#getting her cds soon too finally

[dawnoftime22]

I think the sweetest thing that could happen to me for the very moment is falling back in love with an artist I needed time away from because I genuinely overplayed the music

[deus-ex-mona]

she’s finally here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[s-brant]

Three’s Company

When Patrick visits his best friend at Stanford University, Art’s new fling finds herself stuck between two very attractive men.

9k (18+)

Warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected p in v, double penetration, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, they’re all pervs, and strong language.

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The room is stiflingly hot.

There is no air conditioning in her study/fuck buddy's dorm to keep up with the late April heat that has descended upon Stanford's campus so quickly. Three different fans are plugged into outlets around the cramped living space, yet it does little to keep her body cool enough to feel comfortable.

Sleeping with Art was an impulsive decision. The first time was merely weeks ago after he politely asked if she would share her notes from a class he was absent from. They exchanged numbers to organize the meeting, and she ended up talking to him for the better part of an hour in the dining hall. Although she did not recognize it as flirting—the oblivious little thing she is—he shyly commented on seeing her at one of her gymnastics competitions and refused to let her get dinner with her meal credits. Looking back, his intentions should have been obvious to her, yet she does not think badly of him over it. If anything, she likes how wanted he made her feel. He knew what he wanted and ensured that he got it.

They came back to his room to study—only to study, he claimed with his hands held up to proclaim his innocence—for their approaching final exams.

"Good," she said with a teasing lilt to her voice, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and turning to walk in the direction of his dorm building. "Cause it's way too hot to be doing anything else."

They were both laughing as he set down his racquet bag to unlock the door. It was muffled through the wall, but Patrick heard it just fine from where he was perched on the foot of Art's bed with Tears for Fears playing on the unlabeled CD he dug through desk drawers to find. The sound of a distinctly feminine giggle made his mouth turn up at the corners in a smirk. This will be fun to tease his closest friend over until his cheeks flush pink and he has to hide his face in his shirt.

When the door swung open, the laughter died out as soon as they realized they weren't alone, but it was quickly replaced with wide smiles and warm greetings.

Patrick tried not to look her up and down so blatantly. Instead, he chuckled and said, "Art, you conveniently left out that you had a girlfriend on our last call."

To this, Art set down his bag and tackled him onto the bed, starting a minute-long wrestling match that only ended when they began to sweat from the heat and physical activity. It was then that Art remembered to have manners and introduced her. He scrambled to sit upright on the mattress and met her curious gaze.

"Y/N, this is Patrick. I'm sorry, I forgot what day he was coming."

She smiled.

"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." A pause, and then she turned her attention to Art. "Do you wanna study another time? I don't wanna intrude or anything."

Before Art could open his mouth to tell her to stay, Patrick aimed one of his charming grins at her, then said, "No, please intrude. I'll just hang out. You won't even know I'm here."

The last sentence caused a disbelieving scoff to leave Art’s lips.

As of right now, as she sits on the chair in front of the desk and the boys share the bed, they have gotten halfway through the study guide they meticulously constructed after one of the two classes they share, but it grew boring once an hour and a half passed. They typically end up getting distracted and make out by now, but with Patrick here, neither of them considers that an option. So, she suggests they take a half-hour break to sit, drink, and talk to allow their brains to decompress from the constant stimulation.

He already had a few beers inside the mini fridge beneath his desk, along with a hard seltzer for her seeing that she finds the taste of beer disgusting but quite enjoys being drunk with him. Also kept in the freezer section of the fridge is a pack of ice pops she bought a few days ago when the heat wave began. They prove to be very useful right now as the midday sun bakes the building alive despite the closed curtains and blowing fans.

The CD has moved onto Nine Inch Nails, and she remains quiet to hear it over the sound of the fans as she holds a red ice pop to the side of her neck to cool herself off. Sometime along the way, both of them had stripped down to their underwear after asking her if it was alright because it was so hot. Patrick joked that he was alright with her taking her clothes off too, which she laughed at while Art playfully shoved him over it. Yet now she isn't laughing. Her small exercise shorts are as forgiving as any item of clothing could be in these circumstances, but the long-sleeve shirt she wore because it was the only clean one left is sticking to her skin.

"So, how did you and Art meet?"

Her eyes open to find Patrick glancing back and forth between them.

"It's a boring story, actually," she says. "He asked if I took notes for a class he missed, and now he's stuck with me all the time."

"No, no, okay, maybe it was boring from her perspective, but I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to her for at least a week before then. I went to one of her competitions and recognized her from class," Art explains. "She won, which wasn't surprising at all."

Although she already knew this, this is the first time he has admitted to it out loud, and her stomach flutters at the idea of him becoming so enamored with her from one glance. The popsicle is sweet on her tastebuds when she raises it to her lips and sucks with her eyes looking between them both. As she expected, Patrick shifts a little in place and looks away for reasons not at all related to how she was looking at them while sucking her popsicle.

She chuckles.

"So, you were just interested in befriending me 'cause I win a lot?"

Her tone of voice is taunting, but they know it's all in good fun. Art is quick to play along, shrugging his shoulders to feign aloofness and taking a quick swig of his beer before responding. Their eye contact grows intense in the seconds before he speaks.

"Well, there were some other contributing factors."

"Mm," Patrick hums in agreement. "I've never seen you compete, but you are really hot, so Art's right about that."

This makes her pause for a second, her gaze shifting to find Art's to see if his friend crossed any lines, but he appears strangely calm about it. What she doesn't know is that he has never had any problem sharing, at least, not with Patrick. They shared a room in boarding school, jerked off together to the same girl, and shared the court together—what was his would always be Patrick's, and what was Patrick's would always be his.

"You're flirting with me right in front of him?"

Art interjects, "I'd be shocked if he didn't."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he's standing up from the bed to get another beer. The dorm room is small, so it only takes a few strides for him to meet her where she sits before the desk and kneels down to open the mini fridge. His left hand braces itself on one of her thighs while the right swings open the fridge door only to find there is no beer left. Rather than complain, he simply grabs one of her least favorite hard seltzer flavors and gives her thigh a firm squeeze before standing up.

The bed creaks beneath his weight when he sits back down on it.

He settles into a comfortable position with his back against the wall and legs spread, balancing the seltzer can on his bent knee. Patrick sits close to him, and she finds it difficult to peel her eyes off the pair of them in their current state of undress. Her gaze mostly lingers on Patrick seeing that she has already explored every inch of Art's lean body in the plentiful amount of times they've hooked up over the past few weeks. But, that being said, she cannot resist looking at Art either. Having two beautiful men laid out before her in their underwear is a treat she never expected to indulge in today. They each have the strong, masculine figures of athletes—showing mostly in their shoulders, biceps, abdomen, and thighs.

When Patrick notices her staring, she turns her gaze to the floor to avoid the embarrassment of being caught. If he did catch her, though, he doesn't call her out for it. Not yet, at least.

With one last bite of her popsicle, she stands from the desk chair to toss it into the small trash can beside his nightstand. It isn't until she lets it go that she realizes how close she now stands to the two of them. Only a foot or so from the bed, her heart begins to hammer in her chest at the proximity.

The way she sees it, she has two options. The first would be to retreat to the desk to let her long-sleeved shirt give her heatstroke while the men get to sit in front of the oscillating fans with their shirts off, or she can strip down to her undergarments and join them on the bed. Needless to say, she opts for the latter of the two.

Y/N lets out an exaggerated groan at the heat and fans herself with her hands for the sake of appearing somewhat innocent in what she's about to do, then reaches down for the hem of her shirt with a huff.

Art and Patrick can do nothing but watch with rapt attention side by side as she pulls the fabric up her torso and over her head. The shirt ends up falling to the floor beside her feet alongside their discarded t-shirts and pants. This leaves her in her most comfortable bra—which is Art's favorite since her nipples can be seen through the mesh material—and a pair of tiny spandex shorts.

Patrick's tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight of her—almost angelic in her beauty—and tries to burn the image into his mind to hold onto forever. Definitely going in the spank bank, he thinks to himself as his cock begins to harden in his boxers. Beside him, Art has been stunned to silence. Even though they've fucked like rabbits since the first time, he isn't sure if he'll ever get used to seeing her like this. Those shorts hug the delicate curve of her hips, as well as that lovely ass that has been sculpted from years of training as a gymnast, and all he can think of is how badly he wants to take them off.

They sit there, dumbfounded, with their mouths hanging open just enough for her to notice and suppress an arrogant smirk. But to allow herself to smirk would be to reveal her cards, and she doesn't want them to see this as anything other than her innocently trying to cool down. Truth be told, she hasn't thought this through. It's not as though she planned this as she was sitting at the desk. It's more of an impulsive, irresistible urge. And if they will tease her so blatantly with their half-naked bodies, she is entitled to do the same.

"You," she says, jutting her chin in Patrick's direction. "Scoot. I wanna sit in front of the fans too."

Underneath it all, she's thankful that she took the time to do her hair the way that makes her feel the most confident and put a little makeup on. Not that either of them is focused on her damned makeup. No, they're far too busy ogling her figure to notice anything north of her collarbones.

After a delayed second of staring, what she said seems to register within him and spark him into action. He's quick to scoot closer to the end of the bed if it means she'll be inhabiting the small space between them. 

She offers a quiet, "Thank you," and crawls onto the bed, turning around and settling into place with her back against the wall. The cool air generated by the fans blows faintly against the front of her sweat-slick chest, and she can't help but shut her eyes and hum in appreciation of it.

With her eyes shut, Art and Patrick are both scrambling to quietly conceal their growing erections. If they don't, it'll be glaringly obvious when she opens her eyes and sees a tent in their underwear on either side of her. Although the life-long friends don't speak, there's an understanding formed between the two of them. Whatever she allows them to have of her tonight, if she allows anything, they'll share nicely. Patrick knows that if anything happens, he is to assume it is a one-time thing unless she or Art expresses a desire for an arrangement of some sort to be made.

Her eyes open again a few seconds later to find them staring at her.

Breaking the silence, she asks, turning her head left to right to address each of them, "Did your mothers never tell you it's rude to stare?"

Patrick doesn't miss a beat.

"Did you know it's rude to be a tease?"

The sound of Art sucking in a deep breath meets her ears, but she doesn't look away from Patrick. Their eyes are locked, and she can see the mischief present in his. It's almost as if he dares her to do something...like he knows that she wants him just as badly as he wants her. Part of her feels guilty, feeling like she should remain loyal to Art even though they aren't exclusive, but a much more dominant part of her desires it too much to resist the temptation.

"Patrick, don't pressure her. If she doesn't want to—"

Her head turning to look at him halts him in his tracks. The look she's giving him...

Much to his shock, she was a virgin when they met a few weeks ago. He questioned her relentlessly, claiming there was no way someone as beautiful, smart, and talented as her could've gone so long without doing it, but she held firm. It was the truth, he realized after she sheepishly relayed the story of how she made out with a basketball player on Halloween and wimped out before it could go further. That first night, she was a bashful, blushing little thing. He treated her with the tenderness and reverence she deserved, first making her come with his tongue and fingers before fucking her. It was so...intimate. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he made that first, breathtaking thrust into her. Just the thought of it was enough to get him hard the next day, but he knew not to expect anything after how shy she was the previous night. Little did he know, he awakened something within her, and from then on, she would be insatiable.

He almost got whiplash from how quickly she changed from a nervous, flushed-faced girl asking him, "Am I doing this right?" when she got on top to a cock-hungry temptress ready to jump onto him at any moment. Truth be told, he found it so fucking hot. To think that he was the catalyst for this behavior was beyond comprehension. Though Art did well enough in his dating life, Patrick was the one that the girls they liked gravitated toward when they were in school together. But she was his, and he thinks, even now, that he'll always have the satisfaction of having gotten to her first no matter what happens tonight.

Y/N shifts around on the mattress so that she's sitting on the side of the bed opposite the wall, facing them with her hands on her knees and legs tucked beneath her ass. Both boys perk up a little at this, and they watch every minute movement she makes and listen to every breath she breathes with unwavering focus.

She meets Art's gaze first before doing anything. Her brows raise in question, and, in answer, he gives her a slight nod. Those pretty, cherry-stained lips of hers curve into a smirk she doesn't even bother to hide in response to this.

"Have you ever fucked the same girl before?" she asks out of pure curiosity, her tone calm and even. Her hands leave her knees to grab one of their thighs each, slowly rubbing up and down to allow her fingertips to brush the edge of their boxers. "Two guys at the same time is a first for me..."

To say that they are in a state of shock would be a gross understatement. Surprisingly, their mouths are not hanging open, and they aren't drooling at the mere thought of what she's proposing.

Somehow, Patrick finds his voice and says, "No." A second of pause, then—"Is this for real? Like you're not just fucking with us?"

The silence that follows is ripe with tension. All that can be heard is the sound of voices passing in the hallway outside of the dorm room and fans blowing on their highest setting. The hands on their thighs come to a halt at the edge of their boxers, and the softened expression on her face shifts into one of unabashed lust as she looks at Patrick.

In answer to his question, she starts to crawl over to him. Seeing that the mattress is a twin, it doesn't take too long for her to reach him and settle into place on top of him. Her hands slide up to cup his face, forcing him to only look at her when she lowers herself onto his lap. The spandex shorts hugging every inch of her figure do little to keep him from feeling the warmth of her cunt against the bulge that formed the second she took her top off.

That first brush of her lips against his is gentle, as though she has him under a trance, but it doesn't take longer than a few seconds for him to snap out of it. Patrick's hands grasp her hips first to keep her from moving away, then they slide down to knead the soft, supple flesh of her ass as he begins to kiss her back hungrily. The kiss quickly begins to descend from her lips to her jaw until he reaches the soft skin of her neck.

While he nips and sucks at the sensitive spot along the side of her neck, Y/N opens her eyes to find Art staring, unblinking, at the pornographic display before him. The sight of him alone—between his messy blonde hair, piercing eyes, and masterfully structured face—is enough to pull a breathy moan from the back of her throat. One would think that she would get used to the way he makes her feel when he looks at her like that, but she never does.

One of the arms wrapped around Patrick's neck uncurls itself to reach for Art, fingers wiggling to beckon him to her. 

He's already invading her space by the time she whispers, "C'mere, baby."

Art practically melts into the two writhing bodies he kneels beside at the casual use of a pet name from her. The word echoes in the farthest reaches of his brain until it is all he can hear on a loop. Even as she grips the back of his neck and pulls him until their mouths collide, his cock twitches from the memory of her calling him baby.

Patrick continues to suck, lick, nip, and kiss his way down her neck as she slips her tongue into Art's mouth with a groan. He leaves marks behind everywhere he goes with the thought of his friend finding them on her for the next week and a half in mind. It only makes it more thrilling for him to imagine the strange mixture of frustration and arousal that will arise within Art when he rediscovers them the next time they hook up.

Slowly, she is guided onto her back by his mouth slipping down to take one of her nipples into it and his callused hands peeling her shorts, along with her soaked cotton thong, down over the swell of her ass. The freshly washed sheets are soft against her bare back as she lays back and watches Patrick worship her breasts with both his mouth and hands. In the midst of their repositioning, Art took it upon himself to squeeze into the cramped space next to Patrick, slotting himself between him and the wall the bed is pressed against. Without a word of warning, he dips his face down to kiss the breast Patrick is cupping in his hand.

She feels hands everywhere, unsure of which belongs to who. Hands grapple for purchase on her hips, her waist, her breasts, her thighs, and her ass—always moving in search of new territory to claim. Although they have no way of coordinating their actions, they seem to move in sync with one another. The second Art's mouth lowers to kiss down her stomach, which flinches inward at the feeling, Patrick follows. If she weren't so overwhelmed with everything right now, she'd likely laugh at how eager they are to race each other down the length of her body.

Their heads bump every few seconds by the time they reach her parted thighs, but they are too focused on getting a taste of her to care at first. They work with the same synchronized harmony they once had as doubles partners, Art tugging her left leg over his shoulder while Patrick shoves her right up and out until her thigh is flush with her chest. She can't help but silently thank her parents for enrolling her in gymnastics lessons years ago. If they hadn't, this would be a tad uncomfortable.

Finally, Patrick tries to shove Art to the side a little, complaining, "Come on, man, you're with her all the time."

To her surprise, it works for the first moment or so. Art places hot, open-mouthed kisses on her inner thigh as Patrick's tongue makes a broad stroke through her, but it isn't long before he grows dissatisfied with his current role in this impromptu threesome and decides to fight back. He doesn't shove or push like Patrick had, instead, he gently nudges his head against Patrick's until they can share her.

Having Art go down on her alone always feels pleasurable, but having both of their mouths on her at the same time is another sensation entirely. It's indescribable. Spit drools from their lips as they kiss her sodden cunt, taking turns flicking the tips of their tongues against her clit for the sake of hearing her moan over and over. From where she looks down at them, they're nearly kissing each other as they eat her out, and she has to tip her head back onto her shoulders to keep them from seeing her smirk.

When she looks back down, she makes a breathy, gasping sound at the sight of them. Patrick is looking up at her with an intensity no man has ever had when looking at her, not even Art, and there is no ignoring the feeling it stirs in the pit of her abdomen.

"Fuck," she whines and pushes herself harder against their faces, but it's never enough. "More—I need more. Please."

Neither one hesitates. In fact, they seem to form a plan without speaking it aloud. As Art's free hand raises from where it palmed his cock through his boxers, Patrick's lips close around her sensitive, puffy clit and start to suck. The tips of Art's middle and ring fingers brush tentatively against her hole, then, teasingly slow, push inside until they're buried knuckle deep.

The contrast of the men as lovers—Patrick being unforgiving and passionate, Art being tender and desperate—threatens to dizzy her. But Art cannot control himself for too long. He often starts slow and gentle, his eyes flooded with genuine affection for whoever is pinned under his body, then loses his composure the farther things go. By the time he's inside of her, he's almost brutal in how hard he fucks her, and it isn't out of malice, it's out of animalistic lust.

So, as per usual, the pace Art sets to begin with shifts into something harder and faster.

Over the sounds of the fans and music playing on the CD player across the room, a symphony of panting breaths, whines, and wet noises can be heard. It wouldn't surprise any of them if the people who were talking in the hallway could hear it, but it's not like they care right now. 

When she closes her eyes and tries to fall back against the mattress, Patrick stops for a second to murmur, "Don't look away," before getting back to work. Something about the way his voice sounds forces her to submit to his demand without hesitation. There's an edge to it. An underlying promise that he will stop and leave her here to suffer if she doesn't listen, so she does. She watches with a slack-jawed expression at how they work diligently to get her off.

The combined sensations of the fingers pumping into her at a steady, rushed pace and the lips enclosed around her sensitive bud push her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Art slips a third finger in and licks between her sticky folds as Patrick sucks her clit relentlessly. Everything they do is motivated by a dire need to take as much of her as they can, as though they can't quite believe what's happening and want to savor it before they wake from the dream. Seeing their desperation only fuels the fire roaring to life inside of her.

They feast on her the way starving men would if presented with food—humming and groaning in satisfaction at the taste of her on their tongues. Through the haze she's fallen under as a result of the present situation, her gaze lifts from where both of their faces are smushed together between her parted thighs to find that they're both humping the mattress. It seems like they don't even realize they're doing it, which, of course, only makes it hotter for her. To think that she wields enough power over them, that she renders them so useless and needy...

Her brows pinch together at the feeling of Art's fingertips finding the sweet spot inside of her.

"Right there," she breathes out in a shaky voice, hand shooting down to grasp anything she can find for support.

It ends up being Patrick's dark hair that is weaved between her fingers and used as her lifeline, tugging nearly every time Art's fingertips find the spot inside of her that makes her throw her head back on the bed and cry out for them. If they didn't have her pinned down, her hips would be lifting to meet every thrust, but she cannot do anything other than take it. Every breath she takes turns rapid, her chest rising and falling dramatically, as the familiar feeling of her impending release grows nearer by the second.

She says, half warning and half pleading with them, "I'm"—The sentence is cut off before it can be said by a high-pitched moan that makes Patrick moan and Art whimper into her—"Please"—What she's pleading for, none of them know, herself included, but she continues to babble nonsensically anyway—"Ah!"

The hand that isn't pulling on Patrick's hair reaches down instinctively for the hand Art grips her thigh with, and she doesn't even need to ask him for it. He entwines their fingers and allows her to squeeze his hand until circulation is lost as she finally feels the wave that was building within her begin to crest.

It hits her harder than she ever knew it could. 

Everything explodes into a sensation of bliss so strong, she loses herself in it. The only thing tying her body down to the earth is the feeling of the hands on her—touching her, fingering her, caressing her, and holding her hand—yet even that is not enough to keep her from floating away into another world entirely for the first few seconds of her orgasm. The muscles in her legs, so exhausted from being forced into a position like this, shake violently with every wave of pleasure rushing through her, and her walls clamp down around the fingers thrusting into her.

If she could live forever in these fifteen seconds, she would, but it soon becomes obvious to her that there's no chance of that happening. Gradually, the intense sensation starts to recede like the tides, and they are both there to help her ride it out to the very end. But once it fully fades, she wriggles beneath them in sensitivity.

Using the hand wrapped up in his hair, Y/N pulls Patrick's mouth away from her clit with a strength he didn't know to expect despite her obvious athletic background, and when Art notices this, he too slows the rhythmic pumping of his fingers inside of her throbbing heat to a stop. Wary of hurting her, he waits another five seconds before slowly pulling them out.

She has gone boneless where she lays on her back with her eyes shut and chest heaving for air.

Knowing she cannot see them, Patrick cuts his best friend a look and jerks his chin in her direction in a silent urging to check on her. Both men start to move at the same time, crawling over her until they reach her face. While Patrick lies beside her and trails his hand up and down her naked, sweat-soaked torso to occupy himself in the time it takes her to recover, Art licks her arousal from his fingers before grabbing her by the chin.

He asks with a teasing inflection, "You still with us?"

Her eyes slowly open to find them both staring at her, and she cannot help the slight smile that comes to her face at this.

"You guys almost killed me," she murmurs. "I think my vision got spotty for a second there."

They allow her another moment to catch her breath and recuperate in the aftermath of what she endured. She takes turns looking at them as she pants for air, laying with her arms above her head and thighs squeezed together due to her current state of sensitivity.

Patrick is the first to break the silence.

"We're not done with you," he says softly, the hand on her chest climbing up until it cradles the side of her neck. "But you know that, don't you?"

"I'd be a little bummed if you were," she replies.

Her head is whipping around at the sound of Art's voice.

"Only a little?"

She pushes herself up from where she's lying supine on the bed, which is now a mess of tangled sheets and sweat, to smack him on the arm. It's all in good fun, of course, and Art is hardly hurt by the playful blow she landed on him. Giggles escape her mouth as they begin to play fight, swatting and trying to pin one another down with Patrick there to spectate. He encourages Y/N to fight dirty, telling her where to strike, which causes Art to curse under his breath and declare him a traitor.

It ultimately ends with her on top, her legs straddling his hips and hands pinning his wrists to the bed. Based on the faraway, longing gleam in his eyes as he looks up at her, Patrick can tell immediately that she only won because Art allowed her to. Because there is something about being pinned to the bed underneath her that turns him on. And she knows it. It's easy to tell by how his erection presses up against her naked center through the fabric of his boxers.

Suddenly, she comes up onto her knees and moves back until she's hovering over his thighs. Her next words are a soft-spoked explanation for why she's reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

"Too much clothes."

But, to her surprise, another pair of hands comes to her aid in shimmying Art's underwear down his hips and legs. The way Patrick sees it, the sooner he helps her get them off, the sooner she'll take his off. And he isn't wrong. As soon as they get the boxers free from Art's body, the garment is tossed to the side without a care in the world. Neither of them looks to see where they landed, they're far too busy leaning in to kiss each other than keep track of their discarded clothing.

Her left hand is wrapped around Art's cock, pumping at a torturously slow pace, as she pulls away from Patrick with a string of saliva connecting their lips.

"Take those off," she says with a pointed look at his crotch.

To say he is sent scrambling to take off his underwear at her command would be an understatement. If this scenario itself wasn't hot enough to make her cunt throb with a desperate need to be fucked, she'd be giggling at his eagerness. But it's hard to find anything funny when she's faced with Patrick standing, one foot on the floor and his other leg braced against the bed at the knee, with nothing to conceal him from her anymore.

It must inflate his ego to heights it has never reached before to see her tongue dart out to wet her lips at the sight of him. The hand stroking Art falters as she admires Patrick's cock. It's about an inch longer than Art's yet equal in girth, curving up a little toward his hair-speckled, defined abdomen. A drop of precome has dripped from his tip, and she has to dip her head forward to get a quick taste. Those pretty lips wrap around him, not pushing down to take the rest of his shaft into her mouth but remaining where she is, flicking her tongue against the slit where the drops of sticky, pearlescent fluid secrete.

A taste is all she allows herself, though.

Her lips pull off of him with a soft popping sound, and she makes sure to maintain eye contact with him as she licks a drop of pre-come off of her top lip.

She turns to look at Art, then Patrick, then back at Art, asking, "How do you want me?"

Seeing that she was a virgin before she started seeing Art, she figures she isn't qualified to direct this in a way that'll be comfortable for everyone involved. No, if she had to bet, Patrick has the most experience between the three of them—with Art following closely behind—and he will have no problem taking control from here based on how he has acted thus far.

To their surprise, it's Art who answers first. 

Patrick was still in a faraway daze from having her mouth around his cock only to be kicked when he was down by the question she asked. How do you want me? God, it's like she's trying to kill them.

"On my lap."

Art pushes himself up from the mattress and repositions so he sits on his knees in front of them, reaching for her hips to pull her closer without a second of hesitation. Her arms instantly reach for his shoulders to steady herself as she maneuvers into the exact position he had in mind. Buried beneath the music that has become white noise to them and the fans running on their highest setting, he thinks he hears her breath hitch in her throat once she's straddling his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against her clit.

Absentmindedly, she starts to grind against him, coating him in the slick arousal that seeps from her, but it's slow. A tease compared to what's coming next.

"Patrick," he says, his voice unwavering despite the excitement that makes his stomach churn. His hand slides down from her neck, caressing her breast as it passes by at a lazy speed, until he takes hold of himself and pumps a few times—as if he isn't hard as a fucking rock already. Over her shoulder, he meets his friend's intense stare. "If you wanna fuck her, you should probably get on the bed."

And while he would usually fire back something equally witty or taunting, Patrick cannot manage to do anything but nod. There's something about seeing Art this way that subdues him. He would like to think that the sole reason he's standing naked in front of his best friend is because there's a girl involved, but that isn't true. Not completely. Although Art would never admit to himself that he feels the same way, there's something familiar about this. Comfortable. Right.

The mattress dips with Patrick's shifting weight, squeaking a little beneath his knees until he settles into place behind her. His chest presses against her back, and his hand reaches up to grab her jaw, guiding her head to tilt so he can kiss her neck while Art lines himself up with her. She feels Patrick's cock pressing against her ass as the broad tip of Art's sinks inside of her.

Having Patrick's face buried in her neck, her shoulder, and back to her neck again provided her and Art a rare second of private intimacy. Her eyes, glazed over with lust, lock into his and refuse to look away. The intensity present in his gaze does not frighten her. If anything, it sends a rush of adrenaline through her body, and she takes a second to admire his soft, wide eyes. She's never mentioned it aloud before, but she has always been fascinated with making eye contact with him due to his right eye. Half of the iris is a striking, clear shade of blue while the other is a warm brown hue.

"Fuck," he says under his breath at the feeling of her squeezing down around him, her tight cunt resisting a little until she relaxes and sinks down until there's nothing left to take.

There's nothing that compares to the feeling of the first thrust he makes.

Every time, it makes her bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. To feel him so deep is almost undoing in itself. Then she feels another hand slide between her legs, and her mind goes utterly blank. Everything outside of this room falls away the second Patrick starts to rub her clit in gentle, languid circles to help her adjust to the stretch of Art inside of her. Patrick's lips lavish every accessible inch of her bare skin with kisses as his friend, with a hand on each of her hips, starts to lift her up and down at an unhurried pace.

Their noses and lips brush without completely touching. When she pushes her face closer to Art's, hoping to lock lips with him, he pulls away for the sake of seeing her grow hot in the face from embarrassment. The mouth worshipping the back of her neck curves up into a smirk in reaction to the games Art plays with her. Who knew he's just as fun in bed as he is out of it? Certainly not Patrick.

She mutters, voice breathy and weak, "Feels so good..."

"Yeah?" Patrick murmurs into her skin and presses his fingers hard against her clit. "Tell me how he feels."

If he could see her the way Art can right now, he'd have to suppress a chuckle at how her brows pinch together at the command. Regardless of her sudden shyness, the words he says only make her ride Art harder. Over her shoulder, Patrick searches for those pale blue eyes only to find them staring through him already. Every smooth rocking motion of her hips pushes her ass against his neglected erection, providing him with a brushing touch before pivoting away again.

"He feels"—she says, chest rising and falling faster—"He's so hard." Her sentences are hardly coherent. "Perfect—mmm—fucking me so deep." One of her hands reaches to tug his down to press it against the southernmost part of her abdomen. "Feel."

With her palm molded over the back of his hand and forcing him to push down on her belly, Patrick can hardly keep from groaning at the subtle bulge of Art's cock moving in and out of her. It's strangely intimate for the three of them to share this experience, but for him to feel every thrust through her is more than he anticipated.

Unable to fight what instinct drives him to, Patrick shifts his hips until the angle of her grinding against him allows his tip to brush up against the hole she and Art have yet to touch. He doesn't do anything more, not without her asking for it, but it's clear to both Art and Y/N that he desperately wants to. All of this physical affection shared between the two of them has made Patrick needy and jealous, so she decides to grant him mercy.

She reaches behind herself blindly to guide him elsewhere, nudging him against the hole Art is already filling. It takes them a couple of seconds to understand what she means in doing this, but, once it clicks, they start to go a little crazy. For the moment, she has stopped bouncing on Art's cock for the sake of allowing Patrick to push in beside him, and he has to surge forward to kiss her. If he doesn't distract himself with a kiss, he'll be too tempted to move.

As Art kisses her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth and caressing her own, Patrick's hand wraps around her throat for leverage with his teeth nipping at her earlobe. His hand wraps around where hers grips his cock to guide it to her entrance, and with his help, they manage to squeeze the tip in.

Her jaw drops at the overwhelming sensation, and the sloppy kiss is interrupted when her head rolls back onto Patrick's shoulder. Art doesn't seem to care, though. Now that her head is tipped back, her neck is exposed for him to mark, and he takes advantage of the opportunity as soon as it presents itself. His lips brush against Patrick's fingers a few times as he kisses her fervently, sucking hard on the delicate skin that has already been bruised by his dear friend.

"You're beautiful," Art whispers into her neck between kisses. "So, so beautiful."

Taking it slow for her sake, Patrick has to force himself into her inch by inch, stretching her little cunt to take far more than she's accustomed to. But, as hard as it is, it works. After another few moments of him pushing in and pausing to let her adjust, he finally bottoms out with his cock flush against Art's. Her walls clamp down around them tightly. They both share a nervous look at this, wondering if they'll manage to last longer than thirty seconds if it already feels this good.

Slowly, she raises her head from where it slumped against Patrick's shoulder and meets Art's intense stare with one of her own. His hand raises to cup the side of her face, his fingers grazing against Patrick's, and he brushes his thumb over her kiss-swollen bottom lip. Every breath taken between the three of them is labored.

Pulling her lip down with his thumb, he asks, "Feeling okay?"

A half-second later, Patrick chimes in.

"If it's too much, you have to tell us."

Not a question, not a request, but a demand. The way he said it left no room for debate, so she nods in compliance and responds with an eagerness that neither man can miss, "M'fine, please, just fuck me..."

Patrick does not need to be told twice.

Having been sidelined for too long and forced to watch them fuck without him, he pulls out slowly, then cants his hips back against her ass with a force that takes her breath away. Amidst this, Art cannot do anything but let his face fall forward into her chest and whine in ecstasy. Just the movement of Patrick's cock rubbing against his with every thrust renders him useless. He knew it would feel better than any sex he'd had before, but this...He'll likely spend the rest of his life chasing the hedonism they are experiencing tonight.

One of her arms reaches behind her to grab Patrick's hip and dig her nails in hard while the other closes around Art's neck to pull both of them as close as can be. And now that he has forced himself back from the edge of a premature release, Art begins to move too, searching for a rhythm that feels right. Soon enough, he manages to find it. Both of their heads lift to look at each other, faces inches apart with their chins pressing on her shoulder, and they work with the same synchronicity they had while eating her out not even fifteen minutes ago.

She turns her head to the side to watch their stare-down as they rut into her like feral animals—utterly insatiable and overcome by their baser instincts. And it's only now that it occurs to her that, underneath it all, they want each other as desperately and pathetically as they want her. Patrick's gaze relentlessly bounces back and forth between Art's eyes and lips, and it makes her smirk to herself. The pleasure of fucking her as one, their pulsing cocks rubbing together in the warm walls of her cunt, has lowered their inhibitions, and the idea of being intimate with one another isn't as daunting as it would be if they were fully aware.

Leaning in to brush her cherry-flavored lips against Art's ear, she whispers, "I want you to kiss him."

The arm looped around the back of his neck pulls tighter in encouragement, bringing his body so close to hers that she can feel his ribs expanding with every breath. His only reaction to her request is a quick glance at her face once she pulls away from his ear with a sensuous lick as a parting gift. It's almost as though he doesn't believe what she's saying, but the reassuring expression she wears tells him that it is real. She truly wants him to see him kiss his best friend, not only for their enjoyment but hers as well.

One second, he's looking at her, and the next, he's slotting his lips against Patrick's with a passion previously only reserved for her. Their hands both grapple for purchase on her sweat-slick body, Art aggressively kneading her breasts and Patrick squeezing her hips for dear life, as they moan into each other's mouths.

As they kiss each other hungrily, Y/N has nothing left to do but bask in the tension swelling inside of her. There's something about how wrong this situation feels to her that makes it so much more arousing. Girls are always raised with the idea that promiscuity lessens their value, and she was not an exception. Having been raised in a family of devout believers, she hadn't kissed a boy until she was seventeen years old. The next person she kissed was Art, and in the time since their first kiss, he has thoroughly corrupted her.

And even as distracted as he is by the all-consuming, wet kiss he's engaged in, Art feels her cunt start to squeeze around their cocks and immediately drops one of the hands on her breasts between her splayed thighs. His finger rubs in tight circles on her clit in hopes that she will reach her end before he and Patrick come pathetically soon.

Her body jerks where it's trapped between them when his fingers make contact, pulling their focus away from each other for the first time since their lips touched. Patrick reaches up to hold her neck in one hand and forces her face to the side so both of them can look at every subtle expression she makes. 

"Don't stop," she pleads, eyes glazed over. "M'so close, Art"—Every merciless thrust elicits a high-pitched whine from her—"Patrick, please!"

The body trapped between them has gone boneless and twitchy, utterly useless at holding herself up or aiding them in any way. But they wear it like a badge of honor. With her face falling forward into Art's neck, she loses her grasp on all that is around her and lets them prop her up to fuck her like a toy existing solely for their gratification.

With one hand cradling the back of her head and the other between her thighs, still dutifully rubbing her clit, Art asks under his breath, "Isn't she fucking perfect?"

Although it was a question meant for Patrick, she can't help how she moans and clenches her walls around them when she hears it. Panting breaths from the three of them flood the sweltering dorm room, but they are too far gone to notice or care how much sweat drips off of their bodies onto one another. It's almost hard to get a firm grip on her as a result of it, but they manage to keep her in place by smushing their bodies as close as physically possible on both sides of her.

Patrick bucks his hips up into her with a recklessness that gives away how close he is to his climax.

He says, "Oh, God, yeah." The hand still collaring her delicate neck squeezes just enough to take her breath away for a second. However, once he released his hold on her, that hand moved to wrap itself up the roots of her hair. "Best pussy I've ever had. So fucking tight, it's like she wants us to come inside her." A pause, then, "Is that what you want?"

A second passes of silence from her, and he sharply tugs back on her hair until her face is no longer hidden in Art's neck. This allows them to drink in the sight of her—face twisted up in pleasure and mouth gaping open.

He asks again, "Is that what you want?"

Her response is immediate.

"Yes, yes, yes," she murmurs incoherently and takes quick turns to look between their faces. If the expressions they wear are any indication, it won't be long before her wish is fulfilled. "I'm—mmm-gonna come! I need you to fill me up, please, please!"

To this, Art rubs her clit faster while maintaining eye contact with her and finally lets go of whatever remaining scraps of self-control he has left. Knowing how close she is pushes them closer themselves, and they start to pound her hard. Hard enough that even they, as soon-to-be professional athletes, have difficulty sustaining this intense degree of exertion.

The arm that she looped around his shoulders is still there, but now her hand is sliding down from the back of Art's neck to explore the toned musculature of his upper back. Under her searching palm, she can feel his muscles contracting and relaxing beneath his pale skin.

To both her and Art's surprise, the world begins to shift in their peripheral vision until he falls flat against the mattress on his back with his length still sheathed inside of her. It takes a second for their brains to catch up with what happened and deem Patrick responsible for the position change. He laid his hands flat on her back and pushed with just the right amount of force to pin Art to the mattress beneath them.

Art says, breathless, "I can feel you squeezing us, baby, just let go."

Hearing those words sets fire to her blood, and that, paired with the toe-curling sensation of them pressing deep inside of her, hitting that spot over and over and over, is what tips her over the edge.

Patrick keeps pulling on her hair to force her head up so that they can feel and watch her come, and what a beautiful sight it is. Art, the lucky bastard, is face to face with her as she tenses up with the onslaught of her climax. But he can see the side of her pretty, flushed face and drink up every little sound she makes, so he doesn't feel left out in any way. No, he is experiencing this right beside Art. They're both trapped inside of her, pumping into her throbbing heat and letting themselves be swept away into oblivion by the feeling of her coming undone.

She digs her nails into Art's skin hard enough to hurt as she whines and writhes between them with each pulse of pleasure that runs through her, and it isn't until she's starting to come down, riding out the high, that she feels them spill into her at the same time. Every sensation attached to it prolongs her orgasm—the throbbing, the spreading warmth, and the dying undulations of their hips that grind their cocks together within her. And beyond the physicality of the act, just knowing that they're filling her to the brim with their come makes her head spin from how fucking hot she finds it.

It isn't long before their thrusts slow into a sensuous grinding as they come down from it together, then come to a full stop to keep from overstimulating themselves. They both are starting to go soft, panting and leaning against her limp body in exhaustion, and know they wouldn't be able to continue even if they wanted to.

Her head is laid on Art’s shoulder with Patrick’s nose nuzzling her neck. There's nothing they can do except remain still and try to recover from the euphoria that has rendered them useless, so that is precisely what they do. With their bodies nearly melting together from the heat, the three of them hold onto each other for support until they manage to return to full consciousness after what they went through.

It isn't until another couple of moments have elapsed that Patrick and Art start murmuring to one another while she remains slumped between them. A second later, both pairs of hands are squeezing her hips; lifting her off of their softening cocks, slowly, gently, and minding her sensitivity.

The three of them collapse side by side on the twin bed, bodies squeezed together like sardines, and she finally comes back down from the clouds her head floated into at the feeling of them touching her. It isn't sexual. No, they wouldn't dream of putting her through anything more than she could handle right now. Both touches are tender and featherlight—Art's hand molds over her breast simply to cup it as they cuddle while Patrick brings her hand up from her side to brush a kiss over her knuckles.

The silence continues to stretch on, then—

"We're definitely gonna have to do that again," she says, turning her head to look at each of them before laying her cheek against Art's shoulder. "That is, if don't mind sharing me."

His gaze softens, the hand cupping her breast ghosting up over her skin until it finds her and Patrick's entwined hands.

"I don't mind one bit."

-

Thank you for reading this! I probably won’t write any more Challengers fics but I saw the movie like five times in theaters and needed to crank this out to satisfy the part of me that is obsessed with the hotel scene. I would really appreciate a comment to let me know what you thought if you’re open to that 🫶🏻 The oral part of this fic was inspired by these two (1) (2) I read, so def give them a read cause they're great!

[azzibuckets]

you’re so good though [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: pazzi in the bahamas. that’s it

Paige could care less about the Baha Mar MVP trophy weighing in her hands. As soon as Azzi accepted her All-Tournament trophy, she was launching herself at her best friend. “You’re gonna crush the hardware,” Azzi giggled, but she buried her chin in Paige’s shoulder anyways.

Paige squeezed a hand on the younger girl’s hip. “All-tournament team. Not too bad for your third game back.” In all honesty, not too bad didn’t even cut it. Azzi had shined on the court tonight, scoring a whopping 18 points to keep them in the game after a rocky third quarter. Seeing her jog down the court, confidence etched into her eyebrow as she sunk basket after basket had made Paige’s heart thump even more. She’d waited years for this, to play in the same court as Azzi, and the time was finally here.

Azzi rolled her eyes. Lifting her jersey to wipe sweat from her forehead, she glanced down at her trophy, happiness shining in her eyes as her dimple deepened. “Your ass almost didn’t get MVP tonight.”

“I don’t wanna hear nothing,” Paige grumbled, punching Azzi’s shoulder playfully. “Geno’s gonna give me hell about those turnovers later.”

Azzi laughed and drew Paige in as someone approached them for a picture. “Best player in the nation,” Paige crowed, throwing her arm around the dark haired girl’s shoulder.

As they walked to the press room, Azzi nudged her knuckles against Paige, their signature subtle reminder of each other’s presence. The blonde was still flushed from the game, her sweaty baby hairs sticking to the nape of her neck, but Azzi still thought her girlfriend looked as beautiful as ever. Paige looked up, her blue eyes bright beneath her lashes, and smiled one of her goofy smiles, allowing herself to intertwine her pinky with Azzi’s for a brief moment. She let go before anyone could see, but both of them looked away and blushed at the clandestine contact.

“You fools are so obvious,” Ice muttered as she walked past them. “Y’all better tone it down for the press conference or CD’s gonna be on y’all’s asses.” (Azzi did, in fact, not tone it down)

As the press conference started, Azzi yawned. Most of the questions were directed at Paige, and she didn’t even mind. She was ready to go to sleep after a long day. Azzi hadn’t even registered that the reporter had directed a question at either of them until Paige was turning to her with a smirk. “You got it.”

“Nope, you got it,” Azzi responded, knowing she had no idea what the reporter had just asked.

“Nah, I’ve been talking too much.” Paige shifted forward, placing her elbows on the table, as Azzi knocked her knee into hers under the table.

“Nope, you got it,” Azzi repeated. She lifted her hand and rested it on Paige’s back, trailing her fingers and smirking to herself as Paige shivered. “You’re so good, though, please continue,” she teased, her eyes running down Paige’s flexing bicep. She swallowed - Paige really had been in the gym over the summer.

“Nope. You haven’t done media in two years.” Paige said, jerking away from Azzi’s touch. The heat of the younger girl’s fingers sliding down her jersey and flirting with the skin at her waist was becoming too much.

“Seriously, come on,” Azzi argued, fighting to control her face. The daggers Paige sent her way meant that she’d be in for it later, but she didn’t care. Flustered Paige was her favorite Paige.

The older girl shook her head, her stare sharpening as she pressed her foot against Azzi’s ankle in warning.

Azzi sighed in relief as another reporter began talking, but Paige’s hand landing on her thigh before slowly sliding off her knee reminded her that she was still in deep shit.

Later that night, when they returned to the hotel to change before dinner, Paige’s hands were on Azzi before the door had even closed behind them. “You thought you were being cute and shit, huh,” Paige said gruffly, sliding her hands around the waistband of Azzi’s shorts.

“Nope.” Azzi popped the p, hands reaching up to slowly undo Paige’s hair from her ponytail. Running her hand through the blonde strands, she fluttered her lashes at her girlfriend. “Just being kind.”

Paige’s fingers danced across Azzi’s ribs, pushing up her jersey to feel the warmth of her bare skin. “18 points and the ego got to your head, hmm?”

“5 turnovers and your ego’s still big,” Azzi retorted, shifting her thigh between Paige’s legs and pressing up. The blonde’s breath hitched at the contact.

Paige’s eyes flared. “You brought a turtleneck?”

“We’re in the fucking Bahamas, dumbass. ‘Course I didn’t.”

Paige smiled smugly. “You’re gonna need to buy one after this.”

“Paige, we have dinner in ten minutes,” Azzi retorted, but nevertheless tilted her neck for Paige to skim her lips across.

“Ten minutes is all I need,” Paige murmured, teeth colliding with Azzi’s collarbone.

Azzi’s mouth parted slightly. The little pants escaping her lips were making Paige go feral, and her hips pushing up against the blonde’s didn’t help one bit. “We can’t.”

“Who says?”

“This is my family we’re making wait,” Azzi argued, tangling her hand in Paige’s hair.

“Are you tryna convince me or yourself?” Paige smirked, now peppering kisses across Azzi’s shoulder.

“Paige.”

“Alright, alright.” Paige let go of Azzi’s hips and stepped back, her lips shiny with spit and her pupils blown over with want.

Azzi giggled at the glazed over look in the blonde’s eyes. She pressed a kiss to Paige’s mouth. “Later, okay?” She bit at Paige’s earlobe before drawing back with a coy smile. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, MVP.”

“Fuck.”

[dia-souls]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Imajin Tokuten Drama CD “Kawaii Plushie, Fanboys' Confusion!!!”

Original title: かわいいぬいぐるみ、ファンボーイ���混乱

Source: Fanmade Tokuten Drama CD

Story by: Admin Afra

Seiyuu: Suegara rie, Midorikawa Hikaru, Toriumi Kousuke, Katsuyuki Konishi, Takashi Kondou, Tomoaki Maeno, Hirakawa Daisuke, Kaji Yuki,

Admin's note: Hey guys Finally, after a long time, a new drama CD by me Admin Afra. Who misses me??? Lol... Although I can't write comedy CDs and scenarios as well as Admin Irsa. But recently, my headcanon for plushie Yui has been very much noticed. That's why I decided to try this CD for this headcanon. If you like it, I will write Mukami and Tsukinami versions soon. This Sakamaki version is presented to you. I hope you like it. Don't forget to review and comment.

_This scene begins in the living room of the Sakamaki mansion. The triplets are watching Kou on a TV show.

Ayato: Why is that stupid idol in all the shows? I'm getting bored.

_Ayato changes the channel.

*Tap Tap*

Kanato: Ayato... can you please choose a channel and let us all watch it?

Ayato: Shut up!!!! Do not order Ore-sama. Ore-sama will watch whatever he likes. I don't want to see the face of that stupid idol on all channels.

_Ayato changes the channel again.

*Tap Tap*

Laito: You are right, Ayato-kun. I am much prettier. If I were an idol, I would have more fans than him. They probably showed me on more channels.

Ayato: If I saw you on TV, then I would blow up the TV.

Kanato: Me too...

Laito: Heeh... don't be so cruel. I'm sure more girls would be my fans.

_Ayato turns off the TV.

Ayato: I don't understand why there are so many channels and TV shows for girls. Why don't they make a TV show for boys? For example, the takoyaki eating contest.

Kanato: Ayato, no boy wants to watch such a show. Only you like it.

Laito: Hmmmmm. I don't like to see some boys with big mouths eating takoyaki. Even thinking about it makes me sick. I prefer to see cute and beautiful girls.

Kanato: There are idol girls too, Laito.

Laito: I know, but none of them can make my heart beat fast like Bitch-chan.

_Ayato swears under his breath.

Ayato: Chhh... Stupid pervert...

_Laito takes the TV remote from Ayato's side and turns the TV back on.

*Tap Tap*

_Laito changes several channels to a plushie advertisement.

Laito: Is that plushie... bitch-chan's plushie???

_Both Ayato and Kanato stare at the TV after hearing this. The TV is promoting the popular school club girl named Komori Yui.

Ayato: What the hell. Chichinashi???? Since when has Chichinashi been famous?

Laito: School club??? Ahhh, now I remember. A few months ago, bitch-chan said she wanted to join a school club. Hmmm, apparently, she is very popular among the boys in the club.

Kanato: IT'S UNFORGIVABLE. How dare that girl participate in the club without my permission? *SOB*.... I.... won't forgive her... *SOB*...

Ayato: That idiot... how dare she go out with other boys without Ore-sama's permission? When I see her, I will punish her.

Laito: Hmmmmm... I'm very sad to see that my dear bitch-chan has become popular with all these boys. She just needs to pay attention to me.

Shu: Pwaahhhhhhh.... can you shut up. Didn't you say just a few seconds ago that you want a TV show for boys? So why are you complaining now?

_Ayato, Kanato, and Laito flinched at Shu's voice.

Ayato: Waaahhhhh... Shu what the hell. What the hell are you doing here? When did you come here?

_Shu was lying on the couch and yawned.

*Rustle Rustle*

Shu: I was here from the beginning. You three idiots did not notice my presence.

Ayato: Shut up. You are always like this. Wherever you go, you sleep without talking to anyone. Obviously, no one will notice your presence.

Shu: Shut up... it's too loud. My ear hurt.

Ayato: Bastard...

_Shu opened one of his eyes and looked at the TV advertisement that was playing.

Shu: Hmmm... interesting... maybe I'll buy one for myself.

Ayato: Hahaha... don't tell me you like this ugly doll.

Shu: What's the problem with it? I can use it as a pillow. This way, when she is not with me, I can have her by my side.

Ayato: ...

Laito: ....

Kanato: ... I can't believe that this lazy man came up with such a good idea.

Laito: Nfu... that's a good idea. I would really like to have another version of Yui-chan too. In this way, I can do whatever I want with it.

Kanato: Fufu... Yes, Teddy will also be happy to have a new friend. Ne teddy I can dress up it like dolls to make it the most beautiful doll in the world.

Ayato: Tch... you two are very childish.

Laito: Come on Ayato. Wouldn't you like to have a small version of Bitch-Chan? Whenever Yui-chan is not with you, she can make takoyaki for you.

Ayato: Huh??? Can it really do that?

Shu: You are so stupid.

Ayato: Shut up. I have to try it myself, otherwise I don't believe it.

Laito: Nfu~ So let's go to that store and buy this cute plushie.

*TIMESKIP*

_Ayato, Laito and Kanato are walking in the store.

Ayato: Shit... why is it so crowded here?

Kanato: I can't stand people's noise. It's so noisy.

Laito: You two are very impatient. Nfu~ Be patient and then we'll go home with that cute plushie.

???: Oh my... KarlHeinz's sons are in the fanboy store. Hahaha... what a funny subject.

*click click*

_The triplets look behind them when they hear a familiar voice.

Ayato: Haaaaa..... Kino!!!! what are you doing here?

Kino: Isn't it obvious? I came looking for my dear princess. She is not with you?

Ayato: Who said she's yours? She is only my prey. Chichinashi is not with us.

Kino: Huh? what a pity I wanted to go like a lovely couple and buy that cute plushie.

Kanato: Did you come here for the plushie?

Kino: Of course. She is my lovely princess and I am her prince.

Ayato: Don't talk nonsense.

Kino: I myself encouraged her to participate in this club. They were looking for cute and beautiful girls to support animals. My dear princess was so cute and tried for animals that she quickly became popular among the boys. I'm thinking that my princess should have become a famous idol instead that Mukami.

Laito: Although I don't like you, I agree with you. But I don't want to share my beloved Bitch-chan with other boys.

Kino: In any case, this promotion is for promoting this club and because of Yui's new popularity. In addition to boys, she has become very popular among girls.

_A person with a black cape, hat, mask and glasses that completely covers his face enters the store.

Ayato: Hah... Thief...

Laito: Nfu~ He isn't a thief. He is only a shy fanboy who doesn’t like to be known at all.

Kino: Scary. Some fans are very scary.

_The suspicious man buys a plushie and quickly leaves the store.

Kanato: Heyyyyyyyy. I want to leave this store faster.

Kino: I also don't like to see other boys buy my dear princess plushie.

_Ayato goes in front of Kino and grabs his collar tightly in his fist.

*Rustle Rustle*

Ayato: Listen, bastard. I will not let you buy that plushie at all. Chichinashi is only my prey.

Kino: Fufu Ayato-kun, if you think like that... you should stop all those boys who are standing in front of the cash register buying plushies.

_Kino points to the counter and Ayato turns his head to look there. A group of boys lined up in front of the cash register to buy plushies.

Ayato: Chhh... you bastards...

_Ayato quickly releases Kino's collar and goes to stand in front of the cash register in front of all the boys.

Ayato: Everyone listen.

_Ayato takes the speaker from the vendor and speaks through it.

Ayato: Ore-sama is speaking. Get out of the store, you bastards. This girl is my prey and no one but me has the right to buy this plushie.

_All the boys and vendors stare at Ayato.

Ayato: Did you hear what I said? Ore-sama will give you orders. Hurry up and get out of the store

Kanato: Is he serious?

Laito: Oh, oh. I think we are going to be in trouble.

Kino: Pffff.... Hahahahaha.... Your brother is so stupid.

Kanato: Laito. Let's buy the plushie and go before it causes us trouble.

_Laito and Kanato go to the group of boys so that the seller won't notice that they are with Ayato.

Ayato: Oi, Kanato, Laito, why did you go to them? Let's help me get rid of these bastards.

Kino: Hmmmm. Things are getting interesting.

*TIMESKIP*

Ayato: Chhh... Ahhhhh... How is the security of that store so strong? The place where he kicked me still hurts.

Kanato: You are so stupid, Ayato.

Ayato: Shut up. It's your fault that you didn't help me, otherwise we would have kicked out all those bastards.

Laito: Shame on you, Ayato-kun... I don't like being beaten by security at all. My beautiful face becomes scarred and I become ugly.

Ayato: You are so pathetic Laito...

_Kino walks behind them while laughing under his breath.

Ayato: You bastard... why are you laughing at us? You got what you wanted. Why are you following us?

Kino: Oh... Ayato-kun don't be so mean. I would like to see my dear princess.

Ayato: Shut up. I won't let you see her.

Laito: At least we could all buy plushies.

Kino: Too bad. I wanted to see my dear princess. But I think it doesn't matter. I will call her when I get home. I can't wait to take a picture of myself and this plushie and send it to her. Her reaction must be very cute... Fufu... Goodbye. I hope to see you very soon.

_Kino moves away from the triplets while waving his hand.

Ayato: Haha... in hell...

*TIMESKIP*

_Ayato, Kanato and Laito enter the mansion.

Ayato: Chhch... My body hurts.

Shu: Pwaahh... So you are finally back.

_Shu is lying on the couch while yawning and Yui's plushie is on the pillow next to his head.

Laito: ....

Kanato: ...

Ayato: ...... How???? Oi lazy man, how did you get that plushie without coming to the store?

Shu: Huh? It's... so easy. I ordered online.

Ayato: ....

Kanato: Haaaaaaa???? WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WE COULD ORDER IT INSTEAD OF GOING TO THAT ANNOYING STORE, SHU WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US? I WON'T FORGIVE YOU. I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU...

Shu: I was surprised why the three of you took so much trouble to go to that store. Well, this is not my problem. Now please be quiet. I want to sleep You are very noisy.

Ayato: You bastard...

Laito: Nfu~ I can't wait anymore. I want to do many things with this plushie. Ahhh, even thinking about it makes me hot.

Kanato: I would like to try different clothes on her. My new and beautiful doll is going to be very beautiful.

Ayato: Both of you shut up. This is going to be very interesting. Ahemm... Ahemm... Chichinashi, go make me some takoyaki.

_Laito and Kanato stare at Ayato and Shu smirks.

Kanato: ...

Laito: ....

Shu: Pffffff... you are so stupid.

Ayato: What?

Laito: Did you really expect a plushie to be able to move and make takoyaki for you?

Ayato: Huh? It can't? So why did we try so hard to buy it?

Shu: I am satisfied. It smells like that woman. It is a good pillow. At least when Yui is not here, this plushie will help me.

Kanato: You don't understand how precious dolls are.

Laito: I can also try interesting fantasies on it.

_Yui rushes into the room.

Yui: Ayato-kun, Reiji-san is very angry with you. He said that you in the store___

_The triplets stare at Yui.

Yui: What the..... !!!!!

Ayato: Oi Chichinashi. This ridiculous doll can't make takoyaki for me. Hurry up, make me takoyaki.

Yui: ...

_Meanwhile in Subaru's room.

Subaru: Hah... hah... I did it. I really i did it.

_Subaru enters his room while wearing a black coat, glasses and a mask and quickly goes to his coffin and puts Yui plushie in it and looks at it.

Subaru: I did it...

_Subaru blushes while staring at Yui plushie.

Subaru: Damn it... this is so cute...

_Subaru hugs Plushie and sleeps inside the coffin.

Subaru: Yui, please always stay with me...

_Meanwhile in Reiji's room. Reiji is sitting on a chair and brushing the plushie hair that was pre-ordered a few days ago.

Reiji: Good grief... these things are not for me.

_Reiji covered his face with his hand to hide his embarrassment.

Reiji: No one should know about this. NO ONE.

[tomssexdoll]

I'll be your paparazzi

PAIRINGS: Tom 2009 x Female reader

CONTENT: SMUT

SYPNOSIS: When Y/N meets Tom at a meet and greet she slips him a piece of paper, when he opens it he finds her number with a red kiss stain. Later on when Y/N gets home she suddenly gets a call...

A/N: yes thats toms signature on her chest

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader,

Tom was a famous rockstar, he was the guitarist in his band Tokio Hotel. I had been a fan for years, going to all their concerts and buying every single item they released, cds, merch, dvds, you name it, I had it.

The only thing I'd never done was meet them, they were holding a meet and greet at one of the venues nearby my house, as soon as I checked their website, since I did it 5 times a day, and saw those tickets being sold I was quick to buy one.

As I waited in line my heart raced each time I got closer to Tom, he was first, the other guys standing beside him, signing multiple different things at once. When it finally came to my turn I couldn't help but smile like an idiot, a huge grin planted on my face.

"Hi Tom!" I squealed, I held out the new album they had produced, Humanoid. He chuckled at my excitement, quickly signing the album. "Oh before I go, could you do me a favour and sign my chest?" I smirked, unbuttoning the top part of my blouse and flaunting the skin.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking, "Ah, of course," he moved the sharpie to my skin, signing my chest with a flourish, his hand lingering on my chest for a moment, "there you go, sweetheart," he said, I slid him a small note, winking at him as I walked off to Gustav.

I watched as he opened the note, a grin forming on his face as he pocketed the note, returning to sign fans items. As the meet and greet ended I walked back home, the nights breeze cool against my skin. I couldn't believe I actually had a chance with the one and only Tom Kaulitz, even if I was just a quick fuck to him I'd be happy.

I quickly slipped inside my house, locking the door behind me and taking my coat off, smirking down at my signed chest. I bit my lip in anticipation, the thought of Tom actually calling me making my heart race.

Then, my phone suddenly started to ring, buzzing in my jean pocket. I quickly grabbed my phone, struggling to get it open with my shaky hands, an unknown number was calling and I knew it had to be him, I instantly picked up, "hello?" I said innocently, "Hey, its Tom. We met at the meet and greet, I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink sometime," his voice low and sultry.

I smirked, "oh yeah? How about you come to my place now, I have loads of drinks," I giggled, "that's the kind of invitation I cant resist, I'll be there soon, sweetheart," he chuckled lowly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I quickly scrambled around my house, finding the sexiest outfit I could find. I settled on a cute cherry red dress with a leather jacket and long black boots. As soon as he arrived I practically ran to the door, greeting him with a smile.

"You look amazing," he shot me a wink, reaching out and grabbing my hand, planting a soft kiss. "What a gentlemen you are, hm?" I rolled my eyes playfully and invited him in, he was wearing a black leather jacket with some dark blue jeans, his cologne intoxicating.

"Come sit, I'll make you something to drink," I smiled, guiding him to the couch, "what would you like?" I looked over my shoulder, "just a whiskey and coke baby, nothing too complicated," he huffed, getting comfortable.

I grabbed the heavy bottle of jack daniels, pouring a generous amount and topping it off with cola, I moved to the wine cabinet and poured a glass for me before sitting next to him.

"You are gorgeous," he leaned in, brushing a stray hair from my face. "O..oh.." I stumbled over my words, his presence making me nervous. "Don't be nervous baby, it's just me..I won't bite.." he smirked, placing his drink down and kissing me gently, tasting the whiskey left over on his lips.

"God, you taste amazing," I smirked, deepening the kiss, his hands exploring my body. I slowly shifted into his lap, feeling his hands snake down to my ass, giving it a soft squeeze.

He forced his tongue in my mouth, grinding his hard cock against me, "god..you're driving me crazy.." he muttered, reaching up and tangling his fingers in my hair as he dominated the kiss. He broke away for a moment, panting heavily as he gazed into my eyes, "take everything off...I need you liebe.." he grunted, his voice rough with desire.

I instantly obeyed, taking my jacket off and teasingly slipping my dress straps slowly, watching as his hunger grew at the sight of my bare skin, the signature still on my chest above my boob.

I slid the dress off, leaving me in my lacey black bra and matching black thong, "fuck..you really wanted to impress me huh?" he chuckled, laying back and taking in all of my features.

"You're more beautiful than I imagined.." his breath hitched as he caressed my skin, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through my body. I reached behind me and cliped my bra off, my tits spilling out.

"Oh fuck.." I felt his erect cock press into my thigh, he reached out to touch me, his fingers gently caressing my nipples as he leans in to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting softly. I rolled my eyes back, the sensation of his tongue swirling around my sensitive buds addicting, my hands wrapped around his head, tugging at his braids.

"You like that, baby?" he smirked, I nodded slowly, throwing my head back as he grazed his teeth over my nipple. "How about you get on your knees and suck my cock, hm?" he whispered, his breath hot against my neck.

My eyes widened at his request, I'd never done that, the only experience I had was one guy fucking me, this was so embarassing..Being with a rockstar who was beyond experienced, yet having barely any experience myself.

"Uh...Tom.." I looked back at him, "hm? Having doubts?" he chuckled, caressing my ass, "no...it's just, I've never sucked cock before..." I bit my lip, waiting for him to make fun of me, but his eyes just softened, "oh..it's ok schatzi, I'll teach you," he said gently, "just get on your knees and I'll guide you," he instructed.

I nodded, sliding off his lap and onto the floor on my knees, I sat in between his thighs, looking up at him for guidance. "Okay, now take my pants off for me baby," he smiled gently. I unbuckled his belt, placing it to the side before sliding his jeans down, his cock straining against his grey boxers.

"Keep going.." he muttered, I sighed and slid his boxers down, his cock sprang out and slapped against his abdomen, my eyes widened at his size, how the fuck was I going to fit that in my mouth?

He chuckles and took my hand, guiding it to his cock, showing me how to stroke it, "now wrap your lips around the tip.." he groaned, pushing my head down. I hesitated but obliged, wrapping my lips around the head of his cock, softly sucking, "ohhh baby.." he moaned lowly, murmuring words of encouragement and praise as I lowered my head onto his cock, "good girl..just like that," he groaned, his fingers tangling in my hair once again.

He helps guide me as I take him deeper, showing me how to bob my head and use my hand to stroke the parts of his cock that didn't fit in my mouth. "Can you do it on your own now baby?" he mumbled, "yeah..I think so.." I muttered, trying to speak despite my mouth full of cock.

"Go ahead.." he smirked, watching as I lowered my head on his cock again, flattening my tongue on his cock, feeling the buldging veins. He lets out a low groan of pleasure as he watches me suck his cock, feeling my mouth move against him, he runs his fingers over my cheek, a signal for me to keep going.

I swirled my tongue around his tip everything I came up, his grip tightening every time on my hair, "mmm.." he moaned, his balls tightening. Without warning Tom suddenly pushed my head down deeper onto his cock, filling my mouth completely as he begins to fuck my face in earnest. He thrusts in and out of my mouth, holding onto the back of my head as he takes his pleasure from me.

"You like that, don't you schlampe..." he growled, continuing to fuck my mouth as he watches me writhe and squirm beneath him, clearly enjoying the power he holds over me.

I nodded, humming in response, saliva building around my mouth. He pushes his cock even deeper until he's almost to the point of making me gag, "mmmh! Can't take anymore!" I whined, holding onto his thigh.

"Shut up...take it.." he grunted, his grip on the back fo my head tightening as he thrusts harder into my mouth, a deep growl rumbling in his chest as he fucks my face mercilessly, pulling at my hair.

"Gonna cum!" he yelped, slamming his cock into my throat, his balls slapping against my chin, beads of saliva dripping down my chin. "Ohhh fuck!" he gasped, shooting a load into my mouth, letting it seep down my throat.

He smirked, pulling his dick from my mouth, watching as a bit of his cum drips from my lips down to my chin, "swallow it all, now," he commanded, a satified sigh came out of his mouth as he saw my throat bob up and down.

"I'm not done with you.." he growled, flipping me onto my stomach and yanking my pants down, along with my panties, around my ankles. I arched my back, flaunting my wet pussy to him.

"Oh fuck..wet already?" he chuckled, his fingers dug into my hips as he spreads my legs wider, his eyes locked on my dripping cunt. "I'll destroy this pussy before you know it..." I felt the couch dip behind me as he aligned his tip at my entrance, slowly pushing every inch in.

"Tom!" I gasped, his thick cock stretching me out, "take it...take it all.." he grunted, grabbing hold of my hips and thrusting into me harshly, his hips slamming against my ass over and over as he fucks me with wild abandon.

Hr grunted, his cock throbbing inside of me as he fucks me hard and faster, his tip stabbing into my g spot and sending shockwaves throughout my entire body. "Ohhh fuck!" I gasped, desperatly gripping onto the couch

He chuckled, raising his hand and smacking my ass roughly, "you like that don't you? Being fucked rough and hard like this.." he whispered in my ear, pounding his cock into my needy cunt.

"Mm, yes I love it!" I cried out, rolling my eyes back as the pleasure rose, his thrusts becoming erratic as he gets lost in the moment, completely drunk off of my pussy, "fuck, you're so fucking good.." he growled, enjoying the way I reponded to his rough treatment.

I felt tension begin to form in my stomach, signalling my impending release, his fingers dug deep into my hips, leaving bruises behind. "You're gonna cum on this fucking cock..." he groaned, moving his hand down to my breast, fiddling with my nipples with his fingers, rubbing them in between his thumb and index finger.

"Ohhh fuck!" I whined, feeling myself get closer and closer, his thrusts never faltering, only getting harder. His hips slapping against my ass with a loud smack, his other hand reaching down to my clit as he starts to furiously rub rough circles on it.

"Cum baby..let go for me.." he growled, his fingers moving in quick tight circles, bringing me closer to my orgasm. "Fuck!" I squealed, my walls clenching around his cock, he started to rub my clit faster, savouring the feeling of my cunt tightly wrapped around his shaft.

With one last hard thrust I came, my orgasm coming in shock waves as my juices spilled down his cock, "shit!" he quickly pulled out, spilling his cum onto my ass, watching it in awe.

"Fuck..." I panted, Tom grabbed a tissue and wiped us both down, laying behind me as I collapsed on the couch, he gently caressed my curves, looking down at me, "I think I should bring you on our tours, I can't get enough of you," he chuckled, leaning down and kissing me softly.

tags: @itsmealaiah @itsmealaiah @kaulitzsbabyy

tags: @ballhair @kaulitzswhxre @cosmicck

tags: @bkaulitzlover @ge-billsgf @tomsonlyslut

tags: @20doozers @ella1289 @miyukafujii

[cera-writes]

"Ma chère, you are mine."

🃏part One

pairing: Remy "Gambit" LeBeau x F!Reader Tags: slow burn, angst, jealousy

Remy never thought there'd be someone else besides Rogue who'd just waltz into his life, but there you were.

A/N: This fic is based on episode 5 of X-Men 97. I might make a playlist for this fanfic if ya'll want it!

Rogue had talked you into going, much to your disdain for parties.

The Genosha Gala was meant to be the biggest celebration for mutants of the year. You really didn't bother with going, since you'd originally made plans that weekend with Morph to just hang out on the couch at the Institute watching cheesy B rated movies together. But Rogue had a way of always talking you into things with that smooth southern drawl of hers.

Plus, you had never actually seen or been to Genosha yet. The thought of seeing it in person intrigued you.

"So lame. I bet you're really only going for a certain ragin' cajun. You know, one that looks like this," Morph teased you as they shapeshifted into an uncanny version of Gambit.

"Save it," you smirked, pressing a finger against Morph's lips as they leaned in for a kiss in true Remy fashion. "You know I don't care...obviously he's only going for Rogue and well, I guess I am too." you sighed, thinking of how awkward the ride to Genosha would be with Rogue, Gambit, and Magneto. Somehow, you really felt like a third wheel in all of this.

"He'd be crazy not to make at least one move on you at the gala. I mean look at you. You in that little black dress you packed in your bag would make anyone swoon." Morph confessed, changing back into their usual self as they eyed your duffel on the floor.

"Thanks, but can we drop this? The sooner this whole trip is over the sooner I can get back to watching cheesy horror movies with you in the meantime," you tucked a piece of stray hair away as you reapplied some pink gloss on your lips.

Morph simply shrugged. "I wouldn't blame you if you stayed out all night after the party with Remy. Go do your thing girl and get your man."

Morph tossed you a wink just as soon as Rogue stepped out of her room to meet you in the hallway. You could see a twinge of hurt in her features. Had she somehow overheard the two of you talking?

"Hey sugah, you ready? We best be leavin' now. Magneto is waitin' for us on the ship now. I promise I'll bring her back sooner than a hot knife through butter." Rogue quickly changed her tone as she approached you and Morph.

Rogue always looked so flawless. She could make a potato sack look good if she wanted to.

You gave a small wave to Morph as the two of you headed to the ship destined for Genosha. Gambit approached you as you neared the ship.

"Allow me," he smiled suavely as he took your duffel and swung it over his shoulder, allowing you to step inside the Blackbird.

"Always the gentleman," Rogue remarked, eyeing the two of you as she took her seat as pilot.

You and Gambit took the passenger seats in the back as Magneto and Rogue sat up front.

There always seemed to be some sort of tension whenever you, Rogue, and Gambit were in a room together. It was always somewhat stifling. Gambit had always confided you in but never as anything more than a friend. He was head over heels for Rogue and you knew that. That's why you respected his decision to pursue her.

Rogue was your friend as well. The two of you were inseparable when you first came to Xavier's School. You had the power of turning yourself into intangible energy, summoning your entire being as light or darkness that could burn or blind anything it touched, hence your mutant name, Eclipse.

You were happy for the distraction your headphones provided as you took out your cd player from your bag. 'Don't Speak' by No Doubt assaulted your ear drums as you sat next to Gambit. How ironic.

A few hours passed before you finally neared your destination. You had shamelessly dozed off, headphones long since fallen from your head to your shoulders before Gambit startled you awake.

"ughhh, this is taking forever..."Gambit sighed. You pulled your headphones completely off before nudging his shoulder. "Sorry chérie," Gambit smiled sheepishly.

"Probably needed to get up anyway," you stretched your arms high above your head before Magneto spoke next.

"Gambit, please remember that should the new Blackbird suffer a malfunction, you are the only soul on board for whom gravity would most certainly be an issue."

Rogue let out a huff of vexation. "Can it, you roosters. Look-y ahead!"

You shuffled in your seat to get a better view of your destination.

There it was in all its glory.

Genosha.

"Keeyah...They been busy doing a bit of renovating since Gambit's last visit."

You peered out the window alongside Gambit. "It's even more beautiful in person!"

Your eyes took in the vast island settled in the middle of the ocean inside its own tropical paradise.

"Isn't it though?" magneto smiled.

The Blackbird landed with ease as you all started exiting the ship.

Madelyne was the first face you could spot as Rogue quickly flew down to greet her. She and Rogue made conversation as you walked out practically side by side with Gambit.

You couldn't help but catch Gambit's words as he mentioned something about two being better than one and far better than three when he struck up conversation alongside Rogue and Madelyne.

Heh. Wouldn't you know.

Then Magneto had said that Gambit insisted on coming. You knew damn well why. And here you were on the account that Rogue wanted to show you what Genosha truly was. Maybe a quick tour of the city would take your mind off of things.

It didn't take long at all for a most welcoming distraction as soon as you witnessed a puff of blue smoke and shadow engulf you.

"Kurt!" you grinned, wrapping your arms just as tightly around your best friend. Besides Gambit and Rogue, Kurt was your main squeeze, your other wing-man, if you didn't count Morph.

He was soon teleporting all three of you around Genosha like it was nothing. Apparently, Kurt was there on his own faithful business.

Either way, you were so happy to see another familiar face.

"Eclipse, how've you been? I assume the ride here was pleasant?" He grinned as he took a seat from the balcony to look out into the vast city.

"For the most part," you took a seat next to him. He was eager to show the three of you around.

You were all soon standing in a courtyard of sorts overlooking a fountain in the city's square. There were mutant children playing in the streets, so freely and carefree, that you couldn't help but notice the vast differences already between this place and the rest of the world.

Children were so free here of the biases and prejudices unlike back home. It made your heart swell and suddenly you didn't regret coming on this trip regardless of your feelings for Remy.

"Oh my, it's just like he said it would be," Rogue spoke up almost dreamily as she watched the same scene play out.

"Who? The professor?" Gambit inquired.

You knew exactly who she meant.

But in Rogue fashion, she played it off.

Magneto to Gambit was like Rogue to you. It was so nauseatingly ironic that you could almost laugh if it weren't so cruel.

Relationships were cruel. That's why you'd never pursued anything with anyone, not even when the opportunity flamboyantly displayed itself at your feet to have a drunken one night stand with Scott before he and Jean got too close. You just couldn't bring yourself to even have a fling with someone, not if it still meant there could be feelings involved.

But god did it eat you alive whenever you saw Gambit even look at Rogue with that same longing you looked at him with. It pained you because on one hand, Rogue was your best friend, but so was Gambit. Neither one of them knew you had deep feelings for him.

You planned to keep it that way. But every time Rogue slipped off to be with Magneto, you knew exactly how it affected Remy. You were no short of a friend when he'd come knocking at your door late at night just to start ranting and popping off to you about Rogue and how much it pained him to see her with Magneto. How it pained him that he'd never get to feel her touch. And you had to pretend like his words weren't tearing and ripping you apart piece by piece.

"Daddy's chargin' pretty high rent."

Gambit's nonchalant words pulled you from your thoughts.

"Ignore him. Fly can't help but ruin honey," Rogue retorted in defense.

Ugh, here we go again with the awkward tension between those two.

"Or maybe Gambit's willing to ask questions no one else will."

He took a bite of his apple that Rogue paid for.

"Like why is Magneto suddenly mutant MVP?"

Suddenly, a plethora of lively music and singing thrummed through the air and Rogue took this opportunity to fly you and her away from the guys for a moment.

"Geez, sorry bout him. He always seems to be a Debby Downer when it comes to Magneto. It's your first time in Genosha. Rogue's gotta make lil' Eclipse feel welcome, not have her feeling like she wants to run off." she spoke to you as soon as the two of you were way out of earshot.

Oh if she only knew the magnitude of it all.

"I'm having a great time. The music, the people, it's really wonderful here! Thank you for letting little old me tag along." You offered a smile.

"That's a relief. Just wait til we get all dolled up tonight for the Gala." she winked at you, nudging her hips against the side of yours in a playful way.

Meanwhile, Remy and Kurt were still hanging back.

"For a man named Gambit, your poker face is very poor," Kurt smirked as he leaned into Remy's ear.

"Hey, mind your beeswax furball. Didn't go ringin' for no priest."

You were caught up in the vibes, the music, and the dancing when you dared look back towards the guys, offering Remy a small smile as your eyes met.

"It does not take a priest to see you and Eclipse's souls touch in every gaze. You know, I had thought that you and Rogue might have had something but I'm starting to see that may indeed not be the case," Nightcrawler suggested.

"Ain't the touch she be lookin' for. Rogue is...what we have or don't have...it's complicated. And whatchu mean? It ain't like that with me an' Eclipse."

Nightcrawler let out a hysterical laugh as he pat Gambit's shoulder. "You Americans. So theatrical Life is violins und close-ups. I blame soap operas. Just marry the belle and be done. If it's meant to be, it will."

Kurt didn't exactly say marry who.

Gambit smirked, shaking his head. He knew deep down, he'd never deserve either of you. Not to him, anyway.

"Scoundrels like me, we don't get no white picket reward. We too busy for love. Too busy sinnin'."

Kurt paused before simply saying, "There is no love without sin. For love is best measured in what we forgive."

Gambit smiled softly at those words.

A/N: part 2 coming! Let me know if you loved it and leave me some comments! ♥️

[sturniolosiphone]

introducing...morose!reader and pinning!matt

divider by: @bernardsbendystraws

In which morose!reader and pining!matt are best friends. Inseparable. They're there for each other..whether it's morning coffee, running an errand, or a night on the couch. There's connection, safety, and desire..they can feel it; they can tase it...

morose: sullen and ill-tempered.

⋆.˚morose!reader can come off as a little bitter, a little detached to strangers who aren’t in her inner circle. She finds small talk hard, and she simply does not have the energy to make new friends. 

⋆.˚morose!reader will disappear for days at a time. She is usually hidden in her room, racking up screen time on her phone or attempting to read the book she restarted four times. Her room is her safe space, filled with trinkets, clothes, and vinyls. 

⋆.˚morose!reader took "My Year of Rest and Relaxation" too literally.

⋆.˚morose!reader can watch movies for hours a day and constantly log them into letterboxd. She also loves the movie theater and often calls it her church. She allows herself to break down in the worn-down theater chair as her feet stick to the flooring covered in diet soda.

⋆.˚morose!reader is always saying she could do more, be more. She can’t feel fulfillment in any career path, any passion project…anything. She will come off confident and unnerving, but as soon as that bedroom door closes, she stares at herself in the mirror until she is unrecognizable. 

⋆.˚morose!reader is constantly changing her appearance. Cutting her hair, bleaching her eyebrows, small tattoos, and piercings. She is always trying to find herself, and understand why she is the way she is. 

⋆.˚morose!reader who knows Matt would be good for her but she just...

pining: suffering with or expressing longing or yearning for someone or something.

⋆.˚pining!matt, who is captivated by morose. He had been in love with her since the first time he saw her at that weird basement party, where they both decided to leave together and go to McDonald’s because the vibes were just off. He’s at her beck and call and is willing to do whatever to make her happy and satisfy her. 

⋆.˚pining!matt is soft and loving. He may come off as a little standoffish, but that is only because he is shy. 

⋆.˚pining!matt, who keeps his journal in his back pocket. He holds a list of all of morose's favorite things. What to order her at restaurants, how she likes her coffee, things that make her happy, and things that make her angry or upset. 

⋆.˚pining!matt is always lost in thought. He is having conversations in his head and lingering on other people's words. He keeps quiet most of the time, absorbing information and taking things in. 

⋆.˚pining!matt hates all of that “new age” shit but owns every Apple product. He refuses to use Apple CarPlay in his car and will only listen to CDs. He hates the internet and tries to keep off social media as much as possible. If he posts anything on social media, it's either morose or his album reviews that get five likes. 

⋆.˚pining!matt who prays one day morose will break, finally let him in completely and let him show her what it feels like to finally let go.

[A/N: this is my first AU! I have been absolutely taken by other writer's AU's and I love how free and creative you can be. I'd love to write for this AU if it is received well!! Please feel free to send in asks about morose!reader and pining!matt]

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

House Tour (not the house we wanted, but the house we have)

Fandom: Poppy Playtime.

Synopsis: Angel (referred here as "you") introduces their house to the toys after the events of the game.

---

"It's not much", you hurriedly tell the group. "And it's not very big, we'll have to get a bigger house as soon as possible, can't forget to immediately look for what's on sale around here".

You stop on your tracks to face the door to your house, hearing the others stop just behind you. Searching for the right key, you add:

"Also please don't mind the fact everything's a big mess, I'm more organized than that but last time I was there it was a week or so ago and I left in a rush".

"Don't apologize, Angel", Poppy replies back, as gentle as ever. "I'm sure it's not even that bad! And, look, even Kissy agrees with me! Right, Kissy?"

The taller girl mutters a quiet "hm-hm" sound.

"Nothing will ever be as bad as the factory, Angel", Dogday adds. You turn around to see Huggy still holding into the dog's poorly-adapted wheelchair, smiling in return. "Besides! You're here with us now! That alone makes things a lot better".

"You guys give me too much credit", oh, finally, you found the key! "I'm just doing what I have to. Anyone else would do the same".

"Li-ar", Mommy Long Leg's voice echoes. "No one never ever took care of Mommy when she was hurt".

"I was the one who tore your arm off, I kind of had to help".

"Li-aaaar".

You sigh, finally opening the door and stepping inside: "C'mon, everyone, it's pretty small but it should do the work for now".

You counted the toys one by one as they entered: Bunzo, PJ, Poppy and Kissy, Dogday and Huggy, a very bubbly Miss Delight guiding Catnap inside, all the mini huggies, all the mini critters, all the other mini toys, then Mommy Long Legs. More than 80 in total.

Thankfully the money you got from that case was enough to cover a house and finances and medical expenses for at least an year for every single one of you. You still didn't know how the court case against the remains of Playtime would go, but with all the evidence against them, it should be enough money for a lifetime, right? You would never be able to pay for everyone's treatment with your current job...

"Angel, dear?", Miss Delight calls. You smile, give one last look outside, and close the door. "What an interesting house you have!"

"Oh, it's nothing much", you put the keys in a small counter, taking off your jacket and throwing your bag in a corner. "Huggy, can you help put Dogday in the sofa?"

"Angel, I'm very sure I can-"

"You need to wait two weeks before you can do any big moves, don't you even think about moving yourself only using your arms again unless you want another emergency surgery, big dog", you immediately cut him off. Dogday sighed, Huggy happily offered his hands to help the big puppy. The mini critters mischievously laughed. "Same thing for every single one of you. Medical orders".

The house's clock pointed at 8:44 PM. It wasn't late, thankfully.

The toys all gathered around the living room, curiously staring and exploring its corners. Someone - Bunzo, maybe? - had entered the kitchen, probably just wanting to take a good look at this new weird place. You decided to let them be, turning the TV on and trying to pick up a channel:

"So, uhm", you mutter. "This is the TV. Didn't change much since '95 except for maybe image quality. We now use CDs and DVDs instead of just cassette tapes, but I'll show that to you guys later. You can grab anything from the kitchen, I don't mind".

You blinked, hearing the sound of your Windows XP computer turning on. Somehow, PJ Pug-a-Pillar had figured out how to use it. You would be proud if not a bit worried:

"You found the computer", you announce to the group. "Okay. Don't mess up too much with that thing, I need it to work. I'll show you guys how to use the internet later, I think you would like it".

Long Legs decided to sit next to the TV, stretching her neck so she could watch it better. The mini critters seemed to really like her, as they still haven't let go of her arm.

"Angel, do you think the news are all still about us?", the spider doll asks.

"Well..."

You sit on the floor so Dogday can see the TV from the sofa. Bunzo immediately jumps to your lap, making himself comfortable. You pet him as images of the abandoned factory covered with cops and investigators appear, headline written as "PLAYTIME CO. INVESTIGATION STILL UNGOING".

You sigh. Bunzo seems to look up at you, confused.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?", his ears move. You stop petting him.

"It's not good nor bad. If the news aren't screaming how the investigation found out how you guys were made, then we can assume the Prototype is doing a good job".

"He always did".

Everyone, including you, turns to stare at Catnap. He decided to sit next to the sofa, lying his back against the wall. The ceiling was too low for him to be comfortable like that...

"Mommy cannot agree with you", Long Legs groans. "Would you want to know hy?"

The feline simply stares uncomfortably at the pink toy. She rolls her eyes, muttering something about him denying the evidence before turning her attention back at the tv. You're glad these two didn't get into a fight again, but you still don't feel comfortable. Most of the bigger toys are sitting on the floor, with the smaller ones either using Kissy, Miss Delight and Dogday or the sofa as a sitting spot.

The images in the TV then cut to you, eye bags and all, staring at the camera and politely answering a question.

"Look!", Bunzo points. "It's mom!"

"I'm not your... Nevermind", you put some of your hair behind your ear. The you in the TV keeps talking:

"No, I didn't see any guards or cops when I came in there", you shake your head, tired.

"No security at all?"

"I mean, the factory is full of weird machines you need to use a thing called a 'grabpack' to make them work, but there wasn't anyone who stopped me from grabbing one and going inside. I bet even a child could have gotten themself trapped in there from how lonely things were outside..."

"Do you think one of the monsters escaped the factory before?"

"The toys, is that what you mean?"

Your eyes finally showed some light as you bit back at the word choice. You lifted your head, now more determined than before:

"If any of them escaped, they are either dead or locked away somewhere by whoever knew about what Playtime was doing. Or do you really think these kids wanted to stay inside that prison? They were fighting each other over what to eat, for God's sake!"

"Angel...", Poppy muttered. "You didn't tell anyone about the..."

"Cannibalism? Hel- heck no. You guys will be regarded as monsters by a lot of people if i do that. Until things calm down, no one outside the investigators of our case will know".

You decide to get up from your spot, much to Bunzo's dismay. You pet his head before stretching yourself, hearing some bones pop:

"The kitchen is right there. Bathroom is there, and my room is there. I don't think there's any clothes good enough for you guys, but we'll see. You must be hungry, right?"

You step into the kitchen, followed by some of the toys and Long Leg's head stretching head. Miss Delight excitedly walks close to you as you look for what you have.

"Well...", you mutter. "I have some snacks and food, but not enough for all of us. Maybe we should get some pizza today, and tomorrow I'll rush to the grocery store".

"... Pizza?", Bunzo asks in the big toy pile that formed at the kitchen's entrance, his head between the smaller huggies. "What's that?"

"It's an italian dish made from bread dough and topped with plenty of ingredients!", Miss Delight answers in her cheerful tone before turning to face you: "But... You have pizza, Angel?"

"No, but I can just ask someone to deliver to us. I have the money", you grab the kitchen's telephone, searching in the drawers for the number of that one very good pizza place your friend worked at. "Since no one here ever ate a pizza I'll just ask for five of each flavor. Might do the job, seeing how many of us are in there..."

You turn, lying against the kitchen's corner, only to realize that everyone was staring at you. Even Catnap had gotten out of his spot, curiously watching, and you could see Dogday's head as he was trying to take a good look at what was going on.

"You guys can explore the house, y'know. It's our house now, not mine", you tell the group, going back to the living room, telephone in hand so the poor giant puppy could be included. Another door was opened, and the mini critters and huggies were now conquering your bedroom. Good for them.

You sat on the floor again. Bunzo proclaimed your lap, and Poppy decided to also sit next to you.

"I don't have to eat, Angel", the doll told you, watching TV. "Prioritize the others, alright?"

"Neither do I!", Dogday replied. "I ate at the hospital, don't worry about me".

You roll your eyes and pet Poppy's head. "I know you don't have to eat, doll, but you, young sir, have to eat. A freaking lot, actually! Didn't I tell you guys food isn't a limited supply anymore?"

A mini critter screamed and something was knocked over. Long Legs immediately got out of her spot, coming out of your room with a mini craftycorn trying to chew on a blanket.

Dogday, however, was whimpering. He lowered his head and fidgeted with his hands: "Are you sure? You did so much for us, Angel..."

"And I'll do even more. I'll be your legal guardian if everything goes well, remember?"

"But..."

Catnap then "accidentally" bumped his tail against Dogday's face. The pup's eyes widened, and you laughed at how offended he looked. The feline pretended to watch television as Dogday stared at him.

"Catnap!"

"I didn't do anything this time".

Now the pup was looking at you for answers. Poppy was laughing as well, all the while Catnap's tail kept bumping into Dogday.

"Listen to what the Angel has to say", he simply told him. "And eat".

You were smiling. Never in a thousand years did you think your life would become this weird, but you were glad it was like this nonetheless.

Then you realized something, and crossed your arms:

"Catnap, you do realize you'll also have to eat a lot instead of giving your food to the mini critters, right?"

The feline's tail stopped moving.

"What".

[braxlrose]

being in a love triangle with bill and tom

bill x f!reader x tom

a/n: i know bill and tom have said before that they don't let a girl come between them and if they like the same girl they let the girl choose who she wants, but let's pretend there's a little more to it.

• their love languages are very different when it comes to trying to "woo" you.

• you met tom and bill at different places. you met tom at a club and bill at a record store. you hadn't even realized they were twins since it was pretty dark in the club and tom and bill have different voices so you had no idea until they both talked about you and realized they met the same girl 💀

• tom is much more dominant than bill and way more out-there with his feelings for you. tom doesn't like to be submissive in relationships and bill himself has even said that tom is more aggressive in relationships (not like abusive though 💀)

• bill isn't exactly the opposite but he's a lot less dominant than tom. he really likes it when women take the lead or are even challenging rather than easy. i feel like bill would really like girls like kat stratford.

• when you first met tom, you were dancing in a club with a drink in your hand when he came up behind you and slipped his hands around your waist. you looked back at him with a smile on your face, obviously drunk.

• you turned your head back around and continued to dance with him.

• "im not sleeping with you before a date, i hope you know that!" you said to him, laughing your ass off and he just nodded his head.

• "really?!" he yelled, "you look the type!" he said, slurring his words and laughing at your offended face.

• "hey!" you slapped his arm, still dancing, "was that your bad attempt at telling me a look like a prositute?" you laughed again, leaning back on his shoulder.

• "maybe." he giggled, staring into your eyes.

• a little while after that he figured you were pretty drunk and he should take you home.

• he asked you where you lived and you told him you were staying at a hotel. you guys couldn't get an Uber so you ended up just walking back with him.

• you starting rambling about dumb, drunk shit like your future and things you wanna do before you die, and tom was totally infatuated with you. he had met other girls before, but you just seemed so much cooler.

• you guys ended up sitting on some old swings at a playground and just talking about life for hours until he finally brought you back to your hotel room

• when you had first met bill, you were at a record store looking through the records and cds. you already had a stack of cds on the counter when bill came up to you.

• "I like nena too!" he said with a smile, coming up behind you.

• "hmm?" you whipped your head around to see him, your eyes widening at his height and not even registering what he said at first.

• "oh, nena!" you turned you head to the stack of cds, one of nenas cds was on top. "yeah, I love her. her music is totally inspirational."

• bill just smiled at you and pointed to you cds "may i?" you nodded your head as he picked up the cds and looked through them. you continued to look through records and talked about all kinds of music.

• he grabbed your hand and brought you over to the otherside of the store. he grabbed a tokio hotel cd and put it in the cd player and put headphones over your ears. "ya' like?" he asked as your wrinkled your eyebrows.

• "huh?!" you said loudly, causing him to laugh and take off the headphones.

• "i said, do you like it?" he said giggling, as you nodded. he continued to tell you it was his band and you guys listened to a bunch of other music.

• "im bill, by the way." he said to you, as you guys walked out of the store and began to walk back to your hotel.

• "y/n."

• he gave you his number once you were back at your hotel and you jumped on the bed, smiling to yourself.

• once bill and tom got home they started talking about you a lot, and soon realized they were talking about the same girl. this wasn't really a surprise to them since they have crushed on the same girl in the past.

• "well. i think i should date her because I met her first, okay?" said tom and bill just sat there like.

• "yeah, yeah we could do that...orrrr i date her. because it's pretty obvious she's more into me."

• now this didn't start a fight between them, but they decided they would do a bunch of stuff and see which one you liked better.

• you weren't an awful person though. you made sure to tell both of them that you were sort of seeing another guy and they were like "oh, it's no problem!"

• tom brought you out to a super fancy restaurant, because he was all like "girls like that stuff." and I mean it was a super fancy restaurant and he told you to order whatever you wanted because he'd be paying for it. but right after you two had finished eating he brought you home and you two ended up making out for a little while.

• he was super proud of himself, and was like 99% sure that he had won you over. that was until he found out bill took you ice skating and said that you two had tons of fun.

• bill had remembered you had mentioned that you had never gone ice skating before so that's why he took you. he held your hands the entire time and you were practically gripping onto his body so you didn't fall over. you were super fucking scared.

• but you ended up getting the hang of it and having so much fun with him. bill didn't kiss you though, and when you asked him why, he said he wanted to take things slow with you because he really liked you. that honestly would've been enough to win me over #lowstandards

• after that, tom brought you to this place where you could taste different kinds of hot chocolate from different countries. you loved chocolate so you had the best time with him.

• but then bill took you to a petting zoo. usually those are for kids but you literally had so much fun petting all of the different kinds of animals.

• tom took you out to a party and you guys danced a lot, and ended up having sex in one of the empty rooms.

• at your next date with bill, you told him you had sex with the other guy. you were really confused on why he didn't care, but you didnt question it. bill had taken you dancing that night and that was the night you two finally kissed. it was warm and magical.

• on the next date with Tom, he brought you to a carnival and he won a giant panda for you. and he bought you whatever you wanted. you two had tons of cotton candy and ended up kissing at the top of the ferris wheel 🥺. you didn't really think of Tom as that kind of guy, but the more you got to know him, the sweeter he got.

• you were at a point, where you weren't sure who to choose, you liked them both so much and you didn't want to hurt either one of them.

if you chose tom:

• if you chose tom, he was so fucking happy. he picked you up and spun you around. he liked you so much and you liked him so much and he was really happy you chose him. obviously, he made sure that didn't get in between him and bill.

• he continued to take you out to restaurants and kiss you backstage at concerts. he would invite you over to his hotel room to have sex, but you would also hang out afterwards. he'd wrap his arms around you and smother you in kisses.

• he cooked with you all the time and loved that you would teach him how to cook new things.

• he would play guitar for you and bring you to parties to show you off.

• but you guys dated for only a couple months before going your separate ways.

if you chose bill:

• if you chose bill, he kissed you so passionately, it made your head spin. you wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him in as close at you two could possibly be. that was the first time you two had sex. it was beautiful, and sexy and intimate and he couldn't stop saying how happy he was that you chose him.

• for dates, he would bring you to all sorts of places. but his favorite was this old little café and he would order a bunch of pastries for you, even if you couldn't eat all of them.

• bill would make picnics for you at night, and you guys would fall asleep looking at the stars.

• he would sing to you all the time and sing you to sleep whenever you couldnt fall asleep. and show you new songs he wrote.

• giving eachother massages all the time

• he loves it when you come back stage before a concert to wish him good luck

• bill dates to marry. so you too either broke up after 2 years of dating, or got married.

taglist: @hearts4kaulitz @burntb4bydoll @spelaelamela @bored0writer @fishinaband @billsleftnutt @tokiiohot @bluepoptartwithsprinkles @saumspam @5hyslv7 @killed-kiss @memog1rl @80s-tingz @billybabeskaulitz

[otomehonyaku]

DIABOLIK LOVERS More,Blood Genteiban DVD Translation ☽ Mini Drama II (Yuma, Shuu, Reiji)

Original title: DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE,BLOOD 限定版 SPECIAL DISK III Mini Drama II Voiced by Suzuki Tatsuhisa (Yuma), Toriumi Kōsuke (Shuu), Konishi Katsuyuki (Reiji) English translation by @otomehonyaku Click here for the audio (thank you @uzi-boozii for providing the audio!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I'm on a roll with the drama CDs this week! Here's the next instalment of the More,Blood special disks. The final one in this series, featuring Ruki, Azusa, Kanato, and Ayato, is coming next week ✧ദ്ദി( ˶^ᗜ^˶ )

As always, have fun listening and reading along! (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[This scene takes place after Yuma takes Yui’s blood in front of Shuu at the academy. They are now in the school infirmary.]

00:00 Yuma: Tch. Your face’s white as a fuckin’ sheet. You don’t taste good when you’re already half empty. Hurry up ‘n save up some blood so I can suck it.

[Yuma chews on a sugar cube.]

Y: I won’t hand you over to those bastards. Not until I become Adam. Better rest up, Sow.

[Reiji walks in.]

Reiji: Oh? What are you doing here?

Y: None of your business, smart-ass. (1)

R: Heh. It seems that you have taken too much of her blood, rendering her useless. 

Y: If you already know, you’d better fuck off.

R: Did you say something?

Y: Nothin’ in particular. Sow won’t be getting any rest anytime soon, though. We need her blood. More and more of it.

R: Heh.

Y: What’s so funny?

R: That is absurd.

Y: Huh?

R: Greedily devouring her without thinking of the repercussions… Exactly what I expect from mongrels like you.

Y: The fuck d’ya say?

R: Heh. It does not take a lot to upset you. How very predictable.

Y: Fuck off!

02:04 R: Good grief… If you continue taking her blood so carelessly, she will die before long.

Y: What’s wrong ‘bout a vampire suckin’ human blood? Don’t act like we’re not doin’ the same thing y’all did!

R: I would appreciate it if you did not liken yourselves to us. I have merely been treating her with the appropriate courteousness. Verbally abusing me without having the slightest notion of who I am is simply absurd. Foolish, rather.

Y: Hah! Foolish, you say. Right back at ya.

R: How so?

Y: Haha. You don’t know anythin’ either, do you?

R: What do I not know about you?

Y: You think we’re carelessly feeding on her for no reason at all? That’s foolish. We’re taking her blood ‘cause… Ah.

[Yuma catches himself before he divulges the Mukami’s plans.]

R: What is it?

Y: Heh. It’s got nothin’ to do with you.

R: That is regrettable. But even if you would have let your tongue slip, it is not that difficult to guess...

[Yuma grabs Reiji by the collar.]

Y: Why’re you pickin’ a fight with me if you already know?

R: I only know because you were chattering away, oblivious of your surroundings. Well, if lowly scum such as you former humans would be scheming anything… it would have nothing to do with me.

Y: Ha! Then you’re fine with me doin’ as I please with her?

R: Indeed. Because whatever you half-bloods are planning, you could never outmatch us to begin with. Besides, she is nothing but prey to us.

Y: What about you, huh? You OK with me takin’ Sow away from ya?

04:19 R: That is a foolish question. Are you saying she is valuable to us at all?

Y: Well, I’m glad. We’ll do exactly as we please with her, then.

R: However, please remember that when you make a move on the Sakamaki family, we will eliminate you without mercy.

[Reiji leaves.]

Y: Tch. What an indecisive asshole.

[Yuma leaves as well. The scene shifts to Yuma walking down the hallway, where he accidentally stumbles upon Shuu again.]

05:18 Y: Ugh, first that smart-ass and now this NEET (2), too?

S: Wait.

Y: What?

S: Are you really a vampire?

Y: The fuck? You askin’ that out of pride ‘cause you’re a pureblood? Like I said to Four-Eyes, we’re half-blood vampires. Used to be human. That’s got nothin’ to do with you.

S: Since when?

Y: Huh?

S: When did you become vampires? Who turned you?

Y: How’s that matter to you? I don’t get it.

S: Answer me.

Y: Tch. Don’t order me around like you're superior. It’s pissin’ me off. Ah… Who knows? It’s been so long that I forgot.

S: Have you always had that name?

Y: You listenin’ to me? Why do I gotta tell you? I don’t get it.

S: You don’t remember?

Y: What’d you say? What do you know ‘bout my memories?

S: Hm.

Y: And now you’re staying quiet. Tch. It’s not like I got anything to hide, though. I don’t remember my childhood. The only thing I’ve got left from then are my burn scars. I don’t even remember my own name.

S: Burn scars?

Y: Huh? Oh, and there’s a birth mark on my shoulder. But I guess that doesn’t really matter.

S: Ah!

Y: What? Why’re you so surprised? It’s not like it still hurts or itches now, either.

S: Hm…

Y: You seem kinda out of it. You sure you’re alright with us takin’ Sow away from y’all?

S: I guess. What you do with that woman has nothing to do with me.

Y: How’re you and that Four-Eyes so calm about all this? Don’t come cryin’ to me ‘bout it later!

07:42 S: She’s nothing but prey to us. Someone else will come to take her place when she dies.

Y: You really think so? She’s the only...

S: Aren’t you a little too interested in her?

Y: Heh. We have our reasons.

S: I see.

Y: Ha. Famous last words? You selfish fucking aristocrat. Tch. You’re all insane…

[Yuma walks away.]

S: Burn marks… So it is him.

[The scene shifts to Reiji.]

R: They are completely obsessed with her blood… There is no mistaking what they must be scheming. It seems there is an ulterior motive. When I think about it, it can only be him pulling the strings behind all of this… What on Earth is he planning?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

(1) 蘊蓄（うんちく）: Lit. ‘great/vast knowledge.’ Yuma uses this word to call Reiji 蘊蓄野郎（うんちくやろう）and in this case 野郎 (やろう) can be translated as ‘bastard,’ so—although it doesn’t cover the full extent of the meaning of these words—I translated it as ‘smart-ass’ here for convenience.

(2) NEET (Not in Education, Employment or Training): Japanese-English abbreviation for young people who don’t do anything with their lives.

[kqulitz]

can u do a tom x reader where they’re meeting fans, signing autographs etc? she has a male fanbase and they both aren’t really a fan of it. one of them starts getting handsy, flirty and it’s obv that she’s uncomfortable. she kindly tells him to back off and he starts telling her crude things and tom just loses his shit, taking her outside to kind of comfort her? thank you!!💕💕

hands on

tom kaulitz x reader

summary: tom gets a bit annoyed when one of your fans attempts to make moves on you.

tags: established relationship, jealous! tom, protective! tom, creepy guys, fluff :)

lowercase intended

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you smile politely at the fan before you. the line was almost done and he was busy blabbering on about how he owned all of your cd’s. “thank you, that means a lot to me.” you cut in, hoping to stop the conversation there. “it’s no big deal. hopefully i’ll see you at your next concert!” the guy finally takes his leave and the next in line shuffles up. you notice tom lingering in the corner of your eye, he must be waiting for you. you smile, signing whatever merch the fans were thrusting towards you, taking pictures, signing pictures. you found it exhausting, especially since your fan base was primarily men. it made tom uncomfortable as he was quite a possessive lover, and honestly there were a lot of experiences that made you uncomfortable too.

the last man of the night walks towards you, confidence in his walk. “hey, sorry for the wait, how are you?” you ask, yet he doesn’t offer you any merch to sign. “i’m all good, how about you?” he asks smoothly, glancing around a little as if he was making idle conversation at a party instead of meeting a potential idol. “i’m okay, just a little tired.” you chuckle. he looks at you, eyes dragging over your outfit, lingering down near your legs. you do your best to keep composure, but this guy was really freaking you out. “uh- do you have anything for me to sign..?” you ask anxiously, gesturing a little with your hands. “hm? oh, yeah. sorry, you’re just too dreamy, i must of gotten lost.” he grins. you almost gag. “thank you.” you respond, realising that the guy was pulling out a notebook. “i wouldn’t mind your number.” he winks. “i cant give my number out to fans-“

the man cuts you off. “i’m not just a fan.” he glares at you. “i’m your biggest super fan. i run your fan-club, i have every single cd that even features you- i even have one of your old broken guitars that you threw out back in hamburg.” he steps closer, you step back. tom tenses in the corner of your eye, you want to tell him that it’s okay and that this ‘super fan’ will be gone soon but you don’t want anyone to freak out. “i love you, y/n. only i truly know you.” the stranger leans in. he stinks of cigarettes, you almost retch. “please back away- i don’t want to have to call security.” you raise a hand, trying to gesture for him to step back. “do you love me too?” he asks, voice low and sultry. you want to cry. “hey, back off man!” tom’s hand grabs the guy’s jacket, pulling the stranger away from you.

security step in at tom’s command, pulling the guy away. you sigh softly, squeezing your boyfriend’s hand a little to soothe yourself. “thank you.” you mutter, resting your head upon his shoulder. “don’t thank me, baby.” tom mutters, hugging you. “let’s step outside, yeah? you look exhausted.” he mumbles, pulling you along gently. you give the rest of the band a wave in passing, watching them smile and wave back makes you feel a lot better. tom opens the door for you, and you step outside onto the steps. the fire exit door clicks shut behind the two of you and tom pulls you into a hug. he exhales rather shakily, so you hug him back tightly. “it’s alright, he’s gone.” you say to him, knowing he’s probably pissed. “i should be telling you that.” tom mumbles, you can only laugh. “i think we both need to hear it right now.” you mumble, resting your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder as you sway with him.

tom soothes, and so do your own nerves. “thanks again, tommy. that guy was… really freaky.” you laugh a little, pulling away. tom’s eyes look at you with pure adoration. “it’s no problem, babe. ich liebe dich.” (i love you) he mutters, kissing you gently. “ich liebe dich auch.” (i love you too) you reply between his soft kisses, it makes tom smile against your lips. you let your arm wrap around his neck to deepen the kiss, other hand rubbing his arm gently. tom hums lowly, breaking away and kissing your nose. “you ready to get out of here?” he asks softly, forehead resting to yours. “yeah. let’s go get the others.” you reply, a smile on your face.

[sweetsweetjellybean]

In a city the size of Chicago, Eddie should be easy to avoid. Or maybe the city isn't as big as you thought?

Masterlist Listen to Sour Girl Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:6558 beta'd by @superblysubpar

Plink.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The old wooden frame of your window groans against the track, burdened with too many layers of paint to make the slide smooth. The swirls of creamy pinks and oranges have faded hours ago into the star-lit summer sky. The boy is below, standing in your backyard, fist full of pea gravel taken from a neighbor's garden. A smile twisting his lips lifts his cheeks, putting dimples on full display as he looks up at you from the darkness below. You raise a finger, signaling for him to wait before you turn away. Tossing a few things in your empty backpack, you take a pillow from your bed, and your comforter is wrestled free from the mattress. With careful footsteps, you creep down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen. The light from the fridge casts a triangle across the floor as you take a few Capri Suns to add to your bag. Leaving through the slider, the end of your blanket trails behind you through the grass that was trimmed that morning. You slip off your flip-flops, leaving them beside a pair of larger, well-worn sneakers with a chain wallet tucked inside the right shoe. Eddie bounces on the trampoline, his sock-covered feet launching him into the air, arms stretched for balance. You toss everything on before climbing on with him. With a final bounce, he lands on his butt beside you, grinning. 

“I got it,” you tell him, tossing the pillow behind you.

“Nah-uh.”

"My dad took me to Tower this afternoon." Rummaging in your pack, you pull out a Discman and over-the-ear headphones with the cord in a tangled mess. "I could only get two. I had to choose between Rage," you begin, ticking off album titles on your fingers, “Soundgarden, STP, and Pearl Jam.”

“And?”

Taking out the CDs, you press them against his chest, letting go as soon as his fingers go around them. His brown eyes widen as he examines what’s in his hands as you pick apart the knotted cord.

“Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop AND Down on the Upside? You haven’t even opened this one.” He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

“I waited for you.” You smile.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.” 

He lies back, his head nestling into your pillow, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the sky. After putting the CD into the player, you follow him, pulling the comforter over you both and resting your head on his bicep. The headphone speakers are flipped out, tucked between you, as Chris Cornell's melancholic voice begins to seep into your ears, velvety and dark like the night itself.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless." 

“I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

As you gaze skyward, a slender branch sways in perfect rhythm with the chords, green leaves fluttering with the bass. The stars multiply and shimmer as if they’re caught up in the flow of the song. 

“You do,” he says, his head turning toward you, “You’re the only one I know who loves it as much as I do.” He studies your face, his eyes locking with yours. The music building until it’s too intense, and he looks away. “It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”  

The disc spins, and you both listen, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, and fireflies painting the sky with their gentle glow. Time passes in the slow way it only does for kids on a cool summer night.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He answers, eyes closed.

“Are they fighting again?”

He doesn’t talk about it, but everyone knows—an ugly secret festering on an otherwise picture-perfect street. No one wants to get their hands dirty by getting involved. 

“Why won’t she leave him?” A simple question in a world of black and white.

“I want her to,” his adams apple bobs as he swallows, “She says she loves him.”

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can. 

“Yeah, okay.”

When you wake the following morning, the songs and memories you were reacquainted with last night have faded to a dull throb–much like the martinis. But remnants of their lyrics persist,  crawling under your skin, irritating like an itch, a tune hummed without the words to accompany it. Your phone’s screen lights up with an incoming text, the short burst of vibration sending it skittering across the surface of your nightstand. It takes a moment for your bleary eyes to focus on the notification on your lock screen.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee?

After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply.

You: Wrong number

Darkening your screen, you let your phone slip from your hand onto the bed beside you. With a sigh, you lean back, staring at the ceiling, seeking answers that remain elusive. The scent of brewing dark roast and toasting bagels rises up the stairs with the sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen. A cup of coffee (or five) and a shower is what you need to wash away the past and leave it firmly where it belongs– in your rearview. 

It's the bottom of your second cup when Steve walks into your massive walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower, his hair still damp, the freckled skin of his chest looking golden in the soft glow of the elegant pendant lights. 

“Is that what you're wearing to work?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” You finish buckling the strap of your chunky mary-janes. “Something wrong with it?” you ask, catching sight of yourself in the mirror, dark distressed jeans and a band tee recut into a fitted v-neck. 

“Of course not,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down heavily on the leather bench. His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

Taking your watch from the marble top of the large center island, you wander over to where he’s seated. He hooks a finger into one of the large holes in your jeans, tugging you over to stand between his legs, his big hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs.

“Guess I’m just missing the days of wearing jeans and a jersey to work,” he says, his smile not smoothing the faint crease in his brows.

“You traded that in for a car service and a big fat paycheck,” you point out, kissing the top of his head and moving back to your side of the closet to select a blazer.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower. 

“Steve, I don’t need all of this,” your hand sweeps in the air, gesturing to the lit shelves holding more clothes and shoes than you could ever need. “Just take me to a concert every once in a while.” Your voice trails off as notification chimes on your phone.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

“Can you imagine if we were still in that cramped apartment in Lincoln Park?” He scoffs, pulling on a light gray pair of suit pants. “We were tripping over all our stuff.”

Steve found the three-bedroom, three-bath brownstone on a tree-lined street in the ritzy Gold Coast neighborhood just after he got promoted from Metro, marking the beginning of his rise up the ranks in Second City Media. He spent a year and a chunk of his trust fund on a meticulous renovation before the two of you moved in. It is beautiful—large air rooms with lofty ceilings adorned with pristine white crown molding and wainscotting throughout, giving a modern but classic feel. Living with so much space is lavish in a city of this size. But you would be just as happy back on that ratty couch in Lincoln Park, drinking beer straight from the bottle and eating pizza without the fuss of plates, working on your laptop while he watched a Cubs game. Steve is driven–determined to be a success, and he is, but with the money came the stress. And it’s taking a toll.

Your finger hovers over the block button, but you press add to contacts instead. “Hey,” you change the subject, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket, “Did you ever look into that sailing charter you wanted to book out at the lake? We could do that this weekend?”

“I wish I could, Ace. I’ve got those weekend meetings about the streaming radio we're trying to launch. Pick out a tie for me?” He asks, pulling off a starched black button-up from its hanger.

“Sure.” You walk over and spin the rack holding up dozens of ties on shiny brass hooks.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

“Not a lot.” You pull the silky slip of deep maroon fabric off its hanger. “Lola is put to bed for this year. I just have an album review to finish up and a meeting with my editor today. Maybe a series on the Fall tours?” You propose, mostly to yourself, as you bring him his tie.

“Maroon, huh?” One brow raises with the question, “I would have picked black.”

“I know.” The corner of your lips turn up in a sly smile before you rise to your toes and place a kiss on his mouth, “I’m gonna go.”

“You want my driver to drop you off?” He asks, looking in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“Nah, I’ll drive myself. Argyle and I are going to the Subterranean for drinks. Santigold is performing. Do you want to come?” You throw out, picking up your ancient army green messenger bag you can’t bear to part with, straining with the fullness of your laptop and notes.

“I’ll pass. Not really my scene.” As he fastens his gold cufflinks, they catch the gleaming light.

“You never come to shows with me,” you sigh. 

“I know, I know. I’ll try and catch the next one,” he says, sliding his feet into shiny Italian leather shoes. “I’m meeting Robin for lunch. You want to join us?” 

“No. I’ll let you have your girl time.” You blow him a kiss before heading out the door. 

 “See you tonight, okay?” 

“Love you. See you tonight,” he calls after you.

Passing through rooms decorated with rich creams and calming moss greens, you yell over your shoulder, “Tell Robin I said we don’t have any more room for paintings of flowers that look like vaginas.” 

“They’re a good investment,” his voice fades as you jog down your stairs, grabbing your keys from the stained-glass bowl on the table beside the door, ignoring the buzz coming from your pocket. 

The world is full of cliches. Many become so ingrained that we accept them as unwavering truths.  Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Actions speak louder than words. A rotten apple will spoil the bunch. Don’t spit into the wind. Well, that last one is just good advice, but there is one that has stuck with you. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Music is your deity, and working at Stax is where you worship at its altar, spreading the Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. It’s a place where your lifelong obsession is not only validated, it’s celebrated. Your journey leading up to this point feels like destiny, like the universe conspired to harmonize your two greatest loves—the lyrical power of words and the soul-stirring magic of music. Each day within these walls is a new chord, a different tempo, and you revel in the ever-changing rhythm of your life. One spent intertwined with the music and the people that create it. The magazine's pages are your stage, your canvas, and with every keystroke, you paint the stories of the music, offering them to those who care to listen.

Without taking your eyes off your laptop screen, you reach for your coffee mug only to knock over the tittering tower of CDs that you had stacked on the corner of your cluttered desk. The plastic jewel cases meet the cement floor with a shattering crash, the noise echoing off the walls of the open industrial space that houses the offices for Stax Magazine in the heart of Fulton Market District. Clapping comes from other desks as you chase the discs rolling on their sides in all directions. Pausing, you bend into a dramatic curtsey, earning chuckles as the applause dies out. The perpetual chaos of your desk has become an ongoing punchline in the office banter. Your phone begins to ring at the same time an IM pops on your screen - both from your editor, the enigmatic J. Hopper. 

“Art Garfunkel’s house of pizza,” you say by way of greeting, trying to get the CDs back in their cases and toppling a pile of mail in the process.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? We had a meeting at 2,” comes the gruff voice of a man who's clearly not amused.

“It’s only one forty,” you reply.

“Get your ass in here now,” he yells, disconnecting. 

Hopper's bark has always been more bluster than bite. The towering, older man has been a fixture in this building since its days as a "hard-hitting" newspaper. While the city has evolved and transformed, Hopper and this old brick building have remained resolute, like an immovable rock in the ever-shifting stream of time. He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978. You love him as much as your own father. He offered you a position fresh out of college when other magazines wouldn’t take a chance. He's pulled out your best work, often sending you back to your desk like a pouting child, making you the writer you are today. The wisdom he’s imparted is beyond the reach of any professor or workshop, and for that, you’ll always be grateful.

With a gentle rap of your knuckles against the frosted glass, you step into Hopper's office. He's seated behind a substantial oak desk, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. A hint of cigar lingers in the air, though you've never been able to catch him smoking. He remains engrossed, squinting at his desktop screen with a furrowed brow. Settling into one of the vintage leather club chairs, you wait for his acknowledgment, your gaze drifting across the framed magazine covers and photographs lining the walls. One of a much younger Hopper clad in a tattered flak jacket catches your eyes. His face smeared with dirt and grit, standing amidst the ruins of a war-torn Kosovo street, a city reduced to chaos.

"Where’s my album write-up?" He asks without looking up. 

"I emailed it to you before lunch," you reply, confirming on your phone. 

He pushes back from his desk, propping up his feet on the edge, and offers you a soft smile from under the bushy mustache covering his lip, "How are you, kid? Everything okay? Harrington treating you, right?"

"Of course, Hop. He knows he'd have to answer to you otherwise. What about you?" You ask, leaning forward, "Is Joyce looking after you? Making sure you're watching that cholesterol?"

"Yup, she's got me eating all these organic vegetables, no booze, no smokes. Kinda takes all the fun outta life." He laces his hands behind his head, stretching out his back. 

"Oh yeah, does that include that bottle hootch you got stowed in your bottom drawer?"

He sits up with a quick move, pointing his finger in your direction. "You don't know anything about that. Are we clear?"

The only one who can scare Hopper is Hopper's wife. 

"I don't know. What are you going to do if I give Joyce a call? Seems to me that's something she'd want to know," you tease, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"You'd be out on that sidewalk before you hung up the call. Don't test me." He shakes a finger at you, "Now, what are you pitching me?"

"Well, I'm going to a club tonight, so I'll have a live performance review. And I was thinking of a piece on the bands touring this Fall. Kind of like a road map that the readership could follow and hit all the good shows."

"Those sound good, kid, but I got a feature for you to cover." He leans forward, narrowing his eyes, "You know this Eddie Munson character?"

The blood drains from your face. "No. Not-not really," you stammer, "we're from the same town, but I haven't seen him in years."

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

A featured series is something that other journalists fight over, and usually, you'd jump at the chance, but not this time. Not this series. Not Eddie Muson. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, looking down at your lap.

“You don’t think–”

“Give it to Miles.”

“I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

“I don’t want it,” the words burst out of your mouth before you think better of it. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Eddie, your world is spinning out of control.

Hopper's face turns to steel as he plucks the pen from behind his ear and throws it down on the desk. “I think that you’ve forgotten how this works. I give you an assignment. You write it.”

Your lips part before the protest in your brain is fully formed. 

“If you’re about to tell me no again, it better be followed by a damn good reason.”

His eyes are locked on yours while he waits for a response, one brow raised in challenge. 

“Listen, kid,” he picks up a stack of papers, shuffling through them as he talks, “I’ve looked into this Munson character. He has a good reputation in L.A. His name is in the credits for over half the multi-platinum releases in the last five years. And word is, his studio is booked out with big names for a year in advance.” He pauses for a moment to be sure his words sink in. “Establishing a good relationship with him is in the magazine's best interests. And what's good for the magazine is good for you. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, Hop,” he answers for you when you remain quiet. 

“Yes, Hop,” you repeat.

“Good,” he says, lacing his fingers together. "The printed word isn’t worth what it used to be. Everything's gone digital, the never-ending twenty-four-hour news cycle. The competition's cut-throat out there. Trust me, our friends over at Spectrum would eat this up for Chicago Lifestyles. Frankly, I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be all over this. Especially since it was proposed by corporate. I figured you went around me and pitched it to Harrington directly.”

The mention of Steve’s name sets your teeth on edge. He hadn't breathed a word about this assignment earlier, and now he's reaching out to Hopper, painting a picture as if you're disrespecting your editor and exploiting your personal connections to secure a story.

“I would never do that,” you shake your head. 

"Alright then. Call Byers at Metro," Hopper instructs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "Bring him with you. His assignment is just wrapping up."

You nod, your blood boiling and your mind racing. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you finally reply with an outward calm, "Okay."

Hopper's eyes remained fixed on you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Now, why are you still here wasting my time? Get out."

You don’t need any more prompting. Swiftly, you rise from your seat and make your way out of Hopper's office, formulating plans to murder your fiancé.

With a heavy sigh, you sit back down at your desk. The Stax logo bounces off the edges of your laptop screen. Your phone lights up with a photo of Steve. You let it ring a few times before sending it to voicemail. A few colleagues linger nearby, mugs in hand, their idle chatter blending with the hum of printers and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards. Your to-do list sits on your desk with strike-throughs on only half the tasks, but the priority of the ones remaining isn’t enough to capture your attention. 

Reaching down, you tug at the handle of your tightly packed bottom desk drawer. It sticks, protesting the overload.  The bright yellow color of the Sony Sports Walkman stands out from among the other clutter. You hesitate when reaching for it, the beginnings of the ache already tightening your chest. But you can’t resist, your hand closes around it, pulling it and the headphones coiled around out from under a pile of old concert passes attached to lanyards. 

Swiveling your chair away from the desk, you face the windows and slip the headphones onto your ears. A gentle press of your thumb produces a satisfying click, and a soft crackling sound fills your ears as the capstans start to whir.

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label. 

For when you miss me.

“Did you ever listen?”

Everyday. 

A bird's eye view of the stage is perfectly spaced in your viewfinder, with Santi downstage dominating the mic, her other arm outstretched to the fervent crowd. Your finger clicks the shutter as a text pops on the screen.

Eddie: Seems this city isn’t so big after all.

With a huff, you close the screen, pocketing your phone.

“What’s going on with you?” Argyle shouts over the crowd, handing you back your drink as you both lean over the black-painted railing on the balcony at The Subterranean.

"Nothing," you reply, your gaze returning to the stage where Santigold is Chasing Shadows. 

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music.

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

The corners of your lips lift as you roll your eyes.

“This wouldn't have anything to do with mister dark and handsome sound engineer guy from last night, would it?” He probes as someone bumps into you from behind, throwing you off balance.

Your eyes narrow as he steadies you with a hand on your elbow. 

“Hey, I know things,” he says, sipping his drink and looking back out over the crowd.

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, turning and leaning on the banister to face him, “What do you know?”

He turns his head toward you, his thoughtful brown eyes connecting with yours. “I know you looked freaked the fuck out when he showed up for drinks and even more so when he said he was staying. And I’ve seen you tell off enough people to know that’s what was going on at the bar when you walked away from him last night,” he says, looking back toward the stage, gesturing with his hands, “Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

The song ends with the crowd erupting in applause. “I love you!” Argyle shouts toward the stage with his hands cupped around his mouth as the bass starts back up with the opening of High Priestess. Santi looks up, throwing him a wink, her voice low and fast as the reverb vibrates under your feet. 

“Future baby mama?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Do you think you could use your press pass to get us backstage?”

“No. I don’t think you need to add to the population tonight.”

"See, you're no fun,” he complains, sticking out his lower lip, “So you really used to crush on that guy?

Chewing on your lip, you throw him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you did. You crushed hard,” he laughs, “So, tell me, what happened?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” you say, scrubbing your face.

“Keeping everything all bottled up ain’t good for you, little mama,” he pokes your arm, letting you know he’s not going to drop this, “I’m your boy. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

“Circle of trust,” he says, stirring the air between you with two fingers when you don’t respond. 

You lean against the rail, considering. “Alright, but this stays between us,” you threaten him with a pointed finger. His head nods as his fingers slide across his mouth like a zipper.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say, looking down at the sticky floor. “I had a crush, and he didn’t feel the same way.”

“I get it. The fury of a woman scorned. What did you do, go full bunny boiler?”

“No,” you chuckle, “Nothing like that. That part didn’t even really bother me. He was my best friend, my only friend for a long time. I thought there was something between us, that he cared about me. Maybe not the same way I cared about him, but you know, I thought we were close. I must have built it all up in my head because one day, he just takes off.” You swallow the sharp pain pressing into your chest, “He never even said goodbye.”

“Nooo,” Argyle’s eyes widen.

“It broke me,” you admit.

“Harsh,” he agrees, “And he never called you? Or gave you an explanation?”

“Not until yesterday.  He asked me to lunch. You know, he actually had the nerve to say that Steve has me on a tight leash.” 

“Typical.” He shakes his head, swallowing the last of his drink.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swirling the last of your ice into your watered-down drink. 

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.” 

“How did you get so wise?” You ask. 

“I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“You never told Steve any of this?” He asks as you join the crowd of people that constitutes the line.

“No,” you sigh.

“No?” He repeats in surprise, “This is bad news, man. Why wouldn’t you tell him? What are you going to do, just going to keep it a secret forever?”

“I guess. It doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”

“This is going to get messy.” He shakes his head as you move up in line.

“Well, I’m not real happy with him either right now. He went behind my back to Hopper, deciding that I’m going to cover Eddie’s recording studio's opening. He completely humiliated me in front of my boss. I look totally unprofessional.”

“Well, that's not cool,” Argyle sympathizes as he takes the plastic cup from your hand and tosses it into a trashcan tucked beside the bar.

“No, it was very not cool,” you agree, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"Wait," he looks at you with sudden revelation, “Technically, isn't Steve your boss?"

“That’s not the point–”

“And isn’t your job to write about major happenings in the city, like when fancy L.A. sound guys open up studios?”

“You're not helping, Argyle.”

His hand lands on your head, offering a comforting pat like you're a child before the line begins moving again. "Cheer up, Bernstein," he quips with a grin, "I'll buy the next round."

Your anger hasn’t abated when you walk through the front door of the brownstone. Steve is already in bed, shirtless with the taupe velvet coverlet pulled up to his waist, glasses perched on his nose, not looking up from his laptop as you enter the room.

“Hey, Ace, how was your day? Did you write me–”

“Anything you want to tell me about, Steve?” You ask, your voice already coming out more heated than you intended.

He looks up at you, brows pulling together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, dropping your bag onto the blue slipper chair in the corner of the room, “Maybe about how you went behind my back?”

"What?” He questions, slamming his laptop shut.

“The story, Steve,” you huff, leaving the room through your closet. You’ve just put your shoes away when he appears in the doorway, padding across the carpet in his bare feet, wearing just his boxers.

“Munson’s opening, that’s what you’re mad about?” He demands.

“You totally blindsided me,” you complain, pulling a hanger off the rod and hanging up your blazer with enough force to have the other clothes swinging. “Why didn’t you say anything this morning?”

“Because I hadn’t thought of it this morning.” His hands run through his hair, tugging in frustration.

“So what, it just came to you in a flash of brilliance?” Popping the button on your jeans, you tug them down your hips, kicking them into the corner instead of putting them in the basket.

“No, it didn’t, and I hate it when you’re sarcastic. Robin wanted to stop by and see his studio. We had lunch nearby,” he informs you, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the gold chain he wears glinting in the low light.

“So the two of you just decided what I was going to be writing? Maybe that’s something you should be discussing with me.” You lay a hand on your chest before pulling your shirt over your head and giving it the same treatment as your jeans. “You know, your fiancée, not some old buddy that sold you weed a few times back in Hawkins.” 

“The content Stax puts out is directly under my approval, just like Metro and the Newsdesk and every other division.” His voice, which has been steady and even until now, begins to rise, “I’m not going to call you and ask for permission every time I make a decision. Eddie and I have kept in touch. How do you think we landed that interview with Radiohead last year when they wouldn’t even sit down with Rolling Stone?”

“That’s another thing you kept from me. I had no idea Eddie was your best friend.” Your eyes narrow as your fingers yank at the delicate clasps of your jewelry and watch.

Steve's eyes roll in frustration as he shakes his head. "He's not my best friend. He’s a business contact. I know him through Robin. They were is band together, you know this."

"That feels like a lifetime ago, Steve," you remark, the clinking of your jewelry against the marble island adding a discordant scrape.

"Well, some people aren't embarrassed about where they came from," he accuses.

"I'm not embarrassed," you scoff and begin to pace as if you can outrun his words.

"Oh, please," he says, taking a seat on the bench, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge, his gaze tracking your restless movements. "You cut off anybody we still know living there. You won't even go to visit your parents. They always come here."

“You never listen to what I’m saying. This has nothing to do with Hawkins or my parents.” You halt your steps, your hand slices through the air, punctuating your statements. “It's about you making me look like a fool in front of Hopper. Like I’m trying to go around him to corporate to get assigned the big stories. Like I’m sleeping with the boss. I’m not ruining my reputation so you can give free advertising to your friends.”

“You're being crazy right now,” he yells, wincing with regret as soon as the words leave his mouth. He stands, moving closer, making an effort to control the tone of his voice, “I gave you this assignment because you know Eddie, and it will make for a better story, not because I’m fucking you. We’ve been together since the day you started at Stax. We’ve been engaged for two years. If anyone was going to think that, they already would’ve.”

Your head shakes, rejecting his rationale. He throws up his hands in frustration. “I can't have a conversation with you when you’re like this.” He starts to walk back toward the bedroom but stops abruptly, spinning on his heel and pointing his finger in your direction. “But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

A sliver of gold from the streetlights outside pierces the tiny gap in the curtains. You’ve been lying on your side staring so long that you can see its warm hue behind closed lids whenever you start to drift. You burrow your arm deeper beneath your pillows while your feet shuffle, searching for a cool spot on the sheets. Steve’s breathing hasn’t changed behind you. He’s having the same trouble falling asleep. He turns over, his weight rocking the mattress. He’s much closer now. You can feel the comforting warmth from his chest, filling the space between him and your back. 

“Baby.” His breath caresses the spot just behind your ear before the wet press of his lips traces a path along your neck, latching on to the apex when it meets your shoulder. A gentle bite follows the swirl of his tongue as he moves even closer. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your shoulder and down your arm, coaxing the thin strap of your tank with them.

“Please,” he whispers between kisses, his fingers finding their way under the bottom edge of your tank top, the light scrape of his blunt nails against your ribs sending shivers across your skin. Your breathing is picking up, the fire from your argument morphing into a new kind of heat. His hips flex against your ass, his cock hard and ready. When you turn your head, his lips are there, a wet slide over your mouth until they pull back, floating just above you, lingering with a question. And when his hand cups your shoulder, urging your body to turn towards him-–you answer. 

The sultry feminine voice drifts from the speakers in your bedroom, her smoky timber weaving through the air like dark tendrils intertwining with the high piano notes. Your hips rise with the flow, a slow, unchanging cadence, the stretch of his cock creating delicious friction against your velvet walls. You move higher until he almost leaves you before you start your descent, the angle finding all the hidden places that light you up beneath your skin. 

"M' sorry," he murmurs.

Your eyes flutter open at his words as they carry you away from the depths. 

"Hate telling you no." He gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his hair pushed back from his face, and a flush across his skin.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your hands cover the ones wrapped around your thighs, guiding them up your body. His warm, rough fingers are eager to map out every contour. Your head falls back when they find their destination, cupping your breasts with a possessive grip.

The song shifts, the new baseline a drawn-out pulse lining up with your movements. The lyrics are raw and a little filthy, fueling the urgency of your rolling hips, your clit grazing the short hairs at his base.

"Don't like telling you what to do," he mumbles even as his hands drop to your hips, attempting to hold you still as he bucks up from underneath. "Just wanna take care of you."

"Steve," his name passes your lips in a low moan as you lean forward, taking his hand from your hips and pressing them into the pillow, "Stop talking."

Sitting up, you shift your position, leaning back, bracing your hands behind yourself on his hairy thighs. You set a new pace, bouncing harder, driving him deeper, taking what you want. 

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes hitting the back of his head while his hands slide across the sheets seeking any purchase as you ride him. The music surges, its tempo rising in perfect sync with the wet intimate sounds of your bodies coming together, the rhythm repeating over and over.

"So close…please," his fingers slip between you, adding pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves that he finds there, "Need you to cum."

"No," you rasp out breathless, pushing his hand aside, your eyes locked on his as you bring your own fingers to your mouth. With a swirl of your tongue, you coat them with wetness before sliding them down to touch yourself, controlling your own pleasure. 

The muscles in his neck strain with effort, his gaze darkening, fixated on you. “Goddam, so sexy like this,” he murmurs.

Your body tightens, taut like a bow-string, the tension building until the crescendo crashes over you. The music washes over your senses as you reach your peak, your legs trembling with the intensity. You push your body further over the edge, succumbing to the euphoria lost in the wave of sensations.

Floating back down, your eyes open to the sight of your ceiling, your body still arched, catching your breath. His fingers tighten on your ribs, reminding you he's there. Sticky wetness dripping between you is evidence that he reached his own climax. His hands gently urge your forward to collapse into his chest. 

"Wow, that was…" He strokes the sweat-slicked skin of your back. "I’ve never seen you like that before. What got into you?"

"I think you did," you say, placing a kiss over his heart as your fingers smooth through the hair covering his chest. He chuckles, holding you closer. 

The gentle croon of the music fills the quiet space between you as you lie entwined, drawing closer to sleep's embrace. With a fumbling hand, Steve reaches for the remote on his nightstand, silencing the stereo, returning the room to a restful hush. He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

AN: Thank you for reading and rebloging. Your comments are what keep me at my keyboard plugging away at this story. Please keep sending me your songs and asks! They have inspired so much of what's to come. xoxo- Jelly

Read Song 3 Here

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[lexlovergirl]

ྀOn the road ྀ

How you and farleigh went from hating each other to being two little demons always together.

Tw:small slut shaming and mean comments

Song: Shut up -Black eyed peas

Summer 2003 , you have been friends with Felix for two years now. And somehow you and his cousin Farleigh never got along. He was always extra mean to you, more than he was with others. He was always teasing you and giving you mean comments so it was only fair you gave him the same treatment.

This summer you again were going to Saltburn. Ducan went to pick up you, Venitia, Farleigh and Felix after the last day of school. You were forced to sat in between Venitia and Farleigh on the back seat not too happy about that.

Farleigh looked down at you and your outfit with a disgusted look. “Slut ass skirt” he said to get a reaction out you. Even at 15 he had a dirty mouth. You rolled your eyes, you loved that skirt. “You’re just jealous you couldn’t pull it off” you spit back crossing your arms. He scoffed “please my ass would actually fill it up”

You didn’t reply to that, only ignoring him. You just focused on the music playing in the car and turn your head to the side so you wouldn’t give Farleigh the satisfaction of seeing you pout.

Venitia had decided to put a Black eyed peas cd. You hummed to most of the song not really knowing the lyrics more than that. That was until Shut up started playing.

You sang Fergies part perfectly, not missing one word. But when the guys part came you shut up not knowing the words. That’s when Farleigh jumped in. “Girl, me n you were just fine, you know..” and he kept going until Fergie started singing again and so did you.

You looked at him and smiled, you were surprised he knew the song. He rolled his eyes at you playfully and returned the smile. Y’all kept singing the song together exchanging the part. You two put your heart into it, really putting on the act of a broken couple while singing.

When the song ended Farleigh gave you a look, you couldn’t tell if he was judging again or reevaluating. “You like Black eyed peas?” He asked you still giving you that look. “No, I just happen to know their lyrics my heart” you replied sarcastically and that made him huff.

“By heart? You knew Fergies part, nothing without me” he said in a playful tone instead of straight up mean tone. “Shut up we killed it together” you said laughing softly. He laughed along with you “okay okay I’ll admit we sounded good”

Felix took a glance at you two. “You’re friends now? Took long enough” He was happy he’s finally gonna be able to spend two seconds without you guys fighting. But Venitia her chuckled softly she knew it wouldn’t be long before you and Farleigh start causing trouble together. Ducan just sighed, it was just the beginning of the summer and he was already tired with you all.

That was the beginning of a friendship between you two. Soon to be two gossiping queens and being mean n sassy to other people together instead of to each other. And who knows maybe a few years later some kind of attraction will make its appearance between you two

ྀིྀི ྀིྀི ྀིྀི ྀིྀི

Yall i hoped you liked it, ik it’s short but soooo cute…. And I know I haven’t posted in ages and I’m not fully coming back I just thought about that little one shot.

Also the Farleigh community is dying!! Ik i can’t complain cus I’m not adding more contant too😭

[jankwritten]

Jasico Bingo Challenge: Cuddles

“I wouldn’t call that cuddling,” Nico says, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “I would call it sitting near one another.” 

Across the infirmary, awaiting medical attention from the busy Apollo kids, Annabeth rolls her eyes. “He had his arm around you.” 

“You put your arm around me all the time,” Nico rebuts. 

“You were leaning on him!” 

“I was tired!” 

Annabeth slumps sideways in her cot and stares at him, unimpressed. 

Nico refuses to budge. Cuddling is not resting your head on someone when they offer to let you nap on them! Cuddling is, like, prolonged, sideways hugging, or something. He and Jason do not cuddle, and even if they did (which they do not!) they wouldn’t do it at the campfire, for Hera’s sake. 

“Fine,” Annabeth concedes without averting her intimidating gaze. “What about when you two took a nap under Thalia’s Pine? That was definitely cuddling.” 

Heat rises up to Nico’s ears. He turns around to face the countertop, littered with empty bandaid packaging and unportioned nectar. “It was not, and you’re weird for remembering that.” 

“You’re weird for refusing to admit you like cuddling with Jason,” Annabeth says. She’s long since perfected that I’m right, you’re wrong, shut up tone, the one that makes Nico bristle. 

“How does that make me weird?” he grumbles, slicing even squares into the pan of nectar. “I spent the last, like, four years of my life doing everything I could to avoid human contact. How is it weird that I wouldn’t want to admit to something like that.” 

For a few moments, Nico almost mistakes Annabeth’s silence for a victory. He finishes with the nectar and turns back around, ready to gloat and everything, and is instead met with the worst possible thing: Annabeth Chase wearing her planning face. 

“No,” he says immediately, putting a hand out, as if he can physically ward off whatever bullshit he’s about to get dragged into. “No.” 

“I think we need an outside opinion.” 

“I think you’re concussed, do not go spreading my personal business to camp!” 

“Not camp,” Annabeth flaps her hand at him, and does not refute the concussed accusation. “But definitely some trusted individuals, who have insight into your cuddling habits.” 

“I’m not above getting on my knees and begging you to drop this,” Nico says. He’s fully serious. He will do it. Anything to stop this from going any further, anything. 

Annabeth glances him up and down, like she’s sizing up how serious he might be. 

He clasps his hands together. 

She flops back in the cot. “Nope. I’m too invested now. I think I’ll ask Hazel, first-” 

“Dude-” 

“-and then Connor, he knew you when you were a baby, he’ll have some good insight.” 

Nico buries his face in his hands and groans. 

Annabeth Chase gets her concussion treated, then turns around and runs back to her cabin to draft an honest to the gods survey to hand out to what she deems as a trusted, reputable group. 

Any group with Connor Stoll and Percy Jackson in it is anything but reputable, in Nico’s mind. As soon as he hears that Annabeth’s really gone off the freaking deep end about this, he finds the darkest corner of camp and hunkers down to hide. 

The best thing to do when Annabeth’s got an idea? Weather it. She’ll either find her own solution, or she’ll lose interest. Nico hopes, for his reputation's sake, she doesn’t get any further than the distribution. 

Upside to this shitshow: Nico has time to clean his cabin, finally. A valid reason to tell Will that he genuinely cannot come do archery practice today, a valid reason to kick any and everyone off his porch, lock his doors, and play CDs on his radio as loud as he can tolerate. 

It is, unfortunately, one of his most productive days as of late, and as Nico lays on his newly-swept floor, sweaty but satisfied, he almost forgets the whole situation occurring at the hands of one stubborn daughter of Athena. 

Almost. 

“Nico?” 

Three knocks on the cabin door. 

“I can hear your music, I know you’re in there. If you want me to go away, that’s totally fine, I just- y’know, want to make sure you’re okay. I’ll leave you alone in a minute.” 

Nico rolls over, squishing his face into the hardwood for one deeply satisfying moment. Then, with all the reluctance of a man who is going to face embarrassment head on, he pulls himself up and trudges to the door. 

Jason, at the very least, has the decency to look worried rather than amused. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his head tilted off to the side, his glasses off-center like they always are. He’s frowning, kind of. He looks like Mrs. O’Leary when Nico tricks her into thinking he’s got a treat for her. 

“I’m alive,” he says, as dry as he can manage. The CD skips. 

“That’s good,” Jason says. “I, uh, hear Annabeth’s keeping herself occupied.” 

Nico’s temple pulses with something not-quite-achey, but nearly there. 

“Just- come in,” he huffs, stepping aside. Dammit. “If anyone’s going to explain it, I would really rather rip the stupid bandaid off.” 

“Laughing at me feels kind of insulting, going to be honest,” Nico mutters while Jason hunches over himself, cradling his stomach, downright howling. 

“She’s- She’s up in arms- about cuddling!?” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know, Percy’s stupid bullshit is rubbing off on her and she’s losing braincells, Jason, she’s losing her mind. We need to find something new for her to build so she stops trying to instigate shit in my private life!” 

Jason slumps sideways onto the floor, half-laughing, half-panting. His leg presses solidly to Nico’s like this, sitting side by side against his bed. 

Nico turns his head up and away and forces himself not to notice. 

“She just cares about you,” Jason says. He stays down. Nico can practically feel how hard Jason’s heart is pumping from all that laughter. 

Jerk. 

“She cares about drama,” Nico says, though he knows it’s not totally true. Piper has gotten her more involved in the social life of camp, which is a good thing, really. Nico thinks it’s really cool that Annabeth has been able to come out of her own shell, after spending her whole life trying to prove herself, trying to be above everything, better than, the best. 

But does she have to do it at his expense? 

He rubs his hands over his face and sighs. 

Jason sits back up. 

“Are you really that upset about this?” he asks, his voice softened into a tone Nico got used to hearing in the days post-Cupid, the tone of a hero. “I know it’s still hard for you, to be comfortable and everything-” 

“I’m not upset about it,” Nico says. Admitting it makes his cheeks flush, but it’s the truth, and Jason has more than earned that with him. “I’m just…embarrassed.” 

“Awe, why’s it embarrassing? I mean, I get from your perspective, y’know, why you might find that embarrassing, but even if taking naps and stuff is cuddling, it’s not like it’s hurting anything,” Jason says. Then, softer, maybe hesitant, he adds, “right?” 

Nico’s heart tugs annoyingly into his ribs. “It’s not hurting anything, Jason, I’m not…I don’t know. I just feel a lot of things, I guess? And it’s a lot of, like, I-I don’t know how to react, when people poke fun at something I’m still- still getting comfortable with. I like being comfortable with you.” He pokes at the rips in his jeans and continues to ignore how much of Jason is pressed up against his side, how natural it feels to just sit with him like this. 

“I like that you like being comfortable with me,” Jason says, his own version of teasing, though one that Nico knows and understands and likes. He knows that Jason’s reassuring him by prodding at him like that. 

The next track on his CD starts to play—Jason turned the volume down, but didn’t shut it all the way off. They’re both too awkward in pure silence, but sitting together when there’s other background noise that means they don’t necessarily have to talk has become a staple of their hang-outs. There’ve been many an afternoon where Nico sets up on the floor of the Zeus cabin with his new, growing Mythomagic collection, while Jason sketches out temples at his desk. 

They’re so comfortable around one another, nowadays. 

Nico brings his knees up and nestles his chin on them, frowning at the opposite wall. 

Are they maybe too comfortable? If other people are starting to look at them interacting and put weird labels like cuddling on it? Isn’t cuddling something people who like each other do, anyway? Friends don’t cuddle. 

Nico feels his ears burn hot at the implication. Is that what Annabeth was trying to say? Does she think Nico likes Jason? 

He brings his arms up to cover his mouth. He chews on his lip. 

…does, Nico like Jason? 

 (to be continued) 

[yeahtimesten]

How Your Relationship Started With Patrick, Art, or Tashi

As much as it pains me to say it because I’m such a slow burn girly, I think Patrick moves quick in relationships. I know he gives the impression that he’s a player and doesn’t like to get tied down. And maybe that’s what he thinks he’s doing. But really, I think he develops crushes quickly and dates around because he appreciates the art of connecting with people. And I think when he finds a person worth the trouble, he fixates on them with total earnest. He wants to take you on like three dates a week as soon he realizes he likes you. He’s not only quick to get you in bed, but also to ask you to be official with him. He wants to make it clear asap that you are just for him, and he’s just for you. If you insist on taking it slow, he’ll oblige. If you tell him you only want to be fwb or a casual relationship, fine then. But really, if you give him the opening, he’ll be on the topic of marriage and babies in no time. At first, he’s raising red flags with your friends who think he’s love bombing you. But like, he actually loves you, and he eventually proves it to your friends just how down bad he is for you. He’s the total definition of “talking stage? just move in babe we can talk at home.”

Art on the other hand? He takes his sweet ass time. For one, he loves the dance of courtship. Bringing you flowers, opening doors for you. He was raised to be respectful, to be a gentleman. But, I also think he’s scared of rejection and he’s not quick to pick up on reciprocated feelings. He’ll be so respectful, so patient, that maybe you’ll figure he’s not interested and he’s just a nice guy that wants to be your friend. But my god, he’s pining, he’s yearning. His skin burns *so good* if you brush past him or set your hand on his knee. He’s scared to make a real move. Maybe, he even watches you go through a painful break up with another man and is ready to pick up the pieces when you give him the chance. He wants to scream ‘I’m right here! In front of you. Look at me. Don’t make me say it, I’m so in love with you.’ I picture that it takes him a good year to finally confess his feelings. You’ll laugh, and he’ll get totally taken aback, sad, ashamed. But then you’ll say something like ‘what took you so long?’ A wave of relief will wash over him and only then will he be ready to ACTUALLY start the courting process. And the rest of your relationship will be him treating you like he’s still trying to win your heart.

Tashi? Ha. Yearning is too delicate. Whatever she goes through is much more disgusting. The scene in the movie where Art tells her Patrick doesn’t love her and she gets mad and asks if she ever said she needed him to love her (not verbatim lol), my heart breaks for her. I interpret that as her defense mechanism 100%. I wish I knew why, but I see that as she doesn’t think she deserves love. And that’s how she navigates her love life. “Love is 28 different things……. There’s fear and jealousy and revenge, control…” I think being in love is sort of a foreign feeling for her. And, especially if you’re a girl, it’s confusing for her to navigate. When you meet, you probably think she hates you, she acts totally cold to you. You wonder why she hangs around you so often. But you catch her reading a non-academic book that you finished reading about a week ago. And she asks to study with you after class. And she wants to borrow a couple of CDs she sees in your dorm room. And otherwise she’s extremely nosey about all your possessions. One night, she texts to you come to her dorm as soon as possible, and bring ice cream. And because you love her, despite being so confused on where you stand with her, you stop at the closest convenience store to grab her favorite ben and jerry’s (you did your own research, unbeknownst to her) and rush to her side. She’s distraught and she’s not opening up about it at all. You both eat your ice cream with a side of small talk. Eventually, after you poke and prod and offer her some stories about your life, she opens up, not about her feelings, but about her life as well. Growing up, her love for tennis, her other interests. She tells you she really enjoyed that book you were reading, but doesn’t admit she read it because of you. It gets late and you aren’t ready to go home but she looks sleepy and you offer to let her sleep and quietly she says ‘you can stay’ when you’re already halfway out the door. She doesn’t even think she wanted you to hear. But you did, and you join her on her twin sized bed. And for a beat, your laying squished awkwardly like sardines side by side until you adjust your arm above her head, and that’s all the invite she needs to readjust and rest her head on your chest. And without thinking you run your fingers through her hair. And she’s practically purring, until she’s snoring in your arms. That’s when you realize this was never about her hating you.