#Not when living means he can stick around and keep loving his friends

[kacievvbbbb]

I don't know especially with the lastest chapter (ch 265) this just feels so much like Yuuji.

Like especially in the first season people kept asking why he is doing all this, why he wants to save people, why he's beating himself up so much over people he barely knows. People kept wanting to know Yuuji's why and he couldn't explain it he was holding unto the promise he made to his granfther as an explanation but that wasnt really is.

And then you have Mahito who tried to force his own defintion of who yuuji was unto him and beat him down until Yuuji believed it too. He's just a machine killing curses because thats his nature vs Mahito killing humans cause thats his nature. They are beings of instinct slaves to their nature, cogs in the machine. And Yuuji internalizes that so much it weighs so heavily on him the idea that his job isnt to save people but kill curses doesn't sit right with him.

but then at what should be his lowest point he stares his biggest tormentor in the face and said you know what I don't particulalry care what you or anyone else thinks about my reasons. I don't think you have to have grand or innate reasons to do something. Sometimes you just do! and what yuuji wants, more than anything; more than killing curses more than keeping the "weak" safe, is to save his friends. And it's too late for a lot of them, Yuuji was too late but goddam it he won't be late for this. So fuck Sukuna he's bringing Megumi home.

[hoshigray]

I told you I was going to do it and here I am lmao. Any who reader and Toji are bumming on the couch watching a movie within the movie there is a spicy scene involving 69 that is mediocre. It gives reader an idea to make a bet with Toji to see who can last the longest. Toji isn't budging at first but when the reader mentions that they want to do in the same position within the movie (something they never did before) he gladly accepts the challenge. I'll leave the plot and ending up to you love. I know you will work your magic for him.

69 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐒𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 .ᐟ | toji fushiguro

hehehe ty jazz, i'll do my best for youuu ☆☆☆

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - masturbation (m! receiving) - 69 position - oral (f! + m! receiving) - impact play (spanking + f! receiving) - overstimulation - clitoral play (licking and sucking) - pet names (baby, doll, mama, pretty thing) - mention of saliva/spit. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9k

“Wow….this movie kinda sucks.”

“Mhm…Aye, y’re the one who wanted to watch this shit.” 

“Well, I mean, at least it’s…semi-enjoyable.”

Toji and you were sitting on the couch, winding down in the living room after a nourishing dinner. One of the many things you liked to do with your man was to watch movies, figuring that would be a perfect thing to do during the downtime to chill and huddle with your man. What you didn’t expect, however, was how underwhelming the movie seemed. 

It was one of those rated R movies batted around within the year, figuring now would be an ideal time to get to it. Welp, it was entertaining enough for you two to continue watching. Now, being midway through, it’s getting a little frustrating to deal with. 

“Oh, okay…” annnnnd now the film has transitioned to an abrupt sex scene….how great. “I guess this is why it’s rated R.”

The sex scene you two were watching was…average at best. You’ve seen way spicier scenes in your life — hell, literal cringey porn you’ve watched with your friends was heavily more explicit than this. There was the rushed kissing, the frantic clothes coming off, no amount of foreplay whatsoever — just heading right into it, exaggerated cries coming from the woman as the guy frantically humps her nude frame.

You observe the scene through a neutral gaze as you lay against Toji’s side, his arm stretched to your shoulder to keep you close. But then, your head tilts when something on the screen catches your attention. 

The camera pans to the guy’s face, who’s lying on the bed as the other straddles them, facing his lower half. For a few seconds, you can only see the guy’s face until the camera follows him going closer to the girl’s ass that’s hovered before him. His tongue sticks out before he propels his mouth to her bottom, and her muffled moans can be heard off-screen with his grunts. 

Loud, amateur sounds aside, the position sparked something for you to turn and ask the following to your boyfriend: “Hey, Toji?” He hums, feeling the vibration of his voice from your hand on his chest. “Have you ever done that position?”

You can see his eyebrows trench down — not bewildered by your question, but pondering how he could answer truthfully. “Mmm…I think so? Been a long while, though.”

You nod aimlessly with your eyes glued to the screen, hearing the woman’s whimpers get a bit louder as the guy grasps her ass while “eating her out.” The thought of being on top of Toji and his mouth and hands on your body like that, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to remind yourself not to get too—

“Why you ask; ya horny?” Well, you can’t be too modest around this man, huh. You finally turn to look at him, prepared for the smirk he greets you with. A smile is all you reply with. “Sorry, baby, I don’t know about tonight. Kinda tired.” 

For a few seconds, you’re on his side. You understand he’s a little fatigued from work today and only wants to chill with his partner. However, a tiny part of you – the devilish cutie side – takes over and slides your hand from his chest. Down to his hard abs covered by his black wife beater, stopping at his clothed inner thigh, resulting in him hitching his breath. 

“Tired?” You say in a soft tune, your eyes peering down to your hand as it rubs on his thigh, inching further and further in. You take note of Toji’s fingers tapping on your shoulder – a silent warning. “Are you sure about that?” 

“You better move that hand, Y/n.” His body jolts when your hand creeps up to his groin, motioning around it with provocative kneads. 

“Hmm, why?” You play coy, placing kisses on the underside of his chin. “You tired of me?” 

He throws his head back at your soft lips, attacking his neck while your hand comes to the hem of his sweatpants. A shaky breath is released at the contact of your cold fingers on his warm erection. “Hmmm…could never be tired of you….Ahhh,“ your forefinger swipes around the glans.

“Then what are you so scared of?” You keep pressing on, sucking on his skin under your lips. His length gets firmer under your grasp, veins grazed by your fingertips. “Scared you wouldn’t last longer than me?”

“Ohh, don’t play with me, Y/n,” Toji grunts, the hand on your shoulder grips your cardigan. His erect cock throbs on your palm, and precum begins to leak out from you, playing with the tip. “–Mmmph…I already told you I wasn’t feelin’ it tonight.”

Liar, you say to yourself, noting him breathing slowly while you massage his balls. “Please, Toji?” You ask sweetly to his ear, his hand coming down to your waist as you stroke him off. “I never done that position before, but it looks real fun…I wanna do it with you.” 

Toji doesn’t give in easily, looking at you with a raised brow. So you throw in another please with an innocent pout and two bats of the eyes to seal the deal. He chortles; how can he say no to you looking at him like that? “Bet I can make you lose within the first few minutes.” 

You beam at him, “Bet I can make you cum first.”

“Y’re not gonna last for very long, princess, I can promise you that.”

A smirk pulls your cheeks. “Let’s try it out then.”

And just like that, with a mutual agreement, the challenge was put to the test. 

So here you are, straddling on top of Toji on the living room couch, both your bottoms and his sweats on the cold floor. Your bare ass out in front of him to see as he lies with his head on the couch pillow. Your front facing his legs, and his dick erected for you to lick and suck on. 

It started slow in the beginning; Toji massages your asscheeks as you lick around the glans and stroke his girth. “Mmmm, just like that, mama,” he praises, egging you on to take in more of him. Your mouth bobbing up and down his shaft, gradually taking in inch by inch until your mouth reaches the hilt. “Fuuck, feels so good…”

You aren’t forgotten either, Toji starting with slow licks, his tongue lapping your labia. You mewl on his cock, voluntarily moving your hips to satiate the throbs of your cunt. Shit, you love it when he eats you out, but this position makes you turn on even more — unable to see what he’s doing, letting his hands and tongue speak for himself. 

And you have to give it to yourself; you mangled to survive for a little while! The first minute was just him warming you up, teasing your folds with swishes to get you real wet as you blow him, his fingers groping your ass as his thumb plays around your ass taint. It all had you riled up, rocking your lower half so much that the man had to station you still for him to feast on your wetness properly. 

It wasn’t until you felt his tongue brush up on your clitoris did shit get serious. One sharp, muffled gasp paired with a jolt from your body. Of course, Toji noticed, his grin coming from ear to ear. “Oh, did I do that?” Yes, you did, you bastard. “Heh, you are not ready for this, baby…”

He says this before stuffing his mouth back into your leaky chasm so his tongue could swirl around your slit with vigor so rough that you nearly choked on your gasp for air. “—Oohh!! W–Wait, Toji, not so—Ahhn!” Fast licks have you squirm, prompting your man to keep you on him with his hands on your waist. It’s hard to concentrate giving Toji a blowjob with him nibbling on your labia before throwing more laps on your clitoris. 

“Wait, Toji, s-stoop; I’m gonna—Nnaaah!” Your fingers clamp around his girth, howling as he bullies his tongue to enter your vagina, his face buried nose-deep in your ass while sucking on your genitals. “Fuuck, oh shit, I can’t…Ohh, ohhh!!”

And just like that, you release into his mouth before you could even prepare yourself. Your trembling figure jolts with every shock coursing through your body. And Toji drinks your essence with every passing wave, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you straddled above him. 

Oh fuck, the clarity you experience is mind-blowing every time he eats you out — whimpers escape pretty lips as your sensitive nerves still receive gingerly laps on your soapy folds. That felt way too good, oh my God…

But it doesn’t stop there — no, no. Not with Toji, too pleased with how he made your legs tremble before him. He snickers while spreading your folds, “Pretty thing, look at you winking at me...Nnmm, so fuckin’ good…”

He brings his mouth back to your cunt, and you jerk from the contact as your body is still not rid of the shocks from the previous orgasm. You frantically call for him, trying to writhe your ass away from him. “Ohhnn, Toji, wait, let me rest for a—Ahhhnn!!“

A sharp pain comes from an abrupt smack to your buttcheek, the skin stinging from the impact of Toji’s hand. “Aht, aht, don’t try and run now. You talked big earlier, even when I warned you.” He smacks your ass again, his fingers digging deep into your flesh to pinch. You scream for him — that’s what he wants. “Now you’re gonna sit right here and let the winner have his fill.” 

You can’t argue with him from there; Toji’s hold on you not giving in to your attempts of mercy — same for his mouth on your delicate labia. The noises coming from there are so raunchy, downright erotic, way more than whatever the hell that movie was doing. You could only wail out your cries, eyes spiraling up to your head from every lap to your clit. No point fighting the pleasure, resting your head on his thigh.

But that was short-lived because Toji was quick to correct you with another slap to your butt. Shit came out of nowhere, almost choking on your spit. “C’mon now, doll, you can’t leave me hangin’ here. Suck me off, princess.” He rubs the pain on your butt away, yet you know he’d do it again if you weren’t compliant.

You bring his fat cock back to your face, licking on the tip while stroking him. You take in the head and suck him in, bobbing your head and coating his length with your saliva. Kisses to his glans result in him burrowing his face into your ass again, hungry lips ravishing your tender insides. Jesus, the way his tongue flicks on your clit has you humming on his cock nonstop.

Oh, God, oh fuuuuck, you remove your lips from Toji’s dick, yet your hand keeps gliding up and down. “—Mwah! Hoohhh, oohhh, Tojiiii…! Again, I’m gonna cum, again….Khaa—Ohhhhh!!”

The second orgasm hits you hard, more keenly than the last, and your body quivers on top of Toji once again. Whines come from wet lips as you descend into your haze, and your toes curl as Toji doesn’t withdraw himself until he’s satiated his thirst with every remnant of your fluids. 

With every jolt and shock flowing down your frame, you use this time to let your body ride this high out, placing chaste kisses on Toji’s cock. That is until you feel Toji suck on your folds suddenly. You jump and quake, turning around to beg. “Stooohp; let me rest, please!”

He gives you a smug look with a playful smack to your hot, stinging butt. “Done being curious now, mama?”

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are wholeheartedly appreciated ☆ dividers by @/benkeibear.

[lundenloves]

dad!simon masterlist | taglist | masterlist | request info

dad!simon who will near fall asleep on the sofa, sat upright with wide legs and his arms crossed, only opening one eye to pretend he’s listening while one of his daughters rambles about school drama.

dad!simon who scoffs when another monthly subscription or amazon payment goes through his card, brows knitted together after asking just why the house has to be subscribed to four separate streaming services.

dad!simon who never remembers his kids’ friends names. it could be his daughters best friend of seven years and he still wouldn’t remember.

dad!simon who visually could not care less about the gossip his daughter waffles about, mumbling “mhm” every so often to appear engaged though shrugging when called out on his evident boredom.

dad!simon who tsks at all the parcels that come through the door day-to-day. living with three daughters and a wife, it’s constant. he detests being the only one home and having to sign for something — will actively ignore a knock on the door when there’s other people in the house.

dad!simon who (when drunk) is the height of amusement for his eldest. many snapchats exist of him being handed the phone already recording and goofily grinning into it while looking up at her “what am i supposed to be looking at?”

dad!simon who sticks post-it notes in bold handwriting to the fridge whenever anyone has an appointment due the following day. “don’t forget.” complete with a fullstop and a harsh underline of the time in military digits.

dad!simon who replies sarcastically to almost every obvious question with his natural glare, something each of his kids had genetically taken: “don’t ask stupid questions and you won’t get stupid answers.” he loves them really.

dad!simon who silenced the family groupchat as soon as he had figured out how to, only replying every other day with a thumbs up reaction or more likely a thumbs down.

dad!simon who side eyes his kids. he doesn’t mean it, yet it happens. watching throw away tv? side eye. talking too loud on the phone? side eye. wearing a questionable outfit? side eye.

dad!simon who has a firm routine. he fucking detests being interrupted, and or spoken to from the hours of five till seven in the morning. he’ll get up, have food and go to the gym all in this time frame before anyone can dent his peace.

dad!simon who sighs avidly. a long and painful sigh after any merely simple question is asked or he’s to pick up one of his kids from a night out. “fucking well told ‘er not to expect me past twelve.” while accidentally slamming the door behind him, keys jingling around his finger.

dad!simon who struggles to show affection in any other way than a short pat of the shoulder or a one armed hug, pulling his kids into his chest for mere seconds before stepping back.

dad!simon who groans whenever anything gets moved in the house. his military mind in favour of keeping things in one position, untouched and moved for preferably ever unless he was told. though, having kids didn’t quite work like that.

dad!simon who: “do i ‘av to do fucking everything in this house? eh?”

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffeee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob

˗ˏˋ university is still kicking my arse into next week. i joined the football team too, fuck knows why i’m making myself busier than i have to be. alas here we are, and i’m feeding the pigeons! aka sprinkling dad headcannons until i get traction again. pls love me, pls follow me, pls reblog, pls validate me.

the reason i tag this as ‘x reader’ as it’s ur fuckin family with him. no one bite my head off man i can’t be bothered tonight.

[leonsdolly]

Cherry Pies

Leon Kennedy x fem!reader x Ashley Graham

Synopsis: You propose the idea of a threesome to your boyfriend, but you accidentally get your feelings hurt during the act.

CW: nsfw 18+, p in v, threesome, ddlg/daddy kink, oral (both male and female receiving), face-sitting, unprotected sex, creampie, cum-eating, fingering, jealousy, implied age gap (mid 20s, early 40s)

WC: 4.5k

If there’s one thing you cherish in life, it’s Leon’s propensity for spoiling you. There’s no end to his love for his cute girlfriend; he’ll do anything for you, and if that means listening to you prattle on about your coworkers’ nightmare hookups or assembling a cozy country cottage for your Sylvanian families, so be it. He’ll swallow all reservations, not that he has any, for the sake of keeping his baby happy. He’s made it known that you’re the best thing that's ever happened to him, all pink and saccharine, like a sugar plum fairy. However, your latest request has him raising an eyebrow.

“Are you sure about this, babydoll?”

“Sure I’m sure!” Your eyes twinkle with excitement as you plop yourself on his lap with your arms around him. “I’ve always wanted to try it… and you like Ashley, right? You said she’s my only friend whose perfume doesn't make you sneeze.”

“Oh right,” Leon thinks back to the friend you’re referring to. He’s only met her once, but he seemed to approve of your friendship. She was well-mannered and indulged in your dramatic retellings of everyone else’s lives for him when he was just too busy licking the government’s bootstraps. “You sure you’re okay with this, baby? Won’t get jealous?” His voice is teasing but a glimmer of truth peeks out. You almost clawed his eyes out when he wolf-whistled at a character from one of the video games you played - the female mercenary in red. Your gel manicure (procured on his dime, of course) was fresh at the time and was the only thing preventing you from expressing your displeasure.

“Gosh, just let me have this, Daddy…” You give him the most precious puppy dog eyes you can muster.

“I’m just looking out for you, sweet girl.” He touches his forehead against yours so that he’s gazing straight into your eyes. “You can get feisty sometimes, you sure you won’t mind if I have my tongue in another girl’s pussy?”

His words deliver a current straight to your core like an electrode is attached to your clit. You lean in closer to nip at his lips, swiping your tongue across them. He chuckles and presses against you for a proper sloppy kiss, intertwining his tongue with yours. You slowly grind your hips against his lap, feeling his cock harden beneath you. His hands slip underneath your shirt, caressing your back and slinking forward to squeeze your tits as he continues to lap into your mouth.

“What if we didn’t fuck until then?” You cease all movement and pull back, causing him to chase your pretty lips with a slight frown.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, doll.”

“No, it'll be fun!” Your eyes glint with mischief. “No sex until then. That way, you can channel all of that pent up energy into fucking Ashley and I properly.” 

“Baby, I’m already energetic when it comes to fucking you properly no matter how many times we do it.” He moves to kiss you again, but you dodge and press your finger against his lips.

“You’re just gonna blueball me?” His offended tone makes you giggle as you wrap your arms around him and snuggle into his chest.

“There's more to a relationship than sex, y’know.” You’re laying it on real thick at this point; it's utter shit coming out of your mouth, you know it, he knows it, and it's amusing all the same.

“Mhm, I know the girl who cries when my cock isn't in her mouth isn't saying this.”

“Daddy!” You tilt your head up, sticking your tongue out at him.

“I’m just saying. You know I’ll do anything for you, baby. If this is what you want, so be it. Just don't be surprised if I blow my load in two seconds flat and embarrass you in front of your friend.” He nuzzles against your hairline.

“You’re being dramatic,” you roll your eyes and hug him tighter.

T-Minus 3 days.

You shoo Leon away when his hands glide under your skirt in an attempt to touch your pussy.

T-Minus 2 days.

You send Leon a picture of your bare tits, nipples perky through the screen.

T-Minus 1 day.

You let Leon fuck his fist with your used panties wrapped around his cock.

D-Day.

Ashley comes over, all smiles and chirps while Leon is still away at work. The two of you gossip about everything and everyone over delicate glasses of chardonnay while occasionally brushing against each other’s bare legs. You’re clad in a white lacy bra with pale pink trim and white panties with a dainty bow in the same shade of pink - Leon’s favorite colors on you. Ashley wears a matching set in baby blue that brings out her eyes - your favorite color on her. You giggle as you do each other’s hair and makeup to perfection.

“Perfect,” you smile as you playfully tap the blush brush on her button nose. “My daddy likes blush on girls.”

Ashley giggles at this as she runs a hand over your bare thigh. “We’re gonna make Daddy so happy.” Oh God, she's a natural at this - you didn't need to coach her through the dynamics of your relationship with Leon. She knew exactly what to say and how to act - the perfect daddy’s girl. You chose her for a reason after all.

You head to the bed where you curl up against each other to wait for Leon’s homecoming. Ashley looks awfully pretty in the ambient glow of your bedside lamp - shiny blonde hair, smooth skin, cute tits that stand on their own without much help from a push-up bra. Oh, Leon’s going to eat her up. You mentally give yourself a pat on the back as you brush your lips against hers. She kisses you back, and your hand comes up to tweak at her perky nipple through the delicate lace of her bra. You press your breasts against hers as you both moan quietly into each other's mouths. The feeling of her tits rubbing against yours makes your thighs clench together - your pussy’s wet, and your boyfriend isn't even here yet.

Your kisses grow more heated as you continue to rub against each other. Her lips are so much softer than the ones you’re accustomed to, and they taste like cherry pies. You marvel at the way her tongue softly glides against yours like molten candy. You’re so invigorated by the sensation that you fail to hear the front door of your apartment unlocking and Leon’s familiar footsteps making their way to the bedroom.

By the time he reaches the bedroom, he's gobsmacked by the sight of his pretty baby having a makeout session with another pretty baby. You and Ashley finally pull away from each other to gaze up at him through subtle glittery eyeshadow and false lashes. “How was work, Daddy?” You crawl towards him, letting him catch a good view of your breasts, before kneeling at the foot of the bed where you reach your grabby hands out for him.

“Work was work,” he sighs contentedly as he takes your hands and bends down to kiss your forehead lovingly. You both look towards Ashley who’s observing your affections shyly from the corner of the bed. Leon smiles and reaches his hand out for her, urging her to join you in front of him. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

Once she has the green light, she crawls over so that she’s perched prettily on her knees next to you. He places a hand on your cheek, caressing it tenderly before using his other hand to do the same to Ashley. He bends down to plant a kiss on your lips and repeats the gesture with her. “My pretty girls,” he murmurs as his gaze grows heavy with desire.

His words and actions ignite the flame deep inside your core, and you can tell they’re having the same effect on Ashley. You start to palm him through his jeans, admiring the bulge that’s developing in front of your very eyes. You turn to Ashley with a giggle. “Daddy’s cock’s really nice… S’like, actually fun to suck.”

“Really?” Her eyes brighten as she beams up at Leon before helping you unbuckle his belt and slide his jeans down, revealing his hard cock. “Oh…!” She lets out a squeak. “You weren’t kidding…”

Your hand comes up to gently stroke his length as you pepper the tip in sweet kisses until precum’s beading from it. His eyebrows knit together as he inhales sharply. “Here, try it,” you giggle as you lift your head to let Ashley have a taste. She suckles on the head for a bit before you gently guide her head down his thick length. Her head bobs up and down while Leon groans in pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re just as good of a cocksucker as my baby is, huh, sweetheart?” Her response is warbled around his cock as she sucks more enthusiastically at his praise. She finally pulls off, leaving a string of spit connecting her to his sticky tip. It’s broken once you kiss her hungrily, savoring the taste of your boyfriend on her cherry flavored lips. 

“My turn, Daddy,” you sing-song as you open your mouth wide for him, making him guide his heavy cock inside and down your throat. You’re used to him, and your throat welcomes the familiar sensation as it clenches salaciously around his length. His grunts grace your ears, and you do your best to gaze up at him through your lashes - even though you’re used to it, the teary eyes and quiet gags always make their presence known.

“Good girl, my baby,” he breathes as you pull off of his cock leaving just the tip in your mouth. Ashley joins in, sloppily kissing and licking the side of his cock as you work the tip before mimicking her actions on the other side. You both giggle as you move up and down in tandem, sending vibrations through his body. He moans loudly as you slobber all over his fat cock before meeting each other’s lips at the tip where you hungrily lap at each other’s mouths.

Leon takes a small step back, gently pulling both of you off. “As much as I’d love to cum on my pretty girls’ faces right here, I don’t want to blow my load that quick.” He slips off his shirt and moves to lay down flat on the bed where he beckons you over to him for a kiss. As he intertwines his tongue with yours, he undoes the clasp on your bra, leaving your tits bare for him. Ashley shimmies over to squeeze them before licking at one of your pert nipples. Leon moves to take the other in his mouth, and you mewl at the sensation of both your breasts being sucked on. Your clit throbs underneath your panties, begging to be touched, so you oblige, snaking your fingers south to rub at it. 

“D-do you want Daddy’s cock or his mouth, Ash?” You moan as you try to gather yourself and prepare for the next course of action.

A blush crosses her already blushing cheeks as she chirps without any hesitation. “Mouth! Is that okay, Daddy?”

“Sure, come up here, sweetheart,” Leon has to grip the base of his leaking cock as he swears he could almost cum on the spot at the sound of you two deciding where to park your pretty pussies on him.

You help Ashley slip off her panties before she clambers over Leon to slowly position her dripping pussy over his face. He groans at the sight as he takes reign of her hips and guides her directly onto his waiting mouth.

“F-fuck,” her eyes immediately flutter at the sensation of his tongue lapping at her glistening folds. “Your daddy sure knows how to eat puss-” she lets out a high-pitched whine as his lips wrap around her dainty clit, sucking on it the way a real man should. Her moans are cute, endearing really. They’re melodious, her very own aria accompanied by Leon’s groans muffled into her cunt.

“Isn’t he the best?” You smile at Ashley’s nipple, her right tit is starting to free itself from her bra with all the thrashing she’s doing on your daddy’s face. You lean over to give her a giant smooch on the lips before sliding your own panties off and moving down to position yourself over Leon’s hard cock. Your poor daddy has been humping the air this whole time in an effort to chase some pleasure of his own - not that pussy-eating isn’t one of his favorite pastimes. You drag your pussy over his cock, letting your juices lubricate it properly, though it’s leaking so much on its own that the action is needless.

As you sink down completely on his fat cock, your eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of him stretching you open. While your pussy’s been trained to take this cock, the initial fit still requires some acclimation on your part. Kisses from Leon also help, but he’s a bit preoccupied with handing those out to Ashley’s little hole.

Leon’s moans reverberate through Ashley as you start to bounce up and down on his cock, meeting the firm muscle of his thighs with your plush asscheeks.

“How does it feel?” Ashley whines as the two of you reach for each other’s hands, interlacing your fingers together for support.

“S-so good,” you gaze at her with a heavy lidded expression as Leon plants his feet on the bed so he can drill his cock up into you harder, making you almost topple over. “Daddy! S’too much!”

He chuckles, and it’s like the vibrations are transmitted directly through Ashley’s tits and received by your mouth as your tongue laves over her exposed right nipple. You pull the rest of her bra down so you can wrap your lips around the neglected left one. You kiss each of her tits one last time before trailing your kisses northbound to her collarbones, then to her neck, to her jaw, to her soft lips.

“Oh God,” she cries against your lips. “Gonna cum, oh my goodness-” Leon’s obscene slurping intensifies as she whines louder before cumming all over your daddy’s face. Her face is cute as she cums, eyes crossing dumbly and pretty pink mouth forming an O shape.

Ashley shakily climbs off of Leon’s face as she watches the two of you fuck through the post-orgasm haze. You bend down to kiss Leon as he pounds into you, tasting Ashley’s pussy juices on his lips. “You taste so good, Ash…”

The blonde smiles wide, going loopy over your words and Leon’s tongue. You straighten up and lean back slightly so that your hands are anchored onto Leon’s thighs as he jackhammers up into you. “F-fuck, Daddy!”

“My beautiful girl,” he groans through his thrusts. “So cute, falling apart on my cock just like that. Look at those perfect titties bounce. Daddy loves watching you get fucked like this.” Your eyes tear up as the head of his cock continues to hit the jackpot inside you. Ding, ding, ding! Your moans grow erratic as you feel the build up in your tummy begin to consume you. Leon feels the familiar clench of your cunt, he knows his baby’s about to make a mess for him.

“Daddy, I-I…” You’re blubbering as the feeling in your tummy snaps, and you cum all over the cock that continues to pummel into you. He pulls you down to press kisses to your swollen lips and flushed cheeks as he admires your fucked out expression. He slows his thrusts down until his hips are still against yours.

Ashley pokes at your arm, giggling at your dopey smile. Her clit was throbbing while she watched you take Leon’s cock, and now it’s demanding the special treatment. She’s raring to go for another round, and Leon still hasn't finished yet. You swap places with her - you lounge on your side as your chest rises and falls from your previous orgasm. Ashley lays on her back as Leon hovers over her, spreading her plush thighs open so that he can slot his cock inside her twitching hole. The two of them moan in unison as he bullies his way inside and starts pumping in and out of her sloppy cunt.

“That’s some good pussy,” Leon groans as he leans down to kiss her feverishly through his thrusts. Ashley mewls into his mouth as she claws at his back with her acrylics, leaving scratches that would surely be visible tomorrow. It’s a wonder one didn't snap off. 

“Daddy!” She whines as the slapping of his balls against her ass echoes through the room. “You're gonna make me cum all over again… Can't wait to squirt all over your big dick this time.” 

He chuckles at this as he pinches her nipples. “Is that right? Gonna let Daddy cream this pussy?” Okay, it’s getting weird. He leans down to touch his forehead against hers. What the hell?

Your chest tightens at the sight though you shake your head, chastising yourself for feeling the familiar pit of jealousy brewing in your gut. You wanted this! Leon had raised his concerns over whether you would be alright with this arrangement, and you had insisted that it was what you wanted. You had reassured him that your possessive streak wouldn't rear its ugly head. Your brows furrow together as your bottom lip involuntarily juts itself into your signature pout as you watch them continue to kiss. You’re not being fair - you know that much; these are two people who are significant to you. They agreed to this because they thought it would make you happy. Do they have to look at each other so fucking tenderly? You trust them, love them, and now you’re about to set the entire apartment building on fire, trapping all of you in the flames of your hysteria.

The safe word you and Leon had decided on a long time ago bubbles on your lips, threatening to pop out any second now, commanding a halt to the evening’s activities. You’re an insecure little brat who spends her days whining for Leon’s attention like a mutt with serious anxious attachment issues. “Bingo…”

The second the word reaches his ears, Leon’s tapping Ashley’s thigh gently as he ceases his thrusting.

“Sorry, sweetheart… I need to check on my girl.” He pulls out of her squelching pussy with a grunt as he turns his attention towards you, taking you in his arms. “Everything okay, baby?” He strokes your hair as he kisses the top of your head. You sniffle as you shake your head.

Poor Ashley’s still lying on her back, legs spread for the world as she processes what just happened. She props herself up on her elbows and looks at you with the gaze of a friend who genuinely cares for your well-being. Both their looks of concern make you feel like a real insecure bitch, dramatizing your grievances as usual. 

“Are you okay?” Her soft voice floats over to you, increasing your guilt by tenfold.

Leon’s rubbing your back and whispering sweet words in your ear as he patiently waits for you to articulate the reason for your distress. You cling to him, burying your face in his chest before finally looking up at him in shame. 

“Didn’t… didn’t like seeing you guys like that…”

His expression is a mixture of guilt and confusion, but he doesn't seem completely surprised. He continues to stroke your hair soothingly as he speaks. “Baby, I thought you said this was going to be alright with you?”

“I-I…” Your eyes narrow in frustration, and your cheeks flush from the embarrassment of feeling a tantrum coming on in front of Ashley.

“You’re okay, no one’s mad at you,” he continues to reassure you by using his low, tender tone that was reserved only for you. “Use your words babydoll, help me understand what's going on in that pretty little head.”

You take a deep breath as you look into the eyes that know you better than anyone else, always analyzing your innermost thoughts. “F-fucking was fine, but holding and kissing each other like that is too much for me. You were looking at her like she's your baby.” You abandon all control of maintaining composure; accusatory whines are apparently spilling out of your mouth before your brain can even process them.

Leon freezes for a moment before letting out a singular sigh. “Doll, you’re my one and only baby… You’re always gonna be mine. I’m so sorry that I made you feel otherwise… Promise neither of us were thinking that.”

You drop your head down and keep it buried in his chest. You continue to cling to him, refusing to look at him but not wanting to let him go at the same time. A pang shoots through his heart as he ruminates over his actions. He continues using his gentle voice while tightening his arms around you. “Baby… My sweet girl… Guess we got a little carried away. Swear on my life I’d never want to do anything to hurt you.”

Ashley’s been observing your interactions quietly with a guilty expression. She sits up fully to reach her hand out so that she’s rubbing your shoulder gently. “I’d never do anything to hurt you… You’re my friend, and I love you lots… Pinky promise we weren't acting that way ‘cause we want each other or anything like that… Was just going along with the groove we set up at the beginning… Daddy and his girls….” She lets out a nervous chuckle as she bites her lip worriedly.

You turn your head slightly to peek out at her. “S’okay, Ash.” You can’t stay mad at her, she’s just too sweet and only wants to make her friend happy. You can't fault her for any of this, it just doesn’t feel right. So you focus your sour attitude onto Leon - after all, he’s the one who should’ve known how to conduct the situation appropriately, right? He's the one who shouldn't have flirted with the idea of cumming inside another girl while gazing into her eyes, right? Of course Ashley wouldn't have been able to think straight with a big dick like that scrambling her guts.

You push against Leon, trying to pry yourself from his arms, but he keeps his hold firm around you despite your anguish. “You're not getting away from me until I make this right, angel.”

“Don't wanna be near you,” your huff is slightly muffled as you continue to struggle.

“Baby.” Hurt seeps into his voice. “Please don't say that. I told you I was sorry. Look at me, sweet girl.”

You continue frowning into his solid chest. He keeps holding you close to him, doting on you like a little lamb - sweet nothings being whispered into your ear, kisses being dropped all over your head. He caresses your face, strokes your hair, rubs soothing circles all over your back, murmurs words of reassurance and love. The whole works, really.

Despite his loving actions, you continue to grumble against him like an agitated kitten. He never relents - he meant what he said, he's not letting go of you until he makes amends.

“My perfect baby, don't you know I love you more than anything in the world? Silly girl. You know I’d lay my life down for you without a second thought.”

He continues to coo and kiss at you until you’re back to melting in his arms. You finally look up at him with glassy eyes and a perpetual pout. “You really mean all that?”

“Of course I do.” He sighs heavily. “I should’ve made sure we established boundaries before starting this, honey. I’m sorry I upset you.”

“S’okay,” your voice wavers as you reach up to paw at his stubbled jaw. He kisses you, channeling all of his devotion to you through his lips.

“C’mon, dollface. This ain’t over yet.” He gently maneuvers you so that you’re laying flat on the bed next to Ashley. You reach out to lace your fingers through hers as she brushes her hair out of your face and presses a sugary kiss to your cheek. Both of you are spread-eagle for him, tits squished against each other as you wait for him to finish what he started.

He pushes his hard cock into you as his head falls back, relishing in the feeling of your velvety walls clamping down around him. He begins to rut into you, holding one of your legs in place against his shoulder while the other hand wanders over to Ashley’s cunt to rub at her clit. He strokes her clit for a while before plunging two fingers into her sopping hole. His fingers move in tandem with the way his cock pumps relentlessly in and out of you. You and Ashley moan into each other’s mouths as Leon groans and thrusts even faster at the sight of you two making out while he drives you both closer to your pleasure.

“C-can we do this again, Daddy?” You break from the kiss to look up at Leon with hazy eyes and your tongue lolling out.

“Yeah, can we,  Daddy?” Ashley looks up at him with the same fucked out expression.

“Of course we can,” Leon grins down at the two of you. “Next time, I’ll - shit - fuck the two of you while you’re on top of each other. Leave you guessin’ which hole’s getting my cock.”

He knows you’re close when he can feel your pussy squeeze desperately around him as your breaths grow more shallow. He turns your head to kiss your ankle bone as your leg is still propped up against his shoulder to allow him deeper access. His thrusts become faster and deeper as he aims to pummel into the spot that has you seeing stars. He makes sure not to forget about Ashley either, quickening the pumping of his fingers inside her as he also rubs harshly at her clit with his thumb - he’s getting carpal tunnel at this rate. Her chest rises and falls rapidly and her grip tightens around your hand as she nears her high.

Ashley’s the first to reach her climax. She cums all over his fingers as she practically screams in pleasure. Her pornographic moans cause your orgasm to hit you before you’re even truly aware it’s happening. Your pussy clenches around Leon’s cock as your back arches in pleasure which makes his thrusts stutter a few times before he shoots his cum deep inside you.

You writhe in pleasure as his load fills you up the way it should, the way it’s destined to. Leon musters up the last of his energy in pulling out and plopping next to you. His arm drapes over you, but not before slipping his fingers into your mouth to swallow the last bits of Ashley’s essence. Ashley moves down in between your legs to observe the way your boyfriend’s load oozes out of your battered hole. She gently laps at the excess cum seeping out of your folds, cleaning you up with kitten licks until your pussy is all neat and tidy again. She moves back up to snuggle against you, kissing you sweetly.

“We’re doing this again, right?” She mumbles against your hair as her eyes flutter shut.

“Definitely.”

[icarusallusion]

One of the main reasons I've been so fond of Otasune since I first knew it was a thing was because I think they're genuinely one of the purest forms of love in Metal Gear.

Throughout the series we see horrible relationships between horrible people trying to get by and then that relationship gets dragged through the awful scenarios they live with, be it war, internal struggles, infidelity etc. Despite this common place struggle with so many other characters, we see Otacon and Snake steadfast loyal and healthy throughout every struggle they go through.

They may not be an official couple, but they will always stay the most communicative relationship even outside of shipping. I see people joke about how Otacon kind of bosses Snake around (especially in MGS4), but I always saw it as refreshing. In the series, there is so many times where x character does something horrendous and y character just sits aside and silently sulks about it.

But this doesn't happen, like at all, with Dave and Hal. There are many times where Snake doesn't think about consequences to his actions as a general rule of soldier, however Hal has never been a soldier. So when these things happen, Otacon tells him off and it's something Snake genuinely needs to hear. It's something human, away from combat. Because Otacon is one of the very few characters that talks to Snake as a person, as a human, not as a soldier or fucked up clone baby.

Snake has gone his whole life scrapping the bottom of the barrel to stop feeling so lonely, he flirts with every woman he sees, he attaches himself very easily onto superiors, etc. Snake is a man who has spent his whole life trying to appeal to people, to get the praise he was never allowed as a child. Otacon gives him the comfort he never got. While any military superior can say Dave is the best of the best. None will look him in the face and tell him he has to live to just live.

Hal also opens a lot of doors to Snake's own discovery about himself. While this next point might sound a little cringy, stick with me. People may joke about the anime interest Snake and Otacon share, but it always came across so genuinely sweet to me. Snake's only interests up until he met Otacon have been, stop feeling lonely and war. I think even part of his musher life and interests within sledding can contribute to part of this. I mean come on, not even a regular musher keeps 50 dogs in their house and dogs are a natural remedy to loneliness. But in all seriousness, David refers to the huskies as his only family and I don't see him connecting with any other mushers he works with, it reads as him wanting to not be alone while also still being so lonely. As well as how mushing is considered a more normal interest than being an otaku, especially in the early 2000s. Mushing is a sport, and being an Otaku was pretty much unheard of or hated. Watching this guy who has been stuffed full of war propaganda scream a dorky "falcon punch" and "ninjutsu" with his best friend is so heartwarming in a way.

As well as Otacon's whole meme turned question of "do you think love can bloom on the battlefield?" Is something that I think Snake needed to be asked. It's probably been something he's been thinking about. It is also one of the most human things Snake asked throughout the game. About finding love in fear. Otacon constantly prods into Snake's heart and brings out the good in him.

Not only does Hal open up a space for Snake to have genuine unashamed interests and show true pure humanity. He also shows off their childhood. Both Hal and David never got proper childhoods. They connect that with each other through cheesy animes, talking about uncertainty in love, finding out what life is all about, navigating feelings, and through that damn cheesy handshake hug. It's all genuinely pure and wholesome love that connects what they didn't get to explore in childhood with one another. When Snake opened that piss covered locker and saved Otacon, he brought his own salvation into his life without knowing it. The very presence of Otacon saved Snake. It's why MGS4 felt so depressing for me especially, the strain between Snake and Otacon left a hole in my little heart and made Snake feel even more hopeless.

I also want to talk about how Snake benefited Otacon.

Otacon begins as cowardly and timid, he's an incredibly insecure character that struggles to connect with others, probably stemming from the issues in his younger life. When he meets Snake, he's faced with someone he could relate to that has an outward appearance that makes him seem so much more confident than he is. Snake is not this, he's as insecure as Otacon. Indirectly, Snake is the whole reason Otacon gets on his feet to take action against terrorism, takes action to become a better person. Snake shows Hal that he doesn't haven't to be strong to do the right thing. Throughout time, Snake helps Otacon come to terms with his own self worth and issues.

In MGS2, it has one of my favorite examples. The infamous bro hug scene.

Before it, this is when Otacon allows himself to open up about his childhood, not even just Infront of Snake, Infront of Raiden too. This showcased such a development in his character because he's proudly talking about it, while even through tears he doesn't hide it anymore.

Did you know that during that scene if you pan the camera to Snake, you can see that he is crying too?

When Hal has a breakdown over his sister's death, Snake is there to comfort him as well as tell him how it is in bluntness with a hand on his back that he needs to save people. It isn't cold or callous, it's letting Otacon know that he has something worth fighting for after a loss like that. Then when they face one another, they embrace each other and Snake tells Hal that he believes in him. Hal spent a lot of time as a scientist, hoping for someone to believe in him, while Snake puts all of his belief into Hal.

I can never forget the iconic "You're the only god I can pray to, Otacon" line. Snake has a deep loyalty, love, and belief in Otacon that Otacon has never been truly given before.

They both, in turn love each other till the end of their lives. Their love was one of the most heart wrenching and beautiful things in Metal Gear Solid and it's no surprise it captivated so many people. Their relationship, whether you ship them or just see them as a bromance. There is no denying the love they feel for one another as friends or lovers is one of the most iconic and sweetest bromances out theres They have impacted so much pop culture and I love them forever, as I'm sure many of you do who read all the way to the bottom.

[dilfstar]

daddy dearest

realdad!leon x daughter!reader 3k words. warnings ! incest, forced ddlg, infantilization, slight coercion, drugging, fingering, oral (f), piv, daddy kink, loss of virginity, creampie notes ! mega super awesome thank you 2 @localkiss for the idea and so much of this... wouldn't be able 2 do it without U i love u 🙏 ignore how fast the pills kicked in... just go w it ☹️

You were old enough to move out, get a job, live on your own, be an adult. But he had other plans. What kind of father would he be if he let his sweet, innocent daughter out into the cruel, harsh world? Where people could get you, men could grope you, ruin you! Just the thought of it made his skin crawl…

Leon made sure you stayed home, safe, and tucked away in your childhood bedroom. The walls were still painted in a light pink. Though, the decor was more reminiscent of a 5-year-old's room. Toys and coloring books were everywhere, with stuffed animals watching your every move. Yikes.

All of your old clothes were thrown out, too mature for his liking. What? Was he supposed to let his little girl wear next to nothing around the house? What if he had company over! His friends would eye-fuck you into the next century!

It wasn't like you didn't try to fight it or leave. You just couldn't. He put stuff in your food. You know he does. But how are you supposed to stop him when you can barely walk long enough to get to the bathroom on time? Your legs were turned into useless sticks from all the pills he snuck into your food!

He lived in some kind of delusion. Some made-up world where what he's doing to you was good for you, saving you. Fucking freak! You're his daughter! Not some random girl he met on the street, not some fucked-out whore he picked up from a bar. His child, his own flesh and blood. What kind of dad fucks their own daughter?

A good one! At least according to his definition of the term. A good dad should fuck his daughter’s brains out, leave her full of cum and barely conscious. It's his right. He deserves this after all the years taking care of you!

He didn't really care how you felt about the situation. Why would you be thinking about it in the first place? You're just his dumb little baby, too high to even eat on your own. You needed Daddy for everything. You needed him to feed you, change you into your cute little outfits, bathe you, fuck you until your body gave out. 

He ruined you. Leon took and took and took until you were nothing, just a doll for him to use and abuse with his twisted fantasies. He was a sick, sick man. A sick, twisted man you still loved. More than anything in the world. How could you possibly hate him? He's your daddy! He's just looking out for you.

It all happened so fast. Starting from a simple movie night with your dad. A few too many beers making you a little too needy, clinging to him like you did when you were little. The way you rested on him, used him as a pillow. Oh, it made his heart squeeze!

Your voice was so soft as you cuddled up to him, mumbling Daddy over and over. Leon raked his hands through your hair as you laid your head on his lap, so, so close to his dick. The way you wiggled around so much made it so difficult for him to keep it together. Such a tease, just like your mother.

Maybe that's why he loved you so much. You looked just like her, after all. Same hair, same nose, same lips… He needed you. He needed you so badly that it hurt. His cock ached, craving something warm around it. Something tight. Something perfect, like you.

You would be the best thing, right? I mean, you’re literally made just for him. Meant to be used as his personal fleshlight. The thought of any other guy touching you made him sick to his stomach. He deserved to be the only one! That's when it all clicked inside his head—the perfect plan coming together.

Leon carried you up to your old room, setting you down on the twin-sized bed like a princess, tucking you in with a gentle kiss on the lips. You tasted so sweet, like the strawberry chapstick you always put on. “My beautiful angel… All mine…”

He planted another kiss on your forehead before leaving, running down the stairs to the garage to get some boxes of your old toys and clothes. He had to get everything set up while you were asleep, so you could wake up to your (his) dream!

Your head was pounding the next morning, the sunlight coming in through the window not helping. The sudden attack of pink woke you up instantly. Every single inch of the room you were in looked like a little girl's dream come true. The number of stuffed animals and dolls around you made your eyes burn.

You looked down at the outfit you were wearing, a shocked gasp falling from your lips. What could've possibly happened last night for you to be wearing something straight out of a Justice catalog? In what world would you willingly put on something this childish? 

The door opened, revealing a smiling Leon carrying a tiny cup in his hand, a few pills in the other. “Hey, sweetheart… ’m glad you're awake. Was starting to get worried! Here, I brought you some medicine. Should help with your headache…” 

He handed them over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed as he watched you swallow the pills. His stare was focused directly on your body, as if he wanted to pounce on you and attack. It all felt so off, so nauseating. Why was your dad staring at you like a piece of meat? Why did you wake up to all of this?

The room started to spin, your vision blurring as your head hit the pillow behind you. Everything felt so hazy, like a fog rolled into the room, blocking all of it from your view. “Dad… Daddy… What’s happenin’...?”

Leon crawled over to you, pulling back the fluffy comforter, revealing your bare legs underneath. He had to bite back a groan; the sight of you, his daughter, so vulnerable made him feel crazy. His hands moved up your legs slowly, inching towards your inner thighs, pulling them apart to reveal the pink and white polka-dot panties covering your core. He leaned in, inhaling your scent like it was the antidote to an illness he'd been suffering from forever.

“Shh… Just rest… “Daddy's here.” He mumbled, his breathing shallow and fast. His fingers looped underneath the waistband of your panties, gently pulling them off and pocketing them. He needed something for later!

He poked and prodded at your cunt, smiling like a perv at how perfect you looked. The light touches, mixed with his soft breaths sent chills down your spine. Your hips bucked as he brushed against your clit, disgust immediately washing over you. Why was he touching you like this? Why did you like it?

“Need t’see if my girl is a virgin… Make sure she saved herself for me…” He placed his thumb on your clit, pressing down gently, groaning at the way you shuddered from the slight contact. This shouldn't be turning you on. He's your dad, for crying out loud!

He spit on your pussy, eyes twinkling as the glob of saliva dripped down your slit. His fingers moved down to your hole, mixing the spit with your juices as he pushed a digit in. He started with slow, simple movements, soon adding another finger, and then another. 

They moved inside of you so painfully slowly that you wanted to scream at him to move faster! But whatever he gave you earlier made your tongue feel so heavy, your arms and legs felt like 40-pound weights were tied to them. All you could do was let your dad tease you like some jerk.

“Seems like you did… You did so well… I think you deserve a reward, yeah?” He pulled his hand away, causing a small whimper to escape from you. He stared up at you so sweetly, as if you were a princess awakening from a years long slumber. 

Leon leaned down, immediately diving into you. His nose bumped against your clit as he ate you like a starved man at a buffet. His tongue thrust inside of you, lapping at your wetness like an animal. He groaned into your cunt, loving the way you tasted. If he was on death row and got offered his last meal? It would be you.

“‘m close… So close…” You whined, desperately trying to squeeze your legs around his head, still feeling too fuzzy to move a muscle. All you could do was squeeze your eyes shut and move your head, your body feeling too much like it was encased in cement. How were you already so sensitive? It’d barely been 5 minutes, and you were this close? 

The room felt like it was spinning again; all of your nerves felt like they were on fire. Pleasure shot up your spine, exploding in your head like a fireworks display. The word Daddy fell from your soft lips like a mantra. Your mouth could only form the one word, your brain filled with thoughts of him. Your breath hitched in your throat as you came, eyes shooting open and rolling to the back of your head. “S’too much… Too much! No more…”

He sat you on his lap like usual, grabbing a spoonful of whatever mushed-up food was on the pink plate in front of you, bringing it to your mouth while making airplane noises. Your mouth fell open like usual, allowing him to shove the head of the spoon in. He wasn’t a bad cook, no. He was just weird. Weird for making you act like a little girl at your age, weird for turning you into a toy.

You just wanted your old life back, when you had friends and other people to talk to. Acting like a kid wasn’t exactly the most fun thing a girl could do. Though you didn’t necessarily hate some of the attention he gave you. How fucked up is that? Liking the way your own dad touches you? What kind of sick freak acts like- Oh. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

He frowned at the way you denied the food, the dull look in your eyes. Why couldn't you just be good for him and eat it? Why did you always have to fight him on this? 

The plastic spoon hit the plate, food flying off it onto the table. His hand moved to your face impossibly fast, fingers digging into your cheeks, squeezing them together as he turned you to face him. “What did I say about acting bratty, hm? No treats for disobedient little girls.”

His grip on you was bruising, his nails digging into your skin, sure to leave crescent-shaped marks. The way he stared into your eyes terrified you. Anger hiding behind his blue irises. He was pissed. He was beyond pissed. Why couldn't you just listen?

“I told you not to do this again. Remember what happened last time? Y’wanna do that again? Sure seems like you do…” Your eyes widened as memories of that night flashed through your mind. The bruises he left all over, the red marks on your ass—how you couldn't sit properly for a week! The threat made you curl into yourself on his lap like a small child being yelled at for stealing from the cookie jar.

He released his grip on you, patting your cheek lightly with a sickly grin. Leon pulled down on your chin, opening your mouth enough to shove the spoon in again, making sure you swallowed the food. “Now, there's a good girl… So good for Daddy, yeah?”

He held onto your jaw as you ate, making sure you couldn't refuse him more. What kind of daughter disobeys their dad? Bad ones. What happens to bad daughters? They get punished.

His punishments were cruel, just meant to be pleasurable only to him. Spanking you with his belt, tying you to your bed, taking away your toys. His favorite was fucking you until you passed out! The way your eyes fluttered shut, how you went limp in his arms. God, he loved it. He loved how scared you were of him, the look of pure fear in your eyes was enough jack-off material to last for weeks!

His fingers curled inside of you, squeezing against the spot that made you see stars. Your head was spinning. Every inch of your body was on fire. “Daddy… I can't do any more… Please!!” You squealed, crushing his wrist between your thighs.

Your hands gripped the pink sheets beneath you for dear life, holding on as if you were about to fall off the side of a building. Bliss shot up your spine, filling you with a feeling of delight and pure disgust. All because of your dear, sweet father.

He smirked down at you, the sight of you writhing underneath him sent all the blood to his cock, the pajama pants he was wearing suddenly feeling a little too tight. “That's it… There's my girl… Y’think you're big enough to take me yet? Think you're ready for me, baby?”

Yes, God, yes! You wanted to scream it, let the world know you wanted to get fucked by your dad! But sadly, all you could do was nod. You looked like a stupid bobblehead toy, silently begging him to rail you into the next universe. None of it mattered when you had him, though. 

He chuckled at how enthusiastic you were, leaning forward to place a tender kiss on your lips, tongue rubbing against your bottom one, asking to be let in. You deepened the kiss, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him in close. His hand left your soaked cunt, wiping itself on his pants before moving to the back of your head. He slotted himself between your legs, rutting against your heat as he made out with you. 

His free hand snuck down to his pants, pushing them and his boxers down just enough to pull his dick out. Leon pulled back from the kiss to look down, smirking at how wet you were. He looked up at you for a moment, a sympathetic look in his blue eyes. “This is gonna hurt for sec… Promise I'll be as gentle as I can…” And with that, he slowly pushed in. His head fell at how wonderful you felt around him, like you were already shaped perfectly for his cock.

“S’okay… I’ve got you.” The stretch absolutely burned. It felt like you were in some medieval torture device. At least the drugs he had you doped up on dulled some of the pain…

He moved his hand back to your clit, thumb moving in small circles, trying to make it at least a little more pleasurable for you. He pushed and pushed, inching in slowly until he was buried to the hilt inside of you. His chest heaved as he caught his breath for a moment, the whole situation now overwhelming him. “I’m gonna move now, ‘kay?”

With a small, comforting smile, he pulled back, shoving into you all at once. His thrusts started slow as you adjusted to his size, trying to be careful with you, terrified to hurt you. How could he live with himself if he hurt you without meaning to? Punishments were one thing… But actually harming you? It’d kill him!

Once he fell into a nice rhythm, all rational thoughts flew out the window. The fear of hurting you was gone, he couldn't care less about it now. It was like a switch flipped inside his head. Your walls just squeezed him too perfectly, clamping down on him like a vice.

It all felt so perfect, like it finally made sense. The disgust that was in you melted away at the feeling of him pounding away at you, just using you for what he wanted. It sent your heart into overdrive, the organ beating against your ribcage. Your head dropped back onto the mountain of pillows behind you, cushioning it while you let your father take advantage of you.

He felt like a teenager again, like he did before he met your mother. She was a good fuck, sure, and he did love her, but it just never felt as good as this. Nothing could ever compare to you, to how you felt around him. The way your velvety walls hugged him so wonderfully made his heart flutter in his chest. 

“Daddy… Daddy! S’too much… Can't do it… I-I can't!” You whined, shaking your head from side to side like you were throwing a tantrum. You felt too sensitive, his touches too much for your body to handle. The coil inside of you felt like it was about to snap, like it was about to explode! You didn't know if you could last much longer, and neither did he. His pace got sloppy the closer he got, hips stuttering inside of you.

He finally stilled as thick, hot spurts of cum coated your walls, painting them in a milky white. You squeezed around him, cunt refusing to let him go. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, legs twitching around his waist, accidentally pulling him in impossibly closer. You whined involuntarily as he pulled out, feeling too empty inside without him. He almost came again at the sight of his cum dripping out of you, staining the sheet below. 

“You okay, baby? Are you hurtin’ anywhere?” He checked over you frantically, looking into your eyes like a madman. All you could do in return was give him a sloppy, fucked out smile. A smile that made all the worry in him dissolve. He crawled off the bed, snaking his arms around you bridal style, carrying you off to the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

[cameronspecial]

I Want To Be Your Boyfriend

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Sex

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.9K

Summary: Rafe never thought that he could fall for a Pogue, but the Goddess in front of him might change his mind.

A/N: This is a prequel to I Want To Be With You and requested by @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

When he first saw her, he thought she was the most beautiful Kook he had ever seen. The lavender silk Prada shirt she is wearing crops just above her belly button. It reveals a delicious sliver of her stomach that he just wants to rest his hands on. The recognizable double G of her creamed colour belt displays the girl’s financial status. But as Rafe’s eyes trail down to her pants, confusion crosses his features. The black jeans she wears are distraught with holes in a fashionable manner, yet, he doesn’t recognize the brand and the material looks too cheap to be a brand name. Her shoes also don’t match the top half of her outfit as the white Sketchers look so worn out that it had to be done because she can’t afford new ones and not because of aesthetics. 

Sarah and the rest of the Pogues joining his Goddess help put the puzzle pieces together in his mind. His sister is known for her love of sharing her clothes with her Pogue friends, so the Goddess in front of him must be a Pogue. Unlike Sarah, Rafe would never associate himself with Pogues unless they were working for him. Yet, the concern she shows for JJ over a bleeding cut on his forehead from falling down makes Rafe realize he doesn’t care that she lives on the wrong side of the island. She lets out the most amazing laugh he has ever heard and he has to be the one that makes her smile. He makes his way over to talk to her, but Kiara stops him in his tracks. 

“Don’t even think about it. She is too good for you,” she warns him away. He tries to sidestep her, “Come on, Kiara. Let me talk to her.” The girl shakes his head and turns him away. He doesn’t want to make a scene in front of the goddess, so he walks away in defeat. Throughout the night, he tries to talk to her and is intercepted by the other Pogues. 

——

For weeks he has been trying to talk to her, but every time a Pogue is there to stop him. At least he learnt her name. Y/N Y/L/N, the name of a goddess. He is sent by his dad to pick up something to eat at The Wreck and this is when he sees her next. She is whipping down a table on the far side of the room, which makes him switch course toward her. JJ spots Rafe’s new direction and runs into his path with a smirk. “I’m sorry, man. I can’t let you near her.” “You can’t tell me what to do, Pogue,” Rafe spits out, standing up straight so the small height distance looks a little bigger. JJ wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand to try to hide his chuckle, “When it comes to her, I can. Now, as the French say, arrivederci.” Rafe is going to argue more, but the call of his name for his order pulls him away from the blonde.

——

It felt like fate when he got to the coffee shop to see her hunched over a notebook by herself. He looks around the store to check that she really is alone and no other pogue is in sight. He grins at this new revelation, sliding himself across from her in the booth. “I’ve been trying to introduce myself for weeks. I’m Rafe,” he sticks his hand out for her to shake. She brings her hand to his and he notices that although they are calloused, they are still supple, “I know your name silly. And I know you know that you have been trying. My friends don’t keep things from me.” 

“Right, so you’ve just been making me chase after you on purpose.” 

“You know, Rafe, you are the one with the name that means counsel of the wolf in Old Norse. I’m starting to see that it is a pretty accurate name.”

“You are just as smart as I thought you were because I have no idea what you mean.”

She finds his honesty cute, “I’m saying that wolves are predators and you have been chasing after me like a pray for weeks.” He likes that she isn’t condescending when she explains the joke to him. “Ahh, I totally understood that. Please, keep blessing me with your wisdom.” 

——

Rafe has been talking and texting Y/N for a month now and he is finally convinced they are not going to be caught hanging out together by the other Pogues. This means he is finally going to ask her to go steady with him because he is assured they can go on a date without being caught. She stares at her TV show while his head is resting on her thigh near her stomach. He is between her legs and his focus is on his phone. “Y/N,” he catches her attention. “I want to be your boyfriend.” His tone is practically begging her to say yes. She looks down at him with a soft smile and her fingers lace through his hair. “Rafey, I would love for you to be my boyfriend. But I don’t think there is going to be much of a difference in our relationship,” she confides, twirling his hair between her fingers.

“Why not?” 

“I don’t think you can get any more clingy than this, Rafey.”

“True, but there is something I can start craving more than your touch, Baby”

He lifts his head off her thigh and brings himself to hover over Y/N. He gives her a peck before moving in to deepen the kiss. His hands find the buttons of her shirt as he begins kissing his way down her neck. Forget about her laughter, her moans are the most amazing thing he has ever heard.

[eternally-racing]

not private, not secret | oscar piastri

wc: <1k (short n sweet 😌)

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

genre: fluff

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: you and oscar have kept your relationship secret for this long, but oscar can't help but celebrate with you for his very first formula 1 win.

----

You were well accustomed to being a shadow in the McLaren garage. It’s the way you and Oscar had decided you liked it best.

There was no pressure from the media, no mean comments on social media, and the less prying eyes into your relationship, the better. Only a select few people on the team knew that you were Oscar’s girlfriend, the rest easily bought up the lie that you were the daughter of a very rich investor in the team who wanted to be at every race. It usually wasn’t that hard to keep quiet, but today was a big day and you could feel your heart pounding out of your chest at every turn. For the first time in his Formula 1 career your boyfriend was leading the race, and with only a few more laps to go you were praying that today would be the day that his dream came true. As you looked to the pit wall you could see Andrea’s foot nervously twitching against the foot rest of his chair, he felt it too. This would easily be the biggest moment of Oscar’s career if it comes true, and there are only a few more laps to go. 

It’s a moment you never want to forget as the checkered flag comes out for Oscar’s car. You can’t stop the tears leaking out from your eyes as you hear the jubilation on his voice through the radio. This is a moment that both of you imagined for so long, but the reality of the situation surpassed all of your expectations. It’s a full celebration with the team as everyone is thoroughly overjoyed. You’re swept up with thinking about Oscar that you don’t even notice the other papaya car cross the line after Oscar. It’s a 1-2 finish, there’s not much more a team could ever wish for in a race. McLaren hasn’t felt joy like this in years. There’s a full sea of papaya out in front of the podium to greet the race winner, and you’re not sure where you fit into things - you blend in easily with the crowd while simultaneously being swept up in it. You’ve made a couple of friends in the garage and stick closely to them as the party already seems to be beginning on the paddock. 

You’ve never seen Oscar like this before - he takes a minute in the car before getting out (you can only assume he was wiping his tears of joy, even if he is too stubborn to admit it). You have your phone out taking a couple of pictures yourself - you know that there’s 1000s of cameras around that are also pointed at your boyfriend, but you want to remember what it feels like to see this moment through your eyes. 

After hugging his engineer and the rest of the team members, you can see Oscar’s gaze start to wander around the paddock, and it’s only once he changes directions do you figure out that he’s looking for you. There’s cameras flashing and the live TV feed clearly following over his shoulder, but your eyes are only locked on each other as Oscar reaches out for you. He stays in your arms for long enough that people can probably get the hint that you’re someone special.

“I really couldn’t have done this without you love, thank you” Oscar says with tears pooling in his eyes. This is his “I made it moment”, and he wants nothing more than to share it with you. There’s so many words that you want to say, but you find yourself speechless as you stare into Oscar’s eyes. Instead, you go with the action that you’ve dreamt of doing ever since you started dating. It’s your first helmet kiss of what will be many more to follow. Oscar warned you that it wouldn’t taste very good, especially given the dusty race conditions of the day, but it brings such joy to your heart to be able to celebrate with him.

When Oscar’s up on the podium he points to you as he lifts the trophy up to the cheers of the crowd, mouthing an “I love you” to you down below that you know will make the rounds on social media. But you don’t care one bit about that anymore. People could throw all the hate in the world your way, but there was nothing like the pride of celebrating your boyfriend’s first f1 win.

-----

author's note: was in a bit of a writing slump working on pt.2s for a lot of my other fics so i just wanted to write something short and sweet! hope u all enjoyed it :) My ask box is still open as always if you have any requests. Until next time! - Em <3

[angelwonie]

KISS ME MORE || lee minho

PAIRING: brother’s best friend!minho x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 13.2k

SUMMARY: he's your brother's best friend, and that should be enough to keep him off limits. but he's just a little too handsome, and you're just a little in too deep.

GENRE(S): smut, fluff

WARNINGS: smut [unprotected sex, fingering, degradation, praise, use of petnames (kitten and baby), dumbification, mean!dom minho] minho knows he's hot and is a menace to society

The first time you met him, he was leaning against the doorframe of your living room.

He was visiting your brother, but the fact that he wasn't here for you seemed to slip from your mind the moment you saw him. An infuriatingly pretty smile was planted onto his face, his hand brushing his hair out of his face as he introduced himself as Lee Minho to your family, not even sparing you a single glance. 

Lee Minho. 

It tasted good on your tongue, his name.

You wanted him already.

Lee Minho.

He'd met your brother a few years earlier, since they were both obsessed with dancing. Apparently, Minho was the best dancer on the team. Not that it came as a surprise when Chan brought it up at the dining table later that evening. You had already come to the conclusion that Lee Minho was god's favorite, and, consequently, good at everything he did.

He also lived only a few houses away from you and Chan, as it turned out. Basically a neighbor, your mom had commented when he revealed his address and you nodded along – did this mean you'd get to see him often?

That question was answered fairly quickly as Chan assured everyone they'd spend most of their time at Minho's house instead – so as not to disturb anyone, he had said. Oh, what a caring brother you had. At that moment you wanted to strangle him to death. Didn't he understand that Lee Minho was the most handsome boy you'd ever seen in your life? 

Or maybe he did understand, and that whole 'staying away from the Bang residency' thing was intentional because he, being the logical sibling, knew that if you happened to fall in love with his best friend, everything would become really awkward. 

Which, yeah, sure, makes sense. Lee Minho is, after all, your brother's best friend. You shouldn't like him, and he shouldn't like you.

Having gathered that information, it’s pretty obvious that there is just no fucking way that you have a chance with him. 

Right?

—

Two pm. That’s when his dancing lessons start. You haven’t memorized his schedule or anything – you’re not a creep, obviously – you know this solely because your brother shares that class with him. Yeah. It has nothing to do with the fact that you enjoy every second you can spend outside the dance hall, able to let your stare rest on Minho without seeming desperate. Because if there’s anything you dread more than him not paying attention to you, it’s him thinking of you as Chan’s pathetic little sister. 

It’s fun watching him dance. He’s so good at it that it’s mesmerizing, his movements clean and gaze focused as he learns the choreography way quicker than the rest of the dancers. It’s no secret that he’s better than them, yet it doesn’t seem to bother them. Maybe it shouldn’t bother you, either. If only him being out of your league was the only problem. But it isn’t, so you decide not to think about it anymore, and rather focus on the homework in front of you as you wait for your brother to finish class.

Except it’s very hard to take your eyes off someone who looks like him at that very moment – shirt sweaty and sticking to his body, accentuating his arms a little too well. You almost choke on air as he thrusts his hips forward – something that surely is a part of the choreography but shouldn’t be, because it makes you bite your lip and press your thighs together, thinking that you wouldn’t have anything against having those pretty hands of his wrapped around your neck as he thrusts into you like that. 

You sigh and look away when they stop dancing, mentally slapping yourself. You've gone completely crazy, developing a crush on your brother's best friend, that's for sure.

“Hey, did you wait long?” You hear your brother’s voice to your right and you turn around to face him, pushing away your previous thoughts as your eyes land on his frame.

It takes all of your mental strength not to scream when you see that Chan isn’t the only person headed towards you as he leaves class, but that he’s accompanied by none other than Lee Minho – the guy whose dick you were thinking about just a minute ago. Shit, that’s just your luck isn’t it? Obviously, he just had to be here, and obviously, the one time you wish he wouldn’t pay attention to you, he does. You try your best not to look too caught off guard as you feel your face heat up from the way Minho’s eyes are set on you, cursing the world for the awful timing.

“You’re coming with us?” You blurt out in his direction, forcing your gaze to stay away from the way his soaked through white shirt allows you to see everything underneath and to focus on looking him right in the eye. Which is hard enough by itself, because his stare is so strong you fear your legs will give out from underneath you. 

“Yeah,” He says, and you swear his voice has gotten even more attractive since you heard him last. “Is that a problem?” 

“Of course not,” Chan answers for you. “We just need to finish practicing the choreo. We’ll be outside anyway, so we won’t bother you, right, Y/N?”

“Right.”

You’re quick to gather your things, relieved that when your eyes land on Minho’s frame again, he’s no longer looking at you, his face stoic like it usually is. The three of you head towards the bus stop, and you’re happy that it arrives after less than a minute, certain that this is an opportunity to sit somewhere where you can silently admire the dancer without him catching your stare. Unfortunately for you, the bus is packed with people eager to get home and there are no sitting spots available, forcing the three of you to squeeze your way through the crowd and into a corner.

You feel goosebumps spread across your skin as Minho’s shoulder accidentally brushes over yours, clutching your bag a little harder and biting your lip. It’s so unfamiliar, having him this close to you, so close that you can hear his breathing. You’re sure that if you moved only a little to the left, you’d be able to hear his heartbeat, too. A small gasp leaves your mouth as the bus abruptly moves, making you almost lose your balance. Thankfully, you manage to grab the handle above your head to steady yourself before you trip. 

It takes you a total of two and a half seconds to realize it’s the same handle that Minho’s holding. It takes you another three to realize you’re literally holding onto his fucking hand, that your skin is in contact with Lee Minho’s skin.

Holy shit.

You retrieve your hand so fast that you didn’t even know you could react that quickly, and it feels like your heart is about to burst out of your chest as you look everywhere just not in his direction. Did he notice that? Of course he did, how could he not? You held onto his hand, for fuck’s sake! And even if he didn’t care about that, he surely must’ve raised a brow at how you reacted to the physical contact. Like a crazy person. God, there is just no way you can ever look him in the eye after this. 

The rest of the ride you just keep your eyes planted to the floor, hoping you don't look as embarrassed as you feel. 

“We’re here,” You hear Chan say after a while, more to his friend than to you.

You wait for them to go first, not wanting to draw more attention to yourself, but your plan fails the moment Minho turns around in the doorway, looking at you expectantly. “You coming?” 

This time, as you’re walking past him, you make sure not to let your shoulder come in contact with his, but it doesn’t change the way your skin tingles when you meet his gaze for a split second. God, it’s going to be a long walk home. 

Fortunately for you, there’s a limit to how long a three hundred meters walk can last, and so after a couple of minutes, you’ve arrived. You waste no time going up to your room while Chan and Minho stay downstairs. The moment you enter the room it feels like you can finally breathe. 

Sitting down by the window, you calm yourself down, for the first time in your life happy to be away from your brother’s annoyingly hot best friend. You even manage to forget him for a while, almost too caught up in your homework to notice the two boys practicing on the lawn beneath your window. Almost.

In your defense, Minho’s impossible not to notice. You catch a glimpse of him – brows furrowed and forehead glistening in sweat – and it’s enough to make you admire him shamelessly from where you’re sitting, homework long forgotten. He dances with Chan for a while, explaining the moves to him and adjusting his shoulders when they’re positioned wrong, and it makes you wish you were in his place right now – having Minho’s fingers touch your skin, his attention set on you and not your godforsaken brother. Then, your eyes follow him as he leaves Chan alone, moving to where his bag lies and taking something out of it.

You can see the muscles on his arm flex as he opens his water bottle, before bringing it to his lips and throwing his head back to drink. Your mouth waters at the sight of his exposed neck and the veins on his fingers that are gripping the bottle tightly. It’s shameful how easy he can get you worked up – a throb forming in between your legs already, despite the action being quite unharmful. To anyone who doesn’t fantasize about him, obviously. Which excludes you.

Your heart gets caught up in your throat when you catch Minho smirking up at you, his eyes looking directly into yours and you’re frozen in place for a second, unsure of what to do with yourself. Finally, you tear your gaze away from him, utterly embarrassed for what seems like the nth time today. 

—

Nothing can top the relief you feel when Minho announces he's heading home after spending a good two hours at your and Chan's house. Unfortunately, he also promises to be back tomorrow after your brother’s swimming practice, so that they can perfect the choreography. (Which is, by the way, so unnecessary, because you've seen Minho dance and that choreography needs no more perfecting on his end.) Usually, you wouldn't have minded at all, but after today's humiliating incidents you'd prefer not to face him in the nearest future. But as usual, the world doesn't really listen to your wishes.

Actually, the world must hate you, absolutely fucking despise you, because the next day Minho manages to arrive too early, knocking on the door a whole hour before Chan's practice is supposed to end. 

“I’m not interested!” You shout as you hear a fist banging against your door, your first thought being that the person outside is some kind of salesman.

“You’re not interested? Aw, why not?” 

You freeze hearing his voice, eyes widening in shock. What. The. Fuck? Why is he here so early? Surely your brother must’ve told him when he’d be home, and you knew Minho wasn’t one to just forget things. Another thing that declared you fucked right now because there was just no way he hadn’t taken pride in the way he caught you staring at him yesterday. But, you had to open the door or you’d never hear the end of it. Besides, Minho already knew you were home since you’d recklessly shouted at him. Shit, you should’ve just stayed quiet. But who knows, maybe you’d gotten lucky and he had actually forgotten when your brother's practice ended, so he’d just leave and come back later. 

“My brother’s not home until seven,” You say the moment you open the door, met with his signature smirk and his hands buried in the pockets of his perfectly fitting jeans. “You’re early.”

“Really?” The way he says it makes you feel like it doesn’t really surprise him. His smirk widens as he eyes you up and down, and you feel very exposed as his gaze falls first on your lips and then slides down to your cleavage, where they linger a little too long than they should. “My bad, I thought he said six. Mind if I wait here meanwhile?” 

He doesn’t really wait for your response, walking past you and into the house like it’s his own, his shoulder brushing over yours just like yesterday. You roll your eyes at him while closing the door as you see him throw his backpack onto the couch you were peacefully sitting on just a few moments ago. He makes himself at home, turning on the tv and putting his arms behind his neck. You can’t help but notice that he looks hot like this, relaxed and sprawled out on your couch. 

But it doesn't matter. He's here for your brother, not you. So you turn your back to him and walk into the kitchen under the excuse of making food, yet in reality, just doing anything so you won't have to look at his stupidly handsome face. 

“You do realize Chan’s not gonna be home for another hour, right?” You say as you start cutting up some fruit. 

“Yeah, why?” You hear Minho chuckle from the couch, and you can almost feel the way his stare is set on you. “Can’t handle my presence?” 

“Didn’t say that. I’m just saying you might get bored.”

You’re so focused on keeping your eyes on the food in front of you that you don’t even notice Minho has walked into the kitchen, before you feel his warm breath fan against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Your heart jumps in your chest and you turn around to face him in reflex. It's embarrassing how loud you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, and that sensation is only heightened as he smiles down on you, faces closer to each other than they’ve ever been. 

“Do you find this boring?”

His voice is raspy, with a hint of amusement in it as he lets his hand graze your skin when he brushes your hair out of your face. You suck in a breath, silently cursing your heart for almost beating out of your chest at such a small gesture and hoping to god your flustered state went unnoticed by the boy. But is there really a possibility of anything going unnoticed when two people are in such close proximity? 

Do you find this boring? Such a stupid question to ask. Listening to your heartbeat would be enough to answer it. Looking into your wide eyes would be enough to answer it. Watching how your body reacts to his touch would be enough to answer it. The answer is out in the open for him to see, and you know he sees it. And surprisingly, it doesn’t make you want to run and hide. Sure, it makes you nervous as fuck – having him look at you like that, so intently, yet so carefully – but it doesn’t make you want to run. If anything, it makes you want to stay. 

“No,” You say, uselessly. “I don’t.” 

A smile spreads itself across his lips. Not a smirk, a smile. And oh god, do you feel weak in the knees when he looks at you like that. You want to say something more – hear him talk about himself or maybe ask for his number. It doesn’t even matter, really, you just want to hear his voice, and feel his touch like you did a few moments ago. He’s waiting for you to say something, you can see it in the way his eyes are glancing between your eyes and lips, and it makes you wonder whether he’s thinking of kissing you. Or if he’d kiss you if you asked him to. 

“I…” You trail off, breath caught up in your throat as Minho leans closer to you, tilting his head to the side slightly. He’s so close that you can smell him now, the scent of his cologne filling your senses, and it makes you feel even more intoxicated with him. You’ve smelt his perfume before as he walked by, but this is different. This time, his face is millimeters away from yours as he licks his lips and you swear he’s doing it on purpose just to set you off. And you have to admit it’s working. 

“You…?” His tone is teasing, while his touch is featherlight as he lets his fingers graze your bare shoulder – seemingly innocent, but you know he’s doing it just to see you shiver in excitement. And you do even more so when his hand drops to your thigh, causing you to suck in a breath loudly before you can stop yourself. You can see a small smirk forming on his lips at your actions, and you’re about to say something to defend yourself when you hear the front door open, making you jump slightly.

“I’m home!”

Minho doesn’t even flinch hearing your brother’s voice, his eyelids half closed as his gaze still rests on you, hot breath hitting your lips as he awaits your next move. And it’s half relieved, half frustrated that you turn away from him, walking a couple of feet away so it looks natural. What the hell just happened? You're left to ponder that question as your brother walks into the room and you hear him and Minho talking. 

Even as he's speaking with Chan, he doesn't fail to meet your gaze when you let it linger on his frame for a little too long. And it’s in defeat that you realize there are butterflies fluttering in your stomach when he sends you a subtle wink. 

—

School is hell, but it’s even worse when you catch yourself staring at your brother’s best friend way too many times. Especially since he seems to catch you doing it, too. 

You swear he’s everywhere. In the hallway when you’re walking to class, sitting by a nearby table when you’re in the cafeteria eating lunch and walking out of the building exactly when you’re sitting outside, peacefully reading a book. You just can’t escape him and the amused look he sends you every time he sees your gaze land on his frame. 

And while it probably doesn’t even look like he’s paying you any attention to bypassers, you’ve grown to know him enough to tell that it’s not accidentally that he lifts up his shirt to wipe his sweat exactly as you’re walking by the football field. Or maybe it is an accident and you’re just delusional. Either way, it’s embarrassing how something like that is enough to make your face grow hot and turn your gaze anywhere else than him and his stupidly pretty face.

After all that, it’s obvious that what you want the most is to get some peace and finally be able to breathe freely without thinking of Lee Minho. Which is why you head towards one of the less crowded places on campus when your classes finish, sitting down on a bench and taking out your book that you’ve barely begun reading due to all the recent events. However, you’re not able to relish in the silence for too long before you hear a voice behind you, catching you off guard.

“What book are you reading?”

“What?” You ask, turning around to look Minho in the eyes and being met with a hint of curiosity in them. 

“I asked you what book you’re reading,” He repeats, leaning his arm on the bench like he didn’t just scare the living shit out of you. “You were so caught up in it that you didn’t even notice me, so it must be good, right?”

“Not really, it’s my chemistry book. Didn't have anything better to do than study anyway.”

You’re kind of surprised when Minho lets out a snort of laughter at your words, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh while talking to you. You could get used to that, actually – hearing him laugh. The way his eyes light up when he does it makes you feel weirdly happy, it’s like he actually enjoys your presence. Oh god, you really hope he does. You really hope that he doesn’t look at you like Chan’s annoying little sister, because that would completely ruin everything.

“Anyway, I came to ask you whether you want to grab a coffee with me,” He says, a smile still planted onto his face. “Pretty sure that's more entertaining than studying for your chemistry exam.”

“Sure,” For a second, your face lights up, but then it falters again. “Not sure Chan would want me there, though. Wouldn’t wanna ruin his time with his friends.”

“I never mentioned anything about Chan, though, did I?”

You open your mouth to reply and then close it again when he pokes your cheek with his finger. It’s so unexpected that your eyes go wide – so wide you’re afraid you might look like a fish or something – but it also doesn’t last long, because one blink of your eyes later his finger is gone and you’re left face to face with the most handsome boy in the world. He’s very close to you – did he lean forward or were just too busy staring at every inch of him to notice that he was this close to you all along? 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He tilts his head to the side with a smirk, and you avert your gaze immediately, making him chuckle. What a nuisance, you think to yourself. You want him so bad it hurts. “Come on, let’s go before the high schoolers take all the best spots.”

You must look a little unconvinced, because he soon speaks again. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it doesn’t get boring.”

And he winks – something that makes your heart drop to your stomach and screams at you that this is a bad idea, considering how he’s your brother’s best friend. 

But you don’t really get to think that through because suddenly, he’s walking away with his bag thrown over his shoulder, and you pick up your things in an instant and jog up to him, like you weren’t just considering going home a minute ago. You still make an effort to scoff really loudly as you catch up with him just so he doesn’t think that little wink had any impact on you, but he chooses to ignore it, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he crosses the road. 

Chan would totally freak out if he saw you right now, you think to yourself, walking into a dimly lit cafe side by side with his best friend. Why exactly are you doing this again? You look at Minho and he flashes you a smile that makes you want to cry into a pillow. Ah. That's why you're doing this. 

“I’ll have an americano,” Minho tells the waitress a few minutes later from where you're sitting by a table in the corner of the cafe. “And you?”

The waitress is looking at you expectantly, but your eyes are set on Minho and his t-shirt that looks a little too small and hugs his muscles a little too well. He’s wearing piercings, too – one in his right ear and two in his left. He doesn’t wear them when he dances, so you’ve never really seen him with them on. They suit him. A little too much. 

“Iced latte,” You say mindlessly as Minho asks again, and you can see him raise a brow at your lack of responsiveness. The waitress walks away, and before Minho can ask you what you were thinking about, you ask a question to fill the silence. “Don’t you have dancing lessons today?”

Dumb question. You know he doesn’t have any dancing lessons today. And from how he’s looking at you, it’s not hard to tell he knows it’s a stupid question. God, this is like your first time speaking to him one on one and here you are, embarrassing yourself to no end. 

“You know I don’t,” One corner of his lips quirk up in amusement. “Me and your brother have the same schedule.”

“How come I need to remember everything about his schedule?” You mumble under your breath, fiddling with your fingers because you’re 99 percent sure Minho now thinks you’re just his best friend’s helpless little sister that has a hopeless crush on him. Which you are. But still. If you appear so nervous all the time you’re never going to get that dick.

Right as you’re about to seduce him with your charms, a waiter gives you your drinks. He’s handsome, with sharp eyes and a kind smile. Probably would have landed a role in a kdrama had he tried. When he flashes his pearl white teeth in your direction, it’s like you can’t hold back from smiling back. 

“Here are your drinks.” 

He puts them on the table and smiles wider at you, almost completely ignoring Minho. It makes you giggle, and he winks at you in return, but then, as the waiter retracts his hand from the table, he manages to push the teaspoon lying next to Minho’s coffee cup onto the floor by accident. Seeing his sorry expression, you’re quick to squat down on the floor to pick it up, but it seems like he’s got the same plan – your hands touch as you both reach for the fallen spoon. 

For a second, you’re waiting for that electric feeling to surge through you and for your whole body to grow hot like it did when you touched Minho’s hand in the bus, but when that sensation doesn’t come, you just smile at the waiter instead and hand him the spoon.

“Thank you,” He smiles and lets his eyes fan over your face and dip down to your body. “Is this your first time coming here? I feel like I would’ve remembered seeing such a pretty girl here before.”

You can tell the waiter’s interested in you, and so, upon noticing Minho’s expressionless gaze from where he’s sitting on his chair, you opt to take this as an opportunity to mess with him a little. Why should you be the only one chasing after him, after all? 

“Yeah, it’s my first time,” You blink up at the waiter, letting your fingers trace up his arm until they reach the collar of his shirt. “If it wasn’t, I surely would’ve remembered seeing such a handsome waiter.” 

Your eyes meet his and you smile in an overly cute way, letting your finger trail over his jaw before you place it back in your lap. He grins and extends his hand to help you stand up, and you make sure to stand on your tippy toes to press a small kiss to his cheek as a thank you. You can feel Minho’s gaze on you and it’s with great willpower that you hold back the smile threatening to take over your features. 

“I finish work in an hour,” It’s the waiter speaking – it’s hard not to look in Minho’s direction, but you hold out, ‘accidentally’ fixing your shirt so more of your cleavage is exposed. And surely, it works, because the waiter’s eyes widen just slightly as they dip down to take in the exposed skin. “Do you want to come over and watch a movie with me?”

You can’t keep yourself from doing it anymore, so you look at Minho – only to be met with his eyebrows raised and head tilted to the side in inquiry. Bingo. 

With a sweet smile, you grab at the waiter’s arm. “I’d love to.”

As he walks away, you sit down in front of Minho with a satisfied smile, sipping your drink innocently. And you wait. You wait for three seconds, then four. Seconds turn into a minute, but Minho's still sipping his drink like nothing happened. It’s only when the cup is empty that he looks up at you, licking his lips – which, by the way, makes him look ten times hotter than before, if that’s even possible. 

He leans forward and his knee touches yours – whether that is on purpose or not, you don’t know, but it makes you jump up slightly in surprise. 

“So, are you proud of yourself?” 

He asks this question casually, but the tone of his voice makes your heart beat faster against your chest. You’re not sure what he means or if he’s jealous at all – his eyes hold an unreadable expression and the heat of his leg against your bare thigh from under the table is enough to send your mind into overdrive. It’s safe to say that you’re not able to think straight right now, and his piercing stare doesn’t help much – instead of making you want to concentrate on answering, it makes you want to jump his bones. So, to minimize the rates of embarrassing yourself completely, you opt for a question to answer his question.

“Huh?”

Minho’s lips quirk upwards in a smirk and he shakes his head, smiling to himself for a second. Then, he pulls out his wallet and puts money on the table. He’s getting ready to leave. The moment he gets up to leave, you do the same, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by you how his eyes fan down to your legs, even if only for a moment. You quickly make your way to his side and he looks down on you with a hint of amusement in his gaze. 

“You really put on a show back there,” He says, finally answering your question. Your heart beats faster at that – so he did notice. Upon seeing your expression, Minho chuckles softly. “Poor guy probably thinks you’re coming over later.”

“What do you mean? I am coming over.”

He stops walking right outside the entrance to the cafe and turns to look at you with an eyebrow raised. The exit doesn’t immediately lead you to the main road, but rather a side alley surrounded by three brick walls and an opening towards the main square that you still haven’t walked through. This means you and him are still in a pretty excluded area – you look around for a second, but the only sign of life nearby is the sound of some people talking inside of the cafe you just left –  and, somehow, that makes his gaze feel much harder than it normally would feel as he stares you down. 

You’re nervous, that’s for sure, but probably not in the way you should be. 

What you should be worried about right now is that you’re in an empty alleyway with your best friend’s brother, who could turn out to be a serial killer or something. (No, he couldn’t – this is Minho we’re talking about. The guy who has three cats and cares for them like they’re his children.) But the only thing you’re thinking about right now is how sharp Minho’s jawline is, and how maybe he’d fuck you against this wall if you asked nicely. 

“No, you’re not,” He says and you’re suddenly brought back to reality. You’re about to object to his claim – excuse him, why is he not buying your act? – but before you get to do that, he takes a step forward and backs you against the wall, resting his hand on the brick wall just above your head. “You really think I don’t know you did that to get my attention, kitten?” 

Oh. Your hearts speed up to an inhuman pace and you almost forget to breathe for a moment there as you feel his breath on your face, his nose mere centimeters away from your own. 

“I didn’t-” 

He doesn’t really cut you off, but his fingers ghosting over your jaw are enough to make you stop talking. You feel your heart beating so loudly you’re afraid Minho might hear it when he leans even closer to push your hair away from your face and whisper in your ear. 

“You’re a little bit of an attention whore, aren’t you? If you wanted me to fuck you this bad, you could’ve just said so.” 

You feel your face heat up in embarrassment – both from how you totally just made a fool out of yourself and from you can feel your panties start to soak through just at his words. Well, maybe not just his words, because the way you can see his arm muscles if you look a little to the left definitely helps. But now you’re just making excuses. 

“Don’t worry, it’s kind of cute how much you’re willing to do to get my attention.” 

Minho’s eyes fall down to your lips and you swallow hard. Is he going to kiss you right now? His hand moves to stroke your cheek and you close your eyes, awaiting him to connect his lips to yours. It’s like an eternity has passed before you feel his mouth lips against the corner of your mouth – touching you so softly you’re not even sure it really happened before the sound of your phone ringing fills the alleyway and he pulls away. 

Fucking phone. You grab it a little too fast, scoffing as you see the caller ID. Of course it’s your fucking brother, who else would manage to call you just when you were kissing Lee fucking Minho? 

“What?” You ask probably a little too harshly upon picking up, and you can hear Minho chuckle quietly from where he’s standing. 

“Wow, no need to lash out on me like that,” He says in response and you roll your eyes, because clearly, there is a need – one that you don’t get to fulfill exactly because of this goddamn conversation. “Can you come home? Dinner’s ready and mom wants us to eat together for once.”

“I need to come right now? Seriously?” It’s not your intention to come off as whiny, but who can really blame you? 

“Yes, seriously,” Chan sighs into the phone. “What are you doing that you can't come?”

That question makes your blood pressure skyrocket. “Nothing. I'm not doing anything at all. I'll be there in ten minutes, okay?”

And you hang up without waiting for an answer. 

“You should get going,” You hear Minho’s voice and turn around to face him. His hands are in his pockets again and his hair is falling into his forehead. You have an urge to walk over to him and push the hair away from his face, but you resist it. “Wouldn’t wanna upset your brother too much. Considering you’re already hitting on his best friend.”

The smirk he sends you makes your heart do a dozen flips inside of your chest. 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

And you start the walk home with a smile tugging at your lips and butterflies swarming in your stomach. 

—

“Minho is what?” You almost scream at your brother when he tells you his plans in a casual tone – like he isn’t ruining your life. 

“Sleeping over,” Chan repeats – like you asked him because you didn’t hear – raising a brow in confusion. “I don’t see how that’s a problem? We won’t bother you, I swear.”

Well, maybe you won’t, but Minho will, you think to yourself. You’re completely certain that he’ll do everything in his power to tease you somehow, especially after that day at the cafe… But you're only complaining for show, because really, you don't mind him bothering you. At all. If anyone were listening to your heartbeat right now, they’d have no problem in confirming that your heart speeds up at the mere thought of spending time with Lee Minho.

“Okay, then,” You sigh. “When is he coming?”

You’re totally not asking so you can run back to your room and only appear after Minho’s arrived so it doesn’t look like you’ve been waiting for him. Nope. You’d never go that far just for a boy you’re not even supposed to like. Like, how stupid would that be? 

“He’s coming about…” Chan pauses as the doorbell rings and your whole body tenses up. “Now.”

You’re about to run up the stairs to your room and hide, but, instead of being a normal human being and waiting for someone to open the door, Minho lets himself in and walks into the house before you can even take a step. 

He looks hot (as always), with his hair and jacket wet – is it raining? you didn’t even know – and blue jeans around his hips. It should be illegal to look this good. He’s holding a bag in one hand, brushing his hair away from his face with the other, and you don’t even realize you’re staring until he rests his eyes on you and flashes you a smile that has you weak in the knees. 

“Hey,” He says in your direction, letting his fingers brush over your hand as he walks inside. 

Your eyes drift to the right to see whether Chan reacts to how his best friend is paying you attention all of a sudden, but even if he did notice anything, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he takes Minho’s bag and tells him to follow him upstairs. 

“I’ll just get some water first,” Minho replies and your brother nods, walking off to his room, leaving you alone with his best friend who turns his attention to you immediately. “You’re not gonna say hi?”

“Hi,” Somehow, even greeting him makes your stomach do a hundred flips, and the way he's looking at you doesn't help, either. His eyes trail up and down your body, sending shivers down your spine, before he meets your stare again. “Why are you staying here all of a sudden? You've known my brother for a few years, but you've never slept over before.”

It's true what you're saying – he's never stayed past midnight, and even those times were rare. Your statement doesn’t surprise Minho, it seems, because he only tilts his head to the side with a smile. 

“Really? I haven't?”

The way he says it makes you certain he’s aware of it already, but you nod anyway. “You told Chan there's no point in sleeping over when you can just meet up early the next day.”

He takes a step in your direction and you swear your heart could beat out of your chest at this rate. Damn Minho and his ability to always catch you off guard… Though maybe the crush you have on him also plays a small part in how you react to every bit of attention he shows you. His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and instead of retracting it, he lets it rest against your cheek. 

His lips quirk upwards in a soft smirk. “Hmm, it's almost as if someone made me change my mind.”

You’re about to respond – actually, correction, you’re about to grab his collar and kiss him until you can’t breathe – but then Chan’s voice comes from above and makes you jump in surprise.

“You coming, bro?”

Fuck. Him. Why does he always have to ruin the moment? Upon seeing your annoyed expression, Minho chuckles and you only glare at him in response – why is he so calm when you’re dying to feel his skin on yours? 

“Yeah, coming!” He shouts to your brother, before looking at you again with a wide grin. “Don’t be so impatient, we have plenty of time, remember?” 

And just like that, he leaves for Chan’s room, letting the image of his smile make itself at home inside of your head. But really, you wish it didn’t, because now you’re starting to think this little crush might be more than just that. 

—

The next few hours pass by rather normally. 

Chan and Minho stay in your brother’s room, and you occupy the living room, watching K-dramas and eating noodles. It’s a solid distraction from the fact that Minho’s here – actually, after a while you’ve practically forgotten about him, more focused on the fact that you need to use the bathroom exactly when the most exciting part of the episode is playing. It seems fate hasn’t really been on your side lately. 

Resigned, you pause the TV and head for the bathroom upstairs (the one downstairs smells like the way-too-big amount of cologne your brother sprays on every morning and it makes you want to puke), because really, what else can you do? When you reach the last steps, you can hear music flowing through the speakers in Chan’s room, meaning they’re both in there still. Great, you won’t have to worry about the fact that your hair’s a mess from lying down on the couch. 

At least that's what you think as you open the door to the bathroom, only for your eyes to widen when they land on Minho’s bare chest. 

It takes your brain approximately five seconds to realize what is going on – how you just walked in on Lee Minho changing. Your words get lost in your throat as you take in the sight in front of you – Minho’s raised brows, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his muscles on display for you to see, making it impossible to look away. Not that you want to. He looks so hot that it has heat forming between your thighs, and you wish he would stop teasing you and make your dreams of him fucking you come true instead. 

“The way you’re looking at me is making me think you walked in here on purpose, kitten.” 

“What?” You shake your head vigorously, feeling your face heat up at Minho’s words. “No, I just- I didn’t know you were here and-” 

“I’m just joking,” He cuts you off with a smile. You can’t help but smile, too, when he walks over to you and pulls you closer by your shoulders, leaning his face down so your noses touch. “Relax.” 

And, weirdly enough, you do. Even with his mouth mere millimeters away from yours, you don’t feel like running away. You let yourself admire him for a little longer, and use Chan being busy in his room as an excuse to do so. His lips are just barely parted, eyes fully open as they reflect the light above his head, and you really want to kiss him. 

“Can I kiss you?” The question slips past your lips before you can even think twice about it. 

It takes him a while to answer – his gaze drops to your lips before he looks into your eyes again, and you swear your whole body is on fire when his hand comes up to cup your cheek. Gently. Softly. It’s different than earlier, the way he’s looking at you. Someone looking at the scene from outside, someone that didn’t know Lee Minho, might’ve mistaken his gaze for a sense of surprise or nervousness, but when you looked at him and he looked at you, it was obvious he wanted to kiss you just as badly as you wanted to kiss him. 

“Yeah,” He replies finally.

Your heart jumps at that, and while you’re busy figuring out how to calm down and actually kiss him like you had intended, Minho takes the matter into his own hands. Literally. 

His fingers grab at your jaw as he leans down and connects his lips to yours – fully, this time, nowhere near as gently as he did in front of the cafe. You’re unable to move at first, eyes closed as you focus on the feeling of his mouth moving against your own. He pulls you flush against his body, hand grabbing at your hip and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him even closer – until you feel the warmth from his chest as you’re pressed up against it. 

Your hands wander down to his stomach and trace his muscles, mouth parting in a soft smile when he shivers. Minho takes that as an opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, groaning quietly as he gets lost in the taste of you – and at the same time making you think that sound might just be the prettiest thing you’ve ever heard. 

He pulls away to breathe, eyes scanning your face – shimmering in the light. But that only lasts a short moment, before he kisses you again, hands on your waist as he pushes you against the door to the bathroom. Faintly, you can hear the music grow louder from Chan's room, but it doesn't matter, none of it does, because you're here, kissing Lee Minho like your life depends on it. And to some degree, you suppose it does. 

Minho’s hands move from your waist to slip under your shirt and you shiver when his fingers brush over your stomach – it's the first time he's touching you like this and it has your whole mind going into overdrive. He must notice the effect he has on you because you hear him chuckle quietly against your neck when his lips move to suck marks into the skin right below your ear. You bury your hands in his hair and tug on it when his tongue swipes over the spots that have you shivering in delight.

“Shit, want you so bad, kitten,” Minho purrs against your cheek before he pulls away, and his words make the heat between your legs even more unbearable. 

His eyes are darkened, hands moving a little lower and grazing your hip. God, he really knows how to drive you crazy. The corners of his lips quirk upwards when you shiver, his smirk showing he's satisfied with the effect he has on you. And there's not really anything you can do to prove him wrong because you're going crazy with every little touch of his. 

You stand on your tiptoes to kiss him again, but as soon as his lips touch yours, you hear footsteps shuffling and someone knocks on the door. It takes all of your strength not to let out a startled gasp when Chan speaks up.

“Minho, bro, you done there?”

You clasp your hand over your mouth, eyes widened, but Minho seems totally unfazed, even letting out a small chuckle that earns him a push when he sees your expression. 

“Yeah, I'll be out in a minute,” He says and you hear Chan walk off, letting you breathe.

“What are you so nervous about?” Minho asks and you glare at him.

“Oh, I don't know, maybe I'm scared my brother will catch me making out with his best friend in the bathroom?”

He smiles and suddenly, you're not annoyed anymore. Not even when he walks away from you to get his clothes, though that isn't the ideal turn of events. If it were up to you, you would sit with him in this bathroom for the remainder of the day, letting him fluster and tease you all he wants. 

“You don’t have to ask for permission to kiss me, by the way,” His voice brings you back to reality, and you observe as he puts his shirt on, just a tad bit too intently watching the way his abdominal muscles flex as he does so. “Just so you know.”

“For future reference?” You can’t hold back the smile that creeps onto your face, and your heart skips a beat when he mirrors your expression. He grabs the clothes he changed out of and slings them over his shoulder as he walks over to you and rests his forehead against yours. 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

Your breath speeds up as his hand slips under your shirt again, fingers stroking your skin softly. His eyes are hooded, lips glistening as he licks them, and then, suddenly, he’s leaning in and his lips just barely touch yours. It’s short, and delicate, you don’t even get to close your eyes before the sensation is gone and his hand is on the doorknob. Right, he needs to leave, or it’s going to raise suspicions.

“See you later, kitten,” He says and you pout, making him poke your cheek with his finger. “Don’t miss me too much.” 

“Why would I miss you?” 

He only chuckles in response and leaves with a wink sent your way. One that has butterflies swarming in your stomach as you wait in the bathroom for a couple minutes. How annoying of him to act like that. Guess there’s no way to hide your crush on him anymore. Though you suppose pretending like you weren’t dreaming about him touching you left the picture the moment you flirted with that waiter to make him jealous. Or, maybe, it was already out of the picture that day he came over too early and you felt yourself melt under his gaze. 

Or maybe it was all over for you when he arrived today and you realized that you were in too deep. Realized that your eyes don’t only widen when you see Minho’s abs, but also when you see his eyes, his hair, his smile. Realized you like watching him dance not because he looks hot, but because he looks happy. 

Realized you’re in love with Lee Minho, and there’s no turning back.

—

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

Minho’s voice makes you jump from where you're half-sitting, half-lying on the couch, watching some drama wrapped up in a blanket. It's way past midnight, but you're not feeling sleepy at all – whether that is because of the kdrama or the fact that Minho is staying over at your house, you're not sure, though the latter seems more likely. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” You say as he walks closer, your eyes lingering on his sweats and shirt a little too long for it to be considered appropriate. “Are you trying to sneak out or something?” 

“Why would I sneak out? Am I being held hostage?”

“You came here out of free will, so no,” You smile at him and he chuckles, eyes crinkling. It’s dark, and his face is partially hidden, much to your distaste, so you pat the spot next to you, looking at him expectantly. “Come sit.”

He looks at you with his eyebrows raised and for a moment, you’re scared he won’t sit down. But then he plops down on your left, hand resting on your thigh that is covered with the blanket and making your heart bang against your chest. You didn’t expect him to sit this close to you, and you’re certain it’s showing from the way Minho smirks at you when you meet his gaze. In response you scoff – as if that’s going to hide the way your whole body is heating up – and let your head fall down on his shoulder. When you focus on the tv again, the drama you were watching suddenly doesn’t seem very entertaining anymore. Not to mention the main lead suddenly doesn’t seem handsome at all.

Minho doesn’t say anything for a while, and so you try to convince yourself this is just a normal movie night with one of your friends. Except your friends don’t smell like cologne for men, nor do their hands rest on your thigh when you watch a movie. And, most importantly, your friends don’t make your heart beat faster and your legs turn to jelly without even saying a word. It’s alright, though, at least that’s what you tell yourself when you hear Minho shuffling next to you, blood pressure skyrocketing from this mere reminder of his presence. 

Though that is in no way comparable to how you jump in surprise when Minho’s hand slips under your blanket instead, brushing over your bare thigh. Suddenly, you’ve forgotten how to think, your skin burning from the light touch. At least until Minho retracts his hand from your body with a worried look on his face. 

“Are you oka-” 

You don’t let him finish, grabbing his hand and placing it back on your thigh with a pout. He looks at you for a moment and then his face contorts into that ridiculously hot smirk of his as he squeezes your thigh. You try your best to muffle the whimper that’s threatening to slip past your lips, but that only results in some kind of choked sound leaving your mouth – making Minho’s smile widen in amusement. 

“Oh, so you did miss me,” He says and you’re about to protest, but he leans forward and snuggles his head into the crook of your neck, spreading goosebumps all over your skin when he murmurs against it. “Didn’t you?” 

“Mhm,” You mumble when his lips just barely brush over your neck, already making it hard to focus on the TV screen in front of you. 

Minho’s hand squeezes your thigh again as he drags his nose up to your jaw and presses a soft kiss to your skin. You shiver in anticipation, eyes fighting to stay open. There’s not much fighting left to do, though, because your gaze is already unfocused and when Minho presses another kiss against your neck, you lean your head to the side to grant him better access without thinking twice about it. Upon feeling Minho’s smile against your skin when he moves further down your neck you think that maybe you shouldn’t have given in so easily. 

Those thoughts vanish from your mind as quickly as they came when he moves his hand further up your thigh – your skin tingling where he touches you, chest heaving with each breath as your panties slowly start to soak through. His lips find that one spot that makes you press your thighs together and sucks marks into it, fingers moving in circles that, annoyingly enough, don't move towards the spot you need them to be. 

“What was that?” 

He’s referring to how you didn’t answer his question, you realize a few seconds later than you probably should have. If he’s making you forget how to think by just kissing you, how will you feel when he fucks you? Your pussy throbs with excitement at the very thought of that – at the thought of Minho’s cock deep inside of you, bending you over every surface. 

“Fuck,” You whine as his hand plays with the hem of your shorts. “Yes, I missed you, Minho. Missed you so much.” 

“Yeah?” His lips ghost over yours as he pulls your shorts down and you help him discard them somewhere on the floor. You can see how his eyes drop down to look at your legs that you've already spread for him, and when his hand rests on the edge of your panties, you think you're going to go crazy if he doesn't fuck you soon. “I missed you, too, kitten, couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

“Please, Minho,” You beg him shamelessly. “Want you so, so bad.”

His fingers stop fiddling with your underwear and move further down instead, brushing over the thin fabric covering your cunt. You want to rub your thighs together to ease the heat between your legs, but his other hand resting on your thigh doesn’t let you, so you settle on looking at him with pleading eyes instead. 

“I know you do,” He says, pushing his knuckles against your clothed clit, and you let out a choked whimper, your whole body jolting forward to meet his hand. He tuts disapprovingly and delivers a small slap to your throbbing cunt that makes you moan a little too loud. Your heart is hammering against your chest, and it only heightens when Minho’s fingers start rubbing circles into your panties that are soaking wet. “That’s why you were acting like a slut earlier, right? Flirting with that guy. But he doesn’t make you this wet, does he?” 

You shake your head vigorously, but Minho tilts your chin upwards, raising his eyebrows. Urging you to answer verbally, like your mind isn't already going hazy just from how he's rubbing your panties against your pussy.

“No,” You manage to mumble.

“No?”

You shake your head again and in return, Minho presses his finger against your clit, eliciting a soft whimper from you. His hand holds your hips down when you try to lift them off the couch, but he rubs against you again, watching with a smile as you squirm under his touch. He's barely giving you anything and yet you're going crazy, your arousal dripping through your panties and onto his hand. 

“Minho, please,” You whine at him, your nails digging into his thigh. 

Chuckling, he grabs at your waist and helps you lie down against the arm of the couch so you’re looking up at him from below. He slips his hand into your panties without warning, letting his fingers run through your folds experimentally, the small touch making you shiver. He finds your clit and you let out a soft moan when he rubs circles against it, his other hand leaving your hips to slip under your shirt and grab at your tits. Your back arches, pushing against his hand when his fingers move quicker on your pussy. 

“More, please” You whimper in a tone so desperate it makes Minho’s cock strain against his pants. 

“More?” He asks mockingly. “God, you’re such a fucking slut. Have my fingers on your pussy and you’re still not satisfied?” 

His words make you clench around nothing, a whimper leaving your lips as you buck your hips into his hand. For a moment you’re afraid he’ll pull away or tease you some more, but to your surprise, it seems his patience has worn thin, because he slips a finger into your cunt, curling it and making you let out a choked sob instantly. The corners of his lips lift up in a smirk, but you’re in no state to comment on it when he adds another finger, stretching you out and making every word you’d intended to utter die down in your throat. You’re already feeling full, thoughts all over the place, body shivering in delight as Minho’s fingers tease your nipples. 

When he starts pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy, your eyes roll to the back of your head and you let out small whimpers of his name, trying your hardest to bite back your moans so nobody hears. 

That task becomes even more difficult when his thumb finds your clit and rubs calculated circles into it, your cunt clenching around his fingers with each thrust. You’re embarrassingly wet, leaking onto his hand, and embarrassingly close to cumming when you tear your eyes away from his hand and look at his face – eyebrows furrowed in concentration, arm muscles flexed right in front of your face. He must notice you’re looking at him, because his gaze moves to yours and he smirks upon seeing your expression, pumping his fingers into you fast enough to make your thighs shake and your back to arch. 

“Minho, I-” You’re cut off when he pinches your clit lightly, making you shiver from underneath him. “Gonna cum.” 

But you don’t get to fulfill that promise as Minho abruptly pulls his fingers out of you, paying no mind to the fact that you’re seconds away from reaching your orgasm. You look at him with wide eyes, chest heaving as you whine a small ‘no, please’, reaching for his arm. But he doesn’t let you rab it, pulling away with a condescending smile on his face and you think you might cry if he doesn’t put his fingers back where they belong.

“You want to cum?” He asks mockingly, looking down on you and you nod eagerly. “Hmm, I don’t know if you deserve it, kitten. After that shit you pulled at the cafe just to get my attention? Greedy little sluts like you don’t deserve to cum.” 

“I’m sorry,” You sob as he rubs your clit agonizingly slowly. “I’m so sorry, Minho, just please–”

“You’re sorry?” He tilts his head to the side, retracting his hand from your pussy. “That’s the thing, though, I don’t think you are. I think,” He pauses for a moment, only to push his fingers into you again. You moan when he hits that sweet spot of yours repeatedly, bringing you unbearably close to your orgasm with each push. “You’re just a dumb slut that would do anything to have her pussy stuffed. Isn’t that right?” 

“Yes,” You breathe out, a familiar feeling of pleasure stirring up in your stomach when Minho’s other hand comes up to play with your tits, the sound of your pussy squelching with each of his movements filling the room. “Please don’t stop, Minho, please.” 

There’s no way you’re going to be able to hold back from cumming, it’s evident from the way you clench and unclench around Minho’s fingers like crazy. It doesn’t make him slow his movements, though – actually it makes him fuck you harder, fingers curling inside of you and palm of his hand pressing down on your clit.  

It takes a few more skilled movements of his hand before you’re reaching your high, legs shaking as you moan his name – probably a little too loudly, but in your blissful state you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when his fingers fuck you through it, his lips on yours the second you’ve calmed down enough to breathe properly. He kisses you roughly, but not messily, and his arm lifts your back off of the couch and presses you against him. 

He’s still fully clothed, you realize, and your hands find their way to the hem of his shirt. You take it off of him, happy he doesn’t protest, pulling away from the kiss to admire the muscles you’ve only seen an outline of during his dance practices. And despite the fact you just came, you can feel another pool of arousal forming between your thighs when you do so.

“You’re staring, kitten,” He comments, and you turn your gaze away, feeling your face heat up. It's not your fault he's hot, after all. You hear him scoff and then he tilts your chin up to look at him again. “Didn’t tell you to look away, though, did I?”

You decide to ignore him and his annoyingly sexy smirk completely, and focus on unzipping his pants instead. He swats your hand away when you try to pull them down his legs and stands up from the couch, taking them off together with his boxers. Your eyes go wide when his cock stands proudly against his lower stomach. 

The sight of him is enough to make your mouth water, hands already reaching out to touch him from where you’re sitting on the couch. He only laughs, though, planting your hands at your sides as he kisses you, tongue swiping across your lower lip. You whine into his mouth at the fact that you can’t touch him, but he disregards it, pulling you closer so your nipples graze his chest – making you shiver. Maybe you would’ve believed this was an accident not meant to make your pussy grow wetter if it wasn’t for how he pushes his thigh between your legs right afterwards, rubbing it exactly against your clit so you let out a broken whimper.

If he wants to drive you crazy, he’s definitely succeeding. 

“Minho, I–” You close your eyes when he grabs you by your hips, dragging your folds across his thigh like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Like he’s not making your whole head spin by just tightening his leg muscles. 

“You…?” He’s thoroughly enjoying this, it’s evident in the way he’s smiling condescendingly, hands holding down your hips so you can’t get rid of the dizziness that comes with your pussy being pressed against his flexed thigh. “Come on, surely you can form words, right? Or have you gone completely dumb just from sitting on my thigh?” 

“N-no,” You protest – albeit not very convincingly since you’re basically whimpering, holding onto his biceps for dear life. “I– Please, fuck me, Min. Need it so bad, please.” 

A sound dangerously close to a growl escapes him at your words and before you know it, he’s turned you around. You’re on all fours now, his bare cock brushing against the curve of your ass as he leans forward so his chest touches your back. He helps you position your hands on the arm of the couch– which you’re thankful for because now you have something to grip onto when his hand moves lower to squeeze your tits. It’s driving you crazy how long it takes for him to position himself at your entrance, so you push your hips backwards to meet his, earning yourself a small groan from him as he spreads your legs. 

“You’re so fucking needy,” He purrs, dragging his cock across your folds and watching as you push your hips back, as if to urge him to fuck you already. Somewhere along the way, when his dick is coated with your arousal, he complies and starts pushing into you – your eyes rolling to the back of your head already as the tip slips past your walls. 

He pushes in further, your head spinning as you feel him fill you up. It’s too much and too little at the same time – you want him to move, to make you see stars, but you’re partially already seeing them when his cock is halfway inside of your pussy. Your fingers grab at the couch as he bottoms out, his dick . You hear Minho chuckle, or maybe he’s saying something, you can’t tell, all too focused on the feeling of starting to rock his hips into yours slowly, his cock sliding against your walls and brushing against your clit in a way that makes you moan. 

“You’ve wanted this for a long time, haven’t you?” His mouth touches your ear as he speaks, and when you nod, he rewards you with thrusting into you a little harder. Your cunt clenches around him like crazy, and he presses his fingers into your hips. “Staring at me when you thought I wouldn’t notice, always wearing those short skirts around me. Acting like a slut just to get your pussy stuffed with my cock.” 

You whimper at his words, clamping down on his length in response. “That’s not what–”

“That’s not what you wanted?” You can’t see him, but you can imagine his head tilted to the side, the condescending look that gets you embarrassingly wet in his eyes. That thought only makes you tighten around him again and you can hear the grin in his voice as he speaks again. “Your pussy doesn’t seem to agree, though, kitten. Seeing how it’s begging me to fuck you harder.” 

He doesn’t really leave you any room to respond as he drives his cock deeper into you, your whole body falling forward with his movement, mouth hanging open as you whimper. You half-expect him to take it slow and tease you some more, but it seems he’s grown tired of that, because the next thing you know he’s lifting your leg to the side to get better access, thrusting so deep inside of you that your vision goes blurry. He’s testing the waters, but as soon as he hears you whimper his name and beg for more, he doesn’t hold back, letting his hands draw your hips back just when he draws his hips forward. 

“Fuck, Min–” Your jaw goes slack as his hand comes up to slap your tits, other arm busy keeping your leg up so he can fuck into you at a deeper angle. 

“Hmm?” He hums carelessly, finger brushing against your nipple as he pumps his cock into you faster, your moans getting louder and arms starting to shake. And if it wasn’t hard enough for you to keep yourself up while he’s fucking you, Minho decides to make it even more difficult by dropping his hand to your clit, rubbing small circles into it.

If you were having a hard time forming words earlier, you are incapable of it by now. You try to muffle your moans, but when Minho finds that one spot that makes your toes curl and starts hitting it repeatedly with his cock, you can’t even bring yourself to care if anyone hears you. He’s reaching farther than your fingers – or anyone else’s, for that matter – have ever reached, and you’re almost entirely sure you can feel him in your stomach when he pushes you against him to reach even deeper. 

“Min, feels so–” You’re struggling to sort out your thoughts enough to form a coherent sentence, and his hand moving quicker on your clit doesn’t exactly solve that problem. “So good.” 

“Yeah? You’re such a slut for my cock, taking everything I give you,” He lands a slap on your ass as if to punctuate his words, and you clench around him in response, moans turning into whimpers and sobs that are way too loud. Minho notices, and lets go of your clit to push his fingers into your mouth, successfully muffling the sounds you’re making. You moan around them, and he groans into your ear as you suck on them diligently. “Such a good girl when you’ve gone too dumb to act like a fucking brat.”

His words only make your pussy clamp down on his cock again, a feeling of bliss stirring up in your stomach as you’re pushed closer to the edge with each sharp thrust of his hips. Minho doesn’t miss the way you’re tightening around him like crazy, drooling on his fingers and going completely silent except for the broken whimpers of his name that leave your mouth. 

“Yeah? You like being my good girl?” 

At first you don’t think he wants you to reply, so you only push your hips into his cock in response and take his fingers deeper into your mouth. But then he removes his digits from your lips, and you can vaguely hear him lick them clean off your spit before his hand grabs at your hair and tugs lightly, urging you to say something. 

“Yes, fuck,” He lets go of you and lets you sink down on the couch, your sobs muffled against the pillows as you beg him. “More, please, Minho, I’m gonna cum.” 

“Yeah, me too,” He groans into your ear, fingers playing with your clit once again. “You gonna let me cum inside, kitten? Stuff your pussy full of my cum?”

“Yeah,” You sob, nails digging into the couch. 

“Good girl.” 

Minho lands a slap on your clit and it sends you over the edge, your cunt clenching around him uncontrollably. He cums after less than five seconds, letting out the hottest groan you’ve ever heard in your life as his cum fills you up. You swear the feeling of his load coating your walls almost makes you want to go for another round, but as the post-orgasm bliss fades and your head clears, you realize you’re way too exhausted for that. 

You whine when Minho pulls out of you and he chuckles, pulling you into his arms the moment he lies down. 

“You did so well, baby,” He whispers and you hum in appreciation, pressing your face between his bicep and chest. You feel him pull a blanket over you before his lips press against your forehead in a soft kiss. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” You say and kiss his collarbone. 

About fifteen minutes pass in silence before he speaks again.

“I want you.”

His voice catches you a little off guard, eyes fluttering open only to meet his gaze. After having tried to fall asleep it feels weird to hear a sound right next to your ear. Besides, you were certain he'd already fallen asleep, but it seems he's more awake than you are. 

It takes a second for your sleepy brain to register his words and when you do, your eyes widen a little and you laugh nervously.

“Again?”

“Not like that,” He chuckles lowly upon seeing your expression – a sound you want to bottle up and listen to every night from now on. The smile slowly fades from his face as he cups your cheek and you’re left admiring his face, waiting for him to say something more. And when he finally does, you swear his voice shivers a little. “I want to date you. I want you to be my girlfriend.” 

Oh, your heart. Your poor heart. You’re afraid it won’t last very long if you do say yes and date Lee Minho, considering it’s about to jump out from your chest at the very question. Trying to calm yourself down, you almost don’t notice the way Minho bites his lips nervously as he waits for you to respond. Almost.

“Okay,” You say finally, trying to sound as calm as possible and failing miserably. The excitement is too evident in your voice, but at least it makes Minho smile from where he’s lying across from you, his thumb stroking your lower lip.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” You grin, too. “Let’s date.”

“Okay,” Minho presses a kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms. He smells like his shampoo and a hint of sex. He smells like home. “Goodnight, girlfriend.”

You don't think you’ve ever smiled this wide.

“Goodnight, boyfriend.” 

—

“Syrup?” 

“Yes, please.” 

You’re currently sitting by the dining table, chin resting on your hand as you observe Minho scurrying around the kitchen, making breakfast. He’s been up for an hour at least, judging from the amount of pancakes on your plate and his hair that frames his face so nicely there’s just no way he woke up like that. Chan’s upstairs (which you thank god for because when you walked into the kitchen roughly ten minutes ago, the first thing you did was pull Minho in for a kiss) letting you admire Minho in silence. And, truthfully, you can’t fight back the smile that appears when you think of the fact that he's making breakfast for you. That he’s your boyfriend. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, pouring syrup over your pancakes, and you know he’s already figured out the answer. 

“Definitely not you,” You reply and he rolls his eyes, closing his fingers around your chin as he tilts it upwards. 

“Brat.” 

You grin. “You like it.”

“Not when I can’t fuck your brains out, I don’t.” 

You’re about to respond, but then you hear someone walk down the stairs and Minho lets go of your jaw, turning back to his pancakes. 

“Good morning,” Chan says, and you sigh, making Minho sport a smirk you only catch a glimpse of when he places some pancakes on your brother’s plate. “Oh, you made pancakes.”

Yeah, not for you, though, you think to yourself. Chan catches your gaze as you glare at him and raises a brow. You ignore him and eat your pancakes, only subtly looking at Minho from time to time. After ten minutes. give or take, he’s cleaned the dishes and practically the whole kitchen, the veins on his arms making it very hard for you to focus on anything else when he rolls up his sleeves. 

“I need to get going,” He says after that and sends you the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. You pout at that and he pokes your cheek with his finger in response. Something that makes your eyes widen ever so slightly, because your brother is in the same room as you two. “I’ll see you around, Chan.” 

Chan nods and Minho leaves, and you’re left sitting in silence, already fishing out your phone to text your boyfriend and complain about how he left way too early. 

“You like Minho,” The statement slipping past your brother’s lips makes your head snap up in shock, eyes wide open. You open your mouth to say something, but he doesn’t let you. “And he likes you.”

It’s not a question, so you don’t reply. 

“He told me about it, you know. We were talking about some dumb shit in my room yesterday, I don’t even remember what, and then all of a sudden he’s telling me he’s in love with you. Can you imagine?”

Your heart stops at that. Minho told Chan about you? Told him that he’s in love with you? You have to work really hard to keep a smile from forming at your lips when you think of him telling your brother that he wants to date you. 

“And what did you do?”

“I wanted to beat him up first,” Chan admits, and his smile makes your heart loosen up a little. “But then I thought about it, and he’s a really good guy. He deserves to be happy. And so do you. And you look really goddamn happy to me. Even happier than when I took you to Disneyland, and while that’s actually kind of mean, I’m still happy for you.” 

It’s like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. A heavy one at that. You think you might just start crying from happiness any second. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” You hug him tightly, jumping up and down before pulling away with the biggest grin on your face. 

“No need to thank me. Just use protection, okay?” He sends you a stern look, and you nod eagerly, not really listening to what he’s saying. “And no fucking in this house.”

Oh. Oh. 

“Right, uh,” You smile nervously, and he raises a brow, when you walk closer to the door. Shit, you’re so screwed. 

“Maybe you should’ve established these rules a little sooner.” 

And with those words, you run off – partly because you’re afraid Chan might kill you, but mostly because you’re ready to jump Minho’s bones after what you hear from your brother. What you don’t expect is for him to stand right outside the door as you sling it open – hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. 

“You guys done talking?” 

You don’t respond, just look at him. Like, really look at him. His eyes, his hair, his mouth, his smile. You take it all in like it’s the first time seeing him – though it’s not, because you’ve looked at him like this plenty of times, felt those butterflies in your stomach as your heart beats against your chest, lips itching to meet his own. Only this is the first time your mind manages to put those feelings into words, and although it’s a tad bit scary, it makes you happy. He makes you happy. 

“Asshole,” You huff in his direction, but he can’t take you seriously, not when you’re just barely keeping yourself from grinning. “You could’ve told me you were going to talk to him.” 

“Then you would’ve freaked out,” He says, pulling you closer by your waist, face leaning down so he can press his forehead to yours. “But look at you now, you’re so in love with me.”

A second passes. Then two. Ten seconds, twenty seconds. You realize you could watch him like this forever. 

“You know what? You might just be right. Maybe I am in love with you.”

His lips quirk up in a smile. 

“Good. Because I’m in love with you, too.”

TAGLIST: @chiefbananaearthquake @minaamhh @vsmz @seungminluv3 @smuchsmut @lmaoracha @allinour @kosmoskookie @newobsessioneverymonth @seung-seungs @smhlino @seochhj @nctdom @stay-here-dont-stray @homelessbozos @cloudyybinin @jusaminki @slinekyu @tokyolhtl @taeriffic @mafegarcia @jellyjelly111 @minhoktty @endzii23 @awesomelycoolworld 

[wreckedandpolemic]

regret me - matty healy

(mdni) in which an enmity with a certain infuriating singer turns mutually beneficial. 11775 words.

warnings: oral (f and m receiving), semi-public sex, mild exhibitionism, praise, degradation, switch!matty

Entering Battle of the Bands at your local had started off as a joke. Mostly. Your bassist Sabrina had pointed out the poster last time you were there for drinks, and you’d signed your name. It’d be a laugh, you’d reasoned, a good way to get into playing live shows and meet some other local bands. Plus, a hundred quid cash prize couldn’t hurt.

But that was before you met Drive Like I Do. Or, more specifically, their insufferable little twerp of a lead singer, Matty.

He meets your eyes across the bar, smirking like he likes what he sees, and, honestly, he doesn’t hurt to look at, so you lift your drink in his direction and beckon him over. “Hi,” he grins. “I’m Matty. Are you staying for the show?” You nod, but he interrupts you before you can elaborate. “We’re on last, so you might have to sit through some right shit before it gets good. Have you seen some of the names on the lineup? I mean, True Romance? I bet they just named it that ‘cause it sounds pretty. Probably haven’t even seen the film.”

You glower, and it’s obviously not the reaction he expects, his face screwing up in confusion. “That’s my band. And True Romance is one of my favourite films, not that it fucking matters.” You get up from the table, scowling at him. “And I have a name, thank you so much for asking.”

Annoyingly, Matty’s right; most of the bands on the lineup are shit. But you figure that means you’ll wipe the floor with them, having actually rehearsed and learned your own songs that aren’t covers.

You look out at the crowd, adrenaline pumping in your veins as Grace tunes her guitar. This is probably the most people you’ve ever played for, you realise with a jolt, swallowing around the lump in your throat and stepping up to the mic. “Hello, everybody! How’s everyone feeling tonight? You feelin’ good? Yeah?” The crowd cheers back at you, and you grin blissfully. “Alright, I’m not here to dick about, I’m here to play some fuckin’ songs! We’re True Romance and this is Dream Girl.”

You throw yourself into the set, your hair sticking to your forehead as you sweat under the lights. Your gaze keeps wandering to Matty, sat in a booth with who you assume are his bandmates, nodding along and watching you with intrigue. He quirks an eyebrow at you and you tear your eyes away, grateful for the heat that hides the flush in your cheeks. The crowd is practically frenetic, cheering wildly as the final note whines out of the speakers, and you join hands with your bandmates and bow.

You blow a kiss to the audience and step off stage, passing Matty as he and his band take their positions. Checking the lineup, you scoff when you read the name of the band playing directly after you. Drive Like I Do? And he had the audacity to call your band’s name shit? But you quickly realise they could have the longest, most nonsensical name in the world, and it wouldn’t matter; they’re really fucking good. Matty looks like he was born for the stage, soaking up the crowd’s attention and magnifying their energy tenfold. It doesn’t even matter what they’re singing about (as far as you can tell, a video game) — every girl in the bar is screaming her head off, giggling to her friends when one of the boys so much as looks at her.

Okay, so maybe you’re a little smug that Matty won’t stop looking at you. You’re not blind, after all. Doesn’t make him not a cocky little prick. He comes straight over to you when his set finishes and you roll your eyes. “What, are you expecting me to fall at your feet ‘cause you can hit a few notes behind a mic stand?” you scoff, and he laughs.

“Oh, come on, love. No need for the only two good bands in here to be fighting. Promise I’ll buy you a drink after I win.” You scowl. “Oh, and she’s even prettier when she’s angry. Was it something I said?” he smirks.

“Fuck off and die,” you say with a saccharine smile.

Sabrina slides into the seat Matty just vacated. “He’s into you,” she says, passing you your pint with a slight wrinkle of her nose. You give her a look, and she scoffs, the pair of you so attuned to each other by now that you can communicate without words. “Oh, don’t be all you about it. He’s hot,” she laughs. “If you don’t, I will.”

“Be my guest. He’s a dick.”

She snorts into her Sex on the Beach. “The way he’s eye-fucking you? Tenner says he goes home alone tonight.” She leans in, smirking conspiratorially. “Or with you.”

You roll your eyes. Betting on a stranger’s sex life is… strangely on brand, for the two of you. “I’ll take that bet. Look at the state of him.” You wave a hand in his general direction, a pint glass in one hand and some girl’s ass in the other, her skirt hiked inappropriately high in plain view. She’s pouting, though, his attention clearly not on her even as he paws at her ass, gaze locked on you instead.

Sticking your middle finger up, you turn resolutely away as the other two members of your band wander up to the table. You lose yourself in the conversation, still wild with adrenaline from playing a proper show, and for a moment you forget why you were playing in the first place. When you’re announced as the second place holders, though, you remember, scowling openly because you know there’s only one band who could possibly be winning.

Matty extricates himself from the girls clinging onto him as the cheers start to die down and strolls over, setting a drink in front of you. “Here. Told you I’d get you a drink when I won,” he smirks, and you accept it grudgingly. Look, you’re not about to turn down a free drink, alright? “Don’t sulk, love. We…” He waves a hand, indicating both your band and his. “Collectively, wiped the floor with every other fuckin’ person in here. C’mon, don’t be a sore loser. Let me get you drunk, you won’t pay a penny, I swear.”

And as much as you want to punch his smug little face in, pour your drink over his vintage band tee, one you recognise as being horribly expensive, you’re tempted by the offer of getting smashed on Matty’s tab. Plus, Grace is giving Drive Like I Do’s bassist the eyes, so she’ll be fucking off over there either way.

So you take him up on it, downing vodka cokes until you can barely see straight, screaming in Matty’s face that Blur is obviously better than Oasis, come on! You don’t know how it happens, but you find yourself dancing with them and not hating it? Spinning breathlessly between Ross and George (who are actually pretty sound, in all honesty), you grab Grace and Sabrina by the hands and let them pull Alice, your drummer, into a circle, kicking your legs and laughing wildly.

Lost in sticky floors, thumping bass and a spirit-fuelled haze, you don’t push Matty away when his hands find your hips. You grind your hips back against him, let him press damp kisses to your neck, licking the sweat off your skin. A shudder runs down your spine, faint threads of desire creeping under your skin. “Stopped bein’ a sore loser yet?” he taunts, and your good mood vanishes like a snuffed-out candle.

You turn, slinging your arms around his neck and leaning in close. Matty’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips distractingly, the skin plush and soft. You have a sudden craving to bite down on the skin there, feel it tear beneath your teeth, taste blood in your mouth. You want him, and you want him wrecked. “You,” you say, low voice carrying all the intimacy of a kiss. “Are the most self-absorbed, insufferable piece of shit I’ve ever met. Bathroom. Five minutes.” Matty’s face splits in a wicked grin, leaning so close he could kiss you. You stay like that for a moment, sharing oxygen, the feeling of breathing him in intoxicating, like you’re drunk all over again.

The sticky air of the pub feels impossibly cold as you break away, Matty’s gaze burning into your back until you’re swallowed into the crowd, weaving your way into the bathroom. Matty clicks the door open a few moments later, glancing around furtively before slipping inside. All the air rushes from his lungs as you slam him against the door, one arm braced against his chest and the other tensed beside his head. A gratifying flash of fear crosses his face and you smirk at him, leaning close to speak against his lips. “Am I scaring you, baby?” He swallows thickly. “Good,” you breathe, connecting your lips in a harsh kiss.

Matty moans into your mouth, the taste of gin spilling from his tongue as you devour him. You kiss to hurt, to injure, to bruise, biting down on his lower lip and licking over the wound. He whimpers a little, from pain or arousal you can’t tell, but you have a sneaking suspicion it’s both. “Fuck, you kiss like an animal,” he gasps, chest already heaving.

You grin viciously. “Only when I hate you. C’mon, on your knees. I haven’t got all night.” Matty pouts a little. “Oh, what, did you think I was gonna let you fuck me? I don't know where you’ve been, you fucking whore.” His eyes widen, liquid desire pooling in his irises. “I’m waiting,” you hiss, and he obeys unthinkingly.

His hands come greedily up to your waist, fumbling with the chain looped through your jeans. Finally, he pulls it free, unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down your thighs. Seemingly unable to resist, he presses a kiss just above the waistband of your panties, and you clench your jaw against the shudder that runs through you at the contact. “God, you’re so fucking pretty,” Matty groans, tipping his head forward so his curls brush against your lower stomach.

“Get on with it,” you growl, shoving your panties as far down your legs as they’ll go. Matty stares unabashedly at your cunt, slick with the only evidence of your desire you can’t suppress. You gasp as his fingers find your clit deftly, rough and calloused over your swollen nerves.

Without warning, Matty grabs your hips and pulls you towards him, so forcefully that you stumble on your feet. His tongue swipes through your folds, a pitiful whimper falling from your lips, and he smirks up at you. “Taste so sweet, darling. Like a fucking peach.”

You roll your eyes, gripping his hair and dragging him back to your cunt, his tongue lapping deliciously over your clit. “Use that pretty mouth for something better than talking,” you snap, moaning softly as he obliges. Matty’s fingers dig into your hips, nails biting crescents of frantic desire into your skin. He laps at you starvingly, tongue-fucking you deep and fast, the punishing rhythm making you dizzy. Heart rolls up your spine, his name poison-sweet on your tongue as you grind your hips down against his mouth.

You fist a hand in his curls, tugging sharply, Matty’s answering moan reverberating through you. “God, you are a fucking slut,” you groan, pleasure swirling low in your belly. “Like that I’m hurting you, hm?”

“Uh-huh,” he moans, indistinct and muffled as the sound vibrates through you. Liquid desire drips down your spine, pooling between your legs and melting on Matty’s tongue, hungry and sure as he buries it deep inside you. He pulls away to suck on your clit, your legs turning jelly-like as a pulse of blinding ecstasy washes over you. You aren’t sure if the bare bulb in the dingy little bathroom is flickering or if your vision is going dim, lost in mind-wiping desire as Matty braces your hips to press his tongue even deeper into you.

Whining, you clench your cunt around his tongue, holding him in place as his fingers come up to play with your clit. You’re barrelling towards an earth-shattering end, twined with the intoxicating power of having Matty whimpering on his knees. “Think you’re so much better than me, huh?” you murmur. “This is where you belong, on your fuckin’ knees for me.” He clings to you like you’re a mirage, like you’ll dissipate and leave him if he lets go, hard and begging and alone with your taste lingering on his tongue.

He draws sloppy figure-eights on your clit, euphoria spreading in your limbs, burning up your blood as you moan his name into the liquor-laced air. Your fingers scramble for purchase against the poster-plastered walls, losing your grip on reality, your impending orgasm stealing the breath from your lungs. A string of honey-slick moans fall from your lips, one hand buried in Matty’s curls as you roll your hips down against his mouth. He makes out with your cunt messily, wantonly, like he’s been starved.

“I’m so close, Jesus fuck—” you cry, slapping a palm over your mouth to keep from screaming as Matty bites down gently on your clit, the flash of pain enough to tip you over the edge. You tumble into oblivion, pleasure burning so hot in your veins that you aren’t sure you have any blood left. Matty licks at you, sucks on your clit, fucks you with his tongue as your cunt flutters around him, swallowing every drop of your arousal as you come undone on his mouth.

Matty’s eager, fucked-out grin is the first thing you see when you come back to Earth, legs weak and skull throbbing. Mustering up your dignity, you sneer down at him like he hasn’t just given you probably the best orgasm of your life in a cramped, dirty bar bathroom. “Just because I let you eat me out, you think that means I’m just gonna put your filthy fucking dick in my mouth?” you scoff. Casually swinging a leg, the tip of your boot meets Matty’s clothed cock, not quite a kick, but not much of anything else either. A helpless little moan tumbles from his lips and you laugh condescendingly, tilting his chin up so he’s looking in your eyes.

He grinds down against your boot, power thrumming heady in your veins. “Baby, please,” he whimpers, the sound dizzying and gratifying. 

“Pathetic,” you say, low and sweet. “Getting off on my shoe like a fuckin’ animal. Bet you’d let me do whatever I wanted, huh?” He nods frantically, desperate to please, his jaw coming compliantly open when you pull down. A thrill steals up your spine as a wad of spit lands on his tongue, chased by a bolt of desire when he swallows obediently. “Don’t come back out until you can fucking control yourself.”

You dress yourself, Matty still panting at your feet, his chin slick with your arousal, and slip back out of the bathroom. Like you’d predicted, your friends are too hammered to question your absence much, accepting your excuse of having gone for a smoke without question. The four of you laugh and sing and dance the rest of the night, Grace slipping away with Ross at a tasteful two a.m., you and Sabrina exchanging a knowing look at her lack of subtlety. At some point, Matty had joined you again, throwing you looks so venomous you’re a little scared.

Just as you’re calling it a night, you scrawl your number on a damp napkin and shove it into his pocket. “In case you’re ever after a rematch,” you say, low enough not to be overheard, and his answering smirk is wicked.

Sabrina sighs dramatically at his retreating back. “Hate to see ‘em go, love to watch ‘em leave.” You snort, shoving her playfully. “Alright, pay up. What did I say? Alone, or with you.”

Groaning, you dig in your wallet and slap a ten-pound note in her outstretched palm. “Alice, have I ever told you you’re my favourite?” Giggling, the three of you stumble out to the taxi rank, the sting of your loss almost forgotten against the heat still tingling between your thighs.

Matty doesn’t text you until the next evening, and you’ll take the grin that split your face at the sight of his message to your grave.

So about that rematch?

Don’t beg it’s pathetic

Had enough of that last night

You know where to find me when you’re ready to put up a real fight

You don’t hear from him for a little while after that, but something tells you the pair of you aren’t done yet. Or maybe that’s just his voice in your head while you bury your hand between your thighs.

Sabrina throws a house party for her twenty-first, because she’s still barred from every good club within ten miles for underage drinking. You’re a little tipsy, a little high, singing along to the CD spinning in the player and sipping a cocktail while you wait for everyone to arrive. The house is a sweaty, heaving mass of bodies by eleven, screaming drunk as you stumble onto the patio. You’re alone except for one other boy with his back to you, his silhouette blurred in the dark as you fish for your cigarettes, alcohol making your body uncoordinated and slow to obey direction.

Sliding one between your lips, you call out, “Have you got a light?” The boy turns, and your heart skips a painfully embarrassing beat. Matty smirks back at you, annoyingly gorgeous with a cigarette dangling from his lips, clad in a floral shirt and a worn leather jacket.

“Long time no see, darling,” he grins. “Was wonderin’ if I’d run into you.” It’s a fight to rein in your thoughts, running wild as want licks up your spine. It’s fucking Pavlovian, you tell yourself, getting off to the thought of him setting off some instinctual reaction to his presence.

“Been thinking about me a lot?” you tease, privately curious as to the answer.

He steps closer, and you try not to flinch. “Oh, I’ve been pulling the absolute cock off myself thinking about how you kicked me in the dick and left me on the fucking ground. Kind of scenario wet dreams are made of,” he snaps.

You laugh like he’s recalling a fond memory to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks at the image of him touching himself. “Oh, don’t be a baby. Shouldn’t have made it so satisfying to kick you in the dick, then.”

Matty flashes his teeth. “You were plenty satisfied already, if memory serves. Jesus fuck, I’m cumming, oh, God, Matty, fuck,” he taunts, putting on a high, breathy affect of your voice, taking another predatory step towards you. He breathes smoke out over your face, the grey cloud curling in front of your eyes, blurring the planes of his face and casting him in a hazy glow.

“You’re making me want to kick you in the dick again,” you threaten, but it lacks any edge, all the fight draining out of you as Matty lifts your hand to slip your forgotten cig between your lips. The touch sparks under your skin, stacked kindling waiting to catch alight, burn you up in the blaze.

“Breathe in,” Matty says quietly, leaning in to press the end of his cigarette against yours, the flame passing between you in a shared breath, smoke burning in your lungs as you draw the moment as long as possible, pulling it like elastic between your hands.

You blow out your smoke, twin exhales staining the air between you. “Kiss me,” you murmur, a breathy plea delivered from chapped lips, blackened lungs, through cold air into unreadable honey-brown eyes.

Matty takes a deep drag on his cigarette and flicks it away, taking your jaw in both hands while the smoke sits in his mouth. You try not to envy that it curls on his tongue, your lips parting instinctively for him as it pours from his mouth into yours. Your inhale is quick, perfunctory, an aside to what comes after you blow it out. His lips are soft, your bite mark healed now, moving against yours with what you could almost mistake as tenderness. His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing gently and pulling you flush against him.

When he slides his tongue into your mouth, you can’t help your relieved little moan, something cool and sharp and dangerous lodging itself in your ribcage. “Oh,” he says, delighted. “Missed me, have you?”

“If I say yes, will you fucking touch me?” you snap.

“So needy,” he croons, fingers skirting just below the hem of your skirt. “Wanna stay out here where anyone could see how needy you are for me?”

You stamp on his foot childishly. “If anyone ever finds out I let you touch me, I’ll kill you,” you say, the threat familiar on your tongue, a fraction of your control reigned back in.

Matty laughs. “You’d miss me too much.” You scoff. “Alright, let’s find somewhere to keep this secret, then.”

You practically drag him to Sabrina’s bedroom, and he raises an eyebrow. “If I tried shagging in one of my boys’ rooms, I wouldn’t live long enough for you to kill me,” he remarks.

“Oh, please. You think you’re the first guy I’ve ever fucked in here?” You don’t miss the way his grip tightens around your wrist, stiffening slightly. You don’t want to examine what that means.

He sits on the edge of her bed, legs spread and face expectant. “Your turn, love. On your knees, yeah?” You pause, and he laughs darkly. “Oh, you thought you were gonna get fucked?” he taunts, the words a mocking echo of your own, and you feel them like ice thawing in your spine. “Love, the first time I fuck you isn’t going to be in someone else’s bed at a house party. I wanna take my time with you, tear you to fucking pieces.” Your cunt pulses desperately, forcing you into obeisance even as you wear your disgust plainly on your face. “Oh, you want it bad, huh?” Matty murmurs, low and cruel as you unbuckle his belt and pull his cock free from his jeans. “Fuckin’ gagging for it, aren’t you? Go on, darling, get me hard.”

Your jaw falls open, saliva dripping from your tongue and trailing down his cock. You wrap a hand around him, his hips jolting at the contact. Pumping him slowly, his cock fills in your palm, precum sticky on your fingers when you dig your nail into his slit. You lean down, kitten-licking over the head, and he bucks his hips up with a gasp. “Someone’s eager,” you smirk, pushing his hips down with a smirk.

“Shut up before I shut you up,” he says, darkly threatening in a way that makes you believe him, arousal pooling between your legs.

Matty gathers your hair into a crude ponytail in one fist and you look up at him through your lashes. “If you push my head down, I’m biting your dick off,” you warn, lowering your head and wrapping your lips around his tip.

He moans, fighting not to thrust into the warmth of your mouth as your lips creep down his cock. “That’s it, baby. Go on, take it all. Take this filthy fucking dick. Good girl,” Matty croons, moaning as his cock bumps the back of your throat and you swallow a gag. You bob your head, inhaling deeply through your nose and trying to take all of him. Your nose meets his skin and you grin victoriously around his cock, sugary praise falling from his lips and his eyes fixed on you. “Look so pretty on your knees, baby. If you keep being good, I’ll let you swallow my cum,” he adds, and a bolt of lust strikes your core, tinged acrid with shame at letting him hold power over you.

You jam a hand between your legs, rutting wantonly against it, the friction hot as your clit grinds against the seam of your jeans through your panties. A moan spills out around Matty’s cock, the salt of him filling your mouth as he bucks his hips a little. Pulling up, you swallow around him, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth. Matty moans your name, the sound so sweet in your ears that you want to press it into a vinyl, layer it in the back of a song you can listen to over and over. A string of spit connects your skin as you pull away from him, sitting back on your knees to look in his eyes. “I changed my mind,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them, an unbidden admission from a hazy head and swollen lips. “Fuck my mouth.”

Groaning, Matty lets go of your hair and brushes it out of your face when it falls. “Fuck, love, are you sure?”

You smirk up at him, holding his gaze in challenge. “C’mon, Healy, you know you want to. Fucking ruin me, wreck my voice, make me cry,” you say. It’s a demand, not a plea, and he knows it. Knows that he’ll be giving you what you want, conceding territory in your battle, letting you knock a piece off the chessboard. But he wants. His hand tangles in your hair, his eyes closing as he moves like he doesn’t want to see himself capitulate. The sting in your scalp feels like victory, the ache in your jaw a triumph. Matty fucks your mouth with abandon, dragging your head and thrusting up to meet the back of your throat, moaning as you gag around him.

You’re helpless, your panties soaked with arousal and your cunt clenching around nothing. Pure, unadulterated need rises in you, needy whines slipping out around his cock while he fucks your face like a toy. “You getting off on being used like this?” he taunts, eyes lidded and face flushed. “Little slut. Not so fuckin’ mouthy now, huh? Such a fuckin’ bitch until you’re on your knees gaggin’ on my cock.” Lewd, wet sounds fill the room, his words pushing you to the precipice of submission threatening to overwhelm. You grind pathetically against your palm, desperate for more than the feeble embers flickering in your belly. “You wanna cum, darling?” he murmurs, lifting you off him, your breaths coming hard and heavy and impossibly loud in the sudden quiet.

“Please,” you whine, past the point of caring for your fractured dignity. “M’so wet, Matty, I need it so bad.”

“I shouldn’t let you,” he says musingly. “Not after what you pulled last time.” He grins, knocking your knees apart with one booted foot. “But I’m a gentleman. These, off,” he orders, kicking at your thigh to indicate your jeans. You scramble awkwardly out of them, kicking them into a pile of Sabrina’s clothes that you’re definitely going to pick up a new shirt from later. Matty presses his boot between your thigh, the pressure on your clit so glorious you swear you almost cum, a wave of pleasure knocking the breath from your lungs. “Go on, baby. Get off on my shoe like a fuckin’ animal,” he growls, your stolen words hitting you like a shock of ice water.

You hate yourself just a little as your hips roll, taking his cock in your mouth and moaning as he takes up his punishing rhythm. The lace of your panties is rough and scraping over your clit, pain and pleasure mingling in your belly and dripping on Matty’s shoe. Tension winds tight in your belly, a fist clenched so tight it almost breaks skin. Matty fucks your mouth messy and frenzied, his hand tight in your hair and your name sticking to his lips. It sounds like a curse, or maybe a prayer — is there a difference, if God doesn’t exist?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna cum, darling, don’t stop,” Matty groans, head thrown back in rapture. You pull out every trick, swallowing and humming around him, swirling your tongue across his skin until he’s spilling in your mouth with a broken groan. “Fuck, yes, good girl, take it all,” he says. “My little cumdump,” he adds, the words striking at your core, pouring liquid heat directly over your nerves, achingly hot.

You pull off his cock with an obscene pop, opening your mouth to show off your painted-white tongue. A string of cum drips from your mouth, landing over his wet cock. You lap it up eagerly, Matty hissing at the contact to his sensitive skin. Your hips grind faster, cunt throbbing with need. With your mouth now freed, you whine out filthy pleas, tasting burning shame in the back of your throat. “Matty, please, I can’t—” you whimper, cut off when he grips your chin and forces your jaw shut, smirking meanly.

“You can, and you will. M’not gonna help you, baby. Can get off on my boot or not at all.” His cool, impassive tone is belayed by his flushed face, lips parted and eyes wide as he watches you grind pathetically against him. Pleasure coils under your skin, tangling with the burn of humiliation, your head thrown back and incoherent whines falling from your lips. “Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ wet dream,” Matty moans out, dragging you by the hair so your gaze falls back on him. “Pretty girl. Can’t wait to make you fall apart on my cock, shit.”

Your cunt throbs near-painfully, molten ecstasy turning your organs to liquid, your climax sweet and hot on the tip of your tongue. “M’so close,” you whimper, pleading little gasps stumbling from your lips. You grind your clit harshly against the tough leather of Matty’s shoe, fucking debasing yourself as you chase your orgasm. Digging your nails into his calf, you moan helplessly, gripping him like a lifeline as your head starts to float clear of your body. His eyes glitter triumphantly, holding all the power while reducing you to a pathetic, pleading mess grinding against his shoe.

Ecstasy swirls in your belly, dizzying. It’s thick in your lungs, stoppering your thoughts until all you know is Matty’s cruel little smirk, his lust-blown eyes, his shoe pressed against your cunt. Your final, last-ditch act of rebellion comes when the thread tethering you to your sanity finally snaps. You might have sunk low, lower than you ever thought you could, but you will not plead to cum on his shoe. That final thought circles as pleasure knocks you breathless, a keening wail ripping from your throat as your cunt pulses. Matty’s hand tightens in your hair as you cum, aching bliss coursing through your bloodstream. “Fuck,” you mumble, your legs weak as you crumple to the floor.

“That feel good?” Matty asks, flashing teeth.

“Fuck you,” you snap, painfully conscious of how little effect your words have when you’re on the floor below him, your cunt still pulsing with aftershocks.

“I will,” he says sweetly, and you groan.

Trying not to stagger, you get to your feet. “This,” you gesture in the air between you. “Means nothing, alright? As far as everyone we know is concerned, we can’t stand each other. In fact, I can’t stand you.”

“S’that why you got on your knees so fast?” Matty smirks, still leaning insouciantly on Sabrina’s bed. You scoff, disgusted with yourself, and turn to leave. “Might wanna clean yourself up, love,” he calls as you shove the door open. “You look like you just sucked a dick.”

You don’t realise that leaving was a concession until the door clicks shut and you catch his smirk before he disappears from view. Slipping into the miraculously empty bathroom, you realise he’s right; you do look like you’ve just sucked a dick. Your hair is wild, raked through and tangled, mascara running down your face and your lipstick smeared over your chin. The matching ring that must sit around the base of Matty’s cock makes you smirk to yourself, a tangible reminder of the encounter that he’ll have to work to remove.

You manage to tame your appearance and wander back downstairs, finding Sabrina and Alice deep in conversation with Matty and George. “There you are!” Sabrina gasps, loud enough to be heard over the screaming music and loud background chatter. “Thought you’d fucked off home. Was just telling the boys about our gig,” she grins. Oh, right. Your actual fucking gig, where you have to play your songs to a crowd of fans there for somebody else, and somehow hold their attention for an entire set. And you’d just stopped feeling fucking nauseous about it.

“Love, why didn’t you tell me?” Matty says, mocking in a way that only you can sense, prodding at a wound only he can see.

“Oh, please.” You pour yourself a strong drink and take a long sip before you continue. “I’d rather not spew over the front row seeing your ugly fucking mug in the crowd.” George snorts and Sabrina swats your arm.

“Don’t be a cowbag, it’s my birthday,” she scolds, eyes lighting up as they land on an undrunk bottle of tequila. “I know how to loosen you up a bit,” she grins, brandishing the bottle and digging in the fridge for a net bag of limes. “Body shots!” She spins around, wiggling her eyebrows, and you tip your head back with a groan.

She grabs a knife from the kitchen drawer and wobbles over to the counter to start chopping the limes, forcing you to your feet before she lands herself in A&E. “Calm down there, Ghostface,” you laugh, grabbing the knife before she can do any damage. Slicing the limes into neat wedges with bartender-practised ease, you grin at Sabrina and clamp a slice between your teeth. She brushes salt across the top of your tit, her tongue hot over your skin when she licks it up. The shot glass slams on the counter before you even register that she’s picked it up, her lips ghosting against yours as she bites into the flesh of the fruit, the juice spilling across your mouths.

You spit the rind to the floor and cup her jaw, melting into a passionate kiss like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Licking the taste of lime out of her mouth, one of your hands threads in her hair, and Ross whistles. “Fucking hell, are we interrupting something?”

Sabrina snorts. “If that’s got you blushing, the things we’ve done to each other would make your head spin, pretty boy.”

You risk a glance at Matty, rooted to the spot with eyes as wide as saucers, like he can’t believe what he just saw. Interesting. “Who’s next?” you crow, delivering the words as a deliberate taunt to him. “I’ll even take my top off, give you some more space to work with,” you grin, peeling off your top and gratuitously squeezing a tit. 

“Do we get a snog, too?” George smirks, getting to his feet.

Sweeping your hair off your neck, you tilt your head and smile tantalisingly. “Only if you’re good.” Matty’s jaw clenches. Very interesting. Salt scrapes over your skin as George licks you clean, something molten and dangerous pooling in your core at Matty’s intense eye contact. George bites the lime out of your mouth and spits it to the floor, his lips finding yours waiting.

He’s a good kisser, his mouth sure and firm against yours, tongue brushing against your lips as he cups your jaw. Parting your lips for him, the sharp taste of lime lands on your tongue once again, George tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and smiling slightly when he pulls away. Matty looks at you like you’re a future regret, like the narrative is written and he’s only stepping into his role when he comes towards you.

Ever overdramatic and impaired by liquor, you drape yourself over the table, lifting your head to grin up at him. Matty reaches for a shot glass, and you chide him, meeting his gaze in challenge. “C’mon, it’s called a body shot, after all,” you goad, and he swallows, gripping the neck of the tequila like a lifeline.

“You’re insane,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. The liquor is cold as he pours it into your belly button, splashing from his trembling hands. The muscles of your stomach twitch, contradictory heat pooling in your core as anticipation creeps under your skin. Salt pours between the valley of your tits, Matty cleaning it off eagerly as you fight not to squirm. You swallow a gasp as Matty sucks and licks the alcohol from your body, the feeling of his tongue swirling gratuitously against you falling straight to your cunt.

With a grimace, Matty straightens, leaning down to grip the lime between his teeth, sharp tartness soaking your bruised lips once again. You savour the sting, Matty’s eyes wide with desire as he leans in. The kiss is messy, all top lip and tongue as you lick the tequila out of his mouth, slowly sitting up and slinging your arms around his neck.

One of his hands tangles in your hair, the rest of the world melting away the longer you lose yourself in his kiss, reality tunnelling down to Matty’s skin on yours. He exhales regret against your lips, pulling away slowly and thumbing over your swollen lip. Fuck, that stings. Matty smirks like he can read your thoughts, like your pain is sweet on his lips.

“Jesus, get a room!” Sabrina scoffs, chucking a lime at your head that you don’t have the facilities to dodge. Matty goes red, wrenching his gaze away from you and fumbling for a cigarette before stumbling out of the room. Sabrina squints at the space he vacated. “Like, will the two of you just fuck already? Instead of subjecting us to whatever that was?”

You glare, folding your arms and screwing up your face as if you can’t think of anything worse. “Don’t be gross.”

Sabrina gets up, turning to face the room at large. “Right, show of hands. Who thinks she just needs to fuck Matty and get it over with.” Six hands go up, and you scowl. Okay, maybe you do want to fuck him, but does everybody need to know about it?

“Please,” groans George. “He’s insufferable when he gets like this about a girl.” He puts on a high effect of Matty’s voice, and you snort. “‘Oh, do you think she’s gonna be there? Will she like this shirt? Does my hair look pretty?’” You roll your eyes, praying the heat in your cheeks is indistinguishable from the flush of the alcohol.

“Ugh,” you say, forcing a shudder. “Get me checked for a brain tumour if I ever fall for that.” You grab the discarded bottle. “Anyway, I’m done being a shot glass. Someone else’s turn.”

Your head spins as you take shot after shot, licking salt from Sabrina’s neck, Ross’ chest, George’s belly. The passage of time slips from your grasp, and before you know it, the party’s mostly over. The last few stragglers are drifting out, Sabrina nowhere to be seen, having slipped upstairs with a girl you vaguely recognise from high school about half an hour ago. Probably shouldn’t tell her that she’s not gonna be the first (or even second) person to get off in her room tonight.

You end up crashing out on the couch, stripping out of your tight jeans and leaving them crumpled next to you — your shirt is long gone. Not a big deal, you can nab one of Sabrina’s in the morning. By some miracle, your headache in the morning is only mild, easily quelled with a glass of water and some painkillers. The house is still, the previous night lingering in sticky floors and plastic cups littering every surface.

One of Sabrina’s guitars is propped against the wall, and picking it up unlocks a vague memory of picking the beginnings of your first song on it, before you had one of your own. You smile fondly, lifting it into your lap and kicking one leg over the arm of the sofa. Your fingers move instinctively, coaxing out the melody you’ve been working on, repeating it over and over and groaning when the next notes just won’t come.

“You’re really good.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re still here?”

Matty shrugs, sloping into the chair next to you, seemingly indifferent to your matching states of undress. “Hann was designated driver, and he fucked off somewhere between the body shots and the karaoke,” he snorts. “Brina said I could stay.”

“Don’t call her Brina,” you snap. “You’re lucky she’s so nice. If it was up to me, you’d be in a ditch somewhere right now. Or flattened on the motorway. Wouldn’t that be nice…” you say, wistful as if you’re daydreaming about his viscera splattered across tarmac.

“You’re such a bitch.” It’s a compliment, you can tell, despite his derisive expression.

Not dignifying him with a response, your fingers creep across the strings, plucking out a familiar riff that you can’t quite place. Matty’s smug little grin flashes you back to the day you met, and you realise with disgust that you’re playing the first four notes of Robbers over and over. Your scowl silences the taunt on Matty’s lips. “Shut the fuck up and stop looking at me like that before I make you.”

Matty shudders, shifting in his chair. “You’re so mean. Who hurt you?”

“This conversation is hurting me. Talking to you feels like voluntarily hitting my own head with a brick.” Matty just smirks at you, conspicuously dropping his hands into his lap. “Oh, my god. Is this getting you hard?” you scoff.

An infuriating smirk creeps across Matty’s face “I can’t help it,” he says. “You’re hot when you’re mad at me.”

“I’m always fuckin’ mad at you.”

“Exactly.” His grin is filthy, legs spread wide as your eyes trail down to where his cock is straining against his boxers.

Still plucking idly at the guitar, you speak without looking at him. “Touch yourself for me,” you say, snorting as Matty chokes on his inhale.

He makes a spluttering little sound, and you don’t look up from the guitar in your lap. “Are you being serious? Here? Now?”

You shrug. “You don’t have to. But don’t pretend you don’t want to. Go on, give me a show. S’just about the only thing you’re good for.”

Matty moans, the resolve in his face visibly crumbling as you lift your gaze to meet his. His cock is flushed and dripping as he frees it from his boxers, throwing his head back with a groan. Heat creeps across your cheeks, the display of him obscene. Arousal clenches in your belly as your name spills involuntarily from his lips, cock disappearing into his fist as he strokes himself.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that,” you murmur, breathing slow and deep to keep yourself controlled. Matty’s moans are sweet and syrupy in your ear, low and melodic against your skin. Almost without your knowledge, your fingers dance across the guitar strings, pulling the next notes of your broken melody free instinctively as you watch him. “So pretty like this, baby. Know you can be louder than that. Let me hear you, yeah?”

Slick sounds fill the room, tangling with his moans flowing freely from his lips. Your cunt is dripping in your panties, pleading for attention as Matty fucks his fist, the guitar finally abandoned in your lap. Your hips shift needily against the sofa, the tiniest pulse of pleasure humming through you. “Come here,” he groans, the dominance in his tone sudden and intense.

“What did you just say?” you say, tone carrying a low threat that you don’t even think he notices.

“Can’t make a mess, can I? C’mere, come finish me off. Can see how fuckin’ needy you are from here, love.”

Carefully sliding the guitar off your lap, you stand so you’re towering over him. He gazes openly at your tits, cupped together in your bra, breath hot against your skin. “Who,” you say, voice gentle but full of steel, sliding a hand into his curls. “Do you think you’re talking to?” you demand, fisting your hand and dragging Matty’s eyes up to meet yours, his little pained whimper falling straight to your cunt. “You fucking piece of shit,” you scoff, lowering yourself into his lap. “Get your hands off.” He obeys with a whimper, and you laugh scornfully. God, he’s too fucking easy. “You fucking disgust me,” you murmur against his lips, low and reverent like you’re pouring praise against his mouth. “Who the fuck do you think you are, talkin’ to me like that?”

You tuck him back into his boxers, rolling your hips down and tipping your head back as pleasure runs through you. “M’sorry,I—” You press two fingers against his lips to silence him.

“Gonna let you get off like this. That way you’re only making a mess of yourself, yeah? Say thank you, baby.” Matty ruts his hips up against yours, hungry lips meeting your neck and greedy hands tangling in your hair.

“Th-thank you,” he stammers, breath shaky against your neck. Want pulses sickly in your belly, rising into your chest and squeezing hard as Matty bucks his hips. It doesn’t take long until your name pours free from his lips, tangled in moans and expletives, and he goes limp under you.

Despite your desperate cunt screaming out in protest, you climb off his lap and smile patronisingly down at him. “Fucking filthy,” you say, staring down at his soaked boxers and committing the sight of him to memory, chest flushed and heaving. “You can get dressed and get the fuck out, now. Hope nobody points out the cum stain.”

Matty gives you a look that’s pure loathing, tinged with needy lust, and you jerk your head at him as if to say go on. “Just you wait,” he mutters darkly. “Just you fucking wait. I’ll fucking wreck you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

You don’t see Matty face-to-face for a little while after that, but that doesn’t mean he stops plaguing you. A concerning number of your nights are spent with your phone on your pillow, listening to him moan in your ear as you fuck yourself on your fingers. You have to bite down on his name when you’re fucking other guys, the word bitter as you swallow it back down, longing to spill free. It only makes you hate him more.

You hadn’t thought he’d actually come see you play, but George and Ross’ silhouettes are unmistakeable in the crowd of fans screaming for the band you’re opening for. As is the head of dark curls next to them. Your heart catches in your throat, bleeding over your tongue as you step up to the mic stand. The lights shine into your eyes, adrenaline pumping and nerves jangling. You introduce yourself, introduce the band, the few scattered whoops not even making a dent against the unimpressed faces of the front row. George shoots you an encouraging grin, clapping over his head to make sure you see, and it soothes you a little; enough that your body loosens and you can coax your fingers into strumming on your guitar.

By the third song, you’ve relaxed into it, instinctive. Your hair is plastered to your forehead, jewellery tangled around your neck, sweating into your shirt. The crowd has warmed up a little, nodding their heads and swaying, even a few people singing your choruses back at you. You feel electric, a current zapping through you and echoing out of the speakers. Matty is transfixed, you can just about see — his gaze hasn’t left you for more than two seconds at a time since your set started. His thoughts are so plain on his face that you can practically hear them, filth pouring from him and pooling around you, warming your core and… Jesus. Focus.

Mentally dousing yourself in ice water, you lean close to the mic and catch Matty’s eyes. “This next song… I feel like it’s a story every girl knows. You’re at a bar, you’ve had a few drinks, and you’re lookin’ for a bit of fun, right? And you meet a boy and you think he could be the one, at least for tonight. Then he opens his mouth,” you pause as everyone laughs. “And he just won’t. Stop. Talking!” You launch into the song, unable to keep the grin off your face as Matty recognises the melody, the one you played while you watched him get himself off. The memory heats you from the inside out, identical film reels flickering in both your and Matty’s heads as your insides burn with desire.

Apparently, the song resonates with more than a few, the crowd and the cheers wilder with every song now you’ve finally attracted their attention. Disappointment twinges in your gut as you realise you’re onto the last song. “You guys have been fucking phenomenal tonight. You looking forward to the main event?” Obviously, the crowd cheers louder than they have for you all night. You try not to take it to heart, though. “Thank you guys so much for having us, seriously. You up for one more song? Yeah? Let’s fuckin’ go!” Adrenaline rushing to your head and inflating your ego, you grip the hem of your shirt and tug it up to your neck, soaking in the cheer that goes up as you show off your bare tits.

There’s only one reaction you care about, though, Matty’s jaw going slack and his gaze hot and heavy against your skin. The room melts away, the tension stringing between you a living thing that roots you to the spot. The fuse is lit and you know it, can’t stamp it out. All that’s left is to find out which of you ignites first.

You slip into the back of the crowd just before the main act starts, and immediately get suckered into a sweaty, congratulatory group hug from the boys. You don’t even push Matty off when he smacks a kiss at your temple, his low good fucking girl murmured in your ear making you shudder.

The band you opened for are a little stuck-up, but nice enough, so you take them up on their offer to celebrate after. Their frontman’s grin when he tells you to bring some friends, if you like tells you that he’s going to be very fucking disappointed, though, when the friends you bring are four blokes from a well-known local band instead of the girls he’s clearly imagining. His face falls when he sees them, pushing off to chat up a group of girls hovering around the bar.

Which leaves the eight of you in the now-familiar position of being crammed into a too-small booth, with you once again half on Matty’s lap. “Can’t believe you wrote a song about me. You’re too sweet, darling, you shouldn’t have.” he remarks, and you swing your heel back and laugh at his hiss when it connects with his shin.

“Oh, please. You think you’re the first good-looking asshole I’ve ever met in a bar? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You think I'm good-looking?” He’s wearing a shit-eating grin, too comfortable pushing your buttons in public. You need to grind him beneath your heel, put him back in his fucking place.

You drop your hand under the table, tracing circles in his thigh and feeling the muscles tense under your touch. “And he’s got selective hearing, too. Who's surprised?”

His hips shift needily against your hand, squirming as he tries to force you into giving him what he wants. “Oh, come on, darling. We both know this only ends one way.” He’s full of shit, false bravado layered deliberately in his voice that you can see through like he’s wrapped in cellophane. 

“In your dreams,” you bite out, pressing your hand against his cock in the same moment, kneading softly and watching blood rush into his cheeks as he swallows down a moan.

“Oh, every night, darling.”

Sabrina gags, breaking the two of you out of the bubble you’d been in, the hazy edges of your reality suddenly back in sharp focus. “Can you two stop being gross for two fucking seconds, please? For all our sakes?”

Rolling your eyes, you set your drink down on the table, dangerously close to the edge. “Oh, it’s my fault he’s fucking obsessed with me?” you scoff. “Read my fucking lips, Healy. Never. Gonna. Happen.”

You focus back into the conversation, relishing in the way Matty’s responses fall shorter and shorter as you tease, his voice going weak and breathy with barely-concealed need. With your free hand, you pull your phone out to type him a text.

i was fucking incredible on that stage today

hope youre ready for a long fucking night

not gonna stop unless you beg me.

Matty’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly as his gaze flickers across the screen, staring resolutely forward even as his hips shift and his cock fills under your palm. You slide your other hand under Matty’s jeans and boxers a moment later, his cock twitching needily in your palm. His knee jolts at the feeling of your hand against his bare skin, sending your full glass toppling over him, covering him in a sticky combination of soda and alcohol.

Withdrawing your hand, you gasp, turning and pretending to fuss over him. “Fuck’s sake, Matty, you- Oh, my God!” You give a spluttering laugh. Matty’s eyes go wide with fear, pleading with you as he correctly predicts your next words. “Do you have a boner?” you demand incredulously, pulling away from him in fake disgust. The table erupts into laughter, Matty’s face fire-engine red as his hands fall to his lap in a desperate attempt to preserve what’s left of his dignity. Oh, God, he looks so fucking good embarrassed like this, and it makes you squirm a little in your seat to know the humiliation is just turning him on more.

“He totally fucking does!” crows Sabrina, cackling and craning her neck for a better look.

“What’s got you all worked up, mate?” George taunts. “Been so long since you got your dick wet that you’re popping one from being next to a hot girl?”

“No,” Matty snaps. “I mean– I get my dick wet plenty, thank you very much. And I don’t have a boner,” he adds, attempting to push past you and escape. “I just— not feelin’ well. I should go.”

You elbow him harshly, and he winces, biting his tongue around a whine. “Aw, George, you think I’m– give me a second, sex pest, I’m having a conversation– you think I’m hot?”

He grins. “I think you’re a knockout, love. Hey, are you free tonight?”

You snort. “Not for you,” you shoot back, George holding his hand to his chest, mock-affronted. You finally take pity on Matty and let him out of the booth, surreptitiously sliding your hand into his pocket and dropping your spare key. Dramatic? Yes. A bit much? Maybe. But you’ve never claimed to be anything less. “I know it’s gonna be tough, but try not to stick your dick in anything that’ll cause permanent damage on the way home!” you can’t resist shouting at his retreating back. When he’s gone, you pull out your phone to text him your address.

go and wait for me, sit on your hands if you have to, but do not fucking touch yourself

if you’re good, i *might* let you cum tonight

do u want me to break in or something

check ur pocket

you’re insane

ill be home in an hour

can u behave until then?

He doesn’t answer, and you’re looking forward to finding out what that means. You stay for another two rounds, anticipation thrilling in your belly at the prospect of what (or rather, who) is waiting for you at home. Walking into your bedroom, you find Matty face-down on your bed and grinding desperately against your sheets, still fully-clothed as needy little whines slip from his lips. “God, you are just fucking pathetic, huh?” you murmur, your thighs clenching at the pretty picture he makes.

Matty gasps. “M’not touchin’, m’not touchin’,” he promises frantically, and you click your tongue.

“I know, baby. But that doesn’t look much like sitting on your hands, either,” you murmur, peeling out of your shirt and kicking off your jeans. “Couldn’t even be a good boy for me for an hour? Worthless little slut,” you scoff, and he whimpers in response. “Least you kept that pretty dick hard for me. Does that feel good? Grinding on my sheets like a little fucking whore?”

He whimpers, still face-down but not moving, like he won’t be able to control himself if he lays eyes on you. “Yes. M’sorry, feels good. Not as good as you. Didn’t mean to be bad, m’sorry,” he babbles, his desperation obvious.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” you order. Matty obeys instantly, a punched-out groan slipping from his lips as he takes in the sight of you, his eyes glued to the silver barbells glinting teasingly in your nipples. You snap the waistband of your panties against your waist, the action beckoning his gaze down your body. “D'you think I look pretty?” He nods furiously, but you cut him off before he can start lavishing you with praise, rolling your eyes condescendingly. “Didn’t wear it for you, before you start. Thought maybe I’d finally find some hot guy to take me home and fuck me like I deserve,” you hiss, climbing onto the bed next to him. Taking his jaw in your hand, you brush his curls out of his face. Matty shudders under your touch, pliant and needy as he melts into your palms. “Do you think you can fuck me like I deserve, Matty?”

His pride wars openly with desire in his face, eyes glassy as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips. “No,” he says finally, the admission ghosting feebly against your lips. He succumbs so sweetly that you press your lips against his, licking the taste of sugary surrender from his mouth.

“That’s what I thought. I could be getting fucked right now, you know. Could’ve had any man I wanted. But no. I get your whining, pathetic ass in my bed instead, fuckin’ rubbing yourself off on my sheets like a disgusting animal. S’bad enough that you’re making me do all the fucking work, least you could do is behave,” you snap, and Matty squirms, your cruel words rooting in his brain, digging claws tearing his every coherent thought to shreds.

“Can make you feel good, promise,” he whimpers. “Let me make you feel good, let me make it up to you, please,” Matty begs, reaching out to tug at the elastic of your waistband.

You slap his hand away, and he whines. “Behave. So greedy,”  you chide. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“N-no.”

“Do you think you deserve to touch me?”

“I— no.” You grin, wide and predatory, and tug his shirt off over his head, running your hand down his slim, toned chest. Unbuckling his belt, you help him out of his jeans, the sticky, wet spot near the waistband of his boxers evident and growing.

You thumb over it gently, pressing the digit into Matty’s mouth as he moans and accepts it eagerly, swirling his tongue pornographically. “So fucking wet,” you murmur. “Needy little whore soaking his pants for me,” you tease. “Come here,” you order, sliding your panties down your legs, cool air kissing at your wet cunt. Matty scrambles to obey, laying between your legs and gazing up at you adoringly, seemingly unsure where to look as his eyes dart between your face, your nipple piercings catching the light, and your glistening cunt inches from his lips. “Go on. Beg for it. Beg for the privilege of touching me, of tasting me, of making me cum.”

“Fuck- fuck. Please let me get you off, sweetheart. Let me taste your pretty pussy, let me make you feel good, make you forget everything. Please just fuckin’ use me, I want— mmph!” You cut him off, pulling his face into your cunt by his hair, his pained little whimper spiralling deliciously through your body.

“Forgot how fucking annoying the sound of your voice is,” you groan, rolling your hips up against Matty’s face as he licks at your cunt like melting ice cream. “Put that mouth of yours to better use, hm?” You take his wrist in a punishing grip as he attempts to slide it up your thigh. “God, it’s like you don’t even want to cum. I never said you could touch me. Can make me cum with just your mouth or you can get up and walk out of here with nothing but that little problem between your legs, okay?”

Matty mumbles something that sounds vaguely agreeing into your cunt, pleasure coiling in your veins as Matty makes out with your hole sloppily. “Thank you s’much for lettin’ me… taste so fucking good, baby,” he moans, whining pitifully when you tug harshly on his curls.

“Don’t talk.” Your grip in his hair is punishing as he whimpers into your cunt, sucking and licking like a man starved. “God, such a fuckin’ slut, baby. You like it when I hurt you, hm?” His muffled moan of yes, fuckin’ love it vibrates through you, shivering pleasure ricocheting through every corner of your body. Matty sucks greedily on your clit, your hips bucking and legs kicking in the air.

It would be a lie to say knowing he’s getting off on the degradation doesn’t turn you on beyond belief. Your cunt pulses against his mouth, his tongue starving and wild over your clit. Matty tongue-fucks you, ravenous, his moans vibrating through your body deliciously. “Fuck,” you moan out, pulling hard on his curls to grind his face harder into your cunt. Heat thrums under your skin, biting your lip so hard you taste blood to swallow your moans. You must be suffocating him, his tongue buried deep in your cunt, but he just keeps going. A moan tears free, low and shameful, and he redoubles his efforts, swirling his tongue over your clit. You’re writhing under his attentions, dripping in his mouth as he starts tongue-fucking you at a dizzying pace. Tension pulls tight in your belly, close and electric under your skin as you clench around his tongue, Matty’s name spilling free from your mouth in a crazed entreaty, tugging on his hair just to feel his answering moan spiral through you. 

His teeth scrape over your clit, the flash of pain finally tearing you loose from your body, ecstasy cascading over you as your cunt pulses against Matty’s mouth. He laps at your dripping cunt, bliss flooding against his tongue as your body wracks with sensation. “That’s right,” you groan, desire pulsing through you, leaking into the corners of your body with every thud of your wild, insistent heartbeat. “Fuckin’ swallow my cum. All of it. Yeah, just like that. Good boy.” The words only spur him on, cleaning you up with helpless enthusiasm, essentially locking himself into an impossible task. Every swipe of his tongue only serves to make you wetter, his moans stirring arousal that pools in his mouth. You pull him off you by his hair, tugging him up to meet you.

Matty grins, already hazy and fucked-out, his lips and chin soaking wet. You commit the sight to memory for a second, bruised lips and lidded eyes, your own personal, yielding little doll. “Thank you,” he says without prompting, and you grin. All it takes is a few sugared words, and he’s putty in your hands.

“Been such a good boy,” you croon, swiping your thumb across his mouth and sucking your own taste off your skin. “You wanna fuck me?”

A flash of something dances across his face, some aborted desire he’s not brave enough to voice dying on his tongue. “Yeah. I– yeah. I want that. Really bad. But… I might not… last, uh, very long. M’so fuckin’ hard, I just want–”

You prise open his jaw, silencing him as his eyes go wide. “Don’t push your luck. I’m letting you cum, ‘cause you’ve been such a good boy for me. Cum without my permission and I’ll make you wish you weren’t born,” you threaten lowly, spitting in his open mouth to seal your words.

He swallows eagerly, nodding hard. “Okay. Uh-huh, okay. M’sorry. Won’t cum, I swear.” You push him onto his back, staring impassively down at him as you straddle his waist. “Can you– I want– please,” he stammers, words tripping over themselves to escape his mouth as you laugh meanly down at him. 

You dig your nails into his chest, anchoring yourself and scraping a mark into his skin. You start to trace your first initial, something droning and possessive buzzing in your ears, then think better of it. Slowly, you circle your hips, teasing the tip of his cock at your dripping hole. “You want me? Want me to fuck you like this?” Matty grasps needily at your hips, whimpering uncontrollable pleas into the thick, lust-drenched air of your room. He cries out as you slam your hips down, unable to stopper the moan that falls from your lips as your cunt stretches wide around him.

Grinding your clit against his stomach, you gasp as Matty thrusts up into you, fucking you impossibly deep. “Shit, Matty,” you hiss, pleasure pulsing under your skin. His gaze is fixed on your tits as you bounce on his cock, timed with his thrusts so he fills you as deep as possible. Running a hand up your body, you squeeze one of your tits, twisting the barbell just enough that it smarts a little, a pained gasp weaving effortlessly between your moans. You whine as Matty’s calloused fingers come up to circle roughly over your clit; sloppy like he can barely control his limbs. “Fuck, baby. You tryin’ to get me off faster so I don’t notice how quick you cum?” You grab his jaw so he can’t look away. “Pathetic.”

Matty doesn’t even speak, just moans helplessly as you ride him, rolling your hips and bouncing on him. Liquid heat pools in your veins, your thighs starting to burn and your heart pumping ecstasy into every nerve of your body. The slick sounds of your hips meeting echo off the walls, tangling with heavy breaths and wanton moans in a lurid melody you wish you could press to vinyl. Your nails dig into his shoulders so hard you break skin, leaving a tangible, lasting mark in the unblemished marble of his skin.

You circle your hips, head swimming with desire. Matty’s desperate little moans only turn you on more, his hips stuttering as he gets closer. Pleasure hums under your skin, a soft throb in the back of your skull and the base of your spine. Your thighs are beginning to burn with the effort, but you barely feel it as you fuck him harder, chasing your own release as it hangs tantalisingly out of reach. “You feel so good,” Matty whines, breathless and needy as he fucks up into you with abandon. His blunt nails dig into your hips, pulling you down to drive deeper into you. White spots dance in your vision, everything in your world going hazy but the point where Matty’s skin meets yours. 

Pleasure courses up your spine in a sweet, sparkling arc, moans flowing freely as Matty’s fingers tease back over your swollen clit. “Fuck, feels so fuckin’ good,” you gasp. “Doin’ so well, baby. Gonna make me cum all over your cock, yeah?” He moans, rubbing tight, frantic circles at your clit. Tension coils tightly in your belly, the thread pulling taut until it finally snaps, arousal burning up your veins and flooding out against his skin, moaning helplessly as he keeps fucking into you. Dizzy, you fall forward, bracing your arms over Matty’s head and cunt pulsing around his cock. Matty’s lips close around your nipple, licking and sucking feverishly as you ride out your orgasm. “Shit,” you mutter, his other hand twisting your piercing as he groans, every motion tinged maniacal with need. “Did so well, Matty. You gonna cum for me? Go on, baby. Fuckin’ fill me up, yeah?”

Your words tip him over the edge, cock pulsing as he spills inside you, moaning your name around your tit. He gasps and whines, writhing helplessly under you. “God, feels so fuckin’ good,” he moans. “Thank you s’much,” he adds, smiling dopily up at you as you climb off him and test your weight on your feet before you stand. When you come back from cleaning yourself up, Matty’s dressed again, looking so miserable that you can’t help but take pity on him. “I’m goin’, don’t worry.”

You scoff. “Come back here.” Matty freezes, spinning on his heel so comically slowly that you stifle a giggle. “Jesus. I’m not evil. S’fucking freezing out there, I’m not making you trek back to fucking Wilmslow after that.” Matty just stares, and you roll your eyes. “Come back before I change my mind.”

Matty strips to his boxers embarrassingly fast, but you kind of don’t have it in you to tease when he slots himself sweetly into your arms. It’s almost… nice. Blech. “Did I do good?” he murmurs, his voice soft and sleep-thick.

You scratch your nails over his head and he hums happily. “Yeah, did so good, baby. Dunno what happened to all that shit you were talking about wrecking me, though. Kinda seemed like the other way around…” you tease.

He laughs softly. “I’ll get another chance. Gonna look so pretty crying on my cock, love.”

“Promises, promises,” you say, the muscles of his stomach tensing as you trace idle patterns in his skin. “Are you gonna keep them?”

“Piss me off enough and you’ll find out.”

Excitement thrills in your belly, the words sealing the two of you into some kind of promise, a brutal, delicious game of chess that you honestly couldn’t predict the winner in. “You know I will.”

[munsonsmixtapes]

Hi! Can I request a Tyler Owens fic based off of shut up and drive by Rihanna! I know it’s not a lot to work with so feel free to do whatever ☺️

I love writing songs fics!

Tyler Owens x fem!reader

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) fingering, oral (f receiving)

The house was super packed when you entered it, the amount of people and loud music overwhelming your senses. If you were being honest, you didn't even want to be there, but only gave in when your friends had begged you to. They pulled you into the kitchen where all of the drinks were and you gladly followed, wanting nothing more than to get a few drinks into your system to calm you down.

Kyra poured you a glass of white wine and you gratefully accepted it, downing it quicker than you should have. You held out your cup for more and she eyed you suspiciously as she poured more of the beverage into your cup. You thanked her and turned on your heel, looking for a place to sit.

As you got to the entrance of the kitchen, you ran into a hard chest, hearing a chuckle rumble from it. You looked up into the most beautiful green eyes you had ever seen, feeling yourself wanting to fall into the mossy color.

His hands moved to your waist to steady you and you could practically feel their warmth through your top that his gaze had moved to. It complimented your skin perfectly and hugged you in all of the right places, almost as if it was made specifically for you.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze.

"Nothing to be sorry for," he shook his head. "Not from around here, are you? I think I would have recognized a pretty little thing like you.”

“And I think that’s a line. Gonna have to try a little harder to get my attention, cowboy.” You tried to push past him, but he blocked your path.

“How about a dance?” He asked as he rested his arm on the door frame. “Or maybe a drink?”

“No thanks,” you shook your head. “I already have a drink and I don’t dance.”

Tyler removed his arm from door frame and let you past, not able to help himself from looking at your ass as you moved into the living room. He wanted to know what it felt like, letting his mind drift off to a hot fantasy of the two of you.

He could just see himself sticking his hands into the back pockets of your jeans as he gave your ass a squeeze, swallowing your gasp with his lips. He wanted to know what they tasted like, your lip gloss giving them a pretty sheen.

Most women tried to play hard to get and he was always turned on by that. He didn’t just love to chase tornadoes, women were also very fun to run after. He followed you into the living room, feeling hypnotized by you. It was as if his feet had a mind of their own, carrying him through all of the bodies. He felt like a sailor being lured to his death by a siren. And that seemed like a damn good way to die.

He could see you still as you got further ahead of him, trying not to lose track of you. There was no way that he was letting you get away from him. Not that easily. He was going to take no for an answer, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t at least be near you.

You got to the center of the makeshift dance floor and the second your eyes locked on Tyler’s, he knew that he was a goner. Your eyes were locked on him as you began to dance much more sensually than you were used to. You didn’t know why you were wanting to show him what he couldn’t have.

He slowly weaved his way through the people keeping him from you and stood in front of you, resisting the urge to stand behind you as your bodies moved in tandem.

“Like what you see, cowboy?” You asked, a flirty look forming in your eyes. You had him exactly where you wanted him and you didn’t even have to do much. You thought it would have taken a bit more to reel him, but he had already grabbed onto the hook.

“Oh, I love what I see.” You grabbed hold of his hands and set them on your waist. You then turned around and pressed your ass to his crotch, grinding against it. His grip on your waist tightened, and you could have sworn that you could hear him moan.

"Just dancing," you said, looking over your shoulder. Tyler just nodded, moving his hands to your shoulders, turning you around to face him as a slower tempo song began to play.

"Then let's dance," he replied, his hands moving higher up your back. "You know, I never got your name."

"I don't know why you'd need that." You were perfectly fine with not sharing names. It added a bit of mystery to your interaction.

"Because I'd love to know the name of the prettiest girl in the room." That had to be the worst pick up line you had ever heard. You figured that he didn't have to try as hard because of his looks, but you really hoped that he didn't actually use that one on a regular basis.

"Gross, does that actually work for you?" You pulled away from him a bit, eyeing him suspiciously. If you were being honest, the whole cowboy thing was working for you even if you wouldn't admit it. Maybe he actually was charming or you just hadn't slept with anyone in so long that you were just desperate to get laid.

"Every time," he winked and all you could do was grimace.

"Tell me yours first."

"It's Tyler." Tyler. The name suited him.

"Y/n."

"Y/n," he repeated with a smile and you swore that your knees were going to give out between the mixture of his pretty mouth and the way your name fell off his lips. You could just imagine what he sounded like moaning your name and now you were getting a little too wet for your liking between your legs. "I like that."

"I like yours too."

"You're actually paying me a compliment?" He feigned shock with a dramatic gasp. "Well, I never thought I'd see the day."

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed onto his belt loops and pulled him closer, Tyler letting out a yelp as you did so. You were suddenly finding him irresistible, your eyes shifting to his lips that he was running his tongue over, making you want him even more.

"Woah, darlin'," he chuckled. "Can't resist me, can you?"

"You got me. So are we going to do this or what?"

"Only if you want to. I don't want to force you into something that would make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable. I was just playing hard to get."

"You didn't have to do that," he said, inching his face closer to yours. "I've had my eyes on you all night."

"Well, now you're chance to have me. Don't blow it," you responded, closing the gap between the two of you, capturing his bottom lip between his two. You were close to moaning at the feeling, not having kissed anyone in far too long for your liking.

Your arms wrapped around waist as his went to your shoulder, tilting his head to the side so he could kiss you from another angle. Suddenly, you were the only ones there, so wrapped up in each other that it felt like everyone else had disappeared. 

Just as his tongue swiped along your bottom lip, you pulled away, noticing nothing else but his pretty green eyes, his pupils that had blown wide. You said nothing and removed your hands from his waist, offering him one of them that he took with no question. You led him through the crowd, making a beeline for the stairs. 

You weren’t looking at him, but he was trying to fight the smile on his face. He had barely done anything and now he was about to sleep with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Maybe someone up there actually liked him. Just when he was about to go home, you showed up, a bright spotlight shining down on you. He was drawn to you immediately and the fact that you didn’t seem interested at first only made him want you more. 

You got up the stairs, on the hunt for an available room and found one, pulling Tyler into it. You let the door slam closed behind you before you pressed your lips to his again, this time more hungrily. He was quick to respond, matching your eagerness by dipping his tongue into your mouth. 

“I’ve been looking for someone who’s qualified. Do you think you are?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded enthusiastically.

“Good,” you responded then placed your lips on his once again.

You tasted so good that there was no way he could kiss anyone else. He could have just made out with you for the rest of the night and been satisfied. Your lips were soft and they tasted like a mixture of whatever flavor your lipgloss was and the white wine you had been sipping on. It was intoxicating and he couldn’t get enough of you, already wanting more like the greedy man he was. 

Your hands moved to his shirt and you began to unbutton his shirt as Tyler’s hand traveled south to your jeans. He got them undone in record speed and dipped his hand down into your panties, on the hunt for your pussy. He found it as soon as you got his shirt unbuttoned and his fingers found their way into your cunt, causing the most delicious moan to fall from your lips. 

“Already wet for me, hm?” He asked as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, his movements slow because he wanted you to beg for him. 

“And you’re already hard,” you replied, your eyes moving to his cock that was already tenting in his jeans. His movements suddenly got a little faster and you moaned again, turning your back to him, pressing it to his chest so he had more access to you. 

Your head leaned against his shoulder and Tyler turned to get a good view of your face, wondering what you would look like when he got inside you if you were already coming this undone just from his fingers. He just knew you’d look hot when you moaned and he was so right. In fact, you were even more hot than he had been imagining. Seeing your eyes shut tight and your mouth wide open as more moans fell from them was making him even harder. 

“Oh,” you moaned. “So good.” 

“Yeah? You like that?” He asked as he pumped even harder and faster, curving them, hitting just the right spot to make you scream.  

“Tyler, oh my god.” He pulled his fingers out and waited for you to come down from your orgasm before them to your mouth. You opened up and he stuck them inside, feeling his cock strain against his jeans as your lips wrapped around them, licking and sucking, making the most filthy sounds. 

He whimpered while he watched you, suddenly needing a taste for himself. And you seemed to think the same since you had removed his fingers from your mouth and were working on pulling off your jeans.

Once they were in a crumpled pile on the floor, you laid down on the bed, spreading your legs wide so Tyler could see just how wet your panties were. He got down onto his knees and slowly inched his hands towards your underwear. 

“Just do it,” you commanded. “Please.” He did as you asked and pulled down on the waistband, pulling them completely off to reveal your soaking wet cunt. Tyler could feel drool pooling in his mouth as he looked down at it, desperate for a taste.

He took each of your legs and draped them over his shoulders before diving in, not even bothering to warm you up since you both seemed so desperate. He then slowly inched his face closer to your cunt, giving you opportunity to back out if you wanted to. He then slowly pressed his face into it. You let out a gasp when his nose brushed it and your fingers wound into his hair as he mouthed your clit, sucking on the spot and feeling his dick getting hard as a whimper fell from your lips. He licked and sucked on the spot, taking his time, fully intending to give you the best head of your life. A moan escaped from your throat and you both paused, Buck pulling away to grin at you. 

“That’s it, darlin’,” he urged. “Just like that. You’re doing great.” He dove back in for more, wanting to taste more of you, but to also hear more of your delectable sounds. His mouth was back on your clit in a flash, licking and sucking some more, trying to not smile to himself as you continued to moan. He had you right where he wanted you and he had barely even done anything yet. He couldn’t wait to see how you would react once he was actually inside you. 

He moved lower, tonguing your slit, licking back and forth between the seam before going in with his lips, giving it a hard suck as his hands moved up to your thighs, spreading your legs wider to have more access to you. He then lightly grazed your cunt with his teeth and his ears perked up at your loud moan as your thighs pressed against his head as your ankles locked together at the back of his neck. 

Tyler continued his movements, loving how hard you were pulling onto his hair, knowing that you were enjoying it just as much as he was. You tasted so good and he loved how quickly he was able to make you come undone. He bet you looked so hot, so beautiful as the noises came from your mouth, wondering what you looked like when you orgasmed. He bet you looked so good with your mouth wide open, sweaty all over, your labored breathing. He couldn’t wait to see it. 

He shoved his tongue inside you and couldn’t help but notice how tight you were, but he wasn’t going to comment on it. He didn’t want to embarrass you and certainly didn’t feel like it mattered. He knew you hadn’t been intimate in a while and fully intended on making you feel so good, so special. 

He swirled his tongue around and was convinced that you were going to pull his hair out with how hard you were yanking it, but he hardly cared. You were reacting exactly how he wanted you to. His tongue hit just the right spot and your back arched in pleasure as a scream ripped through you. 

“Tyler, oh my god,” you screamed as you reached your orgasm, stars forming in your eyes, your vision going hazy. This was exactly what you had been expecting with your other partners. It was all you wanted and apparently it had been very simple since it hadn’t taken Tyler long to get you there. 

He slowly removed his face from your cunt then took off his shirt then moved to his jeans, taking his time to let you come down from your orgasm. You sat up, wanting to get a glimpse of his rock hard cock and it did not disappoint. It was probably the biggest one you had ever seen and you were wondering how it was even going to fit inside you. 

Once you were ready, he lowered himself down onto you, pressing his lip to yours in a slow, sloven kiss, wanting to savor the taste of you. He then pulled away to remove your shirt, tossing it behind him before peppering your chest in kisses. Once he was done, he moved his hands behind you and unclasped your bra before slowly removing the straps from your shoulders to reveal your tits. 

“You’re amazing,” he breathed. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied. “And as much as I love your compliments, I really need you inside me.” You knew you sounded needy, but considering the fact that you hadn’t slept with anyone in months, you really needed this and time was ticking.

“Yes ma’am,” he pretended to tip the brim of a hat towards you then climbed off of you, pulling a condom out of his wallet and rolling it onto his cock as quickly as possible. He then lined himself up with you before slowly inserting himself inside of you, both of you moaning at the sensation. Tyler then began to thrust in and out slowly, trying to figure out what you liked. 

“Faster,” you commanded. “If I don’t get there soon, I think I might explode.” Your voice was so whiny and full of need that Tyler was going to get you there as soon as possible, wondering how long you had been feeling that way and why you hadn’t told him sooner. 

His thrusts got so hard and fast that now he was fully pounding into you, trying his best to fit all of himself inside you and you seemed to enjoy it. Your moans got much more enthusiastic and he could see that you really weren’t lying. You always looked fucked out and he had barely even done anything to you. 

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Look at you taking me so well. Doing so good darlin’.” He continued to pump in and out at his rapid rate and could see your back arching, a scream falling from your lips. Tyler was convinced that this was the hottest you’d ever looked (even though he had only met you that night) with your hair all a mess and the sweat dripping down your body. You were an absolute dream and this was definitely what he was going to think about every night before going to bed. 

He reached his own orgasm not long after then collapsed onto the bed next to you. Your chests were rising and falling because of your heavy breaths. Tyler then rolled off the bed and gathered the clothes from the floor, handing you yours which you put on. You really thought he would have wanted to go for another round. You were definitely down. Maybe he was just a one and done kind of guy. 

You watched him button up his shirt as you sat there with yours in your hands, trying to prolong your time with him. You didn’t want to leave just yet. He sent you a wink and finished up his shirt before coming over to you. He dropped to his knees in front of you and took your shirt before putting it over your head and helping you put your arms through the sleeves. 

“How about we go to my place?” He asked and you nodded enthusiastically. You got your jeans on and Tyler helped you to your feet, the both of you making a beeline to the stairs. You couldn’t believe that you thought he was going to ditch you. He had clearly shown you that he wasn’t like the others and he was fully intending on showing you just how much he wanted you once you got to his place. He was planning on having you between the sheets until the early morning, fucking you until you couldn’t walk. He was going to make you feel like an absolute queen.

[zapreportsblog]

Baby Come Back

➥ summary: miles misses his girl even though he won’t admit to to himself or anyone else, but when he sees her starting to move on without him, naw that settles it. It’s time to win his baby girl back

➥ a/n: this was inspired by @laaailuh fic “I Miss You”

The tension in the air was palpable as Miles Morales, also known as the Prowler, and his girlfriend (y/n) stood face to face in his small apartment. Their voices were raised, and emotions ran high, as they found themselves entangled in a heated argument.

"I can't do this anymore, Miles!" (y/n) exclaimed, her eyes filled with frustration and hurt. "You've been distant, shutting me out, and taking your anger out on me. It's not fair!"

Miles clenched his fists, trying to find the right words to express the turmoil inside him. "I know I've been a mess since my dad died," he admitted, his voice tinged with sorrow. "But I'm trying to deal with it in my own way."

(y/n) took a step back, her heart heavy with the weight of his words. "I understand that you're going through a lot, but you can't just push me away and expect me to stick around," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "I need to be with someone who can share their pain with me, not shut me out."

Miles felt a surge of guilt wash over him, knowing that he had been unfair to (y/n). He loved her deeply, but the darkness of his grief had consumed him, making it difficult for him to see beyond his own pain.

"I don't want to lose you," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "I need you, (y/n). Please, don't leave."

(y/n)'s eyes welled up with tears, torn between her love for Miles and the toll his emotional distance was taking on her. "I love you too, Miles, but I can't keep being hurt like this," she said, her voice choked with sadness. "You need to confront your grief and find a way to heal, for both of us."

As the words hung in the air, the weight of their unresolved issues seemed to crush them both. (y/n) turned away, unable to bear the pain in Miles' eyes, while he struggled to find the strength to let her go.

In the following days, the silence between them grew heavy and suffocating. They tried to carry on with their lives separately, but their hearts longed for the comfort and love they once shared.

One evening, as the sun set over the city, (y/n) made her decision. She couldn't keep waiting for Miles to heal on his own. She knew that it was time to face the truth and let go, even if it broke her heart.

She went to Miles' apartment, her footsteps echoing with each heavy step. The door opened, and Miles stood before her, his eyes red and swollen, a reflection of the pain he carried.

"I can't keep pretending that everything is okay," (y/n) said softly, her voice wavering. "I need to put myself first, and that means letting go."

Tears streamed down Miles' cheeks as he nodded, his heart aching with the weight of their decision. "I don't want to lose you, but I know I've been pushing you away," he said, his voice choked with regret. "I'm so sorry for hurting you."

They stood there, facing each other, knowing that their love wasn't enough to mend the broken pieces of their hearts. Their bond had been strong, but the weight of grief had shattered it.

With one last embrace, (y/n) turned away, her heart breaking as she walked away from the man she loved. The tears flowed freely as she left behind the life they once shared, but she knew that it was the right decision for both of them.

In the days that followed, the void left by their breakup was a constant reminder of the love they had lost. Miles faced his grief head-on, seeking counseling and support from friends and family, determined to find a way to heal.

And though they had parted ways, the memories of their love lingered in the corners of their hearts. The road ahead was uncertain, but they both knew that their journey towards healing had only just begun.

•••

In the days that followed the breakup, Miles Morales, also known as the Prowler, became even more withdrawn and closed off. The pain of losing (y/n) weighed heavily on his heart, and he found solace in isolating himself from his friends and emotions. He had always been good at hiding his feelings behind the mask of the prowler, but now it seemed like he was hiding from himself too.

At school, Miles tried to maintain a façade of indifference, a mask that he wore to shield himself from the questions and concerns of his friends. As he walked through the halls, he could feel the worried glances of his classmates, but he pretended not to notice.

During lunchtime, others approached him cautiously, their concern evident in their expressions. "Hey, Miles, are you doing okay?" Stu asked, his voice soft and caring.

He shrugged nonchalantly, trying to deflect their worries. "Yeah, I'm good," he replied with a forced smile. "It just didn't work out with (y/n), you know? It's whatever."

Stu exchanged a concerned glance with Anthony, realizing that Miles was trying to hide his pain. "You sure, man? We're here for you if you need to talk," he said gently.

Miles nodded, but he couldn't bring himself to share the turmoil inside him. "I appreciate it, but I'm fine," he insisted, avoiding eye contact with his friends. "I've got other stuff to focus on."

Just then the bell rang signaling that it was time for class.

As Miles sat in his classroom, his mind preoccupied with his own thoughts and emotions, he couldn't help but notice that (y/n) was just a few seats ahead of him. His heart clenched as he saw someone pass her a note discreetly.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the exchange. He could feel a pang of jealousy stirring within him, a reminder of the connection they once shared.

Trying to focus on the lesson, he fought the urge to look again. But as the minutes ticked by, his mind kept wandering back to the note. He couldn't shake the feeling of being left out, of no longer being a part of her life.

When the class finally ended, Miles gathered his belongings, but his feet felt heavy as he made his way towards the exit. He knew he should be moving on, but seeing (y/n) with someone else reminded him of what he had lost.

As he walked past her, he couldn't help but glance in her direction. Their eyes met briefly, and a mix of emotions washed over him. He wanted to say something, to reach out to her, but his pride held him back.

In the bustling school hallway, Miles mustered the courage to call out to (y/n) as she was making her way to her next class. "Hey, (y/n)!" he said, his voice a mix of nervousness and hope.

She turned around, surprised to see him, but she managed a polite smile. "Hey, Miles. What's up?" she asked, her guard up, unsure of what he wanted to talk about.

"I was wondering if we could meet up after school," he said, his eyes earnest. "There's something I really need to talk to you about."

(y/n) hesitated, her heart still guarded, but she knew that avoiding the conversation wouldn't resolve anything. "Miles, I don't think there's a need for us to talk," she replied, her voice measured. "It's all been said, hasn't it?"

Miles took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words he wanted to say. "Please, cariño" he implored, "I just need a chance to explain and apologize. There's so much I want to say, and I can't keep pretending like everything's okay."

Her resolve softened as she saw the sincerity in his eyes. With a small sigh, she relented. "Okay, fine," she said, "but just this once, and only because I think we both deserve some closure."

•••

After school, they met at a nearby park, finding a quiet bench to sit on. The air between them was tense, but there was an unspoken understanding that they needed to have this conversation.

Miles began, his words slow and heartfelt. "I'm sorry,cariño, for shutting you out and being distant," he said, his voice tinged with remorse. "I've been dealing with so much since my dad's passing, and I didn't know how to handle it. But that's not an excuse for treating you the way I did."

She listened attentively, the wall around her heart slowly starting to crumble. "I know it was hard for you," she said softly, "but it was hard for me too. I felt like you pushed me away, and it hurt."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Miles replied, his gaze downcast. "I never meant to hurt you, (y/n). I just... I didn't know how to handle my emotions, and I thought if I pushed you away, it would protect you from my pain."

Her heart softened as she saw the vulnerability in his eyes. "You don't have to protect me, Miles," she said gently. "I wanted to be there for you, to help you through your grief."

He reached out and took her hand, his grip gentle yet pleading. "I wish I had let you in," he said, his voice filled with regret. "I wish I had talked to you about everything, instead of shutting you out."

Silence settled between them, the weight of their emotions palpable. (y/n) finally spoke, her voice tinged with sadness. "I miss you too, mi amor," she admitted, her eyes welling up with tears. "I miss us, but I don't know if we can go back to how things were."

Miles nodded, understanding the complexity of their situation. "I don't expect things to go back to normal right away," he said. "I just hope that we can find a way to move forward, even if it's not together."

Her heart ached, torn between the love she still felt for him and the uncertainty of their future. "I need time to heal too," she said softly. "But I'm willing to listen if you want to talk."

And so, beneath the setting sun, they started to open up to each other, their words filled with both pain and hope. As they talked, they realized that they needed to be honest about their feelings, even if it meant facing the difficult truths they had been avoiding.

Their conversation was raw and emotional, but it was a start. A start towards healing, towards understanding, and towards finding closure. Whether their paths would converge again or lead in different directions, they both knew that they had grown from their experiences and that they would always cherish the love they once shared.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Can y’all please let me know if the long chapters are harder to digest? Because I love writing them, but if they actively impair enjoyment of the story I can start to cut them in half. Chapter Title from DEVIL by Shinedown.

Word Count: 13k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Everyone has a lesson in actions and their subsequent consequences. Emphasis on mental health issues warning for the chapter: specifically suicidal ideation and PTSD.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst

Read on A03!

Chapter 6 - Chapter 8

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

Free will was cruel, and you had some choice words for whatever had given it to you. "Words,” meaning several unspeakable acts of violence, a wide variety of cuss words and vulgar phrases that would leave even Ben agape, and at least one loud, feral scream.

Free will had allowed you to attend a fancy party at Vought, a party that put you in a silk dress and winged eyeliner with glossy lips. Free will had let you do one, two, three shots and gotten you tipsy enough that when the elegant woman with strawberry hair had asked if anyone wanted to sing on stage, asked the crowd if there was at least one guest who wasn’t tone deaf and could do a passible rendition of Moon River, you’d raised your hand. Free will had made you not do a fourth shot, so that when you started to sing you didn’t stumble around the stage, missing notes and embarrassing yourself, but had put on a perfect show, singing and swaying in time to the music.

Later, you had learned that the woman with the strawberry hair had been killed later that night, and Free will had allowed you to feel sorry about it. Free will had you visit her grave in the dead of night in a thunderstorm, and let you sing Moon River one last time.

Free will had allowed you to cave when Butcher and the Boys had found you in a different graveyard, only a month later. Free will let you stick with them all the way to the barn. Free will was what had you coming up with very, very stupid plans.

Not this plan, though. You loved this plan. You loved this plan enough that you hadn’t waited even a half hour after thinking of it to call Butcher, or two minutes after Butcher had screened your call to turn around and call MM instead.

“What’s wrong?” MM had picked up after two rings, and you could almost see his worried frown with his words. “Did Soldier Boy-“

“Ben’s in the living room yelling at a documentary about World War II.” You’d dismissed. “He likes to point out all the alleged inaccuracies. I have a plan, I need everyone here by tonight.”

“Uh,” MM said your name apprehensively. “I don’t think that’ll really work.”

“Look, I know everyone’s probably still freaked out about last night, but this is really important-“

“No, that’s not it. We’re fine. Butcher’s still being a fucking ass about it, but everyone else- Hey!” MM had yelled away from the receiver as something banged in the background, accompanied by muffled shouts.

“Uh, MM?” You’d frowned. “Where are you?”

“Ohio.”

“Ohi- why are you in fucking Ohio?”

“Soldier Boy’s shield is here. Turns out it’s been so motherfucking difficult to get because Vought has their hands on it, and they’ve been keeping it in a warehouse in Akron.”

“I thought it had been flown from Jacksonville, with the suit?”

“Nope. Akron. We didn’t know until a few days ago, even Mallory thought it was just waiting in cargo at JFK.”

You’d glanced down the hall to make sure Ben hadn’t heard that his shield was in Ohio, a state he’d once called “America’s shitstained taint” while watching a football game. You heard him shout “fucking commies didn’t do goddamn shit about the Nazi’s, fuck off!” And decided you were in the clear.

“When do you think you’ll be done?” You’d asked, keeping one ear open in case Ben decided to stop fighting with Ken Burns’ voice and join you in the kitchen.

“If Butcher keeps it together and nobody sees Annie and tips off Vought? Tomorrow night.” MM had answered tensely.

“Ok, come right here when you get back. Like I said, I've got a plan, but it’s time sensitive.” You gone to hang up, but paused with your finger over the button. “Don’t die.” You’d added, and heard MM’s grunted acknowledgment just before the call dropped.

Somehow they’d managed to meet MM’s prediction, and all returned in one piece. The team had stood awkwardly in the kitchen—almost everyone avoiding full eye contact with you despite MM’s claim of everything being fine—as you and Ben had sat at the counter, Ben making a mediocre effort to fake some sort of hospitality per your request.

“Thanks to Ashley,” you’d started. “We know Sage told Homelander that I’m in New York and Ben’s awake.”

“Yeah, we’re really sorry about that.” Annie had said your name apologetically. “We should’ve been more careful-“

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” You’d cut her off, giving Ben’s shin a swift kick behind the counter before he could’ve said anything, his disbelieving scorn at your statement running through where your arms were brushing. “And we can use this.”

“Use what?” Hughie had frowned, and you’d continued.

“They haven’t told anyone else about it. We weren’t even sure they knew until Ashley told us. I’m not anticipating them to start alerting the media about me anytime soon, but they should’ve announced that America’s number one traitor is back from the dead and out to attack the innocent.”

“Fucking rude.” Ben grumbled, and a surprisingly bruised feeling ran through you. “All I do is help you, Sunshine, and that’s how you fucking thank me?”

You gave him a quick, half-apologetic, half-annoyed look. I’m being sardonic for arguments sake, and you know it. He’d just rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the mozzarella sticks you’d heated up before the Boys arrived.

“But they haven’t done that,” you’d continued, giving Ben one last dirty look. “Which means-“

“They’re saving it for something.” Annie had finished your sentence with a thoughtful frown.

“Exactly. Sage has some sort of plan, some dramatic and complicated way to fear monger people, turn everyone against Starlight by saying you released Soldier Boy, and have been risking public safety by letting him run rampant for your own anti-American reasons.”

“You want to get ahead of it.” MM had said, eyes narrowed.

You’d nodded, and shared your plan. Now, two days later, you were squished in the back of the van between Hughie—a well placed towel separating any physical contact—and Ben—who despite many protests was eating your burger—watching Firecracker and The Deep sing in a way that made you want to permanently remove your ears.

You visibly recoil as The Deep looks into the camera, and Ben looks up from eating to watch the video as it plays on Hughie’s laptop.

“Fish-boy sounds like a fucking constipated cowboy,” Ben mutters through a mouthful of food.

You hum in agreement. “You even sounded better on your stupid Rapture video.”

Ben scowls, taking another large bite that muffles his words. “I was fucking fantastic in that.”

“You were certainly, technically, singing.” You look up at him with a grin. “With all the passion of a dying squid giving one last, mighty squirt.”

“I don’t ’squirt’, Sunshine.” Ben grumbles, and you can see the moment every filthy thing he could say pops into his head. He takes a rough swallow, mouth opening to say something that will undoubtedly make Hughie regret volunteering to stay in the van, and you cut him off.

“Before you say anything, keep in mind that is still my burger, meaning I have every right to take it back and shove it right up your ass.”

Ben glowers at you, taking another aggressively large bite. “Bitch.” He grunts, and a piece of lettuce falls fully out of his mouth. Though you can feel his dirty look in your direction, you can also feel a spark of amusement run from where your knees are touching into your chest.

“Cunt.” You pick the lettuce off his lap and throw it into his face. “You eat like a squid too.”

“The only thing that me and squids have in common is our giant-“

“Okay!” Hughie shouts, pausing the video. “Soldier Boy, can you please not say something sexual for like, fuck, ten minutes?”

Ben doesn’t respond, invested completely in the burger, and you elbow him in the ribs.

He gives a loud cough, little bits of meat spurting out of his mouth. “What the fuck?!” When you incline your head to Hughie, Ben rolls his eyes and offers Hughie a grunted, “Fuckin hell- fine, you pussy.”

“Oh, ok.” Hughie blinks at Ben nervously before fumbling to unpause the video.

As the laptop catches up with the live feed, jumping to Firecracker bouncing over-excitedly around the now empty stage, Ben leans over you to get a good look at the screen.

“That’s her?���

“Yep.” You give the screen a glare. “Crazy brown-nosing bitch.”

Hughie lets out a noise of agreement, and Ben snorts. After another minute, in which Firecracker manages to say a record twenty-two objectively wrong things in a row, Ben grunts in annoyance.

“When I was at Vought, we had real goddamn talent, not whatever the fuck this is.”

“I know, in the 80s they managed to book a Pretty Boy squid who could kind of sing.”

Lettuce hits you in the face, and you let out a sputtering string of profanities.

“I can more than kind of sing, Sunshine. I have the voice of a goddamn angel. And that song didn’t make any fucking sense, I fucking blew it out of the fucking water- what the fucks so funny?”

“Nothing!” You try and smother the giggles that had built in you as he’d devolved into rambling ire. “You’re way angrier about this than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m not fucking angry-“

“I can feel it, Ben.” You press your leg further against his in reminder. “And even if I couldn’t, you just said ‘fuck’ so many times.”

“I’m not a damn pussy, I’ll swear as much as I fucking please-“ Ben falters slightly as the word slips out once more, and you grin at him.

“When you’re angry, every other word out of your mouth is ‘fuck’. It’s actually really funny.“

“I’m glad it’s amusing for you.” He’s glaring at you, but you can feel the rapid ebbing of his anger through your body.

“It is.” You shrug, and attempt an olive branch. “So was the Rapture video. I used to watch it all the time.”

“Really?” At your words, he’s suddenly giving a toothy, egotistical grin. “What, did you have a crush on me?”

“No,” You mirror his grin, even as you feel your cheeks heat and hear your sister’s teasing in your ear. “It was just really funny.”

He scoffs. “Like you could’ve done it any damn better.”

“Oh, I know I couldn’t have. I sing like a horse who chain smokes.” The lie slips through your teeth with practiced ease. “But nobody would be paying me whatever digusting amout they payed you.”

"Joke's on you, Sunshine. I bought a house with that money."

"Hm," you give him a toothy smile. "I think that makes the joke on Vought."

“I liked your dancing,” Hughie offers weakly. “It was… interesting.”

“See, Cocksucker gets it.” Ben says smugly, giving you a nudge as his attention refocuses on the video.

“That’s, that’s not my name…” Hughie sighs, and you offer him an apologetic, close-lipped smile.

Still leaning over you, Ben takes another bite of the burger as he watches Firecracker. “She’s got good tits,” he observes, and you tilt your head to look at him incredulously. “What?! She does!”

“You didn’t even last,” you look at the clock on Hughie’s laptop. “Five minutes.”

“That’s bullshit, I always last more than five minutes- Hey!”

You manage to fit the entire remaining burger into your mouth a once, chewing frantically before he can try and take it back from you. You give him a smug look. I warned you, Pretty Boy.

He narrows his eyes at you. I’ll make you fucking regret that, Sunshine.

You swallow, his promise of regret already catching up to you from the large bite as the food aches down your throat, and push Ben until he’s fully in his seat. “Her tits better not be nice enough that you decide to blow the mission.”

“Don’t worry, Sunshine, yours are better.” He ignores your venomous look. “And she’s with Homelander. Even the best fucking tits in the world couldn’t make up for choosing that pussy.” His eyes narrow at the screen. “I should just fucking go now, it’s been the same stupid shit for a damn hour.”

“No!” Hughie’s arm shoots out to hold him in his seat, before thinking better and pulling back just as fast. “No, they’re almost ready, please, can we just wait until they’re ready?”

Ben shoots you a look of questioning annoyance. I could just fucking go. Cocksucker couldn’t stop me, and we could all be fucking done and go home early.

No. We’re sticking to the plan. You glare back.

He rolls his eyes. Fucking stupid plan if it takes ten goddamn hours to set up.

You stick your tongue out at him, and turn back to Hughie. “Have they sent any updates? At least gotten the stage passes?”

“They aren’t supposed to check in for another three minutes.” Hughie shakes his head. “And MM’s still working on the stage passes. They’re $350 for some fucking reason.”

“I don’t need a stage pass.” Ben grumbles. “I could just walk in if you would give me the suit, none of those pussies would stop me.”

“The whole point is that you don’t have the suit. But…” You trail off, frowning to yourself. “Hughie, Ben might be right about the stage pass.”

Ben makes a satisfied “Ha!” as Hughie gives you a wide-eyed stare.

“But they can’t know he’s working with-“

“Butcher and Starlight, yeah, I know, it's my plan. But the whole idea is that he’s rogue. Soldier Boy, back from the dead once more, loose on the streets of Manhattan with no adult supervision.” You sweep your hand in a mock headline gesture, and pretend you can’t feel Ben’s indignance. “A real rogue hundred year old terrorist would not have a credit score that lets him buy Vought’s super-diamond-truther backstage pass.”

“So I can have my fucking suit-“

“No,” you snap, and Ben scowls. “That defeats the point even more than the stage pass. Your suit is known government property. It was being kept in a high-security warehouse in Florida. It would be really fucking suspicious if you were wearing it.”

“They were keeping my suit in Florida?!” Ben’s face coils in disgust. “Was my fucking shield in Florida too?! Fuck, is it still fucking there?! In goddamn, sweat-stained-“

“No, apparently Vought was keeping your shield in Ohio.”

“Fucking Ohio?!”

“This doesn’t really seem like it’s about the mission anymore,” Hughie says nervously.

“It’s not, it’s about you fucking dumbass cum guzzlers keeping my shit in goddamn Florida and Ohio- Fuck!”

You give Ben a warning glare, fingers still smoking, as he rubs his arm. “They survived it, and maybe if you put on your big boy pants you’ll manage to as well. Now-“ You turn to Hughie. “You should tell MM that we don’t need the stage pass before he spends a disgusting amount of money on it.”

As Hughie takes out his phone, closing his laptop and standing to cross the van for some semblance of privacy, Ben nudges you with a grunt of your name.

“I don’t like this.” He’s frowning at nothing in particular, and you can feel tight, solid concern through your body. “It’s too fucking public.”

You wrinkle your brow at him, eyes narrowing. “Since when do you give a shit how ‘public’ a mission is?”

“Since it’s a fucking liability. Too fucking public means too many fucking people that even I won’t be able to control.”

“That’s the point-“

“I fucking know ‘that’s the point’, Sunshine, you’ve made that real fucking clear.” Ben grunts, giving you an odd look as his tight feeling grows in your chest. “Doesn’t mean I have to like this fucking dumb plan.”

“Well,” you shrug. “I love it. It’s going to work, you’ll admit I’m a goddamn genius, and maybe Firecracker will start crying like a baby.”

Ben snorts, and a jab of his amusement hits you. But before he can make any snide comments, Hughie hangs up his call with MM and returns to where you and Ben are pressed against the wall of the van.

“Well, MM’s really not happy about it, but he agrees it’s smarter not to do the pass.” Hughie sighs. “And he says that Butcher’s on his way to get us. He should be here in five.”

You nod, turning to Ben with narrow eyes. “Repeat the plan to me.”

He rolls his eyes. “What, don’t you trust me, Sunshine?”

“To retain vital information about my plan that you’ve called ‘fucking stupid’ numerous times? Absolutely not.”

“It is fucking stupid.” He grunts.

You sigh. “Please, Ben. Humor me and pretend you give a shit for one minute.”

Ben’s leg tenses against yours, and something falters along your ribs. He scowls as he speaks in terse, clipped words.

“Get on the stage, make sure the cameras see me, neutralize that Firecracker broad, and beat her up, but don’t kill her for some fucking reason.” The last part is muttered resentfully, and you chose to pretend you don’t hear it.

“And then?” You prompt.

“Break the cameras, find you, and get back here.” He grumbles.

You nod in approval. “You have to make sure you break the cameras, Ben. Frenchie’s going to make sure that all the phones get fried, but you need to break the cameras. There can’t be any evidence you’re not working alone.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I fucking got it. Kill the bitch, break the cameras.”

“Do not kill Firecracker!” Hughie says frantically, giving you a desperate look and saying your name in a pleading tone. “Please don’t let him kill her.”

You elbow Ben in the gut as you respond. “He knows, he’s just being a fucking dick about it.”

“Fuck off, Sunshine,” he mutters. “And you should let me kill her. She’s not fucking innocent, she’s a goddamn lying bitch.”

“Nope. No killing her.” You say firmly, crossing your arms. “You only get to beat her up because we need to sell the whole ‘out for revenge’ narrative. That’s-“

“The point.” Ben finishes your sentence mockingly. “I fucking got it, Sunshine.”

You kick him again. “So prove it, Pretty Boy. No killing Firecracker.”

“What if she tries to attack me? I should be allowed to fucking defend myself-“

You snort. “Her power is being a dogshit human sparkler. Her attacking you would feel like this.” You poke Ben’s arm, and he frowns.

“I thought she was a fucking fire supe. Like you.”

“I mean, yeah. She technically is. But not all fire supes can have massive fucking horse cocks like mine.”

Hughie lets out a chocking sputter, and Ben rumbles a loud laugh that makes your stomach feel soft and warm. You’re saved from dwelling on how the feeling lingers, starting to spread through your body in time with an easy delighted, sensation that’s not yours, by the opening of the van door.

“Am I bloody interrupting something?” Butcher’s dry voice is raised over Ben’s laughter, an angry and wired frown across his face. “Or can we all stop jerking each other off and do our fuckin jobs?”

“Pull the damn stick out of your ass, Butcher.” Ben rolls his eyes. “We’re not the pussies who took a year to do recon on three fucking blocks.”

"Well, someone has to make sure you don’t blow your load all over a bunch of innocent civilians again.” Butcher sneers, and Ben’s fists curl at his sides.

“I have it under control, you fucking-“

“Butcher,” you interject, feeling something hot and bloody in Ben’s chest start to grow. “We’re ready?”

Not taking his eyes off of Ben, Butcher grunts. “We’ve been ready, Love. We’re just waiting on you bloody cunts.”

“Then let’s go.” You start to stand but have barely moved from your seat when Ben’s hands are on you, holding you in place.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ben glares at you, and you feel that weird, tight concern along your skin again.

“On the mission, dumbass.” You snap, trying to pry his grip off of your thigh.

“No.” His hand doesn’t move, and the tight feeling grows. “Too fucking risky.”

“It’s my plan, Ben. Did you seriously think I was going to stay in the fucking van?”

He ignores you, turning to where Hughie and Butcher are watching the exchange, Hughie wide-eyed and Butcher scowling impatiently. “Tell her she’s fucking staying here with Cocksucker.”

“No can do, Mate. She goes where you go.” Butcher gives Ben a mocking grin, and another weird feeling writhes in your—Ben’s—gut.

“We’re right in front of fucking Vought, there’s going to be a shit ton of cameras-Fucking hell!” Ben’s hand jerks off of you, smoking and red.

“I’m a grown ass woman, Ben.” You hiss. “I know what I’m walking into, and I know what the risks are. And seeing as you somehow forgot, I’m in charge of you. I go where you go, and that’s not up for fucking debate. I can, I will handle my goddamn self.”

“Trust me, Sunshine, I know you can.��� He says, facing his still-raw palm to you. “Doesn’t mean you have to fucking risk yourself for this bullshit-“

“It’s my fucking job!” You burst out. “The whole ‘find me’ part of the plan requires me to be in the fucking crowd, not sitting on my ass with Hughie!”

“What if fucking Homelander’s there? Then what?”

A painful ardor kicks up in your lungs. “He won’t be.”

“You fucking sure about that?” Ben’s voice is dripping with unconvinced cynicism.

“Why are you being so weird about this? It’s not like-“

Butcher gives an overdramatic cough over your words. “Oi, Bonnie and Clyde. I’d let you two fuck it out, but we’re on a bloody tight schedule. She’s coming, that’s that. Now get off your arses and let’s fucking move.”

“Shut the fuck up, you pussy. We’re not done with our fucking conversation.”

“Yes, we are.” You stand up, walking across the van. “Hughie, wait a bit until we’re out of the alley, then send Ben out. Ben,” you raise your hand, dropping fingers one by one as you run through the plan. “Get on stage, blast Firecracker, give her a few light punches, break the cameras, and find me. No casualties.”

“Maybe sprout some anti-patriot shit as well, Gov.” Butcher adds. “Really bloody sell it.”

You shake your head, giving Butcher an exasperated look. “No, we don’t know what Firecracker might say. What Homelander and Sage have told her. In, violent, and out. That’s it.”

You look back at Ben with a steel gaze, to find a glower of his face you’ve never seen before. His whole body is rigid, jaw clenched, mouth in a dropped scowl as his eyes burn through you. He’s looking at you in a way you aren’t able to read, but you feel like he wants you to. Everything about his face screams that you should be able to understand it, but you can’t.

“You’re, you're leaving me here with him?” Hughie’s voice is unsteady, and when you remove your eyes from Ben you find his face has grown pale.

“It’s only a few bleedin’ seconds, Lass. He don’t bite, don’t he?” Butcher gives Ben a cocky smirk.

“Fucking watch yourself, Butcher, I’ll crack your weak fucking skull and not break a sweat.” Ben snarls, eyes still on you.

Butcher scoffs, a taunting jeer in his voice. "No, you won’t. You don’t want to upset Sunshine.”

Ben’s eyes rip from you as he stands up at a freighting speed, body tense and fists clenched as he reaches his full height. For a second, you think you might have to interfere and prevent Butcher’s life from finding a brutal and inconvenient end in the alleyway, but Ben just gives him a violent, twisted growl.

“Count your fucking blessings that I have a job to do, you pussy. And sleep with one fucking eye open, because once this is over, I’m going to drown you in your own blood.”

Butcher gives him a mocking wink and turns to walk down the alley, leaving you scramble after him.

Before you’re fully out of the van, you turn and give Ben one last look. “No casualties.” You say, and almost against your will, your face draws into a look of and stay safe.

You don’t have time to read his face before you jog after Butcher, but the last thing you see of Ben is his arms still braced at his side, his eyes on yours with an almost feral look.

You catch up to Butcher right at the end of the ally, running face-first into his arm when he holds it out, halted before stepping onto the main street.

“Fucking ow, Butcher.” You rub your face where you’d collided, and over your fingers you barely have time to register the Noir baseball cap and jacket flying at your face, managing to catch them against your chest at the last second.

“Put them on.” Butcher says, and looking over the merchandise you see him leaning out the ally, watching the flowing crowds of pedestrians. People clad in red and blue Firecracker costumes and costume adjacect outfits, a few less in dark greens and Deep trademarked Love the Ocean like the Earth and Fish and Man are One shirts, and exactly one, a bouncing little girl with a tutu and big eyes, wearing a Homelander cape.

You look back down at the cap and jacket—which is a few sizes too big—and realize both were made by Uought International, and that Noir has been spelled as Noire. Looking up, you see that Butcher has pulled a Quen Maeve sweatshirt over his shirt, and is wearing green-tinted sunglasses that have little, blue Soldier Boy brand symbols along the frame.

“You shouldn’t wear those,” you point to your nose, mirroring where the sunglasses sit on Butcher’s face.

“Why, Love, you want them so you can feel close to Ben?” He mocks, and you roll your eyes.

“No, dumbass. Right now Soldier Boy is a dead American traitor who’s going to rise from the dead and commit an act of terrorism in like, seven minutes. It’s not smart to wear anything associated with him to ‘blend in’, especially if you’re pairing it with an off brand shirt of the woman who sacrificed herself to save the world from him.”

“You know just as bloody as well as me that Maeve is picking dandelions in California.”

“Yeah, and Soldier Boy isn’t dead, he’s in the van, probably trying to blackmail Hughie into buying him drugs. The internet is a liar sometimes.”

Butcher pulls off the sunglasses with a scowl and a dirty look in your direction before dropping them on your Noire jacket. “Put on your clothes so we can get a fucking move on. We wanna get outta here before Soldier Boy sees you and carries you back to the bloody van.”

You wrinkle your nose at him and pretend you don’t hear the questioning contempt of his voice, shoving the sunglasses into your back pocket before you pull on the jacket. You give Butcher a nod and step out into the current of the street.

The walk to Firecracker’s stage is silent, both you and Butcher angling your heads down from the crowd, down from the blue, cloudless sky and anyone who may be in it. The sun beats down a warmth that is only offset by the biting of the wind, and Firecracker’s voice, projected by speakers to carry over the horns and shouts of the city, starts to claw into your head.

“Patriots, are you ready to know the truth about Starlight and how she’s been kidnapping and trafficking your innocent babies?!” Her voice has the same southern drawl you’ve heard on TV, her bubbly tone in stark contrast to her words. “We’re lucky we have Homelander lookin out for us, keepin us safe, otherwise Starlight might try to take us too!”

You drop your head further, some fearful part of your brain telling you that Homelander might hear his name from the Tower and decide to make an appearance.

Fucking risky, Ben’s voice says in your head, and suddenly you can see him in your head, that strange, angered and piercing face watching you. What if fucking Homelander’s there, Sunshine? Then what? You’ll freeze up, and I won’t be there to help.

I’ll manage, you snap back at his voice, and can almost hear his scoff.

You’ll start crying and wish I was there. You wish I was there right now. You hate that you’re walking with Butcher, who’s probably going to try and kill you instead of me.

Butcher won’t kill me. He can’t.

Never stopped him from trying before. I wouldn’t let him, Sunshine.

I’m stronger than Butcher. I’m stronger than you. I’m stronger than fucking Homelander. I don’t need your help.

But you fucking want it.

“No, I don’t!” You hiss, and only realize you’ve spoken aloud when the words come out strained, caught on a lump that has formed in our throat.

You hear Butcher snort from your side. “Who the bloody hell are you talking to?”

“No one,” you mumble, feeling your face heat as you feel his disbelieving look.

“If you’re going to lose your damn mind and go all mental, you can wait until all this is done? Would be real bloody inconvenient to have to kill you ahead of schedule.”

“Not funny.” You mutter, and are saved from Butcher’s response by arriving at the crowd, stopping next to where MM watches the show in an A-Trane shirt.

“He behind you?” MM says by way of greeting, voice barely raised over the children’s choir rendition of God Bless the USA, complete with trumpet and string accompaniment.

“Should be,” Butcher looks over the heads of the audience, scanning for something that he doesn’t seem to find. “Frenchie gonna be ready when Soldier Boy gets here?”

“Kimiko got them up on a roof across the street, and Annie will get him the electricity he needs when it happens.”

You glance behind you, hoping that Hughie can manage to keep Ben in the van a few minutes more. “We should move,” you say, turning back to MM. “We don’t want to be anywhere near the path to the stage.”

MM nods and begins to lead you and Butcher deeper into the crowd, weaving through the frenzied cheers and whoops as the choir walks off the stage. You stop at the edge of the crowd, off to side enough to avoid any crossfire, but with Firecracker still in a clear line of sight.

She’s staring down the camera, her toothy and smug smile projected on a Jumbotron as she speaks. “I don’t know about y’all, but I think Starlight should come down here and tell us why! Why she won’t show us any proof of her claims that Homelander is a murderer! When, need I remind y’all, Homelander was found innocent! Has Starlight been found innocent?” You watch her cup her ear, listening for the crowds shouted responses.

“Jesus Christ, she has to know this is bullshit, right?” You mutter to yourself, and MM chuckles beside you.

“As far as I can tell, she really believes all the bullshit she’s saying.” He says with a shake of his head. “She got this job cause her head was up Homelander’s ass for free, she ain’t gonna pull it out now that Vought’s paying.”

You hum, looking up at the sky nervously. “MM, has Hughie texted that Ben-“

You’re cut off as screams sound from down the street, and your head shoots to where you had just stood, watching as the crowd beings to franticly part for something you can’t yet see. Butcher and MM are stiff beside you, Butcher’s gun already in his hand as MM’s lingers at his hip. Firecracker’s voice has faltered through the speakers, her eyes wide and face slack on the Jumbotron. The feeling in you, the ardor against your spine and clawing at your skin, begins, and you try not to watch the sky. The sun is bright and there are no city lights, the only thing you can hear is the terrified people, but Homelander’s not here, so you’ll be fine.

The feeling is in your blood and gut, but you’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

Are you sure about that? Ben’s voice says in your head.

Shut up. You tell it, just as Firecracker lets out a shrill sound that echos down the streets.

You look up and find Ben has gotten to the foot of the stage, only his side profile visible to you. Firecracker has a shaking finger pointing at him, her mouth agape as she watches him walk closer, closer, closer. You hadn’t been sure what to expect once it began. For Firecracker to scream, beg, cry, fight, run, or collapse once it became that her life was gone from her hands. Of all the scenarios you’d traced, all the outcomes with more blood, less blood, more scream or quick silence, you hadn’t thought she start to laugh. Doubled over, cackling glee, tears in her eyes visible on the Jumbotron.

“Well, look here, folks! No need to be afraid, it’s going to be just fine! Soldier Boy here’s a guest, and he’s going to tell us all about how Starlight tricked him and forced him to fake his death!”

You watch Ben freeze on stage, and the Jumbotron begins to broadcast his tight, angered face to the steadily regrouping audience.

“Fuck,” MM breathes out. “They’re going to flip him.”

Butcher says your name roughly. “You need to get there, get him in bloody line. We can’t have him running off with Vought.”

You need to move. Every part of you is screaming that you need to go, go, get there and remind Ben that you’re watching and keeping him in check. But you can’t, frozen as you watch his movements on the Jumbotron, trying to keep control when your blood has run cold, and every breath you take is caught against that lump in your throat. You can’t move, and all you can do is watch him on stage, eyes scanning the crowd as he watches them look at him in awe.

Then your falling forward, barely managing to catch your footing before your knees hit the pavement, turning to see MM on the phone speaking in a commanding, measured tone, and Butcher reaching forward to push you once more. You take another, smoother step back before he can, but you don’t wait for him to bark an order for you to go. You turn back to the crowd with the bass of the speakers barely drowning feeling, trying to weave without touching anyone as it grows and grows.

You’re at the base of the stage now, and before you can start to figure out a subtle way to alert him, his eyes lock with yours.

What the fuck is happening. His gaze asks at it runs through you, his body turned as though he may start to move in your direction, and Firecracker's voice rings the air.

“Lovely, you brought her too!” Both you and Ben turn to where she stands, smiling and looking at you. “Our very special guest, The Anomaly!”

Your blood isn’t cold. It’s burning, everything is burning inside of you, scraping to get out. But there are people moving around you now, people everywhere, and someone is nudging you forwards to the stage until a smiling face is pulling you up and moving you right next to Ben. It’s so bright, and you’re burning, and when you turn your head out to the crowd, you see yourself. Up on the Jumbotron. And there are cameras. Cameras everywhere. Cameras that are following your movements as Firecracker speaks.

“I know ya’ll don’t recognize her, she hasn’t been around for as long as this patriot!” Your eyes tear from the screen just in time to see Firecracker playfully slap Ben’s arm, to watch his whole body go rigid as she did. “But she’s a real good friend, and she and Homelander go way back!”

You’re cold again. Cold and angry and sharp. Everything is sharp again, the faces of the audience are clear, and Firecracker’s words are no longer miles away. No, she’s right in front of you with a wide smile of teeth, and you can hear drums.

Drums.

You look down, and your foot is bumped against Ben’s. His eyes aren’t watching you anymore, fixed on Firecracker, but everything sharp in him, in you, is pointed at her.

“If fact,” Firecracker has turned back to the crowd, hands placed over her heart with a simpering face. “She and Homelander? Well they were childhood sweethearts! Supes, raised together, only having each other. And when Homelander went off to become our great hero, she stepped away from the spotlight.” Firecracker takes a large step back, turning back to you. “She didn’t want the fame. She just wanted him!”

A chorus of sickly sweet awwws ripples through the crowd, and the feeling is behind your eyes.

“Homelander was, is, the love of her life. Which is why, when Starlight and her team of devil-worshippers came to kill her, The Anomaly fought with all she had to stop them.”

It’s under your nails.

“She wasn’t strong enough, though, and they dragged her away from where Homelander had been keeping her safe to let her bleed out, far away from the man she loved.”

It’s on your teeth.

“Love that kept her alive, love that made her find another who had been wronged, another who would do anything for Homelander-“

Firecracker makes a gesturing sweep to Ben, and the world begins to blur.

“Soldier Boy! And now they’re here, to reunite with their lover, their son, and have the happy endings they deserve!”

The feeling is everywhere. Ben is pressed closely against you, and the drums are in your ribs. Firecracker is still smiling and her teeth are so white. The crowd is cheering and whooping and you’re going to crack-

Something smashes off the stage, and Firecracker’s smile drops. You make yourself follow her gaze, the movement like moving through mud, and see smashed cameras at MM’s feet. Gunshots ring out, and something above you shatters as Butcher appears, gun raised.

Firecracker’s face has contorted, cheery persona vaporized and she starts to shout in a furious wail.

“No! My cameras! My show- Do you have any idea how hard that speech was to memorize?! I worked so hard, and you ruined it you fucking-“

She flys across the stage, Ben taking large, violent strides to where she lands with a crack. You can see her fear when she looks up to where he stops above her, the light growing in his chest.

“Help!” She screams, looking around at the stage audience and tech workers. “He’s- he’s fucking crazy, he’s going to kill me! Someone- someone fucking stop him!”

The stage audience.

The tech workers.

You’re running. Words aren’t fast enough, and Ben’s too far gone for them anyway. You are, though. You’re flying, tearing across the stage and throwing yourself against Ben. He falls to the ground, the light still building, and twists to try and throw you off of him, his eyes so deep into himself you don’t think he knows it’s you.

Pressed against him, you can only feel the drums, and you brace yourself as the light in him explodes.

It’s painful. A blinding and unforgiving pain that sears through your body. Numbness follows behind it though, fast and empty relief, and when your eyes can see once more Ben is watching you with horror across every feature.

He looks like he’s going to roar at you, tear into and across you. You can feel fury and something deep into his chest that’s screaming.

Firecracker lets out a breathy, sobbing laugh from somewhere to your side, and even if nothing in him wavers, it saves you from whatever Ben was going to say.

“Shit, you're both pathetic. You can’t even take out one person?” Firecracker starts to pull herself up to her feet. “I don’t know why Homelander was so worried about y’all. You’re weak.” She reaches down, grabbing the back of your tattered Noire jacket and pulling you off of Ben. “I mean, I expected more from at least you, Soldier Boy. He looks up to you still, you know. Was so hopeful you’d flip. But,” she shakes her head sadly. “What a disappointment.”

You’re not sure how it happens, let alone where the energy comes from, but you twist in Firecracker’s hold and punch her square in the face. She drops her hold, stumbling back as her nose starts to fill with blood. You never hit the floor though, Ben’s arm looping around your waist as he draws himself upwards.

Everything is sharp and hungry anger that is driving in you—in Ben—to Firecracker. The thing in his chest is still clawing at him, and you can feel your own glacial fervor, but nothing is as strong as the hungry anger.

Firecracker doesn’t feel it though, the storm that's brewing. And she doesn’t know when to quit.

“You worthless bitch.” She sneers through her fingers, trying to plug the blood. “You frigid little whore.”

“Watch it.” Ben growls, arm tensing around your waist.

“Oh, fuck off, you fossil! She’s tricking you, sinking her little claws into her like she did Homelander, with her stupid little songs and dances!”

“Shut up,” the words don’t come out in the firm command you wanted. Your voice sounds pathetic, weak against your ears.

“Do you have any idea how fucking exhausting you’ve been?” Firecracker whines. “Everything was amazing until you came back. He was starting to trust me! And then Sage comes back, accuses Homelander of lyin to her, and says you’re alive. And all of a sudden that’s all that fucking matters! He’s just angry and hurt and it’s so annoying.”

The world is less focused.

“I’ve heard Moon River so many fucking times this week, it makes my skin fucking crawl. I don’t even get it! What can you do that I can’t? I want him, you don’t even care to stick around-“

Nothing is in focus. It’s only Firecracker, her voice, and the feeling.

“I love him, I am perfect for him, I am blessed and chosen and you’re just a lonely little stuck up slut who didn’t even wait after leaving him and everything he did for you-“

Her teeth are so white and you don't think you can breathe.

“Everything he gave you-“

You can feel ghosts of the pain, see the bright light as they push the fire into you. Can feel it now, trying to get out.

“To turn around and spread your fucking whore legs!”

Something in you snaps. Cracks, echoes through your body, and explodes. You’re everywhere, the fire bleeding from you. You can’t see anything but the white room around you, and you have to get out. So you let everything go. It’s just you and the fire, cocooning around you and keeping you safe.

Just you and the fire and something else that is gripping around you. Something in your chest that is thrashing and trying to keep you close. It feels safe too, so you let it stay as everything else continues to burn.

A deep, roaring voice is calling your name. It sounds like the thing in your chest, and it reverberates through you as if it’s pressed against you. There are screams too, broken and raw screams, but you can’t see where they’re coming from, and they don’t feel safe like the voice.

The thing gripping around you feels heavier. It feels safer. There’s no city lights, you can’t even really remember what they might look like, but there’s music. Soft and deep in your ear, wrapping around you. Putting something out along your skin. You’re getting weak, and you feel cold.

You can’t stop. Something in your head tells you. You falter, and you’re back in the room.

But you’re so tired. The grip feels safe. And the music is settling into you and feels so good.

So when the world goes black, the last thing you feel is the thing in your chest reaching for you, and you could swear it breathes in relief.

————

He’d figured it out. The tapping. Firecracker had said Moon River, and he’d realized that was it. The rhythm of the verses matched that incessant tapping of Hers perfectly. He’d taken a fucking gamble, dragging the verses from somewhere deep in his brain as she’d been consumed by the fire, and it had paid off when She’d collapsed into him. The fire still lingered long after She closed her eyes, long after Ben stopped humming. Most of the stage was ash, from the hollowed, disgusting bodies of Firecracker and a few unfortunate audience members to the still flaming stage curtains.

Ben picked her up, and her eyes didn’t even flutter. Her body was still burning, and his hands protested in pain against her skin, but he bit down his pain with ease. Ben wasn’t a pussy, and he’d heal. This was more important.

A thought that had everything in him—except the feeling he’d been keeping in his gut that had somehow managed to crawl into his chest—very fucking irritated.

Ben turned, carrying Her off the stage to get her as far away from here as possible, only to find both MM and Butcher waiting, guns pointed right at his face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growled. They didn’t have any fucking time for these dramatics. As far as he fucking understood from Her explanations, all that shit show had just been broadcast through the fucking nation. Homelander was probably on his way, and Ben wouldn’t be able to do his fucking job and wipe the floor with that pussy if She was still unconscious and the stupid fucking thing in his chest was worried.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Gov.” Butcher jeered back. “We’re not letting you off that bloody easy.”

Ben glowered at him, and his desire to throw Butcher against the nearest concrete wall was only barely defeated by the godforsaken need to get Her somewhere safe. “We don’t have fucking time for this. Move out of my fucking way, or I’ll make you.”

“Take your best fucking shot, cunt.” Butcher taunted.

“Last fucking chance to get out of my way.” Ben could hear the hitch in both their hearts, uneven from the growing steadiness in Hers.

“We ain’t moving, Soldier Boy.” MM angled his gun higher. “And you’re not taking her.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you fucking pussies!” Ben roared, whatever patience he’d managed to hold onto vanished. “Homelander is probably on his fucking way, and unless you want him to take her, we need to fucking leave right fucking now!”

Both men blink, Ben’s words hanging in the air just long enough that he was starting to get ready to just fucking push through them. He’d deal with Her anger about it later, when she was awake and they were far fucking away from cages and boxes.

But MM lowered his gun, narrowing his eyes at Ben. “You’re going to let us take you back to the safe house?” His voice had a tone of disbelief that Ben didn’t fucking appreciate.

“Fucking hell, yes. Now fucking move your dumb fucking asses before I change my fucking mind!”

MM looked over at Butcher, whose gun was still aimed at Ben’s head. “The kid’s bringing the van round?”

“He bloody should be.“ Butcher grunted, but didn’t move. “But that don’t mean shit, I ain’t trusting this cunt to go quietly.”

“I’m certainly not going to go quietly if you keep a fucking gun in my face.” Ben sneered. “I might not do jackshit to me, but it’s goddamn rude when I’m trying to fucking help.”

“Why should we trust that?” MM asked coldly, glancing down at Her in Ben’s arms. “This is your ticket out. You’re probably just going to kill us in the van while she’s still out.”

Ben fucking knew that, he wasn’t an fucking idiot. He could hear Her heartbeat, fully steady as sleep held her under, could feel the scalding heat of her body almost fully faded. When he glanced down at her face, it painted into an empty ease. But when he blinked, it would flash back to just before she’d burst. Afraid. Only pure terror on Her face as Firecracker screamed about Homelander.

She wasn’t going back there.

“I guess you’re going to have to take a fucking gamble.” Ben held MM’s stare. “Because you have five seconds to fucking move before I kill both you pussies and leave with her.”

Some part of Ben still managed to be surprised when they exchanged one last, tense look, MM’s eyes flaring at Butcher, who dropped his gun with an angry huff. When MM started to walk away, likely to where Cocksucker waited with the van, and Butcher only said, “Breathe one wrong breath, Soldier Boy, and I’ll put you right back under.”

Ben wanted to. He wanted to step just far out enough of line that he’d be justified in bashing Butcher’s smug, pussy fucking head against the curb. But he didn’t, just keeping Her in place against him until they were back at the safe house, glaring at the whole sorry fucking lot of Her team as they watched Ben hold Her in the corner. Her heartbeat stayed steady, and it kept the drum in him from bursting, aided by the thing in his chest settling back into him the more distance grew between Her and the stage, Vought Tower, and Homelander.

When they reached the safe house, Ben didn’t bother to pause, waiting only for Butcher to open the door, before he was moving through the hall in tight, bounding steps. Up the stairs, shoving the door to Her room open, laying her on the bed above her sheets. She let out a little sigh as he let her go, and Ben hated how it made the thing in his chest wake up. He had to get himself under fucking control. She was safe, he’d done what he fucking needed to, and he wasn’t about to be a goddamn creep and watch her sleep.

The seconds were starting to stretch though, as he watched Her, listened to the steady sound of her heart. She looked so fucking peaceful, and it was calming the thing in his chest.

Fuck, he didn’t like how easy it felt. Especially as she let out another small sigh, rolling over with an arm stretching out, and he wanted to touch her upturned palm. That realization snapped him out of whatever stupid fucking trance he’d been dragged into, and he managed to turn, walking towards the door.

Before he left though—practically against his will—he turned back just in time to hear another sigh and see Her body curl into the mattress.

“Sleep well, Sunshine.” He muttered and tried to ignore the last sigh released from her chest, and how if ran through him.

When Ben got down to the kitchen, goddamn fucking Cocksucker and Starlight were waiting for him.

“What are you cum guzzlers still fucking doing here?” He grumbled, pushing past them to get to the pantry.

“Is she ok?” Cocksucker asked, and Ben shrugged, grabbing a bag of half-eaten jerky from the top shelf.

“She’ll fucking live.” He ignored the flash of Her fearful face in his head, and how his grip on the bag turned to steel. “One of you better answer my goddamn question.”

“We need to talk to her,” Starlight said softly.

“Don’t hold your fucking breath, she’s out cold.” Ben snapped.

Starlight sighed. “We’ll wait.”

“No, you won’t.” Ben turned around to face her. “She needs to fucking rest.”

“Cocksucker look between Starlight and Ben nervously. “We need to make sure-“

“She did you a fucking favor.” Ben growled. “Firecracker’s not a problem anymore, and her stupid plan fucking worked.”

“She killed four people.” Starlight said tightly. “And after Ashley, we need to know that she’s still with us.”

“With you?” Ben scoffed, saying Her name in the same exasperated tone. “Her? You think she’s going to turn against you fucking pussies?”

“She’s- she’s been weird.” Cocksucker stuttered. “And you’ve gotten closer than we thought-“

“Fuck off.” Ben snorted. “I haven’t turned her, if that’s what your dumb little pea-brains think.”

“We’re not who you have to convince, Soldier Boy.” Starlight watched Ben with a frown. “I trust her. Hughie trusts her.”

“Then what the fuck-“

“Butcher,” Cocksucker said softly. “MM. Mallory. They’re worried she’s going to be a liability.”

“Then they can come fucking tell me their fucking selves.” Ben hissed. “Now get the fuck out.”

Starlight looked like she was going to push back, and Ben was ready to throw her through the door himself, but Cocksucker placed his hand on her back, and something passed silently between them.

“Fine,” Starlight sighed, giving Ben one last, tired look. “If you promise to tell us when she’s awake, I can try and hold them off.” Her eyes narrowed. “For her.”

Ben grunted. “Deal.”

And they were gone, and Ben was alone in the kitchen.

She didn’t wake up for three full days. Three, long, insufferably quiet days where it was just Ben. Three days of pacing, of eating alone, of watching TV all through the damn night because he couldn’t sleep even if he fucking tried. Three days of the awful thing in his chest making up stupid excuse to open the door to her room and check to see if she had vanished. She never had, she would always be twisted on the bed, heart steady, face empty. At some point Ben moved Her under the covers, after he made up an excuse to touch her and found her not burning like he’d been checking for, but freezing cold. Three long days of wishing She was awake, reminding himself he didn’t fucking need Her awake, and the thing in his chest roaring that he did.

He tried to push it down, and almost succeeded, but at the end of the second day he walked downstairs from where he’d been standing outside her door for a disgustingly long time—finally managing to not push in and check on her—to find Butcher in the living room.

“She’s still out.” Ben had grunted, and Butcher had only shrugged.

“I ain’t here for her. We need to have a little chat.”

“I’m good.”

“I wasn’t bloody asking.”

Ben remembered wondering in the moment if he was already in enough hot water that killing Butcher wouldn’t really matter. “You’re playing a game you can’t fucking win.” He’d warned, and even Butcher’s heart hadn’t stuttered.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a flash, Gov. But not until you fucking listen.” Butcher managed to have more intelligence than Ben thought him capable of, and didn’t wait to hear Ben’s answer before he began. “Her plan, somehow, bloody worked. Most of the media coverage is sayin that Firecracker started panicking and lying to try and keep herself alive. You’re being label as a crazed lunatic, out for revenge.”

“Then what’s the fucking problem-“

“Her. Everyone’s buying the story about Her and Homelander, thinkin you kidnapped her after we tried to kill her.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even make any fucking sense.”

“Don’t need to make sense. It’s the narrative Vought got, and they’re running with it. As far as the public knows, you’re back, out for bloody and evil revenge, and are holding her hostage to hurt Homelander.” Butcher narrowed his eyes at Ben. “And they’ve reached out. They want to meet with you.”

“They?” Ben paused, ready to grab Butcher’s tongue and make him stop talking in fucking riddles. “Who the fuck is they?”

“Vought.” Butcher said shortly. “Sage. Homelander.”

Ben snorted. “Fuck no. We’re not bringing her anywhere near that goddamn pussy and his conniving bitch.”

“Good thing they only want to talk to you, then, ain’t it.”

That made Ben pause, eyes narrowing at Butcher as suspicion had begun to build in his chest. “The fuck are you talking about.”

“One hour, a truce, just you, me, Starlight, Homelander, and Sage. At the old Starlight Fund building. Just talking.”

Ben snorted. “You dumb enough to believe that?”

“Nope. But you agree, it happens.”

Ben grunted. He didn’t trust any of it. He didn’t trust Homelander to have no ulterior motive. He didn’t trust Sage to not be plotting something. He didn’t trust Butcher to not have a fucking trick up his stupid fucking Hawaiian shirt. “And if don’t.”

Butcher shrugged. “Then this conversation never happened.”

Ben had said your name carefully, trying to feel out whatever it was he fucking knew Butcher was hiding. “What about her?”

“She’d stay here.”

Ben raised his brows at that. “You’d trust me without her?”

“Fucking hell, no. Not if hell bloody froze over. Don’t trust you with her. We’d set up something to make you go night-night if you get all nuclear. CIA got more than enough gas to put you under, they can spare some for our lovely uses.”

“How long does the offer stand?” Ben asked, pushing down the drum.

Butcher had shrugged. “Until you give an answer.”

“I’ll think about it.” Ben said. “Now get the fuck out.”

Butcher chuckled dryly. “Alright, Gov. Keep your damn pants on.” As Butcher walked, hands in pockets, down the hall, he paused as he passed Ben, and shoved something into his hands. “She dropped those on her way to the stage. Good luck when she wakes up, Mate. I’d keep her away from the telly.”

Ben had looked down at what Butcher had given him as the man walked away, brow furrowing at what he found.

Shitty, off-brand Soldier Boy sunglasses.

Ben had placed them in his room to give to Her later. But another full day had passed before she woke up, and Ben’s mind had not stilled the whole fucking time.

He hadn’t been lying. Ben thought about Butcher’s—Homelander’s—offer. Constantly. Starting with the fact that he didn’t have a goddamn thing to say to Homelander. The shock of their relation had long passed, fading into a numbness of just another fucking job for Ben to do, just another way in which he had to be alone. Then the numbness had been replaced by a blinding wrath. A disgust from what he had done. Ben wasn’t a saint, saints were weak, self-righteous whiners. But he wasn’t a fucking monster. He did what had to be done, and a little more to make sure he didn’t have to do it again. He didn’t take women and lock them in cages. He didn’t hurt people until the singular thought of him made them afraid. People fear Ben, yes. But just as much as they should.

Ben didn’t fear Homelander. She didn’t fear Ben. But She feared Homelander. A weak, fucking pathetic man who had needed to break someone stronger than him, someone worth more than him powerless, to feel big. She was worth so much more than Homelander that she wanted to help people. Worth so much more that she still somehow looked at the world and found it worth something. She found worth in fucking everything. Everything was amusing to Her, everything was beautiful, everything had value and meaning. Ben fucking hated it. It leaked into him, and felt fucking strange. Because he could hear Her in his head, saying Pretty Boy, this is an opportunity. Don’t be a petty baby and waste it.

And that was where the thoughts would loop. Ben didn’t want to talk to Homelander. Homelander had hurt Her and Ben never would. She’d find a way to use this, though, and She’d want him to go. But Ben didn’t want to talk to Homelander. Over and over until Ben heard Her heartbeat stutter, heard shuffling around in Her room, and had to fight the thing roaring in his chest to sprint up the stairs. He somehow managed to remain seated on the couch, everything in him fucking strained to stay in place as she tapped down the stairs and cleared her throat behind him.

Ben turned to find Her watching him with eyes still crusted from sleep. When She spoke, her voice was hoarse, and her words were quiet.

“How long was I out?”

“Few days.” Ben answered, trying to watch her passively, to pretend he wasn’t studying her every feature. He wasn’t even fucking sure what he was looking for himself.

“What-“ She took a deep breath. “What happened?”

Ben paused, finding her eyes again. Keep her away from the telly, Butcher had said, and Ben had immediately checked to see what the fuck he was talking about. He’d found the answer fast: photos of Firecracker’s scorched body, interviews with the families of the audience members who had met the same fate. Speculation about what Ben was doing to Her, fabricated “evidence” of Her and Homelander’s love. A complete, well-developed, entirely bullshit story about her life. Born in the same hometown as Homelander, happily giving up her life to support him, working instead behind the scenes in Vought marketing and cooking in her free time.

Homelander didn’t have a hometown, that pussies whole story was even more bullshit Vought propaganda than Ben’s was.

She wouldn’t “give up her life” to support anyone. And if she did, they’d have to hear her bitch about it until they fucking died.

Ben had once heard her call marketing “a plague upon human culture and societal development” during the third commercial break of one of his football games.

Everyone would know if She had tried to cook Homelander food, because it would’ve killed him.

Butcher had wanted Ben to lie. But Ben fucking knew She wouldn’t have lied to him. And he knew She would find out the truth somehow and be a real bitch about Ben lying to her.

“Three audience members and Firecracker died. You passed out. We got back here.”

“Oh,” she said softly, but didn’t look away, and Ben could see something fragile in her eyes fracture. Hear the taps of Moon River begin. “What are they saying?”

“They?”

“Vought.”

“Your plan worked.” Ben grunted, and the rhythm of Her heart told him she knew there was more. “But Firecracker’s bullshit stuck. I’m being painted as a revenge-blind maniac, and you’re being painted as my victim.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “If anything, you’re my victim.”

Ben felt his mouth twitch. “That’s what I keep fucking saying.”

She let out another, smaller huff of amusement before her face fell back into that soft state, her eyes still tired as she watched him. “That’s all?”

He nodded. “That’s all.”

She gave one last sigh, and it sounded so weak. He wanted to grab her and figure out a way to make her move. Get her to sit next to him and laugh so the fucking thing in his chest would let go of his lungs. Before he could, though, she turned and padded back up the stairs, her door closing behind her.

Another day passed before Ben even fucking saw her again. She’d slunk into the kitchen around dinner, hair tangled and eyes hollow, heating up a box-meal before placing it on a plate and carrying it back upstairs. The next day was the same, and Ben had tried to grab her and make her fucking talk to him, and she'd stared at him with a wide, empty gaze.

“We need to fucking talk.” He’d grunted.

“Please don’t.” Her voice had been so fucking quiet.

“Don’t what?” He’d growled. “Fucking talk to you? You’re just going to never fucking talk to me again?”

She’d given a small shake of her head. “I don’t want to talk. Please.”

“You’re being fucking weird.”

“Please.” She’d sounded desperate. “I can’t talk. Please.”

He’d never heard her say please so many times. He’d only seen her like this, a weak and fearful girl, once.

He’d hated it on the Neuman mission. He hated it now.

He hated she looked weaker now. Hopeless. He hated how he relented, let go of her, and she’d gone back upstairs and didn’t come back down. Two more days passed, and the only way Ben knew she was alive was the sounds of music coming from her room and the food that vanished from the kitchen overnight.

Ben was going to lose his fucking mind. The last time she’d avoided him this much had been the beginning, and, fuck, that had been better than this. She’s seen him and fought with him, tearing him to pieces as he did the same to her. Stood her fucking ground against him, a completely insufferable, violent, angry bitch of a woman. Even after they’d called truce on their war, she’d remained a powerfully wrathful, unrelenting pain in Ben’s ass. Now she wouldn’t stand in the same fucking room as him, and he was going to go fucking insane.

So, on the fifth day, Ben banged down her door, ready to demand she fucking tell him who to kill to fix this.

He found her curled in her bed, staring far ahead into nothing. Something hit his nose that he forced himself to ignore, and she didn’t even move as he pushed into the room.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked gruffly. She didn’t answer, so he said her name roughly. “What’s fucking wrong with you?”

“Why did you do it?” Her voice was light—frail—as she stared ahead.

“Do fucking what?”

She finally looked at him. “Why did you go back, with Sage, why did you fucking do that?”

“I saved your life, Sunshine. And you never even fucking thanked me.” Ben knew his words were cruel, shooting to hurt Her. But maybe she’d fucking fight him. Fucking do something that wasn’t just fucking sitting there.

“You should’ve left me.” She whispered, Ben rolled his eyes, and her voice raised. Not to a scream, but a high-pitched, frantic tone of desperation. “You should’ve! You should’ve left me and run! You could’ve been free, why did you do that! Why! You should’ve just fucking left me!”

This was worse, Ben knew. So much fucking worse. “Why are you being so fucking dramatic-“

“You should’ve left me to die!” She screamed. “You should’ve just left me to die! Why didn’t you just let me fucking die?!”

Ben stared at Her as she started to cry, shaking on the bed, trying to push herself further back into its frame. She’d tucked her head into her arms, sobs wracking through her whole body as she held herself, fingers digging into her skin. No smoke was rising, no tapping or chewing, just Her tears falling as she let out another, broken scream. Ben was frozen, he didn’t know how to fucking deal with this. Fuck, he barely knew how to deal with Her when she wasn’t breaking down in front of him.

Through sobs, Ben heard Her say it again. “It would be better if you had just let me die.”

Ben didn’t need the thing in his chest to tell him to move. He crossed the room in two long steps, dropping on the bed next Her.

“Look at me.” She didn’t, so Ben grabbed her wrists and pulled them down. “Sunshine, fucking look at me.”

She glanced down at where he still held her and blinked, letting out a stuttered breath. Her voice was still so weak when she spoke, “What?”

“Fucking look at me.” He growled one last time, and she finally did, her eyes still so empty. “You’re being fucking stupid.”

She gaped at him, disbelief finally filling her expression. It wasn’t the amusement or rage Ben wanted back, but it was something.

“What?’

“You’re being a goddamn idiot. Things would…” The words vomited out of him. “Be a lot fucking worse if you were dead.”

She shook her head, the hopeless looking creeping back. “I killed four people, they’d still be alive-“

"Maybe.” Ben grunted. “Maybe not. But they, along with a few more, would still be dead if you hadn’t knocked me down. Which was even fucking stupider than you’re being now, but we’ll fix that later.”

“Fix that?” She gave him a sharp look, words still choked. “I thought we agreed not to fix each other.”

“You agreed not to fix me. I made no such fucking promises.”

There was a silence for a second before She spoke again. “I don’t want you to ‘fix me’. I want to care that I…” Her stuttered, and she took another shaky breath before pushing them out. “I hurt people.”

“That’s to job, Sunshine.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered. “I didn’t even want the job anyway.”

Ben watched her, wrists still in his hands, face faraway, and eyes still lined with tears. An image flashed in front of him, of Her a few years younger, singing karaoke and crying about stupid, normal shit. Something Ben himself had never done, something Ben wouldn’t even know how to miss. The image lingered in his head, her smile carefree, singing loudly and off-key, no blood on her hands, and the thing in his chest was angry.

“Ben?” She said softly, and the image vanished. “I’m sorry.”

He scowled. “Why are you fucking apologizing to me?”

“You don’t want to deal with this, with me. It’s not- it’s not useful to cry over spilled milk-“

“Shut up,” he snapped. “No, it’s not useful. For me. For Butcher. For Homelander. You get to whine over it, because-“

“Because I’m a woman?” She asked dryly, and he glared at her.

“No, smartass. Because you’re not like us. You didn’t fucking choose this.”

“You didn’t choose that,” she nodded to his chest. “Do you get to cry?”

“I don’t cry.” He said firmly, and She tilted her head at him in a way he didn’t like. “But I get to be angry. You get to be angry. And if you need to have a little breakdown to be angry, then so fucking be it.”

“But I killed people-“

Ben rolled his eyes. “Three Homelander supporters and Firecracker. Real fucking contributors to society, I’m sure.”

“They were still people.” She pushed. “People who I killed. People who would be alive-”

“If you say ‘if you were dead’, I’ll kill you myself.” Ben snapped.

She stared at him in disbelief and something harsher flickered in Her eyes. Fucking finally.

“I’d like to see you fucking try, Pretty Boy.”

He huffed a laugh. “I’ll wipe the floor with your ass, Sunshine.”

“I’ll make you regret crawling out of your mother in the first place, cunt.” She taunted, and Ben felt a wide grin on his face.

“I’m sure you will, you bitch.” Ben gave her a sweeping look. Her matted hair, tear crusted and red eyes, the smell he’d been pushing down starting to feel fucking visible. “But you need to fucking shower first, you smell like the shit you’ve been wallowing in.”

She glared at him, and for a second Ben thought she’d keep fighting him, or worse, start crying again, but she just gave a light tug against where he still held her.

“Can’t fucking shower if you won’t let me move, Ben.” She said flatly, and Ben rolled his eyes as he let go.

“Fucking drama queen,” he muttered, and She gave him a sarcastic, toothy smile as she stood.

“Eat me.”

“I would if you’d let me, Sunshine.” He called after Her, and though she closed the door with a slam, Ben still heard her heart flutter.

He waited as the water ran and tried not to think about Her, naked, in just the other room. Tried not to think about the relief the thing in his chest had felt when she’d stopped crying, the satisfaction it felt when he’d gotten her to laugh, and the stupid fucking anger it had felt at everything when she’d broken in front of him. He didn’t let himself dwell on the way it made him sit here. Fucking waiting for her like a lost goddamn puppy. Wanting to make sure she was okay. She was fine, she wasn’t sobbing and screaming, so she was fucking fine.

But what if She’s not, you fucking ass? The thing growled. What if she’s just waiting for you to leave?

Ben fucking hated that it worked, and he stayed on the bed.

What if She needs you? It hissed. What if she wants you to stay?

Ben loathed that even more. Because it echoed in his brain, and made him listen intently for any sounds of distress over the water, made him sit rigid and alert until the door opened.

She walked out, a towel wrapped around her body. She blinked at him once, and Ben couldn’t fucking figure out if she was even surprised he was there.

“Clothes,” she mumbled, walking to her dresser. Ben grunted, and watched her return to the bathroom, the door closing behind her once more.

Maybe he should go now. It was late, it had been a weird, long fucking day. He should fucking go and put some distance between the thing in his stupid fucking chest and Her-

The door opened, and She walked over to drop back on the bed, a small smile on her face.

“You’re real shit at comforting people, Pretty Boy.”

Fine. He’d fucking stay.

“Good.” Ben grunted. “And it fucking worked on you. Didn’t even get a damn ‘thank you.’”

He felt Her hand on his arm, and looked at her face, soft and open. “Thank you.”

He grunted again, staring back at the wall, and she chuckled.

“I mean, it was still a shit job, but it was so shit it looped around into being remarkably effective.”

“Doesn’t count as a damn thank you, Sunshine, if you fucking insult me right after.”

She shrugged. “Then do a better fucking job next time, Pretty Boy.”

Ben snorted. “Don’t hold your damn breath.” She didn’t respond, and he turned to find Her watching him, lips in a thin frown with her brow gently wrinkled. “I can hear the fucking gears in your head, Sunshine.” He said. “Say what you’re fucking thinking.”

“I’m going to ask you something once. If your answer is no, you’re not allowed to talk about it again.”

Ben frowned. Every time she started a question with a phrase like that, it ended up being something fucking insane. “Okay.” He said shortly, morbid curiosity getting the better of him.

“If you want, you don’t have to, and I don’t expect you to-“

“Quit fucking edging and spit it out.”

She glared at him. “You can stay in here tonight.”

Ben stared at Her, the thing in his chest clawing against him. “What?”

“You can sit in my bed. If you want. I know you won’t sleep, and I won’t sleep well, and I’d probably end up sitting in your room at some point-“

“Why?” Ben cut off Her rambling, frowning.

She held his gaze, her uneven heart the only sign of her nerves. “I don’t-“ she sighed. “I don’t want to be alone. You’d just be sitting here, nothing else. But if you don’t-“

“Fine.” He answered, and the thing in his chest roared.

“Oh,” she paused, and Ben was pretty goddamn sure She’d expected him to say no. “Okay. Good.”

She pulled herself under the covers, looking up at Ben from her back. He didn’t like what that made him feel, and how easy it would be to just pull Her against him and keep her there.

“Thank you.” She said with a small smile. “No insults."

“Whatever,” Ben grumbled, leaning back in a pointless attempt to find a comfortable position. “Just saving you the fucking walk to my room.”

“You’re a saint,” she mumbled sarcastically, eyes drooping. “I’m sure this must have been very hard for you.”

“I’ll live.” He said, watching Her. “I need you functional, Sunshine. Small, stupid fucking price to pay.”

“You need me?” She breathed out, a sleepy smile on her face.

Ben rolled his eyes. “You burn, I burn.” He echoed the words she'd said before. “I’m not going to let you fucking burn. You don’t get away from me that easy.”

“How sweet.” She whispered, eyes fully closing. “I won’t let you burn either, Pretty Boy.”

Ben wanted to protest, and tell Her that he wasn’t sweet, just practical, and he—despite the protests of the thing in his chest—didn’t need her at all. But Her breathing became steady and even, fast asleep in seconds at his side, and he couldn’t fucking bring himself to wake her. So Ben just studied Her sleeping face, not empty, not twisted in pain, a soft smile playing on her lips. He should fucking go, She was asleep and that’s all She’d fucking needed from him. But he stayed in place, and watcher Her like a fucking creep. Her peaceful face, smooth heartbeat, and gentle breaths soothing the thing in his chest. Ben need to get himself under fucking control, he was being fucking pathetic.

But he stayed, all fucking night, unable to move and barely capable of looking away. And the more of the night that passed, the long he watched Her, the more he realized she was pretty. Really fucking pretty. He hadn’t been fucking blind, he’d known she was pretty before. Thought about it more than he’d ever fucking admit. But fuck, this was different. She was really, really goddamn pretty. And then She rolled over, settling so she was comfortably pressed against him, and he realized she was beautiful. Like one of those stupid, overpriced paintings art-pussies in the 70s had tried to sell him. But real. Fucking beautiful, in a way that made him unable to look away, that made him feel fucking stupid.

Beautiful in a way that made him stay at Her side the whole night, frozen on her bed with her body against him, all the way until the sun started to leak into the room.

[buckylovinglokivariant]

Casual >> Johnny Storm

pairing: johnny storm x popstar!reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 3.7k+

summary: Johnny always meant to keep it casual with you but unfortunately for him, he wasn't so good at sticking to his word this time.

warnings: angst, johnny being his asshole self, hopeful ending

a/n: big thanks to my beta reader, mati! love you so much. her idea for a summary was "manwhore fucks around and finds out" which i thought deserved an honorable mention. this fic was inspired by my (believe it or not) first watch of fantastic four so enjoy and don't forget to reblog!

read part 2 here!

Johnny did not want to be here. Not here as in at a concert, Johnny loved concerts. Loud music, hot girls pressed right up against him as they either tried to flirt with him or get closer to the stage (both were fine by him), and lots of recognition from giggly blonde things that liked to cling to him in photo-ops. All that stuff was fine by him, truly. What he did mind was that it was your concert he was at. He hadn’t spoken to you in months, not that his sister or Reed or Ben knew that. To them, you just weren’t around the Baxter Building as much because you’d been on tour. But the truth Johnny had been avoiding since you blocked his number was going to be difficult to ignore when he was watching you sing your heart out for the next two hours.

Susan had been raving about this concert since before the tour had even been announced to the public. You’d told her about it yourself, offering up four tickets for the whole fantastic Reed-Storm-Grimm family to go. It was a few weeks before you and Johnny fought so you were still around their home all the time, hanging out with Johnny or even just with his sister or on occasion, even Reed or Ben. Johnny watched from across the room as you confessed to his sister how much you would miss spending time with them while you were on tour, so they just had to come and see you perform when you were back in New York. The tickets were special, you’d said–they would give them wristbands and let them backstage to see you after the show. Susan had been thrilled. Johnny, not so much.

You’d been going out for months out of the public eye, at Johnny’s behest. “It’s just casual anyway so what does it matter?” he always insisted. He knew it bothered you whenever he said it but stupidly, selfishly he kept saying it anyway. When it all blew up in his face, Johnny really hoped his sister would forget about the tickets altogether. Boy, was he wrong. And he’d insisted to his family for months that you were just friends so he couldn’t exactly use the excuse that you’d broken up, now could he?

It wasn’t until you were nearing the end of your set that your eyes found Johnny’s and you both froze. Thankfully you were between numbers so you were able to get your bearings quickly and continue thanking the crowd for their enthusiasm, but when you caught his eye a second time very much on purpose before holding your pointer finger up to the audience and then strutting upstage to talk to your band, Johnny’s stomach turned to lead. When you turned back around, you were looking at anyone but him.

“So the band and I were talking and we really want to thank you for being such a fantastic audience tonight. I mean, obviously I can stand up here and say ‘thank you’ a hundred times but I really don’t feel like that’s enough, you know? So to thank you, we wanted to give you guys a fun surprise. How does that sound?”

Everyone except Johnny squealed with excitement.

“I’ve been working on a new song the last few months while touring. And if it’s okay with you, I’d really like to sing it for you live for the very first time right now. Is that okay with you?”

If not for the sudden feeling of cotton in his ears, Johnny would have had to cover them with his hands with how loud the audience around him screamed. When you next locked eyes with him, you were smirking into the mic. Johnny gulped.

“This song is called ‘Casual.’”

Oh shit.

My friends call me a loser / 'Cause I'm still hanging around / I've heard so many rumors / That I'm just a girl that you bang on your couch

I thought you thought of me better / Someone you couldn't lose / You said, "We're not together" / So now when we kiss, I have anger issues

ELEVEN MONTHS AGO:

If you asked Johnny, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you what the gala was for. It was probably some fundraiser for charity or other that Reed organized so they could stay relevant, but Johnny had been to enough of them to know he wouldn’t be the one talking about anything of substance anyway, so he’d long since stopped paying attention. Normally these sorts of things were boring. The people with real money were the old, boring white collars with no personality aside from their wine and boat-in-a-bottle collections. Fortunately for Johnny though, this particular event seemed to be much more laid-back–younger crowds, louder music, shittier alcohol. And if there was a party, Johnny always had to be at the center of it. So there he was on a Friday night, getting drunk off his ass and grinding to the music with New York’s young elite.

He couldn’t tell you why you in particular stood out to him. There probably was a reason at some point but he was much too drunk at the time for it to stick in his mind for long. All he knows is that one moment he was standing at the bar and the next, he was downing the rest of Ben’s drink (ignoring the consequent protests), handing him back the glass, and making his way over to you. You were standing on the outskirts of the room, surrounded by similarly young and attractive girls who were chatting your ear off (or maybe it was the other way around). He wordlessly sidled up next to you, slipping an arm easily around your waist. You turned your head just enough to side-eye him, but you reluctantly allowed the gesture.

“Do I know you?” You asked stand-offishly.

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’ obnoxiously, “but you will. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

You looked over to your friends for approval and while they looked as suspicious as you, they generally shrugged in acquiescence.

“I don’t see why not.”

You looked him up and down appraisingly, handing off your drink to the girl next to you and allowing him to lead you across the room to a hidden corner.

“So? What did you so urgently need to pull me aside for?” You crossed your arms, stepping just out of his reach.

“Why so suspicious?” He raised his hands in surrender. “I just wanted to ask where you got that dress from.”

You cocked an eyebrow and he watched you search his face for an ulterior motive. Apparently finding none, you replied: “It’s Armani.”

“Armani?” He repeated, raising his eyebrows with intrigue. “Damn. It’s beautiful.”

You waited impatiently for the punchline.

“Would look better on my floor though,” he winked.

“There it is,” you rolled your eyes, unimpressed, before turning back toward your friends.

“Hey, come on!” He stepped in front of you, stretching his hands out to stop you. “Don’t be like that. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“If you want to sleep with me, Johnny Storm, you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“Full name!” He smirked, pleased. “I wasn’t sure you knew who I was for a second there.”

“I could spot your hot head from a mile away, Storm. And if I couldn’t, the terrible pickup line would have given you away.”

“Ouch,” he jokingly clutched at his chest. “Go figure. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You leaned to the side to peek at your friends over his shoulder before sighing and giving him your name.

“Oh, shit. Like the singer?”

You nodded your head slowly, mockingly.

“Well damn, I really did hit the jackpot, didn’t I?”

“You know who I am?” You questioned him, not expecting him to enjoy your style of music.

“Duh, my sister won’t stop playing your music,” he tried to deflect onto Susan.

“And you know that because…?” You pushed.

He froze before awkwardly moving to rub at the back of his neck. “Because I… maybe… have listened to a few songs myself.”

“So the Johnny Storm is a fan,” you nodded, pleased with the revelation. “I’ll be sure to tell my publicist.”

“How about a deal?”

He took a risk and stepped toward you. You let him, though you pinched your eyebrows with skepticism.

“Go on.”

“You can tell your publicist whatever you want as long as you let me take you out of this place.”

You watched his cocky resolve flicker behind his eyes as you walked toward him, not stopping until your chest was pressed fully against his. You craned your neck to press your mouth right up against his ear.

“Only if you let me take you out of that suit afterwards.”

You’d be lying if you tried to pretend that was the last and only time you saw him. As much as you tried to resist (which admittedly wasn’t much), you continued seeing him. It was purely physical at first, him calling you at ridiculous times at night to fulfill a need or vice versa. But eventually, you found yourself seeking him out for reasons other than the physical. You craved his company so you’d invite him over for dinner or a movie, just in the privacy of your own apartment. When you finally visited the Baxter Building, it was only on the condition that you would be in-and-out and no one would see you. He’d been successful in sneaking you up to his room without anyone seeing. It was the getting you out that failed.

“Johnny, dinner!” A woman’s voice called and Johnny jolted away from your lips.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I gotta go.”

You blinked a couple of times, struggling to pull yourself out of the floaty headspace you always fell into when kissing Johnny.

“What?”

“You gotta go,” he grabbed your hand, pulling you up off the bed. “Come on, I’ll sneak you back out.”

You snatched your purse up off the floor as Johnny tugged you toward the bedroom door, opening it to make sure the coast was clear before dragging you quietly toward the front elevator. He’d just pressed the call button when the same female voice from before called out.

“Johnny, what are you doing over there?” The voice got louder as footsteps approached and Johnny shoved your hand away, covering his face with a groan. “I just told you that dinner was–.”

A beautiful blonde woman who bore some resemblance to Johnny turned the corner and did a double take when she saw you.

“Oh my god, you’re–!”

“Yes, hi, guilty as charged,” you giggled nervously. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

You stepped forward, outstretching a hand for her to shake.

“So you’re the girl Johnny’s been sneaking out to see!” She shook your hand with enthusiasm. “It’s so lovely to meet you! Please, you have to stay for dinner. I’ll have Ben set out an extra place for you.”

“We’re not together,” Johnny butted in, shattering the moment.

“What?” The blonde woman turned to face him, confusion glimmering across her face as you burned red with shame.

“We’re not together,” he reiterated. “Whatever you’re thinking… we’re just friends.”

“Oh,” she gasped, turning back to you. “Well, um, you’re still welcome to stay.”

“I would love to stay,” you smiled at her, embarrassment still burning at the back of your throat.

And as she pulled you away, you couldn’t help but turn around and glare daggers at Johnny before rounding the corner.

You said, "Baby, no attachment" / But we're / Knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out / Is it casual now? / Two weeks, and your mom invites me to her house on Long Beach / Is it casual now?

I know what you tell your friends / It's casual, if it's casual now / Then, baby, get me off again / If it's casual, it's casual now

TEN-AND-A-HALF MONTHS AGO:

You were in his car, one of the many but you couldn’t say which one this one was. It was dark when he picked you up in it and now you were god-knows-where, the passenger seat fully reclined as you laid half on top of him on it. You were tracing random patterns on his bare chest when he spoke.

“I’m gonna be away for a while.”

You stopped tracing.

“What?”

“She’s got a house on Long Beach,” he elaborated vaguely.

“Your mom?” It was a shot in the dark. You’d never spoken about his home life, nor yours. You didn’t do much speaking when you were together so you only knew about the people you’d met when you had dinner at the Baxter Building. He paused at your question, though you didn’t know why.

“My sister," he clarified. "She’s going up for a few weeks and me and her fiancé are going with her.”

“That sounds fun,” you remarked offhandedly.

“Yeah,” he snorts and you eye him, confused at what was so funny. “They told me to invite you, actually.”

You couldn't help the smile that crept onto your face.

“Johnny, I would love to–.”

“I told them you were busy.”

And then the smile was gone.

“Oh.”

It was silent for a moment, neither of you moving, both of you hardly breathing.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

“Not yet.”

You leaned up and kissed him again, drowning out the emotional turmoil that was rapidly threatening to consume your thoughts.

Dumb love, I love being stupid / Dream of us in a year / Maybe we'd have an apartment / And you'd show me off to your friends at the pier

TEN MONTHS AGO:

You hadn’t seen or heard from Johnny in a couple of weeks. Sure, he said he would be gone for a few weeks but you knew he had your number, which meant was a choice not to call you, not an inability to. Maybe you were just being stupid. You’d only been going out for a month, after all. And even calling it “going out” was a stretch. You had to face the truth at some point–you were just one of his conquests. He probably wasn’t even in Long Beach. He probably just needed an excuse to stop seeing you.

But as much as you tried to convince yourself of your idiocy, you couldn’t help but imagine having a life with him. You could get an apartment together or even just move into the Baxter Building with him. Either way, you wouldn’t mind. Maybe you could even have both and switch between them whenever you felt like it. Maybe next time he’d bring you to the Long Beach house and show you off to his family and whatever friends he probably had there.

Stop it, you scolded yourself. You’re being delusional. You have to move on.

That was when he knocked on your apartment door.

I know, "Baby, no attachment" / But we're / Knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out / Is it casual now? / Two weeks and your mom invites me to her house on Long Beach / Is it casual now? / I know what you tell your friends / It's casual, if it's casual now / Then baby, get me off again / If it's casual, oh, oh, oh

It's hard being casual / When my favorite bra lives in your dresser / And it's hard being casual / When I'm on the phone talking down your sister

SIX MONTHS AGO:

“Please tell me he’s not with you,” Susan begged you over the phone. “Or that he is! Honestly, at this point I don’t know which is worse.”

Johnny watched you with amusement from where he was sprawled out across your sheets, naked as the day he was born. He definitely either saw Susan’s name pop up on your screen or heard her voice from across the room. Either way, he knew exactly who had called you and why.

“Uh… I’m not sure how to answer that question.”

You put a finger to your lips, making sure Johnny stayed quiet, before putting her on speaker.

“Well, if Johnny just so happens to be there, would you please remind him that we have a very public, very live television appearance that he’s supposed to attend which starts in twenty minutes.”

You caught Johnny’s eye and inwardly swore when you saw the sudden panic enveloping his face. He leapt out of bed, reaching for his own phone, and started whispering a chant of curse words when he saw what time it was. You threw your phone on your bed, ignoring Susan’s questions about what the noise was, and began throwing Johnny’s clothes from the floor at him. As he dressed himself, you began searching through your wardrobe for an outfit of your own that wouldn’t make it obvious from the wrinkles what you had been up to just before rushing to the studio.

“Um, yeah, I don’t know where he is, Susan. So sorry. But if I happen to see him or um, am able to get him on the phone, I’ll make sure to let him know.”

“Oh, god, I’m going to kill him the next time I see him. I swear, I’m going to take his phone away for a month!”

“You can’t do that, I’m an adult!” Johnny retorted absentmindedly as he fastened his belt before freezing.

“Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm!” Susan bellowed from the other end of the phone.

“Damn it, Johnny!” You cursed him out as you desperately searched your wardrobe for your favorite bra.

“It’s in my dresser,” he reminded you, picking the phone up from your bed and handing it to you. “I’ll go. You stay here.”

“Johnny–,” you began to protest.

“I’ll get there faster if I flame on by myself anyway. I’ll see you later.”

He kissed your cheek before running out the door.

“Five minutes or I’m kicking your ass, Johnny!” Susan called after him.

“Susan, I am so sorry," you apologized on his behalf. "We lost track of time–.”

She just sighed.

“It’s not your fault. My brother is… not the most responsible person in the world, to say the least.”

You snorted.

“To say the least, yeah.”

“Okay, he’s a total blockhead.”

“You can say that again,” you rolled your eyes affectionately.

“But I love him,” Susan added. “And so do you, if I’m reading it correctly.”

“What!” You screeched. “No, I don’t. That’s ridiculous. I would never… Johnny’s…”

“He feels the same way about you, if it helps.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you replied honestly. “And even if he did, he would never admit it so I’ll take what I can get.”

“Hey–.”

“It’s fine, Susan. Have a good interview. I look forward to seeing it.”

You hung up.

And I try to be the chill girl / That holds her tongue and gives you space / I try to be the chill girl / But honestly, I'm not

THREE MONTHS AGO:

“I can’t do this anymore, Johnny.”

Johnny couldn’t tell you what had started the argument. To be perfectly honest, he’d thought the night had been going really well. He’d taken you to a fancy restaurant to celebrate right before you left for your big tour. You were in a secluded booth in the corner where no one would recognize you or even see you and… oh.

“Do what?” He blinked, forcing the lighthearted smile to remain on his face.

“Do this,” You gestured to the restaurant around you. “Going out on dates and pretending like everything is fine.”

“I thought everything was fine,” Johnny protested.

“It’s not, Johnny!” You smacked your hands on the table causing the silverware to clank together. “It never has been!”

“Tell me how you really feel,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Johnny, you can’t just… introduce me to your family, and kiss me, and take me on dates for months and then pretend like there’s nothing there. Like there’s nothing between us. I can’t… I can’t go on tour for six months wondering how you feel about me–if you think about me, if you’re waiting for me, if you’ll even want me when I come back.”

“I told you at the beginning, baby. I’m a no-attachment kind of guy.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel very no-attachment, Johnny!” You snapped at him and his jaw snapped shut. “Look, I try to be the chill girl that holds her tongue and gives you space when you need it but honestly? I’m not. I’m not like that, Johnny. I love you, and if you don’t love me back then I think we’re done.”

“You think we’re done?”

“That’s all you have to say? After all that?”

Well, Johnny never claimed not to be an asshole. And he certainly never did things halfway.

“Well I don’t love you, so if that’s how you feel then maybe you should just go.”

You sat there, panting, choking back the tears you refused to let him see if he was going to treat you like that after everything you’d been through over the last eight months.

“Go to hell, Johnny Storm.”

You grabbed your coat and purse and ran out of the restaurant. That was the last time he saw you.

Knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out / Two weeks, and your mom invites me to her Long Beach house / I know what you tell your friends / Baby, get me off again

I fucked you in the bathroom when we went to dinner / Your parents at the table, you wonder why I'm bitter / Bragging to your friends, I get off when you hit it / I hate to tell the truth, but I'm sorry, dude, you didn't / I hate that I let this drag on so long, now I hate myself / Hate that I let this drag on so long, you can go to hell

PRESENT:

It was the last thing you’d said to him. “Go to hell.” He deserved it, in all honesty. It was true that he’d never been one for attachment. Meeting you, sleeping with you, continuing to see you even when he knew it was a bad idea, it was all the biggest mistake he’d ever made. But he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you walked out on him, and seeing you up there onstage just cemented it–it was also the best mistake he’d ever made. And as he looked down at the wristband adorning his wrist, he made a vow to himself: He was going to fix things with you. No matter what it took.

[raguiras]

One of Deuce's old delinquent "friends" was being weird with Yuu (Allen)...

Reblogs are extremely appreciated! 👉👈

Allen suffers from major insecurities and trauma caused by people commenting on him and bullying him for his rather feminine appearance, and Deuce, who's already quite protective over casual friends, DEFINITELY ain't taking it.... That said, these two have a massive "cute mutual protectors" dynamic and Allen protects/defends Deuce equally much!

YEAHHH the third part of my Allen x Deuce ship introduction is here!! I'm brainrotting so hard—

Previous parts: part 1 // part 2

Next up is most likely the ship event post I mentioned before 👀

Below is the second part of Allen & Deuce's relationship timeline! Its first part can be found here.

SPOILER WARNING for Book 5 & Book 6!

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

BOOK 5:

Between Book 4 and 5, Allen finally had his top surgery (he's intersex & used to wear binders). Deuce not only accompanied him to the hospital, but also stayed in the next room for the entire duration of the surgery and made sure to immediately visit Allen once it was over. He sat by the blonde boy's bed, his mere presence comforting Allen and making him feel at peace. The following days, Deuce spent even more time at Ramshackle and strictly slept over every night as he wanted to be 100% attentive and take perfect care of Allen all around the clock. Needless to say, Allen constantly thanked Deuce for being there for him, and it only intensified his own feelings... Allen had never been taken care of this much before, and it was probably more than what an average friend would do for you, right...? Did this mean...? No, Deuce couldn't love him. Nobody could. That's what Allen had been taught all those years, after all. And if so many people had said it, it had to be the truth...

Unfortunately, the VDC got announced shortly after Allen's surgery, and his recovery included a strict prohibition from sports or anything exhausting. Allen, being an aspiring musician and good dancer, cursed to himself — this would've been THE opportunity to go viral — and the Heartslabyul freshman listened to him rant. That's when Deuce ultimately decided that he'd audition... he wanted to support his mom with the money and keep an eye on Epel anyway, and now, he could not only fulfill his recovering crush's dream for him by performing and hopefully promoting Allen through it, but also impress him...

Little did Deuce know that Allen didn't need to be impressed. Watching Deuce practice — yes, even when he didn't get a single step right and tripped over his own feet — was super cute and gradually attractive to Allen, not to mention that the blonde boy really liked Deuce's voice as well...

Training was hard for Deuce, but knowing that Allen was watching certainly helped... He did his absolute best and followed Kalim and Jamil's guidance as closely as possible. Couldn't mess up in front of his crush, right!?

When Deuce got selected to be a performer and Allen became the manager, both of them celebrated in joy. While neither of them mentioned it, this meant that they'd get to spend even more time together...

...and when Vil decided that everyone would stay at Ramshackle for the preparation period, these two mentally celebrated even more. Now they'd officially live together for a couple weeks...

In order to prevent shenanigans and an angry Vil, Allen searched for sugar-free alternatives of Deuce's favorite snacks as well as food tasting similar to them. However, Allen would occasionally let Deuce snack on his own secret reserves whenever the two were together in Allen's room, away from prying eyes.

Deuce had problems sticking to Vil's prescribed skincare routine, so Allen decided to help him with it. He reminded Deuce of the routine every morning and evening and also helped him apply the products.

Deuce also struggled with the set bedtime and asked Allen to remind him to go to bed early. Considering that Allen had been struggling with his own sleep schedule for some time and would often stay up until past 3 am on the worst nights, the two decided to simply share a bed on most days so they could "force" each other to sleep on time. Not only did this intensify their relationship even more and excite both of them, but it helped Allen fall asleep much sooner... Deuce's presence was soothing to him and distracted Allen just enough for him to not overthink his life prior to going to bed.

During the preparation period, Allen offered to help Deuce with his vocals, which the Heartslabyul student excitedly accepted. Not only could he improve his own singing through it, but spend even more time with Allen and listen to his beautiful singing voice a lot, too... Additionally, Allen was able to efficiently teach Deuce due to being a self-taught singer with little knowledge on technical terms and theory, resulting in extremely easy and comprehensible explanations that could actually be understood by Deuce.

On occasion, Allen also taught the blue-haired boy basic makeup skills and sometimes even did Deuce's makeup for him. Needless to say, there were TONS of eye contact and blushing involved...

In addition to this, Allen kept helping Deuce with his gradually improving self-control and school work. Deuce, too, assisted Allen with the rest of his recovery and was super attentive.

Due to the combination of the shared dorm, their close friendship, their study sessions and the intense VDC preparation, Allen and Deuce were quite literally spending the entirety of every day together by now. While they had always been around each other a ton, this was what ultimately made them come off as inseparable.

You would've thought it would be impossible for Deuce to fall any harder, but oh boy... with every passing day, it only got worse. Deuce basically had heart eyes like a lovesick puppy at the mere mention of Allen.

While Deuce tried to hide his ginormous crush, it was impossible to deny. Everyone could see the way Deuce looked at Allen with nothing but admiration and love in his eyes, and Ace even started getting concerned due to how down bad & out-of-character Deuce appeared to be.

Whenever Allen wasn't around, Deuce would even ask Vil and Rook for advice on his appearance and compliments. He was desperate to impress and woo Allen and awkwardly admitted this to the two Pomefiore housewardens, too. Neither were surprised as they had already Deuce's crush on Allen, and they ended up actually giving the boy some advice.

When Deuce once came over to visit friends and pick up some things at Heartslabyul, Cater was blown away by the strong scent of his cologne. The fact that Deuce had suddenly bought something like that sure was surprising, especially considering that the boy was usually more of an Axe guy...

Not only that, but Deuce practiced the dance in front of his mirror extremely often, too. It had to perfect... HE had to be perfect for Allen. After all, the blonde boy was way out of his league...

Being around Deuce so much made Allen's feelings grow quickly, too. However, unlike Deuce, Allen absolutely HATED them and tried to get rid of them out of fear of being rejected and hurt again. All those years, he had been taught that nobody could ever love him and that developing a crush on him was basically impossible, so why would Deuce of all people like him back?! Allen actively denied his feelings... he couldn't risk this friendship or the possibility of having a broken heart again. He'd just wait for this phase to pass...

Grim noticed that Allen was suddenly spending even more time with Deuce and that the two also got progressively touchy. He confronted Allen with something along the lines of "Why're ya spending SO much time with him?! Do you have a crush on him or somethin'? Myahaha!". Shit, Allen thought to himself. His cat knew.

Vil knew, too. So did Rook. So did Jamil, Kalim, Ace, Epel and even the ghosts! The only ones who somehow didn't know about each other's feelings were Allen and Deuce...

Allen tried his best to deny the way he felt whenever Deuce would flash him a smile during practice performances. Deuce, on the contrary, would melt internally at every proud grin Allen gave him...

The fact that Deuce was now a better singer allowed him to approach one of Allen's favorite impulsiveness control methods with more confidence: singing and rapping out one's feelings and frustration.

Additionally, Allen admired the fact that Deuce was now trying his hand at ballet in order to overcome the last few traces of his old internalized toxic masculinity. Allen, struggling with some toxic masculinity himself and having been ashamed of his curves and rather androgynous appearance all his life, saw this as an inspiration to try his hand at more feminine fashion. He had wanted to do this for a long time, but held back out of fear of being seen as even less of a man because of it... and now here Allen was, wearing more feminine clothing for the first time and making Deuce fanboy even harder than usual.

Deuce was not the only one fanboying, though. During the entire VDC performance, Allen was cheering like a madman and couldn't keep his eyes off Deuce. So what if they had Vil, Epel and Jamil? To Allen, Deuce was the star of the show.

When Deuce finally discovered his Unique Magic, Allen was not only incredibly proud and happy for the Heartslabyul student, but was also reminded of an old character he had created as a younger teenager who had had the exact same skill as Deuce. Was this a sign...? ...nah, he must've been delusional.

BOOK 6:

During the invasion, Deuce immediately jumped in front of Allen in order to protect him, but got hit himself instead. When he got injured and passed out as a result, Allen absolutely panicked. He wasn't even really concerned about how the dorm was being damaged — only Deuce's wellbeing was on Allen's mind. Additionally, he felt overwhelming guilt that this had only happened because Deuce had protected HIM...

Instead of going to S.T.Y.X., Allen decided to stay at NRC in order to take care of Deuce. He spent most of his time in the infirmary, sitting by Deuce's bed and waiting for him to wake up. Why was he doing this?! Out of guilt only? Certainly not... Was he crazy?! Deuce was just a friend... just a friend... just a friend who he loved a lot and had undeniable feelings for. No matter how much Allen tried to fall out of love, it was impossible. Deuce had given him so much and it was the most Allen had ever been cared for...

When Deuce finally woke up, Allen immediately pulled him into a relieved, loving lung-crushing hug and didn't want to ever let go. Deuce felt as if he was about to pass out again due to the happiness caused by Allen cherishing him so much.

Deuce and Allen kept doing their usual activities — hearing each other out, helping each other, spending fun time together — while hoping for Grim and the housewardens to finally return.

Considering how often Deuce stayed at Ramshackle anyway, him and Allen decided that he could simply leave some of his belongings from the VDC preparations at the dorm. This only prompted Deuce to visit Ramshackle and sleep over even more...

Every night before going to bed, Deuce wrote about Allen into a little diary. Hell forbid Ace found it, but at least it allowed Deuce to openly express his feelings without being judged or teased. As he kept reading through the words he had written already over and over again, Deuce realized even more just how much Allen had helped him with various highly important things over the past 5-6 months of knowing each other... and that's when he decided to buy the giant Shiba plushie Allen had recently mentioned as a thank-you gift. Sure, he had already occasionally gifted Allen stuffed animals before, but maybe this huge Shiba would convey his gratitude and crush even more...

Needless to say, Allen was blown away by the gift and pretty much jumped Deuce out of joy. He had wanted this Shiba plushie for weeks now, and receiving it as a surprise gift from his crush was an indescribable feeling. However, Allen strictly viewed it as a platonic thank-you gesture and didn't (want to) get the hint. After all, why would Deuce be pining after him...?

Near the end of Book 6 [= during the time when the game's canon Yuu is still at S.T.Y.X.], Deuce suddenly received a call accusing him of highly offensive vandalism in his hometown. Both Allen and Deuce were absolutely furious at this unreasonable accusation, and it was a no-brainer for Allen to prove Deuce innocent. While Deuce broke down and complained about never being able to escape his past no matter how much he tried, Allen not only encouraged him and told him that he had become a much better person, but was also determined and already had a plan. Having excellent manipulation skills and a way with words, Allen got Crowley to give him access to all private cameras around the school to prove that Deuce had been at NRC the entire time and couldn't possibly have been the culprit. He mailed the recordings to the police station in Deuce's hometown, managing to prove that the Heartslabyul student was innocent. Allen also suspected that the person blaming the vandalism on Deuce was likely the culprit or one of their friends, encouraging the police to continue their investigation with them. Deuce, on the other hand, couldn't have been more grateful that Allen had successfully cleared his name and stood up for him like that. A week later, a call informed the two boys that one of Deuce's former friends had admitted to the crime and had tried to blame it on Deuce out of anger that he had distanced himself from them. Hearing how his old "friend" had betrayed Deuce only made him cherish his current friendships and especially the relationship he had with Allen even more...

BOOK 7:

[I haven't played Book 7 yet, so I'll either update this section later or share it in a separate post! Until then, we're assuming that they realized just how much they loved each other even more.]

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

That's everything for now! The final part of their relationship timeline (post book 7), including when they FINALLY get together, will be in my next Allen x Deuce introduction post!

However, my next overall post is likely going to be the announcement for my ship art/writing event 👀

Thank you for the support on my previous Allen x Deuce posts! It means ridiculously much to me 🥹🥹🥹

[sapphire-writes]

Teacher's Pet (modern!HOTD)

read the second installment Lessons

pairing: professor!Aemond x student!Reader

summary: A night out during the spring semester of your senior year of university leads to a run-in with your former professor.

warnings: NSFW 18+ (explicit sex, unprotected, fingering, oral fem-receiving, overstimulation, titty sucking, praise, degrading language) mature themes, power imbalance

word count: 4.5k

note: I got a saucy little anon saying y'all needed a student x teacher fic from me, and to celebrate 3,000 besties I had to deliver!! thanks for all the love and support, you all mean the absolute world to me! Excited to keep creating for you all, ilysm 😘

You and your best friend Sara Snow grew up together, and spent nearly every waking moment attached at the hip. You know those friends you have that are more like siblings than friends? Sara was more like your twin. So when she stayed in your hometown going to Winterfell State, and you traveled to Citadel University, it was like you’d lost a limb. 

Which meant you had to visit each other as frequently as possible. Sometimes you’d travel back home and visit Sara, and other times she’d come to you. Sara preferred visiting you, she loved the wine bars and clubs of Oldtown.

“The vibe is just different here,” she says, sipping her wine, “I love it. Very chic.”

You’d chosen a new wine bar to explore this time around. It’s a super cute place, with low lighting and a chalkboard bar and tables, with chalk for drawing laid out on all the tables. Sara, being mentally 12 years old, had already drawn a veiny cock in front of you. You swipe it away with your hand.

“Rudeness!” she says, pouting as you destroy her artwork. 

“Stop drawing dicks,” you tell her and she narrows her eyes.

“You’ll have to kill me,” she teases, eyes flickering toward a blonde girl who passes on her way to the bathroom.

“You’re staring,” you tell her and she sticks her tongue out at you.

“She’s been staring at me for a while,” Sara tells you, grinning, “I for one, plan to get laid tonight.”

“I love that for you,” you tell her, smiling. 

“This guy at the bar, totally checking you out right now,” Sara says, sipping on her wine. 

Your face flushes and you turn your head slightly to look. Sara makes a noise of disapproval, setting her glass down.

“Don’t look,” she whispers, pushing some dark hair over her shoulders. 

“I’m not,” you hiss, tilting your head.

“You totally are,” Sara accuses.

“What’s he look like?” you ask.

Sara’s dark eyes scan the man, you watch them move seemingly over his form.

“Tall, platinum blonde, like seriously, must have an extensive hair care routine,” she says, nodding, “We love that, love a man with good hygiene.”

You snicker, living for her analysis. 

“He’s lean, but like you can tell he’s muscular,” she glances at you, “I know you’re a hand whore, and I can tell he’s got nice hands.”

“You’re so rude,” you accuse, blushing because she’s right. 

Sara scoots off of her seat. 

“C’mon, we’re going over there,” she tells you.

“Okay,” you agree and she links your arm pulling you from your seat.

You finally get a look at the guy and your stomach drops.

It’s your professor.

Not this semester, but last semester. Westerosis Literature taught by Professor Aemond Targaryen. A great class, hard as hell. He worked you fucking hard for that A. You mean to tell Sara but you’re still in shock as you come face to face.

“Hey there,” Sara says, smiling sweetly, “I couldn’t help but notice you checking out my friend, thought you’d like to buy her a drink? Maybe keep her company while I visit the loo?”

Aemond’s eyes rake over you, clearly recognizing you. You blush furiously, mouth gaping. 

“She likes Sauvignon Blanc,” Sara tells him, motioning to the bartender, “I’ll be back, take care of my girl.”

And with that, she flounces off toward the restroom.

“I’m sorry professor,” you tell him, nervously playing with your fingers, “If I had known it was you I wouldn’t have let her drag me over here.”

“Something tells me your friend would be hard to deny,” he tells you as the bartender comes over, “A glass of Sauvignon Blanc please, and I’ll take another gin and tonic.”

You flush as the bartender nods, getting your drinks. 

“She’s very persistent,” you tell him, nodding in agreement and casting your eyes to the floor. 

Aemond cannot keep his eyes off your glowing cheeks, the way your lashes flutter against them as you avert your gaze. 

“I can just take this back to the table,” you say, grabbing the glass of Sauvignon Blanc he paid for. 

Aemond shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t drink alone,” he tells you, patting the empty chair next to him, “Indulge me for a bit, will you?”

You look back towards the table you shared with Sara, though she has yet to return to it. She’s probably chatting up that girl she had her eyes on. You bring your gaze back to Aemond.

“Okay, if you’re sure you’re comfortable with that,” you tell him, slipping onto the stool. 

“Because that paper was cruel and unusual punishment, even for you,” you tell Aemond through a laugh.

You’re on your third glass of wine, the hours ticking away as you converse with your former professor. Sara has made herself scarce, though she’s been texting you. 

“You did rather well if I recall correctly,” he says, with a sly smile on his face.

You roll your eyes, taking another sip. You’ve always been a good student. 

“Only because I dedicated a week of sleepless nights to that assignment. Seriously, you should be paying for my therapy after that,” you tease, leaning your cheek against your hand. 

You’ve gotten closer to him during the night, your knees brushing against his thigh, heel clad foot mindlessly rubbing against his calf. You’re not sure if it’s the wine or the ease of the conversation that has you feeling so comfortable around him. 

“Send me the bill,” he jokes back, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. 

“I’ll put it in your mailbox tomorrow,” you giggle, taking another sip, “You know, I was really disappointed when your Essosi Literature class was full this semester.”

“Is that so?” he asks, sipping his gin and tonic, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Now I’ll never have the chance to take it,” you continue, “Unless you teach a summer course, otherwise your popularity has thrown off my entire plan of study.”

“My apologies,” he insists, grinning at you, “My popularity, you say? I thought I was a hard ass.”

“Oh you are,” you assure him, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not popular.”

“How so?” he pushes, a long finger dancing around the rim of his empty glass.

Your eyes follow the circle he traces, up the veins on the back of his hands. How have you never noticed how sexy his hands are? You’ve never been this close to him, his lectures always held in one of the large lecture halls on campus rather than the more intimate classroom settings. You wet your lips, desire pooling in your belly before you meet his eyes once more. 

“You know,” you tell him, unable to keep the secretive smile off of your face, “I mean, you must know.”

“Know what?” he murmurs, staring at you with such intensity it makes your thighs tremble. 

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear, chewing on your lower lip. This will be your last glass of wine, you feel too giddy, too at ease in the presence of your professor. You’re going to regret this little flirtation in the morning, you can feel it in your bones. But the alcohol is liquid courage, and you’re a senior after all. Once this semester is over, you’re out in the real world, done with Citadel University. 

“You’re popular with the ladies of campus,” you tell him, “and the men, and everyone else.”

Aemond quirks an eyebrow at you. 

“Oh really?” he asks.

“Of course, I mean you’re the youngest tenured professor, you are a hard ass grader but your lectures are so enticing, and it helps you’re easy on the eyes-”

You choke as soon as the sentence escapes you. A freudian slip if you’ve ever had one. Aemond’s mouth quirks up into a wolfish grin.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, covering your mouth.

“It’s alright,” he assures you, but you’re off on a nervous ramble.

“That was seriously so shallow of me and inappropriate to say-”

“Y/N,” he says, resting a hand on your knee, “It’s alright, really.”

You laugh nervously, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your leg. You can feel the heat it emits through your tights. His hand is huge, and you lose yourself in the moment wondering how it might feel against the bare flesh of your thighs, you neck-

“I should see if Sara texted,” you tell him, reaching for your phone.

You’re greeted by a dropped pinned location and a text from Sara saying she went home with the blonde from earlier. Lucky bitch. 

“And she’s left me,” you say aloud. 

“Everything alright?” Aemond asks.

“Yeah, yeah. This has been great,” you tell him, “Thank you for keeping me company, but I should probably get home, call an Uber.”

“Let me drive you,” Aemond insists, “It’s no problem.”

You bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this right? He’s your professor, your teacher. 

“Are you sure?” you ask and he nods.

That’s how you end up in the passenger seat of his mercedes, the dark leather seats warm and inviting. You know you’re staring as you watch him drive, long fingers gripping the wheel, the other hand resting on his knee. 

As you pull up to your apartment, you swallow the lump that has formed in your throat. You almost want to invite him up. He watches you closely, as though sensing the words swimming around your head. No, you're not doing this.

“Thank you, professor, I appreciate it,” you tell him, leaving it at that. 

“I think I embarrassed myself big time Sara,” you tell her groaning on the phone. 

There wasn’t much time to debrief the night before Sara had to head back to Winterfell. You brought yourself to the campus coffee shop, settling in to complete some homework while you had some free time. 

You’d been staring at your laptop screen, and the empty word doc that was pulled up, for the better part of an hour before deciding to call Sara. 

“You did not,” she insists, “I don’t care if he is your professor, he was totally into you.”

“He was just being polite.”

“I know polite, and I know eye fucking. Professor Big Dick was the latter,” Sara insists.

“Sara!”

“You know I’m right,” she tells you.

“Fuck,” you tell her, placing a hand against your forehead.

“Look, if you’re that worried about it, go talk to him,” Sara says, “Drop by his office or something, bring him a coffee and tell him you’re sorry.”

“You don’t think that’s weird?” you ask, nervously chewing your thumb.

“I think it's weird you didn’t suck his dick when he drove you home,” she answers honestly.

“Bye Sara,” you tell her.

“Love you too bitch,” she says, making a kissing noise into the receiver. 

You decide to take Sara’s advice, bringing Aemond a coffee as an apology for your behavior. You walk through the building; it’s quiet with no classes, not many people pass you on your way to the faculty offices. Most doors are closed, but you see Professor Targaryen’s door is ajar, signaling his presence. 

You’d been to his office one time before, dropping in for office hours the previous semester when working on your midterm. He grilled you hard, and you left feeling frustrated but with a strong desire to please him. You always did crave academic validation. 

You knock on the door, greeted by Aemond’s gentle timbre telling you to enter. He’s seated behind his desk, a book open on his lap. He’s wearing gray slacks, a simple button down shirt and his silver hair is pulled away from his face in a loose, low bun. His violet eye lights up as you enter, blue sapphire prosthetic winking in the afternoon light that filters through his window.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” you tell him, closing the door behind you.

You walk further into the room and place the coffee cup on his desk.

“What’s this?” he asks, closing his book and placing it on the desk. 

“An apology from a tremendously bright student?” you tell him, smiling nervously.

“What do you need to be apologizing for?” he asks, picking up the coffee, inspecting the order on the side.

You chose black to be safe, not knowing this is how he preferred his coffee. Aemond takes a sip, humming appreciatively. 

“I just really didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I know I was a little tipsy, and I hope I didn’t cross a line or anything,” you tell him. 

Aemond stands, picking up his book and walking over to his bookshelf. It’s stacked with books, classics and other contemporary novels. 

“You’re very thoughtful, Ms. Y/L/N,” he comments, sliding the book back where it belongs. 

“Thank you, professor,” you tell him.

“If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me,” he tells you, walking in front of his desk.

He leans his back against it, resting his palms on the edge. 

“Why would you apologize?” you ask, tilting your head with curiosity.

“Well, if anyone’s responsible for making our interaction inappropriate it's me,” he tells you, jutting out his sharp chin, “I’m your professor, you’re my student.”

You flick an eyebrow up at him.

“You were my professor,” you tell him, “I’m not in your class anymore.”

“Still, that power imbalance doesn’t just go away,” he insists, eyes meeting yours.

There it is again, that look. The one with such intensity it makes your knees weak. You can see his tongue poking his cheek as though he’s contemplating something. Your breath catches in your throat and you nervously wet your lips. 

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you tell him, “No more flirting with strangers at wine bars for me.”

“I’m not a stranger,” he says.

“You know what I mean,” you tell him. 

The air between you is warm and inviting. It’s like the bar all over again, you can feel some invisible force pulling you closer to him with every word you exchange. It’s so effortless, this playful banter, you fall into it easily with him. You have to stop, have to stop before you cross another line. 

“Anyway, take the coffee,” you tell him, “and let me know if you decide to run that summer class, cause I’ll totally take it.”

“You’re graduating,” he teases.

“They’ll let me hang around, I can be very persuasive,” you insist, kicking yourself for the insinuation.

Aemond lets out a breathless laugh. 

“I’m sure,” he says smirking. 

You stare a moment longer, appreciating how his tall, lean frame looks resting against his desk. Your gaze drops to his hands again. His hands. You blink, steadying yourself, but he’s definitely noticed the mental lag you had. 

“Goodbye, Professor,” you tell him, “Have a good rest of your day.”

You turn walking toward the door. You reach for the handle, pulling it open slightly before a hand reaches above your head, pushing it shut. He keeps his hand on the door as you turn around to face him. 

“Don’t leave,” he murmurs, bringing his opposite hand to trace a line down the side of your face, before cupping your cheek.

Your breathing turns ragged as his thumb strokes your cheekbone. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your lips, and smell his cologne. His hand strokes the doorframe, following into down until he reaches the handle, flicking the lock into place. 

“I thought we weren’t doing this,” you whisper, hands clenched into fists at your sides. 

“Then why’d you come here?” he purrs.

“I was being nice,” you tell him, as he brings his other hand to your waist, pulling you against him.

“Such a good girl you are,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours. 

Your hands fly to his neck instinctively, pulling him as close to you as possible. His mouth feels so perfect against yours, the mingled taste of spearmint and coffee sharp on your tongue as you greedily drink him in. Your hands fist the back of his shirt. 

You’re practically gasping against his mouth as his hands move to cup your ass, before he bends his knees to lift you up by your thighs. You wrap your legs around his slender waist, continuing to kiss him all the while, moaning as he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

He turns, walking you away from the door and placing you on the corner of his desk, hastily brushing his arm to move loose papers and knick knacks out of the way, sending them crashing towards the floor. Not that either of you care. Your hands work quickly, tearing at the buttons on his shirt, revealing his chest. Your nails rake down his abs, reaching for his belt. You’re desperate and you don’t care, you need to feel him inside you. 

Aemond removes his lips from yours, laughing breathlessly at your eagerness before swatting your hands away. 

“Let me,” he murmurs, sinking to his knees in front of you. 

His hands travel up your thighs and you squirm against his touch as they disappear beneath your skirt. You feel his dexterous fingers loop through your underwear pulling it off of you. You assist him, bunching your skirt in your hands revealing your dripping cunt to him.

“So wet for me,” he purrs, “Are you always like this?”

“Fuck,” you mewl as his tongue flicks out, tasting the wetness between your folds.

He hums with appreciation, as though tasting a fine wine. Aemond pressing his face into you, nose nuzzling against your clit, sending spark waves of pleasure dancing upwards toward your navel. His tongue swirls around your center, dipping into your tight heat. 

“Did you sit through my lectures with your pussy dripping like this?” he asks, voice rough with desire. 

You squirm against his mouth as he wraps his lips around your needy clit, suckling gently and flicking his tongue around the sensitive nub. Your hand flies to the back of his head, foot digging into his shoulder blade. 

His hand squeezes your inner thigh roughly, before slapping the tender flesh causing you to cry out. 

“Oh gods,” you moan, head tilting back in the throes of pleasure. 

“I bet you did,” he answers his own question, smirking at you. 

He moves his attention away from your clit momentarily, dragging a finger through your folds. You can’t see his hands but you can picture them, his long, skilled fingers as you feel him sink one into your tight heat. 

Your spine curves, pushing your pussy closer toward his face as his finger searches for that special spot inside of you. 

“Oh fuck, fuck!” you cry as the pad of his finger pressing against the spot inside of you that paints stars behind your eyelids.

Aemond glances up at you, watches as your brow creases with pleasure, and your mouth forms a perfect O shape. 

“There we go,” Aemond purrs, wasting no time and slipping another finger inside of you. 

Every crook of his fingers has you trembling against him, his pace relentless as pressing against your g-spot. He brings his attention back to your throbbing clit, increasing the pleasure building in your abdomen, tingling up your spine. His tongue laps away, little kitten licks against the sensitive button drawing you closer and closer to orgasm with each flick. 

Tears well in the corners of your eyes and your nails dig harshly into his scalp, not that he seems to mind. Aemond simply groans against you, the vibrations only adding to your pleasure. 

“I’m gonna come,” you pathetically whine, shaking against the desk.

“That’s a good girl, c’mon,” Aemond insists, slipping a third finger inside you.

The wet slurping of your soaked cunt echoes in the room as he never relents the stokes of his fingers, the flicking of his tongue. It’s all too much and the tightly wound coil of pleasure inside you snaps with a strangled sob. As your high washes over you, all the tension in your body releases. 

Only Aemond doesn’t stop.

“Professor,” you moan, feeling the wave cresting inside of you again.

His fingers are soaked, easily sliding in and out of your greedy cunt. 

“Please, please, it’s too much,” you beg, slumping against the desk.

“But you’re such a good girl,” he insists, “You deserve one more, give me one more.”

“I can’t- holy shit!” you squeak, as his lips suck your clit.

You’ve never been treated like this before. One orgasm-if you’re lucky-has been your experience with your past lovers. But you can’t deny him as his fingers work their magic, his tongue swirls around your puffy clit. 

“Yes you can,” he purrs, and of course he’s right as you feel yourself thrown over the edge of pleasure once more. 

“One more,” Aemond insists and you feel tears leaking down your cheeks.

“Professor I can’t-” you tell him, and he shushes you.

“One more, on my cock, huh?” he asks, unbuckling his belt, “Yeah, you like that idea baby?”

Your eyes light up, and you push yourself on your elbows to watch as he reveals his impressive length. Sara’s always told you guys who are lean are usually well endowed. Boy was she right. Your eyes widen taking in his length, as he grips it in his hand, pumping it. You bite your lip, watching precum leak from the reddened tip.

“I changed my mind,” he says roughly, dragging you toward him like a wolf with its prey, “Two more, you’ll give me two more.”

Your eyes are round as he drags his cock through your folds. You wiggles as he drags the tip over your clit, up and down, using your arousal as lubricant. 

“You’ll cum just like this,” he says, continuing the movement against your sensitive clit.

You’re squeaking and moaning embarrassingly, wriggling like a trapped kitten as he holds your thigh tightly with one hand, while the other continues to rub the head of his cock against your clit. Your third orgasm builds quickly and crashes over you just as powerful as the first two, leaving you gasping for air. 

“So pretty like this,” Aemond murmurs, bringing a hand to the back of your neck to kiss you. 

You whimper against his mouth and his hands move to your shirt, breaking the kiss only to pull the material off of your head. You reach around to unclip your bra, leaving your breasts free and hanging heavy with need. Aemond brings his attention to them immediately, his erection pressing against your thigh as he circlies your nipple with his hot mouth, sucking on your breast. 

You’re babbling uncontrollably at this point as he switches, suckling at your neglected other breast before aligning his cock with your soaked entrance. 

“You sure?” he asks, hesitating for a moment. 

“I’m on birth control,” you manage to gasp, “I’m sure, please, please.”

Aemond grins wolfishly before sinking into your wet heat. His jaw slacks as your pussy greedily accepts him, warm walls holding him firmly inside as he stretches you out.

“So fucking tight,” he murmurs, slowly dragging out only to thrust back in, balls slapping against your ass. 

Your head is full of cotton at this point, unable to form coherent thoughts as he plows into you. His hands rest securely on your lower ribs, as your own hands grip the back of your thighs, allowing your legs to bend at the knee. Your back is arched off of the desk, head thrown back and mouth hanging open in pleasure. 

“You like that?” he asks.

You can’t find it in you to reply, answering only in a breathy moan. Aemond merely chuckles.

“Awww did I fuck you stupid, baby?” he teases, causing you to whimper.

He feels so fucking good, sliding easily in and out of your tight walls, the sounds of lewd, wet slapping filling his office. It’s filthy, it’s erotic, and it’s so so bad of you but you can’t help but love the position you’ve found yourself in. 

“I think I did,” he continues, “Poor, silly, baby thought she could handle it her professor fucking her.” 

Desire and humiliation tingle up your spine, spreading across your body like wildfire at his taunts. The pitch of your moans increase as he brings his fingers to play with your clit. 

“She’s all cockdumb now,” Aemond croons, squeezing your breast.

He releases your breast to bring a hand to grab at your chin.

“Look at me,” he demands, and you do so with tears in your eyes.

The head of his cock bullies against your sweet spot, rubbing the tender spot with precise devotion. 

“You’re going to cum all over my cock,” he tells you, “Soak my cock like the good little girl you are.”

He keeps his hand on your face, forcing you to look at him as he plows into you and your fourth orgasm rolls over you. It’s intense, almost painful with the pleasure it brings you as your walls clamp down against his cock. 

“Fuck, baby,” he moans as you tighten around him and he chases his own release.

“I’m going to fill this pretty pussy up,” he tells you, and you feel him spill inside of you, warmth flooding through you. 

You stay connected for a moment, relishing the feeling of him inside of you. You’re incredibly sensitive from the overstimulation as he begins to pull out, moaning slightly with the loss of contact. 

Aemond grabs some tissues, gently wiping down your inner thighs and beginning to clean you up. He glances up at you as you attempt to find your bearings.

“Holy. Hell.” you tell him, breathing heavily. 

Aemond smirks.

“Was that too much?” he asks, a note of concern in his voice. 

You shake your head. 

“That was amazing,” you tell him, shyly looking away. 

You grab your bra, putting it on and reaching for your shirt as he stands. You clip your bra, pulling your shirt over your head as he hands you your discarded panties. 

“Thanks,” you tell him, standing on shaky legs.

You nearly fall over putting your panties back on, Aemond’s arms catch you, helping you stand. 

You chuckle nervously. 

“You sure you’re alright?” he asks, his arms still holding you.

“Yeah,” you assure him, “I should go though.”

“Of course,” he tells you.

You move toward the door but pause, turning to look at him. He’s just finishing buttoning up his shirt.

“Was this…was this a one time thing?” you ask.

Aemond looks up at you.

“It should be,” he tells you.

Your heart flutters in your chest, and a smirk tugs at your lips.

“That’s not an answer,” you tell him.

He smirks at you.

“No, it isn’t,” he agrees. 

You hold his gaze a moment more. 

“I’ll see you around, professor,” you tell him, unlocking the door and leaving his office. 

You walk quickly, heat pounding, desperate to get back to your apartment and call Sara. You hop on the campus bus, holding tightly to the railing, trying to ignore the dull ache between your legs, and the warmth of Aemond’s cum that is still trickling down your thighs. 

Boy are you fucked. 

note: I hope you liked it my loves! Again, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!! For all your support and love. I'm truly so lucky to have such amazing support on this site and a place to post my silly little stories. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!! until next time besties 😘

HOTD TAGLIST GENERAL: @bluevxnuss, @thattargboy, @xlilacfrostx, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @marvelescape, @geminithrone, @deltamoon666, @i-killed-ramsey, @tempt-ress, @eddiemadmunson, @zillahvathek, @hangmanscoming, @jojoesq, @f4ll-for-you, @rwdkarla, @cc13723things, @filipiniamultifandom, @watercolorskyy @alexxavicry @sachafirebringer @polireader @jamespotterismydaddy @grv7ay9In35s @sofiaadler @sophielangdonx @doublesparrows, @sophielangdonx, @alitaar, @castellomargot, @paodemorangol1l1, @nik2blog, @arkainea @eddiemadmunson, @malfoytargaryen, @eudximoniax, @targaryen-world, @ghostheartbeat @savagemickey03, @aemondsdaemons, @candypurplebutterfly, @eddiemadmunson, @xxnaly2, @ghostheartbeat, @savagemickey03, @dieg0brandos-wife, @paodemorangol1l1, @hb8301, @padfooteyes, @valeskafics @doublesparrows, @bornbetter, @beyond-the-ashes, @clairacassidy, @aslanvez, @loglady00, @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly, @minami97, @serving-targaryen-realness, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @possiblyafangirl, @shmexie, @winter-soldier-101, @kaelatargaryen, @urmomsgirlfriend1, @floswife, @mizfortuna, @strawberryduvet, @girlwith-thepearlearring, @arryn-nyx, @namelesslosers, @hopelesswritergall

@coldcomputerkoala, @louislouve, @alicetargaryen @fidelias, @earthangels-things, @shinypoetryface, @klara-lily, @ensnaredinwonderland, @bubblyabs, @green-lxght, @cheerbaitromanjosi, @billiesbeans, @hufflepuff1700, @asumofwords, @angelheavensblog, @natashaobo, @zavriocibrouku, @tssf-imagines, @delilah92590, @shit-posts420, @evattude, @heyykarolina, @brie-annwyl, @wondergal2001, @herondale-girl7, @teteminne, @euphoriahoesss, @mercedesdecorazon, @koreofkore, @boofy1998, @targbarbie, @beiigegalx, @borikenlove, @fan-goddess, @schniiipsel, @elissanatok, @achlysyen,

AEMOND TAGLIST: @warmfieldofgrass

BOLD MEANS I COULD NOT TAG

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