you try to think about why you like it when you do, and why you don’t when you don’t. My friends also suggested trying other clothes you can express yourself with. Think about why you like them, or why you don’t like them. (Of course, sometimes the answer has nothing to do with gender. I like athletic clothing because they make me look sporty, which is a neutral thing. But it’s good to know what parts aren’t related to gender at all too.) That extends beyond clothes too, any part of your presentation that you think you can play with without getting yourself into danger, you should. 

It’s tempting to feel like you have to scramble to figure out a label. Especially when advice and other people you can talk to can feel sort of “grouped” under them. And there’s a lot of knowledge to be gained that way for sure. But there’s a lot of knowledge to be gained just in figuring out what you do and don’t like. What makes you feel bad, what makes you feel at ease, what makes you super excited. You‘ve got it nailed down that you don’t like being called a female, that’s not a bad start! 

If your friends are people you think are good and kind, I would suggest reaching out to them so that you can explore things a little more with them, considering they know you better than I would. I know it's scary, but there's nothing wrong with not knowing things, and I hope they'd be aware of that too. And even if you call yourself something now and explore more into it, there's no harm if in the future it doesn't fit so good. There's no wrong way to be a gender, and more importantly there's no wrong way to be you.