#and let the dash wash over my brain

[nethercomfies]

It's kinda weird, just based off follower count this blog is so much bigger than my new one... But somehow it still feels so much cozier and quieter and more like home :')

[hyukascampfire]

𝑯EART 𝑊ORM ⸺ hueningkai ℘˒´ˎ˗

  ⨾𓍢ִ໋ ˒˒ 𝚑𝔢art𝚠𝔬rm

[𝑛]. a relationship or friendship that you can't get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

〝﹙ 📼 ﹚“I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?”  ˛ ､､

wc ➛ 17.9k

𝔭airings childhood bsf!kai x reader (lowkey soulmates?) ⤷ ft. asshole!yeonjun x reader

𝒢 ‎; smut ˒ angst ˒ some fantasy

𝔴arnings angst, family issues, fingering, jealousy (i’m sorry i just love ts), yeonjun really is an asshole, orgasm denial, thigh fucking, unprotected sex (they're stupid!), strength kink a lil bit, breeding kink, possessiveness, creampie, choking... i think that's all, lmk if i missed any

✎୭ ashlynn's note omg. this was such a fun palate cleanser to write. this wasn't supposed to be as big as it is, but it just kept getting bigger and bigger, and i got super into the story. this kai is SOOOO!! yeah. i’m so nervous posting this because i’ve only ever posted TSFAWC, but…. here you areee (^^;; this is not proofread, so if you see a mistake... give me a sec. i'll get to it. hehe

Though you fan your hand furiously over your face, the little breezes washing over your clammy skin are not enough. The air is thick and heavy with summer’s heat. So thick that you almost feel it each time you swallow. It’s better than just letting yourself melt away, though. The cushion at your back doesn’t help much. It holds your warmth and returns it to you the longer you sit slumped back into it. You suffer it though—you’ve gone too sluggish to move.  

You let a leg dangle over the arm of a chair, watching a hopeful moth dance in the light of the buzzing porch light overhead. It flutters frantically in it, making a grand fight to reach that false moonlight, only to drop away when it realizes that it’s being burnt. You watch it rinse and repeat, relentless and sure, for who knows how long. It’s no special moth—no luna moth or the ones with the pretty pink wings—but the light falls down on it and colors it a pleasant stardust silver.  

You delight in letting your conscious brain turn off to watch it. It lets you forget the sweltering under your skin, and also that Kai had drug you out here. His dad gives him shit when he plays inside, but it’s way too hot to be out here. Isn’t it supposed to cool off after the sun goes down? It doesn’t feel like it. The deep acoustics are drowned out each time a car whirrs by. Playing outside should be the best option, but you and Kai live right on a busy road.  

When the roar of some car going ten miles over the speed limit doesn’t obscure his playing, though, you admire the intricacy of it. His fingers work up and down the neck, jumping frets that you imagine would be impossible to anybody without those long fingers of his. You had always been a loud supporter of his playing, even way back when the most he could play were simple chords, but you became especially so when a few years back he put a guitar in your hands and tried teaching you. Even with his fingers guiding yours, it was quick to learn that the effortlessness with which Kai handles the instrument is hard earned.  

He practices on the acoustic guitar, but that’s not his domain. With houses just a dash across the street from each other, Kai had grown up at your home more than he had at his own. So vividly, you remember the stars in his eyes when he’d listen to your dad’s music. Metallica, The Smashing Pumpkins, Linkin Park, any of it. He had fallen in love with it a long time ago. Your whole life you knew that it was only a matter of time before he was in his own band, chasing his dreams with a boundless mind and an indelible vision of himself on stage. How had that time come so soon, though? You don’t know if the notebooks full of inky lyrics that live wherever he deems inspiration might hit him make you proud or nervous. He’s making good on his dazzling aspirations, and you? 

You speak finally into the air, cutting through heat waves and his music and the night. “Isn’t it weird that we’re not going back to school after this summer?” 

He doesn’t have to even stop playing to answer you. Playing comes to him as a second nature. “Kinda,” he answers, brown eyes flitting up to you. “But it’s not like you won’t be back to it in September. College is the same shit.” 

The leg you’d been dangling and bouncing pauses. That’s right; you’re supposed to be going to that college you’d chosen because it was only a three-hour drive away from here. You pluck at the seat’s threadbare fabric, and the moth, still there, becomes oh-so-interesting once again. When his playing stops, you drop your head back with a cushioned thud and a groan that you wrangle in your throat. 

“Why are you acting like that?” he says, voice gone sharp like accusation. He doesn’t even know the truth, but he’s known you too long.

Can’t you just keep secrets for yourself, sometimes?

Kai, arms clad in a well-loved hoodie even in this dreadful weather, lays the guitar down. You maintain your silence. “Seriously, what?” 

Some secrets have timers, though. This one could only last you until about September, or even August when he realizes that you’re not preparing to return to school. A controlled sigh from your chest isn’t enough to soothe the nerves that sparks. “Nothing.” 

“Secrets, huh?” Kai says. When you do finally look to him, black spikes of hair frame his eyes and the accusation in them. 

It’s a simple poke, but it gets under your skin as sharp as any thorn might. It’s not like you don’t keep secrets from him, and you’re sure he keeps some from you too. But those are the little kinds, the inconsequential ones—like I ate already when asked why you’re not eating or like Yeah, I’m fine when it’s been a bad day. You don’t hide this kind of stuff from each other. Usually, you’d run over to his place to tell him whatever’s bothering you. Why not, when he’s known even the worst details of your life for almost the entirety of it? You’ve been holding this one close to your chest since somewhere around the end of senior year, though. The longer you let it fester, the worse your nervousness snowballs. “C’mon, Kai. Let’s not do this. Can you keep playing?” 

He doesn’t like that, of course. But you watch recognition dawn over his chocolate brown eyes, helpless to stop it. “You’re not going,” he says. It’s not a question nor a suspicion, it’s a bone-dry fact.  

Well. There that goes. You want to tear every hair on your head right out. Why had you even thought you’d keep him in the dark about it? When he’s not out in some garage making music, you two are together. The conversation was going to stroll by at some point; this was only inevitable. His disappointment radiates off him in waves and blisters you. He hasn’t even said anything yet, but you know exactly what he thinks of it. It’s why you kept it from him in the first place.  

Your silence is enough confirmation for him. “Why?” he says. “I thought you were excited to move out.” 

Wincing, you nod slowly. You were. Even went through the whole application process, along with most other kids your age. Ultimately, you never went through with declaring a college. You don’t exactly know why, but somewhere weaseled down in the shadowy recesses of your soul, you know. Taking those steps, the massive and terrifying ones from adolescence into adulthood, meant agreeing that this form of your life was over. It meant that at some point, you’d be moving away from here to where living your days away in Kai’s room would not be a choice. Everybody has to do it eventually, you know that. Kai’s music gig could take off any day, too. He’s going to make it happen. And then what? All this stalling and wishing on just a bit more time would mean nothing, he’d be off and chasing that dream. As excited as you are for it to finally become reality for him, there’s a nasty bitterness that’s budded in your chest, infecting your person.  

Can’t things just stay like this? 

“I was,” you say. It comes out of your mouth heavy.  

“Then why aren’t you going?” he says. Crickets, never seen but always heard, sing their song into the night’s darkness. “You didn’t get rejected. You’re too smart for that.” 

An ache sits heavily somewhere near the center of your chest, maybe over your heart. All those good grades, nights spent bent over a desk and AP paperwork—you’re wasting it. You shake your head. “No... just...” It’s an effort to dress your thoughts in a way that might appease him. A quiet moment stretches with your thinking before you continue, “I don’t know what I want to do.” 

He doesn’t like that, the yellow wash of the overhead light dancing over his taut lips and hard eyes. “Don’t know what you want to do?” he says, bringing his legs up onto the seat to crisscross them. He wears his favorite jeans. They’re heel-bitten and baggy enough over his legs that he can wear them around the house without any bother. “You’ve wanted to be an artist your whole life. You know exactly what you want to do.” 

Your chest only seems to ache harder. When the both of you were only young and hopeful, you both had big dreams. Kai was going to be the face of a metal band, and you were going to be an artist. A painter, potter, sculptor, even doing animation for those big companies like Dreamworks and Disney. You wanted any of it, just as long as you were doing art. You’d even promised him that you’d do the cover art for his albums with interlocked pinkies and flushed, hopeful cheeks. That passion and love wasn’t gone from you, it blazed strong in your veins. This blaze wasn’t the kind that kept you warm and excited to push forward into life, though. It had morphed into something that scalded you when you got too close or started imagining yourself pursuing its call. It’s a taunting silvery glow, no longer a guiding north star. Taunting words of family members stamped down on that hope hard. When you were little, it was said lighthearted and in passing. The older you got, though, the more serious their faces became. They wouldn’t say it outright perhaps, but you hear what they think well enough. Art is a dead-end career.  

Shifting in your seat, you tell him, “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean?” Kai says. “There are good colleges for that.” 

“I just... don’t know.” 

Shaking his head, he tells you, “But you love it.” 

You do. In its every form, you love creating. But loving it doesn’t mean that it’s right for you, or that you should trust your future in its hands. “I think I can do it in my own time,” you say, finally pushing yourself upright from the cushion. “Don’t wanna kill the passion by doing it for a living, you know?” 

He thinks on that for a moment. “If you love it, you should do it,” he says. 

An awful frustration bubbles in your chest. Kai has always had a clear life path, the steps ahead of him set in stone and waiting for him to follow in them. It’s hard for him to see why you might not want to do the same. There’s nothing that makes you as happy as the fact that he has it all figured out, that he knows just where he’s going and that he’s so incredible at it that he doesn’t have to worry about meeting the requirements, but your path seems obscured and untrodden. Punctuating a deep, resonant sigh, you say, “It’s not that easy, Kai.” 

“If you’re not doing that, then what are you going to do? Are you just going to settle for a nine-to-five?” he says full of accusation, the tapping on his knees gone still.  

A dry laugh, you say, “Maybe I’ll marry a super rich guy and just do my art for a living. No nine-to-five.” 

His face flashes. He’d always been a bit reserved, especially around others, but he bared his emotions freely around you. You hold them dearly to your chest and made sure to do your best to make good on that trust. He says, “You’re more than some guy’s housewife.” 

Cheeks radiating in the heat, you snort. “I know, dork. I’m a rockstar’s best friend. It’s my personal favorite achievement.”  

His face sours when you reach out and pinch hard at his cheek, but he doesn’t pull away or brush you off. The skin there is warmed and clammy. Really, the two of you should go meet the cool AC inside before you suffer heat stroke. But this moment feels so nice—your shoulders feel tons lighter without something to hide. If you had it your way, things would stay like this forever. Just the two of you, sat here like you have so many times before, just taking for granted the time you’ve got together.  

His mouth opens to banter, probably something about how he’s not a rockstar yet or to get you back for calling him a dork. Wingbeat and sterling dashes about your face send the image into a blur, though. You’re a quick mess of limbs and a whipping head, as if it’ll chase the thing away from you. 

“Seriously?” Kai says. You’d climbed halfway over him, elbows digging into him and knee doing a number on his thigh. “It’s a moth. You’re not scared of moths.” 

Lingering for a few moments later to ensure the flying thing was nowhere on you or around you, you hold back a laugh before you climb off him and fix your hair with undignified tucks behind your ears. “He was in my face,” you say around a laugh, because you know it was a bit too much. Nobody likes wings in their ears and spindly legs in their face, though, and you’re in no control of what you do when anything with six legs tries and get too friendly. Even moths.  

“You just wanted me to protect you,” he says. A sarcastic, shit-eating smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.  

“Oh,” you scoff, batting your eyelashes and clasping your hands together all saccharine-sweet. “Yes, Romeo, won’t you kill that bug for me? This girl’s heart just can’t take it!” 

Kai’s nose crinkles, and the playful light twists into a glare. “Nasty.” 

“That’s how you sounded,” you say. “I only reacted accordingly.” Laughing, you kick your legs out over his lap and sprawl back out. He takes the guitar back into his hands. 

As much as you want to escape the mugginess, you’ll survive it for just a little while longer—if only with the force of an indulgent heart. The eternal moments are those you allow to linger.  

⚝⭒ 

Some things, you forget when you’re older. Maybe it’s time’s hand, eroding memories down and stuffing more in the longer you live to experience them. But also maybe because they’re the sort of things you can’t say in the adult world without a laugh in the face and a look from down their noses.  

This memory is one of those forgotten things. It’s moth-bitten and dusty, something you one day folded up in a moving box and decided to never revisit. 

You’d been down at the creek. Kai and you had spent so many summer days there. It wasn’t too far from home, just past the filbert trees and into the shallow neck of the backwoods, but there you were out of sight and free to get up to nothing good. It was a wonder your mom ever let you do it. Kai’s dad didn’t care too much where he went or what he did, but your mom dug her claws in deep. You like to think that she imagined you two would have each other, if anything ever happened. 

Usually, you’d be there holding your jeans up from the stream and Kai would be letting his jeans go dark with it. The bite of water was nice as it washed over warm skin. Fun was a simple thing to find, then. You dug your fingers into the mudbanks and tossed stones way too big to be throwing at each other, just because you two remembered how much the adults hated it when you did. Then, you’d drag tired limbs home avoiding sweetgum tree spikes that had fallen to the ground and dug splinters out from your feet.  

This day, you had been in the blackberry bushes. It was maybe late July or early August, and they’d gotten heavy on their branches. You’d waited until the smell of them, summer-warmed, was sweet and cloying in the air to pick them. With buckets in your hands, you plucked only the fattest berries from their bunches. Your fingers were stained a delightful purple and perhaps a bit thorn raw, but you didn’t mind much then. You plucked for hours, and it was dusk before you could catch it. Dinner was no doubt waiting for you back home. 

“There’s a bunch over here,” Kai had said. He reached a long boyish arm, still awkward and lanky with puberty, up high for ripe bush. You finished off picking before climbing around thick branches sticking out to take a peek. A bunch, there was. 

When you went to drop a handful of them into your bucket, Kai hissed. He’d been snagged by a vicious looking branch, those ones as thick as a finger with thorns to match and you’d warn each other tongue-in-cheek to watch out for that one. He’d worn those ridiculous shorts that day, the ones that looked half pants half shorts with how long and baggy they were, and the claws of the bush had jumped at the opportunity. At first the scrapes were white, but then red blood crawled out and down his leg.  

“Kai,” you said, some parts chiding and some parts just wondering how he’d managed that. You surveyed his leg for a bit, and then determined that he should wash his leg off in the stream. He walked there strong, but of course you noticed the hobble beneath his acting. When you squatted down into the dry grass and cupped water to wash off his leg, you laughed. 

“What?” he had said, holding the shorts up. You covered your laugh with a hand, but it erupted past your palm. You remember the glare on his face very well.  

You still laughed. “You’re stupid,” you had told him. 

“I didn’t see it,” he said. “I tripped over it because it was sticking out.” 

That time when you brought your hands to catch some water, there was a twinkle in its surface. You didn’t notice it for a second. The creek moved fast and you could see a lot of things in its reflection. When it lingered, that’s when your brows furrowed. It seemed to twirl, dancing around like alive over the stones. 

The sound of Kai’s voice remains with you. “Hey,” he had said, strong to call your attention but also wavered with uncertainty. 

When you looked up, there was silver dust dancing around you. 

It was fluffy and whorling, fine silver stardust. It’d moved weightless in the air, as though it barely existed. In the center of it were a few moths. They seemed to be made of sterling powder just as the dust was, and they glowed against dusk’s backdrop. If your memory serves you right, there had been a sweet hymn of coos from them. They beckoned you. Summer’s heat felt lighter, and so did your chest. You wondered where they had wanted you to go. 

Almost afraid that if you spoke they might have fluttered away, you whispered soft and low to Kai. “What is that?” He was stood frozen there, pant leg still scrunched up in his fist. Stardust glowed soft in his brown eyes while he took it all in, you remember. It wasn’t a scared frozen. You weren’t scared, either—rather, it was as if that lightness had found its way into the core of your being and brushed over it with mending hands. 

He whispered back, “I don’t know.” How could he have known? It was absurd. 

Those whisps had beckoned you, flowing toward the deeper woods. The soft moths, their murmuring brushing up against your ears, seemed to wait for you to follow. You remember a pull, soft tendrils wrapping themselves around your heart and the yearning it planted there.  

But there was also this reluctance, a bone-deep answering that had told you: No. You’re not ready. 

“Kai, I wanna go,” you told him. 

You didn’t even need to tell him twice. Berry buckets forgotten; the journey home was a stranger one. When your dad asked why you returned from berry picking emptier handed than you had left the house, Kai and you only shared a look. You pair kept that evening at the creek hidden so well that it became more forgotten than shared secret.  

⚝⭒ 

Once, you had been the type of girl that loved being around family. Some of your favorite days of your life were spent in this living room, T.V. roaring over bouncing conversation. Some of those nights ended in rosy cheeks and laughs, and some ended with words thrown angry like fireworks. You never knew which you’d be getting, but you endured the fear of not knowing because it was a simple love—the basic kind built with biology into you the moment your infant skin touched your mother’s. You endured it because eventually, sleep washed away the bad taste left in your mouth and you forgave them quick, sometimes quicker than you ought to, and things would go on as if it hadn’t even happened. You endured it because you could handle its burden, if only to feel the warmth you feel when it’s a good day.  

Kai was always there—his dad was hardly home, so he found family in yours. When you were younger, you’d been embarrassed he was there for caustic, spitted words and intimate fights. Now, you’re just grateful for his shoulder.  

So, yes. Once, you had loved being around your family. But things feel tenser now, nights spent all together less frequent and when they do happen, they’re tainted by a strange air. You think that this strangeness is new, but an awful worry also makes you think that it’d always been there, that you only feel it now because you’ve grown into your adult mind. A hollow ache stakes its claim in your chest, declaring that it won’t leave until you find that youthful ignorance and joy once more. You think that it might stay there forever. 

Bare feet bounding down the stairs, you make a rare appearance downstairs. The cupboard is only half open to make way for a snack raid before your mom’s voice cuts through the air. You know quickly just by the look on her face that you should’ve stayed upstairs. 

“Hey,” she says, gathering laundry into a basket. “You’ve been applying to jobs?” 

With an anxious belly, you tell her, “Yeah. A few. They’re not really, like, ideal, but I sent applications.” You don’t remember when it got hard to look into your mother’s eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to do so now.  

“Not ideal?” she says. “It’s not like you can be picky. Mcdonalds or wherever, I don’t care, you’re going to need to get a job if you’re staying here.” 

“I know. I applied,” you reiterate around a mumble. You close the cabinets, not so interested in a snack anymore. “I just... I don’t know, ma. I don’t want to do that for a living, going between those sorts of jobs.” 

Face hard and abrasive against the truth you bare, she does that awful taunting smile that makes you feel small. Stupid. “You’re not going to college, so that’s what it’s gonna be. You can’t sit up there and draw for a living. You’ve gotta get into the real world, get some real experience.”  

There’s a burst of hurt in your chest, dazzling and gnawing. She’s getting closer to saying how she really feels about your dreams out loud every day. Your face burns and so do your eyes, knot thick in your throat. “Yeah, okay. Got it,” you say, nodding. You’re at the front door before you even know it, slipping on shoes and fighting the greatest internal battle to will back tears. She’d use those against you, no doubt about it. “I’m going to Kai’s,” you throw over your shoulder.  

Whatever she barks back at you, you’re glad you don’t hear. Bells on some old Christmas decoration hung on the door that had yet to be taken down, even into summer, jingle and wash it away for you. 

Kai’s brows shoot up when he opens the door to your face crumpling. You’d done so well at damming it up, but the wall cracks and the water crashes through once you see him. If it were anybody else, you’d feel icky and attention seeking, but you’d held Kai to your chest through gut-wrenching sobs as much as he’s done it for you. Without question, he takes you into his arms, warm hand running up and down your back. The warm soothing is so familiar. You melt right into it.  

He keeps you there for a long moment. Then, his chest rumbles as he tells you, “Come on.” The walk through the AC to his bedroom is nice. Having a house like Kai’s to come to where it can just be you is nice, too. You step around the mess of clothes and scattered belongings on his floor like you have a muscle-memory roadmap of his room. Boxsprings creak and hard mattress welcome you back home. His room is dark as always, a night-dweller you call him. The array of peeling band posters plastered over walls you two had painted blue some years ago, when it’d been his favorite color, don’t help to lighten it up. He keeps a low lamplight on.  

“She never listens to me,” you say, crying gone to occasional sniffles from your chest. You rest your cheek on your bent knee. 

“I know,” he says. “But at least she cares about you. Pays attention to you.” His voice is soft and deep and right next to you. Always right next to you, there for you even when you might not appreciate it as you should.  

His dad cares too little what he does, and yours care too much. The grass is always greener on the other side, you know it. Still, you hold a fantasy where you’re able to do teenager stuff. Where you’d allow yourself to do bad things, because you weren’t so intent on painting yourself with their will. You two hold eyes for a long moment, your twinkling ones caught in that steady brown. “I just want to get away. Be my own person.” Your words are muffled in the softness of your skin. 

“You had the chance to do it,” Kai says, hand playing with your fingers. “But you didn’t.” 

Holding your legs closer, you lick your lips. What do you say to that? Would it ever be the time to tell him that you did it because you think that your soul is pathetically intertwined with his, and that it might snuff your lifeforce out to even try pursuing life without him? Without this? How do you tell him that you’re so frozen and unwilling to pursue any sort of future because it means accepting that this chapter is over? You clutch childhood to your chest like a wild animal guarding scarce food; you refuse. You refuse to acknowledge its end.  

“Kai,” is all you say, trembled and thick. It’s not just your mother’s words that dig at you and tear to shreds the last bits of what dreaming you had left in you, but so many other reality checks too. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard those sorts of words, urging you forward. You can only dig your heel into the ground for so long before you’re swept away in time’s ruthless, endless moving.  

He understands. Lifting your face with warm fingers against your cheeks, he says, “Hey. How about we go get ice cream, or something?” 

Ice cream does sound nice. “Dairy Queen?” 

Smirk tugged over his mouth, he says, “Yes, Dairy Queen. A blizzard. C’mon, let’s go.” Sliding off the bed, he offers you an urging hand up. 

But you falter. “I don’t know if we can. She’s mad at me. I don’t think she’ll let me go.” 

“Let you go?” he says, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have to let you go. You’re an adult now, you go if you want to.” He offers his hand to you again. 

It’s so him, freely going wherever he ordain it. The bullheadedness is very him, as well. Always the devil on your shoulder, he was the root of any rebellious thing you’ve ever done. He could never understand your apprehension, or why getting in trouble was such an awful thing to you. “I have to ask to get money.” 

Brows pinching, he says, “You think I’m not gonna pay for you? You don’t need them to give you money, I’ll pay. I’ll take care of it.” He drags you up from the bed this time. “Live a little. Do you want to go?” 

It was never the punishments or the getting in trouble that you were scared of, though. Disappointment was a scarier word than grounded. Sneaking out and those sorts of things, it’s not like you had angel wings at your back and never considered them. It’s that you are deeply, utterly terrified of changing how they look at you. You begin to tell him, “I do, but—” 

He cuts you off, adamant. “Then do it. Let’s go. If you want to go, then go,” he says. “At some point, your life needs to become your own. It’s not sneaking out when you’re graduated and eighteen years old, it’s going wherever the hell you want. You’ve... You’re gonna end up stuck here, in this town, forever. You don’t deserve that.” 

That sounds like both the best and the worst thing you’ve ever heard. You take his hand.  

⚝⭒ 

Your frozen fingers nurse your ice cream. The cup itself is cold, but the Dairy Queen on your side of town is always thirty degrees below what it should be. It’d always been that way. Even way back when you two couldn’t drive, you’d get dropped off here to escape the melting weather and get a frozen treat with a handful of dollars. Each time, you’d start off sagging with the relief of summer’s weight off your shoulders and left the place shivering and sugar-mouthed.  

It’s really only you two in here. You crinkle your nose when he takes a spoonful. “Out of all the flavors...” 

Unbothered and no doubt expecting you to say it, he offers you a flat, “You get your flavor, I get mine.” He makes a point of taking an extra-long bite. His lips linger around the red plastic of the spoon and his brows rest high in silent challenge.  

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Hmm. Well. I just have a hard time believing that Oreo... or, like, brownie fudge, is right there, and you actually want M&M. I don’t get how M&M your favorite.” A familiar banter falls over your tongues. Your heart buzzes and your cheeks radiate. This is the first you’ve done this all summer, and it’ll be weaning off into fall soon. Any other summer, you would’ve been here on all the hottest days. You hate that Kai’s been so busy with his music; you hate that you can hear the resounding ticks of the clock counting down your time. You also hate that the stubborn depths of you still believe that if you freeze yourself here in stasis that the world will relent and stop along with you. 

You look over the sharp lines of Kai’s jawline as it feathers with his chewing, and the broadness of his shoulders where his jacket stretches around it, and the starkness of his collarbones against his chest and the bobbing of his adam’s apple when he swallows. No, time doesn’t stop. Some of him remains the same, though. In it, you see the boy that had love creeping up on you so long ago, with all its aching and all its hope. That freckle on the column of his neck, the bump in his nose leading down to the button tip that beckons your lips to steal a quick kiss.  

And, those lips. They’re as soft as ever around the discontented grimace he pulls. “M&M isn’t my favorite.” 

With a pursed mouth and patronizing brows arched over your eyes, you say, “Oh, huh. That’s funny, because if my memory serves me right, it’s the only flavor you’ve ordered for the past... six years.”  

Kai husks a laugh at that. “That’s because they haven’t had my favorite for years,” he tells you, scooping up the final bit and then pushing it off to the side. “It was a blizzard of the month that they discontinued. The blackberry cheesecake one. I made peace with it, though. It lives on in my heart.” He grins, arms crossed over his chest and his back settled into the booth seat to let you finish your cup.  

“Blackberry cheesecake,” you say, voice made taunting. Your nod is slow and taunting, too. “Well, forget M&Ms. Why would blackberry cheesecake be your favorite? Ever?” 

His face falters, a moment where something flows over his eyes as if reliving a memory in a few short seconds. Then, he shrugs. “It just is.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever,” you laugh. “Maybe my palate is unrefined.” Imagining the tarte fruit in purple swirls of ice cream, you’re taken back to a humid July day and the scent of churned mud.  

The strange memory unfolds itself quick. As if it were waiting for you to find wherever it’d hidden itself away. With a sharp gasp, you say, “Oh my god, Kai. Do you remember that one day? That weird stuff we saw down at the creek?” 

He nods. “Yeah. I was just thinking of that the other day, actually...” 

Less interested in finishing your cup now, you let the spoon rest. “What?” you say, the word peaking in the middle. That day hadn’t crossed your mind once since it’d happened. “How weird is that?” 

Scoffing a laugh, he says, “Weird, yeah. Just as strange as two kids high on fermented berries.” 

That draws a breathy laugh from you. “Is that what you think it was?” you ask him with knitted brows. The berries had been fresh, and you two had popped plenty into your mouth. But no doubt, you’d have spat them right back out if they were that ripe. “I mean, we saw the same thing.” 

“It happens to animals all the time. Squirrells, and stuff.” He lends you a gallic shrug. “We just freaked ourselves out. Like that one time you said you saw the shape of something in the dark and we freaked out. And it was clothes.”  

Well, hallucinating, in tandem, a glowing mist because you two by chance ate fermented berries is a very long shot. However nonchalant he acts about it, he seems to have thought long and hard about it. Enough to reason it away with some far cry explanation. Would you have even been able to get drunk off a handful of fermented berries? And, god, you’re really sure that you’d have noticed. That taste isn’t really one you just don’t notice.  

Whatever. Maybe you were just drunk idiots. That’s a lot easier to swallow, anyway. 

“Okay, but you saw that. Did it not look sinister?” you say. With your spoon back in your hand, you punctuate the sentence pointing it at him. “You freaked out with me, too.”  

An unsatisfied scowl on his lips, he steals a spoonful of your dessert. You don’t even swat him away—your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

Catching sight of who’s calling, you share a long look with Kai. It’s funny, how fast those three white letters scramble you up. When you hesitate to answer, Kai tells you, “Answer.” 

You hope she can’t tell you’re not at Kai’s by the refrigerators’ dull buzzing. It’s an effort to tussle that invasive worry back. You’re at Dairy Queen. Getting ice cream with the boy she’s known since childhood. She should clutch her hands and thank the sky that you’re here, not out in some nasty frat house like you could be. You thumb the green button. 

Her voice comes through the speaker crackled and asking you to run over to do a quick dish load. For a heartbeat you consider telling her that you will and then start rushing home. Instead, you fork out the truth through resistant lips. 

The hangup tone sits heavy on the air between you and Kai. Having listened to the whole thing on speaker, he says, “What was so hard about that? The world didn’t end, did it?” 

The plush of your lip takes a hard gnawing. No, it hadn’t. “I know she’s not going to get mad at me for just going here,” you say as you rest your elbows onto the table. “It’s that they’re supporting me right now. I still live under their roof. The more I go around and insist I can do whatever I want, they’ll start reminding me of it.” 

His face drawn, he lets his mouth twitch to one side. “Yeah,” he muses. “I never thought yours would be the type to kick you out.” 

Kai’s dad had started threating him with getting kicked out years ago, when he first started telling him that he wanted to do music. How many times had he let reluctant tears flow into your shoulder over it? Because music wasn’t a real job? Back then, you’d whispered in his ears that he’d become everything he’d dreamed of and more as your fingers carded through shaggy locks of hair.  

“I don’t know,” you say, humming it out noncommittally. “Is your dad still... y’know?” 

Nodding slowly, his eyes tell. “Yeah. Always.” 

“Because you’re taking the band seriously, now?” you ask.  

“Probably. I don’t give a shit what he thinks about it. If I’m just his goddamn problem, I’ll give him what he wants soon enough.” His eyes blaze with promise of it.  

It takes a bit out of you to not wince. Kai living anywhere but in the house across from yours is wrong. “I don’t think he necessarily wants that, Kai...” You take his hand in your icy ones, the urge to reach out to him thinly veiled under the guise of searching out warmth. He’d always run warmer than you—your personal heater. “It’s probably because he can see that you’re doing it for real. Not just saying it anymore.” 

“Yeah, well,” he spits, “I can’t fucking wait to see what he’ll say to me when I make it. That piece of shit, though, he wouldn’t even care. It’s not like he ever gave a shit about me enough for it to matter.” 

But, it matters to you, you want to tell him. You understand his need to throw it all in his face, though. “Is that one label going to sign you? The one you were talking about?” 

His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “They haven’t yet. I don’t know. But I don’t need that money to get out of here, I’ve been working on it.” 

“They will,” you say. “But, where would you go? Not too far?” You try and keep it light and playful, even as your heart aches. 

“Come with me,” he says. It’s painfully blunt, as if it were that simple. “Let’s go get and apartment; you and me.” 

“Kai...” you say. “You don’t have to drag me along because you feel bad.” 

The idea doesn’t sound half bad, though.  

“What?” His face tightens, as if somewhere under the surface your words had scraped somewhere tender. “You don’t have to stay here forever. Please. I want... I want you to come with me. You wouldn’t have to even tell them; just bring all your stuff and go together. We could do it together. Like we said we would.”  

“We were like, five. Everybody tries to pretend running away at five,” you deadpan. It’s a washy attempt at lightening things back up. 

Living with him, moving out together, should feel like everything you’ve ever wanted. And, maybe it is. But, he’s not asking you to live with him the way you want him to. Not in the way that your aching heart wishes he would.  

Kai doesn’t share the laugh you give him. “Yeah, okay,” he says, leaning into the table.  

Perhaps you should consider the potent disappointment he’s terribly masking with a face of indifference, though. 

⚝⭒ 

Slowly, the knots in your belly have worked themselves out. When Kai had dropped you off, they’d been so awful that you felt borderline sick. You sat the whole ride there in his old beat-up truck picking at your nails and rambling to him. He listened to you the whole time. And then when it was time to walk in, it had least felt a little easier to do so with his eyes on you, watching to make sure you made it in safely. 

You’d gotten a job. It’s not too bad, folding clothes out on display. It would be nice if they kept the lights a bit brighter, but you’ll get used it eventually, you hope. 

Most of your coworkers are around your age, but the one showing you the ropes... your heart had fluttered. 

“You’ll get it,” Yeonjun says. The smile you find on his lips once he straightens up from placing product on a display is smooth and smug. Sleek strands of black hair fall over his eyes. You fluster under his gaze.  

With arms crossed over your chest you say, “Yeah, probably.” You reach into the cardboard box for stock to practice on. 

“Where’d you work before this?” he asks, leaning back into a wall to watch you. Suddenly, you make sloppier work of your folding. “Your first retail job?” 

Some obnoxious pop song falls down from the speakers over the store. Nobody’s in here yet, thankfully; you’ve got some time to try and get a handle on everything. “No, this is my first job. I was so nervous walking in.” 

Interest catches in his eyes. It encourages that smooth smile on his lips further. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll show you the reins.” 

Your mind stalls. The suggestive, sly flicker to it—are you looking too much into it? Maybe that’s just how guys like Yeonjun act. It’s hard to pretend that you don’t see how he’s looking at you, though. It has your belly twisted up in fluttery knots. It’s not like you hadn’t had your share of his type. But, for some reason you’d rather not address, he’s got your heart thumping in your chest. 

He laughs at your fifth attempt to fold up the shirt. When he takes it from you to help, he smells of musk and vetiver. “You going to college near here?” he continues.  

“Nah, just doing this, I guess,” you answer, watching him fold it up to try and soak it up.  

“Really? Why not?” he hums, crossing his arms about his chest. “You seem like a smart girl.” 

Buffering, your blood buzzes in your veins and your cheeks burn. “Dunno. Not really sure what to do. Are you in college?” 

“Nah. I’m trying to figure things out, too.” 

The both of you pop your heads up when the bell rings to announce the arrival of a customer.  

“Yeah,” you say, eyeing him. He’s a few years older than you, no doubt, and yet his life hasn’t fallen apart because he’s not done anything grand yet.  

Time’s hand around your neck loosens. Just a little bit.  

⚝⭒ 

You sit crisscrossed on top of Kai’s bedsheets. He’d thrown the windows open because the AC died, but it’s no help. The hot air wafting about the room sits heavy on your skin. You’d dressed in as little material as possible to let it breathe, bare thighs clad in a pair of loose shorts and a thin tank top, but it’s still miserable. 

Perhaps you two should be going over to yours, but you haven’t had time alone with him for a few weeks now. You hate this busier life, where you struggle to make room for this. 

Your new job isn’t so awful, though. Especially with Yeonjun there. A bout of nerves flows up through your stomach. That reminds you. 

Sitting up a bit straighter, you consider not doing it. In fact, you really shouldn’t. But your mouth moves before you can put a stopper on it. 

“Hey, Kai,” you say. The thickness in your throat makes you believe that your heart’s jumped up into it, caught. God, what are you doing? The unsure waver in your words has you regretting. 

His eyes flicker up to yours. He hums out a, “Huh?” 

No, this is wrong. You mess with the thin cotton strap of your tank top where it’d slipped down. “Never mind,” you tell him, trying to shrug it off.  

That piques his interest. “No, what?” His brow pinches.  

You lick your lips and shake your head. “Nothing, never mind. Really.” 

His eyes search you from where he sits up against the wall. “Tell me,” he demands. 

Really, you shouldn’t have said it in the first place. It was a ridiculous idea. But now you know he’s not going to let it go. And, ridiculously, you say it. “I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?” 

Insects buzz outside as he looks at you, frozen in spot. You reject the urge to dart away or throw up. You’re honestly just as shaken as him. But really, who else could you trust with something like that? You don’t want Yeonjun to be disappointed if he kisses you, or to seem inexperienced to him. 

And, perhaps, the hopelessly in love part of you hopes to at least feel his lips on yours at least once. If you’re going to be alone forever in your longing, you just wish that you can have this. 

“What?” Kai says. He looks rattled.  

Of course, he’s shocked. You shift. “Forget I said that,” you tell him, unable to meet his gaze.  

String-roughened fingers wrap around your upper arm. “I didn’t say anything,” he says, voice strained and face less shock-fallen and more darkened. “But... I mean, you want me to teach you to kiss for some other guy.” He spits out the last bit as if bitter in his mouth.  

“You don’t have to do it,” you say. “I just... thought that I might ask you to do it. I don’t know, I’m sorry I said it. I’ll just wing it or something.” His room’s grown ten degrees hotter, if that was possible. Especially where you feel his eyes on your face.  

Almost imperceptibly, his hand tightens around you. He swallows hard. “You want to learn how to kiss?” he says. “Fine. I’ll teach you.” 

In a heart-stopping moment, your eyes snap to his. Brown and familiar, they hold you with an intensity that turns your limbs into jelly. The air is stifling. “What... do I do?” you ask when the silence becomes too heavy.  

A muscle feathers in his jaw, reflected in the low light of his room. It’s quick and so easy to miss, but it tells you everything you need to know about how this is making him feel. How much disbelief he’s in. “Come here,” he says, stilted around the absolute absurdity of it. He pats on his lap. 

You make a hesitant crawl across the bed toward him. It seems as though your elbows might buckle beneath your weight, but you make it despite the odds. A fog settles over your brain when you rest your hands on his shoulders and bring your legs to straddle his lap. 

But you shove it back; you want to live and breathe every last second of this. No matter how unbelievable or blistering it is.  

Breaths fan out over your face. It’s seizing your mind like undiluted liquor. “Where do I put my hands?” you ask him. It’s breathless, the air stolen right from your lungs though your mouths haven’t even touched.  

“There is fine,” he says. His words sound breathless, too. The weight of his touch on you as he runs his own up to support your back is unsure. “And then...” he says. It falls out on your mouth slowly, and then he’s taking your lips onto his. 

The walls melt away, sound does too. All that is real is the taste of his lips and how they move against you. Your lips start tentative, but you try his mouth movements yourself. It feels like a timid dance—it feels like deep, deep down, finally everything is right. That mist, thick and blinding, falls back over you. 

Something changes. Something in it, where you two meet, changes. He becomes hungry. Softly locked lips turn biting and nipping, shaky breaths exhaled slow through your nose. His hands on your back become surer, and one even ventures off to grab your chin. The other holds you to his chest, melded together despite the intense smoke and flame rolling off your bodies. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating a mess there. 

Reluctance paints you both when you pull back. You’re panting deep drinks of air. It’s hard to think; your mind’s run off and sits just out of reach. Licking your messy lips, stained with illicitness, you can only manage to brush your fingers against it to form words. “How... was that?” you say, searching his eyes. You find his pupils blown so wide that they consume the warm brown. You’re ready to jump out of your skin with that look pointed at you.  

Kai doesn’t answer, though. He slams your mouths back together as if starved by just the brief moment you’d parted for air. Nips on your bottom lip and emboldened hands—he moves like roaring water through a dam. A dam that he’d worked hard to fortify, and yet, at a crack it’s all falling down. Fingertips digging through the fabric of your shorts down to your soft hips, his chest rumbles. You feel it reflected in your core, electricity charging there and shooting up your spine and down your thighs. 

You kiss him for all the times you wish you would’ve, but didn’t. The slight rolls of your hips down onto him come easy. You love how it has him making a sound into your mouth and taking the fat beneath his fingers harder into his hands. He helps you. 

He drops his head into your neck. Your head swims for air and he has you shuddering with just the brushing of his nose against the column of your neck. The walls of his room spin around you. “Kai,” you whine, every bit of friction his jeans provide, even clothed as you are, just enough to rile you but not to give you what you need. 

“God,” he growls, thumbs hooking under your waistband. “You always fucking run around dressed in nothing,” he says, letting his fingers linger like a suggestion of undressing you. “Did you do it on purpose? Expect to make me crazy, knowing I couldn’t touch you?” 

And, in those words, it seems that he steals every last bit of breath from you. How often had you gone braless or worn something like this around him? Laid here, in his bed, like that? 

Grown tired of your fruitless grinding, he brings a hand down to support your lower back and says, “Turn around.” 

Though you explode with the prospect of what he might be intending to do or what’s next, if you’re really going to do this, you do so in a flash of eager limbs. His chest is solid against your back, you melt against the feeling of it. He’d become such a man lately, filled out, and you watched it happen. It was hard for your eyes not to catch on muscle-corded forearms while he picked at strings or to not appreciate the timbred rumble of his voice when you’d feel it come from his chest. How could it not do things to you? Now, he’s dragging your shorts down your legs and you’re in disbelief.  

“Fuck,” he breaths out. His fingers find your panties soaked through. “So, you’re the type to get dripping wet.” 

An embarrassed blush decorates your cheeks. Kai drags his index finger in circles around your clit through the fabric as if enamored with how much of a mess you’d made of it. Your hips twitch every time he rolls right over it. It’s strange how he’s got your body acting on its own volition with his touches. Even stranger that it’s your best friend doing it. “Sorry,” you tell him, wavering.  

He continues those terribly slow circles. “Sorry?” he says, chin on your shoulder. He’s got you wrapped up in him, with nowhere to go but to melt back into him and let his fingers work. Free hand on one of your inner thighs digging divots into the plushness there to hold it still, he tells you, “It’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s hot as fuck. You’re so excited for me to touch you, huh?” 

The words wreak havoc on you, feeding the flame that has your belly twisted up tight and the ignition point between your thighs pounding. To hear them coming from him, reserved Kai, has you digging your fingers into his forearm to prove that it’s real. You’d never have imagined him being so... filthy. You imagine him behind falsely nonchalant eyes, devouring you with a perverted mind all the times you’d spent innocently sitting together in this room.  

Your cheeks squish beneath his fingers as he takes your face and turns it to him. He wants to make sure you’re look at him as he asks you, “Do you want me to finger you?” 

Like a record, your brain skips. Between the blunt, lewd question and his hand on you, it’s in overload. How could he ask something like that so simply? Stunned as you are, of course you want him to. You want him to do anything to you. You nod.  

Every last nerve and neuron in your system, just below the skin, cry out when his fingers slow down to nothing. “Hmm?” he says, ignoring the chasing of your hips and the opening of your thighs to invite him into paying your poor pussy the attention he’d ripped from it. He wants to hear you say it.  

About ten minutes ago, you lost your mind. It does not return to you now. “I want you to,” you say, chest beating in tandem with your cunt. 

“You want me to, right? Not some dumbass you met a week ago, huh?” he says. “Because you know that this is what it’s meant to be. Me, doing these things to you. Not some twenty-five-year-old piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve you, baby. Understand?” 

His fingers slider under your panties. Dumb brained and cognition gone muddled, you nod. All you can really think about is the moment his fingers slide over you. Fire licks up your lower belly and your insides as he brushes calloused finger tips finally right against your clit. 

Puffed breaths of a scoff raise goosebumps over your skin. “Teach you to kiss so that you can go over there and get his hands on you,” he says, middle two fingertips prodding at your entrance. “As if you were ever anybody’s but mine. You’d come crawling back to me, baby, because it was always meant to be us. He could never satisfy you.” 

His words might alarm you or have you asking questions if he hadn’t pushed his fingers into you and begun curling them with strong, pointed presses, pulling soft mewls and hums from you until he finds a spot that twists up your insides. Even through the palm you press over your mouth, your moans come out more like wavering grunts and croaks. Your thighs quiver and twitch, threatening to snap closed against your own will with each. Only your feet stay planted to the mattress. Like a cone of soft serve under the sun’s blistering attention, you melt down him. Just his frame keeps you upright. 

“Right there, huh?” he says. The smirk on his mouth filters his words into something taunting. “That’s where you like it.” It’s like he’s learning your body step by step, fulfilling all the questions he’d been forced to only guess at before this.  

“Uh-huh.” It comes out whiny and cracks in the middle, but you can’t find even an ounce of you to care right now. If this moment had been a long spiral, a fall from grace, down into a dark pit of forgotten inhibitions, you’ve just hit the bottom. Cheeks blazing cherry blossom pink and with your fingers curling into his pant leg, you don’t doubt that you are a picturesque mess. The kind of mess that’s beautiful because it’s dirty. Your teeth are not gentle on your plush bottom lip. It stings, tugged back and bitten and still a bit swollen with kisses. Perhaps you taste the tang of metal on it, but you pay it no mind. 

Kai redoubles his efforts. Now that he knows exactly how to play you, he’s fucking you on his fingers without mercy. The sounds coming from your cunt were wet, but now they’re different— nasty squelching. The only noises coupling with your pathetic keening. Forget anchoring yourself on his thigh, forget muffling your sounds. Instead, your hands fly to encircle his flexing forearm. Under your nails, angry red crescents dig into the muscle there. What had been a languid, building pleasure suddenly becomes everything. Your breaths run away from you, and you chase them frantically. Deep down in your core, the muscles spasm and rage against his fingers. “H—oh god,” you groan. Even the muscles in your thighs and tummy tighten up. 

“So whiny...” Kai mumbles, voice taut with the effort of eroding you down into pure, blinding-white pleasure. 

And then, in a swoop of mercy, your belly tightens. You hover here, on the precipice of something so consuming and voracious that your muscles and bones reject it, and yet your heart sings. Your eyes and cheeks and lungs and belly burn, the flame charring the edges of you in a beckon. You answer its call. Kai doesn’t mind the snapping of your legs shut around his arm, nor does your bucking or shaking deter him. He just holds you through it, arm like a metal bar around your waist. He’s everywhere, in this moment—the smell of him, leather and utterly familiar, his mouth dusting hot kisses over your skin, his fingers guiding you through orgasm. Where you’d gone silent in the initial crash of it, you devolve into mewls and grunts as you come down.  

He holds you even as you slump against him boneless. Afterglow simmers in your veins and has your brain all lethargic and lazy. Neither of you speak for a while, your pulse thumping a rhythm. His breaths rise and fall against you; it grounds you in this moment where you feel all spacey and gone. You become aware again of how disgustingly sweltering it is in his room, your skin sheened. 

That brainless bliss only lasts you for so long, though. When rational mind returns to you, no matter how you wish it wouldn’t, you’re hit in the chest with regret so hard it knocks the wind out of you. 

How will anything ever be the same after what you’d just done? Stricken still by the thought, you barely register him pulling his fingers out of you. After all your worrying about making sure no wedge comes between you two, look what you’ve gone and done. No; nothing ever will be the same again.  

⚝⭒ 

A couple of weeks ago, you ruined the one friendship you were supposed to have forever. It presses down heavy one you while you sit sprawled out on Yeonjun’s couch, his arm around your shoulder. His phone casts a glow over his features with all the lights out. 

It doesn’t smell like home. He, pressed against your side, doesn’t smell like home.  

Some stupid movie that he’d picked out, yet somehow you’ve ended up the only one still watching it, weaves a hum into the quiet of his apartment. Tangy hurt wells up in your throat. Even the moments when you and Kai would sit in mutual silence on your phones never felt like this. This is different.  

You haven’t seen Kai since that night. He’s been busy getting ready to move out, and you’ve been here most days. How fast all of it had changed. You wish you’d feel whiplashed, left empty, by the drifting that you’d been so terrified of. But you don’t. It’s just been you, locked on land, watching him being taken away by the ocean’s tide with no way to change its course. You tried and screamed to call him back, but now your voice has gone hoarse.  

And instead of watching him go, you choose to look elsewhere. It’s all you can do to protect yourself from the hurt. 

“Hey,” Yeonjun says, finally addressing you rather than whoever’s he’s got in his phone. “Did you bring anything to change into?”  

“I brought stuff to sleep in,” you say, eyeing him. You know that’s not why he’s asking. If it came down to it, you could just steal something from him and pull it on. He means going out clothes. Your jaw tightens. “But nothing nice. Why?” 

He stretches his arms behind his head in a flaunt of long arms and tanned muscle. Hours spent at the gym lent him those; you appreciate the look of it with a watering mouth. Kai had earned his build by hours spent outside with your dad, because his own could care less, helping him fix up cars and vehicles of all ridiculous sorts. You remember when Kai had first gotten his truck—junk on wheels, honestly—he’d spent so much of summer out there getting it running. And, well... the sun-kissed bronze of his skin and frame that came with it, you had no qualms with. 

But those memories only sit heavy in your chest as you’re sat here beside Yeonjun. You banish them elsewhere; you need to let him drift off. If you can’t have each other, and your feelings won’t permit just being friends, then you have to. You want him to do amazing things, and you fear that it’s your presence in his life that will interrupt that. As much as your feelings are real, they are selfish. You, your unsure direction and all your dead weight, should let him go. Because you love him. 

“The guys want to come over,” he tells you, pushing off from the couch. “You should probably into change into something less showy.” 

Less showy. Your mouth drops into a scoff of disbelief, looking down. A pair of shorts and a shirt, showy? You have to laugh, or else you’ll succumb to the strange embarrassment crawling at the back of your skull. What’s he trying to say? Is that what he thinks of you? “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say, face tilted up to him in a twist of distaste. “I’m wearing something comfy.” 

He shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweats. “Don’t want to give them the wrong idea about you, that’s all, baby. They’re guys; I just want to protect you.” 

“No,” you say, the word falling out in a barked laugh. “Why would you even be bringing over dudes that you think will look at me like that? Why are you even friends with people that you think are gonna make moves on your girlfriend?” He holds a hand out to you, but your hands stay right where they are: crossed solidly over your chest. 

Throwing that hand up in audacious exasperation, he gives you a look that makes you feel small and petulant—like you’re throwing an overblown fit. And, maybe you are. You should probably just do it; him seeing you as some overbearing or high maintenance girl has that embarrassment flaring like wildfire that’s found dry brush. “C’mon, baby,” he says, a lazy smile on his mouth that gets under your skin. “Let’s just have an easy night. Don’t make it a big deal.” 

Let’s just have an easy night. As if you’re the one ruining the night. Something snarky tries to seize your tongue, but you hold it down. “I thought it would be just us. We wanted to watch the movie together, Yeonjun. Can’t you wait to hang out with your friends? Let’s enjoy our time together; you’ve got your shift tomorrow.” 

“My fucking god,” he groans, running a hand through his hair furiously. “You’re needy, you know that? The neediest I’ve ever had to put up with. I don’t put up with needy, baby. Can’t you just chill out a little? My last didn’t mind when I’d have friends over.” 

Your eyes burn. Your cheeks burn. He’d been with plenty of other girls before you; that, you’re well aware of. It’s been a corrosive source of self-doubt for you. You don’t want that title: the neediest he’s ever had. Don’t want him to think of you as some prude that won’t let him have fun. Just... hearing him bring up the other girls he’d been with before you stings and leaves welts no different from a slap in the face. Feelings of inadequacy shackle you and have you saying, “Fine. I’m gonna borrow some of your clothes.” 

Heavy resentment blooms on your skin where he bends down and presses kisses to your cheek, and then mouth, and then down your neck. “Thank you, baby.” 

And, where those ugly, wilted flowers of it bloom, you hear echoes of something. Something that tells you that Kai wouldn’t treat you like this. But you’ve made your bed, decided to do it yourself, and now you’ve got to lay on it. 

⚝⭒ 

The frat parties are the worst kind of social outing that Yeonjun insists upon. The smaller kinds, more intimate gathering with just his closer friends, you tolerate much easier. You’re not fond of the circles he chooses. Breathing in thick, smoked-out air surrounded by alcohol-coated breaths is not your type of fun night. Somehow, you end up doing that more than date nights. But that’s better than being here. The base rumbles up through your feet and makes your stomach sick, and it reeks of grinding bodies and body odor, and condensation coats your fingers from the red solo cup as full as when you’d first gotten it. 

But, still, you come along. Not every time, but when you don’t, you lay in his bed sickening yourself with images of what he might be doing here. How pathetic is it to attend parties with your boyfriend because you fear that otherwise, he might stick his tongue down the throats of other girls? 

You’re looking for him right now, awkward and left alone. He’d promised to stick around; you had begged him to. That was pathetic, too. You know that you put up with too much. If he loved you, or honestly even liked you, you two would be in the thick of the throngs dancing or off somewhere talking with others. Together. The frantic skimming and weeding of your eyes through the blur of faces is not right. That’s not how he should make you feel. It’s not how Kai would make you feel. 

Well, Kai would never have you here in the first place. 

Venturing out from your little corner, you sift between the bodies of people have a hell of a lot better time than you. Drunken, some you bounce off of like bumper carts. You press your palm over the round face of your cup to spare the floor from spillage threatening to pour over the lip. It’s not like a splash from yours would matter much, though. The linoleum has already been made a fetor mess of dirt off shoes and the sticky sugar of liquor. Your shoes peel from it as you walk. God, what would your parents think of you being here? 

You peek around corners and eye big groups. He’s not in the kitchen when you look there, either. Your stomach feels sick in a knowing way—a gut feeling that doesn’t justify anger or tears just yet, but you know. Right in the center of your chest, you know. 

It’s in some room that you find him. Sat on the floor along with a few faces you don’t know, he pulls from his bottle. And on his shoulder, he lets a girl with shining curls and pink cheeks rest her head. At your busting in on the intimate gathering, Yeonjun’s eyes slide to you. Recognition flashes over them and wars with bleary drunkenness. 

“Hey, baby,” he says. Their gazes all fall on you, but you can hardly see them through blurry eyes. 

The girl lifts her head from his shoulder. She’d caught the memo. 

“I think I’m gonna go.” You make it sound resigned, try to not let them see your shame, but your voice betrays you and crackles. Maybe it’s better to pretend it doesn’t feel like you’ve just been kicked in the stomach and left to reel against the force, but you can’t. You’re nowhere near shocked, nowhere near blindsided, but still you hurt. 

He follows you down the hall. “What’s your problem?” he says, the few, plain words mending and waving into a slurring. 

You’ve got one goal: get to the front door, away from the shitty music and him. His words, sharpened, fall off your skin despite his efforts. What good would fighting do you, anyway? It was always going to end up this way. This is just who he is, and he doesn’t give two shits enough about you to want to change that. 

“Baby, seriously? That made you this mad? I didn’t even fucking do anything. Stop being insecure,” he says. At the gritting of your teeth, he sees an opportunity and pounces on it. “You don’t need to be jealous. I don’t do jealous shit. We can dance, or something. Shit, I don’t know what you want! Just stop throwing a fit.” 

Didn’t do anything? You have to laugh. Maybe you didn’t walk in on him fucking someone else, but that’s not what this is about. Not even a little bit. You’ve checked out, and the fact that he thinks he can make you believe that it’s your fault this time only drives the killing stake in harder. 

Maybe you’re bitter. It claws at your insides—turns your face hot and screams in your face that you’ve been used. But beside it sits a sadness. Not the slow kind, but the quick sadness of hurt. Why hadn’t you been good enough for him to love you? To like you? You’d left behind Kai and rested your new life on Yeonjun’s shoulders. You’d wanted so badly for his approval, or for him to want you. You did your best to try and make this work out because you needed it to. You needed so desperately proof that you could fall in love with somebody else. But your best was not what Yeonjun was interested in.  

Pins and needles prick your skin as you step outside, like jumping into an ice bath. It shocks you out of dizziness. Words surge up and out in a flash flood like hard reality. You spin on him. “Jealous?” you say, choking out a scathing laugh. “The last thing I’d ever let myself suffer over you is jealousy. Get over yourself. I’m going, stay here if you want. I don’t care.” 

“How are you gonna do that, huh?” he says. The flickering yellow of the porchlight paints his features. The shadow of something fluttering around it cuts dark spots in the light, and then a small little moth comes down and jumps around in his face. He waves it off. “Gonna have bitch boy come pick you up? You can’t leech off him forever; he’s gonna get sick of picking up another man’s girlfriend.” It seems like you walking in on that had sobered him up, but his breath still curls out onto your face with the reek of alcohol. “It’s not a big deal. You’re making this a bigger deal than it has to be. Do you not trust me?”  

“You are such a piece of shit,” you grit out. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Ever. I don’t know how I let this go on for so long.” You don’t like him having Kai in his mouth, don’t like him trying to act like you’re conflating things, and especially don’t like that face he’s making. As if you’re acting crazy and overblown. “No, I don’t trust you. You didn’t fuck her, but come on, Yeonjun. Seriously? You think I’m stupid, and I’m sick of it. You thought this would be easy because I didn’t have the experience you have, but I’m sorry. I don’t like being walked over.” 

“If you’re gonna be so goddamn jealous, then maybe we aren’t gonna work,” he says. 

That moth, floating light in the air, is right back in his face. Yeonjun takes two hands and smashes it between a clap of his hands. He shakes its flattened, broken body off his hand. Looking down at it laying there on top of dirt-caked concrete, you get this... feeling. A tickling around your person.  

“See if I care,” you snap, throat aching against the onslaught of emotion and held back tears.  

⚝⭒ 

Rivulets of raindrops dilute the tears on your cheeks. Your hair plasters to your face and your clothes to your body.  

For a week, you’d went about it all as if it hadn’t happened. And then you came here.  

It’d not been this rainy when you first got down to the creek—just a gentle trickle, really. You hadn’t been crying then, either. But, watching the water work at babbling over stone, you let yourself feel it. Here, where you’d had so many good memories. You’ve gone and tainted it, now. But for whatever reason, you’d just wanted to be here. Arms curled around yourself and fingers digging into drenched sleeves, you don’t wipe away the tears or cover the sounds of your crying. You let the stream hear it; it’ll sweep it right up and down the way. Somewhere far off, where you don’t have to feel it anymore. 

You realize that, usually, you’d be over at Kai’s right now. The fact that his room was not the first place you thought you could go to anymore is a punch to the gut. You drop your face into your hands and cry harder. Really, you’ve got to stop doing that to yourself. Thinking of sad things—putting your hurt under the microscope to see it closer. It’d be easier to just fold it up and tell yourself that it’ll pass, and that relationships end all the time. 

It’s not him that you cry over. Well, maybe some of it is. Rather, it’s that you have absolutely no idea where you’re going. Where you are. Finally, you’d built yourself a raft to get off the shore and go out to sea, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and it’s breaking apart right beneath you. And, stranded and alone in the water, you’ve got no way to get back to shore to build yourself another raft. You’re stranded, and the scariest bit is that you’re doing it all alone. You weren’t supposed to do this alone. You two made promises back then. 

You suppose that a promise is one of those things you were supposed to leave faith in back on shore. 

The raindrops are heavy over you. The fall of it roars against the ground, a torrent downpour. It’s not coupled with whipping wind or flashes of lightning—just straight, still falling. It’s a somber feeling no different from the gnawing in your chest. 

Like chimes, there’s a distant, gentle sound. Maybe water falling over creek rock, but it’s more like suggestion. A sweet sound that you shouldn’t even be able to hear over the rest of it, it’s as if it’s right in your ear. A whisper.  

You fix your blurry eyes with a wet sleeve. Rain falls right back into its place, but you see it: a silvery, whimsy haze. And the moths. They jump and call you, this time. Their glow bounces off the rainy mist against the grey of night’s arrival. Then, all you can hear is the whispering. Where you stand frozen, your feet beg to move. To follow them. 

So you do. 

Their entourage of moondust trails them where they go, wrapping you up and weaving between raindrop and space. You don’t worry where they’ll take you, or even try to wrap your head around this happening again. You just follow, mind glossed over and entranced with how beautiful it is. When you’d seen them before, it’d made you uneasy. Mostly because it looked so unearthly and unbelievable. But this time you just follow. 

A far-off voice, one oh-so-familiar, peaks through the haze. It’s not enough to stop you, but then you hear it again, louder and closer. 

You blink a few times. Once to break away the fog, and then twice to focus your eyes on Kai stood in front of you. His hair lays in wet spikes over his eyes and beads of rain trace the planes of his face. He’s as soaked as you. 

“Kai?” you say. Looking around you, you’ve ended up somewhere in the field between your houses and the creek. But you’ve got no recollection of walking here. Whatever that mist is, sentient or not, had swept you here.  

His voice is strained, but you appreciate hearing it. “Break up with him,” he tells you. 

In his eyes, as you search them, there’s stardust glowing like reflection. Your face twists up. “What?” you say, breath a puff of smoke ahead of you. Summer had come and gotten away from you so fast, and now it’s gone all cold again. 

“Break up with him,” he echos, face solemn. He looks ruffled. 

“Why?” you ask, “And why are you out here?” 

“Because I’m moving out today, and I think I deserve to at least see you before I go.” His eyes look over you. “And... your dad said you went down to the creek.” 

He’s moving out today, and you had no idea. And really, it’s your fault. You’d driven that wedge between the two of you. “I did break up with him.” 

Downpour fills his quiet for a few moments, his face swirling with emotion like the clouds above you. He nods. “Good.” 

There are a few more long minutes between you; just you two searching each other's faces, antsy to say so much that it bunches up in your chests and stalls. It’s what a summer of longing does to you. Even with Yeonjun, even trying to slowly chip away the stitching that had connected the two of you at the hip, you were helpless to stop the gnawing of the love you bear for him. Even just seeing him now, you feel those threads mending back up. God, why does it have to be so hard? 

He just looks at you. For a few beats, he just looks at you. There are so many questions in his eyes. They flit across and turn over, but all he settles on is, “Why?” 

There’s so much you want to tell him. Words pile up to the top, some threatening to spill over. But you know that if you tell him some of it, just to make up for all the time you’d missed out on together, it’ll all come crashing out. And you don’t think you want him to know just how much you accepted, the way you let yourself get treated. So, you shake your head and say, “It doesn’t matter.” 

Kai looks like he wants to push that issue, but whatever look he finds on your face deters him. “Come with me,” he pleads. “I want you to come with me.” 

Your throat tightens. Curling your arms around yourself harder, the rain only coming down on you harder, you say, “Kai, I want to. I want to. I just... I don’t want to freeload off you, because you’re doing great things, and I’m just...” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, but they’re already as soaked as the rest of you. “I’m just going nowhere. And I don’t want to be a burden, or ever be the reason that you can’t do what you dream of. If staying here means that you become everything that you’re destined to do, then I’m happy with that, Kai. I am.” 

He shakes his head, stumbling toward you. “No, no you don’t get it,” he says, frantically taking your shoulders into big hands. Under his touch, every taut muscle goes slack. You melt. “You don’t get it. You are the music. Every single song is about you. Every single fucking song is about you. I want you to come with me, please. I love you, I have always loved you, and I will always love you, and I thought you’d loved me too, and I don’t want to do this alone. I can’t do it alone.” 

He loves you. Kai loves you. The enormity of it rumbles the ground where you stand on legs you fear might just give in. You flex your fingers to combat the tears pricking your eyes. It doesn’t work; they brim and well up, spilling down over your cheeks. “What?” you say, voice softly breaking. “Kai, I didn’t...” 

“And just when I thought I finally had you, you left me,” he says, throwing a hand up beside him in a big gesture. “You left me! I woke up thinking you’d be there, and that maybe you loved me too, and you had left me. And then you threw me away for some piece of shit, and you stopped coming around.” His chest heaves for breaths. 

Your face contorts. That night, the one where you two had slipped up, you’d fallen asleep curled up against his chest on undiluted contentment. When you woke up, you had panicked. You thought he’d wake up and pretend it hadn’t happened, or he’d be uncomfortable, or even be disgusted and regretting. You couldn’t handle that, so you slipped out before he woke up. It’d been an attempt to protect your tender heart, but looking at the twitching of his lip now, you begin to think it’s the most selfish thing you’ve ever done. He thinks you used him and left him. Your stomach twists. Voice thick, you say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you, Kai. I thought you didn’t... I thought you didn’t see me that way. I was scared. I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

Brows knitted together, he says, “Thought I didn’t love you?” His hand cups your cheek, warm against the soft frozen skin he finds there. “I’ve... I’ve dreamed of you almost every night of my life. In my sleep, I see you, and you’re happy and glowing, and that damn... mist is all around you. I couldn’t get away from you even in my sleep.” 

Darting between his eyes, soft and reflecting your face back to you, it’s hard to breathe. Kai’s dreamt of you; he’s as sickly in love with you as you are him. Thunder claps, and the ground shakes, and the heavens open up above you, the trumpets belt, and you two are in love. Somewhere deep in your center, you feel it—your soul nodding yes. 

The mist. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “I saw it. That stuff, those moths. The stuff we saw back then.” 

“I did too,” he says, wet spikes of hair bouncing with a nod. “Not that long ago. It was the first time I saw it out of a dream since that day.” 

Back then, you two had only budding, innocent love for each other. Things hadn’t become mangled and lost to confused hearts or expectations. When they’d appeared to you, you hadn’t needed it. This time, you’d followed it. And it had led you here—somehow had led you right to the very spot you needed to so that every last piece might fall into place. For this moment to happen. You know why it did. 

“I’ll go with you, Kai. I’ll go wherever you go; I love you. I’ve loved you since forever,” you say, each and every word massive and lovely on your tongue. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier.” 

So unlike the last times your mouth had met, he brings his mouth to yours with a dazzling clarity. No longer is it confused kisses; he locks his lips against yours with the urgency of so many years being unable to. Kai’s hands cradle your wet cheeks, hold you so tenderly into his kiss. His touch grounds you, makes the moment real. You melt into him—your fingers curled into his shirt as if holding him there so that he won’t disappear like something of an incorporeal dream. He sighs through his nose, kissing you harder. Even if it all were fake and this was nothing more than a feverish figment of your imagination, you think you could die happy just knowing this once. 

But it is utterly real, and utterly yours. You kiss him harder, too. 

When your lungs start to burn and plead for breath, you two pull away from each other. Your eyes flutter open to capture his. Warm and brown and the same ones you’ve stared into so many times before, but not like this, you sink into them. He runs his thumb over your cheek as he sinks into yours. His tongue darts out to lick lips painted with you. In the inches between you, space no longer feels heavy or charged with grievances. Every last unsaid thing had been answered. 

“I have my stuff up in the truck,” he says, breaths soft. Brown eyes dart around your face. “I’ll help you add your stuff to it.” 

You shudder out a breath. Add your stuff to it. A nervous energy settles down over you, but it doesn’t seem so bad if you’re doing it with him. Together.  

“Okay,” you whisper, a balmy secret just like the ones you used to share in small, giggly voices so many years ago. “Okay.” 

⚝⭒ 

Shivers seize you like jittering bones, all wrapped up in a blanket. The velour cushion seats beneath you have soaked up water and become damp, but Kai’s got the heater blasting. You wind around back roads, headlights illuminating the way ahead of you. Stray droplets whip in them, but nothing much. Isn’t it funny how the rain had just stopped like that? That’s just how the weather is, out here. You wonder how the weather might act wherever you’re headed. 

Your teeth chatter as if your jaw had its own will. The two of you had the windows down thinking that the wind might dry you off, but all it’s done is lap at your bitten cheeks. You reach down for the handle to crank it up. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you—either you’ll eventually dry off, or you can pull off at a rest area to change in a bathroom. The wet clothes are really not helping. 

With an arm up on the steering wheel, Kai turns his attention on you. You know that smile. “Cold?” he asks, eyes darting between your face and the road. With the hand he’s not got working the steering wheel, he runs fingers over your thigh. Soft, gentle massages, yes. The number it does on your core is absurd. Each mindless digging into your thighs and brush of his thumb, sparks sputter there. You’ve sat here, right in his passenger seat, so many times before. Day trips up to the lake, the one he’d joined your family camping at for so many summers, all the times he’d driven you to school in this truck, and even just a quick run down to a convenience store for a late-night snack. You’d deemed it your seat. But never once had you sat in it like this. Your heart does a flip. All those times you’d wish he’d reach over and do just this—a small gesture that would’ve been so big then. And it’s your reality, now.  

“Freezing,” you say. A brush of his fingers nearer the apex of your thighs sends you pressing them together and shifting in your seat. “But not everybody runs as hot as you, though, so.” 

His eyes catch the movement in just the split second he looked over to you. “Huh,” he says. He turns to look at you, his gaze flickering with something anew. Something that you’d only ever seen once before. “Is that it?” 

It’s hard to swallow. His fingers brush higher, and higher, feather-dustings of calloused fingertips that sends tingles shooting up your spine at the slightest suggestion of where he’s headed. “Yes,” you say, feigning indignance to cover the shiver that threatens to overtake you. When his fingertips dance at the waistband of your bottoms, it does so anyway. “Kai,” you say, blood hot in your veins. “You’re...driving.” 

His eyebrows pinch into a taunting furrow. “I am,” he says, nodding. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ve got us.” 

And he does; fingers slipping under the band of both your bottoms and your panties, he doesn’t even tear his eyes off the road. He’d driven these roads so much, you think he might be able to do it asleep. Even drawing a mewl from you with a brush over your clit, he doesn’t look away more than a quick glimpse at your pinkened cheeks. 

Two fingers dragging up your folds, right over the source of the mess. “You get excited so easily, huh?” he hums. “You like it when I play with you.” 

When he presses those fingers at your entrance, you can’t help but be taken back to that night. It echoes and reverberates through you. Long fingers, strong and punctual brushes against the sweet spot—he was criminally good with his fingers. Playing guitar did more for him than just music. He seemed to know exactly how to utilize those roughened fingers and trained flicks. Your muscles flicker as he abandons your hole for more brushes at your bud.  

Those teasing, sly touches turn to something more serious. His fingers roll over your clit, slow but enough to have you sighing and rolling your hips against the seat belt. But last time had gone just like this, him touching you and receiving nothing. He should feel good, too. “Shouldn’t you pull over?” you sigh, muscles taut. Your breaths come out shuddering and half-controlled, interrupted by the tightness that each delicious swirl provokes. The door takes the brunt of your grip, white-knuckling the interior. 

He laughs, a husky sound that is tinder to fire. He knows what you mean. “Maybe,” he says. “But I think I’m enjoying this plenty. I think I want to see you cum on my fingers again.” 

Fingers pinching and flicking faster, you grow breathy and whiny, hips rolling against the seatbelt and back into the seat. Your muscles, all the way down your thighs and deep in your belly, jump and twitch each time his fingers run over your clit in just the right spot—that tender spot that’s so good that it teeters on overwhelming. The kind that makes you hiss and then want more. “Shit, Kai,” you whine. “Right—there, keep going."  

He doesn’t answer with any teasing words. No, he just doubles down right at that angle and pressure, leaned back into his seat and driving as if he wasn’t fingers-deep in your panties right now. His sculpted profile at total ease—it does something for you. A delicious tightness curls its fingers over your center, promising a sugary ecstasy that you can’t help but chase. Bucking into his hands as best you can, you go quiet. Right there—right there, you feel it. The cusp. Your fingers brush over it, clenching around nothing and squeezing your thighs tight around him. Every last drop of blood in your body reaches for it, singing and dancing through your veins and making you dizzy. 

And then he stops. Your mouth drops open, whiplashed and helpless to its slipping away from you. You whittle your gaze into something sharp and turn to him. “What—why?” you complain. The tide slips further and further and further back, but you still taste sea salt on your tongue. Frustration sets in its place as you feel it go. Seriously, you’d been right there. “You’re so mean.” 

He slows and then with the clicking of the turn signal, he’s off the road and pulling the truck into park on a little secluded side road. Where the headlights pierce the pitch black, nothing but gravel and field surrounds you. He doesn’t kill the engine, instead pulling his hand free from you. 

Your heart, still stuttering with your lost orgasm, kicks back to life as he smears your slick over your mouth, dragging it over your lips and then taking his thumb to run it right over the plush of your mouth. “Am I?” he says, fingers taking your chin to meet your eyes with his. Endless hunger, pupils so blown that his eyes look black, pins you. “I don’t think you’ve seen mean yet, baby.” 

Darting your tongue out to clean your lips, you look at him through your eyelashes. “Show it to me, then.” 

Something dark passes over his face. It has your skeleton jumping out of your body. Then, he says, “Is that what you want? You want mean?” 

Brain gone to mush that can only really think about him touching you, a slow nod is all you can manage. 

The engine’s hum prevails for some long, thick seconds. And then, he tilts his head in a gesture. “Get in the back.” 

Holy shit. You want to sit there frozen in an overwhelming sort of excitement, but his seatbelt clicks undone and you’re set into motion. In a flurry of giggles and clumsy limbs, you climb up over the center console and into the backseat. He slips out of the front seat, not bothering to even kill the engine. 

The door beside you opens in a swirl of cold wind. In nothing more than a blink, a strong hand has both your wrists pinned to the cushions and your back flush against it. Nose-to-nose, his breath hot over your face. “I’ve got plenty of ideas as to how I can warm you up.” 

You appreciate each other’s faces for a beat more, you looking up at him big-eyed and waiting. Kai breaks the moment to attack your neck in a procession of bites and kisses. Your mouth falls into a silent sound. 

“You know,” he says, free hand working your pants off. His eyes are trained on you, though. “I thought about doing this to you all summer. Touching you again.” He moves on to your top, pushing the fabric up until your chest is freed, clad in soft cotton. He eats the sight up. You want to reach down and cup the back of his head or feel his hair between your fingers as he presses his mouth against the soft beginning of your cleavage, but he’s got your wrists firmly planted. So much so, that you wonder exactly how he’s got you so secure with just one hand. Kai is strong, but maybe you hadn’t seen just how strong. Your skin aches under the purple bites he decorates you in. The sight of him—face in your chest and marking you up so lazily—has your teeth abusing your bottom lip. Whatever sounds you might make otherwise would be embarrassing. Kai lifts his eyes to you. “And I think you thought of me, too. Didn’t you?” 

“Oh, god, yes,” you say, writhing beneath him. He’s going so slow. You want him all over you. “So much.” 

He likes that. He takes your pebbled nipple into his mouth through the fabric. Soft grazes of teeth and sucks, you’re burning all over. When he pulls back, he’s left you dark wet patches when the bra had only just dried against your body heat. “Good,” he rasps, taking his big hands demanding and hungry over your torso. They swallow your frame up, soothing skin but lighting it aflame all the same. “Good girl.” 

You never thought just words could unravel you, but those did the job. Not a gasp, nor a sucking in of breath—no, you go silent and brainless, fumbling for rational thought. 

The dropping of your jaw has Kai delighted. “You’re so pretty,” he says. In a swift and powerful hoist, he’s tugging you down the cushions toward him with greedy fingers. He’s got your thighs pressed up to your chest. You’re bent right in half. 

Out of breath, you huff out, “You too.” 

A quick laugh falls from his mouth, lips pulled into a smug tilt. He nips at your calf up by his face. “So sweet, it almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to do to you.” Reaching down for your panties, he pulls back on the suffocating press for only enough time to drag them up your legs. Those get discarded somewhere on the floor. Who cares about that right now, though? All you can register is the metallic clinking of his belt being undone. It’s got your nervous system twisting up. 

And, those words. Electricity shoots bolts of pure, sizzling revery into your core. What I’m about to do to you. You imagine a great deal of things that he might mean, but still, you think that none could hold a candle against the promise his voice held in saying it. 

Kai presses his body to your thighs and hooks your calves over his shoulders, and it all becomes real. The press of his heavy cock to your folds, the digging of his fingers into your outer thighs, his pretty eyes sparkling with something feral. As real as it gets—more real than anything you’ve ever felt in the entirety of your life. Your hands find perch flattened to his broad chest. 

The position leaving you two no option but to look right into each other, he holds your gaze and begins slow drags of his hot length up and down your slit. Tantalizing, awful, awful drags. When his tip nudges your eager clit, you jolt. And then he does it again. And again. 

“Kai,” you mewl. A press against your hole has you hopeful, and he lingers there for a moment, but doesn’t give it to you. Can’t he just fuck you? You’ve never been more pitifully in need of something in your life. 

“Shh.” His ruts get more daring, smearing your slick up onto your belly. “Take it.” 

You wiggle your toes in the air and make passes at arching yourself into him in search of better friction. He’s got you pressed so suffocatingly into the seat that it does absolutely nothing for you. In fact, he holds your harder and changes tack so that your thighs press together. At the very apex of them, his weeping cock slips through the seam. 

Pressing his cheek into your calf, he watches you. Every gasp and shaky inhale, he watches. It spurs his rutting on, sticky sounds and pants eating up the air. Your nails claw at his hands as, finally, a knot tightens in your core. 

“Yes, please,” you breathe. He fucks your thighs harder. Faster. Every nudge at your clit and hole becomes euphoric. “Kai, baby—I’m gonna—” 

Just as furiously easy as last time, he rips it all away from you. The rushing away of the buzzing and promise of shaking thighs—he takes it from you again. It brings prickling tears to your eyes. “Kai?” you hiss. “Again?” 

His eyes aren’t playful. He pulls your calves back over his shoulders, handling your hips into a better position to press his cock right at your entrance as if you weigh nothing. Face utterly straight, he says, “I don’t think you deserve it, do you? Not after what you did with Yeonjun.” 

A swallow goes down your throat hard. He presses himself just a bit harder into you. Not in yet, but right there. 

When he does begin sliding in, the stretch of it... You cling to him and squirm between him and the warm cushions behind you. Each inch is a heady feeling, all the way up to the hilt of him. He shudders a controlled breath. “You’re so fucking tight, though,” he grits out. “Did he not fuck you right?” 

Slaps of skin bounce off the car interior and between your bodies. He starts off at a brutal pace; you know it’s meant to make your brain go foggy. Squeezing your eyes closed, you manage, “I... didn’t fuck him.” It comes out strangled, voice bouncing as he fucks you into the car seat. 

Thumb tugging your bottom lip down and then dipping into your mouth, he watches the show of your ecstasy down to every last detail. “Yeah?” he says, voice shaking and almost desperate. “Always thinking of me, huh? Such a good little princess. You know exactly where your heart belongs.”  

You want to answer him, even just with a whine or moan. You try to. But with his thumb pressing down on your tongue, enough to pin it to the floor of your mouth, it’s not gonna happen. He tastes salty in your mouth. 

His truck consists of his grunts and whines, and your taut groans for some moments that seem to stretch forever. The planes of his groin grind against your clit when he delivers occasional pointed rolls, but mostly it’s just an animalistic, feverish dancing of your two sweaty bodies, holds growing more frantic the closer you get.  

Thumb wet with saliva; he frees your mouth. The hand trails slowly down your face and your chin, brushing feather touches, until he finds your neck. 

Your eyes fly open, wide. He pressed his fingers into your neck—no real pressure yet, he looks at you through damp strands of dangling hair and says, “Want my fingers around your neck?” His thumb brushes over the buzzing pulse point there. 

“Yes,” you grit out, body bouncing and back raw with friction against the coarse cushion’s surface. Your breath stutters, your mind stutters. Even your blinks stutter, eyelids too lazy to keep up. “Please.” 

The pressure of his fingers there—it frightens you and has you tightening around him at the same time. But you would trust nobody more with your life than Kai. 

He presses his cheek to your calf to indulge in the sight of you like this: underneath him, folded in two, nowhere to go but to take his pistoning hips, cheeks blazing, and his fingers pressed into your windpipe. If the way he becomes sloppier and more desperate in his tempo has anything to say for it, it does something for him. 

“Gonna be my pretty little girlfriend, huh?” he says. His voice is tight—so is your belly. You’re both so close. Hopefully, this time he’ll let you cum. “Take you to every show; show you off to everybody. Fuck.” 

Brain like static and swimming with a pinched flow of oxygen, you slur your words. “You’re—hah—gonna have other girls all over you.” 

The taunting, split-second raise of his brows flips your belly. You tighten around him again. If he keeps hitting that spot, tip ramming into the soft spot deep inside you that he’d taken such delicate care of finding last time, you’re going to burst into sparkling flame and firework. He growls, “Well, I’ll just have to knock you up so that they know I’m yours, huh?” 

Holy shit. You like the sound of that. Your nails dig into his wrist around your neck, but you cry out a pitchy, “Yes!” 

“Oh, you like that?” Kai releases your throat to take both your hips. You gulp for air, finding nothing but the thick air of sex and humid breaths, at the opportunity. He’s ramming into you like he’s found a purpose. “Isn’t this the perfect position to do it? Get you pregnant?” 

With every last bit of brain power you’ve got, teetering on the edge excruciatingly close to salvation, you groan a long, hoarse sound. “Fuck, yes! Please, Kai, inside—” A hot trail of tears roll down your temples. 

It’s all he’s got to hear to still inside you. His growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you in place and filling you with his hot cum deep in your cunt. That feeling, coupled with his short grinds against your clit as he fucks his seed deeper, takes your soul by sinful claws and crumbles it down into nothing. You burst into a shaking, whimpering peak, sucking your lips into your mouth to bare through the sheer twisting of your insides and the flame that consumes up your thighs and cunt. 

He falls on you heavy, face in your neck. Warm kisses against your clammy skin meld with your slow floating down, the two of you a beautiful, nasty picture of fucked out. He stays right inside you—the absolute stillness of him, you think he has no plans of pulling out any time soon. His long fingers card through your sweaty locks of hair. 

Finally, he presses himself off you. You get a glimpse of the window behind him—fogged up and filthy with your affairs. Anybody to see the truck from the outside would know exactly what went on inside, but right now, you don’t care. Not one bit. Your panted breaths drag in nothing but musk and thick, hot air. The drumbeat in your chest tells you that, despite how you feel ripped straight from your body, you are very much still alive. More alive than ever. 

“Warm?” he says, pushing sticky hair off his forehead. He’s a mess, too. His hair is ruffled with your touch, his clothes rumpled the same, beads of sweat rolling down the planes of his cheeks and neck, and his eyes a lazy smolder. As much as he looks like sex personified, a soft smile twitches at his lips. 

You snort. You can’t help but feel giddy, here with him. You’re with him. Nothing has ever felt more right. Unplugged when he pulls out of you, your mess trickles down onto the seat below you. “Yeah,” you say. “Very.” 

Warm is not enough to begin to describe how you feel. In your ears, you hear whisperings. Soft and gentle. Perhaps it was divine intervention, or the fates lending you their word, or maybe just rational thought. It says: 

Home. You are home. 

✎୭ ashlynn's note how do we feel about this pair? i really didn't mean for this to get so long, but i ended up RLLY liking their chemistry. i had to do their story justice. also, i finished this with kai as a guitarist and then his drummer performance came out... hmm.

﹙🏷️ ﹚@lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[letorip]

kiss with a fist [iii]

"your slaps don't stick, your kicks don't hit, so we remain the same"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you can't help but feel like maybe you and tara are more than frenemies, and it culminates in a night where you finally share some truths with each other.

warnings: a somewhat traumatic dream sequence lmao, mentions of sex, kissing (almost), curse words, blood

word count: 5.8k

A/N: hope y'all like this one because i definitely liked writing it. definitely a whole lot more kissing than fisting.... wait a minute....

it's 5 am, my ass is grass. anyways, part 4 relatively soon because woo wee theres still so much to explore in this story i legitimately cant believe my idiot self said it'd be done in 2 parts originally

===+++===

===+++===

"(Y/n)," a voice calls to you, sing-song and sweet as your eyes fade to darkness. It's a gentle woman's whisper, but it manages to hit you like a truck, pulling you down from wherever you came from, and plopping you wherever you've arrived. Or, rather, wherever you've always been. "(Y/n), look, darlin'."

A gust of wind gently strokes over the plane of your cheek, and when you open your eyes, all you can see is rye. On one end, it reaches out towards a sharp cliff, overlooking a lake, with nothing but rocks and the water below. On the other, it runs far up the plains of land in front of you, stopping in front of the white house you know all too well, with its rickety porch and broken tire swing.

You take a few steps forward, as if ready to run right inside, and then before you know it, you're running. Like the world is about to end, like the house is burning down, like you'll never see the place ever again. Foot after foot, you dash towards it, hearing Alisha's piano flit through the front window for the first time in years, and the smell of a pie right along with it. "(Y/n)!" the voice calls again. "Dinner time, kid!"—

But your foot catches on a root, just like it did in your memory, and in an instant, you've fallen down into the rye, with a painful thud, right on your face. You let out a grunt, feeling the dirt on your new, white shirt. The one your mother never let you wear when you were playing outside.

And when you right yourself again, sitting up out of the field, the house isn't any closer than it was before. It sits, perfectly far away, only all that stuff is gone now, and the house looks about as dark as it did the day of Mitchie's funeral.

"(Y/n)!" an excited voice calls from behind you. "Wanna play tag?"

"(Y/n)'s too old for that, Mitchie," another voice chides, and you whip around like Calvin would actually be there to chide him like that. Like he used to. But he isn't. All you can see is the rye. It stands in thick stalks, reaching up to your knees in lush groupings, tall and abundant, strong and growing.

Another voice. "Read me a story?" It's soft and it's a little girl's and it's far away, and you get to your feet and spin in a circle, waiting for her to appear. It seemed to reverberate through your ears, washing through the pathways of your brain before seeping into your heart. It fills it up, and before you know it, you can feel yourself hastily searching for her.

"'Randa?" you called into the open field. "Miranda? You there?" but she continues on like she didn't hear you.

"Would you read me a story? Please?"

"I will Miranda, but where are you?" you called back, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the barrel of the hot sun.

"I'm gone, (Y/n). You're supposed to be gone too," she says back, with a sweet giggle. "Why aren't you gone with us?"

"I—" you stammer, whipping your head around the field in search of your siblings. "I don't—"

"Do you really think that's fair, (Y/n)?" Calvin asks.

"Why aren't you here, (Y/n)?" Miranda asks again, this time her voice wavering like she was about to cry. "Why aren't you in the rye with us?" Your hands came up to your head, trying to squeeze your eyes shut and block out the noises, but they seemed to reverberate into your skull.

"Mitchie was your fault, you know," Peter chides. "We would've never let that—"

"—Why did you get to stay, (Y/n)?" Came Tomas' voice. "We're supposed to be cursed, and you're supposed to be cursed too." He was always the quiet one, but now his voice had a sharp edge to it. One of jealousy. One of anger.

"Why didn't you catch me?" Mitchie asked. "If you just would've caught me..."

"Come play piano with me, I'll teach you," said Alisha, in her light, airy laugh.

"Why did it get to be you?" snarled Calvin. "And why are you getting closer to Tara? You want to curse her, too?"

"Stop—" you stammered, squeezing your eyes shut tighter.

"Wanna play hopscotch?" said Mitchie.

"Do you miss us, (Y/n)?" Alisha said, in between tears.

"Yes, of course— I—" you tried, but now the voices were filling up your head, threatening to spill over and knocking you to the ground. You curled up into a ball as your brain filled up. Words piling up on top of words, piling up on top of words, about to split you open. "STOP!" you yelled.

And everything went silent. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself still in the field, but your siblings' voices had gone entirely. Now it was just you, in the field, alone with the rustling of the wind and the rye, as it grazed gently against your legs. You hadn't remembered standing up, but you were now.

In a flash, you could see a shape, running through the rye in a line that was very visible from where you were. You recognised the dark hair, and the yellow jacket he always wore. With the realisation came the looming dread, and you realised with very little time left what this exactly was a memory of.

You took off running, faster than you had to the house, faster than you had ever run, and faster than you had run then, chasing after him as he took off towards the cliff-end of your rye field. "Mitchie!" you yelled, trying to be louder than the buzzing cicadas, but it seemed the moment you yelled, the cicadas got even louder. He was too short to see over the stalks, but you could see him go, running in odd shapes as he got nearer and nearer to the cliffs edge.

"Catch me if you can, (Y/n)!" he called back with a gleeful laugh.

"(Y/n), grab your brother," called your mother. She didn't seem too worried, and she hadn't been, then. No one had been, until it was too late.

"Mitchie! Stop!" you cried out, feeling tears already beginning to fall down your cheeks. "Mitchie!" you tried again.

"Come on, you've gotta be faster than that if you're gonna be it!” Mitchie called back. "Catch me! Get me! C'mon! I'm gonna make it hard for you to win, Duck."

"MITCHIE! PLEASE!" you screamed, but all he did was giggle. “STOP! DON’T GO!” But the moment you reached the end of the rye, he was gone over the edge, just he had been when you were 13, and there was an arm shaking you awake.

===+++===

"Oh my god, you're about the least peaceful sleeper I've literally ever seen," Tara laughed, grinning at you from over her textbook. She had it pulled into her lap from her side of the table and titled against the table edge, and spread out in front of you were her papers galore, with notes scribbled all over them in preparation for her upcoming exam.

Mindy sat next to her, playing a stupid game on her phone, while Ethan was also studying in his own textbook. He had stopped trying to avoid you as much, as had Chad. You and Tara "dating" seemed to offend them less and less the longer it went on.

"Uh," you mumbled, still feeling a little bit disoriented from the dream. It was like a dose of adrenaline had been shot directly into your heart, and you struggled to adjust to the calm, peaceful library that actually was around you. "Shut up," you grumbled, but not like you were actually upset by her teasing.

Tara watched you with her eyebrows raised. "You look tired."

You sat up in your chair, running a hand through your hair. There was a small layer of sweat on your forehead. "Aren't you never supposed to say that to someone? Pretty sure that's how you get someone at the bar to throw their drink in your face."

"It is," Ethan nodded. "I made that mistake once. I was trying to be sweet."

"Good thing I'm not seducing you, then," Tara shrugged. "You've seen me puke everywhere. Pretty sure that ruined my chances right-out, and yet you love me anyways."

You grinned, leaning back to stretch out your arms. It was meant to be a gentle teasing from Tara, but you had only gotten better and better at deflecting the longer you were around her. "You'd be surprised, actually. That was super pretty. That was the prettiest you've ever been." Mindy snorted next to Tara.

Tara glared at you, unappreciatively. "And you're pretty when you do not speak."

"I'm pretty all the time, Tara," you mockingly shook your head. "And you think I'm joking. Find yourself a girl who looks nice covered in sweat, with her hair going everywhere, and puking in the toilet. That's my girlfriend."

"You're such a dick," Tara scoffed, but you could tell part of her was stifling a laugh. It was funny to her too, and you both had laughed at it together for days, afterwards.

If anything, it had gotten easier and easier, to act like the both of you were actually dating. You weren't too sure why, maybe Tara had become less annoying, or you had become less annoyed by her, but you had definitely at least become a better actor. That's what it was, after all. "Oh, also," she continued.

"Yeah?"

"Someone tried to call your phone, while you were sleeping. I think it was your dad."

You frowned. "You didn't pick up, right?"

"No," Tara said, shaking her head. Then she paused. She dropped her voice to speak just to you, guarding the conversation from Mindy and Ethan. "Do you and him not get along?"

You shrugged. "Eh. He was probably just checking in. We have a fine relationship." It wasn't true but it was an easy lie, that rolled off the tongue like nothing. He had already called twice, that day, and you knew why.

"Seriously, though," she said with a frown, looking up from her book. "You look fucking horrifying—"

"—Thanks," you said, flatly.

"—I mean, even more than normal, it's crazy—"

"—Thanks," you repeated.

"—Have you not been sleeping, or something?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I'm an architecture major, and it's midterms... so not really."

"Hm."

"What?" you asked, propping your head up on your arm. "What's the 'hm' for?"

She shrugged, trying to turn back to her textbook. "Hm, nothing."

You furrowed your eyebrows down at her. "Well, obviously the 'hm' was something, Tara." Mindy shot you a look again.

"Or it was just a hm."

“Would you two shush,” she said to you, rolling her eyes. “You bicker like an old married couple.” But you both ignored her.

"It's never just a 'hm.'"

"I say hm all the time. It's literally just a hm."

"No, it means you've got something to say but don't want to say it."

She frowned at the accusation but was obviously even more displeased that you were correct. "I was gonna suggest we go to the OBK party tonight, but maybe you should just go home and sleep. I was trying to be nice.”

You shrugged. "I won't be doing either, actually." Tonight was not the night for parties. You were somewhat grateful, that you had a legitimate excuse to busy your time, or else you would've spent even longer thinking about the dream. "I have to do homework. My final is due tomorrow."

Tara furrowed her eyebrows at you. "Wait, but I thought classes ended today."

You shook your head. "Nope. I've still got some stuff do."

"Oh," Tara frowned.

"Not all of us can have easy majors," you teased, trying to lighten the mood away from what was clearly concern.

"Hey! You chose the stupid thing," Tara shot back. "Not my fault I chose something fun." She stood up, gathering her things into a neat stack. The time was nearing for her midterm exam, and you stood up with her, grabbing her textbook to be helpful.

"Thanks," she said, then she wandered over and held out her hand. You grabbed it in yours, lacing your fingers together, just like you had practiced together.

The library was a tall building on the far side of campus from where you lived. It was a trek and a half to get there, which is partially why you had been a little annoyed, when Tara said she needed to go there. It ended up being the perfect place to fall asleep in, with the quiet signs and only a few murmurs now and again, and though it had been a less than peaceful dream, it was more than you had been getting for the past few days.

"I don't see why you can't just go without me," you shrugged, adjusting her book in your hands. "Just tell Sam I'll meet you there. Besides, Chad and Mindy are going to the same party, right?"

"Yeah, but I what if they realise you're not actually there and mention it to Sam, or something? And, I'd have to go there alone, since Chad and Mindy are going early."

"They are?"

"Yeah. Helping with set up. Mindy literally just mentioned that. Shows how much you listen to her.” She shook her head in a mocking disappointment in you.

“I was asleep, jerk.”

“I know,” she said, grinning.

You looked down to her, where she walked next to you, gently swinging your joint hands back and forth. "It's not a far walk to OBK. You could probably make it there in five minutes. It's well-lit, and—"

Tara frowned, shaking her head adamantly. "Not alone. Not without you, no way. Sam would want to see you at the door to pick me up. She'd probably hate the idea of it."

"Fair enough," you shrugged. "Find a movie at home tonight, then. Relax, or something. I'd kill to be done with this stupid project."

"What are you even making?" Tara groaned, breaking your hands to shove hers into her pockets. Actually, it was your jacket, and therefore technically your pockets too, but she had taken a liking to it, after your date. You had been less than pleased, when she asked to borrow it, considering how much the jacket meant to you, but she insisted it was assisting her to keep up the act. You figured you could part with it, at least for a little while.

"Architecture," you said with a thick layer of sarcasm. Tara rolled her eyes at you. She nudged you, and you couldn't help but laugh as her elbow pointed into your side.

"Oh, you think you're funny, huh?"

"I'm hilarious."

"You wish..." she scoffed, shaking her head.

It was a beautiful day in autumn, and the weather was soon to leave the sigh of brown leaves and rainy days and move into whispery winds and icy pavement. You didn't mind winter, but you didn't like the chills, even though it was undoubtedly what gave summer's warmth a certain sweetness. Still, nothing burned like the cold.

You walked her all the way to the door of the exam hall, stopping out front to hand her the textbook you had been carrying. You went to speak, but the moment you tried to open your mouth, your phone started ringing. You grabbed it from your pocket, sighing and declining the call, while Tara stared at you.

"Is that your dad, again?"

"No," you said. "Telemarketer."

"Right..." she said, frowning. "You're a terrible liar."

"Am I?" you challenged. You were, it was true.

"Why don't you want to talk to him?"

“I just don’t.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m asking why, (Y/n).”

"Why don't you leave it alone?" you shot, in frustration. You could see Tara's eyes narrow at your tone, and you felt a bit bad. There was the occasional reflex still, to bite each other's heads off. You weren't sure what it was about her, but something about Tara Carpenter always seemed to rile you up inside, and do the same for her with you.

"Sorry," you said, looking down at your shoes. "I just don't want to talk about it."

"That doesn't mean you have to be an asshole," Tara glared.

"Right... I'm... sorry."

Tara sighed. "I guess I'll see you next week?" She asked.

You nodded. "There'll be plenty of time after this, I just need to get this thing done."

"Okay," she nodded, failing to hide her excitement. Tara seemed to really love parties, the more and more she went to, and you were somewhat glad you could help her find something she enjoyed. It was nice to see, not that you'd ever say that to her. Doing that would absolutely result in her teasing you again, or something even more annoying.

"Good luck on your test," you said.

"Good luck on your project, babe," she said, drawing the name out.

“Now who’s hilarious,” you said with an eye roll. Tara winked at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Me.”

===+++===

It seemed you were having no good luck on it whatsoever, actually. Laid out in front of you was all of your materials, in a messy pile of cut-out pieces and foam boards that were there, sure, but not likely to just jump together and put itself together on its own.

The clock had already ticked away to 12:33 in the morning, and your design was barely finalised to where you could get to work and finish quickly. All of the other students had left at a much more reasonable hour, and it left you standing at your table alone, quietly working to classical music in the empty modelling lab.

At this rate, you could be here for another two or three hours, and the project was due at eight. You were sluggish, slowly working through the plans you had set out days ago and working through the kinks.

Every few minutes, when you stopped for even a second, the dream seemed to rush back to the forefront of your brain. Your mother had been the one to call, that evening while you were eating a poor excuse of a dinner, and you had declined that call just like you had declined all the rest.

You were hunched over your work, probably unhealthily so, with your face buried in your iPad, hastily throwing out sketches of the various shapes. You were settling on a design that would have to do, heading for the woodcutter, when you heard a noise.

It resembled a door shutting, and you froze right where you were. "Greg?" you called out. There was no one else in the building except for you and Greg, at his usual security post, and you waited with bated breath for him to return your call.

But there was no response, and all you could hear was the sounds of classical music gently floating in the background. Usually, it set you at ease while you worked through whatever you were doing in the lab, but now all it did was raise your heart rate to match the increasing tempo. It was completely dark, except for the overhead light above you, which illuminated the table you were working at and a few of the stainless steel cabinets that held tools and supplies.

Then, off to the side, you heard a rolling. An odd, wooden rolling, slowly drifting towards you. On the ground was a pencil, gently pushed towards you, playfully rolling as if perfectly in front of your toes. You hopped to your feet. "Hello?" you called, squinting in the dim light, in case anyone else was there. "Is anyone there?" you called out again. "Greg?"

Now you could really feel the thumping of your heart. The modelling lab had always been creepy late at night, but this was a new level of unease. It was as if someone was watching you, playing with their food, and you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "Is someone there?" you said to the rest of the room.

"Hey!" said a voice, and you jumped what felt like five feet into the air.

"Fuck!" you shouted, spinning around and seeing Tara behind you. She jumped at your reaction, raising her hands up. In one of them was a tray with two coffees on it. “You scared me!”

"Woah, woah, are you okay?" she asked, face etched with concern. She walked towards you slowly, and you put your hands on the edge of the table, trying to calm yourself.

"Don't just sneak up on me like that, dude," you glared at her.

"I literally didn't, I fucking announced myself, loud as can be," Tara said, rolling her eyes at you. Then, it melded into concern. "How long have you been here?" she asked, looking around the place and its emptiness.

"Since I left you at your test," you shrugged. "How'd it go by the way?" Tara's eyebrows furrowed, ignoring your question instead for one of her own.

"Did you at least eat dinner, or something?"

"Yeah," you nodded.

"Good."

“Yeah…,” you trailed off, turning back to your work. “How did you know where I was?"

“I asked Chad. He’s still a little snippy with me about, well, thinking we're together. Tried to tell me that if anyone would know, it would be me, and I said, yeah, that’s true, but it’s only been three months, now.”

“Well,” you said, gesturing around to the lab. “This is the modelling lab.” You were a bit of a nerd about the whole place, showing it off like it was your cool superhero lair.

“I know,” Tara mocked. “I saw it on the giant sign above the front door.”

“Ha ha. Does Sam know that you’re here?” You asked, grabbing your pen and resuming your work while you continued to talk to Tara. She plopped herself down on the edge of the table, letting her feet swing.

She looked a bit sheepish at the question. “Uh… no.”

“You know she’ll kill me like she did that one time, if you’re not home when she wakes up,” you frowned, wandering over to the supplies and grabbing out a box cutter to help trim the pieces you needed.

Tara nodded. “I know. But I snuck out, so I’ll sneak back in.”

You turned back around to reply, maybe say something stupid, but you had to stop yourself from laughing, when you saw her legs hanging off the counter and not reaching the ground.

“What?” Tara asked, furrowing her eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head and returning to the table. “…Dwarf.”

“Hey!” she said, smacking you on the arm. “I brought you coffee, don’t make me take it back.”

“That’s true,” you frowned, weighing your options. “Guess I can’t make fun of you; you brought me caffeine.”

“That’s more like it."

You worked in silence for a few minutes, feeling Tara watch your every movement. It was harder to work, under her scrutiny, but you were grateful that she was there. It wasn’t lonely in there, any more. A few months ago, you would’ve hated her guts for sitting around while you attempted to work. But not with Tara anymore. Not on that day.

“This might be an all-nighter,” you warned, sending her a small smile as you sliced a piece of foam in half and went to work to attach it to your board.

“Fine with me,” Tara shrugged. She just continued to watch you, in a calm silence. “Actually, I have beef with you,” she hummed.

You laughed, looking up while you secured the base with glue. “Why’s that, Tara?”

“You got that song, stuck in my head.”

“Which one?” You asked.

“The one you sang for me. I found it online.”

“Which one?” you teased, smiling again. Your face was tired and the smile certainly didn’t help, but you couldn’t help the newfound peace washing over you again. You had completely forgotten the weird happening from earlier.

“You know, don’t play dumb.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I really don’t know.”

“You literally do,” Tara scoffed.

“Sing a little bit. Refresh my memory.”

“Nuh uh,” she said, crossing her arms. “This is a trap.”

“It isn’t,” you insisted, sticking your pinky out to her. “Swear.”

She wrapped it in her own, rolling her eyes. She definitely knew it was, but she obliged anyway. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a strangerrr. You know in the end,” her voice broke on the low note like yours did, and you laughed while heat rose to her cheeks. “I’ll always be thereeee.”

“And when you’re in doubt,” you sang back to her, in between laughs. “And when you’re in dangerrr.” You both were tone deaf and the rendition was awful, but the mood in the lab was getting lighter and lighter the longer you were together.

“Take a look all around,” Tara sang, coming back in. “And I’ll be there.”

It was impossible not to laugh at how bad it was on both sides, and you grinned at her toothily, before turning back to your work. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome, idiot,” she teased, nudging you in the side again.

===+++===

You went back to working on your model, finishing the first floor in about an hour. You and Tara occasionally talked now and again, but mostly she just watched you while you worked. “Why are you doing this all tonight?” she asked.

“Uh…” you stuttered. “I didn’t have time the past couple weeks…cause of… well, you.”

She shot up to her feet, mouth dropping open. “Why the hell didn’t you say no to me?! I didn’t know you had all this to do.”

You shrugged. “I never mentioned it. Plus, you were having fun. I’m glad someone was enjoying themselves.”

“Oh…” she said, and it sounded small.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“…Nothing."

“It’s fine, Tar. Seriously.” She blinked at you.

“Tar?” she asked, looking amused.

You looked up from your work, feeling the change in the atmosphere. “What?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just never used the nickname for me, before.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Is it weird?”

“Well… no. I kind of like it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she agreed, nodding a little. “My mom was the one who gave me the nickname Tar. Haven’t spoken to her in a little while, though.”

“Do you still miss her?” you asked, glueing your second story onto the base successfully.

“Sometimes…” she trailed off, staring out at the pitch black night through the window that hung over your workspace. "She calls me once in a while."

"Do you answer?" you asked.

"No," she admitted. "It's usually about Woodsboro. I gave up on her a few months ago, but she still calls sometimes about the town."

"You never talk about it..." you comment, trailing off with a hand on the back of your neck. "You don't have to, if you don't want to." You leaned back against the table with a curiosity, watching her face move as she struggled to answer.

"Well... it's cause I don't want to that I don't talk about it. You know how people say that shit about manifesting happiness?" you nodded, knowing what she was talking about. "Well, I keep saying I'm fine, and I'm moving on, but it just keeps following me everywhere. It's like this chronic cough I can't shake. This constant thing. No matter how much I run, it's always there. People don't see me as anything but one of the survivors."

You swallowed, feeling her words hit you. "I know what you mean." Tara's eyes snapped down to yours, but when you didn't volunteer more information, she sighed.

You frowned, turning yourself back to your work and hunching over, so she wouldn’t see the heat rising to your cheeks. “I, uh… I listened to that song you said you liked, too.”

“You did?” she asked, lighting up at the mention of it.

“Yeah… added it to my playlist… so…”

“So…” Tara laughed, amused by your awkwardness. It was somehow less awkward when you hated each other. The fact you could tolerate each other now was unusual but not unpleasant, and you still found yourself grappling with how pretty Tara’s eyes looked in lamplight. "If I get a nickname, you absolutely have to have one too."

You scoffed. "That's not at all what that means."

"You had to have had one at some point."

"No, I haven't had one," you said.

"Liar!" Tara said with a giggle, pointing at you with her finger. "You're so bad at lying it's remarkable. Now spill. What is it?"

"I'm not lying!" you insisted, but now you were laughing and it was even less convincing.

"C'mon, promise I won't say it in public— unless it's really bad."

You stared at her for a moment, when she clasped her hands together in a begging plea.

"Please?"

"No," you shook your head.

"Please?"

"Nope."

"Pleaseeee?"

"Fine," you sighed. "My family, they used to call me Duck."

"Duck?" She asked, leaning back to look at you as if the nickname would re-contextualise your entire appearance. "Where'd that come from?"

"It's dumb. I used to wear this yellow raincoat when it was storming outside and these orange booties, so my little brother Mitchie saw me, when he was like five or six, and said I was a Duck. And so I was Duck."

She smiled at you, genuinely pleased with the explanation. "That's adorable. Where is Mitchie, tonight?"

You opened your mouth but shut it. Then, you opened it again. "Probably watching cartoons, or something. Back in Nebraska." (A/N: my ass genuinely did not know that was a U.S. state until right now)

You couldn't tell her that today was the day he had died, several years ago. That a year or two before that had happened, Calvin had gone, and a few months before that, Tomas and Alisha had passed too. That Peter had gotten sick, or that Miranda had gone missing before any of that mess had happened. That you were the only one left.

It was a bad lie, and probably one you would regret later, but it was one you ushered past, and Tara didn't seem to pick up on. From one cursed person to another, you figured it was probably best that you keep your own curse to yourself. It's part of what had made you hate Tara so much at first. She walked around knowing her days were likely numbered, so carefree and careless. And then there was you, you who was so careful in order to keep living.

But you couldn't resent her for that. It had melted away with seeing the Tara underneath. The real, beautiful Tara underneath.

"Duck is good, though. I'll bring it out when I want to embarrass you," Tara smiled, inching closer on the table.

"Yeah?" you grinned back at her, standing up to gently tap against the glue. It was set, and your model was finally finished at 4:42 in the morning. Tara leaned close, watching the glue with her own eyes, cheek almost up against yours in curiosity.

You finished the thing, looking over at her and her large, warm brown eyes, staring at the model you had made with so much curiosity and genuine interest. Tara hadn't lifted a finger to help, but you couldn't help but feel like it was partially hers.

You went to pull back but found your face turning towards hers, looking at each other for a long moment. Your eyes lingered on the slope of her nose, down to the curvature of her soft lips, turned up in the corners like Tara always did when she smiled. They looked so soft, and before you knew what was happening, you could feel Tara's hands coming up to the sides of your face, thumbs gently stroking against the skin there.

You couldn't breathe, feeling the warmth of the pads of her fingers on your face and the faint brush of her breath upon your nose. "Tara," you whispered. The pull was magnetic, and just as you were about to say to hell with it all, her phone began to vibrate in her pocket, and you both leapt apart from each other.

You wandered a few feet away, trying to seem busy while she answered it. You could feel Tara watching you while she spoke on the phone, so you did your best to hide the blush that was certainly spread wide across your cheeks.

This was the very girl you had spent the past several months hating. You suddenly felt dizzy, like the world would slip out from under your feet. Tara, the very same annoying girl who had pestered with you and bickered with you. The one who had so much more to her that what you had ever thought possible. The one who drew you in. The one in search of a hook up, for which you were only the decoy. You cleared your throat, whipping around when you heard Tara say "What?!"

"What's wrong?" you asked. "What's going on?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at you like she was about to cry. "They're questioning Sam again. They think Ghostface is back."

===+++===

DUN DUN DUNNNNNN anyways my ass is going to bed now. also i do not recommend anyone lie to someone they're interested in about who they are, ESPECIALLY an attempted murder victim

[suhsweet]

the compression shirt conundrum ⟡ kmg

wc: 1017 | pair: bf!mingyu x gn!reader | genre: fluff, slight cringe maybe, suggestive | tags: grey sweatpants and compression shirt, some swearing, reader becomes a zombie for mingyu pp, giggly!mingyu, just teeth rotting cuteness, reader is significantly smaller, mingyu is called a giant, pet names: honey, baby, babe, angel

summary: when mingyu comes home wearing a compression shirt and sweatpants, you no longer have any thoughts in your brain and become a zombie for him

authors note: the day we see mingyu in a compression shirt, god help us all… this is unedited, might be trash lmk

It was a quiet night in. You had a movie on, your place was clean, dishes washed, and your super hot boyfriend was on his way home any minute now with takeaway for dinner.

Mingyu had texted you that he was craving army stew and asked if you wanted anything from your go to restaurant. Sessions at the gym often caused him to develop a massive appetite afterwards.

“Honeyyy, I’m hommeee,” Mingyu’s rang.

“Hey baby— Oh. My. God.“

Your boyfriend looked at you confused. From where he stood, you were gaping at him, and somehow melting into the couch? He swapped his gym shoes for his house slippers and attentatively approached you.

“What’s… What’s going on? I brought food.”

“Who needs food when I’ve got a Mingyu buffet.” Your eyes raked up and down your boyfriend countless times. After such a smooth sailing night, you finally encountered your first problem.

Mingyu was wearing grey sweatpants.

And a black compression shirt.

A while back you told him that you wanted to see him in this combination. You knew he’d be hot as hell, however this was better than you ever expected.

It was just a plain, solid colored long sleeved shirt that was skintight. Every valley and ridge of muscles were clearly defined. You could feel your mouth water.

“Woah, woah, woah! I’ve got food here!” Mingyu whined as you rushed up to him while greedily running your fingers all over his body. You had half the mind to smash your face inbetween his pectorals.

Mingyu escaped your clutches as he headed straight to the kitchen, the hunger in his stomach making itself more apparent by the minute. He was about to pass out from starvation. His Hoshi-hyung really put him and the boys to work.

You were right behind him, following him around the kitchen as he went to plate up the food for the two of you. Your gaze never left his body. Was hypnosis by Underarmour clothing a thing? You were about to climb this man like a tree.

“B-b-baby?” He stuttered, looking at you with concern. You looked like a zombie.

You appeared to be a perfectly alive and healthy human. However, Mingyu observed your raised arms, reaching for him; and noted that you didn’t appear to have any thoughts in your head. All that was needed left was for you to moan ‘brains’ repeatedly.

“Must… Suck dick,” you said in a deep gravelly tone, putting on your best zombie impression. “Must… Suck dick.”

Mingyu let out a squawk of laughter as he backed away from you. His ears bloomed red. His toothy grin almost had you breaking character, but no! You were dedicated.

“I’m flattered that you think I look good, but an ‘omigosh babe, you look really hot’ would be just fine. This is… Wild.” Mingyu was slowly exiting the kitchen, and you were following him with slow steps.

He didn’t expect the clothes to have this much of an effect on you.

Was this what it was like to be you when you wore lingerie?

“No thought in brain, only Mingyu. Mingyuuu,” you chanted.

Mingyu managed to dodge a swipe you made at him. “Who are you? Where’s my angel gone? Give her back to me!”

“Right here, just give me them babies,” you replied with your zombie voice. Mingyu giggled.

He took a step backwards, and then another. You copied him but at a slower pace. With a final step backwards, Mingyu spun on his heel and dashed around the corner and into the hallway.

He dived into one of the rooms before you could even take another step. He had disappeared in an instant.

You wanted to laugh. With how small your apartment was, it was a proven fact that it would be impossible for him to successfully hide.

You ‘became’ your human self again and strolled towards the general direction your lover ran.

“Oh Mingyu… Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

Mingyu cupped his face with his hands, reducing any chances of you hearing him breathe. He couldn’t laugh, but you made him giddy like a child. He was a grown man playing and seek after all.

All that could be heard in the house was the movie that was still playing on the TV, and the light scuffs of your house slippers against the floor.

You finally reached the bedroom you shared with Mingyu at the end of the hallway. Little did you know, he was hiding behind the door. Not hiding, but ready to attack.

You pouted, looking around. “Baby? I’m not a zombie anymore. Just horny.”

As soon as you made it all the way into the room, the door slammed behind you. Your breath was stolen when a giant shadow grabbed you and pulled you onto the bed.

You found yourself on your back, caged in by Mingyu. He had a hand on either side of your head on the mattress, and a knee on the edge of it between your legs.

“It’s just a pair of pants and a shirt,” Mingyu murmured as he bent his head to kiss your cheek.

His nose traced patterns on your face, heading down towards your neck to take in your familiar scent. He loved when you wore this fragrance.

“Just a pair of pants and a shirt?!” You parroted in offence. You threw your arms around his neck. “It is more than that. It is the masculine version of lacey lingerie! It is the sexiest, sluttiest outfit you could put on. You look sexy as fuck!”

Mingyu blushed at your words with a very, very shy smile on his face. He knew that he was attractive, but to have you enthusiastically praise his appearance made him proud of the effort he put in at the gym. Your opinion of him mattered most.

He kissed your head. “Thank you baby.”

“Kim Mingyu, if you don’t lay on this bed and let me worship your body I swear on your dog’s life…”

“Not if I worship you first. Who told you these fluffy shorts are my weakness?”

[evanchantingpeters]

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 3)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff, Romance

Summary ─ Just as Y/N thought she had it all figured out in LA, her world spins out of control when Evan Peters storms in like a tornado. Their electrifying hook-up leaves her reeling, but waking up alone, she fears the worst. Then, a note appears—his number and an invitation to a date teasing her with a chance. What starts as a romantic evening quickly spirals into a frenzy of hide-and-seek and sex.

Warnings ─ Swearing, semi-public, oral (both receiving), doggy, shower sex, overstimulation, fingering, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, extra smutty—you savvy pros, you know the game inside out ;)

Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Word count ─ 5K

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

You stir awake, blinking sleep away and squinting against the sunlight that streams through your curtains. A lazy smile curves your lips as you stretch, reaching out for...empty sheets. Mmhh, you just love the taste of nothing.

Evan’s not here... Emotional damage, even if what you had was an agreed one-off fling.

A soft groan escapes you as you fumble for your phone, the bright screen momentarily blinding you. 9:30. As you bury your nose into his pillowcase, you inhale deeply, catching a generous whiff of his essence’s sweet residue. You sigh deeply as your eyes land on the bedside table. His missing keys solidify the reality that he’s bounced, and you can’t help but frown.

“I feel like his side hoe when I should be the main character,” you think aloud, grumbling, and it’s giving trauma dumping and anxious attachment. What a refreshing concoction of disaster.

But what really puzzles you is the extra blanket draped over your duvet like a surprise guest. You wrack your brain, trying to recall if you snuggled up in it during the night, but it’s as hazy as trying to piece together a fuzzy Freudian dream.

With a resigned sigh, you roll out of bed, already craving his warmth. Mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you distract yourself with social media updates, news snippets, and the day’s weather forecast while you shuffle to the kitchen for your morning caffeine fix. A pang of disappointment hangs around like a lost sock in the dryer, but you refuse to let it dim your day and activate your female rage.

Or so you tell yourself.

Podcast blaring in the background, you tiptoe your way to the bathroom, facing your reflection in the mirror. You impulsively retrace the invisible path of Evan’s touch on you—from lips to chin, jawline, and neck down your cleavage and stomach. Each sensation has left its mark, and you can’t get enough of the sweet echoes. You sniff through your hair and arms in a desperate attempt to capture his scent on you—a tantalising hint of cinnamon and the musk of his natural oils that never fails to make your knees go weak.

You hop into the shower, letting the scalding water wash away your frustrations. Emerging revitalised and ready to conquer the day, you hastily throw on your work clothes and toss your keys and lanyard into your bag.

And that’s when you spot it by the entrance door—the note board. That bold black marker circling today’s 9 pm to 6 am time slot on your shift calendar, an arrow pointing directly to a message, practically winking at you, “Dinner and quality time with Evan. Text this number for more details.” Your heart somersaults with joy as you read the note over and over again, a goofy grin spreading across your face like wildfire.

You press a quick kiss to the note, folding it carefully and tucking it away as if it holds all the secrets of the universe. With a sense of anticipation bubbling in your chest, you dash out the door, already fashionably late.

On the subway, you retrieve the scrap of paper, tracing your fingers over his elegant handwriting with a soft smile. With a sarcastic tonality, you already craft your message, “I thought ghosts just floated around, they don’t ask you out.”

Within seconds, his response lights up your screen. “Morning to you too. Slept well? I’m the upgraded phantom version. Meet your Casper tonight at 9?”

You can’t help but giggle at his wit. Another text pops up, complete with coordinates to the restaurant he’s inviting you. The excitement builds inside you like a shaken soda bottle, and you’re practically fizzing with anticipation to see what the night has in store.

Time seems to trudge along at a sloth’s pace as you grind through your shift at the boutique. You flash your best retail smile as you serve customers on the cash register. Though, your mind is a million miles away, replaying the reel of moments with Evan; those moments when you convinced yourself that your insides were gonna spill out while he was going to town on you.

Half-heartedly, you tidy up the shop floor, picking up stray items and straightening displays. But let’s be real, your fingers move mechanically, and your brain is on autopilot as your thoughts wander back to the anticipation of tonight’s date. The enthusiasm is buzzing through you like a sugar rush, making it damn near impossible to focus on folding clothes or rearranging racks.

Each interaction with a customer is a blur as you absentmindedly tackle the fitting room. They might as well be talking to a mannequin for all you care. Your mind is firmly planted in Evan-land, where every moment is hot and heavy, and you’re too busy mentally undressing him for the umpteenth time.

“Girl, let me in your bubble, would you?” The voice of Trisha, your department’s jokester, slices through your daydreaming like a ninja with a chainsaw.

You blink, momentarily disoriented, before bursting into laughter at her impeccable timing. “Trish!” you exclaim, relishing in her knack to crack you up with her quirky humour. “Sorry, this bubble is strictly reserved for someone today.”

Her giggle rings out like music in the store as she playfully rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine! You do you, boo. Just make sure to save some of that magic for the rest of us in Stylista Gine, deal?”

With a saucy wink, she sashays off to attend to her own tasks, leaving you to shake off your giggles. The minutes tick by, and eventually, your shift mercifully comes to an end. With a sigh of relief and a bounce in your step, you clock out, knowing that soon you’ll be back in Evan’s arms (and on his dick).

You hastily trod along Sunset Boulevard, your sleek dark coat swinging with each step, and your little black dress add an extra sway to your stride. You’re practically power-walking in heels, like you’re in a race against time and your destination is the finish line.

Arriving at the hotel he’s staying at, you adjust the strap of your black stilettos around your ankle, ensuring no wardrobe malfunctions with your stocking will disrupt your night. With your heart thudding, you breeze through the sliding doors and past the reception. 

The tantalising scent of watermelon cocktail teases your senses as you strut in the bar restaurant, scoping out the room with mounting anticipation.

“Hi there, reservation for Peters?” you inquire, shooting a charming smile at the host, your racing emotions briefly receding.

Reciprocating with a polite grin, he quickly checks his tablet before nodding in confirmation. “Got it! Table 8. Right this way, miss,” he affirms, extending his arm in a welcoming gesture. 

Following the host, you can’t help but feel a surge of excitement as you round the corner and spot Evan’s back at the table. He looks effortlessly handsome in his blazer, like he’s just stepped out of a magazine spread, making your stomach churn with blissful nerves.

“Looks like my date’s here, thanks,” you note quietly with a soft smile.

“Awesome! Enjoy,” the host replies cheerfully, heading back to his post.

As you approach Evan, you lean in and give his shoulder a cheeky squeeze—a silent yet affectionate greeting that speaks volume. His gaze lights up with recognition, and he practically jumps from his chair, his grin widening as he’s eyeing you from top to bottom.

“Hey!” he exclaims, his voice laced with enthusiasm. “My eyes needed a bit of a warning for this stunner. Your fit’s so sleek, it looks tailor-made,” he adds shortly after, beaming, as you flow in a warm hug, his arms clinging around you like he never wants to let go.

With a crooked smirk, you blurt out with a touch of sarcasm, “Thanks. I picked it up with you in mind.”

His eyes widen in surprise, his grin expanding by the second. “Seriously?” he squeaks, visually delighted by the notion. 

You giggle, shaking your head. “Nah, but imagine if I did,” you fire back, your hearty laughter dancing in the air like confetti.

Before you know it, an electric tension fills the space between you as you stand mere inches apart, locked in a silent yet smouldering gaze.

“Are we on a ‘try not to kiss’ challenge?” he spills out, his voice an alluring murmur as his minty breath pleasantly prickles your skin.

A sly smile tugs at your lips. “Let’s see who caves and closes the gap first,” you hum as you flicker between his lips and his eyes. He feels the tension coil in his gut but forces it down with a hard gulp. 

Leaning in closer, his breath mingles with yours as he whispers, “You gotta give your best shot not to kiss me, then,” his tone carrying a seductive undertone that sends a delicious thrill rushing through you.

“You wish. No chance I’m smudging my tinted lip balm,” you retort and playfully pinch his nose, punctuating your mocking banter with a wink.

With a graceful flip of your hair and a coy smile, you ease into your chair, feeling the heat of his gaze on you, all self-assured about the sensual spell you’ve cast over him. 

He’s practically eye-fucking you right now, and you’re loving it.

“If that’s your idea of payback for sneaking out this morning, Y/N, I’ve been running errands and exploring new job prospects for next year,” he explains earnestly, handing you a straw for your cocktail and cutlery for your appetisers.

“And I may or may not have picked up a little something for you,” he announces next, pulling out a wrapped box from his blazer pocket, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

Your playful vibe evaporates, replaced by a whirlwind of shock and emotion. “Shut the…front door, no way,” you utter sheepishly as you cautiously reach for the unexpected gift.

With a throaty chuckle at your reaction, he jerks his eyebrows upwards, silently encouraging you to dive into the gift.

You eagerly rip open the packaging, gasping in disbelief. “Roland Barthes, Mythologies…Oh my days,” you cry out, unable to believe your luck. Your eyes flit to the curious glances from other patrons in the corner, and you swiftly tone your enthusiasm down a notch.

He nods in understanding, smiling fondly at you. “Yep, saw his Lover’s Discourse on your bedside table, and the bookmark was dangling on the final pages,” he justifies, a knowing twinkle in his gaze.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you slide the book in your bag and rise from your seat. “Ugh, Evan! Thanks a ton, you’re the best,” you gush, your voice thick with gratitude as you move closer to him.

He stands up too, his eyes fixed on yours, soft with affection. Stepping closer, his dark eyes dart from your lips to your eyes, as if he’s wordlessly asking for permission. Instead, he reaches out to pull you into a hug, but you gently lift his chin and crane your neck, sealing his plush, pink lips in a brief yet tender peck.

As you break the kiss, Evan blinks in surprise, seemingly caught off guard by the sudden shift in energy. His eyes search yours, silently questioning the unspoken feelings that hover between you, his own heart pounding with anticipation.

“Why did that take so long today?” he sighs against your ear, softly touching his lips. His voice, like honey dripping from velvet, resounds in your ears like a melody as he delicately brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes—the colour of rich black chocolate—are glued on yours, and the gravitational pull of his euphoric visual abyss draws you in.

Your heart flutters at the intensity of his gaze, feeling the heat expand through you. “It took long for momentum,” you retort, your tone light with playful teasing as you flash him a coy smile and sit back down.

The buffalo cauliflower bites aren’t the only thing heating up at your table; your conversation’s spicier than a jalapeño popper and with more layers than a double-decker with extra cheese. One minute you’re debating the perfect burrito toppings, embarrassing childhood nicknames, weird dreams, European cinema and 80s bands, and the next, you’re digging into careers, beliefs, goals, and life’s deepest truths.

It’s like a game of emotional Jenga—one block, or in this case, one topic leads to another, and before you could utter ‘Evan, eat me,’ you’ve both laid your souls bare without even realising it.

Fully immersed in the flirtatious banter, Evan beckons invitingly to the seat beside him with a subtle tilt of his head. “Why don’t you slide here, so I can properly admire your outfit?” he mumbles in a husky timbre, his eyes ablaze with desire.

But just as the tension between you ignites like a volcano lava, the waiter interrupts with his timely arrival. “What can I get for you both?” he interjects, shattering the moment. 

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you gesture Evan to go first, shooting him a ‘hold up, let me cook,’ look. With a bold move, you slip off your shoe under the table and discreetly brush your foot against his pant leg.

You feel him stiffen as he places his order, his composure wearing out. Stifling a giggle, you almost sadistically enjoy his flustered state as he clumsily fumbles and drops his menu, the clatter against the plate resonating like a thunderbolt. 

He’s a ten, but he stumbles over his words and over-apologises when aroused in the most inappropriate settings. Take my money, that bumps him up to a solid thirty.  

“Would you like extra cheese with that?” the waiter chimes in, oblivious to the charged atmosphere crackling between you.

Evan nods, swallowing thickly as your foot ventures higher up his thigh, stoking the flames of his growing hardness.

“And you, miss?”

“Eh? Umm, double everything, please. I’ll have what he’s having. Thanks,” you mutter with a half smile, your leg rubbing against his throbbing erection to a fever pitch.

As the waiter marches to the kitchen, Evan clenches his jaw, frustration painted all over his stormy gaze. He bunches his cloth napkin from his lap and tosses it onto his plate, blowing out a sharp, exasperated breath.

“Evan,” you call out with an apologetic expression, watching him push his chair with the backs of his knees and storm off to the bathroom.

You shoulder the heavy door and step into the empty men’s bathroom, your insides wounding themselves in knots. You scan the room, hunting for any trace of Evan, until your gaze lands on the locked door at the end. Curiosity gnaws at you, nudging you to investigate.

With a hesitant knock, you signal your presence. Before you can react, the door swings open, and Evan’s dark eyes greet you from the other side as he pulls you into the room.

The door clicks shut behind you as you quickly take in the gold-hued surroundings: a lavish toilet, a gleaming sink, and a long bench strewn with plush towels and designer toiletries. The place gives you a babushka-esque feel—a mini, fully-equipped restroom within the main one, and it’s like stepping into a VIP sanctuary.

Though, as you register Evan’s proximity, his body pressed flush against yours, your thoughts scatter like marbles on a polished floor, and pleasure sparks sizzle through your veins like a live wire.

“Hey,” you bleat, feeling the tension twist in your gut as you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. 

His strong arms cradle your waist. He draws you into a tight embrace until you’re cocooned on his lap, the heat of his body searing into your skin.

You cross your legs as he closes the distance between you, his veiny hands fondling and squeezing your thighs greedily and possessively. 

“Evan,” you croak out, clearing your throat to ground yourself as he strokes your cheek with his knuckle. “I realise that might have been a bit much for public display…and I’m sorry,” you mumble, flashing him an apologetic look before averting your gaze.

But his expression remains stern, a furrow creasing his brow as he lets out an exaggerated huff—eyes hooded and mouth set in a grim line. “That won’t fix it, I’m afraid. I’m still hurt and embarrassed.” 

You quirk a brow at him, a hint of defiance in your gaze as you meet his unwavering stare. “And what do you suggest now?” you challenge with a sly smirk, a daring spark igniting in your face.

His lips curl into a sinister smile as he leans in, his scorching breath against your ear sending a tremor down your backbone. “Get on your knees, and use this beautiful mouth of yours to show me just how sorry you are,” he whispers as he’s massaging your tits, his words like an electric current buzzing through you at a high voltage.

You snort, your hand weaving through his silky hair as you draw him closer. “Oh, you think you’ve won? I’d be more than happy to suck you up—day and night, overtime included,” you purr, your voice husky with longing as you sink to your knees.

Positioned between his legs, you look up at him with a mischievous smile. “Someone’s suffering in there,” you coo and outline his stiff shaft with your tongue, feeling him twitch beneath the smooth fabric, aching for freedom.

Pinned against the wall, he sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, his hips buckling forward in desperate response.

The button of his slacks loosely holds on, barely containing his throbbing beast from bursting it open. Gripping the cold metal of his zipper between your teeth, you drag it down slowly, your pussy dripping as his low growl rumbles from his chest like distant thunder when he finally finds release.

You reach up, flipping down the elastic waistband of his boxers so you can slip your hand in, dragging your fingers along his pulsing crimson tip.

“Suck it, don’t tease,” he commands, his tone rigid and thick with desire. You comply without hesitation, eagerly licking off the subtle traces of his seed off the tip, twirling your tongue around it.

Your mouth is immediately slick with his precum, the thick fluid coating the corners of your lips. The heady scent drives you wild as you savour every drop of his essence. You keep using your tongue to smear some of it to the underside of the head, teasing at the ridges and pressing into the squishy flesh of his head.

He bites down on his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he battles to muffle his grunts, his body quivering with need.  

When you finally close your lips around his painfully hard cock, he reacts with a sharp intake of breath. His fingers thread through your hair as he breathlessly whines your name like a fervent prayer. From that angle, his dimples appear as dark slits along his cheeks, adding to his rugged allure.

You meet his gaze with a sultry mewl of pleasure, giving your throat more room to take him in harder and deeper into your mouth. Flattening your tongue, you glide lower on him as you hold onto his pelvis until his head crushes the back of your throat, testing your gag reflex.

Challenge accepted; you handle him like a pro.

“Y/N, you’re… oh, fuck… No,” he sputters out with an intense shudder, rubbing his eyes as he fights the overwhelming tide of his impending orgasm.

“Load me,” you exhale teasingly as you pull him out of your mouth only to pump him back down with renewed hunger. He intertwines his fingers with yours, guiding your movements as you kick off a slow, torturous rhythmic ordeal just to gauge his reaction.

With a choked moan, he tightens his grip, sticking his convulsing cock all the way down with urgency, thrusting in your mouth with a ruthless pace.

His move and the resonance of his deep voice send a surge of heat to your core that consumes you, tripling the moisture in your panties.

You want him in ways that will add new sins to the bible.

Each time you rise, you suck his tip with fervour before slamming back down on his throbbing length. The symphony of moans he’s emitting are almost sinful—you’ve never gotten soaking wet just from hearing a man groan. He’s gonna be the death of your ovaries.

As you steal a gaze upwards, his abs glistening with a sheen of sweat, you watch his head fall back. “No,” he breathes out repetitively, his chest heaving and his Adam’s apple bobbing—a tell-tale sign that he’s on the brink of letting his load spray onto anything in the room.

His balls tighten, cock pulsing as his thrusts into your mouth turn sloppy and messy. Blinded by pleasure, his mind goes blank as he teeters on the edge.

Still panting, he hauls you off him more forcefully, his fingers hooking onto the hem of your stockings. You notice his nose scrunch up in clear disapproval as he glares at your lips—swollen and shining with wetness—immediately stripping you off your undergarments with raw intensity.

Flipping you over so your upper body’s bent over the wooden bench, he gropes your ass cheek before slapping it harshly, making you squeal with excitement. “Why do I have to say no twice?” he growls, his voice ringing with dominance as he claims you as his own.

You’re ovulating, so your audacity and inhibitions are thrown to the wind, acting like you’ve been dick-deprived your entire life. “I wanna tick you off so much you show no mercy. Just take me already,” you demand, your voice heavy with despair.

With a guttural groan, he obliges, rutting his hips as he lines up his leaking tip with your entrance. The moment he meets your wet folds, you both gasp in unison as he plunges in you. The sensation of him filling you up sparks fireworks as he humps you in long, steady thrusts, his velvet plush head bumping against your swollen clit with a delicious friction.

Your cries threaten to spill out, but his hand clamps gently over your mouth to shush you, his dark eyes flashing with warning. “We have to be quiet, baby,” he rasps, his voice tinged with lust. You turn over your shoulder and nod underneath his grasp, your half-lidded eyes glazing with pleasure.

A muffled yelp roars against his palm as he drills his aching cock deeper inside of you. You grip the edge of the bench tightly, and the sound of it banging against the wall echoes through the room, adding a primal rhythm to your ecstasy. The sensation of your slithery walls stretching to accommodate his thick dick is nothing short of mind-blowing for both of you.

Using the bench for leverage, he thrusts harder, his hand trailing up to caress the curve of your ribs as you writhe beneath him. “Fuck, I love your wet little pussy,” he hisses with primitive desire. “Cum for me, Y/N, all over my dick.”

“I’m getting there, baby. I wanna drown in your juices,” you moan, feeling his jaw slacken against your back as your walls pulse around his throbbing cock.

Just as the bench keeps bashing against the concrete wall in sync with your rising orgasms, a sudden crash breaks the intensity of the moment. The yellow paint plastic box from above the shelf tumbles down—its contents splattering over both of you and the wall, creating an impromptu abstract masterpiece in the spur of the moment.

You both freeze, paint trickling down your bodies, adding vibrant hues to your flushed skin. Evan blinks in surprise, his hands still gripping your hips as he takes in the colourful chaos engulfing you.

“Well, we certainly went hard on the paint,” he quips, trying to lighten the mood despite the unexpected interruption.

You chuckle nervously as you survey the lively mess. “Looks like we got more than we bargained for tonight,” you shoot back, your voice filled with playful mischief.

With a wicked smirk, Evan swipes paint off your cheek, leaving a colourful streak between you two as you embrace. “We’ve got a cleanup on our hands before we can get back to what we—” His words are abruptly cut off by approaching footsteps.

Though the intoxicating passion still clouds your mind, one detail arises with sobering clarity: You’re screwed (literally). 

“You hit it off with the first three cubicles, I’ll handle the ones from the end, and we’ll meet in the middle,” a deep man’s voice echoes from outside, sending a jolt of panic through both of you. 

Evan winces and involuntarily grabs your hand. Your body stiffens as you lace your clammy fingers with his, the paint already forming a small puddle at your feet.

Acting on pure instinct, he ushers you deeper into the toilet, using his foot to discreetly slide the torn condom wrapper closer to your hiding spot.

“What’s the plan now?” you mouth. Your palms are raised in a questioning gesture, fingers wiggling subtly, as your breath comes in shallow, shaky huffs.

Evan shrugs. “That was a plot twist, didn’t see it coming,” he replies, barely audible in his hushed response.

You hang onto his shirt for dear life, your face taking a ghost-like pale complexion as you weigh the consequences of the trouble you’re about to get in. “The door’s locked, but there’s a little slot under it. Shall I wait up here until they’re gone?” you pantomime your words, attempting to convey your plan to Evan with the finesse of a silent movie star. But as you try to hoist yourself up and chamber onto the toilet seat, you slip, almost tumbling backward.

Evan swoops in to catch you like a superhero, his forehead wrinkled by worry lines, eyes wide with alarm. “You good?” he whispers urgently, pressing a finger to his lips in a frantic plea for silence.

You nod vigorously, gesturing toward the door with exaggerated motions, communicating your escape plan like you’re on the charades: “Let’s go check if we’re clear, then sneak out.”

Nodding in silent agreement, he unlocks the door with a flick of his wrist. Poking his head out, he peers cautiously into the corridor. You stretch up on your tiptoes, craning your neck to peek out over his shoulder, scanning the corridor for any sign of movement.

Finding no one in sight, you both spring into action with the speed and stealth of seasoned spies. You snatch up as much toilet roll as you can, using it to hastily wipe away the evidence of your paint mishap. The paper becomes saturated with soap and water as you scrub your life away, determined to leave no trace behind.

Before you know it, Evan seizes your hand, purse and shoes, and you skitter out of the bathroom like you’re escaping a high-security prison. You zip past the slightly open doors of the other stalls, and as you weave the maze of hallways, you catch a glimpse of the two cleaning men hard at work—one wielding a toilet spray like a weapon on the lead, while the other, two doors ahead, diligently mops the floor.

 

You burst out of the bathroom, hearts racing and adrenaline pumping, feeling like you just pulled off the heist of the century. In the dimly lit corridor between the toilets and the restaurant, you exchange triumphant grins, basking in the rush of your daring gateway. With a quick, victorious high five, you’re both ready for the next phase of your adventure.

But before you can catch your breath, Evan pulls you close, his lips crashing against yours in a fiery kiss that sets you on fire. His tongue dances with yours, igniting a fierce passion between you. As his hands start to wander along your ass and clit, you can’t resist and melt into his touch, a soft moan slipping off you.

Reality hits you like a freight train, and you protest against his lips, reluctantly swatting his hands away and pushing him back gently. “You can’t waltz back to your table looking like nuggets dipped in mayo, and I don’t have a spare wardrobe stashed in my purse,” you whine. With a determined swipe, you rub off a scuff mark from his cheek, your thumb tracing the contours of his face as he nods in understanding.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, and without missing a beat, he takes your hand and leads you in the direction of the toilet. But as you reach the door, he steers you towards the emergency door instead. Throwing yourselves outside, you’re met with the frigid night air, an uninviting shock after the warmth of the restaurant.

The cold bites at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. But Evan is quick to replace your coat, which still hangs off your table chair, and envelops you in an embrace, rubbing your arms to warm you up.

You cling to him, his body heat a comforting embrace as he cups your hands in his, blowing warm breath into them. The moon casts a soft glow over a secluded pond before you, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the hotel.

“I’ve got good and bad news,” Evan chirps, his voice tinged with a mischievous undertone. You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as you lean closer to him, flakes of paint dropping off your arms as he intensifies his rubbing.

“Spill the good news first. Enough shocks for today, I wanna buy myself some time.” 

“The good news is,” he begins, a grin spreading across his face, “my rented place is over there,” he reveals and points behind you. You follow his gaze to the tall complex of flats that extend from the main hotel.

You hum in acknowledgment, planting a quick peck on his lips. “Alright… and what’s the bad news?” you inquire, already bracing yourself for whatever curveball he’s about to throw your way.

“The bad news is that if we wanna keep the prying eyes at bay,” he continues, his eyes fixed on you in mounting suspense, “we’ve got some climbing to do.”

The grass crunches under your feet as you wade through the greenery, your heels sinking into the mud with each step. You duck under the low archway in the middle and reach the towering fence.

“Damn, that’s taller than I thought,” he mutters, eyeing the fence with a furrowed brow.

“Piece of cake,” you counter with a coy smile, tossing your heels on the other end. You make the first move by planting your toes on a cracked piece in the wall, gripping the hurdle tightly to propel yourself upwards.

As he gives you an extra push, his hands boldly grazing your ass, a mischievous sparkle gleams in his eyes. “Speaking of cakes,” he cheers, squeezing your curves as his eyes linger on the enticing view of your cunt beneath your dress, his grin broad and cocky.

“Stay focused, dude,” you hiss, playfully waving him away as you divert your attention back to the task at hand.

With a hint of concern in his voice, Evan watches you climb, ready to catch you if you falter. “Take it slow, Y/N. With this velocity, you gotta use one leg at a time...” he advises, his arms poised to assist you.

Rolling your eyes, you brush off his instruction. “The mansplaining’s redundant, Peters. I’ve got this,” you scold jokingly, confidently manoeuvring over the obstacles.

“It’s hard... oh, mind your head on the branches…” he mumbles, absentmindedly repeating “it’s hard” as he observes your every move with a mix of awe and disbelief.

When you safely tumble over to the other side, he can’t help but chuckle nervously, astonished by your agility. “Oh, that was easy…it was really easy, actually” he mumbles with a shake of his head, mouth agape, still processing your swift ascent.

“Come on, slowpoke,” you taunt, your voice laced with playful challenge. You dust off your hands, the thrill of the escape still coursing through your veins.

“I’m just taking my time,” he defends as he carefully navigates his way over the fence. 

“Says the guy who played Quicksilver,” you mock, giggling, and run your tongue along your teeth with a cheeky smile.

As Evan finally makes it over the fence, he stumbles on a loose stone, his footing giving way beneath him. You gasp, lunging forward to catch him as he starts to fall backward, his arms flailing wildly as he tries to regain his balance.

“Watch out!” you cry out, and you manage to pull him back from the brink of spraining his ankle on the way down. 

He winces in pain, clutching his leg as he tries to stand. “Ouch, that was close,” he groans, his breath hitched. 

Concern floods through you as you help him to his feet, supporting him as he tests his injured ankle. “You okay?” you ask, worry evident in your voice.

Evan nods, his expression strained. “I think so,” he replies, clenching his jaw against the discomfort.

You sigh, realising that your adventure may have taken an unexpected turn. “Maybe we should take it easy for now, old man,” you suggest once you realise he’s fine, suppressing a laugh as you guide him back to safety.

As you playfully rib Evan with the “old man” label, he retaliates by tickling you, his fingers sending ripples of loud laughter down your spine. You squirm and wriggle, trying to escape his teasing grasp, but he’s relentless.

“Alright, alright, I give up!” you yell, breathless from both laughter and excitement. But Evan doesn’t stop there. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he picks you up into his arms, his lips hammering against yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue swirling with yours. 

“Let me show you who’s the old man,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice dripping with desire and challenge as he carries you off.

The reception area lies deserted, and the dull glow of an overhead light seeps through the crack at the bottom of the slightly ajar cleaning storage door. 

“Anyone here?” he calls out, testingly, but there’s no response. Without wasting any time, you make a beeline for the elevator. The ding of the lift makes you jump, you launch your bodies up the stairs, bounding them up like a panther on the prowl, your feet padding down on the carpeted floor.

You creep into his room, edging the door shut until the latch clicks into place, and you pause to laugh at the yellow patches on your body. “I feel like I’ve just wrestled a pig in a mud pit.” 

“I’ve got the best way to clean it all up?” he mumbles sloppily into your lips, his arms folded around your waist, massaging your ass.

Hot water spurts out of the shower faucet, raining down marvellously on the tiled floor. You smile, holding your hand up to it and watching the paint, mostly dried now, run off your legs before landing on the ground and swirling around the drain. The temperature is heavenly, able to ease even the deepest aching of your shoulders, and your smile widens.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, planting a few teasing kisses along your exposed collarbone.

You bite down your lip at the sensation. “Finger-fuck while you kiss me, first. I need it,” you huff in despair, eyes imploring.

“You wish, I deliver, baby,” he breathes out, suckling on your pulse as you lightly pump his erect shaft in your hand in your fluid motion. He seems way too horny and too into you to say no.

He grunts and grounds his hips against your inner thigh. Against the wall, his fingers dip in, gathering some of your warm, slithery wetness and splotching it over your shiny folds. His free hand claws on your face, dragging you for a breathless kiss.

“Gosh,” you moan chokingly, an exhilarating lilt in your words. Your back arches as you feel that knot in your stomach beginning to snap. The pad of his middle finger keeps tapping and circling your clit, and you feel the escalating climb of your orgasm. Your legs start to twitch, and once he realises this, his fingers slowly drift away from your weeping cunt, his slick fingers gripping your thigh.

“Wh-why?” you protest in frustration.

Without uttering a single syllable, he snatches the detachable shower head, a smirk playing on his lips as he winds the cable around his wrist. He cranks the setting to its highest level and kneels down, parting your slopping folds with a confident touch. His lips curve in a devilish smile as he takes sight of your pulsating pussy clenching around nothing, giggling as he realises he’s edged you so badly.

As he positions the shower head near your throbbing clit, you instinctively clamp your hand over your mouth, stifling the shrill whimper that threatens to escape. The sensation of the water hitting your sensitive bud forces your breath out in punchy, laboured gasps as you feel the vibrations bringing your high closer.

He laps at your cunt like it’s a melting ice cream cone, and it doesn’t take long for your sweet cream to leak out along his mouth. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, eyelids fluttering as you’re consumed by the tsunami of your looming orgasm. Each flick of his tongue sends tremors through your thighs, the wet, slick sounds filling the room.

His tongue flattens out against your clit and you let out a needy whine, your hips instinctively bucking against his mouth. He presses his face deeper into your wet folds, tongue jerking at the underside of your clit. As he licks at your entrance, he sinks his tongue into your soaking hole, you cum on his tongue, grinding his face, moaning his name in heavy, ragged pants.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, he stands up straight, his hands gently caressing your waistband in a soothing gesture. But you’re not done yet. With a hungry urgency, you pull him into a kiss, your lips melding together.

He backs you against the wall, hiking up your thighs and wrapping them tightly around his waist. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, guiding him to your dripping entrance. As he slams into you, the world around you fades away, and your head lolls back in ecstasy.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grunts as he pounds harsher and faster in you, his balls slapping against your ass cheeks.

Your slick is trickling down his cock, creating a slippery mess on his thighs as he drives into you relentlessly. His breathing picks up pace, the air thick with the heady scent of sex and steam. You almost had him, until his hands forces your hips down onto his cock as far as they would go, his tip nudging against your cervix.

A scream tears from your lips as you squirm against his ruthless assault and bruising force. The tip of his cock brushes against that spongy spot inside you time and time again, the lewd squelching sounds of your poor, swollen cunt only a faint indicator that you were close.

In the misty haze of the shower, you catch him smirk crookedly, pleased with the visual above him. Your tits bounce tantalisingly in front of him, a tempting feast he can’t resist as he reaches out to grab them in his mouth, eager to taste every inch of your trembling body.

As the unbearably tight, hot coil in your abdomen snaps, you’re unable to contain the set of moans that spill from your lips. A tingling heat spreads across your body, your muscles contracting and burning with the intensity of your release.

His face contorts in pleasure, his brows knitting together as his jaw drops in awe. His breaths come out in hurried, choppy huffs as he pumps inside you, warm, white strings of cum painting your walls as if he marks his territory and you as his own.

“Ugh, I’m dizzy...and l look like shit,” you huff out, your voice laced with giggles. Evan stays still for a moment, burying his face into the crook of you neck.

“You’re dizzy but beautiful,” he rasps, chuckling breathlessly, and you feel your cheeks flushing. He strokes your face, his touch tender and loving as he presses soft kisses against your lips. Your tongues dance together in a sweet and intimate exchange as soft moans escape both of you.

Slowly, he pulls out. A mix of your juices coats his tip as it drips from your hole in a seductive display of your shared ecstasy.

“I want cuddles on the bed now,” he says, his voice soft and pleading, a hint of a pout playing on his lips as he gazes at you with adoration.

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

Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[peachhcs]

https://www.tumblr.com/peachhcs/766558720067043328/httpswwwtumblrcompeachhcs766163417530875904

EMMMMMMM! i know you love cliff hangers you always do them :(((( !!! but like still amazing holy crap

yes yes immediately yes. another part for sure!we need will and sam to finally talk

PART 7!!!! (yes there will be more and as many parts as y'all want this to be) here's also a small moment of will dropping eveyrthing for samy, but it will also be in the next part as well 😌

au masterlist

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

"hello?" will breathed.

"will?" a wave of relief washed through him when he heard samy's familar voice on the other end.

"samy? h-hi.." he was at a loss for words that he couldn't say anything other than hi despite the million questions running through his brain.

"h-hi. i-i'm sorry this is..i haven't called," samy started and will could hear the edge in her voice which made his heart break.

"let's go boys! on the ice!" coach warsofsky called into the locker room, his loud voice making the blonde cringe and curse to himself because this phone call really couldn't have happened at a worse time.

"shit, are you at practice right now? i-i'm sorry..i totally forgot..i can call back?" samy began when she heard his coach through the phone. shit.

will knew he needed to get on the ice or else warsofsky would make him do lines, but he couldn't just hang up now—not when he was finally hearing his girlfriend's voice after a day of not hearing anything. plus, he knew one of the reasons samy probably didn't call until now was because she didn't want to distract him from hockey.

"come on, pick it up! pick it up! we have a long practice ahead of us!" warsofsky boomed again as more of will's teammates filed out of the locker room.

fuck it.

will dashed out of the locker room through the other exit. he scrambled into the hallway where he nearly fell over from his skates still on and the blade cover hitting the tile. "no, no..i can talk. i promise. it's good to hear your voice..i-i was worried," will admitted softly, sinking onto the ground where he pulled his skates off.

"y-yeah. sorry. i'm sorry. i should've called. i don't know i didn't. i just–"

"are you okay? luke told me about your surgery," will cut the brunette off because even though he was upset that she didn't call him, he needed to make sure she was okay first and foremost.

"uh, yeah. i'm okay. just a tendon tear. nothing serious," samy swallowed, glad will couldn't see the anxiety clouding around her while she glanced around the hospital room and luke pretending not to listen.

"a tendon tear is kind of serious..you didn't get up off the field," will said more as a statement.

"i-i..yeah..but i'm fine now. i promise. it just kind of knocked the wind out of me, but i'm fine. i promise," the girl said like she was trying to prove it to herself too.

"i'm glad you're okay. i was really worried about you," his words made samy feel even guiltier, especially because of the soft tone he was using with her even though she expected him to be mad she didn't call sooner.

"i know. i'm sorry. i should've called," the youngest hughes admitted, head hanging low.

"why didn't you?" will asked, his voice still soft which made samy cringe.

"i just..i didn't wanna bother you knowing you're still getting settled into the team and the season..i didn't think it mattered because i'm fine now and it wasn't anything serious like i was dying or something," the brunette admitted again.

"of course it matters. you matter to me. you're my number one priority," his words brought a bright blush to her cheeks.

"you just have so much on your plate..i didn't wanna burden you. didn't wanna..put too much on you and make you run out or something.." samy mumbled the last part and will was pretty sure he felt his heart shatter into a million little pieces hearing her say that.

"you thought i was gonna..leave you again?" the crack in his voice hurt. a lot.

"i dunno..maybe? i didn't wanna.. be too much or something."

the silence engulfed them whole. will pulled a hand through his hair as he struggled to find the right words and samy bit back more tears threatening to escape.

"you know i'd never leave you again, right? i love you, samy. a lot more than i can even begin to explain," finally, will said something while trying to keep his voice from cracking even more.

"i know that."

"you're not a burden to me, i promise. you're the only thing i think about all the time so there's no way you'd be too much for me. if anything, i'm too much for you," his attempt at a small joke made both of them laugh.

"i love you, will. i'm really sorry i was scared to reach out. i guess it's just been hard..trusting again," the brunette mumbled a bit ashamedly and that broke will's heart again knowing samy was still trying to trust him.

before he could respond though, the door next to him burst open and he snapped his head up. macklin stared down at him looking wide-eyed. "there you are, smitty. you gotta get on the ice. coach is looking for you," the brunette rushed out and will knew he needed to go for real this time.

"yeah, okay. i'm on it. tell him i was in the bathroom," will said and macklin nodded as the two hurried back into the locker room.

"i'll call you again, okay? i love you," will said to samy still on the phone.

"yeah, okay. sorry for keeping you. i love you," and that was it. they hung up and the blonde quickly rushed to the rink before he got in even more trouble.

later, while will waited for macklin to finish up his shower, he was on his phone searching plane tickets and the fastest he could get out to michigan. samy's admission earlier broke his heart and he hated she still felt that way, so he wanted to do everything he could to prove to her that she did matter to him and she wasn't a burden.

he found the tickets that would get him out by tomorrow morning and into michigan that afternoon. he glanced up at his teammates and coach's office—he'd get killed if he just left without warning for a few days. he probably wouldn't even play.

but will needed to see samy. he needed to prove to her that he's drop everything for her no matter what.

so he bought the tickets in a few quick taps and they were in his email a second later.

[ilys00ga]

𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀, 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗻𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀.

➞ pair: yoongi x reader.

➞ genre: hurt/comfort (why do I keep making these lmao), established relationships, I'm so bad at tagging sorry.

➞ warnings: angst and fluff cuz we all need that (we really do). reader has anxiety and abandonment issues, yoongi is trying his best for the sake of both of them, just relationship things.

➞ A/N: requested by @parkjennykim, this was very fun to write! thanks for yet another idea <3 I hope u like it. I'm organizing this blog/post (?) while listening to mono, and let me tell yall, it's such a vibe omg. I think you should read this while listening to that album, I love it sm, I can't even begin to explain UGH- if namjoon ever goes on a world tour, he better perform every single song in that album, cuz imma be losing my mind in the crowd, esp during moonchild. my vocal cords are already getting sore. yeah. if u want this to hit that spot, maybe u should do what I said (this is a friendly order, if u will). if not, just enjoy and pls ignore any mistakes, english has been challenging me recently (for the last 10 years lmao)

ps. I am in a dire need of a yoongi in my life. specifically the one I wrote in this one. oh how I love being a lonely fanfic writer <33

★ MASTERLIST.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

God knows how long it had been after it hit midnight when Yoongi stood in the kitchen. His eyes were red and heavy with drowsiness, but he couldn't sleep that night.

How does one sleep through a restless, biting night?

Surely not with a bad headache, or overflowing thoughts, and especially not with guilt chewing on his core.

He gulped, throat begging to be quenched as it held onto a slight, delicious, yet bothersome burning sensation. He opened the fridge and filled a glass with some water, raising it to his lips when loud a cry of his name, followed with a thud and a number of sobs, disturbed the quiet of the night and made him jump, startled.

His limbs froze in their place, glass almost slipping his hand and crashing on the floor when his sleep deprived brain realized that the muffled cries were yours.

Wide awake, he dashed after the sound. Thirst and sleep no longer occupied his mind, all he could think of was holding you in his arms.

He found you on the stairs, trembling as you wailed into your hands.

He hated it so much: seeing you in pain. He wanted nothing more than to shield you from the rainfall of your gloomy sky, from his own rainfall, from the world. How could one be an umbrella and the rain at once?

He blinked, once, twice, then gulped and heaved a deep, tired breath.

One storm doesn’t require another storm to be calmed down, that he knew. One needs to be composed and collected to stand still during a storm, that he knew as well.

With worried eyes, he gently called out your name and walked up to you, “darling, what’s wrong?”

You looked up as soon as you heard his worried voice, some tiny sense of relief washed over you when you saw him right there. A hundred daggers digged so deep into his heart and bones, aching, the moment a broken whimper of his name fell from your lips.

Without a second thought, Yoongi hugged your face to his chest. One of his hands was patting your back and the other affectionately caressed your head.

As he listened to his name that never left your lips, Yoongi held you there on the cold of the stairs with nothing but sweet nothings whispered back to your ears.

Everything he did and said was so gentle and soft, like he was so afraid you'd crack and come to tiny bits and pieces at any given moment. It all made you want to cry even harder, to hold him so tight and never let go.

Soon, when your tears started winding down, pulled away and cradled your face with his hands, palms faintly pressing on your cheeks as if he hoped to share their warmth with you.

Tender eyes met your wet ones and stared as their owner’s voice made its way through the noise of your sniffles and hiccups. He said, “It’s alright. I'm here. Talk to me, hmm?”

You answered his plea with a small nod, before wiping your tear stained skin and hugging him again. He smelt like home. You took a deep breath, greedily feeding your lungs with his lovely scent.

He hugged you back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your body closer to his. He pressed light kisses on your temple, patiently waiting for you to talk.

“I had a really scary nightmare. so, so scary- I woke up, didn’t find you there- then…then I remembered the fight we had earlier. I…I thought I lost you- I'm sorry. sorry for the stupid things I said earlier. I love you so much! please don’t leave. please..”

Your voice quivered with fresh tears ready to be spilled again. Yoongi started hushing you as soon as he noticed that you were working yourself up.

Squeezing you in his arms, he whispered “I never left, and I never will.”

“I’m all right, nothing happened to me, see?” he leaned away just enough to allow you to take a quick look at his body, then added, “a stupid fight is not going to make me leave. I love you way too much for that, and I'm sorry for hurting you too.”

He could still read fear and uncertainty all over your face, and he didn't like that. He knew that you trusted him, and he didn't doubt your love for him.

At first, he didn't get it. He didn't understand the insecurities, the anxiety and the nightmares you suffered from especially after the inevitably worst of arguments that happened between you and him. But after longer and deeper talks, with you expressing your feelings and him listening with careful ears, it made much more sense to him.

Sometimes he hated himself for triggering your alarms and making it harder for you, but he knew it was neither his fault nor was it yours.

Growth and pain are two key elements that come arm in arm with love, and fights are an unpreventable part of any kind of relationship. For all that, he always ended up blaming himself for making you question your worth to him when he can't even sleep without you happily cuddling his side.

Softly, lovingly, he started prepping tender kisses over your cheeks, nose, forehead, chin, temples, all over your flushed face.

It worked like watching waving fields of green wheat dancing with the wind, your storm started to slowly die down and your heart felt at ease again. slowly, but definitely.

Smiling ever so affectionately, Yoongi sealed his reassurance with a loving kiss that consumed you whole, and it left the corners of your mouth curving up in a dazzling smile. You nuzzled his chest and sighed.

“I really hate fighting with you.” you mumbled into his clothed chest, drained and light headed from all the crying and nearly-a-panic-attack you went through.

“I know, I'm sorry. I hate it too." he whispered back.

There was a pause of comfortable silence, with both of you breathing each other in, before he wondered aloud: “did you fall down the stairs? are you okay?”

You chuckled breathily at his question, recalling the hysteria he had to deal with just a few minutes ago. But Yoongi was there, right beside you. your arms were tightly wrapped around his torso, right by your side.

He had some kind of exceptionally irrepressible magic in those fierce eyes and that gummy smile of his, you inarguably couldn’t be more grateful for that.

“I'm alright. Was too busy crying, I didn’t even feel a thing to be honest.” you said, and he giggled.

“I love when you’re clumsy like that, but please be more careful, muffin. Can’t have you hurting yourself because of me even more." Even with your face buried into the crook of his neck, you could feel and hear the heavy pout in that comment.

Huffing, you leaned away with furrowed brows and a strict gaze. Yoongi gulped. Hesitation took over him, yet he knew that honesty is the only thing that must be present to drive this conversation to an end.

Honestly brings clarity, he found himself reminding himself of that very often.

"as long as we take care of each other, it's okay. I love you." you affirmed, and perhaps Yoongi almost teared up because of the way you looked at him right then and there. He wouldn't utter a word to spoil that information out loud, though.

The shy grin and the flushed cheeks you were met with were worth risking the entire world and its eight billion residents. You couldn't help but smile and pull him into another hug.

"This is great and all, but my butt is numbed. I think there's no blood flowing down there anymore," he said, his heart swooning when you giggled at his humorous change of topic, so relieved that he was finally able to hear your brightness again.

"Let's go back to rest, darling." He stood up, grabbed your hand and squeezed it in his, then gently pulled your body up and dragged you to your shared bedroom, where everything and everyone else meant little to nothing at all as you laid in each other's arms.

[fungifanart]

Like a bundle of grapes

Characters: Yuu (GN), Ace, Deuce, Grim, Azul, Jade, Floyd

CW: Cartoon violence, crack

Word count: 964

Notes: Wrote this for @twst-charity and their charity drive to send aid to Palestine! Go check out the other works done for it and feel free to donate, if you can! We have SO many talented artists and writers involved!

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

Yuu is going to MURDER that octopus.

Actually, no. Death is too good for him.

Yuu is going to cut off his tentacles, make them into takoyaki and then feed it to him.

There, that's better. 

Now that they have a plan of attack, Yuu quickens their pace as they march angrily towards the Mostro Lounge to go collect their three anemone-headed idiots.

What else was Yuu gonna do when the man running the Mostro Lounge just casually ruined what was SUPPOSED to be a nice hangout between them, Ace, Deuce and Grim?

Yuu slams their foot into the front door, forcing it open with a loud bang that causes a wave of silence to wash over the lounge's patrons as they look at them in shock, their three idiots included.

"AZUL ASHENGROTTO!!!" Yuu's enraged voice echoes throughout the lounge, prompting the sound of footsteps coming from the back hallway a minute later.

"Well, well! I was wondering who could possibly have the GALL to walk in and disrupt my business and then I find out that it's our darling Prefect!" The man in question says calmly as he rounds the corner into the main dining room, "To what do I owe the pleasure of you gracing my establishment with your ever calming presence?"

Yuu's eye twitches as they close the distance between themself and him, "Cut the crap, Ashengrotto. You know exactly why I'm here." They say as they stop in front of him and cross their arms impatiently.

"Oh dear, I'm afraid I really don't! I can tell that you're quite upset with me, but would you be so kind as to clarify why?" Azul says after throwing his hands up dramatically.

"Tch, alright fine. You suckered Ace, Deuce and Grim into another contract and screwed them over with the fine print! I thought you said you were gonna be nicer from now on!" Yuu says while pushing their finger against the man's chest accusingly.

Azul waves Yuu's hand away dismissively before responding, "Surely this isn't what you came all the way here for? Surely you realize that you should be angry at those three for not reading the fine print rather than at me?"

"Dissolve the contracts." Yuu says, not yielding even an inch.

"Oh? And why would I do that? The only ones who violated the terms of the contracts are the ones that signed them, so I'm not the one at fault here. And need I remind you that YOU decided to enter MY establishment and disrupt MY business? I could have Jade and Floyd kick you out for that alone, you know." Azul says condescendingly as the two eels in question slowly close in on either side of Yuu, most likely waiting for a signal from him.

"Oh please, we both know those two would happily let me beat you up if I made it funny." They say while rolling their eyes.

"My, how confident we are today! And how do you suppose you could do that?" The octopus says arrogantly.

"Like THIS!!!" Yuu responds before dashing behind Azul faster than he can react, wrapping their arms around his waist in a vice-like grip and arcing their back fully backwards, taking him with them as he lets out a shrill scream before colliding with the hard floor.

A beat of pin-drop silence passes as everyone's brains collectively catch up with what Yuu has done.

The silence is then broken by Floyd bursting out into howling laughter, accompanied by Jade struggling to keep his composure with his hand clamped over his mouth.

With Azul out cold and the eels successfully incapacitated, Yuu quickly rifles through the octopus's jacket pockets and pulls out Ace, Deuce and Grim's contracts before grabbing their owners by the anemones and dragging them out of the Mostro Lounge, still dazed by Yuu's actions.

Upon reaching a safe distance from the establishment, Yuu rips all three contracts to shreds, releasing their friends from the anemones and Azul's grasp.

Feeling the empty space on their heads, the three's brains finally catch up as they cheer in excitement and move to pull Yuu into a group hug, only for Yuu to dodge and instead deliver a tight and painful pinch to each of their cheeks.

“Owowowow! What gives?!” Ace asks while rubbing his cheek.

“Have you three learned nothing from the last time Azul pulled something like this?” Yuu asks with their hands on their hips like a scolding parent.

“L-look, we're sorry, it's just–” Grim tries to respond, but Yuu's frustrated voice cuts him off.

“Just what? What could be so important that you'd put yourselves at risk like that?” Yuu questions harshly, losing whatever patience they have by the second.

“Sam's shop just got a shipment of fresh watermelons, so…” Ace trails off while twiddling his thumbs.

“We wanted to get some for our hangout today, but we were short on cash, so we signed on to do some quick odd jobs for Azul, but…well…you know the rest.” Deuce explains as all three of them look at the ground.

Yuu's mouth hangs agape for a few seconds before guilt overtakes them and they wrap the other three in a tight hug, “Oh, you guys! I'm sorry for getting so angry!! I'd love to have watermelon with you!!!” They say while shaking them around.

Yuu only lets go upon hearing the door to the Mostro Lounge burst open to the sound of their favorite octopus screaming bloody murder at them and two eels that are still struggling to contain their laughter as they follow him.

“Race you to Sam's shop!” Yuu says to their friends with a challenging smile.

Breaking out into a run, the four classmates make their way to the mirror, laughing all the while.

[snoozepotato]

We’ll Be Fine -1- (Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader)

Disclaimer: I do NOT own the original source material or any of its characters.

A/N: I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors I missed, characters may be a lil ooc because I just love big men being soft! Ghost brain rot since 2009🔥💀🔥 I AM SORRY!

she/her pronouns

Congratulations, I have gifted you a younger brother for this story!

Category: slice of life, slow burn, mutual pining

Warnings: swearing, eye contact, mild shenanigans

Masterlist

Summary: You arrive at base to pick up your brother, he does a terrible job at introducing you to his friends.

Part 1

~Kiddos~

Standing near the entrance to the facility you thoughtlessly bounced back and forth on the balls of your feet, an outlet for your slowly growing anxiety. ‘Technically’ you're a government employee, it’s complicated... Despite that being here leaves you feeling uneasy, most places like this still do.

 After an extended deployment overseas your brother had finally returned home, and you had promised to cook him dinner. So here you are, waiting for him to make an appearance in front of the military base he currently calls home. It's been a dreary day but the dense clouds are parting, making way for a steady building sunset. 

‘At least it’s not TOO cold,’ you suppose, allowing a false relief to wash over you. You were never very good at dressing for the weather, which comes with the ‘indoor person’ territory you radiated. What you lacked in physical prowess you made up for in technical abilities, at least that's what you tell yourself.

A brisk wind suddenly strikes your back, the thin sweatshirt just barely enough to stop nature's oncoming assault. Stuffing your hands into the front pocket, you fumble with your keys in an attempt to keep distracted.

‘Should have just waited in the car,’ brooding, you roll your eyes before catching sight of a group heading outside.

Curious eyes scanning the lot of them as they exit the building, spotting your brother's large figure somehow dwarfed by the hulking men beside him… Suddenly feeling very small.

Your eyes lock momentarily with a stranger's murky stare, deep brown orbs stricken gold by the fading rays of light. Dark grease paint smudging out the skin left exposed by his balaclava.

‘That's different,’ your thoughts halt, shoulders stiffening involuntarily realizing you're just staring at this man who you don't know. Quickly averting your gaze, attention shifting to greet your brothers steadily approaching figure.

Large hands grasped your forearms before pulling you into a crushing hug. Wrapping your arms around him stiffly, you let out a breathy laugh.

“This is my older sister, and I’m off to have a home-cooked meal,” he declares, snatching the keys from your hand and making a dash for the car. Abandoning you on the sidewalk.

“Debug,” you correct and turn to leave, attempting to place the now empty appendage back into your pocket but are stopped mid-motion.

 Another lad seems to materialize in front of you, your small hand now clasped in his much larger one. Looking up you take him in for a moment, gray eyes cast in the warm light of the evening sun. Brown hair cropped into a short Mohawk, and a handsome stubbled jaw.

“Hello, lass, call me Soap,” The Scotsman gushes, your hand still loosely resting in his grasp. He shoots you a wicked smile resonating with a boyish charm.

Stony facade you'd been maintaining cracking in the slightest, gaze softening before retracting your hand. You turn, giving them a curt wave, a gentle smile. Enough socializing for one day!

“Bye kiddos,” Words stumble awkwardly out of your mouth before promptly following after your brother, who is waving you down from the now-open driver's side window. Mentally cursing yourself for being such a colossal dork…

“Kiddos,” Soap repeats blankly.

Having rushed off immediately after Soap's introduction, Ghost can’t help but wonder if they scared her… If he scared her.

They watch as she reaches for the passenger side door, car abruptly lurching backward leaving the handle just out of her reach. Very much unamused she is left standing there with a blank expression, arms slack.

Taunting laughter can be heard across the lot as the action is repeated twice more before she is finally allowed to enter the vehicle.

“Fuckin wanker,” Ghost irks scrutinizing the juvenile interaction.

“Feel kinda bad for her,” Soap chuckles

Thanks for reading &lt;3

[carduelism]

Making RDR2 characters into bagels: Charles Smith

Hyperfixation is evil but also great so. Ever wanted to take a bite out of charles?yeah me too. So have this recipe for a herbal sweet savoury gingery bagel

(Recipes for Arthur and John are made and coming, just need to get photos ❤️ Expect the rest of the camp too)

Results:

Recipe:

Usually I'd be batch making bagels, but I'm just going to make 2.

1 cup of plain flour

Bloom 1/2 tablespoon of yeast in warm water (wait 10 mins) then add water as needed til dough comes together

(I don't like measuring liquid as it may over hydrate the dough and that's uncomfortable to work with)

2 tablespoons maple syrup

Pinch of salt

2 tablespoons of ginger

1 tablespoons of thyme

1 teaspoon of nutmeg

1/2 table spoon of cinnamon (because I’m evil and really like cinnamon)

You can also just measure seasonings with your heart if you are brave enough

Half your dough for the marbling. Add a teaspoon of blue food dye and the slightest dash of red

Knead each dough for 10-15 minutes. Put a cute video or music in the background as you knead if you want. And yes im sorry for making there be two doughs, you will need to knead separately for a combined time of 20-30 minutes 😞

Let doughs rest for an hour, or however long your ADHD brain deems an hour. The doughs should have doubled in size

Start working on the water you are going to boil the bagel in, I put a gulp of molasses in my big pot, turn the heat up and put the lid on, get it boiling! You can use other sweeteners too; honey, brown sugar, maple syrup.

Also preheat your oven to 180C/350F (fan-forced)

Third each ball of dough and then sandwich them randomly together. Mush the dough around for a bit to make sure there stuck to each other but not enough for the colour to start mixing. Then you can half the dough again and begin making the bagel shape via this method:

make a dough ball by rolling it around on your surface. Puncture your finger through the middle to make the hole (HINT: the hole will close in during the second rising and possibly during boiling, so make the hole bigger than you think it would need to be!)

Let the bagels rise for 10-15 minutes on some baking paper. I like to cut the baking paper underneath it into squares, it helps with placing it into the boiling water (as a guy with nasty burns from baking I get Very scared) and just falls off.

Once they've risen for the second time, place those bad boys in the water! Air lift them by the sides of the baking paper and drop them in carefully please I don't want anyone getting burnt. Now here is where you get to decide on texture;

Boil for a minute minimum, this gives the shiny effect and sets the bagels size but keeps a fluffier texture. If you like your bagels chewier and tougher like me, I go with 5 minutes lol.

Consider what texture you want!

Put the bagels on baking paper in a tray but before putting them in the oven, add an egg wash. Mix a whole egg together and brush that shit on top, makes the bagel brown nicely. If you don't have a brush, just use paper towel; dip it in the egg and brush it over the bagel.

For the decorative effects I put poppyseeds and chia seeds on the pale dough coloured side, and used the clean flat end of a texta (bit less than 1cm) dipped slightly in egg and then in flour for the dots.

OVEN TIME!!!!!! Put them in for 35-45 minutes (I accidentally under baked mine at 35 mins and they were a bit gummy…)

I would serve with well marinated meat though I Am pescatarian and fold salmon slices worked quite well too, of course veggos can use tofu too. used some stronger herbs instead of a salad, like rocket ect 😗

Enjoy!

[ladylooch]

a fic where nico fucks the reader in the shower?

A/N: Omg… I thought you would never ask 😉 Enjoy!!!! Also, Idk what it is about a man washing hair, but it gets me every time. Like it’s so sweet… and innocent.. and mundane.. but so romantic. AH!

Word Count: 2.3k

P.S. How do we like this banner 👇🏻? Is it clear to you what you’re getting into? I’m thinking of adding this to all my smut fics, but was curious on how it would be received. 

My second time in Switzerland with Nico is going swimmingly. We have indulged in amazing food, done some sight seeing, and explored a couple hiking trails through easy, lower elevation spots. I’m even starting to recognize my way around Bern when Nico and I visit the local cafe for espresso’s each morning.

But the Hischier family reunion is proving to be much deeper water than I anticipated. Nico told me it was a family party, but as we were walking in to the hotel event space, Luca explained it was a reunion. Nico had looked at me with concern, but I shrugged it off, wondering how hard this was actually going to be.

The problem? Not many of them speak fluent English and I don’t know more than a few words in Swiss German. I don’t think spewing swearwords at his extended family members is a good first impression. 

Nico was instantly pulled in so many different directions, as per usual. At first, we tried to stay together, but it became impossible with the size of the crowd and attention. I’ve had so many family members come up and try to speak to me. We sputter through the little English they know before they move along to someone else they can communicate with. The noise in the room is loud with laughter and animated talking. A throb is beginning to pulse through my brain. I try to ignore it, but know with my history, this will be a long night if I don’t find some quiet. Luckily, we have a room booked upstairs for the night to avoid any sort of traveling after the consumption of numerous adult beverages.

I scan the room for my husband. Nico is with his parents and a few cousins I’ve met before. I sneak up next to Nico, but the way Rino is standing, I can’t get completely into the circle. I awkwardly reach out and lace my fingers with Nico’s left hand, catching my finger prints on his ring. He looks over his shoulder at my touch and smiles, turning sideways to pull me in.

“Oh I’m sorry, y/n.” Rino says when he sees me, making even more room for me. Shit. I just wanted to let Nico know I was heading upstairs, not be consumed in another conversation. 

“It’s okay.” I give him a sweet smile and then drop my gaze to the floor. The group laughs at something Nico’s cousin is saying in Swiss German. I tilt my lips in acknowledgement, but it’s all I can muster right now. I turn to look into Nico’s face. He looks so happy and at ease. I feel shamefully guilty for wanting to leave, but I know if I stay here and continue to socialize, I’m going to start shutting down in overwhelm.

“Babe.” I whisper to him, hoping to only get his attention. It works. His brown eyes slide to me and his hand on my lower back pulls me tight as he leans his ear closer to me. “I’m going to go back to our room.” My voice stays at whisper level; he nods in acknowledgement.

“Are you okay?” He whispers against my ear after brushing our cheeks together.

“Yeah, I’m just… tired.” I say because I can’t think of what else to describe meeting every family member of your husband’s extended family in one night in which you can only communicate well with about four of them. Nico pulls slightly away and looks into my eyes. I know he can see what I mean. He gives me a reassuring, sweet kiss.

“Okay.” He turns so his back is blocking me from the group and he places a hand on my hip to nudge back. Then, he ushers me to leave without making a scene. My eyes flutter gratefully at him and I make a dash to leave without any more interruptions. As I leave, I can feel Nico’s eyes on me. Something about it feels possessive and my skin breaks out into goosebumps.

When I get to our room, I immediately begin to shed my clothes. Since leaving the loud space, my head has begun to pound in sync with my heartbeat at my temples. I know a nasty tension headache is coming for me. Despite cold showers being generally better for headaches, a warm one always helps ease mine away. I place my hands on the cool, porcelain sink and suck in a deep breath. The relief I feel at finally being alone consumes me. I am so tried and weirdly sore? The tension in my neck and shoulders needs to be rubbed away. I’m hopeful this shower will do the trick. 

I reach for the stainless steel knobs and turn the glass shower to a soothing heat. The water is hot, but not so hot that it will scald my skin. Instead, it will wrap around me like a warm blanket with the steam. I don’t bother to close the door to the bathroom, knowing there is no risk to unwanted eyes on me here. The Swiss sure know how to create an air of privacy and seclusion.

When I step into the shower, I sigh in happiness as the warm water begins to tap along my neck and shoulders. I dip my chin to rest almost against my chest and feel the releasing of my muscles. The steam swirls around my legs, wrapping them in it’s warmth. I close my eyes to allow the water to cascade over my face, taking my make up off with each drop. I already feel a little better. 

I grab my face wash and scrub at my eyes to get the remaining mascara off of them. The rest of my makeup washes away effortlessly with the soap. I hold my fingers to my temples and press into them for a count of ten, then release and feel the next edge of pain wash away with the water. I suck in another deep breath, holding it and then releasing it. I’m feeling better with each passing second.

I turn around, letting my brown hair fall down my back and soak in the stream of the shower head. My eyes are closed to avoid the water spray but I step slightly forward so I can open them to grab my shampoo. My gaze immediately lands on Nico. Despite his sudden appearance, I am not shocked to see him. He leans just inside the door of the bathroom by the light switches. His brown eyes are molten black and I can see his erection straining his gray shorts from here.

“You just going to watch from there?” I ask him as I squirt shampoo into my hand. A sexy, smug grin tilts his lips apart. I watch as his hands come to the buttons on his navy shirt as he pushes off from the wall.

“I only came up here to check on you. But then you lifted your arms to run through your hair and your tits bounced in a way that wouldn’t let me leave.” He says while he steps out of his pants and boxer briefs.

“If you weren’t so sexy, that might be a little creepy.” 

“There’s nothing creepy about my eyes on you.” Nico says as he steps into the shower with me. His hands come to my waist and he pulls my wet body to his. I’m slippery from the dripping trails of my shampoo. His hands glide across my sides, then up to soap up my breasts. His fingers thumb at my glistening nipples and a breathy gasp drops from my mouth when he twists.

Nico walks me back carefully so I’m back in the shower stream. His fingers come to my hair so he can massage the soap out of it. The act is intimate- a pleasurable and practical motion that has my pussy throbbing for him. I can feel his erection bouncing against my stomach with each one of his movements. It’s a teasing gesture that builds the passion between us. I reach my hand out to give him a firm squeeze at the base. He’s rock hard and his skin barely gives to my grip.

“Usually, I’m not a shower sex kind of girl.” I murmur. He knows this and we both agree that it messes with natural lubrication, but right now, the ache is so great between us, that it shouldn’t be an issue. “But that looks painful, so I’ll make an exception.” I turn, placing my palms flat against the shower wall. I extend my arms fully, walking Nico back so that I’m out of the shower stream and my hips press eagerly outwards, begging for him to fill me. He sighs happily, bringing his middle finger to my opening, testing me. What he finds there is warm and  thick readiness.

“On your toes.” He requests and I do so. Now, I’m at the perfect height for him to plunge into me. He refused to wait longer, thrusting inside of me in one steady push. My head immediately curls back between my shoulder blades. My mouth opens for a moment before I grit my teeth at how damn good he feels inside of me.

“I’m going to need your help to stay up.” I wheeze out as he starts to move. The pleasure is so intense right off the bat that my muscles keep melting into mush, making it hard to stay on my toes like he asked. His hands come to my hips and his grip is tight as he keeps me in place. I’m quivering already. I hear Nico laugh from behind me when he feels my muscles shaking. “Shut up.” I snap, causing him to snicker louder as I reach back and slap his forearm. I dig my nails in pointedly, “If you can laugh, you can fuck me harder.” 

“Baby!” He chokes out in surprise then lets out a groan. “Keep that up.”

His hips move faster. I press back hard against him so my face doesn’t go too far into the water. Nico took my challenge to heart. His thrusts are deep and my inner walls are clenching at him with each movement, begging him to stay inside of me. I tighten around him and he releases a deep, desperate moan. I can feel his abdomen tightening and I know we are ending this round together. I reach back to hold onto his hip, keeping us smashed together with each thrust. I pull my upper body a little further up and that creates the perfect angle for us both. I can feel my orgasm pulsing deep within me, pounding at my walls to be released. Nico removes his right hand from my hip and dances his fingers along my wet clit. 

“Yes!” I scream as I come crashing down. I dig my fingers into his hip and my entire body convulses. My muscles tug at him inside of me. Nico releases into me with the same fierceness, an extended moan falling from his plumped lips. When the last wave has rippled out of me, I dip my head forward into the shower stream, sucking in quick breaths to try and settle myself. My legs are shaking. My calves are screaming at me to get off my toes, but I can’t until Nico slips from me. “Babe, out. My legs… are cramping.”

“Sorry.” He murmurs, wrapping an arm around my stomach and pulling from me. His arm stays as I go back down onto flat feet. I lean back into his solid chest, the water from my hair dripping all over us. His other arm wraps around me to hold me tight, massaging my heavy breast. I run my fingers up the outsides of his arms and grip his large biceps to hang onto him. “I’m so glad I came up here.” He chuckles against the top of my head.

“Me too. My headache is gone.” I note. The afterglow has assaulted us in the shower and we are both lazily rubbing our fingers against each other’s wet skin. “Do they think you’re coming back?”

“I don’t know. And I really don’t care. I’m not leaving this room now.” I nod in understanding. “Did something happen down there?” He wonders. “You seemed fine and then you weren’t.”

“No.. I was just overwhelmed by meeting so many people.” I say to him, watching as flecks of water patter our reflection on the glass shower door. “Ended up getting a bad headache.”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize it was going to be a family reunion.” He mutters, shaking his head. “I would have prepared you for it if I knew.”

“It’s okay. This helped.” I grin, tilting my head back to look up at him. His lips find my temple and we stay like that for a moment, eyes closed in contentment. “Wanna wash my body?” I ask him, feeling that he has softened completely against my butt cheeks.

“You know where that is going to lead.”

“Yeah, kinda why I asked.” I turn to face him, tossing my arms around his neck. I bring his face down to mine, walking us back into the shower stream. The trails of water fly down our faces, melding in our mouths with each lap of our tongues against each other. Nico’s hands slide down to my ass, gripping tightly and smashing me to his chest. 

“You taste so fucking good. Wonder how you taste here.” He slides down my body, settling on his knees in the wet shower and shoving his tongue between my legs. My head knocks back, being sprayed by the warm shower head. My leg hooks over his shoulder and I settle my hand on top of his head for balance.

“Oh my god.” I moan to our hotel room.

Of all the Hischiers downstairs right now, I’m glad this one is mine.

[rgbtrio-once-in-awhile]

sleepover at slingshot's cafe :3 (ft. monoxide leak)

at the café, it was about closing time, Slingshot had flipped the sign, sent everyone else home, and was tidying up the place for when it opened for business again after the weekend.

what he didn't expect, was Skateboard bursting in, and calmly informing him that there was a monoxide leak in his apartment and he needed a place to skedaddle to in the meantime.

the café owner plopped the skater in one of the seats, clearing off the tables of their items and storing them in the back. keeping an ear out for anything he might say, while also being productive and cleaning up. Skateboard was making little pyramids out of the free toothpicks, Slingshot took away the chopsticks before he could ruin a set or two.

"so yea, i was just chilling, and turns out there was a carbon monoxide leak, and that's why my head was all dizzy."

Slingshot froze, staring at Skateboard, mouth agape. "the- i'm sorry what??"

"yeah!" Skateboard snickered, taking the situation much lighter than Slingshot, clearly. "pretty crazy not gonna lie, glad you don't mind me stayin here for now Sling! by the way, you uh, get a haircut recently?"

Slingshot couldn't tell if he should scold the other, or just bite his tongue for now. "right.. so, i'm sorry, how long was the leak going on? because if you've somehow acquired more brain damage than you probably already have from ramming into walls-"

"relax! my head's on right, trust me, Sling." Skateboard grinned, tapping his helmet adorned head with a smug look.

"uh huh.." Slingshot glanced to the side, flicking his tail, going to the other tables in the café and wiping them down rather than making a counterpoint. to which Skateboard crossed his arms and scoffed jokingly.

"so mean to me! tell me again why i cant just crash at bb's place?"

Slingshot huffed, she'd be getting her café closing duties done a lot faster if Skateboard wasn't there.

"because he's out at a gig tonight, and its/ rude/ to show up uninvited, cough cough."

Skateboard pouted, propping an elbow on the table, his jaw rested in his palm. even the free toothpicks weren't entertaining. and Slingshot seemed dedicated to not being fun. Skateboard then looked up, deciding to get up from the table, and as quietly as he could, tried sneaking toward the kitchen/backroom. however a small paper ball whacked him in the head.

"what- 'ey!!"

Slingshot twirled his namesake, before a smile broke onto his features. sighing and walking over to the red horned demon.

"you know what, I'll let you back here. just this once, cause otherwise you'll probably spontaneously combust. but im supervising you, got it?"

"aye aye, captain!" the skater spoke with a grin and a faux salute. dashing into the back as she chased after him, feline tail swishing.

Skateboard had grabbed some snacks, consisting of chips, a loaf of bread, two cookies, and a few of those funny marble melon and strawberry flavored sodas from Thieve's Den. going back to the main area. setting his treasure on the table, clapping his hands together and interlocking his digits. making a business proposition to Slingshot.

"alright, hear me out Sling. you let me make a lil' fort out here, by the time i gotta head out, I'll make it look good as new, and I'll wash a round of dishes, yeah?"

"..two rounds."

Skateboard would've huffed, or shown annoyance, but getting to build a fort in Slingshot's cafe was practically a dream. he stuck a hand out with a toothy grin, he was beaming.

"deal!! you wont regret it Slingyy!" Slingshot didn't even get to shake Skateboard's hand before he ran off, scouting the area.

using his street knowledge, Skateboard could spot his materials. if you were smart, like Skateboard was in his own opinion, anything could be a wall, or a roof, or a violation of some law the big purple one was mad about now.

Slingshot just shook her head, smiling. even if it was an absolute pain at times, she was a big fan of how energetic her friends were. it made things fun, and Slingshot, while she tried to be more mature, and succeeding in her opinion, she was silly, and liked running around, living in the moment. going in the back to get some unused fluffy curtains to contribute.

the skater demon was ecstatic when he found out the other was joining in making the fort, as a duo they made it even better. a stack of tables made up the lower walls, with chairs as the secondary walls. the feline demon grabbed an umbrella from the outside seating, brought it in, and used it for a roof.

laying out the fluffy curtains, as a more comfortable flooring inside. at that point they shed their shoes, not wanting to dirty the floor of their awesome fort.

Skateboard at some point, retrieved his snacks and put them in the corner he named 'the rad corner', of which Slingshot was banned from. Skateboard was in his corner, sitting criss cross apple sauce or whatever he called it. snickering as he typed out something on his phone. the blue demon was sitting with his legs folded under himself, chewing on a frosted cookie. eyes narrowed, he looked at the giggler in the corner, suddenly suspicious.

"..Skate. what are you up to?"

his head shot up, staring at Slingshot in silence. before a grin appeared on his face as he spoke in a sing-songy tone. "guess who's joining the forttt?"

Slingshot was quiet, then groaned, pinching the space in between his eyes. "no way, you're /not/ bringing the dude with the crystal i swear-"

Skateboard burst out into laughter, cutting off Slingshot. "oh, nah! you don't gotta worry about having a catfight. 'sides. he's out.. somewhere, probably campin out somewhere. trust me, i told him i was gonna crash with you and he dipped." he paused for dramatic effect, when Slingshot opened her mouth, confused about the silence, Skateboard spoke again super quickly. "it's our good, lovely pal, Boombox. his gig ended so he's comin over now."

Slingshot let a breath out, relieved. Boombox was honestly, a pretty pleasant guest wherever he was. made sure people have a good time, while also not being reckless in the name of 'do it for the vine' like… a certain demon.

"oh, actually. yeah. that's fine. he's coming in the fort then?"

the skater gave a shrug "i aint gonna make him sleep on the floor." he blinked then clarified. "the non-curtained floor! i mean."

"i figured."

Skateboard had popped his 2nd marble soda, Slingshot reminded herself to start charging him. when the front door was knocked on. the feline demon was about to get up, when the other had already gotten up and dashed at the door. a familiar DJ at the doorstep.

"yo! glad you made it B!" Skateboard grinned, offering a fistbump as Boombox laughed. fistbumping in return, and giving a nod of greetings. Boombox then looked behind, seeing Slingshot and giving her a wave.

"hey Sling! woah, this place looks completely different. going in a new business direction?" the green horned demon spoke, jokingly at the end as he looked at the big fort in the middle, and the big umbrella. it was pretty hard to miss after all.

Slingshot opened his mouth, but only silence came out as he looked at the fort and grinned sheepishly. "its uh, long story. anyways, you wanna come join us?" Slingshot shook his head, smiling and walking over to the other two, offering a fistbump to Boombox as well, tail curled upward.

"alright, fair enough. and of course i wanna join in dude! this seems like an awesome slumber party." Boombox looked around the main structure, eager to see the inside. his LED visor flashing to two upturned semi circles. "you two gotta show me around yeah?"

Skateboard giggled, his tail wagging back and forth, grabbing Boombox's hand and dragging him over to the entrance of the fort. to which Slingshot could be heard trailing behind, calling out about Boombox's shoes to be removed before he got drug in by a certain skater. to which the green horned demon did, of course.

Boombox's eyes widened, which they wouldn't be able to seeing not for the LED visor switching to star eyes. grinning as he was guided inside the fort, seeing the cushions scattered around, the fluffy curtain being used like carpeting. and of course, Skateboard's snack corner.

"woahh, you guys really outdid yourselves! i think this is probably the best fort i've seen. in a café nonetheless!" he spoke, walking around the medium sized area, it could comfortably fit the three of them easily. glancing at Skateboard's snack corner and pointing. "are these up for grabs? i could use a snack or two to be honest."

Skateboard dashed over, as Slingshot watched with an amused smirk close by. "woah woah, see, this is /the rad corner/! only super radical demons can enter and take from the stash!"

Boombox blinked with slight surprise, as Slingshot snickered and shook her head. "oh? then.. am i a 'super radical demon'?"

Skateboard narrowed his eyes, putting his hand on his own chin as he looked over Boombox, who stood there with a semi confused smile, unsure what was going on. but absolutely willing to go along with whatever bit Skateboard was partaking in. Skateboard took Boombox's arm, lifting it, then setting it down, then poking his horn, as if inspecting a car or something. before stepping back and smirking.

"hmmm.. i think.. you pass! you're rad enough to enter.. THE RAD CORNER!" Skateboard shouted with a grin, sticking his hand out for a highfive to which Boombox reciprocated with a hearty laugh.

"aw, hell yeah! thanks man."

"woww, so you let him in but not me? i'm totally- ..why am i arguing against this. i can literally get as much stuff from the back as i want." Slingshot crossed his arms, speaking teasingly. before mentally facepalming at engaging in Skateboard's antics. even if it was pretty fun.

Skateboard laughed a bit and started poking Slingshot's cheek repeatedly. "you're just mad you cant get in the rad corner 'cause youre not rad enoughh!"

Slingshot swatted his poking hand away, Boombox laughing at their interactions. Slingshot then grinned and spoke again. "oh yeah? well- hows this for not rad enough??"

before either demon could react, Slingshot had leaped at Skateboard, tackling him to the soft flooring. to which the skater yelped, thrashing and rolling around with the other. they were tussling around playfully, grinning as they both tried getting the upper hand on the other.

Boombox couldnt contain his laughter, watching them scuffle in the fort. until he saw them about to slam into the main support of the fort the large umbrella. to which he quickly crouched over them and tried to push them away from it. pushing Slingshot off, causing him to roll to the ground next to Skateboard, as Boombox hovered over the both of them.

Boombox had a warm look on his face, calming down from his laughter and gesturing to the umbrella pole, tapping it with his horn. "yeah, i know i didn't exactly make this, but i've got a feeling that's important?"

Slingshot and Skateboard blinked, looking at eachother. Slingshot sat up and rubbed the back of her neck. "yeahh, might be a /bit/ important that doesn't go down. and Boom? thanks for not letting us get totally crushed, by the way. that would've.. sucked a bit."

Skateboard shook his head, sitting up as well and smiling a bit sheepishly. "yeah, my bad, bro. ..anyways it was totally Sling's fault-" he got cut off by a smack to the back of the head. pouting as he shoved Slingshot's face.

the DJ simply rolled his eyes, even if it was concealed, his visor displaying down-turned semi circles. "i think you both kinda started that. anyways..!" Boombox grinned, the room a little quiet for his liking. "you guys mind if i play somethin? i'm thinking something more chill since its getting late out."

the two agreed, letting him know it was all good and to go ahead. they always liked when Boombox played music from his namesake, it was pleasant, and he always seemed to have others in mind when he played a song. perfectly tuned to their tastes, especially when playing music for people he was as close to as Slingshot and Skateboard.

Boombox started up a playlist he had pre-made, playing some relaxing, lofi hip-hop beats. Slingshot nodded her head a bit as the first track started. giving Boombox an approving look.

"oh yeah, nice. i like this one. thanks B." Slingshot spoke, flicking her tail and getting up, smirking at Skateboard and offering a paw to help him up. to which he rolled his eyes and took, standing up with her help.

Boombox gave a nod, feeling happy that they were happy, like a warmth being transferred to him. Slingshot then looked around a bit, then spoke. "you guys tired? i could head to sleep about now to be honest."

Skateboard shrugged, he wasn't exactly tired, but wouldn't mind getting comfortable. Boombox had a similar sentiment, though he himself was pretty tired. DJing was fun, and lively, but even he had to rest. and he was more than happy to.

Boombox responded verbally. "oh, sure. i'm good with wrapping things up. we sleeping in here?"

Slingshot smiled and nodded, tail flicking a bit. "yep! i mean, its gonna be the most comfortable spot in here. now cmon, we can all sleep right.. here." he pointed to a spot with the ground covered in cushions, with the fluffy curtain draped over. "hope you're all good sleeping in your clothes, i don't exactly have pajamas tucked away in the kitchen or anything."

Skateboard shook his head, but decided taking off a few things might be more comfortable. shedding his skating gear and putting it in the rad corner. "nah, its all good with me."

Boombox smiled, seeing Skateboard and deciding that was a good idea. shedding his various accessories, bracelets, tie, gloves, and such. setting the smaller stuff in his hat which he set in a corner. sitting down where they agreed to rest, unbuttoning the top button of his button-up shirt. not wanting to choke in his sleep or something somehow. and unclasping his visor from his horns. blinking and subconsciously squinting as he was met with a familiar, blurry world. setting his visor to the side somewhere safe, he sat in the middle and waited for the other two.

Slingshot snickered, seeing Boombox's squinted eyes and knowing he was seeing practically nothing. going over and sitting on Boombox's right. putting his head on the others shoulder. mumbling to him, yawning a bit. "they should call you Blindbox, dude."

Boombox had a flabbergasted expression on his face, before snickering and attempting to shove Slingshot, but missing the other's arm entirely. face heating up with embarrassment as his hand collided with air. put his face in his hands semi jokingly. "whatever! i don't need to be taking this.."

"there there.." Slingshot says, somewhat teasingly as he pats Boombox's back.

seconds later, someone collided quickly into Boombox. he flinched, looking up from his hands with a yelp as he felt Skateboard jump right next to him on the other side. "hey..!"

then the aforementioned demon threw his arms around Boombox and dragged him down to lay back on the cushions. to which Boombox let out an 'oof'. their horns bonking together, to which Skateboard murmured a sorry. but Boombox didn't mind, allowing himself to be maneuvered by the other as he laid back and relaxed, letting the gentle music run through his head.

Slingshot shuffled around a bit. curling up to Boombox's side, paw rested on the other's chest. tucking his fluffy tail across the DJs stomach. the fur tickling Skateboard's arm, who had them laid across Boombox's waist. Boombox let out a contented sigh, laying his head back and shutting his eyes, happy to be held there by the two. Skateboard had his face basically pressed face-down into Boombox's shoulder, not wanting to poke him with his horns.

Slingshot was close to falling asleep, but smirked, looking at Skateboard, then Boombox's closed eyes. and beginning to gently purr. a rumble coming from his throat as he snuggled close to the demon in the middle. Boombox's eyes opened and widened in surprise, looking at the blurry shape representing Slingshot and smiling softly. finding it adorable yet incredibly comforting.

"mmm.. that's awesome. goodnight guys. love you." Boombox spoke, looking up at the 'ceiling' of the fort. the warmth on either side of him taking a familiar red and blue color in his mind.

Skateboard spoke, word's muffled by Boombox's shoulder, not feeling like just simply lifting his head for some reason. "love ya too. you too Sling."

"..love you guys too. 'night." Slingshot spoke with a yawn, resting her head and shutting her eyes. the purring continuing as she fell asleep though.

Skateboard was the next asleep, with Boombox close behind. the three demons tangled up together as they slept peacefully within the walls of the fort, and also the walls of the café itself. they hardly stirred during the night, comfortable in eachother's hold.

[roetrolls]

Warnings: Um. Gore. Lol. Mainly the bone breaky type.

Mad Dash

This isn’t the first time Archie has woken up tied to a chair. He can feel his faculties returning, but his eyelids are slow on the uptake. Fighting the exhaustion in his limbs, the purpleblood rolls his shoulders and lets his head lull back, taking a deep breath as he tries to force his eyes open.

He’s remarkably calm for the situation, but then, he’s never been one to panic. He’s still waking up when a hand roots itself in his hair and holds his head in place, a blade coming to rest against his throat. That’ll perk a guy up.

“No funny business, got it? I see your eyes start glowing, you’re dead.” His assailant gives his head a jerk and Archie grunts in response.

“Fuck... Be gentle. M’tired.” He squints in the light of the room, grimacing slightly. Before him stands a goldblood, his god-awful haircut only slightly less notable than the pitch black pools where his eyes should be. “Hell d’you want?”

"I'll ask the questions," Somnia grits, his voice lending far more gravity to the situation than it frankly deserves. "What were you doing in my sister's room?"

"Your sister?" Archie slurs, brows inching together in confusion as he racks his foggy brain for context. It washes over him slowly, more a trickle than a pour, and he chews each word thoroughly as it leaves his mouth. "That's right. I'uz lookin' for your sister."

Somnia's empty eyes narrow. "Funny. I remember telling you not to do that."

"And I 'member tellin' you I'd do it anyways," he bites back, evidently more irritated by the rejection than he'd realized. Really though, what kind of brother turns away help when his sibling is in trouble?

The memory is coming into focus now, though not as sharply as he'd like. Weaver had finished Marrie's arm, right? Then it was back to his hunt for the missing godling.

He'd teleported without checking the destination. After half a week spent battering his powers against the strange psychic block that seemed to be blanketing her, Archie wasn't going to risk waiting when a clear vision of Nymira finally appeared before him.

And then he woke up here, lashed in this asshole's kitchen with a knife against his jugular.

What happened in the interim?

He doubts he'll get any answers from Somnia. Even without pupils, Archie can tell the goldblood is glaring daggers at him. Nothing but drama, these guys.

He can feel Somnia's tension plainly, carried through his hands and straight into the blade that threatens him, but the purpleblood is shockingly nonplussed. In fact, Archie is about as relaxed as Somnia is stiff, a fact that only loosens him further.

"First time?" He croons.

"What?"

"Look, we can take it slow if y'need to. Your first time holdin' a guy at knifepoint, I mean... It oughta be special."

Somnia stares at him, doing little to hide his disdain, and Archie offers a salacious grin in response.

"S'matter, baby? Not feelin' it?"

He wrinkles his nose, though he has little time to rebuke the taunt before another voice joins the fray. Dressed down more than Archie has ever seen him and looking exceedingly fed up with the commotion, Cylion steps from one of the adjoining bedrooms into the kitchen.

“Don’t answer him,” the winged troll grunts as he passes to the sink. “He’s just being annoying.”

“Plenty enough to go around.”

Cylion rolls his eyes and turns his back on them, Somnia’s interrogation now accompanied by the quiet clinking of dishes and steady pulse of water from the faucet. 

“Do you have to do that now?” Somnia huffs, angling his head towards Cylion.

“You put him in the kitchen. I’m going to use my kitchen.”

Archie studies Somnia with an intensity typically reserved for admiring his father’s craftsmanship, trying to assess where exactly those tarry eyes are pointed. Is he looking at Cylion or at him?  Could he get away with using his powers right now?

“Sounds like y’want me outta your hair,” Archie offers cheekily, watching for a shift in Somnia’s focus. What does that look like? “How ‘bout we pick this back up some other time?”

Cylion tosses a sneer over his shoulder. 

“Couldja least call off Ringo here? This whole hostage game seems a bit excessive.”

“Does it? You’re not exactly predictable.” He turns his attention back to the sink and shrugs. “For all we know, you were behind Nymira’s abduction in the first place.”

“Man, c’mon.”

“It happened outside your church, didn’t it?”

“You think I’m in league with Persep fuckin’ Lycaon? I ain’t that kind of crazy.”

Cylion’s wings twitch slightly, though he neglects to respond. Archie sighs, glancing between the brothers as he speaks.

“Look, I see the play. I get it. You got no clue what you’re gonna do with me, right? But your hands’re tied. You warned me once n’ I still came back. Can’t let your threat be empty, so now you gotta play warden.”

Both Somnia and Cylion seem to stall, the latter raising his head as if to listen for something and the former’s grip becoming less incensed. 

“Let’s just skip to the part where you tell me to fuck off n’ stay there, yeah?”

As if to punctuate––or perhaps mock––his mild attempts at diplomacy, a thud spills into the room from outside, soon accompanied by a quiet shuffling by the door. Archie realizes then, all too late, that he is not the one giving them pause.

Favion must crouch to enter the kitchen.

Once he is past the threshold, the hulking goldblood straightens his shoulders and grinds his jaw, eyes locking onto Archie as if he is something to be consumed. The clown shifts against his bindings as Favion lumbers closer, his sons watching on with shocked faces and bated breath.

Despite the danger he knows Favion to pose, Archie greets the man with a glib smile. “Aw, shucks, a petting zoo? You didn’t tell me this was a party!”

One massive, clawed hand stretches forward to grab Archie by the chin, fingers pressing into his jaw with frightening strength. When he opens his mouth to fire off another taunt, Favion’s hold grows tighter, sending a flash of white-hot pain searing through his skull.

He grits his teeth, bracing against the mounting pressure of Favion’s crushing grip. Then something crunches, audible to Archie from the inside out, and the taste of blood floods his mouth. 

Archie grunts, a lipless noise set somewhere between pain and surprise, breath rattling as he tongues the bone fragment now sticking through his inner cheek. Favion rumbles his pleasure, jaw clattering in a crude mimicry of the break.

“No jibes this time,” he gravels, tugging Archie from the chair by his shattered mandible. 

The transition is less than gentle. The violent motion sends a mouthful of blood washing back towards Archie’s throat, and the purpleblood suddenly finds himself choking on it as Favion begins to drag him from the room.

With a sputtering cough, he flings his roped-up hands towards the monster’s wrist, scrabbling to dig his nails into flesh in hopes of alleviating at least some of the pressure on his broken jaw. He gurgles around the blood still seeking entry into his lungs, heart pounding more from adrenaline than fear.

Favion carries on unbothered, tugging Archie to the door in slow, lumbering steps. Cylion and Somnia, on the other hand, appear absolutely horrified, both pale in the face and looking more than a little sick. He still can’t tell where exactly those eyes are looking, but Archie is almost certain Somnia meets his gaze before he is unceremoniously pulled from their view.

He doubts either of them will get much sleep.

---

Archie is no stranger to pain. Hell, he sometimes goes looking for it––getting his ass kicked might as well be one of his favorite pastimes.

This, though… 

He can’t exactly call this fun.

A brutal pop echoes through Favion’s dungeon of an abode, one more in the long list of sickening sounds to come from Archie’s body tonight. The pain in his jaw has ebbed somewhat at least, fading into background noise amongst the litany of other injuries he’s incurred. Favion holds him to the wall with a hand against his throat, at this point doing more to keep him standing than his own legs, and Archie wheezes softly around the blood that’s made a game of encroaching on his lungs.

The lack of air has made him lightheaded––too much so to focus––but he’s fairly certain he has not suffered any loss of consciousness while Favion has had his fun. None of his injuries seem a mystery to him, at least.

The one he’s just acquired is a freshly mangled arm, bones snapped at the elbow and shoulder wrenched from its socket. It’s a miracle the thing is still attached at all. Favion releases the limb to fall limply to his side, and Archie brays at the sudden motion. 

This is a bit much, even for him.

Even without the man’s nullifying psionics in the way, Archie doubts he’d be able to activate his powers in this state. He can barely picture where he is, let alone imagine where he wants to go.

Being unable to see his family doesn’t strike them from his thoughts, however.

Sorry, pops. I think I really fucked up this time.

A wet cough paints Favion’s wrist purple. The other hand aims above Archie’s line of sight, and soon even his inner monologue is silenced by the excruciating pressure that blossoms through his skull. He barely has time to guess what the man is doing before a snap fills the air, sharp and crisp, and Favion draws both arms back to admire the bloodied horn within his claws.

Archie slumps to the floor, groaning as his battered body folds in on itself. 

Looming over him and shrouded in darkness, Favion works his jaw until it forms a smile, the hunger in his eyes finally replaced with cool satisfaction. He ponders his prize a few moments longer, then shifts his gaze back to Archie, voice low.

“Run home, little Roatus.”

Archie’s eyes widen. He wastes no time in staggering to his feet and limping towards the stairs, breathing heavily as a trickle of blood begins to blot out the vision in his left eye. He clutches his shoulder and braces his back against the wall, practically floundering up the steps as Favion calls after him once more.

“Run home.”

---

There is no moonlight on the street. 

A thick blanket of clouds stamps out both moons, and Archie is left with only the soft glow of the streetlamps to guide him back.

Does he know his way?

Has he ever needed to?

When has Archie walked anywhere?

He teleports. He teleports ten, fifteen, twenty feet at a time, flashing forward only as far as his unmarred eye can see and stumbling into each leap like he expects to collapse. Blood pounds in his ears, faster than he’s ever felt it.

Dad.

He can feel his breath picking up as his surroundings become more and more familiar. 

I need you, dad.

He sees it. Just a few blocks away, standing regal and proud, Archie finally sees the church. A guttural cry rips itself from his throat, and he blips onwards in a rapid succession of bursts to fling himself up the steps to his home.

There, standing at the threshold to the House of Restoration, Archie grips the ornate handle and, for the first time in his life, stumbles through the door.

The next minute is a blur. Someone screams. Another races down the corridor shouting for the Restorer. Archie barely acknowledges the whirlwind around him as he blunders on, mind dazed and body beaten. 

Then Ailzea is in front of him, collecting Archie mid-collapse with worried hands and a hurriedness that marks yet another first for the night. 

A million apologies rush to Archie’s tongue, all of them dying on his broken lips.

Ailzea shushes him, cupping his battered face and smoothing his bloodied hair. Then, with a fervent kiss upon his forehead, Archie’s father snaps his neck.

[damnlance]

part 2 of my klance blurb but in lance’s pov. happy new year!

what a crazy fucking morning. scratch that. what a crazy fucking week. lance’s parents were on him about his stupid car, again. take it to the car wash, lance. get your tires rotated, lance. don’t forget your wax appointment, lance. at this point, they cared more about the car than they did their own son. lance had WAY better things to do than take care of some car for fucks sake.

he hated his car. it was a present for his twenty-third birthday three fucking years ago! lance was a little naive back then, thinking a fast, sexy bmw in his favorite color would get him laid every night. thank god he grew out of that phase after five months of nothing.

after his parents nagged him about the car, he was fed up. like actually the last straw. so he left that morning with hopes that when he returned home, the stupid car didn’t. he prayed on it. and although he was a little bit reckless and fucking dumb, his prayers were answered when he saw a big truck heading his way. he wasn’t proud of this in the slightest, but.. he needed this.

so he slows down, real slow. the highway is busy as everyone is on their way to work. it’s perfect. lance looks around for any cops because he’s about to ruin this car for good. he hopes he doesn’t die. he prays again for an angel to watch over him. then.. he becomes a maniac.

he swerves a little to the left. a car honks at him and he gets back into his lane. he goes a little to the right, heart beating fast in his chest. at times he slows down so much that he’s barely even driving and man does he feel dangerous!

maybe too dangerous.

okay, no, this is CRAZY!! he could get himself killed!! and probably injure the truck driver behind him! or others! yeah, this is fucking idiotic.

so lance changes his mind and.. goes with the flow of traffic. he starts driving like he means it. where is he going? he doesn’t know but maybe if there’s anything interesting near by, he’ll stop.

he decides to think of another way to get rid of this car. maybe he could leave the keys inside and go to the mall and just never come out. that could work. or maybe let some random person take it for a joyride and hope they take it forever. maybe. lance gets so lost in his thoughts that he misses the idiot car that cuts him off and break checks him. his foot becomes a little too heavy on the brakes and before he can get his bearings, BOOM!

he gets rear ended..

by the fucking truck.

lance’s heart beats a trillion times a minute because if anyone was watching or if the truck has a dash cam OORRR if the truck driver was a cop!? lance would be over.

he checks his body for any bruises or injuries. he’s good. his back will probably be sore but he’s so hopped up on adrenaline that he can’t focus on that right now. it’s clear that other cars have seen the accident and are moving out the way so they can merge over to the side of the road. lance goes and when he sees the truck following him, it becomes real what he did.

everything horribly wrong runs through his veins as he proceeds to get over onto the shoulder lane of the highway, the not-so-banged-up truck following close behind. lance takes a deep breath, then another one. he looks in his side mirror to see the truck driver getting out of the truck, looking visibly shaken up. guilt wracks lance’s brain as he takes another deep breath and gets out the car.

the first thing he notices is the bumper. totaled. that’s a good thing, his parents will be devastated. now, whether they’ll be devastated for the car or lance’s safety is questionable.

no it’s not. it’s the latter.

the next thing lance notices that gets his breath taken away is the sight of blood from the stranger. his heart begins to beat fast again as more horrible things run through his mind.

“holy crow!” he shouts, walking a little closer and staring the guy down. he can’t be much older than lance is. how did he become a truck driver???? aren’t there rules and regulations for that kind of thing?? nope, not important. “are you alright, man!?”

“m-me?” the dark haired guy answers and lance feels all the guilt twist in his gut. he clearly has whiplash. or.. something. but lance didn’t know that car was going to cut him off! if anything, he saved his own life. he’d rather be the rear-ended one than the rear-ender if that makes sense. lance moves even closer and continues to stare at the guy, searching his eyes for any signs of a concussion. he grips him by the shoulders and that’s when he sees the blood.

“oh, dude, you’re bleeding!” he exclaims, heart beating faster. he stares down this guy and for a second.. something happens.

it’s like time goes slow or something? it’s got to be the adrenaline in his body because the way this guy is staring at him is making lance feel kinda weird? he continues to examine his face and neck and eyes. no signs of whiplash but this guy is staring up at lance like he’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen. it has lance’s stomach flipping and makes the examination all the harder. but while he’s at it, lance takes a good look at him. he’s got clear pale skin, almost porcelain like, not a pimple, blemish, or whitehead in sight, and it makes lance wonder what his skincare routine is. thick and bushy eyebrows sit atop his eyes and when lance looks into those eyes, they’re dark. almost violet but not. maybe ultramarine? they’re mysterious yet.. mesmerizing. his eyes are kinda almond shaped and they’re the prettiest eyes he’s ever gazed upon, even with the light traces of eyeliner around them, making them more bold. his lashes are ten times prettier than lance’s own as they fawn out over and around his eyes. his black hair is styled into a messy mullet type thing and as much as lance doesn’t like mullets, it suits this guy fucking good. a little too good. lance inhales and gets a whiff of him, and he smells about as good as an abercrombie model would. fresh and earthy. like pine.

lance snaps out of his trance when the smell of blood hits his nose and tries to shake the guy a little because it looks like something is wrong. he’s got this empty look on his face and he hasn’t blinked for at least a minute.

“dude!” lance pinches his arm near his elbow and that gets him back.

“h-huh?” the guy says, blinking a few times.

“i said you’re bleeding!” lance reaches up to touch the dark haired man’s forehead, moving his long, soft shoulder length hair out of his face. lance touches his hairline with two fingers and holds them in the stranger’s eye view to show him the blood. that just about does it for him as he snaps out of whatever funk he was in. he jumps back a few feet, a light blush filling his pale cheeks. lance can’t help the small yet subtle smirk that breaks across his face.

“i-i’m sorry!” the stranger says, holding his arms around his body.. his beefy body.

the smirk on lance’s face doesn’t falter for a second. “for bleeding? yeah, dude, it’s cool.” he replies in a lighthearted tone. that gets the dark haired man squirming and damn near foaming at the mouth with words. lance can only stand there, finding his nervousness adorable. he jabbers about, mentioning things like car insurance, paying for the ‘horrible damages’ to lance’s bmw, and even going as far as to apologize for the blood on lance’s fingers.. from his forehead.

it’s cute. he’s cute.

“dude?” lance sends a charming wide smile his way. he shushes mr eyeliner and it actually works. his mouth zips tight into a line.

“hm..” his sexy adam’s apple bobs up then down. his dark eyes focused on lance’s own.

“i don’t care about the car.” lance admits, a little too nonchalantly. he watches as this hot ass guy’s mouth falls open like he’s just said the most out of pocket thing in the world. and he probably has. rich parents problems.

“you don’t!?” the dark haired man damn near yells. but lance smiles at him, moving a little closer.

“no. i only care about the gash in your head.” lance can’t help but chuckle because the look on this guy’s face is priceless. it’s like he’s expecting the absolute worst thing to happen. “it’s pretty deep. i can go with you to the hospital..”

lance wants to go with him. he doesn’t want to go home. he didn’t really have any plans today other than to get rid of the one thing that’s keeping him weirdly tethered to his parents’ love or something. and hey, it worked. car totaled.

“no!” the cute stranger suddenly yells and it makes lance flinch a little. he wasn’t expecting a no. he continues to stare at this nervous little angel until his babbling comes back. “i mean! y-your car!! i-! your car is-! i didn’t mean to..”

lance has never smiled this much in one day. especially lately. it feels nice to have his facial muscles hurt from smiling instead of frowning or.. crying. and almost like a lightbulb floating above his head, lance has an idea.

“sir?” he says, reaching for his violet-eyed angel’s tense shoulders. he can feel the exact moment when those strong shoulders slouch and go lax under his hands. “relax.”

lance feels his eyes gravitate towards those mysterious indigo ones and he’s instantly locked in. once again, time slows for him. he feels like his body is moving backwards while the rest of the world is moving forwards, kinda of like how he feels at the beach in between the sand and the waves. his heart begins it’s slow incline of pounding beneath his chest and it’s a new feeling for him. this beautiful stranger is making him feel things.

“o.. kay…” the long haired man nods, eyes never leaving lance’s own. it’s such an intense thing, staring into another person’s eyes and not feeling awkward or weird about it. lance catches the small blush start on the long haired man’s porcelain skin, filling his nose and out to his cheeks until he’s full on red. lance’s heart goes faster.

“you seem really distraught by the whole thing.” lance says, eyes quickly darting to his banged up car. “allow me to introduce myself. my name is lance.”

sexy mullet man only nods, mouth slightly open.

“and yours?” lance asks, eyes scanning over every ounce of that pretty face.

“k.. k-keith..” pretty dude stutters out.

keith! lance smiles, a chill of relief going down his spine. “it’s nice to meet you, keith.” he says, trying the name out on his tongue. he carefully moves his hands from the top of keith’s shoulders down to his forearms, experimentally giving them a gentle squeeze. lance inhales a little. god, he’s fucking ripped. he’s only about an inch or two shorter than lance, which doesn’t mean anything because lance is 6’0 tall, but the imagination is there. keith wears a black t-shirt with a black long sleeve underneath but even that’s not helping. keith has to have a six pack. he can’t have beefy arms like this with no six pack.

the literal ongoing traffic snaps lance out of his thoughts. right. side of the fucking road.

“mhm.” keith hums, batting those pretty eyes. lance curses himself. he removes his hands from keith’s body and lets out a small sigh. walking over to keith’s truck, he looks over to his car and examines the horrendous state it’s in. and a laugh churns in his gut.

“you know, you really did me a favor,” he sighs out, placing his hands on his hips. the soft material of his blue jeans underneath the palms of his hands does something to him. anger..?

“oh..” keith walks over to him a little hesitantly, looking from lance’s unrecognizable bmw to his giant truck. “how so?”

anger. lance feels anger. “i’ve been wanting to get rid of this car since i got it three years ago. my fancy rich parents got it for me for my twenty-third birthday and i’ve always hated it.”

he looks over and finds violet eyes. pale skin turning red. “i got into a fight with said parents about it a few days ago and kinda prayed that something bad would happen to it.” lance says, feeling selfish. he’s so happy about his car being crushed like a soda can that he hasn’t had any time to think about the fact that he could have been hurt. or worse. he doesn’t want to think about that. he crosses his arms over his chest and pushes the feeling down. “guess that makes you like my angel or something?” he flirts.

and it works because keith’s pink face goes a few shades darker and lance’s heart goes fast again, hooked on this feeling of making this total stranger squirm under his words. he smiles big again. “kidding.”

he walks to his car that’s about two feet away and opens the door. he reaches inside and grabs his backpack then reaches in the backseat to grab his fully packed duffle bag. he reaches into the cupholder and grabs his cinnamon flavored lip balm, tucking that into his pocket. he grabs his wallet, phone, and gum from inside the armrest and tucks those away into his pocket. he reaches over to open the glove compartment to grab all his little papers, knick-knacks, and emergency snacks, shoving those into his duffle bag. he grabs his keys and closes the door to his precious little car. he locks the door and gets a sick idea in his brain. lightbulb! he takes out his phone from his pocket and walks around to the back of his car. he focuses the camera onto the irreversibly dented backside of lance’s bmw and takes a pic. the anger is back and it’s going through his veins. he looks at the pic on his phone then goes to his messages.

‘sorry about your precious baby. i’m fine by the way.’

he nods his head and hits send.

“alright, sent.”

“what??” lance looks over to keith’s eyes growing wide. “you just-!”

“i just sent a pic to my annoying parents,” lance frowns, but a smile soon cracks through. “yeah, man.”

keith’s eyes bore into lance as lance smiles through his anger. he smiles like everything is okay. and it is because the way keith stares at him is enough to make lance believe that heaven is right here on earth and it’s standing in front of him, staring at him with intense dark eyes and a fucking mullet.

another idea. lance turns away to reach over and grab his license plate from the front of keith’s truck. he smiles at it in his hands. “this will make a great mantelpiece above my parent’s fireplace. what do you think?”

he turns to smile at keith, raising an eyebrow. keith returns the smile, something skittish reflecting in those hypnotic orbs known as his eyes.

“i.. think it’s badass.”

lance feels his blood boil in the pit of his stomach, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. he’s relieved to hear someone say anything other than negativity or he’s “crazy.” it ignites a spark in his veins. keith is the spark.

“that’s my boy.” lance hums, sounding crazy. but it’s okay. he’s pretty sure keith dies a little.

lance wants to go with him. he doesn’t want to go home. he doesn’t want to go with his friends. he doesn’t want to go anywhere but with a total stranger in his big ass truck. so lance does what he’s good at and talks his way into going with keith. in a short few minutes, lance is flashing his charm and charisma and climbing into the passenger seat of keith’s truck. first stop, the hospital. lance felt really bad about keith getting seriously hurt and offered to drive, but apparently there’s certain rules to driving a semi and keith couldn’t take that risk.

a quick pop by the hospital for keith’s stitches had lance happily holding keith’s (weirdly) gloved hand while an attractive male nurse fixed the wound in keith’s pretty forehead. it was interesting seeing him squirm when lance grabbed his hand, but not from the giant ass needle they put inside his head to numb the pain. lance was the one who almost hit the fucking floor! still feeling the guilt in his chest, lance used up some of his reserved charm for a certain dark haired man with magical eyes for a cute nurse at the front desk and got keith’s bill lowered to a decent price. then lance paid for it, despite keith’s protesting. it was the least he could do. he even went with keith to finish his delivery and got to see how that whole thing works.

but like all good things, their time had to come to an end. keith drove lance all the way home to his rich and snobby ass prison of a neighborhood. watching keith’s face go from neutral and nervous to awe at all of the fake ass, dusty porcelain water fountains around lance’s gated community was the funniest thing. if only keith knew the truth behind those rusty gates..

putting his truck in park, keith settles into his seat with a sigh. he reaches his hand up to his bandaged forehead and before he can scratch, lance reaches over and slaps his hand.

“no! don’t touch!” he yells. keith is caught off guard. he’s so cute. “you gotta let it heal properly.” doctors words. he’s supposed to get his stitches out in a few weeks and lance doesn’t want keith to have to go back before then.

“right.” keith replies, nodding. he’s nervous, lance notices, and can tell by the way he’s squirming and pinching at the tight leather gloves on his hands.

lance points to them. “aren’t you hot in those? it’s like eighty degrees out.”

“nah,” keith shrugs, focused on his hands. only his hands. “i pretty much lived in the desert, so im used to the heat.”

that has lance smiling for some reason. it’s such a random thing to say and yet it leaves lance wanting to know more.

“yeah,” lance shrugs, trying to hide a shit eating grin. “being used to the heat must be nice and all, considering how hot you are.” and he means it. keith is truly the hottest guy he’s seen in a while and he hopes it doesn’t weird keith out. lance cannot tell lies.

it seems to do something because keith is sitting up straighter and his exposed ear begins to change from a sparkly white to a rosy pink. lance can’t help but to smile. he’s been smiling so much all day that he’s not used to it. it’s been so long since he’s smiled genuinely and it kind of hurts. in a good way. also, just considering the day he’s had, he should be crying or screaming. he knows the second he leaves this truck, the second he leaves his gorgeous emo angel, it’s back to the real world. and the real world fucking sucks.

so he sucks up his pride and does what he’s been meaning to do all day. he lets out a shaky sigh and tries not to bite his tongue. “i apologize for being so forward but can i.. get your number?”

his heart beats like crazy. what if keith says no?? then what??

keith seems to cough a little, barely making eye contact. “m-my… number??”

lance is feeling nervous now. he nods. “yeah. like, your phone number..”

“.. why?” keith asks and lance all but melts in his seat. keith is so cute and innocent. his response should’ve scared lance to death but it only makes him smile, laughing a bit.

“so i can text you for your insurance information, duh?” he jokes, smirking as he waits for keith to laugh. but keith doesn’t. he sits there, body tensing in seconds and when lance realizes his sarcasm went over keith’s head and out the window, he rolls his eyes. “oh my god, so i can call you sometime!.. m-maybe..”

“me!? you want to call me?” keith’s eyes widen and he sounds so shocked like no one has ever asked for his number before. lance refuses to believe that.

instead, he nods and decides to be a little vulnerable, turning his body towards keith so he can see that yummy face of his. “yeah. is that.. cool?”

“yes!” keith blurts, nodding his head fast. lance really really thinks he’s so cute! “i mean.. sure.”

“cool.” lance lets out a nervous breath and bites on his lower lip. he grabs his phone and exchanges numbers with keith, going a little out of his way to get a picture of keith’s angel face as his contact photo, because there’s no way anyone would believe him when he tells them about the day he saw an actual angel. keith had the absolute nerve to try and hide that pretty face because of his patched up forehead and fucking messy hair. lance wanted to slap him. instead, he reassures him by commenting on how cute he looked and how he wanted to remember keith on this day the way he was right now.

“sexy, yet adorable.”

keith’s cheeks turned red and puffy again. fucking hell, his hotness is just a joke to him. does he even know??

when keith decided to take a picture too, lance only smiled, knowing that as long as he had keith in his eye’s view, he wouldn’t worry about how he looked. keith was the greatest thing he could look at and with a man like him, lance couldn’t bring himself to care about his own looks.

he smiled big and happy for the first time in weeks, months, because keith was staring so purely at him that it made his insides turn to mush. what a feeling. he missed feeling anything other than anger or unhappiness. keith made him feel like he could fly.

lance saved keith in his phone as the sexy yet adorable emo angel and although a long name, it suited him. he added a purple heart emoji for keith’s eyes and it was saved.

time was ticking. lance’s phone was secretly blowing up with texts from his family, from his parents, and he couldn’t hide forever. this was it. pulling his cinnamon lip balm free from his pocket, he opened keith’s gloved hand and placed the tasty balm inside and then leaned over and surprisingly kissed keith square on his cheek.

“thanks for the eventful day..”

he smiled before opening his door and hopping out of the truck with his things in hand. he walked over to the large gates of his neighborhood and put in the four digit PIN that resided with his family. as the gates opened slowly, he turned to keith, waving goodbye, before he began his walk down the hill and to the street of his parents’ home.

he thought about keith the entire way, hoping that he wasn’t too forward by asking for his number and kissing him. he needed a way to keep himself inside keith’s head so that he could see him again. he had to see him again. just thinking about it sent lance’s skin ablaze. how did his shitty day turn so lovesick puppy in the span of a few hours? how did keith do that?? lance’s stomach did that thing where it dropped to his ass and his heart sped up so fast, he felt as if he were going to pass out. his hands got sweaty again, so sweaty that he had to sling his bag over his shoulder because it was getting harder to hold. waves of uncertainty and exhilaration bounced around in his stomach and he had to put a hand over his chest to try and calm his arrhythmic heartbeat.

no.. no way? lance has to literally laugh at himself.

he can’t.. be in love with this total stranger?

can he???

to be continued..

part 1 part 3

[sapphicwhimsy]

Llama Pearl shoots Gem out of the sky by accident :D

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE

Hotguy was flying overhead again.

Of course he was. He had been taking shots at her all day, had hit her a few times as well. She had respawned at home for it, nearly lost all of her stuff in the mad dash back to Twinkly Trash…

And he apparently wasn't happy with killing her once today, because he was back. An arrow whizzed by her ear, nearly nicking it, and thwacked in the ground next to her.

She didn't think. She was annoyed, had been shot at too many times for it to be fun anymore, and she aimed at target overhead. She wasn't paying attention in her annoyance, only focusing to make sure she would hit.

And she did! She heard the ding and puffed up her chest with pride, watching as her target plummeted to the ground. She watched them trying to spread their wings, watched as the rocket slipped from their grip and their attempt turned into a piss poor glide, until…

Gem crashed in front of her, scraping herself along the ground with a pained cry that broke Pearl's heart.

"Oh! Gem!" she cried out, rushing to her side. Thankfully Gem hadn't respawned, had only left a streak in the grass from her impact, and didn't look like she had any broken bones. She hasn't killed her, but she could see the pain in her face and the tears in her eyes.

"Good morning to you too," Gem mumbled, scrubbing her cheek with the palm of her hand as she propped herself up with the other hand. "You could have just said you weren't in the mood…"

"I'm so sorry!" Pearl apologized, carefully helping Gem sit upright. She checked her over, mainly seeing that she looked bruised and dirty but no worse for wear. "I thought you were Scar! He's been hotguying me all day… Are you okay? Anything hurt?"

"Only my ego," Gem said with a sigh, leaning into Pearl as Pearl patted her down. "Can't believe you thought I was Scar…"

"I wasn't looking," she weakly explained, and moved to stand. She helped Gem to her feet and went to brush her off, though she knew her dress would need a thorough washing if it was to ever get those grass stains out. Oh, that would suck so much, maybe Gem would let her clean it for her… "What can I do to make it up to you?"

That… was maybe the wrong choice of words. Gem paused and seemed to think, staring over the build Pearl had been working on all day. Eventually, she turned her attention back to Pearl, a dangerous sparkle in her eyes.

"You can take me to dinner tonight."

"Wh-what?"

"You heard me! You can take me to dinner. Tonight at 8, we can go out and get something together."

Her brain seemed to fry at the implications, her ears pinning back and a blush coating her cheeks as Gem's words sunk in. She wanted to make it up to her, and Gem seemed so determined… It was cute. Gem was cute.

As far as repayment went, a date with Gem wasn't half bad.

"O-okay. It's a date."

"Good! I expect you to pick me up at 8." Gem readied herself, shaking her elytra free of debris. She readied herself to launch off again, and Pearl watched her with wide eyes, before something else seemed to occur to Gem. She stepped forward, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Just watch where you're shooting next time, Pearlie."

And then Gem was gone, leaving her standing next to the ruined grass trail, a dark blush on her cheeks.

She had a date…

[emberdew]

Be More Ghost Chapter 3: The Squip Pitch

Summary:

A Be More Chill AU where Danny gets a Super Quantum Intel Unit Processor (or Squip) to help him become cool and win over Valerie, but things don't really go as planned.

Masterpost | AO3 Link | Word Count: 1,207

If you take my advice and if you pay the listed price, well then you go from sad to interesting to hip! Yeah, your whole life will flip when you buy a Squip.

Danny made his way over to the bathroom and started to try scrubbing off the marker stains on his backpack. It wasn’t going well. He grimaced at the smudged black lines that just wouldn’t go away.

Boyfriends… What would it be like if Danny and Tucker did date? Did he even like Tucker like that? Danny wasn’t really sure. And obviously, Tucker couldn’t feel that way about Danny. They were totally just friends and it was probably better if they stayed that way. 

Yeah, Danny and Tucker were just good friends. Danny was crushing super hard on Valerie right now anyway, so even thinking about a relationship with Tucker wouldn’t make sense.

But it had been nice when Tucker hugged him earlier…

“Fenton! I told you not to wash that off!” 

Danny jolted and dropped his bag as his hands involuntarily turned intangible. He hadn’t noticed when Kwan had entered the bathroom.

Dreading confrontation, Danny started heading for a stall. Maybe he could just avoid Kwan-

“Sneaking into a stall to get away from me? That’s just pathetic.” Kwan sneered at him. 

Danny stilled and lowered his hand from where he was reaching for the stall door. He braced himself for whatever transphobic comment Kwan was probably going to say next, but instead he kept staring at Danny without saying anything.

Then, Kwan’s whole body twitched. The movement reminded Danny of when a ghost overshadowed a human. But Danny’s ghost sense hadn’t gone off, so Kwan couldn’t be overshadowed, right? 

Kwan started mumbling something and Danny just got more uncomfortable. What was going on? 

“I- um. I’m gonna go.” Danny turned toward the door.

“Wait.” Kwan stopped him. His voice had a weird intensity that again made Danny think that Kwan could be overshadowed. Danny tried to check Kwan’s eyes for evidence of overshadowing but his irises just looked like their normal brown- not glazed over or ghostly.

“Do you remember me in middle school?” 

Danny was sure he hadn’t met Kwan until freshman year at Casper High when he became best friends with Dash and started bullying Danny like all the other A-Listers. What kind of question was that, anyway?

“We didn’t go to the same middle school-” 

Kwan interrupted him by banging his fist against the bathroom wall. Danny took a step back in surprise.

“Yes, we did! You just didn’t notice me.” Kwan turned his head, looking away from him to stare at the bathroom wall. “Nobody did.”

Danny tilted his head as he eyed Kwan. They had gone to the same middle school? What was he getting at?

“In middle school, I was a loser just like you,” Kwan turned his head back to smile at Danny, “but then, I got a Squip.”

“You got a what?”

“A Squip. It’s some top-secret, can’t-even-look-it-up-on-the-internet shit.”

Danny was even more confused. He’d never heard of a Squip. He thought maybe Tucker would know; he would have to ask later. But why was Kwan telling him about this now?

“It’s from Japan. It’s a gray oblong pill- quantum nanotechnology CPU,” Kwan continued. “The quantum computer in the pill will travel through your blood until it implants in your brain and it tells you what to do.” Kwan pointed to his skull.

“It does what?” Danny raised an eyebrow. That was… pretty unbelievable.

“Shut up!” Kwan grabbed the front of his shirt and pinned him to the wall. Danny resisted the urge to turn intangible to get out of his grasp.

Danny cringed, expecting Kwan to punch him in the face. Instead, Kwan slowly brought him back to the ground and let go of his shirt. 

“My bad, old habits die hard.” Kwan dusted Danny’s sleeve. Danny bit back a joke about how he had half-died hard too.

“Anyways, I’m sorry for bullying you. I only did it ‘cause my Squip told me to.”

Danny didn’t think that was a very good apology but he wasn’t going to say anything.

“But now my Squip is saying you’re not a bad dude. You might want a Squip too.” Kwan looked thoughtful, which was not an expression Danny was used to seeing on the jock’s face.

“Are you offering me drugs?” Danny asked incredulously. This whole situation was just getting weirder and weirder. 

“This is better than drugs, Fenton.” Kwan smirked at him. “It’s a super advanced AI that you can hear in your mind. It helps you to act correctly. It’ll help you to be cool.” 

This was sounding too good to be true to Danny. But now Kwan had him hooked. He wanted to stay and hear him out.

“Picture this-” Kwan held his fingers out like a frame, “no one would care if you’re late. All the teachers would love you. You’d get to join the A-Listers for sure.” 

Danny remembered what it was like being an A-Lister when Kitty had overshadowed Paulina to make her date him. Life had been easier for him- not having to come up with explanations when getting back to class after a ghost fight, not having to do his homework, not getting bullied anymore. But he had missed Tucker and Sam… And hadn’t Kwan gotten kicked out of A-Listers?

“Wait, if this Squip thing is so great, how did you get dropped from A-Listers last year?”

“Oh, that was just a temporary setback.” Kwan waved the question away. “My Squip knew you wouldn’t be in my spot for long. And if you had your own Squip, we could both stay A-Listers this time.” 

“Okay…” Danny thought that explanation seemed reasonable.

“Look,” Kwan put his hand on Danny’s shoulder, “right now you’re helpless and almost hopeless. But getting a Squip is life-changing. You gotta buy one.”

Danny just nodded slowly.

“I have a hook-up who works at the Payless Shoes at the Amity Park Mall. Bring me six hundred on Monday and you’ll be set.” Kwan turned away from Danny and started heading toward the door.

“Six hundred dollars?” Danny gaped. How was he going to get that much money?

“It’s worth it, you’ll see.” Kwan pointed at him and left. 

Danny stood alone in the bathroom, mulling over the whole bizarre interaction. A piece of technology that could help him be cool? Could that really be real?

Maybe Kwan was just messing with him. 

Shaking his head, he picked up his backpack from where he had dropped it in the sink and inspected it. It seemed like “BOYF” was just going to be a permanent fixture now. Resigned, he turned the bag intangible to phase the water off it, shoved all his stuff back in it, and slung it around his back. He walked over to the nearest stall and reached for the ball of ghostly energy in his chest to trigger his transformation into Phantom. After the white rings swept over his body, he soared out of the school and started flying home.

The stuff Kwan had said, his pitch for that life-changing tech, kept replaying in the back of his mind the whole way back.