#crappy bedroom lighting core

[happylandfill23]

art dump !

veronica sawyer (from heathers: the musical)

some tori spring because she's a girlboss and i love her (from heartstopper/solitaire)

:<

here's a digital one -- a noodle drawing i did a bit ago! the speedpaint is on my youtube channel if you wanna watch :) (oh yeah she's from gorillaz btw)

this one's also a bit older too but it was for an art project at school! our assignment was an artist study where we made a slideshow about an artist and recreated one of their pieces, ofc i chose jamie hewlett lmao.. i've always loved this particular piece so i drew it and i'm quite proud of it! once i get it back after the art show i'll probably hang it up in my room or something

some drawings of ace, an oc of mine! ignore the scribbled out signature on the second one i didn't want anyone to figure anything out with my initials lol

not quite sure what this girl's name is but i drew her (ignore the trash lighting ik it's bad)

that's all i have (that's also all tumblr will let me fit lol) so i hope that's enough content to keep you for a while until my next art post in a thousand years!!

[zmediaoutlet]

fic: all we want is more

Been working on this Sam/Deanna fic and figured I'd post the first half. I'm a sex scene and denouement away from finishing but -- hey, it's wincest wednesday and let's get some writing out there.

title: all we want is more pairing: Sam/always-a-girl Deanna rating: explicit length: 16k (chapter 1; full fic will likely be ~35k)

summary: Sam and Deanna have never been good at boundaries.

(read on AO3)

When Sam slams his way back in, muscling through the cheap Kwikset that sits sloppy in the hollow-core and then making sure the screen door bangs satisfyingly behind him, it's a disappointment to find the house empty. He heels the door closed, turns the slack lock. It smells musty inside, the way it always does—this is a particularly skanky rental—but the nose-wrinkling shock after he gets back from school is worse than usual. Dad's gone, of course, but the bathroom's also all shadow and the bedroom's dark and, when he drops his backpack by their pile of clothes and clicks the light on, it's… okay, yeah. He deflates a little. He'd been pissed off all day, even through third period English where he was working on his project with Noelle Cooper, who was in the running for nicest girls he'd ever met, and he'd been short with Mr. Trainor in AP Stats even though he actually loved stats, and he'd gritted his teeth through a crappy lunch and ignored his group in World History, all because he was marshalling his arguments and drawing down battle lines. If this school had a forensics club he'd be the star. All that righteous anger that'd foamed its way up to a thundercloud kind of dissipates, standing in an empty house with nowhere for it to go, and he's just left in the slow turn of the ceiling fan, the bare bulb shining too bright, and as he looks around the bedroom all the piss and vinegar just kinda tastes like the shit it is, because… okay, maybe—maybe—he's not completely in the right, here, and maybe his sister had a point. He chews his lip. He hates it when Deanna's right.

The argument was stupid. They always are. Dad's been gone for three weeks of a planned four, and Deanna actually got a job this time, which wasn't the usual but had become more common as Dad started leaving them alone for longer and longer stretches. At twenty she'd developed an impressive resume of an eleventh grade education, three waitressing gigs, a stint at a garage that ended quickly when she'd had to feed the manager his balls for what he'd said into her ear on her second shift, and as many cash-under-the-table quicky jobs as she could get with a winning smile and her wits. Sam got to hear most of the details because the defense of needing to do homework wasn't enough to stop Dee talking his ear off while she vented a day working some crap job and bitching that she wasn't out doing some real work with Dad—and Sam gets, he isn't actually an idiot, that she's worried about Dad and that she's guilty for staying behind and that she doesn't know what to do with herself when both those things are true. He reads books, he watches movies; he gets more than Deanna thinks. Doesn't stop it from being incredibly annoying when she spills all that bitching over onto him, and then because bitching doesn't do anything she starts nagging, like she's not just his sister but his mom—she's working, can't he clean up after himself; she's cooking, can't he do the dishes; she's the only one earning money around here, can't he help?

The bedroom's really—a disaster. They've each got their twin mattresses, shoved against the walls on either side of the room, and it's not like Deanna's side is pristine but Sam's is… he's not sure he noticed it was getting that bad. When was the last time they did laundry? In the kitchen he looks to see if there's still Kool-Aid in the pitcher, and there is, but all the cups are dirty, jumbled in with the mugs in the sink, and—when Dad's here they take turns, regimented, no matter if Deanna's got work or if Sam's got homework—even Dad takes his turn, and Sam can say a lot about his dad but shirking duty's not one Sam can really lay on him—or at least, not this kind of duty, and thinking about it that way's got a weird curdling kind of acid lacing its way through Sam's gut, because—he's mad, but. He's not an asshole. He's—almost certain he's not an asshole. Right?

Four o'clock on a Friday. He has homework. He has all those arguments he put together. Most of them boiling down, if he plays them back, to how life isn't fair. He hugs the cold pitcher against his stomach, looking at the full sink. When he goes to put it back there's a takeout box on the top shelf he didn't notice that says, scrawled in dark pen that bites into the styrofoam, EAT ME. New since that morning. He cracks the lid and finds: club sandwich, pale steak fries, wilty greyish broccoli. The kind of thing Dee would never order. He takes a deep breath and closes the fridge. Okay. Okay.

The rental is from some old lady. Sam didn't meet her but watched Dad talk to her through the windshield while whatever deal got done. Lemon-faced broad, is what Deanna called her, leaning in confidence over the back of the bench seat while Sam tried to pretend he was reading, but the house she was letting them rent for cash was more-or-less furnished, a couch and a TV and plates and a weird carpeted cover on the toilet lid, and in the closet by the kitchen there's stuff people could use to clean. Not that it's been used, much. Sam's never had a lot of opportunity in his life to practice this stuff—the only good thing about motels is that someone else is paid to clean them—but, hey. He reads, he's watched movies. Mrs. Doubtfire had that whole vacuuming scene. It can't be that hard.

*

By nine o'clock Sam's exhausted. The kitchen alone took an hour. The vacuum bag burst, and that's when Sam learned that vacuums took bags, and that's also when Sam learned how to replace one, and got completely covered in a silty fine dust that he thinks might still be in his lungs when he's fifty. He took a break to eat the sandwich and fries and broccoli, all cold and needing salt but if this house has one thing, it's salt, and he was ravenous like he usually only is after a long afternoon of training with Dad clapping his hands, making them go faster and faster. Bathroom was freaking gross, and the trashcan stunk bad from what he realized only too late was tampons in little mummy-wraps of TP, and then he kind of gagged but—blood's blood, right, and it's not like he hasn't seen his share. Tired or not, though—that was the whole point, wasn't it, so: the bedroom, smelling like weeks of undone laundry, and he opens the window on the back wall and—gets to work.

The second good thing about this house: it's only two narrow streets inside the cramped neighborhood, so it's a five-minute walk to the laundromat out on the main road, in the middle of the strip mall between a nail salon and a donut shop. 24-hours with an attendant who barely looks up when Sam comes in dragging two army duffles full of everything he could stuff into the bags, and a machine that spits out quarters in exchange for the crumpled bills in his pocket, and no one else in here, because it's a Friday night, and who's sad enough to be doing the laundry on a Friday night?

He takes over the folding tables in the middle of the silent machines and gets to work. This he has done, because Deanna's given him the rundown: separate whites from colors, jeans & jackets from soft stuff that might get torn, check pockets for money & tissues & bullets. He starts the sheets first, glad at least that Deanna's not doing this—he doesn't need any commentary about crusty cotton, thanks very much—and then it's unzipping both bags, making three horrible piles. Blood on the sleeve of Deanna's blue canvas jacket. Sam's favorite jeans with mud ground into the knees from the fight he got into at school, the other day, which he still hasn’t told Dee about, because he hates the expression she gets when someone's commented on the hot chick who picks him up after school sometimes and wants to know how much she charges. Not the first time, anyway; probably not the last.

He finishes with his own duffle and turns to Deanna's, upending it completely. T-shirts, camisoles, underwear of all kinds. Bras, that he untangles and attaches the hook & eyes, like she showed him, so they won't catch on everything else. Rolled up jeans, and the wad of flannel shirts he'd scooped up from the dirty pile and shoved in, and then, rolling out of a plastic bag like the one Sam uses for his dirty shorts, a plastic clamshell-style box, and when he picks it up he takes a second, tired and staring, before he realizes what he's looking at, and then he drops it with a huge clatter onto the linoleum, loud enough to be heard over the rattling washer, making the attendant glance up over her book, uninterested. "Sorry," Sam says, and she returns to the paperback, and Sam stares at the thing by his feet. Lurid pink against the speckled yellow-grey floor. Absolutely zero way to mistake it for anything but—what it is.

The bell on the door jingles—some lady, backing in with a huge basket in her arms—and Sam stoops quickly and picks up the box and throws it into Dee's duffle. His face is so hot his cheeks are prickling. He wipes his hand over his mouth—is briefly revolted, because he—he touched it, and now he's touching—but the new customer's noticed him, and she smiles briefly in that way people do when they're in the same space and never plan to speak, and he's got to be normal, because this is—normal. He's doing laundry. He shoves loads two and three into their washers and drags the bags off the table so the new lady can do her own sorting, and he decamps to the chairs on the far side of the room from the attendant booth, more or less hidden, where he can see the TV in the corner playing a silent version of The Mask, and he points his face at the TV and watches Jim Carrey make goofy faces and he's being very very calm and casual because he's just a person, doing his laundry, and he's watching a movie that's pretty funny, and he's not thinking about his sister's dildo, tucked into the bag between his feet. At all. Just watch him.

*

Past midnight, when he's walking home. Slight cool breeze that feels good. He keeps flushing, on and off. Over the waiting for the wash cycle and then switching everything over to the dryers and then the hour plus of waiting for that he'd gone through various stages. Gross-out obviously first. But—he did know that Deanna went out with guys, and he'd seen her with guys even, although never—never all the way. But when that dude who'd run the desk at the last motel had had her backed up against the counter with his hand on her ass and his mouth tucked up close under her ear when Sam came in to get a soda from the machine—when Deanna had seen Sam walk in and grabbed the guy's shoulders, warning, and then when a beat passed and she relaxed and was squirming and laughing lightly and saying, hey, Sammy, get me a Crush, would you? I'll get back to the room in a minute—it's not like Sam didn't know what was going on. He reads. He's seen movies. He's seen those kind of movies, too. He's lived with his sister his entire life and he had sex ed at like five different schools now. He jerks off. He does get it. He just didn't expect—it was always kind of—academic. Theory versus practice. But now—

The Impala's parked in front of the house when he turns the corner to their street. Shit. He fumbles for his keys in the porch-light but it turns out not to matter: the door flings open, and Deanna says, "Oh my god, Sammy!"

Sam hefts the bag he'd dropped over his shoulder. "It's Sam," he says, as calmly as he can, and walks in through the clean living room back toward their bedroom with every no-big-deal bone in his body.

It smells better in here, at least. He dumps the bags onto the clean and empty carpet between the mattresses and slings the sack with their sheets on top. Eruption of Fresh Breeze as he drags out the wad of cotton, still warm. Two top sheets, two pillowcases, two of the thin filler blankets they stole from motels a five years and who knows how many miles ago, and he's splitting them between the two halves of the room when there's an ostentatious throat-clearing behind him, and he bites his lip hard, and turns around with the blankets still in his arms, and Deanna's leaning in the doorway, giving him a look like he's some alien species she's never seen before.

"So," she says.

Sam shrugs. "So?"

She raises her eyebrows, looking exaggeratedly around the bedroom. He hasn't seen her since this morning, since he slammed the door the first time, and she looks—like she always does, pretty much. Messy ponytail, a lot of eyeliner, purple plaid shirt tied up under her boobs because she says it gets better tips at the bar, and if anyone would know it's her. She's holding a beer, dangling lazy against her thigh, and she taps a nail against the glass one-two-three times before she meets Sam's eyes again, squinting a little. "Did you get replaced by a pod-person?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "No."

"Shapeshifter? Some kind of, I don't know, djinn wish freak where the dishes get done but I'm gonna get all my blood sucked out before Monday?"

Sam drops her green blanket on her bed, flush crawling from his throat to his ears. "No."

"Okay, cool," Deanna says, and then when Sam looks up at her she's smiling, crooked, in that way where she's kind of sweet and kind of sorry and kind of making fun of him, all at once. That smile where she's just—his sister, annoying and comforting in equal measure. "You ate, right?" He nods, thinking: eat me. Deanna's smile angles, making a dimple peek into one cheek, and she tips her head. "Bet you could eat again, huh?"

Sam's stomach twinges. Dee and Dad say he's going through a growth spurt; the only way he notices is that he's starving, half the time. "I guess," he says, shrugging.

Deanna rolls her eyes but she's not mad. "He guesses," she says, and comes forward, and grabs Sam's wrist while he's trying to shake out a pillowcase, warm, tugging. "C'mon, short stuff. Walt sent me home with the manager meal. Might as well make sure it goes to a good cause."

In short order he's pushed down at the kitchen table, another styrofoam box in front of him. Burger, more fries. He takes the burger—he is hungry—but swivels the box her way, and she sits across from him, eating fries one at a time, the corners of her mouth tipped soft. Easier than he's seen her since Dad left. The burger's cold but it's not the first time he's had a cold burger; he wolfs it down, avoiding her eyes, and she finishes her beer and then gets up and brings back two, uncapped, pushing the other right in front of him.

He wipes the back of his mouth with his wrist. "Dee," he says, careful.

"You earned it," she says, and holds out her bottle, neck first. Not like he gets to drink with them much but he knows this part—he clinks the necks together, clumsy, and drinks at the same time as her. Bitter and kind of gross as always, but she smiles at him again when she lowers her bottle. "Hell. Who even knew the carpet was that color?"

The argument's completely dissolved. Maybe she won; Sam doesn't care at this point. "I'm not sure old lady Franken remembers it's this color," he says, and Deanna sniggers, and takes another sip of her beer, and then leans over the table and tucks her hand into his hair and kisses him on the forehead, so abrupt that Sam just freezes and lets it happen, even if he's been too old for her to do that kind of thing since—well, since—forever. The amulet he gave her swings forward between them, gleaming.

Dee tugs his hair, just slightly, at the nape of his neck. "Thanks, Sammy," she says, quiet, and it's the apology they won't say out loud, soft between them. She touches his jaw, quick, and straightens up, and says, "Bar was extra greasy today, somehow. I'm taking a shower. Don't drink the rest of the beer without me, huh?"

"As if," Sam says, and she ruffles his hair back—this time he does duck out of the way, scoffing—and then she disappears into the bathroom, and he's left with the last few bites of burger and this warm feeling all through him, from his belly all the way up to the flush in his cheeks, because—Deanna's annoying, frustrating, too demanding and too invasive and too much, all the time, but—ever since he can remember, this is how it's been. When she's happy, and when she's proud of him, and there's this answer in his chest. Like it's a Michigan winter and he's freezing to death, but then he gets into the Impala and the heater's on full and he holds his hands up to the vents and there's that prickling, tingling thaw that means—home safe.

He makes the beds, as much as possible. Cases on each of their pillows, thin blankets smoothed somewhat into place. They're lucky it's April, and luckier that they're in Louisville and not Bismarck; mostly it's Sam who's lucky, because he doesn't exactly mind camping in the cold but Deanna bitches absolutely nonstop, out loud if they're alone and under her breath if Dad's nearby or, somehow, Sam's convinced, using some kind of psychic brain powers when Dad's right there with them so that even if she's not saying anything out loud Sam can hear every single thought she's having about cold toes or fingers or freezing my frickin' tits off. How would that even work, Sam has said, and she's just huddled closer to the fire and flat-out pouted. It's sort of cute. In a deeply annoying way.

He's unpacking their duffle bags when the shower turns off. He thought she'd be slower. The tile in here's even kinda white now! comes echoing through the mostly-closed door and around the corner into the bedroom, and she sounds genuinely delighted. Sam bites his lip, setting his stack of jeans next to the pile of his folded shirts. He's worked his way around to her side of the room and is making more stacks—her jeans and cut-off shorts, her jackets, the more complicated pile of her tops—when she leans into the bedroom, and he looks up to find her—towel wrapped around under her armpits, legs bare and gleaming, wet hair clipped behind her head, amulet cord shiny-black around her neck. "Dude, you aren't careful, I'm gonna get used to this," she says, crooked smile firmly in place. "It's gonna turn into the adventures of rockin' Deanna Winchester and her butler baby bro."

"Fat chance," Sam says, which does come out a little thin when he's laying out her clean bras on the freshly vacuumed carpet. She raises her eyebrows, looking between the clothes piles and his face, grin getting bigger, and Sam shrugs. "It stunk in here, okay? I do have a nose that works."

"Well, we know who the culprit was there," she says, and disappears for a second—back, before he's finished pairing her boot-socks—and hands him his discarded beer from the kitchen, and crouches down next to him, smiling soft at the clean clothes. "So, full-service Sammy—" ignoring Sam's scoff— "Are there any clean pjs in here, or do I gotta sleep in my altogether?"

"Ew," Sam says, firmly, and Deanna wrinkles her nose at him, making fun. He hands the beer back, ignoring in his turn how she promptly steals a swallow, and unzips her bag further. Not like she's got a fancy matched set like people in movies; she mostly sleeps in Sam's old D.A.R.E. shirt he got in middle school that would've fit a linebacker better than an eleven year-old, and a pair of Dad's old boxer briefs, which Sam finds honestly weird but Dee claims they're the softest things ever and, well, Sam has now folded them, and they're… pretty soft. But still. They're past the pile of her folded underwear, which he hands out to her, and under the—oh. Right.

He doesn't look up when he pulls out the plastic bag with the dildo. "Here," he says, holding the clothes over to his left where she's crouched. She doesn't move and he waggles them. "C'mon. I don't need to see any more naked sister than I have already."

To his credit, he manages to sound like he mostly has his crap together. Dee pulls the pjs out of his hand, slowly. He wraps the plastic bag more securely around the clamshell box and tucks it into a space between her boots and her jeans, and with that her duffle's pretty much empty, other than the little zip-bag with her tampons and pads and condoms. Like Dad taught them, he rolls the duffle up into a tight burrito that can get tucked neatly in with everything else, and with that he's done. House is clean.

"Okay," Deanna mutters. "Awkward."

Sam's mostly been able to ignore how hot his cheeks feel. He shrugs, standing up, and Deanna stays hunched there on the ground, her arms folded over her chest holding onto her pajamas and holding the towel in place, grimacing. "Not like it's nothing I haven't seen," Sam says.

Deanna frowns at him. "You're fifteen."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Sixteen," he says. "In, like. Three weeks. Come on, I know what a dildo is. Didn't you call that last werewolf one? He got super mad, too."

Furious, actually, enough to charge like an idiot out of cover at the pretty girl mocking him, bait dancing out in the open, which meant that Dad, waiting with Sam behind the cover of the trees, could shoot him in the heart. The blood spatter hit Dee's face and she spat it out right onto the corpse, and called him something else Sam couldn't hear.

"That was pretty funny," Deanna says, now. Her ears are pink. "Still. Didn't mean for you to, um. You know."

"Maybe now you won't ask me to do laundry," Sam says, and makes his tone all sweet and hopeful like a little kid.

Deanna makes a really strange face, hesitating, and Sam can't hold onto it before he starts sniggering. She stands up, finally, rolling her eyes. "Dork," she says. Blushing, still, which is pretty rare for his sister, but at least she's not freaking out. "Fine. Grown-up Sammy, knows all about dildos. Guess that means I don't need to give you the advanced sex talk, huh?"

"Can't be any worse than the last one you gave me," Sam says, which on second thought might be the last time he was this embarrassed, and she snorts, her eyes drifting down, away. Still pink. All scrubbed clean like this she looks different—no eyeliner, her skin shining soft. Freckles all over her cheekbones and nose and her curved-in shoulders. A loop of hair's curling at her neck and Sam reaches out, tugs it—not hard, but enough that she blinks, looks up at him. "No big deal. Swear."

She looks up into his eyes. Her lower lip sucks in and drags out slow through her teeth, shining wet. Something warm curls in Sam's gut and swoops high up into his chest and then plummets straight down. He catches his breath. "No biggie," Deanna says, while Sam's still trying to reorient himself, and she gives him a one-sided smile. She turns back toward the bathroom, says over her shoulder, "Hey, I think they're playing Evil Dead on the movie channel tonight. You make the popcorn and I'll braid your hair."

"Ha," Sam says, watching her bare leg disappear around the corner, and he holds his knuckles to his cheek, feels how hot it is. The bag sits on the floor, inert. He stares at it, thinking—stuff he shouldn't be thinking—and then reaches up and yanks the chain so the bare bulb winks out. He's left in the dark, the fan turning slowly overhead.

*

They sleep in on Saturdays. Meaning, mostly, Deanna sleeps in on Saturdays, because as far as Sam can tell, given the opportunity, she goes into a coma. In the quiet of the house Sam does most of his homework. Sophomores at this school do geometry for some reason and it's kiddie stuff but it means he can blast through the assigned problems for Monday and Tuesday and the extra credit, too, before he gets through his first cup of coffee; world history is going over the creation and spread of Christianity, and he has to fill out a worksheet on important dates and leaders in the Roman Empire at the turn from BC to AD; in health they're studying the reproductive system, and again this is stuff he pretty much already knows, but it's at least kinda interesting to see how the egg cell is about the size of the period at the end of the sentence. He's put his fingernail there, comparing, when Deanna wanders out of the bedroom, yawning. 10:30, according to Sam's watch. Not even close to her record.

"Hey, short stuff," she says, blurry. Makes a happy noise when she finds the coffee made. Sam's filling out another worksheet—the bilateral conduits between ovary and uterus are called fallopian tubes, he writes carefully—when she wraps an arm loosely around his neck, a kiss mushed against his hair. A boob squishes against his shoulder. "Hm. Nerd o'clock?"

Sam goes tch, barely paying attention. He's nearly done with this page, and then it's just the chapters they've got to read for English.

"Ooh, sexy," Dee says. She taps her nail on the cross-section of the female body in the textbook, on the breast diagram with its layers of nipple and fat and milk ducts neatly labeled. "No shame, but c'mon, porn at the table? Rude, Sammy."

"Dude," Sam says, lifting his head, and she snickers and lets him go, slumping into the chair across the table. Her bun's all messed up from sleep, crust still at the corners of her eyes. Holding the weird chipped mug that says KENSUCKY in both hands under her chin, apparently trying to inhale caffeine through the steam. Kinda gross but all soft and relaxed. Not a bad way to start a Saturday. "You got a shift today?"

She groans, takes a slurpy sip from the mug. Wrinkles her nose. "Blah," she says, sticking out her tongue. Sam rolls his eyes. If she refuses to put milk in that's her own problem. "Four to close, same as yesterday." Sam checks his watch again and she raises her eyebrows. "That work for your schedule, boss?"

"I have to meet Noelle at the library at two."

Deanna actually focuses, finally. "Noelle?"

"From English," Sam says. At the continued blank look he sighs. "She's my partner for the Shakespeare project. I told you about that."

"Oh, right," Deanna says, dragging it out. Her mouth curves, in that way that broadcasts to space that Sam's about to be made fun of. "No-elle."

Sam waves his hand. "Okay, get it out."

"No, no," Deanna says, grinning. "I think it's great that the two of you are so focused on your education." Like a dirty word. She slurps at her coffee again, annoyingly loud while making big eyes at Sam over the rim, and splutter-snorts at whatever expression Sam makes. "Relax, dweebus. I'll give you a ride over there. Walt's been on my ass about being late, though, so if the hot Shakespearean action keeps going past like 3:30 you gotta find your own way home."

"Thank you, Deanna," Sam says, perfectly polite, and she mouths it back at him purely to be annoying.

Quiet then, though. She drinks her coffee; he fills out his worksheet. She eats a bowl of cereal and watches whatever's coming through on the rabbit-ears—Seinfeld rerun, sounds like—and Sam reads another fifty pages of The Age of Innocence, and he's bored to death but they're going to have essay questions on it next week, so. She gets up to wash dishes—not such an imposition now that it's just two mugs and two cereal bowls—and touches Sam's shoulder as she goes, just—checking in, basically, clearly not even thinking about it on her way to the sink, but it's a soft little warm thing that goes through Sam's t-shirt and through his skin down into his chest, because Dee just—she really has been pissed off, this last week, and he didn't realize until last night how much she doesn't touch him, when she's mad. He didn't know how much he missed it.

Dee goes out to mess around with the Impala, doing… whatever it is she does when she's got time to kill and an engine under her hands, and Sam ends up finishing the book for English. The writing isn't his favorite but he got caught up in the plot. It's… depressing, to say the least. All these people, doing what they're expected to, and all of them worse off for it.

He vents this to Deanna, sitting on the toilet while she's doing her make-up for work. Newland's a coward and Ellen got cold feet and May's boring and why didn't any of them just—do what they wanted?

Deanna finishes her eyeliner, leaning back to look at the effect. "But didn't New-guy knock up May?" She catches his eye in the mirror; he shrugs, already seeing the point she's going to make but still annoyed at the fictional idiots. "I don't know. I mean, it sucks, but—you gotta do what you gotta do. It was like medieval times or whatever, right, so it's not like anyone was being smart about babies."

"It wasn't medieval times," Sam says, and Deanna shrugs, in her turn. She ties up her hair, like she usually does on civilian days: ponytail, bangs falling around her face that she tucks behind her ears. He watches her swipe on a layer of lip gloss, feeling mulish. "Seriously. All he had to do was—go talk to Ellen, sack up."

That gets him raised eyebrows in the mirror. Like Dee isn't gross or cussing or whatever, all the time. She smacks her lips, makes an O of them, staring down her reflection. "Sounds to me like he sacked up, but it was for the kid, not some random broad," she says, but like she's barely paying attention. "You wouldn't like him any better if he were some deadbeat dad."

She goes all heavy-lidded at herself, makes kissy-face. Model-pretty, his sister. Smart, too—sometimes, Sam thinks. Rarely. Another look, backwards in the mirror, lips parted and her face set like she's in one of those Calvin Klein perfume ads, sexy for no reason. "Good?" she says, breathy.

She's wearing the thin dark green henley unbuttoned as far as it'll go, her amulet resting in the split and the inside curves of her black bra showing on either side of it, and those jeans that sit so low on her hips that there's two inches of creamy-white stomach peeking out, her silver ring heavy on her thumb and those little silver studs in her ears and her face just—her face. All she ever needs. "If you're into that kind of thing," Sam says, dismissive.

All the model-sexy collapses and she snorts, grinning. "You're such a sweetheart," she says, and swivels away from the mirror, smacking her hands against her hips. "So—are we going, or what?"

"Or what," Sam says, outraged, sitting up straight. "I was waiting for you—"

Deanna drops him right in front of the library, a minute to two. "Phone charged?" she says. Sam sighs, gathering his backpack. "Yeah, yeah. I'm going to the Checker, and then I'm gonna swing by the discount mart for some groceries—you want anything? It's gotta sit in the car."

"Just no more peanut butter," Sam says. Pleads, more like. He's eaten his weight Peter Pan this past month.

"Starving kids in Ethiopia or wherever would kill for that peanut butter, you know," Deanna says, but she just swats his hip. "Go on. Miss Noelle ain't gonna wait forever."

Sam sighs, again, but Dee's checking the wing mirror to pull out, not paying attention, and so he piles out onto the sidewalk, swinging his backpack over his shoulder, engaging with the normal world. "Make sure she's really into it before you try for second base, tiger," Deanna says, leaning over the bench seat, and Sam says, "Oh my god, leave already," and slams the door, and Dee grins wide at him with her tongue between her teeth before the engine throttles up and the car leaps away, too fast through the sedate Saturday afternoon parking lot, making too much noise, just too—everything. He watches it go, face hot, and then closes his eyes and tips his chin up, feeling the springy breeze and remembering that—okay, there are people in the world who are not his family, who are totally normal, and one of them is—oh, waving, through the glass doors of the library, and Sam packs everything that is weird and Winchester down and away and waves back, trotting along the sidewalk and up the steps to meet Noelle, who smiles at him broad and then shy, and Sam can do this. Sam's good at this.

*

When she comes to pick Noelle up, Mrs. Cooper offers to give Sam a ride home, too. She has a blue minivan, with a little boy strapped into a carseat on the middle bench, giving Sam a sticky and curious look while Noelle stows her bag. "No, thank you, ma'am," Sam says. Actually-polite, not the voice he used on Dee earlier. "My mom's on her way."

"All right, sugar," Mrs. Cooper says, and Noelle waves from the passenger seat as they move sedately out into the neighborhood. Mrs. Cooper has a faded bumper sticker that says her child is an Honors Student at Jefferson County Middle. Sam tries to imagine the Impala with something like that and snorts out loud, then feels bad for it, even if no one's around to hear, or even know what he's thinking. Mrs. Cooper seems nice. Noelle's nice. It's all just—nice.

He gets to the basically-a-dive where Deanna works at half-past six. Marv's, says the flickery neon sign, though Sam has no idea who Marv is, and it's the kind of place that has windows but they're made of block glass, impossible to see through, and the door has iron security bars over the front. Not somewhere the Coopers visit, probably.

About half-full, when Sam comes through the door. In about a quarter second he takes in: jukebox playing Styx, yuck; cigarette smoke in the air; a couple guys playing darts, laughing loud, already kind of drunk, hopefully won't be a problem. Deanna's behind the bar, leaning on her elbows, talking to two guys, smiling like she's really interested, but she catches Sam's eye for a split second and tips her head toward the back. He goes where he's pointed: the tiny two-seater booth right by the kitchen doors, where he's already spent hours doing homework even if Dee's only had the job three weeks. Marv's is a pit but it's better than being home alone. Sometimes.

He's deep in his fresh-from-the-library copy of Helter Skelter when there's a tickly-shivery drag of fingers at the back of his neck, rucking his hair up, and he jumps. "Great situational awareness, kiddo," Deanna says, while he shudders, and sets a Coke in front of him. She drops down into the other side of the booth, raising her eyebrows. "You and books. Seriously, I think a ghoul could've snacked on your innards just now."

"If a ghoul's in the bar then we've got bigger problems," Sam says, and she huffs. She looks back out over the bar, eyes going from table to table. Like there's actually a ghoul, and not just people drinking the daylight away. "You still working until midnight?"

"Unless a handsome prince comes and steals me away," she says. Her eyes slide sidelong to him. "You got a chariot out there you haven't told me about?"

"Not yet," Sam says.

She smiles at him, and then the door opens again—another two guys, biker-looking, who probably will appreciate flirty service from a pretty girl, and who hopefully will tip well, since that's the whole point of this stupid gig. Deanna bites the tip of her tongue and takes a deep breath, and stands up. "I'll get Carlos to make you something—what, sandwich, burger?"

"Chicken strips?" Sam says, and she nods and says, "Don't disappear into the book, Poindexter," and then she's behind the bar again, smiling warm and wide at the two new guys, and in a gap between songs on the jukebox Sam hears her say, "Hey, fellas," sweet as pie, and they smile back at her like it's a compulsion, because that's what Dee does to guys. It's only Sam, he's pretty sure, who knows the difference between the smile these guys are getting and the one he just got. It's a subtle difference, but—it's different.

He has his dinner, and tucked into the back here he does get to watch the bar, between sections of his book. Deanna's good at this, like she's good at practically everything: engines and crossbows and classic rock and figuring out what Dad wants before he even says it, and sometimes before he thinks it, as far as Sam can tell. Seems like that last skill extends to here. Saturday night and it gets busier, although no one looks to steal Sam's table. Wendy the waitress comes in for her shift, but Sam can see that it's Dee the guys want to talk to, who they wait for, whose attention they drink up, as much as the beer. Sam goes to doctor the jukebox at one point, slotting in his quarters for the Led Zeppelin songs he's heard least if he can't get anything actually from this decade, and when he turns around Deanna's at one of the four-tops in the middle of the room, the yellow-and-blue beer sign neon shining bright on her hair, and she's leaning on the back of one guy's chair while another one's telling some joke, from their faces—Deanna laughs, on cue, bright over the music—and Sam can see, through the tables, how the guy's hand is curled around the inside of her thigh, his thumb sliding up the inseam of her jeans while she leans in, close, and that weird thing swoops through his gut again. Queasy and hot, in what ratio he can't decide.

It's a long night, torn between bored and tense. Walt appears from the back where he does nothing, as far as Sam can tell, and frowns at Sam, but Deanna catches his attention and asks some question about the POS Sam can't hear and Walt's face melts into soppy butter. It's honestly embarrassing. A minute of that and Deanna has to move off to get refills for the biker guys at the bar, and Walt pats her hip when she goes. Her hip, not her ass. It makes a difference, but how much of one Sam doesn't know.

Kitchen closes at eleven; last call at half past; and by midnight there are just a few guys that have to be ushered out. When Wendy closes and locks the front door Deanna bends over and buries her head in her folded arms on the bartop. Sam closes his book—he's nearly done, just from trying his best not to pay attention to the customers, no matter what Dee said—and brings his cup up to the bar himself. "Thanks, sweetie," Wendy says—she's like thirty, Sam wishes she wouldn't talk to him like he's her kid—and then she says, to Dee, "Thought Ty was gonna try to order off-menu by the end, there. Might've gotten you a big tip." Kinda smirky, the way she says it, though Sam doesn't know why.

Deanna levers upright, unfolding like a push-up, and gives Wendy the same kind of smile she was giving the guys, earlier. "Walt's going to need help with inventory," she says. Her mouth tips, fake-sorry. "I was gonna stay, but my kid brother's here, you know, and Walt said I better get him home safe." Wendy's expression goes kind of still, kind of murderous, but Deanna just lifts a shoulder and then says, "Got your bag, Sammy?" and when he nods she says, sweet, "Have a great night, 'kay?"

Outside it's cool but not cold, butts ashed all over the sidewalk. "Bitch," Deanna mutters, while the neon OPEN sign flickers out over the not-really-a-window. Sam's smart enough not to say anything. Dee takes a deep, deep breath, blows it slow with her chin tipped up at the night sky. Not a lot of stars, in the city. Sam rocks back on his heels, thumbs hooked into his backpack straps. Kinda smells like pee out here. There are worse places to wait.

Finally, Deanna: "Okay," she says, and tips her head toward him. "You ate, right?" He nods. "Okay," she says, again, and shrugs both shoulders, like she's dropping a bag she's not carrying. "Let's roll."

Tapedeck comes on super loud—the Stones, which isn't as bad as it could be—but Deanna cranks it down, letting them drive in relative quiet back out to the dumpy neighborhood with their rental. "Your project go okay?" she says, and it's kind of absent but she's also actually asking, so Sam says, "Yeah, we're doing this like—compare and contrast thing, Romeo and Juliet vs Hamlet," and Deanna gives him this sidelong look across the bench seat and says, "Isn't that the one where those teenagers bang and kill each other?" and Sam opens his mouth, not quite sure how to correct everything wrong with that question, before they pass under a streetlight and he sees that Deanna's got one of those teasing dimples tucked up into her cheek. "Pretty much," Sam says, instead, and Dee laughs, softly. "Hot stuff," she says. At a stoplight with no one else around for apparent miles she tugs the tie out her hair, and it falls in a wavy mass over her shoulder, and she makes this little noise like that's a weight come down, too. Sam sucks the inside of his cheek, watching her, not trying to pretend he isn't. Her wrist, loose and soft on top of the steering wheel. He wants to put her in some other life. Like that's an option.

At home—rather, back at the rental house—she tugs her boots off in the bedroom and then, glancing at Sam, tucks them into the line of her neatly-laid out clothes. She peels her henley over her head and tosses it into the corner—a new dirty clothes pile, but at least it's fresh instead of moldering weeks old—and pulls the D.A.R.E. shirt on, and while Sam's sitting on his mattress, pulling off his sneakers, she undoes her belt and shucks her jeans off, right there, so Sam gets a flash of purple underwear before the shirt falls down around her hips and there's just a mile of white thigh. "I want an entire chocolate cake," she says, peeling off one sock at a time. "Like. Triple layer, fudge frosting, those fancy, you know, rosette things. That and a fork."

"Um," Sam says. She drags her hands through her hair, cracking her neck side to side. "I think there are M&Ms you didn't eat in the kitchen?"

Deanna snorts. "That'll work," she says, and then squints at him, one-eyed. "You going to bed?"

Sam shrugs. She looks tired-but-not, loose and on edge. "You staying up?"

"Well, yeah," she says, like it's obvious. Smile spooling out, somewhere between the smile Sam usually gets and the ones those guys at the bar do. "I got these M&Ms to crush, I hear. If there's no cake."

Late night TV always sucks. They end up on the movie channel, like always, and it's—ugh, that terrible Street Fighter movie, but Dee throws down the controller and grins and says, "Perfect," and darts over to the kitchen quick and returns with: yes, the family-size bag of M&Ms, but also two beers, one of which is for Sam, again. He takes it, feeling weird—since when is he included in the list of grown-ups in the family?—but then Dee plops down into her corner of the couch and tucks her toes under Sam's thigh, and tugs the candy bag closer to her telling Sam that if he wanted some, he should've been smart enough to buy his own, and that feels more normal. He leans his elbow on his side of the couch and Deanna slouches into hers, bare legs gleaming in the TV-light. Van Damme is so bad in this movie. "Bite your tongue," Deanna says, wiggling her cold toes under his thigh, and Sam sighs, and drinks his beer, getting slowly used to the taste, and ignores Dee while she wrangles her bra off under his shirt and drapes it over the couch back, smooth black satin gleaming in the TV-light. He sort of watches the movie but mostly he listens to Deanna's commentary, and how Raul Julia is the best, and if they hit the arcade she bets she could beat his ass with Chun Li, and he's kinda warm and kinda nervous and kinda bored and kinda glad, all at once, but even with all that he does fall asleep at some point before the movie's over, because he wakes up when Dee's pulling the empty bottle out of his hand, careful and quiet. The TV's off. He hears her feet pad away, over the carpet, and then she's back, tucking something—his coat—around his shoulders, like a blanket.

He keeps his eyes closed, keeps his breathing soft. He gets to feel her swipe his bangs back, tucking his hair behind his ear, and then there's her fingers on his jaw, and then—a kiss, very soft, against his cheekbone. Her lips are warm. When he falls back asleep he dreams they're in the car, sleeping together in the backseat—the bench magically big enough to hold both of them end to end and side by side, like it hasn't been since Sam was like eight years old—and he's spooned around her, his arm over her waist and his nose in her hair, and her ass round and soft pressed up against him. His hand goes between her legs and feels that hard ridge of denim inseam, prickling painful against his fingers like it's the edge of a saw, or rose thorns, and it hurts but he keeps dragging his fingers up, light gleaming all over the back of the seat electric blue-and-yellow and making it so that when she turns her head, and stares at him, he can see the exact look on her face, but when he jolts awake in the pre-dawn light, breathing hard and sitting up straight and pushing a hand against his aching dick, he can't remember what the expression was.

*

Deanna wakes up when her phone rings. Sam's lying on his back with his arms folded over his face, breathing in and out very evenly, and gets to hear the whole thing. A muffled fuck and then the fabricky scramble through her discarded jeans, and then the phone flipping open, and then: "Dad?"

Who else would it be, Sam thinks.

His hair's wet and sogging out the pillow but he doesn't want to move. It was a very long and very hot shower and he scrubbed clean until his skin and hair squeaked. That didn't make anything go away but at least he couldn't smell beery cigarette smoke on his skin anymore. Not nothing. He turns his head and past the shadow of his arm Deanna's sitting up on her mattress, bare legs tucked beneath her, shoulders curved up around the phone like a girl from a movie whispering to her crush. The morning's coming through the blinds in clear white, striping her thigh, all the way to where Sam's shirt is rucked over her hip and her underwear's showing, alternate lines of dark and vivid purple. Creamy skin above that.

"Yeah, of course," Deanna says, while Sam's closing his eyes very tight. Weird purple bursts against the inside of the lids. Can't escape, apparently. "You need—?"

She's cut off. Little affirmative sounds while she listens. Sam takes another one of those deep breaths but jerking off in the shower apparently wasn't enough from how everything south of his navel seems to be on high alert. He folds his arms over his ribs instead, thinking tactically—he's got the blanket over his waist but if Dee goes to the bathroom he can change from his pajama shorts to his jeans, and maybe go for a walk or something, or read the Manson book to calm down, or—something—and when he looks again Deanna's shifted around, too, her back to the wall, her knees pulled up, shadows between them. Her lower lip sucked between her teeth. "Yeah," she says, soft. "'Kay. Be safe."

The phone's closed against the angle of her jaw, and she holds it there with her knuckles against her lips for a little while, eyes low, playing with her amulet with the other hand. "So?" Sam says, like he's not having an alternate crisis.

Her eyelashes dip, and then she leans forward, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Another week." She shrugs, like what can you do, except when has Deanna ever been casual about Dad gone on a solo job for weeks on end. An answering sourness crawls down Sam's throat to his stomach—that what if that's there whenever Dad's gone, but then again it happens when Dad's here, too. At least it takes care of the other problem, and as soon as Sam realizes there's a weird horrible mix of relief and shame that dumps over his head, like a prank bucket of shitty paint.

Luckily Deanna can't see it: she takes a deep breath and leans forward, her knees spreading out in a butterfly, grinning. "Means we still get to pick what to watch at night, huh?"

"You're joking," Sam says. If she wants to pretend to be casual, Sam can too. "I never get to pick."

"Aww," Deanna coos. "Little brother problems. I think they got a column for that in Highlights for Kids, you should write in."

Sam throws his pillow at her and she catches it, sniggering. More real than the grin before. "All right, whatever," she says, and unfolds from the mattress, stretching tall with the pillow held high overhead—Sam cuts his eyes away, in self-defense—and then hops the six inches down to the carpet, sighing. "Day off. Let's get some work done, huh?"

*

Bar's closed on Sunday. Marv's religious. Go figure. "I was gonna do laundry today," Deanna says, making the coffee, and she sends a sidelong conspiratorial glance over her shoulder, and Sam feels himself flush, collarbones to hairline. Luckily she's focused on grounds and filter and fishing her KENSUCKY mug out of the drainer, so he doesn't get ragged on for it. Deanna would be happier if he did the housework stuff more often; he's not sure he can take the intensity of her gratitude. It's just embarrassing, aside from everything else.

He's sent to get the groceries out of the trunk from Dee's trip yesterday: bread, ramen, condensed tomato soup, rice, strawberry jelly, 24-pack of beer, canned green beans. He holds up a can while she's sipping her coffee, raising his eyebrows, and she shrugs. "You said no peanut butter," she says, and, well. Sam did say that. Breakfast is generic-brand Eggos that she pops into the toaster and that get smeared with jelly, and she leans against the couch eating hers while watching the local news, watching with a professional eye for anything officially weird—nothing; as far as Sam can tell nothing interesting has ever happened in Louisville, ever—and Sam watches her. Her knee turns in, her thigh flexing. Toes painted blue. She sucks jelly off her thumb, eyes heavy on the TV, and Sam—oh, goddamn it. He sits up very straight at the table, tries the trick a kid at the last high school taught him: flexing his thighs, hard and quick, trying to redirect bloodflow. Sometimes he wishes he was born a girl. At least then it wouldn't be so obvious.

"Ugh," Dee says. Sam's eyes fly open but she's just shaking her head at the television, going to commercial. "Seriously, they can't get one cattle mutilation?"

"Super lame," Sam says. Kind of breathy. Deanna doesn't seem to notice. She scratches her thigh, absent, and drains the last of her coffee, and sighs. Tongue swipe along her bottom lip. Jeez-us.

"Guess we don't have a choice," she says, and tips her head at Sam. Pursed lips, apologetic. "You know what that means."

"What does it mean?" Sam says, and she wrinkles her nose, and he does get it, finally. "Aw, no—"

"Aw, yes," Deanna says, and ruffles his hair back on her way to the sink. "C'mon, kiddo, I don't like it any more than you do."

"So we could not, right?" Sam tries.

Obviously not: Deanna shakes her head, rinsing her mug. "Meet at the car in ten, soldier," she says, while he bangs his head against the table. "And if you're not in the bathroom in thirty seconds then I've got dibs."

He gets up, goes. Isn't shy about slamming the bathroom door when he does. In the mirror his hair's all screwed up and he's pink in the face and he's scowling. "Shut up," he says, to his reflection, and hustles.

*

Sam doesn't actually mind PT. He likes running, which is super lame after all the years of bitching about it—and there is absolutely zero chance he'll ever admit to Dad that he does—but there's something kind of satisfying about getting to the end of five miles and feeling that blood-rush through every part of his body, thighs humming and lungs working hard and his head clear.

That Deanna hates it is icing on the cake. "Can't the monsters just run to me," she pants, hands on her knees.

"Don't you wanna be the one doing the chasing instead of being chased?" Sam says, stretching his quads.

Deanna gives him a baleful look through her hair. He grins at her and she gives him the finger.

They're out in the woods, since Deanna drove them way out past the edge of the city. Better for the next part, but also good practice. They spend a lot more time sprinting at midnight between tree-trunks and leaping over rabbit-holes than they do on nice smooth high school tracks. Sweat's sticking Sam's shirt to his back but it's a pretty spring day, new leaves all over the trees and wildflowers coming up, white and yellow and pink.

"Ugh," Dee says, while Sam's feeling relatively at peace with the world. She redoes her ponytail, higher and tighter, although the choppy layers around her face don't quite make it. What passes for her PT gear are cut-off denim shorts, a grey camisole with a bloodstain making it unsuitable for the public (though it's not her own blood, which she insists counts for something), and a bright blue sports bra that she cusses at every time she wrestles herself into it. Better than bouncing, she says, and Sam figures he's got to believe it. She tucks her amulet behind the line of the bra and nods, and then says, "Okay," and levels a look at Sam. "Come at me, punk."

"Wait—" Sam says, backing up a step. "I thought we were shooting. Aren't we shooting?"

"Can do that too," Deanna says. She starts to move to the side, gearing up to circle him, and he rotates to face her, hands up. "But your grapple's kinda sloppy. Gotta keep you ship-shape."

Her eyes are tracking the important points—his hands, his feet, how his torso's turned—all the stuff they've used in wrestling, practically as far back as Sam can remember—but he hasn't often been this alarmed, not like now, all the sunny springtime peace of the run draining out to leave him nearly panicked. "This is dumb," he tries, continuing to back up, letting her pace him backwards.

"This is important," Deanna says, patient, like they haven't had the same argument fifty times. "Anyway, it's for me as much as you. You don't want me to be ship-shape, too?"

"Cute," Sam says, and Deanna smiles at him—really smiles, not one of those mocking sugary ones—and he catches his breath and says, "Dee," not knowing how he's gonna get out of it, and then his back hits a tree, his head clonking back against the bark, and she says, "Gotcha," and darts in.

He blocks the first punch, takes the second to the ribs. "Fuck!" he says, shoving, and she dances back, grinning at him, her boots kicking up the leaf-litter and moving easy over the uneven ground.

"Gotta think fast, little brother," she says, and hops in to aim a shot at his face—he ducks, and slaps her side as hard as he can with an open hand—connects, and she lets out this quick little noise, but that left him open for another punch to the chest, her knuckles right on his breastbone, pushing the breath out of him. He slaps at her again, wild, and she leans back and then dives right back in, making him block at shoulder and waist and jaw, dancing quick, light on her feet even in the clunky boots, making him work for it.

They don't swing as hard as they can but they don't pull back much. Dee's faster, Sam's stronger; Dee's better, but Sam's not bad, and they block each other's hits way more than they actually connect. When they started doing this Sam was nine and Dee was thirteen, and it didn't seem fair at all because she was like a foot taller than him, bigger and older and better at everything, but Dad said that was the point: making Sam catch up, grow up, get strong, and giving Deanna the chance to practice with someone who wouldn't really hurt her, especially then.

With all these years of practice they know each other's tells, even if they're also supposed to practice hiding those. Sam lands another slap on her hip and takes a soft-ish punch to the gut as punishment; she lunges for his leg and he catches her arm and uses her momentum to throw her around, stumbling back through the loam, panting. He could've gotten her there and didn't. They both know it—she frowns at him, chest heaving, and comes around to his left, circling, hands held loose and ready. Coming up on the end—if they're not going to really hurt each other, there's usually just the one end—and Sam knows where the trees are in the clearing now, avoids getting boxed in, waiting.

Deanna charges, aiming for his shoulder. He braces—and then, no, her eyes dart down—he swivels on his right leg, reaches for her forearm when she goes to grab his knee—pulls her in, close, and she cusses even as he yanks her around, stumbling, and shoves her chest-first into the nearest trunk, using his weight and height, her arm twisted behind her back between them, his chest and hips and legs crushed up against hers, stilling her, subduing.

"I win," he says, panting.

"Shit." Burst out, bitten. She strains, flexing and pushing back, but he's got thirty pounds on her and once they're grappled there's no way. Her arm twists in his grip but he keeps her still, fingers tight, making sure she gets it. Her head drops against the bark, a long sigh gusting out, her shoulder slumping soft, and that's when Sam feels past the adrenaline rush the warm-soft length of her body, her vanilla shampoo and the sweat at the back of her neck rising in his head, his hips pressed up against her ass, his stolen-from-school gym shorts thin, making him—

He steps back, hot-faced. God, is he—he glances down but not yet—not yet, and he crouches in the dirt, folding his arms over his knees, still breathing hard. Like that's why.

"Telegraphed that feint," Deanna says. She turns against the trunk, leaning her head back. Sweaty, flush high in her cheeks and ears and down her throat, disappearing into the blue bra. She puts her wrist to her forehead, puffing out a deep breath. "You're getting faster." Not even a compliment, just stating facts. Like she always does when they're really working. He sniffs, shrugging, and she leans forward, putting her hands on her knees again, squinting at him. "If it was a dirty fight I woulda got you, though. Left your nuts wide open."

"Thanks for not hitting me in the nuts," Sam says, dry, and she raises her eyebrows, like, try me.

Breeze swirls into the clearing, cool on the back of his neck, his bare arms. Deanna closes her eyes against it, lips parting in pleasure. Sam's gut wobbles but—he's calmed down, mostly, and he can stand up without embarrassing himself. "So," he says. Like it's no big deal. "Can we go home?"

"I got a case of empty cans in the trunk that need to get full of holes," she says. "You won the fight. So what? I'm gonna kick your ass at target practice." He makes a rude sound and she smiles, loose, and then finally opens her eyes and looks right at him—heavy, warm, like—yesterday in the bathroom mirror but real, this time, her lashes dark with sweat and her skin flushed and her chest rising in a deep breath, and he—he—

"C'mon, pipsqueak," she says, tipping her head back to where they parked the car. "I'll even let you choose, handgun or rifle."

"Thanks a lot," he says, as sarcastic as he can, and she grins and pushes away from the tree and brushes past him, fake elbowing like a dick but really just soft-warm, close, and he follows, forced to think the calmest, plainest thoughts he can, focusing on what's around: running water in the creek, and birdsong, and trees casting dappled shadows across the trail, and not at all the way her hips move, nor the freckled soft skin of her shoulders, nor the way he thinks he could fit his hands around her waist, hold her in place, and she'd turn her head and look up at him over her shoulder and she'd say—he can't imagine. In the image her mouth opens and no words exist.

*

They make it back to the rental house in the late afternoon. Shooting—yes, Deanna cored more cans than Sam, about which she crowed like an idiot—but also swinging by the post office box across town Dad had rented before he left, and stopping for gas, and then using one of those do-it-yourself carwashes, where Sam gets roped into helping, although he doesn't know why when Dee's always popping up behind him to re-do whatever sidepanel he's just finished. Not even trying to be bossy; she's just obsessive, even if she keeps making Miyagi wax-off jokes and waggling her eyebrows like she's funny. Sam determinedly doesn't laugh.

Sweaty and sore and yet kind of glad, all told, when they pile through the door. This is the kind of day Sam's never minded: working, with his family, but safe. Deanna groans, pulling her boots off, and says, "Oh my god, I have like a thousand dibs on first shower," and so Sam's left to sit in the bedroom, stripping off his sneakers and socks and sweaty shorts, sitting in his t-shirt and boxers, listening to her sing very very off-key—Long Black Road already sounds weird an octave higher—and then he sits on his mattress with his arms around his knees and feels all the good ache in his thighs and forearms and the sore spot where the rifle kicked back during shooting practice, and then he blinks and sees that what he's looking at is the plastic bag with its clamshell box, tucked next to where she tossed her boots, and this weird heat corkscrews down from his heart to his balls, quick as dropping a coin down a well, and he—licks his lips, swallows. Listens to the water hissing down.

Deanna comes out in her towel, again—amulet still on, like it always is, although her hair's loose, dripping down her back. "Your turn, stinky," she says, and Sam passes her like it's nothing, says, "Hope you left some hot water," and she says, "Can't rush the finer things, Sammy," and Sam strips and climbs into the tub and puts his head directly under the spray, taking that first rush of luke-cold before it goes hot, drowning. Like it helps. It smells like her in here: vanilla shampoo, peachy soap. He scrubs his hair back from his face and breathes wet under the spray and when he reaches down he's already hard, has been, needing—god. To get his head straight.

Not the first time. Not the last, given his track record. From furtive schoolyard magazine-sharing and pilfered late-night cable and the way they watched Basic Instinct and Dee paused it at that exact second and said, oh yeah, that's the stuff, and laughed fizzingly at Sam while he turned red and she pushed him over on their shared bed and mushed his head under the pillow, smothering him in heat and soft and warm girl-smell, pussy behind his eyes—god, yeah, he's got the mental images, enough to get him there. The shower's hot and deafening and his head goes blank except for that, imagining without context, just—soft boobs and the soft white curve of tummy between the navel and the too-low rise of jeans. The pink wet split, and what he imagines it'd be like to sink two fingers in, or to make like the too-tan guys with too-white teeth who get their heads between spread thighs and make the girls make those sounds—except, no, not exaggerated like that, because even if Sam hasn't done it he knows girls don't scream, that way, because he's got his sister and he's heard her, in her bed that's so often less than a yard from his. He's laid awake in the night listening to the wet rhythmic squishing that hardly rocks the other mattress and heard, too, the puffs of breath through her nose, the way he can tell that her bottom lip's bitten between her teeth, the way she makes that little tiny caught whining noise when she's getting close, the way he'll be hard as a tire iron with his arms folded under the pillow, trying his absolute damnedest to pretend he's asleep, and his eyes wide open in the dark of a motel room lit only by the green numbers on the clock radio to see the way the shape of her legs spread under the shiny polyester comforter and then the way her hips lift under the shiny lump of it and then the sound, a tiny grunt through her nose, the slick pumping squish going still, and then—his favorite part—this long sigh, like she's been holding up a weight and finally gets to let it down, her knees splaying wide-out and flat, the barest tiniest shine of light on her lip as she lets it out of her teeth, the heave of her chest where the blanket's rucked down, the way her head turns, toward him—

When he gets out of the shower she's dressed, kind of. Dad's boxers and a freshly-washed grey camisole. Hair loose and drying wavy over her shoulders, although she swipes it all over to one side, leaning over the stove, peering into their battered single pot. "Hungry?" she says, and then immediately snorts and says, "Dumb question."

"Ha," Sam says. The radio's on, the crappy local rock station that has way too many ads, but they play Metallica and AC/DC sometimes and Deanna says that's enough for her. "What are you making?"

"Oh, Sammy," Deanna says—leaning on the counter, smiling at him sidelong. Not hot, like she is for the guys at the bar, but something else. Sam's gut aches. "That'd spoil the surprise."

"Wouldn't want that," Sam says, trying for cool and somehow kind of landing on it, and Deanna winks at him. Winks. He takes a deep breath, and passes behind her to go to the fridge, and gets out two beers, and cracks them both. He hands one to Dee and bumps the cans together before she can object. "Try not to give us food poisoning, huh?"

Deanna lifts her chin, her eyes narrowing. Smiles, slow. "No promises," she says, and when they take a drink at the same time, her eyes stay steady on Sam.

*

"So," Deanna says, drawing it out slow, lips a plush teasing O. Sam raises his eyebrows, like, so what? Dee raises her eyebrows back, making fun of him. "So: Noelle." Sam groans and Deanna grins wide at him, leans forward. "Don't front, little brother. C'mon, spill. You make much ado about her nothing?"

"That doesn't even make sense," Sam says, but it's without much strength, and Deanna sticks her tongue out at him, still grinning.

So it's been a couple of beers, and then another one to make up for the pretty weird dinner—tomato rice soup with green beans stirred in is not something that's going to end up on fancy restaurant menus, put it that way—and they're sprawled on either end of the couch, the TV on the news in case there's anything Dee would have to care about but silent, the radio still playing—the top 40 now, and Sam got to see Deanna bounce around lip syncing to how she didn't want no scrubs, which he groaned and rolled his eyes through but to be honest was actually pretty funny—and his head's kind of swimmy, kind of heavy, his cheeks hot and his fingertips cold, although maybe that's because he's holding his—fourth?—can of Milwaukee's absolute best, pretending like everything's cool. Everything is cool. Four beers in he can't imagine how they'd be otherwise.

"Hellooo," Deanna sings. He blinks at her. "Ground control to Major Sammy? You in there?"

"Yes," Sam says. Dignified. Maybe. "Where else would I be?"

Deanna looks like she thinks something is very funny. Never a good sign. She leans forward, her elbow on the back of the couch, her knees spreading out. "N-O-E-L," she says. "Let me hear it. She cute?"

"She spells it with two Ls," Sam says, which makes Dee wrinkle her nose. "And—I don't know. I guess."

"You guess." She whaps his knee and then grabs his shin, waggling his leg back and forth. "Dude, you are a hot-blooded American male. You can do better than guess. Unless—" She squints at him, assessing. "Are you gay? Or—wait, your junk works, right?"

"Yes!" Sam says, and then, hastily— "No!" Dee snorts, taking a sip of her beer, and while she's mopping foam off her chin he wraps his arms around his knees, annoyed. "You suck."

"When they ask nice," Deanna says, and then pauses, her tongue pressed up against the back of her front teeth. Shining, pink. Sam looks at that and then away, at the TV. Weather this week will stay warm. Rain on Thursday. The weather guy has stupid gelled helmet hair. A soft warm grip on Sam's ankle, low. "Hey, Sammy."

Warm, and a little wet from the beer. It races up the nerves from Sam's ankle to his heart and then back south to his nuts, confusing, worrying. Good. "Noelle's cute," Sam says. He licks his lips. "Smart. She's on the volleyball team."

"Selling girl scout cookies, too, I bet," Deanna says. Her thumb skims up the inside of Sam's ankle, where there's that dip. Kinda ticklish, kinda not. "Didn't ask about her test grades, dweeb. What's she look like?"

Sam shrugs. "Tall? I guess. For a girl. Blondish hair. Skinny, kind of."

"She got good tits?"

When Sam turns his head Dee's really watching him. He chews on his bottom lip. She's still got her arm laid out along the back of the couch, holding her beer loose in long fingers, and her other hand around his ankle, scooched forward so she can reach—cleavage made even when she's not wearing a bra, the amulet he gave her spilling off-angled over the pressed-up white curve. Her eyes dark and kind of hard to see in just the TV-light, with the sun down and them not turning on any other lamps. He shrugs again, and then nods. Yeah, Noelle's boobs are okay.

"Yeah?" Deanna says. The tip of her tongue touches the center of her bottom lip. Shine. "What about her ass?"

"It's okay," Sam says. His voice sounds weird.

"You kiss her?" Deanna says, and then without waiting: "No, huh. But you want to, huh? Maybe after the library. Or before volleyball, with the uniform on, you dog."

Sam's never known why guys who want to have sex are called dogs. Deanna's thumb is working in little circles on the inside of his ankle and the skin there feels like it's on freaking fire. "You kiss Walt?" he says.

Her thumb stops. "Walt?"

Like it's the dumbest thing ever. Sam unfolds enough to take a drink from his can. Warm now, bitter, but it's something to do with his hands. "I think he wants to kiss you."

"Oh, you think," Deanna says, sarcastic. Sam takes another gulp, too quick, and has to stop himself from coughing like a dork. While his eyes water Deanna lets go of his ankle—a cold spot there that he regrets immediately—and leans over to the table, grabbing a can from the box, cracking it fresh. "Walt wants me to blow him under the desk in the manager's office. Good thing we're gonna be out of here before he works up the balls to ask."

She says it like, no big deal. Like, duh. Deanna drains the last of her previous can and drops it into the pile they're making on the carpet, and then leans back with the new beer tucked between her thighs, making a damp condensation spot on the thin grey fabric of the shorts. Sam drains his beer, too, and gets another, too, although he leaves his empty upright at least so it doesn't spill drops on the carpet. It takes some concentration; his balance is a little weird.

"Shit, we made a mess, huh?" Deanna says, while Sam leans doubled over his own knees, setting up all the cans like bowling pins. "Ruining all your hard work."

"Don't want you to get mad at me again," Sam says, which is kinda supposed to be making fun of her but he also kinda means it. All the cans upright and he flops back onto the couch, full beer resting on his stomach. "Plus, like. You've been all—nice. I didn't know vacuuming would get me all these perks." He lifts the beer in a little toast before he takes a sip. One of Deanna's cheeks sucks in before she toasts him back, takes a swallow too. Sam smiles at her, feeling weirdly light in his chest, even if things are just super—weird. "I get anything else if I keep doing all the laundry? Gonna let me drive?"

"In your dreams," Deanna says, immediately.

"What about… let me pick the music?"

"You know the rules, dingus." She lets her right foot drop off the couch, thigh stretching out long, wide. "I'll keep you fed. Consider yourself lucky, punk. But…" Smiling at him, crooked and small. Beer still between her legs. "That really was cool, man. I know I was bitching and all, but. I didn't really expect you to do anything."

Sometimes that's the kind of thing that makes him feel like a baby, getting a pat on the head. This time it's—different. Sam feels heat rising up in the center of his cheeks. "Homework doesn't take that long," he says. "Figured you were right, I could manage the laundry or whatever too."

"Wait, wait," Deanna says, eyes opening wide, "I was right?" Sam rolls his eyes and flicks a drop of beer at her, which she promptly returns with interest, and when he's wiping scattered foam off his cheek, grinning, she says, "Sounds like a deal to me," and then, in a different voice—"Although if you're gonna be in my stuff, guess I ought to find a different hiding spot, huh?"

Half a second to remember what she means and then the heat in his cheeks flames up over his whole body. Lurid pink. Big? Even two days gone he can't quite remember. "No big deal, remember? Where else would you keep it, anyway—glovebox?"

She snorts. "Get pulled over and hand that out to the cop with the license and reg? Yeah, guess not."

"Where'd you even get it?"

"You never heard of a sex store?" Deanna says, tipping her head. "Thought you were all grown-up now. Give me that beer back, Kid Icarus—"

He pulls it back out of her mimed grab and she ends up leaning forward toward him again, his drawn-up feet practically tucked up between her spread legs. That half-circle of damp is still there on the cotton, high up on her thigh. "I meant where. Or like—when, I guess."

"Back in Houston. So—what, four, five months ago?" She shrugs, rests her beer on his knee like it's a cupholder. "You really haven't done laundry in a while, huh."

"So, you…" She raises her eyebrows at him like a dare. He swigs his beer, clears his throat. His fingertips are cold. "I don't know. It's kinda weird. Like, when the girls at school talk sometimes, it's like—they talk like it hurts, or something. Like they just do it because their boyfriends want to."

This from Jackie Martinette and Laura Kennedy, who had a full whispered gossip session on the subject in study hall while Sam tried desperately to pretend like he was on another planet. Bad enough to spring wood at home in bed while Deanna walked around in her underwear after a shower; truly mortifying at school when any second he'd have to get up and walk to second period biology.

"You think girls aren't getting anything out of it?" Sam lifts a shoulder, really not sure. In porn sometimes they shriek. He doesn't associate much good with shrieking. Deanna smiles at him, sort of patronizing but also warm, friendly. Like she's sharing good news. "Sammy, if you know what you're doing it's all kinds of good. When you're hot for it and it's go time?" She makes this low purry sound, deep in her throat, her eyes half-lidded.

Sam swallows. "Go time?" He's amazed his voice doesn't sound weird.

"Girls get horny just like guys, you know," Deanna says. She licks her lips, shining flushed. The TV bursts blue-yellow color over her cheeks, the rise of her chest as she takes a deep breath. "Harder to tell, I guess. But if it's go time a girl should be so wet you just slide right in, you know? Even if you didn't eat her out first. I mean, that's how it works with me."

Sam's so hard he's dizzy. He drains his beer, lets it slide down to the pile on the carpet, hooks his hands around his own ankles, keeping his knees together so she can't see. "What do you think about?" he says. The air's thin, hot. Deanna blinks at him, slow. "When you're—using it. Like—guys, or…?"

"Brad Pitt in Thelma & Louise," Deanna says, and Sam laughs, not expecting to. She grins at him and her face is pink, too. "Yeah, guys. But not even like—specific guys. Just… what feels good, you know? When a guy holds my tits right—not squeezing hard, but just…" She tucks her beer up against her crotch and cups one boob, pushing it up high and full through her camisole, fingers splayed wide, her thumb brushing over her nipple where Sam can see it hard and poking through the cotton. Her other breast curving plush, that nipple also round and tight, and Sam reaches out and copies her, sliding his palm up her ribs and feeling the sudden rise of them and spidering his fingers wide over the soft heaviness, shifting to hold it up high to match, his thumb glancing over the nipple and it's—oh, rigid as a bullet but giving somehow too, tilting under how he sweeps back and forth, swollen hot. Her cleavage looks incredible, the amulet squished between both boobs like she's wearing a push-up bra, the cord disappearing between them. He imagines very suddenly licking there, swiping up with his tongue in the dark shadow like he's imagined licking a girl's pussy, except he'd keep going, lick up into the hollow of her throat, lick up over her chin and push his tongue into her mouth and see what that was like, see how it tasted, and he's thinking that, rolling her nipple over and over under his thumb, when he sees that her lips are parted and she's staring at him, chest heaving, and he's—god, he wants to kiss her. He wants to very badly.

"Like that?" he says, thin. She nods, quick. He holds his ankle very tightly with the other hand. "What—what else? Do you think about."

The tip of her tongue touches the center of her top lip. Sam's balls lurch. Deanna's eyelids dip but don't close, and she says, "A guy fingering me. But not like most guys do it. Stabbing in like they're trying to buttonmash in Street Fighter. There was this dude in Buffalo—he got me off over the top of my jeans, just rubbing right, steady. Got me so wet it soaked through. Thought I was gonna marry him."

The can of beer's right there, on the y-front of the old boxer-briefs. Sam's breathing through his mouth, lips drying. "You fuck him?"

Deanna's ears are dark red. "Yeah," she says. A breath. "In the bar bathroom, over the sink. That's a good one, when I'm using the dildo. I was so wet. Just thinking about it—swear to god, like someone turned on a faucet in my pussy, Sammy."

He pushes forward and she grabs the beer can, holds it right there for some reason, so it doesn't spill when Sam crams his fingers between the lukewarm wet tin and the cotton, curving over—soft too, warm too, hot as he pushes his fingers down, when she spreads her thigh wider and her hips tip forward, crushing his hand between the couch cushion and her pussy and the cotton that, fuck, is wet, sticky, and he pushes his fingers up, where it gives, and—and—

"Sammy," she whispers, and he looks up and he's, oh, squeezing her tit hard, hard enough that when he startles and lets go there's a ghost-white impression of his fingers above the line of fabric that floods red right away, and he takes in a breath to say—nothing, absolutely nothing comes to mind, but it doesn't matter because she grabs his wrist and pushes his fingers right up against her tit again, and then drops the beer over the side of the couch, letting it thunk to the carpet, glugging, and curves her hand over his hand between her legs, pressing it harder against herself, groaning, a sound he's only heard in the dark.

His head's thick, like oxygen's not getting in. Her hips grind in and he presses up hard, with the heel of his hand and his fingertips, and she shudders so maybe it's good. He pulls at the neck of the camisole and it yanks to one side but Dee shakes her head, shifts—Sam yanks his hand away, but she only pushes forward, up on her knees—still holding his fingers up against her pussy—and then reaches down and pulls the camisole off over her head, entirely, so she's bare from the waist up except for her amulet, her tits white and full, her nipples blushy red, the skin around them drawn up tight. He grips one in just the way she showed him and drags his thumb around the bare skin, rolling the nipple without the barrier of cotton, and she makes this tiny little noise high in her throat, like she can't help it, so hot that Sam leans forward and slurps the nipple into his mouth so she'll make it again.

"Fuck," she says, the f drawn out like she didn't mean to. Her hand on his head while he mouths at her boob, licking and then opening his mouth wide and sucking hard, so she hisses and grips his hair tight, and so he learns to roll it under his tongue, suckling, like a popsicle he wants to last. Her thighs clamp around his wrist and then open, and he rubs her whole crotch front to back, not knowing what's best, from the y-front down to where she's sticky and all the way to her ass, squeezing where she's soft there, too, pulling her in except his knees are in the way. He squirms, pretzeled up tight like he is, and Deanna kneels up high so he can unfold and then his legs are between her thighs. She grabs his wrist again and that's fine, he lets her push and get his palm seated on the hard ridge of bone, his fingers squishing around in the wet cotton where she's so soft, riding the seam of the boxers back and forth, finding where—oh shit—yeah, where he can push, a gap, which must really be her pussy, where the dildo goes, where that guy from Buffalo was, where Sam could—

She grips his hair, pulls his mouth away from her tit. He comes off gasping. Flickery light from the TV but it's dark, dark, blood pulled up into the skin from how he was working there. Her hand goes to his jaw, her thumb sliding over his mouth—wet—smelling like… He licks and it tastes like—salt. Salt and something tangy, what's heavy in the air, stronger than the smell of the beer spilling onto the carpet and how he feels drenched in sweat, this—incredible thing, addictive, better than anything. A flex, against his buried fingertips, where she's soaked, and he finally looks up to see her staring at him, at his mouth. Her thumb drags over his lip again and he leans in to her other, paler tit, slurps the nipple in and cups his hand hard over her pussy and wraps his arm around her waist, holding her warm and close, drunk. His head swims but it doesn't matter—she keeps hold of his hair, keeping him up against her chest, and covers his hand on her pussy, pressing in this rhythm that's easy to follow, clutching hard and grinding and rolling her hips into his fingers, her breath fast and hot and puffing over his ear, everything between them getting sweaty, tense, her grip over his hand hurting almost and he'd worry about hurting her except clearly that's not an issue. He drags his teeth over her boob, sucking hard on the squishy softness, his tongue exploring the tight wrinkled rim around the nipple, and squeezes her ass with his free hand, and his wrist hurts so he flexes his forearm, grips the front ridge of bone over her pussy with his thumb, and Deanna jerks against him, curves in, holds his hand hard and still up against herself, and she's totally silent and even her breath is held and he lets go of her tit and looks up and she's staring at him open-mouthed. He rubs his fingertips against her crotch, squeezing through the boxers, and it's only then that she makes a little sound, jerked out of her belly, and she bends down—he blinks, not sure—but she just sinks down to his shoulder, her lips spread wide on the side of his neck, her breath heaving out of her like she just finished a five-mile run.

Her thighs spread over his. Their hands caught together, cupped wet. Sam's nuts hurt he's so hard and he doesn't know what to do. He wants her nipple back in his mouth, wants to put his mouth on her pussy and taste that tangy smell right at the source, wants to crawl behind the couch and jerk off with his fist between his teeth, fast and hard as he possibly can. Wants—

Her hand, on his crotch, through his shorts. He jerks, whole-body, like when Dee was showing him how to replace an outlet a few rental houses ago and they didn't bother with flipping the breaker. His boner's popping stupid-obvious so it's easy for her to grip it with her whole hand and it feels—god!—warm, even through the double-layer of the polyester and his cotton boxers, and firm, squeezing hard at first and then feeling the shape, from the base to the head. "Jeez," she murmurs, and he squeezes his eyes closed, every part of his body feeling shivery, strange, oversensitized. "When'd that happen?"

"What?" he manages. She smells so good he can't stand it—wants to hide, wants to disappear, wants to grip her ass and drag her down and rub off against her like he used to against the mattress, when he was a kid and didn't know how to jerk off right, only she'd be so soft, sweet, wet—

"You got a big dick," Deanna says, soft, her head dipping down, her cheek against Sam's cheek. "Fuck, that's—thick. All grown up, huh?"

He shakes his head, confused, and she laughs very softly but not mean, not like she can laugh, and says, "God—" and pushes his chest, bears him back down against the arm of the couch, and he goes because he doesn't know what else to do and he puts his hand over his mouth—oh oh oh the hand that was on her pussy, his fingers sliding wet, and he sucks them in, bites his own skin, tasting, the smell and tang clutching up his throat and his foggy head. Deanna groans for some reason and pushes up his shirt, her fingers skimming over his belly, on the sparse hair that's started to trail down from his navel, and she—lifts off his legs, her weight and heat disappearing, and he opens his eyes to find the world gone all smeary, dark still but the light from the TV splintering weird and wet across the ceiling, and when he looks down she's on her knees between his knees, her fingers cupping his balls through his shorts, squeezing the shaft, and she bends down like she's going to—her mouth open, like she's going to—and Sam's toes curl and his thighs spasm and he comes, hips jerking up into her grip, creaming up the inside of his shorts, pulsing, shocked.

His heart thuds in his throat. He breathes hard around his fingers, still in his mouth, and drags them out finally, curling wet and pruny against his chin. Deanna lets go, eyes at first pinned there at his crotch and then flicking up at him dark and wide-startled, her lips an O. Sam blinks at her and pulls one of his knees up, in, and somehow that makes her flinch, and she sits up high, back on her heels, arms folding over her chest and hiding her tits, her eyes still big, going all over his face.

Deanna laughs. Again. High and breathy, fake. Still not mean but—"Man, couple beers and we're crazy, huh?" she says, brittle and fast, and Sam digs his heels into the couch and scooches away, as far as he can, his back pressed all the way against the couch arm, his brain feeling like it's sloshing in acid. Deanna smiles at him, wide and with a lot of teeth, and swivels and stands, kicking a beer can, stooping quick to pick up her camisole, tugging it over her head, yanking it back into place. Sam blinks and wet runs down his cheek so he has to scrub the back of his hand over it, smearing. "Guess we really are hard-up," Deanna's saying, while Sam folds back over his own knees, stomach doing a slow horrible somersault. "Gotta work on your game, get that Noelle girl to go for it sometime."

"Dee," Sam says, but it's barely voiced, and Deanna shakes her head and rolls right on, walking off to the kitchen like it's nothing, saying, "Anyway—we screwed up the carpet—better get something for that before the beer soaks in—"

Sam's gonna hurl. He—oh, he really is—and he unfolds off the couch and his legs stagger but he makes it the half-dozen steps to the bathroom, to his knees, stomach lurching, eyes burning. Dinner and beer and everything else. He shudders, clutching the sides of the bowl in the dark. Sits there, miserable, for…

Faint touch to his back. He makes a weird sound, spits. Reaches up and flushes, and sits back on his knees, and his face is sweaty, hot, and Deanna's not in the bathroom with him but there's a cup on the side of the sink with water in it. He swishes the taste out of his mouth, spits again, drains the rest. When he gathers his brain together and stands back up he sways and there's—sticky wet in his shorts, cold and sludgy, and he leans his shoulder into the doorway and sees that Dee's cleaned up the beer cans and there's a towel on the carpet by the couch. He gets more water in the kitchen, drinks it down in cool stomach-filling swallows that make his gut slosh but in a way where he doesn't feel like it's gonna chuck up again, and when he goes to the bedroom—she's on her mattress, lying on her side, blanket tugged up to her shoulder. He stands between the two beds for a second, uncertain, until she turns over, her back to the room. "Go to bed, drunkie," she says, quiet in the dark, and he licks his lips and crawls onto his own mattress on his stomach, folding his arms under his pillow, staring across at her until the dragging sloshing tide in his head pulls him down, undertow sucking at his whole body, drowning.

In the morning her bed is empty. Sam's head hurts like someone took a sledgehammer to it in the middle of the night. His boxers stick crusty against his pubes. He takes a shower, nauseated and aching and wondering if it's possible to be poisoned by five beers. Coffee already made—he drinks a cup and then pours a second, miserable, and then the front door opens and Deanna's standing there, fully dressed and eyes wide and bright, and she says, "Rise and shine, wonderboy," like a chirpy bird, and then, "C'mon, I'll drive you to school," and Sam says, "I feel like crap," and she says, "That’s what happens when you drink with the big dogs, but no excuses, come on," and so he puts on sneakers and gets his backpack and loads himself into the passenger side of the Impala and slumps against the window while she drives, the two of them not talking, the radio on low to morning shock-jock crap. Wondering if this is what it's always going to be. This sick dragging awful, at the base of his skull and in his gut, making the morning into something that has to be endured, like every single day from this one to when he's dead will be—this. The Impala pulls up smooth to the drop-off area, muscling ahead of a champagne-colored sedan, and Sam sighs, and goes to open the door, and Deanna says, "Hang on."

He looks at her straight-on. First time, really, all morning, the humiliation feeling like it's coming off him like radiation, like if they had an EMF meter for it the thing would be shrieking. She looks like she always does. Part of the problem. Deanna's cheek sucks in and she looks in the rear-view, and then she meets his eyes, and her expression is—Sam doesn't know. She looks into his eyes and then at his mouth, and then at his hand on the door for some reason, and then she shakes her head, and touches her own lips, and then grips the steering wheel tight with both hands. "Knock 'em dead, Sammy," she says, looking out at the road.

First period, study hall. He drops his bag under the desk and drops his head onto his folded arms. The bell ringing hurts. Laura Kennedy and Jackie Martinette start whispering behind him, about the date Jackie went on this weekend, and he folds his arms over his head, shuts it out. He feels like he took a beating from a werewolf, but that's not the worst part. For some reason the thing that keeps repeating in his head, and what lasts all day, through English where he ignores Noelle and through AP Stats where he doesn't answer a single question and through the lunch he doesn't eat and through World History, staring through the review slides for final exams coming up in a few weeks, is how Dee laughed. High, and weird, and like she'd done something horribly embarrassing, like there was no way to live it down and so you just had to laugh, because what other choice did you have?

When he gets home the living room smells like stale beer. Deanna's not there. In the fridge, a styrofoam box with spaghetti and meatballs and no note, and he eats it by himself and does his homework and goes to bed alone, and she's not there the next morning, and she's not there the next afternoon when he gets home, either, and it's not until Wednesday morning that he wakes up and she's sitting crosslegged on the mattress across the room from him in the clear morning light and she says, before he's even registered that she's really there and what it means, "Dad's coming home."

He blinks muzzily and sits up and she's looking at him with her fingers knotted in her lap, her lips red and her eyes red, too, and then she gets up and walks out of the room. He watches her go, robbed of any other option.

[imaginationofomi]

Come Together

Thirty-Three

She stared at the shadows on her wall, inhaling the scent of rose and hibiscus incense that burned on her dresser. Candles bathed the bedroom in subtle, warm lighting. The flames flickered from the breeze drifting through the open window.

Nayeli sat in the center of the bed, legs folded in front of her, contemplating her position in life. She was struggling mentally and emotionally, unsurprising all things considered. She would have some good days, then a bad one would send her a few steps back. It got harder and harder for her to keep the positive mindset she always held near and dear for most of her life.

She didn't like that who she was at her core was changing. She enjoyed being a beacon of sunshine, and more often than not, recently, her moods were clouded with bouts of anxiety and the occasional self-reproach. Trauma would do that to person.

The facade she kept up didn't change how she felt on the inside. Fake it 'til you make it did not work for her, but life wasn't all bad.

Grown, sexy, and single Nayeli was something. The dating scene in Briton Beach was abysmal, yet she was having a time experiencing all of the different personalities the city had to offer.

She'd thrown a drink in the face of a man that grabbed her butt without permission. She cursed one out for feeling entitled to sex because he bought her dinner. She spent one evening listening to a man explain why he thought the earth was flat and another with one that kept talking about all of the ways he was a catch, snooze. One eyeballed every woman that walked past their table. One wouldn't stop calling his ex psychotic. The most decent personality out of the bunch was a mouth breather with halitosis.

She went to different escape rooms and found that men that weren't problem solvers dried her out. She couldn't stand men that didn't open doors, going dutch was out, she hated seeing people chew with their mouth open.

Lack of tables manners turned her off along with treating waitstaff terribly. She ended a date early because a man didn't tip the bartender for their drinks. Having to carry the conversation bored her, and she considered certain hobbies red flags.

There were no questions in her mind about why women were discouraged when it came to finding a life partner. Her fears when it was time to end things with Jalen were confirmed and then some. At that point, the only choices were to stay single or find the least crappy person one could and try to make things work. The thought was depressing. Who wanted to pick the lesser of multiple evils?

Luckily, she didn't have to worry about the randoms that never got past a second date with her. No, her worries were much bigger. While she had her fun testing the waters of the dating pool, there were two exceptional men in her life that she was having a hard time choosing between.

One was meant to be a friend and the other a lover and partner, but with lines crossed and blurred, she knew she would have to choose, and not the option she really wanted, which was to keep them both in her life as long as she could.

Her days and nights out with Isaiah were some of the best experiences of her life. Not once had she had a bad time, nor had he given her a reason to dislike him. He was respectful, chivalrous, protective if someone tried her. He never stopped trying to make her smile. They just had one problem; she wanted back on his dick bad and was conflicted about it.

Their first time was a drunken fluke, one she could wave off as a lapse in judgment. Anything after that would be a conscious choice, and she felt guilty for wanting to make it when she had EJ, although she didn't really have him. They were both running the streets, and she couldn't imagine him feeling guilty for sleeping around.

But he wasn't fucking her opp. It made things worse that the men almost came to blows over her. Hanging out with Isaiah started to feel like a personal attack, and if EJ saw his name on her phone, his attitude would get out of hand.

A reminder that they were both single and that he chose to embarrass himself would bring him back to solid ground, but the fact remained that Isaiah was a problem for him. Whether she fucked him again or not.

She was stuck in between a rock and a hard place with a desire for two men that she never experienced before. She'd been a one man show her whole life. How was it possible to be completely fulfilled by two at the same time? Was this a norm she was unaware of? Felt but not discussed because it was considered taboo? It was something for her to unpack, but she had no clue where to start.

Her parents would shun her if she brought it up to them, Leti's judgmental ass would let her have it before she could get the full story out, and the twins were too young for that conversation. April and Morgan would tell her to pick one, Brittany was likely to be triggered, and Renée just wasn't an option. Max was her only go to, and she was 50/50 on what response she would get.

Nayeli felt like a fish out of water, a bad thing to be with a little girl that noticed everything and loved to ask questions.

It was Tatiana's last day in Briton Beach for half a month, and per the baby's request, she, Nayeli and EJ were headed to a trampoline park that afternoon as one big happy family. Nayeli wasn't prepared for it, knowing what might come after.

EJ was trying, however he could whenever he could, to get back in her good graces. Flowers, food, random visits, everything he did when he was wooing her. She appreciated the gestures, though they could come off as not being genuine because there was still a line of women waiting for their weekly phone call from him. She often thought about how many times he left her presence and ended up in another woman's bed.

No doubt he would try to make something shake between them with the house to himself for two weeks, and thinking about that made her wonder where she would be in the rotation, if he'd kick her out to bring someone else in. She wondered how many women had been in his bed since they broke up and started to get nauseous which led to another branch of her dilemma.

Was she strong enough to keep EJ and Isaiah in her life while allowing them both freedom to pursue other connections? It wouldn't be fair if she was the only one with the option. If she presented that as a choice, would they be more accepting of the outcome?

More importantly, did Isaiah want to be involved with her that way at all? He tried nothing with her; no inappropriate touching, no innuendo when they talked, no flirting. She could be stressing over a man that didn't want her like that to begin with.

"I need to get over myself," she sighed and flopped back onto the mattress. Her head was everywhere and nowhere. She had to make a decision soon, and she had no clue what it was going to be.

Dawn rolled around, ushering in a new day. She put out the candles, allowing natural light to fill the room as she changed for yoga and went into the backyard. Her plants were alive and well, eggplant, spinach, strawberries, beans, peppers, tomatoes and squash varieties filled her raised beds while the grow bags were full of herbs and flowers that attracted helpful insects and repelled harmful ones.

Greeting her garden, she made a mental note of what needed to be harvested and set her mat on the grass. Her body thanked her for the stretch and deep breathing. She meditated as the sun finished coming up, stretching her neck and shoulders before she opened her eyes. Time was on her side. She rolled up her mat and pulled on her gloves. Her choice of baskets kept her in check. The kitchen wasn't big enough to hold everything.

Tomatoes were first. She pruned before she picked to help with airflow, filling up a corner of the medium sized basket with a few Beefsteaks and San Marzanos. The eggplant wasn't quite ready, but there were plenty of beans, bell peppers and strawberries to grab. The handful of spinach ready was only big enough for a side salad, and she decided to make one with her breakfast, sparing a few pieces for her loaded omelette.

Whipping up a quick balsamic vinaigrette, she washed the remainder of the spinach and topped it with sliced strawberries, chopped walnuts and some feta cheese. She drizzled vinaigrette over it, said a prayer for her hearty meal and ate quietly with a new book in her hand. She went for a self-help novel instead of romance. No reason to feed herself more unrealistic expectations of what love looked like.

Plenty rested in her subconscious. After she finished breakfast, she cleaned up and processed her harvest. She showered, refreshing her three day old wash and go and taking the time to cover up the obvious lack of sleep under her eyes. She lengthened her lashes with mascara and added some color to her cheeks with a little bit of bronzer and some blush.

Before she knew it, the afternoon arrived and she was locking up and climbing into the passenger's seat of EJ's truck.

"Mommy, you look so pretty!" Tati said.

"Thank you, Princess. I try."

"Try for what? You were born beautiful," EJ added. Nayeli gave him a tiny smile and thanked him. There was too much on her mind to give a different response. Like a typical weekend afternoon, the trampoline park was filled with family and friends flipping into pits of foam squares or throwing back handsprings.

"Let's goooooo!" Tatiana couldn't get her shoes off fast enough, putting the special socks over her own and tugging Nayeli to an empty trampoline by the basketball hoops and obstacle course.

"Are you excited to go stay with Grammy and Grampy?" Nayeli asked.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna miss you and Daddy."

"We'll miss you, too. Remember, you can always call us, and look on the bright side, you can eat all the junk food you want and you get to see your cousins. That's gonna be so much fun."

Tatiana shrugged and picked up one of the dodgeballs that ended up by them from the game going on at the other end of the park.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Why don't you sound excited?"

"I kinda want to stay home."

"Why?"

She tossed the ball to a kid that came searching for it, looking up at Nayeli with a sad expression before she sighed, "Face it, you guys need me," Tati said, "Without me, you and Daddy wouldn't be nice to each other. I don't want to come home and it's worse."

"Oh, honey. Listen to me." Nayeli paused her bouncing and put her hands on Tatiana's shoulders, "It's not your responsibility to keep the peace between us. We're supposed to worry about you, not the other way around. No matter what happens with me and your dad, we love you immensely. You don't need to worry about anything else."

"But I want to be a family for real. I want you and Daddy to get married. I want to be the flower girl, and I want you to live with us. I don't want to go back and forth from our house and your house. We are supposed to be together."

The conversation was hitting a sore spot for Nayeli. When her parents announced that they were getting divorced and that her father was moving out, she didn't take it well. It affected her so much that Maxwell ended up staying with them for a lot longer than he should have.

She didn't want Tatiana to go through the same thing, but now that she was an adult, she had a different understanding of relationships and choices that needed to be made within them. But Tati wasn't finished.

"I just want to be normal for once. All my friends live with both their parents. I'm the only one that didn't have a mom for years, and I finally get a good one and you guys just fight. I told Daddy to stop being mean to you. I don't know if he listened or said sorry, but I told him. Is that why you don't want to be with us?"

Nayeli's heart broke. Worse than when EJ dumped her. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands, forcing tears down because she couldn't turn back the hands of time and fix every mistake made. She was extremely conflicted about her next moves and could feel herself shutting down.

"Don't worry about this stuff anymore," she said, "We're the adults. Let us handle it. You just worry about being a happy kid. Let's go to the obstacle course."

☼☼☼

Parenting was not for the weak. Nayeli found herself stressing about a number of choices she wouldn't have considered a year ago. She had so much on her mind already, and Tatiana gave her more to think about.

Life didn't stop because she was going through something. Folks were busy, but when time permitted, she went to her sister's house. If anyone could straighten her out, Maxine could. The home was quiet but not peaceful.

Diesel was doing homework in his room, and Lanai sat in her bouncer in the living room, snacking on organic sweet potato puffs. Stella was out for the evening. It made Max irritable, but she spoke about it briefly before shutting the subject down to keep her anger in check in front of the baby.

The conversation focused on Nayeli instead. She started with the trip to the trampoline park as that was the most prevalent in her mind. An uncomfortable conversation with EJ cooled the outing. They had too much to talk about, and that day was only the tip of the iceberg. Nayeli explained the conversation with Tatiana and how devastated she felt. She became emotional all over again.

"Max, I don't know what to do or say anymore. I can't tell her everything, but she'll never stop asking questions and I don't want to lie to her," she said.

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Always."

"I understand where niece is coming from. The harlot that gave birth to her dipped in and out of her life with excuses and false promises and stirred up a bunch of shit. She's only ever known her daddy and now you. When you stayed with them, she felt what it was like to have mommy and daddy happy in the home and her raggedy ass egg donor ripped that away. Why wouldn't she want that back? Why wouldn't she be sad to see you and EJ not getting along? Her feelings are valid, but you need to put your foot down. She's seven, and you're her mother. Don't let her run over you, and don't choose to be with EJ because of what she said. Staying for the kids is never a good idea," Max sighed, pouring more puffs out for Lanai when she finished the last of her small pile.

"That's not the issue. When I think of the future, I see myself with them. There's a bunch of stuff that needs to be sorted out before that happens, but that's the plan. I have another problem."

"Another problem? How many you got?"

"This one is big, so I'm going to count it as two and ask that you pretty please do not judge me for anything I say." Nayeli tugged on a curl and chewed her lip. She was about to acknowledge certain thoughts out loud for the first time, and she felt a little sick.

"I'm the last to judge."

"I don't know how you're going to feel once I tell you."

"Come on, Duckie. You're getting too old to be afraid of talking to your big sis. You know I have your back no matter what," Max assured her.

"Isaiah and I have been kicking it for a while." Nayeli sounded unsure when she spoke.

"Pretty nigga with the blue eyes that EJ tried to manhandle?"

"Uuugghhh, I hate that that happened. Yes him."

"I actually love that for you. I got to talk to him a little at the barbecue. He's a solid dude. Where's the problem?"

"Besides the fact that EJ tried to hit him?"

"When you start calling the man EJ?" Max's loud laughter startled Lanai, and she frowned like she was about to start crying for several seconds before Max put her pacifier in her mouth, "He really tore his drawers with you. That's funny. He's regular to you now."

"He'll never be regular to me. We've hashed everything out, and we're cool, but I wanted time to do me. And for the sake of honesty, I'll be real and say that I have been outside. It's been weird and fun. I like having the freedom to do whatever. I am getting to the point where I feel like I'm past wanting to meet new people, but I want to make him sweat a little longer for the way he treated me. It was uncalled for. And I know that if we get back together, I have to cut Isaiah off. I have absolutely no desire to do that."

"Dick too bomb?" Max snickered.

"From what I remember, but he hasn't tried to touch me since."

"You lie."

"Nope. He hasn't tried to kiss me, no brushing up against my booty, nothing. So I feel like fiending loser." Nayeli looked like a baby as her face slipped into a pout.

"What do y'all do?"

"We've been to some concerts, a museum, we eat, we help out at some shelters together. He took me ax throwing. I'm kind of good at it, too. We're friends. He's someone I don't want out of my life, but I want to jump his bones so bad." She hated to sound whiny, though it wasn't her fault that the man was fine and walked like it was heavy.

"Aww. You are a fiending loser." Max appeared thoroughly entertained, and why would she not? She had front row seats to a primetime show.

"Thanks a lot." Nayeli gave her a thumbs up and fake smile, rolling her eyes as she slumped into the love seat.

"Have you told him you want to ride him like a pony?"

"Isn't that sort of desperate?"

"Closed mouths don't get fed. Maybe he's waiting for the green light or for you to make a move. I mean, EJ did try to take his head off. That doesn't exactly read single. He could be setting boundaries or respecting one he feels you set. Address that elephant in the room first."

"I guess that is more important than stressing over wanting a husband and a boyfriend."

"You said what?" Max let out another howl of laughter, reached over the arm of the couch to put her hand on Nayeli's wrist, "You really are my favorite, Baby Love. You can barely handle one man and now your ass wants two? Two that don't get along at that. How's that going to work out?"

"I have no idea. I said I had a big problem."

"Yes, you do. I can tell you right now EJ's not going for that."

"I know, but what if he could keep someone too? He's got plenty to choose from."

"Who is talking to me right now? My angel of a little sister that rarely ever goes against the grain is considering an open relationship?" Max couldn't believe her ears or her eyes showing her that it was something Nayeli had seriously contemplated.

"I think it's a fair trade off. I feel like it would be selfish for me to be with both of them but expect them to just be with me."

"Stranger things have happened. You need to find out where Blue Eyes stands before you think that far ahead, though. Don't get yourself worked up over possibilities."

"You're right, thank you. I'm glad I came to you."

"Me too, bitch! The tea is scalding. Who knew Lil Miss Goody Two-Shoes would have the most interesting life." 

Nayeli certainly didn't.

☼☼☼

Procrastination was a bitch. A cold bitch that often had consequences. Nayeli normally wasn't a procrastinator, but being overwhelmed put many tasks on the back burner for her. Anything that didn't absolutely need to be done right then and there didn't get done.

But she was doing better. Months after she had the idea, she finally set aside time to paint the inside of her house. White would become Frost Blue, and she had a decent amount of work cut out for her because she planned to paint everything except for the bedrooms. Each would be getting an individual makeover.

She moved her furniture, covered it with sheets she didn't mind messing up and placed plastic on the floor, curating a playlist and sipping a latte while she waited for her companion to show up. Projects were always more fun with friends, and she didn't want to deny the offered help or the person it came from.

He arrived with food, two breakfast platters from a soul food place halfway between their homes. She saw his lips first, lips that kissed her clit so delicately after making her flood his mouth. And she looked up into his eyes, cerulean orbs alight with mischief as he grinned at her.

"G'morning Lil Bit," he said and gave her a one armed hug around the shoulders after she let him into the house. He smelled like good soap, deodorant and laundry detergent, simple but powerful and delightful.

"Morning," she said back, "What's that? It smells delicious." Taking the paper bag from him, she unfolded the top and peeked in at the cardboard containers.

"Shrimp and grits, scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits with gravy."

Her mouth watered at the list, and she walked to the kitchen a little faster, pulling out plates, flatware and cups for them to use. They caught each other up on what happened during their time apart as they ate in the backyard. Isaiah helped her with a broken branch she couldn't reach, and she filled a basket with fruit and vegetables for him to take home as a thank you.

They started painting just before noon, covering the wall coming from the entryway into the living room first. Nayeli's curated playlist might as well have been a live concert with all of the singing and dancing they were doing.

It was funny to learn that Isaiah was a big Whitney Houston fan. He knew more of her lyrics than Nayeli did, citing the legend as his mother's favorite artist. It wasn't so funny then, but he let Nayeli know that he was okay. Whitney brought him peace and reminded him of happier times, no reason to be sad for him, but she felt it anyway.

She couldn't imagine losing one parent let alone both within such a small amount of time. The fact that he could still get up everyday and save lives with a smile on his face made her appreciate the person he was. They were similar in that regard, never letting life really stop them from living.

When they finished the first two walls, they sat down to take a water break, giving the paint fumes a chance to be carried away by the wind via open windows and doors. Nayeli picked at some dried paint on her hand and admired their work.

"It's looks nice and even," she said. She really liked the color, more than she did when she picked it out, "This would've been good for the exterior, too."

"Are you going to paint the whole house?"

"Eventually. I've been meaning to get this done for almost a year. It's way overdue." But every little bit counted, "Thanks for offering to help."

"It's nothing. I like being around you," he said, finishing the last of his bottled water, "You recycle?"

"Yeah, there's a little trashcan under the kitchen sink." She tried not to ogle his butt as he walked out of the living room. He was wearing a pair of grey shorts, similar to the pair he had on the morning after their tryst. The amount of effort it took to curb the flashbacks threatening to burst out of the box she put them in should've been awarded. But as she was learning, Isaiah was a lot more in tune with her than she thought.

"You look like you got something on your mind, Lil Bit." He reoccupied his spot next to her on the couch, angling his body to face hers. Though small talk and banter were large parts of their friendship, they did have moments of seriousness.

Nayeli hadn't forgotten her conversation with Maxine. Now was as good a time as any to figure out if she was wasting thoughts wondering what sex with him would be like sober or worrying about whether or not she could continue seeing him once she was back in a relationship.

"Why haven't you touched me?" she blurted out, cringing internally at the question. There was a better way to ask, for sure.

"Huh?" His eyebrows pushed together, head tilted in confusion.

"You have not touched me since that night. You haven't even tried, but we hang out all the time. I just thought......ugh, you know what, don't worry about it. Forget I asked." She was too chicken shit to say anything else, escaping the living room for the kitchen to hide her embarrassment. Nayeli never went after men that weren't sure things. Everyone she dated pursued her. It was odd being on the other side of the coin. Scary, even. She held no power in her hands. It all rested with Isaiah, who didn't let her stay alone for long.

"Do you want me to touch you?" he questioned, leaning next to her against the counter, though he kept a respectful distance between them.

"I want to know why you haven't." Maybe things didn't go as well as she thought and he was sparing her the heartbreak of bursting her bubble. Whatever the case was, she was just ready for the answer so she could move forward.

"How much of that night do you remember?"

"I'd like to think most of it. It's in snippets, but it's there."

"And the next morning?"

"I remember that vividly."

"Then you remember me catching you trying to sneak out and how uncomfortable you were after," he said, reminding her of the extremely awkward encounter.

"That was more about me than it was about you."

"Regardless, you made it clear that what happened wouldn't happen again. You drew the line in the sand, and I respect your decision. We've known each other for years. You've always been somebody I care for deeply and can really talk to, and that's more important to me than satisfying a want or a need. I'm cool with what we have. Are you?"

"In a way." Nayeli exhaled slowly, unsure if she was ready to blow up the careful relationship they'd formed. The vibe she got from Isaiah was that he saw her as a friend and a friend only, but he'd be willing to go a step further if she was. The notion didn't give her a lot of confidence. It had the opposite effect and made her switch up her next line of questioning, "If I told you to kiss me right now, would you do it?"

"If you meant it."

"Because you want to or because I said to?"

"Nayeli, tell me what you want." He rarely used her first name, a good indicator he was taking the conversation seriously like his face didn't say enough.

"What do you want?" The answer to that would determine where she went next. Her mind was telling her to bow out gracefully. She hadn't heard anything that made her feel sure she was making the right decision. It was better to quit before she embarrassed herself further.

"Don't punk out on me," he said, features softening when he picked up on how nervous she was. She shook her head.

"Never mind." Obviously her desire was one-sided. She didn't want him to pity fuck her, "We don't need to have this conversation again." She damn sure wasn't going to bring it up.

[weshney]

Inspired by another PhantasyPhest2022 post by @echobogg

Ao3 link

It was just an average morning for Danny, really. In that it was frickin' seven o' clock on a Saturday and he was up chasing ghosts. His Sense had gone off just ten minutes ago, rousing him from a dream that pulled at his mind like warm honey, promising sweet delight should he just close his eyes and drift back off. Groaning, he'd let the cool tingle of his ghost form chase away the alluring heat of the covers and shot out of bed, zipping through his bedroom window to follow the elusive pull in his chest.

As he'd passed the city center the sky had lightened from soft black to grizzle grey, the sun unable to penetrate a thick cloud cover that promised snow.

A blip of increased ecto-energy steered his flight left and Danny's eyes narrowed, frustration bubbling in his core.

The mall?

"Goddamnit!" Danny tipped forward in a nosedive. "Just because the stores have fancy boxes right now doesn't mean—!" The wind stole the rest of his words and pulled at messy, white hair, dragging it back from his face as he plummeted through the roof of the multiplex.

Slowing on the other side, Danny scanned his surroundings, color fading from his vision as unearthly eyes adjusted to the gloom of an empty store.

Silent as the grave, he let what little light there was pass through him, invisibility leeching his soft glow as he floated down a short aisle toward the center walkway. Passing a collection of thumbstick drives suspended on metal pegs, he neared an end cap covered in fluffy cotton balls and reindeer figurines.

He could tell the ghost was close, but his Sense wasn't perfect.

Letting his eyes defocus as he stuck his head out over the main floor, he watched for movement over detail.

There. A green shadow flashed in Danny's periphery, and the ghost boy shot forward.

Green? Not blue?

Danny's brows furrowed even as he took a hard left. Contorting around a floor stand, he was just in time to watch a spectral tail disappear into a gaming display, a muted "Nyah-hah-hah-ha-ha!" emanating from the now-glowing Xbox 360.

"An X-box?" Danny whispered, rubbing at an eyebrow with the heel of his palm. "Well that's just great. Right theme. Wrong ghost."

He needed to get Technus out of there before the geriatric computer scientist turned the whole Best Buy into a crappy version of Sharknado meets Transformers.

Engaging intangibility, Danny darted forward, shoulder leading a charge through a "Pre-Order Now!" sign as he beelined for the console.

Green gloves shot out, encircling the teen's waist in the blink of an eye.

Managing only a single, weak yelp as black crept into his vision, Danny felt himself go limp.

Sky-blue eyes opened to a sea of blurry color.

Large, jagged shapes of black and green fought against a pale blue backdrop, sending a wave of nausea climbing up Danny's throat even as an evocative aroma tried to nag him into lucidity.

Uuuugh.

What hit him?

"...ey, you…" A burst of cold shocked his system and he abruptly understood that the crisp, aromatic scent was pine and the looming silhouettes of color belonged to the landscape of a mountain pass. Even birdsong filtered in, accompanied by a string instrument's faint, haunting melody.

Where—?

"...ou're finally awake." Danny's head lolled forward and his mind went from a fish in a whirlpool to a hermit crab in an aquarium, the chaotic dizziness vanishing like it'd never been.

Back stiff, he shifted in place, wood creaking beneath him as he appraised a pair of stinging wrists. Human ones.

Wait. Why was he tied up?!

Danny pulled at his hands, trying to will them into intangibility; then, with some panic, himself into invisibility.

Nothing happened.

"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there."

Hold up. What?!

[willowser]

can we try and take the high road? (though we don't know where it ends)—

megumi x reader

wc: 3.2k+

warnings: fluff and angst, toji is a bad father STILL, shitbag behavior, modern AU, like one (1) reference to sex

&lt;<< part one

There are a lot of things different about you, these days.

When Fushiguro pictures you in his mind, it's always as you once were and will never be again: fresh faced, seventeen, glowing in the little campfire light. Only for a second do your eyes cut to him, long enough to sharpen his figure in your drunken vision, long enough to send him a friendly smile.

Then Kamo joins the circle and all your strings are pulled taut, coming to life as if it existed just for him.

("No, no, no," the look of disgust on Toji's face was almost palpable—overwhelming, his disappointment. "Don't ever chase after some chick, especially if she doesn't want you in return."

It fucking irritated him and Fushiguro snorted, bringing the unlit cigarette down from his mouth to argue, "I didn't chase after her."

"If there's one thing I should teach you," with that little scar on his mouth, it made him menacing, all the more so when he smirked; Megumi might have been intimated once, but not that night, at twenty-one, free from the delusion that his father was worth anything. "It's that women'll come 'n go. Best not to waste your time on just one.")

Heartbreak has changed you, dimmed the light in your eyes, minimized the once blinding smile you wore.

The two of you graduated together from that small, local college, a year behind Itadori and Nobara, but any and all contact had simmered out there. Even after the grand reunion in the library, it was rare that his circle intertwined with yours; he saw you around plenty of times, in passing, as a shadow he wasn’t sure how to acknowledge, if he was meant to, but it had never gone further. That back-stabbing, boyish hope that rose in him that night had been dashed—though it hadn’t hurt, not then, because he’d grown accustomed to a world without you.

(It’s hard to decide if he’s angry. If he ever was. If he still is.)

It’s still you at the core: friendly, pretty as always, shy in a way, but captivating once you get to know her; he’d go as far as to say that if no one knew you before, they wouldn’t have any idea how life has worn you down. Nobara knows because Nobara knows too much, as usual—and therefore Yuuji knows because Nobara knows. The change is in the minute details, the intimate ones that he could trace, once upon a time: a deepening crease between your brows; the shine of tears, ready, waiting, for the dam to break; your lips, chapped and gloss-less.

You’re doing the online thing, so he’s heard from Mai, who remains a pillar in your life. Apparently you hadn’t left town either, just like him, still minding the roots that have run deep within the ground, however tender. Yuuji and Nobara share an apartment in the city now, one that’s closer to the university than Megumi's own crappy, one-bedroom apartment, and he’ll stop and sleep there on occasion, when he doesn’t feel up for the drive back home.

Weekends are filled with the two of them, never-ending, even if their paths have forked; movies, pizza, parties they drag him to. Parties Mai drags you to.

It’s how he finds you tonight, in the corner of a crowded room, talking to a girl he recognizes—Momo, maybe—and something about the hesitant, close-lipped smile you wear brings forth an unknown urgency to his surface. Megumi wants to get rid of it suddenly, whatever’s binding you so tightly, but the shadows seem to stretch in the flat sconce light; they guard you like a chained dog, one he's already been bitten by.

Whatever is in your cup is still in your cup, amber and seemingly untouched; Momo (maybe) sloshes a third of her artificial-blue mystery onto the floor when she says something with wild, emphatic hands and that makes you laugh, just a bit, into the back of your wrist as you shift your eyes to the window. Something catches your attention for a long moment and, pensive, you watch.

It seems like it's been longer than it has, since he last spoke to you. It seems like Megumi's stomach should hold strong at the thought of Kamo, at the thought of you seeing Kamo, and it shouldn't unsettle him as much as it does—but maybe you'll always be an exposed nerve, his wound that never healed. One he learned to live with.

Kamo isn't here, isn't any possible way for him to be. The last news there had been about him had something to do with his family, his estranged mother reentering his life and then—nothing, like he'd disappeared in the blink of an eye. If anyone knows more, it would be you, but it's not like Fushiguro is all too keen on asking.

Momo (maybe) leans close and captures your attention again, makes you smile that complacent, close-lipped smile, like you're embarrassed of your teeth.

And then you look right at him, as if his eyes were a physical thing grazing your skin—and it's like all his strings are pulled taut, when you lift a lax hand in a friendly wave.

“Move it, twerp.” Nobara jabs him in the side where she knows he’s ticklish, so that Megumi has no choice but to squirm out of her way. Reality resumes and when he looks back to you, your attention has shifted to the red-head, who struts towards you with that walk Yuuji says makes her look like a chicken.

"You don't think my shirt is stupid, do you?" Itadori dons a red Hawaiian shirt for—some reason, and he's tugging it out in front of his body to frown down at, before turning his pitiful expression to Megumi. On the ride over Kugisaki had said something, made a comment about his terrible fashion sense; instead of answering, Fushiguro just heads deeper into the house, farther away from you.

A wound he learned to live with, but not one he wants to irritate.

There’s a handful of people he recognizes by the time he reaches the kitchen—some from high-school, some from his university campus, some from late night drive-thru’s, when Nobara is drunk and craving cheap tacos. A quiet guy from his Thermodynamics class, and his massive friend that’s about as big as a bear. A girl he hooked up with once, last year; her posture goes rigid when their eyes meet and she twirls the hair hanging from her ponytail timidly, which only has his already jittery nerves skyrocketing.

There have been girls other than you.

Summer is coming, the end of his second year on his way to getting his master’s in engineering, and the girl Megumi had been seeing has moved on. He has too, no harm done; they’d both made it apparent in the beginning, the span of their relationship would be one of those flings, something that came hard and fast that he would remember forever, but wouldn’t pursue off campus. She was pretty and nearly as tall as him, smart—which he found really attractive about her—and determined with her education.

Megumi liked her, maybe loved her, just a little, but she wasn’t it. There hadn’t been any claw marks when she’d let go, when he’d let her go. Nothing of her remaining beneath his skin.

(Fushiguro isn’t old, but he’s not a kid anymore, at twenty-five, and there’s a wicked voice in the back of his head that asks, who will stay, in the end? who will remedy this curse? It doesn’t sound like Toji, but it looks like him, staggering through a fluorescent aisle, waiting on a cigarette to bum from his bastard son.)

An hour goes by, and then another. Yuuji stays by his side majority of the time, downing beer after beer and appearing fine with his wickedly high alcohol tolerance. Kugisaki is out of sight, but not out of mind; Megumi tells himself he’s not looking for her, or you, over and over again as if someone is listening in on his thoughts, but his attention snaps to every body that moves in his peripheral vision.

After a while it becomes—maddening, and his best friend notices (because he notices too much, just like Nobara).

“We can go, if you want.” Yuuji leans close and yells loud, and there isn’t a single blood vessel irritated in his eyes. “I’m okay to drive if you’re uncomfortable.”

Toji gets mad when he’s drunk; Megumi feels offense flooding his veins, even if he’s only had two drinks.

“I don’t care, I’m fine.”

“What?”

Fuck off—but he doesn’t say it, because he’s not Toji, he’s not. Instead he just moves through the kitchen, past the quiet guy, past Momo (maybe), and Nobara, who is sitting in Maki Zen’in’s lap with eyes as bright and big as the moon. It stuns him for a moment; it’s been a while since he’s seen his cousin, after she disappeared on some journey of self-discovery for a few years, but she smiles in a way she hasn’t in a long time: one that’s small and secret, reserved for the one person who waited for her while she was away.

—

Megumi is in the library, looking at you looking at him, feeling the weight of Nobara’s knowing stare from across the table. She’s behind, too. I think the two of you even have all of the same classes. Nobara knows because Nobara knows too much, as always. Don’t you live off campus? Maybe Fushiguro can give you a ride. Nobara knows because she’s felt it, too; love, waiting at the edge of the cliff, wondering if it will survive the fall.

—

You’re outside. Of course you’re outside.

Megumi can picture you before he opens the backdoor, sitting in the firelight, waiting. There’s a tie that binds the two of you—sadness and grief, maybe—and when he moves, it feels so effortless, like his path was always meant to come back to you. There’s a drink abandoned beside you on the stone bench and it looks like the one you’d had earlier; sober, you can see him clearly when he stands across the flames, and you watch him, pensive. There are a lot of things different about you, these days, and there are a lot of things different about him, too, but when you smile at him sadly, Megumi knows that some things are still very much the same.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

You nod without a word.

He’s too inebriated to drive, so the vision he’s had in his head for this exact moment is already going awry. It’s not some drunken stupor that clouds him, but the night seems too dark and he can’t remember if there’s a stop sign at the end of the street or not, what the name of the intersection by that light is called. A walk seems to be the safest bet, for the both of you.

—

The two of you had gone for a drive, that night, and he parked in a parking lot without any lights and he’d fucked you for real in the bed of his truck and you let him. The whole time you kept whispering that you were sorry and he kept saying I know, I know, I know, but he didn’t tell you it was okay because it wasn’t. Back then, he had opened himself up and given you a piece of his insides that was so sore and so fragile and you’d held it until you hadn’t wanted it anymore, and you’d fucking thrown it away, because you were selfish and uncaring, vain and thinking of someone else while he thought of only you, dreamt of only you, just as you were and never will be again.

—

Megumi’s angry. Always has been. Still is.

“Sometimes I think I hate you.”

It surprises you—and yet it doesn’t. At his words, you stop on the sidewalk and stare, wide-eyed and unblinking, and then you relax. Smile a little, pitiful. “I know.” A chill goes by, even though it’s almost summer, and you wrap your arms around your body like you’re self-conscious. “Sometimes I think I hate me, too.”

It all comes spilling out then. Fushiguro becomes Fushiguro, lets that part of Toji that he suffocates finally breathe. “I loved you, I fucking—” the shine comes back to your eyes, but the dam doesn’t break and you don’t look away, “I would have done anything for you, and I wouldn’t have left you for some—some college girl, just to try something new.” He’s shaking so hard that he stumbles back a bit, one foot in the grass and one on the pavement. “I told my sister about you and—and she wanted to meet you, and my dad, my stupid, piece of shit father that you knew about!”

“I know,” you say again, just like he had, I know, I know, I know. The tears haven’t fallen yet, not like they had outside the library, when you sobbed behind your hands and let out excuse after excuse. “When Noritoshi asked me to marry him, I think he knew something was different, and I think I did, too.” The reminder of your happy ever after still stings, even now, but you still don’t look away and Megumi finds that he wants to, that he’s not even sure he wants to hear whatever this is. “I knew what I was doing when I said yes.”

(“I’m here now, kid, so what’re you crying about?” Toji did, at least, look like he felt bad, standing over Megumi in his shitty bathroom as he puked up cheap whiskey and all his heartbreak. “Can’t change the past by whining about it.”)

“I’m a very selfish person, and vain,” you’ve since deleted your Instagram, and only share very little on Facebook, “and I cared about you and Noritoshi, but I cared about me first, and I was afraid of being with you and scared of losing him.” The dam breaks, with a shrug. “You were kind and wonderful and would have done anything for me, even though I didn’t deserve it, even though I still loved him, and no one ever says, you know, how to accept that you’re a—a shitbag.” You laugh a broken little sound and wipe at your face with your sleeves. “No one ever teaches you how to handle that revelation, but I think I’m figuring it out.”

There aren’t any whispered I’m sorry’s or hands in his hair, against his back or on his face. No begging for forgiveness or defense about why you came back—you didn’t even come back; he just found you here, at the end of his path, where you had been waiting.

There’s just you and your doom, honest and ugly and wounded.

All the ways he imagined this, it always ended with a grand declaration of love from you and him. There were times he imagined saying it and leaving forever, set free from the curse of you and able to move on, and there were times when he’d taken you to bed in his shitty apartment and you’d stay this time and all the times after it.

But this isn’t a fairytale, and even if it was, Megumi isn’t sure he’d believe it.

On the sidewalk, you turn and stare back at the house-party, hug yourself a little tighter and smile that smile that’s still the same. “I think I’ll regret it until I die.” Then it’s like you remember something and you clear your throat, march up to him to place your hands on his shoulders so you can shake him a little bit. “Because you were enough, Megumi. You still are, and your dad is still a fucking asshole. And—and the people who hurt you aren’t a reflection of you, but of themselves and I need you to know that, even if you never speak to me again.” You have to puff up your cheeks to hold the tears back. Your eyes go so soft that they’re warm, in the moonlight. “I did love you, Megumi, because you are so easy to love. I’m just—just a fucking asshole, too.”

—

It had been incredible to kiss you for the first time, when you had initiated it in his room in Gojo's apartment, so long ago. The euphoria of it all had taken him by surprise and he'd stilled inside of you, completely enchanted by the feel of your lips against his, and you must have gotten impatient; you'd wiggled your hips back up against him until he had to sputter out, s-stop! because you felt too good, all of you. Perfect, as you once were and never would be again.

—

Megumi would have done anything for you, sacrificed himself if that's what you asked—but he can't say the same today, and there's a solid part of him that knows that's good. And it's not born from hate or resentment, just something that unfurled over time as he grew and learned exactly the kind of man he wanted to be, one that understood the balance of a healthy relationship.

Heartbreak has changed you. Formed you into someone new. Someone that is friendly, pretty as always, shy in a way, but captivating once you get to know her.

And it's changed him, too, into someone who's worth a damn. Someone that doesn't put you on a pedestal. Someone who—maybe—isn't so angry, not anymore.

"Summer's coming," he says, and it sounds scratchy, like he hasn't spoken in years. It surprises you—for real this time. "I still live in town."

You nod, blinking until he's clear in your teary vision. "I know," I know, I know, I know, "me too."

"You're not a shitbag." When he says it, you laugh—a real one, big and blinding and with all your teeth. "Shitbags don't care if they're shitbags." He stumbles back when you lean into him and he has to grab onto your hand to steady himself.

"That's a compelling argument, I have to say." There are little rings on your fingers, silver ones that are cool against his clammy hand.

It dawns on Fushiguro that he should say something clever, something that will make you laugh again, but he can't. Instead he just smiles in a way he hasn't in a long time: small and secret, one that's reserved for just you.

"I want to see you again."

At his words, the warmth of your fingers spreads, covers his hand as you brush a thumb over his knuckles. It's relaxed in a way that has his eyes almost lidding, has him pulling closer to you without realizing, as if he was always meant to come back into your hold.

"I'll see you whenever you want," you murmur, free hand playing with the zipper on his jacket. "As long as you want to see me, I'll be here."

Maybe that will only be for tonight, maybe only for tomorrow. Maybe Megumi will wake up in six weeks and realize he's moved on, finally, from this love that refuses to die out, and maybe he never will.

But now, as he rests his chin on your head, swimming with the beer in his bloodstream and you in his heart, he'll have you. Exactly as you are, he'll have you.

[olivetreehugger]

Okay so I’m in a brainrot mood too rn but Reiner gives me big service Dom energy. Cause like I feel like if you were to ask him to fuck u till u can’t think straight he’ll do it no problem he just won’t do anything unless u ask of him. Also feel like he’s a praise whore which ties into what I said previously. Aftercare is good too cause he’s such a sweetheart and he would 100% fold if you were to continue to praise him afterwards with kisses.

oh YES

picture this

note: this one’s long, sorry about the crappy grammar it is LATE, also the first time I’ve ever written smut so be gentle lol…also afab reader (honestly written from my perspective let’s be real), MINORS DNI/NSFW

-you come home from work absolutely exhausted, but really all you’re thinking about is how warm and achey it is between your legs

-you’ve been thinking about your husband all day and since he left for work early this morning, he wasn’t able to take care of his baby’s needs

-so you shower, running your hands over your breasts, gently tugging at your nipples as the hot water washes over them. You imagine Reiner’s tongue on them, sucking and tugging with just a tiny bit of teeth, eliciting the softest moans from you

-it grows warmer and wetter down there, the ache becoming almost painful as you think about your husband’s body hovering above you, holding you tight as he ruts his hips into yours, cock buried deep inside you

-you get out of the shower and dry yourself off hurriedly. You need release and you need it NOW

-just as you're about to lay on the bed and start touching yourself, you hear the front door open. a set of keys jingle and you hear, “I’m home, dove!”

-a sigh of relief escapes your lips. you look down at the towel encircling your torso and decide to greet him naked, the idea so tantalizing you can’t resist it.

-“dove? I said I’m home!” He calls, voice laced with concern. You hear his heavy footsteps come closer.

-you confidently you strut into the hallway, naked as the day you were born. you catch him halfway, and he just STARES.

-“hey, baby,” you greet him with a coy smile. you cross your arms behind your back and tilt forward ever so slightly so your breasts take center stage

-hazel eyes slide down your body hungrily just as you’d hoped.

-“are you gonna give me a kiss or are you just gonna stand there?”

-Reiner immediately closes the gap between you both, his lips crashing into yours with such hunger that you think he might just swallow you whole.

- you kiss him desperately, tongue sliding into his mouth, eager to taste him, to swallow his worries and stress and just take him into you

-without releasing your mouth, Reiner scoops you up and carries you to the bedroom

-he gently lays you down, only breaking the kiss to look into your eyes and tell you how beautiful you look

- “all for you, my love” you breathe, running one of your hands over his clothed dick.

-a soft grunt leaves his lips; he’s rock hard.

-“tell me what you want” he says, tearing his clothes away, revealing bit by bit his stunning figure. Finally he pulls off his pants, his cock springing free and into your awaiting hands.

-as you wrap your fingers around his thick member, he groans, and you smile because you know he is just as desperate for this, if not more.

-your eyes are on his face, his chest, his dick. God he’s so fucking hot, you think to yourself. how'd I get this lucky?

- “fuck me silly,” you say, one hand snaking down to touch yourself. “fuck me until I cant think straight.”

- Reiner‘s eyes are focused exactly where you want them to be—on your pussy. You jerk his cock up and down with one hand and touch your wet folds with the other.

-his mouth waters as he watches you caress his cock, tugging the silky skin on the head just the way he liked, while you pump your fingers in and out of yourself.

-you look like a goddess

-“on your back” he growls

-you don’t need to be told twice

-you spread your legs for him and give him the most innocent look with your doe-like eyes, batting your lashes at him with a look that says “come hither”

-it gets him every time

-Reiner gets to work right away, tongue finding your sensitive clit immediately and swirling his tongue around it, sending shockwaves down your spine. you moan shamelessly as he alternates between sucking your clit and lapping up the wetness between your folds, while occasionally dipping his tongue inside you

- “oh, Reiner…” you breathe, the pleasure so intense you can barely speak. “You’re so amazing at this, your mouth feels so good!”

-you know he loves to be praised because he buries his head deeper between your thighs, his pace more fervent

- “I-ah-missed you s-so much today, ah, I m-missed my husband,” you moan, losing your ability to form a coherent sentence

-reiner only stops to say, “I missed you too, sweetheart, now let me hear those gorgeous moans”

-he loves seeing you like this, so desperate for him, unraveling you to your core as he works you towards oblivion -you feel yourself getting closer and closer as he continues his worship of your pussy, and it just hurts so good you don’t want it to end-

- “don’t wanna cum yet,” you squeak, voice hardly a whisper

-Reiner lifts his head, and you giggle because his nose, mouth and chin are coated in a thin sheen of your slick

-“are you sure, dove?” He asks, gently squeezing your thighs

-you nod. Yes, you’re sure. You know this orgasm is going to be a good one and you desperately want to cum with him. He’ll be thanking you later anyway

-Reiner stands up quickly, leaning against the bed to position himself.

-you love how big he his. He could manhandle you, toss you around, whatever. but he doesn’t. he is so gentle that even when you‘re making love, he thrusts ever so slowly and gently, watching your face for any twist of discomfort or pain

-he presses his cock against your hole, and you tilt your hips upwards frantically

-you need him so bad you think youre going to explode

-“just fuck me baby…please!” You beg, squirming with anticipation.

-a light chuckle ripples from his chest as he pushes your hips back down.

-“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Let me work.”

-ever so carefully, reiner lines himself up to you and pushes his hips forward. your pussy stretches so deliciously as he slides into you. A gasp of pure ecstasy falls from your lips.

-reiner throws his head back and lets out the most gutteral moan as he bottoms out inside you. Your pussy is the most intoxicating thing in the world to him.

-“you’re so wet for me, dove…” he grunts, his hips pulling back, only to ram them forward again

-you cry out in pleasure as his cock fills you to the brim, the suction of your pussy creating a delicious dragging sensation as he fucked you. It was electrifying

-“look how good you are, baby,” reiner rambles, his voice husky and needy. “my sweet girl, taking me so easily, fuck you’re so tight”

-as he slams into you, the ache in your pussy turns into absolute ecstasy, it twists into a knot inside your lower abdomen and coils tighter and tighter with every thrust.

- “I love you”, you cry out, over and over. “nnh, oh my god, you feel so good love…”

-you can tell he’s starting to unravel because his breathy moans are getting louder and his thrusts are more erratic.

-the knot in your abdomen is getting tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. reiner’s tip is kissing that sweet spot inside you so perfectly, you can feel yourself nearing the edge

-“I’m about to cum!” you squeal, drunk on the feeling of his dick in you. the knot inside you snaps and you tumble into bliss, your walls pulsing around him, drowning his cock in velvety, tight, soaking wet paradise.

-reiner comes undone, spilling himself into you as he gives in to euphoria. he moans sweet nothings into your ear as his hot, white cum coats your walls.

-“fuck I love you”

-“you feel so amazing”

- “you’re so damn perfect”

-The two of you lay like this for a while, him laying on top of you, still inside your warm inner pocket. He gently presses kisses to your shoulder and neck.

-as he continues to pepper you with kisses and praise, you recognize that it was a good idea that you didn’t touch yourself in the shower.

-

-

-

[diffind0]

High

A/N: Helloooo, i was looking for some smut earlier and couldn’t find one that satisfied me enough (?) so I decided to write one. This is probably shit, it’s my first time writing something (Also english is not my first language) and im kinda nervous about it. So please let me know what you think. Enjoy! WARNINGS: smut, drug use, bad words? probably bad grammar ups sorry Summary: First time being high and having sex with your boyfriend tom smut under the cut

It wasn't the first time you and Tom smoked weed, in fact, you guys did it quite regularly. But it was the first time you fucked while high. Everything started one day where Tom came home really stressed about filming his upcoming film with the Russo Brothers, Cherry. Once he came through the door, you could see in his eyes the crappy day he had, so you suggested smoking a bit, just to take the tension off of him. “That actually sounds quite nice, love” he had said after thinking about it for a minute. So you rolled a blunt, and led Tom to the living room, sat him down on the couch, put on some music and dimmed the light so everything would be more relaxing. You lit the joint and took a long hit at it, held the smoke in your lungs for a couple seconds and blew the air out slowly. Tom was looking at how hot you looked doing that, and licked his lips before accepting the cigarette you were offering, his eyes never leaving yours. You passed the blunt a couple times, talking almost nothing, enjoying the feeling of the drugs getting to your head. You could see how tired his eyes were, bags under them from waking up super early and coming home extra late that day. While he took a hit from the joint, you also noticed his features, his wild eyebrow, his little freckles from playing golf under the sun, his thin lips rounding the tip of the joint, and his sharp jaw when he lifted his head at an angle to take in the smoke. He looked so hot. You didn’t know if you were high already (honestly, you were a little bit of a lightweight), but watching him blow out the smoke from his lungs and having his neck exposed like that, made you want to lick the sensitive skin more than ever. So you did, you came closer to him, while he was looking at the shadows the light made in the ceiling, and pressed your face to his neck, taking in his scent, and licking a long stripe, from the base to his ear, where you stayed and nibbled on the lobe for a second. “What you doing there babe?” He asked, closing his eyes at the sensation your tongue provided to the sensitive area. “I don’t know, you look really hot like that” You said, after pressing soft kisses to his neck. “Like what? Doing drugs?” He questioned, feeling himself getting a bit hard. “Yeah, I couldn't resist myself” you said, going back and looking straight to his face. His eyes now were a little bit red, but they were darkened with lust. “I know you had a long day Tommy, but let me take care of you” Without waiting for his answer, you took his face and kissed him, hard. He instinctively placed his hands on the back of your head, desperately trying to deepen the kiss. You didn’t put any resistance at his gesture, and opened your mouth to let your toung ask for permission to enter his mouth. He let you, and played with your tongue desperately. Once you felt the wet flesh, you let out a small moan, the sensation making you horny in a second. He took this as a signal to keep going, so he moved his hands to one of your legs to pull it to one of his sides, making you straddle him. You positioned yourself so you would be sitting comfortably in his lap, and immediately rolled your hips, making Tom moan deeply and grabbed your ass, giving it a tight squeeze, making you roll your hips again. He smiled into your lips, and you took the chance to put your chilly hands under his shirt, feeling his hard abs. “Take this off” you ordered. He obliged, throwing his shirt over his head quickly. The cold air and your hands making his nipples get hard, so without containing yourself, you started kissing his chest, feeling his dick get harder with  every second passig. You could feel it in your centre, and the sensation made you so wet you swore he would be able to feel it through your leggins if he touched you there.Reading your mind, he did exactly that, traveling his hands from your butt to your front, placing one of them flat against your pussy. You grinned against it, trying to get more pressure from it. He got the signal and pressed against your core once more, making you throw your head back in pleasure. He took this opportunity to kiss your exposed neck furiously, biting it occasionally, definitely leaving marks all around it.

He took your shirt off in one swift motion, followed rapidly by your bra, and started playing with your nipples until they were hard as a rock. You started undoing his pants, getting them down enough so his dick could come bouncing out of his clothes and hitting his naked stomak. You took it in one of your hands and stroked it up and down a few times, feeling him getting harder. You came off his lap to the floor, kneeling in front of him.

 “Such a pretty view” he said, getting his pants completely off, knowing what was coming. You smiled at him, taking his dick into both of your hands and spitting a little at the tip of it, taking a big breath and putting it in your mouth, moving slowly down, placing your tongue flat against his shaft. Once you had half of it in, you did it again, and again, and again, until you had a good rhythm. You could hear Tom's little moans, whispering words of encouragement  to you. You bobbed your head quickly, feeling how your boyfriend's hips were starting to move upwards, so he grabbed a fist full of your hair to help him with his movements. You closed your eyes and concentrated, because the tip of his dick started to touch the back of your throat.

All of the sudden, he stopped, and placed his hands on both sides of your head to make you look at him “If you keep doing that love, im gonna cum in your mouth.” You wiped your lips with the back of your arm, ready to tell him that you didn't mind if that happened. “But I need to feel you around me now” he continued.

You simply nodded, helping yourself up with the hand he was offering you. He spinned you around, still sitting, and took your leggins off in one swift motion, helping you out of them. He looked at your ass with hungry eyes, and licked one of your cheeks. The gesture made you giggle, but then he slapped gently the place he licked, and made you gasp in pleasure. He did it again, to your other cheek, getting the same reaction. He then, from behind you, bent you over a little so your clothed cunt was showing. He saw the dark spot your wetness made onto your underwear, and wouldn’t resist himself from taking two fingers to your center and stroke it softly. You whimpered in his touch, now completely high from the weed you smoked earlier, and the feeling being so intense.

“God, you’re getting so desperate darling, maybe we should smoke and do this more often” He said in a low voice, smiling teasingly.

“Shut up and fuck me already” You responded looking back at him, the anticipation killing you.

“Yes ma’am” the curly one responded with a smirk that made you want to slap him. He turned you around once more, so now you were facing him. He was also high, his eyes now completely red. He played a little bit with the waistband of your panties, making you groan with desperation. He giggled and pulled them off, now standing completely naked in front of him. He stood up, placing his large hands on your waist and pulling you closer to him, your arms lacing behind his neck, he kissed you passionately making your chest fill with love for the brit. He then placed both of his hands on your ass, urging you to jump so he could carry you to your shared bedroom. You laced your legs around his hips, feeling his hard dick touch your pussy a little.

Once you were in there, he closed the door and put you directly against it, not putting you down. He looked deep into your eyes, and put his dick inside you, slowly, so you could feel every bit of him, every vein, every detail. You both gasped, opening your mouths to let out the breath you didn’t notice you were holding.

 “Always so tight for me, doll” He complimented you, pulling out and doing the same thing again, getting a similar reaction from you. “So wet and so tight” 

He started moving more regularly, his dick going in and out of you easily. You kissed him, swallowing his moans, and then you bit his lip, the feeling of him so intense that you had to do so.He started pounding into you, his head resting on your shoulder so he could concentrate. You tangled one of your hands in his hair and pulled a little bit, making him groan deeply. You were also moaning uncontrollably, filling his ears with words of encouragement like “You’re doing so good baby” or “So fucking big”

Once the pounding got sloppy, he pulled out of you, making you protest due to the lack of pressure, but he carried you to the bed, letting you down and turning you around, putting you in all fours with your ass up in the air. He squeezed it once, before putting his dick inside you once more. You gasped, the new position making him reach so deep inside you that you didn’t understand how it was possible. He kept going, moaning and panting.

 You started looking back at him over your shoulder, he had his eyes closed and was concentrated in keeping his rhythm steady.

 “Tom” you said in a breathy voice, “Look at me” You asked. He did. He looked so fucking hot, a bit of sweat starting to form in his body, making him shine in the dark. He pulled you back from one of your shoulders, so you were standing upright. He held you with one arm around your stomach.

“You like that, when I fuck you so deep?” You nodded yes, unable to speak due to the extreme pleasure you were feeling. “Use words babe, I can’t hear you”

‘Yes Tommy, so deep” Is all you could say. You put your hands on his thick thighs, getting you more support, while he moved the arm he had around your waist and rounded your neck with his large hands and slender fingers. “I'm so close, love” He closed his hand grip around your neck a bit more, cutting some of your airway, but keeping it light enough so you wouldn’t suffocate. He also used his other hand to circle in between your legs, pressing down on our clit. “I'm cumming, Tom” you said.

“Cum for me” he said in your ear, “Cum around my cock” That was what took you over the edge Your walls clenched around him, orgasming hard. The feeling was so intense, not like the times you had fucked before, but ten times more powerful. So powerful that you were now screaming his name riding your high. He pounded into you, helping you through it, cumming right after you.

He moaned hard, and let you neck go, also pulling out of you, so you fell forward onto the bed, exhausted. He fell right behind you, his chest going up and down fast.

He giggled, and smiled like a kid. “That was fucking amazing” he said while spooning you.

“Yeah, I agree” You turned around in his grip, facing him. You kissed him lightly “Maybe we should smoke and fuck more regularly” you said smiling and kissing all over his face.

“Absolutely” he replied happily.

“So you had a rough day?” You asked, remembering why you started smoking in the first place. He nodded softly, still recovering from moments ago. “Tell me about it”

“Maybe after we get some food, i'm starving.”

[emmikmil]

need you more than ever

Pairing: Steve Murphy x f!reader

Rating: T

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Slight mention of sex at the end. A LOT of fluff, bit of mopey Steve

A/N: I present a fluffy little Valentine’s Day Steve fic. We all need some Steve Murphy fluff and lovin. Enjoy!

You hum and sway your hips gently as you stir the stew bubbling away on the stove. You were enjoying whatever song was playing on the radio, the station focusing on cheesy love ballads for the day. As you set the heat on low to wait for Steve to come home you puttered around the house. You start putting away laundry, you set the table neatly, and as a happy melody starts to play, you break out into song.  You start to dramatically dance with the small decorative pillow from the couch, spinning with breathless giggles. 

That is where Steve finds you as he rushes in, seeing the setting sun light up your dancing figure giving you a beautiful glow. As you turn and spot him you can't help but break out into a grin. As he looks adoringly back at you, you try and hide your giggle bubbling up in your throat. Steve's normally perfect hair was wild and falling in his sweaty face. In his arms was a beautiful but wilted bouquet. His look was topped off with what looked like a large coffee stain down the front of his shirt. The word disheveled in the dictionary surely had this man's photo underneath.

"There's my valentine," he says with a soft smile as he walks up to you. You finally let out that laugh you've been holding in as you push away some of his sweat soaked hair off his forehead. You move your hand back around to his neck, pulling him down for a lingering kiss. "I bring you flowers and you laugh at me?" He teases as he pulls away.

"Well, you just look so dorky and adorable I couldn’t help it!" You exclaimed as you plucked the flowers from his arm to give them a quick smell. He huffs a bit as he runs his hand through his hair. You grin again knowing exactly now why his hair looked so fluffy. "Did you have a rough day at work handsome?" You asked over your shoulder as you went in search of a vase in the kitchen. 

"Christ honey, you have no idea," he mutters as he walks behind you. He reaches for the fridge to grab a beer, leaning against it as he takes a large gulp from the bottle. Neither of you speaks as you fill the vase you found under the sink and carefully arrange your flowers. "M'sorry they're not roses sweetheart, this was all they had," he sighs, sadly gesturing to the vase. The flowers are now proudly sitting by the window sill and your brow furrows as you look at them and back to Steve. You sigh before crossing your arms over your chest.

"Are you insulting my flowers here, big guy? Really?" you said flatly as you raise your eyebrows. Your whole demeanor drops as you see him wilt almost as much as the flowers. He slumps against the fridge and hangs his head. "Hey now. Steve, please talk to me," you say as you walk towards him, placing your hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look down at you. His bright eyes are stormy and the crease between his eyebrows deepens as he gazes at you.

"Every damn thing I've tried to do today for you hasn't been good enough. I didn't get the flowers I wanted for you, the bakery we love didn't have your favorite doughnuts. I'm home later than I wanted to be, and I wanted to dress up for-" you cut off his rambling with your finger on his lips. Steve just sighs and gently kisses your finger before attempting a small, sad smile. 

"My darling man," you sigh, "I told you, today is not a big deal. It's just another day, Valentine's Day doesn't mean anything." As you speak you bring his forehead down to rest on yours. "You brought me flowers in my favorite color, they’re beautiful. You can easily go this weekend and get my doughnuts and coffee so we can have breakfast in bed." Your voice trails off into a whisper as you play with the hair at the back of his neck. You can feel him relaxing into your touch and he lets out a deep breath.

"I just wanted this day to be extra special." He says as he moves to kiss your forehead. "It's just the first Valentine's Day since we moved down here. You’ve sacrificed so much for this and I wanted to show you just how much I appreciate you." His sweet words damn near crack your heart open as his thumbs rub soft circles into your hips. "This job ain't easy darlin’ and I bring it home to you every damn day, dumping all of this weight onto you. I just wanted tonight to be nice."

You had to scoff at that. "Steve, the night has barely begun! We’ll eat dinner, drink some beer, watch the crappy movie we rented, and go to bed early. That is all I want, just a quiet night with you." You smile sweetly at your husband, his smile soon matching yours. "I don't need a grand gesture one day a year to know how much you love and appreciate me, handsome. You show me that every day, it's much more than I deserve honestly, and-," this time he was the one to cut you off with a firm kiss that makes you whimper as he pulls away.

"You insulting my wife there, pretty girl?" He grins, just out of reach of your lips. You couldn't help but smack his arm lightly and scowl as he threw your earlier words back at you. Your scowl soon turns into a goofy grin to match his as Steve pulls you closer to slow dance to the radio that was still playing love ballads softly from the living room. You couldn't help but snuggle closer to him, breathing in his faint cologne, laundry detergent, and cigarette smoke. That scent alone cancels all other thoughts in your brain and calms you to your core.

You two swayed like that for a couple of songs, just enjoying the peace and warmth of the other’s embrace. As a more upbeat song starts, you pull away and smirk at your husband.

"So...what time today did you remember it was Valentine's Day?" Your smirk grew to a grin as you saw some color leave his face.

"I...I didn't forget, what kind of husband would I-…. Alright, it was about 3:30 this afternoon. HEY!" It was his turn to scowl as your grin widens before bursting into laughter. "Yeah to make it even fucking worse, Peña was the one to remind me." Steve shook his head and barks out a laugh as you nearly double over clutching your stomach.

"Javier ‘Eternal Bachelor’ Peña reminded you, the married man, what today was?" You sputter out between your gasps for breath and wiping tears from your eyes. 

Steve just shrugged, "He asked if he should buy flowers or something since he was seeing Freckles tonight." The room was silent for three seconds before you both broke into a laughing fit. As you both calm down, you softly nudge Steve in the direction of the bedroom.

"Go get changed while I serve up dinner." Steve sends a mock salute your way before following your instruction. "Oh and I'll forgive you for almost forgetting the date as long as you make me cum later!" you yell over your shoulder as you stir the stew. You damn near throw down the spoon as you yelp when you feel the solid smack on your ass, and you turn to see Steve racing down the hall to your room. "You better run, you jerk." You mutter softly as a smile lights up your face.

[kmikaelsonimagines]

This Is The First Thing: A Kol Mikaelson Imagine

Request from Anon: One shot for This Is The First Thing from Sinners Never Sleep

Hey guys! Just a quick little bit of self-promotion here, but I’ve recently created a Chilling Adventures of Sabrina blog, where requests are open! So if that interests you at all, please head on over to @scorlettimagines​ and have a little explore! Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x

Want to hear the song? Find a link to it just below:

This Is The First Thing

Come a little closer As the night gets older

It was easy to lose track of time, easy to let the world waste away while you were wrapped up in your own version of reality. It was easy to let the clock tick by, easy to drown out the sound of everything on the edge of that bubble you were in.

Everything was easy when you were in love.

Kol’s hands rested on your waist, his forehead pressed against your own as you swayed to music that neither of you were really listening to. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, fingers fiddling with hair on the back of his neck, light kisses pressed to lips every so often.

Eyes flitted open and closed at each one, smiles threatening to remain permanent.

He pulled you closer with every step, a true dancer at heart, the light outside fading with every beat of the music. Night arrived, people leaving the bar, making their way home to bedrooms and hours filled with passion.

But you two remained, caught up in each other, time growing older as you stayed. Never to age, forever the same.

Kol kissed you again, the beating of your heart suffocating the sounds of doors shutting as the starved streets of New Orleans filled with people.

Of you I grow fonder Just let my hands wander

There were only a few people left, the absence of noise becoming noticeable. Too wrapped up in each other, not wanting to let go, wishing to stay in this single moment. Kol’s lips on yours, your hands on his neck as passion enveloped you, breath mingling, hands wandering, moving from their spot on your waist.

Three words. The first that had been spoken in what felt like forever. His voice hoarse, throat dry, but full of emotion.

“I love you.”

You repeated the words, a smile appearing on his face. It was the first time either of you had said it, declared it, made it real. The words hung in the air, like the stars that lit up the world outside of the bar, that shone onto the lovers that walked the streets.

You broke apart, his hand taking yours, fingers intertwining as you joined the outsiders, feeling like running and jumping with joy, instead taking a stroll, bumping into each other and laughing like school children. Young for eternity.

Neither of you had been drinking, your only toxin sourced from the depths of your hearts. It spread in kisses, in touches, overwhelming everything as you stumbled back to his house.

This is the first thing I thought This is the last thing that I want

You looked at him lying there, his chest rising and falling as he breathed in the after effects of his words back in the bar. Kol’s eyelashes lay flat against his cheeks, black curves painted with a finesse that didn’t seem possible. Hair was tousled, windswept by the hurricane that was your hands. Lips slightly parted, so kissable.

You placed a hand on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his undead heart, one with a pace that matched your own. He woke at the feeling of your skin on his, a small greeting escaping his mouth, picking up your hand and kissing your palm.

“What are you thinking about?”

Nothing. Everything. How catastrophically this could end up. How perfect it was, how it could continue to be so. How you were afraid of it all. How you loved every second. How you didn’t want to lose him. How you were scared of keeping him.

“You won’t leave me, will you?”

He kissed your palm again, the other hand reaching up to cup your cheek. Thumb stroked flushed skin, joining other fingers to trail down the column of your throat, your collarbone, drawing a line that had no end.

“Never.”

You were the first one I loved You were the first love I lost

It all seemed so long ago now. It was no longer easy to let time fly by, to let the clocks tick on. It was no longer easy to let the world waste away, not when you were so aware of it.

First loves had made it easy.

First heartbreaks made it that much more difficult.

Fifteen years had felt like thirty, time that should have passed in the blink of an eye. The move had been the hardest part, leaving New Orleans, the city you loved where the outsiders had become your friends, its quirks your familiarities.

It had all been so perfect. And yet, it had all gone so wrong.

He was married now, you’d heard that through the supernatural grapevine in a crappy downtown bar, one that was so different from the one you had found love in all those nights ago. The stars that shone outside were hidden behind clouds that engulfed any light, any joy, any love that one ever had the chance of feeling. 

Your drug was just that; alcohol, hot and burning, sour and sweet, dampening the pain of an aching heart that was formed of broken shards, cracked and out of place. It allowed misjudgement to take place, bad decisions to be made.

Which was why you were now standing outside Kol’s house.

Never say never say never again I'll never say never say never again 

Never. That’s what he had said when you’d asked him. He’d said never.

It was a word that had echoed in your head for all these years, bouncing around, forcing you to take another sip of whisky, another shot of vodka, enabling another tear to roll down cheeks he had touched with such tenderness, cries to escape lips he had kissed with a fiery passion.

You saw him with her. His new wife. She was small, pretty, just his type. Her fingers were intertwined with his just like yours had been, and he pressed a kiss to her temple as they walked. There was a familiar flush to her cheeks, red blooming on skin, telling a story that had once been yours.

You’d had it planned out. What you were going to say. Of course, it was the ramblings of a drunk woman, and naturally, it all disintegrated the moment you laid eyes on him. On his smile. It was a bigger smile than one he had ever shown you, and it shone with more brightness than those stars outside ever had. It was a light that reached the core of your soul, the broken shards that now made up your heart. You felt them begin to melt, to mould into the shape that had previously resided in your chest.

You couldn’t ruin everything for him. Not when he was happy. Not when you loved him like you did.

And so you turned away. You wouldn’t say that you would never see him again.

Never was just a word, and when did words ever mean anything?

Masterlist

Sinners Never Sleep Masterlist

[butterbeeryuta]

Backasswards

solar x reader | idol!yongsun au | smut, light fluff | 2.3 k

warning: profanity, lesbian sex, reader is actually cute af but has their nasty side too so basically park jimin 

Yeah, that was your girlfriend dancing to ‘Yummy’ by Justin Bieber. 

Now, you do not exactly like that song, but because Yongsun was dancing to it, and she looked absolutely delectable, so who were you to complain. Her well-defined hips were swaying back and forth, body fluidly moving along with the music, hitting every beat possible in the song. Then there was that specific scene in the video where she and Hyojung touching each other on the floor, slowly bringing back memories three nights ago when you and your girlfriend were roughly grinding on each other. You were used to seeing Yongsun wearing revealing clothing since she did pole dancing and all, and from your rather naughty actions, but this specific set of clothes made you bothered in a good way. Very bothered. The white cloth laying above her breasts could easily be removed with a swipe of your hand, only to reveal her dusty pink nipples, begging to be sucked by your plump lips. Her flawless skin, almost yearning for you to paint it with your teeth, leaving purple and red flowers to be scattered across. Various unspeakable scenes ran through your mind, and to say that you were not wet would be a lie. You were needy. Very needy. You needed relief. You want her to be home, help you reach your high. She was at the studio though. Although she told you she will come back at seven in the evening, you doubt if you could make it in the next two hours.

Your hands slid underneath your sweats, only to feel the damp patch in between your legs, immediately causing you to let out the dirtiest sounds. The little nub was easily found in between your fingers, and you begin to imagine it was your girlfriend’s hands putting you back to your place by torturing that little clit of yours. You knew you were not suppose to touch yourself, Yongsun just does not like it knowing she can bring you to pleasure so many times. Then again, you were an actual brat, and you liked to test her patience. Yes, you are the submissive one in the relationship, but can you really blame yourself when you girlfriend was moving her body like that? A smirk slowly formed on your lips, knowing exactly what to do to make your girlfriend come home quicker. You retrieved your hand, pushing the grey sweats and panties down your legs. You immediately stripped off your tank top, leaving you only in a silk coral bra as the cold air brushed against your bare hole. You took your phone, snapping a picture of yourself as your spread your glistening folds, one of the straps of your bra falling off your shoulder.

Click.

Like an excited little child, you quickly sent the picture to your girlfriend, eager to wait for her response with your imagination thinking all sorts of possibilities.

Ding.

Squirtle: Film yourself. Go touch yourself for me bby.

What?

That was the last thing you expected to come out of her. She was supposed to be angry. She was supposed to be furious with you. Then again, you still complied with her request, submitting to her as usual. Without hesitation, you placed your phone against your piled up sheets, showing your bare state clearly, you hot cavern being the centre of attention. Pressing the red button, your hands naturally slid down your torso, touching the little nub so gently, yet the pleasure was immense. Your hands gradually moved quicker, increasing the speed of your hands against your clit, your damp chest heaving up and down as soft whimpers left your swollen lips from all the biting you did. Your free hand pulled one of the cups down, exposing your breast that was begging to escape from the clothed material.

‘Y-Yongsun’ you softly moaned as your slowly entered your damp fingers in your hot cavity, your tender walls hugging your two fingers tightly. A sigh of relief escaped your throat, your fingers eventually having a mind of its own, furiously pumping in and out of your hole. Your eyes were closed, your brain only thinking of your girlfriend, thinking of all sorts of things, or punishments per se. Maybe she will deny your orgasm multiple times with her slender fingers, or her warm tongue, or perhaps her core rubbing against yours harshly as her fingers wrap around your throat, reminding you where you belong in the relationship. A knot slowly began to form in your lower abdomen, your hips unconsciously rising, meeting each and every thrust of your fingers. Your mind drifted back to the video of Yongsun dancing to the arguably crappy song, but most importantly, your mind focused on her attire and how her body swayed to the music, enough to bring you to your climax. In an instant, a high pitched moan left your mouth, your legs trembling vigorously as your chest was heaving heavily, trying to breathe in and out. Your eyes reopened, your phone still filming the filthiest shit you have done so far, yet you did not mind it. You pulled your fingers out of your greedy little hole, whining in annoyance that you were not full anymore. There was nothing else to see except for the sticky essence left all of your fingers, begging to be cleaned off. Going closer to the camera, your brought your ruined fingers up to your mouth, making the most lewd sounds as you taste your own release, eyes staring directly into the camera; and finally, you stopped the video.

Smiling like a complete idiot, you sent the video immediately to Yongsun without cropping it whatsoever, wanting her to see everything raw. But as of now, you wait.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yongsun had just finished filming with an English teacher for her YouTube channel, which was doing rather great. Yongsun knew you were very supportive of her channel, and she was honestly very happy with your reaction. After saying her goodbyes to the crew, she reached for her phone to ask you if you wanted anything before she reached home, just like she always did.

homo girlfriend has sent an attachment.

Tilting her head slightly, she innocently tapped on the attachment, not knowing what you send.

You were fucking naked. You were extremely wet. What the fuck.

She did not know what exactly to feel. Of course, a rush of warmth was felt between her legs, but was she going to punish you? Yongsun had a long day today, and she really just wanted to have some food with you and sleep. That may not be the plan anymore though. Smirking, she messaged you to send a video of you touching yourself. Just to make things more heated the moment your girlfriend finally reaches home.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Alright, your ass better be in bed’ a familiar voice said, soon followed by the sound of the door closing. Smiling like a fool, you immediately prepared yourself on your shared bed, fully bare from head to toe. Yongsun did not say anything after you sent that video, and that honestly made you quite nervous. If not, you felt a sense of regret. You are usually not the type to send such provocative images or clips to Yongsun mainly because she tells you not to as she is in charge of the bedroom. Aside from that, you also sometimes feel that your privacy may be invaded because who knows, perhaps the government in watching you. You getting off by your fingers may not be the first thing your personal FBI wants to see. Before you can think of anything else that can possibly ruin the mood with your theory on the lack of privacy in the modern world, your girlfriend was there your shared room in a black cropped top and low raise jeans, clearly showcasing her toned stomach.

‘My, my, and here you are naked. Though, I was sort of expecting that. You were very needy today, huh?’ She asked, slowly coming towards your naked body. Looking up at your girlfriend with big puppy eyes, you nodded eagerly in response, ready to receive whatever punishment she had in mind with you. Yongsun just chuckled at your state. She literally could do anything right now, and you would most likely comply to her.

‘I honestly would have be spanking you right now, and I know how much you love that, but I am quite tired today. Your little picture and video made me very horny you know. Anyways, I want you to sit on my face while you finger me, can you do that for me babe?’ She asks, finally sitting on top of your naked form, your eyes directly meeting each other. You rubbed your inner thighs against each other, whispering a yes against your girlfriend’s pink lips. Yongsun smiled, finally closing the gap between your lips, tasting each other for the first time today. Your lips naturally melted against hers, the heat between the two of you further intensifying. Your hands dragged down her upper body until the end of her top, lifting it up to reveal those breasts that you were begging to see and taste from that dance video. As if Yongsun read your mind, her lips left yours, standing up as she removes her clothes, leaving her equally bare as you are. 

‘Alright enough of that, now come here’ she says, laying down on the spot beside you, licking her bottom lip, anticipating to taste you. You smiled at your girlfriend, finding it somewhat adorable that even after breaking her rules, she still wants to treat you. Sitting up, you faced backwards, giving Yongsun a full view of your back side, slowly placing your left thigh on the other side of her face as your hot cavern is right above her. Without hesitation, your blonde girlfriend pulled you down, her warm velvet immediately making contact with your glistening folds.

‘Oh fuck’ you moaned, feeling every single detail of her tongue playing against your most core. Your hands reached for her breasts, slightly pulling her nipples as you know she likes it. Your moans grew louder and louder as her warm tongue eventually paid attention to your sensitive nub. Yongsun placed your clit between her lips, slightly sucking the little bundle of nerves, causing you to fall down against her torso from the immense pleasure rushing through your already fragile body. Remembering what Yongsun wanted from you, you licked three of your fingers despite your constant whines and moans. Slipping one finger between her wet folds, you felt Yongsun froze against you, shortly followed by a small moan. Smirking, you bent down between her legs, giving kitty licks to her pink nub, only causing her to moan against your pink lips. You added another finger in her hole, pumping more vigorously than before, causing more vibrations against your clit. Both of you were a moaning mess, very soon to reaching your peak.

‘F-fuck keep going Y/N, you can add one more finger babe’ she says, immediately burying her face back into your wet folds, fucking your drenched pussy with her tongue, tasting every single inch of you. Your legs gradually began to shake, a tight knot ready to be untied in your lower abdomen. Removing your lips from her sensitive nub, you began to pump three fingers into her warm walls; the only thing that can be heard is the wet noises from Yongsun’s greedy hole, and the two of your moans blended, rebounding against the four walls of your room.

‘Shit Yongsun I think I’m coming!’ You scream, trying your best to focus on pleasuring your girlfriend. She only deepened her tongue inside of you, and further amplified the pleasure by furiously rubbing your bundle of nerves, enough for you to fall apart. In an instant, you kept your fingers deep inside of her velvety walls as a loud moan erupted from your throat, legs shaking uncontrollably as you slowly moved back and forth against her face. Her tongue lapped up every bit of your sweet essence, enjoying the warm stickiness of your release on the palette of her tongue. Taking a deep breath, as well as realising Yongsun was literally right under you, you quickly got off of her, only to see her lips and chin fully drenched due to your wetness. Yongsun looked at you lovingly, enjoying your fucked out state; your cheeks were flushed, your hair was slightly messy, and your eyes were glossy—you were beautiful and sexy in her eyes.

‘You always taste so good against me’ she says, grabbing her own breasts, one in each hand, as she bites her bottom lip.

‘You know the “Yummy” dance video you did?’ You asked quietly, meticulously watching how her fingers unconsciously pulled her own brown tips.

‘Yeah? Though not gonna lie, I really don’t like that song. The video came out better than I thought though. Why?’ She questions, looking over at your direction.

‘Well, I sort of found it really hot and that’s one of the reasons to why I sort of went haywire and sent you... that’ you confessed, looking down at your lap, unsure of how she will react to it. She instead laughed at your reasoning, finding it quite adorable to how you confessed to why you sent those pictures.

‘Aww Y/N, you can send me anything you want at any time, even if it is a sexy picture or video of you. I miss you all the time with my hectic schedule, so I really don’t mind. I am glad you liked the video though’ she laughs as she responds, waiting to see your flushed face. You smiled at her, glad to know that she still loves and respects you even after your rather naughty actions. Looking back at your girlfriend, she was still playing with her breasts, and you had no idea if she was doing it deliberately.

‘Yongsun?’

‘Yes?’

‘Can I suck your boobs and make you come on my thigh?’ You asked before it was too late. Yongsun smiled at your offer, immediately sitting up from the soft mattress underneath the two of you. It was going to be one long fucking night. Literally.

[wrecked--stans]

A Challenge

Dom!Eunji x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Implied slap, Spanking, Crappy dom writing, Slight dirty talk?, Gay :))

Words: 1.2K~

“I just don’t see you as a strong dom honestly,” was the last coherent thing you remember saying. It was a normal conversation that Eunji started out of nowhere, obviously searching for something which ended up being you vocalizing your doubt in her abilities to take charge. Everything was going smooth as usual until you said that, gaining a low toned response from her. “Excuse me.” getting nervous at the inflection, her question clearly not seeking out any real answer. “Uhm, I just, let’s just talk about something else okay?” Slightly turning away from her to avoid her gaze, you listened to her footsteps getting closer almost synchronizing with your pounding heartbeat.

“Don’t ignore me.” Her tone low in your ear, Eunji wasn’t touching you but her body felt so close to yours, you waited for her to do something but nothing ever happened. “Baby,” jumping at her hand slowly moving up your back to lace her fingers in your hair before tugging your head back, “Don’t ignore me. Yeah?” Pulling your hair to emphasize her request. “Yes.” Sighing at her release on your hair, “Eunji, I’m sorry I believe you.” Caressing your cheek she smiles, “I know but now you need to deal with the consequences of doubting me, princess.”

Stumbling behind as Eunji pulled you to the bedroom you couldn’t help the growing excitement in your chest. Roughly being shoved towards the bed you try to regain your footing, looking at her while your hands grab the hem of your shirt waiting to see if that’s what she wanted. Continuing when she nods, both of you hurriedly finish undressing only to be roughly shoved onto the bed right after. With Eunji immediately straddling you, her bare core dripping onto your stomach. Her hands holding your arms above your head tightly, contrasting to the light kisses she gave your face. “Be good for me yeah?” Eunji’s weight shifts as she moves up your body, putting her legs on either side of your head slowly lowering herself down toward your face. Leaning up to swipe your tongue against her briefly, her hips buck mostly from surprise but she’s quick to move back to your mouth.

Quickly going to work, lick slowly up and down her slit using your arms to pull her down and keep her in place. Light whimpers above you mix with the wet noises coming from your sloppy movements. Running her hand through your hair, Eunji’s hips slowly grind trying to ride your tongue, softly moaning small praises, “just like that baby.” her thighs slightly tense as your hands come to rub up and down them lightly, starting to suck on her clit slowly and deeply; running your tongue every now and then up into her pussy. “Fuck- please k-keep doing that,” her stutters encouraging you to move faster knowing she’s close. Groaning against her heat you shake your head slightly, your nose rubbing her clit while you slurp and lick her arousal, now holding her hips still while you continue to abuse her pussy. “Baby~” she draws out, thighs trembling as she starts to cum.  Humming through her orgasm you slowly start to let up careful not to overstimulate her in your current position. “Y-Y/N, please,” Eunji whimpers as she tries her best to climb off of you, plopping halfway on the bed and your body. “Fuck,” sighing as she brushes her hair out of her face, “okay I, I almost believe you're sorry but not just yet.”

Pulling you into a soft kiss, taking her time to taste herself on your lips. Her hand lightly holding your hip while she bites on your bottom lip getting a groan from you. “I love hearing you” she whispers, placing light kisses on your neck sucking here and there leaving subtle marks. “You always sound so beautiful.” With her sudden soft aura you’re caught off guard when she shoves two fingers into your core. Gasping at the sudden intrusion, instinctively your hands grip the bed sheets and you sink your teeth into your lip out of embarrassment. Eunji’s fingers star a quick pace, smirking down at you before kissing you again, “Let me hear you baby, don’t be shy. This is what you wanted right?” opening your mouth you sigh, whining when she adds a third finger you nod at her question. “Y-yes,” clenching around her fingers you can’t stop whimpering at how deep shes hitting inside of you, you feel like you might tear the bed sheets from having such a tight grip. “E-Eu-unji~” eyes fluttering shut before a hot sting is present on your face. “Uh uh. I want you to look at me when you cum, or I won't let you.” pulling her fingers out and the loss of any stimulation makes you look up at her with tears. “No no please I’ll be good I-I’ll keep them open I promise!” Not skipping a beat Eunji returns to her previous actions, sinking down between your legs to flick your clit with her tongue. Chuckling at how your hips buck with the small gesture her eyes never leave your face making sure you keep your promise. “Mm my baby sounds so pretty,” she whispered before sucking on your clit, “so needy and desperate.” “Eunjiii pelase,” you whine, moving your hips up to her face again before she pushes them down against the bed. “Stay. Still.” your vision was narrowing, you wanted to hold onto this pleasure longer but knew you wouldn’t. Eunji started sucking harshly on your clit keeping her strong eye contact with you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck please!” you scream, one of your hands moving to grab hers that held you down. She hummed watching you suffer to keep your eyes open, closing hers as she feels your walls contracting and the warm liquid come out of you as your orgasm hits. Pulling her hand out she moves them to scratch down your legs while she helps you ride it out, licking and softly nibbling around your slit. Fully pleased at the way your body shook from pleasure she couldn’t help but laugh lightly, kissing the insides of your thighs and your lower stomach as she climbed back up your body.

Gasping for air you try to regain yourself before she comes up to your face, failing when you feel her bite below your ear, “Such a good baby.” she snickers. Your deep breaths  get caught when you see her look down at you, “a good baby for now but,” lightly tracing her finger down your neck, “I think you still need to know your place.” not understanding, you yelp when she flips you over, roughly groping your ass before pulling it in the air. “Now I know you probably thought I was done but I'm just getting started baby girl.” Her tone drop made you gulp, that same familiar sting from earlier now on your ass, “Eunji!” you squealed trying to lean away. Getting repositioned for another smack you cry her name out again, “Try that again and I’ll double the amount I was planning. Now? Are you going to be a good girl and take your punishment willingly?” you nod, stuffing your face into the mattress. Another smack comes down harder, “I didn’t hear that? Are you, going, to be, a good, girl?” slapping your ass to emphasize her point. “Yes!” you yell hoping she hears over the bed muffling your sounds. “Good, now start counting.”

[justtamisfitt]

Foxy boy

Reader X FoxHybrid!Taehyung

Warnings: some Fluff, SMUT, Sub!taehyung, Dom!Reader, Mommy x baby boy,

Authors note: Thank you anon for this idea!  i hope this traveled to smutty smut land ! sorry I got it out so late- ive had crappy wifi all day and it wouldn't post. 

One Saturday evening I was laying on the couch with my fox hybrid boyfriend named Taehyung. He and I had been dating for almost a year, life has been amazing with him. There’s never a doubt when it comes to him loving me and I, him. I counldnt ask for anyone better, everything was pretty much perfect. However there’s only one thing I've never done...topped Tae.

Oh sure, I’ve dreamed about loads of times, many occasion I would just sit and think about what i’d do to him. Now i’m not saying Taehyung is bad on top but I have certain... needs.

 Tae and I are cuddling on the couch with him laying with his arms wrapped around my waist and his head resting on my belly, of course, accompanied with my hand running gently through his hair occasionally playing with his ears. In the relaxed atmosphere my mind wanders while thinking of Tae. I start to think of what he would look like panting heavily under me, all needy and whiny. Thinking of this I could feel my core slowly heat up with my on need. Concerned with Tae smelling me with his keen nose I reach down and pull him up to my chest. So now he rests atop my full frame, head nuzzled in my neck and making a cute purring sound.

Unfortunately, his crotch is now resting near my own. 

“Hey y/n? Tae slowly peek his head out from my neck

 “What is it baby?” I whispered back

“Nothing, Nevermind, I just love you is all.” he hide his face back in my neck

“Oh? I love you too baby.” although skeptical I answer him all the same

I let my hands roam over his back, gently moving up and down, down close to his pelvis and up to his neck. Slowly, I moved my hands closer to his sides, brushing his hips sometimes. 

While we both were relaxing, Tae began to shift uncomfortably, causing his pelvis to brush against my heat, he gasped ever so lightly. Tae stilled once he got comfortable again. I noticed his breathing became to pick up slightly. 

I smirked sneakily, I knew what I was doing to him, maybe today will be the day I make him sub. I thought to myself. So I thought of ways to rile him up a little more.

Unaware to my scheming, Tae still nuzzled into my neck. I gently traced my hand back down his back and stroked his hips and my other hand gently wrapped around the base of his bushy tail. My grip on his tail tightened a bit and I gently pulled it as I threated my hand through the length of his tail. Taehyung gasped close to my ear, playing innocent, I payed it no mind and continued my ministrations. 

After a couple minutes of the teasing, I felt Tae breathing pick up again along with a slight bulge I could feel on his crotch thanks to our close proximity. Since he was wearing sweatpants and I was wearing thin shorts I could feel the weight of the bulge perfectly and with that I knew he could smell my panties that are getting wetter and wetter.  I wanted to push him just a little more, so I shifted my hips upwards, like I was trying to get comfortable. Which caused my hip bone to brush right against his bulge. Taehyungs breath hitched at the contact and whimpered so low you almost missed it. Now feeling his bulge increase, I knew I had him wrapped around my finger.

So I got him off of me, pretending like I didn’t do anything and was oblivious to his situation. I got up off the couch walking to the kitchen grabbing an apple. While walking to our bedroom I talked to him as I was passing. 

“ I've got some school work to finish, it’ll take me a little while. Feel free to watch anything.” I told him while I tossed the apple in the air and caught it.

Tae sat there, his eyes never leaving my body. He seemed to snap back to reality.

“O-oh okay. I'll just wait out here.” he spoke in a small voice, eyes looking solemn.

“Alrighty, I try to finish up quick.” I replied in a sweet tone.

“after I finish we can watch that movi- Oops!” while talking I tossed the apple in the air once more put ‘accidently’ dropped it. The apple rolled behind me so I turned around with my rear facing Taehyung and slowly bent down with my shorts riding up just enough for Tae to see my lace underwear peeking out. Fully on display for him I heard a muffled groan. I turned back around to see Tae with a hard covering mouth, he saw me watching him so he covered up the groan with a cough. 

“You alright?” I asked while covering a smirk

“Y-Yeah im F-Fine.” Tae stuttered out 

“Well alright, I’ll be on my way.” I said as I walked to the bedroom.

I had no intention of ever doing school work, it was simply to tease Tae. I walked in the bedroom closing the door and removed my shorts and shirt, leaving me only in my laced underwear. I got up on the bed and laid down on my back. I knew I was just as needy as Tae but I want going to let him have control tonight, it was my turn. I had to lure him to the bedroom, I knew he hadn't left his spot from the couch, so he could hear anything that happened in the room. 

I opened my legs wide and brought my hand down my body and started stoking my core, I mewled at the touch. My hips gently bucked into my hand causing me to moan softly. I traced my breast with my other hand, and brought my hand under my bra and pinched my nipple and then trace it after. After repeating the actions a few times, I was moaning louder and louder, fully knowing Tae could hear every bit, I smiled and let out the loudest moan.

I heard a whimper outside the door. I again smiled to myself and decided on one last push needed for Tae. I moved my panties to the side so the full scent of my arousal could waft out to the fox’s sharp nose, and I traced my core up and down without the cloth in the way. I gently moaned out again.

“ A--h.... T-Taehyung.....Mo-More..” I moaned out in a needy voice.

After that I heard a hearty groan outside my door followed by light whimpers. I quietly jumped of the bed and walked over to the door. I pressed my ear against the wood and heard his whimpers louder. Slowly I creaked the door open and saw Taehyung slouched against the wall, head tilted back while palming his heat roughly.

“Taehyung?” I called out to him as I stood in the doorway underwear clad body on full display for him.

“Y/N! I-I... I di-didn't know-” he gasped clearly not expecting my presence.

I slowly walked to the front of him, hips swaying as a moved.

“What’s wrong baby boy?” I spoke in a sultry tone next to his ear.

Tae groaned at my voice. I looked down and say his huge bulge making a perfect tent in his sweatpants. 

“Oh Baby! look how big you are!” I remarked excitedly, and traced my hands down his chest to his hips and cupped his member from the outside of his sweatpants. 

“Ooh..y/n...” Tae practically moaned

“What is it baby? do you want me to take care of your ‘ problem’?” I squeezed his bulge while speaking. His knees almost buckled at the touch.

“AH.. Y/n Please! Tae whimpered out louder

“Please what? Come on baby boy..use your words.” I squeezed him again for added pleasure.

“P-Please...mommy.. please touch me.” Tae answered in such a small voice. At the name he used on me I felt a wave of heat rush down to my core.

“Good boy baby. Lets go to the bed.” Tae followed me to the bed, as we stopped at the foot of the bed I turned around to face Tae. I bit my lip and looked him up and down before meeting his eyes. His eyes pleaded me to touch him, and I was gonna do just that.

I quickly moved towards him and placed my mouth on his neck, giving him full mouth kissing that switched to licks to pecks and back to kissing. All while my hands moved under his shirt and ran up his toned chest and lightly grazed over his nipples, as I did he let out a soft moan. I smirked against his neck and sucked against his neck leaving a purple mark over his tanned skin. My hands traced back to his nipples and this time I rubbed over them rougher, testing his reaction, which didn't disappoint me. Tae groaned at the contact loudly. So I switched to the other side of his neck, gently biting at the skin and grabbed both of his nipples between my fingers and gently pinched and pulled them towards my body. 

“AHhh..M-Mommy that feels so good..” Tae moaned out 

“I know baby, You’re doing so good.” I softly spoke as I nibbled his ear.

I stopped all my movement and backed away from Tae causing him to moan at the loss of contact.

“Mommy why?” he pouted 

“Be patient baby, you’ll feel better in a minute.” I spoke sternly 

“okay mommy.” Tae only pouted lightly now

“Now, take off your shirt and sweatpants.” I ordered in a firm but gentle tone

without saying a word he did as he was told. He reached up as he pulled his shirt from his body, and he turned around to put it on top of the dresser. While he was still turned around with his rear facing me, I moved closer to him. Tae bent down to take his sweat pants off, while he was still bent over, I quickly grabbed the base of his tail, still gentle but rough. He gasped out not expecting the contact. I tilted his tail away from his ass and brought my other hand up to rub the two mounds. Tae leaked another moan out. Firmly, I grabbed one cheek and roughly massaged it, only to quickly bring my hand back and smack his behind hard. 

Tae loudly moaned out and tilted forward. I released my hold on him and backed away waiting for him the continue undressing. With his breath uneven he finished taking his sweatpants off and turned back around to me. His cheeks were dyed red as he waited for me to speak.

“Good boy honey!”  I winked at him “ Do you think baby boy deserves a reward for begin a good boy?” I asked him in a flirty tone 

“Oh yes mommy please PLease reward me!” he pleaded to me 

“okay okay baby. Go lay down on the bed” I ordered him again 

Tae scampered to the bed and quickly laid down. I went to the foot of the bed and crawled my way up his body. When my face hovered over his crotch I moved and sucked on his hip bone causing him to flinch and gasp. I continued to make my way up to his chest leaving open mouth kisses and hickeys all over his torso as he wiggled and groaned. I lapped around one of his nipples, bringing it between my lips, I put pressure on my lips causing them to squeeze the erect bud. Tae moaned and wiggled under me, I looked up at him with stern eyes.

“Don't move.” I ordered causing tae to gulp and nod slightly.

I went back to his nipples, I took the same one in my mouth but this time I gently bit it with my teeth causing tae to whimper loudly at the pressure. I smirked and released the red bud and moved to the other. I licked all around his nipple not touching it, just as he began to groan with urgency. I sucked his bud harshly between my lips. Tae moaned loudly and his hips bucked off the bed.

“Na-a-ah baby I told you not to move.” I lightly scolded Tae as he whimpered with so much need.

Finally deciding to give him what he wants I trail back down his body leaving light, gentle kisses as I go. When I got to his boxers I gripped the elastic between my teeth and peaked up at taehyung, whos eyes were glazed over and mouth slightly agape. I pulled his boxers down his legs, releasing his cock from its tight confines. My mouth drooled at the sight of his long, thick member springing up against his stomach creating a little pull of precum. 

“oh my Taehyunggie~ look how big you got from mommys teasing!”  you quickly attached your lips at the base of his cock, kissing and kitten licking while making your way up to the head, Tae gasped and moaned but didn't buck his hips. “hes listening to me.” you thought as you toyed with him. 

As you got to the tip you licked at the precum that pulled at the center causing tae to gasp loudly. You continued to licked around the head harder in some areas and softer in others, teasing him. You at last took pity on him and slowly guided his member deep in to your throat. You looked up at tae to gauge his reaction and to your delight you saw tae panting hard with his head tilted back.

You bobbed your head up and down you then bring you hand up and cupped his balls, which caused tae to shout in surprise. You took it a step further and massaged his balls with vigor and you sucked and bobbed your head faster. Both your hand and mouth quickly gaining speed. You could tell he was getting close, his balls were tightening and if it was even possible, his cock got harder. Tae panting also increased and his hands gripped the sheets until his knuckles were white. Right as he was about to burst you wrapped your hand around his base tightly and squeezing hard. You completely halted his orgasm into nothing. He whined and thrashed on the bed. He looked like he was about to burst at the seems, his cock was flushed red and almost purple at the tip.

“What do you want now baby boy?” you smirked up at the panting hybrid

“please mommy.. I need to cum so bad.. it hurts.please~” with the last word drawn out he shakily answered

“Where do you want to cum baby?” you questioned him. 

“inside mommy.. I want to cum inside you mommy Pease!” Tae was at breaking point when he answered.

“alright baby, you deserve it.” You quickly take off all you underwear, leaving you both naked and needy. You straddled his hips and you grabbed his painfully red cock and slid it between your lips, coated it in your wetness. At breaking point yourself, you aligned his cock with your entrance and plunged it inside. You both stopped breathing at the feeling of his cock buried deep in your walls. You hastily bounced up and down, sliding his cock in and out of you folds.

You could actually feel your high quickly approaching as you bounced harder and faster. As you chased your high, you needed more. It was like you couldn't go fast or hard enough, as if he read you mind. Tae brought his knees up and planted his soles to the bed and started thrusting his hip to meet yours. This was it, this is what you needed.

With both your highs quickly approaching, tae reached up to you and circled your clit roughly. At the contact your back arched backwards and you moaned out loudly. The added sensation is all it took to fling you over the edge. As you came your walls tightened and milked Taes cock as he came as well. He thrusted up when you stopped, riding out your highs. Once he finished milking himself you collapsed on his chest. Still inside you, Tae wrapped his arms around your frame and nuzzled into your hair.

 “That was the best orgasm I ever had.” Tae whispered in you hair. “Me too.” you quietly replied. 

enjoying the after glow you and Tae slipped of into a world of dreams. 

[katiekitty261]

Tears//Michael LangdonXFem!Reader

Here we are, guys. Another one-shot :) I hope you like this one. It has smut AND fluff. You’re welcome. 

Request from Anon-  Reader gets pregnant with Michael's baby, but she never gets the chance to tell him.  They reunite in the outpost and he meets his daughter for the first time.

Warnings- Smut, Crying lol honestly anything with him makes me an emotional wreck. 

Word count- 3,000+ 

I never regretted a moment with Michael Langdon. Even for the short time I knew him, I knew that he would leave a big impact on my life. However, what I didn’t know was how much of mark he would leave.

Something drew me to him, I didn’t know what it was. His presence even in a crowd was intoxicating to me. I wanted to be with him all the time. He found my eagerness adorable, but he always kept his distance. Except for one night.

That night I had found myself in a sleazy bar. Dressed in a flattering dress, I was waiting for a date. They never showed. However, Michael did. I noticed him leaning against the other end of the bar, a smirk on his face as he glanced over the crowd. He was wearing a dark red dress shirt, that looked divine even in the crappy atmosphere. He always looked handsome, even with his boyish features.  I was nervous at first, not wanting to bother him. Soon enough his gaze fell on mine. A mysterious smile lit up his face and he sauntered toward me.

“You look so disappointed… Where you waiting for someone?” He asked me, one of his rings clinked against the drink he held in his hand.

“Um… Well, I was supposed to meet this guy, But he stood me up.” I said taking a sip of my drink.

“Shame… you do look beautiful tonight…” His tone was sultry, and he made an effort to look me in the eyes while he complimented me. My whole face was on fire.

I wanted to look away, smile and brush off his comment but I couldn’t tear myself away. It was easy to lose yourself in those eyes.

He took my hand and led me away without saying a word. Pulling me out the door and to the street.

“Where are we going?” I asked as we walked down the sidewalk. I was trying to distract myself from the fact he was still holding my hand.

“Your apartment.” He stated simply, I realized we had been walking in the direction of my own apartment, he looked back at me and smiled. I wasn’t going to question him.

Once we had arrived, he leaned against my island counter and relaxed.

“Who were you on a date with?”

I shrugged. “No one interesting. Just some guy I met online…”  I said as I sat on the chair he was standing next to.

I felt comfortable around him, all the time. Even when I was nervous he never made me feel uneasy. The few times he had been to my apartment where to hang out together. I wouldn’t lie and said I wasn’t hoping for something more.

He was always so reserved. I barely knew anything about him, he knew almost everything about me.  I didn’t pressure him, I knew he had secrets for a reason.

“Why do you waste your time on men like that?” He asked. He was suddenly facing me making my breath catch in my throat.

“I-Um well. I mean, It’s not like I have a ton of guys falling over themselves to talk to me so…”

Michael did, definitely. Men and Women both flocked to him. He was always impeccably dressed, his blue eyes exuded both strength and righteousness. I had never seen him bother to pursue anyone though.

Michael didn’t say anything for a moment. When I looked up and smiled at him softly he tilted his head. When I went to ask him if something was wrong, he stepped closer to me and bent down pulling me into a kiss.

I was still for a moment in shock, but I came to my senses soon enough and kissed him back.

The feeling of his lips on mine was like no other, soft but demanding. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he picked me up like I weighed nothing. He kissed me with a passion. He gently laid me on my bed and I realized he had carried me all the way to my bedroom. He stood above me with a wicked smile on his face, lust darkened in his eyes.

He straddled me, making a show of himself as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. I felt breathless as I stared at him, his skin was as perfect as I had always imagined. I never wanted to look away. He tosses his shirt to the side and kissed me again, his hands finding their way underneath me as he expertly unzipped my dress, pulling it off me so I was just in my panties.

He hungrily kissed my neck, sucking and kissing it.  I knew he was going to leave multiple bruises, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to mark me, I wanted to be his.

I slid my hands down his back as he kissed me, making his way down my collarbone and my breasts. Leaving a trail of fire on my skin. I had never felt anything like it before.

I gasped as he tore off my panties, feeling a rush of cold air against me.

He was looking at me like I was the most delicious thing to eat, and I wasn’t complaining.

He kissed my thighs, leaving bite marks there too. He made his way up to my soaking core and stroked it gently with his hand. I bit my lip and held in a moan, but I lost that fight when he slid a finger inside me.

“Please keep making that noise…” His tone was deep and provocative. I felt shivers up my spine as he slowly slid his finger inside me, adding another making me squirm.

“Michael…” I managed, “Say what you want.” He said in an authoritative tone, honestly, I almost came right on the spot.

“Please fuck me, Michael…” I said in a breathy voice.

He leaned over me again, I was surrounded by his intoxicating scent as he began to kiss me. I felt his cock press against me. He had at some point taken off the rest of his clothes. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything else.

He grabbed my face with his hand and made me look him in the eyes.

“I want you to look at me while I fuck you…” He spoke slowly, before pushing his cock inside me.

I gasped as he began to fuck me, picking up the pace quickly. His fingers rested around my neck, the cold metal from his jewelry chilled my burning skin. I pulled his face down to mine, kissing him with all I had.

I had my arms wrapped around his neck, my fingers tangled in his hair as he fucked me at an impossible speed.

“Michael…” I moaned, he growled in response.  

 My hands down his back and I gripped him tight, dragging my nails across him. He seemed to enjoy this because he followed suit with a delicious moan.

We continued like this for a while, so long that I was a jumbled mess of myself by the time I felt myself build. Michael was holding my legs now, hitting my spot with every thrust. I couldn’t hold back anymore as he continued, I felt myself squeeze his cock as my orgasm overwhelmed me. He gripped my legs tightly, “I’m going to fill you up… You’re all mine…” He said, and at the moment I didn’t care. He gripped my hips as he came, we both sighed in ecstasy as his cock pulsed inside of me. I had never felt anything like it.

He collapsed next to me, the only sound in the room was our labored breathing.

I turned to him, I wanted to tell him I loved him. I did, not just because of the mind-blowing sex either. I loved Michael Langdon.

I was about to say it when he gently shook his head. He didn’t want me to say anything.

I felt a pit form in my stomach but Ignored it. I didn’t want to rush things, but I knew deep down Michael wasn’t the relationship type. I half expected him to get up and get dressed. Fortunately, he didn't.

He pulled me into his arms so I was laying on his chest and he placed a kiss into my hair. I could hear his heart beating, it was a slow rhythmic beat that eventually lulled me into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning I woke up cold. I sat up, Michael was gone. I bit my lip as I grabbed my phone and read my texts.

One from Michael read, “I’ll see you soon.”

I sighed and fell back onto the bed. I really hoped I would.

_______________________________

About a month and a half later, I hadn't spoken to Michael at all. I tried to text him, but he never responded. I assumed he was busy, I was holding him to his word though.

I was sitting on my toilet tapping my fingers anxiously on my legs as I waited.

We didn’t use any protection, and I wasn’t that great at remembering my birth control pill. I remember when I realized I hadn’t gotten my period. I was in disbelief.

When my timer when off, I grabbed the stick anxiously.

I almost passed out as I read it, clear as day it said “Pregnant”.

What was I supposed to do? I was pregnant with Michael's baby. A man who spoke to me occasionally, but he had only just recently shown interested in me. A man who didn’t like children, based on his reaction to them one day when we passed a park on a walk.

I felt my soul being crushed. I loved him, and I knew I couldn’t get rid of this baby.

I sent him a single text that day, “We need to talk.”

He never answered.

I gave up on him ever seeing me again when I had the baby. Her birthday was on Halloween. A beautiful baby girl I named Abigail. It meant “A father’s joy” in the bible. I wasn’t a religious person, but I felt naming her that left him a connection with her. Wherever he was.

When she turned one, I noticed she looked exactly like him. Stunning blue eyes, golden brown hair that curled as it grew. Every time I looked at her I saw his face, and it made me happy.

________________________________________________________________

A few years passed and the world literally ended.

By some miracle, A women claiming to be from something called “The Cooperative” had taken both my daughter and me to the outpost. We stayed with the other survivors. Ms. Venable and Ms. Mead where both hesitant having a very young child there, but as the months drew on Abigail was the only light to any of us. She was just shy of being four, her hair now fell past her shoulders in soft waves.

I didn’t want to cut it, every night when I brushed her hair it made me think of Michael. I pushed back the thoughts of him not surviving. If anyone had survived, Michael would be one of them.

When the alarms went off, I was scared for Abi. If someone had entered the outpost, she was in danger. I made sure she stays in my room until Ms. Venable told us who came inside. This turned out to be a good thing when the meal for dinner ended up being live snake soup.

As I was checking on her, Ms. Mead called everyone to the sitting room. I gave Abi a kiss on the forehead and told her to not leave her room until I came back.

The atmosphere in the room was tense, and I was anxious to see who else was here. After talking to the others, we all came to the conclusion it had to be someone from the cooperative.  I anxiously waited, my hands practically shaking while I was sitting.

Steps echoed in the hallway leading to the room, all our eyes trained on the dark entryway.

Dressed head to toe in black, was a heart-stoppingly familiar face. I audibly gasped as he walked into the room, striding confidently passed us. Gallant whispered in my ear, “Hot…”

A hundred thoughts were swarming in my head at this moment. As he stood in front of Ms. Venable waiting for her to move.

“Michael…” I whispered softly, but he had heard me.

He immediately turned, cocking his head when he heard his name. When he realized it was me, he stared in shock.

“Do you know him?” whispers began to be said, as we stared at each other silently for a few seconds.

Michael tightened his jaw, flexing his hands as he regained his composure.

“My name is Langdon and I represent The Cooperative.” He spoke, his voice showed no signs of a struggle.

I couldn’t listen, I could only stare. He hasn't aged a day, the only thing that changed was his hair. It was much longer now, it was smooth and beautiful. It framed his face perfectly, making him look almost ethereal.

I finally came to my senses as he neared the end of his speech. He never answered me, he never even tried to contact me.

For years.

He left me alone. He left us alone. He didn’t even know he had a daughter. Knowing he was alive, made me unquestionably happy. However, I was angry.

I got up from my seat silencing everyone. I looked at Michael for a moment, he had his hands folded behind his back nonchalantly. I strode out of the room. I heard Ms. Mead call my name, but I just kept walking. I didn’t want to see him. My heart hurt.

I didn’t want him to know about Abigail. He didn’t care about me enough to even ask if I was ok. He just fucked me and left. He never cared about me.

I ran for my room and locked the door behind me. Abi was sleeping in the bed, her small frame engulfed by the blankets.

I began to cry.

A few hours had passed and I was sitting on the floor. I didn’t want to wake Abi so I didn’t get into bed with her. A loud knock on the door made me jump out of my skin.

I looked over to see her still sleeping. I quickly got up and opened the door, Pushing the body in front of me out of the doorway and stepping outside, shutting the door behind me.

Michael stood in front of me, a million emotions on his face.

“I can’t believe you’re alive…” He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. My brain was telling me to push him off, but I couldn’t. I wrapped my arms around him and I felt the tears begin to fall again. Feeling his warmth around me, wrapped up in his scent as he held me, all the love I had for him came flooding back.

“Michael…” I said quietly. He pulled away and looked at me. I could feel my heart beat excruciating fast.

“Why did you… Never come back?” I said timidly, taking a step back from him.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” He stated simply.

“What?” I shook my head. “You didn’t want me to get hurt so you ignored me? After what happened...I- I loved you! You never answered my texts, my calls even when-”

He cut me off. “When what?”

“It doesn’t matter. You.. never really cared about me.” I tried to leave, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me to him.

“What happened?” his voice was commanding.

I tried to pull away, but then we both heard it.

The door to my room cracked open and a small voice rang from inside. “Mommy? Are you ok?”

Michael let me go and stared at Abigail. Her hair falling around her face in soft curls, her bright eyes shining in the candlelight as she looked up at us. I knew he knew, there was no denying it. She was the spitting image of him.

“I'm fine sweetheart… Go back to bed…” I  got to my knees and coaxed her inside, she nodded sleepily and went back in the room.

Michael stayed silent as he watched us, still as a statue.

“Even when you were pregnant?” He finished my sentence from before.

I bit my lip as I stood up. He still towered over me, but  I stood my ground.

“I tried to tell you… You never answered…” I crossed my arms across my chest, feeling angry again.

“I’m sorry… I- I couldn't…” he began to cry.

I had never in my life seen Michael Langdon cry. I wasn’t even sure at times if he could cry. Now he was standing in front of me, bearing his soul for the first time. I felt tears wet my face again.

“I didn’t think you wanted me. Wanted her…”

He grabbed me in his arms and collapsed to his knees. Holding onto me tightly, he rested his head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him as he held me. I had dreamt of this moment many times, except he wasn’t crying in my arms.

“I love you… I did then… I couldn't-” I stopped him from explaining by kissing him.

I held his face in my hands, kissing him softly. He kissed me back, I could feel the tears on his face as he kissed me. “I love you,” I said out loud this time.

He kissed me harder this time, crushing his lips against mine as he held me, gripping me so tightly I could barely breathe. I pulled away quickly as I came to my senses.

“Wait… Venable… If she sees us,” I started to explain, but he simply smiled.

“Venable’s little rules… I’m not going to let anyone put a hand on you, or my daughter. Ever.”

  ___________________________________________________________

I hope you guys enjoyed this!! It took me a few days to figure out how I wanted to write it. :) I have many requests I am working on so I hope you are patient with me. Request if you want! I cant stop writing for him. Lol seriously. everytime I look at his beautiful face I fall in love with him all over again. 

[azul-alvarez]

1-99

Fa;JespTHE WHOLE DAMN THING?!

(1) Do You Sleep With Your Closet Doors Open Or Closed?

It’s a curtain and I always check that is perfectly closed before sleep

(2) Do You Have Freckles?

Nope

(3) Can You Whistle?

More or less

(4) Last Song You Listened To.

Ievan Polkka - Korpiklaani

(5) What Is Your Favourite Colour?

I literally have no idea, but I guess grey or black and white

(6) Relationship Status.

In a relationship

(7) What Is The Temperature Right Now?

25°C

(8) Did You Wake Up Cranky?

That’s my natural mood

(9) How Many Followers?

166

(10) Zodiac Sign.

Aries

(11) What Is Your Eye Colour?

Light brown

(12) Take A Vitamin Daily?

From the veggies I eat(?

(13) Do You Sing In The Shower?

yis

(14) What Books Are You Reading?

Dishonored: The Return of Daud

(15) Grab The Book Nearest To You, Turn To Page 64, Give Me Line 14.

alert, no question about it. Because unlike his escort of six

(16) Favourite Anime?

Mushishi

(17) Last Person You Cried In Front Of?

My boyfriend

(18) Do You Collect Anything?

Manga, comic and videogames (and comics and books about those videogames)

(19) What Did You Have For Lunch?

Nothing yet

(20) Do You Dance In The Car?

Nope

(21) Favourite Animal?

Every single living thing that I can pet

(22) Do You Watch The Olympics?

Nope

(23) What Time Do You Usually Go To Bed?

12:00 - 1:00 am

(24) Are You Wearing Makeup Right Now?

Nope

(25) Do You Prefer To Swim In A Pool Or The Ocean?

The ocean, I don’t like pools

(26) Favourite Tumblr Blog?

OH BOI, THERE’S A LOT OF IT

@notesz-b @bunnythemurderer @rosirinoa @skull-heads @voltronshorts @imagine-darksiders @denythem @justdishonoredthings @lalith-annae @kukumomoart @wehavekookies @dilfosaur @bugmeyer @myetie @sithisasshole @overwatchimagine @gandalfwho @kirin-jindosh @hachimitsubani @rainbow-taishi @shencomix -sorry for the spam guys-

(27) Bottled Water Or Tap Water?

Bottled

(28) What Makes You Happy?

Playing videogames and drawing (when I actually CAN draw *sigh*)

(29) Post A Gif Of What You’re Currently Feeling Right Now.

(30) Do You Study Better With Or Without Music?

With

(31) Dogs Or Cats?

Both

(32) If You Were A Crayon What Colour Would You Be?

White (if you get the joke you’re my friend forever)

(33) PlayStation Or Xbox.

PlayStation but I have an Xbox *shrugs*

(34) Would You Swim In The Lake Or Ocean?

Ocean

(35) Do You Believe In Magic?

I’d say yes, in a certain point

(36) What Colour Shirt Are You Wearing?

White

(37) Can You Curl Your Tongue?

Yis

(38) Do You Save Money Or Spend It?

Save as much as I can

(39) Is There Anything Pink Within 10 Feet Of You?

Nope

(40) Do You Have Any Obsessions Right Now?

Voltron, Metal Gear Rising, Dishonored, Shadow of Mordor, Overwatch and whythefuckIcan’tdrawanymore

(41) Have You Ever Caught A Butterfly?

Yes! In the town I grew up it was common to teach kids to catch bugs and animals without harm them

(42)Are You Easily Influenced By Other People?

Nope, but I’m always willing to listen anyone

(43) Do You Have Strange Dreams?

All. the. fucking. time.

(44)Do You Like Going On Airplanes?

I’ve never been on one

(45) Name One Movie That Made You Cry.

COCO

(46) Peanuts Or Sunflower Seeds?

Peanuts

(47) If I Handed You A Concert Ticket Right Now, Who Would You Want The Performer To Be?

Buck Tick or Korpiklaani

(48) Are You A Picky Eater?

Nah, my mom never gave me the chance (and I’m grateful for that)

(49) Are You A Heavy Sleeper?

Once I’ve managed to actually sleep, yes

(50) Do You Fear Thunder / Lightning?

Nah

(51) Do You Like To Read / Write?

Both

(52) Do You Like Your Music Loud?

Not much

(53) Would You Rather Carve Pumpkins Or Wrap Presents?

None, but if I had to choose, wrap presents

(54) Put Your Music On Shuffle, What Is The First Song That Came Up?

Into The Shadows - Jesper Kyd

(55) What Season Are You In Right Now? (Weather)

Summer

(56)What Are You Craving Right Now?

Ramen (andHanzo)

(57) Post A Screenshot Of Your Tumblr Feed.

(58) What Is Your Gender?

Fem

(59) Coffee Or Tea?

COFFEE

(60) Do You Have Any Homework Right Now? If So, What Is It About?

Nope

(61) What Is Your Sexuality?

Straight

(62) Do You Make Your Bed In The Morning?

First thing in the morning

(63) Favourite Pokemon?

Ninetails

(64) Favourite Social Media?

Twitter, Instagram and Tumblr

(65) What’s Your Opinion On Instagram Stories?

I like it, now I can share irrelevant shit of my days

(66) Do You Get Homesick?

No, I miss the old times but not the place

(67) Are You A Virgin?

( ͡°╭͜ʖ╮͡° )

(68) What Shampoo And Conditioner Are You Using Right Now?

Head and Shoulders w/ Old Spice and some Garnier conditioner (not sure which one)

(69) If You Were Far From Home And Needed To Sleep For The Night, Would You Choose To Rent A Crappy Motel Room For $60 Or Sleep In Your Car For Free?

Sleep in my car

(70) Are Both Of Your Blood Parents Still In Your Life?

Yep

(71) Whats The Next Movie You Want To See In Theaters?

INFINITY WAR 2 WHERE LOKI WILL BE TOTALLY NOT DEAD

(72) Do You Miss Your Ex?

no the little shit

(73) What Is Your Favourite Quote Right Now?

We make our choices and take what comes. And the rest is void.

Daud - Dishonored

(74) What Eye Colour Do You Find Sexiest?

I… Don’t know, really. I just like that kind of sexy eyes that villains have

(75) Did You Like Swinging As A Child? Do You Still Get Excited When You See A Swing Set?

N O P E

(76) What Was The Last Thing You Ate?

Eggs? I don’t remember

(77) What Games Do You Have On Your Phone?

Sandbox, I love hue, Reigns and VOEZ

(78) Would You Give A Homeless Person CPR If They Were Dying? Why Or Why Not?

No because I have no idea how to, I’d rather call an ambulance

(79) Been On The Computer For 5 Hours Straight?

y i s

(80) Stalked Someone On A Social Network?

Y I S

(81) Do You Like Meeting New People?

Yes but the anxiety doesn’t make it easy

(82) Do You Wear Rings? If You Do, Take A Picture Of Them.

Sometimes, not right now

(83) Do You Sleep With Your Bedroom Door Open Or Closed?

Half closed because my cats likes it that way

(84) What Are Three Things You Did Today?

Cleaned the house, worked and tried to draw Hanzo

(85) What Do You Wear To Bed?

Shorts and a T-shirt

(86) List All Of Your Different Beauty Products You Have Right Now.

Like… Having on?

Humectant cream and deodorant

(87) Are You A Day Or Night Person?

Night Person

(88) List All Of Your Video Games On Your Phone, Console Etc.

ALL OF EM?

NES: Super Mario 3

PS2: Ratchet and Clank, Burnout

Xbox 360: Dishonored, Nier, Thief, Kingdoms of Amalur, Gears of War Trilogy, Darksiders, Darksiders 2, Metal Gear Rising, Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker, TES V: Skyrim, Assassins Creed 1, 2, 3, 4, Dark Souls, Borderlands, Left 4 Dead 2, Bioshock, Saints Row 3, Halo Reach, Metal Slug 3, Battleblock Theater, Puzzle Fighter, Dragon’s Dogma, Diablo III, Fallout: NV, Dust, Tales of Vesperia, The Witcher 2, Bastion, Castlevania: SOTN, Alice: Madness Returns, Tomb Raider, Castle Crashers, Castlevania LOS, Castlevania: Mirror of Fate, Brothers, Devil May Cry 4, Devil May Cry Trilogy.

Xbox One: Dishonored 2, Shadow of Mordor, TES V: Skyrim and all in GamePass

3DS: Theatrhythm, Pokemon Sun, TLoZ: Ocarina of Time, Final Fantasy: Ring of Fate, Monster Hunter

PSP: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy, God Eater Burst

PC: Overwatch, Heroes of the Storm and

(89) Tell Me About A Dream That You Had And When It Happened.

I dream a lot about spiders

(90) Favourite Soda Drink?

Manzanita

(91) What Sounds Are Your Favourite?

Atmospheric music

(92) Do You Wear Jeans Or Sweats More?

Jeans and leggins

(93) How Do You Look Right Now?

Like someone who hasn’t got enough sleep huheuehuhuhe

(94) Name Something That Relaxes You.

Atmospheric music, again

(95) What Tattoo Do You Want?

A little feather

(96) Favourite YouTuber?

DAYO SCRIPT

EDIT: I just noted I wrote "fem" instead of "straight", sorry

[kpop-scenario-writer]

Really (Sangho (Snuper) x You)

Some angstly - something fluff.

It was just a normal day, hanging out at Snuper's dorm, chatting, playing games, watching shows. Sangho has been in a crappy mood all day long, but you couldn't really make out why. Deciding to ignore it as he refused to tell you, you sat on the couch beside Woosung, whose hand came behind you and leaned over you. Looking up at him, he smiled softly. "Let him be," he said. "He's been like this for over a week." You widered your eyes. "What?" "In fact, I think it was since that day you came here the last time." Thinking about it now, he did seem a bit weird the last time around. And he's been like this for a whole week? The boys had to put up with him?

"That's 10 days," you said. "You had to put up with him for that long?" Not noticing him walking past the couch, he heard everything. A loud door slam was heared from his room and you both looked the direction it came from.

Woosung looked at you. "He'll come around," he said, pressing his lips into a thin line. "I don't know what's up with him." Shaking your head, you stood up. "Wanna play a game?" Woosung quickly nodded and you clapped, smiling.

Playing the third round of the game, having other members join, you were laughing, screaming at each other, flicking one anothers forheads and having fun. "Oh come on!" you said, losing for the third time. "Seriously?" Sebin laughed out, clapping his hands, laughing.

"You're really bad at this, you know." Sangil laughed, patting your head before flicking it as a punishment. You whined at the pain and placed your hand on your forhead, laughing again. "I really am, the worst."

All of you laughed, playing the next set of games, and although almost an hour passed, Sangho was nowhere to be seen. That made you worried. He's okay, isn't he?

You placed your cards down, saying you'll be right back. "I'll just go and check up on him." Suhyun looked at you and pressed his lips into a thin line. "Don't hope for too much, tho. He's really being an ass." Sangil bumped his shoulder, mouthing a bit 'ya' at him. "It's okay, Sangil. I know."

You walked over to the door of his bedroom, sudden nervousness builting up in your core. Why were you nervous? You've been dating for over half a year, weren't you?

You knocked and waited for the response, not recieving any, you opened the door and entered on your own.

The lights were down, only the light from the window shining through. "Sangho?" You could hear an annoyed sigh coming from the side of the bed. "What?"

He really was pissed, wasn't he?

"Hey," you said, walking over to him and kneeled. "What's wrong?" Not recieving other than an annoyed sigh again, you raised your hand up, trying to caress his hair a bit, to what he, much to your surprise, avoided. You froze in place. He didn't even want you to touch him?

"Sangho..." He released a breath and swallowed hardly. He hasn't even looked at you,not even once this whole time. That made your eyes watter up and you could feel a lump in your throat.

"Sangho? What's wrong?" choking back the tears, you let out a deep sigh. Letting a tear slip past your eyelashes you lightly bumped his shoulder. He looked at you and grabbed your hand. "Leave me alone!" he yelled and let go off your hand, turning back to the front.

Alone? "W-what?" you let out, whispering a bit. "You want me... To leave you alone?" He looked away, taking in a deep breath. "W-why?" shaking, tears falling down your cheeks, your voice broke.

He released an annoyed sigh. "Why? Are you kidding me?"

What was even going on right now? What happened?

"Yes, why. What's wrong, Sangho?" His eyes met yours as he looked at you in disbelief. They were puffed, red, obviously shedding tears just a few minutes ago.

"Sangho, are you crying?!" you asked him, surprised. He looked away and let his head fall down.

"Do you not love me anymore?" he whispered, voice breaking. You froze in place. What?

"W-what?" He lift his head up and just looked at you, tears forming in his eyes. "Do you not love me anymore?" "W-why- What makes you think that?"

He softly smiled, his smile forced. "You're always there, with them..." he sighed out. Them?

"H-hey, are you jelous?" He looked at you, a forced smirk on his lips. "Jelous? Are you kidding me?"

He looked to his front again and sighed. "I guess you can go back to them now. I got nothing to talk about." You were left of words. What in the world has gotten into him?

"Sangho, can you-" "Go!!" screaming into your face, you could feel your eyes water up. "Why are you yelling at me? What the fuck did I do to you ha?" Raising your voice at him, you could feel your head spinning. "What did I do so wrong?!"

"You always laugh with them!! You're always with them! What else do you need to hear?!" Taken a back, you could feel the tears in your eyes filling up again. You sighed, feeling a tear slip past your eyelashes. "I can't... I... even..." you whispered, sighed and stood up. He looked at you and his eyes widered. You could see his voice got stuck in his troath seeing the tears rolling down your cheeks.

"___.." he whispered, reaching out his hand. "I- I didn't..." "You know what... just forget it. I can't do this."

The words hurt you more than you expected. You loved him so much and yet, it simmed like you ment nothing to him at all. You quickly whipped your tears and took in a deep breath. "I guess that's it then." You whispered and forced a smile not getting a reply.

You sighed and turned to walk away, taking the first step before you felt two strong arms embrace you from behind, his cheek pressed against your ear tightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't-" his words got stuck in his throat and you felt the preasure to turn around and hug him back. You pulled his hands away and turned around, tears just pouring down your cheeks. You looked up, catching his red, swollen eyes, dripping with tears. Taking in a deep breath, you putone hand on his cheek and whipped away the tears that had already fallen. "I'm sorry, ___. I'm so sorry." He whispered and you couldn't help but just pull him into a tight hug. His face dropped down onto your shoulder, snuggling into your neck a bit afterwards. You could feel tears dripping onto your skin, and you could feel his hands just gripping onto you.

"I love you, ___. I love you so much. Don't leave me," he whispered. "Don't leave me." You felt your heart break as his voice cracked. You pulled away and looked at him. You placed one hand on his cheek and pulled yourself up, pressing your lips against his. He quickly responded, returning the kiss. His hands lowered and he pulled you closer to him. Parting, you pressed your forhead against his and looked at him. "I don't wanna leave you, ever. Ever." He smiled a bit, with another tear falling down his cheek. "I love you." "I love you too. I love you so much."

Pulling him into a kiss, he pressed down and deepened it. Kissing deeply, you could hear a knock on the door. But did you care?

"Sangho, are you- OOH." The door close quickly, and you couldn't help but laugh into the kiss. He parted and wipped your cheeks placing a kiss on both of your eyes. "Don't ever leave me," he sighed. "Ever." You smiled. "Okay." "Promise?" "I promise." "Really?" He asked, snuggling into a tight hug. "Really."

[flannelplanet]

Stranger than Fiction

Huge thanks to @jandjsalmon who’s the best ever. Without her, this probably would have ended up being a crappy little oneshot. Now, it’s a multi-chapter monster.  Also, thanks to @youbuildmeupbeliever, @it-happened-one-starry-night, and @colesmoles who helped keep me motivated and chatted with me while I wrote. Here’s to you, ladies.

Rated: Explicit

Dom/sub undertones will be frequent throughout this fic so if that’s not your thing, please skipity skip it. 

Summary: With the wine lowering her inhibitions, Betty threw caution to the wind. She clicked the “follow” button up at the top right corner of his blog. For some reason, her fingers were shaking. Following that blog was an extremely uncharacteristic move, however she felt invigorated by her decision. And nervous. She sighed and began reading his latest post, allowing his words to wash over her and calm her nerves. “I am the man of your dreams. Tall, dark, and handsome. I have my hand stretched out towards you. You’re feeling hesitant so I encourage you with a slight nod and a soft smile. Though you know better, you take my hand regardless and we leave this hell-hole of a party. You’re wearing your Little Black Dress and I swear I can see your peaked nipples through the fabric. Your white gold necklace is draped beautifully over your collar bones and I find myself hard at the thought of replacing it with something I’ve given you, when the time is right, of course.“

Chapter 1/6 under the cut. Read on ao3!!!

“Night, Karen,” Betty called out as she turned out the light in her office. She had just finished up a long day at work and all she could think about was getting home, getting a huge glass of wine, and enjoying some Betty-time in her ornate garden tub. Her coworkers who still remained at the office wished her a good night and she made her way to the gated community she called home.

Upon arriving at the main gate, she entered in the passcode and proceeded once the barrier raised. She knew it was probably overkill, considering the fact that what happened had happened so long ago, but it made her feel safe. Every person living within these gates had been interviewed and passed background checks. Part of her felt silly, but then the other part of her felt safe. Safe from the ghost of a terrible memory.

Betty shuddered. She lived a much happier life these days. She worked as a journalist, getting to write in-depth articles about things she found interesting. She liked reading and often chose to interview up-and-coming authors to promote their work. She loved helping people get exposure and she had met many colorful people through her short career. But that was just her day job. She also ran a baking blog which was called cookiesandcupcakes , and though it was not wildly successful, she loved doing it. In fact, it was her outlet. She needed a distraction from her mundane life every once in awhile and baking brought her a joy that she seldom found anywhere else.

After locking her door behind her, Betty walked to the kitchen. From there, she poured herself a decently sized glass of Riesling, sweet but not overly so, and proceeded to her bathroom. As the tub began to fill, Betty added her favorite oils- bergamot and sandalwood- lit a few candles, and grabbed her laptop. There was a neat little set up for it on the tub so she could soak and work, however, tonight she had different plans.

Once fully immersed in her heavenly bathwater, Betty opened her laptop. After checking all of her notifications and messages, she ventured to her most secret guilty pleasure- a blog called wordsbyjughead . She would never admit to reading it to anyone who asked, though, as the words that graced those online pages were pure, unadulterated smut. It was enough fantasy fuel that she didn’t need physical images, his words were enough.

She had been considering following him, but was terrified to do so due to the graphic nature of his blog. Her blog was much more innocent and how would it look if she got hacked? Whoever hacked her would be able to see his scandalous stories right there in black and white littering her dash. But she still checked his blog every day. Plus, she could always send him a nice message thanking him for his writing, no harm done, right?

With the wine lowering her inhibitions, Betty threw caution to the wind. She clicked the “follow” button up at the top right corner of his blog. For some reason, her fingers were shaking. Following that blog was an extremely uncharacteristic move, however she felt invigorated by her decision. And nervous. She sighed and began reading his latest post, allowing his words to wash over her and calm her nerves.

“I am the man of your dreams. Tall, dark, and handsome. I have my hand stretched out towards you. You’re feeling hesitant so I encourage you with a slight nod and a soft smile. Though you know better, you take my hand regardless and we leave this hell-hole of a party. You’re wearing your Little Black Dress and I swear I can see your peaked nipples through the fabric. Your white gold necklace is draped beautifully over your collar bones and I find myself hard at the thought of replacing it with something I’ve given you, when the time is right, of course.

“Until then, I live in the moment. We hail a cab back to your apartment. You tell the cabbie your address while I trail my fingers up the exposed skin of your arm lightly enough to cause an eruption of goosebumps and an uptick in your pulse. I brush your hair to the side, gently of course, exposing the long column of your neck. I long to latch on, to mark your body, to remind you of our night together for days and days to come.

“Your thighs squeeze together. You’re far too turned on to think straight and I’ve barely even touched you. You’re so responsive, such a good girl.”

Betty’s fingers found her own skin as she scrolled through the story. She let his words cleanse her mind and allowed herself to imagine the scene he was setting as if she were this mystery woman. She thought of who would play the part of “tall, dark, and handsome.” Since she had no face to place with the author of the story, she let her mind wander until her thoughts landed on her sexy next-door neighbor. He was tall, he was dark, and he was hot as hell. He also had a confidence about him that she could sense the author was going for when writing his narrator. Yes, Mr. Jones would do just fine for this particular fantasy.

“Our cab approaches your building quickly, and thank fuck for that. I can’t wait to get my hands up your pretty little skirt…”

Betty gulped.

“We pay the cabbie and run inside. As soon as the elevator doors close my mouth is on yours. You eagerly allow my tongue access and we explore one another. You let me have control of the kiss which elicits a soft growl from my chest. This is exactly what I was hoping for. I reach behind you and slowly unzip your dress, letting my fingers trail against your smooth skin as they descend.

“The sound that escapes from your lips is auditory sin. It encourages me. I slip your dress down your body and take you in. No bra, no panties. Just a garter belt holding up your thigh-high stockings and heels. I swear I’m in love with the sight of you.”

Betty sighed, allowing her fingers to explore her body and let her mind escape for a while. She pictures Mr. Jones standing before her in a dark suit, that unruly curl falling in front of his eyes as he drinks her in. She imagines his intense stare, which exposes the deepest parts of her soul. She imagines it would be raw, her and Mr. Jones.

Her eyes close. Behind her eyelids stands Mr. Jones wearing his most perfectly tailored suit; the one that fits him like a goddamned glove. His eyes are dark. She feels her body respond to the look in his eyes. It’s hungry. He looks like he could devour her. She feels as though she would let him.

Beneath the water, Betty’s fingers find her delicate folds. She lets herself play while she imagines Mr. Jones taking a step toward her. She feels herself grow wetter, despite the bathwater, as she remembers Jughead’s story. She’s naked in this fantasy save for a scrap of fabric around her waist. She imagines what Mr. Jones would do once he reached her. Would he grab her breast? Would he taste her neck? Her mouth? Or would he drop to his knees and worship her from her core?

Betty’s breathing was coming faster now. She pictured Mr. Jones grabbing her by the back of the neck and bringing her face to his for a bruising kiss while letting his fingers find her most intimate spot, already eagerly awaiting attention from him. “Fuck, Baby. You’re so wet… Is this all for me?” He’d ask.

She would whimper in response. “Yes, yes Mr. Jones. It’s all for you. Just for you.” He would smirk against her skin, all the while continuing his ministrations.

“Such a good girl, Betty.” She couldn’t help the moan that slipped from her lips. She was so close. “Come for me. Come, now.”

That was all she needed. Release found her instantly. She rode out her climax and slinked down into her bathwater sated and more relaxed than she had been in days.

-

She didn’t know how long she had been zoned out in the bath, but it was long enough that the once steaming water was lukewarm at best. She stood and made to get out of the tub when she noticed a message notification on her blog’s dashboard. She wrapped herself in her plush towel and grabbed the laptop carrying it out to her bedroom.

Once she was dressed for bed and tucked in, she opened her messages. She almost choked on air. The message waiting for her was from none other than the author himself, Jughead. Shit, she thought to herself, calm down. It’s just a damn message Betty, not a marriage proposal .

wordsbyjughead: Forgive me for asking, but did you actually mean to follow me or did you do so by accident?

Betty took a deep breath, tried to calm her nerves, and started typing.

cookiesandcupcakes: You’re forgiven. I followed on purpose. Why, is there an issue with me doing so?

wordsbyjughead: No issue at all. Judging by your blog, you’re not my typical audience is all. It’s actually refreshing to know my stories are being read by more than just porn blogs.

Betty giggled. Embarrassment in doing so clouded her mind and her face flushed.

wordsbyjughead: You know, I really love to eat. Your blog is heavenly. You really make all those recipes yourself?

cookiesandcupcakes: Yep. All mine. Baking is therapeutic, plus I have a really big sweet tooth.

cookiesandcupcakes: I also really enjoy reading, which is why I followed your blog. You’re a really great writer. Have you considered publishing?

wordsbyjughead: I also have a sweet tooth the size of Texas, if we’re being honest.

wordsbyjughead: And yes, I have considered publishing ;)

cookiesandcupcakes: Really? Does that wink mean you already have?

Betty could feel her sleepiness leaving her as she chatted with Jughead. She never would have thought he would be so easy to talk to.

wordsbyjughead: It’s a secret. So, if I may ask, what’s your favorite story on my blog?

She thought through all the stories of his she had read. They were all incredible.

cookiesandcupcakes: They are all great. Are you fishing for compliments, Jughead?

She hit send before she could talk herself out of it.

wordsbyjughead: Maybe I am. But I’m also a firm believer that you can tell a lot about a person by what they read. You’re no exception.

cookiesandcupcakes: Let me think about it and get back to you.

She ended the chat and shut her computer down before she could get herself into any more trouble.