#boy its been a while since i used that tag on this blog

[dilf-docs]

All Roads Lead To Rome

pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (BARK BARK BARK), smut, p. in v., bit of exhibition kink cause they fuck on his trailer, he swears he's mad but he just wants head, oral (m. receiving), he also uses his armor and skirt while at it bc its hot and not bc i totally want that to happen to me or smth!!!, brat taming, orgasm denial, breeding and daddy kink lowkey, i'm so down bad for him so there's fluff!!! + pedro being whipped cause that's exactly what i want in my men, the cast makes cameos bc i love them!!! use of spanish (i'm latina so don't even try me), pedro wearing a skirt tehee

word count: 3,519 words

side note: i'm about as FERAL and horny as much as one could be!!! damn u pedro, making me walk out in the middle of class and walk on foot to the nearest theather for an early gladiator II screening (bc they're cheaper and i'm a jobless broke student lmao) that mind u it's my first solo trip to the movies but it's okay!!!! nobody interrupt me on my horny dilf hours amirite I TELL U that cinema was almost empty: just me, pedro and hey there's a spot if u wanna join mescal (look at my blog banner IYKYK) so yeah!!!! enjoy this porn lovechild that steemed from it; my pedro renaissance that'd been asleep since tlou dropped AWAKES (u don't get it, i literally watched narcos just for him) i'm so fr i need this man BIBLICALLY!!

"Lemme guess, that's her, right?"

Pedro looks up from his phone, slightly red and embarrassed. He would blame the color on the sun, and as an actor, fake his way out.

"No idea what you're talking about, Paul"

The young man chuckles.

"I mean, every break we get, you take your chair, sit the farthest and pull your phone with the most ridiculous grin I've ever seen. I'm afraid to tell you, friend, you aren't as slick as you think"

He leans back against the chair, covering his face with his large palm.

"At least I tried" he finds no point in lying anymore, "seems like I'm addicted, but if it wasn't for y/n, I wouldn't touch it"

"I'm curious, though" Paul scoots his chair closer, "who texts who? You or her?"

"Me" he answers, but then corrects himself quickly, a bit ashamed of how that makes him sound, "but it's mostly her first".

"Right" he doesn't sound convinced, rather curious and annoyed, something he's too old and tired for, "I don't believe you"

He's about to lock his phone, but the wallpaper (a selfie with you) would probably earn him another mock from Mescal.

"Too bad I don't need you to"

Before he can do so, the irish man yanks his phone away.

"Give it back!" he shouts, earning a few glances from the crew around them, "what are you, ten?"

"No, twenty-eight" they look like kids bickering. "No need to fight me, Mr. Pascal, they haven't taught us the new fighting choreography yet" he mocks, before the phone chimes; they both stop at the sound.

"What does this mean?" Paul asks. "Malta's nice" he reads out loud, "were you talking about possible future vacations? I might have to tag along"

He doesn't follow the man's joke, instead, looking at the message on your chat. Malta's nice, says the little cryptic message, and yes―it is cryptic, because you were just talking about missing each other and some other corny stuff he'd take to his grave. Not vacations, and certainly, not about the european island, which happens to also be the place were he's filming his latest movie.

"No, we weren't" he replies confused, "what do you think it means?"

"Well, obviously, you boys don't know anything" May pops up from behind, laughing.

"Were you eavesdropping?" he asks playfully, albeit, a little offended.

"No, you guys are just too loud" she replies nonchalant. "Besides, you aren't very good at hiding it, either"

"That's what I said!" Paul backs, laughing on his face.

"Stop being misterious and just drop it"

"It means" she pauses―laughing at her own little dramatic effect, "that you're getting a visit soon"

When you met Pedro, you were working in The Last Of Us. Nothing fancy, just part of the technical cast of the show: helping with the filming and stuff.

During those months, it was easy to find yourself falling for the main star (alongside Bella Ramsey), especially when you spent months behind a camera, capturing all of his perfect features; learning them by memory until you could draw them without seeing his face.

Yes, you had fallen for the older man, because it was as natural as breathing; easy as being alive―the fall so gentle and so easy, it was hard to know when the feelings started. You just woke up one day, feeling different.

You liked to act up―always had what you wanted, and times had changed (so it's not like he had to ask first): why not? Which is why during your last day of shooting you took some liquid courage on your veins and went up his way. It was at a little gathering the crew you've grown to call family organized, while wearing your favorite and tightest dress, that you approached him.

It surprised you that he even recognized you, but that's who he was: warm, welcoming and caring.

To augment the surprise, turns out he had eyed you already, but was too shy to do anything. Yes, the worlds most famous Chilean man. It did stroke your ego, and maybe that's why you feel like most of the time, you've got the upper hand on your relationship, despite the years in between.

Still, you feel like the last message you just sent was a bit too blunt. Now you sit at the tiny airport, pondering your next move.

You know your boyfriend isn't exactly the type to scold or get mad―despite his strong figure, but going against the only thing he asked you might test him. Which is why you feel nervous, despite the happiness around you, everyone in the airport looking straight out of a picture perfect summer edition magazine.

And your theory is proven exactly right when you arrive impromptu at the Gladiator II set: making heads turn and guards almost kick you out, thinking you're a fan.

"You don't get it!" you protest, "he's my boyfriend".

"Sure", they laugh on your face. "you're not the first to say that".

"She's not lying" oh, how you love that gravely voice. But not today: not when he sounds like a parent scolding a naive child. Not when his eyes bore into you, slightly irritated.

So now he's dragging you among the set, right to were his trailer is.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" you ask, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. He keeps dragging you by the arm, without sparing a glance in your way. Who does he think he is? "I wanted to tell Paul he made me cry―twice. You know I don't play about Normal People and Aftersun"

"But you do seem to play about my orders" he grunts out, opening the door to his trailer. The sunlight reflects against the white, slightly bothering your eyes with its shine, contrary to your boyfriend's gloomy behaviour.

"Are you being serious right now? You're not my dad to scold me. I just wanted to surprise you" you stand still, refusing to get inside. Pedro knows your character tends to be stubborn, and thought he finds it hot to reel you up sometimes, there are other times where he can't just stand that juvenile spirit of rage you tend to have when things don't go the way you want them to. "What's gotten into you?"

"I could ask you the same" he mocks. "Get inside. Now"

"Rude" you scoff, but obey regardless, and he breathes out relieved you didn't do a scene like last time; he still can't show his face on that restaurant to this day.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me" you say a tad bit dissapointed, and Pascal feels the pissed off feelings clouding his brain start to dissipate.

"I do, amor" he sighs, "just hate to see you do things I tell you not to; waltzing in here like you own the place".

You don't see the mistake, though. What's wrong with wanting to do a little surprise? It's not like you were a stalker or something; just a very clingy girlfriend who happens to miss her boyfriend.

"So, you're not mad?" you venture, "tell me you're not embarrassed"

He looks at you, the fondness of his gaze betraying him.

"I'm not the one wearing a skirt while trying to sound intimidating" you joke while caressing the crook of his nose, knowing you always get on his good side. Being mad isn't something that lasts, "if anyone should be embarrassed, that's you"

"Are you saying I shouldn't wear one because I'm a man?" your boyfriend looks offended, "Have you forgotten the movie I'm starring in? People feared the skirt-wearing Roman army"

"Well, I'm not intimidated" you stand defiant, and something dark tints his brown eyes. You can feel the excitement begin pooling in your stomach.

"You're not?" he grips your wrists and yanks you to him, then holds your chin, tilting your head between his calloused fingers. "Well, cariño, you should be"

Your body slams against one of the trailers walls, and you have to suppress a whine.

"You must be punished for what you did today"

You give him a doe-eye look, pretending to be all innocent, as if you weren't enjoying the punishment.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a good girl"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about" he clicks his tongue, "don't play dumb with me"

"I just came to visit you" you murmur, voice husky against his ear. He grunts, and with the proximity, his hard-on rasps against your bare legs, only partly covered by the flowy summer dress you're wearing, "is that so bad?"

"It is. Has sido mala, cariño" his hand travels down under your dress, carresing with his large palm the silhoutte of your ass. The rings on his fingers create a shock, cold metal against your warm sun-bathed skin. "Naughty girl"

"I promise I'll be good, papi" you purr, using that honeyed voice of yours that makes it hard: hard to say no and hard between his pants.

Pedro sits on a small couch he has inside the trailer, guiding you with his hand enveloped around yours, motioning you to follow with a care so soft, you'd doubt he's about to do to you what he is about to do to you. He pulls you across his lap, smiling (God, you love his smile) as your stomach presses against his tights.

"Don't worry" he breathes low, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make you a good girl. Tell me, aren't you?"

You swallow, "I am"

He moves the panties easily to the side, rubbing your pussy a little. He then spanks it softly, making you mewl at the sting.

Pedro continues to trace over it, "Are you sure about that?"

"N-no" you shiver in delight, resolve dissolving as quick as it came. "I'm naughty"

"It's good to be aware" he murmurs, "Dilo otra vez"

"I'm a naughty girl"

He lifts your head by your hair. "Tell me what you did"

"Disobeyed your orders, coming to the set" you whisper. He lets go of your hair, his hands traveling down again, slowly teasingly rubbing your pussy while he humms.

"You were a little brat, amor"

You whimpered and mewled in delight. "I was a very naughty brat"

He pushed his fingers inside you, plunging his fingers into your pussy.

"Look at you. You're soaking wet" he pumped his fingers in you, making you moan, "Is that why you came to see me? Couldn't wait any longer for daddy to be inside of you?"

You bucked a little, making him stop. He drags his fingers out, causing you to beg for him to go back.

"Answer my question you greedy thing" He leaned closer to your ear. "Did you need my cock this much?"

You whimper, "I do! Missed you so much"

He pushed his fingers back into you, provoking a moan out of you.

"You're always so needy for me" your core tenses, making you shiver. "How badly do you want me? Tell me"

You whimpered "Badly, papi"

"Say it" his face contorts in satisfaction at your pathethic display; crying little mess, "Who's cock, fingers and mouth make you feel good?"

You can't think at this point, your brain fuzzy and pussy hot, leaking. You kiss his lips, moaning against them, "you!"

"Just me, yes? Nobody else can make you feel this good?"

"No one!"

You involuntarily roll your hips to aid you in pleasure, yet Pedro stops you just before you can reach your orgasm.

"Little brat." he tuts, making you groan. "Did you think I'd let you? You were naughty today, baby"

You huff in annoyance, used to having your way.

"That's your punishment"

"But I'll behave" you mewl against his ear, "I promise"

“Good, because I'm planning on fucking your brains out” his hot breathe whispers in your ear seductively, trying his best not to slur the words at the drunken haze that your arousal provokes in him, "but you have to help me first"

You get on your knees, looking at the garment he's wearing. The skirt and general costume makes this all the more hot, mouth watering at the sight. You raise the skirt, glancing at the briefs; just seeing his dick strained against the fabric makes you wet in anticipation.

He sees the pleasure bore into your orbs, and before you do any dirty idea of yours, he's already warning:

"You have to take this off, what if we-"

"Alright" you cut him off, "but the skirt stays"

"Sigue, pues" he growls, voice low yet demanding, following you in your little game.

As you pull the briefs down, his erection springs out enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.

"That's right" he chokes out, "show me how much you missed it"

You give him a proud lick, and Pedro hisses at the moment his preseminal fluid goes in between your hungry lips.

Your tongue darts to the head of his cock, running over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. He keeps praising as you pump the base of his cock with your hand. Your head bobs, yet you peek up to hear Pascal's little sounds and facial expression, a motivation so intimate in the way his brows furrow and eyes roll, mouth agape at your movements while his lip suck on those pretty lips of his. It makes you keep going. With every bob you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. A throaty moan escapes the man above you when you now focus on the final lick, making him closer to coming, all while maintaining eye contact the entire way through.

"Don't do that" he rasps, yanking you by the hair again, as of punishment, but he knows you enjoy it, "you promised you'd be good"

You can't answer, so instead, you reach the head of his cock again, and now his eyes roll back, mumbling profanities that sound like heaven.

"Do you want them to hear us, brat? Qué necia eres" he manages to chastise while moaning.

You feel his dick stuck in your throat, and the way he's about to come; you think that after some time dating, you know him well enough.

You're about to leave with your mouth when he stops you.

"No" your eyes open in shock, "what? Did you think your punishment is over?" Pedro laughs, "don't look at me like that. Like you have never done it before"

He keeps you in place by the hair, the rings prickling against your scalp. You feel his muscles tense up, and before you can think anything else thick and hot shots of cum invade your mouth, making it sticky and warm.

"Don't pretend you don't like it" his voice goes dark, husky. "Swallow it all. Te han enseñado a no desperdiciar nada, ¿verdad? Show me your good manners, then"

When you pull out, your throat feels raspy.

"You gotta reward me" you cough out.

"I promised, didn't I?" his fingers trace your face delicately, with adoration.

"It's all about duty, General Acacius" you purr, and the dick springs out again. Hard.

"Princess..." he warns.

"For the glory of Rome" you joke and laugh, then cough, as your throat is still sore.

"Have you been reading my script?" as you avoid to answer, he just chuckles, "ay, nena"

"C'mere" he motions, and you sit on his lap again. Pedro lifts your dress, exploring the curve of your ass. There's anticipation as he hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to access your core.

"Fuck" you squirm at his touch, grinding your freed cunt against his hard cock. He grabs you by the hip, adjusting you right on his lap.

"You taste so good" he kisses down your throat, ending at the chest were your tits peak.

"Want them?" you offer, pulling your dress down. He kisses them, gently nipping at your perked up nipples.

A wave of pleasure courses through you, and with whines and moans, you show how desperate you are, the hunger making the meal taste better. After all those weeks missing him, you just want him to fuck you senseless.

His lips are rosy and swollen against yours, mouths clashing; starved of the yearned contact. Truth is, no matter how much you know how to touch yourself, it'll never be the same as having his hard cock tear through your tight folds.

Pedro easily aligns his leaking cock with your uncovered pussy, all while mantaining the kiss. He pushes down on you, your dripping cunt taking all of his rock-hard cock, fingers holding onto the soft brown grey sprinkled locs.

"Pedro" you cry out his name, full of ecstasy as the stretch burns so sweetly. His low grunts only fuel your desire.

You trace with your eyes his body, now bare without the upper part of the costume: his pecs and abs, flexing with every pump. With now free hands, your fingers travel to softly caress his stomach, even if your tits are jiggling and the pace is rather frenetic.

"I miss your tummy" you pout.

"I miss eating too" he whispers out, tiredly. He's reminded of his old age, forgetting about it as soon as you two kiss, because you bring out a stamina he thinks he doesn't have anymore; almost animalistic. His bones creak and adding the tiring filming day under the hot sun, he feels his body start to give up, the orgams closer and closer.

"No matter how you look" you clash your lips onto his, the adoration translating through the smile you press against, a trail of saliva that symbolizes how interwined you are, "you always look so fucking good"

He blushes, feeling like a stupid school boy with a crush. What did he even do to deserve you? Never thought a pretty young wild thing like you would even spare a glance on his way, but now you're taking all of his cock inside with such greed yet loom into his eyes with a love he's only dreamed of.

You're real, and his.

As soon as those words leave your mouth your orgasm spills over him, some of it dripping onto the skirt, making him curse. You can't stop, still meeting his thrusts halfway, despite your trembling body after reaching your high.

"Mierda" he groans against your mouth,

You feel yourself collapsing on top of him, the weight of the jet lag catching up.

"Getting tired, baby?" he coos. "Shit, and I thought I was old"

"You are" you reply back; you can never not have the last word. And he lets you, because, God, doesn't he love you? He pretends to look offended by it, but the way your eyes shine tell him you didn't mean it that way. "You and your white hairs" tracing over his moustache, a soft hand combing through his locks, "These wrinkles... don't you know how much I love them? how much I love you?"

"And you have no idea how much I love you" he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling it coming through. "God, wanna make you mine. Sólo mía" his pace slows. It's coming, and yes, you will take it all. "Wanna make you a baby, mami. Want you to take it all like the good girl you are"

When he comes, filling you with burning hot cum until you feel like you might burst, you're numb. But there's a feeling so content that pools warmth in your chest, that you can't say anything else, resting your head against his bare chest, both covered in sticky sweat.

"No sé cómo voy a explicar esto" he speaks through ragged breathes, and you can only smirk, "a squirted and cummed roman skirt".

"That isn't my problem" he scoffs, and you feel your head rise against the movement, earning a laugh out of you, "I'm not part of the movie"

"You'd sure think so, with the way you walked in here"

You roll your eyes, face hidden against his chest, "can you let that go?"

"You're right" he pulls you closer to him, hand enveloping you behind your bare back. The quiet doesn't bother you as you lie closer to his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you need to be at peace, "I think punishment time is over. Think you've learned your lesson"

"Then, how about we go out? I've heard Malta's beaches are pretty"

"Relájate, cariño. Seems you've gotten your energy back" he quips, then kisses your forehead. "We need to wait for everyone to get out"

"That embarrased you are of me?" you joke.

"No" he can already imagine his fellow cast members making fun of him, starting with Paul and Joseph when they see you and Connie who will totally notice the fun sticky stains on the costume, "but embarrased of the explanation I'll have to give"

[archie-sunshine]

A Year in Review

SO ITS BEEN A LONNNNG YEAR! a very very long year, but a lovely year and a very precious year!!! I feel like because of how big a year its been, we need a recap of everything that happened, and everything that this platform has allowed me to achieve!!

SO LETS START WITH JANUARY!!

I was still in school during this month, so I didn't get to draw as much as i wanted, but i wrote a ton!! I published chapters of Survey Says, Rehab/Cohab, and also the seminal work of fiction that is Positive Reinforcement! I want to celebrate how much writing i got done, especially with how that's taken a back seat on my blog for a while now!!

In february I got more time to focus on my work, and I hit 1000 followers!!!! I conducted the first ever askbox purges, and I drew a load of art!! I also met some great new friends during this month!! (hi soda! :D)

I STARTED STREAMING IN MARCH!!! I think this was one of the best decisions i ever made, because being able to chat and hang out with everyone as i draw is always hugely inspiring. I look forward to streaming and chatting with everyone each week :]

IN APRIL I DREW TOO MUCH NON ROBOT ASS. I finally got around to watching dungeon meshi and i became absolutely fucking obsessed with fantasy. I've always been a huge interest in fae and fantasy and worldbuilding, so knightformers is such a fun creative exercise!!

and then in may my computer exploded. Not actually, the screen just broke. I drew so much knightformers in may that my screen killed itself. oops!

In june, I not only hit 2k followers, but started a stickers business!!! All of your support from that made me feel confident in my ability to sustain myself on my art, and gave me the inspiration to push myself harder as the year went on!

In july, not only did I go to my first transformers convention, I met @pinkanonwrites in person for the first time, and MY BOYFRIEND MOVED INTO MY HOUSE! This month was so busy, but meeting pink and going to tfcon was so fantastic :]

In august it was my BIRTHDAY!! :D i turned 21! And I went on a prolonged inbox hiatus to focus on establishing my art style !

In september my hiatus continued, and I created meter, the greatest blight on the tfa tag to ever exist! Everyone exploded over my sweet boy, and it made me very happy to see :D

In october, i entered what I consider my own personal renaissance!! I was incredibly inspired by tf one, and starting to use more colour in my artwork since september! I released halloween merch (and then got my account on ko-fi suspended for a bit but it was fine) and hit three thousand followers!

IN NOVEMBER I KEPT MYSELF BUSY. I worked on tons of merch, made hypnovembers, and sketched up an absolute storm. The whole month honestly feels like a blur to me. AND THEN THE CANADA POST WORKERS WENT ON STRIKE (union strong, lads, good luck!)

Andddd because of that postal strike, I had to cross the us border into america to get all of my stickers sent off!!! december has continued to be incredibly busy, but! if you're seeing this, it means I'm ON HIATUS OFFICIALLY!!! AND MY WORK IS DONE (or mostly done ehehe)

I want to give a huge thanks to all of you. Because of your support, both financially and socially, not only has my confidence grown, but with it, so has my artistic skill and my income.

Drawing for all of you has allowed me to manage my anxiety more readily with medical marijuana, has allowed me to become more financially independant and responsible, and has opened up so many doors for me socially.

doing this has always been something that was more pipe dream or fantasy than reality, so the fact I get to say I draw for a living at all is a privilege i don't take lightly in the slightest.

I will always be proud to draw for this community. Thank you everyone, and see you next year!

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Kinkuary Day 7

AN: Shoutout to that one time Elv and I spoke about Mingyu wearing lace panties months ago. It was a big inspiration for this, and it's been rotating in my brain since then.

Synopsis: After a lot of encouragement and motivation from you, Mingyu finally tries out something in your bedroom that he's been curious about for some time now.

General tags and warnings: Kim Mingyu x Fem! Reader, established relationship and that's it honestly lol. This is very much pwp.

Primary kink: Crossdressing.

Smut tags and warnings: Dom leaning! Reader, sub leaning! Mingyu, Mingyu in feminine lingerie, nipple play (m. and f. receiving), oral sex (m. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), piv sex without a condom, Reader cries very briefly due to being overwhelmed, dirty talk, some praise, hints of a size and a strength kink, brief manhandling and creampie.

Word count: 2.5k.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

To say you're excited would be a gross understatement.

Exhilaration would probably be the best way to describe what you're feeling and even it doesn't adequately convey the feeling of your heart thundering in your chest and your blood simmering in your veins.

“Gyu, are you done?” You call out to your boyfriend. Hoping you don't sound too antsy or impatient. His comfort means more to you than anything else and you'd gladly wait as long as it takes for him.

“Y-Yeah um I'm coming out now,” comes his timid response. Before you can reassure him that he can take his time, he steps out of your shared bathroom. Stopping all of the air in your lungs and causing your heart to leap all the way up to your throat.

Mingyu is a gorgeous man. It still boggles your mind a little that he's a real person who exists. He looks beautiful no matter what but, now? With the lingerie the two of you spent hours agonising over adorning his massive frame? You don't think you've ever been more attracted to him in your entire life.

“Gyu,” you whisper, scanning his entire body from head to toe just to commit every detail to memory, “you look beautiful.”

The blush that colours his cheeks somehow makes him look even more gorgeous and you really don't think you can handle not touching him any longer.

“Come here, baby,” you command softly, shuffling backwards onto your shared bed. Desire coiling in the pit of your stomach as he follows you without any more prompting. The lace stretching across his large frame with every movement he makes.

You knew pink would be his colour.

Despite the embarrassment you could feel radiating from him earlier, Mingyu lets you kiss him easily. Melting against your mouth within seconds while you spread your thighs for him to make himself at home between. His large hands already desperately clutching your waist as your tongue snakes its way into his mouth. Commiting the taste of him to memory like you haven't kissed him hundreds of thousands of times before.

“My pretty boy. You look so gorgeous,” you mutter against his lips. Giggling into him when he flinches and hisses in slight pain after you snap his bra against his skin. Always so responsive. Any reply to your words is cut short by quiet gasps when you kiss along his jaw and throat. Licking and biting at every bit of skin you can.

You can feel yourself growing wetter with every whimper he lets out and shudder of him beneath your touch. It's all made worse by the hardness you can start to feel pressing against your bare slit.

An idea springs to mind and you grin wolfishly into his throat before using momentum to roll him onto his back. He blinks up at you. You'd take a few minutes to simply appreciate how endearing he looks under the lowlight of your bedroom but, you're a woman on a mission.

Mingyu moans into your mouth when your hands shove up the bra that stretches across his muscular chest. His hips bucking up into you when you palm his pecs greedily. Smiling against his lips when he shivers as your fingers lightly brush over his nipples. Mingyu's sensitivity has always been a fascination of yours. Even after being together for so many years, he's still so responsive to even your faintest touches.

You bite down on his plump lips in time with your fingers tugging on his nipples and his reaction is immediate. His hands jump from where they were fisting your sheets to gripping your thighs. Digging into their thickest parts while your fingers continue to toy with his sensitive nipples and you teasingly nip at his lip until it starts to bruise.

He whines once you separate from his lips but you soothe him with a few kisses along his jaw and neck. Determined not to get distracted this time, you continue your descent until your lips come in contact with the lace of his bra. Your clit pulses when you glance up only to find his eyes staring at you with enough intensity to stop your heart briefly. Maintaining eye contact, you kiss your way to one of his nipples.

Mingyu is the first one to look away.

His eyes flutter shut when you envelope his nipple in your mouth while your fingers continue to tug and pinch his other nipple. God, everything about him tastes delicious. Maybe you're biased. Maybe you're too far gone for him but, you're convinced Mingyu was made to melt in your mouth. Every part of him.

Based on the way he squirms underneath you and grinds his large cock against you in search of any kind of friction, you think he agrees. Your body moves against his without much input from your brain. Grinding onto him to help ease some of the dull throbbing at the apex of your thighs. Glancing up at him through your lashes, you drink in every minute shift in his expression. Especially when you swap over to his other nipple and give it the same treatment.

A strangled curse is punched from the depths of his chest when you run your teeth along his nipple. His hands shifting from your thighs to your ass. Clutching at you in an attempt to ground himself but, also to press you down onto his length. You can't help the moan that leaves your mouth when he clumsily bumps against your clit. The stimulation causing electricity to fire all along your spine.

Briefly, you allow yourself to get lost in the frenzied grinding and continue to lavish his chest with bites and sucks while your hands palm at him. His breathy whimpers and moans shoot straight to your already throbbing clit and you can feel yourself growing impatient. As much as you're enjoying having your mouth on his beautiful chest, you have another goal in mind. So, with a great deal of strength, you continue your descent down his body. Kissing down his stomach and smiling when he flinches away when you brush against a spot that's ticklish for him.

It's pavlovian the way spit starts to pool in your mouth when you reach the waistband of his panties. They looked phenomenal on him already but, with his big cock straining against the translucent lace, he looks absolutely filthy. You make a note to ask him later if he'd let you take pictures of him in this set. Or any other sets you can convince him to try on. Mingyu props himself up on his arms to watch you as you mouth at him through the fabric. Dark eyes committing every detail of this scene to memory while his thoroughly kissed lips part.

“Fuck, baby I– your mouth feels so good,” he groans, his jaw clenching when you lick his tip through the fabric. You're sure his panties are ruined now with a mix of his pre-cum and your copious amounts of spit but, you couldn't care less. You'll buy all the panties in the world for him if it means having him like this. Having teased him and yourself enough, you tug them off of him. Mingyu lifts his hips readily, just as ready as you are for whatever you're planning to give him. The panties rest just above where his stockings start and the sight of that sends one of your hands in-between your sticky thighs. Your fingers pressing into your clit in time with your other hand grasping his thick cock. Fuck. To think when you two started dating his cock used to intimidate you. Now you can't imagine anything except excitement coursing through your veins at the sight of it.

Your fingers rub circles into your clit at the same pace as your hand strokes him. It's not nearly enough for him based on his frustrated whines and jerky thrusts of his hips into your hold but, you haven't quite had your fun yet. Picking up your pace marginally, you choose then to take his tip into your mouth. Moaning around him at the taste that hits your tongue. It's so Mingyu and your fingers pick up their pace as well. You could spend hours sucking him off if he'd let you. The weight and taste of him in your mouth always makes your brain so fuzzy.

A choked whimper of your name leaves his lips as you sink further down on him. The gagging sound of him hitting the back of your throat forces a guttural sound from him and his fingers weave themselves into your hair. Mingyu, ever the sweetheart, doesn't push you further down onto him. If anything, he uses his hold on you to ground himself as you move up and down on him. It's messy and dirty and you're pretty sure your jaw is going to ache like hell tomorrow but, it's all worth it.

He shallowly thrusts into your mouth and fist, high-pitched apologies spilling from his lips every time you accidentally choke around him. You want to tell him it's fine. That you don't mind in the slightest. However, you don't think it's worth it to detach yourself from him. So, you hope your watery eyes communicate enough.

The emptiness is starting to hurt so, you push three of your fingers into your dripping entrance. They don't provide nearly enough of a stretch, especially compared to Mingyu's fingers and cock but, it'll have to do for now. It's much better than being completely empty and the stretch your fingers provide makes you moan around him. Your pace falters momentarily while you savour the sensation of your fingers and grind your clit down onto the heel of your palm. Mingyu happily picks up your slack. Fucking your mouth faster while he throws himself back into the mountain of pillows he's resting on.

You can read Mingyu like the back of your hand. Actually, you're certain you know him better than the back of your hand. When his cock starts throbbing more incessantly and his thrusts grow sloppier and sloppier, you know he's getting close.

So, you tighten your grip on the base of his cock and remove your mouth from him. His eyes are wide, watery and wild when they meet yours. You would laugh at the pout on his handsome face if you weren't too busy catching your breath and dealing with the slight sting settling in the back of your throat. Once your lungs have greedily inhaled as much air as they can, you crawl your way up his body and slot your mouth against his. Mingyu groans into you, tasting himself on your tongue while you drag your dripping folds along his bare cock.

“Gyu,” you moan into his mouth, “I want you to be a good boy and fuck m–” before you can finish your sentence, you find yourself on your back with your boyfriend towering over you. His large hands drag you in place until he's between your thighs. His eyes never leave your face. Zeroing in on every shift in your expression as he starts to push himself into you. Even after all these years, you can't help the way your fingers claw at his muscular back and your lips part readily when he sinks into you.

He leans down to kiss you, pressing his own sounds of pleasure into you until he's completely inside of you. “Gyu fuck you feel so good,” you moan into his mouth, desire clawing at your insides with every pulse of his massive cock and his hands spanning themselves along your hips. “Always make me feel so full,” you whimper, tears rolling down your face at the sheer intensity you're feeling. A sound from somewhere deep in his chest is ripped from him and he snaps his hips into you harshly. Starting a punishing pace while his hands tug your gown up to collarbones so he can kiss and lick your breasts. Giving you a taste of your own medicine as the obscene noises of his cock splitting you open ring in your ears.

“So pretty. So beautiful. Feel so tight and wet around my dick. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” he babbles into your spit smeared skin. Using his strength to his advantage to keep you pressed exactly where he wants you. The juxtaposition of this large, ridiculously strong man who you're head over heels in love with dressed up in one of the most delicate sets you've ever seen makes your head spin. The thought is enough to cause your hand to weasel its way between your two, sweat drenched, overheated bodies until your fingers find your swollen clit again.

Mingyu mutters a string of curses into your breasts when he feels the way your pussy grips him like a vice. Pulling away from you just so that he can see the way you bring yourself closer to the edge. Thoroughly kissed lips parted with your barely open eyes glossy with desire. Despite the way his balls seize at the sight, he's determined for you to cum first. He won't let himself go any other way.

So, he exploits a few weaknesses he's picked up on over the years.

A startled gasp flies from your lips when Mingyu uses his strength to shove your legs into your chest. You can already feel the angle starting to cause a burn to settle into your thighs. But fuck, does it push him impossibly deeper into you. Between that and his canines digging into your neck, it's only a matter of time until your vision blurs and your entire body free falls underneath him.

Mingyu fucks you through it all. Drawing out your climax with strokes that aren't nearly as quick but haven't dropped an ounce in intensity. All you can do is lie there and take it. Clenching and unclenching your sheets between your sweaty fists as your thighs shake underneath his somehow steady hold. You're too far gone to make out exactly what comes out of your mouth but, apparently it's enough for Mingyu to shove his face in the hollow between your neck and your shoulder and cum inside of you.

His hoarse whimpers and groans of your name unintentionally cause your walls to clamp down on him further. It's not like you can help it. How are you not going to react to your beautiful boyfriend saying your name like that while also cumming inside of you? You're only human after all.

His hold on you loosens after some time and you feel him sag against you. His cock softens inside of you but Mingyu is in no hurry to move. Humming in appreciation when your fingers toy with his hair and pressing kisses into your shoulder.

“Gyu, I love you and all but, my thighs hurt,” you say with a laugh, giggling when he profusely apologises and removes your legs from where they were pressed into your chest. Resuming his position on top of you like you're his own personal body pillow.

You know you need to get up and clean yourselves up but, you're happy to lie here and bask in his affection for just a bit longer.

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[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part VI)

Pairing | Eddie Munson x shy!reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, discussions of anxiety, oral (f receiving), virginity loss, protected P in V sex.

Word Count | ~16,400 

A/N | Oh you won't be able to move for all the fluff. Cheeky shout-out to @heydreamchild for this post which made me lose my mind in the tags and think about Eddie's relationship with Wayne's mug collection.

Taglist (please don't ask to be tagged if you won't interact with the fic)

Previous Chapter

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 You screw your eyes shut instead of watching the ping pong ball continue its high arch over the remaining cups on the other side of the table. You hear it hit the floor, the barely suppressed scoff across from you at another missed shot. 

Your cheeks are burning, have been since you started this game. You open an eye to find May smiling at you encouragingly as she lines herself up for her turn. She’s more practised than you. Invited to more of these parties, asked to play more of these games. The ball flies from her hand and lands with a gentle splash in one of the three remaining cups in front of you, her expression now tinged with satisfaction. You can’t blame her, you’d look the same if you were good at any of this. You fish the ball out and sip the lukewarm beer for a second before forcing the rest of it down just to get this turn over with. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, handing the ball to your partner and stepping aside to let him take his turn. Safely at the corner of the table, you glance quickly at the clock on the other side of the room. It reads 11:03pm, and you wonder if you could negotiate heading home by eleven thirty. 

Not likely. 

When you’d walked through the door, shoulders pressed between both your friends, you had yourself convinced that you would have a good time tonight. Tipsy from the white wine your mom let you drink under her supervision, warm with joy from an early evening spent with May and Heather in your room. It’s your favourite part of going out; the hour or two before. When it’s just the three of you, with nobody else to perform for, you fit right back together as you always did. Swapping gossip, exchanging compliments. Painting Heather’s nails a soft pink, her steady hands painting yours in return. You worked on May’s make up, smiled shyly  into the mirror when she set your hair up the way you like it and told you with a pout how jealous she is of its texture. 

You listened to Heather, gentle and happy at seeing her boyfriend, at the flowers he’d brought her. You spoke to May about the film you should rent for your next movie night; a comedy with popcorn or a weepy chick flick with chocolate. You’d watched from your bed, grinning and heartsore while May leaned into Heather’s shoulder, serenading her while she applied her lipstick. Heather rolled her eyes fondly as May crooned into her ear, “I can’t fight this feeling anymore!” 

Later, head truly fuzzy from paint stripper vodka and lemonade, you’d screamed all the words to Power of Love with them. Hands in the air, hips swaying, content in the knowledge that, if everyone in the house has drank as much as you, none of them will care to remember how you danced and sang tonight. It was exactly as you wanted it to always be. With your friends, believing entirely, at least in the moment, that you still put each other first. That you were friends now not just because you used to be. 

Only, Heather’s boyfriend had appeared like a grey cloud in the blue sky of your evening. Before you knew it, she was settled under his arm on a couch at the other side of the room, sipping light beer and talking with the friends he’d brought back from college for the weekend. All boys you can’t stand, and know May can’t stand either. The last time you saw them, when May had told them proudly that you were well on your way to NYU to study Comparative Literature, you’d watched two of them make eye contact, sniggering with each other into their beer. You weren’t proud of yourself for adding that you still might do Chemistry, not that it had helped much. 

Soon after, May was called over by some cheer friends. She’d grasped your hand and pulled you along with her, both a blessing and a curse that she refuses to leave you out. Lacking some of your usual self-consciousness, both from your continual sips at your drink and the fact that Caroline, blessedly, hadn’t shown up, you’d managed a brief, fairly friendly chat with Tracy about whether she was wearing too much blush (she was) followed by how well the basketball team will do this year (hell if you know). 

Then, when Josh, a boy May has had a simmering crush on since you were freshmen, invited her over to play beer pong, you let her pull you with her again. And here you are, paired with this boy in green and white. Ethan flashes his white toothed smile every time you miss a shot on account of your shaking hands. A charming smile that tells you how girls might get into trouble on his account; girls like Caroline, girls like Erin. You wonder if it was that smile that made Erin follow him upstairs that night, that made Caroline fall back into his arms with little complaint, all the blame placed elsewhere. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, squeezing the top of your arm before turning his attention to the table. May smiles at you again as Josh chugs beer down in a quick gulp, sending you all the signs of gratitude that make you feel guilty for thinking almost exclusively about the ways you could leave soon.

When it’s your turn again, you take stock of the cups across from you. Two on your side, four on theirs, so with any luck this is your last turn. You watch the ball just brush the opposite rim of one of the cups, before bouncing lamely to the table. “Okay, that one was close.” Ethan says kindly, elbowing you.

“Nah, her head’s in the clouds,” Josh says with a smirk, catching the ball and bouncing it a couple times off the table. “Too busy thinking about…Munson, right? Would not have thought that was your type, but uh, I guess that explains why you wouldn’t let Andy-”

“Leave her alone, Josh,” May cuts in, leaning away from him with a scowl. You feel a rush around your ears, your heart in your throat. You like to forget this fact, but sometimes you’re reminded of it like seeing it written in bright red neon. Just about everybody knows what happened between you and Andy to varying degrees of detail, and they can all use it against you whenever they want. 

“It’s not that serious,” he says, the following laugh more defensive when May rolls her eyes. “You are dating the freak, right?”

Your toes curl. “Don’t call him that.”

“C’mon, man,” Ethan sighs. “You’re killing the mood.”

“It’s dead and buried,” May corrects, face set in that brilliant frown that gets your heart pumping when it’s directed at you. 

Josh glances between the three of you, landing particularly on May and her crossed arms. He looks to Ethan again for support, throws his hands up when he finds none there. “Fine,” he says, smacking his teeth. “‘S boring playing girls anyway.”

He bounces the ball across the table to Ethan, and stalks off with his shoulders sagging. May’s face softens when she comes over to you, your chest warm at her concern. “You okay?”

“Mm. Thank you.”

She pouts, swaying a little. “Why are guys such jerks?”

“Um, I’m right here,” Ethan laughs, chucking the ball back and forth between his hands. There’s that smile again, easy and sharp and clean. You think of Erin, dragged through mud. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, barely glancing at him. 

“No problem. He’s an idiot when he’s drunk.”

If you were braver, you’d say he’s an idiot sober, too. 

“Looks like we need to even the teams up,” May says brightly. 

“Oh, that’s okay,” you answer, the only relief from the situation that this may give you a chance to escape for a brief moment. “I wanna get some water. You guys can keep playing.”

“You sure?” She asks, leaning in so it really is just the two of you, giving you a hit of tuberose and orange blossom, the same perfume she’s worn since your first high school party in ‘83. “I’ll come with you if you want.”

“It’s okay,” you say, squeezing her arm gratefully. “I’ll be right back.”

The air is fresher the second you’re in the hallway, without the clutch of warm bodies forcing you to mutter ‘excuse me’ enough that the words lose all meaning. The damp heat picks up again in the kitchen, smaller groups standing around with cups in their hands, some swaying to the distant music. You glance at the sink, find a couple crowded in front of it, their eyes intent on eachother. Even your slightly fuzzy mind decides against trying to navigate around them in search of water. 

“Hey, Ringwald.” It takes a good couple of seconds for you to register that the greeting might be for you. It requires a tap on the shoulder, Erin’s half there smile directed your way. She holds up a cup. “Want some?” 

You glance into it, find clear liquid that gets your hopes up. “Water?”

She snorts. “I know I’m pretty badass, but six shots of vodka in one cup is a little much. Even for me.” 

You take it gratefully, screaming at your tipsy brain to remember not to drink too much of someone else’s water. A couple gulps and you hand it back to her, surprised at how much you needed it, throat a little scratchy from singing earlier before your joy left with Heather. 

“So, uh, how are you?”

You nod, giving her a close lipped smile. “Yeah, fine. How are you?”

Erin tilts her head, her right eye narrowing. “No, I mean, like really how are you?” She waves her cup around, as if gesturing to the entire house. “Seems like you and May are friends again, I guess.”

“We were always friends,” you assure, heart panging. “She was just,” you search for it, unprepared for this conversation. Where you normally would avoid answering altogether, your cottoned up mind combined with the earnest desperation to defend your friend ends in a rambling answer. “I didn’t tell her the right way, you know? She was hurt, finding out from somebody else about, you know, Eddie and I. But we talked it all out and she’s forgiven me.”

“Forgiven…you?” 

“For not telling her myself.”

Erin taps a finger on her cup, considering you. “That’s what she was angry about?”

Your mouth opens, thoughts tangling. “Um, I mean, among other things,” you rush, giving her a reassuring smile. “But everything’s fine now.” 

“Okay,” she says, that half smile returning. “Glad to hear it, Ringwald.”

“I, um,” you step a little closer, forcing yourself to look right into her eyes. “I did want to say thank you for that actually. I just-” You just worried endlessly about approaching her, how you would even thank her for preventing you from being quizzed about your sex life in front of an entire group. You shrug, and luckily Erin seems to understand.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “You shouldn’t have had to explain yourself in the first place. But those girls are pretty vicious when they smell blood.”

You’re struck with a pity for her you know she’d probably hate you feeling. You try to remember what she was like before her entire friend group turned on her, before she was taken in by that sharp smile. She still had the sarcastic wit, you’re sure. But without the undertone of anger that comes along every other sentence; less bite. Erin has always been confident, but now she carries herself like somebody full of righteous indignation and nowhere to put it.

“You can have the rest of this,” she says, handing you the water and looking away like she’s read your whole thought process and wants out of the conversation quick. “Those six shots actually sound kind of appealing now.”

“Okay, well, see you later?”

She gives you a little thumbs up as she passes. You watch her elbow past the couple at the sink to reach the bottles and cups piled beside it. Already feeling more sober than you had when you walked in, you finish the cool water, resisting the temptation to start playing with the material of your skirt. 

“Hey, uh…hey.” You look over at Neil from your Physics class, recognising the sound of somebody trying and failing to remember your name. “Could you talk to Munson for me? Tell him I’m good for the money, it’s just that it’s another week before I get paid.”

You blink. The information takes a second to move from your ears to your brain, longer to process their whole meaning. You feel a flutter in your chest; something like excitement, something like relief. “Eddie’s here?”

“Yeah, and he’s making a really big deal out of twenty dollars, you know?”

You look over his shoulder as if Eddie might be standing out in the hallway, finding only the empty doorway. “Where is he?”

“Uh, he was by the stereo I think? So, you’ll talk to him?” 

“Um, sure,” you mumble, pressing past him to walk down the hall back into the living room. There’s May, laughing as Ethan tips his head back to drink, the table laden with a new set of cups. On the other side of the room, Heather, nodding at something and looking serious as ever. 

And then you catch him; a head of messy curls, denim on leather, the cut out t-shirt you know Eddie sewed on himself by hand. He’s standing right next to the stereo, sorting through records. His curls shift with a shake of his head and you just know his expression is dismayed, truly disappointed in the collection. To his side, a group of boys is searching their pockets, failing to hide their efforts to pool money together. 

Eddie’s presence pulls at you, an invisible but physical tug, and before you know it you’re crossing the room towards him. He jumps a little when you rest your palm on his back, his hand flying to his wallet chain. Then his brown eyes land on you, and you feel the unique joy of watching Eddie realising it’s you. His expression turns in an instant from guarded to happiness. Round eyes look you up and down once in surprise to confirm it’s you, once again in appreciation. He leans right into you, smile a little wolfish. “Well, hey. What brings you to my darkened corner, sweet thing?”

What can you say to that? That in the six, seven hours since you’ve seen him, you’ve felt the lack of his presence? That you’ve spent the last hour in particular wishing you’d never come here, wondering why you didn’t go home with him instead? 

“Was surprised to see you.”

“Yeah, well,” he starts, gesturing with his head to the boys behind him. “My services were required, you see.” His eyes track down again, zeroing in at the place on your legs where your dress ends, the fishnet tights wrapped around your thighs. “You look, uh,” he clears his throat, clearly searching for the right word. “Shit. I mean, fuck. You look good.” 

Your cheeks warm. You turn to the side a touch, pressing your knees together. “Thank you.”

“I um, really like these.” His hand teases the hem of your dress, thumb brushing across the string of your tights. Eddie’s fingers are a warm sting that has your breath catching, your body aching to be closer to him, to more of his heat. 

“Munson?” Sounds from behind him, and the spell is broken. Eddie jumps again, hand parting from your skin like he’d touched a hot stove. His hair flies around him as he turns, face becoming impassive again. 

“Gentlemen,” he says, standing in front of you. “Managed to pool your allowances?” 

“Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie’s head tilts. “For future reference, save the shit talk till after you have the product in your hand. Unless you wanna add another ten percent for the ounce-”

“No, it’s fine,” another says, elbowing his friend. “It’s all there.”

Eddie sighs, taking the collection of rumpled bills from his hand. You watch him stand in front of the antsy boys, counting each note twice over just to watch them squirm. “Mm. Looks like it’s all here.” He brings his wallet from his back pocket, attached to his jeans by a chain, and tucks the money inside. Then, after glancing around him quickly, Eddie’s right hand disappears into the front of his pants. 

“Kept it warm for you, boys,” he cackles, pulling out a plastic baggy filled with green clumps and hurling it towards them. 

In the next second, he’s grabbed your hand and is pulling you through the crowd to the sound of, “Munson, you prick!” from behind you. You can hear Eddie’s almost manic giggling over the music, your heart pounding from speeding after him and the fear of the chance at being followed by five boys, all half drunk and furious. 

Eddie’s hand remains tight around yours until the cool air out the front door hits your heated skin, finally slowing to catch his breath, still chuckling to himself. You watch him, wide eyed, as he leans back against the front wall, head falling back and then forward to look at you. His eyes flash, his face tells you he’s proud. 

“Why did you do that?” 

His laughter stops when he spies the serious look on your face, your hands fiddling with your skirt. “Ah, shit. Sorry,” he sighs. “I didn’t plan for you to be around but there wasn’t much I could do, sweet thing. It was already down there, y’know?” 

“That’s not what I- Why would you aggravate them like that, Eddie?” 

Something a little cold comes over his face then. “Satisfaction, pure and simple,” he answers. “The only kind I can get out of guys like that.”

“But, if you didn’t speak to them like that-”

Eddie’s already shaking his head. “If I didn’t speak to them like that- Hell, if I gave them that weed for free, got on my knees and asked for an ounce of kindness, come Monday they’re still gonna throw me, or Jeff, or any of the guys from Hellfire into a locker,” he tells you, voice a plea for you to understand. “Or call me a freak, or lock one of the freshmen, who still barely know their way around the building, in a supply closet for an hour.” Eddie tilts his head at you. “It’s got absolutely nothing to do with me aggravating them or not, okay? It's not about how nice I am, or how I talk to them - it's about this," he stresses grabbing his long hair, then his shirt. "And this. And D&D and the fucking trailer and my piece of shit father. No amount of sweet talk will fix it cause they don't want me to be nice; they want me to change. And I can’t do that, okay? More importantly, I won’t do that.”

Everything he says makes your chest hurt.

It makes sense, that this is how Eddie Munson thinks. Since your first stumbled word, you’ve been hiding yourself away, blending into the crowd to avoid all the pain that comes with being singled out. But him? Eddie has no interest in curling in on himself, shrinking his personality to fit in. Everything he says, every move he makes, is unapologetic. As true to himself as that shirt. 

But it hurts to think that something so unnatural to you could be right. For all your good will, all your work and staying under the radar, it hasn't saved you. Your need to keep quiet only led to Caroline’s harshness, the laughter from the cheer girls. Your desperation to avoid judgement only opened all the right doors for Andy to hurt you the way he did, for everyone around you to know exactly how. All your complacency, all your acquiescence, none of it kept your friends nearly as close as you’d wanted them. 

You swallow, catch Eddie’s eyes, and whisper in earnest. “I don’t want you to change.” 

You could cry at the relief in his face, the fast blinking that vanishes the shine in his eyes. His head tilts. “No?”

You shake your head vehemently, wishing he would hold your hand again so you could play with his fingers. He pushes himself off the wall and leans into your space, hair falling towards you. You look between his eyes and his collar, debating hiding your face there. 

“Not even my driving?”  

“Okay,” you answer, watching his dimples press into his face. “Maybe I’d like you to change one thing.”

“I knew it!” Eddie cries, throwing his hands up. “Sweet girls like you are only ever after one thing. You wanna fix me, huh?”

“No,” you whisper, smiling to the side. “Just, gently improve your interest in speed limits?” 

“Yeah? And what about my proclivity for pineapple and olive pizza?”

You chew the inside of your lip, suppressing giggles. “I think, given time, I can learn to live with it.” You feel a buzz of pride at Eddie’s laugh, the crinkle around his eyes he gets when he’s really, truly happy. “I do mean it, Eddie. I like you exactly as you are. More-” You take a breath. “More than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

Eddie’s hand finds yours again, your fingers curling into his, your knuckles at his palm. 

“Like me enough to come home with me?” 

You want to. Desperately. The relief you felt at seeing him, your whole body telling you that you’d rather spend an evening with Eddie than here, navigating social circles you’ll never really be a part of. 

“I have to tell my friends first,” you say, watching Eddie nod. 

“Sure thing. I can wait.”

“Okay.” Your gaze travels between his eyes and his collar again, stalling your departure. You want a kiss. Want to kiss him all the time, even for a short goodbye. Eddie, sensing your hesitance to leave, narrows his eyes a little like he's trying to work you out. He catches your eyes dart to his lips, and they curve. 

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to you. It’s a perfect, innocent little thing. But you like it, like the domesticity you’re learning with Eddie. You want kisses goodbye and hello, his hand in yours in the car. You want elbows meeting sides while cooking together, waking up in the middle of the night just to hear Eddie breathing before you fall away again, catching sight of each other in the mirror while you brush your teeth in the morning. You want your daily life, with Eddie in it, with all the things he adds just by way of existing. 

You give him another quick peck, face hot, and run into the house before your mouth asks him to leave with you now and never come back. 

You find May in the kitchen, huddled together with a couple of the cheer girls as well as Ethan. She waves brightly when she catches sight of you, gesturing you over. “Hi!” She calls, hair mussed, clearly having continued to drink since you parted. “Where did you go?”

“Um, I was thinking I might go home,” you say, fiddling with your skirt. “M’tired.”

“Oh, are Heather and Patrick leaving too?”

“No, no. I ran into Eddie. He’s gonna give me a ride home.” 

You brace yourself, the back of your neck prickling with tension. You watch the expression on May’s face shift from confusion, not to anger or disappointment, but amusement. 

“Ohh-kay, you’re tired,” she laughs, shaking her head. You make a noise in embarrassment, checking to see if the rest of the group are listening in and she grins at you, pulling you into a quick, floral smelling, hug. “Have a good night, okay? I’ll see you later.”

You give her a squeeze back, chest warm. “Yeah, later.” 

You give a half hearted wave to everyone else, navigating your way to the living room. Heather is where she has been all evening, under Patrick’s arm. “Hey,” you say, avoiding eye contact with the boys around her. “I’m gonna head.”

“Already?” Heather pouts. A quick throb or annoyance rises and falls, your anger that she wouldn't have noticed either way reasoned with the fact that it was your decision not to spend any time with this group. 

“Yeah, I’m tired.”

“I thought I was giving you a ride?” Patrick asks, leaning over.

"No, Eddie's gonna take me home."

There’s a moment of quiet, information sinking in before Patrick's face displays a shocked frown. "Eddie? Munson? You're getting in that scrap heap he calls a van?" 

You look from him to Heather, spy the clear guilt on her face when you say, "He's my boyfriend. Heather didn't tell you?" 

“She most certainly did not- when the fuck-”

“I’m sure she can fill you in,” you say, voice edging towards breaking, thinking about her encouragement, her fingers on the cross around her neck. Heather's mouth opens, her hand coming to that very pendant, and you shake your head. "Bye." 

She calls your name behind you, but doesn't come after you when you leave. 

Eddie is waiting for you still, balancing a seat on the porch rail and smoking when you emerge. A dimple presses into his face when he flicks the cigarette away and slides down. “All good?”

You grab his hand, bury your face into his shoulder to lean on him a little. Breathe in leather and drugstore shampoo - Eddie, Eddie, Eddie - until your heart stops throbbing painfully. 

“All good,” you mumble, turning your head to look at him from his shoulder. “Home?”

You realise how tired you are when you are settled in Eddie’s van, your eyes and limbs heavy. You half want to curl up in the soft seat and drift, but get taken in by watching Eddie as he drives. His fingers following the guitar licks of his music on the steering wheel, his hair shifting when he rocks his head forward. The way he glances at you when he turns, catches you staring and grins to himself every time. 

"You know, I didn’t really have you down as someone who’d be into paaarties,” he says, eyes wide with his mocking tone. He glances at you again, at your worn out state, and half closes an eye. “And I gotta say, you don't seem like you were having a good time."

You think about that for a minute, wondering how best to explain your complicated relationship with social events. “I like dancing with my friends,” you start with a shrug. “And getting ready.” You lean your head back. “It’s like the only time the three of us are together anymore.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, glancing over at you. “Why’s that?”

Why is that? You’ve wondered it yourself. It felt like, suddenly, though maybe it happened very slowly without you realising, whatever delicate thread held you together started to strain as you moved in different directions. Or, as they did; leaving you lonely in the place you used to share. Waiting for them to visit, when it suits them. 

They changed. You stayed the same.

Only, you must have changed a little. You replay that last moment with Heather tonight in your head, wondering if you’ve ever shown her your hurt, your anger. Six months ago, you doubt you’d even have left at all. It’s more likely that you would have stayed, wishing to be anywhere else, until they wanted to leave. 

Eddie looks over at you following your long silence, adopts the soft, encouraging smile he gives you to show you he’ll wait for your answer, regardless of the reasons it’s taking you so long to find it. You get an inkling, then, of why you’ve changed, if only a little. 

“We’re all just…different than we were,” you say finally. 

“People change, I guess,” Eddie nods. “For better or worse.”

You think you might be better.

Exhaustion takes over when you cross the comforting threshold into Eddie’s home; the familiar smell and warmth of it sending a message across your body that you can relax now. You clean your teeth with the brush Eddie presented you with the first time you stayed over, scrub at your face with warm water until all that’s left are panda eyes you don’t have the fortitude to deal with. When Eddie takes his turn in the bathroom, you search through the little drawer he’d cleaned out for you to find soft cotton pyjamas that have your eyes drifting the second you have them on. 

When Eddie returns, you’re standing in the middle of the room fiddling with your hands, still a little worried about the assumption of getting into his bed when he’s not there. 

“C’mon, sweet thing,” he says, holding the covers open for you and tucking them over your shoulder when you’re settled on the good pillow, the one he insists you take every time. You watch, heart sore, as Eddie removes every one of his rings, counting the little metallic clanks as he drops them on the table. Then goes his bracelet, his watch and his wallet chain. You stare shamelessly as he pulls his shirt over his head, soft hair following the collar up, up, up, and dropping down again in a curly mass around his pale shoulders as the fabric pulls away. You hear the distinct clink of his belt, curl your knees up at the heat the sound sends through your core. Eddie wiggles his hips a little as he pulls his jeans down, stepping out of them ungracefully, kicking them off his heels. He stands before you in his blue plaid boxers, all pale tattooed skin. 

“You’ve been staring at me all evenin’,” he says, approaching you, dropping down in a squat so his face is right by yours. 

You can’t argue, but find yourself fiddling with the duvet, pulling it up to your cheek and half hiding in it to mumble into the polyester. “I like looking at you.” 

“Yeah? Well, looking’s free. Usually touching would cost you,” he says, reaching out with a finger to pull the cover down from your face and leaning in like he’s sharing a secret. “But, uh, just between you and I, sweet thing, you can touch for free, too.” Your toes curl, glancing quickly at Eddie’s pink mouth, watching his lips tilt. “Need some of my services just now?”

“Yeah,”

He hums, his big hand capturing your cheek to tilt your face to his. Eddie’s kisses are gentle and warm. You taste dried toothpaste on his lips, the lasting smoke in his breath from that final cigarette. Then, when your kisses have turned too sleepy to last, just soft presses to his bottom lip, he climbs into the other side of the bed and reaches out for you, fingers wiggling. You tuck yourself into his side, and fall asleep quick. 

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You drift to waking, gently pulled from sleep by sunshine peeking through cheap blinds and the distant sound of a barking dog. You are comfortably cozy under the sheets. Even having shifted to either side of the bed in the night, no longer tangled, you can feel the heat of Eddie at your back. 

You half snooze for a long time, eyes drifting open to take in the contents of the room. The amps and the Corroded Coffin wall hanging, a closet slightly more full than the first time you were here, a floor still messy but less littered with piles of half clean half dirty laundry. Eddie’s acoustic guitar, his writing overtop in white, THIS MACHINE SLAYS DRAGONS. 

You close your eyes again. The next time they open, the room is brighter. Turning ungracefully, you come face to face with Eddie, and huff a soft laugh through your nose. Eddie’s hair in the morning is a beast, pressed to either side of his face from his tossing against the pillow. Some locks frizzed to the point of dullness, some still set in loose curls; both types tossed over the front of his face. Reaching out, you tuck each lock back until you can see him properly, every pretty feature of his face.

You consider trying to wake him, but find yourself simply shuffling closer, tucking yourself into him, nose at his neck. Eddie hums, one arm coming up instinctively to settle over your half asleep body. 

You finally jump awake to the sound of the front door falling closed in a swinging slam. Eddie blinks opposite you, fully registering the noise and your presence together. He hums, closes his eyes again, takes a deep breath through his nose and opens his mouth wide to yawn so loud he might as well have screamed. 

“Coffee, boy!?” Wayne calls as Eddie stretches and cracks his pale limbs. He glances at you in question. 

You chew the inside of your lip. “Should he know I’m here?”

Eddie takes this in for a second, then smiles. “I mean, he’s about to, either way.”

Regret at not having asked Eddie to set an alarm rids all the warm cosiness of the scene. Your face feels hot already at the thought of facing Wayne on a Saturday morning having clearly slept in this bed. “He’ll- he’ll think we-”

Recognition dawns on Eddie’s face, and he shakes his head quickly. “He won’t think anything, sweetheart,” he tells you, leaning in till he’s put himself in your eyeline. Eddie’s expression is earnest until it shifts into an amused smile. “I’ll even tell him you slept on the floor to preserve my innocence. Score you some points with the old man.”

Eddie’s sleepy laughter has some of the tightness in your chest abating. The sight of his eyes crinkling at the sides, dimples digging into his cheeks, is a treat you don’t usually get so early. 

“What time is it?” You ask, realising it may not be early at all if Wayne’s back. Eddie grabs his watch from the bedside table, blinks away residual blurriness.

“Nine thirty.”

Later than you’ve slept since school started back up, yet even now, the thought of curling back up in Eddie’s arms and snoozing for a little longer is an attractive prospect you’re seriously considering.

“I heard your caterwaul of a yawn, boy! How many coffee’s am I making!?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. You nod. He calls back. “Three! If you can count that high!”

The sounds of clinking mugs and sizzling oil mix with Eddie’s soft grunts as he gets himself dressed, jumping up and down to pull his jeans over his feet and searching through the closet for a t-shirt adorned with three angels, all smoking. 

He takes you in when he’s put his rings on, no doubt almost as messy haired as him, watching him from his bed. Brown eyes bright, Eddie leans in to give you a soft kiss. 

“Morning, sweet thing,” he says. His hand cups your cheek, letting you press into his wide palm. “Take your time, mm? I’ll assure Wayne my innocence remains intact.”

Your nose scrunches at his teasing, even as you turn to press a quick kiss to the centre of his hand. Eddie rubs a thumb under your eye, then shuffles out his door. Immediately, the noise of clinking plates is smothered by the exchange of familiar jabs and teases between the uncle and nephew. 

The days you’ve spent here have made you realise how special their relationship is. Not something less than father and son, but in fact something more. Wayne looks upon Eddie with the exasperated fondness of a dad, but reserves the true judgement they can be prone to. No passive aggressive comments about Eddie’s track record at school, nor questions about the way he dresses, despite the bookmarked King James bible that sits on the coffee table. He’s ruffled Eddie’s hair kindly every time he’s been here while you were doing homework, hung his latest C- graded test up on the fridge. Eddie told you Wayne bought him that acoustic guitar when he was thirteen, saved up for months to take him to a real music shop in Indianapolis and let him pick one out. 

You can see, even, the parts of Wayne that have filtered straight down to Eddie. Their humour overlaps, the way they can banter back and forth with each other, never crossing the line into hurt. Though, where Eddie can’t help but grin at a good joke, Wayne remains deadpan through every jibe. 

Wayne, when he gets talking, can spin a yarn the same way Eddie can. Stories about his nights at the factory, his old job driving trucks across the country, his youth, told not in a long ramble, but structured perfectly to have you on the edge of your seat. 

You know now that Eddie’s kindness, the way he treats you, was a gift from Wayne. His genuine interest in your life, your plans. His continual, earnest offer of food from his fridge every time he sees you. When your mom made a lasagne for you to take in thanks for all the evenings you’ve spent here, Wayne didn’t send the dish with Eddie to school, but drove to your house with it cleaned to a shine to hand it back and thank her personally. Soon after, Eddie let it slip that the daisies he brought you for your first date were bought at Wayne’s insistence. 

You’d wondered, that day at the lake, how a boy treated like Eddie is treated could be so bright and kind. 

Wayne was the answer. 

So you should be braver, emerging from Eddie’s room in that big hoodie of his he’d been lending you on and off and shorts you’d left here the last time you stayed over, no doubt still sporting panda eyes from last night. But you find yourself making use of the long sleeves, fidgeting with your fingers against the fabric. 

Eddie’s in the midst of getting his wrist thwacked with a spatula for attempting to steal a streak of bacon as Wayne transferred them from pan to plate. Gasping, he holds his hand in the air and lets his wrist fall limp. “I- I can’t feel my fingers!”

Wayne silently watches Eddie flop his hand back and forth, only a slight crinkle at his eyes suggesting he finds anything his nephew is doing at all amusing. When he catches sight of you, his gaze barely flickers from your messy hair to Eddie’s hoodie. “Mornin’,” he says, turning his back to a still howling Eddie to shake the pan. “Eggs? Bacon?”

The temptation to refuse, to be polite and pretend you don’t want anything from him prickles at the back of your mind. Only, experience has taught you he’ll only plate you up something anyway. There for you if you change your mind, something both he and Eddie say frequently.

“Please,” you nod. 

“You gonna set the table, Eddie?”

“How can I?” Eddie cries, wrapping his other hand around the injured arm and holding it up as if the ailment has moved all the way to his elbow. “With this!?”

Wanting to make yourself useful, you venture into the cutlery drawer yourself, giggling as Eddie shakes his limp hand at you, before pulling up the fold out table at the other side of the kitchen. “You’re on coffee duty then, Ed.”

Eddie gives up the routine at the prospect of picking out mugs, his eyes shining. It’s an activity he seems to enjoy deeply; shuffling over to the expansive collection and perusing them like he doesn’t already know exactly who’s getting what.

Eddie likes to give Wayne a novelty Garfield mug, something about the quiet, serious man drinking from the head of the large orange cat tickling him. For himself, a black mug with THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE printed in white letters around a cartoon duck. For a while, he has been trying out different mugs for you, showing the best of Wayne’s extensive collection. But he’s settled on a white NASA mug Wayne picked up on a trip to Houston. “For my smart girl,” he’d said the first time he handed it to you, expression all fondness and pride. 

Eating together is becoming familiar to you now. Wayne has picked up on your tendency to keep quiet the same way Eddie did, sometimes asking you questions but generally letting you decide when you want to speak without much prying. 

“You two got plans?” He asks, glancing briefly at you then turning to Eddie when you look unsure. 

“Uh, nothing solid,” Eddie says, focused on the construction of an increasingly complex breakfast sandwich. “But I was thinking about heading to Greenfield to pick up an album. I had loan of Accept’s newest record from Jeff before he remembered I had it.” His tongue peeks out at his concentration, topping the egg, bacon, hashbrown and tomato with a final piece of toast. “Didn’t think three months was too long to keep it. I mean, what’s an album between friends?”

You watch in near fascination as he manages to keep it all in tact through a large bite. He chews slowly, and swallows. “I’d welcome a road trip buddy if you’d be so inclined, Princess.” 

Your face warms at the name used in front of Wayne, but you nod. 

“There’s a good bookshop, too,” he says, clearly holding himself back from taking another significant bite. “S’where I got my copy of Orpheus.” He must see something, excitement probably, move across your face, because next Eddie is flashing a pleased smile. “Sound good?”

“Sounds good.”

When you’re all finished, dishes washed by you at your gentle insistence, face scrubbed further with luke warm water from the tap and hair finger combed through, you leave a yawning Wayne to his fold out. 

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The shop, located two towns over from Hawkins, smells like the music room at your first school. The memory hits you as soon as you walk through the door; standing in three lines and belting out an off tune Amazing Grace with another thirty kids. Playing with claves and tambourines. Eddie seems in his element here, directing you through display shelves of pop and country records around a corner to the back where his kind of music is kept. “Course, some albums I just use the cassette,” he tells you, rifling through a couple of records. You look around the section yourself, counting up the albums you recognise from Eddie’s desk, his glove compartment. “But when I love an album I kinda have to get it on vinyl, you know?”

You don’t, not really. You have your own pile of albums in your room, all plastic rectangles ready for your cassette player or your walkman. Your dad has a collection of country records, your Mom some Joni Mitchell, the Crosby, Stills and Nash records she played constantly when you were a child. Before Eddie started asking you to pick out albums you thought looked good in his room, you hadn’t touched a vinyl since your aunt asked you to put on the White Christmas over the holidays. 

Eddie senses your confusion, and shrugs. “I mean, I wanna see the album art for real,” he tells you, finding one as an example. “Not quite as effective at four by three inches, right?” You recognise it immediately as Holy Diver. Eddie has a shirt with this cover on it; a demon standing over a priest splashing in water. He was wearing it that day in the woods, when you ran right up and kissed him. He takes the record from you when you nod, placing it back carefully. 

“And there’s albums a stereo just can’t do justice to. They’re useful when I wanna skip songs. But hearing it from start to finish? At the highest quality? It just needs a record. Ah-” He finds the album he came here for and shows you. A blue background, with a chrome, blocky heart shape filled with valves and pumps. "Metal Heart," Eddie explains. "Latest, and best, album by Accept. They're this German heavy metal band? The lead guitarist, Wolf Hoffman?” He sighs wistfully, looking off into the distance. “Man, what I'd do if I got him in a room alone.”

You make an awful snorting sound when you laugh, have to ignore the delight on Eddie’s face lest you burn up entirely. "So,” you start. “Heavy metal is different from regular metal, or is it just another term for it?”

Eddie's face lights up at the question, putting on a refined accent. "Heavy metal, young lady, is a type of metal that encompasses many genres,” he explains, bringing a hand up to add to the role. “For example, one could say all thrash metal is heavy metal, but only a simple fool, would seek to claim that all heavy metal is thrash metal. Do you follow?” His character falls apart at your giggle. “I said metal too many times, huh? Note taken. You wanna listen?" 

At your nod, Eddie walks you back round to the front towards a row of glass booths housing record players and headphones. You watch his hands move carefully, treating the record with the same care he uses to hold your hand. When it's in place, he dons the headphones and places the needle, nodding his head until it reaches the start of the particular song he wants you to hear. His hair fans out a little as he removes them, making to place them over your ears until you flinch and he jerks them back. 

 “A little loud,” 

“Ah, shit, sorry,” he says, turning a knob on the record player. “I forgot. Princess ears.” He replaces the headphones, eyebrows raising in question. The volume more manageable now, you nod happily, listening to pulsing guitars build in intensity, joined by thrashing drums and eventually the telltale screeching voice that immediately transports you into Eddie’s room, the soundtrack of his life. 

Eddie’s eyes are all soft excitement, shining at you, watching for your reactions. 

If you had to make a list of all the things to like about Eddie, his passion would surely sit near the top. The way he fizzes all over to talk about music, and Dungeons and Dragons and Lord of the Rings. The way he’s desperate to share his interests with you. Not out of expectation for you to feel exactly the same about any of it, and certainly not with any assumptions that you should understand it already. Just to share, to let you in, to show himself to you. 

You wish you were more like him, that way. That you weren’t more comfortable hiding, keeping bits of yourself under lock and key lest their exposure leave the most delicate parts of you open to attack. You try to imagine Eddie using anything like that against you. You remember him leaning across the table to you on your first date, listening to you ramble about wyverns and etymology while your feet tapped your anxiety out onto the floor. He’d thanked you for sharing. Very metal, he’d said. 

Three minutes in, and you realise Eddie’s been playing the whole song in his head, because he brings his hands up to follow the chords playing in your ears with an imaginary guitar, hair shaking as he throws his head back and forth. Then he flashes his smile, soft cheeks displaying his dimples and smile lines.

You can’t help it. 

You step forward until your feet are patterned with his. You reach out for his sleeve, playing with the chains keeping the left connected across his wrist. Eddie’s still watching you when you tilt your chin, leaning towards him to press your lips to his. Anxiety prickles along your spine, but you know that nobody can see you. Even better, you know that Eddie is between you and the door, hiding you from the world. With the distinctive chains of his jacket in your fingers, his music sounding through your headphones, his lips on yours; everything around you is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 

Safe, safe, safe. 

He pulls away with a huff of breath against your lips, giving you a series of chaste pecks like he isn’t quite ready to stop kissing you entirely despite protesting lungs. Your face burns, but it’s worth it for the way Eddie is staring at you when you finally open your eyes. 

“What was that for?” He mouths, gaze flicking to your lips and back to your eyes.

You bring your foot up, pressing the top of it to the back of your ankle and sliding it up and down your calf. A braver version of you would say what every part of you is screaming. Instead you shrug, still fiddling with his sleeve. Eddie tilts his head, clearly unsatisfied, but doesn't press you. 

"I like this," you tell him as it finishes, removing the headphones. 

"Well, that settles it," he answers, sliding the record from the player back into its sleeve. "You're coming home with me." 

You watch Eddie navigate the shop like it's a second home. He stops off at the cassettes, rifling through for anything new, anything he might not have heard before. He grabs a couple blank tapes too, looks at you to the side with pink cheeks. "In case I wanna make any more mixtapes." 

At the desk, Eddie places everything down carefully while you wait at the empty till. After a good thirty seconds, you start playing with the rings on Eddie's left hand while his other raps against the wooden desk. "Uh, hello? Anybody- ah, shit." 

"Munson," says the bespeckled boy who emerges from the back room. 

Eddie’s fingers twitch, and you cease your fidgeting to look up at him, find his face pulled taught. "Oh, hi. I, uh, didn't think you worked on Saturdays anymore." 

"Switched to the weekend shift," he answers, stony faced. "That gonna be a problem for you? Surely you’re not still in highschool?"

Eddie frowns, hand twitching again as he sighs. "Listen, man, I'm not looking to argue-"

"Don't know why else you'd show your face. You know your money's no good to me." 

Eddie slumps, all the easy happiness pulled from him. He hasn’t looked at you once, and your heart aches. 

"I'm buying these," you declare, searching through your bag for your purse. Tissues, no, lipgloss, no, mixtape, no. 

They both turn to you. The boy behind the desk takes you in finally, his nose wrinkling. "Oh yeah? You a metal fan?" 

"Mm hmm,” you say, voice higher than you’d like. 

"Okay, name three Metallica albums."

You glance at Eddie, find him rolling his eyes until you ask. “But Metallica only has two albums, right?" 

Eddie’s immediate smile is warmth inducing, causes you to shuffle with shy pride. You thrust out the money in your hand, start gathering up the items again to place in your shopping bag while Eddie grins in the face of the scowling man. 

"Whatever,” he says finally. “I don't wanna see you around here again, Munson." 

Eddie gives him a little salute, then grabs the bag from you and takes your hand to leave.

"Jesus," he breathes as soon as the bell announcing the doors closure sounds. "You can't talk like that, sweet thing. We're in public. You’ve-" He scratches at the back of his neck. “You’ve really been listening to me talk about it all the time, huh?”

You frown. “Of course, Eddie. I like it,” you answer, tugging his hand to start the walk back to the van. “Who was that?" 

Eddie’s smile drops. "Uh, Peter? We actually, kinda used to be friends. I introduced him to all his favourite bands back in the day, you know? Then suddenly he’s the gatekeeper of metal- I mean it’s a fucking joke.” He opens the side door, placing your bag behind the front seat. “S'how I met Gareth, really. Poor kid couldn't name two Dio albums so he gets insulted buying the latest one, what the hell is that? We all have to start somewhere. I mean, when I met that guy he was a U2 fan. Anyway-” he continues, closing the door. “I told him he was being a dick and he got all pissy about it." 

You chew your lip. "He acts that way, because you called him a dick?"

Eddie blanches, his head falling back with a quick groan. "Okay, I wanna add a disclaimer that I was sixteen and dumb," he starts. "And he really was being a dick, acting like- like all those guys metalheads are supposed to hate in the first place, and-" 

"And?" 

"And I hit him. Real gentle. With my fist." 

"Eddie,"

"Sweet thing, even you woulda decked him if you'd been there. I swear. And, I just can't fucking stand that shit, you know?" 

You do know. Eddie is all gentle touch and soft smiles around you, but something changes in him when he’s witness to injustice. He'd had to miss a date just last week because he had detention, brought about by standing over a sophomore who'd dared to mess with one of the freshmen in Eddie's club. "You make one vague threat about human sacrifice and suddenly everyone's got an opinion on what constitutes bullying," he'd complained later. "If teachers aren’t gonna teach that kid not to be a cunt, why shouldn't I scare it out of him?" 

You've heard him call the whole group his little sheep, laughing like he doesn't kind of mean it. Like he doesn't think of them as weird kids he'd gathered together in something of a herd, a pack. Like he doesn't think of himself as their shepherd, as their protector. 

"Point is," he says now. "He's the one in the wrong, I swear. Shit. I can't believe he works weekends now." 

"Well, I can go in for you." 

"Yeah? You can set him straight, my baby metalhead. Fuck- didn't even say thank you. Was too busy trying to pretend I wasn't half fucking hard-" You make a soft noise and Eddie blinks, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. How much was it again?"

You press a toe to the top of your other shoe shyly. "Can't I buy you them?" 

"Huh?"

"Like a gift?" 

Eddie’s face twists. You thought he was just being a gentleman, when he’d paid sneakily on your first date. You know now that’s only part of it. He likes driving you places but won’t accept gas money, likes making you dinner at his home but won’t let you pay for groceries when you tag along on errands. The only thing he doesn’t get twitchy about is your baking, but that’s because you’re there eating them too. You think this might further influence from Wayne; a certain pride, a refusal to accept anything monetary from you. 

"But, sweet thing-"

"Please, Eddie?" 

He watches you, conflicting emotions passing along his expression. "Okay. But you’re picking out a book. A real fancy one. I wanna see leather binding yeah? And one of those little ribbons attached, okay?" 

Your toes curl, nodding happily. "Okay."

You feel more at home as you walk through a glass door to the smell of old paper and ink. 

Joan Baez croons from the record player in the corner. The woman at the register nods as you enter but offers no other greeting. Eddie follows after you when you make a beeline to the poetry section; full of battered, well loved books with cracked spines and fading covers. 

You send Eddie a shy look, spine prickling from being watched in what feels like a solitary activity. You rub your thumb at a dusty shelf, wondering how to tell him, when he leans in a little. "Hey, you’ve been taking all my music recommendations. Anything for me to read?”

“Oh,” you say, mind lighting up before dimming at the thought of being too pushy, or recommending something he might hate. “I don’t know.”

“C’mon,” he says, leaning in more until he's all you can see, tilting his head until you’re looking into his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

You chew the inside of your lip. “Mm. Maybe- Have you ever read The Metamorphosis?” 

Eddie leans back, shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Can’t say I have.”

“I think,” you consider it again. “I think you’d like it. It’s about, well- A man turns into…an insect.” You simmer over the fact you want to share, let yourself believe that Eddie will be as willing as always to hear it. “It was written in German, and the word for what he turns into literally translates to, like, an animal you can’t sacrifice. Like, vermin?” Eddie’s watching you round off this information in a rush, smiling a little. “Kafka, the writer, didn’t want the actual animal to be specific. But sometimes it’s mistranslated and people say he turns into a beetle, or…or a cockroach,” you trail off, cringing at the sound of yourself. “I’m not selling it very well.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he answers. “Sounds suitably weird. Kafka, you said? I’ll get searching.”

Eddie disappears round the corner, leaving you to comfortable contemplation of the poetry selection. Rilke's entire works, some Wilde, some Shelley. You search for something new and land on a name you've never heard. Drawing it from the shelf, you peer at the cover, a silhouette of a bridge bathed in orange, with the Selected Poems by Marina Tsvetaeva printed above. 

You read a couple of the shorter poems, struck by her voice, her imagery. Turning to a random page, see the original Russian on one side, the English translation on the other. The title, asking the question, Where Does Such Tenderness Come From? Your heart pangs in recognition of her feelings as you read, the best part of poetry always finding yourself reflected back at you. 

You and your eyelashes - she writes. Longer than anyone’s, as if she knows about the eyes you wish you had the confidence to stare into without respite.

“Found anything?”

You jump, closing the book quickly as if you’d been reading something illicit. Eddie gives you a quick up and down look, keeping his distance until your shoulders drop their tension. “Yes,” you say, turning the book so he can see the cover. “I’d never even heard of her but I like her already.”

“Enough to kick poor Rainer off the top spot?”

You feel that strange warmth that comes with being known, the little reminder of things that Eddie has learned and remembered about you. “Not quite, but I’ll still give her a chance.” You glance down at the book in Eddie’s hands, glad to see he’s grabbed your recommendation. “You like it?”

“Seems weird as fuck,” he confirms matter of factly. “So it’s almost like I’m contractually obliged to read it, you know?”

He pulls the new book gently from your hands, retrieving his chained wallet from his back pocket. "My turn," he says with an unusual seriousness. “You want any others?”

You shake your head, lean up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek, surrounded and sheltered as you are by shelves and books. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“Nah,” he says, face a soft pink. 

Later, when Eddie has followed you perusing shop windows, and you are full up on drive through fries, eaten in the front of Eddie’s van as you listened to his story of negotiating $20 of payment between his entire band for their nights playing at the Hideout, Eddie drives you back, glancing over at you every so often like he wants to say something, but turning his head back to the road every time instead.

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

You feel relaxed, content, sitting comfy on the couch outside of Eddie’s trailer. He popped his head in earlier and found Wayne still sleeping, so you settled here to read in companionable silence. You, discovering more of Marina’s voice, drifting back again and again to the one poem that makes your chest full. 

Eddie lies with his head resting on your lap, flicking through the short novella. You play with his hair throughout, curling locks around your fingers and stroking his fringe back from his forehead. Occasionally, you glance down at him, taking in his furrowed brow and eyes shining wet at a couple moments. 

“Well, that was fucked up!” Eddie cries, snapping the book shut and somehow managing to whisper a yell. “He just dies? And they don’t care?”

You close your book to focus on him, resting it next to you. You let your fingers tangle into his hair, scratching softly. Eddie, even in his indignation, tilts his head towards the satisfying feeling like a cat. “Mm. That’s the point. He was living his life for his family, but they didn’t really care about him.”

“Yeah, but there’s not caring about someone and there’s hurtling fruit at them,” he reasons. “That Kafka guy had issues, I can’t be the only one who’s noticed.”

You crack a shy smile. “I think he’s brilliant.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie’s dimples tease you. “You’re a freak.” 

Your stomach flips at the affection in his voice, fingers stilling in his hair for a second before resuming their gentle caress. 

It hits you then, watching Eddie's pretty face, that you’re going to be alone with him again through the night, without interruption, and your throat lumps. As if he realises at the same time, Eddie sits up, hair still at angles from your exploring hands. His mouth opens, then closes again, his eyes flicking from your face to your hands where you’ve started fiddling with the hem of your shirt. 

Forcing yourself to take on his example, you ask, “what are you thinking, Eddie?”

“Big question,” he says. “But uh, I guess, I never thought…I never thought sex was that important, you know? Hell, I lost my virginity in the bathrooms at the Emerson Theatre.” His eyes scrunch closed as soon as he says it, like he regrets letting that particular detail slip right now. When one opens, and finds you smiling at him encouragingly, he sighs with his whole body. “And, I hope you know that it wouldn’t matter to me if you had been with somebody else,” he continues, eyes wide. “Like, at all. But at the same time, I’m happy I’m first, you know? Cause I know I can look after you. I can give you what you deserve. Which, again, technically should be a big fancy bed and linen sheets, but some people have absolutely no patience, so-”

“Eddie,” you groan. But it has no bite. You’re already smiling at him, grabbing at his palm to play with his fingers, heart full. 

He clears his throat. “So yeah, that’s what I’m thinking about. Also seeing you naked, obviously. But that takes up a good 30% of my brain pretty much all the time so it’s not entirely relevant here.”

“You’re so annoying,” you laugh, watching him clutch his chest in mock hurt.

“I just bared my soul to you!” He cries, watching your giggles incredulously. “Do’st thou mock me? Have you no heart, woman?”

You bury the rest of your laughter in his neck, feeling a kind of dizzy happiness that makes it hard to stop. Eddie’s chest shaking under your cheek tells you that he’s as affected, a hand coming up to stroke at your hair as the mirth fades. Turning to look at where your hands have started up playing with his fingers again, you think about what you want to say.

“Eddie,” you whisper, pulling from his neck, looking between his eyes and his forehead as you search for the bravery he has in spades, the ease to tell him that it always had to be him. 

Only, the front door of the trailer opens, revealing a sleepy looking, shirtless, Wayne. 

“Oh, Jesus, have some decorum, man!” Eddie yells, covering your eyes with his hand. 

“Evenin’, Eddie,” he says, followed by your own name. You wave, blinking to Eddie’s palm. “Get everything you wanted?”

“Yup, sweet girl bought me my very own Metal Heart,” he grins, tapping the album where it sits at his side on the couch as you wrestle his arm away. “Sleep well?”

“As good as I can.” He answers earnestly. “Just makin’ coffee then I’ll hit the road. You want anything?”

"I want you to put some clothes on!"

“No, thank you,” you answer over him, shaking your head and leaning into Eddie’s arm. When Wayne's gone, you glance up, find those soft eyes, those long dark eyelashes. Longer than anyone's. 

"What are you thinking?" 

You answer honestly. "That you're gonna look after me." 

"I will," he nods, sounding almost stern. "As long as you want me to." 

You wish it was easy to say, but all you can do is think it. 

Always, always, always.

Wayne leaves with a gruff goodbye, a reminder to Eddie that there's left over pasta in the refrigerator. You remember the first time you were here at the same time as Wayne, the almost desperate rush to get into Eddie's room the second he was gone. 

Now, you and Eddie stay, settled into one another for a long while after, until the sun has moved from high overhead to just behind the trees in front, turning the scene to a silhouette backlit with orange light. Eddie disappears, comes back with bowls of that pasta. You talk about school, and Eddie's band. He explains more about thrash metal, you tell him your new favourite German word you’d learned only yesterday. When the orange fades to blue-black, Eddie looks over at you. 

"Ready?"  

You wonder what it means, that despite the increasing thrum of your heart in your chest, you don't even have to think about it. "Yes."

He holds your hand all the way to his room, guiding you through like you don't know how to find his bed at the end. When the door is closed, sheltering you from the world outside, you wrap your arms tight around him, give yourself the comfort of hiding in his collar, feeling the slow rise and fall from his breath. 

Eddie hums, his hand coming to that space at the back of your neck that eases everything in your body that you’re used to holding tight. “How you feeling, honey?”

“Good,” you mumble. Then, wondering if he can feel the heavy beat of your heart. “Nervous.”

“Okay,” he says, fingers stroking and squeezing at your tender skin. “What are you nervous about? Anything we can fix?”

You let that thought sit. You are still learning how much Eddie means it when he says things like that. Still practising the belief that Eddie wants you to share your worries, carry some of the burden for you. The responsibility of trying to shed the weight, the disappointment of knowing some of it just has to be carried.

You’re resigned to telling him, but finding the exact reason for the nerves twisting your stomach takes its own time. With anyone else, you’d be worried about pain, about what happens if you have to stop. These concerns float away on their own at the feeling of Eddie’s hand stroking at you, his lips pressing kisses at your temple. Then you land on it, and press your face deeper against the softness of his shirt.

“I don’t know, I guess- What should I do?” You ask, voice small. “So it’s good for you, too.”

You feel his sigh from the rise in his chest, the shake of his head from the brush of his hair against your cheek. 

“Will you look at me?” He asks, waiting for you to tilt your head to find him. “You want the truth?” You nod, chin still tight to his shirt. Eddie’s eyes narrow a touch, leaning down conspiratorially. “It will feel good for me,” he starts, his free hand rubbing at your waist. “If we can get your pussy all soft, first.” A surprised throb between your legs has you clenching down on nothing, close to whimpering at the gentle roughness of Eddie’s voice. “All soft, and wet enough that I can just slide in, fill you up easy. Making you cum on my cock, sweet thing. That’s what’ll feel good, for me.” Eddie gives you a wolfish grin as he starts walking you backwards towards his bed, raising his eyebrows in question. “Think we can do that?”

It’s easy, then. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Mm, my good girl,” he says, holding you with the backs of your knees pressed to the side of his mattress, his nose at your temple. “Can I kiss you?”

Even easier. “Yes, Eddie.”

His lips press soft across your cheek and down to your mouth, warm and waiting for him. He's gentle with you, none of the fierceness you've felt in Eddie's kisses more recently. Like he's restraining himself, learning how you like to be touched in the lead up to something new. Your hands find his shoulders, soft cotton of his shirt, and rub at the fabric. His tongue flicks subtly against your bottom lip, but you're already desperate to taste him for real, letting him press deeper without any more prompting. 

You feel it at the sound of his laugh, the sudden curve of his lips, the huff of air from his nose against your cheek. The addictive high of showing Eddie how shameless he makes you, the knowledge that he sees you as you are. Not a wallflower here, or a naïve girl. Not an ingénue, to be taken advantage of, or protected from corruption. 

With Eddie, you can be as you are. Inexperienced and desperate in equal measure, as nervous as you are sure. 

"Fuck," Eddie breathes, pulling away only to blink down at you for a couple seconds before he captures your mouth again, tongue pressing to yours, hot and wet. You whine slowly, rising in volume, your fingers clasping at him. "S'alright," he soothes, giving you another press to your pout. His hand rubs at the back of your neck, encouraging you to lean your head into his support, give him space to leave plush kisses down the side of your throat. 

"Eddie," you whisper, softer than you'd expected. Not a moan, or even a plea for more. Just to say it, to feel the shape of his name in your mouth again. 

"So sweet," Eddie says, voice a wonderful vibration against your sensitive neck. "Sweetest girl I've ever seen- fuck. Can I?" His hands tug at the hem of your sweater and you nod desperately, helping him pull it off over your head. His lips return to your skin the second the material is on the floor, a wet press down to the softness of your chest. You feel his smile, his excited breath. He sucks, pulls at your flesh until it aches and you squirm. “Mm,” he sighs. “Can’t help it. Wanna mark you up-”

Gentle hands peel your bra from your chest, the tenderness vanishing with his tongue finding the pert bud of your nipple, treating the sensitive peak to wet warmth and friction that has your toes curling. The quick scrape of teeth makes you bat at Eddie's shoulder even as your body tilts to follow his mouth when it retreats. 

He gives the other similar treatment, groaning when your fingers drift upwards to tug at his hair. Another little squeak at the graze of his teeth and he’s pulling away to look at you. Your heart jumps at the sight of him, hair mussed from burying himself into your skin, face a light pink, lips wet and kissed dark. The way his eyes flick about you, you’re sure you must be in a similar state. 

Eddie’s throat bobs. “Wanna sit up on the bed, there?”

You nod, letting him help you up to the mattress and stand between your swinging legs.

“Need to go over something else, before we really get started,” he tells you, walking you back to sit on the bed, legs swinging off the side. Eddie drops to his knees to take your ankle in hand and pull at your laces. He sets your sneakers to the side, pings your socks over after them. He presses tickling kisses up your calves, eyes all bright when you laugh and kick at him slightly. 

Once he’s back at your height, his hands move to your waistband, thumbing at the button of your shorts. “You know that any time you wanna stop, you just say, okay? I mean it, sweet thing.” He pops the button, pulls at the zip. When his hands smooth under the denim to your hips, helping pull them down, he continues. “Doesn’t matter when. Even if I’m making this face-” He scrunches his nose up and lets his tongue hang out in a gross approximation of his expression when he cums and you can’t help but cover your eyes at the image. “What, you don’t like it?”

“That’s not what you look like!”

“That’s right, you’re the expert now, huh? This better?” He asks, stretching his lips flat and crossing his eyes. 

“Stoh-op!” You cry, somewhere between giggly and mortified. Eddie’s face settles back into its regular pretty softness, all shining amused eyes and laugh lines. 

“That’s exactly what you say to me if you want me to, mm? Or slow down or anything else you want, okay?”

“Yes, Eddie,” you murmur, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. “Will you,” you swallow, playing with the neckline of his shirt. “Can you keep talking to me? While…”

“You say that like I'm gonna be able to stop talking. Hips up, sweetheart,” he says, helping you lie back so he can pull at your shorts. “Nah,” he breathes, hands disappearing to drag his shirt over his head. “You’ll be sick of my voice by tomorrow.”

Eddie helps you shuffle up the bed, your head falling easy to the good pillow. 

“Never,” you tell him, arms opening to pull him in. He finds your mouth again, kisses a little more desperate, already a touch breathless. Your fingers brush at the back of his hair, soft curls between his shoulder blades. 

Eddie’s hand dances over the soft skin of your stomach, pulling giggles from you when he hits ticklish spots. His fingers edge at the frilled waistband of your panties, waiting for your hips to tilt towards him to dip inside. 

“Oh, honey,” he says with a gentle pout, fingers meeting the hot wet warmth between your legs. “Should’ve told me you were feelin’ desperate.”

Your thighs twitch at the first gentle circle around your clit. Eddie’s thick fingers, the roughness at their ends that catches the sensitive bud so perfectly with each little rub. Already your mind feels light with pleasure, body sinking into the bliss of being touched by Eddie. You’re caught between watching his hand where it disappears, the impression of his knuckles moving under blue cotton, and pulling up the courage to stare back at Eddie as he scans every twitch of your face. He grins at you when you manage to turn to him, licking his lips quickly. The little peek of his tongue, the memory of all the ways it makes you weak for him, has your legs kicking and twitching.  

“Feels good, yeah?” He asks, eyes flickering to your lips as they open to let out a moan. “Want me to open this pussy up, sweet thing? Get you ready for me?”

You like that, enough that you nod desperately without thinking twice. “Yeah, want- please, Eddie?”

“Jesus,” he huffs a laugh, his fingers easing downwards only to drag slick from your pussy back up to your twitchy clit. “So fucking good, baby. Say please again?”

Your hips tilt up, chasing his hand though he makes no move to deprive you of it. Your whole body feels hot; from his words, his voice, as much as his touch. When you chance a look in Eddie’s eyes, all the warm brown has been swallowed up, leaving his gaze dark and intent on you. You curl your fingers into his shoulder, stare at the pick hanging from his necklace, swaying with the subtle movement of his torso following the pace of his arm. “Please, please, Eddie.”

You make a high noise of protest when his fingers pull away from your bud, shivers running up your spine at Eddie’s patronising coo, the jutting of his plush bottom lip. “Like I said, no patience. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?” He sighs, pushes at your thighs to catch a glimpse of the dark, sodden material between your legs. “Just gotta get these off you, give me space to work, hm?” 

Eddie disappears from your side, moving down the bed to sit between your legs. His fingers hook quick into your waistband to pull your panties down your thighs. 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, rubbing the wet cotton between his fingers. “Maybe you can be patient. You been wet all day, pretty?” You watch him lean over, hooking your panties over the headboard.

“Eddie,”

He only flashes you a grin, hand strokes at your thigh, fingers digging into the softness to push your leg back. You feel the sticky split of your cunt as it opens up for him, the wave of cool air against your heat. 

“Fuck, look at her,” Eddie breathes, dropping down to his front. His wide eyes blink in near fascination, like it’s anything new to him, watching your cunt flex and shine. “You want two?”

You clench down at the thought. “Yeah.”

Eddie hums, nips at the skin of your leg as he drags his fingers through your slick. The first press inside is a good stretch, lacking the edge of pain that comes with three. They sink inside easily with a wet noise that would have you squirming away if you weren’t so fuzzy in the head, so desperate for the pleasure Eddie’s touch promises. The pads of his fingers find the spot at the end of you that he has mapped out, pussy fluttering around his fingers in protest every time they leave to press back in. 

“Feels good?” Eddie asks, rubbing his face against your leg. You hum. “You want another?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, craving more, wanting everything. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Mm. Open those legs just a little more, baby- yeah, good girl.”

Eddie gives you one final press of his lips to your thigh as he withdraws his fingers, stroking at you again to gather your slick across all three. You feel the blunt ends of his digits at your entrance, the first push and-

“Oh,” you whine, the familiar ache nothing compared to the euphoria of Eddie’s tongue coming to lap at your sensitive clit. Your hands fly down to his hair, clenching around soft curls as if there’s any possibility he might pull away. He groans, sending a pleasant thrum across your nerves. “Eddie, please.”

Your hips twitch when his fingers meet resistance half way deep, but Eddie stops his approach before you have time to register any discomfort. Clenching tight around his half buried fingers, Eddie lathes his tongue, wide and wet, from where his digits disappear inside to the top of your pussy. Your legs kick again, clit throbbing under his attention. He waits patiently for your body to relax into the pleasure, gently pulling his fingers back before pressing even deeper into your supplicating cunt. 

“S’good, Eddie,” you whine, thighs pressing at the sides of his head without your wherewithal. All you know is you can feel him everywhere you need him most. His curls in your hands, tickling the sensitive insides of your legs. His tongue on your clit, gentle sucks that feel like kisses. His fingers filling you, stretching you and rubbing just right at the top wall of your cunt to send tingles along your spine. Ecstasy builds everywhere you can feel him, from a aching twitch between your legs to a wave that passes over your entire body. 

Eddie’s name escapes you on repeat without shame. You hear him curse, feel the breath of it against your clit, as you squeeze tight around his fingers, pulsing with each peak of the high. 

You finally slump into the mattress again, boneless and tingly. You ignore the wet sound produced by Eddie’s hand leaving your pussy, focusing on how he grins at you as he crawls up your body to settle over you, eyes crinkled at the sides with his satisfaction. 

“Jesus, you’re so hot,” he laughs, leaning down to plant a breathless kiss to your lips. “Thought your thighs weren’t ever gonna let me up. Started planning a life down there, you know?” 

You giggle, but can’t think of anything clever to say back, caught up in the perfect view of Eddie above you. Pink and lightly freckled, lips dark, the entire bottom half of his face shining from looking after you until he drags your slick to his tongue with his thumb. His hair falls forward like a curtain around your faces, tickling your cheeks until you reach up to tuck it back. He leans absent mindedly towards your hand then, enjoying the warmth of your palm. 

As you caress Eddie’s face, he gives you a gentle, wide eyed look. “You still wanna?” He asks, a little rushed. “Cause we can stop right here.”

“I want to,” you answer, just above a whisper, but sounding as sure as you ever have done. “If you do.”

“Yeah,” he nods, like he hasn’t quite registered the full meaning. Then, as if he’s taken it in, “yeah. Okay. Okay.”

Eddie climbs off the bed, leaning over his bedside table to search through the drawer, hands emerging with a box labelled TROJAN and a bottle of clear liquid. You watch him fumble a little with the box until it opens, and pull out a square wrapper that has your face feeling hot, as if the presence of condoms is any more illicit that how Eddie has been touching you already. 

“Look away!” Eddie jokes when he finds your eyes on him as he pulls at his belt. “Gotta keep my modesty in tact.”

You jokingly cover your eyes, hearing his laughter along with the clink of his belt, his zip pulling open. The mattress dips with Eddie’s return, and you peek through your fingers at him before settling your hands at your sides. Your mind fizzes at the sight of Eddie naked, settled on his knees between your thighs. Your eyes trace all the ink that decorates his torso, the softness of his stomach. The patches of dark hair on his chest, between his legs. His cock is a dark pink, swollen enough that the tip kisses his stomach. Eddie drags a hand over it with a soft groan like he’s been tortured by the wait. If he registers your staring, he doesn’t point it out, focusing on tearing open the foil wrapper and pulling a clear condom down over his length with a sigh. 

Your fingers pull at wrinkles in the sheets as Eddie squirts some clear gel from the bottle into his palm, dragging his hand over his cock again to spread it. “What- what’s that?”

“Oh, uh, lube?” Eddie says, throwing the bottle down on the mattress with a bounce. “Makes it easier to, like, move I guess.”

“But-” You’d press your knees together if Eddie weren’t settled between them. “I’m wet.”

Eddie’s eyes flash, lips quirking. “You are, huh?”

“Eddie,” 

“Mm. I know, sweet thing. But a little extra never hurt, mm?” 

“Okay,” you murmur. 

“Okay,” he answers. “I think it’ll be easiest like this, probably?” He drags the spare pillow from his side, tapping your hips gently to place it under you, tilting your body up to him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, Eddie. S’good.”

“Okay,” he breathes, shuffling forward. With one hand, he strokes gently at your thigh. The other finds your pussy, his thumb playing with clit until you’re feeling pleasured and loose, settled back onto the bed with fluttering eyes. “Still want this, Princess?”

You stare at him, heart sore as you take in his open expression. You can see the evidence of how desperate he must be, how much he wants this. But he looks at you, and you know he meant it when he said you could stop at any time, that he isn’t expecting anything from you, even now.

This body of yours is used to freezing up, follows a routine of tensing and shaking at questions less serious than this. You breathe, swallow, force yourself to look him in the eye. “I want you, Eddie.”

He watches you, searching for your certainty. You smile, a nervous thing, but real, and he nods. “Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna go slow. If it hurts, you say, yeah? Or kick me in the balls - whatever’s easiest.”

You giggle, shaking your head at him, your body feeling loose and relaxed by the time you feel the tip of him catch at your entrance. You make a soft noise at the back of your throat, wanting to watch him but also wanting desperately to keep yourself relaxed and open. You close your eyes, feel the softness of Eddie’s sheets under your fingers.

“Sweet girl,” Eddie murmurs, still circling your clit as the tip of him sinks inside. You feel the aching stretch of him, the pleasant warmth of Eddie’s cock under rubber. He’s saying something, talking to you like he promised, but you’re focused on your breath, on fighting the urge to bear down on him. 

He must be a couple inches deep when he stops and pulls back only to press forward again and you think, for a second, you will be able to lay back and take all the pleasure Eddie always gives you, but-

His thumb circles just perfect at your clit and your pussy flutters, the new tightness resisting the slow press of his cock. It’s a sudden, shocking hurt that has your hips flinching to another stab of pain. Before you can help it your body is tensing all over, a soft pained sound escaping your throat. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says, voice rough, and that the squeeze of your pussy must feel good doesn’t even register. You can only think that he must be as frustrated with your body as you are. Not in control, but a witness to it falling back into routine, pulling taught even as Eddie starts hushing softly. The more you tense, the tighter you feel, the pleasant ache of him pushing inside quickly turning to a stinging stretch that has you clenching fists in the sheets, tears springing to your eyes. 

Eddie pulls out from you, and your chest throbs.  

“I’m sorry,” you cry, wanting to close your legs and hide away from him. 

Eddie’s warmth doesn’t vanish as you fear. In fact it grows as he leans over you, an arm coming to circle your waist. You feel his free hand at your hair, stroking it back from your face. “Look at me, baby,” he murmurs, his breath a gentle caress against your cheek. “You’re in that head, mm? C’mon out.”

The tears that had been bubbling under your eyelids spring free when you open them, tracking down your cheeks as Eddie shakes his head. He wipes each of them away with his thumb until they stop coming. “Sweet thing,” he breathes. “It hurt, and you needed to stop. It’s okay.”

His thumb strokes over your cheek again and you lean into it, resting your palm at the back of his hand as you sigh. Your fingers weave with his, everything better now that you can touch him, now that you can’t run away into your head away from his voice, so close to you.

“Wanna get dressed? We can watch something, mm?”

You shake your head immediately, feeling determined. “Can we try again?”

“We don’t have to-”

“I want to, Eddie.” You assure, hoping he believes you. You rub your cheek into his palm again. “But, can we stay like this?”

There’s a pause as Eddie blinks at you, then his mouth turns up. “Wanna change tactics, huh, Princess?” You nod, watching as he pulls away briefly to help pull the pillow out from under your hips, his hands pressing at your thighs so he can settle properly between them. You whine softly at the feeling of him, still hard and pulsing, between your legs. 

Eddie comes back to you with a kiss, lets you wrap your arms around his shoulders to hold him close, get your fingers pressed to his warm skin, playing with the ends of his hair. 

“Forgot who I was dealing with, didn’t I?” He says, rolling his hips so the tip of his cock drags over your twitchy clit. Your toes curl, the ball of your foot stroking a little at the back of Eddie’s calf as your legs curl round him. “My girl needs to touch me all over, huh?”

Eddie grins down at you, wiggles his hips just to hear you gasp at the friction of your clit, feel the way your digits dig at him, your right hand rubbing at a lock of his hair. Tension pours from your body at the weight of him all over you, the chance to watch Eddie’s joy at touching you, the pleasure he feels in tandem with yours at every roll of his hips.. 

He kisses you again, then both your cheeks and your nose and chin, peppers them in quick succession across your neck to get you giggly and soft. When he emerges, you watch each other. Eddie’s gaze flicks about your face while you count down the checklist of your favourite features; dimples and quirked lips, wrinkles at the sides of his eyes and laugh lines.

“Again?” He asks, one hand moving from your thigh to grasp his cock between you. You nod, press your digits into Eddie’s shoulder as his tip opens you up. 

“Good fucking girl,” he breathes through the first slow thrust, voice clear as day now he’s so close. “You’re so good, baby.”

Pleasant shivers run through you at the praise. When the stretch makes your body pull taught, your fingers press at Eddie’s skin, letting him feel your need to slow. When the sound of his shaking breath, the sight of his eyes fluttering at the tightness of your cunt around him, has you excited and pliant again, your fingers playing at the ends of his hair tell him that he can start moving once more. Eddie pulls back each time before pressing deeper, humming you through each new tender stretch until you feel the wiry hair above his cock tease your clit. Your hips tilt, chasing the delicious rub, and you feel Eddie’s cock twitch inside you.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, face dropping into your neck to groan. “How’s it feel?”

Your cunt flutters at the strain in his voice. This time, rather than sending warnings across your body at an unpleasant sting, your pussy bearing down aggravates a dull throb. Like pushing on a sore tooth, it’s painful and addictive all at once, clenching down again for the satisfying feeling of Eddie’s cock twitching inside you, the sound of him groaning against your skin.  

“Good, Eddie,” you say honestly, fingers stroking through his hair. “Will you- can you move?”

“Yeah- fuck,” he nods into your neck, laughing softly. “Just gimme onnnnne second. Jesus. ‘How do I make it good for you?’ She asks, with heaven between her legs.” 

Your body shakes as both of you giggle together, cut off by another whimpering moan from Eddie. “Aw, shit, don’t laugh or I’m really gonna embarrass myself.”

He tilts his head to the side, looking at you with his chin at your collar. His hips pull back, relieving your pussy of the ache until he slides forward again, letting you feel full, the weight and warmth of him inside you. It’s different than his fingers, which map out the best spots and play with them. Eddie’s cock, thick and heavy, drags along all of them at once. 

His face is so close by yours, watching desperately for every sign of pleasure, any hint of discomfort. You open your mouth to reassure him, but all that escapes is a soft, pleased sound that makes his hips stutter.

“Feels good?” Eddie gasps, nodding like he wants to encourage you to agree.

“Yeah, s’good,”

“Fuck,” he says. “You’re gonna want this all the time now, yeah? Need your pretty cunt full of me?”

Pleasant tingles of shame dart up your spine, and one of Eddie’s hands slips between your bodies to rub at your clit again. 

“Yeah? Say it, sweet thing.” He groans, hips stuttering at a clench of your cunt around him. 

“Like being full of you, Eddie,” you whine, fingers tightening in his hair. “Want it all the time.”

“Jesus- Christ, you’re so good,” he breathes, his fingers bullying your sodden clit. The ache of his cock falls away in comparison to the onslaught of stimulation there, leaving only the satisfying resistance to your cunt clenching down, the sweet fullness, the friction against your sensitive walls. “You’re so good, letting me hear you. Your pretty voice- fuck. Just for me. Think you can cum?”

“Uh huh,”

“Yeah? Like this? Just like this?”

You nod desperately, hips twitching towards him. Chasing the rub of his fingers, the feeling of being stretched full when he presses deep, the throb of his cock inside. 

“You cumming, sweet thing?” He asks, as if he can’t see the flutter of your eyes, feel your body clasp around him. “Yeah? Holy-”

Your high is a gentle thing, compared to what you felt with Eddie’s fingers and tongue. A quick rise and fall focused at the top of your cunt that shifts quickly into the numbness of overstimulation. The lasting ache is too present for anything more, but it feels like a promise, a hint of how good it can be with Eddie, if you do this with him again. 

You feel boneless and tired while he finds his pleasure, staring down at your warm, satisfied face as he groans. You can feel him inside, the twitch of his cock as he groans, the sudden warmth behind rubber. 

His body half collapses on yours, sweat slick skin sticking together. You wrap yourself around him, foot stroking at his calf, hands scratching at the back of his scalp while he tries to catch his breath against your neck. You can feel the pound of his heart where your chests press together, know he must feel yours. When they slow in tandem, beating together, you find Eddie’s wide, soft eyes. 

“That-” his voice cracks, his throat clears. “Was that okay?” When you nod, offering a tired smile, he strokes some of your hair back. “I’m gonna pull out now, okay?” He says, waiting for you to nod again. 

You take a shaky breath as Eddie’s softening cock pulls from you, stealing all the soothing warmth inside and leaving you with a sensitive, fluttering pussy. You whimper softly at the tender feeling. “I know,” he breathes. “I know, sweet girl. Gimme one second.”

Shivers run up your spine when Eddie disappears briefly to deal with the condom, a little prickle of something unpleasant at your neck. You’re only starting to replay everything you just did and said that might be shameful, embarrassing, in your head when he returns. Eddie wipes warm damp cloth between your legs. He smooths away the uncomfortable, cooling stickiness. Predictably, he tosses the cloth over his shoulder to fall back into bed and pull you into his chest. There, with his arms tight around you, his adoring gaze set on you, any shame your mind could convince you to feel falls away. Why would you dwell on it, when you can let yourself feel all the warmth Eddie brings? 

You lie together for a few minutes, tracing Eddie’s tattoos. Over and over, you drag your pointer finger over the lines forming CORRODED COFFIN under his ribs, letters on Eddie’s skin.

“Thank you,” you murmur eventually, watching Eddie’s eyebrows pull together. You kiss his chest. “I’m glad it was you.”

“Yeah?” He asks, voice breaking a little at your immediate nod. “Well, uh, thank you for trusting me, sweetheart.”

You lie together until the sweat on your bodies is cool and sticky. When the first shiver runs up your body, Eddie helps you stand from the bed like he expects you to be walking like a new-born deer. You manage into the bathroom by yourself, emerge washed and clad in cosy pyjamas, his soft hoodie. Eddie takes his turn, and returns to bed with steamed warm pink skin and dripping hair that sprinkles droplets on your face when he shakes it out like a dog.

You drift asleep with Eddie’s breath at your ear, his fingers stroking steady at your waist.

You wake the next morning to that same sunlight through blinds, the same dog barking in the distance. If it weren’t for the new ache between your legs, you might have thought you’d dreamt the entire perfect day, woken up to find it was Saturday again.

You turn yourself over to Eddie’s side, find his long bare back, pale and dusted with freckles. In a second, you’ll curl yourself around him, wrap an arm over his torso so he can wake up feeling something like the way you feel when he holds you. 

But now, your rapid pulse pounds in your ears. Even as he sleeps, your body won't allow you to say it, or even whisper it. Your throat closes up with the thought of too much, too soon. 

But you ache to do something, to let the feeling out somehow. Caught between your throbbing heart and the worries that have kept you quiet your whole life, you shuffle forward, reach out, and draw eight letters, one after the other, on the soft skin of Eddie’s shoulder. 

I L O V E Y O U

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

Next Part

[bangtanintotheroom]

Fic Announcement: Fill the Void (M)

I don't wanna decide things for myself, on my own

Finally, for the first time, I'm alone

You call me, havin' good times with a bad boy

Seems I've got a choice to make

Be my voice and I choose you to fill the void

• Pairing: Professional Dom!Hyunjin x Client!(F)Reader

• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Sex Worker!AU, Smut

• Rating: 18+

• Words: ?

• Summary: He’s always there to help you forget your troubles, even if it’s just for a few hours.

• Warnings/themes (subject to change for final draft): sex work, swearing, drinking, discussion of safe words and consent, giving up control, dom!Hyunjin, sub!Y/N, edging, orgasm denial, manhandling, praise, use of sex toys, dirty talk, protected sex, spanking, aftercare

• Playlist: 🎧

• Song Inspo: Fill the Void - The Weeknd, Lily-Rose Depp (Spotify | Soundcloud)

• Notes: It's funny how months ago I said I couldn't see myself writing for Hyunjin and now look at me 🥲🥟 Just a quick little idea I came up with in the last few days and I've been trucking through writing it a stark contrast to my other fics as of late 🫣! It's also been a hot minute since I've written anything rough, so forgive me if it's a bit rusty.

• Taglist: @jimilter @joontied @minisugakoobies @minttangerines @sugalaritae2 @crisle19 @codeinebelle @kookprada @saweetspoiled @effielumiere @m1sss1mp

If you'd like to get tagged for the final draft, let me know! YOU MUST BE OVER 18 AND HAVE IT VISIBLE ON YOUR BLOG!

Moodboard and teaser below the cut!

“Y/N?”

A familiar voice brought you to attention, straightening up in your seat at the tall and lean figure now standing in front of you as your stomach flipped in on itself.

“Hyunjin.”

The man smiled down at you, the red lights illuminating and shadowing the right places on his handsome face.

“Welcome back.”

Now you returned the expression, cheeks heating up despite your best efforts. He always seemed to have this effect on you.

“It’s good to be back.”

Hyunjin’s magnetic smile only widened, holding a hand out towards you. Without exchanging any more words, you took it, marveling at the warmth and delicacy of it. The opposite of what it could really do behind closed doors.

He helped you up and led you out of the waiting room and back into the hall. You saw the other patrons staring at the two of you out of the corners of your eyes, expressions ranging from encouragement to curiosity. Probably wondering what the enticing worker and the client in her wrinkled pantsuit were going to get up to.

Nothing was said as you and him walked past closed doors, the occasional sounds soaking through them. A moan. A groan or two. Some laughter. A once in a while scream of pleasure. Or pain.

The first couple of visits, you’d jump and blink owlishly at the rooms, your gaping broken by the gentle tug Hyunjin would give your hand. You were used to these noises by now; it was nothing but background music to you.

Finally, a familiar door ended up in your vision. The dark wood with the red chain wrapped around the handle had your stomach knotting in titillation. Just like always.

Hyunjin opened it and motioned you to enter first, waiting until you stepped halfway in to shut it behind him.

His designated room fit the aesthetic of the establishment, yet it had its own style that catered to its owner. Black made up most of the decor, with the occasional blocks of white and garnished by gold. With the large bed in the middle, decorated with multiple throw pillows, any passerby would assume this was a normal person’s bedroom.

But the oddly-shaped chair looming in the corner hinted at what occurred in here other than sleeping and relaxing.

©bangtanintotheroom, 2023. Do not repost to other sites or copy without permission.

[isdalinarhot]

on the state of kholin haterism on tumblr

this is gonna be a long one, so bear with me.

one thing i think that has changed in the tumblr fandom in the three years that ive been in it is that the culture in 2021 was ALSO at a largely anti-Kholin sentiment, but there were two key differences.

the first is that most people making critiques of such characters would use the tag #kholin critical, which was useful either if you were sensitive to criticism of one of the kholins for whatever reason AND if you wanted to read analysis of some of their faults by many different users under one tag.

the second is that said kholin critical criticisms were... less stupid? like a lot of it was talking about reddit fandom hypocrisy where dalinar was held up as righteous and badass and could do no wrong even though he had tons of personal and political faults that other characters (largely people who WERENT extremely powerful nobles) were demonized for. also a lot of stuff like "adolin is kaladins friend now but i dont think just categorizing it as simple enemies to besties is fair because adolin WAS being overtly racist to kaladin at the beginning there". a lot of discussion about how the Kholins treat darkeyes and characters of lower dahns where the bigotry there was being downplayed by fans in favor of the characters being painted both by fandom and in the universe of the books as Always Right All The Time. stuff like that.

that's not to say the whole kholin crit tag was all, like, stuff that isnt bullshit. people have been dunking on elhokar for being a whiny failking since the beginning of time. but the vibes were a lot different.

kholin critical kind of fell out of favor as a hashtag because most of us realized hey on a doylist level either the things we're criticizing the kholins for are purposeful character flaws that make for richer, more realistic, more engaging characters; or they're oversights from the moderate liberal Sanderson, in which case, why are we complaining about Dalinar doing this, when we should be complaining about Sanderson doing this. so this whole thing is stupid. and also by then the atmosphere on tumblr was way different, this was by and large the Moash Website and while people were haters about characters they did not put the hate in character tags so people largely avoided each others haterism. and there was peace for like a year and a half, i guess.

things are way different now. for context. i track the #dalinar kholin tag. so whenever my dash is dead im checking my tracked tags, and thus i see every original post about dalinar that someone decided to tag #dalinar kholin. and boy howdy, things have devolved. this used to be a chill experience for me, i'd see first time readers go OH MY GOD HE DID WHAT?????? during oathbringer and "[some philosophical shit dalinar said]" -brandon sanderson. follow for more inspiring book quotes" about three times a day, fanart once every couple weeks or so, stuff like that. but now a solid 75% of the posts in dalinars tag are like. hate. not literary criticism, but hate. sometimes about justified things, sometimes about unjustified things, but still, extremely negative.

in a bubble, that's fine. god knows ive been a hater on my blog before and ill be a hater on my blog again. and its not even like im opposed to reading well thought out criticism of my faves on any level because, like, dalinar is kind of a rat bastard! but like. listen. you don't put character hate in that character's tag. you don't do that. the people who are checking a character's tag are fans of that character and fandom is for fun. being a hater directly reaching out to the lovers for comment is rude as hell.

also a lot of the things people dislike about dalinar tie back to his neglectful fatherhood and his alcoholism which is, like, a thing i understand people would have strong negative feelings towards him for having because Neglectful Alcoholic Dad is like one of the top 10 kinds of abusive dads out there so lots of people have very visceral very personal experiences related to that. but when posting about this in any form whatsoever it feels like im having to go back to Treating Addicts Like Human Beings 101. like i feel like ive made a billion posts to the tune of "okay kids, you can do bad things while drunk and you are still responsible and you can also get drunk at inopportune times and you are still responsible, but the act of being addicted to alcohol does not make a character ontologically evil". and like thats. um. a personal thing but also oh my goodness.

i dont really have a conclusion to this. im just thinking goddamn its bleak out here right now.

[discourse-evolved]

Oh it's been a while since I've broken this bad boy blog out of the sewers.

But hey, let's talk about the mcyt fandom.

Truly, joining Twitter in 2021 was one of the worst steps back for my mental health that I had in a while. Did I meet a ton of really amazing, incredibly talented writers and artists, much easier than I ever did on Tumblr? Yeah! Sure! But I also experienced such an incredibly deep sense of anxiety when every fucking move I made was potentially aired to hundreds of people, which made me realize why I hate Twitter so much.

Scrolling through Tumblr I don't feel any sense of legitimate fear if I like a post to go back to it later, because no one else can see that and accuse me of liking a potentially "problematic" artist or blog. I can spend some of my downtime scrolling through the intriguing, silly mess that is my dashboard and go back to that post that I felt was sus later to see what it was really about.

I understand that people are always nervous about interacting with people that they don't agree with things on. The problematic ones, the ones with weird and uncommon kinks, the ones that make people uncomfortable, but the sheer amount of rampant paranoia I saw within the mcyt fandom on twitter in 2021-2022 felt like the end of fandom as I knew it.

And with a fandom like mcyt, I get it! Dealing with real people and the characters built off of them and especially with content creators who are SO deeply entwined and connected to their audience is much more difficult terrain to traverse when it comes to the taboo.

But seeing the way that so many people got so caught up in wild witch hunts was pretty fuckin terrible too. An errant ao3 bookmark, an off-color comment, an idea from people who weren't familiar with the fandom at large and the content creators' different specific boundaries, and they would be attacked en masse.

I fuckin hated it. I hated it so much. But I couldn't say anything about it, even if I didn't agree with the person myself, because defending someone against the mass dehumanization from the rest of the fandom would mean that I went down with them.

And that, at its core, is something that deeply concerns and scares me. Because at the end of the day, who and what is fanfic, even problematic ones, hurting? No one who doesn't read it. And with a site like ao3 with tags and warnings and summaries, that should be happening less and less, if people just use it properly.

I'm not saying there weren't weird people in the fandom that I would prefer to not to interact with myself, and I'm not going to say that I people should be forced to interact with people who make them uncomfortable.

But, I am saying that far too many people in that fandom were ready to dehumanize anybody who stepped even slightly out of bounds, which is something that no one deserves.

I could really go on and on about this topic and the purity culture that exists within the mcyt fandom, but by god I'm not mentally ready for that rn. Just remember that weird people are people too and don't deserve to die because of fiction that they thought up/made art of/wrote down.

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter VIII.

GIF CREDIT

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Exploring the complexities of their relationship, revealing past traumas and personal struggles that deepen their connection.

WORD COUNT: ~10k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: masturbation (m), gun mention/use, substance use (weed and alcohol), mention of suicide, mention of religion, mutual pining, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: oh boy… everyone grab a snack and get cozy because we're getting into the thick of it! a lot of character exposition this chap but i promise it's fun :p also couldn't help myself from making javi and helena a thing (?) 🙈 it just felt right™ lol anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Javier leans forward, allowing his forehead to gently meet the chill of the shower tiles. Steam envelops the entire bathroom, swirling around him as the warmth of the cascading water embraces his skin.

Every fiber of his being screams against the temptation, but it’s too overwhelming to resist. His mind has been hijacked by lascivious musings since his first flicker of consciousness, and it only intensified with each passing second. The rational part of him had urged for a cold shower to extinguish the smoldering fire, but the primal instinct within demanded something more.

His cock has been throbbing with want since the moment he woke, the crimson head moistened with a droplet of precum. A deep moan escaped his lips as he reached down to ease the tension, but just as he began to feel a rush of pleasure, thoughts of her invaded his mind.

Her laughter a symphony of sensuality.

The warmth in her eyes like a glowing ember, making him feel hot with a desire he’s never experienced before.

The curve of her ass a work of art, a masterpiece that he longed to caress and gently bite down on as he worshipped her body.

And those magnificent tits of hers, god how they had looked that night at the fair, teasing and tempting him with their lusciousness in her corset.

The way she wore low-rise jeans, clinging to her hips like a second skin, had him yearning to leave bruising marks with the press of his fingertips; preferably as he took her from behind, her ass bouncing against his thighs while his dick pistoned into her.

He had halted immediately, his hand retracting swiftly from beneath the sheet as if scalded by its touch. Muttering curses under his breath, he rose with a sense of urgency, the need to cleanse both body and mind propelling him towards the shower to prepare for the day ahead.

Now he’s here, doing his worst to keep the fantasies away. Javier imagines her joining him in the shower, he can almost feel her wet body pressed against his. He envisions her sinking to her knees, wrapping those pouty pink lips around him and taking him deep into her mouth. Feeling her tight throat clenching around him as she gags and struggles to breathe, eagerly swallowing every drop of his release. The temptation is too much to bear, and he surrenders to the sensual daydream.

Fuck, in a slow and deliberate movement, Javier’s hand glides down the contours of his chiseled chest, trailing his soft abdomen until it reaches its ultimate destination. Wrapping his hand around his impressive girth, he begins to stroke himself with a gentle, yet purposeful motion. But no matter how hard he tries to push her from his mind, the thought of Paloma lingers, taunting him. He desperately tries to conjure up memories of past lovers, but none of them compare to the fiery passion that she ignites within him.

She would look so pretty pinned up against the wall, resembling a riveting piece of artwork, as he stuffed his cock deep into her. He wonders whether she could handle him all at once or if he would have to indulge in the slow pleasure of opening her up with his skilled tongue and fingers, coaxing her into a frenzy of orgasmic bliss.

She must taste heavenly, like nectar from a honeysuckle on a warm spring day. Javier’s mouth waters at the thought of exploring her so intimately, getting lost in the sensation of her warm and feeling her wetness smearing all over his lips and jaw. He could almost hear her sweet moans of pleasure as he licked and sucked on her most sensitive spots, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy.

He’d do it over and over again until she was whining that it was too much and she couldn’t take it anymore.

But she would, he’d make sure of it. He’d be determined to make her succumb to his every desire. Javier would talk her through the waves of pleasure, whispering the filthiest things in her ear and savoring the sound of her dulcet whimpers and melodic moans as she unraveled under his skilled touch.

He knows she’d make the prettiest faces, her swollen lips parting and repeating his name over and over, eyes shut close in which he’d tell her to open those pretty eyes of hers so she could watch him get her off for the umpteen time. He wouldn’t fuck her with his dick, not until he’s made it clear how generous of a lover he is.

He tenses briefly, heavy cock still in his hand as his pace moves from languish movements to quicker flicks of his wrist.

He’s so close, the familiar spark of arousal causing him to shudder as his balls clench with anticipation; images of Paloma, stripped naked and spread out before him in a myriad of sensual scenarios and positions flood his mind, driving him to groan with unbridled passion. His orgasm racks through him harshly, his release coating his fingers in a sticky sheen before vanishing down the drain.

Javier pauses to regain his composure and gather his breath. His forehead remains firmly planted against the tile, and he can’t resist lightly tapping against it as he chastises himself for giving in to the temptation of masturbating to her.

Certainly it’s not uncharted territory for him, yet following the surge of tension between them, he had ceased such indulgences altogether. He hadn’t even had the urge to pleasure himself in weeks.

Today, for some reason, was an exception; marked by the persistent stiffness of morning arousal. His thoughts were fixated on her and his willpower was unwavering.

Javier finishes his shower, emerging from the mist and he envelops his lower-half in a towel. With toothbrush in hand, he diligently tends to brushing his teeth when there’s an unexpected rap at the door. His brows furrow in mild annoyance, curious as to who was seeking him out on his only day off this week.

He lets the towel fall to the ground in his bedroom and he grabs his jeans, sliding them up his legs and foregoing any underwear. In true Javi style. He zips them up yet the button remains unfastened, a deliberate omission.

As he lazily holds his toothbrush in his mouth, he strides towards the front door. It yields to his touch, his initial annoyance gives way to a self-assured smirk, his expression a subtle blend of amusement and satisfaction.

On the weathered porch of his modest trailer, Javier is greeted by Paloma, looking gorgeous as always in a enticing sundress that’s short enough to expose her beautiful long legs. Her hair, styled in a playful half-up, half-down look, frames her face like a delicate masterpiece. 

She had hesitated, contemplating turning back when the silence lingered, a creeping doubt whispering that she might have the wrong address. Yet, just as uncertainty began to sway her resolve, Javier emerged, clad in nothing but snug denim, confirming she had indeed arrived precisely where she needed to be.

She couldn’t give a damn if he spotted her ogling him, he had opened the door flaunting his half-nakedness so shamelessly. He’s obviously just stepped out of the shower, his locks damp and tousled in all the right places, droplets of water cascading down his glistening, honeyed torso. It is the first time she’s seen him in such a bare state.

Her intuition had been spot on— he is a chiseled, sculpted hunk of a man.

Seeing him in the flesh is making her legs tremble with desire and causing a delightful dampness to form between her thighs.

Only when her gaze traces the tantalizing tuft of hair that begins at his belly and vanishes beneath the fabric of his jeans, does she feel the heat rising within her. The bulge of his cock is unmistakable, and she can’t help but gulp audibly as she takes in the impressive girth straining against his left thigh.

Her mouth waters, literally.

“Nena, ¿qué haces aquí? (Baby what are you doing here?)” His voice oozes with smugness, relishing the familiar thrill of eliciting such reactions from women. Yet to provoke such a response from her, in particular, sends his ego soaring to new heights.

“The library is having a bake sale…” She starts, eyes still fixated on his crotch before it snaps up to meet his lustful stare. “I’m goin’ door to door sellin’ my cookies to help out.” Which is true, yet when she had seen his home address on the list of places to visit— obviously she’d made sure to stop by here first.

“Is that so?” He muses, just now realizing that she’s got a small container in her hand, “Do you want to come in?”

The question hangs between them, both insatiably horny yet dead set on not crossing the sexual threshold of their friendship.

“Sure.”

With a gentlemanly gesture, he moves aside, granting her entrance. She mutters a soft thank you, gripping onto the container in her hand to keep herself together.

The aroma of his body wash, infused with hints of mint from the fresh toothpaste, envelops her senses; a potent concoction that she finds herself inexplicably drawn to.

While she’s always appreciated the fragrance of a good cologne, the impact of Javier’s scent surpasses any previous encounter, leaving her captivated in a way she’s never experienced before.

“Gonna finish gettin’ ready. Be right back.” He tells her plainly, walking off into his room and this allows her to have a second to breathe, steadying herself on the back of his couch as she gives herself a little pep talk before she hears him coming in again.

“ Santa María por favor dame the strength not to fu— sleep this man.” She whispers in a sacrilegious prayer, straightening her posture when he re-emerges.

“So… you baked?”

Javi’s sporting an old DEA t-shirt, the lettering a bit faded due to time along with those cursed tight jeans. He looks so hot, she begins to wonder if not fucking him is even worth it at all.

It is worth it. You have a date coming up with a guy your age and getting involved with Javier will just bring you more problems than peace. Plus, you like being his friend. Sleeping with him will only fuck that up. Her conscience reminds her, following after him as he leads her deeper into the small home.

“Mhm, stayed up all night putting blood, sweat and tears into these. There’s a point in between batches where I blacked out and fell asleep at the counter so I don’t claim the ones that are slightly burnt. I didn’t have the heart to toss ‘em.”

“Not only are these made out of blood, sweat and tears— but they’re burnt too. Huh...”

Now in his kitchen, the confined space amplifies their proximity. She perches on a stool beside the compact counter, her gaze fixed on him as he unlids the container.

His eyes flicker between her and the tempting contents of her baked goods. “Some bake sale you’re putting on.”

His teasing has her playfully rolling her eyes, “Not all of them. Just some of the oatmeal raisin ones.”

“Good riddance.”

“I think you purposefully hate on all the snacks I enjoy.”

“No, querida, you just have shitty taste in snacks.” Javi remarks, tempted to include a jab about her taste in men as well, yet opting to withhold that comment. For now.

“And you have shitty taste in decorations. Jeez, cowboy, are you even a real person?” She quips, critiquing the lack of character in his living space. It resembles a generic model home, seemingly plucked from a showcase and deposited in the midst of nowhere.

“Sometimes I ask myself that same question.” He shrugs, reaching for one of the more inviting looking desserts but she slaps at his hand.

“You have to pay for them first.”

“How much for the whole damn thing?” Leaning in on his elbows, he meets her halfway, their gazes locked in a silent exchange, each peering into the depths of the other’s brown eyes.

With a subtle narrowing of her own gaze, she communicates a silent message, her expression betraying a hint of playful challenge.

She gives him the price, he nods.

“Let me go get my wallet.” As he turns away and strides into the living room, her gaze remains fixed on him, engrossed by the way his shirt hugs his muscular frame and accentuates every ripple of his back. She can’t help but feel a flutter in her chest as she watches him go.

She lets out a dreamy sigh, feeling as if she’s fawning over a celebrity heartthrob.

Paloma looks around the plain space, a little disappointed that she won’t be able to decipher his character based on the decor he had.

When he returns, she can’t help but ask why it’s so empty. 

“‘Cause I don’t plan on bein’ here long enough to call this place home.” Javier responds, his words carrying a straightforward, pragmatic tone. Yet, despite their simplicity, they strike her with unexpected force, shattering the illusion she has harbored.

Why did she assume he would just… stay? Surely after helping her father out as much as he could, he’d be packing up and moving on to his next assignment.

The weight of reality tightens its grip around her heart, yet she maintains a composed facade, her outward demeanor a mask of serenity as she nods in understanding.

“Right, right. Makes sense… how long do you plan on stickin’ around?” She attempts to pose her question with an air of nonchalance, though beneath the facade, a creeping sense of dread begins to take hold as she awaits his response.

He doesn’t offer it immediately, sensing the subtle change in her demeanor, prompting him to pause and consider his words carefully. “Not sure, hermosa.” It remains simple and nebulous, as he too finds himself uncertain of the answer to that very question.

In an attempt to change the subject, he slides the money over to her, “Now can I have one?”

She exhales slowly, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, offering him a tentative smile, “Knock yourself out.”

She takes the bills from him while he casually selects one of the cookies, indulging in a bite and emitting a contented hum of approval at the flavor. “ Not bad, “ He remarks succinctly, and she can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at his underwhelming critique.

“Really? That’s all I get? ‘Not bad’? I stayed up all night making these— I think I deserve more than just ‘Not bad’.”

A chuckle escapes him at her reaction, finding her response utterly adorable. With a playful twinkle in his eye, he takes another deliberate bite of the cookie, adopting a thoughtful expression as if pondering its flavor with exaggerated seriousness. “The flavor profile is so… decadent. The richness of the chocolate is just superb—”

“Okay, well, if you’re going to be an asshole about it then never mind.” She crosses her arms against her chest with mock indignation, though a playful glint dances in her eyes; amused by their banter.

He shakes his head at her, finishing off the treat with a satisfied smirk.

“It was very delicious, muñeca. Is there anything you’re not good at?” Javier asks, genuine admiration coloring his words since she seems to excel at any task that’s presented to her.

With a snort, she retorts, “Yeah, how much time do you have?” Her mind swirls with a litany of frustrations—her failed attempts at nurturing a fucking vegetable garden, the relentless battle to suppress her feelings for him, her inability to stand up to her father.

The list goes on and on, but she keeps her struggles to herself. The version of herself that lives in Javier’s mind, the one that’s perfect and can do no wrong, one she’d like to preserve as long as possible. Especially since he wasn’t planning on residing in Seminary long-term.

Javier chuckles in response, letting his gaze soften, “You’re too tough on yourself, Paloma. You should give yourself more credit.” She can’t help but feel a hint of bashfulness creeping over her as he says this, twirling a tendril of her hair around her manicured fingertip absentmindedly, her gaze fixed on Javier with a mixture of amusement and affection.

Their playful conversation weaves through the air like a melody, punctuated by laughter and laced with a subtle undercurrent of flirtation, creating an atmosphere that feels as light and comforting as a summer breeze.

“Ever held a gun before?” He asks, noticing how her gaze had trailed over to where his pistol and badge sat on the opposite side of the counter. 

Paloma’s eyes had only lingered on the objects because she remembered how sexy he’d looked last Sunday while apprehending Mr. Thorton.

She has to keep herself from squeezing her thighs together to release some of the pressure of her arousal as she recalls it. Her lack of underwear having some of her wetness smear against her inner thighs.

At his question, though, a very mischievous idea suddenly pops into her head.

“Nope. Daddy has always been paranoid about all that.” It’s a lie that slips effortlessly from her lips, despite the fact that her father had been very serious about gun safety and had taught her how to shoot at a young age. In fact, she’s quite capable of disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling a weapon with precision.

But Javier doesn’t need to know this. Not yet, at least.

“Then I guess I shouldn’t offer to teach you a thing or two.”

Paloma snorts, “Oh c’mon. I’m a grown woman livin’ in an open carry state. I should learn how to use one… all things considered too…” She alludes to the homicide cases and the current missing girl.

Javier wets his lower lip, contemplating his next move. She makes a good point, it wouldn’t hurt for her to know her way around the weapon and he’s surprised that her father hasn’t at least given her a few pointers with how paranoid he is that something is going to happen to her. 

Still, he doesn’t want to overstep the elder man… but really, he’s already overstepped when he came all over his hand earlier while thinking of fucking the sherrif’s daughter.

She’s also proactively requesting for him to teach her, showing her own determination and initiative in the matter.

“Fine. I’ll meet you in the backyard.” He acquiesces, pushing himself away from the counter. He snags one more cookie from the container before disappearing down the hallway.

Her eyes sparkle with excitement as his agreement sinks in, eager to see his reaction when she unveils her little secret to him. She springs off the stool, sliding open the glass door leading to the backyard. Shielding her face from the intense sunlight, she steps outside, ready to embark on this unexpected activity with Javier.

From the back porch, Paloma observes him as he arranges an assortment of targets, using miscellaneous items he had gathered from around his home: empty beer bottles, a vase that had long irked him with its presence, and other odds and ends.

Once he finishes, they stand side by side, facing the trunk of his police cruiser, which he had pulled around to park in the backyard. The trunk is open, revealing the duffle bag of firearms issued to every officer. Javier gestures for Paloma to make her selection, his expression a mixture of anticipation and encouragement.

“Hm,” Paloma muses, tapping her chin as if in deep contemplation before pointing to the double-barrel shotgun.

Javier is slightly taken aback by her choice, but he swiftly retrieves the shotgun from the bag, along with a handful of shells. “ This one’s pretty heavy. Sure you can handle it, palomita?” he asks, a condescending tone lacing his words.

“Trust me, I can handle it.” she responds confidently, her tone carrying a subtle salacious edge. With a sweet smile directed at Javier, she turns and strides confidently towards the shooting area he had prepared.

He stills, muttering how fucked he is before following after her.

“The kickback is stronger with these. You’ll need to get used to the weight and recoil.”

His movements with the gun are graceful and assured. Her breath hitches as she watches in awe, her lips parting slightly as she bites down on the plump flesh, trying to contain the moan that threatens to escape.

Javier’s hands look massive as they wrap around the gun, and she can’t help but imagine those same hands wrapped around her body, exploring every inch with the same precision and mastery. The way he breaks the shotgun open and loads the shells, his fingers flexing and tensing with each movement has heat rising within her, aching for his touch. 

It’s not just the scorching southern temperature that has her feeling hot all over, but the raw, primal desire that he ignites within her with just a simple gesture.

He possesses an effortless confidence that Paloma finds undeniably alluring. As he adjusts his aviator sunglasses and gestures towards the items scattered across the horizon, his gravelly voice resonates with authority and charm.

“Take a deep breath in, then slowly exhale. Point at the target, squeeze the trigger and shoot. Remember, the kickback can be pretty intense so brace yourself for that.”

He looks so handsome following his own instructions, easily shooting down that hideous vase and a beer bottle, causing them to shatter in pieces. The shots echoes out into the vast area, a few birds flying by.

Javier looks over at her, reloading the shotgun before handing it to her carefully, the safety switched on. “Your turn, nena.”

Paloma, with her piercing gaze and a mischievous smile playing on her lips, feigns innocence as she takes the gun from him. Though she is well-versed in handling firearms, she willingly allows Javier to guide her, relishing the opportunity to draw closer to him under the guise of naivety.

She purposefully handles it oddly which has him pressing flush against her back as he guides her hands into the right position. It takes everything in her not to lean back against him, the breeze that passes by paired with his proximity sends a shiver down her spine, the scent of gunpowder mingling with his rugged masculinity and cologne has her damn near whimpering; but she’s able to suppress the noise before it slips up her throat.

“Remember: Aim, squeeze and shoot.” He nudges her leg apart slightly with his knee, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly at the gesture, “And keep yourself grounded. You’re not stupid, so handle this thing carefully. Don’t want you blowing off half of that pretty face.” 

He takes a few steps back, partially to watch her shoot but also because he felt his cock hardening when he pressed himself against her. Feeling the softness of her ass against his crotch was derailing, and it didn’t help that the flimsy fabric of her sundress is thin so he could feel that she wasn’t wearing any fucking panties. He digs into his back pocket to retrieve his pack of smokes, in desperate need of one.

Under Javier’s watchful eye, Paloma raises the shotgun, feeling the weight of it in her hands as she aims at the first target. She switches the safety off, following his instructions (ones she was already aware of) and she keeps the act up, studying the items before her.

After a few moments of doing nothing, Javier speaks up.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to shoot?”

His words spur her into action, a determined glint in her eyes as she readies herself to take aim at the remaining bottles.

But just as she is about to pull the trigger, a sudden flurry of birds burst into the sky, their wings slicing through the air with graceful precision. A smirk dances upon her lips as she swiftly adjusts her stance, the shotgun now pointed skyward with a fluid motion that bespoke her expertise.

In a seamless display of skill and confidence, she tracks the path of the birds with unwavering focus, her finger poised on the trigger. With a steady breath, she squeezes it, unleashing a resounding crack then another that echo across the open expanse. Two birds plummet from the sky in a graceful arc, their feathers ruffling in the wind as they spiraled towards the earth.

Javier watches in awe, unlit cigarette hanging from between his lips, his admiration for her prowess evident in the curve of his growing smile. In that moment, he can’t help but feel a newfound sense of admiration for her.

She wasn’t eager to learn; she was already a master of the fucking craft.

And as she lowers the shotgun, her eyes sparkling with triumph, Javier knows that he has found a kindred spirit in this enamoring woman named Paloma.

He realizes he’s been played a fool, yet his amusement outweighs any sense of annoyance. There is something oddly endearing about the way she had outsmarted him, a playful gleam in her eye that he can’t help but admire.

Her laughter rings out like music in the warm morning air.

“Beginner’s luck, huh?” He says as she beams back at him, pride evident in every line of her expression.

“Daddy’s been on the force since before I was born.”  She explains, her voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. “‘Course he taught me, his only child, how to shoot.” Turning to face him fully, she deftly flicks the safety on the firearm before extending it back to him with practiced ease.

“And we used to go duck huntin’ all the time,” She continues, her words carrying the weight of memories shared with her father. “S’how I got good at shootin’ moving targets. You ever been?” Her question hangs in the air, accompanied by a curious tilt of her head.

Javier feels a sense of déjà vu wash over him at her words, a fleeting flashback to that day outside La Catedral with Steve playing out in his mind vividly.

No I have not been duck hunting…. You… fucking hillbilly.

He won’t call her that, though.

“Nope, never been.”

“We should go one day. Y’know, if you stick around long enough.”

Javier senses that their earlier conversation about his impending departure from town did not sit well with her. A small, narcissistic part of him takes pleasure in the knowledge that she will miss him when he eventually leaves.

Their flirtatious banter fills the air like the crack of gunfire, each moment building upon the next as they continue to spend the rest of the morning in each other’s company— shooting at empty beer bottles to pass the time. With each shot fired and each shared smile, the connection between Javier and Paloma deepens, their playful teasing masking a burgeoning attraction that neither could deny. 

As the sun reaches its high point, harshly casting its rays across the landscape, they find themselves lost in each other, the shotgun forgotten as they head inside to escape the merciless Seminary summer heat.

“Why do you keep your gun against your lower back?” Paloma asks, sitting on top of the kitchen counter as Javier pours both of them a glass of water.

“Outta habit. Feels more comfortable and secure back there.” He hands her the glass and she thanks him softly, taking a large gulp.

He finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from her, his own glass in his hand as he observes her. She tilts her head back ever so slightly, the sun-kissed sheen of sweat adding a ravishing glow to her skin after spending all morning outside.

As Javier’s gaze falls upon Paloma’s exposed forearms, his heart sinks at the sight of the bruises marring her delicate skin. The memory of the chaotic scene at the church floods back—the ramblings of Mr. Thorton, consumed by grief and intoxicated by sorrow, as he roughly seized Paloma in his anguish. The bruises now serve as a reminder of that harrowing encounter, igniting a protectiveness within Javier.

“I didn’t know he grabbed onto you so harshly.” While Javi is sympathetic towards the drunken man considering the unfortunate circumstances— he shouldn’t have put his hands on her the way that he did.

Paloma’s fingers drift absently towards the bruised area, her movements gentle as she brushes over it, her shoulders lifting in a subtle shrug. “It’s nothin’ compared to what they’re going through,” She murmurs softly, her voice trailing off with a tinge of melancholy. The memory of the man’s shattered demeanor weighs on her, reminding her of the profound sadness that had consumed him that day.

Despite the drunken ramblings, the accusatory tone, and the way he laid blame on the entire town for failing his daughter; she didn’t harbor any resentment towards him for his outburst.

While she acknowledges that aggressively approaching her was not the wisest choice, she understands that it was a momentary lapse fueled by grief and alcohol.

Her father had sternly lectured her when she revealed her lack of animosity towards Mr. Thorton and her willingness to forgive him despite his lack of apology. Romeo had been infuriated by his daughter’s empathy, unable to comprehend her capacity for forgiveness in the face of such an incident.

“Still, he was out of line for even—”

“He was drunk out of his mind, Javier. His daughter was brutally murdered and mutilated. Do you all just expect him and his wife to snap back to normal after a few weeks?” Paloma’s words carry an edge, her tone unintentionally sharp, but Javier can see the underlying pain in her eyes.

His own demeanor relaxes slightly, reeling as he realizes she’s not aiming her frustration at him specifically. His gaze reflects understanding rather than irritation as he silently reassures her that he had no intention of pissing her off.

“A death like that breaks families. It’s happening to the Thortons right before our very eyes.” She reflects after a pause, briefly considering the idea of confiding in Javier about her own experiences with loss, particularly concerning her mother.

She recalls the turbulent times following her mother’s death, the strain it placed on her relationship with her father, and the wounds it left in their family dynamic.

Fortunately, Romeo had managed to pull himself (somewhat) together before things escalated too far between them.

However, discussing her mother remains a sensitive topic, one that Paloma avoids whenever possible. Her suicide was a painful and perplexing event, leaving Paloma grappling with unanswered questions and a sense of profound loss.

As a confused and grief-stricken teenager, she had immersed herself in psychology texts, searching for understanding and consolation on the topic of depression and suicide, but finding nothing that truly resonated with her mother’s peculiar situation. 

She blinks, dispelling her thoughts, realizing she has no intention of burdening Javier—or anyone else, for that matter—with her baggage. The memory of her last attempt to confide in someone, the priest at church, surfaces, and she suppresses a sigh of frustration. His well-meaning yet ultimately dismissive response, a canned platitude about finding solace in God, had left her feeling even more isolated in her grief.

It honestly pissed her off.

“That’s just how it is sometimes, querida. A shitty fucking side effect to the whole thing. We can’t do anything about it.”

There’s a depth to her that she keeps carefully hidden, yet Javier can discern it with ease. It manifests in the subtle shifts of her body language, the fleeting emptiness that briefly clouds her gaze, and the sudden defensiveness she displayed when discussing the situation.

Despite her attempts to conceal it, her words are laced with emotion, carrying a weight of sentiment and understanding that hints at the complexities that lurk.

There’s a story hidden behind that guarded stare, waiting to be unveiled.

He won’t grant himself the selfish desire to be the one to unveil it. He doesn’t feel worthy of being the person Paloma entrusts with her deepest vulnerabilities, believing he doesn’t deserve such intimacy from her.

Javier’s pragmatic nature is deeply ingrained, a fundamental aspect of his character that permeates every aspect of his life. It’s a quality that serves him well in his profession, enabling him to approach his duties with efficiency and precision.

Yet, this same pragmatism often proves to be a barrier when it comes to offering comfort to others. He struggles to connect on an emotional level, his rational mind grappling with the intricacy of human emotions in a way that feels foreign to him.

While he excels in navigating practicalities, he finds himself struggling when faced with the nuances of empathy and compassion.

It’s not that Javier is devoid of either emotions; rather, he has a hard time navigating them. He possesses a depth of feeling, but lacks the finesse in managing and expressing them.

A contemplative silence settles between them, each absorbed in their own internal musings.

She feels his stare but she doesn’t waver, instead changing the subject,“I’m sure you’ve heard about Jonah Abbott’s birthday party?” 

Ah, Jonah Abbott, the remarkably young Mayor of Seminary, Texas. Descending from a lineage steeped in politics and law, his ascension to office undoubtedly owes much to familial connections and the influence of nepotism.

Javier’s disdain for him is palpable, despite only encountering the man once. Jonah had stormed into the station, insisting that everyone attend his birthday celebration. His subsequent demand for case updates and entitled behavior when things didn’t align with his expectations had left a sour taste in Javier’s mouth, solidifying his opinion of him as nothing more than an insufferable individual.

Javi had intended to skip out on the party altogether, but after Romeo practically demanded his presence there, he quickly realized that dodging the event was simply not an option.

“Unfortunately I have,” He says sardonically, finishing off his water, “Though I’d rather be anywhere else. Big parties have never been my thing, especially when the night is centered on schmoozing with asshole politicians.”

“Asshole politicians….” She smirks at him, “So you’ve met him? He’s… a piece of work. I have no idea why or how daddy tolerates him.”

Paloma doesn’t mention the many advances the man has made on her and how she’s had to politely decline him each time. He wasn’t unattractive, he held some kind of Kennedy-esque handsomeness but man was he ignorant and flashy as all hell.

His opulent mansion and foreign cars speak volumes about his personal wealth, yet she can’t help but wish he would invest as much in supporting his town as he does in his own pursuits. 

“I’ve had to deal with men like that too many times over the years. Just when you think they can’t get any worse— they do. It’s like they outdo themselves. Fuckin’ annoying pricks. They only get worse with age, too.” 

Javier’s verbal outpouring inadvertently provides Paloma with an opportunity—a chance to delve deeper into his past experiences, particularly his days with the DEA. Sensing an opening, she seizes the moment to probe for insights into his former life, hoping to gain a better understanding of the man behind the badge.

“Who’s the worst one you’ve met?”

The first name that pops into his mind is Bill Stechner. “CIA asshole back in Colombia. But you could really trade in any fucker from either government and it’d all be one in the same. They’re all contenders for worst human beings on the fuckin’ planet.”

Her brows raise in interest, “It still amazes me how you’ve literally worked such an important and uppity job. How the fuck did you end up here, cowboy?” It’s a rhetorical question but it still has him sucking in a breath.

As always, Paloma’s keen observance doesn’t go unnoticed. The spark of curiosity ignites within her, kindling a desire to unravel the layers of Javier’s enigmatic persona. Yet, she exercises caution, mindful not to overstep boundaries or pry too deeply into his guarded past.

She sets down her empty glass, hopping off the counter and smoothing her dress down. “I guess I should get outta your hair and head back into town. I had a lotta fun this mornin’. Thank you for supportin’ the library… and for teachin’ me how to shoot.” She remarks playfully with a wink as he walks her to the door.

“Well, you were a very easy student. A natural.” 

Leaning casually against the door frame, Javier’s gaze remains fixed on Paloma as she retreats backward towards her car. Despite the distance between them, their eyes never waver, locked in a silent exchange of unspoken sentiments.

“I’ll see you around.”

Javier’s gaze drifts idly over the scattered papers before him, the weight of boredom evident in the blank stare he casts upon them.

With a heavy sigh, he resigns himself to the monotony of the graveyard shift, flanked by two younger deputies who share his weary disposition. The quaint confines of the department offer little respite from the tedium, with the only source of distraction being a TV cart positioned at the center of the room, broadcasting an old Astros vs. Mets baseball game.

As the flickering images dance across the screen, Javier’s mind wanders, yearning for something—anything—to break the dullness of the night.

He’d lost interest in the game fairly quickly, turning his focus to the mound of paperwork that has steadily amassed on his desk over the past few days.

However, even the prospect of tackling the administrative tasks failed to hold his interest for long, leaving him adrift in a sea of ennui.

As he rubs at his tired eyes, preparing to rise and seek respite in a smoke break outside, the shrill ring of the phone slices through the quiet of the room. His movements freeze, instinctively drawn to answer the call that interrupts his escape.

“Seminary Sheriff’s Department.”

“Those damn kids are on my property again!”

Javier has to pull the receiver from his ear slightly as the loud yet croaky voice of Arthur Reynolds reverberates through the line.

The elderly man boasts a lineage that traces back to one of the town’s founding families. As a result, he holds vast swathes of land across the area, including a picturesque field of sunflowers that has become a local attraction.

The vibrant blooms draw the attention of passersby, who often linger to admire their beauty. However, Reynolds views their presence as an intrusion, and he isn’t shy about expressing his discontent.

Constantly vigilant, he frequently calls upon the authorities to address the perceived trespassers. Due to his advanced age rendering him incapable of intimidating others into compliance, it falls upon individuals like Javier to enforce Reynolds’ will, ensuring that his domain remains undisturbed.

“Can you be a little more specific, sir.” Javi says in a monotone voice

“How specific I gotta be? S’a group of them drinkin’ and smokin’ around a campfire. Gonna light my goddamn field ablaze. You besta come shut it down and arrest these punks before I go down there myself and cause a ruckus.”

That’s the last thing Javier needs, for the town to burn down on his watch. He begrudgingly acknowledges the validity of the old man’s complaints, recognizing that there is merit to Reynolds’ concerns for once.

“No need for that, an officer will be there soon.” As the phone call concludes, Javier briefly considers dispatching the deputies to handle the situation, viewing it as an opportunity for them to gain some experience.

However, a sense of caution tugs at him, wary of the potential risks involved in sending inexperienced officers into the field late at night. Ultimately, he opts to take matters into his own hands in case anything goes awry.

Donning his department-issued bomber jacket and ensuring his utility belt is fully equipped, Javier swiftly heads for the door. With a sense of purpose, he offers a brief explanation for his departure to the two deputies engrossed in the baseball game before stepping out into the night.

Not much after does Javier find himself navigating the winding dirt path that cuts through the heart of the sunflower field. Towering stalks of golden blooms loom on either side, casting elongated shadows in the dim light of the moon. With a flick of a switch, he illuminates the headlights of the cruiser, their beams slicing through the darkness ahead. The soft glow of a distant bonfire comes into view, beckoning him forward as he makes his way towards the source of the disturbance.

As the piercing lights of the cruiser illuminate the scene, a sense of urgency grips the group of young adults, prompting them to scatter in all directions like startled deer fleeing from a predator.

Amidst the chaos, Paloma lies sprawled on the ground on her back, her gaze fixed upon the expanse of the dark sky overhead, where the full moon casts its radiant glow upon the night.

She’d successfully snuck out of her house and into old man Reynolds’s sunflower field. August assured her they were just eight feet shy of his property line—technically absolving them of any trespassing allegations.

The appeal of an impromptu bonfire, fueled by August’s persuasive phone call the night before, proved irresistible to Paloma. It didn’t take much convincing to coax her into joining the group, the thrill of rebellion emboldening her for the night that lay ahead.

Paloma found herself indulging in more alcohol than she is accustomed to, her inhibitions loosened by the camaraderie of her friends. Peer pressure led her to experiment further, as she hesitantly joined August, Sloane, and Gabriel in sharing a joint. The unfamiliar sensation of the smoke tickled her throat, triggering a fit of coughing that betrayed her novice status in the realm of smoking weed.

“Easy, little dove.” August’s voice was gentle, his hand tracing soothing circles on Paloma’s back as she recovered from her coughing fit. With patience and care, he guided her through the process, demonstrating the proper technique for smoking. His gaze lingered on her lips as she tentatively wrapped them around the filtered tip, his attention a mixture of guidance and something more difficult to discern.

The combined effects of alcohol and weed have her feeling as if she were floating outside of her own body, disconnected from the reality unfolding around her. Time blurred and details became hazy as the evening wore on. Before she knew it, August and a select few had departed, leaving her to her own devices— a directive she barely recalls amidst her altered state.

“We’ll be back later. You just stay put and enjoy yourself.” August’s voice echoed in her mind as she found herself lost in a swirl of sensations. 

The alcohol infused her with a sense of giddiness and warmth, while the weed enveloped her in a cloud of lightness and euphoria.

The mention of cops jolt Paloma out of her intoxicated stupor, sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. With a sudden burst of urgency, she propels herself into a seated position, cursing under her breath as she struggles to gain her footing. Every movement feels sluggish and disjointed, as if she were wading through molasses in her attempt to confront whatever impending threat was approaching.

Had her father discovered her absence, realizing she had slipped out into the night and now found herself high as a kite?

Amidst the flurry of activity, someone had hastily extinguished the crackling flames of the bonfire, leaving her disoriented and stumbling in the darkness. With nothing but the ethereal glow of the moonlight to guide her, she found herself left in the eerie stillness of the night as she navigates the shadowy landscape.

Javier steps out of his cruiser, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the darkness as he surveys the deserted scene. The group had scattered like leaves in the wind, leaving him with an empty field and a sinking sense of slight frustration.

With a resigned sigh, he turns to head back to his vehicle, his mind already drifting towards the paperwork awaiting him back at the station.

But then, a faint sound catches his attention— a soft shuffling emanating from the darkness nearby. Instinctively, he whirls around, directing the beam of his flashlight towards the source of the noise.

His eyes widen in surprise as he catches sight of Paloma, tentatively emerging from the sea of sunflowers with her hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice cuts through the night, tinged with concern and exasperation as he surveys her unsteady form. His gaze narrows as he takes in her swaying movements, a frown etching across his features. “Are you drunk?”

Her relief is palpable at the sight of Javier standing before her, his presence a welcome reprieve from the uncertainty that had gripped her moments earlier. She offers him a sheepish smile, grateful for his familiar face and not that of one of the jackass deputies.

“Er... just a little,”  She admits with a giggle, her hands lowering slowly as she squints against the harsh beam of his flashlight. “Could you, like, point that thing elsewhere? M’gonna go blind.” Her words are punctuated by a hiccup, her steps unsteady as she inches closer to him.

As she draws near, Javier catches a distinct scent in the air— the familiar aroma of smoke from the bonfire mixed with something altogether less innocent.

It’s a scent he knows all too well from his days as a DEA agent, the unmistakable odor of marijuana lingering on her. With a sinking feeling, he takes in the bloodshot, droopy eyes of the girl before him, irritation welling within him.

“Are you high, too?” He knows all too well the allure of drugs, having spent years chasing down those who peddled them on the streets. Yet, seeing her caught up in such activities strikes a chord within him, stirring up a complex mix of emotions that he struggles to reconcile.

“Maybe,” she drawls the word out, her voice laced with a playful edge. “Why? Are you a narc? Oh, wait... you are. A certified and official narc.” Her words are punctuated by another bout of giggles and hiccups, the sound grating on Javier’s nerves. It’s a familiar insult, one that cuts a little too close to home given August had called him the same thing not too long ago.

“Who were you out here with?” Javier demands, his frustration evident as he flicks off the flashlight, plunging them into darkness save for the soft glow of the moon overhead and the headlights of his car.

“Some friends,” Paloma replies with a careless shrug, her tone nonchalant. “Come on, officer, why does it matter? We were just having fun… and technically we’re eight feet from the property line so we weren’t trespassing.”

Some friends. The implication hangs heavy in the air, a not-so-subtle reminder of her recent association with August and his clique. A storm of conflicting emotions that threatens to cloud his judgment as he struggles to maintain his composure in the face of her nonchalant demeanor.

“Why does it matter?” He scoffs, “Public intoxication. Illicit drug use. Disturbance of the public peace or the peace of others. I can keep going.” His jaw clenches tightly, his words laden with the weight of authority as he lists off a litany of potential charges. Many of them are familiar to him, recurring offenses he’s seen in the files of the company she’s recently decided to keep.

She rolls her eyes dismissively, her confidence undeterred by his stern demeanor. “Oh please. We both know you’re not really going to bring me in for any of that.” she retorts, her voice dripping with of sarcasm and self-assurance.

The idea of Javier restraining her sends a thrill coursing through her veins. The image of his body pressed against hers, the sensation of the cold metal restraints encircling her wrists— it’s all too tantalizing to resist. Yet, even in her intoxicated state, a small voice of reason whispers in the back of her mind, urging her to exercise caution.

A fleeting impulse tugs at her to reach out and touch him, to feel the solid warmth of his chest beneath her fingertips. But a sobering sense of restraint holds her back, the knowledge that such a gesture would only complicate an already precarious situation.

“I’m not entertaining this. Get in the car, I’m taking you home,” He asserts, his tone firm as he turns away from Paloma, intent on ending the conversation then and there. But before he can take a single step, her hand shoots out to grasp at his elbow, her acrylic nails digging into the fabric of his bomber jacket.

“Wait, not I can’t go home yet. Not like this,” Paloma pleads, her voice tinged with desperation as she realizes the gravity of her situation. Though she’s sobered up somewhat since Javier’s arrival, the thought of sneaking back into her house in her current inebriated state fills her with dread.

His gaze flickers down to where she’s holding onto him, his expression unreadable as he weighs his options. “Shoulda thought about that before you came out here and fucked yourself up.”

Feeling a surge of annoyance bubbling up within her, she retracts her grasp, her fists clenching at her sides as she meets Javier’s gaze with steely determination. “Okay, fine. Whatever— I’ll just wait for August to come back and he’ll take me home,” she declares with defiance.

The mention of his name sparks an unexpected surge of possessiveness and jealousy within Javier, if he tightens his jaw any further; he might dislocate it. Though he tries to mask his emotions, the tension in his stance betrays his inner turmoil, leaving her to wonder what thoughts are swirling behind his unreadable facade.

“That’ll be worse for you in the off chance that you get caught. Now get in the car so we can get you some food and sober you up. I’m taking you home.” Javier asserts, his tone brooking no argument as he gestures towards the passenger seat of the still-running police cruiser.

He watches intently as she hesitates for a moment before reluctantly stomping her way around the car and sliding into the seat.

The ride into town is filled with an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of static emanating from the police radio as Javier relays updates to the officers back at the station. She sits with her arms crossed defiantly, her body angled away from him as she stares out of the window, lost in her own high thoughts.

Pulling into the diner parking lot, Javier instructs her to stay put as he exits the vehicle and disappears inside the restaurant. He quickly places an order for a simple meal, then returns with a takeaway bag in hand, his expression unreadable as he hands it to her through the open window.

Now parked at the further end of the driveway, the silhouette of the Leighton family home looms in the distance.

“Thanks for the food..” she murmurs gratefully as they lean against the closed trunk of the police cruiser, the aroma of the meal enticing her high senses as she quite literally begins to devour its contents.

Javier remains silent, allowing the tension from earlier to gradually dissipate as they stand together in the quiet stillness of the night. The only sounds that fill the air are the soft chirping of crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Feeling more like herself now, she greedily slurps the remaining contents of her root beer through the straw before setting it aside. She waits for a moment, studying Javier’s side profile before offering an apology.

“I shouldn’t have gotten such an attitude with you back there. You were just doing your job... and if it makes you feel any better, this is the first time I’ve done anything like this.” She confesses, her tone tinged with sincerity.

He runs his knuckles along his jaw, briefly glancing over at her and meeting her gaze. He can’t help but soften at her words, releasing some of the tension that had been coiled within him.

“Just looking out for you. You never know what kind of mess you’ll get into with a crowd like that,” he admits, his tone gentle yet firm. 

“A crowd like that?” She repeats, brows furrowing slightly and feeling a twinge of offense on behalf of August and the others.

“Let’s not be daft, querida. Your friends like trouble— what lost twenty-something-year old doesn’t? I’m not trying to piss you off, I’m just being realistic.”

She just hums in acknowledgement, choosing to focus on the remaining fry in her container to avoid further confrontation.

“You ever been in love, cowboy?” Paloma’s sudden question feels like a punch in the gut, catching him off guard.

He stumbles over his words, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in conversation. “I— sorry, how did we go from that,” he gestures vaguely to their previous discussion, “to this?”

“By changing the subject. I’m just curious. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” she replies nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders as she crumples up her napkin and tosses all her trash into the takeaway bag.

Javier pokes his tongue against his cheek, contemplating her question for a moment before reaching for the cigarettes in the inside pocket of his jacket. What the hell, he’ll indulge her. “Yes... no... I don’t know,” he finally answers, lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag.

“All of the above?” She tilts her head, adjusting her denim mini skirt and straightening her cropped camisole.

Javier inhales deeply before continuing. “Before I left for Colombia, I was set to get married.”

Her eyes widen in surprise, and she leans in closer, eager for more details. “What happened?” she asks, her curiosity palpable as she watches him intently.

The Javier Peña, known for his charismatic ways and romantic escapades, suddenly bound to one woman in the most profound display of commitment. Oh, she’s intrigued beyond measure.

“Couldn’t go through with it. I thought I loved her, Lorraine, but then I realized that I just loved the idea of her. Couldn’t see myself spending the rest of my life at her side so I spared her all the bullshit and drama and just left…” He cringes slightly, flicking off some ash. “Left her at the altar the day of the wedding. Drove straight past the chapel and to the airport. Flew to Quantico for training and a few months later I was in Colombia.”

She listens intently, her heart aching with empathy for the man who stands before her, baring his soul in a rare moment of vulnerability.

His story hangs heavy in the air. The ember of his cigarette glows in the darkness, casting shadows across his face as he speaks.

She recalls her own brush with heartbreak, the sting of abandonment still fresh in her memory. The parallels between their experiences are both eerie and comforting.

“So you were her George,” She murmurs, her voice soft with understanding.

Javier nods, his expression a mix of regret and resignation. “Yeah. I guess. When you told me what you had gone through that night, I felt so bad. I still do. Me and Lorraine have talked things out since. She’s actually married now. Has two kids and a loving husband. He was able to give her all the things I knew I couldn’t.”

“It’s funny how life works out,” she muses, her voice carrying a hint of empathy. “You both found what you needed in the end, I suppose.”

He nods, exhaling a cloud of smoke that dissipates into the night air. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, the weight of the shared revelations hanging between them. It’s moments like these that reveal the depth of their connection, beyond the surface banter and flirtation.

“And after Lorraine? Was there anyone else you fell for? A lover in Colombia?”

Her name echoes in his mind like a haunting melody, each syllable laced with memories of their tangled past. Helena. Their relationship had begun as nothing more than a transaction, a simple exchange of information for physical intimacy. But as time passed, their bond deepened, evolving into something he never expected.

Helena had been different from the others, a beacon of light in the darkness of his days in Colombia. She listened to him, truly listened, offering comfort and understanding when the weight of his job threatened to crush him. In her arms, he found refuge from the storm raging within him, a sanctuary where he could lay bare his soul without fear of judgment.

But their idyllic bubble was shattered by the harsh realities of their world. The fallout from the Gacha debacle had left Helena broken and vulnerable, a stark reminder of the dangers they faced every day. Javier wrestled with his feelings for her, torn between his duty and his desire to protect her. Yet, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shield her from the horrors that awaited her.

As he recalls their tumultuous journey together, Javier is plagued by a sense of guilt and regret. He had failed her, failed to keep her safe from the darkness that had consumed the country. And now, her name serves as a painful reminder of his shortcomings, haunting him like a ghost from his past.

“No. Just a long string of meaningless sex. Didn’t have the time or energy to date anyone. The job was too demanding for it.”

She reaches out tentatively, resting a hand on his arm. “Well… Thanks for sharing with me. I know how difficult it can be to open up like that,” She says softly, flashing him a small smile.

He meets her gaze, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “Of course, hermosa.”

As she straightens up from leaning against his cruiser, a soft sigh escapes her lips, carrying with it a hint of resignation. “I think I’m ready to sneak back in now.”

He nods in acknowledgment as he takes a final drag of his cigarette. Exhaling a plume of smoke, he crushes the butt under the sole of his boot. “Right. We’ll keep this night between the two of us, yeah?”

She responds with a nod, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. She gets back in the car, ready to get into her bed.

He starts the engine, the soft purr of the car’s motor blending with the nocturnal symphony of crickets and cicadas. As they roll down the driveway, he keeps the lights off, wary of getting caught.

It’s not the first time he’s had to sneak a girl back home.

Just as they near the end of the driveway, she curses softly, a sudden realization dawning upon her. Slapping her palm against her forehead, she lets out an exasperated sigh, prompting Javier to glance at her quizzically.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need the ladder to get back upstairs. The lattice fence broke when I snuck out earlier.” She completely forgot about the mishap, it had almost woken her father up.

“Do you need help getting it?”

“…Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

So they sneak around to the backyard, the metallic finish of the elongated ladder gleaming beneath the growing grass that surrounds it. It reminds Paloma that she needs to mow the lawn soon.

As she bends down to grab it, she feels a sudden, unexpected sensation slithering against her leg. Panic rises within her, her muscles tensing in preparation to let out a guttural scream, but before any sound can escape her lips— a strong hand clamps over her mouth, muffling any noise.

She freezes, heart pounding in her chest, as she glances wide-eyed at Javier.

“It’s just a garter snake, nena, it’s not going to hurt you.”

A warm glow then spills from inside the house, casting long shadows across the backyard.

Paloma’s heart leaps into her throat, her pulse quickening as she envisions her father stepping out onto the porch, his stern gaze piercing through the darkness.

With a sense of urgency, Javier gently pulls her back into the comforting embrace of the shadows, his touch a reassuring anchor amidst the chaos of their clandestine escapade.

Their bodies press close together as they hold their breath, hoping to remain unseen.

Her lips are still against his palm while his other hand has a firm hold on her hip. His thumb instinctively traces slow, soothing circles against her skin. It fires up every nerve of her body.

After what seems like an eternity, a soft, distant sound of a flush is heard, followed by a click as the light flickers off.

In unison, they both release the tension they had been holding, his hand gently sliding away from her face as she exhales deeply.

Neither of them attempt to move for a split second, and it’s not until she pulls away that he’s brought back down to Earth.

“Fuck— that was close.”

An electric tension crackles between them, infusing every movement with a heady rush of anticipation. Wordlessly, they resume their task, the air thick with both desire and apprehension.

Each touch, each shared glance teeters on the precipice of control.

It’s a delicate dance, teeming with an unspoken longing that threatens to overflow, begging to be unleashed in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Once Javier is sure that the ladder is steady enough for her to climb, he takes a step back to make room for her.

“Alright, princesa, up the tower you go.”

She doesn’t say anything, her gaze remains fixed on him, a silent exchange of emotions passing between them before she begins her ascent up the ladder.

She makes it up a few steps before she stops and turns to face him fully.

In a bold move, Paloma reaches out, her fingertips delicately curling around the collar of his jacket. With a gentle tug, she draws him closer, her lips meeting his in a fervent kiss.

Caught off guard, he momentarily freezes, but the warmth of her touch and the intensity of her kiss quickly erases any hesitation. In an instant, they’re lost in each other, their lips moving with a fiery urgency, igniting the flame that has been smoldering between them.

Everything else fades away, leaving only the two of them lost in a sea of passion and desire. With each kiss, they explore each other’s mouths. Licking, sucking, biting; it’s better than anything either of them could have ever imagined.

She can’t help but moan softly into his mouth at the way his hands move over her body. Every caress feels like a promise of pleasure to come, and she surrenders completely to Javier.

His muscles tense as he pulls her closer, his touch becoming more urgent. His fingers trace her curves, lingering on the places that make her gasp with pleasure. She can’t help but arch her back, pressing herself even closer to him, desperate for more.

As their bodies meld together, there is sense of completion that they’ve never experienced before. It’s as if they were always meant to be together, two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.

Reluctantly, she pulls back first leaving him yearning for more as he reaches out, chasing after her lips.

Their fervent kisses have left his mouth slightly swollen and lips glistening, adorned with remnants of her saliva, evidence of the passion with which they had indulged in each other.

Her eyes are swimming with lust as she brushes some of his hair to the side, “I had to,” she whispers softly, her voice barely above a murmur; filled with affection and sincerity,  “just once.”

Her words carry a weight of longing and vulnerability, a confession of the depth of her emotions for him.

“Buenas noches, Javi.”

He’s so bossy, He makes me dance. Tryna sit in the back of his whip And just cancel my plans. Sweet like candy, But he’s such a man. He knows just what it does When he’s holding me tight And he calls me “Moonlight” too. 

[mogai945]

my liomogai experience

[PT: my liomogai experience /end PT]

in the wake of how many posts we've seen lately in the mogai community about people speaking on their experiences with their labels, we thought we'd throw our hat in the ring and share our own experiences!! and, while a collective post will likely come at some point, that will also require a lot more time and in-system communication to coordinate as a collective, so in the meantime, i (tommy) figured i'd share my personal experiences with my identity!!

i'll try to keep this mildly organized by splitting this up into most of the sections that i have in my hoard!! as such, here's the table of contents (sadly with no hyperlinks to the respective sections, much though i wish that were possible on tumblr):

1) alderns 2) chronos 3) fictidomi 4) genders 5) hearthomes 6) hoarding terms 7) invianes 8) referral terms 9) systemhood: 9.1) roles 9.2) roleics 10) umbrella terms 11) xenonatures

lastly, a major shout out to @radiomogai's archive for being one of the most useful blogs in finding new terms!! tagging you also since i saw you want to be tagged in these discussion posts :-)

alderns

[PT: alderns /end PT]

original post: link terms i identify with: aldercustomize (link)

alderns are terms i am not very familiar with, but i do often wish i (or, primarily the body, since i can do this in innerworld) could shapeshift/change form. aldercustomize being the specific term i identify with stems, in no small part, from the fact that videogames are our main collective special interest, and specifically a special interest that we experience as foundational, aka a special interest that affects the very way in which we view the world and how we interact with it (which is its own rant; if there's interest in the various types of special interests we experience, i'd be happy to elaborate!).

because of this, shapeshifting taking the form of a character creation screen just... makes sense, in a way that other shapeshifting terms don't quite make sense!! it's also akin to making a picrew, if that makes more sense :-)

chronos

[PT: chronos /end PT]

original definition: link (couldn't find the original post itself; if anyone has it, please do send it to us!!) terms i identify with: littlebrotherchro (link)

like alderns, i'm not super familiar with this umbrella term, but this one is quite simple, and actually quite important to understanding a lot of other factors of my identity!! it stems primarily from my being younger in innerworld than the body is, as well as the fact that i ageslide fairly often.

this is one that i'm fairly sure i would have other labels for if i went looking specifically, but i have not yet!! thus, as it currently stands, littlebrotherchro specifically stems from the fact that i have a lot of relationships where i'm the younger brother, generally in my found family, and that's just- a role in a dynamic that i am very comfortable with, and feel is almost intrinsic to my self, in a way!!

fictidomi

[PT: fictidomi /end PT]

original post: link terms i identify with: pokédomus (link)

this one is quite simple, honestly: i want to live in the pokémon world!! if i were a bit more prone to self psychoanalysis, i'd guess it stems from it being one of my sources, as well as another collective foundational special interest :-)

genders

[PT: genders /end PT]

terms i identify with: too many to list them all rip

oh boy, okay!! so, as far as i'm able to remember, i've always had some amount of gender fuckery going on, but none of the, shall we say, "mainstream" labels ever fully fit comfortably. it's been... refreshing, to be able to say that there are a lot of genders that fit, and having multiple labels feels so much better than being constrained to just one!!

the majority of my genders are related to my interests!! this is due to the fact that my interests, especially the biggest ones like an assortment of videogames, art, music, dinosaurs, and bugs, to name a few, often feel inextricable from my self, so it follows that my gender is also highly affected by them :-)

hearthomes

[PT: hearthomes /end PT]

original post: link terms i identify with: pokémon hearthic

as i mentioned in the fictidomi section, pokémon is a collective foundational special interest for us. we've been playing the games since we were 9, and watching content relating to it since before that. at this point, it is, no exaggeration, impossible to separate my self from pokémon.

i interact with pokémon, be it through playing the games or hearing the osts or what have you, and i feel at home. this isn't where i'm from literally, i recognize that, but it is where i'm from on every other level. it's my biggest source of comfort and emotional regulation, and it's really important to me that people around me know this and know that... it's so insanely important for us. it's really hard to put into words, but i adore this franchise and its universe is my home.

hoarding terms

[PT: hoarding terms /end PT]

terms i identify with: gender inventory (link)

okay so, i don't think this is an official umbrella? but it is useful for me to be able to visualize how my genders are... placed, so to speak!! for example, my hoard is on a notion database, and i like to imagine it's a little gallery with various terms hung up on the wall!!

in a vacuum, however, it's a lot harder to come up with these imaginations, especially since i have very low visual phantasia. this is why hoarding terms are so welcome to me!! it's especially welcome in the case of gender inventory, since- well, i know how the minecraft inventory works!! personally, i experience creative gender inventory specifically :-)

invianes

[PT: invianes /end PT]

original post: couldn't find any :-( please let me know if you have it tho!! terms i identify with: invidreenk (link)

okay this one is very specific to this specific term: i just think it's so me for reals, you know what i mean? it's silly and not my most serious of terms, but i didn't want to just exclude it rip

referral terms

[PT: referral terms /end PT]

terms i identify with: transboy (link)

while i imagine this isn't the original post for this term, and i doubt there's an official coining post for this, it's important to bring up nonetheless!! this links back to what i spoke about in the chronosian section, where my age is very fucky due to plurality, and thus i feel more comfortable calling myself a trans boy!! transmasc is still comfy tho :-)

systemhood

[PT: systemhood /end PT]

roles

[PT: roles /end PT]

terms i identify with: autism symptom holder (link)

so, for this one i'll explain more so how i experience this role!! i'm prone to feeling the symptoms of autism more intensely or more often than others in my collective; this doesn't mean the others don't experience them either, but just that i feel them more and more often. additionally, i am noticeably worse at masking than the rest of us

roleics

[PT: roleics /end PT]

original post: link terms i identify with: cringeroleic (link); autismroleic (link)

i'll start by explaining my autismroleic experience, since it's, rather simple: i'm an autism symptom holder!

it does, however, link into my experience with being cringeroleic: i came back from dormancy about a year ago when we were working through a lot of internalized cringe culture and such. my role back then, and still to this day, though it's less of a priority, was to embrace being cringe, and work through our feelings on it that way. a lot of interests and behaviours that have gotten us labeled as cringe have stemmed from our autism, too, which is why i say the two are interlinked.

umbrella terms

[PT: umbrella terms /end PT]

terms i identify with: monachoric (link)

monachoric fits me to a t. it's similar to pokémon, actually, in the sense that being monachoric simply spreads across all my self, to the point where separating my self from monachoric is impossible!! i'm just a weirdo teenager with cringe interests (/pos, all of this is a good thing), there's no splitting my general sense of self from monachism

xenonatures

[PT: xenonatures /end PT]

original post: link terms i identify with: pokénatured (link)

and, finally, xenonatures!! shocking no one who has read this far (thank you in advance if you have!! i know this has been long), pokémon is embeded in my sense of self very deeply, naturally a xenonature themed after pokémon would go STRAIGHT onto my hoard

ending comments

[PT: ending comments /end PT]

thank you in advance if you read this far!! i didn't expect to have this much to say, frankly. i hope it was enjoyable to read, and i hope this can help other people describe their identities :-)

[beautifulchris]

muggleborn

pairing: lee minho x gn!reader

wc: 3,7k

featuring: bang chan, seo changbin, han jisung, lee felix, ateez’s seonghwa, the boyz’s changmin

summary: minho likes to go to the prefect’s bathroom to relax but oh! you're here as well

genres: hogwarts!au, kinda strangers to lovers!au?, slytherin!minho, hufflepuff!reader, fluff

warnings: it’s fem implied because in the universe, there’s one guy prefect and one girl prefect; other than that i used gender neutral pronouns

notes: thank you for reading and liking my work, it means a lot ♥ moodboard made by me, pictures found on the internet. reposting works from my old blog

order of writing: chan - jisung - minho - hyunjin - jeongin - seungmin - changbin - felix

networks: @kflixnet @k-labels @straykidsland

tag list: @badwithten @raethethey send ask/dm/comment to be added!

On a cold sunday in november, you were so exhausted from all the homework you had this week, you decided you needed a long, hot bath to decompress. Well, more like Seonghwa, your best friend, helped you finish your homework early and forced you to rest because he could see you needed some. You obviously went to the prefect bathroom because it was rarely used and very comfortable.

You opened the door after giving the password and soon realized someone was already taking a bath. Since nothing forbade several people to use the bathroom at the same time, you approached and saw Minho, eyes closed, humming a song you probably heard somewhere before. He seemed somewhat peaceful.

Minho was either feared, admired or loved. You didn’t know much about him so you were just curious. How could he be so cold yet afraid others would discover his secret? A secret you knew about since third year, the only time you talked to him, actually.

You had lost one of your most precious quills you owned and went to see Myrtle Warren in the girl’s bathroom on the first floor to ask for her help. You became friends with Myrtle in first year, when you entered the bathroom for the first time. At the time you didn’t know it was abandoned and ran into her. You’ve always called her by her name (not Moaning Myrtle) and been nice to her so anytime you would need help, she would accept without much complaint.

When you entered the bathroom, you first heard “I can’t tell them I’m muggleborn!” then saw two boys facing each other by the chipped sinks. You could see one’s back then a head popped up from the side and looked at you.

“Hi!” he said, waving his hand.

The other one turned around, glared at you and almost ran to the door. You saw the look in his eyes, he was scared. When he was next to you, your mouth moved on its own while you were still processing what was happening.

“Being a muggleborn doesn’t make you any different from the rest of the students. It’s almost incredible that you were born into a magicless family. Imagine how special that makes you. I promise you’re not worth less and if anyone dares to say otherwise, I’ll jinx them.”

You surprised yourself by your words, but maybe it was the Hufflepuff in you that couldn’t stand seeing him down like that. His heart warmed up and he smiled —you couldn’t see that— and he left without a word. Your gaze drifted to the door and you stayed like that until the one that greeted you came to you.

“Hey, I’m Chan.” You recognized him as the keeper of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

“Y/N,” you smiled softly.

“Thank you for your words. I think it got to him.”

“With pleasure. It’s the same for you by the way. I hope you’re not feeling self-conscious about it.”

He looked at you dumbfounded. “How—”

“Just a guess,” you answered, “and your reaction proves I’m right.”

Chan smiled, showing his dimples, then made a more serious face. “Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“I came to find Myrtle, I got robbed.”

“Oh shoot! I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s alright, Myrtle or I will find it. What were you doing here?”

He scratched the back of his neck. He was in the girl’s bathroom after all and he knew it. “Um. We needed a quiet place to talk and this one was the closest.”

For the little story, Myrtle found the quill, a second year had stolen it. He gave it back when you came to him with Myrtle giving him death glares from behind you.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

You hesitated between taking your bath with him or leaving him be and coming back later. You didn’t really know him and you didn’t know if it was the right place to start a friendship so you decided it was best to go. When you stepped back, your eyes still on him, you stumbled on one of the sinks, swearing under your breath. He opened his eyes wide in your direction and stopped humming abruptly.

“Y/N??” Oh, he knew your name.

“Um, sorry, I’m going to leave, I’ll come back later.”

“Or you can join me? Maybe, if it’s not too weird?”

You froze. Was Minho really asking you to take a bath with him when it was literally the first time this year that you exchanged a word? Wow. Bold. Maybe he just saw the perfect opportunity to get to know you better and was internally praying you would say yes.

You did and joined him, seating not too far to hear what he would say but not too close either to insert boundaries. Because, yeah, you wanted to know more about him too but not scare him off. People labeled him as cold but at that moment, he was far from that. He kept smiling shyly and it was a nice sight.

You didn’t leave that bath until the water was cold and you had wrinkled fingers, meaning you stayed in there for about three hours, talking and playing in the water. You just had that connection with him and almost regretted you haven’t started talking to him before.

What you didn’t know was that Minho had a crush on you since the time you talked in the girl’s bathroom, three years ago. Your words really got to him and even if he never shared his secret information with anyone but his closest friends, he had this feeling that if anyone would come at him for it, you’d be by his side. In a way, the idea comforted him.

The next day, even after your efforts to rest, you were tired.

“I had so much trouble sleeping last night,” you sighed as you sat at the Hufflepuff table next to Seonghwa.

“Even after all my efforts to make you rest?” 

“It could be because someone was thinking about you,” proposed Changmin, your other friend, mindlessly playing with his marmalade toast. Both were Hufflepuffs.

“Who the hell could think of me at 3 am?”

A large group of people heard your sentence, including the ‘someone’ in particular, who was about to sit at his table, bowing his head in embarrassment.

Changbin, who saw and heard it all, laughed. “What, you’re the one preventing them from a good sleep? Man, I didn’t know you were so mean.”

“Shut up Binnie, like you can probably realize, I didn’t sleep much either.”

“When do you plan on telling them?” he asked as he gave Minho the tea-pot.

“When the time is right. Which is not now, we just started talking.”

“That’s a start, I wish you good luck.”

Minho sighed. “Thank you.”

Since that day, you would talk to him from time to time, getting to know each other better because obviously, three hours weren’t enough.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

Weeks passed and a morning after the christmas holidays, you found a note on the backboard about the apparition lessons. You were thrilled by the news. In the Great Hall, you heard some students of your year already talking about it. You sat next to your best friend, who was already seated at the Hufflepuff table.

“Hi Seong. Can’t wait to take the apparition lessons,” you excitedly said as you poured cereals in the bowl in front of you.

“Hey, me too.” He gave you the milk and you thanked him.

“Bet you’ll apparate a mile south,” laughed Changmin, resting on his elbows in front of you.

You smirked. “Bet you’ll apparate under the rain.”

“You children.” Seonghwa’s remark only made Changmin and you giggle.

A week after you signed up for the lessons and paid the required 12 galleons, they finally started. It wasn’t as easy as you could think but you were determined in succeeding.

The first week, the ministry employee that came to give the lessons basically spent the entire hour talking about the dangers of apparating without a flawless concentration. Like leaving an eyebrow, a piece of cloth or even a leg behind.

The next week, the first tries were made. You all needed to try and apparate into a hoop by focusing your mind on the hoop and then spin around with the intention of appearing in the hoop. No one perfectly succeeded.

Weeks passed and the keeper of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, Seungkwan, disappeared in front of you. Turned out he apparated in the Quidditch pitch.

“He probably thought too much about Quidditch,” Seonghwa had told you. 

If only Seungkwan was the only one to disappear. Juyeon, beater of the same team and Changmin’s close friend, ended up in the school grounds under the rain and Wooseok, from Gryffindor, was found a mile south.

Remembering your talk with Changmin a month before, you went to him after the lesson.

“Does that mean we can predict the future? Sounds scary,” he gasped dramatically.

“Idiot, it could happen to anyone. Sicheng apparated at the entrance of the forbidden forest last year.”

“How do you know?”

You shrugged. “Seonghwa told me. He’s a fan.” Sicheng was one of the chasers of your house’s Quidditch team.

The first person to succeed was you. You were astonished to say the least while your friends, on the other hand, weren’t even surprised. They always said you were the best of your year and this accomplishment was just proving it once more. A guy in the back made a displeasing comment about you but you didn’t hear. The next day during breakfast, however, you were obliged to see the same guy’s head inflating after drinking his tea. One of his prefects counter-spelled him and went back to eat like it was nothing.

Next week, Gryffindor Chanwoo apparated between the forbidden forest and the lake, although he was the last one to apparate anywhere else but into the hoop.

The following weeks, Seonghwa, Minho and Seungkwan succeeded, followed by Juyeon, Wooseok, Changmin and a few others.

“It was about time,” the latter had sighed.

The last few weeks, everyone managed to reach their goal without losing any members. Finally, all those you cared about had their license to apparate, including Minho, and you were proud of them —and yourself.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

Life was somehow good to Minho because you too had feelings for him. The day you realized that, you were in your fourth year, at the library on your own, working on some transfiguration homework. A 6th year slytherin with books under his arm passed by you, calling you a ‘nerd’ with a disgusted face. It wasn’t an insult for you anymore, you were just doing your homework and listening in class, the rest was easy but only because you were passionate about it.

Seeing he was ignored didn’t please him but before he could add anything, his books turned into birds and flew away from an open window. The noise made you look up at the guy in disbelief while he was running out of the library and after his books, screaming, under the disapproving look of the librarian.

Behind a shelf, there was a boy who put his wand back in his pocket and returned to his homework as if nothing happened. You knew it was the boy you gave a speech to the year before and from this day, you were thankful for the countless times he got your back when you basically said you had his. Thinking your crush on him had no place to be, you tried to repress it, but his somehow protective behavior made it grow bigger. And here you were, befriending him two years later.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

It was april, you were close friends with Minho by now and spent time with him everyday. Today, you were seated on a bench with Minho’s cat, Pepper, on his lap because yeah, he had a beautiful Russian cat with green eyes. You were almost giving more attention to Pepper than Minho but, he could totally get that, his cat was what he valued most in the school.

“I don’t really like your friend,” he sighed and for a moment, you were confused.

“Which one?”

“Your best friend.” You didn’t get why he was all mysterious all of a sudden.

“The only reason I see you could hate him for, and that’s pure jealousy, is his height.”

“Wait— you’re saying I’m small?” He looked at you in disbelief.

“You’re the one saying it, not me.” You smiled so brightly his heart skipped a beat. Maybe he didn't have to be scared of him.

Later that day, Seonghwa and you were in your common room, doing your homework together.

“So, how’s it going with Minho?” he asked as he was closing a book about potions he borrowed at the library.

“What do you mean?”

“I guess none of you confessed yet,” he whispered, then cleared his throat. “Are you going to confess?”

You didn’t even bother asking him how he found out. “You’re not my best friend for nothing, uh. Am I that obvious?”

“It’s sickening. I wish one of you would do something about it soon.”

“Thanks for your opinion Seong, it’s much appreciated but—”

“Oh please, don’t start with your ‘but he doesn’t like me’ bullshit, he DOES. Listen to me. He’s as obvious as you, if not more, so please, do something about it or I swear I will.”

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

The next day in history, you were seated next to Seonghwa, like 100% of your classes. Minho was behind you with Dahyun, the Slytherin prefect with him. The class was often a bit boring because the professor would often talk way more than necessary. Today, you knew the subject already so you let yourself relax a bit and take less notes.

“Hey, I was wondering,” said Seonghwa out of nowhere, “what’s your favorite flower?”

“I think it would be Parrot’s beak. It’s from the Canary Islands and pretty rare,” you replied after a moment of reflection. “Why?”

“Oh, just like that.” He winked and gave his attention back to the professor.

“What’s yours?”

“Oak-leaved geranium.” His eyes never left the blackboard and you hummed in response, going back to listening as well.

At the end of class, Minho was the first one to run out. He took a secret passage behind a tapestry which led him to stairs. He followed some fourth years and when he saw a Gryffindor getting his hair colored in red and standing on end, he just knew who was behind it. He soon enough saw Jisung and his partner-in-crime laughing their asses off, that was until they saw him.

As prefect, he was in the obligation to take points from Jisung (only, because his friend was in Slytherin and he couldn’t afford to take points from his own house). Since he was impressed by the fact Jisung put a transfiguration spell in a hair-rising potion, he decided fifteen points would suffice instead of twenty.

“By the way, I need to ask you something.”

“Just after taking points from me? That’s bold.” Jisung crossed his arms.

“It wouldn’t have happened if you respected the rules, you know.”

Getting out of arguments, he surrendered. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to find Felix.”

Jisung pushed the older one in the closest empty room then took the Marauder’s Map (for more info read Jisung’s au) out of his inside pocket (he made it himself). He recited the formula and looked at it closely.

“Felix’s outside by the lake. I’m not surprised, are you?”

“I must admit I’m not. Thanks.”

Without waiting a second more, he ran to Felix, who was playing with a plimpy he befriended. The creature fled as soon as it saw Minho running its way.

“Minho? Are you okay?”

He held a hand up while catching his breath. “I’m alright. I need you to put something in the Hufflepuff common room.”

“What, exactly?”

Minho looked around him, took a stone that was at the edge of the lake and gave it to him. “This.”

Felix examined the stone. “…This?”

“Yeah, somewhere Y/N could see it, please.”

He nodded. “Consider it done.”

“Thanks. By the way, do you know what oak-leaved geranium means in the flower language?”

“I believe Seungmin once mentioned it meant true friendship, why?”

Minho didn’t realize at first that he was smiling widely. “Just like that. Thank you so much.”

He then went to the library, needing one last thing: a picture of a parrot’s beak. Once he looked in every flower book in the herbology segment, he asked the librarian, who eyed him scornfully.

“Parrot’s beak isn’t magical. You’ll find what you need in the muggle area. Be quiet now.”

He mouthed a ‘thanks’ and walked to the said area to find what he was looking for.

When he found it, he went to the dungeons to hide behind a huge statue, used Orchideous to make a bouquet of parrot’s beak out of his wand, added a note and waited. Felix soon entered with the stone in his hand. Minho knew he would stay by it until you would find it. A few students entered the Hufflepuff common room, then you came in with your best friend. Minho approached discreetly and used a switching spell to switch the bouquet with the stone. Then, he left before anyone could see him.

You were about to sit on the couch when a beautiful bouquet of parrot’s beak appeared out of nowhere. You beamed and took them in your hands.

Seonghwa looked at them too. “There’s a note.”

“What does it say?”

Seonghwa took it and started reading. “To Y/N, the most kind, smart and stunning person on earth. From a MB.”

You smelled the flowers and smiled joyfully. Seonghwa was smiling too, almost amused.

“How did they know it was my favorite flower?”

“We talked about it twenty minutes ago, Y/N. Someone must have heard it.”

“Is it you?” you enquired.

“I’m sorry but it wasn’t me. I didn’t know what they looked like. They’re really beautiful, by the way.”

Felix watched the entire scene and was pleased Minho made you happy. He couldn’t wait to tell him about your reaction.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

Seated on the couch with your bouquet in one hand and the note in the other, you were thinking. “MB…”

“Is that initials?” asked Seonghwa.

“Or Miami Beach.”

“Really, Changmin?” Seonghwa face palmed.

 He shrugged. “Just giving options.”

After a while, you sat up straight. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Both the boys asked, confused.

“Muggleborn,” you whispered.

“Makes sense,” approved Seonghwa.

Changmin was looking at his friends. “Does it, though?”

Thing is, you knew a lot of muggleborns (and were too oblivious to think about Minho).

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

The next day, Felix went to Minho before breakfast. “Y/N was beaming. Never saw a smile that bright and eyes so sparkly.”

Minho’s smile was wide. “Thank you so much, Felix. Do they know who did it?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t do eavesdropping,” he said, giving his friend a subjective look.

“I don’t do that either!”

“Sure. How’d you know Parrot’s beak was Y/N’s favorite flower then?” Minho’s cheeks burned and he refused to look the younger in the eyes.

Later, you found Minho at the library and spent time with him.

“So, I heard you received a bouquet,” he said as casually as he could. For a brief moment, he thought you were going to ask him if it was him and got scared.

“Yes, the flowers were really beautiful. I put them in a vase on my nightstand.”

You were beaming and Minho, seeing you this happy, almost revealed himself. 

“I wonder who sent them though. I mean, these flowers aren’t that known, even in the muggle world.”

His lips were burning to tell you but he was scared the feelings weren’t mutual.

“Minho? Why do you look sad all of a sudden? Did I say something wrong? Is this about the,” you stopped to get closer to him and whisper, “muggles?”

He couldn’t believe you were worried about him. “Oh, no, no, don’t worry! I— um, was wondering if, I don’t know, you had an idea on who sent it?”

“Actually, I do have an idea.”

Minho gulped. “You— you do?”

“Yes. The person’s obviously in history class with me. And they’re seated close to me. Plus, they’re muggleborn, from what I learned from the note. So I narrowed it down to two people. First Dahyun, which, I think, has zero reason to send me flowers as we never really had any conversation. Also she glares at me from time to time. Doesn’t add up.”

The boy was sweating. The more you talked, the more he regretted his question. What if you rejected him?

“The other person, on the other hand, we’ve talked more and I highkey want it to be him.” You looked him in the eye with such intensity he choked on air.

“Who’s that?” he risked.

A smirk was spreading on your face. “Vernon. He’s cute.”

His face dropped and you couldn’t help but laugh. Teasing him was funny.

“I’m kidding, it’s you.”

At this moment, Minho was still confused but happy. If he understood what was going on correctly, you knew it was him who sent you the flowers and you wanted it to be him??? He absolutely didn’t see it coming.

“So… you… like me?”

You smiled at him fondly. “I do.”

His heart was pounding, he was ready to kiss you. You felt like he was thinking about Seonghwa so you tried to reassure him as much as you could.

“Seonghwa is my best friend, nothing more. I can assure you.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, a satisfied smile on his face. “I like you too.”

“I was hoping you would say that.”

“Can I kiss you now?” You bit your lip, the question was really attractive.

Without answering, you got closer to Minho and pressed your lips to his.

“How dare you make out in the library? OUT! IMMEDIATELY,” shouted the librarian from behind. You both moved back from shock and ran out, hand in hand, a big smile on your faces.

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please let me know <3 and here's the masterlist!

[hyacinthstears]

Master Post! (Asks are open! I'll gladly talk more about my AUs)

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Hiii!! as said in the meet the artist drawing I'm Cin!! (here's my Pronouns.Page btw)

I post Undertale AUs on my side blog @dumb-skeleton-au-lover and Deviant Art

I listen to an insane amount of music and have a shit ton of playlists on my Spotify

I'm a tmnt nerd and aspiring writer, animater and comic artist. I like making AUs and drawing my persona hanging out with friends and Mutuals.

I'm Obsessed with -

TMNT

Undertale/Undertale AU

Cats the musical (The original not the shit 2019 movie)

Skyrim

Dsmp (The story not the creators behind it)

Horror/Gore

I'm a Polykin! which means I believe that on a spiritual level I'm in some way something other then human (I know I'm human this is entirely mental/spiritual) If you don't like or hate on Otherkin/Therian you can still look at my art or follow me but just please don't talk to me about it. Its a form of expression and I'd rather not end up in a back and forth. (Also I vibe with Voidpunk!)

These guys are my close friends who are awesome and I love them - @theboogie-woogieman - @heefthequeef

And also some cool friend/Mutuals - @lara-cairncross - @nox-icate - @mossy-box

and here's what you guys have been waiting for... My AUs!!!

Leo's Descent

A villain AU that starts at the end Rottmnt movie. it's canon at first but slowly the hero's we we know and love begin to change. the slowly fall from grace, from beloved hero's to disturbing villains. inspired by some of my favorite horror movies and genres,

This story contains - Gore, Non-consensual body modification, Forced Drug use, abuse, physical abuse, Verbal abuse and s3lf h@rm. This story is very dark so please be in the right head space when reading it.

Leo Reference - Raph Reference

Donnie Reference - Mikey Reference (Old designs)

the brothers dynamics - Donnie and Mikey

Concept Comic Part 1 DONE

Mikey lore drop comic (that doubles as a fan comic for @lara-cairncross fairy AU)

Leo's Descent tag

Mystic Odyssey

A Crossover between Rottmnt future/Tmnt 2012/Usagi Chronicles/Iliad and Odyssey/Epic the musical and inspration taken from Sleep token... I promise I makes more since then it sounds. 2012 Leo gets sent to Rottmnt via an accident with a krang portal. He gets there and he ends up in the apocalypse future. We learn about the history of the Rise brothers and we follow 2012 Leo (now being called Odysseys) has he try's to stay alive and make it back home

This story contains - Child death, Non-consensual body modification and gore. This story is very depressing so please be in the right head space when reading it.

Story outline(Outdated)

Mikey reference

concept comic page (Featuring Leo in a coma)

Odysseys and Yuichi in the hidden city

Mystic Odyssey Tag

Rottmnt Bird AU

A simple good vibe AU where the boys got double mutated to have wings and feathers. each of them are a different type bird!

Rottmnt brother reference

Splinter reference

Donnie and Mikeys disabilitys

Donnies wings

Rottmnt bird AU Tag

Lost and Scarred

A fan fiction about the Rottmnt siblings getting sent into the 2012 universe. In the process they got turned into tots, still having all the scars from their life before. The 2012 brothers now have to take care of the tots, while trying to help them recover from wounds they don't remember getting.

This story contains - Gore, Medical treatments and Harm onto children. This story is sad so please be in the right head space when reading it.

The Fanfiction

Amber(Mikey) Fun facts

Purple(Donnie) and Blue(Leo) Fun facts

Red(Raph) Fun facts

Lost and Scarred tag

Misc AUs that aren't to fleshed out

Dark Ninpo fanfiction

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Have a nice day!! Thanks for reading my stuff, or even just this. This will be updated as my AUs get more fleshed out or if my identity any has major changes

Love you all and stay safe!!

[bianca-d1-angelo]

✧˚ · ˚ + ˚ · . ➳➳ INTRO ➳➳. · ˚ + ˚ · ˚✧

DISCLAIMER: this rp has closed, none of us still rp here, it's just up because of memories

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Hello! I am Bianca Di Angelo! I am the daughter of Maria Di Angelo and the Greek deity Hades. I am also known as the deceased sister of the Ghost King, @the-ghostking-di-angelo! I am currently 12 years old and will forever remain 12 as I am dead. I was a Hunter of Artemis before I died, and would have been a current resident of Cabin 13 at Camp Half Blood. The Fates did not consider social media when writing the rules centuries ago, so this is a technical loophole I have decided to exploit since Elysium is a bit boring. OOC: Please send asks or tag me!! OC's are always allowed to interact <33

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@gh0st-king-nico - my younger brother! he's honestly just a sweet little kid. If I find anyone being mean or even remotely rude to him, I can easily show you the horrors the Underworld will have have in store for you :)) @hazel-the-jewel - my sister! she's so sweet and responsible and talented. im so proud of her! she's the praetor of New Rome and everything! Once again, if I hear a single comment about her, I will find you and make you wish you never opened your mouth :))

@will-shoelaces - Nico's boyfriend! Very nice kid and a gentleman. Nico really cares about him so I fully support him! He's also a healer and can glow! if you dare break his heart, I know where you live :) @challenging-lord-frank Hazel's boyfriend! Very responsible and extremely kind. Hazel loves him a lot <3 But once again, if you dare break her heart, I know where you live :)

@lightning-boi-is-here - he's my brother's best friend! he's a good person and really friendly. Honestly reminds me of a golden retriever @forbiddensonoftheseagod - Son of Poseidon and a greek hero. He's really nice and extremely loyal. 10/10 quest mate!

Grover! - Satyr and Lord of the Wild! Apparently he's a protector so he might follow you and your brother around for a while in a totally not creepy or terrifying way.

@pinecone-face-thalia - Daughter of Zeus and Lieutenant of the Hunters of Artemis! Very cool and a bit intimidating. Nice to talk to though!

@annabeth-w1se-g1rl - Daughter of Athena! Dating Percy and friends with my sister! She's very cool and I admire her leadership.

@p1per-mclean - Daughter of Aphrodite! Hazel's friend and Nico's friend. She's really nice though she seems like a troublemaker.

Shel! - Mortal! She's Piper's girlfriend. She's really sweet and easy to talk to.

@fireboy-supreme - Son of Hephaestus! Nico warned me not to trust him. He does look like he gets into a lot of trouble.

Reyna - my honorary sister! She's one of Nico's closest friends and joined the hunt! She has an aura that demands respect and is a very sophisticated and cool person

@rangaartist - Also a Mortal! She is also the Oracle! (I'm so sorry Rachel for that repeating prophecy my dad sent, I told him twice would be enough)

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OOC: (Kinda Important So Please Read! )

Hi!!! Before I begin, this is a Percy Jackson RP account for my Bianca cuz Hera knows shes too underrated! We still have some slots open so if you want to join, DM me or @hazel-the-jewel or @pinecone-face-thalia or @annabeth-w1se-g1rl

pictures from banner are not mine! (i did make it tho) pfp is by _kaminarty_ (yes, it is wednesday, but they dont have bianca and its supposed to match with the others in the rp group lol) GO LOOK AT THEIR ART!!! ITS AMAZING

I MISS TONS OF SOCIAL CUESS!!! I'm trying to work on it but if i ever overstep my boundaries or make you uncomfy, pleasee let me know <33 im just a bit oblivious sometimes

IM SEX REPULSED! totally cool, do your thing but please DNI if you're an NSFW blog!!

I am a minor! pls keep that in mind!

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[sitp-recs]

Hi ,its my first time asking you anything since maybe one year ago that i found your reclist that in my opinion is one of the best IF NOT THE BEST drarry reclist to exist. Not only is so well organizased but is amazing how you cover almost avery theme, tag, request....Thanks for the effort that you make ❤️.

Since you an amazing reccer i wanna know if its posibble asking you for some recs, the thing is that i love the kind of stories tha break my heart into pieces while reading more so when our boys have to suffer to finally have peace and enjoy themselves. By any chance do you know stories where Harry and Draco have to give up their relationship and their love for other things or people like draco for his parents or Harry for the Weasleys or the greater good?

If by any chance you read this thank you so much and keep blessing us with your presence here. ❤️

Oh wow what a way to start my week! Thank you for the kind words, I’m so happy that you enjoy the blog and are finally sending your own request. I appreciate you ❤️ I see you’re going for hardcore angst with the self-sacrificing trope! I think you might enjoy these treats:

The Promise by Frayach (M, 4.5k)

Draco made two promises that pulled him in opposite directions. He can only fulfill one.

An Emerald In The Sky by corvuscrowned (M, 6.6k)

The hardest part about shagging an Unspeakable is that they’re not allowed to speak of anything. All Draco knows is that Harry works in Time. Harry works in Time, and while he’s out there in all of that time, it is as unforgiving to him as it is to anyone.

The Eighth Tale by lettered (E, 12k)

Draco Malfoy tries to fix the past, but instead mucks it up some more. For Harry, it all becomes quite clear.

Unfinished Business by cupiscent (E, 20k)

Ten years after the War ends, Harry and Draco still haven't got their act together. But maybe it's not too late.

Us, in Lieu by Tepre (E, 29k)

Teddy needs help and Harry needs funding. Draco sits in the other room and plays the piano.

On One's Knees by pir8fancier (E, 33k)

The war is over and to the victors go the spoils. If you are triggered by infidelity, this is not the fic for you.

We Are Young (I'll Carry You Home Tonight) by Femme (E, 70k)

Harry and Draco have been falling into bed on and off again since the last election five years ago, much to the amusement--and financial gain--of their circle of friends.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

Close Behind by oflights (M, 134k)

To rescue Draco from the Underworld, Harry has to look forward. Unfortunately, Draco has to look back.

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (T, 300k)

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness.

[one-annon]

hi I'm annon!!

I started tumblr as a artist but I guess I'm moving onto my writing too - I ask you to please be patient because I'm new to writing x readers n such but I will try my best!!

it's been quite a while since I wrote but I can do like 1k to 2k? longer than that might be a little hard for me (｀□´)

i dont have much else to say about myself! uh, ive been writing for a while now. i also do rps! if youd like to do any rps when the listed characters/movies, feel free to let me know! im also happily spoken for by @wrathofthegodsfrontman <3

my current hyperfixation; saw series!

next movie on my list; silence of the lambs!

【ＣＨＡＲＡＣＴＥＲ　ＬＩＳＴ】

sawyer family (including the game characters!) - texas chainsaw massacre

hewitt family - texas chainsaw masscre remake

jason voorhees - friday the 13th series

michael myers (og and rz) - halloween series

laurie strode/angel myers (og and rz) - halloween series

billy lenz - black christmas 1974 (i will do 2006 version but mostly the 1974 version)

brahms heelshire - the boy

carrie white (and friends) - carrie (og and remakes)

scream team (billy, stu, randy, etc) - scream series (ive only seen 1 and 2 but im making my way through)

harry warden - my bloody valentine (og and remake)

sinclair brothers - house of wax

firefly family - house of 1000 corpses trilogy

dbd characters - dead by daylight

saw characters - any movie! this includes the scott tibbs documentary and saw .5!

herbert west and dan cain - reanimator

patrick bateman - american psycho

edgar, miles, and madeline - electric dreams

hal 9000, frank poole, and dave bowman - 2001: a space odyssey

anyone else you can think of! I'll try my best to learn the character :) these are just everyone I can think of at the moment! I'll do killers and survivors but I know people are more obsessive over the killers lmao

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anything really..I don't have too many boundaries. I can do anything from hcs, scenarios (i.e. how would ____ react to ____?), smut, fluff, angst...the whole works

and even if you're willing to rant to me about your ocs I could whip up a oc x canon story! :)

also, depending on the media, im open to non horror writes!

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really not a lot to add here? maybe like...toilet related stuff for nsfw..

just the usuals - no incest (MAYBE for the sawyers since they are canonically inbred but its very situational), p3dophilia, b3astiality, etc etc

MASTERLIST!

GENERAL TAGS; #MANN GEGEN MANN! ➸ OOC/ANNON (also used for my rp blogs!) ↪ mann gegen mann - rammstein

#AND I KNOW WHY YOU DRIVE ME CRAZY MOTH MAN ➸ annons moths ↪ moth man - dirty bynum

#SEARCHIN! SEEK AND DESTROY! ➸ annons art ↪ seek & destroy - metallica

#my face is long forgotten my face is not my own ➸ ask games (again, also in my rp blogs!) ↪ am i evil? - diamond head

FANDOM TAGS;

#game over! ➸ saw writes ↪ jigsaw, apprentices

#i speak for the dead ➸ jigsaw legacy au ↪ logan nelson

#its a scream baby! ➸ scream writes ↪ stu macher

#you fudgepackers'll be the death of me yet! ➸ TCM writes ↪ drayton sawyer

#hey paul! ➸ american psycho writes ↪ patrick bateman

#hes dead?/not anymore... ➸ reanimator writes ↪ dan cain/herbert west

#love is give not take so im giving you madeline and taking myself away ➸ electric dreams writes ↪ edgar

#im afraid i cant do that dave ➸ space odyssey writes ↪ hal 9000

WRITING TAGS;

#HEY HEY HEY HEY! HEY STOOPID! ➸ annon writes ↪ hey stoopid! - alice cooper

#I WASNT EVEN A BILL I WAS JUST AN IDEA ➸ annons hcs ↪ im just a bill - school house rock (cover by deluxx folk implosion) #keeping our eyes close to whats going on on the screen ➸ angst writes ↪ slumber - sløtface

#ive got to have faith faith faith ➸ hurt with comfort writes ↪ faith - george michael (and cover by limp bizkit)

#quit actin like a bitch and makin up excuses ➸ hurt with no comfort ↪ i wish i was a riot grrrl - destructo disk

#call me on the line call me anytime ➸ fluff writes ↪ call me - blondie

#rein raus rein raus ➸ smut writes ↪ rein raus - rammstein

#so much for the golden future i cant even start ➸ annons drabbles ↪ breaking the law - judas priest

yeah! thats kinda it! I'll try to reply and write out requests as fast as I can

credit to; @strangergraphics for the awesome dividers!

ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ꜱᴀᴡ ʀᴘ ʙʟᴏɢꜱ!

@ᴡʀ4ᴛʜ-ᴏꜰ-ᴛʜᴇ-ɢᴏᴅꜱ @ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ-ᴛᴡɪɴꜱ @zippyzep @jigsaws-disciples

[tearfallpixie]

Trust and Love - Chapter 4: Boys will be Boys

Tags: @nerdraging4point0 @thesazzb @synthetic-wasp-570 @circle-with-me @beaker1636 @itsjustemily @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @cookiesupplier @cncohshit @faceless-mirror @nonamessblog @yournecessaryevil @black-damask1999

@lyschko666 @vinyardmauro @skulliecadaver-blog @some-daniela @latenightmusiclover @rye14-blog1 @somewhere-diamond @shilohrose @abiomens @awkwardalex @miss570

“Vin? Is everything ok?” Ricky asked when he opened the door to his hotel room to see a very angry drummer standing on the other side. His question was answered when he was shoved backwards and the door was kicked shut. Olivia had gone home for a couple days to deal with some family stuff, so the guitarist had a room all to himself. “Woah. Vin-“ His words were cut off as he was shoved to the bed and his mouth was claimed in a needy lustful kiss. Ricky rolled them around so Vinny was under him and pinned his hands above his head. “I don’t mind helping you out, but you have got to tell me what’s got you so riled up.” The drummer groaned and flopped back onto the bed.

“Sorry. I’m just so furious. This fucking dumbass has been stalking me all over the place. He was fucking following me around ShipRocked last year trying to figure out who I was with and now he’s got pics of me and Liv together. He’s saying he’s going to blast them all over the internet and it just pissed me off.”

“Were you and her doing anything in the photos?” Ricky asked.

“What? No! We wouldn’t. It’s just pics of me saving her when we were in that swarm of people at the Walmart at the beginning of tour and various pics of us hugging since then. Nothing technically incriminating but she doesn’t need that stress when she’s your girl.” Ricky nodded and slid to his knees off the bed. Vin propped himself up on his elbows and watched as the guitarist expertly undid his jeans and started working them down his legs. Vinny’s breathing had shallowed out and he knew his eyes were blown wide. It was rare for Ricky to get on his knees for him, which the drummer didn’t mind, but it meant he didn’t last long when he did. “Rick-“

“Shh, I don’t mind helping you take some of the stress off.” The guitarist licked a strip up the underside of his member before taking him into his mouth and swallowing him all the way down. Vin threw his head back and laced his hands in his own hair, trying not to claw his scalp too bad. He groaned when he opened his eyes a bit and saw Ricky looking up at him through hooded eye lashes. It was enough to send him way to close to the edge so he scrambled to grab onto something. A hand snatched his when he got too close to Rickys hair. He looked down to see the man giving him a warning glare so he clung to his hand like it was a life line.

“Rick- fuck. Rick, I’m so fucking close.” This seemed to spur the guitarists determination and he sucked a little bit harder, tugging on that last string that sent Vinny crashing into his orgasm. He laid there gasping for breath for a moment before shoving himself back onto his arms and seeing the proud smirk that Ricky wore. “What are you so happy about?” Rick shrugged.

“Just missed seeing you come undone beneath me. Its been a while since we fooled around.” He crawled up to lay next to Vinny who noticed a patch of come on the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward to lick it off but was caught in a deep messy kiss from his partner.

“I’ve missed this. Should we tell Liv? I don’t want her getting hurt if she thinks we’re fooling around behind her back.” Vinny worried. Last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt the most important girl in their lives.

“She won’t care.” Vinny gave him an unsure look making Ricky roll his eyes. He picked up his phone and called her number. “Hey baby girl.”

“Hi baby. How is everything over there?”

“Fine, Vinny and I miss you. How is your grandma?”

“She’s good. She was released from the hospital today with no more than a broken arm. I’m still all good to return in two days.” She told them. Vinny elbowed Rick in the side making him grunt.

“Fuck, ok.” He snapped at the drummer. “Vinny so desperately wants me to tell you I blew him tonight.” Vinny groaned and buried his head into the pillow.

“Well ok then. Did you enjoy it?” Olivia asked. Vinny gave Ricky a bewildered look who just shrugged.

“I guess.” The drummer muttered.

“You guess? My skills deserve better than an I guess. I had you coming in under two minutes.” Ricky huffed playfully making Olivia laugh. The sound of her gorgeous laugh had Vinny melting.

“So why was it so important that I knew you two fooled around?” She asked.

“Vinny was worried that you would get hurt by it. He thought it felt like we were keeping a secret from you.” The guitarist explained.

“I know you two are together. I just didn’t want any secrets. You are very important to me.” Vinny grumbled.

“Vin, sweetheart I already told Ricky that if you two need to blow off steam together it wouldn’t bother me. Both of you were honest to me about your history together so I don’t mind.” The drummer let out a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he was holding.

“Thank you, Liv.” He whispered.

“I have to go but I’ll talk to you two later. Ok?” Olivia said.

“Ok baby girl. I love you.”

“I love you too Ricky. Bye Vinny.” Vinny mumbled a goodbye and curled into Ricks side. Ricky set the phone on his nightstand before wrapping his arms around the drummer.

“See? I told you she wouldn’t care.” The guitarist teased him.

“I know. She’s just so pure. I wouldn’t want to cause any issues between you two.”

“Vinny, you could never cause issues between us because for once I laid out everything to a partner from the get-go. Its been very refreshing and she’s been very understanding. I’m honestly so lucky to have her.” They chatted a bit longer before words left them and they got lost in the feeling of being together once more.

~~~~

“Ricky! Vinny!” The boys looked up from their conversation to see their favorite girl running across the airport towards them. They both stood up and braced themselves for impact as she threw her arms around their necks and hugged them tightly. The three of them hugged each other tightly, having missed being together.

“I missed you so much baby girl. How was your flight?” Ricky murmured, brushing a stray hair out of her face. She leaned into her touch and sighed at the comforting touch.

“It was fine. I remember why I don’t like flying alone but I’m ok. I missed you too. Both of you.” Ricky leaned down to kiss her and then Vinny pulled her into another hug.

“We missed you too, Sunshine.” He whispered.

“At least you two had each other to take care of. I was all alone.” She dramatically complained.

“Don’t worry, I bet Rick will give you a big welcome home once you are alone.” The drummer smirked.

“You’re always welcome to join us.” Ricky grinned back, throwing an arm around Olivia’s shoulder and pulling her towards the baggage claim.

“W-what?” Vinny exclaimed, chasing after his two friends.

[hoelandah]

Not to be all sappy and shit but thank you guys for letting me expound upon my political thoughts on this blog that is supposed to be a thirst blog.

This blog started because YouTube in its algorithmic genius decided "let me give you Homelander videos." At first I just thought he was hot. I knew vaguely about the war crimes and the fascist fans of the show missing the point but, ya know, it's fiction. I've come to appreciate morally dubious characters in my older age. I also thought he was evil Captain America not evil Superman.

This was just for me to drool over him and get rid of the Neil Gaiman blog I used to have but I forgot my password so I couldn't delete it then I got to learn more and it just snowballed. My love for media analysis intersected with my leftism/hyper fixation on political and social minutiae and this show became the victim.

And a lot of y'all just rolled with it. But do know I understand if you left or if you eventually leave, I get not wanting to consume political theory during thirsting hours. Especially since the show itself took that freedom away from a lot of you with future two time president Nazi-Shit-for-Brains and many of you aren't US citizens.

So yeah thank you I've been autistically burnt out for a while and this is one of the few things that tickles my brain and makes me feel like the person I used to be.

PS: And for people who don't want to see my political junk in the Homelander and The Boys tags just block me or my tags, I have a list of tags on my pinned post that are specific to me. It's all good, I don't take it personally. 🥰