#because he barely wore that he was almost exclusively in jean jackets

[jessmmariano]

Jess’s ‘bad boy’ label to me is so, so funny. He is constantly reading, works two jobs, saved enough money to buy a car—but he’s the ultimate bad boy in the town’s eyes. Let’s be clear, the most ‘rebellious’ thing he did was the chalk outline outside Doose’s. Boy did magic tricks for his crush, why is he labeled a bad boy? 😭

[funemployed-fangirl]

Modern AU Benedict x Sophie

The Second Meeting

2012

As Sophie exited the bar, desperate to shake off the doldrums of the world’s most boring date, she felt a light sprinkle of rain begin to hit her bare arms. Of course she’d left her practical but unattractive jacket at home so as not to ruin her outfit. And for what? She shouldn’t have bothered looking so cute for this date. Actually, she shouldn’t have bothered leaving the apartment at all. She sighed heavily, then realized she needed to move out of the doorway as two blond men in Patagonia vests appeared behind her.

“Bad night sweetheart?” the taller of them asked, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Sophie made a non-committal sound and raised her eyebrows in polite but dismissive acknowledgement of the comment. She hoped they would move on as she silently debated the merits of a 20 minute walk in the rain or a taxi she couldn’t afford. But her new pal was undeterred.

“Yeah, that bar sucked,” he said. “That’s why we’re headed to a way better party right now.” He leaned towards Sophie and eyed her up and down. “You know, you are totally my friend’s type. He wouldn’t want me to say this, but he loves a blonde in tight jeans. You should come with us to this party. It’s an album release. Pretty exclusive, but, uh, we could probably get you in. We know a guy from the label, so…”

Did this tool think he sounded impressive right now? A wave of pure exhaustion overcame Sophie as she thought about how best to escape this conversation. 

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m actually headed to another bar to meet my friend, so…” Sophie started walking away from the guys, realizing immediately that she was in fact walking in the opposite direction of home, and would have to double back once she ditched the dudebros. 

“What’s the rush?” asked the second guy, stepping in front of her path. “We were just getting to know each other. My man Tyler wasn’t kidding, we can totally get you into a sick-ass party. Invite your friend to join us - the more the merrier!”

As Sophie tried to turn away from douche number two she realized douche number one (apparently called Tyler) had moved right behind her, blocking her escape.

“Thanks for the offer, guys. But I’m good. Enjoy your party.” Sophie had tried to sound as authoritative as possible, but the proximity of the two men caused her voice to come out way more unsure than she’d intended.

Tyler grabbed her arm. “You know, Kyle, I don’t think she likes you that much. Maybe I’m more her type. What do you say, sweetheart, we could have some fun together.”

Panic rising in her chest, Sophie tried to shake him off but his grip was strong. She turned her head away from the smell of vodka and redbull and found herself face to face with Kyle. She jerked away from him, tripping backwards on the sidewalk. She probably would have fallen except for Tyler’s vice-like grip on her upper arm, holding her up against her will. As Tyler barked “Don’t be like that,” and Kyle continued to insist they could show her a good time, another voice interrupted the scene - deep, strong, and calm in a way that implied a threat just beneath the surface.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?”

Sophie looked around and nearly gasped. There was Benedict Bridgerton, the star of 2 years worth of romantic fantasies and what-ifs, having just exited the very bar she’d been bored out of her mind in for the last hour. 

He was as handsome as she remembered him, from his silky chestnut brown hair and dark eyes to his broad shoulders and perfect jawline. He wore a crisp light blue oxford, unbuttoned casually at the neck, charcoal gray pants, and a perfectly tailored camel peacoat. He almost seemed taller than Sophie remembered him, but maybe that was because he was currently standing at his full, most intimidating height. With one look, it was clear this was not someone to be trifled with. He practically smelled like money and power. Which, Sophie thought, he actually did - she knew he wore very expensive cologne to go with his very expensive everything else. 

Some frat boy animal instincts must have alerted Sophie’s would-be assailants that this was an alpha male with rank far above their own, because she felt their body language change instantly. Tyler’s grip on her arm loosened slightly (but didn’t let go) and they both adopted forced casual poses as they nodded familiarly at Benedict.

“No man, no problem. We’re just chatting with our friend here.” 

“Yeah, it’s all good,” drawled Kyle as he made to put his arm around Sophie’s shoulders.

“I am NOT their friend,” ground out Sophie, as she finally successfully yanked herself away from the two men.

“Aw, don’t be like that, we were just having fun,” said Tyler as he moved to grab at her again, but Benedict stepped smoothly in between them, placing his body firmly in front of Sophie and blocking the path to her completely. 

“You’re done here. Go home and sleep it off.” Benedict’s would-be casual tone remained steady but the edge to it became more pronounced with each word. 

Unable to help herself, Sophie peaked around Benedict’s shoulders, which were at eye level, to look at the two guys, who looked like they were calculating the odds of a fight. Tyler stepped forward and said, all laughter gone from his voice, “who the fuck do you think you are man? This is none of your business…”

But before he could continue Benedict growled, “Do you want to get banned from every bar above midtown? Or lose a few teeth? Because I could make either of those things happen. Now get out of here before I start to lose my patience.”

Realizing they were facing a losing battle, the douche bros turned tail and scampered away down the street, Patagonia vests flapping in the wind.

Sophie, who hadn’t realized she’d apparently stopped breathing, took a deep shuddering breath and tried to slow her rapidly beating heart. Benedict whirled around to look at her, the powerful calm suddenly gone from his stance. His eyes were filled with worry and his tone soft as he moved towards her and asked, “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

He reached out towards her with both arms, placing the lightest of touches on her shoulders to steady her. The contrast of Benedict’s gentle touch to the rough handling she’d received moments before was so stark Sophie almost started to cry. She tried to reassure Benedict that she was okay, but he looked unconvinced. Admittedly, it was hard for Sophie to concentrate on forming coherent sentences when Benedict Bridgerton’s fingertips were sending shockwaves up and down her arms and his eyes were looking more and more like those of a concerned puppy dog with every passing second.

He glanced at a spot on her left arm just below his fingers and let out a hiss. Red marks were glowing where that drunk jerk had grabbed her. Sophie knew they were thinking the same terrible thought - there would be a hand-shaped bruise there by the morning.

“Do you want to put some ice on that? I’m sure we can get some inside from the bar,” Benedict offered.

“No, God, I don’t want to go back in there. I’ll just go home. It’ll be fine,” Sophie said. She watched Benedict pull his cell phone out of an inside pocket and start to type in a number.

“Let me call you a ride home, then. Where are you headed? Is it around here?” He then thoughtfully added, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You can just give the address to the driver when he gets here, of course.” He looked so desperate to help, but as Sophie looked into his caring face, a sinking feeling settled in her stomach. He had no idea who she was. Her whole body was on fire just from being in close proximity to Benedict again, but to him, she was just some pathetic stranger in need of saving. She realized she needed to get out of there as fast as she could, before she either burst into tears or started to scream.

“Oh my gosh, thank you, but that’s not necessary. My apartment’s just like a 20 minute walk down the street, it’s really not a big deal.” Sophie hoped she sounded casual and breezy, but feared that she still sounded completely panicked, which was not likely to convince her knight in Armani armor to back down from his mission. As it was, she was beginning to realize she had no desire to show back up at the Goldmans’ apartment disheveled, soaking wet, and covered in bruises, but what other choice did she have? 

Sure enough, Benedict seemed reluctant to let her wander off by herself. He looked out at the rainy street, then down at his hands as if an umbrella might magically appear in them. Shrugging his shoulders slightly at his helplessness, he finally said, “If you're sure. Um… I’m glad you’re alright.”

Sophie knew that was her cue to run, but instead they both just stood there, gazing into each others’ eyes. Once again, warmth began to tingle under her skin as his soulful brown eyes looked at her imploringly. They both seemed to be leaning slightly towards one another, as if drawn by some invisible force. For a moment, she thought there might have been a look of recognition, but she was sure she imagined it. Finally she gave herself a little shake and mumbled, “Right. Yeah, I should go,” and strode quickly and confidently into the night.

Or at least, that’s what she meant to do. What actually happened is she took one step and her leg immediately gave way under her. Benedict lunged forward and gracefully caught her as she began to fall, one arm around her back, the other grabbing her right arm and quickly steadying her. Did they teach lightning fast reflexes at Yale Business School?

“Woah! Careful, are you ok?”

Shit. 

“I must have twisted my ankle when I was struggling with those idiots!” Sophie whined. She hated how close to tears she sounded, but if ever there was a time to cry, surely this was it.

Benedict looked more worried than ever, and hadn’t actually loosened his grip on her arm. With her luck, she’d now have a handprint shaped bruise on this arm to match the other one. He looked down at her ankle. “Can you put weight on it?” 

She tried.

“Ow!” 

“That’s it, I’m calling you a car,” he said, finally letting go of her arm to reach back into his jacket pocket.

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“You can’t walk 20 minutes on wet sidewalk with a twisted ankle.”

“It’s fine, really. I just want to get out of the rain.”

They looked at each other, both clearly wondering what to do next. Benedict glanced back at the crowded bar, but could see on Sophie’s face she wanted to head back in there less than she wanted to skid all the way home. Suddenly, he seemed to make up his mind.

Benedict offered, “My apartment’s literally around the corner. We can be there in two minutes, you can put your foot up, get some ice on your ankle, dry off a bit, and then you can figure out what to do from there.” Sophie stopped breathing again. Was Benedict really offering to take her back to his apartment? She remembered the last time she’d received that offer, albeit under very different circumstances. She absolutely couldn’t agree to this. Could she? Seeing her hesitation, Benedict quickly added, “I promise, you’ll be safe the whole time. I’m just offering somewhere dry and warm. I swear, your virtue will be safe from me.”

It was the sort of sentence that easily could have had the opposite of its intended effect, but Benedict’s wording had been so stilted and awkward, and the entire situation was so ridiculous, that Sophie burst into giggles. Soon Benedict was laughing, too, relieved that he hadn’t managed to scare her off. So the two of them stood in the glow of lights from a terrible bar,  getting steadily drenched in the cold rain, her leaning on him with a foot dangling in the air, laughing like hyenas at the absurdity of it all.

Finally the laughter subsided long enough for Sophie to say, “Thank you for the reassurances in regards to my virtue,” which led them both into another fit of giggles.

They began the slow walk towards Benedict’s apartment, with Sophie leaning on him for support. But after only a few feet Benedict clearly got tired of hearing Sophie hiss in pain every time her right foot touched the ground, because he said, “This is ridiculous,” and swept her into his arms without warning. Sophie let out a squeal of surprise as her arms instinctively flew around his neck. 

She looked up and found their faces were mere inches apart. A contrite look passed across Benedict’s face. “I’m Benedict, by the way.” Sophie marveled. She was torn between the absurdity of the situation - had they really not introduced themselves before he started carrying her like a bride over the threshold? - and a familiar sinking feeling in her stomach. This was the final nail in the coffin proving he did not recognize her. He had no idea they had once shared the best kiss of her life in a secluded corner of a crowded club.

Not sure how else to respond, Sophie said, “I’m Sophie.” A grin spread across Benedict’s face. 

“Nice to meet you Sophie. Let’s get the hell out of this rain.” And with that, he hurried down the block and around the corner. 

How was he moving so fast on rain-soaked sidewalk while holding a full-grown woman in his arms? Seriously, what did they teach at Yale Business School?

Sophie laughed in delight and delirium as Benedict carried her to the end of the block. He slowed in front of a large and austere looking apartment building. “Will you be ok if I put you down?” he panted, and Sophie nodded. He resumed their original position, with his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side, and they approached the entrance. An elderly doorman with a wiry but sturdy frame held open the door.

“Good evening Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Hey George,” Benedict called. “My friend twisted her ankle,” he explained, as the doorman surveyed the sight before him. Sophie winced at how this must look to George, but of course he made no comment. He did ask if they needed a first aid kit or a doctor, but Benedict waved him off with a thank you and friendly smile. They rode the elevator in silence to the 12th floor. The doors opened onto a small hallway, with one door at each end. Benedict led a hobbling Sophie to the door on the left. He unlocked the door and swung it open, announcing proudly, “Welcome to My Apartment!”

Sophie stifled a groan. She felt like Elizabeth Bennet seeing Pemberley for the first time. It wasn’t exactly a stately mansion, but this was a nice apartment. The front entryway wasn’t a hallway, it was its own room. With doorways leading off of it in multiple directions. Soft, warm, motion-activated light filled the space as soon as they walked in, a lush sage green rug covered the floor, and a large gilded mirror reflected her soaked face back at her. Sophie quickly wiped mascara from under her eyes while Benedict hung his drenched coat in the closet.

“Here,” Benedict said, “let’s get you on the couch.” He assisted her through a doorway into a large living room that had clearly been designed by a decorator. Everything looked modern and chic, but comfy. Very comfy, thought Sophie as she lowered herself gratefully onto the most comfortable couch she’d ever sat on. Benedict fussed over her, propping her ankle up on several pillows and wrapping an impossibly soft blanket around her. He rushed off and returned with a large ice pack and an even larger bottle of Advil.

“I’m impressed you have Advil,” Sophie said. “Most guys don’t have anything in their medicine cabinet besides hair gel.”

Benedict chuckled. “I have younger siblings who have been known to crash here once or twice after an ill-advised high school party.”

“Aaah,” said Sophie. She of course knew Benedict had many siblings - how often had their names appeared on the gossip sites, especially Whistledown, which seemed particularly fond of the Bridgerton family - but she was pleased to know Benedict was willing to take such good care of his brothers and sisters when they needed it.

“I figure it’s the least I can do to provide coffee and painkillers when they wake up. Especially since I do take photos of them and use it for blackmail with our mother later.”

Ok, so maybe he’s not taking that good care of them, she thought with a smile. 

Benedict perched on an ottoman in front of the couch. “How’s your ankle?” he asked.

Sophie shifted it under the ice pack and grimaced slightly. “Still hurts, but being off of it is definitely helping.” 

“Good, good. Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m fine,” Sophie said. She couldn’t believe he was making such a fuss over her. Suddenly she looked down at her soaking wet clothes. “I’m sorry I’m getting your couch all wet.”

“Don’t even worry about it. Although I’m sure you're uncomfortable. Do you want me to get you some dry clothes? A shirt, some sweatpants? They’ll be too big on you, obviously, but…”

Sophie blanched at the idea of laying on Benedict’s couch, in his sweatpants and tshirt, and for a moment feared she might lose consciousness just at the thought. “No, God, I’m fine, really.”

“Then how about something to warm you up,” Benedict offered. “Do you want some tea? I’m going to get you some tea.” And before Sophie could accept or refuse, he’d leapt up and run off to the kitchen. Sophie could hear him moving around the kitchen, water filling a kettle, the soft clink of mugs being taken down from a shelf. When he didn’t immediately return Sophie snuggled further down into the blanket and allowed herself to look around the room.

The place was clean, but not pristine, with evidence of Benedict’s personality sprinkled amongst the more professional touches. An empty soda can and an open piece of mail sat on a side table. Another throw blanket was bunched up unceremoniously on an armchair on the other side of the room. The mantle had framed photos - the entire Bridgerton family posed in matching blue and white, Benedict smiling with two of his brothers at an airport, his youngest siblings wearing pjs and sticking their tongues out, two photos that looked like they might be Benedict’s college friends on a hike and at a wedding.

And closest to Sophie, on the coffee table, a worn sketchbook and a handful of pens. She contemplated the sketchbook. It was the first thing in the room that had intrigued her. Against her better judgment, she found herself reaching over and leafing through it. There were some sketches of hands and eyes, the kind one might make in a drawing class. A few pages of pure doodles. An incomplete drawing of what looked to be one of his sisters - possibly Francesca? Two or three landscapes that were most likely Central Park. Then, in the bottom corner of a page full of unrelated small drawings, something caught her eye. It was a sketch of a necklace. The necklace she’d been wearing the first night they met. The one she’d lost at the club that night. She was sure of it. Sophie’s breath caught in her throat. 

The kettle began to whistle and Sophie was snapped out of her reverie. She shut the sketchbook and tossed it back on the coffee table. She pulled out her cell phone and pretended to be looking at it just in time for Benedict to stick his head through the doorway from the kitchen.

“Do you possibly want anything… stronger… in your tea?” he asked. Sophie almost said no on instinct. Surely that would delay her inevitable escape and, clearly, she needed to get out of here as quickly as possible. But then she paused. She and Benedict stared at each other for a moment, a strange battle of wills occurring. He raised his eyebrows. She gave in.

“Yes, actually. That sounds great.”

“Right you are!” he said happily. “Two hot toddies coming right up!”

Benedict appeared a moment later with two steaming mugs in his hands - one with the Yale logo, and another which said “World’s Okayest Brother”. Sophie laughed. 

Benedict had clearly changed while the water was heating - he was now in dark blue sweatpants and a long sleeved gray t-shirt. As he handed a mug to Sophie and settled back onto the ottoman, she couldn’t help but appreciate the view. She was struck by how intimate the picture was - everything from his tousled, drying hair to his socks to the way he was casually sipping his tea reminded her that he was relaxing in his own home. But all of a sudden, she didn’t feel like an intruder. This felt… nice. Comfortable. Easy.

She was so screwed.

Benedict noticed her phone sitting on top of the blanket. “I’ve got chargers in the side table if you need one. And the wifi password is NY152. Network’s My Apartment.”

“Your wifi network is ‘My Apartment’?” Sophie asked incredulously.

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s my apartment.” Benedict winked playfully and Sophie rolled her eyes and laughed at him. After a moment they lapsed into easy silence.

He surveyed her over his mug before leaning back slightly. He quirked an eyebrow and said, “You know, we’ve met before.” Sophie froze mid-sip.

“You thought I didn’t recognize you, didn’t you?” Sophie didn’t move. Benedict smiled self-deprecatingly. “Admittedly, I didn’t recognize you at first. I was a little too busy trying to rough up two prissy FiDi bros. But the moment I actually took a good look at you…” he expression grew more serious, but still soft. “How could I not recognize you?” He placed his mug on the table and leaned toward Sophie, who still had yet to speak. “You recognized me, right?” She could tell he was mostly joking, but there was a tiny hitch in his voice that indicated somewhere in the back of his mind, this was an actual concern.

Sophie took a deep gulp of the tea (thank God there was whiskey in there), and said “Yes, Benedict Bridgerton, I recognized you.” A huge smile spread across his face, and Sophie felt a matching one spread across her own.

He leaned in further. “I still think about that night. That was the most fun I’d had out in years. Do you ever think about it?”

His gaze flickered down to her lips. Sophie knew she’d never be able to successfully lie. Quietly, she admitted, “I still think about that night.” His gaze grew hungry. He reached over and gently took her mug from her hands, placing it on the coffee table next to his. He leaned forward, closing the gap between them.

“Good.”  She was so screwed.

Want more Benedict & Sophie? Read The First Meeting HERE or check out more of our Modern Bridgerton AU HERE.

[kakejiszka]

Studio Fun

This is my first Jake smut, hope you enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: contains lots of smut, you have been warned.

After changing at least six times, you still hadn't chosen among the three set of clothes that were lying on your bed, surrounded by several other pieces of clothing that together created a mess in your entire room, that smelled like citrus, makeup and despair.

You couldn't help but tremble with anxiety at the sight of yourself in your lingerie in the mirror, after all, the occasion you were dressing for was unprecedented. Should you wear a fancy dress? A slutty short skirt? A rocker leather jacket?

You had hit the jackpot: after a few weeks going out with Jake, he had finally invited you to meet the studio where he and his band rehearsed every week. And furthermore, you would meet his brother Josh and Sam and their friend Danny for the first time. You were nervous, as shit was starting to get serious.

Jake was living rent free in your head. Since the first time you saw him, your standards for men had never been the same, after all, no one could surpass his beauty, talent and charisma. To top it all, he was so romantic: on the three times you went out together, he managed to surprise you even with the simplest things. On your first date, you had coffee together, but he gifted you white roses. On the second date, you two took a walk around the town and he held your hand the entire time. On the third date, where it's socially acceptable to have sex, he took you to a super fancy restaurant with wonderful food. You even wore a beatiful black dress and made sure to wear your best lingerie. But, despite taking you home and kissing you by the door (for the first time), that was it. Maybe he was shy, maybe he wasn't ready, but you couldn't help but feeling a bit disappointed for not spending the night with him.

You chose the skirt. If there was even the smallest chance of you seducing him that day, you were willing to try. You finished the look with a black tank top, which was so tight you didn't feel the need to wear a bra, an oversized jeans jacket and black boots. You applied some eyeliner and mascara.

You called an Uber to the address Jake had texted you and quickly you arrived. Your phone vibrated in your jacket's pocket. "Be there in 15" his text said. You felt your legs tremble during the whole time you spent waiting for him, which seemed like an eternity. Despite all his qualities, it wasn't new to you that Jake Kizka's worst flaw was that he was always late.

You noticed the studio: it was very big and it seemed like a place full of quality equipment. The street where it was located was full of different records and musical instruments stores, what made you realize you were in a part in town where you could find everything that was music-related. As you waited for him, all the thoughts in the world were crossing your mind: what if he's not so into me? What if his brothers don't like me? What am I doing here? What kind of idea was this? Do I still have time to go back home?

"Hey!" you were surprised by a familiar voice behind you.

"Jake!" you said, nervousness resonating in your voice.

"Did I scare you?" he asked, giggling.

"No, I'm okay, it's just that..." you didn't even have to finish what you were saying so that he could understarnd the situation.

"There's nothing to be nervous about, they will love to meet you."

Jake gave you his hand and you held it, now feeling much safer and calmer than before.

You two entered the studio and followed through a long dark hallway. The walls were painted black and were full of band posters and stickers. There were other rooms there and you could hear other bands rehearsing inside them. Jake guided you to the end of the hallway where a small set of stairs took you to the second floor.

For your surprise, there weren't other rooms on the second floor like there were on the first floor. It was a single room entirely, where you could find everything: a big couch, a frigo, technical equipment for recording, vending machines, snooker table, a mini bar, all sorts of things...

A section of the room was isolated by a thick glass wall. Inside it, the walls were covered in acoustic panels and the room was filled with many amplifiers, pedals, instruments and a bunch of other things you didn't know what were called were there.

Lying on the couch were Danny, Sam and Josh, waiting for Jake.

"Goddamnit, finally!" Josh shouted "we waited for like an hour!"

"I was getting ready for her" Jake answered, smirking and pulling you close to him by your waist. You couldn't hide the embarassment on your face.

"What a fancy studio!" you said, trying to change the subject "I didn't know you rehearsed in such a cool place."

"It wasn't always like this, ya know" Josh said while standing up and putting his hands in his pockets "we started playing at our house, but it was starting to get too noisy for miss Karen" he laughed.

"It's true, we had to look for cheap studios, but it was hard to find anything in a small town like Frankenmuth" Sam said.

You all talked a bit and, fortunately, the boys were all very nice. You felt very welcomed by Josh's sense of humor, Sam's big smile and Danny's kindness.

After you got to know them, they entered the acoustic room and started rehearsing. You sat on the couch to watch them and, although you were scared to feel bored, you had a lot of fun with the private show they were performing for you.

You couldn't take your eyes off Jake. What he did to the guitar was phenomenal, sexy and even pornographic. The way he slowly slid his hand over the guitar's neck while sweat drops fell on his forehead were making you cross your legs a bit too hard over the couch.

He noticed you were staring at him and smiled at you through the glass, making you cover your face with your hands out of embarassment. You must have been making a funny face, because he giggled at the sight of you.

After two or three hours of rehearsal, they were done. Although the air-conditioning was making you shiver, they left the room all sweaty. Josh, Sam and Danny went to the frigo to get some beer. Jake went there as well, but he made sure to get one for you too.

"Did you like to watch the rehearsal?" Jake asked, offering you an already open Corona bottle.

"I loved it!" you said, getting the bottle from his hand and taking a sip.

"I was scared you would get bored" he said while he sat by your side on the couch and opened his bottle.

"How could I? I felt very special for watching such an exclusive show!" you said, making him laugh.

For the first time, you noticed what he was wearing: a dark purple silk shirt with the buttons opened showing his chest, as he always wore them. He had tight black cuffed pants and brown boots. On his neck, some long necklaces that reached the middle of his bare chest, and on his wrists a few bracelets. His style was casual and attractive, but goddamn, he looked so fucking hot.

The rest of the day was very fun. You two drank together and talked a lot, what got you even closer to each other. Josh, Sam and Danny played snooker and drank a lot, until they decided to leave.

There were only you and Jake, that were now a bit tipsy and still had a lot to talk about. You noticed that, although you two had already went out before, this was the first time you talked this much. When you realized, you were physically very close: your legs were resting over Jake's left leg and his hand was caressing the back of your head. Your index finger was circling around Jake's bare chest. He looked so great in that shirt.

"Do you wanna see something?" he excitedly asked. You, curious as you were, immediately answered:

"Sure."

Jake stood up and walked towards the platform where there was a panel with a billion different buttons you had no idea were for. After pressing and regulating some of them, he made a sign with his fingers invinting you to join him.

"What does that thing do?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Everything" he playfully answered.

"Everything what?" you asked again, laughing impatiently.

"This is the sound mixer, where we can control everything inside the acoustic room. Bass, treble, autotune, tuning, echo, volume... and so on" while he patiently explained to you, you admired him. He would get so excited when talking about music.

"Wow" you responded, without taking your eyes off his.

"Wanna try it out?" he asked.

"What? Are you serious?" you almost spit the liquid of the forth or fifth beer bottle you were having that day.

"Very serious" he said, looking deep in your eyes.

"Okay then..."

"Put this on" he said, grabbing the two headphones thar were lying on the table over the mixer and handing one over to you.

You did as he said and Jake left you responsible for the sound mixer and ran inside the acoustic room, almost tripping due to his light state of inebriation.

"What is he doing?" you quietly asked yourself.

He shut the door of the acoustic room and got one of the 6 or 7 guitars that were inside. After that, he put on the headphones that he brought with him to the room, turned on the microphone that was resting over a tripod and said:

"Can you hear me?"

The sound came out so loud in your headphones that you got scared and jumped, almost turning deaf. After that, you laughed a lot and so did he.

"How do I turn this thing down?" you asked him, screaming so he could hear you through the glass wall.

"Slide the red button down, on your right. Oh, and you don't have to scream, on your left there's a microphone that's meant for you to talk to me while I'm inside, just hold its button down."

You did as he told you to and laughed at yourself, feeling silly for not knowing how to use those things.

"There. Can I do what I want here?"

"Yeah!" he answered.

Jake started playing a random melody and you played with the sounds, having fun like a child. Distorting, increasing and decreasing the echoes, you two laughing like fools.

When you had enough fun, Jake spoke on the microphone again.

"Did you know this room has an almost perfect acoustic insulation?"

"Almost perfect? Like, no one can hear from the outside?" you said while pressing the mic's button and arching a brow, without believing him.

"Exactly" he said, putting his guitar away "I can scream as loud as I want here, no one will listen. Wanna try it?"

"How do I do that?" you asked, searching for the function among the million buttons on the sound mixer panel.

"Just turn the volume down, all of it."

And so you did. As you turned the volume down, it was getting harder and harder to hear what he said, until you couldn't hear a word. He only realized you couldn't hear him when he saw the surprise on your face, caused by the magic of the acoustic room. You could tell by his facial expression that he was laughing, and you laughed as well.

He made a gesture with his hand, like he asked you if you could hear him. You answered through the mic:

"I can't hear anything! This is amazing!"

He smiled and made another gesture, as if he was inviting you to the acoustic room. You quickly removed your earphones and walked to the door, thinking it would be your turn to stay there as he played with the sound.

When you opened the door, Jake immediately pulled you inside and shut the door with both of you inside. Then, he pressed you against the wall, pinning both of your wrists against it over your head.

You couldn't help but feeling surprised, after all, Jake had never acted like this before. He had always been romantic and careful, so you were pretty curious about his sudden dominating attitude.

He approached his face to yours, whispering close to your ear:

"Wanna test the acoustic of the room's acoustics?"

His tone was everything but innocent. You finally understood where he was getting to, so you decided to play his game.

"How can we test it?" you answered, faking innocence, and he smiled at your acting. So he put his leg in the middle of yours, gently rubbing his thigh against your groin and pressing you even harder agains the foamy wall.

"We can try it the best way possible."

After he said it, he kissed you deeply. His hands let go of your wrists and slowly slid down your arms, all the way to your neck. One of his hands held the back of your head and the other choked you slightly, but strong enough to make breathing a little harder. Your arms, now free of his grip, curled arould his shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

The kiss was getting hotter. You felt the hand that held your neck go down to your waist, and the hand on the back of your head gently pull your hair, bringing your head back and making you moan softly. Jake stopped kissing you and smirked, watching your pleasure face.

"They might see us through the glass!" you said, but he didn't pay much attention as he immediately returned to kiss your lips.

"I don't care" he answered, and although it was a bit scary, the fear of getting caught was also thrilling and exciting.

Your neck was completely exposed now, inviting Jake's silky lips which left soft kisses on your skin, making their way to your ear lobes where he gently nibbled. It sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps on your skin, something Jake noticed and made sure to show he enjoyed.

"You like this, huh?" he whispered in your ear. You nodded with a small moan, still a little overwhelmed by the situation, but certainly enjoying it.

Jake went back to kissing your neck, now a little faster. The tiny threads of growing beard on his jaw scratched your face, the sensation was even more arousing. You were so focused on that that only later you realized that his hand wasn't on your waist anymore, but was grabbing your ass.

Your body was warm, but you had chills. The mix of sensations Jake was causing on you gave you so much pleasure, but at the same time it was torturous. It wasn't enough, you wanted more and he knew that, but he wanted to keep you waiting.

Jake put both on his hands on your ass, squeezing it hard and making you moan softly. But after a short period, you felt his hands leave the place, which surprised you. Only then you realized he was taking off your jeans jacket and tossing in on the floor. The black tank top you were wearing left your collarbone and your shoulders exposed, which was exactly what Jake's lips were looking for. But before he went back to what he was doing, he took a good look at your newly exposed body part. His eyes traveled from your face to your breasts and there they stood, what got you a little embarassed.

"You're so hot, did you know that?" he whispered, staring even harder at your cleavage and then at your eyes. You smiled and blushed. The way he said those things made you feel a way no other man had ever managed to do to you. "You don't have to feel ashamed..." he said, smirking at your reaction.

His lips met yours again, but only for a short period of time. They quickly moved to your collarbone. His hands were now were wandering around your whole body, moving from your neck to your shoulders, back, waist and ass, as if he was desperate to feel you. Which was amazing, because you were eager to feel his hands all over you.

You also wanted to feel him, so you did as he did: you took one of your hands to the back of his hand and slightly pulled back some of his long brown hair, what made him moan and smile in response. Your other hand traveled through his chest, gently dragging your nails around the small part of exposed skin. My god, he looked so hot in that purple jacket. The only way he could look hotter than that would be without it.

You started to slowly unbutton the shirt, which made him stop kissing you and look at you with a naughty smirk.

"So much hurry!" he giggled.

"You take mine off, I take yours, that's how it works" you answered, winking at him.

He helped you take off his shirt and toss it on the floor, next to your jacket. You enjoyed the view of his shirtless body, staring at it just like he did to you before, sliding your nails and digging them on his torso. He held your hand over his chest, looking deep into your eyes. you were expecting him to say something nasty, but instead he just went back to kissing you, now even more intensely.

He embraced your waist and pulled you closer to him, as if it were possible. Then, his hands slowly moved upwards, passing through your waist and reaching your breasts. He squeezed them softly, making you moan. Your skin, that was already shivered, got even more chills under his touch. You weren't wearing a bra, which made your nipples appear through your shirt. Jake noticed and liked it, since he touched and tweaked them over the thin cloth. At this moment, you were already wet and impacient, but you were only getting a small portion of Jake's sexual expertise.

"Jake..." you moaned in agony between his kisses, suffering with his touches over your clothes. Although it was very hot, the throbbing sensation in your groin was starting to feel unbearable and painful.

"I know, babe" he answered, resting his forehead on yours, without ceasing to fondle your breasts "you're eager, but I'm only getting started."

Hearing that made the situation of your arousal even worse, to the point where if he decided to just lift your skirt and fuck you at that moment you wouldn't even feel pain, so horny and ready you were. He went back to kissing you, never letting your breasts go. But suddenly, you felt him pull your shirt up and reveal your stomach.

He kept on pulling it, enough that your breasts dropped down from your top, due to how tight it was. He watched that pornographic scene without blinking, dazzled. Rapidly he went back to fondling your breasts, only now he took his lips to one of your nipples.

He sucked it gently, making you let go a pleasurable moan. Glad with your reaction, he kept on sucking it, sometimes licking, nibbling and kissing. He moved to the right breast, but without stopping to give attention to the left one, playing with the nipple with his thumb. The saliva he left on the thin skin of your nipple in contact with the air made you feel a little bit cold, but it gave you pleasure.

Jake took his time there, enjoying the sensation he was causing you. You, on the other hand, dig your nails a bit deeper all over his back, feeling his skin also get goosebumps.

Jake finishing sucking your nipples and went back to kissing your lips. He took off your top with a bit of hurry, tossing it on the floor and then pulling you closer to him by your waist. His hands were now back on your ass, but now he started to lift your skirt.

"This short skirt of yours... I spent the whole day thinking about lifting it and fucking you" he said, holding the cloth with the tip of his fingers and raising it slowly. The fingers that lifted the fabric softly scratched your thighs and your hip, making you shiver.

Jake saying those things made your legs tremble with pleasure. You didn't know how good it felt to hear that dirty-talk until it was Jake whispering it to you.

"I wore it thinking about it" you answered, what made him smile in a sexy and predatory way at the same time.

When he lifted your skirt high enough, he slid his right hand over your thigh. He gently slid back and forth towards your groin, torturing you with the desire of his touch. He looked you deep in the eyes with a serious expression, like he was in control of the situation. When you couldn't stand the teasing anymore, he caressed your pussy over your panties.

"Wow, you're soaking wet... I didn't know it was that easy to make you horny, baby."

You looked at him, almost not believing what you had just heard. After half an hour of teasing, he thought it was easy?

"Jake, please..." you moaned in desperation as he now rubbed your clit over the thin lacy fabric.

"I know, love, I'll give you what you want."

Jake pulled your panties down and slid his index finger between your fold, reaching your clit. You were so wet it was slippery inside you, making his job even easier. He then started to rub your clit in slow and circle motions.

You let go a fairly loud moan and, out of embarassment, you covered your mouth with your hand. He took your hand out of your mouth and pinned it against the wall behind you.

"Moan all you want, no one's gonna hear us. Moan loud for me."

And so you did. The harder he rub your clit, the more pleasure you felt and the more you moaned in his ear. He, who was also feeling pleasure, had his lips parted, watching you squirm against the wall.

Jake increased the speed with which he masturbated you, driving you insane. But you also wanted to torture him. Therefore, catching him by surprise, you took your hand to the huge bulge in his pants. He wasn't expecting that, but he enjoyed it.

You stroked his cock, that was very enhanced outside his pants. You were surprised with its lenght.

"You did this to me" he said, grabbing your hand and rubbing it harder against his dick.

But you didn't last for too long, since Jake's expertise in masturbating you was making your legs shake so you couldn't concentrate in anything but your own pleasure. You kept on moaning ach time louder until your orgasm finally hit. The pulsation made you almost scream.

You couldn't help but feel a little embarassed, but the look on his face comforted you and made you realize there was nothing to be ashamed of, since the man was clearly enjoying it.

He removed his fingers from your pussy and licked them. what made you feel another throb of pleasure. Next, he deeply kissed you.

"Fuck, your moans are so hot" he whispered in your ear. You couldn't answer him, since you were still recovering your breath.

Although you didn't say a word, you went back to stroking his erection. Gladly, he let you masturbate him over his clothes, torturing him as he had done to you.

"It's your turn to suffer" you said, and he smirked in response.

"This is nothing, I've been suffering since I first saw you in those tight clothes, your tits almost bursting out of that small top of yours. It was hard to hide how hard I was" he answered, gently pulling your hair behind your back so he could delight himself again with the sight of your naked breasts.

You rolled your eyes, giggling. He always had an answer on the tip of his tongue. But the fact that he said he got an erection only by looking at your cleavage made you feel powerful and sexy.

You kept masturbating him over the thick fabric of his pants, watching him twitch out of pleasure. After a few minutes, you removed his leather belt, tossing it on the floor together with the rest of your clothes. Next, he unzipped his pants himselft and lowered it a little, just enough so that you could see the bulge on his boxers. You could see the tip of his cock, since it had scaped the prison of its tight black fabric, which was already wet with his precum.

You licked your lips at the sight of his rigid cock. You wanted to suck it, but you would make him wait, just like he did to you. You stroked it over his underwear, which was way thinner and allowed you to move up and down much more easily. Jake was panting, anticipation taking over both of your bodies.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he grabbed your hand and put it inside his underwear, surprising you.

"Couldn't handle it?" you laughed.

"I need to feel you" he murmured, almost out of breath.

So you masturbated him, now inside his underwear. You started off slowly, gently touching the tip of his cock with your thumb. It was wet with eagerness. You then started to move more quickly, but the fabric of his underwear was making the job a little difficult, so you impaciently pulled it down, completely revealing his penis. Now that you could see it completely, you masturbated him even faster.

You looked at his face saw the expression of pure pleasure, small groans escaping from his mouth. You smirked and he smirked back, pleased with how much fun you were having while touching him so intimately. You then looked back at his cock and realized you couldn't take it any longer: you had to suck him off.

When he noticed you were getting down on your knees, his eyes widened up in anticipation. Knowing what was about to happen, he helped you take off his pants and underwear and took off his shoes, tossing it all on the floor. Then, he grabbed all of your hair and held it tightly in the back of your head, not letting any strand of it get in the way of you doing your job, but at the same time being able to mildly control your movements.

You slowly licked his entire shaft from the base to the tip, making him shiver and moan. Next, you placed your lips around its head, gently sliding his whole cock inside your mouth. When it reached your throat you gagged, but you kept going. Starting off with slow movements and then increasing the speed, sometimes licking, sometimes kissing, sometimes harder, sometimes easier, sometimes just masturbating it while you gathered some air. With one hand you stimulated it, with the other you grabbed his butt. You looked him in the eyes, knowing he was enjoying it. His pleasure facial expression was incredible, only making you want to suck him even more.

You kept going, so eagerly you reached a very high speed, but it didn't last long. He gently pushed your head away from his cock and pulled you up, asking you to stand up.

"If you keep going like that, I won't stand for long, babygirl..." he murmured, catching some air.

"Sorry, I guess I got carried away..." you said while wiping your lips with your hand, making him giggle.

"Don't ever apologize for giving me the best head I've ever got."

Jake gave you a deep and sloppy kiss. Next, he is the one who went on his knees.

Jake laid kisses on your chin, neck, the middle of your breasts, your tummy and, after taking off your skirt and your boots and throwing them on the floor, he kissed your groin. Your body shivered in anticipation, nervous with what was about to happen.

Jake lifted one of your legs up and laid it over his shoulder, in a way he could be face-to-face to your entrance.

Before he got started, he looked up deep into your eyes, grinned and held your hip firmly with one of his hands, while the other squeezed the thigh that laid on his shoulder so tightly you had marks of it the day after.

Jake touched his tongue gently on your entrance, spreading your lips allowing his to explore your pussy. His hot and wet tongue in contact with your soaking folds sent shivers through your whole body, and several others followed it when he started to lick your clit.

The sensation was even better than the one he caused you with his fingers. Which was surprising, since he was a guitar player, you always thought he would be better with his hands. Turns out Jake Kiszka was god with incredible with string instruments and even more skilled in pleasing a lady.

He kept licking your clit, now harder. You, who were already having trouble standing on one leg while getting your pussy eaten like that, reached a tripod that stood nearby, dropping the microphone from it. Your other hand grabbed his light brown hair tightly between your fingers, trying to hold up to something and not lose grip from reality. You two were making a mess in the studio but you didn't mind, for he continued to go down on you and you kept moaning as loud as you could.

But it didn't stop there.

Jake slowly inserted his index finger inside you. You felt your walls clench around his finger as he moved it up and down, hitting your g-spot so easily you regretted not doing this earlier. The mix of sensations his tongue on your clit and his finger inside you were causing on you combined drove you insane. At this point, you were moaning so loudly you completely forgot where you two were. Your eyes were closed and all you could say was Jake's name between groans and breaths.

Jake inserted another finger and started to estimulate you really rapidly, as fast as he was sucking on your clit. Your pleasure had become unbearable and your second orgasm hit like a tsunami, wetting even more your folds and Jake's tongue. Although you had shown him he could stop so you two could move on, he didn't want to. He didn't stop, never allowing your orgasm to reach its end and making your legs shake uncontrollably.

When he thought he had enough he started to slow his movements down, for your relief. When he finally stopped, he laid a soft kiss on your wet entrance as a demonstration of affection and stood up, immediately kissing your lips making you taste your own bitter juices.

"You taste so delicious" he whispered between your lips "I can't get enough of it."

You two kissed once more, now more romanticaly and tenderly. When you two finally caught some breath, you looked at each other and smiled, excited with what was about to happen next.

He then grabbed your hair very firmly, bringing goosebumps to your skin. Next, he whispered in your ear:

"Are you sure you want it?" he asked, you thought it was sweet of him to ask for verbal consent.

"Yeah" you answered, embarassingly anxious.

"Then ask for it."

As he said it, he turned you over, making you face and lean against the wall, your back completely exposed to him. He still had his hand holding your hair very tightly. You moan at his dominance.

He bent you over in a way your ass was tilted up for him. He enjoyed the sight of it, caressing and squeezing it really hard. Next, he rubbed his hard cock over your entrance. You arched your back even more, feeling exposed like that felt hot and thrilling. The sensation of his entire lenght rubbing against your wet folds was torturous.

"Ask for it" he repeated impaciently.

"F-fuck me" you stuttered, nervously enjoying him telling you what to do.

"I can't hear you" he rubbed his cock against you even harder.

"Fuck me, goddamnit!" you shouted, feeling obligated to put all shame aside to please that wonderful bossy man.

"Good" he said in a husky voice, seeming pleased.

Jake finally put the tip of his cock inside you, slowly so your walls could adjust to his size. It wasn't necessary to wait for too long, since you were so horny and ready that he slipped right in. When his entire lenght slid inside you, you felt chills run from your neck to your back. Finally feeling Jake inside you was incredible.

Jake started to fuck you, increasing the speed bit by bit. You impaciently start to move your hips in his direction, showing him he could go faster.

"Oh, you want more, you slut?" he asked, squeezing and then slapping your ass, what would leave a red mark on the next day.

"Yeah..." you moan.

Jake then did as you asked, increasing the speed. You were now fucking really hard, his cock moving in and out of you at a rapid pace. The pressure of his shaft hitting deep into you gave you so much pleasure your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, and your moans had become screams.

Jake slapped your ass again. The pain was intense but extremely hot. He, looking for more pleasure, pulled your hair back even more while his other hand reached one of your breasts, which shook due to the harsh movements you were making. Jake's groans were low, but vibrant and rough. He moaned your name while gasping for air.

"Your pussy feels so tight, so good."

Then, for your surprise, he got out of you. You turned over to him to see what was going on, but he pulled you to the floor before you could say anything. He lied on the floor and placed you on top of him, then putting his arms under his head and laying down, enjoying the view of your completely naked body on top of his.

"Ride me" he commanded, and you obeyed without question.

You began to ride him, getting used to the position before doing it faster. As soon as you managed to find balance, you started to ride him really quickly. That position hit different a different spot inside you, and you could see by Jake's expression that it hit different for him too.

You were fucking him so hard Jake was cursing between his breaths. He put one of his hands on your butt to guide the movements as he wanted to and the other hand on your right breast, holding it and squeezing it. You two kept that position for a while, looking deep in each other's eyes, chills running through your spines.

Jake wanted to change positions again, laying you under him. For the first time you could feel how harsh the carpet felt under your soft skin, only then remembering the place the two of you were. But that didn't matter. Jake leaned on his knees and pulled one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder and going back to fuck you again.

That position was taking you to heaven, what seemed impossible. To make it even better, Jake began to estimulate your clit with his thumb while he slid his cock in and out of you. At that moment, any drop of sanity that you still had disappeared.

"Yes!" you moaned, biting your lower lip.

"Fuck!" he hissed, sweat running down his beautiful face.

He kept fucking you in that position, which didn't take long to make you come for the third time in a row. Your orgasm made you scream and moan his name for the millionth time that afternoon, and that was driving him insane.

"I'm gonna cum" he said, increasing the speed with which he fucked you, not allowing your orgasm to end. The noise your hips crashing against each other was so loud it filled the room.

Jake reached his limit, letting his fluids fill you up inside. You, still experiencing your multiple orgasms, enjoyed the sensation the hot liquid mixed with the bliss caused you. The two of you began to slow the pace, until you fully stopped. Jake laid over you, without pulling out. You two were dripping in sweat, his hair all messy and glued to his forehead.

The both of you stood there for a while, catching your breath. He caressed your hair and you stroked his back. When you could finally breathe again, Jake looked you in the eye and you both giggled in complicity.

Jake pulled out and lied next to you on the carpet while holding your hand.

"This was..." he said.

"Wow..." you said.

You two laughed for having spoken at the same time. You two stood there for a long time, staring each other in the eyes. His dark brown eyes sparkled with joy and both of you were enjoying the serotonin the intimate moment you two had just shared produced, cuddling.

"I think I'm falling for you" Jake said, breaking the silence.

You couldn't hide your surprise in hearing that declaration, but you gave him a big smile in response.

"Me too" you said, unable to contain the huge smile on your face.

"Phew!" he said, laughing "This means we will be able to do this more often."

"Obviously. But can we do it in a more comfortable place next time? This carpet is so rough!"

"You didn't like the studio? But we can make as much noise as we want in here!" he said, comically offended by your preference of having sex somewhere else.

"It has its advantages, yes, but I bet it can't be better than Egyptian silk sheets on a king-sized bed" you said, convinced you knew better than him.

"Okay, you've got a point. But I can't promise I'll be able to provide the Egyptian silk sheets and a king-sized bed by tonight."

You hit his arm and laughed, glad for having found such an amazing partner.

[justapoet]

hii if you're still taking prompt requests, would you do something NSFW for buddie? I couldn't choose a prompt for this so you write only if you really want to

Gladly, Anon :) I hope you like it!

18. "If you drop me, I will put spiders in your shoes."

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when in eternal lines (to time thou grow’st)

Sonnet 18, by Shakespeare, begins as the narrator tries to find a metaphor in which their beloved one fits. The speaker in the poem refers to a young man, and the poem tries, line by line, to suit their love into words ― failing time after time.

The poem works with similes in which the poet tries to live it up for their loved person's beauty and, in each case, they quickly list reasons why the simile is unseemly. For occurrence, if they compare the young man to a summer day, they must admit that the metaphor neglects to capture the loved one's absolute virtue: he is more captivating and abstemious.

As the poem proceeds, though, the speaker’s objections begin to shift. Instead of arguing that the young man’s beauty exceeds whatever he is compared to, the speaker notes a dark underside to his own similes: they suggest impermanence and mildew.

To compare the young man to the summer implies that autumn is coming. To compare him to the sun designates that night will fall — and forthwith.

So, the speaker gets to the conclusion that to praise him — to adore him — as he should be cherished and praised, the poet needs to compare the young man to something eternal itself.

The speaker chooses their own words, and the poem as it is for, unlike summer, that must decay for fall to come, and unlike the sun, that brightly leads its own inexistence, those words, those lines, those failed metaphors — they're eternal. They shall not change as time passes, unlike the seasons and the stars.

The words, love, adoration, and praise for the young man shall not change or bend to time. Maybe that's why Buck ultimately loves Shakespeare's sonnet as much as he does.

He had first read it when he was a teenager, and the words didn't quite make sense inside of his head. Sure, the poem was beautiful — but Buck couldn't find meaning in it at that time, and that was all it was: a beautiful poem.

Then, when he first had his heart broken and shattered, Buck had read it anew, the bitterness swallowing him over and only allowing his eyes to read over lies and pretentious words over the paper. Even if the declarations still didn't make sense as they should inside his head, Buck found himself growing to ache because of them.

So, he buried the poem and the book under his splintered parts and a box in his wardrobe.

Seeing it again after broken hearts, crushed bones, and forgotten dreams, especially when his soul seemed to be healed, was like breathing in for the first time in too long.

Buck wasn't searching for it, though — he was hunting a hoodie he hadn't seen in a while and that he had stolen from Eddie. And, although he did, in fact, have another hoodie he could wear, his unbelievable stubbornness was determined to find that one.

Which led him to find the box deep on a shelf of his wardrobe.

He hadn't seen that in a while, after he broke up with Ali, and then the whole world fell apart, not giving him a break to break his heart while reading about someone else's love. The cardboard box was pretty old, although untouched by the time or him, and Buck stared at him before sighing and taking opening it up, staring at the book inside.

The book, on the other hand, was old and pretty much wasted. Buck never bothered counting how many times he had wandered around life with that amount of paper strung together, traveling throughout the country with the book as if it was an essential part of his baggage.

Which, in all honesty, it was. When the nights were too lonely and the days were hard to get through, Buck would find himself seeking comfort inside of the verses of a long-dead poet printed on a book he was gifted with from a long-dead friend.

And if Shakespeare's words were eternal, so his friend could be, too.

Buck took the book inside his hands, moving it a bit before opening it automatically on the page he mostly spent time reading. On the top of it, in printed, old letters, Buck smiled as he read "Sonnet XVIII."

He blinked, stepping backward until his legs hit his bed, the book over his lap as he sat down on the mattress, his eyes magnetically ironed to the page. Buck exhaled quietly, his blue irises traveling around the verses he had missed for longer he could've imagined.

Buck doesn't know how long he spent frozen in place, only his eyes moving around verses and lines, but his head was puzzled. He tried to understand, interpret the poem as it should be understood, but it was like something was missing.

Something was always missing.

Out of all the metaphors people used to describe love and being in love, love itself was a hyperbole Buck could never seem to understand. It had more shades and nuances than Buck could seem to understand, and it was described in such greatness he couldn't get himself to comprehend.

It didn't make sense. None of it, and the entirety even less. It was confusing and messy, and Buck sincerely wished it would be just as simple as reading a poem ― but it wasn't. It was more profound than the speeches and perhaps even more everlasting.

He had feared love too much to dare to face it, now.

And he feared, even more, to find out what was missing in the equation.

It was when Eddie called from downstairs.

"Buck?" his voice soared around the loft, breaking the silence and the tension around Buck's head. "I brought pizza! And the cupcakes you said you wanted earlier," Eddie said, and Buck frowned for a second.

Before he could build a thought ― he was pretty sure that the cupcake subject lasted less than a minute ― Buck shook his head and threw his book over the mattress, the old cover contrasting to the well-aligned duvet over it.

Then, he got up and hurried to the stairs, his frowned expression melting in a smile as soon as he could see Eddie close to the counter, putting down two boxes. He was wearing the usual, a plain blue shirt with a jacket and his typical jeans, his hair uncommonly messy ― yet, he was a sight that took a sigh out of Buck as he went down the stairs.

Eddie turned around when Buck hopped, skipping the last step, and smiled warmly at him. Then, he stretched his hand, which Buck hurried to take, and pulled the younger man closer, happily humming as their lips met.

It was a soft kiss, their tongues lazily meeting for a minute before they drifted apart, and Buck wrapped his arm around Eddie's waist, placing his head on the man's shoulder.

"Hi," Eddie greeted, and Buck smiled calmly, breathing in the sweet scent he always wore.

"Hi, you," he greeted, too, his heart fluttering in his chest.

It was something new, the two of them. Not more than three months and a few more weeks, if being honest, and they've been keeping it a secret in the meantime ― nothing to be ashamed of, of course, but far too precious for it to be exposed so soon. And it was good to have something exclusively theirs, solely private.

Their first kiss happened on a Wednesday, with Chris sleeping in his room and Buck almost sleeping against Eddie's couch, both of them drained by a twenty-four-hour shift. Buck didn't want to move ― he would probably just choose to sleep there anyway ― and Eddie was fidgety. He had been for a while, but Buck didn't ask ― he knew that Eddie would come to him when he felt ready to do so.

Buck just couldn't have predicted he would choose the moment he was barely awake.

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[gainerstories]

Fatter Exchange Student: Chapter 10

This is a community story with each chapter authored by a different writer in the gaining community. This chapter is penned by feederfiction.

Read prior chapters here.

The worst part about the chilly spring mornings wasn’t the cold, it was knowing that each morning he woke up was one less day he had left with his boyfriends. Seb pouted at this thought while stuffing his face with pancakes. Felix and Bleecker were constantly doting on him. Cooking and ordering massive amounts of food for the forlorn boy, and promising him that he can come back whenever he wants.

The exchange student had known that this would be temporary from the start, but he didn’t expect his life to become so defined by his experiences in America. However, that had given the young man a plan. Something to aim for. To grow as much as possible while he still had this time in the States, and time with his lovers. However, despite his determination, he was not to be outdone by the other boys, who were also well and truly invested in gaining themselves.

Felix had truly fattened to the point that calling him a “hipster” would no longer suit him. He had outgrown that aesthetic over the Christmas break, but was still clinging to it. As a result, he had been forced to retire his old jeans, and buy ones from the Big and Tall store, altering them himself by cutting and ripping holes so that his pale, fleshy thighs were oozing out on display for all.

Similar was his soft, blubbery belly, which hung out several inches of any band tee he wore. Turns out most brands for vintage tour tees don’t go above an L, or XL if you’re lucky, and with Felix being over 330lbs he was now constantly displaying a generous slab of furry gut. His old jackets were too small as well, but thrift shopping had scored him an old biker jacket that worked for his current size.

The philosophy major continued to pile on the pounds, too which on his pear shaped body meant he looked wider each day. Sebastian loved using his soft, wobbling belly as a pillow, while Bleecker would often come up behind Felix and knead his love handles like dough. He was now so thick in the lower body that he was forced to adopt a wide stance, and had been waddling for some time.

Not to be outdone however, Bleecker had been treating every meal as if it was a competitive eating competition. Glutting himself to the point of exploding before passing out for a nap. His belly was now almost always at some stage of fullness, and protruded outwards in every direction. What was once referred to as a barrel, was not closer to a keg, as his overstressed back now curved to handle the sheer size of it. Not to be forgotten though was his monumental ass, which would barely even fit into the special ordered gym shorts he forced himself to squeeze into when going out in public.

He still maintained going to the gym 4 times a week, although it was primarily just weightlifting at this stage, as his body could barely fit into any of the machines anymore, and cardio was far too much effort for the ballooning ex-jock. One of the other reasons Bleecker kept this gym schedule up was for the sauna. He would strip down and wrap a bath sheet around himself and sit there in the steaming room as his beefy form began to pour with sweat, cascading through his folds and across his incredible expanse. He was tipping the scales at nearly 400lbs these days, and his muscled-fat form looked more fit for sumo than rugby.

Sebastian’s new personal goal he was determined to grow as much as humanly possible before he was forced to return home. The winter months mostly involved him sitting on the couch, with one or both of the boys stuffing him constantly. They would rub his belly and cuddle him until he would demand more food. He was truly invested in plumping up and could barely go five minutes without wondering what he was going to eat next.

Felix and Bleecker delighted in keeping their Mediteranean boyfriend fed, developing shifts and shopping schedules to maximise his gains. But when school returned, they noticed a shift in Sebastian. He was emotionally distant, unwilling to go out and do anything, and utterly fixated on food. His gluttony was becoming too much for them to handle. It was like having a mindless eating machine parked on the couch, swelling up like a tick with every day that passed.

“Yeah. It’s like he’s just eating because it’s all he can do now.” Bleecker replied sadly.

“I know he’s feeling down about leaving in a few months but we need to show him that we care. And that we’re there for him…” Felix said, pausing as he looked past Bleecker and down the aisle.

Bleecker looked to where Felix was fixated and grinned, his smile pushing up his chubby cheeks.

“Hmm? Oh… yes! We just need to convince him.”

“Leave it to me,” Felix said, wobbling past the ex-jock whose massive belly took up most of the aisle.

Back home, Sebastian had just finished gorging himself on inhuman amounts of waffles and bacon, his overstuffed gut quivering with every minor motion. Releasing a wet belch from his foodstained maw, Sebastian scratched at the glaringly bright stretchmarks that seemed to adorn more and more of his form these days. With a rattling in the lock, Felix and Bleecker stumbled in, carrying multiple straining bags. They were  panting and sweating as they unpacked everything, taking samples from various snack foods all the while. Offering only a half-hearted wave and a burp, Seb acknowledged their return.

“Hey bro, hows the belly hanging?” Bleecker asked, as he made his way to his roommate.

He fell onto the couch heavily, rubbing the exposed couple inches of skin under his woefully small tank top that had so many X’s before the L that the jock had lost count.

“Good, good. You guys took a bit,” The Geek boy replied.

Felix waddled over excitedly, his jiggling form resembling jello as he began rummaging around in a bag, before extracting something and shoving it in his boyfriend’s face.

“Well we noticed a sale, and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see you in this!”

To receive early access to Fatter Exchange Student and other exclusive stories check out the Gainer Stories Patreon.

[rushingheadlong]

Almost Make Believe - A Brian x f!Reader smut fic

Summary: When you saw Brian’s performance at the Big Mama Club you thought nothing could ever top being front-and-center to him rocking out in a tight black tank top… and then you run into him a bar after the show, and your night goes from great to amazing.

Wordcount: ~2,600

Tags: 18+ / NSFW, smut, 1998 Tank Top Brian x female!fan!Reader. (Assume for the sake of this fic that Anita isn’t in the picture.) Arm kink, with a hint of sweat kink, and semi-public sex.

Notes: This technically wasn’t a request for my #1YearFics week, but the lovely @maryfree​ asked for this ages ago and inspiration finally struck (after a friendly nudge from her). Since the first fic I posted on this blog featured tank top Bri, I thought what better way to wrap up this week than with a bonus fic featuring some very on-brand tank top smut!

I hope this was worth the wait Mary and thank you for being so patient with me taking half a lifetime to write this for you ♥

You think you fell a little in love with Brian the first time you heard a Queen album. You didn’t even know his name then, but the moment you heard his guitar sing you went scrambling for the liner notes to look it up and then scanned through the photos decorating the accompanying booklet until you figured out which one he was.

Skinny with a mess of dark, curly hair and the most intense eyes you think you’ve ever seen in your life… You knew then and there that you were a goner for Brian May.

You’ve always found him almost unbearably attractive, the sort of man that you looked at and almost hated for how effortlessly sexy he was even when that clearly wasn’t his goal. He was a man who, by his own admittance, didn’t care about fashion but somehow everything he wore looked amazing on him - from gaudy jackets to simple (but always disheveled and unbuttoned) shirts.

But you have never, never seen him look as incredible as he does tonight.

Brian is in Rome for a one-off performance and brief Q&A about his new album, open only to members of the press and the fan club, and you’ve managed to snag a ticket to this exclusive event. It’s an acoustic performance, something lowkey and intimate, and maybe that’s what contributes to you being weak in the knees from the moment that Brian enters the room - wearing, of all things, a simple black tank top.

It shouldn’t be as hot as it is but Brian fills it out so nicely, and you can’t remember his arms ever being as muscled as they look in that tank top. You’re so distracted by the sight of his bare arms, the necklaces decorating the hollow of his throat, and the faintest glimpse of his collarbones above the neckline of the tank top that you almost entirely miss how indecently tight his jeans are tonight. (It takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize that he’s wearing black clogs on his feet as well, but you’re so struck by the rest of his outfit that you find that you’re not even bothered by his questionable choice in footwear.)

You manage to get a spot up front by the small stage, the perfect vantage point to stare at Brian as he strums at his guitars and croons into the mic. It’s warm in the small venue and you can see sweat beading on Brian’s brow, and when he reaches up to wipe it away you have to bite your bottom lip to hold back a whimper.

There’s no stopping your growing arousal, though, especially not when Brian’s eyes land on you, just for a second - just long enough that you can see his eyes widen slightly, and you can almost convince yourself that when he licks his lips it’s because of you and not a parched throat. It’s enough that you can feel yourself growing embarrassingly wet and it takes a real effort to stop yourself from squirming and pressing your thighs together right there in the Big Mama Café.

The show is over far, far too soon. Brian shakes hands with fans as he leaves the stage and you’re sure you’re imagining the way his hand lingers in yours, you’re sure he was just looking back at Jamie or Spike before he leaves the room, but you still let yourself imagine that it was you he was looking at instead.

There’s a bar nearby and you duck into it, needing a drink (or several) and some time to compose yourself before you can think about heading home. It’s quiet inside and you find your thoughts drifting back to Brian and the way he looked in that tank top. The memory of his muscles flexing as he played his guitar, the vast expanse of bare skin on display, the brief glimpses of usually-hidden pits, the glisten of sweat down the column of his throat....

Fuck. You’re supposed to be calming yourself down, not making yourself even more worked up about your celebrity crush!

You down your drink and order a second, when a familiar - but unexpected - voice asks, “Mind if I get that for you?”

Your heart leaps into your throat and you turn to look at Brian May as he slides onto a barstool next to you. He has a jacket on now but he’s still wearing that damned tank top underneath it, and you can see it ride up slightly as he sits down.

You tear your eyes away from that sliver of exposed skin to nod at him, and you clear your throat. “S-sure,” you stammer. “Thanks.”

Brian’s smile is warm and beautiful. “Great.” He orders a drink of his own before saying, “You were at the show, weren’t you? In the front row?”

You nod again. Your heart is racing in your chest and you can feel your face flushing but somehow you manage to say, “Yes, I was. You were absolutely fantastic.”

Brian laughs and ducks his head a little in embarrassment. “Thanks. We weren’t bad, I suppose.” Your drinks arrive and Brian hands you yours, and clinks his glass against yours. “Cheers.”

You echo the sentiment, and as both of you take a drink you wrack your brain for something, anything to say to keep the conversation going. “How long are you staying in Rome?” you ask. “I thought you said you had a plane to catch.”

“Mm, I do but we got word that our flight was delayed until later tonight. So I thought I’d grab a drink before we left,” Brian explains. “What about you? Are you a local?”

You shake your head. “Just in town for the show.”

“And in no hurry to leave, I take it,” Brian says, a little teasing.

You laugh, and trace a finger through the condensation dripping onto the bartop. “I needed a moment to decompress after that performance of yours,” you say, and it must be the alcohol that makes you bold enough to add, “It’s a bit overwhelming being that close to you when you look and sound that good, you know.”

Brian looks surprised and you’re just about to apologize for your comment - and possibly disappear into a hole to die of embarrassment - when he smirks at you and says, “Well, thank you. But you’re not the only one who got overwhelmed. It’s quite difficult for me to have to do a show when there are beautiful ladies like yourself front and center in the audience.”

“Surely a world-famous rockstar like yourself is used to seeing beautiful women at his shows,” you say. Your voice has dropped down to a sultry note, something that matches the dark arousal you can see in Brian’s eyes.

“There aren’t many women who look like you,” Brian counters in a low murmur, and you know it’s probably a line but god is it working. He takes a long gulp of his drink and turns to face you a little better and says, “If I was in Rome for longer I’d ask you to go to dinner with me and come back to my hotel room after, but unfortunately I don’t have much time before I have to leave. So I hope you can forgive me for being a bit forward but… well…”

He nods towards the back of the bar, where you know the restrooms are, and raises an eyebrow questioningly. It’s not a direct question but you don’t need it to be. You know what he’s asking and you down the rest of your drink and stand up, leaning in close to him to whisper, “Wait a few minutes, then come follow me.”

Luckily, the bar has single-occupancy restrooms and you enter the first one, leaving the door unlocked. You splash some water on your face and look at yourself in the mirror, but you barely have time to wonder what the hell you’re doing before there’s a knock at the door and Brian ducks inside, and flips the lock behind him.

There’s a beat where the two of you just look at each other, a shared moment of arousal and amusement and almost disbelief that you’re actually about to hookup with a near-stranger in the bathroom of some bar. And then you take a step forward and Brian meets you halfway, wrapping an arm around your waist and capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

You gasp and Brian swallows the sound as his tongue slips into your mouth, tracing against yours, and you suck on it as your hands quickly reach up to push his jacket off his shoulders.

“We probably shouldn’t get undressed…” Brian mumbles against your mouth, barely breaking the kiss for long enough to get the words out, but he still helps shrug off his jacket and lets it fall to the floor.

You pull back, pressing lighter kisses against his mouth and moving down to kiss and nip along his jaw, though you’re careful not to leave marks on his skin - no matter how much you may want to. “Just wanted that off. You look too fucking hot in a tank top, I can’t stand it.”

You can’t keep your hands off him now that his shoulders and the top of his chest is on display again. You run your hands down his arms, feeling those muscles that had driven you crazy when he was performing, as Brian reaches down and runs one hand up your skirt, along the outside of your thigh.

“This okay?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. He leans in to lick and kiss at your neck and you tilt your head back to give him better access.

“Yes, god, please,” you gasp, and then Brian’s fingers are trailing inward, towards your core. Your knees almost buckle when he brushes along the soaked front of your panties, and Brian tightens his grip around your waist and groans against your neck.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already…”

“Been wet since the show,” you admit, and that gets Brian surging up to kiss you again, fierce and hot, and you tangle one hand in his hair as he pulls your panties aside and slips two fingers deep inside you.

You moan and buck against his hand as he scissors his fingers and twists them inside you. “Fuck, Brian, just fuck me already, please fuck me, god-” your voice trails off in a high-pitched whine as Brian crooks his fingers and rubs against your g-spot, and Brian quickly swallows down the noise before you get too loud and draw outside attention to this illicit tryst.

Brian pulls his fingers away and fumbles for his wallet, pulling out a condom as you undo his belt and fly and push his jeans down far enough to free his cock. You moan softly at the sight of it, big and thick and heavy in your hand as you stroke his length, feeling a rush of lust as Brian groans and rocks into your hand.

Brian tears open the condom and you take it from him to roll it down his cock. Brian’s hands drop to your waist and he says, “Wrap your legs around me, okay?”

You barely have time to comprehend the instruction before Brian is lifting you up with a small grunt, balancing you on the edge of the sink but still supporting most of your weight with his arms, which flex and strain under the effort. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in close and Brian goes willingly, lining up his cock at your entrance and sinking into you slowly.

You bite your lip to stop the loud moan that wants to slip out as Brian bottoms out inside you, his cock filling you so much that it’s almost a pained sort of pleasure, lighting up every nerve ending in your body even before he starts rocking into you. The first thrust has you leaning forward, ducking your head against Brian’s neck to muffle the noises that you can’t hold back any longer.

“Fuck, you feel so good, you’re so fucking good,” Brian praises and he fucks into you fast and hard. You mouth at his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat on his skin, and your fingernails dig crescent moons into his arms as you cling tightly to him.

You know you’re not going to last long. You’ve been turned on since Brian’s concert and having him here, around you, in you, is absolutely overwhelming. The feeling of his bare arms beneath your hands, the sound of his pants and groans and mumbled praise in your ear, his hair tickling your face and the taste of his skin and sweat on your tongue…

You think you could die here, just like this, without a single regret.

Brian’s thrusts start to speed up and he brings a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit and you bite down on the strap of his tank top to stifle your loud cry of pleasure. “Want you come for me, love, c’mon, come on my cock,” Brian says, and that’s all it takes.

Your orgasm hits you suddenly, white-hot pleasure setting you on fire as you clench down on Brian’s thick cock and writhe against him. Brian ducks his head to capture you lips in another kiss, your cries lost in his mouth as he works you through your orgasm, his nimble guitarist’s fingers circling and teasing at your clit without pause. You try to find your voice to tell him that it’s too much, it’s too overwhelming, when a second orgasm rips through you, stealing your breath and leaving you gasping and shaking against Brian.

And then Brian’s hips stutter into you and he’s groaning and coming as well, and his hand finally falls away from your clit as he grinds against you, chasing his own pleasure. You keep kissing him and rub your hands along his arms, until Brian’s climax ends and the two of you are left tangled together, panting and breathless and slowly coming down from your highs.

Brian pulls out gently and helps lower you back to the floor. Your legs don’t want to work properly and you lean heavily against the sink as Brian disposes of the condom and quickly wets a paper towel. He cleans your slick away from the inside of your thighs with a tenderness that makes your heart ache, but when Brian wets a second paper towel to wipe the sweat away from his face and clean himself up you feel your stomach flutter with arousal again.

Pull yourself together, you tell yourself as Brian straightens his own clothes and picks his jacket up off the floor.

“You know,” Brian says with a small laugh. “I don’t even know your name.”

Your chest is tight with a bittersweet longing, a thousand wishes that this could be the start of something long-term and beautiful… but you know it’s not meant to be.

You’ll be damned before you put the weight of your dreams on Brian’s shoulders though, so you muster up a smile and tell him, “I’m Y/N L/N.” You lean up to kiss him again, stealing into his mouth and lingering for as long as you dare, because you know you’ll probably never get this again... but just in case the stars align again you murmur in his ear as you pull away, “Come find me the next time you’re in Italy.”

And with that you step back, smooth down the front of your dress, and give Brian one last smirk and a cheeky wave before you duck out of the bathroom.

You fell a little more in love with Brian today than you already were - but that's alright. You're leaving the bar with a spring in your step and the heartache already fading, and even if you never see Brian again you at least got this one moment where your fantasies almost entirely came true.

[tenderlyrenjun]

The Rich Truth

part seven | part eight | part nine

2,5k words // tw suggestive

Renjun checks himself out under the FaceTime … title, tidying his uncooperative hair and displaying his prominent jawline. He props your phone against the steel reusable cup he still has yet to wash from the day’s iced tea, giving himself enough screen space for you to see his outfit from his seat on the wicker bench at the foot of his bed, not that his clothes really mattered. It is just a black button up and red slacks he had laying around from a costume party earlier in the year; he always has to look pristine for his residency at the art museum, but this time, he thought he would look, at least, put together for you.

Renjun hunches over, elbows resting on his thighs, and he rubs out his tired eyes with both fists, not catching how the ringing slowly transitioned into Kris Wu.

“What’s wrong?”

He is not even surprised that you answered the call because the two of you have been talking more frequently, especially at night since your days tend to pile up with mountains of responsibilities. It makes him wonder why he took on so much, but coming home to your voice after a long day at the office is something he can, and did, get used to.

“Nothing, nothing,” Renjun answers, still rubbing the last bit of fatigue from his eyes. He rolls his neck around and makes another comment – this time about your tone, “That’s not how you usually answer our nightly FaceTime chats. I don’t even get a hello?” His neck snaps in place to look at you, to really look at you right now. He reclines against the mattress, almost smirking while you roll your eyes at him and pull away from the camera. The position displays his outfit, letting him sprawl out largely. “Nor is this how you usually look.”

“Excuse me?” you question like a statement, but neither of you acknowledge it – something pretty common in your talks, almost as if ignoring the explicit flirting and those growing butterflies will keep each other at bay and not break your hearts.

Renjun half-chuckles, continuing to make light of the situation, to leave that casual uncertainty in his flirting so you do not see more of him, of his underlying vulnerability. He cannot be falling for someone so far away – both in terms of proximity and social status, not that the latter matters to him, but it does to his parents. Oh, God, he needs to stop thinking about introducing you to his mom. Is he going to scare of you off? Are you going to stop talking to him if he gets a little bolder every now and again?

The answer is no, he thinks when you continue the impromptu conversation, showing off your outfit in the way he wanted to with his. Renjun smiles again, brighter and wider with his dimples poking deeply in his cheeks, definitely not because you look very cute in that simple black outfit you are trying to make look sexy with that pout on your blank canvased lips.

“But anyways,” you sing off-key, “I’m going to a party.”

Renjun swallows his words, and you’re going to go looking like that? He bites the inside of his cheek, the dimple disappearing as his eyebrows furrow together nervously.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious, “Should I change?”

You take a step closer to the camera and open the jacket a bit more to reveal the small, clingy black dress underneath. Renjun sucks in his breath, lips moving around his face as he chews at the inside of his mouth. The way you tug at your black sleeves captivates his attention even more and he is forced to watch your internal debate until the jean material slides off your shoulders. Maybe, he thinks, he should replace your jacket with his; it would be warmer and go better with your outfit, right?

You have him nodding away any previous thoughts he might have had, forcing his eyes to lock on your bare shoulders when the jacket slips down your arms, but he has to follow the jacket too. His eyes trail with the article and attach to your hips when it bunches at your hands. You struggle for a second, unbuttoning the sleeves, but he doesn’t notice, preferring to stare at the way your waist subtly hits the beat of the Antares song.

“I thought it looked good,” you mutter bitterly, finishing with a whiny oomph when the jacket pops off your entire body, making you lean forward to let it fall behind onto the ground. The sound it makes crumpling to the ground is intoxicating and Renjun wants to hear it again. 

You smooth the dress over your sides, looking at your illusion of curves in the mirror behind Renjun’s phone. The dress leaves you torn between pulling it up or down – pulling it down covers more of your legs but exposes what the small sweetheart neckline doesn’t, and dragging it up hides your chest but peeks at your upper thighs, making you scared that your underwear will be visible when you inevitably reach to grab a bottle of soju at the party. You could have sworn the dress fit more nicely than this, but it has been months since you tugged it on and more since you actually wore it out.

“No, you do,” he whispers, voice strained. He sits up more, his thighs closing over the wicker bench. “I just …” You look too good.

Renjun shakes the thought away, hoping he didn’t actually say it out loud, otherwise he is going to call an Uber just to see how good that dress looks and if it will look even better on the floor of your room. But he remembers that it is Sunday, and unlike you he has a class Monday morning.

“It’s like 8 P.M. on a Sunday. Where are you going? Hot date? Birthday dinner?”

“How’d you know it’s my birthday?” you ask sarcastically, rolling your eyes; you already told him and he does not really need more information ... does he? It is not like he is going to join or meet you at this party that is basically invite-exclusive. 

You stop smiling at him to look in the mirror, scrutinizing your blank appearance – the outfit just looks too ��� too simple now. “Should I add accessories?”

“I –“

“I’m going to add accessories.”

You lean over the phone, grabbing behind at a few gold and silver accessories from the jewellery dish.

The view Renjun has is less than pure, and he has to maneuver closer to the camera. It is both a blessing and a curse, both a cause and relief to his problem. He wants to look away, not that he could really see anything beyond your strapless black bra tightly wound across your chest, but god, his head is empty, thoughts gone, marbles lost. He knows he should give you some privacy and look away … but … like … sorry, what was he thinking?

His tongue travels along his bottom lip then disappears when his teeth sink in for a plump pink bite. He is doing that a lot tonight – biting his lip. But what are you doing to him?

“Silver or gold?” you ask him, holding up two different pairs of earrings by the side of your head. The silver one has a black onyx but the gold ones match the pretty flecks in your eyes that Renjun swears have been painted by the stars, if he would be so brave to tell you without the cheesy inflection to his flirting that makes you feel like the compliment is fake, again.

“Hmm? G-gold,” he stutters lazily, circulating thoughts consuming his single braincell that barely comprehended your question. He blinks slowly, eyes watching your careful fingers feel around for the piercing hole. His mouth goes dry when you insert it, slowly pushing through. You let out a small hiss, not used to wearing earrings for a while, and his breath hitched in his throat.

“Mmphm,” you moan at the bit of pain, then thrust the next one in just as slowly, millimeter by millimeter. You flick the dangling accessory in your ear, watching in the mirror how it swings. It oddly feels satisfying and you continue to toy with the earring, admiring how it looks with your outfit. “Just like playing darts.”

Renjun snaps into reality when you step back from the camera, showing off your outfit with complimentary gold accessories handing on your ears, collarbone, and hands. You show it off like a Vogue model, trailing your rings from the pendant on your neck across your collarbones, bangles touching coolly into your warm skin – you almost shiver at the touch, shoulders shaking forward like a shimmy. You lean further, half hiding your face, to show off the necklace closer, not realizing what else you are exposing in the process.

Renjun hides the act of biting his lip behind a small fist, his other hand tensing around his knee, and blinks at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling for a quick second. He knows that he should be a gentleman and look literally anywhere else, but that shiny gold necklace steals his attention and his mouth is dry again, his thighs pressing deeply into the bench again, his lip nearly drawing blood again – well, would be drawing blood if it were not rushing through his body following the other hormones. Those same hormones, he thinks, are stealing his thoughts, because he has absolutely nothing to say to you, but then again, you are the analyst in this relationship, not him. All he has to do is admire the art in front of him.

“What do you think?” you ask him, showing off your entire appearance for the night: tight LBD, gold jewellery, dark red lipstick that basically matches the color of his pants. This is you giving him permission to approve of your clothes, or, really, to check you out, to see if your outfit is passable for a party.

His eyes bore into yours, and you cannot tell if he nods or gives you any other affirmation because his head just meanders through your face. He is captivated by the way your eyelashes look up at him, reminding him of the color painted across your lips; his mind races and all he can think about is you between his thighs, pressing kisses on him, all over him, replacing the red material on his legs with your red lipstick.

Renjun blinks rapidly again and straightens his poster before scanning your body. Oh fuck, you look really good in this outfit. He becomes obsessed with the way your chest breathes up and down; he wonders if your heart is pounding just like his. He forces his eyes to tear away from that inviting sweetheart neckline he wants to suck harsh marks above. Your bare arms need to rip his attention away from your dress but he keeps glancing back at your pushed-up chest until he reaches your bracelets, only because you hold them near the waist he wants to grab, he wants to pull closer to him, he wants to hold down on his bed while he –

“Yeah,” he coughs, “Yeah, you look fine.” He needs something to distract him from his … growing … issue. “Can I see your shoes? You know, to see if they match ... and ... stuff ... you know.” 

He leans forward, shoulders falling back to puff out his chest subconsciously and his torso looks more defined with that black shirt. Are his shoulders broader than you thought?

You nod at him, following along his muscles absentmindedly, preoccupied by the way his tongue kept dragging along his bottom lip while his eyes dragged along your hips. You turn to the side and bend one naked leg up, careful not to accidentally flash him with your underwear. The simple black stilettos don’t have that gorgeous red bottom, but you do not mind because Renjun’s pants are red and maybe if you sat on his lap, it will give you the same happiness.

Oh, fuck me, Renjun curses internally, subconsciously moving his lips to his thoughts. Why do you have to turn to your side? This pose displays your bum and he swears you are teasing him. There is no way you cannot know how much he wants to grab your ass and throw you down on his red bed. 

“Mmhm,” his voice goes high. “They match. You have - you have a good sense of style.”

“Thanks.”

You drop your leg back down and smooth the hem of your dress, involuntarily taking it down a bit, revealing a bit more of your torso’s skin.

The tension is palpable, his tension is rigid, your tension is barely breathing. The both of you need some air. 

Yeah uh woo uh huh / Yeah, come on 싫진 않아 넌 말해 / 서투른 난 초조해 (yo yo yo) / She's so selfish but I like it

Your iPad starts to blare Betcha by Baekhyun as an alarm telling you to leave. You scramble onto the bed, bending and climbing over it with unruly limbs. You finally kneel over the blue duvet, heels hanging off the edge while you tap furiously at the large screen to turn off the song - one former Exo member being replaced by a current one in your room, trumpeting from your bluetooth speakers. You step off the bed, wandering back in front of the camera. Your arms knit together, pushing your chest up, and Renjun is looking up at the stars once again.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he whispers behind his fist. 

“I’ve, uh, got to go,” you announce loudly and awkwardly, mirroring your feelings in the way you stand. “I’m supposed to meet Rae in, like, fifteen minutes, and it’s a twenty minute walk from my apartment, so ...”

“Yeah, no, I get it. Go have fun. We can talk tomorrow or something.”

You kind of feel bad. He called you first, probably with the intention to talk to you about something - maybe about his residencies that keep him working overtime, given the way he is currently dressed in that fitted black shirt and complimentary pants ... hmm? Oh, right, he said something regarding that party you have to attend, right, yeah. 

“I’d snap you some pics, but I don’t know how you’d feel about giving me your snapcha -”

“@ huang.rj.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s my handle. Same as Instagram, twitter, whatever, if you wanna, you know, reach me.” Renjun can tell that he shocked you, but he is also cautious of your valuable time, hating tardiness. He glances at the clock on his nightstand. “I’ll let you go, on the condition that you don’t forget to snap me your outfit.”

It may have only been a couple weeks since you accidentally took his phone, but he casually reminds you that the ball is in your court - all of this is your move. So what do you do?

You definitely have the time to go see him right now, and maybe get your phone back/return his, but there is a party waiting for you. 

[cubeswhump]

Defy Fate; Reanimate, part 1: The Pieces of Osiris

Gonna make it clear that I got “Defy fate / Reanimate” from this song. This story takes inspiration from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein but I kinda took the barest base of it and ran wild.

For much of my childhood, I was dead set on being a forensic pathologist. Then I got autistic burnout which turned into a nervous breakdown and had to reevaluate my life plan. I still have a huuuuuge love for forensics/pathology and I finally put it to use. A bit too much use. You’re gonna learn about rates of decay today.

Note: Part 2 is already written and will be posted tomorrow or the day after.

Tagging @more-miserables and @brutal-nemesis

Warning for gore, self-harm (not done from depression or misery), terminal illness, whump of a minor (via flashback), death (death is a whole ass focal point of this story so be warned), drugging, creepy whumper (like super creepy), consensual mildly-NSFW stuff that doesn't go anywhere, semi-professional surgery, dismemberment, disembowelment, general grossness.

Dearil was a constant; Lorelai barely remembered life without him. He showed up in first grade an awkward little boy who didn't speak a word of English and she was the happy helper with dozens of gold stars who took him under her wing. But they grew up and he learned English and gained confidence while Lorelai retreated into her shell.

Dearil seemed the type of kid who would be bullied relentlessly: openly gay, overweight, embraced his feminine side with pinks and purples and earrings, grew his hair longer than any boy at school, could tell you every plot point of Bleach and Naruto but couldn't follow a conversation, did these things with his hands that were later identified as stimming. However, he never held his tongue and had this air of confidence that even the mean kids respected. It was quiet, studious Lorelai they picked on, but no one dared bother her when big Dearil stood next to her. When chemotherapy made him lose his hair when they were sixteen, some classmates even shaved their heads to show support.

They stayed close even Dearil repeated eleventh grade because health complications made him miss so much school. They stayed nest best friends even when Lorelai graduated six months early, when he took a gap year, when Lorelai got into medical school. Even when the dreaded Boyfriebds stuck their feet in.

The two shared an apartment while Dearil worked on a degree in business and Lorelai was kept busy as an assistant in a morgue and full-time student. They had big dreams, but Dearil's were much more feasible: he planned to open a bakery that exclusively hired neurodivergent teens and young adults. Lorelai's plans?

"They only don't want to mix magic and medicine becahse the pharmaceutical companies will lose money!" she growled, glaring daggers at the emailed rejection of her thesis.

"People fear what they don't understand. I mean, science can't explain it and it's pretty fucking crazy," Dearil replied, shrugging. "If I had to explain it, I'd say it's kinda like equivalent exchange in Fullmetal Alchemist, right? I don't really get how it works. But you're smart. You're strong-willed. You'll do great."

She didn't get his anime comparisons, but she could get lost in the sould of his voice. If she could bottle it she would drink nothing else for the rest of her life.

Then another Boyfriend came along and she heard that voice less and less. She hated everything about Frankie: the way he zipped around on that noisy motorcycle (and how dare he wear the only helmet while Dearil rode around unprotected), his spikey hair, his smug smile, his grating laughter, his leathee jackets, his lips on Dearil's.

She refrained from hexing him. She wasn't a bad person who would use witchcraft to cause harm. Her acts were subtle and harmless: placing red rose petals in Dearil's pockets and shoes and placing petunia petals in Frankie's.

"I don't know what the flowers mean but I'm guessing it's some passive-aggressive bullshit," Dearil huffed. "Cut it out."

He got a bit angrier when she tried to cut off a chunk of Frankie's stiff hair. It was just for a bad luck charm, nothing lethal, but she pled the fifth on that one.

"You're like a sister to me," Dearil reminded her that day after Frankieeft. He meant well, but she wanted to scream and cry and break things. But she forced herself to smile.

There was a thought that haunted her every day. She would be the maid of honor, perhaps wearing teal if Dearil's current hair color was anything to go by. She would have to give a speech and congratulate the grooms. Watch them kiss. It should be her under that altar! She should be wearing a white gown and veil!

She resigned to life as a lonely spinster. She'd be married to her job.

That was the worst thing she imagined happening, until life hit her like a truck... and the delivery was a truck.

Dearil was so late getting home again. Any minute now he'd call and tell her he was spending the night with Frankie. And sure enough her smartphone rang, but it wasn't Dearil.

"What's up, Kensia?" she asked, but the only response from Dearil's younger sister was sobbing. Instant dread. "Kensia? Come on, use words. I'm not a mind reader."

So Kensia spoke, and Lorelai would have preferred she didn't. She didn't remember getting off the phone. She didn't remember much of that night at all, but she couldn't forget all of it.

***

She almost didn't go to the funeral. She didn't want to wake up ever again. She thought about joining Dearil. But she got out of his bed, staggered to her bedroom, and searched her closet for appropriate attire.

The black dress was old and wouldn't cover the runes carved into her arms, but what did it matter if someone got uncomfortable? Fuck everyone else. The dress was tight in her waist and she bitterly realized that it would fit soon enough now that Dearil wouldn't be baking sugary treats all the time.

His mother came to greet her dressed in all white. The whole Jean-Pierre family wore white, even Dearil's dad whose wardrobe consisted of grey suits and plain ties. Catheline wrapped her up in a bone-crushing hug and Lorelai wanted to push her away and shout, "I'm not here for you!"

A cheap pine coffin for someone so great. What a disgrace. It was closed too. A closed-casket funeral was the most logical solution but it hirt Lorelai to know she wouldn't see his beautiful face ever again. That beautiful face was pulverized. Even Frankie, who was wearing a helmet, was killed so Dearil didn't stand a chance. He was killed on impact, painlessly.

Painless for who? It hurt so, so much.

She could scarcely hear the spoken eulogies over her own sobs, and declined to give one herself. Dearil's own mother wound up consoling Lorelai throughout the ceremony, rocking the young woman in her arms like a child. No words were shared until the end when Catheline walked Lorelai to her car.

"Traditionally in Haiti, we gather to mourn for nine days. It's a social gathering where we eat and drink and talk, nothing stiff and formal," Catheline explained through her own tears, smoothing Lorelai's messy ponytail. "You're part of the family, cheri. We want you to join us."

Like she wanted to waste her time at some social event. The only thing she wanted to do was lie in Dearil's bed and smell him on his pillow. But she couldn't shut Catheline down like that.

"Why nine days?" she asked.

"That's how long the soul takes to leave the body - that's what we Vodouists believe. We gather for nine days to assire the soul ascends safely and doesn't get stolen away by any petro loas. Evil spirits."

A pause. Lorelai got an odd look on her face. "Was he embalmed? Were his organs donated?"

Disgust flashed across Catheline's face for just a second. She took a deep breath. "We believe that harm dealt to the body after death harms the soul, so we don't usually embalm or donate organs. Dearil did want to donate his organs, you know what he's like, so we respected his wishes. He wasn't embalmed. Why do you ask?"

The question had a bit of an edge. She sniffed and dabbed her eyes.

Lorelai wasn't crying anymore, though her eyes were rimmed with red. "Catheline... If his soul is still on earth, could his body be saved?"

Catheline frowned. "What are you..." Her face contorted with horror. "No! I have nothing against you doing witchcraft, but this is where I put my foot down. Interfering with the soul? My son's soul? Imagine the pain he'd be in! How could you even think of that?"

Lorelai looked away from her. "I'm sorry... I'm just really... I'm not thinking. I wasn't thinking. I wouldn't do anything to harm her."

Cathine took her hands. "Look me in the eye. Promise me, Lorelai. Promise me you won't tamper with anything you shouldn't."

Lorelai sighed, looking into those honest brown eyes, eyes so much like Dearil's. "I promise."

***

She promised, but above-ground burial only existed to tempt grave robbers. It was a blessing; the universe wanted Lorelai to do this.

What wasn't a blessing was the man standing outside the mausoleum. Fucking Catheline must have held her suspicions and reported on them. The guard's head snapped her way, and she bolted.

"Hey!" he shouted. "What do you think you're doing?"

Every step toward her car, every step toward her front door was a knife twisting. She was leaving Dearil behind.

She went to the gathering to keep up appearances. She drank much-needed wine and ate Haitian foods even when she felt like the smallest bite of food would make her vomit. She and Catheline said nothing of their conversation, and the older woman hugged her a bit much for her liking.

The witches in the forums turned on her. They called necromancy evil and her plan foolish.

People like you are why people think so badly of us! wrote WitchBitch666. No one had any tips but MagickalShells wanted updates on her progress.

No one had done anything like this. At least, not in written history. She was completely on her own. But it wasn't the first time she did something crazy woth magic, though the forums were more help the last time.

The migraines. The vomiting. The paranoia. The way he couldn't catch his breath. Finally, the seizures. After the appointment with the neurologist, Dearil had called Lorelai crying.

Four tumors across his brain, all cancerous. Two inoperable, the structures too important and delicate.

Dearil needed her like he did when they were younger, but it wasn't enjoyable this time. The doctors estimated that he had ten months to live. They only offered to attempt to shrink the tumors with chemotherapy and "focus on his quality of life."

He slipped into a coma toward the end, and Lorelai grew desperate.

Lorelai knew little about witches. Heathens, Mama and Pedro called them. They voted for increased limitations on magic at any election - local, statewide, and nationwide. They wanted it to be outlawed entirely.

But she knew witches did things that couldn't be explained with science. Maybe science wasn't everything. So she turned to the forums.

Once a week she would rip off a fingernail with her pliers. She would sneak into Dearil's hospital room and put the fingernail under his mattress, then slice into his hand with a razor blade and draw a rune behind his ear with his blood.

Hospital staff increased security when they found the harm done to his body hand and the blood on his head, but he miraculously woke up after two weeks. He still had cancer, though, and her work wasn't done.

"You've been doing what?" he had cried when he was coherent and cognizant enough to understand, staring at the deep, angry red slash across his palm. She lunged for his hand and he stepped back. "And let me see your fucking nails!"

"Come on, you're dying," she pointed out. "What do you have to lose?"

He cringed, but they both knew she was right. So he would let her take his blood and sleep with finger and toenails under his pillow, though he shuddered to think about. She lost weight and grew pale as he regained what his mother called "bebe fat" and life returned to his eyes. The tumors shrank with each X-ray.

"You're doung this, aren't you?" asked Catheline, very seriously, and Lorelai had paled. But when the teenager bowed her head, Catheline pulled her into a hug. "Thank you, thank you, cheri. But don't kill yourself to save him."

Week eighteen. Lorelai's nails were growing back ever so slowly and terribly brittle. With two toenails left, she had to wonder what offering she would give when she ran out.

But with the next X-ray, it was announced that the boy who was supposed to be dead in mere months was in remission. He walked with a limp because of the damage the tumor did to his cerebellum, but physical therapy got that fixed up. He returned to school, behind a year, and Lorelai became fixated on influencing western medicine to adopt witchcraft, if not becoming the first doctor to use magic on her patients in the United States.

The guard was there the next night, but she made sure she wasn't seen. She linked herself to the ground and, urging him to hurry up and take a bathroom break or something. Dearin's brain was the most important thing to be kept, but the brain is one of the first things to go, ces collapsing just minutes after death. Every minute wasted waiting for this stupid guard was cellular death. Losing her Dearin.

An illusion spell. He ran to investigate the vandals kicking at tombstones and each footfall was like feet stomping on Lorelai's face. She was never so happy to feel pain though.

A spell to unlock the door would be a waste of energy. One of the runes on her chest was already seeping, and she needed to save her blood for tomorrow. She picked the lock and slipped inside as the "vandals" led the guard here and there, running him ragged.

Dearil didn't deserve to be in this house of nobodies. Name after useless name among the granite on the wall until she found a Dearil Jean-Pierre. She pried off the granite slab with her crowbar, and then the concrete under it. She dropped the concrete on her foot and puffed out her cheeks to keep in the profanities. The concrete broke in two, and she expected her throbbing toe did too.

She gripped the sides of his coffin and tugged. It took a minute to budge. Dearil wasn't very tall, and neither was Lorelai, but he was wide and heavy. Her face turned red and she grunted with effort. She jumped back as his coffin fell to the ground. It was still jammed shut, and she wished they still nailed coffins shut. She didn't know what this sealant wasade of, but it was rough.

Running out of time. Guard could come back. Hurry up.

The lid came out, and the smell. Oh god, the smell. She gagged, but it was nothing compared to when her flashlight landed on what was left of her friend.. No, that actually made her swallow back bile.

He was missing one arm, only a little mangled stub remaining in his empty sleeve, but that wasn't the problem. His face, God, his face. The left side was caved in, skin and dreadlocks torn away to reveal the gore. He didn't have much of a left eyebrow, his jaw leaned to one side with missing teeth gaping at her, and what was left of his nose was a bloody pulp with the little stud nosering glinting far from where his nostril was supposed to be. And his eyes, his gorgeous eyes... Grey-blue scleras, left eye protruding from the socket with black spots around the iris.

"Oh god, Dearil..." She rubbed her eyes, willing herself to get a grip.

This was the easy part; all she had to do was transport him. But how was she supposed to fit a 5'7", 185 pound man in an, albeit large, suitcase?

It felt so wrong undressing him. She wanted her first time seeing him nude to be consensual, but not one "yes" left his bloated lips. She tried not to look anywhere inappropriate, flushing under her mask.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispered as she produced the bone saw from her gym bag. She held the flashlight in her mouth as she sliced into one thigh.

Rigor mortis had passed and he was soft abd squishy, but the femur was still rock solid. It took a bit of force and then she moved to the other leg. The smell increased tenfold, and ut got even worse when she swutched ti a scalpel and sliced off strips of his wobbly, pudgy belly.

His neck was already broken and any damage could be fixed, so she pushed his chin down to his chest, avoiding looking at those glassy eyes. His remaining arm was okay to stay. It was easy to angle and wrap around his head, and she secured the limb with tape before cramming him into the plastic-lined suitcase.

She put the lid on the coffin and lifted it back into its divot. It was much lighter now, only containing clothes, flaps of skin, and two legs, and there was no evidence if tampering at first glance. She pushed the two concrete halves together and into their place on the wall, shoving the granite slab in after. They kept sliding and threatening to fall, so in the end she went around prying off and smashing dozens of slabs. With so much damage, they won't know where to start, and if they find other caskets unaffected, maybe they won't check his...

This plan was falling apart. No it wasn't. It wasn't, it wasn't!

Connecting her senses to the grounds, she found the guard outside. She held a lighter to her hand, feeling the warmth, imagining a small explosion and fire. Runes bled onto her shirt. The guard ran off to check the exosion at the other side of the graveyard, shouting. Feet trampling her face.

It was just an illusion. She wasn't one for destruction magic or vandalism. Well... The mausoleum said otherwise about vandalism, but as she walked away it was out of sight and out of mind.

She still struggled to lift Dearil into the passenger's seat of her car, having to roll the windows down to deal with the odor. She plugged her phone into the auxiliary cord and played his favorite music. She was never a fan during his life, but now she loved the sound.

She didn't go to their apartment. No, that would be far too predictable. She still had a key to Mama and Pedro's beach house, and when she checked earlier that day she found that they hadn't chamged the locks. It was only an hour's drive and she could make that to and from work, school, home without running out of gas money.

The roar of waves crashing on the shore competed with the obnoxious rumbling of a heavy wheeled suitcase on cobblestone. She got inside and turned on the lights. The table was new, very nice with polished wood. She didn't feel at all remorseful putting Dearil's odorous, leaking body on the pristine surface to operate. Preserving his brain was frst and foremost.

Face-down, his eyes didn't stare at her. She sliced around the top of his scalp, separated the skull, and then sliched straight down to his nape. She severed his optic nerves and then focused on removing the brain. The brainstem had to stay intact, so she removed the uppermost vertebrae it was attached to.

In her hands, she held Dearil's mind, the most important thing she had ever touched. Faintly grey and sagging with a chunk taken from the left. She struggled to figure out what larts were damaged the most. She reslized, with complete horror, that there wasn't musch left of Broca's area. Not his voice! I need to hear his voice! She'd have to fix that.

Wernicke's area looked okay though, so hopefully he would be able to read abd write without problem. His parietal lobe as a whole didn't look so good, and he already jad sensory issues... Hopefully it wasn't too bad.

She wished she could do an X-ray and see how the inner structures had decayed, especially his hippocampi. He needed to remember her!

Focus. She needed to focus on the task at hand. Whatever the damage was, nothing would be fixed if she just stpod there staring.

Her medical school had gotten on board with new postmortem brain preservation techniques. Liquid nitrogen, cryonics, blood substitute. The dust was mixed into the fluid in the tank, and now she allowed Dearil's brain to be submerged. She dripped fresh blood onto the rune under the tank and for just a second, the water glowed.

The human body is home to tens of trillions of microorganisms that keep you healthy. Though these populations are necessary for human survival, a single one getting out of control would be devastating. That's where the immune system comes in, suppressing overgrowth and keeping these populations in check.

But dead people have no immune system; bacteria runs rampant.

Lorai soaked a new mask in winter mint rubbing alcohol and pulled it on, and new gloves. Her goggles and apron stayed on, and sue set to work, starting the scalpel at his shoulder and ending at his breastbone. Mirror the stitch. Slice down his mutilated stomach to the start of his pelvis.

Peeling back the skin, it was clear his liver and gallbladder were no more; his insides were stained yellow-green with bile, and the winter mint did little to mask the smell of ammonia and hydrogen sulfate. She had to get rid of his stomach before the hungry microbes could do any more damage, scarcely breathing as she cracked open his ribcage and transferred internal organs to a garbage bag.

She couldn't exactly drag him outside and hose him down, so so brought him to the downstairs bathroom with the detachable shower head. He was so light now.

She rinsed him with the shower head. Water ran yellow-green, and then finally clear, though his insides still were definitely not a healthy red-pink. She wrapped him up in the fluffiest towel and brought him to the kitchen. She'd removed all the shelves in the refrigerator during her first trip to the house so she had no problems sticking Dearil's mostly empty husk inside.

And then she lit a few scented candles and went to bed.

***

The head medical examiner was a lonely older man. His wife was either dead or left him (Lorelai wasn't sure which, and she didn't care), and his only company was the corpses he sliced open. Lorelai saw the way he looked at her, eyes hungrily taking her image in. In the days after Dearil's accident, she started making moves on him even though it ft so, so wrong.

She smiled at him throughout today's shift. She washed her hair for the first time in days and let it hang lose around her face during her break. She even put on makeup, though it took a few video tutorials to get it loose.

Toward the end of her shift, she sidled up to him, whispering, "Hey, Viktor..."

He glanced at her. "Hm?"

"I'm not wearing any underwear."

He went red up to the tips of his ears.

"Come home with me," she said in a whine, fingers stroking his arm. "I'm staying at my family's summer home. I'm the only one there, all alone and sooo lonely."

"Fuck yes," he breathed.

"You ever have sex on the beach?"

"I'm getting hard just thinking about it."

She forced herself to smile instead of grimacing. "You ever been with a witch?"

"You?" His eyes widened, but then he smiled. "I bet you're magical in bed."

Ew ew ew.

"You've got that right." She placed a hand on the unmarked chest of the man on the table. His skin was the wrong shade of brown, but his hair was perfect. She already had a nose on ice that she'd taken during Viktor's break. It was a bit too dark as well, but it was just the right shape for Dearil. "How about we take this guy with us?"

Viktor recoiled. "Excuse me?"

"Come on, you said you want a magical night. Do something crazy!" she exclaimed. "You don't have to fuck him or anythibg, and we'll have him back by morning. It's not like he'll mind. It's a witch thing."

Viktor put a hand to his salt and pepper hair, eyebrows knitting together. A few emotions clouded his features before he came to a decision. "If you say so. But if we get caught this was your idea."

"Noted. But I promise you'll enjoy yourself."

He helped her wheel out the John Doe on one of the cheaper stretchers no one would miss, faces obscured by masks and a darkness spell. They stuffed the corpse into the tiny trunk of her car. Viktor pressed his lips to hers suddenly, bushy mustache scratching her. He smelled like literal death and whatever offensive oil he rubbed into his mustache so he wouldn't have to smell as much decay.

He couldn't keep his hands to himself during the whole drive, rubbing her thighs, kissong her neck, trying to unhook her bra and getting excited when he found out she wasn't wearing one. She wanted to slap his hands away, shout that her body belonged to Dearil, but this was a necessary step.

Her mind screamed but her lips purred, "Ohh, that feels so good."

He still hadn't settled down when they were taking the Doe into the house. "Talk dirty in Spanish, chica," he murmured.

"I was born in Florida," she sighed. "I don't speak that much Spanish."

"Don't you know any?"

"A bit. Do you?"

"I can say hola and count to ten," he laughed. "My Spanish classes probably ended before you were even alive. Come on, say something."

"Estas... Estas tan muerto," she said. "Eres solo, uh, um... un peón."

"That's so hot," he moaned, and she bit her cheek to keep from laughing.

Viktor's smile became a frown when they walked into the house. He set the John Doe on the table while Lorelai went and locked the door. He quickly sniffed his shirt when she wasn't looking, but the smell wasn't coming from him. And the bed in the adjacent living room was a bit of an odd choice, though he could appreciate the silk and headboard. And the ropes. This was gonna be a fun night.

Lorelai came back, a smile playing on her lips. She put a hand to his chest. "Come closer, Señor. Permítame whisper in your ear."

He leaned close, his smile tentative now. Her lups were so close they tickled him just as a sharp pain struck his neck.

"I never liked you," she whispered, pressing the needle in harder as he tried to pull away. He shoved her away and staggered back, staring at the clear fluid still in the syringe.

"What the fuck did you just do to me, you crazy bitch?" he screamed, clutching bis neck. Her smiling, round face had gone hard and cold, expression neutral.

"Oh, calm down. It's just lorazepam," she said. "They use it on unruly patients all the time. It's probably the safest injectable sedative."

Ge hit out at her but she easily dodged the sluggish attack. She pushed him down onto the bed, tying up his wrists. He still kicked his legs until she tied his ankles too. He was finally silent when she wrapped the duct tape around his head and moury several times.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, tying ger hair back. "Alexa, play Bury Me at Makeout Creek by Mitski, full album."

It's beautiful out today

I wish you could take me upstate

To the little place you would tell me about

"When you'd sense that I'd want to escape," Lorelai sang over the muffled screams and shouts, pulling on her mask, goggles, gloves, and apron. Viktor could only stare at the saws, scalpels, drills, and needles that she left on the table before she disappeared into another room.

No one could hear him scream.

[victoriousxxi-blog]

Heatwave

"It's so hot!" Chloe whined, slumping against the arm of the couch. She kicked her legs out across the floor and pulled her little battery-operated fan closed to her face, moving it around so it blew around all angles. Instead of her usual jacket and jeans, she wore a tank top and shorts in an attempt to try and air her body out.

"Thank you, I hadn't realized," Calvin sighed, killing a zombie in the game he played. His concession to the heat was holding it down so it wasn't in his face, allowing the three large fans in front of the TV that turned in irritating asynchronicty to effect him. There was a desire to stop them and let them gradually turn on until the motion was even and uniform, but he knew his friends would complain if he tried to. His sweater lay messily folded on the opposite arm. "You put the whole day into perspective for me.

All Skater could do to respond to Calvin's garden-variety dickery was to nudge him with her foot. There wasn't enough care to expend on more effort-intensive reinforcement. She lay on the couch, a couple pillows beneath her head and her legs across Calvin's lap. Her shoes lay lazily atop Calvin's messily folded sweater, and she fanned herself by hand. She reasoned that if she just waved her arms all day it was still exercise, and that she wouldn't have to go for her daily run if she did so. Her hair's usual hairstyle was abandoned, the entire mess of green done up in one lazy, tight ponytail to keep her head cooler.

"Maybe if there were a man around the house who could be strong and put in the air conditioners we'd be okay," she added sourly, switching hands to fan herself so neither would get tired.

Without looking up from the game or missing a beat, Calvin rang out with a grumpy, "Thanks for offering, Skater. The AC is in the closet."

Letting out a weary grown, the green haired YouTuber stuck her tongue out and kept fanning herself. Then, she pulled her foot back and kicked him in the shin with a decent amount of force, using the ball of her bare foot for extra pain. "I take that as permission to call you Calvina from now on. That okay?"

"Well if I say no you'll simply brutalize me, so what choice do I have?"

Chloe looked with concern at her bickering friends. She couldn't always tell when they were joking around or not, and wondered if it was the heat making them angry. "Calvin, do you have any ice cream? Maybe that would make us all feel a lot better."

"None, sorry. We finished it off when the heat wave hit yesterday." Through the heat and the talking and even how Skater seemed incapable of staying still, he was still able to play at a brisk pace. With the tendency of them to spend days alternating between the three houses, he got lots of practice.

"What if we went to get a big tub of it, then? My treat!" She turned off the fan and put it on the table, then stood up. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"That would be really cool of you," Skater said, alternating hands again. "Have fun."

"So generous of you," Calvin said, looking up at her to smile warmly, then right back down to the game.

"O-oh," Chloe said, looking down at her feet. She'd hoped her friends would have come with her to get it, but it was only a trip to the store anyway. She didn't want to be rude and assume anything, after all. "I'll be right back!" she said, running off out of the basement to get the ice cream for them. The original intention to cool tensions between them and maybe have them stop going at each others' throats was forgotten immediately, and she left them alone to continue their warfare unimpeded.

The moment the basement door closed, Skater sighed and pressed a foot against Calvin's inner thigh. "Are we bad friends for sending her off alone like that?"

"Most certainly," he replied. "We really need to stop taking advantage of her in little ways like that."

"Yeah, I guess so." She frowned, rubbing the foot against his jeans and wiggling it inward. "But hey, now we're all alone," she sang. "And you know what that means, right?"

"That we aren't having sex because she'll be coming back in about two minutes." He sighed and put his book down, wriggling uncomfortably as she rubbed her bare foot against the front of his jeans. "Because it's a bad idea."

"But I'm so hot right now," she whined, doing it some more, letting the other hand rub against his other thigh. She gave him the best puppy dog eyes she could to go along with it all.

Calvin sighed, fixing his hair and staring at the fans. "There are better ways to cool off. Go take a cold shower."

"Feels more like you're the one in need of a cold shower," she teased, giggling. "Come on, just one. We'll hear her coming a mile away anyway." Her foot ground into his crotch a little harder, and she started getting more physical with him.

"So you want to have a quickie while Chloe's gone, not caring that if she comes back and sees us we have to explain why we're having sex, that we're dating and haven't told her yet, and that we let her go off to get us ice cream by herself simply so we could get off?"

"Say it one more time and I might believe you care," she said with a roll of her eyes. She fiddled with the button on her jeans, then got the zipper off and slid them down a little to reveal the plain underwear beneath. "Now get those girl pants open so I can give you a footjob."

Grumbling all the while, Calvin followed suit on getting his pants off. Before he could start on his underwear her feet were already at his bulge, making him curse and blush. Apparently heat really did a number on her libido, because he hadn't seen her so adamant about it in a long time, in the middle of the day no less. He had to push her feet away to get his underwear down around his ankles, and the second he had them to his knees her feet were back, now cradling his hard shaft directly. "Do you have even the slightest idea what you're doing?"

"Of course I do," she sighed, adjusting the pillows beneath her so that she could sit upright and they protected her lower back from the blocky wood beneath the worn-down fabric of the couch. The tacky, battered couch was a relic they held onto only because it had been there forever. The downside was that it had been there forever, and in its ubiquity become an uncomfortable place to spend their time. That didn't stop them from being on it two or three days a week. "Come closer," she said, finding the best position for her and noting he was a little further away than she would have liked.

Calvin scooted over, finding that her feet travelled with him, still moving as he went. It was a precision and devotion that he found intimidating, though that was Skater most of the time. The concept of a footjob didn't even fully register to him; her hands seemed a much better fit, but he didn't feel like arguing with her. She'd just give him some tired old speech about how he's too regular and needs to start broadening his horizons more in the bedroom. One day, he worried she'd try to give him that argument for something that pushed him well out of his comfort zone, and that it would probably involve some apparatus mounted to her groin and pointed right at his ass.

"Okay fine, how do you know what you're doing?" he muttered, fixing his hair again and looking down into his lap with uncertainty. It certainly felt nice, albeit a bit clumsy, but it left him rather clueless as to what to do with his hands. He decided on a calf massage, grasping the firm legs and rubbing them as they worked diligently. One rested up top, rubbing his sole in an up-and-down motion pinned against the other foot, whose big toe experimented with tugging gently at his balls as it moved.

The question made Skater roll her eyes, because she knew that he knew exactly how. "Some kid in the alley behind the Kantonese place down the street," she sighed, reaching between her parted legs with one hand to start rubbing herself through her underwear. "Just because I give you shit for watching porn doesn't mean I don't do it too."

In any other context, Calvin would have called her a hypocrite and they'd have descended into a sarcastic argument where the goal was to be the last one to come up with a clever retort. He couldn't muster one up in his position, and even if he could he didn't want to ruin sex with it. There was a time to get her worked up in the bedroom, but it wasn't when Chloe was due home any minute. It was supposed to be a quickie, so he just lay back and enjoyed the feeling of her strong feet against his cock. It was rather nice, and he was rapidly seeing the appeal of the act.

Skater started to experiment with her treatment a little. She rubbed her toe against his head, tried using one foot exclusively on his balls, running them up and down in alternating directions on either side. For all her confidence and 'I've seen porn' explanations for everything she tried with Calvin, she really was going in mostly blind and tried to find out what could make him tick. At times it was frustrating, with him being so reticent and closed off. He tried to keep aloof, and it drove her mad in times where she wanted a reaction more than ever.

In some strange way, it was encouragement. Whenever she could make him react beyond a mere shrug, blush, or that way he nervously adjusted his hair when they weren't out of place at all, it was deeply rewarding. A challenge, almost, to conquer his withdrawn reflexes and make him react like a normal human being who had a hot girl trying to get him off.

Her eyes remained eagerly on her boyfriend as he massaged her feet and tried to generally look as unaffected as possible. She saw through it, but there was no fun in just being able to tell when he was lying. She wanted him to not lie, to admit it felt damn good. She kicked it up a notch, her fingers working herself over harder, now beneath the band of her underwear and pumping inside of her.

Calvin's massage drew deeper inward, working his way up her bent legs to her knees, and then slowly down her thighs. He wished her legs weren't in the way, wished he could lean over and kiss her comfortably, because as her eyes started to go halfway-closed and her lips curled into an 'o' shape, she looked so damn kissable. The eyes were directed at him, as usual, and he counted his lucky stars to have gotten into a relationship with Skater, someone he always thought was just out of his league. He adjusted his hair again, using the excuse to get his hand further down her thigh. He knew he didn't need one, but it was the thought that counted. "Think you could hurry this up?" he purred, squeezing the firm muscle of her leg. "Chloe's not going to be much longer."

She groaned and wrenched the fingers into herself deeper. "If you're going to be such a dick, does that mean my heel connecting with your face qualifies as part of the footjob?" Her voice was a little shaky, especially as his own fingers slipped up the hem of her jeans and started to rub her unexposed skin. Her lower lip retreated between her teeth and she locked eyes hard with her boyfriend. Overpowering the shakiness to sound authoritative, she spoke very clearly and loudly. "Get them off of me. Now."

It took some careful moving to pitch forward so that he didn't disturb the footjob, which his lower body had decided was wonderful and began reacting to, to his chagrin. As his hips rocked, he seized her jeans and underwear all at once, tugging them up to her knees and then, once she lifted her feet up, sending them off. They landed perfectly atop the pile of clothes they'd taken off, but he wasn't paying attention to that. When her feet returned to his penis her legs were spread more, revealing her neatly shaven groin. His fingers were inside of her in seconds.

Skater arched backed, grabbing the head of the couch and clutching on it for support. She loved his fingers so much more, not just because they weren't hers, but because his long, spidery, dextrous digits went in deeper and seemed to know her folds even better than she did. In seconds he had her writhing, hips rocking against his knuckles as she attempted to keep her footjob steady. She was able to, thanks to being in shape and coordinated, unlike her childhood friend, but didn't know if she could do it for very long.

Using both hands, the blue-haired YouTuber worked his girlfriend over as well as he could. He knew her entire pubic area was sensitive, and paid loving attention to her inner thighs, the creases between thigh and pelvis, her clit, her labia, and even reaching up to her navel. He was proud of himself, watching her already start to lose it well before he started showing the signs of-

"Faster, Skater," he shuddered, then cursed at the fact he'd finally given in. Watching her lips curl into a wide smirk was one of the most attractive things he'd ever seen, so he didn't even bother keeping the act up once the magic was gone. His hips worked faster, thrusting up against her shifting feet and pressing his fingers up to the roof of her pussy, feeling out her g-spot.

Being with Skater was intimidating, like nothing else. She was so active and aggressive, and had an endless libido that she wasn't shy about at all. Calvin tried to keep up, and generally could match her stamina by some divine intervention, but it was always an 'if'. He didn't want to let her down, and worried her athleticism would get the better of him one day. A repeat of their first time, when he came before she did and had to finish her off with his mouth, regardless of what he'd left down there.

Looking off to the side, the green haired YouTuber spotted Chloe's fan lying on the table, switched to off. It was cylindrical, decently proportioned, and would probably vibrate decently if turned on. It was cheap, so it probably wouldn't do much, but the sick thought crossing her mind was rooted in deviousness more than immediate gratification. "Banana cream pie," she cooed, pressing the feet together and moaning out as loud as she could. "The fan. In me. Please?"

"You're just trying to see how far you can push me, aren't you?" he groaned, pulling his fingers out of her.

All Skater could do was nod and bite her lip in her best bid to look seductive, not that she felt she needed the extra effort. He'd always break for her. She leaned over to the table only a little bit, waving her outstretched hand out to find the toy, and then handing it off to her boyfriend.

Calvin grumbled as he turned it on, the low mechanical hum only audible over the whirring of the large rotating fans by the TV because of its proximity. He gripped it so that the whirring blades were pointed up and out, just above his thumb, and the base was as exposed as possible. It wasn't vibrating very much, but he wasn't about to argue, and slipped the fan into her primed, slick hole.

Closing her eyes, Skater tried to feel out the pleasure. It wasn't very much by itself, not being too big or too strong, but its texture was unconventional and felt odd against her interior, which she liked. The vibration wasn't too noteworthy either, not even matching the 'gentle' setting of her toys, but the act was rooted far more in the fact she was ruining Chloe's fan for no good reason. It rooted the situation firmly into 'danger of being caught' territory, as they were now both being loud enough to maybe not hear Chloe rushing in the front door. In fact, between getting dressed, hiding the fan, and then spraying liberal amounts of air freshener to cover up the smell, they wouldn't have enough time even if they did so. It was a sickly fascinating sensation, and one that got her off far more than the dollar store pseudo sex toy was.

Not that it wasn't helping. Calvin was fucking her with the fan rather frantically, his arm locked in a race her legs, his hips, and her hips. Both of them wanted to cum desperately, wanted to finish as soon as possible not just because of the time limit, but also because they were so turned on right now, pushed to limits where release looked so sweet. It would give them reprieve from the heat, just for a moment, as their senses soared off out of the basement and out of reality.

Calvin came first, as expected, by sole virtue of having been under pressure for longer. He moaned, his head arching back as he called out his girlfriend's name. Her toe was rubbed against his tip, and got a pleasant surprise as he came hard. Some of it splashed up, but most poured straight down, his semen all over her feet as she rested them in his lap, leaving the pleased boy to enjoy the company.

She came shortly after, which was more of a surprise because she ought to have gone longer than that. Her orgasm was much more of a production, her hand clenching down hard on Calvin's wrist and pushing the toy all the way down, until he had only his forefinger and thumb wrapped around it to keep the propeller away from hurting her, the rest of the fan deep inside of her. She moaned and howled, tossed her head around a little, and when at finally it all came to a head her hips jerked forward and a small spray of clear fluid spurted out. Much of it hit the propeller, sending a misted spray of quim all over Calvin's arm. She kept rocking though, holding his arm in place as she rode out her orgasm to its conclusion.

Just as they finished, slumping back into the seat, both of their phones chimed at the same time. They lazily fumbled around to get theirs, Skater getting to it first. A message from Chloe read, "the store is out of ice cream :( but its oaky because the supremrket has like 5 liter things of it hope you guys like mint chocochip im getting it if they hav it :3".

Skater purred and leaned up against her boyfriend, finally getting that kiss out of him that she should have gotten a while earlier. "Looks like Chloe's going to be a lot longer than we thought." Her hands were on his chest as she finally pulled her feet out of his lap and rubbed them surreptitiously on his carpet to get the cum off. It would be his problem later.

"Fine, but I'll keep an eye on the clock. I know how long she usually takes" It didn't take any thought at all to know what Skater was getting at, but Calvin could find no reason in his mind to complain. His fingers entwined with her and he sighed, "You don't stop, do you?"

"Would you ever want me to?" she asked, throwing her arms around his shoulders and climbing into his lap for another kiss. Her mouth was already watering, and Calvin found her to be quite enthusiastic about it now, more so than she would have been before they both got off. She was already good to go again, and Calvin remembered why a quickie wouldn't have worked. Her first orgasm of the day was just an appetizer. Quite literally, considering it was often found with his head between her legs. The text from Chloe was probably only justification for what she'd do anyway.

"Would you ever want me to stop being clever?" he retorted with, running a hand down her back as he pressed into her lips. She was intoxicating, every last part of her was something that drove all five senses crazy. It always surprised him, that she fell for, in her words, a "chicken-legged nerd who doesn't know when to shut up".

Rolling her eyes, Skater pulled away from the kiss to shake her head. "Bad example, Calvina. I usually want you to quit talking and pretending you're clever." She lifted herself up a little, seizing his still-hard penis and aiming it toward her dripping slit. "But lucky for me, I know how to make you shut up and get off your high horse." She sank back down into his lap, this time taking his entire shaft into her. A low moan rang out against her neck as his lips found the soft, lightly tanned skin on it and began to suck. Hers was breathless and played out into his ear, accompanied by a tightening fistful of shirt that ended with clenched, white knuckles against his back.

All the toys in the world were nothing compared to Calvin. It wasn't that he was amazingly endowed, though he was certainly impressive enough, but because it was Calvin. The care of every touch, the warmth so tight against her, the way every sound he made became so totally sincere the moment he was inside of her. There were no games when they joined like that, no layers upon layers of sarcasm that got so circuitous they probably should have been abandoned. They could joke, but nobody pretended that what they were doing wasn't anything short of dreams come true. He was open to her at last.

A hand brushed against the back of her neck, moving as if expecting there to be hair that wasn't, her ponytail higher up and tighter. The fingers ran against her back, an odd gentleness to it that continued as they sank down, paying loving attention to each part of her spine. It was all so gentle, which ran in stark contrast to how eagerly she bounced in his lap. Her hands clutched the couch and his arm hard, driving home that this was not the time for 'gentle'. This was supposed to be quick, dirty, and get them off before Chloe came home.

"I don't want you to light fucking candles," she moaned, the motion in her hips becoming less 'up and down' and more circular. "Just get on with the fucking so we can get this tidied up before Chloe shows up. You were the one complaining about that."

Calvin didn't react, but did oblige. How she pinned him down to the couch left little room for him to move more than an inch, but he made the most out of that inch, thrusting up into his girlfriend's soaked snatch with all his might. It wasn't much might, but it seemed to make her happy. His kisses trailed up her neck, along her jawline swiftly, and then her head leaned down and they kissed again, fiercely. She'd rubbed off on him, not just in a physical sense, and he'd started seeing the first orgasm as one to be followed up by a second in short order. Usually a third after that, and maybe a fourth before they ordered pizza and took a break. He thanked Notch for his lack of a significant refractory period, and the fact Skater's gorgeous thighs clung to his hips so tightly.

"Still not doing enough," she teased, wiggling her ass for what turned out to be nobody in particular because she was facing him. She only realized that after, but it didn't matter because his hand found it soon after, delivering a loud smack to it that made her yelp in surprise and press down harder into his lap on her next push down. Then, the hand gripped it tightly and started to knead the firm, round flesh. Skater took pride in her ass and its shape, finding it more than made up for her lesser endowment in other places. Guys seemed to appreciate it just as much. Especially Calvin.

He told himself he'd keep an eye on the clock. It was a measure abandoned as he forgot all about time, too drunk on lust as his girlfriend rode his lap with everything she had. She had lots of everything, he noted, and was glad she was so eager to take charge over him. Her energy was limitless, and it took a lot for her to tire herself out and end the night collapsed atop him, breathing with the same labour a run to the store would often leave him with. It left him free to sit back, put a little push into it, grope her amazing her to his hearts' content, and then take all the credit when she curled up atop him and told him how much she loved him and that he 'wasn't bad for a nerd'.

Except Skater was getting curious and evil. She wondered just how far she could push him, and again barked at him, demanding he do more. "If I was a video game level maybe you'd be doing me with some effort." She was rewarded with another smack to the ass for that one. "Where's that fan? I think its batteries are fresher than yours."

That last remark ignited Calvin with something she didn't expect. He growled, interrupting his adoring kisses of her neck to bite down on the soft flesh. Hard. She shouted out in surprise and pain as he did so, and with her defences down Calvin shoved her off. She fell back onto the couch, leg still tangled up in him, and looked at him with surprise. Before she could ask what he was doing there was a finger shoved into her mouth, tasting heavily of her own pussy and pumping forcefully into her. She had no choice but to suck it.

"Good, now keep quiet," he said, an odd edge to his voice. It wasn't the one she was used to; faintly annoyed, tinged with insufferable genius that the world didn't understand. There was genuine aggression in it, and that got her excited. She'd never elicited such a reaction from him before.

He was atop in an instant, slamming his cock into her with one heavy motion that made her entire body rock and ache. She let out another yell, opening her lips around the fingers, only to find two more shoved into her mouth. His lips found her neck again but this time there was more anger, the kisses possessive and occasionally topped off with another fierce bite. His thrusts were furious as well, each one shaking her to the core as his hips slammed to hers.

She'd managed to get him riled up, and she had to admit as he fingerfucked her mouth, she rather liked it. It was intense, completely unexpected, and being able to lie there and get fucked was actually pretty nice. She could see why Calvin took to it so well, beyond simply being a snarky observer of things. It was a wonderful change of pace, and left her free to wriggle beneath him and simply touch him. At least it would have been, had his hands not found her wrists and pinned them down to the couch before she could really get a good feel for him.

Her body was on fire, chest pushed up against his, and the second she licked his fingers clean and they withdrew she was screaming out madly, begging him for more. In a quintessentially Calvin thing to do, she even threw out a snide remark, egging him on to fuck her harder. That was something she felt he'd do. It certainly worked the other way around, and her fingers were soon digging into her palms as she writhed with what little room he left her.

Calvin really had no idea how he was doing it, but his heart was racing, his head was buzzing, and his cock was aching as he plowed int his tight girlfriend. She was so wet, so eager, and actively clenching down around his cock in desperation. He was in control, and could see the appeal of rendering someone a mess beneath them, capable of articulating only between moans. It was probably the heat that made him poised to be pushed over the edge, but he didn't give a fuck about analyzing his circumstances. Philosophizing during sex was tossed vigorously out the window and his sole intent was to pump Skater full of cum and hear her scream. Well, scream more than his slams and bites were already making her.

When they came, there wasn't a delay. They came simultaneously, and hard. Both were loud, and their ears were soon ringing in pain but that did nothing to stop them. Her pussy tightened and started desperately squeezing his cock, and he obliged, filling her burning, needy hole up with all the cum he had left. Her hand tore free and scratched up his back just for the fun of it, and he responded by biting into her arm. Then, there was silence. Stillness. They both found the ends of their orgasms and lay suspended for a moment before Calvin fell limp atop his girlfriend and their lips met in a lazy facsimile of a kiss.

They remained there as long as they could, until Calvin spotted the clock again and realized how dangerously close they were cutting it. Both mustered up what little energy they had to get dressed. Then, they got into the bathroom and splashed cold water on any sticky areas, which provided nice relief from the heat as well. Two cans of air freshener came next, hitting both the room and couch to get them free of the twin smells of sweat and vag that loomed over the room.

Chloe came in just as Skater finished hiding the fan deep in a half-full garbage bag. As she came in, Calvin sat where he was, still playing his game, and Skater emerged from the bathroom with washed hands, as though she'd just gone to use the facilities.

"I got ice cream!" Chloe chirped, placing a massive container of it right onto the table. "I hope you guys are hungry, because we've got to get through five whole litres of it before it melts."

"Don't worry," Skater said, giving a wry smile to Calvin. "I think Calvina and I have quite the appetite. Thanks, Chloe."

[jungflowers]

ocean waves // t h r e e (taekook au)

masterlist << || >>

genre: College! AU/ light angst

pairing: taekook/vkook

word count: 1,264

read it on AO3 here!

summary:  Taekook AU in which Taehyung, an aspiring writer and professional cynic, learns from the mysterious stranger outside his cafe window that life is more than letters on a page

Taehyung had been pacing outside the door of the studio Namjoon had sent him to for ten minutes. Five of those minutes were spend wondering if he was at the right place. The other five minutes were spent wondering how he should enter, or if he should enter at all. Now, he was just thinking of all the possible things that could go wrong. Suddenly, his phone buzzed, Namjoon’s name illuminating the screen.

professor kim (3:16 pm)

getting ur steps in?

there’s a window in the door lol I can see u

Taehyung whipped his head towards the door to see Namjoon smirking and waving through the window. He gulped in a big breath of air, got over himself, and opened the door.

“There he is!” He was greeted with cheers from Namjoon, sat in an office chair behind a computer mounted in front of a mixer, and two other strangers sitting beside him as he entered the deep maroon room. Inside, it smelled of vanilla and felt both warm and cool at the same time.

“Taehyung, this is Yoongi,” he gestured to a boy in a red supreme headband and a black sweatshirt and jeans that matched his dark hair. He was slouched comfortably in his seat and greeted him with a tired smile. “And this is Hoseok.” The other boy had a bright, heart shaped smile as he twisted excitedly in his office chair. He wore a jeans jacket over a gray hoodie that covered half of his wavy caramel hair, and adidas joggers on his skinny legs. They looked so cool, so much it was almost-no, definitely intimidating.

“Nice to meet you both,” Taehyung nodded shyly as the two greeted him with handshakes that shook him into the next dimension.

“Hoseok is a junior like me, and Yoongi’s a senior.” The blonde boy informed him.

“Lucky,” Hoseok coughed at Yoongi.

“Not lucky. Just one year deeper in student loans.” He replied dryly.

“So you’re all music production majors?” Taehyung asked.

“Yep,” Yoongi replied. “This overachiever, however, is double majoring in dance.” He wrapped his arm around the jumpy boy.

“Double majoring?” Taehyung’s eyes went wider.

“It’s hard work, but I just couldn’t choose one or the other. So now I’m stuck with both,” he chuckled.

“You say it’s so hard, but you practically came out of the womb dancing.” Namjoon teased, the boy responding with an arm wave as smooth as water, ending with a playful pop to Yoongi’s chin, gaining a threatening glare in return.

“So what about you?” Hoseok asked, Yoongi retrieving another chair from behind them and inviting him to sit.

“Literary Arts,” his eyes flickered down as his words slurred into mumbles. “It’s a bit lame, but-”

“Oh, so you’re a writer?” Yoongi asked, an intrigued tone in his voice. “Namjoon-ah told us about your work. Sound’s like you’ve got something special.”

“Oh no, I’m not that good, I promise.” He blushed profusely at the compliment.

“You’re too humble,” Namjoon teased.

“So what’s your dream?” Hoseok asked him, the question catching him off guard. “Where do you wanna end up with this?”

“I-I um...” he thought for a moment. “It sounds kind of crazy, but I want to study abroad. In Paris.”

“Crazy? That’s so dope!” Namjoon piped up. “They have a program here for that, you know.”

“No way,” Taehyung smiled in disbelief.

“It’s pretty exclusive,” Yoongi added. “Not many people get in, but it’s worth trying out. You should think about it.” He smiled.

“Maybe so,” Taehyung said, more to himself than anyone else.

“Speaking of exclusive, how come we’ve never seen you around? Joon hasn’t dragged you along to any parties yet?”

“I just transferred here this year, so I don’t really know anyone yet,” he laughed nervously.

“This month?” He asked.

“This semester, three months ago from Daegu. I guess I don’t get out much.” He scratched his head.

“You’re from Daegu?” Yoongi asked, putting on a strong, familiar dialect.

“The one and only,” he returned the favor, grimacing a bit at the thought of his hometown, but less so when he saw the look of pride that lit up Yoongi’s face.

“I like him already,” he told Namjoon, white cheeks brightening into a a gummy smile. Taehyung silently gave himself a mental fist bump, relieved that it was already going 10 times better than he had thought it would.

“Told you that you would,” Namjoon gave a dimpled smile. “Taehyung-ah, I wanted to show you this song. I need your opinion.”

“Mine? B-but Im not a producer..”

“Who said you had to be?” He patted him on the shoulder, putting him a little more at ease. “Plus, I need an unbiased opinion, from a non-musician’s perspective. The simplest advice is sometimes the best, and as simple as these two are, they’re still useless. I trust you more.”

“We’ll see how useless I am when I stop paying a third of your rent,” Yoongi glared, prompting Namjoon to rapidly mutter a series of apologies.

“I’ll try my best.” Taehyung rubbed his hands together in preparation, the word trust giving him a warm boost of confidence. Namjoon pressed a button on the computer and the music blared from the high quality speakers surrounding them. Taehyung almost couldn’t believe his ears. The sound he was hearing felt like something straight from the top charts. The sample was absolute perfection made even more perfect when a voice began rapping over the track. “Hyung, is this you?” He asked, unaware that he had begun bobbing his head to the beat.

“Yeah,” his smile held a hint of something akin to shyness. When it ended, Taehyung barely even noticed that his mouth had been hanging open until Namjoon asked him what he thought.

“Do you want me to be honest?” He nodded, eyes flickering with a hint of nervousness. “I think you’re stupid for not choosing music sooner.” His blunt honesty earned him a series of cackles from the three older boys. “Seriously, hyung, that was incredible.”

“I don’t know, it just feels like there’s something missing, but I’m not sure what.”

“Whenever I get writer’s block, I stop working. It sounds counterproductive, but it works. I just... let the idea come to me, I guess.” He spoke dancing around the point, unsure if he had offered any sufficient help.

“Wise words,” Namjoon nodded fondly as the other two mumbled enthusiastically in approval. Taehyung was struck with a pang of urgency when he checked his watch. He had less than 15 minutes until his Literature class all the way on the other side of campus.

“I’m running a little late, so I have to head out, sorry.” He apologized. “But it was nice meeting you all.”

“Come back often!” Hoseok chirped as Suga sent him off with a salute, lounged back in his seat with his legs crossed in a manner that radiated a tough kind of confidence.

“Oh- also, if you don’t mind, could you send me that song? You know, so I can try to help and not just because I’m probably going to replay it nonstop for the next month.” He caught himself before he closed the door.

“Of course, of course,” he beamed. “Catch you later.”

He exited the studio with a small smile stuck to his face, curious as to why he had been anxious in the first place. Too content to let his head get the best of him, he swallowed the bitterness that threatened him in the pit of his stomach as he half jogged, half skipped to his next class.

[grandmascottlang]

A Princess for Christmas (Tom Holland X Reader Royalty! AU)

Hi guys! Merry Christmas Eve! This is my Secret Santa present for @spiderboytotherescue ! I hope that you like this! I gave Tom the same title that Prince William has. (I was going to make this similar to the Hallmark movie, but I just thought, ‘Screw this!’)

MASTERLIST

Summary: [Name] meets Tom in a coffee shop in London. Little does she know that he’s the crown prince.

Warnings: A lot of fluff

Words: 2.1k

It was [Name]’s first time visiting London. She wanted to go visit everything that the city, England, and Europe as a whole had to offer!

While she was in London, she had to try English Breakfast Tea. The concept of putting milk in her tea was such a foreign concept and she wanted to try to understand it.

Once she ordered her drink, she sat down at one of the booths in the coffee shop and pulled out her favorite book. She flipped to where she left off in the book and began to read again.

After receiving her drink, the bell on the door sounded, alerting the girl that someone had just opened the door. Normally, she wouldn’t look up if she was in the States, but since she was in a foreign country, she decided to take a quick glance. Man, [Name] was not disappointed in her quick decision.

A young man with soft, brown curls had just walked into the small coffee shop. He had a confident aura to him; his walk was sure and strong. He wore simple clothes: a black t-shirt under an unzipped leather jacket, a pair of blue jeans, and black Chuck Taylors.

Needless to say, at a first glance, [Name] was captured by his appearance.

He walked up to the barista, smiling. “Hey.”

“Oh my god, his voice,” [Name] thought, her book being slowly forgotten as she stared at the mysterious man. Her chin began to lean into her hand, allowing her to get a bit of a closer look at him.

After he got his order, he turned on his heels with the intent to leave, but his eyes were caught on the beautiful woman staring at him. He stopped mid-turn before heading over to her booth.

When [Name] finally realized that the man she was staring at was walking toward her, her elbow slid off of the table and she quickly tried to compose herself.

“Hello, darling. Is it okay if I sit here?” he questioned her, gesturing to the seat in front of her.

[Name] was speechless at first and began looking for the words. “Uh huh,�� she muttered while nodding furiously. She mentally face-palmed herself at her inability to say the word ‘sure’ in that moment.

He smiled and sat down, placing his drink on the table. “What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here.”

“I’m [Name],” she said as she finally gained her composure. She held her hand out for him to shake. “I’m from the States, just visiting. Yours?”

He took her hand, giving her a brief shake. “Tom. Well, welcome to London, [Name]! I hope you enjoy it,” his face lit up at the mention of the city.

They broke the handshake. “I do so far! The only thing that kind of sucks is that almost all of the days I’ve been here, it’s been so gloomy.”

“That’s London in a sentence, darling.” Both shared a small giggle to Tom’s comment. “Is there a reason that you’re in London? If you don’t mind me asking, love.” A red hue tinted his cheeks after asking such a question only moments after meeting this beautiful girl from the States.

“Well, I wanted to see everything that Europe has to offer. The next place that I’m going to visit is Buckingham Palace.”

“Well, coincidentally, I’m heading there myself. Can I join you, love?

She almost spat out her coffee. “Uh, I’d love that.” She completely forgot about her book.

Tom quickly sent out a text message to the head of the Royal Guard, alerting him that he was coming back and to alert the Guard to not greet him upon his arrival back at the palace. He didn’t want [Name] to know who he was yet.

They walked to the palace, engaging in light conversation, learning basic things about the other. What’s your favorite color? Favorite book? Hobbies? Basic questions.

They went on a tour of the castle, and Tom had to bite his tongue to not correct the tour guide about basic facts. It sucked that his best friend, Harrison, was purposefully messing up facts to elicit a reaction from the prince. He made a note to take Harrison off of tour guide duty for the next year.

“I had a lot of fun today! Thank you for showing me around London, Tom! London has definitely been the best city I’ve visited in Europe!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Also, I had the best tour guide,” she said softly as her cheeks began to warm.

Tom’s cheeks turned bright red. “Well, I enjoyed spending time with you, love. Would you mind if I took you on a date? Maybe tomorrow?” he asked, more confidently than he truly was.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun! I’m looking forward to it,” she smiled brightly as she took a pen out of her purse and grabbed his arm. On the back of his hand, [Name] wrote her number down.

Tom’s cheeks reddened to an even darker shade at the contact.

[Name] smiled and waved at him as she walked inside of her hotel.

Tom grinned as he called Harrison to arrange him a ride back to the palace.

Thankfully, [Name] had packed a nice outfit when she was leaving. She didn’t think that on her trips that she’d ever met someone who made butterflies fly all around in her stomach. She smiled as she thought about Tom. She wondered what Tom would take her to do (since she wasn’t really familiar with the city yet).

Tom: Hey, be ready by six?

[Name]: You know it.

Tom had sent her cute texts throughout the day, making her smile grow and more eager to see Tom again.

Tom held the largest bouquet of flowers that he was able to get his hands on as he knocked on [Name]’s hotel room door. He wore a plain, designer, white button-up, black slacks, and black dress shoes.

When [Name] opened the door, his breath hitched. In the outfit she was wearing, she looked gorgeous. “Darling, you look absolutely stunning,” he spoke, handing her the flowers.

“These are my favorites! Thank you so much, Tom!” She walked out of the room to briefly hug him. She disappeared back into her hotel room, presumably to put the flowers away.

She quickly came back to the door. “Ready, love?”

[Name] had one of the best nights of her life with Tom. He took her to the next sight in London she wanted to see: the London Eye. They took a ride on it (unbeknownst to her, Tom had bought their tickets in advance so that they wouldn’t have to wait in the obnoxiously long line to buy the tickets) and looked at the city from a different perspective.

After riding the Eye, they went for a walk in Hyde Park. It was gorgeous.

And as a surprise, they went to one of the fanciest restaurants in the city: The Ledbury. The food was phenomenal. (“Tom, how did you get us in here? This place was literally made for people who are made of money.” “I know the owner, love.”)

He had walked her back to her hotel room and at the door, he placed his lips upon hers, leaving a soft, sweet kiss between them.

It really was a magical night.

[Name] ended up going on three more dates with Tom before Tom had asked if she wanted to be his girlfriend and obviously, she said yes. She left to go see the rest of Europe soon after, but she promised she’d be back soon.

She texted and FaceTimed Tom every day over the next two months. She on the most recent FaceTime call, she told him that she was coming back to London for a few months because she was ‘extending’ her trip. Tom laughed and told her that he was so excited.

When [Name] arrived at the London City Airport, she was surprised to see so many people gathered around one person.

‘I wonder if it’s someone famous,’ [Name] thought before she saw the sign that the person surrounded by many people and what it read.

WELCOME BACK, [NAME]! it read in all caps. She saw Tom with four bodyguards and in his royal attire.

(This is Tom’s royal attire.)

“Oh. My. God.” [Name] almost fainted from the surprise of it all. She was dating the crown prince of England, Prince Thomas Stanley Holland, Duke of Cambridge.

Now it all made sense. How they were able to get to exclusive places… Do things in only five minutes where they would normally have to stand in a line for hours…

“I’m dating a prince,” she whispered.

“[Name], love! Tom waved as he broke away from all of the people surrounding him. “I told you I was going to pick you up.”

“You also told me you had a surprise. Well, color me surprised,” she whispered, barely able to think, much less form sentences.

“I had to tell you at some point. I thought that now would be a great time!” he pointed out, running his hands up and down her arms, trying to calm her.

“I’m in love with a prince…”

“Love you too, darling.” He chuckled, leaving a small kiss on the corner of her cheek.

[Name] eventually got over the shock that Tom was a prince. Had he not done the whole ‘Airport Operation,’ she would’ve never guessed it.

There was no doubt that the couple was meant to be. They loved each other deeply.

After about six months of dating, Tom introduced [Name] to the royal family (the entire royal family was almost more in love with [Name] than Tom was). [Name] had never been more nervous to meet a group of people though.

At the seven-month mark of dating, [Name] decided that she needed to go back home. Of course, Tom was extremely supportive, but he didn’t want to be separated again. He asked if he could go with her back to her hometown.

“What a stupid question. You know that I’d say yes,” she joked, a smirk on her face.

It was Christmas time. [Name] and Tom had been living together in her apartment for almost a whole year. Even though Tom had to go back home regularly to go do ‘prince-y things’ as [Name] called them, they were together twenty-four-seven.

The became a tame couple, going on dates every week, sending cute texts messages, and this season, decorating the apartment.

“Love, I’ve never had to put up a tree. How do you do this?”

[Name] had one of the fake Christmas trees that was in about a hundred individual pieces and Tom was so confused.

“Here, I’ll show you.”

It took an hour to put up the tree. The couple ended up having a sword fight with the tree branches and became really distracted.

They both became extremely tired and laid on the floor, [Name]’s head resting on Tom’s stomach, his fingers running through her hair.

“Tom?”

“Love?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

Christmas finally came. The couple decided to stay in [Name]’s apartment for the holiday since her parents live in a different state. They were sitting right next to each other on the couch.

As they were exchanging gifts, Tom’s face changed from happiness to nervousness.

“Tom? Are you okay?” she asked, looking up at him concerned.

“Yes, love. I’m just… thinking…” he justified, suspiciously.

“You—you’re not breaking up with me, right?” she said, lightly joking (but entirely serious at the same time).

“I would never! I love you so much, [Name]!” he began. He took both of her hands in his and rubbed soft circles onto the backs of them.

He shifted a bit on the couch so he could get a better look at her. “I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you, [Name]. You are perfect for me, you complete me. I love being with you, hearing about how much you hate English tea, which by the way, is the best tea, love!” he laughed, then continued, “I could go on forever about how much I love you, how brilliant you are, and how much I love what you do, darling, but I’d rather show you. [First Name] [Middle Name] [Last Name],” he said as he got off of the couch and onto one knee, “will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” he asked her as held out a black velvet ring box, containing the most gorgeous engagement ring ever created.

[Name]'s eyes were filled with tears. “Of course, Tom! Yes, my prince!” she cried as she pulled him into a hug. “I love you so much,” she cried into his shoulder, giving his hair a soft kiss.

“I love you too, darling.”

She looked back up at him as he put the ring on the fourth finger on her left hand. “I guess this makes me a Princess,” she giggled, a large smile littering her face.

“A Princess for Christmas, love.”

[3laxx]

Wintery Warm Drabble - 16th “Family“

Ao3 / FF.net

Nino stepped in with Alya still hugging him, kicking off his shoes as she opened his jacket to wrap her arms around the warm, semi-dry sweater he wore beneath. It was still a little moist from Eloïse’s and Etta’s jackets pressed against it but Alya didn’t seem to care.

He chuckled as he slid off the jacket, reaching around her to hang it up in front of the heater.

“We’re a little cuddly today?”, he smirked as Alya didn’t want to let go.

She merely snuggled her cheek against his sweater, humming with an agreeing sound.

“Yes. I haven’t seen you since school ended today. I’m allowed to be cuddly.”

Nino laughed and tightly wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the feeling of hugging her close.

“Hmmm, then I wanna be cuddly, too. Even if I’m still a little cold and wet from the snow.”

She hummed, rubbing over his back.

“I could give you a new sweater. And a shirt. I got a few things that’re too big for me.”

She very, very unwillingly parted from him and they walked to her room, Alya immediately rushing for a new shirt and sweater. He smirked as he watched her.

“So eager to see me shirtless?”

She shot him a quick glance, narrowing her eyes.

“Kinda. But more eager to be able to hug you again.”

His face began burning as he took the sleep shirt and sweater, turning to get out of his moist clothes and into her warm, dry, good smelling clothes. As soon as he had changed he felt her arms sneaking around his waist again, her cheek resting on his back.

“Mmmmmmh, you’re so warm…”

He chuckled as he leant forward to place his shirt and sweater over her heater, then he placed his arms above hers, his fingers brushing over her hands.

“I’m glad you think I’m so huggable.”

She hummed and let him turn around, snuggling up against his chest. He lowered his head to prop his cheek up on her hair, closing his eyes.

“But now I want you to be honest, why’re you so cuddly today?”

She shrugged, her fingers lazily brushing over the soft material of her sweater.

“I dunno. Maybe it’s cuz I watched a movie with my parents and they’re pretty cuddly. Maybe it’s also the weather.”

He chuckled and lifted her up, hearing Marlena just finishing to put the twins in some warm, dry clothes as well. His jeans was still a bit uncomfortably cold but at least not wet. He carried Alya, who clung to him like a monkey, into the living room and sat down next to her father after asking for his permission, feeling her adjusting so she could fold her legs next to his thighs and shift a little so she was comfortable.

Nino chuckled as he pulled her closer, then he saw another hand joining his on her back. Before he knew it, Marlena Césaire was leaning against his side, one arm slung over Alya. Otis didn’t take long to follow, cuddling in their eldest daughter as well, leaning against Nino’s other side.

And it would’ve been a cute picture for other people, seeing a family occasionally cuddling like this, if it hadn’t been so weird for Nino.

Well, he had known Alya’s parents for a little longer already, a bit over a year now. He had been on the more personal level with them since Adrien, Marinette he and Alya had decided to make Alya’s apartment their second headquarter after the bakery.

He had gone so far as almost calling Marlena his Maman because he had been sleepy and she had been nice to him and it had been early in the morning and Marlena was just a person that he had immediately accepted as a cool mother.

He hadn’t had as much contact with Otis Césaire but he had felt comfortable around the calm, quiet man from the first minute he had spent alone with him, waiting for Alya to get ready.

And, well, he had known the Césaires were big cuddlers. He knew that from stories Alya told about lazy Sundays or Christmas Mornings or when one of them was feeling sad. He had known that, yes, but he hadn’t expected to be in the middle of something like that. As Alya had always told it, it had seemed like a family exclusive thing. Not even Marinette had gotten to be part of one of those family cuddles even once and she was practically a sister to Alya.

Except-… He had become family? In the few days he had been Alya’s boyfriend now?

Feeling a little uncomfortable to be hugged by all of them didn’t stop them, though. The movie was still paused and a few moments passed before Ella and Etta came running in, both jumping on their mother’s back. Marlena yelped but then laughed and parted from Nino and her daughter to grab one of the twins, Ella, and lifted her over.

The little girl was sandwiched between Nino, Alya and her mother as Marlena leant in again, now more cuddling close to her younger daughter than them. Alya grumbled a little at that but as soon as he brushed over her back again she gave a contented sigh, not even noticing that Etta snuggled up to her father now, giving Nino a bit more room. Now that he was more cuddled in between the younger Césaires than the older ones, he felt comfortable again. Well… It was kinda weird cuddling with the parents of his girlfriend after just knowing them for a year and, well, being the boyfriend of their eldest daughter for a few days.

Otis lazily reached for the remote, continuing the movie again. Apparently, it was a kids’ movie or a drama movie that the twins wouldn’t understand anyway, otherwise Otis wouldn’t have pressed play again. But Nino didn’t really care what kind of movie played. While Otis and Marlena half watched, the twins slowly falling asleep in the warm pile of loved ones, he found it much more interesting to watch Alya slowly subsiding to her tiredness.

He tried keeping his breathing as still as he could as Alya’s eyelids grew heavy, closing from time to time again. Her back slumped a little so he wrapped his arms tighter around her, making her slide up a little so that her back would be straight again. She sighed and briefly yawned and stretched as he changed her position but quickly snuggled up against him again as the new position was reached. Her forehead was now safely tucked under his chin and instead of watching her eyelids falling close and her lips parting he felt her breath on his neck slowing down until it was even and deep. Soon, the Césaire family around him had fallen asleep and the movie ended. He fished for the remote in Otis hand, switching to a documentary channel and lowering the volume so that they could continue sleeping. Marlena woke up from it and barely found the strength to take an oversized fluffy blanket, pulling it over her and Ella to pass it on to Otis who finished her task seemingly still sleeping. Now that the blanket hugged them all and the documentary droned on while the two adults closed their eyes again, Nino felt himself dozing away.

Everything was so warm and soft and-… there was-… no place-… where he would… rather… be…

 .

Needless to say, that they only found to their beds as Alya woke up at three in the morning, having slept as the one in the most uncomfortable position with her legs folded beneath her and her back slouched from sinking into herself even more.

She motivated them all to go to bed and while Otis and Etta managed, Marlena and Ella merely fell back on the couch, pulling the blanket around them to sleep right there.

Alya pulled Nino up and into her room, pushing him into her bed to use him as her mattress instead.

He didn’t mind one bit as she continued drooling on the sweater she had given him, pulling up the warm, heavy sheets around them while the snow storm raged outside.

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

Suede (Part 1 of 2)

Suede (Part 1 of 2)

Short Story by V-Nasty

1971

 Langston Roberts had received his 10th invitation to the Winter Formal.

 The pink note was folded meticulously on his desk and he eyed it warily as he sank into his seat. He looked around the classroom and rolled his eyes when he spotted Stella Peterson's all-pink notebook sprawled clumsily across her lap. She was pretending not to pay any attention but held a smile as she stared ahead at the blackboard. There were about 15 other students in the class, the history teacher was not yet present.

  Langston lifted the note and began to read it.

 "Winter formal with me?"

 Stella was, undoubtedly, one of the most popular girls at Mclean High School. She was conventionally attractive with very long blonde hair, fair skin and large green eyes. Her father, Richard Peterson, was a member of the House of Representatives and her mother, Hannah Peterson, was a boutique owner and catalogue model

 Langston, however, didn't really care for her.

 He stuffed the little pink note in his bag, deciding to wait before giving her a definite answer. All the girls who asked him to the dance were pretty but since Stella was the most popular one, he considered accepting her proposal. He wasn't necessarily fond of her but she was a member of their exclusive clique. Virtually everyone who attended Mclean High School was extraordinarily wealthy or well-off. It was the second home to Buckhead, Atlanta's most elite group of teenagers.  

 Stella glanced over her shoulder and was slightly put off when she noticed the pink note was gone. Langston caught her eye and shrugged casually, giving her a small smile. Apparently this pleased her because she responded with an even bigger smile as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. He didn't understand the fuss girls made about him.

 A freshman girl once told him that he kind of resembled Ricky Nelson. He shrugged it off though, it was barely a compliment.

 The class was active with conversation when Mrs. Harrington inconspicuously walked in.

 No one noticed the student waiting at the door.

 "Morning class," Mrs. Harrington announced loudly, setting down her tote and gradebook on her desk. "Sorry, I'm late. I was showing a new student around." She extended her hand towards the girl at the door.

 The girl stepped forward and everyone grew silent.

 She was tall, roughly 5'7 and slim but…very curvaceous. She wore a white turtle-neck, a suede jacket, a suede skirt and long black knee-high boots. She styled her hair in an afro – a large, brown afro.

 Her most enticing feature, however, were her amber eyes.

 The class was very silent. She wasn't the first black person the class has ever seen but she was one of the first and only black people to ever attend McClean High during that time. The only other black student attended Mclean in 1968. He was the son of a politician or something….it took some time for everyone to adjust.  

 "Stand in front of the class sweetie," Mrs. Harrington encouraged. "Tell everyone about yourself."

 Langston watched her intently; he was overtly fascinated. He had to admit, she was very pretty. To be honest, he's never had any black friends or was close to any black people except for his house keeper, Glenda.

 Jamelia walked in front of the class and when she opened her mouth to speak, her words were barely audible.

 Jamelia's voice was high, soft, and docile. Langston noticed that although she looked like a vixen, there was something profoundly innocent about her face.

 "Hi everyone, my name is Jamelia. I moved to McClean about two weeks ago from Los Angeles." Her eyes weren't trained on anyone in particular. "Um…I just turned 17 and I… love fashion."

 The class was still extremely quiet.

 "Sweetie, tell them about who you’re related to." Mrs. Harrington grinned.

 Jamelia looked mildly embarrassed as she continued on, "Oh um…my mom is Katherine Anderson. She's a member of the Marvelettes. My dad is Steven Anderson; he's an author and…he occasionally writes for the Los Angeles Times…"

 The class was still uncharacteristically silent.

 Mrs. Harrington looked mildly put off by their lack of enthusiasm. "Jamelia sweetie, why don't you take a seat – right there – to the left of Mr. Roberts."

 Jamelia looked slightly confused until Mrs. Harrington said, "The blond with the blue shirt."

 Langston felt vaguely excited that Jamelia was making her way towards him. She was like a teenage version of Denise Nicolas. Her heels clicked softly against the ceramic tiling as she made her way towards the center of the classroom. Langston inhaled a whiff of her perfume as she eased into her seat. Vanilla and lavender.

 When goosebumps started to erupted on his arms, he knew she was going to be a problem.

 Jamelia briefly caught his eye.

 He smiled.

 She didn’t smile back.

______________________________________________________________________

 Langston Roberts was nominated for Winter Formal King and had approximately 3 weeks to decide who to bring to the dance as his date. The pressure was extremely intense.

 Later that week, he had received his 15th proposal and had yet to give an answer to anyone. He was barely attracted to anyone that asked him out. He just wasn't enticed by the sea of superficial and shallow girls that attended Mclean High. Everyone was starting to look the same. Straight, shiny hair, corduroy skirts, and sparkly lip gloss. It was appealing at some distant point but now it was mundane and predictable.

 Langston was only interested in one girl but that one girl was not interested in him. This was a first because he was used to getting a lot of female attention. Jamelia, however, barely batted an eye at him since her arrival.

 He realized one day that he was very attracted to her.

 She strutted into class wearing a white, off-the-shoulder top with the bluest bell-bottom jeans and a pair of brown espadrilles. He almost melted when the scent of vanilla and lavender hit his nose. He was allured by her exposed neck and collarbones. Her skin was a caramel color; perfect and unblemished.

 She sat down and accidently pushed a pencil off her desk. As if in slow motion, it rolled towards him. He grasped it from the floor and handed it back to her. She hesitated before grabbing it but offered a small smile.

 A lump began to form in his throat.

 Woah, she was a dream.

 His body reacted unreasonably in her presence. He wanted to touch her. He craved her scent and longed to wrap a curl around his finger. Never in his life did he have a crush so strong and it's barely been two weeks. He wanted to speak to her but she seemed less than interested - and almost afraid - to start any conversation.  

 Langston knew he had to try. He knew he wanted to ask Jamelia to the Winter Formal.

______________________________________________________________________

 Tiny buds of sweat began to form on Langston's forehead as he approached Jamelia. She was salvaging books from her locker and looked a little apprehensive as she fumbled through the items inside. The hall was virtually empty minus the janitor, who was whistling jovially to some Marvin Gaye tune.

 Jamelia jumped slightly when she heard Langston's footsteps near towards her. She eyed him suspiciously until he completely obscured her view.

 "…Hey," he said, scratching the back of this head awkwardly. "How are you?"

 She hesitated a little. "Groovy."  

 "Cool, cool," he started again. For the first time in his life, Langston was so flustered by a girl, he couldn't think of anything intelligible to say. "C-class is late for you."

 "Huh?"

 "I-I mean, you're late for class," he said, a little more aggressively than he intended to. "Um…I'm sorry – I just saw you in the hall and wanted to see if you were okay."

 Jamelia's lips quivered a bit, she was unsure of how to respond. "Yeah, I actually can't find my Home Economics book," her eyes softened as she looked at him and back at her locker. "You're late too."

 He was also in love with her voice. She was so soft-spoken

 It took Langston several attempts before he was able to approach her. Today, she was wearing a white, satin blouse under a red cashmere vest. Her plaid, pleated skirt was red and yellow and her knee-high socks were slightly sheer. Langston closed his eyes briefly and inhaled. Her signature scent was as enticing as ever.

 "Yeah," he swallowed. "I actually wanted to ask you something…"

 She waited and when there was no immediate response: "Yes?"

 "Uh, I have my Home Economics textbook," he stumbled and scratched his head again. "Would you like to share with me?"

 "Was that your question?"

 "Of course."

 She looked around and back. "…sure Langston, that's real nice of you." Her amber eyes twinkled slightly as she offered him a genuine smile. "We should probably get to class now, huh?"

 He was so fixated by her smile that he forgot to respond.

 She started to walk past him and he watched as her large, brown afro bobbed up and down. Snapping out of his reverie, he ran to catch up with her - unaware of two suspicious green eyes watching the scene from behind.

 Stella Peterson grimaced in mild horror as she watched the pair walk off to class together. She overheard most of the conversation and was appalled that Langston might actually like Jamelia. Why would he like Jamelia, when he was supposed to like her?

 Stella was extremely well-known at Mclean High. She was the object of admiration for both sexes and was recently named Mclean High's Bunny of the Year, a prestigious honor indeed. Underclassman never won Winter Formal Queen and since she was a senior, she was determined to win.

 And she was certain that Langston was going to be Winter Formal King.

 She wasn't going to let anyone get in her way of her perfect night with her perfect date, especially not some random black girl. There was no competition and she was going to make sure of it.

______________________________________________________________________

 "Why is he walking in with her?"  

 "Who does she think she is with that outfit?"

 "She's pretty for a black girl, I guess."

 "Langston looks so good in those jeans."

 Jamelia and Langston were both 10 minutes late to class and were confronted with a sea of murmurs and stares upon their arrival. Langston ignored them and made his way to his regular seat and motioned Jamelia to sit by him. She made her way swiftly with her head slightly bowed down.

 "Nice of you to join us," Mrs. Eskers said in a monotonous tone. "As I was saying, the midterm project is due in 3 weeks. Everyone must choose one person to write a speech about and bring in a homemade gift. This will help with self-esteem in both yourself and the other person. Make sure the speech is heartfelt and the homemade gift is made thoughtfully. Blah blah blah…back to the regular lecture."

 She turned her face to the blackboard and starting writing the steps to making homemade molasses cookies.

 Langston pulled out his textbook and sprawled it across the desk between himself and Jamelia. He looked at her briefly and whispered. "I think I'm going to do a speech about you," he watched as her eyebrows furrowed deep into her forehead.

 "Me? Why?"

 "…because um…I don't think anyone else chose you. So I think I wanna do one about you… plus…I love the Marvelettes."

 "Oh okay, I can dig it…I'm choosing Velma because I've never seen hair that red before in my life," she whispered back and they both started to laugh. "Its far out."

 "Yeah…like you."

 "What was that?"

 "I said, yeah that's true," Langston recovered quickly. "Hey…I wanted to ask you something - "

 "- An actual question this time?"

 He smiled. "Yeah…um…do you have a date for the Win…"

 He was stopped abruptly by Mrs. Eckers, who slammed a ruler across their jointed desk.

 "Miss Anderson, Mr. Roberts – was there something interesting that you would like to share with the class?"

 Langston shook his head.

 "Mr. Roberts!" she screeched. "Please use your voice."

 "No ma'am. Nothing interesting at all."

 "Langston, don't lie to me. Please stand in your seat and tell the class what you and Miss. Anderson were discussing. If not, you will both receive detention."

 Langston stared up at Ms. Eskers and back at Jamelia, who was also looking at Ms. Eskers. He was under the scrutiny of the entire class but his attention was on the girl before him. Her amber eyes were transfixed on the teacher, her lips puffy and pink, her hair large and majestic.

 Bewitched is the only word that could describe his infatuation for her.

 He tore his gaze away, stood up in his seat and inhaled. Mrs. Eskers took a step back, her ruler in hand.

 He stared ingenuously at the teacher. "I was in the middle of asking Jamelia if she had a date to the Winter Formal," He looked at Jamelia. "If not, I wanted to take you."

 The class went completely silent. It took Jamelia roughly 3 minutes to reply and to Langston, those 3 minutes felt like 3 hours. She didn't respond right away and she could feel the glares of every girl in the class burning a hole through her temple. She then eyed at Mrs. Eskers, who also looked like she was waiting for an answer.

 "I don't have a date for winter formal…," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "…But, I don't think I'll be going anyway."

 "Oh…cool," were the only two words that left Langston's mouth.

 But oddly enough, he wasn't discouraged.

 He gave her a small smile which she weakly returned. Mrs. Eskers huffed impatiently as she made her way back to the blackboard. There were a few students who were still staring at the pair.

 No. Langston Roberts was not discouraged – he was more determined than ever to get closer to her.

[carylmeanslove]

The truth is that Liz lied (left stuff out the stuff that made her look bad, painting him being a problem child) & it spread, putting preconceived ideas in their minds. 😡 They prejudged him & just couldn't let go no matter what. Even when they saw contradictions to those lies like all the things you mentioned. They wouldn't give a hurting teen a break 💔. Also over protectiveness over their town's perfect princess, Rory 🙄 (poor girl having so much high expectations placed on her) because they could see their connection & chemistry.

Jess’s ‘bad boy’ label to me is so, so funny. He is constantly reading, works two jobs, saved enough money to buy a car—but he’s the ultimate bad boy in the town’s eyes. Let’s be clear, the most ‘rebellious’ thing he did was the chalk outline outside Doose’s. Boy did magic tricks for his crush, why is he labeled a bad boy? 😭