#and that was a really important moment to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mangionebabymama · 3 days ago

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Red-Handed — Luigi Mangione

Summary: When Luigi, this super sweet and also really hot-looking computer science major guy that you’ve become friends with while attending UPenn, calls you before the upcoming homecoming game because he has a favor to ask. It’s kind of important.

Word Count: 5.9k (forgive me)

Warnings: Sexual tension through the roof!

A/N: As promised, my gift to you all for reaching 200 followers—and somehow, we’re now at 300-something and counting. My first ever official piece of writing on here, based on this little thought I had. Any feedback is appreciated! I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for giving me the space to be here.

The phone vibrated in your hand, illuminating the screen with Luigi’s name. You paused for a moment, captivated by his contact photo—a candid, goofy selfie of him mid-laugh, dark curls playfully tumbling into his eyes. With a slight breath, you swiped across to answer, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Hey,” you said, keeping your tone light.

“Hey, uh… I need a favor.” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, but beneath it lay an unmistakable urgency that sent a flutter of unease through your stomach.

“What kind of favor?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

“Could you come by my dorm? Like… right now? It’s kinda important.”

You glanced at the clock on your wall. It was late morning, not far from a quarter until noon, giving you just enough time to come back and get ready before the upcoming football homecoming game against Brown, which you planned to attend with Luigi, which was going to kick off at one. “Sure,” you replied, forcing a casualness into your voice despite the way your pulse quickened. “I’ll be there in five.”

Luigi. What a name that was, and what a young man you had recently become acquainted with and knew quite well these past two months while starting your first-ever semester of college at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. He was a first-year student like you, who you happened to meet on the first day of school, stuck in the midst of finding the room number of your first class that afternoon, as he was finding himself doing the same. Oddly enough, your scheduled classes began at the same time, but they were across the hall from each other, which led the two of you to help one another look for the right place for your class location. Of course, that one chance meeting turned into a conversation; you and him introduced yourselves. Without one another, you wouldn’t have arrived on time for the first official day of your classes—the most stereotypical, unforgivably cringeworthy, yet frightening rookie mistake that any freshman could make on the first day, no less, at an Ivy League—and since then, your beginning college career hasn’t been the same with this newfound friendship with him.

He majored in Computer and Information Science, with a concentration in Artificial Intelligence, and even admitted to you that he possibly thought about adding a minor in Math. Luigi was undeniably, unquestionably brilliant, without a doubt. By sharing conversations with him, you learned that he was born and raised in a suburb of Baltimore, attended an all-boys school where he was the valedictorian of his graduating class, and decided to learn how to code simply because he loved playing independent games and wanted to create his own. Jokingly considering, he seemed like any other nerd that you would come across at an Ivy League, one who was enthusiastic about computers and would remind you of that about themselves every five seconds.

Luigi was different, though. Out of all of the acquaintances you come to know and friends you made and connected with so far, at Penn, he was just… unforgettably special. Luigi was one of the sweetest people you had ever met and, in all likelihood, would do anything for you at any given time of the day, whatever might bring him your way, because his compassion for people was like no other. He cared about you; he cared for you. It looked as though one could take a step further and imagine him as that dream guy you find by chance once or twice in your lifetime, that one that exclusively seems too good to be true, even if he only lives in the thick of your dreams. He was personable, relatable, and genuine—despite his larger-than-life personality, you never forced yourself to belittle or magnify your authenticity in front of him. He liked you, for you, and you liked him, one and the same.

It also doesn’t help when he’s incredibly, extremely good-looking, in the face of it all and your friendship. He was beautiful, to say the least.

When you knocked on his door, it swung open almost instantaneously, revealing him in all his boyish glory—shirtless, his short, thick brown curls disheveled and tousled as if he had just woken up, standing in an old pair of basketball shorts. He held a big plastic bottle of bright red paint in one hand, and for a split second, your breath caught in your throat.

“Hi,” he said, a playful grin spreading across his face, his bent arm leaning against the doorway, that charmingly wicked trademark of a smile of his always managing to make your heart flutter.

“Hi,” you managed to reply, your gaze momentarily drifting down his torso before snapping back to meet his eyes. It wasn’t that you struggled to keep your eyes off of his V-line, you know, that visible, muscular line prominently at the base of his abdomen; it was that his V-line that couldn’t keep its eyes off of you—that is, if it was possible that the chiseled intersection of two of his abdominal muscles could have any. Why did he have to look so good? His chest was lean yet broad and sculpted, skin smooth and inviting, each contour begging for touch. And those arms—strong enough to embrace you tightly, yet soft enough, lithe and limber- make you wish you could linger in his warmth forever.

“So…” he said, lifting the paint bottle and giving it a gentle shake. The slosh of the liquid inside echoed in the small space. “I need some help.”

“With… painting yourself red?” you asked, half-teasing yet thoroughly intrigued.

He chuckled, running a hand through his messy curls, adding to the casual charm he exuded. “Yeah. It’s for the game, and I’m part of the stunt in the student section where we’re supposed to be, like, human canvases or something. Some of the guys and I decided that we’re all gonna spell out Penn on our chests, and I’m the designated one with the letter P. Everyone else bailed last minute, so…” He trailed off, shrugging as if the situation were nothing to worry about.

You raised an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and disbelief crossing your face. “And you thought of me because…?”

“Because you’re creative.” He paused, a flicker of something deeper flashing in his gaze as he locked onto yours. “And patient. And, uh…” The room seemed to shrink around you, his eyes holding a warmth that made your heart race. “I trust you.”

The way he said those words sent a shiver down your spine, leaving your throat dry and your chest tight, as if he was confessing something deeper, unspoken.

“Okay,” you replied, stepping into the room, the soft click of the door echoing in the still air. “But if I get paint on my clothes, you’re buying me new ones and food at the next football game.”

A slow grin spread across his face, illuminating his features. He handed you the paint bottle, its synthetic coolness contrasting with the warmth of his palm, and a brush that felt solid in your fingers. “Deal,” he said, his enthusiasm infectious.

For a moment, you found yourself transfixed, taking in the details of him standing there. Up close, the faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin beneath the soft light of the fluorescent ceiling, and you could see the subtle movements of his well-defined muscles as he shifted, not to mention a couple more beauty marks stippled across the portrait of his chest. The tension in the air was palpable, your fingers twitching lightly around the brush handle.

“So, uh… how do you want to do this?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest, the boggling in your mind, and the rushing in your veins.

“However you want,” he replied, leaning casually against the edge of his desk, his tone playful yet inviting. “Just… cover me. Slather it all over my body. Everywhere.”

His words hung in the air, thick with unspoken promise, setting the stage for whatever came next.

Everywhere.

Your heart raced as you dipped the brush into the vibrant paint, swirling it around until the bristles were thoroughly saturated with color. Stepping closer, you could feel the air between you thrum with electricity, thick with unspoken tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

As the brush first glided across his chest, he inhaled sharply, the sound betraying a mixture of surprise and anticipation. You glanced up to catch his expression, noting how his jaw tightened with each smearing stroke.

“Cold?” you asked, attempting to lighten the charged atmosphere, your voice soft and teasing.

“A little,” he confessed, his tone rough and edged with breathlessness. “But… keep going.”

Encouraged, you continued, dragging the brush slowly across his collarbone as the bristles danced against his skin before trailing down the center of his chest. The paint spread in thick, expressive streaks, each line forming a vivid contrast against his skin as though it were a second layer of himself. With every deliberate stroke, you could see his body respond; his breathing deepened, his chest rising and falling rhythmically in sync with your movements.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmured, his eyes growing heavy-lidded, watching you intently as if you were creating a masterpiece just for him.

“Thanks,” you said, your own voice barely above a whisper. You circled the brush around one of his nipples, watching as it hardened under the chill of the paint. His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might say something—maybe about how you made his nipple so erect and taut—but he stayed silent, his gaze locked on yours.

Your hands trembled slightly as you moved lower, painting over his abs. His stomach tensed at the first touch, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Ticklish?”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning despite himself.

You kept going, alternating between broad strokes and careful detailing. By the time you reached his hips, the tension in the room was unbearable. He hadn’t moved an inch, but you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint citrus scent of his cologne and the male pheromones mixed with the sharp tang of paint.

“Turn around,” you said softly.

He obeyed without hesitation, presenting his back to you. The muscles rippled beneath his skin as he shifted, and you couldn’t resist tracing the curve of his spine with the tip of the brush. He shuddered, his shoulders stiffening.

“Sorry,” you murmured, though you weren’t entirely sure what you were apologizing for.

“Don’t be,” he said, his voice thick. “It feels… nice. It’s kinda relaxing.”

You painted his shoulders next, working your way down to the small of his back. When your brush grazed the waistband of his shorts, he inhaled sharply, his hands gripping the edge of the desk.

“Almost done,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Your free hand hovered over his hip, wanting to steady yourself but unsure if you should touch him. Before you could decide, he turned suddenly, catching your wrist, minor, in his rather large grasp.

“Wait,” he said, his grip firm but not unkind.

You froze, staring up at him. His eyes were dark, intense, searching yours for something.

“Is this… weird for you?” he asked, his thumb brushing over your pulse point.

“Weird?” you echoed, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“Yeah. Like… inappropriate or whatever.”

You swallowed hard. “No. It’s… fine.”

He didn’t let go of your wrist, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Good. Because I don’t want to stop.”

Neither did you.

His other hand came up to cup your cheek, his palm, big and warm, against your skin. The paintbrush slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor, but neither of you noticed.

“Luigi…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but he silenced you with a kiss that surprised you with its intensity. It was soft at first, a gentle brush of his lips against yours, tentative as if he were gauging your reaction, testing the waters of uncharted territory. But as you leaned into him, a rush of warmth blossomed in your chest, his restraint shattered like glass.

Luigi pulled you closer, his hands moving with confidence, sending shivers down your spine. One hand slipped around your waist, firm yet tender, while the other found its way into your hair, fingers weaving through the strands as though anchoring you to him. His mouth opened against yours, coaxing you deeper into the kiss and inviting you to explore the depths of this newfound passion. You couldn’t help but melt against him, surrendering to the moment, every nervous thought slipping away.

His taste was intoxicating, a perfect blend of mint and rich chocolate, with an underlying hint of something uniquely him—a flavor that would linger in your memory long after this moment. You craved more, an insatiable need building within you; you felt as if you could lose yourself in this kiss, in this connection, wanting to delve even deeper into the abyss of desire that had suddenly enveloped you both. The paint on his chest smeared against your shirt as he pressed you against the wall, his body pinning yours. His lips left yours to trail down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot.

You shook your head, your fingers tightening in his curls. “Don’t.”

The moment his lips left your neck, a rush of boldness surged through you. His chest was still slick with paint, red streaks sliding down his abdomen as he pulled back slightly, his dark curls damp with sweat, and his breath ragged. You didn’t hesitate.

With a sudden push, you reversed your position, guiding Luigi backward until the back of his knees hit the edge of his twin bed. He laughed, surprised, his lopsided grin spreading wide as he fell onto the mattress, the springs creaking softly beneath him. God, he looked good like this—sprawled out, his skin glistening with streaks of crimson, his eyes dark with desire and amusement, his body raging with excitement.

You climbed onto the bed, straddling him without breaking eye contact. His hands immediately went to your hips, fingers digging lightly into the fabric of your jeans, but you shook your head, placing your hands over his and guiding them up to rest on the pillow above his head. “Stay,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing. His grin softened into something more heated, his lips parting slightly as he obeyed.

Your fingers glided along his arms, leaving delicate trails of vivid red paint on his otherwise smooth skin. A shiver coursed through his body at your touch, and you could see him struggle to catch his breath as you leaned closer, your lips just a whisper away from his ear. “You’re such a mess,” you murmured, the warmth of your breath sending a thrill through him. “Let me fix that.”

You reached for the brush you had set aside earlier, dipping it into the glossy bottle of paint resting beside the bed. The soft bristles glided over his skin as you began to paint, tracing the contours of his collarbone and following the natural line down to the center of his chest. He inhaled sharply, muscles tightening under your careful strokes, the heat of your fingers igniting tension between you. “Are you trying to torture me?” he teased, though the strain in his voice betrayed the pleasure he was losing himself in.

“Maybe,” you said, swirling the brush in slow, sickening circles over his stomach. The paint caught the light, wet and vivid against his skin, and you couldn’t resist leaning down to blow gently on it, watching how his abdominal muscles tightened, just about seizing in response. His hands twitched as if they wanted to move, but he kept them where you’d placed them, his trust in you evident in how he stayed perfectly still.

You set the brush aside, opting instead to use your hands. The cool paint squelched between your fingers as you smoothed it over his shoulders and arms. His biceps flexed under your palms, and you could feel the tension coiled in his body, the way he held himself back. It only made you want to push him further and subdue him with your power.

Leaning down, you pressed your lips to the hollow of his throat, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin mingling with the sharp tang of the paint. His pulse raced beneath your mouth, and you smiled against him, dragging your lips lower, following the trail of red you’d applied paint to. Your hands slid up his chest, the paint making your movements slick and deliberate, and when your thumb brushed over one of his nipples, he let out a quiet groan.

“You’re killing me,” Luigi muttered, his voice rough.

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your lips curving into a smirk. “Good.” Reaching for the bottle of paint again, you dipped two fingers into the thick liquid, letting it drip slowly down his sternum. He watched, spellbound and stunned, as you followed the droplets with your tongue. The taste was strange but not unpleasant, and the sensation was clearly driving him crazy.

His hips bucked slightly beneath you, and you felt the evidence of his arousal pressing against you through his shorts. A thrill shot through you at the realization, but you weren’t ready to give him what he wanted just yet. Instead, you sat back, admiring your work—his chest and torso now coated in red, the paint clinging to every ridge and dip of muscle. Your hands rested on his thighs, shifting closer so you could lean over him, your faces inches apart.

“How’s that for school spirit?” you asked, your tone teasing but your eyes serious as they searched his.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Perfect,” he said, his hands moving from the pillow to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, and you realized too late that the paint had transferred to your skin. “But I think you missed a spot.”

Before you could react, he flipped you onto your back, his body covering yours as he kissed you deeply. The paint on his chest pressed against your shirt, soaking through the fabric and cooling against your skin. His hands roamed over your body, leaving streaks of red wherever they touched, and when he pulled back, his eyes were wild with hunger.

“Now,” he said, his voice a low growl, “it’s my turn.” He reached for the brush, dipping it into the pot with deliberate slowness before trailing it down the side of your neck. The bristles tickled, the paint cool and wet, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through you.

“Lu,” you breathed, unable to let out the remaining syllables of his name, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continued to paint you, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he worked, his breath hot and uneven. “Trust me.”

And you did.

Luigi’s brush paused mid-stroke, hovering just above the dip of your collarbone. His eyes met yours, dark and searching, as if he was trying to read the unspoken words lingering between you. The air between you felt charged, heavy with something neither of you had dared name—until now.

“I think…” he started, his voice low and hesitant. The playful edge from before was replaced with something more profound, deeper, and more vulnerable. His fingers tightened slightly around the brush, the paint dripping onto his hand. “I think I’ve been waiting for this. For you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking into your skin like the red paint he’d been so carefully applying. You could feel the warmth of his body, the way his chest rose and fell in time with yours. His free hand reached up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips.

“Open your mouth,” he murmured, his tone soft but commanding. You hesitated for a split second, but the intensity in his eyes made it impossible to refuse. Slowly, you parted your lips, and he dipped the brush into the paint again, swirling it gently across the curve of your bottom lip.

The sensation was remarkable, both cool and electric. The bristles teasing your sensitive skin as he worked with precision made your stomach flutter. He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours as he focused on the task, his face just inches from yours.

“Perfect,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he pulled the brush away, leaving your lips a deep, bold, vivid red. His eyes lingered on them for a moment, his gaze almost reverent, before he finally looked up at you again.

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw, desperate, and full of all the things he hadn’t said yet. His hand slid into your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue swept across your painted lips, the taste of the paint mixing with the heat of his kiss.

You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, the paint on your fingers smearing against his skin as you gripped him tightly. His other hand trailed down your side, leaving a streak of red in its wake, before settling on your hip, pulling you even closer.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless. Your lips were still tingling, red hot, and burning like fire from the intensity of the kiss. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, as he tried to steady his breathing.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “I just… I didn’t know how to tell you... how to ask for this. For you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, the vulnerability in his voice making something inside you ache. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

“Luigi…” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off.

“Don’t,” he said softly, his eyes opening to meet yours. “Don’t say anything. Just… let me have this. Let me have you. Even if it’s just for now.”

There was a plea in his voice, a fear of rejection that made your chest tighten. You could discern how he was holding his breath, waiting for your response; his body tensed so that he was ready to pull away if you hesitated.

But you didn’t hesitate.

Instead, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke more than words ever could. His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you again, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

The paint between you became a blur, streaks of red mixing with the heat of your movements as you lost yourselves in each other. His fingers trailed down your back, leaving a trail of paint that felt like fire against your skin. You could feel his trembling, the intensity of his emotions spilling over with every touch, every kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, his voice breaking with emotion. “I don’t think you even realize it.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you pulled him closer, your hands tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss. The room around you faded away, leaving nothing but the two of you, the sound of your breathing, and the feel of his body pressed against yours.

He broke the kiss again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he looked at you, his eyes dark with need. “Tell me you want this,” he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me you want me.”

The vulnerability in his voice tore at something inside you, and you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I want you,” you longed for him, your voice steady despite the thunderstorm of emotions, a natural disaster of your own aches and needs gyrating inside you. “I’ve wanted you for longer than I care to admit.”

A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both sweet and possessive. “Good,” he murmured against your lips. “Because I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”

His hands slid down to the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against your skin as he hesitated for the present. His eyes discovered yours in a silent question. You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as he slowly lifted the fabric of your top over your head. His eyes traveled over your figure with a hunger that made your heart race.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his hands trailing up your sides, leaving streaks of red paint in their wake. “So fucking perfect.”

You reached for him, your fingers brushing against the paint on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart racing beneath your touch. “So are you,” you murmured, your voice soft but full of emotion.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the button of your jeans, his eyes never leaving yours. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice rough with need. “I don’t want to rush you. I just… I need you.”

You nodded, your hands sliding into his hair as you pulled him in for another kiss, your lips moving against his in a way that left no room for doubt. “I need you too,” you whispered against his lips. “More than anything.”

His fingers fumbled with the button, and his movements were hurried but gentle as he pushed your pants down your hips, his hands shaking slightly as he touched you. You could feel how he was holding back and moving heaven and earth to keep himself in control, having the decently respectable audacity for a hot-blooded young man, but the look in his eyes told you he was close to losing it.

“Luigi,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pressed yourself against him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “Please.”

That was all it took. Luigi let out a low groan, his hands tightening around your hips as he pulled you closer, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was nothing short of desperate. The world around you disappeared, leaving nothing but the two of you, the panting of your inhales and exhales, and the feel of his body pressed against yours.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with need as he looked at you, his hands trembling slightly as he touched you. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “I don’t think I ever will.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you looked into his eyes. “I’m yours,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “All of me.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hands tightening around your hips as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both sweet and possessive. “And I’m yours,” he murmured against your lips. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

The room was a blur of red and heat, the air thick with the scent of paint and citrus, mingling with the sound of your racing hearts. Luigi’s hands were still on your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin as if he couldn’t bear to let go. His lips were still against yours, but the urgency had softened, replaced by a lingering need that neither of you seemed ready to break.

But reality was creeping in, insistent and unyielding—the game. The football game was starting soon, and you both knew it. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your breath mingling with his as you spoke, your voice trembling slightly. “Luigi… the game.”

He groaned, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if he could allow the universe and everything consisting of it to stop spinning for just a little longer. “I know,” he whispered, his voice strained. “I know, but…”

His hands glided up your sides, leaving vivid streaks of crimson paint in their wake. Each touch ignited a shiver that danced along your skin. The sensation was electric, a pulse of warmth contrasting against the coolness of the paint, flooding your senses with intensity. “Just a little longer,” he murmured, his lips grazing yours once more, soft and filled with yearning. “Please.”

You yearned to say yes, every fiber of your humane being just aching to submit to the moment. Yet the rational part of your mind screamed in protest, a reminder of the ticking clock, of the urgency for him to be ready and for you to be too. With a soft sigh, your fingers slid up his chest, the paint still slightly tacky under your touch, a reminder of the chaos of creativity that surrounded you both. “We have to finish painting you,” you whispered, your voice barely cutting through the charged air, hushed but firm. “And we have to clean up.”

He let out a low, frustrated growl, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped back slightly, his hands reluctantly leaving your body as he reached for the brush again. Though dark and intense, his eyes never left yours, filled with a hunger that made your stomach flip.

You took the brush from him, your fingers brushing against his in a way that sent a jolt of electricity through both of you. You could feel the tension between you, thick and unrelenting, but you forced yourself to focus. Get this done. Get him ready.

You dipped the brush into the paint, the bright red liquid glistening in the dim light of the room. You started on his chest, sweeping the brush over his skin in long, even strokes. His skin was warm under your touch, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. You tried to keep your movements brisk and efficient, but it was hard when he stood so close, his breath hitching every time the brush touched his skin.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. His hands were clenched at his sides, the muscles in his arms tensing as he fought the urge to reach for you.

“I’m trying to finish,” you replied, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound firm. You moved the brush lower, painting over his abs, the muscles twitching under your touch. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and it was intoxicating.

His breath hitched again, and you saw his eyes dark with need. “You’re not making this easy,” he said, his voice rough.

“Neither are you,” you shot back, your voice shaky. You struggled to focus, and your desire made it hard to think straight. You just wanted to drop the brush and kiss him again, to feel his hands on your body, to lose yourself in him completely.

But you couldn’t. You had to finish, and you still had to return home to get yourself ready.

You moved the brush lower still, painting over his hips. The muscles in his thighs tensed as he fought to stay still. You could see the effort it was taking him: his jaw clenched, his hands trembling at his sides.

“Almost done,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You were both on edge, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating.

“Good,” he muttered, his voice strained. “Because I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

You could feel the heat of his gaze on you as you finished painting him, the brush moving slower than it should have as you tried to prolong the moment. But eventually, it was done. You stepped back slightly, your eyes scanning his body to ensure you hadn’t missed any spots.

“You’re all done,” you said, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound calm.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands finally moving, reaching for you. “Now you,” he said, his voice rough with need.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the brush from your hand, dipping it into the paint before turning it on you. He started on your chest, the brush gliding over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. You gasped at the sensation, the paint's coolness contrasting with his touch's heat.

“Lui…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his eyes dark with desire as he continued painting you. His touch was gentle but firm, the brush moving over your skin in a way that made your whole body tremble.

You could feel your resolve crumbling. The need to touch and feel him against you overwhelmed you. You reached for him, your fingers brushing against his chest, the paint still slightly tacky under your touch.

He let out a low groan, his hands tightening on the brush as he fought to stay in control. “You’re making this really hard,” he muttered, his voice strained.

“Good,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a sweet, desperate kiss.

He let out a low growl, his hands dropping the brush as he pulled you closer, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was nothing short of primal. The world around you disappeared, leaving nothing but the two of you, the sound of your breathing, and the feel of his body pressed against yours.

“We’re going to be so late,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound firm.

“I don’t care,” he replied, his voice rough with need. His hands were everywhere, touching you, caressing you, leaving streaks of red paint in their wake.

You could feel yourself giving in, your body responding to his touch in ways that made it hard to think and breathe. “Lu…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His lips brushed against yours again, soft and pleading. “Just a little longer,” he murmured, his voice filled with need. “Please.”

You hesitated, the rational part of your brain screaming at you to stop, pull away, and get ready for the game. But the look in his eyes, the way his hands were trembling as he touched you, the way his body was pressed against yours… it was too much.

“Just a little longer,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you gave in, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that was nothing short of desperate.

His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that sent sparks of heat through your body. You could feel the paint smearing between you, but you didn’t care.

All you cared about was him, how he felt against you, and how he made you think.

If you were caught red-handed, at this instant, for what you and he brought about, so be it.

After all, it can’t be considered wrong if it feels right.

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ylangelegy · 2 days ago

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like a python 🧊 jihoon x reader.

jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him.

★ rockstar!jihoon x reader. ★ word count: 2.5k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol. jihoon-centric, childhood friends, yearning... so much yearning, young k makes a cameo, jihoon is a bit lame (affectionately), cussing/swearing. mentions of alcohol, food. ★ footnotes: got7 dropped winter heptagon and it's all i can think about. wrote this in one sitting as a show of gratitude to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for introducing me to these boys. haven't done a song fic in a hot minute, but for lee jihoon and got7? anything. shoutout to igot7_MarKP on twitter for the english translation of the lyrics.

🎧 now playing: python by got7 — i know i'm an icon, watch me with the lights on; but she got a hold on me like a python.

▸ MUSIC IS HOW I'VE BEEN VENTING NOW... OVERSEAS, I'M SELLING OUT.

It’s pretty surreal to Jihoon, being in a room with some of the biggest names in rock.

In the past hour alone, he’s met Alex Turner, Dave Grohl, and— holy shit, is that Hayley Williams? Jihoon is getting dizzy, and it’s not only because of all the secondhand smoke he’s inhaled since he got to the Rolling Stones afterparty.

The best of the best. That’s what the invitation had boasted. It was the scene’s most coveted event, and Jihoon somehow made it to the guest list.

Unbidden, your voice nags from somewhere in the back of his mind. You’re the best, Jihoon-ah.

He shakes his head, like he’s physically trying to get away from the thought of you. This had been happening a lot more as of late. Fleeting moments wherein he’d imagine how you would react, what you’d say.

But Jihoon always catches himself. He snaps himself out of it and goes back to recording, goes back to performing.

God, he needs to get it together. He’s starting to regret saying ‘no’ to the cigarette Ely Buendia was offering him earlier.

(In Jihoon’s defense, he didn’t smoke often. He didn’t want to fuck up his vocal chords. He had a one-cigarette-a-year rule, and he wasn’t about to use it now. It was only January; who knew what else the year would throw him?)

Jihoon is contemplating some other vice— maybe he can go grab another beer— when he feels a tap on his shoulder. At the sight of who came up to him, Jihoon immediately folds into a bow.

“There’s no need for that,” Younghyun says, equal parts amused and embarrassed. “We’re all the same here, yeah?”

Jihoon pulls himself to his full height. “Not… really,” he says lamely, and then he immediately launches into mumbled apologies when he realizes how he might have sounded.

It wasn’t that Jihoon thought he was better than his peers. Hell, he knew that he was the least important person in the room. That’s what he meant; they were not all the same, because Jihoon still had a long ways to go.

Especially when compared to rock icon Young K, who is— gracefully— taking Jihoon’s awkwardness in stride.

“You’re holding up a lot better than me,” Younghyun muses. “At my first afterparty, I threw up on Rupam Islam.”

“No.”

“Yes, unfortunately. He was very nice about it, though.”

Jihoon lets out a stutter of a laugh. He’s never been a fan of small talk, but he clings to it now like a lifeline. “Does it get easier?” he asks.

Younghyun’s eyebrows raise. “Throwing up on rockstars?”

“No, no–”

“I was kidding,” Younghyun says in between chuckles. His expression is a little more pensive when he goes on, “I can’t say for sure that it gets easier, but you learn to deal with it.”

You learn to deal with it. Jihoon can almost laugh at just how accurate that is. It seems applicable to every aspect of his life— including missing you.

Jihoon winces. Younghyun notices.

The older man doesn’t comment on it, probably thinks it’s something else entirely. Younghyun doesn’t flinch away, either, when Jihoon nervously says, “Can I ask you another question?”

“Ask away,” says Younghyun. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

What is Jihoon doing? He doesn’t know either, but it’s either this or fight off the urge to run through a pack of Marlboros. “How do you cope,” he starts slowly, “with… feelings?”

A beat. Crap. Jihoon realizes he definitely could have phrased that better, because Younghyun is now looking at him with an expression of mild confusion.

Jihoon backtracks. “You— we— go through a lot in this field of work. Like, a lot. And you— fuck, fine, I’m— grateful for it, really, I swear. But there’s just… so much other things, too, aside from the gratitude. How do you cope with those?”

Jihoon knows he probably looks and sounds like a trainwreck in his bid to be deliberately vague. By some miracle, Younghyun at least seems to understand what Jihoon is trying to say.

Younghyun’s lip quirks to one side as he thinks of his response. The silence stretches uncomfortably long, but then he gives an answer that’s the last thing Jihoon could have expected.

“I write,” Younghyun says.

Jihoon blinks once. Then twice.

“You write,” he repeats, and the former nods.

“It’s all in my discography. The anger, the heartbreak, the love.” Younghyun raises his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve written nearly 200 songs, and all of them are just— that. Questions. Answers to questions. Feelings and stories.”

It’s so simple, so obvious. It’s like a glaring traffic sign, like something that every musician should know and do.

Put it in a song. Perform it for thousands and leave the muse none the wiser. Profit. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Jihoon had done it a fair amount of times, but never had he considered putting you to pen and paper. The prospect of it makes something in his chest thrum.

“I—” He clears his throat. “I think I have to go, sunbaenim. It was nice seeing you.”

A hint of humor glints in Younghyun’s eye, like he’s somewhat aware of the fact he’s witnessing something unravel. “‘Younghyun’ is fine,” he chirps. “And it was nice seeing you, too, Jihoon. Take care of yourself.”

The words— take care of yourself— are supposed to be a platitude. To Jihoon, it feels like a tall ask.

▸ I'M TOURING THE WORLD BUT I'M MISSING THE ONE WHO HELD IT DOWN.

Jihoon is exhausted.

As much as he wants to say that he’s never been this tired in his life, it’d probably be a lie. He’d make the claim, hit the road, then end up crashing out saying the same damn thing. He’s seen this film before; he knows how it ends.

He falls back on his hotel bed after his shower. A low groan escapes him, and he sends up a silent prayer to all the higher powers there are. Thank you for sheets with a 300-500 thread count. Thank you for air-conditioning. Thank you for warm showers and Listerine.

Despite his fatigue, Jihoon can’t just go to sleep. Post-show adrenaline always took a couple of hours to wear off.

He briefly contemplates his options. Write a lyric or two? Watch a shitty Netflix movie? Stare out the hotel window until his eyes can’t stay open anymore?

None of the above, it seems, as he reaches for his phone.

Jihoon has never been active on SNS; he just couldn’t bring himself to care about things like TikTok trends or Twitter ‘beef’. It’s a constant thorn in his PR team’s side. There is one thing that he bothers to check, though, and God forbid he deny himself the simple pleasure of some good ol’ fashioned pining.

He’s been on your Instagram page enough times that it’s the first thing that shows when he goes to the search bar. It’s the only thing that shows, really, which gives some pretty good sense of where his head is at.

Your profile loads. There’s no new post, no recent story. Jihoon is both disappointed and relieved.

No news is good news, he thinks to himself as he leisurely scrolls through the photos he’s already seen a dozen times before. You, feeding sidewalk cats. You, sipping tea at a cafe. You, in all the places that were once Jihoon’s, too. The beaches, the hiking trails, the restaurant in your shared neighborhood.

Jihoon opens that particular post. Even though he’s watched your life in squares for the better half of the past three years, this is the one photo that always has him feeling a pang of… something.

Because Jihoon can imagine it— being at that restaurant with you. The two of you had discovered it together, had pooled your measly school allowances to afford the bokguk and ganjang gejang.

He imagines being there with this older version of you, being the one snapping the picture that’d find a spot on your feed. He can see it so clearly in his mind’s eye that if he really, really tries, it begins to look more like a memory than a daydream.

But he’s not in Busan, not even in Korea. He’s in the United States instead, where he has ten stops before heading to Canada and Europe.

Sold-out stadiums. Thousands upon thousands of adoring fans.

All the food that he could possibly want, and yet it’s pufferfish soup and soy sauce crabs that he’s looking for.

Every person that he could possibly have, and yet. And yet.

Jihoon huffs out a frustrated exhale. He’s tired, which he swears makes him delusional.

He casts his phone aside, blissfully ignorant to the way his finger double taps his screen as he does.

Halfway across the world, your phone pings

woozi_universefactory ✓ liked your post.

▸ I'VE BEEN RUNNING BACKWARDS, RUNNING BACKWARDS LIKE A MARATHON.

The push notification glaring up at Jihoon looks a lot like a bomb that’s about to explode.

Jihoon feels like it’s a bomb, because he refuses to believe that after over a year of absolutely nothing, you’ve messaged first. You’ve messaged first.

He double, triple checks his calendar. It’s neither of your birthdays. It’s not a holiday, either. Is it Chuseok? No— that doesn’t make sense.

“For fuck’s sake,” he chides himself under his breath. It’s a text. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jihoon opens the notification.

And then his heart just.

Stops.

You’d sent two messages— the first, being the post that had him spiraling last night. It’s the proceeding message that has Jihoon hoping the ground will swallow him whole.

Stalking me, Jihoon-ah?

Holy shit.

Jihoon types out at least three different messages, from Are you a fly on my wall to Is there a new Instagram feature I don’t know about to What happened to “hello, how are you”?

In the end, he only sends back a single question mark. When he opens the offending post, he immediately sees his transgression.

Jihoon hadn’t liked the photo before last night. He didn’t like much posts to begin with. How— When—

His phone pings. He’s never been so thankful that he mostly opts to get room service for breakfast, because the squeak that he lets out is definitely not very rockstar-like. Jihoon fumbles, and he ends up opening your DM before he can psych himself up for it.

LOL. Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, you say.

Damn you and your ability to render him speechless. Jihoon wonders if he can get away with not responding, with getting back to you a couple of days later and blaming his work.

Except.

Jihoon’s fingers slowly move across his screen.

It was a good post, he says.

It was a post from a year ago, you answer.

So? He throws in an emoji of a man shrugging for good measure. Jihoon never uses emojis, but he can make some exceptions.

Your respond, So, stalking. You were stalking me.

Jihoon knows he’s digging a hole for himself, knows he’s going to stay up several nights thinking of just how stupid he is. If he were a stronger man, he’d pull the plug on this conversation and that’d be it. You wouldn’t bug him. He would maybe write a song about this moment. The world would go on.

But he can hear you.

In the messages, in the words on his screen. He can hear your voice, the way you’d smile or laugh or tease. How you’d say his name in that sing-song tone he once pretended to hate.

He hears you in your messages, and he’ll live with the secondhand shame if it means that he gets to keep on listening.

Not stalking, he shoots back. Just checking in.

Ah, you say. Because you missed me?~

Despite himself, he scoffs. You’ve always been so shameless. It didn’t matter to you that he was WOOZI the rockstar; to you, he would always be Jihoon who lived three houses down.

As if, he says to your teasing.

You don’t respond anymore. You don’t even read the message, because Jihoon doesn’t see the little ‘Seen’ under his last message.

He waits for it for a minute. Then five minutes. Then seven minutes. He stops checking at the thirteen-minute mark, because he likes to believe he’s no longer a high schooler with a raging crush on the girl next door.

He’s a grown man. He’s WOOZI, for Christ’s sake.

He can’t keep coming back to you.

▸ I GAVE YOU MY TIME WHEN I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH; ALL OF MY FEELINGS, SWEPT UNDER THE RUG.

Except he does.

WOOZI may not want to. WOOZI may be the bassist writing songs about the past in hopes of leaving things in the past, but Jihoon is a different story.

Jihoon texts you the moment he lands in Gimhae International Airport. Jihoon stands outside your front door— definitely jetlagged, probably in need of a shower— with his luggage in one hand and his phone in the other.

Jihoon acts like it’s the world’s biggest inconvenience when he tells you, “Come on, then.”

The two of you get the crabs and soup. He refuses to talk about his time away; he contents himself with listening, like he always does, and you fill the silence with babble. Your desk job, your parents’ nagging, your hobbies and side hustles.

“Probably not as interesting as your life,” you joke after a particularly long-winded anecdote about a delivery rider who got your address wrong.

Jihoon neither confirms nor denies the statement. He only raises one eyebrow and gives you a wordless gesture with his hand. Go on anyway, he’s saying, and you take the cue.

The meal ends. Jihoon invites you for coffee. Then ice cream. Then a walk.

“This is very suspicious.”

Jihoon can’t help it; a snort of laughter escapes him at your words. “Can’t a guy take a friend out to lunch?” he asks humorlessly.

“And dinner,” you note.

“And dinner, yes.”

“And dessert.”

The two of you are taking the long way home. There’s something to be said about how Jihoon drags his feet, about how you walk like you’re not on borrowed time. Even your conversation moves like you’re beating around the bush.

There is an elephant in the room and Jihoon is done pretending that it’s not there. That it hasn’t been there since the day you two met in primary school, since the first time he held your hand as a teenager, since he became a musician and every song he performed became about you.

Jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him.

“Are you dying?”

Your blasé question draws a bark of laughter from him. “Jesus, no,” he says. “Do I have to be dying to want to see you?”

You don’t answer right away. Jihoon once again has that feeling that he’s said something wrong, something loaded, but you save him from overthinking when you respond with, “You wanted to see me?”

There it is. That teasing tone, that hint of a smile.

You bump your shoulder against his. “You missed me, Jihoon-ah. Admit it.”

And Jihoon is done, Jihoon is tired, Jihoon is still yours after all this time.

“Yeah,” he finally, finally says. “I missed you.”

#jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #jihoon fic #woozi fic #svt fic #seventeen fic #jihoon imagines #woozi imagines #(💎) page: svt #(🥡) notebook

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bestalbertcamuslover · 3 days ago

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Her Family Loves Him

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Max Verstappen x Ex! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: None✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

Her family loved Max. He was the type of boyfriend parents adored—loving and caring—and Max cared a lot about her. She did too, undoubtedly. However, the breakup was unforeseen, unpredictable, just like her. Something about not handling well the transition to becoming a public person and the downsides of having a very famous boyfriend had been weighing on her much more lately, and she just broke up.

The split, nevertheless, did not stop her parents and Max from staying in contact. Not as often as before, but there were still messages, memes, and that same familiarity, as if the breakup had never happened. But there was still room for a second chance—or at least, that was what her mom thought.

She knocked on her parents’ house door after they asked her to fix a technical problem with the computer—something they did more frequently than she would like. Fortunately, they didn’t live too far, so it wasn’t much of a hassle.

Her parents’ house was as warm and familiar as always, but the moment she stepped inside, something felt off. She set her bag down and raised an eyebrow at her mom, who was hovering suspiciously close to the living room door.

“What is it this time?” she asked, slipping into her usual playful exasperation. “Forgot your email password again? Computer ‘deleted itself?’”

“Oh, nothing too complicated,” her mom said, smiling too widely and tucking her hands behind her back.

Her dad appeared in the hallway, looking unusually cheerful. “Hey, sweetheart! Thanks for coming over so quickly.”

She squinted, her suspicion mounting. “Okay… what’s going on?”

Then, she heard it.

“Hey.”

Her stomach dropped at the sound of his voice. She turned toward the living room and froze. Max stood by the sofa, hands stuffed into his pockets, his hesitant smile not quite masking the awkwardness of the moment.

Her jaw dropped slightly. She blinked, then took a step back. “Yeah, I’m not doing this,” she said flatly, turning toward the door.

“Wait,” Max said quickly, his voice almost pleading, and she stopped just long enough to glare at her mom.

Her mom raised her hands in mock innocence. “He was in the area, and I thought it might be nice for you two to… talk.”

Her eyes narrowed. “In the area? Really? That’s what we’re going with?”

Her dad shuffled uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze. “We may have said something about needing help with the computer…”

“A fake computer issue,” she muttered, spinning back toward Max. “Seriously?”

Max shrugged, looking sheepish. “Your mom said you’d be here, and I thought…” He trailed off, clearly unsure of what to say.

Her arms crossed, and her glare deepened. “This isn’t happening. You can’t just ambush me like this.”

“It’s not an ambush!” her mom protested brightly. “It’s… an opportunity. For you two to finally talk.”

She threw her mom an incredulous look, although deep-down, she knew they needed to talk. “Talk about what? We’ve already done the breaking-up part, in case you forgot.”

Her mom gave her the kind of patient, guilt-laden look only a parent could manage. “Sweetheart, you two barely had time to say anything. It was rushed. Don’t you think it’s worth at least clearing the air? Closure is important.”

She opened her mouth to argue but couldn’t deny the faint tug of guilt creeping in. When they’d broken up, she’d been too overwhelmed to say much, and afterward, she’d avoided thinking about how unfair that might have been.

Max’s blue eyes flicked to hers, quietly hopeful but not pushing. He looked like he was waiting for her to make the call, and it made her want to curse out loud. Those blue eyes still had that hold on her, especially when he looked so vulnerable, so wounded. She knew what she did, and perhaps she also could recognize that it had been a rushed decision where she did not let him talk. Regardless, she was stubborn.

She let out a sharp exhale, throwing her hands up. “Fine. We’ll talk.”

Her mom clapped her hands together, clearly trying not to look too pleased. “Great! You two can sit in the living room. We’ll give you some privacy.”

“We will?” her dad asked, earning a sharp elbow from her mom. “Right. Yes. Privacy. We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Max stepped aside to let her enter the living room, and she brushed past him, her arms still crossed. She plopped down on the sofa, her body language screaming reluctance.

He sat down at the opposite end, keeping his distance. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them.

Max cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I—uh—don’t really know where to start,” he admitted, his hands clasped in front of him as he leaned forward. “I just… I wanted to see you. To talk.”

She avoided his gaze, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “About what?” she asked, her tone defensive, though she hated how sharp it sounded.

“About us,” he said simply, his voice low but steady. “About how things ended.”

She let out a breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Max, we’ve been over this.”

“Not really,” he countered, his eyes meeting hers. “We didn’t actually talk. You just… you broke up with me, and that was it.”

Her stomach churned with guilt, his words hitting closer to the truth than she wanted to admit. He wasn’t wrong. She had ended things abruptly, almost out of nowhere, and then had avoided him ever since.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

“I know,” he said quickly, his tone laced with sincerity. “But you did. And I don’t think I even understand why.”

She winced, her chest tightening as the weight of her actions settled over her. “It wasn’t something I planned, okay? I just… I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

Max’s brow furrowed, his confusion evident. “Couldn’t handle what? Me? Racing? The media?”

“All of it,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “The constant attention, the cameras, the comments. Every time I was with you, I felt like I had to be perfect because someone was always watching. And you… you were so focused, so good at it all, and I couldn’t keep up.”

Max leaned back, his expression softening, but there was still a flicker of hurt in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve listened. I would’ve done something.”

She shook her head, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “Because I didn’t even know what to say, Max! I didn’t know how to explain it without sounding selfish or ungrateful. So I just… ran.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. The silence between them grew heavy, the weight of her confession hanging in the air.

“I wish you’d trusted me enough to stay,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

Her chest ached at his words, the guilt she’d been suppressing threatening to overwhelm her. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I know I messed up.”

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair as he sat back, his eyes never leaving her. “Look,” he said softly, “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad or to guilt you into anything. I’m here because I still care about you. Because I don’t want this to be the end of us.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the confession. “Max…” she began, but he shook his head gently, cutting her off.

“Just hear me out,” he said, leaning forward again, his elbows resting on his knees. “I know my life can be… a lot. The racing, the media, the travel—it’s overwhelming. I get that. And I know I wasn’t always as present as I should’ve been. But I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. I really want you by my side.”

She took a deep breath, the gentle words weighting on her. She held his gaze, the sincerity in those blue orbs almost underwhelming.

“You don’t have to handle it alone,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “I never expected you to. I should’ve made that clearer, but I thought… I thought you knew.”

“It’s not just about you, though. It’s about me, too. I let the pressure get to me, and instead of talking to you, I shut down. That’s on me,” she replied.

Max nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe we both made mistakes,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t fix this. If you still want to, I mean.”

“I don’t know if I can be what you need,” she said quietly, not liking how vulnerable she was sounding, but yet the words slipping out of her mouth. “What if I let you down again?”

“You won’t,” he said without hesitation. “And even if you do, we’ll figure it out. That’s what relationships are, right? You don’t have to be perfect. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you.”

She bit her lip, her mind racing. Part of her wanted to believe him, to let herself fall back into the safety of his words and his presence. But another part of her was terrified—terrified of failing again, of breaking his heart, of breaking her own, all while getting overwhelmed and hurt by it.

“It’s not simple,” he admitted, his voice steady. “But it’s worth it.”

The room fell silent, his words hanging in the air like leaves in the breeze. She could feel the firmness of his gaze, the sincerity in his expression, and it made her chest ache.

“Max,” she started, her voice gentle, “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You won’t,” he said intently, his eyes unwavering. “But if you’re scared, that’s okay. We’ll take it one step at a time. Just… don’t shut me out.” He leaned forward slightly, his expression open and unguarded. “I’m not asking you to have all the answers right now,” he continued, his voice steady but tender. “I just want us to try. To figure it out together”

She hesitated for a moment longer, her thoughts racing. The fear of failing again was still there, very present, but so was the undeniable pull toward him. Toward the man who cared so much about her, he planned this ambush with her mom even after she had not broken up in the most compassionate way.

Taking a deep breath, she closed the gap between them, reaching out to take his hand. His warmth seeped into her skin, grounding her. “Okay,” she said finally.

Max’s face broke into a smile, the kind that reached his eyes and softened every hard edge. “Yeah?” he asked, his tone laced with cautious hope.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, her own smile growing.

Max smirked, glancing toward the kitchen, where her parents’ voices carried on in a mix of hushed whispers and not-so-hushed laughter. Then, from the direction of the kitchen, there was the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. Loudly.

She turned toward the doorway as her parents stood there, her mom wearing an exaggerated expression of innocence, while her dad unsuccessfully stifled a grin.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” her mom said, waving a hand. “We were just… checking on the oven.”

Her dad snorted. “We don’t even have anything in the oven.”

Her mom shot him a look before turning her attention back to the pair on the couch. “We’re just happy you two finally talked,” she said, beaming.

“I still can’t believe you two planned this,” she chuckled slightly.

Her mom grinned unapologetically. “Well, sometimes a little push is all you need.”

Max turned to her, his smile softening. “I guess I owe them a thank you.”

She peeked at him, her embarrassment fading as she met his warm gaze. “You’re not the one who has to deal with them later,” she quipped, her tone light but affectionate.

Her mom clapped her hands together. “So, dinner?” she asked brightly. “I think this calls for a celebration.”

Her dad groaned. “Does this mean I have to set the table?”

As her parents bickered good-naturedly on their way back to the kitchen, Max turned to her, his hand tightening gently around hers. “I’m glad we talked,” he said quietly.

“Me too,” she admitted, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <333

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that-one-ostrich-friend · 3 days ago

Note

Maybe that sparks a bit of inspiration: Single dad Sirius Black who is freshly together with reader (I don’t know what else can happen haha)

The Godson

sirius black x reader - the godson

word count: 3.5k

summary: after a month of dating y/n finally meets sirius’s godson (and adopted son)

warnings: kissing, mostly fluffy lol

a/n: this is set in an au where peter was captured before he could fake his death and was sent to azkaban instead of sirius. as godfather sirius gets custody of harry. i’m really glad this was a single dad sirius and not single mom y/n bc i’m lowkey afraid of children and pregnancy lol

The clock chimed seven as Y/N stood outside the door of 12 Grimmauld Place, her hand hovering just above the door knocker. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. The house before her looked nothing like she had imagined. Its weathered black brickwork and faintly foreboding aura reminded her of something out of a gothic novel. Yet, as imposing as it seemed, she reminded herself that Sirius lived here. That thought brought a small, reassuring smile to her lips.

She raised her hand and knocked firmly. The sound echoed in the quiet, and she shuffled slightly on the doorstep, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her coat. A moment later, the door creaked open, and there he was—Sirius Black, all sharp features and unruly dark hair, wearing a casual button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His usual confident smirk was replaced with something softer, almost unsure.

“You made it,” he said, his voice warm but carrying an edge of nervousness.

“Of course I did,” Y/N replied, tilting her head slightly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Sirius chuckled lightly, running a hand through his hair as if he were searching for the right words. “No reason. Just—well, this is a bit new for me, isn’t it?”

She raised an eyebrow, sensing his nerves. “You alright?”

He let out a breath and then pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her. “I am now,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. The simple affection melted away some of her tension, and she allowed herself to relax against him.

When he pulled back, there was a twinkle of humor in his gray eyes, though the slight hesitation remained. “Come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let her through.

Y/N stepped over the threshold, her gaze sweeping over the narrow entryway. The house was as dark and mysterious on the inside as it was on the outside. The wallpaper was faded, and the air carried a faint chill, but there were glimpses of warmth—a vase of fresh flowers on a side table.

“It’s… cozy,” she said carefully, trying not to seem impolite.

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “That’s a generous way to put it.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Come on. Harry’s in the sitting room. He’s been playing with his toys all day, so don’t be surprised if he’s a little shy at first.”

Y/N nodded, her heart skipping slightly at the thought of meeting Sirius’s adopted son for the first time. This wasn’t just any casual introduction—Sirius had made it clear that Harry was his whole world, and meeting him felt like stepping into a new and important part of Sirius’s life.

They walked down a short hallway and into the sitting room. The space was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a warm lamp in the corner. In the center of the room, a small boy with messy black hair sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by colorful wooden blocks. He was completely focused on the tower he was building, his little face scrunched up in concentration.

“Harry,” Sirius said gently, his voice softening as he spoke to the boy. “Someone’s here to meet you.”

Harry looked up briefly, his bright green eyes—the spitting image of his mother’s—glancing at Y/N before darting back to his father. He immediately scrambled to his feet and hid behind Sirius’s legs, clutching the fabric of his trousers tightly.

Sirius laughed softly, bending down slightly to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Come on, kiddo. You don’t have to be shy. This is Y/N. Remember I told you about her?”

Harry peeked out cautiously, his small hands still gripping Sirius’s legs.

Y/N crouched down to his level, her voice gentle. “Hi, Harry. It’s really nice to meet you.” She smiled, trying to make herself as approachable as possible.

Harry didn’t respond, his face half-hidden behind Sirius.

Sirius straightened up and gave Y/N an apologetic smile. “He takes a little while to warm up to people. Give him a minute.”

Instead of pushing Harry further, Sirius reached out and took Y/N’s hand, leading her toward the spot where Harry had been sitting. They knelt on the floor next to the half-built tower of blocks.

“Alright, kiddo,” Sirius said, his tone light and encouraging. “Why don’t you tell Y/N about your tower? It looks pretty impressive.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, still clinging to Sirius’s leg, but then his curiosity seemed to get the better of him. He let go and stepped closer, though he stayed partially behind Sirius.

Y/N leaned forward, examining the tower with a playful seriousness. “Wow, did you build this all by yourself? It’s amazing!”

Harry’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile creeping onto his face. He nodded shyly.

“It’s the tallest one I’ve made,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Really?” Y/N said, her eyes widening in mock amazement. “You must be an expert builder. I could never make a tower this cool.”

That seemed to do the trick. Harry stepped out from behind Sirius entirely, moving closer to his blocks. “I made it so it doesn’t fall over,” he said, a little louder this time. “See? If you push it like this—” He gave the side of the tower a gentle nudge, and it wobbled but didn’t topple. “—it stays up!”

Y/N gasped, clapping her hands. “That’s so clever! How did you figure that out?”

Harry beamed, the last traces of his shyness melting away as he began to explain the “secrets” of building sturdy towers. His words tumbled out in an excited stream, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

Sirius watched the two of them, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. He settled himself on the floor beside them, leaning back on his hands as Harry continued to chatter away to Y/N about his blocks and the other toys scattered around the room.

Y/N glanced at Sirius briefly, her heart swelling at the sight of him so at ease with his son. He caught her gaze and gave her a wink, as if to say, See? Told you he’d come around.

Sirius cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “I’m going to grab us some drinks. Will you be alright with Harry for a few minutes?”

Y/N glanced up at him with a smile. “Of course. Take your time.”

He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, as if double-checking whether she meant it. Then he gave a small nod and pushed himself to his feet. “You behave for Y/N, yeah?” He said as he passed Harry.

Harry looked up at him and nodded solemnly.

As Sirius disappeared into the kitchen, Y/N leaned back on her hands, watching as Harry carefully adjusted the top of his tower. The room was quiet for a moment, the soft sound of the blocks clicking together the only noise.

Then, with a sudden burst of energy, Harry stood up and darted to the end table near the couch. Y/N straightened slightly, curious as to what he was up to.

“Look!” Harry exclaimed, holding something tightly in his small hand as he ran back toward her.

“What’s that, Harry?” Y/N asked, sitting upright as he plopped down onto the floor beside her.

With great care, Harry opened his chubby fist to reveal a small Polaroid photograph. He held it up proudly, his face beaming. “It’s you!” he declared.

Y/N blinked in surprise and leaned forward to get a closer look. She reached out and gently took the photo from his hands, her eyes widening as she recognized it immediately.

It was from about two months ago— a couple weeks before they started dating— at one of the small get-togethers Sirius and his friends seemed to have so often. She remembered the evening clearly—the room had been filled with laughter and warmth, she had been next to Sirius almost the entire night. Remus had been in rare form, cracking joke after joke.

The photo was taken when Remus had accidentally hit the shutter on his camera. Y/N was mid-laugh, her hand resting on Sirius’s shoulder, clearly reacting to something ridiculous Remus had said. Her head was tilted slightly, her eyes crinkled with amusement. But what caught her attention wasn’t herself—it was Sirius. He was looking at her as if she were the only person in that room.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, though her voice wavered slightly. “Where did you find this, Harry?” she asked, her tone light but curious.

“Uncle Sirius keeps it here,” Harry said matter-of-factly, pointing back toward the end table.

“He does, does he?” Y/N murmured, her lips curving into a small smile. She turned the photo over in her hand, noticing that the back was blank—no date, no scribbled note. Just the image itself.

Harry nodded enthusiastically, clearly proud of his discovery. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” Y/N said, her voice warm. “It’s a great picture.”

Just as she finished speaking, a sound came from the doorway. She glanced up to see Sirius standing there, two glasses in his hands. He had paused mid-step, his eyes flicking between her and the photo she still held. His cheeks were dusted with the faintest hint of pink, and for a moment, he looked almost sheepish.

“Ah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I see Harry showed you his favorite picture.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, holding the photo up slightly. “His favorite?”

He let out a short laugh, walking into the room and setting the glasses down on the coffee table. “Our favorite,” he said, the blush on his face deepened.

Y/N didn’t press him further, but her smile widened. She set the picture on her lap, her fingers lightly brushing its edge as Sirius crouched down beside Harry.

“Alright, kiddo,” Sirius said, his voice softening as he focused on his son. “It’s time for bed.”

Harry immediately groaned, flopping onto his back in a dramatic show of protest. “But I’m not tired!”

“Hmm,” Sirius said, tilting his head. “That’s funny, because I could’ve sworn I saw you rubbing your eyes just five minutes ago.”

“I wasn’t!” Harry insisted, though his argument was half-hearted at best.

Sirius chuckled and reached out to scoop the boy into his arms, lifting him effortlessly. “Come on, mate. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

Harry pouted but didn’t resist, resting his head against Sirius’s shoulder. As they made their way toward the door, Sirius glanced back at Y/N, his expression softening.

“Won’t be long,” he said.

“It’s alright,” Y/N replied, her tone light.

Once they were gone, the room fell quiet again. Y/N let out a small breath, her gaze drifting back to the photo still on her lap. She studied it for a moment longer before carefully placing it back on the end table.

━━━━━━━•✧°•°𓅦°•°✧•━━━━━━━

Reaching Harry’s room, Sirius nudged the door open with his foot. The room was cozy, filled with all the comforts a child could want—soft blankets, a well-loved stuffed stag that Harry refused to sleep without, and shelves lined with books and toys. The walls were painted a calming blue, and enchanted stars hung above the bed, softly twinkling.

Sirius lowered Harry onto the bed, careful not to jostle him too much. Harry let out a sleepy little sigh as Sirius tucked him in, pulling the blankets up snugly around him.

“There we go,” Sirius murmured, brushing a strand of dark hair from Harry’s forehead. “All nice and cozy. You should sleep like a dragon tonight.”

Harry giggled softly, his eyes fluttering open to look at Sirius. “Dragons don’t sleep,” he said, his voice quiet but insistent.

“Of course they do,” Sirius replied, settling on the edge of the bed. “How else do you think they get their energy to fly around and breathe fire all day?”

Harry considered this for a moment before nodding, satisfied with the answer. His tiny hands clutched the stuffed stag tightly, and he wriggled slightly to get comfortable.

“Uncle?” Harry’s voice was soft, almost hesitant.

“Hmm?” Sirius replied, leaning back against the headboard, his gaze warm as he watched Harry.

“Is Y/N gonna be my new mummy?”

The question hit Sirius like a gust of wind, unexpected but not entirely surprising. He blinked, momentarily unsure of how to respond. Harry’s green eyes—so much like Lily’s—stared up at him, wide and innocent, waiting for an answer.

Sirius chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, mate,” he said gently. “Y/N’s not your mummy.”

Harry frowned slightly, hugging the stuffed stag closer. “But… she’s really nice,” he said, his voice laced with the kind of earnestness only a child could muster.

“She is,” Sirius agreed, his lips curving into a small smile. “She’s very nice.” He reached out to ruffle Harry’s hair, earning a quiet giggle. “But your mummy is Lily, remember? She and your dad loved you so much, and that’s never going to change.”

Harry nodded slowly, his little face thoughtful. “But you’re my daddy now, right?”

Sirius felt his chest tighten at the question. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he looked down at Harry. “I’m your godfather,” he said after a moment. “That means I get to take care of you and keep you safe.”

Harry nodded sleepily, his eyelids starting to droop.

Sirius reached out and gently patted Harry’s shoulder. “Now, close those eyes and get some rest.”

Harry’s lips twitched into a faint smile as he finally let his eyes fall shut. Sirius sat there for a moment longer, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he drifted off.

Standing, Sirius leaned down to press a light kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, kiddo,” he murmured before quietly slipping out of the room.

The soft creak of the floorboards signaled Sirius’s return long before Y/N saw him. She glanced up as he stepped into the sitting room, his dark hair slightly tousled, as if he’d run his hands through it a few times. His gaze landed on her, and his lips curved into an easy smile that didn’t quite mask the faint trace of something thoughtful in his expression.

“Harry’s out like a light,” he said, walking over to the couch and sinking into the cushions beside her.

“That was fast,” Y/N replied with a small smile, shifting slightly to make room for him.

“Four-year-olds don’t last long once they’ve decided to give in,” Sirius said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He leaned forward, reaching for the glass of whiskey he’d left on the coffee table earlier. But before he could take a sip, Y/N snatched it from his hand, her fingers brushing against his as she did.

“Hey!” he protested, though his tone was more surprised than annoyed.

Y/N raised the glass to her lips, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she took a small sip. “I’m thirsty,” she teased, handing it back to him with an innocent shrug.

Sirius let out a laugh, a rich, warm sound that filled the room. “Stealing from a poor, hardworking man in his own home,” he said, shaking his head as he set the glass back down on the table.

Before she could reply, he leaned back and looped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer until her side was pressed against his. It was an easy, intimate gesture, and Y/N felt her heart give a little flutter at the warmth of his touch.

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around them. Then, Y/N turned her head slightly, her gaze settling on Sirius’s profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the way his dark eyes seemed lost in thought as he stared ahead.

She reached up, gently brushing her fingers along his cheek to get his attention. When he turned to look at her, she leaned in and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.

But he didn’t kiss her back.

Y/N pulled away almost immediately, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I—”

“No,” Sirius interrupted softly, his hand still resting on her shoulder. He sighed, shifting slightly so he could face her fully. His fingers moved to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing idly against her skin in slow, soothing strokes.

Y/N searched his face, her brow furrowing. “Is everything alright?”

Sirius hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the floor before meeting hers again. “I’ve just been thinking,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. “Wondering if… if it was too soon for Harry to meet you.”

“Oh,” Y/N said, her heart sinking slightly. She sat up straighter, creating a small distance between them. “I—I understand. If you think it was too soon, we can… I don’t know, maybe I could come over when he’s already in bed? Or we could spend time at my flat instead?”

Her suggestion came quickly, almost too quickly, as if she were trying to fix something that didn’t necessarily need fixing. But Sirius shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe I was wrong,” he said, his voice softening.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Sirius’s hand on the back of her neck slid upward, his fingers threading gently into her hair. At the same time, his other hand slipped under the hem of her shirt, resting against her waist. His touch was firm but not forceful, and the warmth of his palm against her skin sent a shiver down her spine.

“I mean,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky tone, “maybe it’s good for Harry to have a feminine presence around here. Someone kind and patient who can put up with my nonsense.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her just slightly closer. Her hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

“Sirius,” she began, her voice wavering, but he didn’t let her finish.

His other hand slid further into her hair, his fingers curling gently as he pulled her in. When his lips met hers this time, it wasn’t soft or hesitant—it was urgent, almost desperate. Sirius kissed her like he was afraid to stop, like he was trying to convey something through the intensity of it that he couldn’t put into words.

A soft moan escaped him, and the sound sent a wave of heat rushing through Y/N. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as she kissed him back, matching his fervor.

The world outside seemed to disappear—there was only him, the warmth of his hands, the rough scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way his lips moved against hers with such precision it left her breathless.

The warmth of Sirius’s hands against Y/N’s skin was intoxicating, his touch tender as his lips moved hungrily against hers. The room around them seemed to fade away. Sirius’s fingers trailed up her back, beneath her shirt, as he deepened the kiss.

Y/N melted into him, her hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. His lips were insistent, as though he couldn’t get enough of her, and every now and then, a soft groan escaped him, reverberating against her lips and making her pulse race.

But just as Sirius shifted to pull her fully into his lap, a small voice shattered the moment.

“Uncle Sirius?”

They sprang apart instantly, both turning toward the doorway where Harry stood clutching his stuffed stag, his dark curls messy from tossing and turning in bed. His wide eyes blinked at them sleepily, completely unaware of the moment he’d just interrupted.

Sirius cleared his throat, running a hand through his tousled hair as he tried to compose himself. “Harry, what’s wrong, kid?” he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

Harry shuffled into the room, dragging the stuffed toy along the floor. “I can’t sleep,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with a chubby fist.

Y/N sat frozen on the couch, her cheeks still flushed and her heart pounding from the sudden interruption. She tried to calm herself, smoothing her hands over her lap as Harry climbed onto the couch beside Sirius.

“What’s keeping you up?” Sirius asked, pulling Harry into his lap and brushing a hand through the boy’s unruly hair.

Harry shrugged, and plopped himself right onto Y/N’s lap, his small hands clutching at her shirt as he snuggled against her.

Y/N stiffened, her hands hovering awkwardly in the air. She glanced at Sirius, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

Sirius’s brow furrowed slightly as he reached out, clearly noticing her hesitation. “Harry, maybe you should—”

“It’s alright,” Y/N interrupted quickly, her voice soft but firm.

She looked down at Harry, who had already settled against her like he belonged there. Slowly, cautiously, she placed her arms around him, her hands resting gently on his back. Harry let out a small, contented sigh, his grip on his stuffed stag loosening as his eyes began to droop.

Sirius watched the exchange, his concern melting into something softer, something that made his chest tighten in the best way. He leaned back into the couch, his posture relaxing as he draped an arm over Y/N’s shoulder.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with admiration.

Y/N glanced up at him, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “He makes it easy,” she replied quietly, her fingers brushing lightly against Harry’s back.

Sirius’s heart swelled at her words. For a moment, he simply watched them—Y/N holding his godson with such gentle care, Harry’s small form tucked safely in her arms. It was a picture of something he hadn’t realized he’d been longing for.

As Harry’s breathing slowed and his grip on his stuffed animal went slack, Sirius leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Thank you,” he whispered, his lips lingering against her skin for a moment.

Y/N didn’t respond, but the way she leaned into his touch told him all he needed to know.

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thyfleshc0nsumed · 1 day ago

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how do you find public spaces to fuck (re:the rooftop + dyke)?

sincerely, horny lez

Good question, I will answer it in this response eventually, but first, you have to sit through me intellectually jerking myself off for a moment because I think it may provide some useful perspective.

Public sex has been part of my life for as long as I've been having physical sex at all. As an adolescent it was mostly out of necessity, but these days it's mostly out of convenience. The vast majority of the sex I've had in the last year or two has been public.

I think it's important to clarify that for me at least, public sex is not an act of exhibitionism. If there's any sort of philosophy behind it besides sheer utility, I'd say it's something like not allowing our society's mores and hangups around sex and privacy dictate the terms on how and where we (especially as gay people) engage with our sexuality.

I think there's this gut impulse many people have--including many gay people--around public sex, and I think it speaks to the reactionary view of human sexuality that is unfortunately the stock standard in these times. For many, the idea of people having sex in public gives them some sort of 'ick' that they can't seem to articulate.

Often discussions around public sex are framed like this: "if I walked in on people having sex, it would make me uncomfortable, I didn't consent to that, so people should not be having sex in public." It would be fairly reasonable to experience discomfort in this imagined scenario--in fact, I think most people probably would--and that discomfort isn't a problem. The problem is that the premise assumes a few crucial points, notably that 1. Walking in on public sex is a common occurrence and/or the desired outcome for those engaging in it 2. Discomfort is a form of harm 3. Exposure to (non-hegemonic) human sexuality is capable of causing some kind of nebulous psychic damage to the witness.

To the first point: in my decade or so of regular public sex, I can only think of one instance where I was actually walked in on. It was an alley off of a major road and probably only at around 1030p. I mention this because we absolutely would have chosen a different, more secluded location/time if we were doing anything other than fully clothed kink and maybe some kissing, because again, the goal for most is not exhibitionism; no one really wants to be walked in on, so we choose locations where it is less likely that we will be.

To the second point, I have little to say besides that it simply isn't. Discomfort is an everyday part of life and is something all people experience regularly without calls to stop every potential source of it. So what is it about this topic that makes people react this way?

This leads us to the third point: non-hegemonic modes of sexuality are treated as degenerative and caustic and therefore must be hidden (or eradicated) entirely from the public sphere. It is the classic double standard; think of things like the "Don't Say Gay" or "DADT" laws or more broadly the attempt to remove even the mention of the existence of gays from curriculum. Most of the people who fight for such measures likely don't take the same issue or action with a 48 foot billboard for the local strip club or with a heterosexual couple kissing on screen.

And while the spot that people place the line may differ greatly, this ire against public sex still draws from the same well of reaction against perceived degeneracy that the fascist draws from. If this is not self evidently a negative thing to you, I have little I can say to convince you.

Some may be thinking 'okay, even if it is not harmful or degenerate, why do public sex?' To me, it is just as strange that so many keep their sex lives confined to the home and I could posit the same question. Neither way of doing things is any more natural or unnatural than the other, one is just the societal default. If it would bring you joy, why not engage in public sex?

The world is large, and if you know where to look, there are countless spaces you can carve out and stake the pervert's claim to. Alleyways, parks, bathrooms, rooftops, and beaches are the first to come to mind for me. To answer your question directly, you find them by making them and taking them.

Time is a large factor here as well. A given spot in a park at 9p may not be suitable, but might be more so by 11p, and even more so by 1a. My experience is that the later it gets, more spots become viable with less heavy precautions.

Another factor is coverage. An open field is riskier than behind a tree. The middle of an alley is riskier than behind a dumpster. You want to limit the amount of vectors through which you could be exposing yourself. I value coverage from sight lines over seclusion.

Something else you want to think about is whether or not you are on private property. If you are, it's possible that there are security personnel sitting in a car somewhere nearby or a resident who notices you. At that point, the issue is not even the sex, it's the fact you're there at all.

Finally, you always have to be ready to dip. Be aware of your surroundings as best you can, listen for cars and people, don't get too caught up in the moment that you're blinded. You gotta be ready to pull your pants up and walk quickly away. I'd rather be safe than sorry. If something's not right, get outta there. If you can't, well, don't have your dick out at least.

Anyway, all that to say go out and have fun. Good luck and enjoy yourself. The world has room for you to fit yourself into.

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genderoutlaws · 1 day ago

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its still funny to me im the only jew ive heard of who had their beit din convert them over a zoom call

#this dates my judaism to 2020 pretty hard but ive been in the process since i was 12 #living in a town with 3 xtian churches no synagogues and living inside a pagan church my dad ran #i really locked tf in before i even hit puberty like how do i live as jewishly as possible every moment until i am able to formally convert #also now reflecting. wild decision for a 12 year old to make. but i was as certain then as i am now #sorry anyways ! reminiscing. also around the time i realized i was trans so both are inextricable and important to me #in a way thats hard to describe #but i am so happy to be a jew and a transsexual and choose my own destiny with the glorious G-d given gift of free will #Baruch Hashem Baruch Hashem Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Echad

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angstandhappiness · 3 days ago

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Neat

@dead-voxel To add more onto the discussion of this episode:

This was a really good episode for the relationship between the two. Not flawless, but a good start. We can finally see how much not just Blitz, but BOTH of them care about each other. Not the surface level "trust me bro" kind of care, but ACTUALLY showing what they're willing to do for each other. Stolas was willing to take the blame FULL ON KNOWING that he could've been killed in his stead (even if he actually didn't end up being killed, he still assumed that he would be, as he placed his head down, ready to be executed), just to protect Blitz from his death sentence. He sacrificed his own wealth and presumably life for an imp, for someone who Blitz thought was just some kink or toy to Stolas

But what I think was the most important part of the episode, is that Blitz FINALLY showed his gentler side, going as far as giving a SIMPLE kiss on the cheek. Not the cocky, self-confident and sexual facade he puts on. But what he ACTUALLY felt in the moment. Just a simple gesture of affection, no dirty jokes or denying his feelings. And I really think this character development is really good for Blitz. Now we just need to see Stolas' character development, as he isn't exactly innocent in this whole situation either

Yeah the whole drama was cool, but drama needs to end sooner or later. I like the direction they set with this episode, and I hope they keep it up and build more upon it, to the point of the two ACTUALLY exchanging a healthy heart-to-heart conversation or something

Something so special to me is how ENRAGED Blitzo was at the mere IDEA that he ever hurt Stolas. The parts he was most angry during the trial was

1. When they accused him of forcing himself on Stolas

And 2. when they accused him of trying to kill Stolas

“I would never do that [to him]”

Blitzo is an assassin and probably wouldn’t flinch being accused of killing other people- as he’s killed so many. But the mere idea of people thinking he would hurt Stolas has him absolutely distraught.

He really, really loves Stolas and I think this shows how much he really deeply cares about him and his well being. This whole episode shows that. It’s so refreshing to see this development after the first season and the first half of the second season, where he was so quick to convince people he didn’t care (for obvious reasons).

#sorry to peer review you twice today but in my defense you are so right about everything #helluva boss mastermind #stolas goetia #stolitz #blitzø #helluva boss analysis #helluva boss #addition

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insidekatmind · 3 days ago

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Silent Promises~Jonathan Daviss

It was a cool spring evening when Jonathan called you for the second time that week. His calls were always filled with laughter, jokes, and a familiarity that comforted you. But this time, something in his tone made you raise an eyebrow.

"Hey, how are you?" Jonathan asked, and his voice sounded more serious than usual.

"I'm good, thanks," you replied, trying to sound more convincing than you felt. "I just finished doing some interviews for the new album."

"I can imagine," he replied with a light laugh, but it sounded a bit tense. "You know, the song you wrote about Drew... it's really powerful. There's a lot of you in that one."

A shiver ran down your spine. Drew... The man you had loved, but who had betrayed you. Every word of the song Heartbreak Highway spoke of your pain, broken dreams, and the loneliness you had felt after discovering his betrayal. The public had loved it, of course. It had gone viral, like all your most honest songs.

"Yeah... it was hard to write," you admitted, feeling a lump in your throat. "But the best of me came out. I'm glad people can relate to it."

"I'm sure," he said softly. "You're incredible, as always." His voice grew more tender but also more serious. "Listen, I want to talk to you about something..."

A small suspicion crept into your mind. Jonathan had never been afraid to be direct with you. But something felt different today. It was as if he was avoiding telling you something important.

"Sure, tell me everything," you replied, trying to keep your tone normal.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and when Jonathan spoke again, his voice trembled just slightly. "I... I know you're hurting, and I care about you. You know I've always been there for you."

"I know," you said, almost whispering. "And you've always been my rock, Jonathan."

He hesitated again. "I just want you to know that you deserve someone who truly loves you. Not someone who betrays you. Not someone who makes you feel less than you are."

Your heart stopped for a moment. His words seemed so sincere, but there was something deeper, as if he wasn’t just talking about Drew.

"Jonathan..." you whispered, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. "I... I’m not ready for another relationship, not now. Not after what happened."

"I’m not talking about a relationship," he said gently, but with an incredible firmness that struck you. "I'm just saying, I’m here. Always."

You sank into the couch, feeling the weight of his words. You had known him for so long. You’d laughed together, cried together, shared dreams, fears, and hopes. But you had never seen Jonathan in this light. Every word he spoke seemed to carry something more, a feeling you couldn’t fully decipher.

"Jonathan..." you repeated, his name sounded different on your tongue. "I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to think that I’m ignoring how you feel about me."

"I don’t want you to feel obligated," he said quickly, almost in a whisper. "I don’t want to put pressure on you. I just... I just want you to know that I care about you, in a way that goes beyond friendship. I’ve loved you, always."

The world seemed to stop for a moment. Jonathan... loved you? How had you never noticed it before? But at the same time, how could you respond to this revelation when your heart was still broken over Drew?

"Jonathan, I... I don’t know what to say." Your voice trembled, but not out of fear. Out of confusion, out of surprise. "I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want you to be like Drew... like someone who deceived me."

"You know I’m not like that," he replied, his voice full of sincerity you had never heard before. "And I understand, really. But I just want you to know that, no matter what happens, I’ll always be here. I don’t just want to be your best friend. I want to be something more, if one day you want it."

Silence fell heavily between you, and as his words echoed in your head, your heart hammered in your chest. You were lost. Lost in a sea of emotions you didn’t know how to manage.

"Jonathan..." you repeated finally, trying to find the strength to say something you never thought you’d say. "Maybe, in another time, in another life, we could have been more. But right now... I need time."

He nodded, even though you couldn’t see it. "I understand. And I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you, if you’re ever ready."

The call ended there, but that silent promise lingered between you. A promise of time, of hope, of a future that would come, or maybe not. But one thing was certain: Jonathan would never just be a friend to you. Something inside you was changing, and maybe, one day, you would look at him with different eyes.

And in the meantime, your song continued to play on the radio, an anthem of heartbreak and rebirth, while Jonathan, from afar, watched you with silent hope.

#jonathan daviss smut #jonathan daviss #pope heyward #imagine netflix #drew starkey #pope heyward one shot #pope heyward imagine #pope heyward fanfiction #pope hayward x reader #pope heyward x reader #pope heyward smut #pope heyward outer banks

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the-witty-pen-name · 2 days ago

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When he realizes he's in love with you...

(Stranger Things Edition)

A/N: thank you @punkrockmlchael for bouncing ideas back and forth with me for this one! you are the best <3 please follow roz if you don't already she's the best

Warnings: substance use (smoking weed); fluff

Characters: Steve, Eddie, Gareth, Jonathan, Argyle & Billy

Steve: It's a really simple moment. You're with everyone just gathered at Steve's house for a movie night. Steve is sharing the couch with you, and he'd been doing a good job of ignoring that fact until your head rests on his shoulder with a gentle thud. You fell asleep and you curl up by his side. He's terrified to move, not wanting to disturb and risk ending this moment. He tries to remain completely still, except when he lifts his arm to wrap around your shoulder- of course you sleep through it. Having you so close to him, knowing you feel safe and comfortable enough around him to fall asleep- he's a goner.

Eddie: You match his energy, and you aren't afraid to argue with him. Heated debates about literally anything- usually something pointless. You don't stand down either, no matter how ridiculous it gets. He even just likes to get you riled up so he can get a reaction out of you- he loved seeing you so fired up. One night, the movie you both watching is paused because Eddie made a bogus claim the actor was in another movie- he wasn't. You're arguing, talking with your hands frantically to prove your point and you don't even catch on that he's stopped caring and he's just watching you with a smirk on his lips. He just loved you so much.

Gareth: You'd been dating for a couple of months. After dinner together, you end up walking into the record store. You're in the next row across from him- just mindlessly looking through the selection. He watches your eyes light up when you find a record you already own, but love- just happy to stumble across it out and about. It makes his heart skip, and he realizes that he wants you to share things you love with him all the time- for the rest of his life.

Jonathan: When you aren't paying attention, Jonathan loves to take candid photos of you. There's a time you're both at Lover's Lake and you're skipping rocks. Looking at you through his camera, it kind of just hits him all at once. You look over and smile for the photo and it's his favorite photo he's ever taken. After that, you can tell something changed between the two of you. He finally confesses his feelings after months of pining and you start dating immediately afterwards.

Argyle: You're sitting with him in the back of the delivery van after your shift. There's already a large cloud of smoke that has engulfed the two of you. Through the haze that has pleasantly taken over his brain, he watches you- your skillful hands rolling another joint for the two of you to share. His mouth hangs open slightly watching as you bring it to your lips, your mouth opening just enough to poke your tongue out so you can seal it. It's probably the hottest thing he's ever seen and he immediately just falls for you in that moment.

Billy: You're laying on your stomach on his unmade bed. You're flipping through one of your notebooks, trying to study. He's laying on his side, kissing your shoulder and rubbing your back- wanting your attention and pouting he needs to compete with your homework. He observes you read behind those beautiful lashes of his, and he loves the way you face looks when you're concentrating and focused. Despite that, he still wants to toss the book on the floor and kiss you stupid, but he'll wait because he knows it's important to you to do well on this test. His resolve doesn't last long, but he does try to be good- because he loves you.

TAGLIST: @sunshinepeachx @downbear @fanlifeaamt @exploding-bonbon @losingmygrasponreality @skiddypiddy @andvys @djodirt @moonlightsolo @kyga01 @sheisjoeschateau @melaninjhs @v3lv3tf0x @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @sunshine-mrk @danymunsonharrington @mrsjellymunson @fanficfantik @the-unforgivenn @punkrockmlchael @supersecretsamm

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love-quinn · 1 day ago

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— THREAD OF GOLD

summary — a thread of moments that defined your relationship with mike.

warnings — uh i don’t think there are? me not caring about the irl timeline of events and making up my own shit cause i can. also i switch between past and present tense like nobody's business so we're all gonna pretend we don't notice that.

pairing — mike faist x fem!famous! reader

pronouns — she/her

word count — 7.8k + social media posts

note — hi sorry i’ve been MIA i’ve been working on this for 5ever truly it came to me one day and i couldn’t write anything else. this isn’t edited because it’s nearly 8k and i’m not about that life.

important note that i tried to make it so yn’s skin tone changed in at least some of the pictures to make it more inclusive but pinterest fought me SO hard i spent maybe four hours just finding images. this is NOT meant to be a depiction of what yn looks like, just a general vibe of the images used in the thread <33

ONE. july 2017

California doesn’t have seasons the same way your hometown did. California has two seasons: wet and dry. You grew up in the suburbs of New York, in Westchester county, about an hour north of Manhattan. You went to the city a few times growing up, but you spent almost all of your upbringing on a quiet street with a cul-de-sac and a park a street away.

You’d lived in California for a while, you were based there for most of the year, but you’d still say you lived in New York. You were lucky enough to be at a break between projects where you got to spend more than a few weeks at a time at your New York apartment.

You’d been back maybe two weeks and knowing that you didn’t have to go back to the west coast for at least six months felt like a major weight off your chest. Finally retreating back to your cocoon, the air around you still felt thick, but this one felt more like a wall keeping things out rather than one keeping you in.

So, naturally, the first thing you did with your newfound seclusion was to venture outside with a man you’d been trying to go out with for a few months now.

You and Mike had known each other for a little over half a year now. You’d met at a new year’s party hosted by a mutual friend of a mutual friend and you had known immediately that he was someone that you wanted to know desperately. You’d been elated that he seemed to reciprocate. Unfortunately, with your work schedules, this was the first time since January that you’d had enough time in the same state.

He was unlike anyone that you had ever met, and now that you were in the same place, you were revelling in his presence. He’d taken you to a park near his apartment, he’d let you hold his hand on the subway and you were pretty sure that he was going to kiss you later.

It had been a while since you’d been outside - like, properly outside, and Mike was enjoying how happy you seemed to be. While you’d been trying to organise yourselves, Mike had spent hours on the phone with you, trying to avoid sounding so disgustingly happy that he scared you off. This may have been your first real date, but Mike already knew that you were it for him.

You were chattering about a story from your childhood, and he was really trying to listen to you, but he was focused more on the way the golden hour was hitting your face, and the way you would subconsciously squeeze his hand when you made yourself laugh.

“Yeah, since then my mom makes sure that she puts the cat treats away whenever he comes over,” you giggled. Mike let the sound fill him from the inside. He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by you dropping his hand. “I’ve needed this,” you let your head fall back to bask in the dying sunlight. “Air that I’m not sharing with Buzzfeed HQ, grass that is made in real dirt.”

“I see,” Mike nodded seriously. “You’re not even here for me, you were just waiting for a guy to take you to see some trees.”

You reach back and grip his hand, eyes sparkling directly into his. “Thank you,” you say sincerely, “for knowing your place.”

He laughed and let you drop your hand again, watching fondly as you speed off in front of him, stopping maybe fifteen feet in front of him. “Will you come with me to the emergency room when I fall out of the tree I’m about to climb.”

Mike was sure you could see exactly how much he wanted to kiss you from the look on his face. He laughed, nodding. “That’s actually the next stop I had planned anyway.”

TWO. october 2017

You couldn’t remember dolling yourself up for a date in so long, but it was clearly paying off the way that Mike hadn’t let you out of arm’s reach the entire cab ride. You hand two hands on his arm and he’d been talking in your ear the whole ride.

You were taking him to lunch at one of your favourite places in the city, quiet, not visible from the street, with a wonderful goat cheese salad. He’d been ecstatic that you were clearly showing him parts of your life that you kept close to your chest.

The two of you had only been together properly for about three months now, but you’d known each other for nearly a year. Mike hadn’t really dated anyone in the industry before, definitely not publicly.

You’d mentioned to him a few of your past dating experiences before, and you had been steadfast on the fact that if you were going to have a relationship that it would be as completely private as possible.

Mike didn’t think he’d ever hesitated less to reply - he was all in, same page. It felt simultaneously too fast and too slow. You’d been dating for three months, sure, but he’d known you since January, and it had felt like that first seven months had been confirmation that he liked you again and again and again.

Mike had been calling you his girlfriend to everyone, his friends, his family, some of his closer co-stars. But as he sat across from you at the restaurant, he realised he hadn’t actually asked.

He valued communication, he thought he was pretty good at it. But he’d settled into such a comfortable settlement with you that it had slipped his mind entirely. You didn’t mind. You were on the same page as him.

You referred to him to those closest to you as your boyfriend. You weren’t sitting around, desperately waiting for him to ask you to be his girlfriend, if that’s how you felt you would have asked him before you got to this point.

The two of you were doing what you usually did, you ordered a few different things with the intention of sharing, and Mike, as usual, was way more interested in what you had picked than he had.

You were giggling across the table at him, watching the way the breeze from the window by your table kept blowing his hair into his mouth. .”Here,” you took the scrunchie from your own hair and stood up, coming to a rest behind him.

He tilted his head back - good for him, he could see your face; bad for you, you couldn’t grab all his hair - while you worked and after a second you’d tied his hair up out of his face.

You moved to return to your seat, but he half-lifted himself from his chair to make sure he got to kiss you before you left. “Thank you, honey,” he said softly. Your thumb rubbed his cheek with a soft touch.

“‘s okay,” you mused, looking at him. He loved the look you got in your eyes when you were fully concentrated on his face, he wondered if he got the same look when he saw yours. “You look cute.”

“Says you,” he mumbled, looking down at your outfit. He could tell you’d put in extra effort, he wanted you to know it hadn’t been for nothing. “Y’look so pretty today, can’t believe I get to be the one here with you.”

You giggled, preening under his thoughtful gaze. You could feel your cheeks growing warmer, but you made yourself not look away from him. “Yeah?”

He turned his head and kissed the palm of your hand. “Can’t believe I haven’t asked you to be my girlfriend properly,” he sounded so positively disappointed that you couldn’t help but giggle. “Don’t laugh at me, it’s embarrassing.”

You giggled a little bit harder. “Oh, baby,” you let your thumb brush his lips, soaking in the way he kissed the pad of the finger. “Can’t be embarrassed, I didn’t even realise.” Mike hummed in question. “Don’t know,” you shuffle in place. “in my head you’ve been my boyfriend for like six months.”

“Thank god,” Mike laughed, letting his head drop. “Quick, sit down, I need to ask you to be exclusive so I can tell people that I did.”

You pause for a second before nabbing the fork on his plate, scooping up a piece of chicken before sitting back in your chair. “Go on, then, boyfriend.” You take a bite. “Get it over with, I’m hungry.”

THREE. december 2017

You were curled into Mike’s side when you got the text. You didn’t usually look at your phone when the two of you were together, but he was watching a documentary about something that didn’t interest you, while you were reading a book on your phone.

He had his hand sitting on the back of your neck, knuckles brushing a line from the nape to the top of your shoulder. It was one of your costars from an earlier project, sending you a link.

“LMAOO not people”

It was a People magazine article, one that instantly had you rolling your eyes. Mike sensed your shift in mood and laid his palm flat on the curve of your shoulder. “Okay?”

“People says we’ve been together since…” you scrolled through the article.” “October last year,” you snickered.

“Cant believe you didn’t tell me.” Mike let his head fall back against the sofa. “I wish,” he said as an afterthought.

“You didn’t even know me back then,” you pointed out.

Mike leaned forward and kissed your temple. “Still,” he said, concretely no but with supreme amounts of gentleness. “I’m sure I would’ve wanted you with great desperation.”

You and Mike had gone through conversations before about revealing your relationship to the public. You had little to no intentions of doing that, especially not so soon. But you’d wanted to manage expectations.

You’d become famous young, not as young as some, you’d only been twenty when you landed your first major role. You’d done principal photography during your summer break in college, working towards getting your degree, and by the time you graduated you had two feature films and one golden globe nomination under your belt.

You’d had a college boyfriend at the time, it had ended naturally, not without pain, but not as a result of your blossoming career. The magazines had eaten it up, though, with all sorts of speculations.

You didn’t want that again. You didn’t owe them anything. And you were so grateful that Mike seemed to share the sentiment. You were so grateful to your fans but you knew at the end of the day that they didn’t own you, which is why you were not above lying to them to keep them out of your life.

Especially when the comments of the post were already filled with dozens of suggestions to who it could be. Not when your friends, your coworkers, or random strangers who hadn’t done anything other than be someone people thought you might like if you met them, we’re getting their personal lives dug into in order to confirm a suspicion that a stranger had about you.

Not when you were curled up in the arms of one of the kindest most charming men you’d ever known, one that you might even want to spend the rest of your life with. He definitely didn’t deserve this, and neither did you.

So, you went into your camera roll and found a selfie you’d sent to one of your friends a few days earlier. You typed up a short sentence and then hit post on your Instagram story without thinking too hard about it.

When you showed it to Mike he smiled endearingly. “Aw man,” he mumbled, pressing his face to the crook of your neck. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell me we broke up.”

FOUR. march 2018

Days on set were long, they were often exhausting, and they were where you’d thrive.

You’d finally wrapped after thirteen hours, and the first thing you did when you got your phone out of your trailer was to text Mike.

He was in New York still, but you guys had been speaking as often as you could. With him three hours in front of you, it often ended up in the two of you just missing each other. Mike had texted you four hours earlier while you’d been filming.

You look pretty here.

It’s a Vanity Fair video that you filmed about a month ago with one of your costars. It was a movie about love, being in love, loving people, loving places, loving time. Your character was the main romantic love interest to the main character, and she was one of your favourite characters that you’d ever played. A young woman who finds love in her career, love in her family, and eventually begins giving it to the main character. You and your costar had become very close, and you were talking candidly to them in the video about your experience with love.

Mike had sent you a screenshot of the video, where you’re smiling across to your costar. It had been a simple question they’d asked; have you ever been in love.

Now, you couldn’t say blatantly, “yes, I have a boyfriend.” And you couldn’t say that for two reasons. Number one, you and Mike had been so careful to the point where you didn’t even think your fans knew that the two of you were aware of each other, let alone that his tongue had been in your mouth.

And number two was that you hadn’t actually told Mike that you loved him. You did, god you did. You probably would have told him months ago if things were more normal. If you both worked 9 to 5s, you lived primarily in the same city, you could go on dates and pull him over to the side of the sidewalk, interrupting him mid-sentence to kiss him.

Unfortunately, you’d spent months apart, and while you spoke multiple times a day, at least through texts, it felt like not the right time.

You try to brush off your smile as you reply to him. Stop ittt you’re giving me an ego <333. In that exact moment, you know what you’d been spewing some media trained answer that avoided mentioning your partner but still felt authentic. “I’m just really glad that I spent most of my early twenties trying to find myself before trying to find someone else, I guess.”

Mike took a moment to reply. Guess you didn’t find me :(

You giggle as you finish changing back into your own clothes out of the costume you’d just been wearing, ready to head home now that your last scene of the day had concluded. Nope! You sought me out 100% I actually have no idea who you are.

That time the reply was instant. This is awkward then. What else is instant is the knock on your trailer door, the way you wrap your arms around him once you’d thrown open the door, and the knowledge that you’re going to tell him that you love him.

FIVE. september 2018

Mike knows that most people are more nervous to meet their girlfriend’s parents than he currently is, and ironically that actually does make him nervous.

It wasn’t really his first time meeting them, he’d spoken to them on the phone before and he’d even texted your mom a couple of times when you’d asked him to. You’ve been his girlfriend officially for almost an entire year, but the two of you both agreed that you felt you’d been together since July of the year earlier. That was over one whole year together. Even if your parents didn’t like him - which, based off the amount that not only he’d spoken to them, but you’d talked about him, seemed almost impossible - it wasn’t going to be the be all or end all.

But he wanted your mom’s birthday brunch (of which she was very serious about) to go well as his first official family event that he attended as your boyfriend.

The two of you were getting ready at his place, as you do most days that you’re in New York. You spend maybe two or three months in your home state and as you and Mike are together for longer and longer, you spend as much time together as you can. Mike had not only let you spend every second you could at his apartment, he’d actively encouraged it.

You’re wearing an outfit he’s seen on you a hundred times, standing in front of his bathroom mirror as he ducks in to grab his phone. He stops behind you, watching you apply mascara, and places both his hands on your shoulders.

“Love you,” you say absent-mindedly, trying to focus on not stabbing yourself in the eye.

He squeezes your shoulders and kisses the back of your neck, the closest part he can reach. “Love you more. I’m ready to head out whenever you are.”

You lean back so your face is no longer just inches from the mirror. “Reservation’s at 11 so we should probably leave soon,” you say. “Give me five or so minutes.”

You let him hold your hand the entire way to the restaurant, knowing exactly how nervous he is. He’s a grown man, he knows your mom already loves him, but he appreciates that you don’t say any of this as he follows you into the restaurant.

Your mom is already there, with two seats beside her that Mike knows are reserved for you, and she leaps out of her chair at the sight of you. You greet her with a hug and a happy birthday, having let Mike hold the gift so he felt less like he was coming empty handed (you’d bought it together). The second you’re out of her path, she’s coming for him. “Oh, it’s so lovely to finally get to meet you!” She’s gushing over him and he’s trying not to look embarrassed in front of you.

He fits right in with your family, sitting on your left hand side while you sit pride of place beside your mom. He gets caught up in one of your mom’s friend’s conversations (“Oh I just adore Broadway, what’s it like?”) and that’s when your mom takes the opportunity to lean over and whisper over her bellini to you.

You lean in so you can hear her without much strain.

“I’ve never seen you look this happy.”

You beam back at her.

SIX. november 2019

You’re thinking of selling your California apartment.

You know it’s probably a bad idea, and that because you spend so much time in LA, it’s good to have a place to call home. But you also feel like it’s keeping you tied to the west coast. That you’re more likely to spend more time in California if you have a place there, and that’s not something that you want anymore.

You’ve been in California for the last nine months, it’s been longer than that since you’ve seen your family, your friends, or your boyfriend. You missed your two-year anniversary because you spent the day on set and Mike wasn’t able to fly out due to his work schedule.

You have your co-stars, people you spent months with every day that you genuinely enjoy being around - one of them you even worked with on a past project, you spend a lot of your free time with them between takes - but it’s not the same.

And now you’re done. You have over seven months until press from this movie begins and then you have to start working again. Normally, you’d stay in California while you looked for another project to latch onto, but that wasn’t what you wanted to do.

You missed Mike, plain and simple. He was in New Jersey filming a movie, but that’s about as far away as he’d be if he was in New York. You knew of plenty of actors who didn’t live in LA and still made it work just fine, and as far as home states went, you could definitely have done worse than New York.

“I think if it’s something you want to do you should look into it.” You’d called your boyfriend to have him either talk you into or out of it, but frustratingly all he’s done is point out that it’s your apartment and that he’d be kind of an asshole if he pushed his opinion on your assets onto you.

“I want your opinion,” you let out a dramatic sob, sitting at your kitchen counter. Your phone is on speaker while you’re on your laptop, answering emails.

Mike laughs, it’s crackly through the phone but you know the ins and outs, the layers of breath. “My opinion is that you should do what feels right for you, and I’ll back you up no matter what.”

“You’re annoying,” you grumble, changing tabs to instead look through your camera roll. You had a few days left to post one of your monthly photo dumps, something you much preferred to posting consistently. There was one photo that your camera roll had put in the forefront, of you at dinner with Mike and two of your mutual friends to celebrate his 27th birthday. You’d taken the photo almost eleven months earlier, and hadn’t done anything with it, but you did think you looked cute.

“I love you,” he offers instead.

You hum in response, bringing up the photo. “Is it weird if I post a photo from your birthday dinner? You’re not in it, obviously.”

He laughs at your bluntness. “Right, because why would I be in it? It’s only my birthday.”

That brings you out of it. “No, wait,” you giggle. “Just cause I don’t want them to know that it’s your dinner, idiot.”

Mike groans. “I was gonna ask when you next are coming home but I actually don’t care anymore about it.”

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me what to do about my apartment.”

“Forgive me?”

“Fine, I love you or whatever.”

Mike laughs again, and you don’t even notice the crackles. “Or whatever.”

SEVEN. november 2019

You don’t think you’ve laughed this hard in a while.

“I’m sorry,” she moans, leaning on your shoulder.

You’re with one of your closest friends, sitting on your sofa, almost crying with laughter. You’d been staying with her while the sale of your California place was going down, with every intention of moving back home to New York after it was done. She’d commented on your yearly photo set, talking about a photo of you and your mom, and you’d realised exactly where people’s minds would go.

“No,” you giggle, “I was the one who decided to be messy and post the photo.” You’d posted a photo that had been taken of you and Mike when he’d come to visit you on set the year earlier. Everyone knew it was old, you’d thought it was funny, and sure you had probably revealed a little bit too much about your relationship, but Mike had thought it was funny too, so that was enough for you.

Your favourite part, though, was that not a single person had commented, tweeted, messaged you asking who he was, if he was your boyfriend, or what was happening. You hadn’t seen a single person give a fuck.

The two of you had been sneaking around like teenagers and literally no one had cared, so Mike had allowed you to be a little messy on your Instagram feed.

“If I’m the reason you and Mike get doxxed you can feel free to post any blackmail you have of me,” she promises. You can tell she feels awful about the possibility of having just exposed your multi-year long relationship, but if you’re honest you think it’s kind of funny.

You wave her off. “No, I guarantee no one even cares. Worst case scenario someone asks, you just tell them you were talking about the photo of me and my mom, it’s so fine.”

The reason that you’d posted that photo now was because when it had been taken, things were definitely too new to be making hints towards it, and you would have posted a more recent picture but that was literally the only one of the two of you you could fine.

And the best part was while all this was happening, so blatantly obvious to everyone who knew, you still got so many comments, dms - fucking interview questions - asking if you had a boyfriend, and every single time you’d either dodge it or outright say no.

Your phone vibrated; a text from Mike.

Rachel told me she hasn’t seen a single tweet about it and if anyone would have seen it it would be her.

yeah i run a stan account of you and haven’t put my phone down in 8 years - rachel :))))) She sends an entire row of kisses with hers.

You’d met his costar a few times, only over the phone, and he sent you pictures of the two of them together on set often. You heart her message, giving his a thumbs up and knowing that she’d appreciate that.

“See, it’s fine.” You show your friend.

She breathes an audible sigh of relief. “In my defence you did post the photo.”

EIGHT. june 2020

The plan had been in the works for six months before it got derailed. Your California apartment had officially been sold, and you were set to move in to Mike’s place until you settled back in. Once things had calmed down with work for the two of you, you were going to start looking for your own place together.

You’d ended your lease in your New York place, you had all of your stuff - not that you carted much around with you anyway - most of the furniture you had came with the place, and you’d donated or sold most of it. You had been living off of display furniture and minimal decorating, knowing that wherever it was would sit vacant most of the time anyway. This was going to be it, where you finally started building a life, and you’d be doing it with Mike.

And then the country had gone into lockdown and, after a very lengthy conversation, the two of you had decided to relocate back to Columbus, Ohio, where he had a place for when he went to visit family.

It had been a fast move, but you’d planned for every thing that you possibly could have. Your family was safe, in New York, and you knew that was the best place for them to be. Your dad had an autoimmune disorder, so you knew that even if you were living in the city you wouldn’t be able to visit them much anyway. After three years with Mike, spending most of your relationship states away, you couldn’t let him leave without coming with him.

So, there the two of you were. In Mike’s house in Ohio, one that was entirely familiar to him and somehow, it felt that way to you as well. Like you knew him so well that anything he knew was something you instinctively understood.

Despite how long you’ve known Mike, how long you’ve loved him, you feel a bit like you’re taking over his space. Like when he moves something to make room for one of your trinkets that you’re minimising him in his own home.

He doesn’t let you think that for long. Sometimes you’ll come into your shared bedroom and find him rearranging his bookshelf so your books fit too, moving his Grammy to a shelf where there’s enough room for it to sit beside your awards, changing the sheets to a set that you’d picked out.

You’ve been a successful working actor for the last eight years now, for almost five of them you’ve forgotten what it’s like to go outside and not worry that you’re going to be spotted.

Sure, when you go outside now, you’re masked and there’s less people outside to recognise you. But to the people you do run into, you’re not an actor to them, not a celebrity, not anything. You’re Mike’s girlfriend.

You can understand how that’s frustrating, you are your own person, but after three years of being together but constantly apart, you’re okay with your neighbours knowing you simply as Mike’s girlfriend.

Now that you’re always in the house your screentime goes way down, you don’t need to text him anymore. All of the things that had you stressed and anxious to leave the house for have changed. And of course the state of the world is by no means good, but if everything is going to be happening anyway, you’re glad that you’re able to be with him during it.

NINE. october 2020

You had become a bit of a homebody in the 9 months that you’d been living in Ohio. You only ever left the house when Mike did, and you didn’t go with him every time. Mike can tell it’s starting to wear on you a little bit.

So, in an effort to pick yourself up a bit more, you’ve started doing all the grocery shopping. You and Mike make a list together so as to not give you all the mental load with it, but you walk down the few blocks to the small general store.

It’s convenient, a nice place, with a pharmacy attached to one side and a bakery on the other. Sometimes you take Austin and the girl who works at the bakery puts a bowl down for him while you go in and get your medication.

Sometimes you drive, when you have the aching exhaustion that only comes with being sad for hours on end, or when it’s raining, but the fresh air and just the act of being outside was usually enough to make you feel better.

It was late, and the pharmacy was closing soon when you realise you’d forgotten to pick up your medication, so it’s a no brainer that you’ll zip down and grab it while Mike makes dinner.

You’ve slowly started setting down roots here, the shop assistants know your name and your prescription, they know you and Mike have officially moved into the mostly vacant house a few streets away, and they know that you seem like you’re maybe not always doing the best, because they’re always extra kind to you when you need it.

You like the domesticity. Sitting on the kitchen counter while goes through the fridge, telling you what to write down. Walking his dog - Austin absolutely loves you, which Mike did tell you is normal for most people - or holding his hand with his spare one on the leash.

You’ve been really tired lately, and despite the fact that it’s meant to be your time to be by yourself and get fresh air, you find yourself in the kitchen, arms around your boyfriend’s waist. “Please?” You ask.

Mike’s stirring something cheesy on the stove. You can smell it behind the wall of his cologne, the smell of wood and cinnamon. “Dinner’s almost ready,” he laughs and you feel the vibrations where your cheek is pressed to his back. “It’ll be cold by the time we get back.”

Your voice is small, and he knows he has zero intention of actually saying no to you, but he’s wondering if you’ll change your mind given a little bit of coaxing.

“We have a microwave.” He wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t so close to him.

He loves you, and he’s also not blind. He can see you’re struggling. He likes to think he knows exactly when to give you space, and when you need him there. He puts the spoon down on the cutting board he has beside the stove and turns off the gas. “Okay,” he says comfortingly.

You brighten, and he feels you stand up straighter. “You’ll come with me.”

Mike doesn’t even pretend to think about it this time. “Of course I will.”

TEN. february 2021

Press was finally happening for your project that you had filmed all the way back towards the end of 2019, and with that came your first ever zoom interview. It was a bit awkward, you’d never really liked doing press much face to face but now online it was worse.

You and Mike had both found it a bit weird. He’d done a bit more of it in 2020 than you had, so you’d asked if he’d be in the room where possible to help ease your nerves.

You were in your bedroom, set up at the designated Work Spot. You and Mike had made an agreement, no work was to be done outside of the Work Spot. It was the only thing that stopped it bleeding into your everyday life, especially now that you were working from home.

Mike was out of frame so you could still see him, sitting in the corner reading a book. He’d glance up at you every single time you looked at him, like he could feel that you needed him.

Things were going well, it wasn’t a standard interview with an interviewer, but rather you’d been given a list of questions that the group of you took turns asking the others and then answering yourself.

There was a bit there where you knew you had a note written down about something important, but you’d written it on Mike’s phone. It was the only one near you at the time, and you were actively regretting it now.

You muted yourself on your computer and tried to subtly gesture for him. He notices you immediately and comes to stand right beside him.

“Can I grab your phone really quick?” He hands it over.

“You okay?” He asks, wary of the camera he’s standing just outside of frame of.

You unlock his phone and open up his notes app, trying to find what you’re doing. Mike didn’t have a phone case until you met him, but you’d cajoled him into a clear on“Did you…” you hum. “Did you move my note?”

You handed Mike back his phone and told him what he’s looking for and he scrolled for a second. “No?” He frowned. “Uh…” he bites his lip. “Oh wait, I cleared out a bunch of stuff hang on.”

You can hear everyone else, so you know no one has clocked your absence yet. “Found it,” he hands you back his phone and pulls up the one. “This one?”

“Love you,” you say in lieu of an answer. He gives you a look that makes a smile worm its way onto your face.

Mike goes to sit back down as you skim through your note, ready to have your talking points ready. “Love you,” he calls back.

When it’s eventually your turn to answer, you turn your microphone back on like nothing ever happened. And your costars, who all knew everything were was to know about exactly who you’d been talking to, all kept their mouths shut too.

ELEVEN. august 2021

The material of your dress was scratching his skin, but Mike couldn’t seem to mind when you were so deliriously happy. In one hand you had a glass of champagne and in the other a beautiful bouquet of flowers that you’d snatched from the air after it had left the hands of your childhood best friend.

People had been giving him knowing looks about it since then, upturned smirks and elbows to his ribcage. Mike laughed it off. The two of you were good, and he knew that you weren’t the type of girl to expect a proposal just because she caught the bouquet.

Over the course of the night he had stood by, chatting idly with another group of plus ones. He’d met your best friend countless times, but there was no denying that he would not have been invited if he hadn’t been with you for the last four years. He was just happy that you seemed to be having a good time.

Eventually, you staggered over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You weren’t drunk, didn’t need to be, you were simply so elated to not only be able to leave the house without feeling anxious but also to be able to celebrate your best friend getting married.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He chuckled, your nose pressed to his adam’s apple.

You hummed. “Yeah. Tired. Happy. Miss you,”

He ran his hand along the back of your dress, cringing at the material. “‘M right here.”

The night was winding down, it was out in a big greenspace that they’d rented, the sun had well and truly set. You were basking in the glow of the massive outdoor lamps they’d set up, and they bathed you in a golden hue.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you said genuinely. “I’m really happy.”

You were swaying on the spot slightly to the faded jazz playing in the background, and he let his arms envelope you, pulling you impossibly close to him. “Of course, baby,” he’s beaming wide, his voice low and soft. You can hear how happy he is.

It’s your first time being back in New York since you left, your longest stretch away from your home state in your whole life. The two of you have started looking for work again now that things are starting to open up. Mike’s riding the high of his West Side Story performance, he’s been getting offers since it came out. He hasn’t taken any of them, though, instead focusing on smaller things that he likes more. The TV show he’d spent a while filming in Texas had been cancelled, which was a shame because you really enjoyed watching TikTok edits of him in that.

Instead, he’d been waving off scripts his agents sent him. He’d been asked to do a screen test in a movie in the UK, but he didn’t seem to interested in it. The most interesting thing about it was that his screen test was apparently with Zendaya, so you’d encouraged him to go just to meet her.

Things are picking up again. Your agent’s sending you offers and auditions and after two years of not being on set you’re itching to get back.

But, getting back meant going back.

You’d settled in Columbus. You didn’t want to leave, but you and Mike both knew that you’d have to go back to New York.

It was something that you’d been talking about for a while, getting another place in New York. You’re fortunate enough that it’s something you’re able to afford, and it seems like a good idea. It doesn’t need to be discussed tonight, though.

Instead, you ask him quietly, “Are we ever gonna get married?”

Mike mused, “Do you want to?”

You’re playing with the longer strands of hair on the back of his neck. “I think I might. With you.”

“Yeah?” He asks. He feels so warm inside there’s glee practically pouring from him.

“Not right now, though,” you admit. “I think I want more of a career before I’m willing to become known as someone’s wife.” Mike knows exactly what you mean, and that even though you eventually want to be his wife, that regardless of what you’ve accomplished, from that moment on there will be people who know you exclusively as ‘Mike Faist’s wife.’ At this point in time, you’re not even known as his girlfriend, a fact that the two of you enjoy.

“You just let me know,” he hums. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

You’ve been together almost four and a half years now and still no one knows. You don’t really need people to.

You kiss his jaw and reach down to take off your heels, complaining about your feet. He takes them from you and watches as you make your way back towards your friends. He knows he’s going to ask you one day, and he knows you’ll say yes. The two of you know just how much you love each other. You don’t need anyone else to just yet.

TWELVE. november 2021

So, a new arrangement has been reached. You n’t living in New York permanently but you have a lease on a place together. You’re back to doing live press, with the movie finally being shown in theatres. To be completely honest, you’re pretty much done with press on this movie. When you were cast in it three years ago, you didn’t expect that you would still be doing it.

Mike is sympathetic but amused. They haven’t organised the screen test for that one movie yet but that’s because the director was working on another project and the one Mike had been scouted for had been pushed back for a short period.

Sometimes companies will send you a car to come to your interview, but you take the subway home. Mike comes with you most times, more than happy to come tag along and sit in a room with your stuff and bring you your water bottle between shoots.

“Thank you, baby,” you tell him genuinely the fourth time he does it. He kisses your forehead. “You didn’t have to come with me, I appreciate you.”

He hums as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “I need to earn my keep somehow, I’ve been your stay at home boyfriend for like two years.”

You giggle around the straw of your water bottle, softening at the way he reaches to take it from you. “And your services have been appreciated and they will be missed when you inevitably book again.”

It’s not something that you expect to be so comforted by. The knowledge that wherever you’re living - Ohio, New York, California, wherever, even if you’re in different states - that you just love being around him. No matter how much time he spends with you, he doesn’t get sick of you, you don’t get sick of him.

You’re infinitely happier when he’s within arms reach than when he’s not.

“Only book I care about is the one I’m reading over there,” he leans in to kiss you briefly. The director of the shoot gives out the five minute warning to roll into the next section, Mike takes your phone and water bottle and heads back to his corner.

It’s almost comedic, the way that the producer immediately starts the next section with asking you “Do you have a celebrity crush?”

You have to make a conscious effort to not look over at Mike, even though you know he’s watching you.

“Uh,” you laugh awkwardly, “I don’t really have one.”

Your coworkers’ faces are stone, and you don’t know if that make you want to laugh more or not. You keep your eyes directed straight at the barrel of the camera and you know everyone’s going to see how uncomfortable you are.

“I guess having one when…” you struggle to find the right words, “when you are where I am in life, is just kind of weird,” you laugh again. “It feels wrong, I don’t know.”

You finally let your gaze land on your boyfriend. He’s smiling at you, and you calm immediately knowing that even once you’re out of this building, back on the train to your one bedroom, your hand in his, sharing earbuds, he’ll be there.

THIRTEEN. april 2022

“Tell me again, what she said,” your feet are in Mike’s lap. You have people over, and you can’t imagine being happier. Your apartment is bustling, a charcuterie board that you are very proud of on the kitchen counter. You still have New Years decorations up, and there’s music playing. Mike got back from his screen test a week ago, and you’re revelling in his presence again.

Mike takes a sip of his drink and moves so he’s resting his arm on your calf. You have a few of your friends sitting on the sofas around you, hanging on to every word. “She told me to tell you-”

You interrupt him, too excited “She brought me up!” You giggle over your champagne.

Mike giggles, the side of his mouth pinching up with his smile. “Zendaya wanted me to tell you that she had just seen your most recent movie, and that she thought you were really good in it.”

You flail back so you’re resting on the arm of a friend. “Zendaya knows my name.”

One of your friends puts his drink down on the coffee table. “Don’t you guys have a Grammy in your bedroom, why are you surprised by this?”

“It’s not mine,” you roll your eyes, tipsy off the champagne and drunk on the party. “I would never take credit for my wonderful boyfriend’s accomplishment.”

“She’s taken so many selfies with it,” the friend you’re leaning on chimes in.

Mike laughs and almost as if by magnet you’re trying to get closer to him. Your head comes up beside his, resting on the wall behind the couch, his hand on the back of your neck.

You don’t even know what you’re celebrating. Just being able to have people over, having a space to have them in. Having someone you’d want to host a party with.

“Okay, and?” you shoot back. “You’ve taken selfies with me.”

He’s kissed the hollow of your collarbone, his hair, getting longer now, tickling your neck. You love him so much, you’re surprised there’s enough room in the apartment for all your guests with how much space it’s taking up.

The apartment itself is obviously a new development in your life, but the area isn’t. Just two streets over is the apartment you were living in when you met Mike. Barely furnished, not decorated, not lived in.

A place so physically close to the room you’re sitting in with a group of people you love more than life, but that couldn’t have possibly been further away. Now you have family pictures on the wall, you have his toothbrush right beside yours. You have a ticket to the show of Dear Evan Hansen you went and saw right when you two got together, sitting front row in the audience and marveling in the fact that the man onstage liked you, pride of place in your clear phone case. He has a ticket stub from that time a theatre in Columbus was playing a rerun of your feature film debut and he’d dragged you with him to go see it wedged in his. You have a delicate chain around your neck with an M on it so well hidden it might as well be lost to legend, he has your first initial hanging on his keychain.

It’s been five years, three lived-in states, several hundred shared meals, and an apartment just two streets away, but as you laugh at a story someone is telling, your cheek pressed against Mike’s, you’ve never felt closer to home.

#mike faist #mike faist x reader #mike faist fic #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers

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upon-sunflower-trails · 2 days ago

Text

it cries a soft weep like mine

nam-gyu x reader | oneshot | 1965 words

songfic, i guess? based on eric by mitski. if i'm being honest, this fic was really cathartic for me to write.

warnings: nsfw. pretty fucking toxic relationship, nothing physically or sexually abusive, but it's really toxic. fairly graphic depictions of sex. emotional abuse. manipulation. dacryphilia.

You like control, well, I do too

Take off my clothes and watch me move

You can come closer, I'll let you hurt me

How you choose

It had been a little over six months since you decided to pursue a relationship with Nam-gyu. You'd met him through a mutual friend, where the attraction was almost instantaneous.

That's all it seemed to be. Purely physical attraction. You knew you wanted more, to have a relationship that was full of genuine intimacy. You wanted the sort of love that led to late night conversations in bed, with your hands threaded in his hair as you both looked up at the ceiling, gentle smiles on your faces.

Nam-gyu was not that kind of lover. It was all about how far he could take things without you pushing back. He used you for sex and not much else— it's not like he was ever home. You couldn't tell if you preferred the crippling solitude that settled in your gut when he was out doing god-knows-what during the day, or if you wanted to cling to him despite the ways he made it clear you were of no importance to him.

In the beginning, you pushed back. You two would constantly argue over the smallest of things. He wanted to be his own person, even if it meant disrespecting his relationship with you. You still had enough strength to stand your ground, to yell back as he slammed his fist against the counter.

You still remembered the first time you had come home to him in bed with someone else, as they scurried out of the door as Nam-gyu laid still in bed with a smirk on his face, disregarding the angry tears streaming down your face as you shouted at him like a rabid dog barking at its owner.

You wanted to leave then, but he convinced you to stay the same way he always did. Pleading with you, pretending he cared in that moment— promising he would change, that he had a moment of weakness. Things had been so difficult for him, he wasn't in the right state of mind. And then he'd have you bare in front of him, knowing he would be able to reel you back in any time.

Help me with the zipper on my skirt, it's stuck

As you kneel, I'll be watching you fix me

This view of you, of the top of your head

Makes me forgive you

After a few months, even your mutual friends could tell things weren't right between you and your boyfriend. You had become more withdrawn and careful with your words. You refused to drink, knowing it would lead to you breaking down and spilling your guts to anyone in proximity to you.

Nam-gyu paraded you around as if you were an exotic pet on a leash. He would shut you up if you even dared to speak in front of the people who were no longer your friends, but his. He convinced you that their worried glances were instead glares of disgust, that everyone knew how mean you were to him behind closed doors. You believed him; how could you yell at him when he had been trying so hard to get better?

At one get-together, the same person you had caught him sleeping with was there. Even in your wounded state, it festered— festered until you could feel every rational part of you become infected with blind rage. You snapped as he placed an arm on theirs after ignoring you all night, even though to anyone who was watching it was obvious he was simply helping to steady them after they had fallen.

You were made to be the fool. Onlookers saw you as insecure, jealous, crazy. Nam-gyu played the part of the hurt boyfriend who couldn't believe the accusations you were throwing at him. Everyone believed him, because why would they trust you? You had been acting strange and distant for months now.

That night, Nam-gyu hadn't berated you. He simply helped you undress, murmuring that he would make it up to you.

"Don't know why you always make me out to be the bad guy, baby." "I was just tryin' to help them. Didn't you see them fall?" "We already talked about this, why do you keep bringing it up?" "Am I not allowed to have friends now? I'll just stop talking to them, if that's what you want. In fact, I'll stop going out entirely."

He said it all as he helped you out of the shoes that were blistering your feet, unzipping the skirt you had been fiddling with all night. He looked up at you through his lashes, eyes glistening as he did his best to seem hurt by your accusations. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he jutted out his bottom lip, wailing that the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

So you let him back in again. You turned a blind eye yet again to all the trouble he had caused you, because at least he was a good fuck for the night.

But how long, how long can we play this way?

I'm tired, I'm tired of not loving you

My heart, my heart wants to hold you

But I know, I know, I know the rules

Six months in, you knew you held nothing but an odd mix of sorrow and contempt for Nam-gyu. You tried to rationalize it, that this was what love was really supposed to feel like.

The only physical intimacy he engaged in with you was sex. It was never gentle, or soft, or tender; it was bordering on violent and possessive, despite you not truly belonging to him. And as soon as he had spilt himself into you, he would turn away and not allow you to hold or touch him. He claimed he never saw the point of cuddling or any sort of aftercare.

You knew he heard the sobs that racked your body every night. As you clutched the comforter close to your bare chest, pillow wet as the thick seed between your legs served as a constant reminder of what you were putting yourself through.

Some nights, you would reach out as he was sleeping, desperate to brush the stray hairs from his face. He truly looked peaceful like this, his resting state making you forget how cruel he could be. Every time you outstretched your limbs, craving any sort of loving embrace, you retracted at the last minute. You knew to roll back over and force your eyes shut, praying that perhaps this was all just a bad dream you were going to wake up from. That you were in such a happy relationship in real life, you were forced to have constant nightmares of what a terrible relationship would look like.

And every morning, as harsh sunlight beat in through the blinds on your face, you were reminded that this was your reality. That you would turn over, and Nam-gyu would be gone— not in the way that he had never existed, as the divet in the mattress suggested, but that he left without bidding you farewell as any good lover should.

You knew you weren't in love with him. How could you be? You despised him, deep down, even if you never admitted it to yourself. But you had promised yourself to him at some point down the line, and he hadn't dumped you on the side of the road yet.

So, for now, you stayed.

Blue light, dark room, the white of your teeth

As you smile at my trembling shoulders

But your skin, did you notice your skin?

It cries a soft weep like mine

You always tended to cry during sex with Nam-gyu. Perhaps he had just gotten used to it, or he had twisted in his mind that they were tears of pleasure. Either way, it didn't matter.

You enjoyed the release, yes, you only stayed with him for the pleasure. Well, that was what you told yourself.

You wept as he thrust into you, because it was the only time the relationship felt real. His presence was overpowering, as the stench of his cologne settled into your nostrils while the cold sensation of his rings against your sides were the only thing keeping your mind tethered to reality.

He would growl into your shoulder as he bit and nipped at you, leaving marks that you never hesitated to cover (since they were a reminder that you were with him). His teeth shone in the low light of your "shared" bedroom, amusement coming out as a hiss as you cried out his name, a mix of pleasure and despair at your current situation.

Insults and degradation would be hurled your way under the guise of him "getting too into the moment." You always tried to ignore when he would moan out someone else's name. It only made you cry harder, and that only made him rougher. You guessed that your sobs spurred him on, that in some twisted sort of way seeing you in such a broken state aided his arousal. You never wanted to think too much into it, lest you begin to bawl even more.

Every once in a while, on extremely rare occasion, he would let a tear slip as well. Maybe it was a sign he was still human, too. That deep down, he felt sorry for what he had put you through. He was always quick to hide it as soon as it happened, and just like that he would go back to the same Nam-gyu he always was.

Those nights, you would always hear sniffling and muffled sobs beside you as you wiped your silent tears away.

I'll sell, I'll sell my whole to you

What's my, what's my, what's my price?

How about, how about just a part of you?

You were too deep in to leave when Nam-gyu finally began investing your money in things as well. He had lost everything already, and now needed your financial aid to pick him up off the ground. You wanted to be the perfect partner to him, to support him in his time of need. You tried to find any positive you could about him as you got deeper and deeper into the relationship, making decisions that would only solidify your inability to leave him.

You had lost everything alongside him, drowning in debt as he made even more irresponsible decisions with your money. You couldn't even stick up for yourself, let alone get out of the situation entirely. You were stuck, practically entrapped with a barbed-wire engagement ring digging into your finger. You laughed at the idea, but realized the metaphor didn't seem so far-fetched.

You weren't sure what it was that you did that finally pushed Nam-gyu over the edge. He abandoned you without a word, one day muttering something about making up his debts and the next day vanishing into thin air. You weren't sure if he'd ever return. Deep down, you knew you didn't want him to. But as it stood, you were crushed. Lost and hopeless without him, simply going through the motions everyday with no solace in pretending he loved you at night while being shoved against the headboard.

In some strange way, you missed him. It wasn't as though he completed you, but you had become so wrapped up in a life not with him, but of him, that you weren't sure how to exist outside of being Nam-gyu's.

You weren't sure how to survive without the assurance of him being in your life.

'Cause I want, I want, I want, I want

I want, I want, I want, I want, I want.

#nam gyu x reader #nam-gyu x reader #namgyu x reader #player 124 x reader #player 124 #namgyu #nam gyu #nam gyu squid game #squid game nam gyu #squid game #squid game x reader

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hms-no-fun · 2 days ago

Note

i'll barge in on this post as someone whose youtube career was at least partially made by being on that stream. i'd been watching for a couple days i think when May Leitz DM'd me to see if i wanted to be on. they needed lots of people to fill in at all hours of the day, and there was no plan for how to do that ahead of time because 24 hour streams were still a relatively new thing whose rules were being made in real time. so i got brought into the "tooth gang," a term whose origin i don't remember beyond us chanting "tooth gang rise up." this crowd of usually transfem commentators was a who's-who of 2019-era video essayists, most of whom are still in obscurity but got a huge boost at the time. it was, without doubt, a gargantuan clusterfuck, owing in part to the fact that there was no real process for vetting guests and several people had free invite permissions who really should not have-- and yet, it was precisely these we-haven't-figured-out-livestream-marathons-yet blunders which allowed the DK64 nightmare stream to become such a subcultural flashpoint. you didn't have to be a Name Brand Breadtuber (apologies to all the name brands who resent falling under this umbrella, i know you didn't ask for it) to get on the stream, you didn't even have to be friends with one of the Name Brands-- some in the tooth gang were actively seeking out obscure/niche youtubers and other trans figures to fill in dead air, to give more people a shot at exposure, because it was SUCH a big stream and they needed lots of bodies. i have no doubt this was incredibly annoying for the organizers of the stream, and something they all learned a lot of valuable lessons from-- but for that week, in that moment, the chaos enabled a community to self-recognize on an immense platform, eventually rubbing reputational shoulders with the likes of AOC.

i think what was so exciting about it was being suddenly inundated with the amount of trans people that existed in this community. every one of us that got on the stream was celebrated in some form, because the whole thing was just this swell of FUCK YOU WE'RE ALIVE energy. what was also amazing was the voracious crowdfund support. obviously the stream itself was raising money for the mermaids fund, but every guest was invited to plug any crowdfunding stuff they had. i remember one disabled trans person was suddenly able to afford a really good electric wheelchair after months of getting no donations. i had a gofundme for laser hair removal that met its goal in just a few minutes when i was invited to share it-- and after that, may was like "raise the goal, you need the money and people are giving it." so i did and they did, and on top of laser that kept the bills paid for a couple extra months. there was just this overwhelming sense that everyone was here because they loved trans people and wanted to support us against the growing tide of anti-trans sentiment, and the generosity on display was just amazing.

and then the way the guest list cascaded near the end, as it just got more and more high profile. suddenly you had people from the original DK64 dev team, you had Geralt's voice actor, you had AOC, and definitely a bunch of others i don't remember. it felt like being caught in a hurricane, like we were a bunch of nerdy enthusiasts who got swept up in this fun little thing we liked only to watch as the storm wall expanded around us until suddenly dozens of weird socially awkward often traumatized trans people who'd never really been recognized before were just barely off-stage for an event that made national news. obviously nobody talking about AOC's involvement was talking about any of the rest of us in specific, but it didn't matter. we were part of something that really felt like it mattered at the time. it felt like a substantial victory against popular transphobia, which was perhaps an over-estimation of that stream's material importance but whatever. it meant something, and that matters.

it was on that stream i pitched my politics of the mcelroy brothers video, and everyone who heard the pitch was like "oh that's a great idea, i'd watch that video." so when the stream was over i put all my energy into making it, and it is still the highest-viewed essay on my entire channel. that stream and the environment that emerged because of it changed the trajectory of a lot of people's lives, including my own. the base of support i built at that moment in 2019 remains the bulk of my income today, six years later. i met people on that stream who are still good friends. i've got a lot of fun memories; i'll never forget jumping into a chat one night (the call channels weren't limited until waaaay late in the week) between hbomb, stef sterling and others because someone had mentioned homestuck, and me being the relentless pill i am i jumped in to be like OKAY BUT HOMESTUCK IS GOOD ACTUALLY and sterling immediately was like "and that's my cue to leave!" i think it's safe to say i did not convince anyone on that call that homestuck is good actually, and i doubt that the intervening years have done much to move the needle on that front, but i got a kick out of it nevertheless. once it was over i got a bunch of folks to record their thoughts on what the stream meant for them, and put it all together in an episode of my podcast Trans Questioning. that's a good listen if you want some more contemporary accounts of the event.

so yeah. at the time of the stream i'd been on HRT for less than a year and i'd been out only slightly longer than that. i'd freshly graduated college and released a sort of art film essay about transitioning that i was really proud of but didn't exactly know how to continue on from. the DK64 nightmare stream hit my life at a perfectly miraculous moment. the sudden increased audience for my youtube and podcast meant i didn't have to get a day job straight out of college. being annoying about homestuck at hbomb got me on my first episode of the perfectly generic podcast, a show i'd eventually go on to be a recurring host of. jump forward a year and change to June 2020, when i decided to get the absolute fuck out of Oklahoma and move to Seattle. to do that, i had to raise something like $4000 through streams and begposts. even taking into account the more generous donation atmosphere of the time, i don't think i would have been able to do that if not for the exposure i got from being part of the tooth gang. on the backend, that stream was a catastrophe whose mistakes were rightly aggressively corrected in future iterations. there will never be another stream like it, and probably shouldn't be, at least not quite so purely unmoderated. attempts were made by some to replicate that environment, but without the "big" names anchoring it they just weren't the same and came with diminishing returns. its importance was the result of, in essence, a humorously tolerated hijacking by the trans community. it was a brilliant, strange, stressful moment, one that i hope someday another generation of trans creators will have their own version of.

hi what was it like to be a part of hbomberguy's mermaid donkey kong 64 stream?

for myself, just watching the stream was a milestone in how i view my own relation to gender and im curious how did it feel like to see so many amazing voices speak of their stories and experiences in your position at the time.

I don't want to speculate but ever since you came out i was wandering if you knew at the time

my abiding memory of it was that it precipitated me and my then partner saying "I love you" to each other for the first time, which is a happy memory. Other than that I don't honestly recall much.

#sarahposts #hbomberguy #dk64 nightmare stream #breadtube #trans rights #live stream #streaming history

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yuikomorii · 2 days ago

Text

AYAYUI IDOL AU: Chapter 3

// Sorry for the delay; I had some things to take care of, so I couldn’t focus on writing the fanfic. But~, I finally finished the 3rd chapter and even started working on the 4th one… ohoho, that one’s going to be interesting. 👀

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Place: Rejet Labels building

Ayato: A hotel, huh? Well… whatever they will make us do there, it can’t be that bad, right?

Subaru: Dunno about you, man, but as soon as I know I’m being filmed, I’m pretty much doomed to mess it up.

So yeah, it actually is that bad for me!

Ayato: Haa… relax a little, will you?

At least you’re not going to be stuck on the farm like the Hyung line. If you think working at the hotel sucks, imagine milking cows in the middle of a mud pit!

Subaru: Eww! G-Gross!

Ayato: Yeah, exactly! So, quit whining!

Subaru: Heh, I gotta wonder how they even convinced Reiji to go there. Knowing him, he wouldn’t last five minutes in a place like that!

Ayato: I bet the manager kept the farm thing a secret. If Shu knew, he would have faked being sick in a heartbeat!

— someone spies on them —

???: Hmm…

Kanato: Laito, what on earth are you doing?

— Laito flinches —

Laito: Oh my…— Kanato-kun, didn’t your parents teach you about not interrupting people when they’re in the middle of something~?

Kanato: Well, I’m sure your parents made it very clear that spying on people isn’t appropriate either, but here you are, completely ignoring that little life lesson.

Laito: Nfu, touché.

Kanato: Now tell me, what is this all about?

Laito: Nothing important~. I’m just trying to figure something out.

Kanato-kun, don’t you think Ayato-kun has been acting a bit… different lately?

Kanato: That depends. What exactly do you mean by "different"?

Laito: Isn’t it obvious? It feels like he started ignoring me.

Kanato: That might just be your imagination.

Laito: Hmm… Something still doesn’t sit right with me.

Kanato: If this is causing you so much concern, it would be best to ask Ayato directly what’s going on with him.

— rolls eyes —

Laito: ( You don’t get it. )

Place: Hotel

Co-worker 1: They’re on their way!!

Co-worker 2: Someone, pinch me! I’m about to faint!

Yui’s monologue

Today is the big day!

The hotel staff has been working tirelessly ever since they got wind of the idol announcement.

They’ve been running around, handling everything with meticulous attention to detail, so as to make sure that everything runs smoothly.

I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’ve only been in Tokyo for less than a week, and now I’m about to meet two members of one of the biggest groups at the moment.

It somehow feels surreal…!

Although, I really do wish Hana-san could be here as well… She’s the one who deserves to see Ayato-san in person more than I do. But, I suppose there’s nothing that can be done about it.

For this reason, I genuinely hope I’ll be able to get that autograph for her.

Receptionist: This is bad, this is really bad!

Yui: …!

Did something happen?

Receptionist: Unfortunately, yes! Our porter fell down the stairs while getting ready and broke his ankle.

He won’t be able to come in today, and with all positions already filled, it will be impossible to find a replacement!

Yui: Oh no… That’s awful!

( Everyone has put in so much effort to make this day perfect, and it’s just so unfair for something like this to happen out of nowhere! )

But... is there really no one available to pick the luggage and take the boys to their rooms? I don’t think it would take too much time, and the person could easily get back to their usual tasks afterward. Surely someone can step in, right…?

Receptionists: If you’re so confident about that, why don’t you volunteer then?

Wait— That’s it! You could totally do that!

Yui: M-Me!?

( This is not the way I was going for! )

Receptionists: Exactly!

You're a work-exchange girl, right? Your role in these tasks isn’t as crucial as an actual employee’s, therefore your presence isn’t that essential.

That means you could skip whatever task you're doing and step in as the porter today before anyone even notices!

Yui: ( Did I just get called ‘useless’ indirectly? )

I… I would love to help in this situation, but, I’m sorry, I’m not qualified enough for such a job.

( I doubt I would be able to carry the luggage to begin with. Who knows how heavy they are with everything packed inside? )

Receptionists: I beg you, Komori-san!

If you’re worried about whether a girl can handle it, these boys will just stay until tomorrow. They most likely won’t have a lot with them.

Yui: Uuh…

( If it’s just for one day… )

— sighs —

Alright, I accept.

Receptionist: Thank you… Thank you so much!

If there’s any way I can repay you for this, just let me know!

Yui: Ah, there’s no need to. I know you’ve all been working hard for this, so it’s the least I can do.

Receptionist: Well, on a positive note, you'll be the one leading the boys to their rooms, which definitely makes you luckier than the rest of us.

I think this experience alone is rewarding enough, fufu.

Yui: …!

( Wait, I hadn’t really thought about it like that— This will be the closest anyone in the hotel gets to them today, won’t it? )

( I know I should be excited about it, especially since I’ll be able to ask for that autograph for Hana-san, but... ah, I’m feeling so nervous all of a sudden! )

Receptionist: ( The limo arrived! )

Komori-san, go to the hallway!

The driver will soon bring their luggage there, where you’ll have to wait for them. Once they enter, the hallway entrance will automatically close, and then the three of you will head towards their room.

— lends her keys —

I hope the instructions were clear enough. Good luck!

— Yui nods and quickly leaves —

Place: Hotel hallway

Yui: ( Phew, I can’t believe I made it in time. )

( I’m already starting to hear voices, so they must be clo—— )

— entrance opens —

Yui: …!

Ayato: ( Is that… a girl? )

Subaru: ( Hah!? Who even thought it would be a good idea to make a girl a porter? Can she even lift our stuff—? )

Yui: ( No way… they’re even more handsome in real life…! )

( I’d better avoid looking at their faces, otherwise I’ll get too nervous to even concentrate! )

W-Welcome to the “Yume no Mori” hotel. It’s a pleasure to have you here!

— bows and takes luggages —

( Hooh… heavy! )

Please, follow me.

— they start walking —

Subaru: ( Dunno if it’s just me, but I’m low-key starting to get second-hand embarrassment watching her struggle like that. )

Ayato: ( Why would they even hire such a weakling for this type of job? I thought this was supposed to be a 5-star hotel, but maybe they’re just out of budget or something? )

Yui: ( The receptionist told me they’ll be leaving tomorrow, but what on earth did they even pack in these things? My arms feel like they’re about to fall off! )

Subaru: Oi! You… Do you need help?

Yui: Eh?

— looks up —

Ayato: ( Subaru, what are you doing? )

— brushes his hand off —

Can’t you see? This is her responsibility, not yours, so let her do her job.

If she’s not capable of taking it seriously, then she just shouldn’t be working here anymore and risk damaging the hotel's reputation.

Yui: ( Such cold words… )

( While it’s true that I’m not cut out for the porter job, saying something like that to someone is simply uncalled for…! )

A-Anyway, thank you, but there’s no need to. We just arrived to your room.

— opens door and hands them keys —

By the way… I would like to apologize for my poor performance.

The truth is, I am deeply grateful for this opportunity and I——!

*THUD*

( Did they just… slam the door in my face? )

Place: Hotel room

Subaru: Man, the hell’s wrong with you?

Ayato: With me!? You’re the idiot who offered to do her job in the first place!

Subaru: I was just trying to help, okay!? Am I not allowed to do anything without getting chewed out for it now?

Ayato: Tch… you’re so oblivious that it’s giving me a headache. This person works at one of the most prestigious hotels in Tokyo, she should know better!

Imagine putting your trust in someone, only for them to screw up so badly that it could end up destroying everything.

Subaru: But she didn’t even screw up, she was just struggling, that’s all!

Seriously, what’s going on? All this time, you’ve been known as the friendliest person to the fans. You even helped the bodyguard hold the concert fence, for crying out loud!

So what’s with this sudden shift in attitude, huh?

Ayato: That’s…— Well, things have changed! There’s a lot more going on behind the scenes that you don’t even see.

If I keep acting as I once did, the consequences won’t just fall on me—they’ll affect all of us, understood!?

( I just can’t afford to be selfish again… The choices I make now have an impact on others, and I have to be more mindful of that. )

Subaru: I mean… if you put it like that, it makes sense, but you still shouldn’t lose yourself in the process, y’know?

At the end of the day, no matter how much someone screws it up, we... we’re a team, so yeah, we’ll have to find a way to fix it together, I guess.

( Damn, I'm really not good at putting these things into words! )

Ayato’s monologue

"We’re a team."

Those words are supposed to be reassuring, but why do they only make me even more nervous…?

What will truly happen if I put the group in danger, huh? Will they really back me up, or just turn their backs on me?

Shu doesn’t seem like the type to overlook such mistakes—he basically said as much the other days.

As for Reiji and Kanato… Yeah, forget it. They’d make it sound even worse.

And Laito… he’s the one I’ve always been closest to, but even with him… I don’t know. A part of me can’t shake the feeling that if it came down to it, he’d take their side too.

So that only leaves Subaru.

However, knowing him, he’d probably just end up jumping on the bandwagon too. No way that guy would want to be seen as my accomplice or something like that.

Haa… that would indeed be an uncomfortable situation.

After all, no one likes to have shade thrown at them.

…!

( Wait—! )

( Exactly! No one would like that! )

— stands up and heads towards door —

Subaru: Oi, where are you going—?

Ayato: I have to solve something, I’ll be right back.

— leaves —

Subaru: Ok…?

Place: Hallway

Ayato: ( That’s true, I was too harsh on the porter. I didn’t stop to think about what she might have been going through. )

( Maybe she was having a bad day and by letting my own irritation get the better of me… well, I must have surely made it worse. )

( I mean, if I were criticized, I’d feel like crap too. It’s obvious nobody enjoys being judged, especially when they’re already struggling, right? )

( And yet… I did exactly that to her. )

( So yeah, I’ve gotta fix this! I’m going to find her and apologize, even if it’s super awkward. )

Oi, porter!

Author’s note:

*If you forgot what happened in the first chapter and are wondering why Ayato and Yui don’t recognize each other, well that’s because Ayato was wearing a mask and a cap back then, and they were also in the dark, so they couldn’t notice each other’s features well.

#diabolik lovers #yui komori #ayato sakamaki #dialovers #ayato x yui #ayayui #admin #my fanfic

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