#bill: leans back to laugh exposing his fucking chest in that white shirt

[the-royal-blue-network]

Ruby stared into the eyes of the woman that she loved more than life itself. A bit cliche, but true nevertheless. There wasn’t a thing Ruby wouldn’t do for Sarah; So when Sarah suggested they head to city hall and get married, Ruby thought, fuck it, why not? After all, they were already dressed for the occasion. As they held hands, the women spoke from their hearts, promising to love and honor each other for the rest of their days. After exchanging rings, Sarah gripped Ruby’s face and held it in place as she kissed her wife like it was the last time she’d ever get to. 

“Okay, we get it, you’re in love!” Jake, one of Sarah and Ruby’s oldest friends yelled. 

Pulling apart, the women laughed before getting a couple pictures alone and then together with their friends. After thanking the judge, they made their way outside and towards Ruby’s van. 

“So where to now!” Jake asked, cranking the van to life. 

“To the bar!” Sarah yelled as Ruby pulled her in close and kissed her neck. 

Jake nodded as Sarah turned and attached her lips to Ruby’s. 

Sarah and Ruby made out while their friends hung out the windows, hooting and hollering the whole ride there. 

Back at the church, many of the wedding guests were still in shock. 

“How can this be happening?” Bill, Sarah’s father, asked as he paced up and down the aisle. 

By now all of the wedding guests had left the church, leaving only Bill, Mike, Sarah’s mother, Annie, and Mike’s parents, Roger and Jenny.  

Pacing up and down the aisle, Mike pressed his phone to his ear. 

“Sarah I don’t know what that freak said to you before the wedding, but just come back please. I know weddings can be scary but just come back, or better yet meet me at home and we can talk about this. I love you.” Mike said with a sigh.  

*** 

Sarah and Ruby spent the night bar hopping with their friends before deciding to call it quits and heading back to Ruby’s.  

As they entered the studio apartment, the severity of everything that had just taken place finally  hit Ruby. While she didn’t regret a single thing that happened, doubt and fear that Sarah would soon come to regret it began to set in. 

Sarah had spent the better, or worse depending on who you asked, part of a year planning her and Mike’s wedding and at the very last minute, she threw it all away. With all the adrenaline coursing through her body, Ruby feared what would come once the dust had settled.  

“Oh wifey.” Sarah called from the bedroom, pulling Ruby from her thoughts. 

Turning to the right, Ruby’s jaw fell slack as she stared at her goddess of a wife standing in the doorway.  

All of Ruby’s fears about how her wife may have been feeling vanished as she took in the other woman. 

Dressed in white lingerie that left quite little to the imagination, Sarah leisurely leaned against the door frame. Crooking her finger in a ‘come here’ motion, Sarah called her wife over to her. 

Like a gravitational pull, Ruby was up and floated over to Sarah.  

“Need something?” Ruby asked, allowing her eyes to wander.  

Sarah could practically feel her wife caressing her body with her gaze; she’d never felt more desired. 

“It’s shower time.” Sarah said, just above a whisper. 

Ruby's eyes darkened as she took a step back and hungrily looked her wife over. 

“Then let’s go.” Ruby said. 

Hooking her finger between the buttons of the other woman’s shirt, Sarah pulled her into the room.  

One by one,Sarah leisurely undid the buttons of Ruby’s shirt before throwing it open and giving her access to more and more skin. With every inch that appeared, Sarah covered the newly exposed skin with red lipstick stained kisses. Then, when she finally made it to the last button, Sarah stood up and pushed the shirt off her wife’s shoulders. Running her hands down Ruby’s arms, Sarah pushed the shirt completely off, allowing it to fall to the ground. Thereafter, she kissed her way across Ruby’s chest, licking her nipple before licking her top surgery scar.  

Pushing Ruby onto the bed, Sarah mounted her and began kissing her way down the other woman’s body before reaching the waistline of her pants. Then, pausing for a moment, Sarah looked up at her lover through her lashes.  

“May I?” She asked.  

“What happened to that shower?” Ruby smirked. 

Sarah ran a hand up her wife’s thigh. 

“No sense in showering now if we’re just gonna get all hot and sweaty afterwards.” Sarah said. 

Ruby chuckled as she allowed the other woman to pull her out of her slacks and boxers. Then, settling between Ruby’s legs, Sarah lied flat on her stomach, pushing one of Ruby’s legs to the side, and kissed her way up Ruby’s other leg. Upon reaching Ruby’s thigh, Sarah flatted her tongue, licking one long stripe right between her wife’s labia and her thigh. 

“No Sarah, come on, it’s our wedding night! No teasing!” Ruby pleaded, her hips instinctively rising off the bed. 

Sarah laid a firm arm across her wife’s hips, pinning the other woman to the bed. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sarah said, allowing her breath to blow against Ruby’s hot core. 

Ruby tossed her head back and groaned. 

“Sarah!” She called out in need and frustration. 

Again Sarah lowered her head and licked another long line between Ruby’s left labia and her thigh. Sarah moved agonizingly slow, causing her wife’s back to bow off the bed. 

“Sarah, please!” Ruby called out, her voice a little strained. 

Sarah chuckled before leaning forward and placing a kiss on Ruby’s moun, dangerously close to where Ruby needed her most. 

“And you have me. We’re wives, remember?” Sarah laughed, purposely blowing against Ruby’s wet core. 

“Sarah, I swear to god! Two can play this game.” Ruby said in a warning tone. 

If there was one thing Sarah knew about her wife it was that Ruby was a master when it came to teasing. Ruby knew Sarah’s body like the back of her hand; it wouldn’t take much for her to bring Sarah to the edge of her sanity and allow her to fall over.  

So, heeding her wife’s warning, Sarah dropped the game and drove face first into her wife.  

All night they made love until both were too exhausted to do anything other than fall fast asleep. 

[skinks]

how was the superbad livestream? i missed it bc i was in class :(

It was actually really fun!! I’m sorry you missed it but yeah, for me it was worth staying up til 3:30 in the morning. Surely not me getting butterflies about being in the same weird virtual space as Hader at the same time... surely not... 👀

So, Bill was either far away from his computer or didn’t have a good mic because he was way more quiet-spoken than everyone else. This might have just been because he’s a relatively subdued guy anyway, but when Apatow was making everyone’s introductions Bill just waved, and I think Seth Rogen was like “we’re gonna have to be more enthusiastic than this” and Bill said that he was doing the stream while sitting at a table with some people eating dinner lmfao. He was probably waiting to put his kids to bed or something 🥺

THRILLED TO BE HERE

You couldn’t really hear the movie but that was ok because it wasn’t the point, it was nice to just hear a group of friends reminisce about the movie-making process. Bill would occasionally try to interject something but there were so many people talking at once, and fucking Jonah Hill kept barging right over everybody so most of my time was spent wistfully gazing at Billiam’s little square and hoping he’d speak up. But he’s just... not a pushy dude, so he’d acquiesce.

HE DID LAUGH A LOT THOUGH!!! every time he’d lean back and start cackling and clapping an angel (aka my heart) got its wings (aka flew right out of my body via my coochie)

Look at him go :’) that top left one is when he snorted and tried to cover it up :’))) [wind beneath my wings plays faintly in the distance]

A few times he did manage to speak up though, and it was great. He talked a lot about how he and Rogen would just endlessly tease Christopher Mintz-Plasse, because he was 17 and it was his first film and he had to do schoolwork and have his mom on set etc. Like, they pranked him a lot on the promo circuit too, that was funny, they told him to ask some PR assistant lady for drugs while they were at an event, convinced him some movie I can’t remember was based on a real thing, told him to say random lines that wound up in the final cut, things like that.

He talked about how he couldn’t get through the scene where he and Rogen walk in on McLovin having sex without breaking, and kept laughing through telling it too fjkshfkdhf. ALSO that he’d never worked with someone who was so new but so confident, because he is INCAPABLE OF NOT PRAISING HIS COWORKERS AT ALL TIMES ugh... humble king... cock

OH he kept doing impressions too!! He’d tell stories and slip into a Rogen or Mintz-Plasse or Apatow impression like it was nothing, everyone would laugh, and every time people laughed he got this pleased little look 😔 never wanted to suck a dick so bad in my life never I swear et cetera et cetera

Anyway, Emma Stone was the real MVP bc she was always the one who was actually listening when Bill tried to say something, and Bill said that the first, last, and only time he’d actually seen Superbad is when he went to some opening night with Emma Stone and her mom??? So that was already adorable but he also kept on talking about the technical stuff, praising the editing etc. As if I wasn’t whining like a desperate dog enough he had to go and be a film nerd live through my headphones

ARM.......... SMILEY MAN.... DID HE EVEN BRUSH HIS HAIR FOR THIS??? I like him so much what the fuck

Finally, the thing that made me tenderest of all was when... ok they were talking about how there was a trailer with a kind of small home cinema set-up to screen the dailies? And someone, I think it was Seth Rogen, asked Judd Apatow AND BILL if that was common practice, like asking him showrunner/director-specific questions, and it really drove home the fact that this movie was 14 years ago and he’s managed to do so much since then. He’s become a director like he always wanted to, on Barry, got all these accolades for his work and yet he’s still just this quiet dude snort-laughing at his friends and clearly exhausted because it’s past his 9pm bedtime. Don’t look at me

So yeah, it was very chill and they barely bothered to read out any of the audience-submitted questions which was probably a good thing because any more exposure to his stupid 5 o’clock shadow and soft quarantine bod and I would have been sending propositions

[rafescoke]

Need To Know (Part 2) ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

#Part 2 

#Part 1

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader confronts Rafe about his past

Warnings: More angst, more flashback smut, substance, swearing, Rafe being a dick again

A/N: Thank you so much for the overwhelming love from my last post! I love you to the moon and back <3

p.s, my request box is always open for you to drop in any ideas!

“My god, you both look great.”

Rafe chuckled, too drunk to say anything, and wrapped his arms around his girlfriend of 4 months. The night breeze flew past everyone on the yacht as they strolled down the stream, moving their hips along to ‘Summer’ by Calvin Harris and trying to hear each other’s conversations over the loud music.

“Thanks, Tops,” (Y/N) smiled, feeling her body moving to the beat. She thought about the amount of drinks she had, but giggled when she had to recount again, and then frowned when she kept forgetting the number she ended on.

“What are you thinking?” Rafe whined, pulling her away from Topper who had his arms around another girl, trying to move on from his failed relationship with Sarah Cameron. He had told Rafe and (Y/N) that he have never felt better, but they both know the truth. He was completely wrecked after the breakup; when Topper found out about Sarah and a certain boy from the other side of the island, Rafe had to be there for him every single night until recently. He was too afraid of the things that Topper would do to himself.

“I can’t remember how many drinks I’ve had tonight,” she cried, tugging on his shirt as she placed her chin on his shoulder. Rafe laughed, patting her back before pulling her to face him.

“You had 8 shots. I had more.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, raising her brows. When she saw a smile slowly creeping onto his face, she groaned loudly.

“You always do this to me!” She grunted, but a tone of humor laced in her face. “God, I hate you.” She made a move to talk away, crossing her arms.

“No-” he shook his head, pulling her arm so that she will end right back into his arms again. He grinned when his tactic worked, “You don’t hate me. You love me too much.”

“Disgusting,” (Y/N) made a face, and stood on her toes to whisper into his ear. “Wanna do something?”

Rafe looked at her, and when he saw the sly smile etched onto her face, he kissed her fully on her lips, always admiring this side of her that she rarely shows to other people.

When he first found out about this opposite side of his girlfriend, Rafe couldn’t believe his eyes. He tried to convince himself that when she had asked to do coke with him for the first time that night, it was merely his imagination and not reality, but when she woke up next to him the next morning, the sun highlighting her hair and eyes, smiling shyly at him, he knew that it had, indeed, happened.

“You want to do coke?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his grin concealed. “Right now? In the middle of the party?”

(Y/N) hummed in response, and kissed his cheeks. “Please?”

Rafe didn’t answer her as he pulled her through the many dancing bodies to one of the back rooms in the yacht, trying to contain his excitement. The last time they had done this together ended up being one of the best nights of Rafe’s life, and he hoped to relive it again.

Rafe poured the intoxicating powder on the cold table, licking his pink lips as he separated them into four lines using his driver’s license. (Y/N) saw a glimpse of his handsome ID photo on the card, and tried to stop herself from kissing him. 

How could someone look so handsome in their driver’s license? It’s impossible.

(Y/N) licked the side of his face as he tried to balance the lines evenly, not able to contain her feelings anymore. She felt like having him for the rest of her life, and she can’t imagine spending her future with anyone else. 

“What was that for?” Rafe groaned, but he was smiling. (Y/N) wiped the already- drying wet mark on the side of his face with her sleeve, only to be stopped by Rafe’s fingers around her wrist.

“I didn’t say you could wipe it.”

(Y/N) giggled, kissing his cheeks as he returned back to his previous work. She wondered again on the never ending questions of why would Rafe choose her amongst the many girls who have tried to get his attention since forever, but her thought was disturbed by the sudden swift of Rafe’s lips against hers.

“Ladies first,” he whispered, handing her a rolled up hundred dollars bill. (Y/N) smiled, putting a light pressure on her left nostril using her pointer before dipping her head to inhale the substance.

She threw her head back, laughing when she could feel Rafe’s soft lips peppering wet kisses along her exposed neck. She closed her eyes against the warm feeling, her fingers running through his messy hair.

“Your turn, baby,” she giggled, stopping her boyfriend before they could provide a free show for everyone else. Rafe sighed, clearly unsatisfied, but he took the rolled up bill from her fingers and dipped his head.

Before he could inhale the white powder, he turned to look at her, a glinting mischief in his eyes. (Y/N) groaned, wanting to spend her hazy trip with her boyfriend instead of going ahead of him.

“What is it?”

“Lay on your back,” he said, not looking at her as he took out the extra mini ziplock bags. (Y/N) looked at him with a frustrated expression. “I swear to god, (Y/N), just fucking do it.”

(Y/N) sighed and laid her back against the sofa, trying to hold her skirt from lifting up and exposing her black thong she had bought beforehand. She widened her eyes when she felt Rafe’s cold rings grazing her skin, closing her eyes when she felt his hands slowly creeping towards her aching core.

“What are you doing?” She hissed, closing her legs quickly. “Rafe, we can’t do anything here.”

“Relax,” he whispered, pulling her legs apart again, and (Y/N) almost moaned from the sudden cold breeze nipping on her skin. She gripped on his wrist again, trying to remind and warn him about his next move at the same time.

Just by the glare that Rafe had given her, signaling that he wasn’t playing and he hadn’t got the time to joke around, she let go of his wrist, looking up to her boyfriend who was unlocking the mini bag.

She hissed when Rafe poured a perfect amount of cocaine on her lap, enough for him to get on by the night. She watched as he separated them into lines using his driver’s license again. She gulped, her heartbeat getting quicker.

“Stop moving so much,” Rafe grunted, focusing on perfecting the lines against her soft skin. After a few seconds of trying his best, he looked back to admire his work, licking his teeth.

“Oh my god, Rafe, you can’t be-”

“Shut up,” he said, taking the rolled up bill and dipping his head until he was on the same level as her head. She bit her lips, nervous. She threw her head back when Rafe inhaled a line, her heartbeat beating quicker than that time she tried to hide herself in Rafe’s closet from Rose. 

She could feel his fingers gripping her thighs, and she couldn’t deny the growing feeling inside her. Rafe chuckled, wiping his nose, and dipped his head back to the previous position.

“Rafe. . .” she whined, trying her best not to move around so much. The grip around her legs tightened, and she gritted her teeth as he placed wet kisses along her leg, ending directly before her desperate core.

“Oh my god,” she groaned, closing her eyes.

(Y/N) has experienced nothing of that sort, and the farthest thing they have done was fucking each other in Rafe’s hot tub that one drunken night. The last time she did coke with her boyfriend, no body parts were involved and it was only the two of them and her grandmother’s glass table.

Rafe chuckled, rubbing his nose as he resurfaced from his second last line, holding the rolled up bill between his fingers like a cigarette. “You like that, huh?”

“I’ve never wanted you to fuck me so bad before,” she said, groaning as she tried to keep her legs still for Rafe to inhale that one last line, but she knew he wouldn’t make her life that easy.

She watched as he kissed the inner of her thighs, going upwards, placing more kisses on her hips and again, directly halting before her core. Rafe could see the wet mark on her thongs, and could feel himself getting harder. 

“Please,” she begged, looking at him with her innocent eyes, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. “Please, Rafe, baby, please.”

“As you wish, princess.”

She went into another unexplainable feeling as he did his final line, and then  giving her more wet kisses along her thighs and lastly, that resulted her into jerking her body upwards towards his chest; he placed a strong kiss on her clothed core. 

Rafe laughed, watching her pressed herself against him, trying to find any kind of friction. “Relax, baby. I thought you wanted me to stop?”

“Fuck you,” she whispered, before climbing onto his lap and attacking him with kisses. 

“Okay-” he said in between kisses, “Fine-” more kisses, “Fuck me.”

(Y/N) groaned, feeling his hard member all pushed up against her as she kept on attacking him with kisses. This is exactly the problem; he would tease her and she would just not stop. 

“People are watching, baby,” he whispered, stopping her fingers from unzipping his jeans. They were both breathing really hard, and (Y/N) leaned closer to his ear.

“Let them.”

He groaned as she finally unzipped his pants, exposing his throbbing penis against the night air of North Carolina. He tried to pull his and (Y/N)’s body downwards by an inch to hide their ungodly behaviour behind the table, but was caught off guard when (Y/N) gripped his fingers, halting his movement.

“I said let them watch.”

Rafe wasn’t sure if it was the drugs that took over her or it was just another side of her that she was finally exposing to him, but he couldn’t deny the excitement coursing through his veins. This was every teenage boy’s wet dreams, and Rafe couldn’t believe the fact that he was finally experiencing it.

Before he could prepare himself, he felt her sink into him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her forehead against his as she panted to reach her end. Rafe held her waist, not putting any pressure and letting her take control completely. He watched as she bit her lips, placing quick kisses against his neck.

“I love you, oh my god,” she said as she pushed herself down onto him, closing her eyes to concentrate on the familiar feeling growing in her stomach. “My perfect boy.”

“I’m close,” he shuddered, this time thrusting his hips against her to quicken the pace, feeling his end reaching. He didn’t care about the crowd that was starting to form near them; he was happy and content with the girl who was a moaning mess on top of him.

“Fuck-” she screamed as he released himself into her, falling against his chest to catch her breath. Rafe placed a lazy kiss against the top of her head as she grunted, too tired to even remove herself. 

“I wanna do coke with you every single night,” she whispered involuntarily as Rafe pulled her up, finally finding the strength to do so. He fixed her dress for her as she rested her head against the sofa, feeling so close to doze off for the night. Rafe smiled, tucking a strand of her hair before buttoning his jeans back again. He kissed her cheeks as she sighed, intertwining their fingers. 

“I’ll always love you, okay?” he said, but she was too tired to say anything back. She whispered something back, and Rafe laughed in return, and the night continued with her head against his chest as they snuggled up close on the sunbathing area. When the clock struck 12, they watched the fireworks decorating the night sky, and Rafe swore he had never seen anything more beautiful than (Y/N) under that glowing sky that particular night.

“Happy birthday, my love,” Rafe whispered, before placing a longing kiss on her lips.

(Y/N) woke up with a start.

She heard noises coming from her window, and she groaned before making her way towards the light. Her feet tapped lightly against her carpeted floor, feeling the cold temperature coming from outside.

Great. Just the person she wanted to see.

“Let me in, baby, please,” Rafe said against her window, fogging her glass. “Please? Let me explain myself.”

(Y/N) held her middle finger up to him before returning to her bed, watching the panicking boy from the corners of her eyes.

How could he climb up to her room after all the things he did to her?

“Oh my god-” she heard him speak, “It’s cold out here. Please? Let me in.” 

(Y/N) tried to block out his voice as she placed her pillows against her ears, but when she kept hearing his pleads, she couldn’t shake the bad feeling in her heart. She stood up from her bed, watching Rafe struggling to hold on to a branch, and opened the window, all while silently cursing to herself.

Rafe quickly shut the windows and sighed as he got used to the warm atmosphere, his eyes following the girl as she returned back towards her bed. Rafe stayed shut, following her actions, and sat beside her limp body.

“I’m-”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she cut him off, and Rafe watched as she shifted to get comfortable. She wasn’t looking at him, and Rafe felt a pang of pain across his heart.

“Please, baby, you deserve an explanation.”

(Y/N) stayed quiet, and Rafe took the silence as an agreement. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, trying to find his voice; because this is exactly the problem -

He didn’t know how much more (Y/N) had heard from his ex’s mouth, but based on the quick summary that she had given him through the phone call an hour ago, everything that she told him was true.

Because he was stupid. He was selfish, and he didn’t believe in the idea of falling in love with some and making great memories with them. Life simply wasn’t that way to him - 

All he cared about was sex and drugs, and his ex filled that exact cravings in him. He grew attached, but (Y/N) had taught him love. She taught him all the things that he didn’t know existed in him before.

“It’s true,” was all he said.

He grimaced as (Y/N) let out a shrill laugh, and stayed shut right after. He felt the need to caress her but decided against it, knowing that she will probably push him off.

“And I’m sorry. I was stupid, okay? I didn’t mean any of that. God, I wish I can turn back time and did everything differently because god, I was so fucking stupid and I hate seeing you cry because of me.”

Rafe could feel his own tears crashing down. The last time he had cried this hard was when Ward yelled at him, saying how useless he is and that he will never be proud of him, but (Y/N) was there for him during that time to calm him down. 

Now he’s alone.

“God, (Y/N), you give me love and you’ve taught me how to love and- and, I can’t let you go now, oh my god, I can’t-” he took a deep breath, “Not when I love you too much.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, and Rafe felt like killing himself at the sound of her voice in pain. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” She repeated, louder this time.

“I was scared,” he whispered back. “I wish I can take your pain away.”

“Rafe-” she sat up, her eyes puffy and red from the never ending tears since she fled the party. She looked at the boy she loves, and felt a sudden wave of emotion for the thing she was about to say.

“Can we stop seeing each other for a while? Can we take a break?”

“What?” Rafe shook his head, his fingers trembling. “No. No. You are not hearing yourself. No.”

“Rafe, please,” she cried, gripping onto her bedsheet. “Give me time to think. I can’t think about all this, just let me breathe!”

“You can’t let me go, (Y/N),” he whispered, trying to connect their fingers like always. When he saw her slipping her hand into her covers, he let out a breath.

“It’s too cold for you to go home. You can sleep in here, with me.”

“Don’t do this to me,” he said again, getting closer. When she flinched, he used all of his energy not to let out a yell, knowing that it would cause her to leave him for good.

“Just give me time. To think. Okay?”

“I love you,” he whispered, “I’ll wait. However long it’s going to take, I’ll wait.”

She didn’t return his affection and Rafe waited a few more seconds for her to mutter the words back. He took a deep breath before standing up, limping towards her window again.

“Rafe, you can stay here. Don’t make this any harder for me.”

But he left anyway, and (Y/N) was frozen in her position as she stared at his previous space on her bed, his scent slowly evaporating into the air. She couldn’t believe it; she lost him. She lost every inch of him, the only boy she truly loves.

She cried again against her pillows, missing her boy.

#Part 3

-

add yourself to the taglist!

[inkykeiji]

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao  uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

        ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰          ✰          ✰          

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰          ✰          ✰          

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”  

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

[theweasleysredhair]

Naughty or Nice [F.W.]

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 3224

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Fred likes it when his girlfriend dresses up for the festive season.

WARNING: this is NSFW, 18+, smutty, sexy times, idk how else to say it. pls don’t read if you’re a minor. including oral (male and female receiving), bondage, fred being hot, fred being dom

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @acciotwinz @rexorangecouny @mischi3f-manag3d @twinkyjohnson @immobulusmalfoy @hufflrpuffforfred @whiz-bangs78 @heart-of-tempered-steel @vivianweasley @harrysweasleys @ickle-ronniekins

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: so this is for @wand3ringr0s3 ‘s writing challenge (prompt: “shut up and strip.”) from what feels like about 3 years ago (ily haley ❤️). i’m a couple days late for christmas but it’s still the holiday season so i hope you all enjoy this festive fic!! also side note,, this fic was and is the bane of my existence, i hate it, hated writing it, and hate that it took me so long to actually finish it. but other than that, i hope you guys like it more than i do!

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

The joke shop had been getting busier and busier over the last month and half, with parents on a mission to find Christmas presents for their children, and with more of the Wizard Wheezes products being added to Christmas lists every day, this meant that the store often had a queue forming before opening time, and, more times than not, the twins had had to stay open late, with customers still deciding between products, or people running in a few seconds before closing to quickly pick up their last few bits.

With nonstop talking and interacting all day, Fred arrived home exhausted, hair messy from where he’d ran his hands through it one too many times, tie skewed and the bags under his eyes getting darker as the days went on. All he really wanted, he decided as he hung his jacket on the rack and kicked his shoes off, was some food, and a long warm shower - preferably with you joining him.

“Love?” He called out as he stepped into the living room. He sifted through the mail that had been left on the coffee table, frowning when he didn’t hear a response. He dropped the letters, finding nothing but bills there, undoing his top button and loosening his collar as he headed towards your bedroom - perhaps you were in there.

“Y/n?”

There was a loud thud, as if someone had tripped over, followed by you letting out a string of curses, “I’m in the bedroom but-“

Fred headed over to the door, worried, wondering what you were doing when he heard you add on quickly, “I’ve got a surprise for you!”

“A surprise?”

Fred reached for the door handle, intent on opening the door when he heard you shriek, “Don’t come in! I won’t be a moment, wait out there!”

“Fine,” he grumbled, stepping away from the door and bringing his hands up to undo his tie, throwing it onto the nearest cabinet top. That’s when you emerged from your shared room, leaning against the doorway and winking at him, watching happily as he froze, eyes raking down your body, mouth open in a slack ‘o’.

“Surprise,” you practically sang out, posing for him with a thigh bent, watching as his gaze drifted from your chest, to your hips and thighs, before travelling down your legs.

You wore a see-through red baby doll, the cleavage outlined in white feathers, with open cups, though they were covered - barely - by a satin bow that, with a simple pull, would reveal your chest to Fred. Paired with a matching red string thong, red stiletto heels and your lips coloured a perfect same shade of crimson, you knew it would drive Fred wild - a treat after a long day’s work.

“Fuck- c’mere,” was all Fred could manage to stutter out, before his hands were on your waist, pulling you into a rough, desperate kiss, one he’d been looking forward to all day. The feel of your soft lips on his nearly made him groan out against you and as he felt your heel slowly move up his leg and then back down again, he felt himself twitch in his boxers, eager to rip your lingerie off of you.

He pressed you against the doorframe, his chest against yours as he pushed his tongue into your mouth, fingertips digging into the soft skin your thigh as he pushed himself between your legs, grinding his hips against yours, you letting out a breathy moan as his trousers brushed against the thin material of your underwear, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you and making him smirk against your lips.

He pulled back a little, groaning and dropping his head back as he caught sight of your messy hair and swollen lips, lipstick smudged from where he’d kissed you.

“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?” He spoke softly, eyes staring down at you lovingly.

“All the time. But it’s nice to hear it, especially from you,” you leaned up, brushing your lips softly against his as you began to undo his shirt buttons.

“Can’t believe you dressed up for me,” he murmured, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as his fingers danced across the bow covering your chest, his other hand gripped your lace covered hip. He moved to press kisses against the exposed skin of your neck, trailing kisses slowly in the direction back to your mouth.

“I’m all festive and you’re not,” you pouted, your arms around his neck as his hands moved to grip your hips, pulling you further against him. Fred hummed disinterestedly, much more focused on the way his tongue was moving down your jaw.

“If it means that much to you, I’ll wear a Santa hat,” he mumbled, sucking the skin just under your ear, the place he knew made you shiver and moan out.

“You could dress up as Santa,” you suggested with breathy laugh, your hands gripping onto his broad shoulders through his shirt, before gasping a little as his teeth nipped against the skin of your neck.

“I’ll dress up as a fucking reindeer as long as you let me touch you within the next few minutes,” his hand wandered under the transparent netting of the babydoll, fingers toying at the waistband of your underwear, moving to sneak his hand lower, “Better yet, let me rip this off you.”

“Hmm I don’t know... I quite like this set,” you feigned contemplation, pulling away from him for a moment and innocently glancing down at the red satin bow that barely covered your chest, “Besides, if you rip it off me, I won’t be able to strip for you.”

Fred’s pupils blew wide as he ran a hand up and down your side, “You gonna strip for me?”

“I might,” you smiled sweetly up at him, feeling his grip on you tighten a little.

“You better.”

His lips pushed against yours again as he walked you backwards into the room, holding you against him as he pressed his hips against your thigh, allowing you to feel him, already hard and straining against the material of his trousers.

With a little manoeuvring, Fred managed to kick said trousers off without pulling away from the kiss, instead deepening it as he angled his head and held the side of your jaw, half his hand brushing against your neck.

You were breathing heavy when you pulled away for air, taking a moment to head over to the radio to turn some mood music on. You smiled to yourself as you purposely bent over the cabinet a little, hearing an intake of breath from behind you, and jumping when you felt a hand squeeze your bum. You leant back into Fred’s touch, his hand still holding your bum as he whispered, warm breath hitting your ear, “Naughty girl.”

His tongue ran along the outer shell of your ear as you pushed your bum back against him, causing him to groan and spin you around quickly to face him again.

He brought his thumb up to your bottom lip, gently ghosting over it with a light touch. He was about to lean forward to kiss you again when you gave him a gently push, causing him to fall back on the bed, eyes wide in surprise, “What-“

You smirked at him, pressing a button on the radio and allowing the sultry melody to play out into the room. Fred kicked his boxers off quickly, his cock hitting his stomach and you licked across your bottom lip, knowing his eyes were on you.

He sat up at the edge of the bed, now only wearing his unbuttoned shirt, legs wide, watching you spin round for him, showing him just how little skin the thong covered, the baby doll transparent and showing all. He groaned, a hand wrapping round his cock as he started stroking himself as his eyes travelled over your body with such intensity that you felt warm all over.

You paused your movements for a moment, turning to look at him. “You know, if you gave me a couple minutes, I reckon I could find a decent Santa hat for you...” you teased, smiling as he rolled his eyes at you.

“Just shut up and strip for me,” Fred practically growled out and your eyes widened a little, the deepness of his voice hitting you straight between your legs and you bit your lip, fingers toying at your waistband as you slowly pulled them down just a couple of centimetres, before putting them back in place, causing him to groan.

His mouth opened as if he were about to tell you off again, when suddenly, with one movement, you pulled at the end of the bow, allowing the satin to fall to the side, showing Fred the open cups of the lingerie.

His jaw dropped, abs clenching as he stared at your chest. “Shit- princess-“ he breathed out.

You noticed his hand moving faster and reached into your own underwear, fingers gently moving against yourself as you played with the hem of the babydoll, pulling it up so the skin of your hips and stomach were now on full show. You closed your eyes, mouth falling open a little and you heard Fred groan, cursing as he watched you.

It was just for a few seconds, before you pulled your hand out, taking a step closer to Fred. You were about to kick your heels off when he shook his head at you firmly, “Keep the heels on.”

You raised an eyebrow but nodded nonetheless, “Yes sir.”

Even with the lack of light in the room, and the distance between you, you swore you saw his eyes darken, even more so as you moved even closer to him, hands moving behind you to unclip the babydoll, before heading to your shoulders where your straps sat. You winked before pulling the straps down your arms, allowing the lingerie to fall in a pool at your feet.

You lifted it with one stiletto, a strap hooking onto the heel and you were about to kick it away when Fred suddenly stood up, grabbing your raised thigh and wrapping it around his waist, pulling the babydoll from your heel and dropping it to the floor.

“Enough of that, need to touch you baby girl,” he groaned, his nails digging into your skin lightly as he held you against him.

“But I didn’t finish,” you pouted, looking at him through your eyelashes. He thrust his hips against yours suddenly making you whimper out.

“Keep complaining and you won’t finish at all, got that princess?” He warned, before spinning you round and pushing you back onto the bed, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he enjoyed the sight of you in just your red thong and heels.

“I said, got that princess?” He repeated, his voice lower, firmer.

You breathed out a small ‘yes’ just as he moved to climb on top of you, immediately pressing his lips against yours again. “Good girl,” he mumbled as your arms move to wrap around his neck, his arms either side of your head as he pushed himself against you, pressing as much skin to yours as possible.

His tongue slipped into your mouth again as he rocked his hips against yours, creating just a little friction where you needed him, and you whispered out a ‘please’, though you weren’t sure exactly what you were asking for.

Fred seemed to have an idea however, as he kissed down your jaw, across your neck and continuing on, stopping briefly to suck on the skin of your clavicle before moving further down to your breasts, pulling a nipple into his mouth as his tongue played with it softly, causing you to breathe out happily, your hands dancing through his hair as he moved to the other.

He then moved on, leaving marks across your ribs, stomach and hips, before reaching the waistband of your underwear. Without warning, he suddenly ripped them from you, and you gasped as the cool air hit you.

He pressed soft kisses to your inner thighs, before licking his thumb and pressing against your clit, tracing circles and watching as your hips jolted from the sudden pleasure. As quickly as he started, he stopped, causing you to whine out, reaching down with your own hand to touch yourself.

Fred narrowed his eyes and gripped your wrist before you could. “Trying to touch yourself?” He tutted, “You know that’s my job.”

He pulled away for a moment in search of something, reaching into a draw beside the bed. You wondered what he was doing when he caught your eyes and smirked, and then you felt a cool metal hit your wrist, your arm being pulled up as he threaded the chain behind and around one of the poles on the bed frame, before grabbing your other wrist and tightening the other handcuff around it - now every time you pulled your hands forward, you were stopped by the chain.

“That’s for being not behaving and trying to touch yourself,” he shook his head, the corner of his lip curling up as he watched you struggle against the handcuffs and pout up at him.

“Remember, only good girls get to come. You gonna be good for me, princess?” He asked, softly this time, thumb running along your hipbone and making you shiver. You nodded quickly.

Fred trailed his fingers down to your clit, just barely adding pressure and making you gasp out, “You gotta use your words, baby girl.”

You nodded again, “Yes Freddie, I’ll be good.”

“That’s my girl.”

He applied more pressure to your clit, circling and tracing shapes as pleasure ran through you. Your hips bucked up towards his hand, wanting to feel more friction and Fred bit his lip, smirking down at you, “Look at you, all needy and desperate for me.”

He pushed a finger back into you, quickly joined by a second, and grinned at the breathy moan that escaped your lips, “Is this what you want? For me to touch you like this?”

“Yes please.”

As he continued to move his fingers inside you, he changed his position so his hips were facing you, gently nudging your lips with his cock, “Open up, sweetheart.”

You parted your lips and he pushed himself inside your mouth groaning as he felt your tongue swirl around the tip. He bucked his hips forward, almost hitting the back of your throat, your eyes watering as you continued to bob your head best you could whilst still being restrained by the handcuffs.

“You okay princess?”

You nodded, humming out a ‘yes’ and making him groan out as it sent vibrations through him. His fingers were still moving against you and you could feel yourself clenching around him just as he twitched in your mouth.

He pulled out before he could finish, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he murmured in answer to your questioning look, “Wanna be inside you when I come.”

He moved to kneel between your legs, lifting your thighs and wrapping them around his hips as he leant down to where his fingers were, his warm breath hitting between your legs and you pulled on the handcuffs, wanting to wrap your arms around Fred, whining as you heard the sound of the metal against the bed frame.

The way his finger was moving against your clit made you think you wouldn’t last much longer, and you were proven right when Fred finally licked into you, his tongue rolling against you and making you moan out.

“Freddie!”

He hummed against you and you clenched around his fingers again, nearing your high. “Should I let you finish, princess?” He spoke against you, “Reckon you’ve been good enough for me?”

“Yes, yes please. I’m good- I’ll be good. Please,” you breathed out.

He applied just the faintest more pressure to your clit, tongue moving against you and suddenly pleasure washed over you as you moaned out, pulling again at the handcuffs. He continued licking into you until he heard you whining from the over stimulation, moving back up your body, pressing kisses to your stomach, chest and neck as he did so, before finally hovering over you, looking into your hazed eyes as he shot you a lazy smile.

“Ready for me, princess?”

“Always, Freddie.”

Your legs were still wrapped around his waist and you felt him line himself up, before he finally pushed into you, making you both groan out. He pressed his lips to yours, moving his hips against yours and thrusting into you.

He was rough, setting a fast pace but you matched his movements even with your hands tied up, revelling in the feeling of being so full, so complete.

Your heels dug into his back, leaving little dents, his own fingernails digging into your hips, leaving marks to remind you both in the morning of the events of the night before.

It didn’t take long for you to feel the familiar jolt of building pleasure, and from the way Fred was groaning into your neck, you knew he was close too.

He reached up and fumbled to unlock the handcuffs, allowing them to fall to the floor as you ran your hands through his ginger hair the way you’d been imagining, tugging at strands, making him curse out.

“I’m close-“ you breathed out, eyes fluttering closed as your hands moved to grip his flexing shoulders.

“I know, me too princess. Come for me,” Fred breathed out as he moved against you. Your second high coursed through you soon after and your head fell back against the pillow, breathing out another moan when you felt him finish inside you, his movements slowing down as his breathing began to still.

He was pressing kisses across your face, your cheeks, nose, multiple to your swollen lips as he pulled out of you, collapsing by your side, his skin flushed red.

You turned onto your side and kissed him gently again, and his hands held your waist as you moved on top of him.

“I love you,” you smiled down at him, watching as he smiled back at you.

“I love you too, princess, so much.”

He pulled you against him, your head nuzzling into his chest as his arms wrapped around you. He was quiet for a moment, and you began to think he’d fallen asleep when suddenly he spoke out, “So uh... me dressing up as Santa, huh? That something that would interest you?”

You lifted your head to see him smiling cheekily at you, rolling your eyes though you couldn’t help but smile, “Possibly. Why, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I dress as Santa, you put that babydoll back on and maybe you sit in my lap,” Fred grinned, “How’s that sound?”

“Amazing,” you breathed out, feeling his hands squeeze your waist. He offered you no reply and instead moved from under you and jumped up off the bed, grabbing his dropped boxers and nearly falling as he pulled them back on again.

“Wait, where are you going?” You laughed, watching as he headed to the door.

“Where do you think?” He turned to you and grinned,

“I’m off to find a Santa costume.”

[tonesplash]

Bikini Lunchtime Part 2 (18+)

pairing: edward cullen x reader

warnings: smut ;), vaginal fingering, slight choking but not really he just puts his hand on ur throat, uuuuh getting caught kinda, reader has a mom

a/n: maybe a part 3 bc ed boy did get cucked

read part one here

"You're speeding." Edward lifts his mouth from the space behind your ear to remind you, and then goes right back to drawing your attention away from the speedometer.

"This is aAh-" You lose your concentration when his tongue swaths hotly up your throat before flicking back into his mouth when it reaches your earlobe. You can feel his smile against your skin. "A lot coming from the guy who hates driving below the triple digits."

One of his heater-warmed hands comes down to knead your thigh as he continues in his effort to wrap the both of you around a tree. "There's just one more turn, (Y/n), I'm sure you can manage." 

Yeah, that and like thirty-something trashcans you want to say, but then he's leaning in again, and without thinking, you clasp your non-dominant hand over his forehead to stop him long enough for you to concentrate. You weren't strong enough to hold him still, but Edward relents nonetheless and allows you to keep him in place as you do your best to park with one hand while he helpfully manages the parking brake. 

"You better make this worth my time, Cullen." You smile in anticipation as your seatbelt whips back into its holder. "It's cold as hell today, and I don't feel like fronting for the electricity bill."

”If you feel cheated at the end of the day, I'll pay it for you.” Edward grins as he kisses your temple and sits back in his seat to disembark.

He's lucky your neighbors aren't nosy because he appears at your car door in a flash, already reaching to help you out with your school bag slung over his shoulder and food trash neatly tied off in the bag it came in. You turn off the engine and hop out to meet him on the sidewalk as you trail towards the front door. You take quick notice of the extra weight in the bag.

"Why won't you just let me trash my car the way I want to? I saw the fries from under my seat were also gone this morning." You squint suspiciously at him over your shoulder as you blindly attempt to unlock the door while simultaneously intimidating him. 

”It was starting to smell like a compost bin.” Edward can only stand you fumbling with your keys for a few seconds before he just takes them from you and opens it himself. Once inside, he hangs your bag on the hook by the door while you slip off your shoes and shrug off your jacket in a vain attempt to make it upstairs before him.

”Well, I think your car smells like a Bath and Bodyworks, what do you think is worse?” You take the stairs two at a time while he effortlessly matches your pace, one hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping.

”I’d say the health hazard. Without me, you'd definitely have roaches by now.” His dry laugh echoes from behind you and makes you giddy with anticipation. You playfully roll your eyes and shuck your shirt over your head as he opens your bedroom door. The way you eagerly shove and tug off your clothes down to your underwear is hardly a striptease, but it doesn't bother either of you as you scamper over to your underwear drawer to grab your new attire.

"Okay now you-" You hold the bundle of cloth under one arm as you grab his shoulders and guide him to sit on the end of your bed. "-stay right here, I'll be right back!" 

His chuckle follows you out into the hall as you scamper over to your bathroom and shut the door behind you. Your foot misses the leg hole of the bottoms three whole times before you have to stop yourself and take a steadying breath to calmly step into them like a normal person.  

Despite your clear excitement that he can no doubt smell in the air and read in your mind, you decide to tease him a bit as you approach the bedroom. You balance on one leg against the door, gripping the knob as you creep it open and stick your leg through the opening up to your knee. 

"Is this doing anything for you?" You giggle and wiggle your toes in the general direction of the bed.

"Be careful, (Y/n), when you fall through that door you're gonna be very embarrassed." You can still hear the smile in his voice as you almost immediately prove his point by taking an awkward hop forward to balance and accidentally exposing your entire leg at once in your effort to stay upright.

"I'm trying to think of what my entrance song would be but I'm coming up blank. You're gonna have to fill it in yourself." When you peek through the door, you can see his eyes have a laser focus on your thigh. 

"Cellophane." Edward replies without blinking. 

Confused and a little offended, you shove the door open all at once.

"That is so rude! What exactly are you tryi-"

Without warning, Edward crowds you against your door, one hand already lifting your leg to curl around his hip while he covers your mouth with his own. His tongue sweeps from your bottom lip to the roof of your mouth, sucking your tongue and making you shiver between the cold wood of the door and the hard plane of his chest.

His opposite hand strokes down your side, trailing lightly around your breast and ribs until it comes down to cup you through your bottoms. You gasp and break the kiss to bow your head into his shoulder and watch but he won't let you, the hand at your hip leaving to cradle the side of your neck, thumb resting over your windpipe, holding you steady against his mouth while teases you through the nylon.

You arch your hips into his hand and lose yourself in his taste, careful of his teeth lest you prick yourself and have him swear off frenching until the end of time.

Edward releases the kiss with a wet smack, the trail of spit still connecting your lips sticking to your skin as he dives lower to worship your throat.

Pausing his ministrations, he adjusts his hold to be firmly under your ass, his tongue gliding up your sternum as he lifts you above him in one smooth motion. You squeal and cling to his shoulders as he smoothly carries you across the room and gently lays you out amongst your pillows.

Edward climbs to kneel over you, ravishing your mouth with his own, one knee between your legs to grind on as his fingers creep up your sides to tease your breasts, kneading at first, then extending each thumb to play with the bud of your nipples when they strain against your top. The kiss becomes sloppier, spittle trailing down your cheek as you both lose yourself in the sensations.

Your growing desperation overcomes you when he lightly pinches the tips of your breasts, pulling away to shove the thin fabric under your chest, exposing yourself to the open air and his wanton gaze.

“So impatient.” Edward huffs a small laugh, spreading his cool breath over your chest, further pebbling your nipples. He maintains eye contact as he trails slow, reverent kisses down and over your breasts until you can feel the presence of his lips just beyond the skin. 

“For someone with super speed, you sure like to take your time.” You quip and arch yourself into him just as his tongue creeps out to flick against your nipple, eliciting a whimper before it grinds into the sensitive skin, pressing it flat before he snakes an arm under you to further prostrate your chest and sucking your teat into his mouth.

Your reaction is immediate and involuntary, a sharp gasp, spine arching to the nth degree, toes curling against his slacks until he releases you with a pop and pushes his leg harder into your slit, going back to sucking, licking, laving your bud against the cold slick of his tongue until it glistened between you.

You could hardly keep quiet now, moaning and squirming, tugging his hair as he switches sides,  hoping, praying that no one would come home early to find you like this. Edward sweeps his tongue over your neglected breast, bathing it in his spittle and sucking until the buildup of sensitivity becomes too much and you have to shove him away before you cum on his thigh and embarrass yourself.

“I would've liked it, at least.” He smirks before leaning in for another kiss, and laying down next to you, your core disconnecting with a wet smack from the stain that had soaked through to his pants. Your face burns red and your pussy almost feels numb with neglect until his lips are on your throat again and his unused hand pushes past your bottoms, gathering your abundant slick.

He scoots closer to your side, his arm a stark white contrast against your skin with his hand shoved into your bottoms, knuckles straining against the fabric while he rubs your clit into a frenzy.

"Oh, fuck," you moan and toss your head against his shoulder, sensations overwhelming. 

You feel dazed, unfocused, and you can't decide if you want to watch the near frantic movement of his arm or lose yourself in the dirty sounds and sensations and let your eyes glaze over. You think you can hear the front door open, but you're far too wrapped up in him to care.

Edward moans against your temple, empathetic to your pleasure as he switches tactics, two fingers slipping in, while his thumb continues stimulating your clit. It's a tight fit at first but the mild sting adds to your pleasure, and you raise a knee to give him a better angle. The fingers inside of you begin to curl, teasing that spot deep inside, and one of your hands immediately shoots down, death gripping the wrist working at you as you begin to throb.

"You're so wet, and warm." His words are breathless against your temple, straining to not groan full volume into your ear. You involuntarily clench around him.

"I can taste you in the air, and you're so sweet and soft, do you think I'll have time to taste you before anyone gets home, sweetness?" At the last word, he openly moans with you as his thumb rubs upwards, bypassing the hood of your clit while curling his fingers against the softest spot inside of you.

The effect is immediate, your cresting shout is hastily muffled by the palm of his unoccupied hand bracing over your open mouth, and you whimper when he doesn't stop grinding his fingers against that spongy spot on your inner wall, wringing as much cream as you can give onto his hand, even as whoever just came home pauses at the top of the stairs at the sound your blankets rustling when your leg jerks out with overstimulation. You reach out and hitch your knee upwards again to hold it still.

"Can you cum on my hand, darling? And not make a sound?" You sob against his palm. "I want to feel you cum on my hand again, but I can't do that if you're too loud, alright?" 

The nod you give is shaky and stifled by the restriction of his hand, but he has mercy as his fingers start to curl again, and you both watch them writhe under your bikini bottoms in the low light of your covered window, as they disappear in your heat and come up again with the slickest of sounds.

When your thighs stop twitching and the overwhelming stings of overstimulation build into a pleasant hum, Edward pulls his hand out and pulls away to undress, before disappearing in a blink when your bedroom door dents the wall, revealing your very pissed off mother.

Later that night you'd argue whether the loud schlick of your cum on his hand or the ensuing slap of your thighs slamming shut with your ruined orgasm is what got you caught playing hooky on a autumn weekday alone in your bedroom in nothing but an askew bikini.

[humbughana]

hometowns

Rafe and Lola visit each others hometowns. 

enjoy this short lil thing... or don’t bestie.

RAFE

“Rafe, honey,” Lola stepped off the plane, a hand shielding her eyes from the blistering sun. Rafe looked back at her with a grin and she continued, “What in the living hell is this?” 

Rafe laughed wholeheartedly at her expression and grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind, “Welcome to the Outerbanks, baby.”

It was amusing watching Lola deal with the summer heat, a piece of paper in hand to fan herself. Lola scowled at her sweatshirt she was wearing with her shorts, not at all anticipating it would be this hot, “Why did you let me wear this?” She asked in despair as they walked from the landing strip to the car. Rafe looked her over with a small smile and shrugged, “I thought you had a shirt on underneath.” She rolled her eyes and took off the sweatshirt, leaving her in a blue sports bra, “I don’t want to be all sweaty when I meet them for the first time!” She exclaimed when Rafe looked at her in surprise, trailed down her exposed torso.

“Oh I don’t mind, baby.” Rafe smirked slightly, before getting into the car. Lola jumped in and turned on the air conditioning immediately, slumping back in the seat. Rafe purposefully took a more scenic route to let her see the ocean and the small back roads through town. It was hard to keep his eyes on the road when she was hanging half out the window trying to get a good look at the blue water with wide eyes.

“It’s so pretty!” Lola laughed blissfully, letting her fingers twirl in the rushing wind outside the window, her hair blowing around her face. Rafe wished he had a camera to capture the perfect moment but his memory would have to do for now, “And you got to see this everyday?”

Rafe chuckled, looking sideways at her and grabbing her thigh when she started to hang halfway out of the car “You lived next to the beach too!” Lola only scoffed, shaking her head, “Not like this.” Thinking back at her Connecticut beaches and it really couldn't compare to this. 

When the car slowed down in front of a beautiful white house she threw on one of her college t-shirts from her bag and followed her boyfriend to the front door, “What if they don’t like me?” she whispered as they stood shoulder to shoulder at the door. Rafe rolled his eyes but stared straight ahead, “shut up, they’ll love you-

The door swung open to reveal Rafe’s stepmother Rose and Ward standing behind her, both with wide smiles on their faces.

“You must be Lola!” 

It was safe to say meeting the parents went amazing and Lola was already ‘part of the family’ as Ward said. Wheezie and Sarah were sweet and teased Rafe until his cheeks turned red and Lola snickered at him. Now Rafe was showing her around, and they ended up at the club.

Lola snorted, “You look like you golf,” Rafe turned towards her with an unamused look, “What does that even mean, Lo?”

She shrugged with a grin, “You just look like the type.” 

“You look like you couldn’t even hit the ball,”

It was her turn to look offended, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Rafe smirked and shrugged as she did, “You just look like that type of girl.”

So that's how the couple found themselves on the course as Lola watched Rafe hit his first ball, it veered much too far to the right and didn’t go nearly far enough. Lola whistled lowly, “ I take it back baby, you must not be the type.”

“You’ve got a big mouth, Lo. Hit your ball.” He pecked her lips as he passed and she stood up with her club and set her ball up. I guess golfing never came up in conversation with the two of them but Lola was from New England, where there was literally nothing better to do in her overly suburban town but go to the country club. Her father taught her how to golf when she was just a little girl and made her go out with him every now and then. She never knew it could  be quite the party trick until now.

Lola set her feet in position before sending a wink over to her boyfriend watching her with narrowed eyes. She drew her arms back in the position that had been drilled into her mind her whole life and hit the ball perfectly. 

When she turned back to Rafe with a little grin, “I think I hit it, didn’t I?” 

It was safe to say Rafe was not amused with her.

Nine holes later, Lola was absolutely crushing Rafe as he just gaped every time she hit the ball.

“Pay up baby,” Lola purred with her hand out, wiggling her fingers as Rafe shook his head in disbelief, “Where the fuck did you learn that?” 

Lola shrugged, “My dad plays.” Rafe just shook his head and dug out a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and put it in her hand, “Thank you.” she leaned up and planted a kiss on his mouth, “Now c’mon, let’s go get some ice cream. On me.” she winked at him as they walked out of the clubhouse. 

Lola obnoxiously paid for both of their ice creams and now they were walking down the street mindlessly teasing and chatting with each other as Rafe pointed out his favorite places.

“Let’s go home and change. I’ll take you to the beach.” Rafe bumped her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her waist when her face brightened and she nodded enthusiastically, “Can we swim?” Rafe nodded with a grin, “We can do whatever you want. Tomorrow my dad’s taking us all out on the boat.”

“You have a boat?” Lola asked incredulously to which Rafe just nodded but rolled his eyes at her, “and so do you, lo.”

“But it’s not the same!” Lola groaned all the more excited to be here, “The vibe is just different. You wouldn’t understand.” She shrugged with a grin thinking of her hometown. When they got back to his house they rushed to put on bathing suits before going back out to the ocean. Lola promptly wasted no time sunbathing and ran straight out into the cool water, laughing as she went. 

Rafe caught her around the waist and they both fell backwards going under the water. Lola re-emerged first, “I don’t ever want to leave.” she groaned, wrapping her limbs around her boyfriend, “I love it here.” Rafe let out a laugh as her love for his hometown. His hands squeezed her thighs lovingly, “I had no idea.”

“Just wait until I take you to my hometown.” Lola rolled her eyes at him, “Then you’ll understand.” 

“Looking forward to it baby.”

LOLA

“Jesus christ it’s cold.” Rafe whining as he crossed his arms when they stepped out of the airport together. Lola looked over at him and his sad winter coat while she was promptly bundled up in her favorite Canada Goose jacket with gloves and a hat, “I told you,”

Rafe just shot her a look before looking for the Uber they ordered to her house, Lola leaned into his side as they leached off of each other for warmth, the later of the two welcomed it greatly. She spotted the car right as Rafe’s teeth started to chatter and pulled him along, shoving him in the car when their luggage was taken care of. 

“Welcome to Connecticut, baby.” She said sarcastically and kissed his cold cheek. 

Rafe’s eyes widened when they pulled up to her family home. It was normal to her but it was much different than the houses down in North Carolina. The house sat on almost eighty-seven acres with a long driveway up to the front of the house that sat proudly on perfectly mowed grass that her father was always obsessing over. She glanced over at Rafe who only watched in amazement at the car stopped in front of the house finally, “Well?” She asked with a grin, “You ready?” 

Rafe could only nod, and climbed out of the car and grabbed their luggage before Lola ran up the steps to the front door and pounded on the oak french doors. They swung open to reveal a woman that was a spitting image of her daughter standing with a faux scowl but it broke out into a warm smile as they hugged each other. Rafe cautiously walked up behind them before her mom saw him and grinned at her daughter, “He’s very handsome sweety,”

“Don’t encourage him, mom.” Lola grinned at Rafe who was then engulfed in a hug by her mother, “Where’s dad?”

Her mom pushed them both inside and Lola snorted at her boyfriend looking up the tall ceilings in awe, “He should be out in the stables I think.” 

Rafe cut his eyes to hers incredulously as Lola was beaming with excitement and took his hand, “Stables? You have stables?” Lola nodded enthusiastically as she opened a back door that overlooked the massive backyard that seemed to just go on and on.

“Let’s go,” Lola pushed him towards a set of steps to the ground impatiently and led the way towards the main barn, “Dad!” She yelled when they stepped inside. 

“Lo?” An older looking man rounded the corner and Lola ran to hug him as he laughed, Rafe watched feeling a little awkward but waited to meet her father who shook his hand firmly and squeezed his shoulder, “Nice to meet you, son.” 

“Daisy?” Lola bounced with excitement to which her father rolled his eyes playfully and pointed outside. Lola snatched Rafe’s hand and pulled him along back into the cold air to see Lola making her way to a massive white horse. She stood on the black fencing and pet the horse with a soft smile.

“You have a horse?” 

“Technically we have seven.” Rafe’s mouth dropped open, “But yes, this one is mine.” 

“It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Rafe stood next to her, hand shoved into his pockets. Lola elbowed him in the side, “You just never asked.”

“I never asked if you were a horse girl?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled but smiled anyways.

The next day Lola woke Rafe up at the crack of literal dawn with a shit eating grin on her face that only could mean trouble as she climbed to sit on his waist. Rafe groaned, covering his eyes as she slapped then away from his face, “Lo, we are not having sex with your parents room right down the hall. It’s too early.” Lola smacked his chest as he gasped, “Get up, dumbass.” 

Lola ended up having to drag him out of the bed and shoved proper clothes into his hands, “These aren't mine-

“Put them on.” Lola pointed to the bathroom and he only sighed, still rubbing his eyes tiredly. Rafe walked out and Lola nodded, satisfied with herself and gestured for him to follow. She opened the door the one of the garages and led him to the opposite side-

“No.”

Lola laughed, “Yes, It’ll be so fun!” She started rummaging through her snowboarding stuff. Her family basically collected the stuff so she was fairly certain there was a board Rafe could use along with the boots. 

“I’ve never skied before!”

Lola held up a finger, “Snowboarded.” She pushed a board in his direction, “And it’s good to try new things.” 

And that's how Rafe found himself at the top of a snowy mountain as Lola laughed as he fell for the fifth time, “You almost got it!”

“Shut up, Lo.” He climbed back to his feet as she just grinned in adoration, “You were right, you know.”

“About?” She watched him and he shook his head, “It’s a very different vibe,” Lola let out a warm laugh as she remembered what she told him. To be fair it was winter here and they went to his home during the summer but still.

“Now bend your knees.” She ordered and pushed him away from her. 

Hours later they were back at her parents house, curled up on the couch closest to the big fireplace. Her parents had dinner reservations leaving the couple to themselves as Lola rested her cheek on his chest, a blanket over the both of them, “”m glad you’re here.” she yawned as he ran his fingers through her hair mindlessly.

“Hey, Lo?” 

She mumbled incoherently, almost asleep. Rafe smiled down at her, “I like it here,”

“Really?” She cracked open one eye to look at him and he nodded, “I could get used to this,” 

“Oh really?” She sat up straighter with a soft smile, “Even the cold?” 

“Don’t push it horse girl,”

Lola punched his arm and he winced with a booming laugh, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I love you too, Lo.”

[spaceiez]

Chapters: 2/?

Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines Characters: Dipper Pines, Bill Cipher, Mabel Pines Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Older Dipper Pines, Older Mabel Pines, Human Bill Cipher, Alcohol, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change Summary:

Sophomore year of college and Dipper is ready for new adventures! But, when there is an unexpected dorm room change, Dipper must face a new challenge, a (crazy?) roommate named Bill Cipher.

Chapter One:  Illnnzgv Xszmtv

Dipper felt his lips curve into a smile as he set one of his suitcases into the bright blue college moving cart. He stood back up and slid out a plastic bin, filled with bedsheets, blankets, a mattress pad, and his pillow, out of the car trunk. He plopped it into the moving cart with his black suitcase. The young man glanced up, smiling wider as he took in the large campus around him. Dipper could feel both the excitement of being back at college and the anticipation of starting a new year with new classes rising in his chest.

His pine tree trucker cap was suddenly shoved down in front of his line of sight, which jolted him from his thoughts, “Hey!” He whined, fixing the hat back to its proper place and brushing the hair from his eyes.

His twin sister grinned at him, giggling at his reaction, “Sorry, couldn’t help it bro. I have to let my energy and excitement out somehow!” She poked his arm as she danced around him.

Dipper laughed, “Okay, okay, how about you direct that energy into unloading your stuff from the car?”

Mabel patted Dipper’s shoulder thoughtfully, “Check-in isn’t for another five minutes, I got plenty of time.”

“You have four large bins, a mini-fridge, one suitcase full of sweaters, two suitcases full of other clothes, and another with dorm decorations,” he raised his eyebrow, “And...I’m pretty sure you have a duffle bag full of just gummy candy.”

Mabel shrugged, “Gummy koalas supply more energy.” Despite her words, she did start unloading her college bags into her moving cart, occasionally plopping a gummy candy into her mouth. Mabel pulled out a bag of stickers from her suitcase and smacked a glittery rainbow on one of Dipper's plastic bins, "BAP! Now your bin is stylish!"

"It's already stylish," Dipper smiled as he pointed to his bin. It already had a 'California' and 'film student' sticker on it. He shook his head and continued to unload his bags.

It was their second year in college at a well-known university in Los Angeles. The twins had always wanted to attend college there and as fate had it they were both accepted. They were also thrilled that they could experience college together as they had with middle and high school. Sometimes having your sibling around during new adventures was better than any best friend or significant other. Mabel was a second-year fashion and design student while Dipper was majoring in film and media studies. The kid dreamed of starting some kind of ghost hunting show or something that covered the supernatural. After spending their summers in Gravity Falls, where they were constantly exposed to the supernatural, Dipper became obsessed.

Dipper waved his hand towards his face as he began to sweat, “Gosh, why did our move-in date have to be one of the hottest days of the year?”

Mabel nodded, thankfully she had a loose, white cropped tank top on. It definitely helped with the heat. “Global warming. It’ll only get worse.” She frowned sourly, carefully setting her sweater suitcase in the cart.

Dipper nodded and handed her the car keys, “Hey, lock the car once you’ve got everything in your cart. I’m going to check into my dorm and start unpacking. I’ll say hi to Nick for you.” Dipper smiled at her and she responded with a salute.

Nick was a close friend from Dipper’s friend group he joined last year. They had similar majors and enjoyed many of the same tv shows, hobbies, and books so they decided to room together this year despite the common belief that ‘friendships get ruined that way'. There wasn’t really anyone else to live with anyway. And random roommates were a hit or miss.

As Dipper pushed his cart along the path to the dorm he happily took in the view around him. The college was pretty gorgeous with its Greek-like yet modern-style buildings. The pathways that led to the halls and dorms were surrounded by open green spaces. Most students liked to study there or just relax with friends. The large trees were also a nice touch. Dipper inhaled deeply; it reminded him of Oregon.

He came up to a long, modern-looking building that was around five stories tall. Vines crawled up the sides of the walls and some trees stood around the perimeter. ‘Smith’ was etched on the entrance. The brunette smiled up at it and proceeded to walk inside. Thankfully a gust of AC greeted him, much better than the outside heat. A young woman, either Dipper’s age or a year older, hurried over to him with a wide smile. She had highlighted brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and long eyelashes. The woman wore a blue shirt with loud yellow words, reading ‘Student Coordinator Team’ and carried a clipboard, probably full of welcome sheets or something of that matter.

“Hello there! I’m Annie, a student coordinator, here to help you with move-in! Can I get your last name?”

Smiling politely, Dipper nodded, “Pines. Dipper Pines. Thanks, but I already know I’m in room 128 with Nick Shasta.”

The young woman flipped through the papers attached to her clipboard, soon stopping and squinting at one of the pages, “Ohh.” She sighed through her nose, “I’m really sorry, but there were some issues with roommates and dorms and Housing had to make some last minute changes.”

Dipper blinked twice, his stomach flipping, “What? Changes? Why?”

She shrugged, “They were last minute, but you are now in room 918.” She glanced at her paper as if she needed to double-check, then Annie nodded. She handed him a keycard from a box that sat on the front desk. Dipper stuttered, “I don’t get it, why was my room changed? Does Nick know? Can I change back?”

She looked over Dipper’s face, which was already red from the heat, but now more so from the unexpected news. "You can email Housing Services, I’m sure they can help explain this better than me. I’m sorry.” She gave him an apologetic look.

Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, thanks. I guess. I’ll email them. Thanks.” He sucked at his lower lip, quickly pushing his moving cart past the girl and to the elevators, his head spinning.

Why a last-second change? Was Nick aware? The elevator doors opened and Dipper pulled the cart inside as he went through various scenarios in his head. His anxiety made it hard to process the situation. When the doors opened he arrived at the fifth floor. Dipper licked his dry lips and sighed. Just email Housing, text Nick. No big deal. No big deal.

Students lined the hall with their parents, unpacking their things and getting settled into their dorms. Others were chatting with friends, looks of giddy excitement on their faces. Some were crying and hugging their parents. 916...917...918. Dipper closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing mind before he met the person behind the door. Once the thoughts were as quiet as they were going to get, Dipper unlocked the door with his key car and pulled his cart inside.

The door shut behind him, closing Dipper off from the hallway. The room was larger than an average dorm room, having two twin-sized beds, two desks, two dressers, two large closets near the door, and room for a tiny kitchen area. Although one had to bring a microwave and mini-fridge. There was nice cupboard space which was a plus.

One side of the room was already set up. The twin bed was decorated in soft grey sheets, a fluffy black pillow, and a white comforter that sported yellow triangles. There were pictures hung over the wall above the bed. Some were of a group of friends and others were of odd subjects, like a random fork or tree.

Dipper turned his attention to the kitchen area. The individual had brought a mini-fridge and had decorated it in more triangles and other geometric shapes, this time the shapes were multiple different colors that formed a messy rainbow across the stainless steel door. On the person’s desk was a computer as well as a weird-looking plant, and a jar of…

“The fuck…” Dipper mumbled slowly, squinting to see if he was viewing the objects in the jar correctly.

Teeth. Different sizes and types of teeth filled the mason jar. Dipper blinked slowly, what the hell? He plopped down on the bare mattress on his side of the room and continued to observe the other side of the room as if it was a specimen itself. It wasn’t very messy, but there was an open box of Oreos and a can of beer on the dresser. Colored lights lined the sides of the ceiling and were flashing different colors. It was quite obnoxious actually.

Dipper groaned. Hopefully, he could move in with Nick after he sent an email to Housing because the person who lived on the other side of this dorm room was a freak. A freak who collected deer teeth and probably got drunk every night.

The dorm room door suddenly swung open and a young man lazily leaned against the doorframe as he looked over Dipper, a strange glint in his eyes. The man had different tones and layers of blonde hair, which caused it to be fluffy and stick out in random places. The freckles across his cheeks and shoulders complimented his sun-kissed skin nicely. His eyes were two different colors, one being a soft golden and the other a bright blue. Dipper didn’t have much time to take that in, because his already-stressed brain was focused on other key aspects about this guy. For one, he was wearing nothing but black shorts, not even shoes or socks. The second was that he had some nice abs. Shit, they were really nice abs. And the third, he held another jar of...something...in his hands

“I lost this bad boy in my car,” he wiggled the jar and whatever was in the inside bobbed around within the liquid solution, “took me ten minutes to find it. It was so hot outside, thought they might melt or something. Hell, I could have melted. Damn heat!” He laughed loudly which made Dipper flinch. The young man waved his hand in front of his face to cool off, “Bill Cipher by the way.”

A second later, the blonde tossed Dipper the jar. Dipper’s reflexes kicked in and he caught it in his hands, fumbling a little. He stared down at the jar to see what was inside and what was inside...stared back. The jar was full of real eyeballs.

Dipper shrieked.

[koko-bopp]

All Arranged

park jimin x male!reader

word count – 4K

genre – MATURE, Arranged Marriage!au, fluff

warning(s) – reader's got shitty friends, teasing, vanilla sex, bottom!jimin, top!reader

synopsis – Jimin is your fiancee, someone your parents helped you get with, they wanted to make sure you were married to someone who benifits both your happiness and their company.

"I mean, he's handsome and smart and–"

"And rich!"

You chuckled at one of your friends' behaviour, a little bit disappointed too, though. Sure your soon-to-be husband is very rich, but so are you, hence you didn't see why money was still such an important factor to your friends.

From the time you two have been talking, Jimin seemed to be everything you wanted in a partner; kind, talented, intelligent, respectful– he is the the type you'd bring home to your parents– you just never expected them to bring your partner home for you to meet.

You looked down at your overpriced salad with the garlic bread on the side. You were surrounded by four other friends that you'd bring to your Friday breakfast you guys accidentally turned into a tradition at your mother's hotel-resturant.

"You know," you said, taking the napkin to wipe your mouth, leaving your comment to bring your friends a level of suspense as you put the cloth back onto the space next to you, "When I get married, this breakfast thing probably not gonna happen as often."

One of them gasped, putting his fork down, "Why? We always have breakfast together on Wednesday and Friday! Is he not that rich?"

You were about to respond before another perked up, shaking his head "Shaun, c'mon, you'd literally cancel all your plans when you were with Celieen, you think [Y/N]'s going to even make plans with us when he's put a ring on his man?"

You couldn't help but laugh at that, leaning forward to put water in your glass sincere your rhetorical question was already answered. You bought the glass to your lips–

–"That or constant morning sex."

You accidently coughed on your water, a little spewing out and onto your shirt as your friends paniced their way to helping you, except the one who made the comment, she was just laughing at your reaction.

You pat down your shirt with a napkin, now having darker blue stains as you looked up, "Dude!"

Chin-hae chuckled, setting her glass of wine down, "I was joking, but seriously, the fact that you haven't even thought about sleeping with him yet is cute, real gentleman."

You glared at her, seeing the cheeky smile on her red lipstick made you roll your eyes.

"What's his name again?" One asked.

"Jimin. Park Jimin," You said, still worried about how messy your shirt looked as you attended to the damages.

"Holy shit!" You'd realised that Shaun had taken out his phone to google your fianceé, one hand on his mouth and the other scrolling through the phone, "He's that guy who's a model– aish, er, his dad owns a manufacturing company, mum owns a bunch of high-end fashion boutiques and jewellery places–"

"–Shaun," You snapped, though you tried to quickly fix your expression, "He's my fianceé. I know."

"[Y/N]," Chin-hae interupted, softer than Shaun, "He's not at your level, like, I'm just saying–"

"No, you're all worried about his money. How much he makes, what he does with it and other bullshit like that," You spat, before throwing the napkin you were patting your chest down with on the table, "I don't know what Shaun fucking thought when he was with Celieen, but frankly, I actually wanna fall in love with my fianceé, if I needed help with that, so be it. But don't be arrogant, you jerks."

They didn't say anything, and Shaun put his phone down.

Their silence was making you uncomfortable, but you rolled your eyes at it, reaching to the back-pocket of your ripped jeans to take out your wallet, taking your card out, "I got the bill. I'll add another fifty in there just incase you selfish bastards want anything."

You got up, asked one of the waiters to box up your meal and send it over to your room whenever they could. You have money, but you're not just going to waste it; overpriced salad isn't really something you want to throw away.

The elevator ride to your room in the suite was comfortable, finally glad you could dramatically distance yourself from your breakfast group for a little.

This whole Jimin thing; part of you wanted to ignore it and focus on other things and another part of you wants to fully go along with it. Like you'd told your small clique, you want to fall in love, you want to get married, you want that all cute and mushy morning kisses and late at night 'accidently' rolling over to hug you– you want that, and you didn't have a problem with your parents helping find what you wanted, but they're a bit... Enthusiastic about it.

"Jagi?"

The elevator doors into your place opened to reveal with Jimin standing up from his position on the couch. It made you grin, him all shy with a small plastic box in his hand as you kind of stood in front of the door. "Oh, Jimin, hey–"

He giggled softly, and it made you smile even brighter. He walked over to you slowly from the couch, see-through box in hand, "Sorry for the short notice, your mum kinda just left me here," He chuckled, "But I wanted to see you! I also bought you cake..."

You watched him place it on the kitchen bench, before you finally took the inicative to walk over to your fianceé after being captivated by his beauty for a minute too long, "I- thank you, that's really nice and you look lovely–" You stopped yourself, closing your eyes and taking a quick but deep sigh, "I'm sorry, I'm not usually so flustered all of a sudden, I just had a shit morning."

Jimin chuckled softly, pointing at the stains on your shirt, "Wanna... Talk about it?"

"Just people problem, it's not really going to fix anything, but I do need to find a different shirt," You fought back a snicker, but didn't do it very well.

Your fianceé grinned brightly at you, "I'll go get you one!"

He scurried off without you being able to accept or deny the offer. He's been in your room before, he's been in the rooms of all your houses, and vice versa, you've been to all four of his houses that are located in South Korea. He probably remembered the simple layout of this one since it's your main residence.

Jimin came back in with a satin navy button-up, it made you chuckle, because you'd worn that on one of the dates you'd gone on with Jimin.

"Remember on our first date I spilled the Bolognese on my white shirt after laughing too hard?"

You grinned fondly at the memory, "Yeah. I was a bit bummed because we had to end it a little early," you said.

Jimin got up into your space, quietly placing the shirt on one of the chairs next to where you were standing. He placed both his hands on your chest, not yet looking at you, but his expression said that he is we feeling shy. "...can I take your shirt off, sweetie?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but nodded as soon as your mind cleared. Jimin moved his fingers into the buttons, slowly and carefully popping them off, traveling down when he pleased.

You couldn't tell, but Jimin was just as nervous as you, because just changing your shirt wasn't the only thing on his mind.

The first and second were off, his hand was doing lower, he glanced up at you for a second, but he looked down almost immediately. His tongue subtly wetting the centre of his lips and biting it back from the thoughts that were going through his head.

God, you're so attractive. How did his parents find you?

If you were being honest, you were pretty much thinkingt he same thing.

"Jimin– I–"

He looked up at you, a pin of concern in his expression, "Are you okay?"

"Jimin," You placed a hand on Jimin's cheek, stroking the skin with your thumb as your eyes tried to find his, but they'd constantly drop to his lips. You inhaled carefully, moving your other hand on his waist to bring him closer to you; it made him gasp, and it made you chuckle, but you spoke softly, "Jimin, can I kiss you?"

He didn't respond, he just held your undone shirt and reached to kiss you. Your eyes shut closed as soon as his lips met yours. He's thought about this for so long, and you could tell from how much he was holding back.

You took the inicative to push Jimin so his lower back was against the neck of the couch, but also push your tongue past his lips. You moving your self in between his legs, as his fingers reached up to tangle them in your hair.

You could taste the cherry lip tint, the red on his lips tasting sweet and bitter at the same time.

You smirked, pulling away from your fianceé to admire his breath-y state. His hands fell to the back of your neck, just underneath the baby hairs on them, "I- why'd you stop?"

You rolled your hips forward against his southern regions, gripping his hips tighter as you watched him gasp in reaction, his mouth falling open as he avoided your gaze; his eyes on your exposed chest. You leaned your forehead against his, breathing a little uneven as you tried to look at him, "Baby.. do you want me? We can stop here."

"You can't fucking kiss me like that and then ask–"

"–You kissed me."

"You asked," Jimin frowned, leaning up to place a peck before bringing his hands just slightly slower to push your shirt off your shoulders, moving you slightly to let the material fall to the floor.

You unzipped the shirt Jimin was wearing, pulling the tool to the bottom to reveal his toned body, then pushing Jimin back against the couch so there was a firm holding on his torso, "You're so beautiful, Jimin."

"Won't your– [Y/N]! Oh my god!" Jimin got interrupted by you leaning down to press harsh kisses against Jimin's untouched neck, scraping your teeth here and there as you please with your hands keeping Jimin's hips still. Soft moans and gasps left his mouth, specific spots making him louder, and specific harshness of bites making his hips jolt, "W-won't your mum come back?" Jimin breathed out, swallowing hard as you continued.

"Probably," You smirked against his skin, before leaning back up to meet Jimin's eyes. Your hands went down to his ass, pushing his hips against yours, "But she won't interupt if we're in the bedroom."

Jimin smiled cheekily, placing a kiss upon your mouth with his eyes closed effortlessly, "What are you waiting for?"

You picked Jimin up from his thighs, connecting your lips once again as Jimin securely wrapped his arms around your neck. His skin felt soft under your hands, his kiss is hard and his enthusiasm is thorough the roof.

You pushed the door quickly with one hand to your bedroom before knowing Jimin closed it after from how his arms moved from the grip in your back.

Your lips didn't once disconnect from your fianceé's unless it was breathe for for a quarter of a second, it was the the same case when you placed him on the satin sheets. The fabric caught him, to which you ran your hands down his body, scraping your nails lightly against it just to feel all of him.

"[Y/N]!" Jimin still had both his hands in your hair, gasping and moaning when you took his nipples between your teeth, biting on and around the bud to see how his body reacts to everything you do.

Your hands stopped at his pants, and didn't think twice to pull them off, leaving his underwear on for tease-sake.

He gasps when you touch anywhere near his waist, but moans when you touch his chest, he whimpers when your lips meet his neck. Eyes always half-lided and he took all of your foreplay like a good boy.

"[Y/N], ah- baby–?" He tried, but moaned in between his words.

You looked up at him, a cheeky smile dancing on your lips and your hands trailed down to his thighs, simple touches that made him close them together subconsciously. You noticed that, but paid it no mind for a second. "Yes, Jimin?"

"C-can you touch me? Please?" He asked softly.

You pressed your palm against the growing bulge, watching him arch his back at the intense pressure at the place he wants it most. You smirk at him, wetting your lips before you respond, "Anything for my fianceé."

[the-royal-blue-network]

Ruby stared into the eyes of the woman that she loved more than life itself. A bit cliche, but true nevertheless. There wasn’t a thing Ruby wouldn’t do for Sarah; So when Sarah suggested they head to city hall and get married, Ruby thought, fuck it, why not? After all, they were already dressed for the occasion. As they held hands, the women spoke from their hearts, promising to love and honor each other for the rest of their days. After exchanging rings, Sarah gripped Ruby’s face and held it in place as she kissed her wife like it was the last time she’d ever get to. 

“Okay, we get it, you’re in love!” Jake, one of Sarah and Ruby’s oldest friends yelled. 

Pulling apart, the women laughed before getting a couple pictures alone and then together with their friends. After thanking the judge, they made their way outside and towards Ruby’s van. 

“So where to now!” Jake asked, cranking the van to life. 

“To the bar!” Sarah yelled as Ruby pulled her in close and kissed her neck. 

Jake nodded as Sarah turned and attached her lips to Ruby’s. 

Sarah and Ruby made out while their friends hung out the windows, hooting and hollering the whole ride there. 

Back at the church, many of the wedding guests were still in shock. 

“How can this be happening?” Bill, Sarah’s father, asked as he paced up and down the aisle. 

By now all of the wedding guests had left the church, leaving only Bill, Mike, Sarah’s mother, Annie, and Mike’s parents, Roger and Jenny.  

Pacing up and down the aisle, Mike pressed his phone to his ear. 

“Sarah I don’t know what that freak said to you before the wedding, but just come back please. I know weddings can be scary but just come back, or better yet meet me at home and we can talk about this. I love you.” Mike said with a sigh.  

*** 

Sarah and Ruby spent the night bar hopping with their friends before deciding to call it quits and heading back to Ruby’s.  

As they entered the studio apartment, the severity of everything that had just taken place finally  hit Ruby. While she didn’t regret a single thing that happened, doubt and fear that Sarah would soon come to regret it began to set in. 

Sarah had spent the better, or worse depending on who you asked, part of a year planning her and Mike’s wedding and at the very last minute, she threw it all away. With all the adrenaline coursing through her body, Ruby feared what would come once the dust had settled.  

“Oh wifey.” Sarah called from the bedroom, pulling Ruby from her thoughts. 

Turning to the right, Ruby’s jaw fell slack as she stared at her goddess of a wife standing in the doorway.  

All of Ruby’s fears about how her wife may have been feeling vanished as she took in the other woman. 

Dressed in white lingerie that left quite little to the imagination, Sarah leisurely leaned against the door frame. Crooking her finger in a ‘come here’ motion, Sarah called her wife over to her. 

Like a gravitational pull, Ruby was up and floated over to Sarah.  

“Need something?” Ruby asked, allowing her eyes to wander.  

Sarah could practically feel her wife caressing her body with her gaze; she’d never felt more desired. 

“It’s shower time.” Sarah said, just above a whisper. 

Ruby's eyes darkened as she took a step back and hungrily looked her wife over. 

“Then let’s go.” Ruby said. 

Hooking her finger between the buttons of the other woman’s shirt, Sarah pulled her into the room.  

One by one,Sarah leisurely undid the buttons of Ruby’s shirt before throwing it open and giving her access to more and more skin. With every inch that appeared, Sarah covered the newly exposed skin with red lipstick stained kisses. Then, when she finally made it to the last button, Sarah stood up and pushed the shirt off her wife’s shoulders. Running her hands down Ruby’s arms, Sarah pushed the shirt completely off, allowing it to fall to the ground. Thereafter, she kissed her way across Ruby’s chest, licking her nipple before licking her top surgery scar.  

Pushing Ruby onto the bed, Sarah mounted her and began kissing her way down the other woman’s body before reaching the waistline of her pants. Then, pausing for a moment, Sarah looked up at her lover through her lashes.  

“May I?” She asked.  

“What happened to that shower?” Ruby smirked. 

Sarah ran a hand up her wife’s thigh. 

“No sense in showering now if we’re just gonna get all hot and sweaty afterwards.” Sarah said. 

Ruby chuckled as she allowed the other woman to pull her out of her slacks and boxers. Then, settling between Ruby’s legs, Sarah lied flat on her stomach, pushing one of Ruby’s legs to the side, and kissed her way up Ruby’s other leg. Upon reaching Ruby’s thigh, Sarah flatted her tongue, licking one long stripe right between her wife’s labia and her thigh. 

“No Sarah, come on, it’s our wedding night! No teasing!” Ruby pleaded, her hips instinctively rising off the bed. 

Sarah laid a firm arm across her wife’s hips, pinning the other woman to the bed. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sarah said, allowing her breath to blow against Ruby’s hot core. 

Ruby tossed her head back and groaned. 

“Sarah!” She called out in need and frustration. 

Again Sarah lowered her head and licked another long line between Ruby’s left labia and her thigh. Sarah moved agonizingly slow, causing her wife’s back to bow off the bed. 

“Sarah, please!” Ruby called out, her voice a little strained. 

Sarah chuckled before leaning forward and placing a kiss on Ruby’s moun, dangerously close to where Ruby needed her most. 

“And you have me. We’re wives, remember?” Sarah laughed, purposely blowing against Ruby’s wet core. 

“Sarah, I swear to god! Two can play this game.” Ruby said in a warning tone. 

If there was one thing Sarah knew about her wife it was that Ruby was a master when it came to teasing. Ruby knew Sarah’s body like the back of her hand; it wouldn’t take much for her to bring Sarah to the edge of her sanity and allow her to fall over.  

So, heeding her wife’s warning, Sarah dropped the game and drove face first into her wife.  

All night they made love until both were too exhausted to do anything other than fall fast asleep. 

[mermaidssonshipss]

all my friends are fake

warnings: drug use, alcohol, fake friends, cussing, mentions of sexual assault/attempted sexual assault (there is one descriptive scene of the attempt that may be triggering, so please read with care).

pairings: jj maybank x reader with mentions of past rafe x reader (all characters are 18+ in this)

word count: 2,433 (okay well this is longer than i expected but still a blurb)

loosely inspired by “all my friends are fake” by tate mcrae

also i tried a different writing style kinda?? instead of referring to reader as “you” i’m trying out “her/she” and i think i like it. let me know how you feel about it?

Her eyes were moving across the room slowly, the drugs and alcohol floating through her system causing the movements to be slower than usual. Eventually, they fell upon Rafe, her lips turning up in a scowl as she watched the boy she once called her boyfriend press a neatly rolled hundred dollar bill against the expensive glass table in front of him, the white substance underneath passing through the crisp bill and into his nose. A sigh escaped her lips as she pushed herself off the crowded couch, stumbling slightly over someone’s foot as she maneuvered herself out of the large crowd.

Toppers voice could be heard, calling her to come over to him and meet some of his new friends. Her only response was to roll her eyes at the boy behind his back, acting as if she hadn’t heard him over the music. At every party Topper threw, he would show her off like a shiny new toy, his “best friend” who also happened to have the richest dad on the island. The low-cut ripped jeans she wore clung tightly to her legs, the feeling slightly uncomfortable now that she was hyper aware of the fabric scratching against her skin. She tugged at the bottom of her bright yellow crop top, letting out a huff as it just snapped back into its original place, resting above her belly button comfortably. As she passed through the crowd, hands grasped at her, caressing the exposed skin of her stomach and she let out an irritated sigh, pushing each of them away. Finally, she reached the door to the porch over-looking the ocean in front of Topper’s house and she quickly pushed it open, slipping through it and exhaling a loud breath as the cool summer air kissed at her sweaty skin.

Voices could be heard from under the porch and she raised her eyebrows, making her way to the railing to look under it. In the distance, her gaze fell upon 4 figures making their way to the house, and a small smile raised on her lips. The pogues always made an appearance at Toppers parties if they caught word of it, the tension in the air always thickening the second they were spotted, and she loved it. The pogues, to her, were a breath of fresh air on this shitty island, full of equally shitty people she was forced to call her friends. Every single person on this side was obsessed with money and status, and they didn’t care who they brought down in the process to achieve those things. She had always envied the pogues, though she acknowledged that life wasn’t easy for them and she was lucky, she wished she had real friends, ones that actually cared about her and not just her daddy’s money. Whenever she spotted the group, they had wide smiles on their faces, laughs passing between them easily as they just.. lived, without worrying about what everyone else thought about them, without caring. 

Eventually the four were out of her sight and entering the house, and she waited a moment before collecting herself and heading back inside, hoping to catch a glimpse of JJ.

She had been infatuated with JJ since she first moved onto the island, his blonde hair and care-free attitude immediately drawing her to him. He was the best surfer on this island, and he would do anything for his friends, which she admired. He was also the most attractive boy she’d seen, so she always went out of her way to catch a few glimpses of him. 

Suddenly, Rafe was in front of her, absolutely coked out as he stared down at the small girl in front of him, annoyance written all over her face. Of course, Rafe wasn’t the brightest boy she’d ever met, and he absolutely sucked at reading peoples emotions, so when he was pumped full of drugs, any logic he might have had sober was thrown out the window.

“Hey baby,” he slurred, his wretched breath blowing in her face. She gagged lightly, refusing to acknowledge him as she moved past his body and made her way to the stairs. Rafe was quick to follow her, his hand wrapping around her shoulder, almost causing her to fall down the stairs.

“Get off of me, Rafe,” she snapped, ripping her shoulder from his grip as she skipped the rest of the way upstairs. The upstairs of Topper’s house was always off-limits to other party-goes, and she always crept up them at one point, hiding in one of his guest rooms until she could sneak out without him guilting her into staying.

“Don’t use that tone with me,” Rafe’s voice was menacing as he spoke, both of his hands now grabbing her shoulders as he slammed her back against the wall, his body pushing her into the wall roughly. The back of her head smacked against the hard surface, her eyes going black for a moment at the impact, a ringing in her ears drowning out the party downstairs as she looked up at Rafe in disbelief.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She seethed, her tiny fists trying to push at Rafe’s chest and get him off of her, but he took one hand and held both of her wrists tightly, the other hand coming up and wrapping around her neck.

“You think you’re so much better than me, huh? Than all of us?” His voice was low as he spoke, but with each word his grip on her throat tightened, causing her to gasp for air, trying to wriggle her hands out of his vice-like grip.

“Rafe...” she managed to choke out, her eyes widening at the boy in front of her. He looked absolutely unhinged, his pupils blown wide, the whites around his eyes full of red veins, his hair all over the place, and she was terrified.

Eventually he let her wrists go, but the grip on her neck remained as he grabbed at her waist now, pushing her into the room across from him.

“What the fuck Rafe,” she screamed, her legs kicking violently as he raised her off the floor, his foot slamming the door shut behind them.

Her body was thrown on the bed and Rafe was quick to get on top of her, his legs pinning her down as he tried to rip her shirt off.

“I’ll fucking show you how good you are,” he muttered, his fingers ripping the fabric of the flimsy shirt when he realized he wasn’t gonna be able to take it off easily, “Stupid little slut, thinking you can just break up with me and get away with it? No one on this fucking island wants a dirty fucking whore like you.”

Her body was wriggling around on the bed underneath him, her arms slapping at him and trying to scratch at his face, her loud screams ripping through the empty room. Her throat was scratching at the intensity of her screams, at the way she was begging and pleading him to stop and get off of her. His hands gripped at the waistband of her jeans, her cries only growing louder, before Rafe’s body was suddenly being thrown off of hers.

She gasped loudly, propping herself up on her elbows as a mop of blonde hair could be seen dragging Rafe by the collar of his shirt.

“I’ll kill you right fucking now,” JJ’s voice was loud as he pushed Rafe into the wall, John B entering the room in a panic. He looked between her and the scene beside him before it clicked, and as Rafe went to punch JJ, John B stepped in, grabbing the lamp on the table by the door and knocking it into Rafe’s head. He stumbled for a moment before dropping to the floor, unconscious. 

JJ looked at her for a moment before his foot collided with Rafe’s stomach, the unconscious boy just flopping over onto his back fully, and JJ spit in his face before approaching her slowly, his hands raised in surrender as she looked at him with wide eyes.

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he spoke softly before quickly pulling the short sleeved shirt he had on off and handing it to her shaking figure, “Put this on and we’ll get you out of here, okay?”

She accepted the shirt, quickly slipping it over her body, the shirt swallowing her up, the warmth and scent of it calming her down.

“What are we gonna do about him?” John B spoke from behind the two, his foot kicking at Rafe’s to make sure the boy was still passed out. He was. 

“I don’t fucking care,” JJ responded, slipping his hand into hers as she stood slowly, her eyes fixed on Rafe lying there, “I’m gonna get her out of here, take her home. Drown him in the bathtub for all I care,” she could hear the anger in his voice as he spoke, her gaze falling on his face as he looked at Rafe in disgust. He held his hand out towards John B, wiggling his fingers expectedly, and John B reached into his pockets, tossing him the keys to what she assumed was the van she always saw them in.

He muttered a quick “thanks” before looking at her, and she nodded at him, telling him she was okay, before they both made their way out of the room and down the stairs. He pushed her body behind his, his hand still holding hers as he intertwined their fingers and gave hers a gentle squeeze as she hid her face in the back of his shoulder, the two of them slipping through the crowd unnoticed. 

She let out a shaky breathy as JJ tugged her over to the van, opening the door for her to climb in. She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to let the warmth of JJ’s hand slip from hers, before climbing up and getting in, JJ joining her a moment later as he shoved the key in the ignition and slipped onto the road.

“Thank you,” her voice finally rang through the silent vehicle, JJ jumping slightly before recovering, his eyes flickering over to her for a few seconds before returning to the road.

“Of course.” His response was simple, and she nodded her head before leaning it against the window, her hands resting in her lap as she tugged on the fabric of his shirt that was currently on her.

“How’d you... how’d you hear me? Weren’t you downstairs?” She let out a quiet hiccup as she spoke, wiping her nose as a few fresh tears fell.

“I mean I didn’t hear you, really. Saw you going up the stairs and I saw Rafe follow you and try to grab you,” he shrugged as he spoke, the hand on his lap itching to reach out and grab hers, “Something didn’t feel right. So I found John B and told him I was gonna sneak upstairs and check on something. Knew he’d come find me once he realized what I said, so if something was going on, I’d have backup.” Her head nodded as she listened to him, her gaze resting on the side of his face, making him slightly nervous under her stare, his heart rate picking up.

“I don’t think... I don’t think anyone else would’ve done that. They wouldn’t have stepped in. They never have before,” she whispered, tearing her gaze from the side of his face as she looked in front of her, the driveway of her house coming into view.

“Before? This has happened before?” He had parked the van now, his fingers digging into the steering wheel, watching as you nodded your head and shrugged, “I’ll fucking kill the bastard.”

“Don’t,” her voice was panicked as she rushed the word out, turning in her seat to face JJ who looked like he was about to explode, “It’s not... it’s fine. I’m fine. I have shitty friends, so what. I just need to be more careful around Rafe, I guess.”

“But you shouldn’t have to be careful. Thats not on you. He should be able to fucking control himself. And your friends should fucking say something, do something.” 

“They don’t care about me, not really, they never have,” she let out a dry laugh, and JJ looked over at the girl sitting in front of him, finally catching glimpse of who she really was. She looked back at him for a moment, neither of them speaking, before she coughed slightly and pushed the door open, climbing out, “thank you, again. I owe you, JJ,” her words were sincere, but JJ shook his head, also crawling out of the van and walking up to her.

“First off, you don’t owe me anything,” she had stopped walking, her arms crossing over her chest as the cold air licked at her arms, “And second, stop hanging out with them. Hang out with us. With me. Who gives a fuck what anyone else says, those people back there... they don’t deserve you. And if you keep hanging out with them, then I’m gonna have to show up at every party now to keep an eye on you, and we all know what usually happens when we crash parties on this side.”

She hesitated for a moment, thinking over what he was saying before deciding he was right. She was 18, she could make her own choices, and she was done pretending. All of her friends were fake, and she was ready to finally experience the kind of friendships she craved.

“Okay.” Her response caught JJ off guard, he was pretty sure she was going to say no, but he knew he had to say it anyway, just in case. A smile spread across his lips, his eyes lighting up, and the sight brought a smile onto her own.

“Okay,” He repeated, “Well. I’m gonna go back to the party and pick up the others and pray piece-of-shit is still knocked out so I can get John B out safely. You know where John B lives right?”

“Of course,” she nodded, watching the excited boy in front of her, and the events of the evening slowly started to become a distant memory.

“Cool. Be there tomorrow at 1pm. Welcome to the pogue life,” she laughed, agreeing to be there at 1, and soon JJ was heading back to the van, saluting her with two fingers before he took off down her driveway.

Maybe not all her friends were fake.

[dweetwise]

OUT OF ALL THE PEOPLE WHO IS PINNING FOR DWIGHT ITS ACE WHO HE CHOOSES AND THE OTHERS ARE LIKE ????? WHERE DID HE COME FROM ????? ace is actually really romantic and soft and cares very deeply for dwight and it took him awhile to show that yes he is serious and no he's not gonna use him and leave

I’M SORRY IF THIS WASN’T MEANT AS A REQUEST the idea just popped into my head and i had to write it! yes i have a soft spot for this ship leave me alone ;w; also i cried at “ace is actually really romantic and soft” like you can’t just sAy thAT to me and expect me to function properly hnsdsfdhfdg ;A; no warnings for this one, only a little crack and ooc!

word count: 2000

Ace X Dwight (/X p much everyone): Never reveal your winning hand

“—fock off with that shit! He’s stayin’ with me!” David yells.

“I should share with him, I’m his best friend!” Jake counters.

“Ya just wanna get in ‘is pants!” David accuses.

“Oh, as opposed to you, huh?” Quentin butts in, crossing his arms and glaring defiantly at the Englishman.

Ace leans further back against the log and watches the spectacle unfold with a lazy smirk.

The Entity had recently gifted them tents to sleep in, only there weren’t enough for everyone and some would have to share. The girls had been able to decide their sleeping arrangements easily, but David’s temper had sparked an argument among the boys and now all of the men were sent into the woods until they could come up with a solution—‘Peacefully,’ Claudette had insisted, shooting a pointed look David’s way.

Which was proving much harder than anyone would have anticipated, since it turned out nearly everyone wanted to share with Dwight, and wasn’t afraid of voicing it since their leader was currently stuck in a trial and oblivious to the argument going on.

Bill had left only minutes into the discussion, angrily claiming he’d rather sleep on the ground than listen to them for another second, followed by Tapp and Ash who had watched the scene with varying levels of disbelief before silently agreeing to share with each other.

Ace already knows how this will turn out, but it’s just funny to watch the others fight over Dwight.

“Since when ‘ave you lot even fancied ‘im?” David glares. “And you—ya barely just got ’ere!” he stops to address Felix in an accusation.

“And that means I probably have a better chance than any of you,” Felix explains calmly. “I’d actually make a move and not just pine for four years.”

“Hey!” Jake protests.

“Alright, what reason the rest of ya got?” David demands, regarding the group skeptically.

“I just wanna make sure he’s not perved on by someone else!” Quentin argues.

“No, you want to white knight for him!” Jake counters.

“Shut up Jake, now what about the rest?” David interrupts.

“I’d just really like to spend some time with him to get to know him better,” Adam explains.

“Me too,” Jeff says. “I haven’t had a proper chance to ask him if he’d be interested.”

David nods in acknowledgement, before his eyes meet Ace’s and he can’t quite suppress the disgusted sneer upon imagining Dwight ending up sharing a sleeping space with him.

“I just think he’s cute,” Ace says with a smile, giving a one-shoulder shrug.

“Look, why is Ace even here?” Jake sighs in annoyance. “Nobody would touch him with a ten-foot pole, least of all Dwight.”

“Maybe we should just ask Dwight who he wants to share with?” Steve suggests, cocking his head in thought.

“NO!” a chorus of protests interrupt him and the well-intentioned teen offers an apologetic grin.

“Look, we all know I’m ‘is type—” David starts, puffing up his chest, highlighting his generously open neckline that shows off his build.

“You don’t know shit,” Jake argues. “He sure as hell wouldn’t go for a dumb meathead like you!”

“Mate, you watch your mouth—” David starts.

“There you are!” a familiar voice interrupts the argument and both David and Jake freeze, turning their heads to look at Dwight making his way over to the group. “What’s going on? Bill said I should come sort something out?”

“Uhh…”

Ace rolls his eyes. At first, everyone was shouting over each other, and now, face to face with the object of their affection, are rendered speechless like a couple of schoolboys.

“Err, did you see the tents?” Steve starts, taking the initiative to explain when nobody else is making a move to do so.

“Oh! Yeah, they’re pretty neat, huh?” Dwight says with a small smile.

“Y-yeah,” Steve stammers and blushes a little, Dwight’s cuteness apparently making his words leave him, so Jeff takes over.

“There’s not enough for everyone, so we were just trying to figure out the sleeping arrangements,” Jeff explains. “Do you… um, do you have a preference…?”

Ace can feel everyone holding their breaths as Dwight blinks a couple times in confusion, before a flush spreads over his face.

“Oh, uh, don’t worry about me,” Dwight says, nervously wringing his hands together, before finally meeting Ace’s gaze. “I already know who I’m sharing with.”

Ace swears he hears jaws drop to the floor as Dwight makes his way over and sits down next to him, making himself comfortable against Ace like he’s done countless times before, only this time they have an audience.

“Welcome back, cariño,” Ace murmurs warmly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “How was your trial?”

“It was okay,” Dwight says, looking up at him with a happy smile. “Could have used some of your crazy luck, though. I missed you.”

And then the boy dares to place a peck on his cheek in their first gesture of PDA, and Ace doesn’t even bother trying to hide his smug grin from the others.

“You could have told us,” Adam scolds him, huffing in annoyance but otherwise seeming to have collected himself.

“What?” Dwight pipes up, a frown on his handsome face and oblivious to Ace taking his silent victory over the others. “What do you mean?”

“N-no, not you…” Adam stammers, averting his eyes.

“Fucking figures,” Quentin scoffs in disgust, meeting Ace’s eyes and not bothering to mask his hostility.

“Is there a problem?” Dwight is suddenly raising his voice, wrapping his arms around Ace almost protectively, looking at the others defiantly as if daring someone to protest.

Ace finds the display unbelievably adorable, his normally meek boyfriend coming out of his shell to defend his honor. He places a kiss into Dwight’s hairline to soothe some of his nerves but not ready to defuse just yet, a twisted part of him wanting to see how the others react to their leader’s possessive behavior.

“Not at all,” Jeff says, trying and failing to hide the surprise on his face. “We just had no idea you were… involved.”

“We’re not ‘involved’, we’re dating. He’s my boyfriend,” Dwight is quick to remove any doubts, scowling at the others as intimidatingly as anyone with his baby face and doe-like brown eyes is capable of.

“Well, I suppose that’s the end of that discussion,” Felix comments, not seeming terribly phased to learn that Dwight is taken.

“Yeah, uh… congrats!” Steve laughs nervously and gives them an awkward thumbs-up.

“You’d better take care of him,” Jake glares at Ace like he’s the scum of the Earth, and Ace is fluent enough in Jake-talk to know that’s the closest thing he’ll get to having the saboteur’s blessing.

Ace raises a challenging eyebrow in response and Jake grits his teeth to no doubt suppress a snarky comment that he knows Dwight wouldn’t appreciate hearing, and Ace smirks over the moral victory and focuses his attention on David instead.

And promptly has to suppress a laugh over the brawler’s reaction. David is staring at them, or well, mostly at Ace. He looks completely gobsmacked, looking Ace up and down before looking down at his own, naked and well-defined chest, confused beyond what his fighting-filled brain can handle.

“Something on your mind, King?” Ace asks cockily, knowing full well the scrapper is most likely trying to figure out why Dwight would choose someone like Ace over a prime specimen like himself.

“How the fuck,” David merely mutters but, thankfully, isn’t picking a fight. Dwight still tenses in Ace’s arms and Ace’s grip tightens around him in an attempt to soothe him.

“Shh, it’s fine,” Ace murmurs into his lover’s soft hair, and that’s enough to reassure Dwight, the man relaxing into the embrace.

“So, guess we’re sharing with each other!” Steve exclaims, breaking some of the tension over the group. “Who’s going with who?”

“I’ll come with you,” Quentin says, still sounding a little pissed off but not about to cuss anyone out again, at least. “Unless someone has any more confessions to spring on us,” he snarks.

“Works for me,” Steve beams, nothing seeming to ruin his good mood.

Ace hears Felix mutter something about how he “Might as well go with Bill”, but then he sees David approaching Jake and instantly focuses on that instead.

“So, Jake…” David starts, cocky attitude back in place as he approaches the sulking saboteur with his shirt fluttering open—what the hell, did he pop even more of the buttons?

“What,” Jake spits, the challenging glare never leaving his face, and Ace almost prepares for a fight to break out.

“Wanna share?” David asks instead, not bothering to hide the way his gaze roams over Jake’s body. Ace chokes on a disbelieving laugh and from the way Dwight’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head, he’s not imagining the sudden sexual tension between the two frenemies.

He sees the wariness in Jake’s expression, and the way his eyes very obviously linger on David’s now exposed chest.

“Fine,” Jake says, but it lacks any real heat, at least of the ‘I’m-five-seconds-away-from-punching-you’ kind, and David grins and seems way too pleased with himself.

Well, there goes everyone’s undisturbed sleep for tonight.

Finally having sorted out their sleeping arrangements, with Adam and Jeff being the unlucky ones left but not seeming to mind being stuck together, the others take their leave to go set up the tents.

Ace is finally able to wipe the smirk off his face in favor of a softer smile that’s solely reserved for Dwight, turning his head around to face his boyfriend and about to start explaining the strange behavior from the others, when…

“Had enough of your gloating?” Dwight deadpans, taking Ace completely off guard and making him gape a little stupidly. “I’m not dumb, I saw what you were doing.”

Ace offers a nervous chuckle while trying to collect himself. He should have known by now Dwight is not nearly as naïve as he seems, and that he’d easily pick up on what was really happening.

“I’m sorry, amor,” Ace says, wincing from embarrassment over his childish actions. “I did want to show you off, especially after hiding for so long. And I also really wanted to watch Jake eat his words,” he confesses, clasping Dwight’s hand and bringing it up to brush his lips against the knuckles. “Forgive me?”

Dwight’s frown immediately melts into a dopey smile, and Ace barely has the time to blink in confusion over the kid’s perfect poker face before Dwight’s lips are meeting his in a reassuring kiss.

“Of course, you dummy,” Dwight beams at him, placing one last quick peck on his lips. “I’m just… really happy you think I’m even worth showing off.”

“No no no, sweetheart, we’ve talked about this,” Ace returns the smile, carding a hand through Dwight’s hair in encouragement, his boyfriend immediately leaning into the touch. “You’re not allowed to talk about yourself that way. Because…?”

“Because I’m…” Dwight starts, a flush creeping up his neck. “’Gorgeous’ and ‘perfect’,” he says, doing air quotes.

“Uh-huh,” Ace’s smile widens even further as he takes Dwight’s hands in his own to stop the self-conscious gesture. “And?”

“S…” Dwight flounders as his face reddens even further and he averts his eyes. “S-‘sexy’.”

“Damn right you are,” Ace purrs, releasing his gentle hold on Dwight’s hands to wrap around his waist instead. “I’ve got good taste.”

As if 75% of the male survivor population thirsting after his adorable boyfriend wasn’t proof enough.

“You’re ridiculous,” Dwight huffs, embarrassment giving way to a fond smile.

“You love it,” Ace counters, placing a playful peck on Dwight’s nose.

“I love you,” Dwight corrects, chasing his lips and going in for a passionate kiss that has Ace’s breath hitching in his throat and his heart hammering in his chest.

And damn, if the others knew exactly what they were missing when it comes to Dwight Fairfield, Ace would be in a lot of trouble.

[prongsies]

Star Crossed ⁕ Chapter Three

WARNING: Mentions of Blood

←Chapter 2 | Master List

“Pay up!” Thalia exclaimed excitedly as she stopped in front of the two eldest Weasley siblings with her hand up. They looked shocked to see her, mainly because she had been standing with Fred and George in the very back of the group as they walked back to their tents, but stuck their hands in their pockets nonetheless.

Charlie was mumbling under his breath as he dropped two galleons onto Thalia’s palm, while Bill just let out a laugh as he did the same, before excusing himself to catch up to their father.

“We told you it was a bad idea” Fred squeezed himself in between Charlie and Thalia, wrapping an arm around her again. She simply rolled her eyes at him, shrugging his arm away before walking ahead to join Ginny and Hermione.

“Siding with her won’t make her accept your apology” Charlie sang teasingly, punching his Fred’s arm lightly, “What did you do this time?”

“He placed a bet with Ludo Bagman using her guess” George answered humorously.

“Hey, it wasn’t just me!” Fred exclaimed defensively, “You were there too, you know!”

“Yeah, but you did all the talking” replied George, “As far as I’m concerned, we’re in good terms”

Fred groaned, shoving his brothers away as they teased him for Thalia not accepting his apology, before he got fed up and walked away from them.

As soon as they returned to the tent, they shared a hearty dinner of sandwiches prepared by Percy – who had gotten back to the tent earlier than all of them. After they’ve brushed their teeth, Thalia tucked herself into her claimed bunk bed, spreading open a muggle fiction book onto her lap as she drowned out the noise of Fred and George teasing Ron for his immense love for Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian team’s seeker.  

In the middle of her reading, she felt her eyes start to droop from the lack of sleep and the tiredness she felt. Shutting the book and placing it over her chest, she allowed herself to succumb to sleep, smiling when the noise around her vanished.

That was until blood-curdling screams flooded her ears, jolting her awake. She could see Arthur and Bill’s silhouettes peeking outside the tent, and Charlie and Percy standing behind them, wands raised in front of them. Thalia knew something was wrong, so she was quick to jump onto her feet, waking the others as quietly as she could, telling them to get ready.

“Must be the Irish” Fred said sleepily, rubbing his eyes as booming sounds echoed the air.

“Something’s wrong” Thalia muttered as she walked towards Arthur. He looked at her, then peered towards the children already awake, before breathing out a sigh of relief.

“Outside the tent, everyone!” Arthur shouted once the noise started getting louder and louder, and there was already a proper commotion outside as people ran like their lives depended on it – maybe it did. Everyone piled outside, panic running through their bones as people dodged them, running away from a group of masked men in the distance, marching in line towards where they were, incinerating tents along the way. “We’re going to help the ministry! Get into the woods and stick together! I’ll come fetch you when we’ve sorted this out”

With that, they sprinted towards the commotion, leaving the children to themselves. Thalia was quick to run, seeing that Harry, Ron, and Hermione have already gained some distance. She turned to look for Ginny, realizing that she, Fred, and George were all still standing near the tent, frozen in shock as the group slowly neared.

“What are you all standing there for?” Thalia exclaimed, running Fred’s hand to tug him behind her. “George, hold on to Ginny, we’ve got to go!”  

She dragged Fred behind her, relieved to see George with Ginny not far behind, starting to catch up to her. “Fred, please, you’ve got to run!”  

Fred, whose legs were barely moving, was pulled out of his initial shock and blinked at Thalia a few times before finally taking control of his feet. He looked behind, realizing the masked figures were actually Death Eaters, following closely behind them.

“They’re gaining on us, Lia!” Fred exclaimed in panic, picking up his pace. They have reached the woods and so far, everything was going as planned, when the first beam of red light flew past Thalia’s shoulder hitting a tree in front of them. They’re throwing spells now, great.

“Just duck and run, guys!” Thalia screamed, starting to feel tired over balancing navigating the four of them in the forest and throwing spells behind her. She felt a bit of pride having hit one Death Eater who have gotten closer, but since there were about a dozen more behind them, that wasn’t enough.

She felt a stinging pain behind her back as she dodged a low branch, brushing it off as a thorn she hadn’t noticed while they were dodging plants. “Fuck!” She screamed, realizing they’ve reached a dead end, cornered between a wall and the group of Death Eaters that pursued them.  

Without much thought, she shoved Fred, George, and Ginny behind her, stretching an arm to keep them there while raising her wand with the other. “Hold on to me” She muttered, gripping her wand until her knuckled turned white.  

Her eyes flickered to Ginny, noticing how the younger girl was staring up at her like she trusted her with her life – and maybe in this scenario, their lives did depend on her, on what she planned to do next.  

When she was sure everyone was grabbing on to her, she closed her eyes, silently praying to all the gods and deities she knew. Please work, please work, please work.

Just as a death eater muttered the beginning of a Killing Curse, they vanished out of the woods with a soft pop, appearing onto a hill near The Burrow. Thalia lied, moaning as she writhed in main, clutching her sides where blood seeped through her sweater. It’s alright, we’re all alright. Ginny’s safe.

George was quick to pick Thalia up from the ground, wincing as the blood seeped through his shirt as well. He carried her to the Burrow, Fred and Ginny trailing close behind, as he screamed for his mother in panic. He placed her gently onto the sofa, ridding himself off his shirt to press it against Thalia’s side to stop the bleeding while Molly searched through cupboards hurriedly, coming across the potion she was looking for, and immediately joined the two near the sofa.

George lifted Thalia’s shirt on instruction, exposing her wound to Molly, who poured half the bottle over it, erupting a cry of pain from her lips.

“Fred, take Ginny out!” George exclaimed, eyes softening at the frightened look on his little sister who staring at Thalia. Fred, now realizing Ginny was watching, took her outside with him to shield her from the scene, allowing George and Molly to continue treating Thalia.

George collapsed onto the floor minutes later, leaning back against the coffee table in relief after Thalia had been treated and she had passed out. Molly sent out a Patronus to Arthur, informing him that the four of them had arrived, but Thalia was injured, before retrieving a shirt for George from the laundry she had done earlier.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

“What happened?” Molly finally asked, breaking the silence in the living room as she handed out cups of tea to Fred and George. Ginny, who had been a bit shaken up from seeing the person she had grown up with in pain, excused herself to have a hot shower, probably to calm herself.

Fred took a breath, lowering his cup, “We- we were” he cleared his throat, “We were all asleep when Thalia woke us up. People were screaming. We thought it was the Irish at first – celebrating, you know? - but dad... and even Percy were suspecting it wasn’t”

“Dad told us to run into the forest” George, sensing his brother couldn’t continue, filled in for him, “They chased us, the Death Eaters” Molly audibly gasped, “and we got cornered. Thalia told us to hold on to her and – and we ended up here before- before-”

“Before what, George?” Molly urged on.

“Before they could use the Killing Curse on us” Ginny’s voice filled the living room. She had finished her shower and decided to join the three in looking over Thalia.  

Molly, upon hearing that information that three of her children would have been dead if Thalia hadn’t gotten them out of there sooner, stood and rushed into the kitchen, not wanting to cry in front of them. Moments later, cracks were heard from the garden, followed by Bill, Charlie, and Percy piling into the living room, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione close behind.

“Is everyone okay? Why is your mother crying?” Arthur’s voice boomed in the living room, before he stopped in his tracks, staring at the young girl asleep on the sofa, “How did you get here? Better yet, where did you go?”

“We ran to forest like you told us to, but they cornered us!” Fred exclaimed, his father’s eagerness getting to his head, causing his eyes to start watering.

“She apparated us here! She was bleeding when I saw her so I carried her inside” George explained further, exasperated at the sudden turn of events that happened just hours apart.

Molly joined them in the living room, eyes brimmed red from crying.

“Are you sure she wasn’t splinched, Molly?”

“She wasn’t” Molly assured, shaking her head, “I don’t know how she learned how to apparate, but from what they’ve told me, the four of them would have been dead by now if she hadn’t”

The living room was enveloped in silence at the revelation, none of them knowing what to say. Molly instructed the children retreat to their rooms and get some rest for the night while Arthus, Bill, Charlie, and Percy all apparated to the Ministry to settle everything that’s been going on. And while Molly had told them all to leave, Fred and George insisted to wait for Thalia to wake.

Thalia had just acquired her new wand from Ollivander’s after hers had exploded into confetti just as their break began. Her mother had signed her up for a two-week advanced magic tutoring session, which she had always done even before Thalia had gotten her acceptance letter to Hogwarts. She had met her tutor on their first scheduled day – a man named Vulcan Gregorio, who spoked too formally for Thalia’s liking, but seemed to know what he was teaching.

Usually, when Thalia was pushed into having summer classes, she’d be taught charms and potions, gaining her an advantage for her classes the following year. However, when Vulcan told her she’ll be learning apparation and disapparation even if Thalia couldn’t acquire a license because of her age, she thought she needed a bit of an explanation.

“It’s for emergencies” Her mother had replied when she asked why she needed to learn it. Astraea’s voice established finality, so Thalia didn’t dare ask any more questions. She agreed, and in a week, she had mastered disapparating from the library of her home, to apparating in the nearby village – and vice versa.

However, when Vulcan came the following week, claiming he’s be teaching her the Unforgivable Curses, she started questioning the intentions of her mother. Sure, her mother had been kind to her and to others her whole life, but something about this didn’t sit well with her.

They pushed through the lessons, though, despite Thalia’s protests, mainly because Vulcan had threatened to use the Cruciatus Curse on her if she didn’t cooperate. She tried telling her mother about his threats, really, but all she did was wave it off and tell her he had a rather dark sense of humor, then she dropped the topic completely.

When the day came, Vulcan had set a live spider on a stool, teaching Thalia to use the Imperious Curse – which wasn’t that bad considering it was the most forgiving of the unforgivable curses.  

But when she was forced to practice the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse on the innocent spider – ooh, the thought just sent shivers down her spine. Vulcan had his want pointed to the back of Thalia’s neck that day, urging her to use the first.

“I really would prefer not to-”

“You know what would happen if you don’t” Vulcan threatened, the tip of his wand digging deeper in the nape of her neck.

Thala swallowed dryly, pointing her wand towards the spider with a muttered, ‘crucio’.  

Of course, nothing happened, but Vulcan’s voice rang in her ears, “LOUDER!”

“Crucio!” She raised her voice, feeling hot tears run down her face as she watched the spider writhe in pain.

“Good,” Vulcan commended, although scowling when he noticed Thalia wiping her tears away. “You know what comes next”

“I don’t want to do it” She pleaded, turning towards Vulcan, whose wand was pointed directly in her face now. She stepped back, cowering slightly, but she didn’t give up. “I don’t want to do it”

“You either do it on the spider or I’ll do it to you” He looked serious, and Thalia didn’t want to test if he really was. So, she turned back, staring at the spider. “I’m waiting, Ms. Pallas”

Thalia’s hand shook, tears already running down her face as he felt the cold tip of his wand pressed in the back of her neck again. Closing her eyes, she forced out, “Avada Kedabra”

Thalia sat up, eyes frantically searching the room as she struggled to catch her breath. Her eyes caught Fred and George’s worried ones as they kneeled on the floor beside her, holding her hands. “Is everyone okay? Where’s Ginny? Is she okay?”

“She’s good” George replied, voice slurred from what Thalia assumes is sleep.

“Merlin, Lia! You were screaming in your sleep” Fred exclaimed, hand grasping hers tightly, “Are you okay?”

“What’s happening?” Molly’s voice broke through the room as she rushed down the stairs, wrapped in her robe. Upon seeing Thalia sitting up, she was quick to join her side, holding the younger girl to her chest as tears escaped her eyes. “Thank Merlin you’re okay”

Master List | Chapter 4→

TAGLIST:

@elf-punk

[ysynx]

Hualian AU: Fetish club owner and the piano bar pianist

HC owns a goth club, turned fetish club. It has typical industrial goth vibes, warehouse style set up but with Victorian style iron gates and fencing with bookshelves decorated with all kinds of macabre knickknacks and lush red velvet gratos surrounded by gauzy curtains. The added extra fun comes from the spacious loft decorated in fetish gear and rigs. Whips, flogs, and paddles line the walls. Ropes in all colors are wrapped neatly and put on display on decorative shelves. St. Andrew’s crosses, spanking horses, and wall mounted D-rings complete the space.

So where does the owner of a wildly successful club go to spend his free time? The piano bar across the street of course. It started off as mild curiosity. Who would be brave enough to open a respectable business across the street from the most sinful business in the city?

Turns out the piano bar was boring as all hell and the drinks were mediocre at best. But what made HC go back almost every day for 2 hours at a time was the pianist. An ethereal looking man with shoulder length honey brown hair, half done up in a bun. He always wore a well fitted suit, no tie, with the top button undone.

On the first day HC went he left a generous tip. On the third day he learned his name was Xie Lian. On the fifth day he went and XL wasn’t there, he got his schedule from the manager.

From then on he would go every time XL was scheduled, and he would stay his whole shift, always leaving the biggest tip.

They never spoke, but XL would always look for HC in the crowd, and made sure to play all his requests, even if every single one is a cheesy love ballad.

They keep up this game for a few months until XL opens up his session with a romanticized version of “Friday I’m in Love” by The Cure. HC pops an instant boner, and an even bigger heart boner. His little crush turns into full blown infatuation. At the end of XL’s shift he slips him an even bigger tip with his number wrapped up in one of the bills.

They text back and forth for a week, and HC starts staying with XL after he finishes playing, buying him a drink and getting to know him in the hours before HC has to leave and run his club.

They talk about anything and everything. XL tells him about his white Persian and spends an hour showing him pictures. HC shows him pictures of his one eyed Rottweiler, constantly complaining about how needy he is, but XL can still see the loving gleam in his eye.

It’s during one of their chats after XL’s shift that XL finally asks, “So what do you do?”

HC smirks, takes a sip of his bourbon, then says, “Well you if you’re interested.”

XL chokes on his rum and coke, face a burning red, “I- that’s not what I meant!” He hides his face in his hand.

HC tries to swallow down his laugh, but he can’t stop his shoulders from shaking.

“San Lang...” XL practically whines, dipping his head to hide behind both of his hands.

Taking a few steadying breaths HC finally answers, “Sorry gege, I couldn’t resist.”

After a quick sip of his drink HC continues, “And if it’s any consolation, I own that club across the street. The teasing comes with the job.”

XL perks up at this, “Oh you do? That actually explains a lot. I always wondered if you were going out of your way to come down here.” XL gives a shy smile.

“Don’t worry gege, “ HC gives a knowing smirk, “I come here to see your divine hands make beautiful music.”

“Ah, thank you.” XL bites his bottom lip and looks deeply into his drink.

“So then do you live around here San Lang?”

“Not at all. I like to keep my work life and personal life separate,” HC chuckles, “as much as I can anyway. Though I’ve had pretty things follow me home from work before.”

HC makes eye contact with XL, and drains the last of his drink. XL swallows hard.

XL gets into an uber with HC and they head to HC’s townhouse. It’s a sleek modern thing with a distinct gothic influence. The walls are decorated with gray wallpaper, covered blood red roses and silver filigree.

A black finished iron chandelier lights the foyer, sitting in the center of the double height ceiling. A dark mahogany wrap-around staircase leads to the second floor, the steps covered in a lush red carpet, decorated with more silver and ivory swirls.

HC leads them around the first floor giving a tour of the many rooms before settling them both in the living room. He leaves XL on the 3 seater chesterfield sofa, plush red velvet giving under XL’s weight.

He returns with drinks in hand, soft piano music filling the silence. XL perks up at the music, recognizes them all as pieces he’s played at the piano bar.

HC picks up the conversation, talking about his work, but XL is only half listening, sipping on his drink and scooting closer and closer to HC. Soon they’re bumping knees.

HC sets a hand on XL’s knee, startling him, already flashing a smirk,  “Gege, everything alright? You seem distracted.”

“Sorry San Lang, I just...” XL trails off as he feels HC pull his drink out of his hand and set it aside, hand on his knee trailing up his thigh.

“Apologies gege,” HC leans in, other hand tracing XL’s jaw, lips just a breath away from XL’s, “but you know me, I love to tease.”

XL is the one to lean in and close the distance, but HC is quick to take control. It starts off a hungry pressing of lips against lips, and with a swipe of his tongue HC has XL inviting him in. XL climbs into HC’s lap, straddling his thighs and throwing his arms around HC’s shoulders.

They make out on the sofa, hands pulling at clothes revealing soft skin and defined muscles. HC pushes XL down to lay on the sofa and kisses his way down his jaw, undoing the buttons on his shirt, tongue laving at newly exposed skin. He takes a nipple into his mouth, toying it with his tongue before sucking, hands busy undoing XL’s belt and pants.

XL has his hands in HC’s hair, pulling hard as HC draws out sweet moans and gasps from him.

It doesn’t take long before HC is mouthing at XL’s clothed dick, drawing out a wet mewl from XL.

“Please...” XL begs.

“Please what?”

“San Lang...”

”I want to hear you say it.”

“Please, your mouth, I want it.”

”Want it how?”

”San Lang-“

“Good boys that follow directions get rewarded.”

XL keens before saying, “Please suck me off San Lang.”

“That’s a good boy.” HC pulls out XL’s painfully red dick, hard and throbbing. He gives the head a teasing lick before swallowing him down.

It doesn’t take long before XL is spilling into HC’s mouth, and HC greedily swallows it all down. When XL comes down from his orgasm he’s pulling HC down into a lazy kiss, a hand trailing down HC’s torso to palm at his dick through his pants.

“Now you,” XL says, breaking the kiss, feeling HC rock his hips into his touch.

“Then let's take this upstairs.”

XL barely gives a nod before HC is lifting him from the sofa. He instinctively wraps his legs around HC’s hips, and his arms hold onto his neck.

XL starts trailing kisses down HC’s neck, nipping at his collar bones, feeling HC kneed his ass as he walks them up the stairs to his softly lit room.

HC throws XL onto a large four poster bed. Dark mahogany frame, red chiffon curtains draped from  the frame, silken black sheets cool against XL’s heated body.

HC starts quickly pulling off his own clothes, quirking an eyebrow at the frozen XL.

“I don’t mind leaving clothes on, but I felt those abs you’re hiding under that shirt.”

XL’s eyes widen and then he’s quickly stripping, HC’s laugh echoing in the room.

HC tosses something onto the bed before crawling on top of XL. He presses his chest against XL, pressing him into the mattress, laying claim to his mouth, nipping at his lip, hands exploring exposed skin.

When HC has XL on the verge of tears he grabs him and flips him so he’s face down ass up. HC grabs the bottle of lube he tossed nearby earlier and pours out a decent amount.

He presses his chest against XL’s back and murmurs into his ear, “Be good and relax for me,” HC’s lube slicked fingers start tracing XL’s cleft.

“Say red if you need me to stop,” is all HC says before straightening out and thoroughly working XL’s hole open.

By the time HC flips him back over, XL is a trembling drooling mess. HC presses butterfly kisses all over XL’s face, massaging his trembling thighs, “So good for me. Letting this San Lang hear such delicious sounds.”

XL clings onto HC’s shoulders as his breathing settles and he stops trembling. His body feeling heavy, he settles deeply into the mattress and lets go of HC. He feels HC move around, hears the crinkling of the condom wrapper, then HC is back between his legs, stroking his thighs.

He presses a kiss to the inside of XL’s knee, “Don’t worry gege, I’ll take good care of you. Just make sure I can hear your pretty little voice.”

And true to his word, he does. He fucks XL roughly into the mattress with strong merciless thrusts as XL desperately clings to him. HC pulls on XL’s hair, making him bare his throat, biting red bruises into the unmarked skin, drawing out even more desperate mewls.

He manhandles XL’s body, pushing him onto his side and throwing a trembling thigh over his shoulder, gripping it to his chest for better leverage, punishing XL’s hole with the new and deeper angle.

Resounding thwacks, followed by yelps and moans, fill the space as HC slaps XL’s plump ass, ogling as it jiggles with each strike.

When HC finally deems them finished, XL is a shaking prone mess. His chest heaves as he desperately tries to catch his breath. HC massages XL’s aching muscles as he wipes him down with a warm wash-cloth.

“Gege was so good. He did so well for me,” he’s murmuring sweet nothings to XL as he works.

HC tucks both of them into bed, bringing XL to lie on top of him, circling him in his arms. His hand traces soothing circles on XL’s back, and he presses kisses to the top of XL’s head. XL tucks himself into a tighter ball, curling under HC’s chin.

“Rest gege, I’ll take care of everything in the morning.” XL gives a small nod before fully relaxing and falling asleep.

The next morning XL can barely move, groaning as he wakes up. HC carries him to the already prepared bath in the en suite bathroom. He washes him, much to XL’s embarrassment.

Dressed in HC’s much too large lounge clothes, XL joins him in the kitchen for breakfast. HC has prepared a large breakfast spread for them both, and makes sure that XL is eating his fill.

When they finish they take their tea to HC’s back yard and sit in reclining chairs on the patio. They talk about everything and nothing. It’s pleasant, and HC can’t remember the last time he enjoyed speaking with someone so much.

“Gege, do you have any plans today?” HC asks during a lull in the conversation.

XL tilts his head to the side as he thinks, “I don’t work today, so no I don’t have anything planned.”

“Then would gege do me the honor of accompanying me to my club tonight?”

“Oh? Are you sure? I’ll probably look really out of place.”

“Don’t worry about that gege, I’ll handle it. But don’t force yourself if you don’t want to.”

“No no, I want to go.” XL turns fully to HC and grabs his hand, “I would love to see the place you’ve built yourself San Lang.”

HC feels his chest tighten, “Alright then, it’s a date.”

[dcnatural]

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

Word Count: 1532

Pairing: Reader x Deathstroke

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: One day, Deathstroke make a surprise visit during one of your parties.

Fireworks lit up the sky in an array of colors. Through the window, you could see people jumping in the pool straight from the second floor balcony, splashes of water going everywhere and the audience cheering. There seemed to be some sort of competition of who made the best jump. The floor was sticky with spilled champagne, sweat and possibly other things. The music was loud enough to make the house shake and your head hurt. But you didn’t care, the beat was better than your own thoughts. A drunken couple passed by you, on their way to one of the guest bedrooms. The girl laughed at something the man said, eyeing you as they stumbled forward. You gripped your wine glass tighter and tighter until you felt a sharp pain. You opened your hand to see blood stained glass falling to the floor. A cut crossed your palm, blood oozing lazily out of it, bits of glass still stuck to the skin.

You ignored the mess and walked to your bedroom, the only part of the house that you kept locked during your parties. It felt strange to acknowledge them as your parties, since you didn’t know half of the people that crowded your manor. Nor did they know you. But it didn’t matter, you weren’t looking for fame or recognition. People could come into your house, drink your alcohol, throw up in your bathroom and then laugh at you for not joining in. These parties weren’t meant to be fun, they were meant to keep you distracted. Anything to keep your mind away from him .

Once your cut was bandaged, you walked downstairs and ignoring the festivities going on in the backyard, you sat by your front porch and watched as masses of well dressed men and women came in and out of your pearly white gates. The best thing about those parties was that you didn’t need to bother with who came in, the guests took upon themselves to decide who was cool enough to be there or not.

The flood of party goers seized for a moment and the front garden felt empty without the chattering voices. From far down the road that lead to your manor you saw the silhouette of a tall man approaching. The first thing you noticed were the broad shoulders and muscular arms, but as he neared, you began to make out other details: the disheveled silvery hair, the eyepatch and the many holsters strapped to his body. As the realization kicked in, you ran to the gates, locking them shut seconds before he reached them.

“Y/n”, Slade said, his voice the same husky tone you remembered. “You don’t wanna do this, just open the damn gates.”

You laughed. “How dare you show up here after everything you did to me?” The scars in your back itched as if they recognized their maker.

He gripped the metal bars until his knuckles turned white. “Calm down, alright? There’s no need to make a scandal. This isn’t about you.”

Your hands shook and you crossed your arms in a attempt to hide it. “Then why the fuck are you in my house?”

“Just let me in and I can explain.”

“You are insane if you think I’m gonna trust you again. Get lost before I call the cops.”

You turned on your heels, tears begging to to run down your cheeks, and began to walk away.

“If it counts for something, I’m glad you didn’t die!”, Slade shouted from outside.

The guests seemed unaware of the confrontation outside and you were glad of it: the last thing you needed was people asking questions. You went straight to your bedroom. Drawers opened and closed, clothes were thrown to the floor and floorboards were ripped apart as you searched for something you never thought you would need again. If only you remembered where you had hidden it... 

Your scars burned like they hadn’t done in ages and in a fury you ripped your t-shirt apart, exposing the ugly markings to the damp air of the afternoon. Finally finding what you were looking for, you closed your fist around the small vial and closed your eyes for a second.

Flashes of repressed memories poked your brain, freeing themselves from the cage you had built. It was like going back in time, you could feel his strong arms wrapped around you, the heat emanating from his body, his mouth kissing your neck. His knife cutting your flesh in an unforgivable betrayal. You had trusted him once and he broke your heart. You had trusted him twice and he broke your body. What would he take this time? Snapping your eyes open, you made a decision. It was your turn to take something.

You took the first shirt you saw, slid the vial carefully into the pocket of your shorts and stalked out of your room. In the pool side, the party went on. And just like you had predicted, Slade had found his way in, and mingled with the crowd with ease. He always knew how to impress people. He had been smart enough to leave the heavy weapons somewhere else, and likely only carried a hidden gun and perhaps a blade. Not that he needed more than that to kill his target.

“Who is the unlucky fellow?”, you asked, coming up behind him.

He turned to face you. “I knew you would at least hear me out.”

“Cut the crap okay? I just don’t want blood in my lawn.”

“Look, y/n, I’m really sorry.”

“You stabbed me and left me to die. ‘Sorry’ doesn't fix that.”

He pulled you to a desert area, far from prying ears. “You are forgetting about the part you were spying on me!”, he hissed. His breath smelled like bourbon and cigars.

You forced tears to come out. “I was hurt! You had cheated on me with some girl-”

“One more time, she was just an asset”, he cut in.

“It doesn’t fucking matter! I was upset, and when someone offered to pay me to get revenge, of course I said yes. And then I changed my mind and told you the truth!”

“And I did the same thing you would have done in my situation”, his voice was filled with sadness and that caught you off guard. It seemed sincere. “Just reconsider. All I’m asking is that you hear me out.” 

“Fuck you, Slade. Do what you need to do and get out of my house.”

You turned around and he didn’t stop you. You took your time, staying close enough to keep track of his movements, but not too close for him to think you had changed your mind. The sun had long set when you made you move.

A waiter passed by carrying champagne glasses in a silver tray and you took one. Unscrewing the lid of the vial you carried, you emptied the content into the champagne. 

“Excuse me,” you called, stopping another waitress.

“Yes?”

You reached into your pocket and pulled a wrinkled 50 dollars bill from your wallet. “Make sure this glass is given to that man”, you said, pointing to your unexpected visitor and handing the drink and money to the woman. She frowned, but took the money without any questions. 

You pushed people aside, opening the way to the center of the yard, and climbed the table where once, hours ago, there had been food. You picked a new glass and gestured to the DJ to stop the music. Luckily, the workers recognized you as the host and didn’t object. The guests, on the other hand, whispered to each other, wondering what was going on.

You kept your gaze in the waitress you had instructed making sure she delivered her one glass to the right person. When everyone had been given a glass, you raised yours to the sky and cleared your throat. 

“I would like to make a toast”, you announced, your voice loud and clear. “Here’s to my real friends, who helped me in the dark times of life. And here’s to you...”, your gaze locked with Slade’s and you smiled, “because forgiveness is a nice thing to do.”

You took the glass to your lips and watched as he did the same. The crowd applauded just to be polite and you jumped back to the floor. The music began to blast again and soon nobody cared about the strange person who gave a strange speech.

When you reached Slade, he was visibly more pale and his movements were unsure and wobbly. He gripped your shoulders. “What did you give me?”, he asked exasperated.

“Come on, you had too much to drink”, you announced loudly, offering an explanation to anyone who might be paying attention. You held Slade as you all but dragged him upstairs.

You locked your bedroom door just in time, as soon after foam began forming in his mouth. He choked on his words and you chuckled.

“Always check for vitals after stabbing someone”, you told him as he spasmed in the floor. When he finally stopped moving you leaned down, ear to his chest. You heard nothing.

[ticklishraspberries]

A Day (Or Six) in the Life

Note: This is from Richie’s POV sorta, so fair warning, there is some vulgar language from time to time. Hope you like it!

Sometimes there’s just too much shit going on in Richie’s head. 

And like, don’t get him wrong – he loves the weird crap his brain comes up with. Makes things entertaining, a little spicy, a little zesty. The only problem with it is that he can’t find the damn remote that turns off the six different brands of Looney Tunes going on up there. 

(He’d once spent an entire lecture assigning different Voices to the markers his professor used on the whiteboard, to the point that he hadn’t retained a single iota of anything the man actually wrote down.)

Man, that red little minx was pretty sexy though.

He snorts to himself as he comes out of his dozing, shoved back into the real world for the present. He can feel the hot line of Eddie at his back, leg hooked over his hip like a seat belt. His lil jet pack. 

Richie reaches blindly for his glasses and pushes them onto his nose, sniffling. It’s still fairly early by his standards, but he doesn’t glance long enough at the digital clock to tell for sure, choosing instead to take one of Eddie’s hand and squeeze like it’s his own personal communications device. “Ground control to major Eds, come in, major Eds?”

No response.

Richie huffs, squeezes harder. “Psht. Major Eds? What’s your mission status, major?”

Maybe Eddie understands what he’s saying, maybe he doesn’t, but Richie receives a huff of hot breath at the back of his neck for his efforts, followed by what feels like a cheek smushed against his head. “S’too early, Rich.”

Flabbergasted, Richie turns over completely to grip a disgruntled, squinting Eddie by the front of his sleep shirt. “It’s never too early in outer space, Eds! Did the academy teach you nothing? I’m ashamed.”

And Richie doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing Eddie so ruffled in the morning. Slow, blinking away sleep from his eyes with those impossibly long lashes, yawning around perfectly white teeth that look like little moon rocks, and - and it definitely seems like there’s a theme going on in his head today, doesn’t it?

“What are you even talking about?” The question sounds irritated, but that’s never stopped Richie before. If anything, it means that he has to go and run his mouth harder, because that’s his default reaction to any indication that someone might be upset with him.

(Except they both know that if Eddie really felt like it, he could just pick up his hot little self and go back to his own bed across the room. Hasn’t happened yet, so. Free game.)

“What am I -? I’m talking about the great race, major!” He pokes Eddie’s side, smiling knowingly at the resulting yip and defensive curl. “Space ain’t some pre teen with a secret collection of skin mags, babe-be, it’s not gonna explore itself.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose but can’t bury his smile in his pillow fast enough for Richie to miss it, sighing a long-suffering breath. “You’re so gross.”

“I try.”

“Where am I going, anyway?”

“Hm?” Richie kinda shifted out of the moment there, it’s gonna take him a second to catch up.

“You know,” Eddie yawns again, gesturing to the ceiling with a limp hand. “Space. Tell me where I’m going.”

“Oh, yeah. Uncharted territory, actually. Forgot to mention that.”

“Mmm…”

A moment of silence passes between them, which is really fortunate for Eddie because it gives Richie an opening for just about the best joke ever. 

Gathering him in his arms slowly, he kisses his cheek, nuzzles up to him, and whispers, “To infinity… and your mom!”

Eddie, who had resettled peacefully in the crook of Richie’s arm, stiffens instantly and snaps one angry eye open to glare at him something fierce. Before Richie even so much as smirks, he finds himself pushed down into the squeaky mattress, two hands digging into any spot they can reach.

“Wait- W-wait!” Richie tumbles back with the force of it so hard he thinks he might get whiplash, but it doesn’t matter because he’s laughing around his next breath, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut.

Eddie’s like a freight train when it comes to this, hands jumping from sides to ribs to neck to armpits to stomach - it’s all Richie can do to hold on to his wrists, tickle-weak and letting it happen. 

“Yeah, laugh it up, Trash mouth.” Eds hisses, though Richie can see through a few tears that he’s grinning, biting at his tongue in concentration. Richie loves it, loves how Eddie can just reach into his head and jumble his brain until his thoughts whirl around like confetti in a snow globe. 

At any rate, those insistent little fingers wring every last one of them out of him by the time he stops, looking down at Richie’s flushed excuse for a face and beaming like he won a prize. Always a competition with him, hoo-wee. “You done yet?”

Richie blinks, drudging through the mud pile that is his brain for a witty retort. “Uh… I…”

Eddie leans down and kisses his nose. “Good. Let’s go get breakfast, I’m starving.”

——————————

“Oh. My. Fuck.” Richie pulls off his hat and tosses it aside the moment he’s through the door. He stops only to kick off his shoes, one landing near the rack and the other hitting the wall. He doesn’t care, though, limping into the living room. After an eight hour shift, he has no fucking business being vertical and wants no part of it, no sir.

He collapses face first into the cushions of their couch and breathes in. It smells like Bill’s cologne. Richie’s back fucking hurts. 

“Owchie mama, that’s sore.” He complains out loud as he stretches to the full length of his gangly limbs, feet nudging the arm of the couch. He doesn’t expect his legs to get lifted up though, hello?

“What’s sore?” A voice asks curiously as the couch dips under his weight, Richie’s legs falling back down across a certain someone’s lap.

Mike. A godsend, for sure. “Oh Micycle, is it really you? It’s been decades since I’ve heard that macho voice, I almost forgot what it sounds like.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Rich. How was work?”

How was work? How was work?? Richie’s gonna combust, but he’s too tired to go all out, so he settles for a small tantrum, flailing. “Never mention that word to me again. If you do, we’ll have to get a divorce, and then who would look after the children? The traumatized little lads, fuck.”

“That bad, huh?” Mike chuckles, and it’s deep and fond and warm, and Richie looks over his shoulder just so he can picture it better. Mike’s holding a book in one hand, and the glass sitting on the table means that he was definitely sitting there before Richie got back, but now he’s sharing his seat like the fine friggin Georgia peach that he is, holy shit. 

Richie whines. “I thought being a barista would be sexy! Like, a wet dream soccer team of sweaty Brazilians asking me for juice and my number, but instead - pardon my French - I get a bunch of douchebaguettes complaining how I spelled their names wrong. I’m gay and illiterate and I didn’t fucking ask them, did I? Stop laughing at me, Mike n Ike, this is serious business.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles again, chest shaking with it. “Douchebaguettes?”

“You’re making fun of me. I’m wounded. Way to kick a man when he’s down, M- ah… never mind, I love you. Keep laughing at me.” He groans outright when a warm hand wraps around his foot and squeezes, eking out the ever-present ache that Richie had gotten used to ignoring. 

“I love you, too.” Mike snorts, and Richie doesn’t have to look to know he’s shaking his head. Fine by him, as long as he keeps touching him like that.

“Mm, your hands are the best,” he slurs into the couch. He will abso-fruitly say anything to encourage him at this point, not that Mike seems to want to stop anyway. His palm pushes delicious friction along his arches, pulling satisfied purrs from Richie with each pass until he’s a good and proper puddle. He might actually be drooling, a little bit.

It’s only when his touch lightens that Richie jerks, and the hand pauses. “Is this okay?”

Bless Mikey’s farm boy heart, asking for consent. Richie’s heart’s gonna burst. “Y-yeah, m’good.” 

And he is. Mike’s fingers trace, feather-light, and it’s like there’s shivers buried underneath Richie’s skin, waiting for Mike to pull the trigger. It feels good. 

It also really, really tickles.

He snags a cushion to bury his smile in, the muscles in his leg going taut every time Mike’s fingertips venture down towards his toes. More than a few times, Richie’s foot twitches away from the tingly zaps before he can stop himself, choked off mirthful noises tightening in his throat until a few burble out.

Each time Mike waits patiently until Richie resettles his foot back in his lap, and then his drifting touch returns, slow like tree sap and unbearably electric. It’s an awful game that forces Richie to expose how much he really wants it, but then again, Mike never plays like that intentionally. He just does what seems right because he’s perfect and a gentleman. 

Richie loosens like an uncoiled spring when Mike rubs his thumb over his heel, whining his loss. 

And because he’s a fucking gem, Mike picks up on it right away and huffs softly. “Sorry.” He scribbles gently at the arch of Richie’s slender foot in apology, earning him a muffled snicker and scrunching soles.

“Mihihike.” 

“Mhm?”

“Tickles.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Pfft. Richie shakes his head, laughing harder into the cushion when Mike’s fingers drag down to his toes, scritching repeatedly. It’s not fair. He’s still wearing his socks with the pineapples on ‘em, and it’s worse than if he’d gone bare foot. He guesses it’s true that standing around for too long makes them more sensitive, but then, he’s always been this way. 

His knees jerk far more often now that Mike’s put some gusto behind it, albeit a very small amount, but Richie thinks he does a damn decent job at keeping his feet from wiggling away, all things considered.

Still, eventually, he hears the sound of the book getting set aside. Mike stops his gentle tapping at his soles, and Richie realizes as he sags back into the couch that he’s… tired. Like, stupid sleepy. He yawns and stretches again, humming his surprise when two strong arms turn him over.

“Well hello, handsome.” Richie grins back at Mike’s amused half-smile, more than happy to be the center of his attention for a while. 

“C’mon, Rich. It’s late, time for bed.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

He doesn’t fight it when Mike uses those absurdly strong arms to lift him up, despite being taller than him, wrapping his legs firmly around Mike’s hips and holding on to his shoulders. “Onward,” he yawns with enthusiasm. “Quick now yungin’, before we die of dysentery. Go on now. Git.”

Mike rolls his eyes and adjusts his grip as they head for the stairs. “Yeehaw.”

——————————

Richie tosses his controller on the couch beside him with a pout, watching the letters ‘game over’ flash across the screen. “Man…”

Behind him, he can hear the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing, and with a furrowed brow he gets up to investigate. “If you’re here to rob us, take Eddie first. He’s the easiest to carry.” 

Around the corner, Ben smiles up from where he’s taking off his shoes by the rack (careful, because Stan insists). He’s beaming, actually, and still in his hot little karate outfit that makes him look like a formal dumpling. “You’re so mean to him. What if I wanted to rob you instead?”

“Everybody wants to rob me, Benny boy, get in line,” He hops up onto the counter to watch Ben’s face in the refrigerator light as he goes rummaging for a smoothie. “I’m just saying, if you’re any good at this, you gotta take the valuables first. Bottom shelf.”

Ben chuckles, leans down, and reappears, drink in hand. Richie nudges the door shut with his foot and grins back. “Who says you aren’t valuable?”

“Aw shucks.”

“Besides myself, I mean.”

“Benjamin.” 

Ben laughs at him around a sip of his drink, and Richie couldn’t stay fake mad at him even if he wanted to. It’s really nice that the cheeky fuck has some confidence now, since he’s been losing some extra pounds here and there. He’s not afraid to brush past people anymore, doesn’t shift uncomfortably when his thighs touch someone else’s, and he hip-checks them on purpose with a sly look every now and then. He’s not afraid to take up space now, and all of the losers are proud of him for it, including Richie.

(He’s just, like, super jealous that he can’t have that sorta weight transferred over to himself. Just a little bit, so he’s not all jabby angles and pointy bones. Also? He’s going to miss Ben’s love handles.)

“You seem extra bold today. Care to share anything with the class?”

That happy look from a few minutes ago returns like Ben just remembered something important. “Yeah, actually - hold on…” He turns, fishing in his bag for something before turning back, fingers clutching a bundle of blue fabric. “I, uh, I got my blue belt today.”

“Holy shit!” Richie adjusts his glasses, leaning in to run his fingers over it when Ben offers it up. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re making it up.”

“I’m not!” Ben’s voice just brims with infectious joy, like a little kid excited to show their first ever drawing from art class. He even has the little jump in his step, too.

“Benny, that’s awesome, dude!” He jumps down to punch Ben’s shoulder, smiling wide at the other’s shy but obvious pride. “And you know,” he thumbs at his upper lip and sniffs. “Not to fuck my own ass or anything, but I’m something of a dōjō master myself.” 

“Really?” Ben smirks, pushing back when Richie continues to push at his shoulder with his knuckles, bouncing on his heels anime fighter style.

“Really really. Call me Sensei, ‘cause I’ll teach you to mess with me.” He dodges with a surprised bark of laughter when Ben grabs for him, ducking and bringing his hands up to defend himself as they tussle right there in the kitchen, play-wrestling – Richie’s favorite thing.

Well. Almost favorite.

“Oof!” Richie hurumphs when the quick scuffle ends with him caught in a headlock, twisting back and forth fruitlessly. “Oi! Unhand me you fiend! You scoundrel! I’ll have you nicked, I will!”

Ben, not even winded, slaps his hand away. “Admit that I won and I’ll let go.”

“I’d rather bloody perish.”

“You’d rather perish?”

“Aye.” Richie grunts, straining against the hold. It’s like trying to empty a lake with a bucket. It just ain’t happening.

“Okay.”

Ben’s free hand digs into his side and Richie collapses back into him instantly, like a buck learning how to walk, except he’s really fucking bad at it and giggling maniacally. “Ben!” 

They crumple to the ground together, though Ben anticipates it, wrapping a solid arm around Richie’s waist as his other hand snakes up under his shirt to scribble at his ribs. 

Richie himself is a pale pile of squirming limbs, pushing back into Ben’s chest and squeaking with each sneaky pinch to his side. He tosses his head back against Ben’s shoulder in helpless snickering, tugging at his arm. “Ch-cheater!”

“I don’t hear you complaining!” Ben shoots back, fingers darting to where his shirt rucked up at his stomach to lay ticklish waste there. They move in a constant clawing motion, gentle because Ben is always gentle, but sadistic in the best worst possible way.

Richie convulses with how hard he laughs. He’s trapped in the most backwards tickle hug to exist, socks slipping on the tile of his kitchen floor, getting tortured by the group’s designated teddy bear.

A wayward finger brushes over the curve of Richie’s hip, sending him jolting even farther into Ben’s lap, tittering. 

“C’mon, Trash mouth. Fess up.”

If Ben thinks he’ll ever tap out, he is sorely mistaken.

“Never!” Richie cries, and then dissolves into cackling when Ben goes straight for his momentarily unprotected armpit.

Neither of them notice when Stanley steps into the doorway and promptly turns to walk back out, not once looking up from his phone.

——————————

Every now and then, Richie forgets that he might actually come off as attractive to the other losers. He’s always jokingly attractive, obviously. ‘Who wouldn’t want a piece of me?’ or ‘Golly, buy me dinner first!’ Are a few easy phrases to throw around, usually with a suggestive cock of his hip or an over exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes, which gets him a laugh now and then.

But like, for realzies? Richie isn’t hot hot, not like Mike or Bill with their big shoulders and mouth-watering biceps, Jesus Christ on a stick. He doesn’t have that cute allure like Eddie or Ben, either. Richie’s just a scrawny friggin beanpole, lanky, unlike the elegant way that Stan and Beverly manage. 

Being so gay is hard sometimes. Everyone looks hotter than you. 

“Rich?” 

He startles out of his musings and comes firmly back to himself where he’s reclined next to Bill on the trampoline, reminded of how his train of thought had gone that route; they’d been messing around until they weren’t, until Bill had cupped his face and brought him into a kiss, and then a fuzzy little parasite called insecurity reared its fugly head.

Richie squashes it down around a dazed smirk, seemingly quelling the momentary unease on Bill’s face. “Yowza.”

Bill snorts and rolls his eyes, plays with the hem of Richie’s “Support Whale Sex: Use Shampoo” shirt. “I thought you weren’t in the mood, for a second.”

“Vat?” Richie cries incredulously, shifting upwards and straddling Bill’s lap. “Bullsheet. Lies.” As if Richie could ever resist a man with legs like that. Damn.

Bill’s smile is genuine when he pulls Richie back down into another kiss, their lips meeting sparking a whole new wave of something in Richie’s chest, so intense that he’s pulling back within a few seconds, “Ven you look like zat? You lift, yes? Vat kind of –“ 

A hand covers his mouth, and Rich realizes that Bill is furrowing his brows at him. “Why are you doing a Voice right now?”

“…I’m nervous.” He apologizes, muffled. 

Bill snorts again as if to say ‘yeah right,’ but his expression softens when Richie doesn’t say anything else. “Nervous, huh?”

Richie nods, then licks Bill’s palm. He pulls it away with a disgusted chuckle, and then.

Then Richie is suddenly on his back, looking up at two dark, mischievous eyes. “Hoo shit.” He whispers. They are not in Kansas anymore.

“You should be.” 

That’s all the warning Richie gets before devilish fingers attack his sides, letting loose a bout of hysterical giggles from somewhere deep in Rich’s stomach. It’s like opening the floodgates every time. A head rush and a half. He squirms immediately, laughing harder when Bill drags him back down and pins him with one forearm against his own.

“Where are you going?” He muses, fond, and Richie’s face blushes ten different shades of crimson.

“B-Bill, please!” He wriggles, fingers clawing uselessly against slick fabric. If he struggles any harder, there’s a good chance the trampoline might start bouncing them for real.

“Please what?” His fingers are skittering up his ribs now, because Bill knows Richie just can’t stand that, and he’s smiling down at him like Richie makes him the happiest he’s ever been, and Richie can’t stand that either.

He squeezes his eyes shut, laughter coming freely the more that Bill tickles up his sides and over his stomach, curling up. Bill doesn’t seem to mind his lack of answer or the way Richie’s knees jerk into his hips, content to pull an endless amount of loud snickering from his partner.

It’s only when Richie arches away with a desperate wheeze that Bill stops what he’s doing, hands rubbing firm circles into the hips he’d just been scritching at - probably a routine he knew well from getting revenge on another particularly bony little shit they knew.

“You’re so - so mean. Gah. I’m taking you out of my will, Billiam.” Richie breathes, reaching up to wipe behind his glasses. 

Bill just chuckles at him and leans down, and they share a soft kiss that makes Richie’s heart flutter in his chest all over again.

——————————

 Kerplunk, sploosh. Kerplunk, sploosh. Kerplunk – 

“Fuck!” Richie jolts with a quiet hiss of surprise, shifting his attention from the lake to the offending pen that had just jabbed his side. Bev, sitting next to him, giggles and points to his textbooks with it. 

“Focus.”

Richie sticks out his upper lip, dropping his handful of pebbles in the grass at his feet. It took him, like, a whole twenty seconds to find those. “I was focused.”

“Focus on your homework, ding dong.” She gestures with her pen again, not looking away from her own book, which she holds easily in one hand. Show off.

Richie grumbles and hunches over, scrubbing a hand over his face. He makes it through two paragraphs before he fidgets again, making to reach in his shirt pocket for a smoke before he realizes, oh, yeah, I’m giving those up. Shit. 

Sometimes character development is just not worth it.

Bev appears to notice the gesture though, because she gently elbows Richie this time, gesturing to the book. “It’s really not so bad. You’ve already gotten through a few pages.”

“Yeah, with like, a bajillion more to go.” He huffs, flipping through the pages one more time before sitting up straight and slapping the table. “That’s it! I quit college.”

“Mhm.” Beverly is far too nonchalant but she can afford to be, since she’s heard the exact same statement fourteen times since the beginning of the semester. Two weeks in and going strong.

“I’m serious this time! I don’t need a degree to be funny, I’ve got that part in the bag. Also, capitalism? Who needs it.”

“Do you really hate classic mythology that much?”

Richie groans and drops his head against the picnic table. “Yes.” He’d thought that it would be cool! Gods and Goddesses and monsters (oh my), but instead he has to bear through three whole paragraphs of a list of men, all sons of other men, because any of that is just so integral to the understanding of the Trojan war. Everyone knows that Achilles was the only real bitch on that battlefield, okay? Literally nothing else matters.

He jumps again, this time snickering, when Bev scribbles at his side. “Hehehey!”

“Cheer up, Tozier. Your vibes are ruining our study date.”

Richie eyes her up, adjusting his glasses. “Are you saying that my vibes are off, Marsh?”

She nods sagely. “They’re atrocious.”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve never failed a single vibe check in my life.” And that isn’t going to change today, no sir. Just ask Eddie, the last time he tried to pull something. 

“You’re gonna fail more than just this vibe check if you don’t do your reading.”

“Not true! I know the stuff, I just… don’t like it.” He’s of the philosophy that memorizing shit just makes it harder to remember. Richie can go over some of the professor’s notes online and be just fine. 

Heaving a sigh, Beverly gets up. She pushes at Richie’s back. “Scoot in.”

“If you say so, ma’am.” Though Richie just complies because he wants to see where this is going. When Beverly slides in behind him, legs on either side of his, he can kinda feel her boobs pressing against his back. Nice.

“Oh hello.” Richie grins, feeling free to press back into her. She smells nice - changed her perfume for some reason - and her presence is a welcome warmth, inviting and –

She blows a raspberry against the back of his neck.

– and a fucking trap!

“Bev!” He jerks forward instantly, shoulders hunching. She follows, nuzzling into the space behind his ear, and Richie shivers violently. “O-oho my gawd, why?!”

“I’m just making sure you pay attention.” She teases, weaving her arms around his chest so that her fingertips rest at his sides, making Richie tense. But nothing comes, yet.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tickling him is definitely not going to make him want to read more. It’s going to make him want to be tickled. It’s like trying to punish an addict with cocain.

Bev snorts, fingertips wriggling briefly enough to get a squeak and a weak squirm out of him. “Just keep reading. If you slack off, I’ll bring you back!” 

Ah! So simple! Haha! Wow. Genius. 

Richie sighs heavily to indicate how much he turns his nose up at this frankly childish behavior, but reluctantly opens his book back up to where he was before. Admittedly, having Bev close might help his attention span, just slightly. He can feel her cheek resting against his back, ankles brushing his every now and then, and her arms are a soothing weight against his chest. Like the fancy weighted blanket that Eddie uses on his more fidgety days.

That doesn’t stop his attention from drifting occasionally, of course. When he takes a little too long to turn the page, Beverly tweaks his ribs or snuffles at the side of his neck until he lurches forward in a bout of giggles, holding on to the wooden table for support. And sometimes, when his leg starts bouncing of its own free will, she smooths her hand down his thigh and starts squeezing his knee, earning stronger fits of squirming and yelping that even gets her to laugh. What a meanie.

“You have your own stuff to read, you know.” He huffs after a brutal attack to his hips, having nearly torn his page in half. Richie immediately regrets it though, because he doesn’t want her to stop. He silently prays that she doesn’t move, and whoever’s listening grants him a little mercy.

“I know.” She says, nudging his head with hers. Richie reaches for her hand, thinking he might off himself if she doesn’t take his back, but she does, and they sit like that together for a while, listening to nature do its thing.

“Hey, Rich?”

“Yeah?”

She uses her free hand to get at his stomach, and Richie chokes.

“Do your fucking reading.”

——————————

They’re barely three steps through the door before Stan is on Richie like strippers to a pole, pushing him up against the wall and staring him down with so much intensity that Richie doesn’t have enough breath left to ask the obvious question: what the fuck?

He grips his bag with his work outfit inside of it and tries to remember if he did anything particularly annoying on the drive home, but nothing comes to mind other than when he tried to poke Stan’s jaw and he swatted him away. Richie wasn’t actively pursuing anything because that never works with Stan. He’s like a fucking cat that way; if he gets even the slightest bit ruffled, he leaves the room, all indignant and huffy. 

Hence, his confusion at this particular stunt.

That doesn’t last long though, because Stan shakes his head slowly and pulls Richie’s hat off his head, tossing it aside without even looking to see where it goes, which is a very unlike-Stan gesture.

“Stan –?“

“Shut up.”

“Shutting up.”

They look at each other, and Richie nearly trips over himself when Stan starts moving them both backwards, towards his room. Normally that might raise some flags, but they’ve been through scenarios like this before. Richie doesn’t really mind getting pushed around (in fact he might even like it a little bit if his first childhood crush is anything to go by) but not knowing the reason is… fishy.

Stan kicks the door closed behind them, still walking Richie backwards, but grabs a hold of his shirt before he can go tumbling back on the bed. “Here’s how this is going to work.”

“Uh –“ Richie’s already on board.

Stan’s grip tightens, and then Richie’s world goes scrambled for three seconds when he gets pushed - fucking pushed, the nerve - onto the bed, Stanley following after him easy as pie and hovering over him, predatory, focused. “I’m going to tickle you.”

Richie can’t hide the way his body almost seems to curve up at that statement. If his body was a temple, it was a temple to some very traitorous limbs. Stan deciding he wants to do anything even close to roughhousing is a special treat, but this one in particular has Richie’s name on it

He realizes after a beat that Stan is waiting for him to say something, and Richie, in true Richie fashion, momentarily forgets the English language. “Uhm - yes?”

“Good. Put your arms up.” 

That’s not going to last, but Richie does it, and Stan leans in like the sexy Mr. Rogers that he is and… plucks his glasses off his face, sticking them in his shirt pocket. Friggin thief. When did everyone in this house get so bold? “Hey –“

“Can’t risk breaking them.” Stan answers, fingers already slipping under Richie’s shirt to flutter at his sides. Richie wiggles and his complaint trails off into a snicker. Can’t argue with that anyway he guesses.

Stan tickles him like he does everything else: thoroughly, and with dedication. Quick and nimble fingers drill into the spaces between Richie’s ribs, blunt nails scritching down to his sides, then pulling at his jeans just enough to expose his hips, and Stan’s ducking his head and Richie can fucking see those curls, almost, through his blurry, tear-stained vision, helpless with laughter already, grabbing at the head-board -

– And they pause. Stopping is so much than starting. Richie can feel Stan’s breath against his stomach, where his shirt is rucked up, when he speaks. “When’s the last time you took a shower?”

Through giggle-heavy breath, Richie struggles to answer. “Uhm, like, y-yesterday? Wh- fuhuhUCK!” 

He squeals when Stan’s tongue joins the mix, starting at his belly button until he meets the curve of his hip, nibbling along his V-line with so much enthusiasm that Richie thinks he must actually taste like the coffee he smells like. That’s the only explanation for such an assault.

Richie curls in on instinct, hands going for Stan’s hair, but he must anticipate this because he sits up instantly, grabbing Richie’s wrist and glaring at him. Or, he’s probably glaring. He looks like an angry blur at the moment.

It’s…. pretty hot. Not gonna lie.

“I said keep your arms up.” He growls. When Richie slips obediently back into place without question, Stan moves down even further, hoisting Richie’s calve over his shoulder and setting to work again. 

The sweeping motion of his fingertips is not as aggressive as before, though it’s probably because they don’t need to be. Even through the denim, that light swishing motion from his thigh to his knee and back again has him cackling, all reserve flying out the window as he scrambles, pulling at the sheets.

Stan pulls at him in response, taking a firm hold of his ankle and scribbling in a relentless, spidery motion at the back of his knee.

Richie 1. Screeches, then 2. Does his best impression of a hula dancer having a seizure.

Apparently breaking the arm-up rule no longer matters at this point, because Richie is just beside himself in the agonizingly sweet, tingly jolts running through his nervous system, spasming on the bed and doing anything within his physical power to get away from it.

Stan doesn’t let go, though, only moves with him, tickling and tickling. Yes, Richie thinks. Please don’t stop. This has to stop. Don’t stop. Don’t let go. Oh god, this is the fucking worst this sucks this is so good, don’t stop, don’t stop – 

By the time Stan has thoroughly decimated Richie’s thinking capabilities, having seen to it that both legs have received proper attention, Richie is a curled ball of silent, wheezing laugher in the center of the bed. He takes a deep breath only to let out another fresh peal of laughter, shaking, as Stan lays beside him to rub his shoulder.

“Don’t.” He sighs after a few moments of cool down, as if exasperated, but it sounds fond. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh while you were killing me, I’ll take note of that for next time.” Richie snarks, sniffling and wiping at his eyes.

“No, I mean don’t whine like that.”

Richie whined? “Like what?”

“Like the minute someone stops touching you, it’ll never happen again.” Stan explains patiently, like it’s obvious, twisting one of Richie’s curls around a slender finger and, for now, neglecting to mention how he needs a hair cut.

Oh, that… that – “You don’t know that.” He defends feebly, accepting his glasses when they’re pushed into his palm. Sometimes he forgets how easy it is for Stan to just look at him and see him. It’s unnerving how perceptive he can be, and possibly just as unnerving how much Richie wants to be seen, scary as that might be. He’s had killer clown dreams that terrify him less, and yet.

“I do,” Stan disagrees, making room for Richie to turn over. Neither of them are surprised when Richie ducks his head to hide his face in Stan’s button-up, cheeks burning pink from more than just exertion. “You make it painfully obvious, but it’s a ridiculous fear. There’s six other people in this house. No one’s going to stop touching you unless you ask them to.”

Richie snorts into Stan’s chest. Fat fucking chance.

Still, there’s always that lingering Voice - the one that sounds most like himself - asking him if six people will be enough. Richie Tozier has not one, but six partners and he still wonders if that attention is enough. Talk about high maintenance.

Richie closes his eyes and just enjoys Stan’s hand in his hair, trying not to think about that too much, even as he counts down the seconds to that touch stopping too. “Is it…annoying?”

“That you like tickling? No.” Stan scratches at the base of his neck and Richie hums, pressing closer. “It’s only annoying that you think it’s going to go away.”

Well fuck him, Richie can’t just control how he feels about it, okay? It’s not like he hasn’t tried before. It’s hard, he doesn’t want to think about it, he doesn’t want anything good in his life to ever end, and he especially doesn’t want Stan to stop tracing the curve of his ear like that.

Two fingers tilt his chin up, and Richie blinks back at Stan’s surprisingly soft eyes. “It’s not going to stop.” He murmurs, then kisses Richie’s forehead. 

It hits him harder than a baseball bat to the gut. How did Richie Tozier die? It was the curly twink in the bedroom with unconditional love.

That being said, it’s not like he doesn’t appreciate the reassurance, even if it makes him the slightest bit vulnerable. Just a little too open. A little too raw. Tickling allows him to be like that for a short while, and maybe that’s why Richie likes it so much. Instant satisfaction, zero commitment, and it’s fun too. No arcade game or cold shower can scratch an itch for something like that.

He smiles back up at Stan and took his hand so he could kiss the back of it. A moment of mushy, romantic weakness if you will. “Aw, Staniel. You make me blush. If you wanted to woo me so badly you could have put on some judge Judy and those cute little pajama pants, maybe with some ice cream - no, definitely with some ice cream -“

Stan sighs but indulges Richie in his rambling, fingers trailing through his hair all the while. Things have already shifted back into normal territory, but there’s this new, unspoken truce between Richie and this obsession of his - the confirmation that each of his partners knows what he needs, when he needs it, and that they’re not going to drop-kick him out of their lives for asking for it one too many times. It’s nice to have something consistent in his life.

But if those six losers think they don’t have the same exact fate lingering over their heads, they have no idea what force they’re reckoning with. Richie is nothing if not a giver, and he intends to deliver their due retribution.

In full.