#for now have these caps and know there's Thoughts coming up

[mrshowlettsgarden]

Prompt number 7 with Logan 🫢

─➭ a/n: ooo, this is a good pick! I also apologize for the week delay; work was kicking my ass. but thank you for the request. I hope you enjoy; this is a long one - kaya <3 (prompt list)

We're Just Friends? - Logan Howlett: the one when you realized it meant more to him that you assumed

─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ prompt #7: "Why did you leave me like that back there?" "Because." "Because, what?" "Because your dumbass can't figure out how much it hurts me when you say that we're "just friends."

─➭ content warning: hurt/comfort, miscommunication, friends to lover's trope, suggestive in the end

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It’s Charles' birthday party tonight that Jean and Storm decided to throw for him at the mansion. All the adults were to attend the black-tie shindig along with invited colleagues and so on. 

You were excited to have something to dress up for and eat some fancy food unlike the brute man pouting as he leans against your bathroom door. 

“I put on the suit that should be enough,” Logan sasses to you, “I ain’t putting on the damn bowtie.”

You roll your eyes as you put the cap back on your lipstick with an aggressive sigh, “Don’t be such a diva, Logan. Wear the bowtie.”

You get goosebumps seeing the dirtiest look he’s ever given to you through the mirror. You’re also fighting for your life to not break out into a fit of laughs. “The fuck did you call me?” he snaps. 

You couldn’t hold the laugh any longer and it slips from your lips as the dirty look turns into a pout on his face. Ignoring his question, you walk towards him and grab the bowtie from his hand. Logan has to fight to keep a straight face as your pretty self, inches closer with another step. If he could, he’d pull you in by the waist and take your lipstick off with a kiss. 

“It’s for one night. One night only,” you say with pleading eyes, “And women love a bowtie on a man so who knows who you might pull into your bed tonight,” you joke with a smile and wiggling eyebrows. 

Logan’s jaw clenches at your words. The only woman he wants to pull tonight is you but he doesn’t think you’d like that, so he shakes the thought away even though it hurts to do so.

You on the other hand wanted to slap yourself in the face for saying that because you just hurt your own feelings. You really don’t want to see Logan and a woman - who isn’t you - clinging to his arm at the end of tonight. Maybe you said that as foreshadowing to help prepare you for the moment that will eventually happen. But you ignore the pang in your heart. 

Logan scoffs aggressively as he takes the bowtie back from you and begins tying it himself while looking at the mirror, “Yeah, because that’s the goal I had for myself leading up to tonight,” he says sarcastically while you give him a look of smugness as you watch him finish the tie. 

“You look good though,” you say with a small smile as you adjust the tie a little bit. 

Logan looks back down to you with a tight-lipped smile. “You look good too, darlin,” he says back in a gentle tone.

And good is an understatement when it comes to you because you look so goddamn breathtaking. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you before today and now he thinks his greatest battle is to not admire you in your dress tonight. 

A black form-fitting dress is criminal to wear in front of him because this is his first time seeing the shape of your body and it makes him want to see more for his eyes only. Your heels give you extra height, but you still can’t reach up to him and he finds it endearing. 

Why do you have to be so beautiful…

You see him in a daze as he looks at you and you almost think it’s longing. But that's just a wish you have. “Logan? Are you still there?’ you say with a wave to bring him back down to earth. 

Logan smiles as he nods, “Where else would I be, huh?” he asks. 

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The party started hours ago and it’s still growing strong. 

Everyone is laughing, mingling, and dancing the night away. You say it's almost peaceful seeing everyone letting loose from the stress that has been filling up their lives. Everyone, including yourself, needed this. Everyone except Logan.

Such a party pooper… 

You walk up to him as he takes a swig of his drink. He looks up at you with a questioning look, expecting you to say whatever it is that’s on your mind. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you get up once other than for a drink,” you say knowingly.

Logan sighs, “At least, I got up instead waving down one of the servers.”

You groan at his words before walking around the table and pulling him up by his arm. “At least be polite and make your rounds to everyone,” you complain, “Then you can sit back down.”

Logan almost laughs at your miserable attempt to get him out of the comfort of his seat. But to save you from the embarrassment of falling on your ass, he sighs and gets up. “Only if you stay with me. We’re both suffering together,” he says almost pridefully as he moves your hand to wrap around his arm. 

Your face turns into a heater feeling his muscles along the expanse of his arms. You could only imagine how safe you’d feel having both arms wrapped around your body securely. At least you can bask in the moment a little longer before it gets taken away.

You stay on Logan’s arm as you both say your hellos and how are you’s. You can’t deny that it feels good to have him this close to you. And he can’t deny how comforting it is to be under your touch. He hasn't felt this relaxed in years. The more time he spends having you hold onto him like this only hurts him a lot more. Because the moment gets taken away every single time, he hears you say “we’re just friends” in nearly every conversation. 

“Oh no! We just came here as friends!”

“You’re too funny! We’re just friends.”

And he swore he heard somebody comment about how he’s like a fucking brother to you??

Now that one really started to boil his blood. 

Yes, you are friends. Best friends if anything but it will never hurt less to hear you say those three words. Those words are like that one annoying tune that is stuck on replay all night. Every person or group of people you both have gone up to have made comments or asked questions if you guys came to the party together. And just like the first time you were asked up till the last time, you were way too quick to shoot them down with “we're just friends”. 

After all the last couple of years since he’s been around you hopelessly thinking you’d catch onto his longing stares, lingering touches, and being by your side during missions, he thought eventually you’ll get the hint. Tonight is showing him that you won’t ever reciprocate his feelings back. He’s been shot, stabbed and you can name the rest, but this emotional pain is burning at him from the inside and out. He’s starting not to be able to take your stinging words any longer. 

Finally, all the rounds were made when you both made your way to Jean and Storm sitting at one of the tables. “I didn’t think you were actually able to get him out of that chair, Y/n,” Jean laughs.

“You made him into a social butterfly,” Storm snickers as Logan pulls out one of the chairs for you.  

You giggle at their comments while Logan scoffed out a “whatever” and looked away from you three as he took a seat. He can feel his hurt turning to anger right now and he’s trying really hard not to show it. He gently removes your arm from his as he waves a server down for a drink. Sensing something is off you’re about to ask him if he’s okay, but Storm beats you from talking. 

“You guys looked good out there though. Like a cute married couple,” she smiles as Jean nodded in agreement.

If only they and Logan knew how much you don’t oppose the idea of being married to him, but you could only laugh it off. That’s what you’ve been doing nearly all night as you and Logan made the rounds. You don’t think you’ve ever sounded like a broken record player having to repeat that you guys are purely platonic. You were just hoping that Logan wouldn’t start causing a scene when you heard him nearly growl every time you started talking. He seemed so tense too, more than usual but you thought it was because you were dragging him around to talk to people he wasn’t interested in. 

Which is why you would turn down the comments about you and Logan dating because you didn’t think that he’d enjoy that type of conversation about you but boy, were you so wrong. 

“Please, don’t make me repeat it again,” you playfully groan out with a laugh, “I don’t know how much I can take having to explain that I won’t ever see Logan that way-”

SLAM!!

You and the girls jump from the startling sound of Logan slamming his drink on the table then watch him storming off his chair and into the mansion. Stunned by his actions you look down at the glass and see that it had cracked from the force then look back at him walking away. You go after Logan without thinking, “I’ll go check on him,” you say as you speed off your chair in worried haste. 

Where did that come from? And why is he walking away so fast? He’s already made it inside the house in less than thirty seconds. Your feet hurt enough already from the heels, but you caught up to him as he was about to make his way upstairs.

“Logan!” you call as you pick up your pace a little more, but he ignores you, “Ugh! Logan!”

“What?” he snapped at you with a venomous tone.

You nearly cower at his nasty attitude towards you. He’s never talked to you like that before and you begin to feel uneasy about being the target of his rage. "What’s wrong? Why did you leave like that?” you ask as you follow him up the stairs. You're only two steps behind him.

“Because.” he continues walking with bigger strides.

“Because??” you repeat. You’re starting to get irritated with his attitude, “Because, what? Logan would you please slow dow-”

“Because I can’t fucking stand that your dumbass can't figure out how much it hurts me when you say that we're "just friends!!” he yells as he turns around to give you his full rage.

You stood there frozen and stunned by his words and also at the fact that he yelled at you louder this time too. You feel yourself start to shrink from his voice. You couldn’t think to get a word in before he interrupted you once more.

“How much longer should I have to deal with the fact that you only see me as your friend and nothing more, Y/n! You’re walkin’ around telling people down there that I’m only your friend and you were just telling Storm and Jean that you won’t ever see me more than that!” he shouts at you with a face full of hurt and anger, “Why haven’t you realized that I love you. That I’ve been in love with you. Y/n!”

Your heart stopped for a second hearing him say that. There are too many whirlwinds of emotions going on right now. It’s hard for you to fully grasp the fact that he just confessed to you. Logan Howlett confessed to you. Looking at him you realize that maybe he’s also realizing that he confessed too with how his eyes widened. 

You both stand there on the staircase in ear piercing silence as Logan pants from his rage. He rips his eyes off of you as he runs a hand down his face in stress. He looks so hurt right now. Your eyes are beginning to tear up from being the reason why he’s so hurt. But he needs to know that you feel the same way. 

After a minute of silence and trying to find your words, you softly but hesitantly speak up. “Logan…,” you shakingly call his name as you step forward. You’re about to reach for his hand but he steps back away from you.

“No,” he interrupted you while shaking his head. He doesn’t want to hear your rejection right now. He’s so angry at himself for letting his feelings for you drag on for this long. And he confessed to you in a way he never imagined he would. “Just forget I said anything. I’m done.”

Done…?

With that he storms off again much faster than before up to his room. Leaving you behind to swallow his words more. He loves you. How could that be? You swore he felt the complete opposite after all this time. He said he was done too. Done with you? 

While his words were finally settling in, you didn’t realize the tears had fallen down your cheeks. He loves you and then tells you he’s done. After all this time you thought he couldn’t see you that way, especially when he first arrived, he had a thing for Jean. But now, after his days of visiting you in the greenhouse, waiting for you in the hallway to get coffee in the mornings, and so much more… You’ve blind to his advancements. Even the way he talks to you is different from how he usually is and you didn’t realize that till he started yelling at you five minutes ago. 

You let out a shaky sigh to stop the sobs from slipping. 

God, you feel so stupid. 

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It’s been a couple weeks since the party and the last time you saw, let alone talked to Logan. 

You’ve never felt so lonely in the greenhouse by yourself and not having him there listening to you rant about whatever plant or lecture you need to get off your chest. You miss feeling his presence around you - the smell of his cigar, his teasing, his oddly comforting words that he held only for you… You miss him so much, but he wants nothing to do with you anymore.

The morning after the party you waited for him in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, but he never came. You tried knocking on his door a couple times after that when you wouldn’t see him but no answer. You knew he was in there counting from the energy you feel from the plant you jokingly gave him as a present, but you didn’t want to push him more. You also never failed to notice the way he would avoid you around the mansion. While the home was huge, you still saw him from a far and he’d walk away after your first glance in his direction. 

So, you gave him what he wanted. Space. 

And here you are sitting on one of the lounge chairs in the greenhouse at two in the morning. You couldn’t sleep or you haven’t been able to sleep without hearing Logan’s loud voice repeating his words in your head. The only thing that’s soothing you is the soft sound of the fountain that you’re sitting in front of. You stare at the lily pads floating in the water as you keep blinking back to that night Logan confessed. Would you call it a confession if he did it angrily? If he only would’ve stayed for thirty seconds longer, he would know that you love him too. 

Logan was sitting in the kitchen nursing on a bottle of soda since the damn house doesn’t have any beer or form of alcohol. God, he could use several of them right now to get what happened out of his head. He let his hurt turn into anger when he yelled out his love for you. He’s never felt so embarrassed doing that especially after seeing the look of shock and hurt on your face too. 

He just couldn’t stop the wave of emotions leaving his mouth in the form of words. He needed to get it off his chest after the number of times he was friend-zoned by you in one night. After he ditched you on the stairs to go into his room, he’ll admit that he felt a little lighter knowing that he finally told you how he feels but the weight came back when he started avoiding you. 

With how hard you were trying to get him to talk to you it just made him feel worse. Yes, he’s choosing to avoid you, but it doesn’t hurt him any less. He’d do anything to talk to you again, but he thinks nothing will be the same anymore, hence the reason for avoiding you. Again, he’s also embarrassed for throwing a tantrum on the stairs as he angrily declared his love for you. 

He still can’t believe he did that…

Logan frustratingly sighs as he chugs the rest of his drink as he gets up from his sitting. Maybe a walk will help. He needs to shake his feelings off and deal with the fact that he can’t come back from his confession. 

He zips his jacket up from the chill of the night as he steps out into the backyard and begins his walk. 

Nothing is heard other than silence as he furthers into the yard. He begins to get lost in thought as you come back into his mind. The way you looked scared from his rising voice to the sudden look of surprise when he said he loved you. Fuck, he still loves you despite the fact he hasn’t seen much of you the last two weeks. He misses you a lot.

“Damnit,” he mutters under his breath as he irritatedly kicks a pinecone out of his way.

 Logan continues to walk with no destination until he suddenly stops in his tracks to see the lights on in the greenhouse. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion because he knows how late it is and he knows you’re in there by yourself. But why are you in there and how long have you been in there? He ponders for a bit as he stares at the warm lights illuminating the glass walls. 

He stands there for a minute or two longer then makes his way to the double doors of the greenhouse. Usually when he or anyone walks up, you’d feel their presence and have the plants open the doors, but nothing happens. He looks around at the plants that surround the door to see if any of them move. But nothing, they’re still. He doesn’t sense any danger, but something is definitely off. 

He opens the doors without thinking and walks inside to find you. 

It’s eerily quiet inside as he walks around. He sniffs the air to smell for you and walks over to one of the fountains to where it leads to you. Your head is peeking out from the other side of the lounge chair, but you still haven't moved. He carefully walks around to find you curled up against the armrest sleeping. You look cozy and at peace if he wouldn’t have noticed the dry tear marks along your cheeks. 

His face turns into a look of regret instantly. Avoiding you was just him hurting both of your feelings with no end goal behind it. He was beginning to feel stupid and childish about this whole ordeal. How he feels about you shouldn’t be the end of the bond that you guys already had with each other. 

Besides tear marks, Logan also noticed the bags under your eyes as he kneeled down to be face to face with you. He sighs softly and brings the back of his hand to gently wipe the tear marks off your face. Your cheeks feel cold to the touch. You should be asleep in the comfort of your bed right now where it's warmer. So, Logan sucks up his feelings to wake you up.

The hand that was on your cheek moves down to your arm and starts to soothingly rub your arm up and down. “Y/n,” he whispers, “Wake up.”

You barely stir and it makes him want to laugh because you're such a heavy sleeper. So, he moves you a bit more and your eyebrows begin to furrow in irritation. For once you were sleeping somewhat well and you’re being woken up. You hear Logan’s voice, but you think it's just a dream until you hear him clearer the more you wake up. 

“Logan?’ you murmured as your eyes began to open.

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s me,” he whispers back to you, “Let's get you back to bed.”

You lock eyes with his soft gaze, and you’ve never felt more relieved to see and feel him this close to him. You sit up instantly, “Hi…” you say to him.

He smiles softly a stary strand of hair away from your face, “Hey… You shouldn’t be sleeping here alone, you know.”

You nodded as you rub the sleepiness away from your eyes as you look away from him. “I haven’t been able to sleep,” you said. Logan hums in response and silence settles for a moment between you two. You bite your bottom lip nervously as you start to think of what to say but you cower from the thought thinking that he won’t listen to you like before. You move your eyes to look at him, but you realize that he was still looking at you.

Logan couldn’t take his eyes off of you since he found you asleep. It feels like he hasn’t seen you for months to almost a lifetime. If you only knew how much you have molded yourself into his mind since day one. He sees how nervous you are right now from the way you’re looking back at him. He’s about to apologize for his outburst but you beat him to it. 

“I love you, Logan.”

Wait what?

A look of shock was thrown onto his face, but you interrupted him again. “I-If you would have stayed longer, I would’ve had the chance to say it back to you,” you stammer softly, “And I’m so sorry for hurting your feelings during the party. I swear, I-I thought that I was saving you from the conversations that I had dragged you to. I’m so sorry.”

You feel the tears fall again with how fast your eyes are building them up. You missed him too much and he needs to know this time that you've always felt the same way. You’re about to continue apologizing but Logan cups one of your cheeks with his warm hand. You feel his thumb wipe a tear and it makes you hold his hand with yours while you nuzzle your cheek further into his touch. 

"I missed you, Logan...," you shakingly sigh out.

"I missed you too, darlin'"

Relieved tears fell while Logan came closer to rest his forehead against yours. You feel so comforted to have him this close again. You run your hand up his chest to lure him closer. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs under your touch, “I was mad at myself and took it out on you. I didn’t mean to scare you either. I…I love you so much.”

You feel his lips brush so lightly against yours, it makes you pull away slightly to look back at him again. You don't think words can describe how much you need him impossibly close to you right now, it's making you needy for him. Your eyes move down to his lips then back up to his hazel ones.

“Kiss me, Lo-”

You didn’t have to finish the damn sentence because his lips met yours in an instant. Like hell he was going to walk away again now. A warm feeling blossoms in your chest as he pulls you closer to him with both of his arms around you to make you wrap your legs around his waist. Logan nearly groans, feeling you pressed against his body. The smell of the soft eucalyptus scent of your conditioner was making him dizzy but only made him crave for you more. 

You feel him pull you toward him more before getting up from his kneeled position near fluently with you in his arms. You gasped out a laugh at his brute strength and he smirked smugly.

“Show off…,” you say blissfully.

Logan chuckles as goes back in for another kiss, “You’ll learn to love it, sweetheart.”

You smile as you shyly bite your lips hearing him call you that. You couldn’t help yourself and went in for another kiss. Your bodies heatedly pressed together as you cupped both sides of his cheeks making him part his lips just enough for you to slip your tongue inside his mouth. Logan didn’t stop himself from sinking into your embrace despite holding you in his arms. 

You both lose your thoughts, getting lost into the comfort of the kiss. It felt so natural to have each other this close and it makes you wonder why it took so long for you both to get to this moment. And neither of you were planning on stopping it. You want more of him and he wants more of you. The ache you feel in your core is calling for more of his touch. 

You force yourself to pull away and you feel him chase after your lips. “Fuck, baby. Why’da stop?’ you can hear how desperate he is for you right now and it and it makes you smile.

“Take me to bed Lo…,” you whisper against his lips, “I need to feel more of you.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice because he instantly tossed you over his shoulder making you squeal out a laugh.

“Let’s go then, pretty girl.”

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[formulapookie]

🩵❤️

Torino capitale peccocele, 2.5k words

Cele comes hug him after his win, he’s still on the bike, Cele still shining from his victory, he looks so happy, he deserved it so much, coming back after two weeks spent being declared unfit, a really badly place plaque in his collarbone, and a breathtaking quali, the win was his already, and the amazing start he pulled just confirmed it.

Cele looks at him with pride, yells “Bravo” and another string of words he doesn’t really understand, too focused on the feeling of the arms he’s come to call home wrapped around him, focused on Cele’s laughter and his black curls escaping the containment of the cap, he smiles back, they look at each other, then Pecco rides to Parc Fermé.

He’s happy for the win, of course he fucking is, 10 victories in 19 races, he holds up both hands to show it, smiling under the helmet, but the other thought starts settling in.

Minus 24. Minus 24. Minus 24.

He is 24 points behind Jorge. It’s almost impossible for him to win it this year. What a fucking joke really, 10 wins out of 19 races and he’s loosing the Championship.

Mathematically, he’s still in for the fight, but realistically? He lost it. He knows Jorge won’t make a mistake, he knows that even if he wins he will not achieve the Championship. And if he does achieve it, it’s because of Jorge’s mistakes, not because he did something brilliant. That’s what’s running around his head, when people hug him, tell him he’s great, a Champion in their heart.

Everything following is something he does almost robotically, talking to Jorge, taking the Valencia flag, walking to the podium, then trophy, anthem picture, no champagne, another pic, down the podium and media duties.

On SkyItalia they ask him if he would cancel the Sprint Races for the following year, of course he would, and he says that, loud and clear, he tries to hold up a mask, something, because inside he’s just empty now, an empty shell with bones, but he has to speak, and bones don’t speak, so he forces out a polite smile, a polite answer, analyzes the fight, then he goes.

And he’s back to being a sack of bones.

The walk to his motorhome is strangely quiet, both outside and inside his mind, he doesn’t even have the strength to hate himself for losing.

He just wants his space, wants to go back home, to the person he calls home, he needs to be with Cele, alone, far from everyone, feel his heartbeat and his presence.

He doesn’t want to call him tho, he doesn’t want to bother, because no matter how many times the boy tells him he could never bother him by calling he’s scared he would, because Cele won, and he has to be happy about it, after the injury most of all, and his negativity won’t do him any good.

But when he enters his rider’s room Cele is there, sitting on a chair waiting for him, and the brightest smile appears on his face when he sees Pecco. He gets up and goes to hug him, tight, almost as if he knows he can’t hold himself up alone, he keeps telling him “bravissimo, sei stato bravissimo”, whispering it in his ear, keeping him close, and Pecco can’t hold his tears in anymore, he just goes numb in the embrace and cries quietly on Cele’s shoulder.

He spends around ten minutes there, calming down gradually as Cele strokes his back, reassuring him, calling him “campione” an awful amount of times. Cele has been out of the racing gear for hours now, and he helps Pecco change into normal clothes, a pair of shorts and an academy t-shirt.

When Cele manages to sit pecco down on the couch they’re both much more relaxed, Pecco’s head went from quiet numbness and absence of thoughts to a buzzing hive full of hateful comments towards himself, first of all for losing the Championship, and secondly for holding back Cele from going to celebrate his win.

“Celin you don’t have to stay here, you won you should go celebrate, get wasted with Bez, not here with me sulking” “Don’t give me bullshit Francesco, I’m not leaving you alone with all you have running through your head, I prefer being with you and know you’re safe rather than go get drunk with Bez and ending up throwing up in a bin somewhere in Sepang” “No Celin you have to go out and have fun not solve my issues” “Say all you want I’m not leaving you here, so hop hop let’s get to the hotel so you can rest and break away from this place ok?” “But-” “No buts, let’s go”

Pecco gets basically dragged out the garage into Cele’s rented car, who drives the short five minutes from there to the Hotel with an unusual calm, and Pecco finds himself staring at Cele’s profile, more than he usually already does, lingering on the shape on his lips and his nose, which Cele always says it’s ugly but Pecco always found to be pretty and unique, giving Cele a sort of vibe that made him look like he came straight from a 19th century painting.

They park in the reserved area and get in, avoiding fans who somehow found out where they slept and decided to camp outside to snap a pic of their favourite riders.

They get to the fourth floor and into Pecco’s room, they both prefer to be at his “place” after or before a race, it makes Pecco more relaxed and Cele feels welcomed.

They both go straight to the bed, sitting on it and Pecco curls in Cele’s arms once again, as the younger strokes his hair and kisses his forehead.

Pecco tilts his head up and locks eyes with Cele, and he slowly comes up to kiss him, like he always does, slow and gentle, and one of his hands rests on Cele’s thigh to hold himself up. Cele kisses him back, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him more against his chest.

The kiss quickly becomes more heated, Cele’s free hand going to tug at Pecco’s hair and Pecco letting out a soft moan at the action.

Cele breaks away pretty quickly tho, and Pecco fears he did something wrong, maybe Cele doesn’t want this and he’s forcing him, oh God what if he’s forcing Cele? 

“Stop thinking so loudly Pecco I can hear your thoughts, I stopped because I need to ask you something” “Ok ok” “Are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage of the situation and if you’re not in the mood that’s more than ok” “No no I am in the mood, are you sure you are? I know we usually - after your wins we celebrate a bit more - you know what I mean” “Yeah I do I do, I don’t care if we don’t do it like other times, slow is fine you know that”

Pecco blushes, Cele is so sweet and understanding with him he doesn’t get how someone can keep up with him and all his paranoias without getting bored at some point.

Pecco opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, then opens it again, the blush on his cheeks increasingly becoming redder.

“Can you - like can you - Celin can you top this time? I just want to get out of my head” “Of course, whatever makes you feel better amore” “Thank you”

They resume kissing, Cele takes the hem of Pecco’s shirt in his hands and pulls it up, discarding it on the floor beside the bed, doing the same with his shirt, before resuming the kiss and moving his hands to unbutton and unzip Pecco’s jeans, cupping his erection through the briefs.

“Celin”

It’s a broken plea, coming from Pecco who’s bucking his hips in Cele’s hand to try and get some pleasure, while Cele lays him down on the bed tugging down his pants and boxers, leaving him naked surrounded by soft sheets.

He gets up to grab the lube they left in the older’s backpack, coming back immediately to a whimpering Pecco who’s stroking himself in the wait, and it kinda makes him proud, how he managed to get him needy and hard in so little time.

 Cele gets on the bed, and gently opens Pecco’s legs, squirting some lube on his hand and heating it up, then slowly pushing one finger in, it’s been a while since Pecco bottomed, but he always enjoys it when the older lets go of his mental restraints and gives himself like this

Pecco whines already at the first digit, but tells him to go on, so Cele resumes his movements, pushing the finger inside until his knuckle meets the rim, then pulling out, thrusting it a few times, then adding a second finger, scissoring them to get Pecco adjusted to the stretch.

He’s a bit rushed, but the older gets it, Cele is 23, he just won and they rarely switch, so he excuses his lack of absolute control, mostly because to get out of his head he knows it’s gonna have to be the kind of sex where he melts completely, so it’s no use being fake gentle now.

When a third finger gets pushed inside Pecco grips at the sheets, parting his lips to let out a louder moan, Cele clearly aroused by the state he got Pecco in, rutting slightly against the bed.

“I’m ready Celin I’m ready”

The younger’s eyes sparkle when he hears those words, he’s getting harder every second more and rutting against the mattress is not helping in the slightest, so he sits up and unzips his jeans, tugging them off, one leg getting stuck, a string of curse words leaving his mouth before he removes his boxers as well, throwing them on the edge of the bed.

He aligns himself with Pecco’s hole and starts pushing inside, grabbing his hips with both hands to keep him still, stroking his hip bones with his thumbs.

He lets out a deep groan once he manages to get inside all the way, Pecco feels tight, not an uncomfortable kind of tight, but he needs to move or he’s pretty certain he’ll die by just staying there.

“Gonna move ok?” “Yeah do it do it”

The first thrusts are more controlled, tentative, soft almost, because despite wanting to go faster and harder Cele also wants to keep himself in check not to hurt Pecco. But the older clearly either doesn’t care or simply doesn’t feel that pain because he immediately wraps his legs around Cele’s waist and forces him to go deeper.

“Don’t hold back I want to feel you all the way” “Ok fuck you feel good” “You feel amazing”

And both are true, Cele might not be thick like Pecco, maybe just a bit longer, it’s not like they told eachother their exact lengths, and he manages to make him feel so fucking good.

As soon as his thrusts become deeper and faster Pecco is moaning, one hand gripping the sheets and the other thrown over his eyes, occasionally shifting to comb back his hair, curls falling over his forehead, sticky from the heat and uncomfortable.

Cele picks up the pace once again, Pecco’s string of thoughts getting replaced, going from words of self-despise to just pleasure. He can only think about that, how Cele feels inside him, how their moans get mixed together in the silence of the hotel room, how he can let himself be just him and not some persona for the media, how Cele cares for him.

The younger shifts a bit to get more comfortable, moving his hand to go look for the one Pecco is gripping at the sheets with, locking their fingers together, thrusting deeper, feeling Pecco squeeze his hand with force, the older’s legs pulling him even closer, tightening their grip on his waist.

He barely has manoeuvre space, but the one he has is enough to get Pecco closer with each thrust, finding his prostate takes a bit longer than he’d like, but once again, he hasn’t topped in a while and he gets overwhelmed by having Pecco in bed with him.

Sometimes he still can’t understand how he gets to have him. Like- this one right here moaning under him is a 3xMotogp world Champion, he’s now a 10 times gp winner in a single season, he’s won so many races, and he’s the one he looked up to as a kid. When he was younger he always said “I want to be like Pecco when I grow up” and now he finds himself fucking him into the mattress of a hotel in Malaysia after they both won the race and Pecco is begging for him to go harder and harder.

When he shifts his gaze from Pecco’s face to his dick he sees it basically shiny with precum, hard and red, the vein he usually passes his tongue over when he blows him being the first thing he notices.

“You’re so hot”

The only answer Pecco gets out is a moan, arching his back slightly, mouth in a perfect o shape as Cele keeps fucking him with the same intensity as before, their moans getting mixed with the sound of skin slapping.

Cele moves the hand he’s got on Pecco’s hip next to his head to lean in and make out with him, swallowing all the pretty sounds he’s making, slowly moving down, kissing his jaw, then onto his neck, leaving a few bruises he’ll watch proudly for a few days, never stopping his thrusts, because they’re both getting closer to the edge, Pecco especially, looking anything but the composed and put together version he shows media and fans.

Pecco’s free hand goes to tangle itself in Cele’s mop of hair, so unruly he found himself many times having to comb them somehow, they’re still wet now, from the race, the sweat, the heat.

They’re as messy as him, and Pecco loves to run his hands through them when they’re laying on his couch, Cele’s head on his lap as they watch a movie.

A harder thrust gets him back to the present, the feeling of Cele hovering above him, hot breath on his neck, he still smells like a race, the acrid sting of leathers and fuel on both of them, attached to their skin.

The younger almost glistens with sweat now, he looks like a vision.

Cele can’t hold on anymore, he’s so damn close, he needs to come, so he wraps a hand around Pecco’s dick, stroking it fast, not in time with his thrusts, much faster, and Pecco comes like a fucking fountain all over Cele’s hand and his own abs, as Cele thrusts a few more times before coming inside him, moaning his name directly into his ear, before pulling out and immediately laying beside Pecco, resting his head on his chest.

They’re panting hard, now the smell of sex joining the one of racing, Cele leaving kisses on Pecco’s chest, taking the older’s hand in his again, while Pecco plays with his hair as he always does. They’ll think about getting cleaned up later on, right now they just need this, a moment to themselves, to be just them, close, in the post sex haze where they feel like one and not two people, where both feel at home.

[demonvampire180writes]

Right as Rain - A Buck/Tommy Fic

Thank you to @rowsandrowsofnothing for a prompt to help me get my mind off the shitshow that is the US right now. (If you'd like me to not tag you please let me know.)

Prompt: “cat distribution system hits Buck”

It was midafternoon when Buck checked the clock. Tommy had left for work hours ago, and seeing as he had the day off, and had been spending more time here than at his loft, Buck decided to help Tommy out by doing a few of the things on his ever growing laundry list of chores. Being a first responder himself, Buck understood just how hard upkeep could be and he lived in a loft; he couldn’t even imagine having a whole ass house to take care of.

Being just after noon, Buck decided that it was probably time to stop and eat lunch, so he finished polishing the kitchen counter he’d been working on before dumping his cleaning rag aside and setting the cleaning chemicals a safe distance from his food prep area. Going into Tommy’s fridge, he pulled out supplies for one hell of a hoagie, multiple deli meats and cheeses, pickles and black olives and who knew what else. What? He was a big boy with a big appetite and he needed to eat.

Piling the split bun high, he returned everything to the fridge and grabbed a beer, one of Tommy’s fancy craft beers that he loved so much. (And that Buck was coming to appreciate; a Coors was good but he could appreciate the nuance of… better beers.) Snorting, he used the bottle opener under the counter to pop the cap and took a swig as he sashayed his way out of the kitchen towards the back door. On the way, placing his beer in the crook of his arm, he picked up the book he’d been working on. With a grin he pushed out the back patio door and headed straight for the lounge chairs.

Tommy had a few super comfortable lounge chairs long enough to accommodate their huge bodies with a small hand carved wrought iron table between them. Setting his beer and book down, Buck cozied himself up on the chair he was beginning to think of as his, the one on the left facing the lawn, before placing his food in his lap. He tilted the chair up just right, not straight up and down but not laid out on his back either.

Not a few minutes later he had his book held out in front of him with his sandwich alternating with his beer at his mouth. It tasted just as amazing as he thought it would. The sun felt warm, not hot, against his neck, and the air was quiet except for the occasional flutter of bird wings or the chitter of a squirrel. Buck was at maximum relaxation.

That was until he heard a familiar, yet not, kind of sound from the bushes that fenced in his boyfriend's backyard. The first time he heard it, he looked up and shrugged before returning to his book - things were just heating up - when thirty seconds later he heard it again. Being a first responder, his ears had been trained to pick up on the faintest signs of life. Frowning, he snapped his book closed and set his plate down on the patio table. Slinging his legs over the side of the chair, he stood and approached the bushes slowly, straining his ears hard.

There it was again. A pitiful, mewling sound. His heart picked up speed.

“Hello?” He called out as he began pawing through the brush, wishing he’d brought his phone so he could use the flashlight to see into the shadows. There was no response and he began to think he’d misheard when he heard it again, much clearer. A plaintive, pained, mewl of an animal. “Shit.” He breathed, eyes going wide. Frantically he began to push aside the branches, not caring about the way that they scratched up his bare arms. “Here kitty, kitty. I got you.” He tried not to sound panicked. Although he was a bit more of a dog guy, he was an animal guy at heart and he would never leave one to suffer if he could help it. And this baby sounded like he was in pain. “Where are you sweetheart?” He hissed, checking every nook and cranny but coming up empty.

Until he saw them - a gleaming pair of bright green eyes attached to a void that blended in so deeply he’d have missed it if the poor thing hadn’t had them open. His pupils were blown so big that there was only a rim of green visible. When the cat spotted Buck, he howled and scrabbled for him, reaching out a paw that was covered in muck and… Blood. That was definitely blood along its claws. Buck drew in a sharp breath as he felt his heart cracking in two.

“It’s okay, buddy. I’ve got you. Okay? Just hold on. I’ve got you.” Using his broad shoulders he pushed aside the bushes until he had a clear shot before reaching out to wrap his hands around the tiny body. Immediately he knew that the poor thing was likely malnourished, and possibly even dehydrated; Buck could practically count its ribs and every knob along its itty bitty spine. Tears pricked in his eyes but he held them back by sheer force of will. With trained precision, he extracted the creature from its possible tomb, cradling it to his chest. One of his, Buck checked, paws hung at an odd angle and he had been right about the blood. It seemed that the baby had been trying to claw his way out for who knows how long, or had possibly been running from something before getting stuck in the brambles.

Buck’s heart melted when he turned his head and stared up at him, mewing quietly as his one good front paw attempted to make biscuits on his pecs. “Oh aren’t you just the cutest little thing. What the heck happened to you?” Cooing, Buck petted the creature from the tip of its nose, all the way down its spine. “What should I do with you?” He sighed. “I guess we should at least get you cleaned up and take you to the vet. See if you have a chip or anything.” The cat slow blinked at him, and Buck felt when his little engine started to roar, vibrating his entire little body. Grinning, Buck shook his head and made his way back inside, leaving his lunch out on the patio. The local wildlife could have what was left of it.

In one of Tommy’s bathrooms, he made the cat comfortable on a pile of towels as he half filled the sink with lukewarm water and some Dawn dish soap. He kept a watchful eye on his new friend, making sure he didn’t seem to be in too much pain while he waited. The pitiful thing just kept on purring and making tiny little biscuits, occasionally chirruping when he saw Buck watching. Cursing his soft heart, but not really, Buck once more picked up the cat, grabbing gently at his scruff as he lowered him into the water. To his shock, the animal didn’t fight him in the slightest. He even seemed to breathe out his own sign of relief. Buck could only assume the heat felt good on its aching front limb.

For the next forty or so minutes, Buck scrubbed and scrubbed at the cat's fur, refilling the sink innumerable times as the dirt, grime, and blood sloughed off. When the water eventually ran clear, Buck bundled him up into the fluffiest towel he could find, which wasn’t all that fluffy, as Tommy seemed to subscribe to the idea that men used sandpaper, and not clouds, to dry off. He couldn’t help but chuckle at that as he squeezed out the excess water before gently wrapping the little one up into a purrito and setting him on the counter to dry as he made some phone calls to find a vet that would be able to get him in immediately.

Once the cat was mostly dry and had been fed half a can of fresh tuna, and drank down an ocean’s worth of water, they were off to the vet. In the front seat, still bundled in a blanket, the cat fell fast asleep as if it knew it was safe. Taken care of. At every stop sign or light, Buck would reach over and scritch behind its velvety soft ears or run his finger down the bridge of its tiny baby nose. Once at the vet, the little bundle was received as well as a pallet of gold. The techs cooed at him and consoled him over his hurt little paw, lamenting how anyone could do such a thing to such a sweet baby. He lapped it up, head bunting anyone that so much as looked his way.

Once in their room, the vet came to take a look. “Well,” he was an elderly man with graying hair and kind brown eyes - his brown skin leathery and soft with sun exposure and accent think - “this little guy is lucky you found him. On its own, it’s nothing too serious, but if he had continued to struggle for much longer, I’m afraid either the damage would’ve been irreparable or he could’ve gotten an infection from all the micro cuts on, and near, his claws.” He stroked down his back, grinning. “I don’t know why they say black cats are bad luck because I’m pretty sure you’re the luckiest kitty alive.” The cat squinted at him and purred louder. Chuckling, the vet turned and grabbed a small apparatus from the counter behind him. The screen lit up as he explained, “We’ll do a quick check to see if he’s chipped and then I’ll bring him back to get a cast to set that front paw. After that, assuming he has no owner, you’ll be set to go.”

Buck nodded but for some reason his chest squeezed tight as the doctor ran the chip detector over the cat's neck area. They’d only been together for a few hours but Buck wasn’t sure if he could let the small creature go. It was the owners fault, after all, that the cat ended up this way. Not a minute later the little screen blinked red and Buck let out a relieved breath. “So…?” He didn’t want to get his hopes up but…

“No chip. He’s all yours.” The vet gave him a knowing smile as he bundled up the black cat into his arms. “Now, I’ll be borrowing your sweet little friend,” he scratched under his chin, “for a short while so my techs and I can set his arm. Sound good?” Buck nodded and slumped back into his seat.

The rest of the appointment went by in a whirlwind. While Buck waited for the doc to come back, he started doing his due diligence by making lost and found posts on Facebook and Instagram, and all of the local lost animal pages he could think of. He didn’t want to, but considering how he felt right now at just the thought of letting him go, Buck would never do that to someone else who had a pet they loved. (Even though he still thought they were bad owners for letting their cat out in the first place without supervision.)

If no one responds by midnight tonight… He thought, hitting post on the last message board. Just then a tech came back with his new furry friend, bringing a small card reader with her.

“What a sweetheart!” She exclaimed as she readied the machine. “So for the chip exam, all of his vaccines and the cast…” She laid out the cost. Buck winced a bit at the price tag but he happily paid for it anyway knowing that the innocent thing would get better.

While the machine thought Buck asked, “Do you know how old he is?”

She smiled softly at him. “The doc's best guess is about seven or so? Not elderly but definitely not a youngling either.”

He nodded again. Once he’d gotten the receipt, and they’d said their goodbye’s, they were back in his Jeep and headed for the nearest pet store to spend even more money. And Buck spent like he knew that this baby was his for good. Oh. Did he forget to mention he still hadn’t talked to Tommy about him, and that his loft didn’t allow pets? He hadn’t necessarily been ignoring his phone but his mind had been occupied by other things the last four or so hours!

Both of them exhausted, Buck pulled into Tommy’s driveway. Grabbing only the bare necessities - litter, litter box, and a few toys - both boys dragged themselves into the house. Buck set the little guy down and watched for a minute as his natural curiosity took over and he hobbled around, sniffing at everything. Then Buck grabbed up the litter and such and went to find someone unobtrusive to set it up. To his surprise, his little shadow followed along after him, chirping and meowing all the way. Grinning happily, Buck stopped every few feet to let him catch up and to give his head a pat.

When that was all said and done, Buck went to the living room and made himself comfortable, flipping on the TV as he opened a few of the toys - a crinkle ball and a wand toy. The cat went immediately for the crinkle ball and it was hilarious watching him having to bounce to balance on his back legs while using his good paw to bat it to a fro. Settling in, Buck grabbed the throw blanket that rested on the back of the couch and prepared to veg out until his wayward other half came home.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“Evan, I’m home.” Tommy called as he dropped his keys into the dish at the door. He’d noticed Evan’s car in the driveway and had been a little surprised to find it still here. Sure, the man had been spending a lot of time at his house but he usually went home for a bit on his days off just to grab the mail and do some cursory cleaning. When there was no reply, he frowned. He could hear the TV so Evan was definitely downstairs.

On soft feet he made his way through the kitchen, past the back door where he spotted an empty plate upturned on the patio and a half full beer bottle on the table, and turned to go into the living room. He stopped cold when what he saw finally registered. His boyfriend was sprawled out on the couch, the tiny throw blanket thrown haphazardly over him, one foot dragging on the floor and the opposite arm bent against the back. But that wasn’t what took him by surprise.

No. That was the furry void curled into the tightest little black hole Tommy had ever seen, minus the neon yellow cast on the paw that stretched out in front of it. Even from where he stood Tommy could hear it as it purred, content and cool as a cucumber. “Evan.” His voice cracked. “Evan.”

“Hmm?” Evan mumbled sleepily as his eyes blinked open, confusion written on his expression before remembering where he was. “Tommy?” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and craned his neck back so Tommy could see his baby blues. “Welcome home, babe.”

“Evan. Why is there a cat?” Looking just as confused as Tommy felt, Evan looked down at the fluffy terror on his chest and then back at Tommy.

“I saved him.” He said as though it should be obvious.

Sighing, Tommy approached and crouched down next to the man, running a hand through his curls. “I can see that but… Why is he still here?” Evan’s lips turned down into a frown and oh how his heart squeezed. The Buckley pout was absolutely no joke and Tommy would fold in seconds if he didn’t hold strong.

“Because he had nowhere else to go.” Ope. And there was the bottom lip, even quivering a little just to dig the nail even deeper. “I couldn’t just let him back into the wild.”

Sighing once more, Tommy’s lips turned into a soft smile as he leaned in to press their foreheads together. “Why not bring him to the loft?”

“Because they have a no animal policy.” Tommy felt Evan shift so he could pet the cats back.

“You realize we’re first responders, right? We don’t have time to take care of an animal. Especially not when it's healing and we’ll both be away most of the time. What if something happens when we’re not here?”

Evan stayed quiet for an exceedingly long time before he muttered, so quiet Tommy wasn’t sure he’d heard right, “What if I just… stay here. Then someone will almost always be around.”

He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away, caught off guard by Evan’s whimper of protest. “You… want to live here?”

“At least temporarily? Or you know… For longer.”

Tommy didn’t say anything for a long… long… LONG… time before conceding, knowing he would never win. “Did you at least post some pet lost and found posts?”

“Of course!” He pet the cat more aggressively until it lifted its head and nipped at his fingers, overstimulated. “If no one claims him by midnight I’m keeping him.” His tone brokered no argument.

Sighing, Tommy stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ve named him already… Haven’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Grinning wryly, he asked, “Okay, let’s hear it. What’s its… his… name?”

Finally deciding to sit up, Evan stood in a less than graceful series of movements, so he could stand face to face with his boyfriend. He looked like a kid on Christmas with how happy he was. The cat clung desperately to his sweatshirt and Tommy couldn’t help himself as he reached out to pet him. His fur was downy soft, but he was most definitely too skinny. Tommy could see lots of treats in the future and a very spoiled animal. To his silent delight the cat purred louder, bumping into his hand for more pets.

“Rain.” He proclaims proudly, puffing out his chest. “Because I found him in your geranium bushes.”

Tommy snorts and throws back his head as he laughs. Evan pouts and steps back so Rain is out of Tommy’s reach, much to his displeasure. “Hey! Don’t punish the cat just because you’re mad at me.”

“No. No more pets until you admit my naming skills are awesome. Isn’t that right, Rain?” He kisses the tiny bit of white on the cat’s head and snuggles him closer.

Rocking on his heels Tommy says, though he’s not sure he totally agrees, “Okay, okay. Rain is a great name. So does this mean we’re cat dad’s now?”

Beaming, Evan says, “As long as I don’t get any messages before midnight.” Kissing his new fur child once more he says, “We’ll be the best cat dad’s ever, isn’t that right, Rain?” The kid chirps and licks the tip of Evan’s nose which sends him into another fit of laughter.

Eventually the two of them settle back onto the couch after Tommy whips something up for dinner; Evan doesn’t want to let Rain out of his sight for long enough to be safe while cooking. Once cozy, and feeding the little black void a piece of meat here and there, they flip to one streaming service or another to watch a movie.

Not one single message pings on Evan’s phone before midnight.

Everything was right as Rain.

[dadsbongos]

sockpuppet

act 1 - the day your life changed / act 2 - the day your life began / act 3 (coming soon!)

6.1 k words / warnings - your mom is named but not physically described, childbirth

summary - before meeting his wife, toji had a firstborn; and if you thought he was a messy parent with megumi you’re gonna hate being that first kid with all the responsibility. ~~~

Scene 1 - birthday

Ten hours.

Ten grueling hours and new life was shone in the delivery room, mind the screams and searing cracks torn into Toji’s hand from his girlfriend’s cobra grip.

“I’m never letting you in me again!” Saisho shrieked, shortly before tossing her flushed head back to wail wordlessly.

Toji merely clenches his eyes, teeth gritted as he slams his spare fist into his knee to prevent shouting something he regrets. Something along the lines of “let go” or “fine jesus christ” or “goddamn woman just push”, something that would get him snark for weeks into the future. Gentler words coo from a woman with thick hair tied up beneath a turquoise paper cap at Saisho’s other side.

Two more lissom bodies in turquoise scrubs are crammed between his girlfriend’s sweaty legs, urging her to breathe and push and breathe, breathe, breathe -- she’s got it, just like that, good job mama! Toji garners no praise, he’s certain that isn’t going to bruise his ego more than it’s already been battered. With nothing nice to say, Toji says nothing at all and lets Saisho continue crushing his hand.

For all the praise and ease that was sworn to them, how easy this birth would be given Saisho arrived dilated ten centimeters, it seems to have all gone wayside. Toji only hears his girlfriend screaming, can only feel her red nails dragging pink lines into his hand -- he feels nauseous. The once sterile scent now dredged by iron and he knows it to be her blood. He wants to plug his nose, but he’s petrified to make her feel alone. Barely does it occur to him that he should probably be speaking if he wants her to realize he’s still there. The realization is no help, though, as he doesn’t begin praising her or encouraging her. Just silent squeezing.

Saisho swears his name, the bed creaks as her back bends even as one of the nurses calls for her to “lay back, mama! keep pushing!” and another brand new foul stench enters the room: one he’s sure will humiliate the poor woman, so he won’t say anything (yet). Curses and huffs and blood and shit make him gurgle spittem and stress burrow between his brows, he’s jostled as Saisho rips him into the side of the mattress.

“Toji, fuck- do something!”

His eyes snap open, and hers are full of salty water: bright red. Sweat slicks her gown flat against her chest just as hair is drenched against her forehead. She stares into the bowl of her gown between her raised thighs with wide, petrified eyes. She screams his name again. He hates how her voice sounds. She is in terrible pain, it’s all his fault.

Quietly, the only thing he can mutter is, “I’m sorry.”

”Fuck!”

Something is crying, suddenly. Something ghoulish and wimpy and altogether ear-piercing, something that makes the doctor cheer and snap her head up to the two late teens. He notices her ears are exceptionally small and that’s about all he notices over the sound of warbly, gutless crying.

In the doctor’s arms is something tiny and wrinkly and covered in goopy crimson. Toji watches the doctor pass it off to the nurse next to her at Saisho’s feet as she speaks, “We’ll get the baby all cleaned up and then do some skin-to-skin, does that sound okay?”

Saisho wordlessly groans, slack-jawed. Toji nods, attention snapping to the exhausted woman. He stands and stretches over the side of her bed, brushing hairs from her face with warm fingertips and soft whispers.

“You did great,” he doesn’t know what to say, so he just tells her all the things he likes hearing her say, “You were amazing. I’m so proud of you, you’re great. You’re so strong. I love you.”

“Love you…” she bumbles just barely through the words, Toji can hardly tell she even meant to say them.

“I love you,” he kisses her swamped forehead.

“Would dad like to hold baby first?” the doctor asks, and now he can hear her perfectly. Cacophonous cries reduced to whines and croaks. The woman’s voice is raspier than he thought it’d be.

“Uh,” he looks to Saisho for permission and no longer feels like the big adult man he masqueraded as in the lobby: demanding attention for his laboring girlfriend. Now Saisho is barely conscious and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Toji nods stiffly and holds his arms out as if to take a sack of flour.

The nurses laugh to themselves and orchestrate his posture before letting the doctor slip the newborn to her father.

Warm. It's warm in his arms and it’s stationary despite not being swaddled. Was he this small once?

Toji blinks down at the thing. It’s eyes open and they’re misty gray which makes him frown. It looks nothing like him. It looks like nothing at all. Nurses assure him the eyes’ color will darken and their features will sharpen with time, but he’s not so sure. Pounds of shapeless flesh, and despite not being overcome with emotion he cannot imagine hating something so tiny and helpless.

Then his girlfriend asks, “What should we name her?”

Voice raw and throat torn from anguished howling. Saisho watches as Toji secures you against his bare chest. She finds the humor in how his eyes are thinned and brows furrowed in concentration. When he doesn’t respond, she continues,

“I want something pretty.”

Toji blinks again. You’re warm. You squirm, trying to turn into the swell of his chest. He cradles you closer and wonders how his parents ever hated something so helpless and tiny.

And he wonders something else aloud, “Thought we were going with Kiko?”

“I don’t like it anymore.”

Toji hums, rumbling deep in his chest, it rouses you and the room seems to still when you twist again in his arms. Your eyes are squinted and agitated in the bright, cold room. It strikes him, how you don’t look like nothing but instead look like your mother. And he’s grateful. Only proves less of a claim the Zen’ins could take over this sudden new family. He thinks your life should be a normal one, and with neither him or Saisho being sorcerers, he believes he can manage that.

He sees endless possibilities in your wrinkled little ugly little eyes (that he’s not entirely unconvinced mean you’re unwell). No, newborns are not as cute as movies say they are, but his daughter is. His daughter holds boundless new avenues and cities and suburban homes and jobs (and maybe even an entire new country) in her little ugly eyes. And it’s just so…

“Mabushii,” he answers, holding up a hand and baiting you to grab his finger, “I like Mabushii.”

Yawning, Saisho shakes her head, “No.”

Toji glares up at her for just a moment, “The hell’s wrong with Mabushii?”

“She’s not a ‘Mabushii’, she needs something…” she yawns again, loosely swatting at the hand Toji holds above your face, “Talk ‘bout it later, ‘m tired… ‘n’ she won’t have,” seconds away from passing out, she makes a grabbing gesture, “for like… a while…”

“Brat,” he mutters, just to make Saisho scoff. Toji leans to kiss her cheek, “Alright, sleep already. We’ll name her later.”

Your eyes close as if heeding the command, face turning into Toji’s chest while your mother succumbs to her exhaustion.

When he’s sure Saisho is asleep, Toji stares down at you and whispers, “Mabushii can be a nickname, then.”

You don’t respond, but a suddenly alert Saisho does,

“No way!”

“C’mon! She’s mine, too, you can’t just control all the bullshit!” Toji rolls his eyes, “What about Mabayu? Shorter, cuter, right?”

“Toji…”

“Damn, go to sleep already then.”

Once she’s finally collapsed, Toji shakes his head with a fond smile stretching the pink scar on his lip. He hopes you’re just as spiteful as your mother, too. No Zen’in woman would be as abrasive as her.

Proven again once she wakes from rest. You’re in a crib while Toji fiddles over name ideas to pitch -- pen and paper settled in his lap. Saisho’s last name is already scratched across the line.

“Why my clan?” she grumbles.

“They’re less obsessive,” Toji reasons, “Besides, your dad actually likes you.”

“Highly questionable,” she grunts while trying to sit up, making Toji rush to aid her. One large hand on her back while the other soothes up her arm, “And you’re not nicknaming our kid Mabuya!”

“Why the hell not?”

And no Zen’in woman would carry the same petty bickering for almost a year later.

Saisho sighs, drumming her red nails against the spotted and muggy stove top, “It makes her sound like a granny. She needs a cute nickname! Cute nickname for a cute baby!” she ignores his incessant groaning and chides while making curry, “You need to settle on something anyway. Mabushii then Mabayu and now Maba? Make up your mind or she’ll never know which one to respond to.”

“Mabu? Is that better?” any input Saisho had is shut out when you squeal, clapping against the jar of little red pickles (very irresponsibly) placed in front of your chair. Toji grins over at you, silvering scar twisting up and your eyes follow the movement instinctually, “You like Mabu?”

“Ah,” your heavy head nods and Saisho whines.

“You never get her enough tummy time, now she doesn’t know how to hold her head up!”

“Oh, that’s what that was?” Toji teases, shaking his head and looking back over to you, “Sounds like Mom’s in denial, huh, Mabu?”

“Ah!” you nod again, more excitedly.

Saisho finds herself struggling to smother down a grin at the sight, pretending to think it over, “Fine, if she really likes it… but no shorter! I don’t wanna be arguing with you again in a week when you think ‘Ma’ is an acceptable nickname.”

“Well…”

“No! Just say the whole thing, lazy ass.”

Toji leans close to you, pretending to whisper as if Saisho can’t still hear him, “Mom can be so mean to Dad, huh, Mabu?” you blabber useless consonants of agreement(?), “But isn’t she so pretty when she does it?”

You blabber again, clapping this time, and Saisho can’t hide her swooning smile any longer -- huffing a mumbly, weak, “Oh, enough.” between pretty rouge lips.

Scene 2 - special talent

“I’ll pick you up myself today, alright?”

“That’s what Dad said…” you hug your ruby backpack with the kitty charm zipper tight against your chest. Uncertainty lingering in your gut from yesterday’s disaster.

“Well, I promise, did he make it a promise?”

“No…”

“So, I swear to you, sweet girl, I will be there after school today to pick you up,” Saisho smiles despite her evident frustration with your father, holding up a red-tipped pinky, “And we can even go get a treat, if you want.”

That makes you nod excitedly, a warm sensation like the wash of sunshine through an open window bathing you. It doesn’t feel like when Dad tells you things, Mom’s face is round with sincerity. Following your eager agreement, Saisho secures you into your seat and presses a kiss to your forehead. Then she smudges the staining candy apple gloss away with the pad of her thumb.

Pulling into school returns swirling dread to your gut, now entirely unrelated to your father’s lousy attitude. Saisho holds your hand and practically drags you up the pavement to school as your feet skid the concrete. Politely, she opens the door for you and you wish you were brave enough to take the entrance -- but you’re not.

“C’mon, honey, not today,” she whispers, sugary tone marred with frustration expertly layered beneath drowsiness. Lulling you through the hall as you crush your backpack strap between clammy fingers. Her sunken face rises again when another adult comes into view, “Good morning!”

Her earnest greeting is shot down with a huff, “How will she be getting home today?”

Saisho clears her throat, “I’m picking her up.”

When skepticism passes over your teacher’s face -- you have half a mind to punch his knee.

“Mom will be here!” you reassure, clenching her hand. When she said she’d be there, somewhere in your chest you could feel it: she’ll be there. You know it. Not like when your father said he’d be there.

“She will,” your teacher nods passively, a slight smile gracing his slender face. His tone is cool, voice free of any distinct emotion.

“I’ll be taking over her pick ups from now on,” Saisho mutters, nervously reaching up to skin her fingers against the cold steel of her necklace, “I’m sorry about my boyfriend…”

“New parents,” your teacher shrugs, shoulders drooping after, “Things happen,” he smiles higher and this time your mother sighs with relief at his expression, “We don’t usually see dads so engaged anyway.”

Saisho scoots you toward your teacher, who calmly says, “Now we have to wash our hands before breakfast, friend.”

You freeze completely outside the door with polka dot trim stapled around its border. Shaking your head frantically, tiny “uh-uh”s fall from your lips with brows knotting in distress. Wet sniffles preorder the tears about to shine your eyeballs. Teacher and Saisho share concerned looks before your mom bends at the knee and pets over your hair.

“Honey, you have to wash your hands.”

“I don’t like that bathroom.”

“Why not, friend?” your teacher follows onto a single knee.

Visibly offended they both apparently forgot your mortal enemy, you fling an arm out to point in the bathroom’s general direction, “The man in the bathroom! He’s green and big and I hate him!”

“I’ve never seen a man in the bathroom,” your teacher soothes, “Are you sure it’s a man and not a shadow? Nobody’s ever seen a man in there.”

“Maybe I could go with her again,” Saisho suggests.

“She can’t keep having you go with her just to wash her hands for school…” your teacher sighs, “But today, fine. Just today, after today we can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m sorry, again,” Saisho hefts you onto her hip as you begin sputtering various panicked ‘no, no, no’s. She sets you back down, angled specifically to block out the front right corner closest to the mirror. Her eyes are low, solely watching herself turn the faucet on and pump soap into your hand.

Similarly, you keep your eyes on your hands.

“Do you see the man, baby?”

“No…”

“Exactly,” Saisho doesn’t move an inch, lips tightening and knees going rigid, “There’s nothing in the bathroom.”

Suddenly you’re cold: whole body rippling with goose flesh and your heart leaps into your jaw. An uncanny spark in your chest urges you to tell her that’s not true. You’re not sure how you know, you just do.

So you say it, unaware of every implication that comes with it, “That’s not true, Mom… You’re lying…”

Saisho frowns, eyes flicking over her shoulder momentarily.

A round, moss green creature with bug eyes stares back at her.

She sighs, “We’ll find you a better school. Maybe grandpa can find a good place, hm?”

“I don’t like Grandpa.”

“Then don’t talk to him,” she smiles at your adorable pout, “You don’t have to see him, honey.”

“Good. He’s not fun.”

Saisho knows her dad isn’t fun. Toji’s is even worse.

“That’s why he knows good schools, though, because he isn’t fun,” Saisho beams, lifting you out of the bathroom once your hands are dried and kissing the crown of your head, “Dad says he misses you.”

You pout again, “When’s he coming home?”

“Soon,” Saisho shrugs. Not ready to tell you that she has no idea when Toji gets home from jobs either.

“Promise?”

She pretends to not hear you before dashing out from the classroom with a, “Keep a good head on your shoulders for me!”

Two days later, Dad comes home. It’s Friday afternoon. He groans, shirt stained with blackening blood and dirt -- bruises blooming down his arms and chest like roses.

“Why are you gross?”

Toji jumps at the sound of your voice, only then realizing that the small television he spent weeks saving for was blaring with flashy colors and round cartoons. You were sitting in a baby pink shirt and purple shorts with no shoes and hair undone. A plastic cup with apples printed around the rim sat between your legs, water half empty.

“Why aren’t you in school?” he shoots back.

“Mom says I don’t have to go anymore!”

“‘Scuse me?” he raises a brow, toeing off his boots and groaning all the way to the couch. A split second of clarity washes over him: he should shower before laying down or he’ll ruin the leather. He doesn’t care for too long before falling face first into the cushions with a moan. A tiny hand slaps his sore cheek.

“Grandpa says Mom shouldn’t take me to school, so that I can learn with him but Mom says I shouldn’t learn with him.”

Toji splits an eye open to look at you, content to lay in his filth while you smear sticky, crumby fingers on his face, “Fuck you mean Grandpa wants to learn with you? Where’s your Mom?” he doesn’t let you answer before shouting into the cramped apartment, “Sai! Why’s the baby not at school?!”

A yelp, then a bang, then a swear, then your mother’s voice, “We’ll talk later!”

“She’s in the potty,” you explain.

“Thanks.” you nod honestly to his sarcasm.

“Mom says I’m special like she is,” you bounce on your tip-toes, a small giggle floating through your lips.

Toji’s shoulders stiffen painfully, he looks at you weirdly. You don’t like it. You thought he’d smile for once, but instead he just grimaces and says, “You’re kidding.”

“Nah-uh, Mom really says I’m special!”

“Special pain in the ass,” he hauls himself up and grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes, “Did you go see Grandpa yet?”

“No… Mom doesn’t want to…”

“Good,” Toji stresses, “Stay the fuck away from Grandpa.”

You tilt your head, “Why?”

“Just do it.”

You shrug, “Okay.” . . .

Few days later, you’re strapped into your mother’s car and told you’re going to her clan’s compound.

“I thought I was supposed to stay away from Grandpa.”

“Grandpa did us a favor,” Saisho glances back at you, a rocky silence fills the car as you stare at your parents through the rear view mirror. She coughs, “Toji?”

“Huh?”

“Can you… just- ugh- can you do something? Can you explain it?”

“Grandpa,” Toji huffs, “Grandpa gave Mom and I a lot of money, so now we have to let him teach you stupid bullshit.”

“Toji!”

“That’s what it fucking is. Cursed energy is made up bullshit.”

“Well, she needs to learn it.”

“I never said she didn’t.”

They glare at each other. It doesn’t look as fun as their usual glares do. It looks like they mean those glares.

Grandpa is not very excited to see your dad.

“A Zen’in does not belong with the Shakko family.” he says, eyes narrowing horribly at your father despite their great height difference. Toji rolls his eyes and says there’s a ‘shit-brown’ tea stain in his red robes.

You watch quietly, hand in hand with your mother. She gnaws her lip until it's blistering.

Scene 3 - midnight

Hours ago you were laid to rest. Sung to with Mama’s crackly, raspy lullabies. Read to by Papa’s gruff and inexpressive baritone, his hands barely clutching the tiny purple goodnight, moon cover. Given milk and forehead kisses and bids of the sugariest dreams. And Mama seemed happy before closing your door. Your heavy eyes couldn’t help but droop immediately after, chest rising in even draws with soothed breaths.

Grasshoppers are the ones singing now: outside bathed in pale moonlight, and you are too young to know what they are crooning for. Similarly, you are too young to understand why you can’t be included in the rather heated debate spiraling between your mother and father. Mama’s voice is warbly and thick, like she’s choking. While Papa sounds so quiet and measured he might as well be thousands of cities away. Few minutes have passed since you awoke to their discussion, so you’re also clueless as to what they’re even talking about.

All you know is now Mama is very, extremely, terribly upset.

“You’re a fucking liar! You bastard! I hate you, you take me from my family and you make me carry your baby and now you’re pulling this?! I hate you!” a hack and sniffle, your mother sobs and screams again, “I hate you!”

A soft rumble, muffled by your bedroom door, is what follows. Suddenly, stunning silence fills the small apartment. It makes you itch. You rise from bed without much thought and prattle towards your closed door, pressing an ear against the cold wood. Faintly you can feel a biting in your cheek, so you snuggle closer trying to make out what’s beyond your door.

“I hate you,” your mother coughs. A long pause tilts the room before she sighs, “Are you going to say anything to your daughter?”

That makes you scootch impossibly closer to the door, straining to hear how you’re now involved with mom and dad’s latest spat.

“I don’t know what to say,” you can barely pick out your father’s voice. He speaks so cool and smoothly, not nearly as distressed as your mother.

“So don’t go!”

“I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“Is it her?”

“No. Kind of. Not really. Not like that.”

“Then how? Talk to me, tell me, explain yourself just a little! You owe me that much, Toji.”

“My job. It isn’t for kids to be around. It’s better if she doesn’t know what I’m doing, or wondering if her dad’s still alive when he isn’t home,” mom sobs again, you wonder if dad wipes her tears or if he lets them dribble down her face, “I’ll send money.”

“Don’t send money, just find another fucking job!”

“I’m good at this.”

“You could be good at anything if you tried.”

“Not like I’m good at this.”

“You’d rather leave?”

Toji doesn’t respond. So you open the door. Two heads whip to where you stand in a red shirt five sizes too big and covered in bleach stains -- it used to be your mother’s when she dyed her hair. Your hand lodged on the door and eyes wide, you ask in a trembly voice,

“Dad’s leaving?”

Toji watches you glance from him to Saisho and feels his throat cinch. Suddenly his knees are wiggly and stomach twisting. Steely resolve and iron will crackling as you totter into the living room with bleary eyes. Saisho moves before him, kneeling in front of you with both hands on your shoulders. She nods slowly and whispers soft resolutions into your ear.

“I’ll be back,” he says, and he isn’t sure he means it. He just wants you to believe it. His voice is softer, face sullen.

Saisho throws a disapproving glare over her shoulder. Toji pays it no mind. He’s sure whatever he said would have earned that scorning stare.

“When?” you ask, “Tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow…”

“The next day?”

“Someday,” he solemnly swears.

Saisho hates him more than ever when he looks at you and says things she knows he doesn’t mean.

Your eyes find a pair of bags stuffed full; lumps protruding through the fabric and zippers nearly bursting open. Toji’s hands stretch with the urge to grab them. You nod slowly.

“Someday.”

Somewhere inside you, that feels like a lie.

Scene [a] - juvenile sleepovers

Suguru and Shoko were sharing Suguru’s bed. Soft snores are your only listening experience aside from Satoru's rushed, gaspy and ecstatic whispers of various Digimon evolutions. The room is far too dark for you to reasonably pull out one of Suguru’s many books -besides, you fear his taste in literature may be too boring for you. Shoko reads textbooks for knowledge and you’re starting to think Suguru does it for fun.

Yaga, in the future, will claim he had no idea you four set up a sleepover this very night. And every one of you is absolute that he’s lying. After all, tomorrow will be the first time you four are to be isolated from one another on a mission. Sometimes one will stay back while three go, or two and two, or even all four of you would be driven out.

You’re sure everyone will return, just as lively and hot-blooded as they’ve been all night, but the other possibility still frightened you enough to murmur to Shoko about it. She then turned to Suguru and declared you should all have a last hoorah. Certainly, if you four can each handle a mission by yourselves then you’ll be sent on more.

Neither scenario is really a win for your group of friends.

“Do you ever worry we won’t be friends?” you interrupt his speech, only feeling a little bad that you couldn’t tell which character or plot he was even scrambling over.

Satoru pauses, not even a hum of thought escapes him, just silence. Just then, you catch the faintest shimmer of his stark white hair glinting in the slatted beams of outside light. A mixture of dying stars and greenish lamps overrun by moths.

He’s shaking his head against his pillow on the floor, “Not really.”

“No?” you pull at Suguru’s carpet, watching your fingers in the dark, “Why not?”

“I just don’t think about it like that. About our friendship ending. It’s a shitty thought so why would I waste time having it?”

“I guess…”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. Especially right now.”

“Nobody’s dying tomorrow.”

“I know, but then we’ll all get sent out individually more, right? That’s why they’re doing this, to test us.”

Satoru rolls onto his side and grabs your hand, pulling it away from the carpet and tucking it into his warm palm. Skin soft and unweathered by the harsh training you’ve had to endure.

“Probably, but as long as we’re alive then what does it matter?”

“I don’t want us to drift apart… start hating each other.”

“We’d never.”

“How can you know?”

“How can you?”

Extra weight lands on that final word, you know it's meant to be reassuring and poetic and eye-opening but all it does is frustrate you more. As horrible as it sounds, you know Satoru’s experience with relationships of all kinds is extremely limited. He could never understand someone abandoning him because he’s Satoru Gojo and the only way people have left his life is in death.

“I just like you, Satoru,” your heart hammers at the finality in such a statement, you curl your knees up to your chest to stop the deadly pounding before continuing, “And Suguru and Shoko. You’re a good friend. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You like me?” he gasps, all shitty and teasing.

“Ugh.”

“Aww, c’mon! Tell me more! Tell me more!”

You glare at him. Though don’t tear your hand away, a foreign want to feel his peachy skin on yours invades your undeveloped frontal lobe. Weirdly, you want to see his smile stretch tighter and you want to be familiar with the way it shines. Even more weirdly, you almost -kind of -really want him to know you think he’s kind.

Instead, you say, “Nah. If your head gets any bigger, you won’t fit through doors.”

“Like you’re one to talk, edgelord,” he clumsily pokes you in the forehead. His palm sweats over yours suddenly, and he uncharacteristically stutters before calling your name, “I have an idea.”

“Huh?”

“To seal our friendship. You know? So you’re sure I’ll never leave you.”

You sit up and he follows, you scrunch your brows at him, “How do you plan to do that?”

“You take something important from me, and I’ll do the same to you…”

Naturally, your first instinct is to assume him the average teenage pervert, “Ew, ‘Toru! You’re gross!”

“Not like that!” he flicks your nose.

“Then what?!” you hiss.

“Have you had your first kiss yet?”

And your turn to be shy comes around. Coyly shaking your head instead of answering verbally. Weaving your fingers between Satoru’s and cringing at how your sweat mingles and slides.

“Me neither, so…” he drifts off.

His lips taste like the strawberry chapstick you watched him apply hours ago and the faint dew clings to your own lips when you part.

Satoru smiles down at you.

“That was probably a mistake, right?” you ask quietly.

“Oh,” he doesn’t bother whispering, “definitely.”

But he leans in again, and you don’t stop him.

You spend the night cuddling. Neither of you brings it up the next morning.

Scene 4 - a very special dinner

Honorary, maybe. You think. Few people are available to vouch on your behalf -- honestly your career as a sorcerer may be stunted now. Which you mind a lot less than Satoru seems to. He arranged this dinner. He arranged the car for you both here. He bought you the nice dress you’d been eyeing all week. He wrangled the blonde woman beside you back home for this one night.

She sips her drink. Tequila and apple juice. She says it’s dangerous and she saw it online and you should totally have some. You keep telling her later. She keeps ordering more from the bar and poking that she’s drinking much more than you, despite this being your promotion dinner.

“It’s not even a technical promotion, right? I haven’t heard anything…” you mutter.

“Hey!” she abruptly speeds into a new topic, swerving all concerns of getting you drunk off her brain-train, “What’s your type?” Yuki leans way too close, tongue poking through her lips.

“Why?” you tease, “Getting a little curious?”

“Hm,” she doesn’t answer your question, instead pushing her own, “I think you can tell a lot about someone by how they answer that question.”

You roll your eyes, but are already taking the time to think through her inquiry. Probably someone excitable, to balance out your subdued nature -that would sell in a shoujo manga, right? But no, someone too loud all the time would get annoying. Fast. But someone who’s introverted like you might get boring.

You shake your head when you realize you’ve been thinking about this for too long. You shrug, “I dunno… probably someone who knows how to shut up when I tell them to.”

Yuki throws her head back, squeezing your arm as she laughs, “That’s a good one!” she pats your shoulder, “I like that, hm.”

“Is it befitting of a special grade?” you’re mostly just trying to mess with her.

But she takes you in earnest, “I’d say so,” she wags two fingers in your face, “Special grades like us usually have two answers. Someone who can put up with our shit…”

“Or?”

“Or nobody at all,” she boops your nose and you tell yourself you let her, “I think you’ll fit in.”

That makes sense. Yuki liked guys who were hard-working and rough. Suguru didn’t really have a type at all. Yuuta preferred girls (well, one girl you know) that were headstrong and confident. And Satoru…

You glance at him.

He isn’t drinking because he hates the burn of alcohol in his throat. When he goes to bars, he likes virgin cocktails with sweet added syrups. And he keeps his phone tucked deep into his pocket so he can ignore the higher-ups for as long as possible. His teashade glasses are pressed tightly against his face because looking at the world through his own eyes becomes overstimulating. He’s so giddy tonight because you promised to watch that new Ryûichi Hiroki drama with him after your dinner. He laughed out an apology to you just outside because he accidentally spoiled the whole movie trying to give a brief synopsis.

You glance away.

You don’t know Satoru’s type. It never really came up.

You don’t think you want to know. And you definitely don’t want to think about why you avoid that question.

Maybe he doesn’t have one. Maybe it’s just someone to listen to him ramble.

You don’t know.

But your feet hurt, and you’re forced to lean against his side while you and Satoru wait for his personal driver. Raucous drunken yelling grows unsteadily from back inside the bar.

Satoru is rambling.

“I feel like people are too nostalgic for his old work, he’s only gotten better over the years. Not very surprising, just weird to me that everyone focuses on his old stuff like Vibrator because it was so successful- !”

“Satoru, I’m worried.”

He’s startlingly quick with, “You look like it.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You wish he hadn’t done that. It makes you wonder why you ever told Yuki something so childish. It makes you wonder what came first -- Satoru shutting up when you told him to, or liking people who shut up when you told them to. Either way, you think the result is the same.

“I think,” you frown, you wonder if he feels that involuntary need to fix it, “I’m in love with someone.”

Not just someone. Gojo, Satoru. It carries so many different things. Your old friend, your closest confidant, your partner in raising two kids, your fellow teacher, your fellow sorcerer, the strongest sorcerer, the heir to the Gojo clan, the untouchable Gojo, Satoru.

He frowns now, and you feel an involuntary need to fix it, “Aw. Mabu-chan doesn’t want lil’ ole me anymore?”

On reflex, you almost cry out for him to shut his mouth. But he would, and then you’d be even more helpless. You fear that maybe his obedience has bred a softness in your heart, but more than that - you fear that he’s bred a liking to obedience simply by being himself. You’re terrified that obedience isn’t your type at all.

“I’m being serious.”

“Who is it?”

So much could go wrong by telling him. He could reject you and you’d be embarrassed and maybe lose him as a friend before the both of you moved on. Or, even worse, he could feel the same -- until one day he doesn’t, and one day he leaves.

He can read you so easily, he shakes his head, “Nevermind, you don’t gotta tell me. I’ll just be absolutely heartbroken for the next rest of my life,” he sighs wistfully, “You’re killing me, Mabu-chan.”

You want to tell him to be quiet.

But maybe that’ll make your fondness grow.

Or it won’t, and you’ll be forced to realize that you were delusional -- it was always Satoru.

Oh, God, it was always Satoru, wasn’t it?

Scene 5 - just a small thing

Your most distinct memory of your father is from the age of five, being sat in front of a bright TV.

You have pink and white pajama pants snug against your little legs and a teal shirt with a purple bear and green frog on the front slung over your shoulders. You stumble out of your room, with a door that’s always open because the hinges squeak too loud for Ms. Mitoko, rubbing your heavy eyes. The television burns your retinas, but the man on the couch is unaffected by its brightness.

He sits with folded legs, an ankle resting atop his knee, one arm thrown over the back of the couch and the other on the armrest. The remote is practically slipping out of his palm, but he doesn’t seem to be dozing off. It irritates you even then, how he seems to not care if something slips and breaks - maybe Ms. Mikoto has a point with those stupid cups.

“What’re you doin’ up?” his voice makes you jump, all sleepiness gone from your body.

He still doesn’t look down at you, though. Eyes focused on that blinding TV.

You shrug, shoulders heavy, and yawn, “Not sleepy…”

He snorts, that scar twisting up faintly, “Oh, no?”

You yawn again, shaking your head fitfully, “No.”

“Okay,” he finally looks down at you, head falling back against his shoulders, “What d’you want then?”

“Hmm,” you squint your eyes at the TV. The sudden light makes your eyes water, “Can I sit with you?”

But you don’t remember why you asked.

“Hmm.” he copies your thoughtful hum, “Yeah.”

And you don’t remember if he helped you onto the couch.

Your most distinct memory is slouching against your father’s side on Ms. Mikoto’s lumpy, sunken couch. This memory doesn’t tell you what you were watching, just that it burned to stare at in the otherwise pitch black apartment. And just that your father’s shirt was soft against your cheek. And he was very warm. And you didn’t take long to fall back asleep.

[facemeandperish]

"Death comes at a cost, for ones like them." Aatrox said grimly, unconciously flexing one of his unnaturally gained hands. He reached up into his hair, and undid the knot that tied the great mass of his hair in place, allowing all the stories of his people to scatter down around him.

He smiled slightly at the memories that came back to him in that moment, memories of a woman (his mother? a servant? Aatrox had long since lost the importance of the memory) braiding his hair and telling him the stories of the People.

"We fought one of them once, a long time ago." Aatrox said, pointing to one specific braid. "If you were of the People, or wished to settle, I'd teach you the language of story-braids, but for now you'll just have to listen." he said, settling into the role of storyteller.

"It was a great beast of a man form, that reshaped itself according to its own will, now a man, now a beast with whip-like tendrils of skin and bone dangling from both arms, allowing them to ensnare men and animals alike, to drag them screaming into the maw of the thing, for their flesh to be torn from their nightmarishly warped form to become a part of the great monster."

He ran his fingers through the braids, reading the story to himself unconciously as he remembered that day. He'd still been in control enough of himself to not want to harm his People, but his madness had been great enough that he thought he could forget, surrounded by his loved ones. It had taken him five hundred seconds to kill his sister Val'kaan, an eon to a warrior of his caliber, and she had managed to kill more than forty people before his balde had found what passed for her heart.

"They lost many people." He said shortly. "One of my ancestors among them, which is why this one is capped with a carved bead." He said, showing the bottom of the braid's golden cap, which did show a small carving of an eagle, one of the symbols of the Kindred in the Great Sai."

"What do you mean, girl?" he asked, attempting to remain outwardly calm, but leaning in slightly as he spoke. "Who among the monsters did you see?" He asked, praying he might know the brother or sister in question.

Perched on a stump, it could be seen that the fighter was sharpening a blade that clearly wasnt her own. Aside from the sound of stone grinding on metal, there was a silence in the camp, one that she had become accustomed to over the months. Outside of training sessions and other forms of tutilege, they left each other to their own devices. Idle chatter wasn't exactly expected, nor entertained most of the time, but a question had been simmering in the back of her mind. One that could make an exception to this expectation.

Her strokes slowed before she laid the sharpening stone beside her, inspecting the blade's edge for any signs of wear, and once satisfied, she returned it to its sheathe, pausing before her eyes flitted to her tutor.

'Sir...do you have a moment?' Her words were quiet, unsure how to break the silence and grimmacing when she did so.

@facemeandperish

[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

(early) torchwood and facism

[astarlightmonbebe]

petition for kim kwon to stop choosing psycho roles please

[goblin-enjoyer]

I HAVE FIGURED OUT HOW TO DO GIFS!

BEHOLD MY AMAZING POWER AND WEEP FOR WITH PROPER HONEING I WILL BE (potentially) UNSTOPPABLE! NO FUNNIES WILL BE OUT OF MY REACH!

[twig---verginix]

swear to god i'm just gonna stop watching the endings to shows i like. good shows need to get cancelled on cliffhangers forever

[chxrryhansen]

okay but rafe shamelessly peeking up your skirt is something so personal to me

omg omg wait s1 golf frat boy rafe x cutesy kinda bimbo reader??? COUNT ME IN. p.s- i have no idea how to play golf so i wrote my best interpretation😭

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

you sat in rafes private golf caddy watching as he lined up his next shot, his backwards cap keeping his hair out of his eyes and his muscular legs spread wide as he takes the shot.

rafe had asked (told) you to come watch him play, he thought it would be a cute date idea for you both to get out of the house since it was way too hot to stay cooped up inside all day… when in reality he just wanted to show off his skills and impress his girl.

“rafeeeeey.” you whined in a high pitch tone.

he turns to look back at you with a sour expression, wiping the sweat from his brows with one arm, using the other to lean against his golf club. “quit distracting me. what dya’ want?” he pants in the summer heat.

“i’m boreddddd” you moan again, standing from your seat in the cabby and bouncing over to him.

his free hand reaches out to grip your face, smushing your cheeks together tight “what’ve i told you about the whining? daddy’s tryna’ play a game here, sweetcheeks.”

you look up at him with big puppy dog eyes “can you teach me? please rafey…i’m so bored just sittin’ here, daddy please.”

he lets out an irritated groan, knowing you were too ditzy to understand how golf works and way too uncoordinated to actually putt a ball. he looks back at you giving you a once over, a smirk appearing on his face.

“you know what? sure pretty girl, c’mere.”

you yelp with excitement, moving to stand infront of him, your short pink skirt barely reaching your thighs as you bounce over and your tits jiggling, practically spilling out of your tight shirt.

rafe stands behind you as he passes you the golf club, quickly showing you the correct way to hold it before he moves onto your position. kicking your feet apart and pressing down on your back with his thick fingers, forcing you to arch your back as he bites his lip, his cock already growing hard.

“that’s it baby, stay just like that. now, lift your arm up like this, and strike.” you beam at him while he instructs you before focusing on the ball.

you raise your arm holding the club tight before you strike it. not even noticing rafe bending down slightly, his legs still spread wide around your figure and his fingers lifting your short skirt, peeking at your cute, pink panties underneath, he lets out a low “fuckkk.” at the sight, not loud enough for you to notice seeming as you were concentrating.

“rafey! look! i hit it. look how far it went!” you gasp, raising one arm to block the sun as you search for the ball with your eyes.

“yeah babe, daddy’s super proud of you.” he mutters, not paying attention to a word you said, instead focusing on the slightly damp patch on your panties.

he brings his thumb to your pussy, rubbing over the soaked material. your panties beginning to stick to your cunt as he thumbs your sensitive slit.

you whimper in surprise, your head spinning to look at him in shock. “daddy! wh-what are you doing?!” you hush, eyes wide, looking around quickly to see if anybody had noticed what he was doing, which they hadn’t… yet.

rafe hushes you before pulling your skirt back down and giving your ass a harsh smack. lifting up from his bent knees and looking down at you with a large smirk.

“nice panties, baby. where’d you get em?” he asks rhetorically, a sly smile appearing on his face.

knowing for a fine fact he bought them, as he does everything else, your clothes, food, shoes. you name it, he bought it. because that’s what wealthy daddy’s like him do. and rafe is without question, wholeheartedly, your daddy.

[lucky-underpants]

“If Republicans end up winning the House, in addition to the Senate and White House, having a GOP sweep, I think the odds are less than 5% they get extended,” said Meekins, who was a senior HHS official in Trump’s first term. Even Democratic control of the House likely won’t save the subsidies, he added.

I’m having preemptive flashbacks to the eleventy kajillion times Trump and the GOP tried to repeal the ACA the first time around and tons of Trump voters who had coverage through the ACA exchanges or Medicaid expansions were weeping because they thought Trump was going to get rid of “Obamacare,” not their health insurance. (IIRC, many of them said that they still would have voted for him, though, even knowing that they might not be able to afford the medical care they needed to stay alive.)

Gen Z non-voters and protest voters, how many of you have health insurance through your parents’ employers? How many of you have preexisting conditions like asthma, autism, diabetes, anxiety, epilepsy, autoimmune conditions, depression, or birth defects? How many of you are likely to become pregnant between now and, say, next summer? Did you know pregnancy used to be a preexisting condition for which your insurer could refuse to pay for services? Did you know that when you get your next big boy or big girl job, if the ACA is gone or gutted, your ADHD meds could be coming totally out of pocket, and that Pap smear you need might not be covered as preventive and therefore free? Did you know that, if the ACA is gone or gutted, insurers can bring back annual and lifetime caps? My diabetic supplies cost tens of thousands of dollars a year without my insurance — can you afford to keep taking care of yourself when you hit your ceiling? Hate your job? Better be sure you didn’t get diagnosed with a new condition while you were working there, because that’s now a preexisting condition for any health insurance plan you want to join for the rest of your life!

It’s time to get ready to experience health insurance the way we oldsters did back in the fun times of the 80s and 90s, before neoliberal shill demons Barack Obama and Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid brought some measure of consumer protection to an unregulated hellscape of an industry.

Boy, will those increased premiums and out of pocket costs sure put a dent in the old Door Dash and egg budget! But I’ll bet they’ll save a lot of Palestinians somehow!

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/amp/rcna179146

[criminalamnesia]

Not a request but NEW TRAITOR CHAP WHEN??? prioritize urself no rush Pookie just the ppl gotta know

part 7 is here 🙏

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

it was pouring rain as you slid from the taxi, the driver attempting to yell at you to shut the door as thunder rumbled overhead.

you paid him no heed; boots splashed in murky puddles as you pushed the door closed and moved towards the yellow cab’s trunk.

you could barely hear yourself think. the rain was battering the ground as if locked in a viscous war with the cracked pavement— puddles forming as the asphalt resisted with all its might. it wasn’t enough, water seeping into the ground and muddying the grass nearby, drowning it mercilessly.

you grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before shutting the trunk. you’d barely stepped back from the car before it was speeding off, kicking up water and splashing your legs.

you didn’t mind— you were soaked through to the bone, anyways. besides, you didn’t mind the storm. it was comfort— a distraction from what lay ahead.

your new team. a small, covert operations group made up of the best of the best. two sergeants, a lieutenant, a captain— and they wanted one more soldier.

the opening couldn’t have come at a better time. you’d run your course with your old squad. they’d been fine— until they weren’t. carelessness and ignorance from teammates almost resulted in your untimely death, and laswell hadn’t questioned your transfer request after hearing the tale.

in fact, she’d recommended the one-four-one to you.

you thought you’d be meeting them on base, but the captain had requested you meet them here, instead. a run-down old diner, with its bright, neon pink sign blinking down at you through the rain.

you inhaled, then exhaled. clenched your fists, then unclenched them. it was a habit you’d had since you were a child. it forced you to slow down and think, to overcome the emotions you were lost in.

you blinked. rain ran down your face, creating false tears as it streamed from the corners of your eyes. you were sure you looked a sight.

another inhale, another exhale, and then you moved towards the diner’s door. you pushed it open, stepping inside and wiping your boots on the mat in front of the door.

“I think you’re gonna need to do more than that to dry off, sweetheart” a woman’s voice calls to you, causing you to look up towards the counter. she’s grimacing, looking you up and down. no doubt she’ll be following your path through the building with a mop in hand.

“sorry,” you tell her, trying to brush some water from your jacket. “forgot my umbrella.”

the woman gave a huff, waving her hand before turning and attending to an ancient-looking coffee maker.

you take the time to glance around the diner then, noting the substantial lack of customers. only two booths were occupied, one containing a young couple tangled in each other’s arms, and the other containing a man wearing a baseball cap with the UK flag patched on it.

he looked up from his phone as you approached, seemingly unsurprised based on the grin he gave you.

“glad to see you got here in one piece,” he says as you shrug off your bag, placing it on the floor as you slide into the seat across from him.

“one drenched piece,” you say, and he gives a small chuckle.

“im kyle,” the man tells you. “don’t know what laswell told you,” he clicks off his phone and places it on the table. “but im one of the sergeants.”

you nod. “callsign ‘gaz,’ right?”

he gives a nod of his own. his phone buzzes, the screen lighting up. his eyes glance down, scan the message, then meet yours once more.

“rest of the team got held up. price is in a meeting. johnny and ghost are on assignment, but they’re due back any day now.”

“so you’re the welcome committee by default, huh?” you say, and he laughs.

“guess i am. have i scared you off yet?”

“dunno,” you tell him. “but laswell sings your praises. the captain’s, especially.”

“she sings yours, too.” kyle says.

you give a small nod, your mind racing at what laswell may have told the task force. you weren’t bad at your job— you were great at it. a great shot, a reliable solider, a tireless sentry.

your emotions got the better of you at times, that was all. attachments and bonds that formed, linking you and your fellow soldiers together in the web of warfare. tying you around the wrist and dragging you along, for better or worse. little siblings or lovers evolving from what once had been just another set of boots on the ground.

this job was all you had. you found family where you had too, and it made you all the more loyal. but when you were spurned? when the fire leapt from the pit and scorched your skin?

you weren’t quick to forgive, and you found that reasonable in this line of work. mistakes by teammates could get you killed. who could blame you for holding a grudge against an ally who had almost cost you your life?

it’s why you were here now. a new start with a new team— a team of the best, you included.

kyle’s phone buzzes again. he picks it up, the screen illuminating his face as the lights flicker overhead. the storm wasn’t letting up.

“cap’s on his way— says he’ll be here in less than 30.”

“price, right?” you recall his name. kyle nods.

“don’t tell him I told you,” he leans in, a mischievous look in his eyes, “but he’s been lookin’ forward to meeting you. maybe even more than johnny has.”

“why’s that?”

“said the one-four-one is overdue for someone else who can kick johnny’s ass. wants you to knock him down a few more pegs.”

you laugh at that, giving a small shake of your head. kyle’s lips curl into a smile. “nah, he’s just happy to have some more hands on deck. always helps to have another person that’ll watch your back.”

as kyle starts talking again, you find your nerves settling.

maybe this team could be your new family.

you looked down at your hands, noting the slight shake of them. you don’t think they’d been steady since before everything happened.

your eyes glance to the ugly, scarred stump of the finger you’d lost. simon hadn’t chopped it off prettily, and it’d been stitched up hastily. you couldn’t blame the doctor, there had been more pressing injuries to attend to.

such as the bone-deep cut to one leg, growing infected from your time spent in the chair. the scar was long, stretching from the top of your thigh to your knee. it was still pink, a sign of your body still trying to put itself back together.

your torso wasn’t much better. jagged scars and puckered knots of skin marred your image. both from before and from after.

your eyes met your own in the mirror. you barely recognized yourself. the anger within you still burned, but its flame had reduced to a simmer. exhaustion, apathy, and shame had taken its place.

perhaps that was a good thing. it saved you the energy of fighting the men you inevitably saw every day. despite your numerous pleas and demands for them to simply leave you alone, they seemed to have a hard time listening. it made you want to scream. to hurt them, digging your fingers into skin until they understood the pain behind your words.

a knock sounded at the door. you didn’t move.

a knock again. you could hear the shuffle of feet outside the door. you wished whoever it was would leave you be.

another knock, accompanied by the soft timbre of kyle’s voice.

“love, you alright in there?” he was saying. you still stood before the mirror.

things had been different since you attacked the doctor. it had only been a few days, but word spread quickly through base. if people had avoided you before, you were like the plague now.

and the shame you felt was insurmountable. the pain and regret and fury were building like a tidal wave in your stomach, rising and choking the air from your lungs.

you wanted to leave this place. get away from the men you once called family, the one you once called yours.

but leaving meant the end of your career. you just had to hold out until kate arranged your transfer, that’s all. just a few more days, right?

and then this place and these people wouldn’t be a constant reminder of what had happened to you. of what it had done to you, physically and mentally.

“go, kyle,” you called out to him, breaking from your trance as you reached for the scratchy robe johnny had gifted you one christmas.

“not until i see you breathin’, love.”

you sigh, tying the robe shut and hugging the material to your body. you moved to the door, turning the lock before inching it open.

“breathing,” you tell him, watching as his eyes flick away from yours. god, it made you want to strangle him.

to yell at him, to yell at all of them— "you did this, and you should be able to look me in the eyes and see it.”

“now go.”

he looks at you again, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “will you let me in?” he asks, and you scoff as you move to slam the door.

“fuck off, kyle.”

but he’s quick, and his hand shoots out, grasping the door’s wooden edge and keeping it from closing.

“we need to talk.”

“whatever you need to say, you can say it from there,” you tell him, and he pauses for a minute before he nods.

“doc is asking about you again. she’s up and runnin’ around. said she wants to see you.”

your lips press into a thin line. you didn’t deserve that woman’s kindness, not after what you’d done to her.

you hadn’t been in your right mind, but that didn’t excuse it. you had bloodied your fists; harmed an innocent in the war between you and your own mind.

you didn’t want to see her still worrying about you when you had assured her you were fine. you had left her supervision, and then you’d attacked her. and you hadn’t stopped until simon had pulled you away.

you would’ve killed her, you know that in your heart. you would’ve killed her, thinking she was one of the men who had wanted to kill you.

“tell her im fine,” you said, your hand tightening around the door’s knob.

“i think she’d rather see that for herself,” he says.

“im fine,” you repeat. “i’ll be out of everyone’s hair in a few days, anyways.”

kyle’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “you’re leaving?”

he knew this, they all did. perhaps they just didn’t truly believe it. all of them, every single one, still thought you’d turn around and run back into their arms.

bastards.

“as soon as laswell gives the word,” you reply. “should be soon.”

kyle doesn’t speak. he’s obviously biting his tongue— you’d seen the expression that was on his face enough to know when he was holding back, but you didn’t prod like you would’ve before.

let him keep his secrets, lies, promises, and sorries. you didn’t need them anymore.

“don’t bother me again,” you said before shutting the door in his face.

you hear him sigh on the other side of the wood, then hear the retreat of his steps. you turn back to the mirror, snarl, and grab the alarm clock from your nightstand.

you throw it into the glass, shattering it to pieces. seven years of bad luck, you think.

well, it couldn’t get much worse, could it?

kyle sighs, staring at your door for a second longer before turning away. simon looks down at him from where he was leaning against the wall, hidden from your view, his muscled arms crossed over his chest.

“surprised?” simon asks as the two of them retreat down the hallway. he makes sure they’re far enough from your door before speaking, so that you won’t hear his voice.

“we knew it was happening, price said as much after that whole thing with johnny,” kyle replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “just thought this might change things.”

“change ‘em how?” simon says. “if anythin’, this speeds it up. they’re a liability now.”

“they’re hurt, ghost,” kyle retorts, his eyes meeting his superior’s. “that’s ptsd. not everyone’s as forgiving as the doc. they attack someone outside and that’s a fucking felony.”

“that’s not our problem, sergeant,” comes simon’s baritone reply, and kyle stops.

“you’re a fuckin’ case yourself, y’know that, LT?” he says, and simon stops. “we all played a part,” kyle continues. “but you? you would’ve killed ‘em if we never knew the truth. i know you would’ve. i’ve seen you do it.”

the men stare at each other. simon’s expression is hidden underneath his balaclava, but kyle knows it’s unreadable regardless.

mean, old ghost. heartless bastard, loyal to the mission only. that’s what the others around base whispered to each other.

kyle had seen proof to the contrary. yes, simon was loyal to the mission. but he was also loyal to his team, his family. you.

he was loyal to you.

“watch yourself, sergeant,” simon speaks, his voice a dangerous rumble.

kyle scoffs and walks off, shaking his head.

simon watches him go, his breath steady.

kyle didn’t understand him, not really. not the way you had begun to. and that was his own fault, he knows it. forever holding those close to him at arms length for fear of the worst.

he’d let you in— let you invade that space he enforced so ruthlessly. and the worst had happened.

kyle doesn’t know this is tearing him in half; none of the team does. they don’t understand that simon wants you to stay because you’re you, but he wants you gone because he can see how this is killing you.

even when he’s the villain in your story, he’s still trying to look out for you— in his own, twisted way.

he doesn’t regret it. that is cemented in his mind. but as he grapples with his own emotions, his mind in its own turmoil, he knows he wants you to be okay.

“im sorry,” he had spoken to deaf ears.

sorry for the ripping apart of your life, but not sorry for what he had done.

deep down, he knew you would never forgive them. he knew that leaving this team would be the best thing for you.

he knew, he knew, he knew.

knowing and accepting are two different things.

hope this was worth the wait! i think the next part will be the end, unless my idea changes 👀

[nottswitch]

— 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠?)

summary: your last night in italy, your last chance to remember this vacation forever

pairing: theo x fem!reader

warning: 18+ smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), spanking, choking, dirty talk, degradation/praise, mentions of alcohol, tipsy sex, smoking, broken Italian, modern!au, muggle!au

wc: 3.9k

a/n: it’s been a long time coming!! finally officially writing for theo. inspired by honey (are u coming?) by måneskin <3

۶ৎ navigation ; masterlist ; theo m-list ; how to request

The air of the summer night was almost chilly, but only almost – the temperatures in the south of Italy are usually high at this time of year. However, it didn’t stop you from shivering as a light breeze of wind brushed against your skin, flushed from all the alcohol you had consumed in the last couple of hours. It wasn’t even that much in quantity – it was more so the mixture between the different kinds of it creating a heady haze in your direct and peripheral vision. And now, you were standing behind the club, having come out for a breather and a brief clearance of your mind. Your friends were still inside, lost somewhere between the dancing bodies, and you didn’t care enough to let them know you were heading out.

“Scusa, signorina, ha un accendino?”

You were shaken out of the blankness of your thoughts by a deep voice coming from somewhere behind you. You didn’t know what it said, since you weren’t the assigned interpreter of the group and knew jack shit about Italian. Slowly and cautiously, you turned your head to look at the source of that profoundly attractive voice. The man was standing a bit further away, still hidden by the shadows, so you couldn’t see his face clearly.

“Ciao?”

In your dumbfounded state, it was the only thing your brain could conjure up. The sole Italian word you knew for sure and could safely produce, besides the pizza names, of course. But if you started spurring them out – that would be deathly embarrassing.

The silhouette let out a low chuckle. He took a step further, and the light of a street lamp finally let you see the face of the mysterious voice. Your mouth was slightly agape as you studied his features: cheekbones that looked sharper than they probably were, emphasized by the shadows of the night; a cap of dark curly hair, messed up by hours of dancing in the club and the breeze that was currently ruffling it; his lips, rather… full and strangely inviting.

“Shit, I thought this line would work.”

Once again, his voice pulled you right out of your reverie. You realized that he was speaking English now, and his accent made the language sound tenfold more charming than it needed to be.

“What?” you asked, immediately feeling sheepish as you said it. It wasn’t hard to notice that you’d been standing there shamelessly ogling him while he tried to converse.

The previous chuckle of his turned into a laugh. The stranger stepped even closer, so close that you could distinguish a couple moles on his face, and his eyes… they were something else entirely. You tried your best to blink away the incoming clouding of the mind – it was simply dangerous to stare into them too much.

“I asked if you had a lighter,” he explained, taking a pack of cigarettes and his own lighter out of his pocket. “This line usually works.”

He lit up the cigarette, taking quick inhales until the tip started burning orange. Then, he took a deep drag, hollowing out his cheeks and making his cheekbones appear even more prominent. You watched in awe as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, deliberately blowing it out in the opposite direction.

“But you-” you tried to say, your voice embarrasingly cracking and making you clear your throat. “You have a lighter,” you finally uttered, rubbing your throat with your fingers and swallowing a lump slowly starting to form there.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just a conversation starter,” he explained with another low chuckle. You felt like you were five and he was you kindergarten teacher, explaining the reason the sky was blue. “And it did start the conversation, no?”

You smiled nervously, fumbling with your necklace. The stranger noticed your tensed up state and his expression softened from playful to friendly and approachable.

“Theo,” he said, holding out his hand. “Well, Theodore, actually, but only my mother calls me that when she’s angry,” he joked, his lips spreading in a wide smile.

You introduced yourself as well, feeling much more comfortable with his gaze warmly resting on your eyes. His hand was bigger than yours, softer than you expected and felt like a pillow. Once your palms connected, he wrapped his fingers around yours and instead of a handshake, lifted your hand to his lips to plant a kiss on its back.

Your cheeks flushed instantly at the feeling of his lips on your skin. They were so soft that a need to feel them on your mouth made itself known in the depths of your stomach. You cursed yourself for being so sensitive, but didn’t pull your hand away when his lips lingered there for a few seconds longer than necessary.

“So, bella,” he started, letting go of your hand, “what are you doing alone outside of a club at…” He glanced at his wristwatch. “…at five in the morning?”

“My friends are still inside,” you explained the ‘alone’ part, “and I just came out for a breather. Our flight is in six hours and we’re probably not going to sleep,” you added with a scoff. At that point, a sleepless night didn’t sound as enticing as it did just a day before.

“A flight?”

Theo tilted his head, taking another drag of the cigarette. You swore you were hallucinating, but you could hear a slight hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Yeah, we’re flying back home,” you replied with a sigh, also feeling disappointed for some reason. It was rather unfair, you thought, that as soon as you met a perfect picture of a man, you had to leave him behind, in a country so foreign to you.

“Damn…”

Theo let out a humorless chuckle, exhaling a plume of smoke and running his hand through his hair, letting the curls gracefully fall on his forehead afterwards. He noticed the curious glance you gave him and shook his head.

“It’s nothing, I just-”

He interrupted himself by taking a long drag of the cigarette and shoving his hand in his pocket, as if to stop it from clenching into a fist.

“I just thought I had a chance,” he finished with a white cloud billowing out of his mouth. “You know, to have your number, to take you out and all that…”

You sighed, lowering your gaze to the ground. You actually really wanted to go on a date with this handsome stranger, and life felt even more unfair than just seconds ago, now that you knew that your sudden desire was reciprocated.

“Life’s a bitch, I guess,” you breathed out, biting the inside of your cheek to stop your voice from shaking. You never knew that a simple one-minute encounter outside of a club could affect you that profoundly, yet there you were, wishing you could stay in Italy for at least a day longer.

Theo watched you intently as he kept on smoking, and silence fell between the two of you for a few minutes.

"Can we…?" his voice sounded in the silence of the night.

"Yeah," you breathed out before he could even finish the sentence. You knew exactly what he was implying, and you would probably die before you missed the chance to skip all the unnecessary steps and just outright go for it.

You could see Theo grinning and tilting his head back a little as another cloud of thick white smoke wafted above him. He threw the cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the tip of his shoe, all while his shining eyes were fixed on you, and you realized that your own lips perfectly mirrored his wide smile. Theo took a couple of steps towards you, the proximity between your bodies’ letting his warmth envelop your front. His hand hovered next to your waist while his eyes searched yours, silently asking for permission. Your nod was more than enough; you barely had time to breathe in before Theo’s lips were on yours, his hand firmly gripping your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. On instinct, your own hands ended up on his shoulders, stabilizing yourself, as your knees seemed to have a mind of their own and suddenly wanted to buckle.

Naturally, Theo tasted like cigarettes and a hint of alcohol; his scent invaded your senses with male cologne and something citrusy on top of that. His hands held you up, one of them leaving wrinkles on the thin fabric of your tank top, and the other one – caressing you flushed cheek with his thumb. You let out a soft, shaky moan when you felt his tongue gliding against yours and got a response in the form of another moan, but lower – from him. It sounded heavenly, and you found yourself wanting to pull more of this out of him.

Both of you were breathless when you mouths finally separated, a thin strip of saliva stretching out between your shiny, sloppy lips. A second later, it was cold and dripping down your chin, and Theo laughed, pressing his thumb to your skin to wipe off the mess.

"There’s a place, not far from here," he whispered, leaning in so that his lips would lightly brush against your ear.

"Whatever you say," you answered, closing your eyes and trying to gather the last bits of self-control not to jump on him right then and there. Maybe it was the previously consumed alcohol, maybe it was just him.

The corner of Theo’s mouth turned up at the sound of your voice, still a bit breathless and, undoubtedly, needy. He placed a teasing, promising kiss under your ear, eliciting a quiet but sharp breath from you, and pulled away, sliding his hand down your body, from your waist to your hand. Your fingers intertwined, and before you knew it, you were getting all but dragged along the cobbled street.

"Theo," you whined, tugging at his arm to at least slow him down a notch. "My heels!" you said, raising your voice a bit when the guy didn’t stop at all, as if he hadn’t heard you.

Theo turned his head, following your downturned finger and noticing your high-heeled sandals.

"Ah, piccola mia," he cooed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. You didn’t know what he said, but in your mind, his amused smile couldn’t have meant anything bad. In a split of a second, you were picked up, bridal style, your body pressed to Theo’s chest, your legs helplessly dangling in the air. You let out a short, surprised squeal, which made Theo bite the inside of his cheek in order to suppress a loud, hearty laugh.

"That’s much better, hm?" he murmured, observing your widened eyes with a small but cheeky smile on his face and a quirked eyebrow.

You didn’t really have any time to answer – the question was rhetorical, anyway – as he started to walk down the street, his pace a bit faster now that you weren’t slowing him down. You decided not to question and instead, wrapped your arms around his neck. Although, as you had come to notice, his arms provided just enough of a safety net.

The lobby of the hotel had high ceilings, leather couches and air conditioning, which was a nice contrast against you flushed cheeks. Theo didn’t bother lowering you to the ground when you entered, so now you were hiding your embarrassed face in the crook of his neck while the receptionist was checking you in. His cologne was filling your lungs more and more with each passing second, so at some point you couldn’t hold back anymore and started placing soft kisses on Theo’s neck and jaw. You heard the incessant tapping of his fingers against the countertop increasing in frequency and grinned into his skin, realizing that your efforts weren’t in vain at all. His relieved exhale rang out along with the clink of the keys to your room for the night.

As soon as you stepped into the elevator, Theo pressed you against the wall, swiftly grabbing the backs of your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist. His lips stole a sloppy kiss from yours before latching onto your neck and leaving a trail of saliva down to your collarbone. One of your hands ended up on his shoulder while the other one was eagerly pulling his head into your neck, craving for more of the pleasure his lips were giving you.

The high-pitched sound of the elevator arriving at your floor cut through your lust-filled haze, but Theo was far from willing to let you go even for a minute. He carried you into the corridor and looked around to spot the right number on the door. Thankfully, it wasn’t far. Theo’s pace was hurried, and his lips were stuck to your shoulder all the way, until you heard the key turning and the door opening, at last.

A sharp breath was knocked out of your lungs when Theo pressed you against the other side of door, hungrily swallowing the air coming out of you. His hands immediately went to your ass, firmly gripping the flesh over your skirt. You moaned into his mouth, already feeling the dampness between your legs starting to grow pretty rapidly. Theo smirked against your lips and sneaked a hand up your body, under your tank top. His palm pressed into your breast, his fingers closing around it and giving it a solid squeeze. His lips parted, and you whined in protest when instead of his tongue you suddenly felt just his hot, alcohol-induced breath. You desperately licked into his mouth while he panted, lost in the feeling of your tits and ass sitting so nicely in his hands.

"Cazzo, you feel so good," he whispered, his voice low and hoarse.

At the feeling of Theo’s strong hands kneading your ass and tits simultaneously you started whimpering, wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to move your hips against his, tightening your legs’ embrace around his waist.

"You’re a needy girl, huh?"

Theo pulled away ever so slightly, just enough to have a good look at his face. He chuckled, trapping his tongue between his teeth while his eyes flicked from yours down to your now swollen lips and back.

"Such a desperate, needy slut," he murmured, his hand leaving your breast and cupping your jaw, his fingertips pressing into your cheeks and making your lips form a pout. As a confirmation of his words, a whimper left your throat, and your pussy started pulsating against the front of his jeans. Your hips started grinding again, and you could barely hold in another round of pathetic sounds when you felt a hard bulge between your bodies.

"Fuck," Theo groaned, for a second feeling nothing but the delicious friction your rapid movements provided. He lowered you to the ground, pressing a quick, firm kiss against your lips before guiding you to the huge, king-sized bed. You didn’t protest; you didn’t want to, and your mind was too far gone at this point. As soon as your legs hit the edge of the bed, Theo didn’t let you fall onto it. Instead, he pressed his palms against your lower back and your stomach at the same time, bending you over in one swift movement – you barely had time to stretch out your arms to support yourself.

Theo took a step back, biting his lips as he took in the sight of you, bent over, a tight denim skirt hugging your curves, your ass high up in the air due to the high heels on your feet. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he came closer again, lifting up your skirt to pool around your waist. You breathing grew more erratic as you felt his hands on your ass, grabbing the cheeks and spreading them open. A sharp slap landing on your right asscheek was a surprise, eliciting half a squeal, half a moan from you; your arousal trickled out of your panties in one wet line, which made Theo almost ecstatic. He gave your ass another slap, relishing your moan as he kneeled behind you, your thighs receiving a smack each as a signal to spread further apart.

If he wasn’t gripping your hips at that moment, your legs would’ve given out right when his mouth was pressed against your soaked panties. A shaky whimper escaped your wide-open mouth, making Theo’s cock throb in the confines of his jeans. In other cases, he would’ve taken his time teasing you, getting his fix of your needy moans and the sweetness between your legs. However, right then he was still somewhat tipsy and painfully hard, which is why your panties were quickly moved aside and his tongue dived straight into your dripping folds. A groan made your skin pleasantly vibrate, and your moans never stopped since, only growing louder and more frequent.

Theo’s tongue lapped up the juices from your cunt, his hands firmly gripping the underside of your ass, his thumbs spreading your inner thighs by pressing into them hard enough to leave bruises. You couldn’t help it - you bent your arms and lowered yourself down to your elbows, because you felt like you’d start shaking at any given moment. And you did, as soon as Theo’s skillful lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and making each and every single nerve shoot lightning strikes of pleasure through your whole body. Your moans and whimpers grew into sobs as Theo continued greedily devouring your aching cunt. The moment he gave your ass another slap, you were done for. Without any type of warning, you came, your hands gripping the sheets so hard they could probably rip.

When Theo heard you getting lost in your orgasm, he closed his eyes and groaned, feeling his own need painfully pulsating between his legs. He stood up, towering over your bent over and already spent form. You couldn’t even turn your head to see what he was doing, but you definitely heard the sound of a zipper being undone. You didn’t have time to dwell on that, as two of Theo’s fingers ended up inside your cunt almost immediately. Your whole body jerked forward, the pain of overstimulation mixing with the pleasure of his fingers stretching out your walls. The next sound was that of a wrapper being opened, and for a quick but very empty moment Theo’s digits left your hole. You whimpered in protest, pushing your ass back in search of friction, and you found it: the tip of Theo’s cock, wrapped up in a condom, slid along your folds up to your clenching and unclenching entrance.

"Cazzo," Theo breathed out, momentarily mesmerized by the sight in front of him. "Such a good girl f’me…" he continued murmuring as he rubbed his tip in circles against your entrance, making you squirm. His hand stopped your erratic movements, grabbing your hip to keep you in place. Once he was sure you weren’t moving anymore, that same hand landed on your asscheek, causing your body to jerk forward once again. "Such a dirty slut."

With one thrust he pushed into you, his hips slamming against yours with bruising force. You let out a sharp, high-pitched scream, immediately flowing into a stuttering moan as you felt the tip of Theo’s cock hitting a sweet spot. He moaned along with you, his head thrown back as he savored the feeling of your warmth and heat squeezing his aching dick. Shameless groans left his mouth with each movement he started moving inside of you, his initially slow pace growing into deep, hard thrusts. You buried your face in the sheets, tugging at them with your hands, desperate for some kind of grounding in reality. Theo’s cock kept hitting different spots inside you that you didn’t even know you had, making your pussy drip even more and causing squelching sounds to waft through the room, along with skin loudly connecting with skin. Theo’s hands landed slaps on your ass from time to time, each squeal of yours following it causing him to groan louder.

Your second orgasm wasn’t far off from the first one – with an especially deep thrust, Theo’s cock hit something entirely uncharted inside of you, making your thighs shake and your cunt clench around him. He fucked you through your climax, barely holding on, until you finally stopped squirming so much. His hand was on the back of your neck in a second, lifting your upper body from the bed and pressing it against his firm chest.

"Feel so good, bella," he breathed into your ear, causing your completely overstimulated body to shiver. This reaction brought Theo closer to his own orgasm, and his thrusts became messier with each passing second. "Gonna come soon," he whispered, lightly squeezing your throat and circling the shell of your ear with the tip of his tongue. You whined pathetically, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your walls clenched around Theo once again.

That did it for him. With a low, raspy moan into your ear, he came, his grip on your hip and throat tightening. His twitching cock made your thighs purse together involuntarily, and your body finally went limp against his chest. Both of you stayed like that for another minute or so, stabilizing your staggered breathing. As soon as Theo felt you calming down, he carefully spun you around and lowered you onto the bed on your back.

"That was…" you breathed out, sinking into the softness of the mattress underneath you.

"Yeah," Theo followed, a satisfied smile playing on his lips when he heard you struggling for words.

You let out a breathless chuckle, propping yourself up on one arm and following Theo’s padding to the bathroom with your gaze. Once he disappeared inside for a moment, you threw yourself back onto the sheets, covering your eyes with your hands and shaking your head in disbelief.

"Me… A one-night stand in Italy…" you murmured under your breath, rubbing your temples with your fingers, as if trying to get a grasp of the situation.

"A one-night stand?"

Theo quirked an eyebrow, heading from the bathroom towards the bed, his jeans all done and zipped again. You gave him a questioning look of your own, wondering what that sly smile of his meant. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to you and, in response, turned the screen of his phone to you. You squinted, trying to see what he was trying to show you, and gave him a skeptical look when you did. He seemed puzzled for a moment before understanding washed over him – of course, how would you understand a text in Italian. He physically facepalmed and pulled the phone away, looking at the screen himself.

"It says that ‘due to inadequate weather conditions, all international flights have been postponed indefinitely," he read nonchalantly, the only thing betraying his inner workings being that same smile you saw earlier. He glanced at you, trying to gauge your reaction to the news and see if you were getting the hint.

You bit your bottom lip, furrowing your brows as you were processing the information. Then, your eyebrows went up, and you lifted your head, meeting his playful eyes with those of your own. As Theo crawled up your body, your fingers were already mindlessly tapping a message to your group chat with your friends.

reblogs and comments will be appreciated ♡

[starkeysprincess]

⟢ LET THIS BE A REMINDER

presenting kinktober day 5 ➔︎ ghostface!rafe x final girl!reader

warnings: DUBCON !! primal play (predator/prey), knife play + carving/branding, blood + blood play, unprotected sex, creampie, spitting, choking, pussy slapping, spanking, degrading, praise, brief orgasm denial, threatening/blackmail 18+ mdni word count: 3.2k

A/N: i just want to say thank you to everyone who took the time to read my silly, slutty little fics. i came into kinktober highly nervous because this year is my first time doing it, but y'all have truly made this experience the absolute best !! i love you all so so sooo much, MWAH !!!

kinktober m.list ⟡ rafe m.list

you jerk awake, sitting up with your chest heaving frantically as you flip the switch of the lamp on your bedside table. the small white light illuminates the room, and you turn your head to look at the corner of your bedroom, only to find nothing. a sigh of relief leaves you, and your body starts to relax, knowing there is nothing in the room but you, “it was just another nightmare. you’re fine. he’s long gone; he can’t get you,” you tell yourself. 

you pinch the bridge of your nose; there is no way you could fall back asleep now. you reached for your phone, swung your legs off the bed, and planted your feet onto the carpeted floor. you lazily strolled down the stairs to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. you leaned against the counter, lost in your thoughts, as you stared at the bottle in front of you, debating if you should take the medication you were prescribed last year to help you sleep.

you grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took two into your mouth before swallowing them. the loud ringing of your phone startled you, and you reminded yourself that you were safe. it’s probably nothing you tell yourself when you see ‘No Caller ID’ displayed on the screen. 

“hello?” you answer, holding the phone close to your ear when all you can hear is the sound of heavy breathing, “hello? i think you have the wrong number,” you huff, growing agitated. who would call you this late at night?

“you and your little friends got the wrong guy,” the distorted voice echoed in your ear. ”what are you talking about?” you stood up, straightening your posture, “don’t play dumb; you know what I‘m talking about.”. 

“the man they arrested last year, topper thornton. he isn’t the killer. he never was,” the voice snickers, “he isn’t necessarily the most innocent man, but it’s not him.”.

“there was enough evidence against topper; everything pointed to him being the killer. i don’t know who this is, but how are you sure it’s not him?”. there was nothing but an eerie silence for a second until the voice spoke again, “because I’m the killer.”.

“really funny, asshole. if you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working. don’t you think I’m used to receiving countless prank calls? do me a favor and don’t call me again,” you snort. 

a chill ran up your spine at their chuckle, “oh, my sweet little bunny…a prank call? is that what you think this is? this is far from a prank call,” they paused, “y’know, you look good in white, it makes you look so sweet and innocent.”. 

your hands trembled, pulling the phone away from your ear to end the call. you let out a shaky breath, ‘it’s just some asshole trying to scare you,’ you repeat to yourself, pushing the thought to the back of your mind as you head back upstairs to your room. 

you push your door open, your eyebrows knitting in confusion when you notice the light from your lamp is off. you turn the bedroom light switch on, and a blood-curdling scream erupts from within you at the sight in front of you.

there, on your mirror, was a message written in blood, ‘i’m coming for you next.’.

you’ve been on edge since the incident occurred a few days ago, especially after sheriff shoupe informed you that not only weren’t there any indications of a break-in, but they never found the threatening message you received. it had been wiped clean, almost as if the ghostface killer was taunting you; it was his way of telling you he was still in your home when you had made the call, painting it to look like you had gone insane. 

when you brought it up to the pogues, they tried to give a reasonable explanation, “there was blood on the mirror! i’m not making any of this up,” you argued, noticing the pitiful looks on your friends’ faces. “don’t look at me like that, okay? i know what I saw,” you scoffed.

“we’re not saying we don’t believe you, but it doesn’t make sense. i mean, think about it. it’s been a year since the murders,” john b pointed out.

the pogues nodded in agreement, “john b is right, if it wasn’t topper, then why did the murders stop when he got arrested? if the killer is still out there, why wait a year to attack and terrorize again? i think it was just another brainless kook trying to scare you,” pope theorized. 

“you need a distraction, and the situation is bothering you. so, i say we go to the fair,” jj grinned, his smile dropping when the entire group groaned, “come on, it’s halloween! besides, it’s not like any of you have plans.”. 

the fair was filled with laughter as most people, along with you and the pogues, waited in line for one of the rides. you were pushed up against random people, easily overwhelmed by such a large crowd, and wanting nothing more than space. 

you slip out of line, catching your friends’ attention, “where are you going?”. 

“this line is insane, and it’s too overwhelming. i’m just going to walk around a bit,” you informed, only for pope to ask if you wanted one of them to come with you. “no, it’s okay. i have my phone on me, so one of you can call me whenever you’re off the ride,” you waved your phone in front of the group.

you continued wandering away from the group and stopped in your tracks when you came across the closed-off entrance to the haunted corn maze, which piqued your interest.

figuring it would be the best place to clear your head, you looked around, noting that no one was watching as you ducked under the rope to enter the maze. your shoes scruff against the dirt, the few dried stalks of corn crunching under your feet the further you made your way into the maze, the only source of light coming from the soft, yellow glow of the moon. 

you tap on your phone's screen, grumbling to yourself when you realize the pogues won’t be able to reach you due to no longer having any signal. 

you continue walking, wrapping your arms around your waist, stopping at the feeling of being watched. “you’re just being paranoid,” you mumble as you come across the path that now forked into two. 

the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the sound of rustling from behind, and you whip around, your eyes darting back and forth, frowning when you find nothing. you turn back around, your eyes widening, and a scream escapes from your throat at the sight of ghostface standing before you, tilting his head as he stares at you. 

“told you i was comin’ for you,” his altered voice rang through your ears before he lunged towards you. you duck, barely escaping from his grasp, before running down the left path of the maze, “go on and run bunny! i like the chase!” he chuckles.

you could feel your heart pounding against your ribcage, knowing he was hot on your tail, your feet carrying you as fast as they could. turn after turn, you look behind you, “you can run all you want, but there’s nowhere to hide!”. 

your lungs were on fire the faster you ran, your head turning to look in front of you, panic starting to kick in when you’re met with a dead end. 

“dead end? gotta say it must be my lucky night,” he taunts, taking in your trembling form, “aw, you poor thing. are you scared? you should be, but that’s okay, i like ‘em scared.”.

all you could do was back away the closer he stepped forward until your back was flush against the corn stalks.

“i’m a bit disappointed. i like a challenge, and you made the chase far too easy,” he ridiculed, “i’ll tell you what, let’s make it interesting and play a little game. the rules are simple. if you manage to find your way out of this maze before i catch you, i’ll let you go…but if you don’t, let’s just say I finally get to have my way with you.”.

you can’t help but press your thighs together, craning your neck to the side, turning away from him, ashamed at the fact his words turned you on. “don’t you dare look away from me,” he sneered, his knife glinting in the moonlight as he gently traced it along your cheek to your chin, turning your head to face him again. 

“answer me,” he commanded, the blood draining from your face when he moved the knife down your neck, nicking the flesh enough to break through the skin as he removed his mask, revealing himself. 

“surprised, bunny?” rafe smirks, enjoying the stunned look on your face, his eyes fixating on the small drop of blood coming from the cut on your neck that he caused. rafe dips his head down, letting out a throaty chuckle as he licks at the blood. his tongue sweeps along your neck and up to your ear, biting at the lobe, “what do you say? do you wanna play a game?”.

you nod when he pulls away, not trusting your voice, “good girl, i’ll give you a head start…starting now,” he whispers, stepping aside. 

it was almost embarrassing, yet sick, how turned on you were, your panties sticking to you as you took off running. you run, turning right, then taking a left turn, letting out a shriek as you trip over your feet when rafe’s arms wrap around your waist, causing you to stumble onto the ground.

“gotcha,” he grins, turning you on your back as he pins your wrists above your head with one hand. “you gonna be a good girl f’me?” he asks, running the blade of the knife down your chest as you gazed up at him, nodding, “yes.”. 

he hums, slipping the knife underneath the fabric and using it to pull your shirt up to reveal your bare tits, “no bra, hm? dirty girl,” he tsks. he lightly presses the flat of the knife against your nipples, watching as they harden from the coolness of the steel. he releases your wrists, his hand traveling down to your hips, reaching for the hem of your skirt, pushing it till it bunches around your waist. you winced as he nicked your sensitive, soft skin, blood slowly trickling from the cut he made when he dragged the blade between the valley of your breasts. 

“hmm, even with blood staining your skin, you still look fuckin’ pretty,” rafe purred, lowering his head. his tongue reaches out, flattening against your sternum to chase after the trail of blood. a small yelp leaves your lips when his teeth sink into your nipple, sucking the hardened bud into his mouth. he presses his knee to your clothed cunt, grinning against your nipple as he feels your hips subconsciously rut against him before pulling away, sitting back on the heels of his feet, and tauntingly dragging the knife lower and lower.

you squirm under him as the tip of the knife reaches the waistband of your panties, his eyes catching sight of the wetness seeping through them, “huh, would you look that? soaking right through your panties…you like this, don’t you? like the fact that the big scary killer is takin’ what he wants?”.

“y-yes,” you breathed, feeling him hook the blade under the waistband of your panties, “mm, that’s what I thought.”. 

“could’ve done this a whole lot sooner if i had known a filthy little pogue like you would be into this shit,” he teased, the edge of the knife slicing through the flimsy material. he pulls the now-torn panties off your hips, tossing them aside, your thighs parting when he silently tells you to spread them, tapping the handle of his knife to your inner thighs. 

he licks his lips, “gonna show you who owns this messy cunt by carving my name into your pretty skin.”. 

a yelp travels up your throat, eyes welling with tears and screwing shut when the tip of his knife carved an ‘r’ and ‘c’ into the flesh of your hip. “there you go. all done and branded as mine,” rafe coos, leaning back to admire his work that was now permanently etched into your skin. 

he brings the blade to your mouth, “taste yourself, bunny,” he orders, carefully pressing the knife onto your tongue when you open your mouth. he groans to himself, watching the blood from the knife coat your tongue. he cups your jaw, fingers pressing into your cheeks and spitting into your mouth, “atta girl,” he praises as you swallow.

rafe turns the blade of the knife towards him, running the handle up your inner thighs to your soaked cunt, and you suck in a breath when he teases your clit with it before bringing it back down to your slick folds. a gasp spilled from your mouth when he slips the handle deep into your cunt, your hips bucking as he slowly fucks you with it, pushing it in and out of your sopping cunt.

”oh–” you moan as he continues fucking you with the handle, moving it faster. his cock throbs, watching with a smirk as your head lolls back, “this needy little pussy will take anything I give it, huh?”. 

you roll your hips in time with each thrust of the handle. “i asked a question,” rafe gritted his teeth, earning a squeal from you when he gives a harsh slap to your cunt, his ring catching against your clit. 

“yes!” you cry out, your legs starting to shake, and you clench around the handle. rafe lands another slap on your cunt, abruptly halting the movements of the handle and pulling it from your cunt, knowing you were on the verge of your orgasm. “n-no, why’d you stop?” you whined, jutting your bottom lip out to pout up at him, making him suck his teeth and shake his head, “should’ve been a good girl and answered me the second i asked a question.”. 

your lips quiver, tears filling your eyes in frustration, “p-please, rafe. i’ll listen and be a good girl, i promise.”.

“p-please, rafe,” he mimicked, “you want it that bad? beg for it, then…beg for it, and i’ll make you scream so loud that the entire fuckin’ fair can hear me ruining this needy pussy.”. 

“please, rafe. I need you…please fuck me,” you pleaded, looking at him with glassy eyes. “now that wasn’t so hard, was it, bunny?” rafe rasps, tossing his knife a few feet away onto the dirt. your eyes flicker to his hands working his belt, watching him shrug his pants and boxers down his thighs. his hard, thick cock sprung free, slapping against his stomach, and his hands settled on your waist, pulling you with him as he lays flat on his back onto the ground of the corn maze. 

“go on. take what you want and fuck yourself dumb on my cock,” he grins, gripping the base of his cock, teasingly running the thick head along your slick folds, enjoying the way you writhed above him. his hands grab your hips, your pussy stretching around his cock as he pulls you onto his length. your palms lay flat on his chest, steadying yourself as you move your hips, moaning softly as he palms your tits, rolling and pinching your hardened nipples between his fingers. 

the air is filled with the noises of your ass smacking against his thighs as you bounce yourself up and down his cock, “yeah…just like that,” rafe groans. his hand reaches up, grabbing your throat to pull you down, capturing your lips in a sloppy, wet kiss. you squealed when he rolled the two of you over, pulling out before flipping you onto your stomach.

your back arches as he shoves your face down onto the ground, giving him a perfect view of your glossy cunt. his fingers intertwined with your locks of hair, pushing on the side of your head, making your cheek press further into the dirt. 

his large hands glide up the curve of your ass, “such a sweet little ass,” he hummed in approval. your body jolts forward when his palm comes in contact with the fatty flesh, “but it’s not as sweet as your perfect little cunt.”. 

“rafe, stop teasing–” you whine out, a sharp gasp cutting you off when his cock slams into you in one harsh thrust. he grips your hips to keep you still, snapping his hips into yours, “so fuckin’ tight.”.

his lips part, watching the way your pussy swallows around him, sucking him in deeper. you squirm under him, your nails clawing into the dirt beneath you as he pounds into you, “this little cunt is nothin’ but a hole for me to use, isn’t that right?”. 

“please use me–” you hiccup, pushing yourself back against his dick, “y’know I can’t say no when you’re acting like a little cock-hungry whore,” he chuckles, his grip on your hair tightening, tugging at the roots. you feel the thick band of his belt wraps around the front of your throat, gasping when your head is pulled back harshly, “knew you’d fuckin’ like this…could feel you dripping down my balls,” rafe chuckles. 

your pussy squelches around his cock as he relentlessly pounds into your drooling cunt, the pleasure overpowering the pain of the leather of his belt digging into your neck. he yanks your head back even further, his belt tightening around your throat, your back flush to his chest, “look at you…you’re either sick in the head for letting a murderer fuck you, or your pussy is so fuckin’ desperate for some dick.”.

he slips his hand around your waist to your stomach and feels his cock bulging in your lower abdomen, “feel that? feel how deep i’m in your guts?”. 

you thrash in his hold as his palm presses down against the bulge in your belly, his cock rubbing against your walls with each harsh thrust. your brain goes blank, your head spinning, and nothing but incoherent words fall from your lips as his tip repeatedly hits your cervix, “what was that, bunny? oh, right…that little brain of yours can’t form a single thought as I’m fuckin’ you dumb, huh?”. 

“s’okay, i know what you need,” he purred, “c’mon, be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”.

your walls flutter and squeeze around him, eyes rolling into the back of your skull, your legs trembling and ready to give out. your hands grasp his arm around your waist, crying out his name as you come all over his cock.

rafe holds you steady as your body goes limp, his cock pounding into your abused cunt, “gonna stuff this pussy full of my cum, and you’re gonna take every single drop.”. 

rafe’s thrusts become sloppy, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck as his cock twitches. his hips falter, giving you one more thrust; he pushes himself deep inside you, groaning in your ear as his thick ropes of cum spill into you. 

your chest heaves, panting for air when he releases his belt from around your neck. his thumb caresses the initials of his name that he had carved into your flesh, “let this be a reminder that i own you. if you try to tell the cops that you know who the real killer is, i won’t be as nice next time”.

taglist: @oceandriveab @babygorewhore @cameronsprincess @starkeysbabygirl @xxbimbobunnyxx @rafecameroninterlude @starkeygirlposts @zyafics @fae-of-prey @heartsforvin @sturnioloshacker @sematarygirls @drewsarms @nemesyaaa @fallbhind @rafesthroatbaby @hallecarey1 @fallrafwe @sturnskiss @blckbrrybasket @rafeyscurtainbangs @wearemadeofstardust0 @honeybunniesoobin @starkeysbebe @spid6y @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @amandabbbbb @kisses4angels @starkeysheart @rafeinterlude @starkeyisthelastname @flvredcas @emilysuperswag @mackenzie-maybank @hyperfixationgirl @ijustwanttoreadlols @slumnit @cl4uus @coco-cinnamon @zayluvss @stoned-writer

[whimsyvixen]

𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕌𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 ~ 𝟙/?

Stalker Fic (original work)

Rating: 18+ Pairing: Female Reader x Male Yandere Synopsis/Excerpt:   It felt like someone was looking at you. A predator looking at a fawn. Waiting for the right moment to sink its powerful jaws into its frail neck, and tear it apart. WARNINGS/TAGS: Dark fic, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, stalking, yandere, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, masturbation, captivity, non-consensual bondage, dacryphilia, forced breeding, forced orgasm, vaginal sex, fuck or die, tags will grow as this story progresses. ⚠️READ THE TAGS: Please be aware this work contains content that the reader may feel uncomfortable with or otherwise triggered by. DO NOT READ if bothered by tags . NO minors. ⚠️

A/N: Wooo! so I finally decided to make story for this post I made awhile back (a thousand thank you's to everyone who liked and commented <3 ). Please read up on the tags, so you know what to expect in the coming chapters. Happy reading!

-Dividers by @adornedwithlight-

It was raining outside, the distant thunder and pitter patter of raindrops hitting the window creating a lullaby that was lulling you to sleep. Combined with the soft rumbling of the bus, you could feel your body’s desperate need for rest after a grueling shift at work. 

Familiar streets and roads were tracked by your eyes, the expected relief of almost getting home brightening up your mood despite the gloomy weather. You estimated that you'll reach your destination in less than half an hour, rummaging through your purse to take out your phone to set up a timer in case sleep overtakes you and you miss your stop. 

Pressing the lever of your seat to recline, you got comfortable and laid your cardigan over your chest, finally giving in to the urge of closing your eyes. Seconds ticked by and all you could think about was how you couldn't wait to be in the comfort of the soft bedding on your mattress. Your muscles were practically begging for relief and you had enough pillows and blankets waiting for you back home to alleviate this problem. 

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes that passed– your mind completely disassociating from reality while you snoozed– when your peace was shattered. A shiver of unease ran through you, waking up your consciousness abruptly and causing you to jolt awake. 

The same feeling that’s been haunting you for weeks now was back.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood and your heart rate picked up.

It hadn’t always been like this. You could still remember a time when you climbed inside the vehicle without your gut twisting anxiously. At first, you chalked it up to it being caused by some low level of anxiety you were experiencing or lack of restful sleep. Something that could be easily remedied by swallowing a pill stashed inside a drawer back home.

However, as of late, a feeling of wariness and fear seemed to consume you, your fight or flight response triggered whenever you climbed up the stairs of the bus, each step weighing heavy on your legs as you went to take your seat.

It felt like someone was looking at you. 

A predator looking at a fawn.

Waiting for the right moment to sink its powerful jaws into its frail neck, and tear it apart.

The paranoia getting to you, you turned your head to the right, swallowing down your nervousness as you tried to find the source of your panic. 

There was a man seated in the opposite seats across from you. His stretched out and bulky frame took up much of the space, the black cap on his head and the mask he wore obscuring his features and giving him a mysterious vibe. The turtleneck shirt clung to him, emphasizing the broad muscles of his upper body even in his relaxed state. His back was to the window, his left leg bent in a careless fashion along both seats, facing you directly as he was browsing through his phone. 

At least, you thought that's what he was doing. You didn't want to believe that the man was taking unwanted pictures or videos of you while you slept. 

You didn't realize you were staring for too long, the stranger’s attention shifting away from his phone when he could feel your gaze, freezing you in place as your eyes connected with those dark depths. For some reason, you couldn’t look away, too afraid to blink as a chill took over you from being under the perusal of those piercing eyes. There was something wrong, you just couldn’t explain it. He tilted his head to the side, regarding your stunned state for a moment before his eyes crinkled with amusement. He waved good naturedly at you, a normal gesture of greeting that you would've returned if not for the twisting of your gut that warned you against doing such a thing. 

When you didn’t return his gesture, the stranger’s eyebrows furrowed in dejection, bringing his hand down to lay against his lap almost disappointedly. 

A good few seconds passed with both unwilling to look away from each other. 

Your eyes, firm and guarded while his were inquisitive and curious.

As if finally sensing your unease, the stranger backed off by turning to sit properly in his seat and shifting his focus back to his phone. 

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, you grabbed your purse and whipped out your phone, your shaky hands nearly dropping it when you first grabbed it. Turning the screen on, you realized you had taken a ten minute nap with seconds to spare from your alarm ringing. You were mere minutes away from arriving at your stop.

Taking a quick glance at the stranger once more, you tried to rid your paranoid thoughts that he was the reason for your being on edge these past few weeks. It couldn’t be, you tried reasoning to yourself. If anything, you were in the wrong for staring at him funny when you’ve never seen him before. Maybe this was his first ride on the bus and you made his experience weird because you kept looking at him as if accusing him of something heinous. Maybe he was just trying to be friendly and not spook you when you caught each other’s eye by accident. Maybe your groggy mind was making things up about a complete stranger. 

Could the stress of work and your responsibilities piling up for the past few months be messing with your awareness? There was nothing special about you. You weren’t an important person. There was nothing, no gifted ability or priviledge, that separated you from the throngs of people you saw every day while heading to work. Why would someone want you with your bleak existence and no future aspirations?

Your anxiousness and worry slowly left you when you drew those conclusions about yourself, replaced with self pity as you realized you really had nothing going for your life. The somber expression staring back at you through your phone’s black screen only dimming your mood further. 

It was a while before the bus slowed to a stop, the driver’s familiar voice announcing your destination and making you stand to walk to the front. Not paying attention to your footing, you tripped over your own feet and felt gravity pull you under. A small yip tumbled out of your lips, feeling pain on your left elbow from the hard impact on the floor. Your purse went flying in a comical fashion, your disoriented mind not sure in which direction it landed or if anything fell out of it. 

Embarrassment quickly flooded you, feeling the eyes of other passengers stare at you and hearing a few snickers amongst them. Wincing from the blossoming pain in your arm, you had barely braced your hands on the floor ready to stand up, when you felt warm hands encircle your waist.

“Here,” a deep voice whispered against your ear. “Let me help you, sweetheart.”

You were lifted from the floor easily, your weight meaning nothing to the man as he held you gently until you got your bearings straight. You looked up at him, having to crane your neck upwards due to his tall height and seeing it was the masked stranger.

“I, uhm.. Thank you,” you stuttered over your words, a flush of heat blooming in your face at his proximity. You wanted to kick yourself for how high pitched your voice sounded, unable to maintain eye contact with him when he gazed so intently back at you. If you dared to say, it felt like he was trying to memorize every small detail about your face– birthmarks, the slope of your nose, shape of your lips, the emotion in your eyes. Realizing that you still held on to his arms wrapped around your waist, you nervously laughed before going to break yourself away from the intimate embrace. 

“I’m okay now, you can let go,” you assured him, the fake smile plastered on your face concealing your tense disposition from his closeness. 

You chose to ignore the way his fingers dug momentarily into your waist, gripping you a little too tight to be normal before he loosened his grasp, allowing you to generate a more respectable distance between you and him. Seeing your startled reaction to his handling of you, the stranger immediately apologized for his actions.

“You’ll have to forgive me for my forwardness.” He told you, imploring you with his eyes that he meant no harm. He bent down to pick up something on the floor, his other hand holding up the strap of your purse for you to take it. “I only wanted to make sure you wouldn’t trip over yourself again.”

“Oh! I-It’s ok really, I-,” your words were interrupted by the harsh voice of the driver telling you to hurry to the front if you planned to get out. You quickly snatched your purse back, ignoring the little jolt of electricity that zipped through you when you grazed his fingers. “Um, I have to go but thank you, again! Bye!” 

You turned to walk briskly down the steps of the bus, thanking the bus driver for his patience and stepping out into the familiar streets of your neighborhood. Luckily for you, the rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, an umbrella not needed for the small trek you took to arrive at the apartment where you’ve been renting for the past year. 

Locking the door behind you, you sighed audibly before throwing your purse at the chair nearest you. You walked over to your room, kicking off your shoes to land haphazardly along the floor because you were too tired to bother putting them away. Removing your damp clothing, you grabbed a towel and some night clothes to head to the shower.

Relaxing under the spray of lukewarm water, you found your mind straying to the stranger in the bus. 

Who was he? 

You weren’t lying that you had never seen him before. A man of his formidable size would have been easy to spot, sticking out from the rest of the passengers like a sore thumb. He was dressed peculiarly too, his attire giving off the impression that he values secrecy and privacy. And his voice! Goodness, you could feel yourself nearly melt remembering the richness of it. The way he held you like a dainty object didn’t escape your notice either, your cheeks aflame at how good his hands felt around your waist. The feminine thrill that his presence ignited was hard to subdue, unbidden thoughts of his hands squeezing and trailing over your naked body filling your mind.

Would his hands be soft and gentle? Or would they be strong and rough? 

As if your hands had a mind of their own, they moved up your body to cup your breasts making you gasp at the contact. You looked down at your chest, seeing the peaks of your nipples hardening under your soft touch. You tried envisioning his hands squeezing the doughy flesh, your head tilting to one side as you wondered if he'd be satisfied with your size. Small moans escaped you as you continued to fondle yourself, closing your eyes and imagining him whispering sweet nothings into your ear while he teased your breasts. You were sure he’d trail a line of kisses down your neck, pressing his naked front against you so you could feel his excitement poking at the small of your back. A sudden hard pinch to your nipple brought you out of your fantasy, the thought of his cock causing your fingers to twist the sensitive tip excitedly. 

You shook your head under the shower, trying to calm your racing thoughts before they got more explicit. 

To think such things about a man you hardly knew wasn’t good. What if you see him again tomorrow? Could you bear to look at him knowing where your thoughts were straying at this moment? 

You winced, memories of the loaded eye contact you threw his way making you want to smack yourself. Maybe you should apologize next time you see him. To prove to him that you weren’t a crazy lady that regularly gave the stink eye to neighboring passengers. Explain that your stress was getting to you. Perhaps be the first to wave at him next time to show there was no animosity between you. Maybe something could develop once you introduced each other, a giddy little voice tickled your ears.

Once you were done showering and drying your hair, you went back to the living room for your purse. You had placed your phone inside so the rain couldn’t wet it. You needed to wake up at a good time tomorrow to get ready for work so setting up an alarm was crucial. When you grabbed your purse, you noticed it felt lighter and looked down to see it was unzipped and wide open. 

Oh No. There’s no way…

You dug your hand inside, hoping to feel the familiar mass of your phone only to come out empty handed. Then you remembered your fall from earlier.

“Damn it, it must have fallen off when I fell,” you cursed under your breath, gnawing on your fingernail in worry for a minute before sighing tiredly. You needed to sleep and staying up late thinking about your lost phone was not going to help. You’d have to wait until tomorrow morning to ask the driver if anything was found.

Turning off all the lights in your place, you finally headed to bed, a yawn leaving your mouth as you placed a knee in your mattress. Under the covers of your blanket, you tried clearing up your mind so you could sleep quickly. A sudden image of the masked stranger flashed through your head, your growing curiosity of him affecting you even in your most tired state.

Right before you slept, a nagging at the back of your mind told you to be wary of him.

~

A man lay on his bed alone, hair plastered to his forehead as he breathed harshly. His shirt was raised to his waist, exposing his naked pelvis and muscled thighs as he pumped his rigid dick at a furious tempo. 

His choked groans and huffs were muffled by his mask, the man tilting his head back on his pillows to bask in the pleasurable sensations of his hand firmly stroking his length. Perspiration ran down every inch of him, the sweat dampening his bed and making him grunt at how his sheets clung to his heated skin. He slid his hand down his shaft– tightening his grip when he got to the base– hissing when it caused his cock to twitch before sliding it up once more to tease his cockhead and repeat the process. The squelch of the lubricant coating his dick was a decadent symphony next to his pleasured grunts, the aggressive handling of his pleasure nearly causing him to erupt as he continued to fuck his fist. 

He was nearly there, half lidded eyes eyeing the drop of precum threatening to slide down his shaft and mix with the lubricant. 

No, he didn’t want to cum so soon. Not without the image of the pretty bird he’d been stalking for the past month etched in his brain. God, she was so beautiful. Never had he seen a more perfect woman than you. His hands tightened remembering how soft and demure you were when he picked you up. The slight tremble in your body and your skittish behavior making him want to devour you where you stood. 

Biting his lip, he slowed his pace and closed his eyes in concentration, conjuring up an image that would help to reach his climax.

In his mind, it was no longer his hand wrapped around his dick. 

Instead, smaller hands were slowly stroking him in an almost reverent manner, seeming to worship every protruding vein and jerk of his member. A small gasp escaped you when cum drizzled out of his tip, smearing your fingers with the warm liquid to combine with the lube drenching his dick. He could feel the stickiness of it running down his thighs and balls, causing him to shudder at the sensation. 

He could see you biting your lip anxiously, staring at him with those expressive eyes of yours waiting for his instruction. Unable to resist, he'd grab your hair and yank you his throbbing cock, your flushed face gasping at the heat emitting from his rod of meat pressed against your cheek. He hoped you were a smart girl, knowing what he desired from you as he slapped his dick on your lips. 

He'd stare you down, arching an eyebrow as he waited for you to open that sweet mouth of yours. He knew he wasn't a small man–his girth was enough to intimidate even his most experienced past partners– but he was sure he could teach you how to swallow him down like a good girl.

You'd hesitate for too long, testing his patience. He’d need to be firm with you then. He'd pinch your nose between his fingers, blocking your airways and driving you to open your mouth to take a breath. It was all he needed to shove half of his cock inside your heated orifice. A guttural groan would echo in his room, the warmth of the hot cavern of your mouth and wiggling tongue on the underside of his dick making him see white for a second.

He could picture your muffled whimpering, your hands bracing against his thighs to pull away. He'd lift his upper body to get a better grip on your head, not allowing you to escape and forcing more of his dick down your throat. He'd praise you for being so good and lovely for him. Telling you to relax your throat, to make it easier for you. Before long, you'd obey his commands and start bobbing your head slowly to adjust to the fullness in your mouth. 

He'd allow you to work at your own pace, content with seeing your tear ridden face for a few minutes more before taking over when you were going too slow for his liking. Your eyes would widen with alarm when he thrusted his hips up, a gargled whine vibrating through his manhood from the fierce jab in your throat. He’d repeat the same action again, a pleased groan rumbling out of him at the feel of your mouth struggling to accommodate him. From there on, he'd use you like a fleshlight, gripping your hair tightly to pull your face down to every one of his savage thrusts. Spittle and cum would rain down your jaw, messing your appearance as you gagged and moaned around the dick hammering your throat. 

It was the fantasy of seeing you look up at him, eyes pinched with distress and tears streaming down your heated and sweaty face, that made him finally snap.

His hips jerked up in his hand, his body vibrating violently just as his cock shot out endless ropes of cum in the air. He grunted with each twitch of his pelvis, feeling the warm liquid pooling in the crevices of his contracting abs and staining his shirt. His chest heaved with exertion, the stranger breathing heavily as a result of cumming from his heightened lust. His mask hid his delirious smile, the stranger chuckling to himself at the euphoria he felt and the mess he created.

Only you could make him cum so strongly to drive him to lose himself.

Minutes passed until he was able to get his breathing under control, begrudgingly getting out of his bed to clean himself up. 

Something about you had him hooked. What started off as a fleeting crush morphed into a distorted and unhealthy obsession, the stranger falling deeper in love with you every passing day, as well as the urge to take you growing exponentially worse. .

He longed to know what it felt like to have you in his arms, the thought keeping him up often at night.

Luckily for him, his wish finally came true tonight, remembering the softness of your body in his hands. You were a small little thing compared to him, barely reaching his chest. It wouldn't take much to overpower you, the statement giving rise to depraved thoughts of your squirming body underneath him, naked and helpless under his ardent touch. It took everything in him not to pull you closer, wanting to feel your delicious shape against his frame as the fantasy played in his head. He hated his mask at that moment, realizing he could've caught a whiff of your scent too if he wasn't keen on hiding his identity. 

The stranger's eyes furrowed in displeasure at this, angry at himself for missing an opportunity to know you more intimately. Turning off the sink, he didn't bother to dry his hands when he ripped his mask off and flung it in the trash. 

In a foul mood, he exited his bathroom and marched towards his study. It was already past midnight but there was something important he had to do before he slept.

Entering the room, he didn't bother to close the door and sat down, sliding the chair closer to his desk to get to work. He was inputting his PC’s password when he glanced at the rectangular object next to him.

It was your phone. 

He inspected it, taking note of your phone cover and thinking it suited someone like you. He pressed the on button, seeing your phone screen light up and ask for the passcode to access it. He typed in a few guesses and not to his surprise, none worked. 

No worries. This would only be a momentary issue. Nothing that he couldn't crack open once he plugged your device to his computer. Sure enough, within a few moments, all your browsing history and personal information was revealed to him. His eyes traveled greedily over all your files, desperate to know who you were and what you liked.

His impatience to claim you was nearing a tipping point. He already had a small taste of you and it was not enough. HIs hands clenched into fists. He wanted more. Desired to thoroughly possess you and infect you with his love. 

One way or another, you were going to be his.

He would make sure of it.

[leeloooonfire]

Steve Harrington only wears a bra.

Well, not, only, he's also wearing bright orange swim shorts and a cap backward, too.

The top part, however? Hairy man boobs are prettily covered by a black lace bra with a sparkling strass stone in the middle.

Eddie might be a teeny tiny bit drunk (2 beers after months of abstinence and medication does that to a man), but not drunk enought to imagine Steve Harrington in a bra.

'Uh-', he says eloquently and tries not to stare too much at the other man sitting on what must be Buckley's bed. 'Am I interrupting something?'

Steve, face almost as pink as Erica's favourite shoes, opens his mouth to reply, but Robin, sitting crosslegged in front of him, is faster, 'Oh its just you. Close the door, Eds.'

Eddie isn't sure if she means 'close the door and leave, never talk to us about whatever weird kinky little thing we're doing right now' or 'come in, close the door and shut up'. He hesitates for a moment, studying Steve's pretty flushed face and Robin’s wiggling eyebrows before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

His hand is still on the door knob when he turns and finds Robin leaning against Steve’s hairy chest, one of her arms behind his back. She's fumbling with something, frustrated noises escape her closed lips while Steve simply sits still - like a statue. An Adonis statue wearing a bra.

'Fuck', Robin groans loudly, her forehead knocking against Steve's clavicle, his hand patting her head in condolence.

'Not to be judgmental', Eddie starts slowly as he leans against the book case right next to the door, 'But what are you guys doing?'

(Eddie thought Robin's a friend of Dorothy, so why is Steve fucking Harrington sitting dolled up in a delicate bra on her bed and they look like they're ready to make out?!)

When both Steve and Robin send him evil twin looks, he holds both his hands up in surrender, 'Like I said, not gonna judge you, whatever floats your boat or whatever, but what, exactly, is it that you're trying to do here?'

'Practice', Robin grumbles against Steve's chest, tugging behind his back again.

Steve grins, a bit lopsided and goofy, 'She's trying to open the bra with one hand.'

'It's just so much easier on myself,' she says, and now that Eddie knows what's happening, he can make out her hand tugging and fumbling with the hooks behind Steve's back.

'Ah,' Eddie says, again, rather eloquently. 'I should probably leave you to it, then.'

Before he can turn and go, however, Steve says, 'I heard that you're pretty good with your hands, Munson. Bet you can get it off me in no time.'

'Pfff- ' Robin makes, rolling her eyes, 'I wouldn't be so sure he's ever had a bra in his hands.'

And while Robin has flocked him as a raging homosexual as it seems, Eddie heard the rumours about him too: fingers dancing over his guitar, rolling the perfect joints, Eddie the freak Munson knows how to work his fingers. he doesn't hate this rumour at all. It's kind of nice - for his ego and all.

Yes, he hasn't opened a bra before, but he's met this hot goth dude in a corset before, and that's basically a bra with dozens of hooks. He is fairly sure he can open it with one hand and without looking. What he probably shouldn't do is coming too close to Steve Harrington, the man he's had a crush on since they survived the Upside Down together. Not with his naked skin and hairy chest and dark brown nipple peaking through the black lace of the undergarment.

But both Robin and Steve stare at him and Eddie doesn't run anymore - a challenge is a challenge.

'No problem,' he says far more confident than he actually feels and steps closer, one knee on the bed before Robin's even all out of the way.

'No looking,' she says as if she's explaining the rules to a game, 'chest to chest or face in his neck, but you can only use one hand and your eyes have to stay either closed or on him. Seriously no peeking.'

She shuffles out the way to make room for Eddie between Steve's long, also very naked, legs and Eddie swallows quietly before leaning closer.

Steve smells like sunscreen and grass, a bit like the pineapple they ate earlier before the kids left, and sweat. He smells devine and before Eddie can think clearly, he presses his face into Steve's neck. He feels Steve shudder when his damp lips accidentally meet his sun kissed skin and Eddie feels like he's going crazy. What is he doing? Why is he doing it? Even the slightest touch sends shockwaves through his body. God, he's gone so bad for Steve Harrington.

'Ready?' Robin asks, apparently unaware of Eddie's dilemma or the way Steve's pulse is fluttering like a hummingbird right against Eddie's nose. 'Go!'

He sneaks his right arm around Steve, who jumps slightly the moment Eddie's fingertips brush against his shoulder blades. To keep him still, Eddie's left hand reaches for Steve's waist almost automatically. He doesn't try to focus too much on the way goosebumps spread under his fingers and the way Steve literally whines into Eddie's ear. His right hand follows the scratchy lace, nails lightly scratching Steve's skin, until he finds the hooks.

Thumb under the fabric and pointer and middle finger pressing against it, he feels the first hook opening after less than a heartbeat. For a moment, Eddie doesn't want to open the other two and therefore lose any reason to be so close to Steve.

Steve, who has his nose pressed against Eddie's hair and hand curled into Eddie's shirt, slightly tugging as if .... Well, as if to ask for permission to take it off. Eddie doesn't even know when he had the time to grab for the shirt in the first place.

Eddie moves his hand and the second hook opens. He turns his face, brings a bit more space between them to look at Steve. His cheeks are scarlet, lips shiney with spit and when he opens his eyes after mere seconds of Eddie staring at him, he can see that Steve's pupils are dilated, eyes dark with want.

The last hook springs free and without turning his eyes away, Eddie gently brushes the strap off Steve's broad shoulder. Steve quietly whimpers and pushes harder against Eddie's shirt as if to tear it off his body.

'Eddie', he whispers, licking his lips and Eddie just wants everything Steve is ready to offer.

'Ohhh okay, I think I'll leave you two alone', he hears the slightly panicked voice of Robin and then a door opening and closing.

And Eddie leans in...