#THE GIRL MARKED FOR EXECUTION?!?!?!?

[mizzfizz]

OKAY ENOUGH ABOUT SYLUS, I NEED TO KNOW MC'S BACKSTORY

"Amidst the chaos, wings flap and stir up a whirlwind of sand and gravel. On that day, the girl marked for execution unleashed the Fiend from the Abyss."

[moe-broey]

Why did I start like three other projects when I was already working on a big project when I just got hit with the autism exhaustion beam (requires. At least One Full Day just dead in bed, and then some more Taking It Easy time after)

[sunshades]

"ive been ok!!!"

warmup while im trying to remember if i can draw 👍 + another

[thewickedjazzy]

Bonus Level: “Swoon Over You” [Gravity Suspension x Body worshipping] for Kinktober.

♡soft dom! chuuya x afab curvy! reader.

Synopsis: your thoughts have been clouded by quiet insecurities lately, but of course your boyfriend knows every inch of you better than you do, showing just how much he craves every part of you, even the ones you doubt.

Warnings: ņsfw, mdni, smųt, soft dom! chuu, lovesick! chuu, car sex, mention of insecurities, reader has a female body, alice in wonderland syndrome, titty job, suspension, marking up, body worshipping, unprotected sex.

W/C: 2.3k, this bonus fic is for my bbg hattie <3 @writingandmusing thank you for always supporting me bb and so sorry for being late :( xoxo, divider credits: @/toastray.

you slump against the cool, supple leather of the car seat, eyes half-lidded from the exhaustion that's pressing on every bone of your body, and the rhythmic sound of tires against the asphalt only makes things worse, lulling you into a dazed state as your thoughts race, faster than the car’s smooth glide over the road.

the mission had drained you, both physically and mentally, but that wasn’t what had you on edge now. no, it’s the way you’re trying to sink into the seat, making yourself as small as possible, but the longer you’re still, the more your mind drifts to everything that makes you feel too much. too wide, too thick, too everything.

you try not to shift, not to make it obvious how your thighs seem to take up all the space in the seat, how your hips feel a little more prominent when you sit, thighs not as thin as the other girls around the mafia. and to make it worse, the soft pressure against the fabric of your skirt feels suffocating, but you won’t pull it down now. you just can't. even though you really want to. instead, you bite your lip and force your gaze to the window, watching the city blur past you as you try your best to be calm, pretending like none of it matters, but the redhead executive sitting next to you knows better. he always does.

a soft sigh slips from his lips, your boyfriend of two years knows your tactics just too well, “yer tryin' not to adjust yer skirt, huh? bet that's makin' ya uncomfortable.” he says as a quiet observation. and you can not help but feel the weight of it in your chest. you know for sure that it’s not just a simple comment.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you can’t admit it, can’t tell him what you’re thinking, how every little motion feels like it’s screaming at you.

“you’re lying,” his voice is barely louder than the hum of the engine. “and you know i hate that.”

“i’m not—” your voice cracks, seriously? now?

“babe, i’ve noticed. every time, it’s like yer trynna disappear or somethin’.” he drawls, voice dropping an octave, “i love it, y’know. i love how you fill out that skirt. how your hips look when you’re sittin’ all tense like that. makes me wanna–”

the executive's gaze flickers, almost instinctively, to your thighs – those full, plush curves you can’t seem to hide, “makes me wanna rip that skirt off, pull ya right into my lap and fuck you dumb.”

his voice is a velvet storm, the kind you can’t resist, every syllable crashing into you like a wave of heat, sweeping you beneath its pull, making your thighs tighten, instinctively pressing together.

his hand shifts from the armrest, moving slowly, until it’s at the edge of your seat. you don’t have to look to know where his fingers are heading, breath catching in your throat as his eyes flick up to meet yours briefly, with a well-known smirk blooming at the corner of his lips just the moment his fingers press lightly against the thick, rounded softness of your thighs.

“yer thighs... hmph~ fuckin' delicious.” he leans in, soft pink lips pressing against your neck as his hand pushes further, gloved thumb traces slow circles on your skin, yet you can’t stop the way your body reacts, “want me to show you how flawless you are, baby?”

“chuuya! we’re in a car, for god’s sake... a fucking mafia chauffeur is literally driving us right now.” you hiss, trying to shove his hand away, but the movement is like the ebb and flow of the tide, pulling back only to crash against what it desires.

“ tsk tsk.. babe, you worry too much,” the redhead mutters, fingers digging into your thigh, the heat from your skin almost making him drunk on it. “we got a soundproof glass for a reason, sweetheart. he won’t hear a damn thing.”

“but..chuu–” you bite your lip, trying to force down the heat rising in your chest.

“ain’t no one stopping me but you.” his voice is so smooth, almost tender, but his body says otherwise, pressing against you, and you can definitely feel the telltale strain of his dress pants — he’s too locked in now, “tell me to stop, babe and i will...but we both know you don’t really want me to.”

the weight of his hands changes, pressing harder, pinning you in place like iron shackles — not just hands anymore but something more insidious. his gravity manipulation seeps in, the red hue force tightening around your limbs just enough to leave you breathless. you can't move. can't struggle. and honestly... do you even want to?

“fuck baby... look at you,” the executive's voice cuts through your haze as he leans back to drink you in. the seatbelt suddenly comes alive under his touch, snapping against your wrists, jerking your arms above your head with a sharp tug. did he plan this? or was it 'a heat of the moment impulse?’ not that it matters cause you’re already wincing as the straps bite into your skin, securing you against the cold window.

“does it hurt?” he purrs, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk that’s more taunt than his question. you shake your head, lips parting slightly as the same pressure that paralyzed your arms works its way lower, pulling your body closer until you're forced against him, feeling your back digs into the window and your right leg dangles helplessly off the seat as the rest of you is stretched taut in his grip.

he hasn’t touched you — not really — but it doesn’t matter. cause you can feel him everywhere already. the car feels smaller, claustrophobic, the air pressing against your chest as his fingers twitch, moving toward your legs like they have a mind of their own. slowly, more like agonizingly, they hover just above your skin, undeniable foretaste humming in your veins more and more feeling him leer over you, cataloguing every reaction, every involuntary twitch of your muscles.

“every damn inch of you gets me harder than you can imagine.” his hands finally land on your thigh, tearing the sheer fabric with ease, fingers pressing down to trace your folds through your undies before sliding up and down your inner thighs with adoration. “and yet... here ya are, hidin’ from me. thinkin’ there’s parts of you i wouldn’t worship.”

your breathing quickens, a shallow staccato, and you hate the way you’re shaking under him — not with fear, not exactly, but with something far more compromising. the seatbelt strains against you as you instinctively jerk your arms, testing the hold, but it’s useless. you’re caught, bound, and his ability doesn’t just control your body. it strips away your autonomy, leaving you suspended in his web. and he knows it.

his fingers find the buttons of your shirt, popping them open with maddening ease. “wanna know what’s so damn unique about your body, dollface?” his palm slides over your lace bra, fingers curling possessively as he squeezes softly. you gasp sharply, feeling his hot mouth against your skin, trailing open kisses down your collarbone, sharp teeth nipping before his tongue soothes the sting. you can’t move, can’t think — only feel him, feel his possessive grip on you tightening as he groans low in his chest, “fuhh-kk – those fat titties get me off harder than you’d ever imagine.”

“ch-chuu– stop teasing please.” you whimper with a trembling breath as you arch into him, desperate for more. more of his touch, more of his kisses, as if each fleeting moment only leaves you craving the next. he growls low in his throat, oh- that sound that makes your heart race, pumping blood faster as he deftly undoes the buttons of his vest and dress shirt. your hands ache to roam, to trace the hard lines of his body, to feel the muscles beneath your palms that have haunted your dreams during your time apart. honestly, you can't deny it — not even for a second — how much you’ve missed him, how every inch of him feels like a need too urgent to ignore.

“lemme show you, doll. lemme use every fuckin’ piece of you until you see what i see.” chuuya rasps unbuttoning his belt urgently, he couldn’t stop the way his cock twitched the second it's freed it from his uniform slacks. hard enough now that the foreskin slowly began peeling back on it’s own. he moves closer already palming it. you swallow down the lump in your throat, instinctively parting your lips lewdly, thinking he’d claim your mouth, but he had other plans.

his index finger curls around your bra gore pushing your tits together, cerulean eyes rolling back lost in a wave of pleasure as his cock slides between your breasts, squeezing them tighter with each thrust. grumbling above you, strands of fiery hair hanging in his face as he continued to fuck your tits over and over again.

“jesus fu-hkin’, yer tellin’ me ngh– you hate ’em? look at ’em getting me off–fuckk.” he's too riddled with lust head to toe to even move at this point. he wanted to say something but you fogged his mind so completely that chuuya is now reduced to a moaning mess. a few beads of pre-cum roll down his shaft, soaking your tits and making it even easier as he continues thrusting as his gravity ability still holds your wrists pinned above your head.

chuuya leans down to kiss you, hot mouth crashing feverishly against yours, tongue poking in and swirling around yours as he sucks a bit harsher than usual before aligning himself perfectly with your slit. it feels like a fever dream — you don’t even recall how he changed positions so quickly, wrapping your legs around his slim waist and securing them tightly with his ability. and then you catch it, that half-lidded look of his, the one he always gives you before he pushes in. so full of love and adoration, like he’s already on cloud nine. his jaw goes completely slack as he sinks into you, as if the sheer feeling of your tight walls around him is enough to undo him entirely.

“fuck! chuu– ba-byyy– mmffuch” your desperate pleas are swallowed as he kisses you again, this time far messier.

teeth, tongue, spit — he just adores how you taste. your wet cupid's bow quivers into a pout as he ups his pace, a rarity for him. usually, he’s slow and sweet, savouring every moment, never rushing, always ensuring you’re not hurt. after all, he’s pretty thick, and no matter how many times you’ve done this, it always takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size.

he breaks the kiss, teeth sinking into your collarbone, your breasts, your shoulders, marking you with a trail of bruises that will soon bloom into a tapestry of stormy violet, soft grey, and deep green.

“shit umph..every inch of you – is ugh – etheral..” one hand grips your thighs firmly, while the other latches into your nipple tongue flicking away to make your back arch in response. “ ’m so fuckin’ gone for you baby.”

“y-yes – fuck don't stop chuu– i-i need you... i need more please-”

“y-yeah? want me to show you how much i love you, hmm? fuck you like – oh shit –you’re mine, baby? ‘cause you are — every inch of you – oh fuck – ‘can feel your pussy swallowin’ me. so tight. so perfect.” both your minds are completely overtaken by the intense pleasure and the love you have for each other, oblivious to the car rattling as his cock repeatedly hits your g-spot over and over again, never slowing, never faltering for a second. he's lost in the pleasure, consumed by his love for you.

“this pussy’s mine, yeah? jus’ mine – no one else fucks you like this only me. ‘s gonna – ‘s gonna make me – fuhh-ckk”

erotic breaths and moans fill the car as you bodies rock together, riding out your release in perfect rhythm, the heat between you both building, bodies pressed close, pressure intensifying with every thrust. and just for a few seconds his gravity ability wavers enough for your wrists to slip free and wrap tightly around him, pulling him closer as 'i love yous' spill from his lips, each word nourishing your orgasm, making it smolder like fire as you both melt into each other.

chuuya presses his forehead to yours as you both try to catch your breath.

"i love you so much chuu…" you murmur softly, feeling his hot breaths fanning across your neck.

his lips hover over yours, kissing you gently, over and over, drinking you up like his favourite wine. “say it again, baby,” he whispers between kisses, “i need to hear it.”

you smile, rolling your eyes playfully as you feel your heart swell with adoration, “i love you, chuuya.”

the so-called-ruthless executive chuckles, gloved hands tenderly cupping your face. “oh yeah? say it one more time baby, please?” he says playfully now, but still adorned with a sweet vulnerability, as you both melt into laughter and sweet kisses, whispering sweet nothings, oblivious to the fact that you'll be arriving at headquarters in just five minutes.

well, for now? the mafia can wait.

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irazai @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguru @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda @fyodorssimp1 @vikkinakahara @perlaslibrary @remlionheart @osamucide @ranpazz @naviiq

[lovscb97]

— nerd!chan drabble #1

part 1 / part 2 / headcannons

synopsis: the aftermath of what happens between you and nerd!chan following the events that take place in part 2

tags: nerd!chan x cheerleader!fem!reader, established relationship, lots of fluff, lots of kissing, nerd!chan being a cutie, oral sex (f. recieving), unprotected sex (plz do not), basic lovemaking, aftercare, etc

wc: 1.70k

add. notes: idk why i wrote this n how tf it got so long. those pictures (i cannot upload them rn idfk why. if they r uploaded by the time u r reading this then good for us if not then i'll kms) seriously did a number on me i think tho bcs holy fucking shit man he looks so good. like i adore this man to death n beyond GRRR!!! anyways enjoy :3

. . .

saw chan's latest post and now i can't stop thinking about how the pictures are extremely nerd!chan universe's bangchan coded.. specifically, they're the type of photos chan would post the day you guys finally get together, on the first day he gets to call himself your boyfriend at last.

he's long dropped you off at home and is still reeling from the excitement of everything that's happened after the game, not to mention that he was so giddy to the point he ended up texting all his friends about everything that happened, making sure to repeat how he finally, finally!!! got the girl of his dreams at last. his joy is to the extent that when he gets home, he can't stop thinking about you, thinking about how you sounded and felt, thinking about the way you'd straddled his lap in his beat up car, thinking about how you'd kissed him breathless, just thinking about you.

when he's in the safety of his room behind locked doors, he positively melts against the wall, crumbling to his feet with a lovestruck grin on his face as he repeats everything that went down an hour prior and quite literally changed the trajectory of his entire life if he's being honest. when his phone pings with a message, he's immediately shooting to swipe for his texts, giggling at the sweet messages you've sent him to remind him once more that you love him and can't wait to see him tomorrow. he'd reply back with a goofy smile and kick his feet, of course, before impulsively making the executive decision to once again, stalk your instagram.

when he pulls up your account, his heart clenches against his chest, because there you are, plastered all over the feed with your beautiful features that he's fallen for over the last few months. the way your hair cascades over your shoulders, how your face is lit up and beaming in every post he looks through, your uniform or even casual clothes clinging to your body perfectly in specific uploads— everything about the way you are makes him feel dizzy in the head. he genuinely can't fathom the fact that you're all his starting today and onwards.

the next day when he sees you, he thinks he might ascend onto a different dimension. he's all dazed and in awe when he approaches you, softening at the way your eyes brighten after falling on his figure, watching with honey dripping as you parade up to and crash into him with your arms wrapping around his waist on instinct, no less in public. when he hugs you back, he can smell the familiar scent of your perfume and shampoo mixed together, burying his face in an effort to cling onto you like he's often dreamed of. though he's a bit pouty when you eventually pull away, he thinks you you make up for it by leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek and grabbing his hand to drag him away for a late lunch date.

the hours pass with you and him spending as much time as you can together to make up for however much you'd lost avoiding each other and sneaking around in private previously. chan does his best to pay attention to what you're rambling on too, something about your professor marking you down for a test when you'd answered correctly, but he truly can't seem to focus with the way he's so down bad for you. everything you do, everything you say, everything you are in general makes him want to swoop in and kiss you silly.

so, he does.

it catches you off guard when he leans over the table you're both sat at and connects your lips together, but you're no stranger to his affection (okay, maybe you are a little), so of course, you kiss him back, giggling against his mouth with him. he thinks your laughter might be his favourite sound in the world.

as the sky turns to orange with the sun dipping down, chan allows you to tug him around campus, going with you to the library to pick up a book you needed for your class and accompanying you to the university cafe where he insists on paying for your drink. you both eventually end up back in your dorm, with you letting it slip mid-conversation that karina would be at her parent's house today. the seemingly little tidbit makes him freeze in his place, but he brushes off the lewd thoughts entering his mind in favour of continuing the impromptu and innocent study session you decide to hold in the middle of your side of the room. he tries, he really does, to concentrate on the material he should ideally be preparing for his next exam, but you look so cute focused on the text you're busy highlighting that he can't resist reaching over to graze his thumb over your palm softly. you look up at the sensation of his touch, cheeks tinting pink at the way your boyfriend is staring back at you.

and so, it doesn't take very long for the two of you to get back into locking lips once more, chan hovering over your sprawled out body as his mouth ghosts the skin of your jaw, neck, collarbone, shoulder, everywhere. you swear he's gotten more bold ever since you started dating, but one glance at the burning red of his ears is enough to make you chuckle. when he asks you what's so funny, you simply shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck to yank him in for another kiss that leaves both of you practically levitating.

chan makes quick work to have you cumming on his face after that, languid swipes of his tongue flicking against your clit and swirling at your entrance as you let out the cutest whimpers he's possibly ever heard. when his wet muscles wraps around your sensitive nub and sucks, you see stars, clenching around nothing with your juices gushing down his chin as you spray everywhere. when your boyfriend rises to meet your gaze, glasses fogged up and stained with your release, looking like he'd descended from heaven itself, you can't stop the meek "need you inside, please" that leaves you from escaping. it makes his eyes widen, but he's stripping off his clothes in record time at your plea, causing you to laugh quietly in the darkness of the room, save for whatever light is streaming through the curtains.

when chan finally does enter you, despite having done so multiple times, you gasp. you still get butterflies from the feeling of his cock stretching you out, and he still can't shake off how his stomach swirls in delight at the way your warm walls basically suck him in. he moves slowly but surely, deep thrusts hitting every right spot that has you keening and shaking under his hold. his words are barely above whispers, filled with nothing but loving remarks and reminders of how much he adores you and can't believe you're his. he babbles about how lucky he is to be yours, and how he's never going to let you go, to which you breathlessly huff out something about how you'd never want to go anywhere anyways. that sentence coupled with the way your doe eyes blink up at him is enough to send him hurdling to his climax, triggering your own. you both lay there in the comfort of each other's arms for a while after that, snuggling into one another's skin and exchanging short kisses.

it's only after a few moments pass that chan gets up to clean you off, tugging his clothes back on along with the glasses he'd tossed on your bedside table before wiping you down with a wet cloth. the way you look at him as he tends to your needs makes him flush bright under your gaze, which only has you tittering and sitting up to kiss him once more.

by the time everything's done and he has to go home, chan lights up with an idea, lacing your fingers in his and rushing you outside the doors of the student accomodation. he flashes you a grin that makes you weak in the knees, ruffling his hair to slide his hat on before passing you his phone and posing for the camera. you're confused what this has to do with anything, but you click the pictures for him anyways, heart fluttering at the way he beams at the lens, or rather at the fact that you're the one behind it. when you're done, he thanks you with a smooch to your forehead, shrugging off his jacket to wrap it around your frame despite it being one too many sizes big for you. he buttons you up to the end, throwing his head back at the way you look so tiny compared to the clothing you've got on, which only makes you roll your eyes regardless of the smile that creeps up on your face at his joy.

it's only when you've said your goodbye's and shared a last few kisses of the day that you find yourself back in bed, wrapped up under chan's clothes and inhaling the scent of his cologne that brings back memories of today. when you open your phone, you're hit with his notification in an instant, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when you read him asking you to check his instagram but doing so anyways. you think your heart stops when you see what he's referring to.

chan had tagged you in the photos you'd taken a few minutes prior to seeing him off, but not just that, he'd captioned it too—

@.gnabnahc: thank you for being mine, pretty girl.

hot infatuation floods your system at the words he'd used, and for some reason, it dawns on you now of all times that chan is yours. he's yours. all yours. you can't stop the smile that graces your features at that realisation, replying back to him with something cheesy. safe to say, you drift to sleep that night with thoughts filled of your precious boyfriend.

in conclusion, chan may be smitten, but you're just as bad as him, it seems.

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙you want me to? | LS2˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: logan sargeant x james vowles assistant!reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au

warnings: just fluff!!!! i loveee this plot hehe

summary: in which your new job facilitates you in finding new love

a/n: i love this request & i luv writing for logan !!! not sure if i executed it super well tho let me know what you think 💘 my recent emojie now is just: 🇺🇸🦅

request!!!: May I suggest a Logan Sargeant x James Vowles assistant! Reader? Like her job is to get the boys stuff they might need and to like help out around the paddock and Logan keeps asking her to get him stuff as an excuse to talk to her. And people start to notice when Alex and James start lightly making fun of them in interviews and stuff. Just think it would be funny

my masterlist

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, lilymhe, and 188,274 others

yoursername shit's weird

view all 4,183 comments

lilymhe PRETTY GIRLLL

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logansargeant heyyyy

*comment deleted by logansargeant*

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yourusername posted a story

liked by alex_albon, logansargeant, and 58,173 others

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alex_albon posted a story

liked by yourusername, lilymhe, and 308,134 others

user5 is that y/n

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lilymhe hahah he has the biggest crush on her

alex_albon & everyone knows it too

yourusername ALEX THIS SOUNDS SO MEAN LOL

alex_albon srry for bullying u

interview ->

twitter ->

instagram ->

lilymhe

liked by alex_albon, yourusername, and 527,193 others

lilymhe vibey

tagged: alex_albon, yourusername

view all 8,173 comments

user12 omg y/n in the last pic so cute

user13 omg i luv her she's fit into williams garage so perfectly

yourusername my best girl

alex_albon just for the record she is my girlfriend not yours ok?

yourusername & does she know that?

alex_albon i would hope so yes

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liked by lilymhe

logansargeant 😍

*comment deleted by logansargeant*

user14 did anyone else see logan's deleted comment

user15 yup i think james is right 😛

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 254,973 others

yourusername settling in!!!

view all 3,872 comments

logansargeant very nice pic of me thanks y/n

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williamsracing 🤭

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oscarpiastri yup settling in i see 👀

yourusername what does this mean oscar

oscarpiastri no further comment

user18 she's gonna become a wag soon mark my words

messages ->

interview ->

twitter ->

instagram ->

alex_albon

liked by lilymhe, georgerussell63, and 692,273 others

alex_albon common williams W's

tagged: lilymhe, yourusername, logansargeant

view all 6,938 comments

user24 OMG hi y/n

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lilymhe my girl tired of subtle

user26 omgggg

user27 something is happening i can feel it in my bones

user28 yea y/n & logan falling in luvvvv

logansargeant yea i look so cool and absolutely not awkward at all

alex_albon your awkwardness is all part of your american charm

logansargeant im blushing now thanks

user29 my fav williams era ever

yourusername posted a story

liked by logansargeant, lilymhe, and 79,172 others

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oscarpiastri you better be wearing clothes under that

yourusername oh no party pooper piastri is here!!!! the clothes police!!!

oscarpiastri ur the worst thing to happen to williams

yourusername ask logan what he thinks 😇

user30 omg this is crazy

user31 HELLO?????

user32 is this the most unsubtle indirect ever

messages ->

twitter ->

messages ->

instagram ->

logansargeant posted a story

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon, and 284,293 others

alex_albon AHHHHHHHH

lilymhe omg it's happening

oscarpiastri finally

user37 omg they're dating they have to be

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user39 AHHH OMG

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 98,293 others

alex_albon TEXT ME BACK YOU HORRIBLE PEOPLE

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liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 392,283 others

logansargeant i pulled a baddieee

tagged: yourusername

view all 9,283 comments

user49 omg omg omg

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oscarpiastri awww i feel bad for ever being mean to her now srry y/n

logansargeant when were u mean to her 😤

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liked by logansargeant, yourusername, alex_albon, lilymhe, oscarpiastri

THE END 💙

[targaryenluvs]

— HUNGER GAMES

a/n: look at my cute lil smiley fin 😭 god i love hunger games so much you don’t understand it’s my comfort movies and finn is my comfort character ❤️

RED MARKED STORIES HAVE DARK THEMES. READ WARNINGS PLEASE.

FINNICK ODAIR

— want and desire (req) dark themes

— summary: you’d thought you’d escaped the capitol, and to some extent, him, the ever so sweet and charming finnick odair. but apparently your fate had been signed, as it seemed you couldn’t get away from him, no matter how hard you tried.

— spring cleaning (blurb req)

— summary: finnick finally decides to clean out the garage with your help after you asking him forever.

— victors spoils

— summary: a victor should be celebrated! a victor should get what ever they wish, even if it’s a sweet capitol girl who misplaced her kindness in someone who was in desperate need of reprieve and distraction.

— lonely waters

— summary: even if you resided in the fishing district you only ever got close to the water for swimming late at night. it was your favourite time of the day, but it leaves you open and vulnerable to predators and people, the water won’t save you.. silly girl, don’t you remember? finnick odairs a champion swimmer.

— my people ft annie cresta

— summary: you’d been hired to help keep annie’s home clean and to keep her company. what you didn’t expect was to fall in love with her. and to find out that she was with finnick, and annie doesn’t want to let either of you go. but you’ve found your people, and you couldn’t be happier.

— miss officer

— summary: you’re tasked with training finnick odair for war and to fight in the captiol. only problem? he’s completely enamoured with you.

— breakups and makeups

— summary: you and finnick used to date, but it took a nasty turn when you heard rumours of his dalliances. but now the two of you reunite apart of the same alliance. will you make up or break up? again?

— damage control & lifeline (anon blurb)

— summary: finnick and his mentor getting into a fake relationship for damage control after peeta and katniss’ stunt at the 74th games + finnick saving his stylist from execution by proposing marriage.

— unrequited (anon blurb, implied smut)

— summary: you’d divulged one to many secrets to your favourite victor and he wasn’t afraid of using them against you. karmas a bitch!

— oh baby! (smut)

— summary: finnick found you to be as cute as ever. but you aren’t exactly the smartest in the room according to him. luckily, finnicks more than happy to help his sweet baby succeed, and he will not let you forget him.

— capitol girl (req blurb)

— summary: finnick loves his favourite victor.

— love you best part two (req, smut)

— summary: your boyfriend doesn’t exactly like you around other men without him.

CORIOLANUS SNOW

— trapped

— summary: after the 10th hunger games, coriolanus set his sights on a girl from his younger years to be his wife. disgusted by his actions and scared by the rumours your family agreed. as you realise he wasn’t the same boy from before, snow finds himself intrigued, especially when you seem to be visiting a friends house too often.

— delicate*

— summary: coriolanus had to marry. lucky for him one of the most eligible girls of the capitol was up for grabs. only problem? he hoped his cold exterior would keep her away but nothing broke her sweet spirit. what happens when he finds himself being drawn to her light? and how far was he willing to go to keep it untainted and all to himself?

— ravage delicate pt 2

— summary: he’d won the election, much to your elation. now you’d have to navigate the fame, fortune and status as the first lady of panem. but coriolanus just wanted you all to himself, and he’d do anything to scare you into his arms.

— safe and sound ft lucy gray baird

— summary: somehow you’d ended up in the games, snow and lucy would do anything to keep you safe.

— worth it

summary: coriolanus made the mistake of protecting lucy gray during the bombing, rather than you.

— runaway

summary: you’d always considered coriolanus to be a friend of yours. family even. but after sejanus’s death you find him to be off. he’s keeping something from your family and you’ve run out of time to get as far away as you can.

— our little dove ft lucy gray baird

— summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you.

— our little dove alt ending

— summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you.

— late to the party

— summary: after corio was sent away to district 12, your managed to come to terms with the fact that he did not love you by any means. but what happens when he realises he liked that affection? and what happens when you’re already in a relationship?

— brown jewel (req)

— summary: he was a lifeline and you’d grabbed on in hopes to avoid the reaping, but you were coriolanus’ obsession and he was not going to let you go.

— temper tantrum (req)

— summary: you were the daughter of one of the richest couples of panem. everything you’ve ever wanted, handed to you. coriolanus had a short temper and you were stubborn. who knows what could happen?

— mr president (req)

— summary: mr president seems to be especially enamoured with his favourite maid, you.

— all grown up (smut)

— summary: you were always tigris's annoying rich friend to coriolanus, but once he returns from 12 you seem to be irresistible, not only to him.

— charity (req)

— summary: president snow was praised for his love and devotion to his wife, a cripple. if only they knew how you’d ended up that way.

— love you best (req, smut, read as coryo or finnick)

— summary: your boyfriend doesn’t like you around other men without him.

PEETA MELLARK

— sweet like sugar (blurb req)

— summary: peeta teaches you how to bake since you’re nowhere near as good as you thought, not that you’d admit it.

—paranoia (dark req)

— summary: peeta tries to reintegrate into society in district 13 and get over his fear of you being taken from him. no one noticed just how badly the capitol messed him up until he lashes out.

SEJANUS PLINTH

— coming soon!

LUCY GRAY BAIRD

— safe and sound ft coriolanus snow

— summary: somehow you’d ended up in the games, snow and lucy would do anything to keep you safe.

— destined

— summary: you and lucy enjoy time together at the lake.

—our little dove ft coriolanus snow

— summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you.

— our little dove alt ending

— summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you.

KATNISS EVERDEEN

— coming soon!

JOHANNA MASON

— underestimate (blurb req)

— summary: johanna learns not to underestimate you.

ANNIE CRESTA

— my people ft finnick odair

— summary: you’d been hired to help keep annie’s home clean and to keep her company. what you didn’t expect was to fall in love with her. and to find out that she was with finnick, and annie doesn’t want to let either of you go. but you’ve found your people, and you couldn’t be happier.

TRIBUTE!READER

— coming soon!

(in general, no ship just the reader in the arena, with katniss n peeta etc)

[la-pheacienne]

I feel like I understand people's blorbofication of Javert because I get why someone would really cling onto a complex (male) antagonist with a traumatic past whose entire life is a lie and who kills himself when he reaches that final moment of realization. It is absolutely tragic, and it is easy and natural to cling onto that, we've all been there. But you need to understand that two things are in motion here: the first one is Javert's individual tragedy, and the second one is the broader system he personifies. He's a symbol. His primary function in the narrative is to personify the hateful, bigoted, cruel, inhumane legal system that intervenes after the fact and crushes all those that society has already put down. He, the incarnation of that bourgeois legal system, delivers the final blow. He finishes off what society started, and he does it with joy. When we say that he killed Fantine, it's not even about Javert the individual per se. It's about the entire system he represents. That system killed Fantine and Javert is its flesh and bones. Fantine was a poor girl that was exploited and let down by society in every single way and when she was herself a victim of actual physical violence, the Law, personified by Javert, instead of protecting her treated her like an animal, dehumanized her, humiliated her. The Law was scandalized that a woman like her dared attack the bourgeoisie. The Law was horrified that such a disgusting creature got medical care because she should just drop dead on her street. The Law rejoiced in tearing down her sole protector. The Law prevented her from getting her child back from the con artists that have been stealing her for years because the Law doesn't care about the crimes committed against marginalized people. That's not its function. Its function is to use its discretionary authority in order to dehumanize and punish people that ended up on the wrong side of the street.

So when you come at me with nonsense that Javert "didn't tEchNIcALLy kill Fatnine", "he was just rude", "he was just bitchy", "he just stole her final happy moments", respectfully, you don't know what you're talking about. Javert absolutely killed Fantine. He's not the only one who did but he eagerly and enthusiastically precipitated her execution, and that is the entire point Hugo is trying to make. Your arguments against it are nothing but a mere technicality that stems from the fact that the individual's actions technically do not qualify as manslaughter. It's as if we literally had an individual at court and we were thinking of whether or not to condemn him for manslaughter. It's not about that. It's not about your blorbo and his sadness. Your blorbo has a whole other function in the narrative. You have completely missed the mark of the entire book and you have let your personal emotional attachment for a character prevail over Hugo's main argument about the structural punitive violence that literally kills people. Javert being the product and the embodiment of an entire system that exceeds his individuality does not mean that, as a police officer, he's not responsible for his actions or their consequences. On the contrary, he's precisely entirely responsible for the structural violence committed against Fantine, that's what "embodiment" actually means, that's what we mean when we say that he personifies that system. Absolving Javert of his crimes goes directly against the themes of the book, because while systems operate above individuals by definition, they need those individuals to function. The system needs Javerts. Javerts are everywhere around us, yes even today and it is important to hold them accountable for their crimes. I can't believe I have to explain this tbh.

[shegetsburned]

Heian Era! Sukuna having a daughter? (Who is a daddy’s girl or a mixture of a daddy’s and mama’s girl?)

𝗱𝗮𝗱��𝘆’𝘀 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 w. ryomen sukuna

a/n. loved this idea so i couldn’t help but make hcs about them!

ᰔᩚ i firmly believe she’d be the spitting image of her father. she’d have some of her mama’s features but growl and bite just like her daddy.

ᰔᩚ she’d be such a menace compared to the other children.

ᰔᩚ always on daddy’s lap, listening to his stories or receiving his gentle pats.

ᰔᩚ sukuna would be the type to ruffle his daughter’s hair before sending her to terrorize other kids.

ᰔᩚ you know that one pic of hemsworth holding his kid by the foot at the beach, yeah that’s him. he’d play rough with her daughter and she’d have so much fun.

ᰔᩚ would dominate the world if she could. with her daddy, of course.

ᰔᩚ sukuna could throw his kid away just for her to come running back with a big-ass smile asking to do it again.

ᰔᩚ he’d often correct her when she doesn’t spell things right but would also call his daughter names like; little demon, brat, pain in my ass or fœtus.

ᰔᩚ she would never be disgusted by any of sukuna’s features. i just know that, as a baby, she was amazed at his four arms and two faces, gripping his cheeks and giggling when he evilly smirked at his daughter with all of his teeth.

ᰔᩚ i want to believe that she’s the only one allowed to mess with sukuna. she’d throw her food in his face and bite him out of nowhere.

ᰔᩚ by the way, nobody would ever dare to touch his precious little offspring. she’s showered with gifts and treats wherever she goes so that her smile never fades. cause let me tell you that, if it did, sukuna would make sure that nobody ever experiences an ounce of happiness again.

ᰔᩚ i’m telling you, this girl is getting pampered. it’s the king’s little princess and she deserves the whole world.

ᰔᩚ she’s getting spoiled 24/7.

ᰔᩚ i also have a feeling that his daughter would want to be strong like him. always asking sukuna when will it be her turn to inspire fear into the hearts of the people. she’s so impatient and annoys the shit out of her dad with the same question.

ᰔᩚ it would also be her type to gather a bunch of kids just to play pretend as a queen who executes them one by one. her evil laughter is already on point.

ᰔᩚ physically speaking, she’d have some of her daddy’s marks and eyes, but she’d look like such a sweetheart with her mommy’s overall traits.

ᰔᩚ sukuna is so big compared to her daughter so he’d walk around with her on his shoulders or just holding her like a bag of potatoes. she would love little rides like these and would always ask her daddy to pick her up.

ᰔᩚ he’d be annoyed but his daughter would be one of the most precious thing he has and will do everything in his power to make her exactly like him.

© shegetsburned 2023. Please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own

[inurnctdreams]

dress - m.l

idol!mark x idol fem!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive, established relationship, one shot, song fic (maybe?? i wouldn’t class it as one but there are references to lyrics and the song inspired the fic so??)

warnings: swearing, very suggestive (grinding, making out, over the clothes stuff but no explicit sex), alcohol, mentions of being tipsy/drunk (mark and reader have been drinking but everything is consensual), pet names (baby, babe, pretty girl, mine/yours, dude (affectionate)), mdni

wc: 3.1k

notes: this entire thing stemmed from this gifset that gave me mark brainrot and made me think of the song dress by taylor swift

you’re pretty sure you’re supposed to be paying attention to the conversation happening in front of you right now. one of the executives for mbc… or was it kbs? whoever it was, they were important in the industry and they were talking at you and your group mates about your latest comeback stage… or maybe next year’s end of year concert that was already in the planning stages? you’d kind of stopped listening about five minutes ago. and it wasn’t your fault, really. you took your career seriously and wouldn’t dream of disrespecting anyone who was showing interest in your group by ignoring them usually, but you’d heard zhong chenle’s signature dolphin laugh across the room and that had been it. he’s here.

it would obviously be absolutely, outrageously scandalous for you to take off mid conversation, make a beeline for the group that had walked in and greet him like you want to. you have some modicum of self control and societal responsibility. and it isn’t a surprise, you knew he’d be here, you’d even gotten updates via text with a rough estimate of when he’d walk in. but you haven’t seen him in person in over three weeks and you’ve been looking forward to this night since the last time he’d kissed you goodbye at your door before sneaking back out of your dorm building to his car. 3am on a tuesday morning had turned out to be the only time the both of you were in the same city and without obligations in months. comebacks, tours, interviews. both of your lives were so hectic, it was difficult enough to get a moment to yourself to breathe, let alone together. now he’s here, in the same room as you, and you can’t do anything about it. the anticipation is killing you.

it hadn’t stopped you from pausing mid sentence when you’d registered his presence, though. disguising it with a cough and a modest apology, you’d finished your words and promptly stopped contributing to the conversation. smiling politely with your best poker face on as you tuned out of whatever was being discussed further and listened out across the room for any sign of him. chenle’s laugh is infectious, so donghyuck’s high pitched giggles soon joined in, audible above the rumble of laughter that had erupted from that corner of the room. but that was it. once the joke had worn off, the usual sounds of casual conversation replaced it, no doubt one of the older members’ doing as they reminded them of their surroundings. the first hour or so of award show after parties tend to be just the thing you’re ignoring: prominent figures in the industry congratulating and backhandedly complimenting idols whilst trying to promote something or take advantage of rookies with less media training by getting them to reveal secrets or agree to things.

once they’ve either gotten what they wanted or given up trying, they make their way out and the real party starts. realising you’re going to get nothing from the indiscernible voices in their direction, you start to work out how long you’ve been here, and how long you have to wait before it won’t be suspicious of you to drag your group over there to greet them. unfortunately, you’re interrupted midway through your mental calculations by something digging into your side. it’s gone before you even register the touch, light and inconspicuous. you glance down momentarily before meeting the eyes of your group mate, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“sorry, i didn’t quite catch that last bit.” your years of experience in the spotlight and exceptional training kick in immediately. you turn back to the middle-aged man in front of you with a practised innocent smile. “what were you saying?”

you smile graciously at the waitress as she hands you a flute of expensive champagne off of the shiny silver tray in her hand. taking a small sip, you school your face into a neutral expression to hide the wince at the acidic taste. you’ve never been much of a fan of the stuff, but it’s always handed out at events so you’ve gotten somewhat used to it in the years you’ve been legally allowed to drink at them. this is your second glass, and yet again you find yourself longing for the boring portion of the night to be over so the alcohol can start flowing more freely. you meet the eyes of your group mate and share a look, she hates champagne too. giggling to yourselves, you almost don’t notice the group of twenty-something boys heading in your direction, led by taeyong.

you’re immediately at full attention, straightening up from the pillar you’d been leaning against and placing your half full champagne flute on the nearest surface as you grin at your friends approaching. it’s almost comical, how the amount of people surrounding you in that moment feels like you’re looking for him in a crowd rather than just among his own group members. but then yuta moves to say hi to your group mate and there he is. god, he looks heavenly. the all black ensemble complimented by silver jewellery, his artfully tousled hair, the hint of gloss that have his lips looking so shiny and kissable it’s taking all of your entire being not to ravish him right here and now in the middle of this crowded room. not that he needs any of it to start up the roaring of butterflies in your stomach or trigger the giddy high you’re feeling. no, mark lee makes you feel like this every time he looks at you. barefaced, old t-shirt and glasses on with a hint of stubble starting to grow in as you sit next to him in the studio. bleary eyed, half asleep and hair sticking up as your phone alarm goes off on his bedside table. hoodie, snapback and face mask hiding most of his face as he slips into your practise room and catches your gaze in the mirror.

“y/n.” and everything just stops. the rest of the room falls away, the roar of conversation as your groups say hi is silenced, all you can see, hear, feel is him. the way he looks you up and down appreciatively that still makes your heart flutter despite it happening every time he sees you. he just has this way of making you feel like you’re the only one his attention would ever be captured by.

“hi, mark.” there’s a smile on your face, and you’re trying to make it your usual polite idol, public appearance smile, but really you have no control and you can feel the corners of your mouth turning up further against your will. you think that if you looked, his would be similar, probably that mischievous half-smirk he does that makes his dimple appear. and you love his dimple, but you’re currently captivated by the lovestruck look in his eyes. in that moment, you’re thankful you’d put your glass down because you would’ve dropped it. your hands shake as you force yourself to hold back from him. your groups are publicly very good friends, having known each other as trainees and debuting within a year of each other. you and mark have been best friends for years, and that’s all it was until the mutual pining hit its peak. there was something so beautiful about being in love with your best friend, with someone who understood how demanding your career was and already knew everything about you and who was still your best friend alongside being your boyfriend. around you, the rest of nct are giving your group mates half-hugs or shoulder nudges, but you don’t move to touch him, knowing you won’t let go if you initiate physical contact.

“y/n!” johnny rips you from your bubble. you have no idea how long you and mark were stood there, staring into each other’s eyes with that look on your faces, but it must’ve been long enough if someone’s intervened. the older idol pulls you into a short hug, but not before leaning down to murmur in your ear. “we know you guys are like, sickeningly in love, but would it kill you to not make it super obvious while there’s still cameras everywhere?”

oops.

“mark!” you whisper. or at least you hope you do, you’re pretty tipsy by this point in the evening. he just laughs, equally inebriated, and continues pulling you down the empty corridor, fingers intertwined. on a scale of zero to having your relationship exposed by dispatch come morning, sneaking off together a mere forty minutes after the industry execs had left the party is probably a solid deniable accusation. not exactly a great idea, but if anyone found out it wouldn’t be the end of the world, just carefully curated excuses in a statement and an earful from management. the first couple of doors he tries are locked, but third time seems to be the charm as you’re pulled into a room and plunged into darkness when the door clicks shut behind you.

“c’mere baby.” and you let go. all the pressure from being around so many people that could ruin your careers with one article, all the stolen glances across the room, all the secret smiles you share, all the patience that had been slowly wearing thin the longer you were in his proximity but not being able to do anything about it. it’s been been building all evening, and the dam finally breaks.

you practically throw yourself into his arms, winding your own around his neck as his wrap around your middle. he holds you to him so tight it hurts a little, but you’re probably slightly choking him with how strong your own grip is. the initial ‘holy shit you’re here and i can touch you without everyone looking’ moment passes and you both relax slightly. he still holds you close but it’s more grounding and comforting than anything. you bury your face into his neck and just let yourself breathe him in. his scent, the underlying notes of mark and home underneath the fancy cologne. the steady, comforting beat of his pulse against you. his arms are your safe place and being held by him makes everything better, even if just a little. you can’t count the number of times you’ve been exhausted or stressed or upset or scared or angry and all he’s had to do is pull you into him. you’ve cried on him, ranted into his chest and listened to him murmur words of encouragement and reassurance and love into your ear. there’s no other place you’d ever want to be. and even when you couldn’t physically be with him, he’s been there on facetime, or phone call, or over text. you’ve done the same for him without hesitation more times than you can imagine. he’s your person, your best friend, your soulmate, your everything, your one and only, your lifeline. you feel him press firm kisses into your hair and smile against his throat, snuggling into him happily.

“missed you.” you mumble. the alcohol in your system is amplifying the giddy feeling that’s thrumming through your entire being. all semblance of public image and self-control come crumbling down in front of him like always until all that’s left is the unguarded, most raw versions of yourselves laid bare for each other. he squeezes your hips and pulls back a little to look you in the eyes. you’ve adjusted to the darkness enough to make out his facial features and that same unfiltered, pure love is staring back at you from earlier but now he’s unabashedly grinning at you and his cheeks are flushed with happiness (and alcohol). his dimple is out in full force as he giggles right back at you. this is your mark, the one reserved for you and you only.

“fuck, you’re so perfect.” he whispers. “wish we could stay in here forever, just us.”

“i know.” you bite your lip, and his eyes zero in on your mouth. “wait, where even are we?”

“i don’t care.” and just as quickly as the wholesome, lovesick feeling had flooded you, the arousal and want flares up, threatening to consume you the second he grabs your face and claims your lips in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. he walks you both backwards until you’re pressed up against the door, gripping the sides of his jacket both for stability and to satiate the overwhelming need to get your hands on him. you whine against his lips as one of his hands slips into your hair and pulls gently, letting your hands roam under his jacket all over his waist and up his chest until they’re holding his shoulders. you use the leverage to push yourself up onto your tiptoes to match his heated, open-mouth kisses with the same carnal energy. he groans, the sound making you shiver and adding to the warmth pooling in your abdomen. the hand that’s not in your hair drops down to slide around you and grab your hip, pulling you even closer so you’re flush against his body. the need for oxygen is beginning to grow, but you’re addicted to the floaty, lightheaded feeling that comes along with it. it soon becomes too much, though, the both of you breathing heavily as you break away for air, but he wastes no time in leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw and neck, each one hotter and more filthy than the last.

“mark.” you whimper, turning your head to the side to grant him more access to your throat. he nips at your pulse point softly, careful not to leave a visible mark, but it makes you gasp and arch into him further all the same.

“my pretty girl.” he pants against your skin. “all mine.”

“mm-hmm.” you agree. “yours.” and you are, fully and irrevocably his in every sense of the word. you thread your own hands into his hair and pull his face back up to kiss him again. you could spend forever kissing him and never be satisfied, never get bored. it doesn’t matter than you know him better than you know yourself, or that you’ve spent hours in this exact same position with him already. there seems to be this endless need inside you for mark lee that started when you met him. you were kids back then, but you always craved his presence, his attention. over the years it’s developed, but the need for him has never wavered, even after he became yours.

“been thinking about this all night, you look incredible.” he confesses between kisses, both hands dropping from around you to wander under your dress and start caressing your thighs. his touch is electrifying, leaving trails of fire in his wake as he slides his hands up to grab your ass and squeeze it. the subsequent jolt of excitement has you whimpering against him and his grip moves to the crease where your ass and thighs meet. he kneads the soft flesh there sensually before squeezing again, and that’s all the warning you get before he lifts you up and presses you back against the door in one fluid motion without even breaking the kiss. you’re quick to wrap your legs around his waist, ankles crossing against his back. not that you think he’ll drop you, it’s never happened before, you just use the leverage to pull him in until you’re happily trapped between the cold, hard surface of the door and your boyfriend’s warm, inviting body. you both groan as his hips roll into yours. whether it was a result of you pulling him in or an intentional movement on his part is unknown, but the way he bites your lip and grinds his crotch into yours again is definitely not an accident. with you now supporting yourself, he’s free to bring one hand up to your chest, groping at your tits through your dress. his hips haven’t stopped moving, and you can feel the way he’s quickly hardening against your underwear. whilst the sensation is incredible, it snaps you out of the trance you’ve been in.

“babe.” you moan. “mark, baby, we can’t.”

“you mean we shouldn’t.” he smirks.

“no, i mean someone is going to notice we’re gone soon, if they haven’t already, and come looking for us.” you counter. he stops moving and looks up at you, the fog of arousal starting to clear from his expression. he sighs exasperatedly, knowing you’re right.

“fine.” he lowers you back to your feet. you know you both probably no longer resemble the perfect idol look your stylists and hair and makeup artists crafted before you decided to sneak off for a tipsy make out session in one of the back rooms, so you feel around for a light switch. your eyes squeeze shut as the room is flooded with light, blinking a couple times to readjust your vision. a giggle escapes you as you take in how adorably disheveled mark looks, hair tousled, collar rumpled and the pink hue of your lipstick smudged around his lips. although, you’re sure you look pretty similar.

you spend a couple minutes making yourselves look presentable again before you rejoin the party. “i should probably go first, give you a couple of extra minutes to calm down.” you tease, eyeing the tent in his pants.

“i bet if i checked, you’d still be soaking wet for me.” he retorts, eyes darkening slightly, sending a flush of heat straight to your core. he’s not lying. you take a deep breath to compose yourself before opening the door and stepping out into the corridor. you turn back to your boyfriend.

“behave.”

“the rest of this party’s gonna be torture, having to watch you go around looking like that.” he looks you up and down appreciatively again, though this time it’s a lot less innocent. you’re so glad that your schedules have calmed down enough to allow you more time together for the next month or so, the last couple months without being able to see him properly have been rough.

“well you can show me how much you like it when we get back to yours, later.”

“i plan to.”

“good. ‘cause i only bought this dress so you could take it off.” you smirk as the door shuts behind you.

“not helping, dude!” his voice is muffled as you begin walking back towards the party, giggling to yourself as you go. “i hate you!”

“no you don’t!”

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

A good grade.

Pairing: Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader Words count: 4844 Rating: +18, MDNI Summary: You always thought you would have a future in the art world, until you met Mr. Miller, your professor who decided to make your life hell. What are you willing to do for a good grade? Tags: perv!Joel, soft!Joel, power imbalance, degradation, smut, blackmail, reader is described having female genitalia, no other description of her is given, unspecified age gap (in my mind 24/45 but you can imagine whatever, they’re both grown up anyway), unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but you know, do better irl), oral (f receiving), mention of blowjob, edging, edging with a brush, creampie, pet names, slurs, Joel has a dirty mouth, a lot of swearing, some reader's thoughts marked in italics.

Disclaimers: English is not my first language, very poorly proofread, no beta, it's all my fault and I'm very sorry! I like art but I'm not an expert, I've never taken lessons (well, in high school I did but it was art history and it was only theoretical) and I don't really know how they work, I made it all up so if it doesn't adhere to reality please excuse me. I hope you like it anyway, the other morning I woke up with the idea of ​​Joel painting me as one of his French girls (heheheheh) and I started writing this thing 💀

If anyone wants to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know. Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you like it ♥️

You’ve always loved art, since high school it’s always been your favorite subject and drawing and painting your outlet, your way of expressing yourself. Your teachers have always praised you, considering your works not only perfectly executed but significant, mature, full of pathos. Everyone has always told you that you had an eye for recognizing artistic value, you’ve always been the best in your class and you’ve worked hard to get here.

You graduated with excellent grades and were accepted into a prestigious master's program. You would like to become a professional artist or at least an art critic.

You had a bright future ahead of you, until you met Professor Joel Miller.

He has done nothing but criticize you, your skills and your work from the very first day. 

And he always does it deliberately, in front of everyone else. No matter how hard you try, you never get more than F for every work you submit. The disdain with which he treats you makes you feel like a failure and your breath die in your throat every time he lays eyes on you and says the most hateful words you’ve ever heard about yourself. Today it happened again. You spent sleepless nights working on this portrait, begging the model called by Professor Miller to see you after class hours. You even offered to pay her and she was kind, she didn’t ask for an outrageous amount despite the fact that she could have taken much more lucrative jobs instead of posing for you. You’re just a master’s student trying to support herself by working nights in a bar. 

“What is this?” he thundered looking at your painting “You are only getting worse, miss, I have never seen anything like this. It is indecent that a person like you tries to make art, it should be prohibited by law. Look at this, wrong proportions, no harmony, no attention to detail, nothing. This does not even look like the same person I had pose for hours in front of you. You should be ashamed to present a work like this after 6 months of course” 

You won't be able to finish your master's degree unless you get a passing grade in Professor Miller's course, but he doesn't seem at all inclined to give you even a measly D.

It’s a nightmare.

You'd be forced to start all over again, ask your parents for financial help, which is the last thing you want to do when they've already sacrificed so much to help you pay for college, or do the unthinkable and give up on all your dreams, the career you have cultivated with strength and passion throughout your life up until now.

You decide to make a last-ditch effort and try to talk to Mr Miller during his office hours.

You've always avoided it until now because you thought things would get better but it's the third F you get and you can't afford to go on like this. 

The idea of ​​being alone with him doesn't excite you at all, but you hate losing everything you've worked so hard for even more.

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door, terrified of what he might say to you.

Mr Miller is also an established artist and his work has been appreciated abroad so his disapproval could really preclude you from many opportunities. 

“Come in” even from behind closed door his voice sends shivers down your spine.

You walk in muttering “good afternoon” feeling like a complete idiot, you are already convinced that it was a mistake to come to him, nothing will change his mind. 

Joel is sitting behind his desk, frowning as he corrects tests. He looks up from the papers only when you are in front of him “Oh. it's you,” he says in his usual dismissive tone of voice “What do you want miss?” 

You clear your throat and murmur, “I...” his gaze is already back on the tests, he doesn't even look at your face as he fills the paper with red marks and writes a big circled F at the top, the assignment of some other hapless person like you who will find himself failing his class. Incredible anger mounts in your body, you clench your fists and say "excuse me" in a stern voice. 

It infuriates you, it's maddening how he can't even treat you as a human being for a second. 

"What do you want?" he asks annoyed looking back up at you "and be quick about it, you are wasting my time." 

“I'd like to know what I need to do to have you evaluate me favorably” you try to keep your tone as detached and respectful as possible even though you despise the man in front of you with every fiber of your body. 

“Nothing, you can't do anything, I thought you had figured it out by now, are you also stupid besides not having the slightest talent?”

“Actually...fuck, I don't think I am that bad. And I think you are judging me too harshly,” you spit out feeling tears stinging your eyes. You promised yourself to keep calm but the way he is treating you only makes you want to insult him.

“I advise you to moderate your tone if you don't want to be expelled as well as failed in my class.”

He has the upper hand, you can't do anything about it. A sense of frustration and helplessness crackles under your skin as you plead with him, “Please Mr Miller there must be something I can do to change things. Anything...I…I don't want to fail.” 

An evil grin paints on his face “how much do you care about it?” 

“It's the only thing I care about, please, art means everything to me” you look at him feeling your whole essence crumble in front of him, you are desperate and tired of struggling, you just want to find a way to work things out. You have very good grades in all the other courses, he is the only one stopping you from achieving what you want most in the world.

“Actually you could do something to make it better,” Joel suggests, and you cry, ”Please, I'll do anything.” 

“Anything?” he probes ”are you sure?” His smug, dangerous expression unnerves you, maybe you shouldn't have made yourself so vulnerable in front of him, but there's no turning back now. "Yes," you shriek.

He leans against the back of the chair while continuing to sneer under his mustache “Well, then I have an offer for you. I'm working on a series of paintings of women, you could pose for me.” 

“Me?” you ask confused, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to paint you.  

“Why not, if nothing else you're pretty,” he admits, and it's the first nice thing about you that's ever come out of his mouth. 

You wonder what the scam is behind his proposal, it can't be that easy, he's probably going to ask you to pose with some repulsive animal or in a way that makes you look completely idiotic or he's just pretending that this is the solution but then he's going to blackmail you and make you regret setting foot in his office.

He writes something on a post-it note and hands it to you “Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 8” he orders you “don't be late” 

“I really...” you try to say. 

“What? Is there something more urgent you need to do besides securing good grades?” he raises an eyebrow scrutinizing your astonished face. 

“No it's just that...I'm supposed to be working at that time.” You mutter.

“Well get your shift changed, or ask someone to fill in for you, pretend to be sick, I don't care, just show up.” He barks at you. 

“Okay,” you agree. You can't say no, it's your last resort, either that or total defeat. 

You walk out of his office with the feeling that you have gotten into big trouble. 

_____________________________

You get confirmation of this the next day when you show up at the address written by Professor Joel. It's on a suburban street with little traffic, in front of you is what looks like an abandoned former factory. A blast of cold air makes you shiver as you ring an old intercom near the front door. You huddle in your coat, wondering where the hell you are. Maybe he gave you the wrong address just to make fun of you, you took two buses to get here, at the very least you'll soon find out your professor isn't even here. 

Surprisingly, he answers you instead, his thick voice ordering you to come up. You enter through the doorway into a dusty, bare lobby, only an old freight elevator in front of you. You push the button and the elevator car begins to descend with a sinister, metallic sound. "What the hell is this place?” you ask yourself "my god, I'm going to end up dead and thrown in a dumpster". You get on the elevator with your heart in your throat praying that there isn't a serial killer waiting for you on the other side. 

The doors suddenly open wide onto a large room with concrete columns. You step out and look around, there is a large table in the corner, chock full of artists' materials, tempera, canvases, oil paints, watercolors, all thrown in bulk. Various canvases are resting on pedestals scattered around the room, and others lie leaning against the wall. There is an old leather couch in the corner and a double mattress resting on wooden pallets on the other side. Several rugs are spread on the floor. It's all messy and chaotic, but it definitely has the look of an art studio. 

"Oh, you're here at last," Joel grunts, popping up from behind a pillar holding a dirty brush stained with red tempera. 

He is wearing a pair of frayed jeans and a white T-shirt stained in paint, he is disheveled and barefoot. 

He doesn't even look like your professor; he always wears suits and perfectly ironed shirts at university. 

Two large leaded windows divided into small squares open on the wall in front of you. 

It’s dark by now, so the entire room is softly lit by several lamps and candles scattered around. 

“Where should I stand to pose?” you don't intend to put in more than is necessary; spending time with this obnoxious man is the last thing you want to do today. 

“Sit on the couch,” Joel orders, pointing to the old leather ruin to your right, ”I'll prepare the necessities and we'll get started.” 

You sit, quietly, dreading what lies ahead. 

Joel picks up a blank canvas and places it on a stand, takes a graphite pencil from the table and orders you " Undress" 

You squint your eyes, squeaking “I'm sorry, what?”

“I'm making a series of artistic nudes, didn't I tell you?” he grins 

“No, you don’t” you retort. 

Fucking bastard. 

“Strip” he repeats firmly. 

“But I don't-”

“Look, you're already irritating me, either take off your fucking clothes or get out of here” 

You've seen people pose nude in your art classes before, even in Professor Joel's class, and all you've ever cared about was doing a good job, but now it's different. It's just you and him, in a place in the middle of nowhere, you weren't warned before, and more importantly, he makes you uncomfortable. 

His gaze has done nothing but judge you from the first moment it landed on you. You don't want to lose that last bit of dignity you still preserve and let him see you in your most intimate form. 

“So what have you decided?” Joel presses you. 

With extreme reluctance, you begin to take off your coat, laying it on the couch. What else can you do? By now you have fallen into a trap, either you do this or your grade at the end of the course will be F. 

F for failure.

“Damn asshole,” you think, ”I hope I never see you again in my life after your fucking course is over.” 

The resentment must be clear on your face because Joel mocks you “Oh come on, don't pout like that. There's nothing underneath that I haven't seen a hundred times before. It's just tits and a cunt” he concludes in a dismissive tone, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently.

He rolls his eyes when after some hesitation you slip off the T-shirt you are wearing, revealing a light pink lace bra. 

He curls his lips "cute," he whispers in a lascivious tone " take that off too." 

“But Mr Miller I...” you try to retort

“Go ahead and take it off,” your arms reach for your back, you undo the hooks of your bra and drop it to the floor. You cannot believe this is happening, you are bare-chested in front of your professor. 

"Very well..." he acquiesces, "you see, everything is easier when you cooperate." 

He strokes his beard as he glances at you remove your shoes and pulling down your jeans, the same smug, dangerous smile he had in his office returns to peep across his face.

“Good girl.” 

You feel a knot in your stomach. And you who thought that commitment and talent were enough to get results...poor naive girl. 

You should get out of here and go to the dean and report him for unethical conduct but you suddenly realize that he may be the first, but he won't be the last. 

"Lie down on the couch," Joel whispers to you, his gaze not leaving your body, hungry and demanding. 

You don't want to be here, yet you feel you can't do anything else at this point. 

"Raise your right arm above your head," Joel instructs, "and bend your legs slightly." 

“Like this. Don't move," Joel stands in front of the canvas and begins to trace marks on the surface. His hand moves quickly, his fingers run over the traced lines smudging them. 

You remain still as he ordered you, feeling goosebumps across your body and your nipples harden from the cold. 

You have to admit to yourself that it is fascinating to watch him work; his gaze is alert and sure, his hands move expertly and competently. He is certainly talented. 

Joel observes the work done so far, scratching his chin, adding a few touches here and there as his eyes scan the entire surface of the canvas.

Maybe he really just wants to paint you and you're making a big deal out of nothing, maybe this will end well after all. He moves the easel to one side of the sofa you assume to look at you from another angle until he growls “Spread your legs for me, darling” 

“But I don't-”

“I need more shadows on your  body”

“What?” you glance at him, this sounds like a lame excuse. 

“Spread your legs” he repeats ”come on” 

You do so, feeling his eyes everywhere on you, feeding on every uncovered inch of your skin. And for some reason you cannot explain, you feel your body react under his gaze. You peak at the outline of his cock straining under his jeans, a rush of adrenaline rushes through you, a flush of arousal between your legs. 

No, you can't. 

You cannot crave for him to look at you. He's your professor who lured you here under false pretenses. 

Yet you realize how incredibly handsome he is. So far you had only thought of him as your teacher and had never truly paused to observe him, especially since he always treated you like a dirtbag. 

“Perfect, now stay still like this,” he mutters.

He hums as you do “Such a good girl for me” in a mellifluous and manipulative tone.

You feel his voice penetrate deep into your bones and another thrill of arousal runs through you all, gliding under your skin and straight to your pussy. 

This is so fucked up but on the other hand you are thrilled by the idea of ​​ending up in one of his paintings.

He makes a couple of changes to the sketch and then walks over to you, sitting on the armrest of the couch. He watches you intently, as if he wants to study every tiny detail about you, you still have your panties on but you've never felt more naked than that.

“Hmm, someone is wet.” he observes, gazing at the wet spot on your underwear. “It’s all for me?”

“I…uh…no, absolutely not” You don't want to admit it even to yourself but the situation is turning you on, no matter how wrong it is. 

“Honey, I advise you never to play poker,” he sneers. You look at him puzzled, and he adds, “You're not good at bluffing at all.”

When he reaches out a hand to touch you, you almost tremble, it's as if your body is crying out to him “take me. use me.”

All you ever wanted from the beginning was his approval and now somehow he seems to recognize something in you. You just want to stop arguing, to stop fighting, to stop feeling like you are worth less than nothing, you just want to know that you still have a future that consists of not settling for a job that you don't love and doesn't allow you to feel fulfilled and let you get the results you know you deserve. 

And most of all, you want him to be on your side.

“You're such a pretty little thing, you know that?” his voice gruels as his fingers run from your ankle to your knee and then up to your inner thigh. You stiff, feeling your heart raging up under your ribcage and a fresh flush of arousal dampening your cunt.

How did you never realize how sexy this man is? Now that his gaze has softened you notice the deep brown of his eyes, with some hazel undertones, and how he lights up as he stares at you. 

God, you want him so bad right now. 

You are almost on the verge of grabbing his wrist and placing his big hand on your pussy already, but you decide to let him. 

His fingers move slowly over your skin; instead of touching you where you need it most, his hand stops at your hip, fiddling with the hem of your panties. 

"Can I?" he grunts. 

You nod silently and he demands “I need you to use your words, baby. Speak to me”

“Yes” you breath 

He grins as he places his other hand on your hip and begins to pull down your panties. You lift your pelvis to ease him, and he comments, "mmm, so eager. You’re such a slut, aren’t you?”

You feel your cheeks on fire as you cannot take your eyes off him, desperately in need of his hands, his lips, his tongue and his cock. You want it all, right now. So maybe he’s right, you’re a slut and you don’t even care. 

Joel calmly moves your panties down your legs and brings them to his nose, inhaling your scent. “Sweet. I bet you taste even better.”

He gets up from the couch, tucking your panties into his jeans pocket, and takes a clean brush from a container resting on the table. He sits back right next to you, and grins. 

He caresses the inside of your leg with the brush, the feeling of the bristles flowing over your skin is incredible, soft and intense at the same time, leisurely moving on your inner thigh, raising up closer and closer to your pussy, his eyes set in yours, mesmerized by you.

You are subjugated by him as he fondles you, going up your belly with his brush, deliberately ignoring your pussy, moving deftly over every curve of your body. It is as if he is painting you, as if he has made you his work of art.

The bristles rub over your rib cage, slowly, then your breasts, moving in concentric circles from your areola to your nipples. He passes the brush back and forth over your hard buds and a deep moan escapes from your throat. “Please, Mr Miller” you whine. 

“You can call me Joel, darling” he whispers “what do you need?” 

“I…fuck” You’re dripping wet, your voice is a wail and your body is itching to be touched. 

“Say it.” he orders you, ”I want to hear it.”

“I want - fuck - my pussy” you blather, you are not even able to form a complete sentence right now.

Joel laughs faintly, descending again on your abdomen, very slowly, until he reaches your mound. He rubs the bristles from right to left lingeringly, then lowering again, descending on your outer lips, first one side and then the other. And then again and again. 

When he finally brushes over your clit, you are so pent up and needy that you arch your back, emitting a throaty moan. 

“Oh God! Oh my God”

Joel lowers the brush to your clit, surrounding it with the bristles, pushing and making concentric circles. He stops when he feels you on the edge. 

And then he does it all again, circling and pressing, jerking your bundle of nerves with the brush. And then a third time. 

You’re a crying mess at this point, mind completely numb and your body covered in sweat.

He spreads your folds with his thumbs and sighs, “Look at this pussy, all nice and wet for me, I can’t wait to dip into your sweet honey, babe”

He throws the brush on the floor, it falls with a dull thud bouncing on the carpet. 

“So fucking perfect” 

You squeeze your eyes whining “please" a riot of emotions assail you, your body is so on the edge you could explode just by the way he looks at you, moistening his lips with his tongue.

He puts his arms around your neck, “cling to me,” he whispers. You do as he says, instinctively encircling his waist with your legs, clinging to his body with all your strength as he carries you to the bed and lays you gently on top.

He undresses, staying in his boxers in front of you. 

You can't take your eyes off him, gazing at his wide shoulders, his broad chest, his soft belly with a thin strip of hair running down into his boxers. 

He kneels on the bed, facing you, gently spreading your legs and moving between them. 

He lowers himself on you, placing a kiss on your clit, making you whimper another pathetic "please." 

He sticks his tongue out and runs it flat across your folds, up and down, one hand firmly clinging to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. 

"I was right, you taste amazing," he murmurs against your skin. 

You are no longer thinking about anything right now, not about your master's degree, evaluations or the fact that he is your teacher. 

You feel his nose hitting on your clit as he eagerly licks your folds, opening them with two fingers to sink his tongue in. 

You bite your lower lip, stifling your moans, burying a hand in his dark curls, pulling him toward you “oh fuck, yes”.

His tongue encircles your hard clit, swirling around, his lips lace over it sucking greedily.

“You don’t need to hold back, you can be as loud as you want in here, no one will hear us. Let me hear you, baby. I wanna know how you sound when you come” 

He doesn't stop sucking and licking until you feel your orgasm mount inside you like a flooding river, invading your body, curving your toes, clenching your fists on the sheet beneath you and rolling your hips on his face, wetting his lips, his chin, dripping onto your inner thigh. 

“Yeah, baby, come apart on my tongue, just like that”

He licks you clean until you calm down, devouring your juices to the last drop and then looks up at you “you have no idea how beautiful you are, starving for my cock” he groans “god, I must have you right now, I must make you mine, you hungry little whore”

You wait for nothing else, it seems your thirst has no way to quench today.

“Please, Joel,”

He pulls off his boxers, throwing them on the floor, his cock springs free and is incredibly hard, you can't stop looking at it. He's big, so big you don't even know how he's going to fit all the way inside you but you don’t care. “Fill me up, Joel, please”

“Yeah? You want this big cock inside you? Want me to fill you up so good baby?” He grumbles.

“Please, Joel, it’s all I need” you whine. 

He lies on top of you, tapping your lips a few times with the tip, running it along your folds and wetting it with your juices, aligning himself with your opening, “I'll give you what you want, then.”

He nudges at your hole a moment before he enters you, just the tip, pressing gently to let you get used to his intrusion. 

You moan feverishly, clinging to his back, bucking your hips toward him “more, please, more” you plea. 

As he plunges inside you, he stares at your face, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single second of your reactions, when he’s ball deep into you you let out an incoherent whine so graveling it doesn’t even sounds like your voice. 

He begins to pump into you as you circle his waist with your legs again, pushing to feel him deeper, your hands roaming in his graying hair. 

“Here you go, taking me so well princess, you’re so good to me” 

When his lips settle on yours you realize that you had not yet kissed until this moment. His lips are soft, demanding, his tongue penetrates your mouth licking eagerly, and you are more than happy to respond, savoring his taste of mint and cigarettes. 

One of his hands kneads your breast, his fingers close on one of your nipples as his cock doesn't stop sinking inside you.

You moan into his mouth feeling like you are on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the sinful pit of hell. 

“Where do you want me?” he whispers in your ear, and your voice comes out broken from the back of your throat  ”Inside. please. I'm - fuck - I'm on the pill.” 

You feel him spilling his load inside you a moment later, painting your inner wall with his hot sticky cum. 

You feel delirious and exhausted, guilty for what you just did. Your moral code has just been shattered under the hot weight of his body.

He kisses you again, lingering on your bottom lip. “You’re so much better than I thought,” he chuckles. 

He moves away from you and stands up naked to return to the sketch. He traces a few lines and makes some adjustments as you stare at him in amazement.

“Can you show me?” you ask. “Yes, come here,” he replies. You get up and stand next to him to observe the canvas. Your body is sketched on it and it looks perfect, you have never seen yourself so beautiful.

“You can go if you want, I’m done for today” 

“I- I don’t want to”

“Do you want more?” he sneers “god, you really are a slut.” he comments as he gets closer to you. 

He fucks you two more times, the first time he makes you get on all fours, licking your pussy from behind and then sinking into you while he holds you by the hips, his cock slamming against your cervix and his balls against your ass. Then you’re too eager to have him in your mouth, to taste your flavor mixed with his, so you offer to give him a blowjob and he fucks your mouth before digging back into your pussy again.

He drives you back to campus. “I may be an asshole, but I won’t let you walk around alone at night,” he says. 

You get out of his car feeling like you’re in a bubble, like everything that happened was just a surreal dream you can’t wake up from. You collapse into your bed after throwing your clothes haphazardly on the floor. When you wake up the next morning you feel like shit. 

You don't know how boldly you will look your classmates in the eye, but you can't skip class, and the thought of seeing Joel again thrills you, no matter how wrong it is. 

When Joel enters the classroom, he ignores you, probably so as not to arouse suspicion; it would be too strange for him to treat you with regard after denigrating you for months.

He begins returning graded tests proceedings slowly as usual, moving between desks and laying down the papers without making any comment. The test that rests on your desk has a circled A at the top.

Tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @lemon-nomel @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed @pedrostories

[crsssie]

pretty blonde curls

word count: 11.6k || College Frat AU || banner by @temmmry

warnings: mentions of sexual assault (not from reader or curly), depictions of violence (reader beats jimmy up), smut (2 scenes)

summary: "Me or him, Grant?"

Curly would say it takes quite a bit for it to get through his head that someone likes him.

He recalls an early moment in college when he had only been part of the frat, four drinks in before he had been raising a brow at one of the girls who had detached from Jimmy and found him, her frustration evident when she had whined that she was trying to ask him out — only to be met with a quiet "oh" from him and an apologetic shake of his head.

He's not stupid when someone's trying to sleep with him, though. Playing stupid when someone wants to hook up with him is always easier than saying no. It's the same as dressing baggy on campus to avoid attention.

"Too attractive," Jimmy tells him.

Curly doesn't see it, remnants of his health problems evident on the stretch marks on his shoulders, insecurity creeping down his sides and across his stomach onto his thighs — but it's all easy to hide. It makes him less scary to approach when he's on the board by his second and third year of the frat. He had been tugged along by Jimmy — which he's thankful for, really. But Jimmy complains about how much easier it seems for Curly to move up the ranks when he brings a different chick home every other day.

So, when the discussions for the next president creep out, it comes to no one's surprise that Curly is president, but everyone's shocked that Jimmy's the VP.

It's easy for Curly to be elected as the face of the frat, clean record, and everyone's favorite from none else but hard work. His professors appreciate his sincerity, and he had been in contact with many of the executives of the school since he was elected as VP. It's easy for it to be him simply because everyone knows he's reliable enough for it — and he knows when to stop. A clean slate — impossible to break and crumble down the name he has built. False accusations of sexual assault never lasted long. Curly was simply too clean for it.

It was almost always Jimmy's fault when it came to it.

But some people steer clear of the frat and its members in general, and while Curly has been dense when people liked him, he understood. Someone who refuses all advances and plays stupid the same way he does at the parties is agitating. He can't complain but, really, he wishes he'd be at least given a chance.

"Not with you alone, no." You click through your schedule. "I told you, Grant. I don't want... you know."

"He won't—"

"It never ends well. You know the rumors spreading about your vice president. You've not got bloodless hands just because it wasn't you, you know? A friend who does nothing to help is just as guilty." You slide your books into your bag, looking around.

"Not under the law—"

"Maybe." You wave bye to him after class, calling at your friends who have come to pick you up.

Curly understands your hesitation. You don't dislike him — visible from the way you're still friends with him, but you refuse to go out with him to hang out or anything else similar unless he could guarantee you wouldn't bump into any of his brothers. You refuse to be out with him even if all of the professors like him because it'd be terrifying to put yourself at risk of being so close to someone on campus who was known to be a sleaze. The election of Jimmy into the frat board threw you off more when he had called you one night.

You'd built more distance when you had found out.

You know he's not the same, but you didn't ever want to be on Jimmy's radar, and Curly had done a good job not showing you at all to anyone he knew so far, and you only prayed it would continue like that.

Curly understands what you mean. His hands aren't bloodless. Jimmy's smeared blood onto his palms and he's washed it off more times than necessary — dried skin from the bleaching far too many times. He can't count how many times he's had to step in and tell Jimmy that taking home the plastered girl from the party wasn't a smart idea and how people had to get checked for drugs because while getting high would be pleasant, someone coming for the frat because one of the members had slipped in a date rape drug to assault someone would not. He's stern about that, and not even Jimmy is allowed any wiggle room.

But it doesn't matter how much he does to make sure that the parties thrown are safe for all. You still refuse to associate with him too much.

At least the frat's name is growing thanks to his effort.

"Presentation night in three weeks." He mumbles to himself as he texts the board groupchat, fingers quick on his phone as he dabs at the sweat on his forehead with the towel.

"Oh, look who it is." You hum, head tilted as you start the treadmill next to him. "Presentation night? What are you presenting on?"

He beams at the sight of you. "Every single time I've had a complaint from the school addressed to me about the club since the start of the school year. Surprised to see you here. Thought you didn't like hanging with me in public."

"Jimmy's in class." You stretch your arms above your head, humming. "Just gotta make sure I don't bump into him."

"Yeah, he is— how'd you know?"

"A friend shares a class with him." You hit the treadmill twice, speeding up. "Warming up or cooling down?"

"Cooling down." Curly hums. "It's getting dark. I could walk you—"

"It's alright. Anya's class just ended." You wave at him dismissively. "See you in class tomorrow."

"See you."

You don't share a major with Curly. You had one class first semester of freshman together and then exchanged numbers — Curly had looked quite nerdy at the time, tall but lack of muscle evident on his face, and over the 15 weeks of instruction, he had lost the majority of his weight after you had told him you'd be down to be gym buddies with him. By spring, he had joined one of the frats and met Jimmy, and the two had stuck close since.

Gym with you is rarer these days, but still.

He claims you helped a lot early on, completely relaxed when you had mentioned casually that you'd be checking out the gym and were scared to do it alone — and the rest was history. He bulked up much faster than you reached your goal, and by the time that the semester came to an end, you couldn't count on two hands how many people had oogled at Curly when he passed them. You couldn't blame them. His biceps were museum-worthy.

The streaks of white on his back and shoulders that you caught wind of when he walked around in made him insecure. You'd caught it once when his shirt soaked through, and he had thrown his hoodie on almost immediately after. The stretch marks on his skin are oftentimes attributed to his height and muscle — never to his past.

He stares at himself in the mirror longer on some days, your voice in his ear as the two of you call. You do care, Curly knows. You just find Jimmy a bitch and hate him with a passion reserved for no one else.

"It'll be hot tomorrow." You hum. "You gonna go around in a long sleeve again?"

"Might wear a t-shirt." He glances at his back as he flexes, staring at the lines on his back.

"Won't you wear a tank so I can drool over those arms?"

"You and your obsession with muscles."

"Hey, it's not horrible."

"Says the one who took a whole digicam photo of my biceps back in year two."

"Hey."

"I'll tell you. You down to study on Saturday?"

"As long as you drive."

"You wouldn't go if I didn't."

"Maybe." You mumble. "Keep Jimmy away."

"And if he wants to come?"

"Tell him to kill himself."

"I can't do that, sweetheart."

"Sure you can, big guy."

Curly likes you. He thinks it's painfully obvious. His brothers in the frat find it painfully obvious. When he smiles at his phone there's an 11/10 chance that you're texting him, and it's much easier to ask him a question and get away with things when he's on call with you because he's barely listening to their question and wants them away from his door as soon as possible so he can continue to talk to you.

It's just a matter of fact that no one knows quite what you look like or what you sound like.

Curly keeps you in his ear at all times, and you never videocall him.

And if some of the frat brothers try to follow him to a coffee shop, Curly's got the sixth sense of a hawk and everyone's location, so as long as one person's by him, he refuses to let you out of the car, even if it means he goes in to grab your orders and you both sit on the car to study. Refuses to let you out or you refuse to get out. The frat just assumes that it's the former, so they stop trying to follow him out to the study sessions.

"They're not here." Curly offers you his hand, and you hum.

"Thank you, Grant."

"Of course."

"Is there a reason why they call you Curly?"

"Don't you think my last name sounds like my first?"

"Hm... I could see Grant as a last name, yeah." You pause. "You got a preference?"

"You get to use Grant 'cause you don't need t' treat me like a president."

"I suppose so. The professors like your last name better, too."

"I suppose." He lets you order first, glancing up at the menu as you finish grabbing your usual.

He thinks it's unsurprising that he likes you this much. You're easy to like and easy to take care of. The fact that you haven't left him despite his best friend's awful reputation was probably an act of mercy in itself. You never fail to remind him that he's part of the problem, though. Really. Truly. You're very much aware that Curly is constantly on thin ice when it comes to Jimmy, and there are lines that you draw to make sure that Curly can never quite get as close as he'd like to.

You refuse to let him do anything that would give anyone the wrong idea, and the furthest that Curly has managed to push you was the study sessions that you only allow on weekends and only go with him after he makes sure no one follows him out.

You refuse to be made public with him.

And it's not that you worry about your reputation or that you don't seem to like Curly — it's really as simple as how much you despise his best friend. Curly seems to have caught on early, never pushing much further than what you allow him. He lets you initiate everything so that you feel like you have more control. He understands how awful it can get when you feel as though you have no control over anything.

He knows what it feels like to have none.

So you're allowed to boss him around, he really doesn't mind it, and dare he say it, it's almost nice. It makes him feel all warm and domestic when you do. Sometimes you bring him back to your apartment when your housemate isn't home and study there, and he likes it. He likes the way you kick him under the dinner table as you swing your legs to focus. You prefer it to tapping your pen, but you also have the habit of biting the back of your pens and darting your tongue out to lick your bottom lip when it gets dry, and Curly can't help but notice the way your lips glisten with your saliva and wonder what it'd look like wrapped around his— not that he would ever actually do anything about it! The most he'll do is adjust the strain in his pants and let out a sigh.

Someone save him.

He likes you, painfully, though. His heart races when he sees you pass him and he thinks he lights up like the sun when you wave back. It's a little bit concerning. Maybe that's why he insists on studying with you despite the fact that your schedules barely match up and why he slots out his Saturday brunches to hang out with you to study and grab brunch because you never seem to have breakfast. He wonders if you do it on purpose or if you just have the worst eating habits on earth.

You don't let him pay even when he insists.

You draw a line between the two of you that gets painfully clearer and clearer to Curly, and he wonders if he's just somehow really into someone who could lowkey crush his heart if given the chance. He gets it to some extent. You don't like his friends, so by proxy you wouldn't be able to last with him anyway if the two of you could start dating. No. Not friends. Just Jimmy. You despise his best friend, and it's almost as if you're just waiting for him to slip up.

But you let Curly get away with more and more as the semester progresses. You bring him home once without checking if your roommates are there, and you blink as Anya stares back at you, waving slowly at Curly as he nods. Another time you pass a couple of his brothers while passing by the frat, and Curly has to cover up and tell them that he was just walking a classmate because it was late. It wasn't out of character for him to play it off as that. Most of his frat understands to respect his private life. After all, despite how reliable Curly was, most of the frat still didn't like burderning him all that much. It was easier to let things be and stay out of trouble.

Not that Curly gets any less complaints from faculty.

Jimmy's failing this class, this other brother is, and another, and another... Curly finds that it's quite annoying, and soon, he calls for the club to start hosting study sessions so that at least the professors wouldn't be complaining about how the frat life was getting in the way. He suspends nonessential parties for the time being and texts you that Saturdays aren't free anymore, and you laugh.

"They're grown ass men and can't study on their own?"

"Happens to everyone." Curly mumbles, glancing at the study group. "We're in this together."

"Anyone got their girlfriend over?"

"You... miss me?"

"Miss your muscles, gorgeous." You laugh from the other side, voice cutting off as you mute yourself.

Curly shakes his head, glancing at the guys in the room.

"You wanna come over?"

"Is Jimmy there?"

"Yeah."

"Then no."

"I still don't get your problem with him."

"Maybe you'd have to be a woman to find out." You hum. "If you wanna come over just let me know."

"You don't mind your roommates knowing?"

"Everyone's out for the weekend."

"Ah. I'll text you."

"Alright. See you around, big boy."

"See you around, sweetheart."

Curly doesn't think about Jimmy much. He's as much of a friend and maybe even more since he had introduced him to the frat, and although Jimmy's got a questionable reputation, Curly chooses to trust his friend. Jimmy isn't horrific in his eyes. He's just a guy who might come off as a sleaze, and maybe he's definitely questionable because of how seemingly little he cares for women, and maybe he's just... yeah, maybe Curly isn't understanding because Jimmy could never treat him the same way he treats the girls at the parties. Though, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Jimmy barely cares.

"Hey." Curly grabs a guy's shoulder, and the poor girl scurries off into the crowd of the party.

"Curly. Really?" He groans.

"No fucking the girls who look like they're terrified."

"So I can fuck someone who isn't?"

"Don't go harassing them."

Curly gives the guy two pats on the shoulder as he spots you at the door, grinning at one of the other guys.

"Oh, really?" You tilt your head. "Didn't realize the place was so big."

"I love it." The guy laughs, raising a brow as Curly steps over. "Curly."

Curly tilts his head at you, and you tilt your head to the side.

"Our president. Curly."

"Grant's fine." He holds his hand out for yours, and you take it, nodding as you shake on it. "New here?"

"Got invited by this nerd."

"ey."

"Affectionately, of course." You hum, patting the guy on the chest twice.

"I'll take her from here."

"Of course, prez."

Once you're far away enough, you meet eyes with Curly and laugh.

"You drink yet?"

"Wanted to experience one sober." You press against Curly as someone squeezes past you.

"Sober makes it boring, sweetheart."

"Well I can see someone certainly has gotten a drink or two in his system." You pinch at his cheek, and he brushes noses with you.

"Maybe."

"Where's my charming gym buddy?"

"Still here, sweets." He hums.

"Maybe." You push yourself off of him, glancing at the rest of the crowd. "Smells awful in here."

"It's why I don't invite you. Outside of you not caring, of course." He fistbumps a guy that passes, flicking his chin at him as you stare.

"You look real good, Grant." You tap his chest, humming as you glance in the corner of your eye.

"Why are you here? You hate being here because of..."

"Heard he'll be late. Wanted to come see you." You brush your nose up his jaw, and his eyes flutter as he hums.

"This is nice."

"Of course." Your palm finds his chest, and you hum quietly. "I'll head out in a bit. Just wanted to come say hi."

"Not staying?"

"Not for too long. Heard Jimmy would be late. Not gone." You tap his chest gently, and he presses his forehead to yours. He opens his phone and looks for Jimmy's location, humming as he buries his face in your neck.

"See you around?"

"My place tomorrow? Heard there was no study sesh tomorrow."

"Eleven?"

"Mhm."

"See you." He sends you off with a quick nod, and you're off past the door.

It's a quick call. He would have liked for you to stay longer, but Jimmy walks in five minutes after you're gone, and it's back to being friends with Jimmy.

It's a constant dichotomy - the difference between being friends with you and with Jimmy. You're so tame even when you kick him under the table, and you're in little to no trouble. Jimmy gets allegations every now and then at the parties, and Curly is always stuck cleaning up after him. Sweep them under the rug. It's fine. It wasn't anything — alright, maybe he's starting to get your point. He doubts he'd want to hang around Jimmy if he was a girl, but he isn't, so he gets a little leeway, maybe.

He doesn't even notice that you've settled between his legs on the floor, and he blinks down at you as you bare your teeth and smile at him.

"Hey."

"Hey." He swallows. "Something wrong? Dropped something?"

Your palm makes contact with his inner thigh, pushing them out as you prop your elbows to free your hands to work at his belt.

"Hey, sweetheart, hey—"

"Quiet." You mumble, poking at his dick through his boxers as you pull at the waistband, and Curly panics. No way you're doing this. You barely even like it when he holds open doors for you and offers to walk you home. You're definitely drunk or maybe you got your hands on some drugs or whatever because surely you're not—

You're taking him.

You're sucking him.

He blinks owlishly at you, your lips parted and skin glistening under him, lashes fluttering as you wrap a hand around his base, and he thinks he's going to pass out. Your mouth is painfully warm, and he reaches his fingers to thread through your hair, head thrown back in bliss as he—

His alarm rings, and Curly heaves, hand over his chest as heart threatens to break past his ribcage. God, fucking hell. He needs to fix his mind before you turn around and leave him for good for even thinking about you like that.

He'd argue that you probably know from the way you raise a brow at him on occasion, but better safe than sorry.

You're knocked out on the coffee table, eyes closed as you sit across him, and Curly adjusts the strain in his pants. It'd be rude to rub one out in your bathroom, but it'd also be uncomfortable for him to just let it sit there. He taps his fingers on the table as he stares at the drool that slides past your lips, humming to himself as you mumble to yourself.

He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and your lashes flutter awake.

"Was I drooling?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry." You mumble.

"I should be sorry." He swallows. "You too tired for this?"

"Not too tired. Just tired." You mumble, yawning as you smush your cheek against the glass and blink at Curly. "You've got blonde lashes."

"Sure do." He stares back down at you, shifting his legs again.

"Do I gotta make a joke about how you're hard or are you just restless today?" You look away, staring at the blank screen across from you.

"Restless." He mumbles. He's sure the red on his ears is giving him away.

"Well, at least the GE will be out of the way." You kick at his leg from under the table, and you click your pen twice. "Don't got all day, big boy. Still have gym later."

"Yeah." He mumbles.

He doesn't see you for a while after that.

You go and flounce around and hole up in your room afterward, and Curly busies himself with the things of the frat and preparations for the pre-finals week party. It's never a smart choice but most people are going to find a party to go to anyway, so he might as well host one. Reputation has to be upheld anyway.

He texts the groupchat and everyone gets the drinks, and Curly checks the whole house for hard drugs, raising a brow at one of the younger boys who pulls out a sheet of LSD. It's shoved in the vault for safekeeping, and Curly assures him he'll get it back after the party when everyone sobers up.

Then people are invited and the house fills right up. Curly leans against the wall, just enough alcohol in his system to be warm, but not enough to cloud judgement — at least not according to himself. He glances around at the party, nodding at people he knows, chatting idylly with people he recognizes, the music and yelling making it hard to hear. Curly learns to read lips, and he sends almost everyone off with a quick flick of his fingers.

It should be fine. It's usually fine. It's the biggest party of the year that he had the trouble of going through planning in his third year, but this year is a lot more relaxed now that he isn't struggling to count club funds. Treasurer was not a fun position if you didn't like it all that much. At least he isn't going through it again. Also, the alcohol makes it hard for him to really keep to his weight. Too much sugar. Not good for his health or—

"Grant!" You call, squeezing past a couple making out as you tug on his collar and have him bend down for you, lips brushing his jaw as you grin. "There you are. Brooding all by yourself, handsome?"

"Sweetheart." He hums, hand finding your cheek as he squeezes gently. "What brings you here?"

"Boredom. Also alcohol."

"Didn't want'a get drunk at your apartment?"

"So much more fun when there's a man around."

"And Jimmy?"

"Heard he isn't coming tonight."

"You seem to know whenever he isn't coming." Curly brushes his nose against yours, and you hum.

"Don't want to catch his eye."

"You're already catchin' everyone's by bein' here." He eyes one of his brothers that stares, the poor guy looking to the side at Curly's glance.

"I think it's cuz their precious president is all up on some girl they've never met." You whisper, pinching his cheek as he leans back up. "Hm?"

"Well, not that they haven't met you."

"People are nosy." You glance to the side, winking at one of the girls that pass.

"How much d'you drink?"

"Pregamed at home. Three shots? Horrible for my sugar intake, though." You mumble, hand resting on Curly's chest as he pulls you in by the waist.

"Makes two of us." He mumbles, hand finding your forearm as he rubs. "You stayin' the whole time?"

"When's it end?"

"1:30 we start yellin'"

"Then until y'all clean up." You hum. "Not completely drunk."

"Can tell."

That's the fun thing with you, though. Your alcohol tolerance runs the same as Curly, so he finds that it's a lot easier to know when you'll knock out in his arms. It's not the first party you've been to. You joined once back in freshman when Curly first joined, and you had met Jimmy — and immediately decided that it was not worth it. You patted Curly twice on the chest and left that night, and never came back. It was surprising that you'd show to a party in year four of all times. He's not complaining, though. Always nice to see your pretty face.

Curly keeps an eye on Jimmy's location when you're around just because he'd hate to see you actually meet the guy. Met him once years ago and decided to stay as far away as you could.

"Don't get why you can't just drop him."

"Maybe after college." He mumbles. "He's our VP."

"Would you kick him if an allegation was serious enough?"

"How serious?"

"Expulsion serious."

"I'd have to. Otherwise I'd go down with or without him."

You brush your nose against his jaw, humming quietly as your chest vibrates against his.

"Good to know."

"Don't be going getting yourself assaulted. Won't let that happen to you." He mumbles.

"Me or him, Grant?"

"Don't do that to me." He groans, watching as you bat your lashes at him. "You're both important."

"Don't go testing me, blondie." You hum.

Curly glances at his phone, sighing as he rests his forehead on yours. "Jimmy's headed our way."

"Thought he left."

"Texted an hour ago sayin' he'd be back." He mumbles. "Wan' sit in my room, sweetheart?"

"You know the rules. He's here? I'm off." You whisper, closing your eyes as his lashes brush your skin.

"See you after finals?"

"Text me before you go?"

"Of course."

You hang out with Curly in between semesters during breaks. When he's free from the frat for the most part and planning things, he finds himself in coffee shops with you to catch up on gossip of all things. You ramble about tea you hear while working for your professor, and it makes Curly see a whole new side of some of the people on campus. It's like you have eyes and ears everywhere since you're helping the professors out.

"And then she ended up taking a break." You tap the keyboard, humming. "She'll be back next year, but we'll be gone by then, so, you know."

"Because the dude knocked her up?"

"I'm surprised she chose to keep it, but I mean, if she wants it, then so be it." You press the straw to your lips, humming to yourself. "Lovely tea place. How'd you find it?"

"One of the guys' girlfriend. Told me this place has great tea." He hums. "Not overbrewed at all, huh?"

"Nice and aromatic." You kick your legs under the table. "How've you been? Survived finals?"

"Yeah. The usual."

"How dependable."

"Yeah?"

"Shame no one knows how you really are." You hum. "Quite charming, nonetheless."

"You're speaking in book again."

"Alright, Grant. Sorry I wanted to be poetic for a sec. My condolences for my use of language."

"Now you sound even worse."

You click your tongue at him. "I like you this way."

"Rude?"

"Honest." You hum. "You've always got that goody two shoes smile on your face when you're on campus. It's strange. I know you want to sink those hands into my neck and choke me out every now and then."

"In public is insane."

"Your fault for taking me here. I offered my apartment."

Curly raises a brow at you, and you hum. "Complexity builds character."

"My brothers beg to differ."

"Where's Jimmy, by the way? He's usually around during breaks."

"Decided to take a solo trip. Builds character, or something." Curly hums.

"We should do a road trip." You glance at your phone. "Go around the area. Find a national park and go camping."

"Aren't you gonna get cold?"

"We'll survive." You raise a brow at him. "We could huddle for warmth, even."

"You implying sex?"

"You pervert..." You gasp, holding a hand over your mouth. "No. I was implying cuddling, but considering that your brain went straight to the gutter, I vote no road trip."

"A day trip down south would be nice."

"We could go to the city."

"Oh, that too." You scroll on your phone. "Tomorrow?"

"How about the beach?"

You glance at Curly, and he laughs.

"Please?"

"I hate you, Grant."

"Love to see you with your tits out."

"Oh, god. Fratboys."

But the truth is that Curly knows exactly what's going on at all times. You admit he's part of the problem. You keep him around because he's fun to be around. Down to do most things. Not a horrible person — a person. Not morally good or bad. There exists no pure saint or pure sinner. Anyone who presents that way is suspicious enough to warrant questions. You keep Curly around because he's not a horrible person. Only issue is with his best friend.

He's sure you'd try to cling onto your best friend if it was all allegations and no charges too, but you can't afford the same for Jimmy. The gender difference and lack of security you felt whenever he was around was more than enough to scramble any sense of security you felt with Curly. He understands that.

He wonder if it's the lesser of two evils — friends with a liar or abuser?

You'd choose a liar, but he supposes for himself it's one foot in both.

Well, not that you're the accuser.

Curly starts the new semester without you but makes time to study with you nonetheless, humming to himself as you invite him into the apartment, scrunching your nose when he smells of a workout and kick him out to come back another time. He complies, frowning at you when you shoot him an apologetic smile, and he nods. He understands. He has a persona to keep up around your roommates, and he also has an image to upkeep for the school, or whatever.

It makes him crack a little. Seep under the mask just a little. He doesn't know where the ego comes from, but he doesn't appreciate it.

He scrubs at it in the shower, and he reminds himself that it is not who he is.

He had to work to get where he was. He doesn't get to act like he's better than people.

"Ego is really only for... people who have nothing." You mumble, stirring your drink.

"Yeah? I mean sometimes I get egotistical, but I have to remind myself that I'm not who I am." You hum. "I worked to get here. Everyone works to be who they are. If they don't... then they aren't who they are."

"Now that's something new."

"I have never had an original thought in my life." You glance at the girls that step up to the table and go quiet.

Curly deals with them. He knows you can hold your ground, but they're not people you know, so they're not people you should have to deal with. He prefers to keep you away from them, even if they come knocking to the table the two of you have in the coffee shop. He's seen her at a party or two. Probably a second year looking to date a hot fratboy so she can say she dated one in college. Nothing Curly hasn't seen.

"Why are you here with her again? Curly, I really did expect you to be better at choosing... study dates." She eyes you, and Curly watches you smile.

Inhale, exhale, stare.

"If you wanted a date you could have just asked." You offer, voice light with mirth as she blinks at you.

"You! I'm not some cheap whore, you know?!"

"Didn't say that." You hum. "Unless you'd like to sit with us? Don't see a bookbag, though."

"In my car!"

"Want' come study with us? You can pull a chair—"

"Speaking of chairs. This one's uncomfortable. You mind if we switch spots?" Curly offers you a way out, and you hum.

"Where'd you have in mind?"

"I'm kind of hungry, so I vote the diner."

"Wanna camp there?"

"Too late to camp."

"Fair." You mumble. "We can figure it out when we get on your car."

"Come on." He offers you a hand, and while you raise a brow, you still take it, letting him squeeze your hands gently as he ushers you off.

"If that reaches Jimmy's ears I'm shooting him point blank."

"It won't. Jimmy wouldn't touch what's mine. He's not stupid."

"Sure feels like he is sometimes." You mumble. "What's yours? Am I yours, Grant?"

He squeezes your hand. "Are you not?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go there if I were you."

"And why not?"

"Cuz you're not getting anywhere close to me with that shitty best friend of yours."

Curly finds that maybe you really are just dangling him on a string. Swing him close on some days, swing him out on others. You cancel a study date for girls night with your housemate and Curly tells you to send photos (you never do). But it's fine because when you do finally meet up it's close enough to Valentine's that the coffee shops have all of the heart decorations up and Curly's got his hand over yours and he's asking you if you'd like to be his date to the party on Valentine's.

"I don't know, Curly." You mumble.

"Please? You mentioned your roommate would like to experience a full-fledged frat party at least once, so it'd be nice to bring her to our biggest one."

"I'd have to chaperone her."

"I'll keep an eye out for her." He mumbles, tapping the back of your hand.

"Will you?"

Curly does not.

The party rolls around and he keeps everything organized, searching everyone, and patting Jimmy down, going as far as raising a brow at his hat and swiping it off to shake a little. He lets Jimmy go with two pats to the back and then tosses everything into the safe, humming. He loses track of some things as people roll in, and he welcomes your housemate. He gets distracted with you, though, your lips brushing his under the lights as you tilt your head and ask him what's going on in his pretty head.

"Just you, sweetheart."

"Just me?"

"Just you." He sighs, resting his forehead on yours as you hum. "Does it always take a party to get you so vulnerable like this?"

"Maybe it's 'cause I'm your date tonight."

"Or maybe you're just irresistable in the awful frathouse lighting." He whispers, thumb finding your bottom lip as you part them for him. "Yeah?"

"Mhm." You hum. "You gon' kiss me, Grant?"

"God, sweetheart." He mumbles, lips brushing yours as you lean in, and he swears he's gonna get his fill of you until—

"Prez! Couple stumbled into a room."

"God, fucking hell." He groans, straightening up as he looks to the side. "Couldn't have picked a worse time."

"Sorry 'bout the cockblocking." The guy glances at Curly make his way up the stairs, and you shake your head.

You wonder where Anya's wandered off to.

Curly kicks the couple out, and he glances at Jimmy's locked door.

He knocks twice.

He thinks he hears a muffled cry when he knocks, but the music downstairs makes it hard to tell.

He knocks a third time.

It's silent.

A fourth.

Nothing.

Then, he heads downstairs.

Maybe you're still here— if you haven't stumbled off while half drunk, that is.

Curly never fully got the story from you afterward. You had stumbled home and found your housemate missing, calling Curly to check the house, and Curly had found your housemate in one of the spare bedrooms in the house, knocking and entering, letting you know where she was.

"You alright?"

Your housemate, closes her eyes, holding her head as he grumbles.

"My head feels like it's splitting open. I don't remember anything..." She mumbles.

"You alright?"

"Fine. Just sore all over." She mumbles.

"Want me to walk you back?"

Your housemate squints at Curly, and then checks her phone.

Curly assumes she dials you.

"Hey... yeah, just sore. Everything hurts. Is that supposed to happen? Curly's offering to walk me home. Should he— alright. Yeah. Yeah. I'll let him know. See you in a bit."

Curly tilts his head, and your housemate nods.

"Mind driving me instead? My legs really hurt."

"Of course. You need me to help you?"

"Should be... alright." She mumbles.

You thank Curly for taking her home, brows furrowed, giving him a pointed look that he seems to understand.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone." You mumble, holding her forearms as you lead her in. "Thank you for driving her here, Grant."

"Anytime. You two stay safe."

You nod.

And then you go MIA.

You stop responding to his texts and calls, distance that he had tried closing in on back between the two of you seemingly gone overnight. You tell him weekends are off limits again, and you offer limited explanations for why. Maybe you're just busy. Or, you've finally become fed up with the fact that Curly can't really pick and choose and drop people that he should really drop. Either way, he doesn't really judge you for it.

He can kind of see it.

Yet, life moves on, and he busies himself with his own things.

Maybe time can heal this.

But he texts you updates — parties hosted by the frat, and you tell him you'll show to the next one.

He asks even if Jimmy's there — you tell him especially if Jimmy's there.

He doesn't really want to know why exactly you've gotten a specific change of mind, but he doesn't pry further. It's really not his place. Besides, he should be happy that you're agreeing to to his best friend of all things.

You show up different, though. Low cut dress and makeup done — Curly doubts he's ever seen you put so much effort into meeting up with him.

"New hair?" Curly pinches at the wig on your head, tilting his head and raising a brow.

"I'll talk to you in a bit, Grant." You hum, patting his chest twice and disappearing into the crowd. "Be good, now."

Curly nods, letting you wander off as he continues to greet guests at the door.

Most people don't cause too many problems. You learn to figure your way through the crowd, quiet sauntering as you spot Jimmy, smearing your lipstick as you tug your dress a little lower, reaching to trace your fingers down Jimmy's arms, distracting him immediately from the girl he was previously talking to.

You glance at the back door before batting your lashes at Jimmy.

"And who might you be, doll?"

"Just wanted your number." You hum, mustering a smile as he raises a brow.

"It's usually the other way around. Haven't heard the rumors?"

"Maybe I'm just into a good fuck, not a good man." You tap his bicep gently, and he hands you his phone.

"Do me a favor, would you? Save your number as doll in my contacts so I remember. Password's six sixes."

"Oh, of course." You hum, clicking on his phone as he goes back to chatting with the other girl, and you scroll through his photos. You send a handful to yourself, deleting the chat history, and check your phone for the photos. Close enough.

"You figure it out, doll? Or did you accidentally lose the page?"

"Seems like I did..." You mumble. "Sorry, not super good with electronics. Such a clutz move of me, huh?"

"I'll help ya, doll." He wraps a hand around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as his hand brushes your lower stomach, free hand clicking through the apps on his phone. "There y'a go."

"Thank you." You jut out your bottom lip, clicking in a random phone number, Jimmy's hand sliding higher and higher until they practically grope at your tits, and you pause for a second.

Alright. Seems drunk enough.

And then all you see is red.

Jimmy's dragged by his hair as you throw him out the back door into the empty parking spot, your knuckles cracking with each punch as he fights back, the tip of your heel digging into his thigh as his screams catch the attention of the rest of the party. You don't know how many punches you've reached but it's five whole minutes where everyone is stuck watching in horror as you practically crush his jaw under your fist and Jimmy is stuck there crying. He's too drunk to know who you are, and you don't care if this gets you jailed, you're taking the chance.

The satisfying crunch of his jaw under your fists and the blooms of red on his face only feed into the satisfaction, and you wonder if he'll ever think of this when he drugs the next poor girl to approach him thinking that he's not as bad as the rumors make him out to be, and it gives you this sick sense of satisfaction. You can ice your knuckles and wear gloves because it's still cold enough for it. Jimmy can't hide from his classes forever, and it definitely helps that you've got a wonderfully glued wig on that you could just burn when you get home and no one would fucking know that you were laughing while beating the frat's vice president to the ground.

Your knuckles are bloody when you're halfway through, and there's a fight outside the party that Curly has to rip through the crowd to get to.

He's surprised to find that it's you, and he pulls you off of Jimmy before stepping to ask you what happened, and you pant, fistfuls of Jimmy's hair weaved through your fingers as your chest heaves, and there is so much red in your eyes that Curly wonders if you're seeing anything at all, and he runs his hands down your bare arms as you breathe.

Jimmy stays on the ground.

"Hey, what happened?"

"Asshole grabbed a fistful of my tits."

Jimmy scoffs from the ground. "You're the one who—"

You curse him out as your heel reaches to crush his balls, and Curly holds your thigh to stop you.

"Hey!"

You look up at Curly, eye twitching as you breathe, taking two steps back and glaring at Jimmy.

"Sweetheart." Curly tries, and you look up at him, eyes vile as you scoff.

"Watch your mouth, Grant." You point a finger at his chest, humming with your head tilted. "Don't you go thinking you're any better because you don't do it. You're still doing nothing about it."

And you're off, knuckles bloody and hair between your fingers.

You don't receive disciplinary action because half of the party was too plastered to remember who was fighting who. Besides, Jimmy didn't even remember who was punching him.

You don't look Curly in the eye for a week, and Curly wonders really if it was at all worth it. First week of spring of all days. He understands the party is for the sake of the brothers, but he really'd rather not be stuck cleaning up after Jimmy when they were barely into the semester. And a matter of assaulting you of all things.

He apologizes on Jimmy's behalf after class, and you blink at Curly.

"If you know he's doing all these things, why do you keep him in his position?"

"I've just know him for so long..."

"That's not an excuse, Grant." You spit.

It's dark out.

Curly knows it's not an excuse. He knows that he shouldn't be excusing Jimmy's behavior, and especially not when his best friend had just grabbed you by the tits at a party while drunk out of his mind. Drunk or not, he shouldn't be doing that anyway. But Curly doesn't want to acknowledge it. Acknowleding that Jimmy was a horrible person would be like admitting that Curly doesn't have good taste in friends, and he'd really rather not be—

"I'm sorry for what he did at the party, but it really wasn't—"

"Oh, don't worry. Only one of the punches was for grabbing me by the tits." You open your phone, texting someone. "The other punches were for something else."

"What... what are people accusing him for now?"

"Nothing much. Just the usual. With evidence this time, though."

Curly raises a brow at you, unimpressed as you raise a brow back.

"What kind of evidence?"

"Roommate got pregnant, evidence."

"And you think it's Jimmy because?"

"Tracks with the frat party we were at."

"You just think it's Jimmy because you hate him."

"My emotions have nothing to do with how shitty of a person he is."

"He's not the type to take it that far—"

"Is that all that matters to you, Curly? Is your best friend more important than the law?"

"And what evidence do you have?"

"My friend's word of mouth? The person that she was last seen with being him taking her upstairs to his room? Curly—"

"Not, Curly." He mumbles.

"You don't deserve to be called Grant if you're not gonna be a good person, Curly."

The name sounds like poison spread on your lips as you scoff.

"Are you going to defend Jimmy with your life?"

"It's just that you hate him so much, so it's easy to just assume that it's him. I know him—"

"Sure, yeah, and I know my roommate. She's not the type to lie."

"Yeah, but Jimmy isn't the type to take things that far."

"Is that so?"

"I know so."

"Alright. Alright, Curly. I should go to another party and get raped by Jimmy and then we can prove it, right?"

"He's not going to touch you. I won't let him."

"So you'll let him touch other women?"

"He doesn't do that."

"You think so?"

"Sweetheart."

"Don't sweetheart me. There's nothing sweet about how shitty of a person your friend is."

"Are you sure it's not just because you hate him?"

"It's not." You swallow, gritting your teeth as your brows furrow and you take a deep breath. "I stay away from Jimmy, not hate him. I didn't hate him until he raped my roommate at the party."

"What evidence do you even have that it's him?"

"DNA? Blood tests? Timeline? Video footage?"

"It could all be made up. Why are you trying to ruin his li—"

You slap him.

The slap echoes into the night, and you breathe, chest heaving as your brows furrow impossibly more, annoyance visible as you groan. It's like Curly refuses to get the point. Curly knows you're being honest. You wouldn't slander Jimmy if you didn't have any evidence, but his mind is stuck on the feeling of your hand making contact with his cheek so harshly, and he wonders if he's really doing anything at all by just watching it all go down. Jimmy's awful but he couldn't have been able to drug your roommate. He pat him down — no. Jimmy had chosen a hat for the occasion with a compartment he had show Curly once. It absolutely could be Jimmy, but that would mean Curly made a mistake and—

Curly holds his cheek, blinking slowly as he looks at you, and you're frantically tapping on your phone, the muffled clicks of your finger against the screen the only thing until you're holding the phone to his face with a series of photos that he can only assume were taken by Jimmy.

It's morbid.

Curly feels sick to the stomach at the sight of your housemate crying into her hands and trying to hide her face, the unmistakable sound of Jimmy's voice behind the camera, and something twists uncomfortably in Curly's stomach.

"Do something." You speak, voice steady and eerily calm as Curly stares at the photos you've somehow managed to acquire on your phone, hand still on his cheek. Suddenly, the sting no longer stings and all that's left is a ringing in his ears. "You're the president, Curly. Do something before I get both of you expelled and ruin his life."

"He couldn't have—"

"His DNA was found in her. I don't know what else you want me to prove to you." You let out a laugh, looking to the side, bitterness instantly visible on your face. "Paternity test came back with an exact DNA match of the hair I yanked from his hair the other night at the party while he got his grimy hands all over my tits now Grant fucking Curly tell me if you're going to do something about that shitty best friend of yours unless you want me to end both of your university careers right now!"

"Why..." Curly mumbles, shoulders sinking as he glances at you. "are you telling me this?"

"The head of the fraternity is responsible for all of the members of its chapter. If I submit all of this evidence against Jimmy while he's in the frat, the fact that she had gotten raped at a frat-hosted party will spread and you'll get expelled for mismanagement of your frat. I know I send you mixed signals and refuse to be seen in public with you because of your shitty best friend you do nothing about, but I do care about you, Curly." You pause. "If I release all of this information while he's still in the frat, you'll have no way out, especially as the president. If you expel him first, then you'll still somehow make your way out with only your reputation taken a hit. People might even blame Jimmy for keeping it all from you."

Curly looks into your eyes and then at the picture on your phone, and he closes his eyes.

"Give me a week. Will you take nothing less than removal from the frat?"

"Nothing less. I refuse to let him continue to stay in the frat. You are responsible for them all. You only escape scathed if you remove him from the frat."

"Will—" He swallows. "I'll save that question for after I deal with this. I'm glad this is early enough in the semester, god. What about his contracts?"

"Do you think he deserves it after raping my best friend?" You bite. "What if it had been me? Would you have been able to look at me the same after his hands had been all over me and he assaulted me? That his dick had been balls deep in me while I cried for him to let go?"

"But it wasn't—"

"It shouldn't make a difference who it was. A rape is a rape, and if you don't do anything, then I suppose we're better off as strangers, Curly."

You don't text Curly back at all.

You move from your seat next to him in class, and while he knows you most likely won't talk to him until the vote to remove Jimmy from the frat goes through, but it's a painful handful of weeks without you. It hurts him to call the other board members and tell them of the situation, evidence presented as he presents even the DNA match, and it becomes apparent that no one is going out unscathed of this situation of the frat. A lighter blow is better than a total blow, they seem to agree. Then Jimmy is contacted about the situation — Curly knows him better than anyone, so the board had to know before Jimmy, and when Jimmy's calling upon their friendship of the entirety of college, Curly shakes his head and tells him that it didn't matter if they had been friends for so long. It was either they both go down or just Jimmy on his own, and it was apparent that Curly didn't want to, but had to.

Then Curly finds out just how ugly Jimmy can get, thrashing and yelling as the other members of the board hold him back after he punched Curly, and Curly just wonders how he had stayed blind for so long.

He kind of deserved the slap from you both.

"You think just because you're hot as hell and you've got some chick slung around your arm that it erases that you were nothing before me? You wouldn't be here without me!" Jimmy yells, and Curly's shoulders sink as he stares at Jimmy. "You were nothing."

Shut down. Shut down. The same way you do. Let his shoulders sink, inhale, exhale, stare into the void.

"Jimmy. Maybe you introduced me to the frat, but I am the president because of my own efforts." Curly steps up to Jimmy, and he wonders for that brief moment that perhaps this is the kind of control that he could only have in his position. Jimmy looks incredibly small like this. And suddenly, Curly seems to kind of understand how terrifying it must have been for both you and your housemate. Jimmy looks powerless for once. "You are no longer welcome here. I'll give you a week to find somewhere to settle, but you are no longer welcome here. Rape or assault of any kind is not welcome nor swept under the rug in our frat. Get out."

"You—"

"You are no longer in power. Get out."

It'll hit the local news tomorrow, and once the local news is hit, you'll submit everything to the chancellor and then Jimmy will be done for.

Curly doesn't want to think if it's the right thing or not. It is the right thing to do, but he had thrown away one of his friends as a result. Jimmy had been important regardless of what Curly thought, but he had also been a horrible person, so the choice was coming sooner or later.

It takes two days for news of Jimmy's history of both assault and sexual assault to emerge, and it takes less than a full week for Jimmy to be expelled. First expulsion in near two decades at the university, and Curly's hand shakes when he texts you. He had done it. You had done it. It was done. He had done... the right thing.

You call him instead.

"You alright?"

Curly stares at the news on his laptop, and he swallows.

"Not really."

"You want me to come over?"

"Will you?"

"He's gone." You hum. "Or you can come over. Everyone went home for the weekend."

"Is... she alright?"

"Much better. Thank you, Grant."

There's a considerable silence on the line before Curly is speaking up, voice quietest you've ever heard it. "Do you think I did the right thing?"

"I think you did the bravest thing that no frat president has the balls to." You hum. "You did great, Grant."

He rests his face in his hand, going quiet as he breathes, chest shaking. It was scary. Despite how dependable everyone considered him, Curly had never once considered himself to be dependable all that much. There is still a nagging fear that carried over from high school — the concern for his body and him from the doctor quiet in the back of his mind. Dependable. His facade had worked, but it hurt to have to actually speak up on it.

"I'm. That was." He breathes. "Can I be honest?"

"Always, Grant."

"I never want to have to do that again." His voice shakes, and he holds his forehead.

"You did great. You were very brave, Grant. You want anything to drink?"

"Can you bring me a..." He pauses.

"Two beers. I need a drink after all of that process too." You mumble. "God, those meetings were draining."

"We.. did it."

"Thank heavens we did."

You head over with two beers, bottles clinking as he holds out his car keys, streetlights flickering as he hums.

"Wan' sit on the truck?"

"That'd be nice." You flick the bottlecap off, handing him one beer as you bite off the other.

"Your poor teeth."

"It'll live." You hum, pressing the bottle to your lips as he exhales, sitting back in the truck bed.

"You alright?"

"Hm?"

"You were... that night." He mumbles.

"You can say it, Curly. I got groped. It's not that deep." You raise a brow at him.

"Yeah." He furrows his brows. "Was it really necessary?"

"You were technically half-right to accuse me that I hated Jimmy so I was convicting him of raping my roommate, but it was really a moment where the opportunity come on its own. Besides, much better to stay cleaner as a frat. As clean as you can get, anyway." You raise a brow at the bottle in hand.

"First expulsion in over a decade..." Curly groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He was my best friend."

"Also an asshat."

"Yes. but —"

"No buts. He should've kept it in his pants." You raise a brow at him. "He punched you, for fuck's sake."

"Yeah. He... he was a shitty person. I do mourn the loss of a friend, though. Not necessarily him, but, you know."

"Yeah, that's fair." You lean back, glancing up at the sky.

No star in sight. Too polluted.

"Do we just keep moving?"

"Just keep moving." You kick your legs over his, and he sighs, exhaling gently as he presses his palm on your calf, squeezing.

"Join our party tomorrow?"

"Might as well sleep over in your room, then—" You pause. "No, the bathrooms are nasty."

"I'm in the master."

"Oh, in that case..." You mumble, letting Curly run his hand up your calf, hum on his lips as he leans back. "You got spare clothes?"

"Oh, sweetheart. You don't even need to ask."

Curly wonders if you're only being so sweet now that Jimmy's gone. Maybe in a way it was your plan to ruin that man's life. Not that you'd do all that over a man. He wonders if you'd ever ruin his life like that. He might thank you for it — not that you will. You've done more than you could imagine and he's learned more off of you than he could admit. It'd be embarrassing to tell you, maybe. He might just have to get drunk enough for it.

Though, the sight of you drunk is a lot funnier.

You settle on his lap, closing your eyes with a hard seltzer in hand, tilting your head as you stare at the rest of the party.

Curly hardly knows where to put his hands, blinking slowly and quietly as you settle your head on his collar, blinking up at him, lashes fluttering over a shirt that's far too tight for his life but his brothers insisted on him wearing, and he wonders if any of whatever was going on was even working. You don't seem to notice when he's wearing clothes to show off his body, preferring to tilt your head and meet his eyes instead.

"You alright?" He looks down at you, and you hum.

"Mhm. Pregamed before the party." You trace circles on his chest, letting your lashes flutter over his chest. "Always smells awful in here."

"Always does. It's why I didn't like inviting you."

"Liar. I've gone to so many this year." You throw a glance at the rest of the party, and Curly hums. "Sure you like it better when you've got me dangling off of your arm, though."

"Yeah, but it's not like you're mine or anything. Could be..."

"So I'm a common whore?"

"I didn't say that."

"You seem to think that I'm playing you, still." You crane your neck to wave at another member of the frat, and Curly swallows slowly. Your hand moves lower and lower until your fingers are brushing his lower stomach, and Curly sucks in a breath out of instinct, earning a gentle frown on your lips. "Stop sucking."

"It's gotten soft."

"It's called a dad bod." You brush your fingers over his lower stomach, and he exhales as you hum happily. "I like you however you are."

"You like me?"

"You never quite seem to believe me when I tell you." You crane your neck upward, brushing noses with Curly as he hums.

"I can never really tell."

"I know. All your frat knows." You laugh, voice airy as he hums quietly.

"I doubt you'll remember this in the morning."

"Then you'll just have to remind me." You hum quietly, palm sliding under his shirt as you brush over his stretch marks.

"You don't mind them?"

"We match... just tell me you love me in the morning." You close your eyes, and Curly finds a hand on your waist as he continues to watch the rest of the party.

Curly thinks you might actually like him.

Despite it all, Curly does like you. He doubts the world "like" would even encapsulate just how enraputred he is with you. Pretty, pretty girl. He thinks — chin resting on your head and sun peeking past the blinds in your bed. He gets why you like your bed a lot more. It's much cozier than his, and your back pressed to his chest only serves to have him groan when you shift.

He doesn't quite remember how he ended up in your bed, only that he's got his head buried in your back as you stretch your arms over your head.

"g'mornin'."

"Mornin' to you too, Grant." You grumble, getting up to rest on your elbow as you turn around.

"Aren't you a sight in the morning." He mumbles into your skin, and you yawn.

"You know what isn't?"

"Me?"

"Your breath." You push him off of you, Curly's laugh rumbling in his chest as you sigh, opening your phone. "You want brunch?"

"How could I ever say no to you, sweet'eart?"

"Oh, god. Man so sleepy he reverts to his old accent."

"You love me."

"Debatable." You run your hand through his hair, watching as he rests his chin on your chest. "What'you looking at me like that for?"

"Thinkin' 'bout how you're so pretty." He mumbles, closing his eyes as you scratch at his scalp. "Brunch?"

"I'll call in."

"No, let me." He reaches behind him for the phone, humming. "Same place as usual?"

"Yeah."

"Go on, then. Get ready while I make our reservation."

You press a quick hum to his forehead, getting out of bed ot get ready.

Curly likes this a lot better.

He finds that it's much better to get closer to you, and it almost feels like a reward for the years he had toiled away in college. Something sweet as nectar on his tongue when you give him a quick kiss between tasks, his shoulders sunk and relaxed as he watches you get ready for dates, humming when you complain about how he's a little unshaven. He'll do it for you. He always will. He'll let you rub at his chin when he finishes shaving, humming happily to himself when you press a quick kisso to his jaw.

Warm and cozy. He likes you quite a bit.

Quite a bit is an understatement, he thinks.

You look pretty at all angles, but he finds that some sick part of him finds contentment and satisfaction when you're under him — bare to the eye and touch.

He never lasts long with you looking like this, lashes fluttering as he rasps at the sound your pretty pussy makes for him as he slides in, breath heavy as he stills, your nails digging into his shoulders as you match your panting with his.

"God, dammit, Grant, move." You sing for him, and Curly groans in response.

"Sound beautiful singin' like that, angel."

"Don't you want me to sing for you more? Your name like a prayer on mine lips?"

"Don't tempt me." He holds your hips in place when you try to shift, brows furrowed as he exhales. "Gon' just flood that pussy if you move this quick."

"Never fucked a woman before?"

"You'd be surprised at how little I pulled up until college." He pinches at your waist, bucking his hips into yours as you squirm, stars in your eyes as your nails reach for his wrists, finding something to ground yourself as he gradually speeds up. "Loved playing dumb and watching girls give up. No one likes a dense man."

"I seem t— ah." Your lashes flutter, head thrown back as Curly practically drills into you, holding your head in his arms as your quiet pants register in his ear, causing him to twitch inside of you.

"You don't like men who play dumb, sweetheart. You're the one who," He rolls his hips, earning a particular whine from your lips, and his head spins. "you're the one who plays dumb. Stringing me along for so long. Have to thank you, though. Glad you fixed me."

"Fixed? Fixed ya how?" You pull at his hair, and he groans.

"Oh, sweetheart. You don't even know."

"Really?" You tempt, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip, craning your neck to avoid Curly's as he lets his teeth graze your pulse point.

"Gon' bite you. Puncture wounds in your neck and leave red that clings for days." He rumbles, exhaling into your neck as your nails dig into his back. "Felt you clench right up. Would you be into that? Marked with my teeth despite your distaste of association with me just months ago?"

"It wasn't distaste of— you—" You heave, curling into his chest and voice shaking. "You know w-why."

"He's gone now, and I get you all to myself." He mumbles. "Get to bring you over... and fuck you dumb on this cock in my room."

"Hate you." You gasp, lashes fluttering as he groans.

"No y' don't."

"Hate that fuckboy talk you keep," You yank at his hair, forcing his head back as you tilt your head. "spitting out. You're not my sweet boy, now are you?"

"Not when I'm buried balls deep in you." He forces out, thumb finding your clit as you jolt. "There she is..."

You let him fuck you through your orgasm, nails dug into his shoulders as you leave marks, his quiet moaning rippling against your skin as you throw your head back and feel him pulse inside of you.

Curly thinks he's reached some kind of ascension. Raptured in the moment, head spinning deliriously at the feeling of you practically milking him for all he has. This is what he's been waiting for, he supposes. You're singing his name like a prayer, eyes rolled so far back he's worried they'll get stuck like his ma used to tell him, but, oh, heavens be dammed. If this is how he goes then so be it.

The bliss will bleed and his skin will burn, but he doesn't really mind it.

"You're wonderful, sweetheart." He mumbles, forehead pressed to yours in the afterglow, and you'll call him a sap and sigh.

"You think I'm a sap?"

"I know you are." You mumble, thumbs finding his cheek as he closes his eyes, basking in your touch. "I like it."

"Well, I like you."

"Sap."

"Your sap."

Curly finds that maybe its a little twisted that he had to toss his friend for you, but really, who is he to complain when you're so pliable under his hands? You prefer him to be pliable as well. It helps the two of you communicate and work better.

"You think I can keep the stubble after we graduate?"

"Mm, don't want burns when you eat me out." You hum.

"You gon' make me give that up to keep my beard?"

"You'd just have to step up your aftercare."

"I can do that."

"Maybe focus on your job after graduation first."

Curly closes his eyes, humming into your bare shoulder. "Won't y' come with me?"

"We'll see."

"I'll make sure it's a yes." He mumbles.

"We'll see when we get there."

He'll make sure it's a yes when he gets there.

But, until then, he supposes he'll just have to stay dangled on your finger like a pretty little accessory.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 50!

another lovely round of fics for you all <3 full disclosure i did not double check this with my masterlist of recs so while i doubt it, it's possible that i've recced some of these before... i guess that could just be a sign that they're extra good lol.

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

75 best knitting puns that will have you hooked | iphigenias/@oatflatwhite | 4.1k | GA

Buck—Buck is knitting. Eddie blinks, rubs his eyes. Yeah, Buck is knitting: thick fingers a little clumsy as Bobby shows him how to purl stitch with a soft-looking ball of pink ombre wool.  softest most domestic little fic <3

all the lights are coming on | sharpbutsoft/@sharpbutsoft | 1.2k | GA

What good is having a key to your best friend’s house if you can’t use it to spread a little holiday magic? spreading the holiday magic <3<3 this was everything i needed and wanted and i love it so very much

any other bodily sense | kiwiibiird/@buckevanley | 10.2k | GA

Post-s2 sickfic. Buck is stuck with a broke leg and a bad cold. Maddie and Eddie help him out. forehead kisses and maddie and buddie and hurt/comfort... literally what else could a girl (me) need? the answer is nothing because this fic is everything!!

born with a weak heart | foxwatson/@eddiediazes | 7.5k | T

the one where eddie won't touch buck once he wakes up in the hospital, and buck goes absolutely bonkers bananas about it. is it truly a michelle rec list if there's no touch-starved fic on there? i don't think it is lol. i've reread this several times now and it's just the absolute loveliest <3

don't break | odysseus_calls | 2.4k | T

5 times the 118 is tired of Buck and Eddie acting like a couple, and the time they find out they've been dating the whole time. i LOVE hijinks and shenanigans <3 this captures them so perfectly!!

hooker | mansikka | 3.9k | T

When Eddie's life turns to hell, he turns to hooking. Crochet hooking. i've been attempting to crochet again (made a little cat today!) and it's only half because i want to be cool and crafty and half because people make it sound so cool and crafty in fics. anyway point is this was brilliant and so eddie and i loved it v v much!!

i sleep so i can see you ('cause i hate to wait so long) | turquoiseviolet/@turquoisevioiet | 25.7k | T

eddie’s not sleeping and buck’s worried. after all, he’s supposed to be the one who fixes everything, isn’t he? platonic cuddling! homoerotic friendship! getting together! if buddie fic had a bingo card, this would tick all of the boxes <3 so good!!

loves a game, wanna play? | 42hrb/@exhuastedpigeon | 57.5k | M

In the aftermath of Chris leaving for the summer, Buck convinces Eddie they should apply for Love Island together. okay so admittedly all my big plans to read my marked for later list this week failed miserably, cause this is the only fic from there that i actually read... on the other hand, what a brilliant one it is!! it's so funny and so good and i loved the social media elements in there. also, maya and maria <3

sub drop city, population: eddie diaz | peaktotheocean/@peaktotheocean | 4k | T

It takes Eddie longer than he cares to admit to realize that Buck has been giving him aftercare on the sly. i'm such a sucker for aftercare and this has SUCH a lovely buddie dynamic <3

swinging there, in the corner of our haven | anti_romantic_cherub | 1.6k | GA

Eddie bought Buck a hammock, and now he's reaping the rewards (Buck napping in his backyard). buck napping in eddie's backyard <3 such a lovely image and this is executed so so well, i love it!!

the city is a jungle and i'm a beast | putanauhere/@putanauhere | 42.8k | M

Eddie has enough on his plate this summer – a newly empty nest, a terrible new captain, and a new mustache – without adding a new werewolf to the mix. the most fascinating werewolf au <3 i love the buddie dynamic here and how they approach the werewolfism with such different attitudes. so good!!

toss up | saucerfulofsins/@saucerfulofsins | 3.5k | E

Eddie is caught browsing bad gay porn, and Buck takes it upon himself to show Eddie the good stuff. most glorious brilliant fic concept to ever fic <3 this is fantastic!!

trivial pursuit of love | niemi | 6.2k | T

Buck attends Tommy’s trivia night with Eddie, his newfound feelings for his best friend bottled up and ready to burst. As it turns out, he’s not the only one with a secret. buddie at trivia night!! i loved this fic so much, it was a real highlight on a rainy morning bus ride <3

weaving in our loose ends | PretentiousSwanQueen/@hotcinnamonsunset | 8.6k | T

Eddie is a knitter with the Loose Ends Project and he's assigned to finish the project of a loved one of Buck's. the gasp i let out when i realised what buck's project is... gorgeous fic!!

white sheets, you and me start to lay close | effervescentwolf/@effervescentwolf | 1.5k | T

He thinks of his empty bed at home, and his chest feels tight. It’s just that—it’s okay if it’s Buck. He can let Buck catch him. give me all the bed-sharing fics, please and thank you <3 this is one of the best uses of the trope i've seen in a long time, it's so lovely <3

[chuluoyi]

the past : the dragon and the girl marked for execution

the present : the onychinus leader and the deepspace hunter

[abbyshands]

for you

🇵🇸 LINKS | before engaging !!! | m. list | join my tag list!

♡ synopsis; making a home out of catalina island for years on end had been wonderful, but for most of it, you had been derived of the last piece of the puzzle: abigail anderson. you were a skilled medic, so when abby had showed up, you had cared for her, and nursed her back to the girl she was, helping her to heal, and to find home the same way you had. now, it’s abby’s chance to return the favor.

♡ pairing; abby anderson x fem!reader

♡ warnings; lot of game references, some of which include infected, the WLF, plot of the first and second game, loss, violence, etc, general angst (ish) in the beginning, but fluffy at the end, i promise, reader loses her dad in the backstory, and there’s a heavily established backstory for the reader, abby uses nicknames (my love, babe, gorgeous), reader calls abby baby, just general angst n’ fluff tbh!

♡ a/n; sooo this idea has been sitting in my notes app for the longest time, and to be honest, i’m not sure how i feel about the finished product! i don’t think it’s my best work? i don’t know. i like the idea but i’m unsure about the way i executed it. maybe i’ll revisit it at some point, but this is what i’ve got for now ♡

♡ wc; 4.5k

divider creds !

YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS. APOCALYPSE.

If someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, you would’ve checked them for a bite mark.

Because they would have been losing their mind.

2034, and all the years beforehand, were years unforgettable. The person you were couldn’t imagine a life that wasn’t the one you had. Infected roamed, and danger lurked. But love prevailed.

And you were lucky to be a part of it.

You were born in Boston, Massachusetts in the 2010’s at an unlucky hour. To an unlucky life. You had lost your mom before you could say your own name, and the only biological family you had ever gotten to know in your life was your dad, who was the reason you were where you were today in the first place.

When you were young, your dad joined a group once asked to by the leader of it, a woman named Marlene. Since then, and for as long as you could remember, this group has been your place to call home.

They called themselves the Fireflies for the very bug they took the name from: Their goal was to spread luminescence in a world full of darkness. Your dad, who was an incredibly skilled medic, was roped into it when you were younger, for that very reason. And because of the group’s dire need for medics at the time, their leader, Marlene, who was an old friend of your dad’s, asked him to join, all but begged him to, really.

Your dad wasn’t one to deny anyone in need. It was in his nature, and it was why he was such a great medic. So, of course, he agreed.

But only if there would be a place for you, too.

Your dad raised you up as a member of the Fireflies, and then later as a medic, and it was because of him that you were who you were: A resilient individual, a survivor, and yet, a person who embodied compassion, just as he did.

The years went by hazily, the older you got, anyway. You became just as immersed into your work as your dad did, bettering your medical knowledge on a daily basis, be it by old books, rusted cassettes, or your dad himself. But all the while, you managed to balance work, love, and family, and, in a world like this one, that was a lot more than most people could say.

For obvious reasons, you couldn’t remember the 2010’s. Then came the 2020’s, which sped by your eyes. But the 2030’s as a general consensus were years ingrained into your brain. Full of friendship, family, and love? At times. But they also encompassed chaos, despair, and pressure, and changed your life forever.

And forever was a long time.

In the year 2033, all that you believed was true about the world as you knew it, crumbled to the ground. In a land following an apocalypse, it wasn’t uncommon to feel as if there was no way out, as if the life you lived had hit a place of no return.

Now, if only there was a way to fix it. A cure, right?

It was late one evening while you were working on somebody in the Fireflies’ medical center, that Marlene came into the room, expression serious, and voice showing for it. Once you had the person you had been caring for under control, you followed Marlene out of the center, and into a room of a pair of people, one familiar, and one not.

Your dad, and a man who would later become a crucial figure in this tale: Surgical expert, Doctor Jerry Anderson.

You didn’t understand what Marlene, your dad, and Mr. Anderson, as you used to call him, were getting at when you were first pulled into that room. All that they were explaining to you was blurring inside of your head.

Because it was unlike anything you had heard before.

Your ears were told a tale that you had heard on numerous occasions. A girl who was only a few years younger than you, was bitten. You weren’t sure how. But it didn’t really matter, did it? Everyone who was bitten turned into an animal in a matter of days. It didn’t matter how she had gotten the bite mark. It didn’t even matter where on her body the mark was. All you knew was that in a few days, this girl that was being described to you, would no longer be human. That she would no longer have control over her body, and she would no longer know right from wrong, up from down, man from woman. All she would know, was kill. Kill. Kill.

Unless she was one in a million.

Ellie Williams was hardly a human in your mind when you originally heard, but a God given chance, to fix the world as you knew it. You never believed you would live to see the day where a bite mark was a good thing, and yet, it was here, gazing you in the eyes.

Immunity. She was immune. The auburn haired girl had been bitten three weeks prior to the date you heard about this, and zilch. As Marlene had explained to you, it was like the mark was healing, not worsening. 

And in a desolate world, where danger lurked every corner, where sorrow was normalized, and where loss was ceaseless, you were desperate. The Fireflies were desperate. Hope like this didn’t come on a daily basis, now, did it?

You jumped on the prospect as soon as you became conscious of it. All of you did.

Graciously unaware that it would blow up in your face.

In the earlier days of 2034, Ellie was smuggled to a Firefly base in Salt Lake City, a medical center, where your dad, Mr. Anderson, and several Fireflies were residing. As head medic by this point, you decided to remain in Boston caring for the members of your group back home, especially in the absence of your dad and Mr. Anderson.

It’s your life’s biggest regret.

Marlene had asked that you come to the Salt Lake City medical center as soon as you could, and to employ someone else to take over for a bit. Mr. Anderson was a good doctor, but he had decided that to perform proper surgery on Ellie, he would need a few more hands. You were honored that it was you he had chosen. To you, it was on the same level as getting an award. And so, alongside Marlene, and a few more members of the group, you made your way to Salt Lake City, your hopes in your hands, and dreams in your heart.

There was a point during the journey, however, where you ran into some trouble. Infected. And naturally, you were not just a medic: You knew how to survive in a world like this, and you knew how to hold your ground.

Splitting up wasn’t usually recommended when it came to any scenario, and for good reasons. However, it was your only choice. You and everyone beside you aside from Marlene, split up to make sure that she was the first one to make it to the medical center. You remember the last thing you said to her like a movie on loop in your head. See you soon.

And it plagues your brain like the virus that grips your world.

See you soon. You wish you had never said it. You wish you had never split up.

You wish it hadn’t happened.

You did see Marlene. But she was no longer alive when it happened. Fear grasped your bones as your body paralyzed, eyes glued to Marlene’s bloody corpse on the second floor of the medical center’s parking garage.

Tears filled your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. And then, you remembered.

Dad.

You took off running, brain not even processing that you could be putting yourself in danger by doing so. Whoever had done this to Marlene couldn’t be faraway from the building for all you knew. Hell, they could even be in it. But you didn’t care.

You booked it to the highest floor, where your dad and Mr. Anderson were supposed to be, heart racing, begging and bargaining to the universe, or whatever God there was, or somebody, to ensure that they were okay. That they were just fine.

There are some days where you wish you hadn’t opened that door.

The pair of them, alongside a third medic in the room, were found by you in a shape similar to Marlene. Naturally, you ran to dad first, small, shaky hands reaching out to flip over his face down body.

But you were too late.

Your mind goes blurry whenever it goes back to recall the memory. You don’t remember much: Tears, nausea, shaking, panic. You remember screaming, loudly, at that.

And you remember passing out, before being pulled out of the room.

The second that Jerry Anderson was announced dead, all hell broke loose, and you knew, you knew, it was over. The chance that had been driving you and your family of Fireflies for the last year, was gone, and it wasn’t coming back. Unless a brand new surgeon was going to generously drop from the sky, you were hopeless. 

And it wasn’t even just that.

Because the universe had taken from you the one person you held closest to your heart. To your soul.

Dad.

You had a chance. You all did. 

And, then, it was robbed away from you.

You and your dying group made your way back to Boston knowing just that: That you were collapsing. The days passed by in blurs, each one gloomier than the last. You just weren’t sure what to do anymore. All hope for a cure was gone. All hope for yourself was gone.

In 2036, the Fireflies were disbanded by what little members of it were around to do so, and that was it. It was over. 

Your home was paradise, and paradise was gone.

You didn’t know what to do. Most of the family you had found here in the Fireflies was leaving, searching for a life away from the one you all had known for years. You didn’t know if you wanted to do the same. Part of you wanted to follow suit and leave Boston. Renew who you were. Adapt, and move on. But Boston had always been home, and by leaving it, you were leaving a part of you behind.

But you didn’t have a choice.

It was an early morning in 2036 when you began to pack your bags, readying to go. Where? It didn’t matter. All you knew was that home or not, Boston carried way too many painful memories, way more than you could bear. Marlene was dead. Mr. Anderson was dead. Dad was gone.

You didn’t see what else Boston had to give, that it hadn’t already taken away.

But just, just, when you were about to say your goodbyes, the universe, who had screwed you over in the past, clearly had different plans.

A few members had heard word, from previous members who had left the Fireflies before you, that on the west coast of the country, there was a chance: A chance to find home again, in a place named Catalina Island, a gorgeous land in California.

Risks had failed you before, and so had second chances. But, for once, you wanted to give in. You had to.

So you did.

That’s not to say that the second you got to Catalina Island, finding home once again in your fellow Fireflies, who were just as shattered as you were, that your tale was over. God, it was really, really far from it.

Because there was one more piece to the puzzle.

Abigail Anderson.

Anderson. The last name rang a bell once it escaped her lips. A blonde woman, body bruised, bloodied, and covered from the arms down in oozing gashes. Her hair was short and poorly cut, and from the way her bones were pushing into her skin, you could tell that she was severely malnourished.

Alongside her was a boy, obviously younger than her. Tousled black hair, bruises wherever you looked, and fully unconscious. In your time at Catalina Island, and as a Firefly in Boston, for that matter, you had never seen any pair of people in worse shape.

Not unless they were dead.

You remained head medic once you arrived in Catalina Island, naturally, and you had been managing that way for the last four years. So, when this woman showed up, this young boy by her side, like this, it was you who took control. It was you who nursed them, and it was you who made their scars, in a physical and mental sense, not disappear, but easier to handle. To bear.

By looking at them, by looking at her, it was like a mirror. You saw you.

Which is why you saw her.

Now, if someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, losing your dad, losing Marlene, and losing Mr. Anderson, but falling for his child, you would’ve looked for a bite mark. But now, come the year 2040, where you had made a new life, one that Abigail Anderson was a prevalent part of, happiness no longer seemed impossible.

Because it wasn’t far away anymore, slipping from your fingers, the way it had on numerous occasions. 

It was in your hands.

And you were in Abby’s.

Your eyes were being covered by Abby’s large hands as she led you to a place unknown. You had to assume it was one of the several beaches on the island, sand under your feet, sounds of waves in your ears. A smile had been plastered across your face for what seemed like hours, as Abby dragged you along.

“Come on, Abby. Are you going to tell me what this is about or what?” you asked her for the second time in the last minute. You could hear her low chuckle from behind you, and the way it always happens, comfort surges into your veins.

You had learned from Abby, once you bonded over the mutual loss of your dad and hers at the same man, that once Mr. Anderson had been killed, her and her friends, a few former members of the Fireflies, joined a group named the WLF. You had hence learned that during her time there, she was commonly known as a rugged, scary person, who a lot of people in the WLF didn’t dare insult, nor disobey.

And you couldn’t lie: It was hard to believe that for a second.

You had learned from Abby, also, that her resolve began to slip when she met the young boy who she had made it to Catalina Island alongside, who you had also taken care of: Lev. To put it simply, Lev was a member of a different group, that the WLF was never supposed to come across.

Not unless it was in war.

But he changed her. He did. Some days, you could see how guarded Abby was, how she couldn’t help going back to all she used to know, which was being all but barbaric when she was in Seattle. Closed off, wary. But most days, like today? You knew in your heart, that deep down in hers, Abby Anderson was good. Not innocent, but good.

And that was enough for you.

“Just come on!” Abby chuckled as she walked, not letting up her hold on your eyes for a second as she led you along.

You smiled, shaking your head in mock disapproval. “I have work to do back at the center, and we’re not supposed to be roaming around like this. You know that, right?”

“Babe,” Abby responded in an almost firm tone of voice as her feet quit moving, forcing you to root your body to the spot. It was silent, before she pressed a series of sweet, sloppy kisses to your neck and cheeks, managing to keep her hand over your eyes all the while. She had you crumbling just like that, making you a giggling mess as her lips met your skin.

Her kisses subsided once a million of them seeped into you, and it wasn’t the island heat that had your face warm when Abby was done. “Can you just trust me, please?” she laughed, and you didn’t need your vision to know she was giving you that puppy dog look that had you falling to your knees every time. The one that you couldn’t resist if you gave it your all.

You were too easy. “Yes.”

It wasn’t long before you and Abby reached where she wanted to bring you, and once you did, she paused. She was perched behind you now, large hands over your face, the solacing sound of her sighs coming into your ears. “Okay. Are you ready, my love?”

There wouldn't ever be a day where Abby calling you that wouldn’t make your heart pound in your chest.

“More than,” you easily respond.

As soon as you said it, Abby returned your vision to you, and your eyes can’t help but widen at what you see before you.

Because you never pegged “rugged” Abby Anderson as one for picnics.

“Oh, my God, Abby,” you said more to yourself than the blonde as you slowly approached the scene. Laid out on the sand of the beach was a picnic blanket, a folded blanket, a few pillows, a basket, a few books, and playing cards.

Accompanied by a perfect view of the beach.

“Do you not like it?” Abby asked, and there’s an air of sadness to the way she says it. You turn to look at her on cue, your face one of complete, utter disbelief.

Like it?

“Like it? Baby, I love this. More than know,” you respond, meaning every word. It’s been a long time since someone has wanted to care for you. A long, long time, since you had been the receiver, not the giver.

“Abs, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You can see Abby blushing as you approach her and take her face into your hands, her freckled skin burning in heat. She leans into your touch, pressing her forehead onto yours, and holding your hands in her own.

“I just,” Abby sighed, opening her eyes once more to meet yours, solemn expression across her cheeks. “I just don’t feel like I cherish you enough, babe, show it, that is. Because believe me, I do cherish you. S’just, it’s been hard for me to show you how much. All that you did for me and Lev when we got to the island. Taking care of us. Helping us find a home here. I’ll spend the rest of my life saying thank you for it.”

You can feel your soul healing the more Abby speaks.

“I know this isn’t nearly enough to make up for what you did for us, and I wish it was. But I just figured, maybe. . .it could suffice for now.”

“Abby, baby,” you let a small laugh escape your lips as you say it. “You don’t have to make it up to me. At all. I did what I did, because I saw someone in you. I remember asking for your name, and you responded by asking me where Lev was. You didn’t even care what shape you were in. All you wanted to know was if he was okay. You reminded me of me.”

“You reminded me of dad.”

You couldn’t help but sigh, letting silence seep into the air around you as your brain battled to process what you had just said. You didn’t speak on your dad as much as you likely should: Abby knew that, and so did you. Talking about him made your chest compress, and your throat would fail you, making it feel as if you were choking. As if you were helpless. As if you were there all over again. But Abby knew as well as you did, that when your dad came into discussion, it was for a certain reason. 

And for that reason, Abby didn’t speak: She hung fire. For you. For you.

“We live in a world where people combat their own morals just to survive. There’s no good guys. No principles, no rules, no laws. Anyone you come across is just as bad as you, and if not, they’re worse. But when I saw you? I knew. I knew that wasn’t you. Not anymore.”

You know you’re rambling by now, saying whatever comes to mind as soon as it does, but you can’t find it in you to care as you go on. “You want to believe I don’t know how much you care for me. But you don’t need to show it, Abby. I know you do. Right here.”

You take one of Abby’s large hands into yours, and as cliché as it is, not that you care at all, you place it over your heart.

“You feel that, don’t you? That’s all for you, baby. And it’s there that I feel how much you care about me. It’s there that I know.”

The same silence that was here before comes back. But this time, it’s not sad, or dark, or eerie. It’s solacing. It’s warm. It’s home.

And Abby doesn’t need words in order to respond.

It’s her turn to take your face into her hands as she pulls you in close. Her lips meet yours like they have so many times before, her familiar scent hitting your nose as you settle your hands onto her hips. The kiss is slow, and sweet, but passionate, and a burning desire surges inside you to never let her go, to always hold her close. To always call her yours.

You pull back from the kiss once you tire from it, gasping, Abby’s body mimicking yours as she does the same. You gaze into her eyes, the pretty blue ones that always make your heart swell, smiling up at her as you press one last kiss to her lips for good measure. “I adore you, Abby Anderson. You know that, right?” you grin.

It’s the first time you ever hear her giggle. “Me more than you, gorgeous.”

You spend hours there alongside Abby, and it’s the best time of your life. You spend time indulging in a few snacks the blonde packed for you, playing cards, and running around and playing in the sand, smiling all the way. You even get to hear Abby read to you, one of the most endearing things in the world, accompanied by the calming sound of the ocean before you. And when it came time for sunset, you sat down beside Abby, gazing on as amber, ochre, and rose faded into night.

It was perfect.

When it was nearly time for the evening to come to an end, you used the second blanket Abby had packed for your shared night to cuddle up beside her, heads rested on the pillows she had carried along as well. The side of your face was pressed into her chest as you gazed into the sky above you, Abby’s hand rubbing your back in slow circles to console you. Small suns coat the evening sky like sweet, powdered sugar, accompanied by a full moon that looks incredible over the horizon. All you could hear was the sound of the ocean, alongside Abby sighing gingerly every once in a while, or her pressing kisses to your forehead.

Not that you needed much more than that.

Suddenly, the sound of Abby chuckling in your ears snaps you out of your head, and you turn your face upwards curiously. Abby’s smile makes you smile, and it’s no surprise you began to wonder what the blonde woman found so funny all of a sudden.

“Remember how I told you Lev and I had to cross those bridges that were really high up?” Abby asked, and you had to raise an eyebrow, wondering where this was going. “Mhm,” you mumble, which is when Abby goes on.

“Well, before that, we had to get there by foot once we got out of the aquarium I told you about, the one I used to go to all of the time. That part of Seattle is overrun in rushing rapids, so a lot of the buildings around there were a lot more demolished than they usually would be anywhere else,” she explained.

“And, well. . .”

“We walked into this building, and there was a painting of these dogs playing cards. And I asked Lev if he knew our dogs could really play cards like that. Then he asked me if anyone found me funny,” Abby laughed. “It cracks me up whenever I remember it.”

She wasn’t the only one laughing. “Sounds like Lev. And like you,” you smile, and the tale makes you recall a humorous memory of your own. “Once, I was working late at the medical center back in Boston. I was doing research on this girl who had been feeling sick, but I wasn’t sure by what. Mind you, it’s late, and silent, if you don’t count me flipping the pages in my books.”

You giggle just remembering it. “It’s the weirdest thing ever, but my dad was really good at making Clicker noises. Like, really good. Sounded so real it made your heart drop. I was reading when I heard it, and I remember wondering how the hell infected had gotten inside. ‘Course I grab what was closest to me, a scalpel, and I swivel around.”

“And it’s dad.”

That one got Abby to burst out chuckling. “Oh, my God. Of all the things you could get, gorgeous. A scalpel?”

You rolled your eyes in response, playfully so. “What can I say? I’m just a medic. I didn’t carry a gun.”

Once Abby’s done laughing, which seems to take forever, she smiles down at you, pressing one more kiss to your forehead as if to make up for poking fun at you. You cuddle closer into her, letting your body relax in her embrace as a sigh escapes your lips.

You fall back into silence soon enough, eyes glued to the sky as Abby rubs her hand over your back, holding you like you would fade away if she let you go. You run your fingers through her short hair as you press kisses to her neck, jaw, and face, giving her all the love you know she deserves. Your eyes scan her features like she was molded by some higher power, and you can’t help but want to worship her, endlessly.

Not just for what she looks like. But for who she is.

“My baby. It’s like you were made for me, you know?” you whisper in Abby’s ear as your eyes pierce into her blue ones. But Abby’s head shook quickly.

You can predict what she’s going to say in response. “No, gorgeous.”

“It’s you who was made for me.”

—

reblogs are very much welcomed! <3

—

[starmocha]

OK. I THINK I HAVE A NEW IDEA OF HOW SYLUS' MYTH WILL PLAY OUT.

"Amidst the chaos, wings flap and stir up a whirlwind of sand and gravel. On that day, the girl marked for execution unleashed the Fiend from the Abyss."

— Official summary in Where Darkshadows Fall trailer description box

This will be my third theory. Theories 1 & 2 share the same post and are very, very brief, and honestly, not as well-developed.

OK, let's get started <333

For whatever reason, MC is to be executed. I theorize that she hopes to escape her death sentence and she seeks out Sylus, the infamous dragon said to bring about Philos' downfall. Perhaps, she assumes that if she can slay him, she will be pardoned.

However, she is obviously weaker than him. Sylus, as we know him, is a very complex person. Even though he does have an imposing aura, he does not attack without reason, and he also does not attack people weaker than him.

I believe this scene we see in the beginning is MC "training" with Sylus after having been in his company for quite some time. He is not sneering at her foolish attempt to kill him but rather critiquing her mistakes when approaching her prey.

It could also explain 1) she has no weapons, 2) she's alone, 3) she attempts to strangle him bare-handed with one hand (girl pls 🤡), 4) she shows no fear or resistance when captured by Sylus, even as he comments on how easily she can be killed if he applies more pressure to her heart.

Kind of similar to how in Zayne's Snow's Embrace myth, MC was training under Zayne's guidance for quite some time, and he would often give her lessons. I feel like this is a similar situation with Sylus being a mentor of some kind.

(Also, side note: she dresses similar as him??? Feels more draconic fashion than Philos, just saying. She might have been with him for even far longer than a few measly months.)

The mark he gives her could simply be just that. A bruise that serves as a time limit for her to develop her skill and show growth. He wants to see her progress, wants to see her become stronger, so this is could serve as a motivation device for her.

Now unlike with Zayne, Sylus is more upfront about his personal feelings, so we get intimate moments like these, where it leaves little room for doubts about their romance.

We also have a memory (Secret Times, most likely, based on the others' past myth 4-star cards) of Sylus carrying MC in his arms as he flies (🎶 A whole new world~ 🎶)? They're also described as kindred spirits (a term Sylus would later echo in the main story during his first appearance). Shared thoughts and feelings? Perhaps bonding over their status as outcasts?

Now, Sylus seems to be prophesied as bringing about Philos' downfall. Could...MC unwittingly have caused this? Could something have happened that led to Sylus going berserk and decimating Philos?

I believe a "betrayal" (or assumed one, believed by Sylus) may have happened that led to their tragedy. I'm leaning more towards a tragic misunderstanding. I'll make a part 2 since I'm at my 10-pic cap on mobile 😔