#cosmic girl x tap girl

[demontomfoolery]

Gays (affectionate)

[struck-by-the-rain]

this post about set 6 tengoku gave me a glimpse of a beautiful alternate universe. someone else draw the snappy trio im going to bed

[auroralwriting]

your beauty never scared me

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

you’re scared no one will ever love and understand you, but spencer always has.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: a bit of unrequited love, comfort/angst/fluff, negative self thought, spencer is always a sweetheart, reader has a darker aesthetic

Maybe it was the fact that you came from a broken family from a young age. No, you didn't have a bad childhood, but it wasn't ideal for a young girl growing up.

It could have been the bad high school relationships, full of boys who didn't understand how to treat a young woman. Stuck at their stupid baseball games or waiting for them to finish their video game, sitting alone on their bed waiting for them to finish.

The most likely cause for your fear of love was simply the fear that no one would ever truly understand you, and therefore, never be able to love you right.

If you looked deeper, though, much further past the surface level, deep into the core, you would've realized that Spencer Reid had been there all along.

When you first joined the BAU, Spencer Reid was a typical little nerd, the glasses he wore even fulfilling the stereotype. His rambles about anything and everything were endearing, and lead you to begin your friendship with the man after he told you the history of your favorite movies.

"...its distinctive style with his signature blend of dark humor and whimsy. His imaginative vision, influenced by German Expressionism, is evident in the film’s surreal sets and exaggerated character designs. Burton’s decision to cast Michael Keaton as the chaotic title character and his encouragement of Keaton’s improvisation contributed to the film’s memorable, unpredictable energy. The innovative special effects and makeup, along with the creative set design by Bo Welch, further showcased Burton's unique approach."

By the end of his rant, Spencer had expected you to have been completely focused on anything else, but your eyes were trained on him, a small sparkle flickering in them.

"Spence, how do you know do much about Beetlejuice? You haven't even seen it before." you'd chuckled.

"I think Tim Burton is an interesting director. Maybe we could, uh, see it together sometime? If you want, of course." Spencer awkwardly fiddled with his fingers, the suggestion of the two of you hanging out outside of the work settle rattling his nerves.

You had given him a big smile, beneath your dark clothes and makeup was a heart of white and gold, a truly captivating soul. "I'd love to, Spencer! I own it, so you can come over whenever."

"Whenever sounds good," Spencer paused, thinking about what he had just said. "I mean, Thursday?"

"Thursday it is, boy genius." That name was usually reserved for making fun of Spencer, but the way you said it actually made his heart flutter.

Spencer would've never guessed that the girl, clad in dark clothing, the complete opposite of his own aesthetic, would be interested in hanging out with him. Then, it happened. And it happened again, and again, until you became friends.

Your friendship with the doctor grew. As you got closer, Spencer began to identify your fears and your tells. You played with your hair when you were nervous, bit the skin of your fingernails when you were anxious, tapped your foot or bounced your leg when you were impatient. He began to understand you on a deeper level.

It began to be the same for you. You knew his likes, dislikes, fears and worries. You understood his struggles with his mother and father, how sometimes this job didn't feel like enough until he made a true difference in someone's life.

Spencer Reid and you had connected in nearly a cosmic level, and that began to scare you.

It was two and a half years after Spencer had met you when he realized he had been falling in love with you for nearly a year. His small crush had grown exponentially. After Haley Hotchner's death, you'd taken in Jack for several days while Hotch planned the funeral and began to clean the house from the murders. Jack had taken to you quickly; he'd gone as far as to call you his favorite aunt.

Seeing the level of compassion and helpfulness you had displayed for Hotch made Spencer begin to realize that your friendship was beginning to move to the next level for him.

He began to think of you night and day, wondering what you were doing, how you were doing, what your plans were. He wanted to be with you, to feel your skin, linger in your existence. It wasn't until JJ had explained to him that that feeling he felt was love that he began to understand that you were in no place for him to admit his feelings.

Spencer never meant to profile anyone unless he was working, but he found it hard to not with you. He noticed your lack of dating, how even when you had the chance, you evaded it. He noticed your disdain to the notion of true love, or love at first sight, or even soulmates. It didn't take him long to piece together that it wasn't a hatred of love, no, it was a fear of it. However, he could never understand the why of the fear.

Now, you and Spencer had met five years ago. You'd both physically changed in looks over the time, but your friendship only remained and grew passionately stronger.

After the death of Emily, and finding out she didn't really die, Spencer had you as his rock. You grieved together, to the point that for three weeks, you lived with Spencer in his apartment. After you'd left, Spencer realized that he couldn't live without you anymore.

Spencer and you sat on his couch, the cold September month made you crave an early Halloween movie. So, Spencer put on his own copy of Beetlejuice he bought a few years back. The soft glow of the lamp cast warm shadows across the room, and the faint scent of popcorn lingered in the air. You could hear the distant hum of the city outside, blending with the soft rustling of the movie’s soundtrack.

"I like Adam and Barbara," Spencer hummed as he watched the screen. "They make a really good couple."

You nodded, "I guess they do,"

Spencer's brows furrowed at your words. "You don't sound convinced."

"I don't know," You shrugged, sitting up and crossing your legs. "He's sort of controlling over her. It's just too much, she's a strong woman."

"You mean he's protective over her in the afterlife filled with dead people they didn't even knew existed?" Spencer raised a brow, turning to you. "I'm pretty sure that's relatively normal."

Turning your attention back to the screen, you replied, "I guess so,"

Spencer sighed, finally deciding to ask you the question he'd been avoiding for too many years now. "Why are you so scared of love?"

His question made you turn back to him, a confused look on your face. "What?"

"You're so pessimistic about it. You always avoid dating, talking about it, anything to even do with love." Spencer explained. "I'm just curious, why?"

"Because, there is no way love that strong exists." You concluded, folding your arms over your chest. "That's why it's all in the movies. It's fake for a reason."

Spencer nearly chuckled at your words, finding himself in disbelief. Sure, he didn't really believe in soulmates, but he definitely believed in love. "Sure love exists," Spencer said. "True love has to come from somewhere to be spoken about. It's why its so deeply rooted into art and literature. Plus, with the psychological evidence of--"

"Okay, okay," You put your hands up in mock surrender. "I believe you, Spence." You'd never cut off one of his rants before.

"This bothers you," Spencer noted, his arms mocking your previous stance as they folded over his chest. "Why does this bother you so much, what aren't you telling me?"

You let out a huff of air in reply, your defences kicking into full gear. "Why do you care so much?"

Spencer stuttered over his words, “Uh- because it clearly affects you! It’s not hard to notice your dislike of it, and I want to know.” Spencer defended. He could see it in your eyes, though. You were too good of a profiler to not know he was lying through his teeth.

“The real reason?” You sharply replied, hating that Spencer was lying.

“Because I’m in love with you,” Spencer’s voice was filled with desperation. “Here you are, constantly belittling the idea of love when that’s all I want to give to you, and I don’t understand why.”

His words cut you like a knife. You hadn’t expected him to say that, let alone feel it. It almost made you feel guilty. “No one has ever understood me, Spencer. I don’t want to settle for just anyone who will pretend for their whole life that they know me when deep down they will never be able to understand who I am, what I need.”

“You think I don’t?” Spencer challenged. He tried not to feel offended at your words, truly. Yet they hit him like a slap to the face. He felt like he understood you.

“Okay, prove it then.”

Spencer was ready for this, “Your least favorite cases involve those with divorced parents. Not because of the affect on their children, but the affect it takes on them. You hate to see when it hurts one of them, or both.” Spencer’s first claim was true, and it caught you off guard. “You hate anything with a pumpkin scent, however, you enjoy real pumpkins because of their look rather than their scent. You bite your lip, tap your foot, shake your leg, all when you feel negatively.”

“Anyone could profile that,” You weakly replied, feeling thrown off at Spencer’s careful acknowledgment of your little tells.

“Are you afraid of love because no one will ever understand you, or because you’re scared you’ll never find someone who will.” Spencer finished. He watched as your mouth opened and closed, the words not quite making it out. “I see you, I hear you. My favorite thing is when you tell me things about yourself, your day, your feelings. Any day without you is a bad day and any day with you is a good one.”

Spencer’s words left your heart beating faster in your chest as you began to realize this is what you were looking for all along, but your own fear that you would never find it blind sighted you to the truth. The truth that Spencer Walter Reid was in love with you.

Spencer often recalled his own struggles with relationships, remembering the long hours he spent studying while his peers socialized. With him being so much younger, he had no way to truly connect with them. The sense of isolation he felt growing up made him cherish the connections he built later in life, driving him to seek genuine understanding and affection. On the other hand, your own problems with family and bad relationships drove you to hold a near-resentful feeling to love. It made you feel like it was something you could never have. That was something Spencer was beginning to see from your perspective.

"Please," Spencer's voice was softer, more vulnerable as his eyes pleaded with you. "say something."

"I'm sorry," you breathed. For a moment, Spencer thought you were about to reject him, until he saw the glistening tears form in your eyes. "I-I should've known sooner."

Spencer nearly chuckled, "I didn't want to make it too obvious."

"Spencer?" you asked.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Why do you love me?"

Your question made his heart nearly crack at the raw fragility your tone held. All he wanted to do was to take you into his arms and sing you sweet nothings until you believed him, but right now that wasn't an option. "I love you because you're unapologetically you," Spencer's reply made you finally lock eyes with him. "You're so sweet and kind, you never try to hide the things you like and dislike. You're so bold and brave. You make me feel so alive, so wanted. Every moment with you is a reminder of how extraordinary it is to be around someone who radiates such genuine warmth and enthusiasm."

"You really love me?" Your voice felt meek in comparison to how your normal assertiveness and bravato sounded. Your heart felt three times bigger in your chest as a tear dared to slip down your cheek.

Before it could even leave your eye, Spencer brought his sleeve over his hand and soaked it up gently with the cuff. "I love you with every part of me."

"I think I want to love you, too." you admitted. It felt hard to say those words, to finally give into your darkest, most vulnerable desire of unwavering love.

"Even with your fears, you're beautiful." Spencer softly reached to graze your cheek. "This, your fears, nothing could ever scare me. I'll teach you to let me love you if I need to."

"That better be a promise," you slightly chuckled, holding your pinky out to the man.

Spencer smiled, locking his pinky with your own, "It's a promise."

As you held Spencer’s pinky in your own, a sense of peace settled over you. The weight of your fears began to lift, replaced by a tentative hope. "Maybe love isn’t as impossible for me as I thought," You whispered, reaching out to hold his hand. Spencer’s smile was both a promise and a comfort, signaling the beginning of a new chapter in your lives.

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 6

[prompt: blowjob]

male reader x hyeju

12k words

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone who actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

-

The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s because of genetics - though not in the weird, uncontrollable way your body gets rigid and sensitive to any pretty girl who wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, or how her eyes might flick fast from your chest up to yours - or given that the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly). That's not why Hyeju and you find yourselves only a few months later grinding on each other after the clock ticked past midnight, making out on New Year's Eve.

No, it has to do with the fact that Hyeju's nearly failing the nine AM section of molecular genetics because she's spent every lecture doodling stars and planets and planets shaped like asscheeks and planet-ass constellations while everyone else writes notes or doom scrolls twitter or whatever and she is somehow simultaneously the only student who never slept with her face on the lab desk or missed an assigned reading and the only one who absolutely needs a tutor.

It's just cosmic odds that you'd be that one: her roommate, who shouldn't be talking so loudly in the library about sex (in a sort of non-sexy, Mendelian kind of way) or be thinking the kind of things you've started thinking when Hyeju wears one of her more sleepshirt-esque long sleeves, her voice getting lower as you rattle off, "fruit flies and thale cress, definitely, it's just an error of fate or chromosome splitting..." before trailing off into a question.

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," she finally tells you. You listen to her sigh into the binding of her textbook, facedown. "I'm really going to bomb this exam."

You tap her hand twice with your highlighter across the desk. "Then you're pretty damn lucky, if you think about it."

She turns to you, smiles a bit. "Okay, point. The worst thing will be having to retake this stupid fucking class."

"Why didn't you ask for help or go to office hours if you knew you were... failing?"

"Maybe because doing anything more than the bare minimum to get through a class I don't care about is my definition of, failing," she mumbles. "Why didn't anyone tell me a single lab is worth half my grade? Or that the TA is this fucking unreliable? How is this the one thing, really, beyond the basics, that can't be taught by wikipedia, a wikihow article and a youtube video?"

You scoot your seat closer to her. "You really need to relax."

"Fucking tell me about it."

You turn it over in your mind a few times, capping the top of your highlighter.

"Want me to get you off?"

And it’s not like you really mean it, when you say it, which is the strangest thing: you wouldn't actually suggest it, normally, wouldn't mention it in passing and then leave yourself open to the follow up and cross examination; yet there it is, after three, four hours of cramming notes on heterochronicity and the sloshing of gametes - you actually did propose it.

Hyeju jerks up, surprised.

"Are you serious?" She looks around, nearly snorting. "In the library?"

The face you’re giving her makes her scoff.

“You’re absolutely nuts.”

You have character flaws; the inability to admit wrongdoing chief among them. Hell, maybe it's from your mother - or maybe all your brains are just scrambled by the fact that Hyeju's sitting there with her pen against her pretty lips, hair glossier than usual as she scans your face and makes your entire body feel like a reactor core in meltdown.

Maybe you can blame what comes next on that.

"I'm always serious. I'm asking a serious question," you whisper, closing the textbook and resting your elbows on top. You look around quickly, like you're sneaking something in instead of this perfectly reasonable exchange, the perfectly platonic - except maybe not so much - way for friends to help each other.

"And I'm wondering what you're asking." Her cheeks are definitely pinker, you think, or the way it fills out her face, from the bottom up, is just that easy to imagine.

“I’m saying you haven’t gotten laid in months.” Here, you realize, these blocks of mental logic that definitely weren’t there when you blurted it out start to coalesce into something solid as you go on.

And you hadn't been wrong when you thought no one had given Hyeju a helping hand in a long, long time: you've heard through the walls or the floorboards at odd hours of the morning that she spends far too long fingering herself to a mind-numbing, tear-worthy frustration that leaves her knuckle-deep but never, ever sated or satisfied.

"No one's around, you'll feel better. You said it yourself."

Not a work of your imagination here - her ears are fucking burning.

"Wait a minute." She pushes her chair back, away from you and your gleaming offer. It clatters on its back legs, and a librarian waves her finger in warning. You wave back, sheepishly, until she stops and Hyeju stands and moves away from the table to talk, hands crossed over her front.

She turns and asks in a hushed-down-voice, "how did you know - did you hear something last night?"

"You couldn't keep it down even if you wanted to, honestly."

Hyeju turns further and throws a glare at the library doors, because obviously her noisiness and their collective noisemanship, or whatever the hell the word is, is clearly the root of the whole goddamn problem.

"Look - if not, no big deal - but I'm just saying you'll probably get over it and at least think less about sex. Or at least the wrong kind of sex."

You expect her to turn, sigh, and ask if you've lost your mind. Expect her to gather her jacket from the back of her chair, take her books and stomp out the room. Or even burst out laughing at the insanity, before slapping your arm lightly, in playful retaliation - anything other than the serious look she gives you in return, tilting her head, pressing her lips.

She turns up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something. And it's cute. It's so very, very cute, how her mouth pouts as she considers the possibility, right up until she says, "okay, fine."

The moderate twist of surprise taking hold in your brow must be visible.

"Oh, don't tell me that was all talk. Get me thinking about the right kind of sex or whatever."

You laugh, which has the librarian staring at both of you - until the librarian stops staring and probably sees Hyeju sliding back into her chair, the full, pent-up weight of her concentration pointed your way, knees inching apart - you, and Hyeju waiting, your knee bumping into her inner thigh, leaning closer as the textbook hits the floor.

"Don't laugh."

"Not laughing, seriously. Not laughing," you stammer. “I just think you’re just full of surprises.”

She spreads her knees further and sits taller, looking right at you.

"So then, surprise me," and then presses her cheek to the crook of your elbow.

You slide your chair right into the space next to hers, nuzzling up into the space under her ear. “Keep studying, Hyeju, you’ve got shit to do.” And then you slide your hand beneath the waist of her sweats, knead the swell of her thigh until you find the seam where her leg meets her body, press your palm down on the place just next to her center, your thumb in the middle. All this perfect pressure.

"Fuck," Hyeju says under a shudder. She's breathing heavier when your hot, open-mouthed kisses start landing at her neck, and she probably tries to read her textbook for about forty-five seconds longer. But there's the clench of her jaw right as your middle finger begins tracing circles beneath the fabric of her panties, and her gaze is blurring until she can't tell the difference between an allele or your fucking name.

"Shh-shh," you quiet her, finger tapping harder, playing with the slick wetness beneath all those layers of thick cotton and pressing two fingers there until her knees part like they’re not interested in resisting at all. Your lips press a kiss to the shell of her ear and she tenses all at once, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

She simply leans back, closes her eyes, and lets you take care of her.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says, shaky and uneven, “that really did take some of the edge off. Did we ever review - poly- uh, pol-polymers here?"

The sweatshirt sleeve falling off your shoulder is a hindrance to any actual reading; her shifting against the chair isn't helping either, but you manage to push down the thoughts of stripping her down completely and giving her your tongue as yet another distraction.

"What did the syllabus say? I don't know if we need to read too far on 'polymers'," you say, having going through an entire afternoon without considering this once, but as you curl your fingers and take an honest crack at cramming the remaining chapters into her head, the knowledge that no one else is getting her this wet - except for whoever she's got in her mind's eye at three AM - is enough to get you feeling a little dizzy.

-

It’s probably supposed to be weird, given that you’ve never gotten any of your other friends off spontaneously in the library, or there's the fact that you can't really avoid each other afterwards, how she shows up in a silk negligee when you're pouring coffee before sunrise to prep for another day and you have the opportunity to notice - yes, she has amazing taste in underwear, yes, you might not have really appreciated her chest and figure enough before - yes, fuck it. She catches you noticing that first time, after coming downstairs with nothing but one of her cropped t-shirts and her board shorts, and she smirks when she realizes you're still thinking about it that afternoon, when her foot grazes yours while you're both washing dishes, and she dries the plate in her hand with a slow swipe.

And it is weird, actually, to describe what’s going on between you in words. 

A few words, anyway, like a one-word label to describe what it was: friends or roommates-with-benefits, or - fuck buddies - god, it's even worse. Fuck buddies? Fuck friends? Something equally terrible and stupid that still makes sense, like something out of a shitty rom-com: it doesn't capture any of the rest of the myriad ways in which things can feel less or less friendly between two people.

So, friends was never, ever going to cut it. Roommates - although technically correct - is just this side of too clinical. And let's be clear: strangers don't wake up every morning together, walk to the same class, sit close together in the middle seats, secretly flick a strangers' skirt up in an empty lecture hall and get on their knees and work your mouth onto her pussy and watch the legs of the desks shake when her feet arch into the floor.

"The notes you've got are better than mine," is how Hyeju tries to put things, the next day and every time after that, standing in the doorframe, or at the foot of your bed and looking every bit the disheveled and hopeless mess you imagine she might spread out over the sheets of her own.

-

It gets complicated, which isn't really a surprise.

"You think your roommate is going to be home tonight?" is the question that comes up multiple times - from a revolving door of pretty names and faces. Hyeju has at least one opinion, if not more, on each of them.

"Tell Jinsoul I say hi," she says once, watching you get ready for a date, and you nearly bang your knee on the edge of the bathroom vanity. 

It's one of the more harmless comments she's offered.

Another, backhanded: "if you’re just looking for a blowjob everyday between lunch and our physics lab, let Hyunjin or Heejin or whatever-her-name-is know she's easily my favorite," Hyeju says on your way out one morning, still under her covers.

Or,

Hyeju's texted a simple "uh, Chuu? really??" when you mention, once, how much fun you've been having - and what kind, as you make a round of self-conscious and rambling phone calls the next day that land you with only one prospect for the night - but your roommate's also no longer being your roommate by the end of it, bouncing against your thighs in the bathtub and moaning something about please more and fuck or fucking make me cum; the details escape you a bit.

That's what friends are for, probably.

Still, in the same, bare-bones explanation, friends also aren't for falling asleep on you - or letting you hold her - or fucking you awake in the middle of the night. Friends aren't for pushing down your jeans when the early-morning dew settles on the back patio, or jerking you off in the seat beside yours with a sweatshirt over your lap when a group project is due later and you all should probably work on that and instead get yourselves off and leave the mess of what you're doing half-finished. Friends aren't, probably, for offering to watch you rub your palm up and down your cock the night before next semester's exams when you can barely sit in a single chair and you can't think about molecular biology or neurochemical transcriptions when your whole body aches to do the transcribing. (If you can catch that drift.)

The lists of who are and are not good enough for you goes on and on - the latter longer than the former.

So, there's Choerry, who according to Hyeju is 'straight up, a total slut'. Yeojin, who gets mistaken for your little sister enough times that Hyeju refuses to - in good faith - let you keep sleeping with her. Both Heejin and Gowon are apparently too pretty for you. "Kim-lip?" she asks, in the middle of peeling garlic, "is that one name or two?" And laughs into a bottle of beer, loud, while you're telling her to quit being nosey and watch her fingers with the damn knife.

"You have a problem."

"Why, because I asked a few simple questions? I think anyone would be a little curious with the -" she pauses to wave her fingers - "I'd be remiss to not be interested in the very drama that unfolds literally across the hall."

She waggles her eyebrows.

You look up at the ceiling. God save you, you think. "Hyeju."

("Seriously," Hyeju chimes in one evening, arms around you, and a mouthful of the dinner you'd cooked.

"You need better taste in girls. Don't waste time on anyone too dumb, or who drinks the milk straight from the carton, or doesn't wash her socks with the same load of laundry. Oh, and - no one who chews loudly. No one who can't tell you're going to cum. The worst is someone who doesn't know what you like, trust me on that. And remember the last rule: don't do anything with someone who eats at a really slow pace, it's incredibly depressing."

You rest your chin on her shoulder from the spot behind her. "Duly noted, oh Master of all Knowledge."

She sighs into your arm, but in the next moment, her voice gets a lot softer, her hips fidgeting slightly against you. "I just mean you're the kind of person people would want to sleep with again," she says, before turning to say your name and kiss you again and again as your bodies curl inward.

"I wonder what that means, Hyeju," you say.

"Fuck," Hyeju groans as you slide further into her, pushing her back into the sofa - hands on her shoulders, legs bent on her either side, "don't tease me like this.")

-

The first snowfall of the year is mild, a tiny dusting, nothing that sticks on the pavement in the alley or on the sidewalks - or the lintels - or in Hyeju's hair, but by evening, when the snow picks up and everything goes quiet, Hyeju has changed into flannels and wool socks in anticipation, curled up like a cat at one edge of the window ledge as the world begins to go white. It's enough that you even pull on a thicker sweatshirt, open up a book, and join her.

She turns toward you, quiet.

You've reached a point in the semester where this, the silence, doesn't unsettle you anymore. It's the space you fill up with time in-between, where you can see the contours of her body against the orange lamplight of the space heater, or watch her kick off the top half of the duvet at night as you fight over space in her bed and wonder about the bare skin peeking out from her shorts.

"Feeling bored?" She slides her foot a little closer to yours, almost imperceptibly. "Am I keeping you entertained enough?"

Her lips pull up at the corner. You chuckle.

"Oh, no."

She scoffs and puts her hands on her knees, pushes herself closer to the window sill and bumps her elbow into your shoulder. The bare skin of her neck and shoulders and face is getting a little redder as she cranes it forward. "Okay, if not, do you need someone to entertain you, maybe."

Your mouth twists, fighting a smile.

Hyeju is so close to you, you could kiss her really, really easily and not care how she'd feel about that. It's not a habit, not as often as it used to be, but every once and a while - she starts this game. Every once in a while, Hyeju just starts smiling like that, and leans into you like she's daring you to play along, hard round of chicken until it's clear what the two of you are doing with each other; the minutes pass by, one, then two, and then - maybe she pushes first, her leg on yours, or a kiss to your jaw or a palm on your back as she walks behind you - and then you'd turn and kiss her full on the mouth and pull at her clothes like nothing's holding you back.

She cocks a smile, and says, "why don't you go and call what's her name."

"Because."

You glance out at the cold, gray light outside. If you had a better understanding of any of the workings inside you, you could reach forward and tell her everything that's stopped you.

-

You're supposed to meet the girl-of-the-month at a New Year's party. Hyeju looks disgusted within the first ten seconds of the whole story.

"Heejin dumped you once, like, two months ago? For no reason."

"It wasn't a break-up. We talked about what we did wrong and we're doing better," you say, lifting one finger.

She glares, then, tilts her lips into this unamused purse that you can't take seriously at all when she starts walking back and forth across your living room, hands moving emphatically to the sides as she speaks, like she's in the process of unveiling a brilliant argument and is using both palms to guide your eyes toward the unquestionable logic. "God, you're the worst. You're just her easy fuck and you'll still answer her late night calls, really."

She leaves the rest unsaid - that she's just not that into you.

"I don't tell you which boys or girls you can call up," you try, putting on a boot. "If you'd like, I can. Name off the list, and make sure that the right name leaves my mouth this time."

Hyeju doesn't blush when you glance up, which is the surprising thing. No - her cheeks have grown a little more sullen, and she stares down at her socks in contemplation. You're in the middle of fastening up the lace and getting to your feet, waiting, wondering if Hyeju's going to continue this conversation, when Hyeju takes one small step forward.

And her hand goes out to touch your chin, thumb at your lip, fingers holding it in place - like you'll turn if she lets it go - the sharp shock of the sensation like a short circuit, before her knee comes between yours, and your body tingles, at the root and stem. "Hey," she says, eyes meeting yours. The edge of her nail flicking gently as she drags the curve of her thumb downward.

"Hyeju, please - I need to get going."

When you start walking toward your car, she calls out from the window. Something about how you better have the time of your life, fun for the two of you - it’s only fair.

(You feel, somewhere, a certain strange loss.)

"What, are you going to stay up and wait until I come back? Or am I interrupting your session for the night."

You can barely make it out, the smallest look passing over her face. "Maybe," she says, and then: "god, it's fucking cold."

-

New year's parties have this sort of quality of being simultaneously the most thrilling, exciting prospect on earth and the absolute worst fucking event in the history of the planet - depending on the venue, how egregious the racket is for a gin and tonic, the guests - oh, and the company.

Jinsoul and Choerry are both in attendance; in separate corners and in equal states of undress and intoxication, which seems fine by every present party, who are for the most part busy ogling one or the other in the full spirit of the New Year - as you would too, if the stars are aligned and Heejin hasn't already gone upstairs with half the guestlist, her arm wound with someone else's, as per her recent habit; if you haven't been tossed aside for any of the usual, less forgettable prospects and for something bigger, better and certainly much more enjoyable.

Which, if there were any way to track these things down with math, you'd already be reaching for your pen and notebook, as Hyeju would describe this sensation in a phrase she picked up from some podcast. Inevitable means necessary, or something.

"Good party," says Heejin, throwing back another drink.

"Yep. You said that," and you finish yours in one long draw, hissing through your teeth.

Heejin is a goddamn delight, of course, in all the simplest of ways. When she looks up at you - mouth pink, hair framing her face - she is so clearly and completely aware of what she is, and exactly what the world has in store for her, what it has set aside.

"Do you want to know what happened at the other New Year’s party we went to last year?"

"I - yeah. Hit me. Tell me all about (another date you were on) Heejin, that’s exactly what I’d love, let’s hear it."

She throws her head back and laughs, before starting into an overlong recount of her latest, greatest conquest, you on the outside. This is the thing - this is how a pretty face, with just a hint of a flirt, will make you feel for a beautiful, attractive, vivacious - absolutely shameless, raving sex-crazed lunatic of sorts who, apparently, loves to run around town and make a bunch of your closest friends fall in love and heartbroke-er, with every passing notion of her beauty, her charm - just the tilt of her chin, and some poor fucker is lost, absolutely lost.

 Even she knows it's a bad habit of hers. 

But who doesn't have a weakness? You've got plenty of your own - plenty, Heejin can admit - everyone does, in a way, and so Heejin, the other sloppy drunks milling about the party, and Choerry and Jinsoul all agree - someone like her just happens to have the best kind of weakness - so, so many of them, in fact:

"Can you believe how easily a few words get Jinsoul riled up? Or how it only takes a couple drinks for Choerry to pull up the hem of her skirt, not knowing the effect that'll have?"

And as for the last, and arguably worst kind -

"Hyeju, huh? What a great start to the New Year," is her final word. Heejin reaches across and downs your drink. Her expression turns just shy of grave, a pensive look. "Not your smartest idea, the living-together situation. Who in their right mind would put themselves in such a mess?"

"Thanks for the great advice." You wave her off, irritated.

There's another laugh before Heejin leans her face onto the table.

"Though maybe she's onto something, now that I think of it. Who needs anyone for the New Year?" and it's almost convincing the way her mouth, lined up with the rim of the glass, smirks when she drinks. "Mm. All a matter of taste."

-

The snow is halfway up your calves when you realize you need to find a cab at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve. (Which, categorically, is the worst time to need to find a cab on New Year’s Eve.)

Or just:

11:36 PM and the nearest bus stop is too far away.

11:41 and the temperature feels like its dropped by fifteen degrees, like you should start wondering what hypothermia symptoms look like and what signs to look out for in yourself, your future wife and your children. You try not to think about why, but you get your phone out and immediately call Hyeju, so you're not sure what you think you're denying.

"No party?" she asks. Her voice is distant and sleep-ridden, but Hyeju's quick to pick up, like always.

"It sucked, I'm trying to find a way home early. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." There's a long pause, filled in by the squeak of snow beneath your boots. "Get a kiss?"

"Uh, not yet. In the market, I guess."

Hyeju's low hum isn't reassuring, either. "Well, you're kind of missing your window. Bad time to start looking."

"Says you, and here you are - still up for someone to spend the night with. Look at you," you respond, all this snark in your voice that she clearly hears. There's a long sigh.

"Actually," and Hyeju, much to the confusion of you and possibly the whole world, doesn't respond, and for a few seconds, the line goes completely silent, leaving you hanging.

She breathes once and comes out of her sleep with a yawn.

"I actually," she begins. There's a lot less preamble this time - this tone - and when she speaks again it comes through not nearly as sleepy, "was sorta wondering. Are you on your way home?"

"If I don't freeze to death, yeah."

"Yeah - no, yeah," and that's it. That's the sum total of what makes any difference between where you were a moment ago, and where you are right now, head spinning, fingers buzzing. Hyeju waits and there's the wind on the line, snow settling on your hat and in the corners of your face.

"I - sorry. I probably woke you up. Are you expecting someone else," you say, very small. Your foot drags behind the other. The cars whizz by you faster, passing.

"Hm. You're the only one, I guess," and after that - just static and the muffled sounds of her footsteps on creaky floorboards - or the tick of her ceiling fan? You can't make heads or tails of the rest of the background noise. All those words she said.

You bite your tongue to stop whatever curse words start pouring out from the jumble and cross streets, or the pedestrian underpass; snow gets stuck in your lashes and burns, but your chest is like a molten furnace. You consider telling her right there on the line, everything you're feeling - so hot, it feels like fire, Hyeju, I'm not used to getting heated and desperate and impatient - that even if you're not here now - just imagining your face - the sound of your breathing, it feels like I'm on the cusp.

"Yeah. Sure - good - okay, Hyeju."

"I guess, see you soon?"

"In a bit."

(It takes 33 minutes, trudging through cold and wet. It's all very dramatic, you think, and there's no one there to even watch you suffer for it, or - though you try not to think about that particular line - really, no one at all.)

-

You hear the way your key grinds in the lock - it's been like this, jammed since summer, when you pushed the front door in late at night a little too hard and something came undone and made a sound like a small stone tumbling down the world's deepest well. The hinge squeaks, and there's ice on the stoop, on the doormat, on every nook and corner you can see, all the way up your neck.

And your face, too. You shake off your hat, undo the buttons on your jacket, and pull off your boots before hanging them and all the layers to dry.

You can make out the outline of her profile at the edge of the door frame, right in the kitchen - barefoot, hip pressed against the island, pajamas - the dim lights illuminating the shadow of her head, hair over her face -

- but you don't pause. The next layer. There's nothing left to say. You're too cold for excuses, too smart to use the same ones you'd been taught, like: this is a normal, acceptable circumstance; everything, anything, will be perfectly normal if the two of us act as though that's the case; pretend we're both acting within the norms of reason, within our senses and logical thinking and I won't make myself go out in the cold a second more - won't stand for more than five minutes with your eyes looking like they're waiting.

So you move instead toward the kitchen, where the heating is better and she's already pouring coffee. There's a heat radiating out of the oven, and it smells sweet in there, like cinnamon and warm butter, and you wish you weren't still shaking, blood barely thawed, but there it is - her face, watching you - eyes gleaming as you wrap your hands around a mug, steam rising up - a shiver running up your arms; her knees skirting yours when she takes one step back and there's the cabinet door shut, then open again, and then a palm on your back.

Hyeju presses a cup of the fresh coffee, now warm enough to drink, to your chest, and says, softly. "What the fuck happened out there?"

She starts reaching out to wipe the frost and slush from your face. You let her hand hold you still, eyes wide.

"Oh you know," and her palm stays, even though it's obviously - suddenly - gotten warmer, and wetter too, and the longer she stands there and lets her fingers warm the pale bones of your cheeks, her wrist, the base of your forehead and ears, the more expectant the look on her face grows. "The usual."

Her eyes go as narrow as they ever can. For just a moment. "You're gonna die a slow, pathetic death someday, just for the record."

"Don't forget how this starts," you try, and feel your neck go warm, throat and breath tight. And not even when her shoulders shift, her mouth going smug - just looking at you.

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone you actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

When Hyeju sighs and gives a long, nonchalant hum, leaning her body closer, pressing up until her waist hits the cabinet top and you're pressed together chest-to-chest, she looks at you and her hips settle, the heel of her foot reaching around your calf.

There's that tingle. Again and again. You're not even trying to not think about what it might mean.

But then, you start, silently and unconsciously, trying to answer the question: why don't you, maybe. Why don't you, actually - Hyeju kisses you, pulls on the loop of your jeans and lets your lips brush the corners of hers and pulls away, suddenly, mumbling and head-turning. And just as abruptly, your nose buries in the space between her neck and her shoulder, where it's all warm. And when she puts her palms on your hips and squeezes and twists her knuckles into the fabric there, it seems she wants your hands up her shirt and under the small of her back.

And her hands - they're fidgety tonight, fingers curled up to keep their nails and the chill away, moving lower - one on your ass, while the other comes forward and begins rubbing circles, a handful of times - enough so you're letting a deep, low breath escape into the space just above her collar, your knee working its way between hers.

"That," Hyeju breathes, lips at your ear, hand reaching down to trace the hard curve of your cock pressing in the spot right between you, and there's that small rush again, familiar now, like you've caught a rhythm and she wants to feel it in its fullness: "is how you can make it up to me. For making me stay up. Worrying about you, god knows why. Waiting."

You're still half-frozen in a way, slowly thawing. "Hyeju, I've been trudging through the consequences of my actions this entire night. What am I about to suffer through now?"

"It's no consequence, honestly."

You squint.

"Just an idea, but," she breathes again; your bodies getting closer, and looking up at you, she grins and reaches down to touch the very root of you, her fingers drumming. You make a sound, and at that she says, her voice coming out thick, low:

"Want me to get you off?"

She squeezes again for good measure, just to be clear. Just a slight curl of fingers that's enough to send a flash of heat and the transient thought: why, why, why is she always wearing those fucking shorts, even in the winter?

Your blood thrums through the pulse at the end of your cock. You shake.

"Alright," is the response you let out.

And at that, Hyeju takes your wrist and leads you upstairs.

"There's that look. Don't worry. We'll find a way," is all she says as your feet walk forward, up step-by-step and higher and further up to her room. "After all, isn't that what we've always done?"

"It's usually whatever will make me stop talking."

Hyeju puts her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes follow the lines and shapes in the patterns of wallpaper as you turn onto her side of the apartment, and even through the wall and behind the doorway, her arm still around you, she pulls at your chin until your faces turn and you both can share each other's heat.

"Who, you and your awful habit of talking out-loud in your head while you work through equations?" and she brings her lips to yours, close and warm.

"Hey. Fuck you," and your voice breaks into an odd, low laughter when she kisses you harder.

"Yeah, I know," she whispers as her hand dives past the band of your boxers, palm sliding easily until she's gripping you fully and letting her fingers rub. She holds you there, in her room, her arm looped through yours, another arm resting at your belly.

And she stops there. She stays like that: holding your gaze.

"Look, Hyeju," you say, unable to not, though this can hardly count for anything; this, what you're about to admit, is nothing new. You swallow. "The thing is - you shouldn't."

"Don't want me to touch you?" she says, finger to your lips.

"Well, that's different. Maybe. Is there - maybe it's not the best thing to ask you right now."

Hyeju considers for a brief moment and tuts under her breath. "Can you at least do me the decency of waiting until I'm done wringing you dry before you say shit like that."

And she moves then, toward the bed.

So:

No. Yes. Maybe. Who knows, you tell yourself. Maybe, but only because you'll do anything if it makes you feel less sick, like a creature standing over its own skeleton - an abandoned shell; a relic, something to be feared and disgusted, as you let her go between your thighs, kneel beside the bed.

"I mean - since when - have you felt," is just as far as you're allowed to go before Hyeju presses her nose into you and pulls you out of the thin, cold fabric - palm, thumb, all those slender fingers swiping over your head - and now there's just the smell of her room and the shock, the buzz that runs down your spine and settles somewhere, somewhere inside the small and desperate movement of your hips and the tension building just below.

And god, fuck, Hyeju’s lips.

These soft, wet, pouty fucking things that could suck you straight off if you were feeling any less stupid or inexperienced or sentimental - if she wasn't solely intent on teasing it out of you first; a slow drag of the tongue up the underside; the tip of it poking, tracing the rim, like she's figured you out, just where to lead you. She's ready to smoke you out - always - until you're not taking in a breath every ten seconds but starting to close your eyes to the overwhelming, needling pleasure, too sharp, the way she knows you like best.

"Now you're finally - mm - starting to sound hot," and that smirk comes back to the corner of her mouth, teasing the sensitive belly of your cock and tracing her tongue everywhere. "With the voice and -"

You're losing track, her thumb and fingers circling the whole length of you - just, one after the other - mouth a hair-breadth away, her breath hovering like a promise.

"- that face."

"Don't, fucking tease me-"

The sound of your cock going in is like nothing else.

Wet and filthy in all the right ways.

Just the suction in her throat has your eyes nearly roll back into your head - Hyeju's gaze calmly watching the terrible sort of helplessness that washes over you like this: her lips wrapped around, bobbing - her hair falling into the wet mess of her mouth and sticking there. Hyeju likes being a little sloppy, likes feeling that spark run up the length of her tongue when she slides. It's the wet and the heat that gives everything away.

"I don't have much of a choice -" her jaw and chin is smudged when she pulls back off of your cock, mouth glossy and glistening, "and honestly, wouldn't it be a better use of our time, or my talents if I actually do that thing?"

“Which is?”

She looks up for a bit and sighs, the flush blooming pink to the tip of her ears and into the rounds of her cheeks and all across her neck. "Since, as far as I can see, what you really like - is, oh I'm just spit-balling here," and she stops just to bite her tongue and look into your eyes, "it's letting the girls take care of you? Isn't that right?"

You want to tell her, no, not always, that it's not as though you enjoy giving control completely - that that would be completely and unarguably, the opposite of true -

That most of the time you love it when the person you're with is a little bossy, a little crazy for you. You know some guys really get off on a strong woman and maybe, maybe if a girl's pretty and dressed up, and - sure - a little wet, but that's hardly -

“You know I’m right,” she says, a flicker of mischief skittering across her features. “These walls are paper thin.”

You want to tell her, perhaps remind her, that she likes someone in charge just as much as you do - to be taken care of, told what to do - to have a hand curled up around her throat and the other at her tits while a guy fucks her the right way and takes the reigns when she needs. So who are you, when it comes to knowing her better? And who, really, are you fooling?

But before you can get any words in: Hyeju dips, lips parting where the head of your cock throbs, and then disappears; and the hot wet warmth, enveloping all around your shaft and back; the curve of her throat contracting.

You moan - a lot, and louder this time - into the whole feeling. The way her fingers work the distance from the base, twisting and twisting and twisting into the pout of her lips; or how the sound is like nothing - a whimpering, messy sound - almost a whine and definitely not a slurp as your cock sinks further and further, until it's all one big, heavy throb.

And it's like Hyeju can read your thoughts, the visual you have of her lips screwed tight around your shaft - cum leaking from the corners, and her eyes scrunched up tight, as she looks up to watch your face unravel - this perfect image of her taking you, all of you, swallowing each drop as your hips start rutting up into her and - and - and.

Or else she gets impatient, because then Hyeju gives one long pull off the tip of your cock - saliva mixed in the precum there, and that shiny string of fluid hanging, caught in the middle between your bodies - a disgusting and irresistible sight. Her jaw slack, lips swollen and full, and her mouth gone wide open, wanting.

"Fuck - that's good. Don't stop," you start to whimper, desperate, at the sight, the smell. Her hot breath coming quick over the red wanting wetness left behind - then touched by the cold air - fuck -

She slaps your cock to the corner of her lips as she speaks.

"Can you believe what's going on down here?"

"God, can you -"

"And to think most guys wanna jump straight in. That or fuck a load out between my tits."

"Hyeju, shit, come on -"

She kisses the soft tip, right where it’s most sensitive, rolls it along her lip. Then, back down the length of your shaft where she's generous with her mouth inch after inch - lapping, licking, laving - and Hyeju begins working her way down and downward, nestling in at the edge of the bed and between your thighs.

Your eyes blow up the first time she dips low enough to put your balls in her mouth. 

“Mmhm,” she hums.

It’s killing you and she knows it; it’s killing you and she can feel the pre-cum leaking from your slit - the thumb she has moored there, keeping everything right where she wants it, running circles up the length with such little intention - she could bring you to the end just like this. 

"Am I supposed to believe it?” she asks out from beneath the shadow of your cock, looking up at you with her eyes all wide and brilliant - pupils dark as sin. “That not a single one of those girls ever did you proper?"

You curse under your breath. Hyeju seems amused, at least, like she can't help but love doing that to you, which is almost worse and honestly the sexiest thing a girl can be. You groan - wanton, raw and desperate and feeling exactly what she wants you to feel when her nails drag along the dip of your hip bones.

"Did they not leave you fucked-up the right way?"

Her wrist flicks out these twists and turns, making your spine bend to her control. Like even when you're sure to be bundling her hair in your fingers and fucking the whole length of your cock down her throat, all of this is the worst kind of power-trip for her - not the other way around.

Her tongue runs through the tangle of your balls, slowly, lasciviously, as though the plan is to memorize and map every detail. 

And the worst part is, how much it's making you desperate for the warmth of her mouth - where she'll run her tongue up and down and over and around and inside - before sucking you off nice and slow.

"Or maybe," she laughs; another flick to the top and then suddenly her hand goes faster and the fist pumping the rest of you tightens. "They left you so needy you're resorting to having the bestie suck you off so that you won't be desperate the next time you date. Oh my god-" 

Hyeju breaks into this fit of laughter, and you're nearly cross-eyed at the feeling of your entire existence - not just your cock - so wholly held within her mercy, and her pity, and you're breathing so shallow now you'd think this is the real reason people have died and will die - this exact moment where you're choking and stuttering at the edges, so very close to cumming and going absolutely bonkers with how good Hyeju is with her hands, her tongue, her mouth - everything - how much she's wrecking you, and your jaw drops, wide open, her name dripping like molasses off your lower lip.

"Are you going to cum?" she asks, curiously. All as if she can't see you nodding, collapsing under pressure, and then and there: "should we make it official?"

Her nose tickles the seam of your balls. And your toes begin to curl and uncurl - all this anticipatory, coiling pleasure burning from her throat, shooting from the pit of your stomach; the tightening spiral, twinging and stretching every nerve - as her lips enclose around the end of your cock, softly.

And oh, just excruciatingly slowly.

You watch the irresistible shape of her mouth travel down until her throat feels so incredibly, beautifully, and unbelievably tight, and then, just like that - Hyeju starts fucking herself onto you; pushing forward and down the full, rigid length of you, hard and fast - each time hitting deeper inside her - all that sticky, messy, wet squelching.

"Unh-unh, yeah. Unh. Mm-!" you say, or moan, or some animal version of that, maybe, it’s incoherent.

But regardless:

It's messy and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets of her bed when you feel that snap, the tightening of a trigger; when your balls roll up and it builds, and builds, and it comes faster - harder and -

"Hyeju," you pant, and it sounds so, so filthy. "I'm gonna cum, if you - gonna cum-"

Hyeju pulls you free from her lips, quite possibly at the most final of final moments, to rub the base up and down, just right, between her fingers. Your cock is resting right on her cheek when it all happens. When she squeezes her fingers around your balls just enough to hear you wheeze and make a sound no sane man should have the right to. And fuck, you're cumming all over her face - or just one side of it - which is already just -

Okay, fuck.

She makes a startled sound and her fist closes tightly around your shaft when you pump another fresh load of white up onto her eyebrow.

"I'm, ah-shit," your mouth moves faster than the blood in your veins - and now the shame - oh god, the humiliation, it's pulsing right behind you. "Hyeju," you apologize.

Only, Hyeju has no interest in any of it. She doesn't seem offended or disappointed in proportion to how you're ruining her pretty face: "no, just do it, cum wherever you fucking like."

Which isn't what you're expecting at all, because Hyeju makes no effort to close her lips, let alone avoid any of it; nor is she making a fuss about the sticky mess in her hair, her mouth, nor as another stream of cum throbs from your cock, all tangled up in the long dark eyelashes that sweep down across her cheek.

It’s fucking filthy: you're cumming all over her and she's just kneeling there, telling you, "good boy."

See, she pushes through it, languidly - all those filthy sounds, and those watery little tears gathering at the edge of her eye and all of that, mixing up together until you're rolling your head back with your orgasm, shuddering, feeling weak - drained dry -

Except,

Hyeju's pushing a finger to your chest, kneeling up tall from the side of the bed. She turns her body toward the center of the bed and wipes a bit of the cum on her knuckles into the sheets. Here you feel like you've done something terrible or at least regrettable, like that last round at the bar when you have a test the next morning; a dick move, all of the sort that requires apology.

"You gotta give me a minute, if you're thinking about hopping on."

"Hmm. Sounds like a lot to ask."

"Wait," you grab her arm. Hyeju grins and there's nothing stopping the shake of your knees now, that weakness between your thighs: "let me get you a drink."

"Or."

"Or?"

Her tongue peeks out, running along her upper lip. Her eyes drop again, hands dipping below, beneath the hem of her shorts and oh. She slips a hand past her bra. The whole outline of it. And you -

"Mm, I could show you what that actually means." She lowers her chest, her breasts, and a lot of skin to the mattress while keeping your cock firmly in her hands. "That look tells me you wanna stick around a bit. Stay up past New Year’s, you know?"

You're almost unable to parse her words, there is so much to look at: the jutting curve of her chest, cleavage pressing into the mattress as her body settles between your knees. A soft chuckle; a sigh: "you are seriously the best lay, no-one else can get hard the minute after they just fucking exploded all over me-"

"Fuck, watch it," you hiss, because there's oversensitivity - and then there's Hyeju's mouth on the line of your cock, polishing you clean.

And it’s not that she isn’t trying to prove a point. Or that she's not trying to tease - that's an inherent quality of her character: a naturally dominant position with a high appetite for your lust. That much, Hyeju gets from you, whether you've got your head down between her thighs or the other way, too, so that her neck is arched around and her ass pushed up high in the air, legs open, and if she had any idea you would spend the next twenty minutes or more just going down on her, licking into her creaming cunt while two fingers work over her aching clit, then really, Hyeju would only encourage it - maybe get on top, force you to gag - and so you don't know where it comes from - how and why you want nothing more than to drive your fingers inside her and work her until she's a wet, squelching mess, not when this was always Hyeju's role of being the aggressor; and yes, sure, even the aggressed.

Surely not because you came so hard, still somewhat shivering with the remnants of a rather abrupt, painful, sudden and all-consuming orgasm.

"We're not doing anything else," she says, lips pulled up into a smirk right at the crown of your cockhead. But before you can respond she pushes a hot open kiss, and goes lower. She presses the flat of her tongue to the seam, just below the head. Licks a line right up to the tip and finishes with a tender flick that sends you fisting the bedspread in your fingers and leaning back as your mind begins to disintegrate -

"I'm not going to ride you yet, or going to get my hips in your hands so you can fuck my pussy real hard until I cry and pass out. Nothing of that sort is gonna happen." She licks one long drag of her tongue. Then, the other way. "I want to make this very clear: this isn't some huge favor - and if you want it - want it so bad, you can stay there and I'm going to do everything for you. We will get there - together," and with her voice shaking as she brings the wet, glistening skin of your cock just inside her mouth, she looks up. "We'll get each other off, just like this," and it's the deep, dark, throated moan that makes your thighs and all the nerves in between stiffen and buck when she swallows you again.

Hyeju's hands tug, pull her whole body closer still as it slowly bends, curves - her ass raised, her stomach lying on the bed. Her mouth takes you another few inches, until the tip of her nose is barely visible, but when she pauses to lick the cum still left over - the cum that's starting to leak out again - to breathe through it, then squeeze her palm and bob her mouth down, take another inch, until the sides are stuffed and emptying out again, that's when she finally has something to say: "got anything left? I'm a little starved."

"I. Christ, yes-" you whine, which doesn't help your case at all: the image, the image of you lying flat - back with Hyeju's head tucked between your knees, her hand pulling out your cock.

Sloppy, slimy-wet.

She presses an innocent, not-at-all-innocent kiss right to your tip, puckering - 

"You know what I did learn in that genetics class?" she muses, tongue flicking over her lips. Hyeju's about ready for a second helping - you're losing it. "When I first saw that DNA diagram - the double helix and all those little base pairs, and everything - it made me think of your cock. Your cock and me. Specifically our DNA. Did you know-"

She presses her palm over the head and rolls it - teases and strokes her palm - her knuckles - her fist - the whole nine. "When I hold your big fucking cock, mm, and just get it right - up in here, rubbing all along my walls - so deep, it gets me in my fucking ribs, makes me choke like I never been choked before, ah-mm," and it's this thought sliding toward the front of your mind, this perfect picture: Hyeju, getting fucked hard and open and stuffed full and stuffed good and stupid; you’ve got more than a few inches on her, can make her feel small and delicate; you know how to do her right.

But here you have Hyeju stroking the shaft - holding her hand tightly up near the head, rolling and twisting and sliding down and pushing her whole body right into the side of your legs: the soft, solid length, warm flesh and curves everywhere pressing into you.

You sit back, and just watch Hyeju with her eyes cool and composed, like half of her fucking face isn't streaked with your cum, mouth wrapped and looking fucking satisfied to be a total, gorgeous mess. She makes a dramatic display of kissing the tip again, just before telling you words you probably dreamt up at some point - either sleep deprived, or, during three AM jackoff, fantasizing. "Sometimes, just from riding your cock, I can't sit up straight."

"Fuck," and you feel your whole body run rigid, because apparently that's something you’ve been aching to hear.

You're covering her mouth again. White streaking onto her lips - where she's catching it in the well beneath her tongue and letting it spill out of the corner of her mouth. Into the crook of your thumb, which catches a drip here and there and rubs it down the length - down the curve - and pushes it back between Hyeju's pert little pout.

"Doesn't count, mister, just more pre-cum," she says, all with the audacity of a wink and smile; her words are a little garbled around the head of your cock between her teeth. And when you nod and realize just how painfully your jaw hurts, your throat becomes tight and raw, a knot pulling the underside from the center. Hyeju slides her lips lower, lower down, to the hilt and stays there, just like that - one hand holding down the flat of your belly to keep your hips still, her chin hanging - bobbing-as she feels every pulse, every twitching shift. You curl one hand around the side of her face, over the sharp edge of her jaw; rub a thumb into the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts. You start to tell her what you like: how hot the rush comes when a girl puts her tongue against the slit at the very tip, and licks at the precum in nice, quick circles, soft and fluttering. And how her fingers shouldn't hesitate either, Hyeju's not even struggling to give it to you - god - just giving and -

She jerks her head up, swallowing down her next breath like it's one of her last. "I'm serious, if you're going to fuck a hole, start with my mouth - we can move onto everything else after."

"You're ridiculous -"

She meets her lips to your head, kissing once. Again. Kissing every inch, letting her mouth wrap around and then just - staying, just - staying like that and humming, with you, enjoying the fullness, the smell of you, the taste, the shape, just the weight and size and you.

There is spit fucking everywhere.

And if it's not clear what you're supposed to be doing - her fingers weave through yours, squeezing hard at the wrist and you can imagine: pulling her forward by her hair and holding her down while she chokes on your cock. "Fuck, Hyeju," you say, and your voice comes out way shakier than you'd like, "when, how did it get like this, huh? You always - always did, shit, always want your mouth filled."

"Never figured you to be someone who'd get turned on watching their friend sucking their cock like this."

"Doesn't everybody love the sight of their cock in a pretty girl's mouth?

"You were really convinced they weren't lining up behind you? Or anyone in the queue who can't keep their eyes off of this thing. Tell me, and try not to lie, try not to bullshit this one out: how many girls have you come home and fucked and creamed their brains out - then asked for the sloppiest, most -"

"Honestly."

"- Filthiest, nasty, ball-busting, gut-wrenching blowjob ever to make them think - to make them really start wondering what the hell it was you did - like it's gotta be something that leaves them so ruined, they can't ever not compare - can't ever not compare this moment, right here. Ever. When you give them the hardest fucking of their life, compared to any other guy - can't not, because no-one, literally no-one's cock can fuck like you do-"

"Fuck-"

"Any harder. Come on, seriously, tell me it isn't true. Come on."

Her voice - her fucking words, the tone she uses and how her words roll: honey-warm and soaking with sweet, thick degradation - she talks like sex, and that's exactly what gets you harder, like it’s something else; like it’s nothing, like it’s less, so much worse - you feel this guilty-dirty heat pool at your tailbone and push down the hard press of you throbbing all the way to her nose. And Hyeju smiles as much as she's capable around the fat, round stretch, humming around the warm taste of you, before opening wide and sinking her throat on it.

There's nothing like it.

You've got two fists in her hair; she's so tight and wet around every god-damn inch. Her cheeks flush - hot to the touch; her tongue laving in slow, long drags, slicking your shaft nice and warm until you're balls-deep and pushing her further: a small shift to the hips, a push here, a harder, faster pull, and Hyeju's feet behind her go curling like an angry cat, wanting the tug.

A long, satisfied breath slips from the hollows of her throat.

There are tears threatening, thickening her lashes, and though she doesn't choke - you're just afraid. Every sound that she pulls out, her eyes blinking up to you as if it's only natural to love getting used by her friend's cock, like the very premise of it - swallowing down the very shape of you, dragged over her tongue and brushing cum into the back of her throat - is something she can’t go without.

But this is nothing compared to the noises from where her lips are pressed tight around you, where you're hearing and even feeling:

That gluck, gluck - where her chest spasms just the slightest when her nose gets nuzzled right into your belly and you remember how much she likes to hear you talk dirty, how fucking wet it gets her. The heavy, deep breaths, gasps; the strangled moans when your hips just buck - the heat and the thrill, and this is better than every other time because there's just something in this moment -

"I'm not gonna come again, not like this. Not in your mouth. You can’t-"

But Hyeju refuses to hear a word; just pumps your shaft faster, feeling it's familiar hardness grow and throb and ache and retch, all her effort paying off: you're slick with precum and spit, hard and straining, the whole shaft begging for release - all because of her. And Hyeju won't stop, she pushes her cheek onto your thigh and then taps a hand there to pull your hips. The motion drives your cock further still inside her. Until it’s bathed in her spit, your cum, all this mess.

Until it's reaching, choking her, and the muffled sounds she's making are filthy and wet and so incredulously hot.

But god. Hyeju has something of a temper and a habit, too: with those big beautiful eyes and the perfect plump of her pouting lips, her tits swelling up around, when your grip slips on her shoulder, and her mouth goes tighter - how the pleasure begins to make you unbearably cruel and you push her away from you, only for a second -

She doesn't wait or seem to care; Hyeju follows the cock with her whole head and whimpers so hotly in her throat when it plops right back on her tongue. "That's more - more like - fuck, oh, there we go," her nose and fingers prodding.

You groan through a high, strangled whimper, a helpless shiver that turns into an uncontrollable roll of the hips - you can't believe it: she's already so thoroughly debauched and defaced; just fucking painted with it. Your cum dripping off her chin and rolling down her neck.

"Fuck - gonna make me - ah, Jesus -"

When Hyeju seems to have reached her fill, the feeling, you're cumming - pumping the length of your shaft. And the moment she feels you twitch and throb and that first hot spill lands in the bend of her mouth, it's as if she understands and holds herself tight - her legs going stock-still while your eyes blow up behind her, your cock spewing another and then another thick, milky load into her mouth, over her tongue: all along the topography of her throat - sticky cum landing in every ridge and valley -

Hyeju catches as much as she can. What little she can. You cum and pump and gush so much that when you're finally finished - done - every last drop spent and given - your cock throbs soft between her fingers; her chin is a complete and utter mess and her chest heaves with the sound of her catching her own breath. Hyeju groans softly and just swishes the load around in her mouth for a bit as if wanting to remember its feel and weight before lifting her eyes to look into yours. You can just barely see the color.

"Jesus, Hyeju-"

The entire bit of it, slick and shining-wet. With a small moan, a sound from the back of her throat: one swallow and the cum is gone, disappeared, vanished. She smiles like she didn't just ruin your entire goddamn life and, with her body limp and exhausted beside you - her gentle hand rubbing a flat stroke over your thigh before yours slips up to meet her chin.

"You," you curse and roll your eyes, catching the mess at the edge of her jaw, the very little left in the corners of her lips. You feed the cum over her bottom lip - her chin, her throat - watching your friend: Hyeju's throat, bobbing. "Really didn't have to," you start, but you realize just how useless a point it is to make.

She's smiling and biting and showing you what's left between the tips of her canines. "Do you always do this to the people who suck you off?"

"That's an awful habit. A pretty girl's lips aren't meant to get that messy," you reply.

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

"God, seriously," and you think there's no greater hell, no sweeter pain than whatever's lingering in these little aftershocks - this fizzling and dying sort of pain, where the body is buzzed with all you're aching for. It's impossible to stop this train of thoughts, is the fucking feeling of her-

But just then, Hyeju rises to her knees, a new spark in her eyes, as she grabs ahold of your wrist and tugs you off the sheets, a few inches closer.

"And you," she purrs as she drags the palm of your hand across her neck and collarbone, collecting what remains and making the perfect image, "well - you are going to help clean me up, like you said before." She sits tall; the arch of her spine is pronounced - her back, so, very, slightly tapering, to where your hand slips right off the last of it: the wide flare of her hips. "Now isn't that the gentleman's thing to do?" she asks.

"Of course." You sigh, resigned and in desperate need of water. "Of course," you add and smirk a little and slip your hand lower, toward where her skin is getting hot, and her body, "let's get you clean."

"Mm." She's already grinning. "You know what wasn't in those textbooks?"

"Oh, I can only guess." You bite your cheek and start to lower yourself back. "Give it a try."

Hyeju drags you by the wrist toward the hall, the bathroom, ostensibly the shower -

"There's no way in hell you don't want to put a baby in me, like, right fucking now."

"Is that what we're doing?"

Hyeju makes a face like you're stupid - she might've grabbed a towel on the way out. She wipes her chin a little while walking - the corner of her mouth where, well - where it looks like a little dribble has somehow remained. "No. But you’re going to fuck me like it is."

-

(There's got so much on her mind. 

The door of the shower rattling in its frame as she struggles standing up against it. Getting fucked so fast and full, the feeling of both your hands cupped beneath the weight of her breasts. It's not the fact of where you are and your situation, per say - more about the immediate, the imperative nature. About fucking you. She was already feeling herself like, leaking the moment the door shut, so all that waiting, all that patience, really - and it's what drove her insane when you were, well: like that, after she put her mouth around your cock, made a right and proper mess of herself, and sucked you off.

Though there's less on her mind, clearly, when she cums all over your cock.

She's crying with her tits up onto the glass, your palm holding her ribs. Your cum-slick cock working itself hard again as it slips, back and forth, as you're fucking her open, spread apart. It's your finger in her asshole. That's what's on her mind then. How the press of your knuckle lights her entire fucking spine on fire - how the other hand finds her clit in all this, too, when you're no longer supporting the both of you but rather Hyeju is folding on her bent knee and trusting, on shaking and shivering, raw nerves, that you're not going to collapse.

"Fucking. God, please-"

There's the harsh slap of flesh - skin on wet skin, your palms against the sides of her ass and the curve of the breast. But otherwise - it's you, sighing - soft and gentle, like you can't get over the feel of her. "Hyeju, oh-fucking, god, fucking," is what you're saying, and it doesn't end up really mattering which one of you came last because she can feel you twitching, squelching in and out with how badly you're wanting to explode inside, but also you can feel her cunt absolutely begging, this fucking fluttering and clamping down on every thrust and the moment you manage to grind this angle she loses her ability to speak properly because you're not just, like - fucking her-

Just, absolutely, completely pounding her pussy, stretching her insides, dragging and sliding along the walls; each rough rub and thrust makes her knees quiver until her body is trembling and falling. But mostly her voice, the sharp gasp that shakes into her, how her nails are scraping the walls of the shower stall and she's saying - telling, crying and asking and wondering and pleading - just utterly astounded:

"Amazing," she huffs, breathes coming out cloudy and true onto the pane of glass, "you - it’s, fucking amazing.")

-

“And I am… Ironman.”

Your eyes flicker awake, hazy, as Tony Stark snaps his fingers, killing himself alongside Thanos’ army in the process.

The TV's long been running on background noise, though not as ambient. Its characters now bickering between the rubble and ruins and being picked up for the end credits. In the dark of the screen, you see Hyeju had nodded off and slumped over the side of your body. A new year means new beginning means resolutions and diets and gym routines -

Maybe no sooner than the sun can come up, apparently.

You lean over to grab your phone from the table: 4:14 A.M.

There's a lot of things you want to say, even more you want to hear, but your mind has begun to settle a bit - a lazy and dreamy thing that fills you with this sort of, tired kind of - not sad, or empty - no, of course not. That's hardly fitting; not after tonight. You want to wrap this in an idealistic sort of sentiment - maybe hold Hyeju close and let the hour carry you and the comfort be enough to forgive whatever there is to miss: like the fact, it's still really dark, so dark even outside. The moon reflecting off the sheet of snow on the street. And not even a distant dog barking, or car driving by or someone playing loud music in the early hours of the new year.

As the film drifts off into another set of commercials, you slip into an easy sleep that feels effortless. Your head drops, landing on the cushion by the arm of the couch, where Hyeju's hand begins to slip mindlessly across your belly, tickling your waist and causing you to slightly squirm - things are cooling down, but still a little agitated.

"Don't tell me you're waking me up, cause I just -"

She kisses the pulse at your throat and answers, mumbling half-words into the spot below your ear. "A kiss for a new year."

And maybe the world doesn't owe you anything at all.

Maybe it just gave you more than enough.

[abibliophobiaa]

fluff and/or smut request based on the prompt “My God, you're fun to kiss.”

Eddie preferred but if Steve inspires you more for this that's okay too!

ily💖

eddie munson x afab!reader. 18+.

-

It starts as friends.

Acquaintances, really. People who pass each other in the hall. Glances as you go, simple pleasantries, a wave if you’re lucky.

But fate steps in. And soon it’s a joint project, it’s trying to care for an egg together, to make sure it doesn’t break, gentleness foreign to both of you. It’s handing off your pretend child at the end of an afternoon—it’s joint custody over an eventual grade.

Soon, it’s gentle brushes of flesh in science class. It’s an accidental touch after almost dropping a pipette, a borrowed pencil, a shared eraser. Awkward encounters become heated glances. They become chemical interactions like the science projects you share with Eddie Munson.

Bright, vibrant, and potent.

You think it’s a joke when you’re paired in English class. Some sort of cosmic arrangement in the stars, a joke from the gods, what have you. Because of all the people you could act out Romeo and Juliet with, Eddie Munson is the last one on your list.

He’s brash and unruly. He’s disorganized and frenetic. He’s…well, he’s charismatic and alluring. Infuriating and compelling. Intriguing and impossible. Handsome and absolutely grotesque. Charming and…

Well. That’s the problem, really. The more the stars align, the more you find you like him. The more you find yourself enraptured by the boy with curly hair and a dimpled smile.

So it’s almost no surprise when you find yourself seated on a bench in the middle of spring, surrounded by dappled light and looming trees, books stretched out in front of you, practicing your lines. Only Eddie’s distracted. Has been for a bit. Since you arrived, really.

“Is there something on my face?” Your words are short. Staccato. Clipped. Brusque, without a real reason for them being so.

“Er—no.”

And that’s that. These weeks, these opportune moments—they mean nothing. Fleeting gazes, jovial banter, and brief looks? Those don’t make up a relationship. You know this. Yet it stings all the same. Sinks deep in your gut.

Or so you think.

The next time you meet in the woods, Eddie’s a live wire. Fingers tapping a pen on his notebook, brushing your cheek, curling around your jaw. He’s staring at you fondly. Like you’re the only girl in the world; like you’re his. And you would be—if he’d only asked you.

It’s on that day, as the sun sets and the sky glows orange, he leans down and kisses you the first time.

A gentle brush of his lips over yours as you sit on top of that wooden table. His knees press to the bench, your backside on the tabletop, his ringed fingers around your hips.

He kisses you like you’re precious—a jewel to be cherished, bright and twinkly, rare and his. And you find you like that; languish in it.

You get a B+ in O’Donnell’s class and the woods become your haven that next week. A place where you can run to him, your fingers in his hair, his arms around your waist. Whispers of hate and love, of frustration and adoration, of ‘will they’ and ‘won’t they.’

There’s a shlick of a zipper lowering. A hiss from the boy before you as you tug him forward by his belt loops, nosing along his throat, sucking purple hickeys into supple flesh.

He’s plush lips over your breast, whispers of, “My god, you’re fun to kiss.”

And you’re pliant. Heart a flutter as he slides your skirt up your thighs, parting you for him, brushing at your slit. He teases at your flesh. One finger, swirling in your slick, mouth swallowing your pitiful moans. And then another, sliding into you. Making you whimper and moan, gasps muffled against the column of his throat.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?” He asks, brushing his mouth over your ear.

Smirks into your skin when you tremble, thighs spreading wider, welcoming the boy as he prods at your center, groans when you whimper into his chest at the brush of his fullness against your hole.

“Y-yeah, Eds.”

“What do you want, baby? Need your words.”

Another brush. A nudge. A slight pressure where you want him most, but it has your toes curling, fingers tightening around his leather jacket, gripping fast to curls, teeth clenching around his earlobe.

“Need you to fuck me,” you manage.

“Yeah, baby?” He’s smirking. Dimples and cockiness, fingers curling around his base, pressing his head against your center. Collecting your slick and pushing in slightly. Enough to have you quivering, enough to have you begging for more. “Like this?”

And he’s sliding in. Inch by blessed inch, slowly and painstakingly so, until you’re a gasping, writhing, pleading mess. Tears prick your eyes, fingers in his hair, mouth against his.

“You like me,” he rasps.

Not a question.

Not at all.

A statement. Simple, just like breathing. Just like the way he slides in and out of you—like he’s always done so, like it’s what he’s always been made to, like he’s been doing so all along. 

“I do,” you gasp out, shuddering around him, curling your thighs around him, dragging him closer. You need him closer. “I like you, Eddie Munson.”

“Go out with me.” A brush of his lips over your heart, hips rolling against yours, drawing out your pleasure.

You hate him, you like him, you might even love him.

“I will,” you whimper, pulling him tighter, burning brighter. “I will.”

And it’s one week later you walk down the halls hand in hand with Eddie Munson. Your health partner, lab partner, english partner. Stranger, acquaintance, friend.

Boyfriend.

Yours.

-

-

[wintermischief]

Bucky x Reader Friends To Lovers/Mutual Pining Trope Fic Recs (part one)

18+ ONLY. Writing may contain mature content. Mostly Bucky Barnes x F! and GN!Reader. Please show support to these amazing writers!!

❗️ PLEASE MESSAGE ME IF YOU’D LIKE ME TO REMOVE YOUR FIC OR IF I MADE A MISTAKE❗️

The Apprentice @chrisevansredbelt

Grilled Cheese And Other Love Languages @bucky-bucket-barnes

B.B Boy @bucky-bucket-barnes

A Half Naked Nurse And Wrong Ideas | Part 2 @urimaginespimp

Do I Even Have A Chance? @noceurous

I Need You To Have Me | As Long As You Have Me @noceurous

One Simple Touch @likeahorribledream

Hearsay @jadedvibes

Listen To Me, Not Just My Words @lilacletter

Water Bottle @cloudybarnes

You @lovelybarnes

Baby @lovelybarnes

Truth @lovelybarnes

Juxtaposition @lovelybarnes

Honey, Dumpling @sparklefics

Silent Girl + The Winter Soldier @kinanabinks

Ponytails @bbyboybucket

Aching @bbyboybucket

Admit It @ghostofskywalker

Dear January @writing-for-marvel

Hush, Baby @noctumbra

Tap @/houseravenclaws

Worth The Wait @littleredwolf

What Took You So Long? @bowersbubbles

Perfect For Me @buckyswintersoldiermask

It’s Always Been You @sunshinebuckybarnes

Always Been Yours @sunshinebuckybarnes

Sugar @sunshinebuckybarnes

Guys Night @/teamcap4bucky

Wrong Number @/teamcap4bucky

Aisle 4 @buckyhoney

How Bucky Falls In Love With You (headcanon) @chennqingg

Massage @namorsinta

Just Maybe @namorsinta

Make A Move @beefybuckrrito

Who Are You? @bxcketbarnes

Five Sweaters To Make Me Want You @sebbytrash

A Shore Thing @buckymorelikefuckme

Cry Baby @buckymorelikefuckme

My Everyday @pellucid-constellations

Starry Starry Night @jobean12-blog

Cosmic Love | Part 2 @jobean12-blog

Been Here All Along @jobean12-blog

Here (In Your Arms) @sleepypanda27

Like I Want You | Part 2 @tmpestuous

Some Other Guy @espinosaurusrexex

Nightmares @ro-is-struggling

Getting Close @rogerswifesblog

Open Your Heart @vibraniumarm06-bucket

To Be Seen @tarithenurse

Make It Reality @buckybarnesandmarvel

Three Hundred @adrinktostopyourthirst

She’s Not Mad @subwaysurf45

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Down Bad - A Joel Miller Drabble

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Pre Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 800 Summary: You get ghosted after a one night stand with your handsome neighbor. Warnings: Drinking, smut remembrance, angst. A/N: Happy Tortured Poets Department release day! Thank you to @beskarandblasters for the amazing Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge AGAIN. I previously wrote Paper Rings for it. TBH, I stayed up until 3:30 AM listening to TTPD last night with @ohheypedrito and your girl is STRUGGLING TODAY, but well worth it. What an album.

Masterlist

One night out with your friends, one shared glance, one half smile, one opportunity, one drink bought, one phone number drunkenly tapped into his phone. 

One date, one heated make out session in his truck, one moment of being heaven struck, one naked body left alone in your bed as he quietly leaves without a word. 

One text telling him you had a good time, one week since you’ve heard from him, countless hours of yearning for your neighbor. 

Across the street and two houses to the left, Joel Miller lives. Well manicured lawn, cute daughter who goes door to door selling Girl Scout cookies, large truck parked out the front dinged and well used. 

You’ve been down bad for him since you first moved in, a quick introductory hello and wave one early morning as you took your dog for a walk, how could you be so attracted to a total stranger?

That stranger ignoring you from that moment on, leaving you feeling nuts. Sometimes you’d take your dog for a walk when you’d notice him mowing the lawn, sneaking a glance under your sunglasses, watching the sweat make his skin glisten. Teenage crush vibes, teenage petulance coming out because you can’t have him or his attention. 

You never see him with another woman there, only his loud, precocious brother Tommy who stops to talk with you whenever you’re outside. You know he likes you, but you’re too drawn to his older brother’s beam to even want to lead him on. 

That night shared between the two of you, it almost feels like an evil experiment. He fucked you, fucked you hard, stared into your eyes as he came all over you, devoured your cunt as if he was starving, made you cum so hard it felt like you were floating in a cosmic cloud of sparks, then he left you naked and alone. He owned your body, like it was some sort of hostile takeover. 

You’re barely even sure it happened, like if you speak about the existence of that night, everybody will tell you it never happened, that you’re nuts.

Why did he leave you like that? Why did he strand you the way he did? Why can’t you have him? Why cant you have an us? 

Doesn’t he know what you would do for his attention? How you feel like you could just die when you think back to that night? You’re pathetic for him, isn’t it romantic?

You replay the words he uttered against your skin as he fucked you. “You feel so fucking good, like you were made for me.” 

The taste of your sweat against your lips makes you almost want to cry as you try to run the thoughts of him away on the treadmill at the gym. The last time you sweat like this his cock was stretching you, his hand holding your cheek, his tongue languidly licking into your mouth. 

——

After a night of staring at the ceiling, sleep not visiting you, tossing and turning not being able to get the thought of the weight of his body against yours, you decide to sit out on your porch with coffee in hand, staring at the sky as dawn approaches. A door slamming across the street startles you. He’s outside. This is it, you live in the same old familiar town, he can’t escape you, you can’t escape him. You trudge across the street, only clad in your shorts and your old Rangers shirt. You wave at him to get his attention as he finishes lifting his tool box onto his lift gate. 

You see him swallow as you stand at the edge of his driveway. 

“G’morning,” he nods. “Quite early.”

“It is. Could’t sleep.” 

“Happens to me too.”

“Mm,” you tap your foot, arms folded across your chest. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

“S’complicated.”

“Try me, it’d make no difference.”

“Alright,” he runs a hand through his hair, “you’re too good. I don’t think it’s smart… for me to be with someone right now. Too much going on, ’n it’s safer if we just leave it at that. It’s better for you.”

“So, you fuck me, whisper all those sweet things in my ear, make me feel like I’m the chosen one, then just leave? How romantic Joel.”

“Never said I was the romantic type.”

“No, you’re just the fuck ‘em and strand ‘em. I guess.”

“Listen,” he looks down at his watch, “I gotta get goin’, got an important job to start. I really would like to talk more, I respect you too much ’n I really like you, I just think it’s better if you find someone else.”

“Right, well, see you around neighbor,” you bite.

Fuck it, you can’t have him. 

[winxanity-ii]

TWILIGHT TUNES

ship: stereotypical ken x fem!neurodivergent astrophysicist barbie!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 1.9k a/n: I haven't posted in two weeks—college is awesome but ya girl's drowning in work, not gonna lie. Also, my meal plan is on its last leg. So, you know, typical college struggles. 😅 Anyway, enjoy the new one-shot! ★·.·´🇧‌🇦‌🇷‌🇧‌🇮‌🇪‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

In Barbieland, a realm of perennial glitz and glamour, your debut had a nebulous charm that left an imprint on everyone—just like a lingering constellation in the night sky. Though excitement always ran high with the introduction of a new Barbie, your presence was, quite literally, out of this world.

You were the Astrophysicist Barbie, and you looked at the stars not as glinting trinkets but as complex systems begging to be understood.

You were a different kind of celestial body in this colorful universe. Your interests were nested in theories and complex algorithms that could predict the future of galaxies. And it wasn't just that. There was something about your focus that stood out.

While everyone was busy mingling and attending fabulous parties, you'd often zone out, diving deep into your own world of thought.

You weren't easily drawn into casual conversation; you preferred more 'orbital' talks that delved into the mysteries of the universe.

Nobody really judged you for it, but, one Ken seemed particularly infatuated. He was the Stereotypical Ken: charismatic, outgoing, and so easily and completely smitten by your mysterious aura. In the world of Barbieland, where the narrative often revolved around Barbie, Ken had become accustomed to listening.

With you, he found something extraordinary. It's as if he tapped into a wavelength he never knew existed, and in that newfound frequency, he relished being listened to—maybe for the first time ever.

He became your anchor. When words seemed too distant and unnecessary, he was your voice. If you whispered something, he'd amplify it for the world to hear.

On occasions when you complimented him, he'd get adorably flustered. Once, a simple "You look handsome today" sent him crashing to the ground, only to get up and strike a smoldering pose, saying, "Thank you."

His interaction with you was as tactile as it was emotional. He found peace in the very details that made you, 'you'—like when he'd gently play with the ends of the box braids that frame your face or hold your hand, noticing how your fingers subtly recoiled before relaxing.

The world saw a lively Ken become still and serene, as he sat in your presence, finding a solace he didn't know he was seeking.

There was a sense of mutual balance. Ken was the day to your night. He was talkative–the sun illuminating your universe, and you thrived in quiet moments–the calming darkness that gave his light purpose.

Together, you were a cosmic ballet, an astral yin-yang, existing in a serene equilibrium, balancing each other out seamlessly.

Tonight, though, was special. Barbieland was hosting its grandest concert of the year, and you both had decided to attend together.

As soon as you and Ken stepped into the Dreamhouse, the room buzzed like a hive of electricity. The air was thick with the scent of various perfumes—floral, musky, sweet—all blending together in an intoxicating concoction.

Barbies from all corners were gathered, radiant in their glamour and glitz, laughter sparkling like champagne bubbles.

"Astrophysicist Barbie!" A Barbie in a sequined dress exclaimed, her voice slicing through the ambient hum. "Your box braids are absolutely gorgeous!" Her eyes popped, basically radiating heart emojis.

"Thank you," you responded, your fingers lightly touching one of your braids, a little spark of satisfaction coursing through you.

Ken squeezed your hand reassuringly, beaming with pride. "She spent hours on them," he shared, nodding toward your hair, the whiff of his cologne a calming contrast to the ambient fragrance.

The two of you navigated the crowd like a ship through celestial bodies. Ken introduced you to old friends and some fresh faces, the timbre of his voice oscillating between a buttery smoothness and ecstatic peaks, every interaction accompanied by the light touch of his hand on your lower back.

"Barbie, it's so good to see you here!" Another Barbie’s words almost danced out of her mouth, her red curls bouncing to a rhythm of their own. "Aren't you excited for the main act?"

You nodded, though in reality, the rising crescendo of the music, chatter, the intensity of different perfumes, and the layered textures of bass and treble were starting to be a bit much. "I've been looking forward to it."

That's when it hit you—like an asteroid crashing into a placid moon. The music roared into a crescendo, and with it, the murmur of voices turned into a disorienting wall of sound. Layers of noise—laughter, bass, cheers—piled onto each other, each clamoring for attention.

The twinkling high notes of a pop song cut through like stars piercing a dusky sky, and the drumming bass vibrated through the floor, reverberating in your chest as if your heart was suddenly drumming to an alien rhythm.

"Surprise act tonight, you in the know?" Leather-jacket Ken leaned in, shouting over the noise.

You tried to focus on his words, but the lights seemed to flash more vividly, colors blending into one another, each flash more disorienting than the last.

"I—uh—" Words slipped through your fingers like sand.

Ken sensed your struggle, almost as if reading your mind, and was by your side immediately. "I think we have, but Barbie and I wanted it to remain a surprise," he chimed in, attempting to take over the conversation and offer you a respite.

It was like your senses were drowning—your nerves felt like electric wires, buzzing and short-circuited. Your ears were like black holes, pulling in all of sound until it morphed into a gravitational mass of incomprehensible noise. Everything blurred into a dizzying mess.

"Barbie?" Ken's voice broke through the din, his face etched with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I…" you started, "It's just a bit much."

He immediately understood, wrapping an arm protectively around you. "Let's find a quieter spot," he suggested, guiding you away from the heart of the event and towards solace.

Ken’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist as the two of you made your way to the concert's exit. The pulsating lights and resonating beats grew fainter with each step, replaced by the promise of quietude and the comforting cool of the night.

Almost there, you thought, just a few more steps to the door.

However, as you neared the door, a distinctive voice, melodic with a hint of mischief, chimed in, “Leaving so soon, lovebirds?”

Both of you halted to find Cabaret Dancer Barbie, her flapper dress sparkling under the party lights, her vibrant red lips upturned in a teasing smile. With her reputation for being sharp-witted and playfully blunt, she was hard to miss in any gathering.

"Ken~," she purred, shooting him a mock-disapproving look, "taking this precious gem away before the night’s even reached its crescendo? And just when I was about to showcase my new dance routine!"

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks, not used to being the center of such playful attention. Ken, ever the charmer, responded with a grin, "Well, Cabaret, some moments are meant to be private. Besides, Barbie and I had planned on some quiet time tonight.”

Cabaret Dancer Barbie stepped closer, giving you a once-over before winking conspiratorially. "Quiet time, huh? Should I be worried about what you two are getting up to?" She laughed, her voice tinkling like chimes.

You could feel the flush deepening, words failing you. However, Ken, picking up on your discomfort, chuckled lightly, steering the conversation. "Just some innocent stargazing, I assure you. But knowing Astrophysicist Barbie and her love for the stars, it might just be the highlight of our evening.”

Cabaret Dancer Barbie laughed heartily. “Well, if it's the stars you're after, I won’t keep you. But Barbie, darling,” she said, leaning in closer to whisper just loud enough for Ken to hear, “if he doesn't show you the most dazzling constellations, you know where to find me for some real entertainment.”

With a playful wink and a twirl, she sauntered off, leaving a trail of laughter in her wake.

Ken looked down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Let’s make a quick escape before anyone else notices."

With that, the two of you managed to sneak out, leaving the party's frenzy behind. The path uphill was lined with softly glowing lanterns, leading you both to the serene hilltop, where the bright stars awaited your arrival.

As the two of you settled on the hilltop, the noises of the concert became a distant hum. The stars above glittered brightly, and the cool breeze felt soothing against your skin. The city lights of Barbieland painted a beautiful, ethereal landscape below.

Ken reached for his guitar case, the moonlight catching its polished surface. He opened it, pulling out the guitar. It looked old, worn, but in the best possible way. It had history.

“I didn’t really plan for this,” he began with a chuckle, strumming a few chords to test the tune, “but maybe some calm melodies can make the night a bit better.”

He looked at you, his eyes full of warmth. “Ready?” he asked, an excited grin tugging at his lips.

You nodded, smiling back at him.

The first few chords he played were soft, the melodies seemingly caressing the silence of the night. Then, with a deep breath, he began to sing, his voice holding an intimate, raw quality.

"I don't know if I've been strong enough, Life’s been a journey, and sometimes it’s rough, But right here with you, under the moon's gentle hush, Feels like a touch that says, ‘You’re more than enough’."

"I want to hold you close, yes, I do, yes, I do, Be the one you lean on, see this through, see this through, Not taking you for granted, Never taking you for granted, Yeah, yeah, I won’t."

His voice, filled with emotion, reverberated in the cool night air. The lyrics, a reflection of your shared journey, tugged at your heartstrings.

As the last note faded away, Ken looked up, his blue eyes glistening, perhaps with the reflection of the stars, or perhaps something deeper. "May I have this dance?" he asked, extending a hand towards you.

You hesitated for a brief moment, cheeks flushed, "But… there isn't any music playing now."

Ken gave a playful, exaggerated whine. "You're going to deny me a dance on a technicality?"

Seeing your amused expression, he added, "Besides, can't you hear it? The distant melodies from the Barbie house and the rhythmic waves crashing against the rocks - nature's very own orchestra."

He winked, his boyish charm evident. "Come on, let's make this moment our own. Let’s dance to the rhythm of the world around us."

Tentatively, you took his outstretched hand, letting him pull you close. As he gently wrapped his arms around you, you rested your head on his chest, listening intently. Beyond the distant sounds he'd mentioned, the strongest rhythm you heard was the steady thud of his heartbeat.

As you both began to sway, the world faded away. There was just you, Ken, and the intimate moment you shared. The faint noises in the background melded into a unique, soft tune, one that seemed perfect for the two of you.

The warmth of his embrace, the gentle cadence of his heart, and the shared serenity of the night all blended into a memory that would forever be etched into your heart. In that moment, amidst the vast expanse of Barbieland, you found your own little universe in the arms of someone who truly understood and cherished you.

A/N: lol, did anyone peep the song?? I tried my best 😭😭

[mal-urameshi]

Girl same but anywayyy a shuriri story about them being stuck inside wherever (idk you pick) bc of a stormmmm

Thanks for coming in clutch, Mey!

You guys know I’m here to spread the Mama Okoye and Daughter Riri doctrine. So yall still gonna be indoctrinated.

“Shuri, that storm’s looking pretty bad out there.” Riri paced and fidgeted as she observed the tempest that was waging war on the landscape down below. They were presently the only ones at the Wakandan Design Group as everyone else opted to go home earlier in the evening.

“Don’t worry, Riri, why are you so antsy all of a sudden?” Shuri threw Riri a glance before re-focusing on upgrading the programming of GRIOT’s interface.

“I’m just saying I got a bad feeling. I’m getting goosebumps.” 

“You know what you need?”

“To get back home? I should get back home. Mama’s probably worried about me.”

“No, to preoccupy your mind! Why don’t you give your suit some attention? Ever since you saw a bit of lightning you refused to move away from that window.” Shuri’s fingers danced across the holographic keyboard as she gestured to the abandoned parts at Riri’s workspace. 

Riri sighed through her nose. She could have always went back to her village, it wasn’t like she was being held captive. But she didn’t want to leave Shuri by herself. It’s not like the older girl would have minded, but she’d consider herself a shit friend just leaving Shuri by herself while she sassed the circuits out of her AI.

Riri walked over to her work area and picked up her previously abandoned blowtorch just when an ominous clap of thunder boomed across the atmosphere, and with it, the lights were snuffed.

Riri lost her grip on the torch with a loud clang as her panicked scream filled the lab.

“Riri, Riri! Calm down. The power will turn back on!” Shuri tried to placate as Riri hyperventilated against the darkness. 

Three beats of silence passed.

“Where the hell are the lights Suri! Where are you?!” Shuri heard Riri’s panicked steps run about the lab as she crashed into the tables and equipment.

“Riri, relax. Where are you? I’m coming to you.” Shuri navigated herself around the darkness.

“I-I’m over here!” Shuri held out her arms to feel around for the shorter girl, but didn’t feel her presence. That was, until her feet hit something.

“Ow!” Riri grumbled.

Shuri kneeled down and felt around Riri’s form, which had been curled up into a ball. Shuri planted herself next to Riri and wrapped an arm around her.

Another deafening clap of thunder assaulted their ears which had Riri shrieking again, “It’s okay Riri. I’m here. I’m here.”

Riri covered her face as her breathing continued to be labored. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just thunder. It’s just thunder!

“Why isn’t the p-power back on Shuri!” Riri dug her blunt fingernails into Shuri’s arms to try to ground herself. 

Shuri shifted closer to Riri as she tried tapping on her kimoyo beads.

“Now, let there be light.” 

A flash of lightning illuminated the lab before it was consumed by darkness once more.

“Shuri, why the hell isn’t the power on! There aren’t supposed to be power outages!” Riri rocked herself to soothe her anxiety.

Shuri fiddled with her beads to try to get to the bottom of it before they lost their power as well, “Oh, Bast.”

Riri tampered with her own beads to see if they’d respond, but to no use, “Shit! Are we under attack or some shit?! Some sort of…I dunno cyberwarfare or something?”

“Riri, calm down. No, you know that nobody could hack our systems. I’m hypothesizing that this is most probably no ordinary storm. It is perhaps an interference of Cosmic Forces.”

“Like them, Avengers fights? Or X-Men or something?��

Shuri nodded, but remembered Riri couldn’t see her, “Precisely.”

Riri took a deep breath, “Okay.”

“I’d go try to find a flashlight, but I don’t think you’d like me to leave your side in this pitch blackness.” Riri’s hands tightening around her arms confirmed her answer.

“I don’t care if it’s just for ten seconds, you’re not leaving me here by myself.” Riri pressed herself impossibly closer to Shuri as the rain tried to force its way by violently pelting itself into the reinforced glass of the lab.

“Fun fact,” Riri started, to try to get her mind at ease, “We aren’t actually in pitch darkness right now. It’s just a reaaalllly dark grey. Called eigengrau.”

 “You’re scared enough to piss your pants but still want to one-up me?” Shuri scoffed teasingly.

“Hey, I’m just correcting you so that you don’t look stupid the next time you’re in ‘pitch darkness’. Be grateful I’m looking out for your ass.”

Another ear-drum-bursting roll of thunder had Riri landing on Shuri’s lap, hiding her face in her neck.

“That shut you up, didn’t it?” Shuri chuckled, waiting for Riri to snap back at her with her own arsenal of sass, but it never came. 

Shuri wrapped her arms around Riri’s now shaking body and gently rubbed her arms in an effort to comfort her.

“I didn’t know your fear of thunder was this bad.”

Riri shifted a bit in Shuri’s hold, “Well, coupled with my fear of the dark, you have a terrified lil kid on your hands.” She took a shuddering breath, ”Sorry for making you see me like this. It’s kind of embarrassing, not gonna lie.”

“I have no idea what you’re apologizing for. I have seen you in objectively more embarrassing situations than this.” Shuri found herself absentmindedly caressing one of Riri’s twists. 

Riri didn’t contest it, she knew it was true. She just felt…bad reacting like this.

“Sorry for screaming and making a scene earlier.”

“You were scared, Riri. You don’t have to apologize. I know you’re feeling uncomfortable and you don’t know what to do with yourself, but it’s perfectly normal. You’re acting like I’m some stranger who is going to judge you for very human reactions.” She pressed her cheek on Riri’s forehead.

Though the rain interrupted the silence, Riri still found that it was too quiet so she started talking, “I was scared of the dark as long as I could remember. I never really liked sleeping alone so I’d bunk with Mama more often than not. Especially when I was younger. But she didn’t mind, of course.”

“Of course Okoye doesn’t mind. She has you spoiled rotten.” 

“What can I say? The luxuries of being an only child.” She grinned.

“Anyway. There was this one time Mama was on a mission with Aunty Aneka, so Aunty Ayo was looking after me by herself. And a particularly bad storm was passing through. I couldn’t sleep. I was balling my eyes out and I was tryna call Mama on my beads but she wasn’t answering. Aunty Ayo tried her best to console me, but nothing was working. I just wanted Ma.”

Riri closed her eyes and took a refreshing breath, “I dunno when I’d fallen asleep that night. But when I woke up, I was in Mama’s arms. We were going home.”

“Aw, that’s really sweet, Riri.”

Riri grinned, “Yea, I remember I started crying and borderline shouting at her though, for not answering her beads when I called. She calmed me down and apologized, saying she was in the middle of Recon. But she made it up to me anyway. She took me out.”

“See? Spoiled. Had I shouted at my mother I would have been lectured about respect. Not taken out for food and snacks. Let’s switch mothers.”

“Ha! And have Queen Mother give me that death stare she gives you everytime I’m up to some bullshit? No way. I was victim to her pinches twice. I dunno how you do it.” She rubbed her arm where she felt the phantom pain.

“I developed a thick skin for it.”

“Lies! Last time she pinched you I saw tears come out of your eyes.”

“You were clearly seeing things! My allergies were acting up.”

“What allergies? See? You always on some bullshit. Just admit you were crying.”

“I don’t cry. My eyes just water involuntarily. It is a medical issue I have to look into.”

“Oh, sure, Miss Head of Research.”

Just then a hum of energy filled the room as the lights came on again.

“All Systems are back online, Shuri.” Griot announced as he booted up again.

“So I guess the Avengers won or something?”

“Pray to Bast they did.” Shuri sighed in relief.

Riri knew that she should get up, but she didn’t feel like it.

“I kind of don’t want to get up either.” Shuri replied.

“Yooo, you can read minds now?” Riri pulled back to look at her.

“No….you just said that you didn’t feel like getting up so I agreed. Even though my legs are numb, I liked you holding me like I’m your lifeline.” She chuckled..

“Are you saying I’m fat?” She went to get up but Shuri pulled her back down.

“I didn’t say that I didn’t like it.” She pressed a kiss to Riri’s cheek.

“Thought so.” Riri smirked as she leaned into Shuri again and activated her beads to see if there was any news about Avengers level threats.

Taggies: @somethingcleaverandwhitty @karimwillia @neptoons1998 @pantherheart

I ain't feel too good about this one, but I have to write to oil my gears. Apologies, everyone!!

[bullet-prooflove]

Therapy Sessions- Nick Amaro x Reader

Tagging my girls: @misscharlielulu and @cosmic-psychickitty

Nick didn’t know that you went to the same boxing gym, not until he ran into you late one night. You were in the ring when he entered the building, sparing with his trainer Ezra. You were good, he thought as he hung back and watched. Well-conditioned and disciplined, you rolled easy with the punches you did take. You anticipated Ezra’s moves ducking and sliding with the grace of a dancer. You had been at it for years, he could tell.

Your session was winding down as he approached the ring, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He set it down in the corner as you stripped off your gloves and placed them on the edge.

“Hey.” He greeted as he lifted one of the middle ropes for you to duck under. You exited elegantly, clasping his hand as he helped you off the podium. “I didn’t know you came here.”

You gave him that smile, the one that stole his breath away as you began to undo the vibrant red wraps that were wound around your palms and wrists. You hadn’t worked together long, just over six months, but he enjoyed spending time with you. You were a breath of fresh air in a job that was plagued with darkness. Being in your presence felt like he was stepping into the sunshine after a long, called winter.

“I didn’t know you did.” You returned, nudging him with your shoulder before stuffing the wraps into your gloves.

“Sometimes I have a little extra energy to burn off after a case. Boxing, it helps me work a few things out in here.” He said tapping his temple.

There was silence for a moment after his disclosure. He didn’t talk about his mental health issues, not really. Benson knew, Amanda had been around for some of the bad shit, but she had no idea he was in counselling, their casual thing had come to an end a couple of years ago and neither wanted to pick it up again. The two of them were toxic together.

“I usually do late nights or early mornings.” You supplied, your attention dropping to the laces of your sneakers.

There was something about the way you said it, the timbre of your words. He detected an undercurrent of shame in the revelation, he knew how your head could get fucked up especially in this job.

“You have trouble sleeping?” Nick asked, inclining his head so that he could study the profile of your features.

After his own experiences he should have been able to read the signs, however he also knew how easy it could be to hide them, to pretend that you were fine, day in and day out until you broke.

“Don’t you?” You returned.

Nick smiled because this was what you did. You believed in an exchange of information. A little give and take. Nick could work with that. The truth was he wanted to get to know you better, you were more than just a colleague to him and as for being friends…

What he felt went far deeper than that. He couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, only that it had. Your presence in his life had changed something and he felt more upbeat, more buoyant. His workdays seemed a little bit brighter, even after the shit he saw.

“The boxing helps.” Nick informed you. “I used to have anger issues. Ended up in therapy, boxing is a good outlet, it helps me channel it.”

He didn’t do this; he didn’t share personal details like this. It always felt too raw to talk about but right now it felt good to get it off his chest. He was showing you a part of himself he wasn’t proud of; it was as honest as he could be with another person.

“I used to drink.” You told him, tilting your head so that you could meet his gaze. “It started after a C.I of mine got shot and then…” You inhaled deeply. “It was a slippery slope. I’ve been working the program for about three years now.”

It made sense. Whenever they went out for a drink you always turned it down, you always had plans. Originally, he thought you had a partner, a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, but you had never mentioned a significant other. He’d been to your apartment a couple of times, when you were carpooling, and he’d seen no signs of a relationship.

“I should have been inviting you out to dinner instead of a drink.” He realised, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.

“And you call yourself a detective.” You teased, a small smile ghosting across your lips. “It’s not that I’m not interested, it’s just the drinking thing when people find out about it…” You trailed off.

Nick got it, he really did. He hadn’t been easy to live with, he knew that and as soon as people found out about the anger issues, they associated it with violence. They thought he was unpredictable, that that monster inside of him could be unleashed at any moment. That wasn’t the truth, it began with a series of triggers, they were like keys snapping open locks to a cage with a beast inside it. He recognised those triggers now; he knew when things were starting to take a turn and he dealt with them beforehand.

“They judge you.” he said knowingly.

“Yea…”

“I don’t judge you.” he uttered, bumping his shoulder against yours. “You know that right? This job it comes with its own set of problems. If you ever need someone to talk to someone, I’m here for you.”

“Do you need someone to talk to Nick?” You asked him, jerking your head towards the ring. “Isn’t that why you’re here tonight?”

Nick’s dark eyes met yours and he wondered what you saw in them. Did you see the echoes of the cases that haunt him at night? The ones he didn’t catch.

“Yea.” He said, glancing over his shoulder at the boxing ring. “Maybe I do.”

Love Nick Amaro? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[demontomfoolery]

A little something I've been doing <3

[thevindicativevordan]

what do diversity/legacy characters require to be hits?

An interesting question. Three major factors jump out to me as being crucial elements of success, and I'll use the biggest star in Miles Morales to touch on each one.

A high profile creator with clout. Bendis is a crucial element of why Miles stuck around when the rest of the Ultimate Universe died off. He was the hottest creator in comics outside of maybe Geoff Johns during the 2000s. He had written over 100 issues of Peter Parker USM before creating Miles, I believe he holds the record for most issues of Spider-Man ever. He had "earned" the right so to speak to create a replacement, especially one for an alternate universe that he had made himself. And when he left, because he was so valued at Marvel, editorial made sure Miles continued to be taken care of rather than stripping him of the Spider-Man mantle, or dropping him entirely like his Champion peers. Other creators at DC recently have tried to mimic Miles, Ridley with Jace Fox Batman, Taylor with Val-Zod, the push for Jo, even the recent push for Nubia, but none of them had the same level of clout to pull it off.

Room to stand out - Another major factor is, how big already is the "family" this character is meant to join? Miles was lucky, despite Spider-Man's popularity Marvel hadn't tried to create a "Spider-Family" before moving him to 616. You had Mayday in MC2, Kaine as Scarlet Spider doing his own thing in Houston, the occasional attempt at a 616 Spider-Girl, however Spider-Woman was never connected beyond the name. Marvel preferred to keep Peter solo as part of their attempts to keep him young. Miles changed that, suddenly Peter had a peer living in the same city as he did. Since Peter and Miles were the only two "main" Spiders, Miles got to be the Nightwing of the Spider-Family, the clear #2 guy who might one day take over for Peter as #1. If there were already 5 other Spider-Men, I doubt Miles would have achieved success.

An actual untapped fanbase - Marvel and Spider-Man in particular have always had a strong black fanbase. Most blerds I knew growing up preferred Marvel to DC because of Spider-Man and the X-Men. Miles tapped into that fanbase which always existed and was excited to see themselves represented. John Stewart briefly tapped into something similar when the JL cartoon aired, his powerset, adventures, and background were fairly unique for a black character at the time. While Marvel had plenty of black heroes most were street-level whereas John was cosmic tier. That made him stand out, and that he got to have his own romance and plotlines involving Hawkgirl certainly didn't hurt.

[chalkodareal]

sometimes i remember how back in my first rhythm heaven phase i shipped the tap trial girl and cosmic dancer cuz i thought they were cute but i was really ashamed of it cuz it didnt make sense. so i barely ever posted art of it despite the fact that it was essentially my favorite ship that would never ever make sense. somehow it baffles me that this was the one i felt shame about and not. and not karate joe x play-yan. i never recovered from that i think.

anyway i had nothing else to draw so heres a shitty shitpost about everyones favorite um. i dont know what

[indigosabyss]

Statement of Gwendolyn Poole

Somewhere in New York – or what used to be New York – there is a girl named Gwen Poole. She was a bright child, full of potential and creativity. Surrounded by friends who loved her and parents who supported her and a little brother who adored her. She wanted for nothing, her whole life ahead of her, with the spark and drive to propel her to ever-greater heights. How did a girl like that ever turn into such a disappointment? Now, she sits in her room, surrounded by posters of bright, colorful faces with smiles so wide. An unachievable standard. Her fingers tap-tap-tapping on the keyboard, the clicking deafening in the silent room, except for the whir of the fan and the buzz of the computer. Just one more word. One more phrase. One more line of dialogue to script out for them, surrounded by exclamation points and jokes and ridiculous circumstances. Then she will learn to be happy. Happy as they are. Happy with the posters and plushies and what little she has here, because she is locked in this room and there was no coming out. People knock on the door. Her parents. Her brother. Friends, maybe, but that was only at the beginning. They moved on fast, with no reason to stick by her.

-- Opening Excerpt from my Magnus Archives x Gwenpool fic where all of Gwen's adventures in the Marvel Universe is just a cosmic horror wrought onto her by the Eyepocalypse

[unhingedwomandiaries]

I spiraled down a digital rabbit hole today that would make Alice's adventures look like a trip to the corner store. I was massacring a quiche Lorraine, doom-scrolling like it's my job, while David Kushner's melancholy wails provided the perfect soundtrack to my impending existential crisis.

I stumble upon this story that apparently only baffles the intellectually challenged and the clinically unhinged. Some woman got six years for... well, let's just say it was weird. Not "I-saw-Bigfoot-at-a-TED-talk" weird, but "why-the-hell-would-anyone-do-that" weird. The kind of weird that makes you question if we're all just NPCs in some cosmic teenager's video game.

This sent me careening into the murky waters of consent, dredging up memories of my mom's political career where I'm 11, a closet Democrat drowning in a sea of red, watching my Republican mom play Mother Teresa to every LGBTQ+, global warming, whatever cause.

By 12, I was a walking encyclopedia of reproductive biology, thanks to being on birth control since I was practically in utero. (Yeah, we're unpacking that trauma today. Buckle up, buttercup.) I was also green with envy over my sexually active peers, convinced they possessed some magical pheromone I'd somehow missed in the genetic lottery.

The consent debate morphed into a tirade against youth autonomy, which somehow led me to x who was the guitar-playing Voldemort of my middle school years. Imagine 12-year-old me, suicidal from relentless bullying, blubbering on the school bus like I'm auditioning for an emo music video. And there's x, eyes locked on mine, face contorted with the kind of hatred usually reserved for war criminals and people who don't use turn signals.

Then she drops this neutron bomb: "I hope with all my heart that you're successful in ending your life." But this wasn't some Hallmark moment of unexpected kindness. No, this was x hoping I'd successfully shuffle off this mortal coil, delivered with enough venom to make a cobra jealous.

All because we both played guitar and apparently this town wasn't big enough for two pubescent Slash wannabes. It's like "Mean Girls" meets "This Is Spinal Tap," but directed by Ingmar Bergman on a bad day.

The teachers knew too. They fucking knew what x said. And their response? A collective shrug and a blasé "Bullies are everywhere. Grow up." As if sociopathic death wishes were just part of the standard middle school curriculum, right up there with history and woodshop.

Now x's married with two kids, working in finance despite a PhD in Music from an Ivy League. It's like the universe is playing some sick cosmic joke, saying, "Remember that pint-sized psychopath who wished you'd die? Well, she's killing it in life." And somehow, this tangent about a teenage tormentor turned soccer mom is supposed to illuminate the intricacies of consent?

I don't know where I'm going with this, but I'm pretty sure it's nowhere good. Maybe that's the point. Or maybe there is no point, and we're all just characters in some deranged simulation, waiting for the programmers to pull the plug and end this bizarre charade we call existence. Either way, I'm left wondering if x's kids know their mom once moonlighted as a junior league Angel of Death, and if their teachers would just shrug that off too.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

PART ONE: SOMETHIN' UNHOLY Steve Harrington x fem!reader x Eddie Munson[6.4k] Steve and Eddie shared a lot of things, you’d noticed. Just smut. More smut.

You nodded, mumbled some nonsense and buried your face into Steve’s chest, let Eddie pet at you. This? That? That was normal, not the first time Steve had pulled you onto his lap to get a little love, Eddie’s hand soothing over whatever part of he could reach, joining in on the touching.

It was the first time you’d done it naked though, bar the rumpled dress that was nothing more than a strip of fabric around your waist. And when you eventually caught your breath, you shuffled back, kneeling between the two boys, gaze flickering between both of them. 

Steve was smiling, almost shy, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from the way he’d loved on you, licked you clean until you cried. One hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb soothing down the pretty line of your throat and you wondered if he could feel the way your pulse was thrumming. 

He could. 

“Do you trust us?” He asked you, bringing you back into him, being awfully greedy with you but he really couldn’t help it. Not when he could still taste you on his tongue. And beside, Eddie didn’t seem to mind, patient, lazy, knowing he was always included. 

You nodded, breathed out a “yes,” and let yourself fall back into Eddie’s touch when his palms smoothed over your bare shoulders, playing with the ends of your hair. 

“You’ll tell us if you wanna stop?” Eddie whispered, nudging at your cheek with the line of his nose, encouraging you to tilt your head for him so he could push kisses to your jaw. 

Your lashes fluttered, you blinked, everything a little sparkly, the world soft like cotton as your two boys touched you all sweet and lovely. 

“Mhmm,” you agreed.

“Even if you wanna just slow down,” Steve added, “you’ll keep talkin’ to us, yeah baby? We don’t have to-”

You almost whined, a soft sound of protest leaving your lips as you wrapped your hand around his wrist, held his palm to your neck and shook your head. 

“I want to,” you told him, ‘cause Eddie has whispered how Steve was gonna be first to slide himself inside of you and you couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

It had been a long time coming, hadn’t it? 

And there was something about the way Eddie watched the two of you, eyes hooded and hazy, tracking the way you both touched each other like he was learning how to play a new instrument, fingers twitching when Steve’s curled into you, thumb tapping out the same beat on your hipbone when Steve licked and licked and licked and-

“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured, a kiss pressed to your lips with the praise and your cheeks burned. 

You thought about the boy behind you, wondered if Eddie had anything to say about Steve’s words but he was smiling, knowing, all too aware of how this dynamic worked. 

Eddie could touch and tease and kiss and slide himself snug inside you, he could talk all pretty, whisper all filthy and tell Steve how you liked the way he put his hands on you. 

It could happen this once, it could happen two, three times more. It could go on for weeks, maybe months, god maybe more. But Eddie knew and you knew, that you were Steve’s girl first. 

Shit, even Steve knew. 

It was something cosmic, something a little magic, inevitable like the way June turned to July and the sun came up in the morning. It was some soulmate kind of shit, a slow dance across kitchen tiles and basement party carpets, sidewalks at two in the morning, neither of you knowing when it would end. 

Just that it would. And Eddie wondered if maybe, just maybe, he’d fit in somewhere along the way. That maybe tonight wouldn’t be all he got, like this could just be the beginning. 

But no one was ready to talk about that. Not yet, not now, not like this. 

Not when your two boys were crowding either side of you, still far too dressed with their cocks pressed hard against the confines of their denim jeans, eyes glazed over as they looked at you. 

So you licked your lips and tried not to sound too shy when you said:

“Clothes off.”

Neither argued. In fact, both were silent as they pulled off their shirts, giving your greedy eyes the lovely view of their bare chests, Eddie pale and inked where Steve was suntanned and freckled. Eddie only managed to get his jeans and his boxers down past his hips before you were on him. 

You coaxed the boy back onto the sofa, Eddie huffing out a laugh, one hand flying to tug at his curls as you took his cock out of his underwear, the elastic snapping back against his skin. Eddie swore, sighed, tried his best to keep his lashes from fluttering closed because fucking hell, he really wanted to watch what was about to happen.

“Christ, princess,” Eddie huffed, “that’s it.”

You made a noise of agreement, palm curling around the hard length of him, ducking down to lick a stripe over his tip. His hips shot off of the couch, a strangled sound falling from his lips and Steve smirked, big hand covering your own on Eddie’s thigh, both of you pushing him back down.

“Easy, Eds,” Steve chided, “you gonna let our girl make you come?” 

Eddie nodded, eyes hooded as he watched you through his lashes, whining until you took pity on him and took as much of him as you could in his mouth. 

“Ah, shit, shit,” he groaned, one hand falling into your hair, careful to be gentle with you so that Steve didn’t get too riled up and scold him. “Fuckin’ hell, you look so pretty.”

You whined around his cock, flushing at the praise all whilst Steve dragged your rumpled dress down your hips and legs, throwing it into the corner of his living room. 

“Yeah?” Steve asked, kissing his way down your spine, following the arch of your back as he got you naked. He was still kneeling behind you, admiring all your bare skin, the freckle on your hip, the way Eddie had his head thrown back and was panting. “Does she look good with her mouth full?”

He was popping the button to his own jeans, tugging at himself, trying to relieve some of the pressure that he’d felt since the party, since he first kissed you. Steve’s hips stuttered against his own, a groan caught in his throat because he was staring down at the curve of your ass pressed against him, popped out as you balanced your hands on Eddie’s thighs, your mouth making filthy, pretty noises as you sucked at him. 

“Jesus, yeah, yeah, she does,” Eddie breathed out, his hand moving to cup at your face so he could feel the way your cheek bulged with him. He ran a soft thumb over your bottom lip, almost too tender for the dirty things you were doing to him. “Can feel her throat, s’fuckin good, ohmygod-”

You whined as you took him deeper, thrusting your hips back into Steve, desperate for him to touch you, to do something, to do anything. Both boys watched you, grinned at your impatience and Eddie hissed through his teeth as the head of his cock nudged at your throat, your tongue laving the underside of it as you bobbed over him.  

“You want Steve, sweetheart?” He cooed, watching his friend pet at your hips, tapping at your thighs until you spread your legs for him. You were held up by your forearms on Eddie’s knees, hands wrapped around his cock, Steve’s palms curled around your hips. “Gettin’ antsy, huh? Don’t think you’re ready for him yet, Harrington’s fucking packin’, did you know that?”

He watched your lashes flutter, felt you suck at him a little harder and Eddie gasped out a laugh, gathered your hair from your face in his fist so he could watch your eyes turn glassy. 

“Oh, she’s excited, Stevie,” Eddie smiled and the other boy twitched in his own hand, cock throbbing, cheeks flushed.

“Shut up, Munson,” Steve mumbled and you couldn’t help it, the contrast of his shy voice and the way he had a tight grip on your hip made you look back. 

You let out a huff of breath, an almost gasp that sounded a little strangled because Steve was fucking slowly into his own fist, hips twitching every time he stroked his palm over the head of his cock. 

It was big. Thick too, and you were already struggling to take all of Eddie but the sight of Steve made you rub your thighs together. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” you tried to laugh but god, it still sounded like a whine. “You’re gonna break me.”

Eddie snickered, wrapped his own hand around yours and stroked over his cock, both of you watching the way Steve’s cheeks went pink at your attention, your words. His eyes were hooded, darker than normal and his lips were parted, still glossy with you. 

“Told you,” Eddie grinned. “S’gonna feel so good though, isn’t it princess?”

You stroked over him a little faster, wrist twisting as Eddie’s own hand fell away to let you take control again. You nodded, pushing your face to his thigh so you could close your eyes for a second and just breathe. You were overwhelmed in the best way, four hands petting at you, naked body fizzing with attention and heat, the slick between your thighs only getting worse. 

Eddie’s hand soothed over your hair, coaxing you to look up at him, your cheek to the denim that still covered the top of his leg as you kept up your movements on his cock. His thumb pulled gently at your bottom lip, letting it fall back into place with a soft ‘pop’ and he groaned, breath ragged.  

“You can’t wait, can you?” He murmured, looking from you to Steve, “can’t wait to feel Stevie stretch you out, huh? S’that what you want? How long have you wanted it, princess, tell us.”

You clenched under his attention, at his soft cooing, his fingers tracing the lines of your face and instead of answering, you took his cock back in your mouth, just enough so you could suck at the tip and let your tongue play slide over him. 

And while Eddie gasped and moaned out obscenities at the feel of your mouth again, Steve pulled at your hips with both hands, tugged you back against him so the length of his hard cock slid along your ass, tucking himself neatly against you, holding you there and waiting. 

You could feel him throb, already wet with you and his palm smoothed along the arch of your back, swept back your hair so he could see your mouth around Eddie. 

He tutted, tsked, “c’mon, babe, you gotta answer him, I wanna hear.”

He crowded over you, placed a sweet kiss on your shoulder, another under your jaw. Steve nosed at your cheek and it still made your heart stutter to have him so close. His lips found your ear and you could feel his smile, the curl of his lips. 

“I wanna know,” he whispered, eyes on Eddie as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. The boys exchange a smile you didn’t see, Steve’s hands sliding over your sides, Eddie’s in your hair. “Hmm? Tell me how long you’ve wanted me for, baby, m’goddamn desperate to know.”

You moaned around Eddie’s cock, a soft gurgle coming from your throat that made Eddie’s hips jump. You pulled back, placed a sweet kiss on his tip that made the boy whine, and turned your head so you were cheek to cheek with Steve. 

His cock was nudging at you, slick against your folds, hot and heavy as you both slowly rocked together, trying to ease the desperation between you both. 

“A while,” you whispered before correcting yourself, “a long time, too long, fuck- Steve, please.”

You pushed back, harder than before, overcome with need and the tip of Steve’s cocked slipped inside of you, making you both cry out. The boy’s hands flew to your hips, grabbed you and kept you still, his chest heaving at the way your cunt fluttered around his head. 

“Fucking hell,” Steve groaned, head thrown back, eyes closed, jaw clenched. He whispered your name, over and over and over like a prayer, kept you from moving back any further as he twitched inside of you. “You gotta stop baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself like this.”

His instructions made you whine and you tested him, wriggled against his hold on you and managed another half an inch of him. You were gasping, barely taking half of Steve and already so full. 

Eddie’s hand found your chin, tugged at your gently to make you look at him whilst Steve reared back, some of his cock still snug inside you. Eddie smiled at you, pouting at your glassy eyes and turned up brows. 

“Oh princess,” he cooed, taking his own cock from your hand, stroking himself over with the wet you’d left their front your mouth. “You gotta calm down, you’re getting yourself too worked up.”

He kissed your mouth, a soft, sweet peck as his thumb pushed at your cheek, making your lips push out into a squished pout. 

“Poor Steve’s about to blow a fucking gasket, huh?” Eddie grinned wickedly, ignoring the way the other boy cursed him out. “You clenching down on him, yeah? That pretty little cunt getting tighter and tighter around Stevie’s dick?”

Steve let out a low moan when you did exactly what Eddie had described, your body seizing up on him like you couldn’t help it, like you were desperate to pull more of him in. 

Another kiss from Eddie, on your cheek, your forehead, still grinning as Steve panted and tried to cool down behind you, hands grazing over your ass. 

“He’s right though,” he mused, working his fist over his cock, stroking slowly, lazily, enjoying watching the way you squirmed around his best friend's dick. “We don’t want you to hurt yourself, sweetheart, you gotta take Steve nice and slow, huh? Let him help you.” 

And with that, Eddie winked at Steve and coaxed you forward, helping you slide off of the other boy and the motion made you both whine at the loss. You suddenly felt awfully empty and you were about to complain but Eddie manhandled you back onto the sofa next to him, lifting you like it was nothing. 

“Lie down, pretty girl,” he ordered softly, patting his lap, “c’mere for me.”

You did as you were told, eager to rest your head on Eddie’s thighs, watching the way he kept palming his cock, wondering if he’d feed it back into your mouth to let you suck on. 

But then Steve shucking off his jeans and moving between your legs, kneeling on the couch cushions in front of you and nothing else fucking mattered. His hands were warm on your thighs and you felt him tremble, once, twice, grab onto you a little tighter and you wondered if you’d wake up the next morning with Steve shaped bruises on your skin. 

He ducked down into you, one of his hands curling around Eddie’s thigh as he nudged your nose with his, brown eyes burning into your own. His pupils were blown wide, lips cheeks still flushed and and for just a second, selfishly, it was just the two of you. 

“You still okay?” He whispered, watching you for any signs of hesitation and when you nodded eagerly, eyes unblinking and needy, he smiled, kissed you soft, licked into you filthy and said, “atta’ girl, baby.”

Steve pulled back, nodded at Eddie in a way that seemed like a thank you for allowing Steve to have these small moments with you. But Eddie understood. Steve needed them and so did you, he saw it in the way you looked at each other, the way you gazed at the other before things moved forward. 

“Ready, pretty girl?” Steve murmured, giving his heavy cock another pump or two, lining himself up with your cunt and teasing at your folds. 

You gasped, tried to arch up to him but Eddie was quick to soothe you, carding a hand through your hair and running a finger over your mouth. Your tongue caught him, hummed around his digit as he slid it into your mouth and both boys groaned at the sight. 

Steve slid forward, inch by inch, stopping to pant and squeeze at your hips when he was half way inside you. You were glassy eyed, breathless, the stretch of him a pretty burn and you were already full, so full. 

“Oh good girl,” Steve moaned, “that’s it baby, you’ve got it, you okay, huh?”

You made some sort of noise, a high keen and Steve swore as you tightened around him, trying his damn best to not let his hips jerk forward. It took another second or two, a slow slide of his cock that made you gasp and when he was finally seated inside of you, Steve dropped his chin to his chest and tried to control his breathing. 

“Jesus fuck,” he gasped out, like he was fighting for control. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart, so good, so good for me, huh? So goddamn good.”

Eddie laughed lowly, making a sweet noise of excitement as he leaned over your body and sighed at the sight of you both. “Oh, look at that.”

He spread your folds with a finger and thumb, groaned filthy at the view he got of Steve’s thick cock snug inside of you and he gave your clit a little tap. Your response was borderline ridiculous, hips snapping up off of the sofa, taking Steve deeper still and both you and the boys moaned at it all. 

“Fuckin’ prettiest thing ever, huh?” Eddie choked out, smoothing a calloused hand over the soft of your tummy, holding you down as Steve lifted your thighs, hitched them to his hips and gazed down at you. “Look at you two, just goddamn perfect, am I right?”

You nodded, blissed out, already drunk on the way your boys had made you feel. 

“C’mon, big boy, I wanna hear all her pretty noises.”

Steve tapped your hip to gain your attention, your gaze snapping to him and he lifted his chin, eyes glazed over as he asked a silent question. 

‘Can I move?’

You lifted your hips in response, watched his eyes roll back and then he was rocking into you. A slow, maddening in and out of his cock, your cunt making filthy noises, loud enough for Eddie to swear and groan out like a man possessed. 

You watched him fist his cock, hand moving quicker than before as he trained his eyes on where you and Steve were joined, his jaw slack, lips parted as he let his free hand cup your tits, fingers pinching your nipples a little mean. 

Then Steve was panting, skin slick, boxers shoved down his hips just enough to let his cock move in and out of you. He made the prettiest sounds, eyes flicking from where your cunt was wrapped around him to the hand that Eddie used to stoke himself. His hair was a mess, eyes drooping with pleasure that made him feel boneless and when you whined at Eddie in order for the boy to give you his cock to suck on, Steve almost fell apart. 

He hitched your legs higher, claves against his chest and ankles at his shoulders as he pressed kisses to the inside of your knee, pressed up against you in every sense of the word. It felt like he was turning you inside out and you could help but take Eddie a little deeper too, gagging a little as you let him slip down your throat. 

Both boys were messy about it, gasping and swearing, calling you the sweetest names, moaning out something dirty and every touch of them had you warm, begging for more. Your cheek was pressed to Eddie’s thigh as you sucked on his tip, panting hard about him as Steve picked up the pace and made your toes curl. 

It was all consuming, having both of your boys like this. Steve alone would’ve been enough to make you cry, a white hot crackle of emotion mixed in with the best kind of pleasure; rough hands, sweet lips, soft words, but Eddie’s fingers around your throat made everything worse, made everything better and when he looked down at you, he stuttered, lifted his hips almost too much and sighed. 

“Oh sweetheart,” he whispered, wiping away a tear that rolled down your cheek, catching it before it disappeared into your hair. “You good, yeah? Doin’ so well for us, that pretty mouth feels so good.”

And as if he wasn’t happy with all of your attention on Eddie, Steve dropped a hand to your clit, thumb brushing over it lazily as he slowed down, made you cry for him instead and Eddie’s dick slipped messily from your mouth as you chanted Steve’s name. 

He set a punishing pace, slow and hot, a steady rhythm that had you seeing the entire solar system, his thumb barely pressing down on you in sloppy circles, dangling what you wanted just out of reach. 

You whimpered, legs flexing against Steve’s chest and he grinned, sucked a kiss to your calf and let your legs fall back to his hips. He leaned over you, lifted his chin at Eddie so the other boy could cross the rest of the distance over your naked frame and give his friend some love too. 

You watched them kiss above you, an awfully sweet exchange considering where their dicks were but it made you clench around Steve and it was sinful the way you saw him smile against Eddie’s mouth at the feel of you.  

Unholy, you thought again, the two of them, the way they made you feel. 

Unholy. 

It was downright filthy, watching their tongues slip in and out of each other’s mouths, your head pressed back into Eddie’s thigh and he petted at your hair, as if to tell you they hadn't forgotten about you. Steve’s fingers on your cunt was nothing more than a tease now, a soft touch that kept you on edge. 

You whined, made soft noises of protest as your hand tried to bat Steve’s out of the way, tried to rub hard and fast circles over yourself the way you liked it but your impatience was enough to garner the attention back to you. 

Both boys were back on you, a little meaner than before, hands rougher as Eddie caught both of yours in one of his, pinning them over his lap and laughing at your pout. 

Steve leaned down to you instead, grinning at Eddie before he kissed you sweet too, nipped at your bottom lip and nosed at your cheek. 

“S’wrong?” He asked, voice impossibly soft. He was honey and caramel, sticky sweet, a hint of something dangerous and all flirt. “Huh, baby? Feeling left out?”

You nodded and whined, tried to arch your back and lift your hips, pulled at your wrists but Eddie had you captured. He tutted, grinned dirty at you and wanted to burst. 

“Yes, yeah, shit, please,” you cried, pouting at both your boys. “Steve, Eddie, I-”

“What?” Steve interrupted, “what d’you want?”

“A kiss,” you whispered, “another kiss.”

Eddie made a little sound of amusement from above you both, stroked a thumb softly over the inside of your wrist. “Ain’t she sweet?” He cooed, and if it had been in any other situation, you would’ve rolled your eyes and slapped at his arm for his cheek but you could only moan at him. 

“Yeah?” Steve pouted, trying hard not to smile, “Is that all? Pretty baby, d’you want a kiss from Eds?”

You were frantic in agreeing, sighing sweet, straining against the hold both boys had on you and Steve was fucking throbbing inside of you, moving minutely, a slow, soft rock of his hips every now and then. 

Eddie let you go only to slide out from underneath you, your head falling softly to the couch cushions as Steve settled back onto his heels and spread your legs wider, pushing himself into the cradle of your thighs. 

“Go on, give our girl a kiss.”

It’s like they planned it, like they knew you inside out. 

Eddie grinned, smiled a little wild and roguish and it was so pretty, the way he looked at you. He settled onto his knees like Steve, bent by your head as he crowded over you and slanted his mouth to yours. 

The second your lips parted under his, Steve squeezed at your thighs and started fucking his hips into you, groaning at the way you keened prettily into Eddie’s kiss. The boy swallowed your sounds, licked into you dirty, his tongue a hot, soft slide over your own and the feeling of his top lip pressed to your bottom was maddening.  

It made you dizzy, the way both boys filled you up, the way they both seemed to know what you wanted, what you needed, how you liked it. Eddie’s hands came to cradle your face, tilted your jaw so he could kiss you deeper and eventually, it was nothing more than your open mouths pressed together as you cried out both their names. 

Steve was making sounds that you’d think about for a while to come, soft grunts and dirty whispers under his breath as he pushed you and himself closer to the edge. And Eddie was cooing, pressing the smallest of kisses to your lips in between filthy words.

“You gonna come, princess? Gonna come around Steve’s big cock? You are, aren’t you? I bet he can feel it, huh, Harrington? Is her pretty little cunt gettin’ tight for you?”

Steve let out a strangled gasp, a hand falling to hold at your side, fingers splayed across your ribs, thumb pushed to the soft of your stomach and his hips pistoned in and out of you. You felt yourself get impossibly wetter, a warm and then cold touch against your clit and despite Eddie’s curls blocking your view, you knew Steve had let a line of spit drip from his tongue onto your cunt, used his fingers to rub it into you. 

“M’gonna come, m’comingcomingcoming-” you were surprised the boys knew what you were saying, your words a sticky babble that got caught in your throat as you sucked in air and squeezed around Steve, hands flying to Eddie’s hair to tug at it. 

“Oh fucking hell, there you go, there you go,” Eddie was groaning, kissing every part of you he could reach while you pulled at his curls, tried to keep him close. 

“Christ, shit, good girl, baby, good fuckin’ girl,” Steve panted, fucking you through the way your back arched and your ass lifted off the couch. He grabbed your hips, pulled you into him until your were splayed across his thighs and fuck, shit, he lost all semblance of control. 

“Takin’ me so good, baby, so good, so good, shit,” he gasped out, hair falling into his face, nails leaving half moons on your skin and you cried out for him the whole time, his name leaving your lips in a messy whisper. “M’close, gonna come, let me come inside you, huh? Can I? Please baby, pleasepleaseplease-”

You nodded and thanked god for birth control, unable to say no to the way your best friend was begging to fill you up. You felt his hips stutter and still, the thick weight of his cock twitching inside of you as he let go and you knew then that this wasn’t the last time you let this happen.  

It was like you weighed nothing, the way Steve scooped you up. Your skin was as slick as his and felt boneless, messy and fizzing with aftershocks as Steve gathered you back into his arms and fell back into the couch with you. 

Your legs were spread over the outside of his, straddling him as the messy slick of you and him slid against his thigh and you whined at the sensation. Your arms were around his neck, forehead pressed to his mouth as he panted against you, lay kisses along your hairline and whispered to you how good you were. His cock softened against you and you tried to catch your breath, heartbeat quickening once more as you saw Eddie move to stand between Steve’s spread legs.

Steve kissed you soft and sweet, caught your face between both hands and smiled at you until your blurry gaze focused on him. Warm, brown eyes, freckles over his nose, a mess of hair and a pretty blush coloured bruise on his neck that you barely remembered giving him. 

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he murmured, “you with us?”

You were sluggish in the way you nodded, pushing your lips to Steve’s an unbelievably greedy need for him still and your voice was hoarse when you answered.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you whispered, “so good, Stevie.”

Steve knew what you meant, what you were saying, how you were talking about him. ‘Cause he felt the same, had the same rapid heartbeat that fluttered under your own but he could only nod and smooth his hands down your sides, pulling you into him so your back arched real pretty.

“Gonna let Eddie feel you too, hmm?” Another kiss, four hands on you, squeezing at your ass, pressing nicely at the small of your back. “He’s been so patient, hasn’t he?”

You squirmed, let Steve help you onto your knees as he held you over him, your hands curling around his shoulders for support. Eddie gripped your waist, swiped his fingers through your folds and hissed, pumping his cock in his fist a few times, painfully hard from the time you’d spent taking it down your throat. 

“You ready, princess?”

Eddie looked at Steve when you made a whine, a whimper, watching as the other boy’s gaze took in your hooded eyes and slack jaw. Steve grinned, looked back at Eddie over your shoulder and nodded.

“Yeah, she’s ready, Eds.”

The boy gasped out as he sunk himself into you, cock already throbbing at how you gripped him, hot and wet and tight from how hard Steve had made you come. He was intent on doing the same, hands bracketing your hips, one clasped over Steve’s as both your boys held you.

Eddie set a fast pace, hips rutting into you as you pushed back, bouncing on his cock as Steve murmured dirty words of praise from underneath you. His head was thrown back onto the sofa, eyes hooded as he watched you and Eddie through his lashes, feeling greedy as he brought you down to him with one hand on your jaw, kissing the moans from your mouth as Eddie sped up.

“So good for us,” Steve murmured, kissing a line across your jaw. He cooed at your whine, hooked your hair behind your ear and grinned something filthy when Eddie landed a sharp smack against your ass. “Like that? Yeah? Fuck, she liked that Eddie.”

The other boy swore, hips stuttering as he tried to control the urge to come already, gasping at the way your cunt fluttered around him with every thrust, every tap at your ass. He wanted it pink, rosy, matching the way Steve had marked up your neck, evidence of them on you everywhere. 

“You feel fuckin’ amazing,” Eddie groaned and Steve watched the way his brow crumpled, a lovely, pretty glow to his cheeks as his mouth fell open in a silent grunt. It was all too familiar. “Christ, m’already so close, fuckfuckfuck-”

Steve laughed a little mean, eyes glittering at the other boy as you keened, pushed your face into Steve’s neck to bite down and suck at the skin there. He petted at you, fingertips creating trails of goosebumps across your spine and he squeezed encouragingly at your thighs, helping Eddie keep you up, ass popped out real pretty for them.

“You hear that, sweetheart?” Steve said hotly against your ear, eyes still trained on his friend. “You’re makin’ poor Eddie lose it, he was talkin’ such a big game before, wasn’t he?”

Eddie swore, kept fucking you, glaring at Steve with as much heat as he could despite the way his cock twitched and jumped inside of you at the other boys taunting words. 

“Pussy’s too good, huh, hot shot?” Steve raised his brows, smirked at Eddie and wasn’t all surprised when he bent over you, made you groan into Steve as he sandwiched you between them.

Steve was ready, hooked his fingers into the chain that was glinting prettily around Eddie’s neck and he gave it a little tug. “You wanna come again for us, gorgeous?”

You lifted your head, eyes glazed over, lips swollen from all the attention and Steve swore up and down he’d never seen a prettier sight. You let your forehead fall against his, brought a hand back to your shoulder to tangle your fingers in Eddie’s curls and hold him there. 

“Fuck, yeah,” you gasped, “already close, Eds, can feel you everywhere, shit, keep going.”

It was enough to send him over the edge, a sinful groan coming from deep in his chest as Eddie let you and Steve hold him to you both, chest to your back as Steve’s handsome features went slack with awe as he watched you both.

He let go of your hip to reach under you, hand blindly brushing over Eddie’s wet cock as it slid in and out of you, making the other boy hiss. He hummed an apology, found your clit, sticky and swollen between your folds and made you jolt as he pressed down on it.

“Steve, fuck, sensitive,” you cried out, eyes fluttering as Eddie heaved out another wrecked gasp. You were close, he could feel it, your cunt squeezing at him and he fell forward, head to your shoulder as Steve fed him his fingers, silver chain still tangled between.

“That’s it,” Steve praised, eyes on both of you, “look at you, so pretty together, look so fuckin’ good, Jesus. Want you both to come, yeah? Gonna let Eddie come in you, baby? Let him fill you up too?”

That was it. The rubber band snapped, a hot, sharp rip as pleasure seared through you, Eddie chanting your name as he rutted into you, hips slamming into your ass as he came. Your release came in a soft cry, lashes wet with tears that Steve kissed away and his voice was a lifeline in your ear as you clung to him, falling forward to crush you face to his neck.

You came down with hands stroking at your hair, your back, Eddie hissing as he slipped out of you. It was dizzying, the silence that followed. Not awkward, not uncomfortable, just a static buzz in your head that felt like an electrical current.

Both of your boys were livewires, kissing down any piece of bare skin they could reach, neck, shoulders, arms, back, hips, calves, ankles. You hardly heard Eeddie leave, content to stay on top of Steve, legs aching as you breathed him in, a mix of mint and cologne, smoke from the party, sex and summer and fucking Eddie. 

“You okay?” he whispered, hands cupping your jaw to lift your tired head. Your eyes were closed but you nodded, smiled when his nose nudged yours. “Lemme see your eyes, baby, huh?”

Baby. Even after sex. It made you warm. Made you hope that this - whatever it all was - wasn’t over.   

You did as Steve asked, opened your eyes, lashes fanning over your cheeks as you blinked. He was close, tip of his nose rubbing sweetly over your own, back and forth, back and forth until you couldn’t take it anymore and pushed into his hands until you caught his mouth with yours. A soft kiss, short and lovely, just because after all those years, you felt like you could. 

Eddie returned with a warm washcloth and a pint glass of water, not breaking the bubble you had both created, but slipping back inside it, slumped into Steve’s side as you leaned over to give him a kiss too, just as good as Steve’s. Both boy’s tsked and cooed as Eddie cleaned you up, hand gentle between your legs and between the three of you, you downed the cold water, throats burning from all your noises, lips rosy from kissing.

The heavy silence returned, thick and warm and comforting like a blanket, a lovely soft hold around all three of you as Steve eventually led the way up to his bedroom, all of you holding various discarded clothing in your arms. You let Steve wrestle you into one of his shirts, old and stretched out, the collar hanging loose around one shoulder but Eddie just kissed the bare skin on show as you fell into bed beside him.

Steve slid in on the other side, bare chested and still unbelievably warm, like the sun lived in the spaces between his ribs, a pretty, pretty contrast to Eddie’s smoke and bourbon scent, hands decorated with cold, silver rings as they traversed your sides. 

No one said anything when you pulled both boys into you, Eddie curled around your frame like a backpack, his chest pressed to your spine, curls spilling wild and messy across the pillow you shared, just like him. It let you lay yourself across Steve, cheek pressed to his heart, a grounding thudthudthud under your ear, his hand in your hair and his eyes fluttering closed when you pressed one more kiss to the hill of his collar bone.

 “We’ll talk in the morning?” you dared to whisper into the dark, “about this?”

You didn’t sound scared, or regretful, both boys noticed, just unsure, hesitant, like you were expecting rejection, even with the way they were still glued to your sides. They were all encompassing, their bodies following the lines of your own as they settled into sleep and you. 

You felt Eddie nod, the line of his nose brushing up and down the back of your neck and he squeezed the arm he had around your waist a little tighter. Reassuring. 

“Yeah, princess,” he whispered, voice scratchy, full of sleep and smoke and sex, “we can talk in the mornin’.”

Steve backed up his sentiment with a thumb pressed to your cheek, a soft tap that made you look up at him, neck craned to see the way his eyes shone down at you in the low light. 

“We’re ready to talk whenever you are.”