#Let’s pretend that they’d ever talk like this or this casually to each other

[watermelonsloth]

White Zetsu: We’re like a big happy family! And I’m the dad and Kisame’s the mom!

Kisame: Why am I the mom? What gender roles are we pushing here?

Itachi: I know they’re probably thinking I’m the son, but I’m not. I’ll be the gay emo cousin.

Deidara: I will be the son! The hotshot! Who’s only dream… is to be a star.

Kakuzu: I feel like I’d be a fresh out of jail uncle

Sasori: And I’ll be the sassy aunt… who talks shit about everyone

[kooyabooya]

INSIGHT

m reader x gaeul // 17k words

It’s not much to unpack: the findings or purpose one pursues. You know this. Everybody’s different, and that’s not limited to the sex - it also accounts for the experiences and connections you make with someone, exploring the limitless possibilities of what or who you want in your life. You’ve been told that the ‘one’ might be out there and have yet to realize it. No one could ever really pin it down to one reason. 

But what’s there to overreact about? You’re a hopeless romantic. 

Okay. To backtrack on the hopeless romantic thing, that’s not entirely true; you’re on the eve of something big here, and the intuition is approaching that conclusion by the second. 

None of this should be that easy from the get-go. Delving into casual conversation to the nice meals and then the eventual ditziness finds you and her on the bed of fucking each other’s brains out until one of you is practically paralyzed from the waist down. That’s the essential beauty of it, right? The hints and signals are right in front of your face; all it takes is a simple notice of interest that can lead anyone to think if they feel the same way. 

You’re not entirely sure, but taking this date with a grain of salt was the best course of action to follow. Besides, it’s too early to delude yourself into thinking about a future with Gaeul. 

(Though, it’s worth noting: 

She never coined it to be a date; said that it was too direct on the nose. In all fairness, you just needed a plus one to tag along with you. It could’ve been anybody else, but Gaeul was the first person to come to mind. You and her have similar interests - a point of connection strong enough to expand on. She didn’t mind keeping you company, and the fact that she was willing to circles your mind far longer than it should’ve.) 

Which brings you to here: standing in front of a timely art piece that looks to be dated from the 1600s. Or- at least that’s what the plaque says on the bottom left corner of the frame. However, you also feel like the people in the room with you are also playing their role like they do in those typical romance movies or serial dramas. You also begin to wonder if people go to an art museum in their free time just to look at fine pieces curated by people who have an obsession for old pictures or to dress up to match the aesthetic and pretend that they know what the hell they’re talking about. 

Given how you’ve dressed up for the occasion, they’d probably be right.

Gaeul herself matches the look so well. Her stilettos are one thing, but the bright-colored skirt along with her high socks are doing wonders for highlighting her legs, with her old-fashioned pink top that looks to be from the Victorian era simply bolsters the elegance past your personal rating scale. She’s also got her slightly-thick-rimmed glasses and the low braided ponytail wrapped in a small bow at the end. You can’t deny it, she’s gorgeous. The kind of girl that’s hard to come by and you’ve struck yourself out of the ballpark by getting her here. She walks at a pace, her strut consistent and punctuated with the way her feet are carrying her. It doesn’t help with the fact that you keep thinking about how you’d hold her hanging ponytail when her head is between your legs, or how she’d let you take off her socks with solely your teeth and show that you do more than just run your mouth. You stand behind her by a few inches and just watch that amazing side profile of hers, molded and chiseled by God himself. 

Her eyes stay fixed on the piece in front of her. Blinking. Examining. You resist the urge to stand behind her and bury your nose in the back of her head. 

You look away for a second only to hear her sigh, and watch as her arms cross over her middle. The stance alone can tell you that she’s the kind of girl that will do damage to you whether you like it or not. 

“I don’t know,” says Gaeul, looking left to notice you approach her left side, pointing her lips back to the art piece as you give it a fraction of your attention - staring at Gaeul with the corner of your eyes, thinking of all the ideas your hands could have on her pretty face, her small hands, lifting her by the waist when she hugs you. “This isn’t the actual ‘Starry Night’ painting, is it?” 

You laugh, because the question itself was supposed to be rhetorical. “No, it is. Not a replica. The real thing.” 

“No, but look,” Gaeul slips her hand around your arm and pulls you closer while she points out to the painting again with her finger. You’ve had crushes on girls throughout high school and college, but there’s a sense of a pull here that’s different from the rest. “This is something that you would do, hm?” 

You lean more closely at the painting and feel her face rest along the line of your upper arm. The picture itself was a mix of these yellow circles over a blue canvas - you think - has to do something about admiring the view that nature presents, which explains the artist’s approach with the usage of the abnormal brushstrokes. “Right.” You get the underlying appeal of the painting’s message, that’s for sure. 

Gaeul giggles, humming a sound too elegant and pretty for its own sake. You’re playing it cool as best you can. It’s a lot to keep track of her sparkling eyes so full of you within them that you’re nervous to even speak a coherent sentence. She looks dangerously good in her outfit: hugging the curves, the collars and ends of her sleeves dancing in these wavy, coquettish lines. That hint of lace she’s wearing is also cute - only for it to be outshined by her exposed collarbones and neck. 

(So, you might be insane here. Try acting differently about it all you want. It’s no use.)

Gaeul then looks at the art piece adjacent to the right - twists her head behind, eyeing the walkway, her gaze now matching yours, cocking her head to the side with her lips pursed. 

“Hmm?” she hums, innocently. There’s a minute tug at the corners of her mouth, a small smile. Her teeth start to peek under her upper lip. 

You’re holding your breath here for a second or two longer. 

“Uh, I didn’t say anything,” you tell her, pulling your lips inward to hide your returning smirk. 

Before you and her move to the next room, you’ve deduced that a woman like Gaeul is no mere anomaly. She is intangible, quixotic, reserved, sensible, and the kind of person who doesn’t let anyone get too close for her comfort. There’s a motivation to be seen with her, the way that her grin and shrug of her singular shoulder gives you the implication that she’s into you. Your gaze goes inquisitive when she’s sashaying timidly further and further away from your sight. 

–

Let’s take a step back here - go to the drawing board, make a new page. There’s substantial progress here. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to have your input solicited. 

Gaeul looks through her handbag, pulls out various items, puts on hand cream and retouches the makeup on her face. You’re on the other end of the table, watching her, listening to the guy nearby do a fantastic take of Take Five on the saxophone with flying colors. Gaeul’s also waving her head from side to side, closing her eyes with a soft smile spread across her lips implying that she likes the music. 

As for the art museum trip itself, you don’t take anything away from what you were supposed to look at and write down - probably because the focus shifted from taking notes to getting a conversation going with Gaeul whenever she was curious about a certain piece or at least your interpretation of what work itself. One of the other pieces that you and her take notice of was from your courses that you don’t remember learning a mere inkling about. A piece from the romanticism era revolved around these two lovers, one of them being madly in love while the other is still trying to figure out their feelings and desires, or vice versa; it may be unappealing for your outlook in artistry, but once you saw the meaning behind the paintbrush and use of strokes, the feeling hits too close to home. 

“From this artwork, what do you want us to take away from it,” someone probably asked back then - the same kind of question that earns a few eye rolls and those heavy sighs used to hide the bubbling frustration within, gets a good number of people scratching the back of their head - though nobody answers it right away unless it’s the professor. 

“Well, that’s not for me to decide,” the professor answers, earning a subtle nod of the head by her, the way the shade of her hair shimmers in the room and how it flows at the turn of her head, glimpses of her skin for you to admire once she has nothing left to say, almost like she was speaking those words to you - waiting for your answer. “The personal interpretation of the painting has to be discovered on your own.” 

In a way, he has a valid point. He’s knowledgeable enough to know what he preaches. He’s passionate about this course alone and it really could take a simple business pitch with a pen to get on board with what he’s selling. 

You have an idea of what message he’s trying to get across, but maybe you’ve got it all mixed up in between still. 

–

The groove of discovery isn’t a straightforward, linear path. Some days your understanding is there, and other times it’s all up in the air; you’re stopping by a food truck near some plaza in the early hours of the evening off the gut feeling that it just feels right; you also find yourself staring at her wide eyes when she gets the first taste of those potato chips she convinced you to buy, wiping a corner of her lips with her tongue. 

It’s almost too good to be true, honestly, that she’s sitting next to you at a park bench as the sky above is painted in these hues of purple and orange to reflect off the sunset, her appearance mimicking royalty and you - her knight in shining armor. She looks up to the sky before offering you her bag of chips, the tilt of her head and how she blinks is so - unbelievably enchanting like she’s unintentionally guilt-tripping you even though you’ve done nothing wrong at all. You take up on her offer, keep a mental note of how she’s so attentive in the way that your hands move and the way that your lips punctuate each letter and phrase so eloquently. Her bottom lip is pulled back into her mouth, holding the foil in her fingers so delicately. 

You can easily tell. She’s enamored; she keeps hitting your arm lightly and plays along with your inside jokes; there’s also that smirk she does in embarrassment and tries to hide away from but you’re still staring at her anyway. 

She stays close to you. Comfortable. Exactly the way you want her to be. You could kiss here right and now and she might be okay with it. You’ll try it eventually, because why not? 

Later, Gaeul walks slightly ahead of you, turns around, and takes your hands in hers, standing on her tiptoes to somewhat match your height. “I’m curious about your eyes, how they look,” she says, not that she meant for it to be embarrassing, but something that she’s noticed the first time and now she can’t ignore it. “They’re enchanting.” 

“Your smile,” you say back. She flashes that exact smile, wearing it with pride. “I like when you smile that way.” 

“My smile is always like this.” 

You sweep her off her feet and twirl yourself around. A finger pulls some of her hair behind her ear, grazing a thumb across her temple, careful enough to not ruin the surface. 

Gaeul looks up. Her head leans into the touch of your hand, inviting. 

This is where it all starts; a genesis of sorts: you drink in the sight of how she is right now, half-lidded eyes, her hands slipping behind to the back of your neck, pulling you in; you, leaning into her body, hands sliding and dipping to the curves where she wants you to hold, keep her in your grasp and unravel her bit by bit; it’s fine to be skeptical, figuring out something new is all part of the learning process. 

You turn your imagination into a reality when you finally kiss her. 

The pull of her into you elicits this gentle hum rumbling within her lips. Given how her fingertips were clawing into your scalp for a second there, she didn’t even put up a fight to begin with. 

The realization of losing her also sets in for a quick moment, the silence alone holding out for longer than it initially should. She continues to blink, teeth capturing the upper profile of her lip just slightly. You might be a bit too forward, but you’re waiting to see what she thinks before you consider dialing it back. 

“That’s not fair-” she stutters, tongue to the inside of her cheek, laughing and then tapping your shoulder soon after. “Normally, I- I’d hold out until we got a little farther with how things are currently.” You also notice that she’s not opting to be let go from your touch, or give you this look of confusion with wide-open eyes or a hand covering her mouth. Her fingertip traces along her lips, internalizing what had just happened. “Don’t tell me you’ve been wanting to do that since the second you saw me earlier. ‘Cause if you were, then I’m in really deeper shit than I expected.” 

“Might be right,” you mumble. “Sorry, I’m not the kind of person to half-ass things. Not my style.” 

“Troublesome,” Gaeul whispers across your lips. You steal a kiss from her again, and this time she gives you a shocked expression. “Hey, again-” 

You’re laughing, rightfully so. She’s pulled into your arms as you spin her around - hearing her laugh also when she’s cradling your head, bringing her back down to earth only for her to kiss you the next second, with more force and tongue. She doesn’t stop there. She keeps on kissing, prompting you to give a fair fight. It’s free reign for her - first, the cheek, then the line of your jaw, and the spot where your chin and neck meet that sends your mind reeling. 

Gaeul then takes one more kiss before the bus makes its eventual stop, pulling you by the wrist to get inside and take one of the seats at the end of the car, away from whoever might take notice. From there she picks up where she left off; her legs are swung over yours, her fingers keep your head in place as she’s placing these sweaty kisses all over your face once more, causing you to rope her in and slide a hand underneath her shirt to her chest. 

“Putting the effort where it counts, huh?” she says when you shift her hips closer to yours. Her giggles are also so pretty that it matches the hot blush colored across her face. 

You look over to the rest of the bus, take into account that there was one other person on the opposite end towards the front with their back turned. “Did you have any other place in mind where you want me to do this?” 

“No,” Gaeul responds with an absorbed smirk. “Not at all, I like what you’re doing so far,” she’s telling you, upholding with a press of her forehead against yours. “It’s riling me up a bit, actually.” 

“Oh? That so?” 

Gaeul nods, leaning in for a much softer peck this time, wiping a wisp of your hair. “Don’t be shy, keep going.” 

You blink twice at the surprising request, figuring out how to handle this situation - let alone what to say or even do at this point. All of that doesn’t matter when all she wants is you. One second later you’re kissing her again - with much more force through every passing press of your lips until the only thing that she can manage is to tilt her chin up and keep on receiving. Two more pecks couldn’t hurt, and she’s giggling when her hand’s patting your chin, kissing her palm to return the favor. 

“How am I doing now?” You ask her again, pressing another kiss to her neck right where the pulse courses rapidly underneath. 

Gaeul’s breaths here are dragged out and unshackled; you’re already thinking ahead of what she’ll sound like when she’s reduced to a moaning mess asking for more. She’s on track there but it’ll take a little bit. She nods - and holds your head at bay, “Okay.” That first response is controlled, feeling out the situation. “Okay,” she repeats, her teeth are peeking out across that pretty little mouth of hers. The hum in her throat drops an octave: “you’re doing really good.” 

Like you needed any other form of implication; the way that she’s playfully scratching your scalp, eagerly leaning for another kiss, this is good stuff you’re doing. Stay in the pocket with her, and continue doing those same things. 

You have to hear that sound from her again. No. You need to hear that sound come out of that sweet mouth, as you slide your hand between her closed legs - pull her closer, closer - and get her within your reach once your palm slips beneath her skirt, feel the sudden hook of her arms around your neck keep her in place. She presses her legs together, trying to maintain the heat in her panties once your fingertips get their first touches. Gaeul hums into your lips, encouraging you, and gives the go-ahead as she opens the space wider in the middle of her thighs for you to capture - her body much rucked up against yours, trying so hard to not come loose. You’ll double down on the reassurance, that’s for sure. 

“Fingers, your fingers,” Gaeul grits, hissing; she’s unraveling. “Holy fuck-” 

Her fingers are well wrapped to the nape of your neck. You can see her brows furrowed together - the lines of her face crinkling; only for them to disappear entirely, relaxed. She forgets about reality for a moment when you slot your lips perfectly with hers, sinking two of your fingers right down the knuckle of her sopping cunt. You watch as she looks down, lips parted to an ‘o’ shape. 

“Fuck, that’s-” she’s babbling, putting her mouth back up with yours - forcing down a moan into your throat, trying to figure out the next thing to say. “Forget what I said, that’s amazing.” 

She pulls her in close as much as possible, hips bucking and jerking when your fingers glide gently between her folds, at the slit. It’s worth noting that the gentler your strokes are, the worse it is for her - so you keep the pace slow for now, waste as much time as you can, dip a finger inside, and focus on the graveled breathing by her through every passing second. 

“You like that, hm?” You’re telling her. “Gotta say, you’re fucking wet.” 

Gaeul tenses her shoulders. “I know,” she whispers, thighs closing around your hand. You’re kissing her again - open tongue and head tilted back when you bring another digit into play - her moans are hot, curling your fingers inside and pressing at the clit to keep her from thinking straight, pressing at the hottest point in her body until Gaeul eventually buries herself in your neck, stifling her whimpers when she’s cumming all over your fingers. 

“Wow,” you say, breathlessly, smiling as she leans up gingerly to put a kiss to your chin, a job well done.

“Yeah,” mumbles Gaeul. “Yeah.” 

You look over to see the person sitting on the opposite end of the car, their back still turned and hunched over; you take that as a hint that they’re probably knocked out cold. Gaeul’s fingers pull your gaze back into her, her face hot pink. She’s got this lazy smile spread on her lips, breathing with her hand palmed to your cheek, eyes dazed and out of focus. 

You then decide that you can’t help yourself anymore. Laying her down on the seat and eating her pussy out right here. You can’t stop thinking about it, looking up as her upper half crumbles while she cums on your face. She can try to make you stop if her brain isn’t partly mush, can try all she wants to stop you kissing from down her waist and into her thighs or wrapping your fingers around her legs once you’ve got your mouth clamped to her cunt like it’s nothing - you’ve got her laid back and relaxed, hands sliding south past her middle, thinking of all the pretty noises that you can squeeze from that heavenly voice of hers - Gaeul looks up once her hands meet yours at her hips, unwilling to let you go. 

You smile at her before you’re biting your lips without thinking twice. 

The way that she says your name too, does something to your brain, man. She needs you. 

You almost feel bad to be the one asking for permission first: 

“If I eat you out right here, Gaeul. Promise me that you’ll be quiet?” 

Gaeul’s mouth drops, before twisting into a devilish grin. 

She looks over to the same person you were looking at, lip captured by her teeth. “Worth a try,” she answers, still coming down from her high. Her eyes stay on you. The lust one can get is dangerously intoxicating - it may not look good on others, besides her - the shade of hot pink, her little swollen lips, the way that she has to use her fingernail to bite down. But her hand gently clutches your wrist. “Would you be nice if I said to go easy on me?” 

You snort at the question, only because her pleading eyes sell the whole deal to you anyway. 

“Asking a lot from me here, darling. No guarantees,” you tell her and descend between her spread legs. 

–

You keep spacing out since then: of her, the grip of her fingers deep in your hair; grinding her hips against your face as she’s trying to not yelp or shriek to not wake the poor guy sleeping - now completely giddy and well-relieved. She tried to crush your skull from the tongue fucking you were doing to her just ten or so minutes ago. Not to mention the cursing, it’s hard to believe she can say stuff like that. 

She also tells how thoughtful you are walking her back to her place; you know the area well enough to make your way back. You tell her that it’s nothing if anything, it was just more time to spend with you. 

Gaeul smiles at that, fixing up her hair like anyone would to keep her hands moving. Her eyes shoot towards the ground before they flashback up at you, which she’ll admit is a bit awkward for her standards. You can’t stop staring at her; she’s that pretty. It’d be worth preaching about for the rest of your life if it ever came to that. 

She hands you her phone and you’re doing the same -  a simple transaction. The subtle question of ‘it’s okay to call you on this, right?’ rolls off your teeth so easily to where Gaeul gives you a nod to answer. There’s a little bit of wiggle room to grow - filling in the gaps with details as we go - things that will be logged in eventually all with time. 

“I’ll be as blunt as possible: I want something fun,” she tells you as if she already had the general idea swirling around your head. Her fingers are fiddling with the zipper of your jacket. As if she wanted to say it differently but ended up with that. A lifeline or rope for you to hold on to - aware that the threads are tearing just a bit, but you’ll grab it anyway because you can. “I’ll bite at whatever you throw at me. Who knows, maybe I’ll do the same to even the odds.” 

Slapping a title or caption to this doesn’t always end well - if you’re gonna be honest, it’s impossible to tell whether or not it’ll go the way you hoped for. 

“You sure?” you’re asking, smiling. Since that’s the kind of trap that you were hoping to fall into anyway. In the face of love, you’ve always found yourself folding right at the first hurdle. 

Especially adding onto the fact that you and Gaeul have known each other to a slight degree; through mutuals, to be more specific. That’s one of the weird things that life can work with: instilling these thoughts about someone and telling them things knowing that it could all go wrong down the line; Gaeul rests her forearms on your shoulders, lets her fingers dance along the back of your head, and nod again with a yeah, you’re already infatuating to me as it already is. It’s so bad, she’s never dressed like this before when you’ve seen her with Liz or Wonyoung for that matter. Her chest and collarbones are out in the open air for you to mark up without remorse, tilting her head back with an arched eyebrow and sly smirk, don’t test me, because believe me, I’m gonna ruin your life from here on out. 

You may as well be far gone from the start. 

–

“It’s not that important,” you’re telling Gaeul over on FaceTime, tossing your phone onto the mattress and stretching out your limbs. Gaeul on the other end, groans in annoyance, though her voice is composed, playful. “I think we’re just stuck on a few things from what it looks like.” 

“But this project with Yujin is also one you mentioned a while back to me,” Gaeul responds, forehead filling the phone screen to check what you were doing, but all she sees is the ceiling. “What are you guys trying to achieve again?” 

“What would you do if you were assigned to discover a brand new constellation or galaxy all by yourself? You ask. “Spoiler alert: it’s a lot harder than it sounds.” 

“Maybe next time you should bring me to the observatory, that way I can see what it is you’re looking for,” Gaeul says with a lovely hum and laughs at the end of it.

She’s so cute when she’s playful; her voice alone is enough to make your brain chemistry go haywire. 

“Well, uh- you know Yujin,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “This is important to her. I honestly think that she’s trying to compartmentalize everyone that’s involved, which is a bit of an overreaction I think.” 

Gaeul then sighs, as if she too, is frustrated. “She’s a hard worker. From the outside looking in, maybe she just needs somebody to make her life interesting. Do you know what I mean? I think she’s sex deprived.” 

“You-” and you scrunch your nose, trying to hide a genuine laugh because you’ve been trying to say something along those lines to Yujin for god knows how long, and Gaeul flat-out said it in a matter of days. “You’re not wrong.” You then see her put the phone down facing up on the nightstand. “Her timetable is very slim, so I get why she can’t afford to have any distractions.” 

“Someone like her should always make time for sex.” 

“Are you always this forward?” 

“Not always, might be just for you.” 

“Consider me lucky,” you muse, tongue to the inside of your bottom lip. 

“You boys think of nothing else besides getting between a girl’s legs, huh?

Gaeuls face returns to the screen and all you give her is a pull of your lips inward. She nods when you don’t say anything, proving her suspicions right. You set her off to the side while you keep doing a separate thing to keep yourself occupied while she does the same. While you’re tending to your notes, you imagine Gaeul to be walking around her room; sitting on her bed, or moving to the bathroom or kitchen - keeping a close eye and ear on you and your voice because she’s got a fix on a few interests of yours that outweighs her own. She watches while you give her a few glances here and there. Staying on task was going to be difficult. You text her your address to pass the information without giving a reason as to why. You probably fucked up in that regard. You might’ve. 

(She puts a heart icon on the message to send your mind for a loop, telling you to think of it lightly; hey, show me what’s on the shelf behind you, see if you make your bed in the morning - and you’re carrying a conversation with her for more than an hour or so. She’s asking different kinds of questions; the ones that are along the lines of: How come you don’t have a roommate with you, where do you go for groceries, what’s the distance between your place and mine? The curiosity grows to uncover the mystery, you think. She’s laughing when you flash a look at her on the screen before you carry on with whatever task you are doing, acting all candidly when the both of you know well that you’re doing everything to not press the ‘end call’ button.)

“Wait,” Gaeul breathes, leaning closer through the phone screen. “Didn’t you offer to show me what you were working on over some food?” 

You’re side-eyeing away, hiding a smile. “I did mention that at the beginning but, yeah.” 

“Shoot, okay,” she huffs, dropping her face so that you only see the top of her head, pulling your lips inward to hide the smile. “How bout this: lace or no lace?” 

“Woah.” You freeze. “Hang on now.”

“Do you want me to explain it to you?” You could feel the slow-burning rush of heat spread across your cheeks. The phone screen flashes in your hand, and she chuckles. “Easy, cowboy. I know you want to jump the gun with me, but I just wanted to hear your thoughts before I do anything else.” 

You’re picturing it once she’s managed to break you, bending down to slip her panties back on, stretching the ends until she lets go and the fabric slaps along her skin. She can’t see it, but your mind goes under. When Gaeul presents it so innocently in the way that it is, it’s hard to believe that she’s able to bend your ego with a few simple words and actions. 

“The image of lace - on your body? I wouldn’t share that with anyone else.” 

She rolls her eyes, and hums a sing-song tone to tease you. “Alright, don’t tell me you’re getting hard just at the thought of that.” You drop your jaw and that earns you a deadpan. “Would you mind if I surprise you with a color of my choice?” 

“You know my color. Well- I don’t think too much of the color. I’m easy to impress,” you reply, nonchalant. 

“Oh, I can take my time with the color. It’s just a matter of how long you can hold out.” She’s not posing it as a threat, but the low tone in the delivery is enough to instill a small fear in the back of your mind. 

“Pfft, that doesn’t scare me.” 

“We’ll see about that. When do you want me to come?” she asks, genuinely. 

You make eye contact with her to ensure she’s serious. 

“I mean,” you start. The more your mouth freezes, the more embarrassing it gets. “Whenever you can. If you’re free.” 

Here, Gaeul tilts her head, confident smirk and tongue to her cheek. “Maybe my punishment is to make you wait. I don’t like the dry response and straight face on top of it. That’s not your look.” 

“What do you even achieve out of doing that?” you ask. “You’re holding me out from-” 

“Yes, you’ll get between my legs again like last time. But I think you can give me more than that, which I’m sure about. Make me scream until I lose my voice or I somehow lose the ability to walk. Does that sound good to you?” 

Part of you likes the fact that she’s got no filter; speaking her mind whenever it feels right.

“Sounds like a test to me,” you muse, taking the challenge head-on. You’re not the kind to back away, let alone have any reason to impress her. You’ll prove your point again when the time is right. 

“Give me twenty minutes,” she says to you. The information comes as need to know, anticipatory. You’re teasing her to get here faster: come to my place sooner and we can skip the boring exposition and do more interesting stuff together. “I promise not to keep you waiting.”

–

The time ticks a lot faster and when you realize it, three or four knocks are sounding off on your right. A scuffle of your socks, a swing of the door later, and voila: Gaeul’s in the middle of your doorway, reflecting the same head tilt you’re giving her before she leans forward for a few kisses. It’s real-life b-roll footage, the snapshots and captured moments of love that everyone longs for in some way or another; you’re living in it. 

“Mhm,” she hums, arms well wrapped around your neck with wrists stacked. She smells good, her body lighter than usual, letting you pull her closer because she knows you will. “Looks like somebody missed me.” 

“Uh uh,” you breathe, laughing in the open space of your mouths, shuffling into the apartment some more, stumbling. Gaeul’s keeping her attire easy with a pair of baggy bottoms that’ll slip so easily out of her legs once you get her to stop moving- 

“I’ll have you know that I thought long and hard about what to wear,” adds Gaeul, standing still and taking her sneakers off one foot at a time, her hair pooling from one side to the other. “But then it hit me, why not just keep it casual?” 

“Explains the comfy combo,” you’re telling her. You don’t even realize the bag brandished on her shoulder. “Is that-” 

“Exactly what it looks like. I don’t have anything tomorrow, so I figured I’d use my downtime more wisely.” 

This is fun. Sure, it’s the playful banter, mixed in with the flirting. You’re using every self-restraint you’ve got in your head to not pin her over on the couch and put her hips against yours. 

You simply can’t help it. The law of attraction that’s taking place: you like her, and it can’t get any more complicated than that. You’re positive that she feels the same way - to some extent. She rubs the neckbone at the nape, twiddles the ends of your hair. The smile she has is infectious, watches as your eyes wander across the lines of her face, almost like you discovered fire. Gaeul’s lips then fall flat, nodding. This is the second or third time you’re seeing her exclusively, each one more exciting than the last. 

“Hungry?” 

Gaeul shakes her head, “Hm, kinda.” 

“You’re in luck,” you beam. “I was gonna whip something up anyway.” 

“Aw, how thoughtful.” She tells you when you’re setting her down, walking over to the dining table with her setting her bag down, following not too far behind. While you’re getting yourself situated, she takes the time to let her head look and observe all the things organized on your shelves and tables, a peek into the inner workings of what makes you tick. You could feel her gaze on you once you’ve got yourself situated at the stove and she finally settles down at the kitchen island, opposite from you with a front-row seat. 

You throw a towel on your shoulder, playing the measly bartender part loosely. “Water?” 

Gaeul blinks, hums a noise serving as a yes. 

“This is just for starters,” you tell her, sliding a glass across the marble before eying the brandy resting at the top of the fridge. “If you want, we can get the good drinks later when we’re bored.” 

“I’d like that.” 

“Want me to explain why Yujin’s project has been a pain in my ass as of recently?” 

She dips her head down, hiding her smile. 

“I think I can think of a few reasons why she can be a handful for some people,” she says, sipping a bit of the water before she gestures her head to the fridge, wanting to get right to business without wasting any time. “But you care a little too much, so we need to ease your mind a little.” 

“Just trying to not be overbearing; because she’s a piece of work, but I love working with her regardless,” you tell her. Next thing you know the brandy’s been brought down on the counter. While you’re doing that, you’re finding the gaps in her schedule. When’s the next time you’re free? There’s the proposal that you’ll bring her out for a nice picnic, drinks with charcuterie, maybe toss in painting to the mix while you’ll blatantly stare at her cottagecore dress with a wine glass in her hand- 

“Are these your notes?” She asks, pulling one of your many notebooks closer to flip through the pages, looking at the different constellations that are already there, the ones that are easy to recognize. Her eyes dart to you when you’re sliding over a different cup filled with brandy for her to take, taking a sip while you glance over at the two sandwiches on your pan. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. This is quite a lot of work she has you doing.” 

“The name of the game, essentially,” you’re grinning, transferring over a tablet with pictures of different stars and galaxies from an album you curated. Some are straight out of a textbook, the others you and Yujin have found on separate occasions. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re actually a nerd?” Gaeul asks, mockingly, swiping the screen as you give her an unimpressed expression. 

You crowd behind her shoulder, going through the gallery, leaning her head against yours as your nose brushes her cheek, sighing in approval. Your hands have a mind of their own, slithering around her waist, planting a kiss on her neck - just to tease. Hey, you’re not fooling anyone here. 

“So you’re telling me that Yujin’s been trying to find a constellation of love somewhere in the stars instead of an actual person? Okay-” she holds in her laugh, leaning into your touch with another kiss. “Sorry, I- I can’t help myself, she’s a handful with this.” 

“Food’s ready, by the way,” you tell her. “I can talk about my side of things in the meantime.” 

–

Gaeul, effortless as she is, listens attentively. 

Her elbows are on the table top, most of the sandwich eaten as she keeps her eyes fixated on you. She watches while you’re giving her the basic rundown of what’s going on with your work life to the best of your ability - stops you midway, points to a spot under the corner of your lip, prompting you to check it yourself, which you do. By some klutzy move, you miss it - probably on purpose, enabling her into telling you to lean closer for her to wipe it herself, and with a downward tilt of your face, she hides away for a moment. It’s that implication of playfulness that gives way to curiosity, that sense of restlessness where sex was always going to be the eventual inevitability.  She wipes whatever was on your chin with her thumb, and keeps it there. Next thing you know, her lips are on yours. 

You’re fighting the press of her lips, leaning forward. Her hands suddenly palm your chest, pushing you back into the chair; the conquest picks up when she straddles herself on top of your hips, grazing her lips and nose across your face. The rush itself dies down for a bit - taking the sweet time of tasting each other’s lips and sucking the air out of one another. 

For someone like her to kiss you so eagerly. You’d let her do just that. 

Her jacket gets taken off smoothly, and her bottoms are pulled a bit to where you can see a hint of her underwear, holding her by the hips. 

The fucking lace, alright. She looks unreal the way it hugs her figure. 

At this point you’re just hypnotized by her hands and lips, undoing some of the buttons on your shirt, sliding her way down until the trail of kisses reaches the lower regions. Your pants and boxers pool at your ankles, kicking them off. She kisses the inside of your thighs, lets her breath coat your balls before a lick of the underside shifts your hips forward to the edge of the chair. Her pretty little mouth reaches your tip, delicately kissing it; she knows what the fuck she’s doing. 

“You’ve been fantasizing about this for a little, haven’t you?” Gaeul teases, pleased. She grins when she wraps her fingers at the base, sighs when you hiss some of the air out your lungs. Her breasts are fighting the bra containing them. She then opens her mouth a bit, drops her head, sinks - fuck. The seal alone is just the right amount of pressure. “How much am I willing to bet you yanked one out after our first date?” 

Your midsection tenses, balling your fists because there’s nothing else you would rather do than push your hips upward and fill her throat; not to shut her up, but give her an idea of what she’s in for if she doesn’t play nice. 

You know that she won’t. 

“Well- you’re right. I did exactly that. How did you-” you blow air out instantaneously when she moves down halfway to your shaft, her eyes rolling back as she’s forcibly choking down your cock. Some of the spit leaks out of her mouth, coating the skin, soaking her bottom lip. Some of it lands on her chest. 

“-ust my kind of guess. Now how much are you willing to bet you’ll ruin me with this cock of yours?” she asks once more, giving you no time to answer when she’s putting her head between your legs, suffocating herself before popping her lips off the tip, slapping your shaft across her cheek. “Shouldn’t take you that long, huh?” 

The way she’s smiling while talking you through this filth, it’s gonna break you. You need her. You need her mouth right back on your fucking cock before she entertains the idea of blue balling you to oblivion. “I’m slightly worried that you won’t be able to handle this. Maybe I should just hop on your cock and let you have your fun while you fill me up-” 

“So f-fucking bad, you are,” you grit, stuttering. 

Consider this as karma coming full circle: Gaeul breaking you just by her being on her knees, lapping away your cock while you had your fun eating her out in the back of the bus back to her place less than forty-eight hours ago, holding her close while you made a mess of her underwear with your fingers. She was trying so hard to be quiet, covering her mouth while you were fucking her open. 

“Aw, that’s unfortunate,” she tells you, dropping her mouth again, hand cupping beneath your balls, working her way down your shaft even more. 

Her bobs are meticulous and calculated. The levels of stimulation are over the scale you drew up in your head, and when she gets her other hand in the fun - twisting the base while the one at your balls are being squeezed, you draw your head back against the chair. 

It’s all in the slow buildup: the soft pumps, the occasional spit slathered as the sound of skin on skin becomes even more obscene. Her fingers coil your base when she takes you in that enveloping heat, humming down your cock until you feel the gentle graze of her teeth on the topside, eyes open and going cross-eyed. You’re struggling to come to terms that this girl was the same girl that was dressed up so nicely and princess-like in the art museum asking you and wondering what was the meaning of all these pieces. 

But then you’re reminded, that all of it is just the surface level of certain things - once you get to know someone, you learn as you go along with them. Gaeul just blinks through every move of her head at your hips, coating your cock endlessly and teasing to the point where she wants to see that side of you that you’re capable of showing her - to make you bust over and over again until you filled up her cunt where she’s begging for more, watch as she gets herself off if you’re away from her for too long, break her like it’s meant to be a daily routine from here on out - which will happen, Gaeul’s good enough to get you there sooner than you think, her pretty little lips, her dainty hands, that fucking tongue - you’ll get back at her for breaking you. 

“Sweetie, okay.” You gasp when she bottoms out your cock, groaning aloud that she’s smiling into the length. She keeps working with her hands and mouth, takes a moment to breathe, fingers sliding nice and easy along the slick skin. Staring at you. “Gaeul, please-” 

She’s close to getting you there; begging, and you manage to get a hand to her cheek, hold her face while she sinks her lips back on your cock again. Fuck. You might be too far gone already. Her teeth press down on the skin of your dick and you let out a noise showing another sign of just how good she’s making you lose it. Some of your fingers card her hair, like you’re clawing for a grip on the side of a rock and you swear that your cockhead swells at the top of her throat - you’re left speechless. You’re pretty sure that you can see stars. 

Gaeul smacks your tip across her lips, smiles as she does so. “You love my mouth, don’t you? I bet you’re just dying to cum all over my fingers and make me apologize for not letting you have your fun. Sucks to be you.” 

“Fucking-” you spit. She swipes her tongue on her lower lip, kisses your shaft the second after. Her index and thumb tighten around your base. “Gaeul, I swear-” 

“What? Had enough already?” 

Forget what you assumed about Gaeul. This version of her at your feet blows the performance right out of the water. 

All that boldness; that wit and snark while playing it cool, she swept it all under the rug from you. Anything she does or says to you, she knows that you’ll twist yourself into giving in to what she wants. Bratty might be one way to conclude - the way she hides her pert smile when you can easily tell that it’s a teasing grin. She looks at your shaft so earnestly as she jerks it around her hand, testing the girth and thickness of it when she finally decides enough is enough and tells you to plug that sorry little hole up that is her throat. The choice to paint your mess over her face or drain it down her mouth is up to you; you’ll ruin her just to satisfy your selfish ego. 

“I could just let you, ya know,” she leans more into your palm while her tongue laves across the skin of your balls, breath hot and heavy in the same way her eyelashes bat at you so innocently. “Let you fuck my face and fill my mouth up with this cock. You’ve been good enough for me, I think I just might.” 

She leans back and unclips her bra, revealing her tits; nice and perky, her rosy pink nipples too - you’ll mark her up when you get the chance. Her hands go to her hair, tying it like some party trick that only takes a few seconds, leans down to your stomach and kisses it, licking downwards just enough to make you snap. 

Your hand’s fast to grab the ponytail on the back of Gaeul’s head. 

“Thought you said you’d let me take over,” you tell her. And then: “there we go, look at that. So pretty when your mouth is full of my cock,” you hiss, guiding her down along your shaft, dragging your hips down and up into the addicting clench of her throat. You pull yourself out and smack your tip across her face, smearing the spit and precum. She wants the mess: “Gonna take my cock so well, aren’t you.” 

When she sinks again, you lose focus for a moment. 

“Mmphgh,” she hums, gripping your wrist. “Mmmuugh.” 

“Not so tough now if you can’t talk.” You almost feel bad. It’s unfair how she can still look up at you and smile at the corner of her lips, keeping her gaze leveled as you sink her mouth on your shaft - you thrusting upwards to meet in the middle. She’s handling it like a champ, and it takes a bit for someone to take you whole. 

A drag up, down, then up. She’s halfway on your shaft, rises, goes deeper - you could see her upper lip clamp down at the base, cheeks puffing up to dispel the air. Her head shakes a bit, struggling; sucking her cheeks soon after - god. The blush is a lot more apparent now, her eyes filled with lust. You give her a little bit of breathing room while you crash her face back down on your shaft. 

“Fuck yes,” you groan, feeling her velvety mouth, taking all of you. She inhales sharply when you slip out of her - only for her to take you back in as you pick up with the thrusts with every shove of her head back down. 

You are trying, so hard, to not fuck anything up - fucking her face - you’re pretty sure you feel a little lightheaded. Her gaze is hazy, gasping every few seconds or so through the gags before you up the intensity once more. How is she even prettier like this? She has no right. Not when the noises and current actions are this debauched. 

“Mmnph?” She hums, the vibration tremoring on the skin. The clamp of her lips at the base again doesn’t help, but when she slides her tongue along the underside- 

“Jesus, Gaeul-” 

Fuck. She inhales your cock to the hilt and swipes her tongue across the same spot where her lip can’t reach. Rough. 

“Mmph hmm.” 

“Relax your jaw, baby,” and she does so, holding you where the clench is the hottest. She squints her eyes as you move her head side to side, the gagging more punctuated through the wet sounds. Ah fuck-

She makes it so, so easy for you. You’ve got just enough to hold yourself back, tugging at her ponytail while she adjusts her mouth over your length - mindlessly bobbing that makes you forget for a second and get lost in the overwhelming wave of pleasure coursing through your body. You’d do anything for her, she’d do anything for you: even if making her a slut was part of the process. 

If we’re being honest here, she wouldn’t have gone this far for you to fuck her mouth - like, a well-practiced and simple blowjob from her could’ve been enough for you to lose it - but if she prefers things this way, how her wide eyes keep looking at you with your hand in her hair, she’ll keep it up until you eventually dump your cum all over her tongue. 

You just have to, soon, and you will. Gaeul guides her other hand to yours, giving you free reign - sending her mouth to you. She does it with such grace, so beautifully, the arousal catches you by surprise. 

Her hands slide to your sides, gripping. Goddamnit, it’s clustered all over her face: the rosy cheeks, the swollen mouth, the sound of her mewling and gagging once you’re upping the pace of your thrusts, spit spread all over her face and chest that makes her skin shine, her hair around the tie becoming more and more messier. 

She will make you insane. 

“Mhm mhm,” she sputters out because it takes her a while for her to coherently say it, probably since her cheeks are so full of cock you pull yourself out to the point there are webs of spit plastered over your shaft and on her lips. 

You’re trying to hold it together. Gaeul, not so much - breathing staggered before she nudges her lips along your cockhead again, opens wide, and slides her way back down, the hypnotizing movement of drool with every deepthroat stroke she does on you. 

“Gaeul,” you call out, breathlessly. Her gags just keep on coming, and your hands find themselves in a familiar place yet again. 

She forces your hand down, comes back up for air. You’re left speechless, stunned. She’s kissing up your cock - desperately in adoration, practically begging without being verbal about it. 

“I want it,” she whispers - drops her jaw again, and guides your hand with her head back down on your length. The friction alone hangs your mind in suspense. 

“Fuck my mouth,” she commands; her voice soothing. You don’t think twice when you sink her head back down on your cock, the warmth and plushness of it unfathomable to register in your fucked-out brain. When she comes back up, gasping for air: “Please, sir. Just like that.” 

So you grip her hair again. “Shit.” You pull at the root of her knot, let her graze her teeth along the slick surface of your cock. “Christ- Gaeul,” Her eyes red, mascara smeared, cheeks hollowed out once more as her throat rucks up the head of your shaft, taking you- all of you. 

Easing yourself into fucking her face wasn’t the way to go; it would be like shying away, saving yourself the embarrassment. Your ears close in on the sounds: the choking, the new layer of spit coated across your throbbing shaft. She’s so good with her lips - in the most fucked up way possible, the sloppier she is, the more happy she’ll be when you release your cum in her mouth or on her face. 

Whichever one happens first, that is, you’ll find out soon enough. 

“Gaeul-” you’re saying her name, sighing it out in reverence. “Close, baby. I’m so close-” 

It’s when she curls her bottom lip, the technique of her tongue sweeping that sensitive spot at the underside - it makes your vision focus at a fine point, she doesn’t let up with the gulps and gags, the delicious clench that makes you swallow nothing. Fuck, you feel it. She knows. With every passing drive of your hips, there’s enough wiggle room for her to breathe again. 

She’ll kill you if you let her do this more often. 

–

“Uhm,” you’re calling out to her again, noticing something out of place. “I don’t remember you asking for that.” 

Gaeul turns around, stretches the shirt on her like some bathrobe. It’s funny: the hem at the waistline covers the middle of her thighs, but somehow you can’t help but admit she looks cute in your clothes - even when she’s wiping away the cum and saliva with the collar and there’s no point in complaining. 

“Sorry, I thought you’d be okay with me having a small memento of you,” she says, pulling the fabric behind, molding it to her figure. There’s a playful hum she’s singing, wandering around your place like it’s her gallery, eyeing the trinkets and things that make you well- you. 

“Would you be cool if-” she adds, turning around in some coquettish ingénue pose, showing a bit of her panties that’s being engulfed by her ass. “-I made you cum a third time?” 

You give her a chuckle since that’s in the ballpark of recurring jokes or cute memories, somewhere along the lines of flirting like an idiot and fucking like rabbits. It’s getting there, the insight at least. 

Sure, have her keep the shirt. It looks good on her. She brought a change of clothes for the night anyway; God knows as to why but you’ll do whatever it takes to keep her around. 

“I’ll take that as a yes with how you’re staring at me still.” She muses a scrunch of her nose that simmers the cutesy, heart-fluttering, babyism sort of act that would make anyone, in particular, flash a look of confusion topped off with a subtle eye roll. 

She grabs your toothbrush and runs it through the faucet. You don’t say anything about that. 

The balls of her feet lift her heels, but she’s not slick with the small arch of her back and leans in towards the mirror. She’s careless, and that’s apparent with how the collarbone sticks out on the right side where the shirt pools. You give her a light laugh when you’re hugging her side, nestle your nose at her temple, patting her head. 

“Do -ou minth?” Gaeul sighs, smiling. “-m tryimph to cean mythelf ere.” The toothbrush hangs at the side of her mouth, minding her own business as you’re pulling a few wisps of her hair past her ear. “Should’ve closed the door on you when I had the chance. Didn’t expect you to be so clingy. You expect me to believe that you can be soft and bubbly when you just shoved your cock down my throat?” 

“Too much?” you ask. “I can dumb it down if you want.” 

She gives you a genuine shake of her head. No. “I don’t mind at all.” She spits out the paste into the sink for a new one, since she’s drooling it out. “It’s cute that you’re like this when it should be the opposite.” 

“Mmm. Bite me if you have a problem with it.” 

Gaeul then sighs when you bury your nose in her hair, rub the side of her waist, because it feels right. Her eyes follow you when you leave her be at the sink, let her spit out some more before brushing. 

–

A girl like Gaeul makes it difficult for you to come to grips with her small, yet lithe frame - how your hands rest neatly on the swell of her ass, fingertips cupping the indent. She’s not making this any better, palming your cock through your pants, or that cheeky smirk once her hand slithers past the elastic and wraps around you like it’s a lifeline. 

You also realize: how light she is, feeling her tits and having a moment of small joy when you manage to get a mouthful of her breast, mouth parting while you’re sucking on her mounds and nipples shamelessly to the point where she has to tug you by the hair to make you stop, grasp at that last bit of control. 

Marking up her chest serves as a viable response to her. 

“Careful now,” she tells you, mewling, head tipped forward - the stimulation quite a lot for her to handle. “A little aggressive, are we? Ah-” 

Like you’re the kind of person to take it easy, anyway. She says your name so prettily; the sensuality over a simple utterance, the breathlessness lying beneath the tone. You’ll fuck and treat her like she’s the only girl in the world and prove it in more ways than one. You’re on the eve of something big here: finding where her limbs and muscles tense, mark up her perfect skin and knock her up like she wants the filthy mess. There’s an unspoken safe word - a prompt or phrase of some kind. If or when she says: “I’m yours,” she tells you, eyes fluttering when you slip your two fingers in, guiding them to the tempo that she wants you to go. 

So she grinds on your fingers and cock whilst making out with you on your bed, eventually fucking her soon after, sheets and pillows tossed and used in the process; you slip some rubber on your cock and cum first before she does, and she’s a bit angry, pouty, coiling her arms and legs around your neck and shoulders until you give her what she wants - the time reads a little past midnight, she’s sprawled on the bed like some happy, sleepy puppy and sighs: “I’m starting to think you can’t handle me. My pussy’s just too good for you to have another round,” laughing as her knee rises and slides her heels along the mattress. 

“Maybe two or three will shut you up, I don’t know.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Gaeul says flatly in lieu of your subtle shrug, “I’m gonna break your cock, just watch me,” and well, you find and realize, she was serious about that; she fucks herself on your hips, determined - and hops off your waist, your front flush with her back, bringing a pillow for her to cling onto. “Something tells me that you’ve been- deprived, I would say. This bed is a little too spacious for us.” 

You laugh with a yawn mixed in. “Yeah, sure.” Gaeul takes the tie you pulled out from her hair and tosses it to the nightstand. “If you want to put it that way, I won’t complain.” 

She scoffs. “Wow. I point out one thing and you’re not even gonna argue against it,” you can picture the quirk of her mouth, a hint of her teeth peeking through into a grin. “For a guy like you to have some experience, that’s not what I expected-” 

“Do you want the polite answer or the truth?” you ask her, leaning more into the cushion while Gaeul tangles a leg between yours. The world around you seems to fade out from your ears, solely making you focus on the present moment, looking at her with a wistful gaze, one filled with contentment and wonder. 

Deprived no more, you’re mentally telling yourself. 

It’s not long after before Gaeul pats your cheek, kisses your jaw before you hear her feet scuff across the floor to your bathroom with nothing on, watching as she checks herself in the mirror, leans into the doorframe, arm raised and stretched up high, locks of her hair spilling from her collarbones and down to her chest, that head tilt to top the silhouette off nicely you’re left in a trance. 

You figure out that this moment, right now, all of the stars aligned at the right time and firmly believe that it’ll stay. 

–

Sometime later, you tell Gaeul that you were holding out for someone like her; someone that took an effort to get because they were simply out of your league - she laughs, half-impressed. 

“Y’know, for you to be figuratively at the altar but still searching,” she murmurs, tapping your chin. “people like you and I can only get so far in life.” 

“People like me and you,” you repeat, the movement between you two isn’t much, but still cautious.

Gaeul drops her eyelids and smiles, a dimple appearing. 

“People. Interesting, enticing,” she breathes. “Enigmatic and those with charisma.” A chuckle hums low in her chest when she looks up with those wistful, doe eyes, “that’s where your type falls, doesn’t it?” 

On the nail, she is - damn she’s good. 

“And where would I be, had I not talked to you that day,” you ask, grinning like an idiot. The space alone is still difficult to interpret, placing your lips on hers and scratch her head while the waves of her coffee-brown locks sift between your fingers. You could feel yourself sinking - sucked into a black hole with no way out, swallowing you up whole. 

“I wonder too,” she echoes your thought. 

You kiss her forehead, give attention to that cute little beauty mark on her cheek. Watch as her gaze softens: a look of love, almost. 

“I’m bad news for you, sadly,” she adds. “Keep me in your life, you’re bound to regret it.” 

–

She wants you so bad, you can’t help but fuck her for the next couple of days. 

Your schedule slowly shifts to Gaeul’s. When the night falls - because there are multiple instances at two in the morning talking about complete nonsense over mac and cheese bowls and slow kissing in the shower with the water falling on both of you that makes her skin a hot blush pink, pressing her into the tile or sink after with your hand or towel in her mouth to keep her quiet - since you learn she likes it that way, letting you feel up the slick curves of her ass and watch the skin ripple to where you see some of the recoil of her tits in the mirror, or even on your office chair facing away from the desktop, Gaeul biting your ear with her knees up to her pits- 

“You like fucking my pussy open with my legs up like this? Hmm?” Gaeul hisses in your ear, voice rasped and torn, sliding her legs back down, tugging hair while you’re filling every inch of her cunt. “Just letting you use me wherever, whenever, however you want-” 

Alright. It’s hard to imagine what you were getting yourself into when Yujin threw a bone to pick at you playing matchmaker - leaving the door open for Gaeul, the girl who waltzed into your life unknowingly, only for her to be the kind of girl that crumbles from your cock being inside her, pumping so full where she’s pulling you into that leaking white slit for another round - but there’s times in the late morning, treating herself another cup of tea, body riddled with hickeys drawn up and discovered by you like a stargazer, her small waist a gift from the heavens above, in your sweatpants where the ends pool over to her toes, leaning down to take your attention away from the screen, grabbing a handful of her tit in place of a hello. 

“What’s that you got there?” Gaeul giggles, hand stacked on yours while you squeeze gently. “That doesn’t look related to the project.” 

She’s half-right. It’s somewhat relevant to the submissions Yujin’s been sending over for you to look at, and the data’s been stagnant; luckily, you’re glad that someone else’s been keeping you accountable for the time being. 

“Well, that's because it isn’t.” you laugh, swiveling your chair a bit so that she can sit on your lap. “This is what the galaxy looked like on your birthday. Gotta say, that does look pretty.” 

Gaeul coos, leaning her head on top of yours. She moves your hand up to her chest, slips her arm out of the sleeve, rucks the shirt on her shoulder. The mix of pale skin and pink bruises, you’re salivating with every lick of your lips - and she leans closer to the screen.

Her eyes widen at the flashes of blue and purple, stares like the picture itself is an art piece, captivated. “Wow, you know what I think?” 

“What is it?” 

“If you’re gonna help discover a galaxy or image like that,” Gaeul tells you, moving her arm around your neck, lightly scratching your hair, “I’d pull your weight with Yujin on this project if I were you.” 

“Really?” you ask her, leaning back so that she can rest her other leg across yours. “I’ve been doing that, but it’s been slow.” 

“Maybe you just have to draw up the connection a little better, then.” 

–

Your groove gets thrown off. Gaeul disrupts the flow which you have no complaint about. You leave your place far later than you intended, and tell Yujin to let you off the hook. The pictures, readings, sketches - the information is a lot to take already. You’re seeing stars. If she’s the sun then you’d be Icarus: flying closer and closer until you get engulfed completely. 

This isn’t simple for you; a little hard to properly explain. The girl just takes and takes and takes. 

You show Gaeul the night sky, have her look through your telescope and tell which stars and planets are seen, painting the image and guiding her to fill that imagination - only for her to say something to make you laugh; next thing you know, she’s got her pretty lips wrapped around your cock, shutting you up with no care right there on the balcony. She keeps batting those lashes at you, fucking her face - hollowed cheekbones too, god. She’s swallowing you whole, hands at your sides, gargling. Putting her hair up in that ponytail. Yeah, you won’t last long. 

The lapping, licking, spitting. She’s savoring the inescapable deepthroat. 

When she licks the upper seam of your balls, you’re pretty sure you saw a new set of stars right then and there. 

“We might need to look at those pictures you have,” you’re telling Yujin on the phone. “I think those from the last look-up. No- I mean, yeah. I was also reading on Rei’s side of the project as well, and what she has is way more substantial than what we were initially working with.” 

“As much as I hate to admit it, her recent stuff has been looking pretty good compared to ours. I’m just glad we found her to work with us in the first place.” Yujin says, laughing. 

“All I’m saying from last time is that if you were this committed to finding someone that can put up with your antics; maybe rough you up and get you all needy and not be as controlling to just live a little, you know? I know that we’re close to finishing this, but I can extend an olive branch for you to reach if you need a guy up your alley.” 

“I’ll hold you to that offer,” replies Yujin, “Hopefully you got a guy in mind that can handle me like how Gaeul is with you.” 

Right, you tell her. Gaeul’s leaned on the frame leading to the kitchen; not tired, sighing when you look over your shoulder to see her hand in her sweats, finger deep up her cunt. The tilt of your head says to keep it down. She bites her lip, continuing what she’s doing. You’ll see why, and be glad that you didn’t jump at the opportunity yet. You look away for a second to notice her sitting right next to you, brushing up your right side, forcing you to switch the phone to the other hand. Watch it. You’re certain that she could hop on your cock right now, and ride you without a care in the world, because why the fuck not? She’s not wearing panties underneath as it is; asking, whining, begging to be bred. 

Shit. 

You really could. 

If you wanted to. 

Like fucking her on the balcony for the world to see would just be another law in your twisted philosophy, breaking a slut like her, leaving the mess of cum all over her body, have her lick it off so sweetly. In a sky full of stars, you’d want to paint that picture somewhere up there too. 

You’re certain that there’s a solace here - one that’s permanently eclipsed with euphoria, certain that it will stay. 

Gaeul’s breathing funnels into your ear as you bite down a smile, grab a handful of her ass and claw greedily at the indent. You could feel her head nod against yours. She’s so fucking needy. 

“I’ll send over the revisions I made,” she pulls back on your lap to see you say. Yujin beams on the other end of the line. “Touch base with Rei also to see if it matches up.” 

Gaeul moves your arm away, pushes your head back with a lip lock. Her hips drop to your growing bulge below. You end the call right away to ensure Yujin doesn’t get caught up in the middle of it, watch as she rips your shirt off from her body. 

–

You hate to admit that you’ve got this dark-twisted fantasy, unwilling to frame that mindset because there was no reason to. She’s so mild-mannered and soft-spoken; wears pretty outfits and dresses waiting for you in the lobby of your building. She’s one messy bun with a hairclip on top away from urging you to snatch her away, Christ almighty. You’ll take away the layers and make mental notes, conceal her away like she’s some comet - write her name into the books that way the whole world knows about her perfection. A girl like her can change what a man thinks, make them say things like I know what you want, don’t give me that look - just for her to stare with that lovestruck look in your eyes. 

If she wasn’t the kind of girl that fell from the sky and onto your lap, syrupy laugh and giggle with those dreamy eyes, you would have a hard time looking through a scope; she’s rattling your brain to the point where you could say one or two things, have her listen dutifully because you know she will. 

Every exploration is a journey into the unknown, and suddenly she could pop a question at any random point in time, like: hey, you don’t need science to make a woman feel good, okay? You can totally fuck me like you mean it.  

But here she’s babbling, heaving. Completely stuffed up on her back with her knees to her chest, brain nothing but mish mash and riding out the pleasure. “Aren’t you a sweet thing,” you groan, “creaming all over my cock-” 

She’s biting down a piece of her shirt, lifted just above her tits, eyes squinched. Her head tilts back, chest up in the air. You’re pressing on the underside of her thighs, pushing her deep into the mattress. The words coming out of her mouth are incoherent, but you’re fucking it out of her: god, oh god, yes, shit, baby, fuck, fuck me- 

“Christ,” you hiss, and move your hands from her thighs to her back, bending the arch more. You’ve done yourself a favor by not railing her on the dining table like last time, gripping her ass, the addicting clench and glide of her folds, begging you to pound and pound and pound until she’s lost the feeling in her legs. 

Everything leading up to this was relatively tame; nothing too serious other than fifteen or twenty minutes of the usual fill-ins of what was done throughout the day, only for Gaeul to flash a look at you and with a grab of her wrist, the rest of the clothes peel away not long after. 

Probably in this universe, there’s nothing left to decipher in the sounds and expressions displayed on Gaeul’s face, small streams of tears falling on her cheeks with every part from the face down riddled in a rosy blush and sweat. You slide your palms up to her chest, rest your thumbs on the underside of her breasts, steadying, plugging your cock up in her tiny cunt and dragging every inch of skin across her walls, clamping hard and soaking no matter how fast and hard you’re giving it to her. Her body’s used to your length, thoroughly fucked that she can’t do anything but feel ruined. 

You see her mouth form an oh shape, some of her hair gets caught on her cheek, glancing you from the corner of her eye before rolling it back to her head- 

“Shhh,” you say, brushing your nose to the side. “Almost there, baby. I’ve got you-” 

Gaeul’s brows furrow together; grinding her teeth, forcing the dragged-out groan down her throat, tears peeking through the seal of her eyelids. She knows that she can’t do anything - besides just taking it like a nice little girl, let this cock pound and wreck her and look gorgeous as you bottom her out. 

“C’mon baby,” you’re huffing, getting one good thrust in while the flesh ripples at your hips, and Gaeul grits out a holy shit but dies down instantaneously, soft, the wail wheezed out in a whisper. Her whole body shakes with another peak, her face flushed with red, saying nothing seconds later. The wetness leaks out of her, coating your cock while holding you true. There’s no objection, only order when you drive your dick back in her cunt. Small threads of her slick forming on your waist, drawing their own set of constellations on her body. 

Her body rebounds upwards on the inhale. 

“Cum,” she tells you, pleading. You could feel her fingers coil your forearm. 

“Condom,” you stutter and fuck. She’s so unhinged - even if it’s just a singular word or simple request. Wringing her out this way was always going to be the result. “Fuck, can’t-” 

Her breath hitches, a cute noise you think. Some of her hair falls on her forehead, eyes lidded. The corner of her mouth ticks up. 

“What?” 

“If you seriously think that I’m gonna cum inside-” 

Gaeul chuckles, twisted into a moan. You can see the gears in her head turning, trying not to get caught up with your cock embedded in her hot cunt still. 

“Not- that.” 

“Not?” 

Her head falls to the mattress. 

“All over me.” Her shoulders slack, hands sliding further up your arm. You let her legs bracket your hips as you grasp at her tit. She doubles down on the command to be sure you heard it the first time. “I wanna feel it.” 

You don’t say anything more when she props herself up on her elbows, watching the sight of your cock slide slowly in and out of her cunt. Slipping the condom off in one swift pull and lick your palm. Gaeul bites on her thumb, smiling at you barely keeping it together. 

“Here is fine.” The way she suggests is dripping in want. Her heaving chest, kiss-bitten lips, tousled hair and sweat and everything in between. “Or maybe,” you see her glossy eyes once more, filled with lust. “Paint my face and get your nice, thick cum all over my fucking lips-” 

You inhale sharply. 

“Watch it,” you hiss. 

“Maybe I won’t,” Gaeul replies, lip between her teeth, challenging. Her hand reaches to your length to keep you second-guessing. The sight of her body; a literal depiction of sin, right in the palms of your hands. 

She grinds your cockhead along her folds, closing her legs slightly. The pressure already sucking you back in. “Sweetie, where- I could just let you lick it off again, grab a towel from the bathroom, that-” 

“You know what I want.” 

You look at her, unsure. But you know what’s about to happen anyway. 

As if she couldn’t give it to you in a different language, she grabs your wrist gently. It’s an easy problem with an easy solution. You can’t argue how pleasant she really is. She doesn’t have to prove more into it, how she’ll be, you could give into that sense of luxury, and you really could. 

So you’re pondering, skeptical. “I told you. You’re insane if you genuinely want me to cum in you. We’re not doing this. No.” 

Gaeul pouts, combined with an eyebrow lift. 

“And I wasn’t kidding when I said that.” She mentioned it the first time, too: “I’d let you cum anywhere you want.” 

A few more passing blinks go by. 

“Why go through all that just to waste your hard work on-” And you’re left surprised that she’s got the strength left to pull herself back up, resting her hips right on top of yours, fingers carding through your hair when she slips you back inside. Inch by inch, you feel her sinking down - slowly. You know that she isn’t stopping in particular, wiggling her ass; a soft implication, teasing. She’s pulling you closer and closer to where you’re seeing eye to eye with her. “Safeguarding a pretty girl like me.” 

In all honesty: it’s in your nature. Gaeul’s simply just being herself. Tender. Beautiful. Fully embracing. You could give her the power to destroy you, and she’d thank you for it. 

She gives you a very hard time thinking, grinding her hips against yours - let yourself get drunk in the raptures since the rubber was starting to become a pain in the ass recently. Gaeul’s cunt siphons out all your thoughts with every single inch of her gripping cunt, speaking listless phrases of praise and wishes that you’re positive to make come true for her. She could ride and pound her pretty pussy all over your cock - orgasm after orgasm after orgasm - until her face is blown out and just flat-out gone. Ease her mind with your dick, since she seems to love it so much. 

To be spoiled, showered and railed in whatever way possible. She just keeps hopping along your cock, bottoming herself out to the point where she’s looking to the ceiling in pure stimulation. 

You ruck your hips forward. Gaeul trembles, sighing in relief, allowing you the reins, lifting her body up and back down on your thighs. Her neck tips down, mouth canted. 

She’s warm and tight - just perfect; so sensitive and responsive after bouncing her cunt on your cock over and over and over- 

You steady yourself, savoring the feeling. 

She wants you to fill her up, to the point where she has to tell you that it’s enough. 

You suck in a breath, slip out a groan, shuddering. “Oh my god-” 

“Good, right?” Gaeul smiles, “Shit-” and you feel her head collapse onto yours, relaxing and riding out the length until her hips mesh with yours. She practically melts on your cock, stretching and tightening all at once, inviting. 

A kiss to her chest is what you give her, trying to keep your mind off her pussy carelessly clinging every inch of your girth; making it simpler for you to nudge your cockhead into the spot that makes her clench and shake; mewling and humming mixed with the moans; soaking your hips till it stains the sheets. 

“Such a slut,” you tell her, maintaining the last bits of coherence you have left, “so careless and needy. I should stop before you do some real damage.” 

Gaeul smirks, looks so admonished you can’t help but stare. “I don’t like that tone of yours.” 

“What tone?” 

She curls a smile before cradling your head. 

“Talking me down, doesn’t sit right with me.” 

“You told me that you didn’t mind.” You lift her hips from the crease, lean forward to swirl your tongue around her nipple. Looking up to see her watch, give a shameless lick on her bud to lay the challenge, pull back with a pop of the lips. “I know you were being polite about it. Call me a good listener.” 

“I might’ve said something different.” 

“Like you beg to differ.” 

“Hush.” 

“Pussy so good for you that you’re at a loss of words? Set your mind right after getting lazy over work?” The arch in her back deepens, gyrating her hips at the hilt to further the connection - your thumbs dig in the crease of her legs. You drag her forward. She moans again. “Shame on you, I should say no the next time-” 

“But you won’t.” 

“No. No. I won’t.” Gaeul huffs into your cheek, sighs once more when you’re kissing her throat. 

You’re fucking her brains into a puddle and somehow you’re still wondering how she can still think straight - ignoring the fact that her body’s split open and folding through on slap of your hips onto the next- 

“I won’t. Not ever.” She mumbles, whimpering. “I- can’t get enough of this dick. I can never get enough of your dick.” 

“Really?” You’re asking acerbically.

She shakes her head, and you give her a nice hot kiss, priming her head at an angle where you both prefer it to be: and she slips her tongue between your lips, groaning and melting on top of your body, pressing her knees to the sides of your thighs and her cunt in this sliding friction across your cock. She’s terrible at keeping secrets, a truth even - trying to convince you otherwise that she doesn’t like when you’re working her so well her face flushes, aching while leaking her endless slick onto your skin. Your mouth, hands, and cock all give her these waves of bliss, hitting the points all at once where her body blooms and she doesn’t know what to do next. 

You slam her ass back on your balls that her hips spazz out, grinding another climax out of her while she screams; a live wire is what she is, purring and gasping once you’ve triggered that reaction. 

“Like that,” she tells you, at this point, her arrogance is fucked out. Then, her lip is between her teeth, puffing out, bites her teeth together: “that’s so fucking good.” 

“Yeah?” and you feel her fingers slither back into your hair, assisting in the lift of her lower half back down - she’s spiraling. “So good for me, love, baby. Oh, baby-” 

She rattles her head when you’re sliding your hips further forward, the press of Gaeul’s knees moving up to the sides of your stomach. “Nuh uh,” she hisses; the angle is too good for her, impaling her from below she can’t breathe at the top, cunt nicely forming around your cock so deep-” 

“Not the love bullshit, no.” Gaeul chuckles, giddy, mouth canvasing your shoulder. Sighing, whispering, swallowing her hums.

You raise and yank her back down. The whine is one part of the whole symphony. 

“Like- love. What the fuck - so soft. God-” 

“Look who’s talking,” you growl. A curse spills from your lips. She’s a fucking waterfall that it’s unbelievable. The tightness alone for the first time would make anybody an instant addict. And you’re bent on the fact that cumming inside Gaeul is your inevitable demise - her walls clamping in increments around your shaft that every slap of skin and swallow of your throat brings you closer. “I’m giving you what you want, no? All you have to do is just take it - like a nice, little, whore-” 

She wheezes, giggling where it gets caught between a coo and a hum of approval.

“-my little cocksleeve, good god-” you hear yourself say, and the bump of Gaeul’s head into yours can hide so much of her flushed cheeks. “So beautiful, ruined for me, my little nymph come to life. You love this cock so much, wanting to be full of cum, lapping it up like a cute puppy-” 

You’re not sure what you’re saying at this point, but Gaeul keeps on laughing, rolling her hips forward and backward. She lifts herself halfway, falls right back in. Exhales. You know what’s coming; what’s about to happen. Her legs lock up, jaw slacked - hung in suspense. She’s breathing where you could see on her shoulders, leans forward with a turn in her ear: 

“My little sex kitten, how bout that?” 

Skeptical, Gaeul sighs; sucking in her stomach while her head turns the other direction, showing some of that fading self-control and common sense. 

“Okay, that’s. Oh-” she tries telling you, shying away. Her hand goes to yours, continuing the motion, sloppily, letting out a lazy grin and bouncing your name off your lips as her body leans back and into your control. “Rushed, I think. Maybe. Not sure- need more- to get used-” 

“Gaeul.” There's no hiding it anymore, you’re too dumbfucked out of your own mind to turn back now. She seethes out another cry, making you tilt your lips to a devilish smile. “Poor thing, so dirty. A naughty little squirrel that can’t get enough of my nut, huh? Look at you, so wet and filthy, making a mess all over the place-” 

Yeah, she broke you. You’ve gotten so twisted because of her - no point in mincing words here. 

“Fuck, okay, please, that’s too much-” 

You can’t stop - you just can’t. Her cunt is so close to squeezing you, numbing your mind until she drains you completely. 

The pace is painstakingly slow, the rise and fall of her hips with every pump inside her, nails clawing your skin away at the bridge of your shoulders. It becomes- too much, the way your cock stuffs her tiny pussy until that edge is finally reached, the heat cranked up way past eleven, the desire to take it written all over her face and body.

“Want it,” she chokes out. Her cunt creates this pocket of air inside where the noise is just utterly wrong. “Please.” 

Her eyes water, fluttering.

“I hear you, darling. I know.” 

“Ah, yes. You-” 

Her head lolls forward, lazily. You wrap your arms around her waist and guide her back onto the sheets, slip yourself out and roll her over until her ass is in view. She peers over her shoulder, watching you mount her thighs, pull her hips up and slide a pillow into the open space created, laying back down and bury your cock back in her creaming cunt, kneading the handful of ass in your palm before testing the depth again. 

You notice her shoulders bunch up to her neck, hands gripping the sheets when you’re leaning back down to her face.

“Fight me,” you whisper down her ear, “if it’s too much.” Gaeul shakes her head at the drag of your shaft, driving back in with a firm thrust that makes her gasp for air - bites down a moan into the blankets beneath her. You’re pinning her into the bed frame so harshly you don’t even care if you break it. 

Her hand shoots back to your arm, grabbing. The slaps of skin pick up in rhythm, maintaining a tempo. You reach out for her hair and lift her head, releasing a few moans before her breaths also start to become more staccatoed- 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t- hhn-” 

You’re having too much fun for your sake. Though, you can’t blame yourself in this situation. This was what Gaeul wanted, and she got it. A second later you’re pressing her head back down into the bedding, bend that arch in her lower back a bit deeper where your cock can carve its way down to the hottest point where she can take it. Her mewling and crying rise in volume and you only have the slap of your hips to hers serving as this undertone to her song. 

“Where,” you sputter, because you know the limit’s about to be reached. “Where do you want me-” 

Gaeul turns her head back; you can’t even see her lips move when she says it: “Inside.” 

So you coil your arms around her waist and flush your chest to her back. “If that’s what my kitty wants.” 

You raise the pace then and there. Fucking her tight little cunt as if you finally created the theory in your head into breaking Gaeul. It doesn’t take much for someone smart to put the pieces together: all you need is a nice hold of her ass, impaling your cock deep where you can take it, sliding in and out of her walls with such precision that you’ll empty every fiber in your body to satisfy both her and yourself. 

You’re experimenting with the position of her body - deep into the mattress, lift her upper half where both deepens the arch of her pussy, nudging your cock where her walls can clinch and clench along the member - working so seamlessly to bring that orgasm to the front. There’s only one thing left to do now: to pound and bounce her ass and cunt all over your cock until you spill all of it inside her open pink hole. You’re gonna drain everything in your balls deep into Gaeul’s cunt until she’s whining from the mixture of tension and shaking, growling so loud that you’ll wake the neighbors on the upper and lower floors. 

The pulsing, shooting rope after rope and after rope of cum inside her. She’s moaning in relief at the feeling while you’re still pooling, head spinning so fast that you’re finally on the same page as her: ruined, and thoroughly fucked. 

“T’so warm,” she mumbles sleepily. “And thick-“ 

The slamming of your hips keeps you conscious. “Gaeul, this cunt, baby, so fucking incredible.” 

An angel falling from the heavens. Would anyone ever believe it if you told the things you did with her? 

When you do slide out of her well-fucked-and-worked-cunt, you can’t help yourself still and slip inside again, coating your cock mixed in with her slick and your cum. You watch when you pull your tip away from her folds, the sheen of white coming out of her slit - the whole image of her backside is a picture-perfect painting right here in your sheets: her puffy pussy lips, the beet red spread across the breadth of her ass, bruises on bruises across the plane of her back, hair in this half and half of a bun and wavy locks. You then run your hand across your length, wipe the mess on the person who created it, and look at her while she rolls on her back with her arms raised. 

You’ll also think about treating her; cleaning her up in the shower; dry her hair, swaddle her in a towel, carry her around your place, clean every spot and cranny - worshiping her curves and mounds until she’s willing to be broken apart and put back together again. A girl made to be ruined, an endless experiment you want to keep forever. 

“See?” She laughs, running a finger along her folds, collecting her reward, licking it off her fingertips before cupping her palm gently along your cock, slowly rubbing you to get a few more drops out of you. Her tongue runs across her lips, almost like she’s gonna drool again and it’s just fucking terrible, but you love it. “Can’t you think the wonders of you breeding my poor, sorry, cunt-” 

Part of you wants to shut her up with your dick. She’s so forward with the intent and doesn't care about the consequences. It’s dangerous. You’re thinking ahead of how she’ll look with the ribbons of cum spread all over her body, on her face, in her hair. Sick and twisted it is, and she cups your sack - gasping at the sudden weight of it still. 

Soon. You need a breather and push yourself away. 

She flails her arms and legs around like some kid throwing a tantrum, groaning. 

But she smiles and shies away; not nervous, but happy. “Fuck me,” she swears where she feels relaxed and unbound by any worry. You bring yourself down to her and try to kiss her cheek, but she turns her head away with her hand pushing your face. 

“Nope,” she tells you, softly laughing, “I don’t think you’ve earned it. Should’ve fucked me harder.” 

This girl is a problem. 

You pinch her cheek and start poking her stomach, the bubbliness coming to life. She can’t stay in one place the more you tap your fingers all over her body. She’s very ticklish. 

“Poor kitty,” you remark, because you notice her smile and tucked lip, watch the butterflies flutter in her stomach, and when you’re patting her thigh she doesn’t bother retaliating, since the idea’s set in her mind that there’s no further objection. 

“Didn’t you say,” she sighs, voice beaming, face pink and clutching her waist. “You like it when I’m like this, making you stupid that way you’ll just pound me at the end of it? Y’know, pinning me into the mattress. Gotta say, the-” 

“Gaeul, please.” She knows that you’re amused, smiling. “Get up. Go shower, you’re dirty.” 

“No no,” she replies, shaking her head. You stare into her eyes while her legs spread, causing you to look down and scrunch your nose. Her head tips back, trails her fingers up her chest, traces around the nipple, some of her hair falls in front. “If you’re the one who made the mess, you should make the effort to clean me up again.” 

You make a note of the upsetting attitude - maybe forward it to Yujin since she knows a little more about Gaeul out of annoyance. 

Yujin didn’t give you the full report, anyway: about how Gaeul’s the kind of girl that functions over good food, drinks, and a proper dicking down without even considering the whirlwind of logistics she’ll mess up. You should’ve seen the signs. You should’ve known who you’re dealing with. 

“What’s wrong?” Gaeul asks, grinning, relaxing her back while you pull her by the thighs, bringing her closer. You thumb her knee, considering. The warning signs are there - just waiting for everything to come apart. 

She gives you an eye smile while you’re rolling yours, guiding your hand up her inner thigh, stopping right at her pussy lips. It’s draining. A headache. You’ll be sleepless in the morning because you can’t admit Gaeul’s the reason for staying up so late. “Only gonna say it once,” you tell her. “Shower comes first.” 

You say, but your body does otherwise, scooching forward where your finger hovers right above her clit. Though you gently press your palm right above her hip, noticing how sweaty she is - or maybe it’s the spread slick from her thighs; you can’t tell, the slide of it has you in disbelief. 

“I think you can give me one more,” Gaeul suggests, rolling on her stomach, forming the arch so tantalizing you force yourself to look away, knees spreading and her feet flush - imploring without really saying anything because you know she won’t stop and there’s nothing you can do about it. Her teeth peek through her cunning smirk, fully pleased. “Forget about putting another condom on, ‘cause like- god. I know you love how my pretty little pussy lips wrap around your cock when you’re cumming in me anyway.” 

It’s a genesis of sorts: the beginning of an unending madness. A world which you cannot escape - nor want to. 

–

Everything is a mess: you, your place, your work with Yujin. Gaeul comes by every other day - except when she’s swamped with schoolwork where she pops the idea of going on a romantic getaway or a staycation, hiding yourself away from the world and fucking her stupid until she’s sleepy. 

Here’s the thing. 

It’s when you’re with friends- or just you and her, wandering around the city, she’s the calmest, reserved girl you’ve ever seen. Much like she puts on a mask or appearance during the day and nobody seems to notice. Her clothes are much in line with yours, and pulling your face for a kiss - well, to milk the moment, you suppose - curling her fingers across your cheek, eyes so full of her that they’re crossing against each other at the press of her forehead with yours. 

There’s something here. You’re certain that it’s already been found. An exploration of these moments and experiences and the gut feeling rest well in your mind. You ponder, maybe it’s meant to be. This was all for fun at some point too. Maybe, also, that might not be the case. 

You deem it too early to say you love her, but the reciprocating kisses she gives you make you think otherwise, every single time, and you give into her little smile. 

If you or her mean it, one of you will say the words eventually. 

–

“So? What are we thinking? You reckon we’ll get it this time?” Yujin says, optimistic. You picture her with her feet propped up on something or in the air, it sounds like it. 

“Well, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” You answer, “Oh- by the way, Gaeul wanted to come along for the final set of tests. Are you okay with that?” 

“Yeah, I don’t mind.” 

“Awesome.” 

Silence builds up on the line. 

“Aren’t you gonna tell me how she is?” Yujin prods, teasingly with a tone higher than usual. “C’monnnnn, I wanna know-” 

“Why would I? My business with Gaeul is not information to share.” 

“Boooooo.” 

“What?” 

“You and her haven’t given me credit for setting you guys up,” says Yujin. “Some of the details can be left out - for obvious reasons. She’s been telling me good things about you.” 

You smile at that. 

“Okay, to be honest, she’s amazing. I haven’t had an issue with her since our date and well- I don’t need to explain more for you to figure the rest out.” 

“Tell me more later when I see you two, but from what it sounds like, I think you struck your luck out with this one. She’s a real keeper.” 

Seeking out an Andromeda wasn’t on the cards, but you’re happy enough to have it fall right on your lap. 

It’s something special to cherish. 

–

Gaeul watches from a distance, admiring the image of you in your element. 

Yujin looks closely at the screen readings while you’re peering into the telescope, following along to the proper adjustment in getting the coordinates right. There’s a double check - then a triple check - glancing at the image presented. She smiles when you give her a nod of approval, looking back over at Gaeul who stares right back. 

Gaeul appears stoic, but you can tell that she was a little bit nervous for you. If things didn’t go well today, it wasn’t going to be the end of the world, but you know deep down that she wants you to succeed - and you do too. 

“We have something,” you’re telling her when you reach the bottom of the steps, rubbing her elbow for comfort. “Wanna come take a look?” 

She bites her lip, eyes tilting down, and nods. 

You kiss her knuckle and bring her up. 

Minutes later, she’s where you were: through the looking glass while Yujin slides her chair over pointing at the mix of greenish blue in the middle of the vast blackness of space. “Looks new, seems lightyears away from us. Have we finally got it?” 

“Judging from what the professor was telling us, nobody is claiming this one yet.” 

Yujin taps your shoulder before leaving to call up her mentor. 

Gaeul still looks into the scope, smiling when she feels your arms wrap around her waist, laughing softly. 

“It’s beautiful,” she tells you, “I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

The night sky shines above the observatory, light funneling through the opening as a natural spotlight, illuminating the glow reflected on her perfect skin. You look at her as if you’d turn into stone when you look away. She looks at you like everything just makes sense - a safe place where she can find comfort in, realizing what she said was already made true, but she doesn’t know that. 

“You speak for yourself? Or?” 

She hits your arm, and you’re smiling like an idiot. 

“Do you have a name for it?” Gaeul asks, turning around so that she’s properly facing you. You’re still trying to figure out how she can look so pretty - so effortlessly; it’s something that you’ll dedicate a whole lot of time to study, see if you can find the answer in her eyes, or her body- 

“Not yet,” you answer. “It'll take some time to pick, but- I’m open to recommendations.” 

She nods, quickly flashing her eyes to see if there was anyone within earshot, pensive. “I got nothing so far, but I’m willing to jog your mind if you’re it.” 

“Gaeul,” you say, sternly, grip tightening on her lower back. “What’re you implying, hm?” 

“All I’m saying is that I can be a great help for you in that bathroom downstairs. Unless you want to step outside, get some fresh air - the breeze is so nice up here, and no one will hear me because of the crickets-” 

“Minx,” you’re saying again. She sighs with her mouth parted, working herself right off the bat. “Now’s not the time, you were good for me earlier. Plus, your ass is still sore, I know why you didn’t want to sit down in the first place.” 

Gaeul nicks her head up, lifts her eyebrows. You’re flashing the image in your head of earlier: her being soaked in your cum, mouth swollen and makeup ruined, naked with a pair of cat ears in her hair and wrists handcuffed to the edge of your bed. It’s been a few hours since then, but nothing’s stopping the urge from burning through your pants- 

“Said you did a good job spanking me, did I?” 

“You know my answer.” 

“Touché.” 

You shake your head and press your lips to her crown. Patting her head and rubbing her shoulder while she puts her thumb on her chin, carelessly minding her own business while you’re treating her; mind already tired and with the amount of pictures and papers and telescopes too complicated to listen to in a firm explanation, she’s unbothered. She pats your back twice to make you stop. 

“We’re still grabbing drinks with Yujin after, right?” Gaeul asks, remembering the offer. “Her treat?” 

“She’s a terrible liar,” you chuckle, “The tab’s on me.” 

–

It’s all a process. 

Day by day. The concept of love is not a linear path; getting to know someone and revealing the pieces, building that trust with a significant other, infatuated about the secrets and intricacies that you’ll take to your grave once they’re shared, seen, and spoken. 

You’re up late nights, peering into your bedroom to see her legs tangled around a pillow. On certain days she comes home excited, jumping onto you at the door to times when she’s tired, and you’re piggybacking her inside because that’s what she likes. When she’s with Yujin, she’s normally quiet and laid-back - but with you, she’s all over the place. Telling you these unholy things that you don’t expect her to know when you’re fucking her into the bed; the way her voice sounds when she’s praising you. She goes around like her own little planet, full of wonderful things. She likes vinyls and vintage stuff and prefers to run outside when it’s raining. You let her steal your glasses because she looks better in them. Her smile is infectious. The way that she tousles and turns when you’re kissing every corner of her body and telling her all the things that she wants to hear. You’ve got the backlog filled out.  

Spread her legs apart, have her sit up, ride your face. Break down those fragile walls until she’s completely sucked into your embrace. Gaeul desires a lot of things that you can try to give - the wonders of the world, a bigger picture - something that you’ll pull down from above and have her keep for the sentiment. 

You’ll keep the fact that she’s somebody who wants to be ruined - get chaotic and a tad sadistic. She prefers the punishment over the crime. 

–

Nights like these, it feels like some kind of mistake when Gaeul brings you over to her place. 

There’s nothing bad happening whatsoever, you just feel the knife twist a little more when you can’t go inside because last time Liz and her other roommate caught you and her red-handed on the couch, even after having the assurance that they wouldn’t be home until later. It wouldn’t feel wrong to hug her, kiss her goodbye, knowing that you’ll probably see her around on campus in the afternoon later. 

Gaeul gazes into your eyes earnestly, as if she didn’t want to go back in yet, hoping that you’ll take her away and carry her back to your apartment. A wish she made on a passing star and praying it comes true. With those white thigh highs she’s wearing, you’ll make that dream a reality in a heartbeat. 

“How long have we been friends for again?” She asks, tugging on your jacket, slipping your hands around her hips. She’ll take wherever she can, you know her well. “Hard to believe that we’d be together. You know, like this.” 

“Do I need to remind you who made the first move?” 

“Fuck you.” She slaps your chest as part of the response. “I was trying to have a moment with you. So shut up.” 

“Okay, I will, please continue.” You lift your shoulders in surrender. “For the record, I’d like to take most of the credit, since I asked and all that.” 

Gaeul rolls her eyes to the back of her head. That was her whole plan from the start - had you not said anything to her, she wouldn’t be here taunting you; while being so quiet and pretty that it’s hard to combine the two. 

“Depends on who asks,” she begins. Her cheeks rise, veneers highlighted. She throws everything out in your head with ease - one hint or subtle suggestion and the common thoughts get brushed aside. That’s a you problem. More so of a bigger problem compared to hers. She can read your expressions like a book. 

So you say: “Are you asking?” 

You keep looking at her, like you did back in the museum, wondering all of the pretty little things that differentiate her from the rest; her side profile, the bunny-heart-shaped-ears, how her lips purse together almost like a pout; it’s like you’re seeing some cosmic pareidolia. Kind of like putting fragments together from your dream. 

Gaeul tilts her head, pondering. “If you are, then I’d agree with what you’re saying,” she tells you, kissing your cheek and stepping inside her apartment.

[whirlpool-blogs]

‘born with the condition that touching other people causes them physical pain’ + clegan anyone??? Gale grows up isolated because every time he tried to play with the neighborhood kids, they’d run away crying and screaming that he had hurt them, even though all he’d done was try to play tag or play pretend soldiers. His own mother carefully pats him on the shoulder through his shirt, and certainly never risks a hug. Gale wants to join the fight for his country, but can’t risk living in the cramped quarters of a Navy ship or side-by-side in a trench with infantry. So he decides to become a fighter pilot, where you sit in the cockpit alone. And you live and you breathe and you fight and you die alone in that cockpit, too.

Until he walks into flight school and meets John Egan. And here’s the thing — John is touchy. Gale is so nervous on his first day, he completely forgets to warn his roommate about his ‘condition’. Except the strangest thing happens — John shakes his hand, and throws an arm over his shoulders and…he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t scream or wince or accuse Gale of trying to hurt him. It’s as though….Gale’s touch doesn’t affect him.

Eventually, when they’re talking about girls late at night, Gale admits that he’s a virgin. After all, how can you have sex when even brushing against someone’s elbow in the street sends them screaming? Since John is impervious, he offers to show Gale what it’s like.

They hook up. They keep hooking up. It’s kind of fucking mind-blowing. And it also breaks Gale’s heart, because he’s convinced John is only doing this for him as a favor, not because he actually likes him. (Meanwhile John is convinced that Gale is only letting him do this because it’s the only option Gale has, not because Gale actually likes him back…)

So they stop hooking up. Gale finds a nice Christian girl from home who is saving herself for marriage, and they write letters but never meet up. John goes back to casually sleeping around. (Both of them are seething with jealousy.) They’re just friends. It’s fine. They can be friends.

Then it’s winter in the stalag, and John is the only possible option to bunkshare with Gale. As they cling to each other for warmth, Gale finally admits that he’s not really planning to meet up with that Casper girl in any real way. And John admits that none of his hookups ever felt the same as he feels for Gale. Buck, he says, I just wanna touch you forever.

[awkward-walking-potato]

You asked I deliver lol. Deadpool request: what about exes wade and reader that see each other after the break up and the talk between them ends hopeful? 🤭🤭♥️🖤♥️🖤

Lipstick and Heartache

Deadpool didn’t do grocery shopping. Not usually. That was one of the perks of having a blind roommate—she never knew when you brought home takeout instead of the ingredients you were supposed to buy. But today was different. Today, he’d lost a bet with Logan, and now here he was, pushing a cart down the cereal aisle, pretending he wasn’t contemplating murder by Frosted Flakes.

Logan was ahead of him, growling something about the price of beef jerky, while Blind Al was arguing with an innocent store clerk over the alleged existence of a non-alcoholic whiskey. Wade was zoning out, mentally debating which flavor of Pop-Tarts could be weaponized the best, when it happened.

He saw you.

You were standing by the produce section, examining a bunch of bananas with the kind of focus Wade usually reserved for choosing between chimichangas or tacos. His heart did a weird little flip-flop in his chest—like it always did whenever he saw you—but this time it was followed by a pang of something darker. Regret.

It had been months since he ended things. Months since he decided that his life was too dangerous for someone like you. Someone good. He thought he was doing the right thing, letting you go, keeping you safe from the chaos that seemed to follow him like a shadow. But it was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and judging by the way his chest ached just looking at you, it hadn’t gotten any easier.

You glanced up, your eyes catching his. For a moment, everything around him blurred—Logan’s grumbling, Al’s cursing, the mundane bustle of the grocery store—all of it faded into the background. It was just you and him.

And then, you smiled.

“Wade?” you called out, clearly surprised but pleased to see him. You set the bananas down and walked over, your steps confident, casual, like you hadn’t been haunting his thoughts since the day he walked out.

He put on his best grin, the one that was just a bit too wide, a bit too cocky. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite fruit ninja,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “How’ve you been, beautiful?”

“Good,” you replied, stopping just a foot away from him. “And you? I didn’t expect to see you in a place like this. I thought grocery stores weren’t your style.”

He chuckled, glancing at Logan, who was now glaring at a stack of canned beans like they’d personally insulted him. “Oh, I’m just here to supervise the world’s angriest lumberjack and pick out some adult diapers for Al. You know, the usual.”

You laughed, and the sound hit him like a warm breeze. It was familiar and comforting, but also a reminder of everything he’d been missing. “Sounds about right,” you said, your eyes softening as they met his again. “I’ve missed your sense of humor, Wade.”

His heart skipped a beat, but he forced himself to keep it together. “Yeah, well, it’s a package deal with the stunning good looks and the terrible life choices,” he joked, though his voice cracked just a little on the last part.

You looked at him for a moment, like you were trying to read something in his eyes. “I always liked the package,” you said softly, and it was like someone reached into his chest and squeezed.

He wanted to say something—anything—to keep you here, to explain why he’d done what he did, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, staring at you, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world for ever letting you go.

Sensing the shift in his mood, you smiled gently and reached up, your fingers brushing against his masked cheek. “I’ve got to go, Wade,” you said, and before he could protest, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

He froze, every nerve in his body buzzing as you pulled back, leaving a perfect imprint of your lipstick on his cheek. “Take care of yourself, okay?” you whispered, giving his hand a quick squeeze before turning and walking away.

He watched you go, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. It wasn’t until you disappeared around the corner that he realized he was still standing there, like an idiot, with a goofy grin on his face.

“Nice lipstick, Romeo,” Logan grunted, sidling up beside him with a smirk. “You gonna frame that or what?”

Wade blinked, reaching up to touch his cheek where your kiss still lingered. “Shut up, honey Badger,” he muttered, trying and failing to sound annoyed. But the truth was, he couldn’t stop smiling, even as he felt the blush creeping up his neck.

Blind Al’s voice came from behind them. “What’s this I hear about him getting a smooch? Did hell freeze over or is Wade actually getting some action?”

Wade rolled his eyes, turning to push the cart down the aisle. “It’s nothing, just a little fan service,” he quipped, trying to play it off, but his heart wasn’t in it. His mind was still replaying that moment over and over again, the feel of your lips on his cheek, the look in your eyes when you said goodbye.

Logan chuckled, grabbing a pack of beer and tossing it into the cart. “Yeah, well, if that’s what you call ‘nothing,’ then you’ve got it bad, Wilson. Real bad.”

Wade didn’t respond, too lost in thought to come up with a snarky comeback. Instead, he let himself savor the memory of your kiss, the warmth of your touch, and the bittersweet ache of knowing that, for a moment, you were his again.

Even if it was just a moment.

“Hey, Wade,” Al called out as they headed toward the checkout. “You think you’ll ever grow a pair and actually talk to her about why you ended things?”

Wade sighed, the smile finally fading as reality set in. “Maybe, Al. Maybe one day,” he said quietly, knowing full well that day might never come.

But for now, he had your kiss on his cheek, and that was enough to keep him going—at least until the next time fate decided to throw you back into his life.

And as they walked out of the grocery store, Logan and Al still teasing him mercilessly, Wade couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, he was a little bit closer to you, even if it was just in his heart.

And damn, if that didn’t feel like the best thing in the world.

[janespink]

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 - 𝑀𝒶𝓉𝓉 𝒮𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓁𝑜 Warnings: none

Summary: Y/N befriends her mysterious neighbor, Matt, only to discover during their date that he’s an escaped prisoner.

Author’s note: English is not my first language. Also the first ff i ever wrote

Moving to a new neighborhood wasn’t exactly how you planned to spend your summer. Your parents called it a “fresh start,” but to you, it just felt like being uprooted. Thankfully, you had Nate and Madi—your closest friends, who were more like family than anything else. They made the transition bearable. It was a quiet afternoon when you first noticed him. You were sitting on the front porch, scrolling through your phone, waiting for Nate and Madi to pick you up. Across the street, a guy around your age was unloading boxes from the back of a truck. He was 5’7 and lean, with a hoodie pulled over his head despite the warm weather. You didn’t mean to stare, but there was something intriguing about him—the way he moved quickly, almost like he didn’t want to be noticed. “Hey,” his voice cut through your thoughts, and your head snapped up. “Oh, uh… hi,” you stammered, caught off guard. “You just move in?” he asked, pausing with a box in his hands. His tone was casual, but his eyes studied you with interest. “Yeah, last week,” you replied, gesturing vaguely toward your house. “Looks like we’re neighbors.” He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Guess so. I’m Matt, by the way.” “Y/N,” you said, returning the smile. Before the conversation could go any further, Nate’s car pulled up, horn blaring obnoxiously. Madi stuck her head out of the passenger window, grinning. “Let’s go, Y/N!” “Coming!” you called, grabbing your bag. You glanced back at Matt, who gave you a quick wave before disappearing into his house.

Over the next few weeks, you saw more of Matt. It started with brief hellos when you passed each other on the street, then longer conversations whenever you found yourselves outside at the same time. He was easy to talk to—funny, thoughtful, and just a little bit mysterious. “How do you not have a single social media account?” you teased one evening as you sat on the porch steps, talking while the sun dipped below the horizon. Matt shrugged, a playful smirk on his face. “Guess I like keeping things simple. Besides, I prefer real connections over a bunch of likes and comments.” “Wow,” you said, pretending to be impressed. “Deep and philosophical. You’re really setting the bar high, Matt.” He laughed, the sound low and genuine. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

It wasn’t long before your friendship with Matt became a regular part of your life. Nate and Madi noticed, of course. “So, who’s the guy?” Madi asked one afternoon as the three of you hung out in Nate’s basement. “What guy?” you asked, feigning innocence. “Don’t play dumb,” Nate chimed in. “Madi saw you talking to some dude on your porch the other day. Spill.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your face. “His name’s Matt. He just moved in next door.” “And?” Madi pressed, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “And… he’s nice,” you said with a shrug. Nate raised an eyebrow. “Nice, huh? That’s it?” “Yes, that’s it,” you said, hoping they’d drop the subject. But they didn’t. Over the next few days, they made it their mission to find out everything they could about Matt—much to your annoyance.

One evening, Matt surprised you by asking if you wanted to grab coffee. “Like… a date?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. A date.” You felt a blush creep up your cheeks but managed a smile. “Sure. I’d like that.” The next day, you told Nate and Madi about the date. “Finally!” Madi exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “I’ve been waiting for this to happen.” Nate, however, looked less enthused. “I don’t know, Y/N. Are you sure about this guy? You barely know him.” “That’s what dates are for,” you said, brushing off his concern. “Just be careful, okay?” Nate said, his tone more serious than usual. “I will,” you promised, though you couldn’t understand why he was being so cautious.

The date started off perfectly. Matt picked a cozy little café tucked away from the busy streets, its warm lighting and soft music setting the perfect mood. “You’ve got good taste,” you said as you took a sip of your latte. “Glad you think so,” Matt said, his eyes crinkling with a smile. The conversation flowed easily, just like it always did with Matt. He told you about his favorite books and movies, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks. Halfway through the date, your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen to see a text from Nate. Nate: Call me ASAP. It’s important. Frowning, you quickly texted back. Y/N: Can’t. I’m on date. The response came almost instantly. Nate: Y/N, I’m serious. You need to see this. You sighed and opened the next message, which was a screenshot of a news article. The headline sent a chill down your spine: “Local Prisoner Escapes Custody: Police Warn Public to Stay Alert” Beneath the headline was a grainy photo of the escapee. You stared at it, your heart racing. The man in the picture looked eerily familiar—too familiar. It was Matt.

End of Part 1.

[stevesjockstrap]

Crash & Burn

Rated M • modern era, no UD • read on ao3

Friends with benefits, pining, idiots to lovers feels

Eddie’s phone buzzed, and buzzed again. He looked down at it. 1:39am. Two messages from Steve.

Groaning, he flipped his phone over and peeled himself off his couch to pace back and forth across the room, hands raking through his hair. Why couldn’t he just block his number? It’d been weeks (maybe months?) since he’d heard from him.

He only reached out after some girl broke his heart. Again.

Eddie couldn’t keep-

His phone started buzzing more urgently, repeatedly. Picking it up, he saw Steve’s name and had to answer it.

When you feel all alone and the world has turned its back on you

Give me a moment please to tame your wild, wild heart

“Hey.”

“Hi Eds…”

Just two words made everything come flying back front and center into Eddie’s mind. The amazing sex, sure, but mostly the soft touches, staying up all night talking, the way Steve looked at him like-

He shook his head, clearing whatever that was from his thoughts.

“What’s up neighbor? Need a cup of sugar?” He winced as the words left his mouth. For once his double entendre not being intentional. Oh. That was the other thing. They lived in the same row of townhouses, Eddie getting to see whichever current conquest Steve was wooing come and go, or Steve himself walking hand in hand with the supermodel of the week.

Thankfully Steve snickered back at his dumb joke. “I don’t need any sugar, actually. But I wanted to see if you were as bored as I am. Wanna come have a beer?”

This was his play, usually. Get Eddie over for a casual hang out, watch a movie, drink a beer, maybe smoke a joint. Once they were both a lot looser, things ended up happening.

Eddie would have to hear about whichever girl it was who Steve was sure was ‘The One,’ who was clearly using him for his name and money and when they’d find out Steve Harrington actually had no contact with his rich parents and only a upper middle class salary, they usually didn’t last long.

But Eddie was also a sucker. “Sure, man. Give me a few.”

I know you feel like the walls are closing in on you

It’s hard to find relief and people can be so cold

When darkness is upon your door and you feel like you can’t take anymore

Let me be the one you call

After a few beers each and politely listening to the play by play of the breakup (Dana this time), Eddie eyed Steve as he crept slowly closer to him on the couch.

Maybe it would be fine this time. They could just blow off some steam. It’s not like he had any better offers.

He pretended to be very interested suddenly in whatever dumb sitcom Steve had thrown on for background noise, and a hand slid up his thigh. He bit into the side of his cheek and stayed still. The butterflies he got every time he was in this position came back full force.

“Steve, I-“ he shook his head, but then caught the look on his face, like a rejection right now would send him crumbling.

If you need to crash then crash and burn

You’re not alone

“C’mere,” he breathed instead.

They met in a slow kiss, less heated and desperate than usual. Eddie cupped his jaw tenderly, trying in equal measures to hold back and show him some of the emotion he’d bottled up for so long.

Steve gasped an “Ed-“ into his mouth and shoved closer to him. They wrapped their arms around each other and he forgot he wasn’t supposed to be doing this.

When hopes and dreams are far away

And you feel like you can’t face the day

Let me be the one you call

The first slow thrust into Steve’s body was heart stopping. He didn’t think it had ever been like this, slow and gentle, instead of the frenzy he usually felt.

But that wasn’t altogether the truth, as he sucked in a breath, he realized while they usually came together in a rush, he’d usually find himself slowing it down. Making it more tender and caring.

Steve pulled him down for a soft kiss and he sunk into it with a small sound. Oh no. He pulled back. They could do slow passionate sex or they could have soft tender kisses but he couldn’t do both. He couldn’t take it. Especially not the eventual ghosting once Steve found a new girl to fall for.

But Steve was looking up at him now. Panting, cheeks flushed. Staring wide eyed up at him almost reverently. Eddie got stuck in his deep brown eyes for a long moment, transfixed until they both gasped on a particularly good thrust and Eddie realized what was happening.

He loved him. Was soul crushingly in love with a guy who only used him after he was broken up with.

Unable to meet his gaze, he mouthed along his neck and shoulder instead, allowing himself to hide his face, committing the little sighs and punched out sounds to memory.

This would have to be the last time.

When you feel all alone and a loyal friend is hard to find

You’re caught in a one-way street with the monsters in your head

When hope and dreams are far away

And you feel like you can’t face the day

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he jumped. Peering at it, he ignored the new text and looked back at Gareth.

“Why are you so jumpy, bro?”

Shaking his head, he tried to return the conversation back to the gigs they had lined up, but Gareth could always see right through him.

“Uh uh, whose texts are you avoiding? That’s not like you. Spill.”

“Gare, I promise, it’s nothing,” he raked his hands through his hair and Gareth raised an eyebrow at him. Well fuck, now he’d done his tell, hadn’t he? Sighing, he decided on, “It’s just something that needs to fizzle out on its own. A mistake that I keep making. I should block him.”

“Ahh,” Gareth nodded. “Hot neighbor guy.”

His jaw dropped. “Wha- how? I mean, shit.” He leaned down and thunked his forehead on the table. “How do you know he’s hot?”

Giggling, Gareth patted his shoulder. “The mistakes that we can’t block- they’re always hot. So what happened? Usually you’re off to the races when he texts.”

Sitting back up, he sighed. “I can’t keep doing this. I lo- I care too much about him and he only wants to hook up after some girl fucks him over. It’s killing me.”

Gareth hummed at him, nodding. “Caught feelings for the booty call. That’s a lot, dude. Did you tell him?”

“Are you kidding? No way! Zero chance that he’d actually stop his womanizing ways to have something real with me. He just likes getting fu-“

Gareth held up a hand. “I don’t need the details, man.”

Laughing, Eddie shook his head again. “Maybe if I just don’t answer, he’ll find some girl who wants to peg him and go run off with her.”

“There’s always a chance.”

‘Cause there has always been heartache and pain

And when it’s over you’ll breathe again

You’ll breathe again

Groaning, Eddie read through the last text Steve had sent again.

Hi. I know you’re avoiding me and I just wanted to know why. Did I do something wrong? I’m home all night if you want to talk.

He knew he was being an asshole by ignoring him. He knew exactly how shitty it felt to be ghosted after their encounters and now he was doing the same thing.

Knocking on his door felt like approaching the executioner. Would he get punched in the face? Kicked in the balls? Would he need to move? He really liked his place.

“Oh hey, he is alive after all,” Steve said sardonically as he pulled the door open.

“It appears so. Can I come in?”

Steve seemed weary, but nodded and turned to walk into the kitchen, propping himself at a stool at the bar. Eddie stood on the other side of the counter from him.

“I’m sorry,” he huffed. It didn’t seem like enough, but he made himself relax his shoulders and continue. He looked down at the swirls in the countertop as he talked. “I can’t do this anymore. I- um, I really like you, Steve. And this only calling me when you get your heart broken is … it’s too much for me.”

After a beat, he chanced a look up at Steve’s face and winced. He looked like he’d gotten ice water thrown in his lap.

“I know I should’ve told you sooner, but I just worked it out myself very recently. I thought I could do the casual hookups but my heart can’t take it anymore. Because I know you don’t feel the same and-“

“Of course I don’t feel the same,” Steve growled out, his face now completely closed off and hard.

Eddie clenched his jaw and gave a stiff nod.

“I’m not- I don’t swing that way, man.”

Instead of arguing, he just nodded again and walked towards the door. Somehow that’d been worse than he’d expected. He almost wished he would’ve received an actual punch instead.

When you feel all alone and the world has turned its back on you

Give me a moment please to tame your wild wild heart

A few days later he pointedly turned away when he saw Steve walking hand in hand with another blonde woman. Good for him. Maybe he’d settle down and find a different neighbor to fuck him through his denial.

He finally blocked his number and his Instagram. Gareth took him out for depressed drinks and darts. He started parking around the side of his townhouse and coming in the back door when he couldn’t stop himself from checking for strange cars on the other end of the lot.

Maybe he would need to move.

If you need to fall apart (you’re not alone) I can mend a broken heart

And if you need to crash then crash and burn (you’re never alone)

You’re not alone

A pounding woke him and he pushed away from the warm body next to him to look at the time. 2:11am. What the fuck?

Throwing pants on, he went downstairs and flicked a light on.

Someone was standing on his porch.

Throwing the door open, he immediately realized it was pouring down rain, Steve was at his door, and he should’ve put a shirt on.

“Hi.” Steve started. His eyes widened as he took in Eddie’s appearance, rumpled hair and hickeys going down his neck and chest.

He’d taken home the pretty boy in the bomber jacket from the bar. Sue him. And-

“Who is it, babe?”

Steve’s eyes widened further and his face paled. Mouth opening and closing before his face closed off again and he turned away. “Never mind.”

Without thinking, he followed him, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Steve! Wait!”

Stupidly, he reached out for him and grabbed his arm to pull him around.

Steve yanked his arm back with a huff. “Save it. I see you’ve moved on quickly.”

“Me?” He sputtered, throwing his hands up. “I’ve moved on quickly? How many girls have you fucked this month? This week?”

Starting to turn away again, he grumbled, “Just go back to your-“

Eddie was suddenly so deeply tired and he couldn’t fight anymore. “You came over here in the rain to knock on my door at two AM, man. Talk to me. Please.”

That knocked the fight out of Steve, and he looked like himself again. He sighed, pushing his wet floppy hair out of his face. It made him look even more pitiful, like a little wet puppy.

“I know. I’ve been a dick.” Steve swiped across his face and Eddie’s heart clenched. “It dawned on me. Tonight. That our… arrangement before…”

Thunder boomed and they both jumped. Eddie tried to hide his satisfaction as Steve edged closer to him.

“Just, I realized I looked forward to seeing you, sometimes a lot more than the girl I was telling you about. I was stupid. I’m so sorry, Eds. These last few weeks I’ve been a mess. I think I fell in love with you a long time ago, too. And-“

Eddie cupped his face and stepped in closer, staring into his eyes. “Say it again?”

Giving him the tiniest smile, he repeated, “I’m in love with you, Eddie. I’m so sorry I said those things that day.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering, Steve closed the small distance between them. Eddie kept him there with a handful of soaking wet tshirt.

This kiss was nothing like their kisses before. Eddie could pour all of his love and affection into it now, not having to hold anything back. Even from himself.

“Wow,” Steve breathed, lips still moving against his.

Eddie pressed a few more kisses against his lip before pulling back.

“Do you wanna hear a secret?” Eddie asked, suddenly serious.

Steve nodded, confused.

“I didn’t move on. I picked that guy up at the bar last night because he reminded me of you.”

A wide grin spread across Steve’s face. “Oh really?”

Let me be the one you call

If you jump, I’ll break your fall

Lift you up and fly away with you into the night

Ali @eddiethehunted made me have a Savage Garden nostalgic moment (months ago, sorry) and ofc I had steddie feels 🖤

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

Loss and Reunion (Part 1)

Jason knew Dick had to die sometime. Besides the fact that it was inevitable, Batman’s Robins all seem to die early. It was really just a matter of time. But can Bruce at least pretend to be upset about it?

Part 2 here

---

Part 1: Loss

His mouth is stern. Jaw tight. Eyes unreadable behind the godforsaken cowl. Jason knows that something is up with Bruce - sorry, Batman - even beyond the obvious.

“You’re here,” Batman growls.

“I’m here,” Jason echoes. He hadn’t been there when the world was under attack. He’d been with the Outlaws. He’d been busy. There’s only so much one person can do, and Jason is becoming more and more aware of that fact as time goes on.

In an attempt to remain casual, Jason crosses his arms and leans back on one of the Cave’s many walls. He keeps his expression as neutral as possible. Batman doesn’t need to know that his voice still makes Jason’s hands shake.

The muscles in Batman’s jaw and mouth relax. The corner of his lip tips up ever so slightly. If anyone other than a protege of Batman and child of Bruce Wayne saw it, they’d never notice the difference.

But Jason knows. Jason knows quite well.

Batman - or is it Bruce? - is smiling. It seems to be out of relief, but Jason frustratingly can’t see his eyes. Can’t tell for certain why he’s smiling.

“You’re here,” Batman repeats, and Jason has ten witty comebacks on his tongue when he’s abruptly silenced by the hug.

Hug.

Batman.

Batman is… is hugging him. Jason can’t remember many times Bruce hugged him. He often jokes that the only time he’d been cradled by Bruce was after he was already dead. No one ever finds it funny, but Jason keeps saying it anyway.

“Bruce,” Jason says, tone flat and arms stiff at his sides. He’s pretty sure he’s talking to Bruce, not Batman. “Let go.”

And emotionally constipated Bruce Wayne hugs Jason just a bit tighter, lingers for just a moment longer, before begrudgingly letting go. He straightens, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m, uh… I’m glad you’re okay.”

Jason squints, returning to his position against the wall. “I… Thanks?”

Bruce clears his throat. “A… A lot’s happened.”

Stating the obvious. Just because Jason was off-world doesn’t mean he wasn’t inundated with chaos the second he landed back on Earth.

But rather than say this, Jason decides to deflect, deflect, deflect. Anything to avoid discussing feelings with this uncharacteristically-vulnerable version of Bruce. “Where is everyone?”

At this, Bruce lets out a comically exaggerated sigh. He tugs the cowl down and runs a hand through his hair. Finally visible, Bruce’s eyes are tired. Exhausted, even. “Robin’s on patrol.”

Avoiding Bruce, Jason translates.

“Alfred’s with Leslie. Some people still need medical care after… everything.”

Meaning the world is so fucked that Alfred actually left the cave.

“Oracle should be in bed, though I doubt it. Probably still running comms.”

So nothing’s changed with her, then.

“And Red Robin is with the Titans.” Then he falls silent. Like the question has been sufficiently answered.

As per usual, Bruce’s true meaning lies with the unspoken.

“... and Dick?” Jason ventures.

Bruce sighs again, finding a chair to sit in. He lowers himself down gingerly, like every muscle aches. But his mouth stays shut. Jason can’t even hear a noncommittal “hn.”

Jason’s hands tighten on his arms. He and the golden boy aren’t the best of friends, but they’re still brothers. They’re still family.

And god knows what this family will do for each other.

“Where’s Dick?” And then, after another too-long pause - “Where’s Dick, Bruce?” His tone is tough enough to pierce titanium, sharp enough to cut diamond.

Bruce looks away and then back at Jason. “Nightwing’s dead.”

The words are spoken with a cold finality. With all the loving kindness of a dull icepick - weakened in mechanism but brutal in delivery. There is no room for care. No room for questioning. It’s spoken as Batman conducts his detective work: factual and efficient.

Jason may have forgiven the tone if Bruce at least looked sorry. But he doesn’t. His eyes are hardened. They’re not sorry. Not devastated. Not even sad.

They’re as expressionless as they were when he wore the cowl.

Something in Jason snaps. Sweat breaks out on his palms, his forehead, his neck. His shoulders tense, and his stomach flips. Jason’s face burns, and his vision goes a sickly green.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he demands, patience paper-thin.

“Nightwing was kidnapped by the Crime Syndicate. They revealed his identity on television and wired a bomb to his heart.”

Jason feels nauseous, but Bruce isn’t done.

“The bomb was set to go off unless Nightwing died. Lex Luthor killed him.”

And there it is. That railroad spike of flippancy. That absolute carelessness. It’s becoming painfully clear that even with the cowl off, this is Batman. This is the man that trained Jason. Not the man that tried to be his father.

That tried to be Dick’s father too. But hadn’t tried hard enough.

“You…” Jason means to say something defensive. He means to say something demanding and intimidating and furious, because that’s what he is. He’s furious.

…so why does he feel so empty?

“It’s not…” But still, Jason can’t manage a sentence. He opens his mouth to speak, and words fail him. Because… because surely there’s something wrong. Surely, this is a lie.

And while Jason wrestles with this, Bruce studies his expression. Is no doubt waiting for an angry outburst or a pathetic wave of tears.

But he gets neither. Because Jason is just… confused.

“You’re… He’s dead?” he finally manages.

And Bruce nods, eyes still devoid of grief or ire. It makes Jason’s stomach knot.

“And you’re certain?” Because sure, he’s dead. They’ve all died. But it never quite sticks. Being assumed dead is very different from being face-to-face with a corpse. And even then, it isn’t always forever. Jason is living proof of that.

“I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“Did you see the body, Bruce?” Jason presses. “Can you confirm-?”

“Yes.” Bruce’s tone is cold, but his eyes are devoid of emotion. He sounds upset about being questioned. Not upset that his son is dead.

Jason tries to ignore that. “When?”

“Two months ago.”

The revelation is like a hammer to his gut.

For a long, long moment, Jason says nothing. He stares out past Bruce, eyes losing focus.

“Jason.” Bruce is cautious, voice concerned. “Jason, say something.”

“... where’s Luthor?”

And suddenly, Bruce is the quiet one.

“Bruce. Where’s Luthor?”

Bruce doesn’t respond. Just shakes his head before turning around, sweeping his cape, and pacing to the Batcomputer.

And then rage hits Jason like a bullet train. “Don’t you care??” he shouts.

Still no response. Just rapid typing on the keyboard.

Jason’s eye twitches. He forces a controlled stream of air from his lips, struggling to compose himself. “Where’s Luthor?” He stalks towards the computer himself, not stopping until he’s standing next to the console chair.

The typing pauses, fingers stilled over the keys. And then Bruce - Batman - shrugs, resuming his case report.

Jason’s vision is filtered by a deeper shade of green. The blatant lack of respect - of decency - makes Jason’s mouth taste bitter. It’s so, so painfully reminiscent. So similar, it’s practically identical. So like Jason’s death.

The Joker is out there somewhere. Living to swing crowbars another day. Living to kill kids another day. Batman hasn’t stopped him.

And here it is. Dick. Dead. And where is Luthor?

Batman certainly doesn’t know.

“Don’t do that,” he warns, sight narrowing in on Batman. “Tell me Luthor’s dead. Tell me he’s dead, Bruce!”

But Batman doesn’t say it. Bruce doesn’t say it either. Both are the picture of calm. Of someone who hasn’t just lost a son.

“Where is he?” Jason seethes. Even if Batman doesn’t care, Jason needs somewhere to go. Something to do.

This seems to snap Bruce forward and push Batman away. “Jason,” he begins softly, finally looking away from the computer and spinning in his chair to see Jason clearly. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Wrong thing to say.

“Isn’t there?” Jason fumes. “Is that what you said after Joker killed me??”

“Jason, I…” Bruce scowls. “I’m sorry that I don’t seem remorseful enough for you. The fact of the matter is that Nightwing is dead. The Crime Syndicate has done a lot of damage, and there are people we can help if we act now. But being upset about Nightwing isn’t going to fix anything.”

Wrong. Thing. To say.

“This is your fault,” Jason growls. “This - your whole holier-than-thou, no-killing bullshit - is why Dick is dead. If you would just get off your soapbox for five seconds, if you actually thought about what you were doing, if you hadn’t recruited a bunch of kids into your dumbass crusade, Dick wouldn’t be-!”

“Jason-”

But there’s that tone again. Not caring. Not sympathetic.

Bothered.

“Why did you drag him into this? Why did you drag us into this?” Pace, pace, pace. Jason pauses in front of Batman. Swivels to face him. Lowers his voice to a chilling whisper. “Did you lose a son? Or just another toy soldier?”

Batman rises abruptly. His silhouette is foreboding. Just as foreboding now, when Jason is taller than Batman, as when he was a kid. When he got saddled with Dick’s old job. At the time, it sounded fun. But at the time, he was also twelve and living on the streets

(Had Dick thought it was fun? It was his idea, as far as Jason is aware. But he was eight. Just how much resistance had Batman put up before he let Robin patrol with him?)

“Do not say that.” The words are terse, forced through gnashed teeth.

“What? That we’re all just pawns in your game of chess? That you caused this?”

Batman doesn’t back down. He maintains fierce eye contact. Balls his fists before hiding them in his cape. “You are my children,” he insists. “I did not force any of you to do this, and you know that. Nightwing knew that.”

Nightwing. Not Dick. Not Richard. Not even goddamn Grayson.

Nightwing.

“Dick,” Jason corrects, barely concealing a growl. “Dick knew that. Your son. At least have the decency to say his name.”

Batman levels Jason with a glare hot enough to melt steel before returning to his desk and continuing his report.

Because the truth of the matter is that Batman - that Bruce - is incapable of handling emotions like this. Whenever things get hard, he ducks his head and becomes engrossed in his work. He blocks out the world until the problems disappear.

But nothing can erase this.

Jason can’t take it anymore. He throws his helmet on the floor with a resounding crack. “Fuck you,” he hisses. Then he jumps onto his motorcycle and peels away. This is too much. It’s all just too much.

With an absent hand, Jason pulls out his phone and speed dials Dick’s cell.

“You’ve reached Dick Grayson. I’m not available right now, but please leave your-”

Jason hangs up. He’s not going to listen to that.

(He can’t listen to that.)

Instead, Jason flips his manual comm on, regretting the tiniest bit that he’d destroyed his helmet. “Hood to Oracle.”

The comm crackles and pops more than a toddler’s breakfast cereal. Jason really needs to replace his backup equipment. But through the hissing and static, he can make out a voice.

“Oracle.”

Ah. So Barbara had stayed up. Maybe to spite Bruce. Maybe because she just wanted to. Who’s to say?

“What’s Lex Luthor’s status?”

A long pause. Jason wonders if his comm has finally crapped out before Oracle replies, voice so loud it makes his ears ring. “Don’t bother, Hood.”

No explanation. No reassurances. Just one firm order.

But Jason is tired of taking orders.

“Look, I’m finding Luthor one way or another. The only question is if you help or if I need to consult a different source.”

Jason could swear he hears a huff over the receiver. “Can we talk?”

But Jason doesn’t want to talk. He wants to act. Now.

“No,” he says curtly. “Do you know where he is or not?”

A new voice invades the channel, dry and irritated. “Whatever you’re planning, Hood, I assure you it’s inadvisable.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Robin,” he growls. “Oracle, where is Luthor?”

A heavy pause. “Come to the tower.”

“Copy.”

Jason leaves his comm in - just in case someone decides to be helpful - but keeps driving south. If Barbara isn’t going to tell him where Luthor is, Jason will just find another way. Do some detective work, just like he’s been trained to do.

Because Dick deserves it. He deserves for someone to give a shit about him.

The thought makes Jason’s eyes burn. The Golden Boy, even in death, is taken for granted. And if Dick was still alive? He’d probably forgive Bruce for it too.

It makes Jason’s vision turn a deep emerald, and he has to focus on finding Luthor. It’s the only way to sate the fury in his veins.

Part 2 here

[jusst-you-race]

omg LOVE your max x lewis one!!! how about sebmark, as an apology? I think it's 26? or 28. one of those two numbers

thank you!!! and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to finally write sebmark!!! this... may be something i eventually turn into a proper fic?? idk but i had so much fun with it! thank you to everyone for all the prompts!

a kiss as an apology

Both of them are doing their best to walk as casually as possible as they get further and further from the building. Mark is still in disbelief that they actually pulled it off. Stealing from one of the most powerful criminals in the area is not in Mark’s usual skill set, but when Lewis had proposed the job all those months ago, the promise of the payoff had been enough to convince him. 

Ahead of him, Seb is barely stopping himself from skipping through the streets, and Mark rolls his eyes.

That was another thing, working with Seb had been Lewis’ idea as well. He claimed that their skill sets would be complementary. And he wasn’t wrong, they work well as a pair, considering the ridiculous thing they’d just pulled off without setting off so much as a single alarm. But their personalities… Mark still isn’t sure how they haven’t killed each other over the last few months. 

It had been slightly more tolerable when they started having sex about all their disagreements, he muses. 

Seb spins on his heel where he’s started to pull a few steps ahead of Mark.

“Hurry up old man!”

Mark rolls his eyes again. Seb is such a brat sometimes. They’re supposed to be walking discreetly, trying not to draw the attention of anyone around that could place them near the scene of the crime, but here this little shit is shouting at him from down the road. 

Mark picks up the pace anyway. 

They’re heading towards the docks, where Lewis has promised a boat is waiting for them, tucked away somewhere quiet and discreet. Mark is looking forward to a break from all of this honestly. The build up to this job had been more intense than he usually likes, partly because of who he was working with, and partly because of who they were stealing from. 

Seb turns around to look at him again. Mark hesitates slightly as the look on his face. It’s not a look Mark can read easily, which isn’t necessarily surprising coming from Seb, but there was something in his eyes that unsettles Mark slightly. He tries to brush it off. 

They duck into an alley, and alarm bells start going off in Mark’s head. This isn’t the planned route. 

“Seb?”

Seb slows to a stop ahead of him, and continues to just stare into the shadows of the alley ahead of him. Mark takes a cautious step towards him, tentatively reaching out to touch Seb’s shoulder. 

“What’s going on?”

Seb turns around. Mark’s heart sinks as he realises what he had seen in Seb’s eyes. It’s tears. 

“Mark… you have to know this isn’t personal.”

Panic starts rising in Mark’s throat and he tries desperately to swallow it down.

“Seb, tell me what’s going on. Let’s talk about this.”

Belatedly, he realises he let Seb carry the stolen goods. Mark is such an idiot. Seb sniffs, and cups Mark’s jaw with his hand. 

“I did really enjoy working with you.”

Mark’s heart is pounding now. His danger senses are on high alert, and he’s about to run, yell, beg Seb to tell him what’s going on, anything — but Seb leans in to kiss him and once again Mark can do nothing but fall helplessly into his clutches yet again. 

The kiss is messy, desperate, and slightly wet now that tears are rolling down Seb’s cheeks in a steady stream. Mark thinks it might be the best kiss they’ve ever shared. His heart clenches, and he resigns himself to his fate. The hand not cupping his jaw slides into Seb’s jacket, and Mark tries so hard to pretend this isn’t happening. Pretend that he hasn’t been a complete idiot, that he hasn’t let his guard drop because of a cheeky blond who radiates danger and excitement in a heady concoction. Seb steps back.

“Mark, I’m so sorry.”

Huh, Mark is crying too now. What a strange time to realise he might have actually fallen in love.

Seb raises his gun. His hand is wobbling. He’s been nothing but a steady shot since the moment Mark met him. There’s an ache somewhere deep in Mark’s chest. 

“I won’t forgive you,” Mark says. He doesn’t want it to be true, but Seb would know it anyway. A sob wrenches itself out of Seb’s mouth.

“I know.”

He shoots Mark in the leg. 

By the time Mark has blinked away the blinding pain, Seb has disappeared. Mark slumps against the wall of the alley, clutching the wound in his leg. 

The wound in his heart hurts more.

[unremarkablehouse]

Domestic Partners: Together at Last

MSR | PG | WC 2075 | AO3 Summary: A look inside the workings of Mulder and Scully’s relationship once they become a romantic couple. This is Chapter 2 but stands on its on, Chapter 1 can be found here. Tagging: @today-in-fic

For Mulder their romantic relationship didn’t begin with their first kiss or even the first time they slept together; it was when Scully started casually holding his hand in public. They’d held hands in private countless times throughout their partnership but something about the way she so easily started transitioning to doing it in a public setting felt like a wall had come down. It was such an innocuous gesture that made Mulder smile every time she did it, and at some point Mulder would always take her hand and kiss it. So formal and old world, Mulder’s hand kisses were always incredibly endearing to Scully. For all the intimacy and domesticity they had shared up until this point; being able to show affection without restraint was the turning point that signaled their romantic relationship. 

Of all the things they had imagined about their sex life, laughter was one element they both completely failed to predict. In fact, neither of them had ever laughed so much in bed as they did with each other. Their love making often held a sense of light heartedness and fun; so starkly different from the rest of their lives. Playful, experimental, magic, the two had a unique sexual chemistry that rounded out their relationship and was the embodiment of people who were truly compatible. Mulder’s stamina and diligence in the bedroom was admirable but Scully had to get him to pair down his routine to a solid 20 minutes on work nights. With a grumble he acquiesced, not wanting to lose sex privileges altogether, but the moment they were off the clock Mulder made up for it with long, languid love making sessions. 

As a couple they formed new routines which slowly phased out the listless void that had been such a large component of Mulder’s life. Unlike previous relationships he’d experienced, they moved in tandem as a team, and his restlessness naturally faded. Scully, was wary of Mulder’s eagerness to throw himself into their relationship and be the partner he believed she wanted. So she spurred him on to keep up his independent interests; and he chased sightings of Bigfoot, looked into conspiracies with The Gunmen, and would disappear on vague trips with little explanations but big hugs. It took a little while for Mulder to understand that this wasn’t a rejection, but Scully’s insightful way of making sure their relationship was sustainable. ‘Two whole and independent people who chose to be together but are able to function apart’ she told him. From a psychological point of view he knew she was right, but he had been functioning on his own most of his life, he just preferred when she was near. 

Discretion was important to them both, which meant no public displays of affection in D.C and their options for dates were pretty restricted. This gave Mulder an opportunity to get creative, adding extra travel days in between cases to take Scully to concerts, eat at nice restaurants and pretend to be normal for a while. Mulder talked of a life outside of The X Files and field work, but Scully was skeptical that he’d be able to give it up and certainly didn’t want him to resent her for this decision in the future. After an endless stream of cases Mulder finally revealed the truth into the darkness like a silent confession. He was tired of worrying about their lives always being in jeopardy, but his real motive was that he’d looked into being a Foster Carer, and he couldn’t bear the thought of making that commitment and letting a kid down because of their work. Scully sobbed at this admission and finally she understood that Mulder wasn’t running away from The X Files to appease her, he was just looking towards a future with her. 

As people who intellectualized their feelings, communicating emotions wasn’t a strong suit, but on long drives or quiet nights one of them would summon the courage to speak of their hopes and dreams, or fears and anxieties. Each time it happened they found it easier to do, a ritual that only they shared and the knowledge of the fact that they were safe confiding in each other. 

However, it was not their comfort with this new stream of dialogue that raised their profile in the FBI, but a display of their non-verbal communication in a meeting with other field Agents and department heads. While Scully was presenting her findings a fellow Agent made a joke at her expense, Mulder arched into action but with a look Scully commanded him to back down. Mulder gave a look of acquiescence and his gaze shifted over to the lectern where their papers were stored, after a nod from Scully, Mulder silently handed her a document. Scully continued to address the Agent who made the joke and showed him a report with the evidentiary findings that proved her point and ended by reminding him that regardless of his diminutive view point, human lives were saved as a result of their involvement. The air was sucked out of the room for a moment as the other attendees struggled to comprehend what they had just witnessed. Eventually Skinner wrapped things up but rumors of the pair developing telepathy became an ongoing joke. Skinner loved to recount stories of silent fights he’d witnessed the pair have in his office after a few drinks and he knew their connection was something to be envied.

For Maggie Scully, there was no official confirmation that Mulder and Scully were in a relationship. Mulder began attending Sunday dinners while their relationship was still technically plutonic, so their bickering and teasing didn’t count as genuine evidence because in that regard, they were still very much the same. Mulder was a welcomed addition to the Scully family dinners, always bringing a bottle or wine or a bunch of flowers as a host gift. The times he brought flowers he always got Scully a bunch too, which she put in water and tried to downplay her delight at his simple gesture. 

After dinner it was quietly understood that Mulder and Scully would do the washing up. Their hushed conversations and stifled laughter made a pleasant hum throughout the house and Maggie loved to silently watch the pair in their own little world. Even Bill Jr begrudgingly got used to Mulder’s presence, unable to deny the happiness he brought his sister, the way he helped Maggie while he was away, and how his son adored him. As men often do, Bill Jr and Mulder had a silent agreement to stick to talking about sports and avoided any topics that could cause contention. Bill didn’t even tease Mulder for tearing up while watching Beauty and the Beast with Matty; although Scully mocked him mercilessly. 

‘Scully, it’s just the lyrics to that one song! “Just a little change. Small, to say the least. Both a little scared, neither one prepared..” it’s us!’

‘I better not be the Beast, Mulder…’ 

With a kiss Mulder silenced her mocking but a few weeks later Scully discovered Mulder had bought the soundtrack to Beauty and the Beast and it was in his CD player. 

The ease at which Mulder fit into her family functions surprised Scully, and he was quickly a favorite amongst her relatives and family friends. Much to her surprise, Mulder was quite comfortable manning the Grill and always willing to help prepare food for the guests. 

Part way through their first Summer as a couple Scully had to ask him to stop accepting every invite to these cookouts and gatherings. Between Sunday dinners and these additional get-togethers, Scully was seeing more of her family than she had in a decade, and preferred to pick and choose which occasions she showed up too. So an agreement was made that all invitations would be run by Scully first to “check if they would be working out of town” and bypass Mulder’s inability to say ‘no’ to Maggie Scully.

Mulder’s diet, which had previously subsisted heavily on takeout and dry cereals, changed dramatically once dating Scully. Most nights in D.C they cooked together. Nothing overly complicated, grilled fish or chicken served with vegetables or a salad. Mulder wasn’t really one for cooking, but he enjoyed helping Scully prepare their meals and they made a pretty efficient team. Once every few weeks they’d go to the local farmers market and buy the fresh produce (as well as a large bag of kettle corn for Mulder). This was one of the many activities they did before they were a couple, but now the chances were much higher that the items purchased would be shared. Every time they went to the markets Scully would make sure to go to her favorite local honey vendor, Hank. A pharmacist by trade, Hank discovered beekeeping as a way to help control his seasonal allergies. Hank explained to Scully all about the studies on ingesting bee pollen or honey collected from local bees for allergies, which she found fascinating. Mulder’s dislike of Hank was juvenile and fueled purely by jealousy. Once they officially started dating, Mulder was no longer allowed to make snide remarks or roll his eyes while she chatted to Hank, so he would just stand next to her silently and watch the interaction with all the intense concentration of a trained guard dog. In a million years Mulder would never admit that he loved Hank’s honey and it actually  helped him a lot during allergy season, but Scully noticed him slipping it into his tea every chance he got. 

Since their first year as Partners Scully had accused Mulder of essentially being a bear who owned furniture with his ignorance of basic domestic care. Her judgmental looks and glares were originally enough to get him to clean his toilet and take out the trash semi-regularly, however he quickly realized if he wanted Scully to spend the night with him, he’d have to up his game. Fresh sheets, clean bathroom (with no empty shampoo bottles on the shower floor), and toilet paper placed on the holder became a regular feature at Mulder’s apartment and he was rewarded with Scully spending half her time in D.C at his apartment.

Like any couple, especially ones who had known each other for so long, they argued. But while they may have fought like all couples they did not fight like a normal couple. There was no yelling or throwing things, their disagreements were more of a heated debate with time allocated for both views to be presented as well as rebuttal. One of their first fights as a couple happened late one night at Mulder’s place. Not willing to concede defeat Mulder became sullen, sarcastic and petulant towards Scully. Rolling her eyes she muttered in frustration that he was being an ass, then she kicked him in the shins and walked into his bedroom to go to bed. From the other room she could hear Mulder give a bewildered laugh and the tension evaporated. With an exaggerated limp Mulder walked into the bedroom to make amends, and was happy to do so more than once that night. 

Their other arguments didn’t always resolve as quickly and they both usually needed a day to reflect on the details. Mostly they got along very amicably though and their bickering reduced dramatically once their relationship became physical. 

There was now a TV in Mulder’s bedroom and Scully found a bed frame with built-in bookshelves for him. While on the whole his insomnia had improved, Scully didn’t like waking up in the middle of the night to find him missing. So now he could watch tv on low or read without worrying about disturbing Scully. Mulder had mentioned cohabitation but it led to one of their awkward standoffs, so he was happy to compromise with sharing a bed with her almost every night.

The road that led them to this point was fraught with so much turmoil, sacrifice and pain. For Mulder, he couldn't remember a time when he had been happier. A part of him understood life would always turn on a dime so he tried to savor this time as much as possible. But for all his anxiety about the future he knew they would continue to fight together, comrades in arms, bracing themselves for the next roll of the dice.

[fappellmoan]

do you think little kit and jade played pretend as kids and argued over who got to be the knight and acted out big adventures and enlisted airk as their opponent/squire/horse and got pretend married at the end until they were a little older and the possibility of marrying someone else got a little too real and do you think kit ever tried to switch their duties because she didn’t want to be a princess until she followed jade one day to muck out the stables and not so casually backed out do you think tweenage kit ever got flowers from a boy and immediately ran to present them to jade on one knee (‘my lady’) cause her reaction was, like, way more exciting than the flowers anyway and do you think

some nights after madmartigan left kit would wake up needing a distraction and find jade and they’d stay up talking until they drifted off and this became a habit and maybe they kept falling asleep in the same bed until they were just a bit too big to fit right and as kit was expected to attend nice balls and such do you think that there were nights when kit asked jade to help her out of this stupid dress and as jade untied it there was a pause where she wondered if this was crossing a line but figured there was no way kit was thinking the same thing, until kit raged on about the guy she danced with that night and begged jade to go with her next time cause there’s no way she could do it alone again. do you think jade started to get scared about the future and tried to distance herself and focus on training and fulfilling at least one of her dreams but she’s holding onto these last moments with kit, letting her win in sparring to see her happy and arrogant and cause quite frankly she doesn’t know how to navigate the space between them without the pretense, and she’s desperately soaking in the time before kit would be married and she’d have to leave and everything would change forever and she’s desperately in love with her one real friend but she’s trying to let her go cause she’s the princess and it was a childish dream to think they ever had a chance and childhood is over and they both need to try to be happy but then kit kisses her and says she’s leaving and throws it all up in the air and jade just needs time to think and maybe know that she’ll be able to find her again somehow, and then airk is taken and these are awful circumstances but it’s also a break in time and space and they’re existing outside of what they thought possible and finding what it means to be in each other’s lives outside of the kingdom and everything they knew before. yeah

[angelllbby222]

Conflicted Ch 30🎀:

Maddy sat at the edge of the bed, contemplating her thoughts.

After Izzy had cornered Maddy, Axl came to see how everything was going and invited Maddy to come talk with him about something serious after he left her hanging downstairs. She politely declined and left to go in the empty media room where the tv was playing an ongoing loop of everything Guns N’ Roses.

But her eyes were fixated on the tall bassist and fiery redhead. Her chest tightening as she watched them.

Izzy turned, his dark hair catching the rays of the stage light, and it was almost as if his eyes found hers through the screen.

Even from the television, Maddy felt the pull of him, the magnetic force that had drawn her in since she came out here for the first time.

His quiet confidence. And the way he always seemed to know what was going on with her, whenever she couldn’t.

But then there was Axl.

Loud, brash and impossible to ignore.

Maddy dropped her gaze, her thoughts spiraling back to the moments that had brought her here, stuck between two boys who couldn’t be more different………

Flashback: 2 months ago

The first time Izzy kissed her, they were sitting in the room of her brothers apartment. It was a hot summer night, the air thick with the scent of honeysuckle. They’d spent hours talking about everything and nothing, their legs dangling over each others.

“You ever think about the future?” Izzy had asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

“Sometimes,” Maddy had replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “But it feels so far away, you know?”

Izzy had nodded, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, littered with glowing stars. Then he turned to her, his eyes searching hers. “I think about it a lot. And you’re always in it.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers. It was tentative, sweet, and it made her heart race in a way nothing else ever had.

Maddy blinked, the memory fading as the present came rushing back. She glanced toward Izzy again, her heart aching. Things had been so simple back then. But now, everything was complicated.

Ever since Duff had found out, it had been nothing short of a rollercoaster of emotions tearing through her heart every single night.

Axl’s laugh broke through her thoughts, drawing her attention. He was leaning against the frame of the now opened door, his arms crossed, his signature smirk firmly in place.

And then there was Axl.., painfully arrogant, a whirlwind of ego wrapped in leather and chaos, his voice cutting through the air as sharply as his unapologetic self-importance.

But even in his world of glittering façades and hollow adoration, he couldn’t ignore her—the one who was real in a sea of fake smiles and fame-chasers. She saw through the noise, and for the first time, he found himself craving something deeper than the spotlight…..

Flashback to Duff’s apartment……..

It had been a chaotic party at Duff’s, the kind of party where the music was too loud and the air smelled like cheap beer and perfume. Maddy had been standing in the kitchen, nursing a soda, when Axl had appeared beside her.

“Not your scene, huh?” he’d said, leaning casually against the counter.

“Not really,” she’d admitted, glancing around the crowded room.

Axl had grinned, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Come on, then. Let’s get out of here.”

Before she could protest, he’d grabbed her hand, leading her out the back door and into the night. They’d ended up at the old train tracks, sitting on the hood of his car and talking until the sky turned pink with dawn.

“You’re not like other girls,” Axl had said, his voice low. “You’re… real.”

Maddy had laughed, shaking her head. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you don’t pretend to be someone you’re not,” he’d replied, his gaze intense. “And I like that about you.”

Now, as she sat on the worn down sofa, Maddy felt the weight of those memories pressing down on her. She cared about both of them, but in such different ways.

Izzy represented safety, the kind of love that felt like home. He was the boy who knew her favorite book, who remembered the little things that no one else did. Even when he would hurt her the little things he would do for her would make up for it.

But Axl… Axl was fire. He made her feel alive in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Maddy sat on the couch, legs curled beneath her, staring blankly at the muted television. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the screen and the warm light of a nearby lamp. She wasn’t watching anything in particular; her mind was too cluttered with thoughts to focus. The weight of the situation bore down on her, pressing against her chest like an invisible hand.

The creak of the door broke her trance. She didn’t have to look up to know who it was. She felt his presence before she even saw him. Axl stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his leather jacket still on, as if he hadn’t decided whether he was staying or leaving. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, bore into her, but she refused to meet them.

“I know you see me,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence. “But you’re choosing to ignore me.” He stepped further into the room, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. “The problem won’t go away just because you’re pretending it doesn’t exist, Maddy.”

Still, she didn’t respond. Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the couch cushion, but her gaze remained fixed on the television.

Axl sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You’re making this harder than it has to be,” he muttered, his tone softer now, almost pleading.

Before she could muster a response, another figure appeared in the doorway. Izzy. His presence was less imposing, quieter, but no less intense. His dark eyes flicked between Maddy and Axl, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You’re not helping, Axl,” Izzy said, stepping into the room. He crossed the space to Maddy’s side and crouched down in front of her, his tone gentle, almost tender. “Hey,” he murmured, reaching for her hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I know this is a lot, but I just want you to know how much I care about you. How much I love you.”

Maddy finally looked up, her eyes meeting Izzy’s. There was a softness there, a vulnerability that made her chest ache. He squeezed her hand lightly, as if grounding her in the moment.

Axl scoffed from across the room, his arms crossed over his chest. “That’s your pitch, Izzy? Sweet words and puppy-dog eyes? You think that’s enough?” He took a step closer, his voice growing sharper. “I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be. At least I own up to my mistakes. I don’t hide behind pretty words.”

Izzy didn’t flinch. He stayed focused on Maddy, his expression calm and resolute. “This isn’t about being a man, Axl. It’s about what she needs. And she doesn’t need someone who’s going to bulldoze their way through her life.”

Maddy inhaled deeply, finally finding her voice. “Stop,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. She looked at Axl, her expression pained but resolute. “I can’t do this anymore. I care about you, Axl, but this… this isn’t right for me. I need to move on. We both do.”

Axl’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and hurt. He opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. Instead, he nodded stiffly, his lips pressing into a thin line. Without another word, he turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Maddy exhaled, her shoulders sagging with the release of tension. Izzy sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know.” she croaked thinking about the consequences of her actions.

“Hey, don’t worry about him okay?” Izzy groaned.

“I can’t just not worry about him Izzy!” she sternly replied.

“Why not?” he harshly asked.

“Because I care for him a lot.” was the last thing she said before getting up and leaving out the door.

authors note: thinking about ending this at 35!!

[depressedhouseplant]

Just Fucking Write - Day 58

Prompt: A continuation of Day 56

A/N: Everyone pretend to be shocked it’s a Juyeon ship. I wanted to save this a little longer but I started a new medication a few days ago & have almost no energy right now.

“How’d it go with Y/N?” Juyeon asked when Eric got back to their hotel suite. He didn’t miss that Eric’s eyes were looking puffy.

“I told her I loved her and she said that she thought it was just a casual thing. She’s also apparently been hooking up with Miles since I came back from hiatus,” he replied.

“So you thought y’all were exclusive and she didn’t,” Kevin said.

“Pretty much,” Eric replied.

“Did you tell her that you wanted to be exclusive or more than just fuckbuddies?” Jacob asked.

“Why am I the one being interrogated here?” he glared at the other three.

“I mean, you can’t expect someone to just know that you want more,” Kevin said.

“I sent her flowers for her birthday. We would text for hours. She knew I couldn’t take her out on dates, but she seemed okay with it,” Eric said.

“But you never talked about any kind of exclusive relationship,” Jacob continued.

“How is this my fault?” Eric demanded.

“No one is saying it’s your fault. They’re just saying you can’t expect someone to know you want something without saying it. Right?” Juyeon looked at the other two.

“Exactly,” Kevin agreed.

“I’m gonna go lie down,” Eric told them. Juyeon followed him.

“Can I help you?” Eric asked when he realized the older man was behind him.

“I thought you’d want some company right now,” Juyeon replied. Eric looked like he was going to refuse then stepped back to let Juyeon in the room.

“Thanks,” Eric said quietly. He curled up on the bed and Juyeon nested himself behind Eric.

“I know it hurts. Kevin and Jacob weren’t trying to make you feel bad,” Juyeon said.

“They did,” Eric said curtly.

“Kind of ironic that the couple that knew they were in love without saying anything are telling someone that they need to communicate their feelings,” Juyeon hooked his chin over Eric’s shoulder. The younger man nested deeper into Juyeon’s chest.

“Maybe I didn’t really love her,” he said.

“Maybe. You’re the only one who will ever know that,” Juyeon told him.

“Has that ever happened to you?” Eric rolled over to look at Juyeon.

“I told someone they loved me and they didn’t say it back?” Juyeon asked.

“Yeah,” Eric nodded, rolling over to look at Juyeon.

“I did. It hurt pretty bad at the time. In retrospect I don’t think I actually loved him,” Juyeon replied, brushing a hair out of Eric’s eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” Eric asked, his brown eyes still slightly red from earlier.

“Are you asking because you want to kiss me or because you just had your heart broken?” Juyeon asked.

“I want to kiss you. I want to see what it’s like to kiss someone I know cares about me,” Eric replied.

“Y/N didn’t care about you?” Juyeon questioned.

“She did, but I know how you feel about me. Like Jacob and Kevin know how they feel about each other,” Eric answered. “I know you feel more for me than just a friend or band mate.”

“Was I that obvious?” Juyeon bit his lip.

“Showing up in my bed in just your underwear when you knew I was in the shower was my first clue,” Eric smiled.

“I do feel more for you than just friends, but I didn’t want to interfere,” Juyeon replied.

“Now there’s no one to interfere with. So kiss me?” Eric asked again. Juyeon pressed his lips against Eric’s, a vision that had haunted his dreams for years. Now it was real. He was kissing the boy he fell in love with almost as soon as they’d met. Through every hookup or short term fuck buddy, it had always been Eric. Juyeon swore he’d never say anything because he knew Eric was seeing someone else. He poured every ounce of love he felt for the younger man into the kiss.

“Wow,” Eric said when they finally parted.

“Wow?” Juyeon repeated.

“So that’s what it feels like to kiss someone who loves you,” Eric told him.

“I’ve loved you for longer than you’ll ever know, Eric Sohn,” Juyeon kissed him again.

“I think I love you too, Lee Juyeon,” Eric grinned.

[feralsteddie]

@eddiemunsonloveposting

*sighs* *cracks knuckles* y’all really didn’t need to give me more ideas for this

Argyle comes and visits for the summer. He visits every break he can considering his best friend can’t usually come to him (they’ve talked about Jon moving back out to Cali one day, but everyone’s still skittish from Vecna, so it’ll take him time).

It’s his second day in town when he and Steve see each other again. They’d been a little preoccupied with their own groups to really interact the last time, but, hey, turned out they got along extremely well.

The three boys are still almost constantly with Steve, so it just made sense that Argyle join the group. The mish mashed hang outs that anyone who went to Hawkins High and even vaguely knew of the three of them were still bawking at.

Eddie and Argyle actually get along really well too, to no one’s surprise. Argyle’s been around Will enough to understand some of his references and Eddie is just delighted at about everything that comes out of Argyle’s mouth.

Tommy clearly doesn’t like the guy, but Tommy doesn’t like anyone Steve hangs out with that isn’t him, so there’s no surprise there.

Since it’s summer that means the return of Nancy as well, back in town after her first year of college and there’s the weird energy between her and Jon that Eddie and Tommy are hoping means he’s dropping the race, going back to his girlfriend and finally freeing up very important Steve Time.

The last time they’d all hung out Steve’s head was in his lap and Eddie and Tommy almost considered teaming up just to get rid of him. Almost.

It’s… sort of what happens. Jon and Nancy are spending time together, they can see some complex feelings happening and there was no way they weren’t going to take advantage.

But that time slot was small, and they forgot to include the newest addition in their calculations.

Fucking Argyle. Because Argyle’s best friend was occasionally MIA which left him with some free time too.

See. Eddie knew Steve struggled a lot with the group. Even if every single one of them would probably die if something were to happen to him, he gets undervalued a lot, many rolled eyes and digs at his intelligence. Hey, turned out Argyle got the same. Everyone over looking him because they assumed he was just stoned and wouldn’t have anything to offer.

And Argyle was a really touchy guy. Had Steve almost in his lap, petting his stupid shiny long hair quicker than Tommy or Eddie had ever managed. He just had a laid-back quality that allowed for casual affection in a way that Tommy and Eddie’s intensity didn’t. Every touch with Steve Mattered and they weren’t able to pretend otherwise.

They weren’t stupid this time around. Not like they’d been with Jonathan at first and assuming there was no way. Because it was clear Steve liked all the weird burnouts Hawkins had to offer.

They started in on their diversion efforts quick, making more plans with Steve, squishing Steve between them on the couch during groups hangs, diverting Steve’s wandering hands when Argyle and his stupid shiny long hair got close, etc etc

But Argyle had game, and was smart. It was fucking annoying.

Because Steve wanted to go to a CC concert? Yeah Argyle could vibe with some metal. A baseball game? No worries dude he loved watching that shit. Steve’s hands were stopped from using him as a fidget toy? Oh man let me fix your collar real quick. No space on the couch? Well come here, Harrington I’ve got a free lap.

It was frustrating. Infuriating. Eddie was going to start biting soon and Tommy was hyperventilating in the bathroom.

Argyle brought Steve along to fucking forage in the woods. He got Steve eating pineapple on his pizza. They cooked dinner for the party together. They hung out in the back of his shitty van like that wasn’t EddieandSteve’s thing. Went on hikes like that wasn’t a TommyandSteve thing.

The last straw was actually a moment neither of them had been paying attention to, Eddie and Tommy glaring each other down over a plate of Steve’s murder-worthy cookies. All they really caught was Steve laughing and the tail end of a sentence that sounded something like -good boy, dude! And both of their heads both turned so quick their necks should’ve snapped. Argyle got Steve’s three-blink mouth parted look that Eddie’d been hoarding since the spring break from hell and it was decided.

Argyle had to go.

(Not in a murder way, because Eddie wasn’t going to cash in those murder allegations and Tommy was on thin ice with Steve as it was, but they were going to figure it out. Argyle was fucking dangerous there was no way they were going to lose Steve to a guy dressed like a bowling alley carpet. They just wouldn’t.)

OKAY BUT

Thinking about all the hilarity that would be if Tommy tried to “befriend” Steve again after everything.

Tommy and Eddie glaring at each other every time Steve looks away.

Fighting over Steve’s attention.

Each going to throw their arms around Steve just to end up slamming them together while Steve’s still walking

The “I can fix him” vs “I can make him worse”

The bitchy comments back and forth over who knows Steve better

Tommy will show up with a six pack just to find Steve and Eddie already high together

Eddie swinging by for an impromptu movie night and Tommy and Steve have a basketball game on

Tommy trying to have a conversation with the kids because he know they’re the key to winning Steve back, but Max snaps her teeth like she’s going to bite him once and Tommy screams so high pitch Steve started panicking because he thought it was Erica

Eddie trying to learn Steve’s sports to show he won’t just dismiss his interests, but he’s a chronic smoker whose hobbies are fairly sedentary so five minutes in he’s wheezing and somehow manages to almost break his nose with a basketball

It’s only funnier when they both pull up to Steve’s place, at the exact same time, with flowers in their hands. And Steve opens the door to them trying to kill each other on his front lawn.

[steddiesupportgroup]

Steve with a praise kink drabble under the cut, because the hive mind has spoken.

NSFW ahead so minors please dni!

Steve of course never considered being any kind of submissive until he and Eddie got together. As a young man having sex with women, he’d always been taught that men should be more dominant and in control. He’s a sweet lover though, don’t get him wrong

He and Eddie hadn’t even gotten together yet when those thoughts started creeping in the back of his fantasies. They’d been on the phone like any other day, making plans to go bowling that evening with the group. Steve didn’t want to go that night cause he had to open in the morning, but Eddie wore him down.

“Good boy,” he murmured into the phone when Steve finally gave in, just flirting as usual. He had no idea that Steve’s heart skipped several beats and the sound dripped from his brain straight down into his pants. “C-cool,” he stammered, “See you there.” And abruptly hung up.

After that he tried to push it down and forget about it, but Eddie’s voice echoed in his mind during quiet hours. Good boy, the memory of those two stupid words surrounded him when his hand was wrapped around his cock, and he came imagining Eddie’s lips against his ear.

He’s a lost cause after that. He starts doing little favors for Eddie any chance he gets in the hopes that he’ll call him that again, offering to pay for gas, dropping off the kids and whatnot.

Eddie doesn’t notice until he says, “Very good, Stevie,” when Steve actually gets one of his nerdy references, and even though it’s no big deal to Eddie, Steve’s face positively lights up at the praise and he blushes. At first he thinks Steve could just be trying to impress him, which, as a literal monster slayer, is kind of redundant.

So he tries again to test his theory that he prays is true. He jaunts into Family Video, casual as ever, and asks Steve to show him where a certain movie is. Steve leads the way, happy to do whatever at this point, and when he hands Eddie the tape Eddie leans in and says, too low for anyone to overhear, “That’s my boy.”

The shift in Steve’s eyes is immediate and thrilling. His pupils dilate and he’s peachy pink, his lips parted. He nods quickly and stammers out, “Anything else I can do for you?”

Steve knows he’s been had and he’s a little humiliated, but the grin that spreads over Eddie’s face makes that exciting, too. He pockets the interaction for later, when he’s in the shower under the steam and can pretend it’s Eddie’s warmth.

It still takes them a while to get together officially, no matter how obvious it is that they want each other. When they do and they’ve had sex a few times, learned each other’s bodies and all the ways they like to be touched, Eddie brings up the subject of Steve’s praise kink. Steve doesn’t really know what that is, but once they’ve talked it out, he knows he wants whatever Eddie has to give him.

One of Steve’s favorite places to be is on his knees, looking up at Eddie from under his eyelashes with Eddie’s gorgeous cock in front of his face. “Be a good boy and open that pretty mouth for me,” and Steve obliges, sticking his tongue out and letting Eddie guide his length into his mouth.

“You look so good like this, baby,” Eddie says between moans and Steve’s skin is burning. “Take it all, you can do it,” and Steve wants to, loves how his eyes prick with tears when the head bumps the back of his throat.

Eddie dirty talks while he fingers him, getting him ready and listening to him keen. “Be a good boy and be patient, okay? I don’t wanna hurt you. You want it bad, huh?”

Steve nods, his hands making a mess in his hair, but Eddie likes to make him talk. “Use your words, baby. Lemme hear you.”

“I want it, Eds,” Steve pants, “Please.”

“What do you want, honey?”

Steve blushes furiously, it paints down his chest. “I want you to fuck me, Eddie,” he groans, “I want you inside me.”

“Good boy,” Eddie croons, loving it just as much. “I’ll give it to you soon.”

When he lines his dick up to Steve’s entrance, Steve positively trembling at this point, he teases him for good measure. “Who’s my good boy?”

Steve is alive, melting at the chance to be good for Eddie. It makes his mind swim to moan, “I am, I’m your good boy.”

Eddie can fuck him for ages, and he does so, Steve’s mind blissfully blank as Eddie lavishes him with praise. “You’re taking it so well, baby, so sweet for me.” His voice is gruff and deep in Steve’s ear. “Keep looking at me with those pretty eyes, tell me how much you love my cock.”

If only people knew how Steve Harrington comes after he babbles, sweaty and wrecked, “I love it Eddie, feels so fucking good, I wanna be good for you, please don’t stop,” it makes him feel so loved and wanted and safe.

Later when Eddie cleans him up with a warm rag, kissing every inch of skin he can reach, he lulls him with praise. “You’re amazing, angel, you make me feel so good. Took it so well, I’m proud of you.” And Steve won’t let go of him for hours, happy and relaxed.

[tootiredmotel]

a different lover is not a sin

or: 5 times Dean didn't go to Pride + 1 time he did

Happy @starrynightdeancas gift exchange posting day!!! This one's for the wonderful and talented @andzia267 !!! Sending you all the hugs and good vibes, and I hope you enjoy it! And thank you Sophie for hosting all this, you're a rock star! <3

Read on ao3 or below / 5.5k words

CW: homophobia, queer used as a slur, john winchester being an asshole

1 - 1994

Dean was fifteen years old when he found out that being gay was something people could be proud of. It was early in the morning, they'd left their motel about 20 minutes before, and Sammy had fallen asleep in the backseat. The sun was just starting to completely show over the horizon, and they were driving through– or rather, struggling to get out of– Phoenix on their way to a possible poltergeist in Tucson. Every street they tried to take was blocked for the big event, and dozens of people already lined the sidewalks with colorful outfits and signs.

"Fuckin' queers," John grumbled in the seat next to him. "Never should'a thrown that damn brick."

Big banners overhead displayed "Stonewall 25: A Global Celebration of Pride". Dean made a mental note to hit up a library once they got to Tucson to look that up, "Stonewall". In the meantime, he was mesmerized staring out the window. Guys held hands, women kissed, everyone was practically vibrating with excitement. A black man in heels and a wig caught his gaze through the window and waved. Dean started to wave back, but his hand was harshly swatted back down.

"Do not," John said. "Don’t talk to them, don’t even look at ‘em. These people are sick in the head."

Dean focused his gaze on his lap until they were out of the city, and his mind wandered back to the gas station they stopped at the day before. He thought of the guy at the cash register that called him "cutie" and winked at him as he bought a candy bar for Sammy and beers for Dad with his fake ID. By Dad’s logic– which Dean trusted, of course–, that cashier, that queer, must've been sick in the head.

Then Dean remembered how his heart sped up, how his ears got hot, and how for a second he let himself think the cashier was kinda cute too. He realized he must also be sick in the head, and the thought was making him feel actually, physically sick. He felt like throwing up. Dad could never know.

Dean was fifteen years old when he learned that being gay actually wasn't something to be proud of.

---

2 - 2000

Dean was 21 years old when he learned the word “bisexual”. Dad had caught word of a ghoul case in lower Manhattan and sent Dean to take care of it. It was starting to get too hot and the streets were too crowded, but Dean was mostly glad to get a break from the constant fighting between Dad and Sammy.

Except it was June, and every time he turned a corner, there they were. The Pride parade flyers.

The second he spotted a rainbow he averted his gaze. He turned another corner and spotted another one. He avoided reading them at all costs. He heard Dad’s voice. Sick. Sick in the head.

For years now Dean had pretended he wasn’t sick. He pretended to not stare at Patrick Swayze too much whenever Dirty Dancing played on TV. He pretended like he didn't imagine what it would be like to kiss a guy, what stubble would feel like against his lips if he ever did.

He liked women. He could stick to women. He could live his whole life like that. And that meant he wasn’t totally sick, right? He wasn’t gay -gay if he liked girls.

But then what the hell was he? Would he even belong at one of these Pride things if he wanted to? He was probably a freak of nature. Even sicker than the rest of the bunch.

Curiosity got the best of him. He spared a glance at one of the flyers as he waited to cross the street.

Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transexuals, ALL WELCOME

“Are you gonna go?” A voice next to him asked. ”It’s next weekend.” He was blond, pale, and a bit shorter than Dean.

“What? No! I don't swing that way,” Dean said, a bit too quickly and with too much bite.

The guy looked him up and down with a frown. “Geez, alright. Just askin’.”

He started to walk away, and Dean spoke up before he could stop himself.

“Hey man, wait.”

The guy stopped walking.

“Sorry, can I ask you something? Assuming you... know about this stuff?”

He seemed exasperated, but he turned anyway, willing to hear Dean out. Dean licked his lips, rubbed at the back of his neck, swallowed nervously. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, asking a stranger on the street about something so personal. At least the chances of meeting this person ever again were close to none.

“What’s bisexual?”

The guy’s features softened a bit. He seemed to understand something about Dean that so far Dean refused to acknowledge.

“It means you’re into more than one gender. And yes, you can do that,” the guy said. He flashed Dean a tight smile and then disappeared into the crowd.

Dean felt his hands go numb and balled them into fists, shoving them in his pockets. He took a deep breath through his nose. The guy said you. You are. You can.

The guy didn’t know what he was talking about. He knew nothing about Dean. He was wrong.

Or maybe he was right.

But he couldn’t be.

Dean couldn’t be… that.

Dean was 21 years old when he decided he wasn’t bisexual. He wasn’t anything. He was also 21 when he solved a case in record time (two days), just so he could book it out of New York before the next weekend arrived.

---

3 - 2004

By the time he was 25 years old, Dean knew he was bi. He hated it, he never spoke about it, and he ignored it as much as he could, but he was aware of it. And he knew he was bi because, at 25 years old, he’d already gone through two serious breakups, and they both equally sucked.

The first was Lee. He hunted with Dean and John for about a year, the second half of which Dean and Lee spent sneaking around and hooking up behind John’s back. It was fun, and hot, and exciting, and some of the best hookups he’d had up until that point in his life were with Lee.

But the thing is that it wasn’t just hooking up. They were close, and Dean liked him. A lot. They kissed for the first time after a particularly scary werewolf hunt in which Dean almost died, but John was more preoccupied with the mostly-unharmed victim than his own son. Dean and Lee rode in the backseat, bruised, bloody, and quiet. When John went to walk the victim up to her apartment, Lee reached over and placed a hand on Dean’s back, asking him if he was okay. Dean fell into Lee’s arms, and they kissed as they pulled away from the embrace, soft and comforting. It was Dean’s first kiss with a guy.

Lee was a lot of firsts for Dean over the next few months. But then John almost caught them once, drunk and making out in the Impala.

And then that case in Arizona went wrong, and Lee just couldn’t take it anymore. He packed up, swore off hunting, hugged Dean goodbye, and left him in the dust.

Dean needed to clear his head after that. He could barely look his dad in the eye after that close call, couldn't let him see the sorrow he was feeling. With every interaction, he imagined how John would yell at him, probably try to beat it out of him, if he noticed all he was feeling over Lee. Or worse, John could ignore him, practically disown him like he did Sam.

So he also packed up and left. Went hunting on his own for a while.

It was on one of those hunts that he met Cassie, and she was yet another handful of firsts for Dean over the course of a few months. She was amazing, and he fell hard and fast, but of course that went up in flames too.

Then again, he should've known better than to be honest. Honesty only ever got him in trouble.

He’d just left her back in Ohio and was working at a bar in Indianapolis for a few weeks to make some cash. He’d eventually meet back up with Dad. He just couldn’t right now. Not with Sam gone to college. Not after getting his heart broken twice over within a year.

He was hyper-aware of the end of June approaching. He knew it was coming, Indy had a pretty big celebration, and he made sure to be working all day that day so he wouldn't have to face it.

That was pointless, though. Toward the end of the day, a big group of about ten or twelve people who were clearly coming from the parade stumbled into the bar. One of them was apparently the owner’s little sister and they went there every year after the celebrations. They were loud, and obnoxious, and looked incredibly happy. Their happiness was contagious, and Dean loved serving them. He chatted them up, got to know them a bit, and heard all about the parade, all while staring down anyone at the bar who dared look their way with even the slightest stink eye.

But watching them that happy and comfortable, seeing not one, but two pairs of guys sloppily leaning against each other and sharing the occasional kiss while none of their friends seemed to bat an eye… something in Dean ached. Deeply.

Dean was 25 years old when he realized that a small part of him kind of, sort of, wanted to be part of this community. He couldn’t though. Not if he wanted to be on good terms with Dad. Not if he aimed to be the man Dad wanted him to be.

He left Indianapolis the next day.

---

4 - 2008

Dean was 29 years old and on his own personal highway to hell when he learned his brother went to a Pride parade before he ever did. They were driving through San José, the streets were lined with ads for Silicon Valley Pride, and Sam just casually decided to mention how fun it was the last time he went.

Thankfully they were at a red light, or else Dean probably would’ve slammed the breaks. He twisted to look at Sam head-on, his arm on the back of the seat.

“You what ?” he gawked.

Sam shrugged innocently. “What?”

“You went to one of these Pride things?”

“Yeah, dude.”

Dean’s brain was just trying and failing to load. “Why?” he finally asked.

“Jessica was in the GSA and some friends invited us. It was awesome.”

“She was in the what?”

“The G. S. A.,” Sam answered slowly. “Gay-Straight Alliance.”

“Oh.” Whatever that is, Dean thought. He kept eyeing the flyers. It was tomorrow.

“Green.”

“What?”

“Light’s green. Green means go.”

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

He kept driving and turned up the radio. Somebody To Love was playing, and as much as he liked Queen, he had to change the station. He tried to picture his little brother (his straight little brother) wearing rainbow face paint and having the time of his life at this thing. How come Sammy got to go when Dean could barely entertain the idea? Dean was the not-straight one. It wasn’t fair.

He channeled his jealousy into gripping the steering wheel.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Yeah.” No. “Yeah, m’fine.”

Dean was 29 years old when he died and went to hell without ever having gone to a Pride parade, knowing that his idiot ( straight! ) little brother already had.

---

5 - 2014

Dean was alive again and 35 years old (75, if you count hell) when he was formally invited to a Pride parade for the first time. It was a couple of days after that whole mess with Cas in Lucifer’s crypt, and he called Charlie. He just wanted to hear her voice, needed to know he was still on good terms with at least one of his best friends.

“So anyway,” Charlie said after a while of recounting what she’d been up to. "How single are you right now? My answer is: miserably."

Dean chuckled. Then he thought of Cas, and the smile disappeared. "Yeah, you and me both, sister."

“Would you mind coming with me to this thing next month? Going alone kinda sucks.”

Dean put the phone on speaker and placed it on the library table as he sat down with a beer. “What’s the thing?”

“Pride.”

Dean was glad no one was around to see him almost choke on his drink.

“You good?”

“Yeah, what was that?”

“Pride parade. Don’t have anyone to go with this year.”

“Why uh… Why? Why me?”

She knows.

“I dunno.”

She knows she knows she knows.

“You’re my friend, Dean. Thought maybe you might be interested. But never mind, I guess.”

And while all the alarms in Dean's head were blaring danger danger danger abort, he also hated to hear Charlie so disappointed.

“Hey, no, listen, Charlie, I… I would. Really. You know I support you, wholeheartedly." And that's obviously the only reason I would want to go. "But with Sam doing these trials, and Cas on the run with the angel tablet–”

“It’s okay Dean, I get it. Talk to you soon?”

“Yeah.”

And she hung up.

Dean knew, at this point, that there was nothing wrong with being queer. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, and it sure as hell didn’t mean you were wrong in the head or whatever.

But years of pretending to be a false version of yourself in an effort to please a man who was impossible to please wasn’t exactly an easy habit to break. As much as he wished it didn't, as much as he wished he could just exist, the thought of anyone finding out still made him sick to the stomach.

John’s voice still echoed in his ears. His words still drove Dean’s sense of self-worth and so many of his decisions. He tried to never stare at a good-looking guy for too long. He tried to not get too into it with Benny. He tried to keep his feelings for Cas at bay, tried to keep him at arm's length, tried to keep the fact that he was in love (deeply, stupidly in love) as close to his chest as he could.

Even that night at the crypt choking out the words to get through to Cas, he couldn’t bring himself to say what he meant. I love you, he’d wanted to say, because it was the truth. What came out, however, was I need you. And he did, he needed Cas more than air, but it wasn't quite everything.

It still got his heart split in two.

Was he so far gone over Cas that he couldn’t hide it? Had he been trying so hard and failing just as miserably this whole time? Was his attraction to dudes that obvious? Or did Charlie just have a sixth sense for this kinda thing?

It was probably the last one. He hoped it was.

Cas knew, for sure. Angels knew everything right? They could read minds, feel longing, or whatever. And if none of that ever tipped him off, well, Dean put it all on the line back in that crypt. He told Cas how he felt, told him he needed him, tried putting himself out there, and it got him left. Again. With Dean, it was always leave-or-get-left when it came to love. He was tired of it.

Dean was 35 years old, desperately in love with his best friend, and truly heartbroken for the third time in his life, when his other best friend– an out and proud lesbian– gave him a chance to go to Pride, to break through his shell, to finally embrace himself as he was; but because he was practically living in the closet, he couldn’t seem to find the handle after so many years of purposefully ignoring its existence, and he missed his chance. Besides, what was the point of going to a celebration of love without the love of his life by his side?

---

+1 - 2021

Dean is now 42 years old and the happiest he’s ever been. The love of his life? Cas? Turns out he’s felt the same way all along. They're kind of together now, and slowly but surely they’re working through a decade’s worth of shit.

They’ve been raising a kid together too, along with Sam and Eileen, and that kid is also God. After saving the world and whatnot, Jack decided to bring back some of their friends and family that died over the years: Mary, Kevin, Charlie. Yes, there are two Charlies now, but it’s not as confusing as you’d expect. (One is from another dimension, and the other one is Dean’s little sister. Simple.) Mary’s off hunting most of the time and Kevin’s applying to college.

They’ve got extended family now too, Jody and the girls. OG Charlie is staying with them for now, while she finds her footing. Most of that household is queer. Most of Dean's household is queer as well, actually. Turns out both Jack and Eileen are non-binary, Cas is gay in the broader sense of the word, and Dean…

Dean is bi. And everyone knows now.

Apparently, a lot of people had known for a long time. Sam has known since the siren back in ‘09 (even though Dean stands by the fact that it wasn’t like that, Sammy ), and everyone has slowly picked up on his and Cas’s thing over the years, so there’s that.

He still feels a bit weird about it. About calling Cas his boyfriend, about having the freedom to hold his hand in public, about the fact that they now have goddamn pride flags hung around the bunker. He feels even weirder about the fact that John’s voice in his head is now drowned out by the sounds of his home life, more lively and supportive than he ever expected to have.

He wasn’t expecting any of this, he didn’t think everything would change so fast. But when you spend the better part of your life pushing down such a huge part of you and then finally give yourself an out, a chance to show the people who love you who you really are, everything just... follows.

Love follows. Acceptance follows. Family follows. And he wasn’t really expecting any of it.

He certainly doesn’t expect it when Cas walks into the library after his weekly Thursday evening call with Claire and announces, matter-of-factly and with air quotes, “We’re going to "Pride" this weekend.”

Dean’s stomach drops. It’s the Sioux Falls Pride Parade and Festival, it’s in two days, and they’re leaving tomorrow to spend the night at Jody’s so they can all be there bright and early Saturday morning. Everyone immediately starts bustling about, packing and planning outfits and gathering flags to bring with them.

Dean just goes to his room– his and Cas’s now– to pack a small duffle.

Well, he means to. Instead, he takes out the duffle from the closet, puts it on the bed, and sits next to it for a while. An hour goes by. He thinks back to all those times he had brushes with one of these things and was just never in the right mindset. He’s not even sure he’s in the right mindset now, but he’s going. It’s happening.

“Jack’s all ready to go,” Cas says when he walks in. “We spent about half an hour putting together an outfit for Saturday. He wanted it to be as colorful as possible.”

Dean smiles, but it’s not all there. He looks at the empty duffle next to him.

“Yeah, I might need some help with that myself.”

Cas is in sweats and a hoodie. Yes it’s June, yes it’s hot, but he’s a quasi-angel, and the way he experiences the world Dean will never be able to wrap his head around. He walks over and stands in front of Dean, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face until he’s cupping Dean’s jaw. Dean takes Cas’s hand and leaves a few kisses on the inside of his wrist, closing his eyes as he does.

Cas regards the empty bag and hums quietly, as if in thought, before walking over to their closet. Dean chases his hand, holding onto it until he’s completely out of reach. Cas starts searching, and Dean’s stomach knots more and more with each clang of the hangers. Cas finally pulls out a flannel from its hanger– purple with hints of blue and pink– and tosses it over. Dean can’t believe he didn’t think of it first.

They continue to pack in comfortable silence before changing and getting into bed. Dean doesn’t flop onto his stomach or cuddle into Cas’s side as he usually does; instead, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling in a daze.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice snaps him out of it.

Dean turns his head and asks, automatically, “You okay?”

It’s a habit by now, asking each other that question. It’s part of the working-through-a-decade’s-worth-of-shit thing they’re doing. Turns out they share a whole lot of trauma. They share worries and insecurities. They share nightmares sometimes, mostly about the Empty.

“I’m okay,” Cas says, putting his hand on top of Dean’s heart for him to hold, and Dean can breathe a little easier.

“You nervous about this thing?” Dean asks, interlocking their fingers.

“The parade? No, not really.”

And then, because he's been working on communicating how he's feeling out loud or whatever, Dean looks back up at the ceiling and says, "I am. Kinda."

He feels Cas shifting and propping himself up on his elbow, and then he's in Dean's line of sight. Dean's gaze is drawn to him, like all of him has been since the moment they met, and Dean can't believe he just has this now. He has a boyfriend, and it's Cas, and he's looking down at Dean with stars in his eyes and a comforting smile that actually works because it's Cas.

And then Cas is leaning down and softly pressing their lips together, and that's also something Dean can’t believe he gets to do: kiss Cas good morning and good night and at any moment in between, kiss him I'm sorry, kiss him we're going to be okay, kiss him I love you.

"I love you too, Dean," Cas says once they've pulled away, and Dean didn't even realize he'd said it out loud, but it doesn't matter. "And you don't need to be nervous. I'll be there with you."

The thought should be a thousand times more nerve-wracking, not just going to Pride but going to Pride with Cas on his arm. It's not nerve-wracking at all, and he soon drifts off to sleep.

Friday goes by faster than it should. The six-hour drive to Sioux Falls, although packed in a car with five people, goes by in a blink. They stop for provisions before getting to Jody's, filling up on backpacks' worth of snacks.

They get to the house and are met with endless hugs and excitement to match. Patience, Alex, and Jody are already working on dinner for the bunch, while Charlie, Donna, and Kaia are running around prepping for the next day and dragging along a hesitant but nevertheless happy Claire. Dinner is chaotic and loud and there are way too many people at the table, and Dean has to step outside after a while.

He sits on the back porch steps. Claire joins him. She's holding a beer, he's not. He hasn't been drinking for a few months now. They don't talk, but she leans her head on his shoulder and they stay there a while, looking at the stars.

When they go back inside, Claire sits back down in her spot at Cas's left, across the table from Dean, and leans on his shoulder for a while too. It's her way of saying she cares, of saying I missed you without really saying it. Jack sits at Cas's right, talking excitedly with Patience about some tv show or other, and the image fills Dean with such fondness that he reaches over with his foot, presses it to Cas's ankle, and keeps it there for the rest of the night.

Dean, Cas, Jack, Sam, and Eileen spend the night spread out around in the living area while the girls sleep in their respective rooms, and Dean is only slightly less nervous as he falls asleep holding Cas’s hand.

---

The nerves all come flooding back as he’s parking the Impala the next morning.

They’re not able to get even remotely close to Phillips Avenue since the streets are so full. They park the three cars that all twelve of them came in as close as they can and then have to walk for another twenty minutes. From blocks and blocks away, people walk and holler and greet them excitedly, many of them trying to circle this swarm of flanneled individuals that are taking up a whole sidewalk. Granted, Dean and Claire are the only ones in their usual kind of outfit. The rest of the bunch is wearing as many colors as they could compile from their closets, half of them are wearing face paint, and the other half are carrying an assortment of pride flags.

They fit right in.

The walk toward the main avenue of the parade is kind of a blur for Dean. He knows he waved at a few people, some friends of Alex from high school joined the group at some point, and Jack already grabbed a snack from his backpack.

The actual parade is also kind of hazy. Getting out of the house that morning had been probably even more chaotic than the night before, so they’re a bit late and the parade has already been going for a good half hour. On top of that, they accidentally merge into it not quite at the starting point but a bit further down the road, in between a decked-out pickup truck and a group of people with dogs. Music is blaring, the dogs are all barking, a big float rides a few yards in front of them, and hundreds stand on the sidewalks recording on their phones and cheering them along.

Dean’s not sure they’re even supposed to be in the actual parade. Maybe they’re supposed to be on the sidewalks? Is this right? What is happening, what is he even doing here?

He doesn’t notice how heavy he’s breathing until Cas is squeezing his hand and beckoning him to meet his eyes. He does, and the blue in them, as imposing as the Atlantic, drowns out everything else around them. “You’re okay, my love,” Cas says. It’s a fact. As long as Dean is with him, he’s okay.

On his other side, Dean feels someone link their arm around his. It’s Charlie, and she’s beaming at them, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. It brings Dean back to reality, grounds him, but he’s okay now. He’s not alone, and he’s meant to be here.

He’s proud to be here.

The parade leads up to a sloping park, and at the lowest point of it, there’s a stage where Dean assumes someone will MC for the afternoon, or maybe perform. It’s grandiose in its simplicity, kind of like a Greek theater, with everyone settling down on the grass around it, expectantly.

“We’ll be right back,” Dean hears Sam say, and he turns to find they’re all set to spend the afternoon, towels laid and backpacks off (save for his). “Jack wants to go meet the drag queens,” Sam says with just a bit too much glee before he and Jack take off.

“It’s not just Jack,” Eileen smiles and follows.

Cas is already sitting, eating one of the PB&Js he packed as lunches for everyone. Jody and Donna are settling down as well and Charlie’s taking a dozen pictures, but the rest of the girls are all standing. “We’re gonna go check out the vendors,” Claire announces, and they start to take off as well.

“Be careful, please!” Dean calls after them, but they pay him no mind. He turns to Charlie. “Hey, your majesty, keep an eye on them will you?”

She smiles, bows gracefully, and heads in the same direction.

Jody stands and grabs Dean by the arm, beckoning him to talk in private for a second.

“What’s up?”

If Dean knows Jody at all, and he does, they’re on the brink of a mom talk.

“Look around, Dean.”

“What for?”

“Just look,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Please?”

So, at her request, Dean starts taking in the environment. Now that everyone is gathered, he can actually see all the people that came out (heh) for the event. There are church groups, pet shelters, skateboarders, and rollerskaters. Drag queens are already taking pictures by the stage, and at least two people are wearing unicorn heads. A few vendors’ tents and food trucks surround the park, and rainbows completely dominate the scenery. There are elders, and kids, and all kinds of families and couples, and everyone looks… happy. Free.

And Dean is here with them. He is one of them.

There’s no danger, no monsters of any kind. No one to judge him, hurt him, call him sick in the head.

He finds Claire’s blonde head amongst the sea of shoppers at the edge of the park. She’s holding hands with Kaia and has one of the biggest smiles Dean has ever seen on her face. There’s no shame in it, and she’s not in any danger either. Things are different now, and she has the freedom to be herself that he never had at her age.

He has it now too. He can be himself.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s about to cry until Jody pulls him down into a hug.

“Dean, I am so proud of you.”

And then he cries.

---

They spend the afternoon laying on the grass, eating, drinking, and enjoying the festivities. The girls come back from the vendors’ tents after a full hour, and most of the bags on their arms are Charlie’s. She gets Cas a mug that says bee yourself in rainbow colors with an image of a cartoon bee, and she gets Dean a button pin that says AC/DC in pink and blue. There’s a meaning behind that apparently, and Dean decides he’ll look it up later.

Jack memorizes all the drag queen’s names. Donna takes a million pictures. They trade numbers with a few people.

There’s a big fireworks show just after sundown. It starts to get windy and a bit chilly, so Dean grabs the nearest pride flag and wraps it around himself. Cas, the perpetual freak who just doesn’t feel temperature apparently, is wearing a t-shirt and shorts and smiling at him unabashedly.

“What?”

“That’s the bisexual flag.”

So it is. “Shut up,” Dean says, but he’s smiling too. “You want in on this?”

He doesn’t wait for Cas to respond before he wraps it around his shoulders as well. The fireworks continue.

“You know,” Cas says after a beat. “As beautiful as they are, pyrotechnics are extremely damaging to the environment.”

Dean can’t help but laugh because of course, Cas would say something like that in a moment like this. He laughs and laughs and regrets being the only one to have heard that; then again, he’s the only one who could’ve found that funny.

He laughs a bit more, wipes a tear, and sees that Cas is still just solemnly watching the show.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He replies and then turns his head.

Dean wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so bad. Then he remembers where he is, physically and in his life right now, realizes whom he’s surrounded by at this very second, and decides that he can.

So he does. It’s not unlike the way he kissed Cas when they rescued him from the Empty. Granted, there’s less sweat, blood, adrenaline. But just like that day, they’re both on the ground, and the gesture catches Cas by surprise. Just like that day, Dean pulls Cas in gently by the back of his neck and there’s no hesitance or fear. Just like that day, he just does it, presses their lips firmly together, and relishes in the taste of Castiel, in the feeling of the person he loves most in this world kissing him back.

The one big difference is this: that day marked the beginning of the rest of his life. Today? Today is just Dean’s first Pride.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

IUI- Favorite Weirdo

i missed the idiots 🤷‍♀️ 

Warnings: none i think? its a lil ‘slice of life’ thing idk

__________________

Triss’ face lit up as Geralt walked into the tattoo shop, arms laden with coffee and muffins, as promised. 

“Oh thank fuck you’re here,” Triss sighed, snagging the largest drink out of Geralt’s tray and almost sending the whole thing crashing to the ground, “I haven’t been able to get to a single email all day. Can you distract Ciri for like an hour? Maybe two?”

Geralt set the rest of his coffee shop haul down on the counter before kissing Triss on the forehead and handing her her favorite flavor muffin, “Where did you lock the little beast?”

Taking a massive bite of the muffin, Triss pointed toward the little kitchenette/break room just as the sound of stainless steel bowls clattering to the ground burst out of the crack in the door. She just looked at Geralt with pleading eyes for a moment before taking a massive swig of coffee. 

Frowning, and a little scared to see what had happened, Geralt poked his head into the kitchen, “What’s going on in here kiddo?”

Ciri was desperately trying to scoop what looked like pancake batter back into a bowl but froze as soon as she heard Geralt, staring at him as only a nine-year-old who’s been caught red-handed can, “Nothing.”

“Mhm, looks like it,” Geralt snickered, “Would you like some help with nothing?”

Sitting back on her heels, Ciri let her batter-covered hands plop onto her jeans as she nodded, giving him her biggest puppy eyes. 

“I brought snacks, do you just want to clean up and eat those or do you want pancakes still?”

“Uncle bear, this isn’t food it’s homemade playdough! Kind of… I don’t think I got it right...” 

Geralt could only sigh, “You’re so lucky Mum sent me in after you.”

Forty-five minutes later, they’d somehow removed all evidence of the failed craft project and Geralt had offered himself up as the walking talking coloring book as per usual. 

“Hey, Geralt?” Ciri asked, coloring each feather on his Griffin tattoo a different highlighter color.

He immediately perked up at the use of his actual name but kept his tone casual, “Yeah, Kiddo?”

She took a moment to glance up at him, looking oh so much like her mother as she turned around and pretended to dip the marker she was using in an ink cap and tucked her hair behind her ear as she got back to filling in the tattoo, “Do you think I’m weird?”

He could barely keep from cracking up at the question. She was easily the weirdest kid he’d ever met, and it was only reinforced by the way she treated the marker like a tattoo machine and even wiped a paper towel over the spot she was working on. But something in the way she asked made him think that would be the wrong answer. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Dara called me weird at school and some other kids laughed.”

Geralt waited for her to continue, but she just leaned a little closer to the tattoo to work on coloring the eyes bright blue so he prodded her a bit, “I thought you and Dara were friends?”

“We are, I think he meant it nicely. But why would the other kids laugh if he wasn’t being mean?” 

“Ah…” Geralt nodded sagely, a move he’d perfected over the years that tricked Ciri into thinking he was far wiser than he really was, “They haven’t learned how much fun weirdos can be. I fill my life with weirdos.”

Ciri giggled, “Are you calling your family weirdos?”

“Absolutely,” Geralt confirmed, an over-exaggerated serious look on his face that made Ciri give another round of giggles. 

“I’m your favorite weirdo though, right?”

“Nope” he answered, popping the p with a shit-eating grin on his face. Ciri shoved at his arm with a gasp as he continued, “You’re my second favorite.”

She capped the marker and folded her arms, looking far too much like her other mother with mock offense on her face, “Who beat me?!”

“Uncle Ask,” Geralt answered as if it was the most obvious answer in the world and making Ciri roll her eyes as she picked out another color.

“But you said he was the coolest person you knew last week?”

“Yup,” Geralt nodded, “A cool weirdo.”

Ciri shot him a suspicious glare as if she was trying to figure out a puzzle, “I think he’s just your favorite person.”

“Well, yeah. That’s why I married him.” 

Making a face Ciri poked him a little extra hard with the maker she was using, another painfully Yen action, “I’m still mad I didn’t get to go to the wedding.”

Geralt couldn’t help but belly-laugh at this, “Kid you weren’t even born yet.”

“But I like weddings!”

“Well if you find a Tardis you’re welcome to go attend!”

As the conversation spiraled into stubborn nine-year-old silliness, Triss and Jaskier leaned against the door to the large open tattooing area.

Sipping his chai latte, Jaskier frowned and pointed at his husband, “Every time they hang out it seems like he turns into even more of a child.”

Triss stifled a laugh so they wouldn’t be caught watching, “I find it cute. Until she convinces him to do something stupid.”

“Like the hand-stand incident?” Jaskier asked, snickering as quietly as possible. 

“What possessed him to let her do a handstand on a moving horse?!” Triss asked, both amused and baffled. 

Jaskier sighed and shrugged, “He’s a himbo.”

“This himbo can hear you!” Geralt called, raising his hand behind Ciri’s back to flip them off with a grin over his shoulder. 

Triss and Jaskier turned to each other with wide eyes and a guilty look before cracking up. 

Guiding Triss back to the front desk, Jaskier called over his shoulder, “I love you, honey!”

Geralt raised his voice so they could hear him as they walked down the hall, “Weirdos can also be lovable assholes, Ciri.”

The last they could hear from the room as Jaskier and Triss got back to work was Ciri squealing about a swear jar in absolute delight.