#SOMEBODY GUSH OVER THEM WITH ME

[syluses]

fuck me like i’m famous

popstar! rafayel x female reader

in theory, attending your favorite popstar’s after party seems a dream come true. for you, it certainly is. in reality, though? it doesn’t live up to it- at least not innocently.

content popstar! rafayel, nsfw, smut, dubcon, fingering, disillusion, mc learns why idolizing celebrities isn’t wise (by being banged by one during his afterparty), yandere & obsessive undertones, 18+ characters

sidenote hrm… was supposed to be a lil drabble but it snowballed into almost 5k words. hopefully the fishie girlies will like this lil meal tho since he’s kinda a rare sight on the blog 💔 rafayel is freaked the fuck out in this deadass... also i literally had nothing better to name this but i believe chase atlantic kinda fits raf’s vibes here so :,] OH & THANK U FOR 600 FOLLOWERS I LOVE YALL ♡♡♡

Lights glitter on his face in the after party.

You don’t know what you did to earn God’s favor in this life, but whatever the reason, you’re thankful for scoring yourself that ticket. He’s all you listen to; a staple to each of your playlists. And so for what Thomas did- gifting you a special pass he had as an extra to your favorite popstar’s show- you’re ever in his debt.

He might be his publicist; that spare ticket may mean nothing to him. Alright, but-

It might as well mean the whole world to you.

Girls crowd his spot on the couch. It’s decadent: the room bathed in dim, yellow lights as the drinks, generously taken from, sparkle on the table before it. He kicks his long legs out on it and stretches an arm behind the woman at his side. She’s beautiful, scantily clad, all of them are- some curled up to his shoulder, others drunkenly twirling around the room- and because of it, you feel a little out of place.

In jeans and a band tee, you weren’t prepared.

Not for this.

One part of you is positively gushing at the scene that unfolds around you, deciding you could die in peace now that you’d finally experienced one of his concerts, especially in such an exclusive way. Still, another part of you, dwelling low in your belly, twisting like a bad gut feeling, quietly thinks, Has Thomas mistaken me for a whore? Perhaps it’s wrong to think that of those girls... But you also don’t believe they’d take any real offense to that if they were to hear your internal back-and-forth, because they seem delighted to put on their shows for him.

They can’t be blamed, right? I mean… It’s him. Rafayel. Everybody and their mom would trip over their own two feet trying to get an audience with him.

Still.

You ball your fists in your lap.

A-Are you even meant to be here?

Rafayel was always bold on camera, yes; flirtatious to a fault. Sure, he was a playboy and you were aware of that, the whole community was. Really, it was integral to his charm.

But this—

One of the girls giggles when she stumbles over her high heels and into Rafayel’s lap. It’s convenient. Too convenient: even if she’s only half aware of her surroundings, in for a bad hangover tomorrow morning, she still manages to go flying right towards him. You know the purple-haired man must be aware of it too, her frolicking stunts.

Nonetheless, he catches her in his arms before she topples, and he laughs, too.

It’s a pretty sound. Then again, everything about him is. With his dyed, lavender curls and the softness to his otherwise coy face, the little moles dusting it and his glossy, pink lips— he’s beautiful. All the more in that outfit. Cheeky but not enough as to be scandalous. His stylist and his designer have your applause. Clearly, they know what they’re doing.

On stage, he’d seemed playful, but was able to keep his gallivanting at bay. With a wink, though, all that sex appeal just oozes out, and—

It’s weird. How you can spend so much weeks and months and years idolizing somebody, and then suddenly have all that worshipful intent collapsing in a breath. Within the span of not even an hour, you’ve become so disillusioned with this celebrity- your all time favorite- that you can hardly bear to look at him and his wanton display.

Sat on the armchair opposite of it all as it takes place, deathly quiet, you begin to feel sick.

Is this really him?

You knew he was a flirt, yes, but- but what the hell is even this? Is this what he demeans himself to after each show? Just some cheap manwhore with his hand-selected throng of groupies, sipping away at an expensive wine just moments after he set the mic aside after a love song you’d thought to be heartfelt—

Your glass, the one a suited man offered on a tray and you took only to mimic the others, remains untouched before you.

This is startling. And far from your preferred scene.

M-Maybe you ought to go home. And soon. Is what you’ve been thinking for closer to thirty minutes now, and yet you’re too nervous to speak on it. I mean, maybe if you just stood up and left, nobody would notice your slipping out— the room is far from bright and everybody’s buzzed on something, anyway—

Marbled, coral-blue eyes stare at you over the rim of his glass, and they glint with something you think is mirth.

Curiosity, alongside it.

It makes you second guess yourself. Taking your leave.

He’s been watching you for a while now. Even when the stunning women gather in a flurry around him, tugging on his hair and teasing with whispering breaths in his ear, his attention doesn’t remain on them for long. It drags back to you and, for all the distractions occuring around you (the stereo playing an all too familiar song, the drunken chatter, the unease in your chest), he’s impressively focused.

It’s unnerving. It’s divine. He’s all you listen to in the car and in the shower and in your bedroom when you’re dancing to his newest album in an oversized sleep shirt and panties. You’ve cried to him and laughed to him and now he’s here, in shocking clarity, and you were so so excited, rambling about it to your girlfriends for months, but now you’re not so sure of what you’re seeing. If you like it.

He seems less god to you, now; oh, still heavenly, still angelic, for sure, but he toes more along the line of something wicked— like a cherub fallen.

And you can’t find it in you to get up and scurry out even when that’s all you can picture yourself doing in your head, escaping.

When you catch his eye again, you dip your chin (not out of reverence, no longer, but rather unease) and bite on your lip until you taste blood.

So when he lifts his hand with a snap then, the girls pouting as they crawl off him, dissipating no different than fog- you’re ever thankful for the opportunity to finally get up and leave, too—

A voice chimes over itself, layering over the familiar song playing in the background.

“Hey- wait up, cutie.”

You pause when you belatedly realize it’s calling for you.

As if your legs are stilts, you turn around hesitantly (strange: because really, shouldn’t you be happy he’s noticed you?) and try to lessen the shock on your face- even though his amused little smile tells you it’s as clear as day.

He laughs pleasantly, playful to a fault.

“What’s that silly face for? Oh, IIIIIII see, you’re feeling a lil left out, is my guess. Here,” he pats the cushion beside him and you actually blanche. For a moment you think your heart has stopped beating and those thumps you hear are the drum beats in his song as it drifts through the now empty room.

Save for you and Rafayel, it’s completely barren; the better part of its energy has left with the dancing girls but whatever remains of it, he holds.

You eye the spot beside him, unmoving.

An excuse, you realize right then— you can still spit out an excuse.

“I-I’m not one of the girls,” you stammer with a wince before clearing your throat, “I- I don’t even think I’m really supposed to be here.”

Another laugh, and a dismissive wave of his hand. You try to make yourself laugh too if only to appease him, your idol- endlessly nervous.

“Oh, well that’s just untrue,” he teases. “C’mon, don’t be shy~! I was just playing around with the others. It’s just you and me now, so no need to feel all nervous,” he assures, the image of harmless as he crosses his leg over the other and waits.

You blink rapidly. “I—“

You’re about to spew out a feeble rejection and that’s when his face drops.

You’re not sure, for all the records and posters and billboards you’ve seen of his face, if he’s ever made that expression. Not on camera, at least.

He lowly murmurs, “Aren’t you a fan?”

“I-…. Well-….”

A fan? For years now! His number one! A stupid girlish voice in the corner of your mind shrieks, and you almost dredge some joy out of this whole thing.

Letting out a shaky sigh, defeated, you creep over to him on equally shaky legs and take the spot beside him— all with great hesitance, though.

His pretty face alights again. Some of the pressure loosens up, even if only by a little, and your shoulders relax by a smidge.

Maybe it’s fine. Maybe you’re crazy and this is how he interacts with all his listeners no, no it’s not. Or maybe this is just a normal, celebrity thing and you’re blowing this way out of proportion here.

Just like he did with that other woman- that other likeminded fan or plaything or- or you don’t know- he loops an arm around the back of the couch behind you.

…What’s different, though, is that, unlike with her, he rests his hand on your shoulder and hugs you closer to his side. Clinging.

Rafayel smiles. Charming. Frivolous. With a glint in his eye, intense and engrossed, that’s weirdly sober when taking the half empty drink he sets down on the table into consideration.

“There. Good girl. So tell me, pretty,” he starts thoughtfully, fingertips twirling your hair as he leans into you. For the popstar that takes very little seriously, you think he appears awfully interested in some no-name girl who happened to score herself a limited-time lanyard to see him sing.

You swallow thickly. In the back of your mind, thoughts race. So does your heart. You might explode.

H-He didn’t act like this with the others— did you somehow present yourself in a way that made him think he could take more than what the others let him? More than what the others practically begged him to, but for some fucking reason he wouldn’t—

“Did you like the show?”

“Y-Yeah.” You don’t mean to whisper, but a certain, resigned silence is what you’ve been reduced to. His other hand stretches across his body to rest on your thigh.

Rafayel hums. But before he can speak, you- rudely, might he add- cut in. “I- I have to go home soon, so-“

Amused, he snorts. “Relax, alright? Tonight, you’re a very important person, aren’t you? Home can wait,” he muses, so close he’s near nuzzling your cheek.

A very important person? Funny. You’re just another fool bouncing around amongst the nosebleeds- a face he’ll be hard-pressed to catch and certain to forget. Honestly? This whole facade of his is as cruel as it is unbelievable.

Gradually, he’s letting you down.

Your throat bobs. Almost a bit bitterly, you remind, “I- I know you’re a popstar, but we’re still strangers. You don’t have to feel like you need to entertain me or be nice to me.”

“Huh. You’re one smart cookie,” he wryly comments before giving his head a tiny shake, almost more to himself than to you. “Um, look, cutie, you’re definitely no stranger to me,” his words leave you dazed because they sound genuine. You snap your head up to look at him, needing to gauge his expression and fish for deceit. You… find none.

He smoothly continues. “But I guess I’m no stranger to you either, huh? And tonight, you’ll be like, extra acquainted with me.”

✦

It’s difficult.

-When he’s hovering over you and gently pushing you onto the plush cushions into a half-lying position, to not only push him off but find the strength to.

Physically, Rafayel’s no hulking display of power, but he’s intimidating all the same. Mentally, he’s more or less your idol and although he may not hold too much weight in stature (still, he’s stronger than you), he still holds enough golden trophies to decorate a shelf— and too much influence for you to really comprehend.

Or try to toy with.

…You should want this. Should want to lie down and offer yourself up to him with eagerness— it should be like a blessing and yet you’re hesitating.

…Why are you hesitating? A voice in the back of your head, the one that had raved endlessly to her friends about the upcoming concert, asks perplexedly. You’ve no answer. But the man atop you seems to wonder much of the same, too; his brow twitching just slightly with what you think to be dejection before he tilts your chin with long, slim fingers to kiss you and it’s gone.

He moans into that first kiss. Prettily and soft.

Heat flutters in the core of you, your body involuntarily responding to him even as your eyes snap open and shift to where the door is- or where you think it is (have the lights gotten dimmer? or is he just all you see?)- his palm tugging at your hair softly to lie you down.

His lips are plump, pink, just as gentle as they look as they meld against yours— definitely aroused, there’s no doubt there, his warm breaths tinged with needy whines- but there’s an odd affection in them, too. Something personal and doting.

When he tries to slip in tongue, you reel away but there’s nowhere to go. Not really. Not when your head finally touches the cushion and he lets out a small, disapproving sound before giving up on that goal- for now- and attacking your neck instead.

It’s good. Delicious; that perfect mouth knows its way around a mic and a lover, you suppose- suckling and kissing and nipping with the barest amount of teeth as if he’s intent on leaving a mark.

You can’t hold back on it anymore— you drop your hands that had been hovering awkwardly on his broad shoulders, mewling in response, and he shivers.

“Yeah, cutie, make some noise,” he chuckles mildly. You think back to the auditorium. The roaring cheers and shrieks, the phone lights waving in the air and the mist rolling beneath his feet as he sang.

His hand descends down your belly, and you’re brought back to now.

It’s more instinct than anything that has you clamping your legs shut as soon as his fingers reach the denim. He tuts at you, and yet the glimmer in his eye is… endeared, almost.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t shut me away now,” Rafayel scolds, thought it lacks any real bite. Still, your lashes flutter and you stare agog at him.

Like this, he’s positively gorgeous as he props himself up mere inches away- albeit his little grin can almost be considered vulpine. “Didn’t I put on a great show for you out there? Don’t tell me I get nothing in return,” he pouts, tone light but what lies under it is a layer of desire. Opaque and thick.

Hesitantly, you mull over his words. I mean, you just really want this to be over- so to hell to with it, maybe you should just submit yourself. The sooner you appease the playboy with what he wants— that is, some nameless girl he perceives as cheap enough to get on her back for him— the sooner you can leave and pretend Thomas never gave you his special ticket.

The popstar’s words turn comforting as he watches you carefully. “If you’re shy, don’t worry. I’ve seen it plenty’a times before, you know.”

Bigheaded, you think then. Bigheaded but he has every right to be.

Maybe if it was any other guy bragging about the chicks he fucked and scrutinized, you’d throw up in your mouth— and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t cringe a little on the inside— but it’s embarrassment for yourself above all that stirs in your stomach. It joins the butterflies as your cheeks warm over.

“Now,” he continues, his familiar lilt flattening into heavy, breathy lust, “All I want is to see yours. I’m sure your pussy is pretty, cutie- really,” he convinces.

A tremble. “So pretty.”

Oh, you’re erupting on the inside— heart snapping like a snare drum in your chest, overpowering the faint music and drowning it out- your hand shaking where it weakly closes over the back of his own, now only half trying to drag it away.

He hammers the last nail into your coffin. With a ragged, but gentle breath and- as he leans in- a surprisingly chaste peck to your lips, appreciative of what he has before him.

“Won’t you show me it?”

But jaw slack, you hesitate. And- Of course you hesitate. The reasons for your deliberation, that weird gut feeling, become clearer and clearer as seconds progress:

Firstly, he’s the image of fame- and if you were to deny him, if he said the smallest word over it, your whole entire social life as you knew it would backfire on you. The possibility of his saying mean things on the internet hangs in your mind. Rumors circulating, as untrue as they are vivid, coming to bite you in the ass. For as many hours as you’ve spent watching and listening to Rafayel, you don’t know his true colors (as evidenced by right now); that includes what a wounded ego would look like if you rejected him.

Secondly, you hesitate because—

Because he’s perfect. Much like an idol on a pedestal, carefully set there with a singular light overhead to define him and him alone.

In a dark room, all look to him.

Once- an hour ago- you did, too.

Maybe you still do. You don’t know. There’s a whole bunch of feelings (confusion, awe, a betrayal that makes you question just how parasocial your relationship with him was) swirling inside you, none able to be grazed or grasped, and it shakes a part within.

“Please?” He breathes, ever headstrong.

…Your rationale is headlong, falling into the abyss with a word.

“O-Okay,” you all but squeak out. It’s the best you can manage. Rafayel’s breath hitches at that, though, your given assent, no matter how feeble, planting satisfaction deep in his chest.

And so with that he’s swiftly undoing your jeans and rucking them down your thighs.

It’s less out of good will that you help him shimmy them off you, to a bunch above your shoes, and more so eagerness to be done with this whole thing.

When he tucks his knuckles beneath the waistband of your panties- cutesy cotton put on full display for him, perched above pretty thighs- he curses under his breath.

His hands are as big as a man’s but as soft as a woman’s. His fingertips are dutiful as they brush along your folds, as singleminded, hungry, as the former.

…But when they nudge between your pussy lips and at your tight hole, his thumb prodding expertly at your clit, it’s like he has all the awareness of the latter.

“Ah, you’re so wet…” he muses aloud. Very pleased with his discovery.

His eyelids, dazzling with some glittery shade his makeup artist applied prior to his show, droop and don’t meet your flustered stare as he focuses on the space between your legs. And he takes it upon himself to rid you of your panties, too: for as adorable as they are, Rafayel knows it’ll be ten times better for you both if he can just-

Finally fucking see for himself what you’ve got goin’ on down there—

Undies midway down your leg, he comments, “you’re really hyped up after the show, huh?” His exhale is a shaky sound. His gaze is utterly fascinated (and perhaps a touch unnerving, what with its intensity) when it bounces back to that soft dip below your belly.

You’ll give him this much credit— for as wild as that glint in his unblinking stare becomes, he’s fortunately gentle with you.

He wets his lip absently. “Yeah… it gets me going, too. All the lights and cheering faces... Feeling the bass vibrate up from the floor. Can I be honest, though, cutie? When Thomas- oh, shit-“ he shivers when he inserts a digit in- his pointer one- and your hole instinctively clamps down around it, juices glistening to the base of his knuckle as you try not to squirm.

Y-You can’t believe this is happening. Your clothes are all in a disarray- the only piece intact, actually, is your tee that just so happens to be merchandise of the popstar that hovers over you now with his hand between your legs—

You blink back to real life when he sharply inhales.

“…When Thomas told me you were comin’, I made absolute sure to know your standing. That way, I could find you easily in the crowd. I was gettin’ so worked up just looking at you. Could you hear it-? My voice began to shake.” he chuckles, voice euphony to your ears. Familiar in its lilt but not in its timber.

His words stun you. They don’t make sense- is this is all some cruel, sick game after all-? Or- Or maybe he’s mistaking you for someone else? or he’s just choosing a really weird, admittedly screwed up way to let off some steam. God knows, what with his recent album built on the back of unrequited love, he needs the stress relief—

But no. He continues on like nothing is amiss, like your heart doesn’t plummet to the tips of your toes at his offhanded admission, and you forget how to breathe.

“When our eyes met- you looked like you were doubting yourself, but I really was staring at you, you silly girl.” Again, he’s fucking laughing, albeit this time, it takes on a more self-deprecating tone. You witness, almost unseeing, as his facade crumbles in increments. More and more he undoes it by the seams- much like he is with you.

“I was… Hm. I was even singing about you. All those stupid pining love songs— who do you think they’re for, princess?”

A gasp punches out from your lungs. You don’t know what it’s for- his nonsensical confessions, or his handling as he stuffs in another finger (you could’ve used some more working up to it, sure, he knows, but he’s a little impatient tonight) and scissors you open.

Wet shlicks ring in between guitar riffs. Your essence flows all over his knuckles and the numerous- horrifically expensive, you realize- jewels lining them. Rafayel doesn’t seem nearly as appalled as you do, though... If anything, aroused.

It feels so good. He’s hitting that spongey spot inside you just right. It’s a surreal experience, so much so you almost feel like you’ll coalesce into a dream at any moment. The melody playing in the background, the opulent couch as it groans beneath you with every piston of his arm, the twinkling, but dim lights and his face. That picturesque, idol face.

“Here, I’ll tell you the answer…” he leans over you to whisper in your ear, subjecting you to all the charm of a siren. You’re helpless to it ‘cause you’re just a girl.

“You. Always you.”

You’re dizzy. Your head is light but your lower half is heavy, the inner portion of your thighs numbed and sticky. Your limbs tingle but all you can feel is his lips tenderly suckling at your neck and your gushing walls as they constrict around their intruder.

Though they, too, ease up on him. He’s good at disarming you. That’s how you were walking in here, anyway, disarmed and beyond yourself with excitement.

Rafayel moans over you, finding a great amount of pleasure in the whole ordeal.

“You gonna cum? yeah?” He’s sweet, purring in your ear, making sounds as pretty as a girl- maybe even more so. His voice has won awards for a reason. You recall binging musical ceremonies on the internet and shrieking as soon as his name was called to stage, his seeming nonchalance as he accepted an accolade…

Yet you saw his ears, too, the tips of them red under the resounding applause, and wondered just what or who it was that had him bowing his head to the camera—

“A-Ah, mmph- Rafayel, please—!” You choke, fingers curling into his shoulder. In response, he lets out a pleasured, breathy sound, all encouragement and delight in his eyes.

“Mhm. Go ahead. Cum. Cum, pretty girl, all over my fingers. Oh- I really wanna taste you- will y’let me taste you afterwards?” He’s moaning unabashed as you come undone at warp speed. It’s shameful and your cheeks toast over but you clamp your eyes shut and choose to bask in the feeling of it all as it overwhelms you.

He’s good. So good. Masterful with it, really. Not like any of the bungling guys who courted you for all of one date (the more patient: two) before ripping your pants off and sticking their fingers inside without prompting or even half the skill to back their confidence.

No- he’s every bit qualified and then some.

Your nails dig into his clavicle. Rafayel doesn’t care- if that pinch of pleasure between his brow is the least bit credible, maybe he even likes the sting.

“Good girl. There, good girl.”

It’s building inside you. He works you up progressively, rapidly, and it shows in the little gasps you make that fall back to back, the L shape you make with either of your legs as they hitch up around his hips and quake, the ball in your gut that suddenly hardens before—

“Ngh— Rafayel-!”

You scream. Louder than the music. Louder than his words of encouragement, sugar-sweet, hungry, susurrating as they spill in your ear. He sensually nibbles on it and wraps his free hand around your head- with a misplaced affection, you think- to anchor you throughout your climax. He manages to keep you grounded there on the couch but only barely.

Your mind does slip off to another place, though, floating in white oblivion for a number of seconds as your limbs offer small trembles.

Rafayal takes close to nothing serious. So the light, but bubbly laugh that draws you back to consciousness with a sigh is fairly appropriate.

What isn’t is his touchiness as he drags you to sit on his lap— boneless; your skin damp with heat, your damned pants still cuffed awkwardly around your ankles— and croons into your neck. Holding you close like a lover would in the after glow. But this isn’t the after glow, this is the after show. But then again, if his earlier words were true- the ones that barrel back into you with clarity, the haze dissipating- then…

But no. No, how could that be? Those songs aren’t about you— and when you met his eye during the opening, and all the times afterward, you were sure it was just your imagination, especially after the fan beside you threw up her arms and cheered as if his stare was for her instead—

You might know Thomas (very vaguely- more of a friend of a friend you’ve seen at a few get-togethers; you follow him on insta), but that doesn’t mean Rafayel, the man he works for, should know you... I mean, you doubt they hang out often, anyway. Especially not since Thomas would more or less be viewed as the king of no-fun in the popstar’s eyes.

His whole job is to assure that Rafayel keeps his lips sealed tight: you can’t imagine that he’d be loose with his own by chatting with him about you, a girl he’s not all too familiar with but knows just enough to throw a spare ticket at.

So there’s just no way any of this is true.

Half of you expects Rafayel to shove you off his lap at any second, snap back to the reality that you’re not the woman he mistook you for, and flusteredly point you to the door. The other half of you is like it’s waiting for him to pull out his cock (it stirs underneath your ass, hard and by the feel of it, very excited) and take all that’s left to.

He moves your hair aside your shoulder and rubs along your back, instead.

And he whispers in your ear (or into your neck, really), his warm breath fanning there as he says like it’s a vow:

“Wanna see you at my next show. Better be there.”

Your throat bobs. As he speaks, you try not to focus too much on the fluid that oozes from your pussy lips and onto his expensive, designer slacks- but that’s no easy task when he seems to want for that, slightly lifting his hips up.

“No. Before that, even—“ he pauses for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before smiling, resolved. “Oh, I know- I’ll have Thomas help get you settled in with the tour bus. That way, you can just be on the road with me.”

You gawk. Whatever he’s saying doesn’t reach you; you’re only receiving that garbled bits of it, like a radio interpolated by static between voices. Your palms lift to his chest and push there softly.

Smoothly, he takes them in his own and kisses the knuckles, peering up at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky, giggling.

“Doesn’t that sound just great, cutie?”

“I- wait, you-?”

“I’ll name my next song after you- my next album, even!- and then we can go public immediately.” You can recognize it for what it is, even coming from someone as frivolous as him.

A promise.

“The fans will love you,” he says excitedly before leaning in and smushing a kiss to your damp hairline, murmuring there with a fiery tinge of what you think is devotion. “But not as much as I already do.”

He fishes into his pocket, then, one hand still securing your waist.

“Lemme give Thomas a call… I guess he kinda deserves my ‘thank you’, too, huh?”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[queenie-the-court-jester]

break up with your boyfriend

Yandere trans!fem cheerleader x fem reader

It was so shittily made but I need to pump out more fics or else my blog will die. Thank you all for 1k followers though! I'll rewrite this in the future maybe

Tw: mentions of blackmailing, nsfw, slight breeding kink, batshit crazy girlfriend,not proofread, another oc mentioned!?🌺

💄Eva saccharine has been your girlfriend since she first started transitioning. You helped her style her hair, do her nails, pick her clothes, find good makeup, anything she needed to feel like the real her. So when freshman year rolled in, it came as no surprise to you she fit right in with the clique.

💐Ofcourse you had your fears she'd choose them over you but that wasn't the case, because she'd make you eat lunch with them and sit on her lap, not so subtly humping your ass while talking all about cheer practice

🛍️boys wanted to date her, girls wanted to be her. She just wanted you, to just be the two baddest bitches on the block. It didn't matter if you were just like her or the complete opposite, she gushed over you. Praising you for being her good girl, her sweet little princess, her obedient pocket pussy-

💄but at this current moment? She was busy bullying your insides, forcing her fat cock into your slippery hole as she held you steady by your waist. Biting and groaning everytime she'd feel you squeeze that certain spot on her dick

"fu-uuckkk.. baby cakes, 'yer squeezin' me so goood.. ah.. hah.. you wouldn't mind if I pumped a few babes into your tight cunny right? Wanna be my baby mama?"

💐that made you squeeze tighter, holding onto the bedsheets for dear life. She had you face down, ass up and damn near breaking your back with how hard she was going. Hearing the normally composed and playful eva turn into a drooling pussy-drunk mess had you feeling butterflies, just going plap play plap-

🛍️let's just say, by the end of it, you couldn't walk for days afterwards. But no amount of hickies and perfume would be able to scare away a rather persistent guy. He was on the football team, star quarterback, rich asshole. sam white. Eva hated his guts, he thinks he can just waltz in and steal her bitch? Not on her watch.

💄this little feud had been going on for a while, and more times than you could count you've been caught in the crossfire. Though it was kinda funny, seeing them screeching insults at eachother and bickering. Eva would sassily flick her blonde hair and grab you by the collar of your neck, Dragging you away while Sam hooted and hollered at your retreating form

💐you never questioned her morbid fascination with anything horror or paranormal related. She was just obsessed with regular girl things. wanting you to help her summon a demon once, but you aren't that stupid, making blood pacts with them could result in very unsavory ending's and you quite cherished your soul and body

🛍️Eva has more than one account on different social medias, pretending to be multiple different people and Stalking your posts. She'd slide into your dms and flirt, seeing if you'd really cheat on her. She's so happy when you instantly block the account, guess you'll survive not being sent to her basement for another week

💄she has the audacity to grab a frilly pink pen and make you wear clothes that purposely shows off what she wrote. In bright bold lettering, Eva's little cum dump ♡ . Maybe she'll let you bring a jacket, only if you beg her really hard with those big doe eyes she loves. She put a collar and leash on you too

💐don't try breaking up with her, she takes 'they go low, I go lower" to another level. Threatening to post pictures of you in rather compromising positions. When did she record all of this? Who knows. She won't refrain from spreading nasty rumors of you that just force you to come sobbing into her arms, if you try and get comfort from somebody else she won't hesitate to eliminate them. Don't you see? She's the final girl, and you're her love Interest

"I told you not to run pretty baby.. now look what you've done. I gotta fix your mess up~.."

moral of the story: be a loyal loving girlfriend and she'll spoil you rotten with her daddy's black card ♥️

[movingthisblogcelestialtarot11]

Their naughty thoughts of you 🐚🙊

I most definitely am not apologizing for making this post 😤we all get a lil freaky sometimes. Anyway hope ya’ll enjoy! Feel free to like comment and reblog. 18+

divider creds: @fairytopea

Pile 1: Welcome my little friend 😈 anyway ya’ll this is cute. My fluffy and sweet pile. They wanna see you self pleasure and you probably smell really good, so they really like that. They wanna see you dripped out in lingerie, or anything that makes you feel confident and just touch yourself in front of them. There’s something about that fantasy that gets them going. And they also fantasize about cuddling you, definitely have a praise kink 🙊 I am calling this person out—they’re like a teddy bear in bed and they do wanna be close to you as physically as they can. This person would romance you first 😮‍💨 and then get dirty. They care about feelings soo, booty call with feelings kinda vibe 🥺 and they also won’t hesitate to give you water whilst they’re doing you, like “hey you need some of this?” 😭 helpp. They’re funny too. I feel like even in bed they fantasize about awkward cute moments between ya’ll. This is making me gush they are cute lol. Yall could never dating or haven’t done sexual stuff yet, but they definitely think about owning your heart first and worshipping you as you are! They’d take their time and kiss everywhere and make sure you’re all comfortable in bed or where else ya’ll prefer doing the dirty 😭 I also feel like they fantasize about making you cry their name and have you be an emotional mess (in a good way) from all the pleasure. Whoo. Pile 1. There you have it 👀 a lil something spicy. Hope yall enjoyed and feel free to like comment and reblog 🤍

Pile 2: My god pile 2 is it me or is the tension hot on both sides 😭 the person you’re asking about and you. I feel like both of yall have such strong vivid imaginations and wild ideas. I heard it goes both ways, so its not one person if you need confirmation. I feel like your person idolizes you, I heard maneater so they definitely see you as someone to worship. And not just anyone but a divine being. I feel like they wanna do everything right by you—even if it means being submissive to you. They’d fall to their knees for you 😤 this is the kinda energy they’re bringing!! And we’re not complaining 🥺 love to see it. I feel they fantasize about kissing messily, grabbing each other up and pressing everywhere. And fingering, lots of exploring. They wanna feel all the juices everywhere. And I think they fantasize about blowjobs, or at least having their fluids in your mouth. They just want to see the visual of it and replay it over and over. They fantasize about sitting in a chair whilst your between their legs, and they succumb to your touch. Like you’re just their devouring them and they have no choice but to take it 😭 maneater vibes fr. And I also feel like they’re kinda shy about their fantasies which makes it cuter but they want it. They want it to happen. I think they hide it a lot from you and put on a stoic face but deep down they cant ignore their freak!! Their freak is calling them 😩 “is somebody gonna match my freak” help. Its playing in my head 😭 anyway pile 2 yall get a room and get it on or something, hope yall liked this. Feel free to like and comment and reblog 🥰

Pile 3: hey guys, what is this? Damsel in distress fantasy? 😭 guys I feel like your person has a fantasy where you come running to them and you just want in on their world. Like consumed by all their pleasure and wanting only them. Its giving they want you to be hooked and obsessed on their energy, and the way they do you. They want you coming back for more. I have no idea if anyone here is into threesomes—someone here likes that. Also getting high or drinking alcohol might be something they fantasize about. It’s also giving daddy kink like ddlg, I picked up on. I heard pet play too. Im not judging just writing whatever spirit is telling me ☕️ I feel like they dream about you joining their sex filled world. Like this person could be experienced and they fantasize about showing you all the things they know and teaching you—and its like this thing where they help you reach your release because they know your body. They know where to touch and please you. I don’t know if some of yall never had sex before, but I’m picking that vibe too. I feel like this person is possessive of you in bed and only wants your attention on them. They want you completely focused on them. Geez this is intense! 😮‍💨 it’s giving Scorpio and strong mars energy. Maybe they have a lot of mars aspects or placement in their chart. But either way—they have lots of stamina. Strong bdsm vibes. And they want to spend lots of time doing foreplay to draw it out before finally giving in. Only when you’re comfortable. Like I see a feather being trailed down your spine and teasing you—this person KNOWS. Anyway yall, be safe always & at your discretion, have fun 😈 hope yall liked! Feel free to like comment and reblog to help this blog grow.

Thank yall sm for reading! Definitely bringing in that nsfw vibe 😈 hope yall enjoyed the freakiness. 18+ only 👀

Extra 🤍

Paid readings 🤍

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

You're different, more than all of them expected. It's saddening for some, boner inducing for others. He likes the way you try to blow his brains out. The head of the GDA sees an opportunity.  [Invincible Variants x reader]

[Part one] [2] [Ao3] [4]

3 * Narcan Blues [6.4k]

"I'm tired of walking away to lose you,

I take my Adderall with milk and sugar,

I'm gonna be okay,

get the fuck out of my way."

 Alcohol - FIDLAR

  The defense wing was gone. All the engineers were sliced through. Only a handful of staff left compared to the hundreds stuffed into the Pentagon. So much blood he could taste the metal. So much death and destruction and all from one person. Now smashed into his floor. Re-animen called off. Donald hovered behind him, mechanical body exposed. 

        If one Invincible could do that and there were how many of these little bastards? The world was bent over, spanked, and properly fucked. 

        Communications with most world leaders had been cut due to death or satellites being smashed. Plan B through Z had been used and flicked aside like flies. But then, there was this very unexpected and hopefully fortunate turn of events. 

        Cecil Stedman leaned over the desk. Dozens of screens showing him the few remaining CCTV feeds of the area in question. The few living staff busted their asses, tracking the variants. Six of them converged on one singular location. They hadn't been together since they'd first zapped into reality. No portals opened and it didn't seem like one would anytime soon.

        He watched, listening to the crackling feed from the cheapest cameras business owners could afford. At first, he thought the prison-smashing, New York flattening freak was going to kill you on his lonesome. Then the rest came, one after another. Couldn't forget the one watching in the sky. 

        They didn't converge on you like hungry wolves. They spoke and then the strangest, best thing happened. One of them dropped dead. Killed himself on a whim, at your say so. 

        "I need everything we've got on her, now." He said to no one in particular, but heard the remaining staff scramble behind him.

        "You should sit down Sir," Donald said. "You're running on fumes." He held out an alcohol soaked rag.

        Cecil took it, pressing it hard to the bleeding slit in his head. A sliver of his skull was exposed to the air, blood gushing and rolling into one of his eyes. Not that he could see out of it, his vision was spotty and limited to begin with, his orbital had to be fractured. Flaxan bastard.

        "Can't, so you better get to teaching me on how to run on fumes."

        Donald didn't smile. Cecil hated himself for the jab but apologies were for later, way, way later. 

        He watched the newcomers rush in. Dog Girl, Psychopomp, Mercy, Running Man, and The Amazing Kidult. A handful of nobody scraps that surrounded his one and only hope for the planet. They were going to be torn to shreds. 

        Cecil was counting on that. 

        "How's the teleporter?" He asked.

        "Almost online, sir!" Someone shouted across the room. "I dunno if it'll be stable-"

        "Define almost." He didn't care about stable. 

        "Three minutes!"

        "God damn it." These nobodies weren't going to distract them that long. But his staff was doing all they could, fast as possible. He had to move onto the next step in the hasty plan he was gluing together with popsicle sticks.

               ***

       They waited, though the action had already started. When one is a Viltumite- so fast, so powerful- watching lesser beings run at them felt like slow motion. Not from fear, but from the monotony of it all. Waiting for something interesting or challenging, but the best they get is a punch that doesn't even tickle.

        The Amazing Kidult was a stretch of a contingency plan. He was more useful if you had to pretend to be somebody's mom, trust, the situation had arisen before. If you have to get into a preschool to kill one of the teachers, who was actually a drug runner who didn't deliver on the goods, he was useful. Nobody would let some random adult in, so Kidult would shift from his thirty-year-old self to whatever age you needed.

        Freaky, sure, but he could've done a lot worse with his powers. 

        You hadn't wanted him to answer the phone, but here he was. Throwing himself first into the fray. Thirty going on five to duck under an unenthusiastic punch thrown by Mohawk. Soon as he was in the clear, under the guy's legs, he was five going on thirty. Growing with a fist aimed straight for Mohawk's balls. 

        He was freshly twenty when Mohawk grabbed him by the throat, snapped his neck with a twitch of the hand. He dropped Kidult, cringing, "Weirdest dude I've killed in awhile." He kicked Kidult away, sending his corpse into the smoke of New York.

        Dog Girl lunged for Shoulder Pads. Going from your everyday Twitter-scrolling, Contrapoints watching, EDM mixing t-girl, to ginormous fucking werewolf. Maw open wide enough to bite him in half. Shoulder Pads isn't even a blur, one second, he's about to die, the next he's behind her.

        When shot, a dog does one of two things. Die quietly or let out such a pathetic sound it makes you want to kill. But when a Dog Girl's head is separated from a Dog Girl's body? That sound made you want to throw up.

        "Pathetic." He says, "But I'm not surprised (Y/n) enlisted the likes of you."        

        You didn't have time to unpack what that meant. Your finger shoots towards Lensless-or as you now thought of him, Boner Boy- too busy holding his suit out above his dick so no one could see the outline of his arousal.

        "Kill him!" You say, eyes locked onto Running Man's goggles. 

        Instead of looking horrified at the idea of fighting with a hard-on, Lensless grins. Running Man, a C-tier hero at best, zipped forward. Nowhere near quick or strong as the late Red Rush, but that didn't matter. He had what Red Rush didn't. An energy shotgun, so powerful he blasted straight through a kaiju last fall. Honestly, the only reason he was so high in your book was because of that gun but you couldn't tell him that- he's got a temper. 

        Round and Round Lensless he ran, a gray blur. Shotgun powering up and up and up. 

        Mohawk made his way toward you. "Look, babe, you know I appreciate a good ass-kicking, but this is just so lame; it's unnecessary! You know you can't fight me."

        "Cover me!" You tell Mercy. She's in front of you, solar-powered caduceus staff spinning in hand. 

        Round and round and round. Lensless head spun following his to-be attacker, laughing, "So are you gonna hit me or what?" 

        You blinked. Just blinked, but when you opened your eyes, Mercy's blood was shooting out of her esophagus like a fountain. Top half of her head splattered God knows where. Tongue twitching, bottom jaw pooling with blood as she fell to her knees then to the ground. 

        Mohawk stepped over her into your personal space. You stagger back, head reeling, stomach churning. You should've done this earlier, but got too preoccupied with the contingencies. With the backup plan that was blowing up spectacularly in your face. "Kill Yo-"

        You feel it coming. Your head whips to the side as vomit forces it's way out of your throat. Bitter as it was going down. You sway, head pulsing. 

        "Does being near me make you that sick?" Mohawk laughs but there's little humor in it.

        "Yes." You gaggle out, spitting out the last of the bile. Hand in pocket, cracking the top off another bottle of codeine. It was a bad idea shotgunning one, puking it out, and shotgunning another. Some of the first had been absorbed into your system. Adding onto that absorption was prime real estate for death by overdose. You had no other options. Overdose or be tortured to death by a guy with your ex's face. 

        Ker-ack!

        The top of Running Man's body sails over head. Going splat on a building behind you. His legs are still moving around Lensless, who just held out his arm and cut the guy in half.

        "Why do they never think that I can just do that and it's over?" He scoffed, running the hand that had just killed Running Man through his hair. Blood clinging to the locks like gel. "So boring."

      You see the mass coming in hot. Running Man's gun barreling toward your head. You drop the bottle, half drunk, and hold your hands out to catch it. Mohawk is too busy trying to get his fingers under your chin to notice. The Phantom was busy liberating Psychopomp's arms from her body. Others noticed, Lensless raced, followed by Shoulder Pads. In the sky, the Viltrumite watches. Interested in you and your well-being, of course, but if you couldn't handle a gun flying toward your head- you couldn't handle him.

        To his pleasure, you catch the thing. Fumbling before twisting the gun into the right position, ready to fire at will. The thing pulses with purple energy, humming.

        Lensless stops, chest centimeters from the shotgun barrel. "Whew, thought I'd be picking your teeth up off the ground!"

        Mohawk is shoved out of the way as Lensless came in way too hot, spitting a, "Watch it, dipshit."

        Shoulder Pads stops behind him. Aware of the gun buzzing, vibrating in your hands. He wasn't afraid, more so curious. Watching you tilt the barrel up, aimed straight for Lensless's head. You really were different. Daring enough to point a gun a version of him (again), any version of him, despite his royal linage, despite his power. The sight was like a slap across the face, but he did nothing to stop what was coming. If Lensless died to you and his own foolishness- he deserved death. 

        In another universe, one with a Mark Angstrom hadn't taken- the same energy crystal slapped into the gun was fired straight at Omni-man. Sending him crashing through concrete. Hurting him, even just a little, was no small feat. Something that could hurt him? Imagine would it could do to his son, not yet fully grown into his powers. But you didn't know that, none of them did. If Lensless knew, he wouldn't have moved anyway.

         "Reminds me of old times." As the gun's power apexed, Lensless smiled and leaned down. Putting his left eye into the barrel hole, his hips undulating. "I've got an itch actually, mind pulling the trigger for me real quick?"

        Blammo. 

        You fall back, hands burning, shoulders aching, gun launching itself out of your hands, clattering thirty feet back and breaking useless against the concrete. Lensless shoots back as well, five, six, feet- holding a hand to his left eye, blood seeping between his fingerless gloves.

        "Man-" His laughs are breathy, wanton, "Oh man, I think you really got me there." His hand falls away, "Is it bad?"

        The light brown of his eye had split in two. Oozing vitreous tissue down and around the exposed bone of his cheek and lower eye socket. All the flesh and fabric around his eye had singed away. Leaving a pulsing, angry chasm. Blast so hot it'd cauterized most of his blood vessels. The few that remained open bled like rivers into the sea. 

      He pokes at one half of his eye, "I can still kinda see." He hums. 

        "You asked for that one dude," Mohawk said.

        "Don't call me, dude, dude." Lensless says, though he's smiling. Shreds of eyelids twitching, trying to close around the mess.

        "See, this is why you should be wearing goggles." Shoulder Pads commented. "Look at you. What use are you to my empire half blind?"

        Phantom let Psychopomp drop, still screaming, rolling on the ground, legs kicking like a de-winged butterfly. He stepped closer but not too close. He felt hot, too hot, just being on the same planet as you. Too close and he'd burn to a crisp. Too far again and his heart would ice over. 

        He knew you weren't the same person. You just looked like it, moved like it, sounded like it. He didn't believe in second chances either but still, if there was a second chance for you and him- how could he pass it up? Angstrom had made a good argument. "You miss her, I can see the loss has hit you hard." He'd thrown a punch, though Angstrom was already gone. Behind him. "Do you even remember what it was like to hold her?" Another punch. "Do you want to remember?"

        He did. So very badly. 

        Because he didn't recall the taste of your lips. It'd been so long. Five years, two months, three days without you felt like the thousands of years his father said he'd live. Being near you now, reversed time. The reveal of you, this you and your truth, was violently fast, too quick to process. It felt like a joke, like the rug had been pulled from under his feet. But he could fix it. Could make you whole again the same way you'd do for him once he got you alone.

        "You know you're not the only emperor of Viltrum here, right?" Mohawk said. 

        Shoulder Pads stiffened, pouting slightly, "I assumed we all were. I wasn't aware so many of us were weak enough not to take the throne." He shot a disgusted glance toward Lensless, who was still poking at the remnants of his eye.

        Talking like you weren't here, like they hadn't just shredded through your contingencies like cheese to grater. Your mouth screws into a sneer. Fingers digging into rubble so small it felt like sand. You rose, albeit wobbly. "Hey, pirate, come'ere."

        They stared in confusion a moment. "Oh! Are you talking to me?" Lensless pointed at himself. "Are you giving me a nickname already?" He was in front of you but you hadn't seen him move. The damage was worse up close. You could smell the burnt flesh. He leaned in for a kiss or just to violate your personal space. "Would should I call you? Sweetums? Hot lips? Babygi-"

        You shoved gravel into his eye socket. Pressing, twisting, scissoring your fingers to get the dirt in all the cracks and open veins.

        "You like that?" You snarled, though it sounded slurred. Stomach churning with sick. Head throbbing from the drugs. 

        "Fuuuck!" Lensless stumbled back a pace. "Fuck, fuck, fuuuckkk." He's moaning, groaning, in pain. Good. Satisfaction rises in your chest. "I think I just came." 

        ***

        Cecil's lips pushed in. Ninety seconds was all the distraction they got. All he could hope for was the degenerate version of the planet's strongest hero didn't snap her neck for that. He'd call on Mark for help if he could, but Mark was busy fighting off two versions of himself in downtown Tokyo. One in red and white, the other in the classic yellow and blue. He watched on split screens as the other Marks surrounded you. As their Mark fought for his, Eve's, and the people of the city's lives.

        Tokyo was the first city hit. They came out of green portals above Japan and got right to work. Mark and Eve were on a date in Osaka when this whole mess started. Just flown in after a job well done in New York. Tired from super speed, ready to get down to relaxing.

        It had been a good thing in Cecil's eyes, the kid was a loose canon these days, but he still saved hundreds at the time. All those people he saved were definitely dead now, based on how things went. The destruction was too catastrophic to contain. The other versions of him were too quick, too bloodthirsty. New York was practically defenseless with the people currently on his payroll.

        Cecil couldn't help either of them like this. Even when he could, he'd have to choose who to go to first. (Y/n) seemed like decent shot. Still, Mark was Mark, he was practically Invincible. Not going for him first would be one hell of a gamble he'd have to be absolutely sure about. "How much longer?" 

        "Ninety seconds!" A tech called. 

        A minute and a half to make a decision that could make or break the planet. Just another Tuesday. 

         "Sir," Donald shifted behind him, fingers fast on a keyboard as he pulled up the file, "That's (Y/n) (L/n). File says her and Mark used to date, sir." He swallowed. As the GDA it was their job to know everything about everyone important. Superheroes and villains top of the list, terrorists, politicians, and importantly, their connections. Dangling a husband or child in front of any one of those people could get them to do damn near anything. So the database was kept, a background thing, a backup.

        Though everyone who worked in that department thought it was useless and hated working on it- today they'd earn that paycheck. 

        "Tell me more," Cecil said, because to be honest, he had no idea who this girl was. 

        "They were together before Mark developed his powers. Very briefly after. It's likely they split after she started working for Machine Head." Donald said.

        Everyone thought the government couldn't possibly know and see everything. They could. Machine Head was a thorn in Cecil's side, but so small and insignificant when it came to the matter of the entire planet, he'd done nothing about it. Local criminal empires were for local heroes to deal with, not Cecil Stedman. 

        Cecil's finger tapped his bicep, arms crossed over his chest. He watched the battle between Mark, Mark, and Mark shift. Eve's leg was snapped like a twig, she went down hard and useless. Their Mark was on her, trying to carry her away while local heroes stepped into the fray. He broke through the atmosphere, screaming for help. Leaving just in time to see the local talent get shredded right through. 

        He hadn't killed a single one of them, whereas the city gutter rat had. Cecil swallowed, eyes switching back and forth, "Great. I'm sure his ex'll wanna work with us."

        "Probably not, but Sir, what those versions of Mark are saying implies they're not exes in their universe." Donald nodded to the screen. The Mark's surrounding her in a semicircle. Bloodied. One screaming about cum. 

        The decision was made. The bait was too good to pass up. Eve would live without immedatate medical attention.

        His fingers curled into his sleeves. "Someone not working on the teleporter- get me powercuffs, Narcan, the most noise proof headphones we can find, and a muzzle, preferably the same we used on the first re-animen, I like not killing myself."

        ***

        "Get away from me."

        He does, you wish he hadn't. Up close you couldn't see his bottom half so well. But as soon as he stepped back, you can see the imprint of his dick softening. See the wet stain on his lower abdomen. 

        The sight is... you don't know. You felt sick in a way that couldn't be from the codeine overdose or the life or death situation in front of you. Guts twisting in disgust, a disgust you had seen in others. You were unsavory to people around you, but interesting, like a pet they could discipline. Something they desired against their best interests. But the way he was looking at you with his one good eye, was beyond desire. He looked like he wanted to crawl into your chest and rut on your ribs. 

        You didn't know how to feel, but his companions not being cool with it certainly helped. 

        "Dude, what the fuck?" Mohawk said. "That is- wow, dude. Do you have brain damage?"

        "A little." Lensless eyes unfogged from your control, but not from lust. 

        "A little?" Shoulder Pads questioned. "You've just been disrespected and you've come in your pants- what do you mean a little?"

        Lensless shrugs. "Means what it means, dude."

        The Phantom edged closer. Fingers twitching. Tempted, very, very tempted to rid Lensless of his other eye. 

        You hear a meow, he comes out at the worse time. Caligula bounding from the rubble, meowing and curling himself around your ankles. You bend to grab him. A rush of wind and Lensless is in front of you, holding your cat. Stupid thing is purring with a hand ready to snap his tiny neck.

        "Will you use your powers on me if I kill 'im?" He gasps, realizing something with a grin, "Would you cry too?"

        He'd gone from lustful to violent in a millisecond. Actually, scratch that- he was both at once. He just saw another way to get his rocks off. 

        To answer he question, yes and yes. He can see it in your eyes. He's going to do it.

        Until a fist cracks his jaw, loosening his hold enough for Mohawk to take the cat.

        "Jesus, dude! Relax."

        Lensless laughs, rubbing his jaw, the punch barely fazing him. "Don't act like you care about that thing." 

        "I don't," Mohawk says, Caligula rubbing on his arms. "Killing something this weak is below us."

        "Maybe below you but not me." Lensless reaches for the cat. Mohawk jerks back. You can only watch. Scared if you say something he'll kill your sweet, idiot baby. "Aww come on, you're no fun. Don't you wanna see her cry?"

        Mohawk's gaze slides over you. Considering. Then he's gone in a crack. Returning just as fast, but without Caligula. He opens his mouth just before you start to scream, "Your ugly pet is fine. We'll get it back before we leave, okay babe?"

        You don't know if you believe him. You want to but you're stuck on the promise of 'when we leave'.

        Blood was rushing in your ears, you could barely hear yourself say, "Psychopomp, get up." She did. Balance wavering, blood spurting out where her arms should be connected to her body, pulsing to the beat of her heart. "Revive the others."

        "Hell no." She said. You'd forgotten. 

        A note about mind powers. Generally, they don't work well on other people with mind powers. Even if it's mind powers to raise the dead. And another thing that was working against you- you'd dated, very briefly, four years ago. Two months of sex and coping with your new life. Not finishing high school because of your jail sentence and your new role as Machine Head's grunt. Not going to college, not being with Mark. 

        She wanted to go the distance. Go clean, build a life together. Lesbians are fast with those sorts of decisions. You couldn't, wouldn't. You tried to force her to forget you on your two-month anniversary. Just to find out, psychics have a hard time controlling other psychics. The breakup was a huge blowout. Her calling you every name in the book. Unbelieving that she wanted to move in with you. Demanding you give her Caligula because she was the who wanted him in the first place.

        You kept the cat. Cleansed your phone of her number. Didn't cry over the loss in your life because she wasn't shit. She was a nobody grunt The Order sometimes called on. It made missions with her tense, but you dealt with it. 

        Until. 

        You'd almost died too many times to count. One of which was a deal gone wrong where your bodyguard wound up dead. Your head was next on the concrete chopping block, still dripping with the blood from his neck. You escaped with quick wit, but it scared the shit out of you so bad you redialed her number as a contact. Saved it as contingency twenty-seven. Assumed if you'd call she'd come. Another thing about lesbians, they have a horrible time getting over an ex. Then you never called or texted, forgot about her and who contingency twenty-seven was besides a panic alarm.

        She hadn't said anything today when you called, just came to where you said. Everything had gone so quick you hadn't had time to process that she hadn't been controlled. That she was who she was and somehow, even though years had separated your relationship like the grand canon, she came for you.

        "You're letting yourself die because I didn't take you back?" Usually, you kept relationships, even one night stands, under wraps. You didn't kiss and tell. Except, being ridiculously high was not your usual.

        That gave the bickering between the Mark's pause. 

        Her lip twitched. "You killed my brother, asshole." Oh. She didn't come for you in a romantic sense. She came for revenge, first for the city, then for you. 

        The dark cracks in Phantom's heart deepen. Mohawk smirked, still getting used to the idea that Dregs was not a cute hero name. Shoulder Pad's legs flexed, ready to move, to slice off Psychopomp's head for how she spoke to his pet. The Viltrumite in the sky lowered a degree to hear the drama that much better.

        Guilty as charged. "No, I didn't." You lie, because her little junkie brother didn't pay what he owed so yeah, Machine Head had you kill him. "Multi-Paul did."

        "Multi-Paul was in prison when he went missing." She was swaying. Soon to die if she didn't do something.

        "Not every Multi-Paul." You counter, absolutely full of shit. "Are you really going to let yourself die over an assumption?"

        Her knees looked ready to give when she said, "Up n'attem." 

        Light blinded you. Made Lensless groan and fall on his ass. The light was gone soon as it'd come. 

        The dead rose. Bodies not healed, still dripping and oozing, but crackling with the anger of the recently deceased. "Mercy, fix me."

        The headless body rose her caduceus staff high before slamming its end to the ground. More light. Your headache worsened despite the codeine supposed to be suppressing it. 

        When the light faded, Psychopomp had arms again. She'd gone pale from blood loss, still staggering. She held out her arms, sleeveless and baby-skin smooth, hands glowing as brought back more of the dead. 

           Dog Girl was first to rise, blood still spilling out of her neck. Kidult stood, body facing forward, head facing back. Running Man hobbled forward using arms as legs, guts trailing behind him like streamers. Then there were the civilians. Wes and his coworkers, innocent streetwalkers, alley lurkers, anyone and everyone within a hundred food radius.

        The pièce de résistance? Seventeen, shambling to his feet, fists twitching shut.

        "You're kidding me." Emperor Shoulder Pads sneered, launching forward to put a hole through Psychopomp. "You're seriously making us kill you again?"

        But you'd though ahead, you started speaking the second Psychopomp stared necromancing. The word, "Stop," out of your lips before he could move more than two inches.

        He stills. Hovering an inch off the ground. Body shaking with effort to throw off your control. Eyes wild on you, animal angry.

        Lensless let out a whooping cackle. "Oh thank God! I thought we were already done! This is gonna be awesome, I've never killed a zombie before!" His muscles tense under his suit, weight shifting as he decides who to pounce on first.

        His yelling makes your ears twitch.

        "Be still." You tell him and he is. You turn to the next, "Stay," and the next, "Don't move." You leave out the one in the sky. He hadn't posed a threat yet. 

        You flex your fingers, telling Psychopomp to bring the troops in. Let the zombies get in their first hits before your hold weakens. Which it already was. Nose bleeding, balance wavering, you were so sleepy and heavy-limbed despite the situation. Your heart slowing and vision blurring at the very edges. You knew what it meant. 

        The dead move like a wave. Slipping past you, leaving brushes of blood where they made contact. Fists and feet and bloody stumps came down on the versions of your ex. You refreshed your hold with the same turns of phrase. Bending down to grab the half-drunk bottle and finishing it to hopefully help.

        Throat roadkill raw. Ready to puke again, but you force your stomach to steel. You could puke when they were dead. 

        Except, the zombies, superpowered or not, leave no marks on the Mark's. Save for Seventeen, currently walloping the everloving shit out of Lensless. Socking him again and again, twisting his head side to side with every punch. Jiggling bits of his remaining eyeball falling to the ground.

        You'd have to step in more. Despite the sleepiness washing over you. The blur worsening. Your lips feel slow, tongue heavy, "Hey you," You say to none of them in particular, "Kill eachother."

        The first command you'd set snaps. Lensless is first to move, lunging to Phantom with a cat's yowl. Leaving Mohawk and Emperor Whatever to duke it out. They shear through bodies of the dead. Leaving them deader than before as they move. Throwing punches, kicks and tossing each other into buildings. 

        It lasts about nine seconds before your hold is gone. The command too taxing, too much, too many people at once. 

        They stop all at once. Expressions varying from pissed to entertained. 

        He's on you in an instant. Hand on your throat, holding you feet above the ground. "You-" Shoulder Pads snarls. You kick at the air. Choking around his hand. "Fucking-" Vision goes from blurry to blackening. You hold onto his wrist for support. "Dare?" 

        You try to command him, but you can't. Voice box pressed firm to your larynx. His grip is bruisingly hard, but you know it's absolutely nothing for the likes of him. "I should kill you for that."

        The others were coming. Fists raised. Snarls tight. Even the holier-than-thou angel in the sky was going to touch down. All of them, ready to punch the shit out of him. Not thinking it'd kill their precious in the process.

        Zombies clawed at your feet. Psychopomp reached out, grabbing your ankle, trying to pull you down but only making you feel like a rubber band. Death came from all sides, it'd be quick, but man it'd hurt.

        ***

        His people met up with Mark. He and Eve were en route. One problem solved.

        "How much longer?" He shouted, standing over the teleporter. Techie's arms like blurs.

        Donald returned, holding only souped-up headphones. "The light room is ready with everything, sir."

        "Forty-five seconds!" 

        Cecil threw the headphones on. Speaking loud because he couldn't even hear himself, "We don't have that much time, send me now!" He stepped onto the teleporter platform, hitting the big red button on its side before the techies could protest.

        ***

        Everything happened so fast you couldn't register it. One second four guys were about to hit the guy choking you out so hard it'd shatter your body- the next- you were in a while room falling on your ass. Psyhopomp still holding to your ankle, both of you breathing heavy. The zombies that were touching either of you dropped instantly dead- again. Parts of them that were there seconds ago melted to the floor.

        "Good." A cool voice said, "I was worried it'd do that to you guys instead."

        A hand you hadn't noticed falls from your shoulder. Wrinkled and pale. He steps away, giving you much needed personal space. "Cecil Stedman, head of the GDA." He's tall, frail, and wearing the chunkiest headphones you'd ever seen. "We need your help."

        You move slowly, like you were moving through the same syrup you'd just drank. "Fuck you." You don't know who he is, what's going on, but you didn't want to hear it. You wanted to kill. You wanted to see the fucker who threatened your life die. You didn't want to be here. "Send me back."

        Your threat is a lot less impactful as Psychopomp almost vomits on your shoes. You scoot back with a snarl, though Cecil doesn't seem to mind. 

        "I can see your lips moving kid, but I can't hear you." He taps the headphones. "Got a look at what you can do and I don't want that pointed at me any day."

        Psychopomp scrambled to her knees then to her feet. "You-!"

        Cecil held up a hand, "There's no one to raise from the dead here, save it. I'm not your enemy."

        She swayed, foot to foot, still reeling from blood loss. "You better not be lying."

        "Still can't hear you. I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you're angry. You can be, at them, not me. We need your help, the both of you, to take these Invincible's down. Can't say we'll let you go after that, but you'll have jobs working for us." His gaze slides meaningfully over you, "And not on the streets."

        In your increasing stupor, you slur, "No, send me back. I've got- I've got to kill 'em all."

        He watches your lips move but does nothing to act on your behalf. "Look kid, we're really low on options here, so do me a favor and stop scowling. This'll go a lot easier for you if you cooperate." 

        Your vision goes blacker and blacker. "Send me back." You can't even put power behind your words anymore. Arms going limp by your side. You lay back, heaving, feeling yourself trying to duck and bob the effects of the overdose, "Send... send me..." You pull a bottle from your pocket, fingers too weak to uncap it.

        "Jesus." Cecil says, "You're going blue. Narcan her, now."

        There are hands on you, though you can't see them. All you see is white, Cecil, and Psychopomp. 

        Your head is tilted back, neck supported in a gloved palm. Something plastic is shoved into your nose. The spray shoots down your nasal passage, burning all the way. A scream ripping through your throat before the plunger is all the way down.

        Bone deep. The ache is in everything. Behind your eyes, inside your marrow. You're lying on your side, vomit spewed out on the floor in front of you. Esophagus on fire. The world comes back into focus with your heart beating erratically. 

        Cecil is crouched in front of you. "I know now's not the best time," he says, voice gentle but face hard set, "but I'm really gonna need you to work with me."

        You feel Psychopomp behind you, holding you steady on your side in case you seize. The hands on you are gone. 

        You peel your face off the floor, lucky it wasn't sticky with puke. Cecil holds out a hand to help you up. "Kill him." You say.

        Psychopomp lunges over your body. Hands posed to wring Cecil's neck. "I was hoping you wouldn't do this." A gun flies out of a hidden torso holster and connects with Psychopomp's temple. You don't hear the crack, but she crumples. "Get the muzzle."

        There's an order on the tip of your tongue, before you can look to find out who you're ordering, before the words can come out, a monstrosity of a muzzle is thrown over your jaw. A rubber stopper shoved between your teeth. Leather straps pulled tight as the muzzle is locked tight around your head. You claw, trash, kick but the invisible hands hold you down.

        "I'm sorry we have to do this," he says, not looking sorry at all.

        He touches your shoulder. "Take us there." He says to the emptiness.

        You are gone.

        Then back, in a different place. Green everywhere. Clear blue sky ahead. A quaint town all around you. Abandoned.

        You're on the ground. Grass soft under your bloodstained sweats. Cecil stands over you, his invisible men holding your hands behind your back. 

         Cecil looked down at you, "Tristan De Cunha." He says, "Most remote island on the planet. Used to be a town before the US Government bought it back in twenty-twelve. The safest place on the planet to be- for now."

        You writhe, uncaring about geography. 

        Cecil lets the headphones slide down to his neck. He presses a finger to his ear, "Muscle and bone density?" He asks.

        "That of an average human," comes a flat reply. Nothing special about you. 

        Cecil nods to himself, suspicion confirmed. "Good." He nodded his chin toward something behind you. "Don't let her hands free while you lock 'er up." 

        You're pulled ass backwards. Heels dragging, the only part of you touching the ground. It's no use. They're strong, and though you can't see them, they outnumber you three to one. Cecil follows, frowning. 

        You're pressed to a cold pole, moss crawling up the sides. At night its bulb used to come alive after sunset but now, on this southern island God knows where, it does not. Your arms are thrown behind your back. Something heavy is locked around one wrist. Secured so tough it nearly cuts off the circulation. You try to free your other arm, but just like the other, it is locked into the device. The pieces are sealed together in a massive metal cuff made for a berserker- not you. 

        The invisible soldiers step back. Their boots pressing imprints to the grass. "Thanks, boys." Cecil nods as they zap away. "Teleporter's fully online now." He says to himself more than you. "Look kid, I'm gonna do something you're not gonna like." If you could talk you'd ask 'more than you already have?' Reading your eyes, he says, "Things'll get worse before they get better. Just remember, after this you'll have a job with us."

        From his pocket comes a phone. He taps to the camera app and starts recording, only his face in frame.

        "Invincible, the people of Earth surrender." It's a lie, through and through, "No more military might will be sent your way. All governments are to stand down effective immediately. The planet is yours." The message could've ended there but instead he pans he camera down. To you muzzled, cuffed to a pole, uselessly fighting against metal and concrete. "As a show of good faith, we have (Y/n) (L/n) waiting for you on  Tristan De Cunha island. Two thousand five hundred miles east of Buenos Aires, one thousand five hundred miles west of Cape Town. We will make contact within the hour after she's been collected for negotiations." He ended the recording, pulled his hand through his remaining hair and sighed. "It's about the most obvious trap I've ever set but it just might work." 

        He sent the recording off. "That'll be playing on loop on every speaker and screen round the whole world in two minutes." His smile is wry, tired, uneven with scar tissue. "Don't let the fame get to your head." The smile drops as soon as appeared, "If they unmask you, don't do anything stupid. I'm sure I don't have to tell you twice, but these people are dangerous." You glare up at him, willing his head to explode. It doesn't. Your breathing is heavy. Saliva pooling around the muzzle bit. "You've got about ten minutes before they're all here so uh, brace yourself. We'll be watching."

        He disappears in a bolt of white-blue. You are alone, but not for long.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Your Enemy’s Lover (Hannibal)

Description: Hannibal is dating Jack’s adoptive daughter and really gets off on it.

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 993

Request:Can we please have a Hannibal one-shot, where Hannibal is in love with somebody,who‘s like a daughter to Jack and he totally gets off on it. That he (an enemy of Jack) has the heart of somebody who‘s so precious to him?

Hannibal nearly smirked at the thought of what he was doing or what he's been doing. Nothing has come close to getting him off quite like this and it was really getting him off. Jack was a good friend at one point, a great friend even and he worked with him many times. Jack had an adoptive daughter that he’s been raising since she was 14 and that was 10 years ago. Hannibal hadn’t met her until recently and it seemed that Jack wasn’t a fan of the fact that Hannibal and her knew each other and knew each other well. It was innocent at first, purely interest in each other but after everything happened and Jack realized who Hannibal truly was, Hannibal took it to a whole new level. He managed to get her in bed on many occasions and made sure she was satisfied and didn’t want to leave. The stories he heard about how pissed Jack was about it, got him off.

“What do you think?” He snapped back from the thoughts he was having and turned his head. There she stood in blood red lingerie that he had got her and she looked beautiful. He wasn’t even sure if it was her beauty or the thought of who he was fucking that did it for him. Maybe both? He gave her a smile and patted the bed. She obliged and got in the bed next to him. He ran a hand through her hair as she gazed up at him with lustful eyes, she was wet and so ready for him.

“How did he take it?” He asked. She sighed and rolled her eyes, the last thing she wanted to talk about was Jack. She leaned up to kiss him, “You know he kills the mood.” She mumbles against his lips. Jack was furious more than ever, Y/N was moving in with Hannibal. Hannibal loved the idea of Jack being so furious that he had to offer it. He pushed her down on the bed and got on top of her, deepening the kiss. His hands are already roaming her perfect body.

Her hands were running down his back and back up. His back was so smooth and perfect for her fingers to run over, there wasn’t much about him that wasn’t perfect. He pulled away from the kiss to move to her neck. He loved leaving hickies for Jack to see. She was never good at hiding them. One, two, three hickies placed on her neck, his tongue licked over them. His hands moved under the babydoll she was wearing to touch her skin, his hands making her shiver in delight.

“Hannibal.” She mumbled against his lips as he cupped her boobs. His large hands around them as he pushed apart her legs to be in between them. She sighed as his fingers toyed with her nipples, making her squirm. Her hands now gripping his back. His hands moved down towards her panties that were getting wet, she gasped quietly as she felt him pull them down some to get to her pussy.

She shaved everything and still felt so hot. His finger ran up her slit and she gripped his back, tight. “You’re so wet.” He told her and pulled his finger up to his mouth to suck the juices off. She nearly came watching him do that. He moved his finger back down there and rubbed her clit, causing her to let out a loud moan. He adored the pretty sounds she would make with her mouth near his ear.

She loved the feeling of his fingers on any part of her body, especially her pussy. He watched her pretty face try to hide how much pleasure she was in, “Don’t hide from me. Show me how good I make you feel.” Her hips moved to meet with his finger and he let her for a while. His eyes never left her face as she whined and moaned for him. “You’re gonna make me cum, Hannibal.” She warned him and he sped up his movements.

That was the goal, he thought as her breathing picked up. Her pussy pulsed under him and gushed as she came, holding back a scream. She was shaking and whining as she rode out her high. She didn’t open her eyes until she came back down from her high, Hannibal licking and sucking his finger. “You never fail me.” She whispered and he smirked, taking off his boxers. Her eyes widened at the feeling of his hard dick against her.

She would never get used to his size. He didn’t waste any time and entered her. He held back a loud moan as he pushed inside of her, his eyes closed and his face in her neck. Her nails dug into his back and he groaned. He let her adjust to him before he gave a thrust. She cried out his name and he took that as a  sign to keep moving. As his hips thrusted into her, they both made noises of pleasure so loud that if Hannibal had neighbors they would hear. “I have a secret.” He said and she was so lost in pleasure that she couldn’t even question him.

“I love the fact that I get to fuck you every night, knowing that he hates it.” He growled and her eyes opened. She let out a loud moan as she felt him cum after saying that. He kept thrusting until he pumped her full of cum, her second orgasm still pending. He pulled out of her and before she could say anything his finger was inside of her, “I plan to keep you full of my cum and breed you.” Her eyes rolled as he hit her g spot over and over again. When she had came and Hannibal was already asleep next to her she stared at the ceiling with wide eyes, what has she done?

[teastyun]

✧.* Abby and her strap headcanons

a/n: daydreaming about a buff woman and her strap reversing women's rights ❤️ masterlist ; pt. 2

-> Abby who loves to fuck you slow and deep when you need the exact opposite, "you want me to go faster? huh, what a whore. beg for it then."

-> Abby who fucks you senseless when you're being a brat, "where did all that attitude from a few minutes go all of a sudden, huh?" ; "cat caught your tongue?" ; "you wanna be a good girl for me? my good girl..."

-> Abby who would always make you sit on her lap at parties and gatherings while her clothed strap beneath you drives you into agony, resulting in you pretending to be sick and get home early to fuck until sunrise (please, I'm on all fours begging)

-> Abby who always wants you to cockwarm her like it's her real dick, "stop moving, princess," ; "if you clench like that we'll never be able to rest," ; "fuck, I can't take it anymore."

-> Abby who always puts her strap on when you guys go on dates and bends you over whenever you're in private, plunging her dick deep into you while pressing her hand on your mouth to suppress your screams (one time somebody called the police because of your noises)

-> Abby who swears your pussy was made for only her to fuck, watching her dick slip in and out so easily

-> Abby who's in heaven when you blow her while she drives, your stifled moans and wet noises making her almost come on the spot, not caring about anyone catching you

-> Abby who manspreads when you're sitting across her and smirks when your eyes would catch several glimpses of her packed crotch, knowing you'll both get no sleep today

-> Abby who is railing you deep into the mattress when you bought her a breeding strap for her birthday, forgetting about any plans you two had with y'all's friends for the day

-> Abby who is by your two's first time using it extremely fascinated by it and can't stop filling you to the brim, watching the fake semen combined with your cum gush out of your pussy like a waterfall in repeat

-> Abby who takes polaroid pictures anytime you squirt and collects them in her wallet (her friends are making fun of her thick wallet, not knowing that in there are actually slutty pictures of you, not cash)

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Mrs. Mathers

The moment the tracklist for Mrs. Mathers dropped, the Internet exploded.

Your name had been trending within minutes. Music blogs scrambled to break the story first, fans flooded comment sections with shock and excitement, and a good portion of Marshall’s fanbase collectively lost their minds.

"A whole album? About Eminem? There’s no way this is real."

"How did I forget they were even married??"

"She’s literally the human embodiment of a Disney princess, and she’s married to him??"

"THE TRACKS. ‘Love You Madly’?? ‘Shady’s Baby’??? ‘Stan (Remix)’????"

And, of course, the usual:

"What does Marshall think about this??"

Your phone buzzed nonstop as notifications rolled in, but you ignored them. Instead, you curled up on the couch, watching as your husband scrolled through his own phone, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You seein’ this?” he asked, turning the screen toward you.

It was a meme of your album cover next to his most recent one, captioned: This couple makes absolutely no sense and I love them for it.

You laughed, leaning into his side. “They act like they’re just now figuring it out. Like we haven’t been doing this for two decades.”

Marshall shook his head, setting his phone down and wrapping an arm around you. “Yeah, but you did just drop a whole-ass album about me. Kinda put it right in their faces.”

You grinned, tilting your head up to press a kiss to his jaw. “I wanted to do something special. Twenty years of being Mrs. Mathers deserves a celebration.”

His expression softened, a rare moment of unguarded emotion crossing his face. “Yeah? Well... you nailed it.”

You could tell he meant it, even if he wasn’t the type to gush. He’d always supported your music, even when your styles couldn’t have been more different. You had pop ballads about love and hope; he had diss tracks and rapid-fire verses that could tear people apart. And yet, somehow, you’d made it work.

The Internet would never understand it, but that was fine. They didn’t have to.

“You listen to it yet?” you asked, nudging him playfully.

He scoffed. “Course I did. Heard it before the rest of the world, didn’t I?”

“And?”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face like he was about to admit something difficult. “A’ight, fine. It’s good. Real good.”

You gasped dramatically. “Marshall Mathers, complimenting a pop album? Somebody write this down.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Shut up.”

You laughed, snuggling closer, content to ride out the Internet chaos from the comfort of your husband’s arms. Let them freak out. You had twenty years of proof that love didn’t have to make sense to anyone but the people in it.

And that? That was worth singing about.

[concretejunglefm]

I'm not ready to let you forget me (part 2).

*edit credit goes to the lovely @defuckingthrone-dot-com

You told your friends you want me dead And said that I did everythin' wrong And you're not wrong

An anon request for lovers to enemies ->playlist, part 1, part 2 , part 3, part 4, part 5

Summary: It’s been two years since Noah cheated on you, abruptly ending your relationship. However, the universe seems to have a peculiar sense of humor in its plan to reunite you.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader.

CW: none really. Mentions of cheating, Noah can be an overall asshole and a tad bit of angst.

WC: 3.2k

Dividers: Silent-stories.

It's a Friday night, in Vegas no less, and instead of being out on the strip, Sloan has dragged you to the hotel bar.

"Is there a reason for why we're in here and not out on the strip right now?"

"Because, the night is young and there are plenty of hot people here for you to mingle with." She says, nudging your hip. You look out at the sea of people and make a face, using your glass to hide it from Sloan's view while taking a sip of your drink, as you make your way through them from the bar to a booth. 

You hadn't come here seeking a hookup, instead, you wanted a chance to clear your head. However, that had become impossible since the reason for your mental turmoil was now occupying the room next door.

You fall into the booth with a huff, moving over for Sloan to scoot in beside you as she leans in closer to speak to you over the music.

"You know what they say, to get over someone you need to—"

"Don't you dare say get under somebody else."

"Guy or girl, either will do." Sloan shrugs.

Sadly your experiences with women ended just as tragically as they did with men.

"Have you ever noticed how hot Jolly is?"

Sloan's unsolicited comment about Noah's bandmate and friend draws your attention as you follow her gaze and witness five familiar faces entering the bar. It doesn't surprise you and yet now you wish that you were anywhere but here.

"No, I can't say that I have." You're hopeful she catches the disinterest in your tone.

"Oh come on, look at him. Those tattoos, that long hair, the accent! God he's dreamy." She says, bringing her straw to her lips, taking a sip of her drink. "I bet he's a charmer too, a real gentleman."

"Are you really gushing over him right now?"

"A girl can look, can't she?" She briefly glances at you before returning her gaze to Jolly, who stands at the bar with his friends. "Besides, there's something about his age that really ignites my daddy issues."

"Okay, I think you've had enough of this." You reach for her glass, pulling the mixed cocktail away from her.

"I wonder if he likes to be called daddy."

"Please don't." You grimace at the thought.

Your mind had been plagued by what ifs when it came to Noah and his ex. The last thing you needed was to imagine any scenario involving his bandmate and his preferences in the bedroom.

"I'm going to ask him." She declares, shuffling herself to the edge of the booth.

"Sloan!"

"What? I told you, you need to go find someone to help you get over Noah and I need someone to just get my leg over." She laughs and you roll your eyes.

She's like a cat in heat when she finds someone she's interested in. You just wish it weren't someone so closely connected to Noah, and that she wouldn't abandon you right now to pursue them.

You watch her approach Jolly from across the bar, following her usual routine of leaning against him, brushing herself closer, and whispering something in his ear. Almost like clockwork, he finishes his glass of brown liquor and slips off with her.

She's too predictable.

For a fleeting moment, your eyes meet Noah's as you scan the bar. He notices your gaze and raises his glass in a toast. You decide to ignore it, downing your drink and the remaining contents of Sloan's before slipping out of the booth to head to your room for the night, maybe you'll even order room service.

Hopefully tomorrow will have a better start to it.

"He has got to be fucking kidding me." You grumble under your breath, huffing as you roll over and pull your pillow over your head to muffle out the sound currently coming through the wall you share with Noah.

Between the rhythmic banging against the wall and the high-pitched moans you keep hearing, it's safe to assume he isn't alone in there. If his intention had been to annoy you, unfortunately, it was working. You assume it's just another one of his many tactics to get under your skin.

So far, this weekend has been anything but peaceful, and you're starting to regret coming.

Even the tv does little to drown out the noise that is coming through the wall your bed is against.

Eventually, the noise all becomes too much and you find yourself throwing the covers off, drag yourself out of bed with a hefty sigh, deciding to confront the matter at hand and potentially tell him to shut the fuck up.

Rapidly knocking on Noah's hotel room door, you huff and the moment he opens it, you're met with him shirtless, wearing only his boxers. His chest glistens with what could easily be sweat or maybe water. From the sounds you'd heard coming through the wall from his room, you guess it to be the first, especially when you hear the heaviness in his breath.

"Oh hey, we're not being too loud are we?"

Your eyes narrow on him. You hadn't even spoken a word for why you were here, but he had already apparently figured out your reasoning.

"If you're entertaining guests, do you mind keeping it down?" You attempt to peer behind him and into the room, Noah purposely moving his larger frame to block you.

"Sorry. Had no idea we were being that loud." There's a smug grin on his face and what you wouldn't give to slap it off him.

It's two in the morning and perhaps for Vegas that is still early, but for you it's the middle of the night.

"Of course not. So, what unfortunate girl did you manage to convince to come home with you this time, huh?" Crossing your arms over your chest, you raise an eyebrow.

You have no genuine reason or explanation for asking him this, as if you genuinely care to know. Besides, the room has now fallen silent, compared to the incessant noise you were hearing through the wall just moments ago.

"Well…" Rubbing his hand against the back of his neck, a sheepish expression crosses his face, which causes your own brow to furrow.

Then his words are cut off by the sound of a familiar giggle, your eyes widening as you hear the stretched out sound of his name from a voice which turns your blood cold. "Noooowah."

"No, wait! I can explain!" Noah reaches for you as you quickly turn back in the direction of your room, almost catching his fingers in the door when it slams shut behind you.

You spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, the sound of Noah's ex's voice playing on repeat in your head after hearing it come from his room. You more so hate the fact that you're allowing it to bother you at all, but the look on his face had almost screamed guilt to you.

What you hate even more is indulging in a Google search, which inevitably leads you down a rabbit hole, revealing that his ex-girlfriend will indeed be present at the festival they're scheduled to perform at on Sunday.

By morning, you're grumpy and sleep-deprived, but the thought of staying in the room next to them for any longer becomes increasingly irritating. With a heavy sigh, you drag yourself out of bed, quickly showering and changing. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, you decide to explore the hotel and send Sloan a text, informing her of your plans.

"Excuse me?" You look up, only to find yourself once again face to face with the same asshole front man you've been trying to avoid.

It's been an hour of peace this morning and somehow, even in a busy hotel, he still manages to cross paths with you.

"What?" You say through gritted teeth, before you realize that the voice hasn't come from him.

It had been feminine and soft, coming from a young girl who stood nearby, with two of her friends.

"I'm sorry. I was wondering if you would mind taking a photo for us? We're such huge fans of him and..."

You don't need to hear the same old drivel. 

Huge fans, their first time meeting him, would love a group photo, yada yada yada. It wasn't your first time standing on the sidelines and becoming an unofficial photographer for him and the fans who spotted him while he was out.

Catching sight of Noah's face, you see him raising his brows as if to express his silent shame regarding your rudeness directed at the young girl.

"Of course she wouldn't mind." He quickly interjects before you have a moment to register and refuse, forcing a smile as you take her phone from her.

"I'd be delighted." It was a lie, but you could hardly say no now. You'd already been an asshole once.

Lifting the phone, you glance at them through the screen before calling out. "Say cheese." They all comply in unison, the girls striking poses and huddling close to their idol, while Noah raises his signature peace sign.

As soon as you return the phone, Noah has already slipped away and headed back towards his group bandmates, who are eagerly waiting for him.

"Asshole." you mutter to yourself, only to overhear the girls as they begin examining their photo and giggling among themselves.

"Do you think he's single?" One asks.

"I hope so. I might try and shoot my shot with him if he is." Another responds, and you roll your eyes before casting a quick glance behind them, back in Noah's direction as you speak, making sure your voice is loud enough for him to potentially hear.

"I heard he ghosts girls once he gets bored of them." You look back towards the group of girls after catching Noah's head turning slightly in your direction.

"Then I'd just have to make sure he didn't get bored of me." The first girl responds.

"Good luck with that." You throw out a fake smile, catching Noah and his group of friends walking back in your direction. "Just make sure to get yourself tested if you're stupid enough to become one of his groupies." 

As Noah passes by, you turn your full attention to him, speaking more to him than to the girls you're warning. "You never know where he's been."

"There you are!" You hear Sloan before she slips her arm around yours, dragging you away. Leaning in closer, she briefly glances back to the group of girls you had been standing near before asking. "Who are they?"

"Some of Noah's groupies." You make no effort to hide the annoyance in your tone, Sloan catching on and nodding.

"Right. Well, forget about them and Noah."

That had been the plan, you think, but you bite your tongue instead of letting the retort slip, following her lead through the hotel until you reach one of the restaurants serving breakfast.

"I've heard this place is great." She declares, slipping into a booth as you shuffle in on the same side next to her.

"Well after last night I could really do with a sugar rush right now." You reach for the menu, looking over the pancake options.

You pay no mind to the sudden influx of noise behind you, until you hear Sloan's voice. "Hi Jolly."

You whip your head around, almost giving yourself whiplash in the process, and see the table behind you is now occupied with the familiar sight of the Omens, Noah sitting himself on the booth which backs right onto your own.

"Oh, didn't see you there."

"Funny that." You force a grin and turn your attention back onto the menu before hearing him chime up once more.

"What are you thinking of getting? I heard the pancakes are great."

You know the question is directed to you. You can sense his presence, the heat of his gaze hovering just inches away from your shoulder as he scans the menu in your hands. In a sudden burst of energy, you slam it down onto the table, turning your head just enough to be face-to-face with him.

"Do you really have to sit here? A whole restaurant and you choose here."

"It's got the best view." A smug grin breaks out across his face.

"What?" Your voice inches a couple of octaves higher as though ready to scream at him before he draws your attention to a nearby window.

"Of the strip."

As quickly as your blood pressure has risen, it lowers again and you almost feel dizzy from it. 

"I think I'm going to be sick." You mumble, turning yourself back around and leaning forward against the table, holding your head in your hands.

"Late night or something?"

He just doesn't know when to stop. Even worse is his friends don't even make an attempt to stop him or advise him to shut the fuck up.

"Not as late as you." You throw back, lifting your head and briefly glancing over your shoulder. "Besides, it's kind of hard to sleep when your neighbor is making a ruckus all night. What time did your guest slip out last night, hm? You didn't want to invite her for breakfast?"

"Guest?" Folio asks. "We didn't have anyone in our—ow!" He cuts off as you catch Noah jabbing him in the side, furrowing your brow at them.

"What can I say? She's not as high maintenance as most girls."

"By that you mean she's easy."

"Easy to please, easy to leave."

Right at that moment, a server approaches your table, completely disregarding yours and Sloan's, as she attends to the group of guys at the table next to you. 

This makes you what you think is irrationally angry, until you hear Sloan mutter under her breath. "Bitch." 

You have to press your lips together to prevent your laughter from escaping, and then, from behind you, you hear Noah's voice.

"They're with us too." A glance behind reveals him pointing a thumb in your direction.

Once the server has taken your orders, you hear Nicholas speak up, looking over into your booth as he asks. "We were planning on going to a laser tag place this afternoon if you want to come?" 

"No."

"Yes!"

You and Sloan respond in unison, turning to look at one another as you respond with the same answers again.

Forcing a smile, you lean in as you speak under your breath to her so as not to allow any of the guys, particularly Noah who is sitting in the booth which backs against your own, to hear. "I thought this was a girls weekend."

"Are you really going to pass up an opportunity to shoot the man who broke your heart in the chest? Even if it is fake?" She argues and you contemplate it.

You can't deny the idea isn't promising, perhaps even therapeutic.

"Good point." You nod and pull back, turning your head to look over at Nicholas. "Okay, we're in."

Though you don't look, you swear from the corner of your eye, you catch a grin forming on Noah's face.

"I can't believe that you've convinced me to do this." Looking over to Sloan, you shake your head, pulling on the vest for your laser tag session before stepping up to her for help tightening it where needed. 

"Would you rather be back at the hotel in the spa?" She gives you a look and you quickly cave, mumbling a 'no' under your breath.

Unlike Sloan, a spa day was hardly something you found enjoyable. You were more of an active person, and a game of laser tag, where you could potentially shoot your ex multiple times without feeling guilty or causing any harm, provided you with a much-needed form of therapy. 

"Then it's settled. You're all ready." She declares and gives herself a spin for you to admire her new combat laser tag look. "How do I look? Do you think Jolly would like it?"

"I think you could wear a black bag and still pull it off." You laugh, slipping out from the changing area and back into the waiting area. "Did you really hook up with Jolly last night?"

"A girl doesn't kiss and tell." Sloan raises a hand to flip her hair back over her shoulder.

"Please, you've told me, in excruciating detail, might I add, the things that have happened pre first date between you and someone else."

"I don't know what you mean. Some of us are a little more classy than those who will give their ex-boyfriends a quick jerk off in the tour bus bunk."

You scoff, your mouth dropping open. "Jolly told you about that?!"

Stepping up to the counter, you both receive your laser guns and hold yours up in aid of your threat that follows. "He'll be the first on my hit list."

The upside to running around in the dark with only LED lights lighting the way is you have yet to actually run into your ex. The room is big enough to spread out and hide, as well as avoid crossing his path. You almost start to wonder if he's here at all until you literally run into him.

The first thing you do is raise your laser gun to him and shoot before he bursts into laughter. "We're on the same team, you goof."

You look at the target lights on his vest and then the ones on your own, seeing they're in fact both red. "Fuck you." You grumble and attempt to shoot him again, though it causes no damage.

"You really want to shoot me that badly, huh?"

'Oh, you have no idea." Even in the dark your eyes lock dead onto his, feeling nothing but pure anger towards him.

Between his smug attitude this morning and the events you witnessed last night after banging on his door, you were more than prepared to take him down if necessary.

"Listen, about last night." 

You're both standing in the open, exposed to anyone who might still be in the game. Instead of suggesting that you move, you give him the chance to explain himself, especially since you notice movement behind him when you glance over his shoulder. 

"It's not what you think."

"Like I haven't heard that one before, Noah." You scoff, your gaze shifting back to him.

"I'm serious."

"I'm sure you are but unfortunately for you, I don't care." You take a step closer to him, your gun pointed at his chest once more.

"Have you not learnt that you can't do anything with that, yet?" He chortles and you gaze up at him,  a wicked grin crossing your lips. 

"I can't, but he can." You gesture behind his shoulder with a nod, and just as you do, Folio sneaks up behind him, firing his laser and causing him to be ejected from the game.

"How does it feel to be stabbed in the back by someone you thought you could trust?"

You're aware that he understands the metaphor here, that Folio's actions represent his own, and leaving him with a final smug grin, you dash to one of the dimly lit corners of the spacious room to complete the remainder of the round with the few of you who remain.

Although your team technically loses, it feels like a victory for you because it means Noah has lost. Considering his reputation as a sore loser, you find amusement in watching him sulk as you finally exit the laser tag arena.

Tagged: @fadingangelwisp @blade-dressed-in-red @deathblacksmoke @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @geminigirlfromfinland  @fuck1ng-queen @ichoosetenderomens @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @Chey-h @halfalgorithmhafdeity @annthepenguin @samanthasgone

[luvergirl-535]

something like love

part - 2

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 5.3k

c/w - language, slight angst if you squint, emetephobia warning

a/n - hi!! it’s odd for me to post two days in a row, so try not to get used to it! i just already had this written and wanted to share it so baddd. hope yall enjoy! also, this is unedited so once again, im begging, lmk if there’s any mistakes. and ofc tell me what you think!!

To be honest, Azzi hadn’t really known what to expect when they put their plan in motion. She and Paige had gone over the logistics, sure, but they’d only really skimmed over how they’d act in public, and whether they’d hold hands, and what kind of flirty things they’d say to each other. Azzi sort of regrets her decision to let Paige lead the way, because that makes her feel like she’s going into this blind, with no idea of how Paige is going to act when they’re together now. No idea of how things are going to change.

It is only the morning after their movie night, and here is what Azzi has learned so far:

For one, Paige doesn’t actually seem to be that big on hand-holding. The only time she held Azzi’s hand last night was when she led her to the doorway once the night was over, waving their joined hands goodbye to their friends.

Paige does, however, seem to be big on basically everything else.

Once the girls were done gushing and celebrating and asking (very invasive) questions, they’d all decided on some horror movie they’d seen the trailer for. Azzi hates horror movies and she guesses this is probably the reason why Paige advocated so hard to watch one. Because as soon as they turned the lights off and the scary intro music started, Paige wrapped her arm around Azzi’s shoulders, pulling her flush against her side. They stayed this way for around ten minutes before Paige claimed she had to use the restroom, but before she left, she kissed Azzi’s head and mumbled, “Don’t get too scared while I’m gone, baby,” into her ear. Azzi had swallowed thickly and nodded, and pretended not to notice Jana wiggling her eyebrows at her.

When the first real jumpscare happened, and Azzi screamed along with a few of the other girls, Paige chuckled quietly and leaned down to whisper, “You’re such a baby about this kinda stuff, Az.” Azzi had reacted how she normally would, slapping Paige on the arm and rolling her eyes, defending herself with a, “Shut up, I know you’re scared, too.” But what wasn’t normal was the way Paige fondly shook her head and nuzzled her cheek with her nose before pressing a kiss there, and then leaned back up to pull Azzi into her side once more, this time protectively. Azzi swore she could hear her own heart racing for a solid five minutes afterwards. It didn’t help that KK had looked back at them and said, “Aw, y’all grossing me out with how cute you are,” before turning back to the movie. Paige had snickered. Azzi had taken a deep breath, which did nothing to help with her composure.

Almost an hour into the movie, Paige rested her hand on Azzi’s thigh and squeezed, and she didn’t give Azzi any time to tame the fire in her belly before leaning into her ear once more and whispering, “You’re so stiff. You gotta chill,” and so, tamping down the need to cross her legs, Azzi’d obeyed and leaned her head on Paige’s shoulder.

At some point or another, she must’ve fallen asleep there, because all she remembers after that is a gentle pressure on her shoulder, jostling her softly, and a voice from her dreams saying, “Az, it’s late, we gotta go. Time to wake up, baby,” and Azzi opened her eyes to find Paige sitting beside her, giving her this look that Azzi had only ever caught glimpses of, and it was so soft she had to shut her eyes again.

“Thought we were sleeping over,” Azzi mumbled, stretching and then turning onto her side, realizing vaguely that somebody must’ve thrown a blanket over her.

“Nah, I figured we better sleep in an actual bed tonight.” Paige stroked back a strand of Azzi’s hair with incredible tenderness before taking her by the waist and hefting her into a sitting position. “C’mon. I’ll take you to mine, okay?”

Azzi had nodded sleepily, and had let Paige say all their goodnights while she hung off her arm with lidded eyes. Even in her half-sleep state, she didn’t miss the way the girls elbowed each other and gave knowing glances.

Now, Azzi stares at Paige, who lays sleeping just next to her, hair all splayed out and mouth hanging open. Azzi smiles softly at her. She and Paige have slept in the same bed hundreds—maybe thousands—of times, but this is different, because Azzi is allowing herself to pretend that it is. She imagines reaching out and waking Paige the same way Paige woke her last night, gently and lovingly, and then sharing a lazy morning together as a couple where they joke about morning breath and talk about their plans and hold each other.

But Paige grumbles, then shifts and blinks her eyes open, rubbing them a little before finding Azzi laying next to her. She smiles, but it’s not the same smile from last night—it’s not that tender, adoring smile, but rather the one Azzi is used to—the wide, toothy, beautiful but friendly one. “Oh, hey. Morning.”

“Morning,” Azzi mumbles, her indulgent fantasy broken, and she reminds herself just how careful she’ll have to be while she and Paige are doing this. She cannot allow herself too many delusions, cannot let her imagination run wild with the idea that their act is real. She cannot let herself get burned by this.

“You kept stealing the blankets last night.”

Azzi lies onto her back to avoid eye contact, staring up at the ceiling. “No, Paige, you were taking up the entire bed.”

“Cap,” Paige says, shoving her shoulder. Rough, friendly. Sisterly.

It’s silent for a second and then Paige turns onto her side. “Hey.” Azzi can feel her eyes burning into the side of her head. “We did pretty good last night, yeah? We seemed super in love and shit?”

Azzi doesn’t chance a glance over, staring stubbornly at the ceiling. “Yeah, P,” she agrees. “We did.”

——————————————

Finals come far too fast.

The last month of school is always hectic, and this year has been no different—Azzi’s spent the vast majority of her time studying, drinking her nostalgia away with friends, and then more studying on top of that.

Oh, and pretending to be in a committed relationship with Paige. That too.

Some days are easier than others—it’s not like they’re being forced to undress each other in front of an audience or anything. They haven’t even had to utilize pet names much. But it’s still…different. So different. Paige was touchy-feely with Azzi even before they started ‘dating’, so now, if they ever sit more than an inch apart or walk somewhere without wrapping their arms around each other, they get strange glances from their friends. A couple mornings ago, they were so hungover that they forgot about their whole act, and when they’d stumbled out of Paige’s room and began making breakfast without so much as a word to each other, KK had abrasively asked if there was ‘trouble in paradise’. Paige was all over her the rest of the day. After two weeks, Azzi is starting to get used to it.

At least they haven’t had to kiss. They haven’t even discussed it, and Azzi has been specifically avoiding that topic of conversation. She knows herself well enough to know that she can’t kiss her best friend and act normal about it.

Later, Azzi will curse herself for thinking this without knocking on wood after.

“So, we all know the rules of the game?”

“KK—“

“Girl, just answer the question!”

A pause, and then a bored chorus of yes’es.

“Yay!” With a big, tipsy smile on her face, KK places the empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle.

Paige groans and rests her head on Azzi’s shoulder. “KK, this is so fuckin’ lame.”

“For real!” Ice says from a few spots down. “We’re not in middle school.”

KK waves them off. “Girl, boo. Y’all are the lame ones. This‘ll be so much fun, you’ll be thanking me after.”

Everyone starts to groan in response to this, but Caroline, ever the mom, speaks up. “C’mon, guys, just play KK’s game.”

Unable to really say no to Caroline, the group shuts up. KK smiles excitedly. “Now that’s what I like to hear! Thank you, Carol.”

Azzi brings her hand up to rest on Paige’s back, and she’s proud that it almost comes naturally now, like her body knows that’s just what it’s supposed to do.

Nika breaks the peace a moment later with another teasing comment, which prompts KK to yell at her, and then everyone is talking amongst themselves, the room buzzing with late-night, drunk-college-students-before-finals energy.

Paige sighs deeply into Azzi’s shoulder, and she loves that she’s the only one who can hear it, who can feel it against her skin.

Putting her lips to Paige’s hair, Azzi mutters, “Wanna go downstairs?”

Downstairs is where Paige’s dorm is. Azzi’s is the floor they’re on now, and it’d probably make more sense to sleep there for the night. But Paige’s dorm, and more specifically, her bedroom, is where they’ve been gravitating to the past couple weeks. Azzi has always loved it there, the smell of Paige filling the very air, photos of the two of them on her nightstand, purple bedding so very Paige. And now it’s become something of a sanctuary, a way to escape their facade which can become cumbersome.

Usually, they’d be in bed by now, because Azzi likes to sleep early and Paige hasn’t been wanting to stay up without her. But Paige shakes her head at the question.

“No?” Azzi asks. “You’re not tired?”

“Mm, nah.” Paige glances up at her. “You?”

Azzi licks her lips. She swears Paige’s eyes track the movement, and linger for just a moment too long. She clears her throat. “Same.”

“Aight,” Paige says, turning back to her shoulder. “We can leave after this, ma.”

“Hey, lovebirds,” KK says, barely giving Azzi any time to shudder at Paige’s nickname. “Pay attention. You’re going first.”

Everybody’s looking directly at Azzi, and she shakes her head awkwardly. “Oh, no, I don’t think—“

“If you don’t wanna play, you gotta take a shot every round.”

Paige lifts her head up. “KK, that’s dumb. She doesn’t have to play if she don’t want to.”

KK smiles deviously. Paige flips her off, but Azzi pulls her hand down, rolling her eyes. “Okay, whatever.” She leans over into the middle of the circle, making Paige lean off of her, and spins the beer bottle.

It spins only twice before slowing down and, blessedly, landing on Aubrey.

The girls make a range of noises, mostly giggles, and then Aubrey leans into the circle to meet Azzi in the middle, smiling.

Once she gets close enough, Azzi whispers, “Liyah good with this?”

Aubrey raises her eyebrows. “I’on think it’s my girl we gotta be worried about.”

Confused, Azzi glances over her shoulder, and sees Paige staring intensely at them, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. The blank look on her usually lively face scares Azzi a little bit. She turns back to Aubrey, who also looks a little afraid.

“You’re good,” Azzi reassures her, because she is. Aubrey doesn’t know that Paige is just acting, because she’s the possessive type and of course, if she and Azzi were really dating, she’d be jealous even of her own teammates. But Azzi can’t tell Aubrey this, so instead, she leans forward and kisses her.

Aubrey lets out a noise, surprised, and it makes Azzi laugh because she probably should’ve warned her she was going in. The kiss can’t last more than two seconds before there’s a hand fisting Azzi’s shirt, pulling her back, and Paige is saying, “Alright, alright,” quite gruffly.

Azzi’s stomach does flips at Paige’s rough voice, but she’s tipsy (maybe a little bit more than tipsy) so she leans up to nuzzle Paige’s cheek rather than shying away from her. “Somebody’s jealous.”

“Yeah,” Paige says, “no one should be up on you like that.” And they’re obviously acting—but when Azzi pulls away to look at her, there’s something on her face that isn’t quite fake enough.

But then she’s smiling and saying, “Stop tryna steal my girl, Aubrey,” and Azzi’s heart contracts like it always does when Paige says stuff like this nowadays.

Across the circle, Aubrey takes her spin. It lands on Ice, and Ice is considerably more drunk than any of them, so the whole thing is pretty slobbery. The next spin—Nika—is mostly the same.

It goes like that for a while, a few people taking shots instead of kissing, and a few others taking shots for the hell of it. The bottle lands on Azzi once again and she fills her shot glass to the brim before taking it, needing to dull the feeling of Paige’s hand wrapped possessively around her waist.

By the time the bottle lands on Paige, they’re all pretty damn drunk.

Azzi knows it’s just a game, but she’s always hated seeing Paige with other people, and now is no different. Ashlynn laughs, because this whole thing is pretty fucking funny, but Azzi can’t help but sulk, glad to be under the guise of a relationship—glad she doesn’t have to hide her feelings for awhile.

Before leaning into the circle, Paige looks at Azzi and says, all lighthearted and buzzed, “Don’t pout at me, baby.”

There’s that roughness again, that tone in the back of her throat, and Azzi squirms when Paige presses a wet kiss to her cheek.

Paige and Ashlynn kiss, but they both laugh kind of hysterically so their teeth are pretty much just clashing, and when they’re done Paige wraps an arm around Azzi’s shoulders and spins for herself. And it spins, and spins, and spins, so many times Azzi gets dizzy watching it—

It gets to Amari, and it slows.

It passes by Inês, barely moving anymore.

The neck gets back to Paige, and Azzi wonders for one drunk second, What if it lands on Paige and she has to kiss herself? and she doesn’t even have the time to laugh at how ridiculous that is before the bottle stops, pointing almost accusingly at her.

The girls all cheer, oohing and laughing.

Paige laughs too, easy and casual because they’re supposed to be a couple, they’re supposed to have done this a thousand times, it’s supposed to be normal, normal, Azzi, act normal.

They should have known this would be inevitable.

Paige turns to her, still smiling but with a concerned, almost imperceptible furrow between her brow. Azzi obviously can’t refuse this kiss, can’t take a shot rather than kiss her girlfriend in front of all these people who know she’s her girlfriend.

So instead, she wills herself to nod and then she takes Paige by the collar and kisses her.

Strangely enough, the first thing Azzi takes note of isn’t actually the way Paige’s lips feel touching hers for the first time, or the fact that their teammates are watching them, wolf-whistling and giggling amongst each other.

No, instead, it’s the way Paige smells—the fact that the hair tickling Azzi’s cheek is sweet, vanilla, which means she washed her hair today. And it’s the way her hands cup Azzi’s jaw, cradling her like they do this all the time, thumbs rubbing gently against her cheekbones in a gesture soft enough to make Azzi gasp into her mouth.

She only snaps into it and really realizes, oh, Paige is actually kissing me right now, when Paige’s tongue teases against Azzi’s bottom lip. And it’s just for a second, Paige pulling away fast enough that Azzi thinks she must have imagined it, but it leaves her lip wet.

After that, Paige sits back, smiling at her but there’s that furrow between her brow again, imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know her as well as Azzi does, and she’s stroking Azzi’s cheek like a tick now, like she’s trying to figure something out.

The moment ends when the girls all clap like white people on a plane, and Azzi isn’t even paying attention to the teasing and cooing, because she’s too busy staring at Paige, wondering what she’s thinking about right now, wondering what about that kiss made her feel so damn…safe.

Whenever she thought about her first kiss with Paige, she expected butterflies, light-headedness—maybe even nausea. Comfort, the thing you feel when you come home to your small town after a semester away—that was not expected.

Paige blinks, that strange look on her face disappearing, and Azzi realizes that she’s still holding onto the front of her shirt. She pushes her away teasingly, and Paige laughs, wrapping an arm around her as she turns to the girls, waving off their teasing remarks, and as Azzi watches her profile, feels the wetness on her bottom lip cool, she knows that she is falling and thinks nobody will be there to catch her when she reaches the bottom.

——————————————

The next morning, Azzi wakes up and immediately regrets it.

Paige’s window blanket must’ve fallen down last night, because the sun is shining through the room and it is…loud. She rolls onto her side to try and get away from it, and then that problem is fixed but another rises in the form of an abrupt tummyache. And Azzi prides herself on being a strong person, but as soon as she gets a tummyache it’s over for her.

Also, maybe the loud sun problem isn’t as fixed as she thought because her head is beginning to pound. She can feel it beating against her skull in time with the beating of her heart, and somehow that gives her a feeling akin to motion sickness, which makes her tummy hurt worse. She is probably going to throw up very soon, and should get up so she doesn’t do it all over Paige’s bed, but that’s where the third problem arises: she is so comfy. How can she ever be expected to leave this bed when she’s so goddamn comfy?

“Yo, are you gonna puke?”

Azzi groans. “Probably.”

Azzi’s facing away, so she can’t see what Paige’s doing, but she hears sheets rustle and then a pair of footsteps on the hardwood floor. Soon enough, Paige is standing in front of her, holding a hand out. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

Azzi looks up, and that makes her stomach turn again, the back of her neck burning. “I don’t want to.”

“I’m gonna kill you if you puke on my bed. Like, actually.”

If Azzi threw up on Paige’s bed, Paige would probably usher her to the bathroom, give her some water, and clean the sheets without complaining about it until a few days later. But Azzi still doesn’t think that’d be a good idea, so she sits herself up and is about to accept Paige’s hand when she realizes this is much more urgent than she thought. Almost as soon as her feet hit solid ground, the bile rises in her throat at an alarming rate and she has to run across the hall. She doesn’t make it to the toilet but manages the bathtub, which is arguably better.

Paige is there once she’s done, tying her hair up into a ponytail. “That it?”

Azzi spits. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay. Lemme grab you some pepto or somethin’. Hang tight.”

Once Paige walks away, Azzi wipes her mouth and all at once, like the tide coming in, remembers how the lips now coated in spit and bile were yesterday on Paige’s.

Of course, she also remembers the pet names, the affection, the flash of jealousy in Paige’s eyes that may or may not have been there. But it’s the kiss, the wonderful, tipsy, warm kiss that wrestles its way to the forefront of her pounding head and stays there, the memory replaying quite a few times before Paige comes back with pepto bismol and water. “Here.”

Azzi looks disdainfully at the bright pink medicine. “I don’t think I can swallow that, P.”

“Whoa, pause.“

“Chill,” Azzi says, rolling her eyes. “Gimme that.” she takes them from Paige’s hand and manages to swallow one before throwing up again, this time with Paige by her side to hold onto her while her shoulders heave.

“Aw,” Paige tuts sympathetically when she’s done. “My lil lightweight.”

Azzi rests her head on the edge of the tub while Paige turns on the tap, washing the bile away.

Azzi lifts her head enough to see Paige sit against the wall across from her. “Feel okay now?”

Her throat burns, and her tummy hurts, and throwing up in front of the love of your life is not a glamorous experience. But with Paige here with her, taking care of her, she doesn’t feel too bad.

If it only weren’t for that really good fucking kiss.

Azzi nods weakly even though she doesn’t know the answer, because saying ‘I hate the fact that we kissed last night, not because I regret it—I’ve been wanting to do it since we were kids in high school—but because now I’m worried I won’t be able to keep my feelings hidden for much longer which is worrisome because we haven’t even left for Montana yet, and also I wonder what this means for us and our fake relationship, because if it means kissing will become a normal thing I don’t know if I can do this’ would probably be weird.

“K, good. Thanks for not puking in my bed.”

Azzi smiles weakly at her, mouth still tasting like bile. How could Paige ever return her feelings when she has seen her like this a hundred other times?

Paige reaches a socked toe out to nudge Azzi’s calf. “Okay, you said you feel better, but you still look kinda…green.”

Azzi looks Paige in the eye, and manages maybe a second of eye contact before she’s thinking about how they looked at each other just like this after they kissed last night, and there it goes, the moment playing in her head once and then again. She can’t help but groan and rest her burning cheek to the cool tub.

And the universe should go to hell for making them best friends because Paige gets it instantly. “Oh, this is about last night.”

Suddenly the cool tub isn’t helping anymore. Azzi weakly shakes her head, but she knows the truth is showing plainly on her face.

“Yeah, whatever.” Paige pushes herself off the wall, wiggling her eyebrows. Azzi senses trouble. “It was a good kiss, huh?”

Azzi balks, then tries to reel it in. “That’s not…Paige…”

“Hold up,” Paige says, looking genuinely a little confused. “You don’t think I’m a good kisser?”

“No, no, but I just…” how can Paige talk about this so casually, like it was meaningless, something to be joked about? Azzi envies her lack of feelings. “Don’t you think we should talk about it?”

“Uh, I mean…” Paige scratches the side of her neck, and it occurs to Azzi that the bathroom isn’t an amazing place to talk about this. “Yeah, sure. If you want to.”

Not exactly an encouraging answer. Azzi strives on nonetheless. “It was our first kiss.”

“Yeah. Guess we coulda planned it better.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Azzi trails off. “Don't you think it was sort of…weird?”

Paige frowns again. “Damn! If you didn’t like the kiss just say that.”

Azzi hopes she can blame her flushed cheeks on the hangover. “P, I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that you’re my best friend—“

“That’s me.” Paige smiles proudly. It’s too fucking cute.

“And,” Azzi says pointedly, “I feel like, weird, about kissing you.”

She waits for Paige to answer, but Paige just stares, apparently waiting for her, too. Azzi sighs. “I worry we won’t be able to fake it well enough.”

“We did fine last night, didn’t we?”

“We were drunk last night.”

Paige makes a face. “I guess. But I feel like we’d do good even if we were sober, y’know?” She leans her head back against the wall. “And it’s not like kissing’s a big deal, anyway.”

Azzi’s eyes drop down to the tiled floor, cold against the thin material of her sleep pants. “Maybe not to you,” she mumbles.

There’s a shuffling, and then Paige is closer than before, nudging Azzi’s knee with her own. “Yeah, you’re right, that’s my bad.” There’s a silence, both of them thinking, and Azzi wonders if maybe Paige is thinking the same thing she is. About how their kiss last night felt…different. Different than a kiss between two friends, different than the other kisses with other people felt. And the look Paige gave her afterward…

But then Paige says, “Wanna practice, ma?” and Azzi was a fool to ever think they’d be on the same track.

Azzi splutters for a moment. “Practice?”

“Yeah. To prepare, in case we have to do it again,” Paige says casually, like it’s no big deal at all.

“I don’t think that’s…that’s not—“ Azzi cuts herself off on a sigh. Then she looks at Paige, really looks at her, and that’s when she catches the glint in Paige’s eyes, and she realizes—she’s messing with her. She’s taking advantage of Azzi’s obvious shyness about this whole thing.

What a little shithead.

Making a quick decision, Azzi leans forward a little bit, glancing down, then back up, looking at Paige through her lashes before she licks her lip.

Paige clocks it, tracks it with her eyes. Just like last night.

Azzi swallows down the nervousness and wills herself to be normal, reminds herself that this is Paige, and she has no reason to sink into her shell when she has the opportunity to take the upper hand.

“Okay,” Azzi says after a moment.

Paige’s eyes flit up, away from her lips. “Okay?”

Azzi nods, then lifts her hand to place over Paige’s knee, bare in her sleep shorts, before she dances her fingers delicately up her thigh. “You wanna practice kissing me, Paige?”

Paige swallows thickly. And then she nods.

Okay. So. That’s…unexpected.

Paige wants to kiss her.

That would explain the lip-ogling.

Azzi has half a mind to make the biggest mistake of her life and close the gap between them, but then she remembers they are sitting on the bathroom floor, and, ew, she just threw up. Twice.

Azzi manages what she hopes is a cocky smirk and leans away. “Well, too bad. Sick, remember?”

Paige’s eyes widen, like she’s just been snapped out of a trance. “Oh. Yeah.” She backs off then, relief coursing through Azzi, before she’s standing up and dusting off her shorts as she reaches down to help Azzi up. “You good to stand?”

Ok. So they’re not talking about it. Cool.

Azzi nods and takes Paige’s hand, her palm warm against her own as their fingers entangle for the two seconds it takes to go from sitting to standing, feeling a little dizzy from the altitude once she’s up.

Paige frowns at her. “You still look kinda messed up. How ‘bout you lay down. I can go get us some food? Gotta fuel up for all the studying today.”

Azzi groans, palming her face. “No, I forgot about finals.”

“Azzi Fudd? Forgetting about finals?” Paige teases, leading them out of the bathroom. “Last night really fucked you up, huh?”

“Yeah,” Azzi mumbles. “It was definitely the alcohol that did it.”

Paige glances back at her but doesn’t say anything, sitting Azzi down on the edge of the bed once they get there. “Okay, sit here and chill out. Lemme know if you need to puke again.” She smiles down at her, and Azzi smiles weakly back, before the older girl is turning on her heel and walking out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. Another door opens somewhere down the hall and then one of the girls’ voices mixes in with Paige’s as the roommates converse too quietly for Azzi to really hear. She sighs and flops down on the bed, hands wringing nervously at her stomach as she stares at the ceiling.

She has really gotten herself into some shit this time.

Her phone starts buzzing from its place on the nightstand, and Azzi straightens up to check it, her mother’s face flashing on the screen. Anxiety coils in Azzi’s belly at the sight of her mother’s contact, which usually brings her so much comfort.

Ever since she and Paige ‘came out’ to their friends, Azzi has been avoiding her mother like the plague. She knows she should just come out and tell Katie, but she’s not sure what she should tell her.

Azzi knows that Katie would disapprove if she found out about their little scheme, the woman avidly against lying. But if Azzi were to tell Katie what they’ve been telling everyone else—that they are a disgustingly happy, perfectly real couple—she’d be lying to her mother. And with Katie being her main confidante throughout her entire life, Azzi’s never really been good at that. She hasn’t gotten enough practice.

Not without guilt, Azzi lets it go to voicemail, holding her phone close to her chest afterwards, lying back down. She feels nauseous again at just the thought of lying to her mom. But if she came clean, would Katie make her feel guilty about it? Urge her to tell the truth, even if it meant not helping Paige like she promised she would?

Just as Azzi’s about to head back to the bathroom, Paige comes to the bedroom, leaning through the doorframe. “Toast’s almost done, Az.”

Azzi nods but doesn’t move. Paige lingers, sensing that Azzi’s going to say something.

Finally, after some internal debate, Azzi says, “What do you think I should tell my mom?”

Paige frowns. “I thought you talked to her already.”

Azzi shrugs. “We haven’t called. I’ve been avoiding her, but I feel bad about it.”

Paige bites her lip like she always does when she’s thinking, and it eases some of the tension out of Azzi’s shoulders, softening her around the edges. She leans against the doorframe, looking right at Azzi. “Well, what do you wanna do?”

Azzi shrugs helplessly.

Paige scrunches her nose (very cutely) and says, “Honestly, I don’t think we should tell her. Not yet, at least.”

Azzi heaves out a breath, not liking the sound of that answer. “You think?”

“Yeah. Have you met your mom?” Paige smiles fondly. “Lady can’t keep a secret for shit.”

“You’re right.” Azzi hadn’t thought of that, the fact her mom’s the town gossip. “She’d probably have the truth out before we could even finish telling her.”

Paige nods in agreement. “Exactly. Plus, it’s easier to tell everyone the same story, right?”

“I guess.” Unsteady, Azzi pushes herself up from the bed, walking over to Paige slowly. “You still sure this is a good idea?”

“Even if I wasn’t,” Paige says, “we’re too deep in it now.”

Azzi looks up at her solemnly. “The point of no return.”

“Uh-huh.” Paige sighs out a breath, looking almost regretfully at the girl in front of her. “Sorry again, about asking you to do this. I know it’s kinda a whole thing now.”

Azzi’s shaking her head before Paige can even finish. “I already told you, it’s fine. We go to Montana soon, and before we know it we’ll be done.” Azzi’s stomach sort of sinks at the thought. No more flirting, no more cheek-kissing, no more Paige protectively slinging an arm around her shoulder while they’re in public like she’s telling everyone Azzi’s her’s.

Azzi manages what she hopes is an optimistic smile anyway. “Let’s go eat breakfast. And then I’ll call my mom back and we can tell her together?”

Almost as if reading her mind, Paige easily wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as she leads her down the hallway. “Alright, ma. Sounds good to me.”

@smiths-fan--13 @ch12334

[melathan]

han jisung x camgirl! reader drabble

word count — 1.9k

warnings — NSFW, 18+. needy! jisung, soft dom! reader. mentioned pornography, masturbation + mutual masturbation, praise, toy usage, use of nicknames (babygirl, good boy), light teasing

editor note — first work posted! hope you guys enjoy^^

It’s hard being a talented and hardworking idol year-round, especially when there’s little time to blow off steam. Of course, perhaps his management allowed his group to go out a couple of nights of the year, and let the idols live freely. But for Han Jisung, meeting new people… wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

Well, obviously, he wanted to meet new people. He tried to find friends outside of Stray Kids, he tried to find acquaintances he can fuck around with–

He wanted somebody’s sexual attention.

Sure, rumors went around that his group sometimes mingled sexually. Sure, it may be true. But Jisung wanted to find somebody who would fulfill his erotic fantasies, his strange kinks, his insatiable libido. Especially when out of the 365 days, only a select few would be free to let him do so.

But, of course, his one problem: He can’t socialize with strangers. Talking to his fans was one thing– he just had to say hello, hear them gush about him, say thank you, and wave goodbye. Simple.

Meeting strangers at bars and clubs… what do you mean he had to flirt with somebody who wasn’t a friend?? Twenty-one questions? What’s that? More like twenty-one regrets for following his friends to the loud, crowded club.

Once again, he was curled up in his room as the other members separated and went out on their off night. Once again, he was berating himself for not being sociable. 

…Once again, he was humping that same damned pillow.

A breathy curse left his lips, his fingers curling into the sheets as he bucked his hips again. His trusty pillow never failed to satisfy him– but as he continued a pit grew in his stomach. He wanted more. He didn’t just want to be satisfied; he wanted to be pleasured, to be thrown over the edge, to be braindead…

Jisung let out a whine, collapsing on his pillow. A frustrated huff left his lips as he pulled out his phone, opening the PornHub link once again… no, he didn’t feel proud about this. He felt like a sleazy creep who got off watching girls and guys fuck for the camera.

(Sure, he didn’t feel proud, but he certainly didn’t feel guilty.)

Ah. The normal stepcest content. He grumbled, feeling his cock twitch against the pillow. He just found roleplaying erotic and exciting. Realistically, you can film anything, slap down the word ‘roleplay’ and you wouldn’t be questioned in the pornography realm. But to say the least, it worked, so he watched it.

He tapped on the video, setting his head back on the other pillow and situating himself, gripping the base of his cock. It was dark in his room, so the blinding light and loud music of the upcoming ad made him flinch away, squinting his eyes.

Scowling, he tapped furiously on the loading skip button. Another one of those porn Facetime sites. 

Do they even work? Could you just sign up, get on call, and masturbate with a hot girl?

He paused, staring at the seizure-inducing ad.

…

It wouldn’t hurt to try, honestly.

His anxiety spiked, but he forced it down. No, he wasn’t going to have small talk. No, he didn’t have to show his face… just his cock. And no, the other girl wouldn’t skip him if he stuttered immensely.

Right?

He sat up in his bed, crossing his legs as he tapped on the ad itself. The normal button to download an app was shown– if he was normal, he would’ve clicked off. 

But he didn’t feel like jerking off onto his pillow to some video posted five years ago. His friends were gone and the dorm was empty– he might as well take the chance.

✶ ✶ ✶

“–Babygirl, right? You should totally show me your–”

Skipped.

You sighed, throwing your head back. Another horny teenager. Couldn’t you get somebody somewhat normal?

It was your off day of streaming, simply anonymous on this mutual masturbation app. You counted three teenagers, four people who recognized you, and a troll (although you could admit the guy made you laugh).

The blank screen was loading, finding somebody else for you. Your wand laid between your legs, and you cursed. 

Maybe I should give it up–

The screen loaded and you perked up… only to see a ceiling fan. You frowned.

“Hello?”

A small noise came from the other side of the call and the camera shifted. “Uh… hi.”

Great, another teenager?

“If you’re under twenty I am clicking off–”

“Wait!” The camera jolted and a face came into view, his eyes wide with panic.

You sucked in a breath. He was gorgeous.

Soon realizing what he did he yelped and dropped the phone, showing his fan again. “Ah, fuck-!” “What?” You demanded. “No no, show me your face pretty boy.”

He choked. “Pretty boy-?”

“Yes? Or are you camera shy?” You sat back, almost grinning in amusement. While he was too scared to even show his forehead, you had your camera positioned so he could see everything. Crossing your legs, you leaned back even more, relaxed.

The guy whined. Whined. “I, uh… wouldn’t you rather see my d-dick?” “Oh, so you’re direct,” You purred, resting your chin on the back of your hand. “Alright. Do what makes you comfortable.”

There’s a pause on his end, and he lifts his phone to reposition it. The ending scene… oh.

His cock was as pretty as his face. Long, curled, resting on his doughy tummy. The pink mushroom tip glistened in his blue LED room lights, a show of his excitement. His small hand gripped the chubby base, his hand twitching.

“Baby,” You exhaled. “Are you a pornstar?”

The guy choked, his grip tightening. “I– huh? N-no, I’m not!”

You scoffed. “You should be. You’re immaculate.”

“Oh…” Another whine. “Really?”

“Yes! Oh, baby, can you stroke it?” You grab your wand, turning on the lowest setting. The hum of the toy was picked up by the guy, as heard by his bated breath. 

“Ok…”

You made sure not to blink as he slowly moved his hand up and down, the veins bulging at the movements. He let out another shuddered breath, his thighs tensing.

“I’ve never… touched myself in front of somebody–” He murmured, his last word hitching. “L-let alone a stranger…”

“So you’re new… alright.” You nodded, grazing your wand on your cunt. You let out a content sigh, brushing it on the lips.

He gulped– it was obvious that his attention was on you, not on his cock. To tease him, you pressed it right on your clit, letting out a soft moan. You could’ve sworn you saw a drop of precum roll down his shaft.

“I’m your first, then,” You grin, the idea making you strangely pleased. “That’s adorable.”

He squeaked. “Really?”

You nodded, increasing the level on the wand. As you tensed up and moaned, he tensed and stuttered his hand on his cock.

“Baby,” You said after a second. “I feel like you're holding back. Relax~”

“Relax,” He huffed, sitting up. “Ok– ok. Um…”

You saw the tension leave his thighs and arms, his body sinking further into the mattress. Grinning, you spread your cunt out further, the slick making it glisten in the low light. 

He let out a low groan. “Are you… going to cum?”

“Not yet, baby. But soon.” I nod, spreading my legs further as I increase the intensity. Just watching him– a nervous, adorable stranger– touch himself, made me strangely sensitive.

New turn-on, I guess.

You decide to turn it up yet another level, arching your back and letting out a sultry whine. “Oh~”

“Fuck…” You heard him curse. “Do– do it again. Do that again.”

You wanted to tease him– but with how your lower stomach was tightening, you would only frustrate yourself. Instead, you laid back, tapping your toy on your clit and making yourself twitch and moan.

You heard the sheets rustle on his end as well, and his camera jerked. His phone fell but showed you something that almost made you cum on the spot.

You were able to see his face again, his eyes and nose scrunched up, framed by curly locks of silky brown hair. He was hunched over but it didn’t hide his small waist; it accentuated the curve from his chest to his hip. His honey-toned thighs twitched and shook as he gripped his cock, slick noises echoing in both of your rooms as he jerked off.

“You’re into that?” You moan out; you couldn’t help yourself. “Into my noises? My moans? What if I beg for you, huh?”

He let out a breathless wail, throwing his head back. “Oh god, please–”

He’s the beggar, shit.

“Praise?” You murmured, your soft tone barely heard over his wet cock and your buzzing toy. “Are you a good boy?”

His eyes widened comically, immediately flitting over to you. His movements momentarily stuttered, the pretty tip almost a deep purple.

Gotcha.

“Good boy…” You moaned out, your toy now on the highest setting as you rubbed it frantically on your clit. “You’re such a good boy, such a good boy…”

“Yes-!” He whimpered, his hand almost sliding off his cock with the sheer amount of precum. “Oh fuck, I am~!”

You gripped the toy with both hands, your legs closing over it. “You’re gonna cum? Can you cum for me baby? Cum for me, babygirl–”

The nickname set him off immediately. He let out a loud wail, his hands jerking back as he came. Thick ropes of seed spurted out of the swollen tip, collecting on his tightened stomach. He gripped the sheets under him, his cock twitching as he screwed his eyes shut. “Oh…!”

You came yourself a few seconds after, slick gathering around your hole and dripping into your sheets. You let out a small, humored moan, smiling. “Fuck, baby…”

Coming down from his high, he realized how his phone was situated, allowing you to see his face. But he couldn’t bring himself to fix it, not when he was watching you scoop your cum and slick and lick it off your fingers… his softening cock twitched.

God, he was getting hard again. 

You giggled, giving him a lazy grin as you noticed his slack expression. “You like that? Watching me eat my own cum?”

He let out a strangled gasp. “Fuck, I…”

“I like you,” You declared, reaching for the towel and shoving it under you. “You’re willing to stick around?”

Are you kidding? He almost wanted to yell. This was probably the best orgasm he’s had in his life. Letting you skip was almost like letting somebody tease him with dessert and then handing it to somebody completely different. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

“I– yes,” He choked out, picking up his phone. “What’s your username?”

Slightly taken aback by his sudden directness, you tilted your head. “Oh? Baby, you’re greedy.”

He clenched his jaw. “I want to see you again.”

Maybe he can call you tomorrow. Maybe the following weeks. Maybe you can roleplay with him, satiate his kinks, satisfy his drive. Maybe he can meet you in person and actually fuck you—

Giggling, you buried yourself further into your pillows. “Hm… tempting. Well, baby, you are cute. It would be stupid for me to give you up.”

You spread your legs again, picking up your toy. “But I’ll give it to you later, m'kay? I’m not quite ready to let you sign off just yet…”

08.19.2024

[zablife]

*Skids to a halt after crashing through inbox door* DID SOMEBODY SAY SLEEPOVER? I am here, bestie!

Can I please request something spicy for my Italian husband? I will let you have creative choice over scenario. I’m craving some Luca smut in whatever form! 🤍🤍🤍🤍

Tysm for your request, Claire! I had so many ideas I wanted to share, but settled on this naughty encounter about the first time Luca makes you squirt. I would apologize for my filthy imagination, but I'm not sorry in the slightest 😂 I hope you enjoy!

18+ MDNI

Let Me Spoil You

"Luca, I'm not sure I can," you whimpered, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you studied him nervously. "I've never done this before."

"Then it's a good thing I have," he teased, sucking at the ticklish spot near your hipbone as your breathy moans filled the air. Pulling away to tongue the blossoming bruise, a mischievous smile spread across his lips as he returned his attention to your sticky inner thighs, peppering them with delicate kisses.

"Let me spoil you, principessa," he begged as though he hadn't already spent the entire evening lavishing you with attention.

You gulped and nodded slowly, opening your legs wider to welcome his touch. With a hitch of breath, you felt his long fingers slide against your dewy folds once more and into the tight clutch of your cunt.

Green eyes sparkling with nefarious delight, he wasted no time seeking the soft, spongy spot inside you that turned your legs to jelly. As he added firm pressure and lapped gently at your clit, the warmth in your belly returned with rapid speed.

Soft pants turned to whimpers as your hand fumbled in Luca's dark curls, grasping a bit too tightly as your brow furrowed at the odd tingling sensation. He drank in your adorable look of confusion, smirking at the memory of the times before when you'd stopped him, insisting you'd wet yourself if he continued. As he predicted you began to whine in a familiar high pitched wail that made his cock ache. "It's too much, Luca! I'm gonna...gonna..."

"Shhh, angel, you're doing so well for me," he cooed without giving you reprieve. Crooking his fingers against your sensitive walls in such a way that had you clamping down, hips bucking against him. He held you against the mattress with his muscular forearm, watching your face and neck begin to flush with the telltale signs of your impending orgasm, taunting, “You want it, don't you?"

A sizzle of electricity charged down your spine as he pumped his fingers within you, forcing shuddered breaths from your trembling body. Knowing you were staving off the inevitable, Luca added another finger, betting you wouldn't be able to fight the exquisite feeling of fullness. As your back arched against him, he praised, "You look so fuckin' beautiful like this." Then in that deep, commanding voice you couldn't ignore, "Cum for me, gorgeous."

Before you knew what was happening, a wave of pleasure crashed over you, black spots dancing across your vision as your legs shook. Luca moaned appreciatively as the first gush of fluid drenched his wrist, opposite hand pressing down on your abdomen to coax another squirt from your pulsing cunt. As your head dropped to your shoulder in exhaustion, Luca watched a little puddle collect with a swell of pride.

Focused on the pleasant little aftershocks rippling through your spent body, you were only vaguely aware of him withdrawing his fingers from you. The lewd squelching sound was soon replaced with the satisfied grunt of a man tasting his victory and you began to giggle. You'd never met a man who enjoyed giving pleasure so much as Luca Changretta.

He took such good care of you as evidenced by the gentle way he woke you after you'd drifted off to sleep, insistent on bathing you and changing the sheets before bedtime. Carrying you toward the bathroom for a hot soak in the tub, he nuzzled your check and whispered soft words of praise. “I knew you could do it, angel.”

Zablife Sleepover

-----------------------

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[hell-drabbles]

Lucifer 6

Summary: You have Lucifer leaning on your torso while you ask him what is it about you that turns him on.

(This drabble is also weirdly sweet, so enjoy!!! I swear I'll write for a different character eventually. I really want to gush about all the ideas in my head with somebody... There's nothing more fun than just gushing about one's own creations.)

"Hmm? What is it about me that turns you on?" You leaned against your hand, idly stroking the side of Lucifer's face as his back rested against your torso. His skin was fully flushed, mouth hanging slightly agape. He turned to try and capture your fingers, but you pulled away. "Come on, you can't avoid the question by stuffing your mouth. Tell me. I won't be angry."

You busied yourself with Lucifer's buttons, popping them open just enough to press patterns into the valley of his chest. A pleasant hum rumbled beneath your fingers, and finally his voice formed words.

"Your… your voice," he said, as if you had a vice around his neck. You've heard of devils being driven mad by lust, but somehow it never connected that such a thing was real. You can't deny it now, not when you see this devil before you ripping holes into the sheets below just to keep from touching himself. You can practically see his every twitch and throb through his pants. Any other devil probably wouldn't have as strong a self restraint as him.

"My voice is all it takes huh?" you sighed, then cupped Lucifer's chin, guiding him up until he can no longer look away from you, "that's cute, actually."

Stray hairs stuck to his skin as Lucifer was overcome with full body shudders. You couldn't help but trail a finger over the pulse on his neck, just to feel the fluttering beats of his heart.

"Mm-hmm, very cute." You back away before Lucifer could lunge for a kiss. His eye narrowed to a light glare, still refusing to give him any mercy. Funny. "You know, I was always fascinated by your eyes." You brushed away the hairs to see them clearly, allowing him to snuggle up into your palm. "They're filled with an endless patience and a soft, soft love for the world around them. I never have to worry about doing anything wrong just for being my stubborn myself. And I find them wonderful. I find you wonderful, Lucifer."

Lucifer has lived too long to be shocked by such words, but they softened him nonetheless. His face was still overtaken by a deep flush, with a small smile that looked almost shaky. "…you love to try and make me cry, don't you?"

You softly laughed, "Yeah yeah, but you know I meant every word."

A breath shuddered it's way out of his throat, "I know. That… also affects me, in many shameful ways."

"A lot of things about me affect you, I see," you readjusted yourself and leaned back against your hands, "show me exactly how. You have my permission now."

His pupils dilated so quickly, you thought his iris would disappear. You feel bad for the poor devil that will probably have to repair his clothing. Tore through that poor thing like it was nothing. And what a nice snake design it had.

Just to further mess with him, nudged his moaning mouth wider and pressed your thumb flat against his tongue. His fangs grazed against your skin, as if Lucifer was entertaining the notion of clamping down and never letting go, but never will go through with it without your say so.

It's nice, never having to worry about you suddenly being subjected to random whims and then being forgotten about once that boredom was sated.

Here was Lucifer, a devil king that was essentially untouchable, a king that forces the other kings to hold a level of caution about them, and a king that was currently masturbating with your permission.

How fun. How nice that you two have found and come to know one another.

[coffeedepressionsoup]

Somebody Does Love | MYG - Will They, Won't They

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where they take a brave step forward. Part 8 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 2.4k+

Warnings - kissing, lovesick and anxious Yoongi, that's about it

Ratings - 13+

Taglist: @majiiisstuff @starlighttaek8 @yoongrace @proudnoona @7ndipity

A/N - Yes, I am alive. No, I did not abandon this story. Just, life happened. Ofc, not proofed (lol when is it ever). Just wholesome moments, really. Hope you like it.

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The kiss had been perfect—sweet and electrifying. For a brief moment, it felt like time had stopped to give them those precious few moments. The moment their lips met, it was like the world shifted. For a second, Yoongi forgot how to breathe, think, or do anything but feel.

This is real.

He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. For so long, he’d convinced himself that this was one-sided, that the way his heart raced when she laughed, the way his chest ached when she was near him, was his burden to carry alone. He’d hidden it, buried it beneath layers of careful excuses and overthought jokes. Or so he thought. She does not see you like that, he’d told himself, over and over, like a mantra.

But here she was, her lips against his, soft and warm and so awfully real it made his head spin.

She kissed him! Scratch that. She kissed him first! She. Kissed. Him. First!

A swell of disbelief surged in his chest. Was he imagining this? Was this some cruel trick of his mind, conjured by weeks of wishing and hoping in secret? His heart pounded so loudly he was sure Y/N could feel it too. He almost pulled away, afraid that the slightest shift would implode this extremely intimate moment and consume them whole.

But then she leaned in closer, her hands resting firmly against his lower back, grounding him. The touch was deliberate, sure.

She wants this too.

The realisation swept over him like a tidal wave, an overwhelming mix of exhilaration and fear. Fear of what this meant and euphoria for all that could come. For all the sleepless nights he’d spent dreaming about this, it still felt too good to be true. He wanted to laugh at himself for doubting it, for letting his insecurities keep him in the shadows.

Her lips moved steadily against his, and it felt like a quiet answer to every unspoken question, a silent assurance against all trepidation. He wasn’t dreaming. She was here, with him, choosing him.

How did I get this lucky?

He opened his eyes slowly, breaking the kiss momentarily, half afraid she’d disappear if he let her go. But her keen gaze accompanied by a low complaining moan dared him to believe that there was a feeling akin to affection floating between them. Maybe even more than that.

He blinked, swallowing hard, before pulling Y/N flush against him and diving in for another kiss. When they parted next, Yoongi could not hold back his smile as he said, “I waited so long to do that.”

Taken aback by a soft “Me too, actually,” with a flustered smile, he stared back, unmovingly, for a bit. Surely, Y/N in his arms, gushing in the aftermath of a kiss seemed too good to be true. The way his mind was racing between what would be and what would not have been if he had not followed her out onto this deck almost choked him up.

However, he could feel all the ifs and buts wiping away from his cognition as Y/N leaned slightly to peck him right by his mouth. Not on, just next to his lips. Yoongi kept his head lowered, trying to bite back a full grin.

When he found the courage to look into her eyes again, she asked, “You want to take a walk?”

Of course, he did. He did not trust his voice yet, so he nodded in response and let out an unmindful sigh. As they turned to walk down to the beach, Yoongi tried to quiet his thudding heart and reached out to hold Y/N’s hand. It seemed like the only natural thing to do. Almost instinctively, their fingers wrapped around each other. Yoongi could live in this moment forever. Nothing more, nothing less. Just the absolution of being wanted by Y/N, the sober affirmation of her hand in his.

But the moment shattered as thunder rolled overhead, a warning drumbeat that quickly turned into a deafening roar. A flash of lightning cut through the night, momentarily blinding Yoongi and Y/N, and shrouding the beach in a dense darkness.  

As Yoongi blinked quickly to acclimate to the lack of light, he realised that the power had gone off. All electronic lights were out. 

At that moment, after what seemed to be aeons, both Yoongi and Y/N realised that they were on the deck of Hajoon’s beach house. All their friends were still inside. Hand in hand still, their phones’ flashlights alight in the other, they turned to walk back into the house. 

The house was alive with chaos. 

“Do we have candles?” someone yelled from the kitchen.  

“Who left the window open in the kitchen? I think I saw something jump in!”  

“I swear I just saw something move—was that the wind, or do we have a fox in here?!”  

Yoongi and Y/N exchanged glances, barely visible to the other as most lights were directed to the floor. Her gaze managed to calm something in him, despite the mayhem around them.  

“Who lit this candle?!” Another voice, muffled but distinctly annoyed, came from the hallway. “It smells like... vanilla? We hate vanilla!”  

Someone tripped over a forgotten board game on the floor, letting out a startled yelp. 

The chaos in the house only seemed to intensify. The wind howled, slamming the shutters of the windows that hadn’t been latched properly. Someone cursed loudly from the living room, followed by the sound of a heavy object hitting the ground.

“Yoongi! Is that you?” Hajoon appeared in the dim light, his face barely visible as a flashlight beam bobbed from his hand. “Could you check the back patio? Something’s banging against the railing—it might be that cooler we left out.”

Yoongi hesitated. His fingers still tangled with Y/N’s, he felt her slight squeeze before she let go, her hand slipping away like an afterthought.

“I’ll help,” Y/N volunteered, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves she was trying to suppress.

Hajoon nodded and led her away, leaving Yoongi, standing awkwardly in the doorway. A mixture of relief and regret settled in his chest as he watched her go, her phone’s flashlight bobbing with each step.

“Yoongi! Get in here!” another voice, possibly Aera, hollered, and he turned toward the kitchen.

As the storm raged outside, the night dissolved into a blur of small tasks and distractions. Y/N was roped into helping Hajoon and the others secure the house, close windows, and retrieve candles from forgotten drawers. Yoongi found himself sidetracked by someone’s misplaced luggage, searching for dry towels when a window leaked rainwater onto the hallway floor.

Their paths did not cross again that night.

Each time Yoongi caught a glimpse of her—a fleeting shadow in the flicker of candlelight, the curve of her silhouette against a flashlight beam—his chest tightened. Every time she looked his way, her lips parted as if she had something to say, but the moment never presented itself.

By the time the house finally settled into an uneasy quiet, the storm having dulled into a steady rain, Yoongi retreated to one of the small guest rooms, unable to keep up with another round of candlelight reverse Uno. He leaned against the closed door, exhaling shakily as the memory of the kiss surfaced again. It felt both surreal and inescapable.

What now?

His phone’s screen glowed faintly in the dark, but every time he thought of texting her, the words crumbled before they could form.

The storm had left the air crisp and clean, the horizon glowing faintly as the first rays of sunlight spilt over the ocean. Yoongi wrapped his arms around himself, pulling the overshirt closer together, as he stepped onto the beach, the cool morning breeze making him shiver slightly. The house was still and quiet, its occupants likely exhausted from the night before.

He walked slowly along the shoreline, his feet sinking into the damp sand. The events of the previous night played on an endless loop in his mind—the kiss, the storm, the chaos that had swept them apart. And now, the question he had avoided asking himself lingered stubbornly in his chest.

What now?

“Hey.”

The voice was soft but unmistakable. He turned to see Y/N standing a few steps behind him, her hands shoved into the pockets of her sweatpants. Her hair was mussed, her eyes slightly puffy from lack of sleep, but she still managed to look disarmingly charming.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, stepping closer.

He shook his head. “You?”

“Not a chance.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them broken only by the gentle crash of the waves. Finally, Y/N gestured toward the shoreline. “Walk with me?”

He hesitated but nodded, falling into step beside her.

“I thought about texting you last night,” Yoongi began after a while. “But I didn’t know what to say.”

“I thought about it too,” Y/N admitted, kicking at a stray shell in the sand. “But... it felt like something we needed to talk about in person.”

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

The pause that followed felt heavier this time, the air between them thick with unspoken words.

“Yoongi,” she said finally, her voice trembling slightly. “I don’t regret it. The kiss. I just... I don’t know what to do now.”

His steps slowed, and he turned to face her fully. “Neither do I,” he said honestly. “But I know how I feel about you. I’ve known for a while now.”

Her breath caught, her eyes searching his for any hint of doubt. She found none.

“It’s just…” Y/N started, then sighed, her words faltering under the weight of her thoughts. She hugged herself, as though bracing against the morning chill—or perhaps against the vulnerability she felt in that moment. “You’re... you. And I don’t know-” she sighed to a stop and looked up at Yoongi. She was scared she would find some amount of resentment. What she saw instead, was the opposite. Understanding. An empathetic look that tugged at her heart.

“I get it,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the rhythm of the waves. “I’ve seen what it does to people—people I care about. It’s messy and exhausting, and mostly it’s unfair.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. Of course, he knew. He knew the cost of it all. He was terrified that if they decided to pursue a relationship, a lot could go wrong, and things could end horribly. However, as he looked at Y/N and the early morning light on her slightly frowning face, the thought of not trying at all scared him even more. 

“But I also know what it feels like to meet someone who makes all of that seem small. And the way I feel about you?” His voice grew softer still. “That’s worth figuring it out. Worth trying.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She turned her gaze to the horizon, the sunlight dancing on the waves as if mocking the storm within her. “And what if it’s not?” she whispered, more to herself than to him. 

“What do you mean?” he urged, voice still so soft, it would be inaudible if they hadn’t moved to stand so close.

Y/N reached out for Yoongi’s hands and he drew in a long, shaky breath, sighing at the sense of reassurance the small but significant gesture provided him.  

“What if I can’t deal with it all?” she asked, looking away from his eyes, down to their joined hands between them.

Yoongi squeezed Y/N’s hands, in an attempt to comfort her. “I can say that you won’t have to deal with anything alone. I know I am asking for a chance from a selfish place-”

“That’s not-” she tried to interrupt but Yoongi continued, bringing her right hand up to his lips, to leave a small peck, “I am not saying anything we decide to do will be easy to pursue. It may change a lot of things.”

His startling honesty made her look back up at him. “But not trying would change us too, wouldn’t it?” he asked.

Her eyes flickered between his eyes, and for a moment, the fortress she attempted to build with logic and rationale, faltered. “Yoongi…” she began again, but the words stuck in her throat. Her gaze shifted down to the sand beneath their feet again. 

The man she was addressing stayed quiet, allowing her the space to gather her thoughts.

“I like you Yoongi, I like you a lot. Every time we say goodbye, I wonder when we will see each other again. I feel like a teenager with a crush,” Y/N let out a chuckle. Yoongi joined in, his heart soaring with identical ruminations.

“Every time I look at you, I want to hold your hand, keep your arm in mine and talk to you about anything  and everything all at once,” Y/N gave his hands a slight squeeze and added, “But I am scared that won’t be enough.”

“Y/N,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “That is more than enough, more than what I should be asking of you, honestly,” he added. “I know what you’re scared of. I hate that my life could make you feel that way. But I am just me. To you, that is all I want to be. Just me. Just Yoongi.”

Her breath hitched, his words cutting through the noise in her head.

“Yoongi?” He loved the way she said his name. He hummed in response. 

“Can I ask you to do one thing?” Y/N sounded hesitant.

“Of course, anything you want,” he said without missing a beat.

Y/N looked him in the eyes again, before inching closer and dropping her forehead against his. Yoongi sighed in comfort, as he nudged her hands to rest around him, before entangling her in a similar embrace like the night before.

Sniffling slightly, Y/N said in the softest voice yet, “Please be honest with me.” Seeing a slight frown on Yoongi’s face, she explained, “No matter what happens, good or bad, if things need changing or redoing. Just be upfront about it all, be completely honest. Always.”

“I can try to live up to that,” Yoongi murmured back.

“Okay then,” Y/N sighed out.

“Okay” Yoongi let out a small laugh. “Also Y/N?”

It was her turn to hum in response. “I like you too, by the way, in case it was not clear. And I am scared too but I like you too damned much. So much more than I can explain right now. But I hope I can show it to you every day, starting now.”

Yoongi swore he saw a blush spread across her face and not just the lights of dawn reflecting. Y/N could indeed feel her face burn as she groaned and chuckled at once, hiding her face in his chest. He welcomed the move and held her tighter in his arms if that was possible. 

As Yoongi stood by the vast sea, with Y/N in his arms, staring at the calm, blue sky, he felt a raging storm within him quiet down.

[pixiemage]

Every so often I remember that I met one specific fellow MCYTer at a convention. And after already having been complimenting their (non-MCYT) cosplay, and after having already been chatting about MCYT for a few minutes, and after already having gone off on MULTIPLE nerdy tangents about the 3rd Life series, I then learned that I was currently speaking with the person who made the "Bang!" animatic.

And then I proceeded to gush about their animatic to their face, and they were surprised that I was speaking so highly of it (and it reminded me of another friend who is always equally surprised when I tell her just how impactful her art really is on the community). And then as they were leaving another friend of mine (cosplaying Bdubs) walked up to me, and I told HIM who I'd just met, and we both started (affectionately) freaking out. And then the beloved artist we were fangirling over must have heard our excited babbling from a distance, because they turned back to give us a brilliant smile before they went on their way.

Sometimes I think of them. And sometimes I hope they realize just how much joy they bring to the MCYT community. And sometimes it reminds me that I'm just like them, that I'm creating something fun because I'm passionate about it, just like they are, just like my friends are, just like every creator in this fandom is. And sometimes it reminds me that there's somebody out there who gets just as excited over what I write as I got over meeting a fellow fandom member who created something amazing in a different medium. Sometimes it reminds me that it's the little things that are often capable of bringing the most joy.

Sometimes it's nice to remember that we're all excited about each other, even if we're often too nervous to say it aloud. Sometimes it's nice to remember that we all appreciate each other, whether we say it or not. And sometimes it's nice to feel like I'm making a difference...and sometimes I think I have to remind people like me, that you're making a difference too.

[lostsyren]

love your fanfics on Rafe and Sofia! 😍👏😍👏 I was wondering if I could request something on how Rafe first met Sofia’s dad. There was a scene in S4 where her dad enters into her room but looks around before going inside to talk to Sofia. Idk but it makes me think her dad walked in on her and rafe once and that’s how he met him 😂💀

⋆𝄞⋆ my place or yours?

{a/n: thank you sooo much for the kind words! i hope this is what you expected! i kinda got a bit carried away!}

{summary: rafe and sofia decide to go to her place for a change, but things don’t go to plan…}

⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮

It was the day the furniture was being moved into Rafe’s new house– that meant Rafe and Sofia were left stranded.

He turned to face her as they stood on the lawn watching the U-Haul truck pull into the drive. “Why can’t we go to yours again?”

Sofia rolled her eyes– this was the third time he’d pestered her about it. “Because Rafe, my parents wouldn’t like it.”

“We’d just chill– it’ll all be PG 13 yeah?” He teased with a smile, giving her a little nudge.

Sofia scoffed but a small grin crept across her face.

“Fine. But you gotta sneak in from the back.”

So that’s how Rafe ended up teetering between the street and Sofia’s back-garden, throwing his leg over the rickety fence and landing with a quiet thud on the grass. It was still daytime so he didn’t even have the cover of darkness– he just loitered about, hoping to god none of her family would spot him.

His phone buzzed with a text from Sofia.

S: coast is clear

He let out a little chuckle, sprightly following Sofia’s instructions: Past the oak tree and the first door on the right.

With surveying eyes, he quickly made it there, Sofia opening the door straightaway, yanking him inside by the forearm.

“Woah somebody’s eager,” he smirked, enjoying the way he could rile her up so easily.

“Oh shush, my parents and my siblings are home so you have to be quiet ok?”

Rafe mimed zipping his lips, before he let his eyes roam her room. It was small but cozy, the sunlight filtering in through the floral lace curtains, her bed littered in fluffy pillows and a quilted throw, a cutesy vintage record player on the drawer. It was so Sofia– a mismatched assortment of pretty things. She was like that, he’d noticed, a collector– finding beauty in everything and treating nothing like it was worth something. He sometimes felt like one of her trinkets– the way she’d cherish him sometimes, even when he didn’t deserve it.

“I know you’re used to something a bit more grand,” Sofia mumbled, watching as he drank in her room, tone reserved.

“It’s cute, I like it.” He quickly said, smiling down at her.

“Yeah?” A bright grin spread across her face, making him suffuse with giddiness.

“Yeah.”

“Ok, sit down, let me show you the records I found at the thrift store the other day, in near perfect condition– I couldn’t believe someone just gave them away like that!” She gushed, tugging him by the wrists and gently nudging him to take a seat on her bed.

With a soft grin on his face, Rafe watched Sofia display her bounty, eyes glinting like shiny gems– they always did that when she got excited.

He really tried to focus on what she was saying, but she looked so damn beautiful, cast in the sunlight pooling in from her window, a sense of comfortability that he’d never seen her posses suddenly exuding out of her. This was her room, her little slice of the world, and here she was showing him. Rafe’s heart surged with pride.

Sofia abruptly stopped her rambling, “am I boring you? You can tell me if you’re bored.”

Rafe shook his head, stretching his arms out so they slung lazily around her hips as she stood looking down at him with a winsome expression.

“Never bored by you.” He pulled her down so she was sat in his lap, Sofia letting out a little gasp of shock, her arms flying around his neck.

“Rafe,” she warned, twisting around to make sure no one was outside her door.

“Just one kiss.” He murmured, breath tickling her chest.

“It’s never ends up being one kiss.”

Rafe smirked, his hands roaming up her shirt, massaging soft circles into her skin, as he met his lips with hers with a ravenous softness. Pulling away with a teasing grin, his stomach somersaulted at the image of Sofia trailing for more, her eyes lidded as if in a kiss-drunk haze.

“There…one kiss. We can stop now…”

Sofia rolled her eyes, “that’s not fair.”

“Your rules not mine baby.”

Sofia pushed him back onto her bed until she was left straddling him, Rafe intoxicated by her low breaths and wet lips.

“You better be quiet ok?” She whispered, resting her hands on his chest.

“You’re the one who ends making the most noise–“

“Shut up,” she playfully dismissed, before resuming their kisses, Rafe’s hands greedily running up and down the planes of her body.

They stayed like that for a while, Rafe savouring the way she took control, letting himself sink into her mattress, luxuriating in her velvety blankets and satin pillows that crowned his head.

But her movements soon became languorous and mellow, Sofia’s tell-tale sign she was beginning to get tired. Rafe then gripped her hips, flipping her on to her back in one swift yet gentle manoeuvre, their mouths still hooked by a kiss, until he was the one towering over her.

“God, you’re tired already?” He whispered against the sensitive spot on her neck, between his voracious kisses.

“No…” she lied, her swollen lips caught between her teeth as she simpered up at him, her eyes once again scintillating like diamonds.

“Didn’t take you for liar Sof,” he joked, as his hands traipsed lower, his hot palm pressed against her navel, making her squirm.

“You lied to me…PG 13? You look like you’re about two seconds away from making this an R rated feature.”

“Stop putting ideas in my head.”

Rafe kissed her again, breathlessly, hungrily, inhaling every little noise she made.

He was so enamoured by her lithe body moving up to graze his, lost in their idyllic stupor, glorying in the sensation of her feathery fingers skimming his midriff– he didn’t even realise what made Sofia scramble away from him.

He moved off her quickly, following her eye line to the doorway.

Shit. It was her dad.

“Pinche cabrón,” he yelled, in what Rafe presumed was a curse, striding across the small gap between the bed and the door, grabbing Rafe by the collar of his shirt and yanking him up to his feet.

“No dad stop!” Sofia interceded, clumsily pulling her father’s hands off of her boyfriend.

He let go, leaving Rafe standing between Sofia and her father, silently praying to god the ground would open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole. He regretted ever pestering Sofia to let him go to her place.

“¿Qué crees que estás haciendo, niñita?” He groused, question directed to Sofia but gaze still firmly affixed on to Rafe, who began to swelter under his scrutiny.

Rafe opened his mouth, tongue like sandpaper, throat all dry, “I’m so sorry sir–“

“You shut up, I am talking to my daughter.”

“Dad, this is Rafe, remember I told you about him?” Sofia tried to alleviate the tension, her tone imploring and meditative.

Her dad’s eyes narrowed, still harbouring a bitter distaste for the boy in front of him. “Sneaking him in like that? That’s not like you Sofia,” her dad chastised.

“It was my idea sir, don’t blame her–“

“Listen kid, you’re already getting on my nerves, so I’d suggest you zip it, yeah?”

“Yes sir.” Rafe shut up. He hated this, scared that her dad would beat him up or something– because that’s what fathers did, didn’t they? And he wouldn’t even be able to fight back since it was literally Sofia’s dad. A sharp pit lodged itself in his stomach at the reminder of his own father.

Sofia was saying something to placate him, and it seemed to be working. But Rafe was too overcome by his ambushing memories to comprehend the conversation.

Her dad nodded his head slowly, his previously stony eyes softening when he looked at his daughter. Rafe stirred with sadness, remembering how cold Ward’s gaze always was. (It was only on the steps of the plane did Rafe feel some semblance of warmth from his father’s eyes).

“Fine, but keep the door open, and I want you to stay for dinner Rafe, ok?”

Rafe was taken aback, his mouth dropping slightly, “dinner? Yeah of course I’d be honoured– thank you sir.”

“You’re lucky Sofia likes you,” he muttered, before turning to leave, making a show of keeping the door wide open. Once her dad was far enough away, Sofia collapsed back into bed, her hands shrouding her face.

“That was mortifying,” she mumbled.

“For you or for me? Your dad hates me now.”

“Yeah well you’re the one who started it– just one kiss, that worked out real well, didn’t it?”

“Hey you’re the one who jumped on top of me!”

Sofia rolled her yes, beginning to giggle quietly, until her laughs faded away, her eyes turning serious.

“He didn’t hurt you did he?” She asked, sitting up as Rafe took a seat opposite her on the chair instead of the bed, scared that her dad would return again unannounced, to check on them.

“No, I’m more embarrassed than anything– god, whose great idea was this?”

Sofia scoffed throwing a pillow at his face.

Rafe just chuckled, throwing it back at her softly so it wouldn’t hurt, “he wants me to stay for dinner? Really?”

“Of course,” Sofia soothed, leaning over to hold his hands in hers, “you don’t mind do you? I can make an excuse for you if you want to leave?” She murmured, almost embarrassed.

Rafe’s fingers tightened around her own, “of course I want to stay.”

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable…I know your family wasn’t the greatest.” Her voice lowered, resembling silk that wrapped around his throat. He held back a choked sob, feeling exposed. Naked.

“I’ll be fine, you’ll be there.” He tried to smile, but it came off as a grimace.

“I promise they’ll love you.” Sofia assured sweetly, shaking his hands with her vow.

Rafe fidgeted at the funny feeling that pooled in his abdomen– love. It was such an alien concept to him. He loved his father. He loves Sofia. But he wondered who loved him?

Glancing toward Sofia’s consoling visage, he finally smiled easily, assuaged by her opiating essence. She loved him…he tried to ignore his morbid past he kept under wraps, pushing it to the deepest trenches of his heart. That wasn’t him– this was. The man he’d become around Sofia. At least that’s what he told himself.

Sofia lifted his hands with her own, bringing Rafe’s knuckles to her lips and brushing a soft kiss against his rough skin, “it’ll be ok.”

Rafe nodded, letting his anxiety melt away at her touch, “ok, I trust you.”

⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮

Dinner time rolled round quickly, Sofia leading him to the kitchen, Rafe trailing behind like lost puppy. He felt like he was taking up too much space in their house, everything already so bustling and enclosed.

Her mom was in the kitchen, stirring something that smelled amazing whilst her siblings were scattered everywhere. One was watching TV in the living room, another was running about in her little fairy wings and the last one was helping her dad fix a broken shelf.

Rafe smiled at the havoc, being reminded of dinner time at Tannyhill where him, Sarah and Wheezie would rile Rose up, before being on their best behaviour when Ward came out of the study.

He missed it.

Sometimes it got lonely in that big house of his– if it wasn’t for Sofia, Rafe sometimes thought he’d go insane.

“Sorry about all the chaos,” Sofia said sheepishly, turning around with an apologetic smile.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s nice.” That’s all he could say? Nice?

But Sofia took no notice of his scarce vocabulary, instead leading him to the dining table and telling him to take a seat.

“Wait where you going?” He asked when she didn’t take a seat beside him.

“Just in the kitchen to help out my mom, I’ll be back in a bit yeah, just relax.” She squeezed his shoulder placatingly.

So Rafe tried to do that, relax, tapping his fingers restlessly against the hardwood table. His gaze continually strayed to Sofia in the kitchen, but she was too busy getting the food ready to meet his eyes. Her little sister whizzed about the room, flapping her arms as she pretended to fly, Rafe recalling Wheezie doing the same thing when she was kid. His heart stirred with an aching nostalgia.

Sofia’s little sister eventually took notice of the strange man sitting at their dining table, stopping still in her tracks, before nervously approaching him, shrugging off her fairy wings as if she was embarrassed. Rafe offered her a smile and a friendly wave, trying his best not to appear scary or intimidating. But it was hard to do when was 6,2 with a buzz cut– and apparently he had a resting-scary face, that’s what Sofia had told him– whatever that meant.

And he was notoriously bad with kids, never knowing what to do or say around them. They always ended up crying because of him or running away from him, so the nerves began to quickly inundate Rafe when the little girl came and sat right next to him.

“Hello,” he greeted, mind blank.

“Hi.” Her eyes wandered about the room, occasionally lingering on Rafe’s face, when she thought he couldn’t see.

“So what’s your name?” Rafe asked, scratching the back of his neck.

“Isla.”

“That’s a pretty name.” He realised he was quickly running out of conversation starters.

“Are you Sofia’s boyfriend?” She suddenly asked, blunt as a rock.

He laughed nervously, beginning to feel hot, “yeah I am.”

How was a 10 years old making him this anxious?

“Isla, I hope you’re being nice to our guest,” Sofia’s voice suddenly saved him from the awkward silence.

“She was being wonderful,” Rafe said, giving Isla a playful smile, one which she actually reciprocated this time round– it made his heart swell with warmth.

Soon the table was set and everyone took their seats. On one side of Rafe sat Isla, and on the other was Sofia, her parents on either end of the table, the two other kids opposite them. Their names were Anita and Luca, Rafe learnt.

Sofia’s mom had made some sort of meat stew with beans and rice that looked delicious and smelled even better. Rafe wasn’t used to home cooked meals– Rose or Ward never cooked and he could barely remember his mom’s cooking. The thought sent ripples of sadness through him, which he endeavoured to push past.

“Thank you Mrs Flores,” Rafe nodded his head in gratitude, trying his best to make a good first impression on Sofia’s mom at least.

“I tried to make it not too hot for you– Sofia told me you couldn’t handle spice.”

“Mama,” Sofia whispered, glancing at Rafe in chagrin.

Rafe kicked her gently under the table– it was true, he couldn’t handle spice but she didn’t need to embarrass him like that.

“Oh she’s just making fun, I love spicy food.” He lied, giving her mom a flashing smile.

They all got to eating, Anita and Luca bickering between mouthfuls of rice, Mrs Flores constantly having to remind Isla to finish her food, and Mr Flores glancing ever so often between his daughter and Rafe, trying his best to remain poker faced.

The first few spoonfuls were fine, probably the best thing Rafe had eaten in a long time, but soon the spice began to build up, hitting the back of his throat. He tried his best not to cough but that just made it worse, his oesophagus feeling like it was on fire.

“Baby drink some water,” Sofia whispered beside him, noticing him silently struggle. Anita and Luca seemed to notice too, and soon began to chitter with barely concealed giggles.

“Cállate,” Sofia hissed, whilst Rafe just tried to survive.

“So Rafe, Sofia tells me you’ve moved house recently.” Her dad began, paying no heed to the commotion around the table, as if he was used to it.

Rafe took a long sip of water before his answer, “yeah actually, thought it was about time.”

“And you’re a property developer?”

Rafe just nodded, taking down another gulp of water.

Sofia was still squabbling with Anita and Luca and Isla has gotten distracted, beginning to make a tower of mashed up rice.

“How do you feel about those new rezoning laws– must mean business is booming for you right?”

“Dad.” Sofia clipped warily, suddenly honing into the conversation.

“Well I personally haven’t rezoned anything, but a couple of people have started.”

“Hmn,” Mr Flores hummed, taking another forkful of food. Rafe was glad he’d left it at that– business talk never led to anywhere good. He recalled countless arguments between him and Ward over the business at the dinner table– arguments he’d never get to have again, he realised with a bitter afterthought.

Mrs Flores thankfully changed the conversation, asking if Rafe liked the stew and if he’d ever had Mexican food before.

And before Rafe knew it, dinner was over, the kids all rushing to the kitchen to deposit their plates and go back to their games and TV, leaving Rafe to say his thank yous and goodbyes.

“Thanks for dinner, I appreciate it.” He said.

“Of course Rafe, anytime.” Mrs Flores smiled.

Sofia’s dad gave him a reserved nod of the head, letting his daughter see him out.

Once they reached the front door, Rafe let his body relax, a deep sigh escaping his chest.

Sofia giggled seeing his pent up stress, “see I told you it’d be fine.”

“Fine? You forgot to mention the spice, I was dying there– at least your siblings were entertained.” He joked.

“Oh stop being a baby.”

The two stood in the doorway, faces stuck in a lingering smile.

“I had fun, thank you Sofia,” Rafe finally said, tone sincere.

“No– thank you for staying, you didn’t have to but you did…that means a lot to me.”

That funny feeling began to rouse in his chest again– the sickening sentiment of being appreciated.

“Well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” He said, rubbing a palm across the nape of his neck.

“Yeah, see you then.” Sofia tiptoed up to press a kiss against his lips, Rafe letting himself melt into her body, his hands planted on her waist.

“I’m scared your dad is going to interrupt us again.” He whispered against her mouth.

Sofia laughed softly, “yeah we’re never doing that again.”

Rafe left Sofia’s house, a strange sensation of floating settling over him. For a brief moment it felt like he was a part of a family again, his body consumed by a warmth he didn’t knew still lived inside him.

⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮ 𝄞 ✮.⋆ ⋆.✮

[danosrosegarden]

HIIII ELIII !!! firstly THANK YOU for all the work you do for danonation… you are our strongest soldier !!! 🙏🙏💕💕💕 secondly, i’d like to put in a request for the anniversary celebration !!! <3 if i could may i get glitz + edward nashton? i love that lil freak … maybe something with creepy mutual obsession? i need him to know i’m just as obsessed with him as he would be with me …. THANK YOU SO MUCH AAAH !!! ^_^

it's hot and we rot - edward nashton x gn!reader headcanons (NSFW)

elijah's anniversary celebration: post three!

✨ glitz prompt: give me a character, and i will write a nsfw piece for them. ✨

{contains: male masturbation, public masturbation, underwear thievery, sub edward, and general mutual creepiness and obsession.}

♡ Sharp, grimy talons of guilt pierce through his heart and spill the thick, gushing blood all over each time he finds himself back in the bathroom next to his cubicle. Edward Nashton knows that there's nothing good in what he's doing. There never is.

♡ But God, does it feel right. Sorry. He really shouldn't tell you that, it might make you uncomfortable, he knows. But he thinks it's something you should know. An inky black secret too revolting and shameful to keep to himself. A slowly swirling python of perverse glee wraps itself around Edward's sweat-slicked body as he pulls your underwear out of his pocket: the carnival prize he'd won for himself last time he was over at your apartment.

♡ He hears your voice swimming around in his head as he wraps it around his cock, already slick with precum and throbbing a harsh, blushing pink. That's disgusting, Edward! I trusted you, I let you into my home, and that's what you do when I'm not looking? You're a fucking freak, you know that?

♡ Jesus. He's already biting down hard on his cracked lips so as to not alert his coworkers. It's all a rolling ball of sharpened knives, a blazing firecracker of intensity...the thought of your horrified look and cruel, venom-laced words spat into his face. The idea that somebody in the office could walk in at any moment and accidentally catch sight of him through the spaces in the stall doors, crimson-cheeked and leaking all over his tightly-gripped hand.

♡ His mind runs chaotically wild as he pumps himself, the fluorescent light above his head humming a low, growling buzz. You. He wants you. He doesn't give a fuck what he has to do. He'll beg for scraps. He'll whine and plead. He'll get on his knees and pray. God, he just wants you.

♡ Heat. It rushes through his body, injects itself straight into his bloodstream. He feels the white-hot warmth tingling deep in his gut as a high whine slips from the slits in his clenched teeth. It feels dirty, what he's doing, but that's part of the charm. He feels appalling, painting his hand with thick dribbles of cum in his workplace bathroom while thinking of your acidic, outraged insults, but he cannot stop himself.

♡ Maybe it's for the better that Edward doesn't know how deeply you want him, too. He's hardly able to be around you as is without the sickening thoughts infecting his brain...if he knew you reciprocated, he would never be able to calm himself down.

♡ For sure, Edward would explode if he knew about the picture of him you kept in your bedside drawer. You took it on your Polaroid while he was over one evening, destressing from work. His smile is crooked and his hair is ratty, but that was the picture. The picture you held tight in your hand when you masturbated and whispered his name into the hot, blanketing air of your bedroom. The picture you stared longingly at when the aftershocks subsided. My precious boy. Sweet angel. I wish I could ruin you.

♡ Edward stuffs his prize back into his pocket and washes his hands with a sheen of light sweat dusted across his forehead and a heavy coat of shame wrapped around his shoulders. He knows deep down in the depths of his heart that you're far too good for him. He'd actually much rather be the loser moaning and writhing to the thought of you than risk the friendship he'd somehow managed to obtain. At least he'd gotten away with his gross thievery. Nothing more, he promised himself. There is no going further.

♡ He also knows deep down in the depths of his heart that there was no stopping the enormity of his depraved desire. It was famished and on the hunt for any fragment of you it could find. And if only he knew the same hunger lived within you, chronically clawing at your gut, demanding more, more, more. God, if only he knew.